Scholomance knew the hopelessness of the situation without any reminders: regardless of how well he served the Negaverse's needs, there existed no guarantee that returned his ring to him. Likely they would use him for all they could offer, then kill or corrupt him as with any sentient being. He stepped on the wrong toe, and the mistress to which it belonged saw nothing of value in forgiveness. This posed to him a conundrum.

Some non-Negaverse types offered him assistance, and while he wanted desperately to accept that assistance, to have a grand plan laid out for his successful triumph over Generals Cinnabar and Schörl, his own cleverness failed to deliver. Scholomance poured over the details of his confines and came up with nothing for freeing himself from the yoke. The only thought that sprang into his head consisted of turning the Observatory into some kind of death ray, and even that joke of an idea could not be realized without his signet ring. The circular tribulation fed itself and left Scholomance high and dry for it.

He needed a way to generate power outside of Schörl and Cinnabar's spheres of influence. Surely in an organization as large as the Negaverse, there existed individuals who cared nothing for the two or even opposed them. He knew this from his own working experience - in every office, every business, every corporation there remained those who couldn't get along. Strong personalities butted heads and clogged up the dream of perfect efficiency. He simply needed to play the servitude game until he could find enough of them and solicit a little help.

So he left for the streets of DC again - despite the cold, despite the growing pain in his leg. Even if the task meant limping back home after miles of walking, he would undertake it. The alternative meant far more suffering than a bag of ice and a couple pinched Percocets could handle.

Evening emblazoned the shadows of buildings atop other buildings. The sun mirrored itself in high windows that sent blinding warnings to all those who walked in shadow. Scholomance was one of these, preferring the sidewalks over endless jumps between parapets, and the streets emptied quickly in acknowledgement of coming darkness. Candy stores locked up for the night, shoe shops closed their doors, and bakeries flipped their signs to prevent further inquiry. Even if he could not find someone who might help him tonight, Scholomance knew he could use the time for a little window shopping. Retail therapy and all that.

Really, though, he wanted a solution for the sword of Damocles that hung so sharply overhead.

Noir Songbirb
a start 4 u