Caber dropped nimbly to the deserted concrete street as if he had merely done a skip and a hop from the river across town. He idly rolled the foresleeve of his shirt past his wrists and slid a wave of his dark locks out of his eyes. Before him was a large puddle of sewage within the crack of the broken road on 3rd street. The fae merely took a step and somehow he ended up across it as dry as a log of firewood. That was not strange to the magical being. The range rovers and what he sensed within the Oakenshield was a bit more concerning.

Many didn't know about the dive, but it had quickly become one of Caber's most beloved spots to find a drink. Nestled between the bosom of 3rd street, to the right of an office building and left of a store that sold adult toys. Oakenshield had exquisite lagers, vodka, and mead. Tall stools for any and everyone to use at whichever stilted table they found. Some were small enough for two and others large enough for six or more if the group got creative. At the very back was a stage for dancing or singing. Sometimes a lucky, indie band would be booked to perform. Often on weekday nights, the keeper of the bar would simply turn the radio on. His name was Robert Oats, but most just called him Barley. An oaf, but a good man and a regular fountain of information. He owed the man for a number of things, not least of which was the rumor of a certain black dog roaming 1st street naught a year ago. Caber didn't divulge the significance, but it was one of the last vengeful spirits that still lurked within the city from the wave of London immigrants Caber had sailed over with. The beast would have sniffed him out and attacked him, or killed others and leave behind the residual celtic essence some might stamp upon Caber. He de-summoned the thing in short order and sent it back across the pond.

As Caber approached the open door of the Oakenshield, he heard the Doobie Brother's blaring their ironically named 'Jesus is Just Alright' over the speakers. The 70's of the last century had been endlessly amusing for the Fae, even with all of the human contradictions and blunders that went with it. He smiled widely and stepped into the bar, though if one looked closely he gave the room a wide sweep with his eyes, far more curious than he was letting on with his expression. The small foyer hall led to the always-open door of the bar. There a few larger tables, lower to the ground, were for larger groups and for people looking for full meals. It was further from the music as well. Posters and pictures of musicians that had visited the bar over the last fifty years plastered the walls next to plaques of wisdom and poems from days of yore. Barley had a liking for older things, which Caber certainly appreciated.

Barley couldn't compete with more pleasant company, however. To his disappointment, he saw no delectable women within. But he did see many faces he had never seen before. The majority of the patrons were rough, square jawed, and apparently big fans of denim.

Unfortunately, that wasn't the only thing he noticed about them or the Oakenshield this night...

Aliyah blinked at the image framed in smoke. Quickly she dove into her handbag and came up with a vial of pure white powder. A flick sent a palm-full of the powder into the air, and Aliyah peered through it. The shimmering powder darkened noticeably in the air, finally turning pure black before settling on the floor. Aliyah hissed through her teeth.

"Goddess, whatever that is, it's nasty. I don't recognize the hand behind it. Do you know where it's coming from?"

@POOHEAD189

The interior of the Oakenshield is a mess. Chairs have been thrown over and in some cases smashed by the tread of steel toed boots. Shards of glass clink as a dozen men shift amidst the ruins of spilled drinks and shattered glassware. The men filling the bar, and they are all men are of a piece, gym tough and surly looking. Most of them wear jeans and heavy boots. Crudely forged breastplates glinted beneath loose shirts and weapons and army surplus tactical webbing hang over loose fitting shirts. Weapons are omnipresent, a few shotguns, but more frequently swords or baseball bats.

Barley stood behind the bar, a bung starter in his hands which he was using to keep three of his attackers at arms length, striking savage blows at anyone attempting to climb across the bar. Several guns are pointed at him but it dosen't seem to be deterring him from his spirited defence. Behind him a young woman with jet black hair stands, sheltered by his bulk. Her face is set but not afraid. As Caber enters Barley's eyes snap to the door way, drawing the attention of the thugs with him.

@Humble1

"Black Maaaaajic," the dark man replied with a nod, blowing out twin streams of cigar smoke from between his nostrils, his accent rendering the word as Madge eeek.

"The music keeps her safe, the music in her mind," he amplified, tapping his temple with his his pointer finger without losing his grip on the cigar. The song was winding down in a ridiculously long guitar solo.

"Who can say how long though eh?" Between one syllable and the next the strange darkly clothed man was gone, leaving nothing but the faint hint of cigar smoke and the impression of distant drums pounding over the sugar cane.

@rush99999

Attempts to find Quincy by conventional means prove futile. Visits to his haunts, reveal that gunmen, clearly more of Sampson's lizards are watching, nestled in a sniper perch across from Quincy's appartment in the Gloriana Hotel, sitting in a utility van outside the long of the Belle of the South lounge, skulking in an alley outside Little Caeser's Pizza.

It is clear almost at once that he has taken to the sky in that cursed bat form he is so proud of. There are unusual number of crows abroad tonight, beating wings and flashing across the night sky, cawing in raucous amusement that make identifying a single airborne presence almost impossible.

Luckily Ryder is easier to find. He is where he has been all month. Down in Centennial park the tents of a fair are pitched. Light beams down on their garish colors from overhead floods. Vendors selling unhealthy fried food are set up in food trucks which make informal streets. Tents selling beer from the Octoberfest celebration earlier in the month continue their business and rides are being assembled for the Halloween party in a couple of days. Mortals move around, enjoying an evening of fivolity with their children, oblivious of the tension filling the night. Fireworks crack from someone nearby.

Ryder and for of five of his pack are sitting around a table in front of a haunted house with a garish sign declaring it 'Werewolves of London' in a jagged bloody script backed by a full moon. Several empty bottles of Jack Daniels litter the table and there appears to be a half hearted game of poker taking place between overflowing ash trays. Ryder glances up as you approach, arching a bushy eyebrow.

"Jan my man, need another hook up already?" he calls in a more or less jovial fashion.

January drove about the city with increasing frustration as he found each of Quincy's favorite places to hang out or hide in already being watched. And when he looked up at the night sky hoping to see Quincy in his bat form overhead, January was unable to pick out anything of note through the usual air traffic composed mainly of Old King Crow's subjects. With no luck in just finding Quincy, January decided to turn to Ryder. January drove on over to the Centennial park Oktoberfest/Halloween fair. He always loved attending this event. At this time of year, supernatural beings like him had a little more flexibility in what they could do before it alarmed the mortals. The only reason he hadn't been attending as regularly as he normally did was due to his grief over Harold's death.

As he made his way towards the werewolf themed haunted house that Lucas Ryder's pack operated every year, a young boy in a cheap Dracula costume jumped in front of January and bared his obviously fake fangs at the centuries old vampire. January grinned at the attempt, showing off his own fangs to the boy. The kid in the vampire costume gasped in amazement at what he saw, before running off toward his mother to tell her about it. It was clear to January that she thought it was simply an exaggeration. But even so, she played along with her son to make him happy. Eventually, January arrived at the Werewolves of London haunted house and was quick to spot Ryder and some of his wolves drinking and playing cards on a table out in front.

"Jan my man, need another hook up already?" Ryder called out as January approached.

"Not yet." January said. "I'm looking for someone. Has Quincy come to you tonight? Possibly riddled with bullet holes? I need to make sure he's ok, and then put toe to his ass for leading thugs with machine guns to my apartment."

Aliyah stared at the empty space for a moment, then looked around. Somehow - magically - no one else seemed to notice that a large black man had suddenly vanished. Well, that confirmed it. Far be it from her to ignore the warnings of a Loa. Particularly one that filled out a pair of dress pants like that.

Dammit. Her aunts were right, she needed to start dating again.

So. Giselle was being attacked. She was defended by her own musical thoughts. She thought about music constantly, so that's no small thing. But eventually it would break through. Aliyah had to stop it, and soon.

She absently sipped her drink, then flinched. Somehow her rum-and-coke had become a rum-and-rum, with a splash of rum. Really GOOD rum, better than the club ever served. She sipped it again, respectfully. The Baron would probably frown on someone who wasted good booze.

Did Giselle even know she was being attacked? Like most of the fea, and the fae-adjacent, she could be flighty. Well, it was a good thing she had a friend with the last name of Schilling.

Aliyah dug through her handbag and came up with a handful of silver dimes. No good conjure woman left home without a few. On a cocktail napkin she scrawled out part of Psalm 7 in King James English, "O LORD my God, in thee do I put my trust: save me from all them that persecute me, and deliver me ..." The Schillings were no longer Christian but respected the power of the traditions. Ordering a shot of local whiskey she spilled three drops across the napkin before wrapping it around the dimes.

That was the nice thing about hoodoo. You could use local ingredients. Now she just needed a bag to contain it.

She wove her way through the crowded club until she reached the bar. The bartender was Janice, a pneumatic brunette who was probably a were. She seemed to be able to smell just how drunk her customers were.

"Janice, Grunge Night was last week, wasn't it? You have any flannel shirts in lost-and-found that no one has claimed?"

With an expressive eyeroll, Janice can out with an armload of fabric. Aliyah wasn't sure why all of the old hoodoo medicine workers used red flannel. Maybe it was all they had. Regardless, it was what she used for hoodoo talismans. A few rips and a bit of quick stitching from her mending kit gave her a flannel bag. In went the dimes and napkin. She sewed it closed and gave it an experimental shake. It *clinked* lightly, which was perfect.

It wasn't a great talisman, but it would hold for a few days until the silver dimes tarnished completely. That would buy Giselle some time while Aliyah investigated the "Black Maaaaajic."

Now to catch Giselle after she finished her set.

@Humble1

As you finalize the charm you feel a sudden and terrible surge of energy. Black waves of magic swirl away from Giselle like the striking tendrils of a cephalopod. The coins blacken in a heartbeat and flake away into greasy powder. Glasses shatter with a cacophonous crash and a torrent of spirits gush from behind the bar. Janice shouts out in horror, leaping free of the avalanche of broken bottles. Dark poisonous angry curls around your hands, running up you arms, throbbing through your being. You can feel the power of it, raw and angry and throbbing with death. You could wield it, use it to do incredible things, if only it could be harnessed...

The music comes to an abrupt stop as all eyes turn towards you. Human and Fae eyes alike are staring. Giselle stares at you in shock and horror.

"Get out!" Janice hisses, placing both hands on her hips, eye spitting fire.

@tokkiya

The old man shifted uncomfortable but frustrated. Jones was an active man despite his years and he chafed at being confined even when it was necessary. In that sense there was something of the Wolf to him, despising a cage.

"Ah its no worse than some hunting accidents I've had," the old man groused. One of the many bags of fluid draining into his IV is morphine, so his judgement on this point is suspect.

"The vamps were over confident, playing with me," he grinned in satisfaction, another trait he shared with wolves.

"Don't guess they will make that mistake again but..." Jones trailed off as the lights of the hospital flickered out for a moment. back up generators came online with a whine and machines began to wail in protests at the interruption. Hospital doors, magnetically held open, swung shut into their fire door configurations. The back up lights weren't quite enough to keep the place fully illuminated an nurses began to walk rapidly to check on patients in serious conditions, making sure back up power and batteries was taking up the slack.

The nurse who had been outside the room when Anders arrived walked purposely back down the hallway.

"Sir, I'm afraid I'm going to need to ask you to leave, we ha..." she started visibly at something behind Anders. He turned to find an empty window.

"Some was there, outside the window," the nurse stammered, caught between nervousness and embarrassment, the were after all five floors up.

@rush99999

Ryder looked around, his face twisting into a grimace which displayed rather over developed canines. He lifted his chin in a guesture his crew evidently understood as clear out. Cards went down on the table and drinks were snatched up as the werewolves diffused into the crowd like salt dissolving in water. The Werewolf chieftan took one last look at his cards, peeling them up from tabletop to glance at the corners before letting them down with a snap.

"Yeah he was around earlier 'round moonup," Ryder admitted, "wanted a couple of my boys as muscle for some kind of job. Not like him to get his hands dirty but I owed him for that thing up in Portsmouth last year. Haven't seen him or my guys since."

Ryder picked up his drink, knocking back the scotch which was now dilluted by melting ice cubes.

"Dude stank of Fairy's if that helps you," he added offhandedly.

January frowned a little when Ryder told him about how Quincy had cashed in a debt for some werewolf muscle to back him up on a job. Just as Ryder said, this sort of thing was not like Quincy at all. Up until recently, he'd been chasing a 'cure' for vampirism and staying mostly out of the games played by the Bay's various supernatural community. But now here he was involving himself with mysterious keys, lycanthropic henchmen, and paramilitant thugs. Just what had Quincy gotten himself into this time?

Ryder's offhand remark that Quincy carried a fae scent caught January's attention. Quincy had been rubbing shoulders with the fair folk. It was a vague lead, but a lead none the less. "That narrows down my search quite nicely." January said to Ryder. "Thanks for the tip. If I chance upon any of the guys you gave to Quincy, I'll do what I can for them. Catch you later, Lucas." With that said, January left Ryder to his business and returned to his car.

January got back into his car and began driving through the city again. He'd picked up the trail now. Quincy had been near fae shortly before going to Ryder for help with a job. Perhaps this job had been given to him by a prominent fae. What January knew for certain was that Quincy recently had dealings with the fae. All January had to do now was find someone who knew something about the matter.

Caber slunk in, not generally one to hurry unless he felt the rush of his fae spirit about him. Even seeing a friend and a delectable woman trapped, he wanted to best know how to help them first so he kept his cool. He decided he would try and figure them out with a look from his keen eyes. He wanted to guess their intentions. Clearly they meant harm, but not immediately. What would they need Barley and a woman for?

He kept quiet, leaning against the wall near the door and the bigger tables beside the small foyer. Anyone looking his way would see a casual, strikingly dashing youth, appearing barely out of his teens. His hands in his pockets, he simply gauged what was happening as the fellows talked amongst one another.

Before they truly got their hands on one of the two behind the bar, he smirked.

"So..." He said, his voice carrying across the floor. "Is it happy hour yet or did I catch some bears looking for a den?" Caber's smile showed his white teeth, knowing full well the insult wouldn't go over most of their heads. 'Good Old Boys' like those in the order weren't keen on being confused for homosexuals, which Caber found strange. He might not partake, but people didn't have any qualms about delving into such acts for thousands of years. America certainly was a strange land.

@rush99999

How is January getting around town? Driving or walking?

@POOHEAD189

Judging from the destruction wrought on the bar, the armored thugs are no friends of anyone who has truck with the supernatural. It is clear that they are threatening Barley to get at the woman, and its equally clear they want her alive. It would have been trivially easy for them to gun the pair down if they wanted them dead.

He couldn't quite gauge what they were after, and he couldn't exactly ask them yet. He needed to break the ice as it were. Caber pushed off the wall, and as if life were a high budget film, he seemed to have materialized amongst them once their eyes panned around them a bit. Barley would be facing the Fae, Caber looking none the worse for wear amid the group.

"Now now, fellows, please!" He cried in the middle of them. The thugs would likely be a bit taken aback from his appearance, he guessed. He still wished for their attention. His fae nature tended to draw in more curiosity than anger, at least until curiosity was sated. "The way you do this is buy the most expensive brew in Barley's alehouse and sweet talk the lady. Violence never solves anything. I'm sure there is a reasonable outcome to this entire debacle, wouldn't you say?"

He wasn't going to do any of his major tricks until he got some answers. But perhaps they were dumb enough to follow his advice, so he decided to lend a hand.
@Penny

@rush99999

After an hour or so checking out the usual Fae haunts, trendy bars, art galleries, ornamental gardens, that the Fae are making an effort not to be found. The shooting from earlier in the evening appears to have died down and there are a lot of police out on the streets. The straights seem nervous, as though able to sense whatever undercurrent is roiling the supernatural community.

After a while January becomes aware that there is a car following him, making an effort to avoid notice. It hasn't made any attempt to close the distance yet, but it is definitely trying to stick to you...

@POOHEAD189

There is a sudden stunned pause as you appear in the midst of the group. No one quite seems to know what to make of it and all eyes flick to a muscular man in late middle age with a tight goatee. He reaches into his pocket and produces a piece of reddish crystal about the size of his palm and peers at you through it.

"He is a Fae," the man declares.

"Waste him," says another. There is a sudden surge of shouts and pressing bodies. The only saving grace is that the attackers foul the lines of their shot gun wielding compatriots. An elbow connects with your head and a sharp metal knife gashes across your ribs.

January could feel a mounting sense of frustration as he visited all the places one would usually find the Fae, yet could not find even the lowliest goblin. It was as if the Fae had all gone into hiding for some reason. January was about to give up and return home to mope some more about his dead friend when ne noticed the car. It was a red Mazda that was hanging too far back to make out anymore than that. Either way, the car's appearance mattered little. What did matter was that it was exhibiting all the behaviours January associated with a car that was tailing him. January wasn't all that concerned though. This wasn't the first time he'd been tailed. Continuing to drive as he had been to not let on to his pursuers that they'd been found out, January put on some driving music and used his superior knowledge of the city's roads plus a few tricks for handling unwanted tails he'd picked up over the years to put himself in an advantageous position.

Well he would be lying if he did not admit that hurt, but he was not yet worried. Caber had escape many similar situations before, though the overwhelming smell of old spice deoderant was certainly new. Dramatically he fell upon one of the men after he was struck by an elbow and draped his arm across the hunter's shoulder like they were old friends.

"You mighty men misunderstand! I come not to hinder you but to bring tidings!" He said, then coughed into his arm as if he were sick from some battlefield infection. "I have looked for the Order all across the city. A vampire and his succubis whore has enchanted both my brother and my sister and my biracial friend into a polymarous relationship! I saw it with my own virgin eyes! I may be a fae, but dammit I'm a god fearing american!"

@rush99999

Pushing the car through a series of turns and one ways January is able to get a handle on the car tailing him... except it turns out to be more like cars. Across side streets and park ways January catches sight of other identical white cars that seem to be maneuvering with him. The turn when he turns, trying to keep their position steady relative to him. Also, with his vampiric eye sight, he is able to make out something of the drivers. All of them look the same. Not similar. Exactly the same. January gets the uneasy feeling that the cars are trying to accomplish something other than simply tailing him, though at this point he cant be sure what.