ic Dreamweaver (IC)

[Sophistemon]

Sam set the box of starlight carefully on the console between the two front seats of the van. "He's an idiot," he stated simply. "And if he isn't careful he's going to get himself killed." There is a pause, then: "He said that the starlight can increase a person's magical power, and he's even dipping into his own stock in an attempt to develop the gift himself. I've heard of things like that before, but never mass-produced like this, or sold so cheaply. I would say that I think whoever's behind this is looking to saturate the market, but the business-side of illegal narcotics was never my purview. I just used, I never sold." He looked at Warne. "I'm sure that you heard that he's going to try to set up a meeting with his supplier. I never actually thought that he'd go through with it, but... again, he's an idiot. I almost feel bad about using him like this."

[Blarghy]

"Play with fire and you might get burned," Warne stated flatly, entirely unsympathetic to the trouble Terry likely had ahead of him.  He took another cigarette from his jacket pocket, but in the confines of the van, he settled for twirling it between his fingers for now. 

 

"...Why supply something like this?" he asked, to begin the brainstorming process.  "Someone has a drug that can supposedly improve magical abilities.  Why not use it for their own private forces, make an army, even if it has side-effects?  Why sell something that could make your customers unstable and powerful enough to turn against you?  Maybe this new kingpin has a grudge against your little community--but if that's the case, why not sabotage the Freedom City sorcerers in a better way?  This just doesn't make sense.  Not distributing this kind of drug in this way.  Not at these prices.  We're missing something."

[Sophistemon]

Sam nodded, albeit a little somberly. "No, believe me, nobody knows that better than I do. I just... sort of get the feeling that he doesn't really know what he's doing, is all." He shrugged, dismissing the concern, and thought for a moment. "What if the whole thing is a distraction, Warne? Something to keep the magically-inclined people of the city busy so that something else sneaks by without us realizing it? Maybe it's not supposed to make any sense, to keep us confused and off the right track?" He steepled his fingers and stared through the triangle that they formed. "I mean, I might be crazy, but if so I'm still a crazy magician. Maybe the entire thing is a bit of misdirection -- some smoke and mirrors so that we don't notice the trick that they're playing?" He sighed. "Of course, even if it is, we don't know what." He looked up at the agent. "I'm sorry. I want to be more helpful but I don't know how."

[Blarghy]

Warne mulled all that over, continuing to frown to himself.  He seemed no less stern by the end.

 

"For now, you can be helpful by staying on-call.  I'll get you a cab home, but have your phone ready in case Boyd comes through.  Let me know the moment anyone contacts you."  He passed over a plain business card.

 

"You're still on the clock, so try to dig up something useful for me.  Research, or...conjure spirits for interrogation, or whatever it is you do.  I'm going to keep following what few leads I can find, in the mean time."

[Sophistemon]

Sam blanched and made an odd face at the suggestion of conjuring spirits. "I don't, uh, I don't commune with the dead," he said. "Necromancy isn't on my list of things that I enjoy." He didn't mention that he'd tried it once, to pull one over on his enemies back when he was engaged in a less than noble profession, and it had dreary consequences. He didn't have to -- the expression on his face told the entire story and then some. He took the card and looked down at the number, committing it to memory. He cleared his throat. "That said, I'll do what I can."

[Blarghy]

GM

 

"Good."  He drummed his fingers against the lid of the cardboard shoebox Sam had delivered, his face still troubled.  Warne appeared lost in thought for a long moment before he withdrew a few folded bills from his pocket, clutched between two fingers.  He passed them to Sam without looking away from the starlight container.

 

"Then this is your stop."

 

After being ushered from the van by the other agents, Sam could see a trick of Warne's, though not as impressive as his own; when the surveillance vehicle pulled away from the curb, it revealed his cab, already waiting across the street.  The driver lifted one hand silently to signal him.

[Sophistemon]

Presto approached the taxi, provided his address, and quickly found himself returned to the curb outside of his apartment. He realized, somewhat belatedly, that he could have simply made a few teleporting 'jumps' and arrived even more quickly -- but there was no harm in having traveled as the rabble do... so long as he didn't allow himself to make it a habit. He trudged inside, side-stepped an overflowing bag of trash, and went upstairs. The elevator, being the dilapidated hunk of junk that it was, was no help in that regard. Thankfully he devoted some time to physical fitness, which reduced the climb from 'strenuous' to merely 'annoying.' When he reached his room he entered and locked the door behind him before sinking into his sagging couch with a sigh. "What on Earth have I gotten myself into?" he mused, and then looked over at his computer. If only he still had his collection of books, his notes, his library of collected facts and lore, spells, incantations and rituals... but they had all been confiscated and, he presumed, destroyed for reasons of public safety. A lifetime of work gone in a flash. "Just had to rob banks," he mused. "Couldn't have just gone into banking, instead. At least then the theft would have been legal!" He stood, stretched, and sat at his kitchen table. The laptop, though out of date, booted swiftly and he began to type. He may not have had possession of his library, but by God he could still do some research in the hidden circles of the Internet. He searched for hours, diving into everything that he could get his hands on that related to the drug and its effects.

[Blarghy]

GM

 

Elsewhere

 

"...Ahhh, hello?  Am I bothering you, Mister B?  If you've, ah, got a minute..."

 

"Yes, yes, what is it?"

 

"Well, I don't want to...I mean, if you're busy..."

 

Sigh.  "What is it, I said?"

 

"Well, um.  It's one of our sellers.  This guy, Terry, he just called the lieutenant he deals with, and, um, there's this other guy.  Didn't give a name.  I mean, I could deal with it, if you're busy.  I don't want to bother you.  It's probably noth--"

 

"What are you talking about?"

 

"Oh, um, well, he wants to meet.  This guy.  Wants to buy more than what that other guy, ummm, Tommy, wants more than what he had.  Starlight.  You know. So...he wants to meet.  Not Toby.  The other guy."

 

"..."

 

"...Mister B?"

 

"A customer came to one of our sellers, bought his stock, and now wants more, directly from us.  That's what you're trying to tell me?"

 

"Umm, yes.  I think.  Yeah?"

 

"Or could this person instead want to take part in our organization?  Or, a less pleasant possibility, could he be a rival?  Or a police officer?  Hmm?  I'm new to this business, but these alternatives seem plausible for the drug trade."

 

"Oh, um, I didn't...think of that.  So you, uh, want me to...do something?" 

 

"What sort of something would that be?"

 

"...Uhhh...I could...kill this guy?"

 

"Hah.  Perhaps.  Yes, perhaps.  But a customer looking for starlight...I will investigate this myself.  Yes.  He might be...  Well, there is no reason to be wasteful."

 

"You're sure?  I can do it.  If you, uh, tell me what you want."

 

"No, no.  I will...make inquiries.  But in the mean time, you look stressed.  You should relax."

 

"...Y-yeah?"

 

"Yes.  Why don't you have another spoonful, and then take a...nice nap."

[Blarghy]

GM

 

Presto passed the afternoon with some very thorough research, turning up what leads he could.  Unfortunately, he finished with more than he had before, yet a great deal less than he probably wanted.

 

In particular, this "starlight" didn't seem to exist.

 

Oh, the name wasn't the problem; Sam could read between the lines and search for details rather than labels.  But these effects and symptoms were all wrong; unless he was still missing some pieces of the puzzle, or being deliberately misled, something was amiss with the keystone of their investigation.

 

Sam knew of, and could find detailed reports concerning, drugs that increased magical power.  He read about drugs that caused dreams--good or bad.  He could list drugs that inflicted mental instability, up to and including violence.  He could not find one drug that did it all.  Amazonian witch-vines: magical potency and insanity, but no dreams.  Roe from the red-gilled pixie: magical potency, vivid dreams, but no nightmares (especially not bug-themed) or crazed violence.  Soul-sand: realistic dreams and mental degradation, but no enhancement of the Gift.  So on and so forth.

 

The more he thought about it, the bug-dream side-effect (as Knickknack vaguely explained it) didn't sound like a proper drug's byproduct anyway.  Sam's experience and today's research would peg that as more of a curse.  Sometimes the two were mixed, sure; Raskaw Lake, tucked away along the Appalachian mountain range, was known to inflict nightmares of carnage on those who drank from it, thanks to its connection to an infamous massacre of a native tribe by the early European colonists.  "Starlight" could be similar.  That, or maybe the kingpin behind it horribly blotched the alchemic process (causing, most likely, the nightmares and insanity).  Or mixed two or more different substances together. 

 

Presto's search yielded a final item of interest: he found one, and only one, news story that he thought was related to this phenomenon.  A minor magician (Ron "Rune" Tallow) was arrested after wrecking a small pet shop in Midtown. 

 

"This guy, he comes in all smiling and glazed--his eyes, you know, like he's stoned," the clerk told the reporter in the online video.  "And he just walks around for a while, staring at sh--uh, stuff.  He's fine until he gets to this one aisle, and he sees the, uh, I think it was the crab spiders.  And he just freaks.  Starts waving his hands around, and the aquariums turn to glass--I mean, they're already glass, but he made the stuff inside of them glass too, even the pets.  So he throws them off the shelves, busting them on the floor, just running down the aisles breaking everything and screaming.  I thought he was gonna kill me too, but I hid behind the counter and he left after a minute.  Still screaming, right down the street."

 

Rune was found by the police within the hour and taken into custody, where he reportedly babbled to himself until he fell asleep in his holding cell...and has yet to wake up again. 

 

Try though he might, Sam could not find any other accounts even vaguely related to starlight.  Whatever's going on, it's very recent--and apparently only happening in Freedom City.

 

As he pondered this, now an hour or two before sunset, Sam's phone finally rang.

[Sophistemon]

Samuel leaned back in his chair and rubbed his eyes, which had begun to ache from staring into a screen for most of the afternoon. How kids these days managed to spend all day in front of their computer, tapping away and frying their brain, he'd never understand. He reached into his pocket and withdrew the buzzing phone. "Steiner here," he said. His brain buzzed with new, albeit not all entirely useful information. He was worried, a bit, that Warne would cut him loose before he was able to be of any real help and had hoped to uncover something truly groundbreaking to prevent that. Alas, it wasn't to be.

[Blarghy]

GM

 

"Steiner," the voice on the line repeated.  By the man's calm but withdrawn tone, he was taking note of this name. 

 

And then again, this time to actually address Sam, the voice repeated, "Steiner.  I'm a friend of Terry's.  You came by his shop to say hi, earlier today.  He told me you might want to get together soon.  That right?"

 

If Sam thought he wasn't vital to Warne's investigation before--and his research probably would raise the agent's eyebrows, grumpy though he was, more than Sam pessimistically expected--then he was surely useful again now.  Presto didn't have to provide all the answers.  Sometimes it was enough to give people possibilities. 

[Sophistemon]

Internally, Samuel kicked himself for having given away his name so easily. Truth be told, he'd thought it was Agent Warne calling and hadn't even bothered to check the incoming number before answering. A stupid mistake -- and potentially a dangerous one. A name, in the right hands, could be the deadliest weapon there is. He calmed his breathing, and kept his voice measured when he spoke. "That's right," he responded, and reached out to prepare a pen and a pad of paper. Whoever was on the other side of the line was smarter than Terry, although that wasn't saying much. At least they had the good sense to avoid mentioning a drug deal over the phone. "Any friend of Terry's is a friend of mine," he added. "Do you have a place in mind where you'd like to meet? I can be there... very quickly." And that was true, at least. It took only a few five-mile teleporting 'jumps' to reach every landmark within the city limits. He was never more than a hop, skip, and a jump away from... well, anywhere.

[Blarghy]

GM

 

The good news was that Sam's mystery caller wanted a safe, fairly public place, so this probably wasn't the prelude to an ambush and mugging.  "Kingston," the man confirmed.  "On Sidney Avenue.  There's an abandoned TV repair shop, across from the Whole Foods grocery store."  Unfortunately, Sam's hope for a fast conclusion was not meant to be: "Meet me there tomorrow night, about seven."  With that, the line went dead. 

 

An unusual level of brevity and crisp detachment, perhaps, but illegal meetings between unknown parties, without an introduction from someone they both trusted, could explain it.  Why a dealer couldn't meet with Sam tonight might be harder to justify.  If Terry told his suppliers that Sam wanted a proper shipment, they might need a little time to put it together--although in the absence of any price negotiations over the phone, the initial meeting might just be the first step before Sam was to be led elsewhere for the real deal.  ...Or, as Sam himself had just worried, the gang might want time to investigate the name he'd given them.

 

Very curious, either way.

[Sophistemon]

Samuel wrote quickly, jotting down the details as the man on the other line spoke them. He was about to respond in the affirmative when the line went dead with a climactic click, cutting him off. The former villain sighed and looked  down at the pad, his mind reeling with unpleasant thoughts. "Right," he said, to no one in particular. "Right. I guess that I'd better... check in." He reached for his phone, hesitated, and then dialed Agent Warne.

[Blarghy]

GM

 

Sam's "friend" picked up on the second ring.  His rough voice coughed unpleasantly, that unhealthy smoker's rasp, before answering, "Steiner?  Good.  What've you got for me?" 

 

Special agent lesson #1: always check your caller ID.

 

* * *

 

"And you can find him like this?  Just, uhh, typing things in?"

 

"With a name?  Sure, probably.  Let's see...S-T-E-I...  Hmmm..."

 

"What?"

 

"My usual searches aren't turning anything up.  Looks like this guy's pretty smart.  He's not listed, so--"

 

"Well find him!"

 

"Woah, woah, chill.  I got this.  Just give me a minute...nobody's really off the grid, not unless he's some hillbilly living under a tree out in Wharton."

 

"Just get me an address!  The boss wants it tonight.  It's got to be tonight!"

 

"The...boss?  But you're--"

 

"Just find him!"

[Sophistemon]

Sam quickly filled in his opposite number on all that he'd learned -- and didn't learn -- about starlight. He explained to Agent Warne that the drug's mysterious nature made it all the more fascinating. There were magical ingredients that, when combined, could create similar affects when imbibed, but not all at once and not with the side-effects described by those they'd spoken to. "It's like they took three different jigsaw puzzles," he yammered. "And managed to make a picture out of the chaos. What they've accomplished is... well, amazing. Or crazy. Probably both!" And then, of course, the moment of truth. "Anyway, that's all incidental. I called you to let you know that they called me. I wasn't expecting them to ring so soon! They've set up a meet, tomorrow at seven." He looked down at the pad of paper and began to recite what he'd written there. "In Kingston, on Sidney Avenue, at the abandoned teevee repair shop across from the Whole Foods." He swallowed the remnants of his nervousness. "There's one little hiccup. Probably not even worth mentioning, really... They, uh, know my name." He winced, imagining the look on Warne's face. "But that might not be a bad thing. I mean, with my history they might think that I'm up to something and want to boost my powers. You know: supervillain stuff. This might work out in our favor, Warne. If they think that I'm a bad guy there might be even ground."

Edited May 8, 2016 by Sophistemon

[Blarghy]

That was a fair bit to process at once; Warne listened to Sam's report silently, until at the end he responded with a long, low Hrrrrrmmmmmmm.

 

"...Yrrruuhhh.  Yeah, I think you're right.  Let's hope so, anyway.  They'll do a few internet searches, find your record, and it should make the meeting simpler.  Hell, they might even offer you a spot on the payroll.  If not, we'll be ready.  I'll have the meet-site looked over by a few plainclothes agents in the morning; we'll set up contingencies well before you arrive.  If it goes bad, at least we'll have some real suspects to grab and interrogate."

 

He paused and took a drink, from the sounds on the other end of the line.  "Now, the drug: you say nothing already on the market fits what we're seeing here?  That's not what I'd hoped to hear, but at least we might be able to stop an epidemic before it spreads, if this is ground zero.  The samples you picked up from Boyd are already at the lab now, but it'll take time for a proper analysis.  If we don't turn up anything at the meet tomorrow, I might bring you in to help our technicians.  Your perspective could be helpful.  At the end of the day, I don't really care what these scumbags are selling--I just want them locked up, and their fancy wizard-drug off the streets."

[Sophistemon]

Sam breathed a sigh of relief. He'd been expecting, at the every least, to have been chastised for his carelessness. Then, he remembered that he hadn't told Warne how they knew his name. Well. Lying by omission wasn't really lying, right? "I've done what I can from here, with the resources that I have available," he explained. "I can't find anything that matches the profile of the drug as we understand it. You've got to remember, Warne -- I just did a little powder, maybe some pot now and then to take the edge off. I was never involved in anything like this." He paused. "And I've been clean for years. Prison rehabilitation program. It was part of what got me released so early -- a expressed desire to change; you know how it is." He paused, thinking. "I'd be happy to help your guys work on figuring things out, but I'm a magician, not a scientist. The machines that they're working with might as well have the instructions written in Greek so far as I'm concerned. You're right about one thing, though: we can't let this go on for much longer. The art isn't something that you should just... be able to drink down and get better at. There are rules to it that have to be followed, or people are going to get hurt and hurt badly. And that's not even bringing into account the potential damage to the fabric of reality by a bunch of untrained amateurs screwing around with the warp and weft of the Weave."

Edited May 12, 2016 by Sophistemon

[Blarghy]

"I'm less interested in preserving your magical playing field than protecting the public," Warne pointed out dryly, in his usual unsympathetic fashion.  "I've thought for years that magic is as dangerous as most unstable energies, and it should be legally regulated as such, but that's neither here nor there.  On the matter at hand, I'll contact you again tomorrow, probably around lunch, and have you meet an agent to rendezvous with the rest of the team.  If these dealers know your name, they might be able to find your address; best not to pick you up at home again, just in case.  We'll get you outfitted somewhere more private before the meet.  In the mean time, stay out of trouble and tell me if you think of anymore information."

[Sophistemon]

Samuel nodded, though of course Warne couldn't see him do so through the phone. "Right," he responded. "I, ah, hadn't thought that they might look up my address." He looked over at his window and couldn't help imagining someone coming through it with a knife while he was in bed, asleep, defenseless. "I'll set some wards just in case they get any bright ideas and try to have our meeting a little early." He took a breath. "And, Warne, not to overstep my bounds or anything, but the people won't be very protected if the Weave is torn and the Outsiders get in. That would be bad business for everyone. Thankfully, I think that we're a long way from something like that happening."

[Blarghy]

The image of Warne's scrunched eyebrows almost makes it over the line.  "...Outsiders," he said dimly.  "Well, let's hope you're right--and if they do show up, I'll arrest those bastards too.  Blackstone is an equal opportunity facility, no matter your species or dimension of origin, and we've got plenty of space."

 

He paused for another drink, and probably a deep breath of smoke.  "Regardless.  Use your, ah, wards if you want.  I can probably arrange for the nearest police officer to adjust their patrol route and cruise by your apartment during the night, if that'll make you feel better."  By his slightly judgmental tone, the agent probably thought the police should already be keeping watch on this particular building.

[Sophistemon]

"Good luck with that," scoffed Samuel. "I've read that the last time the Outsiders broke through the Weave, they started to eat time itself before they were banished. We lost over a thousand years of development -- poof!" After that, he thought a moment. "No, don't bother the local police. If my wards can't repel a group of drug-pushing magicians then I probably deserve to die. Not that I want to. Anyway, was there anything else on your mind? My eyes are burning and I feel like I haven't slept in a month."

[Blarghy]

GM

 

"Maybe you should lay off the caffeine," Warne suggested with his usual dark mockery, referencing their original drug conversation that first involved Sam in this tangled mess.  "It's a bit hypocritical anyway, now that you're an investigator of unnecessary substances."  Said by the man currently holding a cigarette in one hand and a glass of scotch in the other.

 

And then he promptly hung up without further warning.  Sam seemed to attract that kind of rudeness, from the look of it.

 

* * *

 

Within the hour, while Sam presumably worked on his magical home defense, a patrol car cruised past his apartment for a long, slow survey of the street.  Agent Warne wasn't much for taking advice from civilians, particularly ex-cons.  The police officer saw nothing out of the ordinary, however, and continued his route (though he'd make another pass later in the night--too late to see or interfere with what might, perhaps, be taking place).

 

He lacked the vantage point to see the pigeon landing on Sam's roof.  If he had, this routine sight would've raised his interest.  Though common in Freedom City, the birds rarely wore old-fashioned felt caps, and they certainly didn't meld through ceilings like feathered specters. 

[Sophistemon]

"Caffeine. Right," Samuel intoned, speaking into the silent receiver. It was better the coffee than the cocaine, he thought, and set down the phone. His new employer wasn't much for stimulating conversation, anyway. The magician stood, stretched, and checked his wall-mounted security system -- it seemed to be working properly -- and then putzed around a bit with his magical defenses. Properly armed, they would attempt to capture an intruder with ethereal chains and hold them helpless until he could deal with them. "Probably overkill," he murmured. "I shouldn't be half as nervous as I am. I've fought actual super-heroes before; the day that I can't handle a few drug-pushing punks is the day that I hang up my wand and start up a hot-dog cart." Speaking of which, he then took his wand and slipped it carefully beneath his pillow the way that one might a gun or a particularly threatening kitchen knife. "There," he said. "All set." With that done, he stepped into the shower and started prepping for bed.

[Blarghy]

GM

 

The pigeon reappeared in the custodial closet on the top floor of the building.  A moment later, and with a twitch of its bobbing head, the felt cap winked and it disappeared once more.  To most eyes, anyway. 

 

It flew silently through the door and down the hallway, checking numbers on the wall until at last it stopped and landed.  Here, the bird tilted its head as though to listen.  A very keen ear might've heard Sam performing his evening rituals, but that wasn't precisely the case here.  This strange animal waited for a different sort of sign.  After perhaps fifteen, twenty minutes, it seemed to find what it wanted, and flew through yet another wall. 

 

It did not emerge in Presto the Preposterous's apartment, but rather...elsewhere.

 

* * *

 

Elsewhere

 

"Two minutes, Sam!"

 

The nervous gentleman adjusted his tie, laughed, and gestured down the hall toward the stage.  Around them, staff and other performers buzzed; three showgirls passed on the way to their dressing room, huge feathers wobbling on their heads, bodypaint glittering.  A juggler and acrobat rehearsed their act in the corner.  A talent scout made a new deal with the last singer to take the stage; they sealed their bargain with a small plastic bag of something illegal.  Vegas, baby!

 

"It's a good crowd tonight," Sam's agent went on.  "They're gonna love ya; just go do your thing, and then it's time to party!"