City of Shadows Mux City of Shadows Mux

Late Night Viewing Hours
"...if I found someone in here molesting the exhibits inappropriately I would quietly murder them and dispose of the body."
Players Solomon, Haliburton	Hyde Park 25 August, 2022 Solomon receives a head's up about an intruder at the Oriental Institute. He comes poking around and finds a fellow intellectual.
It's black night outside, about 1am. Most everyone has gone home, most especially the guests. There'll be a shift of janitorial staff that turns up in about three hours to begin working the floors and taking care of the trash and such before the next day opens, but for now it's dead silent in here. It's silent, but not still. There's a dark figure in the unlit gallery of the Egyptian exhibits that stands, regarding a display of demotic script which he reads. Not just the display, but the script itself, mouthing silently the words on the papyrus that he's read so many times since he helped discover the thing almost one hundred years ago. There was no forced entry. It was just a key in a side door that he has, obtained surreptitiously from someone else that doesn't know his was copied. The lights are out except for some soft dim ones glowing in the exhibits, giving the room a spooky ghost story cast. Solomon and his chosen sources of information - college students - agree that sleep is for the weak. It's hard to say the exact chain of information that has him appearing at the Museum in the early hours of the morning, but rest assured it included at least one drunk freshman who owes him a favor for not reporting them for violating the underaged drinking policy, and also happens to be an archeology student and therefore cares about whether some old smelly historical things go missing. Solomon, not an archeologist, also cares about old smelly things - although more because they might also have angry spirits or ancient curses attached. So here he is, having used his influence to get a key of his own, and sliding into the darkness to see what's going on. The lack of broken windows or jimmied locks is both relieving and intriguing, and the ill-slept Lost makes his way carefully through each gallery. He's dressed in dark clothes, although it's mostly a t-shirt and jeans thrown hastily on. He's quiet and watchful, trying to see whatever might be lurking here before being seen in turn. The intruder, similarly black clad, has on a nice suit with a green tie, though the color remains frustratingly unseen in this level of lighting. A door opening and closing makes noise though, as do footsteps, and Hal looks up from his focus to listen briefly. Then, with slow and careful motion, he slides around and to the side of the great Tutankhamun statue so that he may put it between himself and what he thinks is the direction of the approaching feet. In spite of himself there's a minor thrill. It wouldn't do to get caught here, but in the grand scheme of things he isn't too concerned about facing down some authority figure. What're they really going to do? Give him demerits? Solomon pads his way through the Egyptian gallery, towards that display with its ancient papyrus. Has he been here before? If he hasn't, maybe he didn't look too close at that particular display before. He looks _now_, and his brow furrows. He turns his head slowly to one side, then the other - he doesn't look like security by any means. He actually sniffs the air, then turns and paces in a different direction. His eyes sweep the room, coming to rest at the blackness behind the statue. "If you're a mummy, I'm going to be quite excited. Care to come out and chat?" There's no sigh, but mainly because he hasn't been holding in a breath. One benefit of stealth when you're not alive is there's no urge to sneeze, no breathing to overhear. Still, Hal knows he's spotted and considers for a moment his options. Vanish? It's possible. He can do it, but what would that cause? Maybe more of a scene. Attack? No. Not here in this place that is holy to him. Engage? It remains perhaps the only sane option. "As it happens," he remarks, the voice sounding distinctly English via Received Pronunciation, "I am not." The shadow of Hal remains where he's standing for now though to ask, "Imhotep has not appeared tonight. Do you believe in the possibility though?" Solomon's eyes shift just a little, clearly getting a better idea of where to look as that voice comes out of the shadows. "Oh, good. I don't have a sufficient supply of cats to ward off a mummy attack." His is a Chicago accent, born and bred, although it's dulled enough that it's clear he's probably worked hard to try and make it that bland, general Midwest sound that's associated with television and politicians. His stance slides into something ready, but more defensive than hostile, his expression torn between wariness and amusement at his own joke. "I'm open to a lot of possibilities. Mummies are not the least of them." A quick glance around. "No friends. No damage to the exhibits. Did you not have time, or are you just the world's most impatient museum fan?" "I can't come in the daytime and they close the place by four. It's unfair. And I want to see my things." My things, like he owns them somehow. "Don't worry, I'm not armed. I don't want to hurt anyone or damage anything. I just want to be here for a while." With a real sigh he step forward, a little more visible to the soft glow of the exhibit lamps than he was in that shadow, and reveals a face that appears in a few Archaeology textbooks, most notably the Egyptology ones. Sometimes with blocks of text using phrases like 'product of his time' and 'colonialism'. Euphemisms for those badly behaved British and their brutish antics all over the globe many generations ago. "YOUR things?" Solomon's expression shifts to skeptical, and a bit wary. When the other man steps out into where he's more visible. The recognition isn't immediate - Sol's tastes are wide-ranging, but archeology isn't his specialty. But there's something about the face that does tickle the back of his brain. And more, the mention of not being able to come in the daytime. He reaches into his pocket and pulls out a single silver coin - a coin of the Accord. "Sunlight allergy?" he asks, oh so blandly, while showing the face of the coin in what light there is. And the voice, the face, the gnawing since of having seen it before...he glances at one of the artifacts. "I think I read your monograph on scarab iconography in the late Middle Kingdom." A blink precedes a look of relief. "Well. That changes the entire tone of this conversation doesn't it?" He pulls out an Accord coin of his own to flash it in mutual recognition. There's a look of mild surprise as well about the statement. Recognition? Truly? In a bare whisper he says, "That...was a very niche work. I'm James Haliburton." Though most of the texts list him as James Burton. "Most of the ones who knew me only know I discovered the Karnak King's List. Are you an Egyptologist?" Solomon's shoulders go a little less tense at the flash of the coin in return. Not all the tension leaves him, but the relaxation is enough to be obvious. He slips the coin back into his pocket. "I came at it from a different sort of niche. It was collected in a number of works regarding the use of insects and arachnids in mythology and the occult." An inclination of the head at the name, and an answering, "Solomon Jessup. Forensic entomologist, actually. But I try to take an interest in various things." He sighs. "Four o'clock closing time, huh? Who do they expect to actually visit this place?" A disapproving cluck of the tongue. Hal steps toward Solomon at that moment and declares, "Well I don't care. It's just...so damned long since anyone's actually noticed." A hand extends in hopes to grasp and shake, and he adds, "I can't exactly publish anymore, you understand. What brings you here tonight, Professor Jessup? Precious few arthropods on display in this building. It's a place more suited to articulated fossils like myself." Solomon accepts the hand and shakes in return. It's brief and professional - he doesn't seem to be one of those people who tries to exert dominance through crushing other people's bones. Or he's just really bad at it. There's a flash of a smile. "Not under your original name, at the very least. That's a shame; I found some interesting insights in your paper that most of the others I read glossed over." Then there's an amused sound at the question. "This is my territory. Someone dropped a dime on you, I fear. Thought someone was going to steal artifacts. And I happened to be awake, so," he rolls his shoulders in a shrug. A glance back at the displays. "Which of these did you find, if I may ask?" "...those bastards." tsks Hal with a shake of his head and absolutely no feeling. Of course it would be something like that. His own handshake is, well...not warm because he is not warm to the touch. But it is the gesture of someone from pre-Victorian times being as emotionally pleased as his social norms will allow him to show to another man. Clasping his hands behind back then, he faces the case and says, "That little bit of papyrus featuring the contract between the man and his wife was part of a collection of antiquities recovered some decades ago by the Grimshaws. I put it in their hands and they got the credit. Some other pieces of that same collection remained in Egypt, one piece went to London, and one final piece went into the care of an ancient being who will keep it forever out of the hands of mortal man if he can help it, because it contains the soul of a being that is dangerous and somewhat peevish." The smile becomes a full-out, teeth-bared grin as Solomon says, "If it makes you feel any better, my source was motivated by concern for the artifacts. Didn't want to see something showing up on eBay." He turns to look at the displays as Hal explains the origins of a few. There's a notable sidelong look at the last bit of information. "Somewhat peevish," he echoes, voice very dry. "Yes. It's for the best that have proper protection. Unfortunately, I don't currently know of any general 'dangerous item storage' for us - although I know a dealer who could probably get you a number of dangerous items, if you liked. But we've got enough problem with dangerous and peevish sorts in the city right now." "Perhaps very peevish." returns Hal in an equally dry note, meant to show that yes, he means the joke for what Sol takes it as. "I can vouch with certainty that nothing in here at least is dangerous. This is a public museum for the education of the masses. Even that statue of Tutankamun behind me is mostly for show. For what it's worth I don't really want dangerous items but if you knew of any I'm afraid my curiosity would not allow me to forego a look." A thought suddenly occurs and he asks, "Do we need a dangerous item storage?" Solomon chuckles. "Probably," he says to the last. "Although I doubt any group would trust the other to be the guardian of it. But I imagine there are plenty of dangerous things floating around." The rest gets a thoughtful nod. "I'm no archeologist, but no one's had any unusual but agonizing deaths here for at least the last year, so it seems reasonable to me." He takes a step forward to look more closely at the papyrus. "I admit, this sort of thing is fascinating. A snippet of writing older than whole civilizations. Biology doesn't usually get that sense of antiquity." "Well no, you have some fossils from time to time, or specimens preserved in amber. Many of those are far older than human civilization, unless you take the Vedas seriously." The question of dangerous items does percolate a little though. "You know I think you're onto something. There are always cursed and dangerous items floating around, and you're correct that no one group would trust another to keep them sequestered. That almost begins to sound like a problem that needs solving." "It sounds like a political problem," Solomon grouses with a wrinkle of his nose. "I hate those. But it wouldn't be a bad idea to be prepared, I suppose." He looks around the darkened gallery, then back to Haliburton. "Fossils are also fascinating. But there's something different about human artifacts, I feel. It is somehow reassuring to read a translation of a cuneiform tablet that complains about kids not showing any respect, and too many people not paying their bills on time." "The invention of writing gave us the gift of knowing thoughts across time. It is the very soul of History, and the source of passion for those of us who love it." A small silence stretches out for a few seconds before Hal says, "I don't always bring important matters before the authorities when the authorities cannot be trusted. There are times that such things are best handled by professionals who know their business and mean to see it done right." There's a startled look from Solomon to Hal at those seemingly heartfelt words. After a moment, he nods. "I quite agree. Even if history is not my area, I can't deny its appeal." He draws in a breath. Holds it. Lets it out slowly. "Well. And that is an intriguing thought, isn't it? Perhaps one worth discussing at length -- provided we keep the city from burning down, first." He's back to dry, again. "Have you been in the city long enough to hear about our fire issues?" "I. am. aware." sighs Hal with a look at the display case, not really looking at it but through it. "It's a problem we've been trying to tackle on our end. I have a very good friend who gathered some information against those misbehaving troglodytes. The only plan I could come up with had to do with flooding the tunnels with hydrogen sulfide, but it comes with some considerable risks. The alternative was to flood the Undercity with the river, but that also comes with deep drawbacks. Frontal assault seems foolish. I simply don't know what can be done about it." Solomon blinks a couple of times at the flood plans. "Audacious. Likely to result in catastrophe. Still, it's got a kind of ballsy enthusiasm that I can't help but like." He grins. "But there might be other ways. A friend on our side discovered that the fires seem to be following the pattern of the old Chicago Fire, and while investigating, we came across a psychic who was receiving visions of an image. She was inscribing the image at the center of the burns, and it _might_ be a deterrent for the cause of the issue. Depending on how it works, we might be able to trap the source into a small section of the undercity and perhaps deal with it more directly from there?" A shake of his head. "It hasn't been tested. I planned to bring it up at the next Allthing." Hal grins devilishly at Sol's assessment of his plans. Yes, there's an audacity to the vampire's idea, and a glint that he almost wants to wreak havoc. It goes unspoken though. The information that comes next causes him to go more pensive though. "Now that is fascinating. We've figured that there is a fire-spirit in play as well and the entire fire element is an especial problem for me. More even than for others of my kind. I am particularly Not A Fan of fire, which is why my ideas are mostly how to ruin their day from a distance. I should really get you together with my friend and have you two compare notes. In fact we ought to start writing all of this down and sharing it." "It's O'Leary's Cow," Solomon says, and it's clear he hates every single word he just udder--uttered. "Not an actual cow. But a giant flaming cow spirit, yes. We should certainly meet and discuss if people are moving forward with plans. I have a couple of folk who'd like to receive invitations, I think - my friend with the map, for certain. We also discovered the damn thing has crazy werewolf worshipers? Which was not on my bingo card, but is apparently a Thing." Haliburton rolls his eyes and actually slaps his forehead. "Great God...of course. I cannot believe it didn't occur to me." He looks to Sol then with an expression of annoyance. Not at him, but at the situation. "Of course it's O'Leary's cow. Spirits do that. They latch onto belief systems and grow from them, taking on their characteristics. It might originally have been some minor fire spirit but it found the vein of belief in the Chicago Fire and just fed on it like a tick. And then it found that little pack of werewolf fascists and turned them to its cause. Now I'm doubly glad I met you because I'd have never realized." "There is no evidence that a cow caused the Fire," Solomon exclaims, but not like he's trying to yell at Haliburton. Nope. It's just the uncaring world where sometimes urban legends turn into giant fire spirits and start burning things down. It's clear it /bothers/ him. "But. Yes. Empowered by the cultural belief." A flutter of his hands, and deep exasperation in his voice. "But at least that means that it does have restrictions and weaknesses. If we can find out what it's weak to, that may turn the tide. Its worshipers have weaknesses of their own, as well." He smiles. "And it's always nice to meet someone who seems intelligent but also thinks about flooding sewers with poison." The worst part? He doesn't seem to be sarcastic about that. He reaches for his wallet and pulls out a business card, offering it over. "My cell's on here." Hal takes the card but then produces a cell phone of his own. It's a new Samsung Galaxy, and he just begins putting the number in to call it so there's a nice quick exchange of numbers. "Exactly, evidence and fact are not important in the face of belief." A broad grin splits his face though and he remarks, "I shall treasure that compliment, my new friend. Also, please call me Hal or Haliburton. I try not to use my full name anymore. Would you like me to set up a nice little party you could bring your friends to meet mine? I could rent a venue wherever they feel safe attending, in case they're apprehensive." Solomon pulls out his own phone. It is a comparatively ancient flip phone, well scratched. But if Hal sends a text, he clearly can receive it and save the number into his contacts. "Sol. Solomon if you must, but Sol otherwise. I'm not particularly formal." If the t-shirt and jeans and palpable air of irritation didn't confirm that. "Perhaps. It occurs to me that as this is a city affair, we might suggest such an informational party at the Allthing, and see what other bits and bobs people have found. If we've been looking into this as individuals, we're likely not the only ones." His eyebrow arches. "See what people can bring to the table before someone loses patience and runs off and gets themselves burnt." "Very well, Sol. I am not usually this..." Hal waves a hand around between them and at himself, "...way. Truth to tell you've got me feeling like my old self. In mixed company I use a more local accent, speak a bit more colloquially. Blending in with the surroundings is important. But you raise an important point. After the Allthing we should have our meeting. During would be too busy but it would be an opportune time to announce." Solomon chuckles. "I admit to feeling quite invigorated by our meeting, as well, Hal. I don't meet a lot of people of...unusual backgrounds who appreciate the parts of academia that don't involve curses or immediate benefit." He nods. "I could swing a meeting room on campus, I feel certain. Reserve a floor of the faculty club, claim to be meeting with important prospective donors. It would cost much less than most private venues...but it is not the _most_ secure, so if there's somewhere else people would prefer, that would be fine." "If you provide the venue then I will round up whoever I can and we will be your guests." Promises Hal easily. "I don't think we need extreme security, just privacy. So. I feel like we've accomplished something from my trespass. You don't mind if I keep illegally entering the exhibit after-hours do you?" Solomon nods. "Then we'll do that." He smiles. "I don't mind at all. Hell, if someone _does_ want to break in and steal something, I suspect you'd be better security than any the museum could hire, if you're here." He chuckles. Then stops, and asks, "How did you get in? The door wasn't damaged." Another pause. "I'll be mildly disappointed if you tell me anything other than that you turned into mist and came in through the vents." "I can become living shadow and slip through cracks and even panes of glass." replies Hal in sudden seriousness, not a hint of a joke in his demeanor or tone. Then he reaches into his pocket and produces a small familiar looking key. "...but I didn't. I just have a key." Beat. "And you're correct, if I found someone in here molesting the exhibits inappropriately I would quietly murder them and dispose of the body." Also not a joke. Solomon's eyes widen slightly. "That...is fascinating." And then there's the punchline, and he gives a startled but appreciative laugh. "Well. If you have a key, then it can hardly be called trespassing at all." The last takes some of the amusement away. He studies the other man with a thoughtful air, then inclines his head. "For the record, I'd prefer you just scare them off, or arrange for them to be apprehended by the police. Murder is a bit of a waste." It's mild, and then he has to lift a hand to stifle a sudden yawn. "Mmsorry. I should return home. I have classes in the morning. But this was an unexpected pleasure. We should chat again, one evening?" A slightly bewildered blink as Hal considers why murder would be a waste and then he winces, "Sorry, old man. You're right, of course. The slings and arrows of outrageous fortune leave us altered in ways. I'm sure you understand. We shall have to chat more. I have very much enjoyed making your acquaintance." The key gets palmed back away and then, without another word in farewell, his eyes turn black and he steps backward into the shadows and... It's not entirely supernatural, but he does have a way of departing silently and without notice.