[indent][center][img]https://i.imgur.com/6Yi4gad.png[/img][/center][right][h1][color=f49ac2]Edict[/color][/h1][/right][right][sub][hr][color=f49ac2]Mentions:[/color] Irrelevant/Auri Auclair [color=f49ac2]Location:[/color] Minneapolis, Minnesota: Club Serviteur [/sub][/right][hr]
[/indent]Edict sat at his desk passing a book between both his hands. His feet were up, square toed black on black dress shoes shining in the little lamp's weak light. The [url=https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=5V1vhm8nctQ] sounds of the club [/url] echoed through the walls as the bass pounded from the song. Weeks prior, he'd installed extra sound padding to the dancefloor walls hoping to keep most of the noise and the funk out of his private space, but it wasn't working particularly well when there was structural vibration one had to deal with. The whole place shook with the motion of the people and the music, and across from Edict were two fairly stuffy looking individuals.

"Ehm, Mr. Devola, Sir..." one spoke, slightly timid. "I think, maybe, we've come at things from the wrong angle here. Understand, these museums aren't banks. The way they record things isn't cursory like some teller, the keepers there are constantly checking up on-"
[color=f49ac2]"Bert..."[/color] 
The man clammed up, a cloth dabbing the sweat away from his forehead. Edict swung his feet off the desk, hitting the floor with a leather slap before tugging himself in tight to his desk. Gently, perfectly straight, Edict slid the book into the center of the desk, directly between himself and them. Both men looked at it, and the speaker (Bert) looked at the thing as though it were an infant or some precious piece of glass. Each motion Edict made with it elicited a powerful cringe response that made the man look as though he was on the verge of a panic attack.
[color=f49ac2]"You don't really get how we do things around here. It's not amature hour at the Devola household, believe me."[/color]
Edict's body shifted in his chair, the deep blue dress shirt he wore wrinkling as he tilted over and pulled open one of the drawers on his side. From its depths he pulled a book, and upon presenting it and sliding it into position next to the other, Bert was at a loss. From all the ways he could examine it visually, his well trained eye couldn't tell the difference.

The book in question was a Vatican tome, something kept in a museum separate from their personal collection and on tour with several other artifacts as part of a money gathering operation for the Church. Over five hundred years old, the tome was supposed to have... Well, Edict didn't really care about that part. He had sixteen buyers lined up, and all he had to do was produce a counterfeit that would last long enough for all involved parties to abscond properly. Beyond that, as long as loose ends got tied up, there wasn't anything to worry about.

Edict waved his hand forward, inviting the two men to examine the books in front of him.
[color=f49ac2]"Please, if either of you can find the difference, let me know."[/color]
The second man spoke up, incredulity in his voice.
"Mr. Devola... These may look the mark, you may have some fancy printing press and computer system to replicate everything on the paper, but there's no possible way that a replica is going to hold up to sincere scrutiny. There are chemical tests that are run, there's checks and balances, I mean fuck... A scrape of the ink off the paper alone!"
Edict smiled and waved his hands.
[color=f49ac2]"Understand: There's real power in books. Especially old things like this? They... They speak to those who listen in a way that guys like you two just won't get. Case in point, tell me which book is real right now and you just leave with it. No questions."[/color]
There was a moment of tension between the two men on the other side of the desk. Finally the second grew fed up.
"No. No more of this. Mr. Devola, we'll be taking both back with us. I won't let you-" he spun to point at his partner. "Or *you*, put my career and my credibility as a historian to shame because of some wild heist!"

Edict hadn't expected the flip. It wasn't exactly wrong of him to be suspicious: The real copy of the book was miles away, packaged for transport to whatever buyer was willing to bid highest. Both present were identical copies of the original text, and he had no qualms whatsoever about both being taken. But, it was all about appearances. He never intended for these two men to get the book back; their mistake had already been made when they handed it over to him first. 
He couldn't tell either of them that the copies were magic, or that to any mundane scholar they would be [i]exact[/i] replicas down to the atomic level. He also couldn't tell them that they'd disappear in six months since by then it wouldn't matter anyway. What he could do, however, was ease the stress and help Mr. Nervous into the deal through what seemed like his own free will.
Leaning back in his chair, Edict stuck a hand down to the side and let his hand slip into the pocket of the coat that was hung on its back. He felt the warmth of the metal frame within, smiling to himself gently as he pulled it from its place. The gold frame of the sunglasses never seemed to lose the heat of summer, and in comfort he slipped them onto the top of his head very casually. That warmth washed pink over the room, letting those within feel that same summer breeze. The Warm Little Center. 

Taking a deep breath, Edict placed both his hands together at the finger tips, a formation of Suggestion. He let the entire spell hang in the air for a few moments, Warm Little Center washing into their brains and visibly softening the expression around him. Mr. Nervous spoke up again before he could even finish.
"Ah, M-mr. Devola... Of course, understand this has nothing to do with you... Your business is-"
Edict released his fingers, letting his hands climb gently into the air until both palms faced upward.
[color=f49ac2]"You should take them."[/color]
His words vibrated like the bass of the club in their ears, each syllable delivering a crushing blow to the inhibition centers of the brain. Instantly the two men deflated in their seats, having assumed the worst even as this strange sensation came around them: Saying no to a Gangster like Edict Devola and getting away with it? Surely it was the weight of their professionalism, their involvement with Federal security, something must've prompted him to agree... 

But neither were able to consider it a plot. It was a genuine offer in their minds. Bert immediately stood to scoop both books. Mr. Nervous stood with his arms crossed, nervous and ready to leave despite the strangeness of the exchange. A business meeting ended like this? What kind of business was he running?
[color=f49ac2]"You two go ahead and do whatever testing you need to. If, by some shot, you want to try again when you've seen the results for yourselves? My offer is always open."[/color]
Edict stood with them, and then the phone at his desk began to ring. He thanked God and the Fates that Blinds were so easy sometimes. You just had to give them a little extra and they ran away with their own thoughts. Why even try?
[color=f49ac2]"And look, perfect timing. You two go on now. Oh, Mr. Joshua!?"[/color] he called loudly. A tall man dressed in a suit opened the office door. [color=f49ac2]"See to it these two gentlemen make it back to their destination safely, there's a blizzard coming in and I don't want them caught out in the snow with such important treasure."[/color]

The two men thanked Edict profusely on their way out, and the door closed just before the last ring of the phone. Edict snatched it up, swinging it from the receiver up to his ear.
[color=f49ac2]"Badabing, what's good?"[/color] he answered. His face was blank at first, shifting to skepticism before ending in a sour expression.
[color=f49ac2]"Auclair? That's an old name... To what do I owe this pleasure?"[/color]
[right][sub][hr][color=f49ac2]Mentions:[/color] Mixed Attendees | [color=f49ac2]Location:[/color] St. Portwell, Oregon: Flowers and Canvases [/sub][/right][hr]
It was difficult not coming back vindictive and just like who he wanted to be. He wanted to rub his business in everyone's face, to tell Auclair to cram her trap and get lost with the Wolf. The driver had brought him directly to the front door of the shop, and he stepped out into the breezy late fall of Portwell with his long jacket covering the garb of a Priest: If one caught sight of the brand tags they may have some questions about how deep his hands were in the donation basket, but the stole and tab collar around his neck would hopefully draw people off small details like that. He had left his hair natural, letting its short length bunch up slightly on his head as it had dried from his morning shower. Not long enough to curl, it simply became ungovernable. But it was a genuine look; like someone who was more concerned about his duty than his looks. 
Over his eyes, those same sunglasses he had that most people would've recognized from so long ago. It was no secret that they were his Channeler, and if anyone had been looking at him as he arrived through the store's glass front, they probably would've seen them. But, before he got to the door and walked in, he popped them off and slipped them into his pocket. His fingers lingered on the warm metal, and he took a deep breath before stepping into the melee.

Auri greeted him at the door; he wanted to spit on the floor. Tell her how jacked up the place was. How he was ready to do everything all over again.
[color=f49ac2]"Auri Auclair!"[/color] he emoted. It was excitement, happiness, longing. To them, he had to be someone who [i]missed[/i] what they had. He did... Did miss some things. But, not the catty leadership of a dead organization. A dead family. 
"[color=f49ac2]It has been [i]too[/i] long. And, of course what brings us all back? Misfortune. Shame on us!"[/color] Edict said in passing as he took a seat near the middle of the rows, but far off to one side. 
Taking his coat off, anyone looking would see him pull the face open to reveal the clerical accessories he wore. There was a distinct lack of jewelry and any kind of overt flash, and overall he certainly gave the impression of someone who had calmed down from his youthful days. It was, of course, well curated. As soon as he'd gotten the call he was on a plane to the North-West, making sure players in the area knew he was in town on [i]pleasure[/i] so nobody got the wrong idea from the real Family. This wasn't a muscle-in; it was a pipebomb job. The kind of thing that's good for everyone. 

More and more flooded in. He saw familiar faces and not-so familiar faces in turn. Tayla Choi, Eksa Thresh, Luca Olivera... Drake Blackmoore's haggard ass was still kicking around in bum clothes. [i]Fucking tough guy.[/i] Eventually, Auri felt it right to start off with bullshit as usual. [i]Family[/i]; Who the fuck was she talking about? No family here, just a bunch of sad and desperate kids looking for a ghost. Just like old times, the desperate fear for life took hold and sought out warmth and safety in numbers. Edict planned to suck up everything he could. Everything they'd let him get his hands on. [i]Payback, Sycamore.[/i] He thought about the axes in his back vividly, tuning in and out until others began to pipe up.
When Britney Williams was mentioned, there was a little sting in his chest. Luca had certainly gotten a bad rap from Brit's meddling, but somehow the guy was still alive and managing. It was, as far as Edict was concerned, quite the accomplishment when he could rot the ground out from under him. Hearing Sloane's voice was like listening to an old pacer test recording: Hollow and mechanical, just like the old days.

[color=f49ac2]"Ladies and Gentlemen!-"[/color] Edict started, clearing his throat. [color=f49ac2]"Is it out of our consideration that Sister Auclair is mourning in her own way? For some of us, I'm sure that's the case. A little compassion for everyone can maybe set some things right, no? So she's beating around the bush a little bit, patience and consideration is key here... We're not kids anymore."[/color]
He had, and to this day still did, talk with a bit of [i]stank[/i] on his voice. A cultivated accent from a cultivated identity. But here, he cleansed it. They had to see Greyson removed from his old ways.
[color=f49ac2]"I know I've had a lot of time to think about the things that I've done wrong... That's why I came here to help put an end to this once and for all. For those hurt by my own actions, and the actions of others. So, let her have her time to speak and explain properly, rather than quickly!"[/color]