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Personal Diary, July 19: Metier is a Mess

Tuesday, July 19 

In an effort to limit some of the collateral damage being inflicted by this Metier buffoon, after yet his third and yet again sloppily executed plan to injure or kill someone close to Maddox Sinclaire, I chose to dive into Metier’s dreams, not having any idea what I might find there.

What I found was quite unsettling.

He was easy to find in the land of dreams.  His mind is loud.  The dream I found him in seems to be a recurring theme for him.  

He was in a bar.  The bar was filled with two sorts of people: men with obscured or indistinct faces who were either plotting or threatening or attempting to kill Metier (personally, I don’t blame them), or women of many different qualities, all of whom I’m sure (at least in the dream) were waiting to bed the Frenchman.

Also in the bar was a raven.

I dressed my guise in a long black duster and large-brimmed floppy hat, to conceal my face in shadow, as I entered the bar and took a seat.  Metier did not notice.

To see what he would do, I started to take over some control of the dream and started to remove the figures from the bar, eventually leaving only myself, Metier, and the raven.  Now he took notice and asked where the party had gone.

I stood and told him he had called me, playing it as though I had heard his prayers in the woodland shrine and had come to answer them.  He turned away for drink, and as he did, I revealed myself in my fiery nightmare form and declared myself as Abraxas.  

Forgive me for that, Abraxas, I’ll make it up to you.  Let me know when the wife is in town and I’ll take you both out to dinner and a show.

Henri was as blithering as ever.  I became furious and told him that his prayers for peace and swift resolution were full of human lies, that he has acted on his prayers only with violence and equivocation.  He only laughed in my face.

Then a voice spoke.  The raven?  It said I was wasting my time, but it too was enjoying the show.

I asked it if was in control, and it confirmed that the madman is running the asylum.  But they were many and they were observing the outcome, whatever it may be, though they could not control it.

I told it their vehicle is driving them into oblivion, but it seemed not to care.  It told me Metier would succeed or fail, but either way it would be without my interference.

I scoffed of course, since a dream visitation is only one of my many skills.

Then another voice came, a voice familiar… a voice I last heard in a room with red walls.  A voice full of strife.

It said, “I know.”

How can he be in the mind of a madman from another continent?  More importantly, why?  This bears a great deal more investigation.  For now, I returned the madman to his dream of death and went on about my nightly business.

 

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