Finals for the semester came and went, practically a footnote compared to the mounting stress. Further training sessions managed to end without incident, but there’s no getting past the fact that none of us can truly be considered “professionals” in this line of work. Yes, I may be a very dedicated hobbyist, but the mindset for training for competition and the mindset for, you know, actually working is completely different. Among other things, doing it as a job sucks all the fun out of it. 

 

There’s a constant debate between “do the things you love and you’ll never work a day in your life” and “making your hobbies your job will ruin them for you.” At the very least I can say I’m in the middle ground. I love shooting and firearms, but I’m far more interested in the more historical stuff. I can appreciate modern, but there’s a certain point where it stops being a fun historical item and picks up that “tool” label that drains some of the excitement. I like tools, I have a well-stocked workshop, but it just doesn’t have the same spark.

 

I was going over our gear again, checking to make sure it was all in working order. It’s not as fun as reenactment gear, but even a big history fangirl like me wouldn’t risk my life with antique equipment. Modern IFACs, individual first aid kits, plate carriers, and all the .300 blackout we could reliably carry as a group. As much as Liah preferred her cat form while working she was going to have to at least carry a pack. She’d be at least temporarily demoted from feline to “pack mule.” 

 

“I resent the comparison.” She said, as she loaded mags. She huffed, but her heart didn’t seem to be in it. 

 

“I figured it’d be a bit more dignified than Powder Monkey.” 

 

“What’re those?”

 

“Children who’d fetch ammo for cannon on sailing ships. I still think it’s wild how they just would have little kids running around with explosives in naval battle.”

 

“I may be a bit on the short side, but I’m not that short. Besides, don’t you think you’re placing a bit too much emphasis on firearms? I know you like them and all, but part of the reason you were forced into this was due to your magical aptitude. As your familiar, I can’t help but feel a bit put out.”

 

“It’s not like we’re in a full-on fantasy world where I can just chuck fireballs.”

 

“No… but with enough practice you should be able to get close.”

 

“Most of the magic I use, excluding that one time we somehow ended up in another world, tends to be a bit more subtle. Sure, it might be able to help, but I’m not a powerful sorceress using Tudor-era angelic magic like Sandra. Besides, this late in the game it really would be best to stick with what I’m comfortable with.”

 

“I still think you should put a bit more effort into the magical side of things.”

 

“Who needs magic when you have guns?”

 

“Calm down, Revy.”

 

“I still need to try cosplaying her at some point.”

 

“You really do, though you might need prop guns if you’re going to go to a convention.”

 

“Naturally. Among other reasons, I don’t have an nickelled 92FS’s, and don’t particularly want one. Nickeled is way too flashy.”

 

“And the one you have isn't?”

 

“This one is just practical,” I answered. I had just gotten it the other day, one of Beretta’s M9a3’s with a threaded barrel. While I’m generally more partial to .45, it’s kind of hard to say no to 17 +p+ rounds. You can even get extended magazines for upwards of 30, all in something somewhat easily concealed in a shoulder holster. Kinda. It can throw off the fit a bit, but in winter with everyone wearing heavy coats it wasn’t too big of a deal. 

 

“You’re such a nerd.”

 

“Yes, and? By now you’ve had more than enough time to learn that.”

 

“Even then, I still find myself getting occasionally shocked by the thoughts that run through your head.”

 

“I’m more shocked that you haven’t run away already from that.”

“Trust me, it could be so much worse…Uhm, why are you bringing that one if the Beretta’s so good?” She pointed at the slight bulge at my waist, at 4 o’clock. I raised my shirt, where the grips of the antique 1911 I had bought the other day peaked out from my waistband. Despite being full-sized handguns, 1911's are remarkably convenient to conceal with their slim profile.

 

“A good luck charm? Someone really cared for this gun, even if their dumbass grandkids sold it to a gun shop. Plus, ‘two world wars’ and all that. It just seems better to have it and not need it than need it and not have it.”

 

“That makes more sense than ‘because it’s cool’ but you know I know you’re lying.”

 

“I have to put at least some effort into pretending I think things through.”

 

“You don’t fool many. You do realize how much effort I had to put explaining to your parents why we weren’t visiting them for Christmas, after you half-assed it just saying we had work.”

 

“I didn’t half-ass anything, it’s not like we can tell them the truth.”

 

“You sent a four word text, ‘can’t make christmas, work.’”

 

“When you put it that way it does sound kinda bad. So what’d you end up telling them?”

 

“We’re getting a whole bunch of documents in at work and needed to preserve them. If you remember our brief it’s technically true.”

 

“The best kind of true. Anyways, have you finished packing?”

 

“Just about, you?”

 

“Just doing a few last-minute checks, then we can load the car. It’d be nice to get to Sandra’s house while it’s still bright out. And of course we don’t want to get caught up in beltway traffic.”

 

—---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

 

“You still haven’t explained why it’s necessary to crash at my place.” Despite being briefed on the plan, she still seemed exasperated by our presence. Liah gave an apologetic smile, but 

 

The drive was surprisingly pleasant. After a brief stint on the highway we mostly went through back roads, with all sorts of neat farmsteads. As convenient as the interstate system can be, the charm of rural roads can’t be topped. I don’t think our host appreciated our presence but overall it was a pretty relaxing afternoon.

 

“Since this is technically a business trip we get a per-diem. Why waste that on a hotel when we can just stay here? Besides, I really don’t think it’d be a good idea to stay at a hotel with the kind of hardware we have stashed away. Just getting to the site is only easily doable because it’s winter.”

 

“The fact that an immortal alchemist would be in this city.”

 

“Philly is one of the oldest cities in the country. It may not be as built up as New York, but there’s plenty of sections that long predate the founding of this country. The reports we have narrows down the entrance to two possible locations, the Freemason Hall, or the tavern where American Freemasonry was founded.”

 

“And where would that be?”

 

“At the time, it was called “Tun Tavern and Peggy Mullan's Red Hot Beef Steak Club,” though I know most Marines aren’t aware of the second part of the name. Which is an absolute shame because it’s one of the funniest bar names I’ve heard. It almost sounds like it’d be more suited for the founding of the Navy than the Marines and apparently Freemasons.

 

“People who live in glass houses shouldn’t throw stones.” Liah tapped the finger with her ring against her mug. “You really do lean hard into the inter-service rivalry thing.”

 

“Regardless, it burnt down. Currently I-95 runs over where it used to be. Either way, this won’t be easy. There’s a big Christmas Market event going on in Center City, and the other one has a large highway running over it. I figure we can check Center City first, since there’ll at least be enough people to make it easier to blend in.”

 

“We’ll be running around in a crowded area, sure to be filled with cops, heavily armed?”

 

“The rifles will be hidden in guitar cases.”

 

“Still seems sketchy.”

 

“That’s where this comes in.” I dumped out a backpack. A selection of Manic Panic products, as well as various accessories from back when Hot Topic focused on music rather than shitty Chunko Pops. “We can be a band.”

 

“A goth band?”

 

“The trench coats should make it easier to hide our plate carriers. No one would suspect a group of women dressed like a Marilyn Manson cover band to be feds.”

 

“This seems like it’d work better on South Street than in Center City.” Sandra muttered. I chose to ignore her. 

 

“Are you sure this isn’t just you channeling your weird interest in ‘The Hex Girls" from that one Scooby Doo movie?” Liah asked. 

 

“If this works, I’m going to be fucking amazed.” A vote of confidence from Sandra.

 

“It’s still far more subtle than dressing up as the Dayman and Nightman to try and blend in if we need to go to the Old City.”

 

“It just seems too extra.”

 

“Seriously, if I didn’t know how much thought you’d put into this I’d be seriously concerned about you letting childhood crushes influence tastes.” Liah really should be careful not to let information leak. 

 

“It’s not leaking, it’s blatantly obvious! It’s just that having some sort of disguise just happens in this case to coincide with your cosplay interests. You even bought make-up to match them!!!”

 

“It’ll be fine… Now stay still, I need to try a glamour to remove that black hair dye you wear. You can be Dusk, I’ve already got dibs on Thorn.” 

 

“So you fucking were planning to cosplay The Hex Girls!!” Sandra seemed more pissed than I’d have thought. “And you stuck me as Luna!”

 

“I’m the leader, of course I get to be Thorn. Plus it matches my last name.”

 

“This is way too juvenile. Plus we’re like, two months late for the Scooby Doo cosplay.”

 

“Eh, we’re going after some weird monster thing, I feel it fits.”

 

“If we’re following the form of Scooby Doo, it’d just be some predatory real estate developer trying to scare people away, not an immortal alchemist manipulating the country from the shadows.”

 

“If we were going to go that far into it we’d be cosplaying the main gang, not side characters. That said, we do have traps to catch the bad guy if need be.” I gestured with an item grabbed from a duffel.

 

“That’s a Claymore.”