old man moomba

Reamas raised an eyebrow as the woman who’d been waiting at the door came up to them and stuck her hand out, introducing herself. He was surprised to say the least, and surprise quickly led to a mild suspicion. Could she know who they were? It’s not as if his team was unknown, in Columbia City, at least. But that was unlikely. He looked her up and down, picking her apart with his eyes. She had a somewhat posh look about her, though not one of actual royalty. Her stance was earnest, and if she had some ulterior motive other than curiosity, Reamas couldn’t tell what it was. “Excuse me for shaking your hand. It’s somewhat of a risky business, especially in Columbia City.” he began, noticing Sean had taken a more aggressive stance. Apparently his friend had read the girl differently. He motioned for him to stand down, and Sean relaxed. “You can call me Coyote.” Reamas continued, giving his animal name.

Reamas peered up at the sky. It was blue, with a few clouds floating about. He shook his head. Back home, the skies were almost always gray and it rained with predictable regularity. Then again, everything was different in the capital; the climate least among those differences. The police force here wasn’t entirely corrupt for one, or so he’d been told. Oh there was still crime, just not the overwhelming empires that ruled over Columbia City. Though from what he’d seen, the police were incompetent if not corrupt, and Reamas and his team could avoid them with little effort. His ruminations broke off as the man next to him began to speak. “This is the street.” Sean nodded down the tree lined lane, with the massive houses on either side. “It’s crazy to think that people would actually want to live in these things.” Reamas nodded, gazing over the palaces. “Too much space. It’s such a waste. We could’ve probably bought one of these after the New Year’s job, but there’s no point. Spend your money on something of real value, or put it somewhere safe and spend it later. Which one is the house we want?” he asked, glancing at his red haired friend. Sean consulted a scrap of paper with an address on it. “This one here.” he pointed to an ornate house, unique but basically the same as all the others on the street. “Looks like there’s already someone at the door though.” Reamas nodded, straightening his suit coat. “You know, the problem with putting all these things together is that you remove all the individuality from them. Each one is unique, sure, but none of them stand out.”

"So you're a Metalborn?" Jamie asked, sizing Aya up. She didn't look like a Metalborn, at least not one with much formal training,"Are you an Allomancer or a Feruchemist, or a Twinborn?"

Wayne's quest to find a suitable gift for Ranette is one of my all-time favorite scenes. Wayne being Wayne is just a pleasure to read, since he's just goofy and leaves chaos in his wake wherever he goes.

“You know, I don’t have an exact number.” Doc chuckled, leading Jenna downstairs, “As for anyone knowing about them, well, anyone who does is either a Radiant or someone who I trust implicitly.” He walked into the training room, seeing Jamie sitting cross-legged on the floor, her Shardblade stuck in the ground in front of her. She stood as they entered, quickly glancing over Jenna. “This is Jamie.” Doc began, “She’s... different.” Jamie nodded, “I’d love to stay and explain it to you, but I think someone just came in, and we can’t be too careful now.” She gave the two of them a quick grin and left the room, her Shardblade fading into mist as she did. ~~~ Jamie ran up the stairs, putting a hand on her pistol. She walked into the living room casually, letting go of her handgun when she saw who it was. “Your one of the new kids, right?” she asked Nym, crossing her arms over her chest and eyeing Aya suspiciously. “Who’s she?”

Doc sighed, shaking his head, "You presume to know everything, as always, but this time you're woefully ignorant of the bigger picture. And this picture is much bigger than even I could have imagined." he smiled, turning to face Jenna. "And of me. I already am a member of your organization. I always have been. They always make an effort to recruit Bondsmiths, after all. I assume they sent you to check up on me, or was I just an interesting bonus?" Doc leaned against the counter, watching Jenna pace around his kitchen. "That being said, I would very much appreciate some help with handling these young Radiants. It seems that they're always encountering trouble, usually something of Voidish nature, and I can't stop that from happening, as much as I would like to. So yes, I would very much like some help, if you're willing to give it."

Doc sighed, turning around and meeting Jenna's eyes. "I should have known you'd come around here eventually." he said, “Though I hoped for at least a few days.” She was a few years older than when he’d last seen her, but not much had changed that he could see. Jenna still had that carefully cultivated air of mystery. If anything it had gotten worse. He smiled wryly, looking her up and down. “So, how long since you became Radiant?” Doc asked, genuinely curious. They had both bonded spren, and within at least a few years of each other. It was either an amazing coincidence or there was some correlation.

Doc leaned against the kitchen counter, relaxing for a bit before getting on with his day. Suddenly he snapped his fingers as a thought hit him. “Okay, so think about this. Bondsmiths are the only Radiant order without a Shardblade. Now, you say that’s because you’re too cool to turn into a sword, but the focus of the order is unity. We bind things together, which is basically the opposite of what a Shardblade does.” he grinned, confident. Perhaps there is some correlation there, though I assure you it is coincidental. The Stormfather sounded bored. “Maybe, but I’ve heard stories of Bondsmiths using something like a Shardblade, only not. No one I’ve asked about it was sure exactly what it was though. Could it be something you learn at the Fifth Ideal?” Doc asked, getting himself something to drink. The Stormfather rumbled, something like a shrug for him. Doc chuckled, sipping his drink, when his phone rang. It was one of his Radiant contacts. He picked it up, listening for a moment. “Really?” he asked, smiling a little in spite of himself. “Alright, thanks for letting me know.” Doc hung up the phone, shaking his head. So she really had managed to swear the oaths. Hopefully, she wouldn’t turn everything on its head. Again. Likely, he’d need to go talk to her.

Jamie jumped back, dancing away from her armored opponent with a pewter enhanced gait. She was faster, but just barely. Shardplate lent an advantage to speed as well as strength. She’d made the mistake of assuming the armor would make her opponent slower, and it had cost her. She landed in a crouch, rolling so she was behind her opponent and began to summon her Blade, holding a hand out. He spun to face her, his emotions unreadable underneath the helmet. Jamie grinned, already swinging her empty hand at him as the Blade formed from mist in her hand. As soon it had formed fully however, he slapped it out of her hand almost casually, though his discomfort was almost visible as he did so. She stumbled, caught off balance for a split second. That was when he struck, sweeping her legs out from under her with supernatural quickness. Jamie fell to the ground with a grunt, nodding up at her opponent. “Nice job, again.” She got to her feet as Doc dismissed his helm in a puff of Stormlight, revealing his sweaty face. “Thanks.” he said with a grin, “The Plate is feeling more natural now. By the way, what time is it?” Jamie glanced at her watch, a little surprised that so much time had passed. “A little after noon. Why? You want to finish up for now?” she asked, rolling her neck and stretching. “Probably a good idea.” he responded, dismissing the rest of his Plate and wiping his face with a towel. “Thanks again, by the way.” he called, already leaving the training room. She nodded back, deciding to stay for a little longer and practice her Shardblade forms a little. She summoned her Blade, beginning to dance through the forms with the aid of pewter. They came more naturally to her now, her body shifting from movement to movement almost instinctively. Suddenly, she started to move faster, the massive Blade dancing in her hands. She slammed it into the ground, feeling it sink in. She stood before it, a little embarrassed. She hadn’t needed to do that, really. Hopefully no one would be mad.

Aben exhaled another cloud of smoke, letting it mix with the mists and swirl into the sky. He smiled, tapping the tabac out of his pipe and returning it to his pocket. Now, it was time. He sat down on the roof, closing his eyes and counting back from ten. By the time he hit one, he’d fallen asleep and entered the wolf dream. He stood on the roof, looking out over a clear skyline. No mists here, for the moment at least. Now that he was here, there were things he needed to do. Places he needed to find, places which he could only find here. He set that need in his mind and shifted away. As he moved across the city, idle thoughts drifted through his mind. Maybe the name I picked for myself was foolish. Aben thought ruefully, After all, wolves don't pick their names like we do. I shouldn't be named just for the things I carry. He stopped on the top of a building, running his hand through his hair. He reached inside himself, looking for his very self. What was he, at his core? He was a traveler. The thought came to him suddenly. He'd seen more than any one wolf could have in a lifetime. He'd seen suns set on worlds where wolves were a distant memory. Aben smiled, an image forming of a wolf sitting on a cliff, watching the sun set. The world shifted around the wolf, but still it stood there, watching the sun. Aben felt himself change into a wolf. Some time later, the wolf called Many Suns stood back on the parlor roof, giving a doggy yawn and suddenly returning to the real world, changing back into the human form others called Aben.

Aben ran a hand through his hair, an old nervous habit of his, from before he'd picked up the sword, before he'd learned the ko'di. He grinned somewhat ruefully, shaking his head. He took his hand out of his hair and rested it back on the hilt of his sword. Still smiling a little, he moved silently out of the warehouse and into the street, moving with a wolf's grace. There were things to be seen to, in the wolf dream. Arriving back at the parlor, Aben ducked in through the back entrance, quickly heading for the roof, where he sat cross legged, too troubled to sleep. Eventually, he stood, taking his pipe and tabac pouch from a pocket and thumbing the bowl full before lighting it with a match. He puffed on it, distracted. If only he could enter the wolf dream in the flesh, like Perrin Abyara could. He'd met the Steward of the Two Rivers after becoming a wolfbrother, and the man had shown him how to do it. The only problem was, Aben couldn't. Lord Perrin had said he could only do it after extreme pressures had forced him into doing it, so maybe the same was true for Aben himself. He shook his head, pacing back and forth.

"You and your boys can tear this place apart for all I care. Not much here worth stealing." Aben had a hand on the hilt of his sword and was drumming his fingers on it absently. "Hope they left someone back at the parlour. I don't want to come back to a burning husk."

"Maybe." Aben nodded, "Alright, let's take a look around. But be quick. I don't want to get caught in a trap."

"And what is this thing, which they may or may not have left behind?" Aben was curious, but he also wanted to get out before anyone else showed up. Enough of those Allomancers, and they were all going down, regardless of the he or Lance had.

@Ookla the Quill

"So you say." Aben said, "My father said that one should never underestimate a master of any weapon, no matter how dangerous the weapon itself may seem." he nodded to Lance's cane, "Blademasters are meant to be one with the sword, they are the weapon, not the sword." with a humorless grin, he glanced down at his sword, "Not all live that philosophy, though." Aben glanced to the exit, "We should likely turn our efforts to more practical matters, like getting out of this warehouse, instead of talking about weapons."

Aben glanced at Lance. Floating within the ko'di as he was, he felt only a slight annoyance, and even that was muted. "I won't worship you, but you are a master of your craft, though some would call your style... crude." as he spoke, he wiped his sword on the coat of a hazekiller, then sheathed it with a flourish. "Then again, those some are haughty; they have little respect for those who wield other weapons than the sword." Aben's voice was flat and unemotional, though he did mean what he said.