Swords, Rings and Magic Things - Chapter 6

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"What. Is that."

Agatha doesn't answer, only kicks the door to their room closed behind her. Leslie is not sure how one manages to hold something cheerily, but it's happening right in front of her.

Her clothes have been folded as neatly as she can manage stop her bed, like Agatha had told her to before leaving. The backpack, already filled, sits at the foot of her bed, and she'd like to think it's as anxious about the extra things as she is.

It's been an hour since Agatha had left and all she has to show for it is a mystery box tucked under one arm.

"Package arrived." Agatha tells her, plopping it down in the bedcovers.

Leslie stares at it. It is roughly two feet in width, covered in strips of tape, ink stamps and paper labels. Cardboard.

Hands on hips, she nods smartly, then turns her head to Agatha. "What is it."

That gets her a snort. Agatha sits on the bed (crinkling the sheets she made), and gestures for her to sit too. It's only after Leslie complies and only stares at it in bewilderment for a few seconds that she actually responds. "Well? Open it!"

"It's for me?"

Agatha raps her knuckles against the top. "Listen, I had to go through some pains to get it here so fast, but we can't have you going without your," She pauses, and grins. "Equipment."

Something sparks in Leslie's chest, and her hands are already on it, tearing at a stripe of tape. Then she catches herself halfway through ripping it off, feels her shoulders hunch in embarrassment before abandoning the strip and starting on another one. Gently this time.

Agatha tolerates this for five seconds. "For god's sake, girl! Tear at it! You know you wanna!"

"Uh. Do I?" She picks at the first piece of tape, looking at the cardboard she'd managed to rip off with it. "I don't, uh, don't want to cause a mess."

"We'll clean it up. Packaging ain't important either. Just get into it already, you're killin' me here."

Leslie grabs the first, half removed piece of tape and finishes ripping it off before tearing into the rest with all her might which frankly, isn't a lot.  The tape is removed, and the lid is flipped.

Inside the box is. A bag. A cloth rucksack kind of bag.

"Oh!" She reaches for it. "But, uh, I've already got a bag-"

Something's odd with it. She can feel it the instant she picks it up. It's obvious from the feel of it in her hands as she holds it up; the weight of it is noticeably off, and the fabric pulls as though there's something inside.

Leslie reaches inside and what it actually is hits her when she realizes that she can't actually see the insides of the bag, and that it's taking more of her arm than should be possible. Her hand is yanked back. "I get. A sack of holding. No way. No, no way." She pauses and takes another gander at it. "No way."

"There's more. Check inside, Leslie."

She reaches, rummages, and manages to get exactly one thing. Agatha impatiently grabs at the bottom of the bag and turns it upside down, releasing the few items inside.

They fall over the bedcovers. Leslie recognizes only one piece of the 'equipment', so she reaches for that first.

"Scanner." Agatha tells her as she turns it over in her hands. "Made to clip onto a belt, or go into a large pocket. You don't want to keep it in the bag while we're hunting, though; gets hard to find and it can't react to jack past the dampening enchantments on it."

Leslie returns the scanner back to the bag, and reaches for another thing.

"Enchantment-proofed gloves; for grabbing potentially nasty things. Also won't let you actually activate most magic tools, just so you know."

Leslie glances at Agatha's gloves. Each finger of it ends at the second knuckle, and they don't look much like hers at all.

Agatha notices and waves a hand dismissively. "I'm more naturally resistant to that kinda junk. And I got these myself long before this ever became a normal part of the basic equipment kit."

Leslie next picks up what looks like a medium-small black wooden box. No sounds come from the inside upon being shaken. There's what looks like a lock on the lid.

"Enchantment-proofed case. For transporting potentially nasty things."

She dunks it inside.

And there's a bound folder of papers. She can tell when she picks it up, from the easily recalled feeling of her own folder in her hand, that it's not very filled.

"Some papers 'n forms. I had to get this here quickly, so no actual identification's in there. We'll have to have you get down some extra information, but we can do that easy after we get outta here. They aren't too important, but you'll wanna keep 'em safe. Run an eye over 'em later and make sure the info's all straight."

Leslie sets the folder next to her and reaches for the last item; another device she doesn't recognize.

"Aaaand the alerter. A really, really basic communicator thing. Normally, you'd be contacted on a phone number or some sort of similar medium, but this is for issuing fast signals. I'll tell you more about what it does later."

Leslie is still waffling over whether she should empty her now-outdone backpack out or not when she's spoken to by Agatha again.

The shreds of cardboard and tape are scooped up in one arm. "You at least more ready to leave than when I left you, or?"

Leslie jumps off the bed and gets to shoving her newer clothes away.

It's after another half hour, Leslie finding out that the sack could fit her entire backpack, still filled and slipping the Opening inside on Agatha's insistence, Agatha also insisting that she carry half the rations since "you got a way of takin' 'em yourself now", and several checks and double checks of the room to make sure nothing was forgotten, that they depart the room and return to the streets.

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"We're, uh, not meeting him at a station?"

The street they're walking on is familiar. Leslie had only realized why when she spotted a certain antique shop down the street before they crossed the road and it exited her sight.

She's still not sure what happened to Agatha's motorcycle. It'd been there, and when Leslie had returned a minute later from the public restroom, it'd been gone, and Agatha had been busy enough with her phone that Leslie hadn't been willing to bother her.

"No, of course not, that'd be too quick and easy," Agatha said in a low tone that meant 'more to herself than Leslie'. She peers at her phone again, frowning. "No, he said to meet him at this... I think it's a pawn shop. He didn't say much. Said to ask for someone named-"

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"-Kelso?"

The shopkeeper tilts his head quizzically and his arms cross, but otherwise doesn't react negatively. "I'm pretty sure there were supposed to be two of you?"

Leslie nods. Agatha, from the other side of the shop, looks up from the rings they have on display to wave. "That's her."

The shop, less than two streets away from the antique shop they'd found the Napalm Flask in, reminds her of it. The only claim to it though, is the odd sound-muffling properties they seem to share, and the scent of old things. The shop here's more brightly lit, and has actual space to walk through. Items are also organized in a logical fashion; no inappropriate statues sitting next to amulets like they had a right to here.

Even though the whole 'come over to this place and ask for this guy' thing is making her feel like they're doing something illegal, the shopkeeper's smile is managing to reassure her. To be honest, he doesn't look like the sort that would do illegal stuff.

The guy he calls over from behind a door, however, looks like he would willingly do a spot of less-than-lawful activity. The two have to be related somehow, with the same eye color and the same face shape. However, it takes her a moment to realize that the second one (kelso?) actually can't, from a second look, be more than a decade older than her, no matter what the graying hair and eye shadows are telling her.

He gives them both up and down looks, but she can't help but feel like his eye is sliding over a lot of the finer details. "Agatha Rhydian plus one?" he asks flatly.

"That's us." Agatha calls, still on the other side of the shop.

He gives them up and down looks again, but his stare stops on Leslie's face this time.

Her breathing stops with it. So does his.

Their gazes are locked, and a dozen possibilities scream through her mind. Even if they're staring straight at each other, she can't clearly register whatever expression is on his face past the fact that he's still staring.

There's the sound of footsteps.

Why is he staring- does he recognize me from- would he turn me in-

The thoughts grind to a halt when she feels Agatha's hand on her shoulder. It doesn't stop his stare, but it does give Leslie back enough of her bearings to register that his expression is poleaxed.

What does is the shopkeeper glancing his way and asking; "Kelso?"

"I-" Like the snap of a rubber band, his gaze jerks away. "-shit."

Agatha fixes him with a glare. "Hey. I was given your name by a reliable source, but that won't keep me from stopping information where it needs to be stopped. You get me?"

The combination of befuddled and vaguely affronted on his face indicates that, no, he does not seem to be getting her.

The shopkeeper is still glancing his way. "... Kelso, the search that's been on the news."

"The what now. That's not-" His eye meets Leslie's again, and to her surprise, he looks away quickly this time. "Mmm. Shit. Just forget that happened. If you don't breathe a word, we won't breathe a word."

Leslie's pulse is still going too fast to be comfortable, but Agatha seems to relax minutely at the answer, and she takes that as a signal to let herself copy.

Only minutely, though. "And exactly what is keeping you from breathing a word, if you don't mind me asking."

He rolls his eyes. He actually rolls his eyes, like the old lady in front of him isn't giving off the threatening vibes even Leslie can feel projecting off her. "The promise that I'll be contacted immediately upon any artifact that grants dreamless sleep being found," he deadpans.

She seems satisfied enough with the answer. "Well. If you say so."

A short silence follows when he doesn't respond to the prompt. His eyes stare vacantly somewhere to his left.

Agatha allows this for exactly three seconds before loudly continuing herself. "Well! We should get a move on, shouldn't we?"

He minutely, but visibly startles again. Whatever the problem, it seems to be brushed off as he jerks his head in the direction of the door he entered the shop through and instructs them to follow him.

They pass around the counter, and the shopkeeper offers Leslie a small smile and a wave.

Before closing the door behind them, Kelso takes a glance at Agatha, and sticks his head back out the door. "Janus, make sure the old one didn't steal anything."

Agatha's response is to snort loudly. "If I actually wanted anything, I've got enough to buy it, you rude young man."

He grunts and leaves it at that.

The hallway and short flight of stairs he leads them down is dimly lit.

The small room at the bottom of the stairs is even more dimly lit, and much more filled. Stacks of old books, a single lonely stool, and crates that are all so innocuous that the dusty smell is leaving more of an impact.

There's not much space to move between the items, and Leslie absentmindedly shuffles to the largest area of clear floorboard.

The glance he gives her is flat. "Move off that," he says, and she detects a new strain of tiredness in his voice.

He kneels near the round she'd been standing on, putting his wand to it. At a few taps, the outline of a square glows. It fades, just as suddenly as it'd appeared, and he yanks, the floorboards pulling up in a perfect copy of the outline.

As dark and dusty smelling as the room is, wherever the new passageway leads to is even darker and dustier.

Leslie squats and makes to go down it, but Agatha stops her with a few fingertips to the head.

Her stare is trained on the hole, and it doesn't waver or look away as she speaks. "Those're train tracks down there. Outdated ones."

Kelso shrugs. "Used to be a subway tunnel. An old one. Or, at least, this part was. Now," He grinds the heel of his palm into an eye and stares at Agatha with the other."You know where to go from here, or are you going to need directions?"

"No, I've got it."

He shrugs again. "Lights?"

Agatha pulls out her wand.

After they've gone down, when Leslie reaches the ground and is still trying to not think of it as being swallowed up, she looks back up at the trapdoor.

Kelso locks gazes with her again and nods. "Good luck."

The trapdoor closes, and the only light now is from their wands and a faint, faint glow from both directions of the tunnel.

Agatha begins walking, and Leslie follows.

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"Leslie, little tip; I may have exceptional enough night vision to see you nodding when I ask where you are, but, as you might guess, most other people don't."

"I'm over here," Leslie blurts. Her voice bounces off the walls, and she tries again with a quieter tone. "Still over here."

"Everything accounted for?"

Her new sack of holding on her back? Sword wrapped and also returned to her back? Both new gloves still on and wand in hand? "Yeah," she answers. "Yeah, uh. How long've we been walking?"

"'Bout half an hour now." Agatha grunts. "We should be finding him soon."

There are small, barely functioning light globes still on the walls. They only give enough yellowy light to let her see most of the tunnel and Agatha in a faint, glowing outline, with light from her wand filling in the details. She's mostly focusing her light on not tripping over any still-present remains of the train tracks, which is why when she sees Agatha's head and curls shake and shift, she assumes that she's shaking her head irritably.

When she lifts her wand to 'fill in the details' however, it becomes apparent that Agatha has stopped in her tracks and is actually tilting her head at an angle.

"Agatha?"

She shushes her abruptly, and tilts her head further. When she rerights her neck a few moments later, a glance and a nod is given to Leslie. "Whistling," she tells her flatly.

Leslie nods back, hoping Agatha misconstrues it as her understanding. "From where?"

"Exactly the direction we're heading."

"... Is that bad?"

She's lowered her wand again, but she can see the outline of Agatha's head making a motion that means she's rolling her eyes. "No. Probably not. He knows what he's doing. Doesn't mean I'm not going to chew him out for it."

Leslie makes an audible noise of confusion, but Agatha doesn't respond to it.

A few minutes of trudging later, Leslie, about as faintly as the glow of the outdated lights, can hear whistling. It plays at the edge of her hearing, but she's fairly certain it's a tune. Further ahead, there's a steadier glow, a different kind and color from the lights. Steadily, the whistling gets louder and the glow grows stronger.

The tunnel opens out into what Leslie can faintly recognize as an old station. Here, the tracks are gone, and faint, lonely signs remain of people having passed through a long time ago. The only reason it's visible at all is because of the source of the light; a stranger sitting on an old bench on the ledge, legs crossed, whistling, and most of him covered in a hooded cloak.

They climb up the ledge and the stranger stops his whistling to watch them approach. As soon as they reach the light, he stands and pushes the hood off.

He has an easygoing smile on, curly, dark hair, tanned olive skin and horn rimmed glasses. Most of what's under the cloak isn't visible to her, but she can see a shoulder bag, and the most worn boots she has ever witnessed still in one piece on a person. Standing, he's about the same height as her.

She calls to the mind the easy, confident way Agatha introduces herself; with an air that bordered on swagger, self-assurance in her step and the hand she usually ends up offering looking in no way awkward.

The hand she juts out in his direction is a far cry from what she's trying to mimic, but he takes it firmly and shakes anyways, so she can assume she's done something right. It takes Agatha's hand touching her shoulder for her to recall that verbal introductions were a thing that usually followed handshakes.

"I'm Leslie," she manages to say steadily enough.

The nod she gets in return feels less like an approval and more like reassurance. "My name's Obsidian Albaran," he says with his smile and another shake of the hand. "It's nice to finally meet you, Leslie."

The smile turns to an outright grin when the sound of Agatha’s spluttering fills the long-abandoned station.

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