>>5244672“How do YOU know all that?” he asks, fairly.
“Becausse,” you say, ready for the question, “I have been in hiding, avoiding hiss attempts to ssilencce me—like he ssilencced nobel Inquissitor Felman… And I’ve been hiding with the only ssurvivor of the Gala Attack on the Tower’ss sspecial ressearch departmentss… A mage of rank and sstatus who, at grave rissk to her life, and reputation, sstood firm in her moral convictions and ssought to sstymie the Archmage’s Hellish ambitionss!”
You have Anton at the edge of his seat.
“Who?” he asks, in rapt enthrallment without so much as a glamour-charm.
“The Head Chimericissst,” you say .
You begin to weave your tale, and he begins to furiously scribble his point-form version of it.
Despite your victory at The Grey Press, Anton’s admission of government censorship strengthens your suspicions that this mission of misinformation will not be sufficient on its own to wipe Henzler’s slate clean of the stain which you have so effectively tarnished the Tower. No, you will need an official pardon for that. Luckily, you know just who can likely enable such a think.
‘But, like… I’m pretty great, but I’m not GREAT Great, you know?’ Irinnile says, faltering in her resolve as you approach the headquarters of your fiendish frenemy in mid-town. ‘Are you sure, Babe? We don’t NEED to do this right now, do we? We can, like… Go find a few more pact-pals first, maybe? Fuck away a little more <WANT>? H-hey, maybe Edwin’s feelin’ horny or cuddly, huh?’
The succubus might be strengthened in essence and in intellect, but Irinnile’s fundamental fear of The Incubus remains intact. You admit some reluctance yourself—the Greater Demon has always seemed, uncannily, to stay one step ahead of your schemes. Even bottled in your magical scroll-case, it never seemed concerned. You wonder, hoping against hope, if the last month might of have impeded its growth…
‘Or maybe, like, it got even stronger,’ Irinnile mutters, flinching away from your inward-turning psychic glare.
