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[IC] Recollections: Primal Sinister
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0-24 hrs ago
In the middle of hell common sense would prevail..In the aftermath of the cataclysm, Cloverfield lay in a fragile stillness, the air thick with the scent of damp earth and death. The warm spring sun filtered through the jagged remains of shattered skyscrapers, casting fractured shadows on the debris-strewn streets below. Every creak and groan of the leaning structures echoed like a lament, a mournful symphony of a city in mourning. Amidst the ruins, the cries of the injured and desperate pierced the air, mixing with the various sirens that rang out across the city. Flowers, brought forth by the many Green Lux’s featured in the battle, defiantly blooming in the cracks of the pavement, seemed to whisper hope amidst the chaos. Still, their beauty felt overshadowed by the overwhelming despair that hung over Cloverfield like a dark cloud.
Elara looked up from the flowers and over to where the monster’s vessel remained. There were several dozen adepts, adjoined, and various other magical beings all standing around it waiting to see if victory was found today or if another round of fighting was to come. Everyone waited with a bated breath for someone, or something, to guide their next move. She shifted her eyes over to a vast pool of acid. An hour ago her coven’s elders stood tall as they fought back against the horror that was unleashed on their city. An hour ago they were covered in the monster's acid and all that remained of them was a scar in the pavement that grew ever bigger as the acid ate through it, and the various bones that survived it. Elara knew that, at this moment, the leadership burden would fall to her, and a few others at her side, and she would need to prove that the Keepers of the Grove still stood tall despite this tragedy.
Across the way, Gideon, and a dozen gun-toting goons, all huddled up together. Gideon’s face is etched with the tolls of battle. The skin on his face has specks of blood, dirt, and other grime. His already pale skin is more pale as a thin layer of ash coats it, and the clothes that he wore. The dark circles under his eyes betray his exhaustion at first glance, however, if they were to linger for any longer than a moment one could tell that they burned with a fiery determination. His hands are all bloody and bruised, with streaks of red still dripping to the ground below. In them is a single M1911, with an ivory handle and silver barrel, and his hands gripped the pistol ever tighter as his eyes looked over towards where the monster remained. That monster had killed dozens of his friends, and countless others, and destroyed his beloved Lower District. His breathing increased as the grip of the gun began to squeal under the strain of his strength.
“That bitch needs to die,” Gideon shouted to the assembled masses, “now, you either stand aside and let me finish the mission or you will all get a bullet between the eyes,” spit flew out from Gideon’s chapped lips.
“And unleash that monster again? I know my education sucked but what the fuck are they teaching you magic-wise down south,” Elara shouted back as she looked over to Bryn. Elara’s face also showed the long night and terrible battle. Blood, soot, and ash all mixed on her face to create a thick layer of sludge that coated the lower half of her face. This same mixture caked her hair, and her eyes seemed to look far past whatever they rested on. A thick bruise, and noticeable swelling, forced her left eye to be in a constant squint while her lips had a cut that bisected them down the middle with a trail of blood that led down her chin and onto her neck. Her clothes sported various holes, and it was impossible to tell what she wore or what color it was under the layer of ash that coated it. Elara shifted her eyes over to where the Elders died, knowing full well they would need to find a way to retrieve the bones before they were gone. Elara shifted her eyes towards the North District and caught sight of a building swaying ominously in the wind, a soft but guttural groan of metal struggling filled the air as it did.
"Her body's the only thing keepin' that fuckin' thing trapped." Bryn stepped forward, putting herself at the forefront of the Grove members still standing. The ash that clung to her, and surrounded her, was just another weapon for her right now - as unfortunate and horrible as it was. So many dead… her expression was grim as she looked back at Elara, then over at Gideon. The ashes near his feet moved slightly, as if by the wind. "Don't start another fuckin' fight. Let's all retrieve our dead and fuckin' grieve, instead of killin' more."
“So what then,” Gideon paused as he pointed towards Princess, “she gets off without punishment? She invited in that monster, and now we get to just forget and not do anything,” Gideon paused as he scoffed, “that is bullshit. Do you know how many people she killed in the Lower District? Hmmm? I’ll tell you what. You guys either leave, and I’ll give you the option to fucking grieve away from here, or I’ll-”
A series of groans and creaks resonated through the air, the noise punctured by the sharp crack of steel and concrete giving way. The thunderous roar filled the air as a large building began to collapse a good distance away. The sound builds until it is more akin to a devastating avalanche before it finally gives way to the groan and rumble of the building settling on the ground. An ash and dust cloud rockets upward and outward from the building, coating the already-covered cityscape in yet another layer of a destroyed building.
Gideon watched this happen from a distance and closed his eyes at the sound of people wailing in fear. In his heart, he knew these girls were right. He could not kill the monster, at least yet, but that did not mean he’d let her get away without any punishment. “No killing her. Got it. What do we do with her then? I for one do not like the idea of a literal fucking nuke walking among us without something to keep her in check.”
Bryn frowned, not turning her head even as she saw the building fall in the distance. The devastation was something that would take years to recover from. And she understood - she wasn’t so forgiving after they’d lost so much. But at the same time, this was a child. "Then we watch her. But sealin’ ain’t easy to break."
She then shook her head. "She’s got that thing stuck in her now. Ain’t that punishment enough? Maybe you don’t get what it’s like to have a Ghost inside, but they ain’t quiet. It's trapped in her and she’s trapped with it. The rest of her life is gonna be reckonin’ with what she’s done."
“No one is going to let her forget,” Elara commented, “and no one is ever going to give her grace. As far as I’m concerned now that the threat is sealed this is done,” Elara commented as she shifted her eyes to the dust plume in the distance. You’d think that it would still hurt to see that devastation but at this point, what’s one more building?
“Fine. But if this shit happens again it’s on your souls,” Gideon paused as he holstered his weapon and his gang followed suit.
"Well he was a delight," Bryn snorted, narrowing her eyes at Gideon’s back. There wasn’t time to be bothered by it - and she’d been through enough in her life already to be unbothered by others' opinions like that. So she turned to Elara, inclining her head towards where the Elders had once been. Now only bones remained… "Do we try to take their bones? I could bring ‘em easily but… it would be as ashes."
“I can’t wait to get home and away from these city dicks. They’re liable to destroy us all. As far as I can tell you’re a leader now, Bryn, and our burial gal,” Elara chuckled as she coughed. The dust had gotten down into her lungs and she knew she’d need a deep bath in the grove after this to recover. “I will defer to your judgment.”
"Not how I wanted to become a leader… fellow leader," Bryn let out a slightly bitter laugh, wiping her brow. It didn’t do anything with the amount of ashes coating her, and her skin being sticky with sweat and blood. "I’ll do it here, and we’ll take ‘em with us to rest."
She walked over until she was in front of the puddle of acid. Her hands moved out in front of her, and she took a deep breath - only to cough as the dust clogged her lungs. "May you all rest in peace."
As she began to turn the bones to ashes, she murmured under her breath in an ancient language only taught to those in the Grove. The funeral rites she’d been learning thanks to her Abstraction… but she hadn’t expected to be in charge of it so soon. Before she became a leader, sure… now it was both at once. As the bones all turned to ashes they floated in the air, coated in flames of various colours. Then the fires were put out and only ashes remained, which Bryn carefully controlled over to her.
She turned to Elara with a weak smile. "Let’s go home."
The cold grip of late November settled over Raven’s Rest, as the Appalachian mountains as a whole were cloaked in a soft, white blanket of snow. Flurries danced through the air, swirling down from a slate-gray sky, settling gently on the evergreen trees that lined the narrow streets. The crisp wind carried a bite, rustling through the branches and sending a chill that crept into every corner of the small town. As evening approached, the fading light painted the landscape in hues of blue and silver, the world growing still under the weight of winter. Snowflakes landed silently, blanketing rooftops and sidewalks alike, transforming the familiar into a serene winter wonderland. Smoke curled from chimneys, punctuating the quiet with a promise of warmth within.
On the outskirts of this peaceful scene stood Bill’s Tattoo Shop, its neon “Open” sign flickering defiantly against the encroaching darkness. The warm glow spilled onto the snowy embankments. The shop, with its worn wooden exterior and eclectic décor, stood in contrast to the boarded-up buildings that flanked it and the lifeless street it stood on. Ever since the Cataclysm raged down in Cloverfield the town of Raven’s Rest had seen a flight of people. Many no longer found the mountain’s charm worthwhile when it meant you had to see everything that happened down in Cloverfield and everything that continued to happen. As well, many businesses found it difficult to keep their doors open as the normally consistent income brought in by visitors from far and wide was slashed due to the continual reconstruction efforts. Still, the far side of town would return to its former glory. A community like this did not let each other suffer. A community like this did not let each other fail. That is why Bill, a renowned tattoo artist, was still doing the work that he loved. In the past year and a half, he had seen the same faces he normally saw come in at a frequency unlike anything before. Some got whole sleeves done in a day and returned the next weekend for shading, and others kept coming back for flash tattoos that would only take an hour of his time but would get several on the days that he was slow.
Today Bill was slow, but he did not let get him down. As he sat in his tattoo chair he flicked between the days' mail, an overdue bill for his property insurance, an overdue electric bill, and finally an overdue bill for the water was his reading material. He scoffed at the amounts that these vultures charged, remembering the time before the City’s utilities were brought to the town. Back in those days, it was pennies on the dollar for water, gas, electricity, and even the internet. Sure, those days were only five years ago but it seemed like so much has happened it felt like decades. Now, now that the city was involved it seemed like everything was ten times as expensive. He reached over and grabbed his mug, filled with some Apple Pie Moonshine, before he took a sip. He tossed the bills onto the table as he pulled open his booking app and looked at the day ahead. Tomorrow, Elara would be coming in yet again. He was surprised that she had any skin left to tattoo after their last session but she had somehow found some on her back. She was a good tipper. And she’d either bring him some more of this delicious drink, or some food, as well. A small smile crept across his face as he closed the app.
*ding*ding*
The sound of the door opening forced a smile across his face. Maybe today wouldn’t be a waste after all. “Howdy friend, we’re closing in a minute but I can-,” Bill stopped talking as the smile fell from his face. At the door was a naked man, one who looked identical to Bill. From the birthmark that covered his right thigh to the exact length of hair, to the surprisingly large penis, and even the bags underneath the eye. The only difference Bill could see was the lack of tattoos across the mans body and the unearthly smile that crossed from ear to ear.
“Hello Bill,” the doppleganger spoke with his exact voice. A moment later it took an aggressive step towards Bill, who grabbed and threw the mug of Moonshine at the doppelganger's head, exploding into a hundred pieces as it did. A few of the pieces cut into the skin but no blood came out. Instead, the doppelganger smiled so wide it threatened to break the face it was attached to and took several more steps towards Bill. It grabbed Bill with a quick motion, picked him up, and tossed him across the shop.
As Bill slammed into the wall, the jolt kicked off his music system, which began belting out the Emo Time playlist on his device.
Bill rose up from the ground, small cuts and scrapes began to drip blood as he cracked his neck. He did not know what devil had entered his shop, but he knew he had one trick to help deal with them. He reached to his waist, pulled a Glock out of the holster, aimed at the Doppelganger, and matched its smile. He pulled the trigger but, as he did, his arm shifted the aim so the bullet missed by inches. Bill shifted his aim and pulled the trigger once more, yet something moved the barrel of the weapon so that the bullet missed once again. The smile fell from his face but not his determination. Bill pulled the trigger in rapid succession, sending bullet after bullet down range yet none would find a home in the creature and soon only the clicking of an empty weapon filled the air.
“Feel free to reload,” the Doppleganger joked as he took another step towards Bill.
Bill, sensing that it would not work, dropped the gun to the ground and grabbed a bat from the wall. The bat was mounted on a plaque with the inscription State Champions - Raven’s Rest Cardnials on it. Bill tapped the end of the bat against the wall, sending a sharp crack that reverberated through the air which was soon replaced by a dull thud. The smile returned to Bill’s face as he tapped the bat in his hand.
“I don’t know what you are, but you ain’t welcome in this town,” Bill paused as his eyes flashed an electric blue that snaked across it.
“Oh that hasn’t stopped us before,” the doppleganger joked back, “shall we?” The Doppleganger pointed towards the bat as its smile grew wider once again.
Bill lunged forward, the bat becoming engulfed in a vivid blue cackle of lightning. He readied a swing at the monster's head and swung, only for the bat to pass just inches above. The monster grabbed Bill by the shirt and lifted him up once more, lowering him down before shooting him back up sending him into the celing. Bones snapping filled the air as he hit it, and once again as he plummeted back to the ground. A moment later the Doppleganger grabbed ahold of his ankle and spun him like a doll in three circles around the room before releasing it’s grip sending him into the far wall once again. Bill ended up on his side on the ground, blood pouring from his mouth and a deep heavy cough that carried even more crimson with it. He did not get a moment to breathe, as the doppleganger once again grabbed him by the ankles and lifted him up only to slam him back down. As it released it’s grip, bill tried to crawl away but each motion felt like he was pulling himself through quicksand.
A gasp escaped his lips as the creature slammed both hands into his back. A second later Bill’s body began to convulse as all the color was drained from it, and as the convulsions stopped his skin grew tighter until it was sucked all the way up to the bones, which also gave way with a sickening pop as everything was consumed by the monster, leaving only the clothes off his back.
The creature stood up and smiled. It put on Bill’s clothes, and found both the bat and the gun. It picked up both and moved the gun towards the back of the store, but kept the bat in hand. It reached into its pockets and grabbed the phone, unlocking the Face ID with ease, and called emergency services. It rang for three seconds before the operator picked up.
“Nine one one, what is your emergency,” the female operator asked.
“Someone broke into my tattoo shop and tried to kill me.”
Elara jolted awake, her heart raced as the remnant of the nightmare hung over her thoughts like a thick cloud. Sweat dripped from her brow as she struggled to catch her breath, as the sound of collapsing concrete and metal snapping still filled her ears. The nightmare brought her into the building this time, instead of being blocks away like she was during the cataclysm. She experienced the building snapping and breaking, before it collapsed, and in its collapse she was flung to another building which also began to creak, and groan, before those sounds gave way to the sound of metal snapping and concrete crumbling. Her eyes darted across the room, searching for something that could ground her in the present. Yet the more she looked the more her vision felt like it could see the ash cloud coming towards her again, smell the heavy coating of blood and ash that coated her face, hear the screams of all the soon-to-be dead people, and feel the pain as she got struck with the debris once more.
Elara reached behind her and grabbed her pillow, her hands trembling as she did. She pulled the pillow into her chest with both arms and hugged it tightly into her chest. Tears began to stream down her face as she could no longer hold back the panic that was overtaking her. Her breathing became sharp and quick, and her grip around the pillow grew stronger. As she sat there she felt something jump into her bed. Her eyes darted up to see her fat orange cat Sebastian. He was sitting mere feet from her face. Elara knew that he sensed her fear, her sadness, and the terror that gripped her. She sniffled as he smiled. He was here to save her, and break her from the curse that had befallen her. Sebastian simply raised a paw up and batted at Elara’s nose, striking it with a single outstretched claw.
“Ow what the fuck,” Elara groaned as her hands let go of the pillow as she cupped her nose while all her senses returning to the present, “that hurt you fat fuck” Elara complained as she looked down at the cat who simply meowed as he pressed his body into Elara. Who needs therapy when you have a cat who’ll factory reset you when you are at your worst? Elara grabbed him and pulled him up to her chest, Sebastian protesting the move with a loud cry of displeasure. She held him tight as she twisted from side to side as she kissed his head numerous times. The cat began to squirm and Elara let him go. “You hungry already you adorable asshole,” Elara joked as she stretched her body as a groan escaped her lips. She threw off her blanket and stood up, stretching one more time as a large yawn escaped her lips. She was wearing an oversized tshirt and some boxers as she normally did, and her hair was a mess. Thus, Elara began her morning routine by brushing her teeth and taking a shower.
After taking the shower, and getting dressed, wearing dark blue denim jeans with a System of a Down t-shirt. She grabbed three logs and put them in the wood-burning stove that heated her trailer. The wood smoldered for a minute before it was engulfed in fire. She closed the grate before grabbing a stained brown jacket and throwing it on over her shirt. She walked over to the fridge, opened it, grabbed the fresh bag of deer jerky, and pulled out a few pieces. It would have to suffice for now, as she needed to restock her supplies. The sudden cold snap had ruined the vegetables that were not in her greenhouse but she was able to ensure that those that remained in it would survive, and a lot would be ready come Thanksgiving later in the week.
Elara knew she did not have time to dwell on the thought of that celebration. It was one of the three meeting days for the Keepers of the Grove. That meant that she had to make her way to church, and that meant she’d need to be ready once Seren rolled up. Elara pulled out her phone and looked at the time, it was eight fifteen in the morning and the meeting would be at nine, which meant that Seren would be pulling up in a matter of minutes. As such, Elara made sure that there was at least nothing on the concrete pad that was flammable to allow the stove to keep heating her home while she was gone. She also grabbed a case of her Apple Pie Moonshine and knew that the delay with her vegetables would require her to offer a replacement.
A second later a series of honks filled the air before being replaced by the telltale sound of tires on the loose gravel driveway. Seren was here.
Seren led the way into the church, they had their typical outfit with a button-up shirt, black pants, and an oversized jacket but they also kept their sunglasses on to hide the hungover look that their face carried. They had a half-finished ice latte in one hand and their phone open to TikTok in the other. They quickly found a place to sit down.
The Church was an easy meeting point away from the grove itself and allowed the group to have a space where they wouldn’t draw attention to the grove itself. It was an old church, dating back to the eighteenth century, that had served as the central community location for the town of Raven’s Rest. Currently, the keepers met in the common area of the church hall. There was a simple black fold-out poker table with several chairs strewn across it. At the head of the table sat Pastor John Michael. He was dressed in a black button-up shirt with a white collar. His sleeves were rolled up and he had a lit cigarette in his mouth. The man sported a well-maintained black beard, with black hair, and seemed to look a decade younger than his age of thirty-eight.
“So Seren, do I need to open the confessional early today or will you stop by at another time,” Pastor John smirked as he took in a drag of his cigarette, he spoke in reference to the night out that was evident on their face and body.
“Fuck off, father,” Seren groaned as they raised their middle finger.
Elara tossed the padre one of the jars of moonshine, before palming one and looking at Seren, “Ain’t you a bit young to be drinking” Elara joked as she slid the jar across the table to them.
“You try fighting a world-ending monster at seventeen and not having a small problem with alcohol,” Seren paused as they palmed the moonshine and put it in their bag.
“Ooo, what do I gotta do to get one of those?” Mari asked, sitting down beside Seren and not so subtly leaning over to try check whatever tiktoks they were watching. “Wanna love ballad or some shit? I can do that.”
“Fuck yes,” Seren grinned as they lowered their glasses.
“When your sister says you can,” Elara smirked as she wiggled one of the jars. “Speaking of, what schedule they on lately?”
“You shouldn’t ask that, the owners will change it on a whim,” James joked as he walked into the room, lit cigarette in his left hand. He was dressed in his typical dirty work attire, with stained jeans, a stained blue hoody, and his work hat still on. “You save one of them for me, Elara?”
“Oh of course love. This cold took away my garden so I brought up enough for everyone,” Elara grinned as she placed the jug down on the table.
“But not me?” Mari complained, pouting as she leaned back in her chair. She pulled out her phone, swapping to the shared family calendar where they all tried to put their shifts. Too many weird different ones to just remember. “Right now she's on five on, four off, night shift… so she should be here soon. Today's the last of the five too. Means she's gonna be extra grouchy and annoying, ugh.”
“So no different than normal,” James chuckled as he found a seat, “how are you doing today Pastor John?
“Every day is a good day thanks to the lord,” Pastor John joked as he took a drag from his cigarette, “Church speak for another day, another horror.”
“It ain't like anythin' changes around here,” Mari snorted, head inclining towards the Pastor. “Shit all day everyday-”
"You callin' the fuckin’ warm roof over your head and lovin' community shit, Marigold?" Bryn appeared out of nowhere - having managed to somehow slip in the door silently. Even more impressively she managed to look over her sister, even at only five-four. They were dressed in their work overalls, but with the top half pushed down and sleeves tied around their waist. It revealed the tank top underneath and their lithe muscles shone with sweat in the light. They'd pretty much come straight from the mines, after all.
“I ain't!” Mari turned her head around, nose scrunching up. “You couldn't've washed before comin'? Fuck, Bryn.”
"And waste time choppin' wood to heat up the fuckin' water cause someone used it all up? Nah. Ain't got time for that shit." Bryn snorted. They moved to sit beside Elara with a sigh, nodding to both James, Pastor John and Seren. They tilted their head towards Elara. "You need any wood cut? Gotta do a bunch for us anyway, may as well restock you too if you're runnin' low."
“Yes please,” Elara held up the next bottle of moonshine and placed it on the table in front of Bryn.
"Gotcha, I’ll get it done," Bryn grinned at Elara, taking the bottle and putting it on the table in front of her.
“Can I-”
"No," Bryn cut Mari off before she could get any further, turning her head to level her with a hard stare. "You ain’t old enough, and I ain’t dealin’ with that shit."
“But Seren gets some and they’re the same age as me!” Mari complained.
"Seren ain’t my baby sister, so they can do what they want," Bryn shrugged.
Mari pouted, leaning in towards Seren and whispering, “can I get a bit of yours? I’ll do anythin’.”
Seren shook her head no but secretly sent a text that said ‘ofc’ to Mari.
A moment later the doors opened once again as the vast majority of the remaining coven entered the building. The small group was led by tweedle dee and tweedle dum, Ethan Parker and Ryan Mitchell. The two were best friends from birth, as their parents were a part of the elders of the grove and as such they did everything together. That included working, partying, and the two recently bought a house together with their wives so that their children could grow up as close as they did. Both were coming from their overnight construction job so they had identical work boots and hoodies. If anyone in the grove needed something built these two are quick to offer their skills. Behind them was the ever present Blake Thompson, the grove mechanic. He had his typical jeans and shirt combo but spiced things up with a blue denim jacket with white fluff. Taking up the rear were the four ranch hands, Adam Sullivan, Kyle Anderson, Jason Caldwell, and Lucas Harrington. They all found seats at the table and many grabbed a jar. There were several open seats still available for the members that would be likely unable to make it today.
“So what’s new,” Ethan asked.
“Anything we need to be on the lookout for,” Ryan finished.
“You guys hear about Bill,” Blake added as he took a sip from the already open jar, “oh that’s got the good kick, thank you as always Elara.”
"No, the fuck happened to Bill?" Bryn asked, folding their arms and looking over at Blake.
“From my buddy at the police department it sounds like someone tried to kill him last night. Lights and sirens hours last night. Bill fired all the bullets from his gun, and somehow missed every shot,” Blake finished as he shrugged, “haven’t heard from him since yesterday in the morning but figured I’d bring it up.”
“It was on the agenda,” Pastor John revealed as he took another drag of his cigarette before putting it out in the ashtray.
“And he missed every shot,” Elara raised an eyebrow.
“I have him out on the farm once a month, he’s a better shot than I,” Adam rubbed his chin, “think it was someone he knew?”
"Fuck, must've been, I ain't known Bill to miss," Bryn shook her head, pressing a hand against her forehead. This was the pain with working in the mines - if shit happened while she was down there she didn't hear about it till she was back up. "Ain't any point guessin', you got plans after this, Elara? If not let's go check on him."
“I’m on the books with him after the meeting so-,”
“Another tattoo? Do you even have skin left for another one,” Pastor John sighed, “I ain’t gonna turn this into a sermon but maybe you should consider actual therapy,” Pastor John chuckled.
“I think Elara looks fantastic with all her tattoos, power to you,” Jason chuckled.
“So let’s stop by right after this meeting and see how he’s doing,” Elara finished the thought.
"Only therapy we need is the Lord and a buncha tattoos," Bryn snorted, looking at Pastor John with a sarcastic smile. ”Well, that's that. We'll head round soon as we're done and make sure he ain't need any kinda protection."
“At least shower first,” Mari commented, wrinkling her nose.
Bryn just waved her off. "Anyone else showin', or this it today?"
“Well if there’s any stragglers I’m sure you’ll be able to loop ‘em’ in,” Pastor John paused as he stood up and stretched. He walked over to a whiteboard. “We’ve had some concerning developments since Friday,” Pastor John paused as he spun the board around revealing a surprisingly detailed satellite map of the town and surrounding area. To the west of the town there were various red circles. They seemed to form a line that stretched above and below the western flank of the city. “This was two weeks ago. As you might recall, these were suspected vampire attacks,” Pastor John paused as he grabbed a ruler and tapped on the corresponding red circles, “these were suspected paranormal attacks,” Pastor John pointed at several more, “since then,” Pastor John once again paused as he put the ruler down and grabbed a red marker and the air was filled with it’s squeak for several seconds, “suspected werewolf packs, additional vampire attacks, more paranormal assaults and,” Pastor John grabbed the ruler and tapped on the town itself on the map, “this wave is coming right towards us,” Pastor John paused as he tapped the ruler in his hand.
“From the look of the map alone it seems like we’re about to take the brunt of whatever paranormal attack coming our way, right,” Pastor John asked the group.
"Right." Bryn narrowed their eyes at the board. It didn't look good, and it had just kept getting worse. "I tried investigating the attacks two weeks ago, didn't come up with shit. If it's just one vampire, that's easy… I see em, they're dead. I'm more worried about the rest. It's like shitnis awakening. And…"
She trailed off, frowning. ”I ain't said cause I didn't wanna worry y'all, but there's been strange shit startin' in the mines too. Ain't anythin' solid yet, nobody dead but… I'm worried.”
“The animals been acting real strange the past two weeks,” Lucas added, and the farm hands all nodded their heads.
“And nothing seems to be bringing me joy over the past two weeks. My favorite food been bland, my favorite music isn’t hitting the way it used to, it’s probably related, yeah,” Blake added with a nod of his head.
“That sounds like depression,” Pastor John responded with a raised eyebrow.
“Is that what it is?”
“That’s not even the most concerning aspect, Bryn,” Pastor John responded as he flipped the board back around and grabbed a black marker. He drew a crude oval of the Appalachian mountain, a crude circle for their town and another for Cloverfield, and several smaller circles up and down the mountain range. He then drew several red arrows that all pointed to the coast. “I just got off a conference call with the other paranormal pastors of the mountain and they are all seeing the same thing. Something is pushing the existing paranormal elements away from the mountain,” Pastor John finally revealed with a stern voice, “and I’ve gotten word that some of these paranormal elements have already entered Cloverfield as well.”
"Shit, that means whatever it is that's pushin' ‘em is stronger." Bryn was frowning heavily now. "This ain't good. We gotta protect our town and the Grove, but we can't just protect ourselves. If it's all across and there's somethin' worse coming… well shit."
She frowned, looking over at Elara and Seren. "We gotta talk to our allies in Cloverfield too, much as I ain't fond of goin' into the city."
“If they’ll get off their asses,” Elara rolled her eyes at the thought, “I know how to contact Magic Mike so I’ll get in touch with him, Seren you have contacts in the lower district,,” Elara paused as she looked towards Pastor John, “do you think we’ll need it? We’ve defended this town before, we’ll do it again.”
“This is bigger. From what I can see we have about a month before the worst of it hits us dead on, and we’ll probably see incursions until then. It would be wise to make some friends in town and get them on board. At least get them to prepare for something that will hit them sooner rather than later,” Pastor John finished as he looked towards Elara and gave her a stern, godly stare.
“Alright,” Elara sighed, “whatcha think Seren, Bryn,” Elara looked over towards the two.
“If this is going to be as big as you said I can head over and talk to people in The Hollow. Can’t promise they’ll listen, last I heard they’re dealing with some shit of their own,” Seren paused their TikTok video to look up from their phone.
"I think it's good we got Seren for the Hollow cause their leaders doesn't like us," Bryn chuckled, remembering what had happened after they sealed Nyrah the Ravager… criminal bastard had wanted to undo all their hard work. "I agree we need the help. We ain't got the numbers we used to, Eri… we gotta be realistic."
She sighed, pulling out her phone - an old as fuck Nokia brick. "I'll contact Twin-Hill, see if I can visit ‘em later today. We gotta touch bases with Moriah anyway."
“Then get to it. The keepers have long protected the grove, and this town, so I’ll speak for everyone else and say we appreciate all that you do,” Pastor John finished as he returned to his seat.
“You got it,” Elara took a deep breath before she looked to Bryn, “think you can give me a lift into town after we check with Bill” Elara asked with a smile.
"Ay, I'll be goin' anyway," Bryn nodding, stretching their arms above their head. "So long as you can wait for me to get changed outta my work clothes."
As she said this she opened up her contacts, finding Moriah after a bit of scrolling. She rattled off a quick text:
"shit bad mo b rnd l8r”. Pretty quickly she got a simple response, ‘k.’"Well that's sorted."
Downtown North District: 09:00Freya stood in the dim lighting of the front of her bakery, wiping the flour from her hands on the baby blue apron she wore. The aroma of freshly baked bread, pastries, and other goods filled the air and it was almost pleasant enough to distract her from her daily stress. She took a deep breath as she looked towards the front door, before she shook her arms to try and knock off the rust of her four hours of work. Freya knew that today would be the same as any that came before it yet each morning brought with it a new wave of fear and worry. What if her recipe grew boring? What if all her hard earned success was just an outlier, and her business was actually doomed to fail?
She went to work on the display case to calm her nerves. She arranged the variety of croissants to the perfect angels to show off their profile. The macarons were adjusted so their spacing was perfectly aligned with each other. And each and every tasty creation was placed in a way to entice those who see into their display case. The smell of the coffee brewing in the back caught her nose forcing a small smile across her face. While it was never the biggest reason someone came to her little bakery, having the option to make whatever drink a person would want did help bring the customers into the shop. Plus, the iced vanilla latte was always a hit with the young crowd who’d stop by after walking their dogs in the park and she knew that they’d get the blueberry galette as she didn’t do any traditional pup cups specifically to upsell these people on that tasty treat to share.
Freya stood up straight as she walked to the front door and looked out to the waking world outside. Her watch dinged. One minute left until open. Freya removed her apron and hung it up behind the counter. She walked back to the door. She could see a few regulars already lining up, namely the high powered financial bro James who was typically dour until his morning coffee and cinnamon roll but today it seemed he was extra jazzed as his smile crossed from ear to ear. Freya hoped that her workers were ready for this day.
Freya smiled, trying to match his energy, before her watch beeped once again. She unlocked the door as her open sign began to shine brightly inviting them all in.
The Circle - 09:00As Gideon strolled through the quiet, chilly streets of the circle neighborhood the breath of the early morning fog lingered in the air. His worn boots crunched the frost kissed gravel underneath each step. Much like the rest of the week the forecast for the weather was wrong, instead of the low to mid fifties that were promised the temperatures continued to plummet and snow could be seen in the far distance blanketing the mountains. Still, the coolness of late November air was hitting Gideon extra hard today. But he could not show it.
As Gideon approached a driveway he saw Mrs. Jenkins pull the trashcan out to the curb for the next morning. “Mrs. J good morning, how are you holding up today? Kids on break yet,” Gideon spoke with a clear voice despite the cold. “We’re hanging in there like always, Gideon, and not yet! They have another month left,” Mrs. Jenkins responded with a warm smile. “If you need any help with their Christmas gifts you just come and tell me, okay,” Gideon pointed and smiled back with his devilish smile. Mrs. Jenkins waved him off while laughing.
Gideon continued down and saw a small group of kids playing loudly in a nearby park. As he walked past the group he pointed towards the kids. “Keep it down, unless you want to wake the whole neighborhood,” Gideon chuckled as he continued walking past them. The kids all recognized Gideon and waved at him before returning to their game. A few steps later his eyes caught a man emerging from the tree-line of the park. Gideon narrowed his eyes for a second before they opened completely again at the sight of Mr. Thompson walking his Great Dane. “Cold morning for a stroll,” Gideon said with a nod of his head, “I see he’s healed well from the surgery.” Gideon bent over and pet the dog, who licked his face in return. “All thanks to you, words can not convey my thanks for-“ the man paused as Gideon stood up and waved his hands from side to side. “Listen, we take care of each other here. Don’t mention it,” Gideon said as he waved goodbye and continued on his way.
As Gideon rounded the corner he smiled. Despite it all this was what he did all of this for. This community, these people, and the love they had despite their circumstances was a strength that he drew his power from. And he’d do anything to protect it. His eyes caught another person but their visage caused him to stop in his steps. It was David Smith. He was a popular teacher at Central Heights High School, which was the district that contained the circle and encompassed much of his territory. He was normally a happy man but today, today his smile was nearly ear to ear. He watched Gideon with a very curious look, almost like the way a predator looks at their prey from a distance. In his mind alarms started to go off, and he felt something pressing in on his emotional field. It felt like it was coming from everywhere but nowhere in particular. He placed a hand inside his coat, grabbing a hold of his pistol as he did.
”Mornin’ boss!” Vin appeared as if out of nowhere - though it wasn’t out of nowhere, rather they jumped down from a roof to Gideon’s right. They’d traveled here as a rat - it was faster and just more efficient. Especially when their niece had been extra fussy that morning and they’d left late… ”Ain’t you out a little early?”
Gideon kept his eyes on David even as Vin appeared. David tipped his haters and turned down the road and walked off. Gideon’s eyes did but leave his frame nor did his hand leave his gun until he was gone. “Figured it was a good time to start the day,” Gideon spoke finally as he turned towards Vin. “We need to send a crew to go check on David,” Gideon said as he tapped Vin on the shoulder, “think he’s having an apparition problem. You heading to the hollow? I’ll walk you the rest of the way there.”
”Course, I was on my way ‘cross the roofs and spotted you,” Vin easily lied. In actual fact they were Gideon’s escort - but they weren’t going to argue with the boss about something like that. They craned their neck as if they could still see David, tempted to change their eyes for a moment - then deciding to leave it. ”I’ll get someone on it soon as we get in- can’t be havin’ Apparitions runnin’ rampant. Maybe I should take a look. Ain’t anyone else that deals with ‘em like I do.”
“Yeah, I’m thinking the same thing. We’ll see who’s at the bar when we get there and send you with some company,” Gideon said with a smile, “let’s get moving. I do not like this cold, and I could use some breakfast.”
”Sure thing, boss, don’t want you catchin’ a cold, that’d fuckin’ suck,” Vin agreed, throwing their hands behind their head as they started to walk at a reasonable pace. They weren’t even wearing that thick a jacket, but they didn’t seem too bothered by the cold. ”Y’know, ain’t it a bit funny David might’ve been possessed on the ‘Lord’s’ day? Big fuck you to the religious with that.”
“The lord hasn’t been with our people. He can keep his day,” Gideon said back with a confident, booming voice. “Though let’s not make jokes about David. He’s still a beloved member of our community, we need to protect him and the others from the paranormal. It’s not like the PRA is doing anything to help the average person. If we weren’t paying them off they’d have come for us and tried to destroy what we’ve worked to build here” Gideon talked to Vin with the same kind voice one would expect out of a teacher.
”Got’it, y’know I hate the fuckin’ ghosts- and feds- more than anythin’,” Vin said, nodding slightly. Their tone was pretty nice - they clearly weren’t upset about being corrected. Wasn’t like they’d had much parental guidance growing up, but they took surprisingly well to teaching that came from Gideon. Mostly because they actually respected him. ”I’d destroy ‘em before they took us down, though. Those corrupt fucks ain’t got shit on us workin’ our magic in fights everyday.”
“Oh I know. Which is why I’m sending you. If something has taken over David and he’s beyond saving, I know you’ll be able to give him the mercy of a quick death,” Gideon paused as a grin spread across his face, “and if those corrupt fucks ever tried to come down here with ill intent our magic would be the least of their concerns.”
”I hope it don’t come to that,” Vin said with a slight frown, as they cracked their knuckles. ”With David. I’d love to beat those bastards till they’re screamin’ for mercy- if they ain’t dead by the time I get to them.”
“Good,” Gideon paused as he spotted his building just ahead. He ushered the two towards the door and opened it for Vin, before following them inside. The bar, while open, was nearly completely empty. There was Marco Alvarez behind the bar, he was pouring a shot for a man who looked down on his luck. Malik Johnson and Caleb Morgan were playing pool, and by the looks of it Malik was about to win yet another game as he lined up the eight ball with a corner pocket. Jack Sullivan was near the door, the ever present enforcer for these early hours. Besides that, the first floor part of the bar was rather empty. Gideon knew it would be busier once he got upstairs. “Malik, Caleb, you’re with Vin. David Smith, beloved teacher, may have an apparition problem.”
”He was gone before I gotta good sniff, so I dunno what we'll be walkin' into,” Vin said as they strode over to the bar, leaning over it. ”Gimme a shot of somethin', anythin', Marco. Y'know that shit fuels me.”
Marco smirked as he reached behind the bar and headed a bottle of the Balvenie Doublewood 12 and poured Vin a double shot of it before sliding the shot glass down the bar. As he did that, Gideon turned to Vin and gave her a knowing nod. He walked through the door next to the bar and began to walk up the stairs. There was a lot on the plate today and Gideon was ever ready to clear it.
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Blizz Grand Chancellor Supreme of the Wizard Council
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Raven's RestVarnan sped down the highway on his motorcycle in the late Monday weather. These old mountains were bitter cold at this time of year, definitely not the type of weather to be riding through on two wheels. But the icy wind kept him alert, in the same way a commanding officer's presence made people stand up straight. According to the trail he was putting together, the last two lycanthropes had come through this way. He had found trails going through the south end of Cloverfield and both were coming from the west, more or less. They hadn't killed anybody before he managed to lure them away and into a cave and tossed a crude molotov in. They just happened to be the apparition type of werewolves, so they'd shrug it off in a few weeks, maybe longer. He would've sealed them, but he was on a tight schedule right now.
Using some chronomancy to check the past, Varnan had deduced their trail into Cloverfield, and eventually pulled off to the side of a long, cold, dark road as he got to an intersection. Four lanes in each direction, some leading up into another clutch of mountains and some heading into another town. There was an overpass stretching across them, with more cars on it than on the ground. Varnan came to a stop. Traffic was down to a skeleton crew’s worth of cars, mostly people heading home or doing early Christmas shopping.
It had been about a week now, since the apparitions started to get his attention in town. Errant undead and werewolves in a frankly strange concentration. The mountains were full of strange things that humans were smart not to disturb, things older than the modern city that was nestled in them, but beast men and blood drinkers were a niche. They lived in those mountains away from civilization and didn't care for humanity. No one went up those mountains, no one bothered them. It was their own little world.
And yet they were flocking towards people that they didn’t ever bat an eye towards. They were migrating, and it couldn’t have been the weather. Usually, those clans would never do this. It would’ve been easier to just ask them what was happening, but werewolves and vampires weren’t known for diplomacy.
The light turned green, and he turned down the road that led to Raven's Rest.
On his investigations, he'd noticed a pattern. The two werewolves he had to dispatch later came from the west, and so did all of them. Not a single vampire strayed from that course, either. It followed, therefore, that since Raven's Rest was closer to those mountains that this was the first place they'd make landfall.
The low hum of his motorcycle filled the near-silent air. Varnan kept an eye out for any trouble while he slowly cruised down the empty roads. It was quiet, about as quiet as anyone could expect at this hour. A few lights on in houses went out as he passed, the snow was a bit thicker here, and it was starting to build up on the roads. Luckily, he changed the tires out last week for this.
Varnan pulled up to the side of a shop with a neon sign still shining in the sleepy hours. Bill’s Tattoo Shop. Varnan had called the owner in advance to say he was coming over to talk about paranormal things, since he had also been there in the Cataclysm and would know these sorts of things. Dusting himself off, he stepped inside.
"Bill? It's me," Varnan spoke, looking around around and seeing absolutely nothing out of the ordinary. "Have the werewolves been giving people trouble here too?"
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FernStone One Again Addicted to Pepsi Max
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It wasn't that long of a walk to Bill's. Bryn drove them from the church to her own place - a tiny house in surprisingly good condition for the wood it was made of. Having a magical woodsman really helped... But from there it was just easier to go on foot. Nothing in town wasn't walkable, and finding a place to park her ancient (truck) was a nightmare. She even made time to quickly change out of her work overalls, replacing them with brown cargo pants and a thicker jacket... Plush a side bag full of ash.
"I gotta bad feelin' about this," she said to Elara as they approached Bill's shop. This wasn't just Bill - it was all the shit that was happening. She was worried it meant a second cataclysm... Or something much worse. They'd been taught that there were many ancient spirits in the mountains, but anything dangerous should be sleeping. But what if they were waking up? There was no information about what and no elders to teach them now. "Whatever it was might still be about. We gotta be careful."
Without waiting for a response, because she trusted Elara - it was an implicit trust that came from years of friendship and working together. They had each other's backs... Though hopefully they wouldn't need to.
"Hey, Bill! Y'there? It's Bryn and Elara, just checkin' on you after last ni-" Bryn shoved in the door, cutting herself off when she noticed someone else already inside the small shop. Her head tilted up, eyes narrowing into a squint. She vaguely recognised him from the Cataclysm - but she couldn't put a name to the face. Someone there during the fight, so Paranormal. There'd been too many people to remember any but the ones that stood out, or that the Grove retained ties with afterwards.
"Here for Bill too? If it's for a tat he's full," Bryn threw a thumb towards Elara. Her posture wasn't aggressive towards Varnan, but it certainly wasn't friendly. It was a lack of trust towards an outsider - city folk coming in and sticking their nose where it didn't belong, making a mess of things. She'd seen it many times before. Sure, they were going to talk to some of the people they knew in the city... But there were agreements there. Someone coming into their town? She didn't like that.
"And if you're here for somethin' else, we got it handled. Bill's one of ours."
PatientBean Hi, I'm Barbie. What's up?
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File Name: Maria Gardner
Loading File.....Loading File.....Loading File
Name: Maria Gardner
Age: 42
Occupation: CEO of NurtureInc
Marital Status: Married to August Gardner
Children: Raven Gardner (15), Alix (12), August Jr. (6)
Job Status: Not Complete
Date Section: Maria Gardner came looking for help regarding her husband, August. Per Maria, August is engaging in "questionable" behavior and has recently been blackmailed. August Sr. initially denied behavior despite objective proof gathered. Blackmailers threatened to reveal photographic and digital proof to the media if they were not given $50 million in three days. Maria offered substantial payment if blackmailers "taken care of" and all proof is wiped.
Relevant Information Gathered: Looked into August Sr.'s actions and they can only be described as...well why am I trying to downplay it? He likes 'em young. All the more ironic that his wife is the CEO of NurtureInc, a nonprofit dedicated to helping single-parent households with employment, housing, groceries, etc. According to what I could find he has been in contact with, at least, 10 underage girls ranging from 12 to 17. There was also an 18-year-old though according to August Sr. she was "of legal age" when he first contacted her. Information garnered showed she was just shy of her 18th birthday.
Information on blackmailers coming in. Interesting that the blackmailers knew intimate information re: the Gardner family such as the color of daughter Raven's room considering Maria just had it re-painted. Means blackmailers are being lead by someone the family knows. Would assume it is someone in dire financial straits but history and experience has told me that even rich people just want more and more. Currently tailing prime suspect: Yesenia Blake, Maria's younger sister. Reason being that Yesenia, by all accounts, loves her sister and her family. No one spoken to has a bad word to say about her.
Which means she is guilty as fuck.
Last sighted at nearby cafe where she overtipped the barista. Appears to be headed home but made an interesting detour.
File Closed
Cloverfield had seen better days. After the Cataclysm it tried to rebuild itself. And, to it's credit, the north side had painted over everything in gold as a means of distraction. A not-so-subtle way of telling the populace "hey we know what happened but if you want to continue sipping your nonfat venti white iced mocha frappes while scrolling through Instagram you would do well to forget it."
Quill didn't. Part of her job was remembering details. It paid to know information as information was as good as a black AmEx card. People either wanted information or they wanted information kept secret. Information took down dictators and presidents as well as bumped up unlikely heroes. And information was always controlled.
Outside November reared its head. Quill enjoyed this time of the year. Fall was her favorite season. She felt her phone vibrate and looked down at the name. Goddamn Maria. Calling for updates. She flipped the phone so she could avoid staring at the screen. She was waiting for her mark to exit the building she had entered. Interesting that it wasn't her home. A quick search on Zillow as well as a deep dive hacking job (sorry FBI agent!) revealed it was the home of the Crane family. What was even more interesting was that Mr. Crane was at work while Mrs. Crane stayed home to take care of their one year old.
So what was Yesenia doing here? Quill chuckled inwardly. She knew from a quick search of Millie Crane's socials. Money didn't mean intelligence and some people quickly forgot that no matter how hard you scrub your internet presence is never fully clean.
Quill saw the door creak open slightly and then a little more as Yesenia stuck her head out. Her oversized sunglasses not doing much to hide her obvious intention of leaving without notice. Quill grabbed her phone and put it in her pocket, opening the door to step out. Quill leaned against her car watching Yesenia creep (actually creep like in the old TV shows) away. Thinking she was scott free she began to walk.
"Ms. Blake. A word."
Yesenia Blake jumped probably 10 inches off the ground as she swiveled on her heel facing Quill. "Who the hell are you? Paparazzi?"
Quill shook her head. "Ms. Blake, you aren't famous enough to warrant a single papparazzo. No I am here for a simple message. Leave August Sr. alone."
Quill was not 100% certain Yesenia was guilty but that shot up to 120% when Yesenia's tanned skin all but turned ghostly white. "I don't know what you're talking about."
"Let's cut the bullshit. You have dirt on him and are using it to blackmail your own sister into giving you money. Hell I get it. It's a gig economy."
"You're wrong! I don't need the money.."
"No you are right. You are very well off. No I don't think you are doing this for the money Ms. Blake. You're doing it to hurt your sister."
"I love my sister! And her husband and children! I would never harm them."
"It's a cute act. Be the loving sister and sister-in-law, the best aunt, all the while watching as their lives burn. No see, I know you want to hurt your sister. And do you want to know how I know? Because even a little digging showed August there is not just into young girls. He wants to keep it in the famiy. How long had you been sleeping with him when you found out what he really liked?"
Yesenia took a step back like she was about to run. Which would have been stupid. "I don't know..."
Quill sighed. She both loved and hated this part of the job. "Ms. Blake I asked to cut the bullshit. I know it all. I know what you did. I know what he did. And I know what you were doing in Mrs. Crane's home and it wasn't to admire her new kitchen countertops, though I would not be surprised if you both broke them in nicely. And before you ask no, I am not here to out you. I cannot promise the same to Mrs. Crane though."
Yesenia took off her sunglasses and Quill could tell she was cracked. Not broken, not yet. "What do you want?"
"As I said, I want you to stop blackmailing the Gardners. Delete all evidence you have, I will know if you do or not, and pretend like it never happened. I will give you to the end of the day and if you have not done as I asked I will release any and all information I have on Mrs. Crane's activities and ensure the two of you will never be together. You may not want the world to know but I know she will lose more than reputation if her husband found out."
Yesenia stood there for a moment before she took out her own phone. She typed a few things before responding. "Done. I'll wipe my computer when I get home."
Quill nodded. "Very good Ms. Blake. I hope for your sake we never have to meet again."
Quill turned to get into her car before Yesenia spoke again. "How can you do this? Protect that man knowing what he is?"
Quill paused before turning her head. "I don't have to like my clients Ms. Blake. I just do my job." Quill got in her car and started it, peeling off the side curb and into the city proper.
"So it's done?"
Quill stood in her office. Mrs. Gardner sat on one of her dark purple chairs facing Quill's desk as Quill scrolled on her phone. True to her word Yesenia deleted the files and wiped her comptuer clean. Quill had taken the liberty of relieving Yesenia of the physical copies the day prior.
"It is. You shouldn't be getting any more blackmail messages. Life can resume as normal."
Mrs. Gardner let out a light, airy titter. "Yeah, as normal as can be." She reached into her bag and pulled out an envelope, handing it to Quill. "Your fee."
Quill took it and stowed it in her desk, turning the key befor pocketing it. "Appreciate it. There's just one final thing to take care of before I close this file permanently."
Mrs. Gardner had been ready to leave; most likely to get ready for the charity auction she had planned later tonight. "What's that?"
"When did you find out your husband sexually assaulted your sister?"
Mrs. Gardner was better than her sister in that her face didn't shift to show emotion. Mrs. Gardner, after all, had to deal with lots of people in her line of work and, more often than not, the interactions were not pleasant and it behooved her to not show her hand. "What do you mean?" Her words were laced with a light venom, a warning to tread carefully.
"You knew your sister was behind this. Hell if I had to guess the two of you orchestrated the whole thing. A layman would assume you did so after you found out your husband played with non age-appropriate toys but you knew that going into your marriage." Each word spoken shifted Mrs. Gardner. Quill didn't need to read her thoughts to know that if the woman had a gun in her Gucci purse she would unload the clip on Quill. "Now I am all for supporting women's rights and wrongs so why you got into a marriage with a..you know...is not my business. What is my business is the job you hired me for which is to find the blackmailer and put a stop to it. So this is me warning you as well as your sister that the information I have can and will be used should it need to. I would highly encourage your husband to cease his actions going forward. Now with that being said our business is terminated. Should you need my services in the future, please don't hesitate. Oh, and tell your friends!" Quill handed her a business card. Mrs. Gardner snatched it and tore it up. "Bitch," she said as she storemed out.
Quill smiled warmly. Job satisfaction, it was a beautiful thing. Quill returned to her desk, closing the Garnder file, before reaching for a piece of gum.
It was a hard job. A necessary job. But it was rewarding. Should August Sr. not decide to remain loyal she would see to it he faces justice. But she figured Mrs. Gardner was a force to be reckoned with and would see to it in her own way.
So Quill sat and waited for the next client to roll in. She was hoping it would go as smoothly as this last job, but what was the fun in that?
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FernStone One Again Addicted to Pepsi Max
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4 Years Ago
Momo Mottah
Sin SistersThe old building stood as a testament to the days of yore, when the raucous nightlife of Cloverfield was at its peak. The Gilded Age left behind these relics, the art-deco exterior contrasting with the modern neon sign. Its flashing tubes of light read “Sin Sisters’” in thin, vine-like letters that protruded with thorns and roses that punctuated each I. It was a legendary place, one where the phantoms of the city’s last century came for their drinks and entertainment. It was the Leopold Building: A hotel that had been a speakeasy before that, and a brothel before even that. Now it wore three hats - Strip Club, hotel and restaurant all at the same time.
And it was old. And it was majestic. The front lobby was awash with green and pale white features, its ebon marble floors polished and pristine as the day they were laid down. Banners hung from the high vaulted ceilings, and a massive wooden desk was manned by half a dozen of the most beautiful people one could find. Statuesque, they directed each person to their destination cordially.
“Lust, Gluttony or Sloth?”
The woman smiled serenely at Loni, taking short and barely noticeable breaths as she opened a thick ledger and took up a pen.
“And your name, please…”
It took Loni a moment to answer - both because she was staring in awe at the place, while also trying to parse out the first question. What did that mean? Lust, Gluttony or- oh! Right! Of course!
"Lust… Alondra Garcia Rodriguez, oh, but if you only got space for one last name, go for Rodriguez, thanks!" Loni smiled brightly back, pushing back a stray bit of hair that had fallen out of the twin buns she had it up in. Her eyes didn't stop moving - from the woman to the surroundings, constantly snapping about.
"Y'need me to spell it out for you?"
The woman at the counter cleared her throat, shaking her head with a smile.
“Oh… No. I can spell, Sweetheart. I believe The Lady Angel has you down for an interview in the next fifteen minutes.”
Dropping the ledger she’d initially grabbed, the woman moved for a much smaller black notebook and moved away from the counter. As she came around, another person took her place seamlessly, leaving her free to guide Loni through the facility.
“Come on. We’ll get you a drink. Perk of the interview: What’s your poison, Sweetheart?”
"Oh, well, I'm only eighteen, so I can't?" Loni said in an almost questioning tone, still looking everywhere as she got to go further inside. She really hadn't seen anything like it - all her life was spent in the Lower District, mostly in the same few streets. All the buildings there were pretty run down… it wasn't like they could afford a nice place.
"Probably wine? I ain't tried it before, only ever had some beer my sibling got from a guy round the corner. It was more water than beer I think, but I wouldn't know. It ain't like that here, I guess?" She babbled away, fiddling with the bracelet around her wrist to try to push down her nerves.
The woman simply stared at Loni, unable to decide whether her natural North-side reaction was going to overpower her educated and curated temperance.
“I… Do you like sweet drinks, or tart? Tart as in sour…”
The assumption that a South-sider wouldn’t know a word like tart was probably as ignorant as the divide got. It wasn’t like she was trying to be rude, she just… Naturally was. Though, it was a more open dynamic between the staff of the Hotel and Restaurant, and their typically Southern counterparts in the actual Club.
"Sweet, probably," Loni shrugged. If she was bothered by the rudeness it didn't show. After all, she was used to the microaggressions from North-siders. It wasn't like it was anything new or anything that bothered her much.
As far as the club was concerned, it was even more incredible in its gaudy grandeur than the lobby outside. The facilities were separated by a long velvet hall that removed the noise and sights from the eye of the otherwise respectable facility. There was a separate entrance and exit for those staying in the hotel, with a single elevator at the end of the hall which opened up in front of another desk. A burly looking man in a bowler hat and suspenders stood there, his chest slowly raising up and down as he observed what was ahead.
“Virginia… I thought you were too good for our side of the world.” the man said in a surprisingly airy voice.
“As true as that is, this one’s not an employee yet and I happened to be up at the front.” the woman replied with some amount of venom.
Looking Loni up and down, the man shook his head.
“What are you, fifteen? Let me see some I.D. miss ‘not an employee’...”
"Oh, right, sure! I'm eighteen, y'know, but a lotta people say I'm blessed to look younger, even if it's a pain right now." Once again chatting away unnecessarily, Loni shoved her hand in the pocket of the worn denim jacket she was wearing. After a bit of fiddling around she pulled out her Identification Card, holding it out to the man with a smile.
"See, I turned eighteen a month ago."
Immediately, Loni would be able to feel the scrutinizing sensation of a burst of White Lux crossing her Emotional Field. For a moment, the massive man stared at the I.D., then at Loni, then the card again… Then he scrunched his nose and smiled at her. His expression practically melted.
“Alright…-” he handed the card back. Backing into the door, he kept it held open for the two women to pass through. “-One rule, Little Sister: The funky shit? With the whole dark and dead shit? Not allowed. Don’t use it. I don’t care if a gerbil in your act dies in your craw, don’t you dare whip it out. Especially not in the presence of the Angel.”
The woman, Virginia, recoiled in disgust at the man’s statement.
“Gerbil? Craw? You’re disgusting, Markus.”
“Well, good thing we don’t spend a lot of time around one another.”
"Huh, I- I can't even do something like that?!" Loni squeaked, looking at him with wide eyes. Of course, she'd felt the blast of White Lux against her emotional field but she was exactly experienced in Lux types outside her own. It was scrutinising, but she hadn't expected him to just talk about it. Her mom had always told her and Vin to keep their magic secret.
"I ain't gonna, don't worry, it ain't- well it ain't what I'm here for, is it? I never even seen a gerbil before… d'you provide ‘em here? Seems a bit odd…"
“Oh my absolute God you’re going to do fine here.” Virginia said with serious venom in her voice. The man, Markus, only laughed loudly as the two women entered the club.
And behold, flesh in all its glory: The place was absolutely full of scantily clad men and women carrying drinks, plates of snacks, empty glasses and arms of patrons who were too drunk to walk themselves around.
The bar was packed to the gills, its massive dark wood perimeter forming a protective wall between the main performance stage and the huddled masses of lonely patrons. Money was hurdled over the people working the bar, and a particularly regal looking goth woman seemed to be reveling in the middle of it all. She was working the bar in the styx with the others, swamped from every direction.
The woman dancing the pole behind the bar was dark skinned, voluptuous and draped in burning red hair. Her toned muscles rippled with every motion, pulling herself up into a wild spin, and her high heeled feet flicked up with unnatural dexterity to pluck and tug the panties off her lower body.
The crowd went insane. Men and women frothed and cheered like the world was about to end, their money only increasing in a chaotic rain. The regal woman at the center turned her whole body to look; surprisingly, still holding a bottle and a shaker in either hand, both arms flew into the air. She screamed along with the crowd, rallying their money out of their hands at an incredible rate.
Loni looked around the place with wide eyes and slightly parted lips, clearly in awe of everything she was seeing. It was noisy, colourful, and there was so much going on. Her head was snapping around so much that it was also almost unnatural - at least that she wasn't feeling any pain in her neck. She wished she could use a spell right now - if she changed her eyes she'd be able to see everything so much easier. She could actually take it all in, which she wanted to do. It was incredible.
She clearly sucked in all the energy of the place. The bounce in her step only increased, though there was that same frantic undertone that had her hands going up to her hair to nervously fix the loose bits while only making it worse. Of course as the constant looking around lessened slightly her gaze was drawn towards the woman in the centre of the bar. Was she the Angel they talked about - the boss, presumably. Her presence was certainly very boss like. Very impressive. Overwhelming. Incredibly attractive. The whole place was as overwhelming as it was exciting. And there was so much money being thrown around - money like she'd never seen before in her life. It was difficult for her not to just gape and stare.
"Is it always like this?"
“Only when she’s working!” Virginia called over the din, pointing through the crowd at the same tall, raven haired woman who had made such an impression.
“Stay close!”
Her hand reached out for Loni’s, taking it and starting to tug her through the crowd. There were some nasty comments, but regulars saw the pristine uniform worn by the Hotel Manager and knew to shut their mouths while the doer did. Eventually, they made it to the front, and the dark-haired woman took immediate notice.
”Viiiiiiiiiiirgiiiiiiiiiiiiiiin! What’s up, Stuck-up!?”
Her voice was deep, but wholly feminine and matronly as if the Mother of all Mothers was speaking. It was a fantastic way to meet someone who was presumably the boss. Loose, unthreatening, a naturally friendly smile full of unnaturally pale and sharp teeth accented by dark black lipstick. She looked like a gothic bar maiden, a white dress strapped to her body with various belts, the folds of which revealed dozens of different sized zippers.
“This is your interview, Ma’am!” Virginia said simply, her arms waggling slightly as if she was presenting Loni to the woman. For a moment, dark green eyes narrowed to stare at the new face before everything seemed to snap into place.
”Oh shit, right! Uhh… Fuck! Hang on-”
Turning her head to one side, then the other, she reeled back slightly before booming her voice over the crowd.
”Tristaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaain!”
Several of the patrons who were focused on the show above were scared shitless by the bomb blast of the Angel’s voice calling for help. But, as quickly as she’d shouted, she pulled herself back down and leaned across the bar to look Loni dead in the eyes. She was so close that she didn’t even have to raise her voice now.
”You’re here for the money, right? You’re not some life-long dancer who just does it for the thrill? Or a pervert who… Also does it for the thrill?” she asked conspiratorially.
"Is thatta trick question?" Loni asked back, not so much trying to be difficult or anything. She'd been caught out by stuff like that before - misunderstanding and answering the wrong thing. Her eyes were widely innocent as she met the stare directly at her, head tilting to the side slightly.
"I ain't had a long enough life to be life-long anythin'... Ain't like I got the money to do things for the thrill- guess that answers the question, it wasn't the wrong answer, was it?"
The Angel’s bottom lip furled upward, eyebrows scrunching up in thought. Then she shook her head and smiled.
”Why would I care why you’re working here!?”
And then she laughed in the girl’s face, tossing her head back. Virginia only snickered in turn, shaking her head and clearing her throat.
“She’s having Moscato!”
The Angel’s face scrunched up entirely.
”Oh, God… No bueno! Let’s kill those baby tastebuds!”
There was a move toward a top shelf bottle of some clear stuff that got poured into a shaker as quickly as it came down, followed by some bitters from a small bottle and a thick brick of ice which she openly crushed using her bare hand. It all wound up shaken, then poured into a small, wide glass before being handed off to Loni.
”Virg, get her over to the office and get back to work! Geeze, gawkin’ at my girls and shit-”
Virginia scoffed at the accusation, which caused the Angel to laugh.
”-Hey, don’t lie! You love this place!”
“Not on a good day! C’mon newbie, let’s go!”
The walk to the office was quick, and there were a few empty tables behind a wall where some of the other employees were just sitting. Some were smoking, others drinking, but all of them were clearly working one aspect of the flesh or another. Virginia sat Loni at an empty table.
“Alright, now… Don’t let these hoes eat you alive; Miss Momo will be right here.-”
She turned her head to one of the other tables.
“Tristain! I know you fucking heard her!”
One of the gentlemen with just a little bit more clothing than average puffed his cigarette with a smug grin.
“Bitch, you don’t even exist to me here. Go home.”
Frustrated, Virginia gripped her hands tight together, then without another word to Loni, stormed off in a huff. The clique of strippers and bartenders could only laugh among themselves.
The one called Tristain was a pale-skinned blonde, face covered in piercings. He stood, and his short stature was as clear as his fairly feminine build. They very clearly catered to all types and preferences here, as advertised…
“Little Sister, are you interviewing with us!? Oh-my-God! Look at yoooooou, you’re so fucking cute!” Tristain looked Loni’s way, fawning over her in an adorable kind of way.
"Well ‘course, I ain't here for fun- the free drink's pretty great though!" Loni smiled brightly, sipping from it. It was pretty strong, and not exactly what she'd go for if ever given the choice again… but really the bitterness of the flavour had nothing on the water outta the tap at home.
"Mamá always said my cuteness would get me somewhere- but she said the same of my sibling and they ain't cute at all anymore. Oh, I'm Loni! Nice to meetcha- though I ain't sure if I'll get the job so feel free to forget my name, I ain't gonna be upset by it."
“Awwwww, Baby Girl! I don’t remember names to begin with! But I’ll always have your little peanut face in my head now, so… I hope you do get the job! That way I never have to remember your name!”
And then he was gone, zooming off in his assless chaps toward the bar. Smalltalk continued until the Angel, Momo, popped into view enough that the others started to scatter. Seeing her full outfit revealed that the white dress she wore was a dip hem that climbed awkwardly high at the front; only to the point that it barely covered her crotch. Her boots climbed her massive, muscular legs up to the thighs, just sneaking up under the hem with the heels lifting her another three inches into the air.
She. Was. Huge. Massive, well built with her six pack stomach showing through the white lace of the dress. Her steps were confident, as if the ground was crawling upward to meet her rather than forcing her to step down toward its surface.
”Ah… There she is! Didn’t run away?”
Her arms opened wide as she approached, offering a greeting hug to the newcomer.
"Why'd I run away?" Loni looked a little confused at that question - it'd be a bit stupid for her to come all this way only to run soon as she was about to get the interview. She hopped up a bit too quickly, stumbling a little bit in the heeled boots she was wearing. But the little wobble was immediately righted without needing to lean on anything.
There wasn't really any hesitation from her when it came to going in for a greeting hug, Momo's body language clear to her. Her only frustration was that she was too small to go in for what she'd naturally follow it up with - the greeting kiss to both cheeks. It wasn't like she was that short, but in comparison…
"Uh- uh, do I stay standin', can I sit back down, I ain't done an interview before?" she blurted out as she pulled back, nervous energy overwhelming her brightness for a moment.
Momo laughed aloud again, tossing her head back jovially.
”No, dumbass! Come on!”
Her arm slipped around Loni’s shoulder’ guiding her toward a large green door that she opened to let the younger woman in. The place was a pristine little office with a desk matching the bar of the club and a comfortable sofa with a small table in front of it. Momo’s hand swept across the couch as she slipped behind the desk and settled down into the big black chair that had ominously sat behind it.
On the wall above Momo, there was a portrait of two dark, beautiful figures in some seriously scandalous lingerie. They were entwined in a seductive pose both regal faces looking almost exactly like the woman who sat before Loni. Her hands and fingers interlocked, resting on the desk’s surface.
”So… How’s the drink? What’d you think of the place?” she asked a two part question, intrinsically understanding how to ease someone into a conversation.
"Nice!" Loni said immediately, sitting on the couch and looking around the whole room with wide eyes. Her hands fell into her lap, fingers fiddling with each other which could have been from both nerves or a constant need to move. She tried to stay still otherwise, sitting right on the edge of the couch with her mostly bare legs pressed together and her back straight.
"The drink ain't what I'd go for if I was asked again cause there ain't a lot in there? But it's a lot better than the beer I had before, actually has some flavour." Loni easily talked, smiling brightly as she answered the first question. The second… well that was a pretty obvious answer too.
"I ain't seen anythin' like it before! It's amazin', like somethin' I'd see in a movie - the building is real beautiful and then there's so much energy, like somethin' going on everywhere, I wished I could slow it all down to properly take it in. Closest I've come to somethin' that bustlin' was when there was this big street fight near my home, loadsa people gathered round to watch. But this is much cooler. It's gotta… atmosphere, y'know."
Momo could only laugh to herself, rubbing her hands together as she leaned back in her chair.
”The atmosphere was built over a lot of years, y'hear?-” she started, throwing her hand with a thumb up back toward the painting behind her.
”-Those two geezers put a lot of money into this town to keep those piggies oinkin’ out there. The Gilded Age ended years ago everywhere but here: That's our vibe.”
The arm with the hand that pointed to the picture came back down, sliding into the desk where Loni couldn't see. There was a moment where the woman shuffled around, finally bringing up some papers, a pen, and a bottle of booze. She cracked the cap on the latter, taking a big swig before sliding it to a place where Loni could get it.
”Help yourself. Everyone's twenty-one here. Now, I don't know if you caught my name: So, to introduce myself, I am Moriah Motto, and I'm the third generation proprietress of this establishment. Most folks either call me Momo, or my stage name - Well, usually just Angel. I don't really advertise the other half - Uranium Angel… It's more formal on the other side, but that's what they're trained for.”
Moriah - Momo - was all smiles as she held out her hand to formally shake Loni's.
"Nice to properly meetcha, Miss Momo," Loni said brightly, shuffling forward and reaching out to shake the hand offered to her. She didn't quite understand everything that was being said. Gilded Age, proprietress, Uranium… well she knew the last one, it was some kinda radioactive thing, but she didn't really get why it was used here. But how much did that all matter? She spent a moment going between asking and looking stupid, or just going along with it all. Eventually she went for not asking yet, instead reaching for the bottle to take a quick drink. She grimaced a little. Strong… but really not bad.
”Bet you got my name and all, but I'm Alondra Garcia Rodriguez- everyone calls me Loni. Like, everyone, I ain't heard my full name since Mamà passed. M'glad it's not so formal over here, felt a bit stuffy over there- like I was in school or somethin'." Loni went on a bit before stopping herself, fiddling with her bracelet as she tried to clamp down on all the energy she had no outlet for. This was an interview, after all, she shouldn't just be talking on and on… especially to the boss, even if she was a very friendly boss.
"Sorry, I been told I talk a lot- but I'd very much like to work here."
Momo just laughed and laughed, like Loni's coiled energy and unwillingness to let it out was the funniest thing she'd seen.
”Well, Loni, I think you're adorable. Tristain, one of my supervisors- the one with half a pound of metal in his face? -said the same thing.”
She took a deep breath, clearing her throat and readjusting. She looked like she was trying to get serious.
”I have a reservation. Well, two, but… Listen: Magic. I'm not sure how exposed you've been down across the river, but here? Well… I know a bit about it I'd like to think.”
Momo smiled softly at Loni, tilting her head slightly.
”I hope someone was there to teach you that it's mostly a secret. But not a secret that you can hide from someone like me. You can accept that, right?”
At the mention of magic, Loni's posture got even stiffer and her fingers gripped onto the bracelet rather than playing with it. She wasn't completely surprised cause the guy at the door had already brought it up, and she'd felt him blasting her, but not Momo. Did he say, or could she tell some other way? It wasn't like Loni knew much outside the small sphere that was the Black Lux taught to her by her mother, and the Green Lux she worked on with Vin. She knew it had to be kept secret - though she'd always found that a little strange when her mom's work was with magic…
"Y-yeah, of course! Mamá was always sayin' we couldn't tell anyone ‘bout it, but she also said there were others like us out there… do you got magic too? Is that rude to ask? I ain't met many outsidea family."
Momo's smile softened. It was something she really was serious about.
”I do. And so does roughly forty percent of my staff. The other sixty, again roughly, are… Aware. What I mean to say, Honey, is that this is… Sin Sisters’ is what you may call a Coven. A group of witches and warlocks- We call ‘em Adepts -who are all associated closely with one another. Like a family, you see.” she said, her body rising from the chair to approach a nearby shelf.
Momo plucked a picture, bringing it back to the desk and letting Loni see it up close in hand. There was a dozen or so people, and it wasn't clear which one Momo was, as there seemed to be four different versions of her. Her finger pointed.
”Those two on either side are my Nonnas, and the woman we're all surrounding was my Mother. And that's me. The other girls-”
Her finger pointed at the other women who looked fairly similar, but different enough to distinguish.
”-Are from our home Coven. On the other side of Roanoke is where we're from… Then Italy before that. We're part of a really old group, you see?”
Loni's dark eyes followed along as Momo pointed, nodding. She knew about Adepts- cause her mom had sat her and Vin down and properly explained it all- and about the existence of Covens. Not so much about it being like a family.
"Yeah… it ain't a… evil coven, is it?" It was a pretty blunt question, asked without much thought for the consequences.
"Ain't most Covens bad?"
Momo raised her eyebrows, not having expected the question.
”We started as healers. Now we're mostly into things for longevity's sake… But if there's something bad or wrong, we fight it-”
She snapped her finger, stood half excitedly, and then replaced the picture with another. It was her, or a woman who looked just like Momo, in a military-style dress uniform. She was stood in front of a flag whose crest looked like deer antlers surrounding a cauldron. That symbol Loni may recognize from hospitals, the stick with two snakes spiraling up it, was crossed through the antlers.
”I gave a big part of my life to going and fighting other Covens and the monsters they carelessly unleash. I'm almost thirty now… And if you're curious, I'm ten years old in this picture.”
The picture was clearly of a grown woman…
"Ten?!" Loni blurted out, head jerking forward to give the picture a wide eyed stare like it'd somehow make more sense. How'd she looked when she was ten? There weren't many photos, but she was pretty sure she was short and scrawny and crying half the time. Nothing like that…
"Cause of… magic? That's how?" Loni looked up from the picture to Momo now, almost identical. There was a hint of fear in her eyes she couldn't quite hide. Even if everything she'd said about the coven was true - they were healers first, and they got rid of the bad… that she fought the creatures Loni's mother had warned her about…
"You're… alive, ain't you? You ain't not aging cause you're… not alive…" Soon as she very awkwardly asked Loni clamped her lips shut, biting down on them. It was the only thing she could think of - her mom had talked about the Black Lux users who used it on themselves to stay young, becoming functionally undead themselves. She'd warned against it, but even without the warning it had horrified Loni. But if that was the case and she'd just gone and asked… nevermind a job, what about her life?!
Momo couldn't help but smile. She placed the photo down and held her hands out openly to Loni across the desk. There was a serene look in her eye, comforting even.
”Give me your hand. I'll show you.”
Loni nodded, a little nervously. What was the worst that could happen? Well a lot, a lot of magic was touch based but… it couldn't be any worse than not, right? So she held out her smaller hands to take Momo's.
There was a moment where nothing happened. Momo's eyes were closed, and she looked like she was holding her breath. Suddenly, a burst of energy rippled across her Emotional Field. The absolute joy… The feeling of being swallowed by a billion happy thoughts rushed across her all at once. The utter volume of it was so great that Loni would be able to feel her relatively untrained grip over Green Lux melt into this massive cloud of Emerald.
Opening her eyes, Momo glowed a deep green. It was somehow intrinsic to understand, as all the influence over Black Lux that Loni had was pushed to the side, that Momo wasn't just alive… She practically radiated life itself.
”Do you feel it, Little One? A thousand years of life…” she smiled widely.
"I do…" Loni almost whispered, awe clear in her voice. It felt so completely different from her own magic - the constant balance between two opposite forces. She knew Vin didn't feel they were all that different, and just combined them, but for her… she couldn't. And she was scared of half of it, but that was also the half she understood best. This was overwhelming but in the best way. So much joy, so full of life… the complete opposite of the magic Loni feared.
”It's beautiful… is it always like this when you just got the one? The Green."
Giggling, Momo shook her head.
”Yes and no. The purity is always the same, but you wouldn't ever be able to maintain the volume. Suffice to say, I'm simply built differently.”
She gave Loni's hand one last rub before pulling away. The Lux faded, and she wasn't glowing anymore. She was just Momo.
”Now, if you work here, it doesn't mean you're part of the Twin-Hill Coven. Nor are you part of our Mother-Branch, nor our Grand Trunk. You'd be a dancer at Sin Sisters’ who happens to be magical. There's no expectation for you to share yourself like our family. The only expectation I would have, and the only thing I could ask you to do as a courtesy, is to keep that other part of you locked up in my presence… I can feel your Joy, and the life it brings… But I also feel your Apathy… It's intrinsic to you, and Anathema to me. Just being close enough to feel it hurts my soul. Using it, the Black Lux, is absolutely forbidden on any property I own.”
Her face was expectant, like she assumed Loni would totally understand what she was talking about… She did, seeing Loni's face when she'd asked about being dead…
The light in Loni's eyes got a bit dimmer when Momo let go, her hands going back to being clutched together in her lap. It was difficult not to feel a little bit sad when all that joy was pulled away, and the other side crept back in. There was no magic use - her control on that perfect where she was untrained in other areas - but the emotion, that horrible emotion, was still there.
"I swear, I'd never," Loni looked up from the floor again, back to that slightly frantic energy she'd had the whole time as everything came back into balance. But she also shuffled along the sofa a bit, away from the desk, as if it would distance the Black Lux further.
"I don't use it. Not unless I gotta protect myself from a ghost, and there ain't gonna be any here. I got it locked up always. It ain't the nice kinda magic, I know that. I seen what it can do… I ain't used it since Mamà died and I ain't plannin' to."
Momo’s wide eyes stared down at Loni for a long moment before she finally smiled. It wasn’t full of joy; it was serene and calm, matronly and caring. Empathetic.
”My Mama’s dead too… You’re in confident company, Sweetheart.”
For a moment, she fiddled with the papers she’d pulled out earlier, finally sliding them across.
”How’s your reading? Do you want someone to come and read this contract? It’s legal jargon, shit about pay and the like. Even if you don’t cut it on the pole, I want you to work here. It’s important that people in our situation stick together.”
Loni smiled back at Momo. There was a lot of hope in that smile and her eyes - even if she was here barely into adulthood, with next to nothing behind her. But if she worked here she wouldn't have nothing anymore, so it was really alright.
"I can read pretty good, I just ain't sure I'll get all the words," Loni said honestly as she took the papers and started to read them. It wasn't like these were the types of words they taught in school… not that she paid attention in school. She could only really read well because of all the books on insects she'd scraped together money for as a kid.
It really wasn't the same, but she slowly got through it. She didn't really understand it all, but there was nothing obvious there that'd see her stuck here for life or somehow in debt to them- though that probably wouldn't be all that obvious anyway.
"I got most of it. Probably. The important parts- nothin' bout selling my organs, so I'm happy to sign. I ain't fussy ‘bout what I end up doin' either… though I ain't seen a pole I can't climb." It was a bit of a strange way to put it, and it wasn't really meant as a euphemism or anything. It was just that Loni had never actually danced using a pole… she'd done the dancing, and she'd climbed plenty of things that were basically poles in strange competitions with her twin. How much different could it be combined?
Current Day
Sin Sisters, 8:15amA flurry of legs and the whispering flesh - enticing, tantalising to those in observation. Loni sensually spun around the pole before she flipped upside down, mesh top smoothly coming off to reveal the black lacy bra underneath. Her lips pulled up into a seductive smile as she winked at the few men close enough to reach over with tips.
It was impossible to tell that this was the same young woman that had run in the staff entrance just ten minutes ago, incredibly panicked because she’d overslept and was almost late. Technically she was late, but as long as she made it in time for her actual dance slot it was fine. Probably. So long as no one went running to Momo and made a big deal about it.
But really she was doing the club a favour. Most of them didn’t really want to do the morning, so it often got left to the newer or less talented dancers… which she wasn’t. Sure, she’d requested both a short morning and longer late evening shift today for selfish reasons (even if Vin had ruined her plans), but it was still good for the club! She was popular enough that she’d convinced a few regulars to attend during private dances, so really she was bringing in some extra numbers to this…
The Monday morning special - a unique, once a week only early opening and show put on for the North Side business men (and a few women) before they started the gruelling week. Aptly named “I Love Mondays”, it was surprisingly popular for how early it was. There really were people who wanted to see attractive women strip before starting their working week...
Of course it wasn't as busy as the normal evening opening, or the weekends.
The rest of her dance was done on autopilot. She wasn’t doing anything extreme, just one of the easier dances she had - but one more than sexy enough to win her both the rapt attention of most of the people in there, and a good amount of tips, by the time she walked off stage and into the back.
“Ma ma!”
Of course, her darling daughter was waiting for her - sleepily reaching out towards her from the lap of a fellow dancer, Ava, who Loni had handed Luciana off to in her quick rush onto the stage.
"Awww, my baby girl, were you good?" Loni cooed as she hurried over, awkwardly pulling back on her underwear at the same time. She bent down to lift Luciana into her arms, cradling the toddler in her arms. She shifted her to rest against her shoulder and smiled at Ava. "Thank you so much for watchin’ her!"
Ava just shrug, one hand coming up to wave it off. “That you done? Just the one dance? No private ones?”
"Yeah, well, it ain’t exactly buzzin’ in there - I’ll be back for the proper evenin’, y’know. Ain’t missin’ the real good shit. But I got shit to do." Loni said easily. Though that shit she had to do was ruined a little bit by the presence of her daughter. Not that she didn’t love her, but buying her christmas presents with her there just didn’t seem right. But maybe it was the right way to do things? Loni didn’t know, their mom had never been able to afford much for christmas… or birthdays. Loni was trying to do better. Lu had seemed to like the things she got for her birthday a couple of weeks ago… even if she also seemed to prefer the boxes they came in.
"C’mon, baby, let’s go get Mamá changed," Loni said, bouncing Luciana up and down in her arms. The little girl started giggling, babbling away with sounds that Loni couldn’t understand. As she made her way towards the changing rooms Loni paused, turning back to Ava. "Momo round? I got somethin’ to ask her."
“Nah, she ain’t. Not yet.”
"S’pose it’s early… I’ll talk to her later. If y’see her can you say for me? So I getta bit of her time."
Ava just flashed Loni an okay symbol with her fingers, before pulling out her phone.
"We got some excitin’ things to do today, Mijita," Loni said cheerfully as she walked further into the staff area, heading for one of the changing rooms. Thankfully there was no need for a shower because of her magic, so it should be easy for her to get changed and walk to where she wanted to start the morning in time for opening… "We’re gonna get cake. Y’know, somethin’ very yummy. You’ll love it."
Luciana threw up her hands, hitting Loni in the face as she babbled excitedly. Again, Loni couldn’t understand any of it - but she could feel her daughter’s excitement. She understood her even if she wasn’t able to really talk yet.
"That’s right, baby, it’s gonna be fun. Now, just sit nice while I get changed…"
Loni was glad they’d gotten here early, with the queue already forming before opening time. She’d managed to get third in line - right behind some extra excited guy and some other upper class woman. She didn’t feel comfortable, knowing she didn’t fit in here, but she tried not to let that get to her. Loni was used to being treated as less than cause she was from the South… she just didn’t like her daughter seeing it.
At least she didn’t look incredibly out of place. Her black wool jumper with pink ribbon braided down the sleeves was tucked into a heavy, dark checked skirt that fell just about her ankles. A nice wool jacket Vin had bought her for their birthday kept her warm, and she pulled it around Luciana in the baby carrier against her chest. Thankfully she was a little smaller than average… not much strain to carry around.
So, she looked pretty nice. At the very least she didn’t look like she’d come right here from working in a stripclub.
At least the wait in the cold was short lived before someone - the owner, maybe - opened the door. Loni gave Freya a bright smile as she practically bounced in, trying not to gawk too much at the display. It smelled amazing. She’d seen a bunch of recommendations online while she was using a short break to scroll through social media at work - the only time she actually had internet. It’d seemed perfect to try out… and she’d planned to get Luciana a little late birthday cupcake or something, since she couldn’t get one for her actual birthday.
Though this place didn’t seem to do any cupcakes. It was all incredibly fancy.
“Down!” Luciana wriggled in the carrier, pointing at the ground. Loni laughed lightly as her daughter said one of the few words she knew in such an indignant tone. She lifted her out with a light grunt, setting her down on the ground. Luciana immediately ran over to the display case, pressing her stubby hands and adorable face against it. Large, dark eyes stared at a macaron.
"You want that?" Loni asked quietly, crouching down beside Luciana and ruffling her curly, dark hair. Luciana nodded. Loni honestly had no idea what it was but… it looked nice, and it didn’t look like something a two year old could actually eat. But she’d let her try. She straightened back up smiling at the worker behind the counter.
"Hi, can I get that, and that, please," Loni pointed to the bright pink macaron, and then a much softer looking eclair. She spoke slowly, carefully enunciating each word to try and cover up her much rougher, South Side accent. "And a lah-tay, thank you."
She smiled brightly, reaching out to gently grab her daughter’s shoulder before she started running around the shop.
Interactions: An unfortunate door
South Side, Circle Neighbourhood, The Hollow Bar > David Smith’s HomeAfter a quick shot, and a bread roll grabbed from the kitchen, Vin was right back out onto the streets. After all, they’d have their ass handed to them if they just sat around while an Apparition was on the loose. They sure hoped it was just a possession rather than an abscision… It would be a real shame to lose such a good teacher. Sure, Vin had cut all his classes when they were in school, but they’d heard from the kids who were actually good at school that he was decent at the job.
He’d always been chill and cheerful. Vin would do what they had to do, though.
Vin munched on the bread roll as they strolled through the streets they were familiar with, Malik and Caleb just a bit behind them. They didn’t feel particularly talkative at that point. Instead they were mentally preparing for what was to come, anticipation and excitement building with each step. While they shouldn’t want him to be possessed, part of them hoped it would be the case. They wanted to fight. The thrill of it… it had been a couple of days since they’d been able to fully unleash it. Maybe they’d get to use their abstraction.
They hoped so.
Thankfully Gideon wasn’t around to lecture them over getting excited at fighting a beloved community member.
It didn’t take them long to reach David’s home. It was a nice area… for the South Side. Which wasn’t very nice at all, but certainly better than where Vin grew up and lived - most of the windows didn’t have wooden planks instead of glass, which was pretty nice to see. David’s door was even lacking in any visible damage… for now.
”Oy, David Smith, open up! This is one of Gideon’s men- I’m here to check up on you! To make sure you’re alright?” Vin stepped up to the door, hand raising to rap on the door loudly. Then he reached out and slammed down the doorbell, hearing the high pitched ring through the house. There was no immediate response.
They stilled, eyes turning white for a moment as they reached out their magical senses. Immediately there was a bright outline inside the house. An Apparition. They couldn’t tell if it was inside David, or separate - but it didn’t fucking matter at that point.
”Shit, there’s a fuckin’ apparition problem alright- hold my bread,” Vin chucked their half eaten bread roll to Malik. Then, they pulled off their think jacket, tank top and trousers so they were only in a sports bra and boxers - also throwing them to Malik. ”And my clothes.”
With a sickening crunch, Vin’s bones began to grow. Their legs changed shape as fur grew across their skin, claws pushing through their fingertips and a long, striped tail out the base of their spine. As they grow their underwear grew with them- thank fuck for orange lux- and after a minute they completed the transformation into their tiger form.
Then, without any other warning, they slammed their foot into the door and kicked down David Smith’s door with a loud crash - one that anyone in the neighbourhood would easily hear.
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Elijah Tower
Elijah was doing what he normally does in the mornings. Laying in bed, the covers barely on his body, and he is staring at the ceiling like he is in a trance. He has once again woke up before his alarm cook and is simply waiting for the thing to ring so it will make him have to move his body to silence it. But he had that feeling again, that feeling of sadness that never really goes away. Despite it being a year since it all happened. They say that time fixes all wounds, but they never say how long it will take, and for Elijah, it feels like forever.
As he continued to stare at the ceiling in sadness, the familiar sound of his alarm clock ringing made him snap out of it and turn the thing off. Now, it was time to start the day as Elijah slowly and lazily got out of bed and tried to focus on getting ready.
So Elijah went through his normal routine, made the bed, took a shower, got dressed in his usual attire, and eat something. This time, his favorite, waffles. Which he should be glad that his apartment is decent, at least in comparison to the rest of the southside that is still standing and has the basic amenities. Plus a rent he can afford, given he is a nobody in this town and cannot prove his credentials. Though he is not a fan of the cockroaches that appear at night, at least one and now and again, and he does his best to kill the ones he finds.
Still, it is a far cry from what Elijah is used to, and for now, it will have to do. So, as he carried his breakfast to the conch, set it down on the table, and turned on the TV. This time tuning it in to the local news channel and started eating his waffle.
The normal anchor lady, Kate Myers, was on, and he listened to the broadcast. "Another body has been found has been found in the forest yesterday with several claw and bite marks on the corpse, and it is believed that a pack of wolves is responsible and the police have identified the body as local Henry Mores, but his girlfriend Jessica Irons, who was said to with Henry the night of his death has yet to be found."
Elijah could only sigh at the news. Another body was found, and another missing person. He is not blind to what is happening in this town and, more importantly, what is causing its woes. Nothing mundane, unfortunately, given his knowledge of the paranormal. The question is, is he going to do anything about it? That question weighs heavily on him. He may not look like a fighter, but he can hold his own, and the spear's power is not to be underestimated. Elijah knows this very well. While its focus is to hunt the paranormal, it was made to kill any paranormal that finds itself prey.
"Now on to other news, the mayor..." Elijah, after hearing of the poor couple, had grown tired of the news and elected to turn it off and went to finish his waffles. Which he then went to clean his plate and return it to the cabinet. Elijah paused, and he leaned against the counter as he thought about his life. While he is rebuilding what he lost, Elijah knows he needs to do more than just survive like he is doing. His family would want that, but how is the question. He is still a stranger to this reality and to the town for the most part, and he does not know where to start.
Then the thought of the news entered his head, perhaps about the stuff happening in town, he thought. Elijah tightly gripped the Spear of the Hunter at the thought. Maybe even bring back the Watchers, though the Brotherhood is a thing in this really and similar to the Watchers from what he has heard of the group. Elijah pondered about all of this.
Then, out of the corner of his eye, he spotted something moving, and to his audible disgust, it was a roach. The rare one that appears during the day, and he quickly went to kill the thing by stomping on it with his shoes. After successfully killing the roach and disposing of the body by flushing it down the toilet.
Now free of distractions, for now, Elijah actually felt better now. Not all the way, but the thought of changing his path in life from what it is now is a warm feeling. He would have to figure out how to do all of this or if he can. But trying is better than nothing, though today, he has some errands to do first before he can focus on this. So, after gathering his things and making sure he had everything. Elijah left his apartment and made sure the door was locked before leaving. So he ventured out into the town, and a change in his life starts today.
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Atrophy Meddlesome Kid
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0-24 hrs ago
The Evergreen Commons Apartment Complex, South Side, Westwood “Jungleland”
Sunday Evening, An Ungodly HourThe sound of shattering glass and blaring car horn beat Paloma’s alarm by five minutes this evening, interrupting the marathon shouting match started by the neighbors two apartments down that had already pulled her back into a semiconscious fugue state. Paloma groaned and reached for her phone, hissing like a vampire that had stepped into sunlight as the screen lit up her room like the flash that comes with the dropping of a megaton bomb. The hissing noise became a steaming shower head, a staccato shout of alarm squeaking out of Paloma as the hot water ran out and she ran out of the shower, hitting her shin on the edge of the tub with a clunk. The broken toaster clunked as the mechanism to eject the homemade bread got stuck as Paloma, back turned with a towel wrapped around her hair as she put the final touches of freshly cut strawberries on top of Barbie pink cupcakes, head turning as she sniffed.
A half-eaten burnt piece of toast was carried in Paloma’s mouth as she left her apartment and entered the hall, precariously trying to balance a tri-stack of glass containers with one hand and her knee as she locked her door. The shouting was clearer out in the graffitied hall, a crying baby joining the chorus as the slamming of something on the ceiling from the floor below became the beat. Shifting the weight of the baked goods as her eyes watered at the acrid taste of the remnants of burnt rye mixed unfortunately with the fresh stick of cinnamon gum, Paloma popped a pair of earphones in and set the mood for her hike to work as she ignored the wisp of luminescence as she stepped over the body of a drunk man sleeping in the hall. She hummed along to the music, an off-rhythm thunk causing her to turn her head and giving her just the right amount of a heads up to dodge with deftness as the door of the shouting neighbors burst open and a large man bowled through the frame.
His face red with anger, a strand of light tugging on his collar as another roped through the door towards the voice shouting over Paloma’s music. The tension in the man’s face dropped as he saw Paloma, the rage becoming embarrassment as his eyes followed hers down to the bleeding cuts on his knuckles. He began uttering some kind of apology and asking her if she was okay. Paloma leaned her head to the side to look into the apartment, catching sight of a red-faced woman holding a now screaming baby and noting the dent in the drywall, the woman’s eyebrows raising and a smile coming on her face as she waved to Paloma and said good evening. The screaming baby immediately stopped as Paloma said evening back, turning to Paloma and starting to reach towards her as he cooed and drooled on his shirt. Paloma’s face brightened as she gave the baby a little wave and received a giggle in response, her smile dampening as she noticed the lights leashed around the mother and son as they had also been around the father.
“I don’t have time for this, Sam,” muttered Paloma to herself as she dipped out of view of the doorframe. The man said something to her, prompting Paloma to pull out one of her earphones. “Huh?”
“I said it’s Matt, but you can call me Sam if you want,” said Matt. “You going to work, Paloma?”
“Matt? Matt? You should offer to give her a ride,” said the woman’s voice around the corner
“That’s what I’m doing here!”
“It’s dangerous for a young woman to be walking out there by herself.”
“I know! Dammit, Mickie, that’s why I’m going to fucking ask her. Stop butting in all the time. You always butt in. You always do that shit!” yelled Matt, anger resurfacing.
“Why are you being such a fucking asshole?” yelled the woman.
“Oh, let’s, um, let’s maybe stop yelling yeah? It’s cool, really. I actually enjoy the walk. Need the exercise, y’know?” said Paloma.
“Are you sure, Paloma? It’s no issue at all,” said Matt, the anger gone in an instant.
“You should invite her over to have dinner, Matt!” hollered the woman. “Show her that we can be neighborly!”
“She’s right, Paloma, you should really come over sometime. Mickie might be a,” the veins in his forehead popped as he screamed and turned his head back towards the apartment, “STUPID! FUCKING! BITCH!” His voice softened as he turned back to Paloma, “But she makes an absolutely killer veggie lasagna.”
Paloma let out a nervous laugh, “Oh, yeah, um, maybe, not tomorrow, but, yeah, I guess, another time, look, I really have to go if I want to catch the ferry.”
“Oh, okay, yeah, some other time,” said Matt, stepping back into the apartment. He started closing the door then paused, “You sure you don’t want that ride?”
“Thank you, you’re very sweet, but I’m sure,” said Paloma.
She gave Matt a kind smile that faded as she turned and heard the sound of the apartment door latching. Within a few steps the shouting match was back on and the kid was crying yet again. Paloma shook her head and went to replace her earphone, but the subject had changed from whatever they were arguing about to now Matt and Mickie arguing about Paloma. She couldn’t help but listen in. Matt was shouting about Mickie trying to drag their annoying and nosy neighbor into his business while Mickie shouted about Matt trying to screw the stupid slut right in front of her. Paloma’s jaw hung open as their conversation centered around absolutely trashing her, united in their hate yet still going at each other’s throats. Paloma closed her mouth and shook her head. It didn’t matter what they thought of her, really. She should just move on.
Moments later, she was knocking on their door.
Mickie opened it. She looked positively delighted to see the woman she thought was trying to steal her man. Paloma smiled at her, a look of mischief in her eyes as she pushed past the woman and entered the apartment. There was no resistance to the trespass, Mickie almost absentmindedly giving Paloma permission to enter as the young woman stepped by. Her eyes scanned the one bedroom apartment. Identical to hers, but feeling so much more cramped thanks to the addition of an entire of another person’s shit, the pack and play, and other baby bullshit taking up half of the living room. Matt looked up from the sink where he was wrapping his hand in a dirty towel and gave Paloma a warm regard as she set her cupcakes down on the folding card table that was stacked with dirty dishes, overflowing ashtrays, sliced rubber bands knotted together and burnt silverware.
She was happy to be wearing gloves as she reached out and grabbed an empty syringe off the ground, going the extra mile to add a second degree of separation by picking it up with a tissue from her pocket instead of directly with her gloves. Mickie stammered something about Matt having diabetes and needing insulin shots. Paloma shrugged, not really caring. Paloma tossed the syringe and tissue into the sink in front of Matt, wiping her hand on his shirt. She moved towards the crib and kneeled down over the baby boy. She carefully pulled off her gloves, set them on the floor, and lifted the child. Paloma wiggled a discolored finger in front of his face as she bounced him with one arm, pulling the finger back as he reached for it and letting him grab onto a handful of hair instead, wincing as he gave it a tug. She turned to the parents, cradling the baby. Instincts pulled at both of them to confront the stranger who had just grabbed their child, but they were unable to make such a move, the air of ease around Paloma telling them that they could trust her—or rather, forcing them to feel so.
“He’s a cutie. What’s his name?” asked Paloma.
“Michael,” said Mickie.
“Michael,” said Paloma, making faces at the baby to get him to giggle. Michael. The deck had been stacked hard against the kid. What a fucking lame name. If the kid didn’t already have it bad enough with these two as his parents, he was now forever going to be a Michael, a Mike, or, god forbid, a Mikey. She watched as the guiding light of the Samaritan winded its way around Mikey like a snake. What the hell could she do about his life? Call child protective services and shunt the kid into foster care purgatory, gambling on the odds that he winds up in a better situation than a worse one? This was unfair. She wasn’t the one who got knocked up. He wasn’t her responsibility. The light around Michael intensified as it corded around the child’s neck.
“I already told you, Sam. Cut that crap out. Be realistic,” she sighed. The light died as Paloma put Michael back in the crib, staring down at him with stars in her eyes. She pinched his little foot as her stomach tightened and cramped. She never should’ve entered the apartment. “You’re going to break a lot of hearts, cutie.”
Paloma walked back to the table, grabbed her cupcakes, and stared at Matt and Mickie who were looking at her dumbly. It was a common look Paloma had experienced since becoming Everyone’s Sweetheart, the look of someone who should’ve been pestered by her that instead was forced to be delighted, the mental hoops that they had to jump through to come to that conclusion temporarily short circuiting the brain. Or perhaps they were just high and she had failed to notice, distracted at first by the juxtaposition between their shifting rage and adoration. She could help them. She could change things. But it wasn’t her choice to make, was it?
“It’s late. The two of you should be more considerate to your neighbors and keep it down,” said Paloma, her Good Influence putting its hand on the back of their heads and nodding them up and down.
A frail gesture at being a good neighbor which did little to ease the bubbling anxiety in her chest, but at least the rest of the building would have a quieter, more peaceful night. Paloma sighed as she left the apartment and closed the door, snapping the piece of gum in her mouth. The voices no longer carried through the walls. She caught the eye of an old woman peering through a gap in her door, the chain latch still in place so that it could be opened no further, another nosey neighbor curious to see what all the shouting had been about. The old woman gave her a big, dentured smile as Paloma closed the distance to the gap, seizing the opportunity to cure herself of that creeping feeling of guilt that was mixing poorly with the burnt toast in her belly.
“You won’t believe what I just saw,” said Paloma, cupping a hand up to her mouth as she leaned forward and gave the old woman the dirt on Matt and Mickie. The old woman’s eyes were wide by the time Paloma finished up, “...It’s so sad, really. Oh well, what can be done, right?”
There. Paloma felt a weight lift off of her shoulders. It was the old bat’s responsibility now.
It was quite the hike to the ferry. With the dark settling fully over the broken shell of a city that made up South Cloverfield, the pushers and the bloodsuckers paraded out of their holes where they would run and terrorize the downtrodden left out on the streets for the night. Still, Paloma was undisturbed in her walk. She chatted briefly with a haggard woman on the corner who had said she liked Paloma’s outfit, returning the favor by complimenting her fishnets and pump boots and offering her a cupcake. She politely waved off a gentleman who tried to pass her off a “sample” in a plastic baggie but accepted the joint, returning it when he told her about the extra punch of fentanyl it was laced with. She returned a tip of the cap from a police officer with a polite smile that faded as she heard the sounds of violence coming from the alley he’d strategically parked his cruiser in front of to block anyone’s view.
All in all, it was a typical walk to work followed by a typical commute—the other third shifters shifting around to make room for Paloma on the ferry and then on the bus, offering her their seats up front, even when there were plenty of open spots in the back. That was followed by a typical night of work at the hospital, scrubbing, cleaning, and also slacking. Nothing would happen to her anyway even if she was caught shirking her responsibilities, other than a coddling reassurance that they believed she was simply trying her best, but the bribe of cupcakes to the other cleaners and night nurses would hopefully keep the hard feelings away when Paloma wasn’t around.
Interactions:The Big Cat Burglar @Fernstone
South Side, The Circle, David Smith’s House, Monday Morning 9AMBefore she knew it she was back on the ferry and then back on the streets of South Cloverfield, her clothes smelling of the faintest hint of lemon and bleach. The morning light cleared the roads of the “undesirable” and replaced them with honest, hard working blue collars and stupid teenagers pretending to be wise guys. The visual deterrent of earbuds was the only thing keeping strangers from talking to Paloma on the streets. Before the Samaritan she had always felt unsafe on her commute, one headphone out at all times, listening for footsteps trying to sneak up behind her, taking wide berths around alleyways and idling cars, keys threaded between her fingers. Now she merely felt a little annoyed, mostly at herself for still feeling obliged to return every smile and wave that came her way. She should just ignore them. After all, they weren’t really the ones being nice.
She had ditched the large cupcake containers at work, letting the morning shift fight over the remnants. In her hand was a small carryout box she’d snagged from the cafeteria at work with one final extra special strawberry cupcake inside. In her other hand were two pieces of paper. One of them was a printed out map with a list of directions from the ferry, the other was a torn bit of notebook paper with a list of addresses. About a third of them were scratched off, all of them sharing one thing in common: they were the listed address online for all the David Smiths in the area. Perhaps, unlike the last two, this one wouldn’t be a dead end and actually be able to provide her with some information. She confirmed the street name with the paper and tucked them away into the pocket of her button up sweater. She disappeared around the corner before jumping back and pressing her back against the wall with a panicked look on her face. There was a trio of rough looking guys outside of David Smith’s house. Paloma placed a hand to her heart, telling herself everything was okay. She’d be in no danger and besides, who knew if they were even bad guys? She peaked around the corner and witnessed the cute one of the group rap on the door.
”Oy, David Smith, open up! This is one of Gideon’s men- I’m here to check up on you! To make sure you’re alright?”
She tucked back away. Gideon? As in Gideon Cross? She didn’t know him personally, but everyone in South Cloverfield knew of Gideon Cross. Nothing but good things were said about the man in public around here, largely because everybody had a different horror story about what happened to the last guy that talked shit about Gideon within earshot of his boys. Paloma mouthed a silent scream and thrashed quietly back and forth in frustration. As if hunting down strangers and interrogating them wasn’t annoying enough already. Maybe they’d move on if David didn’t answer. Surely, they would move on? A polka dot ribbon peaked around the corner, followed by a pair of alert eyes that only grew wider at what she witnessed.
The cute guy was getting undressed and she also probably wasn’t a cute guy after all. Paloma made a hmm noise that became a sound of disgust as the cracking of bones echoed down the street and the person started to shift, muscles expanding, fur and tail sprouting. Paloma blinked with confusion as their underwear grew to fit their new body, begging the question of why they bothered to discard the rest of their clothes, and silently hoping that this wouldn’t awaken anything inside of her. The last thing Paloma wanted to do was ruin her healthy, platonic relationship with Frosted Flakes by suddenly fetishizing its mascot. As if it sensed this concern and wanted to double down on it, the Samaritan took this moment to turn the Messiah Complex back on, a trail of light visible only to Paloma threading out to Tony (Tonya?) the Tiger. What? Were the two other guys unable to help the weretiger fit Mr. Smith into a nice pair of concrete shoes?
Paloma jumped out of her hiding spot as the tiger kicked down the door with one blow. She’d be screwed if her one big lead was eaten by a tiger. Paloma’s aura stretched out to Gideon’s men. If the other two were Paranormal like their tiger friend then they would feel the strange sensation that the weretiger felt when Paloma made herself known. The sensation wasn’t anything majorly disruptive, just Everyone’s Sweetheart skipping up to their physical forms and going in for a hug that was rebuffed by an Emotional Field. It was the feeling of a spiderweb brushing against the arm or a person with one spritz of perfume too many walking by, a mild sense of something’s off that soon became nearly unnoticeable.
“Oh, heeeeey!” hollered Paloma, leaning forward and smiling wide, her voice like helium squeaking out of a leaking balloon, her hands folded peacefully in front of her and still cradling the cupcake box. “Love the fur. Super trendy, and it’s cruelty free? Wow, amazing. You’re great. All of this is really great. Look, I don’t want to be a party pooper, and if anyone asks I wouldn’t dare say a thing, I mean, who would believe me? So by all means please feel free to carry on…in just a moment.”
Paloma took a tentative step forward, reminding herself that they wouldn’t hurt her, they wouldn’t hurt her.
“Um, first, would the two of you mind keeping your striped friend from doing anything violent?” asked Paloma, a wave of Good Influence rippling off of her. She doubted they were blind, but if they were One-Eyed Open they would be compelled to follow her request. However, if they had Emotional Fields perhaps they would just be gentlemanly enough to listen to someone as sweet and harmless as little ol’ she. She took another step forward, this one with a bit more confidence, her eyes on the weretiger. She held out the box. “I’ll even throw in a cupcake. It’s strawberry. Homemade. Full of love and sugar. I just want a word with Mr. Smith. Five minutes. That’s all I’m asking for. Just five. And then I’ll be gone. Forget I saw a thing. Because, I mean, what was there to see? Nothing. Nothing at all. So c’mon, be a good little kitty and just step to the side.”
A smirk crossed Paloma’s face as popped her gum and drew up to her full, unintimidating height of just shy of five and half. Shaking the cupcake box in one hand, she turned her other palm out to the tiger and with a wink said, “Or I scream and draw a crowd. Trust me, I can get really loud. Is that what you want? An audience? It’d explain the unnecessary exhibitionism.”
Estylwen The Villainess
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35 min ago
The Adel Estate, Southside
Mentions: Varnan (@Blizz) Interactions: Quill (@PatientBean)
Ah yes.
The Adel Estate, tucked away in the dark depths of Cloverfield South, surrounded by a cracked and aged field of gravestones. With its boarded up windows, three stories in height, and steepled, spiral tower rooftops. Complete with its own well water and pump connected to a generator, in-home geysers, at least two UPSes, and plethora of Victorian-era candelabras for when the power went out.
The heavy curtains were pulled over boarded up windows, and candlelight gleamed from within a lounge. The sofas were plush and embroidered, studded with rhinestone, and a chandelier above glimmered with little fires. Two occupants sat in the quiet of the lounge, a daughter, and her father.
“The cousins say that's five more times this month. It's becoming a problem. We can't keep letting these mountain savages encroach on our territories.”
Mountain savage. The word father used for the vampires of different strains, living in isolation in the snowy peaks.
The daughter turned to her father, dressed in embroidered silks, gold and gemstones. Her one eye turned up in a soft, reassuring smile, the other eaten by a verdant rose.
Lorenza spoke, her voice soft like a ghost haunting a grave, and melodious like wind chimes in Autumn.
“Father,” She purred, “There's something we haven't tried yet. The Fixer. They've gained some recognition in the years. I'm confident they will be able to look into our… problem.”
Her father nodded. “Alright, daughter of mine. Just be safe. The city is changing. I just… worry for you. You know I wouldn't be the same if anything…”
Lorenza softly shook her head.“You've taught me well, father. We can't stay hold up with the dead forever though, I'm afraid.”
Her father gave a slow, reluctant nod. “Then be off with my blessing, my daughter.”
Quill St. Sebastien's Office
As the footsteps of a quite upset Mrs. Gardner left Quill’s office, a new set of high heels clicked on the floor. A figure appeared in the doorway to the office, dressed from head to toe in embroidered black silk garments that covered every inch of her body. Her hands were gloved. Even her blouse had a high collar with its ascot. A heavy, laced black parasol with long, glass tube beads hanging down its edges obscured the woman's head. It was as if the woman was allergic to the sun.
Her voice carried the hint she was softly smiling as she walked into the room. ”Miss Sebastien, it's a pleasure. My name is Lorenza Adel. I have a… problem for you. It involves a lead, a Varnan Ingram…”
She gestured to the purple chairs. ”May I have a seat?”
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FernStone One Again Addicted to Pepsi Max
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0-24 hrs ago
”Huh?” Vin turned around to face the far too smiley, squeaky intruder instead of the door they’d just destroyed. Their head tilted in confusion. What the fuck? Didn’t most people round these parts mind their business? Vin certainly had growing up. ”Who the fuck are you?”
It was annoying. It would be so easy to just get rid of her… But as much as it frustrated them, one thing that Gideon had beaten into Vin’s head (sometimes literally) was not hurting innocents. These were the people they protected. Sure, plenty of South Siders also needed a good beating, but only on the bosses orders. This was just an overly nosey woman. An incredibly annoying, pushy woman with a voice that felt like something was grating Vin’s extra sensitive ears.
Who could see that he was a tiger.
Paloma would feel a similar sensation to what Vin had felt just moments before - a light brush across her emotional field, almost unnoticeable. Except Vin's apparition detection wasn’t blocked by it - they could detect the apparition inside her. Or, at least, that there was one. That hadn't bothered developing the spell past simple detection. But going by the way she was acting overly friendly and anti-violence, she was probably Adjoined. Not something they had to deal with.
They took a deep breath to push down the annoyance, all the energy that had been bubbling up at the prospect of a fight begging to be released. But they couldn’t. So they focused on removing all of those feelings - pure apathy. Of course, it didn’t work, but it stopped them from taking a swipe at her and losing their job.
”Look, lady, if y’know what’s good for you, you’ll take your cupcake and head right back down the street. I ain’t playin’ around here. The boss’ll be pissed if he finds we let you in- and we don’t want that.” Vin knew that they’d never hear the end of it if they just let some woman waltz into a place which definitely had a dangerous Apparition in it. And if she died? They’d be in some deep shit. They frowned, glaring down at her without much thought of how intimidating they looked right now. "Don’t try gettin’ them to stop me, they ain’t just here to look pretty y’know… It ain't safe here. You can talk to him after we're done, assumin' he's still alive."
Vin meant because of the Apparition, of course - he wasn't sure if David was even alive right now. They didn't think about how it could come across as them planning to kill him...
And she was threatening to scream. Vin's expression got much worse. Their lips pulled back to reveal sharp teeth in a grimace. They didn't want to deal with that... There was an annoying number of One-Eye Open freaks who saw someone like them and went fucking crazy. It was like Cloverfield was crawling with were-animal fetishists. A shiver went down their spine just remembering the last time.
Rather than stepping side, then stepped backwards onto the now destroyed door. There was a hint of paranoia in their yellow cat eyes as they darted around, waiting for some freak to crawl out from the ground and try jump them.
”Listen, miss, this ain't some fuckin' exhibitionist shit. Y’know how expensive enchanted clothes are? I ain't doing that shit on every outfit- why the fuck am I even explaining this? Do not fuckin’ scream. It’ll alert it. You stay outta this or you’ll regret it.”
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PatientBean Hi, I'm Barbie. What's up?
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9 hrs ago
Interactions: Lorenza Adel@Estylwen
Quill was spinning one of her pens in her left hand as Mrs. Gardner walked out followed shortly after by the door opening. Two clients in a matter of hours? Her lucky day. Quill glanced up and saw what could only be described as the Grim Reaper if he was a woman and gave a damn about her appearance. The all-black ensemble reminded her of a funeral and Quill admonished herself. Don't think negatively about a potential client. At least give them a chance to disappoint you.
As the woman spoke Quill felt her muscles tense ever so slightly. Quill trusted her gut and felt she could read people easily, but this woman was hard to pin down. Quill had to admire her in a sense. A "I don't care what you think I'm going to wear all black and carry a freakin' parasol and fuck you for judging".
"Please." Quill gestured to one of the seats in front of her desk as the woman sat.
Varnan Ingram? Had she heard that name before? If she did she couldn't place it immediately. She would have to scour her records to see if she did work for or against him in the past. He had to be doing something if the Grim Reaper was after him.
"So Ms. Adel, you say you have a problem and it involves this Varnan Ingram? Why don't you tell me what's going on and what you need from me."
Qia A Little Weasel
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Elena stepped into the warmth of The Cozy Bakery, brushing a stray curl out of her face as she absorbed the bustling, inviting atmosphere. Nestled on Main Street, the bakery was filled with the irresistible scents of freshly baked bread and delicate pastries—a blend of butter, sugar, and something more elusive, perhaps a hint of cardamom or even red bean. The comforting warmth and smells wrapped around her like a soft blanket, banishing the sharp November chill she’d left behind at the door.
The bakery itself was relatively new but had quickly become a staple on the North Side, known for its unique fusion of French and Chinese baked goods. The owner, a culinary experimenter by reputation, was a local legend, drawing in patrons who eagerly awaited her weekly special. This week’s offering, scribbled in neat chalk script on a board by the counter, read Matcha-Filled Croissants, and Elena made a mental note to try one before leaving. She might even splurge on an extra one for her mother, a small token of indulgence she rarely allowed herself.
If I can afford it, the young woman thought with a rueful smile, the familiar pang of frugality tugging at her. Money was tight these days, and luxuries like bakery treats didn’t often make it into her budget. Still, standing in the warm, fragrant air, surrounded by displays of golden pastries and neatly lined rows of bread, it was hard not to entertain the idea of a small indulgence. After all, the week was young, and who knew what unexpected challenges might be waiting for her around the corner?
Her gaze swept over the bakery, taking in the cozy light that streamed through the large, arched windows. Sunlight filtered through lush green plants hanging from the ceiling, casting soft shadows across the wooden floor and highlighting the muted greens and golds painted along the walls. Near the windows, a row of stools was occupied by early risers nursing cups of coffee or tapping away on laptops, the quiet murmur of their conversations adding a gentle hum to the bakery's atmosphere.
Perfect, Elena thought as she spotted an empty stool near the corner, her chosen vantage point. She wove through the tables with ease, the view from the wide windows promising a pleasant distraction. Outside, the last of the autumn leaves, in shades of orange and brown, skittered across the pavement, a peaceful contrast to the cold bustle of Cloverfield’s streets beyond.
Settling onto the stool, Elena ordered a green tea and one of the matcha croissants, her fingers tracing the worn edge of the counter as she waited. She tapped her notebook lightly against the tabletop, eyes drifting over the scrawled notes about the witness she was here to meet. He was supposed to arrive soon, and despite her cautious skepticism, she couldn’t ignore the thrill of curiosity bubbling up inside her
She lived for moments like these, when something strange and unknown hovered on the edge of her reality, waiting for the perfect time to introduce itself.
As her tea and pastry arrived, Elena tucked the notebook away, allowing herself a moment to savor the calm before things grew complicated. She took a slow sip, feeling the warmth spread through her, grounding her as she glanced out the window with a quiet, lingering optimism. Perhaps, this time, the witness would have something real to offer—something that could actually be followed, a breadcrumb that could lead somewhere interesting.
Minutes ticked by, and Elena found herself glancing toward the door each time it swung open, trying to keep her expression neutral. But she knew there was a glimmer of anticipation in her eyes, an intensity she couldn’t quite mask whenever she was on the scent of a lead. After weeks of relative quiet, this felt like a chance to dive back into the mysteries that Cloverfield held, and her mind buzzed with the possibilities.
Finally, the door creaked open, and an older man shuffled inside, bundled in a coat that seemed comically oversized. His clothes were mismatched—a tattered scarf wrapped around a worn-out jacket—and his large, slightly crooked glasses perched haphazardly on his nose. His eyes scanned the room uncertainly, and after a moment, they found her, holding her gaze with a kind of sheepish determination.
Elena straightened, a small smile tugging at her lips as she raised her hand slightly to wave him over, her anticipation mingling now with a flicker of skepticism.Well, here goes nothing, she thought, watching as he hesitated, then shuffled awkwardly toward her.
The man reached her table with an awkward nod, one that might have been respectful if not for the nervous energy vibrating beneath it. “Ms. Castellano?” he rasped, his voice rough, each word grinding out like gravel scraping across pavement. His gaze held a peculiar intensity, a strange mix of fear and sincerity, as if he was still questioning whether she was someone he could trust.
She nodded, gesturing to the seat across from her. “Thanks for coming. I appreciate you reaching out.” Her voice was steady, professional, as she sized him up, trying to read the shifting expressions on his face.
He lowered himself into the chair with a jittery stiffness, fingers fidgeting with his scarf like it might offer him some protection. His eyes darted around the room, scanning the shadows as if they might spring to life and expose his secrets. “I, uh… I don’t know if anyone else would believe what I saw,” he admitted, his voice dropping, his gaze fixed on his hands as if the words were too heavy to lift. “But you seem like the kind of person who… doesn’t just brush things off.”
Elena leaned forward, intrigued despite herself. “Well, you’re right about that. Why don’t you start from the beginning?”
He took a shaky breath, the air escaping him in a tremor as he glanced around the bakery, eyes flickering to the windows as if he feared prying eyes might materialize. “It happened last week… I was walking home late, through the old district. I was… well, I’d had a few drinks, so I wasn’t thinking too much of it, you know?” His eyes darted up, seeking some spark of understanding, perhaps expecting her to laugh or dismiss him. But her expression remained calm, inviting him to continue.
He cleared his throat, as if trying to summon courage from somewhere deep inside himself. “I saw… something,” he said. “A shadow, moving like it had a mind of its own. At first, I thought it was just… you know, a trick of the light or something.” He paused, fingers clutching the edge of the table.
“But then it… it started following me.”
Elena’s skepticism began to soften, replaced by a flicker of intrigue that she couldn’t quite suppress. Shadows with minds of their own were far from unusual tales in Cloverfield, where strange occurrences were whispered about as often as the weather. Yet there was something in his tone, in the slight tremor of his hands, that suggested his fear was real. She leaned in a little closer, signaling her full engagement. “And then?” she asked, her voice low and gentle, coaxing him to keep going.
He swallowed, his gaze darting to the door as if half-expecting something to slink inside after him. “It… it whispered my name,” he finally managed, his voice barely more than a tremor. “Not… not like a person would. It was like the air itself was speaking.”
She tilted her head slightly, her mind racing through a catalog of strange encounters she’d heard of in Cloverfield, none of them quite like this. “And did it say anything else?”
His nod was slow, reluctant, as if dredging up the memory brought him pain. His eyes, wide and haunted, seemed to look past her, to somewhere only he could see. “It told me I couldn’t run,” he whispered, his voice so low it was almost swallowed by the hum of the bakery around them. “That it was waiting.”
A chill crept down Elena’s spine, but she kept her face impassive, her expression open and receptive. “Waiting for what?” she asked.
“I don’t know,” he replied. His hands twisted in his lap, fingers white with tension. “It… it felt like it was inside my head, whispering things I didn’t understand. Like it knew everything about me—things no one else could possibly know.” He paused, a haunted look flickering across his face. “It was like it was… claiming me.”
“And…has it spoken to you since?”
The man gave a shaky nod, his gaze dropping to the tabletop as if the memory itself was too intense to meet head-on. “Every night since,” he whispered. “It... calls to me. Just outside my window.” He paused, lowering his voice further, as though afraid it might hear him even now. “Sometimes, I think I see it, just… standing there, in the corner of my room.” His words were punctuated by a shudder, his arms wrapping tightly around himself as though that alone could stave off the chill of his fears.
Elena watched him closely. This wasn't the first time she’d heard stories about strange, shadowy figures lurking around Cloverfield’s alleys and bedrooms. The city had an uncanny knack for drawing in such tales like moths to a flame, and every block had its own ghost story. Yet, as she noted the deep lines of exhaustion etched into the man's face, she felt a prickling hint of doubt creeping up, tempered by skepticism. People could be dramatic, especially when it came to late-night shadows and minds muddled by exhaustion or too much to drink.
Maybe he was just another lost soul, tangled up in his own mind, desperate for an explanation—any explanation.
Or just incredibly fricken high, she thought, her lips twitching with the trace of a smirk she quickly suppressed.
Her fingers drummed lightly against the edge of her cup as she continued to study him, keeping her expression neutral. “Has anyone seen it? Or is it just you?”
The man's face contorted, his mouth opening and closing as though he were searching for the right words but only finding hollow ones. “No one else,” he admitted, a flicker of shame darkening his expression. “I’ve told a few people, but they… they look at me like I’m crazy.” His gaze rose to meet hers, a plea written in his haunted eyes. “But I’m not. I know what I saw. I know what I feel.”
Elena pressed her lips together, her doubt solidifying into something that felt uncomfortably close to resignation.
This was the problem with cases like his—more often than not, they unraveled into nothing more than a string of feverish imaginings and overactive imaginations, propped up by loneliness or a need to feel seen. She’d encountered it time and again: people so eager to make sense of the unknown that they would weave entire mythologies around a shadow cast by a streetlamp or a draft in a creaking house.
She took a slow, measured sip of her tea, letting the silence linger between them, hoping he might bridge it with something more substantial. But he only sat there, fingers tapping an anxious rhythm on the edge of his coat, his eyes flitting back and forth between her and the window, as if expecting the shadow itself to be lurking just outside the glass.
“So, let me get this straight,” she said finally, her voice a blend of patience and faint incredulity. “You're saying a shadow—a shadow with a mind of its own—has been following you, whispering things only you can hear. And no one else has witnessed this?” She raised an eyebrow, keeping her expression calm but allowing just a trace of doubt to color her tone. “And this shadow… it’s waiting for you?”
He nodded again, but his confidence wavered, the certainty in his eyes flickering like a candle nearly snuffed out. “I know how it sounds,” he said, his voice barely more than a hoarse whisper, as if desperation alone kept it alive. “But please, Ms. Castellano… I’m not crazy. I don’t know what it wants, but I can’t sleep, I can’t think—I’m afraid it’s going to take something from me, something I can’t get back.”
A pang of sympathy stirred in her, but it was tempered by practicality. There was no proof, no other witnesses, just the tale of a man who seemed to teeter on the edge of sanity, grappling with shadows only he could see. She didn’t doubt his belief in his own story—whatever he’d seen had shaken him to his core.
But in a city like Cloverfield, where legends bled into everyday life, she couldn’t afford to chase down every tale spun by someone caught between fear and reality.
Elena leaned back, setting her cup down with a soft clink against the saucer. “Look,” she said gently, choosing her words carefully. “I can tell this has been hard on you, and I don’t doubt that you experienced something. But without more to go on… there’s not much I can do here.” She paused, offering a sympathetic, if not slightly weary, smile. “Cloverfield is a strange place, and sometimes things that seem real… well, they’re just shadows playing tricks.”
The man’s face crumpled, his shoulders drooping as if her words had drained the last reserves of hope from him. “So… you don’t believe me,” he whispered, his voice hollow.
She sighed softly, guilt tugging at her as his gaze dropped to his hands in defeat. “It’s not that I don’t believe you,” she said softly, almost apologetically. “I just need more than a story. If you see it again… if you can capture any kind of proof, even the smallest thing… come back to me, and I promise, I’ll look into it.”
He nodded numbly, his hope extinguished, a shadow of the man he’d been when he first sat down. Muttering a quiet thank you, the man stood, his figure hunched, defeated, and slipped out of the bakery.
Elena watched him fade into the crowd outside, blending in with the city’s anonymous faces, as though he’d never even been there at all.
The bakery itself was relatively new but had quickly become a staple on the North Side, known for its unique fusion of French and Chinese baked goods. The owner, a culinary experimenter by reputation, was a local legend, drawing in patrons who eagerly awaited her weekly special. This week’s offering, scribbled in neat chalk script on a board by the counter, read Matcha-Filled Croissants, and Elena made a mental note to try one before leaving. She might even splurge on an extra one for her mother, a small token of indulgence she rarely allowed herself.
If I can afford it, the young woman thought with a rueful smile, the familiar pang of frugality tugging at her. Money was tight these days, and luxuries like bakery treats didn’t often make it into her budget. Still, standing in the warm, fragrant air, surrounded by displays of golden pastries and neatly lined rows of bread, it was hard not to entertain the idea of a small indulgence. After all, the week was young, and who knew what unexpected challenges might be waiting for her around the corner?
Her gaze swept over the bakery, taking in the cozy light that streamed through the large, arched windows. Sunlight filtered through lush green plants hanging from the ceiling, casting soft shadows across the wooden floor and highlighting the muted greens and golds painted along the walls. Near the windows, a row of stools was occupied by early risers nursing cups of coffee or tapping away on laptops, the quiet murmur of their conversations adding a gentle hum to the bakery's atmosphere.
Perfect, Elena thought as she spotted an empty stool near the corner, her chosen vantage point. She wove through the tables with ease, the view from the wide windows promising a pleasant distraction. Outside, the last of the autumn leaves, in shades of orange and brown, skittered across the pavement, a peaceful contrast to the cold bustle of Cloverfield’s streets beyond.
Settling onto the stool, Elena ordered a green tea and one of the matcha croissants, her fingers tracing the worn edge of the counter as she waited. She tapped her notebook lightly against the tabletop, eyes drifting over the scrawled notes about the witness she was here to meet. He was supposed to arrive soon, and despite her cautious skepticism, she couldn’t ignore the thrill of curiosity bubbling up inside her
She lived for moments like these, when something strange and unknown hovered on the edge of her reality, waiting for the perfect time to introduce itself.
As her tea and pastry arrived, Elena tucked the notebook away, allowing herself a moment to savor the calm before things grew complicated. She took a slow sip, feeling the warmth spread through her, grounding her as she glanced out the window with a quiet, lingering optimism. Perhaps, this time, the witness would have something real to offer—something that could actually be followed, a breadcrumb that could lead somewhere interesting.
Minutes ticked by, and Elena found herself glancing toward the door each time it swung open, trying to keep her expression neutral. But she knew there was a glimmer of anticipation in her eyes, an intensity she couldn’t quite mask whenever she was on the scent of a lead. After weeks of relative quiet, this felt like a chance to dive back into the mysteries that Cloverfield held, and her mind buzzed with the possibilities.
Finally, the door creaked open, and an older man shuffled inside, bundled in a coat that seemed comically oversized. His clothes were mismatched—a tattered scarf wrapped around a worn-out jacket—and his large, slightly crooked glasses perched haphazardly on his nose. His eyes scanned the room uncertainly, and after a moment, they found her, holding her gaze with a kind of sheepish determination.
Elena straightened, a small smile tugging at her lips as she raised her hand slightly to wave him over, her anticipation mingling now with a flicker of skepticism.Well, here goes nothing, she thought, watching as he hesitated, then shuffled awkwardly toward her.
The man reached her table with an awkward nod, one that might have been respectful if not for the nervous energy vibrating beneath it. “Ms. Castellano?” he rasped, his voice rough, each word grinding out like gravel scraping across pavement. His gaze held a peculiar intensity, a strange mix of fear and sincerity, as if he was still questioning whether she was someone he could trust.
She nodded, gesturing to the seat across from her. “Thanks for coming. I appreciate you reaching out.” Her voice was steady, professional, as she sized him up, trying to read the shifting expressions on his face.
He lowered himself into the chair with a jittery stiffness, fingers fidgeting with his scarf like it might offer him some protection. His eyes darted around the room, scanning the shadows as if they might spring to life and expose his secrets. “I, uh… I don’t know if anyone else would believe what I saw,” he admitted, his voice dropping, his gaze fixed on his hands as if the words were too heavy to lift. “But you seem like the kind of person who… doesn’t just brush things off.”
Elena leaned forward, intrigued despite herself. “Well, you’re right about that. Why don’t you start from the beginning?”
He took a shaky breath, the air escaping him in a tremor as he glanced around the bakery, eyes flickering to the windows as if he feared prying eyes might materialize. “It happened last week… I was walking home late, through the old district. I was… well, I’d had a few drinks, so I wasn’t thinking too much of it, you know?” His eyes darted up, seeking some spark of understanding, perhaps expecting her to laugh or dismiss him. But her expression remained calm, inviting him to continue.
He cleared his throat, as if trying to summon courage from somewhere deep inside himself. “I saw… something,” he said. “A shadow, moving like it had a mind of its own. At first, I thought it was just… you know, a trick of the light or something.” He paused, fingers clutching the edge of the table.
“But then it… it started following me.”
Elena’s skepticism began to soften, replaced by a flicker of intrigue that she couldn’t quite suppress. Shadows with minds of their own were far from unusual tales in Cloverfield, where strange occurrences were whispered about as often as the weather. Yet there was something in his tone, in the slight tremor of his hands, that suggested his fear was real. She leaned in a little closer, signaling her full engagement. “And then?” she asked, her voice low and gentle, coaxing him to keep going.
He swallowed, his gaze darting to the door as if half-expecting something to slink inside after him. “It… it whispered my name,” he finally managed, his voice barely more than a tremor. “Not… not like a person would. It was like the air itself was speaking.”
She tilted her head slightly, her mind racing through a catalog of strange encounters she’d heard of in Cloverfield, none of them quite like this. “And did it say anything else?”
His nod was slow, reluctant, as if dredging up the memory brought him pain. His eyes, wide and haunted, seemed to look past her, to somewhere only he could see. “It told me I couldn’t run,” he whispered, his voice so low it was almost swallowed by the hum of the bakery around them. “That it was waiting.”
A chill crept down Elena’s spine, but she kept her face impassive, her expression open and receptive. “Waiting for what?” she asked.
“I don’t know,” he replied. His hands twisted in his lap, fingers white with tension. “It… it felt like it was inside my head, whispering things I didn’t understand. Like it knew everything about me—things no one else could possibly know.” He paused, a haunted look flickering across his face. “It was like it was… claiming me.”
“And…has it spoken to you since?”
The man gave a shaky nod, his gaze dropping to the tabletop as if the memory itself was too intense to meet head-on. “Every night since,” he whispered. “It... calls to me. Just outside my window.” He paused, lowering his voice further, as though afraid it might hear him even now. “Sometimes, I think I see it, just… standing there, in the corner of my room.” His words were punctuated by a shudder, his arms wrapping tightly around himself as though that alone could stave off the chill of his fears.
Elena watched him closely. This wasn't the first time she’d heard stories about strange, shadowy figures lurking around Cloverfield’s alleys and bedrooms. The city had an uncanny knack for drawing in such tales like moths to a flame, and every block had its own ghost story. Yet, as she noted the deep lines of exhaustion etched into the man's face, she felt a prickling hint of doubt creeping up, tempered by skepticism. People could be dramatic, especially when it came to late-night shadows and minds muddled by exhaustion or too much to drink.
Maybe he was just another lost soul, tangled up in his own mind, desperate for an explanation—any explanation.
Or just incredibly fricken high, she thought, her lips twitching with the trace of a smirk she quickly suppressed.
Her fingers drummed lightly against the edge of her cup as she continued to study him, keeping her expression neutral. “Has anyone seen it? Or is it just you?”
The man's face contorted, his mouth opening and closing as though he were searching for the right words but only finding hollow ones. “No one else,” he admitted, a flicker of shame darkening his expression. “I’ve told a few people, but they… they look at me like I’m crazy.” His gaze rose to meet hers, a plea written in his haunted eyes. “But I’m not. I know what I saw. I know what I feel.”
Elena pressed her lips together, her doubt solidifying into something that felt uncomfortably close to resignation.
This was the problem with cases like his—more often than not, they unraveled into nothing more than a string of feverish imaginings and overactive imaginations, propped up by loneliness or a need to feel seen. She’d encountered it time and again: people so eager to make sense of the unknown that they would weave entire mythologies around a shadow cast by a streetlamp or a draft in a creaking house.
She took a slow, measured sip of her tea, letting the silence linger between them, hoping he might bridge it with something more substantial. But he only sat there, fingers tapping an anxious rhythm on the edge of his coat, his eyes flitting back and forth between her and the window, as if expecting the shadow itself to be lurking just outside the glass.
“So, let me get this straight,” she said finally, her voice a blend of patience and faint incredulity. “You're saying a shadow—a shadow with a mind of its own—has been following you, whispering things only you can hear. And no one else has witnessed this?” She raised an eyebrow, keeping her expression calm but allowing just a trace of doubt to color her tone. “And this shadow… it’s waiting for you?”
He nodded again, but his confidence wavered, the certainty in his eyes flickering like a candle nearly snuffed out. “I know how it sounds,” he said, his voice barely more than a hoarse whisper, as if desperation alone kept it alive. “But please, Ms. Castellano… I’m not crazy. I don’t know what it wants, but I can’t sleep, I can’t think—I’m afraid it’s going to take something from me, something I can’t get back.”
A pang of sympathy stirred in her, but it was tempered by practicality. There was no proof, no other witnesses, just the tale of a man who seemed to teeter on the edge of sanity, grappling with shadows only he could see. She didn’t doubt his belief in his own story—whatever he’d seen had shaken him to his core.
But in a city like Cloverfield, where legends bled into everyday life, she couldn’t afford to chase down every tale spun by someone caught between fear and reality.
Elena leaned back, setting her cup down with a soft clink against the saucer. “Look,” she said gently, choosing her words carefully. “I can tell this has been hard on you, and I don’t doubt that you experienced something. But without more to go on… there’s not much I can do here.” She paused, offering a sympathetic, if not slightly weary, smile. “Cloverfield is a strange place, and sometimes things that seem real… well, they’re just shadows playing tricks.”
The man’s face crumpled, his shoulders drooping as if her words had drained the last reserves of hope from him. “So… you don’t believe me,” he whispered, his voice hollow.
She sighed softly, guilt tugging at her as his gaze dropped to his hands in defeat. “It’s not that I don’t believe you,” she said softly, almost apologetically. “I just need more than a story. If you see it again… if you can capture any kind of proof, even the smallest thing… come back to me, and I promise, I’ll look into it.”
He nodded numbly, his hope extinguished, a shadow of the man he’d been when he first sat down. Muttering a quiet thank you, the man stood, his figure hunched, defeated, and slipped out of the bakery.
Elena watched him fade into the crowd outside, blending in with the city’s anonymous faces, as though he’d never even been there at all.
2x Like
Ioan M. Foster
MFF Industries Boardroom - 07:15Outside the large plateglass window Cloverfield was just beginning to emerge from its nightime slumber. Cars filtering through the streets of southside, the ferry making its morning foray lazily over the Deepwater River. Across the river the run down, brown brickwork of southside gave way to the sprawling cityline profile of Cloverfield's downtown core on northside. Perched atop a massive drumlin hill, six stories up in MFF Industries' powerplant, the city looked small.
Inside the boardroom the lights were dimmed. Outside the mountains obscured the rising sun such that the whole of the boardroom was illuminated solely by the light of the powerpoint projector and the city lights beyond with the effect of casting the whole of the room in a state of unnatural twilight. Figures in suits, men and women of serious disposition craned their necks, staring in rapt silence in the direction of the illuminated wall-screen, while an intern in heels stepped around refilling decanters of ice water before taking her place quietly in a corner out of sight. The words "Serenova Treatment - A Fresh Start to Mental Peace" illuminated the screen as a heading.
A presentation was in progress, the slides of the powerpoint shifted through initial preamble, talking mostly about something called 'Serenova', how it had passed initial animal and phase I human testing without serious consequences. How it made use of patented technology - held by a shell company owned by Lux (and built and initially tested by MFF's own R&D department) - designed to treat serious depressive disorders as well as anxiety and bi-polar issues. These and other things the figures watched in silence, occasionally nodding, occasionally shifting through their notes and papers or sipping from their coffee cups.
At the head of the room MFF Industries' CEO watched silently, less at the presentation than the people. Among those present he was one of the few aware of Lux Medical Technologies wasn't merely a strategic partner, but rather, wholly owned by MFF Industries - insulated from their activities by a slew of overseas shell companies that ultimately traced their way to a Panamanian Law Firm, whose partners were the listed owners of several private equity firms who collectively controlled Lux. Most even on MFF's board believed they were simply first in line to build the equipment for this treatment when the time came, and eager to be involved in buying up Lux shares during it's much anticipated Initial Public Offering.
"Off label treatment is very much on the table though." The knowing smile of the Lux presenter was cast in a gentle moonlit blue light to gentle applause as she yielded the floor to Dr. Pavinder Khadri, Lux's Chief Technical Officer. It was he who took up position to one side of the room, the pair of Lux presenters so far yielded the floor, taking their seats. There was ceremony and deference to it. Calculation too. An air of anticipation filled the boardroom. People leaned forward.
This was Lux's superstar, and the main event was about to begin.
"Now, what I'm sure most of you have been waiting to hear." The tone of the presentation immediately changed as Dr. Khadri advanced to the next slide. He was more animated than the others. Here was a man that enjoyed his work, and had news he was excited to share. "Most of the data-analysis from phase 2 trials is complete, but we are now very confident declaring our Phase II trials a resounding success."
Gentle applause from the board.
"A total of 957 patients completed the full study cycle - which is a very significant number for phase 2 trials, reflecting the excitement our product has generated from both patients and medical service providers. Our phase 2 results clearly show self-reported efficacy showing reductions in significant negative emotions and intrusive thoughts of 90% over benchmark treatments."
There was clapping around the boardroom as the screen flipped through the graphs from the study. A tepid smile tugged even at Mr. Foster's lips as he surveyed the table, the news drawing a few tepid claps from his own stoic hands.
"Double blinded assessment tools applied by our researchers overwhelming confirm these numbers. A 67% improvement in the number of respondents showing positive response to Serenova over benchmark treatments, for the least severe symptoms. The reason this is lower, is self reports are always high. However, reduction of the most severe symptoms was higher still, scores show a 127% point improvement over benchmark treatments. Overall nearly 95% of those in the study group, showed significant positive response to the Serenova treatment regime. These are unprecedented numbers in any study."
The room erupted clapping and smiles around the table. Executives were patting each other's backs, smiles ear to ear.
So much so that Dr. Khadri had to speak up to be heard even as the room began to die down. "AND we have reason to expect there are synergistic effects when combined with existing medical interventions."
Renewed clapping and applause from the executive team, who rose from their seats. The only exceptions were the loan intern in the corner, who seemed to be hiding, and MFF's CEO, Mr. Foster, who remained seated presiding over the jubilant board room with an indulgent grin and a tepid set of claps.
At this point the boardroom opened to questions from those present for Dr. Khadri.
"How long does the full treatment program take?"
"Our study cycle is two years, but this would be ah... a recurring treatment. Once treatment is discontinued, resumption of negative symptoms typically occurs within one to two weeks."
"So we'd be looking at, indefinite continuation of the treatment?"
Dr. Khadri smiled uncomfortably at the question. "We would be looking to pair the treatment with interventions targeted to reduce root causes of the negative symptoms. However, we expect the most common use of our treatment will be for depression, and having read some of our patient profiles it would be fair to say many of the root causes are not responsive to medical interventions."
One of the other Lux presenters spoke up. "So the answer to your question, for patients, is 'most likely'." Then to the rest of the board. "All chargeable of course."
This was exciting news. More clapping. Someone began hooting in the boardroom.
Lux's marketing officer spoke up at this point. The room being loud enough they had to shout to be heard. "We also have some confidential indications through our partners in the medical insurance sector!" The room began to grow still again by this fresh declaration. "Lux has a number of strategic partners, who are seeing the same data you are. Including Insurance Companies, and partner companies - employers - who are participating in study recruitment. Interest in our product coming to market has been high."
"How high?"
"We're being told that participating partners have seen radical improvements in workplace attendance, retention, productivity." The marketing representative declared, having to raise their voice again as people began standing up. The excitement was becoming infectious in the room. "They want to know how soon they can get this treatment on their workplace insurance plans!" People in the board were all rising to their feet. "We had a meeting just last week with insurance and industry partners about lobbying for expedited FDA approval!"
The room exploded. Clapping. Hooting. Senior executives elbowing one another. Bedlam had erupted. Announcements and news like this did not simply happen.
"And keep in mind people, the byproduct of this treatment is itself a revenue stream." Another of the Lux reps actually had to stand up on their chair and shout to make the last part heard.
And then, a sudden calming ran through the room. At first even those in attendance seemed confused as to where the sudden wave of silence was coming from but starting at the front of the table in ran down the whole length of it like a cold shudder. "Please, ladies, gentlemen." Mr. Foster's voice was eventually heard as one by one the table fell silent. His voice was neither loud nor harsh yet the very act of him speaking at all seemed to run through the room like a shudder. "We do have a meeting to finish, and I have an 8 o'clock. Dr. Khadri, please, finish your presentation."
The room settled into a more muted, quieter, more electric energy as people seated themselves. Serious faces resumed. People straightened suits and sat back down.
Dr. Khadri closed with some final remarks. "Obviously there are some caveats. Disclosures that must be made." He began running through a set of very standard conditions, warning common to such studies. Ending with one particular one that drew some raised eyebrows along the table. "Most significantly however, our study group did show a small, but statistically significant uptick in rate of suicide."
A chill descended over the room and as Dr. Khadri prepared to continue someone interrupted him. "That's... serious isn't it?"
Dr. Khadri shifted from foot to foot before the powerpoint screen, and adjusted his glasses. This was clearly a question he'd prepared for. "Any increase in suicide rate is taken very seriously. Yes." He prepared to resume his presentation when another person asked.
"Is this... likely to affect approval?"
Dr. Khadri looked annoyed, but responded. "That will depend on Phase III trials, however as I was about to say, this was an expected outcome of the study in our original filings to the FDA. Previous treatments for these disorders have had similar side effects. Our treatment reduces intrusive negative emotions, allowing our patients to more calmly go about their lives. While these can have a very significant deleterious effect on patient well-being, they can also have a protective effect as in the case of inhibitory fears towards... say, suicide. Obviously this is serious, but what we're seeing is both expected and within limits the FDA has already approved for other treatments."
"How much leeway do we have on this?"
"Previous treatments accepted by the FDA that showed very significant positive benefits have typically seen approval so long total increase in suicide rate does not rise above 0.2%. Based on our effect sizes, so long as our efficacy data holds in Phase III we could reasonably expect the FDA to go as high as 0.5%, especially with strong backing from the insurance industry and major companies fighting to get us on their work plans. Remember too, Serenova is a procedure not a drug with complicated pharmacokinetics. Historically such treatments hold up much better in Phase III. Based on our previous animal testing, we expect most of our phase 2 results to hold up much better in phase 3 compared to industry standards."
"Do you have projections on what increases we might expect in Phase 3?"
"Based on post-hoc analysis, and going into patient records, we think some of the noted uptick is statistical anomaly from the randomization process. Our control group happened to show one fewer suicide than expected. Ours had one more. Post-hoc analysis of patient profiles suggest the study group did wind up with a higher relative risk index. This will all be controlled for in phase III. There's risk in such projections but controlling for these, we're projecting with 95% confidence we'll land between 0.05-0.25% increase. We are also hoping that, as follow up data continues, over time lifestyle improvements will push us back into net-positive territory but that hasn't manifested in the data yet."
Once things began to settle down there were congratulations to Dr. Khadri and the rest of Lux's technical team for the work they'd been doing. The conversation turned then to discussions of Lux's financial position and how much money they'd need to raise during an IPO offering to ensure they'd be able to complete phase 3 trials and bring the product to market, then the talk turned to contracts for MFF to build the facilities to actually build the treatment equipment.
The end of Dr. Khadri's presentation had taken some of the wind out of the room as discussions shifted then to Lux's financial position and what sort of assets they'd need to finish out phase III trials and bring the treatment to market. Some of the jubilant mood returned when the marketing team discussed projected market shares, with a potential client base of potentially 10 million within the US alone. This coupled with the revenue estimates that accompanied them restored smiles to everyones faces by the time the meeting was adjourned.
Mr. Foster was one exception, remaining much as he had throughout. A somewhat bemused figure presiding over the whole affair as he watched the presentation play out. The other was the intern, who'd remained stationary in the corner and looked by this point like she'd very much prefer being elsewhere, her fingers tapping against the cellphone in the waist pocket of her blazer.
Mr. Foster pulled out his pocketwatch as closing statements finished and people began standing up, shuffling papers and exchanging handshakes. He stood then, taking a position, sentinel-like then by the door, thanking everyone with a great smile, a firm handshake and a pat on the shoulder as they left through the door held open by the intern and a few jovial remarks as the room quickly emptied.
"You. Stay." Mr. Foster declared abruptly when it was just two left in the room and the intern was half-way out the door.
The intern froze in the doorway, like a gazelle having caught first sight of a predator in the distance, caught between fight and flight. Slowly, reluctantly, she stepped back into the room. Her shoulders tightened ever so slightly when Mr. Foster instructed her to close the door, but she did so.
Her shoulders half-relaxed when Mr. Foster began walking away from and not towards her. "Go on, have a seat. Just a friendly chat."
The intern, still wary, slowly seated herself - very uncomfortably - in the chair.
"Ms. Escriva was it?" Mr. Foster paused in front of the enormous plate glass window overlooking Cloverfield, planting his hands in his pockets, his back to the young woman. Beyond, the sun was just beginning to peak above the mountain tops and he became like a shadow against the backdrop of Cloverfield bathed in golden light, and he as a shadow looming before it.
"Yes sir." Ms. Escriva managed, unable to hide her surprise that he even remembered her name, much less her discomfort at being placed on the spot, or being alone in a room with the CEO of the company she interned for. This was the set up to the sort of horror stories that were plastered all over the internet. On the other hand there was an entire room, and probably 40ft of table between her and the man so long as he stayed over there.
"Look you're not in trouble - in fact, quite the opposite. I just like to take the measure of the people I work with. This company, more or less runs itself, and I just... keep an eye out for anything that looks out of place. Try and make sure I have the right people, in the right place. You know? Everyone else seemed happy, excited even, by what they were hearing in there: except you. You seemed troubled. Which tells me: you saw something that none of them did."
Ms. Escriva shifted uncomfortably in her chair, unsure if she should answer. She knew what she'd heard, but it was more what hadn't been said that troubled her. "I wouldn't say troubled sir. I'm just an intern - this is maybe a little be above me." She offered instead, unsure if some things were even safe to say out loud. If, perhaps, this wasn't some sort of trap.
Mr. Foster turned his head slightly, a perfect side-profile of a prominent jaw and chin set in shadow against Cloverfield beyond the plate glass. "Just an intern?!" A gentle belly laugh ran through the boardroom for a moment in a way that did absolutely nothing to alleviate the notion that this was, in fact, a trap. "Don't sell yourself short Alejandra. You don't mind if I call you Alejandra, do you? 'Just an intern.' You have a masters degree don't you?"
Alejandra Escriva did not move. She did not breathe. For a moment it was as though time itself stood still as she sat, fixed in her seat. She definitely wasn't okay with him calling her by her first name, and she definitely hadn't ever mentioned it to him, much less her degree. She could feel him watching her with one eye. He didn't move, a figure still as death itself in front of the window. Should I leave? Was this... something I shouldn't have heard
Scenarios ran through her head like wildfire, until the thought came unbidden to her ringing crystal clear in her mind.
Is he going to kill me?
Alejandra Escriva did not answer the question. She remained still as a ghost.
"We'll leave it at Ms. Escriva then." Mr. Foster laughed, nodding then as if apprehending her discomfort. "But I am curious. I have use for people who can see what others don't. Something troubled you in that meeting. I saw it. I'm curious what. Go on. No wrong opinions here, this is a safe space."
Alejandra shifted in her seat uncomfortably again before forcing herself to relax. "Okay. Okay." She said. "If I'm... honest. I may not be a medical expert, but.... this treatment is going to kill people."
"Ah." Mr. Foster nodded then, as if finally understanding the answer to some deep puzzle.
"And I'm no medical expert but I can do a little math..."
"And?"
"Even 0.05% of 10 million patients is... 50,000 people. Dead people." Alejandra blurted out. "That's a lot."
Mr. Foster nodded, his shoulders sinking. "I suppose it is, isn't it? It really is." He nodded again as though processing what she'd just said, pushing off the window and shuffling from foot to foot as though thinking before heading to the far end of the board table and seating himself at one of the chairs there. "That's kind of one of the problems with the sort of work Lux does, isn't it? You can treat symptoms but, what can we really do when the disease is out there right? When the problem is just... people's lives. We can't really cure Southside, can we?" He looked up at her, offering a tepid smile and a helpless shrug.
"I suppose not sir." Alejandra wasn't sure where the conversation was going, but she did relax then. As though a great weight had been lifted from her shoulders.
Mr. Foster looked down at the conference room table somberly, as though searching for answers in its polished surface. Then he looked up and smiled a smile of pearly white teeth as though a solution had just presented itself to him. It was this moment that Alejandra Escriva realized she was actually in the middle of a pitch meeting. "But... what if we could?"
Despite herself, despite the uncertainty of what was going on and her skepticism about this man, her boss, Alejandra felt the tuggings of a genuine, curious smile here. "I'm not sure I follow sir."
"I'm talking about making differences here. Instead of standing around, holding doors, filling glasses and running coffees - is that what you went to school for? No of course it wasn't."
Alejandra laughed here, having the sense that this private meeting had just taken a different, altogether sillier turn. "I'm still not sure I follow."
Mr. Foster sat on the edge of the boardroom table and checked his pocketwatch and grinned. "You know what, let's put a pin in this for now. My 8 o'clock is about to start."
Ms Escriva started to stand up.
"No no. Stick around. You might find this interesting." He said, leaning over the table to the teleconference interface and keying the intercom button. "Is my 8'o clock out there?"
The disembodied voice of his executive assistant, Mrs. Weathers rang back over the intercom. "He is sir."
"Send him in."
The man that entered was a very different contrast to Mr Foster. Alejandra realized as she stood at the man's entrance that she was actually taller than Mr Foster himself.
Ryan Jackson was a different story. Well over six foot. Broad shouldered, barely chested. The man was practically poured into his suit. "Mr Foster." The two men shook hands, and with a nod from Mr Foster, Alejandra was obliged to do the same.
"This is Ms Escriva, she'll be auditing this meeting." Mr Foster declared.
"Is she cleared for this?"
"I cleared her." Mr Foster shot Alejandra an impish grin and gestured for them both to sit. "What news Ryan? Its been awhile."
"I just got out of a meeting with PRA's business liaison office. There's a couple of STG notices they handed out, I'd say these ones could be serious."
"What do you need from me Ryan?" Mr Foster spread his hands magnanimously as he seated himself last.
"For starters? A review of our site security contracts, and we need eyes on your boy Gideon."
"He's not really my boy."
"What he is is a problem. The PRA's flagging every corporate security rep in the region, Hollow's gearing up, they're concerned about corporate back-channels into Northside."
"Of course they are."
Jackson tossed a file of documents on the table in front of Foster. "The word terrorism is getting bandied about. My backchannels are telling me PRA's getting warnings from on high something going on."
Mr Foster glanced at the pages, his eyes skimming over them. "Troublesome."
"And that's not all." He set down another set of papers. "PRA's tracking reports of missing persons. Weird shit's making its way down from the mountains."
Mr. Foster looked at the new document briefly before sliding it back towards Jackson. "And that is precisely what I pay you to deal with. Look into it. Take the girl, show her the ropes."
Jackson's eyes fell upon Alejandra sitting, sheepishly across from him. "I don't need a partner."
Mr. Foster shrugged. "Well, I say: it is time that you do."
Jackson glanced at Alejandra again, and bit his lip. It was apparent there was some mental calculus going on there as to whether this was a battle worth fighting or not and from the way his shoulders slumped he decided, ultimately, it was not. "Fine. I'll show her around. I am not taking a partner, just so we're clear."
Mr. Foster removed the notice about Hollow from the pile of documents, leaving the rest for Jackson to retrieve. "Great! Southside can take care of itself - we need to be sure this isn't something else. In the mean time you can leave this on my desk. I'll deal with it." And Jackson could say anything further Mr Foster reached into his pocket and pulled out his pocket watch. "Regrettably, I have an 8:30, so let me know if you need anything. I have the utmost faith in both of you."
Abruptly the man stood up and headed towards the door pausing only briefly before he closed it behind himself. "Oh and Ms. Escriva. Congratulations on your promotion. We'll settle the paperwork when you get back."
Ryan Jackson and Alejandra Escriva both looked at one another just before the door closed, both wearing the same expression that wordlessly communicated the same message: what the hell just happened?
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Estylwen The Villainess
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35 min ago
Quill St. Sebastien's Office
Mentions: Varnan (@Blizz) Interactions: Quill (@PatientBean)
"So Ms. Adel, you say you have a problem and it involves this Varnan Ingram? Why don't you tell me what's going on and what you need from me."
Lorenza graciously took a seat, ensuring the door was closed behind her. Her parasol remained firmly low over her, hiding her face from Quill. From the sound of her voice, though, she gave the picture of ease.
“I realize you're busy, Miss Sebastien, so I won't take up too much of your time.”
One knee crossed over the other as she settled in her seat. In the briefest of moments, wisps of Blue Lux wafted over Quill, hitting an invisible barrier before disappearing entirely. Lorenza appeared to nod to herself.
“Ah, good. So I can be frank with you, after all.”
She was, of course, referring to the Emotional-Field Quill possessed, indicating what Lorenza suspected - the Fixer indeed was an Adept.
A soft sigh.“I'll start from the beginning. I… own certain areas in town. Recently, some savages, monsters, if you will, have begun disrupting my work. I need to know exactly who, where they came from, and why they're in the city now, competing with me. And, I would need you to fix my problem… As in, getting them out of the city, one way or another.”
There was a slight twist in Lorenza's grip as she softly spun the parasol, glass beads swishing gently.
“I know of a man who… well, as far as my sources are aware, prides himself on being aware of threats in the city. That's Mr. Ingram. I believe he would be the best lead for you to get a start on fixing my problem.”
A pause, before Lorenza leaned forward ever so slightly. “I would request… after you've spoken with him, of course - that you would allow me to accompany you in your investigation. I have a strong desire to… well, understand why they're coming into the city. I would be lying if I said I didn't want to, perhaps… talk with them.”
A hand shuffled around in a purse, before she procured an envelope, offering it to Quill. If Quill were to look inside, she would find $10,000 in crisp bills. The sound of a smile was once again colouring Lorenza's voice.
“A small deposit, so you are aware of my earnestness. We can discuss the remainder of your service fee, as well as any questions you may have for me. As long as you can go along with my stipulation - accompanying you later in the investigation - then I would be very much pleased.
“Of course, I would humbly request that you consider taking on my case, Miss Sebastien. It would mean the world to me, you see…”
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GM
NoriWasHere
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0-24 hrs ago
“I don’t either,” Elara responded to Bryn. In her mind she knew she could hardly deal with another event like the cataclysm. And while she knew this town had faced these kind of threats, and pushed them back, she also knew that this felt different. Usually it was not a massive wave of fangs threatening to overwhelm even their most ardent defenses. “We’ll get through it, Bryn. We’ve been through worse, and we’ll see worse again before long. But if they try to threaten our town they will remember why they were forced into the mountains in the first place,” Elara confidently said.
As they entered the tattoo shop, Elara noticed a familiar man but couldn’t quite pin down who he was. Her eyes squinted as she tried to narrow down his name but the only thing she could remember was that he was someone who fought in the cataclysm. She sized him up real quick. While she was not as ready for a scrap she did want to be as ready as she could be.
“Haven’t seen you since the cataclysm. What brings you round these parts here,” Elara asked with a raised eyebrow.
“Ready to get started, Elara,” Bill asked, his voice cutting the tension in the air. The voice was smooth, almost comforting, but there was something too perfect about it, too unreal. Too kind.
Elara turned her head slowly, expecting to see Bill—a man she had trusted for years, who had inked her skin until there was nary a trace of unmarked skin left. But instead, standing there, was something… different.
It had Bill’s face, or a version of it, but the smile was too wide, too cold. Bill was a hard man who had grown up with the wrong crowd, fought for his place in the world, and left it all behind to become better. He never smiled, he never showed happiness, and he would never be caught dead around a keeper smiling like that. Elara’s eyes lingered on Bill’s face for a second, and she did not see him blink once. She shifted her eyes down to his exposed hand. There were no tattoos on its skin, not a single marking that would tell Elara that this was the man she saw only a few days prior.
“You’re not Bill are you,” Elara said quietly, her voice steady, though her heart was racing.
The thing in front of her grinned, impossibly wide. “Of course I’m Bill. You act like you haven’t seen me before, I’ve done all of your tattoos!”
Elara’s gaze flicked to Bryn, and then to the stranger in the shop, then back to the figure and squinted. Bill’s real face had never looked like that. He had wrinkles at the corners of his eyes, something Bill told her was from a lifetime of loss. This thing—it wasn’t Bill.
“No,” she said, her voice now harder. “Bill has tattoos.”
The creature’s smile didn’t waver, but there was a glimmer of something in its eyes, something dark. Elara let her eyes linger in his for a moment before she realized it seemed pleased that she discovered the truth. “Does it matter,” it chittered, leaning closer as it did. The air suddenly grew colder as Elara’s emotional field was hit by some unknown force, like something was trying to work its way past her defenses and into her mind. “I know you’re having nightmares, Elara.”
Elara’s pulse quickened. Only Bill knew about her nightmares. She had confided with him during their last session. Getting a tattoo was a form of therapy to her and Bill has become a form of a therapist.
“You describe them so vividly. I can almost taste the ash in the air, or hear the sounds of your elders being hit by the acid. It’s like I was actually there, watching the buildings,” It’s fingers twitched, as if pointing in horror towards invisible buildings behind the group eyes wide with horror, “collapse around me. I can help you forget,” it grinned as it took two quick steps, much faster than any that a human could do, “you just have to let me in like Bill did. And all that pain, that suffering, becomes mine for the taking and you get to be free of it all.”
Her eyes shot towards Bryn as she once again readied herself. Normally she’d talk things through with Bryn before taking a violent action against a member of the community like Bill was, at least tell her that she was about to do something
But this thing in front of her wasn’t Bill.
“No,” Elara whispered, shaking her head as she took a step back.. She could feel the cold sweat prickling at her skin, a terror creeping in as she felt more magic pushing against her emotional field, but she fought it. She wouldn’t let it take her. “Where’s Bill.”
In an instant Elara’s hand filled with her magical bow, its vivid white light danced and arched, casting the room in its over-saturating light.
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Blizz Grand Chancellor Supreme of the Wizard Council
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0-24 hrs ago
Raven's RestBill seemed to completely gloss over the fact that Varnan had come in. He didn't comment on him walking in through the snow, or that he was glad Varnan made it. Maybe he wasn't that kind of man, but he didn't even react to Varnan's presence. And there was good reason for that, it seemed. These two people who walked in were reasonably put off by his presence. He wouldn't intrude normally, but he felt the situation over in Cloverfield called for that.
"And if you're here for somethin' else, we got it handled. Bill's one of ours."
“Haven’t seen you since the cataclysm. What brings you round these parts here?”
"I don't mean to impose, I won't be staying long," he assured. "Werewolves are migrating east from here, into Cloverfield. Some are risking lives being there, and I know they've stopped through here first almost every time when they come down the mountain. I called Bill before coming this way, so I could ask if he knew anything about this."
And of course, not acknowledging Varnan's presence, a wrong smile spread over Bill's face. He remembered this man from the cataclysm, a stout and stern fighter who wasn't the type to smile. That grin on his face looked downright alien. And one of the two women caught on rather quickly. Good. The mockery of Bill started running its mouth about dreams, about Bill's memories and the cataclysm. It made Varnan stand on edge, so he reached into his pocket for his Timepiece, right around the same time that Elara summoned a magical bow. They were in the fight back then, it seems. Most people in this area who were paranormal at the time were down in the streets fighting Nyrah. It was good to see some were still around.
"You heard the lady," He warned as he stepped off to the side, not only to give Elara a clear shot if she decided to go for it, but to corner the imposter. In his hand, Varnan held a pocket watch made of tarnished silver, emblazoned with the symbol of the Butterfly. Coral pink light shimmered around his hands as he prepared to shut down any attacks it would make. "I asked Bill before driving here, and you didn't even recognize me, did you? Answer her, where is he?"
Atrophy Meddlesome Kid
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0-24 hrs ago
It was so odd. Paloma used to think one of the many, many, manymanymany awful things about living in Cloverfield’s sprawl was the rudeness, impatience, and cold indifference of its denizens. Now, there was almost a kind of novel appeal, a nostalgic charm, when someone spoke to Paloma in a way that wasn’t doting or cloying polite. Almost. She still kind of hated it. She popped her gum and gave a little shrug as Vin turned to her with a look of annoyance. At least Paloma assumed it was a look of annoyance. Cats were hard to read.
“Oh, me? I’m just from the neighborhood,” said Paloma innocently lying as she gestured vaguely to somewhere over there. As if she were rich enough to live in the Circle. Owning a house? Pshaw! What was she, a millionaire? She could barely afford to live in an apartment by herself out in Jungleland, the locals name for the Westwood neighborhood that was so bad it made the rest of the South look like the North. It made her wonder what this David Smith did for a living? Nothing honest, judging by the kind of dangerous company that came to his door.
Her eyelids fluttered rapidly and her face looked as if she were attempting to suppress a sneeze as, unbeknownst to her, Vin’s spell detected the Samaritan within her. It was a good thing that Paloma was still so unattuned to actual magic. The Samaritan was her little secret, one she was deeply worried about getting out; there were all kinds of horrible, awful people out there that would abuse such a thing. She would’ve been pretty upset if she realized that Vin had sniffed it out, like, the nerve of some people. Just sticking their nose in business that wasn’t their own. So rude! Who would dare do such a thing?
Anyway, before Paloma just wanted a word with David Smith. Now, with the way Vin was talking, she was just dying to know what Gideon’s men wanted with the guy. It had to be something totally scandalous if they were possibly going to whack him, not realizing that the danger Vin was referencing weren’t them but the thing inside of Mr. Smith’s house.
“The boss doesn’t have to know anything. It could be our little secret,” said Paloma, biting her tongue to stop the urge of asking what they wanted with David Smith anyway.
She took a few more cautionary steps forward, stopping several arms lengths away as the tiger fixed her with a glare and holding up a handle signaling that she was no threat. With the thin line of guiding light from the Messiah Complex still threading around the weretiger’s tail, Paloma was confident that the Samaritan would protect her from anything that the thugs thought about throwing at her. She just didn’t want to deal with the fallout of what came after she was protected by Everyone’s Sweetheart. Plus, the Samaritan was persistent that Vin needed help with something. Finding an affordable tailor, perhaps, given how agitated they seemed to become when the limited wardrobe was brought up.
A funny little look crossed Paloma’s face as Vin told her not to scream or she'll regret it. She turned her head to look down the street and gave a theatrical inhale. Depending on how quick the cat was they might have a chance to react, but the aura would see to it that Paloma would be protected and able to scream. Only, the scream never came as a word that Vin said clamped a hand over Paloma’s mouth: It. Her scream would alert It. Not Mr. Smith. Not him. It. Weretigers were a known entity with pictures and stat blocks that she had seen while thumbing through monster manuals. Its were unknown, and unknowns could actually be dangerous.
The playful light dimmed in Paloma’s eyes as she stared at Vin with narrowing pupils. Hear her scream? Surely, it would’ve already heard the door be kicked in. A part of her wanted to run, but she couldn’t let herself come to a dead end with her one and only lead. Pieces of what Vin had said earlier—here to check up on you, it ain’t safe here, assumin’ he’s still alive,— rotated and clicked into place. Maybe they weren’t just some thugs sent to hurt David Smith after all. Maybe it was quite the opposite.
“What do you mean by it?” she asked, her squeak dropping to that of a mouse trapped in a corner between a bookshelf and a wall with a housecat fishing at it with its paws. No, if there was still a chance that Mr. Smith was okay then there wasn't any time for explanations.
"Nevermind. Mr. Smith needs help, right?” Paloma attempted to slip by Vin, who depending on their intention would easily be able to stop her from rushing ahead, and called out into the home, raising her voice, “Mr. Smith!?"
Even if Vin hadn’t tried to stop her, Paloma would’ve halted anyway in the entrance hall as her voice expanded her aura out through the home with no new trails of light appearing, her eyes widening at the sound of something shuffling from the other room.
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FernStone One Again Addicted to Pepsi Max
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0-24 hrs ago
As Loni got her order, the two sweet goods and Latte handed over to her, she had to let go of her daughter. It was just a couple of seconds as she put the well packaged cakes in her bag, handing over the cash for them with a smile... But that few seconds was enough for a toddler full of energy to run off.
Luciana ran over to the corner of the shop, practically head first into Elena’s legs. She stopped, looking up at her with large brown eyes. Her tiny hand reached out and grabbed her pants, before tugging. Then her other hand pointed to the free stool next to her, waving around a bit. Her curly hair was tied back in twin buns, stray curls framing her chubby face. She bundled up with a thick, puffy jacket that just made her look round.
“Ahbaba- ahhh uh! Uh, uhp, ahga!” What came out of her mouth was utterly incomprehensible. She probably wanted something by the way she was waving around and tugging on Elena’s trousers, but it was difficult to tell.
"Luciana!" Loni appeared in a frantic whirlwind that scooped up her daughter, coffee in its little takeaway cup going on the table. When she'd looked down to see her daughter gone she'd panicked. Thankfully she’d run over to someone rather than outside. But it was enough to give her a real fright. "Don' run off like that, you gave mama a fright!"
She tried her best to sound stern, but it didn’t really come across that way. Luciana just wriggled in her arms, flailing about and reaching out towards the free stool she’d been pointing at.
"'M so sorry," Loni looked at Elena with an apologetic smile. Luciana kept moving, leaning forward to try and reach the stool while babbling away. "She’s a runner- Mind if we sit? Just for a moment."
Even as she asked, Loni had already put Luciana on the stool, one hand remaining on her back to support her. The little girl looked around with shining eyes, excitedly babbling. "She'll get bored inna bit."
Her gaze was soft as Luciana started kicking her legs, looking up at Loni and babbling. Loni just laughed. Even if she didn’t understand a lot of what she said, because it just wasn’t understandable, she found everything her baby said cute. She was just so perfect.
"I’m Loni, nice t’meetcha." Of course, just like her daughter, it wasn’t Loni’s way to just leave someone in peace. She smiled brightly at Elena, the absolute picture of friendliness. Even her unpolished appearance - hair half falling out of the ponytail she had it in, makeup slightly smudged from her daughter rubbing her hands all over her face - added to this. She looked completely open, and in the panic of chasing her daughter had forgotten she was trying to suppress her South Side accent. "Not that y’need to tell me yours, I ain’t pushy like that. Just figured since my baby girl came over ‘n was disturbin’ you- her name’s Luciana. Say hello, Lu."
“Oh-la!” Luciana turned around to look at her mom, hands flying into the air. Loni gently nudged her towards Elena. The little girl’s hands waved in front of her and a bright smile lit up her cute face.
"Good job, cariño," Loni said brightly, leaning over to kiss the top of her curly head. Hugging her, Loni looked back over at Elena over the top of her head. "You come here often? I ain’t been before, but I always wanted to. I finally got the time between shifts, and I’m glad! It’s real nice. I think I'd become a regular if I could afford it- I ain't sure I can even come back, the guy behind the till gave me a reall funny look when I paid with cash. They ain't takin' that in the North now?"
Like mother, like daughter it seemed. Both talked a lot, just one’s words were understandable.
Bryn’s glare towards the outsider, and the words on her lips about city folk only coming here when shit reached them, cause they’d been dealing with this for months, were interrupted by Bill.
No, not Bill. Bryn had gotten enough tattoos of her own, even if it wasn’t to the degree Elara had, to recognise him. Or recognise when it wasn’t him. Too smiley. Nobody was the fucking smiley around these parts.
Bryn didn’t look at Elara as it spoke about nightmares. Her hands clenched at her sides. The image was clear to her too. The elders- their parents- flesh sizzling off their bones. What little remained turning to ash at her hands. But it was in the past.
Her eyes moved from the creature to Elara, eyes narrowing. Every instinct was saying to fight but if Elara hesitated because it looked like Bill-
She didn’t. The bow came out. Bryn’s hand dropped down to open the bag at her hip. Unlike the other two, Bryn didn’t hold back and wait to see if it answered or attacked. It wouldn’t answer. She knew in her gut. So she took the first shot.
"Fuck that."
Ash flew out of her bag, packing together and solidifying to form a brick. Then the ash brick slammed right towards ‘Bill’s’ face.
Ioan M. Foster
The Hollow Tap
1530 hours
The presence of a blue maserati on the streets of south side was a rare sight south side, the sort of flare that only a handful of individuals this side of the river dared to show in public. If its mere presence outside the Hollow Tap Coven didn't attract attention to the few people lingering around the street corners, the revving of its engine - loud enough to wake the dead - before it peeled away from the curb certainly had.
Whatever anyone thought of the obnoxious sound, or the somewhat diminutive man with dark and steel grey eyes in the tailored suit and polished shoes that was left standing there, no one said anything. People around The Hollow Tap knew better than to ask questions or open their mouths, and it was the one place an over-dressed man might reasonably expect to be left alone in all of South Side.
Putting a hand on the door to the Hollow Tap he pushed it open and stepped inside. Within he lingered at the threshold as though waiting while his blue eyes adjusted to the lighting while he surveyed the tables, the patrons, and the bar itself. Whatever thoughts passed through his mind a nostalgic smiled tugged at his lips and he nodded to himself before approaching the bar.
Curious glances from some of the pub regulars seemed to confirm this wasn't one of the familiar faces they were used to seeing walk-in, nor did the man show any recognition to any of the faces present - some of whom might have been familiar from another time, and another life long, long ago.
The man made eye contact with the bartender and smiled a broad friendly smile as he approached. "I'm here to see Gideon." He said this as though it were an ordinary thing to say here. Nor was it framed as a question. "Let him know Ioan's here, and likes what he's done with the place." Despite not being a familiar face, the man leaned patiently against the bar affecting a sort of seemingly genuine relaxed calm that some common visitors here never truly mastered.
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