[IC] Ologies: A Study of Arcane Specialists {Paranormal Investigations and more}

[jasonwolf]

“Maybe one day I’ll get to reach your vantage, but for now I’m far more concerned with making sure that others don’t make similar mistakes. Even if I’ve gotten a good bargain most won’t.” Markiel stopped and chuckled shortly.

“You kind of reminded me of Terry, Seph’s last apprentice, he and Seph would argue constantly about lycanthrope and the troubles that can come with it. Terry had a surprisingly open mind about it all. I think I might actually call him see if he’s gotten any similar cases to ours along the west coast.” Markiel glanced over at his phone, “Not now though. Ms. Morganstern mentioned the possibilities of a dinner party, and I’d much prefer to do that than spend hours sorting through case files with Terry.”

[Wraithblade6]

@AdobeFlash@Wraithblade6

"Did you hear that?" It was a legitimate question. Mithias never knew if anyone else around him had hearing as good as his. Something was odd about the sound. It was irregular, like someone falling down a staircase.

"Pardon me." Mithias moved somewhat swiftly and left Markiel's room. There was no need for blurring speed, at least not yet. He moved down the floors until he came to a body, which he immediately recognized as Atlas.

Placing a hand on his ally's shoulder, Mithias turned him over. Clearly he was in shit shape, and Mithias had no idea what he had gone through. He smelled strange, and at least one of his eyes was pretty fucked up. He picked him up and carried him out to the couch.

Setting him down carefully, Mithias spoke his thoughts, "He's been through something rather painful it seems. Who could have done this to him? Markiel. Is Seph still here? Is anyone else in the building?"

[AdobeFlash]

Atlas noticed Mithias. How thoughtful. The sheer pain had him in agony, and the eye regenerating had been taking up a lot of energy. "It was...purposeful, da? Needed to kill some undead freakshows. Needed the recipe made by Alistair, was it? Well, it cost about 500 people from Southern Maine. Jackass nephew. Heh", Atlas said, while shifting up. "All I need is liquid iron, if you catch my drift. I'll be good in no time. Well, I hate to crash the party, but I need to get upstairs. Time to make things uncomfortable.". He got up, and walked up to Seph's office, past the partygoers. They hadn't noticed him.

Atlas hadn't bothered to knock. He opened the door, and announced quite loudly,"I need some blood, my man, and quickly", before performing his special act of passing out. It wasn't fatal. Unfortunately.

[Austronaut]

Lenya Adeline Von Morganstern stood at the base of the long dock. Snow and ice hung heavily from the branches of the pines which swept down to the rocky shore. It was Saint Martins Day and, in Lenya’s mind, the official beginning of the Christmas Season. Lenya had even less reason to be religious than most, but the trappings of Catholicism were pleasantly nostalgic for her.

The path behind her was lit with twinkling lights contained in intricately decorated crystal spheres, hung in the bows of trees with springs of mistletoe and holly. It wound its way up the steep bluff to where her house perched on the height overlooking the sea. It had only recently been finished and she admitted a certain pride to show it off. It was a modern design favouring rich brown woods and glass under a slate tiled roof. It was far too large for her but, like all her kind, she tended to build for a coven.

The gardens, though snow covered, were meticulously tended. She had a gardener who lived down in the village who dotted on the place. Several ice sculptures stood in the open area in the centre of the garden around her large decorated Christmas tree. They depicted various classical goddesses as imagined by art students at the University of Maine. Lenya found the Juno to be particularly beautiful, though she had paid for them all cheerfully.

The distant chug of a diesel motor punctured the contrived peace of the scene. She could see the old fishing boat, so called although it hadn’t fished in a decade or more, rounding the point, its storm lantern blinking cheerfully on the soft swell. She had deliberately chosen to make her home on the island, which meant she needed a boat to get back and forth to the mainland. To that end she had hired Bert, a salty old lobsterman, who was just as happy to ferry her and, today, her guests around.

The figures of her work mates, invited to share the celebration of the Saint’s Feast, were clustered on the deck. Some were wearing coats, others defiantly underdressed despite the cold. What would hardy old Bert make of that? Probably just shake his head at the foolishness of people ‘from away’. Seph had offered to create a portal for her guests but Lenya had demurred. She rarely resorted to magic when mundane means were available, as they were here. Besides there was talk enough about her in the village as it was, a strange foreign woman who built an expensive house on the deserted hill. It was hardly good practice to add guests who mysteriously appeared from nowhere.

The boat pulled expertly into the dock. Bert, as wrinkled and parched as old leather, sprang onto the dock with all the surety of a mountain goat and looped the heavy rope ties around the bollards, snugging the boat in tight.

“Welcome to my home everyone,” she called out with a smile, “A fine Martinmass to you all.”

[Polyphemus]

"And a fine, uh, Martinmass to you as well," Max said, glad he hadn't accidentally called it Martin Mull like he had been doing for most of the trip over. Raised Jewish, he struggled to keep track of all these Christian holidays. He pulled his coat tighter against the chill November air, pulled down the straps of the foxy hat- he had seen no reason to get rid of it after the incident in October.

"As promised, I come bearing gifts," he said, lifting the box he cradled into view. A case of Gösser Austrian beer for Lenya, as well as a few bottles of Cayford's, a craft cider local to Maine. The best of both worlds, in his opinion. "Do you need a hand with anything? I'm no expert but I know my way around a kitchen."

[fdeviant]

Cassandra’s heels clicked harshly against the coarse rust of the fishing vessel’s deck, briefly echoing off the metal railing, likely driving her travel companions mad. She hadn’t stopped pacing since they left the shore. Few times had Cassandra been out at sea, or anywhere near a beach for that matter. Sure she’d gone to Miami with her family once or twice, or down into the swamplands to visit the gator breeding grounds, but she’d never felt particularly called to the mysterious, briny depths; something about the sea made her incredibly nervous.

Even so, Cassandra put on airs when around her coworkers, her pacing evenly spaced, one heel in front of the other, more of a slow strut than a pace. She didn’t wear her anxiety, or if she did, it was hidden behind layers of dark make-up. In fact, her attire made her appear quite confident. For this particular occasion, she donned a sleeveless, low-cut, black, asymmetrical dress and draped herself in a feathery black cloak. As always, her legs were quite exposed despite the weather, but she didn’t mind. There wasn’t time to think about frostbite when she was more worried about being dragged into the blue abyss.

When at last they docked, Cassandra was the first off the boat, her quick stride onto land possibly betraying her false confidence. She was amazed at what she saw on the island, a house fit for a queen with all the furnishings and adornments to match. It was a truly magical sight, and Lenya’s silhouette only added to the house’s splendor.

“Welcome to my home, everyone,” she approached the group with a smile, greeting them all warmly. “A fine Martinmass to you all.”

Cassandra was unfamiliar with this particular holiday. She grew up in a Southern Baptist home and her mother was rather vocal about her views of Catholicism. Cassandra never understood her mother’s deep hatred of the other denominations, but then again, she didn’t understand any of her mother’s ways. In fact, her mother left such a bad taste in Cassandra’s mouth for Christianity that, in all the time she’d spent away from home, she never once stopped to celebrate any of the commercial holidays out of principal. But now Cassandra had coworkers to bemuse and impress, so her disdain for the holiday season would have to come to an end.

“And to you,” Cassandra replied. “I’m afraid I only bring the gift of my company. I’ll let you decide how much that’s worth.” She might have sounded cross or bitchy, but Cassandra was genuinely thrilled about such an opportunity. She never attended university and didn’t have much in the way of teenage years, so she had never really been invited to any sort of party or gathering. It may have been coworker obligation that Lenya asked, and maybe Cassandra felt obligated to attend, but she was happy to be there nonetheless.

[AdobeFlash]

Ah, Martinmass. What a joyous occasion. Atlas had never celebrated such a holiday. In fact, he wasn't sure if it even existed. But it was all in the spirit of the holiday. The fishing boat rocked forwards through the multitudes of waves. The new girl, Cassandra, was it? She paced to and fro aboard the deck of the ship. She was obviously nervous. You learn to read people after a century or so. Well, the weather couldn't be better. Atlas sat upon a rusted metal bench, holding an umbrella to protect from what UV rays penetrated the clouds.

Atlas had ventured into the hellish land of Macy's earlier in the day, and so wore a dressy button up shirt, with the sleeves rolled up. The cold was fantastic for him. His dress pants were a tad dirty from some last minute experimenting, but no matter. Atlas would have worn sunglasses, but the eyepatch would have gotten in the way. Regeneration is funny like that. The eye is still adjusting, so protection is ideal.

The boat docked, and the click of Atlas' dress shoes upon the metal were nonexistent. A little vampire parlor trick he picked up. Umbrella in one hand, suitcase in the other, looking the best he had in ages, he walked up to Lenya.

"Ah, Lenya! Merry, uh...Martinmass? Well, whatever the holiday, I bring many gifts!", Atlas said merrily, showing the dog carrier he had been lugging around. "Inside is every variety of drink I could find! There's an enchantment on it, so there's a lot more than there appears to be!", he said while chuckling, and set the luggage down.

Atlas was surprised. He was on a roll when it came to interacting with people. Hopefully he had won someone's favor.

[Austronaut]

d

Lenya began the taskt of greeting her guests Dealing with people was a real source of pleasure for her, particularly in a friendly environment, free of the endless academic back biting she had dealt with back at the University of Vienna.

“Cassandra, what a beautiful dress,” she said with honest enthusiasm. It must be freezing for the other woman, although perhaps not, her austere attitude towards the use of magic was not universal.

“And of course you company is more than gift enough.” The pair of witches hadn’t had much to do with each other before now and Lenya was looking forward to talking with the other woman. Traditions varied widely and Lenya was always interested in discovering others.

She turned to Max giving him a smile at the fox hat the tall scholar was still sporting. Rather than making him look ridiculous it leant him an appealing air of quirkiness. In the background the diesel engine of the boat cut out, its low chug suddenly absent from the night, replaced by the gentle sound of the waves and the bump of the hull against the small dock. She kissed each of his cheeks in European fashion.

“I’m sure we can find work for you Max,” she said with a smile, though in truth the dinner was largely ready to go. Lenya was not a cook either but years of following obscure alchemical formulae was surprisingly good training. That and Jakalo had been a huge help. Her mouth wetted slightly at the remembered scent of roasting goose. It would be almost as delicious as the gosser.

“Thank you Atlas,” she said with a sunny smile.

“One of the advantages of coming by boat is that no one has to drive home.” She was a little surprised the vampire had accepted her invitation, he had always been rather standoffish in the past. Plus the sun was still setting, although the short winter days meant it would be pitch black shortly.

“I hope you are recovering well,” she continued. Lenya was a private person and had not inquired as to how the vampire had been injured. Perhaps the story would be told later this evening. Martinmass was a great holiday for telling stories, particularly in these snowy latitudes.

"You are most welcome to my home."

[jasonwolf]

Jaklo stood off in the distance having waited around outside while the food cooked. He had come there earlier before to deliver a goose. He had happily used his talents to procure a one fresh from the skies. Even then that was a brief meeting that he quickly removed himself from. As much as he did enjoy cooking, something he was often picked out for, he felt uncomfortable being there on his own. While he certainly saw Lenya as a friend. There was something disconcerting to him about being somewhere new even if it was just someone else's house.

The hunter sighed looking away from the waves and up to the house. He wasn’t particularly excited about the dinner. He had been earlier, but something was nagging at him. Veterans day wasn’t a holiday particularly important to him, but Wulf had always mentioned a number of friends who had served. Jaklo, being the good apprentice he was, would go with Wulf to memorials and graves and the very rare meeting with old friends. It had been strange not doing that now. Just one more thing to adjust to with him.

Jaklo walked by the dock not acknowledging anyone and into the garden to inspect the statues. Perhaps after the drink started flowing he’d be more inclined to talk. For now he was a stranger in a strange land and his instincts were kind of kicking in. A part of him insisted to know everything about anything here. It lied somewhere between a minor paranoia and instinctual obsession.

In the back of his mind he had other thoughts. Memories of the times he spent with his family. He had always kept them at a distance worried they might discover what he really was. They didn’t need to know. They didn’t need the worry. Even then the holidays were a time where none of that mattered because they were family. Distant, confused, and often uncertain, but family.

=====================================================================

By far the most excited by the events was Markiel. He had not been to a St. Martin’s day celebration in quite some time, or even been back to Poland. He had however been able to procure a fresh batch of Rogal świętomarciński, a polish pastry made specifically for the day, and was extremely delighted to share them with the other members of the office. As much as he was their boss he much prefered to be a friend and leave the real management to Seph. He was dressed in a red and black argyle sweater happily enjoying the colder temperatures. Everything was reminding him of home and a great many holidays spent there.

The other manager was less enthusiastic. He certainly enjoyed the thought of a nice dinner, but there was always something strange when he crossed the barrier from boss to friend. He didn’t have the social gifts that Markiel had and as such often couldn’t balance the disconnect quite right. This often left him to avoid such events, but Markiel had almost forced him into coming insisting that if he didn’t come to this he would force Seph to come to the office christmas party. He stood at the back of the group hidden away in his brown “formal” trenchcoat.

Markiel stepped up Lenya and took her hand kissing it like the old man that he was.

“Thank you for welcoming us all into your home on this fine night. It’s been far too long since I’ve gotten to celebrate Martinmass. So few in the states even seem to know what it is. Though it’s strange to be the only catholic at one of these.”

While he was always an open person in the jovial attitude of the evening he felt much more like himself than he had in a long time. He thought back to his conversation with Mithias and to all the many good years with good friends. With luck this would be another day not soon forgotten.

[Austronaut]

Lenya smiled broadly at Markiel.

"I can't claim to be a practicing Catholic but the old rituals have always been a great comfort to my family. Martinmass in particular is a favorite, for if Jesus can find praise for a pagan who does good, then there might be hope even for witches."

In the background the disel engine rattled to life and Bert pulled away from the small dock headed back to the mainland for any latecomers. He waved his usual cheerful wave as the old craft nosed out towards the sound.

"But lets not stand out here discussing theology. Jakalo's fine goose will need tending!" With an elaborate gesture she turned and led the group up the steep climb to the house. Martainmass lanterns winked in the trees along the way, providing an ambiance of fairie light. Deep down Lenya had to admit that she was showing off a little, her family money was old and she had never wanted anything but it gave her pleasure to use it to create beauty. Her sister Emmaline would have scoffed at the extravagance, but if Emma choose to live like a nun, then that was her affair.

The entered through the garden past the glistening ice sculptures, purchased from the arts students of the University of Maine, and passed through the large wooden doors set in the glass and wooden walls. The parlor was large and carpeted in rich cream. Polished wooden sideboards held a variety of finger foods ranging from the mundane to the extravagant. She had used a catering company for most of it, though there were a few hand made efforts, which despite her enthusiasm looked a little amateurish compared to the professionally prepared stuff.

The smell of roasting goose filled the room, chasing away the last of the early winter cold. She turned to her guests.

"Please make yourselves at home, Im going to check on the goose and then dinner will be served."

She felt a little twinge of nervousness in her stomach, and smiled to recognize a trace of social anxiety.

"I'll be right back."