*000000*

[X] First option, keep things as low-key as possible.

((()))

"...I think I'd like to keep things as low key as I can," you say, glancing over at the guild delegates again, "While I'm happy to be of assistance in bringing people here, as well as acting as a healer, I think the more important matter now is these representatives from Ravnica… and how we came here."

"How did you come here?" Armstrong asks, "And can you reliably pass back and forth between the worlds now?"

"Reliable travel is still being worked out," Actigall says, "Though progress has been made, it is not enough. Just a few hours past some of us were on the threshold of death from the rigors of travel; only extensive healing magic has restored us so quickly."

"And we arrived the same place I did on my first return," you say, taking a deep breath, "In Madison."

"...Well," Armstrong sighs deeply, "You telling me that makes things both simpler and more complicated all over again. I'm going to need to get into contact with the State Department, and start M/S screening on at least the three of you now."

"...Just the three of us?" you ask, glancing back at Melissa and Emma.

"For now," Armstrong says, "It's not like we have a useful baseline for extraplanar citizens who've never been on Earth Bet before. They also might be getting diplomatic immunity, and that's not something we want to interfere with."

((()))

Master/Stranger screening is, more than anything else, dull. You can tell that it's primarily geared towards humans, with human tells and physiology, but they still try to hook up a few biometric sensors to your scales and then put on a slideshow of images and videos to see how you react.

They also ask all kinds of questions. Some make vague sense, like 'How do you feel about assassinating the president?' But others are just bizarre, like 'Why do you like pineapple on pizza?'

You've never even tried pineapple on pizza!

After the questions and images are done, you're asked to spend the night in a room in the trooper barracks, with sensors still attached to you. You'd guess that means at least one Simurgh victim has gotten up to no good while sleepwalking, but it's a small enough inconvenience.

Given what happened last time you slept here, you're happy to leave the door to the room open so that the two guards can keep an eye on you.

Part of you surprised that in the end that's it; people build up M/S protocols to be some giant monolithic thing, but in the end, it's just a nuisance.

((()))

"Bookwyrm," Armstrong says quietly, drawing your attention away from the conversation you'd been having with Melissa and Emma in the PRT cafeteria, "Could we have a small private conversation?"

"...Sure?" you say, extracting yourself from the cafeteria table and padding after him, careful to keep your tail from smacking into anything.

"It's nothing too serious," he says, leading you into what looks more like a small study room than meeting room just one door down from the cafeteria, waiting until the door closes behind you before continuing, "Just some friendly advice. Not many of our staff here are familiar with the disappearance case your two friends are involved with, but for those who are, like myself, it's fairly obvious who you are."

Oh, right.

"As you know, the PRT has strict rules about secret identities," Armstrong continues, "And since we have an inference rather than clear evidence, you don't have much to worry about from my branch, especially with the heightened security measures. Still, I would recommend you be very careful about who the Dragon is seen with once you leave our offices."

"Thank you for the heads up," you say, resisting the urge to fidget with your claws, "How are things going with the Ravnicans?"

"A helicopter is scheduled to take them to DC later today," Armstrong says with a faint smile, "Where they will be guests of the State Department. Miss Feather requested that you either join them, or at least remain available for communications if you do not wish to."

...That sounds like rather a lot.

What do?

[] Go with the Ravnicans, see what interplanar diplomacy looks like.

[] Nope. You've got a private life to get back to, and while you'll be happy for Feather and the others to have your phone number, helping get them here was the only part you'll play in this.

[X] Go with the Ravnicans, see what interplanar diplomacy looks like.

((()))

"...I suppose I'm ready to play in the big-girl leagues," you say hesitantly, "I'll have to give Emma a message to take to her parents, but I'll go to DC with the Ravnicans."

"It settles my mind a bit knowing you'll be there with them," Armstrong says, carefully patting you on the shoulder, "Just remember to be deliberately non-threatening if you shake hands with anyone. You're a lot bigger than you used to be, and those claws look sharp."

((()))

"...I don't think we're going to be able to strap you in properly," the air force officer says as he looks you over.

"On the plus side," you half-shout over the dull roar of the helicopter's blades, "If I fall out, I can get myself to the ground safely."

"That'll have to be good enough," he says, shaking his head, "Just don't do something to make the other passengers unsafe."

He passes you a headset before opening the door back out onto the helipad. You somewhat awkwardly stretch it over your head, ending up with one earpiece roughly over your right ear, the other dangling loose. You're going to need to hold the mouthpiece in place if you try to talk into it.

The helicopter sent to pick the Ravnican party up is one of those big ones with two rotors. You don't know what they're called, but it looks like there's a small detachment of soldiers on board, as well as a pair of smaller helicopters with lots of missiles on their stubby little wings orbiting the PRT building.

The roar of helicopter blades is almost painful to your unprotected ears, but once you climb aboard the large helicopter, one of the soldiers slides the door shut behind you, and the sound drops off a little. It's still far too loud for normal conversation, thus the need for headsets.

"I'd heard the PRT had a Dragon," one of the soldiers says as you awkwardly situate yourself between the tight aisles of seats, "Thought you'd turned up dead."

"Close to it," you say, awkwardly tilting your head so the little microphone will pick up your voice, "Being a healer in my own right makes it pretty hard to keep me down."

"Handy," the soldier says, switching his grip on the huge rifle he's carrying to offer you a hand, "I'm Lieutenant DeFoe, in charge of the security detachment."

You reach around with one of your forelimbs, and carefully shake his hand. To his credit, he doesn't even blink when it becomes clear that your claws are the size of his little finger.

"Are you expecting an attack?" Feather asks.

"The CUI takes an unhealthy level of interest in Parahumans with exceptional abilities," DeFoe replies, "Hold-up."

"We are cleared to lift off," another voice cuts in over the headset, "Final checks?"

"Secured," DeFoe replies, the rest of the soldiers rapidly rattling off similar responses, "VIPs are secured as well, except the Dragon."

"I can handle the trip to the ground myself," you say, "If I need to."

"Irregular," the other voice, which you suspect is the Pilot, replies, "But we expect that from Parahumans. Lifting off in five."

The pitch of the rotors increase, and you are shortly treated to the odd experience of flying under someone else's power. Part of you itches at not being in control as you rise through the air, but for now, it's easy enough to ignore.

"Anyways," DeFoe continues, his eyes out the window as he starts speaking again, "The CUI have a penchant for trying to grab capes if they think they can get away with it. It's been four years since they tried that on US soil, so it's up in the air whether they learned their lesson from that fiasco, or the lesson's worn off and they're ready to try again.

"Only thing some people respect is a show of force, so that's what we'll give 'em."

"We have been informed of the Chinese Union Imperial's existence," Feather says, "But we have little practical idea of what threat they present."

"The Yang-Ban are the second-largest organized group of capes in the world after the Protectorate," DeFoe says, glancing over at Feather, "If they can field a full Company, things could get ugly, but even with parahuman BS, they'd have a hell of a time getting that many members into the US."

"I am aware that strength in numbers aid in battle," Feather says dryly, arching an eyebrow at the Lieutenant, "Yet this has done little to inform me as to the nature of the threat. Are they a flying force? Experts at ranged combat? Will they attempt to board this flying machine and fight us hand-to-hand?"

"...Fair question," DeFoe says, pausing for a moment, before visibly winding up to go on a more prolonged explanation of things.

A bit of motion catches your eye, and you see one of the other soldiers demonstrating how to change channels on your headset.

What do?

[] Listen into the Lieutenant talking about modern warfare with capes.

[] Switch channel to talk with some of the other soldiers.

[] Turn off the headset, be alone with your thoughts.[X] Listen into the Lieutenant talking about modern warfare with capes.

((()))

"I've been informed that capes work differently on your world," the Lieutenant says, "So I'll brief you on the basics over here before getting to the CIU. First off, capes here on Bet come in three categories as far as fighting them with mundane gear goes:

"Capes that are bulletproof."

He holds up one finger.

"Capes that aren't bulletproof."

He holds up a second finger.

"And Capes that aren't bulletproof, but have the brains and resources to get good body-armor."

He holds up a third finger and wiggles it.

"The third are usually the most dangerous, because they'll have something other than just being really tough and dangerous in melee up their sleeves. Have any of you ever heard of rocket tag?"

You shake your head, as do the Ravnicans.

"It's a term from a video game," DeFoe says, shaking his head, "For a game mode where everybody has rocket launchers, which are so deadly that defense is just about meaningless. Whoever lands a hit first wins.

"Less than ten percent of capes are bullet-proof, and less than half of those are resistant to high-powered AP-"

He pats the bulky rifle he's carrying.

"-Uh, that is Armor Piercing, rounds. The military generally doesn't like tangling with Parahumans, because they tend to have wild, unpredictable abilities, and if we're being called in instead of the PRT and Protectorate, intel is usually in short supply. Smokey and Shorty down there-"

He gestures towards two soldiers at the back of the passenger compartment, who are carrying some kind of bazookas in their back.

"-They carry our heavy ordinance. If we run into a high-end Brute, and the Barretts won't handle it, they're our last option. If their rockets can't handle it, we're dealing with a Brute 8 or higher, and we run like hell, calling for an airstrike.

"For anything other than Brutes, things turn into 'who can land a shot first?' That's why I referenced Rocket Tag. A lot of Parahumans aren't any more dangerous than a soldier with a machine-gun and grenades, not directly at least. I've worked with a couple Thinkers that have signed on as intel officers, and they can be a force-multiplier like you wouldn't believe.

"Aside from high-level Brutes, the most dangerous enemies are generally high-level Blasters. Enemies that can kill you as fast as they can see you with fire, radiation, or something more esoteric, are damned hard to deal with without losses. Fortunately, they tend to be just as fragile as regular humans, so Snipers can usually deal with them once they're spotted."

"What about Masters who can control humans?" you ask.

"The really nasty ones," DeFoe says, "Like Heartbreaker, generally they don't send in infantry to deal with. It's either specialist Protectorate/PRT teams, or the higher-ups use drone strikes. I think there's only actually been three cases of Masters that powerful though, so not usually something we worry much about. Lesser masters can usually only delay or confuse a couple people at a time, and bullets work on them just fine.

"To loop things back around to the CUI, their Parahuman enforcement arm is called the Yang Ban, and they're both better and worse to deal with than other capes. Worse, because they have multiple Parahuman powers, spread across a couple hundred members, so they don't have any glaring weak points like most Capes.

"Better, because all of those powers are a lot weaker for being spread out so much, and Intel works damned hard to keep on top of what powers they have in the mix at any given time. Conventional small arms generally don't do much to them but throw off their aim; heavier stuff-"

He pats his rifle again.

"Might seriously injure or kill them if you get them in the eye or throat, but mere mortals like us need grenades or rockets to be able to reliably hurt them. Unfortunately, they have a damned broad suite of offensive abilities as well, so if you let them hold the initiative, they'll tear your people up good.

"Fortunately, they're a bunch of idiots, individual initiative and tactics are deliberately trained out of them to make them good little drones. They tend to just rush you directly, with a few members deploying active defense barrier powers, while the rest attack. If you can flank them, get in air support, or well-placed artillery, you're probably going to get a lot of mutual kills."

"Mutual kills?" Feather asks, "This does not sound like an acceptable tactical outcome."

"Not what we ever want," DeFoe says, shaking his head, "But they have damned super-powers, and we've got rifles and explosives. If we know they're coming, we'll have support from Parahuman special forces, and that'll change the game all over again, but who works for SpecOps and what powers they have is pretty tightly classified."

"I understand," Feather says with a nod, "None but the General of a given Legion, their staff, and the Boros leadership know the whole of their capabilities."

...It doesn't take you long to realize that if this heavy escort is in place because of the possibility of a Yang Ban attack, at least of the few soldiers in the helicopter are probably Parahumans. With the full uniform, helmet, and polarized goggles, they might as well all be in disguise anyways.

"Odds we actually get attacked are very low," DeFoe says, "And we have other assets ready to respond if we do. The main purpose of my Platoon and the gunships is deterrence."

"I understand," Feather says with a nod, "It is same reason the League of Wojek patrols an area especially heavily after a series of arrests."

"League of Wojek?" DeFoe asks.

"Ravnica's Law Enforcement," Feather explains, "In terms you use, I am a Parahuman officer among the Wojek. Ranked between Lieutenant and Captain due to my powers and proven competence with them, while leading a single squad like a Sergeant."

The rest of the flight passes with DeFoe and Feather discussing the boundary between law enforcement and military. Feather argues that the fundamental purpose of the two is the same, to protect the populace, and the difference is merely one of training. DeFoe argues the military's focus is offensive, and the police is defensive.

Given the different worlds that the two come from, you doubt they'll come to an agreement any time soon.

You've never visited Washington DC before, but part of you feels it is altogether fitting that your first visit comes in through the air, allowing you to survey it at your leisure. The Washington Mall with its monuments and old government buildings looks quite different from the air than it does on TV, but it's fascinating nonetheless.

The helicopter doesn't land on the mall, just near it, touching down on top of what looks like a normal office building just a couple blocks away. As soon as it touches down, the doors are opened, and Lieutenant DeFoe gestures for you to get out. You hadn't really thought about it, but your size, your tail being tucked down the aisle, and your lack of seat belt, means you're the fairly obvious candidate to disembark first, regardless of relative social standing.

You're careful to keep your head down as you get out; you aren't quite as tall on all fours now as you are standing upright in human form, but you still don't want to get your horns chipped, or wreck the helicopter. Scuttling across the rooftop, you head over to where a couple of men in suits with guns under their jackets are standing by the roof entrance to the building, and a few moments later the Ravnicans join you.

The helicopter lifts up and away, and once it's far enough away that the rotor-wash isn't so bad, one of the two guards opens the door and gestures for you to enter. You're not sure what the reason for that timing is, but there's a nice lobby inside, with two people waiting to receive you.

The first is a man who is ruggedly handsome, just old enough for a hint of gray in his short hair and well-trimmed beard to give him a distinguished look, the second is a painfully pretty woman, who has the sort of hairstyle and use of make-up that could have her anywhere from a very mature teenager, to a good-looking thirty-something. They're both wearing sharp suits, his well-enough tailored to make it clear that he's fit, hers a skirt-suit with stockings and heels that flatter her legs.

"Welcome to Washington," he says with the sort of voice you hear announcing things on radio or for sports TV, stepping forward and offering his hand, "I'm Pete Gonzales."

"And I'm Catherine Sharp," the woman says, stepping forward at the same time as him, "We'll be seeing you around during your visit. Is there anything we can help you with right now?"

"Understanding of local customs," Feather says, stepping forward to shake Mister Gonzales's hand, while Elmira does likewise with Miss Sharp's, "Bookwyrm has familiarized us with some of your basic greeting customs, but I'm sure there are others. I'm Feather, by the way."

"There are," Gonzales says with a nod, "No surname?"

"Not for me," Feather says, shaking her head as she moves to shake hands with Sharp, "You could say that the use of surnames depends upon which subculture a Ravnican comes from."

"I am Elmira," the Dryad says, "Dryads are very rare among Ravnicans, and we need no surnames."

"I am Actigall," the Researcher says, joining the handshake rotation, "I have a surname, Cuvelin, but at the rank to which I have risen, it is not needed to distinguish myself."

"I am Elias Parnold Wiche Gardner," the Azorius representative says, also joining the handshake rotation, "Bonded Emissary of the Azorius Senate. Most Ravnicans have surnames, or use the 'son of' or 'daughter of' appellative. It is merely coincidence that two of our members are those without, though less improbable due to sending high-ranking representatives of respective Guilds."

"We'll file that factoid away," Sharp says with a practiced smile, "Regarding Miss Feather's question, here in America handshakes are the only common greeting among strangers and acquaintances. Those of closer relationships will often hug. Later we can discuss customs of other nations in some detail, but it shouldn't be relevant for some time."

"Thank you," Feather says.

"Do you shake hands?" Gonzales asks as he approaches you.

"Sort of," you say, carefully offering him your claw, "It's more a claw now."

"I see," he says, his eyes widening very slightly as he catches sight of your claws, "That must have taken some getting used to."

"It has," you reply, "Do you usually deal with parahuman relations here?"

"We've been transferred from the diplomatic team that negotiates information transfers with Aleph," Gonzales says with a handsome smile, "It's nice to finally meet extra-planar people in person."

"Though I understand you are a Bet native?" Sharp says as she steps over to shake hands with you.

Up close, you notice she has the kind of manicured hands that Emma would make a fuss out, her nails painted a deep red, and not a single hint of callouses anywhere on them.

"Yes," you reply, "Though I'm keeping my civilian ID as low-profile as I can."

"Understandable," She replies, "Now, we should probably head downstairs; the Secretary of State won't be free for a couple more hours, but his deputy is here to handle preliminaries, discussing why you're here in the first place, asking about important cultural conventions, etc."

"And if it's possible to share whatever technology you're using to translate so seamlessly," Gonzales says as he leads you all towards the elevators, "With the exception of Bookwyrm, you all sound like you have minimalist midwestern accents."

"Midwestern?" Elias asks.

"The region you initially arrived in," Gonzales says, glancing at Sharp as the Ravnicans follow him into the elevator, "It's generally considered the most universally-understandable accent on the English language."

"Though some Brits would disagree, I'm sure," Sharp says, stopping outside the elevator, "Looks like we won't quite all fit in one car; I'll bring Bookwyrm down in the next one."

"Of course," Gonzales says with a nod, before turning his attention towards Elias, "Are there many linguistic barriers on Rav-"

The door closes cutting him off, and Sharp glances your way.

"Just to make certain," she says, smiling softly, "You aren't under coercion to help them, are you? We can move you somewhere else immediately if you need it for safety purposes."

"No," you say, shaking your head, caught a bit off-guard by the question, though you suppose it makes sense if they're assuming you're an American citizen, "They've helped me a great deal, and only really asked help studying how to travel dimensions in return, which I kinda needed to get back home."

"I'm glad to hear it," Sharp says, "Is there anything else you'd like to say before we join back up with the rest of the group?"