Jan 27 16:05:48 108 PA - Reconsidering the Problem

From Chronicles

Jan 27 16:05:48 108 PA.

MOE'S TAVERN

Sebastien peers up and pops the top on the bottle, flicking the cap across onto the bench beside Gabriel. "You're supposed to get closer than that," he notes pointedly. "Unlike your grenades, there is no minimum safe distance." Sebastien nods at that, and up-ends his bottle, before making a face. "I saw a vision. I don't know if it was the future or what's happening now. Dead boys, chatting with children on a border town. Explosions. People being vaporized, and a face. A death's head, but with long twisted horns. Something I've never seen before. Something the Coalition didn't invite. It's not bullshit. Something's happening to border towns."

"The refugees? They're disappearing inside the city. I've been looking into them the best I've been able. Not exactly the type to receive visions, or whatever you call 'em." Gabriel shrugs and eyes the pile of beers before him - then takes a gentle sip of his cola-type soda. "So this is something different? Can't say that I like the image of the devil in my head. What is it?" He looks around for a place to sit, wipes off a chair, and sits down. His range to Sebastien? That's debatable.

"No," Sebastien replies. "The job. Our job. Body guards." He wave his hand between the two of them, then points out at the door. "Remember? Towns disappearing? Investigate? We thought it was all bullshit and they were inviting us out to be killed for our gear? It isn't." He gasps then, face clenching, and leans back with eyes closed.

Gabriel's eyes twirl around in their sockets, metaphorically speaking, as he tries to recall exactly what the man is talking about. Has he even been anywhere with him on a mission except for escorting Vixen up to Laramy? No. Oh, hah, the border towns. Yes, those ones. The disgusting little bastard at the Silver Fork. The older man leans forward, resting his forearms on the table top, peering around the mound of beer. "Yeah, I remember. The deadly weapon, or however the guy put it. Alexandre.. what was his last name? I wrote it down somewhere. We were supposed to meet with his boss, and the others. Don't remember who, but others." He clears his throat before asking, "So... this weapon, it's not a normal weapon, it's like, um... like bad-ass biologic warfare?"

Sebastien's eyes open, and he suddenly ... His eyes look clear. He straightens a touch, running a hand over his head, and continuing without the slur in his words, he adds, "I saw fire. Explosions. Nothing so insidious. And the horned head -- it could be a metaphor, but I don't think so. It looked real. I know the Coalition uses death heads, but I saw no equipment like that in my time at the Devil's Gate. And since magic tends to not explode, I'm thinking something technology."

"Ah.. a technology that wipes out entire cites, I can understand that. So we're talking bombs, bullets, tanks, men with knives?" Gabriel quirks his head to the side. "I'm afraid I'm no psychologist, though. You'll have to tell me what the horn thing is about. What do you mean they use 'death heads?' The armor shit?" He then leans back, sips at his 'pussy' soda, and asks, "Incidentally, where the hell and what the hell is the Devil's Gate?"

Sebastien nods readily at the talk of bombs, bullets, and the like. "Magic tends to be elemental. Lightning, the balls of fire, demons with knives, earthquakes, that sort of thing. So oui, missiles and grenades I think." His smirk breaks into a smile then, leaning forward as he eyes Gabriel. "You've never seen CS armor? Non, I think you have one?" He narrows his eyes and peers at Gabriel. "The helmet is designed to look like a skull. On their newer armor suits, the body even has a skeletal look. Their transports have armor plates on the front that look like great skulls. Thus soldiers are 'dead boys.' They wear 'death head' helmets. The Devil's Gate complex is the largest CS base in Missouri, in St Louis." He pronounces that 'Sant Loo-ee.' Sebastien's smile drops and he shrugs, "For whatever reason, the Peace Arch now has underneath the most unstable and active rift nexus in North America. Generally it opens holes to nowhere. You see canyons, plains, outer space. But with that many rifts and changing so frequently, it is one of the places where millions of aliens, demons used to enter our world. Like a great gaping sore on the planet." Sebastien shrugs, saying, "Some we let go back through the hole? We pointed guns, and pointed at the rift, and if they left they lived. Saves lives to not shoot at everything. What was less compliant, more dangerous, more alien, well." Sebastien gives a small smile, "The CS has arrayed around the Gate a full battalion, composed of many armored companies and more emplaced weapons than you could care to count. And," he notes, "It's the ass-end of Coalition territory. People sent there see combat, war or peace, year round. The last vestiges of the CS magic divisions are parked there, forgotten to deal with the magic only they understand until that generation finishes passing on."

The older man nods appropriately, listening very carefully to the information. "Yes, I've seen the 'Dead Boys.' I've killed a number of them and scored a bundle of cash selling off their shit. They're very theatric. Not quite sure who buys into the bullshit skull-intimidation thing. The SS tried the same thing, basically. Slightly different logo, but if you saw it, you'd think that it was the same guy who drew it up, just on a different contract." He sips once more at his soda. "So this Alexandre guy, whatever his last name is. You think he's full of it? Because I didn't get a good feeling from him. Someone trying to bend me over a barrel. You get anyone else on board with this thing, just to get slightly off topic. But we'll return to it," Gabriel promises.

"The skull works," Sebastien speaks darkly. "You have a rifle, you have armor, and you've fought a few of them. Let's say you have green skin and you see a demon. OK, it may torture and kill you, if it can, just for fun. But it's on foot. Most can't hit you at range, and only some know limited magic. Now let's say you see a Dead Boy. He won't be alone. One call from his radio may bring a fire team, a platoon, even an armored company down to kill you for just being who you are. They can hit you with missiles from tens or hundreds of miles away..." He shakes his head. "You must have been lucky. Yes, I know you're trained in guerrilla warfare, you've fought armies single-handedly, but you have to respect them. To do otherwise is ... folly." Sebastien shrugs at that, and changes the subject, "But yes. Something *is* killing towns. I've seen it. It's also killing Coalition soldiers."

"Killing everyone, then. Not towns. The towns just get in the way. Everything gets in the way. Something, or more likely, someone, is going after people. I assume humans and D-Bees alike?" Gabriel looks down the neck of his bottle, which is rapidly becoming empty. "I don't know how your brain thing works -" he waves his hand in a circle around his ear "- but I don't suppose you can tell if the Coalition troops are putting together their own little band? I assume that no matter what, they're fighting this technology thing that for some reason uses a metaphoric devil as it's signature logo?"

Sebastien shakes his head. "I don't know. I could call my parents, but they're stationed at the Gate and wouldn't know about the Tolkeen engagement. I imagine it depends on the scale of the damage? People are dying there for all kinds of reasons. It's a war." He raises his hands and says, "If anything, maybe an Espionage agent assigned to a squad and a few RSGS agents to investigate."

Gabriel's eyebrow quirks up. "Parents? I don't believe that you mentioned parents before - certainly not parents 'stationed' anywhere. Are they with the CS, or knights, like you? At any rate, if you could contact them, they're intelligence. Any intelligence is good intelligence - even when it's bad intelligence." That may seem like a stupid, circular argument, but it's stated anyway. "So... these towns, they're not just disappearing in the Tolkeen area? It's happening down near St. Louis, too? Incidentally, it's pronounced 'Saint LOO-iss.' Espionage agent. Would that be..." his voice trails off slightly and he pats his chest lightly. "Someone like me? Never seen, but causes trouble?" He looks off, not really the kind to walk around talking about his job. "What's an RSGS?"

Sebastien replies with a little glance to the side. "Coalition. Some of the last magic-using sort. Thirty-five years of service for my father, Forty for my mother, and they're not yet dead. Not a bad record, eh?" He inclines his chin. "But given their ... delicate political situation, if they want to stay at in the Coalition, it's being stationed out in the middle of nowhere. Retirement would be expulsion, at best. Ever since the war with the Federation, the Coalition shunned them. The RSGS is a step back in, what I consider to be, the right direction. They study magic exclusively, try to understand how rifts and ley lines work, to better track magic users and defeat spells in progress. A lot of them are trained at the Gate. But no, the disappearances are all on the Tolkeen border, which is why I say calling home would not help. Several hundred miles North."

Gabriel excuses himself as he rises from his chair, burping softly into a closed fist. "Right back." The music picks up, the Murderball game goes on, and perhaps for a while there's no one to immediately converse with, but the man is true to his word, quickly returning and sliding back into his seat with a new bottle of 'pussy' soda (hopefully that's not a flavor or brand name) and... one of the beers that Sebastian had been throwing back. He smiles and slides it across the table, avoiding the barrier of piled bottles. "My gift to the death of your liver, Sebastien." He whaps the cap off of his bottle with a quick strike against the edge of the table, and then, before tasting, asks, "Okay, so it *is* up near Tolkeen, like this Alexandre guy is saying. Whoever his 'boss' is. What do you think about Alexandre first saying that he has an idea of what it is, then that he has no idea what it is, and now apparently that it isn't anything so mystical at all beyond a new brand of weapon that targets flesh but not structures. You did say that it was leaving the structures, right? Or is it just leaving craters?"

Sebastien eyes the beer, and smirks. "Now that I'm sober again?" He quirks and eyebrow and grimaces. "It's my bladder that worries me," he says, patting his stomach and careful to not slosh about too much. He doesn't open the beer immediately. "Oh, Hell Gabriel. I don't know. It could be next door, it could be in Europe. All I know is that I saw dead boys in a town of humans, I saw explosions, and then I saw a horned death mask. I think what Alexandre says has some truth to it, but as far as details?" He shakes his head, "I'm at a loss."

The older man attempts to briefly narrow down details. "So you saw Dead Boys, as in Coalition soldiers, marching through a town of humans. Right? Just start there." Gabriel's voice isn't hard or annoyed, just focused.

Sebastien ducks his head, running a hand up and through his hair as he stares at the table, clenching his eyes tight. "Alright," he sighs, thinking. "You know, it's like trying to remember a dream? Not ... quite that bad, but..?" He makes a little face, and his eyes lift to stare at the beer bottle. "It's a ... small town. Couple medium-sized buildings. That is to say, not single-family structures, but built up. I see people walking around. Humans, just going about their business. In front of one of those buildings, some dead boys stand. Three or, maybe four, my angle could be cutting one off. They're joking with a kid. The kid has a soccer ball. He's got brown hair, freckles. There's a flash then, and I look aside, before the 'whump' of a concussion hits me. And then more, like," he shakes his head. "Maybe mini missiles, hitting in sequence? There's blood everywhere now, body parts, I hear a rail gun. The soldiers survived the initial blast, but they're in retreat. And then another death;s head, with long twisting horns, and I see it only for an instant. Then it all goes black."

Gabriel listens intently, hearing things that he understands, and also things that he doesn't understand. He suggests, "A horrible case of collateral damage? Someone trying to kill the CS troops and whatever I assume they're protecting within that building? Maybe mercenaries. Or an army that no one has ever heard of. Aliens. D-Bees, pissed off humans, I don't know." He sips at his soda for a moment, deep in thought. "Please, I understand that this is difficult. I hate trying to remember dreams. I can remember what I deliberately remember... but not dreams. But try, because all I'm hearing is a bad dream. What can a image of a horned skull like that mean? Is it attached to a hoofed body? Hanging along in the sky, watching things? I'm sorry, Seb, but I'm totally lost on this point." He opens his hands, palms up - nearly dumping his soda by accident - in pure submission and surrender to lack of knowledge.

Sebastien's eyes rise with an angry look, the blues catching Gabriel tightly as he slams an open palm on the table between hard enough to rattle the bottles and cause one to fall off the end of the booth. "I don't know!" he snaps. "I don't see! And every time I try, I don't know if I'm adding something because I want to remember it, or because I just don't remember. You get what you get, that's all I know, and if you want more you can grow your own" he lifts his hand to wiggle around his ear, "mind thing, because that's a lot more than you had ten minutes ago!"

The older man is not rattled. Plenty, indeed, hundreds of men and women have been angry at him over the decades. Some willfully giving intelligence, some being beaten in interrogation. Yes, he's quite good at getting information out of people through whatever is necessary. And odd thing for a nice mean to do. Still he holds up his hands. "Okay, okay, just asking." Gabriel allows himself to let out a breath as he thinks. "You said that you were going to be recruiting others. Who else do you have?" He tilts the neck of his soda toward the other man. "C'mon, you sound like a man who might enjoy getting sloshed. Memory's fading anyway." Not that he usually encourages alcoholism.

"Like I said," Sebastien speaks, lifting his beer to hold to his forehead, enjoying the cold touch, "my body rejects it. Another psychic trait, I think. I can slur a bit, get a touch tipsy, but before you know it," he shrugs. "I'm sober again. At least there aren't any hangovers!" He just shakes his head. "I asked around. Neither Erica nor Celaeno seemed interested. We're supposed to have some sort of staff meeting soon, where we'll see what other flies were attracted, and we can plan around that."

Gabriel leans far back in his seat. "I'll be straight with you, Seb. I'll fix up a cattle problem with one other man in tow. But if I even think that I'm going to be marching into what very well may be a full-scale combat zone, I'm not going to do it without a lot more people, a lot more equipment, and lot more of the combination of people and equipment that I can count on. I'll throw myself into impossible situations for the good of common people - but I won't blatantly commit suicide." He tips his bottle up and drinks from it. "I'll show up at this meeting with Alexandre and 'the boss' but if it doesn't smell right, I'm staying here, and we'll all just wait until either the Coalition deals with it, or more people in this city get worried about it." He shrugs sadly. "You gotta know when to hold 'em, know when to fold 'em, know when to walk away, know when to run."

Sebastien tilts his head to the right, and gives a quiet, "Eh. I understand. And you can't say we weren't well-prepared for that little trip!" He smiles, his broken face splitting oddly, and he slowly lowers the bottle to cradle it in his hands. Letting the brew get warm. His eyes drop, lips pursing, and he peers in at the liquid sloshing in the dark glass. "But I'll go. Even if it was just me, I'd go. Listen, there's ... danger everywhere. Worthy causes to pursue in every place. But by taking this sort of task, I can be an example?" He looks up then, lips opening as he gropes for the words. "I've received some of the best training a man can have on this Earth. If I don't take the risks, who will? I could never expect you to take that chance, if I was unwilling. So. With Sara, my new armor, and God willing?" he nods affirmatively, "We'll make it back. And there will be a story to tell. To inspire."

"One man can't face an army in open combat. Guerrillas and partisans, they can fight. Spies, covert operations teams, they can fight. But sending one man, or one small team - even one well-armed man who may effectively be his own small team - doesn't seem reasonable. I'm not going to tell you what to do. But I'm not going to get myself killed in what is *at the moment* a pointless endeavor. But we'll see," Gabriel says, once more sipping from his bottle, "Maybe if Alexandre and 'the boss' have some good information, and I trust them, I'll reconsider." He inhales and exhales slowly. "Miss Celaeno and Miss Erica - were they simply busy, or did they decide that it sounded like a fool's errand?"

"Going does not imply fighting an army," Sebastien counters. "What will be, will be. We don't know yet. And if ordered to assault a Coalition emplacement?" He smirks, "I can always say no! I got the impression they are busy, but perhaps they simply don't like me. You could try?" He raises his beer in salute, and slides for the edge of the booth. "But now, monsieur, I should be going. I'll see you soon, at the meet."

The older adventurer nods. "Fair enough. But I've given you my stance, you've given me yours. We'll find out more after the meeting." With a grin, Gabriel looks over to Sebastian. "You, ah... not that I bring this up with men very often, but you look like a man who either really needs to take a piss, or is getting bored with my conversation and wants to get out of here. In fact," he arches his eyebrow and looks around Moe's, "I think that *I* want to get out of this shithole." With that, he drains his bottle in one long gulp.

The two men go their separate ways.