Atrophy

Recollections: Under The Sycamore Tree Part. 1

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Interactions: Britney @Punished GN Linqian & Anya @Fernstone Clancy @Zombiedude101
Kari’s House, Inside

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”Sloane, what the hell?!”

Sloane turned swiftly as she heard Britney’s approach, but she didn’t step back a single inch as the woman who towered an entire foot over her invaded her personal space. For weeks they had somehow avoided breaking the terms of their unspoken ceasefire—the terms simply being “don’t fucking talk to me”—but now Britney wanted to disturb the peace over the stupidest, most asinine reason. Naturally. Britney was a lot of things, but she wasn’t an idiot. She should’ve seen the logic presented in Anya’s (honestly unnecessary) excuse for Sloane pushing forward, as if there wasn’t already a precedent set that every idle minute the Coven had was time that would be misused and wasted.

It was crystal clear what Britney was trying to do. She was simply jumping on the first excuse she could find to besmirch Sloane before Sloane could do the same to her. How petty. Sloane had figured the situation had allowed them to table their grudge for the time being, but apparently some people just couldn't resist taking a cheap shot. Sloane was furious, but she gave Britney no impression of it as she coldly stared at her as if Britney were a door-to-door evangelist asking Sloane if she had heard the good word.

But how dare Britney talk to Sloane like this wasn’t her area of expertise. The dead found no value in their possession; that remained firmly in the realm of the living, and in all of her years as an antiquarian nobody gave a shit about a little dinged up wall. There were no memories for walls. What, was Kari’s family going to come and slice out a little square of drywall and place it in a home shrine dedicated to her spirit? Was that her favorite piece of plaster: the little bit behind the door that was certainly already dinged up because Kari had failed to put a protective stopper there?

Ridiculous. This was absolutely ridiculous. Britney was the last person who should be speaking about respecting others. How many people had Britney forced Apparitions upon? How many people did her negligence end up killing? How many friends had her fucking little god complex turn into enemies? Just the other week she had nearly gotten Auri and Jack killed while simultaneously stripping Layla of an Apparition that, regardless of how dangerous and problematic it was, gave the young lady a way to at least defend herself against Father Wolf. Sloane’s jaw tightened. Hell, Father Wolf was probably someone that Britney had cursed or adjoined back when they were facing off against the Stygian Snake.

Yet she couldn’t even say any of that, because everybody would just jump on Britney’s side because that was the way things just worked in this stupid, backwards Coven. It didn’t matter if what she said was even an undeniable truth. Anything that came out of Sloane’s mouth was viewed as wrong because they were all simply just rotten bastards desperate to disparage her.

“It’s just a dent,” said Sloane matter-of-factly, unable to resist the urge to at least point out the stupid, tiny, insignificant thing that Britney was overreacting about. A bit of spackle and some paint would make it good as new.

”Fucking hell, Sloane…”

Oh, yes, here it came. Now that Britney had opened the gates, the dogpile on Sloane party could begin. Of course Linqian was the first to jump in. There was something nostalgic about the whole thing. Sloane was unable to hide her eye roll as she turned to the woman who just days ago she’d offered to generously pay for her brother’s funeral. What anger was starting to peek through was wiped clear of her face as it blanched at the mention of Jinhai. Unfair. Low. What an awful thing to say. What a tremendous amount of proof that Linqian knew absolutely nothing and was unworthy of her twin brother. If this was Jinhai’s house she would’ve done the same thing. Jinhai would be able to see that time was of the essence, because Jinhai wasn't a clown.

Sloane found it a bit difficult to breathe. This was a waste of time. Linqian was an idiot. She probably wanted to keep Jinhai’s ashes trapped in a cabinet. She probably loved having the ammunition always in her pocket. Sloane wouldn’t be surprised if the only reason Linqian hadn’t outright accepted her offer and instead asked to get the whole Coven involved in the funding of Jinhai’s funeral was so she could keep him around a little while longer whenever she needed to earn pity points.

“It’s. A. Tiny. Dent,” she said, holding up her thumb and forefinger to illustrate how small of a scuff it actually was.

"You could've knocked," said a voice.

Without even thinking Sloane moved to step in between the source of the voice and the two women who had been cutting her down. Her guard lowered as she recognized Ashley’s cousin from the church, looking a lot worse for wear then from before. Was he a vagrant? Sloane was about to ask how he found them and if he was doing okay when he suddenly felt the need to throw his own worthless opinion into the mix. She was getting ting insulted by a fucking preteen. Sloane shot Clancy a withering stare that quickly adjusted up at the ceiling, her head vibrating that for a moment it appeared as if it were about to erupt. She’d earn no favors by yelling at a homeless kid. Fuck this. Furiously running her hand through her hair, Sloane wordlessly turned away from the kid as Linqian started talking to him—mentioning Jinhai yet again as if to prove Sloane’s unsaid point.

She mouthed silently to herself yet again that it was just a stupid little unimportant and unintentional dent.

They could sit and commiserate and waste time freaking out over a door. She was going to search the house. She'd do it alone if she had to. Sloane passed by Anya on her way towards the stairs, shooting her a dark look that spoke volumes: I need space. Get these morons back on track. As if any of them would be any help anyway. None of them could focus on the thing that actually mattered. They may as well all just take turns stabbing themselves in the gut until they bleed out and save Father Wolf the inconvenience.

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Interactions: Aislin @Estylwen, Patio Pals
Kari’s House, Patio

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“Dude, Ken said he was getting the key…” said Sully, a hand on his forehead as he shook his head in disapproval.

He took only but a second to briefly poke his head inside of the house and glance at the damage, grimacing at the dent in the wall. Sully was sure he could probably fix it, but right now he decided to give Britney the space to deal with Sloane. He didn’t know Sloane all that well, but he remembered that back in the day she and Britney had spent a decent amount of time together. He was sure that Britney could figure out what was going on with Sloane and course correct her. He realized that news of Lyss’s death must’ve been hard on everyone, but there was really no need to go about and cause a scene.

“Suuullyyyy, long time no see…”

“Hey? Oh hey!”

Sully’s eyes brightened as Aislin made her appearance. Of course he recognized her! Aislin had always tried to keep the Coven’s gathering peaceful which Sully was eternally grateful for, but really the best thing about the gal was how she was always holding. There was never a lack of the devil’s lettuce when Aislin was around. Between her providing bud and him supplying the Budweisers the two of them were likely the most responsible culprits for any gaps in the memories of their Covenmates. Actually, considering that it was downright shocking that Sully actually remembered her. He went in to give her a massive bear hug, pulling back from delivering a catastrophic blow as she gestured to the sling.

“Oh shit, right I gotchu girl,” said Sully.

He filled the Chalice with the healing elixir and held it out for Aislin so she could take a sip. It was becoming a running trend for Coven meetups where he had to almost immediately heal an injured teammate. He guessed from the sling (and it was a guess because while he was a healer Sully sure as hell was no doctor) that Aislin’s injury was pretty fresh, but Sloane’s busted up nose had looked kind of old. Part of him felt a strange kind of relief that by just showing up he was already being helpful, but that part was drowned by a wave of guilt for having abandoned the crew for the better part of a week. He liked hanging with Greenwood, hell, he probably even preferred hanging with Greenwood, but he was the only person left in the Coven who had any healing. He had to be there for them.

He frowned. That wasn’t quite true. They didn’t really need him. They just needed the Chalice. The dreams had shown him that the cup had owners in the past, and someday it’d have owners in the future. Jokes about being the Chosen One aside he wasn’t anyone special. He was just the Cupbearer. He was little more than a magical water boy. The frown shifted into a confused expression as he glanced inside of the house, surprised by the appearance of some kid.

Wait, the kid? Sully was mentally whisked away. A phantom gunshot rang out, Sully’s nose tickled by the illusory smell of flesh burning as the spirit of Dean Walker punched him in the face and his shoes filled with sand. He blinked and was transported back to the patio, awkwardly tilting the emptied out Chalice still up to Aislin like an exhausted first time mother feeding her baby a bottle. He shook his head. No way was it the same kid. It was just some squatter that Sloane had scared. Linqian had it handled. Sully coughed and pulled the Chalice away from Aislin.

“Sorry, might’ve pregamed a little more than I should’ve before the meetup,” said Sully, charading himself slamming back a couple of shots. He held the Chalice up in the air and gave it a little shake as he announced to the patio, “The bar is officially open. If anybody else is feeling a little rough just form a communion line and this bartender will absolve you of all your ailments. No scratch is too small nor is no headache too insignificant. Hey, wait!” He gently pulled Aislin back to his side, slinging his arm over her healed shoulder. “What kind of trouble did you get into the other day? A biker didn’t jump you looking for Tayla too, did he?”

Recollections: Under The Sycamore Tree Part. 1

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???

Interactions: Grandma, perhaps?
Victorian Village, the Other Night.

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Kick, push, kick, push, to Grandmother’s house she goes. The streets were a dark and a scary place for a young woman to skate alone, especially so when headphones blocked out the calls from the wolves. Her face was obscured by the hood of her ruby red sweater and a half-full trash bag was in her hand. The bag drip drip dripped like the ax of the woodsman as the wheels of her board ka-kunk ka-kunk ka-kunked on the cracks in the sidewalk. The red rider didn’t care for the backs of mothers she breaked just like she didn’t care to brake by scraping the back of her board against the ground. The speed she built became ludicrous, breakneck. The rider swerved into the street, two white lights shining as a horn blared through the loud tunes, her dark eyes becoming reflections of the light as the horn grew louder and louder and louder and screeeeee—crash!

The sound of metal scraping against metal, the horn blaring nonstop as a shadow rested against the wheel of the crumpled sedan. Water shot from a fire hydrant like fountains at Caesars Palace, the red rider swerving through the arch without turning to look at the wreckage. She pulled out her phone to check a map and sharply turned down a sidestreet. The rider weaved through the overflowing garbage cans and the stirring junkies, hefting the trash bag over her shoulder to thread the needle between a stack of broken pallets and a rusted dumpster. Ollieing over a fallen stack of splintering 2x4s, the red rider found herself out of the urban woods and on the outskirts of the Victorian village.

She scraped the board sharply against the ground with a screech, kicked it up, and tucked it underneath her arm. Black placards trimmed in gold and engraved with golden script claimed the area to be historical, and if there was one thing the red rider knew about history it was that the residents here didn’t want her in their parts. She tightened the red hood around her head and adjusted the black shawl pulled up over her nose. It was late enough that nobody should be up, but cameras never slept. She kept her head down and lowered her headphones, the crunchy sound of music scraping its way through a blown-out speaker.

The red rider stopped in front of a beautiful Victorian-style home with a wrap-around porch, an ugly colored door, and magnificent lawn. Someone had left the front porch light on. She pulled out her phone, looked back up at the address, and recklessly stomped through the yard as she made her way around to the back of the home. No other lights appeared to be on as she rounded to the backyard, stopping suddenly in her tracks as she felt a pair of eyes on her. The red rider turned sharply, her dark eyes scanning across the neighborhood. Old houses stared unwelcomingly back at her, but there was not a soul out or about. She turned her eyes down and stepped back as she made eye contact with a horrendous creature with beady black eyes. Her shoulder’s lowered as she recognized the figure to be nothing more than a classic garden gnome.

She continued on until she made it to the rear door. It had once been a servant’s entrance, allowing the cooks to bring in groceries without trudging their poor and dirty feet through the living rooms of their superiors or for the misters to sneak out their mistresses when their missus returned from their prayer meetings and temperance movements. A glass pane had been fitted on the door so that the help could see who they were letting in, and it was through that glass pane that the rider would make their way into the home. Her eyes fell on the security sticker. It didn’t bother her. The odds were in her favor that it was little more than just a sticker. Otherwise, there were ways to get around it.

She propped her skateboard up against the wall, set the trash bag down on the ground with a wet plop, and placed a finger against the glass. A light drizzle began to fall in the Victorian village. Slowly she dragged her finger in the shape of a circle, etching heavily at the top and bottom of it and wincing ever so slightly at the high pitched squelch of claw on glass. She placed her nails at the top of the circle and carefully popped the bottom in, catching the piece of glass as it pivoted to stop it from shattering on the ground. She awkwardly threaded her arm through the small gap she had made for herself, unlatched the lock, and opened the door. She pushed the piece of glass back in place, pulled the trash bag inside, and closed the door.

She had so much work to do, but first she had to check and see if Grandmother or Granddaughter was home. The red rider slipped off her shoes so that their socks would soften their footfalls as she slinked through the Victorian home like a wolf on the prowl. Kitchen, dining room, living room, basement clear. Up the stairs, up the stairs, light footfalls lest a step called out her approach. Master bedroom, guest bedroom, office, hall bathroom clear. The thing with these old homes was that they always had more rooms than they appeared to on the outside. Another flight, another flight, careful now careful. Rec room, clear, another bedroom clear. One more half flight up to the attic, lift the creaky door so it isn’t so damn loud, attic cle—uh.

The red rider’s eyes darted around at the magic circle and broken ring of salt on the ground, the unlit candles melted around the room, the archaic runes painted on the walls, the Ouija board stabbed by a bloodied ritualistic dagger in the center of the circle, and the nearly empty handle of whiskey next to it. She reached up, pulled the shawl down from around her face, lowered her hood, and shook out her dark curls. She tentatively stepped into the magic circle, grabbed the bottle of whisky, twisted off the cap, took a swig, and threw her head back in revulsion as her mouth burned with what might as well have been gasoline. She looked at the bottle, her eyes bugging out at the ABV.

“Holy shit, bro,” sputtered Vashti as she took another pull from the bottle.

Attic clear.

Time to do a little remodeling.

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Interactions: All Lila’s Shit @NoriWasHere
Home Sweet Home.

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A crack of light cut through the dark kitchen as Vashti popped open the fridge, poking and prodding at the leftover tupperwares in Lila’s fridge. She pulled out what appeared to be soup, popped the lid, and took a sniff. Her nose wrinkled in disgust as she tossed it over her shoulder, the minestrone splattering over the clean linoleum. She took a sip out of a jug of milk before transferring it to the top of the fridge, poking three little holes in the bottom of it to make it leak down over everything. Her eyes widened in delight as she spotted the tub of icecream in the freezer. It was frozen solid. She tossed it in the sink and let the cold tap run over it, knocking in the drain stop. Vashti paid no mind to the sound of water spilling on the floor as she grabbed a carton of eggs out of the fridge and left the door ajar.

A series of ornate glass elephants were all in a row on the coffee table like they were lined up for a firing squad. The couches had been pushed to the side of the room to give Vashti plenty of room to play. She spun an egg on the back of her hand, lobbed it in the air, and went to catch it—the egg slipping between her fingers and cracking on the floor. Vashti watched as the yolk oozed into the original wood floorboards, shrugged, and tried again. She caught the egg this time and whipped it at one of the elephants, coating it in a sticky mess. Again and again she went down the line, the elephants getting knocked over or pushed back, but otherwise salvageable as shells and yolk splattered around the coffee table. Vashti pitched another one and winced as the elephant shattered into tiny little shards of glass. She darted to the window, looking for any lights to come on in the neighbor’s house, pulling down her headphones to listen to any stirring.

Nothing.

She pulled back up her headphones. Rechecking the carton, she saw a black line drawn across the carton marking a spot for hard boiled eggs. Popping a hard boiled egg in her mouth, Vashti’s attention was drawn to a series of oil paintings lovingly hung on the walls. She chewed loudly as she admired the art, thinking of how it could use some improvements. She pulled a thick black sharpie out of her hoodie and began updating the old crap, drawing mustaches and exaggerated anatomy on the figures. Stepping back she smiled at her handiwork, even taking the time to slash out the old artist’s initials with her nails and carve in her own. Better. Much better. The stupid fucking things were probably worth something now. Lila better write her a thank you letter.

Vashti splashed through the puddle of water coming from the kitchen sink and made her way to Lila’s room, snatching the black trash bag from the couch that left a dark stain in the cushion. She casually slung the bag across the room into a chair where it landed with a wet squish that reminded her of her wet socks. She pulled them off and slingshotted them across the room, rummaging through Lila’s drawer for a fresh pair. And well, since she was already in the dresser Vashti might as well see if anything else Lila had would be a good fit. Moments later clothes were strewn around the room like a tornado had come through as Vashti stood in front of the mirror sneering at the crop top draped over her hoodie. All crap. All crap.

She twirled like a ballerina and dove into Lila’s bed, burying her face into a pillow and breathing in deeply. She exhaled and pulled the pillow down to her chest in a hug, knees pulled up so her legs could wrap around it too. She rolled back and forth, fuming. Vashti and Lila had no bad blood, none that she was aware of anyway, but she had pissed off Emily. Like, really pissed off Emily. But Emily had started it. Emily always started it. Emily was stupid. Emily was so fucking stupid. A low growl began to grow inside of Vashti’s throat. Take care of it, Vashti. Deal with it, Vashti. Handle it, Vashti, like you always do. Stupid, stupid, stupid. It was like she was a dog. She was no dog. She certainly wasn’t Emily’s dog.

But if she was, she’d be rabid.

Vashti violently rolled off the bed and crashed to the floor, the pillow beneath her forming into Emily. She wrapped her hands around her stupid little throat, Emily’s eyes bugging as her dumb little pillow arms tried to fight back against the superior being. Vashti began to bang Emily’s head against the floor, feathers popping up out of the pillow case as it split from the force of the blows. Just as pillow-Emily’s life was about to be completely snuffed out of her, Vashti let go of her throat, wrapping her arms around the pillow in a tight hug, her hand stroking the back of the pillow. Vashti buried her face into the pillow and whispered something sweetly, pulling away but not before giving a little peck to the forehead of the pillow.

She jumped to her feet and looked at the seeping trash bag. A strange smell had begun to overwhelm the room, a sweet fragrance of wet and rot that clung to clothes and stung the eyes. It was the best of perfumes. Vashti hefted the bag over Lila’s bed and stuck a claw in one side of it. Earlier that day a couple had a wild experience at a local park, watching what they had presumed to be a drug addict going berserk. By the time the police arrived the only evidence had been carried away on the wind and washed away by the rain. Thanks to Emily, it had been quite a fun day.

Vashti slit the bag open with her finger. The contents hit the mattress with a wet plop. Inside the bag it had all become a congealed mess—black feathers slick with blood, little doll eyes staring up in accusation at the smiling woman. She reached into the pile of meat and feathers with her bare fingers, handling the bodies with the delicacy of a priestess performing a ritual, untangling the legs and wings from one another with sickening plops. Vashti jumped up on the bed, giving it a couple of bounces to test its stability, and fished a pack of long nails out from her hoodie. She reached down, grabbed one of the carcasses, and stared at the blank canvas.

Specks of old blood splattered on Vashti’s face as she used her fist as a hammer, driving nail after nail into the wall above Lila’s bed. She reached down into the muck and viscera as if it was the paint and her hand the paint brush as she wrote a message on the wall. She hesitated momentarily as she began to draw the first line for the letter M, shaping it instead into a capital L. She hopped off of the bed, smearing her dirty hands on some of Lila’s clean clothes to tidy them up and accomplishing little more than making an even bigger mess. She looked at the wall, nodding in approval. She should’ve been an artist.

A short while later a figure emerged from the shadows behind Grandma’ house. She was wearing one of Lila’s hoodies, her own bloody one unceremoniously dumped near a trash can, and eating a tub of ice cream. The figure walked down the sidepath, tossing the half-eaten gallon into the bushes, and then paused. She turned around and grabbed the garden gnome. Moments later, Vashti and her new little buddy were skating out of the Victorian Village as the rain cleared, the morning sun beginning to rise. Its light fell through the windows of Lila’s room, revealing the eviscerated bodies of crows crucified to the walls as well as a message written in their red-black blood and bedazzled with tufts of feathers. It read:

You’re Next, Lila!

Recollections: Under The Sycamore Tree Part. 1

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Interactions: All Present, Tayla (via text) @silvermist1116
Kari’s House

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Sloane made two false promises to herself the morning following the Halloween Festival. The first was that she was never going to teleport again. The second was that she was never going to drink again. The first day after the Halloween Festival was spent in a perpetual state of nausea and migraines, either curled up in the fetal position underneath a blanket on her chaise lounge or wrapped around the clean porcelain of her toilet. The sight and smell of the food she had delivered was offensive and upsetting. It sat untouched on her coffee table, growing cold alongside a kettle of ginger tea as the sun voyaged from one side of the window to the other. She had startled herself at some point in her wallowing when she had made the big, life altering decision to trek back from the chaise to her own bed and discovered that her California King had been occupied by another judging by the lumpy puff of a comforter on the side of the bed where most nights she would stare at the vacancy and dissociate. Throwing back the sheets revealed not a person but a blank, water damaged canvas, a confounding mystery that when solved left her feeling sicker than before.

The second day was not much better. Sloane never knew a hangover could be more than a twenty four hour affair. She spent the morning composing a series of unsent text messages to Anya and Jack, apologies for her behavior that she remembered much more than she wanted to, before transitioning to an afternoon spent absentmindedly watching classic movies with her back turned to the screen while. She had managed to stomach two small slices of plain cheese pizza, the crusts thrown back in the box like they were a chicken bone, before becoming annoyed and disgusted by the pizza from the chain delivery joint wasn’t a traditional margherita cooked inside of a wood burning oven following the methodology of someone’s ancient Italian grandmother. She had fallen asleep even earlier than the night before, waking for the meeting no longer hungover but instead just her usual amount of extreme tiredness exacerbated by yet another strange nightmare.

In comparison, Sully had been downright productive. Thanks to the restorative properties of the Chalice, his hangover died the moment he awoke. Auri had been able to forward Tayla's contact information, and while the rest of Greenwood cleaned up after their post-Halloween Festival party Sully took the time to compose a message to Tayla. The text became long winded and sprawling, an epic rivaling the works of Homer and focusing too much on the loss and recovery of his jacket that it almost buried the part that was relevant to Tayla. He had spent the rest of the day and the day after that stomping around St. Portwell with members of Greenwood, looking for a part-time gig so he could avoid being late on rent.

He had been out of work for a couple of weeks now, and reality was beginning to look more and more like he’d be moving back in with his mom. Although, really he’d rather just camp out then be a burden on her. Sully hadn’t mentioned any of his financial problems to Greenwood and really, with the Chalice in his possession and the extra weight on his gut there was little for him to ever worry about starving. Hell, as long as the weather didn’t get too extreme he imagined he could camp outside throughout much of November without ever getting too uncomfortable. However, all of these concerns were quickly becoming irrelevant when he found a place hiring workers to help repair the damage done to an area hit by a small seismic shock the previous day. Work started the following morning, a shift that Sully ended up having to skip because Auri had invited him to a meeting and he had promised her that last time was going to be the last time he skipped.

The morning of the meeting, Sully rounded the bend in his rusty old pickup, singing along poorly to the Jimmy Buffett song playing through the stereo. One of those black zip-up CD binders sitting on the bench seat next to him absolutely filled to the brim with Greatest Hits albums of bands that dads listen to and unmarked burnt CDs that Sully had made in high school. He let the car idle a little longer as he pulled in behind Drake’s car at the bottom of Kari’s drive, knowing full well that it was a felony offense to not finish the song Boat Drinks once it started playing.

“Boat drinks. Boys in the band ordered boat drinks…”

A black SUV could be seen pulling in behind Sully through his rear view mirror, the vehicle's windows tinted dark. Sully was unaware as the driver’s door opened and a man in a suit with sunglasses stepped out, crooning off key between sips from the Chalice to wet his whistle. “I shot six holes in my freezer, I think I got cabin fever…” The goon opened the rear passenger side door of the SUV and offered out a hand that was waved away by a black glove. A sharply dressed woman stepped out of the SUV and began walking towards the pathway leading up to Kari’s house, pausing to turn to chastise her driver as he followed closely after her like a puppy. “I should be leaving this climate, I got a verse but can’t rhyme it…” Sheepishly, the driver stepped back into the SUV.

“I gotta go where it’s warm!” hollered Sully from inside of his truck. Fully pumped he ripped the keys out of his ignition and swung the door open with full force. At the same time, Sloane, the passenger from the SUV, was walking by. She let out a startled yelp and jumped back, her hand over her beating heart as Sully’s door nearly pulverized her. Sully let out a startled scream of his own, not expecting to be ambushed the second he got out of his car. He even raised his hands up as if he was about to take Sloane on in a boxing match, expecting to see Dean instead of Sloane. Sloane recovered quickly, rolling her eyes as she gave another dismissive wave to her driver that had begun to step out of the car, hand clutching at his jacket.

“Pay more attention to where you’re going, Sullivan,” said Sloane, a little more edge to her usual dulled tone, looking down as she adjusted her coat.

“Hey, the same could be said to you, Sloaney,” said Sully, a bit of foamy liquid sloshing out of the top of the Chalice as he held up his hands in peace.

“That’s not my name,” said Sloane, going stiff.

“Holy shit, what happened to your nose?” asked Sully as the woman finally looked up at him. It was his first time seeing Sloane since the original meeting. He was legitimately unaware that Drake had broken her nose, but Sloane assumed otherwise.

She turned without a word, hands shoved into her coat pockets, and began moving to the house with a surprising amount of speed in her step. Sully called out for her to wait up and had to break into a light jog to catch up to her power walk. They made an odd duo. Sloane immaculately dressed with a nice black peacoat and a new cream turtleneck, Sully wearing a letterman jacket he had for over ten years and dirty boots, Sloane small enough that it would take three of her to make one Sully yet Sully looking infinitely more approachable than Sloane who despite being more fabric than person still carried a heavy gravitas around her. Sully was able to get ahold of her shoulder and slow her down.

“Do you know if Tayla’s coming?” he asked.

“Why would I?” asked Sloane. She didn’t talk to Tayla. Or rather, as she was growing to understand it all, Tayla didn’t talk to her. She hated Tayla almost as much as she hated Sully. Of course he’d be asking after Tayla. They used to party together. Meanwhile, Sloane bet Sully would’ve forgotten who Sloane was if she hadn’t held on to the Chalice for him while he went about chasing after some stupid, worthless dream that he was still somehow too inadequate to accomplish.

“Oh, um, I dunno. I just thought you might,” he said, taking a step back. Excluding the day that he had recruited her, Sully had never been really close with Sloane. She was one of the few people from back in the day that he actually found himself uncomfortable spending time with alone. She was also just so guarded that he felt unwelcome in her presence. However, today was a little different. She wasn’t just on guard, she was en garde—poised and ready to strike at anyone or anything that got in her way.

“You should leave the thinking to people who aren’t drunk,” said Sloane, glancing at the Chalice.

“Whoa, hey, I’m not drunk, I was just having a road soda,” said Sully, smiling as he tried to joke with Sloane. The smile quickly faded as she began to turn back towards the house. Sully caught her again by the shoulder, a grab she attempted to roughly shove off. He splashed the lager in his Chalice out on the ground and filled it with the elixir. He nodded to her partially healed nose. “Loooook, I’m a little out of the loop, but I’m here now. At the very least let me fix that.”

Sloane paused. She was tempted to leave her broken nose unchanged, to forever leave her face offset to serve as a permanent taunt towards Drake reminding him of the idiot he was, but he’d already proven that he didn’t give a shit and she didn’t need the injury to remind her of how she felt. It wasn’t worth getting the bridge on all of her designer sunglasses adjusted. With a hint of reluctance she nodded. Sully began lowering the Chalice as if he was going to make her drink from it himself, so she quickly mumbled her dissent and snatched the goblet from his hand. She took a drink, wincing as she felt the bones beneath her face shift until they were back in the proper place. She held onto the Chalice for a little while longer, tempted to confiscate it or at the very least ask him permission to hold onto it longer enough to recreate its Counterfeit. Instead she just handed it back and wiped her lip.

“There you go. Everything’s all healed now,” said Sully.

No it isn’t, thought Sloane. Out loud she managed to mutter a half-hearted thanks. Sully thought about asking her what happened but decided against it, taking any kind of reaction out of her that wasn’t a poke at the ribs as some kind of moral victory. Their walking pace slowed and the pair continued on to the house in silence, one that Sloane appreciated greatly. For Sully the silence was more uncomfortable, like stumbling through a small patch of poison oak and spending the rest of the day with an nagging itching sensation that begged to be scratched but knowing he shouldn’t or it’d make things worse. He was grateful to see Kari’s house emerge out of the woods.

He let out a low whistle, “Goddamn that’s a cool place. Looks like Kari did well for herself.”

Sloane grumbled something under her breath. Sully didn’t quite make it out. What she had said was, “And look where it got her.”

The two had very polar reactions to witnessing the other Coven members already being present. For Sloane she felt her heart rate spike, first when she saw Jasper and second when she saw Drake, although the presence of every other member of the Coven was like a knife in the belly. She slipped behind Sully to avoid detection, suddenly discovering that the big idiot had some actual worth. For Sully he felt himself suddenly relieved, happy to see everyone together safe and sound. He didn’t even notice Sloane becoming his shadow as he charged up towards Drake and Stormy, wrapping his boys up in a big hug. Sloane took the distraction to separate completely from Sully and blend in on the other side of the patio, sitting up on the banister so that she practically vanished behind a wooden support beam and simply became part of the decor.

“C’mon Stormy, clearly those flowers are for me!” teased Sully. “Damn, bro, you really shouldn’t have.”

Sully’s face sunk when Auri revealed that Lyss had been murdered. He hadn’t even known that she had been back in town. He pulled his beanie off of his head and rubbed the back of his head, always uncertain of what to say in moments like these. His typical knee jerk reaction was to make a joke to try and break the tension, but it just felt outright inappropriate. Fortunately, Linqian and Ayrin started (playfully) going at it, and Ken was jingling around still wearing a Halloween costume a few days too late, and Amara declared to any who would hear that she actually still existed. They provided a quick distraction from the sadness and, wait, when did all of them show up anyway? How much had he missed?

“Well, hell Amara, what are the odds? I lived and I’m here too,” said Sully, giving her a friendly head nod.

Sloane closed her eyes and shook her head with a nearly imperceptible smirk on her bored face. The news about Lyss was devastating but not unexpected. Of course the PRA had failed to protect them. Of course they had. Behind the smirk her teeth grinded tightly against one another. Almost as soon as the news about Lyss's death was broken the Coven immediately moved on to buffoonery because of course they would. It took every fiber of her being not to explode and scream at Linqian to shut the hell up as she went off on Ayrin, even if it was in good fun. She couldn’t believe that someone like Jinhai was related to someone as barbaric and insensitive as his sister.

She painfully scraped her tongue against her teeth instead chose to remain silent, shifting herself around behind the others to make her way to the front door. She pulled out the crumpled tarot card from her pocket and began drawing a tiny, intricate symbol on the door’s handle. The Hexmark wasn’t a complicated one, but it did require a bit of concentration—concentration that was hard to come by as the Coven bickered and flirted with one another. Sloane felt like she was suffocating. She already knew she didn’t have the patience in her to wait for Kenshiro to begin flipping over a bunch of rocks looking for a key that probably didn’t even exist, but now she was considering just punching her hand through the glass and loosening the lock that way. She leaned her head against the door and tried to tune the world out.

Meanwhile, Sully rubbed at the thick stubble on his chin. He had thought he had been late to the last meeting he had attended seeing as how out of hand it had been, but maybe he hadn’t been as late as he thought he had considering how quickly things here felt like they were about to derail. He turned to Auri with a sympathetic look. He had wanted to speak with her and Britney about the Dean problem anyway, preferably with Tayla’s input, but right now it seemed like more than anything that Auri needed someone to help her herd all of these cats. Stepping to the center of the group, Sully filled up the Chalice with some beer and cleared his throat.

“Hey! I know we’ve all had a crazy couple of weeks, but let’s all huddle up, focus, and give Auri our undivided attention, okay? But first let’s take a moment to pay respects to Lyss. She was a good egg. A lot of us are standing here today thanks to her,” said Sully, pouring out the beer on the stoop. “I dunno, maybe we can just give her a moment of si—”

BANG!

The front door of the house had flown open and slammed loudly against the wall, denting the plaster. Sloane caught the door with her hand as it bounced back towards her, the Hexmark on the handle still glowing with a faint blue and orange light. She gave the Coven a wide, toothy smile that on anyone else would’ve been friendly but on Sloane it was only eerie. Shadows fell on her face as she stepped inside before she flicked on the lights, the smile slowly fading from her face as she glared at the group gathered on the patio.

“Door’s open. What are you waiting for?” asked Sloane. She turned her back on the group, rolled her eyes, and stepped deeper into the entrance way to clear the door. She muttered under her breath. “Let’s go accomplish fucking nothing again.”

Recollections: Under The Sycamore Tree Part. 1

Hey y'all, some heavy family stuff has come up. I'll probably be slow to respond for the next few days.

Recollections: Under The Sycamore Tree Part. 1

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Interactions: Greenwood@Punished GN
The Halloween Festival.

---

“Ah, shit!” cried out Sully.

He propped himself against a lamp post as he got a stitch in his side, panting heavily. Sweat would've been pouring from him if he wasn't already drenched by the rain as he doubled over, his fist pounding the pole in a volatile mix of frustration and pain transference. He looked over his shoulder, surprised to see that there wasn't an axe wielding maniac already making sashimi out of him. More surprising, still, was the stampede of terrified ghouls and goblins that were running foolishly in the direction of the phantasmal killer. Sully turned to lean against the pole, watching the retreating crowd with a look of perplexion.

As the fleeing festival goers cleared the grounds Sully's eyes focused on the horizon, scanning for the nonexistent threat that was after him. His breathing slowed and steadied, the sharp pain in his side diminishing into a steady throb. He slung his soiled jacket up over his head as a makeshift umbrella, pulling out his phone to check for a response from Auri. Nothing yet. A rush of anxiety gripped him. Every second he couldn't get in touch with Tayla was another second of being an abject failure.

A fast moving object appeared suddenly in his field of view, something quick and silver like a bullet meant for a werewolf. By the time Sully could tell that the trajectory of the projectile was coming right for him it had already cracked against his forehead, rocking his head back so sharply that it bounced off the lamp post. He started seeing stars as he felt the cold metal object fall down into his hands, looking down to find that not only was he reunited with his Chalice but that he'd been granted another. Further proof that he was, ill-advisedly, the chosen one.Sully looked up to see whatever god was smiling down upon him.

Instead of god he caught sight of Greenwood, Naomi's arm still slung forward from the pitch, the others looking on either in horror or horrible attempts to hold back laughter after the Chalice had beaned him. Sully twisted the Chalice in his hand, raised it in a toast, and drank deeply. Immediately the pain from being hit by the goblet and the bruising from Dean’s beating disappeared, accompanied with a sharpening of vision and a clearing up of mental fog due to the elixir also purging the alcohol from his system. Sobriety was an unintentional side effect, but as Sully went to take another drink and begin resetting himself to his previous state of inebriation he paused. Being clear headed was the best way to find himself out of this pickle he had been caught in between Tayla and Dean.

He promised himself he would only have a handful of drinks then.

Sully took a sip from the Chalice and rejoined with Greenwood, the trading stories about their night as the storm raged on. Lightning cracked over the Halloween Festival, the entire fairgrounds white with blinding light, and then the Greenwood Coven was gone. They had teleported away from the storm and back to their own stomping grounds. It was only as Sully passed a joint that had tasted rather suspicious that he realized something. His large hand clapped loudly against his forehead.

Drake! He had forgotten about Drake!

He reached from his phone but then stopped himself, remembering how that one girl had been all over Drake. Yeah, on second thought, better not interrupt his boy. Sully thought it was pretty soon for Drake to begin moving on, but hell he had no skin in that game and a distraction would be good for Drake. Sully leaned back, took a sip from his Chalice, and nodded his head along to the beats of Starry Eyed Surprise playing over a blown-out bluetooth speaker. Tomorrow, he told himself. Tomorrow he’d reconvene with Auri and the others. Right now he was going to enjoy finding himself with all of his friends, dancing the night away like the party never ends.

Recollections: Under The Sycamore Tree Part. 1

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Interactions: Anya @Fernstone Trevor @Punished GN
The Halloween Festival

---

Her ploy failed as Anya was forced to sit with Trevor, yet Sloane never imagined that the feeling of failure would come with such sweet relief. The realization that she couldn't possibly deal with Trevor alone had hit her only after the invitation had come out of her mouth, reinforced by his disgusting and crass vaudeville performance of Father Wolf. She lightly bumped her shoulder against Anya’s as her friend thanked her, sheepishly muttering under her breath a nearly inaudible apology. She lowered her eyes as her nail picked at the table. One of the agents had the nerve to laugh at Trevor's antics.

The thought that their safety was in the hands of a pack of professional baboons was absolutely terrifying.

She began to shake. Blame the rain. She scooted closer to Anya. Together they could get through this. Together they were—Sloane flinched as Anya invited Meifeng along, her nail scratching so deeply against the wood that it lodged a splinter underneath it. In quiet panic Sloane began to suck on her finger, trying to pick the splinter with her teeth in a desperate effort to keep her mouth preoccupied. Her finger was soon joined by the rest of her fist as Meifeng denied Anya’s request and tried to get them to sit at her table. A classic power play.

She noted how only Anya got offered a drink as her teeth sunk into her knuckles. Soon Meifeng and her cronies were gone, heading off to deal with Emily. Wait, Emily? Was Emily here? And was she somehow considered less annoying than Sloane? And did Emily even know what was happening? She could be in danger. Vashti could be in danger. Regardless of what they were like, they were as much a part of Sycamore as everyone else.

Sloane blinked. Bow-bow! A flash of lightning sparked a phantom image of Trevor stabbing at the air, the air filling out into the shape of Emily as a knife was plugged into her chest. Maybe the PRA were going to protect her. ‘Aaaaaaah! I'm getting stabbed!’ screamed an imaginary Vashti, blood gushing from her mouth. Maybe the PRA were going to protect her? They couldn't even protect one of their own.

Plus, they were drunk. They were all clearly and obviously drunk. Like that woman with Meifeng had just given away a perfectly wonderful tropical drink that went down easy and soothed the pain in Sloane's finger and—huh, when had she started drinking Anya's margarita? Sloane rapidly blinked again, taking another sip of the marg to clear her head. The rain didn't show any signs of slowing.

Sloane, who had sunken into a state of drunken silence like a monk who had the keys to the Communion cabinet, gasped loudly and suddenly. Jasper's painting! The weather would ruin it! She jumped to her feet, torn between two equally important priorities: saving 8th Street from a psycho killer and a group of inept bureaucrats or saving a blank canvas that served as the ultimate proof to confirm the suspicions she had held onto for years.

“Anya! We need to…urk…” Sloane was hit by a wave of vertigo induced solely by jumping up to her feet too fast and absolutely nothing else. Definitely not due to any of the drinks sloshing around in her otherwise empty stomach. She turned her head and held her hand up to show that she was okay. One, two, three, okay, breath and now one, two, three, okay, release.

She bet nobody even noticed. She'd just sit down, close her eyes, wait for the world to stop spinning, and give it another go in a second. Sloane sat with a heavy thump and slouched forward, folding her arms on the table and resting her head up on them. She closed her eyes as the comforting sounds of the storm wrapped around her like a warm blanket.

“Anya…where's Jack?” asked Sloane, her mind doing a one-eighty. She reached out blindly with her hand to grab for the margarita, threatening to wipe out everybody's drink. Suddenly, she stopped reaching and started pointing with her finger, violently stabbing it in the air with the finesse of a musketeer. ”Shouldn't be alone. So stupid…”

“Trevooooor, save Jack,” said Sloane, continually prodding him under the table with her foot. ”He's our ride home.” She kept sliding lower in her seat so she could continue to kick at Trevor's shin. ”Bianca’s got us. Prove yourself and go saaaaaave him…”

Recollections: Under The Sycamore Tree Part. 1

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Interactions: Anya @Fernstone & Trevor @Punished GN
The Halloween Festival

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Sloane was grateful that Anya had been courteous enough to wrap her arm around her shoulder to help her walk, as her legs had suddenly felt like they were made out of jello. It wasn’t because she was drunk—again, if this hadn’t already been made clear, Anya was drunk. Anya. Anya was the drunk one. Sloane was as sober as a judge. It was because something Anya had said, a secret she had let slip due quite simply to how belligerently shitfaced she was right now. Why, Sloane was quite certain that Anya was leaning on her for support and not the other way around! However, that was neither here nor there. Something massive had just happened. A revelation. A confirmation. Vindication.

She had been right: he’s obsessed!

Sloane didn’t know how she thought she would feel knowing that she had been right about Jasper, but right now knowing that he dreamed about her made Sloane feel sick. Her stomach tightened, twisted, and filled with a fluttering sensation as if she needed to vomit. She felt feverish as her face flushed, the yellow scarf around her overheating throat suddenly becoming so unbearable she had to pull it away with a trembling hand. The blood pumped in her ringing ears as she felt a sudden sharp pain in her chest. Her mind was flooded with visions of her catching Jasper’s verdant green eyes darting away from her, only ever getting a taste of his disparaging glances. God, what was his problem? What was his deal? What did Anya exactly mean by “quite a few times” and what kind of dreams were they?

What kind of deviant imbecile spent so much time obsessing over another person that they obviously hated? Damn it, Anya. She needed the details!

Where even was Anya? Before panic could set in, Anya slid a drink across the table to her as she magically reappeared exactly when Sloane needed her. Finally, she had been dying to ask her about Jasper. Sloane’s mouth opened and ”...No thoughts about the boys…” closed as she raised her glass to meet Anya’s toast and then buried her face in the cup to keep her from blurting out the undesired question. She drank deeply and gave Anya a warm smile as she set down her cup.

If they couldn’t talk about Jasper—no, what she meant was that why would anyone want to talk about Jasper—nevermind, the point was that she wanted to hear Anya talk about the dreams. Sloane enjoyed hearing about other people’s dreams. They were always so much more interesting than her own. She leaned forward with rapt attention and glossy eyes, putting her elbow on the table in a breach of etiquette to proper up her chin so that her head would stop bobbing.

And then from a couple tables over Jason Lee Scott went, "Oooooooh!"

Sloane immediately slumped forward onto the table with a soft thunk as Trevor unmasked himself, burying her head in her arms and hiding beneath her hat. Why was he here? Sure, he was supposed to be surveillancing them, but not like this. He shouldn’t be talking to them in person, or at all. From underneath her cover her muffled voice could be heard, saying something against the idea of fate and something about government tracking, something that got further impossible to understand as he dropped his pickup line on Anya that was as smooth as a gravel road. From underneath Sloane’s hat, the muffled words were replaced by the sound of a whistling tea kettle as she screamed into her jacket.

She just barely caught Meifeng’s words, but it was enough to make her head snap up and, whoa, one second. Sloane blinked rapidly, looking past the two red rangers to the red ranger’s boss. What was that? It had sounded like Meifeng had just admitted that after unjustly raiding Sycamore’s headquarters in a complete display of an abuse of power and unprofessionalism she had intended to just blow them all off with a stupid prank despite Sloane’s earnest attempt to offer her their cooperation. All because Sloane was going to be annoying by, what, asking her to do her job? Sloane seethed, her shoulders shaking. Her best friend hand been traumatized—Sloane had been traumatized—because this irresponsible bitch didn’t want to…ERGH!

“Hey!” shouted Sloane, slapping her hands against the table as she shot up with a stumble. That was it. She was going to give Meifeng the dressing down she deserved and she was going to get her badge number so that she could file an official complaint.

As Sloane was about to turn and earn herself the top bunk in Eve’s cell she made eye contact with Anya and hesitated. In the week since Anya’s sacrifice none of their colleagues had been murdered by Father Wolf. She would never forgive herself if something she said made the PRA pull out on their part of the deal. She gave Anya a sad, apologetic look that said, “Trust me, this is for the best. I’m sorry, I love you.” She slammed her drink and closed her eyes tight, squeezing them shut so hard that her entire face scrunched up and looked as if it was about to pop, letting out a sigh instead. She stepped around the table to take the only available spot next to Anya and gestured towards where she had been sitting.

“Please, join us,” said Sloane to Trevor. She was unable to make eye contact with him. Somehow, impossibly, her voice sounded more hollow than it had ever before, as if saying those three words had obliterated whatever husk of a soul she had rattling around inside of her. She pulled her cup up to her lips and faked surprise in the stiffest performance ever when she “discovered” that it was empty. “Oh. No. Anya. Our drinks. They’re empty.”

Anya’s wasn’t. Sloane lashed out like lightning, grabbed the long island, and chugged it. Immediate regret slashed its way across her face. She covered her mouth with her hand, worried that she was going to let out an unladylike burp or worse.

“Oooh, yep, they’re both…they’re both empty. Anya, could you grab anot…another?” And run, letting the future generations know of Sloane’s sacrifice. “Trevor will keep me company. W-won’t you?”

Sloane couldn’t think of what would be worse—spending any amount of time alone with Trevor, or getting rejected by someone like him. She hoped she wouldn’t have to actually find out. The one time she needed Jack to give her an emergency teleport and he wasn't there! Thunder rumbled above. Maybe if Sloane was lucky she’d be struck by lightning.

Recollections: Under The Sycamore Tree Part. 1

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Interactions: Anya @Fernstone
The Halloween Festival

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She felt odd. Sloane turned her eyes to the ground and watched the rain wash the paint away as Jack got up to leave, a small victory overshadowed by an incredible feeling of guilt. She winced as he referred to the Sycamore Tree Coven as a family just like Auri had stupidly called them one in the first meeting. Families were unshakeable burdens. Families weren’t chosen so much as they were forced onto you. People who liked their families were generally unbearable. Sloane raked her teeth over her bottom lip. Now that she considered it, Sycamore was starting to sound a lot like a family after all. Jack was playing his part of the prodigal son perfectly.

”...I never turned down an opportunity to aid anyone, or be there in their time of need.”

How quick he was to ignore ten years of proof saying the exact opposite. Yet Sloane found herself unable to call out his hypocrisy, tempted by an overwhelming urge to call out for him to wait instead. She looked up and the words died in her throat as she came eye to eye with Anya. It looked like she had been crying. Sloane’s face contorted and twisted, glitching between flashes of abject terror punching through the caster of an expressionless death mask. How much exactly had Anya heard? Enough to hurt her? There wasn’t much that Sloane shied away from telling Anya, but her feelings were one thing that was almost never a topic of their discussions. When Sloane said everyone was a disappointment, surely Anya knew that she was exempt, right? Or what if she never realized how much she was held down by Sloane? Was this the moment where Anya rejected her too? Of course it was. Everybody did eventually.

”...It would be rather lonely to both be hated alone, wouldn’t it?”

Sloane released a choked, staggered sigh of relief masqueraded as a laugh. She closed her eyes tight and sucked her cheeks in like she had just bitten into a lemon to keep herself from smiling like a child. Her eyes were swimming in pools of pure adoration when she opened them again. The drinks and Jack’s endless, insistent prodding had knocked the walls around Sloane’s fortress down, if only for the evening. There was no hiding the powerful and unabashed projection of the love and admiration that Sloane had long felt for Anya but kept tucked away fearing that it would reek of desperation and convince Anya to find a less pathetic friend. She felt embarrassed and warm and stupid and safe and something else, something she couldn’t quite put a descriptor to because it was something she hadn’t felt in a long time if, perhaps, ever.

Sloane closed her eyes again, finding it more and more difficult to keep them open for some reason, but no longer tried to hide her blissful smile. Between making up for Sloane’s faux pas and trying to give her some privacy with Jack, Anya had apparently only been thinking about Sloane’s betterment while she was gone. And, unlike Jack, she offered to lend Sloane an ear without forcing her to actually speak up and talk. Anya said something that prompted Sloane to reopen her eyes, and through blurred vision she saw her hand and grabbed it. Sloane stumbled up to her feet and positioned herself at Anya’s side, and instead of letting go of Anya’s hand she grabbed it with her other one as well. Sloane rested her head on her best friend’s shoulder.

“I don’t want to talk about any of that,” said Sloane.

She had slurred her words more heavily than before. Yet somehow she felt lighter, like she had just taken an overstuffed backpack off of her shoulders. Sloane didn’t realize just how long she’d been carrying around the burden of everything that had been weighing on her mind, and tragically she didn’t even realize that dumping everything on Jack had been the catalyst to improving her mood. She wouldn’t remember how it had been Jack that had come after her first, or that it had been Jack to force her out of her comfort zone so that she would unload. Sadly, she would only remember that it had been Jack who had walked away whereas it had been Anya who had lifted her up from the ground.

Like the Coven before and her parents before that, Jack had abandoned her. But Anya? Anya was always there for her. Sloane didn’t need a family; she already had a sister. Her grip tightened protectively on Anya’s arm. Sloane would keep her safe. No matter what, she would keep Anya safe. She deserved it. For all the kindness Anya had shown her she deserved so much more. So, so much more. What was even better was that Sloane wouldn’t have to do the embarrassing thing and say it. Anya would just know. She would just know that Sloane was fully bought in—hook, line, and sinker.

“But it’s whatever you want. I want whatever you want,” said Sloane with the dreamy cadence of a sleep talker. “But if what you want was another drink that’d be pretty cool. Even though you’re obviously already so drunk. Don’t pretend like you aren’t, either, I can read you like an open, um, like an open…did I leave our tab open? Oh, and my painting. Jack forgot my painting. Sheesh, he’s so inconsiderate sometimes. Don’t forget my painting, okay?”

She shook Anya’s arm towards the blank canvas sitting on a stack of rubbish.

“Jasper made it for me,” said Sloane in a hushed tone, as if she were sharing a massive secret. She let out another bizarrely girlish giggle. “He’s obsessed!”

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Interactions: Auri (Deus Text Machina) @Punished GN
The Halloween Festival.

---

That dude was obsessed.

A drop of rain cut through the leaves and plinked off of Sully’s forehead as he continued lying on the ground. He had no real drive nor desire to get up. He had taken plenty of hits when he was younger and had always been able to get back up, but this felt different. He had thoroughly gotten his ass whooped. Hell, he had barely even been able to defend himself. If Dean had just wanted to kick Sully’s ass or if he had been Father Wolf then Sully would’ve basically just thrown himself headfirst into the grave and pulled the dirt over the top of himself. Even if he hadn't been so wasted he doubted he could’ve done much better. Sully groaned, lightly pounding his forehead with his closed fist. What the fuck had he been thinking. What an idiot.

He pulled the jacket Dean had returned to him over his face as the rain picked up. If he was lucky maybe he would sink into the mud and not have to deal with what was to come. Could he really stumble out of the woods with his face all busted open and try to keep on partying? Could he stand having to see Leon, knowing that if he had been in Sully’s shoes he would’ve laid the smackdown on Dean so hard that not only would Dean stop being such a creepy stalker but that he’d turn himself into the police because he would feel safer behind bars than out walking the streets where Leon roamed. Sully breathed in deeply and listened to the sound of rain hitting his jacket. It was soothing. The blood on his face was pleasantly warm. He exhaled. Closed his eyes.

No, wait!

Sully sat up, the jacket falling off of his face and plopping into his lap. His white toga was now mostly brown. A trickle of blood extended his mustache down to his weak jawline that was already beginning to regrow stubble. He fumbled around with his coat and found his phone. He needed to warn Tayla, and to do that he needed to get her number. Auri would have it. The situation was such an emergency that he almost called her but hung up before the first ring, looking over his shoulder. Dean could still be around, watching, waiting. He saw nothing but twisted trees looming over his right shoulder, but over his left! Sully sharply turned, fist raised, ready to slug the whole bunch of nothing sneaking up on his back, and grunted as he felt a muscle in his side pinch. He moaned in pain and sent out a mostly legible text to Auri that only asked for Tayla’s number as well as marking next Thursday in his Calendar.

Sully slowly made his way up to his feet. He needed to come up with a plan for how to handle Dean, but before that he needed a drink, and before-before that he needed to find his way out of the woods. Sully began to stumble ahead, his body like lead, focusing only on putting one foot in front of the other, then the other. He reached out to the trees to support himself as he got mud on his only pair of dress shoes, the remnants of the pilot costume he had started the night in. He no longer felt like Dionysus. There was nothing godly about his situation. Perhaps he was Theseus and the forest his version of the labyrinth, but he didn’t feel all too heroic either. Nah, he wasn’t even Greek. He was just a big, fat, stupid, drunk loser named Sullivan wearing a dirty bed sheet.

When he emerged from the woods he didn’t know where he was, but the haunted house wasn’t in sight. A quiet curse crossed Sully’s lips as he pulled out his phone, forgot entirely about how it offered him access to absolutely every piece of information in the world including a map with his precise location, and turned the flashlight on instead. Cracker Island wasn’t too big. He’d just follow the treeline and circle around until he made it back to the haunted house. He had already gotten jumped once tonight. There was probably some universal law that existed that would prevent him from being jumped again. Yep, this time, surely, nothing bad would happen.

A twig snapped behind him.

And with a shout Sully broke into a dead sprint, running for his life, as the terrified opossum that had snuck up on the curious looking Sasquatch curled up into a ball and played dead.

Recollections: Under The Sycamore Tree Part. 1

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Interactions: Leon @AtomicEmperor
Toga Party. Halloween Festival.

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Vashti licked her lips hungrily as Linqian was tossed her way like a chicken off the side of a dock in a bayou. That look Linqian gave Vashti melted her, heating the wrist that had been nearly frostbitten by Linqian earlier with a warm sensation that was as painful as it was pleasant. Vashti returned the look with one of dark and even dangerous curiosity. It wasn’t just suggestive, it was a spoiler, a teaser trailer for what was to come once Vashti got her hands on Linqian. The way they could ruin one another would be an absolutely beautiful catastrophe. Vashti was able to squeeze part of herself free from her Drake and Leon sandwich and reach out to Linqian. The tips of their fingers nearly caressed, nothing but a few millimeters of air and one incredible and violently unstable spark between them. Vashti parted her lips.

And Linqian was snapped away, signing Call me as she was abducted.

No!

Fuck. That. Vashti wasn’t going to wait for what she wanted. With a sudden surge of strength that flowed into Vashti from her libido, she was able to wedge enough room between herself and Drake to give chase to Linqian. She was stopped by Leon wrapping his hands around her waist,No!, her eyes fluttering as she felt his muscles tightened and his body pressed against hers, Yes!. Her mind blanked and a wicked smile carved its way onto her face. Her hands slipped down over his, trying to guide them just a little lower. Her head soared and her heart raced as she was hefted up by Leon with ease, Yes! Yes! Drive me into the ground and devour me like a snack!

The situation hit a slight hiccup as she was placed on his shoulders instead of being buried face first into the dirt, but the disappointment shifted as Vashti caught Leon’s eye. In unison with him she raised both of her fists into the air.

“DOUBLE DECKER TOGAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA!”

She felt high, both figuratively and literally. This was how her life always should be: surrounded by drunken debauchery and half-naked hot people that were all beneath her, with the head of a powerful man pressed between her thighs. Vashti drained the contents of the Chalice as it was passed back to her as Sully stumbled away from the toga line, dropping it to Emily behind her. She leaned forward, pressing her chest against the back of Leon’s hair, her curly hair draping over his face, her eyes drunk with lust, as she slid a hand beneath his chin to guide his focus back up to her. Only her. A finger traced down to feel the pulse in his jugular. She smiled down at him, a warm invitation, the scent of sweet wine on her hot breath.

Her desire to be with Leon was now matched only by one other deeper, darker desire that lurked hidden in the depths of all people, kept locked away until that person was presented with a key. Years ago Britney had been the one to give her the key, much like Lady Lelou had with Leon. Leon looked hot now, but he would’ve looked even hotter on his knees, hands wrapped around his throat, a crimson necktie unfurling over his toga. Her breathing quickened with heated anticipation as she locked eyes with Leon, her finger making a few practice runs across his neck. It might not actually be enough to kill Leon if what she heard was true. That was even more exciting. The two of them locked together in a deadly tango, surrounded by stacks of bloodied sheets of the remnants of the toga party, clawing and biting and ripping and tearing one another apart until the break of dawn.

She let go of his chin. She arched her back, pulling her face away from Leon, and rolled her head as she released a steamy sigh. She watched the moon, the fingers on her left hand working their way through Leon’s hair. She closed her eyes and was greeted to a not entirely unpleasant visual of it being Linqian, not Leon, beneath her. Her eyes snapped open, a clear expression of what the fuck on her face accompanied by suddenly much sharper eyes that scanned the immediate area for her missing gold prize. She didn’t see Linqian. Instead, she only saw Emily scampering away with the Chalice in her hand. Leon would feel Vashti’s entire body tense as she silently swore up a storm at her back, just as surely he would’ve felt Emily let go of him and perhaps take a look at the woman stealing their party favor.

Vashti couldn’t let that happen.

She put her hand beneath Leon’s chin again and jerked it up again, aggression stabbing the previously felt sensuality in the kidneys and leaving it to die on the streets. The lustful desire in her eyes was replaced by a different deadly sin as she moved in for the kill, her jaws darting forward with a sudden snap. She pulled Leon’s attention away with a long and deep kiss. It was passionate, although not in the way it was with new lovers still discovering the mystery of their partner’s body. It was much more like the way that someone stabbing their spouse sixty-seven times in the stomach was considered passionate, delivered in the form of little tiny bites on his lip between bouts of their tongues trying to pin the other to assert their dominance.

Vashti peaked an eye open and only pulled away for oxygen once, from her vantage point, she saw that Emily had moved far enough away to be blocked by the crowd. Her face was flushed and her chest heaved as she looked down at Leon with a wolfish smile, a smile that narrowed as she looked back towards Emily and caught sight of Greenwood and a fucking Batman making a move after her. Her fingers scritched the bottom of Leon’s chin as if to say good boy as she threw her head back and screamed in silence. Always such a fucking cockblock! A dark cloud rolled in front of the moon as she leaned back down and peppered Leon with a line of kisses from his mouth to his ear. She dropped from his shoulders with an acrobatic twist, her hand still wrapped around his hair like a leash so that he’d stoop down so she could whisper in his ear.

“Sorry, fido. Hate to be a tease, but we’ll have to take a raincheck,” said Vashti, her warm breath on his ear as the sky rumbled. She stroked his face one last time as her pupils briefly narrowed like those of a lizard before becoming two dark, focused pinpoints, and patted his cheek. She grinned diabolically as she moved to trail Emily. “I’ve gotta go kill someone.”

It began to rain.

---

Interactions: Jack @Blizz & Anya (via Pin Drop) @Fernstone
The Halloween Festival

---

Why wouldn’t Jack just leave her alone? The corner of Sloane’s left eye began to spasm. Her mouth tightened until her lips all but disappeared, her teeth clenched together so tightly that they threatened to poof into dust. She inhaled deeply and lifted her head to the sky, a droplet of rain splashing upon her forehead which she wiped away with a hand that had balled itself up into a tiny, shaking fist. She closed her eyes tight until she started to see spots. I worry for you. What a stupid thing to say. She said she was good which translated to she didn’t want to talk to anyone. Everybody should just know that.

Her phone buzzed as she got a message from Anya. Anya would understand. If she were here she would’ve grabbed Jack by the shoulders and steer him away. Sloane dropped her a pin with their location.

“You’re just not going to stop, are you?” spat Sloane, glaring at Jack as she wobbled ever so slightly.

Normally she would’ve gone on a full lockdown when someone pushed her so hard to divulge anything about herself, but someone must’ve spilled their drink on the control panel because none of the usual buttons she pressed were able to completely shut Jack out. It wasn’t that she believed that her wants and feelings didn’t matter, even though in the grand scheme of everything they didn’t matter—hell, she didn’t even matter. She just didn’t like sharing them because sharing them made them real and once they were real they were oh so much harder to push down and ignore.

“You know what, fine. Something is on my mind. Actually a lot of things are. All the time. It’s a lot like you in that regard,” said Sloane, her words dragged down by the alcohol. She sneered and elaborated, “It just won’t shut the fuck up and leave me alone.”

It was getting annoying to stand. Her legs felt weak and the stupid world kept rocking back and forth. It was probably drunk too. She inelegantly plopped down in the dying grass, dangerously close to the puddle of paint that she had stripped from Jasper’s artwork. She watched the raindrops create patterns of their own in the paint as the colors spread, mixed, and thinned. Individually, each little droplet did almost nothing to the spilled paint. However, when it all accumulated together it was able to blend everything together into one big muddy mess. For a moment it seemed like Sloane had completely gone away, or that the lockdown sequence had been initiated after all.

Then she finally broke her silence.

“My best friend is dead and I’ll never get to talk to her again, and now her husband hates me and will never talk to me again. My other best friend probably only spends time with me out of pity because she probably realizes what a mess I’d be without her. It’s so unfair to put that on her. I just weigh her down. My dad’s trying to work his way back into my life, which means he’s either working an angle or, worse, he actually just cares about me and I can’t do the same for him. I finally worked up the courage to ask the boy I liked out for a dinner date after ten years and he was murdered before I had the chance to do it. Now I can only think about how much I respected and idolized him growing up, and how much time I wasted fearing rejection, and how he’s now stashed in, in, I don’t know, in some shoebox or something in his sister’s linen closet, and I just can’t even bear to think about th—”

Her voice swelled with emotion and broke. When she found her words again, she was back to her typical text-to-speech narration.

“While you and Anya kept everyone safe last week, I managed to get myself jerked around by 8th street and accomplished nothing. I’m starting to realize that accomplishing nothing is probably the best for everyone, because I destroy everything I touch,” she said, staring at the blank canvas with an expression just as empty. “I lost a bunch of artifacts, including a bunch of knockoffs that I made that could absolutely devastate communities if not entire countries, and I can’t even do anything about it because I’m scared. I’m scared. I don’t know why nobody else acts like it, but I’m so fucking scared that I’m going to die like everybody I ever cared about or continue be a disappointment like everyone else.”

The rain was cold, but it wasn’t the reason why her body began to shiver and quake.

“It’s not just Jasper. Everybody hates me. I don’t even get it. They just hate me. They found the first excuse they could use and kicked me out as quickly as they could. Seriously, like, how did Britney, who robbed so many people of their future, who used innocents as sacrificial pawns, who, for all intents and purposes, was a war criminal, stay in longer than me? Gets welcomed back and immediately forgiven while I’m still looked at with suspicion and disdain? Is allowed to sneak behind people’s backs and make calls she has no right to make that put people’s lives in danger and not get called out for it? It’s unfair. It’s just so unfair. Not a single thing has changed. It’s all just another popularity contest. Fine. Let them hate me. I hate them all, too.”

“And that includes you,” said Sloane, glaring daggers at Jack. “Stop pretending like you know me. Stop pretending that you care about me. I don’t know if you just feel guilty for abandoning us that you have to constantly hovering around like a helicopter parent, or if you’re actually just secretly a good guy, but please just stop. Hate me like everyone else. It’ll be so much easier for you. Don’t do what Anya did to herself. I don’t want to have to carry the weight of being the reason another person is made into a social pariah. I’m a curse given human form. That's just the way it is.”

“So please,” said Sloane, the harsh look in her eyes breaking as genuine concern slipped through regarding Jack’s status as an outcast. “Fuck off.”

Recollections: Under The Sycamore Tree Part. 1

@silvermist1116 God damn, Tayla must have some really good coochie to get Dean so obsessed with her. lol

She got that ushy gushy.

Super Soaker 3000.

@Punished GN

Guild needs a feature to dislike a post.