After her sparing session Teagan'd gone straight home. She took a quick shower and hurried to turn on the TV to see if someone was fallowing the situation at the docks. She knew Regan was a professional, but she couldn't help but worry. Especially after today and that long, lingering look they'd shared. Something was happening between the two of them. Something more than friendship. And it looked like both women wanted to explore it further.

The firefighter surfed through the news channels, until she found a live helicopter feed from ENTV. Epics must be involved too, if they've dispatched Idonia. Teagan thought. She set her eyes upon the footage, expecting to see what was going on. The Kryptonites were apparently apprehended and there were no other casualties save for the patrol officer who'd lost his life at the beginning of the altercation. Zealots rarely payed attention to collateral damage!

Teagan's phone buzzed. She snatched it frantically and peered at the screen. The tiniest disappointment darkened her gaze. It was a text from her mum. 'Sweetie, me, your Da and Megan have finished our college tour. We've just sat at this lovely Cafe near Central Park. Come join us.' The firefighter smiled.

'I'm coming.' She texted back and went to her bedroom to get ready. Taking her phone on the way out she noticed a new message from her mum. 'Megan and I had a very lovely chat about your new crush.' Teagan blushed and groaned. Crush!?! "Jesus, Ma, what am I, thirteen?" She muttered while locking the front door. Still she couldn't contain her grin. She'd just sat in her car, when her phone buzzed again. She stared it, dreading what her mum and Megan were up to now. Finally she picked it up and couldn't unlock the screen fast enough.

'I'm at the precinct. The Kryptonites are getting processed. I'm fine. We barely had to do anything this time. Seemed like some epics tangled with them and there was this patrol cop who did a great job. I'm sorry we had to cut our... thing short.' Teagan blushed furiously at the last part. They had shared a thing. 'I'm not sure how much longer I'll be stuck here. Can I call you after?'

The last question transmitted a sort of fragile hope. Teagan didn't even hesitate. 'You don't have to ask, Regan. Call me whenever.' Teagan considered how they'd fallen into the habit of calling each other by their last names when they were playful, or trying for some levity, but used their given names when serious. It felt somehow... intimate.

Her phone buzzed in her hand. 'Thanks.' The firefighter smiled gently, placed her phone in its holder and started the car. Before she knew it, she was sitting with her parents and Megan, sharing soft drinks and discussing college applications.

Megan was signing a mile a minute excited about all the schools she and Teagan's parents had visited. She was particularly excited about a couple that apparently had a very good art and creative writing programs. She'd always loved drawing ever since she was a little girl. As deaf-mute it was a medium she could express herself with ease. And she was good with it. She had a talent, not just a desire to be good. She also wanted to tell stories not only in image but in words. She was aiming to become a graphic novelist. And today's college trip with Martha and Rory was to find the girl a school that would best fit her desire.

"But enough about me." Megan signed finally. "Now tell us about Regan!"

Rory jumped out of his pleasant dosing next to his wife with a start. "Regan?!" He asked staring his daughter questioningly.

Great! Teagan thought. Now all three of them are on my case. She mock glared at Megan.

"Don't scowl at me. You don't scare me, you big, soft Smoky Bear." Megan stuck her tongue out playfully at her guardian.

Teagan chuckled. "Kids today. No respect for their elders." She signed back.

"Yeah, yeah. Spill!" Megan insisted rolling her eyes.

"Yes, spill!" Her parents mirrored out loud, grinning like loons.

The firefighter tried valiantly not to blush, but failed and colored adorably. She opened her mouth to answer when her phone buzzed, saving her. She looked at the screen and couldn't help but smile.

"It's Regan, isn't it?" Her Ma stretched across the table as if to look at Teagan's phone.

"Back off, ye, vultures. Jesus!" Teagan laughed and unlocked her screen to read the message.

'The Kryptonites are finally processed. I'm free as a bird. Want to meat up? Take you and Megan out to dinner?'

Teagan warmed at the last part. The fact that Regan was considering the girl in her plans was so sweet.

"What's she saying?" Her father, who didn't even know about Regan moments ago, asked excitedly.

"C'mon, don't torture us." Megan signed.

Teagan just shook her head and started typing an answer. 'I'm out with my parents and Megan. Would you like to join us? They won't mind.' Won't they ever. Teagan thought considering the wisdom of her proposal. 'Fair warning though. They've got it into their minds we are an item and will probably grill you for your mother's milk.' She hesitated only slightly before pressing 'send'.

She looked up from her phone to find three sets of stares hungry with curiosity. She laughed. "Ye look like a pack of hungry hyenas."

"Then feed us something." Her mum urged. And Rory and Megan nodded.

"Alright, alright, fine!" Teagan relented and told them about pretty much everything that had happened between her and Regan, save for the most salient and intimate details. Up to the point of Regan's last message, which she also related to them. By the time she'd finished her three-person audience was looking and her with happy grins plastered all over their faces. She felt her face flame when her phone buzzed yet again.

'We are an item.' At this simple confirmation of what was growing between them Teagan felt a sort of calmness settle within her and her chest blossomed with warmness. 'I would love to meet your folks and you already know I want to meet Megan. Just tell me where to come.' She smiled, giddy.

"It's her smitten look." Martha whispered to Rory and then turned to mouth it to Megan as well. Her eyes were gleaming with mirth.

Teagan typed the name of the cafe, hit 'send' and put away her phone. She was crimson. She couldn't ever remember blushing so much in her life.

"So... Is she coming?" Her mum spearheaded the questioning committee again.

"She's coming." Teagan confirmed.

"You do realize we're going to grill her but off." Megan warned with a smile, making Rory and Martha laugh.

"Yes, smart aleck. She's been thoroughly warned, thank you very much." The firefighter signed, grinning.

Not five minutes later she spotted Regan walking towards them, looking gorgeous in her warn jeans, a white flowy shirt tucked haphazardly at the front and the sleeves rolled up above her elbows.

Martha wolf whistled, recognizing her to be Regan by the hungry look on her daughter’s face. Rory laughed and Megan thumbed up.

"Ma!" Teagan whined.

"What, she's gorgeous. Even I can say that." She winked at her daughter as Regan came into ear-shot.

When she was close enough Teagan stood up and greeted her with a warm hug. Neither woman dared to prolong it and linger in each other’s arms.

"Everybody, this is Regan." The firefighter began the introductions. "Regan, this is me Da, Rory, me Ma, Martha... And this lovely young rascal is me god-daughter, Megan." Teagan finished with pride.

"It's lovely to meet you all." Regan smiled as she shook hands with Teagan's parents and Megan.

"Let's sit then, we have a lot to talk about." Martha announced with a smile and Teagan paled slightly.

Finch

As it turned out, being a high class criminal involved a surprising amount of waiting. Waiting for information, waiting for people to get back to you on deals, waiting for the heat from law enforcement to go away, and waiting for the opportunity for a heist to come along. Which meant that it could be a lot boring at times, at least for people like him.

Which meant that while he was engaged in waiting, he had plenty of time to work on other stuff. H'd arranged for some information to be delivered, and now he was hoping that they would get back to him fairly quickly. Until then he was going to take it easy, relax a bit, maybe run some errands. Even criminals had to live after all.

Right now he was downtown, looking to enjoy himself a bit. He wasn't exactly dressed like a criminal at this point, with a bit of stubble and wearing some casual clothes instead of a trench coat and other such stylish apparel. He couldn't go around looking like a criminal after all.

The question remained of what to do. His legs carried him down the street as he looked around, eyeing the street vendors and the people going about their daily lives. He did his best to keep from getting distracted by philosophical musings, instead watching life as it went on around him. H didn't have much else to do at the moment besides heeding his own interests.

He was passing by a store when he stopped and turned to enter it. It was a bookstore, one of those older places that had a bunch of physical copies. Though if there was a coffee shop and the like he didn't see it. But there were shelves of books of all kinds and genres.Finch walked slowly amidst them all, checking the occasional interesting title that popped out to him. He wasn't sure if he'd buy something, but he could think of worse ways to spend a day.

The Archangel -- Believer

The wind was cold and cruel, and bit without respite at her lungs.

Atop the spire of the Empire State she stood while her ascetic's clothing fluttered in in the wind, and the wisps of gold that was her hair took in the sunlight. The world below was ever moving, ever changing, a chaos which was duly embraced by the ones who thrived in it, and despised by those who refused to understand it. It was a chaos that she had embraced and lived well within, but it came at a price: The Clairvoyant had deemed it necessary that she spend most of her time as a protector. So the silence of interaction she held between other people, let alone fellow Epics was harrowing in some instances...but it was necessary. If anyone found out who she was, her family would be at risk.

It was not worth having friends.

Her only company would be the cold, and the blood of the adversaries of Epic City.

Slowly her hands closed into fists, and there would be a flicker of light. The shine of the sun refracted off her surroundings for a moment, casting a glance of multicolored brilliance for a moment before she simply took a step forward off the edge of the spire, and she plummeted towards the earth. A rush of wind chilled her spine, cries of horror beneath to the idea she was a jumper, and the roar of unceasing traffic all intermixed together in a confusing cacophony.

It was entrancing in a sense, perhaps even tempting to do nothing; after all, she had come so close to death so many times before. In the world of living deities like the High, she often wondered what actually lay beyond the veil of mortality. Was the divine preached by the countless religions the world the truth? Or were the High the messengers of God, and no one knew it? Death was always over her shoulder, she was sure. Waiting, watching for the opportune moment. Such a moment was not nigh however, she was a servant of the people. When the people no longer needed her help, she would finally be free for him to reap.

Since such was true in the very least, there would be a change.

Lines of light traced through the air from her shoulder blades; curving, taking the shape of blindingly radiant wings, the new wings of light she created flared open, and her direction of motion sharply changed. Just barely above the ceilings of unending traffic, she tore through the air. Blurring past all the madness, the horns honking, and the cabbies cursing, her emerald gaze studied and carefully watched those she flew past. It was a note, a study of curiosity, for she also often wondered exactly how many Epics now walked through the bustling crowds, keeping up an act of normalcy for the sake of survival. Epics which would cry out in surprise just as so many countless others would as she whipped past in a rush of air.

She was intent on a stop before the beginning of her day, a stop which was part of her daily morning ritual.

One pause in the bustling nature that allowed her at least some form of peace, albeit briefly. Upon granite and weary stone she landed before the steps of the gorgeous St. Peter's church. It was tranquil there, as the massive doors crept open with an agonizingly long squeal that echoed through the steeples of gothic architecture. At long last however, the world fell silent as the doors closed. All the chaos, all the madness of New York was nothing inside this place. Past shafts wondrous multicolored light cast by the stained glass windows she strode along, the sound of her boots muffled by the crimson carpet.

In one clenched hand she held a rosary, a symbol of the threads of belief she still tried to desperately cling to.

With each step, the wings of light she held began to dissipate, as each feather of the radiant constructs fell in her wake as if she were molting. Into a pew she slid, and the girl dropped to her knees in prayer. Having already confessed a few days prior, she instead began by crossing herself, folding her hands together, and speaking clearly as the wings finally ceased to exist. On the opposite side of her, the Nuns of the convent simply stared at her in amazement for a moment before resuming the lighting of candles, and she spoke with a beautifully elegant voice into the heavens.

"Pater noster,
qui es in caelis,
sanctificetur nomen tuum.
Adveniat regnum tuum.
Fiat voluntas tua, sicut in caelo et in terra.
Panem nostrum quotidianum da nobis hodie,
et dimitte nobis debita nostra sicut,
et nos dimittimus debitoribus nostris.
Et ne nos inducas in tentationem,
sed libera nos a malo. Amen."

She could only hope that her trespasses would be forgiven indeed.

For in the end, no matter how hard she fought for good...she would still always be a murderer.

---

Interacting with: @Feisty-Pants

---

Fried rice filled the interior of the delivery car, the seats of which bore torn leather and had entrenched inside them an unforgiving stench of alcohol and baby wipes. Price didn't drink, Mr. Lin's cars hadn't been renovated since 1991. Terell would make his deliveries with the aid of the public bus system if it meant Mr. Lin wouldn't fire him for it. As he pulled up on the curb and shut off the car's engine, he stared out of he window to the purported destination of his delivery. Something wasn't right.

"A church?" He took a look around. He saw few vehicles in the parking lot and nowhere did he see a picnic table of any sort.

"Don't look like a picnic or nothin'. Is it even legal to eat inside the church house?" Terell could have sworn it was.

He unbuckled himself and got out, his clothes wreaked of the car's musky stench; or perhaps it was his general odor. No matter how many showers Terell took, he never seemed to rid himself of the smell of grease and deep fried sweet and sour chicken. He put his keys in his pocket and flung open the backdoor--he should have been paying attention to traffic; he had a nigh-collision with a car. He felt the car rock subtle beneath him as the vehicle whizzed by mere inches from his body. Livid, he screamed,

"WATCH WHERE THE #*$! YOU'RE GOING!" his right arm extended at the car's back side as if he were going to channel the rage of his tirade into an unbridled energy beam. There were mumbles about stupid drivers and incompetent DMV workers. He grabbed the folded lip of the brown delivery bag and hoisted it up within the clasp of a few fingers. The bag's bottom was soiled with grease. Terell slammed the car's back door shut and made his way across the street.

As he approached the church's exterior, he was compelled to admire it. The last time he was in church was Easter. How many years ago this Easter was escaped him, though part of him always wanted to get back into going to church again. He always did like the hymns. Everything about these old churches was so different, from the architecture to the stoops, they reminded him of his mother's large hats and his father's two-tone suits. He hardly remembered much from the sermons as a kid, but he did recall everyone being dressed well.

He knocked on the door with his free hand, unsure of who would greet his request if anyone at all. He rocked back and forth on his heels as he waited, and took time to adjust the name tag pinned to his left breast which read, "Mr. Lin's Wok; Terell" ascribed in lettering appropriate only for a fourth grader.

Jeanne -- A Visitor

The silence was sacred, and she reveled in it without a word.

Yet such tranquility could not last as she did have work to do, a city to watch over, people to protect. So at long last her eyes opened, she rose from her kneeling position, and slipped back out onto the central aisle. Along the crimson carpet bordered by gold she strode, and at long last she would stand before the great oaken doors once more. Her slender fingertips rose to trace along the silver edge of the doorknob only to abruptly pause with the sound of a string of curses just beyond the door. Despite such barbarism right on the step of the Lord's house, she did nothing.

When there came a rapping upon the door however, she hesitated even further for several seconds. Opening this door meant interacting with whomever lay beyond it. Such a thought made her inwardly cringe, but a glimpse over her shoulder towards the rest of the church revealed that she was very much alone. There was no other choice to be had, so the door handle was taken, turned, and the great oak door swung wide to reveal an unassuming man.

Before him stood the ascetic which so many had heard of. The angel without her wings; however, all that he would be able to see was the curve of her chin, and a pair of rosy lips beset upon pale skin. The rest of her face would be hidden beneath the golden edge of a hem that lined a hood of ivory color. Beneath such an edge however, she studied him. A bag of greasy food, no doubt - and a name: Terrell. A food delivery service, judging by the car bereft with rust that sat upon the street behind him.

There was no one within the church anymore but herself. What precisely was he doing here? A prank caller? Or was it something more suspicious. Either way, the long silence and the biting cold would be broken by her voice. It was wondrously melancholy to hear, but again simply short by choice. "What is it?" She asked at first, keeping her words and inquiry alike as direct as possible. "If it is a delivery to this place, it was certainly made by mistake. I am the only one here, and I have not made any orders. Let alone a phone by which to make them."

@Afro Samurai

Last night was a riot, an amalgamation of bad decisions that culminated in Boost and James drunkenly butchering Billy Idols 'Rebel yell' at a karaoke bar, before unceremoniously being thrown out for refusing to leave the stage. The duo stumbled down the walkway, laughing and trying to catch their breath, turning around at different points to give ribald gestures to the bouncer that escorted them out, much to the great amusement of each other. The bouncer paid them no mind.

The two found themselves in an unfamiliar neighborhood, quiet by Manhattan standards, the city sounds almost distant with the moon lighting the path ahead of them.

"What did I tell ya?! We're just too talented for them to handle Jimmy my boy." Boost piped up, his arms spread wide in some grand gesture before he jumped up to seize James in a headlock, roughing up his hair with a fist before James pushed him away. Boost lost his equilibrium and fell over a fence into someones garden, bringing forth a great amount of laughter from his companion.

"Boost? BOOST?! You alright mate?" Giggled James after he clambered over the fence to check on his friend, hoisting him to his feet with a hand.

"Fuck me..." Muttered the shorter fellow in all seriousness, dusting himself off before meeting his friends eyes, a grin crept onto his face and the two broke out in laughter again. A light flickered on from within the house they were trespassing on.

"Oh shit." James muttered with a laugh, pushing Boost over again before jumping the fence and sprinting down the street, yelling like a mad banshee.

"Ya bastard." Was the quiet reply behind him, as the cool night wind blew through his hair and over his skin, he came to a stop around a corner his lungs burning as he slowed down, the sound of steps came up from behind as Boost caught up.

"You." His friend said pointing a finger into his rib. "Are going to be the death of me." He finished, giving James a smile and a punch in the arm to let him know there were no hard feelings. "Now lets get home."

They traveled together for awhile longer, before catching a cab, James was the first address they arrived at, the two departing with a brief handshake and some spoken farewells. James couldn't help smiling the whole elevator trip up to his floor, reminiscing on a night well spent, his internal dialogue groaning in memory of some of the more embarrassing aspects. He fumbled for his keys as he exited the lift, chuckling at one of his own drunken mumbles as he leaned on the door, unlocking it to let himself in. He made a quick mental effort to ensure he locked the door behind him before making a beeline for his bed, throwing himself onto its comfy surface and falling asleep.

The late morning sun slipped in through the blinds and pierced his eyelids forcing him awake, it took him some moments to fully realize his own consciousness, groaning in displeasure at the miserably bright beam that intruded upon his sacred darkness. His head was pounding, his stomach felt light, and all his limbs felt heavy and ungainly. Throwing a hand blindly onto the dresser beside him, James felt around and dragged away from its surface his phone, turning on his side, as he brought it up to his face to read it. Multiple ECPD alerts from last night littered the screen. "fuuuuuuck..." Was the tired groan as he dropped the phone on the bed and buried himself into his pillow. Fuck it, I'mma sleep.

---

@Feisty-Pants

---

Huh. Terell internalized, She cute. There was something holy about her which made him shutter inside, not that he was afraid of her, rather that unbeknownst to Terell, all sinful men shuttered before angels. It wasn't so uncommon to see such a thing in this city, not with talking animals and people who could shoot lasers from their hands and eyes, but her mere presence livened a brief moment of clarity; a clarity that crept itself up his spine; why was he feeling like this? Lest he let silence assume control of the conversation, he spoke up,

"Uhhh... What you mean 'wrong'? Can't be wrong. Got a order fah somebody at this address. Mister uhhhhhhhhhh. . ." Terell fumbled around with the bag and assumed a number of awkward hand motions and level changes before he found what he was looking for. "man, can' nobody read this!" he scoffed, final.

Terell peered over her shoulder. When his eyes lay on the heavy, old-school design of the interior, he was struck with brief admonishment. His gaze returned to the woman in front of himself.

"Nice church. Also, is that how y'all churchfolk greet somebody? 'What is it', pff. Thought y'all was all 'bout kindness and politness an' all'at. You want this or nah?" he raised up the bag of Chinese takeout after he finished, a quizzical flare stuck to his gaze. Part of him wondered why she was the only person in this place during the middle of the day--was it even Sunday? He couldn't remember; he spent most of his days in a musty kitchen.

Jeanne - In the Rain

If the man before her could see beneath the edge of her hood, he would perceive a nonplussed expression as he rambled on about how this was indeed the proper place. However, when he commented on her rudeness, she acquiesced to such a thought. With her initial greeting perhaps she had been a touch too brash, and such would be amended. As for the food he held towards her, she raised a slender hand to dismiss it before turning around and began walking back into the church. There was a reason for this as he would soon find out; there was a flash and a ominous rumble that shook the very foundation of the earth.

A passing rainstorm, whose downpour soon covered the street in a thick sheet of rain and chilling winds.

"I deeply apologize for my improper behavior," She curtsied before him. "And feel free to find a reprieve in the halls of St. Peter." Jeanne began, her voice passing clearly through the air over the incessant drum of rain to his ears. "You are welcome to find shelter from the storm, Terrell." The further she talked, the further he would discern a slight Irish accent beneath it all, as if she perhaps had come from the Irish Slums of New York at one point or another. "But I cannot have the food you offer. To do such would be theft, and I would not dare violate one of the Lord's commandments."

She clutched tighter onto the rosary that dangled from the grasp of her right hand while the sunlight dimmed, obscured by the passing cover of clouds. "I recommend you wait for the storm to pass. And perhaps take a rite of confession if a Priest returns. Your vehicle is not safe in such conditions."

If he looked past her again, there would be light in the absence of the sun, as the stained glass no longer danced across the rows of pews and the carpet. As she walked towards the altar, there would be a wake of luminous feathers behind her. Each of them bright enough to drown out the flickering candlelight of the offering wax that lined the walls. The trail would create a wondrous light that cast away the shadows and the darkness within the church, highlighting the beautiful gothic architecture once more.

If Terrell decided to follow the ascetic, she would glance over her shoulder to him. Again so that only the long braid of her golden hair, the hood, and her lips were visible. "Is there anything you would like, other than to eat the food that you have brought? If you need drink, I can supply water. If you need food, the church has plenty for those like you, who are bereft with poverty. But I would not recommend eating the food in that bag. Refrain from sin while within the Lord's house."

Deciding to not leave a stranger in the Church, before the altar she knelt, and she resumed her prayers. Waiting for him to make his choice, as another touch of latin passed from between her lips. Clear and concise, echoing beautifully along the Church's walls.

"Et ego pastor est.
Tibi, Domine, ad te veniat.
De vultu tuo hódie descéndit potestate manus.
Cito ferre pedes meos ovantes.
Ita influunt flumen me egrediebatur ad te veniat.
Et loca feta animarum erit semper.
In Nomine Patris, et Filii, et Spiritus Sancti.
Amen."

@Afro Samurai

Devilstrider, or Damon Light as was his true identity, strode into the church. His tail flicked behind him and he absently ran two fingers over his ring. As always the hunger was there, the need to drain energy, or feed as he had come to know it as. Damon looked around the church, almost bewildered that he was here. He wasn't religous by any means. Yet he always seemed to search for answers in the most unlikely of places. Why was he cursed with being a freak? With this infernal lust for violence consuming him every time he fed? Certainly God would have an answer. He sighed inwardly at himself, this self hatred was always with him. He deserved it of course, but still, it was a self pitying existence and it was tiring at times.

He was slightly startled to find two others in the church. He shook himself and pulled on his normal mask. The one of cheeriness and politeness. Course it wasn't a mask per se. He did genuinely try to be nice. A contrast to what people thought of him as a freak.

The one kneeling was an honest to God Angel. Or so it seemed at any rate. His jaw almost dropped before logic kicked in. An epic or a freak. Not an actual Angel. He spoke, "Sorry to interrupt. I won't be here long, trust me."

He tried for a smile.

---

---

"What the hell?"

Terell felt the chill of the rain, but he hadn't time to smell it's arrival as one normally does. Earth shook, Terell stumbled, conveniently, over the threshold of the church's doors. For a moment, he looked back, it was clear the path nature sought to stride him. He had dropped the bag of takeout on the church steps and left it to its fate amidst the rain. Already, he could envision an irate Mr. Lin,

"This is the second time! Second time! You want to be fired, Terell? I will kick your dumbass back to the hole I found you in." Terell was beginning to think he didn't quite enjoy Chinese food all that much anyway.

There were more pressing matters at hand. Who was this woman? Who was this other dude with the tail? What is she even saying? Terell began to believe he was being possessed--or in some kind of horror flick. To his recollection, his people never had the finest track records when it came to surviving horror movies; if this 'church' sufficed more as a cover up for a cult, he didn't know how he was going to get out alive. And where was she going?

His confusion was made compound by the mysterious light trailing her hindside. Was she really an angel? If she was, then. . . was this other guy a demon? These niggas gon' knock each other the fuck out. For a moment, he chuckled to himself--but then he remembered such crass thoughts were not welcomed in the house of the Lord.

"My bad, dog." He iterated to the ceiling. The wafting incense did much to abate the greasy smell Terrell oozed, but it did nothing to cover up his suspicion; this girl was some kind of weird holy. . . something of another. Her accent was weird as well; she sounded Irish, it made no difference to Terell; he was never one to discriminate. Everyone was a freak in this city.

"Aye, listen. I don't know what in the fuc-" he caught himself, Terell didn't have the greatest connection with God, but he still knew better than to disrespect him in his own crib: that was a rule he was taught to never break, no matter what level of society he functioned on. Never disrespect a person where they sleep.

"You trynna tell me just exactly what you talkin' about up there? I ain' 'bereft with poverty' neither, I'm just trynna make a livin' like everybody else in this dump--you unnastan'?"

"And who onna Lord's green earth is you?" He inquired of the newcomer. To think how quick one's day can change all because of a wrong address and some rain.

Jeanne - Redemption

@Afro Samurai
@Override

As she remained steadfastly knelt before the altar, the ascetic paid no heed to the grumblings behind her at first. It seemed at least that the man had decided to come in to house himself from the weather, and she would not hinder him from such. His voice followed her, the harshness of slang upon each syllable causing her to cringe beneath the edge of her hood; but she said nothing concerning it. The two of them were from differing backgrounds; she would not judge him, for that was not under her discretion. That power rested within the vestments of one entity, and she was not Him.

Two things transpired first. First he asked what she was saying, and the second came in a sharply close procession. He inquired who someone was, and his voice was focused away from her. It meant that somehow, not on a Sunday but on a Thursday, there were people inside the church. She slowly stood and turned to face the distant newcomer, and at first she almost reacted violently; however, common sense and her composure caught her first.

The feathers of light had shone brighter for just a moment, but then faded to their usual state.

Before her stood a Devil.

Another rumble of thunder from the heavens overhead snapped her out of the sheer volume of surprise she held, and she finally stepped from her place before the altar. While she traversed the distance with effortless grace, the feathers she stepped over dissipated into nothingness, leaving a haunting, luminescent dust that whisked through the air. The bedeviled man was courteous, and more eloquent than the deliveryman, but she would address Terrell's question first. Since it was rather simple to do so.

Before her form, her hands folded together, and her rosary came wrapped around both sets of fingers in front of her. "Firstly, I apologize for assuming your status in wealth, and what I said was a prayer speaking to God, and what I plan to do in his name." She began with, before finishing such with a definitive satement. "It is a oath to God. Translated to English from Latin it states the following:" Her head bowed, and she clearly gave for the prayer once more, this time in a tongue the two of them would understand. "And a Shepherd I shall be For thee, my Lord, for thee. Power hath descended forth from Thy hand, so that my feet may swiftly carry out Thy commands. So I shall flow a river forth to Thee, And teeming with souls shall it ever be. In the name of the Father, the Son, and the Holy Spirit. Amen."

The Archangel lingered quietly then, with her head bowed pensively before the two. "It is an oath to fight to deliver us, and the city from evil. As long as the Lord sees fit for me to continue doing so."

"Yet, that does not matter. Not now." She expired a silence that hung heavily upon the air after a few moments longer. Her head tilted towards the Devil. "I know Terrell's name, and why he is here. What is your name, and why are you here? Are you in need of hope, or redemption? What can St. Peter and the Saints offer the both of you?"

Redemption. Oh how that would be nice. How does one redeem himself from being a violent psycho killer? The Angel was slightly off putting. Her religious words and her formal speech just wasn't normal in today's times. This other man sounded normal, even with his slang. Her question was one he had been asking himself since he got here, why was he here? A church of all places could not help him, not really. He was hungry, it always made him go places he wouldn't normally, to try and stave it off, to try and avoid what he needed to do to survive. Normally taking a little at a time worked, kept it at bay, but sometimes he just got hungry, as if the beast within needed more than little nibbles. Didn't help that the angel was attractive, why the hell did that make it worse? So many questions and never any answers. He inclined his head to the both of them,

"I am called Devilstrider." He wondered if they'd recognize the name. He wasn't exactly famous, but criminals in particular seemed to know it. Eat enough people and it tends to get around. He held out a hand to the Angel,

"You are?"

Jeanne -- Sin

@Override
@Afro Samurai

Ever suspicious, Jeanne kept her eye upon the man who shortly introduced himself as Devilstrider. A pang of familiarity came then, as she recalled meeting some who had been on the receiving end of his ire. She had been told about how he had beaten them savagely, and it wasn't a sentiment she couldn't entirely disagree with.

"Devilstrider?" She inquired of his name, repeating it back to him. Only to have him ask her name in return. Ever naturally, she would reach across the distance to shake the offered hand. Her touch would be warm, perhaps even soothing to a degree as she gently grasped onto his rough hand with the silk tenderness of her own. "I was given the name Archangel."

By any measure, her name would resound with familiarity for the two in her company. After all, she had been part of the Epic community for several years, and was often at the head of the charge against any who would strike at the city.

Through all such things however, she did not forget that he failed to answer her question. Was he dodging it? If so, why? It only meant that she would indeed press the line of interrogation further.

"You forgot to gift me with an answer, Devil." She began with, ever calmly, and ever resolute. "Why. Are. You. Here?" There was tension in her voice then, as if she was beginning to lose her patience.

Devilstrider smiled and released her hand, looking around.

"Curious place isn't? People come here looking for who knows what." He wasn't going to answer, after all it wasn't really her business. He was here, but what he was looking for wasn't of course. He sighed. He was hungry. He wanted to feed, to feel energy course through him. He wished it didn't feel so good. He tried to only feed on criminals. These didn't look to be criminals and Archangel definitely didn't fit the bill. Oh if he was hungry enough he would. But he wasn't. He was in control. Something he always told himself.

The church was a bust. There were no answers for his curse here. His tail flicked and he continued smiling at the pair.

"I suppose I should be going," he said.

@Feisty-Pants

Albert sat in the stairs outside the central, his sights on the ever passing crowds of people and cars that still persisted this late in the night. He sighed, rubbing his eye. That punch had hurt, more than the shrapnel wounds he had been stitched a while ago. Turns out, mr McKenzie wasn't too thrilled that the Kryptotw*ts had turned his bright and young son into something worth scrapping from a front bumper after a trip to the countryside. Well, to be fair, he wasn't the best person to comfort people about the horrors of dying in the line of duty.

He had seen so many cases of this... he barely cared at all nowadays. Not even when faced with the ones responsible for the demise of his copper mate, he did even blink. Processing had the habit of making everything a chore and boring, even if emotions should've run high. He looked at his wrist, somewhat numb. Ah, a victim of his own success. He hadn't written that much in a long time. It was a good thing the rest of the folks helped.

It was then when he spotted one of the officers. Reagan? Regan? Yes, Regan was her name. Nice broad. She knew a lot of the proceedings, so her help had been very welcome. He couldn't help but steal glances at her furious testing, as he sit there looking at the street. He chuckled slightly, when a couple of taxis bumped into eachother and started a scuffle, right in front of the police force.

"Cabbies..." He just smirked, before turning to eye the officer. "Long day, huh?" Albert joked. Yes, perhaps he needed to reconnect with awfully human and trite situations from time to time. The soldier machine, he didn't need much more of that kind of stuff anyway.

"I so happen to be craving for some roast and puds, you know, lost quite a bit of blood back there. Wanna join? Don't worry about me smoking. I kinda tossed away all my fags long time ago." Albert smirked cockily, as he eyed the officer.

---

Unfortunately, she had been taken for the night. But as soon as her explanation was given, Albert pointed out the need for a wingman. Besides he really was craving for roast.

"Oh, well, I am giving that kind of thing a 6 out of 10, ma'am." Albert said, his civvies being a perfect clash of jumper and boots. "Hope you good folks don't mind one more. You know, a copper never ventures alone in heated situations." The old soldier nodded, his eyes scanning the present.

Lass on Lass relationship uh? Fine by me, I won't have to explain that I'm her coworker that much.
@ihinka

There was no rest for the wicked. Time marched inevitably on, and Guilt needed to move with it. And now it was time to return to Epic City.

Thanks to her powers, the journey was thankfully short. She was able to cover a distance of 10km with every 'step', and she could 'step' more than 10 times per second. Even though she barely moved, in some sense she was moving at 100km per second, well over the Mach 200 limit that superspeed buffoon had declared. Not that it meant much when that speed only came up in long-distance travel. But it certainly helped when trying to get from one end of the world to the other.

All in all it took Guilt less than 5 minutes to travel from China back to Epic City, where she immediately began hopping from building to building. Even if 'Claire', her new personal internal commentator, remained quiet for now, Guilt could still feel her. It was grating that such a burden had been forced on her, another sign that the High had no sense of morality. The feeling of that coward, squirming around in the back of her brain, set her on edge. She needed a target, a criminal. Something to take her mind off of this business. No doubt the High Clairvoyant was reading her thoughts this very moment. What a disgusting creature.

Of course, criminals were never so compliant as to show up when they were needed. When she was trying to catch a nap there would suddenly be a dozen robberies, but now that she was looking for a fight there was nobody to be found. Of course it didn't help that it was during the day, crime usually didn't get started until the sun went down. But Guilt didn't have the patience to wait.

After wandering for a while she came to a halt at a church of all places. Not exactly a hotspot for crime. It seemed even most criminals didn't want to be caught robbing the House of God. That, or there just wasn't much of value to steal. And Guilt was about to just turn and leave when she noticed something rather peculiar. Through the open door she spotted a Freak, a red one with a devilish appearance. But beyond the irony of a devilish-looking Freak going to church, something about this creature struck a chord in Guilt. Hadn't she heard of a Freak who looked like that? Indeed she had. Although not especially skilled in investigating she always took notice when people turned up dead, and the scum she had 'talked' to had talked about a red Freak with horns. One who could apparently kill people by touching them. So if this was indeed that Freak.... well, she might get that fight she wanted after all.

Calling upon Void she focussed momentarily on the church. Collateral damage to the building wasn't an issue, Island rebuilt anything that was damaged. But she had no intention of catching innocents in the line of fire. A burst of purple lightning seemed to run across the outside of the church before, with a sound like the crack of a whip, the church's roof simply vanished. Sucked into Void, where it would remain until Guilt decided to put it back. Appearing on one of the now topless walls Guilt peered down into the church, confirming that the entire thing was mysteriously empty. While this was odd considering the time of day it was certainly convenient for her. With no civilians at the scene there wouldn't be any innocents caught in the crossfire. As she made another hop, this time appearing in the centre of the Church in front of the altar, she closed off the scene. With a gesture and a thought she caused a wall of stone to appear in front of the church's main door, blocking it off completely. She didn't bother replacing the roof. It would cost too much effort right now. And if there were any fliers here, leaving the roof open would reveal them soon enough. Make them easier to deal with.

As Guilt stepped towards her intended target she recognized the presence of the religious-looking girl and the civilian-looking fellow. . Her senses were telling her these were both Epics. With her particular weakness she could tell the difference with ease, just by moving around air particles in their general area. Finding the edge of their Distortion field. No need to check the Freak of course. So that meant she was dealing with 2 Epics and 1 Freak. Hopefully she could get the others to leave her to this as she dealt with the Freak, although based on the expression on holy-girl's face she wasn't the type to quietly step aside.

Not bothering to explain the situation or introduce herself, Guilt skipped straight to the point. When she spoke it was deep and raspy, not the sound of a normal human voice. A result of her damaged vocal chords. "Freak. You are the one who has killed several within this city, are you not? Surrender immediately and I will offer you a swift death." Simple and concise. The other two were given a brief warning. "And you two, step aside." While talking wasn't her usual thing she hadn't actually seen this Freak do anything wrong. So she meant to check to see if he really was violent.

[Not that you're exactly giving him a fair trial. Wouldn't anyone react violently in a situation like this?]

Oh so now Claire bothered to talk. Merely clenching her fist Guilt decided to ignore the remark, hoping that Claire would at least stop talking during the fight that was to come. The image of Claire remained in the corner of the room, visible only to Guilt. She didn't look happy about the situation, staring worriedly at the group of Epics.

Jeanne -- Scherzo

@Override@Afro Samurai@thewizardguy

The handshake was brisk and simple, and at first he stated the intention of his departure. To which Jeanne would respond to softly. "The choice of departure is yours to have, Devil. Remember however, there is a not a soul in this world who is unable to earn God's mercy, and redemption."

The sound of a whip cracking, far greater than the rumbling of thunder resounded through the halls, announcing the arrival of a fourth party to their interlude.

There was a pattering upon the top of her hood, a speckling upon her shoulders. At first she was befuddled by such, and extended her hand outward before her to catch some raindrops. Inexorably she raised her gaze to see above her, only to see the sky. Someone, or something had taken the roof off of the church. Her church. A swift glance similarly caught that the individual barred the exit with a wall of masonry, and then at long last, after the sacred church had been so grossly scarred and violated, that there was a voice. A thick gravelly voice which grated at her ears.

Inexorably, her gaze rose to meet none other than Guilt.

There was no other recourse for this, she had to do something. Her hands tightened around the rosary held in front of her hands as Guilt threatened all three of them; and more importantly, she threatened the Devil himself with death. There would be no bloodshed in her church, she would not allow it. To her side she opened her hand, and before the eyes of all there would be a flash of brilliant light. From her shoulder blades sprouted a duet of wings of purest light, from her open hand shot forth a sword seemingly made of flame. Akin to the very same blade that had barred Adam and Eve from the Garden of Eden.

The blinding radiance of wings spread wide, and with a flap that left a gale's worth of wind in her wake to rush past Terrell and the Devil, she departed from the earth and ascended into the heavens. With one smooth leap combined with the effortless sweep of her wings, the Angel arced into the sky and landed heavily upon the newly formed rampart before Guilt. While her form was silhouetted by the brilliance of her wings, just beneath the edge of the hood, Guilt would be able to see a pair of eyes. Eyes that had once been azure now burned with a righteous conviction. Tears of gold led a duet of lines down the curves of her cheeks, as if she wept for those she opposed.

However, as daunting as her true angelic form might seem, the Archangel did not take any steps towards threatening the woman yet. Much unlike how she had treated her two visitors.

"You stand within the grounds of a House of God." She stated steadfastly, with a zeal that matched her conviction. "If you have a quarrel with the Devil, then you will have to wait until he departs from the church beyond the steps. This is a sanctuary, and I ask you respect it as such."

Jeanne was no fool however, and she did not come to the precipice with the new part of her interlude unprepared. If Guilt more intensely studied her immediate vicinity however, she would see something else. Around them on all sides, the sheets of rain that fell and now soaked the interior of the church bounced off of what appeared to be hundreds of transparent services. Closer inspection would reveal that the surface was not transparent, but mirrored. Hundreds of blades now hovered about the two of them in a state of near-invisibility. From each possible direction, the two of them were surrounded.

[b]"I humbly ask that you return the rooftop to where it belongs. Wait for the Devil the leave the house of God. Then you may do what you choose. Less I will be forced to expel you from the premises." She ended with, and her hand tightened around the sword. She was ready act if required, she only hoped that such would not ever come to pass. Not within the halls of St. Peter.

The ground rumbled faintly before a hand and arm the size of a car grew from the side of the church and threw Guilt into the street. The tarmac tightened on the masked killer from all sides, twisting her limbs painfully and cracking the visor over her face. Three words swelled from the church's walls in turn, the road squeezing her tighter as each appeared.



"Jeanne!" A old woman's voice whipcracked through the air with the sort of authority that comes with age. "Get down here right now!" Mother Superior of St Peter's folded her arms in her sleeves, a look of wrath on her face that would give Satan himself pause. "What have I told you about taking your vendettas within these walls?!"

Turning on Terrell, the lines of her face softened until she looked like anyone's favourite grandmother. "Ah, dear, thank you. Could you take that through to the kitchen, please? Sister Anna will have your payment." Devilstrider himself got little acknowledgement, as Mother Superior locked eyes with Jeanne once again.

Right. Today was certainly interesting. Devilstrider, Damon Light, was not used to dealing with these kinds of events. He was street level, gangs, crooks, crime that occured within his neighborhood. He had chosen to come to church and in a matter of minutes he was dealing with several powerful epics. One that seemed to be the personification of an angel, and one who apparently took the roof off houses just to fight a random Freak. He hated that word, that should be noted.

That wasn't enough of course. The High Island decided to take a hand in things. He didn't take well to people messing with his city. Suddenly Devil being hungry was the least of his problems. He noticed an elederly woman talking to the angel and he almost laughed at her bravery. Guess several powerful epics going at it wasn't such an event to her, really.

First things first, he pulled at his Aura and infused. Infusion was the best name for it he could think of. His dark red aura became visible and surrounded him. His hair turned dark red and seemed to float, spiky and sharp, his horns grew and so did his tail, his eyes became light red. His mind raced, first thing was first, he seemed to vanish and reappeared next to the elderly woman.

"I'm sorry," he said to her as he reached out and put a single finger on her forhead. She had no time to react as he drained her energy a bit. Just enough to top himself off. It was painful for her, but not too much so, her face contorted and she looked at him with horror filled eyes. She tasted like a home cooked meal and warm cookies for desert. He wanted more and he felt the violence rise within himself. He fought it down and turned his attention to Guilt, an epic he had very much heard of.

This situation demanded violence, but it also demanded being smart. He wouldn't have to deal with her, her attention was on, or should be on, the High Epic she had just royally pissed off. So he sped away from the church. Moving at speeds reserved for race cars.

He found that running away was smart most days. Cowerdly, but when the alternative was fighting an Epic in that sort of situation, your choices were somewhat limited.

Once Guilt had made her demands several things happened. First the church girl activated her powers, which appeared to be based on solid light constructs. Or at least something that looked like it. In addition this girl was capable of flight, and was going for an angelic theme. Not surprising for a zealot. Guilt was fairly certain she could handle this woman, if necessary, but would prefer not to have to kill her. As of yet Jeanne hadn't sinned, and thus punishment was unnecessary. She was about to unleash a blast of wind when she was stopped by her own voice.

[Wait! You're in danger!]

Claire was looking on from the sidelines, hand in front of her mouth. Danger? Of course she was in danger, she was in a fight. But the moment of hesitation allowed Guilt to spot something she might otherwise have missed. Was that... a shimmer in the air? A normal human would have most definitely missed it, but Guilt's hyperalertness payed off once more. There was definitely something there, even if she could barely even see it. Some kind of power was being used. Perhaps invisible projectiles were the power of one of the other two Epics, although both of them appeared to be cowering. What was this? Some kind of superthin thread, or perhaps-

It was at this point that Guilt was thrown out of the church. The ground beneath her feet seemed to rise up and wrap itself around her ankles, swinging her by her ankles and then launching her at a wall. Luckily the wall itself moved aside before Guilt hit it, allowing Guilt to flip head-over-heels into the open air outside. Acting on reflex alone she vanished before she hit the ground, appearing a hundred meters above the church. She equalised her momentum with the help of gravity, reorienting herself so she was being launched upwards instead of sideways. With the movement dealt with she returned her attention to the ground, where someone appeared to have left a message for her in the ground.

'PUT IT BACK'

A fairly unambiguous statement. So whoever did this took offense to her breaking the church? Was it the old lady she had seen walking into the room before? No, this kind of power and those kinds of motivations.... This had to be none other than the High Island himself. How lucky, Guilt got to be tossed around by two separate members of Those on High in the same week. All this celebrity attention was going to make her blush.

[Oh my God! We've pissed off the Island! This is terrible!]

'Shut up Claire'

[I told you, I'm not the Clairvoyant. I'm your-]

'Shut. Up. Claire'

She was not in the mood for her subconscious to start criticising her life choices. Angry, she momentarily considered pulling random buildings into Void out of spite. Just to show the Island that he didn't get to throw people around like that. But, ultimately, common sense prevailed over spite, and she reached out to replace the church's roof. It appeared out of thin air on top of the church, as if it had never left. Of course it was no longer attached to the church, but that was something the High Island could fix on his own. In the end the High really could just toss people around. Their power was such that nothing could really be done about it. Living Gods who maintained the charade of mortality for their own amusement. Power corrupts, absolute power corrupts absolutely.

Leaving her rant against the state aside, she focussed once more on the task at hand. She spotted the Freak running out of the church, making his way down the busy streets of Epic City. He was fast, but not Comet fast. This entire situation did have some advantages after all. As this fight was no longer taking place inside the church the angel-girl at least would no longer be involved. And the other Epic with the unknown powers had been left behind as well. With only the devil to deal with her job had just gotten a lot easier.

Vanishing from roof to roof, she set off after the demon. She might not have access to superhuman speed but her teleportation allowed her to keep up with any speedster. She waited until he'd made his way into a slightly less populated area of the city, which wasn't long with the speeds he was moving at. At this point she appeared on a roof near to his position and erected a solid stone wall in front of him. Solid rock taken from the walls of China. Nothing the Island would complain about. Hopefully. Another thought caused identical walls to appear in other directions, blocking off possible escape routes. But just to make sure he didn't think about vaulting over them, and to complete the aesthetic, Guilt covered them all in burning corpses. Souvenirs from the old days. She found that the sudden appearance of burning bodies and the smell of roasted human meat tended to break the morale of criminals. Reminded them, perhaps, of what was likely to happen to them.

Appearing in the little cage of fire and granite she had created, Guilt addressed the Devil. "It isn't possible to run from me. I am drawn to the guilty." She stepped forward and allowed a long black katana to appear in her hands. A present from her adoptive parents. She liked to use it when hunting crime, it reminded her of her family. "Surrender, and I will offer you a swift death. If not, I believe I'll have to make it much more painful for you."

[You can't just kill him. How do you know he's even guilty in the first place? We haven't seen him kill anyone, right?]

'Shut up, Claire! Actions affirm guilt, and require action in turn!' Guilt snapped at her previous self who lived inside of her mind, invisible to everyone except herself. Probably didn't do much to make her look sane.

[If he's a criminal then you can call the police. They can deal with him, right? And they'll give him a fair trial]

Guilt hissed as she was addressed by Claire. She knew nothing. There was no real way to prove super-powered crimes, not in an honest court of law. And the courts here were a puppet of the High's wills anyway. They'd most likely set free anyone Guilt sent in even if they were caught literally red-handed, covered in blood, just to piss Guilt off. After all, it seemed she'd managed to annoy at least two of them in a very short span of time.