Atticus’ brow arched upward, and a devilish grin that fit handsomely upon his face, came to his lips. There was no better feeling than having Siya’s body next to his own, and having her speak of even greater things to yet come. The dark, and yet shimmering suggestiveness in her large eyes sent his hair to standing on end, and the demons on his flesh to jeer and hoot in silent abandon.

“That sounds wonderfully necessary.” Atticus said, bending down to kiss the tiny vampire upon her neck, just below her ear. He added just a hint of his infernal magic to his touch, adding a note of his own promise to the one evident in Siya’s voice. Being an incubus did not always mean he was the toughest of strongest in the room, but at times there was no other creature more suited to the task. This thought set his crimson eyes to shining.

He allowed Siya to pull him along, the rest of the world and its problems completely forgotten in the all-encompassing wake of her hips. The food and the fuel it would provide did in truth sound perfectly splendid, especially for the purpose Siya had so intended it to fulfill. However, in that moment Atticus’ stomach was not on the forefront of his thoughts. It had been almost a year since he had spent that one momentous night with Siya. A night filled with more lascivious pleasure than he had known to exist.

Atticus stopped, tugging on Siya’s hand. He bent down to her, his eyes now gleaming a beautiful cherry fire upon her face.

“The food can wait.”

In one fluid motion, Atticus bit down hard upon his own lip. A trickle of blood ran into his mouth and down his chin. With his hands, he took Siya’s cheeks, drawing her face to him, and pressing his lips to her own.


Aislinn Hoyle

Aislinn’s ears perked up in surprise. She had never met a wolf with no pack and no bloodline. There were certainly lone wolves in the world, but not often ones that could not trace their lineage. Perhaps that was what she was smelling, or not smelling. Her giant head cocked to the side, and Aislinn decided that she was intrigued by this one, this Victoria Blasko.

“We shall be pack mates then. If my brother trusts you, there is no more sound an endorsement. As for Ragnarök…”

The old wolf bent down to the red-haired Victoria, her muzzled face somehow achieving a conspiratorial expression. “…I am not aware of the signs either. However, I believe that this coming of the end times is not reaching its speed through natural forces. It is being accelerated.”

Aislinn drew a clawed finger over the white scar upon her neck.

“When I received this gift, just scant hours ago, I was granted a vision inadvertently through my assailant. While I lay dying, I saw blurred images of the god-wolf Fenris being released from his bonds by a white werewolf. I saw Sköll and Máni chasing the Sun and Moon across the sky. And I saw another being, a lady of the north, a lady of ice and snow. She was there, in the end, when she should not have been amongst the living.”

Aislinn paused, rubbing at her scar now, her eyes distant with recollection.

“It was her, this Lady of Ice, that did this to me. Not by her own hand, but by her command. I cannot say for sure, but I have a feeling that she is the one moving to start the beginning of the end. She wants Fenris to be released, though to what end I cannot fathom.”

The werewolf’s eyes now looked to Veti, the amber orbs piercing. “We must stop this, Victoria. Fenris cannot be allowed to be freed. The god-wolf is revered by our kind, but he is bound for a reason. The world is not ready for his release, and all the destruction that will follow in his wake.”

He didn't leave, didn't even flinch, and Daisy knew deep, deep down it was better that way. She'd have hated him for his cowardice then, and even more for simply walking away, turning his back on her. Because there were many, many truths the young Reaper had yet to acknowledges, things she'd have called weaknesses if she'd been aware. And while she'd never admit it, not even to herself, she was loathe to be left alone, particularly by someone who might understand Death almost as intimately as she.

This, however, was all deep down. Really, really deep. And on the surface, Daisy was just pissed.

Her expression went from annoyed, to mildly surprised, to annoyed again, before swinging around to downright terrifying as the wight faced her down. She could read it in his speech, the cadence of his voice, even the way he stood -- he was being deliberate in his obstinance -- equal parts polite and obnoxious. Like he was being a dick just to spite her, and also because he was sincerely curious, which somehow made her even angrier.

Daisy found herself wanting to punch him, which was totally not her M.O., and probably wouldn't be very pleasant for either of them. That, and she had no idea of what she'd answer, if he decided to stick around -- which apparently, he had. Certainly, she still had problems, several, with him. But she'd never expected to enumerate them. That wasn't how it worked. Daisy was mean and catty and just a downright bitch to people, and they left her alone, and that was how it worked. There was no other way it could go, Water was wet, grass was green, Daisy hated people, and they most certainly hated her. Especially the dead ones.

And yet here she stood, facing down one of Death's gray-skinned, water-logged, dim-witted tourists, and not only was he none of those things, but he sort of had a spine, too.

How very frustrating.

Daisy heard, rather than felt, her teeth come together with a click. Perfectly manicured hands bunched into perfectly manicured fists, and she carefully, quickly, stepped very pointedly away from Veti, because the werewolf was totally the sort to want to work things out over whiskey and wit, and that involved far too little physical violence for Daisy.

Sadly, physical violence was not so much her forte. Daisy had a tongue like a whip, and she planned to use it to its utmost.

"The only thing that would help," she said coldly, "would be you dragging your ass back to whatever dank hole you crawled out of, walker. You want to know what your problem is? Aside from making my job harder and defying the natural order of things? Aside from crowding the other side with your rotting corpses, dragging yourself through my fucking office spaces for no other reason other...what? Unrequited love? Aside from the fact that every time one of you comes back, you leave a giant, gaping hole in the world for more shit to flood through? Something one of us has to fix, like we have nothing better to be doing? Aside from all of that? Fine. In a word -- arrogance. You, and everyone like you. What the hell makes you so special, huh? No, please, tell me. You've got me here, you've got me talking, and fuck knows I've always wondered. Why thousands of people die all over the world every day, and it's the jackasses like you who decide you're too important to go away. Somehow, something you did, some fucked up notion in your life, whatever it was that gave you the idea that it was okay to come back."

Anyone who knew Daisy -- and there were not very many -- would sense that her tone had gone from annoyed, to angry, to...something else. Her tone was dark, black, undoubtedly tinged with a bone-deep loathing, yes, but there was something else, too. Fear. And beneath it, a horrible, carnal knowledge not even Daisy had sensed.

"You think I want this? You think any of us want this? Like we chose to be Reapers? Fucking dog walkers for the dead? Carrying fucking...mothers, babies, entire goddamn families back across Death, and just hoping denizens like you don't fuck shit up? What the hell makes you so important? Why do you deserve to roam wherever the fuck you want while people like him," she thrust a trembling, accusatory finger at ThadMax across the room, "fight like hell for something they don't even -- you don't even -- "

She broke off, realizing she was breathless, which was strange, considering breathing was completely not in the normal for her. She swallowed hard and folded her arms across her stomach, self-conscious, and furious with herself for it. She was shaking, too. When had that started? It's not like she got cold, got scared anymore.

"You're dangerous," she said, when she could speak again, and this time, she was certain to keep her voice low. "Everyone thinks Reapers are the ones to be afraid of, but it's bullshit. We've got rules. We've got standards. We get the orders, we follow them through, and everything stays good, healthy. You get a bad rap for it, you get the fuck over it, you finish the job, because that's how it's supposed to go. It's fuckers like you -- the arrogant, self-centered ones, the ones who think they're fucking Christ Almighty, 'Sure, I can come back, and you can all go suck a bag of dicks!' You're the ones who ruin everything. But we're the bad guys." Daisy scoffed, the anger having drained away to a more subtle disgust. "Yeah. Right."

She started to turn away, more than done with this conversation, ready to leave the building altogether, then stopped. The wight was an egotistical, self-righteous anarchist. They all were. But something in his gaze bespoke loyalty. Tradition. And Daisy wasn't above a little manipulation.

She glanced back toward Veti to make sure the werewolf wasn't watching. She'd never been so careful to hide anything from anyone in her life. She wasn't about to undo six months' worth of work just to get back at a conceited, needy, not-quite-dead thing. When she saw the werewolf engaged deep in a conversation on packs and promises or something, she turned back to Semyon, and, with a touch, evaporated the pink hoodie she was wearing.

The mini transformation didn't change much. She was still in a pink sundress, still the ideal amount of tan, with perfect pink curls tumbling down her back. But without the long sleeves, it was immediately apparent something was wrong. Flawless flesh gave way to an ugly, mottled blue-gray bruising that reeked with the essence of decay. The strange trails of dead flesh started at the Reaper's collarbone, twining around her neck before disappearing beneath her shirt to wrap around her waist, forearm, and wrist.

She let the wight have a face full of the mess before re-adorning herself in pink, head to toe, though her green eyes never left his.

"It hurts," she said stoically. "All the time. I went back to get Max, because he did deserve to come back. Him, and Veti, and even fucking Siya. I went back for him, and one of you attacked me." She stared at him a moment longer, then shook her head in disgust.

"You wanna help? Go back to where you belong. Don't let the door hit you on the way out."

“Bravo, bravo, Little Spritling:” comes the Demoness' pronouncement, words spelled out with the rattling clap of her icy hands. “Bravo indeed! You should take a cue from this one, Nestor Dear – really, you should!” Here she changes position, bending down – snakelike, almost, in the way she contorts her form around my back, one hand found unaccountably on my left shoulder, the other draped casually over my right. I fought off the urge to shudder; the creeping cold seeping from her presence, so close.. not cold, so much as a thousand little pinpricks of burning ice. I curled my lip, but she beat me to the chase – leaning back, giving a little pout of her lips, tilting her condescending stare in my direction – “Tush now! I am the one speaking, not you!”

One forefinger raises slowly, hovering above his face in menace; he glares at her briefly, then simply grunts out (quietly, barely beneath his breath): “Suit yourself!” But she is already gone, springing from the high back of the chair; she rushes toward Daisy, form nothing more than an ice-shrouded blur. She comes to an abrupt halt a few paces away from the Reaper, laces her hands behind her back and begins to pace in a wide semi-circle, announcing as she does so – muttering, half to herself, half perhaps to anyone who happens to be near enough her to hear:

“First one, maybe... in this uptight bunch of... absurdity... soul-searching... and look at him!” She pauses for a moment, turns and points accusingly at Nestor, free hand gesticulating wildly in an overly dramatic attempt to emphasize her words: “And look at him, sitting there – dull and smug as ever! He and Mister Whighty-Tighty: two peas out of the same pod; and a shame they're both mute, or maybe now they'd actually have someone else... to talk to...” The cold seems to draw in from around – the empty cold of the festering death hovering around the Wight; the strangely arcane keening of the aura hovering around the Reaper; the burning depths of ice she felt clutching her at the very core...

I raised my hand with an irritated wave, pushed from my seat and strode toward her – it had been enough... as it was of late. (And just how I hated the way she looked at me then...) and after a moment I managed to speak, offering one final glare in her direction before beginning.

“I cannot say I do not understand your sentiments, Miss Reaper,” Nestor comes to a pause here, having positioned himself squarely between she and the Demoness: “And I applaud your honesty... yet, if you are to hate Master Semyon – you had better make certain to hate me too. Loud and clear now! Size me up, eye for eye and tooth for tooth, and perhaps you'd have to hate me even worse than him.” His words are spoken brusquely – though his seriousness, to some degree remains in doubt: it might be as if he very much meant the words he spoke, but in the same moment gives them in the lighthearted banter of a known acquaintance:

“I will admit – we're bad for business, the both of us. Your business, leastways. But in the same way we understand the line that separates business from the reality of the world around us, you must pause for a moment to see the world as more than a single, shallow lake. Look in the water! There is a reflection! Your faults are hidden there too, if you choose to gaze deeply enough to find them."

Semyon rocked back from the force of the Reaper's words, expecting and yet unprepared for the sheer volume she raised against him. She spared no mercy, certainly, spelling out her issues with biting -if refreshing- clarity. He supposed one couldn't assume everything she said to be truth, and much of what was could likely be exaggerated. Yet one thing came across as very, very clear to the Wight:

The reaper wished he was dead.

Not figuratively, not born of the rage that hung on her words, or spawned from a desire to antagonize him. No, she genuinely believed that he should be dead. His very existence seemed an affront to her, grouped with the beings who had given her such injuries, even as she had protected them all. It was a painful message for anyone to hear, him being no exception, and yet something about her speech, her demeanor muted the effect of her words.

Despite everything she said, despite the look of anger, hurt, hate and disgust that crossed her features, she had not raised a hand against him. Perhaps because others were around, and a fight would only drag more people into what was essentially a private issue? Perhaps because she was scared, for some reason or another, and felt he held an advantage over her? Perhaps simply because she had enough self-control to rely on words alone, or looked down on him such that she felt anything more would demean her? Whichever the reason, she barked -she howled- but didn't bite.

Part of him sensed weakness in that restraint. An instinctual, predatory urge rose to take advantage, to drive her into a corner, to tear at her throat before she decided to tear at his. Semyon bit it back, shoving it away behind duty and discipline. He didn't need this to grow out of hand, despite centuries of experience screaming to 'neutralize the threat!'. If she wanted to stick with words, he would stick with words. It ended better for everyone that way, and held at least a small chance of accomplishing something.

That last comment of hers, however, did not help.

He understood the pain, couldn't help but wince when she showed him the wounds. Part of him saw her as just another acquaintance, then, someone he happened upon on the street who needed help.

But then she all-but blamed it on him. Then she told him to die.

Semyon blinked for the first time today, and took a step forwards.

The interruption of Nestor and his friend could not have come at a worse time, good intentions aside. The spectral woman wanted nothing more than to cause trouble it seemed. And Nestor? The Wight could appreciate his desire to try and help. He just didn't want it right now. Semyon's lips curled back, gaze shifting to the gentleman beside him, retort rising in his thoughts.

He broke the rising venom within himself with a sharp clap, hands snapping together between him and the reaper, as much to draw her attention as his own.

"It was about that long, that I was dead." Letting his hands fall loose at his sides, The Wight's pale gaze fixed itself firmly on the reaper's green, his voice hard. "I barely had time to catch a glimpse of the other side before I was back, my village weeping in relief. This was the one answer we found when there seemed no way to survive."

He let his eyes shift briefly to Nestor, who claimed they were alike, then back to the reaper. They traced the memory of those wounds she had shown him, drawing a wince as ancient memories stirred as well. Rancid flavors danced in a mouth that hadn't known taste in centuries, the sudden urge to wretch -though he no longer had a stomach- forcing a short pause as he spoke.

"I won't pretend... it was 'right'. I won't claim it was 'fair'. I don't know what consequences there are, or have been. What I did, what we did, was make a choice. I don't regret that, and I accept what my choice may bring... But..."

Semyon allowed himself to look over to Nestor once more, his gaze then sweeping wide as he spoke.

"Max deserved to come back. That is what you say, and so you helped him." His gaze took in Tamarind nearby, still speaking with the other werewolf. "I don't know him, but I know Tamarind. She deserves to smile, to keep smiling, and you've helped with that..."

His gaze fell back, the Wight's voice growing soft as his anger faded. The more he thought about it, the less he wanted to fear this Reaper. But the more he spoke and listened to her, the less he knew what to say. It was tiring. Tiring to think about, tiring when she baited him, just full of an exhaustion he had forgotten he could feel.

So he tried just speaking. Saying what he wanted to say, and hoping maybe to sit down somewhere, afterwards.

"Those here... all of them, deserve to live. That is what I say. So I will not be leaving."

“The food can wait.”

Four words, so simple. Four words and everything changed. Or so it seemed to Siya as she was flooded, simply flooded with sensation. She’d been leading Atticus to the food table, waning him to eat, worried she’d taken too much from him because of his stumble. Then he stopped her with those four words. She paused mid-step and looked up at him inquiringly, her eyes widening as she saw what it was he had done. The pupils in her blue eyes grew, the black swallowing all color as she watched, her breath coming in a hitch as he turned towards her. Time slowed.

His large hands cupped her porcelain cheeks with the perfect amount of force, the nerves in her skin flaring into life where he touched and still the black in her eyes progressed until there was nothing left but blackness and need as she stared up into his glowing red eyes. She might have made a sound, a soft needful whimper, she wasn’t aware if she did, the only thing she heard was the roaring of need in her ears and the hypnotic thud of his heartbeat. Then his mouth, his crimson mouth, wet with his blood pressed against hers and she was lost. Drowning.

The taste of him was like nothing she had ever had alive or undead. Blood alone was so much more than mere sustenance to her that none of the words she would have used to describe food as a mortal worked. Blood was life, blood was all. On top of that conundrum, his blood surpassed everything. If darkness had a taste, if lust and life and need had a taste it would be that of his blood. The second it touched her tongue nothing else mattered but that she have more of it. All her shyness about feeding in public fell away. All her shame at how feeding stirred her, bringing up appetites that had nothing to do with sustenance vanished in a sudden, overwhelming need.

Her hands slid up his sides, up over the dizzyingly broad swell of his shoulders to circle his neck. She could feel the ink demons on his skin moving and writhing under her touch. She could feel their need just as she could feel his and it made her swoon. Her knees gave out and only the strong grip of tiny hands on his neck plus his own touch kept her upright. But that didn’t matter, what need had she of feet? Without thought she lifted her feet, her strong dancer’s legs bracing themselves on his hips as she to him like a burr, like a tick as she fed at his mouth. Forgetting everything, even the coworkers all around her as she fell into a need that was something more than a need for mere sustenance.

Outside Castle Big-dog.

---

Nostalgia was a funny thing. Jay-Jay had not spent an awful lot of time at this particular castle before: maybe a night or two, and nor had she even spent a lot of time in the presence of the castle’s owners. Hell, she’d not even spent extensive time with the people inside the castle right now. One mission was all the time they’d shared: and even that mission had left a taste of useless-ness and ineptitude in Jay-Jay’s mouth. In the end, it had been less her contribution and more the demon inside that had been useful. Jay-Jay just ended up comatose a lot of the time…Or naked…Or both.

Now though, Jay-Jay was different. She was god-damn useful, and she was determined to show everyone that. She thought back to the adventures with the first-born. She had looked up to so many of the people there: brave Max-the-dickhead, strange Nestor-the-strange, Daisy the delightful aspect of death. Veti and Siya and sexy Henry and sexy-but-taken Atticus and Hoyle and Baine…All of them were like heroes back then. She reminisced about her time with the individuals and how she had felt like some hanger-on.

Now though, she’d spent a year of her life taking magical lessons from a real-life demigod and a super-powerful demon: all to become a mage that could level small cities with fire magic or summon items from the Aether or even make a magical cat! She had taken a god-damned level in badass, and when the message came in from the creepy skeleton lady: she had jumped at the chance to be a part of the world saving team again.

Now, she stood in front of the imposing door of a castle that was probably older than her entire blood line or something, waiting for the courage required for knocking on the door. Invisible to all but the demon-touched, a tall woman of red colouring was beside her. Flames tickled against this impossibly tall demoness, covering her in the hottest modesty going. A crown of two horns curled atop her brow: giving the demoness an imperious look. The demonic Kata was pouting at her host.

’Knocking is important.’

“Shutup, I know that.” Jay-Jay’s face was one of thin-lipped annoyance. She had the face of a concentrating individual: someone who might be recalling an important incantation or channelling an cataclysmic incantation.

’Then why haven’t you knocked?’

“Because shutup. I’m waiting for the right moment.” Jay-Jay’s face reddened lightly under the scrutiny of her demonic guest. She had mostly gotten past being embarrassed by the being, but sometimes Kata knew how to get under her host’s skin.

’The right…moment?’

“Yes!” The outburst was sudden, and even the demon looked a little shocked-if-not-amused. Jay-Jay didn’t often get flustered: more often being on the quirky, excitable spectrum than the nervous one: To think that the thought of meeting everyone was having such a profound effect on her…

’The…right…’

Without waiting for Kata to even finish her statement, Jay-Jay reached up to the iron knocker on the door and slammed it up and down three times. She grumbled something about wishing she could leave the demon behind with Oro.

’As if either Oro or I could trust you on your own. You still have more than a few lessons with that bird: I sold my damn name to him for his tutelage.’ It was true, and the demoness had made sure to remind Jay-Jay at every opportunity. Her smugness would have been perfectly tolerable, if not for the fact that Jay-Jay understood how right she was. Without the sacrifices made by her benevolent benefactor, Jay-Jay would still be suffering through an inferiority complex and the demon would have remained anonymous and bored.

“So…Now we wait I guess…” Jay-Jay lasted a whole five seconds before boredom kicked in. There was no reason for Jay-Jay to be quickly answered, but in her strange little head-canon, the demon-host had expected trumpets and a fanfare and a rubber-duck. It seemed she’d have to wait…At least for the last one. Jay-Jay sparked a little ember at the end of her outstretched index finger, which she proceeded to dance between the digits of her hand, sending a lightshow around her fingers and serving as amusement while she waited for the inevitable visit from a certain animated duck.

---

Oro’s ‘nest’-Three days earlier.

---

Oro had never really agreed to Jay-Jay’s naming of his book-filled home, yet the ‘nest’ name was a joke that she constantly laughed at. After the seventh time, it seemed the Raven demi-god had gotten over the little giggles of the red-haired girl. Oro had proven to have the patience of a god when it came to Jay-Jay. Perhaps it was her latent potential, or perhaps it was just how juicy the morsel that Kata had provided the Muninn, but never once to Oro even threat to expel Jay-Jay from his tutelage. He clearly held the promise made to the demon as an important one.

One day though, Oro had told Jay-Jay to up and pack her bags. Admittedly, the pyromage-iac had expected to be thrown out a long time past, but she hadn’t even been making terrible jokes that day! Oro had just started teaching Jay-Jay a bit of soul magic, too! Before Jay-Jay or Kata could make a major complaint with the Muninn’s sudden expulsion, he provided the pair with access to his answering machine: and the screechy voice that came on the other end.

’Hello Mrs Williams, this is Zoey, from the Boston branch of Atticus and Hoyle. I’ve had a request from Atticus to attempt to get hold of you and request you see him at the following address…’ Slowly, and with a painful, teenage droll, Zoey reads out the address to one of Baine and Hoyle’s many castles. This one was not the British estate she remembered from last time. ‘He says your services would be of assistance, should you wish to return from your requested leave of absence. Have a nice daaaaay.’

The message had been more than enough for Jay-Jay. She couldn’t predict why Atticus had seen to asking for her again, but the promise of adventure was more than enough for Jay-Jay. Oro claimed the ‘opportunity to put teaching into practice was a valuable one’ although Jay-Jay suspected that Oro just sought a few weeks of peace from the Pyro-child.

Without any other means of transport, except the Shade gates that Jay-Jay kept a healthy distance from now-a-days, the firebrand settled for human transport: which meant booking a flight. Throughout the entire thing, Jay-Jay could only settle on a number of small, unimportant details: like the idolised friends from before, or the temptation of glory and dreams of grandeur, or-and perhaps most important- the thought of man candy, like Atticus and Henry.

---

Current day

---

After thirty seconds of fire-dancing along fingers, and the humming of catchy songs, Jay-Jay was met with the sound of a creaking door. The lack of fan-fare might have been disappointing, as might the lack of a real welcoming party; however, the presence of Cornelius was enough to lift the fire-child’s spirit up high. He was an object of humour and dignity and, perhaps most important, an objective she strived to fix.

“Hey Squeakers. Long-time no see! Are we saving the world again?”

The dancing flame flickered down into Jay-Jay’s palm, and she crushed the embers in her palm without a flinch of the heat. She didn’t feel warm anymore. Not in a negative way, anyhow. Flame was just a pleasant thing for her now, the delightful warmth of fire wasn’t tempered with the painful burning.

“Say, I don’t suppose you want to help me test out a couple spells, do ya? Oro said he thought of a way to put you in a different body, should yet ever get tired of…well…Duck-ness.”

The glance she got from the rubber duck was awfully biting, considering the fact that Cornelius didn't have the capacity to change his facial expression very much. Despite the chilling look, Cornelius remained ever the symbol of professionalism: politely brushing off Jay-Jay's 'offer' and countering that with an offer to lead her to the majority of the group in the dining hall. The fire-child offered a smile. "That'd be swell, Corn-ee."

The excitement for Jay-Jay was too high a level to contain with walking. She couldn't remain calm while walking, so instead the red-head skipped. It was an unusual act for a woman in the employ of legends like Baine and Hoyle to skip in merriment, like a small child, but Jay-Jay was at her core an unusual woman. It didn't matter to her if people thought her odd: never had, never would.

It was when Cornelius finally led the demon-host to the parlor that Jay-Jay clammed up. Here it was, the culmination of a year's hard work and the chance to achieve some personal redemption and an opportunity to actually make friends of these people and...She knew she needed to say something, she was just standing in the doorway for a good 5 seconds, just...there. Frozen like a cat in headlights by the sight of the larger than life figures she once and still did, to an extent, idolize.

'Are you going to say something?' The demon was the first to speak, cheeky smile on her fire-y lips. The demoness seemed to ignore the rest of the room, including the Ice-bitch who could likely see her. On their last adventure, the demon had made paticular effort to keep out-of-body experiences to a minimum. This time, she wasn't going to be so discreet. If anyone had the eyes to see a demon, they'd see the unusual Ifrit in all her fire-wreathed glory..

"Shut your face, Kata! I'm waiting for the right m,,,oh,,,m..." Jay-Jay paused, the sudden realization that she was shouting at her demon in a rather unconstrained and quite loud manner dawning upon her and ruining the school of cool she'd been striving to attain. Her entrance was ruined: her very sanity likely in question!

...Oh well.

"Um...Hi guys...hehe."

((Part 1 of 2, collaboration with The New Yorker and Igraine))

The vampire watched the faintest edges of the sun set over the Mediterranean from behind black sunglasses that, disappointingly, tinted what should have been a brilliant orange and blood red spectacle of light, to far dimmer shades of beige and a yellow-y tan. Disappointing to be sure, she acknowledged with a small resigned smile, but there was precious little to be done for it. For perhaps the thousandth time or so since her arrival in the magnificent city of Marseille, she wished Oliver could have been right beside her to see the remnants of the sunset, here in the sunniest city in all of France. He would have loved this ancient city, spent hours exploring the paleolithic ruins and sea caves beneath, and the cathedral towers above, from seashore to skyline...

But he was not here. And there was precious little to be done for that either.

Jerusha's jaw clenched tightly, a cascade of unnamed emotions falling over her classically beautiful face. She removed her sunglasses as the last of their star's rays died in the sea, turning from the shoreline, striding from the docks to the shockingly nondescript apartment building that was home to a being who was anything but. Dr. Jerusha Wilde navigated the stairs - no elevator in this building - with ease, even in the four-inch leather pumps that encased her feet as if she were born to them. On the sixth floor, she pulled up in front of yet another nondescript door but for the numbers she knew well enough. She paused outside for a moment longer, smiling as the pungent scent of any number of aromatic spices, citrusy and bright and woodsy with a hint of the sea - fish, most certainly - wafted from the other side of the door.

Jerusha raised her hand, knuckles rapping sharply on the wood. "Gabe? It's me, Dr. Wilde. Jerusha. And whatever you have in there, smells just lovely!"

Gabe was very careful with his choices this afternoon. He was sure to visit Marc, the fisherman who lived a few doors down, when he purchased the flayed, white beauty. Tarragon, kosher salt, artichoke, lemon, and the finest dijon Gabe could find sat alongside each other atop the marbled countertop in the tiny kitchen. For the past couple of hours Gabe quietly chopped, sliced, diced, and measured all the ingredients into their final form, it all culminated to serve the succulent salmon which sat in the oven, at 400°, crisping to perfection. The artichokes were thrown into a wok which was heated to 350° and covered in basil oil. Gabe removed the salmon from the oven, placed them on their respective plates and plated the fried artichoke as well. Gabe squeezed half a lemon onto the pieces and readied the mustard base in a small jar. Then, as he expected, there was a knock on the door. The sun was falling, and Gabe had hardly noticed, he was fully distracted with his work, with which he was quite pleased.

The person at the door was a harbinger, a messenger from the future, who was veiled in promise and hope. She was also a sore reminder, a not-so burnt effigy signaling the continuation of his true problems. Gabe was a lost soul truly. He knew the glory of heaven, he knew the awesomeness of his lord, and he was thrust down to this strange mortal place. His existence was a constant straddling of what he knew, and what he knows. And yet, despite the desperate nature of his situation, Gabe was happy he was on earth. The pleasures enjoyed by "mortals" were truly to die for, or contrarily were to live for. Gabe was cast out by his father to complete a mission with no end, he was a spy stuck behind enemy lines. It was moments like this, as Gabe stared at the blank wall in front of him, the smokey smell of the salmon brushing his nose, that this "fallen angel" realized his condition and fell into a torrent of sadness. This was a problem no one could help him with, not the brilliant mind of Dr. Wilde, and not even God himself.

Gabe willed himself from his waking slumber and dashed to the door, he allowed himself to smile. "Bonjour, mon cher. Vous êtes plus mignon qu'un agneau. J'ai une surpise pour vous" Gabe said as he opened the door, his cold blues desperately peered into their reflections which sat in Dr. Wilde's head. They were reflective of his own mental machinations, she knew him better than anyone ever had, which was, unfortunately, meaningless. He left the door open and took a few steps back, he was dressed casually, a pair of black jeans and a tang-top were all he had on. "Come in" he finally said, holding his right arm out, directing the doctor into the living room, which doubled as a dining room. A small table was set for two against a white wall.

"A surprise? For me?" Jerusha's face lit with a wide, sweet smile as her arm easily interlaced with the one offered by Gabe. And though in dress they could not have been more different, between his tank top and jeans, and her pale silk blouse and single strand of pearls, a black fitted skirt to her knees, the two still moved with an entirely inhuman and preternatural grace through his apartment to the table.

"Mr. Lykis, you are far too kind," the vampire said softly, hiding nothing of the genuine fondness in her voice for the fallen angel. The dinner he had prepared had not yet been set out, but she was thrilled to see the genuine joy and accomplishment his efforts thus far had earned, all writ large on his sweetly surprisingly open face. She looked to the chair that should be hers with a tiny, expectant nod of her head, the lights overhead playing fiery games in the waves of auburn hair that tumbled about her shoulders.

True, perhaps the human manners she endeavored to familiarize him with might yet be considered a bit outdated, a touch archaic for these crude modern times. But there might yet come a time in the fallen angel's exile on this world, that holding the chair for a lady might yet win him an appreciative smile, and more thoughtful consideration.

Gabe slid the wooden chair under Dr. Wilde and dashed into the kitchen, "I was just finishing up our plates Jerusha." A moment later Gabe entered the room with two plates, the dijon base splashed lightly over the food. He placed them on the table then moved over to a small wine rack, "Red or white?"

"Let's play a little crazy tonight, and not pair the white with fish," she quipped with an impish grin. "Red - and I say we deserve the whole bottle."

"I'd say so too, but that isn't much of a surprise." Gabe plucked a sharp rose' from the rack and returned to the table, pouring the bottle into the two wine glasses. The angel sat, and smiled. He motioned for the doctor to try the food, and he brought the wine glass to his nose.

"Oh now, it's not as if you'll be having that all to yourself tonight, but with a lovely dinner and a guest. Just be thankful you don't truly have the physiology of a human - and thank you Gabe." She lay the napkin over her lap, taking up knife and fork to cut a small, delicate bite from the salmon. True enough, mortal food did not often pass those shell pink lips, versus the crimson blood of mortals. But such a meal as this? Jerusha knew she could easily take the nourishment Gabe offered her tonight with no real harm. And in truth it certainly was delicious, delicately seasoned and perfectly cooked - the angel certainly had talent in the kitchen.

Jerusha lifted a forkful of the artichoke to her lips, chewing slowly before she spoke. "Have you packed yet, Gabe? Been able to say your farewells for the moment, at least?"

"Yeah," Gabe said, placing the wine glass down and pointing to a suitcase near the door with his fork. He began eating the meal, and he was pleased. It was precisely what he expected, and just what he needed. Since he'd been in this realm, Gabe found peace in not only creating, but eating food, as well. That's why he worked at the kitchen, and why he cooked for himself almost every night. "I found someone to take my shift at the kitchen. I have someone coming to live here while I'm gone as well." Gabe mixed the salmon with the base and picked up an artichoke leaf along the way, "I suppose I'm ready to go. I was having some issue cutting some ties, but that is long behind me now." Gabe smiled, hoping to gloss over his last statement, and so he would not need to speak about it, he spoke again. "How's the wine? A little too sour, eh?"

"The wine? Sour? No, the rosé is actually rather sweet - not dry like a true red would be, nor even a chardonnay if we'd gone with white." Jerusha's eyebrow arched, a small, knowing tilt of her lips playing at her face as she regarded Gabe a moment longer. "It is good to hear you've made all the arrangements you'll need, to keep both your apartment and your job - that I know you love, by the way - while you're gone."

"As for what may truly be a little sour? I'm not a fool Gabe. Just your therapist and, I'd like to think, your friend too. I'm not going to drag whatever you'd prefer to keep to yourself, all kicking and screaming to the proverbial light of day. If you'd like to share something of this 'tie cutting' with me? I will gladly listen - but you're allowed to have your own secrets too if you prefer. I don't have to read you like an open book, if there are some chapters you are still writing there... " Her voice trailed off meaningly as she took yet another bite of her wonderful dinner.

Gabe felt like he'd been pushed off balance. Despite all the time the two spent together, speaking primarily about him, Gabe had never truly gotten used to the prodding necessary in therapy. He was still getting used to the full extent of freedom he was surrounded with and yet there was someone, of course trying to help him, but prodding nonetheless. He smiled and lifted the wine glass up near his face, "Just some of the people I used to hang out with. Some of them were dealers, others were lovers, some friends. Just people I only knew by their silhouettes, faces I only knew through flashing lights and beer bottles."

Gabe looked down at the salmon and saw the palid faces of Peter and Jonas, Gertrude and Joly. These were people who marked a different version of him, one that dwelled deep in his heart and was content to sleep until the rising of the dawn somewhere in his soul. It was a hooting and hollaring him, a lime sucking, shot taking him. It was a him that smoked joints behind bars waiting for a figure with tight curves and a beautiful mouth to take him to a land of pleasure. It was a him who'd forgotten his mission, and was happier for it.

Gabe tried to deal with this dissonance in his head first, bravely. But he did not have the deep voice of the Lord rumbling in his mind, helping him through the difficult times. He could not hear his Majesty at all, and Gabe understood why it was so hard for mortals to trust in a God they could not hear.

Jerusha set her fork down for a moment, reaching across the table to take one of Gabe's hands in her own, giving his fingers a light, reassuring squeeze. "No need to minimize whatever losses you feel, great or small. They all matter, if they matter to you. You've come such a long way and, if I may say so, if it means anything in the least? I am truly proud of you, Gabe. I am."

The vampire and the angel finished their meal with far more pleasant conversation, taking the time afterward to thoroughly enjoy the entire bottle of wine while they cleaned the dishes, the pots and pans and dinner table and wine glasses before they were ready to finally leave. Gabe's baggage in tow, they descended the six flights of stairs to emerge into the cooling night of Marseille.

An devilish light came to Jerusha's blue eyes as she beckoned Gabe to follow her no more than a block down the street, to the pristine parking spot she had somehow been able to find and keep in the city's center. And there waiting for them, was a silver Mercedes SLS AMG GT coupe, sleek and indescribably beautiful, seducing the heart and soul with the promise of earthbound flight. Jerusha reached into her purse, removing the remote keys with a ridiculously wide grin.

"Seven hours to Paris - and you know we have to be there before sunrise, after all! So... " She nodded knowingly toward that near-perfect sculpture of steel and power, and then simply shrugged her shoulders almost-innocently. "Who's driving, Gabe? You or me?"

Gabe whistled loudly, then chuckled, "How many minotaurs are powering this thing, exactly? Sur les ailes d'un ange." He said jokingly then held out his open palm.

Jerusha tossed him the remote key with a laugh like . "Let's find out, shall we?"

Gabe was sure to put his foot to the floor anytime he came across a long stretch of open road, and each time he did it felt like he was gliding through the ethereal atmosphere of Paradise once more. Gabe found that while he looked like a human, and was thought to be one, it was his duty to behave as one did, as if he had much of a choice. So, Gabe tried to perfect himself, as all humans do. He took up cooking, he learned several different languages, taught himself to paint in several different schools, and, most appropriately, he learned to drive stick.

The coupe was not the fastest thing he'd ever driven, but it certainly was the most beautiful. The interior was lined with a fine leather upholstery, and matte finishes everywhere else. The beauty hummed nicely as he pushed it to it's extent down the smooth A7. The scenery was a little lacking since the duo were making their trip at night, but there was no accounting for the beauty of city vistas in the distance. At one particularly straight portion of the trip Gabe turned to Jerusha, making sure to glance at the road in order to maintain his stability.

"Do you really consider me your friend?" Gabe asked, recalling the moment the two shared in his apartment.

Jerusha's glittering eyes turned toward Gabe curiously from the night sky that wheeled overhead, just past the thin sheet of car glass. Her head tilted questioningly, regarding him thoughtfully. No smiles, a serious gaze for a serious question. "Of course I do, Gabe," she said in all earnestness. "I'm incredibly fond of you, and I'm honored by the trust you've placed in me these past months. And it is not just anyone who gets the number to my personal line, you know. What brings that question to mind, hmm?"

Gabe peered back out of the pane in front of him, the road unraveled from the dark space like an endless conveyor belt. "I was just wondering what that meant for our therapy. Isn't there supposed to be an imbalance of power? And wouldn't being friends hurt that? I'm wondering if my therapy has been compromised. Tentation dort partout." Gabe said that last part with a hint of nostalgia. The first few weeks that Gabe lived on this planet he would repeat that over and over to himself. Soon he learned that he was right, but that there was nothing to be done about it. That idea within itself lead to Gabe's existential crisis, something Jerusha has helped him with immeasurably. Gabe felt a little foolish for asking the question, but he also thought that they might never see eachother again after this trip, so there was no better time to act foolishly.

"Temptation sleeps everywhere, does it?" Jerusha asked with a wide smile, eyeing the profile of the seeming young man beside her. "Oh, I've woken temptation several times these past two centuries, but I promise those choices had nothing to do with you Gabe. Perhaps your notions about therapy are a touch... Archaic? A bit more 19th century than 21st?"

The vampire shook her head sadly, shrugging her shoulders helplessly. Men like Freud had done almost as much harm as they had good in her opinion. "No, I hold no power over you, never sought it and wouldn't want it even if I had it. All I strive to do, is shore up the strengths you already have - same as I would with anyone. And frankly, I like you - I had a hope you just might feel the same way?" she continued with a warm chuckle, more statement than question of course.

"Besides, we wouldn't be driving together to Paris right now, then onward to London, if I didn't consider your therapy well and over. But now? Now I'm a bit worried... "

Jerusha's voice trailed off as an impish light lit her eyes, sidling toward Gabe. "Do you feel 'compromised,' Gabe?" she teased, poking him in the shoulder a few times with her finger to punctuate her little joke.

Gabe shifted gears, wishing he could do the same with the conversation he'd started, and continued to peer out into the dark distance. In response to Jerusha's question Gabe thought for a moment, letting the humming of the car take over.

"Everyday that I live on this planet," Gabe finally responded, as he watched the tiny lights of Marseille disappear behind a hillside in the rear-view mirror..

Soon the two were in Paris, they'd stopped at a gas station to refill their tank some ways before and Jerusha had taken the wheel. Gabe slept in the passenger seat with his head back and tilted to the right, his long neck exposed. Sometimes his pink lips would twitch and he'd mumble something, but mostly he was still.

The vampire was enchanted - as always - by the sights of the City of Lights. Even the more "mundane" aspects of this city seemed wrapped in a romantic sheen, majestic and beautiful and timeless. She might have dearly loved to share the sights, but decided better of her first impulse.

She looked toward Gabe as he slept, wondering if she should wake him, but found herself reluctant to shake that sweet boyish sleepy look from his face, head back and mouth just a little open. Oh, he was likely millenia older than she in truth, but Jerusha simply could not help feeling that strange, slightly protective feeling for a creature who, to her eyes, seemed far more boy than man, in so many ways.

And so she let him sleep, not waking him until she found a secure spot for the Mercedes coupe. "Hey there sleepy head," she whispered, shaking Gabe's shoulder gently, envying just a little the sleep - and dreams - of the still-living. All those like herself, all they had left to them were memories now, not dreams. Memories, for good or ill. She should have liked to know what it was to dream again, perhaps to see Oliver's face once more - not as she had last, but new and shining...

Jerusha shook her head swiftly, forcing that smile wider still all unwillingly. "Gabe, we're here in Paris - almost to the office! Time to wake up."

((Part 2 of 2, collaboration with Igraine and The New Yorker))

"L'élan est vraiment furieux." Gabe mumbled, and his arms recoiled to his chest as he was touched. When he awoke, a little more furiously than he should have, Gabe could not remember what he was dreaming, yet the emotions he held in it followed him into the waking world. He sat up and rubbed his eyes, yawned a little, stretched his arms, then looked over to Jerusha. She looked as if she'd been thinking of sad things, things that sunk one down into the pit of blackness that resides in all of our minds. Gabe was content to let that moment pass.

"Well, let's get going then." he said, a groggy morning voice flowing from his lips rather than the light baritone that was usually there.

"Oh, you're going to love this Gabe," she said, lighting from the vehicle swiftly, leather clutch under one arm as she waved him closer still, daring the long-legged angel to keep up with her long, swift strides over the ancient avenues of Paris, to the shores of the Seine.

"Most everyone believes there are only two islands on this river - but that's not entirely true. For beings like you and I? There are three."

Gabe smiled like he hadn't in several days. The image of On the Shore of the Seine was plastered in front of Gabe's eyes. It was amazing to him the amount of misunderstanding that may occur in a world such as this. Gabe felt like this moment perfectly encapsulated the plight of man: they will always search for the truth, but when it is most important, the truth is invisible to them. With that, Gabe was giddy with excitement. This place that held such an important place to him visually would be forever changed in his eyes, despite his only reference to the shore being an impressionist portrait-- he hadn't made the trip himself before now.

She entwined her free arm in his, as easily as they had at dinner, and pulled him straight off the walkway drop of the Seine -

- To another causeway that had not been there, did not exist until the very moment their feet hit the ancient cobblestone roadways, lit as magnificently as the rest of this shining city. "Welcome to the Île de la Voile, Gabe," was all that Jerusha said as she walked with him toward a cathedral-like keep, the centerpiece of the island glowing like a jewel from the innumerable stained glass windows that lined its exterior, great roses and frescoes amidst the venerable grey stones and flying buttresses.

Almost she wished they might have stayed a little longer, stopped to really explore the magnificence that was the Paris office of the Bain & Hoyle Investigation and Recovery Company. But the night was very nearly spent as it was, and the angel had an appointment to keep in London. Besides, as a Bain & Hoyle employee, Gabe could very well return whenever he wished of course - well, when he was not on assignment, she supposed.

Jerusha opened her purse as the pair ascended the grand stone stairway to the entrance, pulling a card from her billfold and swiping it over the key entry. An enormous *clang* opened the door from within, iron ringing against iron as the great oaken double doors, easily scaling some twenty feet in height each, swung open easily.

"I get one of those?" Gabe asked jokingly, a boyish smile crossing his very lightly freckled face.

"No, but if you ask nicely I might tell you where to get one of those," she said, pointing high above their heads.

The murals on the vast vaulted ceilings overhead seemed to move on their own overhead, chargers and knights, satyrs and damsels and dragons and devils and nymphs cavorted in green fields and swamps, mountains and ice fields in dizzying profusion.

"Just teasing Gabe - of course you get one of these," Jerusha said, tucking the card back in her purse. "Likely far, far more," she added with a mischievous wink. "I'm not a Bain & Hoyle employee. I simply have... Connections."

Several stone hallways sloped to the right and left, turning at just the tantalizing corner that beckoned the eye onward to see what might yet be just beyond, but Jerusha simply walked past them all, arm in arm to a rather unassuming hallway on the far side of the grand vaulted room.

The slope spiraled downward untold yards, until it opened once more into a simple, unadorned stone-lined room.

Unadorned, that is, but for the half dozen spectacularly tall, ominously cloaked figures clad entirely in grey, faces unseen beneath their cowls. Beside each was a swirling, cold void, a null space that somehow still felt as if it might have mass and substance.

"A shade gate," Jerusha said simply, as if those words explained everything entirely.

"A sort of portal." Gabe mused to himself. He brought his chiseled hand up to his soft chin and eyed the thing attentively. His eyebrows cocked awkwardly and his mouth opened slightly. "This is familiar," he placed his hands on his hips now and walked toward the portal slightly, "This is how I got here."

The vampire nodded with a smile, approaching the figure closest to the portal Gabe approached, whispering the word "London Office" before turning to the angel. "Shall we?"

Gabe stepped through the threshold and felt what he felt the day of his descent-- a memory which he has repressed and has unsuccesfully tried to retrieve with the brilliant assistance of Dr. Wilde-- pure oceanic oneness. Every portion of him was segregated from the other and spread into infinity. It was like a dream in that it felt like it would never end, and was unpredictibly complicated. Eventually he reformed on the other side of gate, whole and unscared-- a very different experience from that of his descent. The room he appeared in was similar to the last, grand and yet unassuming. He stepped a few feet from the portal to face a newly formed Jerusha. He motioned for her to lead the way, and followed behind as they made their way up the stone steps to the exit.

"Is there anything I should know about the heirarchy here? Who do I report to? Who are my peers?" The angel asked.

"The hierarchy here is very much like what you may very well be used to, Gabe. You shouldn't worry so," Jerusha said reassuringly even as her shoulders shook, as if she might somehow loosen the frigid, uncomfortable remnants of the shade gate in her thoughts. Always, the feeling of moving through endless cobwebs, fingerlings of cold and void through her hair and over her skin. She hated traveling that way, though even she couldn't argue the usefulness. Suddenly needing to feel a bit "warmer," the vampire beckoned to the angel, setting up the well-worn stone stairs at a brisk pace.

"As I said before, Lord Archibald Bain and Reginald Hoyle own this company, and all its affiliates - though this, the London Office, is the first and oldest of course. There will be officers beneath them at various ranks, and then the agents like yourself. Those would be your peers - I doubt you will be disappointed in the infinite variety."

"Sounds like fun."

The couple ascended the stone stairway and made their way through the long corridor that met them at the top. Iron knights lined the sides of the hallway, and the clapping of the duo's steps resonated soundly within the metal creatures belly. Soon they were at a grand foyer, the walls adorned with magnificent stone moldings that stretched far past them laterally, with a large archway that led down to more and more hallways. Gabe stood at the door in silence and peered up to the vast walls, then back down to his guide for this uncertain period of his life. Of a life that, strangely, meant almost nothing until recently. Gabe's hands rested on his waist as he anticipated a sorrowful goodbye, on both ends.

Jerusha's eyes swept over the great room she knew so well with its wood herringbone-styled floors and the enormous fireplaces on either side; the lush area carpets and sumptuous leather furniture - all of it dwarfed in brilliance by the beings within. She took a step back, one hand on Gabe's elbow, working the inside of her lip a little nervously - not that anyone who didn't know her well would have ever noticed. The vampire had not expected anyone here this night, and had she breath she might have let it out in relief that there was not one particular face to be found in this small gathering.

And it was that relief that kept her from greeting the one familiar face she did see. Nestor Grimsley... She would have liked to have caught up with him, but... No. No, that might be gambling with time she likely would not have, if she were yet to leave unnoticed.

The vampire gazed up at the angel, smiling sweetly, genuinely as she searched that boyish, freckled face, lifting the hand she'd laid on his elbow to his face, tenderly cradling his cheek. "You've got the paperwork I made for you in your bags, yes?" she asked, surprising even herself with the sudden concern she felt - and then instantly dismissed for the silliness she knew very well it was.

"And you have my number. Use it Gabe. Any time you like, day or night. Lord Bain or Mr. Hoyle should be down, and even if they are not? I imagine Cornelius will be along soon enough. An Anima - a rubber duck Anima. Try not to stare, it was a rather unfortunate mistake and he's still a touch sensitive about the whole matter. Treat him with dignity though, and you'll be well cared for. You'll see."

"And... Do you see that man over there, the one with the flaxen hair, so smartly dressed? His name is Nestor Grimsley - a demon spawn. Wonderful man, full of wit - but his demoness? Well... I'll leave you to decide your own mind on the matter. But do introduce yourself, and give him my very best regards if you would - "

Jerusha's gaze could not help but fall to the tiny pale vampire, such a lovely, delicate and young creature wrapped entirely about an incubus. And though their embrace screamed lust, she could not miss the sweet aching longing there too, a depth of feeling that...

Jerusha blinked away the pink-tinged tears that threatened to well up at the corners of her eyes. Too much... This was all too much, these people, this place, on top of having to say her farewells to Gabe, here, now. She knew she couldn't linger any longer. Swiftly, the vampire reached up to wrap both her arms around the angel's neck, pulling him close. "You will be missed, my dear friend," she whispered in his ear.

Gabe smiled dully at Jerusha as she cradled his neck with her hands. He held her waist and lowered his head to hers. Unapologetically he kissed her on the forehead before they separated. "Thanks for everything." said the Angel, and his heart swelled as he could see the uncomfortable familiarity Jerusha had with this place, and the people who lived here.

Gabe realized in that instant that she was still very much human, and very much a creation of his lord, as she bore the scars and knots just like anyone else. And Gabe too, with his miriad of new emotions and feelings, was just as human as she. In that he felt comfort, a sense of solidarity, and in that also he found dread, and hate. For he was to be human from now until eternity, even after his master called him back. He would always have dreams, even in his eternal waking. He would dream of his time in the true paradise. That thought almost made Gabe shutter, but he held it in, this was not a time for mortal concerns, or existential boggling. This was, however, the place from where Gabe drew his quietness. This was his expression of a sorrowful goodbye. Gabe did find light in the presence of new friends, people who he could remember for all of eternity, those worth remembering. Gabe exhaled politely and was able to keep back tears. He felt the pain of the bond they shared, the love and pain in it.

"Though I must go, endure not yet a breach, but an expansion," quoted Gabe, at last, not knowing what else to say or do. He dropped his head in embarrassment and laughed at himself momentarily.

"You're going to be magnificent, Gabe. I have every last faith, entirely in you," she said as she stepped away, turning perhaps a little too swiftly back the way they had come, before any treacherous tears could fall. Still, she could not help but stop for a moment to quip over her shoulder, "And you won't be forgetting what I said, now will you?" Jerusha winked at the angel, lifting finger and thumb to her ear and lips, mouthing the words 'Call me,' before she disappeared back into the Keep's shadows.

“Je n'oserais pas” Gabe whispered to himself. The angel turned toward the entrance behind him, then the man Jerusha called Nestor Grimsley. With his hands on his hips Gabe surveyed the area, weighing his options, and he wondered if he might call Jerusha back for a quicky. The compulsive, rambunctious spirit that Dr. Wilde found several months ago was not entirely gone. Gabe was able to glance one last time at the auburn beauty as she disappeared in the shadows of the far-off archway. An exhale escaped from his lips, and he smiled boyishly at the ground, hoping he could wrangle these desperate emotions.

With all that was oing on. The siren found himself looking trough all his old notes. Every single piece of information he had on the Lady. Her patterns, her minions, her possible allies and her origins. Luckily, London Office had a library the size of a small nation from the feel of it. Tomes upon thick books and staples of paper. Henry worked tirelessly while the others discussed,, played or otherwise tried to cope. His initial plan to relax and help Daisy move past her cloudy mood had been thwarted as he had been briefly called away. It did help him focus however, those cold blue eye sof his scanning document after document now. A sirens lack of need for both food and proper sleep was his foremost ally here, the fact that he could research in peace for hours had helped him many times before. Still, the fact that he had just killed a fellow water spirit less then an hour earlier was playing tricks on his mind. Conflict drew the worse out people, and in his case the facade of humanity he cared for so much seemed to crack piece by piece. But the flickering memory of a face so beutyfull and serene kept appearing in his time of doubt. He was working to avenge that woman, his woman. And he'd be damned if her sacrifice would be wasted on him turning into a another inhuman, cold spirit.

“First documented in modern times in northern Finland, unaccompanied and considered harmless lower fey.” Henry muttered to himself as he found some notes with a old grainy photo. There were seemingly more then a few sightings over the years. Just tidbits from the Scandinavian branch, nobody appears to have paid her to much mind. She was certainly good at keeping low profile. Henry took a swig of the brandy he had kidnapped from the bar and leaned back. Next to him was a large board with every single associate and possible location he knew of nailed to it. He stared at it, trying to make sense of things. For a creature that ruined his life twice over, Henry knew distressingly little about her true nature and her real goals. Well aside from one thing; Ragnarök. He stared at the grainy photo before putting it in the middle of the web of connections. The werewolves were connected to her, she had aquired Sirens of her own and she already had all the nasty creatures at her beck and call before. But how strong had she grown now, how far did her reach go?

Little by little, he pieced it together. Nyxxies had meant she had wrangled the river Rhen into her grasp, corrupted its inhabitants. Jenny Greenteeth was likely part of her network before as well. She was everywhere. She was observing them, and now she had the muscle of the Lupus. “By the river... What exactly do you have in mind you crazy bitch.” He muttered and began to weave together what possible reason she might have to not just use her full force. And that is when he realized, the werewolves were expandable, she must want to weaken them. She could not possibly want to share the Fenris with them. She simply used the wolf god to aquire cheap muscle on a scale she has never had.

Henry suddenly flinched, as if shot. A sudden insight hit him. He stood up straight. “Oh no.” He shook with the sudden realization. “She was waiting for us to gather” He stared around and bolted towards the door, running down “She is just working a grander scale then before.” He all but kicked the door into the hall were most of them were. And saw, to his great suprise, a angel. To the siren it was like staring into the sun for a brief moment. There was a reason that the New Faith tended to work best on nature spirits like himself. He blinked and then collected himself. Looking about he saw Atticus embracing his petite vampiric lover. He saw Daisy, once more looking gloomy and pissed. And from the looks of it, he knew why. She never did enjoy undead. He located the old werewolf lady and walked to join her.

“I don't believe we ever formally met before, Vargmoder.” He smiled at her, all manners and respect for a being older and more powerfull then him. Atlease she had been in her prime. “I am Henry. The woman who aids your enemies is my sworn enemy.” He took a deep breath- “I believe I am starting to understand her tactics. She is planning a war. Not just a little skirmish, full on brutal conflict. ” He said, voice somewhat low, serius. There was no doubt he wanted her to listen to every word he spoke.

“Like I warned Mr Hoyle before, she is a being incapble of emotion other then Sadistic Delight. She will drag this whole world into ruin just to gain any sort of advantage. But it appears she is to smart to use her own resources.”He paused and looked around. “No, she is to smart to weaken herself before whatever plan she has is completed. This is not the Demecia with her blind bloodlust and wish for genocide. Ylva will wait a eon if she has to. ” He chewed his lower lip. “She will want to weaken all sides before cleaning up the last herself. It's how she operates. And Ragnarök is perfect to clean the slate and rebuild the world in her favor. And I won't rule out her sending her new lap dogs to attack us directly. Although I hope they have not found a way to pass our defenses just yet.”

Veti knew she should probably be paying attention to Daisy, sensing more than hearing some kind of quietly tense disagreement - and she missed the Reaper's revealing transformation utterly, just as Daisy intended. But Veti was absolutely transfixed, charmed, absorbed utterly in the words of the ancient werewolf as she spoke.

In the space of a few words, she had the very first werewolf pack mate she'd ever known. Not a jot of her love for Siya or Daisy, for Nestor or Semyon, Henry or Atticus - and certainly not Thad - had dimmed even a hairsbreadth. And even so, for the second time in a single day, Veti's eyes grew bright with happy tears - though these didn't have a moment to fall.

With the elder werewolf's maw at such a close, intimate distance, the younger lost all inhibition though she kept the human form, leaning into Aislinn as she spoke. Veti gasped softly when Aislinn's claw traced the silver-cut scar over her throat. It was an impossible thing to miss, pale and hairless, but Veti had not realized it was so recently made. Her fingertips ran the length of the elder werewolf's scar just as those claws had, gently and so tenderly. Crimson lips peeled back over her ivory teeth, sapphire eyes turned amber narrowed in a sudden, black fury at the thought of whoever - whatever - soulless creature was capable of committing such a cruel act on anyone so dear.

Not for a single moment, did Veti think to doubt Aislinn's dying vision, much less her conclusions. A white werewolf would free the monstrous Fenris wolf and, inexplicably, the Lady of Ice survived Ragnarok.

Of course. The Lady of Ice, that cold, heartless bitch with a large piece of Henry's soul...

Veti pulled back as Aislinn spoke so earnestly of stopping the unbinding of the Fenris wolf, the wolf in her daring to look up to the eyes of the elder werewolf, the woman inside stunned, reeling at the revelation falling from a werewolf's maw.

"Revere?" Veti whispered, shaking her head incredulously. "Revere? Our kind... Revere Fenrir? But that... That is such... Such lunacy! He may have the form of a wolf, but Fenrir is a monster, a true abomination, the first of the unholy offspring of Loki. His brother is a giant serpent, and his sister is Hel - what litter of pups ever looked like that?"

"Only a fool would think he could expect loyalty or mercy or a 'gentler' consideration from Fenrir, based on... On... What? A wolfish resemblance? Madness, Aislinn. It is absolute madness. No, he can't be freed - of course, you're right. We will find a way to stop this - "

Veti's eyes widened in surprise when Henry appeared, seemingly from nowhere, startled from her conversation with Aislinn by his boisterous greeting as if she weren't even there. She blinked, stepping back with a respectful nod to the ancient werewolf, allowing her a moment for words with the river spirit. And though her eyes wandered over their small assemblage, she listened attentively to the conversation nonetheless.

A slightly familiar, smiling face greeted them, though it took Veti a moment to realize who, exactly, this was. Oh, of course - the resident fire bug Jay-Jay? Yes, yes it was and Veti waved quickly though her attention was just as soon stolen away by the tight little trio nearby. Daisy and Semyon - and now Nestor as well it seemed - were engaged in their still-tense conversation, and Veti could see no good reason to insert her own likely unneeded presence into the midst of whatever talk was already well underway. Her gaze moved on swiftly, to -

'Well damn Siya! As dire as her conversation had been only seconds before, she could not help the incredulous little grin on her crimson lips as the vampire climbed Atticus like a scrumptious tree. She didn't know what the hell had happened while they'd been separated in such a short time - Siya hated the thought of feeding in public, much less, well... All this. It'd been nearly a year since Siya and the incubus had been together. She might be small, but Veti laid odds it'd be the incubus walking a little funny by the time she was through with him.

Veti laughed softly to herself, her eyes sliding away to exactly the person those thoughts always brought to mind, to Thad. She was amazed really, how easy she found this change, to stop thinking of her lover as the dark-haired, heavily-muscled giant Max. Oh, it wasn't as if Max had actually gone far - simply to where he should have always been, a part of Thad.

There werewolf bit the inside of her lip, curled into a small, slightly-lecherous smile inspired by the vampire-incubus antics. He was piling a plate full of food - of course - with an unselfconscious grace she found endlessly fascinating. That grey suit of his fit him so beautifully, and Veti was just a little surprised just how much she liked this look on him.

And then her thoughts meandered to how much more she liked him without it. A little game in her head really, the jacket first, slowly, one wolfs head button after the other. The buckle next, and then the top clasp of his suit pants, just enough to untuck that blue shirt. She would unwind that tie Siya had lovingly knotted for him... It would make a nice play binding around his wrists...

Veti blinked, eyes widening suddenly when she realized Thad was looking right at her now, and she couldn't help but wonder if he would somehow know she'd just spent a rather pleasant minute or so, undressing him with her eyes.

No matter - she'd be doing that in earnest again, soon enough. The werewolf thrilled with delight at the thought, waving him over with a giddy laugh. The world was about to end again - imminently, it seemed - and somehow they would find a way to save the whole shebang. But before they did, there was someone here, an ancient werewolf, she simply knew Thad would absolutely adore, almost as much as she did.

She got lucky, maybe. Lucky, maybe, in the way a deer standing under the heavy glare of a pair of headlights gets lucky when the hunter with a double barrel shotgun catches her before the grill does. Dead, sure. But a quick death.

Daisy was vaguely aware the Ice Harlot and her boring human had joined the once tepid air space between herself and the wight. Mostly because she was cold. There was not very much that could make her cold. Leave it to the demon to fill that spot. It might have annoyed her, even unnerved her, in any other circumstance. But Daisy was currently a little pissed.

Grim was saying something, probably to her, about hatred, an open invitation to her, or rather to him, as if he needed on to become a guest at a party where the ever growing list of invitees found themselves on Daisy's bad side. As if she couldn't find fault with almost everyone in that room. As if she didn't know his demoness wasn't any better a gift to the world than the wight.

How fucking courteous.

Again, it was something that would have bothered her -- less the intrusion, and more the simple ignorance -- but strangely enough, she couldn't take her eyes from the wight's face. She wasn't sure why.

It felt like a thick mixture of loathing and disbelief -- was he trying to justify his actions? Just clear the air by saying, "Well, I didn't know, so fuck it!" -- tinged with a heavy dosage of fear.

She'd not missed him stepping forward, closing that space between. She didn't feel a threat. There was nothing in his eyes to indicate as much. But he had moved toward her, intentionally, deliberately, and it sure as hell wasn't to share secrets.

Like the teeth of a bear trap closing in around their prey, Daisy's arms sprang up to curl around her waist, directly over where the worst of the decay had rotted her waist away to something that might have almost been Teen Vogue appropriate. She hated herself for it instantly. There was no way to hide that. Her cards were on the table, her chips were on the floor. She hated herself for it, and she hated the wight even more.

Nestor stood between them, his arctic mistress hovering somewhere behind his head.

Daisy shivered.

"If you fucking touch me," she hissed, "I'll make sure hell is waiting when I send you back."

There was more to say, more to be said. It would all be typical Daisy stuff, petty, mean-girl arguments and insults, a witless way of showing how completely unfazed by the whole conversation she was. 'This means as much to me as a pre-prom skirmish between class periods.'

She would have come up with something, too. Something for Nestor, something for his bitch. Something for the wight, something she'd say looking just left of his head, in that fascinatingly empty space above his ear.

Everything else happened at once, and suddenly she was choosing from a buffet of convenient outs.

Somewhere near the fireplace, Atticus and Tiny Vamp were fast approaching their own version of a vampire sex den. There were newcomers, three of them, and one of them left almost immediately, leaving the other two, only one of whom Daisy recognized. She'd have said something -- anything -- to Jay-Jay, except not even the human spark plug could bluff her way out of this one.

Behind her, Henry seemed to have come back to himself. He caught her eye for a moment, then just as quickly went off to Veti, which sort of seemed like the best option, or would have, if she'd thought Veti even kind of shared her loathing of all things dead and mostly dead. Daisy wondered if that was irony, then abruptly decided it was too morose.

She turned back to Grim and Wight, her face carefully impassive.

"You crazy kids let me know when you've removed your heads from your asses. I'll be working on mustering up a fuck or two to give."

And then she turned and walked straight for the doors Henry had just bolted, making a "Let's chat later" circle around Jay-Jay and gathering up the tiny black boxer Artie had adopted on her way to the courtyard below.

Cornelius

Cornelius, the animated rubber ducky and indispensable man-servant, was having quite the night. Since the unheralded arrival of Reginald Hoyle and his injured sister, as well as the group that accompanied them, plus the further appearance of Ms. Blasko, her resurrected beau, and the rag-tag band that had been in her company, and the red-haired demonhost whom he had just escorted in, the Anima had enjoyed little respite. As he floated along, tending to this or that, he felt fortunate that his rubbery state did not allow him to perspire: one of the few advantages of being a waterfowl-shaped bath toy.

He was just about to offer directions to the bed chambers for Master Atticus and his voracious vampire companion, when Cornelius’ small black eyes caught sight of a pair entering through the main archway. Being the superb servant that he was, he knew that a new agent for the company was to arrive this evening, a fallen angel by the name of Gabriel. What Cornelius did not expect however, was the woman that accompanied him.

Lady Wilde!

Cornelius’ first instinct was to fly off to retrieve Lord Bain at once. Lord Bain had only spoken of loving one person in the whole of the world and in the entirety of his long life, and here she now stood. Cornelius had still been human the last time he had seen Lady Wilde, and after the events of that night, in this very castle, he had never expected to see her again.

Torn with indecision, Cornelius faltered in place, floating this way and that. His duty to Lord Bain wrestling mightily with the knowledge that such a reunion might be the worse for all those that filled the great room. Mercifully, in the end Lady Wilde made the decision for him, as she bade farewell to the angel, and slipped away as if she had been merely an apparition supplanted in Cornelius’ mind.

Feeling both a sense of relief and disappointment, Cornelius drifted towards the entrance to greet and welcome the new arrival.

“Good evening, Mr. Lykis,” Cornelius dipped his yellow rubber head to the angel, “I am Cornelius, butler and servant to Lord Bain and Lord Hoyle. You are expected, and I must say that you have arrived at a most interesting of times.”

Cornelius spun in the air, and beckoned Gabe forward with a wave of a tiny wing. “Please, make yourself at home. There are refreshments by the window if you should so desire. Bedchambers and washrooms are through that archway…” He indicated with his wing again, “…and the private quarters of Lord Bain and Lord Hoyle are on the opposite side of the hall. Please do not venture into that wing unless you are directly invited.”

“I would introduce you to our other guests, but I must be off to see to Lord Bain and Lord Hoyle. They should be along shortly.”

With a final bow, Cornelius left Gabe, hoping that the eccentric group would not scare the angel into leaving before he had even begun.

Semyon grew tense, closing his eyes and letting the young reaper's words wash over them. He didn't open his eyes again until she had stopped talking for good, watching warily as she stomped away, before he allowed himself to relax.

All things considered, it could have gone worse.

Of course, it could have also gone better.

He decided to count their 'talk' as a minor victory, dire threat and all. She wasn't as scary to him now... no that wasn't true. She was scary, and he didn't doubt she could actually kill him if she tried. But he had a better understanding of her now, at least. She wasn't just a 'reaper', she was a being who happened to reap souls, someone with their own will, who could grow angry or feel hurt as easily as he. Sure things had broken down at the end, but he had said what he wanted to, she seemed to have said what she wanted to, so then... At least it there was that?

He still never got her name, though.

"Thank you, Nestor." Semyon addressed the man after the young reaper had gone off on her own. Despite his flash of anger when Nestor had first approached, he was one of the few here Semyon had actually spoken with -and wanted to speak to him in turn. Courtesy took precedence over irritation, especially when the irritation was undeserved.

"Your friend enjoys teasing others, doesn't she?" The Wight gestured vaguely towards the man's spectral companion as he spoke. "Though the Young Reaper didn't seem to need help."

He followed his words with a shrug, then decided to look around. New arrivals stood out to his pale eyes, a young woman and a... likewise young man. They really were bringing in everyone they could for this then, weren't they? Though if Atticus hadn't known it was Ragnarok they were trying to stop until recently, it made sense that he would bring in more help now. The thought tempted Semyon to ask them if they had been briefed ahead of time, or had realized Ragnarok was coming before arriving at the castle. Anyone brought in now would have to be well-suited for this task, he was curious what that might mean.

Though the reaper moving around the young lady discouraged talking to her, at least for the moment. That left the gentleman, then.

"If you don't mind, Nestor? I will try greeting some of our new arrivals." He offered the man a polite bow, gesturing towards the gentleman by the entrance of the room before starting to move that way himself. His gaze measured up the man as he approached, making note of all that stood out.

A lack of standout attributes stood out first and foremost. Handsome yet forgettable features, athletic yet average build, he looked built to be a professional spy. The man's skill was likely subtle, then, though the sight of a firearm hinted at military or mercenary prowess at least. A soldier, then, or armed scholar?

"Greetings, comrade." Semyon managed a slightly larger smile than usual, one that actually looked more like a smile than a frown. He held out one gloved hand for the man to take, pale eyes never leaving the man's own.

"Semyon Makarov, may I ask your name?"

The food smelled wonderful and Thad had no trouble filling his plate. That was in between tasty morsel that went directly to his mouth. He did glance back to Siya raise his eyebrows, his toes, and the corners of his mouth. Go get ‘em sex sucker, he thought as he watched them entwine for a second or two. Sort of like vamp porn and he could enjoy that. But like all porn it made him think of Veti.

So it didn’t take him long to find his own feed, his real food, and spot Veti across the room. She must have felt his hungry eyes on her because she looked over at him. Even from across the room he could sense the call of her eyes. He didn't need more than that. With a few more handfuls of whatever was there, what were those stuffed rolled green things anyway? Thad took the overfilled plate and moved past the x-rated show over to his real one, Veit and crowd.

And it was a crowd. Daisy had just stomped off, well sort of stomped enough for her pink hair to bounce a bit. He saw Nester and sort of slid his plate in the guys direction. Just in case anything on his plate looked good enough for that classy guy to take. He smiled to the new guy. Well, all of them as far as Thad was concerned. Semyon had his hand offered to someone and Thad resisted the urge to just push his plate where the hand extended. But, he squashed that fast enough. He was the one who hadn’t eaten for forever. He was not in the mood for sharing much more than a quick grin. If Nestor wanted anything he better take it quick.

And there was someone else, someone new, who Semyon was greeting. Let him play nice. Thad had other hungers. He didn’t stay long with the friendly get to know each other gang and instead moved to Veti. Now there was someone he would never get tired of getting to know.

He found his way beside Veti. His arm with the plate full wrapped around her and presented the food right to her even as he kissed her ear quickly. He pulled back a bit and grinned to Henry.

“Henry.” He nodded to the singing ice boy. Of course he only heard the end of whatever Henry was saying. “Whose lap dogs are you playing with now?” He asked as he wiggled the plate of food in front of Veti. Thad didn’t wait for Henry’s answer. He remember Henry did not like Max too much and he wondered if he would accept a difference or not. He looked instead the wolf. Right there next to his hot hound was a werewolf. He let himself study the thing, the tuffs around its ears, the huge paws, the sleek and powerful shoulders, the size of the thing. He sort of stared and he looked back to Veti. Could he look like that? Something about it stirred the warlock. He smiled to Veti. He wondered if she could tell what he was thinking.

But because he was Thad now and not Max he acted just a bit more civilized and he bowed his head to the herculean animal beside Veti. “I’ll share if she will.” He raised his head and winked to the plate that kept his arm around Veti. With his other hand he found a small bacon wrapped around something and lifted it to Veti’s lips. Wolves like meat right? He grinned and waited for her to take his bite.

-Children-. I was never any use with children. I curled a lip and shot a withering glare in -her- direction; to be completely honest, I realised right then and there, if it hadn't been for -her- I would have found myself in -this- situation to begin with. But I still could not tell whether it was my growing interest in the wight, or simply my inescapable desire to immediately undo everything -she- managed to muck up that led me to find myself standing there in the midst of it all, caught up in the sudden fury of untempered emotion that made up the young reaper.

Had I a moment then, to myself, I might have laughed. Laughed at the irony of it all. Laughed as she laughed, as she gave the reaper a condescending stare and – tracing a delicate finger through the air, crystal eyes closing as she followed the imaginary line of the reaper's thin spine -- chided:

“But hell is just where I belong, Sweetest Thing... and do you know? He doesn't know it yet... “Here her voice drops a few notches, lowers to a rasping whisper: “But that is just where our dear Nestor belongs as well”; a girlish twitter follows, the same icy hand now covering her lips as she takes a few hasty steps back whilst intoning “Hell is waiting...! Hell is waiting!... Hell is....”

And then she quite thankfully shut her mouth. Bared her fangs into a wicked kind of snarl and vanished without further comment.

Blinding light. I growled inwardly. One awkward moment to another. I'd lost the stomach for any verbal fight – the bitter tang of scotch was still on my tongue, and my head swam with unbidden thoughts... angels... nephilim, fallen – reflexes took hold as Nestor's gaze shoots without warning toward the distant archway. Figures. Figures approaching. He tilts his head ever so slightly to one side – as a dog might, almost, surveying some new oddity entering its domain.

Always unexpected, I could not help but think to myself. Caught off guard. The perfect feint. And there she was, in the distance – though my eyes could scarcely make her out, standing as she did at the end of the great hall... I felt the throbbing hum of her soul all the same. I was not certain. Not certain at all, in that very moment, whether things had gotten better or simply much, much worse.

“Jerusha Wilde...” the words came unbidden from my tongue. Yet softly, so quiet that perhaps at most the Wight and Reaper might have heard, but none other. My first instinct was to glance toward the nearest exit opposite the approaching pair.. Still, I managed to pick up the mention of my name, and though I could not help but suspect it was some joke of hers... or maybe as much a test... or perhaps only the gods knew what properly... the realisation dawned on me that this latest... pet? Friend? Lover? I gave a mental sort of shrug. Perhaps definitions were better left to time. I nodded absently to the wight (Nestor perhaps, at the time, not even realising that the two of them might very well be on their way to greet the same newcomer), snatched a pair of tumblers... poured a bit of the favoured poison... and steered my steps toward the searing heat of the newly arrived angel.

Nestor makes no commentary to the past. No heralding of the future. Simply, he arrives. Gives a cordial nod to the newest arrival; extends a slender hand in offer while remarking (and in the same moment gesturing expansively toward the so recently poured glass of liquor, resting neatly on a silver platter held in his left hand)

“Pleasant greetings; I am the one known as Nestor – Nestor Grimsley, to be precise. Will you have a drink?” Should the fallen angel accept the proffered hand of the Demonspawn, he might feel the cold chill of a creeping winter slip between the fingers, up through the arm and into the spine. Less a feeling, and more the memory of a pain and strange sorrow – the crazed laughter of souls in chains; the simple greeting of an ordinary man in rather extraordinary circumstances.

Glancing around the granduous hall, Jay-Jay felt a sudden thankfulness that she wasn’t the center of attention. Perhaps it was the various forms of drama that she saw: people shouting and people feasting and people fracking and...wait...She knew the two people so tenderly embraced in a lover’s hold. “Oooh, ooh. Vampire lady is getting it on with the boss man! I totally called that!” The Fire-child gave a short, sharp round of applause at the union, as a fan would. Vampire lady had been one that Jay-Jay had a lot of time for. She seemed genuine, if not a little scary.

Short people were always scarier…

The next big thing that caught her attention was the growing outrage and overall feeling of discomfort coming from Daisy and Nestor’s little corner of the room. The two goldies were seemingly at odds with each other: and a third person, who was not quite so golden but looked decidedly olden was seemingly on Nestor’s side of the argument...Or Nestor was on his side. Hard to tell, really. That little tirade ended when Daisy left the hall, but not before scooping up Artie and making a short gesture at Jay-Jay. She smiled and offered a curt little wave. The demoness was desperate to go meet up with Daisy and talk and gossip and be...a person. It was amazing how much she’d missed the concept of socialising when her year of exile had been done with.

”There is a certain irony to the fact that you are made most active by the sight of a reaper.” Kata cut in, a soft sort of chuckle seemed to crackle in the air, a small sound full of warmth and energy. Jay-Jay held back the urge to grumble a rather childish remark about no one else really taking a notice of her, but she managed to bite back the urge to act the spoilt brat. She was the new Jay-Jay damnit. Fire mage extraordinaire and a god-damn asset to the group outside of the fact she was conveniently hosting some incredibly powerful demon.

She decided to take stock of the rest of the room before she made her decision to go anywhere. Looking over the gathered individuals, she started counting heads on her fingers: Daisy, Nestor and the creepy lookin’ new guy were accounted for; as was Vampire-lady and Boss-man. Scanning the room had Jay-Jay spot Veti and Henry, who was talking to a big-ass-werewolf lady. The werewolf was big. The only time Jay-Jay had spotted a beasty of that size and scale was when she had been forced to watch Big-boss-Hoyle rip apart a bunch of werewolves in a vampire orgy-nightclub...Fun times.

There was one other oddity in the room, a guy who by all accounts was dead. She would have doubted the existence of the man, if he didn’t saunter over to Veti and playfully kiss at the ear. Yup...Defo the same person.

Then the main attraction of the room caught the Fire-host’s eye. A person that seemingly had no effect on Jay-Jay at all and another guy...someone new...Someone kinda cute. Jay-Jay offered a little wave in his direction, hoping, despite the barrage of other perspective interests to steal a bit of attention. Before she approached, she felt a sudden revulsion in the pit of her stomach. It rang through the core of her being, as if Katagogi was dragging nails accross a chalkboard in her gut.

”Do not go near that one Jay-Jay. He revolts me.” The demoness was acting in a way Jay-Jay had never felt before. Something was causing Kata a great deal of distress, and while the demoness was so close to the surface, the fire-child would feel at least some of the same revulsion...Even if the boy was a little cute: not Henry cute, mind you, but not bad at all. He would be on the ‘talk-to’ list later. Kata’s reaction had her worried, although the last time she’d even got close to a mirage of a hint of a close friendship with a man, the demoness did temporarily get a chunk of her soul stolen...Perhaps she was just a bit rusty?

Either way, Jay-Jay had a place to be. One person had seemingly been having a shitty time of things, and that person was also one of the coolest individuals the Firebrand could remember. Besides, red and pink make a fabulous combo...or something.

Jay-Jay shrugged and skipped in the direction that she’d saw Daisy going. A few turns here and there had the Demon-host realise she was completely lost; but that wouldn’t stop the new, improved Jay-Jay, no-sir-ee. Rubbing her hands together, she started to recall one of the newest tricks in her collection.

A small little orb started to form in Jay-Jay’s hands. It was the size of a golf-ball at first, but it grew bigger in stages until a clear bowling-ball of magic floated between the magical hands of the wizarding, witching Jay-Jay. The ball of magic started to glow, and suddenly: it exploded. The magical sphere divided itself, a small sphere going in every direction and dividing again at every corridor. Jay-Jay’s eyes glowed a shiny white as she seemed entranced by the magic until one of the little spheres entered the courtyard: and spotted the reaper alone.

Jay-Jay’s opalescent eyes snapped back to normality, and suddenly the magical witch had a direction. She skipped down corridors, turning correctly every time and reaching the courtyard in no time at all. She beamed at her own success, and took a moment to glance at Daisy, her smile turning to a pout as she saw the dejected reaper.

“Daisy, um…” suddenly her words failed her. Nerves catching in her throat as she realised what a baby she was being. Daisy was a badass! She didn’t need help from some rando-hanger-on like Jay-Jay. She almost turned around and hid, but a little prod from the demon-who totally wasn’t just avoiding having to go inside to the sickening being inside- gave her the courage she needed. “...Hi. Seems like I missed a lot.”

Gabe was rippling with emotions after Jerusha left. The sadness that came with her departure, and that of potentially not seeing her for a very long time. The exhilaration of potential new friends, and experiences beyond the scope of anything he’d ever done. In truth, Gabe wasn’t sure how long he would stay with the agency, he wasn’t sure how long he’d stay on earth. Would his lord sweep him away once Gabriel had gotten enough information, was it like collecting coins in a Mario game? Was there a set number that led to a “win”? Or would Gabe be left on this tiny, beautiful rock for the rest of human existence? When the last man or woman roamed the earth, tattered and broken, and without a voice to pray to god, would Gabe be standing next to that person, smiling and nodding? When the gapping maws of eternity decided to suck Gabriel back in and swallow him into a new paradise, filled with souls, and he flew with the incandescent wings he dreamed of so often, would he be happy? Each meaningless moment that he spent shepherding the souls in heaven, eternity wrapped around him like the ethereal fur he lost on his decent, would be agonizing. Gabriel would dream of earth in heaven, this he knew.

Gabe felt a sudden urge to smoke a joint, and it was rather intense as well. The bellowing screams of sadness from the inside were usually quieted with a quick toke. Luckily Gabe knew he would feel this way, and he felt a little discomforted by it. He didn’t lie to Jerusha, he was never meant to stop using drugs—he still drank—but he had lied by omission in a sense. Gabe never mentioned to Dr. Wilde that he still self-medicated when he felt that it was necessary. He had some of the green stuff tucked away in a vacuum sealed container in his backpack—a thought which led the angel to look at his luggage. He carried two suitcases, each with wheels and handles, also a backpack which was leveraged against his leg. There was also a black, matte, pistol case fastened to his backpack by strappings on the pack, there was only one pistol in the case built for two, as the other was holstered on Gabe’s waist. Lastly, there was his sword, which hung across his chest with a strap, the sword was pressed across his back. The thing was a magically, beautiful silver long sword, the tiny designs on it told a story long lost to Gabriel, it reminded him of war, though he could not designate for what, or fought by whom. Eventually, just as Jerusha had said, Cornelius appeared.

And boy, was she right about him. The anima, as Jerusha described him, clearly had a bit of a chip on his shoulder, a duck-sized chip. Aside from that he was a perfect gentleman, courteous and regal, as any living rubber duck should be. Gabe simply nodded in response to Cornelius, then bid him gratitude for being such a wonderful help. Gabe could see himself getting used to being around this place. There seemed to be an open bar, which Gabe looked away from quickly, resisting the urge to saunter up to it immediately. Among the people in the room were a peculiar couple sucking face, as Gabe would most aptly describe it. No worry, no consideration, and also no intent in their displays. It was ruthless passion which threw them into that pit together, literally devouring each other’s blood. Gabe was not against vampirism, it happened to the best of humans it seemed, but he could not condone public viciousness and gluttony. Gabe was not a direct agent of his lord anymore, but he certainly held within him some important tenants, which he remembered as if in a dream.

Then suddenly, just as Gabe decided to take a step outside, he was approached.

“Hello,” Gabe responded, as if for a moment he wasn’t sure where the voice was coming from. “Hi”, he said an instant later, looking directly at the man called Semyon. He was a creepy looking man, to say the least. His skin was without color and his eyes were of a troubling origin. Gabe could tell that the man was undead, and that made Gabe uneasy, perhaps that would be offensive. Gabe snapped himself together in enough time to, perhaps, convincingly display true pleasure, and not a fearful interest. “Gabriel Lykis at your service.” Gabe took the man’s hand, squeezed it tightly, which made Gabe fear that he might take a piece of the man with him when they’re embrace separated. “A pleasure to meet you,” Gabriel smiled as he shook the man’s hand.

A spark of red appeared in the corner of the angel’s eye and he thought it might have been Jerusha, changing her mind about staying for a little while. Instead, it was another redheaded beauty, this one with not as much sharpness or sophistication as the one he’d just spent several months with. This one was younger, and not at all familiar. She smiled and waved at the fallen angel, all he could do was lift his head in acknowledgment as he was approached once more, this time by a face he could put a name to first. Nestor Grimsley, he recalled.

Gabe took this man’s hand as well, and he was struck with a sudden chill. One which worked it’s way around his body like an unseen snake, coiling back into his palm. And with that touch came more, a life bygone and still continuing. With that touch came a hint of desperation, a pinch of death, and a handful of unrequited sadness. Gabriel withdrew his hand after a moment of this insane uncomfortableness.

“Gabriel Lykis, new guy. Thanks for offering, but,” Gabe looked around the room, shuffled his feet, “I really shouldn’t.” He let his hands fall to his sides and patted his clothing down in an attempt to make himself look like he fit in. Now that he thought about it, he was rather underdressed. Then Gabe remembered his anxiety, yes it was still there, and yes it gnawed at him like the voice of his lord once did. “Do either of you know when the bosses are coming down? I was thinking of stepping outside for a moment.”

Veti smiled coyly when she smelled the hors d'oeuvre Thad offered, her sultry,half-lidded eyes riveting his gaze to hers. Opening her crimson lips just wide enough to envelope the salty, slightly sweet bacon-wrapped scallop, the soft tip of her tongue traced the length of finger and thumb before she took the whole bite into her mouth. But before Thad's hand could fall away, the werewolf snatched her lover's wrist, keeping his fingers suspended right where they were. Crimson lips and tongue slowly wrapped finger, and then thumb, licking away any least of remnant of salt or oil that might have lingered.

It'd be a damn shame to get bacon grease on that lovely suit, after all.

"Thanks love, I was starving," Veti said with a throaty laugh and a small, knowing lift of one perfectly-shaped eyebrow. She couldn't miss the thoughtful look in Thad's eyes as he watched the ancient werewolf, so magnificent, beautiful really with an unselfconscious animal grace she found endlessly mesmerizing. Aislinn's scars mattered not at all, not really. They spoke of a long life, a sometimes hard life and, above all things, her survival.

Veti truly liked how Thad looked at her, taking the whole of her in from the top of her magnificent head to the bottoms of her wickedly-curved, clawed 'feet.' She savored the wonder in his eyes, praying the shining glint she saw there might mean everything she hoped, that one day - sooner rather than later - he would join her, a wolf within of his own.

"And of course I'll share my food. There's only one or two things left in this world I won't share at all, you know." Veti winked up at Thad before her eyes returned to Aislinn, gladly. She wouldn't interrupt whatever conversation Henry wanted to have with the elder wolf. If not much else, Veti had been raised by her mother - a much-loved middle school teacher in upstate New York - to at least recognize good manners.

She really couldn't help that the roll of the genetic dice favored the boisterous, laughing enormity of wild appetites that was her former pro-wrestler father.

Even so, there was something about Aislinn's mere presence that subdued some of Veti's excess of enthusiasm to a more sedate level, very much as Mrs. Blasko had once tamed herself a Mr. Blasko. No, the younger werewolf did not interrupt, but let Aislinn and Henry talk as they would. Instead, Veti leaned against her lover's shoulder where his arm was wrapped around her, tilting her head up to his ear.

"Her name is Aislinn Hoyle," she whispered, knowing very well she didn't have to distinguish of whom she spoke. "She's Mr. Hoyle's sister, you just have to meet her - she is such a dear, lovely person. She said... Well, she said we could be packmates."

Veti couldn't keep the child-like joy from her voice, and didn't even try. Of all people in this world, Thad would understand the significance of this delightfully unexpected offer to the young werewolf who, but for Mr. Hoyle, knew nothing but scorn from her own 'kind.'

The lightness could not last long, of course. The pale crescent moon of Aislinn's scar was testament enough to that fact. Veti continued, her voice still a whisper as she explained the condensed version of all she'd learned thus far. "Do you remember the so-called Ice Queen, Thad? The fae bitch menacing Henry? She sent some of her henchmen to kill Aislinn. I only have the barest details myself, but somehow her minions and the Lupus Naturae are working together to release Fenrir, the Fenris wolf, and start Ragnarok - the Viking version of the end of the world."

Atticus’ nature, his true and infernal nature, took hold of him like he had never experienced before. There was power in Siya’s lips, something that stripped away his layers of humanity that he so carefully wrapped himself in. Her desire, and the intensity of her need only spurned his own, and in that moment, lost to time and reality, he was no longer Atticus. He was simply an Incubus.

With one arm he encircled the tiny vampire’s waist. Her petite frame clung to him with remarkable strength, and so was his preoccupation that he had to use his other arm to navigate his way towards the bedchambers. Chairs and tables, and anything else that happened in his way was cast aside without regard, flung with wild abandon as he marched the pair of them out of the great hall, and at last into the long hallway, and its many doors.

It was almost too much for him, his own lustful yearning combined with the vampire’s. Heat, passion, and dark raw energy seemed to pour from her black eyes, and cascade over him like an intoxicating fog. The Incubus had no vision beyond her. He saw nothing else but the ethereal glow of her body, and the amorous promise of her movements.

With some vestige of effort, some shred of lingering decency, the Incubus managed to refuse his own desire long enough to carry the vampire beyond the hallway, and at last to a bedchamber. In the darkness of the room, his eyes glowed like balls of shimmering ruby fire, catching the beautiful valley’s and crests of the vampire’s face in an otherworldly glow.

“It has been far too long.” The Incubus managed to mutter to her before slamming the heavy door behind them; his last intelligible words of the near future.

Nestor arches both eyebrows at the words of the Fallen Angel – he silently mouths what seems to be the word “Ahhh...”, then gives a quirk of his lips that – had it lingered for more than a split second – might very well have seemed mischievous; the whisper that slips up behind Gabe, however, is a sight less than mischievous. Provocative, in a way. The honey-laced tongue masking the icy sheen of its venom.

“But you should know, shouldn't you – Radiant One – “ And at this the Demoness reveals herself – though perhaps she would have been visible to the angel all along; a dizzy haze of sparkling blue interlaced with a vibrant light. Now turned solid. Solid, and in a remarkably rare moment, quite human. The pale form of a tall woman – slender, face and figure shaped so finely as to seem more the work of some sculptor than any living being – yet when she moves, the motions flow easily around her, a few swift steps taking her to stand an almost uncomfortable distance from the Angel. Giving him a single, imperious glance – and for the moment elaborating no further on her words – the vivid blue of her eyes peer directly into his, a swirling kaleidoscope of fractured ice before – as though it were the most natural thing in the world – she sniffs deeply, wrinkles the tip of her nose and takes a single step back. “You should know how it was said “Wine to gladden hearts of men”; and unless I am mistaken, the Psalmist...”

I interrupt – something about her demeanour right then and there was disturbing me, and (Does it trouble you that much to Know, Nestor? That much! He is precisely as I thought; you know damn well you were thinking the same) and.. well, I decided not to play the idiot's game to her words: she and I both knew the unspoken answer to that. Rather, I just retort aloud: “The devil can cite Scripture for his purpose. An evil soul producing holy witness: like a villain with a smiling cheek.” I grin broadly in her direction, right back at the spiteful stare as she screeches out – whining, almost... though the sound is closer to that of a caged tiger calling to its keepers for the evening meal –

“That's Shakespeare, You Dunce...” She grits her teeth, holding stubbornly to her silence for a moment, whereupon I add cheekily – speaking in the direction of this Newcomer, Gabe:

“Then again, the Old Boy himself – who resisted the Devil's entirely sincere offer of every earthly pleasure ever imaginable – couldn't resist tapping into just enough of Daddy's power to ensure no one had to attend a wedding in a sober state of mind. So...” Here Nestor raises the glass once more, offering it for the final time before turning and moving toward the door.

“Deus Vult! Or so say I. Fortunate, or unfortunate, I was headed for a breath of fresh air myself – the bosses... well, you can always expect them when least expected. Practically the living embodiment of non-hyperobolic 'Thieves in the Night'”; something about these last words makes Nestor snort back a bit of laughter. Then, taking up his cane at the door and resting it at a cocky slant over one shoulder, he steps from the room, arm in arm now with the demoness – the latter of whom turns one last time to give Gabe a winsome smile before vanishing from view.

I emerged onto the portico and allowed myself a good, stiff lungful of rainy London air. I wasn't sure what had led me outside to begin with – perhaps the overwhelming feeling of simply being stuffed inside the great hall, and the equally uncomfortable feeling at the thought of going back to my room. Or maybe it was simply the pervading gloom that had been working its way on me all this time – always hard to say... so many strange and oftentimes disturbing memories wrapped up into this place. Difficult at such a time to separate premonitions of the future from ruminations on the past. And so I would simply do what I always did at such moments – would stand, and stare at the stars, and smoke. And she... she decided to perch herself on the balustrade, back resting against a stone pillar, right hand resting upon one knee.