So this is what it is, Mr. Vail reflected as he sipped his coffee and watched a light stream of tourists and locals pass by on the sidewalk, to see without knowing. He set his the oversized white cup down upon the table and leaned back in his wooden chair, feet crossed at the ankles beneath the table, his handsome if somewhat narrow features arranged in pleasant contentment. He wore Italian leather shoes, dark socks, black slacks and a silk shirt so purple it was almost black, open at the throat, sleeves turned back just once at the cuffs. 

Clothes had been an adventure. For so long he had only to think of a garment to have it appear. A handy and necessary trick when navigating the often appearance-driven currents of commerce, to be sure. But that power, along with so many others, was untouchable now. Well, not untouchable, it was still there, just waiting to be tapped, but that would be cheating. And he could't, no wouldn't, do that. So he had been forced to buy clothing, in a store, just like everyone else. The experience had been a nightmare - so many choices, and nothing fit the way it used to without needing to be altered, and therefore driving up the cost. He'd paid it of course, because he was who he was. Was what he was. He eschewed jewelry, but a simple analog wristwatch on a trim black leather strap on his left arm told him that it was 7:51. Still early. 

His eyes were hidden behind ray ban sunglasses, and even this late in the year were required by most to deal with the Central Florida sun, and so they didn't seem out of place. And they looked good on him, which didn't hurt. His kind had always been vain.

He wondered if the Olympian would even show up? And if he did, if the conversation would be held on purely mental grounds? After all, there was an identity that needed protecting. Mr. Vail sighed, knowing that if he but wished it, the Olympians life-story, from birth to this second, would unfold before him like a well used map. But no. Never again. Not that. So he sipped his coffee, smiled amicably at his fellow diners and awaited his guest. 

***
Damien sat just up the block from the cafe. He was in the car he used for Brainstorm, a non-descript black sedan with tinted windows. The whole Mitch Reitzer incident had caused him to rethink his transportation. He was still on the fence, but at least it had a modicum of comfort, especially in his armor. The damn suit pinched in all the wrong places. 

Damien had been watching the cafe and surrounding buildings for the last 25 minutes. something about the good Samaritan from the night before bothered him and he couldn't put his finger on it. Perhaps it was the complete alieness of the man's mind, so alien that it made Gypsy and Veronna's mind feel almost common place. 

There was power there. Damien wondered if it could be tapped for his purposes or if it would be turned against him. The challenge intrigued him. He allowed his mind and senses to roam the area, cataloguing each mind his own encountered, looking for threats. Finding none, he focused again on the cafe. 

The mind he was looking for was there. front and center, and his own mind nearly froze as it brushed against the mass of strangeness. Damien focused his will, and forced his senses to take another read. There wasn't anything more to learn. it was a strong intelligent mind, with a sense of age and knowledge that Damien could only guess at. 

Damien glanced at his watch, 7:55. Well, it seemed that punctuality was virtue they both shared. Damien sent a ping into the Man's mind, to get his attention.  

Mr. Vail's eyebrows rose in surprise. Ah, the barbarian's at the gate!

Damien deftly inserted his thoughts into the stranger's. Good morning, sir. Forgive the impersonality of my means of communication. I find public appearances tend to garner a bit too much attention, especially for a social meeting. If it makes you uncomfortable I invite you to join me and we can go somewhere with less prying eyes. Or we can continue our conversation this way.

Where could the Olympian be? Mr. Vail's gaze moved from patron to employee to passerby, dismissing the women immediately and focusing on the men. Too many choices: it  was impossible to tell. How delightfully medieval! And a good morning to you, Olympian! rang loudly in Vail's mind.

Oh truly, to not know was even better than knowing!

I would be honored to join you and converse in more intimate settings. Could I perhaps acquire you a cup of this establishments delicious coffee? 

There was something that came across the link that Vail could only interpret as a snort of derision. No thank you. Came the reply. While I'm sure it's good in a pedestrian manner, I have something much better, in mind. If you exit the cafe and turn west, on Sixth, you'll see a black sedan with tinted windows. That's where I'll be. 

Mr. Vail rose and placed several bills upon the table, mildly amused at the swift dismissal of the Cafe's fare. Having sampled coffee across hundreds of years and several continents, Mr. Vail found that Dumond's coffee was a few notches above pedestrian. Still, the palate of every man was as much alike as the individual snowflakes that made up the avalanche, and Mr. Vail decided long ago that it was best to leave such things as judging up to others. 

He exited the Cafe, turned west on Sixth and quickly saw the aforementioned vehicle. He waited at the crosswalk for the light change, crossed swiftly once it had done so - after looking both ways - and soon found himself standing next to a black sedan with tinted windows. His eyes gleamed with excitement behind his own tinted lenses, and he rapped thrice softly upon one darkened window. His smile was one of pure delight. 

Damien kept track of the Samaritan as he approached the car. When he was a few feet away, Damien swept his senses around the area, alert for anyone paying undue attention to the stranger's approach and Damien's car. Finding no one, Damien focused again on the stranger. 

He fastened the face plate to his armor's helmet just as the knock came at his window. He activated the passenger window remote and unlocked the door. "The door is open." Damien's voice was distorted slightly. He'd added a voice modulator to the face plate. Yet another way to keep his anonymity.

Hearing this, Mr. Vail got in, pulled the door closed behind him and, holding up one slender finger, buckled himself in. "Safety first!" he exclaimed, then turned to face the Olympian, extending his right hand. "So pleased to meet you. You may call me John." He seemed delighted to be there, from all appearances. Like a small boy on his very first trip to Disneyworld.

Damien hesitated a moment, then took the proffered hand. His grip was firm and confident. "Brainstorm. Good to meet you John. Coffee is in the thermos, sugar and cream, should you wish any, are in the glove box." 

"Capital!" The man's hand was very warm, his grip neutral. 

John looked to see a thermos between the seats. There was a cord that ran to a power outlet in the dash. Curious he opened the glove box, inside was 2 compartments, the one on the left held various sweeteners, the one on the right had an additional door, opening it, John found a small refrigerated compartment with several types of Dairy and non dairy creams.

"Will wonders never cease," Mr. Vail exclaimed with delight. "To place a refrigerator inside a glove compartment!"

As John investigated, Brainstorm pulled out into traffic, accelerating smoothly, if a bit quicker than expected. AS he drove he continued the small talk. "The coffee is a special blend of Columbian and Venezualen beans, roasted to exacting spefications and blended in specific proportions, that creates a very unique and satisfying flavor that traditional roasts, just can't compare to." Despite the electronic modulation, John caught a certain haughtiness to the words.

"Oh, I'm sure," Mr. Vail replied with approval. "I'd offer to pour you a cup, but no doubt you'd rather wait until we've arrived at our destination, yes?" The well-dressed man shook his head sadly. "So many traffic fatalities are caused over split concentration on the drivers part after all. And one must set the proper example for young people!" He ran a hand along the leather of the dash, seeming to take pleasure in the feel of it. "Delightful!" 

Damien kept his silence, offering a nod as the man seemed to ramble. His passenger seemed to be a bit ... off. perhaps it had something to do with the oddity of his mind.

"I shall cut to the chase, Mr. Storm. I find myself of late having left a very long-term engagement with my prior organization, and would like to place what small talents I possess at the disposal of an entity that I believe could best utilize those skills. I was hoping that the Olympians might be interested in what I could bring to their, no doubt, very large table." 

"Interesting, John. And may I ask, just what skills do you bring to the table?" Damien kept his tone even and interested.

"In the art of negotiating deals, or contracts of any sort really, you'll find very few better than myself," Vail said promptly. "I understand hierarchical structures and am absolutely clear in what a chain of command is, and how it should be used." He was still running his hand over the leather on the dashboard, fingers barely touching the rich leather as they moved fluidly back and forth, back and forth. "Seeing as how the Olympians are quite often tasked with the delicate challenge of dealing with individuals wielding powers both destructive and inconvenient, I believe my own small command of the flame could be of service." 

He removed his right hand from the dash and regarded the Olympian serenely as he raised his left. Damien saw that the nails of that hand were black, almost like talons, with the index and ring fingers of equal length to the middle. Fire wreathed that hand, orange and crimson, flowing in and around the fingers in eddies and ribbons like a silver dollar, flashing from knuckle to knuckle. The hand clenched into a fist, and the fire went out. "And I assure you, Mr. Storm," Vail continued, removing his glasses to reveal dark knowing eyes, with pupils that glowed as crimson as the flames that had recently wreathed his hand, "that with me in the room, no one will ever be able to lie to you again. For I can smell a lie like a terrier a rat." 

Vail replaced his glasses, pushing them firmly in place upon the bridge of his nose with his well manicured right index finger. Then he leaned back into his seat with a contented little wiggle and a sigh. "And as there is no language that I cannot call friend, you'll never lack for someone who could help you build... a bridge of understanding, with those from cultures and countries other than your own. These are but some of the little things I could bring to your organization, Mr. Storm." He smiled as he watched cars flow by out the windshield. "Just some." 

Damien smiled behind his mask. This was an arrogance he could understand. "Let me see if I understand this. Based on what you're telling me, you're the demon behind Faustian deals?"

Mr. Vail made a tsking noise, and looked decidedly uncomfortable. "My dear Mr. Storm, I am... or rather was... but one of hundreds who have closed contracts with humanity through the ages. Much has been written of my people, and most of it is as fictional as the great beast in Loch Ness." Vail shifted slightly in the passenger seat, his attention caught by a group of children who  were shooting hoops in a park. Vail's head turned as they passed the mixed group of boys and girls, eyes locked on who knew what. When they were out of sight, the demon (if in fact that is what he was), regarded Brainstorm once more. "It is a truth that there was a war. It is a truth that some of us lost that war, and fell." He brushed at an imaginary speck of lint upon his slacks. "But it is also a truth that nobody, and nothing, is beyond redemption." His voice was quieter now, the accent that colored his vowels with something close to the sounds of a fingernail tapping a wine glass was stronger. "And my path will be a long one. Long and difficult." He sighed, then seemed to rally, the smile returning to his lips, the energy to his form. "And while there is much I will not speak of as it relates to my people, as it would only place you in danger both physical and moral, I can but ask that you consider my proposal, made honestly and without concealment or glamour." He turned and looked once more out the window. "You know, I find honesty to be, quite frankly, refreshing." 

"Honesty has it's own rewards and pitfalls." Damien replied, just as frankly. "I can certainly understand the desire for redemption, and to be as brazenly honest, that's pretty much what the Olympians have come to symbolize, at least for me and in my opinion. I appreciate your candor." Damien's words rang with sincerity.

Damien was silent as he drove, deftly weaving through traffic. His passenger could tell he seemed to be deep in thought. there seemd to be no ultimate destination in their meanderings. Mr. Vail got the impression that the vehicle was as close to an 'office' as he was going to get at the moment.

They drove in companionable silence for a solid 10 minutes before Damien spoke again. "It so happens that I'm the field leader for the Olympians. We're currently in a state of re-organization due to a change in membership and corporate backing. I'm going to have to discuss this with the other team members and the 'money man', but I think we may be able to come to an arrangement and add you as a provisional member of the team. However," There was an intense pause, "having brokered my own share of Faustian deals in the past, I need to be very clear on a point of concern. If we agree to this venture, there can be no fine print, no twisting of the wording, in other words, none of the antics your former bretheren are known for, fictiously, or not. You have to be open, honest and above board with everything. Am I clear?"

Mr. Vail considered this for a moment, the fingers on his right hand drumming out an intricate series of taps upon the armrest of the passenger door. "I should let you know that I have... abdicated, for lack of a better word... the use of any power or principality that is connected to my old firm. If even once I use those tools again no matter how noble the cause or great the need, this entire process must begin again." He tilted his head as a thought struck him. "Much like an alcoholic falling off the wagon I suppose, but with far more dire consequences. No, Mr. Storm, that part of my life is now over." His fingers continued their drumming, the pattern subtle and ever changing. "As for your point of concern, since it is your people who will define the terms of any agreement between us, there is very little I can do to twist the wording towards deeds nefarious or actions dark." Patterns of light and dark flickered over the two beings as the car wove it's way through a residential neighborhood, the trees that lined the road alternately occasionally blotting out the sun. "Still, you have my word that my purposes will be aligned with that of the Olympians for so long as they will have me. After all, it is redemption that I seek. Nothing else." 

Mr. Vail opened and closed the glove compartment door several times, seeming to relish the little clicking noise it made each time the door was shut. "What I always found most humorous, and I don't know if you will believe this or not, is that we never had need of twisting wording or doing anything even remotely Faustian in our dealings with mankind." He pushed the door shut a final time and regarded Brainstorm calmly. "The things that people dream up unaided are generally far more... creative... than anything we would have thought of." 

Damien snorted. "Why does that not surprise me in the least?" There was a burst of electronic noise that Mr. Vail correctly interpreted as a soft laugh. "Man is pretty fucked up at times, I'll give you that. I can't promise anything at the moment, John, but I think I can say you may have just found your path to redemption."

"And won't the old firm be pleased," John laughed, the bell-like tones filling the car. 

Damien was quiet for a few long moments. "Do you have transportation back at the coffee shop, or is there somewhere you'd like me to drop you off?"

"The interview is over? Capital!" Mr. Vail exclaimed. "Any old place will do, Mr. Storm. Any old place will do. I so love a brisk walk of a sunny day, don't you?"

"That always depends on the company, my friend." Damien replied. "As for the interview, only my portion as team leader is done. There's still more to the recruitment process. I'll take my recommendation to the money guy and his people, and the rest of the team. How can I contact you?"

Mr. Vail fished a slim black wallet from his back pocket and removed a white rectangular business card. "Mr. Vail, 555-777-1010" was embossed in crimson letters across the front. "My card, sir," he offered with delight. 

 Pulled the car over at the next convenient spot. He took the proffered card with out comment, placing it into a pouch on his belt. From another Damien pulled one of his own. This was black with silver embossing, the font an embellished calligraphy style. It said simply, Brainstorm, Leader of the Olympians, and gave the local Olympians hotline #. He handed the card to Mr. Vail.

"Should you have any further questions, you can reach me here. It was a pleasure to meet you, John, despite the circumstances of last night."  

Mr. Vail unbuckled his seatbelt, pushed his sunglasses firmly in place upon his nose, then took the card from Brainstorm and placed it carefully in his wallet. "I look forward to our next meeting, Mr. Storm," he said politely, and with much gravitas. Then he checked carefully to make sure no pedestrians were close by, unbuckled his seat belt and opened the door, then stopped out onto the sidewalk. "A good day to you sir!" He said enthusiastically, then carefully closed the car door, giving the handle a gentle tug to make sure it was secure. He tapped the rooftop twice, then turned and strode briskly up the sidewalk. 

Damien watched the odd man, demon, or whatever for a few seconds, before he pulled away. He had the damnedest feeling things were definitely going to get interesting. He wondered what the rest of the team would think about the newest recruit.

He drove away shaking his head slowly, imagining the possibilities.