17:45 <Crion> Adam Reid at The French. Adam Reid at The French. Adam Reid at The French. 17:45 <Crion> What the fuck is that name. We're in Manchester. Adam Reid is some kind of Mancunian done well. 'The French' are a hundred miles south. More than a hundred miles? Distances get odd here. Not just because they use the metric system. 17:45 <Crion> Aaron Aster and Dr. Samantha Blackfin have the most expensive table in the room. It's not quite on a dais because a dais would be too peremptory. Too galling, too ostentatious, too much obviously the sumptuous thing that paying money for this rich a service clearly and unmistakably is. The most important quality of the United Kingdom is the kind of lie it allows people with means to achieve 17:45 <Crion> and sustain, and as far as Aster is concerned it's a much better and more sustainable one than the American property owner's dream of lawn maintenance, hatchback crossovers, and screaming at school board meetings. He lived in Philadelphia for many years. He prefers to pay taxes here. 17:47 <Crion> The 'booth,' then, is still removed from the general floor, which is reserved and elite to begin with, raised and set into the far wall, away from the door but not beholden to it. The setting -- the furniture, the lighting, and the attendant couture -- it is divine. The staff is beautiful and pliable, but doesn't cringe. They have hired a model for every occasion, from the hosts to the 17:47 <Crion> waitstaff to the managers. They understand what those people who have the means to walk in here and sit down want to see, and what they therefore want them to be. 17:47 <Crion> "Do you think they do the Ortolan thing here?" Aster asks Sam as they sit down. "Water, please." 17:47 <Crion> "Water for me as well, thank you," she says. When their seater steps away: "Don't you dare ask them." 17:47 <Crion> "In a way I already did. She'll pass it to the manager, who should have seated us instead of her, and he'll check with the kitchen, who will ask him what is wrong with him in a way that permits them to keep their jobs-- we are sitting at the head of the roost. We'd be remiss in our privilege if we didn't make the GM act a little stupid." 17:47 <Crion> Dr. Blackfin sighs. "You're lucky we have money. I couldn't take you anywhere otherwise." 17:47 <Crion> He chuckles; once again surveys his domain. They killed the embodiment of destiny bound up in a star and freed one hundred thousand gallons of water up at Gorton Reservoir last week. Mary Morgan is free from whatever is written up there now, and she's committed to the payment of a million pounds sterling, and adding that to their previous million pounds sterling from the psychotic elder 17:47 <Crion> vampires debauching themselves across the Irwell, they are certifiably on the path to having to deal with the press wanting to know how they look in swimwear. But for now they get to eat the priciest meals, experience the most obsequious servants, and drink the finest wines. And so they will. That, after all, is the social contract. 17:48 <Crion> There's a pressure in the back of his head, beneath the curve of his skull, above his neck. It's been there for a bit. It's been there since he killed Epsilon Eridani -- since he experienced, weaponized and populated the void between them, and sent her to whatever Hell exists for the stars. Aaron Aster ignores it. 17:48 <Crion> Sam: "So Willie and Sergio are down to Italy for the holiday?" 17:48 <Crion> Aster: "Yes. Two weeks, I think. They'll be back soon enough, unless Milan gets fresh about its territory. Then we might have to fly down there ourselves." 17:48 <Crion> Sam: "What?" 17:48 <Crion> Aster: "Well, you know Willie fundamentally serves Lucifer, through the dreadful inherited power of the etcetera." 17:48 <Crion> Sam no longer glances around when he says things like this; she's learned the waitstaff just pretends not to hear it. "That's a broad characterization, surely, but yes." 17:51 <Crion> Aster: "Milan is where the Devil's immortal concubine lives, and from there rules over the unholy bloodline. So it's quite the vacation for a woman and her vampire. How do you think that even works?" 17:51 <Crion> Sam: "What? A woman and a vampire? Very well, I suspect." 17:51 <Crion> He chuckles. "Of course. But no, I mean air travel. Flights get delayed and rescheduled all the time! How do you ensure you only fly by night, so to speak?" 17:51 <Crion> Sam: "You charter private, of course. And if they're flying in to Milan I doubt, ah, Satan's concubine doesn't have procedures for flights that--ah! Thank you." Their water has arrived, and with it, their waiter. He's perky and otherwise unremarkable. "Oh, no beginners. We'll order mains. I will have the salade d'agrumes aux asperges grillées. Please keep the almonds in but hold 17:51 <Crion> the citrus on the side to taste." 17:51 <Crion> "Yes, mam." He turns slightly. "And for the gentleman?" 17:54 <Crion> Aster, confidently, easily: "Ribeye, rare." 17:54 <Crion> A slight pause falls across the table. The waiter opens his mouth, glances at Sam, makes some mental calculations, breathes in to speak-- 17:54 <Crion> "Steak au Poivre for the gentleman, rare as you please," Sam says, and the waiter smiles and bows his head. 17:54 <Crion> Aster isn't unaware of what has just transpired; he's simply not ashamed of it in the slightest. "And a bottle of your best red." When the waiter appears to hesitate again, he says: "I left my card with the host for a reason. Charge it." 17:54 <Crion> Now he bows more fully. "Of course, sir. Mam." 17:54 <Crion> Sam, as he retreats: "We are going to tip, yes?" 17:54 <Crion> Aster: "This is Europe. They don't tip here. 17:56 <Crion> Sam: "Aaron." 17:56 <Crion> Aster: "What?" 17:56 <Crion> Sam: "Aaron." 17:56 <Crion> Aster: "Fine, yes. Given extenuating economic circumstances, and Brexit, I'm sure we can afford to biff the boffins. It's not like--" 17:56 <Crion> He stops cold. 17:56 <Crion> Sam: "Hmmm?" 17:56 <Crion> Over her right shoulder; his left. 17:56 <Crion> Sam: "It's not like what?" 17:56 <Crion> There's a man sitting at the bar. He is drinking a neat Islay; it's expensive. His suit is also expensive, and it's well-worn, but it doesn't smell like anything. Aster knows that, somehow. There's the ghost of a smile on his face but it doesn't reach his eyes, and if you've ever seen a broadcast of Eastern European fascists staring straight ahead and wishing you a Happy Christmas, you know 17:56 <Crion> how unsettling a smile that doesn't reach the eyes actually is. There's a mind in there that's agile as a rat on a rope running off a ship. There's a conscience in there that's rotting like fish. There's a hat and a coat at the check-in that weren't there when he and Samantha walked into this restaurant. The man sitting at the bar raises his neat Islay up in a toast to Aaron Aster, then extends 17:56 <Crion> his tongue around the glass as his jaw widens, almost unhinges, slurping the whisky down and almost swallowing the glass. His tongue expels the empty vessel out and he takes it in hand, slamming it down on the bar, soaked in spit. The bartender smiles and picks it up, ferrying it away, unaware or uncaring what's dripping off of it. 17:59 <Crion> The man stands, his face ancient and his teeth too large, and walks to the restroom. 17:59 <Crion> By the time Sam turns to follow Aster's eyes, the man is gone to relieve himself; she surveys a perfectly normal high-end hotel bar. 17:59 <Crion> Aaron Aster is very careful about the comforting smile he puts on his face now. "I'll be right back." 17:59 <Crion> He stands, and hits the head. 17:59 <Crion> It's a god-awful expensive place, this restroom. Impeccable and clean; white and assaultingly perfumed. Three stalls, then three urinals with dividers. Sinks and individual mirrors on the wall across from them. No one in here, it seems. Silent, except for some soft...music?...over the speakers. Something from Spotify, maybe. Otherwise still; otherwise empty. 17:59 <Crion> "I'm alone." No response. Fine. 17:59 <Crion> He walks to the farthest sink, turns the cold tap on all the way, turns the hot tap on all the way, and then moves to the sink next closest to the door, doing the same, twice, three, four, five more times until he's wasting all the water he possibly can without heading into the stalls to flush the toilets. "Come out." 17:59 <Crion> Aster hears the squicking sound over the water pounding into the porcelain as one expensively tailored leg drops down under the divider in the far stall with the closed door, then the other. There's a grunting noise that has an edge of relief to it, a cracking of the back and neck from great disuse, and then the stall door opens and the man walks out. 17:59 <Crion> "Chief Medical Examiner Aaron Aster," he says, like his name and former title together are by themselves a statement with its own meaning. 18:02 <Crion> "I have an office," Aster says. 18:02 <Crion> The man smiles. 18:02 <Crion> Aster turns off a tap. He starts with the last one he turned on. "I have a phone number." He turns off another. "I have an address." 18:02 <Crion> "Yes," the man says, "you do." 18:02 <Crion> He turns off the second cold tap. "So appearing here, in the way you have, in the style you have, in the mood you have, it makes a statement. There's a certain sort of--" Now the second hot tap. "--grammar to it. What is your name, auditor?" 18:02 <Crion> "Oh, you can call me whatever you like." His smile somehow widens. How many teeth are there in the human mouth? 18:12 <Crion> Aster steps to the next sink. "And I will. But you are going to tell me your name before we're done." 18:12 <Crion> The auditor: "You know why I'm here. You signed a contract that agreed to a specific monitoring schedule, with accelerations contingent on you using the abilities bestowed upon you by the agency and the Wintergreen Process." 18:12 <Crion> Aster turns off the third cold tap. "Endowed with." 18:12 <Crion> The auditor: "What?" 18:12 <Crion> And now the third hot tap. "I was endowed with the modules of the Wintergreen Process. They were not bestowed upon me. They are not honors, or rights, or gifts. They are tools. They are the sort of tools that most of the time are actually weapons. They're the sort of tools that are actually guns." 18:12 <Crion> The auditor: "Son, are you getting into it with me over vocabulary?" 18:12 <Crion> Aster: "No." He's moved to the fourth sink. "When I get into it with you, you'll know. But you won't be able to do anything about it. If you're lucky, you'll get to look back on it in anger. What's your name?" 18:12 <Crion> "My name isn't important," the auditor says. "Only my job is. You know about that." 18:12 <Crion> Aster turns off the fourth cold tap. "And you want to do your job in a hotel bathroom? Fine. I can accommodate that." Now the fourth hot tap. "Begin." 18:13 <Crion> The auditor nods. He has a pen and clipboard in hand. He didn't before. Clinically: "How long have you been fucking Samantha Blackfin?" 18:13 <Crion> Aster turns. "What?" 18:13 <Crion> Now condescendingly: "I'll repeat myself. How long have you been in a relationship with Doctor Samantha Blackfin?" 18:13 <Crion> Aster: "Ten months." 18:13 <Crion> The auditor scoffs. "Ten years, you simpering joke. You think we don't know? You think no one talks about it?" 18:13 <Crion> Aster: "The fuck do I care what you talk about." 18:18 <Crion> The auditor makes a mark on the clipboard. Then: "On a scale of one to ten, how badly has Samantha Blackfin compromised your objectivity as a private sector sales-forward agent of the company?" 18:18 <Crion> Aster takes a step towards him. "I do not work. For VASCU. Anymore." 18:18 <Crion> The auditor nods and makes another mark. "On a scale of one to ten, how often do you lie to yourself as you fall asleep? That you're not a fully owned and operated joke, franchised out from the comedy factory?" 18:18 <Crion> He's closed the distance now. Aster's hands find the auditor's lapel as, almost laughing, the man continues: "On a scale of one to ten, how useless is your h--" 18:18 <Crion> "Each day I nurture my hate." A great pressure explodes from behind Aster's ears, straight between the auditor's eyes. The man from VASCU is no longer smiling. 18:20 <Crion> "Wait--" 18:20 <Crion> "I look at it. I turn it around. I examine every part. I wish to know it better, so that each day, my hate becomes richer and more complex." 18:20 <Crion> The bridge of the auditor's nose collapses under the pure hideous psychic deathdrive power that Aster's brain is putting out. The bone at the front of his skull deforms, then spreads to the orbitals, bulging the auditor's eyes out. 18:20 <Crion> Aster leans in, grinning. There's a black hole sun burning through him. "My hate is like a plant on the windowsill. I check it all the time. I water it. I nourish it. Do you understand what I'm saying?" 18:20 <Crion> The auditor's face breaks and flows away; his grin and all its great teeth melt against the fury. 18:20 <Crion> Aster, blood pouring down his face: "I care for my hate, so it will grow." 18:20 <Crion> The lights in the beautiful white-tiled bathroom flicker, then explode. And the auditor whispers something through the ruin of his mouth as he dies. 18:20 <Crion> -- 18:22 <Crion> Three minutes later, Aaron Aster leaves the men's restroom, smiles at the bartender, and speaks quietly to her for a moment. He returns to his seat in the place of privilege at Adam Reid at The French just as their entrees arrive, the wine having had time to sufficiently breathe in his absence. He has washed his face. He has used the quick-fix bottle bleach he keeps on him at all times now 18:22 <Crion> to fix the minor bloodshed on his shirt. He looks-- 18:22 <Crion> "Are you alright?" Samantha Blackfin asks. "You seem flushed." 18:22 <Crion> He looks fine. Aaron Aster smiles wider and says, "All good here." 18:22 <Crion> Samantha Blackfin will remember the night for some of the best food and sex of their relationship. The cleaning staff of the hotel will remember it for the strange septic odor in the restaurant's pristine men's bathroom, and the blown out lights they have to replace. And Aaron Aster? He won't remember it at all.