Broken Circle; Tarot and Treachery

[Vhien]

Despite her playful attempts at provocation or inclusion, the three magical juggernauts retaliated with only silence. Even Baron Samedi redirected his attention to a glass of some pretty dark looking beer, whereas Hon-Gji's eyesight was directed elsewhere and Gwendolyn continued to ignore the lass. She spent a moment to survey the Big Three, each one deliberately avoiding eye contact with the naive girl.

Baron was not one to turn away a cute girl, especially one as bold [or stupid] to approach the Big Three outright. However, order had to be restored, and in lieu of the recent visions, the Big Three needed to resume their private conversations, for the time being at least.

"Maybe it be best if yeh go round dat weh, yeh? They and we have heavy matters to discuss, and dat one no even give yeh stink eye. Y'see?"The Baron didn't look at Andromeda as he spoke, instead lifting his beer and looking straight ahead.

Andromeda had no idea in any hell what Baron said, but she smiled a little while staring at him all the same. As the Baron finished his last gulps of his beer, he glanced in the direction of Andromeda and caught her ardent eyes. His eyes quickly cut away as he slammed his mug on the table and the four sat in silence.

Slowly, Andromeda sucked her teeth and spat on to the floor. This drew slight attention from the Big Three, but before anyone could speak, she rose. "So, I think I'll take my leave. Baron, pleasure. Hon-Gji, Gwendolyn."

It was hard to tell if Andromeda felt indignant or had simply become bored, however, she knew well enough not to wait to see a reaction. All the same, she didn't run from the table, she merely departed with poor posture and a little 'bounce' in her step. With each step she took, the Trident and chain wrapped around her waist shook and clanked, giving her the general vibe of a poltergeist.

The bar looked appealing, truly it did, but it had been a while since Andromeda had drunk and she just wasn't sure she could hang. Reaching into her pocket, she pulled out her phone, checking the time, checking the weather, checking her texts--looking busy to the Big Three, just in case they were watching her. She couldn't just walk away from the Big Three so rudely and be idle, so she figured she'd at least look busy, or rather avoid their eyes all together. Just as quickly as she had entered, Andromeda stepped outside to the patio for a moment to catch a breath of fresh air, even though, the air wasn't that fresh. Outside, the man who had entered the Red Room Barista earlier stood beside another young lady.

Considering that the two positioned so near one another, smoking cigarettes, even Andromeda could sense that she should back off some. Beyond the social atmosphere, the man, decked out in a red jacket and with matching hair, practically was glowing with arcane energy. Hell, Andromeda was surprised that she hadn't noticed it before, whereas the girl seemed different. From behind, Andromeda could only make out that the girl too was decked out in a jacket, albeit with a hood, and teeming with her own magical outlet.

There was no way that Andromeda could sneak up on the two, especially with as loudly as her chain was rattling. So without hesitation, Andromeda made her way to the side of the taller man and tapped his shoulder with the back of her hand.

"Hey, sorry to interrupt, but could I bum a cigarette off of you?" Andromeda's posture was domineering, despite being shorter than the stranger, and her tone was unintentionally demanding.

Even as she was asking, Andromeda's attention was directed to the filter of the cigarette, as though she was looking for the brand (and she basically was doing just that).

[inDefiance]

What a fucking douche.

There was no one else out here stupid enough to venture out into the scorching heat on the upstairs patio. All tables and seats were vacant and for good reason; save for the glass top, the sun-soaking patio furniture was made of metal. So there was more than enough space upon the wooden plank surface of the second floor exterior area for personal space and yet fucktard buddy over here just had to come on over and stand right beside her. Maybe he could have leaned over the faded wooden railing and enjoyed the smog laden view of the city instead. Maybe even do everyone a favour and take a head first swan dive into the concrete below.

Rosi half-exhaled smoke and half sighed as she sensed that he did not get the hint after she had turned her back to him and started aggressively ripping the leaves off of a nearby fern leaf. A heartbeat longer she waited then turned to him. Oh fuck. He was grinning at her, eyes half-lidded, ogling her like an 'inconspicuous' prick in a trench coat and hat that stood across the way from a water park filled with scantily clad children. Perv-tard much?

A shudder rippled down her spine and she cursed internally. Her Three had backed away from her. If she wanted their help, she would have to call upon them and ask a favour from any of them. She had already shunned them by smoking a stick of the special batch of cigarettes she received from the Quezacotl clerk earlier. The spirits that walked with her did not enjoy it when she decided to take a journey into reverie without them.

But Rosi had needed it. After 'airing it out' with them, she always needed her own personal spiritual space and went for a walk into her own mind without them. Sometimes she just needed to remember that she was just a woman beyond the daily demands of being a vessel. Unique, exceptionally 'sensitive' and fully-purposed, but a vessel meant to be manipulated nonetheless.

And so the douche started spouting off some grand-fatherly advice to her and Rosi had facepalmed, covering her rolling blue eyes. No shit, Sherfuck. Of course, she knew what she was getting into. And here we go. Waving about his lit cigarette, GrandDaddy Douche turned into self-righteous prick, the smug dickwad. Amused by it all? Then laugh it up, jackass. Hee-haw, motherfucker.

Then he said something about a spider. Her Spider. And suddenly it got real. Rosalie tossed down the cigarette and stamped down upon it, sending ripples into the Threshold. Instantly, the physical and mental representations of her three were at her side and the mortal world superimposed itself over flittering, fluttering chaos of that unseen and unheard. She really wished that her fetishes were displayed about her in this moment, but whatever, she could throw down with only raw spiritual power if need be at the moment. No one fucked with Weaver.

Grinder the Lone She-Wolf leapt into her heart. Seeker the Visionary Owl soared into her mind. Weaver held position from her soul being, fortifying the link between all of them.

She was supposed to be no one. But right now, she was one pissed off bitch shaman.

And now she saw the disturbed shit going off within him. Yeah, maybe she was going to get her ass kicked, but he probably would be walking away with a surprise yet to be dropped upon him. Whatever. Bring it, bitch...

"My name is Rosalie Rouge, but you can call me... 'She,'" Yes, that was part of her True name, but he needed more than just a morsel of it to even bother trying to mess with her. And even if he did not know that that was part of her True name, just planting 'She' in buddy-douche's head would make it easier to pull off bargains with buddy-douche here. "I don't know who sent you, or who you are, but any hostility upon--" Fuck me raw. We're on the second floor. We're not on any soil...

Rosi just let her words vanish into the air, she had no idea if the place was built with a sacred ritual or if it was sanctified, or who were the ancestors, but it did not matter any more. Her toughened body tensed as she blinked once. Those baby-blues were gone. In their stead were a pair of amber eyes glinting with the light of the unseen moon. It was time to let their actions speak--

Cue the ebony goddess intervention.

It was the bold and flirty woman with the golden fork and that ass that just did not quit. A third party with a fetish of their own. No, not that kind of fetish.

The 'fetish' in question was the mystical trident chained to Andromeda's rather lovely hips. To the owner of said trident, she would call it an 'S-Class' weapon, but to Rosalie whose eyes were seeing into two different realities at the moment, it looked very much like an item of powerful focus to her: a fetish. There were many churning and swirling spirits that were attracted to it so she could not see if there truly was a spirit residing within the weapon, trapped or otherwise. But there was no way in hell, Rosi would reach out and grab that thing uninvited. Even if invited she probably would not even touch it; there were many churning and swirling spirits attracted to it and a lot of them were acting 'conflicted' in following their knowing ways and travelled paths after leaving the mystical item.

Several breaths she did take, each one becoming more relaxed and calming than the last as she listened to Andromeda's demanding little voice. Finally she chanted internally and Weaver broke the link between the vessel and its three after Rosalie stamped her foot to release them. But the Spider did not retreat back into the recesses of her soul. As Grinder and Seeker left her heart and mind respectively, and stood by her side once more, Weaver remained at the forefront and that chill that some say they feel when an 'angel passes by' began to gather and swirl in her hands. (Said chill was that which Rosalie Rouge has to constantly live with thus always seeming over-layered with clothing even in summer).

'Yeah, that's why I love you, Weaver. You always try to make things right... bitch...' Rosalie muttered in her dreamy-sounding voice and spread her arms out wide. Weaver had deemed that it was time for trepidation and foolish judgements to end. It was time to negotiate. Suddenly her gloved hands clapped together once, sending ripples into the Threshold. The blue-headed woman began chanting as she stepped lightly in the the Eight-Step dance pattern to appease Weaver. When the Spider was satisfied, she opened her hands once more and the air about them was a much more comfortable temperature, yet still 'chilling' in a creepy, unnerving way. This was her warning to any wandering spirits that would come on by and try to eavesdrop upon them.

After a quick shrug of her shoulders and Rosalie removed her leather jacket and tossed it upon a chair, the studs and buckles clanged out against its metallic surface. After a quick adjustment of the patio umbrella and pulling out a couple of chairs for the others, she stood before them as if presiding over some kind of meeting in the ghostly air swirling around their table.

"Yeah. Alright then. 'She' will start..." she said with a shy smirk, yet raspy voice calm and confident, all thoughts of going toe-to-toe with Johan no longer an issue in her mind. She pulled out a cigarette from the pack she was given at the convenience store earlier and sparked it up. After exhaling a plume of smoke, she tossed her pack of special cigarettes on the table's rippled glass surface. It was an offering to any who would like to smoke one. A black and white striped fingerless glove pulled at her hood, revealing her entire electric blue hair. She licked her lips with her pierced tongue and cleared her throat before speaking. "My name is Rosalie Rouge, and I'm a Spirit Catcher. It's been two days since I've had the dream..."

Rosalie chuckled to herself as she took a seat. Hopefully they knew what she was talking about. If they didn't get it, then fuck 'em. But if they did, then maybe after having this little chat, she just might be able to convince herself to try to sleep tonight.

[Noxious]

She had slid her shoulders back so that each elbow rested on the bar and her body faced outward towards the people. Not an attempt to ‘display’ herself as much as an attempt to try and gain some bearings, though display would probably be the first word that would come to mind, her chest perked beneath the corset and accentuated the single metal ball piercing that rested between unobtrusive cleavage. She crossed her legs in a lady-like fashion, despite the fact that it was unnecessary with the lengthy cream, crimson and navy skirt that flowed all the way to her ankles. Her ankles jingled with the movement, strands of silver and gold laced around the right ankle unseen beneath the skirt. She looked every bit the gypsy she was, though as she’d already been told once in America, the pirate look wasn’t far off and thankfully that was in this season.

She turned her head towards Daniel as he neared her and she let the straw to her –almost- finished drink fall from between her lips. It was less than a second that she stared with her mouth agape, but enough to give light to the fact that she knew something wasn’t right about him. She glanced briefly at the 10 but then held Daniel’s eyes and as he stared seriously at her, she stared quizzically back at him. She could feel it, the same weird thing that most people probably felt around Daniel. To her it felt something like war; his body, soul and life were not truly aligned and really it felt as though some parts were clawing at the others. Before he could pull his hand away she placed hers on top of his, the $10 resting on the counter top beneath them. Her head seemed to cant sideways like a confused puppy (it was a bad tell Varvara had when she was looking into people), but then she remembered her surroundings. It was time for her to stop being so thrown off by the myriad of magical entities all stuffed into one room. She had to hold back her tongue as the words whispered through her mind what are you?

After the few seconds of different shades of confusion crossing over her face he spoke and she seemed to find herself. Her hand withdrew from his, with only a minor pause of hesitation, and her lips curled into a polite smile. Her eyes seemed to twinkle with amusement and she even giggled, something sweet and coated with a natural innocence she couldn’t let go, as he clarified his intentions. She didn’t necessarily believe him about not coming on to her; but that would be attributed to her own confidence and past experience, not the serious look that wouldn’t fade from his eyes.

As he leaned closer to her “…these people” incited another giggle from the girl as her hand that had previously been resting on his wrapped around his neck to hold him close to her proximity. Her fingernails grazed across the tender flesh of his neck like a snake charmer calling in the wicked. She was delighted to be sharing secrets, as well as finding a nuanced amusement in the fact that this man, whom had just seen her rob another in the matter of seconds, was so willing to get this close to her proximity. Foreigners, they really knew very little about the gypsy mindset, but she was a fickle thing and had already decided she wouldn’t take anything from this one, not just yet. She whispered into his ear, her breath sweet as honey and greyhound, though obviously not yet drunk. It was a voice thickly laced with amusement that was caressing his ear, ”But I should owe you? Well doesn’t that seem silly.”

She released her hold on him and leaned back once again, taking on the peacock pose of habbit. Her drink was raised and wiggled about while her eyes caught Evelyn’s for just a moment and then returned to Daniel as she finished her last sip and slid the drink onto the bartop. Her face became an octave more serious, which was only to say that her smile no longer showed her teeth, but still stretched across her face, moving alongside of her words and adding a chipper note to an otherwise serious comment. ”As far as I’m concerned, you are one of these people…”

Her eyes slid over him in an obvious manner before once again finding his face. She noted such sadness in him it almost made her frown, which truly would have been out of place for the gypsy. …”And you seem to have quite a bit of debt yourself, moy droog.” She must have reached into her purse with her free hand at some point because she delivered an old, highly worn, tarot card into his hand. She didn’t look at it, not only was it unnecessary, she almost felt that it wasn’t her place. She even hesitated to release it to him; sometimes they really didn’t like the cards, but once it was in his grasp her fingers fell away. ”We can call it a trade.” And as if on cue Evelyn slipped the drink in front of the two and took the bill that was still sitting on the counter.

[Hellis]

Johan was the master of riling people up. A walking magical howitzer with the mouth of a sailor. Yet, trough all this, no matter the harsh words or the woman absolute displeasure about his presence, he had kept his smile. It was a wry thing, promising bad things to any who would step up-.But behind the smile was a man who just realized he might have been close to get his fucking throat ripped. Those eyes had made it easier to pinpoint what he dealt with. Humans didn't have amber eyes, canines did. And judging from the girls attitude, there was nothing tame about it. So he hazarded that the way she had been eying him was so that she might tear his throat. Luckily, he didn't have to throw down with her, that would have ended badly for both. No, he had not come here with the intention to fight. But this.. hoodlum was all tense, all anger. Much like himself. So it came to a head, two really ill mannered people. One that had invaded the others little bubble of angry confidence with his insistent need to pry.


And that when another power stepped in. A woman; young, afro-american, very pretty. Reminded him of a woman he knew, Muda. He wondered were that oracle had taken off to. His mind refocused on the present time again, no matter how pleasant the memories. He knew a way out when he saw one. And this time, he took it. His eyes immediately simmered down, no more of the arcane, angry energy that threatened to blow up the runes in his bag. No, it was replaced with idle curiosity.

He ignored everything on her but the trident. She was much to young for his tastes anyway. The trident thou, echoed power. A S-class weapon, to the shaman and him, that was a collectors gibberish. To him it was Focus, to her most likely a Fetish. One of considerable power. One that many would kill for. And yet, she wore it like goddamn belt, the sheer nativity of this girl wanted him to just face palm his entire head off the shoulders.

“I got smokes. I would not suggest it thou, bad for your health” He muttered, clearly loosing interest in the whole thing. Fickle and bitter, yes, that was his MO. He flicked the cigarette onto the ground and stepped it out, Idly watching the two.

“thanks for the interrupt thou. Was afraid Ms Leather and Attitude here was gonna murder me.” He grinned at Rosi, or as she had said; She.” He knew she had baited him, he had almost risen to the goddamn challenge to.He had almost offered her a piece of his own name, good hing he wasn't new to this whole magic schtick.And it was water under a bridge now, this girl had nothing to do with the snake he had killed, she had not started her conflict with Mags and he had been wrong to even bring it up. He if anyone should know that peole like her would not take kindly to people butting in. It even dawned on Johan he had found something rare in this angry, aggressive spirit host. He found a spark of something genuine. Genuine anger was one hell of a thing to deal with sure but it was better then the fake consideration and false smiles that people forced around him. He was going to poke this beast a lot. And from the way she reacted to men, that would be as easy as stealing candy from a kid.


“I think I bought a book from your dad once Miss Andromeda.” He had taken notice of her name when she had been talking to the Baron. And her father was somwhat known to him. The man had been very interested in learning runes. Johan had politely said no. “And I got to say you got guts to talk to the Baron. He could have killed you for even getting close.” He was still waiting as he spoke he knew Rosi would say something now that the entire discussion was far less hostile. Of course, he realized she was most likely looking for a way to mess with him back after the little comment about her and spiders. But that was half the fun wasn't it, having shamans go after him. Made him feel like he was 20 again. And then Rosi spoke, and her tone made him finally relax hat last bit magic muscle .He let the runes rustle back in place as he sat down.

“Inkling we had the same” He had listened and now he spoke. If she cared to listen, she could tell his voice was far more serious, far more respectful to both her and he spirits. This was the part of the conversation where he acted like a decent human being. Her little trick to stave off unwanted spirits presided over them in way that reminded him of his own apartment. But this was also the rare occasion of Johan being all serious without being wasted, it was a feeling he hated.

“You both may call me Johan...” He glanced at Rosi “Or Douche, it would not be any different to me.” . He could hear a voice in the back of his head, like a little alarm. Telling him to warn them as well. One thing having a arcane link carved into his, be it rune or something else, is that he could tell when magic was getting weird. Or rather, weirder then usual.

“ I don't know how in tune you are with the flow of magic in L.A But my arcane connections are all kinds of tangled since that fucking dream.” He put a runed out stone on the table. It was dead of any form of magic. There wasn't even a hint of spirit or energy in it and had cracked in many places. A dud, and Johan never made duds before. He had heard from Rosita that her connection had been a little foggy since, albeit slowly recovering it.

“I don't know about you two, but I think this shit is far bigger then anything I have ever encountered. And trust me, I have tangled with everything from trolls to snakes to goddamn blood magic. This is way different.” He poked the rock. It flickered. “Oh.... kay. Its not supposed to that.” He muttered as he flactuated like a bad lighbulb. And then he could feel it, something had passed into the area of a L.As leylines. There was as if a scream went trough him as a strange festering presence seemingly ate away at the very energy of the place. And then, as if it had regurgitated it, that same energy it came swelling up at once, all of it. He had to grasp his head as his eyes shone red for a second and he almost tossed all his runes away from him. Last thing he wanted was to blow up.

“Please tell me you felt that.” He was sweating from the sheer exterion.
------------

Down stairs, the result was even worse. The tarot mage had flipped a single card, it was the tower. The people had stared at it as the tarot mage had broken out in hysterical laugh. The sign of bad omens, the ruin to come. And clearly, the energy spike had hit him hard.

Barons was sweating lighty, wiping his brow. The Necromancers entire share had turned from mahogany to a rotten mess, his own power clearly having flared out of control. Several pele were heaving and trying to get back on their feet. Mags was sitting slumped against the bar, fanning herself. Somehow having been able to turn a strange happening into a opportunity to show off cleavage. Evelyn was pale as a ghost and Rosita was staring Intently at the three. As everyone came back to their senses, the Ice Queen, head druid and all around fountain of wisdom rose to her feet. Calling to her the very attention of everyone still standing.

“I think this meeting, should officially start. It appears things are moving faster then expected”

-----------

Event:
Arcane spike and everything not so nice!

Spirits, precogs and arcane mages are going to feel this the worst. Anyones sensitve to the earths magic and auras will feel and see it pretty badly to.. Something big just decided to mess with the very foundation of L.As magic community. Magic items and fetishes will be unruly for a little while as a result. As a result of this nasty development. The meetng has officially started. To my interact with the Three. Keep in mind three things for each:

The Baron likes ladies. He will entertain you for a while if your are of the female gender. Men will find him to be less... accommodating and more business like. Offer a deal, a gift or the like.

Hon-Gji will talk to anyone. He is scary thou, we are not talking big bad. But you cannot play it off as nothing if you do seek conversion. He reeks of death, he will intimidate you on a pure spiritual level.

The Lady: Is a bitch. Just not a bitch, Queen bitch. She will treat you like the dirt under her soles. She will question your right to breathe. She will patronize you at every turn.

[custoscustodum]

War was a good way of putting it. The life of a sin-eater was not a happy one: eaten debts were subject to a conservation law – they could not be destroyed, merely transferred from one person to another. The consequence was that Daniel’s soul was weighed down by the plethora of sins he’d eaten, and even before the dream, his sleep had often been interrupted by confused, vague and terrible nightmares as his subconscious was wracked by the guilt of things he had never done; his waking hours were not much better, as pangs of anguish assailed his psyche. The worst thing about it all was that, in this war, the enemy was truly faceless: Daniel ate sins, not memories, and so all the guilt and torment was directed at nothing in particular (well, not quite all. The sin-eater had his fair share of personal guilt too); thus there was no chance of self-forgiveness, acceptance, or reconciliation. This was not a novel problem for a sin-eater, of course, and the order to which Daniel had belonged had given him extensive training to deal with just these sorts of problems. For instance, it helped him to realise that memories of particular eating rituals usually provoked feelings of guilt caused by those eaten sins. As a result, at least in a small, precious proportion of cases, Daniel could be fairly sure what acts had wrought what feelings. The rest of the time, however, there was little respite, and the war continued, less nuclear explosions and cruise missiles, and more attritional, soul-destroying trench conflict.

The war leached out of him, like a civil dispute spilling over national boundaries. Daniel did his best to cover it with his paradoxical combination of brusqueness and politesse, but that too was a losing battle. For this reason, Varvara’s initial reaction of surprise was not uncommon. Nonetheless, no matter how many times he’d seen it, every new occasion still eroded the sin-eater’s spirit a little more. In the Russian’s defence, however, her shock was considerably shorter lived than most people’s, and, more incredibly, her instinct was not to run from the darkness, but to – what? Caine wasn’t exactly sure what the gypsy had been intending to do when she rested her hand on his, but it seemed for an insane instant as though she was trying to peer into the very depths of his soul, something not many tried to do: and when you gaze long into an abyss, the abyss gazes also into you. Whatever Varvara had been trying to do, she didn’t go through with it. This mostly relieved Daniel, but a small part of him was also somewhat disappointed too.

The sin-eater was not a prude, but overt sexual gestures made him uncomfortable. For the greater part of his life, he’d adhered to the vow of chastity he had taken, and when he and his protégé, Alena, had finally broken each other’s vows, their tragically brief relationship had been loving and passionate, but also inevitably a little adolescent and naïve, like two dilettantes fumbling in the dark. Since his excommunication, Daniel had indulged his needs, but only ever with prostitutes, partly because he valued the simple clinical exchange of money for services, and partly because he felt it minimised the danger of feelings developing. All in all, it wasn’t that Daniel hadn’t been in the game for a while, it was that he’d never been in it at all, and he’d no idea of any of its rules; Varvara’s hand on his neck, drawing him closer, and her breath in his ear nonplussed and discomforted him. The giggle added to his perturbation – he didn’t think he’d said anything funny – but he’d have been lying if he hadn’t admitted to its intriguing him slightly as well. Nevertheless, he was mostly glad when she retreated to a less intimate distance. He was gladder still that she’d passed both his tests.

Perhaps test was the wrong word – too clinical, and unfeeling, though he had been calculating. Daniel really meant what he’d said about not being indebted, and especially not in here with a rabble of less-than-saintly magic users. But she was absolutely right in her observation: his action only meant shifting the debt, not erasing it; this was one of the fundamental principles of his craft and it pleased him that she’d used the test – no – opportunity to grasp it. While Varvara had correctly taken the first opportunity, she’d correctly passed on the second one: the sin-eater had been fully expecting her to pick his pocket as well, and he’d been hoping to find out just how good she was at it (the Swede had been an easy mark, after all), so it was a very pleasant surprise to discover that she had taken nothing from him (unless she was really that good, such that even a subtle rummage in his pocket on the pretext of adjusting his trousers (which he too late realised would probably be construed in entirely the wrong way) wouldn’t reveal the theft).

Varvara’s observation that Daniel himself was one of those people caught the sin-eater off guard. He hadn’t been expecting to win her trust with a ten-dollar bill, but, despite his secondary, ulterior motive of learning a little more about her character, his motivation had been a genuinely helpful one and, in a rare moment lacking reflection, it hadn’t occurred to him that, in her eyes, he was probably just another grotesque lecher – and not even a young or handsome one at that – in this ensemble cast of misfits, sinners, and perverts. By the time he'd focused properly again on the conversation, he had completely missed Varvara’s inspection of him (as ever he was clad in black and, despite the weather, wearing a leather overcoat; he was tall, exactly how tall it was hard to say as he was sitting down, but at least a few inches over six foot, and he was extremely wiry, almost to the point of looking unhealthy; sadness sat heavily in his body, and his eyes, but he also carried with him something else, a sharpness that suggested a keen intellect and a thoroughgoing competency – sin-eating was not a forgiving profession), and she was holding out a tarot card to him.

“You’re very perceptive. I’m a debt collector, of sorts,” Daniel began, still serious, but more morosely than intensely so now. “But I’m not a bailiff,” he added quietly, his blues eyes dropping for a moment to the piercing at her breast, less to stare at her cleavage and more because he was thinking. He hadn’t meant to pose a riddle – this wasn’t a test, or opportunity, or anything else – but it was hard to find the words. For a brief second, he considered just telling her outright, but it didn’t quite seem to be the time. Daniel’s eyes found Varvara’s again.

“As for whether I’m one of those people, I cannot do better at this moment than to assure you that I am not. Perhaps if it later becomes important, my actions will speak for my character better than my words.” His seriousness gave way to a sincerity so absurdly earnest that it was hard to tell whether he was being genuine, or sarcastically dismissive.

Then Daniel smiled. The change was remarkable. Not only did his whole facial expression change to reveal a profound warmth, and a new light shone in his eyes, but even the tension in his body seemed to ease, as he relaxed slightly. The gesture clearly suited the sin-eater; it was a shame he didn’t do it more often.

“Very well, amica mea. We can call it a trade.”

Daniel took the card, noticing her slight hesitation with interest but without remarking on it. It was genuinely pleasant to be engaging in a conversation the sole purpose of which was not to negotiate a salary for services, whether he was being solicited for sin-eating, or doing the soliciting for something else.

“While we’re trading, perhaps we could exchange names too. My name is Daniel.” The smile lingered at the corners of his mouth. He’d heard her name already, of course, but overhearing a name and being given it were two entirely different things.

While the sin-eater awaited a response, he glanced down at the card and turned it over in his hands. Simultaneously, the tarot mage who was practising his craft turned over another card. They both showed the tower. Daniel’s card didn’t surprise him in the slightest – it was the same card he’d drawn or been given from every deck he had ever come across – but what did surprise him was a deep sinking feeling in his stomach, as if he’d just gone over the top of a steep hill on a fast rollercoaster and was beginning to plummet down the track. A strong, but mercifully momentary, wave of nausea came over him. The sin-eater’s forte was magic that was ritualistic and rule based, and so his natural magical sensitivity was not as keen as that of most of the mages in the room, but he had enough experience to know that something was up.

Around them, chaos began to break out. Clearly, whatever was up was big, and affecting the more sensitive magic users powerfully. Daniel looked to Varvara to see what impact the incident had had on her.

“Are you all right?” he asked. The smile had, replaced once again by the seriousness. But this time, the latter had a more obvious undercurrent of concern.

[Noxious]

Daniel’s eye’s shifting down to her chest actually didn’t strike the girl as anything unnatural; she frankly didn’t even notice. The body was not a filthy thing in her community and she had yet to grasp the rooted sin that many placed on such acts. Dancing naked with the deities that prowled the earth seemed natural; touching those who you were attempting to gauge followed in the same suit. Intimacy simply wasn’t monogamous with lust or possession, it was human nature. What is life without touch? Her interactions, while puzzling the priest (a feeling she hadn’t registered him having, much as tribal people may not see the ship, because it isn’t even in their scope of perception) went unchecked and she watched him with that smile still on upon her face.

Once Daniel’s own face found that smile she immediately liked him more, it flickered across her own features unhindered and she couldn’t help but giggle again. It was only when he touched took the card that she felt a small wave of nervousness, as much for his reaction introspectively as his outward feelings towards her. To mask the nervousness she reached back for her drink and brought it towards her lips and was about to offer her own name when the other tarot reader in the room sliced through her concentration with his hysterical laughter. But that was nothing…

The dirty family secret, the magic inside that she feared to touch, something she often forgot was even there, struck her like a freight train. This was something her mother had failed to warn her about and probably something that no one had experienced since her first generations that had actually tapped the source. The arcane power that normally slinked through her blood turned on her in the moment. What had just felt like life and blood now felt like gasoline dancing dangerously close to a match, until in seconds it flared within her and her own eyes blazed, burning a blindness through her corneas. Her drink fell from her hands that immediately flew to her eyes, and then attempted to shield her chest, her stomach; she had no idea how to deal with this moment. The glass hit the floor and she tumbled after it with a sob that was quickly warring with a retching, both attempting to claim the throat, so that as she puked onto the floor sobs were muffled in between, and her eyes that she felt were forever gone clenched so tightly that tears could barely squeeze onto her cheeks.

The severity of the fire raging inside the little Roma was sudden, but it was also short lived. As the Ice Queen spoke Varvara forced her now blood shot eyes open and stared down at the mess that swelled around her hands, mixed with the drink and a bit of blood from her left hand that had fallen amongst the broken glass. She shook her head as if to shake a nagging feeling from her brain, though it seemed it was not yet ready to depart. It was as if the arcane purity had gotten a taste of a host and now it pulsed behind her temples. Her own body seemed strange; her hands pulsed upon the ground as her aura seemed to twist realities perception mildly. When she raised her eyes to the Ice Queen and then to the concerned Sin-Eater at her side she noticeably paled, replacing the sort of green flushed tint that had come with the wave. She knew it wasn’t right, the way they now looked, but she also knew –somewhere, where the purity lurked and whispered straight to her brain- she knew this was more real than she’d ever been able to see. Possibly for the first time in the carefree little Roma’s life she looked scared.

[Vhien]

"I got smokes. I would not suggest it though, bad for your health". His voice trailed a little at the end of his speech, as though he lost interest.

Andromeda let the words flow in one ear and out the other as she reached for the cigarettes. Without wasting too much time, she tucked the cigarette, brandless, probably self-rolled, into the corner of her mouth, glancing up at the ragged man every so often while she searched for a lighter.

"Thanks for the interrupt though. Was afraid Ms. Leather and Attitude here was gonna murder me. I think I bought a book from your dad once, Miss Andromeda. And I got to say, you got guts to talk to the Baron. He could have killed you for even getting close." The man continued all the same, as though Andromeda had indicated she was really listening anyways.

"Mmm. Yeah. Well, y'know. Baron is coo'." If she wasn't still fighting with her lighter and trying to spark her cigarette, she might've been able to respond better, but this conversation was a bit of a distant concern. Matter of fact, this cigarette wasn't even the sort she liked, it wasn't Newport cool. Damn. Regardless of the quality, she wavered a bit before her concentration was broken.

The blue haired lass from before, whom Andromeda had completely ignored right off the bat, removed her hood and began to introduce herself formally. This time, the full extent of her hair was visible and Andromeda marvelled a bit, her jaw going a little slack, but not so much as to drop her still unlit cigarette.

"My name is Rosalie Rouge, and I'm a Spirit Catcher. It's been two days since I've had the dream..." As this Rosalie finished her introduction, she threw down some cigarettes on the table, which Andromeda unstealthily picked up. There's no such thing as smoking too many cigarettes after all.

The 'gentleman' in turn introduced himself and addressed the probing comment on the dream. "Inkling, we had the same. You may both call me Johan...or douche, it would not be any different to me."

"Andromeda."

Ah, names to the faces. Cool. Johan and Rosalie? She could get to that. Johan continued a bit more on his own post-dream experiences, commenting on his arcane difficulties as he pulled out a dead rune stone.

"Shucks. I am not the sharpest knife in the drawer when it comes to magical bits, but that looks pretty damn bad." Andromeda, by this point, removed the cigarette from her mouth and put up her lighter, as she wasn't quite in the mood to smoke anymore [not that she did often anyways].

"I don't know about you two, but I think this shit is far bigger than anything I have ever encountered. And trust me, I have tangled with everything from trolls to snakes to goddamn blood magic. This is way different." For some reason, this fool disturbed the rune stone and all hell broke loose. As the stone flickered, the rest became a bit of a blur. Now, Andromeda wasn't the closest to raw, Arcane magic, but her dearest little fetish, Mu, was somewhat invested.

As Johan flickered like halogen lights in a bad horror movie, Andromeda just felt a little nauseated and dizzy. Since her head was swimming and her eyes were closed, she couldn't quite see the effect going on, but Mu, her trident, began to glow. Perhaps as a result of her close connection with Mu, her whole body matter of fact began to pulse with the same golden hue as her weapon, but this only lasted a moment.

"Please, tell me you felt that". Despite not feeling well, Andromeda heard Johan's words clear as day.

Her body didn't show as much exertion as Johan, but her voice had dropped into a groggy drawl, as though she would vomit at any moment. "I sure as all hell wish I didn't. Mu hasn't acted that damn foolish since that damn dream, man. Shit. What was that?"

"That was probably the reason that we're here..." The words came clearly, to Andromeda at least. She heard the calm and deep tone from within, a voice she knew well.

"What the math, Mu?" Andromeda didn't invoke her weapon mentally or spiritually however, preferring to let her words come out mumbled for all to hear.

"Things are indeed moving faster than expected..."

[inDefiance]

Luckily she exhaled before he spoke or she would have been choking on the smoke from her cigarette. Her eyes were already beginning to look glassy when she laughed at his offer of his name. “Yeah, I'll be sure to let you know when you are being Douche more than a Johan, buddy,” she chuckled a bit more and saw the spirits that walked in and out of his life 'swim' about him less erratically and more pleased with her attitude towards him.

Rosi tapped the tip of her cigarette to the side and watched as the ashes fell and hit the ground. The others could not see what she saw, but she was reading the 'ends' of the burned mixture of reagents in her cigarette. Basically, a bit of pre-cog to make sure she did not end up fucking up this conversation, like she did so many times before with new people. There was a bit of a 'go-to-hell-all-of-you' edge to Rosi, no doubt, however, she thought it may prove to be more than a boon should she play nice with these two. She desperately needed allies in L.A. That and Weaver's wisdom was something she knew better than to disregard or take lightly.

It was too early to get a more accurate read so Rosi took another drag and watched and listened to the voice of the chocolate skinned lady with the tight twists in her hair. Rosi's now red-rimmed baby blues took in the kerchief that held up the locs of the woman in front of her and smiled as the spirits that walked with her danced to a rhythm unlike any Rosi had known before. Enticing, bold and commanding just like the woman whom attracted said spirits. Oh how Rosalie Rouge wished that this woman would spark up the cigarette that she had taken from Rosi; it would be so much easier to get to know her... and get her to shake that ass for Rosi without any of that pesky cloth obscuring her view of that shaking tempting round thing. Not that Rosi was a perv or anything, because it was rather advantageous to have one who had a certain, unique rhythm to them dance and appease spirits. It's not as if 'She' wanted to get her naked or anything. Besides, after that 'bitch, would you take a look at the fuckery we have here...' look she got when she removed her hood was more than enough to show that she was nothing but a skanky looking skid to the rather regal woman. But still...

“'Andromeda'...” Rosi said in both her normal voice and mumbling dreamy spirit voice caressing and savouring the name at the same time like a fountain of chocolate fondue sliding over a nice juicy cherry. It was more of a luring call than anything and the spirits that walked with Andromeda seemed to be interested. “Hell... oh...” said Rosi under her breath and let her pierced tongue slip out and wet her lips as her baby-blues traced the swells that held tight against the wielder of Mu's top. Then suddenly her eyes darted away to Johan's demonstration (thankfully the ebony beauty did not notice Rosi's wandering eyes) and took another drag on her smoke.

Yeah, that lighting up of that rune dud thing did unsettle Rosi. What was even worse was the fleeing of spirits. And then she saw the 'ends' of the ashes on the floor. Holy. Shit. She had never seen that pattern before. It was broken. It was ugly and fiercely unreadable. She tensed as she turned back to face the others, “No shit, eh... Something's not right, you two... I mean, that dream was the thing that lead me here and right now I--”

Suddenly she was cut off. Weaver was gone. The void from within her was immediate and alien she felt like throwing up. Weaver never fled without saying any-- Seeker closed herself off from Rosi's side of the Threshold and, oh fuck, Rosi never remembered feeling so empty in her life. And now she was exposed. Her earlier invocation echoed out into nothingness back to the NetherRealm. What the fuck was happening?! Something large. Something powerful. Something like a tidal wave rising up, pulling the everything from the shore, looming large, reaching up at full apex, before crashi--

'Grinder...?! What in the fuck--'

Rosi's fell back, both legs kicking up into the glass surface of the patio table, shattering the rippling marbled transluscent surface. Which was a good thing, had her feet not flung upward and got caught on the rim of the table, she would have smashed her head on the giant ceramic pot behind her. Rosi was blind in both worlds now and her heart was going to explode in one and seize up in the other. The tidal wave of whatever the fuck this was hit her like a tonne of bricks in her heightened state and she was going to be comatosed for a long time. A very fucking long time. She would be vulnerable in this state and most likely there would be some very nasty... entities looking to force their way into this powerful and unique vessel. This aftermath would see so many vying for control of the one known as 'She-Who-Walks-With-Three.' For not only would they be able to claim her but Seeker, Weaver and Grind--

'Fuck. No.' said Rosalie's body, a wild and gutteral dreamy and mumbly tone rumbling from her entirety.

The vessel's body quivered. No actually it was just her skin. It rippled and slid about as if made of a substance like liquid rubber. Then her mouth opened wide as her head lolled backwards. And it kept widening. Shit, it was wider than humanly possible. And now something was wriggling its way out.

Rosi's body convulsed to the wooden floor as a dark wet thing slid out of her mouth. It was a nose of some kind of animal. Protruding part way out of her obscenely wide open mouth, it took a few sniffs. Then like a body bag vomiting out a cadaver, the animal forcefully made its way out of Rosi's mouth, tearing open her cheeks as it went, sending her lip piercing flying into the air. Rosi was no longer a body, but a just a skin vessel ejecting a furry and muscular physical manifestation out its torn opening.

And so now there it was.

Three hundred and fifty pounds of snarling, gnashing She-Wolf stood before the other two on the patio, glowing wild amber eyes darting this way and that, sizing up whether the two were prey or pack. Gigantic ivory teeth bared at Johan and Andromeda as the monster timberwolf lowered herself to the ground. It had half the top of its left ear missing and all along its bodies were scars, brands and bitemarks, all of which seemed to shift and swirl upon her muscular and tensed black and grey hide. Amber eyes narrowed with a single deadly realization like all those times before. There was no pack here. She was a Lone Wolf. She was going to leap forward with savage fury and consume whatever the fuck she pleased.

And so she did.

The deadly maw snatched up the skin vessel upon the floor as soon as it landed. Two enormous gulps later, the rest of whatever the hell was left of Rosalie Rouge was now in its belly, fetishes, reagents and all. She licked her chops as she padded her way slowly towards the two that remained. Grinder the Lone She-Wolf was complete on this side. She tensed and stretched her body, much larger than she remembered, but whatever, she was fully formed once again in the mortal world, fuck it all. Fuck the Quez the most.

Grinder was not to be unleashed in the territory of the Quezacotl or else they would come for her. But she needed to save Rosi and so the physical manifestation of her three needed to be out to take the brunt, if not all, of the massive power surge, the tidal wave, of whatever the fuck just hit them. And if that meant pissing on one of the Quez clan's territory then so be it. Grinder tilted her snout into the 'oh-so-refreshing' LA air and howled loud and proud. So be it.

'Bring it, bitch...' was her cry.

To her haunches now did she lower her massive body, eyes scanning Los Angeles horizon for any signs of an incoming threat. But as much as she wanted to wait on the rooftop for flying feathery snaky things to rip the fuck out of, another sensation pulled at her heart. One more pressing and achingly irresistible. There was another here she needed to appease now that she was fully formed. Wild amber eyes widened and a gruff whine did she let out before turning tail and bolting down the stairs.

It was a lucky thing too, for now she was on the ground floor and whatever magicks presided over the soil here, it was a neutral site for Grinder and a place safe from her enemies, and her enemies safe from the She-Wolf. Her dark nose sniffed at the ground, and like a human shrugging her shoulders, she snorted and raised up her muzzle. Whatever. She continued to lumber into the main area and took in the rest of the scents and sights here before resting her wild eyes upon she whom Grinder could just not feel an urge to greet.

Treading very carefully, so as to not anger her, Grinder padded her form over to Gwendolyn. After a slight inhale and exhale, she rolled down upon her haunches before the Druid. A simple nod of respect to the Lady was that which she knew to greet the Druid, then Grinder stood upon all fours and took her three hundred and fifty pound frame a bit a away from the big three, yet still close enough should the Lady Druid have need of her. As she lowered herself to the floor in a resting position, her glowing amber eyes slid back over to the staircase. If the other two from the upstairs patio came downstairs, Grinder would let them know their place.

If they knew how to respect 'She' then Grinder would accept them. If not, and they came close to her, fuck 'em, she would eat them. Wild amber eyes made a sideways glance over to Gwendolyn. The giant canine sighed... well only if the Lady Druid said so.

[Hellis]

The scene infront of Johan was one of gut wrenching horror. The woman in the leather jacket, Rosi, was struggling with something. Most likely due to the spike of energy that had rippled trough the entire L.A magic community just now. And then, then it reallywent south. Her mouth began to tear, and massive wolf climbed out. And for the first time in quite a while, Johan was legit intimidated. This was the owner of the amber eyes that Rosi had showed during their little talk. A goddamn wold. He had been right. This woman held not one, but two spirits. Possibly even more. That was something incredibly difficult to deal with.

He dind't speak, regaining his composure instead. And when the wold made her host into a goddamn happy meal, Johan went to pick up his runes. He glanced over his shoulde, realizeing that Grinder did this as defence mechanism. She couldnt leave fetsihes and flesh around that could jeperdize Rosi afterall. Johan just hoped there was something left of Rosi, three spirits and a arcane spike was a bad combo.

Looking into his own bag of tricks, the runes he brought were all whole. He was glad none of them had exploded. Or the patio had been turned into one hell of a firework display. Fire runes and Odin runes like the ones on his back, made out the majority of it. Picking up a stone with the runes for wisdom on on it he muttered quickly and the thing lit up in blue before dissolving. A wave of energy rushed into him. His ind seemingly rearranged itself, undoing the jumbled knots of panic in order for insight, clarity and calm to take its place. One might consider it cheating, but it was double edged knife. It was like drug, arcane in nature. It was like shamans using drugs to heighten their awerenesss, only this was less natural, more raw. But he needed it, becouse now he could see the Wolf leave, and he knew that he had to stay sharp for what was to come.

Reaching into the pocket of his duster, he only now noticed his severe lack of money. That was weird, he had saved ten dollar for the bar tab. He stood as if frozen for awhile, only for his new found clartiy to kick in, and the young, charming visage of one Roma lady hit him. He began to laugh, a hearty, very rare display of sincere amusement escaping him. He had been played like a bumbling fool.

“Oh Johan... You are loosing your touch.” He mumbled to himself as he absentmindedly began his descent down the stairs. As he went Into the Barista, the majority of the magicians now looked worse for wear. Some were seemingly feverish and bleak, others . Rosita gave him a tired look and pointed at the Druid who now was taking center stage. His eyes found the cold eyes of the Ice Queen of magic, and he immediately decided never to meet them again. That shit sent shivers down his spine. Instead he diverted his attention towards the bar again.

“Well now..:” He mumbled as his eyes scanned the bar. “Where is the little thief...” The new found clarity was letting him observe everything as if he was a hawk. It was as if he had been watching a low definition video this entire team, now things were almost to clear, to bright, to defined. His eyes found the girl, keeled over and with her drinks having come up in a rather unflattering manner. He sighed, he could not demand his money back from a girl in that state. He better just strike up a running tab with Rosita again. At least he was known for paying his debts. His train of thought was interrupted when the Druid spoke again.

“I know you have many questions. And that is why this meeting is called. Even us council Members are in a state of confusion as to what this Giant is.” Despite her words, her voice held no hint of such a confusion. “Each of you were invited as we were able to track ust how spread the dream was, albeit unable to find its source. Each of you should have seen the giant, the man and the realm they found themselves in.”

“This being is clearly a giant, this much we can deduct. This means its in direct conflict with our safety. As some of you may already know, giants are the end of the magic spectrum. They are prominent in all our religions as a near unstoppable antagonistic force for a good reason I'm afraid. And this particular one has been held captive, that means whatever chained it, could not kill it” The Necromancer was next to speak, his voice was stead and calm, despite the earlier outburst of necrotic energy that had totaled his chair. As he spoke, there were many who visibly were taken aback. Johan could not blame them. Hon-Gjis voice was impossibly dark, and there was a underlying whisper to every word.

“We have to find out more. We have a nme, but its not much when it comes to something this ancient.”
There was a murmur amongst the present. The way people clearly felt the underlying threat of these words became a prominent fuel for their discussions.

“What if we find a Librarian” Someone, a young man Johan had never seen before. Middle Eastern form the looks of it. “I mean, A librarian of the Lost Tomes” the man explained. It caused a murmur trough the masses. Most people like Johan, had never heard of it. But he asumed it as some real wsdom in that.

The Nercromancer stared at the boy trough his shades. Then he nodded. “That is a thought. But nobody have ever met on for atleast a decennial.” Morgane spoke again, eying the boy. The boy stood his ground fairly well and it seemd to have amused Baron, for he spoke next.

“If yo'ave a idea 'ere we could reach one, we could solve half our problems..” His vocie was half a chuckle, disregarding the dire atmosphere entirely. That was he Baron in a nutshell, One half voodoo, one half king of cool. The black man lit a cigar and let his eyes sweep the place.

Meanwhile Johan was scratching his head, staring at the Necromancer. He had just realized he knew someone very wise and old, who might just share some wisdom. But unfortunately, it would need a shaman. And The only one he encountered so far, was now a massive she-wolf. Not to mention, he didn't want to get dragged to deep into all this. He would wait and see what was going to happen.

[KnightShade]

Martin had slunk in silently along while ago on the same chime of the bell as a bald bronzed sorceror. The man had a finely manicured goatee that was the only evidence to Martin that the man had not taken aggressive action took secure his vow of chastity. Sat peering with beady eyes from a table set into a darkened recess no-one gave him the slightest acknowledgement, as per usual, none of then cared to know him until they had to. The job of an exterminator in that sense must be something similar to that of the reaper he mused and Mutt's familiarly alien and abrasive thought patterns growled in telling him to shut up about things he didn't understand. Mutt himself didn't even draw looks in this room of the bizarre. Their were dogs that people said could scare dogs in the street, reminders that the most loyal pooch is two meals from a slathering wolf, throwbacks more alike to the jackels that had been vicious enough to gain a place on the head of the Egyptian god of death next to a crocodile and hippopotamus. Mutt had the ferocity to devour one of these dogs without chewing and done so at one point, yet he didn't quite measure up in weirdness to a woman with donkey ears. Only one of which was on her head.

As events unfolded a sweaty hand fiddled open a packet of liquerice and scrambled inside in search of one of the pink bobbly ones that seemed to steadily becoming extinct. As he gnawed on it he was not short on entertainment, he didn't often come to these sort of gatherings but he would have to more often if normal par was for lasses to shove tongues down each others throats. Of course he was certain it had some important ritualistic justification, oh yes. Mutt swiftly told him to avert his eye's from staring too much at the nobs table, because he wasn't fit to eat the scraps of their plates. But he knew the truth, that Won Jiggity man raised the dead and their isn't nothing a rat liked to chow down on better than a juicy fresh corpse, one day he would be brought in to clean out the mans crypts. The skeltons in the closet so to speak. Their was the thieving gypsy to watch as well, but she would get a suprise if she picked his pockets. Martin always carried around a rat or too, sometimes alive, sometimes dead. Not just to feed Mutt but it payed to know the enemy and for that you've got to watch them. The most interesting person in the room however was the man with the cards, at first Martin thought he wasplaying solitaire and the gambler in him had half a mind to challenge him to a fame of poker. But when he saw the cards he knew it was that Carrot stuff, like what's his name, Roger Moore did, were they tell your fates and what not. What Mutt? Oh, Tarot?

It was when the lightning struck tower was turned over that things really started heating up. The necromancer quivered as his attunment meant he bore the full brunt of the wave, his power ran free and the dead rat in Martin's pockets sprung to life. Unlike the live ones he sometimes carried it was not cowed and it clawed viciously at his stomach, even with it's rotting paws it tried to rend him open. He pulled a blade out of another pocket in his voluminous trenchcoat and stuck it in it's neck. When it didn't stop squirming he drew it up through it's head splitting it's delicate skull. At that moment a great grizzled and grey wolf bounded down from the roof top as though it was the tundra. You had to laugh at these more magically attuned folks running around like headless chickens. Right Mutt?

A brief glimpse through the indirect view of Mutt's mind alone was maddening. The tsunami of initial magic had left him high and dry, seperate from his roots, a mere and mundane dog. But a savage riptide followed dragging him back to connect with his own dimension. Martin saw flashes of where Mutt was from. Arid deserts full of the bones of long dead terrors that rose spire like to a sky barren of sun or stars as the earth below was of vegatation. Living, pulsating fire miles wide that spread with uncomfortable speed through groping root like tendrils and sparks that could fly miles and plant themselves seed like on the barest ground. An endless cycle of predation, always the threat of being consumed by neither predator or prey but your own kind. Blood spilled to the extent that all water was contaminated with it, till it rained blood. Seas of malicious boda... Martin snapped back to himself as suddenly as he had left. He was sweating heavily and terror gripped his senses, in such a place clearly he resorted to the flight response. But Mutt had been raised there and once again he could taste tender flesh in his mouth, he was salivating from it. His hackles raised made his unnatural shift in size less noticeable and every muscle in his body screamed fight. The chain tore from Martin's hand as he leapt snarling at the she-wolf.