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Dad Hoc:
As offices go? It's a nice office. It has everything. Great wireless internet, plus LAN ports in the wall for the bandwidth obsessed. Ample lighting, much of it recessed. Ecellent ventillation. There's plants for truly fresh air, there's shelving enough to fill it with knick knacks. A wonderful, dark wood desk. Comfortable chairs. A couch, a small bar, even a little fridge.
Because the people lending it to him very much hope he stays in it and never leaves and then goes home quickly. That's the nature of being a Lictor. Than man occupying the office is aware of it all, of course, having been at this gig for some time. And so the office is unadorned. Not lived in, so much as occupied at present.
The Quincunx Omnia, or Quinn Adler as he's known in a more quiet life, is a small man. Frail of body, small of stature, one who walks with a cane even though he does not yet need one. He's the kind of man to whom a cane belongs naturally. His glasses are heavy framed, thick lensed, and trifocular. His face is gaunt, pale, and not particularly friendly. But neither is it standoffish. It's neutral. And of course in America, neutral reads as bitchy or prickish. And so he reads as that.
But he at least rises from the desk when Jeremiah arrives to offer a nod of greeting. Not a hand shaker, this one. Given the gloves on his hands, there's probably a reason for it. "Ah. Good. You will be the one Penance was telling me about. I am the Quincunx Omnia, but do call me Quinn when you're able. Have you eaten?" The voice is quiet, soft, almost brittle seeming. Like old paper or childhood promises. The accent is New York yid, if one had to guess.
Jeremiah Hamilton:
Jeremiah arrived promptly at the arranged meeting time, dressed neatly as one should for such things. He nodded politely in return, not seeming perturbed by the lack of an offered hand. "Good to meet you, sir, and I have, but thank you."
Dad Hoc:
"Then you will get to watch me eat," Quinn explains as he steps out from behind his desk, over to the fridge, where he pulls out a bag from Pumpernick's. He shakes the bag meaningfully, "There is very rarely good deli outside of Manhattan. Pumpernicks? It is good deli. Very fortunate you are to have Pumpernick's. As I am not a pleasant man in the absence of good deli." That is probably something of a joke. He tosses the bag onto the desk, pulls out some sandwiches and various takeout bowls of pickles from the pickle bar.
"The work we are about to do? Have you done this kind of work before?" He gestures back Jeremiah's way while holding something very much too full of pastrami, a phrase clearly alien to this man. "Mostly? I find the young talents they send me are accustomed to finding truths. Which is a different matter altogether from piecing together someone else's lies." He licks a bit of horseradish from his thumb after setting the sammich down on a paper plate.
He watches Jeremiah meaningfully. "People don't mind when good men seek truth. You understand."
Jeremiah Hamilton:
"Noted." He said with a small smile, eyeing the sandwich. "Don't think I've been there yet, will have to check it out."
"Can't say that I have, no, but I'm more than willing to put in the work. Cutting through the dross that other spin to cover their actions is something I'm familiar with, though." He watched Quinn for a moment in return before nodding. "I do, yes."
Dad Hoc:
Quinn watches Jeremiah for a soid span of seconds to make sure that he actually genuinely does understand that this work is dangerous before he nods and accepts that his continued presence amounts to informed consent. "Good. Good, then! While we're working together, I will do everything in my power to keep you and your cadre-- anyone else you indicate requires it --safe from harm. I have a great many legal immunities, of course. You have those now, too. But those do not matter to criminals. Or to our enemies. And at present, those we are pursuing may in fact be both."
And then Quinn pivots not at all subtly to the recent losses suffered by his cadre and its members. His head shifts just a touch, adjusting the angle with which his cold blue eyes regard the younger magus. "And I am sorry, of course, to hear of the loss of Elder Balm. She was a unique and gifted woman, and I very much enjoyed devoloping our law alongside her over the years. And very close to Kayla, I understand."
"It's a lot for a cadre to handle all at once. A man could be forgiven if he felt the need to excuse himself from potentially hazardous and demanding order duties in the wake of such a loss." Quinn's lips purse tightly in a small, considering frown, his bony shoulders shrug inside his suit jacket.
He steps a little closer and sets his cane tip down solidly on the floor. Click. "But if you are inclined to stay, young man. I need to know how good you are in a fight, how good you are at seeing what is hidden around you, and then we are going to go break into a Guardian sanctum."
Jeremiah Hamilton:
"Thank you. She truly will be missed, and the ripples of her departure will continue for some time." He nodded quietly. "I can support my sisters and still work towards getting to the bottom of this, however."
As one would expect, that last little tidbit caught Jeremiah off-guard, a brief flash of surprise on his face. "I'm...fair to middling unarmed, although that can be enhanced easily enough. I'm also a Disciple of Prime, so seeing through illusions is something I can handle."
Dad Hoc:
"Ahhh. You can speak words of truth. That's often useful in interrogations. Very good. Very good." Quinn nods his head a little, his nose twitching once or twice. "If I were to ask you to find us some muscle, someone gifted with truly piercing peripheral sight, who would you suggest? And once you've answered that question, why don't you... use those words of truth I know you can speak and tell me everything you know and everything you think you know, understanding that at this point I am here representing the Magisterium, yes, but that I have no... agenda in being here. I don't wish ill of the Children of the Tree, I am not seeking to replace any officers, or censure an individuals. I am simply seeking an answer to what has happened to the Major Arcana."
Quinn's smile is brief, and laced with a kind of apology. "We need to know we can trust one another. I will do the same once you are done, and then we can say we're beginning this with no cards up our sleeves. Agreeable?"
Needless to say, when a bearer of the Eternal voice makes a gentle suggestion, it at least sounds eminently agreeable.
Jeremiah Hamilton:
"Best I can think of off-hand for the skill with the periphery is Master Revontulet, and she can definitely handle herself in general besides."
"Agreeable." Jeremiah nodded, reaching under his shirt to pull the bronze serpent pendant that rested on the leather cord around his neck. With a moment's focus and a measure of will the spell settled around him, imbuing the words that followed with the truth of the Supernal. "My involvement with these matters began after Pavlichenko came to our cadre's sanctum with news of an imposter Interfector who assaulted some of the local Changeling leadership, likely in the efforts of driving a wedge between our two communities and pitting us against each other so the Seers could use our distraction to their advantage. He reported that she was at least a triple Master, skilled in Fate, Mind and Time. He and the others present were able to subdue her and she was bound to a spatial pocket tied to a coin that Pavlichenko then gave to the Veil for safe keeping and further interrogation."
"Some time later, Walsingham approached myself and a number of others, Awakened and non, at a coffee shop in Center City that we all just so happened to be there for to meet at. He gave Adept Parhelion a coin that she seemed to recognize and spoke of 'a man', with very specific emphasis on that phrase, letting a feral dog off a leash and not informing others of their decision to do so. This, I believe, was referring to the Veil, or members of it, letting the Seer go rather than pursuing the proper paths of justice for her actions."
Dad Hoc:
There's no flare of nimbus from the Lictor, but his words bear the weight of truth all the same. "What you're telling me is consistent with the other stories I am being told. They differ here and there, of course, as these things tend to do. The murderer was dressed as an Interfector? Originally? But this was prevented, I believe. From actually happening. Which is a pretty clever trick if you can manage it. We should try that some time." Quinn's sense of humor is not accompanied by smiles to help indicate when his jokes are to be laughed at socially. Which can get unnerving after a while.
"Captured, turned over to the Sentinels who are two of the three Major Arcana, a cadre of Guardians of the Veil. Later released by, it would seem to be suggested, the eponymous Man." Quinn's words hold truth, though it's also obvious that he might as well be relating plot elements of Dawson's Creek for all the meaning it has to him personally.
"I genuinely have no agenda here apart from discovering what happened to the Major Arcana. It is a line of natural inquiry to a consilium when a whole cadre goes dark, taking two of its officers and one of their former prisoners with it. It's a righteous question, to hide our other more filthy motive; that being piecing together the why behind all the lies."
"Revontulet. Revontulet. Revontulet." Quinn goes searching through his brain meats at that name, finally lifting his sandwich up for a pensive bite. He chews and swallows down a mouth full of pastrami before leaning back in his seat. "I know that name. She was a renunciate of the Mysterium, I believe, before joining the Children of the Tree. You vouch for her integrity besides?" It's asked with more than a little dubiousness. "If you do, good enough. Ask her to help. If she wants me to ask, arrange a meeting. We need good eyes and someone to help us in the event there's violence."
Jeremiah Hamilton:
"That it was. Pavlichenko was able to wind back the timeline from the initial attack so the assailant could be dealt with properly." Jeremiah nodded, smiling a touch at the...joke, maybe? "It is rather handy, although not a sphere of magic I have much skill in."
"I do, yes. She's been a very big help to my cadremates and the consilium as a whole, and I've no reason to doubt her." He nodded quietly. "I will, once we finish here."
Dad Hoc:
"In my line of work, I've learned it best not to question the understandings of systems foreign to me. There are many minhagim, you will learn, when you wear out as many shoes as I have. If you say a renunciate fox woman holds a place of respect in Philadelphia, I should like to kiss her cheek and shake her hand, and tell her it is an honor to meet her. Because all those worn out shoes assure me of one thing, and it's that she must be quite a person, rather than everyone you know being wrong about her. Internalize that lesson, and you will be welcome almost anywhere you travel. It's almost always our assumptions that are wrong about strangers."
He takes another bite of his sandwich, chews it philosophically, and then reaches for a pickle, taking one and sliding the little takeout dish Jeremiah's way.
"So," he finally states flatly. "If you agree to assume the risk, which you have, and you believe it will be no strain on your cadre at a time of grief, which you do, and if you agree to secure some back up in the form of Revontulet and others with a similar skillset? There's nothing more to discuss."
He then creaks his chair back, sets his cane in his lap, and pokes the pickles Jeremiah's way one final time. "Now eat a pickle, then go be about it. I'd like to be past the part where we're breaking into sanctums as quickly as possible. Never good to linger on that intention around heavily armed cadres for long."
Jeremiah Hamilton:
"Very true indeed." Jeremiah nodded, eyeing the pickle selection as it was slid his way before smiling a touch. "Agreed. Thank you for having me, and I look forward to getting to the bottom of this."
With that he claimed one of the pickles - and a napkin, just in case - and lifted it in a small salute before taking a bite. "'s really good." He added after finishing the bite, not one to speak with his mouth full. "Thanks."
Dad Hoc:
"Judge not and eat good deli," Quinn offers in parting benediction, saluting his parting company with an overstuffed pastrami on rye. "Pumpernicks. On 309 and 202 in Montgomeryville." He kisses his fingers, commending the meal, then gestures Jeremiah off. "Now go, go. Go. I've got to make some calls anyway."
Jeremiah Hamilton:
"Yes'sir." He replied with a smirk and a nod, standing from his chair and heading out the door with his pickle in tow, munching on it as he pulled his phone to send a message to the Firebirds. Time to see what Fox was up to...
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