Alistair
Please, please help me.
Alistair paid little mind to the disembodied voice, hovering just above his left ear where a chilly cold swept over his neck to send chills to his very core. A spectral being made of mist barely clinging to a conscious form. He waved away the being with a huff, heedless to its indigent woes. Seemingly peeved by his actions the spectre releases its grip, drifting about the room without whim or care. Snuffing out traditional wall sconces at it passes by. A ghost having a temper tantrum. There isn't much Alistair can do anyway, he doesn't have the abilities to help.
"Stop antagonizing the civvies," Says Tima, leveling him with a glare that - if he were anyone else - would seem utterly filled with hatred. He shrugs, noting the ache just between his shoulders where echoes of past life pains have begun to flare up. It seems he needs a little bit of a touch up on corpse care, after all he doesn't want to fall to literal pieces anytime soon. "If they would just leave me alone I wouldn't have to, besides, a disembodied soul is not a Civvie, it's merely an echo." He spits, pacing slowly alongside his assassin companion to the front doors of the only safe public library in the city; there were several libraries, and most were infested with danger to the point that even stepping foot inside could mean signing your death warrant. Stacks of old books bundled in their arms, manuscripts and scrolls just ready to tumble over the sides and top where they perch. He tucks his chin over the stack to stop the impending fall.
"Bourne is going to have our heads, all because you had to find some stupid book." She snaps a few moments later intent on berating Alistair as much as she possibly can today, as they come within eyesight of the Council Headquarters. A crossbreed between archaic mansion and modern courthouse. Meshing in all the wrong places to create a hideous monstrosity of a building, sharp edged and just as dangerous as the people who reside in its walls. "What's in these dumb things anyway, don't we have a library?" She asks, her own stack less substantial than his own - she refused to carry any of the tomes he had picked out; he'd have those sent to his office at a later date.
"Ah, ah." Alistair grins, though for lack of joy, "That's none of your business now is it?" He twirls, flashy with every jerky movement. Limbs becoming stiff from the constant weight on his arms. "Besides, there's no fun in telling you and our library doesn't have the specific materials I need." Tima wouldn't appreciate the books for what they are.
"Hmph." Tima doesn't pout visibly, but he can see that she's marginally more frowny faced than usual. He rolls his eyes, and turns back to face the burly red front doors. The color reminding him of blood where the sun didn't cast glowing rays of orange onto the wood. The first room directly through the double doors is a spacious, almost eerily quiet lobby. The receptionist asleep at the desk snoring softly, there's nobody in the lobbies. Simply empty chairs and several withered plants, starved of light.
Alistair strolls past the receptionist to a door directly behind the front desk. Getting eye level with a scanner, going through the motions of bodily detection and identification. Waiting for the telltale beep before opening the door into a long hallway. One of the more modern portions of the building, lit brightly and made more out of steel and metal than wood and magic. He strolled slowly to the very end, where the elevator awaited them patiently.
"You'll be late," Tima scoffs, stepping into the dim elevator beside him. Using her free hand to press the button for the top floor. "Nonsense, unless you plan on making me late." Alistair quips, clearly teasing her without the implied humor. "Right, and then I'd be the dead one." She huffs, the both of them staring at the display showing them each floor. finally stopping at the top the two proceed to drop off the stacks and part ways. Tima to - well, wherever it is she runs off too and Alistair to the knights table.
Picking up his mask on the way, the material forming around his face in a grotesque mockery of him. He's always hated these damned things but Bourne is a stickler for tradition and even Alistair knows which battles to fight. He luckily makes it in record time, sliding in between a few fellow members at the corner of the table. Waiting patiently for the rest to file in for the meeting to start. Its the usual nonsense to start with, reports, statistics, strategies - until at one point Bourne wanders away to retrieve a book from the adjoining room and returns redfaced and Alistair knows they are all about to get backhanded into sunday.
And he's right, which is a pain in and of itself so he tries his best to stifle any caustic remarks until the Council meeting is adjourned and he can leave to complain with his colleagues. "Prescott!" But...well, things apparently don't work out that well for him. One of the council is nearing him now, their face pulled into a strangely gleeful expression. "Sorry to bother but I was wondering if you could take these to the Tech department?" Alistair's mask must reflect some sort of contempt, the other member draws back a bit, uncertain in expression now.
"Do I look like an intern?" He asks, grumbling a bit as he snatches whatever object it is the other members holding in their hands. "No, no, sorry its just you've got clearance to the offices down there and I don't..." The member trails off, Alistair sighs and looks down at the object. A weird black box, about the size of his palm with metal rods sticking out of the ends. There's no buttons or knobs, nothing but smooth black surfaces. "Whats in it for - " He trails off just as he looks up, faced with a completely empty room. Something akin to nervousness itches in his mind. But curiosity outweighs the rest, he'll just take it down and see what they say about it.
A few minutes later and he's standing at the doorway of the tech departments own little slice of heaven. Hands a bit clammy around the little black box. Feeling ill all of a sudden yet not knowing a damned reason why. Something about the box maybe? Its hard to tell, like some sort of energy is radiating outwards. "ugh..." He pushes open the doors, immediately setting off what sounds like a dozen wailing sirens. He drops the box, watching it shatter on impact with the ground. Its pieces scattering like dust in the wind.
Morgan
Morgan examined the room with wonder, as if he had not been there a dozen times before. Sitting in this very uncomfortable wicker chair, bombarded by clouds of smoke from every puff that Bud takes from the large silver hookah on the table. Its an atmospheric kind of place, half glass, half wooden walls. Larger on the inside due to some sort of magic manipulation. Decorated in a fashion that seems almost too trendy for a head shop owned by an old man. "Sorry man, you want some?" Bud asks, eyes rimmed red as smoke curls outward from parted lips. He's squinting, the cloud of smoke burning his eyes a bit.
Declining with a goofy grin Morgan instead leans back, taking note of the shoppers carefully perusing the shelves and tables lined with various items of ambiguous legalities. There's also Gunner, eyes flicking between an overhead TV and Morgan, every once in a while attention straying to a customer. "We have other matters to discuss," Morgan answers, as casually as possible. Maintaining the easy camaraderie between them has been a bit tricky. Being ex-council doesn't get you much merit around these parts but Buds been surprisingly okay with Morgan butting his head into places it doesn't belong every once in a while.
"Ah, bout the broadcasts then...or is it troubles with the council?" Buds eyes clear up a little bit, seemingly sobered in an instant but Morgan knows him better than to think he's been anything but sober this entire time. Hide behind a cloud of smoke and you can do just about anything without anyone being suspicious. "Thankfully no," Morgan answers to the latter, "But yes to the broadcasts, I've caught wind of something." He leans forward, elbows to knees, quieter than before as he continues on. "The Councils riled up apparantly, shaking as many people down as they can manage. Whatever this is its got Bourne scared."
Bud scoffs, "Nothing scares Bourne." but there is a knowingness there, an unspoken thought between them. If something could manage to scare someone so cold hearted there's no telling how dangerous it could be. "We've got all available resources checking it out, but I'm afraid we just don't know anything." Bud speaks, before Morgan can even continue. Morgan nods, pursing his lips a bit. An unusual frown tugging at his lips. There is no doubt in his mind that the Six are going to protect to citizens but Morgan just wishes after all these years that Bud would trust him with a little bit more than just curt answers.
"Alright," Morgan nods, leaning back once more. Still not happy but willing to let it go for now, "You'll let me know if anything comes up?" He asks, knowing that he doesn't really have the right to ask in the first place. He isn't part of their group, he's just a concerned vigilante to them whose got too much heart and too little brains it seems. Bud nods, uncommitted to answering. Their conversation is over it seems. Morgan had told Haven earlier to meet him after his meeting with Bud, so they can head down to the Den and maybe shake down some more info.
Morgan exits the shop, noticing first how dark it is and secondly how the world has become more sluggish around him. A weight has settled in his gut, thick and foggy. "Damn," He looks at his hand, feeling drunk as his eyes refuse to focus, duplicating his hand over and over again. He wonders if he got contact high, but wouldn't really know the feeling. But this has to be different, it feels too heedy, too thick like something pulling him down. As if gravity has increased exponentially. He only dully notices the blackout before his eyes are rolling up, body going limp, and beginning to fall quickly.