Stratford Streets

<2 hours until clone death

Back on the streets once more…

Unsurprisingly, Henry was feeling more than a little relieved to be back above ground again. As the four of them exited from Liverpool Street Station after being under the surface of London for more than a full day, his face was practically beaming with relief. Never before would he have thought he'd be so happy to see the full moon overhead, but yet there he was. Grinning like an idiot all because of the simple fact that the mist had thinned out and the pale moonlight gave him more than enough illumination to see by.

It was a good thing, too. He'd been fresh out of disposable light talismans for quite a while now. If it hadn't been for the uniform lighting of the Subway Wizards' bunker, he'd have been fumbling around in the dark for much longer than he'd have liked. Even the dreary landscape of today's cityscape beat being practically blind in a confined space. Got claustrophobic.

But, as much as he wanted to enjoy the sensation, time was running out on their mission clock. If Henry wanted to have any hope of seeing that sweet, sweet pile of goodies he was promised for his services, they all had to act fast.

His copies, fortunately, had 'acquired' a rusted-out minivan from a Gentleman's Club scavenger patrol, which would be more than enough to get back to their main camp in no time flat. While he was still stumbling a little from his improvised surgery back at the station, there was a wide, backseat bench in the vehicle that would be perfect for him to sort himself out before they arrived.

"Shotgun," Layla called as she unslung her heavy backpack from her shoulders.

His copy tsked as he pulled the keys to the car from his pocket. "You always call that first…"

"Well, I know what I like. Although…" she popped open the trunk, stowing her stuff away and glancing through the interior briefly. "Is everyone going to fit in here? The chairs in this junker don't seem to be very spacious…"

"Worried about bumping your head, Wonder Woman?"

She snorted amusedly at the cheeky remark. "It's not me who needs to worry. How's our new friend going to get inside, though? Never mind the doorway for a moment, there just isn't enough room in there for it to fit the wings without at least lopping off its own ponytail."

"Hm, good point." The copy looked over his shoulder to the double doors of the station, calling to the one member of their team yet to exit. "Hey, Four! How'd you like to sort out the carpool?"

The Harpy, firmly clutching the fist-sized crystal pulled from his other duplicate, exited from the tunnels below. However, it didn't answer immediately. Normally with it, a response came quickly and efficiently.

Maybe that was the point. For months now, it had been forced to obey orders, over and over, to the best of its ability. No matter how cruel or sadistic, it had to follow the letter of the order to a T. Again, and again, and again.

Until now. Now, it had clawed back the bare minimum privilege, as Guillaume would have called it, of being able to address issues in whatever way it chose for itself. And it was seizing it with both hands, clinging onto it for the moment in case it never came back again.

…Henry realized absently that he'd fallen into the habit of trying to read each person he came across at any opportunity.

But, not long after that, the moment passed. Even the novelty of its newfound freedom wasn't going to stop it from securing that once and for all. Eventually it spoke, its voice still harshly synthetic but with a mellow, more gentle undercurrent to it.

"No need to worry," it addressed the copy. "I've ventured away from the Gentleman's Club hideouts frequently enough to have solved this problem long ago."

The high-pitched note of the turbines embedded into its wings spinning up reached Henry's ears, and the Harpy leapt high into the air overhead, blasting a momentary hole in the calf-deep mist on the ground. Leveling out just above their heads, it slowed to a hover and gently touched down on the roof of the minivan, bracing a leg against the back of the roof rack while punching the sharpened metal fingernails of its free hand through the aluminum panel on top.

Secured to its satisfaction, it adjusted its crouched position and adjusted the position of its wings to block the worst of any wind drag they might encounter.

"Let us hurry," it urged. "We don't have a moment to waste."

"Way ahead of you." With the rest of them already strapped in inside, the copy opened the driver's side door and stepped in himself. The engine rattled worryingly for a moment as the key turned over, but once the alchemized petrol in the tank warmed up enough to feed the ley lines in the engine, it rumbled barely louder than a whisper.

Three cheers for magic. Cutting down on noise pollution in the city and making it possible to sneak past werewolves at the same time. Silent as a ghost, the ugly looking consumer vehicle sped off into the foggy night fueled by the shared purpose of its occupants.

"Right," Henry started once they'd started moving at a good clip. "By the time we navigate from here, get around the roadblocks and finally show up for the deal to take place, we'll probably only have about an hour left. So, let's go over the- umph!"

The car hit a nasty pothole, causing the whole vehicle to jostle dangerously as the suspension struggled to keep up with the sorry state of the roads they, unfortunately, had to drive on.

Between the wolves frequently turning the streets into their personal playgrounds, the generally dismal conditions of the roads already before the Witching Hours, and the fact that there was no construction worker insane enough to try and attempt a repair job, disrepair felt like an understatement when it came to describing their condition. Gravel would offer a smoother ride than this.

But, as bumpy as the ride was, eventually the shock wore off enough for him to regain his composure. "Ugh… anyways, as I was saying…" Henry began again. "Let's go over the plan for this."

Layla nodded from up front. The copy kept his eyes on the road, but sent a thumbs up his way.

"Okay. So. Originally my idea had been to have Gordon drag me handcuffed straight to Guillaume to make this little deal of his, then tackle Four to get him back on our side and on the offensive. On that front, we've ended up ahead on some fronts and behind on others, so… here's what we're going to do now.

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"As it stands, both me and my copy here are unfortunately going to have to exit pretending to be prisoners again. Our generous watchman –" he gestured towards the Harpy up above with air quotes – "will have us carry the artifact in under its watchful gaze. Though I'd much like to have some right about now, extra copies are off limits, so we'll have to bluff about there being a third one at large so that he thinks I can still bring the Dryad down on him at any time.

"That works to our favor, fortunately, because it means he'll be tricked into working on our clock, as well. He pushes ahead to seal the deal, we pass over the artifact once we know where the goods are, our good friend the Harpy gets his revenge on that grease stain of a man, and we swipe the 8-Ball back and make our escape. Questions?"

Layla raised her hand. "Yes," he replied.

"What about me, then?", she asked. "Am I a part of this plan or not?"

"Don't worry, you very much are. The most important part, in fact."

"Okay… so, what am I doing, exactly, then?"

"Simple. Stay hidden, and wait for the plan to go wrong. Once that happens, improvise."

"...That's it? Also, why have a plan to begin with if you already think its going to crash and burn?"

"Crashing and burning is a part of planning," he replied fluidly. "Just because you don't expect everything to work doesn't mean you shouldn't try to make as much of it work as possible, no?"

"…I… suppose not…"

"Right? Trust me, I've had to do this a few times."

"Yeah, and look where you ended up because of it," his copy countered mockingly over his shoulder.

Henry gave him a glare. "Oh, shut it," he responded lamely.

"If I may," the Harpy interrupted from its perch above. It was comically leaning over the side of the roof from above, head peering in through the top of the passenger side window upside down. "Where do we go afterwards? I can't imagine any of us being welcome by the Club once we do this, and it would be best if we had somewhere to regroup so we can hand off the artifact for the Shroudwalker to take back."

"I mean… I've got a flat back in Greenwich," Henry shrugged. "Can't imagine anyone willingly following us back there. Place has been swarming with wolves since day one, after all."

Layla already knew where his apartment was, so she quickly relayed the location to the Harpy to bring it up to speed. If it could frown, he imagined it would be right about now.

"That is… dangerously close to Grimfang's hunting grounds."

"Practically on top of it," Henry agreed. "But, for someone going in on foot and staying quiet, it's actually pretty peaceful. Even the other wolves tend to run rather than risk a fight with the likes of him. And it's not like he's hard to spot nowadays, either."

Layla looked at him a bit worried. "How big has he gotten now, exactly?"

"Just slightly larger than some of the two-story houses. Terrifying if you cross paths with him, but from what I've seen lately he spends most of his time sleeping. He's a near perfect guard dog, so long as you never run into him!"

"…Right…"

After that, a few odd details were worked over here and there, but for the most part the plan was as solid as it was going to get. With nothing left to do but wait for their arrival, the conversation naturally drifted towards more normal topics.

…Wait, when even was the last time I discussed a 'normal' topic with someone?

"Is it all right if I turn on the radio?", the clone asked before doing it anyways. There was a brief crackle of static, but before long the sounds of the sole surviving radio station in Hallow London permeated the cabin of the van.

"Gentleman Pirate Radio, the only station you'll ever hear coming in on every channel. You know me, you love me, I'm Robb Huxley."

"Now, recently, I've gotten myself several callers complaining that my playlist has been a little too moody recently. Believe me, I understand the sentiment, but with outdoor conditions like these, it's an easy vibe to match, you know? But! Let it be known that your words do not fall on deaf ears here in GPR! Tonight, let's get a little… funky… Weapon of Choice, coming up next, folks. Not sure how much walking without rhythm helps against wolves and vamps, but… hey! Maybe it does!"

As promised, a catchy little tune starting playing over the speakers as they zigzagged their little vehicle through the dilapidated streets of London. As the duplicate drove, he was quick to start tapping his fingers on the top of the steering wheel to the beat, and not long after Henry found himself nodding along as well.

Layla looked on at the display in amusement. She was still keeping an eye on the surrounding rooftops, just in case some random flock of vampires decided to try their luck… but he saw her foot tapping along in time, too.

Funny. It had been a while since Henry found himself with the chance to… unwind like this. Ever since he'd left the Nobles with Cecil and the rest of the Palatial Remnant, it had been nonstop mission after mission after mission, until he'd had literally nothing left to throw at the problem. He hadn't realized he'd missed having the chance to just… relax until this moment.

Though, in his defense, it was easy to forget when your life was almost constantly on the line.

Right now, his previous worries of the Shroud, his future and trying rack his brain for some way of recovering his real body at long last… all seemed to just melt away. In this moment, he was just able to be himself, with friends old and new tagging along, off on an adventure to swindle a shitty old main out of his ill-gotten gains. And pay him back for other, worse transgressions, but that was more Four's thing.

Hmm… not having a proper name for them is getting rather cumbersome, now that I think of it…

"Hey, Four!"

There was some shuffling around from up above, before the Harpy dropped its head down. "Yes?", it replied simply.

"Now that we're on the same team properly now, is there a name you want me to call you by after this whole thing is said and done? I can't imagine us not meeting again in the future, even if we do split up for a bit after."

A sound of a shutter lens closing gave Henry the distinct impression of it blinking in surprise. For a moment, it just stared at him, ponytail whipping in the breeze behind it like a ship's flag on a windy day.

"My… name?"

"Well, yeah. Seems only polite, to me. Unless it's a sore subject?"

"No, no… it's just…"

It paused, searching for the right words. Henry gave it the space it needed to think.

"… After so long just being 'the Harpy of Woolwich', it feels strange that someone would want to address me by my real name. Not my moniker, or my number in the Dozen, but… my name."

Henry was a bit surprised at the reaction. He knew that they'd been sore on the idea of being seen as just a tool – and wasn't that an understatement if he'd ever heard one – but apparently his casual remark held more weight to it than he'd previously anticipated.

Layla, evidently, was curious too. "Well, that just won't do," she chimed in. "Why don't we all sort this out now, since we haven't really properly introduced each other yet? I'm sure you know Henry's already, but I'm Layla. Layla Hendriksson-Smith. Might not roll of the tongue as well as 'The Shroudwalker' does, but I always hated that title anyways. Cavendish loves to play at building up legends, and all…"

"Hendriksson-Smith? As in-"

"Ugh, yes, exactly what you're thinking," she interrupted exasperatedly. "My mother was Embla Hendriksson, the Founding Water Mage, and my father was Randall Smith, Edison Smith's brother. Please don't go blabbing about it to other people, I've gotten enough weird conversations out of it to last a lifetime already."

Henry laughed a bit at her reaction. When they'd first met, he'd had no idea that she was born to what had effectively become a celebrity marriage for a short time. By the time he'd found out, it hadn't really mattered to him, anyway. It was just a fun bit of trivia to him, and an amusing little routine that came with it.

Maybe that's why they'd hit it off so well. He liked her for who she was, not the person she was always compared to.

"Well, I suppose that leaves just one left, then," the copy concluded. "Guess it's your turn now, Four."

The rebreather on its face rattled as it took in a deep breath. There was a small hint of excitement in its voice when it finally was given the chance to share with others that it was, in fact, still human.

"Before the first Witching Hour… My name was Evelyn Chao. I was 39 years old, and I ran an imported tea shop in Woolwich that had been passed down through my family for three generations. It's… nothing as exciting as your own history, Layla, but…"

A small, metallic noise resembling laughter echoed through the Harpy's – Evelyn's – mask.

"Once this is over, I would want nothing less but to be her once again."

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