Broken Circle; Tarot and Treachery

[custoscustodum]

Daniel’s new drinking partner was clearly feeling the after effects of the arcane spike quite badly. His eyes followed her gaze to the floor where the spilled blood and the broken glass mingled, a few dark drops of red splashed across a sea of twinkling, jagged edges. Blood – it held a morbid fascination for the sin-eater. It was one of the most powerful natural ritual elements in the universe, second only perhaps to a True Name. Of course, for specific purposes there were plenty of more potent, more showy, more, well, bling ingredients that one could bring to bear in a rite, but the beauty of blood was that its profound connection with life, and so also with death, made it a universal symbol, an instinctive kernel of meaning that transcended the limiting barriers of conventional language, and for that reason it was invaluable in the ritual arts. An import factor in Christianity’s success, Daniel was convinced, was the ingenious way that it interwove blood, and its symbolic trappings, into the key rites and motifs of its religious ceremonies and texts. The language of blood speaks to us all. In fact, as a teacher of Daniel’s was fond of telling him: the things you can’t do with a drop of someone’s blood aren’t worth doing.

One of the things the sin-eater could do with a drop of blood was incorporate it into a rite to eat some of another mage’s arcane energy. His brow furrowed slightly as he contemplated doing this for Varvara; he didn’t have the time or the resources to perform an intricate ritual, but with her blood and the essential ingredients he carried in the many pockets and niches of his coat, he could probably eat a small amount of the spiked energy, which might give her some respite from its effects. As much as he would have liked to have helped the young woman, the drawbacks to embarking on that course of action were overwhelming: first, there was no guarantee it would do any good – such a limited rite would be of little use if the spike had been too big (and from the looks of things around them, it had), or if the Arcane Purity was still channelling into her, which was not altogether impossible; second, the process would take a few minutes, and there was every chance of his being interrupted enough in that time to lose his concentration and get it wrong – if he got it badly wrong, things would not go well, for either of them; lastly, and most decisively, it would be difficult to perform the rite surreptitiously enough to avoid attracting a lot of unwanted attention in the room – advertising his capacity to eat arcane energy was even less of a good idea than advertising his being a sin-eater, Daniel felt. In the end, then, the best assistance he could give Varvara was to produce a bandage from a pocket and, with a brief smile, put it gingerly in her hand. He thought it best not to try and engage her in conversation just yet, not until she seemed a little bit more with it.

At that moment Grinder bounded into the room.

The sight of the She-Wolf did not so much frighten the sin-eater (though the hairs on the back of his neck bristled uncomfortably), as exasperate him. He’d only been in this place less than half an hour and already all hell had broken loose, and now this beast was roaming around. To make matters worse, the creature quite inexplicably did not tear the throat out of the nearest meal, but instead started tip-pawing towards that self-important Queen with all the deference and borderline sycophancy of a fawning priest who’d been granted an audience with the Pope.

Why, Daniel wondered, had he bothered coming? This wasn’t his world. Admittedly, he didn’t really know what his world was any more, but surely this was not it. Admittedly, there was certainly no shortage of sinners in the place, but aside from that, what could he possibly add to the proceedings? If the Baron, and Hon-Gji, and the woman who’d sat with them – whoever she was, she was clearly extremely important, and thereby powerful – couldn’t handle things, aided by this veritable army of eager mages, wizards, shamans, augurs, sorcerers, necromancers, witches, and warlocks, if they couldn’t handle it, just what on earth was he – a disgraced, excommunicated, broken sin-eater – meant to do about it?

The woman started speaking again and Daniel had to stop feeling sorry for himself. At least something is happening, he conceded. His frustration nearly sprung up again, like a hydra’s head, when some bright spark suggested that they find a Librarian, which was something like the magical equivalent of a police chief telling the mayor his great plan to cut crime in the election year was to recruit Superman to the force. From what Caine had heard about the Lost Tomes, he thought that they themselves would be better off trying to find Superman.

This internal rant fizzled out before it had really even gotten off the ground, however; Daniel was not particularly good at whining (being angry at, critical of, or annoyed with, were different matters) about others, even in his own head. At least the young man had come up with an idea. Daniel was about to make a suggestion of his own: surely the arcane spike and this giant – he shuddered slightly at the thought – were related? Magic users and detectives had at least two things in common: the first is that they were both likely to having drinking problems and personality disorders; the second is that only the ones who were very bad at their craft, or just very stupid, or both, believed in coincidence. Since no one seemed to know a great deal about the dream, or the giant and the man in it, why not try to find out more about the spike?

The sin-eater had opened his mouth just enough to speak, but without losing his grip on the still unlit cigarette, when, seemingly from nowhere, a canine shape launched itself at the wolf. There was a strange sighing noise as the breath Daniel had taken worked its way out of his half-parted lips.

“Colei,” he whispered to himself. It was the Vulgar Latin term for testicles, and might best be rendered in more familiar terms as: Balls. This probably wouldn't go well.

Didn’t get her name, Daniel realised, glancing sideways at the Roma.

“If I were a gambling man, I would bet you your name that the wolf will best the dog.”

[Noxious]

Her eyes were wide, but a distance had seemed to grow within them, glaring with an absence that had not been their moments ago. As she raised her eyes she had let them travel about the room, a room now filled with wisps of spider wed lines, traveling from the people, through the people, tingling throughout the room with a pulsing purity that she instinctively knew they could not see. It was an overwhelming site. A room filled with pasts and futures and auras, some violent while others hummed a peace, one that overwhelmed and made sure that she quickly focused on Daniel. Her focus, now trained centrally on this one man became clearer, but not in any sense that alleviated the new found anxiety that nestled near her heart, pressing on her ribcage steadily while tugging at her now emptied stomach in time.

From Daniel the world seemed to stitch, a fine needle weaving in and out through the air, to create defined “strings” or paths that moved both from him and towards him. Without knowing she knew, she knew these were the connections of time, destiny, fate’s many labyrinths that trickled from him in colors that would become radiant and defined only to subside for a lapse to a dull and then flicker with the same intensity. She was both drawn and dreading the new needlework that splayed from the complicated man and as he offered her the bandage she reached out to take it, and then her hand seemed to hesitate and grip on the air. Digits slipping around one of the many strings that spoke of his paths. She slipped through other strings without disruption, but once her fingers intent was made and they tightened about the string, she would recount it as being blue, though the color was unquantifiable in her previous experience, something raw that contacted and pulled her. She was dragged to a quiet that seemed to choke out life itself, a still that seemed both infinite and limited, the bar around her slipping into haziness as she was drawn into another place. She could barely comprehend the floor beneath her knees, she had lost Daniel, though his presence still linked her and as she gripped one of his many possible futures, he was the only anchor that dug into the slippery sand and afforded her a return. Her mind enforced that for this moment she was a captive, that other place didn’t matter and a scene, muted and abstract played in which Daniel moved towards a doorway, hesitant, and she couldn’t tell if it was night or day because of the bluish haze that suppressed any clarity and then he was knocking. But Varvara seemed frightened and her grip fell away and her hand pulled back as if she’d been snapped at by a beast.

What did it mean? You should have seen it through. This cowardice won’t be accepted. Not of a gift. Words fumbled about in her mind that she could not be sure to whom they belonged. Daniel had been at a door, that had been apparent, and there were things she hadn’t seen, feelings/impulses, things that had come with the viewing and she grasped, such as pain. She knew there had been pain though with such a hasty withdraw it was hard now for her to decide whose pain it had been. Had it been Daniels? Someone behind the door? Or maybe it had simply been situational pain? It prodded her to go back and answer these questions. But she was defiant. What else had been a truth? It was the future, but it could not have been to distant for Daniel still held what youth he’d managed to scrape by with. His features had seemed, she hadn’t gotten enough of a look at his face. next time you’ll know better. As it spoke inside of her she wanted to tell it there would be no next time, but even she knew that was lie.

As her hand recoiled to her chest the world around her slipped back into perspective, the haze not disappearing but filling her own mind, making its place there, where it belonged. She attempted to shake out the feeling that she’d just accepted something, that it had just taken residence within her, but was truly apart of her all along. The world, which had become almost normal was quickly restitching their fates all around her, though now they seemed almost like fishing line, ignorable, except for his, the one she focused on, and there her eyes remained, trained on Daniel, who could end up at this door and she had not waited, wanted to see. The entire experience had seemed to lapse no time here. He would simply have seen her reach, hesitate and withdraw.

She took the bandage from him now, her light touch gingerly plucking from his hands without making any skin to skin contact, whatever that may bring she was not yet ready for. You’re being silly and overdramatic, of course you can touch people. Her lips seemed to part as if she was going to speak and then they would simply close and open once again. It was a fish like movement, as if the air was to thin and she was trying to pull all the oxygen from it. A fresh bout of oxygen would fail to alleviate the real cause, for the first time in her life it seemed Varvara was at a loss for words. That or she was, also for the first time in her life, thinking through her next words very carefully.

She was relieved when the Druid began to talk and the focus of the room clipped to her with little to no choice of its own. The silence that settled now was less forced, but it was quiet all the same as she held the entire room’s attention. Varvara listened though she took this time to stare intently towards the floor. While glancing down she noticed for the first time that these strings that seemed to connect and flow, well, she didn’t have any. She waved a hand in front of her chest where they seemed to stem out of the majority of occupants and she felt nothing. The type of nothing that seemed to empty to not be planned, or misplaced purposely by a divinity or power beyond what she now held. This was her first found limitation. She would never touch on her own future and while the entire experience, the last 5 minutes, could be explained as nothing short of mind shattering, horrifying and she was mentally scorning the nestled haze of fate in her mind, she also felt a prick of sadness that she did not have a foreseeable future. She began to pull the bandage tightly around her hand, suppressing the blood flow as she attempted to focus on the Druid.

She knew they were all here for the dream, but she couldn’t possibly fathom the magnitude of weight these people were placing on the giant. Giants had not been something she knew how to internally cope with. Entities from another realm, she felt a chaos within him when she had the dream, and now the truth of the matter, that this giant would be released upon the world in all its chaos seemed exceedingly daunting for the little gypsy that was now using a towel she had been tossed to wipe clean herself and then the floor around her. She looked to be fully immersed in the cleaning, but was also attempting to fathom the things these people spoke of. Librarians and Giants. What did she know of their world? What did she know that could help? Couldn’t the man whose entire being hummed with decay and malleable birth just find a librarian, albeit a deceased librarian, and ask for his help? The intricacies of many of the others crafts were unknown to her, which was no surprise considering her own craft was now an unknown. She was pleased to have the ground offering her a solace from the webs that it seemed she was subconsciously already working on muting. It was as if her mind was struggling to put in dams after the tsunami had already hit.

She didn’t even register the wolf, Johan or look up at the snarling Mutt, she seemed to be thinking, cleaning, and slipping into the recess of her own mind. She was repeating over and over that she should not cry. This was not a place in which you allow yourself to fall apart. And the truth of it was such a force that when Daniel finally spoke to her she leveled a much calmer, yet still distant gaze with his own. “If I were a gambling man, I would bet you your name that the wolf will best the dog.” She started to stand up, leaving the tainted towel on the floor at her feet and let her gaze switch from Daniel to the beasts, and then back to Daniel. She may not understand the intricacies of her new surge, nor would she even say the new power was required for the observation that followed. That was not a dog and a beast, in fact, they were both not of this place. ”Varvara, but I doubt the others won’t let it come to a win and a loss.” Then almost under her breath in a quiet whisper she said with a frown. ”I fear we won’t make it if we fight amongst ourselves.”

[inDefiance]

She was on all fours now and ready to eat whatever the fuck she pleased.

Oh how nice it was to finally be free from the agony of being held in durance within the vessel. Not that Rosalie had mistreated or abused her physical manifestation of her three. No, the agony was not being able to feel, smell, run, hunt, eat for herself. Actually, Grinder was not 'real' in the sense of natural order so she actually did not need to eat for sustenance; Grinder ate the spirits of the physical husks she hunted and killed. And it was only in desperate times that Rosi did let Grinder out; when the she-wolf started to consume whatever she fancied at the time, it was nigh impossible to stop her from eating and eating spirits using them to power her feeding frenzy.

That was the catch with unleashing Grinder. Yes, she was a powerful bitch Lone She-Wolf, but each time she was unleashed, even though she grew in sheer physicality and ferocity, she always had a knack for earning new markings upon her hide. Most of the time not for the better. Fuck that. Almost all of the time not for the better. These new marks denoted Grinder's allegiances (or for the better part, the lack thereof) that Rosi had to upkeep (or stave off new enemies, possibly former allies because of Grinder's random attacks). This was where Seeker came into play.

The Visionary Owl would find ways to aim Grinder's unbreakable teeth. Seeker was the one that guided them to find the bad things. The Very Bad Things. This was Rosi's curse and calling. And the twenty-seven year old tough bitch shaman welcomed it. She helped to sway the Lone She-Wolf's aggression with Seeker's guidance to take out and disperse the Very Bad Things that tormented and twisted the mortal world. And with Weaver keeping their strands tied together, here in the mortal world, at the Threshold and in the NetherRealm, they actually became a very strong presence, the vessel and her three, as Spirit Catchers and a shamanic force to be reckoned with.

But in this moment, there was no Seeker. No Weaver. But most importantly, there was no Rosi. It was only Grinder, pure and complete as could be in her given state. Yes, the bite marks, scars and brands had shifted to an endless repeating pattern and provided her no protection, but that also meant she had no pressing bargains to uphold. The tsunami, the arcane spike had nullified all that kept her in check since she had taken the brunt of it to protect Rosi. Grinder could not hear any of them right now. It was only the She-Wolf, her glowing amber eyes and her unbreakable teeth. She was going to teach the yapping little thing just why the fuck the ancients called her 'Grinder'.

Bring it, bitch...

The wolf's humongous black and grey muscular frame tensed, hackles up, tail flaring to the tip. Dark lips trembled with a low reverberating growl, displaying that array of white teeth. Oh how they glistened with a promise to victimize a body of its bloody meat. Paws of monstrous size, dug into the floor beneath her, body now poised to answer in kind this Mutt's wild act. Eyes the colour of murder were glowing with a primal light and dancing to a slow smouldering rhythm timed to each beat of her spiritual heart. Kill-time. Kill-time. Kill-time.

But for all her freedom to eat just whatever the fuck she pleased at the moment, she just could not resist the will by the only person here that could sway her: the Ice Queen, the Lady Druid Gwendolyn. Having no protection spiritually could do that to a beast that was once upon a time attuned to nature; Grinder should have been on a totem pole for fuck's sake! She would have to wait for permission from the Druid to act or until she was physically assaulted so that she could act in retaliation. Those ferocious glowing amber eyes linking her to the Threshold slowly closed as the demonic little ankle biter fleabag closed the gap in a heartbeat. Oh shit was this was really going to hurt.

Wait. Who was interrupting not only the Ice Queen, but the entire set of power players at the table? Oh that's right...

It was but a mere wave of the hand, but the ripples into the Threshold sent the she-wolf flying with the force of a hurricane. 'Deal with the Disrespectful' was the command from her Ice Queen.

Mutt was wild in its attack; it was driven by the sensory overwhelming arcane spike. The assault was a single-minded and direct charge that the she-wolf had encountered many a time before. Grinder leapt to the left avoiding the powerful jaws of the strange mixed breed demonic canine by mere hairs. She should have grabbed the flailing chain with her powerful maw to gain instant advantage and ended the attack in seconds. But no, this was Grinder and she had a knack for earning new markings. And besides, this Mutt, as fucked up in the head as it was right now, was not one of her desire to eat right now. Bad dogs mean bad owners allowed their beasts to run rampant without any concern for others. Deal with the Disrespectful then.

The chain flailed behind Mutt and whipped Grinder's face as she leapt past the demonic terror, tearing away a small yet painful chunk of her cheek. Yet another new mark that would have to be settled when Rosi came to. But undeterred, the she-wolf landed and bounded away, the musculature of her hindlegs rippling as she leapt once more.

Two and a half inches separated the Disrespectful from that which would eat whatever the fuck it pleased. Right in the face of Martin was three-hundred and fifty fucking pounds of snarling, frothing Grinder quivering with every ounce of what little self-control she had left, just waiting, practically begging for another simple wave of the Ice Queen's hand should Martin not be able to control and contain his ward. The beating of her spiritual heart pounded away with an steadily increasing speed, thumping inside against her chest with an adrenaline overload. The anticipation teased her, her mind screaming that which her heartbeats chanted to the tune of a frenzied bloodlust. Kill-time!Kill-time!Kill-time!

[Hellis]

Johan observed as a dog, seemingly of the infernal type, hauled ass and pounced on the she-wolf. His first instinct was to intervene, mainly because he hated dogs. His family once had a dog and it always pissed in his room. He never forgiven the mangy old mutt for that and so his treatment of their kind had been one of grudgeful anger.. His other, more sane impulse was to distance himself from two beast as they were liable to tear his throat out. Instead, he made it to the bar where the gypsy and the priest were. They seemed to have a tender moment thou, so instead he turned to Rosita. Rosita in turn offered him a tired look. The whole event just now had clearly taken its toll.

“So. I appear to be short 10 dollars. May I strike up a tab?” Johan tried to not look miserable as he said it. Of course, him beign him. He looked every bit the leach on existence he was.

“Finnaly hit rock bottom Johan?” Rosita raised an eyebrow. Not that he blamed her. If he wasn't good for his money, then he truthfully was no good at all.

“They got snatched by the gy-hold on.” Johan had began to explain himself when he suddenly stopped. He narrowed his eyes as he tried to discern something from Varvara. His perception was no where at the level of someone like Varvara . His arcane purity was forced into him and neither did he possess the talent of sight. But he could see and feel excess arcane decently enough. And currently, the girl was shining like a flashbulb to him. Someone had tapped into the stream for the first time, and in a big way.

“You seeing this?”

“Yeah.” Johan glanced at Rosita as she simply nodded. She seemed concerned. Rosita was the den mother afterall. And if it was something she worried about, it was her female clientele. Even if it was a newcomer.

“I knew I should have stayed in today...” Johan muttered as soon as Rosita looked back at him. He knew what what was coming next. First she would pour up a stout. Then she would lean over the bar, displaying her fair share of 'natures gift'. Next she would push over the glass of old lager to Johan. And last, she would speak,

“Johan..” Like fucking clockwork, a perfect rerun of last time Johan was involved with anything complicated. The women who wore the thorns, always wrapped their vines around men. But only women got to smell the roses. If that wasn't irony. Then Johan had no idea what was.

“No. I refuse. The little whelp stole from me” Johan steeled himself, Chin out, chest puffed and eyes narrow. He was not gonna let her do this. Not today.

“You are the most qualified...” Rosita nudged the glass of lager closer. Her voice was reaching a strange, nearly hypnotic sensuality. I was sounding more and more like the Rosita he had come to love and hate in equal measure. Mags wasnt the only seductress behind the bar.

“Like hell I am. There are plenty of magus around.” Johan resisted her charm best he could. He wasn't getting roped into this. No way. He lived for 30 years, 6 of them in misery. The last thing he needed was to mentor someone. That just spelled out “Dead Pupil” and “Existential Guilt”.

“How many of them was forced to awaken their power all at once, Johna”The glass was right next to him, her voice was the sweetest, most song like tone he had ever heard it. Rosita was really pushing this. Johan could feel a migraine coming on as a result.

“No. I said no, dammit.” Nordic grouche mode was on, he wasn't caving in. He refused to be helpful. Only fools would undertake such a stupendous task anyhow. Hell, he wasn't fit to teach about the arcane! He as a drunk with his basis in ceremonial rune magic. His arcane talents where merely burrowed from the rune on his back. The forbidden rune to boot. There had to be a Magus here to help. Maybe he'd tell her to speak with Hon-Gji. No. Not even Johan was that desperate or that cruel.

“Johan. You need this. “Rosita continued, undaunted by the glares her friend was throwing her. His attitude as ticking of the otherwise good spirited woman. With all the stuff going on, how dared Johan act like he was all that mattered. Then again, this was Johan. She was sure he could walk trough a street of corpses and not blink. The man was deeply isolated from reality in times.

“I need it? The pint or the thieving gypsy pupil you mean?” Johan scoffed at her words. Still not convinced by the novelty of helpinj others.

“The Roma. You need to help her, if only to get some good karma in your life. You're 30, but your soul is that of a old man by now. Hell, you were happy with Ailena, but then you decided to drown that relationship in booze to.”

“No... You don't bring that shit up. I didn't want to risk dragging her down. You know that. She was good to me. I could not ask for her to spend her life with a fuck up” Johan faltered. Rosita was a cruel woman, she knew how to hit were it hurt the most.

“ Even if you feel your life is practically over. Her doesn't have to be. I'll never serve you another beer f you let her explode into some kind of magic fireworks”

“Bitch. This isn't over” Johan began to down the lager. Using the alcohol to numb his senses. He wasn't going in hot. He rather not set something off. First thing he had to do, as to ill the feed for her. Or at the very least lessen the surge. He had to use the priest. He knew, on instinct alone what that man was. Most magus in here probobly did.

“Atta boy. Now drink your beer.” Rosita grinned. She must have noticed the suddenly serious and contemplating looked on the otherwise rowdy Northerner. His eyes had that sharpness to them that made her skin crawl. Johan may be a largely good for nothing drunk. But when when it came to things like this, the man was good. In fact, for someone so devoted to his own misery and self loathing, he possessed a staggering amount of willpower.

“One of these days Rosita. I'll get you back.” The Swede pushed the now empty pint back to Rosita. He seemed different from just a moment ago. Hand in his pockets, he strode over shooting other magicians a warning glare. Nobody was to touch the girl. He just hoped the she-wolf hew spoke to earlier would be ok and that the situation were going to handle itself. Because this was hard enough as it was.

“You are far from your mothers soil” He spoke as he seemingly towered over her. But being so near her, he was already doubting the sanity of the situation. Those eyes of hers, they were far worse then his own. This girl had innate talent for the arcane and she hummed with it. To Johan, standing close to her was like walking into a hurricane. A arcane hurricane. His eyes found the priests on and he offered him what was the most respectful gesture he had managed all night. “I'm going to need your help . To much of the good stuff and she might go insane.”

[KnightShade]

"Nice doggie."

In seconds Martin had gone from being disconnected to his familiar, to getting a glimpse into it's world that was far from familiar and now he had a frigging wolf practically sitting on his knee. Where was the aspirin when you needed it? He didn't have any in his pocket, but he had a knife. A ratter's knife, it'd be like trying to harpoon moby dick with a cocktail stick. What else did he have? A couple of rat trap, too small. Torch, what use would that be? Tin of poisoned oats, it's not a horse no matter how big it was. His dad had left him one of them special dog whistles but Mutt had somehow ignored it, and when it started to annoy him he'd eaten it. And as Mutt recovered from his initial ferocious pounce he realised he was going about this all wrong. After all he always kept a few rats about him.

With exagerated care he lifted his hands to the side of his head to show they were empty then reached carefully down with his right hand into his pocket while keeping his left in place. Slowly so as to elict no growl he withdrew the twice dead accursed little rodent from his jacket pocket and dangled it in front of him by the tail casually and without disdain.

Mutt's reaction was an immediate questioning rush, unintelligible in words but clear in meaning which was far from pleasant. Martin let the rat swing slowly from side to side, with his headache it was a resourceful and effective alternitive to telepathic communication. Mutt practically yelled this time, and it strained the edges of their bond to the point where it was a suprise everyone in the room couldn't hear it. 'Hell no! You better not feed that bitch my rat!'

Martin continued to swing the vermin in hypnotic, tantalising little circles and gave in answer the mental equivalent of a shrug and a grin. He could just about tune out the beast sat in front of him now by focusing on his link wi... Gah! He nearly dropped the rat as Mutt sent him an image of carnage that alone would send the most light hearted of films into the territory of horror classic. It burned in his retina's for several seconds and his mind for an eternity. Seriously! How was it even possible to fit that many limbs and arteries and blood into a creature, never mind tear them out?

But he withstood these juvenile temper tantrums and they receded to dark little mutterings full of words like gut and cut and a few other one's on a similar theme. Seconds after the rat was drawn Mutt plonked down pathetically on the floor gave a defiant little yowl and trotted over to Martin, he had returned to a more natural size for a dog as opposed to one of a mountain lion and his dentist bills would probably be quatered. 'I'm not apologising, she can sniff first' Mutt thought. Martin's thoughts were elsewhere, he had a library card in his pocket too if that's what they were looking for.

[inDefiance]

What the actual fuck...? No wonder this guy smelled like unwashable stank.


Screaming heartbeats in her chest withered away into a dull roar and finally into a steady regulated hum. The situation was diffused. By a fucking dead rat no less. A grumble of disdain escaped the she-wolf's throat as the ripples from the Threshold lit her eyes once more. The slender pale hand gently made a horizontal cutting motion then clenched into a lightly balled fist before resting upon the table: 'Enough. Let it be then,' was her Ice Queen's command. With a dissatisfied look upon her lupine face, a simple whine of annoyance from her throat and a lowering of her glowing eyes, the wound up tension in her muscles were undone and Grinder 'let it be then.'

As the ragged and smelly mangy cadaver waved like a swaying pocketwatch, the Mutt's aggression dispersed and in its stead was the enthusiasm of a puppy zeroing in on a treat. It bounded over to its sallow looking master as the decaying 'treat' wafted an oh-so-lovely odour into Grinder's crinkled nose. The massive wolf blasted a massive sneeze upon Martin before finally stepping back a few paces, still snorting to clear her nasal passages of the dead rat stank invasion. The demonic familar snatched the decrepit, worm-tailed thing from Martin's hand and Grinder felt the saliva build in her mouth. How nauseating. But then again everything from another side of mortality always had something rather mind-numbingly inappropriate to appease it. But honestly? A dead rat? Whatever. Fuck it. As far as Grinder was concerned, urban rats were spiritual messengers and spies that could coerce the lesser yet numerous shadowy spirits to shade them as they worked from the hands of treachery and mischief. Eat them all you want, Ankle-biter. Fuckin' hell, kill pigeons by the bucketfuls too; nasty feathered, filthy flying rats that they were.

Ripples from the Threshold lit her wild amber eyes again as that frost-coloured hand motioned for the wolf to come to the Ice-Queen's side. Grinder would obey despite the worst urge to pad on over to the Mutt and piss all over that chain connected to the ankle-biter; only to acknowledge that she had been insulted by the chain of course. But only for a moment. Yes, the Lone She-Wolf did pretty much whatever she pleased, whenever she pleased, but she knew that such an act right now after being summoned by the Lady Druid would probably be the opposite of gaining favour from her.

Tail arching up a bit and nose tilted to the air more than just a bit as she passed the Mutt, Grinder padded her way over to the Ice Queen. The newest wound upon her cheek had already scarred over swirling in a repeating ghostly pattern emanated there; let Rosi judge what to make of it and make a deal with it when she came to. If 'She' came to.

Speaking of Rosi coming... her amber eyes locked with the laughing dark eyes of one of the Queen of Thorns' subjects. Mags. The little thing had a hand on her hip as she had listened in on the conversation between Rosita and Johan, laughing with that fucking stupid giggle of hers. Oh, how Rosi had gushed her panties over the soft, fleshy furless little two-legged thing. 'Playing her?' Yeah right. She was so Rosi's type. Maybe not body type, but personality type. One that could tease and tussle, get into a huge dramatic emotional fight, only to have the best make up sex ever when it was all said and done. And when that little bitch tired of Rosi coming back for more of the same cycle, Rosi would get dumped and be all mopey-wah-boo-hoo-me-heart-broken. Only to keep an baby-blue eye out, looking for another Mags-type of girl to break her heart yet again. 'Rosi was Playing her?' Whatever, bitch, Rosalie Rouge always got played by the ones she fell for rather hard; the ones she could only try to desperately hold on to yet definitely never keep.

Those wild amber eyes lit up like a devil's toothy grin at Mags. Not liking what she saw in those wild amber eyes, Mags blinked and recoiled as if slapped; the hand on her hip released and readying a defensive manipulation glamour. Those wild amber eyes glinted as if they asked the question: 'What if Grinder got sick and tired of seeing her vessel getting played again and again by another one of you manipulative, fully-spread cuntrollers and Grinder decided to devour you, but not before making a messy example of you while you screamed to yourself death, you fuckin' plastic whore?'

The ivory snow hand made another one of those horizontal slashes and Grinder blinked before breaking her amber-coloured death gaze upon Mags. The black and grey wolf blinked again then with a rough chuffing sound, she turned and padded on towards the direction of the Ice Queen. Grinder fell upon her haunches and nodded respectfully before Gwendolyn. Her big shaggy frame turned one-eighty and held stiff as a statue, her chin tipped up, eyes forward and tail curled up; a pose just right for a conscripted subject of the Ice Queen. Perhaps only a temporary possession, but a possession nonetheless.

'You are very obedient and responsive, She-Wolf,' said Gwendolyn in her own dreamy mumbling speech tinged with an ancient accent from a secret place in those lands when they were not yet known as the UK. Pale eyes coloured like that of northern sea-water rested upon the wolf. Even though eye contact was not made, her gaze still was still uncomfortable, even painful to bear when she stared right through outward appearances and delved into the soul. From this penetrating stare, Grinder could not protect Rosi's whereabouts within the she-wolf, but if she even attempted to find her vessel's name then-- The Ice Queen flinched as Grinder swivelled her head slowly to actually take on the gaze of the ancients. It felt like shards of glass were being forcefully crammed and rubbed into her eyes, but Grinder took it on and pushed back; the panicking drums beat as she internally danced feverishly around Rosi, chanting against the onslaught of those nosy icy tendrils.

Should Gwendolyn take the glower as disrespect, then Grinder would get the spiritual shit beat out of her. The she-wolf would wither from the inside out before crumbling to dust, leaving Rosi alone, naked and helpless physically, mentally and spiritually; helpless like the day she was born and powerless to stop whatever whims the Lady Druid had of her. But not before Grinder made the beautiful Ice Queen soon to be known as the damn!-look-at-that-nasty-face-it's-been-clean-torn-off Ice Queen; healed scars forged from an attack made by her unbreakable teeth were usually permanent.

Gwendolyn only tittered, the sound not unlike the alarming cracking of thin ice underfoot. No disrespect nor offense had been taken. However, she gave one last shove back at Grinder with her icy tendril wrought gaze, if only to show that she was still superior. She was not made a liar as Grinder yelped. A smirk did lilt up at the corner of Gwendolyn's mouth in response before speaking again in that dreamy mumbling speech that only made sense to those who could touch the Threshold proper.

'Oh and you are one protective, loyal beast, aren't you, Grinder? It should have been Lady Gwendolyn that found your pelt on that shore, hmmm...? No, little cub, you would not be the same bitch. With the Lady guiding you, you would be even more than what your vessel has let you become. Well, now only time can answer that... No, you are not. No. I shall release you without collecting anything. You are not worth that much to me anymore... I do, however thank you for willingly coming to my side. A breath of fresh air compared to those who forget the sound of my summons...

Really... True, but I highly doubt that, little cub. You would not last a minute in that demon's nesting grounds. It is like nothing like you could ever know or even imagine. Trust me, that mark will be worth it despite your apprehensions-- very well then, hate for rats... and as for pigeons... I still remember what you did in Central Park, Grinder...

Hahahaha... oh silly cub, let her be... tell me, what is “She” like when she feels loved...? Right. And when “love” is lost...? Ahhhh... yes, you see the benefit then? Very well, let her heart break then. Besides, she could do worse then Mags-- nevermind, maybe she couldn't hahahaha... “The one with the big fork.” That “fork,” silly cub is more powerful than you know. And no, I do not know anything about that, but yes, she does have a nice rhythm to her... no, Grinder! I would not ask her to “shake it” for me...

Yes. Yes, there is. Right there at the bar counter. No. Not that one-- I beg your pardon? What do you mean by “douche?” Oh. I see. True, little cub, however aligning with him will keep the fight honest in your vessel... I actually meant the other one. The older gentleman. Hmmm... yes. You can sate that hunger. See the other? You are alike, very much so... no, of course, not like that, however imagine what he could do if your vessel could bring him into the Threshold... of course, but if you knew what he really was... No, you cannot see what he is, but he ever allowed your vessel to see, silly cub, you would be well advised to cut a bargain with him... No, you. Grinder The Lone She-Wolf must be the one... No, my little cub. Find out for yourself...

I do not know... but if you can get past that smell of the vomit upon her, then you would be best to ask nicely... perhaps someone other than your vessel. But if you can bring her the one who refuses to speak from the NetherRealm then perhaps the feud that you started-- do NOT interrupt your Lady Druid, little cub. You started it, by all accounts as I shall judge, Grinder, however it truly may end with the voices of the long dead. Perhaps she may yet be able to persuade and slough away the stubbornness of an ancient spirit...

Very well then... stay by my side until the meeting is adjourned. Or until you allow your vessel to return. Now then, enough talk. I must return to my peers and this meeting.

Oh and Grinder... you know who your enemy is and who they will target... I will not interfere. Be careful who align yourselves with, little cub.'

[Vhien]

It felt as though days--nah, weeks. It felt as though weeks went by with Andromeda on her knees. The arcane spike hadn't put her out of commission as it had some other magicians, however, her head was still spinning and she still felt nauseous. In all reality, maybe only a few minutes had passed, but what transpired on the balcony was still hazy. A few things were instantly memorable from the spike. The vivid consumption of that Rosalie girl by a lupine spirit? Yeah, that stood out a bit. The broken glass table, the general sense of disarray -- Despite not feeling the arcane spike as strongly as others, Andromeda could at least tell that she was out of it mentally. As her senses started to come back to her, she was assaulted by some violent noises downstairs, some distance from the balcony.

She wiped the coating of sweat from her forehead and tugged on the chain around her waist, to make sure that Mu was still tightly wrapped around her.

"Good, you're still here." Andromeda looked towards the sky while freeing her locs from its pony tail. Violently she shook her head, her hair swaying side to side, and slowly she ran her hands through her tightly knotted roots.

"You've come to. If I were in danger of being stolen, I'd simply use your body as my avatar." The trident itself was no longer glowing, although Andromeda could swear that she heard ebbing of the sea when Mu spoke internally.

"Yeahhhh. That'd probably kill me. Thanks. Good job."

Then, she descended down the stairs into the commotion in the main room. Nobody looked well off, the Big Three were looking shaken, and a large number of patrons were healing themselves at the bar with the magic of liquor. Luckily, Andromeda had not missed the large announcements from the Big Three. With great gravity, she at least heard a young man drop mention of a Librarian or something of the sort, and she could definitely discern Baron's cool voice and could smell the pungent scent of his cigar amidst all else. Entirely out of her periphery, Andromeda noticed the dispersal of patrons as two canines poised themselves for conflict. One of the canines looked like the spirit that swallowed Rosalie whole, whereas the other bore the appearance of a hellhound. As quickly as it had begun, the conflict ended. The motions were too quick and subtle for Andromeda to truly see, and her interest was low to begin with, but there were no corpses in the aftermath, so all must've ended well enough.

"I might not be the most savvy of people, but I think I'm going to avoid all of that there." Announcing her intentions to herself, Andromeda walked along the walls of the main Barista, making her way near the less tumultous individuals. Of these calmer folk, a young hooded man with his tarot stood out the most.

Strutting to the table, winding her way through crowds, and switching her ass with fervor, Andromeda smoothly made her way to the Tarot mage. The upturned, lightning-struck Tower remained on the table. The Tarot Mage held a manic smile on his face, all his teeth showing and the whites of his eyes. Matter of fact, his eyes were white, as though he had been blind or at least suffered some eye damage. Always one for tact, Andromeda slowly moved her hand from side to side in front of the Tarot Mage. To her amusement, his moved about, as though following her hand motions. However, his eyes were quicker and he seemed to move his eyes in such a way that he preceded her motions, as though he was predicting them.

"Hello? Sorry to interrupt..."

"One can not interrupt fate."

"Right. So, I am Andromeda. And you are?"

"Just a magician in a court of fools. But you may call me... Sing." The way in which he spoke sounded as though he had introduced himself in such a way before, scripted even.
There was no handshake or formal motions between Andromeda and Sing. Andromeda stood awkwardly with one hand in her hair and another on her hip, whereas Sing looked down and positioned his tarot cards, at last returning the Tower back into his deck.

"So, what is my fate? Glory? Death? Power? All three?"

Before Andromeda finished her sentence, already Sing was in the process of turning over a few cards. If Sing shared any interest in the girl's fate, his face did not show it.

"I see...forgery and bondage. Many bonds."

"...Is it because I'm black? Is that one guy really going to put us in chains?"

Sing continued flipping over cards, ignoring Andromeda's non-sequitur qualms. "Some bonds stronger than others. Choices must be made."

Sing continued positioning cards and left one card face down. Andromeda was utterly confused by cartomancy and divination. She let out a heavy sigh and began to suck on her teeth as she looked around the Barista. Looks as though Johan was hitting it off with a stranger -- another young girl, another one with dreadlocks. From the corner of her eye, however, Andromeda caught sight of Sing flipping over that final card. The tarot depicted two individuals with obscured sex, clasping their hands with amorous looks in their eyes.

"The Lovers."

A squeal of enthusiasm crept up from Andromeda's bowels as she saw her fate. As though possessed by succubi, she placed her palms on the table and leaned forward, nearly millimetres away from the Tarot Mage's face.

With her voice lowered to a lascivious drawl, she whispered, "Does this mean that I'll get lucky tonight? And hell, with whom even? I haven't really sparked up much conv- Oh god. The Baron is too old for me though."

The Tarot mage seemed slightly less menacing as he let out a toothy grin. "Your fate will reveal itself in time."

"I guess you can say that my fate is coming. Har har har." With that final comment, Andromeda forced the Tarot mage to recant his smile with the most sudden quickness.

[custoscustodum]

Something was more wrong with Varvara than he’d originally thought; there was a look in her eyes, or perhaps rather a lack of a look, that deeply troubled the sin-eater, as she plucked the bandage from his hand. He noticed that she very deliberately didn’t touch his skin, and this added to his trepidation. By the time she was mouthing at him, fishlike, he’d made up his mind to overturn his original decision and help her, it was just a question of how.

She told him her name, but Daniel wasn’t sure if her first observation was correct: he suspected that, on balance, the powers that be wouldn’t let the hellhound and the spiritwolf tear each other to pieces, but it was not beyond them to let it happen, for sport. Her second remark, he agreed wholeheartedly with: the threat they faced would require the utmost cooperation to overcome. Unfortunately, he wasn’t sure whether they were capable of not fighting amongst themselves – nothing yet had really been at stake, and already there was a fracas. In the sin-eater’s experience, the only guaranteed way of getting magic users – well, people in general, but especially the devious, selfish, megalomaniacal bastards that magic users tended to be – to work together was to bind them together in their common end contractually. Of course, as he knew better than nearly anyone, magical contracts, just like their legal counterparts, were made to be wriggled out of; hell, his entire life for many years had been devoted to being one great, big, walking contractual loophole, getting the dregs of humanity to avoid the consequences of failing to adhere to the terms of the covenant with their maker. If you could get out of a deal with God Himself, then you could worm your way out of any bargain, if you tried hard enough.

So, what was he going to do about Varvara? Albeit, she’d seemed fairly level-headed when she’d spoken, but something still didn’t feel quite right to Daniel. He started by leaning down from his stool and picking up the bandage that the Roma had carelessly tossed aside: it was one thing being in debt to the bar for $10; it was a completely whole different level of recklessness to leave something stained with your blood in a place like this. If she objected, he’d gladly give her the rag, else he was going to stuff it in a pocket; there wasn’t any way he just going to let it lie there on the floor, though.

The sin-eater was aware that something was happening with regards to the beasts behind him, but it didn’t sound overly violent or untoward, and his attention was more focused on the mage coming over to them, the one who earlier had given him that desperate look, and from whom Varvara had stolen the money. Maybe it was that earlier look, or maybe it was the fact that the mage seemed to know the bartender overly well, but there was something about him that Daniel just didn’t like. Consequently, when Johan found Daniel’s eyes, they were giving him the frostiest of glares.

As soon as the mage spoke, however, the stare melted: an honest plea for help, and on someone else’s behalf, was not something that the sin-eater could respond anything but favourably to. Then a flicker of fear flashed behind his eyes: instinctively, he was aware that Johan knew what he was; he’d known before, deep down, when the mage had looked at him with such pleading despair earlier, but he’d chosen to ignore the consequences of this realisation, for if this man could tell what he was, surely others there could as well. In fact, maybe they all knew. How could he have been so naïve as to imagine that he’d waltz in there under the radar? Daniel had to resist a strong urge to run, right then and there. But that would be ridiculous, he told himself. This man, if he was telling the truth, which for some reason the older man was inclined to believe he was, needed his help to help Varvara. Besides, no harm had come to him so far, and, more to the point, if someone powerful enough wanted to find him, they would: the message for the meeting had cleaved its way into his mind, after all.

The fear vanished, just as quickly as it had arisen; it was hard to tell it had been there at all – maybe it was a trick of the light. Daniel nodded at the mage as he got to his feet.

“I sense that this is your area of expertise more so than mine,” he replied, business-like. His voice softened as he addressed Varvara; if they'd known him better they would have realised that this indicated less that he had developed some fondess for the young Roma, and more that he was extremely concerned about her present well-being.

“I think you’re going to have trust us.” The sin-eater smiled affably, then turned back to Johan with a serious expression.

“Daniel Caine, at your service. What do you need me to do?” The unlit cigarette waggled at the corner of his mouth as he spoke. He caught of whiff of the Baron’s cigar smoke. Typical, he thought to himself. It doesn’t matter how strange, motley or downright insane the social group – some people just don’t think the rules apply to them: fututores. Fuckers.

[Noxious]

Even as Johan began to make his way towards the two the void that had momentarily taken capture of the crystalline blue eyes, vibrant from birth, was filling with the faintest sort of silver. A shimmering color that hinted of the precise color the sky embodies as the tornado slips over you and holds you into the eye on a faintly cloudy morning. Storm warnings would be echoing across the ill equipped barriers as both awe and horror captured those daring enough to stand on the brink that threatened to swallow them whole.

Her facial expression seemed composed, considering, or maybe it had yet to be affected by the clouds and was simply as blank as her eyes had just been, she was looking towards nothing in particular, not even focusing on Daniel, not on the Druid, but had chosen a point over the bar where her eyes bore into something. She was almost startled when Johan spoke. A reminder of her mother, coaxing her out of whatever was attempting to consume her, so still and so silent in perceptible sound, yet a raging like the battle between the mermaids beneath the surface of still lying water. Within her mind it seemed that it was screaming an unmelodic turmoil, but now she was receding, kicking hards towards the promise of release above water. Long lashes fluttered over her eyes a few times as she attempted to regain a focus. The silver remained, glistening as she stared upon Johan in a manner that was impossibly invasive for the little thing that had to tilt her head to an extreme degree to make eye contact with such an imposing Viking of a man. Momentarily seeing through him, yet struggling to not focus on any particular thing, dreading what would be clawing behind the window in the dark recess, daring not even find a line coming from him that she would accidently close upon.

While Daniel’s self emanated what would be closer to the crisp hum, tainted with something that made her thoughts trickle and scatter, unable to find a footing on such a shattered surface that she could not truly glance the expanse of whatever resided in him, Johan seemed unmistakable. While she wouldn’t be able to phrase it, and she surely lacked anything beyond the feeling that she knew what it meant, what he was, surprisingly not near as close to toeing the line of evil as she previously would have thought. Then suddenly her eyes focused on his intensely, snapped almost into a clear stare it had located it. A feeling jumped from her gut, towards her mind only to be close lined somewhere in her throat- it’s mine, and I want it! She flinched at the commotion inside a noticeable twitch, trying to calm this, but Johan…Johan had stolen something and someone wanted it back. And wasn’t that ironic, she’d been picking his pockets when she should have been picking his soul. She would have smiled, but it wanted to scowl, it wanted revenge, it attempted to bore through her into him in that split second moment, but…

Johan’s attention quickly went towards the priest, perhaps he had seen the thing behind her eyes that was pleased, yet displeased with the man before her, perhaps he just felt the hard rain that spoke of the coming. As the eye contact broke, she blinked those lashes again a few times. Where was she going then? What was that moment? She forced her eyes to the floor like a misbehaving child that should attempt to correct herself. Until the words that Johan had already spoke actually reached her ears. ”…and she might go insane.” The tainted, they’d gone insane, they’d been consumed and how was she better than them? The warnings, the stories, they flooded into her and she barely stifled a whimper.

Those eyes, now seemingly of her own accord, though still swirling with something just beyond the first break, they opened wide and started looking between the two. She looked helpless, save for the deep blue of her eyes swirling with that silver storm watch warning. The scared innocence of one lost in the storm and unsure if there would even be a possibility of rescue. It would be possible to think that the precious inexperience she exuded was almost manipulated, almost as if the power knew that to claim this vessel she would be better off with these men caring for her. Was the purity arching her outward manifestation? It would be hard to remember if she had looked this lost before, but, then again, she was lost, she was scared, so maybe the arcane purity had nothing cosmetically to do with her outward appearance, and surely after Johan’s comment the feral sense of knowing this may be a moment that even fight or flight would not save her from drowning.

She tried to focus on the voice of her mother then, soothing gypsy intonation calling her to relax, to breath, almost to the degree of slipping into a trance. She closed her eyes for a few moments. She knew she could not let this spill out of her, she knew whole heartedly and Johan’s words had only solidified this belief. Bar your soul and brace your spirit. Keep your hands on the oh shit bar and do not hang them outside of the ride. She clenched her fists tightly, sunkissed skin creasing with ghostly white, and then the muscles released, only to repeat the action as she slowed her breathing, shoved away fear.

She was not calm and to say she was “managing” may even be a bit of a stretch as she found the eyes of the priest. It was either being pushed below the surface or it found nothing it wanted to reclaim from the priest, nothing yet. The man who had warned of her not trusting, the man whom had such a chaotic soul was asking her for trust. She would normally have laughed, she would have brushed against his arm and toyed with his heart and now all she could do was nod, simper and nod motivated by all the emotions to choose the path of turning off. She couldn’t deal with thinking through the moment as she hoped they would be able to. She was desperate. Her mother had failed to explain how to release such a thing. A swelling was pushing at her and this was her choice. So she nodded and nodded. Head bobbing as those wide innocent chaotic eyes pleaded with them each in turn.

[Hellis]

Johan looked to the two. His eyes met the girls. They were pleading and confused and it hurt something he ddint know he had. It stabbed his heart. The rune priest found the sin eaters eyes that had lost their sharpness, their defensive frosty layer of contempt had melted with concern. Good, that meant this would be easier for Johan. Worse for the good father however, he as afraid of hat his actions would cause the clearly good nature man.

. He squatted down next to them and looked into Varveras eyes once more. His own cold blues stared straight onto the beast. Holy crap was she high on power. Just how deep did her connection to the stream run? Why was he even doing this? Why was he looking into time bomb like this. If he had any survival instincts, he would throw her to he wolves and run. Run to NY, find n e apartment, a new bar, new people. But he was tired of running. Rosita was right. He needed to help this girl. Her fate was not be a repeat of hers.

“I know you can feel what is inside me huh? You see. I once made a ditch next to the river.” He produced a needle and drew her blood. It was swift he didn't even let them react. He could feel other mages eyes on him. Hell, he could hear the Baron rise to his feet. Blood magic, right in front of everyone. Johan the douche, the Swedish asshole, the master lowlife. And now he had everyones attention. Well he was going to give them a show. “ You now, like a farmer using river water to help his crops. Its on my back, you cant see it but its for wisdom.” He spoke slowly. Finding a own point to focus on within this vortex of arcane energy that was the girl. And hw spoke in a low, hushed voice only for her. Givin her something to focus. Something for the stream to fix on. He coul already feel the rune on his back prickle. The scar as old. And it had nohere near its old power from the time it was a bloody wound carved into him. He had to act quickly. He let a few droplets of the crimson life elixir hit a relatively shard of glass and gave it to to Daniel.

Even the fucking Druid stared at him. Nobody was going to stop him? Guess they all wanted to see the sin eater work, or Johan fuck up. Well fuck them. There was only the task of saving Varvera now. He could only focus on the task.

“Easy now. You are not gonna like what I have to say. I need you to eat the exess flow. To you I reckon it will be like the first time you downed vodka. Fucking nasty but oh so very intoxicating. Be careful alright. The more you can take, the better for her, the worse for you.” ohan spoke with grave sense oof urgency in his voice. He looked past the priest toward the powerful three. The Druid had called the she wolf to her. He didn't meet the eyes of the Lady. He didn't wanna piss off the wolf afterall. Instead he stared holes in the Necromancer. The creep was smiling. He was waiting for ohan to fail. It was obvious. If it got out of hand, Hon-gji would get to eat the girls heart.

“Alright. You siphon it off her, I am gonna do something incredibly stupid.” He forced her to stare straight into his eyes. Windows of their souls. “You see what the stream does to a simple man. Now focus little girl, focus on the noise. That's the stream and Its angry at me. Now, shore up the sides, force the river to flow the way you want it to. Do no let the stream flow all over. Channel it. And when you feel it scream at you you start Imaging this shape.” He spoke with calm, almost whispering words as he showed her the very rune that he had carved into his back years ago. This would either kill him, or just hurt really, really bad. Either way, he was gonna have literally open his old wound on pure magic alone. It should be able to overexert the connection. It would let her regain control.