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"Would he teach me?" Erik asked while pondering his options.



Erik listened with half an ear. In his mind, there was no real decision to make. Nothing tied him here, and there was great opportunity to learn there. He checked the time on the ticket. Tomorrow morning would work out fine. "Tomas, you wouldn't want to embarrass yourself when you introduce me, so why don't we go over the basics while I pack." Erik smiled for the first time in months.



The flight was very short, and soon Erik was inhaling the intense smog of 'sunny' Los Angeles.

((that was somewhat....anticlimatic sweatdrop ))

Joe sat on a park bench, leaned back with his eyes closed. It would appear he was sleeping; however, he was actually having a silent conversation with Roland in his head.
"What's the plan?" he thought to himself.

"Well, suppose that we help him, get a minimum of bloodshed, and then use our new position to help people?"

"Well, I guess we'll just head to L.A. and see where it goes from there."
Joe packed and was on the flight within a few hours, riding towards his fate with Roland.

Erik raised an eyebrow at the insult, though it was mostly surprise that the man would just blurt it out like that. Erik couldn't imagine that a man like that would be proficient in the use of magic, but he seemed dangerous all the same.

he asked Tomas. Outwardly he said, "Yes, lead the way."

Erik was a little disgusted, and made a promise to himself that he would surpass this man. A necrophiliac in a brainless thug's body, and he thought Tomas was shortchanged.

he commented to Tomas.

((eh, s'all good. it worked out fine.))

Joe stepped off the plane into the sun of LA. He sighed. "Where to?" he asked quietly.

Joe set off, finding a nondescrepit hotel and buying a random room. He set out his stuff and settled in to wait for Legion's call.

Taylor dragged her luggage behind her through LAX. A day had hardly passed and yet she had abruptly dropped her life in search of something entirely random that most any other person wouldn't possibly believe to be real. But why not?

I'm here, Taylor thought. Now what?

Well, we need to do a few things. First of all, keep your eye out for people who look like they're concentrating too hard, or randomly say things aloud.

Taylor walked outside into the smog and sun, and answered curiously, And why are we looking for crazies?

Not crazies, Regal replied, People who are communicating with their Warlock Soul. Someone with less mental focus then you may make it a bit obvious, and I want to know if we're around anyone else who isn't excited about mass bloodshed.

Okay. Taylor thought, wondering now how she looked when she talked to Regal in her head. What do we need to do after that?

Renew our defenses with Los Angeles in mind. Find a safe place to stay. Try and stay as low as possible.

Taylor stopped in front of a street sign and studied a map she had brought, marked with key locations, hotels and restaurants. It was then she was approached by someone pulling luggage.

"Miss? I believe this is yours?"

She turned around to spot her old, beaten up yellow moped. She beamed, "Thanks a lot."

Within minutes, Taylor was en route to Holiday Inn upon her moped, with her luggage mostly either strapped to her or her moped.

With every foot she went, she felt more and more inclined to simply turn around and run. Regal's apprehension of the whole thing was starting to rub off on her. To top it off, she could tell he was setting up new trap and protective spells in the area by her draining energy.

Can you put your spells on hold until we get to the hotel? You're making it difficult to focus on driving, she thought as she rested at a red light.

Ah, you noticed, too... I'm not setting up spells yet. We're entering someone else's, and one they did a superb job on was detecting other magic-bearing beings.

The plane flight was interesting, what with the police stopping them to examine and check that Paul's Glock wasn't loaded, the police stopping them because they nearly ran over a pedestrian who jumped out right in front of them, Melissa a little pissed about paying for a Vegas hotel room they weren't going to use, and the police stopping them because Paul nearly got shanked by an idiot who wanted his wallet. And that was just on the way to the airport.

In the airplane, they sat between two babies who were surely being tortured by some invisible pin, two of the loudest men they'd likely ever heard, and a group of schoolchildren (of all things) who couldn't stop talking, running down the aisle, and spilling food and/or drinks upon everyone and anyone nearby. Then the police stopped them on the way out to again examine Paul's Glock, check if he had a bomb, and (this was all he could figure) check if he were a dragon. Clear of the plane, they were stopped by the police at the rental agency as they started pulling out because Paul forgot to use his blinker.

"Never again will I fly to LA. Never," Paul added. Melissa grunted. So far the day hadn't been terrific. She wasn't necessarily mad at Paul, she was just frustrated with the world in general, although Paul's mood wasn't helping much.

Robert informed him. Paul muttered, "'Kay." Melissa looked up.

"You say something?"

"Not at all," Paul responded, just becoming aware of the fact that he had spoken out loud. "Which turn were we supposed to take to get to the Holiday Inn?"

"That last one."

"This will work, I think," Paul responded, turning the two-door Accord to the left. I was wondering... how exactly do you know so much about our world, and how is it that you don't sound Scottish? Oh.

Siber made his best attempt at an arrogant saunter. He struck up some silly banter with a passing linguist. He then went for a casual stroll, adding in a soft hum. The hum wavered.

Siber could tell he was getting unnaturally nervous, which, he supposed, considering the whole scale of humanity, was probably a relatively calm reaction to his current situation. The streets of L.A. were sprawled before him, and he was reacting- with complete trust, mind you- to the guidance of a voice in his head, claiming it had been dead for seven hundred years, and claiming that its own current course of action would very probably, by various psychiatrists, be labeled "SUICIDAL." In red letters.
As if that weren't enough, he still couldn't decide if asking Keldan to turn down the power of some of his enchantments was a good thing. For one, rather than dying, the first person following them had experienced a very sudden bowel movement and promptly fainted (Keldan had a sense of humor), but for two, there was now a second, moderately enraged other man and a very silent woman attempting to discreetly follow them while Keldan's alarms made non-aural klaxon sounds every few minutes, alerting Siber to their presence. Keldan had so far been unable to do much more than begin a mental process which should, soon, raise the man's ire enough to cause severe hemorrhaging. The woman was proving extremely hard to penetrate mentally.

This was the main reason the man was angry, besides Keldan's workings: she had retreated into an alley and Siber had escaped being cornered just in time and then taunted the other guy mercilessly just moments before beginning his arrogant saunter into open (and crowded) air.


Keldan sighed.