Logs:The Sage and the Stick
|The Sage and the Stick|
"Damian? You're being a jackass again."
|Dramatis Personae|| |
2 September, 2016
Blanche comes looking for information and to share. Finds the brick wall that is Damian hasn't changed. At least Frankie is reasonable.
Cyber Vault Securities
It's been a little while since Blanche last saw Damian, and longer still since their first official meeting at this same location. But she's back, with a bit of a tan and in jeans and a tee-shirt, with her sunglasses on and a flimsy looking scarf about her neck. She walks up to the doors and peers inside for a moment before she presses the buzzer.
Damian is likely upstairs when the buzzer goes off. It is late. There’s nothing said back into the speaker, he probably checks the camera. Glancing back at Frankie he gives a shrug. “Blanche. I was meaning to see if I could get that other name from her, but...” He starts down the stairs through the two reinforced doors, leaving Frankie to decide if she wants to follow. Moving still towards the door, Damian has a noticeable limp, but in the darkness in here, it might not be as apparent. He moves to where the buzzer button is on the bottom floor to buzz her in. He just watches, maybe not wanting to walk too far on that one foot.
Frankie is seated on the chair by the couch, slouched in it and looking bruised and battered herself. "Blanche? Huh," she says. She doesn't get up, because ow, but the ghost crow perched on the back of her chair does quork. "Yes, she can see you, go if you want," Frankie tells it. The crow takes off, swooping down the stairs after Damian.
Blanche waits patiently until she hears that buzz and opens the door, stepping inside, then heading for Damian. "Don't tell me. Ghosts and a burning building?" she asks him, before the sight of the crow has her smiling and wiggling her fingers in a hello to it. "I'm not interrupting though, am I?" she asks when she looks back to the man.
Damian can probably guess how she knows that, but at the same time, Deckard wasn’t there. And it was just the other day. A brow raises. “How exactly do you know that?” The tone is neutral, but the look he gives her is suspicious. A little shrug. “Interrupting what? And not if I don’t hate the answer to my first question.” Damian does not look like he’s in the best mood, and poor Blanche, it’s currently worse for outsiders. He glances at Norbert, but doesn’t say anything, turning his attention almost immediately back to Blanche.
Norbert, ghost crow, spreads his wings and quorks again. Then it's off again, flapping back up the stairs. Frankie, scowling, starts to get up out of her chair.
Blanche shrugs a little. "My cousin was limping. She didn't tell me any details, just that there were ghosts and a burning building. I wasn't actually expecting the answer to be yes," she admits with a faint smile, still whispering. "You really don't trust me, though, do you, Damian? I've done nothing to harm you or anyone like you, and have done what I can to help. You do realize that, right?"
“Who is your cousin?” Damian hasn’t put the Abernathy bits together, but he should know. There’s a moment of pause and then he mumbles ‘Freddy’. “Nevermind.” He doesn’t seem pleased by that, either. He’s quite familiar with the Abernathy’s, went to school with quite a few. He uses the wall to lean against, take pressure off his ankle. In the darkness it’s not well scenes, but his face is massively bruised, massively, like his injuries should be more severe than they appear. It’s difficult to suggest it was anything but what it was. His face sued as a battering ram. “I don’t trust anyone, nothing personal. You’ll get used to that Blanche, or you won’t. It’s nothing personal. Either way.” A shrug. He’s very sympathetic.
Frankie appears at the top of the stairs. "Blanche. It's true. He's going to check my pockets before I leave," she says in very dry tones. Blanche just stares at Damian until Frankie appears and she cocks her head, looking up at the woman. "Perhaps. But there's a different between a lack of trust and active distrust. I'm feeling more the latter. And who might you be that you know my name?" Sure she saw the woman, once, from a bit of a distance, while she was focused on the ghosts pointing guns on her, but she was distracted!
Damian doesn’t really respond to Frankie’s comment with more than his standard shrug. “That’s Frankie. You met her when she was being scary. She’s actually very nice.” Two can take shots. “She’s probably not wanting to come downstairs, so I guess we’re going up.” Now that, that he doesn’t seem happy about, at all. It’s his inner sanctum, that. Only one other person to date has seen it, and she’s already at the top of the stairs. There’s a frown, even as he leads back up. The limp is impossible to hide, so is the grimace he gives every time he takes a step because of it. Oh he’s ready for the Athenaeum alright! Whether Blanche follows or not, doesn’t seem to matter to him. He also doesn’t respond to the matter of trust.
Frankie scowls immediately when Damian deems her 'nice'. 'Very nice', at that. The ghost crow has positioned itself on her shoulder. "Like he said. It was at Hugh Levine's place, with Hassan and the overly trigger-happy ghosts." Her gaze shifts to Damian. "I can come down. I'm not crippled."
Blanche arches a brow at the reluctant invitation, but she doesn't argue, just shrugs a little and moves to follow him. "Can you guys not heal yourselves? I mean, you can do so much, it's kind of surprising to see any of you hurt. Or is it some sort of weird...ghost injury that can't be healed?" She nods to Frankie as she moves slowly up the stairs, staying a few steps behind Damian. Can't freak out the paranoid man! "And your face does seem familiar, but a name is never a bad thing." Her lips twitch. "Don't worry, I won't ask for your true name."
Damian looks up at Frankie. “What’s the difference? No one can keep their mouths shut anyway.” Or wants to. So he keeps climbing, waving Frankie back into the place as he gets to the top. The healing question seems pointedly ignored. Maybe he’s leaving it up to Frankie. He definitely doesn’t look happy it’s even being asked. He just reaches the top of the stairs, seems relieved to be over that trek. A glance at both women. “You want something to drink or something?” Though eyes pause on Blanche. “I’m guessing you came for a reason.” And back to himself. Straight to business.
Frankie glances between Blanche and Damian and shakes her head; she's not saying anything about healing. "I'm good," Frankie tells Damian, holding up a hand to ward off beverages. "I can leave if you need to tell him something privately."
A brow shoots up at Damian's grumpy comment. "That depends. You going to keep acting like you've got a stick up your ass? As previously stated, I've only done things to try and /help/. But you're giving cold shoulder a new definition. I'm not the enemy, and I keep my mouth shut." Blanche shakes her head to Frankie. "No, you're fine. Though I /would/ feel better if I knew your name," she says, a little more pointedly than her last request. Her head tilts and she seems to look between the two of them. "Are you both planning to help Deckard out?" She doesn't specify, but then, if they are, she shouldn't need to, right?
Damian shoots Frankie a little look at her comment about privacy. It’s almost a roll of his eyes. Since no one speaks up about wanting anything, Damian finds one of his walls to lean again, cross his arms over his shoulders, and most importantly, take pressure off his one leg. “I just figure, any answers you want, Deckard can give you. I don’t really talk about us. It’s kind of a thing.” He doesn’t specific what is, but it brings a pull at his lips. Downward again, but he stills it. He gives Frankie over to answering about her own name, but when she asks the question, his eyes study her with an almost resigned look. “I am. I suppose that means you are going also?”
Frankie shrugs back at Damian - it dislodges Norbert, sort of, or at least the crow quorks and goes to perch on the back of the chair once more. Frankie promptly scowls. "You're in no shape to go," she tells Damian. "Neither am I. We're dead weight."
Blanche zeroes in on Damian and she smiles. Tightly. "Well considering that I'm the one who inadvertently put the place in danger, it only seems fair that I do my best to help protect it, don't you think? I don't consider it a screw up, since I /did/ get useful information, but an...oversight. But I didn't ask about the healing for no reason, Damian. Is it something that can't be healed?" she asks, remaining standing, and not even leaning against anything. Her hands do settle at her waist, though! But then her lips purse in thought for a moment before she shakes her head. She doesn't say anything more, just shakes her head.
Frankie's eyes roll upward, though precisely whom she's rolling them at is unclear. "Yes, the wounds heal normally. Given time. And not straining oneself, like by defending a giant library against the Sage's forces." Blanche has got her hands on her hips; Frankie's crossing her arms. Blanche? Suddenly smiles sweet at Damian. That right there should be a warning that whatever is about to come out of her mouth isn't going to be good. "You're a self-important jackass," she whispers cheerfully. "I have other people to share important, and relevant, information with who aren't going to treat me like I'm an enemy traitor that they expect to stab them in the back before stealing the silver. You can hate that I can see ghosts. You can hate that I'm involved with the Sage and God Eater. You can hate that /others/ like you like me. But it isn't changing. In fact, I'll probably end up even more in your business. Because I can't /not/ help with threats like those two out there. You do realize that /everyone/ is at risk from the Sage, right? Not just you and your special brand of people?"
That said she looks to Frankie, but she doesn't seem to hold any ill will for the woman. "I'll see what I can do about helping to get you a little closer to fighting shape between now and when we go down with Deckard. There's no reason to be at risk more than is necessary." it’s like a tennis match, eyes returning to Frankie then. “You only live once, right? Plus I’ve always said, better to die on your feet, than live on your knees.” He’s just quoting stuff tonight. Though the way he gives Frankie a longer, somewhat knowing look, might mean there’s more to those words than it appears. Maybe she’ll get it, maybe she won’t. Damian’s own arms are crossed across his chest, and he seems unfazed, both by Blanche’s expression and her words as he returns to her. They might even be familiar ones. A nod. “I understand the threat, yes. I am not presently trying to stop you from assisting, either, am I?” A shake of his head, it’s rhetorical, he knows the answer. “You are your own person. Like I said, it’s nothing personal.” His lips open and then close again. He stops whatever he was going to say.
Frankie inclines her head to Blanche after a moment's consideration. "Alright. Thank you." She frowns at Damian, unfolding her arms and resting her elbows on her knees as she leans forward in her seat. "Look, I think we all agree that we want to fight the Sage and help Deckard, and that's going to have to be enough for the moment. You're in Damian's home," she tells Blanche specifically. "That's rare." And to Damian, "She's come to you when she doesn't have to. So can we just get down to business?"
"No, but you're doing your absolute best to make me feel unwelcome and unwanted," Blanche points out. She doesn't /sound/ mad, but she doesn't seem to think too much about Damian either. "Seriously, what is your problem? And don't tell me it's not personal. You should put that on a shirt." Yeah, it's still cheerful. Weirdo. But those Abernathys. They're /all/ weird. She nods to Frankie. "You're absolutely right. Though primarily I was coming to see if anyone had learned anything new. About either of the threats. Though I'm more worried about the Sage, to be honest. I've been in his presence. I haven't been in the presence of the God Eater. Though did you know he has a soft spot for someone?"
Damian seems to almost not notice when Frankie frowns at him, or likewise. Like he’s built up an immunity. He only gives her nod. “Yes, business would be good.” Turning back to Blanche, he shrugs, unapologetic about it. “I asked you if you wanted something to drink.” He did do that. But obviously that’s not what she meant, and Damian’s pretty good at pretending. “My problem is so many things. Possibly a terrible childhood. But mostly it’s that everyone seems to know more about me than I do about them, Blanche, and I didn’t tell them any of that. That makes me edgy. That makes me hard on the trust. And it makes me really suspicious. So yes, I don’t trust you.” He takes a little breath, to pause. “I believe in secrets, I’m pretty sure you do too.” So he’s still not buying her story, it seems. “So it should be fair if you have them, I’m allowed to, as well. Unfortunately, no one is giving me that choice, and it irks me.” He waves it away with some frustration. “I suppose though, if I ask Freddy to tell me everything you have told her, and everything that you are about, you won’t mind, of course if she tells me?” There’s that brow lift again. He’s not really expecting an answer, he’s making a point. “Anyway. We’re working on the Sage, but I have nothing terribly newsworthy at the moment. My hands have been full with the other problem.” His face, too. He doesn’t even seem surprised about what Blanche says, just her knowing it. “Ting. How do you know that?”
"Yeah, Ting. Unless there's someone else willing to hug him better. I'm not ruling it out," Frankie says, glancing over at Damian and then back to Blanche.
Blanche's head cocks. "I don't know jack about you. I know this is your place and you're a sin-eater and you're serious to the point of being a jerk, but other than that?" She shrugs. "And yes, I believe in secrets, but I also believe in civility unless reason is given to drop it. And I don't think I've asked you to share any secrets about yourself, Damian," she points out. "Just the situation. And if you have secrets about /that/? Then everyone should be mistrusting /you/. So your snide little comment about asking Freddy about me is bullshit and you know it. When have I asked you, /ever/, to tell me all about yourself? Because you've made it so I only care what you can contribute to stopping the Sage. And yeah, I know about Ting. Because I'm /nice/ to people unless they give me a reason to be a bitch." She nods a little to Frankie. "I don't know of anyone else. And it worries me that she seems to think he can be saved. I'm all for killing him and putting a stop to it altogether."
Frankie's pocket beeps, then beeps again. "Well, good luck trying to stop her, and good luck if you try to help her, too. We're living proof of what that looks like. Shit, I gotta take this --- look, stick to business, you two. She thumbs her phone's screen, raising it to her ear and starting toward the stairs down. "Ruby? Yeah. No. Yeah. Yeah, I can come by. Just gimme ten minutes... no, I don't want soup. I'm not congested, okay?" It's just her face said hello to a wall at some point.
“Which is more than I know about you.” That seems to be all he adds. Just that. He doesn’t even bother to comment on the rest, again. There’s a little sound released in his throat. A chuckle? No. Something else. He shares a look with Frankie and then returns. “Oh I have some secrets, for instance, what you told me. And I don’t care if that makes me untrustworthy. There are some secrets I don’t believe some people should know. That are safe to spread around, even about this situation. I don’t believe we’re invincible and I don’t like playing like we are.” A nod then though, he seems pleased with something she said, or, at least, in agreement. “That’s all you should care about. What I can contribute. But you still didn’t say WHO told you about Ting? And that seems important.” Maybe because a select few know that tidbit. A shake of his head, the talk of Ting suggest someone Damian might find more disagreeable than Blanche in the moment. “She believes everyone can be saved. She’s going to die.” It’s not a threat, it’s something he clearly just thinks is an inevitability. He finds it distasteful. Maybe he doesn’t hold her in such low disregard as it previously seemed. A glance at Frankie. A curious one, but then he turns back to Blanche. “Ting does what she wants. Does what she wants under the pretense that she is saving everyone.” A nod to Frankie, nothing more as she departs.
Blanche watches Frankie slip out before she looks to Damian. "See, this is the problem with you, Damian. You want me to tell you absolutely everything while doing your absolute best to tell me nothing. And I've pried, sure, about the Sage, the God Eater, but I want you to admit that I've never pried about /you/. I've never even asked others about you, other than to ask if you always acted like you had a stick up your ass. You admit that, and I'll tell you who told me about Ting."
Sorry Blanche. Well, he’s not really. “You just asked how we heal, or don’t heal as it were. Subtle or not, call it what you will. I’m observant.” He shifts his stance a little, one leg getting tired of holding all the weight. It’s light thing, making sure not to put much pressure on the one foot, then he’s settled again. “On the other hand, I’ve never asked anything about you. About what you can do. You’re just a medium.” Yeah, sure. He’s not buying it, but he’s not questioning it at the moment, either. “You also don’t have to pry. You’ve got several who would be willing to tell you everything about us. Not really a great comparison.” A shake of his head. “No one will know about the stick up my ass. No one knows me. I don’t have friends, Blanche. I don’t keep that kind of company.” Well, that’s probably a lie. Not much of one, though. “So I can’t really admit that. Sorry.” He doesn’t sound it. “I can try to tell you what I know about the Sage and the God-Eater. I’ve told others, I just figured it would have filtered to your ears already. I only know so much, a lot less about the Sage. Probably less than you do, all things considered.”
"You realize that no one tells me everything, right?" Blanche asks dryly. "And I asked if those /particular/ injuries could be healed or if there was some sort of ghost magic involved that would keep them from being healed anyway but naturally. So stop twisting my words to suit your own paranoid delusions. And no, I doubt you know less about the Sage than I do. Everything I know about the Sage I've told you, other than that one true name. So you actually know something that I've told no one else. So can the bullshit, Damian, or I'm just going to avoid contact with you. Because these little visits aren't exactly cheery or fun, and you always push me to /give/ information while doing your best to not tell me anything. I could ask you if it's day or night and you'd hedge."
“I don’t realize anything. I don’t know what anyone shares, just what everyone seems willing to share.” Damian shrugs his shoulders against the wall again. He seems about to reply to something else, but maybe he thinks better of it, for once. A shake of his head like it’s not worth it. “Believe it or not, everything you’ve told me, is about all I know.” He doesn’t make any argument for her to avoid him though. Maybe he doesn’t want one. At least he doesn’t specifically tell her to. It’s the little things. He considers her for a long moment in silence and then walks over to take a seat on his couch. “Ask what you want. I’ll tell you what I can. You want to know something? Know this. The Sage has ruled the Underworld before. It isn’t the end if he wins. If that’s some relief.” Doesn't sound like it is for him.
"I think you're letting paranoia cloud your judgment," Blanche whispers and she sounds like she's being sincere. "And I know Sage has been a Deathlord for a while. And maybe he ruled before, but that doesn't mean he'll be satisfied with it this time. I'll be happy when he's stopped. Preferably for good. And it was /Ting/ who told me. You want to worry about someone who's too open? Look at her, not me. I'm paranoid, but not to the point where I go crazy with it."
“There’s no maybe about it, Blanche. Oher Principalities have become Ascendant. And then they have been brought down. The speculation is that the atom bomb was…his doing.” Damian shrugs, leaning back in the couch. He probably just needed to be off his foot. “They are stopped because when they rule, they are opposed by others, but yes, preventing him is best. Everything a Deathlord touches becomes corrupted. I don’t know that any of them can be stopped forever. This battle has raged for an eternity.” He doesn’t really sound like what he’s saying is speculation though, it’s like he knows it. “Ting is a concern. A big concern. I make no pretenses about that. But worry about her?” No. He gives a little shake of his head. “Sometimes you must simply let some walk to their fate.” A sigh then, he rubs at his eyes. “Do you know what the Forge of Orcus is, I wonder?” He doesn’t comment on his paranoia, or anyone’s. He’s probably quite fine with his own.
"No, can't say I do. Are you going to tell me what it is, though, or just leave me to wonder?" Blanche asks, moving closer and perching on the arm of the couch opposite him. Standing gets tiring. "And there are lots of concerns. You're a concern to me, to be honest. I really do think that you can be paranoid to a fault. Cautious is good. Paranoia? That's what leads to people who kill their families believing they're plotting against them. When they're not."
“It is...a forge.” Pretty obvious, but he doesn’t stop there. “The most powerful in the Underworld. It allows things to exist that cannot normally, by placing a soul in a weapon. A soul forge, quite literally.” It’s as bad as it sounds based on Damian’s expression. “Someone’s soul.” Just in case it wasn’t clear. “These weapons do not follow the Laws of Ingress. You may siege a place in the lower depths with weapons of great power, like a gun. A gun that would otherwise be a bow and arrow, or worse.” He ignores her point about worrying about him, it doesn’t seem to concern him at all. Instead, he just sits, waiting to make sure she understands. He has no idea how much she knows about the Underworld and its laws. Heck, it’s weird if Damian is teaching anyone, anything about the Underworld.
"I don't know what the Law of Ingress is, but that sounds...diabolical," Blanche whispers, brow furrowing. "I don't even like it when I find people who trap ghosts in jars. But to trap a soul in a weapon? Just for the power? That's...wrong." And she doesn't say that about much! "Is the Sage wanting to control this forge or something?" she asks curiously.
“The further you go into the depths...” Damian pauses to consider that. “Technology reverts. It reverts to its original state. A gun becomes an older gun, then a bow and arrow, then perhaps a rock. I don’t know, but you understand the concept.” She would learn about this anyway. If she ever brought technology. So no great reveal. “I am surprised Deckard…what do you…nevermind.” Yes, he doesn’t want to know. “The Forge of Orcus stops this. So one could attack the Athenaeum, for instance, with the most powerful weapons from the forge.” He nods, he agrees it, is wrong. A little shake of his head. “No, he wants to be, but his minions have somehow stolen some of the fire from the forge. It’s not as powerful, but...”
"See, again you assume that people are telling me everything," Blanche points out with a wry smile. "I know quite a bit about the Underworld, and did even before I met my first sin-eater, so I understand what you mean about technology. And I understand why this is a bad thing. Which minions? Are you meaning the West End Watchers? Never run into them personally, but I've seen their work." And her voice darkens, so it wasn't /good/ works. “Who controls it now? I’m not particularly sure. The answer is the Sage, at the end of it, and that is what matters.” Damian shrugs. “So there, now I have shared information with you, most of what I know. It is a good thing to know. We may very well face some of these weapons today.” Damian is grim and serious, but it’s not a big change from what he usually is. A hand reaches up to rub at his face, both hurting and itchy. Healing is annoying. “It was, from what I understand, the West End Watchers who originally stole it, but how, or what they have done with it, I don’t know.”
"How is it that...is the Sage making them more powerful? No one's ever talked about that, just said they were working for him. Keeping gates open for him." And Blanche's voice drops to an angry mutter when she says, "Bastards." She shakes her head a little. "I'll keep that in mind though, about the weapons. And is there anything I can do to help?" she asks, motioning to her face, mirroring where he just rubbed.
“There is speculation that the Sage seeks a mortal vessel. Beyond that, I can’t say. Though, I have it on good authority that something IS happening up here that is giving the Sage power, that is tipping the scales for him down below. I am trying to figure that out as we speak. It’s important. Stopping it will possibly stop him.” Unlike her anger, Damian is oddly calm, even when he frowns or the like, it lacks conviction. It’s almost like he’s unfeeling or doing a damn good job of hiding it. At first he doesn’t understand her question, then his hand lowers from his face as if he was caught and is guilty. Nothing to see here. “I am fine.”
Blanche's brow furrows a little when he talks about mortal vessels. "I bet it's the West End Watchers. I wonder if what they've been doing, capturing ghosts by gates, is giving him power. Like the ghosts are acting like batteries for him" she muses, rubbing a hand over her thigh. "And you're not fine, but I'll let that pass," she says with a faint smile.
“It could be. I speculate that the man, their leader James, that Kilo killed, was to be his vessel. Perhaps why he is not so happy with Kilo.” Damian shrugs again, speculation is only so useful. “I am, however, fairly certain it is not connected to the God-Eater. A coincidence. A very good one, but coincidence all the same.”
Blanche is quiet for a moment, before she slowly shakes her head. "I didn't know that Kilo killed their leader. That would make him upset with her, yes. But no, I think you're right about it being a coincidence. I have a feeling that the God-Eater and Sage wouldn't really work together." She sighs softly and runs a hand over her face. "No luck in figuring out how to stop the Sage or the God-Killer though? Even an inkling?" “None.” That little tidbit seems to frustrate Damian enough to let it show briefly. “Your friend Ting might know more about the latter. Hopefully it’s not baking a cake.” Whatever that means. He gives a little nod to the rest of what she says though. A pause and he considers it further. “How to stop the Sage though? I have no idea. The first step is to figure out what is happening up here that is giving him power down there. The second, or not, I’m not sure. This is one particular little game, I’m rather new to. I have been concentrating on the God-Eater, also. I have an idea for his Horseman, but him? No.” His lips thin a little. “I believe you had something to tell me?”
Damian mutters something. Was it ‘fucking faeries’? Hard to say, or why he would say that. He really doesn’t swear. “Yes, she is that. For better or worse.” Damian, clearly, thinks worse. A little shake of his head. “The West End watchers? Never personally. They were sent packing a while back, I don’t think they linger in too many numbers in Fallcoast now, but I don’t know. If he has other minions, as you put it, I don’t know about them.” Maybe Damian hadn’t really considered the other name, but the mention of it makes that brow raise. “Well, Frankie doesn’t seem to think these names mean much anyway. For instance, the Sage’s. It’s all over the internet. It’s in reference to an Ancient Crocodile god…which uh, makes sense, from what you’ve said. Not particularly sure why they are so dangerous.”
"Blanche shakes her head. "No, not the West End Watchers, but other minions. Do you know what the symbol of the Sage looks like?" Then she shakes her head at his bit about names. "Oh no, true names have power, I promise you that. And sure, perhaps everyone has heard of the Egyptian god, but how many associate that name with the Sage?" she asks, brow arching. "True names can be used against people. I can't give you details on how because I don't know them, but I know it's possible."
"Well I ran into one yesterday that wasn't human. Had the Sage's symbol on him. And Deckard thinks the Sage can see through his minions," Blanche explains with a shrug, hand lifting to toy with the end of her scarf. "And I promise you, names do have power. Just because people may know your full name, or even your true name, doesn't mean /they/ have the power to make use of it. Like I have a cousin who /knows/ that ghosts exist, but he can't do anything with them, can't even see them. Because he doesn't have the power to do anything regarding ghosts. As for the Magician's name..." She shrugs. "There's no reason for you to know." She smiles wryly. "You were the one complaining that people don't keep enough secrets," she points out.
“What’s this symbol look like exactly and how do you know it is the Sage’s symbol?” Damian’s brow raises at that. “And if not human...what?” There’s a little shrug at the explanation of true names and their power. It doesn’t seem as if Damian quite believes it. Then there’s her last sentence. Damian stares at her for a very long time, licking his lips one. There’s a nod, a very crisp one. He stands. “You’re right. I have been too loose lipped. You know your way out. Goodnight.” With that, Damian starts walking to his computer room. Limping, really.
Blanche hesitates a starts to speak before he dismisses her and she arches a brow. But she? She doesn't move, not right away anyway. "Damian? You're being a jackass again. If you want to know what the Sage's symbol is so you know what to look for, then get your ass back over here and yank that stick out of your ass before someone does it for you and beats you with it," she whispers lightly. It doesn't sound like a threat, going by her tone, anyway. "Does no one ever tease you?" she asks, rolling her eyes behind her sunglasses. "If you're a good boy, I'll even tell you just what I killed yesterday." Not who, but /what/. Tempt, tempt, tempt.
“I’m sure I will see it today.” Damian does sound confident of that. “In droves.” Not quite the temptation she might have been hoping for, but he does pause mid step. Turning back to her a little. There’s a little bit of a blink. Tease him? Even if they did, he doesn’t seem like he would care. Probably one of those things. “And whatever you killed, I’m sure I might see one of those today, also.” A shrug at that.
"Your stick is just asking to be used to beat you, Damian," Blanche whispers dryly. "But fine. Learn from someone else. Or don't learn it at all. I'm not going to beg someone to let me tell them thing," she whispers, getting up and stretching a little before she starts for the stairs.
“And I'm not going to beg someone to tell me something, either. I will find it myself, as seems to be the way. You asked for me to share, I did, against my better judgement. Then you talk about secrets in all this. I will let you keep them.” Damian just shakes his head, but this time he doesn’t pause, taking himself into his computer room. The observant might even notice whatever is bothering him on that leg is bleeding through his pants. Before he disappears anyway.
"And I wasn't ask you to beg, Damian. I teased you then you dismissed me like I was a servant." Blanche pauses at the top of the stairs and looks back to him. "I am not lesser to anyone, Damian. And I won't tolerate being treated like I am. So go bleed and enjoy that stick. It must feel nice," she whispers before she heads down the stairs to leave.
It’s unseen really, unless she can see through walls, of course. Damian is about to reply with something, but shakes his head, cutting himself off. He just lets her go.