07.15.3013. Eggs, Sausage, and Conspiracy
Summary: Flint and Anabethe have breakfast the after their late-night rendevous , only to be interrupted by Nitrim and Soleil. The discussion of the cultists follow with some new information.
Date: 15 July 2013
Related: Parts relate to the Descent event.
Anabethe Flint Nitrim Soleil 

Flint's Apartment - The Red House, Ignis
The abode of a warrior-sage, Flint's place is expansive, with one large living room/kitchen combo, a bedroom, and a training room. It has look of being constructed of red stone, but it doesn't exactly look like stone, but red color is probably what gives the Red House it's name. There's a weapon display case in the living room section of the main room, along with an array of bookshelves. A small personal alter to the Crone is tucked away into a corner, while the doors to the other rooms remain closes.
15 July 3013

Note: Slightly lewd content and sexual innuendos abound in this log. Avert ye eyes if needed.

Flint did not keep track how late they were up. Probably late. Or early, depending on which your preference. All that he vaguely remembers is having a hot tattooed heir in his arms after he was winded and spent. When he woke up, he was covered in bite marks and hickeys on his neck, collarbone, and chest. War wounds, bear them proudly, which likely look good next to the real scar that's near his sternum after a Hostile hammer caved his chestplate in. Either way, he made sure to wake up first, leaving the snoozing Anabethe under the silk sheets of his bed, quietly sneaking out and closing the door silently. Having enough wherewithall, he puts on that pair of that pair of sweatpants she commented on last night, before getting to work. Well, after a quick morning prayer to the Crone. Then, it's getting to work. Eggs. Sausage. Vegtables. Milk. Bacon. Herbs are already hanging about. Get that coffee brewing. Fiddling on the kitchen island, he touches a pad that lifts the blinds on the observation windows, showing off an ash storm outside, just barely being able to make out the other protected arcologies of the Pit. Where's the butter? Right, there it is. Not long after, one pan is cooking bacon and sausage, the other is being tossed together in an omllete fit for Knights with appetites.

Anabethe is soldier enough to stir when Flint gets up, and heir enough to roll over afterwards. It's an acquired skill. Not that she didn't show him a few other acquired skills before both of them collapsed the night before. She has a few war wounds of her own, none of which seem to be particularly bothering her by the time the smells of breakfast start to creep into her consciousness. "Mmm," she hums, lifting her face from the pillow and shaking a hand through her hair to squint over toward the source of the sounds and smells. "Smells good," she approves, rolling onto her side to take a better look around the room now that she's not focused on other things.

Seems like Flint doesn't often take women home by the looks of his bedroom now that she has a moment to inspect before going into the main room. He's very clean, but he seems to enjoy collecting historical Grantham artifacts. There's books written about the house's history, of the settlement of Ignis, and brutal trials the first colonists went through. There's broken wrent shards of Hostile armor that's been encased. His office is also in his bedroom, and there's litters of notes about what he saw and experienced there, as well as images of his family. Zayne, Marah's eldest who passed away a few years ago. Seems that Flint was his Knight trainer too. His father, Marah, him, and other siblings. A picture of Devon and him. Much ado about the Hostile cult, and his personal desire to see them wiped out. A crude sketch of the 'thing' he's mentioned fighting, how large it was, it's mechanical arms. Notes about his own nightmares. The fear of being rendered useless while the war still raged. Like being paralyzed. In his mind, that seems to be worse than death. He's an insightful kind of warrior, the kind that wants to better understand his enemy in order to defeat it.

Not like Flint can see what she's doing, but he does movement from the bedroom. "Hey, how do you like your coffee?" he calls from the other room.

"Black and strong," Anabethe calls back, falling back against the bed to stretch lazily. Family pictures bring a flicker of a smile, though the sketches and Hostile artifacts dampen it somewhat. After a moment, she pulls back the covers, slipping out of bed and shrugging into his abandoned shirt. One button, then her own underwear, and she's decent enough to come out, legs made all the longer by the short hem of the shirt. "The Drakes like to joke that they could just dry it out and give me the grounds and I'd be happier," she chuckles with a sleepy smile, ruffling a hand through her hair to shake out the worst of the bed tangles.

"Same as me. Good." Flint nods, as he concentrates on flipping an omlette without it breaking about. "You know, there chocolate covered coffee beans for that. Might be what you're looking for it." One of the walls is lined with weaponry, many maces, as it tends to be his preferred weapon of choice. However there is one weapon that doesn't sit on a rack, even if the others have a distinct lack of dust. It's old, centuries old, battered, but well-kept. It's a katana with a gray and dull orange wrapped handle. The letters 'G.C.' have been engraved on tsuba. A whipping wind can be heard outside due to the ash storm, giving the look of sun a very hazy look, almost like it's dusk, even if it's actually morning. As for the man, he's shirtless, save for the sweatpants, and when he turns his view to take her in, he smiles. "I was right, you do look good in that shirt. How you feeling?" he asks, pouring her a mug and handing it over.

"Satisfied." Anabethe takes the mug, reaching up to wrap her free arm around his neck with a slow smile. "Very satisfied." She leans in to press a slow kiss before stepping back to let him get on with the cooking, taking a sip of coffee. "You?" Now that she has coffee, she doesn't bother to hide how she looks around, picking up a paper here, straightening something there. She pauses by the sword, though this, at least, is something she doesn't touch. Out of respect.

There's a slow smile on Flint's face as she saunters up, more than happy to turn towards her, sliding a hand up under the shirt and up her back, returning it. "Then that makes two of us. Your ex is a fucking idiot for thinking he could get better sex when he had you." Parting away, he putters with continues to putter with the omlette, then the bacon and sausage, keeping an eye on as she roams his place. "Yeah, that was his." he comments as she eyes the sword. "One of his, at least. He had a couple. It's been passed from first child to first child. A shame I never learned the sword better. Be tempted to use it." The apartment, when it doesn't smell like cooking breakfast, as a spice scent to it. As if he burns incense often. There another room here two, besides the bathroom, of course. If she pokes her head in there, it's a workout room. Weight machines, dumbbells, a fighting mat, everything a Knight needs to keep in prime shape. And for as neutral Grantham has always been on politics, that doesn't mean they're stupid or oblivious. Flint keeps up, even if it's just know what's up, even if they'll stay out of it anyways. "We should do this again sometime."

"To be fair, I've learned a few things since then," Anabethe laughs softly, taking another sip of coffee. "But yes, he's a fucking idiot. On the up side, every time I get a quarterly profit check from the factories we got in the divorce, I get a happy little thrill. So. Not a complete loss." Once she's finished her tour, she turns back toward Flint, coming over to lean a hip against the nearest surface. "I'd be willing to do this again," she agrees, smile quirking. "Though we ought to be careful, or we'll end up married."

"So long as you were satisfied. I guess I've picked up some tips from the brothel ladies. I mean, it's not like they don't have the work experience for it." Flint muses, having gotten the first one finished, slides it onto a plate for her, along with a fork. "You know, I just bet. Always did seem like you came out on the better end of that one. But when a vid gives you all the evidence in the world, doubt any court is going to favor against you." Working on his next one, he nods in agreement. "Hoping, you actually know what you're doing, and I don't have to sit back and wonder if you're faking it or not." he comments, followed by a snort. "Shit, I'm sure the tabloids are already having a field day with this as it is. I apologize ahead of time if you catch hell from your old man."

Anabethe waves a hand, setting her coffee down in favor of an omelet. "Dad'll get over it. Or else he and your sister'll start to conspire, which is really more what we ought to worry about. I don't worry when Dad yells at me. It's when he doesn't that there's really a reason to worry." She sticks her fork into the omelet, then stuffs a forkful into her mouth. "Mmmph. So. Good," she mumbles through the eggs, eyes closing and head tipping back not so differently than they did the night before.

"Oh, I -know- Marah is going to have a word with me. 'Why are you fucking the Anabethe Khournas?' 'What are you implying?' 'Are you trying to give me an ulcer in my mid-thirties?' That kind of thing." he describes possible replies. "Frankly, I don't really care, but I will admit, that if I were to get forced into one, and I stress -if I had to-, there are much worse people I could be arrange married to." He gives a shrug. "What? I'm fairly certain I wouldn't hate being around you." But he doesn't talk on that topic much. "I'll say this much, if your old man gives you an ultimatium, let me know. A marriage based on friendship is better than one with someone you -know- you're going to end up loathing." He pokes at his own omlette. "I think this is exactly why I haven't turned on the news today. Because we're going to be seeing pictures of ourselves most likely."

Flint and Anabethe are in Flint's apartment, located in the Red House on Ignis. Now, there's not many people who have an actual keycard to his place that doesn't include his immediate family. His squire would be one of them, especially in light of the D-4 incident. Flint is currently stationed at the kitchen island at the stone cooking a second omlette, wearing littler more than a pair of sweatpants. Anabethe is wearing less. At least she's wearing underwear. And a button-up shirt two sizes too big.

"Thanks, but I think that's a bridge I'll cross when I get to it," Anabethe shrugs, talking through another forkful of omelet. She's leaning against a counter, apparently entirely comfortable with the current situation. "Don't get me wrong, I'm not against it. But I'm kind of holding out hope for a little something more than friendship, you know? And being a whiz with the numbers and paperwork and the like wouldn't help. Of course, I also want someone who can fight beside me. So, you know. What I'm saying is I want everything and a bag of chips," she grins.

Showing off his new home, at least for the forseeable future, Nitrim Khournas leads Soleil down the hallway. Forearm limp over the hilt of his sword, he glances over to the svelte blonde, mid-conversation, as the grand-tour commences. "My room is about half the size of my room back at the Spyre, but there's really no complaints there. It's not like it's a monk's cell or anything, but it's not decorated at all. It's got the feeling of one of those really stale hotel rooms with no personality…for now." Nitrim comes up to Flint's door and fishes a keycard out of his wallet. Eyes flashing deviously, about to do something he probably shouldn't, he swipes it through the door's card-reader. "…However, wait till you get a load of Flint's room. This place is pretty cool, it's where I crashed for a few days while he was getting my room set up." Nitrim adds, tentatively leading Soleil through, he places a hand to the small of her back and steps through. …and then he stops. The cigarette in Nitrim's lip falls to the floor with a small sputter of sparks, as his arrival is announced both by his sneaking into Flint's room and the heavy CLUNK of the door closing behind him. He blinks a few times. "HO…LEE…Shit." He says, loud enough to get their attention. "…and Deja Vu. Flint? Do you have any water balloons?"

"It's okay, I guess," Soleil says as she takes the tour, accompanied by the cloud of vapor from her own cigarette which mingles with the oldschool smoke of Nitrim's. "It's still kind of hot and dry. Took me all week to wash this place out of my hair." She's kind of hazy, still drifting on ineffective 'happy' pills. "Probably a bad idea," she half murmurs to her companion as he whips out the card, but, shrugging, she lets him usher her through the door. Her reaction is a little more subtle than Nittrim's. She laughs, short and quick. Delighted. "Ahah!"

Now that was something that Flint wasn't really expecting to run into this morning. "No, I totally get that, and more than something I can respect. Don't want another fuckup like your ex, right. Well, like I said, it's just a casual offer, but I like your company. It's more than what I can say about most people. And…hell, I like the way you fight. Though I swear you fliting with one Hostile out on the plains with the lovetaps you were giving it." There's a pause in cooking his own omlette taking a sip from his mug before he hears the hatch of his entryway slide open. A sigh. "I swear to the Crone, Marah, if you're going to get on my ass this early in the morning, this isn't going to go…..fuck." Clearly, the Ash Knight was expecting the head of the house, Marah Grantham to stride through and give her elder brother an earful, not his squire and Soleil in tow. "Nitrim. -Heeey-." he chuckles a little, caught off-guard. "Want an omlette?" Then a glance back at Anabethe.

Anabethe takes another bite of the omelet, pointing to Flint with her fork. "See? Told you he'd say that. This is what happens when you don't knock, Nitrim." She grins wolfishly, reaching for the mug of coffee at her side. Granted, this is probably what would have happened if he didn't knock, so there wasn't really a lot of hope for him to begin with. "Morning, kids," she greets cheerfully, wiggling her fork in a vague wave. Leaning toward Flint, she stage whispers: "This could've been a lot more awkward, you know."

Soleil's laugh starts a chain reaction, and in turn Nitrim starts to laugh too. Stumbling back, he bangs into the door and leans down to pick his cigarette from the hard floor beneath him. Righting, he brushes a hand through his hair and lets out a long, pained, groan that sounds like a cricket chirping in reverse, slow motion. "urrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrRRRRK! No thanks, Flint, I'm not big on scrambled eggs I prefer mine fertilized, JUST LIKE MY SISTER." Nitrim makes a growly-face at the two of them and looks away, face only slightly red. He's never walked in on anything like this before, much less with his Knight trainer. Palm to his forehead, he looks to Soleil so that he can give himself some time to brain-bleach the memory out of his head. "Kids. She called us kids. Fucking seven, what do I do here, Soleil?" Nitrim quips to the blonde at his side and folds his arms, tapping his foot quietly. Letting out a cleansing breath, he speaks sidelong to Anabethe. "Give me a second. After that one morning I'm thinking of how I'm gonna make this hard for you."

"Wellll," Soleil drawls a little slowly as she contemplates the situation, her cigarette between her lips after speaking. "I mean you and I were just having a slumber party like two primary school BFF's, so I guess /this/ is way more adult." She gestures at the pair. "You didn't cook me breakfast either. We really are just a coupla tots in comparison." It seems the BFF's have made up, too, seeing as Soleil is here and is not glaring at Nitrim or finding ways to turn his every word into an indictment of his behavior. Certainly an improvement over last time Flint saw them. "Clearly, this is what adults do."

"Weren't you the one that said that she needed to get laid?" Flint wonders aloud. "I mean, I was just trying to help out, afterall. I did you a -favor-." The Grantham can't help but be the least bit amused by this. "But, I'd rather see you walk in than my sister, because I know I'm going to have a lovely conversation with her." Looking between them, he goes back to finishing his own omlette off the skillet. "Anyways, we decided to go out for a couple of drinks and uh…somewhere along the line we fell into my bed. No damn clue how that happened." He does sober enough to get honest for a moment. "I didn't mean to piss you off or anything, Nitrim. But, your sister's an amazing woman." Beat. "As a person." he clarifies. There's a slow nod back to Bethe. "True, but I'm fairly certain we would've tipped them off long before walking through the door."

"Yeah, plenty of sausage in my eggs this morning," Anabethe smirks at Nitrim, turning her attention back to the omelet. "Flint here just stuffed it with sausage." Because she's an adult like that. And possibly a horrible person. "You go ahead and think, I'll give you a minute," she winks at her brother, setting her empty plate down and stepping around Flint to claim a piece of bacon. There's definitely a certain intimacy there, the brush of her hand against his back as she slips by, a general closeness.

Nitrim thinks fast. "And this…" Nitrim reaches to his tablet inside of his pocket, holding it up so that he can take a picture. CLACK. "…is something that a kid would do. Now hangon, hangon, hang—" Nitrim holds out an arm for silence. His aura flares and the flaming serpent springs to life, swimming around his body. His eyes wash over to white and he looks to Flint and Anabethe. "I'm accessing different parts of the electromagnetic spectrum. Black-light vision, wow looks like a bomb went off on Anabethe and…Flint there's a little…" He motions to his chest in the way that one motions to someone with a spare bit of wing-sauce on their lip, only to his chest. "…you know. Smeg." He looks to Anabethe's belly and sighs. The aura whips away back to normal once more. "Father bless these fertile fields." He might mean it. He might not. He just won't tell them he can't see in blacklight vision, NOR will he tell them that he can't tell if Anabethe is pregnant. Sighing, he slips his cigarette into his lip. "Alright, alright, alright I don't need the Creedo Maarten play-by-play. Stop while you're ahead, I'm fine with this. I like you both and like a supportive brother I'm going to wish you both well for the choices you make." Nitrim says, almost pointedly, to Anabethe. "Flint's a brother to me, too, Anabethe. Legion till the black. Whatever this is, have fun with it. I love you, Bethe."

The situation lost all humor for Soleil when talk turned to icky things like pregnancy. Also the fact that breakfast meats are forever and for all time ruined for her. It's ok. She's a grapefruit kind of girl anyway. "Gawd," she whimpers. Actually whimpers. "That's just so gross." Who's grown up now?"So, blackmail's a bitch," she says, turning to Nitrim. "But to be fair she didn't tell on us. Oh wait— You're not even /thinking/ about it?"

The mention of something on his lips has Flint smuging something that isn't there. "I was pent up, what can I say?" he replies sniggering at Bethe's food-related innuendo. "I didn't hear her complaining. Well, I heard her, but she wasn't bitching. Sure it was something like praying. If Bethe here had a religious experience, I'll be the last person to question it. "To be fair, Nitrim, I don't think either of us is thinking of anything beyond the fact that we enjoy each other's company. Although, if you want a picture…" as Anabethe passes by, an arm wraps around her side, dips her down a little, and pulls her in for a somewhat extravagent kiss. "A whole dance club saw us leave, pretty sure the cat's out of the bag, by this point."

"You're not going to fool me with your…" Anabethe waves a finger vaguely at Nitrim and his aura. "What, you think the tactical capabilities of Awakened weren't covered in how to be an heir? Punk." It's good-natured, still, and seems likely to continue when Flint makes his move. One hand on the bacon, she still takes a moment to respond, humming her approval as she hooks the other arm behind his neck. "Mmm," she laughs low after, extricating herself in favor of bacon. "Like he said," she continues to Soleil, pointing a thumb toward Flint. "Pretty sure anyone who wants to know what happened can figure it out. Anyhow. Just a little fun, no one needs to break out the white dresses."

CLACK. Nitrim takes another picture, this time of the kiss and slides his tablet back into his inner, coat pocket. Cringing at the kiss, a laugh escapes his lips and he looks to Soleil by his side. A shit-eating grin crosses his features and he lowers his voice to her. "I said I loved her, I didn't say I'd not blackmail her. Of course I'm going to hang onto it." He leans to bump his shoulder against hers and motions for her to head towards the kitchen, as omelettes do sound tasty. "I figure we could get concert tickets or I could reap a vacation out of this." With a demure smile, Nitrim reaches out to the space before Soleil, offering his hand as he takes the first steps towards Flint and Bethe. "Well it's a good thing I don't think that Father's in any hurry, Bethe, and I hope you two don't mind. I was just giving Soleil a tour. Figured it was best to get away from Landing for a little bit before I get back to training."

"Every time two people leave a club doesn't mean they're going home to fuck," Soleil says in an expensive accent that gives the word more of a libertine flair than a crass one. She reaches out to flutter her fingers at Nitrim's hand before following him, turning off her cigarette with a tap and stowing it in her robe like garment. To Nitrim she says, "You need an education in blackmail, my my lad. Things that can be bought with money are wasted on it. We have money. What you'll be wanting is a favor. Of course I doubt your daddy thinks sister here is a chaste maiden, so it may be for nought. Really you are the one who could get in bigger trouble, I mean YOU risk pissing off Janelle." She pause and wrinkles her nose. "You realize he just said your sister makes a LOT of noise?"

"Right, I don't hear wedding bells or anything, so no worries about that. Two knights thinking each other is hot and confident with some shit in common." Flint agrees with Bethe. "But if she wanted to do a date or two…well…" he shrugs, picking up his mug agian. "..I'll leave that in her court. Though I think I'd marry her just to be a brother-in-law to Nitrim here." a glance back at the man with a light chuckle. "More fun than my blood relatives." To his squire's statement, he shakes his head. "Nah, I don't mind. Don't see a lot of visitors at the Red House lately, so a different face is a good change of pace." But he does give a look between the younger pair. "So…you two. Got a room and worked it out like I told you to, I'm guessing? Not detecting anymore icy stares." Glance over at Soleil. "What? Not like I'm going to lie."

"I don't mind," Bethe assures Nitrim with a crooked smile, taking two more pieces of bacon off the plate before moving out of the way. "So long as I still get my share of the bacon." At Flint's question to the younger pair, she quirks a brow, looking between them as she leans against a counter and reclaims her coffee.

"I didn't hear Flint say she makes a lot of noise. I didn't, and won't, hear it." Glancing back to Soleil as their hand's meet briefly, but don't lock. Nitrim slips away from her and moves to the island where his ringed fingers clack-a-clack on the countertop. Eyebrows lifted, he looks to Flint and gives him an appreciative smile. "You're a good man, Flint, no we ah…didn't get a room." A glance back to Soleil, long enough to read her face. He clears his throat and looks back to his knight-trainer and Anabethe as a pair. "I did some things that were dishonest and unfair. I admitted to them, and we're working on being friends again."

Soleil fixes her eyes on Nitrim a moment. It's a moment that could be described as long due to intensity alone, for it's actually only a moment of time. "Oh we got a room," she corrects Nitrim, following at her own pace. "A /hospital/ room." She moves to the counter, not entering the kitchen, not drawn to the food. "Also I am really high on Proloft." You know the one. 'Feeling worthless, sad, can't get out of bed in the morning? Ask your doctor about Proloft.' She grows just a little sincere, which for her means her voice grows fainter. "Anyway some shit just matters a little less now than it did before."

Sure you did. 'Oh, oh Flint! Harder!" he imitates a more feminine voice with a shit-eating grin at Nitrim. "Kinda like that, but with a lot more swear words." But he does gesture for the pair to make free reign of the bacon. Because nobody says no to bacon. Drinking more of his coffee, he moves to stand next to Bethe. "Well, whatever you guys talked about, glad it's at least smoothed over." No, he's not going to ask what it was over, and he doesn't read tabloids. Now more than ever. "Speaking of hospital room, you're feeling better, right? Never seen a guy shrug off a hovercart like you. Well, never seen that before period. But, seriously, it takes a big man to admit that kinda stuff. An even bigger one to admit when he's wrong. That's honorable." A glance at Anabethe. "Keep telling you, you gotta good brother."

"You don't have to tell me," Anabethe smiles crookedly to Flint, taking a bite of the bacon. "I've been telling him that for a while now. I was on that for a bit after Mikail was born, around the time of the divorce," she adds with a tip of her chin to Soleil. "Was kind of…Well, I guess it did what it was supposed to. Talking to people worked better, though. Got my head in the right place better than pills could." Is that an olive branch? "Glad you two aren't at each others' throats anymore, though."

"I'm sure the beatings will commence when the Proloft wears off." Nitrim replies, eyes quieting into a stare on Soleil as she lowers her voice. The edge of his cheek tugs in a faint smile, nodding softly. "Yeah. Yeah I guess it does but…just understand, guys," Nitrim speaks to Flint and Anabethe while watching the blonde before him. "If you knew the half of it you'd have told me it was my own damn fault for getting an icepick in the neck." Well then. Having said that, the blonde Lord of Khournas reaches out for a piece of bacon and peels his eyes away from Soleil. For a slight moment, his eyes find Anabethes, flashing a hopeful look to her. He's trying. "It's still a little sore, Flint. The doctor's had to put a rod in there to brace the collar into place, and they stitched me up fast with this machine they put on my shoulder. It hurt like hell for a few days and I was high as a kite. Now? Now I get the feeling I'll feel it every once in a while but it's not so bad I can't get back to my training." Nitrim replies, looking to his Knight-trainer. "I'm back here till you give me leave again, man."

Soleil leans against the wall, saying no to bacon because of the drugs illing her appetite, or maybe she's one of those chicks who keeps a perfect figure via starvation. She listens to Flint impassively— well, at least the part where he is talking about Nitrim, not so much the Anbethe-sex part. That gets a wrinkle of her nose and grimace. But to the rest, yes, impassive, until she looks musingly at Nitrim. The corner of her mouth twitches a little, the way it does when some part of her brain— some long muffled part of her brain— is telling her she wants to smile. She lets her eyes drift again, and folds her arms beneath her breasts. "So Flint, has there been any more news on what we found in that mine?"

"Just let me know when you're ready again. I don't want to push your shoulder and do more damage to it." Flint points out. "And your room is yours, decorate it however you want. Even help if you want." There's a pause as to make sure that the stovetops are shut off. "And maybe if your sister likes me enough, she'll have two reasons to come by Ignis." A wink at the Khournas heir at that. "As much as people might say, there's no reason to rush. There'll be war enough for everyone. With luck, we'll all be old cockers by the end of it." Another nod. "Same here, good to see." Soleil's question though, has his expression darkening. "I've put some feelers out. I'm trying to hunt them down. There is one that bothers me." And this is where he might actually look a little unsettled, if that's possible. "The chemical we were all exposed to, a crate of it has gone missing from inventory. As well as a crawler. It was found abandoned in one of the foundary parking lots here in the Pit."

"What, so you think it wasn't an accident, whatever happened there?" Anabethe arches a brow at Flint's explanation. "That's…disturbing. Should talk to Dad about putting a tighter guard on Volkan's factories. Before we get another magma break." Finishing one piece of bacon, she disappears into the bedroom for a moment, returning in a pair of tight leather pants. But still Flint's shirt. It's maybe an improvement?

"Fuck." Nitrim whispers under his breath as he swallows the bacon. Flint's news is disturbing, as Anabethe comes back into the room wearing pants, he gives his sister a smile. The band is currently together. Shrugging off his coat, he folds it over one of the stools near the island and moves over to the fridge. Cracking it open, he pulls out a beer and pops the top off of it. Across the floor he goes to lean against a counter not too far, though not too close, to Soleil. "Well, I don't exactly remember hearing word of some scarred-up freak hanging around the crawlers." Nitrim gives a pointed look to Soleil, nodding to her as if to say we've talked about this. He sips the beer and then looks back to the knights in the room. "Sounds to me like this shit isn't happening on accident and this shit isn't happening by the Hostile. A hundred dollars on we've got moles."

"Wait a second." Soleil rubs her eyes as if she's clearing her head. "A crate went missing? So…this chemical is something you guys stock? Why? What's it for? I didn't realize it was…useful. Ughr." She seems a little confused, and pushes off the wall, finally coming arund to the kitchen. "Can I get a glass of water. or uhm…" She gives Nitrim a significant look. "Something harder?"

"Ideally, the chemical is used to clean mining equipment. The big kind, like that drill you dropped onto that thing. Cleaning, rust-prevention. Everyone knows you wear breathing equipment when you use it, it's pretty hazardous, for exactly the reasons we found out." A headshake to all of them. "No, Bethe. I don't think it was an accident at all. Think about it. You want to cripple war production, where do you start? We can't fight without materials and Ignis supplies Khournas with the majority of ore." Then to Nitrim. "Likely there's more than a few that look just plain normal, to be just like you said. The crawler? Well, we didn't exactly know how many there were supposed to be, the ash storm probably wiped away any tracks." There's a reach in the cupboard for glass, filled with water from a filtered tap before it's then handed over. "This is all just guesswork, but if I were trying to take a nation down from the inside, it might be something I'd do. Now, if they use that chemical, expose it to military heads, house heads, heirs, or the general populace…it'd be a good way to stir up confusion in the chain of command. Just imagine it, thousands of people, maybe more experiencing what we did. But it doesn't end after a couple hours." A glance back as Anabethe returns, a different kind of frown. He liked her without pants. "But don't speak of word of this, just yet. I need to figure out if any of it's true or not. I could be totally wrong. But if I'm not…well, we have a problem on our hands and the last thing we need is causing undue panic."

Nitrim leans to Soleil, whispering something to her.

Soleil tilts her head at Nitrim. After a moment, she murmurs back.

"Oh, you mean I shouldn't blab about a potentially crippling weaponized version of an industrial material?" Anabethe drawls to Flint, arching a brow in a dry expression. "Glad you mentioned that, because I was just dying to go shout it on the street." There's a wink - no hard feelings - as she starts in on more of the bacon. "You two want to share with the class?" she asks Nitrim and Soleil, tilting her head slightly.

Nitrim pulls away from Soleil, giving her a pointed, questioning look.

"Look, if one of you doesn't share, I'm just going to start making out with your sister." Flint points out.

Soleil gives Nitrim a small shrug that suggests ambivalence. Taking the glass, she thanks Nitrim and moves back to a lean against the counter, lingering near Nitrim. "That stuff should be banned," she says, with regards to the chemical. "Three or four knights, a couple of kids who spent their teen years fucked up high, and we all lost it. Seriously, banned." She glances at Nitrim and again shrugs, as if saying he can talk but she's not.

Stepping past Soleil, Nitrim glances back to Flint and Anabethe as he brushes a hand across Soleil's shoulders. Affectionately hooking a finger to pry a stray lock of hair into place on her shoulder, he moves to a cabinet and opens it up. Grabbing a bottle of something brown and liquor-like, he pours two fingers of it into a glass and trades his beer for it. "On the topic of shit that can't leave this room." Nitrim says, turning at his spot beside Soleil to lean back against the counter and set a weighted look on Bethe and Flint. "A priest in the Chantry warned me something dark was happening inside and has since gone missing. Tell no one. We've got people looking for him and if we find him we're going to need some place to hide him." He holds up a hand to Anabethe, frowning. "I know. More with the shit I don't tell you about, but this all happened rather quickly. I'm networky. The point is, there's other evidence to suggest that something fucked up is possibly going on from within. I don't know if it's connected to these guys at D-4 or not, but it's worth being selective about who you spill your hot intel to at this point."

"Banning things doesn't generally result in them not being used for illicit purposes," Anabethe notes with a pointed look at Soleil and Nitrim both. "Better to regulate it." She falls silent as Nitrim explains, brow arching sharply. "That's some very useful information, Nitrim. Do we maybe need to set up dead drops so you can actually share the information you network out of people? Because you have a tendency to wander into dark places, and I'd really prefer to know where to start looking if you disappear."

"Look for the blonde that's burning buildings down." Nitrim comments as he takes a drink.

Flint sucks in a breath, looking upward at the ceiling, as if it had all the answers for him. "I don't know if it's connected, but I suppose at this point, anything is really possible." Then his eyes glance toward the floor. There's quiet mumbling of something under his breath. "They seemed to have a religious bent toward all this from the ranting we heard, shit we saw, so I'd say it's pretty possible. They could work in cells, the same goal, but no ties to each other. Can't be connected, but the end result is still the same for all. Set up discord and dissent, turn us against each other." Snort. "Not like we don't do that well enough on our own. Alright, Nitrim, do whatever you've been doing, but if you think you're getting in over your head, you tell me." That's not a request for his tone.

"Another score for organized religion," mutters Soleil. She leans over and peers into Nitrim's glass, then, suggesting a sort of intimacy, she actually makes to take it from him, trading her water for it. Cause a guy is going to have to sacrifice his liquor for 'his girl', right? Anabethe's allusion to her and Nitrim's illicit pasts just has her shrugging innocently. "I think the Chantry has been corrupted. There's too much weirdness that doesn't add up."

Anabethe grimaces faintly. "I don't much care for the idea that the Chantry's been corrupted," she muses. "But what's the threat if they have? Mobility," she ticks off on one finger, pacing the room as she thinks. "Access. The Chantry is everywhere and can be anywhere, so it's an ideal network to be able to move through, that much is true. When it comes to raw power, though, they don't have all that much. But then, these people don't seem to be working in raw power so much as seeds of chaos."

"I'm being careful. I've got all sorts of contacts and I'll be sure to make sure everyone knows where I'm going. Like Soleil says, I can't go running off and playing hero at everything or I'm just going to wind up killed, too." Nitrim replies to the three of them with a sharp, finished nod. Gingerly, Nitrim hands off the glass to Soleil and reaches for his beer again, taking a sip to let a pause flitter between their words. Swallowing, he holds the beer against his arm that is wrapped around his waist. "Since you're my knight-trainer, Flint, and since I'd trust you with my life, Bethe, I'll keep you guys informed of what I'm doing and when, just in case something weird happens to me when it's not expected. I just want to keep all of this contact off of the Infosphere just in case." A beat. "And if we do find this Chantry priest, we're going to need help moving him around. He might be dead, he might not, but if he's running from the Chantry and if there's something going on there, his ass needs to disappear, because all the Chantry would have to do is write the Palace."

The Chantry being corrupted does not sit well in Flint's stomach. "So much for just breakfast, eh?" he utters back to Bethe. "And you don't need raw power if you take out key figures. The best way to defeat an empire is not by destroying it's army, but by taking out it's leaders. It's an old tactic, but one that's still damn effective. And the line of succession, no matter if it's the Regeant of a head of house, may fall to someone who's not nearly as capable. Something like this, what we're talking about can cripple everything. We always thought the Hostiles would think up new shit to throw at us, whoever thought religious influence would be one of them. As a tactician, I can respect that, even admire to a certain extent, but as a Havenite, I dread the possibilities." There's a grin at Nitrim. "Hey now, I'm the only one with a death wish here, thanks."

"Heh," Soleil says to Flint, for some reason. She's already finished the glass of liquor, having done so in a couple of quick, grimacing tips. "It is the best way to get at us, a mindfuck. It's what I'd do." Nitrim, oh how well he knows this. Soleil and her creative tactics. "They will rattle the System to its very core by tearing apart the very thing that brings people comfort and hope. It really is brilliant. But I have to wonder at something— that is, how much of what they say is true. I have always heard rumors that the Hostiles used to be us. They came from us. Maybe they did. Maybe something that might as well be a god changed them into what they are." She shrugs.

"Not enough information," Anabethe grimaces, reaching up to push a hand through her hair. "Which is not exactly my specialty. Religion either," she adds with a sigh. "Should maybe talk to Samhainn about it. They make more of a study of those things. They might know more about it. In the meantime…" She trails off, shaking her head. "You find out who needs killed, you call me."

"Nobody is really an expert on that." Flint gestures idly. "But I feeling we're going to find out within the length of this war. And here's something else I've come to believe. There won't be another one, nor do I think think this one will last as long as the others, what we've been seeing, these new patterns emerging, just gives personal creedance to that. At the end of this, one side isn't going to exsist anymore, the problem is, we're behind the eight ball. They're coming at us, infiltrating us. Sooner or later, if we have any hope of winning this thing, we're going to have to take the fight to them. If you ask me, I'm tired of always been on the defensive. The chemical, the cult, the missing priests. These are tactics we can't use against them. Not yet, anyhow." There's glance back at the katana held in the case. "Everyone keep your eyes out. If it's odd, take a note of it. We'll meet up again and compare notes if any of us found anything new."

"At this point I'm willing to believe anything is going on, so long as it's something, because something is definitely not right." Nitrim replies to the three of them, pausing to down the last of his beer. In a sweeping, underhanded motion, he tosses the bottle into a garbage can with a resounding clink. "But not one word about Father Tommas, and be careful about your theories on the Chantry. If people start noticing questions are being asked and there is something, it could be like stepping onto a hornet's nest." Gathering his coat, Nitrim takes a few steps to the door. "I signed on to die and be reborn, right, Flint? I've been clearing my accounts and getting my silly shit in line. I want good things on the other side." He pauses, leaning out to hug his sister and linger for a whisper, and then gives a tentative look to Soleil. Will she follow? "Do you want to stay and talk with them? I was going to make sure my room is ready."

Soleil gives Nitrim a look that suggests like hell she wants to stay and hang out with sausage and eggs. Shudder! She sets off to follow him. "Uh…nice to see you again," she says over her shoulder, channeling Prince's daughter/socialite/whatever for a moment. As she passes she knocks on one of the walls and sasy, in jest to Nitrim, "hope the walls are really thick."

Anabethe returns Nitrim's hug, arms tight around his shoulders. "Take care, little brother," she murmurs. "Good to see you again."

"You know where to find me, Nitrim." Flint replies, mind distracted for the time being. "I'll be around Red House most of the day. Paperwork. Other shit. Figure might just stay in and work out. Come by when you're not doing…" he pauses to look between him and Soleil. "…whatever it is you two plan on doing."

Tugging open the door, Nitrim looks back to Flint and Anabethe, then to Soleil. Studying her face for a moment, he looks back to Flint and his sister with a cocked eyebrow. "We've got a hot date with The Terror from the Depths IV." Nitrim replies with a distinct lack of innuendo. No…the rumors are true. They do actually sleep.

"Hey. My mother raised me to be a good girl," Soleil says over her shoulder. She disappears through the door with Nitrim.

Flint looks back at Anabethe, sighing. "That was not the kind of morning I was really expecting." Really, it's an amused kind of sigh, but maybe mildly frustrated as well. "Now you know why I didn't ask you out awhile ago. Been dealing with all -that-." he waves his hand in an errant direction. "Been an exciting couple of days. For good and for bad."

"I can see that," Anabethe sighs as well as the younger pair leaves, reaching up to rub a hand at the back of her neck. "Talk about a mood-killer." She moves to reclaim her coffee, taking a long drink of what's left. "Might have to skip the morning fuck and go straight to the spar."

"I wasn't sure if that was shit you'd want to get involved in with, but I figure you would sooner or later with Nitrim being your brother." Flint admits, leaning against the counter, and looking to pull her to his side as she drinks. "Please." he brightens after a moment. "Haven't you done both at the same time? That's what hand-to-hand is for." There's a moment while he drinks his coffee as well. "For what it's worth, glad you came over. So. You wanna do this again sometime? The sex part is optional, but I'd like to take you out again, if you're interested."

Anabethe fits comfortably against his side, tracing the outline of his tattoo with her free hand as she considers the invitation. "Let's see how this falls out first," she says after a moment, flattening her hand against his chest. "Like I said, I like you, Flint. All else aside? I'd like to do this again. But I'm not looking to end up married because it's convenient, and I'm afraid that if we start doing this regularly, that's where we're going to be headed, you know?"

"Figured it's something I should ask when I'm not trying to be funny or charming. That is, if I'm being either before that." Flint points out. "And as I've said, I don't think either of us are in any rush to get married because it's convenient. But…" he actually has to pause at this one himself. "I like you too, Bethe. And to be perfectly honest, I'm not good at…this stuff. But yeah, I like you. I'd like to see you again, like I said. As for anything regular, let's see how your dad and my sister react. Maybe they won't care, maybe they will. Cross that bridge if it even needs to be crossed. You're an interesting woman. You make me curious about you. I want to know." A low laugh. "That doesn't happen. You're fucking unique."

"Well, glad I could engage more than just your cock," Anabethe laughs softly, setting her empty cup aside and shifting to stand in front of him, hands on the counter to either side of him. "Though I've got not complaints about engaging that," she admits leaning in to nip at a hickey on his collarbone. "Let's get dressed and spar. Then we can get cleaned up. Save some water on the shower."

Flint grins right back at her. Looking down at her, he nods. "Right then, get my mind off all this damn cultist shit. Could use a workout after the workout, anyhow." A slight hiss at the sore hickey on his skin. "Going to remember that."

"Ten pounds of sausage in a five pound skin," Anabethe winks, stepping back and heading for the bedroom once more. "I'm going through your drawers," she calls back over her shoulder. "Find something I can wear to work out in that isn't silk and leather. Now's your chance to tell me which drawer not to open!"

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