1087/Auction House: A Sword

Auction House: A Sword
Date of Scene:	21 June 2017
Location:	Unknown
Synopsis:	Summary needed
Cast of Characters:	Mercy Thompson, Loki, Sam Winchester

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Mercy Thompson has posed:
With diligent digging Sam Winchester would be able to locate the next illegal pop-up Auction House, along with a time, date and place.

The time is very late night, the date is right now and the place is a swanky venue that typically caters to mid-to-high range weddings and other high-end functions. Tonight, however, it's catering to a more low brow crowd, at least in the sense of the illegal; not necessarily stupid, poor or powerless.

No, instead the underworld has come out to play as well as those who deal with illicit and black-marketed goods. Another sub-group is likewise here, the black-market magical crowd, though unless one knows what to look for or sense for, one likely won't see them. Sadly, the majority of high-end thugs within aren't really aware of what or rather who are around them.

The door that leads inside is guarded by a pair of hulking beefcake of men; with both dressed in black. One holds a clipboard, while the other surveys the area around the two. Both are armed to the teeth and both look somewhat dangerous with the muscle and those guns.

For attendance or rather an invitation, it would take money, connections or favors, or other magical means to get a person's name on the list, or a person through the door. Not impossible, but not necessarily easy as slipping the men at the front door a twenty.

Loki has posed:
What, did someone offer Liam Serrure an opportunity to dress up in a suit? There with bells on. Nothing too flashy, of course. Grey rather than black cuts the right balance. A note of character in the deep emerald pocket square tucked at a diagonal point. Mind the cufflinks, ancient coins of no particular numismologists' study, and certainly not lined up to any society anyone around here knows. They're proto-Veskkarh, a most enlightened little civilisation obsessed with entropy, and masters at working metal to never take on rust or age.

Nothing too flashy. Nothing suggestive he's sporting a piece with any kind of calibre.

"How subtle would you prefer this to be?" was Liam's only question in a quiet, dark corner before closing on the building. "I can //make// a statement of power. I can also lead with discretion."

Either way, the sorcerer behind the consultant boasts a series of tricks. The simplest is augmenting the list, transmuting another line or two, and inserting his own name with plus two on the side. Because the trickster god is a bastard and chaos is his rhyme.

Sam Winchester has posed:
"//I// like discretion," Sam had muttered, "But I defer to you two."

He is dressed precisely the way a young, somewhat idle young antiquities enthusiast might be. The suit is well-tailored, far better than a drifter like him //ought// to be able to afford. He's parted his hair and has somehow tamed the messy waves into something a bit more gently upscale. Too much money, too much time. His scruff has been freshly shaved away for the nonce, and he wears an expression of somewhat vacant but utterly enthusiastic interest. He might be the kind of guy who just looks that way, or he might have hidden depths. Anyone would be hardpressed to tell.

He doesn't have magic for disguises, but he's good at them. Acting skills and a host of criminal skills help that along.

Mercy Thompson has posed:
"Subtle." Mercy says in complete agreement with Sam, even as she turns a quick grin to Loki. "Let's go with subtle and then if things go south we can get to flashy."

For Mercy she's dressed in a figure flattering dress; it's a skin-contrasting white dress, with dark touches of red along the hem of the almost knee-length skirt. Her height has barely been added to, as the mechanic wears a pair of matching albeit practical white flats. A small red clutch is what finishes off her outfit of choice, as she between Loki and Sam.

"And just for the record -" Begins Mercy, with amusement in both her gaze and voice, "- Tonight my secret agent undercover name will be Kandi. Starts with a K and ends with an i. An appropriately ditzy thing." She is having far too much fun with this, even if the stakes aren't necessarily something to laugh at.

"Shall we find our way inside?" The coyote asks, the question mostly rhetorical since that's what the three are here for.

Now it's up to Loki to work his particular brand of magic, whether a spell upon the paper, or a nudge to the guard's minds. Both Loki and Mercy will recognize those two men at the front door; they were the same ones there last time, which might allude to the same person, or group, setting these particular sites up.

The line is relatively short and will move quickly, as the Auction House has been open long enough to allow the majority of guests inside. Once inside the trio will find the ballroom bedecked in simple decorations that show and understated wealth. A variety of tables can be seen for guests to sit at, as well as circulating servers with trays of champagne and finger-foods and last but not least, a raised platform at the other end of the ballroom can be seen. There's a small table sitting upon the stage along with a podium for the auctioneer to call out the various wares and items that will soon be sold.

Loki has posed:
Two votes for subtle to zero votes for please smash down that door, captain. The Loki frolicking in destruction has to sit in the corner on his chair. The others carry the day. He merely gives an arm for Mercy to accessorize herself with given the coyote shows an intense skill for dolling herself up. And Sam?

Sam shaved. Sam will never be the same again. A sidelong look affirms some odd similarity with another man, last name Rogers, not an agent of Hydra. "You're certain you do not have family in the army?" A question to add a very subtle air of dry humour. No grinning for Liam Serrure, very important consultant with Sotheby's on the business of antiquities and appraisal.

The men at the door present a particularly unworthy challenge. A spin of a spell, a whisper to the ink, and another row decidedly appears there. He will not even disgrace the paper with /Kandi/ and whatever Sam opts to call himself. Sammi and Kandi Gamgee, at this rate. Through the doors, he adopts the seasoned role of discounting the servers and measuring up the other opponents for auctioning. Easy to tell who is a player out to socialize and the serious ones. "Look for the grumpy faces, the ones reading the brochures intently. They weren't paying attention ahead of the game," he murmurs in an aside to the others.

Sam Winchester has posed:
"Marines," Sam murmurs with a faint flash of a grin. "It was the Marines."

He's going by Samuel. Because fake names are easier when you remember to answer to them, and Samuel is pretty generic. Sure, he could do his brother's rock and roll thing, but he just can't be bothered to dig up the name of one of the band members. So tonight he is Samuel Wesson, which is also pretty generic. He has the IDs to prove it, too. Anyone who looked in his pockets would find them.

So not Sammi, at least.

The aside from Liam is a good one, so he takes a moment to do just that. He does help himself to some food, but mostly only as a blending technique; it holds little interest for him. But he also keeps an eye on everything else.

Mercy Thompson has posed:
The arm Loki extends is accepted by Mercy, even as she gives Loki a sidelong glance, then Sam as well. Her choice of name was funny, it was. The mention of army and then the marines earns another look from Mercy, though this time curious versus side-eye.

That curiosity will be for another time, however, as the trio makes their way over to the line and awaits their turn. It doesn't take long, thankfully, and with the addition of their names upon the list Mercy, Sam and Loki gain entrance. It's hard to say whether the doormen recognize Mercy or Loki, but for now it seems unlikely. They see so many faces at these events, eventually they all blur into an amalgam of expressions and features.

The crowd is larger than the last one and the hint of magic is more prominent upon the air. It's enough to cause Mercy a slight crinkle to her face; perhaps not the best ditzy expression she can muster, but the magic within the area is strong enough to hit her senses. Her voice is quiet, though loud enough for both Loki and Sam to potentially hear, "Magic. More thant he last time. It's all around us really -" She mutters, her gaze flicking around the room -

- The majority of the magical aura is emanating from behind the raised stage; where the bulk of the artifacts are being stored. But beyond that, there are hot spots of magic at three tables.

The first table is set close to the stage, where four women sit, all dressed in varying degrees of pants suit; all have black hair, lightly bronzed skin and eyes lined heavily with black. The second table will be familiar to Mercy and Loki; with the man and woman from last time, the two spell-casters, minus their clairvoyant. The third table seems quite understated, with only one man there, his expression bland an unassuming.

For Mercy, at the sight of the spell-casters, she'll grip Loki's arm tighter for a second and casually nod to said table. For Sam, she'll say, "We saw those two last time. There was a third person with them last time, but it looks like she didn't return." And really, Mercy can't quite blame her for that, not with what happened at that last particular venue.

And just like that, Sam will find a vision darkening and his mind suddenly filled with images -

The ballroom suddenly filled with the panicked shouts of men and women, and so much running. A stampede if you will, and behind the stampede of people is a lioness. Claws and teeth stained with red; blood to an experienced eye. Blood all around her. All around the room. Something bad is going to happen here.

Loki has posed:
Good riddance and good day. The building gets a thorough once over while Liam makes his circuit on the pretext of letting Kandi-coyote show off her slinky dress and Samuel try to find a seat large enough to accommodate him. Certainly anything capable of handling the Winchester can potentially cope with his undeniably dense physique.

Loki fails to give the thugs a second glance while his vision dances with auras that blur the overlapped mundane object and the powerful hues they radiate. He spares no one from the scrutiny either. The bland fellow barring any interest from settling on him gets an extra heap of paranoid scrutiny, all on the pretext of standing about waiting for the person carrying drinks on a tray to go by.

"Plenty of bothersome nuisances. Some louder louts than others," he says as an aside. Let the others make of that what they will. Mercy's senses sniffing out magic are just as acute in ways as his, but the sorcerer needs time to do a proper indexing.

Sam Winchester has posed:
The sudden onset of a vision is nothing Sam Winchester can easily hide. Pain spikes through his right eye. He presses his fingers to his head, managing to keep the sharp intake of breath quiet enough to be audible only to his companions at the table, but only just. And then the rush of euphoria that comes with the sudden cessation of pain, the vision playing out behind his eyes. Then pain again as it fades. He frowns. Was that literal or figurative? He's never sure, but he is sure of one thing.

He clears his throat and whispers, "Something bad's about to happen." He looks around for a fire alarm. "We've gotta get most of these people out of here," he says. "Or a lot of them are going to die."

He says it with certainty, and then adds, "Precog." Very shortly. Because he's still not sure how he feels about the power or the secret, but...at least now he has told his brother the truth, and he's less guilty about sharing it with others. He has to explain where he's getting his information from //now// at least, or they won't trust him enough to act on it.

Mercy Thompson has posed:
Behind the stage the magical aura flickers and fades and those that can sense such things watch it.

The women at the table hold a tang of magic to them, but it's not necessarily an inherent thing. It harkens back more towards being blessed by someone or something that's magical. Perhaps some type of cult? But whatever blessing the four women hold it seems old, ancient even. The spell-casters are the same as last time, both powerful, but nothing extremely out of the ordinary.

Now the man, while he reads as magic, there's not a real sense of what he might be. He's either very low-level, or he's shielding himself in some way. The power that bleeds off of him is quite steady and low-key. That doesn't stop the man from looking up and around the room; a casual gesture on his part, but one that will allow his eyes to meet Loki's momentarily. Then he smiles in greeting, before he slides his eyes away.

Mercy, for her part, was just considering what Loki said, but before she can say anything Sam's sharp inhale is heard. It's enough to bring the coyote's head around as she looks at Sam with some concern now. "You okay?" That concern of hers only grows when Sam reveals what he saw; a lot of people are going to die. His mention about being a precog earns a faint crooked smile from the woman, but for the moment nothing is said about that. She's a skinwalker, after all, so it's not like she's any kind of normal. And Loki ... well, he's just Loki. That's all that can be not-said about it.

Back to the worry at hand, Mercy will turn a look towards the trickster God. "Perhaps we should have went with flashy."

And that's all she gets to say as movement upon the stage is finally seen. The Auctioneer walks up to his podium and with a crack of his gavel, he'll say, "We will start the bidding on our first piece -"

With his words two assistance will bring out a large oaken box. Once it's set upon the table the box will be opened, revealing a sword within. To those with an experienced eye it's a Khopesh. An ancient Egyptian weapon and while it still holds a luster about itself, there's still the signs of age along the hilt and edges of the curved blade.

The four women at the front of the table immediately take notice, as they look to the box now. There's a hurried conversation between the four and after a sharp motion by one of the women the group falls silent - though not still. The woman who silenced the group rises from her seat. It's a casual stance from her and while her walk is the same unaffected air, it's clear she's moving to the stage.

Loki has posed:
What might Loki give for a proper cup of coffee right about now? One makes do. He shall not snag himself a cup of anything alcoholic or cold that floats by. None of it will induce worse than the slightest buzz. There are disadvantages to holding considerable defenses to terrestrial poisons.

He doesn't meet the smile with one of his own from the low-key fellow. Brits don't freely smile. Like Germans, they view the business of smiling freely as a very American pastime. Almost discomfitting. Why show your teeth unless you mean to fling something or launch an attack? He isn't picking up so easily on Sam's discomfort but trust Mercy to read the cues properly. Bless her. He /really/ won't pick them up.

His mouth thins a little more, suppressing a kind of a smile. "Ah. The surest way to cause a stir." Somewhere even in the saddest of buildings there must be sprinklers and a sensor for fire. Forget alarm, he's escalated on his own recourse to convincing a few of those sprinkler heads they are currently inches deep in thick smoke and a fire is raging.

His fingers do loose on Mercy's arm. Sam hasn't been forgotten. Nor is the khopesh so fascinating but his grip is itching for something else. Flashy is as flashy does. An illusion as neat as they come is sure to be next, the facsimile of an identical sword placed in sight of one of the casual bidders.

Sam Winchester has posed:
Sam, for his part, is withdrawing his Beretta under the table with his left hand. His right, of course, is still in a cast (which probably detracted from his disguise, just a bit). He's easing the safety off of it and is readying it to fire. He keeps it pointed at the ground, deciding that might be a wiser course of action than pulling the fire alarm. He starts as he spots the illusory sword, but...okay. Things are happening. Hopefully he didn't just //cause// them by speaking about his visions. He's never sure if that's going to happen, and it's one of those things that keeps him up at nights. That, and lumpy hotel mattresses.

The trouble is, he's not entirely sure what the source of the trouble is, yet.

So he studies the Kopesh, wracking his brain for any information about it that he doesn't already have, sifting through his near-encyclopedic knowledge of lore. Granted...it may be a bit late for that kind of thing, but it's reflexive.