Avery Jones (sanandum) wrote in awoken_rp, @ 2016-08-25 22:03:00 |
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Agatha's heels clicked impatiently as she walked back and forth in front of the large central exhibit in the open hall. She was a smartly dressed woman in a form-fitting grey suit, black patent heels only outshone by the shiny floor she was standing on. It was so clean that if you looked down, you could see your reflection in the unforgiving black marble, especially with the bright overhead lights. Their electricity supply was hardly tampered with during Wyrdstorms, but there were technicians buzzing around just out of sight working around the clock to make sure that nothing broke, post-its stuck to walls in back rooms to remind people of just what exactly it was they were doing and why it was so important. Agatha, herself, had slept once in the last two days and so was hopped up on cafffeine and agitation that meant she was even less patient than normal.
The group had assembled in front of her, the city's finest - the DMS agents - all looked begraggled and strung out, the contractors they'd hired to help get the job done didn't look much better and she could feel herself getting wound up just at the look of them. She hadn't wanted to outsource this, but she couldn't risk the artefact being stolen any more than she could risk it being something that was actually dangerous.
The Collection itself was fabulous and intricate. There was art hanging everywhere, normally it was lit with mood lighting that heightened the dramatic angles of some of the sculptures that - in unforgiving white ceiling lights - looked little more than twisted metal lumped together to form a hunchbacked monstrosity. Everything that was breakable was protected from curious fingers behind glass that had alarms that would trigger if the wrong amount of pressure was applied. It had gone off that morning twice already when the cleaner had - in his half-awake state - leaned on it. That had woken everyone from their naps, for sure.
The space was organised so that if you walked in through the door, there was a subtle suggestion that everyone should move in a counter-clockwise fashion and wind through the various art exhibits that were on display, resting on various pedastals and hung from the ceiling, embedded into the walls and so on. The piece de resistance, as it were, was in the very centre, the Oracle Field that held wild magic. She was standing in front of it, it pulsed behind her like a scribble that had been brought to life, writing in its containment, every now and then a dark shadow licking along the edge of the field as if testing for weaknesses.
Being this close to the wild magic, especially during the height of a Wyrdstorm, was enough to make the skin of anyone even remotely magically inclined to crawl. The sensation of their magic trying to react to the force in the field was unsettling enough, but what was perhaps more settling was the feeling of a thousand eyes staring straight into their soul from inside the scribble-magic that writhed in front of them.
She tapped her fingers on her upper arm from where they were folded across her chest and she wet her lower lip.
"Right," she started, since no one else seemed to be arriving. Her voice was sharp and harsh, her agitation clear. "Thank you all for coming. I know it's... a lot to ask right now considering the current state of things."
The lights overhead gave an ominous flicker.
"I've got it!" came a shout from somewhere behind them, followed by the sound of thudding footsteps and a door slamming shut.
Agatha rolled her eyes and carried on. "As you're aware, we have run into some... complications with our most recent exhibit." She jerked her thumb over her shoulder. "Some of the," idiots, was implied, but what she said was, "people that work here feel that the Oracle field isn't going to work, that the magic might be... sentient or something like that. They're wrapped up in a lot of superstitious mumbo-jumbo that under the circumstances could be quite bad for business."
She wet her lower lip and continued, "Further to this, someone's put a bounty out on this piece of art." She didn't quite look as convinced as the curator would have done that this was, indeed, art. She looked suspicious of it, if that was what could be applied to the expression on her face. "I'm not happy about it, but we need to know who put the bounty out and - this is of the utmost importance - we must prevent it from being taken. With the grand opening scheduled for next week and the appropriate security being in place for that event, I expect to be able to have put this to rest before the storm ends."
She arched an eyebrow. "Was that clear? Make sure this thing is contained and convince these idiots that there's nothing alive about it, find out who wants to steal it and stop them."
Avery rolled her eyes from where she was stood a little way back, arms also folded across her chest but more because she'd been awake for three days and felt like she might actually just keel over and die. She was unnerved, she hated being watched anyway, and she felt like that was what was happening from every possible crevice of this building, besides, who called this bullshit art?
"Agent Jones?" Agatha asked, knowing the DMS agents by name, at least, "Do you have a problem?"
"Me?" Avery asked, dragging her eyes away from the slightly swaying ceiling light to the woman. "Absolutely not. This'll be a great bonding experience." Her fingers itched underneath the gloves she had on; she needed to keep them on at all times during a Wyrdstorm as her powers - like most Awoken's - were unreliable during this time, likely to trigger at the slightest brush rather than waiting for her to activate them. "Guess we just need to divvy up who's doing what."
Agatha nodded her head, "I do have some ideas, but I'd like to understand what your specialities are. I would have already had the paperwork delivered to me, but whoever was responsible... well, let's just say this storm has been more problematic than the last."