Could've seen that coming. Also likely best not to mention the leading theory on arm cutting being the safer option, because apparently the anchors grow. Easier to just follow Seth's topic flip, even if it's pretty much just as what the fuck in terms of trying to define or deal with.
"Hard to say, seeing as the guy might as well be the fucking boogeyman." Which was saying something, seeing as they'd had a couple of years now dealing with monsters that most people would consider story book content only. "Them managing any fighting at all could be something, or it could be him playing with his food."
"And that's the kind of question that'll piss everyone off if we ask."
Well, everyone who isn't sporting a green splinter in their palm.
"Weaknesses?"
Every single thing they've come up against has had some weak point. Even it's the kind of thing they had to scrabble to find, more luck than research, there was always a way in. Some small thing that cracked under the right application of pressure, or the right magic knife, or sharpened stake or holy sword, whatever. If there's something, there's a way in.
Which would beg the question why no one else was trying it, but—
"Personally, no one's got close enough to ask." Ask in this case meaning poke with sticks, decapitate, maybe set on fire. The tried and trusted.
That he knows of, anyway. He's still reading, still working his way through things, but if that particular piece of info is tucked away somewhere then there's probably a reason it's not up in neon lights for everyone to know.
"Strategically, there's a magic mirror door here somewhere that leads to his backyard. And, like I said." Hand lifted again, fingers wiggling. "Keys."
The Fade didn't seem like it had a lock that could be picked. There was an advantage there. Maybe.
"Wherever we want," a shrug, and he's taking his hands away from the map, the corner curling up from its previously pinned position. Reaching to snag the bottle Seth's been drinking from, taking a swig and making a suitably disgusted expression at the quality before he carries on.
"Could be lip service, but it's also looking likely that they don't have the resources to get more authoritarian if they wanted to. As long as we're not out ripping holes in the sky or otherwise causing wanton mayhem, they don't seem to give a shit."
The in-built incentives of the anchor pain probably helped.
"But," he adds, with a point of the bottle neck. "Liabilities to them, lab rats or collector's items to some other freaks out there."
If not the big bad wanting to get his hands on them himself.
A hand outstretched, silent demand for return of the bottle, while Seth weighs up the information.
"So what the fuck are we supposed to do here?"
Different than how they fit into the equation.
There's such a lack of angle. This is a war that certainly doesn't concern them, without a clear exit point. It leaves them, or maybe just Seth, at loose ends.
There's no denying the scratch that question feels like, somewhere down in the well-worn grooves of how they do things. The grooves he'd been settling into: the intel gathered and spread out for perusal, the rhythm of the back and forth, even the lack of conscious thought in passing the bottle to Seth's waiting hand. But if this was a job, the goal would've been in place before Richard even hit the books. And if it wasn't totally clear, it was Seth who would paint the bullseye.
He's asking instead. It feels like a missed beat, steps of the walk suddenly off rhythm. A fracture that might have landed worse, a few months and a close encounter with hell ago. But that was then, and now they've been dropped in fucking Narnia with no chosen one bullshit to guide the way. What the fuck are they supposed to do?
So Richard's answer isn't immediate. Isn't part of the bounce back, the confidence he'd usually operate with where he knew all the parts and pieces and his place amongst them. Seth asks and he doesn't know. He has to think about it.
"Find a way out." It's what he lands on, after a moment, an almost too-obvious answer. An old answer. Technically, this isn't the first time they've fallen through a looking glass. But they'd had chosen one bullshit last time. In it's absence, there's only the maze.
The urge to pick it apart is strong. Seth swigs from the bottle instead. Doesn't think about how formless out feels. Where's the end point? They'd had an idea of it before. Some goal to hit to break their way out.
Seth doesn't see that here. It's too sprawling. Too many different objectives. Too many different people with conflicting agendas, and a final boss that no one seems to know how to deal with.
"Great," is what he settles on. "Just when we'd wrapped up our part in one circus."
Whatever this outfit is, Seth isn't so sure it's an improvement over their last association.
It's not enough. Richard could feel it as he said it, can see it in Seth's reaction, the long moment watching his brother roll it over in his head and still not find that catch of an idea, a goal. It itches. Has him wanting to head back to the library, hit the books some more. Uncover even some loose evidence of what they need. A path.
But he stays where he is. One hand out for a pass of the bottle, dry humour tugging the corners of his mouth.
"Aside from us needing to brush up on our knife skills?"
The bottle is passed back after only a short swig, Richard more interested in the rhythm of this, the back and forth, than the alcohol itself.
"We could make it." Flippant. They probably could, if they really dug down deep, but it would be more work than putting something together from cat litter and fertilizer. Still: "Might cut this war crap down a little shorter."
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Does it even need to be said? Seth's fingers flex around his cup, a minor shake of his head over the idea, before—
"They making any headway in this fight, or is Corypheus running circles around them?
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"Hard to say, seeing as the guy might as well be the fucking boogeyman." Which was saying something, seeing as they'd had a couple of years now dealing with monsters that most people would consider story book content only. "Them managing any fighting at all could be something, or it could be him playing with his food."
no subject
Well, everyone who isn't sporting a green splinter in their palm.
"Weaknesses?"
Every single thing they've come up against has had some weak point. Even it's the kind of thing they had to scrabble to find, more luck than research, there was always a way in. Some small thing that cracked under the right application of pressure, or the right magic knife, or sharpened stake or holy sword, whatever. If there's something, there's a way in.
Which would beg the question why no one else was trying it, but—
no subject
That he knows of, anyway. He's still reading, still working his way through things, but if that particular piece of info is tucked away somewhere then there's probably a reason it's not up in neon lights for everyone to know.
"Strategically, there's a magic mirror door here somewhere that leads to his backyard. And, like I said." Hand lifted again, fingers wiggling. "Keys."
The Fade didn't seem like it had a lock that could be picked. There was an advantage there. Maybe.
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To the tune of this bullshit again. Not magic mirrors specifically, but magic bullshit.
"So how do we figure into this?"
The real question. No one's giving them free room and board, mediocre as it is, for nothing.
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"Could be lip service, but it's also looking likely that they don't have the resources to get more authoritarian if they wanted to. As long as we're not out ripping holes in the sky or otherwise causing wanton mayhem, they don't seem to give a shit."
The in-built incentives of the anchor pain probably helped.
"But," he adds, with a point of the bottle neck. "Liabilities to them, lab rats or collector's items to some other freaks out there."
If not the big bad wanting to get his hands on them himself.
no subject
"So what the fuck are we supposed to do here?"
Different than how they fit into the equation.
There's such a lack of angle. This is a war that certainly doesn't concern them, without a clear exit point. It leaves them, or maybe just Seth, at loose ends.
no subject
He's asking instead. It feels like a missed beat, steps of the walk suddenly off rhythm. A fracture that might have landed worse, a few months and a close encounter with hell ago. But that was then, and now they've been dropped in fucking Narnia with no chosen one bullshit to guide the way. What the fuck are they supposed to do?
So Richard's answer isn't immediate. Isn't part of the bounce back, the confidence he'd usually operate with where he knew all the parts and pieces and his place amongst them. Seth asks and he doesn't know. He has to think about it.
"Find a way out." It's what he lands on, after a moment, an almost too-obvious answer. An old answer. Technically, this isn't the first time they've fallen through a looking glass. But they'd had chosen one bullshit last time. In it's absence, there's only the maze.
"Keep this place from burning down until we do."
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The urge to pick it apart is strong. Seth swigs from the bottle instead. Doesn't think about how formless out feels. Where's the end point? They'd had an idea of it before. Some goal to hit to break their way out.
Seth doesn't see that here. It's too sprawling. Too many different objectives. Too many different people with conflicting agendas, and a final boss that no one seems to know how to deal with.
"Great," is what he settles on. "Just when we'd wrapped up our part in one circus."
Whatever this outfit is, Seth isn't so sure it's an improvement over their last association.
"Anything else we need to keep in mind?"
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But he stays where he is. One hand out for a pass of the bottle, dry humour tugging the corners of his mouth.
"Aside from us needing to brush up on our knife skills?"
Not that they'd ever really let them go rusty.
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But still, he's game enough to return Richie's sarcasm with a wry smile of his own.
"Knife skills, sword skills, whatever the fuck," is shadowed with medieval bullshit. "You think they have dynamite yet?"
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"We could make it." Flippant. They probably could, if they really dug down deep, but it would be more work than putting something together from cat litter and fertilizer. Still: "Might cut this war crap down a little shorter."