Hidden 8 yrs ago Post by Wind Wild
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Wind Wild A sprinkle of Weird

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One Step Ahead

Day One, 08:10


Tokarin sighed defeated. First a murderous girl… and now a murderous demon. Things were crazy today so she gave up and accepted the facts.
Fran had decided to tag along. And nothing any of them said was going to make a difference.

“Okay, just…” Toki frowned slightly at the demon, pulling her wings close to herself. “Don’t kill anyone else, okay?” She glanced at Mary to confirm she’s ok with this and started walking towards People’s park. It was a nice place, full of people and street artists. She found comfort in numbers.

Ideally, she would have the opportunity to talk to Mary in private. But things were less than ideal, weren’t they? Still, she was oddly worried about the girl – it was a weird premonition she hadn’t had often before, as if the girl’s fate was too big for her frame, as if her future was unfit for a human soul. Toki couldn’t put her finger on it, perhaps it was simply the fact that Mary had cried at the same time as killing someone, but for whatever reason, the angel felt like she should protect the other girl.

Protect from what? She didn’t know. Fran, for starters.

The Clairvoyant looked ahead of time. She could see a multitude of futures where they tried to run away from the demon but the latter had already announced that she would stick to them so Toki dismissed them offhandedly. Instead, she looked at what would happen if they just kept walking along. A small conversation about all possible things, no danger, no ambush. Interestingly, there was one thing that stuck out at the end of her sight. Fran had a phone. Gods knew where she kept it but it rang out.

The beauty of her abilities was that she didn’t need to put herself in danger in order to find something out. Time was a malleable thing, a pouty in the hands of her mind, and she shaped it as she pleased. One of Toki’s possible future selves approached Fran curiously and managed to overhear part of the conversation. It was a male’s voice, and he was asking if Fran’s bored enough to join him on “a little adventure”. He had heard her skills were for hire and in return he promised a type of angelic flesh she’d never tasted before.

Toki’s stomach twitched uncomfortably but she couldn’t foretell the response. Back in the present, with her interest piqued, she glanced again at Mary to make sure she’s alright and tried to put her unease to rest.

“So, what are you doing on the Surface, Miss Fran?” She tried to strike a conversation while she waited for time to catch up.
Hidden 8 yrs ago Post by Lucius Cypher
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Francisca Labrys Seax Luxaria


"I won't kill anyone who doesn't attack us first~" Fran smiled cheekily as Tori warned her. It wasn't as if Fran was always murderous of course, and she could certainly behave herself... So long as she is sufficiently entertained. More importantly, Fran did feel that if she tried to get on Tori's good side, perhaps she could help Fran get this damned lock off. Most angels do their best to escape Fran as soon as possibly, and the fact that Tori didn't spread her wings and fly away gave Fran hope that maybe she would be the one.

The trio walked towards a park not to dissimilar to the park Fran has a hideout at, though considering her lack of knowledge of the surface world, she had no idea if this was the same park or not. They all seemed the same to Fran. There were many people walking about, human, demon, and angels alike. It was very odd to Fran; she's so used to seeing nothing but constant battle and debauchery. She saw what was obviously a group of demons, but they were fighting or having an orgy, they were merely playing some ball game. Fran was almost interested in joining. Looking around Fran couldn't help but feel her body shiver. There was so much... Desirable destruction. Fine looking men and women to ravish. Powerful looking people to dominate. The potential for loot was astronomical. But Fran couldn't act on these feelings. Everything she felt that pressure in her body rise up and get excited, she'd feel a suffocating sensation around her hips, a reminder of the cursed item locking away her pleasure.

This suffering had to stop. One way or another.

As Fran continued to fantasize about the destruction she wanted to cause so badly, Tori called for her attention. "Hmm?" Tori wanted to know what she was doing on the surface world, though Fran looked at the angel strangely for calling her "miss". "No need for formalities. Just call me Fran. As for what I'm doing here, well, boredom. Hell was starting to get repetitive what with it's constant war and pillaging, and I wanted a change of scenery. Though I'll admit, the surface isn't quite as dangerous as I thought it'd be. I had heard that mighty creatures populate the surface far worse then anything in hell, but I've yet to see that. I suppose they're the types who keep their powers a secret. But that's so boooooring." Fran rambled on, making her displeasure quite apparent. But before Tori could ask another question, Fran countered with her own. "What about you, angel? Why leave your fluffy heaven to slum it with mortals? At least for myself, I could say that I have access to much more luxuries here then I did back in hell. Food! Made of real sugar! To die for. To kill for too."
Hidden 8 yrs ago Post by Darcs
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Darcs Madama Witch

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the pretty little bird IV_
Elenei Kiều_
Tatiana Kuznetsova_
Day one, midnight_



”What the hell is wrong with you?”


The fly buzz, buzz, buzzed with Mel. It wasn’t this to her was it? Was it not there? There were scant people here. But none reacted to the whispers of the hell bug whizzing about her.

“What are you forgetting?”


Mel furrowed her brow. She was forgetting something?

“Thanatos…?” She thought. But she knew that wasn’t it.

“What new force has touched you?”


”The cute one?” She wondered, “Andri?”

“What is it you’re waiting for”


The buzzing continued.

Th-the train. Something told her it felt that she thought wrong.

The fly continued to buzz, only pausing every few minutes to rest on one of her dimples. Mel leaned against a pillar in the graffiti covered train station. The pillar she leaned against was awash in the rainbow colors of gangs battling to claim the structure-- this single piece of tiled architecture that seemed to hold up this underground transit stop. She supposed it was important territory.

Across from her a brave soul had somehow sprayed the word ‘mermaid’ across the tracks. The ground was littered with newspapers and fast food wrappers. Under the wonderful aqua stencil work of mermaid was a purple ‘619.’ Elenei crossed her arms.

That wasn’t an area code.

“I don’t have much for a woman like you but questions.”


‘That sounds like a quote from something....’ Mel couldn’t help but think that-- “A woman like me?” She said out loud, ignoring the stares from the late night businessmen, the bundled up homeless and the graffers around her.

“There are no answers. You have to trust yourself.”


Mel rolled her eyes. This was stupid. “You’re stupid.” she whispered, “This is stupid and dumb. Shut up, Yamochka.” So focused was she on ignoring the dumb fly’s erratic, calculated movements that she didn’t ask herself where that name had come from. It whizzed around her like the birds around the head of a cartoon character-- or, like some poetic Beelzebub halo. It’s voice rasped and banged around her skull, like the whisper of the most beautiful old woman you could imagine. A siren would outlived the world at least once.

It was stupid.

“Where do evil men end up?”


“What?” Mel turned. Just as a train going in the opposite direction showed up, leaving as soon as it arrived at this station, rumbling the world. The fly, Yamochka, was gone. For a moment, the world was partially silent. Like one of those ancient artifacts made of plastic that played music-- the needle would trail along, and there was this eerie silence. It wasn’t actually quiet, you always heard something, somewhere, even if it was just your own breath, but the next song hadn’t started yet.

“Ma’am? May ah have a littl’ change?” A strong and weak voice asked from beside and below her.

Mel wasn’t ready for the next song just yet. She jumped, taken aback by the man now sitting next to her. He must have gotten off of that last train-- but how he’d gotten over to her so quickly, without her noticing… It bothered her.

She hadn’t had enough to get drunk, but she was acting sloppy. People weren’t supposed to be able to sneak up on her, this felt new. Was it the fly? Perhaps she’d always been this sloppy, and she wasn’t used to people besides whores and hits noticing her.

Mel looked down on the slim-built man beside her. He seemed kind enough-- he was Black, old-- too old to be outside on such a cool night. He was well bundled, but not as well as other homeless men she’d encountered. He wore an old, black wrinkled suit and black dress shorts, like the ones a child wears-- he’d somehow fit a thin black hoodie underneath the suit-- and over that a large green jacket with the texture of a tarp-- it seemed to be from some war she didn’t recognize. Knowing the military of this country, the internal mesh probably had biolinks and heat sensors…

His face was a mess of wrinkles. The kind you’d see on a priest or pug. While he kept the green hood of the military jacket down, the large black hood was pulled up, from this angle it covered his eyes, and left snow white locks of hair pouring from either side of the hood-- they were long, some of them reaching the floor, despite having the strong scent of a homeless man, they seemed to be well maintained. They almost shone white like bone as they fell from the hood, only nearer to the ground did they begin to accumulate dirt and muck. In his lap, rested a small dog-- a golden mutt.

He was an injured man as well-- something Mel noticed after her initial shock. His legs were… gone, below the knees. Out of his pack jutted a pair of rusted, rudimentary prosthetic legs-- they were old and a little misshapen from use without repair, a nice silver where they weren’t rusted, but Mel was willing to bet they probably didn’t have the processing power to bend the knees, let alone the feet. The left sleeve of the green jacket hung limp, and he didn’t seem to have a left arm AT ALL. Though, in his pack his had a prosthetic for his arm-- it seemed newer. It was white as his hair and looked to be a simple bone based model-- while wondering why he didn’t have it on, she noticed his right hand, he wore a white glove-- but even with that she could see the bumps of arthritis riddling his joints.

The last thing one notices-- or might not even notice, is the perfect right wing he’s hidden under his jacket. He kept it scrunched up, but even so, even at his age, it was large enough that you might notice a few white feathers peeking out from underneath.

Mel paused. White feathers?

“It’s tah help mah soul- tah feed yo’ mind.” He spoke slowly, smiling as he did so, Mel noted the strange accent he spoke in.

Mel had already begun riffling through her pockets, “I’m sorry?”

“Wada fo’ life. Sun fo’ wahmf. Air fo’ bweaf. Earf fo’ wheat. What mo’ does one need?”

“Money?” Mel handed the man a wad of bills she didn’t need, “Get yourself some new legs with, this, okay?”

The man smirked as he let out a laugh, “Ya,” His right hand closed slowly around the bills, “Ya ah need dis too.” He smiled with yellowed teeth, “Ah like that...” His tone became more serious as his smile dampened, “But yuh know, this just a conveahsashun. We only need dis ‘cause we says we do. Like a pwayah to the Almighty.”

“Conversation?” Mel checked the time, “With who?”

“Dah fahmahs, dah buildahs, dah engineahs and the shamans who tend to earf.” He put the money in his pack, “Dis jus a way ov askin’ da earf fo’ sumthin’.”

“Oh.” Mel shifted impatiently.

“Yaw pweoccupied now. Das awright. Ah’ll tell you the res lata’.” He pet his dog with his hand, stirring it from its rest, “Whas good is that you lack gweed. Ah get to see ya again soon.”

Her train rumbled the station as it arrived. A sharp pain shot through her stomach, like a million parasites wanted to eat their way out. She gasped, turning to the man, “What?

His smile was light, “Don’ miss yo’ twain.” As the doors slid open with a ding, Yamochka buzzed out of them-- she needed to get on. She took a few steps toward the train as the fly buzzed back to her cheek, stopping for a moment as he said slowly, perhaps to himself, “Stay on the paf, Helel.”

Mel turned, suddenly and endless stream of questions coursing through her mind-- but she needed to get on that train. All she could ask was, “What’s your name?”

He smiled at that, “Cawrect, names have they place.” He said curtly. The dog in his lap curled up further, the man set out his cigarette and began petting his furry companion, “Ah’aight. Cahll me
Vesuvius.”

She had a train to catch-- yet she couldn’t move. Something about that name caught her off guard and paralyzed her for a moment. Vesuvius closed his eyes and gave a soft smile, his wrinkles made him look like the kindliest grandpa she’d ever seen.

What the hell was it with her and spiritual apparitions with weirdo names tonight?

A fly landed on his cheek… was that Yamochka? The dog… was that a dog? It had a reptilian tongue that shot out faster than Mel could blink. The man reacted as if the pup had simply licked him, like his dog hadn’t just eaten the fly like a frog.

Mel’s eyes narrowed, slowly turning to leave, “Baron V for short, then.”

“You smell like a medicine store, kid.”

“Shut up, Belwas, you cockney bastard. You smell like cat piss and spit.” Mel entered the Sinner Lady, gripping her forehead. Her excursion had had too many needless complications, she didn’t like thinking this much this early on in the evening. She’d stopped by a midnight pharmacy for some relief from the headache of it all.

The big blue demon harrumphed, “I had to break up a fight. Where was my little bird? Fight ain’t supposed to happen here? The hell am I paying you for?”

Making her way over to the bar, showing whatever skinny part-timer was working there today, she popped open a bottle of holy water, and began mixing herself a vodka halo martini. “To test out the merchandise?” The first sip burned, like being smited by a holy being from Russia. “New girl’s shit in bed by the way.”

“Luna?” Belwas leaned on the bar, “She’s been here for years.”

“Yeah?” Mel took another sip, “Well she’s shit in bed. Can’t give head for shit and she just lays there like a board.”

Belwas, “Some guys are into pillow princesses, Birdie.” He got himself a beer, “Besides, she’s one of our better dancers.”

“Uh-huh?” Mel downed the rest of the martini and began mixing herself another, nibbling on the olive, “Well she’s got a husband-- she isn’t built for this job, Belwas. She only slept with me because she’s a fan.”

“You’ve got fans?”

Mel shrugged, “News to me too.”

He laughed.

“She’s a snitch in the making, Belwas.” She slammed down the bottle of holy water, “Cut her off before a pig sniffs her out.” Picking up her glass, she left the bar, moving toward the crowds around the strippers.

“Damnit…” He muttered, Looking back up from his beer, she was already halfway to a jungle of poles, women and plush sheets. “Thanks, Birdie-- hey where you going?”

“Gotta make sure everyone sees my face.” Mel sipped her holy water martini, “Can’t have the rabble fucking things up just because I’m out getting laid, right?”

“What about Thanatos?” He yelled after her.

“What about him?” Mel stopped short of being sucked into the crowd.

“He’s got some new tech, people actually betting for him this time around believe it or not, kiddo. You get to be the underdog again!”

Elenei glanced lazily toward a long legged girl with auburn hair. “Later. Still too horny, not drunk enough.”

And with that-- she crossed a threshold in the room, becoming just out of the ear- reach of Belwas’ yells over the noisey, overly-processed music that blared from the speakers. Cookie cutter pop/R&b produced by some literal robot, one of the larger record companies music AI, no doubt-- Mel was never too big a fan of it, her teacher had raised her on the old stuff, where people sang and robots made the music. That was better, she felt.

She seemed to enter a completely different realm of existence. Mel’s movements became slowed, tiny shifts of her feet to meet the compromised movement forced on her by the crowd. She hated it-- or, she wasn’t sure she could hate. She didn’t feel intensity like that, though if she had a love it was being able to move her body, and having this imposed will of others, a stupid will without a leader save for the shitty synth r&b, but a will imposed on her none the less. She supposed if she was capable of hating anything, it was that. It was this.

She stepped on as many people’s feet as possible as she made her way through the crowd. She doubted the hoofed demons in their pantsuits and workboots could feel the half-hearted stomps from her cotton slippers. But, it made her feel better, it allowed her to take her mind off of the affairs from earlier. She never liked being reminded people knew who she was.

That was something she liked about hookers, strippers and whores-- the good ones, anyway-- they were usually too uninformed to piece together who this Asian waif with the French accent was, there was no ‘Ohhh’ of recognition when they saw her raven wing. Instead, merely a motherly ‘Ohhh’ like, a mother asking her child how they got that injury, ohh sweetie, that’s a beautiful dye job, was, don’t worry, I’ll make you feel better.

In the blue hued crowd, thick with smoke, and the musk of men who thrived on the ichor of others... something, something, something. She reckoned she ought to scan the crowd for a bit, or at the very least make her presence noticeable. There were plenty of pedestals where yound demonic yuppies with horns and probably scary names like Azathoth, Uriel and Richard would gather and gawk and throw their money from their plush pink and purple couches, as if it was some fine art, a Renaissance statue of the feminine form on a pillar, they were appreciating. She doubted many of them cared for the complexities of the dances the women could do on the jungle gym of twisting poles all across the room. Mel knew that she didn’t.

No, like her, they were there for a facefull of ass, a dance or two, and maybe a blood job if they were high rollers. Unlike her, they had physical bills to pay for it. The purple hue of the room made the money they threw gleam silver. The complex network of poles were like black veins that spanned the room like circulatory system. That was funny, considering how many of the dancers gave blood jobs.

But those were just the pedestals. Private shows and guaranteed dances that everyone could see. If you had more money you’d get your own room. SHe supposed most of the Yuppies did have enough money for their own rooms, and instead they wanted others to see. Mel supposed that was where the similarities between them ended-- Elenei had been raised to be ashamed of her sexuality, and hide it away like a good Catholic girl, but know how to use it, like a good Vietnamese girl. Monaco had left her a better Vietnamese girl than a Catholic one. She supposed she mostly saw sexuality as something gross only when it came to other people.

The placement of the pedestals toward the front contrasted the placement of tables toward the rear, the entrance, and the bar. You were close enough to see dancers, but far enough away that you only got half the thrill. The servers got to you faster, but if all you were getting was drinks and laid they always came to you last-- in fact, it was rare to see servers not hovering around, or running to or from the main runway.

Ahh, the main runway. That would be a good place to sit-- She was sure this place had used to be a grand theatre hall once, because of that runway. A stage with blue and violet velvet curtains, and a long, hardwood runway that jutted into the front of the front room-- as far away from the entrance as one could get while keeping it in site. Stairs behind the curtains led to the back offices, the basements, where fights took place, and, if you went up enough, a beautiful penthouse-- reserved for real VIPS.

As she pushed her way through men, and the circular couches they inhabited, the runway came into sight. It was a beautiful mahogany masterpiece, jutting into the room like a wooden phallus, with a side covered in garish christmas lights. It illuminated the dancers along the runway’s length, dancing on their black spike poles in the smoke about as well as her martini was doing at getting her drunk.

This part of the room had the highest concentration of people (mostly men) ogling dancers-- because you didn’t have to pay to see the dancers (mostly women). You just risked getting trampled by all the people behind you if you weren’t paying enough.

Mel had to begin physically pushing people out of her way. She took care not to bruise anyone too much-- as her grip had been described as ‘hellish,’ ‘what the fuck, holy shit AGGGHHHHH,’ and ‘I actually really dug that, I thought you were gonna straight rip it off and eat it for a second.’

Pushing a man in a black suit with the head of a stallion out of her way, Mel leaped onto the tip of the runway with a ‘hup.’ Making due with a slight change in elevation, Elenei scanned the crowd, and the whole of the room. She sighed, taking another sip of her drink

This was all so stupid.

“This is stupid.” Tatiana muttered to herself as she reached to the back of her neck with her free hand to scratch at a rather persistent itch for the umpteen-quintillienth time. The blood from her earlier meeting had yet to be dry cleaned off, much to her chagrin. She had money, but sometimes even that couldn’t speed the process along enough. As it was, she was forced to wear a different coat than her treasured centenarian of a coat. Really more of a tricentenarian of a coat, considering its history. First issued to Sergeant Alexei Kuznetsova in World War II, passed down from generation to generation since. It’d be almost nothing but a worn down rag by the time she inherited it, but after she’d come into super dark drug racketeering Godless sinful blood money of illicit riches money she’d had the thing professionally restored and then heavily upgraded. Was it all the same fabric as the original? No, obviously not, but to her, it was the same coat that had seen many ancestors weather the harshness of the constant flux of the world.

It was surprising how sentimental one could get over a shitty old Soviet coat. The one she was wearing for the time being was rather nice, but it felt… too new. There were no stories in this coat. No history. It was clean, new, sharp… and completely barren of any distinguishing qualities. But… she smirked - it did certainly show off her figure better. Perhaps tonight she would give this coat its first story to tell.

She was a regular at this bar, and if she was to be honest it was a miracle the police hadn’t figured it out yet and laid an ambush here for her. Not that they’d find a warm reception here of course.

The chill of the brisk night air behind her, Tatiana shook her hair free of the coat as she idly strolled through the building. Just what she would do tonight was uncertain - maybe join the strippers for a laugh; find some young naive man or woman, show them the night, leave them hungover in the morning with a hefty sum of cash for a fun night, try and seduce one of the more “experienced” patrons, get into an argument with someone, maybe go for a little sparring? The possibilities were !

Out of the corner of her eye she thought she saw a familiar face, Mel’s. She quirked an eyebrow, giving her a courteous wave before glancing about the room once more.

With a tilt of her head, Mel downed the rest of her martini and hopped down off the phallic, jutting runway stage for the moment. Smashing the glass against the head of some unfortunate baldy who was leaning in too close to the girls for her comfort. Other men moved back at this, Mel rolled her eyes-- It was like herding sheep.

With a flick of her fingers, Mel had a girl bring her drinks-- two of her favorite. Some sour fireball whiskey brewed in hell. The legend went that only the brain cells that could revive as even stronger demons survived a shot. It was an alright drink, all in all.

Giving her best attempt at a smile and curtsy, Mel greeted Tatiana as the manners toward respected elders and associates instilled by her family kicked in, “Hello Miss Kuznetsova-- I wasn’t expecting to see you this evening!” Her smile was slightly, forced, and visibly confused, though thankfully only barely visible in the dimness, “I’m so sorry, no one even asked to take your coat!”

Tatiana quirked an eyebrow at Mel’s disposition to her before sighing internally. She often wished she could simply take what money she had and start anew, without her reputation or anything else. It came with the territory she knew, but it still never failed to aggravate her - she was hardly some pompous wannabe noble, was it too much for her to want a drink or some company once in awhile?

She looked over at Mel, waving a hand in the air nonchalantly, “Little secret, I have no idea how I got to where I am, but tonight I’m just here to unwind. Bodyguards mean I have business, no bodyguards means I’m trying to pretend I don’t run an international criminal organization for the night. Generates a lot of paperwork you know, sometimes a girl wants to have some fun. Not sure what I’ll do yet though, maybe make good on that old joke and dance on the pole for a little bit?” She smirked, nodding at Mel’s drink, “What’s that you’ve got there? Doesn’t look like something a rich man’s daughter would drink, now does it?”

Slipping a nondescript steel flask out of her coat, she winked, taking a sip of the bourbon inside. “By the way, if I’m making you uncomfortable just say so. I’m really just here for some fun tonight, so if you wouldn’t mind dropping the surnames and the ‘Miss’ I’d appreciate it. No need to remind me of my age.”

The sight of Tatiana roused Mel from the spell the night had cast on her, she remembered plotting a man’s murder with her not hours ago-- only so many things could shake her so, among them were high profile guests and pretty ones, typically the two never intertwined-- never before had they seemingly come to her despite all they’d spoken of earlier. Tatiana’s carmine hair reflected azure light and shone through the smoke sogged air like a lilac flame. She was a very colorful woman-- one could tell by her gait. If she wasn’t as dangerous as she was, and perhaps more machine than woman, maybe…

Regardless, Tatiana, also, was amongst the richest, if not the richest regular of this podunk strip joint. Mel had no doubt Tatiana had some kind of hand in that-- she was her father’s partner in some regard, she didn’t pay attention to what they did, that wasn’t her job.

But what she did know is that this business, one of the many her father owned, dealt in legal and ethical gray areas. Belwas was merely a manager-- a pawn. It was his partnerships to women like Miss Kuznetsova that kept business like these afloat. Out of the eyes of law enforcement and forces more powerful...

Trafficking in things… even she didn’t know of it all… Her Father, the ambassador, wielded secrets like she wielded her sword. It was in that strength she placed her trust. And she trusted her father when he trusted this woman… But…

Mel blushed at the implications of her thinking… Maybe she deserved punishment for it-- but while she trusted her father, she didn’t trust this woman entirely. She was, by all means, incredibly infamous-- everyone here had heard of her. But no one aside from Mel herself even seemed to recognize her. This made Mel nervous for reasons she couldn’t articulate to herself.

As she stood before the woman-- she couldn’t help but recall the words they’d shared just a few hours prior...
Hidden 8 yrs ago Post by Wind Wild
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Wind Wild A sprinkle of Weird

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The pain on the left

Day 1
Theme


Her pale, shimmering skin, now dull, red. Her golden eyes unfocused, awash with tears, stinging, bloodshot. Full rose lips now sore, bleeding… bleeding. Long fingers clutching onto helpless air. A slender frame twisted, bent, defeated…
Her lungs, her heart, her muscles and her very bones… each one of them she felt separate, independent, but… hurting. Her body was aflame. Every fiber was disjointed, full of anguish and nothing but.
A pain so excruciating it could only be compared to the moment of her creation. Except… it was the opposite.
Agony.
She was decomposing. Pieces of her ripped apart methodically, mercilessly.
Ruins…
Dust…
Was that her fate? No… no…
No.
She knew a way. She had known a way. To stop the pain…
Yes… there. Gone.
Mostly.

She came to with a jolt. With a sudden rush of awareness her mind restarted.
She could not see. Her sight was gone. She could not move. She was trapped. In a prison? In a body.
A day..
A week..
A year?
How long had it been?
An eternity. An endless void.
Where was she? Who---
Lazarus.
Her voice rose.
But… what? It was not a voice.
Gone? But then what…?
Violin. Yes. Her lips cracked.
It was the sound of her heart. It weaved through the air like the song of a bird, meant to seep into the heart of everyone around. But desperate. Pleading.
She continued screaming. “Get me out!”, “Find me!”, “Help me!”, “I’m dying!”, but…
Nobody would hear. They wouldn’t understand. The Violin was broken. She was broken.
Her heart sunk.



Pale slender fingers on a windowsill. The air was there to hug her and carry her forth. Earth was there to rise and support every step. The breeze existed to stroke her face and whisper stories of every corner of the globe.
The world was hers.
But more importantly, he was hers.
The man on the bed: handsome features, steady gaze, chest revealed.
Hers.

A voice pulled her out of her thoughts, her own. It was musing over something while her body experienced everything there was.

“Nowadays everyone knows what I am but… Few realise that before I became the sword I was lost.” A sound much like a melody, but a voice. Or perhaps not. Maybe just the gentle tremble of a string. And the words. Why was she using such profane words in the presence of such beauty all around her? As if words could ever be enough to substitute the feelings. Yet they continued.

“I had so much power but no purpose, no master. Of course, I didn't realise it at the time, but the Essence of the World is meant to serve. It’s but the thread keeping everything together. It’s flawed, it’s artificial. It needs a hand to guide it. And for the longest time I didn’t have that. I’ve always felt like a leaf in the wind. No one would reach out, willing to accept me. And I missed that… So I looked for a master. In the Lords on Heaven and Hell and the Surface…”

She stopped and turned her head slightly, the sun illuminating a small twist to her lips, somehow shy. “Then you grabbed me. You didn’t hesitate, you swept me off my feet and didn’t let go. And you loved Hazumi, whatever she was, more than you loved the power she held. You were even okay with her giving it away and remaining just... “me”. There is no better master. I’m honoured to be your student, your friend and your lover. And I never want to be anyone else’s.”

She turned her back to the window and strolled towards him. There was no other creature that could move with such grace. Like an iridescent aroma, like a nostalgic song, drifting from afar. She was a creation but also a creator. She would serve him, until her very last breath. And she only had one wish. Never leave my side again.

And when she kneeled down beside him and cupped his face all the warmth in this world was his. And, although she was just human the love he saw in her eyes was vaster than life itself.

That love was his alone.



Cold, hard... concrete? Under his cheek. Ears ringing. Taste of blood. Water streaming from his eyes and a boyish sob to accompany it.

He knew it. The next day she was gone. Like a cruel joke. The last night they’d spent together was tainted by her disappearance. The sweet memory turned too bitter to swallow.

He didn’t know why she disappeared. But it wasn’t by choice.

Andri pushed himself up, the world swimming all around him. He had a bitter taste in his mouth but it wasn’t because he’d bitten his tongue on the way down. Rather, it was because of the emotion that undertoned this vision. Three words remained in his mind, segmented and weak. “Love,... dead… yet….

“This was really uncalled for...” he whispered to himself as he wiped the warm streak off his cheek.

He checked his watch and his gut twisted.

22:30

“What did you just do?” He asked Ashley, too shaken to be properly upset.

Don’t you remember? I warned you to sit down.

Yeah. We see how that turned out.

That was Hazumi. She used my twin sister, Aris, to contact us. She wants you to relay a message to someone. The man from the memory.

Yes. That man. The man worth more than all three worlds combined.

Andri had been in the consciousness of a beast.

And Lazarus was its master.
Hidden 8 yrs ago Post by Themerlinhawk
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Themerlinhawk Aegis Kai Doru

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Loom

Themerlinhawk

Lazarus, Shaylee, Ian


The Resurrection Mage looked out on the street below the second story of his townhouse in Loom. It had been quite a while since he’d lived in the house but it was the best place to operate out of within the city. The move had been swift given the call which had woken him up early that morning. Shaylee hadn’t be pleased; the whimpering had been real but when he’d told her that he needed her in the field with him it had galvanized her to pack up her shit and get on the private jet from the airfield within an hour drive from Finch’s Loft. Lazarus had made the drive in forty-five minutes. By the time they were wheels down in Loom Lazarus practically dragged Shaylee off the plain. Swirling the glass of scotch in his left hand he looked up at the grey sky. They were only a few blocks from the Academy. For a moment he could almost hear the squeezing of floor boards as Mary trapsed through the house, the sound of Hazumi’s dress on the wood floor, the sound of Iris harp and Ian’s flute.

A sound from behind him brought him out of the memories. Shaylee stood holding up a shirt “Why are there so many rooms with women's clothing in them in this house?” His apprentice looked at the floor length mirror in his room as she considered the shirt. Lazarus could already tell it was too small for her. It was Mary’s and Mary was smaller in the chest than Shaylee was. Chuckling Lazarus was reminded of all the flak he’d gotten over the years for the young women who regularly ended up in his wing or under his teaching.

“Because once upon a time I had other women in my life. We lived here when I was teaching at the academy. If you need clothes I suspect that you are closer to Hazumi’s measurement; those clothes are in my room, the big standing wardrobe. Although you may be a bit taller than her so you’ve been warned.” The look on Shaylee’s face was priceless as she snapped the shirt down and turned to look at him with a look of indignation. Before she could speak he held up his finger. “I’m an artist. And you’re beautiful so if you even think that I can’t tell you what your clothes sizes are you need to rethink your life.” Chuckling as she sputtered he set the scotch down and took the shirt from her hands and eyed it. “Yeah Mary’s clothes aren’t really your style. Try Hazumi’s clothes and if you can’t find anything there is a clothes store down around the corner.” With that he made his way towards the door of his room.

“Lazarus...What happened to them..?”

Shaylee’s question wasn’t surprising but it was still something that stopped the man in his tracks. “Mary left, Iris disappeared and Hazumi I still don’t know.” With that Lazarus moved for the door and was stopped again.

“Is that why you wouldn’t let me leave Finch’s Loft?”

Turning around Lazarus met Shaylee’s searching eyes and it almost broke him. He could see the insidious fear twisting there behind her eyes. The realization that the man she was following lost those around him as a course of life. Her fists were clenched and she finally dropped her gaze. With two quick steps Lazarus crossed the room and put his arms around her. “Yes. I’ve lost too many people in my lifetime and I do care about you so it’s hard for me to put you in the crosshairs with me. That being said I would be doing you a severe disservice by not exposing you to what is in the world as safely as I can.” The young woman drew her arms in and Lazarus felt her press into his embrace. Lazarus could feel her fear as she shook; he knew part of it was the draft in the house but it was clear she was starting to understand that the world she had dove into was deeper and darker than she had imagined.

“Come on let’s go get you something warmer” He heard her gentle sniffle as she rubbed her nose. “Pervert you just want to see me try on clothes.” It was meant as a jab but his response made her bright red. “Of please you’re telling me you don’t think i’ve seen you naked?” With a chuckle Lazarus propelled the now sputtering Shaylee towards the master bedroom.

-----------

The smoke of the irish bar wrapped around the man as he stepped into it. The bastard sword on his left hip made those at the door look twice as the black two piece suit contrasted with the archaic weapon. With a casual motion Dr. Finch snapped his left arm out and brought the cuff of his shirt up so he could tighten the cufflink on it. With careful steps he crossed the room towards a man sitting at the bar. Settling in he placed both his hands palm down on the top of the bar.

“So you’ve been busy I hear.”

Ian looked up from the partially consumed dinner sitting on the top of the bar and looked over at Lazarus. “Well I’ll be damned, he lives.” Lazarus smiled at that and didn’t make eye contact. “It seems like we have a lead.” Ian nodded “I assumed he called you too? I was wondering if the kid had a point.” The necromancer nodded along with it. “I think he should take it into account.” With that Ian pushed the plate away. “So you’ve moved back into the house.”

Lazarus smiled. “Why yes I have.”
Hidden 8 yrs ago 8 yrs ago Post by Wind Wild
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Wind Wild A sprinkle of Weird

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Television


Day 2, Morning, 2254


It was another day, the sun was out again and the family of magpies that fussed around her window made no exception today, waking her up earlier than the alarm was set for. Toki loved the birds but she really wished they were bestowed with more melodic voices.

She yawned and stretched and went out on the balcony where she could stretch her wings too, one by one. She smiled at the neighbor who always stared at her as she did so and went back inside to brush her teeth and have some coke. Most people started the day with coffee or tea. Not for her, it was too bitter or too plain. Give her a sugar kick from the very start, that’s what she needed.
She also didn’t keep it in the fridge. Then it would be too cold.

As she put the TV on and stared at it vacantly, clutching her glass, she thought about yesterday. In a bizarre turn of events she had ended up spending the evening with a demon and what seemed like an Academy girl. Both brands of danger she generally preferred to stay away from. But it hadn’t been that bad, actually – they had a nice meal together and pretended like they hadn’t taken part in a horrific act of self-defense. Then they had parted ways and Toki had been left wondering if she should go talk to the police about it before they came to her.

The girl took an absent sip of coke and wondered what to do today. She didn’t have a full-time job (not even a part-time) so most days she would just explore Loom and look for anything interesting to shoot or anyone interesting to talk to. Today she wasn’t sure she wanted to find anything interesting. Just relax from yesterday and remember what “real life” was about. Mostly TV and popcorn.

She switched on her favorite channel and went to make breakfast. She liked her popcorn slightly burnt. They could be bitter. So she poured them in a big bowl, made herself comfortable and turned the volume up so she could hear it over the fussing magpies.

She loved watching TV. It’s one of those things she couldn’t give up on. Of course she never really missed as a child – there were no TVs in tHheeCaovuenncil…. Her brow furrowed as two memories blended together. That man, Solus, had warned her about this. She was seeing a past life.

Oh well. Hopefully it was even better than TV. Toki popped another popcorn in her mouth and enjoyed the show.



Tokarin blushed slightly and looked at the man next to her… but he wasn’t there. He’d never been there, at least not for the past few hundred years.

No, actually, that was untrue. She’d met him a week ago, at Canary Warf. He’d warned her that she’d start having flashbacks. And he’d looked nothing like the Solus from the memory.

He was missing. But she still had the Tv and the popcorn.
Hidden 8 yrs ago 8 yrs ago Post by Fairess
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Fairess

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Loom: Midtown Swait District

Day 2, Evening, 2254
Roanne


She was guided by a thread—the steady but invisible kind. In the sun it was a flicker, the shadow of a line cast by no particular object. In the dark it was like the slightest shimmer of a spider's webbing. When she focused on it, she could almost see it, piercing through buildings and street lamps as it led ever onward. Underneath her goggles, her brow was furrowed, honey-olive eyes unblinking as she glided over streets and alleys. Most humans would have imagined an angel's flight as being more graceful—her wings didn't glide through the air so much as grasp at it, feathers clawing at the sky as if they would drag it down along with the weight of her body.

Low altitude flying was annoying like that. She didn't stop flapping until she could veer around in a stoop, diving like a falcon for its prey, and that didn't come until the right moment. She had to wait until she sensed she was close, and by that time sweat was already beading her brow before it was whipped away by the wind. The red-brown of her hair followed her head like a flag at wartime, the rest of her body a blur as it passed, a burnished shadow over the street lights and cars.

There. Her lungs sucked in air as she suddenly launched herself upward, whistling up past the rooftops of seven-story buildings. She stayed there a moment, a shadow against the backdrop of stars as she tried to make sense of the maze of alleys below her. A cat licking itself as it lounged on a dumpster lid, a lamp flickering beneath a dark, curtained window, the slap-shut of a door as a shock of blonde hair disappeared into a car—no, there!

One girl, three guys, the former running away from the latter. Roanne only needed to see the silhouette of the frantic figure before she knew beyond a doubt the girl was the charge who'd summoned her through one of her wards. Her body whipped into motion again, her wings circling and gathering height as she prepared for her intervention.

Bird watchers and hunters had the pleasure of wondering at birds of prey, how the creatures somehow figured out the perfect diving angle, acceleration, and distance in the split seconds they had before committing to a stoop. Even Roanne didn't fully understand it, her wings sharpening into 'v's by instinct as she turned in the air and began her descent. Like an arrow, her arms and legs tightened together, her eyes boring into the scene below as she approached at rapid speed. Nothing moved as fast as she did in that moment, the arms and legs of her targets blurring as one particular item came into utter focus—one boy's gray hoodie. She barely heard his scream as he was forcibly yanked from the ground, the wind whistling sharply in her ears as she whistled through the narrow space between two buildings.

Her wings flapped furiously, gaining altitude rapidly before she turned around again. The remaining two boys had stopped and immediately started running backwards, but their sudden sense of danger was much too late. With her victim still kicking and screaming beneath the thick fabric in her hands, she grinned and promptly propelled herself forward into another stoop. Another dive took her into the alleyway again, but this time she dropped her victim at just as she was several feet above their heads, sending him flying into his fleeing friends with an ugly snap and a thud.

Rather than flying upward again, she flapped against her own momentum, stopping mid-air before dropping onto the pavement several yards in front of the toppled boys. As she turned around to face them, the stiff white of her wings seemed to fade before disappearing completely. Her mouth opened in a smile, about to say something before she was interrupted by gunfire.

Pling! The bullet meant for Roanne's face bounced off her arm instead. By the time she lowered it and glanced at her would-be killer, her heart stopped in icy shock. It wasn't some other thug shooting at her—it was the girl!

“The Hell is wrong with—” Another pling interrupted Roanne as a bullet bounced off her chest. She glared at the little ingrate as she stepped forward, unsheathing her blade. Just like that, the bond she'd felt guiding her to the nasty creature dissipated. Somehow, the girl had summoned her and given some air of danger when it was, in fact, her who turned out to be the threat.

And yes, that nasty creature was grinning, her youthful face wicked as a devil's. She had delicate brown curves tumbling down to her shoulders, the length of her tan arms exposed by a blue tank-top. More importantly, she had a gun pointed in Roanne's direction, and it popped again as a bullet came buzzing toward the angel.

“That is it!” Roanne roared as she came charging forward. Bizarrely, the girl didn't move the inch, just smiling and firing as the distance closed between them. Finally, Roanne was within a few feet, so close to striking distance when the girl suddenly just... changed.

The flesh of her face twisted and stretched in all of a second, expanding several times its former height as hair and lips and eyes disappeared. Two enormous black bulges began to emerge from the would-be head instead, fangs hissing outward as they popped out just below the bulges. Tan skin peeled away with a sickly pop, four long, spider-like legs flailing out from the girl's quickly disappearing torso. Before Roanne could even process what was happening, the thing shrieked, the equivalent of at least ten squeaky chalkboards being scraped at the same time—if they were attached to a cranked up amplifier.

Wincing as her ears rang, Roanne still managed to lunge forward and plunge her blade into the demon. At the same time, something cold and sharp stabbed into her side. She gasped, eyes wide as she stared into the empty depth of the demon's slimy face. As much as she didn't want to look, she had to, and sure enough, there it was—the demon's sharp, stinger-like leg slipped up into her side.

Stay calm, stay calm, just a flesh wound! Roanne sucked in a breath, trying to think past the pain needling through her nerves and directly into her brain. How had the damn thing's claw pierced the angelic mail under her shirt? If it was hard enough to do that, there was no way she'd be able to cut it off...

“Go back to Hell!” Screaming, Roanne ignored the hot wetness starting to soak her side. Her blade slid out from the demon's chest with a sickening pop before she jabbed it in again, this time slipping the blade into the wicket thing's mouth. Having already been all but dead, it shuddered once before spitting out a splatter of dark, thick blood across her face.

The angel cussed, using the pommel of her sword to bash the leg stuck in her side from its joint. It took a few cracks, another icky splurt, and then she was free to stumble back. Sucking air in through her teeth, she pulled out a slick black phone from her pocket and speed-dialed the only person she knew who'd help her clean up without any questions.
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Hidden 8 yrs ago 8 yrs ago Post by Howler
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Howler

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Loom: Midtown Swait District

Day 2, Evening, 2254
Zadkiel


"You should know that this isn't your fault."

Ricket woke up to cold concrete against his cheek, rough and damp. The world came in through a concussive fog, the kind of headache that blanketed the real pains like the one in his jaw. It screamed as he tried to move, jagged bone against jagged bone, and was almost certainly broken. A man in a cheap folding chair was talking to him from what felt like the other side of a bottle, muffled and distorted past the ringing in his ears. He tried to talk, regretted it with a sharp groan of pain, and spat old clots to the floor. The man gave him a minute to compose himself.

He was in a dungeon. That was pretty much the closest thing to it that he could figure, a concrete box cast in dim halogen yellow by the strip-light in the ceiling, and the only way out was a door that looked meant to take on some form of moving truck and win. In front of the door was a man that looked meant to take on some form of moving truck and win, shaved-gorilla big with buzzed hair the color of snow and sunglasses on indoors. He looked like he meant business in his black jacket, black shirt, black slacks, and Ricket remembered that he meant business from that time he'd kicked him across an alley and very nearly through the brick wall on the other side. It was coming back to him in staccato flashes, the chase, the catch, Goliath over there making a mosaic out of his mandible. As he tried to move the heavy chains around his neck and shoulders, wound around his wrists and trailing down between his legs to a hook in the floor behind him made themselves apparent, and as his mind cleared he found that he could struggle at best to a kneeling position so long as he didn't expect to raise his head much.

He managed an articulate gurgle, regretting it almost immediately with a groan. It had sounded something like "What?", and so that's apparently what the man in the chair decided to run with.

"This." He repeated, motioning around with a slight circle of his finger. He was as monochromatic as his gigantic friend, dressed in white from head to his apparently bare feet. The long sleeved tee was nothing special, nor were the slacks aside from being pristine, and the long white of his hair fell down to just below his chest in straight sheets. More than anything he looked tired, weary, like he'd carried a heavy load for long enough it was a part of him now, and he'd been slouching back in the chair before he'd leaned forward to better talk in his gentle, vaguely-Swedish sing-song. "The chains, the beating, the awful things you've done. Your life, if you can call it that. It's not your fault."

Inhuman strength wasn't getting Rickets anywhere with the chains, his arms and legs and back flexing against the thick metal and finding it unyielding. He was starting to panic, which was starting to make him angry, and his demonic heritage began to show itself more clearly in the claws curling from his fingertips, the sharp barbs curling through his knuckles. His shattered jaw was beginning to heal, and he talked through the pain anyway.

"What...are you...on about...?"

Not exactly Shakespeare, but it would do. Or maybe it wouldn't, judging by the 'give me patience' Heaven-ward eye-roll the man in the chair made before turning those baby-blues back to Ricket.

"Your name is Anthony Ricket, or at least that's what they call you. You've been ducking Peacekeepers for some time now." He watched him, his eyes even and tired, and the unpleasant sensation that he'd given this talk plenty of times before was hard to miss. "You've done some very bad things, Anthony."

"Fuck...you."

Ricket was starting to feel better, or at least starting to get stupid instead of scared. Who did this fucker think he was, some surface-dweller? Ricket had clawed his way out of Hell, for crying out loud, did the guy think his little bondage chamber and walking refrigerator were going to cow-tow him? He met the man with sharp eyes of defiance, and the man just sighed and put his hands together in front of his face. He closed his eyes. He moved slowly, as if it pained him or he had arthritis or something, and spoke just a little bit quietly. Rickets was annoyed to find himself straining to hear him.

"I'm going to be honest with you, Anthony, I really would like to skip this bit. Really. I'm going to tell you what's going to happen, and you're going to tell me to go to Hell, or to go--pardon my language--fuck myself, and play the big bad demon, and talk all about how much of a beast and a monster you are and it just isn't going to get you anywhere. It really won't. If you have to get it out of your system then I get it, but if you can just hold it together for me a little while longer this whole process will really just be so much simpler."

Wanting nothing more than to rip the condescending asshole's head from his shoulders and shove it down the macho-man's throat, Rickets was beginning to realize that he might actually be in trouble. He'd been struggling the whole time against the chains, which absolutely should have popped like bobby pins by now, and only really succeeded in reminding himself how generally battered he felt. The way the man was talking said he'd done all this before, which said that he'd survived doing it before, and (whether he wanted to admit it or not) there was something intimidating in that. How many other people had he put through whatever this process of his was? Had they all been demons? What the fuck was going on, here?

"Who the hell are you?" His jaw, if not completely fixed, was at least stable enough to support speech. Chalk one up for the bad guys. "What is this place?"

The man smiled slightly in relief--if nothing else, he'd been given a brief reprieve from the vitriol he knew full well demons such as Ricket were capable of. "Thank you. This is the Brightman-Dial Treatment and Housing Facility, though most just call it the BDT. It's also your new home, so welcome to it. As for me, here I am called Jasper Dial."

"Never heard of you."

"I hadn't expected you to." He agreed, visibly glad to have the conversation turned in a more pleasant direction. Placing his hands on his knees, he stood like an old man might despite being no older than fifty at most (and probably much younger than that, though it was hard to tell). His feet bare against the concrete, his hands tucking neatly into his pockets, he slouched as he stood but didn't break eye-contact with the demon and kept the pleasant smile on his face. "You might not believe me, Anthony, but I'm glad you're here. Really, I am. This world has done some awful things to you, it's about time we got you somewhere safe."

It was hard to tell quite what to feel, as far as Ricket was concerned, but the more the man talked the more 'confused' became a primary emotion, followed swiftly by his old friend 'angry'. Really, what the fuck was this guy talking about?

"Is this some prison, then?" Ricket laughed, the sound rough and aggressive past his lengthened, bloody teeth. No one could mistake him for a human now, any vestige of disguise gone. His face had pulled into a rictus mask, his lips stretched back above rows of teeth. His eyes sunk to jaundiced gleams in the skullish contours of his face, forehead stretching and molding to a crown, there was nothing left of the human he'd pretended to be. "Something the Peacekeepers cooked up? Maybe you should worry less about what the world has done to me and more about what I'm going to do to you as soon as I slip these chains."

The man's disappointment was visible, his shoulders and head dropping, but he raised them once more with a forced smile. "Alright, Anthony, you're doing really well. Let's not mess that up, alright? You're not going to slip those chains, just like you wouldn't do anything to me if you did. That time in your life is past and done with, it's over now. I'm happy to say that starting today, we start in on a new chapter in Anthony Ricket's life, the one where you start to make something of it."

"If I'm not going to hurt you if I get out of these chains," Ricket grinned, letting his teeth click together a bit, "then why not take them off?"

"Oh I will, Anthony. I absolutely will. As soon as you've put your old life behind you, as soon as you can see how far down this dark road you've gone, I will personally undo those chains and let you make your way upstairs to greet the rest of our little family." There was something painfully annoying about being spoken to like that, something deeply irritating about such condescension. The man they called Jasper Dial around here was talking to him like a fucking child, like he was some kind of retarded, and Ricket was quickly deciding he was having enough of it.

"Look, fucker, I don't know who you think you're talking to but if you think you're going to--"

"Stop."

And he did. Ricket absolutely stopped, because the air buzzed when Jasper said that little word and suddenly his mouth was shut. It was simple as that. And much through he tried, Anthony Ricket could not open it to continue the diatribe that had been building while this idiot told him what a good boy he was. Jasper looked relieved, smiling appreciatively.

"Thank you." He added politely, for good measure. "I really do appreciate it. You don't know how often I've heard your kind go down that little tangent. 'You don't know me', 'I'm a terrible, powerful demon', 'If you think you can break me', and all that. Trust me, it's not as original as you think, which isn't exactly a surprise. It's a perfectly reasonable response to your situation, which is exactly my point. Everything you are, everything you've done so far, is a perfectly reasonable response to your situation. It's how you're wired, how you're programmed. Born of the void, without the God's love to sustain you, you lash out like any child would." It would have been easier for Ricket to ignore him if he could speak yet, but apparently he still couldn't. His jaw just wouldn't work, his vocal chords just wouldn't hum. What the fuck was going on?

"It's only natural." He was continuing, and this part of it all seemed particularly rehearsed, as if he'd said it dozens of times before if not more. "Really. Without essence you'll die, and only be stealing it from others can you attain it. What a horrible existence, Anthony!" For perhaps the first time he appeared some form of distressed, honest emotion curling into his voice as he knelt to meet the demon's silent eye. "I can't imagine what it must be like, to be without something so essential--that's where the word comes from, you know, 'essential'. 'Essence'. Something of absolute importance, the intrinsic nature of something that cannot be further reduced. That something that makes you you, that defines your character. And that, Anthony, is why I say that this isn't your fault."

Reaching forward, Jasper placed a hand on the demon's shoulder. Though he recoiled, sharply, and at first opened his mouth to snap at the wrist and hand of this creature that bound him, he stopped halfway to it at the look in Jasper's eyes. There was something there, an alarmingly pleading warning, that gave him pause, and for the first time since he woke up Ricket was afraid. He closed his mouth, then, and watched the man's warning turn to a relieved smile with wary eyes that tried not to be afraid.

"Thank you." Jasper added, closing his eyes and nodding. "I appreciate your restraint. Do you see, Anthony? Even with nothing of yourself but what you've stolen, even with nothing to define you or nurture you, you are capable of dignity and nobility. That's what this is about, Anthony. That is why I want you to know that all of this, all the pain and horror of it, is not your fault. So I'm going to give you that essential piece, that something that will define you. Today, in this room. And once you have it you'll never have to debase yourself again. There are very few individuals in the world, Anthony, who can claim to be truly righteous, but freed from the awful lack that you and your kind are born into and from you will be...righteous."

He sighed and breathed out, shuddering softly with conviction. When he opened his eyes, the blue practically blazed above his now warm smile. And, as an after thought.

"You may speak now."

When his jaw unclenched and he was sure that his vocal chords would work, Ricket chose his words carefully and slowly. One at a time.

"You. Are. Fucking. Crazy."

And Jasper deflated. He sighed, letting his eyes fall shut and his head fall slightly, his shoulders losing the vitality they'd had and returning to their slouch. He seemed older in an instant, and weary, but beneath all that weight was resolve, and he got to his feet with the same achy motions as before as Ricket continued.

"No, really. Do you even hear yourself, right now? You're the one that should be in chains, asshole, how about you let me do some fucking counseling for a bit! I'm not about to--"

But he stopped, just then, and not because Jasper made him. Instead he stopped because the most incongruous of sounds was echoing around the chamber, and it took him a minute to realize that it was coming from the gorilla's cell phone. It spat out some tinny jingle, obviously never changed from whatever it once had been at the store it was purchased from, and as he made no move to answer it Ricket looked back to his crazy captor to find his eyes closed and his lips pursed in the first display of irritation he'd seen. Jasper Dial, it would appear, did not like to be interrupted mid-session.

"...you need to take that?" Ricket finally snorted after the fourth repetition of the ring, smirking up from where he knelt as the man straightened without opening his eyes. He extended a hand and, silently, the giant plodded over and placed a slim black cell-phone into Jasper's palm. He swiped it open with visible patience, the bodyguard settling impassively at his side as Jasper placed the phone to his ear. He hadn't even know he had service down here. His other hand he extended to the demon, who incredulously watched him raise a give me a minute finger and strike up a conversation with forced cheer.

"Roanne. It's been too long."
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Hidden 8 yrs ago 8 yrs ago Post by Themerlinhawk
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Themerlinhawk Aegis Kai Doru

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The Angel

Ian

Themerlinhawk


Ian walked down the street in front of the bar. It was starting to get dark and for the first time in weeks he didn’t feel the need to do anything. Infact everything was oddly quiet. No ranting Koshmar, no Namshiel, no Alexsteria. Tapping along on the head of Fidrieon where it hung on his left hip the thirty some odd year old musician for the first time in as long as he could remember. Had nothing to do, it was an odd feeling from back when he lived in the states and when everything was provided for him.

With a gentle sigh he walked over to a bench and settled down on it watching the sun dip. Once upon a time it would have made him sad, reminiscent of times when about now he’d be scaling the outer wall of the girls dormitory at the Academy. It had been a long time since he’d seen Iris and the chances were high he'd never see her again. It was a sad thought but they had both made their choices. So had Thomas and it was clear the weight of several life times worth of hard decisions weighed on a soul which had many times outlived its body. With a fresh sigh Ian dug in the breast pocket of his jacket and produced a picture. The girl in it wasn’t Iris and he certainly looked much different in the image.

“I’m sorry Beat. You know I never meant for all of this to happen. I hope one day I can say this to you in person. Hell, even if I can't I just hope you're out there somewhere. I know the Academy is full of shit, Hazumi is lying too. She'd have sent a task force if you'd been killed and I broke into their database. I know no one ever went to look for you. I want you to know I haven't given up. Lashiel’s just a distraction, Lazarus is back. Even if he has more secrets than the whole Academy combined, he owes me.”

Touching. I rather thought you were broken up about the Nightmare Queen still and here I find that all those feelings lasted this long. I’ll never understand you. Which is probably good for you. Keeps things interesting, really. What are you even going to do when you find her?

“Tell her I'm sorry and then tell her the truth”

The Phantom form of Daniel, the Russian Nightmare quirked an eyebrow at Ian. Levering himself up Ian gave a nod of his head up at the skyline. “what's that look like to you?” Koshmar looked up and frowned.

Trouble

“Agreed”

Going to call the High Necromancer?

Liam gave the shade a dubious look. No doubt he looked like a madman to people walking by since Koshmar was a projection of his mind. “You think we can't handle a slightly suspicious lone Angel?”

No but you can be a bit of a bitch sometimes. Like really did you need a rocket to deal with those angels last time? Seems to me like you are concerned you're losing your edge

Ian snorted at the ridiculousness of the comment. He was easily in the prime of his life even compared to five or six years ago. It was meant to get a rise out of him. Koshmar had long since seriously given up trying to bait him but it was in the prime personality of Fidrieon interest to at least maintain so semblance of churlishness. “you're a dick”

You may have previously mentioned such an observation

“Just making sure you heard.”

Dubious reasoning at best given that I live In your head. You know I bet Sam is wild in bed. I'm interested to see if you ever manage to find her. Could be amusing.

The bitter anger in Ian's chest flared for a second before he let it subside. Koshmar was just the way he was. Nothing was going to come of getting angry at the sociopathic personality.

“Wake up Alex. Might need to back up”

Oh please we don't need that dumb whore. You and I were just fine without her fighting Solus. Why do you insist on making use of her.

“Just do it”

If you insist..

With quick strides Ian took off after the fast moving angel. Reaching back he plucked Namshiel from his lower back and slide the mask over his face. With a snarl the hunter was off.




Ian leaned against the wall of the alley way and peered around it carefully. What he saw was rather interesting. A female Angel who appeared to be a battle angel was having it out with a species of surface demon he’d never seen before. Which on its own wasn’t terribly surprising to him as there were so many of them. Watching the female fight she finally got the better of the demon and ran it through. Immediately after that she began checking herself before fishing for a phone, it appeared the demon had caught her a nasty blow. Slowly drawing his handgun Ian stepped around the corner and approached her from behind. “Miss, are you alright.” Ian measured the distance of her swords reach carefully and prepared Fidrieon mentally. The pain in her face was clear and it looked like a nasty wound on her side. Taking his handgun he carefully holstered it and held up his hands.

“May I see your injury?”

Careful, She may be ark

Hunt

Who is this bitch?!

“Oh goodness…”

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Loom: Midtown Swait District

Day 2, Evening, 2254
Roanne, Zadkiel, Ian


"Roanne. It's been too long."

Stupid. The smile Jasper's voice brought to her lips flinched into a wince as her free hand grasped the quickly-soaking spot on her side. “Hey, you. Please tell me you have time for an appointment right about now.”

Silent for a moment, the irony of the situation was lost on neither of the two men on the other end. "I take it there's a reason this can't wait until tomorrow." Jasper offered neutrally as he straightened and tilted his head to the ceiling, the better not to have to watch Ricket's growing mirth and to keep his voice and patience level. "Are you in trouble?"

She laughed--or rather, began to before the mirthful jerk of her chest made the claw in her side spark with pain. Her breath caught, carefully silenced before she answered. "Maybe a little. I've got three gangsters, a corpse, and less blood than I'd like. How fast can you get here?"

From where he knelt, Ricket couldn't help but play the peanut gallery.

"Listen, if you've got other plans I can always just--"

"Shush." Raising his finger once more pointedly to silence the man in chains, who was very nearly cackling, Jasper kept his eyes pointedly on the ceiling as his mind ran through a few basic calculations. "That depends where you are and how seriously I am needed personally."

She snorted, half amused and half insulted that such a situation didn't garner his immediate attention. "I'm not interrupting a date, am I? Because if you think my ass isn't worth whatever you're getting over there, I'm going to rip this thorn out of my side and make it yours."

"Is that a woman?" Rickets was in stitches, now, actually laughing. It echoed around the chamber, the demon grinning up to his captor--anything that threw this asshole off his game was a victory in his book. "Are you telling me a freak like you has a girlfriend?"

"A good friend." Jasper corrected pointedly, looking back down to the demon with eyes that might even have been slightly narrowed in irritation. "And my relationship with Roanne is none of your business. Now--"

"So you're in a relationship, then."

Closing his eyes, Jasper offered a long-suffering sigh. "Alba?" The laughing on the other end of the phone was replaced by the wet packing sound of a fist on flesh and flesh on the floor, a distant wet cough not entirely dissimilar from Roanne's own. Jasper returned to the phone with a roll of his eyes.

"I'm sorry, my guest is being rude. Where are you?"

Roanne couldn't help but smile, though it was short lived as she stumbled to rest her good side against the alley wall. "God, what sort of nonsense are you up to? Two-hundred East and Beckstreet, last I checked. In an alley across from... a pawn shop, looks like. The boys aren't going anywhere, if you were looking for som—ngh! Some new redemption project. Things are getting worse, Jasper. I was set up."

"That can be discussed shortly enough."

By now Ricket was getting used to lying facedown on the concrete floor. With the massive man's foot in his back crushing the air from his lungs (and threatening to break more than one of his ribs in the process), he didn't have enough room to breathe let alone taunt the man in white who was currently rubbing at the bridge of his nose.

"Stay out of sight, I'll arrive with assistance shortly. Do not leave the alley and do not draw attention to yourself. I'm on my way."

Rather than give her time to interrupt a witty quip with some injury-related noise, Jasper swiped the call and let out a well-held sigh. Of course she would get herself into some trouble that just so happened to demand his attention in the middle of something. Why wouldn't she? Handing the phone back to Alba, who stepped off the demon and slid it back into his jacket's breast pocket, he turned and made for the door.

"Wait, are you kidding me?" Ricket growled past the coughing fit he was having trying to suck the air back into his lungs. "You can't just leave me like this!"

"I'm sorry. I'll return soon enough and appreciate your patience." Jasper said without looking, his mind obviously on other things. Alba fell silently into step just behind him, moving ahead only to pry open the hatch that served as the chamber door. "In the meantime, I invite you to reflect upon the ill that has come to the world as a result of your actions and know that shortly you serve instead as the force of good that I know you are capable of being."

"You can't do this!" Rickets shouted, trying to haul himself up against the chains and reaching their limits for the umpteenth time that evening. "You can't fucking leave me here! I swear, when you get back—"

But Jasper wouldn't find out what would happen to him when he got back. Alba had clasped the door back tight, locking it with a swift jerk to the wheel on the other side, and whatever noise Rickets hoped to make was lost.

"Thank you, Alba." Jasper smiled slightly, moving to hobble his way towards the stairs up to the facility and the garage, already preparing himself for what he may find upon his arrival. "I was starting to get a headache."
~---~

Roanne snorted as the call clicked off, in a little too much pain to think about what sort of rebuttal the tepid angel deserved. She could feel the heat of her blood running down her leg, a steady little stream of life leaving. But as long as she didn't remove the offensive claw, all that blood wouldn't come gushing out until she passed out and...

"Damn!" Roanne hissed, her fist making a soft thud against the brick wall. It wasn't as though she'd been careless, but at the same time, there hadn't really been time to process the situation. If that thing'd had a single other second to fully transform, she'd be... well. What sort of demon was it, anyways, piercing through angelic mail with its bare body like that? And why hadn't she seen its demonic aura sooner?

The sound of footsteps in the quiet street immediately alerted her to another presence. Her body was a shock of reaction rather than thought and movement, almost as if she moved by instinct alone when she snapped around. She would have readied her blade, too, but—Do not leave the alley and do not draw attention to yourself. Jasper was coming for her, and ramming into another conflict could put more than just herself at risk. So she took a moment for herself, easing her shoulders and forcing a smile as she met the sight of a gun.

She herself was an interesting sight, goggles covering up most of her face in the dark. There was nothing fancy on her—just a brown leather jacket slightly parted over a green camisole and casual jeans. Were it not for the blood drizzling down her leg and the nicks in her shirt and jacket where silver glinted in the slight moonlight, she might have seemed like an every-day, sword slinging sort of maverick. She gave that blade a light little twirl, flicking the blood off the silvery metal.

“Don't know a whole lot of ways to fix a wound with a gun.” Roanne rested a hand on her good hip, leaning slightly on one leg. “Believe me when I say it's best for you to be walking in the opposite direction.”

@Themerlinhawk ; (co-post with @Howler)
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The Angel

Day 2, Evening, 2254
Roanne, Zadkiel, Ian


This bitch is clearly, ARc. Put a round in her fucking head and lets move on Ian

Shut your whore mouth Alex before I flay you back into insanity you dumb bitch.

Prey?

Holy fuck not you too Nashiel go back to playing with something sharp you damn animal

I’m going to eat your heart, Koshmar

Ian blinked a few times at the internal dialogue his eyes tracking the sword in the angels hand. While the three of them were having it out internally Ian was still trying to determine if he was going to need the .45 he’d just holstered or if she was perhaps the victim of something?

If she was the victim why did we see her headed towards this alley at approaching the sound barrier.

Kill her. Be safe.

A vein in Ian’s temple bulged as the comments kept coming internally before he finally growled out loud. “Y’all need to shut the hell up.” Realizing his face had contorted into a snarl and that he probably looked like a freak and for sure dangerous now he sighed and rolled his eyes before turning back to the angel standing back away from him sword not quite pointed at him. This had really gone sideways; try and be helpful for once and it all fell apart. It was starting to feel like all he could do nowadays was kill people effectively. That was what the academy had trained him to do but at the time they had been dealing with threats directly to the Essence of the World and to the institution itself.

The memories of the Illuminati assault on the academy still came bubbling up out of the muck of his memories occasionally. It had been a dark day for everyone; it was also coincidentally the day most people realized just how deadly Lazarus and Solus were. Atleast the students had; the other faculty had just received a reminder of the fact. “Yeah, they don’t which is why I put it away. As for walking away I can’t. At Least not officially.” Tugging Fidrieon from its sheath on his left hip he twisted the nickel plated flute in his left hand. I am the long arm of the Academy unfortunately. Which means that I certainly have some leeway in what I get to do as compared to a peacekeeper but given that you ran a demon though I’m fairly certain that is still grounds for execution in Loom.”

Hypocrit

Stuff it

“Not that I plan on tattling, I just need to know what happened.”
Cause if you are an ARc member then we’d have to put a bullet through your pretty little skull

Ian did his best not to acknowledge the fact Koshmar had a decent point. With a smooth practiced motion Ian slid Fidrieon back into the leather case on his left hip and kept his hands away from the gun on his right hip. Realistically Fidrieon was a significantly deadlier threat but very few people save those who’d see the Academies musicians in action knew just how potent the Fragments were when in the hands of a master. Sure the students were something to be worried about but in the last few years the new waves of full fledged Musicians had shown that while the Essence of the World might be gone; her power still walked the streets of Loom in the hands of her chosen.

Looking over his shoulder Ian wondered how long it would take before someone noticed the mess. This could get really bad; luckily Hazumi wasn’t still watching otherwise no doubt there would be peacekeepers breathing down their necks within a few minutes.

Angel

Yes. We know she’s an angel

The inflection from Namshiel was off. Koshmar assumed the demon was making an observation about the one in front of them. The word didn’t seem to indicate that was the intention of the word. Then again Namshiel was rarely complicated, maybe Koshmar was right?

Phone call

There it was. The predator had picked up on something they had forgotten to consider. There Was someone coming. It was just a matter of time. Which meant that he was working with bored time as far as this confrontation was concerned. That and he had no back up. Yet.

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Loom: Midtown Swait District

Day 2, Evening, 2254
Roanne, Ian


“Heh.” Roanne's shoulders strained with contained laughter as she smiled back. That look on his face was downright murderous, the muscle on his forehead so tense she could see a vein pop. He seemed to be talking more to himself than her at first, his hands unable to decide whether or not they wanted to attack as he drew and withdrew an instrument. Were she prey, she would have felt fidgety, even afraid, but the relaxed curve of her back and the hilt held loosely in her fingers betrayed no such sentiments. She wasn't an idiot—he could attack at any moment—but making her guard seem low was meant to be placating and energy conserving.

She spat out a gob of blood that had been collecting in her mouth. “I'm not sure if there's anyone else in Loom as heavy-handed and ignorant as mages. Give them a glimpse of the universe and they get the idea that all of creation answers to them. There's nothing to be gained by fighting you, so I'm going to try and help you understand what you just walked into.”

It was too early to be exerting herself again, but she put on a good show, legs steady even as she cradled one arm around the bloody claw attached to her side. Casually, she made her way over to the three boys groaning on the asphalt. The one with the gray hoodie yelped as she poked him with her foot. “These are called gangsters. Gangsters rob and kill people who intrude on their turf. I stopped them. Like that hideous corpse over there—I stopped it from killing more people, nothing more, nothing less.”

Sighing, Roanne swung the flat of her blade over her shoulder and slowly began to walk towards the mage. Even without his introduction, she could see it—the aura, like bright red smoke wisping off his body before dissipating into the air, which marked him as a human in possession of magic. “That view from the Academy is just so high, isn't it? Must be disorienting, condescending all the way down here to tell me what Hazumi's idea of law is. All I'm concerned with is keeping people who can't defend themselves away from the cowering monsters in front of you. Monsters that, by the way, you failed to keep in check just now.”

If Ian didn't flinch away or otherwise move, he'd find himself side by side with the angel as she sauntered ever forward. Her eyes were more gold than green the closer they were, almost metallic. And she was still smiling.

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The Angel

Day 2, Evening, 2254
Roanne, Ian


Ian rolled his eyes as she called him a mage. It was a common misconception about the musicians. It was actually quite rare for them to be both a musician and a mage. As she lowered his guard he carefully folded his arms and watched her walk towards the gang bangers she had cornered. Snorting at her comment about arrogant Ian let her continue with her with her tirade in his general direction. She was still bleeding and it was clear from her breathing that she was hiding a fair bit of pain behind a tough demeanor.

As she sarcastically lectured him on the gang members and the demon she’d killed he let the right corner of his mouth curve towards a smile. Watching her march right up to him, Ian kept the smile tugging at his lips in check as she got right up in his face. The angel smelled like blood and something that he couldn’t quite place; some sort of flower? Best to leave it be. It was funny how she was railing against him of all people. The one who was actually on the streets helping people. It was amazing how sour things had become with the absence of Hazumi; not only that but it was clear this woman didn’t have a clue. Hazumi had given everything to Loom with the death of Judas, ofcourse she never left the Academy so it was no surprise many of the people in Loom were out of touch.

With Roanne right in his face Ian looked her right in her strangely colored eyes and said a single word. “Musician.” Chuckling gently Ian ignored her sword and took her elbow gently and lifted to see the damage from the claw. “Okay tough stuff time to get you off your feet till whoever you called shows up. Unlike the high and mighty Hazumi, I do in fact give a shit; however you will have to forgive my lack of speed. I lack wings” Still chuckling Ian looked over his shoulder towards the entrance to the alley. “You might as well sit here.”

What are you doing?

Ian ignored Koshmar’s voice in his ear and continued attending to Roanne. “You’ll have to excuse my skepticism. Lately I’ve been dealing with an angelic terrorist organization in Loom so I can never be too careful.” Drawing Fidrieon Ian pressed the flute to his lips and played a quick five note melody which resonated down the alleyway. The gang bangers eyes rolled back in their heads and they collapsed to the ground. Best to incapacitate them until peacekeepers could be called.

“You’re right though. The peacekeepers and the Musicians are largely out of touch with the world. Especially given that no one has to answer for anything anymore” Very carefully Ian put his hand on her shoulder and extended his other hand to help her slide down the wall of the alleyway. “As much as I might like to ask you not to judge me it's hardly fair given my immediate response to you. I’m Ian by the way. Forgive me for not leading with that.”
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Loom: Midtown Swait District

Day 2, Evening, 2254
Roanne, Ian, and Zadkiel


The white van slid smoothly through city streets like it was meant to, nearly anonymous but for the soft green logo on its side. A stylized tree shooting up from a seed, BTD lettered rising along its side, it was surprisingly and exactly what it looked like. It didn't have rocket jets or gimmicks, it didn't have an after-market engine or fancy tires--it was an outreach van, plain and simple, but it had pulled its weight time and time again. Steady and reliable, exactly how Jasper liked it as he sat in the passenger's seat and closed his eyes so as not to have to stare at the improbably long red light in front of them for yet another minute. It had been that way for more than two now, significantly higher than the city average, and if he had to admit it he was starting to--

Move. Thank God.

A few minutes later the van slid to a halt across Beacher K's Pawn, its thick white door sliding open to reveal Alba's massive figure in the doorway. He filled it almost completely, stepping out and rolling his neck a moment to uncrink it before steeping to the passenger's door and opening it. Rubra was already making her way around the front, her red hair worn in a tight, high pony-tail that cascaded down her back in a shock of color that was almost alarming considering the muted palates of her monochromatic companions. Certainly Jasper, as he stepped from the vehicle, was not nearly so stylish. White on white, wraithlike, he accepted Alba's massive hand with a murmur of gratitude and stepped down to the sidewalk properly, sliding his hands once more into his pockets.

Roanne seemed to be her usual cheerful self, making friends and insulting people. The angel was dedicated, which was admirable, but also had little patience for those that she didn't feel felt as deeply as she did. It could be...trying, though the young man she spoke with was doing a good job of not rising to the bait. He was certainly no miscellaneous bystander judging by his aura and instrument, certainly interested in Roanne despite Jasper having specifically requested her not to draw attention to herself. He sighed, stifled a roll of his eyes, and let his face clear into a pleasant smile as he stepped forward towards the pair, Alba and Rubra falling silently in step behind him.

"Making friends, Roanne?" Jasper offered by way of introduction, making his way with slow, achy steps. For many people it was difficult to determine what to make of Jasper, his mild memory modifications constantly adjusting not perception but the memory of it. Though he wore nothing but white and his clothes were pristine, most people remembered (and 'saw') that he wore a brown suit and tie. Though he walked bare-foot on the cement and blacktop of the city most people remembered ('saw') him in loafers. And though the pair of massive white wings that stretched from his shoulder blades nearly touched the ground on either side of him, most people didn't remember those at all.

But musicians were not most people. If Ian's guard was up at all he would not be so easily fooled. The man was an angel--a barefoot, dressed-in-white angel--and Jasper doubted if he would see differently.

"I hope she hasn't been rude to you. She's in pain, as you can see, and not herself. Ian, you said your name was, do I have that right? It's a pleasure to meet you, Ian." He added, offering a thin hand and a weary smile. "My name is Doctor Jasper Dial. These are my associates, Mr. Alba and Ms. Rubra." The latter of them did not extend a hand, watching Ian from behind her glasses wordlessly. The former of them was already padding towards the unconscious gangsters, moving to check pulses and sling them over his huge shoulders to haul back to the van.

"Thank you for taking care of her. It's amazing how the lights in this city can completely ignore you, isn't it?" His conversation was pleasant and easy as he moved to kneel beside the guardian, doing his best to conceal a slight twinge in the process. He lay an easy hand on her shoulder.

"It's good to see you, though I wish the circumstances were better. Let's get you patched up."
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Loom: Midtown Swait District

Day 2, Evening, 2254
Roanne, Ian, and Zadkiel


She grit her teeth, unable to keep the blood from rushing to her cheeks. It was karma, perhaps, that she should wind up quite so humiliated after making idle threats to Jasper. Curled up on the ground, being fussed over--Goddammit, this isn't me! People can't have faith in this! Roanne felt a sharp pang in the back of her skull as her thoughts smacked against it. She was going to wind up with a headache on top of the pain spiking through her side if she didn't get it together.

“Jasper—” Her hand moved to his wrist, but stopped before she could shove his light grasp off her. As her gaze met his, something seemed to snap in her tight half-smile, her lips softening into a real one. How could she berate him? A sly remark would taste too bitter, the warmth of his hand and the reassurance of his presence damning any sense of ingratitude brought on by his teasing. Hate it as much as she did, she was in his debt. Again. Without having to expend any strength of his own, she could feel the bond between them surge in her body. Her heart literally strained at first, pressured by every connecting vein as her angelic essence flared awake. For all his quiet grace, the ambivalence he seemed to exude, the burning strength of his will seemed to fill every pore of her body.

To become the metaphysical extension of righteous desire, to defy the reality of personal despair—that was the true nature of a Guardian's essence, and it was impossible to manifest without a source of will to embody. She'd lost that strength as soon as the girl-demon had turned on her, which had undoubtedly been part of its plan. Trapped in a state of vulnerability with only her instincts and claws to attack with, the demon's raw strength would have been enough to tear her apart if she'd hesitated for even a second. Only as the power came gushing from under her skin did she realize just how dire her situation had been.

“You were faster than I anticipated.” Roanne's free hand slipped down to the claw before yanking it out without hesitation. The sickening, suckling sound of its leaving was followed by a gush of fresh blood. Red streams soaked down the tears of her jacket, the metallic stench of blood warming the air immediately near her. Yet her smile didn't so much as flinch.

The bleeding stopped. Roanne chuckled freely, standing up as she examined the claw in one hand and her sword in the other. “I'm sorry to make you deal with it. Sloppy of me, huh? But I guess there's no denying it now: the demons are getting stronger. They've been feeding.”

Her gaze swiveled to Ian, and this time she slipped the goggles off her face and down around her neck. “You're right about the judgment thing. I know how peacekeepers and you Academy pawns think. That killing a demon on any grounds should be punishable means you and I probably won't get along all that well. Demons aren't equipped to kill angels—everything they've evolved thus far has been to hunt humans in pursuit of the same level of power. For every dead angel, there's a hundred, sometimes a thousand human lives gone with it. That's the prelude to war that's starting now, right here in the streets.”

She flicked her sword dismissively, sighing. “When you were busy fussing over me, you left yourself completely open to attack. I didn't react because I was shocked by my own response—that I actually thought about killing you. So maybe I do owe you an apology. We're even.”
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The Angel

Day 2, Evening, 2254
Roanne, Ian, Dial


Turning towards the voice Ian wrinkled his nose at the individual. Those who projected onto reality their own design were a pain in the ass to deal with. Rubbing his eyes he left Koshmar take over his senses. The Fragment saw the world as it was as far as Ian could tell there was very little that could fool the fragment as it derived its power from Hazumi herself. Taking in the Angel Koshmar neatly filled in the details that Ian needed. Not terribly happy with the individual standing in front of him. “Jasper Dial, one of the many alias on record with the Academy for none other than Jegudiel, a suspected Seraphim. You are not high on my list of people who I was dying to see today. That being said at least I know you will clean this shit up and take the fall if someone finds out. And yes. She’s quite abrasive but then again most of the best people are.”

With a quick hop Ian stepped out of the way and let Dial’s lackeys step past. He’s a Tamer, that's an interesting note. Ian’s eyes flicked to the form of Koshmar who was leaning against the wall across from him. It was fascinating how far Koshmar had come from only manifesting in his nightmares. Iris had done something to him and Ian had never figured out what had happened to change Koshmar’s presence.

Meeting Roanne’s eyes again Ian quirked his eyebrow. “Its funny how quickly you jump to such conclusions about who I am and what I stand for. I think you will find that I am well aware of what is going on in Loom. It’s not just the demons, it’s the humans and the angels. We are all responsible. Your hatred and fear of me is not going to get you far I can tell you that much. Like it or not The Academy and the Peackeepers are the best line of defense we have right now. I’m on the front line of that war and I’m well aware.” At her comment about leaving himself open his face contorted into a rather grim smile. “Yes, I guess I did didn’t I. It's amazing how people are so willing to slap away a helping hand nowadays. Be Careful about that, you never know who might take offense to that and shove their hand down your throat.”

You’re really going to just defend these people?

Walking down away from the group of people cleaning up Roanne's mess; Ian slumped against the wall until he was sitting. With a heavy sigh musician looked up at the sky. He wasn’t sure if he was out of earshot of the other two but this would have to do. “What else do I have to live for? These are the people I promised to protect. Just because the people I care about protecting are gone doesn’t mean I get to give up.”

I guess I see the point. But why don’t you just leave and look out for yourself?

“Duty. Stupid as that sounds.’

Ian. We’ve all loved once. Koshmar doesn’t remember and Namshiel doesn’t understand love but I agree with what you are doing. It’s the hard thing but the right thing.

Amazingly Alexsteria had said something not only coherent but...positive. The world really was going to hell now wasn’t it.@Fairess@Howler
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Loom: Midtown Swait District

Day 2, Evening, 2254
Roanne, Ian, and Zadkiel

Ah, the squabbling of children.

Well alright, to be fair they weren't children children, but Jasper had seen more than his share of folks come and go and knew well enough that even the oldest of men couldn't understand the longest picture, let alone the youngest of angels who so acutely felt the injustice of the world and longed to fix it. Therein lay the true struggle between angels and demons--the eldest among both had learned long ago to be measured in their approach, to fight the war and not the battle. It was the resurgent youth on either side that kept up this conflict so adamantly and so viciously, their battleground increasingly visible along with their casualties.

Of course, that outlook was what got them all into this mess to begin with.

As his associates did the heavy lifting (literally), Jasper cocked his head and really examined this well-meaning stranger who'd gotten into such a bickering match. Tall, dark haired, bearded, trained--he spoke of danger and training in equal measure, and if his retreat to muttering was any indication perhaps mental illness as well. Could he be treated, Jasper wondered, without rendering him less than what he was? He'd learned the hard way that most such fellows took issue to such questions, and so held his tongue on the matter and focused instead on Roanne as he helped her to her feet.

"We are all of us together in this fight for decency and dignity." Jasper reminded them only slightly sanctimoniously, bending to examine her side slightly before straightening with reasonably-well-restrained effort. "You fight your battle and he fights his. Alba, the van if you will." He added over his shoulder without looking for no apparent reason--the massive demon was already tossing the gangers unceremoniously in the back of the van, a rolled tarp the only thing there to catch them. If they weren't unconscious, they likely would have been quite a handful.

"If you'd like a ride back to the center, Roanne, you're certainly welcome." He offered as he made his way towards the muttering man in the alley, Rubra falling into step behind him like a shadow. As they drew near, she reached into a jacket pocket and handed a business card to the man mechanically--it listed Dr. Jasper Dial, M.D., D.O., at the address of the BDT facility down town.

"As are you, should you or your colleagues have need of it. You're right, of course--I am Jegudiel, as your database no doubt indicates, and profanity aside I will be more than happy to take care of the cleanup. As for taking the fall, please direct anyone inquiring to speak with me--I've no doubt we will reach a reasonable agreement on the matter." He smiled and offered a hand, slipped from his pocket, though whether or not the man shook it he would turn to head back towards the van. "Speaking of, I'm afraid I've work to do. You've caught me somewhat in the middle of something. Do keep up the good work, however, it will take the both of you and then some active on the streets to keep our flock safe."
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Hidden 8 yrs ago Post by Themerlinhawk
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Themerlinhawk Aegis Kai Doru

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The Angel

Day 2, Evening, 2254
Roanne, Ian, Dial


Looking up at the Angel Ian took his hand and shook it. “I appreciate it. You’ll never hear it from the higher ups but we are spread rather thin. Luckily we may have gotten one of the Academy’s heavy hitters back tonight so hopefully we can make some serious headway with the way things have been.” Pushing himself up from the ground Ian dusted off his jeans and gave the Angel a half grin.

So much lately he’d had to kill surface angels it was nice to finally have a non violent run in with them. Tucking the business card away Ian wrinkled his nose. “I know that this may be souring the generally more peaceful mood but, If I find out that either of you are related to the terrorist, angelic purist group ARc our next meeting will not go so nicely. I sincerely hope that never comes to pass.”

With that Ian gave Roanne one last look before he nodded to Jasper. “Have a nice evening. I’m not hard to find, the Academy can put you in touch if there is anything you need.” Stepping out onto the street Ian walked past the van started up the street. Plucking an earpiece from his jacket he fitted it to his ear. Taking his phone from his pocket he scrolled through the contacts quickly and selected a number with the name “Lexicon” as the phone rang he looked at himself in the reflection from a shop window. Koshmar stared back at him in the window.

Are you really planning on asking Devil for help?

Ian snorted as he kept walking, it was true that this was a rather risky proposition but he needed to know if he should have been worried about Roanne and Jasper. There was only one individual who could help him. The person who had given him the original records on Lashriel. “You know this is why lots of people think I’m insane. You make me talk to you out loud and then they just assume I’m ill.” The soft chuckle that returned confirmed that Koshmar was in fact very aware of the fact that he made Ian look crazy.

The line finally picked up and a voice like honey over gravel spoke. “Ian, so good to hear from you. Why in the world are you calling me at this time of night.” With a brief smile Ian picked up his pace. “I was wondering if you could alias check for me. I just ran into a really powerful Angel and someone who was close to him, also an angel. Namshiel was crazy rapid when this guy showed up. I think he was a Seraphim and I want to make sure I don’t have another on my hands. The Academy has him on record as Jegudiel but I’ve only seen the file on their watch list.” There was a pause from the other end of the line.

“You’re clear Ian, he’s just an Angel that has been around the block a few times. I’m sorry Lazarus and I left this with you.”

Ian scoffed at the apology. “I’ve seen the surveillance videos from St. Petersburg; I’m glad Lazarus doesn’t do stuff like that anymore. I thought Namshiel was scary but Anduriel is something else entirely. Better I do this and he stay away from things like that from here on out.”

Another pause before a quiet chuckle.

“I’m glad we are on the same page about this”

@Howler@Fairess
Hidden 8 yrs ago 8 yrs ago Post by Fairess
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Fairess

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Loom: Midtown Swait District

Day 2, Evening, 2254
Roanne


“Tch.” Roanne sheathed her blade at last, tossing the claw away as she watched Jasper's and Ian's exchange. There were plenty of things she had to say—that Jasper was an utter hypocrite, for instance, and that Peacekeepers were far from the first line of defense on her streets. Hazumi's gifts hadn't created peace so much as suppressed and forced violence to hide itself better. Until the gap between the wealthy and the poor closed, until racism and nationalism and greed disappeared from every race, no one being had the kind of power that would create world peace. Time and time again, she would be called upon to save innocent people from greed and hate. Time and time again, she would drop everything, sometimes able to save those people and sometimes too late to fix anything. Time and time again, she would wonder what the hell she was trying to do and ask what sort of difference her little acts could accomplish. Time and time again, she would look into herself and find the same answer: she hoped it would stop someday. Not tomorrow, or a year later, or centuries later, but someday, they would either smarten up or die out.

As the musician made his way out the alley, Roanne offered a mock salute. “Try not to die before we meet again! I'd like to see a line of defense that isn't my own for once. Maybe I'll even help if you're in trouble.”

She then shifted her gaze to Jasper, the glint of her eyes caught in a devious smile. “See? So nice of me. I owe you one, but I don't think you need a deadweight for the rest of the evening, so...”

"You might remember that you are only a part of what keeps the people of this city safe." Resisting the urge to roll his eyes a bit, Jasper chuckled and headed slowly towards the van. "Mighty as you are, there are others at work in its streets and your goals are not dissimilar."

Roanne snorted, effectively goaded into following the angel to his car. She even opened the van's door for him without any conscious thought to do so. "I put up with you, don't I? You just get to play chummy because you're better at hiding things."

"You assume I don't have an honest appreciation for the good work of others in this city." He pointed out, nodding his thanks as he sank heavily into the passenger's seat of the van, Alba and Rubra already climbing in to their designated positions. "You shouldn't, just like you shouldn't dismiss them so easily. You might find your work easier working with others rather than doing it alone. Are you coming?"

She groaned, shaking her head before she closed the door. "Nah, my ears are starting to bleed. I'll be back to chat about those boys once you get some information out of them, though."

“Of course." Smiling easily, he inclined his head to her with weary appreciation. The window rolled down as he spoke, Rubra's finger steady on the button. "Thank you for your service today Roanne, I'm glad you were not more grievously hurt. Be well."

“Yeah, yeah, don't do anything crazy yourself.” She gave him a last wave before the van's window rolled up and the angel was off. Stupid. Doesn't he already know he's made me well? She owed him a proper thanks, but it was late for that and he apparently had something to finish up. Whatever disappointment she might have felt at having only a moment to speak with him was just as nicely replaced with relief that she wasn't going to get more of an earful. For someone who seemed so pained to move around at all, his mouth was sure a busy thing.

Her wings materialized from nothing, unfurling with an impatient flick. The feathers were stiff but soft, the white of them marred by a slight cream coloring that zigzagged from the top to bottom of each. That she could simply leap and burst her wings into a frenzy of action that carried her off the ground spoke volumes of strength she'd come to take for granted. Her first thought was to simply fly back home, but the more she thought about it, there was another place closer, nicer, and—ah, too much fun to pass up!

~--~


“Five-Hundred North and Elms Street, Apartment four o' two.”

The woman on the other side of the phone confirmed the address, thanked Roanne, and promptly hung up. A moment later and Roanne jammed a key into a door, frowning as she slipped into the darkness inside. The temperature of the flat was always too cool, her natural reaction always to reach out for the touchpad on the wall. After unlocking the system with a few finger swipes, the lights of the hallway faded on. She bleeped the thermostat from “19 C” to “25 C,” dimming the lights back down before putting the house speakers on some relaxation music. The white, marbled floor and walls carried the soft sound well, surrounding her with the robust huff of an accordion and some jazzy sort of beat.

Her clothes hit the floor before she made it to the shower. It was odd, though—private as the bathroom was, a combination of cool stone, empty space, and a wide, dominating mirror made her feel uncomfortably vulnerable. The shower siding itself was nothing but glass, so polished and squeaky clean she saw it only because of a smudge of light reflecting off it. Even the floor of the shower was absurd, so starkly white she felt guilty for what she was about to do to it.

Blood, sweat, grime—she closed her eyes, lost in sensation as hot water washed it all away. The annoying thing was the shampoo and conditioner, as both had been placed in identical metal containers to match the monochromatic theme of the whole place. She had to open and sniff at both, then had to remember which smell was which. If she got it wrong, she'd have to shower again and—well, was another shower really an unpleasant notion?

Luxuriously as she spent her time, she still managed to get a robe on and her hair combed out before her delivery arrived. Two pizzas—a combination and a chicken alfredo—came hot and ready, at which point she retreated to the pristine living room to enjoy them. Like the rest of the flat, the floor and walls were white and marbled, only a fluffy, cream-colored rug breaking up the tile. Even the furniture was blanched and stark, an oddly shaped couch sprawling out in three different angles with only a slight backrest. Setting her pizzas down on one end, she reclined across the sofa on her stomach.

Could she eat two whole pizzas? Well, yes, and she did two slices at a time, folding one slice on top of the other and munching away. She paused only to lick her fingers, sometimes drinking straight from a two-liter bottle of soda the delivery boy had brought. Only in hindsight did she realize how bad a choice caffeine was for the time of night, but oh well. She hadn't caught up on the latest episode of City Slickers anyway, and she needed to forget the bug-eyes still haunting her from the back of her mind.

(Co-post with @Howler)
Hidden 8 yrs ago 8 yrs ago Post by Wind Wild
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Wind Wild A sprinkle of Weird

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Errand


Day 1 to Day 2 Evening


Andri’s finger was fidgety on the virtual keyboard while his foot rose and fell to the ground nervously. In his other hand he held a half-finished glass of neat whiskey. He had concluded that his blackout was a bad combination of Hazumi's ‘message’ and exhaustion. Andri fully intended to make it worse.

But first he had to deliver his message. He'd actually contacted the Academy about Lazarus’ home address only to be politely informed that the teacher was abroad. Which Andri thought was fucking wonderful because now it was not only the middle of the night but he also had to deal with it over the phone. No matter how he looked at it, it was utterly inappropriate.

Andri downed the whiskey and dialed the number. He enjoyed the emerging stars at the edges of his vision while waiting for the phone to wake its owner and then started, rather unceremoniously. “Hello, it's Andri from the academy. I have a message for you from Hazumi.” He managed to say her name and not ‘your lover’. It wasn't the man's fault he felt like crap. Nor was it hers, he supposed, for giving him an (accidental?) lobotomy.

The ringing wrenched Lazarus out of his sleep. Who in the hell was calling him at this hour of the morning? Rolling over he snapped the phone open and his eyes widened at the statement. Then they narrowed. With a flick of his hand he opened the laptop sitting on his night stand and his hand flew across the keys as he started the process of accessing student files for the academy. “If this is a joke I promise you that I will make your life incredibly painful for this. Tell me the message.” Lazarus realized as he typed that his right hand was shaking on the keys. Damn it. Hope was a potent thing.

“That goes without saying, your name carries that weight.” Andri turned the glass in his hand watching the light slide off the decorative channels in the crystal. There was a pause as he imagined executing his vague plan to press Lazarus into helping him hunt down Lucien. But there was an edge to the man’s voice that spoke louder than his threat. And it also resonated with the feelings Hazumi had imposed upon him earlier. It made him soft. It wasn’t always easy to be a pawn in the game of the powerful.

“It’s rather simple.” He gave in and refilled his glass. “Which I suppose would be disappointing. She just said “I’m not dead yet”. I’m afraid that’s all I’ve got for you.” He omitted the “love” part. There were limits after all. He thought he heard Ashley giggle in his head but that might have been the whiskey.

Lazarus eyes narrowed in response to the comment. “I hope you aren’t lying to me Andri because I’m going to be in Loom in the next six hours. You’re on my list of people to visit and I’m going to know if you are fucking with me. That would be a bad thing for you. Assuming you aren’t.” Lazarus tone changed immediately. “Thank you for telling me, I imagine that you went out of your way to call me and I appreciate it. You just have to understand how dangerous toying with someone like me is. I hope you’re telling the truth.” Tapping something else on his computer Lazarus finished making the flight arrangements. “Was there anything else I should know?”

When he heard the second threat Andri grinned in the headset, remembering how different the man had been in Hazumi’s memory – all soft and lovable. There didn’t seem to be any warmth for himself in the man’s words, though he supposed that only showed how much Hazumi mattered to him. He wondered if he should confide in the man about his own reasons for wanting to find the Essence… but there was still some inhibition left in him despite the alcohol. Andri really didn’t like talking about personal matters unless he really had to. He didn’t really have to.

“Don’t worry, master, I wouldn’t even dream of messing with you.” There might have been a hint of a smile in his tone but then it receded. “I have my own reasons to want her back. Nothing sinister, btw, before you think of threatening me again. I’d love to talk to you about it when you get here and maybe we can find a way to help each other.”

Closing the laptop with a swift motion Lazarus fully exited his bed and crossed the large cold room in his bare feet like a stalking cat before he flicked the light on. It was quite early; he’d barely slept at all which was okay. The dreams had been just that. Dreams. “Indeed. Well I shall be back in Loom soon. We’ll talk soon Andri.” With that Lazarus snapped the phone closed and started out of his room searching for his apprentice. There was little time before they were due to leave. The townhouse in Loom would have much of what they would need.

Andri let the phone slip out of his hand and dropped his head on the pillow. If sleep managed to find him, it would be a welcome guest.




The next day was a patchwork of failures and disappointments stitched together with fatigue and the sense of impending doom. He had to wonder if it was due to his own condition or Hazumi’s - was it his emotions or a mix of both. And in fact, if she was suffering herself, what were the chances of his own survival?

He called Mel to update her on the hunt and apologise for not being able to tell her sooner. Getting drunk was his choice of defence, even if it didn’t paint him or his profession in a very good light. But then he supposed, his original proposition itself hadn’t either.

He had sat in a Starbucks contemplating over a cup of coffee when a song wove its way to his ears. It wasn’t immediately relevant, talking about some gangster boy who ran away as soon as things got serious but then it peaked into comparing the lyrical hero with the boy when it came to his romantic relationship. It inevitably reminded him of Kanna. She was in the same boat as him yet he had steadfastly ignored her calls since they both got bitten. His fist balled as the song reached its conclusion. That wasn’t it.

Next thing to go wrong was when he tried to talk to Ashley later that day. She seemed unusually unresponsive, even for herself, and when he tried to activate her he was struck with her scream and with crippling pain that made him double over and spill his coffee all over a stranger's shoes. When he finally convinced the well-meaning passerby that he was okay, he went straight to the walk-in clinic closest to the Academy.

He should have guessed that his exam would follow the same miserable streak.

“Your body is hyper-reactive.” The grey-haired doctor concluded after a brief examination and a look at his blood test results.
“My body?” Andri asked quizzically
“Your ‘essence’!” The doctor waved a hand irritably and the way he spat out the word left Andri with the feeling that the doctor wasn’t too keen on modern medicine.
“Oh.” He said simply.

He sometimes felt like he knew more about the technicalities of the human soul than most medical staff these days. After all, his life often hung on the line with knowledge as his only advantage over demons’ and angels’ inborn skills. Now what the doctor was saying suddenly clicked.

“What that means is that you’re very susceptible to change and influences of any kind, even more so than most--” and that the disease will spread much faster than normal and it’ll be harder to stop or control it than usual. Andri thought, tuning out the doctor’s voice. It meant that his human essence was weak and would more likely go down without a struggle. They’d had a few lectures on chimeras and how unlikely they were to survive the initial infection, especially it it happened at the same time for more than one essence. Back then the whole process and all the graphs and biology behind it seemed hardly worth remembering.

It wasn’t what he wanted to hear. But it certainly put things in perspective. It explained why Hazumi had paired him with Ashley and forced her to serve him despite her reluctance. The merging of his essence with hers meant that he was almost invulnerable as long as the shard was bound to him. However….
“...likely that the influences of both your tool and the demon will cause a shock to your system greater than your body can handle. Perhaps you should consider giving up on your job and going to a rehabilitation facility where they can keep an eye on your transformation. They have those for the Academy folks, don’t they?”

Andri stared at him blankly. He couldn’t believe what he was hearing but he was too tired to react to it. Besides, smashing the man’s nose would help nobody.

Getting up he scooped up his jacket, thanked the doctor for his time and went out the door.

Collaboration with Merlin





Television II


Day 2, Afternoon


It was the time of day when light and darkness grabbed each other’s hand and danced along the buildings and trees to show people the wonders of the Surface.The low sun was streaming down the streets along with the crowd of humans rushing to catch the subway home. It painted everything in vivid reds and yellows and brought out long, thick shadows. Everything had texture then, every leaf and every crease in a stranger’s jacket, every window winked back at the sun and every piece of asphalt warmed the pedestrians with the warmth it had collected. Blackbirds and robins competed while the incoming winter reminded of itself in the taste and smell of the air.

It was her favourite time of day. The time of day she usually spent on Sleepy Hills, camera lively in her hands overlooking the city and its inhabitants. Yet today Tokarin couldn’t enjoy it.

She was feeling supremely weird - dizzy, confused, probably how it would feel if her powers were awakening now and not inborn. She was walking down the street with the camera around her neck and everything she saw looked new, interesting, almost unfamiliar. New buildings where they shouldn’t have been any, parks that were no longer there, old cars, different birds… It was as if her mind was overlaying two images at the same time. Photographers used to do that once, she remembered. Double exposure.

She groaned. How could her home town - ok, not home “town” - but home “world”, look so unfamiliar? Sure, she didn’t know everything, but this was her neighbourhood and even when she used to live in Heaven she often peered down to observe Loom. It shouldn’t be this confusing!

Oh! Wasn’t there a great ice-cream shop just there--

The angel groaned loudly and grabbed her head. Of course there wasn’t, it was probably gone for decades now! Why did Seraphs strive to recover lost memories when it was such a nuisance?! It was bad enough already that she could see the future, she didn’t need to see the past as well! She wished Aria was here to explain things properly. And to make it stop.

What was even worse was that she remembered Solus now. She remembered him very well. He had been her mentor and her friend,... and a little more…. And even though she knew it was her own memories she had seen, she couldn’t shake the feeling that she had intruded on two people who wanted to be alone that time. Well, one of them was herself and the other she had never met but…

Correction, she had met him. But he was completely different a month ago (or 261 years into the future) so that it didn’t count. Fuck! This was annoying her so badly! It hurt to keep her eyes open and it hurt to be alone. How could you miss someone you know nothing about?! What was this loneliness?!

It was suffocating. She’d never felt so acutely, painfully alone. And she didn’t like it.
So she looked into the future, hoping that that would set her mind straight.

And, surprise, as soon as she did a sensation assaulted her.
Something flying towards her at great speed.
Or falling?
Straight at her.
Toki’s body reacted on poor instinct.
Her wings snapped up over her head accidentally knocking a man over.
Not a second later something landed on her wing with a muffled thud and slid down... laughing?
Screams erupted.
Or maybe they just registered late.
The man was shouting at her.
A woman was shouting - and crying - far above.
Someone else was shouting next to her.

There was something moving, shifting in her hands. And making yet more noise.
“Eh…?” Toki asked feebly, looking at the thing with confusion.

“A baby fell from the sky!”


“What the hell?!”
“The angel caught it, look! It’s alive!”
“Film her, film her! This way, Tim!”
“Oh my god, is he okay?!”

“It fell from that window!”


“Eh?” Tokarin repeated dumbly.
There was a baby in her hands. A dozen cameras in her face. And utter chaos in her head.

Based on the true story of poor ol' Joseph Figlock and his ward.
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