MacabreFox

Cold Front

Somewhere over the Beirut Strait
Flight 122 - Northwest Airlines, February 23rd

Journal Entry - 02/23/1969

It seems just like yesterday that I found myself outside of the dean's office, or even, better yet, when I found myself sharing a dorm room with Penny, Jane, and Ellie. Now, here I am, quite literally starting my life over. For what? Because I allowed an unstable, egotistical maniac to control my life? It breaks my heart to know that all of those fond memories that I shared with Lance, are forever tainted, eternally darkened by his ludicrous behaviour. While Penny and them begged me to leave him, my parents urged me to stay. They said he would change. They said it was stress; and I so foolishly believed them. I wonder if their marriage is the same? Is that why they never argued around Max and I? There are so many questions running through my head, racing headlong, going 120mph a minute with no sign of slowing down anytime soon. Stress from what? Couldn't he see how happy I was with my job? What more could he ask of me? What more could he want? While my heart is silently splitting in two, I know that by leaving the country, in a literal sense, I won't have to face my demons. I am sad, yet happy. Like yin and yang. I am two opposites, while, at the same time, I am whole. For Lance, I will never be good enough for him, but in my eyes, I know that I am everything that I have ever dreamed of becoming.

I have heard of these shrines in Japan, the people there, as I have researched, share a religion similar to paganism, yet bares a striking resemblance to Buddhism. Perhaps when I reach Tokyo, this is where my first destination will be. I also hear, that there are an exciting amount of people in the city. I want to experience it all, the food, the culture, the people. Everything. I know I will never get another chance in my life. I am thoroughly excited that Adam suggested I take this trip before I became any older, the burdens of life would have hindered me, especially if I were to settle down and marry, let alone have children. Strangely enough, I never have thought much of children, certainly, they are tiny bundles of joy, but to dedicate every minute, of every day to them, is a taxing endeavour. Besides, my energy could be spent elsewhere for better purposes.

Now, I will sleep. I will write more when I land. Every where I strain to look, there is an endless expanse of frighteningly deep, dark blue water, almost black in color. Dark like my thoughts. Dark like my soul. Dark like the sadness I carry in my heart.

Cold. Wet. Smoke? A wave of events washed over her fried brain, forcing her to the brink of nearly passing out. What the hell happened? That was a damn good question. The last thing she remembered was watching a great burst of fire erupt from the wing. The plane shook, a drastic loss in altitude, terrified passengers screamed in horror at the reality that they would be crashing, just like the captain had blurted out, the fear evident in his own voice. Luggage had fallen free from the overhead compartments, and she vaguely remembered her head slamming into the window. A fierce ache in her arm forced her to stir as she came to terms with her surroundings. The man that sat next to her, the one that had tried to talk to her before take-off, which Athena politely evaded, lay still, slumped over in his seat, held in place by his simple lap-belt. Reaching out with a hand, Athena tried to wake her fellow passenger.

"Hey, mister..." His body moved like a limp rag doll, head rolling on his neck. A bubble of fear and concern began to grow in the pit of her stomach. Somewhere up ahead, a fire burned steadily, eating away at the leather seats and the carpeted flooring. Fumbling with the metal clasp that secured her in place, her eyes darted frantically around the cabin, it was then that her eyes wandered out to look at the window, snow. Snow and pine trees. Snow, pine trees, a lake, and a grey outline of a mountain range in the distance. They certainly had not crash-landed anywhere near Japan. Perhaps Siberia? Or maybe somewhere further down the Pacific coast line, near China perhaps? Well shit, Siberia was an expansive wasteland, few inhabitants, and certainly no sign of civilization.

When the buckle gave way, Athena staggered to her feet in a rush. Instantly, a mirage of swirling colours came to dance before her eyes, practically blinding her. Grunting, she blinked rapidly in hopes to clear away the colorurs. Sliding past the man, uncertain if he was unconscious or dead, likely dead, as she presumed from the amount of blood that poured out of his ears, she made her way into the aisle.

Everyone get off the goddamned plane!

She turned her head in the direction of the voice to see an older black man sporting an emergency axe. Other passengers that were conscious had begun to stir, as if coming to reality with the horrendous fact that they had indeed crashed, quite possibly, in the middle of nowhere. Another passenger had stirred, and escaped the confines of the airplane seatbelt, stumbled into the aisle way, and hastily yanked his suitcase free from the compartment above.

"Hey. Hey wait for me!" She croaked, her throat unnaturally parched. The compartment in which she had stowed her luggage opened during the descent of the plane, the red leather suitcase was easy to spot amongst the blue-and-white interior of the plane. Tears filled her eyes, and a hard lump at the back of her throat made it hard for her to breathe. Please don't leave me! She thought, grabbing the spilled contents of the suitcase, and thrusting them back inside.

"HEY! Is anyone else alive?!" Athena managed a weakened cry, hoping to awake any of the other passengers that remained strapped in their seats. The smoke in the torn cabin was thick, yet, an ominously cold gust of air made its way through the interior, sending shivers up her arm. Following after the black man, and the other passenger, she made her way towards the tail of the plane. It was then, as she slipped on loose leaf papers in the aisle way, and fell into an empty chair, an iron-hot pain seared through her bicep. She could feel some type of foreign material lodged in her arm. If she made it out of the plane, she would take her jacket off, and take a look at it.

Cold Front

I do have a post in progress. Hopefully I will finish it tonight .-. Sorry for the delay, unexpected life events.

Cold Front

I apologize for the delay in my post, I am having unexpected computer problems that I am looking to have resolved. It has taken me nearly the entire day to fix this issue. If truly resolved by morning, count on a definite post tomorrow >.>

Cold Front

I'll be busy tomorrow, so if I don't manage to squeeze a post in by then, I'll get one in on Tuesday.

Just one question, is this photo-lab room with the trap door noticeable at all, or is it pretty darn hidden? Also, what would this trap door lead to? A compartment to the outside?

The Elder Scrolls: Fruits of Contention - Chapter 1 (Completed)

Aboard the Courtesan

Meanwhile…

Onboard the wounded ship, with the hole in the hull modestly patched with the sail, Bjorn, Halvar and Orvar struggled with the other greenhorn sailors to erect a makeshift sail, because, of course, Leif had so graciously cut it down, and then, there was the incident of the Nord woman, Solveig, crashing face first into the wooden mast. Surprisingly, she had survived the fall, and was carted off to the last remaining dinghy, how bad of shape she was in, remained to be seen. While the sailors worked in a hasty manner, Captain Atgeir called from the wheel that there was trouble afoot on the shoreline. Stopping in his work to scour the beaches, Leif spotted torchlight flickering in a cave, where mysterious figures in bonemould armor descended upon the survivors in the dinghy. Swearing vehemently, angered that he could not do anything to help, Leif simply kept himself distracted, it would do no good to worry over Sevine, or the others for that matter. Were he to try and jump ship, he would not make it far with his longsword, for he would certainly face an impending death in the swirling icy waters below. The sailors that had gone below deck to chuck the water overboard had retrieved the belongings of those that had left their packs behind, and brought it above deck to avoid any damage.

Miraculously, as the Courtesan limped into the beach, Leif could see that the attackers were Dunmeri in origin. More importantly, approaching from the inland, came a group of people dressed in curious, red and black leathers. His first initial thought emerged as that they were assassins, members of the Dark Brotherhood, but hadn’t they been erased? As the Courtesan docked, more or less, ropes were flung aside the wooden railing for those that remained aboard to repel down. However, one particular Dunmer, Kattun, the priest they had rescued from the shores east of the College, acted in a rather heedless manner, for instead of climbing down the rope, hand-over-hand, he forgot himself and plummeted feet first into the water. Shaking his head in dismay at Cat-Kicker’s indignant words, Leif scaled the rope into the water, and helped the Dunmer to the dinghy. Kattun muttered a whimpered thanks to him as Leif delivered him to his companion, R’ihanna. When he had finished there, Leif trudged through the shallows, his trousers soaked to the knees, sloshing his way to the sandy beach.

“Sevine!” He called, scanning those that had engaged in battle. He knew Sevine to be one of them, for she was not in the dinghy like R’ihanna. Rather, he found her descending on the Khajiit that had healed her wounded leg in the riot at Windhelm. How could he forget his name? Do’Karth.

---

After dispatching the armiger who lost his hand to her axe, Sevine whirled around looking for her next opponent, when she spotted Do’Karth. While she doubted that he could hold his ground for much longer, she was surprised to see him sweep his opponent off their feet with a quick swipe of his staff. She headed his way when she heard a familiar voice calling her. It was Leif. While she recalled that Do’Karth had a code against killing, she took it upon herself to deliver the final blow. With one clean swipe, cleaved the armiger’s head off. A bloody stump for a neck sprayed a fountain of blood onto the sand below. If she could help it, she wouldn’t leave any survivors, but it appeared that the new arrivals of people in crimson-black leathers did an excellent job of cleaning up their enemies.

“You made it!” She said, breaking out into a grin, noting that the Courtesan had actually beached itself along the shoreline. Well that was a relief to be had, at least the ship hadn’t gone down. He embraced her with a surge of excitement, perhaps in a spiteful act to instill the fact that Do’Karth would never share the bond that he did with Sevine.

A cuff of her hand to the back of his head, and Sevine found herself on her feet. “Haven’t I told you not to pick me up off my feet?” She badgered, clucking her tongue in annoyance. With his pride hurt, Leif could only turn his gaze away from her, ok, so perhaps she wasn’t as accepting of his hugs as he would have liked. Then again, she never had been before.

“Who are these people?” Leif asked in a desperate attempt to regain control of the conversation.

“Dunno, they just showed up out of nowhere. Maybe they’re enemies of these blokes?” She stood with her hands planted firmly on her hips as she surveyed the carnage. Solveig, on the other hand, had rampaged across the sands, and withdrew her embedded spearhead from an armiger’s neck. Well, at least she had feeling return to her face. Sevine and Leif stood alongside one another, waiting for the chaos to subside.

The Jolly Roughers ~ Dervish & MacabreFox

As he spoke, his words snaring her mind like a fox caught in the clutches of an iron bear trap, Vera could not break her focus. She nodded accordingly, smiling on occasion, when he winked even more so. His company was a welcome peace to the monotony of her life, and as she sat in her chair, bowl of stew finished, her ghost of a smile waned as he began to describe his life on the front lines. Hearing this, while she overheard many of the Roughers telling their stories of war, she had never heard anything like this before, not a first-hand account, in a personal setting with no other noise to disturb her, no pestering customers, no blundering drunks to curtail. Even the hair on her arms rose when Shay mentioned how he felt nothing for killing the vengeful Jepson that sought to put a bullet in her, keeping her safe was the only thing that he had on his mind. Equally surprising to her, was the way he articulated his words when explaining the difficulty of the shot; simply technical, words that meant nothing to her, yet at the same time, did mean something. Is this why Samuel never broached the topic with her? Because she could not begin to understand what it meant to serve in a war full of sheer brutality, slaughtering men as young as you, yet viewing it with a technical eye, one that masked the underlying feelings of those that served?

“I am proud to know you then, Mr. Alden, for you are a brave man. I cannot begin to understand the suffering you endured on the fields of battle, but allow me to say this, I am most happy that you of all people survived.” She remained seated in her chair, her eyes lingered on him, yet she did not see him, for her thoughts were elsewhere at the time. When she broke her train of faraway thoughts, Vera rose from her chair, and collected the dishes from the table before heading into the tiny kitchen.

“I’ll wash these, get some rest then; we have a long day ahead of us, one that will require us to be sharp in mind.” Her voice stayed soft like velvet, one that a mother would use to soothe a crying babe in the midst of the night.

Whereas Vera kept herself busy with the small load of dishes, Shay readied his bed on the couch for the evening. Her thoughts were in another place, distant, preoccupied with a coagulated mess of incoherent lines. To her surprise, as she must have expected more dishes, Vera found herself reaching for another dish, when there was not one to be had. Red palms clutched the edge of the metal sink, watching as the water drained away, she could feel the distracting tug on the edges of her mind, as if pins and needles were being driven into the base of her skull, as well as into her eyes. Rubbing away the sensation with the back of her hands did little to ease the suffering. Turning out the light in the small living room, Vera tiptoed her way back to the bedroom.

Sleep avoided her like a forlorn ghost wandering the halls of some desolate mansion, but those halls were in her mind. She tossed and turned, her mind calling out to her, taunting her. Strands of dark brown hair clung to her neck and to her temples, her throat felt full of sound, and the pain in her eyes did not abide. Tugging off the flannel pajamas in a desperate attempt to pacify the thoughts that danced feverishly in her mind, and to cool her sweating body, she pressed her face into the pillow, and uttered a pained moan. All she wanted was to hold the brown pipe, press the stem to her lips, and inhale the miraculous smoke of opium. For what felt like hours, Vera’s concentration could not be quelled, rather every sound magnified the agony she felt. When the neighbors across the hall returned from what seemed like a late night party, their stumbling footsteps, drunken grunts, and slamming of doors kept her further awake. She had half the intention to talk some sense into them through a fist being thrown, yet she did not want to disturb Shay. Instead, she found relief by cracking the window, allowing a chilling breeze to fill the room, her brow dried for once. By now, she could hear a gentle snore, what time it was, she still could not determine, for the snowfall outside the solitary bedroom window illuminated the room with an eerie orange glow, white snow reflecting off the street lamps. Eventually, sleep descended on her, and before she knew it, she had fallen asleep. Only to be greeted with twisted, demented dreams, one that felt familiar; a dream that she had dreamt before.

'White vapors rose into the air as the gentle click of mary-jane’s met the surface of the sidewalk, the air was frigid, snow blanketed the benches and formed icicles above the wooden hanging shop signs. A soft mewling drew her attention to a darkened alleyway, one where she spotted a calico kitten shivering in the snow. Her heart dropped, if she could catch the kitten, she knew that she could give the poor creature a warm, loving home. Entering the alleyway, the kitten drew away from her, the mewling echoing off the brick walls.

“Oh come here your poor thing, you’ll die of cold if you don’t come.” She drew her scarf closer around her neck to keep the cold out, even her ears stung from the biting wind.

The alleyway seemed infinite, no matter how fast she raced headlong, she could not close the distance between her and the kitten. Just then, as the light faded from the world, she came to a stop, standing before a tall brick wall. It was then that she heard the menacing chuckle, one that she knew all too well. A hard lump formed in her throat, making it hard to breathe let alone swallow. Something caressed her neck, and she shied away from the potential threat. Tears sprung to her eyes when she felt rough, calloused hands circling her throat. A thought in the back of her mind called out to her, trying to warn her of the coming danger, yet she could find the strength to move, as if she were frozen in place.

“I didn’t e’pect to see yeh agin so soon, mah dearie. Mah, what a pretty young thing yeh are. O’ hush yer crying eyes nah, I ain’t dun a thing to yeh yet.” The voice, hauntingly familiar, whispered in her ear, his breath tickling her neck. Shutting her eyes tight, she made a desperate attempt to block out what would happen next. There it was, the hem of her skirt lifted, where rough, stubby fingers fumbled with the metal clasps of her garter belt. The pungent smell of bile and whiskey filled the air, her own bile rose up in her throat, nearly choking her with fear. The hand remained fastened to her neck like an iron shackle, increased in strength. When the first metal clasp came away, and the sheer black stocking fell down past her knee, she began to struggle, yet it did nothing to aid her in the fight to free herself. Where was her gun?! Hadn’t she put it in her coat pocket? But wait, when she went to fetch the revolver, she found that she wore no coat at all, rather, she was standing stark naked before her phantom attacker. The hand choking her continued its pressure, her eyes bulged out of their very sockets, while her hands clawed urgently at the hand that held her in place, all she needed was to breathe. Then came the second garter clasp, and the tickling sensation as the delicate fabric fell away. Sobs escaped, tears pouring, fear filled her chest. She would die here.

The man hoisted her leg up with his arm, his body pressing into the bare flesh of her body. Struggling in his drunken stupor, he released her throat as his hand wandered to fumble with the buckle of his belt. She could hear him shimmying out of his trousers, the warmth of his skin against her naked skin.

“No!” She cried. Vera bolted upright, her skin plastered with sweat. She found herself not in the darkened alleyway, but in the borrowed bed of Shay Alden. A wary hand ventured to her throat, where she could have sworn that a hand had been there seconds ago. Returning to the mattress, Vera's blue eyes stared at the ceiling, her mind paralyzed with grief, shame, and anxiety. Swearing silently under her breath, all she wanted to do was forget the horrid dream and return to the graces of sleep. Yet, from the glow of the outside world that filtered in through the window, she could tell that it was somewhere near dawn, perhaps four or five o'clock. Sleep did not come, leaving her to remain with her troubled thoughts as she waited for Shay to awake.

When she did hear him stir from sleep, or at least the sound of feet against the wooden floorboards, did she begin to dress herself, her nose detecting the precious smell of cooking bacon which elicited a fierce stomach growl, demanding that she give her body precious sustenance. After making up his bed proper, she discovered Shay standing in front of the wood-burning stove with an array of pans set before him, holding delicious breakfast morsels. She smiled halfheartedly, one that would appear sad yet welcome, as she was happy to find that her nightmare was simply that, a dream that had tormented her. While the thought to ask Shay if she had bothered him during the night emerged, Vera withheld the notion, instead she went to freshen up in the lavatory. The face that reflected back at her, bore a haunted appearance, with dark circles under her eyes. Shortly after, Vera ventured out to set the table proper for two, eager to be of some help to her generous host.

With breakfast over, a rather quiet meal save for the exchange of common pleasantries, the dishes washed and dried, the two of them departed from Couch’s End borough and made their way over to the Tawdry. When they arrived, they would find John Kirby waiting for them. As the Tawdry was nearly empty of occupants, they had the luxury of enjoying the privacy the green painted tavern. Here, Jonny provided more inclusive details precarious to the evening’s task. Mr. Tindall, a man of high-social standing, sought help from the Rougher's. They were to meet with him, and if he believed that Shay and Vera could handle the task, he would agree to compensate them heavily, as well as grant them the use of his moving trucks to use for their moving operations. The task? Meet with Mr. and Mrs. Von Goethe, an eccentric, fashionable couple in the aristocratic class. Mr. Tindall was a man well-known amongst the class members as a luxury art dealer. He provided everything they could ever need, from renaissance marble statues, to early 17th century paintings, even treasures unearthed in Egypt. However, the request for a particular painting arose from one of his closest clients, the painting, as it would be, belonged to the Von Goethe’s. They would need to smuggle the painting out of their estate, and return it to Mr. Tindall. He believed they would not even notice the missing piece, for the Von Goethe's were art collector's themselves. As to what painting it was exactly, Jonny did not know. Mr. Tindall would first determine if they were suitable, and if they were, he would reveal the location of their estate. Now all they had to do, was attend the arranged meeting at the White Star, where Eris Hawkins would see to their every need that evening as their personal waitress. The two departed from the Tawdry shortly after, and made their way to Pollard & Hobbs Threads to retrieve Shay’s suit.

A Meeting of Intrigue and Schemes

---

---

January 28th 16:45p.m. – The White Star - Greenwich, London

Strolling into the White Star left Vera feeling apprehensive, dancing dangerously on the end of her nerves. Truly, this club, was a place of exotic luxury, where scantily clad women in sheer beaded dresses served men and women alike of notable repute. Smoke from cigarettes and cigars blanketed the air, even the occasional reefer could be smelt within the establishment. The hostess, when Vera told her that they were there to meet a Mr. Tindall, she nodded knowingly, and escorted them to a secluded table located in the far corner of the room. She apologized for his absence, saying that his car was giving him troubles, to which she readily accepted, the snow that had fallen during the course of the night, practically blanketed the entire city in a white veil. The streets were treacherous to navigate, with ice hidden under the fresh, powdery snow. In the meantime, as they waited, Vera tugged anxiously on the sheer black lace trim of her silkdress. Paired with a set of black seamed stockings, and pair of Mary Jane's, she fit in with the surrounding club scene, for what women were there so far at this hour, she did not draw any noticeable attention. Then again, through the haze of smoke, it made it difficult to discern who the White Star's patrons were; if there were any rivals of the Rougher's it would be near impossible to tell. Painted in an eerie black, save for hidden alcoves, such as the one in where they sat, painted gold, the walls of the White Star gave the impression of privacy, yet at the very same time, one of claustrophobia. The curtains themselves were made of the finest black velvet, held back with giant golden circle tiebacks. Drumming her fingers against the black marble tabletop in earnest, she glanced at Shay, and forced a smile, one that she hoped would reflect the attitude she wanted to obtain.

“You look rather dashing in that suit, Mr. Alden.” That, she did not force, for he did look quite the gentleman; one that even Samuel would admire, that much was certain. A stout gold candelabra acted as the centerpiece on the table bore two crimson candles, the only color contrast between the blend of black and gold, the flames flickered gently emitting a sense of intimacy. Her eyes fluttered away, distracted by the waitresses in the club. Shimmering beads that caught the light of the candles gave the women an ethereal appearance; creatures that fluttered from patron to patron, table to table, lounge chair to lounge chair, carrying trays full of crystalline champagne glasses, or tiny tea sandwiches. Just then, she watched in astonishment as a woman sporting only a beaded skirt, chest bare, with nipples pierced with pearl studs, sauntered with an air of nonchalance towards a gilded platform positioned on the opposite side of the room across from the bar, there she began to sway her hips, hands held high above her head; a bizarre dance to the erratic rhythm of the jazz band that played on a similar raised dais. Above the dais, a golden chandelier with tiers upon tiers of crystals, maybe even diamonds, sparkled from the candlelight. A part of her felt disgusted, how could these women subject themselves to such humiliating circumstances? Surely, they had enough sense of self-respect? Concealing her nervousness would be hard to do, even if she tried, it wouldn’t hide the way she sat on edge, nor the way she chewed worriedly on her lower lip.

“I wonder if Emory has ever visited here, can’t say that I would be too proud of my lover to be working in a place like this.” She grumbled, more to herself than to Shay; she spoke of course, of Emory's long-time girlfriend, Eris Hawkins, she held a position here at the White Star as a cocktail waitress, yet she never had the chance to actually visit the exclusive night club, popular in all of London, especially in the Greenwich area. “They’d half to pay me an awful lot of money.”

Just then, a woman with dark, reddish-brown hair piled high atop her head, secured with a crown of draping pearls, approached their table. Vera knew her to be Eris, as aforementioned, though she suppressed a wave of surprise on actually seeing the woman in her workplace. Like the other cocktail waitresses, Eris wore an elaborate, albeit, almost nonexistent, beaded dress, if one could even call it a dress. “Shay! Vera!” She slid into the opposing seat that remained open to Mr. Tindall, whenever he did arrive, a cheeky grin plastered on her face. Eris frequented the Tawdry to visit with Emory, and of course, Vera served her countless free drinks. Many ladies of the Rougher's received free drinks from Frankie and Vera, just like their counterparts, they didn't have to sacrifice a single pound.

“Em’ told me that you two would be here on official business.” She began while with one hand, she reached under the table, and from a mysterious compartment removed a carton of cigarettes and a swatch of matches. An ash tray also materialized from the compartment. With the swipe of a match stick, Eris inhaled deeply on her cigarette before emitting a cloud of smoke high above their heads, waving out the flaming match before tossing it into the ashtray.

“Would you like one, Vera?” Eris asked, sliding the carton and matches toward her. Without a word, Vera accepted the cigarettes readily, her lips puckering around the butt as it gave off an orange glow. “I have to say, you both are rather dolled up tonight, like some fancy sheik or sheba going out for a night of incredible escapades. So, before I forget… is there anything I can get for you? Shelton, my boss, told me that you're to be my only table tonight, until business is finished of course."

The Elder Scrolls: Fruits of Contention - Chapter 1 (Completed)

I should have a post up tomorrow. Also, just a heads up, I will be gone this month from the 21st to the 25th for a business trip.

Formaroth: Battle for the Throne

As TheDuncanMorgan will be gone on vacation in two weeks, I too will be gone around the same time, I will be absent from the 21st to the 25th just so everyone knows.

Cold Front

@MacabreFox Mountains are gorgeous, I love the rivers and trails. I'm in Idaho and its crazy green this time of year, we had a whole bunch of rain and its absolutely beautiful. Nowhere on earth I would rather live. I'm assuming you live in the far west or southwest, have you ever hiked to a mountain peak? Even the smaller ones here are breathtaking to look down from.

@The Survivor

Oh wow! Then yes, it's gorgeous up there (: never been myself, but when I was younger I did a book report on Idaho, we were learning about the states and what not. I remember vaguely about a Devil's Canyon? As for me, I live in New Mexico, though I've moved around a lot the past few years. As for hiking to a mountain peak, not quite, I haven't started from the bottom, to get to the top, but I've started halfway up and hiked the rest to the top.

Spiritum Aeternum; or The Ramshackle Monster Hunters

@Eru Iluvatar I believe we're still waiting?