9:50am, Central Athens, Hotel Lobby
The team sat quietly in the lobby of their hotel, more specifically, the corner of a near-empty dining area. At this point in the morning, there was almost no one around. In this time of fall, there were hardly any tourists around, and what tourists there were had already gotten their start for the day. This was one of the reasons the team had decided on a late breakfast; that, and the late, sleepless night.
Chauncey Morgans sat poking at his stack of pancakes. It was piled high, and covered with whipped cream, fruits, and a blueberry spread, just as he liked it, and yet he couldn't stomach a bite. As the moments passed, his eyes would drift on the one hand to his devil dog Cheval, lying still at his feet, and Radiya on the other, or, more accurately, at the spot he knew her to be. She sat not far from them, another corner, and yet she couldn't be seen with the naked eye. The techniques of her clan kept her wrapped in shadow, and though you could, indeed, 'see' her, the mystics kept your mind from registering her presence, melding her into the white noise of the wallpaper, another accessory of the space that the brain thought too meaningless to process. He continually found himself wondering where she was, before having to force himself to remember that she was, in fact, no less than fifteen feet away. In fairness, she could certainly up and leave without them being any the wiser. Another frightening gift courtesy of the Old Man of the Mountain.
Across from him were Xander and Filza, he digging into a stack of waffles lathered in syrup and butter, and her nipping at a bowl of grain cereal with no more appetite than Chauncey himself. Normally, this kind of silence would be relieving, nobody needed some loudmouth geezer complaining about the presence of bacon and ham at the breakfast bar, but here, now, the absence of Samman Quayyum was troubling to say the least.
Following the argument the previous night, he, Samman, had declared his full confidence in his 'Lady Alghul' and, upon slapping one of the ruby bands across his wrist, immediately set off to find her, believing he knew her and her company well enough to deduce her location. Xander let him leave, thinking it too much trouble to hold him back, and with the remaining team members' distrust of the ruby bands that were supposedly going to keep them safe from the suggestive mist, they could only call it a night. Chauncey, for his part, had remained awake for the entire night, one of the perks of having a devil familiar, waiting impatiently for the return of the argumentative necromancer, but to no avail. There were, however, other gains.
Though he lacked a view from his window, the booms of source-less thunder he'd heard the night before had been vindicated come the morning, the news showing the severe damage of two major sites within the city. It was no doubt the work of a Servant, almost certainly the 'Berserker' described in Alghul's notes. Whatever brawl had happened through the early morning, it was their first true lead in their shadow war against Aisha's own Caster.
Chauncey lifted his fork to his face, examining it while his thoughts drifted elsewhere. Making up his mind, he casually licked the syrup off the utensil and placed it back on the table.
Taking a sip from his coffee, which was more cream than anything else, he looked back to his teammates, meeting eyes with Filza before turning to the apparently distracted Xander, "So, what's the plan Cap'n?"
He finally looked up from his waffles, "Hm?"
His tired eyes narrowed slightly, "The plan. What's the plan?"
Xander swallowed what was left of the food in his mouth, "Mhm. Yeah. It seems an investigation of the Acropolis and Lykavittos Hill take priority. It's only a question of how we split out resources."
Chauncey leaned forward, maintaining the same skeptical expression, "Well, sure enough, that much is true. Do we split up and look for the old man?"
"The old man? You mean Samman?"
"The very same. You know a lot of old men around here?"
Xander rolled his eyes, though it wasn't clear if it was directed at Chauncey or the absent necromancer, "He's pulled stunts like this before. We're more likely to encounter him again if we go about our business than if we spent the whole day combing the city."
Chauncey turned to Filza, "Samman's done this before?"
"Oh- I wouldn't know, sorry."
He leaned back and cast his voice to the shadowed corner, "You have anything to add?"
Hearing nothing, Xander interjected, "Did something happen, Chauncey?"
"Ah no, no. I just want to be sure I'm not being kept out of the loop on anything."
Xander raised his eyebrow, "Are you keeping us out of the loop on something?"
He laughed under his breath, "I certainly am. You see-" He gestured to the black Labrador at his feet, "I don't need to sleep- or eat for that matter- but even if I did, I can't imagine I'd have an appetite. I think your wife knows what I mean."
Filza lowered her head, pulling at the bags under her eyes as her husband turned his gaze to her with confusion,
"I do," Her voice was nearly a whisper, "I didn't get any sleep last night."
Xander appeared perplexed, "You didn't?"
Chauncey picked up the inquiry, "I'm surprised you did, friend. The... thunder last night was unrelenting." He lowered his voice, "Undoubtedly the work of Berserker."
"What do you-"
"Between one and two-am. Roars like thunder echoing through the city, the falling and crumbling of rock and marble, flashes of light like lightning, but no storm. What's more troubling than the obvious power of- what we believe is- Berserker, is the fact that there are other familiars here that can go toe-to-toe with something of that level." He gestured to the TV in the corner behind him, still displaying images of the rubble across the streets of Athens, "THAT, is what we're dealing with, and I doubt I'm the only one here who's thinking that you are taking this just a tinge too lightly."
Xander appeared to let his words sit for a few moments. There were times when he -Xander, that is- would open his mouth to speak, before closing again to reconsider his words.
Finally, he returned his eyes to Chauncey and spoke sternly, but gently, "Chauncey. Your concerns aren't invalid. I respect your worry; this is no simple situation. But- I would ask you to respect the fact that while this your first mission, it isn't mine." He placed his pointer finger on the table in front of him, "I've dealt with Samman before; I know what he's like. I've dealt with Miss Alghul before; I know what she's like. The scale of this... caught us all off guard, I admit that, but we wouldn't be here if we couldn't handle it. We are not in danger. We're here for investigation and negotiation on behalf of Aisha; we will not be in the line of fire unless we screw up. I'm asking you to trust me, I'm asking you to trust Miss Alghul-" He gestured to Filza, "-and I'm asking you to trust the rest of our team... even Samman. We know what to do next, let's just take it one step at a time."
Chauncey leaned back and considered his leader's words for some time, before reaching gingerly into his shirt and pulling out a small vial. He took the vial and rolled it across the table, "May I suggest this as a next step?"
Xander began to reach out towards the vial before Filza, fueled by her insatiable intellectual curiosity, snatched the vial off the table and examined it with an excitement and energy that had been foreign to the morning so far. Blue energy tickled across her fingers before penetrating the glass and highlighting the contours and its contents as her psychometric mystics worked their magic.
Xander examined the misty vial from afar. It appeared to be empty, except for a layer of white condensation that clung to the inside. He turned back to Chauncey with furrowed brows, "What is that?"
Chauncey shrugged, "Exactly what it looks like: it's a bit of the 'fog' from last night. Cheval got it for me while I was busy not-sleeping." He turned to Filza, "You can study that right? Figure out what it does, where it comes from?"
The blue energy circling around the vial began to fade as she brought the glass away from her face, "It's certainly magical. I can't gather much information, but with some time and my supplies upstairs..."
"You can?"
"Yes." She turned to Xander and nodded, "I can."
Xander shook his head, "We need to investigate the sites, and I don't want to leave you alone. Maybe we could do it later-"
Chauncey interjected, "That's alright, Radiya can stay here with her," He cast his voice behind him, "Isn't that right?"
It was as if Radiya suddenly apparated next to the table; one second absent and there the next. Chauncey yelped in surprise, his sudden movement knocking over his coffee and spilling it across the table and seat.
"Shit! Shit, shit, shit!" He hurriedly grabbed a handful of napkins and starting wiping down the table.
Ignoring the frazzled Frenchman, Radiya turned to Xander, "I believe the fool is right. The fog is our only direct connection to Caster. I can stay and keep your wife safe while you investigate the sites."
Xander pursed his lips, clearly dissatisfied as his mind began to drift. Filza placed her hand on his arm, bringing him back to reality. He examined his wife with close eyes and, seeing her determination, sighed in defeat.
He placed the last bit of his waffles on his fork and forced it down his throat, then standing with sudden force, "Alright. Radiya, keep her safe. Chauncey, you're with me, let's go."
Chauncey was still wiping up the coffee, "Just a second," he hissed.
As Xander walked away, Chauncey met eyes with Filza, and noted the slight worry in her expression. As their eyes met, his flashed with red light as he projected into her mind, 'Any chance you could take a look at those extra bands too?'
She jumped slightly, not expecting the sudden telepathy. Turning to be sure that her husband was still faced away from her, she nodded with a determined expression.
Satisfied, he stuffed the soaked napkins into his empty mug and moved to meet Xander, the collar on his dog jingling as he left.
...
As Radiya disappeared back into the shadows, Filza sat at the table with a vacant expression, her tired mind processing the events that had transpired over that morning.
Filza had a lot of respect for her husband, the sort of respect a woman always has for the man she truly loves. No matter what, he was always the most intelligent and capable person in the room. That didn't mean he was always right, but it meant that he was the one she trusted absolutely to look out for their shared interests, to protect her, himself, and, hopefully, eventually, their future children.
This is all to say that she knew Xander better than anyone, and trusted his methodology. While he often appeared apathetic and even lazy, this couldn't be any more of a farce. He often appeared to be doing nothing because, behind the scenes, his mind was doing enough work for everyone. The reason he often remained silent was because it would be literally impossible to express the multitude of thoughts and calculations that raced through his mind at any given moment, and though he often appeared immune to stress, this was only because he was stressed at all times, and so you could never notice any change in his demeanor. She, and anyone who had spent any significant amount of time with him, knew this, and could clearly see the gears turning behind his perpetually tired eyes. It was her job, no, her duty, as the woman who loved him, and who he himself loved, to provide for him the breaks and respites he so surely deserved, to assure him that his work was not for nothing, and that he had already worked enough. To assure him of his perfect imperfection, and to be sure that he finds value in the work he's done, while not working himself too hard.
Xander was far from perfect: he was depressive, he often fell into logical trappings that made him neglect or ignore the importance of emotion, he was overly critical of himself and of others, he was a worrywart, and, to be perfectly blunt, he could be something of an asshole at times, though never without provocation. And yet, all these flaws could be excused: these flaws were simply the reflection of his virtues, the necessary burden that comes with many good traits that lead her to love and respect him to the degree that she does.
-And that was what worried her.
It was her job to watch over him, to deal with the anxious and depressive tendencies that often floated just under the surface. But today, for the first time since she'd met him, he was, or seemed to be, without stress. He seemed perfectly content. It was her job to remove his stress, and make him content, but this… this was such a contrast that she couldn't help but feel her stomach turn with anxiety all her own. His eyes were awake and alive, but the gears behind them were still and silent. His flaws seemed muted, and so did his virtues; he was all the less himself. Perhaps it was the morning, perhaps it was her own feminine anxiety, the sort of self consciousness that rises on occasion and asks 'Does he love me?' and more to the point, 'Does he need me?'. Except that she wasn't the only one taking note of it: Chauncey, for all his inexperience and narcissism, felt in his heart, as she did hers, that something was the matter.
She looked behind her and out the glass door, at the fading silhouettes of Chauncey and Xander, she hoped in her heart that she was wrong-
She hoped in her heart that it would all be okay.
...