Atrophy

Recollections: Under The Sycamore Tree Part. 1 [Cancelled]

Interactions: Jack@Blizz
Dark Alleyway -> ER

---

"I'm taking us there, now. You may feel dizzy for a moment, Sloane. Three... Two...One."

Like a poorly coordinated trust fall near the roof’s edge of the Burj Khalifa, the darkness and weightlessness Sloane experienced felt like it lasted much longer than it actually did. Jack seemed to slip away. He was replaced by a strange sensation of serenity that only solitude could provide, one that was stripped away and replaced with a feeling of vertigo as the fall stopped. There was no dramatic splat on top of the Lamborghini but rather the unsatisfying and sudden end of a recurring nightmare where Sloane awoke before ever hitting the ground. She blinked her eyes and shook the dizziness away as the Dairy Queen became an alleyway, Jack once again by her side. A gripping fear that she’d just isolated herself with a potential Father Wolf left as sudden as it came when Jack spoke:

"The hospital is five minutes away from here on foot. I thought you'd like a few minutes to get your thoughts in order, before interacting with more people."

“Okay. I’ll manage on my own from here,” said Sloane, sounding exhausted.

She gently slipped her hand from his and then, much to her own surprise, hugged him. Surprising no one, her hug was an empirically bad one. It was stiff and oddly hesitant, as if she was unsure of where to put her hands or how to angle her head. Jack would probably detect her involuntary shudder, and like their step through the Void it ended almost as soon as it had started, with Sloane even muttering a quiet okay to signal that she had overdone her quota for the year. She turned and walked, perhaps a bit quicker than usual, away from Jack but paused at the mouth of the alleyway and looked back.

“Thank you, Jack. I,” Sloane stopped, unable to admit that she had misjudged the Void traveler. She cleared her throat with a cough into a clenched fist and continued, “I owe you. If you ever need anything, you have my number.”

Sloane kept her head lowered but her senses on high alert as she made the trek to the hospital. It was properly dark now, but still early enough into the evening that there were still people out and about. She turned her head to look across the street or windowshop at a closed boutique whenever she stepped into a streetlight or passed by a stranger, low-key worried that someone would see her face and embarrass her further with their attempt to help. Perhaps more worried that they’d see her nice watch, her fancy shoes, and her disheveled state then proceed to generate an opportunistic idea in their head, fail to control the dark impulse, and act on it. And not because they were a bad person, per se, but simply because they were a normal person and normal people were capable of terrible things.

She quickened her pace, her hand in her pocket, her fingers on her Channeler, her other hand holding her phone up to her ear and “listening” to a mock call in the universal sign of don’t-bother-me. Jack had prescribed her to get her thoughts in order and so she tried as she made her way towards the hospital, blue H’s posted on street corners guiding her way to a building that began to tower over the rest like a protective sentinel. The punch could’ve been many things. It could’ve been humbling, teaching Sloane to be more careful with her words and less liberal with her judgments, or at the very least to learn how to use tact when she spoke. It could’ve continued to be defeating, sending her spiraling into a further state of depression as she perpetually realized she had nothing and was nothing, lacked control and understanding, and loved and was loved by no one.

However, as she stepped through the sliding doors and into the bright fluorescents of the hospital lobby—chairs filled with normal people who had made a terrible choice, been put in a terrible situation, or just had terrible luck, all too distracted by their own troubles to notice the woman with a bloody face move towards the receptionist—Sloane realized that with the flare up of pain in her face there was also a kind of pride. Drake had hit her because she had struck a nerve, but she had only struck a nerve because she was right. So instead of the punch being humbling or defeating, it was toxically self-affirming: when Sloane did a terrible thing it was justifiable and for the greater good, when anyone else, including Drake, did a terrible thing it was because they were a stupid, shit-eating peasant who was simply unable to change their barbaric ways.

After the paperwork, and the waiting, and the waiting, and the waiting, Sloane found herself in the bathroom of a private hospital room still waiting as she posed in front of a mirror and admired Drake’s handiwork. The broken nose morphed and became a symbol, a badge of honor proving that Sloane was someone of great import simply by possessing a nose worth breaking. The swell of vainglory she’d feel the first time she would attempt to put on a pair of designer sunglasses only to find the bridge didn’t fit quite right would be well worth the pain, the crooked frames proving to the world something that she already knew: Sloane was better than a normal person. It was with that in mind that when the doctor finally returned and presented Sloane with the idea of coming back for reconstructive surgery to correct the crook in her nose she simply shook her head, unwilling to part with her crown.

Recollections: Under The Sycamore Tree Part. 1 [Cancelled]

<Snipped quote by Estylwen>

It’s about to be six. 😎

@Punished GN

It's been way more than six days since any of us has enjoyed a GM Post.

Recollections: Under The Sycamore Tree Part. 1 [Cancelled]

Updated Sloane's relationships. One mystery character has achieved the new status of actually being liked now that Drake no longer exists. The others, well, maybe they could try to do a little better?

@EstylwenLayla's was the hardest because it meant accepting that Alizée was actually dead when I've been living in this world of denial where the "deceased" status and the new character sheet were all just an elaborate swerve put on by you and Ghost.

Recollections: Under The Sycamore Tree Part. 1 [Cancelled]

Interactions: Dean @silvermist1116, Greenwood@Punished GN, Eve (mentioned) @LanaStorm
Veni Vedi Veni

---

Sully’s ears rang as Dean’s gun fired and then itself was fired in the churning cauldron of the Chalice’s furnace, rendered useless. Temporarily deafened by the clap of the gun, Sully felt the flesh on his hand continue to bubble and crisp as Bianca’s boost and Stormy’s consecration played tug of war with the Chalice. Lava burst forth like a true volcano and then slowed to a disappointing dribble, guaranteeing that what life reminded in the bubbling pile of meat between Sully and Dean was now no more. At some point Sully had accidentally jerked the Chalice away so even if Dean had not vanished the lava would’ve only singed his hair.

His tackle only hit air and the Chalice dried itself. Sully realized his hand wasn’t the only part of his body that felt heat and dropped to the ground in a surge of pain as the adrenaline faded. The bullet had pierced Sully between his left shoulder and collarbone, and judging by the dampness of his shirt it had hit something important. He let out a pained chuckle of disbelief and went to take a drink from the Chalice, his eyes closed and his pursed lips tasting nothing but disappointment and tang of lava fried human. The ringing in his ears stopped just in time for him to hear the clanging of the Chalice on the asphalt, his body collapsing under his weight as it rolled out of reach.

And then he heard the singing and felt the wave of good greenlight wash over him. Dean’s bullet dislodged itself and Sully felt himself regain enough of his strength to lurch forward and snatch the Chalice up. He patted frantically at the gunshot, finding that it was gone. He threw his hands up and pumped them in a private celebration behind the wall of continually worse-for-wear cars. He’d survived getting sand in his shoes, he’d survived getting shot, and he’d managed to scare off a biker (largely thanks to James and Britney but, hey, same team right?).

“Ha ha! Yes! I knew you were money, Kash! Let’s go-OOF!”

Sully’s head snapped back as a boot kicked him in the face as Dean reappeared, ruining Sully’s celebration. He would’ve snatched Sully’s Chalice too if not for a bit of pure dumb luck, as Sully’s arm pumping lifted the Chalice up just enough to cause Dean’s hand to brush the fabric of his jacket instead of the silver of the stem. A follow up kick to the face sent Sully to the ground as the man vanished again, the big guy laying on his back and staring up at the waft of smoke. Not the worst hit he’s taken in his life, but he was pretty sure that the biker had broken his nose. He touched it. Yep, hurt like hell and it was way more crooked than it used to be. Sully sat up, shook his head, and took a swig from the Chalice, his nose and breathing back to normal as the elixir did its thing. He looked down at his bare arms and his bloodsoaked t-shirt.

“Seriously man?” groaned Sully, his brain still rattled enough even though his wounds were healed that he stood up, momentarily forgetting about the chaos happening around him. “Who steals a jack—”

Finally able to look over the wall of cars, the delayed signal sent from his eyes eventually reached his mind.

“—et. Oh shit.”

"WOLFPACK!"

Sully craned his but couldn’t see the guy who had shouted or the big dogs that were barking, not realizing it was due to them being on the roof right above his head. He crouched back down nevertheless, peaking over the top of a car and watching as the woman whose gun he’d gotten to first base with called the man Judas and singled out Eve as the one responsible for the death of their packmate. Sully quietly cursed a string of profanities under his breath, sounding like a barnyard full of vulgar chickens.

Okay, here’s the plan: rush out there, grab Eve, and keep chugging the Chalice like he showed up late to a frat party and everybody else was way too drunk to casually hang with. Maybe take a couple of bullets, dip into an alleyway, have her hotwire a car—surely she knew how to hotwire a car—and take off, saving everyone else in the process as the Wolfpack is eventually lost after a wild chase. Simple. Sully took one step to rescuing Eve when movement out of the corner of his eye made him look back and he finally saw the Curs on the rooftop above him, their massive jaws drooling and snapping. Yeah, no. He wasn’t outrunning dogs.

New plan: Eve was bait, regroup with Greenwood. Look, Eve had already gotten her one heal for the night anyway. Shouldn’t have wasted it so soon. Surely Sully and Kash could put her back together afterwards. Sully hunkered back down behind the car and started doing a not-so-inconspicuous crouch run towards Amelia, looking to intercept Kashmira on the way.

---

Interactions: The Court of the Dairy Queen@Blizz@Fernstone@Punished GN@NoriWasHere
Dairy Queen

---

When was the last time she’d cried? Sloane could vividly remember the last time she’d cried in public: summertime on the boardwalk, she a little girl with hair in ribbons as red as her cheeks, her mother hissing in Sloane’s ear to stop embarrassing her and pulling her by the wrist so hard that Sloane ended up needing a brace. Later that night her father, as Sloane lied in her large and sterile bedroom more fit for a spread in an home goods catalog than as a room for a little girl, quietly explained to her how it was unladylike to make scenes in public. For god’s sake, what if a future suitor’s family saw and she went down in value?

But the last time she’d cried, period? It was not when Jade died, not when her collection was stolen, nor when her mother reemerged from the shadows after a decade simply to have another opportunity to critique her daughter. It wasn’t after any of her relationships had failed, nor when she burned any bridges with former Coven colleagues. Never due to work or school, a messy surge of hormones or cramps, or a sad movie or moving piece of music. Not even when she was voted out of the Coven. The last time had really been that day on the boardwalk: an over twenty year streak, ruined.

Any other day and Sloane’s instinctual reaction would’ve been to slap Jack’s hand away as he offered to help her up, but with her body amounting to actually being nothing more than an oversized, leaking bottle she needed the help. She held on to his hand even after he pulled her up, her head hung, her crying quieter but still annoyingly present, a squeeze of his palm the best she could do in ways of saying thank you. There was more talk about going to the hospital. Luca mentioned the rot making hospitals essentially a no-go for him. Sloane filed it away for now, tucking it inside the folder next to the mental snapshot of all of Luca’s prescription bottles.

Normally, this would be the moment when Sloane would scoff, roll her eyes, and point out that dealing with overworked nurses, nightmarish health insurance forms, and astronomical medical bills was an idiotic choice when they knew a guy who passed out elixirs like it was a two-for-one ladies night promo. Instead, Sloane quite liked the idea of not being seen by the others. Not like it mattered, enough people had seen it happen. Even the crows were gawking. Word would spread through the former Coven no matter what now. She wondered what would end up being a bigger splash: Drake hitting her like a total asshole or her crying like a complete bitch?

Sloane sniffled. More crows were coming to stare. It wasn’t just feelings of being self-conscious, the birds were quite literally watching them. In the distance, a black mass of crows swirled ominously towards the Dairy Queen. As Evelynn connected the dots (said dots being in a straight, one-inch line inside the world’s most boring activity book for pre-k toddlers, with the first dot labeled “start” and the second one labeled “kid, you can’t read but come on, surely you got this”), Sloane managed to finally exchange her sniffles and sobs for her preferred sound: a sharp, annoyed sigh, its usual flat melody given a bit more vivaciousness due to her broken nose.

“It’s not a prediction if you are literally watching it happen,” muttered Sloane, low enough that only Jack would hear, but obvious enough that the others would feel that they had missed out on something. Moments later, Lila arrived just as Evelynn had incredibly foreseen. Normally someone would ask what had happened. Instead, they had the courtesy to cut to the chase, ignoring Sloane’s nose, Luca’s wrist, and all the angry, sad, and uncomfortable faces that were fairly normal to see on someone after they made the mistake of eating Dairy Queen. Of course something was going down with the rest of the Coven. They had all been reunited for a grand total of thirty minutes before a gun was pulled. Nevertheless, Sloane could at least return Lila’s courtesy with an answer.

“Lila, please,” said Sloane, her voice strange. It almost sounded like she was speaking with regret, a coincidence caused by the modulation to her voice due to her broken nose no doubt. She squeezed Jack’s hand as she glanced at Drake. “There is no Coven. Let’s go, Jack.”

Recollections: Under The Sycamore Tree Part. 1 [Cancelled]

Interactions: The Dairy Queen's Royal Subjects @Blizz@Fernstone@Punished GN@NoriWasHere
Dairy Queen/Hell

---

Sloane looked up from her watch as Drake screamed at her and swung, his fist arcing with electricity after he pushed Luca to the ground. It was a sloppy and telegraphed punch, the kind that could be easily dodged with a bit of footwork and a slight twist. However, Sloane refused to flinch. She knew that Drake would never actually lay hands on her. He wasn’t as stupid or barbaric as other people made him out to be. She knew him. He’d pull his punch, cool his head, and eventually realize that answering her question was more valuable than protecting his feelings. Then she heard herself gasp and felt her face confront into a wild and painful expression as an electrical shock caused her muscles to spasm. At the same time, her nose erupted in an explosion of pain and her body smacked the ground as her senses spiraled and swirled, the sky above whirling like a dervish as she tasted iron on her tongue.

She laid there on the ground for a moment, her eyes blinking rapidly in a half-daze as images snapped before her like an old shutter camera: gum stuck to the bottom of the table, Drake staring at his shaking fist, a DQ cup rolling away leaving a trail of melting ice cream, Luca cradling his wrist, a burst of stars as she reached up and touched her broken nose, the blood staining her fingers. She stared in awe as the blood dripped back down onto her face, Luca’s words of concern sounding like fuzzy static. The tears she’d kept hidden behind lock and key saw their opportunity for a jailbreak and took it, escaping from the corner of her eyes and fleeing down her bloodied cheeks. She let out a singular, echoing, choking cry as her brain unscrambled and realized what had just happened. Drake had hit her.

Drake had betrayed her trust.

She muffled the follow-up sobs with her hand and closed her eyes hard enough that it hurt in a poor effort to push the tears back. She rolled onto her side and pushed herself up to a sitting position, her shoulders heaving lightly with each silenced sob. She felt a fire burning in her chest and recalled flashes of how her ancestors handled betrayers, horrific visions of disproportionate retribution and violence playing in her head like a graphic exploitation film from the Seventies. Sloane visibly shook, covering her face with her other hand as she silently swore that she wouldn’t stoop to their levels. She slowed her breathing and felt the fire burn down. She lowered her hands and wrapped them around her chest. These clothes were going to have to be properly dry cleaned after this anyway, assuming the stains wouldn’t ruin them immediately, so why should she give it shit if she got more blood on them?

There was something weirdly calming about thinking about something so mundane.

It almost drowned out the intrusive thought that had to remind her how Drake was really her only friend.

All her other friends were dead.

Sloane deflated and heard a new voice chime in, urging for the group to further calm down as Sloane attempted to breathe in air. She glanced up from the ground and then shook her head in frustration as she recognized Evelynn, catching the meaning behind the woman’s stare. Sloane looked away sharply, tears still stinging her eyes and the pain making her unable to mask her obvious annoyance. It had always bothered Sloane how Evelynn seemed to use her supposed curse to win brownie points while always leaning on vagueness as if to leave herself an out to avoid having to take any kind of responsibility. How convenient that Evelynn just happened to arrive moments after Sloane had been so savagely assaulted.

Evelynn’s arrival did have the unintended consequence of turning Sloane’s attention from her own busted nose over towards Luca who had also been injured by Drake’s idiocy. She looked at his wrist and the fresh blood dripping from the scrapes on his arm and leg when he’d been knocked down. Perhaps she could’ve someday forgiven Drake for attacking her, but there didn’t exist a single part of her that could forgive him for hurting Luca. The final spark of the fire burning in her chest was dangerously close to being reignited by a can of gasoline when it was suddenly doused by a wave of fresh tears. Sloane wasn’t an idiot—no, stop lying, she knew she was an idiot, but even an idiot could see that Luca had only been hurt because Sloane had started shit with Drake. That guilt was on her as much as it was on him.

A look of true misery crossed her face as she averted her gaze, covered her eyes, and began crying again. Heavier, harder to mask sobs, too, accompanied with the tiny pounding of her fist on her thigh. God, she must’ve looked like an asshole. She certainly felt like a fucking loser. She could’ve at least tried to get up and lock herself in the bathroom so she could cry in privacy like an actual adult would instead of drawing eyes to her as she blubbered in public like a stupid child, but her feet had failed her. She wished she’d kept Sully’s Chalice, not so she could use it to heal her nose or repair Luca’s wrist, but so she could choke down a fine shot of hemlock and save herself the lifelong humiliation she’d have to put up with knowing that she had been seen crying at a Dairy Queen.

She should’ve just gone to the strip club, even if it meant putting up with Britney. Nothing could have been worse than this. Sloane made a desperate attempt to dismiss the other people’s concern-slash-rubbernecking with a limp wave of her hand and a ragged sniffle.

Recollections: Under The Sycamore Tree Part. 1 [Cancelled]

Interactions: Dean @silvermist1116
Veni Vedi Veni

---

“Don’t worry, kid. Sully’s—”

Sully breached the gap between the cars where Clancy had fallen, the Chalice in his hand already brimming, his forearms scuffed by sand, cigarette butts, and what he really hoped was just spilled beer. He found that the kid had gunned down so savagely that he’d been knocked out of his shoes. In fact it was like the kid had been gatted out of existence, the bullet impacts that were beginning to fill with sand the only proof of the atrocity. Sully had seen more blood than he ever wanted to see during his short stint with the Coven, but never before had he become disconcerted by the lack of blood. It didn’t make sense. He was pretty sure he hadn’t imbibed in the Chalice since he’d taken a little bit of its encouragement to actually go to the meeting, and even then it had just been some booze. He wasn’t seeing things. So where did the kid go?

It’s magic, Ashley would say with a shrug whenever Sully began asking questions that she couldn’t answer. I don’t gotta explain…

“—shit. C’mon, man,” groaned Sully as a large, muscular member of the Wolfpack stepped out of the shadows in front of him and pointed yet another gun at Sully’s face. What was it about his mug that made all the bikers want to hold him hostage? Was it his bright baby blues that widened in recognition at Tayla’s name and immediately betrayed any chance Sully had of pretending that he’d never heard the name? He was cut off from the rest of the Coven and there was a lot of noise coming from the otherside of the cars. Maybe he could buy some time and jerk the guy around, but Sully doubted that the biker’s word about seeing the sun was worth its salt. Hopefully someone would intervene and come to his rescue.

“Oh wow, Tayla? Did you say Tayla? W-wow, that’s crazy,” stammered Sully. “Small world, huh? I brought some of my friends here because I know this is where we can score some shit, and the one of the guys I’m looking to talk to just happens to be looking for a buddy of mine. Now what do you say we just stand up, call off all the shooting and fighting, go inside with everybody, have some beers, lick our wounds, play a little pool or at the very least pocket a couple of 8-balls, and you and I figure which Tayla Choi you’re looking for, because I know several girls and one drag queen that goes by that name. Sounds like a plan, buddy?”

Dean’s answer was cut off by a wet, heavy thunk followed by a sickening crunch of bones as a pile of blood, leather, and meat plopped between Sully and Dean. Beyond the cars, he heard a child scream and a car alarm go off, but perhaps that was just the panic switch in his brain going off. Sully felt his stomach twist as the man’s torn jaw flapped loosely from the impact like putty, the soaked goatee stretching and shrinking like an accordion. In his life there had been times, moments of weakness really, when Sully thought about making a massive mistake, trimming down his beard, and doing the goatee look. Closing the door on that reality was one of the only good things to come from having the image of Goatee’s broken body forever burned into his mind. The other good thing was that it had given Sully an opportunity to act.

Veiled briefly by the thin cloud of dust that had been kicked up by the impact of the mushed husk, Sully pushed off the ground and heaved himself forward as he rose upwards and towards Dean, getting up to one knee as he drove the Chalice forward like a sword. He wasn’t aiming for Dean so much as he was the gun, attempting to catch the weapon in the bowl of the Chalice. If it didn’t work he’d probably be shot dead. However, if he was successful then the Chalice would fill with lava that was hot enough to immediately melt Dean’s gun. If Dean wasn’t smart enough to drop the weapon his hand would suffer some nasty burns shortly after, not to mention anything else that would get hit for being in the splash zone. The Chalice stayed ice cold, but the heat radiating from the rim would still be enough to make Sully’s hand blister and crack. He stopped summoning lava as quickly as he started, dumping the Chalice on to the flesh mound below him that bubbled and crackled, a horrible odor of molten flesh burning his nose and watering his eyes.

All the while Sully would continue pushing himself to his feet. He would ungracefully step around the corpse and attempt to take Dean down to the ground in a tackle, maybe get in a couple of sloppy but nevertheless meaty punches with his uncooked southpaw if he could.

---

Interactions: Jack @Blizz, Luca @Fernstone, & Drake @Punished GN
Dairy Queen

---

Sloane didn’t step back one single inch as Drake leveled an electric sword at her. She met his eye, and even though he was taller than her and she had to look up at him it was clear from her steely gaze that she was looking down. She didn’t have to speak a single word, the ’How dare you!’ etched all over the rigidness of her body. She felt the object in her inner coat pocket grow heavy. It was an antique Italian stiletto switchblade that she had taken to carrying around the time it became clear that the murder of former Coven members were not just unfortunate coincidences. Upon the handle of the blade was an intricate Hexmark, thinly drawn runes circling the entirety of the polished wooden handle. All she had to do was look down and she could Possess the knife, the blade removed from her jacket, flicked open, and buried into Drake’s shoulder blade with nothing more than the twitch of her eye. A reminder of the pecking order disguised as an act of self-defense.

She kept staring at Drake instead, her eyes unblinking. She was waiting.

Sloane didn’t look away when Jack, rightfully, called Drake out on his bullshit, only breaking away to roll her eyes at Jack as he turned the heat towards her. A sneer flickered on her lips. Only a stupid person would believe that she ever asked a stupid question. Her question wasn’t entirely based in simmering resentment and cruel severity. It was designed to illuminate why any of them should see their being any value of relying on Drake when it came to having people watch each other’s backs in regards to Father Wolf. He had failed to protect his own wife. Sloane needed a reason so she could believe that there existed a world where Drake could protect her, because right now their relationship was all give and her generosity, while grand, wasn’t pure charity: it was an investment, and she needed to know that she was going to get some return.

She tried to continue to hold her ground as Luca got in between her and Drake. She had already grown a bit heated under her collar before their standoff had begun, but the crawling sensation beneath her skin chipped away the stone on her exterior. Sloane still refused to withdraw, even as her eyes started to water and her breathing grew heavy. Her body started to hurt piece by painful piece, as if it was all draining away from her and leaving her unwhole. She had only felt something like this once before. It had been ten years ago, staring up at the sky, lying in a pool of her own blood, smiling as the Stygian Snake shrieked in agony and defeat, the world growing cold and black as she faced death with quiet dignity, Jade’s blurry face appearing from her just seconds before the curtain closed…

She turned to tell Luca how wrong he was again and caught a brief glimpse of the tarnish and rot that was typically impossible to see, but with the proper lighting of his cheer and optimism stripped away it revealed the damaged goods. Finally, she retreated back a step, the pain fading as she escaped Luca’s rotten aura. She looked down at the knife handle hidden inside the jacket and pulled the coat tightly closed around her with a shiver. Sloane didn’t look back up.

She felt a discomfort creep across her that wasn’t her rotted nerves knitting themselves back together. Part of her felt like crying. Part of her wanted to apologize to Kali and Simone for causing a scene. Part of her wanted to beg Drake to tell her what happened, to tell him that she would forgive him. Part of her wanted to thank Jack for staying focused, to tell him that he was right. Part of her wanted to just reach out and give Luca a hug, pain be damned. She unclenched her jaw, ready to acknowledge that she had committed a faux pas and promise to try to avoid overstepping boundaries, perhaps attempting to steer the conversation back towards something constructive like how to deal with the confrontation of Judas.

Instead, it hissed out on its own natural gas from a faulty pipe, adding to the miasma suffocating the Dairy Queen patio, “You’re a bastard.”

It was unclear who she was addressing: Jack, Luca, Drake. All three. None.

Herself, maybe.

She glanced at her watch.

Recollections: Under The Sycamore Tree Part. 1 [Cancelled]

Interactions: Clancy @Zombiedude101
Veni Vedi Veni

---

"Shut up, Sully! Clearly, you should have the brains to see who's really in the wrong here."

No, clearly Sully didn’t have the brains, as the brains would’ve told him how terrible of an idea it had been to try and hold Alizée’s hands. Sully dropped to one knee and wheezed as Stormy’s spell banished the hands. He gave Stormy a shaky thumbs up in gratitude as he fumbled for his pack so he could get the Chalice. His body felt heavy. It was like he’d just worked a double at a non-union site doing backbreaking construction without a single break for a paycheck that possibly wouldn’t clear. His hands gripped the cold silver of the Chalice. Maybe he’d bail on going to the club after all. He put the Chalice to his lips and a gunshot rang out followed by the roar of motorcycles, causing him to jump and spill the cranberry colored elixir down his shirt.

The Wolfpack had arrived just like the kid said they would. See, this was why Sully was inclined to listen to the stripper’s son—they were always mature beyond their years, like wise sages specializing in feeling out bad vibes. The Wolfpack were all leather jackets and tough expressions hiding low self-esteem and a need for a sense of belonging, like the bullies on his team who Sully always attempted to reform back in high school. Being big had its benefits when it came to people like that, but it didn’t matter how big he was when a firing squad of one percenters were staring him down and accusing him and the others of being killers. He deliberately avoided looking at Alizée.

He could feel the sweat forming on his forehead. Why was it getting so damn hot? He wanted to wipe it away, but took to heart the whole “do not move” order. He looked over to see the kid being beckoned forward by one of the bikers. Sully huffed out a heavy sigh of relief. Okay, good, some of them had a conscience, maybe they could listen to some reasoning after all. His throat was dry. He sucked what little bit of spilt elixir he could off of the beard hairs under his lower lip and swallowed. He felt a little better. They could talk this through. He cleared his—

BANG!

Time slowed. Smoke slithered out of the barrel of the woman’s gun. Another woman started cackling like a hyena, the slo-mo laugh track sounding like a demonic entity in Sully’s ears. The kid’s body went limp and fell backwards, all of him vanishing behind the wheels and frame of a car except for his shoes. Sully felt himself choke, his eyes watering. The barrage of gunshots as the woman emptied her clip, the little shoes kicking with each one, sounded like the bombastic finale to a deranged symphony. His hands shook. Stormy called out for somebody to help the kid as Eve moved to retaliate. Sully blinked. A wall of shields went up. A werewolf snatched up Alizée. He was quivering on the ground, and then he was quivering on the other side of the parking lot with a gun shoved in his mouth.

"Make one wrong move, and I'm going to give you another hole to suck dick out of!" threatened Élodie.

A brave idiot would have taken the opportunity to make a playful quip, or summon forth a brimful of lava and chuck it at the psychopathic biker bitch, or use the fact that she was thinner than the rails she bumped and try to wring her like a ragdoll. A brave idiot wouldn’t walk away from this. Sully didn’t feel like a brave idiot today. He felt like a useless, stupid idiot who muttered mkay, mkay into the barrel of the gun and didn’t make any sudden movements. He sniffed and felt sweat roll down his cheeks, or maybe it was tears. His eyes didn’t leave her trigger hand, widening as he saw a familiar appear and wrap itself around Élodie’s hand. He saw her finger squeeze and there was no click, no bang, and (thank god) no second hole. Why would you ever want to disappoint an additional person?

Sully spat the gun out of his mouth, grabbed Élodie by the shoulders, and jerked his leg back. It’d been a while since he’d delivered a punt, but the concept wasn’t hard. “Oh yeah? Well I’m gonna make it so your h-whoa!”

Élodie blasted Sully with a wave of sand that knocked him up and away, his mouth sputtering as he tried to spit out the sand. He remembered now why making quips was fucking stupid. He caught a brief sight of the carnage as he soared—bullets ricocheting off of parked cars, Greenwood and Coven members alike dropping here and there, spells flying, folks screaming, a massive fucking scorpion tearing things up, Linqian’s voice somehow (okay, not somehow, it was Linqian after all) cutting through all of the chaos. Sully landed hard behind a row of cars and felt the wind get knocked out of him. He rolled on to his side. Fortunately, nothing was broken.

He blinked tears and sand away as he gasped for air and looked around to place where in the parking lot he actually was. He rolled one way and saw a clear path into the strip club. He rolled another and saw the shuffling feet of people fighting beyond the cars. It turned out that Élodie had inadvertently knocked him clear of the fight. Sully could probably crawl inside of the stripclub and take cover until the shooting stopped. Greenwood and the old team had it. He was just a little rusty. He’d only be in the way. Probably just get shot. Next time, he’d go through a bit of conditioning and then be right on the frontline. He promised. He rolled onto his belly to inchworm himself to the door when he saw it again: a pair of kid shoes poking out from behind a tire, unmoving.

Sully paused. The kid was probably dead already. He’d taken, what, five, six shots? There was no way he was still breathing. Absolutely no way. Sully looked to the safe haven of the tastefully blacked out stripclub door, spat out a bit of sand, and pressed his forehead to the pavement.

“Fuuuuuuuuuuuuuuck,” he whispered to himself as he began to crawl to the kid.

If Clancy was still alive Sully would crack open an ice cold Chalice and give the kid his first drink, making the bullet holes nothing more than a few little scars that he could use to impress his mom’s work friends when he was older. If he wasn’t, well, it would be the next thing on a growing list of shit that kept him up at night.

---

Interactions: DQ Gang@Punished GN@Fernstone@QueenBea@Damycles@Blizz
Dairy Queen

---

"There wouldn't be any bodies if it had been me," said Luca.

“Likewise,” said Sloane. If it had been anybody else it would have clearly been a dark joke. However, as far as anyone at the table could tell it could have also been a confession, a threat, or a truly tone deaf humble brag.

"The only common link are the wolf carvings... Do we have any of them with us that we can study? There could be forensic information that would give us some direction," said Jack.

“His people had one. I doubt we would be able to ascertain any more information than the FBI, forensically speaking,” said Sloane, gesturing towards Kali.

He had shown them a picture of it at the meeting, but it was reasonable that Jack might’ve missed it considering Drake had shoved a lightning sword in his face. It also appeared that Jack must’ve missed the static charge that accompanied Drake’s spells, or else he wouldn’t have brought Victoria into it. She was thankful that he made the accusation, if it could even truly be called one, because it meant Drake wouldn’t think too hard about what she had implied. If Jack hadn’t said too much, Drake might’ve realized that Sloane had implied that there existed a reality where he killed his own wife. She kept her hands folded but lowered them to rest on the table, leaning back ever so slightly, relaxing her shoulders.

"Like, what if it left some kinda... programming, or something in our minds that it could use to turn us into sleeper agents at will? I'm not sure how it would work, but what if the Snake planned for this and is using one of us to enact its revenge and break it free?" asked Drake.

Immediately Sloane tensed back up, her knee hitting a table leg. She had not considered the possibility. Was it even a possibility? Their Emotional Fields had prevented them from being influenced, but perhaps there was another layer to the Stygian Snake’s abstraction that they were unaware of, or perhaps they had been aware of it but it had been wiped alongside their memory of sycamore tree. She glared at the water bottle, the rippling spring water morphing into the tide of a beach as she thought about how willing and how close she had been to letting Greyson into her mind. Perhaps that had been the case because of a familiarity—not with Greyson, but with letting something else in.

It could explain things that had happened to her in the past year. Mistakes, oversights. She’d chalked it up to stress, to being drawn too thin and not having nearly enough support. Perhaps the reason why none of her security measures stopped the intruder who had robbed her of her Counterfeits was because there had been no intruder, no physical one at least. Just her, dangled along by invisible puppet strings, ignorantly doing the bidding of another, supplying who the hell knows with an arsenal of dangerous magical artifacts, memory scrubbed of the whole ordeal, unaware that she ever had anything to do with it. Perhaps she’d killed Ashley during her visit, replacing the murder with an argument. Perhaps she could be controlled at any moment with no chance of stopping it, complete and total vulnerability.

Her left eye twitched.

“Luca, don’t entertain this,” said Sloane, fixing him with an icy glance. It had been confusing if she had been playing with him or not early. Now it was obvious she was dead serious. “It’s an interesting idea, Drake." He could be right. "It’s also based on nothing more than completely unfounded conjecture.” Jade could’ve scanned it. “It goes against any kind of mental manipulation abstractions any of us have ever dealt with or heard of.” Kari could’ve sensed it. “We’ve all had the Stygian Snake in our heads before; you’d feel it if it were there.”

Ashely could’ve cut it out.

“You know what’s also interesting? How quickly you changed topics when we were on the subject of alibis,” said Sloane, pushing herself up from the table and glaring across at Drake. Cut it out. She leaned forward and caused the lock of hair tucked behind her ear to come loose, casting a shadow over her dead eyes. “Drake, I know you didn't do it.”

cut it out cut it out cut it—Her hand slammed down on the table, shutting the pesky thoughts up. She deserved to know the truth about Jade.

“But why the fuck weren’t you there to stop it?”

Recollections: Under The Sycamore Tree Part. 1 [Cancelled]

Interactions: DQ Gang@Punished GN@Fernstone@QueenBea@Damycles@Blizz
Dairy Queen

---

Sloane, despite standing with her arms crossed and wearing the expression of an impatient commuter waiting for a bus that was running late, listened intently to the others. It turned out that she had misjudged Luca. She returned his smile with one of her own, a brief twitching at the corners of her mouth that could very well be mistaken for a muscle spasm that suddenly corrected itself the second he mentioned giving Auri a chance. Disappointment only even existed thanks to the power of positivity, while dwelling on the negative meant that she was always prepared.

Although, truth be told, she wasn’t prepared for Jack to arrive unexpectedly. It was a recurring habit of his it would seem. She welcomed Jack to the table with only the briefest of side eyes and a tensing of shoulders, yet both ended up lingering as he spoke a harsh truth that resonated heavily with Sloane. Her own family—not the small inner circle of people that she would spend holidays with that was becoming smaller by the day, but her actual bloodline—was an unfortunate fact. She was already breaking herself paying indulgences for the sins of her parents, there was no way she could afford to carry anymore.

Kali made a good point about taking safety precautions. Check ins and having a numbers advantage was a better play than assuming Father Wolf was going to announce their next victim with a wooden bauble every time. However, Kali would likely notice that the entire time he spoke Sloane did not break eye contact. She hardly even blinked. While Jack had a hill to climb out of to ever earn Sloane’s respect, she at the very least felt like she had a decent grasp on who he was as a person. Kali was an unknown variable. Definitely erratic, possibly delusional, maybe even dangerous. He’d said something that chilled her when referring to the danger Father Wolf presented: it’s all of you who are potential targets.

You.

Not us.

Sloane’s eyes remained for a moment longer on Kali as Drake presented his thoughts, but with a flash like a sword being drawn from a scabbard reflecting sunlight she shot Drake an obviously annoyed glance as he bitched about the mess of a meeting yet then defended Auri. The reason the meeting was such a clusterfuck was because she had failed in her duties to serve as a mediator despite being the one to irresponsibly claim the role. If Sloane had been in charge of the meeting, well, nobody would’ve shown but, in all fairness, nobody would’ve been called. She sucked in her lower lip and dragged her teeth across it: Auri deserved credit for making the call.

"How do we even know that it's Father Wolf in the first place?" said Drake.

"Oh, how did we figure out that was his name? I haven't seen what he left... I know it was a statue, but was there a call card or something too? Or does everyone else have ways of finding this stuff out that I don't? We don't know, I guess. But surely Father Wolf could be anyone? It's probably an alias. Like, yknow, all those famous serial killers. He probably isn't any of these other guys going by wolf like names. That'd be too obvious, right. Like he wanted to get caught,” said Luca.

“It would be an incredibly stupid double bluff if that were the case. It’s safer to assume that Father Wolf is savvy, but there could exist a world where Father Wolf is just a lucky idiot. Nearly half of all murders go unsolved in this country. Perhaps there is a renaissance of criminal masterminds operating in the US, but more likely it’s due to mistakes made by overworked, unprofessional, or incompetent investigators,” said Sloane. She was unable to stop herself from glancing towards Kali. It wasn’t meant to be an accusation or a personal insult, but there was no denying that it sure sounded like one. In a slight backpedal, she pulled out a business card with her number and slid it over towards Jack. “Kali’s idea of making regular check-ins is a good one. We should get everyone in the chain.”

Brushing a loose strand of hair behind her ear, she directed her focus back on to what Luca said and continued: “So you’re probably correct, Luca. It’s unlikely that our Father Wolf is the Wolfpack’s Father Wolf. You’re also very wrong: it’s nigh impossible that Father Wolf is just anyone.They’re probably—”

In a rare moment the monotonous needle scratch of a blank record that was Sloane’s voice hit a bit of warped vinyl and wavered. She broke her intense eye contact from the group, turned her head away, and cleared her throat with a cough into her elbow. She had avoided bringing this subject up at the flower shop considering how much of a powderkeg it had seemed with everyone back together. She didn’t want to put the thought in their head. The people here had all expressed some kind of sensibility and restraint, even the sometimes mulish Drake. They could handle it. Maybe. She needed them to be able to handle it. Her hand faintly shook as she grabbed the water bottle, opened it, and took a delicate sip. Recomposed, she turned back to the table, her voice resuming its usual drone.

“Apologies. Like I was saying, it’s naive to believe that Father Wolf could be anyone. The reality is that Father Wolf has to be someone who knows about the Sycamore Tree Coven. Either they were around us ten years ago or connected to someone who was. It’s possible that they’re an old enemy reemerging with a new name. However, considering that they targeted some of our strongest or most useful members, I think it has to be someone closer,” said Sloane.

She set down the water and crossed her arms, “I hope none of you think that this is a convoluted way for me to avoid saying that I do not trust you. I’ll go ahead and say it: I don’t trust you. Any of you. Not. One. I hope you are smart enough to be suspicious of me, too. Nevertheless, I will still cooperate fully with all of you and I expect the same.

“Kali, you’re the agent here. Should we start by checking everybody’s alibis against the time of death of our fallen friends? Because it’s obvious,” said Sloane, finally sitting down and propping her chin up beneath her folded hands. “Father Wolf was in the Coven.”

Recollections: Under The Sycamore Tree Part. 1 [Cancelled]

Interactions: Alizée @Estylwen, Greenwood Coven (Naomi) @Punished GN, Clancy @Zombiedude101
Veni Vedi Veni

---

"How are you friends with these people?" asked Alizée.

“We’re drinking buddies,” said Sully, crouched down beside Jess as Kashmira helped her drink from the Chalice.

Sully heaved a sigh of relief as Jess jumped up to her feet. He gave the Chalice a shake and wiped the rim of the cup so that it would be quote-unquote sanitized for the next person that got jumped. He gave Kashmira a nod as he unceremoniously dropped the Chalice back into his pack and stood up with a groan. “Good work, doctor.”

Sully leaned his head down as Autumn came over so that she could more easily whisper to him. His brow knitted and he pursed his lips in a look of confusion as she attempted to explain what had happened to him, his head slowly nodding along as he failed to grasp the situation. The way Autumn phrased it made it sound like Ali had picked up Jess. Sully paused for a second as Jess offered to show him what had happened, mildly concerned he was about to just witness two of his friends hooking up.

“Fuck it, I’ve had my cootie shot,” said Sully, grasping Jess’s hand in a strong, meaty handshake that would make Schwarzenegger and Weather openly weep.

Immediately the parking lot disappeared and was replaced with visions of a seedy strip club, a line of questioning that quickly grew sinister, and a sudden snatch and grab job that led to the confrontation in the parking lot and Jess getting hurt. As the Recollection ended Sully found that his vision had gone dark. Subconsciously, he had put his face in his palm. Alizée’s protest that the Greenwood Coven jumped her rang hollow considering she had attempted to snatch and grab their friend like she was a television set in a window display during a citywide riot. His hand slid down his face and covered his mouth as he frowned, trying to figure out a way to mend things between Ali in the others

Actually, it would be more honest to say that he was trying to figure out if he even should. Ali, as with every other member of the Sycamore Tree Coven, always earned points in Sully’s book for being part of the team back in the day. However, a couple of brownie points did not come even close to moving the scale let alone tipping it when it was being weighed against an attempted kidnapping of one of his friends (or anyone, for that matter) with ill intent. However, before Sully even had a chance to fully process everything Ali had taken it upon herself to jump on the balance scale and launched what few points in her favor she had left into the stratosphere as she grabbed at Stormy.

A smarter person might’ve thought that Alizée had been possessed for attempting to choke out Stormy because of a mild but correct criticism. Another person might’ve thought that she had gone insane. Sully didn’t think. He froze, momentarily stunned as Alizée attempted to play grab ass with Stormy, then he charged. Even back in his football days he hadn’t been a fast man so he had no chance of making it to Stormy before Ali diverted. However, he was close to Naomi. He hooked to the left as the hands materialized behind her.

“Look out!”

Sully shoved Naomi out of the way. He tried to be gentle, but there was still a lot of force behind his push. The purple and smoky phantom hands would hit Sully instead of Naomi, slapping against his chest instead of Naomi’s throat. He wrapped his arms around the hands in a poorly thought out attempt to grapple them in a bear hug considering he’d just witnessed them de-materialize, but he wasn’t thinking about anything at the moment except protecting his friend. Sully grimaced as he immediately began to feel the Void sap his energy and finally realized how bad of an idea this really was, but he didn’t relent. His knees buckled, his teeth gnashed, and sweat dampened his forehead, but he continued his attempt to pin the hands to his body as Clancy called the two Covens out and attempted to brain Ali with a beer can.

"The kid's right. This is fucking stupid!" yelled Sully.

Recollections: Under The Sycamore Tree Part. 1 [Cancelled]

Interactions: Drake@Punished GN, Luca@Fernstone, Simone@QueenBea, & Kali @Damycles
Dairy Queen

---

“This is really where you want to go? It’s barely fifty degrees outside…”

It was his turn, but she never should’ve let Drake pick. Jade, Drake, and Sloane (occasionally joined by whatever future disappointment Sloane was dating at the time) had made a semi-regular commitment to get dinner together once a month. They would trade off who picked where to eat. Sloane naturally had the tendency to pick stodgy upscale restaurants with small portions and no prices listed on the menu, while the Blackmores had always taken her to cool, trendy local eateries where every item could be made gluten free and they brewed their own beer. Jade wouldn’t always let her, but Sloane would always be the first to pay for the bill: I owe you my life, the least I can do is pay for dinner. It was only when they turned into the Dairy Queen parking lot that Sloane realized that Jade must’ve been the one picking the places to eat before. She should’ve known Drake wasn’t joking when he said he wanted ice cream.

Sloane stepped out of the car and scanned the exterior of the building. All her life she had thought of Dairy Queen as a thing that no longer existed, a mythical relic of the past like video rental stores and affordable housing. She didn’t really get the appeal of ice cream. Perhaps if it was hot outside she could understand why someone would want to have some, although she much preferred just sucking on a cube of ice instead of poisoning her body with artificial flavors and added sugar. If she was really feeling particularly decadent and unable to resist the urge for something sweet she would cut up a fresh fruit and use it to top a cup of plain greek yogurt. A low hum of disapproval leaked out from Sloane’s tightening jaw as she looked at a poster advertising a Summer Berry Cheesecake Blizzard made with “real” berries, worrisome considering it was now October.

At the very least the Dairy Queen had checked one of Luca’s fair requests: it had a patio that was largely unoccupied. She followed Drake inside, her arms wrapped tight around her chest as her eyes narrowed upon the menu: signature stackburgers, two for five chili dogs, they offered salads? Nope. No way. They got to the front of the line and Sloane told the cashier that she got the next four people and stepped to the side so that Drake and the others could order, refusing to even utter the words, “I’d like the Peanut Buster.” After Luca, Simone, and Kali had placed their orders she pulled out her card and handed it to the cashier.

“For you, ma’am?” asked the employee.

“Could I do a bottle of water?” asked Sloane.

“C’mon, are you really sure that’s what you want sweetie?” said the employee playfully.

Sloane raised her eyebrows and swallowed the instinctual urge to scoff at being questioned. The cashier was a middle aged woman, old enough to be Sloane’s mother. Sloane imagined working fast food hadn’t been the woman’s ideal career choice, but it was respectable that she did the work with a smile and tried to move the product. Plus, Sloane could sense the annoying ribbing she’d get if she joined the others on the patio with only a water. She glanced back at the poster for the Summer Berry Cheesecake Blizzard, gave a defeated sigh, and pointed at it, “I guess I’ll take that.”

“Oh, sorry, we only have that in the summer.”

Why leave up the poster then? She couldn’t have been the first customer to walk in and order the thing they had on the window since August. Literally all they had to do was walk over to the window and pull it down, maybe scrap off some tape, and polish the glass. Sloane felt her teeth grind together. The employee must’ve sensed her annoyance, as she started to list off other options. Sloane stopped them with a look that was colder than any of the treats Dairy Queen sold as she pushed her credit card forward.

“Just a bottle of water. Thank you.”

Sloane joined the others on the patio, the bottle clenched tightly in her hand. She glanced at Drake’s parfait with a slight feeling of envy. She set her water bottle down on the table unopened and checked her watch. She was glad Luca had made them sit outside. The cool, fresh air was easing her migraine that had flared back up.

There were plenty of things she wanted to discuss, with Kali being one of them—was he actually a fed, should they work with him, were they responsible for monitoring his mental health, should they have him committed. Simone bringing Kali along with her for dinner prompted another idea, an idea that Simone was already in bed with the feds. It probably wasn’t the case. Surely she was smart enough to see how everyone bristled when Kali flashed his badge. If she was also on the take she probably would’ve voted against him to try to maintain her own cover. She was probably just reasonably worried about his mental state given the entire fiasco with Everleigh and his gun. Considering that, perhaps it was best if Sloane didn’t put Kali under a microscope.

“Kali, I believe I owe you an explanation for abstaining earlier. I did not participate in the vote because I have not yet agreed to rejoin the Coven. I had no right to decide your fate. In all honesty, nobody did. Almost nobody, anyway. I’ll get to that in a moment. That said, I am willing to cooperate with you fully,” said Sloane.

She stood up, pulled out a business card, and slid one to Kali. The card was eggshell white with simple black text reading Faris Imports, the name of her high-end antique store, an address, a business number, and her cell. She much rather give it out herself then have them go through Auri. She slid a card to Simone and Luca as well. Drake already had her number. She didn’t ask for anybody’s number in return. She tucked the cards back into her coat and pulled it tightly around her. She stayed standing.

“As I had said, almost nobody has the right to vote anybody out of the Coven because the current Coven has no legitimacy. Auri is the only one who decided to reform, unless any of you made a backroom deal then Auri is currently the only member of it, and despite her claims of it not being a dictatorship Auri is the only one who will have any authority in it. Already she made decisions without consulting the group, decisions that would leave us to deal with the consequences if we decided to join her Coven. While I am willing to work with her until Father Wolf is handled, I currently cannot see myself being part of her Coven, her family.”

Drake used to joke that the old Sycamore Tree Coven was a cult. Well, being part of an organization that referred to itself as a family was typically a pretty good sign that it was actually a cult. Sloane stared at the bottle of water and thought about the cashier. The cashier probably looked at the poster for the Summer Berry Cheesecake Blizzard everyday and also thought that it should be taken down. She probably had approached her manager several times about it, the manager saying that they’d get to it when they could and never following through with it. She was probably tired of people like Sloane asking about it and went to remove it one day but got shouted at by the same manager for messing with the store’s display. The manager probably called him team a family, too. The point is that bad leadership made good employees seem incompetent.

“While I believe that reforming the Coven to continue protecting St. Portwell like we should’ve been doing the entire time is a good idea, the harsh truth is that I simply have zero confidence in Auri as a leader. I have zero confidence with anybody serving as a singular leader. There’s a reason why traditional covens are typically run by a group of three. They keep each other in continual check,” said Sloane.

“Maybe I’m out of line. Maybe I'm missing something obvious. I’m curious what you all think. Do any of you even have a desire to actually rejoin a Coven, let alone a Coven exclusively controlled by Auri? Are you interested in protecting this city? She looked at Kali. “Are you just here for revenge?” She made direct eye contact with Drake, before glancing at Luca and Simone. “Or are you just trying to save yourself?”