Multi-Goddess Drifting - SCP Foundation

Some motherfuckers still trying to multi-track drift a goddess uphill.

1957, Swiss Alpine GOC Railway

Whistling steam fills the mountains, for a moment drowning out all other noise. A rare and clear sky enables streams of sunlight to dance across the snow covered ridges, painting a perfect landscape that's only disturbed by the slightest glint from an easily missed gap in the snow. Motion, the slightest peek of a rifle barrel tilting out of a carefully camouflaged cubby dug into the ground. A huntress stalking her prey.

Seconds tick past. Motion below, streaking smoke, thundering metal. A pair of trains, one coupled to the other, steaming through a grove of pines three miles away. They burst through the sanctuary of trees, out into the open, whistles roaring.

The rifle tracks, the grinding clicks of a scope adjusting.

Crack. A scream of joy, arbiter of death unleashing its message down the slopes.

"Hit. Adjusting."

Click. Crack.

"Motherfucker."

Klaxons fill the air. Distant whumps and booms of heavy guns echo against the slopes, whistling steel arcing up. Snow slides away as the disguise disintegrates, black and red dancing against the surrounding white. A lone figure framed against the Alpine winter. "Well, guess we're going fucking loud. Huh?"

All hell breaks loose. Snow bursts, fire burns, and steel fragments whip through the air.

And the huntress? Well, that all depends. Did it really go loud? Or did it go quietly until the end?

Wouldn't you like to fucking know?

96 hours before impact. 1957, The Library

A sharp thwoomf disrupts the quiet of the Library. Two figures materialize, popping into existence like a chameleon dropping its camouflage, right into one of its more active sections. Unlike some other segments, this region of shelves was associated with violence, dissidence, and ideals of resistance; the perfect place to find the Serpent's Hand.

Of course it wasn't always this way; only recently had it been established for the Hand after they regained access to the Library. But established it is.

For a moment, activity pauses as Docents and patrons alike examine the newcomers, finally deciding they are of little interest and returning to their affairs.

"So, what you're telling me right now is, that after one hundred and fourty years, the Hand finally woke up one day and said 'You know, we have these lovely mercs who do all this shit for us, maybe we should consider offering them something more than the occasional pittance? Maybe we should give them full-time connections?'" Carissa Decimus sneers. Gentle wavering lights emanates from lanterns and the stars above, illuminating the wild locks of her blood-colored hair. Maroon-furred ears press to her head, all while a tail ending in a thick tuft of fur twitches and flicks back and forth repeatedly.

"Come Carissa, we both know it's more complicated than that." The robed figure squeezes Carissa's hand, pulling her along. Soft fingers, unmarred by physical labor, draw threads of warm string into Carissa's chest at every gentle pull. Each motion disarms her, forcing her to focus on the source of her prior irritation lest she end up agreeing to something miserable. "In due time, we shall make our place among them."

"Ha! Bullshit! We're tools M, cudgels, weapons to be brought to bear against the Hand's enemies. And boy are those enemies growing in number. One hundred and forty years, one hundred and forty fucking years babe."

It's amazing that between the biting cynicism and lethal cunning of your mind, you have such unbridled optimistic idealism.

"They'll never trust us with any depth or insight. I say we turn them down right now, walk off, let them offer something more substantial, or we go back to what we were doing before."

M stops in her tracks, removes her hood and turns to face Carissa. Half a head shorter than her partner, M tilts her face to look up at Carissa. "Carissa, you have not even heard what they are offering. Patience, patience is key."

"I don't need to! It's always the same, a pittance for risking our skin. They just want to put a collar around us now. Same story as the Clocktower, the Habsburgs, Venice, et cetera." Carissa sniffs, wiping her nose as a bit of dust from a nearby shelf whips up into a floating cloud that decides to further piss in her Cheerios, disturbed by a patron thumbing through books.

"Didn't we learn our lesson after killing all those Obskuracorps for the Americans? What did they do? Turned around and put bounties on our asses for being war criminals! For offing hundreds of Nazis! Everyone in that regime was culpable, even the motherfucking foot soldiers. We told them there would be collateral! Fucking assholes."

"This time is different," M says, taking both Carissa's hands, and squeezing. She brushes brown locks of hair behind elven ears. Shivers arc up Carissa's spine, her wife's piercing gaze caressing her soul. "This time I trust the connection point."

You what? Carissa stares, plunging into the abyss of her partner's lilac gaze. She drifts, biting her lip as she drowns in their depths. For but a moment she steps a little closer, feeling M's breath wash across her face and neck, thoughts skewing towards leaning in, pressing her up against the bookcase an—

Words aren't needed, how could they ever be with someone you've known for almost five thousand years? The dancing illumination in their eyes conveying a waterfall of concepts, a burning tide of meaning and emotion punctuated by a single twitch of the lips. 'Do you trust me?'

'Implicitly, but not them.' Carissa's free hand rises, calloused flesh of her fingers brushing against M's cheek. Claw-like nails gently press into the contours of her sorceress's jawline, drawing a shiver from M.

"Not here," M says, regret leaking into her tone.

The spell breaks. Carissa shakes her head, flicking her ears as she banishes the impulse. "What do you mean 'this time'?"

"Come, you'll understand when you meet them." M gestures, letting the flush on her cheeks die an abrupt death as Carissa releases her face, static discharges flickering between them in the remnants of a storm of affection that doesn't quite dissipate. The cryptic and vague response wasn't helping the inferno sizzling in Carissa's chest; M always left her with a mystery to be unwound. These little games between them drove Carissa up the wall in the best way possible.

They turn, and move deeper into the shelves, the terrain shifting and turning in unnatural and impossible ways as the floor becomes walls, walls and ceilings become the floor. M pivots right, turning into a cubby full of chairs, a table and smaller shelves. The rich smell of an undiscovered blend of tea waxes across Carissa's nostrils as she steps in after her sorceress.

Seated in one of the chairs is someone Carissa is not expecting. Short brown hair, a simple red pantsuit, and the face of someone who's just graduated from college and is fresh to the world. They look up from a book, a dozen more stacked next to them on an end table. A vivaciously decorated pot of tea rests on a study table, a cup half-drunk placed neatly before them. Meticulous and precise arrangement, all constructed to avoid being knocked over onto a small stack of carefully arranged files.

"Carissa, this is Tilda D. Moose.1 We've been talking at length for some months."

"Are you kidding me! This is your new connection point!?" Carissa exclaims in disbelief, tail fluffing out. "M, they're a child! Fresh out of adolescence! You can't be fucking serious, there's no w—"

Carissa stops mid-sentence. M's lips purse, and her eyes narrow while squeezing her partner's fingers tight. The silent communication that passes between them with an exchange of shifting facial expressions carries all the needed meaning. 'This is an opportunity for us, for me to finally finally find a solution. Please give it a shot.'

"A pleasure to meet you too, Mrs. Decimus." The youthful scholar stands. It's a practiced elegance, only really exhibited by diplomats looking to end a catastrophic war. Perfect diction, an even voice, and polite word choice flags the course of the coming conversation. Of course, the eyes are what catch Carissa's attention. A person's eyes tell all; portals to the soul, and here Carissa saw the burning curiosity, intense depths and wisdom betrayed by the youth in their face. And cunning. A meticulous gleam of calculation. Carissa clenches her teeth and her stomach churns. For the first time someone stands before her who matches M's intensity.

"M has told me a great deal about you, and the unique challenges you both face in regards to interaction with the Hand." Another polite smile shielding sly intent. They extend their hands. "Let us not waste words on idle talk. In the interest of transparency, I come bearing the olive branch, and a chest of riches for your consideration. Correct me if I misspeak, but my understanding of your disposition is that you do not respect anyone, unless they prove their competency?"

Carissa blinks, eyes darting to M. Dammit M, what did you tell them? M meets her gaze, a playful smile on her lips; mischievous intent twinkling in the way the lantern lights reflect. Realization washes across Carissa's mind. They conspired on this together!? What the fuck is happening? Who the fuck is this?

Carissa flicks her tail, crosses her arms, and her eyes return to the stranger. "Alright, so you know a bit about me. So fucking what? You think you're going to spook me into cooperation? Believing you're worth our time?"

"Not at all. I'd be suspicious if you trusted me right off the bat. It tells me much about you."

"Such as?" Carissa snorts incredulously.

The polite smile twists into a sharp grin, a trap sprung. Chills arc up Carissa's spine, batting away the instinct to grab M and fucking run in the interest of satiating her own curiosity.

"Where to begin. You trust your partner's decision-making implicitly; hence why you've not walked away in the first five minutes. But despite that trust, you never go along with something wholesale until you're certain it's worth both your time. Most likely because you've been burned in the past, possibly multiple times. In the five or so minutes since you stepped into my little cubby, you've scanned every corner, presumably for threats, your arms are crossed but your hands are open and not balled into fists or clasping your skin. Your legs are slightly apart, ready to move if you need to. You're alert, but at the same time have dismissed me as a threat. Or you had until a few seconds ago."

Moose pauses to take a precisely timed sip of tea, letting her initial words sink in as Carissa internally squirms.

"You're skeptical, meticulous in analyzing situations to angle for the best outcome for yourself and M. And that's part of the key, even if you think a situation benefits you, if it doesn't benefit M, you discard the option and keep looking." Moose clasps their hands together, the predatory grin growing wider. Carissa's posture tenses, ears flattening to her head as Moose marches further and further into systematically deconstructing who she is. "Remarkably selfless for someone who likes to project that they hate people and appears to have a selfish attitude." A pause as they tap a folder that has "Carissa" written across it. "Of course, this is not to neglect how you go out of your way to protect and move innocent lives, much less how you relocate cryptozoological species when they're under threat. And of course, there are your more tactical capabilities."

M gently rests a hand on Carissa's hip, squeezing comfortingly. A small exchange of looks passes between them at the end of the monologue as Moose waits patiently.

Curling and uncurling her fists, Carissa's stomach churns madly. Her ears stand fully pert as her eyes narrow. "Who are you?"

"I'm the key to tying you into the Hand. Connecting you to the larger network without having to cycle through multiple reps, all of whom you hate. Now, you can just hate me." A politely cruel smile. "Though I am hoping that won't be the case forever. If you're not convinced, this stack of files is the sum of my intelligence work in the last six months."

The whole thing was a fucking trap, they've got me by the balls. Well fucking played, well played M.

"Real fucking cryptic, that's going to get old fast."

"On the contrary, I think you'll come to enjoy my little puzzles. Stimulation is what keeps the mind from decaying." The worst part is how fucking smug that polite smile is.

Carissa's eyes dart to the folders. She shifts and grabs a couple. Opening one, she flips through the pages, absorbing the information. Then the next folder. Then the next. Oh, they're good. Bloody fucking hells they're good, what in the seven hells!?

"Ok." Carissa sits sideways in a chair, tail hanging off the other side, body half turned to face Moose. "Why us? There are plenty of operatives within the Hand, and you have the kind of chops that could reshape the entire course of… everything."

"You both have unique ontological capabilities that I think are, currently, being wasted by other cells. They have you doing petty tasks far below your skill level. Grunt work, essentially, that does little to change the state of things. You could do more; you could be more. Together we could do anything."

Carissa basks in the statements, turning Moose's words over again and again. Dislike their attitude, but can't deny how right they are. She closes her eyes, calculating. "What's in it for us?"

"Money, new state of the art tactical gear, rights to hold onto certain items that you deem of use or worth to you. You don't have to handle any of the interpersonal interaction beyond what's needed in the field. Everything will be filtered through me, and anything I feel is clearly a trap or too dangerous for you to handle, I'll turn down. Though, I don't feel that will be much of an obstacle. Obviously, fire support in the field, as well as planning and reliable intelligence." Moose pauses and taps their fingers on the table.

She turns her head, eyes opening to look at M, then back to Moose.

"Okay, that's for me, but what about M." The decision settles in her mind, a binary pre-determined based on what's said next. Her tail flicks idly, ears pivoting this way and that as they track different noises arising from the Library occupants.

"We've talked about that already, and I've made M an offer. Her acceptance was contingent on yours, but she already has agreed with her terms."

Carissa's eyes flick to M.

'A solution?'

'Possibly. Access and requests promised. Care will be needed of course. Trust must be built.'

'Ok. I'm in.'

"Okay. What do you need us to do, to get this off the ground?"

Moose brightens, eyes burning. "I'm glad you asked. How familiar are you with the Global Occult Coalition?"

72 Hours Before Impact. 1957, Swiss Alpine GOC Railway

"The Coalition has been sweeping up anything anomalous since it was founded. They're no jailers, everything they get their hands on they're either dissecting to make paratech, destroying it, or directly using it to wipe pockets of the supernatural community completely out. They're monsters, book burners and weapons makers, the worst kind of people in our world. The good news is, they're still small. The bad news? They have an excess of funding, resources and they're growing fast."

Moose's words ring in her ears, lingering as the whipping, icey winds of the Swiss Alps swirl around where she stands, flakes of snow dancing to a song that only mother nature will ever understand. M kneels next to her in the snow, burying items of pulsing magic, totems and beacons. Ontokinetic glyphs with a purpose Carissa didn't understand and isn’t going to bother trying to.

Carissa shifts the rifle strapped over her shoulder. Gaze tracking back to M, lightning crackles in her chest at the thick winter robes and snow boots.

Insane how good she looks in that.

Kitty, you think she looks marvelous in whatever she wears. Or doesn't wear.

Carissa ignores the second voice in her head. "This seems like a good spot to set up camp."

M raises her binoculars, takes a quick scan of the rail lines below, and then lowers them. "One of many. I'll be able to support you with broad glyphs, but if Moose is right, both trains have shielding, so I won't be much help. Remember, no fires."

"Hey, who's the expert hunter here." Carissa smirks playfully, before pulling up her own binoculars. She notes the dips and dives in the mountainous terrain; points to check. "Open track on this segment. This is probably the best point for entry."

"Siberia told a different story," M says, pressing binoculars to her face again, she points with her free hand. "I would say, entry as soon as the train departs those woods there. There's a checkpoint there." She swivels gesturing to another location.

Carissa looks, squinting around the falling snow. "Yeah, I see it. A dozen guards, look heavily armed. There's at least five more along the way. We'll need to do additional recon, identify any towers or other defensive emplacements."

"I can handle that; you focus on the trains." M quirks her lips a bit, her tone taking a sonorous and husky dive. "It's been some time since I've tested new theories."

Carissa bites her lip as tongues of heat lick at her chest. "Easy now, you'll get me excited."

"Always the goal." M smirks.

"Just be careful and remember what Moose said."

"Love, I can handle myself. You need not worry on my part."

"I'm always going to worry, I lost you once, never again." Carissa lowers the binoculars to look at her, the painful pangs of memory echoing in her mind and heart at the mistakes of the past. Never. Fucking. Again.

M pulls down her own binoculars and meets the gaze with equal intensity. The silent exchange stretches, electric threads rising in both their chests as they shuffle closer in the snow, exchanging warm breaths in the frigid winter weather. Carissa pulls her sorceress closer, an arm wrapping around M's heavily coated waist. M tilts up, completing the connection, inferno bursting forth and out in showers of dancing magic and fireworks that twinkle in the air. In the aftermath, they lean against each other, eyes closed, head resting against head. Falling snow twitches around them in a storm of mountain breezes. For a small eternity, they remain, basking in each other's warmth.

But even eternity is not forever, and eventually infinity comes to an end as they part. "We should finish preparations. We have three days until the trains come through."

"I've already picked my spot." Carissa grins.

"Good. Let us show this Coalition what happens when you burn books." A vicious grin rises on her sorceress's lips.

Carissa smirks, warmth rising in her chest at the bloodlust in M's eyes. "Let's fucking go."

2034, Site-212A Tavern

"Ok wait, are you about to tell us some tall tale bullshit, or the truth?" Jane interjects just as Carissa's starting to get going.

"Define the truth." She leans back in the chair, feet propped up on the table as she takes a long swig from the pitcher of alcohol held in one hand, pipe held level in the other.

"Events as they actually happened Decimus," Silus adds with a roll of his eyes.

"Well that depends."

Do you want to hear the bombastic truth?

Or The realistic truth?

Footnotes

1. Ontokinetic shift detected, name no longer consistent with baseline measures. Altering presentation.