[center][h2]Dave Rogerson[/h2]
[@HereComesTheSnow][/center]

The room'd do fine. 

Facing east, away from the center of the city and thus away from hostile intent. Probably. Honestly, the odds that anyone came at him from the east were pretty low. Let alone that they looked for Dave [i]here[/i]. It was the cheapest hotel with a full kitchen he could get in the district. That was its other big selling point. Two tickets on an international flight had already been [i]murder[/i] on his wallet, y'know? Maxie wouldn't have taken being in a kennel for the flight well [i]at all[/i]. He had to have his own seat. Poor guy already hated being cooped up that long, but he was a disciplined mind, that pooch. He could handle staying in his seat. He was still very, very relieved when they were finally off the plane. Part of why they took the stairs up, not the elevator. Burn off a little of that excess energy. He'd have plenty to do when this was all underway, but he was gonna have to be patient just a little longer.

The Shepherd bounded around the room as soon as they reached it. Sniffing like mad, that one. Was a good thing. If there was anything Dave needed to know about, Maxie'd find it. He didn't really expect anything, but...

Well, he was dealing with magi. [i]Real[/i] magi. He didn't even know what [i]he[/i] could do, he had no idea what they might be able to pull. Until he did, he was assuming the worst. For everything, mortal and supernatural. That was why he drew the curtains immediately, to prevent anyone seeing into the room. He didn't [i]think[/i] there was anyone posted with a high-powered rifle that could see the window, but assumptions make asses out of you and me. Dead asses, if he was wrong. Wasn't the plan. 

But there was a schedule to keep, so he got to work.

"Maxie, ya better not chew up the place. Your picky ass already cost me two tickets." He rebuked the dog gently, grinning a little at the positively [i]innocent[/i] look he got in response. "[i]And[/i] a checked bag, mate. I coulda just had a carry-on, y'know. But noooo. We need all your favorite chew toys."

"And," He added, zipping open the bag and beginning to retrieve the carefully hidden components he knew were secreted inside. "A place to hide this. So I guess that's not all on you, mate."

Maxwell chuffed his indignant response, and looked reproachful until the spot behind his ears had been scratched. Then he hopped up onto the bed next to the two bags and circled once, laying down with his paws tucked under his chin. Maxwell, smarter than the average bear, [i]clearly[/i] knew his master was talking just to talk. Chattering at his dog was something Rogerson could do, something to keep him focused. Most of his prep was routine, stuff he knew by heart. Talking filled the silence, kept him from overthinking. First thing was to reassemble his weapon. The Glock came together like it had never been taken apart at all, put back together with practiced methodology. Dave could've done it quicker, but who was he gonna show off to? Do it thoroughly once, then you don't have to worry about getting it wrong. His clothes went up in the closet, Maxie's toys and bed on the floor, so on and so on. Simple stuff, when you first moved into a hotel room.

His carry-on was where it got interesting. 

He wasn't much of a magus. He got most of the theory fine. The journals that had made up the brunt of his inheritance taught him a little more, as did the wards set up on his abode decades earlier. Those he could recreate, in simplified form. Enough to cut off the inside from the outside, magically speaking. It was a key first step before he proceeded. [i]This[/i] gear had traveled with him every step of the way, it was nothing he was going to entrust to an airline's care. The markers for the field, set up at the furthest corners of his hotel room. Then came the tarpaulin.

As absolutely, completely ridiculous as it made him feel.

He didn't own any land in Italy. He couldn't afford to buy it, either. And the hotel would have some very real questions if he started drawing on the kitchen floor. So the tarp went down first, pinned at each corner with something heavy enough to hold it steady. Then the same with a smaller square of canvas over it. [i]That[/i] would actually be able to take the markings he had so painstakingly practiced, over and over, as soon as he understood what the marks on his hand were. He couldn't afford to get it wrong. His skill was so utterly lacking that he had to take refuge in procedure, practicing every minute detail. [i]Precision[/i] was his only hope. It was the work of half an hour, easily, to replicate what he had practiced at home. The circle took place stroke by painstaking stroke, almost reverently rendered on the canvas. Black marks on white canvas, three feet across. Room enough for what was to come. 

No more putting it off.

"Alright, Maxie, you're gonna stay out of the kitchen, pal." He was serious, this time. Maxwell could tell, and regarded him solemnly from the bed while he withdrew the last bundle from his carry-on. His grandfather had prepared it, he knew. It wasn't a very good catalyst, as they went. It wouldn't do much more than point the summoning in the right direction. The rest... The rest would be fortune. All of his preparation. The circle. Practicing every last inflection of his incantation.

It all came down to elements he couldn't possibly control.

Such a small item, for such a key factor in deciding his future. It was so light, without the cloth carefully wrapped around it. Dave laid it reverently in the center of his circle, then withdrew to its edge. There was no more delaying.

"Heed my words." He began, mustering his strength. It felt... Strange. It was still an unfamiliar sensation, feeling it stir within him. He was aware of it, but guiding it was still very much beyond him. But there was little guiding to be done, this time. Its presence was what mattered. The confluence of catalyst, circle, power, and his spoken word. He worked to infuse as much of his will into every word as he could, falling back upon the structure of the ritual to focus his efforts. There had been no testing it, no way to further influence the outcome. He would speak the words, and what happened would happen. One deep breath, before he continued. "My will creates your body, and your sword creates my destiny."

"If you heed the Grail's call and obey my will and reason, [i]then answer me."[/i]

Another breath, to keep his focus. 

"I hereby swear that I shall be all the good in the world."

Power wasn't the problem; he could feel enough of it within him. Keeping it focused, unwavering, was.

[i]"That I shall defeat all the evil in the world."[/i]

He could feel it. The power moving, the work's gears beginning to grind to life. It was [i]working[/i], even if he couldn't understand how. This was it. The moment of truth. All of his determination, in these last words.

[i][b]"Thou Seventh Heaven, clad in the three great words of power, come forth from the circle of binding, Guardian of the Scales!"[/b][/i]