The Barrens

Iyana's eyes narrowed slightly. She didn't like this person. For a start she looked like a govenment agent, and most govenment agents were only ever insterested in journalists when they wanted to censor something in the articles. To most reporters, censorship is about as appealing as a meal that had been regurgitated about seven times.
"I'm afraid I can't help you. I'm a licenced freelance journalist and therefore I've taken oaths of journalistic ethics. I'm required by law to not disclose my informants." She said firmly. "As for your concern about my wellbeing, I can assure you I am properly armed and I have all the appropriate licences to go into dangerous environments. Now, if you would excuse me, I need to prepare myself to follow the news." With that said, Iyana simply pretended that the woman wasn't even there, stopping a passing waiter to ask for a cup of coffee and a tuna sandwich.

"A journalist!?" the woman who had identified herself as Neering looked surprised at best, and in truth a bit afraid. Confusion colored her expressive face as the food was ordered, she withdrew what appeared to be a small phone from within her jacket and quickly jabbed at some of the keys before lifting the device to her ear. A few short, quick words were shot into the receiver at a volume too low to carry them as far as Iyana. The conversation, if it was that, concluded rapidly and the phone disappeared. Looking a bit flustered, the woman mumbled a word or two of apology. "I'm sorry to have wasted your time," she only seemed to finally regain her composure after leaving the confined space of the booth, "Please excuse the intrusion." Her rapt and austere visage took over once more, and with a final glance, she receded, as she left, her form became more and more shadowy, as if she were simply vanishing. Behind her, and the only trace that she had indeed not been simply a phantom of the night, the card remained. Upon it was imprinted in an elegant but simple type the word Sieve, and below that a set of numbers that may have been meant for contact. In the dim light of the booth, it almost seemed that there were an excess of shadows, an effect which strangely stretched around the card specifically, as if that intangible woman had left behind some of her ethereal essence which now rested like an owl watching a mouse, waiting to pounce.

Iyana raised an eyebrow at the woman's quick departure. In truth, she was a little less surprised and a little more accepting. Most people who worked for agencies you're not supposed to know about never like being around journalists who can easily discover your dirty little secrets, especially if they're in league with the people they're hunting. The reporter picked up the card, typing the details written on it into her PDA for future referance and maybe to do a little research on them. Setting such matters behind, she settled down to the tuna sandwich one of the waiters had kindly brought her along with a cup of coffee, preparing ehrself to go and find Grey, starting with the address she had found in Charles' bag.

"A reporter?! What would they want with a reporter?"
"I'm not sure. At first I thought she might be some sort of spec ops by the way she was dressed, and she had that quality to her, you know?"
"The edge?"
"Mm... In any case, she is heavily armed."
"Then maybe our original assumption was correct?"
"It's possible. Has anything turned up on your end?"
"Nada, they've completely vanished."
"Odds are that they are looking for this girl they've got with them."
"Yeah, but without any real bearing on who she is... there just isn't much we can do."
"Maybe we'll get lucky and she'll open up that line I gave her."
"Amanda."
"Mm?"
"You be careful down there. Don't get too cocky. You know what we're up against."
"Do I? Do you?"

It wasn't too long before the sky outside began to brighten, and the city which had once been a blot upon the horizon had grown to a massive stain. It towered to the sky and stretched out to cover a swathe of space that would have been able to hold several cities of the greatest size. The architectural prowess which had been utilized in its creation was self evident. The majority was stone, although metal and brickwork could be espied as well as simple wood and even concrete. It was a mishmash of eras and styles and themes that blended together beautifully and sat great, radiant cathedrals alongside austere office buildings in such a way that they belonged. Physics seemed to hold little sway in Limbo, with outrageous feats achieved in ever stone cobble that made up the lavishly paved streets that shot out at odd angles, even seeming to run vertically at points. People walked on all these roads, and could be seen as small smudges of color upon the gray of the thoroughfares. The whole of everything was decked out in vibrant streaks of banners and streamers and balloons and confetti this day, though, and the people wore even brighter and more festive costumes than would have normally adorned their figures. A festival day indeed.

The conductor appeared at the isle's end to announce the approach of the Limbus Junction Station at which they would arrive in a matter of minutes. A waiter came by at that time to make sure that Iyana had everything she would need or want, and offered to take away the dishes from her meal. The first female attendant that had apparently been in the car for the duration of the trip came to Iyana's booth then to ask if she had indeed been able to enjoy her experience upon the Morpheus.

Iyana stretched out in the booth, feeling her bones clicking as they resettled themselves after the long journey. She got to her feet as the train drew into the station, ignoring all attempts to talk to her, Charles' bag slong casually over one shoulder and the scarf carefully positionned to hide the scar across her chest. She tapped several places in her clothing, turning on all of her various cameras.

Her boots touched the platform, and the journalist did her customary slow turn for her small array of devices to pick up the details about her surroundings. The young woman herself smiled slightly, trying to contain her excitement. There was something going on in the city, something bright and colourful, begging her to investigate it. Reluctantly, she pushed those thoughts away. She was here to find Grey. There would be plenty of time to sightsee no her way to the address that was on the telegram. Thinking about the small scrap of paper, she carefully extracted it from the bag, smoothing it out enough to read it. Her cast her eyes around, looking for someone friendly enough to ask for directions or somewhere likely to sell a map.

On the station platform immediate, everything was all a bustle. People rushed hither and thither through bursts of steam. The Morpheas was not the only train which had docked at the Limbus Junction Station at that moment, and the porters and passengers and engine men were hurrying everywhere. Everyone had somewhere to be, something to do. No one took any special notice of a young woman, even in her odd dress. More than a few were oddly dressed themselves, and quite a few were decked out in festive colors. However, there, at what was apparently the exit into what might have been a hall were what might have been a group of performers or perhaps just a group of revelers caught up into the spirit of the celebration. They appeared to be welcoming the newcomers with flowers and candies and little pamphlets of paper. Perhaps they might be helpful? Of course, the city was rather massive, and finding one particular cafe might be difficult, not to mention navigating the streets in their current state of chaos. On the upside, it would be hard for anyone to track a single person through the mess of merriment outside. But then, no one would notice a person being dragged off either in that conflagration of noise and human bodies all jostling against each other. That is to say, the roadways were packed with what might have been a parade, or just a coagulation of people. Bright colors stained everything and everyone seemed to be dressed as something or other, with no real direction. It was a happy day, evidently.

Iyana felt confused and disorientated for a moment, trying desperately to find her bearings again. Eventually, she struck out towards the city, away from the trains, muttering under her breath about timing. She approached one of the revelers who seemed to be friendly, the scrap of paper in her hand ready to show them the address.
"Excuse me?" She asked in her most polite journalistic tone.

"Welcome, Traveler! Welcome on this most glorious day!" the man who had approached Iyana was incredibly excited, hopping about in his bright costume and mask. Before she could react, she had been festooned with a garland of flowers, had more of the same pressed into her hand, a series of sweets and had been swept up into a dance among what were apparently greeters of the city along with some other new arrivals. It was a wild and wonderful romp as they cajoled about in circles like a harvest festival with all the children and parents thrown together at once and dancing about and around and with each other. The greeters were expert, swinging the newcomers about with expertise that spoke of practice. Before long, all were smiling and falling in line with the festivities. Those whose breath was swept away were swept themselves to the outside of the ring where they would be able to speak with the other revelers and the performers alike. Iyana ended up with a partner who was a queer sort of fellow, wearing a tawdry assemblage of colors in patches of various shapes and sizes. A long nosed face mask sat upon his natural visage, distorting his appearance, but not in a monstrous way. Truth be told, he looked more comical than anything else. "What brings a beautiful lady like you to this fair city on such a fabulous day?" he called over the sound of instruments playing and people laughing and the thunder of train whistles and the hiss of steam.

Iyana bore a slightly stunned expression on her face for most of the dance, although she could almost feel the music sweeping her up into its arms. She found herself standing at the edge of the main dancing area, slightly out of breath. She reached up a hand to tear off the garland of flowers around her neck, but refrained. It was probably not a good idea. She didn't know the customs of the strange city. Instead, she merely rearranged it to stop the petals from irritating the angry scar across her chest.

Her head snapped round to see who had spoken to her. A man in a mask that seemed to resemble that of the Venetian plague doctor. She pushed her sunglasses further up her nose before answering.
"I'm looking for someone. I'm supposed to meet them in a cafe, but I have not clue where it is." She said, acting shy and lost.

"There are a hundred cafe's in the city, Ma'am," he bowed over-elaborately, "Bertuchio." evidently he was introducing himself, and then with a mischievous glance up at the others, still engaged in the dance, he made a grab for Iyana's hand and dashed out of the station with her in tow. "Come on, and we shall find ourselves a proper cartographer, to aid us in discovering the location of your eatery!" the performer laughed gaily as he ran, apparently carefree and far more energetic than a human had right to be.

To say that the street was crowded would be justifiably defined as a gross understatement. Bodies were everywhere, and all of them shouting and laughing and jostling against each other. Somehow, the man who had identified himself as Bertuchio was able to move through them even so, although to follow in his footsteps was to be buffeted slightly about, still he carved a merry and rather clear path through an otherwise completely obstructed roadway. He maneuvered them away from the station's massive stone steps and down the cobbled, close streets to an alleyway, where there were significantly less people hanging about, only a few moving from one jaunt to the next. They moved beneath a sign. It was big, and old, and hanging out from over top of this old door. On the sign were some words, but they weren't really of consequence, and besides that, the picture beneath them said so much more, it was a of a globe traced with lines of latitude and longitude.

Bertuchio didn't even knock, just yanked her through the wooden portal. It wasn't locked, and was already partially open anyway. There was someone there, talking with the man that was all bent over the maps that splayed across his desk. "We need to find someplace, a cafe!" he spoke very loudly and slightly obnoxiously and without prelude or greetings. With a grunt that barely broke into his ongoing conversation, the man waved a very well moisturized old paw at a group of paper sheets which the performer leaped to at once. He shuffled through them without ceremony or reason, or respect to order. One of the pages stuck in his hands, all the others had been hurled in various directions to flutter about. " I have it!" he declared and began to trip out of the place, completely forgetting Iyana in his rush.