Atrophy

Recollections: Under The Sycamore Tree Part. 1

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Interactions: Lila @NoriWasHere, Amara & Anya @Blizz@Fernstone, Clancy & 8th Street (Aaron/Flora) @Zombiedude101@Punished GN
Kari's House

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Oh Emily, Emily, Emily. Honestly, it still amazed Vashti sometimes how often Emily just didn’t get it. Perhaps a prude like her would see it as a bad thing, but in Vashti’s mind being mobbed by sluts wasn’t a consequence—it was a reward. Yet there was more. Perhaps Emily thought that Vashti was just an idiot, a violent, uncontrollable, chaotic adrenaline junkie looking for her next hit and, well, perhaps she was mostly right, but there was one glaring flaw in Emily’s plan: Vashti didn’t fucking care about her plan. Vashti had a plan of her own. It was a good plan. The best kind of plan. It was to do whatever she wanted to do, and right now it was going off without a hitch.

Maybe a bunch of Sycamore losers would come chase after her and Lila, and maybe that would leave the rest of 8th Street with easy targets to pick off—or maybe without Vashti running interference Sycamore would actually get their shit together and garrote the whole gang. Who cared? It was just a bunch of bodies either way. Honestly, she was doing everyone a favor. Dying young was sexy. Vashti licked her lips. She really should go back and tear out Linqian’s throat while she was still hot. It was settled. Once she ripped out Lila’s wings she would go back and finish what she had started. Vashti sighed as a wall of fire erupted in front of Lila, cutting off the bird’s retreat and ruining Vashti’s hunt. Nevermind. Once Vashti was down with Lila she was going to go back to Emily and shove her head so far up her stupid tight ass that when her body decomposed her thick skull would be revealed to have become the world’s largest diamond.

“Oh caw caw caw to you too, you emo Big Bird bitch!” shouted Vashti as Lila laughed in harmony with herself.

Vashti jumped and swung her feet out in front of her with a flying kick to knock Lila into the flames, letting out a quiet “huh?” as she felt a claw wrap around her leg followed by a pained groan that morphed into a chuckle as claws pierced into her thigh. Vashti’s hand lashed down to grab ahold of Lila and teach her the important lesson that both Leon and Linqian had to learn the hard way, but she found nothing but air as the feathery bitch launched Vashti through the air and back towards Kari’s house. Vashti crashed through a first-story window, a sudden swell of fire erupting out of the window as more oxygen fed the flames, accompanied by the faint popping sound of exploding bullets as a certain winter coat was turned to ash in the inferno.

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"Make your choice, miss Faris."

Sloane furrowed her brow, unhappy with the way Amara had hinted that the best thing for Sloane to do right now was to abandon the others and run. Tactically, it was likely the right assessment: Sloane had done all she could in the fight by distracting the ghoulish giant. Any more lingering around and she’d only be getting in the way of the actual competent combatants. Yet the idea of being the first to fallback made her sick. Plus, if any of Sycamore lived they would never let her live it down. She’d lay her life down for a bunch of people that she didn’t even care for than be viewed as weak.

“I’m not going anywhere!” said Sloane defensively, raising her voice to be heard over the storm, grimacing in pain.

Her grip tightened on her knife as she felt a tug on her pant leg. The stern intensity of Sloane's face momentarily faded as she looked down, her eyes softening and her lips parting into a silent “aww” as she saw one of Anya’s cute little shadow helpers. Its presence calmed the queasiness that Sloane was feeling, partially due to how incredibly adorable it was but more so because it existing meant that Anya had to be safe. She followed the gesture of the creature towards where Anya was hiding, her face returning to granite once again as Sloane horrifically realized that the tree she had distracted the monster to was the same one Anya had chosen to hide behind. Sloane turned to the Amara phantom and cocked her head towards the tree.

“I mean, I’m not going anywhere until everyone else is safe. You, get Anya out of there,” said Sloane.

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Sully blinked, a bright ball of red flames suddenly erupting before him, a wave of heat evaporating the rain from his skin, his incredibly short and ultimately unsatisfying life flashing before his eyes as he blinked again and the flames dispersed against a wall of green. Sully stared at the green ball of energy that Stormy held out from him. The magical mumbo-jumbo was something Sully had paid too little attention to back in the day and now didn’t feel like it was a time to ask for clarification. However, it sounded like homeboy was offering him an invincibility field, so Sully was so down.

“Good stuff, man, said Sully.

He dapped Stormy up, the green lightning of the Witchveil’s crackling up Sully’s arm and made his whole body tingle for a moment before the feeling faded. Sully flexed his fingers and stared at his hand. He didn’t feel any more or less emotional than usual after giving someone a bro hug, but he’d take Stormy’s word for it.

“Oh yeah, I’m going to heal the absolute shit out of Linqian now,” said Sully, standing up on his feet. He waved his hand in a circle over his head calling for the Jock Squad (and Luc—) no, fuck that, today Luca was an honorary member of the Squad. He called for them to all move out. “Drop that shit, Stormy.

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Sloane moved as the Amara phantom departed, scooping Anya’s shadow fox up to her chest like an emotional support summon, taking care to cover its ears as another explosion rang out. The storm had grown increasingly violent with pounding rain and howling wind that shook trees and knocked down loose limbs and branches. Sloane was careful where she stepped, her head still throbbing from where it had been blasted by a piece of debris earlier. It made it difficult to think, to plan, to strategize. She just moved, her small frame pushing against the rain and the wind, seeking to reconvene with the members of Sycamore huddling around a fallen body.

Linqian…

Sloane found herself moving faster, her pace only slowing as she saw Linqian begin to stir before coming to a dead halt as she got close enough for her vision to fully pierce through the storm. Was she hallucinating? Had she hit her head that hard? Why were they naked? Her hand slid down to cover the summon’s eyes, hers lingering for a moment longer on Jasper’s wet chest before her view, as well as her path to the group, was cut off by a barrier of flora. She hadn’t even begun to process the visual that she saw as a body dropped to the ground beside her. She covered her mouth to prevent a scream, the summon falling free from her grasp and darting back after Anya as it began to rain bodies from the sky.

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Oh god, it felt like he was going to die. Sully held his side as he jogged over to where Linqian had fallen. After tonight Sully was going to start hitting the gym and working on some cardio. As he ran, Sully caught the flash of metal reflecting a strike of lightning, the light causing him to glance over and see the kid, lightly roasted and still smoking, holding an axe and going off by himself to confront a pack of 8th Street goons. What are you doing, kid? Sully figured the boy had to be in some kind of shock. He jerked his head back towards Linqian—a group had formed around her and she was starting to stir. It was all he needed to know.

Sully didn’t know exactly what had happened at the strip club. He thought he had seen the kid get shot but then the body had disappeared. Maybe the kid was some kind of paranormal. Maybe he had just gotten lucky. Maybe Sully had taken a few too many sips from the Chalice that evening. He didn’t want to take a gamble on the truth. Actually, it was more simple than that: he didn’t want to see a kid get hurt. Sully veered, slipping slightly in the mud but correcting himself, and turned to chase after the kid.

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Thunder rumbled. Wet hair clung to Sloane’s face as she held her knife out like a fencing foil, her channeler in her offhand in place of a main-gauche. One foot crossed in front of the other as she circled, looking for an opening that wasn’t there. Lightning crashed, the horde of undead that around her reflected in her dark eyes. She controlled her breathing. No point in panicking. She caught sight of a limb reaching out and reacted. Her knife launched itself out of her hand, buried into the forehead of a zombie, and flew back to her hand with a wet pop. The corpse fell, another one immediately taking its place.

Surrounded.

Her breath quickened.

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“Kid! Hey, kid!” shouted Sully between ragged breaths.

The thunder drowned out his calls to get Clancy to stop. Sully gagged as they scampered past the undead monstrosity playing with an expensive looking coat. His eyes bulged as he saw one of Emily’s cronies lift up a gun. Sully put every last ounce of will he had into running as fast as he could before he leapt, facing towards the kid in an attempt to dive in front of Clancy as the gun clapped bang bang bang BANG!

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The smoke, the heat, and the light. How nostalgic. Back before this was all there was. The smoke, the heat, and the light. Volcanic eruptions, impacing meteors, and striking lightning. Destructive waves that burned the land, and from those ashes came new life. The nature cycle, beautiful in its wanton randomness, nothing planned, no design, everything just happenstance. Then they took it—the smoke, the heat, and the light—took control over it, gave it a name, built homes around it, formed cults to worship it, took its power of destruction and used it to enforce order. It would try and break free, burn wild, but they always found ways to contain it.

So a storm came and with it came the flood, the waters taking away the smoke, the heat, and the light, if only for a moment. A warning shot. A little reminder. A life lesson. One that has since been forgotten by many, making it so much sweeter to be able to teach them again and again: they are not the ones in control. No one is; it doesn’t exist.

Not even for her.

She opened her eyes, a flash of yellow fleeing from the irises. The shawl was pulled up over her nose to help with the smoke. She didn’t remember doing that. She crawled on all fours beneath the smoke like a beast, the heat causing her to sweat, the light hurting her eyes, but she could see it, she could see it. The storm. The wind blew so strongly that rain was pelting in through the broken window. The storm was reaching out to her. She reached back, one hand in front of the other. The tips of her fingers reached the puddle forming beneath the broken window. The rainwater began to retreat in reverence from her holy digits, but like a flash of lightning she smacked her hand down in the puddle and splashed it. This was her storm.

“Emmmmily,” she heard the voices from outside shout, “…...watch.”

The approach wasn’t flashy like last time. It wasn’t announced with a quip or a shout. She just slithered out of the window and began stalking up behind Lila. The only sound made was the spilling of entrails as a poor zombie stepped in the path between her and her prey, the splashing of its guts largely masked by the pounding of the rain and the roaring of the fire. The murder, if they saw her, were kept away by the winds, the storm working in her favor. Her eyes flashed yellow as Lila’s wings flashed green, the want to pluck a feather drowned out by a more intrinsic want—the need for her to remain with the Leviathan, although who could say from which one of them the need originated.

“For what it’s worth,” whispered Vashti into Lila’s ear, her voice strangely gentle as she bared her fangs in a hungry smile, “I think you’re beautiful.”

She lunged at Lila’s back, her claws reaching out to carve through Lila’s back near the base of her wings so that Vashti could latch onto the bone. If she got a good grasp she would then make Lila drop to her knees by kicking at the back of her legs before putting her foot on their spine. Once she had Lila in position, it was only a matter of pushing, pulling, and twisting before the hollow bones would crack with a sickening snap and, like a cruel child who had just captured a monarch butterfly, Vashti would tear the wings free from the body.

Recollections: Under The Sycamore Tree Part. 1

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Interactions: Drake @Punished GN Luca @Fernstone
Kari’s House

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Sully started reaching for his keys when Tayla asked if anybody drove here, almost ready to toss them to her when he realized that Tayla being alone right now was dangerous. He didn’t want to fight either, but if somebody got injured he had to stick around to make sure they could walk after duking things out. Still, they had no right forcing Tayla to stick around, especially if there was gonna be some kind of rumble, but with her stalker still lingering about it seemed wrong to let her go alone. His eyes brightened as the lonely custodian in his head wiped away the cobwebs, blew off a thick layer of dust, and flipped on the lightswitch. Jack! Jack could teleport. He could easily get Tayla out of here and get back in time to kick dirt at 8th Street.

Sully smiled at his brilliant idea, jerking his thumb in Jack’s direction as he turned his head, annnnnd he was already gone. Sully’s mouth hung open as he spun around in one direction and then reversed it in the other just in case he’d somehow missed their resident weirdo. His jaw completely dropped as a loud crash rang out through the forest as 8th Street suddenly appeared, although Sully was particularly distracted by the hulking mass of rotting beef jerky and dentistry. He put a hand over his mouth, the odor that poured off of the mystery meat kaiju being so bad that Sully could taste it. He pointed his finger at it and gagged.

“Oh god, what the fuck is that thing!”

He ducked behind a tree that was too small to hide his large frame as Emily gave out her list of demands, his shirt pulled up over his nose. No, nope, no way in hell were they going to give over Lila or Britney. As Luca started playing peacekeeper Sully got another brilliant idea—he’d give Greenwood a shout. With their reinforcements Emily would be forced to back down and listen to reason, plus maybe Pearl would be able to put Stankzilla on ice to help out with the smell. Sully patted at his pockets, searching for his phone so he could snap a shot of what was going on and drop a pin for his crew, his cellphone sitting comfortably in the cupholder of his unlocked truck. The rain reminded him that he was pretty sure he’d left the window down, too. He leaned his head back against the tree and stared blankly forward, unaware of how fortunate it was for his immediate wellbeing that he didn’t actually have his phone on him.

Wait! The crack of lightning across the sky might as well have struck him with a bolt of inspiration: a third brilliant idea. He’d give Tayla the keys to his truck so she could beat feet, and she could call Greenwood for him so they would have some back up. Sully pulled his keys out of his pocket, spun them around his finger by the keyring like he was some hotshot showboating gunslinger, and tossed them towards the empty space where Tayla had been with a, “Hey, catch.” Briefly distracted by Drake and Stormy running off to jump into the fray, he turned his head just in time to watch his keys vanish into a patch of tall grass, as Tayla, like Jack, had already vanished.

Okay don’t forget to get those later, Sully noted, looking back towards 8th Street and slapping his forehead. The negotiations had lasted approximately seven seconds. Suddenly everything and everyone and the entire situation was on fire. Sully darted out from behind his cover. He was torn between who he should help: the people fighting 8th Street in the yard or those still trapped in the burning house. He ping-ponged back and forth in momentary indecision, wishing that Stormy or Drake had given him some kind of direction. He ultimately decided that getting closer to 8th Street was a bad fucking call for him and headed towards the burning house, unsure of how effective splashing water on it from the Chalice would be but determined anyway to try, a fireball hitting the patio seconds after he started to make his way there.

“Oh shit!” yelled Sully, certain that everybody inside was now full dead.

Sully saw Drake catch Luca, who had been shoved from the patio moments before the blast, and began to hustle his way towards the pair. He slipped in the mud—why did it always rain so much in St. Portwell—but caught himself before eating more dirt. He skidded to a halt beside Drake and dropped to a knee, grimacing ever so slightly as he felt something make his skin begin to itch. The Chalice became heavy in his hands as Sully filled it with the elixir.

“I’ll start packing the super soaker next time,” said Sully with a laugh that was obviously forced given the pain and nervousness in his voice. “You’re gonna be okay, man!”

He gave Luca a reassuring pat on the shoulder before shaking his hand as if he had just touched a burning hot stove. Gritting his teeth and hurtling through the pain, Sully helped Luca drink from the Chalice. His brow furrowed as he watched the silver of the Chalice begin to darken and tarnish from where it touched Luca’s lips. He still gave Luca enough time to quaff the potion, but passed on the bedside manners as he yanked the Chalice away quickly and scouted back out of Luca’s aura. Sully rubbed the Chalice on his jeans as if to wipe any lingering rot away from it before jumping to his feet as he witnessed, from his angle, Vashti smash Linqian’s head in with a thundering punch. She was too deep in 8th Street territory for him to just saunter over and Sully doubted that 8th Street would respect the Geneva Convention even if he did produce some paint from the Chalice and draw a red cross on his sleeves.

“Yo, Drake. Help run some interference and clear me a path?” said Sully, nodding towards Linqian.

Recollections: Under The Sycamore Tree Part. 1

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Interactions: Lynn, Lila @NoriWasHere Amara @Blizz, “Bulletsponge 9000” @Punished GN
Kari’s House

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Sloane could feel the look of I-told-you-so burning into the back of her skull from Lynn as a massive crash shook the house. She refused to acknowledge the woman as she shifted to the window, her mind populating a dozen other things that could have caused the noise rather than Lynn’s guess being right. It was Kenshiro continuing to unhealthily unleash his grief in a public forum, or Linqian and Aryin roughhousing, or Drake doing something stupid, or Jack causing someone to react violently by teleporting behind them for another cheap jumpscare as he played his part as the boy who cried wolf. Maybe it was an auditory recollection. Perhaps a meteorite had fallen from space and crash landed right in Kari’s backyard. Whatever it was, it most certainly wasn’t what Lynn had predicted.

Sloane reached out and popped up a blind to look outside. The reflection of her eyes off of the glass showed her pupils become pinpoints as her jaw set firm. Truthfully, she wasn’t surprised. A tiny, annoying, pestering small part of her, the part she assumed was also responsible for when she tripped over words or banged her knee on a table, had believed that Lynn was right. Still, she hadn’t anticipated Emily to show up with an undead siege engine. It was hard to believe that 8th Street would just walk away if they gave into their demands, just like it was hard to listen to Emily speak like she had never been out in public before, instead having spent the last ten years trapped in a high school girls locker room. Any suspicions of whether Sloane’s failed attempt to get a meeting with Emily had been some kind of hazing ritual or not suddenly disappeared as her eye twitched.

A plan began to machinate in her mind. The first step was to obviously have Jack get Lila out of here. Britney, too. While that woman did deserve to be punished for her actions, it was something that should be handled fairly by a tribunal instead of being violent mob justice. The second step was to engage in a kind of mock negotiation, allowing the rest of the Coven time to retreat, regroup, and, if necessary, ready themselves to retaliate. The third step was to stop that stupid fucking BIT—Sloane’s hand slammed against the window as Linqian stomped out across the yard, roping Aryin along with her. She shouted to no avail at the window, treating Lynn to a shocking string of obscenities from a woman who normally used them only sparingly when she needed to deliver a precision strike.

The first punch was thrown and it unleashed pande-fucking-monium. Kari’s room became nothing more than heat, smoke, and the groaning of imminent support beams collapsing as the upper floor of the home was engulfed in hellfire. Amara burst through the door with her squad of phantoms, smashing out the window and ushering Sloane and Lynn out. The slightest of hesitations as Sloane looked at Kari’s computer, the screen already beginning to bubble and melt, was overrun by a more basic instinct as she allowed herself to be rescued. Another wave of heat burst from behind Sloane, the concussive wave of the fireball forcing Sloane to steady herself on Amara’s arm. They would’ve been directly in the path if the rescue had come any later.

The burst left a ringing in her ears. It was accompanied by confusion, panic, and fear. A chunk of wood splintered from the house and cracked her in the back of the head. Her vision tunneled. A look back left her with the blurry imprint of a child burning, the kind of image that would be forever burnt on the back of her eyelids whenever she would close them to interrupt a moment of peace. Her imagination started carving shadows out of the smoke, tortured phantasms of those left inside burning, real shouts swelling with an orchestra of imagined screams, Anya calling her name, her voice fading. Sloane looked away, pulling herself away from the suicidal urge to rush back inside and rescue someone who might not even be there, her eyes watering from not only the smoke. Focus. She needed to focus.

“Lila…”

Right, Lila. Lila was right in front of her. They needed to protect her from 8th Street. The edge of Sloane’s vision continued to pulse with the throbbing pain in her head as she reached out to the doubling-over woman. Had she been hurt by debris too? Lila looked badly burnt, her arms were covered in ash. Sloane’s eyes focused and her hand hesitated. It wasn’t ash. Sloane’s hand cupped over her mouth, eyes widening as something began to crawl, pulsate, and snap underneath Lila’s skin. Sloane held back a scream as Lila released her own, accompanied by the ripping of flesh, the unfurling of wings, and the splattering of gore across Sloane’s clothes and face.

It was horrifying. It was monstrous. It was…strangely curious. In a way, the green glow calmed Sloane, stripping away the fear of Anya being cooked alive and clearing the confusion caused by a blow to the back of the head. There was comfort and beauty in those wings. Was it so strange for someone so grounded and tied down by her obligations to covet the freedom granted by flight? Eyes swirling in enchantment, Sloane’s hand reached out on its own, desperate to grasp what she did not have. Her fingers wrapped around a dark feather still slick with Lila’s blood and tightened. The sound of crows cawing overhead was the ringing of encouragement: do it, do it, do it. How bizarre it felt to be so immediately accepted. Her fingers tightened and twisted, the caws growing louder and louder and louder, as the creature that had been Lila sprinted away, Sloane’s releasing her grip a moment before, the feather ruffled but unplucked, stopped only by an instinctual realization of danger and the Emotional Field granted to her by her bloodline.

Her vision began to blur aga—no, focus. They had to fight. Stupidly, Sycamore had to fight. Sloane was not a fighter. Her first actual foray into the field had been the final confrontation with the Stygian Snake, and if it hadn’t been for Jade she would’ve been killed. She had a handful of encounters since then, often in the company of Drake, Lionel, or Ayrin, but she had never been the heavy hitter and always it had been with a kind of strategy and plenty of preparation already in play. Sloane had even taken up fencing in anticipation that she would be able to get the Apparition Killer from Ashley so that she could be of better support to her cohorts, but in a street fight fancy footwork and quick reactions only got someone so far when their opponents refused to follow the rules of engagement.

Still, she had to help somehow.

“Amara, get Lynn somewhere safe,” said Sloane, shrugging off her jacket.

From the window Sloane had seen that there was a backline hiding behind the undead monstrosity, using it as cover. She seeked to remove that barrier. Hopefully between its many sets of glossy, cloudy eyes at least one pair wasn’t vestigial or she’d just be ruining a perfectly good coat, if it hadn’t already been ruined between the scorch marks and the blood splatter. Heavy rain soaked her as she folded and layered the sleeves so that the fabric was thin enough to be pierced all the way through by her knife but thick enough that the blade didn’t slice itself free when the knife was elevated by her possession hexmark, the jacket lifting with it. Satisfied that it would hold there for long enough to get the task done, Sloane tapped the jacket with her channeler.

There was an orange spark followed by a blue glow that dimmed but did not completely fade away as Sloane infused the jacket with cursed magic. The fashionable coat frayed and tattered, warping to appear more archaic and anachronistic, like something that would’ve been worn in Victorian times, as Sloane’s magic turned it into an object of obsession. Only the undead amalgamation would be targeted by the spell as she conducted her possessed knife with her tarot card channeler, launching the knife and the jacket with it into the trunk of a tree a decent ways away. As the jacket reached its destination she wiggled her channeler as if she was holding the end of the knife, pulling it free from the fabric and carefully returning it towards herself while keeping an eye out for anybody trying to get in a cheapshot.

If the spell worked the undead creature would be drawn to the jacket, completely distracted and disabled until the jacket was wrenched from its hands or destroyed. More importantly, it would create an opening for Sycamore, allowing for the others to bypass the big fleshy barrier and strike at the individuals less suited to take a punch.

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Interactions: Linqian @Fernstone Britney Williams @Punished GN Jasper (Knight), Lila @NoriWasHere
Kari's House

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Vashti’s elbow cracked against something hot and hard. She growled, an eyebrow raising up in confusion. Linqian’s face might’ve been the prettiest one whose nose Vashti had smashed through the back of her cranium, but it definitely wasn’t the first. The impact felt wrong. It lacked the oddly satisfying squish like wet sand between toes on a bright, sunny beach and there was no beautiful popping sound of a mind being blown apart by the cage designed to support and protect it. Oh, Linqian was proving to be quite a pleasant surprise like Leon before her. Better, even. Just as desperate, but with less hair to deal with and the option to sleep in on Sunday morning after getting no sleep Saturday night. Vashti's eyes shot to the side and caught Linqian's attempt to grapple her. It was a damn shame the girl wanted to get herself killed so fucking badly.

Vashti flicked her arms out as she felt Linqian slipping behind her, deflecting Linqian’s initial attempt to cinch in while protecting herself from too bad of a burn thanks to the quickly deteriorating hoodie she had borrowed from Lila. She was just going to step away then turn around to stomp Linqian’s face into the mud. However, something locked her feet. Vashti looked down to see thick vines wrapping around her leggings. Her head snapped in the direction of Britney as another pop of thunder exploded in unison with the arrows launched from Jasper’s Ranger. A flash of lightning illuminated Vashti’s face, a wide grin stretching across her face composed of sharp teeth, her eyes gleaming. The look she gave Britney wasn’t of hatred or anger. It was something closer to adoration, like that of a child on a playground trying to impress a tired mother as they screamed, Hey, hey, look what I can do!

She so wished that Britney had talked to her when she had her chance. After all, Vashti owed her everything. At the very least she’d present Britney with a beautiful bloodbath to show that Vashti had been the right candidate for the Leviathan after all. Britney had already guaranteed her own fucking death, the very least Vashti could do before Britney’s stomach was sliced open and she and Carol played double dutch with her entrails was to make her proud. Vashti raised a hand to wave at Britney with a playful wiggle of the fingers, her eyes opening wide in shock as Linqian was able to grab onto the back of her hoodie and pull her down to the ground, the vines burning away from Linqian’s heat.

Vashti let out a heavy breath as Linqian wrapped her legs and arms around her. Normally, she would’ve been fully onboard to roll around in the mud with Linqian, preferably face to face, but the smell of burnt hair and barbecued bayou burgers killed the mood. Plus, they had never decided on a safe word, and the melted polyester of her leggings that began to adhere to her skin and burn like napalm was starting to approach Vashti’s threshold. However, with Linqian’s arms wrapped around Vashti’s belly that meant they could no longer be used to block more hits. Rapidly, Vashti threw her head back, cracking her skull loudly against Linqian’s face again and again and again until Linqian had to drop her grip.

Vashti rolled off of her body and through the cooling mud, numbing the pain from the burns. She scrambled over to Linqian to see much to her surprise that the woman was not only still breathing but relatively okay, dazed more than anything. Vashti would have to fix that. She raised her hand up, claws flashing and eyes wild as she delivered the killing blow, hand diverting just a few inches in the final moments that it punched the ground, showering mud in the place of blood as Vashti leaned down. She shoved her other hand over Linqian’s mouth and roughly grabbed the molten threads of her hair with the other, the mud on her palms sizzling, as she hissed in her ear, “Play dead. You still might get the chance.”

Vashti climbed up to her feet, wiping a streak of mud across her face like warpaint, and flipped her hair back. Carol had better be able to reverse the burnt ends. She looked back at Britney and smiled, gesturing down to Linqian, presenting her as the first offering. From that distance it would be impossible to tell that she was still breathing. The rain pounded down even harder, shifting around Vashti as she cracked her knuckles, locking in on who should be her next target. Some asshole cosplaying as a knight was moving to the group. A second later the knight was knocked to the ground, its armor slightly caved in from where Vashti had clotheslined it. A human would’ve had the wind knocked out of it.

Vashti raised her foot to stomp the helmet in but paused as she heard Lila cawing her name. The green glow of Lila’s wings drew her in, sparing the knight from the curbstomp as she blanked and walked away from it. It was so nice to see someone else be so accepting of the gifts provided to them. Underneath the mud her skin itched where the scales of the Leviathan had once been. The admiration soon became jealousy. Vashti honestly didn’t care for whatever reasons Emily had to go after Lila. She just wanted to rip those fucking wings off.

Lila ran and Vashti gave chase, the caws of the murder being answered by the crackling of the storm.

Recollections: Under The Sycamore Tree Part. 1

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Interactions: Linqian @Fernstone
Kari's House

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In her final moments time stretched on forever.

Vashti was dying. She was absolutely dying. Kari had been right. She wouldn’t see the New Year. It was killing her. The anticipation was a noose tightening itself around her neck, the talking a serrated knife carving up her stomach like a holiday roast. She stood in the shadow of the frankensteined abomination, its rotting flesh that burned her nostrils and made her mouth water a foreshadowing of what was to become of her. This was torture—forced to witness her beautiful future and then made to wait. In the end, boredom was the greatest killer. She hated to admit it. She was even a little envious. It had taken her title.

Oh but the plan, the plan, the plan! Fuck the plan, fuck Emily, just go in there and fuck up everything. Her storm shouldn’t be just a light mist of rain that watered the flowers and ruined natural curls. It should be a monsoon, a hurricane, a flood of apocalyptic proportions, the kind that got mythologized over centuries and millennia, becoming the cornerstone of religions and putting the fear of gods into peons. However, this time there would be no survivors, no records, no falsifying of the truth, just billions of bloated bodies bobbing upon the surface as a warning sign to any extraterrestrials that this planet had already been conquered. But no, no, no, there was a stupid little plan; annihilation must wait.

Besides, wasn’t it nice to be reunited again as one big happy family? Vashti smiled and threw Sycamore a peace sign as Carol screamed for the repeated slaughter of Britney Williams, wondering to herself why Carol planned to let that bitch off so easily. Vashti’s eyes lingered on Luca as he called for peace, even suggesting that Britney could help them. Vashti liked Luca. She liked how sweet he was, how fun he was, how stupid he was, how fragile he was, how destructive he was, how in-fucking-denial he was. He didn’t need help. She would know.

Ten years ago, Britney and the others had helped her—or so they claimed. In reality, they were only helping themselves, afraid of what would become of them if Vashti hadn’t pulled back when the Leviathan had turned on the Coven. Vashti hadn’t been fixed when they sealed away the Leviathan. She was broken. It was only when she got the Leviathan back that she started feeling right again. Luca was lucky he never had to go through such a separation. He just needed to give in to those urges and he’ll be happier. She knew she was. The Leviathan was the best thing to have ever happened to her.

Maybe the second best.

”Lets fucking go,” said Linqian as she appeared dressed only in a sheet, not unlike how she had been when fate and a Vanburen had snatched her away from Vashti. Her arrival was the panacea that cured Vashti of her terminal boredom, breathing a bit of life back into what would’ve been a beautiful corpse. Overhead, thunder rumbled as the wind began to kick up and rustle the leaves as the sparks flew between the two, Vashti’s eyes sparkling with excitement as Aryin slugged Linqian in her stomach. The rain began to pelt down properly now, steam hissing off of the inviting curves of the molten figure as the sheet vanished in a puff of smoke.

Vashti’s mind went blank. Had this been part of Emily’s plan? Sorry, Emily who?

”Heyyyy, hot stuff. Prepare to get real fucking hot,” said Linqian, telegraphing her punch—as if that was the part of Linqian’s body that Vashti had her eyes on. The unbearable heat radiating off of Linqian was strangely pleasant.

“I was hoping you’d warm me up, bro,” said Vashti, faking a shiver as sweat dripped down her flushed face. She tugged at the shawl around her burning neck, her body violently jerking back to avoid the punch thrown by Linqian. She was a fraction of a moment too late, the punch catching her in a glancing blow that scorched a hole through a hoodie that she had snagged from Lila’s house. Linqian had not learned her lesson about getting close to Vashti. Vashti's hand snatched out and grabbed Linqian’s wrist.

“What's with you people punching me in the tits?" hissed Vashti. "When Bianca told everyone that you were a massive dirty ho I thought she was just being a fucking bitch.” She smiled. "Not that there's anything wrong with that, bro."

Her grip tightened on Linqian’s wrist and twisted, threatening to snap it, eyes firm and focused, the flesh on her hand sizzling and popping from the heat and forcing her to push away and let go. Vashti hopped back a few paces from Linqian, shaking her blistering hand. Lightning flashed as the rain began to turn the earth into mud, the storm intensifying faster than ever due to her elevated excitement. Vashti smirked, rushed Linqian with a feint, dropped back with a spin, snatched up a handful of mud, flung it towards Linqian’s eyes with hopes to momentarily blind her so that she could catch her off guard with spinning back elbow that would knock Linqian out—or cave in her pretty, little, empty head.

Recollections: Under The Sycamore Tree Part. 1

---

Interactions: Lynn @NoriWasHere Jack @Blizz
Kari’s House

---

"You aren't…" was precisely all that Jack got out before Sloane spazzed at the sudden voice from the shadows. The creeping anxiety that she had been pushing back rushed her, muting what would’ve been a scream down to a tiny eek as she scrambled up and away. Sloane reacted so quickly she didn’t even have time to grab her Channeler. She threw her hand back in the direction of the voice and turned her head towards it as something flashed out from underneath her jacket, spiraling in orange and blue light from the hexmark. At the same time orange and blue flames licked out from beneath Sloane’s wristwatch over her old scar. Her face contorted in pain, soon replaced by a look of abject terror as her perception caught up to her reaction. The flames stopped burning and the hexmark stopped glowing as Sloane’s knife that had been intended for the voice’s throat embedded into the carpet instead, diverting direction just in time as Jack finished, “...responsible for everything, my friend."

“I would’ve been held responsible for that. Why can’t you just use a door, Jack?” barked Sloane, gesturing to the one she had locked and wincing in pain. She undid her watch and glared at the fresh burn on her wrist, slipping the jewelry into her coat pocket to prevent at least one source of further irritation. She walked over towards Jack and yanked the knife out of the carpet, tucking it safely away before retreating back to her own corner of the room by Kari’s desk. She pushed her hair back with her fingers, deeply relieved that nothing bad had happened, and took a second to collect herself. “How is it that you’re never on time despite being able to...”

Sloane was swept away into another Recollection.

“...teleport.”

“WHAT THE!” started Lynn suddenly, Sloane and her both bringing it home in unison with a, "FUCK!"

Sloane pressed a hand against her beating chest as Lynn exploded out of her vision quest, shouting absolute nonsense like a street corner prophet hollering about how the end was nigh because a cloud had passed in front of the sun. It was difficult to process both what Lynn was saying and the recollection at the same time. Kari was alive but also dead and Kari’s notes had been acquired by 8th Street? Lynn was either upset that her creativity had abandoned her and she could only fabricate ten scenarios or ecstatic that for once a vision of the future could be narrowed down to have some value? Sloane held out a hand to stop Lynn’s babbling, which she must’ve mistaken for a request for a drink as Lynn held out her flask to Sloane.

“I’m working,” muttered Sloane, still committed to never taking a drink again thanks to her Halloween hangover.

Sloane gently pushed the flask back to Lynn. Another time she would’ve done everyone a favor and have confiscated the item, but at the moment she didn’t want to agitate an already stirred up Lynn. Sloane gave Jack a blank stare as Lynn resumed her pacing and pondering. Lynn insisted that she was ninety-something percent sure that 8th Street was about to attack them, which prompted Sloane to fold her arms with a sigh. Of course Lynn wasn’t one hundred percent certain. She always had to give herself an escape route. 8th Street was probably just on her brain because her delusions had been reinforced by the bombardment of recollections.

“Sure, whatever. You do that,” said Sloane dismissively to Lynn and Jack. Sloane had only a vague idea of what had happened between 8th Street and the Sycamore remnants during the Halloween Festival. She knew Emily well enough to know that petty revenge wasn’t beneath her, but she couldn’t see why Emily would attack them when they were all together. Plus, if anything that Recollection had shown her that 8th Street was just as disorganized and mismanaged as Sycamore. They could’ve missed something crucial. Sloane sat down at Kari’s desk in front of her computer, pulled out her Channeler, and began to draw an intricate hexmark on the device.

“And once you’re done telling everyone that the sky is falling, would you two mind searching Elsa’s room?” asked Sloane, not looking up from her spell crafting. She scoffed quietly and shook her head. "Oh, yeah, maybe when Emily gets here you can ask her to share those notes with me?"

Recollections: Under The Sycamore Tree Part. 1

---

Interactions: Tayla @silvermist1116 Drake @Punished GN Luna @Estylwen, Stormy @Blizz
Kari’s House

---

A flight of fantasy played out in Sully’s mind. Sully couldn’t shake Drake’s last text to him:I like you, don’t come to the next meeting. Perhaps that sake had hit his head harder than it should have, but Drake’s words sounded like the manifesto that would be read out by a news announcer shortly after a mass shooting so the station could turn a tragedy into more ratings. Adrenaline took over. Drake hit the ground and Sully tackled his friend to the ground. Sully even threw a protective hand over the back of Drake’s head to prevent it from cracking hard against anything as the two slammed into the dirt, Sully’s knee jamming hard against a gnarled tree root that was protruding out of the earth.

A wave of pain coursed through his body, clarity taking the opportunity to surf that swell to the forefront of Sully’s mind. Okay, so perhaps Tayla was right and Drake wasn’t working his way down a hit list but actually just defending himself from a potential hit. Sully groaned, shifting up to his knees while still pinning Drake to the ground. He gave Drake an apologetic smile and a reassuring pat on the chest before he helped Drake back up to his feet. Sully positioned himself between Luna and Drake, ready to block in case Luna tried to retaliate or Drake turned out to actually have gone postal.

“Okay, okay, okay, let’s all just take a big time out here. It’s like Stormy said, we’re all friends. We’re all pals. Nobody’s gonna fuck around with anybody’s head anymore or snap and start shooting up the place, right?” Sully glanced at Drake. “Right? Right. So let’s just talk this out. Also, sorry about the tackle bud, dust yourself off.”

Drake didn’t look all that hurt, but Sully offered him a sip of the Chalice anyway. Then, Sully walked over towards Luna and Stormy in an awkward side shuffle as if he was caught in a Mexican standoff, unwilling to fully turn his back on Drake just in case. He knelt down to where Luna had gone limp and nodded at her, offering up his assistance in case she needed help with drinking from the Chalice. Despite the accusations being thrown her way, he felt like it was unreasonable to believe that one of their own would have any actual ill-will towards the rest of the group.

“And Luna, while you should’ve just come up to the house instead of hiding in the bushes like a bashful little wallflower, it’s my bad that Drake ended up giving you the lightning lasso. We got a little riled up back there,” said Sully. “Hell, I thought you were Tayl-uhhhh, anyway, look, I’m sure this is all just some big misunderstanding that we’ll all be laughing about in minutes. So why don’t we all go back inside and carry out this conversation where there’s a nice, comfy sofa and Aislin’s bong?”

Sully offered Luna his hand, motioning the others to follow him back to Kari’s house.

Recollections: Under The Sycamore Tree Part. 1

---

Interactions: Clancy @Zombiedude101, Ken @AtomicEmperor, Britney @Punished GN
Kari’s House

---

It was Britney Williams of all people to come to Sloane’s aid, but it was ultimately Linqian that ended up deescalating everything. Linqian pulled her hand away from Sloane’s collar and slipped herself free from her grip. This had allowed Sloane to use her now free hand to cover her own mouth and pinch it shut tight. Sloane could feel her teeth tightly pressed and her jaw painfully locked up as her grip crushed her lips together. Yet the pain was worth it because it kept her from snapping off an unneeded retort at Britney about how she was the one responsible for Vashti being “crazy’. It would ultimately lead to no good for Sloane, and it was distracting from the more pressing point at hand. Even Linqian could see that and she was, despite her own claims, an idiot.

Stop it, give her a break.

Sloane looked at the ground, her eyes pulled down by a twist of guilt. She actually believed Linqian when she said that she was serious, so why had Linqian wasted their time? Other people were so frustrating to deal with. If Sloane had known it was going to go like this, she would’ve broken in by herself before the group had gotten here. Her hand over her mouth began to tremble. She quickly shoved her hands in her pocket, her expression set to its typical neutral-nothingness as she began to follow Ken and the others towards the basement.

"The book Luca mentioned, have you seen it? Do you know where it is?" asked Clancy.

“No,” said Sloane more sharply than she had intended, actually sounding as if she had been offended. Why would she know? Was he now accusing her of something? She paused and then reconsidered. The question could’ve just been a question. She turned to Clancy and offered him a little more. “But Coven naming conventions aren’t too creative. They squat in a mansion over on 8th Street.”

And then, before he got any ideas and scampered off after that supposed book without them she quickly added, “But you can’t just break in.”

The group reached the basement, the stench of reefer causing Sloane to wrinkle her nose. Sloane watched with mild bemusement as Kenshiro fed a coin into a dumbwaiter and unlocked some kind of dimensional vault. She felt a momentary twinge of jealousy that no beau of hers had lovingly made her a magical vault, but the feeling went away when Ken revealed that it was missing Kari’s notes. Of course while it would be strangely cathartic if there had been a break-in it was too soon to immediately jump to conclusion, despite Ken’s caterwauling. Kari could’ve just taken them out and—

A “tch!” escaped from Sloane as Ken hypocritically punched a hole in some drywall. Sure, she made a little itsy bitsy dent and suddenly she’s public enemy number one, but he punched a hole in a goddamn wall and they were supposed to feel bad for him? Stupid. She hung her head and her shoulder shook as she tried to hold in laughter as the coins, their consolation prize for time well wasted, loudly clattered to the ground. The staggered and muffled escapes of air from strangled chuckles almost sounded like quiet sobbing. They stopped almost as soon as they were joined by Ken’s weeping, his unabashed emotions killing the humor she had found in the situation as she began to fill with unease. She jumped when he shouted.

“Maybe they’re…” she started quietly. No, screw this. She didn’t have the mental bandwidth to deal with Ken having a breakdown every time he crossed a threshold. Plus, the way everybody was gently trying to comfort him made her skin crawl. Sloane had to get out of here. She gave Anya a parting eyeroll to let her know that she was going to go back upstairs, but Sloane didn’t head up right away. Instead, she walked up about three steps and paused, spacing out time to allow herself to avoid going up with Amara. That’s when she overheard Britney,”...And I'm hoping it doesn't end with us barking up 8th Street's tree.”

“You’re the psychopath who planted that tree!” came a parting voice from the stairs, punctuated by the slamming of a basement door.

---

Interactions: Tayla @silvermist1116 Drake @Punished GN Luna (Shouting at, indirectly) @Estylwen, also essentially everyone else.
Kari’s House

---

“Aww, man…”

Sully didn’t know what he was more tired of: getting his jacket dirty or living other people’s memories. He guessed there was something nice about seeing Elsa and Kari again, even if it was in a weird voyeuristic fugue state. Meanwhile, there was never a brightside to grass stains. He felt a hand pat him on his back as Tayla whispered to him to keep quiet about her stalker Dean. Of course the asshole had an asshole name like Dean. He didn’t fully understand why Tayla would want the Coven to not know about Dean. He was harassing one of their own. Two, actually. Sully was essentially being stalked in Tayla’s place. Everybody should be on the lookout for the guy. Hell, he could’ve been Father Wolf.

Sully pushed himself up. Normally he was for respecting someone’s choice, but sometimes a person needed to be told that the choice they had made was the stupid one like wearing socks with sandals or mixing a top shelf bottle of scotch with diet soda. He turned to Tayla as he struggled to untangle his backpack from his legs, his eyes watery only in part to having bounced his face off the ground.

“Look girl I think this is one of those times were you just gotta aaaaand, okay, the headphones are on. Okay, I can take a-oH RIGHT, DRAKE!”

Sully jumped to his feet, nearly tripping again, and then righted himself. If they got Dean now then they wouldn’t have to do any airing out of dirty laundry. He began tough-guy stomping after Drake and Stormy, crunching a pair of binoculars beneath his feet, as he pushed up his sleeves. Right. It was time for the jock squad to take down this psycho biker. Sully rolled his shoulders and threw a few wild punches in the air that would make Stormy and Leon shake their heads at his form as he bumbled through the brush.

He overheard Drake and Stormy already confronting the Chosen One’s newest archenemy, Dickhead Dean, his voice carrying a lot less bass in it than Sully remembered. Whatever. He had been drunk. Maybe he was misremembering.

“I’m here, fellas. Hope you saved some from ol’ Sully. Let’s whoop this trick…uh…”

Okay Sully had been pretty blitzed the other night but he was pretty confident that Dean was not a young, pale Japanese woman who had also helped them save the world. Sully hadn’t been around when Luna’s little game of Mafia got a little too real, so he really didn’t understand what all the shouting back and forth was about. Maybe Stormy and Drake didn’t remember Luna? Stormy had probably been hit in his head too many times since then and Drake was, well, Drake was never the brightest crayon in the toolshed. No worries. Ol’ Sully could easily patch out what was certainly just a misunderstanding.

“What the hell, dude!?” yelled Sully as Drake swung an electric mace at Luna. Holy shit he was trying to kill her. It had happened. Sully’s worst fear. The text message had been a warning after all.

Drake had finally snapped!

“Drake, stop! You’re better than this, man!” shouted Sully, hefting the Chalice in his hand as if he was readying himself to chuck it at his best bro’s head to knock some sense into him. “Don’t just become another statistic. Stormy, what the fuck. Stop him!”

---

Interactions: Lynn @NoriWasHere
Kari’s House

---

That had been unnecessary. Sloane moved away from the basement with the hurried footsteps of a criminal leaving the scene, her hands massaging her temples in a pitiful attempt to quell a head splitting migraine. She sharply turned her head at the sight of Auri, unable to even bear to make eye contact with the woman who had put together such a sad pack of individuals—Sloane no exception herself. Sloane muttered inaudible complaints to herself about everyone and anyone. Her underarms were cold with sweat and it felt like she had swallowed a handful of sewing pins. When was the last time she had taken a breath?

She needed to be alone. Outside, the people still on the porch would see a dark figure poke its head out and then quickly retreat inside. Sloane moved up the stairs in a failed attempt to make it seem like she was not fleeing, her shaking hand grabbing at the bannister to keep herself from tumbling down. She froze at the sight of Amara ahead of her, the sight of a drawn gun taking her doubled heartbeat and quadrupling it, and twisted to go downstairs until she heard voices. She’d take a bullet over the mob. Sloane drifted past Amara, full body bristling as she looked back, eyes darting between the gun and Amara, no effort to hide a look of “what the fuck” on Sloane’s face. Sloane slipped into a room with her eyes closed, shut the door behind her, and locked it.

For the first time since coming out of the basement she exhaled the stagnant cellar air and breathed in the sweet tasting air of solitude. No, wait. She smacked her lips. The taste was wrong. She opened her eyes, jolted, and let out a quiet “fuck” as she saw Lynn sitting on the bed, staring directly at Sloane, tainting the air she had wanted to breathe. Sloane waved her hand at Lynn and tried to gauge a reaction, the glazed over look in the woman’s eye telling Sloane that Lynn was anywhere but there. Sloane sighed. It was probably the best she would get.

Sloane sank to the floor with her back against the door, staring across the room at Lynn, and controlled her breathing: in two three four - out two three four. Better. Not good, but better. She nervously picked at a piece of the carpet, teasing out of the fabric with her fingernails.

“You set a bad example. We’re supposed to be searching the house, not sitting around doing nothing. Really, I can’t believe how unhelpful you’re being. This is a group effort. You think you’d at the very least tolerate being in the same room with them. Can’t even make it through a single meeting without starting a fight,” said Sloane softly, uncertain if she was even addressing Lynn. She pulled her knees up to her chest in a cradle and rested her head on her knee. “You’re such an embarrassment. Why would they even invite you? If we accomplish nothing again it’s all your fault.”

Recollections: Under The Sycamore Tree Part. 1

---

Interactions: Tayla @silvermist1116 Drake @Punished GN Luna (Shouting at, indirectly) @Estylwen, also essentially everyone else.
Kari’s House

---

“Are you okay?” asked Aislin.

“Oh, yeah. I got a pretty thick skull,” said Sully, knocking on his head with the Chalice to highlight his point and wincing as he discovered his beanie offered less cushioning than he had anticipated. As for if Tayla was okay he didn’t know. It had been a few days since he had been in contact with her, sending her a somewhat coherent text about what had happened at the strip club and ignited all of his problems with her stalker. He had planned to introduce the idea of helping her (and therefore himself) out at some point during their meeting. Certainly somebody could come up with an idea that was better than the one he had which was currently to keep roping Dean along until he got bored and forgot all about it.

However, any thoughts about that were immediately distracted away as the others turned towards Sully to take him up on his offer. He was warm and welcome to all, hamming it up the entire time and healing whomever needed it, “Aryin? What’s up! You know I got you. Keep, keep your shirt on. I believe you. Look, maybe we just don’t punch George anymore. He’s a big dumb idiot, and speaking as one myself I can tell you the best way to take us out is by using your head. Like say you hear an ice cream truck or something if he ever causes you trouble again. Gone. Immediately. Anyway, I’ve actually got some huge things going on in my—Luca!”

Sully gave Luca their old patented greeting of an air high five. Sully patted his jacket and backpack as if looking for a squirtgun.

“Damn you know what? You caught me lacking. Shit. I was a real deadeye back in the day. We could always go back to the flicking method,” said Sully, mimicking the motion with his fingers. He refused to bring up the fountain method Luca and Sully had tried. The less said about that the better. “Any stains would come out. Probably. You don’t like that shirt, do—that was the kid who got shot!?”

Sully craned his head to look inside the house again to get a glance at the kid as if to confirm it, despite barely having a good look at the boy before he had vanished at the nightclub. He didn’t get a good look again before, "Sully!? Put the fucking cup away, my friend!”

Sully looked rather shocked as Ken started pointing out his brazen brandishing of the Chalice, Ken’s point made even stronger by the red healing elixir dripping from the tips of Sully’s fingers that he was about to flick at Luca. The constant Chalice dreams were becoming a bit bizarre, but he was around good friends here. Nobody was going to nab it. Plus, maybe Emily had only accidentally taken it. Everybody was very drunk by that point, so it was easy to see a mixup happening. Like she was a jerk and there was no denying that, but her plan of theft couldn’t have been to just snatch the artifact right out from underneath everybody’s noses and walk away as if she was completely unseen. She had been dressed as a dragon in a toga. She was impossible not to notice.

Still, Ken managed to make Sully feel guilty for his more-than-occasionally flippant use of the Chalice. No, fuck it, Ken was right. Sully had let it get stolen, Sully kept waving it around like an idiot. He didn’t want to have to give it back to Sloane for safekeeping, unaware of how terrible a choice that would be anyway, so he’d have to take it upon himself to be more responsible with the Chalice. Head hung, he bashfully shrugged his backpack off of his shoulder and stashed the Chalice away. The second he put his backpack on again Ken was calling out for a drink with the same dramatic intensity as the thespians who performed Shakespeare in the park. The Chalice was half-pulled from the bag when Ken asked when he had ever wanted a drink and prompted Sully to start putting it away again. Sully continued to yo-yo the Chalice in and out of his bag until it became clear that, yes, sake shots were happening.

“Right on, just one moment, Ken,” said Sully, slightly out of breath.

It felt like he might’ve pulled his shoulder. He crouched back down and slid a pack of biodegradable cups out of his backpack, preparing a round of shots for everyone as Aislin pulled out a bong. Hell yeah, just the thing to take the edge off of everyone. As Aislin coughed right in his ear Sully missed Clancy drop the most important piece of information—that he and Ashley were family. If Sully had heard that instead of Aislin’s lungs going on strike he would’ve rushed into the entrance to introduce himself to the kid. Insead he remained on the patio, passing out cups of sake to all who reached, including a specially made non-alcoholic one for Luca in a cup that would likely rot all too quickly. Paper sake cup and Chalice in hand with has backpack still dangling haphazardly from his elbow, Sully went to join Ken in a toast to their fallen but then he stopped, his eyes going wide.

Tayla had come. A wave of relief flowed over Sully. He gently pushed his way past everyone on the patio and gave her a bright smile. He was so happy that she was here. Before he had the chance to check in on her, Tayla said, "I'm almost positive we're being watched from those trees by someone. Just a feeling."

“Oh shit! Is it your stalker?” said Sully, unintentionally saying it loud enough that others might be able to hear. Drake buzzed by overhead, his body crackling with lightning off in the direction to go whoop that creep’s ass. Sully’s boy had the right idea. Now wasn’t the time for questioning, it was the time for action. He ran by Tayla to join Drake, handing her his sake cup as he passed. “Get inside. We got this motherfucker! AY, DRAKE, GET HIS BITCH ASS MAN! GO, GO, GO!”

The backpack slipped down from his hand as he ran and a loose strap wrapped itself around his foot. Sully tripped head first into the Recollection.

---

Interactions: Linqian (in collab w/) @Fernstone, Sycamore Tree
Kari’s House

---

So she was working for someone else then? thought Sloane.

Sloane came out of the Recollection still biting down on her knuckle. It had been the best solution she had come up with in the moment to avoid snapping at the group that had decided to turn their investigation into a house party with shots of sake and bong rips. She surprised herself briefly at the sound of something cracking, concerned that between her stress and adrenaline she’d bit through her finger like a carrot. Her eyes lasered in on Clancy, the bits of plaster falling from his hand. She realized that it was bad for her as an adult to hope the others would turn on the kid and hound him for damaging some of Kari’s cabin to take the heat off of her. Sloane naturally assumed the asshole comment was directed her way, but it didn’t matter. The kid was ultimately after what they were after.

And apparently he had survived being shot. Intriguing. File it away for later.

Sloane shouldn’t have even witnessed Clancy’s accidental vandalism. If not for Drake coming in she would’ve been upstairs already. Her basic flight or fight instinct broke when she saw him holding a bouquet of roses. She watched him out of the corner of her eyes, too uneasy to make direct eye contact, too stupidly hopeful to completely ignore the possibilities. Her eye twitched as Drake turned and bolted out the door. The possibilities bubbled and became vitriolic acid. She rubbed her finger, briefly toying with the idea of going after him and forcing a confrontation. Sloane didn’t even know if she would accept an apology. She just needed to be acknowledged.

No, focus!

”You know, Sloane, Vashti said the funniest fucking thing at the Halloween Festival…” started Linqian.

Of course Linqian was going to try and start something now. No focus. Sloane’s face became a blank slate and folded her arms as Linqian revealed that she knew about Sloane’s visits to the 8th Street manor. Sloane showed no tells that anything Linqian said was more than just Vashti’s bullshit being parroted through the mouth of an idiot. Her eyes watched Linqian’s finger jabbing between her and Anya. Anger flared back up as Linqian tried to loop Anya into her accusation. It had been Sloane’s idea and she had gone alone. Anya hadn’t dealt with them at all. Linqian was just acting out of pure spite and pettiness now to someone whose only crime was being Sloane’s friend.

“Listen, Linqian…” started Sloane.

Her voice was so low that it demanded leaning in to be heard. She glanced back at Anya, transmitting an apology with her eyes, and shifted ever so slightly to put herself between Anya and Linqian. With an unexpected speed Sloane struck away Linqian’s finger with a stiff backhand moved to riposte by jamming her own finger at Linqian’s face. She didn’t have the chance. Sloane was quickly countered when Linqian grabbed her by the collar and pulled her in close. Sloane was unflinching. She glared at Linqian with mocking contempt and wrapped her hand around the woman’s wrist, signaling to her: let go or “let’s go”, stop wasting my fucking time.

“I don’t give a shit what you say about me, but leave her out of this. Anya didn’t do anything, you idiot,” hissed Sloane.

”Fuck off, as if you two aren't fucking joined at the hip,” Linqian snapped, grip tightening on Sloane's collar and getting fully in her face. ”Quit that shit and just fucking explain while I'm still playing nice.”

“Nothing happened. Emily and I never talked. So stop being stupid. Stop being distracting. Go search the house. That goes for all of you,” said Sloane, raising her voice from the low whisper she was speaking to Linqian with so that all could hear. She didn’t take her eyes off of Linqian. “This isn’t some social gathering where we have time to drink and smoke and paint. We’re here for a reason. How many more need to be lost before you realize how serious this is? It’s time to stop behaving like children, to stop playing nice, and to get the fuck to work.”

“Right, Linqian?” said Sloane, squeezing the woman’s wrist harder as Sloane’s other hand slowly crept towards her Channeler. "You can help me search the basement."

Recollections: Under The Sycamore Tree Part. 1

---

Interactions: Britney @Punished GN Linqian & Anya @Fernstone Clancy @Zombiedude101
Kari’s House, Inside

---

”Sloane, what the hell?!”

Sloane turned swiftly as she heard Britney’s approach, but she didn’t step back a single inch as the woman who towered an entire foot over her invaded her personal space. For weeks they had somehow avoided breaking the terms of their unspoken ceasefire—the terms simply being “don’t fucking talk to me”—but now Britney wanted to disturb the peace over the stupidest, most asinine reason. Naturally. Britney was a lot of things, but she wasn’t an idiot. She should’ve seen the logic presented in Anya’s (honestly unnecessary) excuse for Sloane pushing forward, as if there wasn’t already a precedent set that every idle minute the Coven had was time that would be misused and wasted.

It was crystal clear what Britney was trying to do. She was simply jumping on the first excuse she could find to besmirch Sloane before Sloane could do the same to her. How petty. Sloane had figured the situation had allowed them to table their grudge for the time being, but apparently some people just couldn't resist taking a cheap shot. Sloane was furious, but she gave Britney no impression of it as she coldly stared at her as if Britney were a door-to-door evangelist asking Sloane if she had heard the good word.

But how dare Britney talk to Sloane like this wasn’t her area of expertise. The dead found no value in their possession; that remained firmly in the realm of the living, and in all of her years as an antiquarian nobody gave a shit about a little dinged up wall. There were no memories for walls. What, was Kari’s family going to come and slice out a little square of drywall and place it in a home shrine dedicated to her spirit? Was that her favorite piece of plaster: the little bit behind the door that was certainly already dinged up because Kari had failed to put a protective stopper there?

Ridiculous. This was absolutely ridiculous. Britney was the last person who should be speaking about respecting others. How many people had Britney forced Apparitions upon? How many people did her negligence end up killing? How many friends had her fucking little god complex turn into enemies? Just the other week she had nearly gotten Auri and Jack killed while simultaneously stripping Layla of an Apparition that, regardless of how dangerous and problematic it was, gave the young lady a way to at least defend herself against Father Wolf. Sloane’s jaw tightened. Hell, Father Wolf was probably someone that Britney had cursed or adjoined back when they were facing off against the Stygian Snake.

Yet she couldn’t even say any of that, because everybody would just jump on Britney’s side because that was the way things just worked in this stupid, backwards Coven. It didn’t matter if what she said was even an undeniable truth. Anything that came out of Sloane’s mouth was viewed as wrong because they were all simply just rotten bastards desperate to disparage her.

“It’s just a dent,” said Sloane matter-of-factly, unable to resist the urge to at least point out the stupid, tiny, insignificant thing that Britney was overreacting about. A bit of spackle and some paint would make it good as new.

”Fucking hell, Sloane…”

Oh, yes, here it came. Now that Britney had opened the gates, the dogpile on Sloane party could begin. Of course Linqian was the first to jump in. There was something nostalgic about the whole thing. Sloane was unable to hide her eye roll as she turned to the woman who just days ago she’d offered to generously pay for her brother’s funeral. What anger was starting to peek through was wiped clear of her face as it blanched at the mention of Jinhai. Unfair. Low. What an awful thing to say. What a tremendous amount of proof that Linqian knew absolutely nothing and was unworthy of her twin brother. If this was Jinhai’s house she would’ve done the same thing. Jinhai would be able to see that time was of the essence, because Jinhai wasn't a clown.

Sloane found it a bit difficult to breathe. This was a waste of time. Linqian was an idiot. She probably wanted to keep Jinhai’s ashes trapped in a cabinet. She probably loved having the ammunition always in her pocket. Sloane wouldn’t be surprised if the only reason Linqian hadn’t outright accepted her offer and instead asked to get the whole Coven involved in the funding of Jinhai’s funeral was so she could keep him around a little while longer whenever she needed to earn pity points.

“It’s. A. Tiny. Dent,” she said, holding up her thumb and forefinger to illustrate how small of a scuff it actually was.

"You could've knocked," said a voice.

Without even thinking Sloane moved to step in between the source of the voice and the two women who had been cutting her down. Her guard lowered as she recognized Ashley’s cousin from the church, looking a lot worse for wear then from before. Was he a vagrant? Sloane was about to ask how he found them and if he was doing okay when he suddenly felt the need to throw his own worthless opinion into the mix. She was getting ting insulted by a fucking preteen. Sloane shot Clancy a withering stare that quickly adjusted up at the ceiling, her head vibrating that for a moment it appeared as if it were about to erupt. She’d earn no favors by yelling at a homeless kid. Fuck this. Furiously running her hand through her hair, Sloane wordlessly turned away from the kid as Linqian started talking to him—mentioning Jinhai yet again as if to prove Sloane’s unsaid point.

She mouthed silently to herself yet again that it was just a stupid little unimportant and unintentional dent.

They could sit and commiserate and waste time freaking out over a door. She was going to search the house. She'd do it alone if she had to. Sloane passed by Anya on her way towards the stairs, shooting her a dark look that spoke volumes: I need space. Get these morons back on track. As if any of them would be any help anyway. None of them could focus on the thing that actually mattered. They may as well all just take turns stabbing themselves in the gut until they bleed out and save Father Wolf the inconvenience.

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Interactions: Aislin @Estylwen, Patio Pals
Kari’s House, Patio

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“Dude, Ken said he was getting the key…” said Sully, a hand on his forehead as he shook his head in disapproval.

He took only but a second to briefly poke his head inside of the house and glance at the damage, grimacing at the dent in the wall. Sully was sure he could probably fix it, but right now he decided to give Britney the space to deal with Sloane. He didn’t know Sloane all that well, but he remembered that back in the day she and Britney had spent a decent amount of time together. He was sure that Britney could figure out what was going on with Sloane and course correct her. He realized that news of Lyss’s death must’ve been hard on everyone, but there was really no need to go about and cause a scene.

“Suuullyyyy, long time no see…”

“Hey? Oh hey!”

Sully’s eyes brightened as Aislin made her appearance. Of course he recognized her! Aislin had always tried to keep the Coven’s gathering peaceful which Sully was eternally grateful for, but really the best thing about the gal was how she was always holding. There was never a lack of the devil’s lettuce when Aislin was around. Between her providing bud and him supplying the Budweisers the two of them were likely the most responsible culprits for any gaps in the memories of their Covenmates. Actually, considering that it was downright shocking that Sully actually remembered her. He went in to give her a massive bear hug, pulling back from delivering a catastrophic blow as she gestured to the sling.

“Oh shit, right I gotchu girl,” said Sully.

He filled the Chalice with the healing elixir and held it out for Aislin so she could take a sip. It was becoming a running trend for Coven meetups where he had to almost immediately heal an injured teammate. He guessed from the sling (and it was a guess because while he was a healer Sully sure as hell was no doctor) that Aislin’s injury was pretty fresh, but Sloane’s busted up nose had looked kind of old. Part of him felt a strange kind of relief that by just showing up he was already being helpful, but that part was drowned by a wave of guilt for having abandoned the crew for the better part of a week. He liked hanging with Greenwood, hell, he probably even preferred hanging with Greenwood, but he was the only person left in the Coven who had any healing. He had to be there for them.

He frowned. That wasn’t quite true. They didn’t really need him. They just needed the Chalice. The dreams had shown him that the cup had owners in the past, and someday it’d have owners in the future. Jokes about being the Chosen One aside he wasn’t anyone special. He was just the Cupbearer. He was little more than a magical water boy. The frown shifted into a confused expression as he glanced inside of the house, surprised by the appearance of some kid.

Wait, the kid? Sully was mentally whisked away. A phantom gunshot rang out, Sully’s nose tickled by the illusory smell of flesh burning as the spirit of Dean Walker punched him in the face and his shoes filled with sand. He blinked and was transported back to the patio, awkwardly tilting the emptied out Chalice still up to Aislin like an exhausted first time mother feeding her baby a bottle. He shook his head. No way was it the same kid. It was just some squatter that Sloane had scared. Linqian had it handled. Sully coughed and pulled the Chalice away from Aislin.

“Sorry, might’ve pregamed a little more than I should’ve before the meetup,” said Sully, charading himself slamming back a couple of shots. He held the Chalice up in the air and gave it a little shake as he announced to the patio, “The bar is officially open. If anybody else is feeling a little rough just form a communion line and this bartender will absolve you of all your ailments. No scratch is too small nor is no headache too insignificant. Hey, wait!” He gently pulled Aislin back to his side, slinging his arm over her healed shoulder. “What kind of trouble did you get into the other day? A biker didn’t jump you looking for Tayla too, did he?”

Recollections: Under The Sycamore Tree Part. 1

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???

Interactions: Grandma, perhaps?
Victorian Village, the Other Night.

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Kick, push, kick, push, to Grandmother’s house she goes. The streets were a dark and a scary place for a young woman to skate alone, especially so when headphones blocked out the calls from the wolves. Her face was obscured by the hood of her ruby red sweater and a half-full trash bag was in her hand. The bag drip drip dripped like the ax of the woodsman as the wheels of her board ka-kunk ka-kunk ka-kunked on the cracks in the sidewalk. The red rider didn’t care for the backs of mothers she breaked just like she didn’t care to brake by scraping the back of her board against the ground. The speed she built became ludicrous, breakneck. The rider swerved into the street, two white lights shining as a horn blared through the loud tunes, her dark eyes becoming reflections of the light as the horn grew louder and louder and louder and screeeeee—crash!

The sound of metal scraping against metal, the horn blaring nonstop as a shadow rested against the wheel of the crumpled sedan. Water shot from a fire hydrant like fountains at Caesars Palace, the red rider swerving through the arch without turning to look at the wreckage. She pulled out her phone to check a map and sharply turned down a sidestreet. The rider weaved through the overflowing garbage cans and the stirring junkies, hefting the trash bag over her shoulder to thread the needle between a stack of broken pallets and a rusted dumpster. Ollieing over a fallen stack of splintering 2x4s, the red rider found herself out of the urban woods and on the outskirts of the Victorian village.

She scraped the board sharply against the ground with a screech, kicked it up, and tucked it underneath her arm. Black placards trimmed in gold and engraved with golden script claimed the area to be historical, and if there was one thing the red rider knew about history it was that the residents here didn’t want her in their parts. She tightened the red hood around her head and adjusted the black shawl pulled up over her nose. It was late enough that nobody should be up, but cameras never slept. She kept her head down and lowered her headphones, the crunchy sound of music scraping its way through a blown-out speaker.

The red rider stopped in front of a beautiful Victorian-style home with a wrap-around porch, an ugly colored door, and magnificent lawn. Someone had left the front porch light on. She pulled out her phone, looked back up at the address, and recklessly stomped through the yard as she made her way around to the back of the home. No other lights appeared to be on as she rounded to the backyard, stopping suddenly in her tracks as she felt a pair of eyes on her. The red rider turned sharply, her dark eyes scanning across the neighborhood. Old houses stared unwelcomingly back at her, but there was not a soul out or about. She turned her eyes down and stepped back as she made eye contact with a horrendous creature with beady black eyes. Her shoulder’s lowered as she recognized the figure to be nothing more than a classic garden gnome.

She continued on until she made it to the rear door. It had once been a servant’s entrance, allowing the cooks to bring in groceries without trudging their poor and dirty feet through the living rooms of their superiors or for the misters to sneak out their mistresses when their missus returned from their prayer meetings and temperance movements. A glass pane had been fitted on the door so that the help could see who they were letting in, and it was through that glass pane that the rider would make their way into the home. Her eyes fell on the security sticker. It didn’t bother her. The odds were in her favor that it was little more than just a sticker. Otherwise, there were ways to get around it.

She propped her skateboard up against the wall, set the trash bag down on the ground with a wet plop, and placed a finger against the glass. A light drizzle began to fall in the Victorian village. Slowly she dragged her finger in the shape of a circle, etching heavily at the top and bottom of it and wincing ever so slightly at the high pitched squelch of claw on glass. She placed her nails at the top of the circle and carefully popped the bottom in, catching the piece of glass as it pivoted to stop it from shattering on the ground. She awkwardly threaded her arm through the small gap she had made for herself, unlatched the lock, and opened the door. She pushed the piece of glass back in place, pulled the trash bag inside, and closed the door.

She had so much work to do, but first she had to check and see if Grandmother or Granddaughter was home. The red rider slipped off her shoes so that their socks would soften their footfalls as she slinked through the Victorian home like a wolf on the prowl. Kitchen, dining room, living room, basement clear. Up the stairs, up the stairs, light footfalls lest a step called out her approach. Master bedroom, guest bedroom, office, hall bathroom clear. The thing with these old homes was that they always had more rooms than they appeared to on the outside. Another flight, another flight, careful now careful. Rec room, clear, another bedroom clear. One more half flight up to the attic, lift the creaky door so it isn’t so damn loud, attic cle—uh.

The red rider’s eyes darted around at the magic circle and broken ring of salt on the ground, the unlit candles melted around the room, the archaic runes painted on the walls, the Ouija board stabbed by a bloodied ritualistic dagger in the center of the circle, and the nearly empty handle of whiskey next to it. She reached up, pulled the shawl down from around her face, lowered her hood, and shook out her dark curls. She tentatively stepped into the magic circle, grabbed the bottle of whisky, twisted off the cap, took a swig, and threw her head back in revulsion as her mouth burned with what might as well have been gasoline. She looked at the bottle, her eyes bugging out at the ABV.

“Holy shit, bro,” sputtered Vashti as she took another pull from the bottle.

Attic clear.

Time to do a little remodeling.

---

Interactions: All Lila’s Shit @NoriWasHere
Home Sweet Home.

---

A crack of light cut through the dark kitchen as Vashti popped open the fridge, poking and prodding at the leftover tupperwares in Lila’s fridge. She pulled out what appeared to be soup, popped the lid, and took a sniff. Her nose wrinkled in disgust as she tossed it over her shoulder, the minestrone splattering over the clean linoleum. She took a sip out of a jug of milk before transferring it to the top of the fridge, poking three little holes in the bottom of it to make it leak down over everything. Her eyes widened in delight as she spotted the tub of icecream in the freezer. It was frozen solid. She tossed it in the sink and let the cold tap run over it, knocking in the drain stop. Vashti paid no mind to the sound of water spilling on the floor as she grabbed a carton of eggs out of the fridge and left the door ajar.

A series of ornate glass elephants were all in a row on the coffee table like they were lined up for a firing squad. The couches had been pushed to the side of the room to give Vashti plenty of room to play. She spun an egg on the back of her hand, lobbed it in the air, and went to catch it—the egg slipping between her fingers and cracking on the floor. Vashti watched as the yolk oozed into the original wood floorboards, shrugged, and tried again. She caught the egg this time and whipped it at one of the elephants, coating it in a sticky mess. Again and again she went down the line, the elephants getting knocked over or pushed back, but otherwise salvageable as shells and yolk splattered around the coffee table. Vashti pitched another one and winced as the elephant shattered into tiny little shards of glass. She darted to the window, looking for any lights to come on in the neighbor’s house, pulling down her headphones to listen to any stirring.

Nothing.

She pulled back up her headphones. Rechecking the carton, she saw a black line drawn across the carton marking a spot for hard boiled eggs. Popping a hard boiled egg in her mouth, Vashti’s attention was drawn to a series of oil paintings lovingly hung on the walls. She chewed loudly as she admired the art, thinking of how it could use some improvements. She pulled a thick black sharpie out of her hoodie and began updating the old crap, drawing mustaches and exaggerated anatomy on the figures. Stepping back she smiled at her handiwork, even taking the time to slash out the old artist’s initials with her nails and carve in her own. Better. Much better. The stupid fucking things were probably worth something now. Lila better write her a thank you letter.

Vashti splashed through the puddle of water coming from the kitchen sink and made her way to Lila’s room, snatching the black trash bag from the couch that left a dark stain in the cushion. She casually slung the bag across the room into a chair where it landed with a wet squish that reminded her of her wet socks. She pulled them off and slingshotted them across the room, rummaging through Lila’s drawer for a fresh pair. And well, since she was already in the dresser Vashti might as well see if anything else Lila had would be a good fit. Moments later clothes were strewn around the room like a tornado had come through as Vashti stood in front of the mirror sneering at the crop top draped over her hoodie. All crap. All crap.

She twirled like a ballerina and dove into Lila’s bed, burying her face into a pillow and breathing in deeply. She exhaled and pulled the pillow down to her chest in a hug, knees pulled up so her legs could wrap around it too. She rolled back and forth, fuming. Vashti and Lila had no bad blood, none that she was aware of anyway, but she had pissed off Emily. Like, really pissed off Emily. But Emily had started it. Emily always started it. Emily was stupid. Emily was so fucking stupid. A low growl began to grow inside of Vashti’s throat. Take care of it, Vashti. Deal with it, Vashti. Handle it, Vashti, like you always do. Stupid, stupid, stupid. It was like she was a dog. She was no dog. She certainly wasn’t Emily’s dog.

But if she was, she’d be rabid.

Vashti violently rolled off the bed and crashed to the floor, the pillow beneath her forming into Emily. She wrapped her hands around her stupid little throat, Emily’s eyes bugging as her dumb little pillow arms tried to fight back against the superior being. Vashti began to bang Emily’s head against the floor, feathers popping up out of the pillow case as it split from the force of the blows. Just as pillow-Emily’s life was about to be completely snuffed out of her, Vashti let go of her throat, wrapping her arms around the pillow in a tight hug, her hand stroking the back of the pillow. Vashti buried her face into the pillow and whispered something sweetly, pulling away but not before giving a little peck to the forehead of the pillow.

She jumped to her feet and looked at the seeping trash bag. A strange smell had begun to overwhelm the room, a sweet fragrance of wet and rot that clung to clothes and stung the eyes. It was the best of perfumes. Vashti hefted the bag over Lila’s bed and stuck a claw in one side of it. Earlier that day a couple had a wild experience at a local park, watching what they had presumed to be a drug addict going berserk. By the time the police arrived the only evidence had been carried away on the wind and washed away by the rain. Thanks to Emily, it had been quite a fun day.

Vashti slit the bag open with her finger. The contents hit the mattress with a wet plop. Inside the bag it had all become a congealed mess—black feathers slick with blood, little doll eyes staring up in accusation at the smiling woman. She reached into the pile of meat and feathers with her bare fingers, handling the bodies with the delicacy of a priestess performing a ritual, untangling the legs and wings from one another with sickening plops. Vashti jumped up on the bed, giving it a couple of bounces to test its stability, and fished a pack of long nails out from her hoodie. She reached down, grabbed one of the carcasses, and stared at the blank canvas.

Specks of old blood splattered on Vashti’s face as she used her fist as a hammer, driving nail after nail into the wall above Lila’s bed. She reached down into the muck and viscera as if it was the paint and her hand the paint brush as she wrote a message on the wall. She hesitated momentarily as she began to draw the first line for the letter M, shaping it instead into a capital L. She hopped off of the bed, smearing her dirty hands on some of Lila’s clean clothes to tidy them up and accomplishing little more than making an even bigger mess. She looked at the wall, nodding in approval. She should’ve been an artist.

A short while later a figure emerged from the shadows behind Grandma’ house. She was wearing one of Lila’s hoodies, her own bloody one unceremoniously dumped near a trash can, and eating a tub of ice cream. The figure walked down the sidepath, tossing the half-eaten gallon into the bushes, and then paused. She turned around and grabbed the garden gnome. Moments later, Vashti and her new little buddy were skating out of the Victorian Village as the rain cleared, the morning sun beginning to rise. Its light fell through the windows of Lila’s room, revealing the eviscerated bodies of crows crucified to the walls as well as a message written in their red-black blood and bedazzled with tufts of feathers. It read:

You’re Next, Lila!