Atrophy

Recollections: Under The Sycamore Tree Part. 1

Why is everyone fucking called Malik this is the third

@FernStone

The Fourth. Sully is actually short for Malik.

Recollections: Under The Sycamore Tree Part. 1

I keep opening up the Raven Jones hider and keep getting fucking jump scared.

There are no jump scares in these NPC sheets.

Ma & Pa Faris

Yasmin.Faris
47 | Yasmin Faris | She/Her "This is a family business. Any acts against it are personal."	Description: Born in America after her family abandoned the country that they had helped destabilize through contract killing and arms dealing, Yasmin Corey could’ve lived a posh life pretending to be ignorant of the blood money that filled her family coffers. Her traditionalist father believed that the family business was no place for his daughter, focusing instead on his sons. In fact, Yasmin was viewed as little more than a social bargaining chip, an offering to be sacrificed to further establish his family by linking them to a dynasty. At the time her marriage to Malik Faris was little more than a business deal, her role being to produce an offspring as fast as possible to forever tie the two families together. Sloane was born within a year of their marriage, serving as the glue that would seal their union. Little did Yasmin’s father know that it would become a deal that Yasmin manipulated to give herself all of the power. She was able to wrap Malik around her finger and use his curses to bring ruin upon her brothers, making her the only legal heir to her family fortune. She took plays from her family’s line of work to further her husband’s under-the-table business, translating the shadowy wetwork and smuggling to the less bloody and often more financially rewarding world of art theft. It was Yasmin that convinced Malik to expand beyond selling illegal art and begin selling Apparitions, a lucrative business idea that skyrocketed the Farises from being just another part of the one percent to being the one percent of the one percent. Like the ultra wealthy planning to evacuate Earth and live in space instead of taking care of the one planet they have, Yasmin and Malik fled Shimmer when the Stygian Snake threatened their reality. When their ungrateful daughter refused to flee and stayed behind to die, Yasmin was the one to convince Malik to leave her to die. In truth, Yasmin had always been afraid of Sloane, worried that her daughter would one day screw her over just like Yasmin had her father. If not for the promise of plentiful payday, Yasmin would never even have considered returning to St. Portwell. Abstraction: Adept - Orange Lux. Channeler: Diamond Bracelet Yasmin has an affinity for infusing items with magic and transforming them into magical artifacts based upon myth and legend. Awaken: Yasmin infuses a mundane object with Orange Lux, causing it to gain a magical property. The infusion is quick but short lived, functioning only as long as Yasmin continues to channel Orange Lux into the device. Yasmin does not pick the magical property an item gets, but rather “awakens” the latent paranormal potential inside of an item that has been impressed on it by people through collective ideas and tropes inspired by myth, folklore, and fiction. For example if Yasmin were to cast Awaken on a rug it would become a flying carpet while casting it upon a cloak would allow the wearer to turn invisible. Upon casting the spell she gains inherent knowledge on how the magical object works. Transmogrification: A prolonged ritual that elevates the process of Awakening the magic in an item to permanently imbuing an item with magic and turning it into an artifact. An artifact cannot simply be created by investing time and magic; the object used in the process requires some kind of cultural significance embedded in it through the power of myth or folklore. Generally, this requires the magical artifact Yasmin is creating to be an actual ancient artifact or, at the very least, to be widely believed to be an actual ancient artifact—things found in museums or put up for bid in high society auction houses. Even once she has found a proper curio to Transmogrify into a magical artifact, Yasmin is required to go through a creative process of casting Awaken spells and performing rituals using Orange Lux to truly unlock the potential of the item. Through this process she can morph and fine tune the magical property of the artifact, taking what has been imbued in it through the public zeitgeist and tweaking its design to her own desires. This process often takes months if not years to complete. Yasmin can still Awaken an object that has not yet completely undergone Transmogrification into an artifact, allowing her to essentially perform test runs. Like with any Awakened object, this requires her to constantly channel Orange Lux. Once the object has undergone Transmogrification it functions just like an artifact and can be used without Lux. Once Yasmin creates an artifact she cannot create an additional copy of it while the artifact still functions, meaning she cannot supply the world with cloaks of invisibility or magic carpets. Essentially, the artifact is THE Magic Carpet, not a magic carpet. Example Artifact The Trojan Passport, an ancient sliver of bronze that allows a person to create a one-way gateway between unconnected thresholds. Inspired by the myth of the Trojan Horse, the creation of the Trojan Passport required Yasmin to first find a piece of the Trojan Horse—which does not exist. However, what did exist was parts for ancient Greece siege engines that, when presented with certificates of authenticity by manipulated experts and given value and public awareness through a controversial auction, infused the part of the siege engine with enough of a story that made people believe it could be part of the Trojan Horse, thus allowing Yasmin to work her magic on it. The Transmogrifying still took several hundred hours to complete spread out over almost a year of time. Throughout the process the Trojan Passport magical property shifted from a handheld battering ram capable of collapsing walls with a simple knock to a bizarre charm that essentially acted as a VIP badge to what it is today: an artifact that captures the essence of the Trojan Horse by allowing the user to bypass gates and walls by creating connecting thresholds elsewhere. Infringement: Yasmin can strip an artifact she has made of its powers. This allows her to recreate the artifact elsewhere, or temporarily disable it if it falls into the hands of someone she opposes. A simple Awaken spell can be used to cancel out the temporarily disablement caused by an Infringement spell. Recreating the artifact is a much faster process than the original creation, taking about a full workday to recreate. However, it does require the proper materials to recreate, which can be difficult to come by.
Malik.Faris
67 | Malik Faris | He/Him "The only thing remembered is what is left behind."	Description: Malik may not wear a crown today, but he can trace his family lineage back to ancient Damascene kings. The Faris family have always been major players in shaping the world, from using their magic to rule it openly from atop a throne to eventually stepping away and manipulating it from the shadows. For over the past century the Faris family has made a name for themselves as the premier art and antique dealers, but they’re so much more than that. By controlling the flow and exposure of art they were also able to once manipulate history, painting the revisionist stories that the victors wanted to be spread and burying the records left behind by the defeated and the downtrodden. Malik came to America in his twenties, escaping the political turmoil that his eventual wife’s family had a hand in creating, and eventually settled in St. Portwell. Malik had little interest in continuing the cabalistic ways of his family, content with being rich and becoming richer—only occasionally crossing the line by cursing someone who got in the way of his profiteering. It was during this time of establishing himself in St. Portwell that Malik met James Vanburen, sparking a friendship/rivalry that would last for decades. However, his priority in life shifted from acquiring pure capital to leaving behind a lasting legacy after he married Yasmin and had his daughter Sloane. Perhaps fueled by his jealousy of James Vanburen and his cavalcade of varying levels of successful children, Malik fueled every resource he had into raising a perfect daughter to create the impression that he had been a perfect father. Of course these resources required capital. It took very little arm twisting from Yasmin to expand the Faris Empire further and further into the cabalistic sphere it had once been a part of, just as it took almost nothing to convince him to use his magic to curse her siblings making them the sole inheritors of her father’s fortunes. Anything for his precious Sloane. However, his daughter betrayed his support when she refused to run from the Stygian Snake with them, her act of rebellion crippling his right hand. Yasmin convinced him to let her go, a choice he has been regretting ever since. He had wanted to find a way to get back to his legacy daughter ever since, but only after an old friend had requested the help of him and his wife for a sizable chunk of change was he able to convince Yasmin to return to St. Portwell. Abstraction: Adept - Blue Lux. Channeler: Wedding Ring Malik has an affinity for curses that ruins a person’s credibility, reputation, and good judgment. Downfall: A slow acting but powerful curse that eventually takes everything away that a person holds dear, inevitably putting them in the position they would be if everything in their life went wrong. It’s more than a simple misfortune curse. A person cursed by a Downfall spell will actively sabotage themselves in a way that simply appears as if they’d just experienced a temporary moment of bad judgment or a lack of self-control, with the frequency between these lapses occuring more and more often as the curse progresses. The road a person takes while experiencing a Downfall is always different—could be making poor investments, engaging in an addiction, to following violent tendencies—and can take anywhere from a few weeks to several years to fully experience. However, the destination is always the same: broken and alone, pushing away everyone and losing everything in the wake of their self-destruction. Even once they hit rock bottom the curse continues to affect the victim, preventing them from trying to pull themselves out of the hole. Emotional Fields do very little to protect against a Downfall curse, but they do get a strange feeling that an invisible hand is guiding them towards making poor decisions. Oftentimes a paranormal victim will become aware that they are cursed but due to the nature of the curse cannot bring themself to seek to break it or inform others about what has happened to them. A paranormal victim can try to fight back against the curse, extending the timeline they have before they hit rock bottom, but unless somebody else is able to catch wind of what’s happening to them and help break their curse they’ll inevitably experience a total Downfall just like anybody else. Revision: A fast acting curse that can spread from person to person, a revision spell alters an individual's memory to recall an event they have witnessed differently. The false memory is shaped by a question Malik asks them while casting the spell. Once a person has a false memory in their head any mention of that false memory will leapfrog the curse from the victim to someone else who has witnessed the same incident, causing their memory of the events to be forgotten and replaced with the false memory which they then also believe is true. The curse can continue to spread from this new victim, inevitably allowing for the complete Revision of events through the curse being spread by word of mouth. Emotional Fields cannot protect against the initial casting of a Revision curse. However, people with Emotional Fields cannot be affected by the curse spreading via word-of-mouth. As well, while the curse sets in pretty quickly and can spread misinformation like wildfire, it can be broken just as fast by physical evidence that empirically disproves the revisioned history in the false memory.

Recollections: Under The Sycamore Tree Part. 1

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Sloane's Apartment, the night before...

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Time passed, uncaring. The hours and days mixed and swirled together, blending and blurring like when faces and bodies suddenly lose definition and simply become a crowd. Sloane’s face took the center of the frame, the bandages over her nose and the continuity error of the sudden appearance and disappearance of a black hat lined with a veil the only thing changing as time lapsed while she blankly stared ahead like a mannequin. Only a slow zoom on her unflinching pupils reflected the changing scenery around her: a cramped dining room full of old crying women surrounding a table overloaded with untouched food. A wall of stiff shoulders standing at the ready as a flag was draped over a casket. A crew of baggage handlers testing the limits of the phrase “handle with care” as they unknowingly or unsympathetically chucked refrigerated crate holding remains into a cargo plane. A blazing furnace lighting up a dark, nearly empty room as a box is unceremoniously pushed into a fire, cutting to ashes being placed in an urn for nobody.

Sloane blinked as the elevator dinged, bringing her back to the here and now. The second it took between the elevator reaching the top of her apartment building and the doors opening dragged on for an eternity. She caught her reflection in the polished metal, the slight warping of the image making her appear as melted and exhausted as she felt. One farce and four funerals later, only the brief respite of stopping in at a Halloween popup had energized Sloane to make it through the rest of her day. She glanced down at her shopping bag, a hint of red fabric poking through the protective tissue paper, and breathed deeply. Attending the Halloween Festival at a time like this felt mad, yet the normalcy it brought about to her otherwise “unconventional” week was actually quite therapeutic. The elevator dinged again, the door opened, Sloane stepped through the threshold, and the doors slid shut behind her.

Sloane didn’t immediately feel unsafe as she approached the door to her penthouse. It took a moment for the unease to set in, like when accidental eye contact was made with a man across the bar and the sense of accomplishment she felt at managing to not awkwardly glance away suddenly shifted to a swell of anxiety as they took it as an invitation to approach. Her hand hesitated on the handle of her front door as she heard a faintly reminiscent jazz number playing on the other side of the door. She didn’t leave the stereo on when she left, and even if she did it certainly would’ve been tuned to something more melancholic and somber. She slipped a hand into her pocket and held on to her Channeler as she cautiously opened the door and crept down the hall as softly as her heels would let her. She wasn’t concerned that she didn’t know who was intruding in her home. She was concerned that she knew exactly who was here.

Her fears were realized as she turned the corner.

Sitting in her armchair, drinking her brandy, and listening to her stereo was an older man well into his sixties dressed in a casual suit, his slicked back hair doing little to cover the bald spot on his head. His eyes were closed behind the thick frames of his glasses and it was difficult to tell if he was bobbing his head along to the rhythm of the music poorly or if he was constantly catching himself from nodding off. Thumbing through her bookshelf was a woman in black that in the dim lamplight might as well have been Sloane’s doppelganger. Her brow furrowed in disapproval at the book she was reading, a look that matched the one of disgust on Sloane’s face as she saw her mother and father. The faint light of Lux flowing through her Channeler glowed from her pocket as the stereo clicked off and Sloane stepped further into the room, making her presence known.

“Sloaney, sweetie. You’re home,” said her father, getting up from his seat with a smile. The genuine warmth and happiness in his voice made Sloane freeze. The last time Sloane had seen Malik Faris he’d gunned down their butler Warren without an ounce of hesitation or regret, the same way a person would absentmindedly smash a mosquito. That had been over a decade ago.

“We’re going to miss our reservations,” said her mother, thumbing through the pages of a book. Yasmin Faris didn’t even look up to acknowledge Sloane. Unlike her father, Sloane had seen her mother within the last year. Unintentionally for both parties. It had not gone cordially.

“We’ll be fine,” said Malik as he took a few steps towards Sloane. He let out an easy laugh as he reached out to her. In the past ten years he had found some way to reconstruct the tips of his fingers. “Wow, look at you. Figured you would’ve outgrown the goth look by now.”

Quietly, almost inaudibly, the words muttered out, “...at a funeral…”

Sloane found herself knocked back into the mind of a seventeen-year-old girl whose father kept making “joking” comments about her appearance and broke eye contact with the man. On the rare occasions friends crossed paths with her father they always talked about how funny he was, seemingly uncaring that his punchlines only ever punched down on his daughter. She had grown since then. She snatched back the confidence he’d knocked away and wrapped it back around her like body armor. She didn’t care what this man or anyone thought about her (and for real this time, not like when she was a hormonal teenager screaming the same sentiment as she stomped out of a room, desperate for anybody’s approval).

“What happened to your face?” he asked with a look of concern that almost appeared genuine.

“I was at a funeral for a friend,” said Sloane more assertively, ignoring the question. She found some pleasure in the way her father recoiled uncomfortably. A glow of Lux again and the TV was on and muted, turned to the news, as the overhead lights fired up and a glass of brandy poured itself for Sloane as she walked by her father and grabbed the tumbler. “Why are you here?”

“Why does an old man need a reason to see his little girl? I just missed you, Sloaney. ” asked Malik, gesturing widely.

“Great. You saw me. Only took you ten years. See you in another decade,” she said.

Yasmin huffed sharply, “I told you this was a waste of time.”

“Hey, c’mon, you said you’d give her a chance,” said Malik.

“That was before she so rudely made us wait.”

“Stop talking like I’m not in the room,” said Sloane, turning to her mother who refused to look her way and instead found interest in a different book on the shelf. “What part of I was at a funeral didn’t you understand?”

“Right, no, we got it. Sorry for your loss, kiddo. Were you close with the departed?” asked Malik.

“No,” said Sloane

“Oh, one of those gotta make appearances or your social standings will go down kind of funerals, huh? Man I hate those. The dead won’t know if you show or not, so why does everyone else gotta be such a prick about it, yeah?”

“It wasn’t that either, said Sloane again. Finn’s funeral had been as barebones as it got. There were more staff on hand than visitors. “Nobody would’ve cared if I hadn't shown.”

“Hah. Then why go?”

Sloane didn’t know. It felt like the thing to do. She hoped when she went someone else would feel the similar obligation to show up and acknowledge that her life had some kind of impact. She took a sip of her brandy and left space in the conversation for silence to fill the room, interrupted only by the occasional shifting of paper on paper as her mother casually thumbed through a book. Her father shifted uncomfortably, opening his mouth to speak and immediately getting cut off by Sloane. “Why are you actually here?”

“Like I said, I wanted to see you,” said Malik.

“No, why are you actually here?”

“Um, well, again, to see my daug—”

“Cut the bullshit,” said Sloane firmly.

“She shouldn’t speak to you that way,” said Yasmin out of the side of her mouth. Sloane glanced at her mother. Talks of theft, blackmail, torture, and murder hardly made her mom blink, but colorful words always threatened to ruin the botox or make her eye do that twitching thing. Sloane couldn’t tell for certain, but for a moment she’d almost seen an eyebrow move. “We didn’t raise her to use such language.”

“You didn’t even raise me, Yasmin!” said Sloane, a rare hint of heat bubbling up in her voice. “I was raised by a Nicaraguan maid that you poisoned and an English butler that he shot right in front of me.”

“Sweetie, Warren and Maria—” Malik started.

“Her fucking name was Marta,” said Sloane, her voice raised but still controlled.

“Language!” hissed her mother, snapping the book shut.

“Right, right, sorry Sloaney. Memory’s the first thing to go, you know?” Malik chuckled, the laugh falling flat as his daughter’s expression did not lighten. “Look, Marta and Warren's deaths were a, well, a mercy killing. The city was doomed. Even if they had survived the attack from the Stygian Snake, which they wouldn’t, their families had all been wiped out during its assault. No parent wants to witness the loss of their child. I’m sorry you had to witness what happened to Warren, but it was the right thing to do sweetheart. It eased his suffering. I’m not happy we had to do it, but it was something that had to be done.”

“A mercy killing…”

“That’s right.”

Sloane sighed deeply as she sat forward, hair falling in her face as the dark reality of what her father had said set in as she stared into her drink. He truly believed he had done something noble and just by executing their staff instead of allowing them to witness atrocities and more suffering. A shadow was cast across her vintage rug as her mother moved to the other bookshelf, oozing and pooling across the carpet like the blood that had seeped out from Warren in the grand hall of her childhood home. She had seen countless deaths since then, but the first one would forever be burned in her mind. A seventy year old man, bald and liver spotted with a mustache like a walrus, white shirt soaked wine red, blood gargling out of his mouth as his lungs filled with blood from where her father had failed to hit his heart when he’d shot Warren in the chest.

“It took minutes for Warren to die. You could’ve shot him again,” said Sloane, watching the brandy swirl in her glass, disgusted that she even had it in herself to discuss the optimal method to perform a mercy killing, let alone to even pretend that it was anything other than just a murder.

“Jesus, kiddo. Wetwork was always more of your mother’s thing. I realized in that second that I was no killer. I freaked out. The reason I took so long to return was because I was having a panic attack in the next room. Honest. I’m not a bad guy, just a bad shot,” said Malik.

“You could’ve warned them. You could’ve sent them away with their families. Somewhere safe, ” said Sloane. Malik shook his head. Of course at the time her parents thought the world was ending. Almost everybody did. The Coven had proved them wrong. “You could’ve stayed. We stopped the Stygian Snake. You just abandoned me.”

“Hah!” Yasmin laughed so sharply that it caused Sloane to jump.

“Honey, please,” said Malik, waving his hand to silence his wife. “Sloaney, you got everything wrong. We tried to save you. You abandoned us.”

Silence fell over the room again as Sloane struggled to even comprehend the absurdity of the statement. What they had tried to do was abduct her, but even if in their misguided brains they somehow thought they were doing the right thing then why did they never bother trying to do it again? It wasn’t like her parents had waited until the final moment and left when the ship snapped in two and sunk into the Atlantic. They had spotted the iceberg well before it even struck and had quietly evacuated without informing any of the passengers, launched all of the lifeboats for the hell of it, and then boarded and cruised away on their own luxury yacht that they had trailing behind the ship the whole time. Sloane sharply inhaled a breath, ready to unleash a torrent of harsh words that had been bottled up inside of her for a decade, when her father hit first and knocked the hot wind out of her.

“You abandoned us and it was the right thing to do. It was the right thing to do sweetie. Oh god,” said Malik as his voice cracked. A visible look of panic crossed Sloane’s face as her father’s shoulders began to heave as he started to loudly weep. “At first I was just angry, and then I was embarrassed. So scared to admit that I’d been wrong. So scared that you’d just hate me.”

At least that was what Sloane thought he said. She looked to her mother for confirmation. Yasmin’s eyes were downcast, the closest she’d ever come to showing genuine regret. She looked back at her father although it was difficult to do so. He looked smaller here than he did in her memories. Discomfort crept over her as he continued to sniffle and blubber like a child, thick tears running down the trenches in his wrinkled face and mixing with the snot clingy to the gray hairs of his beard. He was still saying words, but they were near nonsensical phrases punctuated by the snicker-snack of sobs.

Sloane realized too late that he was moving in to embrace her, falling upon her like a zombie minus the merciful act of ripping out her jugular with his teeth to end her suffering. She wanted to push him off but felt the strength evaporate from her arms like it would in a dream, leaving her weakly holding a frail, sobbing old man. She could feel the chilling presence of her mother loom closer like a sentinel, not close enough to touch yet still close enough to drain away Sloane’s heat. In the past week she she had been betrayed and assaulted by a close friend resulting in an emotional and public breakdown, tear gassed and arrested by a government agency, buried a handful of friends, was being hunted by a serial killer, and worst of all had been made aware of the existence of a person like Trevor. Yet somehow, this experience was more terrifying and awful than any of those.

Yet again, time passed indeterminably before Sloane was able to react. It might’ve only been seconds, but it felt like eons. Dinosaurs evolved into birds faster than Sloane was able to push her father away. There was a gentleness to it that was somehow still devoid of kindness, the type of precautionary touch she’d give to an antique whose fragility was still yet unknown. Sloane stared at her crying father in his eyes and saw her reflection in their brackish waters, mistaking the cold figure in them for her mother. She folded her arms tightly across her chest to provide a barricade for any further attempts at a hug. Her dad wiped his face and gave an embarrassed smile.

“I’m sorry, honey,” said Malik. “I was wrong back then. I don’t want your forgiveness because I don’t deserve it. I just want to be a better father.”

“You want to—” the words broke in Sloane’s throat as her face twisted and contorted into a look of anger, her eye twitching like her mother’s would. She quickly recovered and shrouded the vitriol, twitching aside. “I need you to leave.”

The uncomfortable silence returned again and pressed the entire room beneath its boot as it choked the atmosphere. Slowly, dejectedly, her father nodded as her mother ushered him to a closed door where she pulled out a small object, tapped it against the frame, and guided her husband through a portal. Her mother moved to follow then hesitated, turning to fix Sloane with a stare, her eyes lingering on her daughter’s broken nose. Yasmin’s lips parted into a thin, cruel smile.

“Thank whoever did that for me. Your nose was always unflattering,” said Yasmin, stepping into the portal. “About time it gets fixed.”

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Interactions: Schrodinger's Linqian @FernStone
Harbor, the Halloween Festival

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That night Sloane had a nightmare. Of course she did. Dreams were just an extension of reality, and her life had always been so dreadful. It had only become more so as she heaped on more responsibilities of things that she had no real control over, instead becoming just another thing to worry about and distract her focus. She had put her businesses on the backburner—work seemed unimportant when Father Wolf was on the prowl. The morning and afternoon of the Halloween Festival had been a blur of phone calls as she shuttled to and fro between Cracker Island and her oddity shop to ensure that the Curious Curio stall would be properly supplied with “paranormal” rubbish and the prize pool amongst the various games stalls would be stockpiled with creepy dolls branded with her store. Even if she was to be stabbed violently to death in the street that evening, she still owed it to her employees to make sure that her business flourished.

She still managed to find enough time to get herself ready for the festival. Typically Sloane didn’t give a hoot about festivities, but Halloween was different. She loved Halloween. It was the one time of the year where she had not only the opportunity but the social obligation to put on a mask and be someone different. For a few hours she was allowed to not have to worry about the world and if it was still turning, as if her removal from existence would somehow bring about a global crisis instead of being like removing a single drop of water from an endless ocean. Although the vivid nightmare and Father Wolf still weighed heavily on her mind, Sloane was still going to attempt to enjoy the Halloween Festival—or rather, thought Sloane as she adjusted her wide-brim red hat and tucked a yellow scarf into a red trench coat, Carmen Sandiego.

“Carmen” made her way to the harbor in time to hear the ferry blow its horn as it signaled its departure. While her alter ego could’ve easily stolen a boat, and Sloane already owned one, she made the assumption that making port at Cracker Island would be a nightmare and decided to simply wait as if she were one of the common people. By habit she looked at her wrist to check the time, her watch safely sitting in the drawer of her nightstand at home as it didn’t go with her costume, and instead slightly frowned as she saw the burn scar she’d gotten nearly ten years ago. It had faded overtime, but she was convinced it would never go away. She pulled out her phone to check the time instead and noticed that she had missed a call from an employee. So much for hanging up her responsibilities. She called them immediately.

“It’s Sloane. Hold on, it’s too loud here,” she said as she wandered away from the dock to find somewhere quieter. “Okay, what is the problem…”

Minutes later Sloane returned to the dock the way she had left it. She turned a corner as she pulled out her phone to reply to a text message from Anya: Here. Are you on your way? Sloane hammered out a generic, boring, and factual response saying how she was awaiting the ferry, deleting the message as she absentmindedly passed by a lady in red in favor of texting something more clever. Sloane decided to take a selfie instead and write something cheeky like how she had gotten distracted by stealing the lighthouse.

It was only through the screen of her phone that Sloane finally registered the woman she had walked by, the cheap cigarette and curly hair that spilled out of a red hood immediately making Sloane feel her stomach sink. She lowered her phone. The last time she’d dealt with Linqian the woman had almost assaulted her, and if not for Lynn being an absolute bitch Sloane doubted she would’ve been spared the bible beating after the cuffs had come off. A cold wind cut through her jacket, impossible to tell if it was the ocean breeze or Linqian’s presence. The best thing to do would be to just leave. Sloane took a few steps following that very intention, the heels of her boots thunking heavily on the wooden boardwalk before coming to a sudden stop. Was pushing off the inevitable really the right thing to do? The large red hat turned ever so slightly so that Linqian was but a fuzzy blob in Sloane’s periphery.

She remained there in that middle state for a moment, too afraid to directly make her presence known and too scared to abandon the only opportunity they might ever have to honestly speak with one another without there being an audience carrying cans of gasoline and matchsticks.

Recollections: Under The Sycamore Tree Part. 1

<Snipped quote by Punished GN>

Tayla was the true villain all along.

@silvermist1116

You thought Under the Sycamore Tree was a tale about how the way we poorly treated people when we're younger still haunt us today. It's actually a story about how far a mother will go to protect her son.

Recollections: Under The Sycamore Tree Part. 1

@AtrophySweet Jesus. Guess we no longer have to worry about the PRAxCoven ships.

I dare you to put this in game. Sloane can hand out the sheet at the next meeting. Derail everything. Excluding Tayla having a kid or you'll have to justify why Sloane knows that. May also end up on her kill list after Edict.

@silvermist1116

An emergency meeting is called. Everyone arrives, worried that Father Wolf has struck again, to a dark room. Nobody knows what's going on. Suddenly, candles alight around the room and create an intimate mood lighting, revealing tables for two with place mats and name cards. Slow Motion by Trey Songz starts to play. A TV turns on by itself, an image zooming in on an antique baby doll sitting in a cradle as a heavily modified voice goes, "I'd like to play a game. A dating game." Everyone looks around and notice that Sloane is missing as steel bars slam down and seal the doors and windows.

Recollections: Under The Sycamore Tree Part. 1

Happy Valentine's Day everyone. You are all loved and cherished. Please accept this Valentine that, much like a social disease or an accidental pregnancy, will haunt you for the rest of your life.

Torn up notes found in Sloane's waste bin, accompanying a bottle of red wine and a box of half-eaten chocolates

Sloane's Relation/Ship Chart

100% factual and valid determination of your ideal romantic partner. No other relationships will be allowed to blossom per the agreement signed upon joining the Sycamore Tree Coven. Disagreements and disputes can be taken up with Sloane Faris*, provided they are presented by letter and signed by both parties. Please allow 4-6 weeks for any dispute responses.

_{*as opposed to this poster, who is merely presenting the data.}

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Britney: Seeks forgiveness more than anything else, despite having done nothing to deserve any forgiveness. Has a history of forcing things upon others without their consent. Too damn tall. Should probably spend their whole life alone. Ideal Romantic Partner: Stormy. Kind enough to eventually offer a second-chance, stubborn enough to not be a total pushover. Secure enough in masculinity (debatable?) to not worry about the height difference. Known to use protection, so at least there won’t be any Britney Jrs.

Matchmaker’s Score: 0/10. The tarot deck probably needed shuffling. Britney should have no partners.

What a cute pairing. Both of them are trying their best to do the right thing, but are different enough that they’ll balance one another out. Besides, a person who can’t stand someone slowly coming to recognition that their hatred is actually feelings of love is a tale of classic romance. A perfect match!

---

Linqian: Uses her family to generate sympathy. Can’t stick to a single partner even if her life counted on it. Simple, boring fashion sense. Really just a bitch. Ideal Romantic Partner: Leon. Able to handle dealing with a bitch, has a raging one already inside of him. What is a cult but a family? Would probably prefer an open relationship anyway. Best/Worst case scenario he ends up wolfing out and eating her.

Matchmaker’s Score: 6/10. Hardly an ideal relationship, but should last since neither of them have to commit to it. Almost feel sorry for Leon.

Sorry, but someone crashing into another's car is a definitive meet cute. This simply must happen. Linqian’s too wishy-washy to be fully indoctrinated into a cult anyway.

---

Anya: High IQ. Motivated businesswoman. Impeccable taste. A genuine good person. Ideal Romantic Partner: Greyson. High EQ. Motivated businessman. Impeccable taste. A genuine misjudged (good?) person.

Matchmaker’s Score: 10/10. An absolute power couple. Why hasn’t this happened?

They’d be adorable together, it’s just…why do I have such a bad feeling about this duo? Jealousy? Hm, this feels different than jealousy…

---

Tayla: Honestly, probably shouldn’t be in a relationship. Needs a support system more than anything else. Kids are a massive turnoff. Ideal Romantic Partner: Lila. Clean history may help prevent any dangerous temptations. Creates judgment and discrimination free spaces. Knows how to handle creatures that only eat, shit, and sleep.

Matchmaker’s Score: ?/10. This feels more like a sponsorship than a relationship. Was the tarot spread improperly?

I just feel like Tayla has earned some happiness. Perhaps Lila isn’t the one, but of anyone I know she seems like the only person capable of showing Tayla that all relationships do not have to be horrible and transactional. Still, this one feels more sad than fun. Worst case scenario we’d have a Jungle Book situation with the birds raising Tayla’s kid. That’d be precious.

---

Drake: A stupid, stubborn jock. Abusive towards women. A stupid, sexy ass. What an idiot. Ideal Romantic Partner: Adora. A stupid, stubborn jock. Will beat Drake up. Two massive egos will keep each other from getting too inflated.

Matchmaker’s Score: 3/10. Both should just be seeing a therapist.

Drake needs a tough woman to keep him in line, and shared experiences regarding loss could lead to strengthening of bonds that they’d otherwise keep hidden from people who haven’t dealt with similar trauma. Still, it doesn’t feel like the healthiest foundation for a relationship. Perhaps if they got together around Christmas it’d be cuter like in one of those Hallmark movies?

---

Luca: Too plucky for anybody with a decent grasp on reality to constantly be around. The Rot really puts a damper on the physical aspect of things. Will become a financial burden. Ideal Romantic Partner: Jack. Has spent the last decade in the Void, doesn’t know how much life sucks. Shadow hands can be reformed if rotted away. Can just create new shadow items to replace rotten things.

Matchmaker’s Score: 8/10. A partnership that simultaneously solves a major life burden as well.

Plus, imagine how sad it’ll be once Luca is finally consumed by the Rot despite Jack’s best efforts. Another loss of a beloved partner. Will Jack ever find true love? How romantic! How tragic!

---

Lynn: A well-balanced drinking problem disguises drunkenness as friendliness. Would insist she already foresaw the match of any relationship reading, yet remains single. Can’t make her mind up about anything after all. Ideal Romantic Partner: Sully? Together they’d be forever spiraling between choosing between going to Applebee’s or Chili’s for happy hour. No, wait Sully isn’t the answer. There’s another card. Ideal Romantic Partner: Sully’s Chalice?

Matchmaker’s Score: 9/10. Drinking alone sounds right. Obviously Lynn saw this coming.

I don’t understand. I’ve done hundreds of these readings. Everytime I do one for Lynn they come up so bad. Am I projecting negative energy into the cards?

---

Lyss: Has realistic expectations. Keeps distant from the others. Extremely cagey about where she’s been, what she’s doing, or where she’s going. Ideal Romantic Partner: Max who? Redo. Probably desires someone independent and responsible. Someone okay with periods of separation. Ideal Romantic Partner: Max? Again? Okay, one more try…

Matchmaker’s Score: 11/10. The energy here is so strong. Who is Max? Why does everything come up Max?

Perhaps they’re some kind of star-crossed lovers, tied together by fate but separated by unfortunate circumstances of their stations in life like an actual Romeo and Juliet? Has there ever been anything more romantic or a love more true than the tale of a thirteen year old girl who was so infatuated with her first ever crush that she died for it?

---

Sloane: Independent, financially secure, emotionally stable, perfect style, free of any vices or baggage, a perfect fucking catch so why am I alone? Could there be something about me that is undesirable? No. St. Portwell is obviously just lacking in eligible bachelors. This reading is pointless, I don’t have an Ideal Romantic Partner: Jasper. No, no, no, no, no. Affable, well-liked, interesting, creative, and everything I am not. He’s a bohemian hipster loser and I don’t care that he’s attractive, stylish, and well-connected. He’s aesthetic, colorful chaos and I’m utilitarian, boring order. This is stupid. Relationship readings are stupid. Jasper is stupid.

Matchmaker’s Score: -10/10. This invalidates all the readings. Clearly these cards are cursed!

God he likes bugs more than me! I hate this!

Clancy's reading

Layla's reading

_{Blame Fern and Nori. They wouldn't let it go.}

Recollections: Under The Sycamore Tree Part. 1

@Atrophy What is this edit? Why?
@FernStone Do you see what you've done?

@silvermist1116

Think of it as a vision board.

Recollections: Under The Sycamore Tree Part. 1

Recollections: Under The Sycamore Tree Part. 1

---

In Collaboration w/ @Blizz@Fernstone@Punished GN

_{And reintroducing a very special guest.}
Burning Church -> Sloane's Apartment

---

Anya pinched the bridge of her nose, trying her best to hold back an exasperated sigh. She had known things wouldn’t work out well today, but had hoped that by being there she could help stop it devolving into complete chaos. That hadn’t worked out at all. It didn’t help that the majority of the sensible members (few as they were) hadn’t been there - leaving only her and Sloane to hold the fort. Difficult, when everyone there hated them.

There was nothing for her to say to the two that had fought - both disliked her, and she had no interest in lecturing them. Jack had already done a good enough job of that. Instead she approached Jack again, leaning in close.

”Jack, when you’re done here, can we talk?” She smiled, glancing at the nearest PRA agents. Best not to be too specific. ”We have loads to catch up on.” She turned her head towards Sloane, waving her over. With Sloane so near to Meifeng, Anya didn’t want to directly call her over. She widened her smile, trying to communicate with her eyes that they should talk when Sloane was done talking to the agent. Hopefully Sloane would understand. ”Sloane too.”

“Thank you, Agent Liao,” said Sloane, pocketing her phone and a business card as she caught Anya’s look. “I won’t take anymore of your time. If you’d excuse me…”

After an hour or two that consisted of cold showers to wash away the remaining residue from the tear gas, changing of clothes (and, in Sloane’s case, bandages), and a couple rounds of teleportation taxi, everyone regrouped at Sloane’s penthouse downtown. The golden rays of the afternoon sun filled her spacious living room with a warm light, the modernist design of her penthouse a hard contrast to the wellkept Victorian furniture that looked like it had belonged to a grandmother’s grandmother, likely living a vast majority of its life beneath a sheet before Sloane had pilfered it. Two grand bookshelves were stacked to the ceiling and between displays of antiques and oddities was a bizarre mixture of dry histories and art criticism, volumes of now irrelevant encyclopaedias, topics on various schools of occultism, philosophy, and religion, and a small smattering of poorly written supernatural romance novels that had been marketed to lonely teenage girls.

A quiet television between the bookshelves was running coverage on an arsonist setting fire to the church, talking heads doing what they could to dissuade the guest from starting another satanic panic by blaming the homeless instead. Sloane shut the tv off with a look, her channeler being pulled out from beneath a silver platter carrying a kettle, tea cups, a saucer of cream, a bowl of sugar cubes, and a plate of cucumber sandwiches as she set it down upon a coffee table. She fixed everyone a cup of tea, taking hers plain, and sat back in an uncomfortable looking upholstered armchair.

“So today went poorly,” said Sloane, blowing on her tea to cool it. She turned her eyes towards Jack. “Until I saw the state you had returned in, I assumed either you or Auri had set us up. The sealing didn’t work, did it?”

”Sealing?” Anya raised an eyebrow. She leaned forward to pour a small amount of cream into her own tea, sitting on a more comfortable couch. Her gaze moved from Sloane to Jack, and back again, as she nursed her tea. She took a moment to remember what had happened - Stormy, Auri, Britney, Jack and… Layla had all disappeared before the PRA raided them. Just like Sloane, Anya had assumed one of them was in on it, with Layla being the least likely that she’d almost forgotten about her. But she was the only one of those five with a particularly nasty Apparition attached to her. ”Was it the Void you were trying to seal? How did you come back so badly hurt by that?”

Jack sat across from Anya, slowly sipping on a mug of tea as black as the Void itself, recalling the events. He leaned to one side, opposite to where he had been shot. He left his coat in the Shadowzone to not smear blood on Sloane’s furniture.

”Last night, well after Alizée’s death,” her death still stung, and it showed on his face, ”Auri decided that we needed to seal the Void Heart to save ourselves the trouble of dealing with him while we’re searching for Father Wolf. I agreed. But the Void Heart knew well enough that he had very few friends among us, so I planned to earn his trust by hiding him and Layla in a place no sane person would go.”

Another sip, as he let them take that in.

”That, of course, was the Void itself. A particular area of it that I often stayed at, where it is relatively safe for humans. I needed both of them to believe that I was truly on their side, while not being on everyone else’s. But I also needed the rest of us to be in the dark until after,” He added, “Since the Void Heart is a clever creature. If he or Layla overheard anyone speaking about the sealing, or anything implying it, they’d both be suspicious.”

”The Temple, those cultists Leon and Alizée were associated with, sent two of their… operatives, their agents, whatever they call them, to stop us. One of them was a purple Adept who could follow the use of purple Lux, who I should have accounted for,” Jack admitted, taking another sip.

”When we were children, I spent time with the Temple to study from their library. I believe that is how they knew who to send to deal with us. It just so happens that one of them uses a gun for a channeler.”

”Of course.” Understanding dawned on Anya’s face, and she took a sip of her tea. If there’d been a gun at play, and two unknowns, it was understandable that Jack and Auri had come back so hurt. ”That would explain why Leon stormed in yelling about someone teleporting, just before the PRA came to our door. He must have spotted you before you left and called them in.”

“Jack had only just told me their plan seconds before they acted on it,” said Sloane, making it clear that she hadn’t been holding out any information from Anya. “I didn’t even have the time to tell him how dumb and reckless I thought the idea was. Obviously the Void Heart is a menace, but now wasn’t the time.” Sloane shifted in her chair. “You’re burying the lede, Jack. Did the sealing fail? Where’s the Void Heart?”

”Supposedly, he’s with Britney, Layla and Stormy, being sealed as we speak. Those Temple rats demanded to do it themselves, and we weren’t going to let them do it without oversight. Layla fought back, believing the Void Heart cared for her,” he did not sound happy about that fact, ”But I trust the other two. Britney has the Noble Vow and its power, and Stormy has enough protection to win a war. And the Temple knows we would hunt them down if those two don’t return.”

Sloane took a sip of her tea at the mention of the artifact, masking her interest with the mug. The Void Heart being sealed was ultimately a good thing for the city, but the sealed apparition being in the hands of the Temple left her with a feeling of unease. People used to make annoying jokes about the Coven being a cult back in the day, but the Temple was an actual cult. Even the most altruistic of cult movements only needed one strong voice to radicalize good intentions into future atrocities.

”Sealing him so soon, without anyone else to support us was unwise, in hindsight. I should have consulted one of you two before we executed that plan, and I don’t have an excuse for not doing so. I apologise for that.” Prideful as he was, there wasn’t any denying that it was a blunder on the resident wizard’s part, and he wasn’t stupid.

”That was a major oversight on your part,” Anya sighed softly, putting down her cup with a light clatter. She reached out for a cucumber sandwich, but didn’t eat it yet. ”As Sloane said, it was dumb and reckless, and you’re lucky the Temple agents didn’t kill you all when they had the chance. I wouldn’t put it past them… Thankfully, it didn’t end in much of a disaster. I’m sure Britney and Stormy will ensure it’s done, or call for help if it's not. You can easily go get them if necessary.”

Anya smiled, seemingly genuine, at Jack. ”And your apology is accepted. I’m a little hurt that you didn’t think Sloane or I were trustworthy enough to keep it a secret, but it’s all water under the bridge.”

“Sure,” said Sloane curtly, shoving a sandwich in her mouth. It was the best she could do when it came to telling Jack that she forgave him and was glad that he hadn't been shot in the head. “We’ll probably have to deal with the Temple at sometime, but right now one of the biggest problems with our current situation is the utter lack of focus on the thing that matters and getting distracted by stupid personal issues. Lynn and Linqian’s embarrassing display is proof of that.”

Her broken nose was proof of that. Sloane grabbed another sandwich and gestured at Jack with it.

“Kali’s also dead. Father Wolf killed four people in one night and they’re wasting time complaining about who should feel more sad, or how their opinion has to be weighed in on every single thing, or how the food provided wasn’t enough,” said Sloane, taking her sandwich and tossing it back on the platter. “All we’ve accomplished so far has been making it easier for Father Wolf to track us down.”

”Yes, there’s a complete lack of direction,” Anya sighed, finally taking a bite out of the sandwich she’d picked up. ”It’s exactly how the coven was ten years ago, and we all know how that ended. We,” she gestured to the three of them, ”as the few sensible members will need to work much harder to keep everyone alive, unfortunately.”

Jack thought about it for a moment, idly biting into a sandwich as the gears turned in his mind.

”...At the risk of sounding sentimental, the need for survival is what kept us on the same page as children. Until the others rediscover their will to survive, we can’t rely on that to assuage them. We don’t have focus, so this is what I think we should do: We forget about focus. We can’t force them to care about their own lives, and while they all do to some extent, we can only do so much when Father Wolf is such an abstract threat. We can only hope they’ll come around on their own.”

He sat up on the couch, ”We’ll come to the others as a whole once we’ve found evidence- Not a lead, evidence. We should absolutely communicate with them, but if we arrange an entire meeting every time we simply think we know where to turn our attention, who will remain once we find a target to watch? A trail to follow? In the meantime, while we investigate ourselves, we reach out to the more coherent organisations in the city. 8th Street and Greenwood, if we can convince them to speak with us; Approaching them at night would make it easier to escape, with my teleporting magic, in case they’re hostile to us. If we do this, we won’t have to waste anyone else’s time.”

He looked to them both for their thoughts.

“Of course we’ll need something better than just another one of Auri’s hunchs, but playing detective is getting ahead of what we need. We need to prioritize the safety of everyone, even those who are too stupid to even try and protect themselves,” said Sloane as she stood from her chair and walked over to the window. What keeping everyone safe looked like she did not know. Perhaps it would’ve been better to have everyone get hauled away by the PRA. Her reflection in the polished glass exposed the concern in her eyes as she looked out over the city. “Father Wolf escalated last night. Having evidence of who’s responsible matters little when everyone you present it to is dead.”

“It was over a week since they killed Ashley. I suppose if you want you could act under the assumption that they function like a normal serial killer and have a cooldown period. But that’s a risk I’m not willing to take,” said Sloane, looking over her shoulder at Anya and Jack. “Are you?

”No, it’s not,” Anya easily lied, shifting to meet Sloane’s gaze with a slight comforting smile. Of course, Jack’s plan of the three of them finding Father Wolf was most beneficial to her - she only cared about saving herself, and preferably keeping both Sloane and Jack alive. The rest, she wasn’t quite so bothered about. But above that was keeping up the guise that she did, in fact, care. ”We should prioritise their safety, as you say Sloane, and investigate where it doesn’t interfere with keeping everyone alive. Once there’s a safety mechanism in place, we can start looking into leads.”

After another, thoughtful bite of her sandwich, Anya continued. ”Ensuring everyone’s safety is the difficult part. Auri’s suggestion of the ‘buddy system’ is inadequate. There are many who won’t follow it. Greyson because of his job, Lyss for similar reasons, Tayla due to her family, Luca thanks to the rot, and Linqian for… obvious reasons. There are a few we don’t have to worry about so much. Leon has the temple, Drake his family, and I’m sure Evelynn, Lila and Jasper will stick together.”

”We don’t have much information to use for this. Father Wolf seemingly appears and disappears without a trace, targeting those that are alone. It’s difficult to protect everyone from something so unknown.”

“Right,” said Sloane as she walked back to the others. She remained standing with her hands in her pocket, her eyes turned down as if the ground had the solutions they needed. Sloane had the good fortune to be able to hide herself away in her ivory fortress, albeit not so impenetrable as she once thought it to be. Worst case scenario she could run back to her parents and have them secret her away like they had done themselves when the Stygian Snake had attacked. She wouldn’t, but the option existed. She had to remember that others didn’t quite have the luxury to completely abandon their daily lives and routines and come out on the other side okay. When freedom was limited it became people’s most prized possession. Even if the three of them came up with a good solution there were some who wouldn’t listen to them and outright refuse, choosing rather to die by their own choices than live by their compromises.

So then they just wouldn’t tell them.

“I have an idea.”

The television turned back on as Sloane looked at it, the faintest hint of blue and orange light reflecting off of the wall from the Hexmark on the back of the mounted flatscreen, images flashing by in a blur as the channels flipped to a CCTV of her penthouse. Multiple boxes showed live feeds of rooms in Sloane’s penthouse and the hall outside her door, as well as feeds monitoring every point of entry or exit to and from her apartment. If Jack or Anya were particularly eagle-eyed they would notice a card lift itself from Sloane’s nightstand and whip its way past several cameras before it floated to a stop in the living room, hovering within arm’s reach of Anya who would notice the tiny symbol of Sloane’s Hexmark on the corner of the card. The card itself was just the back of one of Sloane’s business cards. However, scrawled on it in neat handwriting was contact information that Meifeng had given Sloane.

“I thought that Kali failed to deliver on his promise to protect us, but maybe that’s not the case. I’m not thrilled to seek help from the feds, but they already have a vested interest in stopping Father Wolf and owe us recompense for their unjustified raid. Besides, we pay their salaries.” Most of them did, anyway. Sloane doubted the IRS made it out to the Void yet. ”I don’t think anyone would sleep more comfortably knowing that they’re being surveillanced by the agency, but at the very least they’ll be more likely to wake in the morning. Perhaps once we finish our tea you could call and make an arrangement for some kind of security detail, Anya,” said Sloane.

They both knew that Sloane lacked the diplomatic chops not to chew out Meifeng now that they were no longer at a severe disadvantage and presumably separated by miles of city.

“I heard one of the agents mention a Director Alcott in a hushed tone. Perhaps if Agent Liao drags her feet you can request to speak with them,” said Sloane, settling the card down on the table next to Anya. Sloane didn’t love the idea of working with the PRA, knowing that it would likely become a problem in the future, but she couldn’t think of any other options that gave them a future in the first place. “As for everyone else, perhaps they’ll be happier not knowing.”

Jack was fascinated by the display of magic, watching the television suddenly become a central collection of security cameras. Was this how Sloane had eluded death and danger up until now? Keeping a watchful eye on everything? That was precisely what they needed.

But he had no idea they knew the name of the PRA agents’ superior. This was exactly why working together was important, one of them could be aware of things the others were not. It seemed to him that some things only get better with time after all. He couldn’t help but grin a little at how prepared Sloane had been.

”That could be very clever,” Jack nodded, approving of it on paper, ”If we execute it properly. Based on the way she responded to Kali’s death, she won’t want to lose Bianca, or her other agents… That idea has merit. Though, we should tread carefully if that is what we do. Meifeng and her agents have shown that they are willing to resort to extremes when it suits them. If they decide we shouldn’t know about this Director Alcott, or if they have other reasons for attacking us again, we would need to expect a struggle.” The tear gas and the medical attention Sloane needed was proof of that. ”Personally, I am not confident that the church was only a lapse in judgement. The PRA takes anyone they can find, and that means some of their agents don’t have the most impressive trigger discipline.”

”I've grown quite used to being around undisciplined people again,” said Sloane flatly.

”Most of which haven’t been using tear gas and rifles, lately.”

No, mostly just lightning and fists, thought Sloane, falling silent.

Anya leaned forward to take the card, holding the corner between her fingers and glancing over the number, smiling genuinely. While she wasn't particularly fond of the idea of working with the PRA, they were the best option to keep everyone safe. It was smart to use the fact that they unnecessarily attack them for their own gain. Of course, nobody would agree to it if asked, so it would have to stay between the three of them.

”Don't worry, Jack, doing things properly is my forte,” Anya said. ”Besides, if they wish to attack us again they will, a call to discuss a mutually beneficial relationship aside. It's in their interests to keep us alive when one of their agents is also at risk. They’re undisciplined, perhaps, but their raid was just a show of power. If they want an excuse to attack us again, they could have use paranormal fight that Linqian and Lynn nearly got into.”

She picked up her tea again, taking another sip. It was lukewarm now, and not so pleasant, so she finished it quickly. ”If there are no objections, I'll make the call now. I'm sure a few hours will have been long enough for them to return to their base of operations.”

With there being no objections, seeing as they were all for the idea, Anya pulled out her phone. ”I'm going to put it on speaker so you can both hear the conversation, but I trust that you'll both let me do most of the talking.”

If they couldn't hold their tongues she could turn off speak mode anyway. Anya swiftly typed in the number on the back of the card, and hit the call button.

The phone rung for a moment.

Before the worst option occurred.

“... Yello?” Trevor’s voice could be heard on the other side.

Anya narrowed her eyes. That wasn’t Meifeng, that was… It took her a moment to place the voice. Their healer? If he hadn’t screamed over getting his flesh rotted, she’d have no idea who it was. What was his name again? Of course they’d been given the wrong number. ”... Hello, this is Anya Baksh, of the Sycamore Tree Coven, who I’m calling on behalf of.”

“Heyyyyyyyyyyy, ain’t you the girl that Agent Liao said had a crush on me?”

Jack’s eyes narrowed at that as Sloane sat down in her chair and buried her face in her palm.

Anya was rendered speechless for once, shooting questioning looks towards Sloane. Sloane sunk deeper into her chair as she felt Anya’s eyes on her.”No. She must have been talking about another Anya, it’s a common name. This isn’t a personal call, but a business one, for collaboration between our coven and you… agents.”

“Ooookay, you want a…” Trevor chuckled on his end of the phone, and Anya could just hear the finger quotes, “‘A business collaboration’. What can Agent Silent Flute do for you?”

”Ask if his boss would come to the phone, for a start,” Anya replied, with as much polite cheerfulness as she could muster. She somehow doubted that this agent would be able to get them anything. ”Or pass on a message for us.”

“Lemme put you on hold real quick.”

The phone went on hold for about three minutes, a silence falling over the room as Sloane continued to avoid making eye contact, before Trevor returned.

“Yeah, she told me to fuck off. So… maybe I can help you out myself.”

Anya held back an exasperated sigh. How very professional. ”Alright. We’re looking for protection for our fellow coven members, in compensation for the unjustified attack earlier today. Likely through some kind of surveillance. Our killer, who will also target our former member in your ranks, attacks when people are alone. We’re looking for help to prevent that.”

“Hmmm… Lemme see what I can do,” Trevor started, “I ain’t a Senior Agent, nor do I have the clout of Agent Cornell, but I hate to see someone soooooo cute get cut down.”

Anya lips twisted downwards, her face contorting into a very ugly expression. However, she managed to keep her voice sounding calm and reasonable, as if she didn’t want to throw her phone to the other side of the room. ”Thank you, any help would be appreciated to prevent any of us from getting ‘cut down’.”

“I can pass along one of my pistols to you for safety. Don’t worry, it’s privately owned and I will report it stolen if ya’ go crazy and try to murder someone with it.”

Then he let his words hang in the air.

Sloane slumped forward with her elbows on her knees, face now buried in both of her hands. Her muffled words were almost inaudible, saying something about what was with all the agents just giving guns away.

“... Maybe for a date, I can get you something bigger.”

Then he made the most obnoxious kissy noises into the phone.

Anya’s mouth opened, and then closed. For a second time, she was speechless. She looked at Sloane, and then at Jack, as if they could somehow make this situation any better. ”Thank you for your kind offer, but I’m sure we can legally acquire our own guns. Let me make it clear that I’m not looking for a date, nor do I have a crush on you.”

”This is agonizing,” Jack commented, quiet enough for Trevor not to hear.

By this point Sloane had slid out of her chair and was resting her head on the seat of it, burning an accusatory hole through the ceiling at an uncaring god. Maybe if she cursed them enough she’d get lucky and be smited by a bolt of lightning.

“Awwww, okay,” Trevor said, “Then what kind of ‘help’ are you thinking of, then, sweetheart?”

Anya pinched the bridge of her nose and took a deep breath to calm down. She could handle this, if only for the fact it would be near impossible to claim she didn’t care afterwards. ”Surveillance of our members, primarily the entry points to their homes. CCTVs or similar. A way to check that they are still alive, and to catch a killer who goes after people when they’re alone. You knew our names, and easily found our location, so clearly there’s someone skilled enough with technology in your ranks.”

“... And you’re talkin’ to ‘im!” Trevor excitedly said. “So, wait, hold on… you’re asking for the gubnet to breach your privacy?”

”Not my privacy.” Anya had really hoped it wouldn’t be him, but had somehow guessed it would be. He sounded like a man in technology. ”I will be partaking in a different method of security. But yes, I’m asking for a breach in privacy of the rest of my coven for their own safety where they won’t partake in saner methods.”

“Waaaaaaaaait a minute,” Trevor trailed off for a moment. “That don’t sound all that fair to ask me to monitor everyone but you, suspicious even!”

Trevor let the words hang in the air.

“What are you doing what they say in those rap songs… what’s the word…” He thought about it for a moment. “... Yeah! Are you trapping or something?”

“I feel trapped,” muttered Sloane under her breath hopelessly, head and arms now splayed across the coffee table as she poked at a cucumber sandwich.

”Absolutely not,” Anya replied calmly, because she wasn’t. She just didn’t want some creep thinking she was giving him permission to access her cameras. ”I wouldn’t be the only one exempt. Sloane Faris and Jack Hawthorne also won’t need surveillance. But we will also need agents to come help us if we call, or any coven members in danger.”

“Now that I can do,” Trevor said, “I know Agent Keagan’s a bit, uh, pissed about how all of this went down. But, I know she’d be more than happy to send a few Agents your way if you need it… if you want it, really.”

Trevor started chuckling.

“I’ll keep an eye on ya’ll… just know the PRA isn’t exactly the most well staffed government agency - ^{it’s hard to find people who won’t try and put ya’ in the psych ward if you tell ‘im ghosts are real} - so we probably won’t be able to jump to your rescue 24/7.”
He paused for a moment.

“The big boss, Director Alcott, wants us to find, uh, that Stygian Snake thing ya’ll defeated. Like that’s the top priority… heh.”

”What?”

Sloane rolled her head to look at Jack. Had they heard that right?

”Just the option to call in backup is fine.” Anya paused, eyes widening when she actually registered what Trevor had said - she’d only been thinking about anything coming out of his mouth at a surface level, because most of it was absolute drivel. But this? This was some very important information. Perhaps this phone call hadn’t been a waste of time after all. She looked at both Sloane and Jack, in their varying states of distress, before responding. ”I see. I’m afraid we can’t help with that… What reason are you looking for a multidimensional threat defeated years ago? Not to release it, I hope.”

“Well…. That’s what we’re tryna’ prevent,” Trevor started, “There’s just a big ol’ threat to national security just chilling in a tree somewhere. That, far as we can tell, nobody is watching or protecting and anyone can just buy that land, decide to put a mall or another stupid boat-themed store there, and accidentally release it.”

Trevor let his word hang in the air before he continued,

“... And I don’t know if you know, but there are a lotta different cults and psychos in St. Portwell and beyond. Who knows who might try n’ release it or try to harness it’s power - but hopefully, they watch a lotta movies because you know that trope where the evil wizard tries and releases the dragon and goes ‘Oh no! It’s too strong, I can’t control it’...?”

”We know about the other covens, and have been keeping an eye on them,” Anya rolled her eyes when Trevor went off on a complete tangents about movies, which had no bearing on reality. ”None of them know its location either. If you find it, what’s your boss’ plan with it, then? A safer sealing location?”

“Hey now,” Trevor said, “I can’t share all that information over the phone! I shouldn’t have said anything in the first place! Especially to someone who doesn’t even have a crush on me!”

Anya raised an eyebrow, ignoring the last bit. ”But you could share it in person, rather than over the phone?”

“Maybe,” Trevor started, “What do I get outta it?” Then he made another obnoxious kissy noise.

”Kill me,” muttered Jack.

Anya’s lips twitched as she suppressed the urge to spit out something rude, or hang up.
Think of this as a business exchange. It would be like all the fake friendships she’d formed over the years. A lie to get information that would ever go any further. Easy. He seemed easy to manipulate, after all. ”I suppose… It could be a date.”

“Oooooh, I know the perfect place!” Trevor said, “It’s a bar we like to go to, The Far Harbor!”

“Hold on, wait a minute,” said Sloane, the tea platter clattering as she slapped her hand on the table and gave Anya a look. “Isn’t this going a bit too far?”

”It's fine, Sloane,” Anya said quietly. She returned Sloane's look with one of her own, trying to tell her with her eyes 'of course it's not a date, it's just information gathering and you and Jack will be there.' Even with someone more expressive like Anya, it was hard to actually read any of that from just a look.

“This isn’t fine,” said Sloane, gesturing to the phone and missing the point. The unprofessionalism of the PRA was even more outrageous than she had thought it would be. This was clear cut harassment and abuse of power.

”We'll discuss it later,” Anya said quietly, knowing that her look hadn't been interpreted correctly. She should really develop a mental communication spell. Louder and into the phone, she said, ”that sounds perfect, we can meet there. Are you free this week?”

“Well, I’m getting off at four,” Trevor said, “... If Agent Liao doesn’t make me do overtime until 8am…. again.”

”... four it is then. You can text me if you can't make it.” Anya massaged her temple. This day was just getting longer and longer.

“Will do!‘ Trevor excitedly said, “I’ll talk to you later, we just made it to the Dairy Queen - Hey, wait for me! I want the Peanut Buster-” He said before he hung up.

Anya locked her phone, and put it on the table in front of her. She then put her head in her hands, much like Sloane had before. She had no words. If anything, she regretted the last few moments. She'd been too focused on gaining information that she could use to think about the consequences. She would have to see that agent, whatever his name was, again. Oh god, that was the worst experience ever.

Jack felt like he had aged a millennium by the end of Anya’s phone call. ”I think I’ve come to the conclusion that tear gas and burning buildings are preferable to that.”

“Yeah…”

Sloane stared at the phone like a shell shocked veteran, the guilt of even suggesting they call the PRA for assistance weighing heavy on her soul. A heavy and uncomfortable silence blanketed the room as Jack’s hypothetical was weighed against Anya’s reality. Sloane slowly turned her head towards Anya as she gained the courage to look at her defeated friend, only able to offer a blank stare as that was supposed to be sympathetic as her brain blue screened. Outside, a cloud passed in front of the Sun. Inside, it felt as if an entire day-night cycle had happened as the room became darker and then eventually returned to being lit. Sloane blinked. She was completely exhausted. She didn’t even bother getting up from the floor.

“Um,” was all Sloane could manage to say. Words couldn’t express the debt that they owed Anya. A part of Sloane couldn’t shake the idea that they had just made a horrible miscalculation. In times like these, it was always best to just power through and move on. Her voice sound completely drained off all energy as she said, “Jack, you mentioned the other covens. I don’t know how to get in touch with Greenwood, but I had been thinking about Emily ever since Auri said she didn’t even invite her or any of the others to the meeting yesterday. That just didn’t sit right with me. Either Emily knows what’s going on and she’s going to throw a massive hissy fit when she finds out nobody invited her to our little reunion, or Emily doesn’t know about the Father Wolf situation and even more people are in danger.

“Regardless, someone should speak with her,” said Sloane. Emily and her weren’t on particularly good terms, although from what Sloane remembered about Emily that was fairly typical. However, Sloane had adamantly and openly opposed Britney remaining in the Coven when her misdeeds had come to light. While she had also publicly disapproved of Emily using her victim status to justify being an absolute terror, perhaps Sloane had earned some kind of trust by being one of the few that hadn’t put their hand up when it came to voting out Emily. Plus, if Anya had to deal with Trevor, the very least she could do was make it up to her by falling on the sword and dealing with Emily.

“Actually, I’ll do it.”

”Emily Reed…” Jack often tried to make the best of bad situations during the old days. Kicking out members only made them weaker, but Emily was a major contributor to the cracks that formed in their foundation. Jack always tried to vote against kicking anyone out, but he made an exception for Emily.

”She is still adjoined to Babylon the Great, isn’t she? If she hasn’t changed in the last decade, I can imagine she would be… unhappy to see any of us. Do you intend to go alone?”

“Like you said, she’d be unhappy to see any of us. Imagine how indignant she’d be if more than one of us showed up uninvited,” said Sloane, tracing the rim of her unfinished cup of tea with her finger. “Besides, I don’t think they’d try anything so openly stupid like shooting the messenger.”

Emily was an utter bitch, but 8th Street had a valid claim to being responsible for taking Das Sonnerad out of St. Portwell. Still, that didn’t mean they had a spotless or even good record from what dirt Sloane had been able to previously dig up on her own, and being better than literal nazis was about as low as the bar could be set. Plus, Sloane still believed there could be a reality where Father Wolf had been a former member of the Sycamore Tree Coven.

“However, the past 24 hours have forced me to accept that a lot of our former peers are unable to do anything but throw themselves at the stupidest possible decision with reckless abandon. It’d be best to be prepared for the worst. I think I should still go in alone, but Jack you should be on standby in case Emily decides to join the status quo,” said Sloane. “I could hex my phone to make it appear off while allowing you to listen in, and when things go array you could teleport me out.”

He nodded. ”You’re capable, and I know you can take care of yourself. But these murders have made me paranoid for everyone’s safety. If you want me to extract you, you’ll need to meet Emily when the sun sets. I can only teleport from places that are dark.”

He looked over to Anya, who he noticed was catatonic. ”Anya?”

”Huh?” At the sound of her name Anya removed her head from her hands, slowly turning to look at Jack. She visibly rebooted, like a computer that had hit an error code and completely crashed to fix itself, expression blank and vacant before returning to her normal sharp calmness. Aware again, she processed everything that had been said in the interim - she'd caught enough, at least. ”Well, after dark will be perfect, seeing as you both have to come with me to my d-”

She balked, before forcing herself to continue. As much as she wanted to pretend she'd never made that meeting and just not turn up to it, she couldn't allow herself to do that. That was practically admitting failure and Anya did not fail. ”To my information gathering meeting. I'm certainly not going alone. You can both watch from another table to make sure he doesn't… try anything.”

“Of course,” said Sloane, unsure if she’d just be capable of playing chaperone. Even if Trevor didn’t try anything, she’d still call Anya a few minutes into her da…er, information gathering meeting to allow Anya to make up a family emergency for an easy out.

Anya then turned to Sloane with a slight smile. If there were any hard feelings for the unfortunate phone call that came from her suggestion, it wasn't obvious from Anya's expression. ”I would be careful with Emily, Sloane. She caught me visiting her dreams a few months ago and wasn't particularly pleasant about it. If it's you, perhaps she'll be open to discussion. I suppose I'll handle the PRA while you handle 8th Street, with Jack ensuring none of us are harmed.”

“Sounds like a plan. Once those two are wrapped we can look into finding out more about Greenwood. Honestly, I had kind of written them off,” said Sloane. “I know you will, but be careful with the PRA too. Don’t give them more information than you get. Part of me thinks the whole bumbling and inept agents thing might just be a ploy. While their concern about the Stygian Snake being unsealed is valid, I doubt the government would be content with just letting something so powerful sit away in storage forever.”

The Coven really should’ve considered the dangers of sealing the Stygian Snake in a tree at a time. On average, trees only lived for a handful of centuries. Even if someone didn’t chop it down, it’d still die one day. She couldn’t remember what they had been thinking at the time since it had been scrubbed away with the location of the Sycamore Tree. Had the hope been that the Stygian Snake would fade away before its prison died after everyone who had known about it had been dead for hundreds of years?

“It would be a bad idea to look for the Sycamore Tree, right?” asked Sloane.

”I don't plan to give them any information,” Anya smiled, before considering the matter of the tree. She'd never liked the plan to seal it in a Sycamore Tree and wipe everyone's memories for this very reason. Whether she'd voiced that disagreement at the time she wasn't sure due to the removal of her memories. Of course there was a risk of the information falling into the wrong hands, but surely a few of them should have been entrusted with the location for its protection? Now the government was after it. Perhaps this current leader would be reasonable, but what about the next, and the one after that? It couldn't be trusted in any hands but their own. Having it outside of her control was…
Not something she was happy about. ”And no, I don't actually think it would be a bad idea. It would be better than it falling into the hands of inept agents, or perhaps worse - capable ones who try to use it. Why the old leaders wanted it sealed like this in the first place, I don't know, but they're dead or gone.”

She pursed her lips. Perhaps it would be a bad idea with a killer on their trail, but was Father Wolf after the Stygian Snake? He would need to leave someone alive to get to it. He likely had other goals. ”I think it would be best that we found it, and put it under our protection. But if we do, we must not let word of what we're doing get out of this room.” She then turned to Jack. ”What do you think, Jack?"

”I don’t think we can afford to search all of St. Portwell for that tree. At least, not now. We need information on our killer, and we need to develop a plan to stay alive. The PRA monitoring us is helpful, but you heard what he said. There is only so much they can do. I worry that hunting for where the Snake is sealed will stretch us too thin.” They needed their own affairs in order before they put themselves to a task like that. ”Now, sealing it in a tree may have made more sense back then compared to now. We weren’t overly equipped to contain a demigod, and there is the very real possibility that someone can unleash the Stygian Snake at any moment, but I believe we should focus on things we know we can make progress towards, rather than search every tree in and around the city.”

”As for the plan to meet that agent, I’ll be there. Either in the shadows watching him like a hawk, or somewhere more obvious. I wouldn’t dare let you go there alone. I’m sure you could handle him, especially in broad daylight, but I have the impression he couldn’t be trusted with an unattended drink,” he was putting it mildly. Trevor sounded like a creep, honestly.

”If he makes any sort of distasteful pass at you, I would be more than happy to bury him in the Void,” he said, half joking. Well, it was probably a joke.

”You make a good point,” Anya nodded. If they spread themselves too thin then they’d be risking their own lives, which was something Anya was unwilling to do. They couldn’t exactly get help from anyone else, either. The only person Anya would consider bringing in was Britney, but Sloane would never allow that. ”We’ll keep tabs on the PRA’s search for the Sycamore Tree via our… contact, and when our lives are less at risk we can consider searching for it ourselves. Perhaps we will find a way to unlock our memories. The agent on the phone didn’t give me much confidence in the PRA monitoring, so we’ll have to put our own protection methods in place too.”

”And thank you, Jack, I wouldn’t put it past him either,” Anya sighed. ”Considering how he was acting even after I made it clear I wasn’t interested from early on. Don’t worry, I can handle him outside of something like this. Getting information out of people I’m not fond of is something I do often. Once I meet him today it will be easy to get into his dreams too.”

”If either of you find yourselves in danger, I’ll teleport you back to this location immediately, and we can decide what we do from there.”

A thought occurred to him. ”...What will we do if the PRA tries to blackmail us? We want this to be a secret, but what stops them from exposing us to the others when it benefits them?” A small part of Jack found working with the PRA to be somewhat nerve wracking. Most of the coven was terribly opposed to associating with them, what would they do if they found out?

“Nothing. It doesn’t matter. I figured they’ll find out at some point anyway. If they want to be ungrateful because we tried to protect them then let them,” said Sloane, draining the last of her tea and pushing herself up from the coffee table. ”I don’t care what the others think. If either of you are worried about their opinions you can just tell them the truth that it was my idea and I would’ve called them in regardless of whether or not the two of you supported it.”

“Any other concerns?” asked Sloane, adjusting her watch.

”None. That sounds like the best course of action, letting them think of it how they will.” He did value the opinions of the entire coven, but Jack was objective enough that the big picture wasn’t lost.

Jack finished off his tea, and stood up. ”I need to check on Luca. I’ve been scheduling regular check-ins with the others individually, and he’s next for now. I’ll be ready to support both of you by the time we make contact with anyone.”

”Of course,” Anya smiled. While she did care about the coven members' opinions of her a bit more than Sloane, it was nothing compared to looking good for people that were actually important. She wasn't quite so cruel as to throw her only friend under the bus. ”Let them think what they like, plenty of them have already formed negative opinions of us… Anyway, remember four o'clock, the Far Harbour. I'll let you know if the agent cancels.”

“Well, maybe you’ll get lucky and the others will go start a street fight at another strip club,” said Sloane a little too seriously. “Meeting adjourned.”

Recollections: Under The Sycamore Tree Part. 1

The Vanburens make up 1% of the USA Population in the Recollection Universe.