She hated these rudimentary wizard communications devices. The mirror was lying flat on the dressing table (a generous name for the set of haphazard wooden boards which made up the vanity) emitting a gentle humming sound and glowing pleasantly. She hated them but found them an invaluable tool, essential to dealing with races that had no other forms of communication aside from verbal. She stretched out a finger, catching the mirror along its stalk of a handle and sliding it toward herself. The day of the attack was fast approaching and she had plans for Calixtus to accompany. There was the strategic reasoning, the thought that if he were to participate actively the others might come around to accepting him unprompted, and then there was the second reason. The one had yet to fully acknowledge.

He was something new, and unique to her experience. Something not yet fully explored, should he show promise in this endeavor he could be molded. She had never shaped someone before, not really. First they would have to do something about his inability to defend himself in a conventional way, for that she had enlisted Czolgosz and Tautha. They had announced that they were ready and Cal was the only component they now required. Lifting the mirror she took a moment to examine herself in it, one hand leaving its hold to flick an earring.

She watched it sway back and forth while she thought of the scientist and made the necessary connection. There was a whirring sound and then a sort of chime and she found herself looking at….nothing. Wherever he was keeping the mirror it was dark. “Calixtus!?” She called, feeling vaguely silly as she spoke to the empty room and the empty mirror. “Ferox?”

Cal jumped up, conditioned the sound of his mirror. It set nerves jangling immediately, even before he realized precisely what it was. Then his nerves turned dread-flavored, mint-candy-cane-scented, and he jumped. He realized he was naked, which meant--since he never bothered to take off his clothes before he went to sleep at home--he looked sideways and saw Jasper, groaning in protest, one hand shading his eyes from nonexistent light. It was always light people tried to block out immediately, not sound. Cal scrambled out of bed and found his pants, hopping on one foot, crashed into the nightstand, fell down, and stood up, all with the great rapidity with which events unfurled that weren't supposed to be happening at all. His mirror still hummed in his bag, and Jasper had started to swim further up toward wakefulness.

Oh, sh-t. Not now. Now today, of all days...

"Sorry, sorry," he hissed, grabbing his bag and running out of the room, into the unornamented and unostentatious and therefore--anonymous--stairwell, where he pulled it out, blinking fuzzily to focus on the image. He had to hold the mirror several inches from his face, or Shallah's gaze overwhelmed him with a kind of sublime terror.

"Sorry, sorry," he said, again, a weird echo of his earlier words. They resounded strangely against the blank background of wood in which he sat. "My apologies, Ms. Kosa." He was very glad she couldn't smell him, he knew he smelled sweaty and of sex, which was a thing he had begun, with deep shame, to recognize. "Did you need something? Is there somewhere I should meet you? I'm not in my home at the moment." He tried to slow his breathing.

There was shuffling and then the blank space in the mirrors field of vision shifted. Shallah tilted her wrist trying to right the image. Muffled noises and the sound of someone apologizing. He was with someone then, interesting. A few more moments and a wild flurry of blurry images from the mirror brought her fact to face with a disheveled looking Cal. Sorry, sorry. She blinked at him in response his face was illuminated by the faint glow from the mirror and she could clearly see him blinking sleep from his eyes.

My apologies, Ms. Kosa. His eyes darted about and she took a moment to contemplate where he might be exactly. She was aware that he had a labrotaroy at a muggle university but she suspected that it was not traditional for scientists to perform shirtless.

Did you need something? Is there somewhere I should meet you? I'm not at home at the moment..

“Indeed.” She said in answer. “Combat training. Are you opposed? I have had some weapons prepared but Tautha can only do so much without having you present to test his work. I propose you meet me in the alley behind your home. Would 40 minutes be a sufficient amount of time for you to disengage yourself and prepare?” She didn't wait for an answer. “I will meet you there,” She was about to lower the mirror when she remembered the customary greeting for this time of day. “And good morning.”

Forty minutes, forty minutes--Cal tried a quick calculation. It would take that long for him to get home if he went by bus. Too long. If he took the Tube he might get lost; contrary to what he'd told Jasper, he hated the Tube and often found himself turned around. Pathetic, considering how easy to navigate it was; but there it was. Jasper had agreed to Apparate him, which would take no time at all, but would require some explanation. Easy enough. He had an appointment with a client.

Once he was sure the mirror had fallen dark and silent, he got up, tucked it back into his case, and went back into the bedroom. With many apologies to Jasper, interstrewn with kisses, he explained, whispering in his ear in the gray light (it was seven-thirty) that he had to go home immediately for a meeting with a client. Would Jasper Apparate him?

Jasper would. He did, once Cal had forced himself through the cold and delirious experience of a quick shower, and put on as much black clothing as he could, because black made him feel important, and as though he fit in with the organization. He didn't include his boots; they made Jasper suspicious and, anyway, he'd left them home.

They Apparated into Cal's flat at eight-oh-three and said goodbye hastily and then Cal clattered down the stairs, tripped on the last two, scraped the skin off one palm upon landing and dustied one of his knees, and then he was outside in the alley, letting the wind puff his cheeks with red and cold. He stuck his hands into his pockets and waited for Shallah Kosa.

The clock on the wall read ten past eight she had given him a generous 40 minutes. Once she had secured the clasp on her robe she disapparated, reappearing a moment later in the alley way. Cal was already there his back to her, swathed in dark clothing and fidgeting with something on his knee. He turned a moment later eyes settling on her and then quickly glancing away. “Good morning.” She said again approaching and taking a hold of his shoulders disapparating without further preamble.

They disapparated on the lawn and rather than immediately letting go she leaned forward and inhaled. Soap, that heady scent that seemed to be ever present on Cal which she assumed to be residue from one experiment or another, and something else. Someone else. She smiled, inhaling once more before stepping out of his personal space. “I hope I was not intruding upon anything?” She began walking down the small slope of the hill, indicating cal should follow with a lazy motion from her left hand. They reached the bottom where Tautha was seated on one of the ranges numerous chest high walls. On the table in front of him were various implements, some Shallah was familiar with others had the look of something purely of the Irishman’s personal design.

“You remember Tautha?” She adjusted her body so she could look at Cal and the other man at the same time. “I have decided that you need combat training, I would like you to accompany on field missions.”

Tautha seemed to take this as some sort of sign and hoped nimbly from the table approaching Cal and looking him over. “Right then. Your smaller than a lot of the others, can’t put as much body armor on your. You’ll fall over. How much weight do you think you can carry without being slowed down?” He appraised the man carefully; the dark clothes made him look even smaller. “Any skills? Your small, are you quick? Agile? Anything? Ever fired a gun?” Cal was just looking at him. “Here,” He pressed a small low caliber shot gun into the mans hand, waited for him to grip it before letting go. “Lift that and try to get that target.” He indicated a scarecrow about 4 yards away. “And mind you don’t lock your arm, broke my shoulder the first time I fired one of these.”

She came up, as usual, sideways and silently. But didn't need to. Cal was not observant, he knew that, and even he spotted some sort of aura before she appeared. A Veela thing? Maybe. Very little of what he'd read had appeared impartial, as researchers seemed to have fallen prey to either the charm or the belief that the charm did nothing to them.

"Good morning," he said in return, shoulders crawling up toward his ears. She grabbed them, and at first he thought the gesture was just a kind of pounce, that she'd decided to do away with him--but then she Disapparated them, without a word. They appeared on the green sward beside Baldur's mansion. She let go quickly and Cal almost stepped back, then stopped himself, stood still, trembled. She dipped her head forward and inhaled, then, at long length, stepped back.

“I hope I was not intruding upon anything?”

"Ah--" Cal wasn't sure if she was a Legilimens (her seeming ignorance of humanity would appear to preclude it) but you never knew. "--no, not really." He followed her down the hillside, to one of a few scattered walls. He recognized the solid, brown-haired man she'd called--something with a T? Tatha? Tuatha... Tautha? He sat on about five feet up. Cal wondered how he'd gotten there, if he could actually vault that high or if he'd used magic, and felt jealous.

And felt more jealous still when he saw the table of scattered weaponry. Some were simple--grenades, various kinds of ballistic weaponry, what looked like a kind of crossbow, a semiautomatic, and then there was a weird tubelike object with organic-looking spikes, which he couldn't name at all; and something colored lime-green, which, likewise. He realized immediately that he shouldn't touch these things without asking. Or maybe he was here to choose a method by which he'd like to be killed? It seemed too casual for that, but you never knew. He clenched his back teeth to keep them from chattering.

“You remember Tautha?” Oh, right. “I have decided that you need combat training, I would like you to accompany on field missions.”

What? Tautha looked similarly skeptical. Cal couldn't blame him at all, though he did feel the weird twinge of resentment at it anyway. He looked down at himself. One foot was half in a hole. He was knock-kneed and walked with his feet turned out. He needed reading glasses (which he refused to purchase) and while he owned a gun he'd only shot it about five times, on a range, before he'd succumbed to embarrassment and left.

The man jumped down from the wall, as though in illustration of all the things Cal couldn't do, and Cal skittered back.

“Right then. Your smaller than a lot of the others, can’t put as much body armor on your."

Body armor? BODY armor? What was this, exactly? At the same time he felt a thrill. If he pretended it was an action film the thrill magnified itself into a comfortable, heady warmth.

"You’ll fall over. How much weight do you think you can carry without being slowed down?” Tautha's gazed was unsparing. “Any skills? Your small, are you quick? Agile? Anything? Ever fired a gun?” Cal stared, overwhelmed. “Here,” Tautha said, handing over what seemed to be a shotgun. “Lift that and try to get that target.” He indicated a scarecrow about 4 yards away. “And mind you don’t lock your arm, broke my shoulder the first time I fired one of these.”

Kept staring, tried to balance the shotgun on his shoulder, did a double take. "Wait. Wait. Hang on. I'm sorry. I have fired a gun, but not this kind, have you done something to it? I'm neither quick or agile nor anything, I don't really--" He looked at Shallah. Felt, suddenly, as though he had failed some test, and tried to make up for lost ground by speaking with the assurance, exactitude, and courage he didn't feel. "I'm sorry--I can try. I would very much like to try. But these are the truths."

Wait. Wait. Hang on. I'm sorry. I have fired a gun, but not this kind, have you done something to it? I'm neither quick or agile nor anything, I don't really— The man flailed, in body and in deed as he tried to adjust the weight of the weapon in a way that only caused it to balance precariously. Tautha grimaced and resisted the urge to move forward and place the gun in its proper position, before the squib could drop it and shot himself in the eye.

Shallah caught the almost pleading Cal leveled at her and ignored it. He was new, he was learning. It was something akin to watching a new born, all knock knees and fumbling motions. He would adjust. I'm sorry--I can try. I would very much like to try. But these are the truths.. She looked over at the Irish man who sighed in a resigned sort of way and turned from them to begin rummaging on the table. It was possible that he was prepping another weapon for the lesson, or he just didn’t want to see what might become of one of his creations at the hands of the inept.

Shallah carefully came forward, reached on hand out and tipped the barrel of the gun up and away from both of them. “You can learn anything you lack. Is that not what humans do.” Hands on his shoulders she turned Cal until they were facing the targets and then with one hand on his forearm and the other along his shoulder she adjusted his arm into the proper position. “The gun is augmented with a basic telepathic link, it’s the greatest aiming mechanism ever conceived. Merely consider the target, hold an image of it in your mind and if you aim in the general direction, the bullet will seek out the target with precision and speed.” She removed her hands allowing him to stand on his own.

“It is a valuable skill to have, the ability to defend yourself.” There was an overturned bucket to Cal’s right and Shallah sank down onto it. “I ask that you learn these skills because I have hopes that you will accompany us into the field itself. It is of course your choice. Tautha,” She nodded toward the Irish man who appeared to be checking the pins on the grenades on the tabletop. “No longer goes with us, it is his choice as it is yours.” She looked out over the field. “I would not think less of you.” She paused before adding truthfully, “Though others might.”

“Czolgosz is growing old, which makes him slow, I have hopes that you might fill his place in the area of explosive expertise. The making and laying out of such things. Would that please you?”
There was a need to tread carefully with the man, a characteristic that years ago would have been too much for her to tolerate. But he was unique and different from others she had encountered and the time she took now to discover how best to communicate with him would be well worth it in the end.

The grizzled gunman bent below the table and rifled around. Cal couldn't wonder for long what he was up to; Shallah moved toward him, half-sideways. Put one hand out and tilted the barrel of the gun to the side. When she let go, Cal was surprised to find how much heavier it had gotten. She continued, so close Cal felt the shivering invisible feathers around her body ripple across his skin. He twiched. Not only with fear. With. What?

“You can learn anything you lack. Is that not what humans do.”

"--Right." Cal's laugh caught and broke on his hard palate. Her hands came up to his shoulders. Her fingers, as usual, felt cold but somehow impressive, as though heat radiated from them but not in them. Quite strong, he thought. Her breath hit the back of his neck. Something twitched and tickled in his brain; he shook a little, the butt of the gun shifting over his shoulder.

"The gun is augmented with a basic telepathic link, it’s the greatest aiming mechanism ever conceived. Merely consider the target, hold an image of it in your mind and if you aim in the general direction, the bullet will seek out the target with precision and speed.”

Shallah let go and Cal felt suddenly, inexplicably refreshed. And disappointed. He realized he--a telepathic link? He squinted, and the rifle moved up--over--felt lighter--Cal's finger twitched on the trigger. He pulled it, hard.

The noise was somewhere between a crack and a boom. He staggered back, shoulder a sudden mass of pain, face contorted in surprise. He came back up, still unsteady. Bandy-legged. His ears rang. Shallah said something but he couldn't hear it. Step sideways. Sideways. Stop. Stare.

"--his choice as it is yours.” She turned sideways, in profile. Something about the narrowing of her eyes and the set of her chin reminded him, troublingly, of Jasper. “I would not think less of you.” His gut jumped. “Though others might.”

She went on, and Cal slowly relaxed, put his gun down, point in the ground, and rubbed his sore shoulder, mouth working, grimacing. “Czolgosz is growing old, which makes him slow, I have hopes that you might fill his place in the area of explosive expertise. The making and laying out of such things. Would that please you?”

"What? Oh. Yes!" Cal shook his head, shook off cobwebs and loose strands of thought and fear. He still sensed something. Something cold, or chilly, and something warm, which smelled of perfume. He'd hit the target shape near its center. He supposed that was a good thing, but the point was moot, as ever his successes were. Even his desires hardly... desires? No, nothing of the sort. Nothing. "Yes, I've been--I've been working on the metals, I can--yes. And acetone peroxide treated magically and--so on." He was inexplicably still breathless, speaking through a half-open mouth. The air felt cold and sharp and very pleasant, and he knew if he were on film he'd look bright-eyed and, quite possibly, a little heroic. "If you--I mean, if you need anything of that kind. Should I--" With some pain, he tried to heft the gun again, biting his lip. "Try--" Ouch. "Again?"

What? Oh. Yes! He was so eager to please…well to please or to avoid the wrath that his skittish heartbeat led her to think he dreaded at every encounter between them. She knew what she was and Ferox seemed to have a hyper awareness of it. Something that let him see through the frail coating that most veela wore and layered with charm hoping people wouldn’t see what was beneath it. It was easier that way, the people she interacted with stayed calm reassured by a being that they knew was not like them but looked the part enough that they forgot.

Her eyes went from Cal to the target, noting the placement of the shot. It would be a kill under favorable circumstances. That meant he could engage with the sight, a good thing to know. Rifles were unruly though, not built to be supported by his shoulders or held with his thin wrists. They would have to find something else, maybe a pistol, she was fond of harpoons but they had gone very much out of favor in recent times. It was regrettable.

Yes, I've been--I've been working on the metals, I can--yes. And acetone peroxide treated magically and--so on. Her eyes and head swung back in his direction raising an eyebrow. So he had worked with such things before. She hazarded a glance at Tuatha who, although giving the impression of loading a grenade belt the man was obviously paying rapt attention to everything Cal was saying.

If you--I mean, if you need anything of that kind. Should I— The pause was filled with the physical action of Cal hefting the gun back onto his no doubt sore shoulder. Try. A wince. Again..

“Yes, but not with this.” Gripping the barrel she extracted it from his hands, handing it off to Tuatha who had moved in to take it. He traded her, laying the grenade belt in her palm before checking over the weapon for any damage. Stepping up to Cal she looped the belt over his head and across one shoulder, letting the rest of it fall against his chest. “So long as you think you are up to the task of a demo man, it would be prudent for you to become experienced with these.” She plucked one of the spheres from high on his chest and held it delicately at eye level.

She reached a hand up and slowly pulled the pin, holding it for a moment too long before turning and hurling it. It exploded in the air sending fire and sparks raining down on the space barely 10 yards in front of them. “Elementary to use.” She ran her hands together, dusting off invisible particles and breathed the smell of gunpowder from the air. “They all do something a little different. If you would like to try them out?”