Super proud to announce this project as officially completed! And this time with 100% detail shots. However, I really have to stop spending months at a time on commissions for Wyatt. Maybe it’s just his curse that he’s forced to wait.
This time it’s a portrait shot of his Secret World character Min Romanov, a Dragon hacker with an unfortunate cybernetic condition and some uh…interesting plans for starting her own business.
Faking it: best way to go where you're not allowed.
So a while ago, I got my hands on a semi-legitimate Council of Venice ID, and I’ve been using it to my advantage. I have:
• Bullshit my way into the Templar HQ.
• Stole some expensive liquor from them.
• Met Richard Sonnac face-to-face.
• Drank with Sonnac
• Got into the Dragon HQ
• Dropped LSD in one of the water coolers in their HQ.
• Stole a Katana that might be worth $1 million…or $125 flat.
• Bullshitted my way into the Venice HQ.
• increased my pay grade.
• Stole some erotica I found in the Venice HQ.
• Made their uniform into something @x-i-e would be proud of.
• And I got a free hotdog from the vendor in Brooklyn.
All in all, I’m happy about what I did. I also got a free hotdog. Sonnac was a pretty cool guy and I wouldn’t mind drinking with him again. Plus, seeing Venetians in swimwear will be hilarious.
“I can’t… I can’t go in there,” she admitted after a moment, a muscle in her jaw jumping faintly. “Actually, I feel like I can’t move at all.”
The Englishman felt a brow rise sharply at that. “Well, I wouldn’t move terribly much. You have seven devils all around you.”
Thess stared at him in disbelief. “Did you just quote Florence and The Machine at me?”
Met with a smile, a touch of irritation flitted over her expression again as he lifted a digit. “I did. But! I also meant it literally–here. You’ll need this to understand.”
The same hand dove into the breast pocket of his blazer, withdrawing what appeared to be a rubber stamp. Motioning for her to hold out a hand, he pressed it against the back of it with fluid ease. Theresa bit back a curse as the design burned into her skin, an elaborate twining seal glowing faintly before it faded to a perturbed red.
She immediately wished to scream at what she saw next.
Surrounding her was a pack of hellhounds, snuffling at her skirt and boots, teeth gnashing at the air.
“See?” John mused brightly, grinning at her. “Seven devils–well–hellhounds… They’re security. There are more throughout the Veil. What’s on your hand now is essentially a visitor’s pass. It will keep you from getting ripped to shreds while you are within the archives. Once you leave, the mark is gone, so I suggest getting all your research done in one sitting.”
After he had negotiated Theresa out of her sudden horde of companions, he ushered her under the arch and into the Veil. Immediately torches flared to life, illuminating the great halls and aisles of books and artifacts. A subtle shift here and there, the jerk of a disjointed limb marked the presence of one of the fleshy hounds of hell.
“If this is hell, or at least the descent to it, what does that make you, Doctor Sedgwick?” Theresa asked, rubbing her second hand over the mark as she surveyed the newly lit area. Lowering his lantern, John glanced back to her with that ever-same smile.
“Ah,” she blinked, as though suddenly stricken with a thought. “Hence the ‘Mephyst’ codename, then? Who is your Faust, Mister Meph?” The woman smirked dryly, seemingly pleased that she had caught on, and revealed that she had in fact done some research on him at one point in time.
John’s smile softened faintly at that, dark head tipping away to the right as he regarded her. At this angle, he could see the curiously garnet shade her gaze actually was. Yes, she had been up to quite a lot since they last saw one another.
She wasn’t smiling any longer. Lingering only a moment in the sudden silence they found themselves in, Theresa stiffly broke away to begin her work.
Mephyst simply watched her go, and the way the hellhounds turned to regard her in their blind, bound way as she passed.
Brief John Sedgwick appreciation post. The old blood Templar that holds the overseeing chair of director for an archive pet-named The Veil beneath London.
Thess has, more than once, either run into the man or actively sought him out, even if her tease of the man’s self-appointed nickname of “Mephyst” got thrown back in her face.
As far as Templars go, he appears relatively lax on the surface, but beneath that smile is someone who would not so much as bat an eye whilst boiling someone’s blood in their veins if they compromised the Veil’s secrets.
So I have been spending quite a bit of time in Tokyo, and (more often than I want) I have to deal with a sex-deprived demon, a man who can only be described by “what”, and a group of ramen slinging samurai.
More often than not, I’m wondering why I have to deal with them when my main concern is trying to find a safe place to pee and gas for my bike.
The only benefit of being here is that I got back the ¥30000 yen I was owed when I worked in Orochi