The Midnight Sun

"Demon attacks? Oh my. Does that sort of thing happen often?"

He looks about with a slight feeling of distaste, although it doesn't show on his feathery face.

"Well...do you have any champagne? Or wine? I'm rather fond of Medanese gold."

He tilts his head to one side in a very birdlike manner.

"Thank you, ma'am."

Calico lets out a small chirp as he grabs the champagne flute with a very clearly human hand, then takes a sip.

"Mmm...that's good."

He puts a coin on the bar.

"Say, what sort of place is this usually? Does it have singing? Oh, and do you know of any good opera houses in the city? Hmm?"

He does the head-tilt thing again.

"Oh, I see."

Calico turns his head almost all the way around to take a look at the obliterated stage.

"Well, they certainly can't perform on that. That would be dangerous."

He sips his champagne delicately. Which, in his case, means pouring it into his beak and tipping his head back.

"Hmm...seems like it would be a nice place if it were all fixed up. Do you mind if I smoke?"

He pulls out a rather large calabash pipe.

"Could I speak to the owner, please?"

Calico puts his pipe into his beak and lights it, puffing contentedly. The smell of the smoke is vaguely reminiscent of birdseed.

"Not available? Shame. Well then, could you pass on a message? I'd like to invest in your lovely establishment. Fix it up. Open it to the the public, for a nice upper-class crowd. What do you say?"

He puffs his pipe and sips his champagne.

"I can see it now. A lovely bar and smoking lounge for the educated discussion of the arts."

"Swartz. Calico Swartz. Nice to meet you, Miss. Er...what should I call you? And the name of your employer?"

He lets out a happy little coo and bobs his head up and down.

"I look forward to meeting her. And nice meeting you. I shall be staying at that little inn down the street, the Violet Witch."

He finishes his drink and leaves.

"I'm Artemis, personal aide to our proprietor, Madame Naoki."

As Calico gets up to leave, Artemis bows lightly again. "It was a pleasure meeting you, Mr. Swartz. I look forward to seeing you again."

Madame Naoki nods thoughtfully. “Hm. Fair enough. It seems so... easy, when you say it like that.”

She raises the dress above her head, inadvertently giving Kate quite the show as she does so, and drops it down about herself. The curves of the dress fall effortlessly into place, matching the shape of her body like rain flowing over a statue.

“I know that this decision is mostly benign, and probably won’t have much of an impact on anything else, but… I find it difficult.”

She shrugs, causing the smooth shoulder-line to crumple a bit. The dress fits perfectly; Naoki’s tailor is evidently of the same caliber as her furniture supplier.

“Let’s have a look. I think I still have a lot of my old clothes.”

A few small steps over to the dresser, and Naoki bends down on her knees to access the lower drawers. Sorting through the clothing, she momentarily considers a number of garments in turn. As she searches, her tail waves back and forth slightly. Over her shoulder, one could glimpse a great variety of outfits. A plaid pleated skirt, a cashmere sweater. A mess of strings, even some floral print leg warmers.

“Oh,” her tail stops moving, and her eyebrows rise and fall silently. Pulling her selection out of the drawer, she holds it up in presentation.

The garment, -to call it a dress would be an overstatement-, was a thesis on positive and negative space. A full length garment, head to knees, it was cut of a silky maroon fabric. When worn, it would swirl around the body of the wearer like a great snake, covering some areas under its smooth spiral, but leaving other parts as bare as the space between the coils.

Holding it up beside Kate, Naoki could see that it wasn’t proportioned properly to fit Kate in the intended way. In fact, if she wore it, one of the blank spaces would be right… Oooh.
She flashes a lecherous grin, and watches for Kate’s reaction. “Ah, not quite. I’d like to see you in it, but these things have to be custom fit.”

Naoki’s chest heaves as she tries, unsuccessfully, to repress a laugh. She consigns the garment back to the drawer from which it came. After a moment more, she selects another garment, an actual dress this time. Holding it up, she compares it with Kate’s form.

It is a traditional, green ballroom style dress, sleeveless, connecting up over the left shoulder. It hugs the upper body smoothly, transitioning with a repeating V pattern into the lower part, where triple layers of diaphanous fabric flow down, hanging around the legs loosely. Along the upper body, sequins and small gems are used to create diagonal floral patterns.

“Look at this! This is almost too fitting, and it looks like it might fit your body, too. Here, try it on.”

She proffers the dress to Kate, before shutting the drawer and seating herself on the side of the bed.

From her seat on the bed, Naoki watches Kate swirl around the room. Her performance elicits from Naoki both a polite clap, and lofty thoughts about the multifaceted beauty that is this world.

“Oh, it fits in so many ways. You look amazing!”

Naoki stands from the bed, and leads the way out into the office. It remains as it was left, massage roller on the desk, door bolted five times over.

“Let’s go see what’s out there, then. Perhaps the invading force will appreciate our stunning choice of attire.”

As Naoki stands there by the door, she performs what might best be described as a series of stretches. She rolls her head around, cracks her knuckles, rotates her arms around, and performs a significant number of stretches, which I’m going to stop listing now. As she does so, the air in the room seems to change. Where before, moods were light hearted, cheery, even, the very air seems to grow more serious.

Naoki’s sunny smile flattens to a line; her floating eyebrows stiffen, and take their positions firmly above her eyes. At first, her stretches were casual, nonchalant. But by the end, her movements have taken on an entirely different air. An air of cold, measured efficiency and precision. She had become steel.

Madame Naoki completes her stretches, and opens her eyes; the spark in them now faded. She surveys the room carefully. She takes a step over to the cabinet, the same one from which she had taken the massager yesterday. Opening it once more, she reaches in once, and carefully extracts a knife. Big, shiny knife, too. One that looks like it could skin a crocodile. She holds it in one hand awkwardly, fingers wrapped improperly around the handle. She gives it a few experimental waves, obviously not used to using it.

“I don’t know how to use this,” Not an ounce of emotion in her voice. She replaces it in the cabinet, and turns to face the door.

Naoki pauses. A deep breath. Then she sets upon the locks, undoing them one after another, swiftly and efficiently. The locks finished, she grasps the handle, and swings the door open.

The hallway greets her. Emotionless; uncaring, and certainly intact. From the window at the east end, the morning light shines in, casting pale beams down the hall. Across the hall, the door to Mr. Cresno’s room is still in splinters. From down the steps, silence. No clash of metal on metal, no feral screams, blaze of fire, or sounds of regular operation.
Just that terrible silence.

Madame Naoki’s expression remains etched. Though the events that transpired and their consequences were not yet apparent, and hadn’t so much as disturbed the rug of the hallway, there was no reason to relax her guard.

“So it seems that at least this much of the world has endured. Let’s check on Mr. Cresno, first.”

After checking carefully to ensure that nothing hostile was lying in wait, Madame Naoki slinks across the hall, and across the threshold of Cresno’s office.

The mind could be a dark place. Mysteries, secrets, hopes gone awry. There were points of light scattered throughout: happy memories, loved ones, positive dreams for the future. If one were to reach into a person and extract this mind, they would be holding an astonishing thing of beauty. One possibly marred by the now-twitching vegetable of the former owner in front of them.

Reese's mind didn't match this normal structure. As a being composed almost entirely by and out of mental power, he felt it his obligation to jazz it up. From his own internal perspective, his mind resembled a vast library. Most of the books within held memories, both his and those whose minds he had touched. Indeed, there was a book in the corner with a pen floating above it, scribbling away to capture the latest moments.

The most crucial part of the library was the exact center, where a set of couches and armchairs circled a cylindrical bookshelf. The books on this shelf weren't mere memories. These books detailed how Reese's artificial mind worked in excruciating detail. Every facet of his personality, every simulated emotion, every natural reaction or habit had to be placed down in here. Of course, they weren't actually books, just as the library wasn't a library. It simply made it easier for Reese to alter the inner workings of his mind.

From the moment Reese had returned from leaving the angel in Hasdrubal's lair, he had set to work on some drastic changes. The ease at which the angel had entered and began hostilities meant that Reese's defenses just weren't sufficient. Improvements must be made. A day had been spent at the speed of thought, amending the contents of the books in the center. The final book was tucked back into place, and the mental projection of a still-very-much-fleshy Reese sprawled back on a couch for a moment of rest.

I suppose I don't have the time to rest. There are others out there waiting on me, and I need to get work on the physical modifications.

Reese sighed and stared at the ceiling. Duty was a terribly pernicious beast at times. The projection slowly faded as his mind returned to his corporeal form.

A skull had no eyelids to open, but the analogy applies. As vision was restored, Reese glanced around the room. His poor doorframe remained empty, slivers of wood poking out of the sides. Other than that, the room seemed in order.

"Buddy, can you show me what happened while I was out?"

There was a whirring and clicking noise behind the curtain, immediately followed by a small marble of crystal that rolled toward Reese's chair. He stopped down and snatched it up, absorbing the memories stored in the swirling depths. A matter of moments, and Reese was up to date on the happenings with the walls of the establishment.

Hasdrubal died, then. I made a choice to lead the angel to him under the impression that he could handle the problem, and it was the wrong one.

He steepled his fingers and held them before the face of his skull, brooding.

The issue was me. I didn't want to fight, because I wanted to avoid causing harm. If I had been capable of stopping him, the problem would have been solved. This must be corrected.

Some time later, Reese noticed the Madame and (presumably) Kate heading towards his room. He brushed his thoughts and plans for the future, straightening his jacket and adjusting his sleeves. There was no need to look like a disheveled ruffian.

He was terribly amused by the way the Madame crept into his office, but no one in the building had a better poker face. Nor a whiter one.

"Come on in. I hear that you stopped by when I was out. I apologize for contributing to your state of panic."

If Kate followed, Reese would make a beckoning motion towards the door. "You too, Miss Green. Take a seat, if you like."

Click. Click. Click. Bony fingers hit the surface of his desk. After an austere moment of silence, he spoke up.

"I assume you have some harsh words. Even if you're too subtle to mention them aloud, I know you're thinking them. Would you like to get them out of the way?"