Moving Pieces

11:49AM
Ashcroft Academy
European History: The Aftermath of Rome

“... and with the divorce from the Empire complete, Vortigern led a council of the Britains as part of his ambitions on controlling his homeland. But how, Mr. Hughes,” Mrs. Wentworth suddenly declared, startling the terrified youth at the back of her classroom, “did the people govern themselves in the absence of Roman rule? In other words: what was mighty Vortigern to claim?”

The classroom had taken on a more oppressive air than was even the norm for Mrs. Wentworth’s class. There was an unexplained, almost preoccupied distance in their instructor that occasionally surged with a sudden, acute return of a more severe and judgmental educator, and each student dreaded being called upon regardless of whether or not they had read the week’s lessons. But this was not the classroom’s fault... nor was their instructor truly Mrs. Wentworth.

Wentworth, the real Wentworth, stood atop the Academy roof once it had been abandoned by the dogs of the Order who came to clean up the Cabal’s mess. Her gamble had again paid nothing, save the proof that the House was cheating: she had watched every twisted exchange and affair inside of the halfling’s paltry “maze” after making short work of its wards against scrying, watched as an unexpected toll arose in the forms of the Korean student’s—nay, the Slayer’s—soul, witnessed, and quietly smothered, hellfire being spilled on school property, and even more worrisome parties drawing closer to her Academy. A Soulless and an abomination of Abyssal cross-breeding? An elevated level of attention by the Order? The small scheme had played out too absurdly, although Wentworth continued to appear unconnected.

Hughes gave his shoddy answer; the shadow double of Wentworth admonished him.

But what had she gained for all this? Nothing: Wentworth had witnessed Juniluny’s end... and, as with Ju, the disappearance of the secret wards and traces she had put on the hobbit in the instant she vanished. That the hobbit then re-appeared by John’s command—cleansed of all of Wentworth’s markers—only further confused the veteran witch. But now, Mr. Newman... you’ve reached too far, haven’t you?

Wentworth could manage only glimpses of the Brighton depths from where she stood; she saw enough to know that John had finally run afoul of the merciless Order and would no doubt taste, first-hand, their timeless methods. Wentworth would never dare a frontal ****; nevermind her chances, which she was confident were good, when it would cost her all the work she had already put into this facade... and risk what little she still cared about in this world.

Wentworth might well have abandoned John Newman, the curiosity of recent note… but his power to heal a disintegration curse with barely more than a wave of his hand kept her attention. I’m not done with him... and I still might manage to use him, now that his power is greater than ever... Wentworth continued to reach out to the tapestry of Earth, feeling and measuring its folds and strains as one might sweep a gaze over a chessboard in the middle of play... and though these patterns were so often predictable, she now saw, much to her agitation, a particularly large piece that she could choose to move... if only she would swallow her pride. A small pull, then... a tip of the top, to push it over and let it roll into this mess... come now, you old fool. You can't possibly resist, can you? Wentworth's right hand opened and closed... and closed, and closed, and closed anew as echoes of her fingers duplicated themselves and repeated the motions, each time a bit different, each time touching some other space, another part of the patterns of magic the hands were capable of.

Wentworth's hand had become a fist. The world took notice... and an old fool in a crowded night bazaar in the black markets of Kolkata suddenly raised his eyes from the crystals on display, looked beyond the merchant, and grinned toothily.

11:56AM
A Certain Springfield Block

Tricia had never bothered to take note of the surrounding burrows and developing zones of Springfield, but the directions from Fairy had clearly brought them into the newer part of town: modest to tall apartment buildings, of sharp new designs and glittering tributes to art nouveau, were lone spires amid the ground level shopping centers, cookie-cutter suburbs, and smiling, well-paid police officers lounging at one corner or another. The heightened security made Tricia nervous: they were going to the heart of this new, glittering stretch of Springfield, and her car being suspiciously full of young girls, nevermind the monsters in the trunk, felt less subtle than she hoped it was.

It was almost a relief when the Passat pulled into a narrow road between two squat motels. This was the “bad” part of the good part of town: where clean beds and smiling attendants were marked by the damning reputation of their business. Beyond these two hallmarks of a city, the Passat continued to roll into the shared parking lot tucked in the center of the block... and there the beacon pointed: an empty space in front of a broken fence beyond which waited an alley between two large department stores. “We’ve reached your destination... does this guild frequent this parking lot?”

Fairy glanced between the blonde and the gaping fence hole before which the car had parked. “You’re... you’re fucking kidding me, right? Look ahead, you teet-slobbering twit!”

Alysha’s gaze never left the foreboding gap; Tricia scanned the area, confused-

HIGH-INTENSITY MENTAL ATTACK DETECTED. RESISTED.

Tricia blinked... and there it was. The alley was stripped bare and showed the ill-lit glint of a friendly street beyond its tight grip. It appeared to hide nothing... yet something in the area had done enough to make her ignore it until the suit picked up the trick. “You...” Tricia turned to regard Fairy and Alysha. “You two weren’t affected.”

“By what?” Alysha asked in her disinterested way.

“Of course not: that’s to keep normal folks from stumbling in, makes them avoid it on purpose... except for Jimmie, I guess.”

“Who?”

“The Fateweaver from the time with the Smugglers,” Fairy spoke as she opened her door, “though I didn’t meet him... I just know him thanks to Master's stupid quest thing-”

Tricia shook her head as she tried to crawl over the chair. “Fairy, stop, the hologram is-!”

“Just fine! It’s just fine,” Fairy grumbled as she left the car. The projections making Fairy into a human child followed her until she slammed the door on them, causing them to wink out of existence and leaving only the leather-clad greater fae demonica... out in the parking lot... in the middle of the day... in the middle of the city.

“Fairy, if someone sees-!”

“We’re already in the outer trick, you trick,” Fairy scoffed as she flicked a bit of dust from her shoulder, “so normal morons will ignore us the way they ignore the alley.”

"Do you really know that, or are you making presumptions based on-"

Whhiiiiiiiiiirrrr. Alysha took that as an invitation and, with the slow, mechanical lowering of her window, paused their conversation. Fairy stared at the dark elf. The dark elf stared at Tricia. Tricia stared at the window button. Tricia’s fake hologram dad smiled forever.

With an inhumanely agile flip, Alysha dived out of the now completely opened window and stood proud in her modest rags... still bereft of armor, weapons, and non-pregnancy.

I... didn’t think a pregnant woman could move like that, Tricia silently observed, or rather should-

The middle seat suddenly lowered, revealing Kazex’s frustrated grimace. “Does this mean I can finally be out of this disgusting prison cell?!” Greenpaw did not join the chorus of translated voices; hiding in shame felt right for the Almiraj.

5 minutes later...

Though Fairy seemed to have the right of it, Tricia couldn’t help but keep scanning the narrow road for witnesses. None appeared: Monday morning this close to lunch was not prime motel business hours. Finally willing to accept that they went unnoticed, Tricia brought up the caboose of her train of oddities, from front to back: Fairy, Kazex, Alysha, and Greenpaw, each one in the open and none even attempting to hide their natures. If the Order finds out... ah, well I suppose that’s not really a concern, given our intentions...

But it hung on Tricia’s mind, the idea of betraying the Order for John. How had she so naturally accepted such a course of action? How did she automatically begin to tail and interfere with an Order mission? Even if they were dismissive, or inclined only to call upon Tricia like a tool to be used, the Order was still an ally of a sort. Certainly, the Opekuny would not approve of her current course of action... But I can’t just let John die in their hands. She didn’t even lie to herself anymore: saving Brenda or Lily was a far secondary goal, and only because John demanded it.

“Just keep walking forward,” Fairy declared... right before vanishing.

Tricia narrowed her eyes at the sudden vanishing act, but lessened her scrutiny when Kazex, with a hearty sigh, also slipped into nothingness. “An illusion barrier? But I can’t even detect it...”

“Hidden in plain sight, then... wiser than most human tactics,” Alysha offered before boldly marching into the same.

Greenpaw suddenly stopped before the invisible threshold... and turned to regard the blonde. Tricia was stopped dead in her tracks. Her guard rose... until she saw the sorrowful wrinkle in the rabbit-man's brow. The chip quietly translated, “I... am sorry.”

Tricia didn’t dare meet his eyes; her cheeks grew warm from feeling threatened... and from remembering that of which she almost partook. “The fault is mine. I should have remained a neutral observer, and I sought to fulfill a selfish desire...”

"You..." Greenpaw's nose twitched as the chip continued. "You had a desire?"

"I did..." It embarrassed her, but Tricia had to own it, now.

“... for mating-?” Greenpaw too eagerly offered.
“... for fluffy-” Tricia finally began to say.

The two had spoken at the same time... though their impasse was made clear. A long, uncomfortable silence was punctuated by Greenpaw wordlessly stepping backwards into the threshold, his face frozen in new humiliation.

Tricia sighed. Her Eye cycled. With no words, she stepped on through as well.

“-o the fuck are you?” The male voice had rung out just as Tricia stepped through the alleyway air and into... a fenced off, verdant green field? The strange pocket was lit with an emulation of the real sun. Squatting in the center of the wide barrier was a two-story, wood-paneled structure, no larger than one of the department stores outside, and with a single double door... currently held open and revealing an angry, slightly familiar face, though Tricia had never been properly introduced.

Travolta let the doors close as he stepped out into the open, cracking his knuckles as veins began to protrude impressively across his neck and arms.