[centre] [img]https://i.imgur.com/czPip88.png[/img] [b]Detroit, July 7th[/b] [b]A Spark of Golden Hope: Episode 2[/b] [/centre] Well. That had certainly answered some questions. Unfortunately, it had raised plenty of others. Everett had avoided lingering any longer than needed - he needed time to think, after all, and the open was not the place to do so. Without hesitation he'd grabbed one of the pamphlets and made his way to the edge of Midtown, a strange and seedy line drawn between the dense developed residencies and the ruins that seemed to personify the rest of the city. Standing in the shade, the mid-day sun still hot but in a more distant sense, he rested against a wall of concrete and thought carefully about what steps forward there would be. Was she right? Was this really the way to make a difference? Could it really have been [i]so simple[/i], this whole time? The idea that the problems could be fixed by "the man on the ground" was one he'd always hoped as a child would be true, though the things he'd learnt as an adult had put those dreams to rest. The thought of "facing resistance" wasn't comforting, but he'd had his fair share of run ins with the law, and she seemed to be a capable spokesperson and organizer... he could tell. Something about the way she had spoken, the way she had moved when addressing the people, the fact that she'd not backed down - even when her opening lines had caused more than a few angry murmurs from the people around him. [i]That girl has ideals. She knows what she believes in... and she's got no hesitation around fools-[/i] [i][color=#9f7d2e]Crunch.[/color][/i] The feeling of something soft and warm, wriggling at the back of his head, shook him from his thoughts. It was a strange and slightly eerie feeling that reached down into his stomach, and for just a moment he had the awful sensation that something very small and very ancient had just been snuffed out of existence. [i]"What, um... what was that?!"[/i] he thought, echoing in the dark golden light that he envisioned when his eyes were closed. A delicate, pointed leg curled into the center of his mind's eye, [i][color=#9f7d2e]My apologies, Mansa. I was making the best of an unusual circumstance.[/color][/i] A cold sweat crawled its way down the back of his neck. [i]"What... what does that even mean...?!"[/i] he seethed, his teeth gritting physically from the sheer focus on the internal discussion. [i][color=#9f7d2e]It is nothing of great importance - that place was surrounded by warm, ephemeral living things. They were beyond your perception, and your touch.[/color][/i] [i]"Wait, you mean... did you just [b]eat[/b] a [b]ghost?![/b]"[/i] [i][color=#9f7d2e]No.[/color][/i] Everett couldn't help but frown, pinching the bridge of his nose, the fume-stained oil of his finger tips coagulating into a thin grime that he would probably regret later if he couldn't get some sort of shower. [i]"Remind me one of these days to ask you more about this sort of stuff. It's weird enough having a magical spider in my brain without also, mmm... knowing the air is apparently filled with the equivalent of magical flies, too."[/i] [i][color=#9f7d2e]I will be certain to discuss it with you, Mansa.[/color][/i] Everett sighed physically, stretching his arms and cracking his knuckles with a single motion, before looking again at the pamphlet. There was the address, written in a tight, professional sort of font that he didn't recognize. [i]"Should I... what do you think? Is it worth a shot?"[/i] A soft and rhythmic sound like swallowing, echoed in his inner ear. [i][color=#9f7d2e]The choice is yours, Mansa. You alone hold ruin and prosperity in your hands... however, I did feel something... strange, from this queen who holds fire.[/color][/i] [i]"Queen?"[/i] [i][color=#9f7d2e]Undoubtedly, that mortal has the spirit of a queen in her voice. Her threads - at least the ones I could see - burn a zealous trail... for a certainty such a burning mind is one to guide a golden hand, if you are happy to allow it.[/color][/i] ... In fairness, he also had to think of where [i]else[/i] he would go. Between the risk of getting burned, or the oblivion of the pavement... what choice was there? [centre][b]*********[/b][/centre] The address led him south, through Midtown and beyond, and gradually the city thinned and industrialized. Cramped apartments gave way to construction - both abandoned and in-progress - which gave way to factories and warehouses. The horizon seemed to thin under an orange sky, as early evening set in and massive cargo ships docked and undocked from one end of the bay to the other. Here, at the western edge of the bay, was an unremarkable building. Two stories tall, worn brick construction, though Everett didn't spend much time thinking about it. Even with the brief stop at the gym to use their showers - a trip that had cost him his last ten dollar bill - he was worn out, his thoughts foggy from hunger and the sun. [i]One shot to get this right... man, I [b]really[/b] hope money talks. [/i] He had trained himself to always keep his head low, his old duster black hat over his eyes, though it hadn't quite clicked the place was desolate and mundane, at least on the outside - there were no armed guards, no electric fences, no dogs or checkpoints. [i]Though if those flames were just for show, who knows how dangerous she is in an actual fight?[/i] His shoes struck the concrete with an uneven beat as he approached the door, his breathing shallow, and tapped his knuckles against the glass door before opening it. Taking a moment to carefully close the door behind him, he tried to focus on the scene before him. And then, with a deep breath, tried to hide his confusion. He had always been bad at hiding his expressions. [i]It's… much, much nicer in here than outside, wow. It’s even got that fresh paint smell.[/i] [i][color=#9f7d2e]I feel I might have led you astray, so please do not be fooled. I can see there is something lingering over this place.[/color][/i] The spider's echoes seemed to slow down, before fading gradually into the back of his mind, to the mere echo of a whisper - [i][color=#9f7d2e]Traces and strands in the air. Please be cautious, Mansa. This queen of flames has stranger allies.[/color][/i] Everett swallowed, breathed again, and stepped forward. The reception had clearly been done up recently, with its sleek black desk and multi-layered coffee machine. The computers were the trendiest and latest models. A number of abstract and surrealist paintings were hung up around the room, though most notable of all was a large blue poster. A man of bronze, his mouth bound by a cloth of red, white and blue - and there, beneath his chin, it read: “Patriotism means NO QUESTIONS.” In every way he could think of it felt very much the modern, sleek office building - he half wondered if he’d accidentally walked too far and wound up in silicon valley. But he wouldn't let himself be fooled. There was more to this place than met the eye. "Hello, I..." he held up the pamphlet, wrinkled from his re-reading and from the sweat of his hands, "I was at the rally, near Midtown. I wanted to know how I could help with, um..." He wiggled the fingers of his left-hand in an awkward sort of motion, though he had to pause mid-gesticulation with a hearty cough into his right sleeve. He coughed again. Once more. ... Okay, that time he got it. "Ahem," his accent finally becoming clearer from months of trying to 'blend in', "sorry about that. My name's Evan." He paused again, the receptionist's expression more than a little uncertain. "Atut. Mr Evan Atut. That's me." [i]I really should have practiced this beforehand.[/i]