Summation: Pascal
It is very late that night when Maitreya returns to her small chamber in the byzantine stonework of the Shrinemakers’ Guild in the Dvarata. She slides her door shut to the distant sound of an abbot’s lecture in the vihāra; her mind is not steadied enough to participate, and she does not like showing the monks that she has been unnerved.
It is quiet enough, and all is muted by the hum of running water. Her ablutions take a long time, for devil’s blood is always trouble to clean from where it has stained the knots and cords of her limbs (this is only part of the reason). She runs the water too hot. When she wipes away the steamed mirror, she contemplates the ruddy scald left on her pale flesh. At least, where the flesh is pale.
…She is being impulsive. Petty self-destruction is a poor habit, even if the sense of it is dim and does not hurt. Perhaps especially so.
I am given to wonder what extended gambit the Miss Lorelei Briggs is constructing with the celestial choirs and the recently graduated cohorts of BLOK. I hope it is not a sign of friction, and that it is not unduly telegraphed by a party, reserved as it was.
The subsequent mission was in full a success, with no casualties to note despite some wearying injury. I maintain my affirmation to the deceived Archon about the efficacy in result deeply outweighing any responsibilities owed to some of the most shallowly cruel creatures in the multiverse, but I believe there is some credence to the notion that the BLOK may attract more ire than gain if it becomes known that the Miss Lorelei Briggs is capable of annulling magickal contract in an as-of-yet unforeseen manner. We are already the most unpredictably positioned force in the current state of the ecliptic. If I have surmised something close to the truth in this, I beg it be reserved for only the most dire need.
Fortunately, our foe in this matter was only the most middling clerical servant of a miscellaneous Hell, and a loathsome blackguard who I am certain will be missed by none of his colleagues. The DPRH is so beleaguered that fortuitous circumstance will surely be unremarkable.
I am uncertain if it is relevant to management of post-operations, but the lesser devil in Tumash’s employ recognized my presence as Li Xing’s in the moment that I slew it. I do not know if this will be significant for said devil’s knowledge when it reincarnates, or if this is a benign faculty possessed by such devils in the dispersal of their essence. The event was accompanied by no cognitive flicker or sign that I could experience.
Addendum: while I reported that the Night Captain Ducheval did leave his post when questioned by Switchboard (for I saw no reason to deceive him), Ducheval was astute in his questing of the flying city for loot. I imagine there must be quite a bit of it in these labyrinthine corpse-cities, noting their sordid history. Barring the risk of possession, we gained more than we lost by his departure, and his aid was not absolutely necessary for the victory in the battle.
