The unit was usually rented, its place right there on the riverfront where the sea deities swam, collecting the run-off from the poisonous factories and turning it into beautiful sweet water again. Smaller companies rented this kind of space, with staggering insurance, to make singular Catches, but Almin Tarker had seen enough success drawing titans from the ether, The Eonverk, to own the gigantic, valved storage. His ace-in-the-hole, Crosser Clau, thought it was vanity that had driven Almin to purchase the admittedly usable space, since the cost could only be justified by renting it out when it wasn't directly in use, or being prepped, anyway.
It was this vanity, though, that had made them both so prolific in the trade of shackling the Gods themselves and passing them to the next buyer for astronomical profit. It was said the Eonverk was the consequence of human kind's beliefs, but there was no doubt a bit of beauty had gone from the world when Aphrodite had been Invoked and then put in an iron belt. Crosser wasn't sure what it all meant, only that he believed it. And that was his counterweight to Almin's vanity.
Crosser, counted among the Inciters, had an open heart, and could believe and conjure faith better than a brimming church, which - combined with a decently built God Catcher Device - could produce from the Eonverk almost any manner of God. It came with crippling doubt also, but he had enough money from the Tarker company to drown that out in the pills of this new era, and its liquid libations too. More than that, he'd find recovery in other bodies, which he didn't mind paying for either. It wasn't hard to find free fare, though, with Crosser's long limbs and face that was both soft complexion and a sharp chin. An edge to the magenta eyes and the dark lashes, which were complimented by the mess of exotically colorless hair. Today he wore the black and gray robes and straps of an ordained Inciter.
Almin's claps spread and died in the large locale, having only the circle of interlaced machines and their control pannels to the side to bounce off. He was shorter by perhaps a finger, but still towering over most, which he used to his advantage in business meetings. He wore a suit, mostly white, and tied his brown hair back. His features were a bit more traditionally carved. He could not afford the artistic wilting of an Inciter. He had to look healthy and strong, gladiator in good tailoring, for the corporate lions that were his adversaries. "He arrives at last, my golden goose!" he called out to the ceiling though it was directed at his childhood friend in holy garb. The workers finishing the set-up of the God Catcher weren't deterred by the scene. They had seen Gods compressed into nothing but the metal of their chains, two men acting like fools was nothing special.
"You should be glad I came at all." Crosser muttered, wiping the ball of his wrist over blooden lips that had kissed other mouths of flesh and glass today. "This is the third one in as many weeks, Almin. Why do you need so many Gods? Did you even sell the last one? How can you find bidders flush enough so quickly?" But it was only airs. Crosser's heart was thriving, though exhausted. Many dreamed of being Inciters, and those who earned the title could go years without work. Thanks to his relationship with Almin, Crosser was prolific in his trade, which afforded him an attitude toward other companies, and this hateful familiarity with Almin.
"Comon. You're my harpoon, and we're at sea, looking for the Hydra or the Kraken." Almin said and hung an arm around Crosser's shoulders. He waved to the machine around them. "This. This is my ship." It was a bit moot drawing on mythology these days. All fantastical things could be pulled from the Eonverk if the Inciter believed. Still, Almin wouldn't be who he was without this grandeur. "'sides, Ex. Your skills are improving because I use you more than you use that dame at that satin place you like so much."
Crosser shoved his friend with a grin. It was hard and it pushed the brunett a few paces back. They were these kind of friends. "Yeah, yeah, Almin, I'm your whore." he gave and rolled the cylinder in his right hand, his Bearer was already stretching out small metal arms and turning itself to different symbols. It listened to and resonated with his heart. It was mainly because of the Bearers that Inciters had to earn their title, since they became formidable weapons, also. "How about you get out of my office and I'll see what you found for me."
Almin nodded and went willingly, large, playful strides and hands locked behind his back comically. "Same as the last few times, Ex, I don't have a specific God for you. We're just directing the instruments of the Catcher and you'll have to find what you find." Blind fishing. Crosser was getting good at it, even if it was a risky thing, economically, to venture on for a company. It was inevitable, though, since humanity's myths were running out. And they'd been on a roll, lately.
"Well, then." Crosser said and flung the constantly changing Bearer into the air. He was obviously excited, himself. "Fuck you very much." he said upon catching the trinket again. Almin flicked his finger and a controlman started the sequence that lit up the pile of metal in the circle with Crosser. It was also changing, awaiting the form of the God it had to contain. Eventually the floor inside the ring of machines glowered, and the light contaminated Crosser's eyes, too, which carried their innate pink. Inciters had followers too, and now Crosser looked the part of a holy thing.
They lost him to his method for an hour or two. He wasn’t stoic, not a statue, some of his idiosyncrasies alive in the body while his heart followed the thread of the God Catcher to a specific patch in the Eonverk. “Fragments,” he said at one point “you’ve sent me to the pelagics, Almin, you idiot.” Some idiosyncrasies are more volatile than others. But the Inciter did not exit, he continued to turn on his heels, holding up the morphing Bearer like a lantern with cogs and spines.
It was during the third hour that the controlman gasped at the readings pertaining to Crosser’s physical health. “Sir! Look! He’s encountered something. His stress is almost solid!” With that, Crosser fell to his knees on the lit floor, the illumination making long shadows from his chin up to his temples, broken by the pretty fires eating his eye sockets. He didn’t look distraught in a way that suggested bodily harm.
“It’s… This isn’t a God. It’s… her.” The Inciter said, mouth open and staring into nothing. He turned his head to where Almin stood, an impossible implication, since sight in the Eonverk mean blindness on earth. “You—you lead me to her?” he asked draining desperation on his expression.
“Sir, I’m starting the extraction. His heart. It’s not responding to him. It’s building something on its own!” the controlman reached for a purple lever on the panel, but Almin, who wore a determined line on his mouth, shoved him to the floor.
“Get her, Crosser! It’s now or never!” he shouted and flicked a button, which would hail the deity in Crosser’s sights.
“No, I can’t. She’s ours…” Crosser tried, but had already stood up with the Bearer stretched out like a sword to ward off some oncoming thread. The light of the floor swallowed him before it started subsiding again. It revealed an Inciter with spectral eyes, color of the sweetest hues in nebulas, set in a formation of fear and longing and faltering determination. Usually there was war in the body of the Inciter when meeting with their target God. Crosser had hesitation in his, initially. The metals started quaking in their pile on the floor, already trying to fit whatever deity he’d come across. Almin’s mouth was pulsing as he lost himself to the scene. There was no hesitation in him.
“Get her, Ex.”