Agents of the Multiverse

The market was very much awake this morning. Vendors called for everything from fresh fish to hot cinnamon rolls; artisans strung handmade paper beads on strings, and sculpted molten glass in front of open ovens; and the crowd hummed with a sleepy but excited energy that tickled Raz's psychic senses pleasantly. The sun had risen up over the snow and had infused everything with a soul warming, pale amber glow, and he was reminded why this time of day was so often called the golden hour.

All in all, Raz was in a pretty great mood.

It would, hopefully, be an easy day. It was undeniable that the circumstances surrounding meeting new trainees were often tragic. However, if one could put those inevitibly sad backstories aside for a moment, it was equally undeniable that the AotM presented an opportunity unlike any other. It was incredible to have the ability to meet people from all sorts of different worlds, and to help them with their problems.


Raz was sympathetic to the plight of new arrivals, of course, but he also found himself quite frequently fascinated by the range of shapes, colors, and walks of life newcomers (and their minds) could come in.

The agent Raz was meeting up with today wasn't even organic! Like usual, Raz hadn't gotten much information about his new trainee outside of the basics, but he wondered if Anselm would have a mind he could touch. Heretic did. Of course, Heretic, Raz sensed, was not entirely inorganic. Though it was just a suspicion-- Raz hadn't exactly gone digging around in his parts, and as an unofficial hire, Heretic didn't really have much of a file to peek at. Raz couldn't usually read robots though-- or mechs? Androids? He really needed to start figuring out what terms inorganic beings preferred.

While he waited, Raz was doing a little light shopping. He had found a little, cold hearty potted plant (he still wasn't very good at plants, but they reminded him of Lili), and it was tucked into his leather shopping satchel (a generous gift from Krepta), next to two paper bags stuffed to the brim with boiled sweets. Candy would likely get more expensive the deeper they went into winter, and Raz had wanted to grab some for his desk supply well before that point.

Now he found himself perusing glow-stones. Though the Omphalos had electricity, unlike most of Sanctuary, Raz found that he liked the soft and comforting quality of light that the stones put out. They were perfect for his office, and they were sturdy enough that he could allow patients to hold and fiddle with them while they talked-- a win-win in Raz's book, honestly.

When Anselm had left his corruption-stricken world, it had been almost spring. Yet, the changing of the seasons had not brought warmth and hope, despite the fey-forged's efforts. A plague he could not cure alone had begun to overtake the land, and though he fled, his faith remained steadfast. It wasn't fear which drove him to Sanctuary- He had joined with Omphalos to help worlds like his own, regardless of the training or danger that came with becoming an agent.

Though, it was hardly a happy occasion, leaving his world behind, Anselm wasn't sad. Though things would be different from here on out, the fey-forged understood that life was about change.. A lesson ingrained in his very being.

Currently, the robot was making his way through the sanctuary of.. well, Sanctuary, his pace leisurely despite the task at hand. He was to meet with his assigned Mentor this day, and though he was eager.. Anselm couldn't quell his nervousness. It wasn't often that he worked in tandem with others, preferring to remain alone- save for the company of Psyche, whose antennae were quivering where they stuck out of the robot's shattered visor. The poor thing, despite being hardier than most naturally occurring insects, was never as fond of the cold as the fey-forged. But Anselm was more happy to provide shelter for his familiar. His metal body was comfortable in most temperatures, warmed by the magic housed within, and his clothes more for modesty than warmth or protection.

As he walked deeper into the Fireside Marketplace (noticeably skirting around each fire like it was second nature to him, giving the flames a wide berth), his nervousness quickly became anticipation. As different as training to become an 'agent' may be from wandering the fey-wild, simply helping those he comes across.. He was ready to offer aid where he was needed. Soon, he came upon the center of the market (or so he hoped!) where he was meant to meet his mentor. It was there that the fey-forged stood, hands clasped in front of him as he scanned the crowds with his expressionless visor shining softly in the firelight. Psyche grew bold in the warmer environment of the market, crawling free of the robot's visor to warm up their wings for flight.

The silvery wink of light on metal and glass caught Raz's attention. Raz pivoted toward the flash. Sure enough, there was his to-be trainee, waiting for him. One of the market's fire barrels lit Anselm up from behind, making his chassis shine with reflective light. Raz watched as something small and pale blue shifted in the crack that made up the damaged part of the robot's face. The lanky psychic's puzzlement quickly turned to delight as he realized that it was a butterfly of all things.

Moments like this were exactly why Raz loved his job. Here they were, in a market that sold everything from alien fruit to magical candles, and there was an intelligent mechanical life form standing across from him who had butterflies that lived in his face.

Raz put down the hefty rose-quartz glowstone that he had been admiring and made his way over to Anselm through the crowd, expertly threading his way in between the ambling throng.

Raz was wearing another one of his turtlenecks, a cheerful cranberry red instead of his usual black. Typically in crowds like this he liked to wear his aviator helmet and goggles to help control the sensory onslaught, but he had settled for specialized earplugs and his red tinted lenses today. The 'mothman' look tended to unsettle newcomers.

Though, considering Anselm's own unusual appearance, maybe Raz hadn't needed to worry after all.

"Anselm," Raz called out as he neared. He lifted a hand to be seen above the crowd, and he was grinning in full force by the time he reached the new agent. "It's nice to finally meet you! I'm Raz. Busy morning, huh? How're you feeling?"

As he heard his name over the sounds of the crowd, Anselm turned fast enough to startle the butterfly as he sought to locate the source. Psyche fluttered a few inches away from his visor after that, unwilling to stray too far yet uncertain if the fey-forged would shake them loose again. There was a happy warmth about him as he spotted the man in red approaching, and he lifted a hand in greeting. His rigid posture seemed to relax now that he was actually met with his mentor, who seemed a pleasant fellow already.

"Hello, Raz!" Anselm responded as his mentor came to a stop before him, his cheerful voice a product of magic rather than any mechanism, machine or organic. Psyche finally felt safe enough to land once again, and did so on the wing adorning the robot's visor.

"This is a very lively market." He remarked, making a small gesture with a hand at the busy crowds surrounding them. Though he was not busy himself, the atmosphere certainly was. "As long as those around me are in good health and good spirits, I shall be too. And you, Raz, I hope you are well this day?"

"I'm doing spectacularly," Raz said with a grin. "Thanks for asking! I found almost everything I needed today. I'm still looking for a bigger glowstone for my office." He fished a smaller one of the stones out of his bag and offered it to Anselm for inspection. The luminous stone was about the size and shape of a baseball and put off a soft, rose-colored glow. "I like the rose quartz the best, but it's hard to find intact ones bigger than this one sometimes. Ah well. Maybe I'll have more luck after the Glowstone Festival."

Raz fell into line beside Anselm, slowly herding them towards a quieter part of the market where there was a little more seating. As he walked, his mind brushed over the minds of those around him, curious to see if he could touch Anselm's too. Raz wasn't intending to pry, really. He only wanted to skim emotions, maybe a few surface thoughts. As a Psychonaut, Raz held a strict code of ethics when it came to his psychic abilities, but he was thinking about Heretic again. It was hard not to be just a little nosy after finding out that he could touch some not-entirely-organic minds. It was a novel experience for Raz.

Out loud though, he kept the conversation going.

"So who's your friend?" he asked, nodding his chin towards the butterfly. Raz resisted any comments or compliments beyond that, though, until he knew more. There was a range of relationships that Anselm could have with the insect after all, from the sacred to the cursed, and in this line of work, one just never knew. It was better not to assume anything.