Ezra [ Side Scene 1 ]

Some days, Ezra liked to walk home.

The long stretch of highway leading to her family's estate was straight, for the most part. She liked the feel of land under her feet, whether it was dirt that squished beneath her shoes or asphalt that seemed to slap the arches of her heels back iwith each step. It was, for lack of a better word, grounding, expecially for someone who felt so distended and disconnected from the material world. There were, of course, easier ways to get back to the haunted stretch of land that the Grey Manor sat upon. Public transportation, or a family member spying her along the road and picking her up like a lonely hitchhiker, together making their way toward the strange Victorian building where they laid their heads.

A sharp fringe of trees dotted a waving line toward and away from the dedicated road, hiding the few scattered neighbors Ezra knew of. If one were lost in their thoughts (like Ezra was, at the moment) and not as sure of their step (quite unlike her, now, having trod this path so many times before -- the muscle memory was not to be outdone), it was very easy to take a wrong step into the trees and become disoriented. Sometimes, Ezra wondered if the trees liked that. Maybe it was how they fed -- or just entertained themselves. She didn't like to think poorly of those who lived around her, but surely a barren stretch of road made for poor amusement. Who wouldn't like to take the first thing that comes along and milk as much out of it as you could? At least, she'd never heard of anyone going missing, but then again, never hearing of anything was its own disconcerting thought.

Still, it was easy enough to assume that there were buildings few and far between along this particular pavement, but that wasn't true. There were houses nestled within different stretches of distance. Sometimes Ezra thought it was better to think in measurements of time, because sometimes the buildings seemed to fall back enough that it really did seem like there was no one there. There had been a time or two, when she'd first gotten back from Shadow, where she had felt utterly alone; and then she'd slightly turned her head to the right, or the left, and found a quaint little house, or a well done and robust building bustling with customers. In the moment, it had been jarring, and Ezra still hadn't gotten used to the idea that it felt like establishments would literally pop up out of nowhere.

But she knew where she was headed, for now. Hefting the strap of the bag she was carrying over her shoulder, the sound of objects clanking together softly and not all unlike branches -- if they were hollow and also carried a slightly rank, fishy smell -- Ezra headed toward one such business on that lonely bit of road. From one angle, the Pale Pass might have looked as though it were the only building for miles.

It seemed to exist within a different reality; one surrounded by tumbleweed and desert, with a scorching hot sun beating down on its sallow exterior. Those same trees that took delight from toying with nomads seemed to shy away from the death-tinged storefront. Colored similarly to its name, the Pass offered a drive thru service for those desiring quicker customer service. Tall arches supported an awning that stretched out over this skid-mark covered bit of driveway. At the end of it was an oblong service window, and a slot just big enough for a large, body-shaped package. There were doors, too, leading inside to a nice lobby, chapel, and business office combination, for people who really wanted the full tour.

Today, her shoes turned toward the building as it came within sight. Ezra headed up the drive, and toward the service window. She'd been inside before, a handful of times -- sometimes with reason, and sometimes just out of curiosity to see what was on the menu that day. Now she just needed to make a drop off, and hopefully get some information. It wasn't out of disrespect for what she carried, not at all; just, this wasn't personal, and she'd hoped that the one running the window today was the one person she knew could help her quickly.

[Sooth card: Crowded Tomb]

For the moment, the frosted glass of the service window was bright and unbroken, the light of the Indigo sun shining through uninterrupted. No vehicles or animals idled in the lot. No sound came from the building's environs. For all intents and purposes, the building looked as dead as those it helped to serve. Then darkness fluttered past the window, a shadow in a vaguely human shape. It disappeared, then returned just as quickly, a sign its caster had noticed the figure that approached. The frosting on the glass grew less and less, its opacity fading to reveal the attendant.

"Ezra," came the voice, warm and inviting; a young man's voice, issuing forth from an aged face. Brone, he was called, and he knew his visitor well. He took a seat in front of the counter. One hand reached up, undoing a raven-shaped button on the pale jacket of his three-piece suit. Brone smiled. Leaned forward, as if sharing a secret. "It's been a while. How can we serve you today?"

"Not too long, hopefully?" Ezra came to a stop just in front of the window; perhaps even the same spot she'd always come to a spot in, the soles of her shoes neatly matching unseen footprints that might have been etched into the ground, had it not been hardened tarmac.

A hand reached for the strap over her shoulder, lifting the bag as gently as she could. Its contents clattered softly, though whether it was in protest or excitement it was difficult to tell. Ezra gently set the bag on the counter, within Brone's reach. Her hands made quick work of the button holding the bag closed, opening the contents to sight and, unfortunately, smell, as the fishy scent grew slightly overwhelming. Ezra's nose wrinkled, but she made no other sign that she found any of what was happening distasteful. She held the bag up, toward Brone.

"Had an unfortunate discovery recently," she explained, her mind sifting through the details -- deciding which were important to this immediate endeavor, and which she ought to omit. It wasn't for fear of saying too much, but for being accurate and brief. "I wanted to help them along to where they ought to be.

"But also," she added, and here she mimicked Brone's leaned in posture, the volume of her voice dropping. "Also find out a thing or two, if they're willing to share. I'm looking into a missing person, and I think at least one of them knew her."

"Good of you." Brone's lips pursed even thinner as he peered down into the bag. Creases deepened at the corners of his mouth and the bare spot between his brows. "Three, hm? Less one femur." Amusement bled into his tone. He wagged a finger at her. "Working with Makers now, are you? So the rumors were true."

His hand snaked through the opening at the bottom of the window, fingers stretching toward the bag. "Pass it over, and I'll see what I can do."

Ezra shrugged one shoulder in response to his Maker inquiry, grinning lopsidedly; while Goetics didn't espouse cooperation either within or without their order, she had never fully subscribed to the idea that knowledge gained alone was best. She passed the bag over without delay.

"I wasn't the initial finder," she explained, even though she didn't feel it necessary. She just enjoyed chatting with all walks of life, or un-death, as it were in this case. And Brone was a comfortable presence to be in. "I couldn't, ah, persuade the other party to give it back, but I promise it's going to good use."

As soon as the bag was in Brone's dried but still perfectly capable hands, she rocked back on her heels. "By the way..." Her thoughts drifted for a moment, thinking on the book that Stangre had given as a reward for her efforts. "Any news?" They both knew what she was asking about -- the Pale. Her inquiries were far reaching, but still had yet to really bear much of a stalk or leaves, let alone any ripe fruit. Any news was welcome, small or large.

The attendant was already hard at work, but this was old magic to him; he did not drop the thread of conversation even as his hands moved to various drawers and cubbies, obtaining the tools of his trade. "None so far, I'm afraid. The Residents are quite tight-lipped." He smirked. "Metaphorically. But I keep my ears open. All of them." ​

One by one he pulled the bones from the bag, placing them in piles atop his desk. He moved quickly, with purpose, sorting the bones by some categorization only he knew. As the piles stacked up a light began to grow, pallid and oddly fuzzy at the edges, like a soft-filter lens. Brone hummed to himself, a clear and musical sound. His hands moved over the bones, his eyes drifting shut as they spoke only to him.

"Ah," he whispered. "An Apostate. A local, here in Fartown. Verston... Card, yes. I've heard of him." Brone looked up to his client, blinking his rheumy eyes as if Ezra was coming back into focus. "He ran with an unsavory crowd. You'll not find anyone who'll speak about him without greasing their palms a bit. Their kind like to be paid in bloodsilver."

His touch shifted, drifting over the second pyramid of bone. "Sunny of the Topiaries." His eyes fell shut. "Oh, Sunny. What she could do with growing things... she was quite well-regarded in the Green. Rumor had it she spent entirely too long there. Came back... wild."

On to the third. Here his hands stopped. His brow furrowed. He touched a second bone, then a third, then pushed his hands down into the very pile of them, searching for something even his skilled senses could not seem to find. He leaned down, aged bones creaking and popping with the motion. Dust stirred on the table. The pallid light flickered, and for a moment, threatened to go out altogether.

"A Non?" he whispered. "Why would a Non be with these two? That can't be right..." He selected a rib. Raised it high, his eyes narrowed and peering. He shook his head. "I can't get much from this one. 'The Courier.' That is all."

Ezra watched the process closely, her form all but levitating from the ground to stand on tip toe as though tighter proximity would glean some secrets that she could not discern through visual or auditory lecture. She took careful mental notes as Brone named and described each of her former passengers, but the last left her brow tightly knitted, her gaze tangled in the cat’s cradle of Brone’s fingers bent ever so carefully around the rib.

"We found them on an island," she carefully explained, realizing her posture and slowly lowering herself back to flat footed. Her gaze met Brone’s, unflinching. "A, uh, warehouse. I believe they had been making deliveries or picking them up. That might explain… the name."

It didn’t explain the species, in her mind, but she was still piecing together so much after her time in The Gray. She didn’t have many details regarding who worked with Stangre, or who else might have found their way to that strange island. Ezra wondered at contacting Indravene; maybe Stangre’s estranged wife could do something with the details.

"Is there enough, though? To help them find…" Her lips almost formed the word ‘peace’, but in her few brushes with the other world that seemed so carefully entwined with her life and her being, peace didn’t seem the right term. "Their way?" The words followed quickly enough, though the beat between her thought and her choice was perceptible all the same.

An island, Ezra had said; a warehouse. Brone did not question this, merely nodding along as she explained.

"There is," Brone said, his tone surprisingly solemn. "We at the Pale Pass take care of what is entrusted to us. We will attend to their transitions, whatever they wish those to be. I would urge caution, should you or your cohort -- that Maker in particular -- come into contact with the Pale Embassy. Guard what you have done here. They would not look favorably on it."

From the cabinet below, Brone withdrew a trio of soft, pliant bags. Carefully he began to place each body's worth of bones into their own resting place. His voice lowered. "Take care, Ezra. Whatever end these three found, it remains. And it is hungry."

Ezra’s head bobbed sharply as Brone’s warning emerged; she needed no reminder but was thankful for it all the same. Sometimes it was too easy for thoughts to slip from one moment to the next, catching up when they were needed just a tad too late. Even in her brief brushes with the embassy, it was clear that they’d frown deeply on what she’d done here. Her only response would be to frown right back, thinking that death was supposed to be the great equalizer. She’d only given these poor few a chance, nothing more.

"It is," she agreed, answering to his latter remark. "But I’ve put it where it won’t cause any further harm." Well, perhaps not she necessarily, but she had coordinated the logistics. Her previously made mental note to check in with the goetic lab where the creature had landed waddled to the forefront of her mind, but she waved it away. It would be done.

"Thank you, Brone. If there’s ever anything I can do to help you or the Pass, you know you only have to ask."

"Oh I shall, Ezra," Brone answered with a smile. "I shall."

Opacity returned to the window by slow degrees, like ice spreading its fingers across a still pond. Brone's shadow lingered but a moment, and then it, too was gone.