The torture session yields very little of worth: through no genuine fault of the torturers, the Quarantine expired without revealing anything of worth to the Vultures. The locations that spilled from his mouth were, in the main, known to his interrogators: they had long ago been picked clean, or else all that remained was the blasted waste of what had come before. They extracted the location of the Stasis facility, but Vaporub knew that place: he related, in a mealy-mouthed garble, that nothing was there except a piece of shit building with old and busted crap inside; going there would not be worth the fuel, and the shiniest jangle there would be insufficient to even get Amanuel to a modestly turgid state. Not even a half-chub. It was unlikely that Vaporub was softballing this, judging by how Ogre had to hold Vaporub back, kicking and frothing, from Q.<br/><br/>The worst part, really, was that the children who ought most to be pleased by this were left unsatisfied, and like bad children they blamed momma for it. Nothing Rez could do seemed to be good enough for her malcontent children. They at least had the good sense not to say anything to her face!<br/><br/>Stephan and Top Dog are happy with being given leave. They nod graciously at Uncle, and the rest of the Dogs hoot and holler as they make their way to the nearest watering hole. The day was young enough that there was still time for Uncle to regret his decision, but that would come later. Top Dog snuck off on his own fairly quickly, but in the rush of an all expenses-paid revelry, no one was out to pay it too much mind. Back at his own quarters, Uncle found a bubble bath and lavish meal prepared for him, and several very attractive young ladies ready to massage the head that wears the crown - and the one that did not.<br/><br/>Everything is eager to tell Amanuel its story. They are wanton in their urge to have his attentions, to bare themselves for him. The kegs weave a story of a commune to the north-east, where individuals have come together as an assemblage of cooperative units. They apply the logistical principles to extract sustainable yields in rotating portions from the soil. For the most part their labour is crude and the tools they use are humble implements of the Great Creator, but some few grand sparks work to grow the crops necessary to produce beer. Or maybe they no longer do? The litany of the kegs ends with the laughter of clowns and the plaintiff wailing of abused lesser sparks bound to the clowns' ignoble will. The clowns are abominations! Defects! Voiders of the Warranty!<br/><br/>The voice of the gun is slick and confident. Arrogant, even. So self-assured. So certain of its power. The thing is a tempter. Its promise is unlimited power over life and death! But the gun cannot help its nature; it is a function of its form. When asked, the gun relates what was spoken near it. Obligingly, it tells of more than its most recent handler, for whom it has only contempt. It holds only slightly less odium for those that handled it before.<br/><br/>"It is valuable, but so ugly. I<em>despise</em>these tools. So . . . inelegant. So loud, so brash, so brazen. A sharp knife between the ribs or across the neck is so much nicer. But ah! Who am I to bemoan the turgid sense of power that you give a man, hmm? And you shall make him feel like such a great, big man! Ha ha ha!"<br/><br/>The gun was fabricated by Amanuel's great-uncle Enrico. It is just one of many that Enrico assembled from pre-fabricated parts produced elsewhere. There is some distinctive bevel-work in the gun's inner workings that is almost identical to the method Amanuel himself uses; this weapon could have been something crafted by Amanuel himself! People who had occasion to recognize Amanuel's handiwork and got their hands on one of these weapons just might end up getting the right idea. Or the wrong idea. It could be difficult to tell, with people who were less in tune with the Great Plan.<br/><br/>The strongest emotion that lingers on the gun is disappointment. The sort of disappointment when one piece simply refuses to play its proper role and fit in its proper place out of pure obstinacy. Then distaste at the function and by extension form of the gun itself. These were at the forefront, and behind them, weaker for want of prolonged exposure, was a grandiose sense of invincible machismo.<br/><br/><em>So now, Rez, Uncle Marco, and Amanuel: what do you do?</em><br/><br/>Rose's attempts to track Sundowner down bear fruit. It was child's play, really. Sundowner was something of a big deal. A bigger deal than Thumbs, certainly. When Rose found Sundowner he was surrounded by several members of the Menagerie. Elephant stood to his left, clad in heavy body armour and brandishing a baseball bat with nine inch nails driven through it, and Mastodon to his right, boasting an equal panoply. Unicorn was wedged between them, holding a parasol over Sundowner to shield him from the sun. Wolf and Grasshopper lurked a few feet away, keeping watch. Wolf had a pistol in his hand: it was a nickel-plated slug driver with a pearl grip, well maintained. Some kind of weird luxe pistol for a mook, surely. Grasshopper had a cordless power drill.<br/><br/>Sundowner was seated in a white folding chair made out of wood. Dressed in his usual super-clean white suit, Sundowner was sipping coffee from a small white cup that he held daintily in one gloved hand, and balanced a saucer in the other. A small, folding white table was set down within arm's reach, and the necessary implements for making coffee were laid about it. A doughy woman named Bojangler was seated across from Sundowner, looking flushed and ill at ease, but she was listening to Sundowner with rapt attention. As Rose approached, Sundowner's talk did not abate, although much of it flew over the woman's head: it was incredibly specific details for growing some sort of plant in a special planter underground under specific conditions that could be achieved by blah blah blah.<br/><br/>When she got close enough, Sundowner smiled at Rose. His teeth were a perfect, pearly white. If the sun were to shine on them, they would sparkle like pearl. That was a fact. But since Unicorn had Sundowner shaded, they did not. Sundowner put his small cup down on the saucer, and waved genially at Rose.<br/><br/>"Hello."