Hell hath no fury like a women scorned.
A quote that was quite apt given Albert's current predicament. Trying to let out a tight smile, he could only look on at the blank faced women across from him. The pair sat in a rather small office room located in a tall skyrise with walls so thin it did nothing to hide the dead customer service representatives going through the motions. They'd begin their spiel for a few seconds with that fake enthusiasm only the dying can eek out before being cut off suddenly, a sigh before they began again.
Maybe picking this location was purposeful, he had made these people wait an awfully longtime to set up this meeting. So in that case, the constantly ringing phones didn't grate on his nerves too much.
"I must apologize for not reaching out sooner," An apology would go a long way to smooth over any hurt pride or feelings. Besides, he wasn't in a position to have an overly inflated ego. Both parties knew very well that it was only his semi-rare Spark that had even brought this situation up, but it would be foolish of him to believe he was anything unique in this aspect. There had to be other Psychometrist out there more experienced and more powerful than he was, it was likely the only reason why he'd even gotten this opportunity was due to the fact that he was new. And just like the mundane world, newbies were always paid the least and got the worse jobs out there. "But I did bring you this...thank you again, that meal was very delicious."
Gently placing a bag filled with a rather familiar looking tupperware dish on the desk between them, taking extra measures to 'struggle' with his right hand. While he was somewhat playing it up, the cheap painkillers the hospital prescribed him really weren't cutting it. Even now, he could feel a dull ache pulsating at all hours of the night. The over the counter stuff only really pushed the sensation to the back of his mind for an hour or two before slamming back into place like it was making up for lost time.
"I'm glad you enjoyed it." Madame Clements said neutrally, eyes glancing over the bag once before sliding it over to her side. It wasn't much, but it was better than the rather frosty voice that answered him over the phone. Whether it was from the compliment, him being considerate enough to return her dish, the showing of his injuries or some combination of the three. Something had loosened that glacier that was the Madame. "Let's get right into it, here's the contract I have prepared. We'll start off with a six-month period, after which a renewal can be negotiated if both of us are amenable to it."
"I'm not too well versed in contracts…" Albert smoothly took the rather small stack of papers and began to read through them with the mind of lawyer...which he had no experience whatsoever. He knew the skill required for such a thing, Law. The ability to understand and possibly twist the rules of society to their whims. Without it, most of what he read sounded like absolute gibberish but enough could be understood to get the general gist of it.
The contract was what looked to be a general employment contract. In which he would need to work for a Hearth Remedies for a period of six months, providing insights when he was called upon. But that's generally where his understanding fell off suddenly.
"And this isn't like those contracts in stories where they're magically reinforced or something?"
Knowing Madame Clements had some hand in the supernatural and there was no way he was going to risk putting a collar around his neck. Becoming a slave was not on his bucket list. At worse he would be considered childish or too obsessed with fantasy novels to see the reality of things.
'Or be looked at like some sort of idiot.'
"Why would I have a magical contract?" The Madame did not look amused in the slightest, even going as far as too cross her arms. "Do you know how much those costs? If you were a Demon, I could just invoke the Lesser or Greater Keys and be done with it. To have one that affects humans, an Ignited no less, would cost me so much that it would better to just hire a Magi….Besides, having something like that would have the Seven so far up my ass they could use me as a sock puppet. They do not like anything that affects the mind, it plays weird on the Veil."
"...So this isn't one?"
It would make him feel better if she just outright said if it was one or not instead of running around in circles. No matter how many details he gleamed from that short tangent, this was his freedom on the line.
"No." Clements answered coolly, a serious look overlapping her fed-up expression. "This contract has no mental compulsion, nor any fate fuckery, karma twisting or anything else, other than legal power holding you to honor it. If you have a lawyer, you can have them look it over but you can take my word that there's nothing sketchy there. Building a working relationship based on tricks like those never works out. But there is a clause there to protect me and my interests. While working under me, there is a degree of secrecy that I must ask you to practice. There will be times that some the objects I have you verify won't be acquired entirely through legal means, so it's normal that I'll cover my ass. It basically states that in the scenario in which you snitch, Hearth Remedies will deny ever possessing the object or you ever working with us. Our lawyers will make it seem like you were hired by a rival company using this as a way to drag us through the mud and that this contract is nothing but a falsity"
And if such a thing did happen, he would either look like an opportunistic bastard or worse, absolutely mad. After all, there was only one place in Gotham for the criminally insane.
It made a lot of sense, all these holes so graciously labeled for him to fall into if he ever had the thought of betraying them in such a way.
"Before I sign this," It wouldn't hurt to gather a bit more information. At worse, this offer could be resended but at that point it was probably for the best. Especially given his inquisitive nature. "How would it all look? The work hours and pay?"
"In the contract," She emphasized that last word heavily, her gaze dropping down to the sheets of paper still gripped in his hands. "It states that you would be contacted a day prior to any work we might have work for you at least once a week. You're just starting off and spending all day, everyday draining you of energy isn't good for your Spark in the long run. A repairing a ruptured core is very, very expensive."
"How expensive?"
He knew he wouldn't like the answer, but still asked nonetheless. Being new to this side of reality, every little bit would help him greatly not to make too debilitating of blunders that might leave him with nothing else to do but take the hand of the devil.
"So much that even if you sold yourself to the highest bidder, it still wouldn't be enough." The smile was small but it did nothing to hold back the frost present just beyond sight. "But as long as you're careful, none of that will concern you. I'm sure you're more concerned about what you'll be paid? For every commissioned reading, we will pay you eighty-five percent of the total commission. Taking the last fifteen percent for ourselves. But when you're doing readings for us, you will get at-least two-hundred-ish dollars. For most items, my girls will rotate on who'll deliver them to you while for less mobile target's, you'll be brought to a reading."
'Hmmm' It really didn't seem like a lot of money, but he had to remember the era he was in. Last he checked, a lot of the jobs on the poster board were only paying around five-dollars and fifty dollars. And with how many interviews he'd been turned down at, that pay was the norm in the early 2000s. From that perspective, it was like he was getting paid more than most part-time workers.
And it was clear that the Madame wished to make working for her appear more lucrative than receiving requests directly, especially with not a lot of people willing to trust some random newbie to fondle their hard earned treasure or artifact. Maybe they could renegotiate the massive cut after he got his name out there a bit more.
"What if I want to preform a reading more than once a week? Not every time, but maybe when I feel like I have the energy?"
His MP recovered around a single point per hour and with how small it was, a good night's rest should be enough to recover it all to full.
"...Again, I would air on the side of caution." She did not look too fond of the idea, whether from being forced to fork out another two-hundred dollars randomly or in some fear of him burning himself out. But at the end of the day, she was still a businesswomen. "I can allow it once a month, any more and I'm sure you'll damage your core."
"That's amenable, do you have a pen?"
All the questions he had on mind were answered and put to rest, meaning stalling now wouldn't accomplish anything more than souring their sprouting working relationship. But that didn't mean Albert was stupid. He carefully reread through the contract at a pace that would make even the slowest of readers uneasy, just making sure there really wasn't anything outside of what she described. Flipping through the pages, he did eventually stumble across the clause meant for the Madame to keep herself and her people out of trouble. And the way she worded it was A LOT nicer than what was actually written.
By a large margin.
But he could only grumble softly before flipping to the last page, which only a rather short paragraph followed by a simple line near the bottom. Taking one final look at the blank-faced women sitting across from him, he let out a steady breath and scribbled his name down on the dotted line.
Just as the ink began to dry, a slender hand snaked out and slipped the stack out of his grasp. Before it was slid into a bright red folder with his pseudonym etched across it's surface, from across the way he could see multiple sheets already present. What exactly they were, he had no idea and he knew for sure there was no way she would let him get even a glance without a fight.
"Welcome aboard, Lovecraft….or do you wish to be called by your name?"
"No, Lovecraft is fine."
It was a good idea to separate his public identity with this, especially if the name was going to be involved with some shadier or magical dealings.
"Lovecraft it is then," Madame Clements nodded once before leaning to the side and began to rummage through her bag. Coming up after a seconds, she placed a single bronze coin before him. "Let's start this off right. One of my contacts gave me this coin as a bit of teaser for one of their auctions, says there's this just is a small piece of some huge buried ancient coinage. What do you think?"
[Case Opened: Psychometrist's Worth!
Description: Your new boss, Madame Clements, is a well known previewer of all things antique. It doesn't matter if it's paintings, statues, weapons or even currency lost to the streams of time! And now, she's smelled a possible windfall that might earn herself a few more enemies jealous of her knack of things. Before, she would've just gone into the auction without considering whether or not these coins are worth the trouble. But now she has her own little Psychometrist in her back pocket, you! Find out if this is true gold or if she's just fishing for fool's gold!
Requirements: Verify the authenticity of this coin!
Difficulty: F+
Reward: 1 IP]
[Would you like to take on this case?]
[Yes/No]
Albert was momentarily stunned at the notification before his mind's eye, there was no way this was real. No way that the system would be this generous to him. The same system that wouldn't even give him an addition measly few points just to make up for the new maximum. There had to be a catch somewhere, but for now, in current company, there wasn't time to go over everything. Mentally clicking the 'yes' option, he spoke up after a few moments of silence.
"May I?"
"You're wearing gloves, knock yourself out."
Grabbing the coin, he began to inspect it under the bright overhead lights. The edges were uneven and warped, a long faded image of some sort of horned creature was emblazoned across it's surface. Maybe an elk, bison or even a cow. Whatever it was, time had not been kind on the image. Erosion had really made his inspection a lot harder than it needed to be. On the other side, a humanoid face met him. It's fine features spoke of high nobility. There was even some evidence of writing pointing towards the year this coin was printed but it had been washed away under the endless march of history.
The coin looked real in all ways that mattered, but a guiding touch led him to a few oddities. Appraise had been a skill he'd honestly regretted putting any points into at first, as most of time all it really did was help him estimate the value of an item. But now, he understood a bit better, it was a keen hunter. Able to dissect the layers of an object into it's finer points. The material, craftsman, age and rarity. The coin was off slightly, not just in a visual way but also from...something.
It was like a feeling in his gut that not everything was right about this coin. Whether it was the odd heraldry on the face or the unknown writing rubbed away by time, things weren't adding up. Maybe because it was from a time he had no knowledge of, like a magical kingdom off planet. Taking great care to carefully pull a glove off, he touch it's cold surface with his flesh for the first time.
In that split instance before he activated Psychometry, the metal felt off. The surface was too smooth and his finger tips didn't catch on any of the rough edges. 1
[MP: 4/9]
A chill ran down his neck as time slipped away into nothingness, the general chatter rumbling through the much too thin walls became nothing. Drowned out by the cold. It unspoiled, crawling from the deep within his wrinkly brain and down the spine. Sluggish, languid like it was just on a casual stroll, it took it's sweet time to pass through his left shoulder, leaving a dull ache in it's wake, and down his arm. Before it splintered off into an uncountable number of threads through his finger tips, lapping up the metallic surface, he could feel it touch upon something other.
And suddenly, he felt...nervous. So anxious that it was like he was sitting on pins and needles. Like he knew was doing something wrong and could get him in untold levels of trouble...but he had no choice. It needed to be done. There were no other options...and besides, they could do with losing some money. A mere drop in the bucket but that drop would be enough to uplift him and his loved ones.
A father would anything for his kids aftera-
"It's fake."
Albert cough out, letting the coin clatter to the table from shaky fingers. He didn't know how long he was down under, but it was long enough for his throat to feel as scratchy and dry like he'd swallowed coarse sand. His head spun as he tried and failed to reign himself back into reality.
"Are you sure?"
Looking up, he could see that the Madame was nowhere near her previous spot and instead was mid pace around the room when she heard him speak. Her gaze was hard and unwavering. It seemed she did not take to be almost being made into a fool.
"Not only are the memories shallow, I could feel anxiety oozing off of them. Whoever made this knew what they were doing, and did for m-their kids."
"Damn…" If before her expression was frosty, now it was downright frigid. Like a glacier had slid right past his face by a hair. Suddenly, he felt a mighty bit bad for whatever source tried to involve her in all this. She didn't wait and began to pack everything away, silently grumbling all the while as that look on her face grew colder and colder. The women pulled out a single envelope and slammed it on the table with a barely restrained growl. "Here's your money. Two-hundred and fifty. I'll have one of the girls drop off your copy of the contract...now I have some calls to make."
[Case Closed: Psychometrist's Worth!
Requirements: Verify the authenticity of this coin!
Difficulty: F+
Reward: 1 IP]
"Before you go," Albert called out to her before she could begin her hunt. "I do have a favor to ask."
***
Being large wasn't what it was cracked up to be. Sure, it made getting with club girls a lot easier but it also made finding work a bit harder as well… With how big he was, the only work he could reasonable find were all physical in nature. Whether it was carrying boxes from point 'A' to point 'B' or laying down cement foundations. It was exhausting work but it paid the bills and also funded his growing addiction to pain medication.
But that had come and gone after this certain opportunity. To think, just a year ago he was laying down bricks living pay check to paycheck like some sort of chump while bastards got to sit on their asses all day with some scotch in hand. And now look at him, sitting in a nice and well furnished room with a cabinet filled with scotch that would've made the previous him too terrified to even touch a single bottle.
"This shit's gross."
The man said, tanned face turning up in disgust.
"Then why the hell are you drinking it, then?" Another man, this one average in size spoke up from another chair. His hair slicked back with an excess amount of grease that would've done better to be lathered on some pistons. A small glass of scotch in his hands that he occasionally sipped with a more serene expression on his face. "You're wasting it, just drink beer if you ain't man enough."
"Fuck off." Just looking at the man's smug expression made him want to reach across the table and smack off that haughty look. Where did he get off talking down to him like that? It wasn't the large man's fault this shit tasted like actual shit. "Don't make me put you in your place, paper pusher. I get shit done around here while you sit in the back with your nose far up your own ass that..that…"
"You got it, come on. Almost there, bring us home."
"Fuck you!" And just like that, a glass of expensive wine was shattered against the ground. Rising to full height, he was going to enjoy shutting that smart of mouth up for good. A broken jaw should fix things right up.
"Enough." Another man spoke up, his voice equal parts cold and exasperated, from behind a mahogany desk. Wearing a suit that hung off his skinny frame, the man looked a bit sickly. Cheeks a bit too hollow and fingers that were more like bones wrapped in skin. Hair that had a been through a bit too much and was already well on it's thinning path. He had the appearance of an overworked salary man, even more so these days. Especially after he set down that phone with a soft click. "Have one of the cleaners take care of that. I have some news from the boss."
Just like that, the two men stood stock still. Neither one of them had very good prospects in life and fulfilling the needs of their boss had been the key to draw themselves up from the rabble that was the rest of Gotham. So, he could temporarily put aside the lesson he had planned. For now. Who knew what'll happen later?
So taking his seat again, he ignored the rather smug look on the shit-stain's face and listened to what needed to be done. It didn't matter if he needed to break some bones, hearts, homes or anything of the sort. He would do it, anything to avoid going back to laying bricks for sixty hours a week.
"The bra-boss is in a bit of a bad mood," The speaker began, rubbing his brow at whatever conversation was had just a few moments ago. "Something happened and he had the bright idea to add something new to the Circuit. A new tier he said."
"We can't handle another one." The shit-stain pencil pusher spoke up, almost making himself sound somewhat agreeable. It was already hard enough having the enforcers keep the rats in check through Green and Yellow. With Red being exclusive as it was, it meant a lot of the clientele brought their own muscle and when things didn't go their way...things often got pretty hectic. "Plus, I don't see where else we can go. Red already allows everything...unless…"
"He wants to call this new tier. Black, says it cause of that masked freak running around." The suited man shrugged. "They'll be only tier to allow permanent maiming and possibly killing, like a real gladiator fight. Speaking of that, Zura, get in contact with some dog fighters and breeders. We're gonna need a lot of them. The bigger the better."
Pencil-fucker magee, Zura, only nodded with a grave expression on his face. In stark contrast to the shit eating grin normally present.
"And Lamont," At that the large man stiffen to attention, trying and failing to admire himself out of the corner of his eye at a nearby reflection. He'd spent ten years building muscles like this, it runs in his family and the brick laying only made his genetics shine. Probably the only good thing his dad ever gave him. "I need you to look desperate people. It doesn't matter from which tier. I want people who'll fight tooth and nail, for every single penny. Hell, if it helps any, get some druggies to fill out the numbers. The boss wants bloodier fights and he wants to make them a spectacle. A real modern day gladiator pit. It's going to be taped too, boss wants some of his friends to watch. But there's a caveat. Everyone needs to where masks and costumes. He wants it be like masked freaks are fighting each other...speaking of that, get some of those vigilantes involved. I'm sure the boss would love to see what was his name-Red Man?"
"Crimson Man."
"Yeah Crimson Man, the boss would love to see his face get bashed in." The still unnamed man nodded once and seemed to nod off before jolting awake. Reaching into a draw, he rummage through his desk and popped a bright pink pill in his mouth. Dull brown eyes lit up with a type of energy that made the two other men very uncomfortable to be around and it momentarily pushed back the fatigue. With a flushed face, he began to unbutton the top few buttons of his shirt. "Get it done before the boss comes, you're both dismissed...and send in that new cleaner girl. Do not disturb me for...an hour or two."
1 Time to roll the dice, you know the formula 1d6 + 4 here we go...a 1...you lucky bastard.