ZincAboutIt

Caeli grinned a cold, white grin and spread her fingers. The light wind around her picked up, ruffling the hem of her dress, and the blue-green of her eyes intensified. "I'll call a current for any who wish to travel with me by air. If there is something out there to find, you can be assured that I will find it. Sound travels fast on the wind." She winked, then dissolved into innumerable motes of light that danced and whirled in the confines of the bunker. The sound of distant laughter echoed over the walls before Caeli's voice emitted from the translucent vapor. "Let us leave this place, and find some answers. I was not aware that this God Complex were foolish enough to cage Zephyr. Although," the wind grew colder, nearly leaving a trail of frost along a wall, and a note of gleeful malice wove its way through her voice, "I think I shall enjoy laughing at their folly when we find him." @Nathrangking

Caeli snorted and raised an eyebrow at the impassioned war god. "Yes, I do imagine Pope Alexander VI would have loved that. 'Penned by the hand of a god.' Not the God of the Hebrews - who, by the way, has never once acknowledged any of my feasting invitations - but another god. Delightful! Oh, Sangus, you've robbed us all of quite the laugh with that modesty of yours." She giggled and the sound rang in the air, her hair fanning out slightly around her. Caeli dropped her chin into her palm and looked at the remaining gods seated in the bunker. "Now, if we're all rather done making stirring speeches," her blue gaze rested for an extended moment on Baalhan before roving once more across the room, "I for one would like some more information about what, exactly, has happened. These mortals have killed three gods. How? I suggest a trip to the site of one of these murders, that we might ascertain a little more evidence on what, exactly, those clever little sheep have up their sleeves this time."

I've found this method especially satisfying.

Caeli laughed and dipped her chin, turning luminous blue-green eyes towards Baalhan. "My my, 'Mistress of the Air' - how long has it been? An age, maybe. Using my old epithets against me, now? A devious trick, which I approve. I don't deny, there is a certain taste to worship that I have missed of late. But I only need pull the air from a man's lungs to remind him of how much he needs me. If I want blood, I can push a young girl off her balcony and fall with her until she paints the ground. If it is fear I want, I will rock the belly of those great mortal inventions that soar my skies, and the ones within will recall that beyond their steel plating lies only air." The air around her grew colder, and she grinned. "I am no war goddess, no Valkyrie or Morrigan. I seek out what is most fascinating, and there is a certain allure to bloodlust I'll grant you that. But wine can taste just as sweet as blood, if the cupbearer is interesting enough. And there's far more laughter at the victory feast." "Sangus speaks wisely - as is his custom. I do not oppose a coalition - indeed, Barbados, I don't even oppose a little chaos now and again. Your vendetta sounds interesting, and if there's one thing I hate more than a godhunter, it's boredom. I can help you in this, but I will have no oath laid upon me. I am, after all, the 'Mistress of the Air', and the wind cannot easily be bound."

Caeli closed her eyes and felt herself momentarily disperse as Baalhan's sword enveloped the room in piercing azure light. In her form as air, she moved quickly through the room, getting a better look at who had assembled so far. Plenty were ancient and venerable - her equals in age or even greater. Others were less so, and a few looked young as newborn kittens. She reformed in her earlier seat and began braiding a small section of her hair while the rest stirred softly around her shoulders. Sij Hawm spoke calmly but their voice carried the weight of eternity. She knew there were compelling reasons for both courses of action, and both had their own list of potential entertainments. Caeli had no intention of dying, and if what Barbados said was true, this organization had already killed more than one god. Killed a god. It was the stuff of nonsense, of faerie tales. Mortals did not kill gods - gods killed one another, or more often, simply left, or faded away, or went into a long sleep. She had seen pantheons rise and fall, but always by their own hand. Humans did not kill gods. "Your impatience does you a discredit, Barbados," Caeli said. "You claim that you are losing, and yet you wish us to bind ourselves to you. The deaths of two immortals cannot go without investigation - or at least caution. And I know some of you are far fonder of your temples than one such as I. But I will not oath myself into a cage to be delivered neatly into the hands of our hunters. There is no victory without strategy - surely you know this better than any, Baalhan." She turned to the god, who had risen to his feet. The oath seemed to have exhausted him for the moment. "You support this coalition, yet it is already failing. You have blessed many mortals, but how does that power work on us? Can you not simply curse our enemies instead? They are weak, frail things that live and die as they laugh. Quickly, and easily, with a little breath and a bit of teeth. What makes these so special?"

"If it is sent into the air, Baalhan, you can be assured that I recall it. And six hundred years is hardly a long weekend to ones such as us. I remember the day as clear as a winter morning." War was nothing special to Caeli, but it was fascinating, and she had been the wind in many banner flags. She had called the gales of ice and horror that had frozen soldiers, and she had stilled the air to allow a bugle note to pierce the night. Caeli had ridden smoke currents around campfires, listened to men gamble and drink, laugh in the arms of their camp followers. She had been the reason for many deaths, and for many lives. She turned to face Sij Hawm as they appeared, feeling a tiny knot of tension in her gut. If Sij was unwilling to bind themself, then what did that say about this alliance. "As Baalhan has so succinctly put it, words do indeed have power. And perhaps no one knows it better than you, Sij Hawm - you who have known Time in its truest form. If you have reason to doubt this coalition, I would think it prudent to listen to your reasons why. Indeed, words are wind, and I know better than any how swiftly a wind can kill." @Nathrangking @Invocation

You know my name, you bloodthirsty lizard. I've seen you above many a battle, and you've ridden my wind with gore on that sword. Caeli turned to face Baalhan, taking in his form and his armor. For all his appearance suggested, he could be a subtle creature. She smiled wider. "Indeed," she mused, an unseen wind playing through her silvery hair. The slightest echo of high, maddened laughter echoed around her, like the aural memory of war. "The mortals know how to put on quite a show, do they not? Such sound in the air, such wind!" She looked back over her shoulder at Sangus, cocked her head, and considered. "'Not totally malicious,' why, Sangus, that's almost a compliment. They do say words are wind, but then, perhaps that only makes me fonder of them."

There was a cold wind in Tokyo, and two men sat smoking on their break outside a crowded restaurant. One of them cracked a smile, said something under his breath; the other sneaked a glance back into the kitchen. The clatter of pots and pans and the shouts of kitchen staff filtered out. The second man laughed, softly, and the first joined him. They laughed and smoked in the little alley, and the cold breeze stirred the detritus of such alleys into a small, whirling dervish. Their laughter echoed over the walls, perhaps a little too loudly. They did not notice, or if they did, they pretended not to, as mortals are wont to do. The wind moved on, and their laughter faded as they headed back to work. Caeli rode a current of her own making, snaking between people on the streets, ruffling hair and tugging at awnings or flags. She smiled, or would have done, had she been visible. There was something electric about a big city, and Tokyo was one of the biggest. She felt the rhythms of a thousand bits of laughter, the sounds of horns and the rumble of cars. Somewhere, a bass drum beat out a steady, low growl. It echoed even through this cacophony. She was late to the meeting, but she didn't much mind. Things always became more interesting if you showed up a little late. Not too late, though. Some of these gods were old, seriously old. Older than she was, and Caeli had very little idea of her age anymore. But it was saying something - that she knew. Anyone older than her would be packing some serious power, especially if they had the juice to summon a whole cadre of immortals into the city. She touched down outside the designated meeting spot and formed into her other shape, running her hands over the illusory fabric of her dress. Caeli liked this body - she'd spent quite a while designing it, and she considered it one of her better efforts. She'd kept it for over a millennium now. It certainly did the job; even other gods rather enjoyed looking at whoever they were speaking to. Caeli pondered this as she entered the bunker, reading the carnage on the floor with a practiced eye. She'd been the wind over many battlefields, and plenty of men laughed in war. She wondered if any of these men had laughed as they died, drunk on pain and battle madness; she'd have liked to have seen that. Mortal laughter was a glory in all its forms. Caeli took a seat and nodded to the others, just in time to hear Sangus and his little bodyguard declare for the alliance. She didn't miss the rather blunt threat at the end of the girl's words. "And if we decline this alliance," Caeli asked, blinking blue-green eyes at Barbados and showing a sliver of very white teeth. "Are we free to go? I'll be the first to glory in the ruin of this God Complex, but why now? Equality and power and worship sound excellent, but will we be donning crowns, or shackles? Many of us are not accustomed to working with others, and indeed have done well on our own for millennia. What makes you think this time is different? Have you caught a glimpse outside of time, perhaps?" This possibility intrigued her, and she thought of any number of gods who indeed had command over Time. Had one of them told Barbados something of the future? A new wind rising? @Darth Woodrack

@Darth Woodrack

Nerin said nothing for a while, focusing her attention on the remaining stitches. She had to admit, all in all it was a decent job - the stitches were precise, neat, and not too tight. As she tied off the thread and snipped the end with the scissors, Nerin poured a little more of the alcohol onto the wound and then set about winding some clean bandages around Lance's leg. There was a calming efficiency to the activity, just winding cloth, checking the tension, her fingers firm but gentle on his skin as she tied the bandage one last time. She sighed softly and looked up into Lance's face, feeling some fatigue bleed into her expression as she - for once - didn't attempt to look clever or unimpressed or irritated. Nerin was tired, and afraid, and she had so many worries crowding her mind that at any moment, she was sure they'd begin pouring out of her ears. And yet, amidst all the clamor there was a slender thread of something else. It wasn't quite hope, and nothing so ambitious as happiness, but still it glittered there in its small column of exhilaration nonetheless. By all accounts, Nerin knew she should loathe this man - and rather a large part of her did. It was all too easy to pin this recent string of horrific events on Lance, what with him bursting through her window, defacing the walls, and drawing attention to the place. He was insufferably smug, casually violent, and radiated 'dangerous' like a halo of dark, crackling energy. And perhaps worst of all, he was unpredictable. Nerin was used to being powerless in a traditional sense, but for the most part, Nerin knew how to turn a situation to her advantage. Influence. That is what Brass bought a woman, and if she was delicate and savvy, the world would be none the wiser of it all. But Lance seemed all but immune to her Soothing. Before that infuriating smirk, Nerin was just a woman with two hairpin daggers and no family worth mentioning. It should have terrified her. Rust and Ruin, it did terrify her. But a not-insubstantial portion of Nerin gloried in that terror. There was something exciting about having that influence stripped away. It was that feeling in your gut right before a fall, that swooping weightlessness. Lance was the edge of the arc right before the plunge, and Nerin knew she'd likely smash her brains out on the rocks at the end of that arc if she wasn't careful. But, she reasoned, she'd likely be dead by the end of the week anyway, so who really cared? "By 'we,'" Nerin said, getting up off her knees (and wincing) and taking a longer sip of whiskey, "I assume you mean you and the small army of Allomancers you'll be hiring to go up against your own gang. Because if by 'we' you mean you, me, Attayl, and Brillin - wherever he's got to - I may as well pour arsenic into this whiskey, and we can at least die drunk." She looked back to Attayl and sighed, beckoning her back. "She's right, you know. We know rust-all about this business. Word on the street is that the leader of the Farriers is some kind of prophet for Harmony's sake. I'm about twelve hours from cutting my losses and booking the first train out of Elendel, and if you're even a little bit sane, you should do the same. So if it's insanity you're advocating here, I'll need a rusting fantastic reason to do it, Mister Rapis." Nerin stared into his eyes, trying to read him, trying to understand. She was standing on the roof, deciding whether or not to jump, deciding whether or not the arc was worth the plunge. Her eyes traveled down his neck, then lingered on the place beneath his shirt where she knew that cold spike lay hammered between his ribs. Nerin's hand flexed unconsciously as she recalled the feel of it - a disk of ice against the heat of his skin. Her mind strayed into other recent events, and she felt her face color again, though she did not look away. Rust him, but he had her, and he knew it. He knew she was going to do it, going to step off the roof with him in collective insanity and trust that he'd find a way to Pull her at the last minute before she turned to pulp on the cobbles. She could see it in his face, half-concealed though it was. He had her, but rusts if she wasn't going to make him earn it. Nerin sipped her whiskey, and cursed his eyes, and waited. @Invocation @Sorana

The Alleys must have decided that since Mac left they needed another Department head to materialize out of the Void and fill the space on the roster.

Lita felt her insides lurch as the Stranger spirited them away from the cavern in the earth. She struggled to think through the sudden and abrupt disorientation, and clenched her jaw against a moment of intense nausea that was only amplified by her Tin. It felt like Alleytravel, in the same way that being flung through the air via trebuchet felt like riding a train. As she regained her footing and the dizziness passed, she was hit by a terrible, deep loss within her. It was a grief she had never known, a rending lack that tore at her soul with vicious claws. She held in a gasp and felt moisture prickle at the corners of her eyes. Something had been taken from her, something important. She had to find it, she had to -- The water. Lita forced down the panic and grief, swallowing her instinct to scream, and held herself still for a moment. This was only the power of the water, the aftershock of its effects. Lita took in deep breaths, still holding onto Laurelai’s hand, then slowly released her grip. She looked over at her friend and offered a small, unsteady smile. “Hell of a day,” Lita said, her voice quiet and a little rough with leftover emotion. “Though I did promise you something more exciting than the Department of Records.” She wanted to ask Laurelai what she saw in the water, but asking that would prompt questions from Laurelai that Lita could never answer. The memory of the Stranger’s will pressing into her mind made her shudder a little; he wouldn’t even need to kill her. He could tear her to bits inside her own head if he so desired, unraveling her consciousness like a ball of yarn. Lita wrapped her arms around her shoulders, suddenly cold, and turned to get a look at their new surroundings. The little room had that bare, slight hollowness that all entry spaces seem to carry. It was a place to wait, and the lack of identifiable details only served to heighten Lita’s anticipation. The Stranger had transported them here on purpose, which likely meant that this room - and whatever lay beyond it - belonged to him. Some of Lita’s earlier tension bled slowly into a kind of quiet excitement, and she felt that old familiar fascination begin to take hold of her again. She turned to Laurelai and put a finger to her lips, then closed her eyes and flared Tin. Immediately, the sound of Laurelai’s quiet breathing became a torrent of wind, and Lita could smell the wet, chalky grit of the caverns on her boots and shirt and trousers. She acknowledged these things, then dismissed them, tuning her ears instead to the space around her. The room was still - nothing moved aside from Laurelai and herself. She then turned her attention to the door, and what lay beyond it. Again, there was no sound. Or, there was something, but it was less a sound and more an absence of sound. A deepness, and a distance, as though she was farther from the wind and the sun and the City than she had ever been before. If the Alleys even had a center, Lita imagined that they were likely very close to its writhing pit of a heart. She lowered her Tin and opened her eyes, suddenly grateful for the room’s light. “I think we’re the only ones here,” she said, though whether she meant ‘here in this room’ or ‘here in this strange pocket of space and time’, Lita was not sure. Then, with that same silent apparition that Lita had seen in the Chapel of Rain, the Stranger was suddenly there. "Sorry for the delay, we are deep within the Alleys and I had to make sure that everything was secure.Once again I must stress how important it is that you don't breathe a word of this outside of this Alley. What I am doing is a secret to everyone. And I mean Everyone. Not even Voidus knows what I am working on, and that is for his own benefit, as well as the entirety of the World. I am creating a simulation of sorts, the likes of which is unparalleled. Tell me, what do you two know about the World Spike?" Lita blinked once, but she hid her confusion. A simulation? That didn’t sound right, she knew it wasn’t right, but as she cast back into her memory the images were increasingly jumbled, the logic fraying and dissolving with alarming speed. Rusts, she was losing the memories even faster than she’d originally guessed. What she needed was to write down what she had left, though something told her the Stranger would hardly lend her his pen for that job. Lita chewed her lip. Damnation, why didn’t I ever pick up an unsealed Coppermind? Well, there was nothing for it. She was here, and she was alive, and if she fancied either state she had better start acting useful. Lita thought on the Stranger’s last question - that, at least, was something she did remember. Laurelai might have been the scholar, but Lita had spent a fair bit of her own time poring through the Department of Records. What kind of spy would she be if she didn’t even know about her own organization? “It’s the foundation of the entire universe,” she volunteered, pleased that her voice was steady and confident despite the state of her thoughts. “Voidus spiked the identity into this place before it was anything, connecting it to the rest of the worlds, allowing for life to exist. It's protected by some kind of barrier - no one can reach it.” Lita weighed present company, then amended her statement. "At least, almost no one." @Voidus @Fatebreaker

Nerin stood quickly and sent out a rather indelicate wave of Soothing, dampening most of anything still simmering across the table. "That is quite enough," she said, her voice tense and quiet. "No one is going anywhere until we have more information, and no one is going to be getting any more rusting blood all over my rusting floor." She gave Lance a sharp look, then Attayl. "My parlor, my roof, my rules. And right now, the rules are that we sit here, and drink whiskey, and figure out what the hell is going on in this Octant. No fighting. No threats. No need to defend my honor or some other such nonsense. Just... sit down." Nerin took another small sip of whiskey, then allowed herself one deep breath. In. Out. She opened her eyes, squared her shoulders, and knelt back at Lance's side, taking the scissors and laying them at her feet. Nerin's eyes flicked over his trousers, now bunched at his knees, and the vivid red that had spread across his underclothes. She felt heat creep up her neck at the same time as she felt genuine, cold concern curdle in her belly. It was a disorienting combination. With a small sigh, she rolled up the hem of the right side of his drawers and then hissed quietly at the hole torn through the meat of his thigh muscle. She peered closer at it, then reached for the small bottle of clear liquor and the towel. She tucked the towel beneath his leg, then uncorked the bottle and looked up at Lance's face. He looked far too calm for someone who was about to get stitches without any morphine, or even drink in him. "This will hurt," she said, likely more for her own benefit. Then, she poured a small measure of the white liquor into the bullet wound, wiping the surrounding skin to clear off the blood. "You were right about bone shards, I can't see any," Nerin said, threading the curved needle and tying off the end of the thread. Then, she set to work before she could lose her nerve. As she worked, she kept her head bent deliberately over the wound and did her level best not to think about anything that was not happening right now. The warmth on her neck and the pleasant, misted memories of the last hour were shut into a convenient closet within her mind, though the occasional flicker of image or sound threatened to distract her. "So," she said to Lance, not daring to look at his face until she was done, "your people are obviously about to finish off the Scarlets, what with Willet, um... well, dead. Is that all you want? Just the Hollows? If any of them are as powerful as you are..." Nerin trailed off, not wanting to reveal Lance's strange metal spike, but also unwilling to keep these questions unasked. She hoped he understood her meaning. This parlor was her home, and Attayl and Brillin were her guests. She had to know what was going to happen here, even if both of them would soon be in the wind. And Lance too. He'll leave too, eventually. @Invocation @Sorana

Vivica was briefly comforted by the familiar walls and doors of one of the R&D Alleys, and she ran a few fingers along the patina of red and brown with a small smile. Why, just the other day, she'd found a visitor wandering through here; that had been fun. Maybe Vivica could invite Nox by when she found another visitor. The people who wandered in always had a special energy about them, a frantic, glorious staccato beat that some of the more standard experiment volunteers lacked. Vivica loved surprises. She especially loved being the surprise. Her fond reminiscence was brutally stripped away when Nox mentioned Grey. Grey and Sierra... She had left them. Left them for the fire. "I-I..." Vivica swallowed, hard, and gripped Nox's hand tighter. "I don't know. I told them - I told them! But they wouldn't listen, wouldn't listen to me. Just kept eating. And Sierra had just had such a lovely experiment too." She felt tears gather at the corners of her eyes. "It's all there, in the notes," she gave a little hiccup and wiped at her eyes. "Maybe they got out. Grey's so clever, you know. But I had to leave. I couldn't let myself die there, I just couldn't! I just came up with a new recipe today, and I haven't even gotten a chance to test it. I had to go. I had to go." She started down the Alley, still holding onto Nox's hand. The smell of smoke had managed to wend its way in here, too. Faint, but persistent. Her breath quickened. "The safe place, Nox," she said, fighting to keep herself from screaming. "Where is it?" @Voidus

Nerin stayed quiet as Attayl spoke, poking through the medical bag and setting each item she might need down on the table. The girl was growing ever bolder, and it at once cheered Nerin and sobered her. She said nothing, but flicked her eyes between the two of them, watching for something to turn dangerous. Nerin kept her brass off, but was ready in case things got heated. She’d stopped Soothing Lance sometime during the last half an hour, though she couldn’t quite recall exactly when. Two spots of gentle heat tickled her upper cheeks as she set out a roll of bandages, and she took another small sip of whiskey. What she wanted was to get drunk - hell, all of them should be drunk after the day they’d had. But if Lance’s wound ended up needing stitches, she had to go about it with a clear head. She felt an irrational, foolish spike of cold fear when Attayl told Lance he could leave after this business was over, which she smothered immediately in irritation. Of course he would be leaving after this was over, and she’d be glad to see him go. Nerin watched as Attayl leaned over to Lance and whispered something into his ear. She looked down, focusing her attention on listening, and caught enough words to get even more annoyed. Her mouth pressed into a thin line, and she glared down into her glass. Did she appear so helpless that some street girl felt the need to play the protective chaperone? Nerin may not have spent the last years plying her trade dockside but she was hardly some naive, fresh-faced maiden at her first formal party. Nerin set her glass down a little too hard and looked down at Lance’s wounded leg. “Right,” she said. “I’ll need to cut your trousers a bit to see the wound properly. I can sew them back up afterwards.” She pulled a pair of sharp scissors from within the bag, along with a small towel and the bottle of clear liquor. “This isn’t for drinking, but you’ll probably want to start.” Nerin pointed at the glass of whiskey, then knelt down by the side of Lance’s chair, wincing a bit at some bruise on her knee she had somehow missed and brandishing the scissors at his inevitable smirking. Just before she made the first cut, Nerin stopped and looked around, realizing that something was missing. ”Where is Brillin?” @Invocation @Sorana

Nerin slipped back in through Jeb's window and crossed silently through the darkened room. She noted the smears of blood on the doorknob and looked back to her hands. A few flakes of red remained in the lines of her palms; she wiped them on her dress, which was still damp from the mist. Nerin pulled her hair back into its half-tail, sliding the pins into place and smoothing her hands over the front of her skirt. She could hear Lance's voice downstairs, and she attempted to ignore the tingling shiver that ran over her skin at the sound. Nerin allowed herself one long, languid stretch and a little smile before she descended into the parlor proper and crossed towards the kitchen. Lance had seated himself at the table with Attayl, who had - bless her - set out at least one drink. One look at Lance's masked, smirking face told her she'd be needing it. Nerin ducked behind the bar and opened a few drawers before she found Jeb's old leather medical bag. There would be bandages at least, something clean, and probably a little bottle of clear liquor to wash the wound. She heaved the bag out of its place in the cupboard and carried it over towards the table, setting it down and picking up one of the clear glasses of whiskey. "Don't let the swagger fool you," she said to Attayl, looking Lance square in the face as she took a sip. "He's been shot." @Invocation @Sorana

Corette extended her arm. "Please," she said, a wry smile twisting her mouth. "It's making my skin crawl, too." As she waited, she looked around, senses alert though she maintained a calm air. Without her Bronze on, she felt nearly blind. Corette had little to fear from the DA team - well, no more than usual - but she supposed that anyone else would be nervous in the presence of the DA, so she allowed a little of her unease to show on her face. She'd pocketed a few more beads in the rush to claim a portion of the treasure, and she was eager to get back to Matthieu and present them, as he'd requested. 'Bring me back something interesting.' Corette was certain that even he hadn't expected her to find Atium down here. She was almost disappointed that she hadn't been there to see the look on his face when he'd received her report. It was next to impossible to surprise the old Inquisitor, and to think she'd missed the show...

Corette had herded the remaining crowd either into a line for healing, or back towards the base camp. More than a few people seemed uneasy at the idea of a DA Denizen healing them; Corette could understand their trepidation, though it was misplaced. If the DA had wished to kill everyone, they hardly would have sent down an Acquisitions team. So far, she had kept her distance from the team, and they had cooly avoided her as well. They knew the drill - she was out, on mission. It would disrupt the entire point if everyone acted as though they knew one another. Corette suspected that one or two people had already guessed her affiliation, but a guess was hardly a solid fact. The Elsecaller and her pet underling could guess at whatever they liked. She moved into line behind Adren, feeling the sting on her arm from where she had ripped the geode free beneath the freezing black water. Corette didn't know this new woman personally, but then, she didn't know many people back in the Alleys. She spent more time outside than almost anyone else in the Department, at least as far as she could tell. Corette was pleased when the lead Denizen took Adren's advice. A little reward would go quite a long way towards keeping everyone else sweet, and there was hardly a shortage of the metal down here. "Alleycity Excavation won't be pleased," she said quietly, "but I doubt you'll find trouble with them. A public gold rush is hardly in their best interest either. It's my opinion that they knew about the possibility of the Atium since the disappearance of the first scouting group. They'll likely put up a stubborn front, but old Tycho and the rest of the Board aren't stupid. They know what your people can do. You shouldn't have more than a little trouble locking this place down, and that only so they can save face." @kenod @ElephantEarwax