Atrophy

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

Life and death, the necessary cycles for the war machine that is Recollections. ;)

@Estylwen

There's only three things certain about Recollections, and that's life and death and hotties.

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

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Interactions: All Alone
The Other Night…

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Quiet chatter and the clanking of silverware filled the dimly lit dining room of the fine restaurant, well-dressed couples in intimate conversations and groups of friends getting toasted on wine while laughing huddled around small tables draped with white cloths. Servers moved to and fro, delivering plates and pouring wine, dipping in the back to grab a new bottle or to bitch to the line cooks about needy guests. A piano in the front of the restaurant softly played a popular composition by Debussy, the keys operated not by a player but by some mechanical components, making one guest waiting to be seated loudly question why they had it in the first place at all instead of just getting a fucking muzak system and using the space for a few more tables while his date tugged on his arm in an attempt to hush him. The sound and sights of the restaurant all blurred and swirled together, darkening and becoming distant, as the light from a cell phone illuminated the face of a woman sitting by herself, a plate and wine glass set in front of an empty chair across from her.

Sloane frowned. She had already anticipated him not arriving on time and had made adjustments for that, but this was well beyond fashionably late. A text had already been sent with no response. She set her phone down and grabbed the glass of wine, staring into the red vortex as she slowly stirred it. Sloane was beyond stressed. She was suffocating. She had overstuffed her plate and was now choking on the consequences. Funeral preparations, counterfeit constructions, kidnapping cases, Rot removal, this Temple nonsense, Father Wolf, shit, she’d so much going on she was sure she’d forgotten a thing or two. Like how about tracking down her own missing counterfeits and artifacts? Sloane sighed and drank the wine like it was a shot, failing to appreciate the complexity of the bouquet or the palatability of the texture despite those being the reason why she’d even ordered the glass in the first place.

She had only wanted to give herself a little fun. She thought it would be nice. She needed a night of normalcy. What better way to pretend like her life hadn’t fallen apart then by catching up with a friend? It had been so long since she had seen him, and she was certain there would be enough to talk about to avoid the awkwardness of acknowledging that their friendship seemed to only manifest based solely by proximity, springing back to life whenever they were in the same city then immediately falling back into the grave once time zones had to be factored in when they coil place a phone call. She had dressed up for this, spent way too long styling her hair only for it to still fall flat for this, nearly poked her eye out while applying makeup to almost hide her utter exhaustion for this. She had thought that after one or two more of these, fidgeting with the empty wine glass, she might even have been able to work up the courage to invite him over after dinner. He was quite handsome, after all, and perhaps the distraction would finally chase away those intrusive thoughts of fucking stupid Jasp—

“Mademoiselle, we have a long list of guests waiting for a table. Perhaps if your friend is not arriving any time soon we could relocate to the bar and free the table up?” said the waiter, shaking Sloane out of her spiral.

“Just give me a moment, I’m calling him,” said Sloane, grabbing her phone.

It rang through. Sloane set her phone down on the bar next to what was now the second empty glass of wine, nodding tersely as the bartender asked if she wanted a refill, an appetizer of bread and oil sitting mostly untouched in front of her. Was she being stood up? Her face burned in embarrassment. This was stupid. This had been a stupid idea. Sloane tore at the piece of bread, violently stabbing it in the oil, thinking back to what Linqian had said the other day: unlike you, I actually have people who’d care enough to bury me. The bartender returned with the wine and the bread was left abandoned on the plate, soaking up the oil like a sponge. She drank deeply. The vintage tasted like vinegar. Sloane spat it back into the cup.

Linqian was wrong.

No, worse, he wouldn’t just no show.

Something else was wrong.

Sloane reached for the phone. He would pick up this time, with some excuse about traffic and cell signals. Or maybe he’d left after that horrible meeting and returned home, and he’d groggily chew her out for waking him up when he was trying to sleep off the jetlag. Or perhaps he’d just say that she wasn’t worth the time and his friendship was something she had just falsely perceived. Anything was better than where her mind was currently going. She called him again and gritted her teeth. Just fucking answer. Sloane hung her head. A few moments later, she tried to call again. Beneath her breath a cluster bomb of curses were unleashed, drawing the eyes of the bartender.

“Everything good?”

No!

She waved him off, calling again.

Elsewhere, a phone rang, the caller ID on the screen that would’ve displayed Sloane’s name and number obscured by the blood that had pooled around Bé’s phone.

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Interactions: Group, specifically Jack @Blizz
Today, the Eleventh Path

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She knew. Even before Jack said it, she knew.

She just hadn’t known how bad.

Rough would be a generous way of describing how Sloane looked. Dead, or perhaps poorly reanimated, would’ve been more accurate. She hadn’t slept. Runny mascara that had been half-heartedly washed away still somewhat stained her cheeks upon close inspection and she was wearing the now wrinkled outfit from the night before, a provocative-for-her black dress beneath a dark jacket. If she had entered the Eleventh Path holding shoes in her hand instead of the Chrysalis Staff it would appear as if she was partaking in the walk of shame and, frankly, last night had ended quite shamefully. The bartender had to call her a cab after what had been, essentially, a public breakdown. Reset the waterworks streak to zero. She’d be long dead before she ever came close to breaking her record of not crying in public now.

Thankfully, between the wine hangover and the nuclear fucking meltdown at the bar Sloane was so dehydrated that she had no more tears to shed. Thus, when Anya looked towards Sloane during the moment of silence for Auri, Todd, and Bé she would see a hollow look of nothingness in her eyes. It wasn’t just the usual blaise look, the practiced expression of apathy from someone who deep down cared so much about so many little, stupid, insignificant things and was afraid that if they showed it then it would be unjustly taken from them. It was just nothing. Pure hollowness. A look of a defeat so total that what she had been playing for no longer even mattered.

Mechanically, Sloane opened up the notebook she had set out in front of her and pulled out the Quill. However, she didn’t activate the artifact, merely staring at the words on the page as her vision unfocused. The others were already moving on to discuss partaking in a raid or forming a commune where they could all live together. Both ideas were just ways to rush them all quicker to the grave. Sloane wasn’t ready to move on yet.

Shouldn’t they ask more about the deaths? Did it look like the three gave any resistance at all, like they were fighting for their lives, or did it appear as if they had been killed without knowing, as if a familiar figure had been the one to pull the knife? Didn’t they deserve more than a moment of silence at the very least? A few words? Acknowledgement that, despite how Sloane despised her, Auri deserved some credit for bringing everyone together and raising awareness about Father Wolf? Sloane’s lips cracked as they parted. She could hear Linqian’s words again. Would Sloane even be given a moment? Her fists tightened, a spark of anger reigniting something inside of her. It was funny—or maybe it was sad, really—how good of a motivator pettiness and spite could be.

What were they discussing? Living together? I don’t want to live with any one of you!

Except Anya, obviously.

The arrival of the 317 was a sign from the universe that it was still a good idea to keep her mouth shut instead of voicing her thoughts, as her voice would’ve been drowned out anyway. The first sign of life appeared on Sloane’s face when she smirked as Octavia introduced herself as one of the three leaders of the 317. It hadn’t been so long ago that Sloane had suggested the reorganized Sycamore run under the rule of three. Now their not-leader leader was dead, and Jack had apparently stepped in to be the unofficial replacement. Sloane’s vision sharpened as she looked over to regard the 317. Even if she wouldn’t bother returning the introduction, she could at least get some names tied to faces.

Yet her eyes darted away as quickly as she watched some of the members rush over and give Jasper a hug, feeling something in her stomach that was quite spitefulness or pettiness but of a similar strain. Her eyes landed on the artifacts that Jack had presented that, in her previous glazed-over existence, she had essentially ignored. She stared at the Brass Needle, then looked to Luca, then Lila, then slowly drifted back to Luca before her eyes snapped to Lila once again. Sleep deprivation aside, she was definitely more crow now wasn’t she? Sloane blinked rapidly and shook her head, refocusing on the person she’d promised to help. Being bird probably wasn’t great, but it was better than being walking compost.

Quietly, Sloane slipped out of her chair and approached the artifacts. There was always the possibility that, like the Apparition Killer, the Brass Needle may not work. Last meeting Luca had shut down the idea of the Brass Needle because he didn’t want to be without an abstraction. But inadvertently thanks to Father Wolf, they could have an option of granting Luca an abstraction. Plus, Sloane had a sneaking suspicion that it hadn’t been Luca rejecting the idea in the first place. It was best that she hold on to it before something happened, like getting lost…or rotted…in the upcoming fight. She began reaching for the Brass Needle, ready to snatch it up as long as Jack didn’t show any sign of disapproval.

“Since we’re all so keen on joining a fight that we really shouldn’t, we’ll need more weapons,” said Sloane, her voice clearly indicating her weariness. “ If we were just content on stealing artifacts I might be of some use, but if we’re certain of a fight I’d only get in the way. Perhaps I can Counterfeit something useful before the raid.”

“Also, Jack, you found Auri, yes?” said Sloane, looking at him under heavy eyelids. He could see her trying to subtly draw his attention towards Luca, hoping he’d be able to catch on to what she was trying to do. She wasn’t going to suggest de-Rotting Luca right this moment, hoping for once to prevent a meeting from instantly derailing. Nor did she really want to put a spotlight on someone she considered a friend in front of a bunch of strangers. They could handle it in private later. “Do you have the Butterfly Staff? I’d happily lend out my Counterfeit for the raid if I can hold on to the original.”

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

Man why we gotta keep creating stuff with the sole purpose to fuck us up even more? Why can't we ever get a nice apparition added in like a Pizza Fairy or a Random Compliment Ghost?

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

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Interactions: Anya @Fernstone Ruby @Shin Ghost Note Lila @NoriWasHere
The House on the Hill

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“Whoa, hey Anya, weird time to go for a hug you know?” said Sully, not realizing she was trying to nudge him out of the way.

His empty-headedness transcended him from the run-of-the-mill dunce to an enlightened monk as he unintentionally counted her push, wrapping Anya in a quick one-armed hug around the shoulder as he shuffled to keep himself between Sloane and the Kool-Aid drinkers. So Leon and Layla were into weird new age movement bullshit. So what? As long as they weren’t required to buy monthly crates of Mama Leon’s goop to avoid becoming completely blacklisted or weren’t looking to escape from planet Earth by hitching a ride on a comet it really wasn’t any of their business.

And look, Sully got it: Sloane was shook because one of her little nerd buddies got jumpscared by the Gimp of Christmas Past and then Leon got a little too close for comfort. Leon could get a little intense sometimes, but he’d always seemed like a good egg and wasn’t as dumb as he looked. Leon had a handle on the Alizée situation. Even Greenwood was cool with the situation, and they had the biggest chip on their shoulder against the girl. Sure, the hushed exposition between Layla and Alizée illuminated the Temple in an eerie, unsettling light, but there was no way Leon was part of some bizarre evil cult even if his mom was running the show. Dudes with traps that big were too devoted to their gains to be agents of some nefarious cabal.

"If anyone dares lay a finger upon this Soul, or the Body meant for her; I will be their retribution."

Sully snapped his head back to the fog cloud that had blossomed around Leon and his ladies. The gears in Sully’s head stalled and smoked before they snapped through the mental bar jammed between the two: he was pretty sure Leon was just quoting Pulp Fiction and not revealing himself to be throw-a-virgin-in-a-volcano, cut-a-motherfucking-heart-out-on-a-ziggurat style zealot. Yeah, that must be it. Leon was just expressing his desire to protect Layla’s choice as well as the First Amendment. Right? Right. Right…but judging by the widening eyes on Sloane’s face it was pretty clear she didn’t realize that Leon was just being a patriot.

”... You know what? Do whatever the hell you want with them. I'm done.”

Sully watched as an expression of pain shot across Sloane’s face as she hung her head, her arms dropping so that the business end of the staff pointed to the floor. The way she slightly drooped before freezing in place made her look as if she were a wind-up toy that had just run out of juice. Sully was about to reach the point where he felt obligated to wave his hand in front of her face when he got distracted by Ruby rightfully admonishing Sycamore for being nothing more than a hot mess. She was making some points. She was making some good, good points. Sycamore had some good eggs in the bunch, but a few rotten apples mixed there made for a shitty omelet.

Then Lila started speaking up and making some even gooder points of her own. Small groups could let the good eggs hang separate from the rotten apples. The rotten apples weren’t inherently bad—they mixed poorly with eggs, but together they could be fermented into an appropriately seasonal hard cider. Sully licked his lips, becoming lost in the metaphor, and followed through with the goodest idea of the evening as he filled the Chalice up with a steaming cocktail of apple cider, hints of cinnamon, a fresh squeeze of orange, and a shitton of bourbon. Chugging the liquid courage, Sully sidled up to Ruby.

“Lila makes a good point, boss. They might not look or act like much of a team, and the locker room banter is enough to get every single one of them canceled, but when that two-minute warning hits and they’re trailing in points the home team always manages to pull off some kind of miracle and send the fans home happy. Trust me, if it weren’t for the people in this room none of us would even be here today to have this conversation. Come on, what’s the worst that could happen?” said Sully, pretending to take a sip of his Chalice to block his mouth as he leaned in and muttered in an attempt to let only Ruby hear. “I’m willing to even rep Greenwood in those small meetings if you want so you won’t even have to deal with these bozos.”

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”Interactions”: Layla @Estylwen Leon @AtomicEmperor
The House on the Hill

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This wasn’t happening.

The others were just going to let them walk out of the room.

One blatant threat and any sense of righteousness was dropped.

Cowards.

They were just here for themselves, after all, only interested in protecting their own necks, the only other two apparently giving a damn either hoping to die or seemingly unable to.

Cowards.

She fit right in.

Coward.

Sloane stared at her shoes, fixating on a scuff in the polished leather that she’d never noticed before as the chatter around her turned into a humming static. The noise was annoying, nearly as frustrating as the damage to her once pristine boots, and nowhere near as infuriating as the thoughts crashing around in her mind and threatening to burst out. She tried to quell them, focusing again on the cracked leather, ignoring how Sully had gotten in her way, or how Britney had gone against her word, or how stupid Sloane had been to believe that woman would ever do anything right. She tried to ignore how Ruby was insulting them for their inability to function when she’d offered poor guidance and her own people had done nothing but quip and huddle around their own.

Sloane even tried to ignore how Auri had, yet again, failed to even attempt to play the role of mediator she had unrightfully claimed, her seeming indifference and inaction in the moment shifting her performance from mediocrity to borderline maliciousness. She just focused on the scuff. It was way more important than the fact that they were allowing a dangerous and untrustworthy man to take a young woman away to perform some kind of ritual. Layla wanted to go, so let her go. It wasn’t like there was a massive history of groups like the Temple manipulating decent but lonely or scared people, isolating them by saying the world sees them as “freaks”, and getting them to agree to commit horrible, seemingly insane ideas through love bombing and veiled threats. Just let it go. In the grand scheme of things, Layla, Alizée, Leon, the Temple, none of them mattered. The only thing that mattered was getting that annoying little scuff buffed out.

Like you care about anyone but yourself.

The Chrysalis Staff softly clattered to the ground as Sloane watched the scuff start to move forward. This was stupid. There was no need to get involved. It was none of her business. She should just focus on her own survival. Her footsteps quickened as they moved past fresh sneakers, dirty boots, and blood stained floorboards. Don’t pursue this. There were bigger fish, more pressing matters. Kari, Emily, Father Wolf. Sloane at last looked up, brushing past Bé and his entourage, never having a chance the whole meeting to say more than a single word, lacking Lynn’s foresight. In the moment they didn’t matter. Right now, there was only one thing that mattered as Sloane left the bar in pursuit.

“Layla!” shouted Sloane, pushing through the front door.

The taillights of Greyson’s car were the ones to respond, saying it was too late to try to care now.

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

Like, this wouldn't notify me, right?

Estylwen

You'd think.

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

@Ruby My apologies for the disturbance, I'm not sure how I'm tagging you. ^^; Thank you, though!

@Estylwen

Quoting someone tags them and sends them a notification, so quoting a character with the same name as a user would do it.

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

rip Alizee x2

@Shin Ghost Note

Spoilers for Part 2

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

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Interactions: Anya @Fernstone
The House on the Hill

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Back during the summer that should have been her last, Sloane had felt like little more than a burden whenever she was caught out in the field against the Stygian Snake’s minions. She had been passed over and sidelined more than once due to spells lacking the hit like those used by Drake or the utility offered by someone like Stormy. An almost resentful determination to not be remembered as a useless burden had spurred her on to play the decoy in their final fight with the Snake, and if not for Jade she would’ve only been remembered by her initials and a cryptic title carved in the trunk of some old tree. After everything was settled, Sloane took it upon herself to learn to fight, focusing on fencing due to the erroneous belief that inevitably Ashley would give in to Sloane’s will and hand her over the Apparition Killer. It never happened, but thanks to the lessons she had improved her reflexes and strength. She could hold her own.

At least Sloane thought she could until now. The problem with training with a combat sport is that it is a sport. There are rules, regulations, and a referee present to reinforce them. Sloane with her knockoff staff held out before her like a foil was prepared for this “Alizée” to rush her or throw a chain. She was ready to adjust her positioning when one of the others took this opportunity to dogpile on Alizée. What she hadn’t anticipated was for someone in the crowd to come after her. Sloane saw the mad dog Leon rushing at her out of the corner of her eye. She was no match for his speed. The staff flew out of her left hand as Sloane frantically grabbed for her knife with her right, anticipating the swipe of his claws as she took a step back, tangled her leg up in her knocked over chair as she stumbled but stayed standing, and defensively crossed her arms over her face, tucked her chin to her chest, and closed her eyes as she waited for the mauling.

”Sloane,” she heard Anya say.

Sloane had experienced enough near deaths to know that they weren’t this painless. Either she was alive or Leon had finished her with one strike, but judging by how fast her heart was still beating it had to be the former. She opened her eyes, still somewhat shielded by her arms, and saw Anya holding the Chrysalis Staff out towards her. Sloane quickly snatched it back without a single show of gratitude like a selfish, spoiled brat who’d caught their sister playing with their favorite new toy. She swung the staff up once again, her teeth gritted, a rare display of fury in her eyes as she leveled it towards Alizée but drifted the end at Leon before dropping the business end to point at the ground as the Apparition surrendered.

Sloane rolled her eyes and planted them firmly on the ceiling. If the room had fallen silent they would’ve heard the sound of Sloane’s joints popping as her body, in a faltering attempt to keep her annoyance and anger sealed inside, tightened like a screw being drilled so deeply into a piece of wood that it split the plank. But no, they were all insistent on making noise, all offering up their two cents worth of valueless currency with what to do about this imposter Apparition. It was a sure sign that the coven’s faux democratic, wholly anarchistic approach to problem solving was utterly asinine when the one making the most sense was Linqian—even Anya wanted to hear Alizée out, unfortunately prompting Britney to continue acting like she was the voice of authority.

And then, ”... Hear me out! There are some people who would pay big-money for some freaky-deeky chain bondage. We pimp you out to them and make bank.”

A noise squeaked out of Sloane like she’d just been stabbed in the gut as she shut her eyes and clenched her jaw together like a vise. It wasn’t helping that stupid Jasper was either completely ignorant or just burying everything Sloane had done for St. Portwell. Anya would be close enough to hear the frustrated, humming chorus of shut up, shut up, shut up trapped inside of Sloane’s throat as she massaged her temple. It was impossible to tell if the shut ups were directed at Britney, at Jasper, or a mantra meant solely to keep Sloane in check as she attempted the herculean task of remaining civil in the presence of guests.

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Interactions: Lila @NoriWasHere Ruby & Britney@Shin Ghost Note Alizee &Layla@Estylwen Leon@AtomicEmperor
The House on the Hill

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“Could I borrow your healer?” asked Lila.

Oh, wait, that was him.

“I’m on it!”

Sully picked his jaw up from where it had dropped on the ground after witnessing Leon hit Alizée so hard that it had apparently caused a goddamn explosion which had pulped Alizée’s arm in the blast. He hustled over to Lila, her strange avian features becoming increasingly mundane given the presence of shadow kid, kink gal, and juicing wolfman. Instead of doing the sensible thing and just lifting the Chalice to Lila’s mouth so she could drink from it, Sully popped open the plastic stopper on one of the squirt guns and began filing it up with the elixir. Blood red liquid poured over the outside of the toy gun as it overflowed due to Sully still being distracted by Leon and his perfect,flowing, dumb hair and his stupid, incredible body. How was he even taller? Some guys had all the luck. Leon got magical steroids and Sully got a cup.

“Open wide, baby bird. Mama’s here,” said Sully. He blasted Lila with the healing elixir from the squirtgun, inadvertently leaning too heavily on the trigger as he kept looking back at Leon, the endless flow of the Chalice turning what should’ve been just a few spritzes into a steady spray of elixir. A few drops was likely all that Lila would need to patch herself up, but if they didn’t duck out of the way of the stream they would become a picture perfect portrayal of a telekinetic prom queen seconds before she massacres a school. Sully’s face jumped in surprise as he looked back. “Oh shit! My bad, Lila. Let me get a towel.”

Sully lumbered back behind the bar, drifting in on the conversation as he searched for a rag to clean up the mess he’d made. It hit him odd when Luca insisted that this Apparition Alizée wasn’t a person. Sully didn’t know much about the paranormal. Like he got the general gist about everything, but he’d never truly done any real deep digging into all of the nuances or classifications. The curiosity just had not been there when he was younger. Learning that things like ghosts were real would be kind of like learning that there was life on other planets—like okay, cool, but does it really affect his day to day when he’s just trying to earn enough dosh to buy a new set of tires for his truck? Nah. Once the Stygian Snake was stopped all of this kind of stopped mattering. It was background noise. Problems for other people to solve.

Still, now that he thought about it did it really matter if Apparitions weren’t people? They were like people. It sounded like they had thoughts, wants, and desires. The Kid certainly had some strong opinions with the way he was always (often correctly) calling assholes assholes and had some kind of sense of justice with wanting to see Ashley avenged. Even Alizée had just been waxing poetically about love, even if the object of her affection had been a handsy ball that, if it had been an actual person, would have to register itself on a list and not be allowed to live within one thousand feet of a school. Sully shook his head, clearing that thought clean from it like an etch-a-sketch.

The point was he agreed with Britney: give the ghost a chance. She’d agreed to drop the whole searching for the Void Heart thing, so everything seemed gravy to Sully. It was another person…uh, another sentient? Another being? Oh, whatever, it was someone else that could help them take down Father Wolf and stop 8th Street from harassing them. Sully bent down behind the bar, rummaging through dusty shelves in search of a towel. When he came back up with a rag in hand he saw that Layla was in the grasp of Alizée.

“Where is he?!” demanded Alizée, immediately going back on her word about searching for the Void Heart. “Where have they sealed him?”

“Eww bitch, you literally just said you wouldn’t!” shouted Sully, chucking the towel at Alizée in disappointment. “Have some self-respect! That thingy is a creep!”

“A bunch of idiots! There you fucking have it! We gave her her fucking undeserved moment, Jasper!” exploded Sloane, stomping her foot down as she leveled her staff, ready to zap Alizée if she attempted to resist. “And she blew it, so stop projecting your guilt on us. Come on, Britney. Do it.”

“Wait wait wait, we shouldn’t get ahead of ourselves,” said Sully, stepping forward between Alizée and Sloane, temporarily blocking a shot. “Leon and Layla might have a plan. Plus, Ruby said she’s just scared and in disbelief. Maybe it’s like a Stockholm Syndrome kind of thing?”

“RUBY IS FUCKING HIGH AND THOSE TWO ARE CULTISTS!!!” screamed Sloane, shifting to lineup a clear shot.

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

@EstylwenWhile it's your call if Sloane's curse would even work on Alizée, Leon will be successful in disarming her so feel free to have the curse immeidately drop so Alizée can go full Pinhead on our favorite Werewolf.

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

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Interactions: Edict@AtomicEmperor Ruby@Shin Ghost Note Anya @Fernstone Alizee Deux@Estylwen
The House on the Hill

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Sully would say everything was going well for a Coven meeting. Sure, sure, Linqian was going off on Anya and showing that Sycamore, as a whole, lacked cohesion. Sure, sure, Layla must’ve taken too big of a rip from Aislin’s bong before the meeting that had sparked some kind of panic attack, spouting out what sounded like harebrained, paranoia induced conspiracy theories. At least Sully assumed that was the case, unable to imagine that Layla was willfully deluding herself to the point where she’d just ignored Alizée’s attempted kidnapping of Jess simply to stir shit. Worst of all, the pizza place had totally stiffed them on those little yellow peppers that come on the side. Still, nobody had pointed a magical sword against anybody’s throat and the pistol had been put away instead of placed against a head so, overall, pretty good. Ruby was even busting out the weed. Maybe she’d share it for once.

Across the bar Sully heard someone quietly cough.

"Now, I do wanna ask: If y'all already shacked up with 317 and The Temple? And you claim the kill for the nastiest Nazi on the west coast since Walt Disney? Th'fuck do you need to get wrapped up in our business for? Lynette put you up to it or something?" said Greyson.

Sully heard another faint cough as Greyson lit his cigarette.

“You cut that cigarette with more than tobacco, Greyson? She doesn’t have anything to do with Greenwood, man,” said Sully after Greyson finished, confusing the Lynette that Greyson had been referencing and jerking his thumb towards Dominguez. “Anyway, Ruby already said why they’re helping us out. Greenwood’s good people. And Sycamore might be a little disorganized, and maybe some people can’t stand each other, but from what I’ve seen Sycamore’s good people too.”

Mostly, anyway. No point in highlighting that though. Sully wanted Greenwood and Sycamore to work together. He couldn’t understand why Linqian and Greyson would go out of their way to point out that Greenwood was definitely getting the short end of the stick here. If Sully took a moment to look a little bit deeper, maybe he would’ve realized that Greenwood lacked something that Sycamore had: numbers. Only a fraction of the Coven had bothered responding to Auri’s call to arm, but they still outnumbered the Greenwood Coven nearly three to one. After all, Greenwood’s greatest accomplishment—taking out Das Sonnenrad—hadn’t been achieved on their own. That was something that Sully didn’t know.

However, Sloane knew. She coughed again into her fist, annoyed that the others were smoking indoors. 8th Street also claimed to be responsible for the destruction of Das Sonnenrad, but Sloane was aware they had outside help. She just never got an answer as to who the help was until now. She wondered if it had just been an “enemy of my enemy” situation, or if Greenwood’s roots expanded further beneath 8th Street than that. She leaned over to Anya in a move that looked as if she was going to say something secretly disparaging about Linqian.

“Greenwood’s worked with 8th Street,” she whispered so that only Anya could hear.

Perhaps it meant nothing.

Perhaps they were being played.

Sloane raised her hand again, waiting her turn.

“I get why you’d be suspicious of others, Greyson, but there’s no hustle here. If people don’t want to return the favor after Greenwood helps us settle our problems that’s no problem. It’s an alliance, not a takeover. You’re free to scurry back to run whatever legitimate business whenever. It’s cool, man. Th others will help,” said Sully, turning his attention to Ruby as if he was trying to convince her this was true. “We’ve all had a rough go, but when times get tough Sycamore always pulls through. This is the best for everyone here.”

Sully mouthed “trust me”. Before he could continue his appeal, he was interrupted by Sloane. “Excuse me, I have another ques—”

Sloane coughed, this time involuntarily, as a wisp of smoke tickled her nose. Okay, fuck this tact nonsense. She had managed to keep her cool when Linqian had pointlessly gone off on Anya and she had chosen to ignore Ruby’s eye rolling, but smoking inside was an unforgivable transgression of a shared space. Her head snapped between Greyson and Ruby, unable to determine who to bury under a mountain of shame, when her vision was drawn towards Jack as Sully hollered out, “What the hell is that?”

Something thin and skeletal ripped out of a portal and grabbed Jack by the collar. It started to speak, but its words were lost to the sound of blood pumping in Sloane’s ears as she moved to defend one of her few friends. Her sometimes annoying, boundary ignoring friend, but a friend nonetheless. A growl in her throat erupted into a roar as she grabbed the Chrysalis Staff.

“Can we not have just one,” Sloane screamed, turning towards the apparition as she jumped form her seat.

“Normal.”

Her chair clattered to the ground.

“FUCKING!”

She pointed the staff at Alizée.

“MEETING!?”

A swarm of spectral, blue butterflies burst from around the Chrysalis Staff, crystalizing instantaneously and crashing upon the ground where they shattered into a fine powder. The tip of the staff pulsated between a dim blue and orange light as Sloane tried to curse Alizée, wisps of orange light leaving trails of blue lux crawled around Alizée’s body like larva. As long as the staff stayed on the apparition, assuming it could even work on one, Alizée would begin to feel her body start to harden and become more and more difficult to move until she would be turned into nothing more than a colorful statue.