This RP will follow the adventures of the members of the Sunday Group. It is a story about the occult world behind the world, and those brave or foolish enough to want to understand it.
Somewhere in a big city in America, there is a nondescript building. It is a few stories tall and it has an extensive basement. It could easily be the Law Offices Of Boring, Dreary and Bland, no one would guess that it is the home of one of the nation’s only occult detective agencies.
Employees of the Sunday Group are a diverse bunch. Small time magical practitioners, those with strange abilities, broken down cops who have seen too much, or just regular folk who saw something they shouldn’t and want to do something about it. Everyone who works for the Group has touched the supernatural world in some way or another, and for whatever reason just cant let it go and sink back into the comforting security of the mundane.
The World
The world is very much like our own except there is a secret magical world beneath it. It isn’t happy Twilight Magical though, think of it as somewhere between Harry Dresden and the Call of Cthulhu. Many of the trappings of any Urban Fantasy will apply here and I encourage you to introduce them into the setting. Think a shotgun filled with rocksalt will take out a ghost? Great, it is in. Want werewolves to have a silver allergy? No problem. Anything you want to introduce into the setting will probably be ok. If I have a problem with it, Ill ask you to reconsider privately.
Magic for the Modern Age
Some humans have the ability to handle arcane forces, either innately or through elaborate ritual preparations. Some people gain magical powers via congress with spirits or demons, even Gods there is always a price to pay for subverting the natural order though. Sooner or later the bill comes due.
Magic exists in the world in a multitude of form and traditions. It is even possible to do some magic by computer. I dont want to put to many restrictions on people here. Many types of magic do not require the use of spells or incantations. Some people might be able to move small objects with their minds, read the surface thoughts of others, turn invisible or any number of other small boons you might come up with.
While magic can be very effective under the right circumstances it isn’t a be all and end all solution. A powerful practitioner might be able to hurl a bolt of lighting but it is normally much simpler, safer and more effective just to use a gun. Magic is a tool, use it wisely.
Who are the Players?
The players will take the roles of detectives in the drama, but this won't be an RP solely about solving crime. Personal relationships between characters, their families and dependents will be crucial to the story.
Be connected! The nature of the world is such that all the brooding loners with a tragic but unknowable backstory were exsanginuated long ago. You don’t need to like people, but you do need to depend on them to survive.
What Can I Play?
You can play a human (or near human) with some minor edge over the rest of the herd. You cannot play an immortal dragon vampire samurai. Your character should have some life experience. I don't want to flat out say that they need to be a certain age but my personal preference is to avoid the teenage types who no sane detective would want covering their back when the tentacle hits the pentacle.
Notes On the RP
This will be a small group RP. I’m looking for 3-4 players tops. I want personal interaction to matter and I just dont see that in large group RPs.
This will be a collaborative rp and we will create the world as we go, feel free to introduce detail! I will exercise some limited forms of narrative control if necessary but my instinct is to let it ride if it fits in the framework of the fiction.
This will be an 18+ RP. Sex, drugs, sex drugs and horrible nightmares from distant space times ect.
Inspirations and Style
Inspirations for this include Call of Cthulhu, Harry Dresden, Supernatural, Delta Green, the Laundry Files. The goal is to be not quite as bleak as Lovecraft but to maintain something approaching that level of horror and danger. The protagonists can effect the outcome but plenty of stuff out there is well beyond the weight class of the Sunday Group.
**Please note that I will only be accepting a small number of Characters. This is so I can try to create a high quality personal dynamic. Please don't be upset if you are not selected if there is enough interest perhaps I will create a Wednesday Group and have occasional crossovers!**
I'm not a particularly stickler for character sheets but just so that others have a reference Id like to have applications vaguely resemble the outline below.
As far as the writing sample goes, please write a short piece which illustrates who your character is. It can be anything you like, from an action scene to an email just so long as we get a sense of who you are.
Name: Penny
Age: 28
Appearance: Tired and Stressed
Concept: Doctor Neutral
Powers/skills: Super judgey, Sublime arrogance, lofty ambition
I have two character concepts I am tossing in my head atm. Both are characters I played in a similar type RP before that never went anywhere.
1: An ex-detective who joined the force the force to find out who betrayed and got her father killed. She's an ex-cop because she got close to the truth and got out of an assassination attempt, but the higher ups (who were in on it) forced her out. Now she's a private detective, but still, searches for the truth. I like this one because of the badass lady cop angle, though nothing supernatural
2: A lawyer who worked her way up to the big leagues, only she ended up taking a case that would ruin her career. She was to defend a man who is charged with the murder of an entire family. Try as she might, it was hard going, but in the end she managed to win the jury until the man himself, infused with some demonic entity or cthulu demon depending on the lore we use, and ended up slaughtering the courthouse, killing the judge, the bailiff, and a few jury members. He was killed in the struggle. Having no clue what the hell happened, she slowly went a bit crazy and ended up quitting her job after these events. Having gone to therapy to help, she ended up with this incurable curiosity to discover what the hell happened and to hopefully put an end to it happening again. I like this one because it's supernatural and also I like playing lawyer type smarty characters! (and it's longer so you can see which one my favorite is)
I'm thinking my guy would be a heavily prepared young guy, a huge nerd with experience of the supernatural from a childhood incident. He's seen as someone who could have been successful or married by now, but he spends all of his time on his research and on training for his hunts and investigations. He decides to join the Sunday Group to give his expertise. He'd serve as an 'expert' first, and 'officer in the field' role, though badass lady cops are first when it comes to that ;)
Mine would most likely have stumbled upon the supernatural angle working on cases. And having to peer into evil minds, some, but probably most, supernatural ones, would have chipped away at her mental health. And then a final case that almost breaks her down, gets her released from the Bureau and left wounded, but pumped for retribution. I'm also considering some better than regular human perception to aid her in her detective and profiler duties.
EDIT: This is what I offer. Hope it's acceptable. If not, have fun with this for me as well
Name: Sadhbh /pronounced Sive, rhymes with hive/ Malone
Age: 35
Appearance: At 5'6ish she is athletic and fit with the typical features of her mixed Irish/Swedish ancestry. Strong jaw, prominent cheekbones, fair complexion, deep blue eyes and jet black hair. But that's not what one would see if they were to look upon Malone right now. They would see her gaunt, tired face. Her cheeks sunken, her eyes lined with black smudges of fatigue, stress and something close to grim determination. She looks broken and battered, but her eyes burn with dark resolve.
Concept: Malone grew up as the single daughter to parents Orla Malone and father Mikael Nyqvist. Her parents divorced when Sadhbh was little. So Sadhbh grew up without a father, but since she was too small when her parents had divorced she didn't carry with her the usual trauma divorce generally caused children. She loved her mother. She was a hard worker and did the impossible to raise her girl so that she wouldn't want for nothing. She was an OR nurse and Sadhbh would spend a huge amount of time in the hospital day-care.
Despite her unusual upbringing Sadhbh grew up a happy and well-adjusted kid. She loved to read and go on amazing adventures within the pages of the books. She was a bright young girl who was raised to be good, caring and well mannered. Growing up in the hospital, though shielded by the staff of the day-care, she witnessed too many people in pain and in need of help and assistance. It made her want to help, like her mom was helping people.
That desire never really went away. And as any kid who grows up to be idealistic and with love for adventures, she decided she was gonna be a cop when she grew up. And at twenty-four with a freshly acquired Masters' in Criminal Sciences and Criminal Behavior and a solid experience in Krav Maga and Aikido she enrolled in FBI's Academy.
Sadhbh worked hard and studied just as hard in the Academy and distinguished herself. She finished among the top of her class and was offered a position in FBI's Behavioral Analysis Unit. Her youthful enthusiasm was soon replaced by harsh realism. Malone tried her best to not allow the work to make her too jaded. But dealing with the lowest of the low, the degenerates, the perverts, the monsters. It was no easy task. Still she was helping. The guilty were being put away and that was something at least.
Currently Malone is in a very dark place, but she is too well mannered to let her inner demons leak out, so people generally wouldn't notice much of her darker demeanor. She would mostly appear quiet and wounded.
Powers/skills: Experienced martial artist /Aikido and Krav Maga/. FBI Profiler. Malone has a better than average perception and would make connections between facts and leads faster than humanly possible. She always attributed this ability of hers to years of practice and experience. She is starting to wonder if that is truly it though.
Writing Sample:
At thirty-three Malone's whole world came crashing down! She was a part of a task force on the hunt for an especially vicious and cunning child predator. The bastard was elusive and careful and the team was left always a step behind him. Each new victim weighed heavily on the investigators. Sadhbh was having nightmares night after night. Her nerves were shot to hell as she kept poring over the files tirelessly, trying to penetrate the monster's mind and gleam some secret. Something! Anything that would allow them to catch up to him.
And as if that wasn't enough her mother suddenly fell ill. Cancer, the doctors said. Malignant. Inoperable. Terminal! Watching her mum wither away in a manner of months to finally breathe her last breath. It was too much! She was barely holding it together when the team finally hit a breakthrough. The monster'd made one huge mistake! He'd taunted her and her colleagues too much. Out of desperation and murderous determination to make him pay she and her fellow investigators had finally managed to put the puzzle together.
When they finally caught the perp, the slimy sleaze had started spewing venom at them. Describing in vivid detail what he'd done to the children and how it was all their fault for being stupid enough not to catch him sooner. Sadhbh snapped then. She saw the beast for what he truly was. Evil! And not the metaphoric kind. No! The supernatural kind. For surely his eyes had gleamed with something otherworldly. She charged the monster beating him to a bloody pulp, before her partner managed to pry her away from him.
Josh, her partner, dragged her away from the perp and the crowds gathered around to spectate.
"Are you out of your mind?!" He slammed her against the wall of a nearby alley.
Malone was breathing like a freight train. Her eyes were glazed with fury. She didn't see Josh at all. She only saw that gleam in the perp’s eyes and the images of all the children he'd raped and mutilated. She exploded! Dislodging Josh's arms from her shoulders she shoved him backwards.
"Lay off me, Josh! You don't know what he is!" She shoved again. "You didn't see his eyes. There was evil there. Pure evil!" She gripped the lapels of Josh's jacket. "You didn't see!!!" She hissed.
"Jesus, Malone, do you hear yourself?" He tried to pry her hands away from his jacket, but failed. Instead he just gripped her wrists. "Of course he's a monster and evil. We all know that, but..."
"But nothing!" She interrupted her partner. "You didn't see. I'm not crazy. And don't even try to tell me the case got the better of me. I'm the shrink here." She finally released him. "You didn't see." She muttered a final time.
Josh was quiet for a moment. All of them were strung high. That bloody bastard had evaded them for months. Five children! Five little, precious souls tortured beyond imagining and mutilated post mortem. Of course it was evil. But that was not how Malone meant it. Even if she said different, she sounded like a crazy person. Losing her mum to the cancer on top of it all didn't help. And if he didn't put her back on the ground she could lose her job.
"You need to be careful, partner." He placed a calming hand on her shoulder. "If this little stunt hasn't cost you your job already when the Bureau shrinks hear you speak like this, you surely will."
"I don't care!" Malone stated defiant, staring daggers at her partner, dislodging his arm off her shoulder. The Bureau wasn't equipped to catch monsters like this. Not in time anyway. She wouldn't allow another child to get hurt and die a brutal death like this ever again. Not if she could help it.
In the end the Bureau did let her go. Due to the extenuating circumstances, however, the Bureau offered her a mutual separation, instead of putting the incident on her permanent record and firing her. She took the leave. She was done anyway. The Bureau was powerless against what she'd gleamed in that monster's eyes. She needed to find someone better equipped. And if she couldn't she would go at it alone!
Now I gotta go work, cuz I might lose my job /not really though/ if I don't get my ass-ets in gear
P.S. Ooops, forgot to mention... Hope you won't hold it against her... But she prefers the ladies to the gents
I'll have something for you later today, probably. I have a date with a machine shop in the early afternoon, but after I wash the chips and abrasives off I should be free.
Great, the OOC is up! That being said I don't think I'll be playing in this one.
I really like the concept and would love to join, but there's already tons of interest here and you're looking for a small group. I've got enough on my plate already besides, but I'm staying subbed and looking forward to reading!
I'm so torn I could recycle a character from a previous one of these, it was about two years ago and only made it about 200 posts, so I'm tempted to use him again. Same time always a good time to make someone new.
EDIT: Had an idea for a new guy. Probably be the muscle.
Here we go! Hopefully this is the kind of character you're looking for!
Name: Fiona Grant
Age: 27
Appearance: Fiona has skin that is porcelain white, and that, like most of Fiona’s appearance, is by design. She often has on dark red lipstick and uses makeup to exaggerate her cheekbones for a harsher, more angular look. Her long hair is dyed black, sharp bangs sweeping across her forehead, resting just above her eyes. She only wears black, but keeps up with the latest fashion trends. If she had to pick a style icon, Wednesday Addams is the first that comes to mind. Fiona has curated her style with care and takes great pride in her appearance.
Concept: It had started out as a joke, but quickly turned in a way to make a quick buck. Her friends used to joke that Fiona could talk anyone into anything. Pair that with her witchy aesthetic and you have yourself a bonafide fake medium. First it was just a party trick, something to whip out with over exaggerated hand movements and palm reading. Then, after realizing she could make money from it, Fiona started charging to tell people’s future. She claimed to talk to the beyond and tell the future. A few kitschy crystals here, and a dash of occult paraphernalia there set her stage. It all came down to watching people closely and feeding them information. They’d perk up when she’d mention something generic they mistook as more. Their head would twitch just a bit when she happened upon a detail. Micro Expressions, as she would later learn, could tell her everything she needed to know. People heard what they wanted to and the self-fulfilling prophecy would take effect. It didn’t take much work on Fiona’s part.
Fiona kept up her little con for most of college. There was nothing other-wordly going on, just a girl who knew how to read people extremely well. One of her clients, however, changed all that. A beautiful and mysterious woman came to her office one evening just as Fiona was closing up. Fiona tried to kick her out, having a party to make it to, but the woman had convinced her to do one more reading. What started out as a normal reading quickly turned on its head. When Fiona took both of the woman’s hands, pretending to contact the other side, a blinding heat burned through her head. Her entire body felt like it was on fire, but no matter how hard Fiona tried to drop her hands she couldn’t. Eventually the pain became too much and Fiona’s world went black.
When Fiona came to it was the next morning and the woman was missing. She convinced herself she was drugged when she realized all of her money was gone. But, strange things started happening. People kept appearing and disappearing in her peripheral. Voices came to her when she knew she was alone. Eventually Fiona figured out she wasn’t going crazy, she could talk to ghosts. What started out as a con became her reality through some kind of twisted irony. Fiona was a real life medium.
Powers/Skills: Fiona is a smooth talker and picks up quickly on other people’s body language and micro expressions. She can talk to ghosts when they reach out to her. She’s had some success channeling particular ghosts, but most of the time she has to wait for them to come to her.
Writing Sample:
A cigarette hung precariously in between two thin fingers. It’s smoke swirled away delicately in the icy wind cutting through even the smoker’s leather jacket. A young woman took another long drag, reveling in the nicotine rushing through her body. “You know Charlie,” she started, breaking the silence between her and the leggy blonde leaning next to her. “I was doing some thinking,”
“Oh? Something from the other side speaking to the great and mighty Fiona?” the blonde interrupted dryly. Charlie was one of the only people who knew Fiona’s secret and liked to poke fun at it every chance she got.
“I think I am going to that party after all. Fuck Sean,” she said defiantly, stomping out her cigarette for dramatic flair.
“And when you run into him at Aaron’s?”
“I ignore him.”
“You mean you’ll pretend to ignore him while pinning silently after him in the corner somewhere until you end up back at his place again, only to call me in the morning to come meet you for post hate-sex coffee and eggs.”
“You love coffee and eggs,” Fiona said, her attention being quickly drawn to the shop behind them as the familiar ding of the little bell announced another customer. Charlie just offered a half wave as she pushed herself off the wall, knowing her friend had work.
“You better show up this time Fi. I’m not going alone again.” She was already sauntering off before Fiona could respond. She closed the back door to the ally as she entered back into “The Mystic Eye”.
“I’m sorry love, but we’re closing up for the night. You’ll have to come back tomorrow. The spirits are tired and so am I,” Fiona said, making her way up to the front.
“I think they’ll have time for one more. I’ll pay double.” said a voice, smooth as butter. Fiona perked up at the offer. A quick “fortune is coming your way” and “yes grammy misses you too” and she’d be on her way. With the double fare she might even have enough to grab a cab to the party.
“I can’t make any promises, but we’ll see if they’re still around,” Fiona said, walking through a beaded curtain to the counter in the doorway of her shop. With the sun fully set behind the skyline, the only light came from the many candles Fiona had on around the room and the streetlight from across the street peaking in through the window. Even in the low light though, Fiona could tell the woman in front of her was beautiful. She towered over the psychic’s 5’9 stature in impressive heels. The black overcoat she wore looked more expensive than Fiona’s rent. Her skin was a warm caramel color and her hair laid in soft curls down her back. People like her didn’t come into “The Mystic Eye”.
“So who is it you’re trying to reach?” she asked as she ushered the woman into the back room, offering her a seat across a small circular table.
“His name was Alastor,” she said, seeming to float down into the seat, her posture immaculate.
“Okay, let’s see here…” Fiona said, pretending to take extra effort to settle into her seat, letting out a sigh. She forewent any chanting or over dramatics, figuring this woman would have seen through the act. No, it was better to keep it in the subtleties with this one. “Is there something of his you have, something to help me find him?” she asked after a few minutes pretending to concentrate. Really, Fiona was just picking out her outfit for the evening. Maybe that new little black dress she got at Benny’s. That with her black booties might be just the ticket.
“I have an old coin of his. Said it brought him luck,” said the woman, pulling out an odd looking gold coin. Fiona took it and turned it in her hands. A few of the symbols looked familiar, but it wasn’t an ordinary coin.
“Here take my hands and think of the last time you saw him. Really concentrate on the details. How he smelled, what he was wearing. That kind of thing,” Fiona instructed, offering her hands to the woman across from her. As soon she she grabbed them, the coin pressing hard into her left hand, Fiona felt a scorching pain radiating behind her eyes. It was like the worst migraine she had ever had, pressure building in her head that felt like it would pop at any moment. Fiona let out a pained cry, unable to pull away from the woman. Her vision turned white hot as if there was a spotlight being shined directly into her eyes despite how dark the room was.Just as the pain grew to the point Fiona was begging for death, her world went black.
So I was keeping this really consistent tone throughout my character, but when I reached skills for some reason the idea of totems came to mind, and now the guy is basically a crazy cat lady, but with totems and tikis.
The original idea for the my character was this broken, wounded ex-FBI, but I think I kinda like the edgy outlook better I'm really gonna have fun with this if I make the cut If not, I too will stalk the thread and read
Note: I checked with our GM before posting this. :3
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Name: Morgan Blackwood
Age: Apparently early-thirties
Appearance:
By every measure, Morgan is striking. She is tall for a woman, with fair skin and rich, dark hair that tumbles to her shoulders. Her features are elegant and wicked, with large blue-green eyes and lips that always tilt into an expression of mischief, set against sharp cheekbones and a strong jaw that stops just at the border of femininity. Anything but frail, Morgan is built like a martial artist or professional dancer, her body one of long, lean lines and dangerous curves. She moves with the lazy confidence of an apex predator, something captivating but not always inviting. Her hands are long-fingered and strong, rarely manicured, and marked with several small scars.
Morgan's professional appearance is almost always one in a dark, close-tailored suit, subtly heeled boots, and a shirt that might have one more button open than propriety requires. She wears a small amount of jewelry, mostly studs in her ears and occasionally a pendant. Her shoulder holster is hard to see, but it's usually there. In her off-duty hours, Morgan is a jeans-and-t-shirt kind of person. She listens to a lot of records through studio headphones, on a couch in her apartment.
Concept: Hiding in plain sight / Celibate succubus
Powers and Skills: Morgan is possessed of a variety of tools to manipulate those around her, from psychic weaponry to pheromones and body language, virtually all of which she makes an active choice to suppress. A notable exception is a powerful psychometric talent, which she makes only careful and deliberate use of. Morgan makes a considerable effort to keep what she is hidden, but there are cracks in the mask. She's considerably harder to kill than a 'normal' human, and she can't entirely switch off the supernatural sexiness - heads turn, perhaps especially when she'd rather they didn't. There are also more than a few genuinely supernatural creatures, including others of her own kind, that can also reliably know what Morgan is.
On a purely mundane point of view, Morgan has spent the best part of a century working with various law enforcement divisions of the United States government, and has collected quite a number of useful skills. She is capable with firearms, comfortable with vehicles from horses and buggies to tuned-out drift racers, and speaks several languages. Morgan plays the guitar, and knows the words to everything Fleetwood Mac ever released.
Despite actually being a supernatural creature, Morgan is not extensively versed in the world she comes from - she's aware that the shadow world exists, and can tell a pixie from an ogre, but she is far from an encyclopaedic source of knowledge. Her life has been one that, until quite recently, only occasionally intersected with the things that go bump in the night.
------
"Do you know what you are?"
Morgan lifted her head, tried to blow away the strands of hair stuck to her face. Almost every part of her hurt and the crust of dried blood above one eye itched, but she managed to pull one corner of her mouth up in a wry grin.
"Special Agent Morgan Blackwood, FBI," she said, each word made sumptuous by her accent.
Another woman stood in the room, proud and glorious and terrifying. She let out a short huff, somewhere between a laugh and a sigh, and turned away from Morgan, heels scraping on the floor. She began to circle the chair Morgan was cuffed to, her gait a smooth, even prowl, and reached into her jacket. Though her vision still hadn't entirely focused, Morgan appreciated the way every seam flattered the other woman, tracing her figure in dark cloth. Light gleamed from a metal case the woman withdrew, then folded open in perfect silence.
"You're better than this, Sister," her now to Morgan's left, "We are so much more than you know. You - we - were meant for such great things." She set something on the ground with a glassy clink, "And here you are, a pet monster. A nightmare on a leash. And happy to be there."
"And your way is better?" Morgan said, turning her head to follow the other woman, "Your dry cleaning bills alone would make me wonder."
"You really don't understand, do you?" The woman sighed, "We looked for you for so long, Sister. The storms, the summonings, everything went right. But when we came to find you, there were only bodies." Her eyes brightened, and with quick steps, she swarmed up to Morgan, putting her arms on the chair, leaning in so their faces were only inches away. Morgan smelled copper and salt.
"Were they your first?" The woman said, and she leaned further in, "Did you take them? Can you imagine that feeling, that thrill, whenever you-"
"No." Morgan interrupted, the word falling like a lead weight.
"Then-" The woman started, then stood. She looked over Morgan, and her face broke into the kind of smile that starts religions. "Ahh, it all makes sense now. The detective, the raid. Those bodies weren't your doing, but theirs. And then...of course. " An expression that was not a smile pulled at her lips, "The wrong person completed the ritual. You have a conscience."
"They didn't know what they were doing," Morgan said, "Occult dabblers working out of books they found in an attic somewhere. They didn't know the Circle would actually work. It drove them mad, Connor said they were like animals when he broke down the door."
"Really?" The woman purred, pushing herself back to her feet and returning to her slow circle, "Then I'll ask you again, Morgan, and don't be cute - do you know what you are?"
Morgan looked at the other woman, swallowed. "A mistake. They wanted a...well. They got a predator."
"Oh, Sister, no." The woman said, chuckling, "That was no barely-literate secret society, luring members with promises of orgiastic rites. They were part of something so much grander than themselves, an intricate piece of a vast machine that even now coils across the world." She set something else down, and this time Morgan saw it - a small pewter cup a tiny egg. Swirling memory finally resolved into recognition - ritual totems. She blinked her still-watering eyes, and saw something else - a pattern, white against the already white-painted floor.
"We are their weapons, Morgan," She said, "Their harbingers. We prepare the way for...well. What comes after." She set a small animal skull with care at her feet, then returned the case to her jacket. "The perfect point of the most subtle spear. What else motivates these creatures than their desires, their hunger, their lust? The entire race comes with their own bridle and saddle, and we only need steer them." She looked over at Morgan, then made her way to the chair.
She knelt, brought herself to eye level with Morgan. Her gaze roved over Morgan's face, and she brought one hand up to touch her cheek, where cool fingers left sticky trails across her face. She leaned in, quicker than Morgan could pull away, and shefelt the woman's lips press against her own for a moment that lingered like a dying breath. Then she stood, turned, took a pair of paces away.
"But none of that is for you, I can see that now. Losing you will be hard, Sister," she said, her back to Morgan, "But the arc of time is long. Another decade means little. And with-"
A small click pierced every other sound in the room. The noise cut off the woman's words like shears on thread, and time seemed to stop. The woman spun, their eyes met for the length of an indrawn breath. Then Morgan exploded from the chair, her hair a dark comet trail and she brought an arm dangling an open handcuff up, fingers clenched into a tight ball. Her fist connected with the other woman's temple and she went sprawling to the floor with a sharp gasp. Morgan spun, her shoes scuffing something on the floor, turned to her left, eyes frantically scanning. There, in an arc of white powder - salt? - a dagger made of glittering black glass, the handle wound in rough twine. She lunged toward it, fingers wrapping around the handle in the skin of a second.
When she touched the weapon, Morgan felt a pressure against her mind. The dagger pulsed with history, with fable, with emotion and the weight of time. It dragged at her soul, her vision swam, and she nearly lost herself in that current. With an effort of will, she shoved the sensation away from her mind - there was no time to allow that connection now. She stood,started to turn back, then white light blossomed behind her eyes from a blow to the back of her head. Her sister had recovered more quickly than Morgan had expected.
Morgan stumbled forward, her hands almost nerveless from the blow. She gritted her teeth, tried to swallow down the sudden dizziness and nausea, and then she felt something else. Gasping, she managed to stand and turn back to the other woman, who stood with hand outstretched. Morgan could feel power flowing from her in what should have been a crashing wave, a dark, vicious pull at everything primal and carnal inside her. But she felt all of it split and flow around her, something she was aware of but was not affected by. Morgan shook her head, and she locked eyes with the other woman again.
"You really are one of us," she said, her voice tinted with pleasant surprise.
Morgan stalked toward her, brought the glass dagger up in a hard, sharp punch at her side. She felt the woman's silk jacket part around the tip, the fibrous tearing of the blade through her skin, the scrape of glass on bone.
Their eyes met again, locked again, again so close their skin touched. Morgan felt the power sluicing over her mind flicker and back away, but the other woman's eyes didn't waver. They were deep, intelligent, wicked, and when the other woman fell, Morgan couldn't pull her own gaze away. Only when her eyes flickered closed did the world return, and Morgan realized she hadn't been breathing. She looked down at her hand, saw the blood dripping off her own fingers, and she swallowed against a hard lump in her throat.
A few more steps took her to the door, and she shoved it open. The hinges shrieked, the heavy metal banging against the wall. Her balance still shaky, she had to lean against the wall for support and she stopped, her breathing ragged. She swallowed in a few gulps of air, then she heard a voice from ahead - familiar, with a deep Southern twang.
"Morgan?" Came the voice, "'Zat you?"
"Jules!" Morgan shouted, "Jules, I...give me a minute, I'm just down by the..." Her voice trailed off.
She came into Morgan's view with her pistol at the ready. Her shirt was open farther than Morgan had ever known it to be, the buttons torn, threads dangling. Her eyes were wide, her green pupils dilated, spots of color on her cheeks.
"Best get back in there, Miss Blackwood," Jules said, raising her pistol, "She's got plans for ya."
Morgan felt her shoulders slump. "Oh no, Jules. Not you, too," she managed. Then she stood, straightened her back.
"I'm so sorry."
An hour later, Morgan pushed her way through another heavy steel door. She felt the oppressive humidity of a Georgian summer evening slap her in the face like a wet towel and in that moment, nothing had ever felt so wonderful. She pulled in one breath, then another, her throat ragged, her body protesting from every muscle and joint. Groaning, she propelled herself away from the wall, digging in her pocket for her keys. They would know what vehicle to track, but Morgan had ben suspecting a day like this would come. She didn't have many options, but she'd made sure she had more than none.
She fell into her car with a hard puff of breath, started the engine, felt the air conditioner struggle against the boiling darkness. She had warned them. There were memos and emails and texts and lunch dates and screaming, arm-waving fights. They knew there were other things like her - myths given life, ghosts, and monsters from folktales. She'd known that eventually, those forces would come for the Bureau, for the mortal world, but they hadn't cared. And now, this.
The air conditioner finally started to catch up with the outside temperature, and Morgan felt the cool, dry kiss across her skin. It was time for something new. She had always looked for answers to other people's questions because she'd already known all her own answers. In the space of an evening, all of that had changed. She wondered if they would look for her, and decided that she didn't care.
With another groan, Morgan straightened, reached up and put the car into drive. She drove into the rising sun, and didn't look back.
