Serpents Tooth Chapter 1: Act 2

After an eventful meeting with an unknown woman and the gun wielding man- one of whom was now dead, the partners had separated to pursue their own desires. Only one person bore the full knowledge of what had transpired... even his companion at the time seemed affected by some amnesia, unable to articulate what had caused the unknown man's death.

Yet the death did not concern one of the men so much as the one who had caused it. The death had not been a conscious act, after all. Would it happen again? Would he and his companion be safe in their wooden offices and apartments, surrounded by tomes that would go up like kindling?

The two had gone their own ways - one likely wishing to research what 'symbol' would be big enough to gain a very valuable prize. The second man had less motivation to wish for the power the artifact promised would yield, if he even had recognized the clues the odd musician had alluded to.

The musician had drifted away from the fiery scene, meeting with other followers of the snake. the men had been wise not to go to his dwelling, for it was far more odd than even these unusual men would welcome. As the men began to converse on if Garter was confident the pair would strike a blow to their enemy, nearby a call was placed.

Alastor couldn't bring himself to speak of it any longer to Alfred. Actually, it was easier to pretend that it hadn't happened. Perhaps he could imagine that the man had just died by accident, in circumstances unknown. It would have been so much easier to pretend, yes, and forget all about it, but that wasn't who Alastor was. It wouldn't have been prudent. It would have, in fact, been a very mortal and understandable way to react, but that was the real catch.

Alastor wasn't mortal. He was never going to understand what it felt like to live an ordinary human life span. He was different.

Unclean.

The word hung on him and he felt as if he were a leper. He had felt the fire taking over him, a boiling, violent rage that he hadn't been able to control. He had blazed white-hot, his skin cracking open, a man of molten fire. He could still feel it, under his skin, squirming as if there were worms trying to burrow into his core.

He needed help, and he couldn't very well turn to the elderly Guardian. He sat in his library. Slowly, he dialled the contact number he had for Milan.

The Lady would need to hear of this. Perhaps he had outlived his usefulness.

"...It is Alastor Grimm." He said quietly, when the phone picked up. "I have something to report."

As Alfred drove back to his shop in the new city, there were two things troubling his mind. First and foremost, as always above anything else that might overwise concern him, was the relic. The man at the car park had asked a very important, potentially dangerous request of him. He wanted to make damned sure that this shady individual was not pulling his leg when he claimed to possess the much-coveted Head of Barnabas. If there was any piece of information out there that counteracted the man's claims then there would be trouble.

Alfred despised those who would double-cross him.

The second thing that was troubling him was the blank in his mind regarding what had occured in the car park with Alastor. He was not prone to moments of senility, and he was damned sure that something else much be going on. One did not just...forget things - not when they were Alfred.

Upon entering his shop, he picked up the phone immediately and dialled the familiar number of his contact in the Aegis Kai Doru. He was determined to get to the bottom of this.

Alastor

After a few moments, a man replied that he needed a few simple questions - where he was, why he had relocated.


Alfred

"Hello." A man with a faint British accent replied. "What seems to be the problem?"

"I am currently in Detroit. I'm afraid I had to relocate after the issue I informed you about. The Aswang." Alastor felt his throat closing up. He could still smell the flames. It sickened him. The screaming- that idiot boy, why he'd run towards the woman when he'd seen what they were capable of, oh, if only he could have seen it coming.

"There were deaths." He said quietly. "Because of me."

Alastor

You hear a pause on the other end, the sound of a chair scraping.

"Deaths." The man stated calmly. Quite detached and unemotional, even to express surprise at the alarming declaration.

"Please describe how you are responsible for the deaths of others. Every detail could be important."

Phone in hand, Alfred stepped toward his bar and poured himself a brandy as his counterpart answered. "It is two things, actually-," Alfred began. He was never the type of person to make "small talk", and frankly had never understood why people engaged in it. Buffoons! The world would be infinitely easier if people got to the blasted point.

"I need to discover the current whereabouts of the Head of Barnabas. If that is not possible, I would require the last known whereabouts," he stated in a polite and unrushed tone of voice.

He paused before ploughing on to the next, and he had a fleeting thought of irritation that he was a little...flummoxed by the next thing. It was making him hesitate. Ugh! "Whilst in a car park with an acquaintance of mine, I found myself...forgettingevents that had just occured in front of me."

Alastor's knuckles whitened on the telephone. He feared for a moment he was going to vomit, and fought the feeling down. He ran his tongue across his lips. They felt like parchment, dry as bone. He breathed in slowly. He needed to calm down. The ones he was speaking to understood what it was like. The stigma. The repulsion.

"You know my... bloodline has a strong relationship with fire," he started quietly, swallowing. "From my first development... languages... the dreams. The Hellfire..." He could taste bile and sulphur at the back of his throat and swallowed again.

"A little while ago, I began to become extremely ah... ill, I suppose you could call it. My temperature accelerated to... ridiculous levels, I was shaking. I started to vomit sulphur... just as it was the first time I began to manifest Hellfire, but so much worse. I attempted to get away from other people, fearing I was about to set something aflame, but.. someone... intercepted me, a man. He drew a gun and I..." Alastor breathed in.

"I changed. My body felt like it was literally boiling. My flesh split apart and became molten. There was no control. I was watching it, suffering it from a distance without being able to command myself. In... in short, I was not human. Not for that time."

Alfred

"You and every one else..." The man replies, some what wearily. "I had an inquiry just the other day, actually, so I have the notes right here. Seems they think they have an idea where it could be."

A pause...
"It was last seen in 1930 in Boston. Apparently there was a conflict with some sub humans... some sort of order of the snake. The location has not been verified since then. I am hearing rumors its in Detroit, however..."
"Memory loss could be attributed to a good many things. The farthest we want to consider is our own fallibility, hm?" A dry laugh.
"The most recent was about some cabal of vampires we came across, acting quite addled. Claimed some one posing as one of their human cohorts had mined their memories, plucking some vital clues. Yet that was in Prague...

Any changes in the area or unusual 'posers' who could have gotten close to you?"

Alastor

"Inhuman as it may have felt. this is not the first time this has occurred." The voice states slowly. "It has a terrible affect on one's psyche, I am afraid. I can hear that it is affecting you. Its nothing to be alarmed about. It may come on quickly, with little warning, as you discovered.

Yet there are others... very few... bestowed with this ability to withstand the assaults from Hells denizens.

More than once its consequences have lost one of the line and awoken another. Yet the occurrence itself shields you, as the flames would have sheltered you from harm. The bullets from the gun would not have the desired affect, I'd wager.

Was there any one else with you at the time?"

Alastor didn't feel remotely soothed by this. Certainly it was something to be 'alarmed' about. He hadn't been in control of his body. Just because others experienced this didn't mean it was going to be easy. He'd killed a man, for God's sake! Killed him! He could feel his palms sweating, and his knuckles whitened as they gripped the plastic case of the phone.

"You don't understand," he said quietly. "There was something else inside me. I've heard rumours..." He hesitated, half-wishing he couldn't voice them. "You know I'm... It was my father that started my bloodline, I'm a first generation. I'm aware there are rumours that that makes us more... likely to fall." He put words around it, trying to make it feel like it was someone else, something less than him fighting Hell itself trying to claw through his skin.

Alfred did not comment on the joke - he was not going senile and there was absolutely nothing wrong with his memory under normal circumstances. The joke smarted, and he gritted his teeth. As his contact continued however, Alfred found himself nodding in the comfort of his home.

"Hm. Snake, you say?" Interesting. The man was telling some truth then. "Although certainly, I have not been near any vampires, nor their... pawns, of late." Alastor was certainly hiding something, then. The two of them would be having a very serious conversation very soon.

Alastor

"I hear your concerns." Something about that statement smarted.. this person couldn't have gone through the same thing could they? By his own admission, this 'occurrence' was rare. What were the odds he'd ring someone with the exact same lineage and the exact same circumstances?

The man was continuing.
"There is no certainty to your path. I won't deny that this transformation is difficult, frighting and absolutely beyond your control. You obviously suffered a loss today.

Yet by your own admission, the death happened to a man who threatened you with a gun. Surely such a man of mundane means had a destiny of smaller importance than your own. Failure may seem to be looming like a chasm laid directly in your path. - but know this; you have a purpose.
Before now your name had come up in a future task, a task of some merit. Your concerns are only assuring me that you have the experience required."

Alfred

"Yes, snakes. By this account, rather bothersome sort of snakes. Humaniod enough in both day and night. They have the uncanny ability to be impossible to corner, in this account."

The man pauses. "Did I hear that you have more information on these people? I'm literally reading a section the size of a postage note. "

"You are counting a man's life as if it were a trifle that irritated you!" Alastor snarled, his voice raising in uncharacteristic temper. Usually, he remained aloof, distant. Usually, someone wasn't telling him that murder meant nothing. Whatever importance he had, prophetic or otherwise- and that thought chilled him alone- it didn't compare to the enormity of killing someone. Especially when it had been through actions he couldn't control or foresee. He took a breath, his hands still shaking.

"What is this task you require of me? And from where does this command come?" Surely it couldn't be from the Lady herself. That very thought was ridiculous.

Alfred paused in order to take another sip of his brandy, and his savoured the burn as the liquid slipped down his throat. He fancied that he deserved a treat, after the last few weeks he had had.

"Indeed. I was approached by a gentleman who claimed he possessed the Head of Barnabas. As you might imagine, it was really quite intriguing."

Alastor

"No, the man was less than a trifle. He was a stranger. Something you'd do well to remember...." There was a pause.

You hear the phone held away as a voice spoke, a woman's voice.

After a moment, the man was back on the line. His demeanor is different - the apathy is gone when he speaks. Now he seems... smug. As though he knows something you don't.
"You're not in a place to make demands. It seems you are too affected to be thinking clearly. Cool your heels for a few days... stay out of stressful situations... we'll be in contact."

The call ends/

Alfred
"Its quite possible - especially if you already knew about the inhuman aspects. Although the Head turning up is curious.. quite a stroke of luck for you."

Alastor slammed the telephone back into the cradle, running a hand through his hair. Avoid stressful situations. Less than a trifle. The words swum through his head until he wanted to reach through the line, find the speaker and claw his throat open to remind him that no one was less than a trifle. No life was worth so little. He stalked around the paper lined walls of the library he'd gathered, his fingers running over the backs of the books.

He'd never felt so alone. Of all people, the other Children of the Seventh had been at least sympathetic in the past. When he'd met the Lady the first time, he'd been pleased that there was an organisation for people like him, people who couldn't help the accident of their birth but who had chosen to take the side of right against Hell.

Murder was still murder. He had blood on his hands that wouldn't come clean, whether or not it was an accident, or design. He just knew that at that moment, he had meant, with all that sickening power, to murder.

There was no one he could speak to.

He sat back in the chair in his office and ran a hand through his hair. It stuck up in sharp, sweat-held points as his shoulders shook with a cry that he couldn't let himself expel.

Alfred allowed a small, slow smile to surface as his counterpart spoke of luck. Luck! Good fortune! It followed him around, clearly. "Indeed it is. I will of course keep everyone updated," he stated. He just had to consider what it was he needed to destroy - this strange man carrying the coveted relic appeared to be on the level, and so he would also need to maintain his end of the bargain.

Seryna: The two men had separated after thier eventful afternoon to reach out to thier separate contacts. As they end thier calls; the day is thiers..
Jack Robinson: Alastor supposed there was no point not contacting Alfred, if only because sitting alone in his office for the rest of the night, shaking, would look a mite suspicious. He licked his dry lips and picked up the telephone, dialling the old Guardian's curio shop.
Jack Robinson: Alfred had been cataloguing the items that he had assembled over the course of the years, and was locating a place for the Head of Barnabas - which he would get, of course. Alfred would make sure of it. Hearing the telephone, he let out an irritated sigh before moving into the hall to pick it up.
Jack Robinson: "To whom am I speaking?"
Jack Robinson: "Just me, old man," Alastor said, his voice stiff. "I was wondering if you'd given more thought to Garter's suggestion."
Jack Robinson: "Of course I have," Alfred responded calmly. He would be utterly disgusted with himself if he hadn't given it more thought. "It appears he may be telling the truth as well."
Jack Robinson: "Telling the- You're actually considering that you should desecrate something with a bird on it?" Alastor's voice was mildly stunned. Apparently, he'd underestimated just how insane Alfred could be. "Are you raving?"
Jack Robinson: "No more so than you might usually assume," Alfred remarked in a dry tone.
Jack Robinson: "That would be a yes, then." Alastor said, a note of disgust in his voice. "And just how precisely do you intend to do this?"
Jack Robinson: Alfred paused, but didn't appear to be unduly concerned. "I would imagine something with a judiciary seal would suffice."
Jack Robinson: "...You want to destroy the seal set into a courthouse. Well, Hellfire, Alfred, why don't we just blow up CIA headquarters?"
Seryna: [lmao]
Jack Robinson: "Perhaps that might be Plan B," Alfred answered, after what sounded like careful consideration.
Jack Robinson: "...That was a joke. Innocent people could be killed, Franklin!" Alastor rubbed his temples. He had an uncomfortable feeling he was doomed to be involved, lest Alfred kill more people.
Jack Robinson: "Well obviously. Were I to go to those lengths, the building would be empty at the time." Probably.
Jack Robinson: "Oh, good. So it's just mass property damage. Alright, Alfred. How exactly do you plan to destroy a courthouse without anyone noticing?"
Jack Robinson: "I am in possession of a relic that will allow us to enter, with none to notice us," Alfred replied, with just a hint of smugness apparent.
Jack Robinson: "Are you also in possession of a bomb?" Alastor snapped, his voice peevish.
Jack Robinson: Alfred smiled to himself. "A bomb is not needed, Alastor. All that is required is a little gas leak and a pyromaniac."
Jack Robinson: "A pyro-Are you talking about me? I am not a pyromaniac!"
Seryna: [lmao..a case could be made..]
Jack Robinson: "Regardless of what you are, my dear boy. You can be of great use."
Jack Robinson: "Oh, lovely." Alastor said drily. "And when do you intend me to transmute myself into a living explosive?" He felt filthy. Damn Alfred and his lust for violence!
Jack Robinson: "Is your schedule free tonight?" Alfred questioned seriously.
Jack Robinson: "Let me check... well, look at this. I didn't have 'become a wanted criminal' down, but I suppose I could move a few things!" Alastor snapped.
Jack Robinson: Alfred paused, and 'hmmed' down the phone before actually responding. "Flexibility is always recommended."
Jack Robinson: "You have no sense of humour, you insane old man." Alastor growled, and he jerked as he felt sparks crackle across his teeth. "Fine. Where do you want to meet up? I might as well get this over with."
Jack Robinson: "The most sensible would be my shop," Alfred pointed out simply. "I shall of course, be waiting."
Jack Robinson: "Of course you will. Shall I perform the secret handshake, or will you take it on trust that I haven't betray you, Corleone?"
Jack Robinson: "I will trust you this time, but perhaps a handskae can be created for later," he replied archly.
Jack Robinson: "Charming. I will see you at six."
Jack Robinson: "Wonderful. We can have a little... dialogue while we wait for darkness." Alfred smiled.
Jack Robinson: Alastor hung up and muttered "...Bastard." to himself.



Alfred smiled smoothly to himself as he hung up. "Ahh, he can be charming when he wants to be."
Seryna: [lol]
Jack Robinson: Alastor drove in his non-descript car to Alfred's Curio shop at six on the dot, and privately cursed the old man as he got out. He always made the Lucifuge feel so young and inexperienced, and it got underneath Alastor's skin. Agelessness wasn't pleasant- nor something he could ever really explain to Alfred. He rapped sharply on the closed door.
Jack Robinson: Alfred came to the door a couple of minutes later, dressed impeccably and in the fashion of one attending a dinner function, not an explosion. "Do come in. Would you like refreshments?" he asked as he stepped aside.
Jack Robinson: Alastor shook his head at Alfred mutely and walked inside. His gaze flickered across the strange objects inside. He blew out a low breath through his teeth. "Not particularly." Because he suspected it might be drugged.
Jack Robinson: Alfred gave Alastor a little shrug. "As you wish. It really is quite refreshing." He picked up a small glass of brandy and walked, leaning heavily on his cane towards his chair.
Jack Robinson: "Yes, I'm sure it is. So, how exactly are we going to do this?" Alastor said coolly, leaning against a table with a strange clay statuette on it. He breathed out through his teeth. "Shall we just walk up there?" He half-sneered.
Jack Robinson: "I would imagine waiting until everyone has left the building would be a good idea, and then moving underneath the cover of darkness." Alfred sipped from the glass. "You are quite light on your feet, as I recall."

Alastor half-shrugged. "So that's your dramatic plan? Sneak in the janitor's entrance and blow up the building using my... ah... quirk?"
Jack Robinson: "Would you prefer it become more extravagant?" Alfred questioned, as he reclined in his seat.
Jack Robinson: "No, I would prefer not to be involved," Alastor said drily. "There's really nothing in this for me, Guardian."
Jack Robinson: "Oh, I don't know about that, Professor Grimm. I could perhaps, in my old age, let it slip to the other Guardians that there is an extremely prominent and powerful witch in the area. One whom, it seems, possesses the power to rewrite memories." Alfred said pleasantly. "I suspect even your unique nature would not save you."
Jack Robinson: Alastor's jaw twitched, and his face paled. For a moment, he felt the thing that was just beneath the surface clawing at him, begging, needing to be let out. It squirmed inside his guts and he thought he might vomit. Or worse. "After all we've been through?" He said sharply, trying to mask his sickness.
Jack Robinson: "Well, I do not wish you to come to harm, my dear boy. I think we have been quite... effective as partners. I've even grown a little fond of you. However, after my recent... memory loss, I am, shall we say, concerned that you might not be on the same page as I am. This would be a very pleasant and moving way to show it, yes?" Alfred smiled again.
Jack Robinson: Alastor jerked back as though he'd been slapped, and he spat the words as though he dearly wished he was vomiting balefire from his ravaged, half-demon body. "As you wish, old man." He said through his teeth.
Jack Robinson: Alfred smiled politely. "Excellent! Then we need only await the darkness."
Jack Robinson: "Yes," Alastor said grimly. "I suppose we do." He lapsed into silence, watching the clock and looking over the curios. Some of them chilled him. He could hardly believe anyone would want to buy these things.
Jack Robinson: Alfred refilled his brandy glass and amused himself by watching Alastor's discomfort. If only the boy weren't a witch. He might have made a fine Guardian with the right guiding hands.

A quick search on courthouses in their new city revealed that Detroit had four; not including the district headquarters. Port Huron proved to be the oldest building - the parking lot hooked up to a side street on Water Street that was a short hop to the main street. The Flint courthouse was in the downtown area - more high profile; more foot traffic at all hours of the night most likely.

The others were speckled through out the city in decades past, now modern buildings had grown up around them night weeds. It was probable these buildings had surveillance.

Yet perhaps they could find a way around that in person.

Which courthouse made the best target?

Alfred examined the notes on the different courthouse and tapped the paragraph noting Port Huron with one finger. "This, I believe, would be our best target. The route in and out is somewhat clearer." He caressed the relic in his pocket, thankful for it's ability to bypass tamper detection. "Of course, the cameras may cause some issue. I suspect we will have to find a way around them once we are there." He smiled. "Shall we go?"

Alastor felt a sickening lurch in his gut. The thought of getting caught on camera and having his face plastered all over the evening news was not a particularly appealing one to him. Neither was the idea of burning down another house. The faces of the Aswang flickered through his mind, and his hand subconsciously rubbed at the needle thin talon scars on his shoulders.

"I suppose so," he said reluctantly, his eyes flickering to the outside. "Should I get a balaclava, or are we going to be traditional and wear domino masks and stripes?"