Welcome to Gaia! ::

Ambriel maneuvers into the front passenger seat. He is wary of this overeager zealot of the Withering Vine, whatever that is. She knows too much, yet she seems foolhardy. Nor is he at ease with his new companions. An offensive odor that can only be attributed to the vagrant behind him permeates his nostrils. "What dark secrets do you deal in?", Ambriel wonders to himself. He draws some comfort from the near-child, mainly because she reminds him of his own. Disturbing, however, is the thought that behind that face is something unknown. A sickening wave passes through him as he ponders the possible details of the child's demise.

Ambriel shifts his attention to Rampel. He keeps his face relaxed while scrutinizing every blink and twitch. Its a skill Dietrich had been perfecting for decades of analyzing patients. "Rampel...tell us of our burdens. Are you she who will sustain us?"

So... these others are like me, huh? Interesting... I should ask what the objective is... did I leave the iron on? I wonder how long before I can call Harold to let him know how late I'll be...

"Um... what exactly IS our objective?"

Isiac looks up suddenly as the vehicle lurches, suddenly snapped back into the conversation at hand, he listens intently as Rampel speaks, constantly sketching into the book. Over his shoulder you can see images of yourselves, both as you are now, and as you were, (or might have been, or even should have been, it's so hard to remember) in places the images overlap or turn to text, revealing a mess of past, present and possibility - on one page a young woman, wrapped tight in the arms of her lover, raining fire and Sumerian pictoforms on a pair of angels dressed in policemen's outfits. On the other page an elderly man reclines on a chair built from humans, a newspaper rests on a table beside him, next to a long, ornate knife. Lines from from them to text and numbers spread throughout the rest of the pages - the woman's smile is labeled as 34,103,304,393,390.495395.
Above them both is a sprawling darkness, barely more than a heavy squiggle, but one that seems to pulse with a sinister malevolence.

"We need to reclaim the piece?" he asks "I'd love to see it."

Ambriel twists his head around as Isaic speaks, noticing the notepad and what it contains. His serious expression breaks and is replaced by a friendly smile. Perhaps he had misjudged this one. He might have even been an old buddy, if nearly every detail of the past wasn't so fuzzy. He extends a hand back as far as he can in this position.

"I'm Ambriel", he reiterates, "Though from the looks of it I'm sure you've already written that down. Nice to meet you as well young lady."

There's no point in holding prejudices just yet. Everyone deserves a chance to prove themselves.

Isiac grabs Ambriel's hand and gives it a quick shake "Isiac. Neberu." As the car stops he pulls open the door and steps outside, shutting it behind him and leaning back on it, taking in the area and taking a long look at the stranger.

Serys wasn't sure if she should give her real real name or not, so she just smiled brightly. "I'm Sera!" She adjusted her glasses slightly, as well as the small ring on her finger. "Italian Job? Eh, I prefer musicals." Like the Little Mermaid! It seemed that Serys was much more in tune with her human host than the others. "My hair is long and straight thank you!" She ran her hand through her hair slightly, completly oblivious to what he actually meant.

Pushing between the Defiler and Devil, Rampel sneers. "Yes, I'm sure you'll both be getting along well. Now, we're very close to our goal, so let's just get inside." Her air of calm is fraying slightly, but whether it is because of impatience or distaste, you are not sure.

Stepping through the door, you find yourselves at an oaken security desk, behind which sits a bored security guard, apparently watching some screen that is hidden from your view. He sits straighter as you enter, and he smiles a practiced, but obviously weary, smile at you all.

"Hello, folks. Welcome to the Weiss Gallery. How can I help you today?"

Beyond the desk lie two hallways, the left one leading to the restrooms and possibly some sort of offices. The right hallway, you see, leads directly into the gallery. From here, you can glimpse various sculptures and paintings on display in the main room.

Rampel steps up to the desk, her tone brisk and business-like. "We'd like to take a tour of the gallery."

The guard seems momentarily puzzled, "Miss, I'm afraid we aren't a public institution. This is a commercial facility that restores old works of art, and also serves as a showing-house for local artists. We don't have any showings scheduled today, so I can't give you a tour or let you into the main gallery. But, I can sell you tickets to our next showing, if you'd like." He is trying to be helpful, but Rampel is impatient.

"Excuse me," she says, softening her tone, "perhaps my colleague can better explain the situation." She turns and looks at Ambriel. "Doctor, would you please?"

OoC: >> I had hoped we'd get a post from Johnmcfloss, I guess we'll just have to go on without him. Though you are all free to resolve the next few "obstacles" however you'd like, Rampel will be annoyed should any undue attention be drawn to the group, such as a S.W.A.T. team. I will also be posting a "house rules" clarification in the OoC thread tomorrow evening. <<

There is a moment of hesitation visible on the guard's face, as he feels an innate trustworthiness in this aged man before him, yet he is conscious of his duty. He looks down, then, on the girl at the old man's arm. He himself had only recently become a grandfather, and he could not help but imagine himself in this position, taking the child to a place of learning and culture.

"Okay," he says with an honest grin, "You can all follow me." He slides his chair back and stands up, revealing a name-tag that reads 'Rebner.'

Rampel coughs. "Actually, I believe that I and my friend," she indicates Kirk, both with gesture and with slightly leering tone, "Will take your offer to remain here on the bench. It has been a taxing day, and as they say in Akkad," her next words are spoken in the First Tongue, <Isiac, look for the tablet marked 'Cabardo'. Ambriel, give Isiac some time with the tablet.> She finishes by laughing softly, as if it was a witty turn-of-phrase.

Mr. Rebner gives her a curious look, but passes it off as some joke that only anthropologists would understand. "Oh, well then, my partner will be back in just a moment," he jerks his head towards the left hallway, with the bathrooms and break-room.

He then leads Dietrich, Isiac, and Sera into the gallery.

The Gallery:

The main room that Rebner leads you into is high-ceilinged, almost two stories in height, and decorated for a sculpture show. The focus of the display rests along one wall, the works of a local artist who specializes in fusions of clay and metal; ostensibly as a contrast between the natural and the artificial. The pieces are hideous, and the impromptu tour guide skips over them quickly. He also passes a large metal door, explaining that it opens onto a freight elevator to reach the restoration facilities in the basement.

The opposite side of the room features several transparent cases, with heavy mechanical locks on the side, containing various antiques and preserved documents. Though not a historian, or even what one might call an aesthete, the guard proves surprisingly knowledgeable. At one point, he drops his voice to a whisper, and points at a heavy black tome, sitting snugly under its plexi-glas.

"And this book, well, I get the creeps just looking at it. I overheard the restoration specialists talking about it when it first came in a month ago. The owner listed it as being from the early 1700's, but the specialists said it was in too good condition to be that old. Weirder still, the writing is in some strange language; they're planning to call in some linguistics expert to look at it. And apparently, the leather bindings aren't made from animal skin..." He gives them a conspiratorial look. Indeed, the book radiates a strange sense of malice.

"And moving on, we have the far less sinister Cabardo collection, brought in from a dig in Belize. There's been plenty of folks from different museums and universities to see these, and they seemed excited." Various items, identified as being of Mayan origin, rest in the cases. Off to one side and partly concealed is a stone tablet, perhaps 9 x 10 inches wide, etched with worn geometric designs.

The Ante-Chamber:

As soon as the uniformed buffoon has left, Rampel stands and moves to the desk, her view encompassing the security system for the gallery. There, she could see the tour in progress, and there, herself and Hamael, the security cameras clearly showing each person's face. This would not do. She sits in the guard's chair, feeling a wave of disgust when she realizes that the seat is still warm. The Malefactor calls to the very concept of the machine, gaining understanding of its intricacies by manipulating its cosmic ideal.

"This will take a moment, Hamael. You should see to that other guard."

For Hamael: >> The left hallway has the three aforementioned rooms, and the guard can be found in the men's room, in one of the stalls. He is younger and less experienced than Mr. Rebner, but also more perceptive. <<