I'm Waking Up: Origin Stories.

[geistnet]

You’re an old man who had a nasty run-in with Something That Went Bump in the Night, and once believed that the only way to make sure that you never had another problem like that again was to pick up a gun and shoot supes in the face before they killed you or hurt your family – and then some government shitheads called you up and told you that they’re your friends, you all have to get along. They took your weapons, sent you to some fucking program that felt too much like Alcoholics Anonymous. You hang up on them every time they check on you, but they still know exactly what you’re doing, every second of every day.

You’re a house wife in a quiet little town, accustomed to turning a blind eye towards the strange things that happened to people after dark because the local police either didn’t have a clue or were letting those things happen in the first place – and then some nice people in coats came in from God Knows Where, arrested some crooked cops, and made it all go away.

You make a new batch of cookies every Sunday, to give to the coated fellows who still hang around at the street corners downtown; some of them are young, so very young, and remind you of your younger brother. Your little ones want to be just like them someday.

You’re the kid who learns Judo rather than Track and Field after Math every day (Teacher Felipe says that you have to know how to defend yourself), then takes a quiz all about vampires, fairies and werewolves in Occult Studies. Every Wednesday, you tumble around with your classmates, and get mad whenever your best friend does his Superman thing and beats everyone to the top of the hill by flying there. Every Friday, a guy with more guns than you have teeth comes to school, takes over PE classes, and talks to everyone about what he does for a living. Sometimes, he takes “special kids” with him to another school, for special people like them. You hope that he won’t take your best friend away.

You’re the manager of one of the biggest call centers in the country. You’re happy because life’s been great ever since you opened your doors to the local vampire community. They’re damned good at their jobs, and you don’t have to deal with the HR nightmare of overtime, of medical bills and lawsuits anymore. And you feel safe, because you know that if one of them ever steps out of line, you know exactly who to call.

You’re the girl who leapt through time, who met a handsome stranger who took you to a fantastic place full of talking trees and flying fish, the girl who was loved and fucked and tossed aside when you started getting boring.

You came home and found that your house wasn’t your house anymore, that your parents have been dead for decades and all of your friends were old and gray while you haven’t aged at all.

They found you crying on a swing. They told you what happened, and helped you set things right.

You’re the drunkard at the local bar who sees monsters in every face, and still remembers what it was like years ago, when you didn’t have to be afraid of the dark, or wonder what’s beneath all the human skin and human smiles of every person you meet. The Truth fucked you up, you see. You wish that once upon a time, you had the better sense not to listen.

Whoever you are, if you were born between 1999 and 2066, you know about Hunters. You know about the conspiracies and compacts they are a part of, and the Vigil they keep between Day and Night, Light and Shadow. You know that some of them are human, and some of them aren’t, and some of them are somewhere in between. You know about why they’re here, and what they do while nobody’s looking. Hate them, love them, worship them, or revile them: it doesn’t matter. The World of Light and the World of Darkness have blended together, and that means that Hunters are around to stay.

o r i g i n  s t o r i e s.

This post is devoted to threading out the stories of player characters of Waking the Dead prior to their arrival at the Falner Estate. Tag in and tell us yours. We have a feeling it's a good one.

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March 10th, 2066

[outstanding]

White light pierces her eyelids, the fluorescent in her hospital room giving everything a more intense and sharp look; the empty chair by the corner, the closed curtains by the window, her bloodied clothes piled up on a chair next to her, even the white gown she's been forced on and the strands of golden hair that get in her eyes now and then. Ella lies there, although lying is starting to sound like a lie; whenever she's not twisting in agony she's too tired to do anything but pant, sweat and wonder why is taking so long, why death can't just get over with it. It's like a knife being twisted in her insides, although the doctors already explained to her in pained tones that what she was feeling was how her innards were slowly turning into frostbitten matter. The bullet itself had done less damage than what they had initially thought, and the place the Coldshadow had started to disseminate didn't kill her right away, but it all meant the agony would be lengthier. Not for too long though, Ella can feel it as life slowly slips away.

Although she has never been a keen believer of karma or irony (two terms that at times had seemed interchangeable to her), now she is questioning both of them whenever her mind isn't reduced to the simple expression of excruciating pain; does she deserve this? Is she paying off some horrible sin she has committed without knowing? Or maybe this is the universe mocking her and her luck, or even worse, mocking her father and his ways. He killed me, she thinks for the millionth time, but then she bites her cheek and blinks hard. That's not true. Maybe the man had been slowly trying to undermine her own self confidence, but what happened had nothing to do with him. At least Ella could manage to get some dark delight at the thought of her parents learning about this, of knowing she got killed while attending the university her father had most likely bribed and paid her way into, or even worse, bribed and paid her then girlfriend out of.

It's all senseless now, though. She's dying and nothing can do a thing about it. The vampires that brought her have apparently left or don't want to do anything with her now that they know she's at her last moments, and she can't blame them. What pains Ella (other than the slow death she's suffering, of course) is that she never managed to learn their names and thank them properly. But that, she thinks, doesn't matter either now.

[superbarbie]

Outside of that hospital room, one Barbara Gomez is taking a call on her headset. She has the length of the corridor: Alejandro and Celeste are on either side. Alejandro is speaking to the doctors. Celeste is making sure that nobody gets in for the moment.

"Are you sure?"

"Honestly? I can't believe you're asking me that."

She sighs, slumps against a wall, lifts a hand to her forehead. She doesn't actually have a headache. Not a physical one, at least.

"Sorry. I just..."

"We've talked about this."

"I know, I know. Bleeding undead heart, and all."

There's a quiet laugh on the other end of the line. Barbie pushes herself off the wall and looks off to where Celeste is. She really, really wants a cigarette. She also really needs to get out of these clothes. They have the girl's blood all over it.

Maybe later. There are more important things to deal with now.

"So there's no other way."

"No. There is no geist in the vicinity who is interested in her, and it does not look like she'll become a Card. She's been Measured." A pause on the other end of the line. "You're thinking about it."

"Yes."

"It's your call. You don't need to update me when you do decide: I'll know."

Barbie nods, even if the person on the other end wouldn't be able to see her (unless, of course, he was doing his Usual and watching her from somewhere she couldn't perceive). Then, with a murmured farewell, she's hanging up and moving towards the hospital room. She knocks once, then opens the door.

"Ella? It's me."

The girl will probably recognize her. Barbie had personally taken charge of her the moment her squad had brought the girl over.

[outstanding]

Barbara catches her coming back from one of what Ella has started to call 'the bad ones', meaning she feels a little off, not to mention she's not sure she can feel her legs anymore. The woman's voice (which sounds way too young for the tone it carries) feels distant at first, but her features slowly come into focus. She's pretty, a part of her brain notes, and Ella would have probably have had a completely different set of problems focusing if they had met in any other situation. A better one.

Then again, she can tell the chances of meeting someone like Barbara were as good as zero anyway; even if Ella isn't savvy of the way Kindred society works, she can tell this person doesn't just go and mingle with puny mortals just like that. There is something regal about her, and the fact Ella can tell through the veil of pain she's into means others are probably in constant awe when she walks into a room.

"It's you," she mutters as she blinks slowly. "It hurts," she adds, almost against her will, because until now she didn't think something could cause so much pain you have to share it with someone else.

Her eyes focus on her for a moment. "I thought...I would be scared of dying. Now I'm just- hnng." She feels like a ring of fire had just settled on her hips. "Tired, just tired. And a bit disappointed."

[superbarbie]

Barbie, in the meantime, is keeping her eyes right on Ella's face as she's pulling up a chair beside the bed. Coldshadow is never pretty to watch; as things stand, none of her experiences during the Darkest Vigil could make witnessing somebody dying any easier on her.

"Why disappointed?"

[outstanding]

"I never really did anything. Always falling in line with Father. I wanted to graduate and do something so I could rub it in his face." She chuckles, but that turns out of be a bad idea because suddenly everything hurts again for the next few seconds, and then she's just a teary mess. Ella wipes her tears with an already numbing hand and sighs weakly. "Can't really blame him though, can I?" It wasn't as if her father had forced her to do anything.

"I'm just rambling now, sorry."

April 15, 2066

[anteayer]

He was surprised at first by where he needed to go, but whatever concerns that filled his mind seemed to fade the closer he got to his destination.

That he was doing so in the small hours of the morning didn't make it hard for him in the slightest. He'd gone down this route so many times that it was impossible for him to get lost. Hence, he was making good time in his trek.

It was still strange to Gray, though, that this part of his initiation would be here of all places. Granted, he was fine with having it anywhere in the estate, but why did he keep thinking that this was more than coincidence?

Considering the fact that I'm Acanthus, it just might be the case.

He couldn't shake the feeling that the one King he was going to meet had chosen the lake precisely because of how often he frequented it. While he would go to the Arcanum to immerse himself in his own research, Gray went to the Dragon's Pool whenever he needed some time alone. He loved how quiet and peaceful it was, how it was easy there for him to pass the time in moments of self-reflection. Here, he could find the calm he needed whenever he was troubled, whether it was as simple as the stress of his classes and training, or something worse... like his nightmares of that day.

Feeling something nudging his leg, Gray looked down to find Temeraire staring up at him. The normally upbeat dragon had an anxious look on his face, and he could feel his concern through the bond they shared. "... Are you alright?"

He was quiet for a moment, before he replied. "Yeah..."

"You don't look fine", Temeraire pressed, giving him a serious stare. "You've got that look on your face, again".

"It's nothing", Gray asserted, before glancing to the side with a thoughtful frown. "There's just... a lot on my mind, right now, Temo".

He expected his companion of eight years to keep pushing the issue as usual. But all he got instead was a dismissive snort. "Well, it has been a long day, considering what we did a while back" he said, with a little of his usual cheer this time.

That drew a faint smile from Gray as he nodded in agreement. "You're probably right. Still, we've come this far. It would be a shame to leave it off, here and now...". Glancing forward, he squinted slightly as he made out a faint glow in the distance. "We're almost there. Just a little further".

Rearing up, now, the expression on Temeraire's face was one of excitement. "Shall we, then?"

Gray nodded at that, before turning to walk towards the light, a determined look on his face.

[libertysbelle]

And the King that Gray will find waiting for him is none other than Rilea Heartnet-Duskrider. She's sitting right at the lake's edge, and - interestingly enough - right at one of the spots that he usually frequents.

(A deliberate move on her part. The stones, the water, the mud and the grass in the area echoed with past shadows of his presence. It seemed suitable to have their talk right there.)

She glanced up at Gray's approach, and stood up to face him with a smile. She's barefoot and in one of her favorite dresses, the sort that she used to wear back during her days as Liberty's Belle right at the beginnings of a nation now known as America.

"Hi there."

[anteayer]

There was a flash of surprise on Gray's face as he recognized the young-seeming woman who greeted him. Almost as quickly, he schooled his expression to appear a little more composed. Temeraire fared little better as he stared in open reverence for the much older mage.

"Good morning..." he managed to reply, then taking a moment to gather his thoughts as his gaze briefly drifted to the glowing lake. "I hope you didn't have to wait too long here, ma'am".

[libertysbelle]

"You didn't. I confess, I kind of timed my coming around here for when you'd show up."

Rilea folded her hands behind her back and peered at the initiate in front of her. It was always going to please her, seeing the Awakened of the New Age and their dragons.

"How are you feeling now that the initiation is practically over?"

[anteayer]

Gray takes a moment to contemplate that question before giving his answer. "Humbled... And maybe a bit amazed over the fact I'm really standing here..."

It was true. He had come a long way from being that frightened boy whose Awakening to magic had been during the most traumatic experience in his life. And so much had happened to him, since then...

Casting a glance again at the lake, he examined his reflection as it stared back at him from those tranquil, glowing waters, as if to affirm him of who he was, now. Then, he faced Rilea again, his expression taking on a more pensive note. "A part of me is nervous, though..."

Sometime during Hikaru Shinta's trip to Arcadia from January 10-17, 2066.

[lyall]

[ She distantly remembers what it is, the moon. She remembers it in that way that you know you are breathing, that your heart is beating, that bruised knuckles and skinned knees mean you must get up and fight to live another day. You don't need the words or the names for things like that. They just are. They really just are.

She pries her gaze away from the bright circle in the sky to look around her. She does not know that the word she is looking for is 'displacement'. She sees the others who are like her milling about ( except no, not all of them were thrown into the Pit to fight and to kill in order to eat, to hide away beneath the floorboards and be allowed another opportunity to sleep ) and she lifts a hand to the center of her chest where it feels like a fist is wringing her dry.

It is strange, this 'liberation'. One of the boys -- the scrawny one who can no longer walk right -- said that they will be taken to the Lightless Lands as tributes by the command of the King. He had said the words with wet eyes and an uncomfortable expression of joy that made her shy away and slip out, past the gates to where she is standing now.

He has not been long among them, that one. Not as long as she, or the others who have had multiple turns fighting in the Pit. What could he possibly know about the cruelty of the Masters, or how promises are meaningless no matter how well-meant.

It is not that she is ungrateful. The Masters were harsh and she is not sorry that all that is left of them are the pools on the floor where the blood has yet to dry. It is just that she knows not what to expect of a monarch who names himself a weapon. ]

[icarusalsoflew]

[He's moving alongside his soldiers because that is simply what he does. Hikaru's as hands on with his operations within Arcadia as he is with the ones that take place in the Fifth World. The only problem is that Arcadia has different rules, one that require him to be a little more subtle about things.

Subtlety, in this case, means keeping his human skin on instead of letting Arcadia's influence bring the face of what used to be Little Wolf out. It also means dressing like an officer in the forces of the Nalimutan of the Lightless Lands, which conveniently includes a mangeyko. The Blade King's face is known all over Arcadia. A violet-eyed Nalimutan by the name of Yun Song is not.

So there he is, seated on some rubble from when his kingdom's ballistae had ripped the castle open for him. He's eating an Goblin Fruit, and watching the soldiers move the "tributes" out. They all act gently, and with discretion. Each of the Nalimutan were prisoners once, just like these children.

They also all know who he really is, but they won't ever address him as their liege lord. At least they won't out here.]

[lyall]

[ It's when one of those soldiers starts walking her way that she moves from where she's standing. She knows well enough what it's like to be herded, and even if the soldiers are treating the others with a kind of care she'd never seen from the Masters, it's been far too long since she's known a gentle hand for her to want to be touched.

She spies him one she ducks past some of the debris: the soldier from earlier on.

He'd left quite the impression on her, with the sheer elegance of his brutality, the efficiency by which he'd cut down those among the Masters who'd resisted.

Creeping quietly behind some crates, she crouches low to watch him and ignores the soft rumble of her own stomach at the sight of the fruit cradled in his armored hand. ]

[icarusalsoflew]

[And her scent and the distinct, unique weight of her eyes, he remembers. Not that she will notice that he has picked up on her presence, of course.

Not until he's finished the Fruit, brought the mask back over the lower half of his face, and stood up. He moves towards the tree a stone's throw away from him, and starts picking more Fruits. His soldiers will want some, and --]

Want one?

[Asking that of the girl, as he looks over his shoulder and straight in her direction.]

[lyall]

[ To her credit, she only flinches a little.

Curiosity and wariness are warring within her. It was never like the Masters to offer any of their fighters food so casually.

She blinks at the soldier, wordless... and shakes her head as she sucks in her stomach as if to keep it from rumbling again. ]

June 10, 2066

[interceptive]

[ Okay. So. Metro Manila? It was kind of really amazing to look at from the plane (and the plane in itself was holy shit cool), but now that she's at Ninoy Aquino International Airport, trolling down to the Departures area with her suitcase...

Segan Brooke has no words. None. Absolutely none. Redtree and Big Rock were her worlds, and they were both significantly smaller and quieter than this.

Excuse the Canadian girl, then, who's kind of gawking at everything as she heads for her destination. She's still dressed in her old uniform from Big Rock; Inquisitor Brea had told her to wear something that made her stand out. It helps, of course, that Big Rock was a school affiliated with Netsach, so the conspiracy's crest is on the shoulders of its blazer.

'Was' being the operative word. Thank you for that, Inquisitor.

Clearance doesn't take all that long, so before she knows it, she's sitting outside in the smoking area by the bustling road that cuts beside the airport, rummaging around her satchel for her pack.

Her entire life is about to start again in a place that she never dreamed she'd end up in. This merits nicotine. ]

[maggienificent]

[ For all her bitching and moaning about her father's means of enforcing her shore leave, Margaret Montelibano-Profaci actually doesn't mind coming back to Falner. She's a Rider down to the marrow of her bones and she loves the open road like a lover she has to occasionally part ways with, but Falner means home, family and the satisfying opportunity to kick around the Lodge among the Wolves.

Yes, she's a fox by merit of birth and ancestry, but her heart is a heart of a ripper, and growing up in the Lodge, training among the People is written in the make and build of her entire being.

She was was having breakfast with those same wolves that morning when she overheard the conversation that her father, the Alpha, was having with the Rockies' Alpha, Bryce Regardi about an initiate from one of the hunter schools ( she cannot be bothered to memorize everything, that is Renae's schtick ) up in Canada was due to arrive today. She was only half-paying attention, really, at least up until Bryce mentioned Redtree.

You see, you grow up with wolves and you learn to pay attention to the things that concern the People. Because say what other Changing Breed will about the werewolves, but Maggie has always viewed them as family, as blood.

This is precisely why, even before the moment Segan Brooke steps off that plane and wanders through the airport to the smoking lounge, Maggie is already idling her time outside of the Departures area, cigarette lit and eyes patiently scanning the area for her mark. When the girl does show though, she lights up another stick and leans back against her bike to watch.

Segan's got doe-eyed and green written all over her, but just because young deer look harmless, that doesn't mean they can't put up a fight and trample you underfoot if it means another sunrise with their jugular intact.

She's got a copy of Initiate Brooke's dossier tucked in her coat, so she knows about what went down at Big Rock and how her record is marred all because some asshat couldn't be a man about things and chose instead to punish a promising young hunter for his failings. But even if that file hadn't been handed her way, all Maggie really needed to know was that Segan hailed from the tiny community that banded together -- mundies and wolves and all -- to beat back Grendal.

So, have a stick, Segan. This one wants to see how you move first. ]

[interceptive]

[ And a stick is the only thing Segan allows herself to have, because she does try to run her entire life around a schedule. Said schedule can only be adjusted by unforeseen circumstances.

Ditching her butt (properly, she might add: she's always found it irritating how people sometimes just toss their shit everywhere, and doesn't anyone ever think about starting fires???), then checking her tablet (which she pulled out of her arm) in order to review Inquisitor Brea's instructions.

Someone from the Riders was supposed to pick her up. No name, no description. Thank Elaine she's familiar with their equipment, their uniform...

...Is that the one? She immediately stands up, puts a small smile on her face, and approaches the older woman leaning on a bike --

-- who immediately feels different. Same kind of feral that she used to get around the People, only with a different sort of undertone. Changing Breed? ]

Sorry, ma'am. Were you waiting for a while?

[maggienificent]

[ Call her shallow, but the first thing that actually pings on her Do I Like People Y/N meter is how Segan tosses that butt where it most definitely should go with the motions of someone who did it because it was the decent thing to do. So: knows how to respect the land even in the middle of the city? Check.

And then Segan looks up, scans around and spots her because of her gear ( not that she was hiding, nor had she chosen clothes that would make her blend in ) and Maggie offers a smile because it's nice to know the kid knows her stuff.

Have her spare helmet tossed your way, kiddo. ]

Name's Maggie and there's no need to apologize. You are actually my saving grace from my overbearing werewolf of a father.

April 7, 2066

[magicmissile]

It's weird to think that just this morning, he'd left to go look for a part time job, lost Ma, Pa, and the House this afternoon then subsequently became a Mage--holy fuck that was some acid trip or something (but it wasn't, there's a dragon sitting on his head that proves it)-- and now...

Now that he's done crying and getting angry at the local authorities, he's parked himself at an alleyway between what was left of the House and the police station, his battered laptop out and running various programs. Madge, his dragon-- he still can't believe he has a fucking dragon of his own, holy shit this is cool-- is flopped on his head, looking down at his quick fingers tap-tap-tapping away at his keyboard as he breaks into the police's systems, as well as the fire station's.

He's looking for the reports of the Faolain House fire. Only two bodies were found-- Ma's and Pa's. The other orphans were rescued from the fire, they were sent off to the hospital for treatment, and will probably be sent off to other orphanages in the surrounding cities. All except four who were missing. His siblings-- he counted them as his siblings, even though they were never blood-related. Aari wouldn't have left Ma's side, she would have helped the other orphans escape. Freyj would have done the same, and Ea and May should have been at school when the fire happened... But none of them have checked in. Their phones never rang, and he couldn't find their GPS positions, either.

So he's hacking into the system. He needs to find his siblings. He just wants to know if they're safe. Or if they've died in the fire, too, he just-- he needs to know. He has to know. They were--are his family. He has to find out what happened to them.

"Wossat, Erin?" Madge asks from on top of his head. Rin could feel his tail swish along his back; he's not as annoyed as he thought he would be about it. (Let's face it, how can he? This is a dragon. A DRAGON, holy crap, it's like, the closest connection he has with Aidan Clayce.)

"I told you, it's a fu--it's a computer, a laptop," he says, just a little irritated that it's the third time Madge asked the question. "Just-- shut up and let me work? Please?"

"But I'm bored, Erin," Madge complains. Rin huffs.

"Give me a few more minutes. I'll be done soon." He hopes he would be. He doesn't want to have to storm in the station again, demanding answers.

[bladeweaver]

There are things that Taning does not want to dwell on too often. Things like, he had gotten so much more powerful the past few years (because of what had to happen for him to get to this point), or like, he has to spend time on the rooftops of Ireland's buildings (because the navigator is a newbie Technomancer who got his charts wrong and folded space here, instead of over Falner). That latter one is particularly irritating, mostly because the young woman was playing some tablet game right before jump. Kids these days.

What that conflation of events has led to, though, is him sitting on top of a radio tower in downtown Dublin, hoping to relieve some of the impatience rattling his teeth before he goes home to baby Safira, who is nine months old and already trying to walk. He shakes his head at that smilingly, the thought of his daughter (his daughter!) being as much of an overachieving git as his dad calming him down immensely. He can't wait to be home.

... that is, until he notices a strand of data pouring out of Dublin Police HQ and going into some seedy alley. This... boy, whoever he is, is definitely hacking the station. He is also, quite definitively, a Mastigos mage.

Why?

He decides to find out for himself. One moment he's standing on top of a tower, the next, he's watching you from a few feet away, leaning on a brick wall.

"Hey there, young one. What's that you got, there?"

[magicmissile]

His first instinct was to shut his laptop close-- but he'd learned that if you do, you only look even more suspicious. So he's trained himself not to shut his laptop, and instead, he looks up in surprise, fingers quickly typing in a piece of code to hide incriminating programs and have them run in the background.

"Uh--?" He blinks at the appearance of the man suddenly at the mouth of the alley. Rin is pretty sure that he wasn't there ten seconds ago.

"It's a computer-laptop," Madge supplies, helpfully. Thank you, baby dragon. Madge lowers her head to Rin's ear. "Look, Erin, look! Mister's got a dragon too!"

True enough, there's a gold dragon the size of a bat (weird, does that mean that one's younger than Madge? but the man's like, old) hanging upside-down by the emergency stairs.

He shifts his attention back to the man. He narrows his eyes at him. "You're not-- you're not gonna fucking rob me, are you?" Because that would just be the fucking cherry on this fucking day.

[bladeweaver]

It was all he could do not to laugh at the boy's suspicious remark; it just would not have done. Guy looks harassed enough as it is.

That does not mean, however, that he isn't going to twist his tail a little. Just a little. He pushes himself off from the wall and sticks his hands in his pockets casually, blocking the mouth of the alley.

"Yeah, I am. I'm going to take your laptop there and then pawn it off so I can have lunch today because I swear my last true meal was months ago." That last bit was true. Reconstituted food from MRE packs doesn't count, does it?

He waits a beat or two, then: "I'm just kidding, I'm actually a space captain who flies space ships, who wants to know why you were hacking into Dublin PD."

May 4, 2066

[duralexsedlex]

Clouds of smoke fill this fifteen-by-fifteen-foot glass room-slash-cubicle, and at the center of it all is a man working through his lunch hour. Friedrich Weiss is flipping through court transcripts at a rather superhuman pace, and consuming a cigarette every twenty pages. All of his contemporaries in this Themis department have long since gone down to have some food, but it's pretty much a given that he always forgoes lunch anyway. Inquisitor Profaci has tried, repeatedly, to get him to interact with his coworkers, but other than the cursory, necessary office chatter, he really has no patience for it.

This case, though... this case is a doozy. What does take precedence, a deceased person's will, or that deceased person's word when he comes back up as a geist? It's not such an easy question to answer. There are objective reasons why someone would write a will like they do in articulo mortis, and objective reasons why that intent might change after that person comes back as a geist. The laws struggle to catch up with the realities of a new world, even after all this time, but perhaps such is the nature of institutions: they budge, but a glacial rate, and mostly to their own behest.

Friedrich is the right person for the job, though, or so he thinks. To him, clearly, the will supersedes the geist's word, for one simple reason: a will has legal personality as a public document, whereas a geist, sentient though it may be, is still dead, and shorn of all legal personality. The laws of the World of Light must remain strong. It is one of the only things mere mortals have over supernaturals. Besides, they have their own laws, he thinks. Pleased with himself, he lights up yet another cigarette after a long pull of Jamaican Blue Mountain coffee (nobility has some perks), then fires up the computer to write his case memoranda. With luck, he'd be finished before the lunch hour ends, and so he can head down to the training halls and get some swordplay done. His last engagement... his bladework, he thinks, could have used some more work.

[tagabigay]

Those plans of yours, Senior Operative Friedrich Weiss, will likely have to wait. The few other ops who are still in the area are now scrambling up from their seats, trying not to gawk too obviously at the person who has just walked in.

Wiseman Elias Tagabigay knows every person who has ever applied to the Methuselah as a primary Keeper or as an additional Hunting license by name, together with a pretty solid assessment of who they are, what they specialize in, and who (or what) matters to them. This is not an exaggeration. You will, in fact, be able to see that firsthand with how he stops briefly at each desk, exchanging pleasantries. Real, personalized pleasantries.

It helps that, you know, the Wiseman has brought his younger daughter with him. The girl is sitting comfortably across his chest, courtesy of a baby carrier. She is also incredibly well-behaved for a tiny human being.

Oh, huh.

Is he... getting closer and closer to your cubicle?

Why, yes.

Yes, he is.