| From: | mneideng@****.caltech.edu (Mark L. Neidengard) |
|---|---|
| Subject: | Masquerade: First Contact |
| Date: | Thu, 8 Aug 1996 22:58:40 -0700 (PDT) |
>>>>>[And so...the bait has been accepted and the hunt is on.
+++++include Sybarite_meeting
>>The inclusion is a hi-resolution, wide-angle trid of what appears to be
a comfortably appointed if not extravagant meeting room. The odd angle of
the view supports the assumption that it is a security camera, or at
least well hidden. Another odd feature of the room is that it lacks any
windows. An ancient oval wooden table is the featured centerpiece of the
room, at which are seated two people. With the camera above and behind
his chair there is a male elf with white-blond hair. A business suit just
old enough to begin to be called "classic" that seems to fit him like a
military uniform and the slight weathering of his face when he turns to
look about the room betray an age more advanced than his features might
suggest. The room's other occupant is more of a mystery, furled in what
appears to be a stylishly elegant poncho and walking boots, eliminating
nearly any clues to race or gender. The fur-lined hood partially obscures
a face that is further removed from view by a delicately-featured, opaque
white mask.
"At least our Mr. Chang has some taste in furniture." the man comments
with a smirk, running his hand across the mahogany surface of the table.
"Oh come, my _dear_, smile for the camera...." The attempt at humor is
futile; as he mockingly glances over his shoulder towards the camera, the
other remains silent, shifting somewhat uneasily in the chair. "At least
be pleasant to our guest. We went to a great deal of expense and trouble
to...'persuade' Mr. Chang into arranging this meeting. I'd really hate to
have wasted it." Absently, he smoothes his lapel before a mild tone
causes both he and the cloaked figure to straighten in their chairs.
Without further preamble the door opens and a human male, maybe 5'10" or
so to judge by his hight relative to the door, steps slowly into the room
and stops a couple paces behind one of the chairs, regarding the pair
seated at the table. He is draped in a neutral gray greatcoat and fedora,
barely concealing shoulder length brown hair drawn into a ponytail and
tucked in at the collar. His face bears a pleasant, neutral expression,
which stops short of his eyes, which appear fixed on the other people.
"Welcome, Mr.....?" says the elf.
"I prefer to be known as the 'Sybarite'. And to whom do I owe the
pleasure?" he states, his voice a lilting middle tenor.
"I would have assumed your 'associates' would have given you at least that
information by now...but you may call me Argent if we are all to be
cryptic at this convocation," the the elf says matter-of-factly, leaning
back into his chair a ways. "And this is an associate of mine," he
demonstrates, one hand falling in the direction of the seated figure.
"Indeed," the Sybarite replies smoothly. "The picture I have seen of you
does not begin to do you justice. I would have assumed you to be the
person whose name I was given, but we seem to be working in a business
where appearances can be...deceiving. Also," he pauses meaningfully,
"there are two of you."
"Mr. Chang? Privacy please from now until my employ leaves." Chang bows
gracefully out the door, sealing it behind him with a barely audible
whisp. The Sybarite moves to take a seat, keeping his gaze centered on
the other two.
"Has your associate a name that you wish to edify me by?"
The robed figure turns to Sybarite, its mask becoming readily apparent,
but before it can speak, Argent interjects. "My associate goes by the
name of Seren. And while I have heard that the renowned Sybarite works
alone, perhaps after I have finished describing the situation, you will
agree that my associates assistance could prove useful.... That is,
if I can be given some assurance that you are who you say you are. For
example, so little is known about the 'Sybarite' that someone tried to
dissuade me from hiring you, claiming that the 'Sybarite' is not one, but
a small legion."
The faintest suggestion of a smile plays across the Sybarite's lips. "I
am flattered that my work has attracted such suppositions.... However, I
am but a single person. As for proof of my abilities..." he pauses for a
moment, "would the following suffice?" Here the Sybarite reaches a hand up
for his hat, bowing his head in the process and obscuring the camera's
view. The skin visible on the back of his hand undergoes a "shimmer",
subtly changing hue and stretching over fingers grown slightly longer and
thinner. The Sybarite slowly raises his head to regard Argent, removing
the hat in the process. Revealed beneath is not the face of the human who
entered the room, but the face of a youthful elf, framed by elongated ears
and sandy, mottled blond hair. The features are a close approximation to
Argent's own, though slightly softer and less weathered. The Sybarite
looks straight at Argent and pauses, hat in hand resting on the table.
A breath escapes the robed figure's lips as it leans forward to study the
new face of the Sybarite more closely, the name "Addie...?" slipping from
beneath the mask carried on a soft, lyrical voice. "Impressive...most
impressive, Mr. Sybarite," says Argent, smiling a slightly tense smile as
he claps his fingers to his palm as one would do at the opera. "You are
everything _they_ have said you are, if a bit more resourceful." A credit
to you and your associates, but do tell me, am I also supposed to be
frightened of a man wearing the face of my son?"
The Sybarite leans back in his chair, a noncommittal shrug briefly
contorting the shoulders under the great coat. "I doubt there should be
any reason for concern," he says mildly. "If, as I am informed, you have
an enemy and a certain amount of capital, I suspect that enemy has much
more to worry about, if less advance warning."
Argent pulls a briefcase from under the table and sets it on top, pressing
his thumbs into the lock mechanism. There is a slight pause as the latch
clicks open. He pulls three sturdy manila envelopes from the
case and opens the first one. "This man is to be your target. His name
is Louis Robertson, a purveyor in, shall we say, 'exotic entertainments',
both here in Seattle, as well as across the _border_. He has become a
rather serious nuisance, partly because of the volume and type of
'entertainments' he trades in, and mostly because he has gotten several
influential persons on both sides of the border 'desirous' of his wares
and willing to help him continue pervading his filth. This packet
contains what images of him and his close associates that could be found
by my staff." He slides the packet across the well oiled mahogany with
Robertson's image atop the envelope. The Sybarite nods wordlessly.
"Unfortunately, as people in his business are wont to do, he rarely 'comes
up for air', which is why we would like your assistance in eliminating
this problem." He checks the front of the second envelope, and nodding,
continues. "Within this envelope are what information on chip and
hardcopy that my staff has been able to amass on his whereabouts and
habits, although I am sure you have those you can contact with greater
resources in this matter. At least this will be a helpful starting point.
Are you up to this sort of challenge?" Argent asks as he sends the second
envelope across the table.
The Sybarite pauses momentarily. "I assume this person has no
extraordinary security precautions, aside from the normal magical
security, automatic weapons, and ID checks? No fortress of solitude, or
hordes of cybered chihuauas patrolling the doorstep?" This line is
delivered deadpan, and only after a span of seconds does Argent chuckle
briefly.
"Louie's security is notably tight for someone of his resources,
especially from what we have gathered of his 'Sanctum sanctorum', but I
believe I can as sure you that there will be no cybered chihuauas to
viciously tear at one's ankle. To be sure, every security, like any
armor, must have a chink somewhere."
"Not to be concerned. Your description seems roughly analogous to at
least a few of problems I have had some part in solving in the past, and,
as you say, I have those I can turn to for assistance should some sort of
difficulty present itself. And, as you have ascertained, I specialize in
gaining entry into places normally off-limits to the casual pedestrian.
Have you any preference for how the target's death should appear to the
public at large, or is 'dead', as they say, 'dead'?"
"Dead is acceptable, but I would be willing to add a bonus to your fee, of
which, this," he says rotating the third envelope in his fingers, "is but
the commission, if he were to die in some form of public situation, so
that we will not have the problem of a kagemusha ruling in a corpse's
stead."
"A prudent precaution, to be certain," the Sybarite states, receiving the
third envelope. The Sybarite shifts his hand from its resting place near
his hat to part the crease of the envelope, glance lingering long enough
to ascertain what is inside.
Argent continues: "Consider this to be four percent percent now, half if
you accept, and the other half upon confirmation of the target's
elimination, then an additional ten percent if he dies with corroborating
witnesses," Argent says, pleased with himself that the amount should be
more than sufficient.
The Sybarite smiles slightly. "I believe that should be sufficient to
solve the problem at hand."
"And as a further bonus, I grant you the services of my Seren." He stands
and beckons, Seren standing and approaching him. The figure seems a few
inches shorter than his approximately six foot frame. As she turned
towards him, he lowers the Seren's hood, revealing long waves of sable
hair, sparked by red highlights. Elven ears protrude beyond the locks of
hair. Argent reaches up and lifts off Seren's mask, revealing the soft,
sensual features of a female elf. He then reaches toward a clasp on the
cloak, opening it and allowing the cloak to fall open. The sensuous
curves of the female body beneath are covered in little enough red lace to
leave very little to one's imagination.
"You see, Mr. Sybarite, our now mutual enemy has a penchant for releasing
his tensions in the oldest way imaginable, but is known for attempting to
do so in new and more adventurous ways each time." He continues, taking
Seren by the hand as if he was guiding a princess: "Seren has some
_unique_ talents, which may be useful in this regard, as they might in
several other venues...." He leads her around the table until she is in
front of the Sybarite's chair, her blazing red eyes studying him for a
moment. "If you wouldn't mind a demonstration of her own, um...with all
due respect and propriety."
"Be my guest," the Sybarite says, his undivided attention on the duo.
She leans forward slightly to trace a finger slowly across the Sybarite's
brow, saying "This won't hurt a bit" in a sultry whisper. Her body begins
rippling up from her feet to her head, and over the span of no more that a
couple heartbeats, her appearance changes completely. Her scanty attire
shifts and lengthens, forming itself into long black slacks and a matching
jacket, a deep purple button-down blouse taking shape beneath. Her ears
elongate further, dipping slightly to be more nearly horizontal, and the
hair around them loses its red accents, assuming instead the luster of
polished obsidian. Her skin pales to a creamy grey, accenting eyes whose
elongated irises are pure cobalt blue. Her torso narrows, with lightly
toned legs and buttocks and a moderate bust beneath the blouse. The
transformation complete, Seren regards the Sybarite with an expectant look
on her thin, winsome face.
The Sybarite's eyes widen fractionally at the metamorphosis, his previous
neutral look frozen briefly on his features. He stops in the middle of
inhaling breath, body perfectly still while his eyes pan smoothly from
head to toe. After the span of a few heartbeats, his face resumes motion,
rejoining eye-contact with Argent. "I suppose it is my turn to
congratulate you on your associates. Impressive, in turn."
Argent takes a the pause as a moment to interject, his calm seeming
slightly forced. "So...you approve. That is well. Seren is yours to
assist in _any_ way _you see fit_...." This draws a slightly worried
glance from Seren, but she quickly regains her composure. "I will leave
you to discuss what you will. Good luck Mr. Sybarite, and good hunting,"
Argent nods as he finishes, permitting a slight bow of his head, and then
opens the door and exits, closing it behind him. Seren moves to place the
table at her back, relaxing her posture.
The Sybarite regards her a moment further before speaking, his voice
showing the first perceptible signs of emotion thusfar. "I repeat, in all
sincerity...quite an...impressive display." He pauses a moment, almost as
if confused. "I believe I am correct in the assumption that this was
no... _technological_ artistry on your part?"
She flicks her chin as would a filly, causing her obsidian mane to fall
more appealingly around her shoulders. Eyes steadily on him throughout
the move, she admits, "Is my magic that clear to see? No I suppose you
can't get a hologram like this...." she says pushing off of the table to
sit on the arm of the Sybarite's chair. Her fingers lay on the edge of
his arm gently. "Do you approve, or do you have a problem with magic?"
she says with a remarkable amount of honesty. "I could always manage my
'feints' outside of your view."
The Sybarite's eyes narrow perceptibly for a moment, elven brow furrowing
delicately. "That was not precisely my question...however 'rhetorical' it
may have sounded. I can be fairly certain that no hologram would _smell_
the way you do. No piece of bioware or cyberware could either..." He
pauses, taking another momentary breath before continuing. "I am in
something of a position to know. But, no ordinary magical effect would
produce that effect either, to say nothing of how..." his frown turns into
a look of perplexity "...appropriate your appearance is... What, if I may
ask, _are_ you, and what did you do to me?"
"Hmmmm..." the sound purrs in her throat for a second. She shifts her
head, a few strands of hair falling in front of her face. "As to what I
am..." she looks up with a lock of hair covering her right eye, "I'm
whatever you want me to be. All I did was try to give you that...nothing
more."
The Sybarite considers this for a moment, looking into her eyes. "A rare
power, to be sure...and an entirely congenial one, as well. I can see why
your 'master' thought you could be of assistance. I...take it there are
not many with your gift about in the world?"
She looks away, around the room, at the surface of the table, at the
mention of the word "master." "I don't know of anyone with the talents I
have, if that's what you are asking."
"In essence, yes....please forgive me a bit of...curiosity. You have
managed to get my full attention, which, " the Sybarite smiles slightly,
"I suppose, is part of the _point_. A rather different gift than mine,
though with some of the same outward signs..." Here the Sybarite puts the
fingers of his other hand on hers, tracing over the back of her hand and
part way up her forearm. "And not merely illusory...again, I am sincerely
impressed." A momentary cloud crosses his eyes. "To put business
uppermost...at least at _present_," (this underscored with no simple
emphasis) "have you ever participated in...this any sort of 'field work'
before?"
She slowly draws in a breath. "I have been trained in defending myself,
as well as operated in a number of...eliminations," she replies, her mouth
not quite taking well to the last word.
"Have you, personally, taken life?" the Sybarite inquires quietly.
She looks at him, her the warmth in her blue eyes somewhat faded. "I have
killed. Perhaps I could demonstrate another talent, just in case it comes
upon me without being fully in control."
"Please do," the Sybarite says. "If we are to be close companions, I
think it wouldn't hurt to come to at least a preliminary understanding..."
"I will not continue, but only brush the surface."
"I beg your pardon?" A look of slight puzzlement appears on the
Sybarite's face, remaining for the span of a few seconds, suddenly to be
replaced by a look of profound shock. The Sybarite's eyes, wide open,
dart to Seren's face. "Empathy," the Sybarite states, surprise and
admiration vying in his expression.
"I am sorry if this alarmed you. My ability to share is not nearly as
strong as my ability to sense...I can no more keep the feelings of others
around me out of my mind than you can, with your eyes open choose to not
see the color blue...." This admission seems to cost her something
inside, her shoulders slackening. "So, yes, I have killed, and all of
what that means, if that builds your trust in any way."
The Sybarite's expression slowly resolves itself into a smile, not a very
pleasant one, but strangely warm despite the pointedness of the gaze. "To
abandon the illusion of being someone else's dream. A difficult thing,
doubtless. Hard to become quicksilver and mist, changing at the whim of
the world." The Sybarite's smile broadens slightly. "And very
perceptive. My God, what a set of talents. Were you born this way?"
"Actually...no.... As to my past, I would rather not discuss it. As I
would assume you are reticent to speak of your own.... Perhaps in time."
She loses her self in thought for a moment, but inhaling slowly and deeply
recomposes herself. "May I at least have a name, since it will appear a
bit strange for me to be calling you Mr. Sybarite when among the public."
The Sybarite's smile broadens slightly at this. "Perhaps...'David' will
suit. As good a name as any, I suppose. I had one like it once, but, as
you might said, the past can be a complicated thing...I wouldn't want to
accidentally misunderstand you."
"David then..." she says absently, staring at his face, not just his eyes,
but all around it. She slowly raises her hand to brush a lock of hair
from the forehead.
"By the way," the Sybarite says softly, acceding to her touch, "you
mentioned another name when you saw this form. Is there anything I should
know regarding _that_ portion of your past?"
"No. Nothing at all.... The face reminded me of...nothing at all."
The Sybarite favors her with an appraising glance for a moment, but lowers
it after a moment. "Certainly. This sort of business can be a difficult
one, not the least of which due to the..."emotional cost" that may be
involved...we may well have to depend on each other for our lives, and I
am simply trying to establish the foundation for that trust...hardly the
most 'personable' of topics for discussion, _is_ it?" he concludes with a
slight twist of inflection.
"Then you accept my assistance? We don't need to stay here any longer
than you wish," she says, nodding slightly toward the door. "Maybe we can
discuss something more...pleasant? Elsewhere?"
The Sybarite returns his hand to rest lightly atop hers. "Yes, I accept
your...'assistance', and I will endeavor to keep in mind your
'sensitivity'... toward the matter of my employment. I think a change of
locale could be just the thing for fostering a more...pleasant atmosphere.
He stands slowly. "I suppose I should avoid raising too many eyebrows
outside," he states in an amused tone, and his appearance shifts quickly
back to the its original state, facial bones sliding and torso reconfiguring
fluidly as hair and skin color shift. "Forgive me if I was pressing
business matters too urgently, but...I am accustomed to a certain amount
of...danger in conducting my business, and even the most congenial of
assignments contain enough risk of to in-breed a certain 'edge'. I think
you'll understand if I am not the calmest person in the world." He picks
up the envelopes and slips them away inside the greatcoat.
"I understand how you feel," she pauses, embarrassed for a moment at her
own private pun. "I may appear as 'congenial' as one wishes, but that is
but another of my talents. I do understand the depth of what we are about
to do. Don't forget that I was selected to do this as carefully as you
were and that you needn't worry on my behalf, I am but a tool.... Use me
as you wish, but don't forget I am no more than a borrowed tool." She
looks down at the end of this, several emotions vying to express
themselves on her face at once, none of them pleasant.
The Sybarite pauses momentarily, favoring her with a glittering gaze until
he catches her eye again. He says a slow "Indeed", and then proffers his
arm for her to take. As she does so, he whispers into her ear, "We may
talk more about that later." His expression resumes a pleasant
neutrality, and he reaches forward to open the door handle for them both.
Composed as though they had just had a pleasant conversation regarding the
latest Mercurial album, she takes his arm. Shortly they are no longer in
the trid's view and the door closes behind them.<<
+++++end playback]<<<<<
-- Gregory de L'Argent Personal Log <22:57:36 / 08-08-57>
Security Chief
The Di Caela Estate
