Private Sleight of Hand

Dashmiel

Bearly In Charge
Administrator
Nexus GM
It was a bustling day at the Wayfarer’s Point markets today. More so than usual, that was. The background hum of thousands of languages engaged in lively trade created a reassuring background buzz. Exotic scents clashed violently with mundane spells, as representatives of every class strata commingled in search of the best deals. Pop-up stalls in every fashion imaginable were beginning to appear everywhere a permanent structure wasn’t already taking the space.

The alleyways and streets were filled and bustling with excited energy, as the walkways were drawn ever narrower with the assemblage of goods, services, and everything catering thereof. It was a festival of sorts. A semi-annual bonanza from a group of the wealthiest multiversal trade combines. It was arguably the biggest exchange of items across the multiverse; everything from a kingdom’s worth of grain to legendary artifacts. Relics of dead advanced civilizations. Relics of living ancient civilizations. Yo-Yos.

If you had a material need, now was the best time to be at Wayfarer’s Point. If you were the kind prone to profit off the same, doubly so.

So it was during all of this activity that a group of strangers happened to be passing through near the entryway to one of the Point’s many spires. The most popular one in fact. A strange compulsion seemed to emanate from it the more focus was given to the entrance. The compulsion was gentle, benign, but also foreign. It made no disguise of itself, it simply suggested.

Now would be a great time to seek some refreshment at the Leaky Servo, it seemed to whisper in the back of the mind.
 
The bustling of the gathering crowds washed over Mithri’s ears as he stood by taking it all in. He’d just translated into the neighborhood from the Isle-way back to his own universe. This was his 1,720th attempt to resolve his little problem, and it looked like he picked a good time. It was the time of ‘The Big Sale’, what he chose to call the convoluted festival of consumerism for which thousands of species had their own name.

He took a deep breath, taking in the myriad of scents. His hand moved almost of its own accord as he perfunctorily swatted the urchin’s hands off his pocket. The gesture was familiar and welcomed. A little confirmation he could exist away from the tremendous weight he had to carry back home.

The Nexus, a home away from home these days.

It only took a bit of effort to dispel the rising guilt; He was here working, he couldn’t be begrudged feeling relaxed not to have to deal with problems back at court for a little while. Being Emperor of a Universe sounded like it was all fun and games. Except for the part that when things like time break, you’re expected to be the one fixing them.

It was enough to–

A smile rose unbidden upon his lips, as he “saw” the drifting psychic message through his inner sight. It zeroed-in on him as he crossed through the square outside of the Servo’s spire, gently caressing his thoughts with the invitation.

“A great time for refreshment indeed,” he said to the still shocked Urchin. Mithri threw him a glinting coin from his homeland. “Get better little one. You’ll be a merchant prince one day,” he added enigmatically before striding towards the spire.

Looked like this would be one of his interesting trips. Nilin Gvyhe'arne needed a favor done.

⁕​

Mithridae Ranenmas sat upon one of the many bars in the Leaky Servo, nursing a cup of chai as he waited. The latest court gossip at home had gotten him through the door, Xilunexus even providing a perfect insult to throw back at one of his unruly ministers. He gazed at the ‘entry’, seeing a confirmation for his suspicions. This wasn’t the Servo’s main room phase. A little subspace pocket had been prepared, open by invitation only.

There was nothing else to it but wait. Experience told him the Va’nyrian Goddess was one for beatific entrances. She wouldn’t glide in all majestic and full of grace until all her invitees were here. Mithridae wasn’t brave enough to call out her theatrics; not when any of their ears meant her husband would eventually hear.

The thought brought a slight shudder, and he quickly dispelled it away. Whatever their idiosyncrasies, the tea was fantastic.
 
It had been a long start to the day, with not many meaningful things to do. Arylin Enyo had been wandering through Wayfarer’s Point, looking at all the market stalls as she passed through. She’d been having a weird feeling in the pit of her stomach. Like she had to do something. It was only soon after that she realised she was being summoned by the Va’nyrian goddess. It hadn’t happened before, but it was now, and she needed to get a move on.

She found the Leaky Servo and made her way inside. She’d never been in there before. It was darker than she was expecting, if not for the occasional neon light, here and there. She’d stumbled into a room - separate from the rest of the Leaky Servo and saw another person sitting at the bar. This is so awkward… She straightened her chest plate as she sat down beside the stranger. There were lots of different drink options on the menu, from coffee, to alcohol. Arylin wasn’t a big drinker, even though she was of legal age, so she passed on the drinks all together.
The silence was getting to her, and she glanced to her left, where the quiet stranger was sitting.

“What… are we doing?”
 
Co-Worker's fur coat was too big on Typer's body, it had been for the past two years. But he hadn't had the heart to part ways with it, every time he had tried, his hands refused to let go. So he buttoned it back up and gave a pink skinned merchant her accounting books back. This place was making Typer fucking rich, even with low rates and competition. He had had a fight with the last bitch who thought they could just walk up and snatch his latest deal from him just like that. You didn't have to beat me to pulp with a stick! They had complained. Only for Typer to kick 'em in the stomach and hiss that this was the way things were done back at the office. It was also the way he had been robbed of a job a few times before. Broken fingers?, well I guess you can't write shit anymore!. He got paid, wrote down Pinky's contact for future reference, and left her stall.

It was good his coat didn't have pockets, it stopped some of the thiefs. Typer spent some of his income in a handful of blackberry gelatin filled mochi. He ate two of them before he got close to The Leaky Servo, he had started with ten mochi. Somehow, there were only six left. Fuck. They weren't expensive or anything, but he did look around, his tail swishing angrily under his coat. Really, people?, right from his hands too. Ugh!, he wasn't planning on it, but a drink sounded like a good idea to fix his mood. He went into the aleady familiar establishment, muttering that he didn't really enjoy physical fights for accountant gigs. For the first time, he wasn't here for a quiet corner to write in. Maybe he should've asked for that, and then he wouldn't have just walked into a weird ass room after ordering his refreshment of choice; passion fruit tea with peach bobba and a couple of fresh eyeballs. Three were a bit much.

Two people were aleady there. Was this a mistake?, had Typer interrupted their date?. Unlikely. But they were both aesthetically pleasing. He glared at them with narrowed eyes. Was this a weird way to tell him that he looked tense and should try and get laid or something? Whatever. He totally didn't.

"...Hi." He said to them as he sat a few seats away with his legs crossed. Because he was raised in hell, not a barn.
 
Mithri raised an eyebrow over a sightless eye as he appraised the two others who would no doubt be partnered with him in some fashion. The bandage over his empty sockets scrunched up slightly as he concentrated. By now his powers had faded, near omniscience a faint recollection beyond his ability to comprehend. The price of being an avatar, unfortunately.

Still, he saw clearly enough to catch glimmers. He reached into his leather jacket and pulled a strange tablet. It was composed of a burnished champagne colored metal which looked remarkably like aluminum. Its screen appeared dead, but a brilliant third-eye symbol was lit on the back facing outwards. A most friendly little helper for fractured Time Emperors everywhere, he thought.

With his Natural Universe Review Pad to assist him, he could make some sense of the glimmers. The tattooed young man raised his left hand and began to gesture towards the tablet, as quiet power suffused his skin. The symbols upon his skin began to writhe and move as he gestured at the device for a couple of seconds.

He suppressed a sigh at what he could parse; latent godhead and anti-godhead energies or something. Stuff of gods and their adversaries certainly. Since he technically could be said to fall into that category, the conclusion left was not exactly a reassuring one.

They were being dragged into the Gods’ Board. They basically screamed “Deity Agents #s 1-3” as far as cliches they enjoyed went. He scanned for Nilin’s energy signature, but as expected it was futile. They had been within her energy envelope since entering. She was everywhere and nowhere. Waiting, probably theatrically.

“Hi yourself,” he called out with a wave in reply to the four-eyed newcomer. He angled his body to encompass both of them in his field of vision while addressing the young armored woman.

“Well, we’re probably here being observed,” he answered with a friendly tone. “To see if we’re not raving lunatics and to assess the most dramatic moment for entrance. Ain’t that right Xil?”

He trailed the last question into the air, the upward inflection directed elsewhere.

The burden of knowledge breaks upon the bliss of ignorance, whispered the voice of Xilunexus, the AI in charge of operating the Servo.

Mithri grinned whilst shaking his head gently and wagging his raised eyebrow as if to say ‘See what I mean?’. He asked them a question of his own; “I’m Mithridae, but you can call me Mithri. First time being summoned here?”
 
Arylin stared at the man, then up at the ceiling of the Leaky Servo to where the voice of an AI came back to reply to him. She looked downwards again.
“Right…” she said. “Yes, first time. And it’s been super weird too.” She repositioned herself on the chair to take a good look at the man in front of her. He was strange, but in an intriguing way. She couldn’t forget about the alien across the bar either. He had, like, four eyes! She turned back towards him and smiled.
“I’m Arylin. What’s your name? We already know Mithridae.”
 
They both seemed to know what they were here for, so maybe he was interrupting. Mithridae had also implied they had been summoned, which wasn't true.

"Mithri" He repeated. That nickname was cute, if only a shortening of the man's own name. Some higher demons had liked doing that. They'd get a cutesy little nickname, and a pretty face. And then you'd never know you were talking to Asmodeus or Belphicha.

"And Arlyn" She looked a bit less sure of what was going on. What a nice little range of different opinions, no?. Mithridae who knew what they were doing there, Arlyn who seemed to know as well, but said she was weirded out. And then himself, he stood up, his tail swishing from side to side under his coat.

"If you've been summoned here, I'll take my leave. I most certainly haven't been. But you can call me Typer, and you can also call me if you need someone to do some writing for you." He paused, partially unbuttoning his coat so he could look for a card or two. Did he have any left? Maybe he should go make more.
 
Mithridae blinked, thrown off for a moment by the strangeness of it all. He didn't think he needed writing done by a demon, but now he wished he did. That'd be pretty cool. He regathered his wits momentarily as his faux-synapses restarted. It would probably be a few hours yet until he got fully integrated with this body, so he was grateful for the chance to sit down and have a drink whilst doing so.

A polite smile rose to his lips as he addressed Typer. "Pleasure to make your acquaintance Typer. I'll certainly keep that in mind, but," he said with a slight head bow before raising his right arm to his lips, fingers grasping an invisible cup. A glass of water lightly infused with lemon appeared as he took a sip, courtesy of Xil answering his mental request. "I don't think you can take your leave sir. There's no door," Mithri added after his refreshing sip. He pointed back the way they came where a smooth, beautiful, and very portal-lacking wall met their gaze.
 
A big intimidating demon who writes? Thought Arylin. That was pretty cool, if not a little soft. She watched the two men with a new outlook. When she first met them, she thought they were quite strange and maybe even a little stand-offish. But now, she realised they were doing the best with what they knew.

She tried to appear more enthusiastic about being there, but then Mithri pointed out to Typer that there was no longer an entrance to the room they had been summoned to. She liked to think of herself as brave and up for anything, but being stuck in a confined space, with almost strangers… well, that was not something she wanted to happen.
“This is great,” she said, unsure if that was out loud or to herself. “I’m totally not gonna get claustrophobic.” Arylin was the sister of Enyo and Aries. She was supposed to be like them; courageous and sometimes even aggressive. It was ridiculous that she was worried. She got up from her chair and leaned on the bar, taking in the drink menu. Maybe I will take that drink now.
 
The demon's head whipped around to look at the- no. To look at the wall where the door had been. There was a flash of horror across his features, and five deep blue business cards fell to the floor.

"But it's... Coming back, right? Please. The last time this happened to me I was stuck for dozens of years. Please tell me the door is coming back" He asked the other two with a sheepish expression. His ears dropped, and he looked a bit like a kicked bunny, only slightly less cute and a lot more alien. His tail wrapped around his own leg, and he bent down to pick up his cards before going to each of them to hand them one. But the looks he gave them were more of a; please confirm that we won't be here for the next sixty years. Rather than a; here is my business card, call me xo. Okay he didn't send hugs and kisses out with his cards, but whatever.

The small rectangles were made of an unknown material. It was bendy and glossy, but not easy to break. They were mainly blue, the same colour as Typer's body actually, and the writing was in the same yellow as his eyes. On one side you could read: Zhe-Typer, writing and calligraphy for all. On the other there was a phone number, an email, and an easy design for a summoning circle. Which, it was specified, must be done in black ink, in a non christian-catholic blessed surface.
 
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Mithridae felt an undeserved pang of guilt deepen as Typer's mental state appeared to unspool before his eyes, and the young woman appeared to be contemplating taking up drinking. He didn't think he was quite this callous to mortal regard with his faculties upon him back home. At least he sincerely hoped that was the case. He had no doubts their distress was seen, measured, and weighted. The problem was the scale, he knew. How small those metaphorical numbers could seem. It took a lot to keep in mind the significance behind the tiny figures sometimes, and he'd only been at it for a few tens of thousands.

"Try asking for what you want to drink out-loud and it'll appear," encouraged Mithri with a smile and reassuring thumbs up to Arlin.

He held his smile—though diminished somewhat, nervously— taking in Typer and the look in his eyes. Mithri fidgeted with the received card, making it walk up and down his fingers absentmindedly, whilst he considered his words carefully.

"The door will be back," Mithri started saying, his tone carefully coached to neutrality. "We've somewhat subtly agreed to meet with a Goddess here today. We might not think so, but well, she'd disagree. She's either observing us to learn more or her 'godly' attention is on other matters in the immediate now and we'll be seen to shortly," he explained casually. It was a casualness he did not feel. He knew Nilin. More caring and compassionate than your average deity, for sure. Which meant that her attention really might...

Mithri suppressed a grimace, as he tried to calculate in his mind. The equations proved impossible to work with in his current state so he wasn't certain but he was fairly sure that Nilin's lapse in noticing them wouldn't last the rest of week. Assuming he carried the two and crossed out the coefficients correctly...

"Either way, refreshment is free and unlimited while we wait," he pointed out quickly. "I've helped her before, so I imagine we'll get tasked to do a favor together. Wouldn't hurt to discuss the kinds of extraordinary things we can or have done in the past. May even let us guess what we'll be asked to do."
 
Arylin looked at Mithri - who seemed to be uncomfortable with their new emotions. I can just magically have a drink served to me? She thought.
“I want the strongest thing you’ve got here, AI dude.” Then, as if she’d always been holding it, a glass appeared in her hand. That’s great, then. She tossed back her head and drank. She usually hated alcohol, but today it tasted good. Slamming the glass down on the bar, she began pacing, waiting for the effects to kick in.
“Who are you anyway?” she asked, staring at Mithri. “How are you so calm and collected?” He probably wouldn’t go into too much detail, as it seemed no one Arylin ever met did. However, it was worth asking.

She sat back down, closer to where Typer was standing, even though her legs wanted to keep moving. “And you… what’s your story?” She watched the demon. After a moment, she turned back to Mithri. Her inner rage and family characteristics were threatening to come out in a time like this. She just had to keep talking to surprise the urges.
“You asked us what our accomplishments are, from the past?” She leaned back on the counter. “I don’t have many. I mean, I can fight really good, but that’s not something I can use every day.” Arylin was proud of her fighting skills, but hadn’t been able to use them since moving to this world. She was originally part of the Greek gods community, but when she left, she didn’t realise what that would mean for her abilities. Thinking about it now, she missed it. Everything to do with where she was from. You know, even the scary gods who would threaten to tear her head off in petty arguments.
 
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