Old Town That shape of shadowy night would come scurrying

[Theo Crowhurst]

Outfit, without the jacket

The night was warm and humid, a promise of rain in the air, but most seemed to enjoy the late Thursday night as always. Traffic was busy enough, the bars and clubs lit up and welcoming the revellers. Thursday night student deals outside the eateries and fast-food chains, but none of that interested Theo as he steered the Vantage through the traffic, the fast car going at a sedate pace as he navigated away from the main road and onto the cobbled side roads. The engine growled like it wanted to go faster, but the car ride was otherwise silent. Theo focused on where he was going.

Getting off the beaten path meant leaving the crowds behind. Now the only lights were the archaic lamplights Old Town was known for, the occasional hole in the wall with blinking neon lights. Some groups of pedestrians scattered out of the way of the headlights, many confident enough to be walking in the middle of the fucking road. Theo muttered enough expletives to tell his passenger what he thought about that, although none of it needed any sort of response.

Finding an out of the way spot to park, Theo tucked the Vantage into a small parking lot near the river, only a short walk from the riverside walk they needed to take to get where they were going. Parked, he pulled up the handbrake and turned off the engine, cutting off the headlights and leaving them surrounded by the dirty orange glow of the lamplight outside.

“We'll walk the rest of the way,” Theo informed, unbuckling his seatbelt and climbing out of the car. It was warm enough that he pulled his suit jacket off and tossed it back onto his seat, reaching for his sword belt and scabbard tucked behind the driver's seat. Straightening up, he buckled the sword around his hips and nodded towards the shadow of the bridge up ahead. “They keep to themselves under the Bruse, so it won't be a long walk. You aren't Christian, are you?”

He gave Hansen a look, arching an eyebrow and hoping she'd answer him in the negative. They got a little rabid when Christians wandered too close, although they had enough sense to just make a racket these days rather than try to eat anyone. It wasn't something Theo enjoyed dealing with, regardless.

[Brooke Hansen]

outfit

The Vantage purred churlishly through the tight and traffic-packed streets. If ever there was a car that craved the open road, it was this one. The slightest touch of the accelerator had the five hundred horses beneath the hood rearing. It was a shame to keep something engineered for speed confined so.

Brooke kept quiet for the ride, and occupied herself with the world beyond the Vantage. She pressed back into her seat, eyes widening, at the gaggle of pedestrians thinking the road was theirs. Boss man cursed them blue, and she could barely contain her grin. She dared a look in his direction, then dipped her attention through the passenger side window. 

The inquisitor parked well away from the hustle and bustle, no doubt to protect the Vantage’s paintwork. Unlike him, she kept her jacket despite the balmy night. The bridge loomed overhead, peaking from behind stonework and iron trusses. “No. But, well, not really?” Brooke dithered. “Does like, being christened count?”

[Theo Crowhurst]

As Theo finished buckling the sword and the enchantment activated, the archaic accoutrements seemed to fade into the background. To most, there would be nothing of interest hanging from Theo's hip. He could see it, though, and he adjusted the belt so the scabbard would sit more comfortably as Brooke answered. He cocked his head at her question, frowning as he thought it over and shut the driver's side door. A click of the key fob locked the doors.

“I haven't the foggiest,” the Englishman admitted, circling around the car to head towards the bridge up ahead. A walking path went along the river and, normally, went over the bridge rather than go under it, but Theo knew to ignore the 'No Access' signs to get to the trolls. “But I'd wager not. They're ornery fellows, but I haven’t had much trouble.”

[Brooke Hansen]

Brooke gathered herself behind a serene smile, no more than a curling press of her lips, when the boss man threw up his hands to her question. If he didn’t know, then what chance did she have? It could be argued she was the ultimate authority for what she believed, but he went a way to mollify any worry; trolls be trollin’.

“Good.” Brooke replied with an imperious air as if that settled something. If the boss man wasn’t worried, then she should follow suit. Brooke walked alongside the inquisitor, he was much taller than her, and she quickened her pace to keep up. She didn’t know what else to say, and so lulled into silence.

[Theo Crowhurst]

Cinder (Third Eye) Complete Success

Brooke's response only got a glance from Theo, a brief twitch of his eyebrow at her tone, but he didn't comment. They only had a headache inducing conversation waiting for them, not a fight–at least as far as the trolls were concerned–so the Englishman felt as relaxed as someone in his position could be.

With Hansen keeping pace, Theo led them through the parking lot towards the Riverwalk, stepping onto the cobbled walkway with its thick metal stanchions, strung together with heavy anchor chains, separating the walkers from the water. Spaced out evenly, pools of dirty orange light lit up the path going in both directions, shining from the wrought iron lampposts looming above. Beyond the wind ruffling the leaves of some shrubbery, creating a mild susurration, the only sound was the gentle slap of the waves against the wall between the river and land. It was dark where the waves impacted immediately at the base of the stone wall, but beyond the shadow, the oily black waves reflected orange light, shifting constantly with the current and the wind.

Staring out towards the river, Theo's eyes narrowed as he considered the inky black waves. The hot coal lodged in his sternum glowed and his eyes saw the currents of magic following the flow, but as his vision blinked back to normal, there was nothing of note to be found among the eddies of ambient magic. With no eerie song on the air, he hoped he'd be unharried by those oceangoing harlots.

“Hopefully that holds for the bloody river,” Theo muttered to himself, thoughts momentarily returning to the previous conversation around oncoming trouble and where they would or wouldn't find it.

[Brooke Hansen]

It was a lovely night alongside the river; warm, a light breeze, the smell of fresh and salt water, the pools of sodium lights illuminating their path. But Brooke started to regret not leaving her jacket in the car like the boss did. She flapped it open and closed, fanning herself.

The inquisitor said something about the water, and Brooke glanced his way as they walked. It took a moment in the silence that followed for her to realize the comment hadn’t been for her ears. Brooke looked to the water all the same, but soon her interest wavered. Trolls were a more pressing matter, and she really needed more to go on.

“Okay, so like before you said you hadn’t had much trouble with the trolls. Do you talk with them a lot?” This was her trying to get a better understanding of the situation and show that she was paying attention. There were probably better questions she could have asked.

[Theo Crowhurst]

The weight of the sword on his hip was steady, rocking with his movements but belted in such a way that it didn't swing with every movement. Out of habit, Theo was resting one hand on the pommel as they walked, relaxed but watchful. The humid heat wasn't quite comfortable, and he wondered around asking one of the Circle to whip up some easy-to-use cooling charms. Something easy to slip into a pocket to offer a cooling effect in hot weather.

When Brooke spoke, it distracted Theo from the idle thought and swung his head to consider the junior agent, brows furrowing just slightly. “Not a lot. Every few months, perhaps? Give or take,” Theo answered, one shoulder lifting in a half-shrug. The trolls needed some minding, as once they had problems they got loud about it, but the biggest issue had been the ornery troll with the toothache. “Beyond the odd issue, they're a useful source of information. You overhear a lot as a troll minding your own business.”

[Brooke Hansen]

Brooke imagined the inquisitor making this pilgrimage to the troll bridge every few months, rain or snow, or sweltering humidity. Had he shared his idea of the easy-to-use cooling charms, Brooke would have lost her shit. She flapped her coat again and was delighted as the air chilled the sweat dribbling down her spine. It was but a moment’s respite from the humidity.

“Okay, okay; information. So like when we go under the bridge, what should I do?” She grinned, aiming to pad her question with levity. “Wanna do good cop, bad cop?” She’d be good cop, of course, and her grin broadened to imagine how the tactic would fare against trolls. It was silly, but she was nervous.

[Theo Crowhurst]

Theo let out a short scoff at her joke, seeing she was taking a page from Dune's book. Playing the joker, but it wasn't as irritating as it could be. Perhaps Dune's incessant chatter had inoculated him against the strange things Americans found funny.

Still, he shot her a sideways look, the shadow of a wry smile on his face, and offered a dry, “Absolutely not.” But he recognised she was searching for more information, an uncertain rookie even this long after joining up. Sometimes it took years for someone to settle, so moved on from that into a genuine bit of advice.

“Trolls aren't as stupid as some think, but they're still easily confused. Don't use metaphors, too much slang, things of that nature,” Theo advised, knowing they weren't that good at English. They weren't modern trolls, far as he could tell. They spoke English with a heavy Scandinavian accent, one he couldn't quite place, with a generally weak grasp of the language, but understood Old English well enough. “The younger of the two might try having a chin wag with you while I'm talking to the eldest. He’s a little more social, but he might joke about eating you.” Theo looked at Hansen, and now he was frowning, a preemptive warning. “Do not pick a fight with the bloody troll, alright?”

[Brooke Hansen]

Brooke caught the wry smile and became chagrin beneath the inquisitor’s dry rebuke.

“Oh shizzle.” Brooke mumbled. Pretty much everything she said was slang of one form or another, and while confusing a troll sounded devilish fun, it wasn’t the why they were here. But there would be two trolls, and the boss man would talk with the senior of the two. This one, presumably, had his finger on the pulse. She’d keep the younger company.

“I will be the perfect lady.” Brooke said, raising her hands in mock defense. Ladies didn’t pick fights with trolls. And she’d watch her language. Keep it simple, like she was talking to a child. Brooke squinted thoughtfully; she didn’t want to come off a patronizing. But the trolls understood humor at least! That was good, and Brooke was thankful for the warning, lest she take the joke seriously. Could they get into a diplomatic incident with a troll?

[Theo Crowhurst]

Theo suppressed a cringe at Hansen's use of that ridiculous colloquialism, but he trusted that she'd stow that sort of shit when she was speaking to the actual troll. There was little hope for her elsewhere if that was her casual language around him. Theo hardly stood at attention, expletives flowed freely after all, but that flavour of informality pushed it too far for his sensibilities. Perhaps he was simply too old to find it endearing. There were stranger behaviours in the office, however, so he would suffer in silence.

As far as perfect ladies, Theo had to crook up the corner of his mouth. Not quite a smile, but amused. He wasn't sure the trolls understood the meaning of a 'perfect lady.' “If that's what it takes,” he returned dryly as they came up to a little intersection in the riverside walk.

There were three paths ahead. One cobbled path went upwards, to the walkway over the bridge. This was the normal river walk. Another path took walkers back to the main streets of Old Town and further into the neighbourhood. The last hugged the wall along the river closely, leading directly underneath the bridge. It was shadowed in the nighttime. The path did have lampposts lining the edge, but they weren’t shining any light below them. Theo led them along this darkest path, bypassing a long chain strung between stanchions with a sign declaring it private property, no access.

Considering the darkness ahead, Theo knew he might have to summon some light for them. He’d have to be careful and make sure it wasn’t the variety that pissed off the trolls.

[Brooke Hansen]

His wry smiles and raised eyebrows gave Brooke only so much to work with. Had Brooke known her attempts to get on the inquisitor’s good side fell like seeds on such fallow land, she would have been disappointed with herself. She continued all the same and hope was kept alive that just maybe, one day, she’d make him actually smile.

Brooke tagged along and kept pace, watching their sidelines and their six. Hopping the chain, they went off the beaten path. The lampposts were dark now, and Brooke didn’t think that a coincidence. Likely, city maintenance circled by every few weeks for the vandalism and went on their way. She wondered if the repair crews had any idea who kept putting out the lights as she reached inside her jacket and produced a penlight.

With a click, a cold light washed their surroundings in harsh luminance. The light didn’t throw far and kept them in a dim bubble. Brooke smiled up to the inquisitor like she was being helpful.

[Theo Crowhurst]

When Hansen produced the penlight, a modest but effective source of light, Theo was relieved he wouldn't have to call on magic. He didn't shy away from using it when practical, but the side effects weren't always desirable. Although Hansen's smile was rather odd, and with it being pointed at him, he had to assume she wasn’t just happy to not be walking in the dark. The Englishman inclined his head to her in lieu of asking her what on earth she was smiling about.

He focused on the path ahead, familiar with the course even in the dark. It had been a while since he'd gone to the trolls, following no particular schedule, and often only when he heard murmurings of missing pets or unease in their area. Often it wasn't even the trolls doing it–other than the pets, but it was a dog eat dog world for them–but they were friendly towards Theo.

Crossing under the shadow of the bridge finally, Hansen's light was handy. But it hadn't spotted the trolls by the time a deep voice, more akin to shifting rocks, came out of the darkness, "Hverr er jressi madr af-fari?" It was a familiar refrain, even if Theo couldn't understand the words. He understood the sentiment enough. After a moment, a younger voice followed, more gravel than rock. "Jarl. Konan er honum gestina."

Theo stepped forward to speak, recognising that the younger of the pair had just pointed out who they were. Maybe the Elder's eyesight was going, he always came with the same question. Or maybe it was tradition, as the thud of something heavy hitting something solid reverberated under the bridge, along with a gravelly grumble.

“Wesaþ hāle,” Theo greeted, the Old English pronunciation rather rusty but serviceable. He'd used the plural to include Hansen as he raised a hand in a rather archaic and formal gesture.

"Ic wilcume," rumbled back at them, and Theo took that as the clear to keep walking forward. He carefully gestured for Hansen to follow, wondering what she'd think of the trolls once her light hit them.

As they walked closer, the light spread further, and soon the shapes of the trolls became clear. If they hadn't been aware of the trolls, they could have been mistaken for rocky piles. Their skin was grey, roughly textured like rock in spots, and only lightly overgrown with mosses and some longer grassy weeds. These were not forest trolls, so they were camouflaged differently.

Theo was used to the sight, so he forged ahead, knowing the trolls always had some idea of why he was there. Usually, they knew when they'd put their foot in it, but they'd been quiet since the little emergency dentistry Theo had to deal with. “Iċ bidde þē þæt þū ācwist āscunge.”

The Elder inclined its rocky head, long threads of hanging moss shifting with the movement. "Ġēa. Ic unlytel cnāwe."

To the side, the younger was only slightly smaller, and the lichen and moss on their rocky hide seemed a little greener and newer, but only by so much. Theo would guess the both of them had lived longer than he could even imagine, but he didn't think too hard on it. The Younger left the Elder to speak to Theo, raising a large hand to wave to Hansen, offering a greeting in rocky English.

Trans. Old Norse: Who is this man who trespasses?
The Earl. The woman is his retainer.
Trans. Old English: General greeting (exist in good health?).
I welcome.
I bid that you answer questions.
Yes. I know much.

[Brooke Hansen]

The concrete of the bridge ground together and made words for them. Or at least Brooke assumed the sounds were words. The sound of granite against granite rooted Brooke where she stood. The light skipped in her hand, searching, and the breath caught in her throat. She furrowed her brow and concentrated, trying to identify the language. It sounded like German but not… really.

Not that Brooke spoke German, anyway. The closest she got to bilingual was rudimentary conversational Spanish in high school, and she’d forgotten most of that from lack of use. Another voice clattered like marbles across the pavement from the shadows. Brooke’s eyes widened, and it reminded her of old tales, of old gods speaking in thunder and in the roar of white water. She took a half step back as the inquisitor stepped forward and spoke.

She stood apart to a dance she hadn’t the steps. The call and response, the hand waving, all echoed from centuries past. Brooke felt as an onlooker to something deeply significant and deeply foreign. The boss man waved her to follow, and she only hesitated a second before falling into stride beside him.

The pale beam from her penlight washed across the trolls before her mind registered what she looked at. Rocks; rocks dappled with lichen and moss, and peppered with grass. Rocks that moved. Brooke released a breath she hadn’t realized she held. The rocks parted into humanoid shapes, and the inquisitor moved to converse with the larger pile. The smaller of the two lifted a thick and stony hand toward Brooke. When the rocks echoed again, she caught English in the rhythm and she widened her eyes in awe.

No slang. No metaphors. Don’t pick a fight with the troll. Keep it simple. She was about to find out if being christened counted. Brooke shook off her stupor and waved back with her free hand, keeping the light cast downward. If this troll had eyes sensitive to light, she would do her best to accommodate.

“Hello there!” She chirped, turning up the energy. It took little to lay on the enthusiasm, this was her first troll meet, after all, and she wanted to make a good impression. “My name is Brooke.” She smiled with the introduction, touching a hand to her chest.

[Theo Crowhurst]

The Younger gave Hansen a curious look, eyes going to her hand gesturing to herself. The troll mimicked the motion, rough skinned hand lifting to touch a matted and mossy chest, offering a single phrase, "Moli."

A few metres away, Theo and the Elder settled in to speak. The Englishman settled on what passed for seats for trolls, a rock with a flat surface, positioned near the Elder. The Elder was sitting on their own rock-seat, although their movements were slow and accompanied with no small amount of grinding stone.

Theo's experience with trolls was that they didn't mince words, which made them a suitable fit for him, so he got down to business quickly. “Ic feccan niðfullice ġefylce,” he began, keeping it relatively simple. A troll wouldn't understand what a death cult was. “Hie began dwolcræft ond wiccedom. Ϸū becnǣwst hie?”

The Elder was quiet, although it titled its head in a sort of pensive manner, so Theo would have to assume it had understood, it was just taking its time to think about it. To the side, where Brooke and the Younger were, the littler troll caught her attention, gesturing to the two older of their respective species.

"Ϸu becnǣwst ne-" the Younger began, before remembering themselves. "You... not understand?"

Trans. I seek treacherous people. They perform foolish craft/magic and witchcraft. You know them?
You know not-

[Brooke Hansen]

Moli, Brooke mouthed, getting a feel for the name, and a small smile took to her lips. It was a cute name, too cute for a troll, and made Brooke think about her great-grandmother. Her name was Molly, and their names were similar enough to form an association.

It was a fleeting thought, and one Brooke ushered aside in favor of Moli the troll. His question on whether she understood made her glance to where the Elder and the inquisitor sat. She heard the conversation well enough. Doubtless, the Elder was using his under-bridge voice, but it still carried like a rockslide. Brooke turned back to Moli and shook her head.

“No. I do not understand.” Brooke replied, the inquisitor’s warning still fresh in her mind. She spoke evenly and not too fast, aiming to keep any unwanted inflection from her voice. Moli grunted and nodded, the rocky clefts that formed his head inclining slowly. She listened to their not-German and raised an eyebrow to their powwow. Brooke flicked her eyes back to Moli. “What do they say?”

Moli considered for what seemed an age. "The Earl, he ask about untrustworthy people." Moli said at length, his coal-black eyes fixed on Brooke. The moss tuft on his chin quivered with an expression Brooke took to be deliberation. "He ask if people are known.

[Theo Crowhurst]

Theo only glanced Hansen's way as she spoke to the other troll, and hearing that the Younger was indirectly offering himself as a translator. Not so dumb, even if it wasn't too impressive to many humans to be a smart troll among the rest of their kin. But they were not the kind of trolls who fell to eating contests and illusions of rock-smashing. Content to know that Hansen was keeping up with the conversation, and filing it away to suggest she take up more languages, Theo gave her a slight nod, and turned his full attention to the Elder, who was still thinking it over.

After a ponderous silence, the Elder looking much like a boulder where it sat, unmoving, they spoke, "Géa, manig. Geong fernes. Swæc of facn ond bealu. Deófolwítgan." The ponderous rocky words took a moment for Theo to interpret before the meaning fully registered.

The Englishman tensed up, gaze sharpening and feeling a rush of urgency. Recent passage. Devil prophets. Dark wizards, essentially. After so long with no solid trails, only dead bodies and the marks of rituals, hearing anything that might imply they were near sent a rush of adrenaline through him.

A part of him spoke up, the voice of caution. It might not be the same dark wizards, but that was a distant concern. Troll morals were odd. Human flesh was a delicacy to them and they did not consider many things evil, being considered evil themselves by the humans who struggled with them. But Theo could sense that the Elder meant a manner of corrupting evil. Devil prophets. Carrying out the will of others?

“Hwær?” Theo prompted, keeping his voice steady but feeling the urgency.

The Elder grinned, ghastly in its trollish way. "Ϸu hunta wið êower wuldortorht sweord? We ġiwiaþ gield."

Trans. Yes, many. Recent passage. Smell of treachery and evil. Devil prophets.
Where?
You hunt with your bright sword? We demand payment.

[Brooke Hansen]

"Not long ago, many bad men use bridge." While not a direct transition, Moli remembered their passing, notable because of the elder’s deep harumph and adlibbed.

Brooke raised her head to peer over to where the inquisitor and the elder conversed, excitement kindling in her chest. Did the trolls actually know something?

"Where?" Moli said, and Brooke caught the word before his translation. Now she heard sword in the elder troll’s gravelly reply, or something akin to it. If she really paid attention to what they said, she could pick out a couple words that sounded like mangled English.

"The Earl will hunt with his shining sword. We must be paid." Brooke looked askance at Moli, an eyebrow raised. Then the nursery rhyme came to mind. Didn’t the goats have to trade or give something to cross the bridge? Information must follow the same path. Brooke kept the distaste from her expression. Surely this was in all their best interests.

[Theo Crowhurst]

When supernatural creatures asked for payment, Theo knew to be at least a little worried about what they might ask for. But trolls were not fey, so it wouldn't be anything like his firstborn child, even if he could take a quick guess at figuring it wouldn't be something he'd relish, knowing what trolls enjoyed.

“Ic hwæt ābūge?” Theo asked carefully, not hiding his suspicion of what they might ask after. The Elder picked up on it, maybe one reason why they didn't mind stumbling through conversations with him. He didn't play social mind-games with them, as they perceived many other humans did. But the troll looked quite satisfied. It wasn't an unusual situation to be in for him. Many looked for an advantage, getting something out of the Inquisitor.

"Ϸára męremęnen þú cwellan. We brūcaþ, we ġebrūcaþ," the Elder began, referring to the sirens Theo had admitted to killing once, when they'd asked if that was anything of interest to him. He'd known that was always a possibility, better than any mundies seeing them, and it wasn't difficult to see where the troll was getting at, his eyebrows going up and the troll grinning, nodding as he saw Theo understood. "Ænig forðfêran oð handgemót, ābirst ϸu se niþernes. Efnsæġst þu?"

Theo sighed, bringing a hand up to pinch the bridge of his nose, wondering at the position he found himself in. After a moment, his hand dropped, shaking his head as he spoke, “Ic þearf hie gelibban.” It was a slippery slope to agree to giving trolls dead bodies, if this was a jump from them snacking on a few sirens. “Ic wierne.”

Trans. What will I pay?
Those sirens you slew. We take advantage of, we enjoy/eat. Any that die to battle, you bring to this low-place. Do you agree?
I need them alive. I decline.

[Brooke Hansen]

Brooke found herself paying more attention the elder’s conversation with her inquisitor. She tried to glean some insight from the troll, but it was like getting blood from a stone. Instead, she focused on the other party, the one with the human face. At least then she stood a fighting chance of discerning some subtext.

The younger continued his translation. "Your Earl ask cost."

The elder replied, and Moli grinned. Fat teeth showed behind wide sedimentary lips. A sound rumbled from the troll, and Brooke took it to be pleasurable. She turned to look at Moli.

"Meat." A thick tongue rasped dryly over his lips. "We trade news for those battle takes." Moli said. The inquisitor pinching his brow was telling, and Brooke looked back and forth between the two.

Crestfallen, Moli said, "the Earl says no." And then grumbled.

[Theo Crowhurst]

It wasn't only the younger grumbling. The Elder was unhappy, the rocky face furrowing in a frown as fierce and Theo's own. He grumbled, but the words had to be Norse, as Theo couldn't understand it. The Englishman had little sympathy for the troll's failed attempt at getting human flesh out of him. The words sounded vaguely threatening, but the Elder didn't make any aggressive move, so Theo had to assume it was simply the grumbling of a plan foiled.

"Ϸu āhst us flæscmete," the Elder demanded, grumpy, and stomping his foot for good measure. The ground shook, although the bridge was steady enough not to shudder.

Theo didn't let the show of intimidation get to him, expression not shifting from the faint frown he'd been wearing the entire conversation. But if the trolls wanted meat, that was something Theo could pull off. “Ic āh gāt. Wrixla for gefræge.”

"Syndriġ mann," the Elder returned. "Fǣtt."

Theo pursed his lips, thinking it over, but fat goats weren't as expensive as cows. Still, not knowing how many there were made him wonder if the troll thought they'd be facing down a sizable group. “Gerim mann?”

The Elder flashed stony teeth, his rocky face as close to smug as it could be, and shrugged, noncomittal. Theo's lip curled in sneer.

Trans. You give us meat.
I'll give a goat. In exchange for information.
One for each man. Fattened.
How many men?

[Brooke Hansen]

Brooke swore the Elder’s stomp shook the bridge’s foundation. She couldn’t stop her eyes from rolling upward to the concrete supports and steel crossbeams, half expecting them to split in a shower of dust and metal flakes. Moli mirrored his elder’s stony expression, matching the bluster. When her skull wasn’t caved in with falling masonry, Brooke made herself relax. The effect on her nerves wasn’t much lessened given the tension thrumming beneath the bridge.

"We want meat." The younger troll repeated with sullen petulance. That sort of hunger was something Brooke understood, even if she wished otherwise. She wrinkled her nose in quiet commiseration.

The inquisitor spoke and the Elder’s return volley echoed off the water. The rumbled agreement sounding from Moli’s chest was a clatter of stones. To Brooke, the sound Moli made was vaguely disappointed. "A fat goat for each man."

Brooke, too, wondered how many goats and similarly how many men they were talking about here. Her hot take was a lot. Then she wondered what a group of goats was called.

[Theo Crowhurst]

The troll being unwilling to give a number was either a bad sign of what waited for them or a troll's way of getting back at him for not giving them human bodies. Theo didn't much care, but he wasn't going to let it slide without bargaining something a little more definite than 'a goat for each.'

“Ān gāt,” Theo countered with a shake of his head, glowering at the Elder. The troll didn't like that they were haggling, but then the rocky twat shouldn't have started this.

"Fif," he rumbled, but clearly unhappy. Theo unkindly wondered if trolls could count beyond five.

“Þrī. Fǣtt,” Theo returned, emphasis on the last word. The trolls wanted fat goats, and Theo would just have to find the fattest ones in Essex county.

In reply, the Elder grumbled, but inclined his head, agreeing. Their deal had come to some manner of conclusion, and the large troll lifted its hand, an unpleasant grating sound coming from its throat before it spat into the palm of its hand. The Elder then offered it out to Theo, expectant.

Rather than recoil, the Englishman smirked, happy to have come to an agreement, and spat in his own palm to shake on the agreement. He wasn't sure if the way the trolls sealed agreements had a basis in culture or if they'd just seen it in a film and decided it was the most solemn of ways to swear on agreements. Regardless, the trolls had their damned goats and Theo would get his fucking quarry for tonight, at least.

Trans. One goat.
Five.
Three. Fattened.

[Brooke Hansen]

"One goat." Moli grumbled disdainfully, and Brooke almost understood: A goat. She’d be pissed too.

Both Moli and Brooke listened to the negotiation. Fif… five? Five goats as a counteroffer.

Three; that sounded English enough for her ear. Three fat goats. The inquisitor and the elder shook hands, though the elder’s all but encompassed the human counterpart. It was like the inquisitor’s hand was stuck in a cleft in a rock. How easily would it have been to just squeeze and render everything inside that fist to jelly.

"Three. And deal." Moli wrapped up the translation, still rumbling in that less-than-pleased way. Three was more than one, but less than five. Neither side was happy, which was the hallmark of a good compromise as Brooke understood it. She couldn’t help but smirk at the similarities to the fairytale, and then wonder where they’d get three goats from. Hopefully, this wasn’t a goods before information type deal. Otherwise, they’d be what? Goat rustling in the Vantage?

[Theo Crowhurst]

Feeling time pressing on, and knowing the trolls information was time sensitive, Theo underlined the when firmly, tone not giving the troll much room to argue. “Ϸu āhst féowertíeneniht, mē āh gǣt. Mē ġeþingþe.”

The Elder took him on his word, grumbling a rocky assent, and finally outlined where they had observed the Deófolwítgan and what they had overheard. Across the river, apparently, close enough to the nightclub that one had mentioned it, while the other complained about doing their work in an abandoned building. Apparently, he was afraid of rats.

It narrowed it down somewhat. There weren't a lot of abandoned buildings in the area, so they'd simply have to narrow it down the old-fashioned way. With luck, they'd catch some in the act. With less luck, they'd be able to get something out of the aftermath. The troll's description didn't seem to imply they were about to murder anyone, but Theo was a pessimist, so he felt the urgency as he asked the questions he had to for as much as the troll could provide.

In the end, it wasn't much, but enough, so when Theo rose, he clapped the Elder on its rocky shoulder and thanked them, the words formal on his tongue mostly thanks to the Old English.

“Hansen,” Theo prompted, inclining his head down the path they'd come, back to the car and the abandoned buildings they'd have to look into. Maybe he could have her look at google maps while he drove.

[Brooke Hansen]

Moli translated, though, by the way his rocky brow furrowed in some human parody, he hadn’t the words for some of this. The gravel of his throat sounded like pebbles kicked through a rock garden. Brooke nodded, following the best she could, and kept her attention fixed on the elder and the inquisitor, hoping to pick up on some detail Moli couldn’t parse through sheer will.

Soon the boss man stood and clapped the elder on the shoulder; a goodbye if ever she saw one. AT her name, Brooke fell in line behind the inquisitor and followed him out. She turned, waving to Moli. The younger troll raised a belated arm in her direction.

“Nice boy.” She murmured, thankful Moli hadn’t tried to eat her. Free of the bridge, Brooke put away her light and flapped her jacket to put a breeze up her back. She picked up the pace and came alongside her superior. “Where we headin’ boss?”

[Theo Crowhurst]

Hansen's comment regarding the younger troll prompted a low chuckle from Theo as they put the trolls behind them, gravel crunching under their shoes. Nice boy, hungry for human flesh. As they left the darkness of the space under the bridge behind and the ambient light from the city reached them, she tucked the flashlight away. Theo was near enough marching back to the car, strides long and eating up the distance. Hansen hurried to keep up as she spoke her question.

“Across the bridge,” Theo began, gesturing an arm out across the river, towards where the lights of houses and businesses lit up the opposite bank. “Something's happening in an abandoned building near the big nightclub over there. We'll have to case the area, but it's as accurate an address as we'll ever get from trolls.”

[Brooke Hansen]

Brooke narrowed her eyes at the lights glimmering across the bank. Barbarous lay across the bridge, and the club was lit on Friday and Saturday nights. Even now, Brooke could see traces of neon glow from the nightclub’s sign. The place still attracted masses on weeknights. Brooke made an indecisive grumble at the back of her throat. Cultists and crowds never mixed well. Or they mixed too well; finding a bad actor amongst the clubbers would be impossible.

“The club won’t be quiet. We may get an audience.” She said neutrally, not wanting to be contradictory or somehow telling the inquisitor how to inquisition. She kept up the hustle at his side and could only hope the music and the crowd would be to their advantage, maybe mask their approach.

[Theo Crowhurst]

Theo let out a heavy breath, weary and agitated, but that was the reality of operating in a city that had any nightlife to speak of. “With luck the bastards won't have set up too close to the club, but we'll have to play it subtle,” he murmured into the night, frowning even as he marched back the way they'd come, closing in on where the Vantage was parked. “First step is narrowing down where the hell they are.”

Only the people outside the nightclub would be an issue–smokers, risky lovers, people waiting for taxi cabs, passers-by–but that was still plenty of human bodies that could witness something odd or stumble unwittingly into trouble. God forbid that Lighthouse rag catch wind of anything. Theo was quite finished reading their harebrained theorycrafting.

[Brooke Hansen]

“Right.” Brooke said with a nod, hoping the inquisitor was correct. She could do subtle. And besides, what kind of self-respecting cultists would set up adjacent to a club? The cowled aesthetic ran against the nightclub grain. Brooke tilted her head to the side as she kept pace back to the Vantage. Distracted, at least half a dozen movies spanning Blade to John Wick came to mind. Brooke hummed to herself. Except for all the downsides, and there were many, a neon shootout in a club would be fire.

She climbed into the passenger side and closed the door behind her. It sealed with a deeply expensive clunk. Soon they were on their way with the inquisitor behind the wheel. Pleased with the air conditioning pelting her with frigid air, Brooke let out a content sigh, but her mind was fixed forward. The lights of the city sped by and soon they were across the bridge.

[Theo Crowhurst]

There was no more chatter as they reached the car, the both of them climbing into the Vantage, Hansen making herself comfortable as Theo pressed the ignition and began navigating the car out of the parking lot and back to the main road. This late, the traffic wasn't as awful as it had the potential of being; the trip going smoothly and quickly as they progressed across the bridge separating Old Town proper from Balmoral and the industrial area that sprawled out towards the east, stretching as far as the university.

Crossing the bridge, the lights of the harbour that butted up against the industrial campus scattered dots of light in the dark. The familiar containers with their emblazoned logos were lost in the dark, no lined up MAERSK logos in various states of rust or fade. Theo only knew they were there because he was used to seeing them. That end of town wasn't idle any time of day, but Theo was thankful they wouldn't have to venture that far tonight. He'd take an abandoned building to a landscape of shipping containers any day.

Then they were across the bridge, the harbour out of direct line of sight, the river disappearing as the buildings along the riverside broke line of sight and they left it behind them. Ahead, the flickering lights of Barbarous' neon signs was obvious, the bustling crowd outside, and Theo cursed softly.

“Parking will be a bloody nightmare,” he groused, eyes scanning the street and the lingering taxicabs. He was forced to circle around a few times before he found an open spot a respectable enough distance away from the club, a little deeper in the run down-industrial buildings where a few abandoned or forgotten buildings dominated. Enough cars were parked around that the Vantage wasn't out of place, but Theo wondered if he wasn't risking getting his windows broken and the car vandalised.

Switching the engine off, he turned to look at Hansen, eyes scanning the dark street before his eyes settled on hers. “You know what to look for?” It was prudent to check, and there was no disapproval or impatience in his tone, just quiet focus. He'd point out any signs he could think of if she drew a blank, of course, that was the nature of working with the Exchange, different expertises and learning on the job.

[Brooke Hansen]

Parking was a nightmare. Brooke spent their laps with her eyes lingering out the passenger-side window, her chin propped in her palm. Night-lit streets crawled on with the usual suspects lingering on corners and propping up the brickwork. In this part of town and in a car like this, they got more than a few stares. A private grin smushed into her hand to imagine what they must have thought.

Her staring was more than idle and her eyes flicked from person to person, paying attention to who was paying attention. Some of that would be curiosity, and some of it could be more.

Brooke nodded in the Vantage’s now-silent cabin. She knew what to look for, or at least she assumed so. Ready to impress that she'd been attentive, Brooke drew a long breath. “We’re like, looking for maybe a half-dozen humans—” She flapped a hand in a so-so gesture. “—or human-passing.” There was no way to know if these cultists had people like her in tow.

“They’re on foot and maybe hiding out in these few blocks. We don’t know if like, that’s all of them, or if they met others already here. There could be a lot of them, and there will be ritualists, so watch for circles. They’re sacrificing half-bloods… so they may be holding hostages on scene.” Brooke paused, puzzling if there was anything else.

[Theo Crowhurst]

Theo inclined his head, Hansen's assessment being overall correct, but he’d meant in a broader sense, markings and hints that might indicate where they holed up, or if there was any magic around. His question had been vague, so he wouldn’t assume she didn’t know at all, even if he’d point it out, anyway.

“That's right,” Theo offered, nodding as he tucked his key fob away and reaching behind him for his sword and belt. He kept talking, adding more things to keep an eye out for, in case Hansen wasn't aware, as he dragged the weapon into his lap. “And keep an eye out for physical markers too, on the buildings. They might be using a variation of vagrant code to point to the correct building–simple symbology, arrows and circles, shapes. If they’re stupid, functioning runes, too. If a place looks too clean or trying too hard to look dirty, we'll have to inspect it. Anything that doesn't match the surrounding buildings counts as suspicious.”

They might already all be inside and under cover, which meant those external signs of habitation or a place trying too hard to not look like it had foot traffic were the only markers they could reliably find. With all the possibilities of what they might or might not find floating in his head, Theo reached for the button to unlock the boot, pressing it as he looked at his passenger. He preferred the sword, but things were too risky to forget to bring a gun as well.

“You ready, Hansen?” He prompted, checking in with her with a quirked eyebrow.

[Brooke Hansen]

Brooke savored the tingle of approval when the inquisitor nodded and said she was right. She tamped down her grin and mirrored the nod. He expanded, and Brooke nodded some more, taking the advice to heart. They had a lot of ground to cover quietly. Any exterior signs of habitation or masking could give their quarry away.

Seeing the inquisitor gather his blade from the back, Brooke took that as a sign to do likewise. She drew her sidearm, and keeping the weapon low in the cabin, eased back the slide until she saw the glimmer of chambered brass. She holstered and adjusted her jacket into place once again. “Ready boss.” She said and met his eye.

Hearing the thunk of the trunk, Brooke opened her passenger side door and slid into the warm and humid night. They were on the move. She rounded the Vantage and stood at the taillights, doing her best to seem casual, and peeked into the trunk.

[Theo Crowhurst]

Watching her check her gun had Theo offering a brief nod as she met his eye, the two of them simultaneously climbing out of the car. He took a moment to buckle his sword belt on and fasten the straps, the notice-me-not enchantment kicking in as he shifted it to comfortably hang from his hip. He picked his jacket out of the car as well, shutting the door as he went to join Hansen by the open boot.

Draping the jacket over the edge, Theo reached in to pull out a shoulder holster and strapped it on, before covering it with the jacket. It was dark enough that it wasn't obvious what he was doing, but he was quick about it, regardless. After smoothing down his jacket, he reached into the boot and pulled his SIG off the gun magnet mounted just inside the boot, obscured from curious onlookers. He checked it, holding it inside the boot as he did so, before slipping it into the holster. Theo reached into the small storage box underneath the gun magnet to pull out a spare magazine to slip into his pocket, but hoped he wouldn't have reason to use it.

Shutting the boot, he inclined his head to the buildings closest to them. “Let's get on with it, then,” Theo murmured, sweeping his eyes around the street they'd parked in. They were a few streets off from the nightclub, but they could hear the sounds of people floating towards them. “Let's work our way around the perimeter, close in on the nightclub. Alright?” Theo reached out, settling a light hand on Hansen's shoulder, before pulling away, stepping off the road and onto the sidewalk.

[Brooke Hansen]

As the inquisitor said, they worked the perimeter, Brooke aware of voices coming their way. The reassuring hand on her shoulder gave Brooke confidence Crowhurst had her back, and she had his. This was how it worked, how they worked. They were adrift without that trust.

The night was still young and they had a lot of ground to cover. If they were lucky, the first building they hit on the perimeter was the one. They’d see hooded cultists milling about outside and making a scene. With a grin on her face, she imagined it, knowing it wouldn't go down like that.

This cult had been elusive so far. If the trolls hadn’t seen them cross the bridge, and if they hadn’t checked in with the trolls… the trail would be cold. Brooke convinced herself they had one shot here. If she messed up, they would vanish, and their best lead would be nothing but smoke. Just a bit of pressure to hone the edge.

Brooke adopted a casual pace beside the inquisitor, eyes roaming across buildings and into dark crevices. She looked for marks and signs of habitation, or deliberate attempts at hiding such. Brooke had to remind herself it would not be easy.

The voices approached and colorful shapes and a lot of skin came into focus beneath the street lights. Brooke squinted and smirked. “Clubbers for the club.” She said sotto voce so their conversation wouldn’t travel. Now those voices grew distinct and snatches of conversation carried on the humid air.

[Theo Crowhurst]

Cinder (Third Eye) Failure

Hansen had little to say to that, and Theo was content to settle into a relaxed pace as they began walking. The weight of the sword on his hip and the gun under his jacket were normal enough that they didn't interfere with the affected casual front he was projecting outwardly. Hansen was similarly affecting a casual pace and body language, even as the both of them let their eyes slide over their surroundings for anything that might alert them to something odd.

It was the sort of work that was tedious but unavoidable, but the payout was usually worth the tedium. If there were a gaggle of cultist at the end of this blood stained yellow brick road, Theo would be positively thrilled. If one of them had any idea who their fucked up mastermind was, he'd be even happier, but he was too pessimistic to hope for it.

Theo's eyes landed on the clubbers just as Hansen came with her judgement, and the Englishman couldn't help but agree. As the people neared and their conversation became clearer, it was filled with the sort of tripe young people with time to waste in a nightclub nattered on about.

“Mhmm,” Theo agreed, lifting a hand to straigthen his collar as he tried to focus on the ember-hot feeling of the curse. He was trying to catch any trace of magic, but for once it didn't flare molten hot against his sternum. His vision remained blissfully normal, which was either because the curse refused to cooperate or there really was nothing to see.

[Brooke Hansen]

Strike for perception: Complete Success

The clubbers drifted by in a cloud of bright colors and animated conversation. Laughter echoed off the surrounding buildings, as did the clack of heels. Brooke turned her head to watch them go, maybe just a little envious of their freedom.

Would she prefer to be at the club instead of walking the streets in search of a cult? Sure. But what they did at the Exchange ran deeper than simple preference. This was a duty, one she was uniquely outfitted to perform, and what she did here allowed others the gift of a night free from supernatural peril. Of course, there was still the mundane peril to deal with, but that was beyond her purview.

But as Brooke turned her head to watch them go, she caught a glimpse of something which made her second guess herself. Movement in an upper window, as if someone had been standing at watch then quickly slipped back. It had been too dark and the movement too quick to recognize anything beyond that, but she had seen something.

Facing forward and keeping the building in her peripheral, Brooke pitched her voice low as they walked. “Building to the right. There was movement or like something in the upper window, third from middle.” She dared not look again.