Log:Test Your Metal, Scene 12

Test Your Metal 2017/01/30 Daemon Grimm 12

It's been a few days since Grimm and Daemon's little trip to New York City. Bright lights, honking cars, Broadway, and, of course, the ever fascinating Riker's Island! Who could pass up the opportunity to go to scenic Riker's Island, home of Dr. Crawfeld - better known as the mystical arch-villain, Professor Mysterion!

Daemon and Grimm have had quite a lot of information to consider and angles of approach to evaluate in their investigation into the mysterious happenings around Malcolm. And, well, Gabrielle herself, since she's quite thoroughly worked herself into the horrible bubble of Fateful bad luck and coincidence that surrounds Malcolm himself.

We rejoin our heroes in a meeting place of their choosing. Grimm's off-campus apartment that she theoretically shares with her bestest friend in the whole world, Adam Lamont. Or perhaps they've opted to meet at Justice Investigations? The Science Center on the CBSU campus?

No matter the locale, the weather looks gray outside. The sky is partly overcast, with a stiff wind barrelling through Colonial Bay toward the ocean. Snow flurries are occasionally harrying commuters, though nothing seems to be sticking on the cold surfaces throughout the city. Cold as it may be, it doesn't quite seem cold enough to hold snow.

Grimm presses open the door and a breeze and a flurry of snow proceed her. She's wearing a leather jacket, gray scarf, jeans, and combat boots. She texted Daemon earlier for a meetup at their usual place at the Hacker's Rage. You'd think they pay rent on that back booth they always taken.

She brushes the snow from her hair as she steps in and shuts the door behind her to lock out the cold. The tough locals recognize her as one of their own. As her eyes adjust to the dark, dang dive bar, she looks around to see of Daemon beat her there.

Daemon arrives 6 minutes later in the back of a black edition Superb Car. SO unfortunately Grimm is left waiting a bit.

Daemon steps out, wearing a black designer suit- cut impeccably in the latest style.

Beneath the jacket is a charcoal grey sweater.

He looks down the road and then back to the Rage. He leans back into the vehicle and says, "Thanks for the ride." as he rates the driver Henry 4 stars.

He walks inside and straight for their usual booth in the back. Without looking towards the bar he takes his index finger in the air and draws a circle telling the bartender to bring another round of their usuals.

Daemon suspects its going to be a long night.

Another round when Grimm already has their usual orders ready and waiting. It's definitely going to be a double down on drinking tonight. That's how this scooby gang rolls.

Grimm gives Daemon a suspicious look as her eyes rake up and down his form for a moment. "Never seen you so dressed up before. What's the occasion?" she asks as she takes a sip from her whiskey sour. Not her favorite drink; just the closest the Rage has to offer.

"Well, I was at a gala." Daemon says simply. As if that were something he did regularly. "Let's go with something a little more appropos." He says as he sits down, sliding a shot of whiskey in front of him. As he lifts it to his lips, his nanosuit literally stands on end as the fibers making it up all reconfigure themselves into something a bit less fancy.

By the time the glass is leaving his lips, his suit is replaced by a black leather jacket & dark jeans.

"So what'd you figure out tonight?" Daemon asks curiously as he cycles through various news feeds.

Grimm's brow perks up in critical disbelief. "A gala? -You-? Did I interrupt a date or something?" Somehow, Grimm can't picture Daemon dating anyone. Not unless it was the Widow Barker and he was after her inheritance or something like that.

"I...haven't really been able to focus since we got back," she admits guiltily. "I've been trying to track down where that book is. Not sure if it'll help with anything, but that bending fate thing might be just what is needed to save Malcolm."

"Nevermind. No need to elaborate." He says woefully.

Grimm's tone takes at least 2 of his mental threads off his own lonely existance and on to her worrisome life. "Oh- oh... well yeah, I could see that. Totally understandable. So let's just do something about it- tonight. What do you know about the book's location now?" He asks, getting right on to task.

Grimm laughs as Daemon immediately retracts his question. "Yeah. That's why," she quips, not needing to read his mind to know he came to the same conclusion. "Don't worry, I'm sure you'll find someone somewhere," she muses, although she has trouble imagining who the paranoid vigilante would ever trust like that.

"Well! Uhhh, so...the book..."

[GM to Grimm] You've been pressing some of your smuggling contacts for information. Only three people you know seem to have any awareness of the existence of the book you seek. Two of them have taken to calling it the 'Codex Cadmius' - not an unwarranted name, if you may say so - though the third person prefers to refer to it as 'The Traveller's Log'. Since it fell out of Mysterion's hands in the 2040's, it has apparently been bumbling about in the magical underworld. It is presently in a private collection in Mongolia, supposedly maintained by an exceptionally powerful wizard that accumulates "cursed" or otherwise "impure" artifacts and keeps them out of the hands of a susceptible public. Your contacts are not exactly pleased with this wizard, but they caution you against venturing there; there may be some fear that the wizard would add you to his collection because of the nature of your powers.

"...it goes by a few names, potentially. Been trying to track it down through some of my...contacts," Grimm comments, not elaborating that they're smuggling contacts. She's kept her smuggling activities a secret from everyone, Malcolm included. Hey, a girl has to pay her student loans somehow!

"Not many have heard about it, and of the few who do, there's some debate on its actual name. Two called it the 'Codex Cadmius', and another merely referred to it as 'The Traveller's Log'. But with all the magic knowledge in that book, I'd hardly call it a log." She takes a sip from her drink and frowns a little bit. "It's circulated around in the magical underworld. Surprised no one's used it yet. But, I did manage to track it down to a private collection in Mongolia."

Her finger taps the rim of her glass. "The person who maintains the collection is a wizard of exceptional power that collects cursed artifacts and secures them away from the public," she murmurs.

"Ah- how nice of them. I'm sure they're civic mindedness serves them well." Daemon says a bit snidely, sliding the shot glass away and the double-tall ('top-shelf'- But come on... look at this place) whiskey and cola in front of him.

He takes out the straw and sets it to the unused edge of the table as he completes a download of various technical texts to his memory.

"Mongolia huh?" Daemon says as he pulls up a small political brief on the country online. "That's some distance... Just over 6500 miles. Have you set up some kind of frequent flyer miles program?" He asks jokingly as he lifts the glass to his helmet. Before the glass contacts, the mask's mouthpeice slides away from his mouth. He takes a long pull of the drink as he considers the ramifications of breaking into a Wizard's private collection.

"Distance isn't an issue for me," Gabrielle waves off the question as plain silly. "The problem is what happens when we get there. There's...a very real chance that due to the nature of my powers, the wizard could decide to add me to his collection," she points out the hitch in this lead.

"And you thought this was a viable option because?" Daemon asks a bit incredulously. "I mean I get you can't get along with ol' IronRod- but I can't imagine he'd be ok with you going to those lengths to save him either." His tone is flat, matter-of-factly. "So you've got 2 options- one, come up with one hell of a plan for getting us in there, or two you're benched and I'm going in."

Normally Option 2 is quit- especially if the odds were this far stacked against them. But Daemon is loyal to Grimm to what he would normally consider a fault.

"IronRod?" Gabrielle asks in puzzlement. Her cheeks flush as she suddenly realizes who he's talking about. At first she thought she knew the nickname she used for...nevermind! She coughs and stares down at her drink. "He doesn't have to be happy about it. I'd do anything for him, and he'd do the same."

She shifts in her seat at the options he gives. "Well, at first I thought I'd ask nicely. See if the wizard could be reasoned with. And maybe that should be your job. If that fails...then we figure out how to steal it? I've gotten into some secure locations, but not from a wizard of this caliber." She pulls her drink closer. "But option 2 of just sending you in to steal it without help? I can't ask that of you. Wizards are tricky. Dangerous. You're skilled, but with their bag of tricks, you'd be at a disadvantage."

Daemon leaves Grimm to discover the innuendo her own. He smirks as her body language shows her squirming mentally over that one. He smirks before Grimm continues about doing anything for Malcolm. "I figured that would be your answer. I don't like it eith-Oh- that seems like something my resume is missing. 'Wizard Mediator'." Daemon says segwaying from concerned friend to droll & snide in a single breath. "Fine I talk to this guy. I'm sure he has a price just like anyone else. What's this Wizard's name?"

He ignores the jab at being at a disadvantage & not being asked to do what might be necessary. He doesn't say it, but he'd do anything for Grimm- not for the same reasons as Malcolm of course. Just because she is the only person on Earth that knows the real him, and more importantly- she unknowingly has a backup of his brain in the chimney of her old witch abode. That kind of thing infers a lot of ... sentiment upon the relationship for a person like Daemon. Transhumans... Amirite?

"I, uh...didn't get his name. He probably doesn't advertise it now that he has a lofty personal goal of protecting the world from forbidden power. For once...that could be a wizard I could respect," Gabrielle admits reluctantly. "I'm used to wizards going after stuff for their own personal power. Not to lock it down."

Leaning back in her seat, she drums her fingers on the table and ponders this course of action. "Were you able to transcribe what you memorized from Crawfeld's mind? I could ask my boss if she understands any of it before we go after the whole book."

She lifts her hand and holds up two fingers to the waitress as she passes, signaling for refills for each of them. She's reluctant to drag her best friend into her business, especially since he hates Malcolm so much due to an unfortunate series of introductions. But she's not exactly sure she can handle this alone, whether it be physical capability or emotional. At least with Daemon around, she can keep up her tough facade.

The waitress Grimm flags nods towards the woman (their regular, Delores) with a tray of drinks walking their way- the round Dae ordered when he walked in, en route and almost in position.

"Oh I'm sure they've got selfish reasons for hording all those items too. Don't give 'em too much credit." Daemon says.

"As for transcribing? Of course I did. There isn't a language I can't crack given a few seconds to read it. So I'm going to act like you didn't just ask that." He says nodding to Delores as she sets down their drinks.

Grimm's PDA notifies her she's received a message- she'll find a copy of the text he was asked to memorize.

"You...have a point there," Gabrielle admits. "And they've got to be pretty powerful if DEMON hasn't raided the place by now." She suddenly blinks and has a terrible, terrible idea, imagining luring Price there for the Wizard to add to his collection. "I...will have to remember that for something. Later. When Malcolm's safe." Priorities, after all. But DEMON can clearly see Gabrielle's schemed something terrible just by the look on her face.

She nods to Delores as she arrives and sets their drinks before them. "Thanks," she comments as Delores walks away, then looks back to Daemon. She smirks at his response.

"Well, then, I'm going to just act like all I asked for was for you to hand over your results," she comments as her phone dings. She pulls her phone out and opens the document. "Hmmm, excellent. I'll need some time to really study this. Maybe ask Frankie about some of these rituals."

"You do that, because it all reads like hyperbole to me." Daemon says, unsurprising from a man with little faith in magic. "Let me know if she knows how to get that Immortality thing working. That sounds useful." Its hard to tell if he's joking or not.

He takes the new shot of whiskey and puts it back without a second thought.

Grimm smirks a little. "Yeah, I'd like a dose of that, too," she chuckles. "But I'm pretty sure if Frankie discovered that, she'd keep it a closely guarded secret." She fires off a text to Frankie. <>

<< Sure. Send it along, I'll take a look at it. >>

Ghostfist texts back pretty quickly, presumably she is stuck on some sort of stake out. Considering the hour, Grimm may suspect Frankie is busy with another hated infidelity photo shoot, which neatly explains why Ghostfist needs so little time to respond. A lot of planning and getting into position precedes even more waiting for the patty cake to begin. Then it's just a clickclickclickclickclickclickclickclickclickclickclickclickclickclickclickclickclickclickclickclick and an email to the paying client.

Can you really blame Ghostfist for hating how mundane and standard that part of the job has become?

Infidelity is everywhere. Just ask...oh, nevermind. That's hush hush. Gabrielle flicks her finger over the screen to forward the message on to Frankie. Seconds later, Ghostfist's phone vibrates on silent at the new email attachment. "Okay, she's got it. We'll see if she can figure out anything out of this for us. I understood some of it, but really, she's the ritual expert."

Daemon never bothered to research rates of infidelity- but if he knows people's deepest darkest secrets (and he does) he's quite aware that many people should be deeply ashamed.

"Alright- so that's about all we've got for 'Operation Save-A-Metal-Man'. So..." Daemon says, spinning the empty shot glass on the tip of his gauntleted hand. "what's next- what's plan B? We need one. What if Frankie can't help either- at least not with the book? We need a way to pad the curve." He's talking probability of course- but this is magic, something probability can't really stand up to. Doesn't mean Daemon won't do his best to drive the odds in his favor anyways.

About a half-hour after Grimm forwards Daemon's notes to Ghostfist, Grimm's PDA starts to ring. It's probably just enough time for our heroes to enjoy another couple of rounds of booze and begin discussing how they will break into The Wizard of Mongolia's home dungeon and plunder its hallowed halls for its rich mystical treasure hoards.

Someone may want to answer the phone, the screen is displaying Frankie's face and the ring tone is not at all suspiciously the old classic rock standard, Cold Hard Bitch. If that's not Ghostfist calling, it may well be Fate itself calling to harrass our heroes.