Androids. Yeah, your world and mine diverged hard somewhere along the way.
[Hard. Given that magic flooded his world and technology has been crumbling in waves since. He laughs.][But what about him, huh?] There are various shapeshifter clans throughout the world. The Pack is the second largest shapeshifter organization in North America -- there's a bigger one up in Alaska. We live in Atlanta, alongside all sorts of factions and groups: regular humans, the necromancers, the witches, the druids.
...and president implies a democracy. The Beast Lord is not elected.
Oh yeah, I almost forgot. Election by death match. Right.
[He rolls the glass over his knee, taking all that in. It's not really... real. Of course it's not. Not to Hank. But he can pretend, try to turn it all into something he understands long enough for a question or two to occur to him.]
How are lawyers even still a thing, with all that going on? Like, if every uh... every group, if they're half as hardcore as your pack thing there's got to be tons of regulations and protections and shit, and a different set for each uh, each... magic situation, or whatever. Do you guys still have unions? Or do people just sign up to be a druid and that's kind of like the same thing.
[A grin and a nod.] That's right. Curran took on the former beast lord when he was fifteen. And honestly we're lucky to have him. He's united all the clans in a remarkable sort of peace and unity. The laws are strict -- but they have to be. Shapeshifters are--
[He hesitates before shrugging.] Let's just say that we need to strictly remember our humanity. Losing sight of it can be disastrous.
But really, a world on the brink of lawlessness needs lawyers more than ever. I'm a Pack lawyer, but I'm admitted to practice in Georgia and all its neighboring states. The Pack tends to have jurisdiction over crimes against our own -- though the Atlanta PD isn't always quick to hand over the reins. Understandable really. Add the the Pack and the Police, the Order of Merciful Aid. And it's a jurisdictional and logistical nightmare. But we manage.
We have unions. With tech failing as bad as it did, carpentry and masonry are in high demand. Their unions are powerhouses. And then there's the mercenary guild. ...other people sign up to be druids. Or witches. It depends where your culture and talents lie.
You feel like your- [Saying 'world' still feels so weird. So what the fuck does he call it?] -where you come from's 'on the brink of lawlessness', but you keep order anyway cause that's what you are. You need it if you're gonna stay human. Am I reading that right?
[He sighs.]
Does being here make that, uh, harder for you? The whole shapeshifter thing, being in a place where there's no rules at all, no structure or anything?
[Oh what the hell. Maybe it's the booze (it is, his head is starting to feel a bit like it's swimming; apparently his shapeshifter metabolism has been affected by Astoria too).]
Shapeshifters are shapeshifters because of a magical virus -- the Lycos virus. There is a risk that we can lose ourselves to it and to our non-human sides, most often during adolescence or in periods of great stress or severe injury. It's called going Loup. Loups are violent, senseless monsters. They murder, maim, cannibalize and worse with no hesitation or remorse. Loups can't be reasoned with or rehabilitated, only killed. So we keep to strict order, try to hold onto our humanity tightly. But for all our rules and structure, it's still very much an internal struggle.
[He shrugs a shoulder as he considers the next question.] Honestly, I think the way this place affects my shifting, I'm further removed from that risk than ever. And in my case, my shifting has been stable my whole life, low risk at this point.
[Hank listens, taking a long drink. His frown isn't a disturbed one; he doesn't think he's gotten used to all the weird shit in this place - he hopes he hasn't - so that might be the booze, the fact that the words 'magical virus' only bother him a little, it might be starting to kick in. But part of it might just be the guy who's saying them; Barabas is so damn straightlaced, not in a shitty way, just... in a way. He's so matter of fact about this shit, just like he's matter of fact about the ways their shitty little team of superheroes need to actually get organized, just like he's matter of fact about keeping those notes. Maybe some of it's the fact that he's the one doing the explaining, why it's hardly bothering Hank.
Still, Hank gets up, walks over to the table next to Barabas to refill the little bit in his glass, and then he sets the bottle back down. Drinking might or might not be what's helping, but it can't hurt.]
Well. Good. I was about to ask if there was anything I could do but I guess it being all an internal thing's good. Here, I mean. Cause if you just needed, you know, a stable, structured environment or whatever...
[He hasn't drank enough to finish that with the actual words 'then we'd all be fucked,' but he does pull a face.]
[Unsaid or not, Barabas gets the implication and he laughs.]
This place isn't exactly ideal for serenity -- or anything shy of fury and frustration. But no, I'm fine. And if something does go wrong with my shifting and I do go loup, I've secured a promise of making sure I'm stopped. [He's lined up someone he trusts to kill him if it comes to it, but Barabas has faith it won't. For all its faults, this place at least makes loupism something he doesn't need to worry about all that often.]
So instead I get to focus on the greater issue of being flung into horrible situations with no clear way out.
[Hank raises his eyebrows. He turns to walk back to his spot on the bed - if Barabas wants his glass topped up, he's going to have to do it himself - and replies dryly over his shoulder.]
Oh yeah, at least you got someone to promise to kill you. So, we have that.
[He plops himself back on the mattress, a little amusement sneaking in around his doubtful look.]
Are you usually this good at reassuring people? Or do you get better at it when you drink?
[A little grin of his own and he looks at his glass. Almost empty.
Oh. That's pessimistic, isn't it? He should try better. Or refill it. But for now he's pacing himself. He's never been more than momentarily buzzed, after all.]
[Hank glances at the part of the wall he's leaning against and then slumps to one side, stretching his arms a little in hopes that the back of his arm will rub a little more of that old charcoal drawing off.]
Even this shit wouldn't be so bad if- well it'd still be, you know- [He stops, almost stuttering around the sheer scale of what it is he's talking around. All those fucking people. It'd be bad no matter what.] -You know. But if we just had some kind of explanation, some kinda- I don't know, review? I hate that bureaucratic BS as much as the next guy but it's there for a reason, she can't pull us out of that- out of a situation like that and then give us nothing.
[He leans forward, having pretty completely distracted himself from his stupid little worries about his nutso wall decorations, and murmurs, almost to himself. The way Astoria handled absolutely all of this is still so- well it's something.]
[No such luck, Hank. The movement just grabs Barabas' attention back to the wall. He has not forgotten about those.]
Some bureaucracy has its place. You're right. There's been no response to this, no debriefing, no discussion of what exactly went wrong. It's fucked up to start with, but it's not like we can pretend it away or forget about it.
[Nope. Not even a little.] If Astoria won't step up, then that leaves us.
[Another frown and he looks down in his glass.] ...is the wall art something you've always been fond of, or is it a new hobby?
[He huffs, grinning a little, caught out. He looks off to one side, pursing his lips as he tries to decide how - and what - to explain. Hank could tell him about his post-it notes at home, scribbled out in whatever fleeting seconds of optimism he can carve out of his day and stuck around the mirror where he can't not see in the morning - but then he'd have to explain those, too.]
Fuck it, lean up a little.
[He takes a drink, more than a sip, this time, and stands, tugging at the blanket against the wall behind them. They are carved in there but there's not that many to show, just two - well, most of two and some change - little phrases, so at least it doesn't make him look like the world's weirdest serial killer. Yet. There's the one behind him, hang in there, with the drawing below it that's now mostly blurred. There's the start of one at the other end nearest Barabas, if Barabas leans far enough forward to let Hank pull the blanket out from behind him. That one so far just says 'goo'. The one between those two says 'wake up and be fabu' and yeah that one's not done either, but it's close enough that he can't pass it off as anything else. It's that one Hank makes the face at.]
That one was a little, uh- funnier? [Is that the word? The irony in this little habit's so tired by now he honestly can't remember if this shit's actually funny or not.] -When I was the only one who was ever gonna see it.
[The plan to leave it at that and let the guy think whatever sputters out after all of one second. Any silence - at least on Hank's end - is too awkward to deal with.]
My artistic tastes usually run a little differently but uh, I guess everyone needs some variety.
[Barabas' first reaction, mostly to Hank's response of 'fuck' is a laugh, but he does as he's asked and leans up, enough that Hank can sort out the blankets and make it easier to see the various wall decor.
Interesting. Inspirational.
He cracks a smile.]
No, I think it's spot on. You are fabu, Hank.
[He gets it though. They're thrown here. Whatever scraps they can hammer together of comforts and pieces of home, reminders of the familiar, they're important.]
Oh yeah? What kind? You writing up some more shit or you just haven't figured out how to reinvent the notebook yet, keep it all in one place?
[He's still smiling, a little bit, from making Barabas laugh. That's not something he expected today, to be laughing with someone, but it's... nice. It's nice.]
[Hank takes a drink, leaning his head back against the wall, relaxing now that the 'bitching about horrific facts of life that they can't change' part of this evening seems like it's on intermission.]
Depends on what those, uh- those freaky faceless assholes can scare up for you. What's your office like back home? You said you don't have a lot of tech there, right? What's that like?
[He sighs, finally standing to go pour himself another glass, glancing back.]
Law books. Legal pads. Notebooks. And tech is unreliable, yes. It only works when the magic waves have ebbed, and even then not great. But I do have a computer and a printer. I even have a fax machine -- but the damn thing works maybe thirty percent of the time even when tech is up. So I rely a lot on books and paper and pen.
Sounds nice, actually. We have to use, uh, all sorts of modern shit, they'd have us using that holo-screen crap if the budget wasn't so tight. They probably will soon, if they don't swap us all out for androids first. People look at you like you grew another head if you try to use normal fucking paper. I mean, sure, you have to deal with magic fucking waves, but- What does that even mean, anyway? Magic waves? Is that like solar flares? Do I even want to know?
[Probably not. But he asked already, so. Fuck it.]
That level of technology is almost hard to picture. Androids... is that true AI? We never quite got that far before it all came crashing down.
[Nowhere near that far.
But he grins at what Hank asks. Well, maybe Hank doesn't want to know. But Barabas sure will tell him.]
About forty years ago, there was no such thing as magic as far as most people knew. You know, aside from sleight of hand and Las Vegas big stage illusion bullshit. Then the Shift -- the first magic wave -- happened. Magic crashed back into the world in a big way. Magic and technology are diametrically opposed. Tech doesn't work when magic is present. So the world went to hell. Electricity was gone, engines stopped running, planes fell out of the sky. Buildings fell -- magic has it out for high rises in particular. The Lycos Virus and the Immortus Pathogen popped up. A whole lot of people died in those first few years.
[Basically it was a small apocalypse.] Those who didn't die, got used to magic coming and going like waves on the ocean. One minute Magic is there, and we've got monsters and fae lanterns instead of lamps, spells work. Then the magic recedes and the generators and electricity hums back to life. Engines run. Phones work. I was born about a decade after the Shift, so that's the only world I've ever known.
That makes you about thirty, right? Practically a baby.
[He smiles faintly, teasing, and then looks down, taking all the rest of it in as he watches his thumb move over the edge of his glass.]
I feel a little weird about saying it sounds nice now, though. Do you know where it comes from? The magic stuff? Has anyone tried to, I don't know, study it or... whatever?
As far as we can tell, it's just always been there. It was dormant for a while until technology gained too much ground and tipped the balance, and magic surged back like a vengeance. It seems the opposite happened before, magic reached too far and snapped back to nothing. And over the centuries, humans forgot about it outside legends and fairy tales.
About when'd that go down? The initial uh, wave thing. I guess if magic's always been a thing where you come from our uh, dimensions split off a long time ago but if you had fax machines and stuff, it seems like everything must of been mostly the same, up to a point.
You know what? If I'm gonna hear more shit like that come out of my mouth, I'm going to need to drink a little more.
[And with that he finishes most of what was in his glass off, gasping a little at swallowing a mouthful of something that rough. He doesn't get up for more, though. He hasn't totally decided whether or not he's done pacing himself. He should try still, probably.]
[Not exactly Y2K but you know, slightly worse than that turned out. After all the Harry Potter books were published and people got used to cellphones, but before they got used to smartphones. The good old days.]
Most of us thought magic wasn't a thing, except the ancient powers that were sleeping. They remembered. And then they woke up, which really is fucking a bunch of stuff up.
[Kate's dad in particular is giving everyone a giant headache.]
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[Hard. Given that magic flooded his world and technology has been crumbling in waves since. He laughs.][But what about him, huh?] There are various shapeshifter clans throughout the world. The Pack is the second largest shapeshifter organization in North America -- there's a bigger one up in Alaska. We live in Atlanta, alongside all sorts of factions and groups: regular humans, the necromancers, the witches, the druids.
...and president implies a democracy. The Beast Lord is not elected.
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[He rolls the glass over his knee, taking all that in. It's not really... real. Of course it's not. Not to Hank. But he can pretend, try to turn it all into something he understands long enough for a question or two to occur to him.]
How are lawyers even still a thing, with all that going on? Like, if every uh... every group, if they're half as hardcore as your pack thing there's got to be tons of regulations and protections and shit, and a different set for each uh, each... magic situation, or whatever. Do you guys still have unions? Or do people just sign up to be a druid and that's kind of like the same thing.
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[He hesitates before shrugging.] Let's just say that we need to strictly remember our humanity. Losing sight of it can be disastrous.
But really, a world on the brink of lawlessness needs lawyers more than ever. I'm a Pack lawyer, but I'm admitted to practice in Georgia and all its neighboring states. The Pack tends to have jurisdiction over crimes against our own -- though the Atlanta PD isn't always quick to hand over the reins. Understandable really. Add the the Pack and the Police, the Order of Merciful Aid. And it's a jurisdictional and logistical nightmare. But we manage.
We have unions. With tech failing as bad as it did, carpentry and masonry are in high demand. Their unions are powerhouses. And then there's the mercenary guild. ...other people sign up to be druids. Or witches. It depends where your culture and talents lie.
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[He lets the word stretch out, thinking.]
You feel like your- [Saying 'world' still feels so weird. So what the fuck does he call it?] -where you come from's 'on the brink of lawlessness', but you keep order anyway cause that's what you are. You need it if you're gonna stay human. Am I reading that right?
[He sighs.]
Does being here make that, uh, harder for you? The whole shapeshifter thing, being in a place where there's no rules at all, no structure or anything?
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[Oh what the hell. Maybe it's the booze (it is, his head is starting to feel a bit like it's swimming; apparently his shapeshifter metabolism has been affected by Astoria too).]
Shapeshifters are shapeshifters because of a magical virus -- the Lycos virus. There is a risk that we can lose ourselves to it and to our non-human sides, most often during adolescence or in periods of great stress or severe injury. It's called going Loup. Loups are violent, senseless monsters. They murder, maim, cannibalize and worse with no hesitation or remorse. Loups can't be reasoned with or rehabilitated, only killed. So we keep to strict order, try to hold onto our humanity tightly. But for all our rules and structure, it's still very much an internal struggle.
[He shrugs a shoulder as he considers the next question.] Honestly, I think the way this place affects my shifting, I'm further removed from that risk than ever. And in my case, my shifting has been stable my whole life, low risk at this point.
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Still, Hank gets up, walks over to the table next to Barabas to refill the little bit in his glass, and then he sets the bottle back down. Drinking might or might not be what's helping, but it can't hurt.]
Well. Good. I was about to ask if there was anything I could do but I guess it being all an internal thing's good. Here, I mean. Cause if you just needed, you know, a stable, structured environment or whatever...
[He hasn't drank enough to finish that with the actual words 'then we'd all be fucked,' but he does pull a face.]
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This place isn't exactly ideal for serenity -- or anything shy of fury and frustration. But no, I'm fine. And if something does go wrong with my shifting and I do go loup, I've secured a promise of making sure I'm stopped. [He's lined up someone he trusts to kill him if it comes to it, but Barabas has faith it won't. For all its faults, this place at least makes loupism something he doesn't need to worry about all that often.]
So instead I get to focus on the greater issue of being flung into horrible situations with no clear way out.
[This is the worst vacation.]
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Oh yeah, at least you got someone to promise to kill you. So, we have that.
[He plops himself back on the mattress, a little amusement sneaking in around his doubtful look.]
Are you usually this good at reassuring people? Or do you get better at it when you drink?
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[A little grin of his own and he looks at his glass. Almost empty.
Oh. That's pessimistic, isn't it? He should try better. Or refill it. But for now he's pacing himself. He's never been more than momentarily buzzed, after all.]
But I work with what I'm given.
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Shit do I feel that.
[Hank glances at the part of the wall he's leaning against and then slumps to one side, stretching his arms a little in hopes that the back of his arm will rub a little more of that old charcoal drawing off.]
Even this shit wouldn't be so bad if- well it'd still be, you know- [He stops, almost stuttering around the sheer scale of what it is he's talking around. All those fucking people. It'd be bad no matter what.] -You know. But if we just had some kind of explanation, some kinda- I don't know, review? I hate that bureaucratic BS as much as the next guy but it's there for a reason, she can't pull us out of that- out of a situation like that and then give us nothing.
[He leans forward, having pretty completely distracted himself from his stupid little worries about his nutso wall decorations, and murmurs, almost to himself. The way Astoria handled absolutely all of this is still so- well it's something.]
What the fuck...
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Some bureaucracy has its place. You're right. There's been no response to this, no debriefing, no discussion of what exactly went wrong. It's fucked up to start with, but it's not like we can pretend it away or forget about it.
[Nope. Not even a little.] If Astoria won't step up, then that leaves us.
[Another frown and he looks down in his glass.] ...is the wall art something you've always been fond of, or is it a new hobby?
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[Hank glances behind himself again.]
Fuck.
[He huffs, grinning a little, caught out. He looks off to one side, pursing his lips as he tries to decide how - and what - to explain. Hank could tell him about his post-it notes at home, scribbled out in whatever fleeting seconds of optimism he can carve out of his day and stuck around the mirror where he can't not see in the morning - but then he'd have to explain those, too.]
Fuck it, lean up a little.
[He takes a drink, more than a sip, this time, and stands, tugging at the blanket against the wall behind them. They are carved in there but there's not that many to show, just two - well, most of two and some change - little phrases, so at least it doesn't make him look like the world's weirdest serial killer. Yet. There's the one behind him, hang in there, with the drawing below it that's now mostly blurred. There's the start of one at the other end nearest Barabas, if Barabas leans far enough forward to let Hank pull the blanket out from behind him. That one so far just says 'goo'. The one between those two says 'wake up and be fabu' and yeah that one's not done either, but it's close enough that he can't pass it off as anything else. It's that one Hank makes the face at.]
That one was a little, uh- funnier? [Is that the word? The irony in this little habit's so tired by now he honestly can't remember if this shit's actually funny or not.] -When I was the only one who was ever gonna see it.
[The plan to leave it at that and let the guy think whatever sputters out after all of one second. Any silence - at least on Hank's end - is too awkward to deal with.]
My artistic tastes usually run a little differently but uh, I guess everyone needs some variety.
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Interesting. Inspirational.
He cracks a smile.]
No, I think it's spot on. You are fabu, Hank.
[He gets it though. They're thrown here. Whatever scraps they can hammer together of comforts and pieces of home, reminders of the familiar, they're important.]
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You fuckin asshole, you bet I am. I guess your room's decorated a whole lot classier, huh?
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Actually, my room is covered in papers and not much else right now.
[He's a boring man these days.]
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[He's still smiling, a little bit, from making Barabas laugh. That's not something he expected today, to be laughing with someone, but it's... nice. It's nice.]
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[Barabas sighs before shaking his head.] Or a binder. Fuck, I'd take paperclips.
[These days Barabas dreams of office supply stores.]
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[Hank takes a drink, leaning his head back against the wall, relaxing now that the 'bitching about horrific facts of life that they can't change' part of this evening seems like it's on intermission.]
Depends on what those, uh- those freaky faceless assholes can scare up for you. What's your office like back home? You said you don't have a lot of tech there, right? What's that like?
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[He sighs, finally standing to go pour himself another glass, glancing back.]
Law books. Legal pads. Notebooks. And tech is unreliable, yes. It only works when the magic waves have ebbed, and even then not great. But I do have a computer and a printer. I even have a fax machine -- but the damn thing works maybe thirty percent of the time even when tech is up. So I rely a lot on books and paper and pen.
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[Probably not. But he asked already, so. Fuck it.]
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[Nowhere near that far.
But he grins at what Hank asks. Well, maybe Hank doesn't want to know. But Barabas sure will tell him.]
About forty years ago, there was no such thing as magic as far as most people knew. You know, aside from sleight of hand and Las Vegas big stage illusion bullshit. Then the Shift -- the first magic wave -- happened. Magic crashed back into the world in a big way. Magic and technology are diametrically opposed. Tech doesn't work when magic is present. So the world went to hell. Electricity was gone, engines stopped running, planes fell out of the sky. Buildings fell -- magic has it out for high rises in particular. The Lycos Virus and the Immortus Pathogen popped up. A whole lot of people died in those first few years.
[Basically it was a small apocalypse.] Those who didn't die, got used to magic coming and going like waves on the ocean. One minute Magic is there, and we've got monsters and fae lanterns instead of lamps, spells work. Then the magic recedes and the generators and electricity hums back to life. Engines run. Phones work. I was born about a decade after the Shift, so that's the only world I've ever known.
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[He smiles faintly, teasing, and then looks down, taking all the rest of it in as he watches his thumb move over the edge of his glass.]
I feel a little weird about saying it sounds nice now, though. Do you know where it comes from? The magic stuff? Has anyone tried to, I don't know, study it or... whatever?
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[A grin and he adds,] I feel a lot older lately.
[Or maybe he's just exhausted. Hard to say.]
As far as we can tell, it's just always been there. It was dormant for a while until technology gained too much ground and tipped the balance, and magic surged back like a vengeance. It seems the opposite happened before, magic reached too far and snapped back to nothing. And over the centuries, humans forgot about it outside legends and fairy tales.
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About when'd that go down? The initial uh, wave thing. I guess if magic's always been a thing where you come from our uh, dimensions split off a long time ago but if you had fax machines and stuff, it seems like everything must of been mostly the same, up to a point.
You know what? If I'm gonna hear more shit like that come out of my mouth, I'm going to need to drink a little more.
[And with that he finishes most of what was in his glass off, gasping a little at swallowing a mouthful of something that rough. He doesn't get up for more, though. He hasn't totally decided whether or not he's done pacing himself. He should try still, probably.]
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[Not exactly Y2K but you know, slightly worse than that turned out. After all the Harry Potter books were published and people got used to cellphones, but before they got used to smartphones. The good old days.]
Most of us thought magic wasn't a thing, except the ancient powers that were sleeping. They remembered. And then they woke up, which really is fucking a bunch of stuff up.
[Kate's dad in particular is giving everyone a giant headache.]
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