Taxonomy | 4-15-2020 | Late Afternoon
"The new guy wants to tap my mystic potential." Eva placed a beer down next to her father's hand on the bartop on which he was leaning. He was at Murphys' pub, which was a common meeting place for the scruffier nerf herders in town once the sun got a little low. "I told him we're retired. He told me he needs my help. And I told him he should talk to you." She smirked - for more than one reason. Annoying her father with a topic like this during his 'tuning out the world' portion of his day was trollish, but she also knew that he loved putting uppity white people in their place. "I only said that I know there's mysticism in our family." Of course there was. But they didn't touch the stuff. Not anymore. Not since her father slaughtered an entire platoon and called down an airstrike on the beasts he'd conjured, losing a fourth of his body in the process. The teachings of Naze were behind Forge, and the Silverclouds that followed. They were brilliant and technologically genius. Magic muddled the mind. So she'd been told. A lot.