MadManMoon

Beyond the Looking Glass: A CYOA Magical Girl Roleplay [Completed]

A collaboration with @Ariamis

---

Days in the past, but not many…

The morning light filtering through the revolving doors of The Bowery, a comfy but unassuming hotel in Penrose, was abruptly scattered in the path of three particular youths entering the hotel. The first to enter, a girl with short black hair, scanned the hotel’s lobby with her grey eyes, noting the beautiful, flowery curtains. The second, a blonde girl in a blue coat, turned mid-stride to check over her shoulder to look at the last of their procession, a young man carrying a plain white mug in his left hand. Whereas the other two carried an air of professionalism into the hotel, he passed over the detailed, similarly rose-patterned carpeting with his right hand casually resting inside his hoodie’s pocket, sparing it a glance past the bags under his eyes.

The grey-eyed girl went straight to the Bowery’s front desk, and waited for the day clerk to offer them a room. The clerk greeted them with a smile, and as she confirmed their names, she seemed surprised. “Oh, we have a room available for you on our VIP floor. Just use this keycard on the elevator interface, and it will take you there automatically. Have a pleasant stay.” She gave the card to black-haired girl, and bowed.

When the three individuals did as instructed, and scanned the card on the interface, the elevator began rising up. Then, it stopped at the fifth floor...When the building only had four floors.

The elevator opened up to what looked like a smoky, shaded club, furnished in a vintage style, with roses as the motif. There were tables coated in checkered tablecloths with chairs around them, and a wide bar with unnaturally large bottles of liquor, each at least 10 liters in volume if not even more. There was a stage in the back, where faint black shapes wearing fedoras were playing moody jazz.

Music

The walls were made of transparent glass, with nothing but darkness stretching out past them, just like the ceiling. The only source of light was from vintage streetlights that were inexplicably scattered around the club; they cast a morose, noir glow on various spots, leaving most of the club in a shade. The three soon realized that everything, including even themselves, was devoid of color; there was nothing but black, white, and shades of grey, like in an old movie.

“Greetings, Miss Rhodes.” The three heard the voice of a man coming from the bar; he was draped in shadows, holding a big bottle of wine, and pouring it to the tiniest cup of glass imaginable; however, even when he emptied out the entire bottle, the glass only seemed to get topped, and just as quickly drank away by a single swig.

“Welcome to The Bowery.” The man turned on his stool, and stood up. At that moment, the shadows parted, and revealed his menacing appearance. He snapped his fingers, and a shadowy shape began mixing more drinks, sliding them on the counter. The drinks bizarrely continued sliding in the dark air, until they stopped on the table right next to them, with not a single drop spilled.

“Have yourselves a drink; they’re on the house.”

Collector Delta - that is to say, Annabelle Rhodes - briefly directed her attention to the offered glasses, opening her Third Eye as she did so. The glasses themselves were magical in nature (no surprise there, given how much alcohol went into their host's glass) but the liquids within weren't. Delta didn't think he'd be stupid enough to try lacing them with Ichor, or even how much he knew about it to begin with, but in this business it paid dividends to be sure.

She partly turned her head to Scribe Xi and Lee Richards, nodding slightly. She shifted her gaze back to their host, her Third Eye showing her two more interesting details - that this Interdimensional Apartment belonged to their host, and that said host harbored a lot of power in the general direction of Shadow magic - before she closed it.

“How generous. Was the alcohol made the same time as the decor?” she said, raising a glass with the hint of an approving(?) smile.

“It’s vintage, if that’s what you’re asking,” he answered, stepping closer towards the group.

“Give it just the right amount of aging, and it’s a taste that never gets old.” Once he was about ten meters away, he stopped.
“But I didn’t invite you here to talk trivia, know what I’m sayin’?” He chuckled, the sound reverberating in the bar, causing the bottles on the shelf to jingle.

“You see, my boys and girls have kept an eye on you for a while. You’re new to Penrose, so I thought I’d lend you a hand. Show you the ropes, and whatnot. I’m even willing to deal in some information on more...hot topics.”

"Hot topics only old veterans like yourself can speak easy about?" There was a sound like fingers snapping, and Lee was briefly engulfed in darkness. Three seconds passed, and his outfit had changed. He was also carrying an unloaded tommy gun in his mug hand, the right one still in his jacket pocket. "Like writing up a pink slip with a dozen typewriters?" Lee said, gesturing vaguely with the gun. He turned to look over his shoulder at the band, breaking their host's line of sight to the gun.

When he turned back around he was carrying a mug again. "Ah, but just like we're not here to talk trivia, neither are we measuring each other's..." He gestured towards the glasses with his mug. "Cups. We're here to discuss business, as fellow professionals. It's why we agreed to meet, after all. So why don't we take advantage of your lovely furnishings and do just that?"

The figure’s attention seemed to be drawn at Lee’s mention of the pink slip, but then quickly returned to the jovial expression he had before.

“Glad to hear we’re on the same level; the less explanations I have to make, the better. Ah, I should introduce myself; Al Scarpe. Have a seat.” He sat down, his elbows on the table as he clenched his knuckles.

“Here’s the beef; our business here at the Bowery has kissed the curb. For a couple of reasons.” He leaned back to take something out of his jacket; it was an envelope. “First off, the Golden Grove.” He threw down a photograph on the table, in a manner similar to a playing card in poker. “It’s got a big problem with the conditioning; lots of filth around, it’s a danger to everyone. We need some handymen who can ‘air’ the place out, and clean it.”

Next, he threw down another photograph; it was a mugshot of a girl, with the name Binky written on the back.

“We also lost one of our ‘amicos’. She’s a dear member of the family, so I want her returned safe and sound. If you do this job,” he then took out a Black Coin, and flicked it with his thumb. “You’ll be given due compensation.”

Collector Delta scanned over the photos carefully. “...well, the jobs you want done are interesting enough...” She took a slight sip from her drink.

Scribe Xi spoke up. “If it's all the same to you, though, we'd like to see this in writing.”

"You know how important good bookkeeping is in business, Al. You don't mind if I call you Al?" Lee said, putting down the mug. He took the Coin with his left hand. He turned it over with his fingers as he talked. "It helps keep track of the coin, whether you're really in the black or the red." The Coin vanished mid-trick at that last word. "Making sure no one's cooking in the library," he continued, the Coin visible again as he resumed turning it over. "You know how it is. Dealing in good faith is well and good, so long as you know that faith is good."

Al smiled, and took a swig from his glass. “You’re as shrewd as you’re pretty, miss Rhodes,” he responded, and pulled out another envelope. This one had a wax seal, the emblem on it resembling a black rose. “Lucky for you, I got a contract ready.” With a flick of his wrist, the wax seal burned off in dark flames, and a small sheet of paper flew out; it seemed to be magically animated as it spun down to the table. The terms were simple enough; in exchange for services made, including but not limited to the destruction of the Golden Grove hotel and the retrieval of the target Magical Girl, the Archive would be paid for in Black Coins and intelligence. Scanning the contract with Third Eye would not reveal anything more. “Now watch; I’ll make this pen...Appear.” He pressed his palm to the table, and when he lifted it, a black fountain pen was in his hand. While such a feat would seem mundane in their world, Delta would notice that she couldn’t see any appliance of magic with her Third Eye. “Ta-daah. Now, I just need you to sign it, and we’re in business.”

Delta looked over the document in question… and frowned. She scanned the document several times with her Third Eye to confirm what she was seeing here. All it said was that for ‘services made, including but not limited to’ the tasks mentioned in slightly more explicit terms than what he’d just described them with, they’d be paid for in ‘Black Coins and intelligence.’

“If you really think that I’m as shrewd as I am pretty,” Delta said, her tone perfectly cool and collected. “Then that means if you honestly expect me to sign this contract as it’s worded, you must think I’m pretty fucking ugly. Because according to the insultingly vague way it’s currently written, by sticking to the letter of the contract you could get away with paying us with two Black Coins and the directions to the nearest Starbucks.”

Al flipped his fedora up as he leaned back on his seat, placing his feet on the table in a carefree manner. “You got me there, hah. I didn’t specify the exact payment, nor the deadline when they should be handed out.” He took the contract, and pulled out what looked like a lighter, setting it on fire. However, bizarrely enough, the paper didn’t burn to cinders, but instead glowed from the intense flames dancing over it, with Al holding it without seeming to mind it; the letters on the paper floated and shifted on the paper as he pressed his pen against it. “Now, how about you tell me what you really want, and I’ll jot it down. Doesn’t that sound better?”

Collector Delta said nothing. Then she stood up from the table. “Scribe Xi. Lee. We’re leaving.” Then she turned her back on Al Scarpe, and started walking towards the exit, her companions close behind her.

“Well, this is a nice dumpster fire,” Lee said cheerfully, waving over his shoulder at Al with his mug hand. “Have fun reporting this fuck-up to your higher-ups.”

Al’s eyes were hidden by the brim of his hat as he chuckled menacingly. “Oh, already putting your chips down, are we?” At that moment, the exit disappeared, swallowed up by the very shadows that filled the entire space, leaving no escape. The music in the place then changed in tone.

Music

“But we’ve just started talking. Why don’t you calm down, and really reconsider?” He spoke up, lifting the brim of his hat. Delta and the others could feel how the shadows in the room seemed to extend, giving a more ominous atmosphere. “It would be an easy job for folks as talented as you.”

Collector Delta calmly took Scribe Xi’s hand, and started scanning the room with her Third Eye; she could see that Al’s magic had spread to every corner of the room, like creeping tendrils of darkness.

“Oh come on now,” Lee started. “It’s obvious we’re wasting our time here.” He gestured vaguely with the mug. “It doesn’t matter if the way you’re doing it is because of the paper, the pen, the ink, or even your own magic. You’ve already displayed the ability to change whatever’s written on that paper you’re holding at will. Your cheat’s been exposed, bambino.” Lee then tilted his head to indicate the darkness surrounding them. “And considering that you’ve just tried to get us back to the table by slamming your metaphysical dick on it, you’ve proven that you’re not interested in dealing fairly.”

Something in Lee’s posture radiated menace. “Unless, of course, you realized refusal meant it’ll be chopped off. Your dick, that is.”

“...A cheat?” Al pondered the word, and lifted his legs off the table. “Ma’m, I’m running a business here. Everything I’ve said is the truth. And this contract,” he extended his hand, and the paper swirled around it. “It’s made of the oldest of magics. Power so great even gods must honor it. Assuming I actually wanted to write up the terms on the fly, I couldn’t possibly change the words in it once the contract has been formed. And that only happens when both parties are touching the contract. What you see,” he threw it like a playing card, letting Lee catch it. “Is exactly what you get.”

The paper clinked against Lee’s mug, which hadn’t moved from his hand since Al made his toss. And, much like it had been all during this meeting, Lee’s right hand stayed firmly inside his jacket pocket. He simply watched as it fluttered lamely to the floor. Al also observed as the paper laid still on the floor. A moment later, it fluttered up, and began floating before Lee. “You can stare at it as long as you want, that won’t change the truth,” he added.

Lee's tone was persistently casual, though Al Scarpe could feel menace radiating from his direction like the rays of the sun. "...heh. You know, for an agent of the Mint, you're actually starting to be interesting.”

"But you know," Lee continued. "It's funny. Here you talk of what you see is exactly what you get... when you've been staring at nothing for a little while now."

Lee started to withdraw his right hand from his pocket, and-

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"Did you get all of that?" Collector Delta said. She was sitting in front of the photos, still where they lay on the table. For that matter, Scribe Xi and Lee Richards were sitting in the same chairs they'd occupied since they first sat down, with a chair between the latter and Al. Nothing new there. The contract lay on the table in front of him, his pen was in his hand - and his hand felt like he's been writing with it for some time.

"You've done a good job keeping pace, but it would be understandable if you needed to consult Scribe Xi's notes on the exact wording we agreed upon so far."

Al didn’t respond immediately, his hand unnaturally fast as it wrote down and erased Collector Delta’s terms with perfect precision. When she was done, he chuckled. “I don’t need to consult your people, ma’m,” he responded, back to his jovial mannerisms. “It’s all written down.” With a dramatic flourish, he signed his name in the bottom. And then, slowly slid the flat paper across the table. ”Now, all it needs is your signature. Then, once we both touch it, it becomes official.”

Collector Delta took a moment to carefully read over Al Scarpe’s handwriting… then closed her eyes and sighed. According to this draft of the contract, the terms essentially boiled down to this: In a time of three months starting from the day the contract was formed, services by the Archive, including but not limited to the destruction of the Golden Grove hotel, the assassination of its magical residents and the retrieval of the target Magical Girl to Al Scarpe, are to be made and paid for in Black Coins, intelligence, and US Dollars. Which, while a great deal better written than Scarpe’s first offer…

She looked off to Scarpe's side for a moment. “...very well then,” Delta said. Her tone and expression were unreadable.

In the background, the music stopped. The musicians looked at their instruments in confusion. Their attempts to keep playing were only met with the same persistent, consistent results. The saxophone player let out mighty breaths, pressing the buttons furiously, but there was only silence. The pianist tried every key in front of them, even resorting to reaching into it to test the hammers with their dark fingers, but there was only silence. The bassist put more effort into their bow hand, gliding it across the strings with increasing passion and desperation… but there was only silence.

All those musicians could hear was the silence, howling in their shadowy ears.

Collector Delta simply sat in her chair, her expression and posture suggesting no menace at all. Likewise was the case with Scribe Xi. Lee drank from his mug, but all just as silent as the musicians.

One second, the vacant chair at the table was simply sitting where it was. Right next to Scarpe’s own, as it had been.

And in the space of a blink, it was a foot away from the table. There was no visible way it could have moved, nor could Scarpe recall any movement from it. It was just there.

Another blink. A specter towered over him, in the form of a powerful and foreboding man wearing a heavy World War II-style trenchcoat. From behind a pair of thick sunglasses, Al Scarpe could physically feel the weight of that cold, disapproving stare, even if he couldn’t truly see it.

Al immediately recognized who it was; even the absurdly powerful Ebon Mint coin broker tensed up at their sudden presence. “So you finally arrived,” he spoke calmly, having lifted his head just enough so that he saw from under the brim of his hat, as if shielding himself from directly looking at them. The musicians stopped, and the club fell even further into silence. All eyes were on the new arrival. “For the Blind Man, you give a hard look. Can’t say that about any of our other ‘special’ clients.” He took a look at Delta and the others, then back to the trenchcoat-wearing entity. “Then again, only few of them make personal appearances, so in that sense, you’re extra special. I suppose there is a reason you needed to manifest in the Prime Material.”

"Been here the whole time," said the Blind Man. He spoke at a slow, measured pace. "Erasing the memories of my presence, from your mind and those of your subordinates. A test of how you would treat my chosen. A balanced deal. Aware and unaware that I was here."

The Blind Man gave Al Scarpe a moment to process those thoughts. "You performed better than your peers," he continued. "Barely. So you will be the messenger. Or the eighty-fifth."

“Yeah, I figured,” Al responded, respecting the otherworldly being’s abilities. “I advise to refrain from tampering with our memories from here on. While we prefer to stay professional in these matters, we don’t lack the expertise to throw a troublemaker out of the house...No matter who they may be.” He tapped the brim of his hat. “But for now, I’ll let you keep those; think of it as a tribute of good will. Anyway, glad to have passed the bill. I’ll let my boss know that you’re a wiseguy.”

The Blind Man didn’t comment on that last sentence. “Now. To negotiate the terms once more. With your memories uninterrupted from this point onwards.”

---

“...And you have the right to deny any requests we make of you, as specified. Alright, that’s all,” Al spoke, after the terms were finalized. He held the contract out to the Blind Man. “Now, if you would be so kind...”

The Blind Man took the contract, regarded it one final time… then signed it, apparently satisfied.

While the Horror was still clutching it, Al looked at it, and nodded. “And with that...” He tapped the paper with his index finger; a whooshing sound could be heard from the paper as it rustled like in a strong wind, before it turned calm; the words on it were now engraved in golden letters.

“...The contract is established. Thank you for your patronage.” He snapped his fingers, and the shadows twisted on the back wall, forming an elevator door in the same spot it was where Delta’s group first entered the club from.

“I’ll keep in touch...But if anybody asks, we never met.”

Collector Delta left the glass on the table. “Thank you for your time,” she said, before walking away.

Scribe Xi simply got up from her seat. She made their way towards the elevator, following Collector Delta.

The Blind Man left the table in silence.

“Pleasure doing business with you,” Lee said. Mid stride and back turned, he raised his mug as if to toast, before sipping from it.

They all stood within the elevator for a moment, before the doors finally closed. Al took a sip from his glass. “I wonder what’s gonna break first, Veronica: your stubbornness, or your little Cradle...”

...

According to Scribe Xi's phone, they'd left the Bowery in the general area of lunchtime. While Grandfather wasted no time vanishing into the streets of Penrose alone, the members of his Archive chose to go and grab something to eat. After slipping into the Catacombs for a moment, the three of them emerged halfway across town, in the Morioh Town area. Fortunately for them, there were still plenty Pope Layton
sandwiches available, so they got themselves three sandwiches and a table.

About halfway through their ketsu sandwiches, there was a notification on Scribe Xi's phone about a new text from Chloe. "I need to talk about our arrangements." There was a follow-up text with what looked to be her current location.

"It's not that far from here," she noted, sipping from a bottled cola. "We could probably just walk over without any fanfare."

Delta looked over at Lee. Would you like to come with us?

Lee shook his head. "Thanks, but she's more familiar with you two. Don't worry, I'll catch up later."

Xi tapped out her reply, then hit SEND. "We'll be there in 10 minutes." She got up from the table, finishing her drink. "Alright, then. Let's get going."

As the girls left Pope Layton to meet with their client, Lee sipped from his mug. Then, about a minute later, he sighed.

While Lee sat there, alone in Pope Layton, a figure landed on a nearby rooftop. They smiled, before placing a mask onto their face. A mask with a bright red letter 「A」 in the center.

Beyond the Looking Glass: A CYOA Magical Girl Roleplay [Completed]

@BrokenPromise Here's something to appreciate: There is a phrase in Japanese that reads "盗人猫" and literally translates to《 thieving cat 》. But, colloquially, refers to an adulterer, or a homewrecker.

Funny coincidence, no?

Beyond the Looking Glass: A CYOA Magical Girl Roleplay [Completed]

A collaboration with @Rune_Alchemist

---

Good, good, everything was going...smoothly. A new peon to help her, Penny potentially being drawn to her side...the only things she needed to keep in check was making sure none of it got out. The Mint might prove troublesome, but even their vast information networks couldn't reach. The best kept secrets were ones never told, after all.

But yet, sometimes, you had to let your secrets out if you wanted help with them. The girls from the Archive had been rather mute recently. Understandable, given what she assumed about their organization. Couldn't go around trusting random girls who just wanted help ressurecting something that really likely shouldn't be. She honestly didn't trust them either.

But then, she didn't trust anyone.

Chloe ducked into a small tea house. A bit out of the way, and much better than that stupid bar she had found those girls at. Classier and much less sketchy, not to mention they actually had edible drink and food. Alochol. Yuck.

"I need to talk about our arrangements." A simple text, along with her current location. If they came, exellent. If they didn't...well. Just more people that weren't worth saving. She ordered herself some tea, and waited.

About a minute passed. Then there was a notification on Chloe's phone.

"We'll be there in 10 minutes."

Ten minutes? Well they certainly had swift travel time. She had been prepared to wait for at least thirty minutes before they showed up. Well, she'd just enjoy some tea and a light lunch before they showed up them. She did hope they would be punctual. She was a busy girl, after all and had other things to attend too.

About nine minutes later, the tea house's front door opened, and a familiar voice softly drifted in.

"...this looks like the kind of place Lee would pick," Collector Delta commented. She wasn't transformed at the moment - because, really, what would be the point of that? They'd already seen each other without their Magical Girl outfits on, after all.

Scribe Xi glanced around appraisingly. "Maybe when we're not here for business," she said. Then she noticed Chloe, sitting alone at her table. "Ah, there she is."

"Ah," Chloe quickly took note of the Archive girls as they entered the shop. Quickly she waved them over, giving them a friendly smile. "I trust you girls are doing well? I've had a rather lovely past few days, myself. It's always so relaxing when things go according to plan." She waved over a waiter, who brought over a small menu for the three of them. "Care for a drink or anything? I'll buy."

The girls sat down, with Collector Delta electing to sit next to Chloe, and Scribe Xi sitting across from her.

Xi shook her head. "I'm fine, but thank you for the offer."

"Hmm... I do feel thirsty." Delta eyed Chloe's cup with interest. "What kind of tea did you order?"

"A Black Pearl," Chloe replied with a smile. "A black tea grown in Indeonesia. One of my favorites. They have almost anything you could want, so feel free to get whatever you want, Delta." Taking a sip of her own tea, she continued. "So what have you girls been up too, hm? I've been kept rather busy myself."

Delta got the waiter's attention, and ordered a Black Pearl for herself.

"We went before our superiors to propose the project, laying out the details we'd discussed in your home," Xi explained. "And after some deliberation on their parts, we received the approval to move forward."

She steepled her fingers. "The Analysts who've been assigned to the project have been advised on the time-consuming nature of the production. At the moment, they're monitoring the sample to establish a baseline."

"Excellent." Chloe replied with a smile. "Anyway I could potentially help? I have my hands a bit full with working on things on my end, but I think I could squeeze something here and there for you girls." Good, good, things were moving along well then. She had been worried they had simply taken the sample and left, but it seemed they were mildly trustworthy after all. "I did offer collaboration of sorts."

She didn't like being in debt with others. That's one of the reasons she left Penrose, out of the major influence of the Mint...but she could tolerate it. For awhile.

"If you're willing to take the time to 'squeeze something here and there' for us," Delta started with a straight face. "There are a few places you could start."

Xi closed her eyes and let out a slow breath. "It would help if you've kept notes on what power sources you've introduced to them, and the effects they've had on their progression. You might be aware of this already, but replicating that data isn't exactly possible."

"Massive amounts of love?" Chloe said with a giggle."More seriously, I have tried a number of things, all yielding different results. It was quite an annoying process, especially since I was doing most of it myself." She took a quiet sip of the tea, running a finger over the rim of it as she sat it back on the table. "My lord feeds on those impure and uses them for sustenance. I cannot say what exactly qualifies as that, however, but usually any soul not connected to him in some way works. That is to say, Etheric energy, or energy derived from refining souls into power."

"The sooner you're able to provide us with a record of that process, the better. Especially if some of those other stimuli damaged or destroyed the prototypes. By your own admission, it would be rather time-consuming and labor-intensive to gain another sample," Scribe Xi explained.

As Xi talked, the waiter came back with Collector Delta's tea. She nodded, and gracefully raised the teacup to her lips. "A very complex flavor," she noted, her tone not unpleasant. "How appropriate."

"It would also help if we knew the process you used to create the sample," Xi continued. "Depending on the details of that procedure, we may be able to consider new potential power sources, or discover ways to optimize the synthesization."

"Hmm...a record?" Chloe frowned lightly. "...unfortunately that is not something I currently possess." That however, wasn't very helpful...and if anything, she was helpful to people as long as they were useful to her. "If you give me a few days or so, I could likely make a thorough transcript of the processes I tried, however the process to make it is rather...complex and requires a direct ability to interact with souls." Taking out a pencil and scribbling something on the back of a reciept, Chloe began sketching a representation of the process.

"My lord desires purity in everything." She began, drawing a circle and shading certain parts of it, enlarging and seemingly causing it to bloat slightly. "The soul for example, is a very impure thing. In simplest terms, he takes the impurities and feeds on them, directly turning it into energy for himself. The leftover power is crystalized." Chloe drew another circle, having left off most of the bloat so it was smaller. "But it takes quite a number of souls to get anything substantial, and the crystals do need a host of a suitable, pure candidate to incubate and grow. Until now I have been using myself, but anything that has had its impurities removed should work."

Delta, who had been intently studying the diagrams being drawn, looked up at Chloe. "How exactly have you incubated them?"

"Hmm, my charm and good looks?" How to explain it well? "The easiest way to explain it, is that I am an extension of my lords will. A crystal myself, so to speak." Chloe began leaning forward slightly in her seat. "The crystals, when coming into contact with impurities can be used to draw out the impurities of those souls. Those impurities are then grown into a new crystal. I suppose you wouldn't need a host, but I do not have the resources to grow one using a crystal as a base so I settled on smaller ones, with the intent to make a few more...pure souls, to help with that endeavor."

"So it is possible to use an existing crystal to create another one," Delta said, taking a thoughtful sip of tea. "And while you're aware that you've lacked the resources to do so, does that mean you're aware of exactly what resources would be required?"

"Well, the obvious answer is time and spiritual energy for the crystal itself." Chloe replied quickly. "As for whatever else, I do not have a place to discreetly house it. Once it started growing, I have no doubt there would be curious people who wanted to investigate. Curious people who may not exactly...approve of what I am attempting to do, for example. The amount of magical energy it would give off would likely be quite high and attract all sorts of undesirables." Chloe frowned, pursing her lips.

"...aside from that I can not say what would be needed. I made the first on accident almost, and the rest by careful trial and error each with a slightly different method but I'll include those with the information I'll send you all later."

"Well, we certainly have the discreet facilities," Xi said. "Depending on whether we are able to make headway in that direction, we'll requisition more security for caution's sake."

Delta took another sip from her tea. "And what method will you use to deliver that information to us, when you've compiled it?"

"You're the one with the super shady and secretive organization, you tell me which method would be best." Chloe replied with a sigh, frowning lightly. "You haven't exactly given me very many options to contact you outside of a number, which isn't the most suitable for our needs...as well, I'd like to at least inspect the facilities you'd be using myself at some point."

"A fair request," Delta conceded, after nearly finishing her tea. "And one we intended to offer you anyway. I'm sure the Analysts would want you present at some point after the baseline monitoring is completed, to observe how the sample reacts to your presence and influence."

She got out a small notepad and pen from her pocket, writing out the address to a P.O. box. "Electronic transmissions aren't always secure, and considering the nature of the information... well, I'm sure you're familiar with the concept of a dead drop. Leave the package there when you've prepared it."

"Indeed. I've used a few dead drops before in my time with the Mint." Chloe smiled, taking the paper and slipping it into her dress pockets. "Now that we've gotten all the business out of the way, I have more things to do. If that will be all, ladies?"

Xi nodded. "Yes, that's plenty for now."

"Pleasure to keep working with you," Delta said, smoothly finishing her tea.

"Excellent, then. I'll have the information ready in two days." Finishing her own tea, Chloe stoodand swiftly made an exit. So many things to do, so little time, but as long as Penny was allied with the Beacon...this may be the most opportunity she's had in a while.

Beyond the Looking Glass: A CYOA Magical Girl Roleplay [Completed]

A collaboration with @Vocab...

---

Days in the past, but not many...

The space in a shadowy corner of the plaza fell away into torchlight and darkness, a tunnel no wider than a throw pillow. A small shape skittered out of this eldritch entrance, a nimble spider formed of ivory and sinew. It scanned the area briefly before seeking shelter in the shadows of a nearby building, striding past the rapidly closing portal.

The bone spider watched silently as the Overcity consumed the Cathedral, and curiously studied the pursuit of the feral girl. Then, at last, a moment of stillness as the city of Penrose caught its breath.

The bone spider started forwards, satisfied by its apparent solitude. As it exited the midmorning shade, the sun's rays highlighted a different kind of sinew, a much more prismatic display as close one eye step to the in place of the bone spider walked a disheveled young man in an unzipped hoodie, holding a large book under one arm and a white mug in his free hand. He idly sipped at his drink, eyes studying the conspicuously missing cathedral from behind white-rimmed glasses.

"Looks like someone forgot to give a shit about subtlety today," he said, his delivery golden brown with vocal fry.

The brief quiet of the plaza was chased away by the sounds of motorcycle engines growing louder, a chorus of machinery and machisimo that echoed off of the nearby buildings. The young man turned, aiming a tired looking frown in its direction. "Speaking of which..."

Rebecca had scarcely left her position since the Cathedral vanished. Darkness cloaked her form, huddled into the corner of a building nearby, keeping herself almost entirely obfuscated from an outside view. With her sister on training suspension after the whole Street Attack debacle, and Olympia dealing with other issues, she had been forced to take over on her duties as Vixen Tracker. It was a bad job for anyone to get stuck with; how Charlotte had managed both watch duty and being a journalist, on top of dealing with her Patron, was entirely beyond her.

That said, this was something especially appointed by The Boss. As a backup plan, but appointed nonetheless. She let herself fail on the mission. To that end, was she was constantly watching the zero sight of the Overcity Shift - occasionally glancing over to a flip phone, equally as masked, to check if Christine had sent any more messages. If the Vixen returned, she had to be ready and waiting to get on the move, immediately. Even despite knowing her absolute direction on the material plane, she wasn't nearly as fast. There was no way she could catch up in the event of an attack.

As Rebecca watched, though, her attention was directed elsewhere. To the clamorous, revving engines nearby, and the lone man standing at the sight of the Cathedral. For a brief second, she paused, evaluating the situation as best she could, deciding whether to alert Christine, or the Boss, or call for help, or anything similar. But she wasn't sure it was anything to be worried about. Instead, her instinct for journalism kicked in - that same spark that Charlotte failed to capitalise on when she misinformed the masses. Still cloaked in darkness, she faded from her spot, quickly shifting to another area on a building a tad closer to the man. Then another shift. And a third - until she was without doubt close enough to overhear anything that might go on.

Thirteen bikers rolled into the plaza, their elaborate white leathers invoking the image of the Crusaders of old rather than a typical biker gang. The fact that they all carried cruciform swords at their belts probably helped solidify the feeling of 'Deus Vult' that rolled off of them in waves. Although, the sawed-off shotguns in their hands and strange golden symbol emblazoned on their backs probably weren't sanctioned by the Latin Church. Twelve of them, all wearing black gas masks, took up positions by the entrance to the road they had come from.

"Oh..."

One biker - particularly notable for his white gas mask, veritable mane of golden hair, and having drove in at the head of the pack - parked his motorcycle next to the disheveled young man and dismounted in one smooth motion. "Brother!" he cried.

The white gas-masked man brought the youth into a tight embrace, pinning the latter's book arm to his side while the mug hand awkwardly hovered behind the man hugging him. A large symbol, emblazoned in brillant gold, dominated the back of the large man's leather coat.

"It is so good to see you again, Brother!" The gas-masked man stepped back from the hug, gripping the other's shoulders and looking him over at arm's length. "You're neglecting the embrace of sleep, aren't you Lee?"

"To my credit, I tried to get some last night," Lee said, gesturing with his mug. "But more work came in the last minute, and it couldn't exactly wait until morning." He eyed the other's robes. "What is that, twenty gallons? You came loaded for eldritch bear."

"With all the energy we sensed here, it seemed appropriate to the task." The blonde glanced over the conspicuously empty plaza. "The cathedral that stood here... it wasn't Cremated, was it Brother?"

"The fact that you remember where it's supposed to be should be answer enough, Len." Lee glanced at a nearby biker, who was now staring at him from behind his gas mask. "Liquid," he amended.

Len (Liquid?) sighed. "Forgive me Brother, but I'm at a bit of a loss. I had thought the energy gathered in this area was tied to the return of The Beast... yet I don't recall any of the Scriptures mentioning such a disappearance as part of it."

"The Beast?" Lee said. "...no, for the moment it's still firmly dead. It appears someone took the cathedral into the Overcity."

Liquid (Len?) stared at him for a beat. "Overcity?"

Lee smiled, but it could have easily been mistaken for a grimace. "Ah, right, you're not caught up on local terminology. You might be more familiar with it if I called it Ukhu Pacha."

"Ukhu Pacha? How? Why in the Angel's name would anyone bring it there?"

"There was a fight here between some of the local players, or at least some of their forces. It's a common strategy here to pull the fighting into Ukhu Pacha in order to minimize collateral damage, maintain some sense of subtlety..." Lee gestured to the empty space wth his mug. "...except the one who tried it here pulled the Door open too far. Usually they're precise enough to grab the combatants and nothing else, but... I suspect all that Fear energy caused her to panic."

(Why not settle for calling him) Liquid Len stared at the space again. "Brother, what manner of Servant can call upon such power so casually?"

"Not necessarily a Servant, though I know of some who are both." Lee took a drink from his mug. "More along the lines of the Sages, if I had to make an inaccurate, but recognizable comparison?" He paused, presumably to let that process. "They call themselves Magical Girls. Fighting evil by moonlight... winning love by daylight... never running from a real fight? That song and dance is their raison d'etre."

He took another slow sip. "At least, for most of them," Lee admitted. "But I digress. There are so many Doors to Ukhu Pacha here that some civilians pass through it on their way to work, none the wiser of what they're doing. It's almost a power of convenience for Magical Girls to create their own Doors, temporary as theirs may be."

"I will have my Disciples take heed of your warning." Liquid Len crossed his arms. "...but what of this minority you mentioned?"

"Some simply try to use what they have to get by. Mercenary work, for instance. Others are content massacring civilians. With those ones, motive tends to be a roll of the dice between twisted ideals, bloodlust, and harvesting materials."

"'Materials?'" Liquid Len seethed.

"Organs, blood, bones. Depends if they've been twisted into cannibalism or are in need of ritualistic materials. The former's alarmingly common among corrupted Magical Girls."

Liquid Len's hand drifted towards the cruciform sword at his hip. "Corrupted by what?"

"That's unclear, actually. The energy required to turn a Magical Girl 'Dark' isn't actually tied into what they refer to as 'darkness magic,' but some spiritually corrosive power that isn't traceable to a single source."

"A shame. I would have gladly delivered them into the Archangel's embrace on principle alone."

Lee grimace-smiled. "Well, if you're interested in cleaning up the streets, you could try to get into the local Beacon's good graces."

Liquid Len paused, righteous fury breaking upon the shores of confusion. "Why would I want to get into the good graces of that cabal of Hippocratic Oathbreakers?"

"Sorry, another unfortunate local term," Lee said with a shake of his head. "There is a group of Magical Girls explicitly dedicated to the protection of mankind from the supernatural, and quite the reputation for doing so with extreme prejudice. They even have their own non-denominational religious overtones. Play your cards right, and you might get along like a house on fire."

Lee took another sip from his mug. "Hmm. Actually, take that with a grain of salt," he amended. "The local chapter is trying to shift away from the whole 'murder all the Monster and Dark Magical Girls' angle, exploring purification as an alternative. You might hit it off well with the fundamentalists, but the reformers may give you trouble."

Liquid Len's face was obscured, but the smile in his voice wasn't. "I appreciate the warning, but we both know how persuasive I can be, Brother."

Lee looked at him without humor. "They're also coming out of a crisis where one of their own was mentally controlled into an act of domestic terrorism. For the love of all you deem holy, try to enter that meeting bone dry. I'd rather you spend as much time as you can before entering your Archangel's embrace."

Liquid Len nodded gravely. "Is that why you're offering so much information without mention of repayment, as required of your station?"

"You've said it yourself. We're like Brothers, you and I." Lee took another sip from his mug. "And besides, it's not like you couldn't have found it all out yourself, given enough time. But I figured you should hear it as soon as possible, especially since the local Runners are already making contact with Magical Girls."

"And potentially jeapardizing our chances of allying with them," Liquid Len deduced. "Perhaps it was fate that we were able to meet here then, Brother."

This time, Lee's expression definitely favored a smile. "Perhaps it was."

It was at that moment that the Overcity spat out a slew of Magical Girls, bits of cathedral masonry, and a bunch of utterly confused parishoners.

Several things happened at once. The twelve sentries turned at once, bringing their shotguns to bear. Liquid Len, realizing what was happening, began to tell his subordinates to hold their fire. And Lee, focused on the bikers and those emerging from the bowels of the Overcity, was abruptly no longer holding a mug.

His hand, now free, looked much like the bone spider that had been scuttling around the plaza a few short minutes ago, his fingertips (spidertips? bonelegs???) were wreathed in prismatic strands of webbing. With a flick of his hand side

The plaza was visibly empty of life apart from those who had just returned to it, the crowd of Magical and non-magical persuasion unaware of any other presence in their midst.

Huddled into a crevace between building and debris, Rebecca kept her Awareness attuned hearing trained on the troupe of motorcyclists. It wasn't a group she'd seen or heard about before - nothing the Boss was interested in, clearly - but a keen sense of curiousity kept her vicariously involved in it all. The mentioning of terminology utterly alien to her, their seeming obliviousness to Magical Girls and their operations; the information was practically worthless the more she listened in. The talk of Archangels, and "Ukhu Pacha", and chapters. If it wasn't for their apparently serious demeanour, or the swords, she would have left then and there. But she stuck around.

And her gut proved to be right, as the girls she watched enter the Overcity originally, along with the Cathedral, emerged once again. Except they completely failed to notice the existence of a biker gang, barely a walk away from where they stood. Rebecca recognised a few of the ones that came through. The Beacon Seraph Alicia, the recently acquited Janet, another Beaconite by the name of Summer, and the Ebon Mint operative Eliza. Two other, unknown figures stood near Alicia and Janet as the others left, but to her dismay, there was no sign of the Vixen. There was information saying that she could Overcity Shift, but she did earlier; chances were she couldn't get out on her own.

At the very least, Rebecca needed to make herself useful. The Vixen would be stuck there for a while, if she was correct, and with Beacon talking in earshot with people she didn't know, her curiousity got the better of her, and she pulled out a notepap to begin writing down everything they mentioned. The bikers may have been useless, but the existence of magical coins outside the scope of Platinum was something entirely new. If she was interested, no doubt the Boss would be too. Paired with the pictures of the Cathedral, this information was bound to make up for losing track of the Vixen for a short while.

nullify

Soon after all visible Magical Girls left the plaza, Lee glanced over at Liquid Len and the rest of the bikers. "You can relax now," he said, grimace-smirk in place.

"This might just change everything, Brother," Liquid Len said, tone bordering on rapturous. "These Red Coins... if that detective is able to divine the future with their power, we may be able to use one to find Magreat before a war can break out. Countless innocent lives could be saved!"

"Assuming we can get ahold of some before anyone else, let alone achieve magical Yahtzee with them," Lee pointed out. "The second word of this magical currency spreads, many of the other Servants will come to the exact same conclusion and seek them out. It'll become a race to get the Coins, and the collateral damage could be catastrophic. The situation could devolve before Magreat even shows his face."

"But do we not still hold the advantage, Brother?" Liquid Len insisted. "We know who is creating them, and who is now taking steps to protect her. Is it not still possible to broker an alliance, obtain enough Coins for our purpose without using force or subterfuge?"

"Maybe," Lee conceded, "but be careful; Beacon's internal politics may be under even more strain soon. To say nothing of the politics outside their halls."

"What do you mean, Brother?"

"The Beacon is a much more visible organization than whomever that girl developed them for in the first place. The local Magical Girls will find out before anyone else, but the Runners are starting to exchange notes with them. Hell, I've even gotten reports of Magical Girls leaving their own graffiti for Runners to find. Knowing them and their Code of Abacab, it'll go up on someone's blog at the first opportunity. And that runs the very real risk that Christoph Magreat himself could find out about those coins." Lee took a sip from his mug, which had rematerialized in his hands at some point. "He was dangerous enough to kill the Viceking two years ago, the first great 'myth' of the Internet. Magical Girls, for all their impressive strengths, would find it much harder to murder a Horror, much less one of the Viceking's calibre, and alone at that."

"To this day, I still find that difficult to believe," Liquid Len countered. "All that is certain is that he published a blog detailing the Viceking's murder, and five days afterwards his description of the corpse was accurate to the last detail. I would have an easier time believing he had just predicted the murder rather than actually doing it, let alone posting a pre-emptive confession." He crossed his arms, looking off to the side. "I met the man, once, long before this mad manhunt. I don't think his motive behind posting that blog was the victor's urge to gloat and claim the credit. Or, as some would claim, how he actually murdered the Viceking."

"One of the Brothers Sleep managed to possess a man through a two year old videotape. Killing one of the Gods of Our Fears with a blog? It doesn't seem that far-fetched in comparison, and there quite a number of other incidents I could point to to counter this arbitrary threshold of skepticism."

"If you could kill someone, Fear or otherwise, with a blog and the intent to kill, a great many more souls would be in the Archangel's embrace."

"Fair point," Lee conceded. "Which is why it's possible that the blog wasn't what killed him. There is a third option, though - if I were to represent that murder as Magreat shooting the Viceking, the blog could be the gun in that metaphor. Not quite what killed him, but instrumental in that act by delivering the metaphorical bullet."

"In that case, what would you propose was his bullet?"

"The research of another man, Julian Dipiere. I got the chance to investigate his personal library in his home, several months ago. He owned the entire collection of Dipiere's works, all first editions. He'd known less of the Fears than Magreat did, and his discovery was almost as dangerous." Lee shook his head. "It's a miracle that Dipiere decided to be sincere in that last interview, when outright he stated his work could let mankind achieve godhood. If he hadn't tanked his credibility in academia right there and then, people might have actually attempted following through on his reseach. And, eventually, found out that it actually works."

"How would you know this?"

"Because I asked."

Liquid Len didn't ask who. Judging by his body language, it looked like he knew exactly who he was talking about.

"So you believe where Dipiere unlocked a great secret of life, Magreat used it to discover a great secret of death."

Lee nodded gravely. "The way I see that line of thought, it branches into two terrible possibilities. The first is that he used that research to discover its opposite, as you just voiced."

Liquid Len paused. "What could the other one be, then?"

"He didn't reverse-engineer Dipiere's research to find out how to kill an immortal." Lee paused, taking a careful sip from his mug before he spoke. "The Viceking's death was only part of Magreat's own quest for apotheosis."

There was an uncomfortable moment of silence.

"Then how did he kill the Viceking?"

"Look, are ya'll... Ah' don't even know, deluded, or some shit?" called out of a voice off from the side, belonging to a brown haired girl, dressed like a soldier, walking out into the plaza towards the motorbikes. "Cus', ah'm pretty sure it's illegal to sell guns to schizos. The fuck are you lot even on about anymore? 'Vicekings' an' all this shit, I canne tell if you're takin' the piss or actually stupid. Ah' thought you's were gonna be interesting, too, what with the fancy swords and shite." she sighed, as she stopped walking and crossed her arms, evidentally part confused and part annoyed, "So what's 'ya deal, eh?"

The bikers looked to Liquid Len for their orders. Liquid Len glanced at Lee without turning his head.

Lee lifted the mug to his lips, but didn't tip it quite far enough to drink. "Local Magical Girl," he murmured, just loud enough for Liquid Len to hear. "Lacks the Spark of a Beacon operative, as well as the corruption a Dark Magical Girl or Monster Girl would be steeped in. Neutral party." He then sipped a little before lowering the mug.

Liquid Len gestured for his men to stand down. Then he turned to fully face the girl. "I would ask you the same question." He began to circle her, studying her carefully as he paced. "Your uniform is well-tailored, but you do not carry yourself like a soldier. Nor, for that matter, as a child playing at one. A warrior, though, no doubt about that. And from that look in your eyes," and here he paused in front of her, eyes to deadlights. "...you have seen things that most people are blessed enough never to see in their entire lives. Beasts in the shape of mankind, manifestations of their deepest fears. In some cases, in a horrifyingly literal sense.

"My conceit - my 'deal' - is that I too am a warrior, seeking truth." Liquid Len resumed his circling, only to pause again so that from her prespective the other bikers were in sight behind him. "We have been exposed to different truths in our lives, a blessing and curse of the human condition. I speak of what it familiar to me, and I regret and envy how it does not hold true for you. I learned a great many of these truths on the highways and backroads of this country, hidden in the trees of its urban jungles. Despite these revelations - or perhaps to spite them - my men and I dedicate our lives to preserve as many innocent ones as we can. Sometimes, words are not enough to do so." He gestured towards her sword, very slightly. "Surely that is a familiar truth to you?"

Liquid Len gestured to the girl with an open palm. "I have told you my conceit. And so I ask you to do the same."

"So ah'm right then, you're a bunch'a fuckin loonies." Rebecca retorted, keeping her peripherals on the so called Len as he circled her, "Dunno what you's lads are on about or nothing, but m'ah 'conceit' ain't dealing with crazies circle jerkin over their power fantasies and other shite. Ah'might give you's a listen if ya were to actually talk like a normal person for fuckin once, but if that's a bit too hard for you's, then, well..."

She reached into one of the inner pocket for her uniform, and pulled out what appeared to be a kind of badge.
"Area's off limits to the public right's about now. Pendin' investigation on the disapperance and destruction of the Penrose Cathedral. If you's wouldn't mind clearin' out, there'll be no reason for legal escalation, get me? Ah wouldn't wanna have to call in some backup to forcefully remove you's from the area or nothin, and ah'm sure you's'd rather not either."

Lee went to drink some more from his mug, then paused. He glared inside of it for a second, then tipped it upside down. "Hold that thought," he said, "I need to refill my mug." Having said this, he shifted his book over to his mug arm, freeing up his other arm. He casually reached into his hoodie, going for an inside pocket. Using the opening of his jacket as cover, he almost casually moved an FBI badge into the girl's line of sight.

After a second to let Rebecca process what she spotted, he replaced the badge, made a movement that suspicuously looked like pressing a button, and then took out a metal flask. "We've got thirty seconds," Lee said, as if discussing the weather. "Before anyone realizes their equipment isn't malfunctioning. He and his men are DEA. There's a business card in your back right pocket. Don't reach for it now. Call the number in a week. We'll discuss this again without the encoded messages then." He finished pouring liquid into the mug, then smoothly replaced the flask. He also made that pressing motion again. "No, Officer, no trouble at all."

The moment he mentioned something in her back pocket, Rebecca turned to glance at Len. A second later she turned back, facing Lee once more, but this time with a small smirk on her lips.

"A'ight, fair's to ya." she said, placing the badge back into her outfit, "Seem's you's ain't a bunch of lunatics after all, eh? Sure, ah'll bite." any semblance of a defensive stance she held prior seemed to drop immediately, as she acclimated to the group and relaxed, "Still, you's got no business 'ere. Disappearing cathedrals ain't really your thing, or did you's get a new hobby?"

"Tempting idea, but I'll leave the landmark stealing to Carmen Sandiego," Lee said. He glanced over at the santified chunks of rubble and grimace-smiled. "She leaves less of a mess than the amateurs, anyhow."

Liquid Len coughed. "At any rate, it seems I've spent long enough in this immediate area." Liquid Len nodded to Rebecca. "I wish you luck in your investigation. I only had the one opportunity to visit this cathedral before today - it would be a shame if it were my last."

"Aye, it would be. It were a nice place once." Rebecca replied, and began walking off to the side, around the bikers and Lee, to the point where Binky and the others had reappeared previously, "If you's get any information yourselves, or somethin' like that, you make sure you's give us a heads up down at the station, a'ight? Ah don't want any withholding of shite that could be useful - terror attacks ain't worth screwing about's with."

As she came to the site, she pulled out her phone and started dialling up a number.
"See you's around then, eh."

Liquid Len turned to his men. "Brothers," he called. "Prepare yourselves! We're leaving."

Liquid Len looked back at Lee. "Until we meet again."

"Likewise."

Liquid Len began to walk over to his motorcycle.

And that's when they began to hear the keyboard playing.

As she finished dialling the number, Rebecca raised the phone to hear ear, and began speaking in a hushed tone. She backed off, into the shadowy corner of some of the rubble, and vanished into the darkness as Lee and his cohorts began their charade. None of this was especially interesting to her; the most intriguing part, in reality, was how quickly they had adjusted themselves to her bluff. The obfuscation field had tipped her off originally, but it had become much more obvious now that these people weren't ordinary, and, to her slight concern, weren't as well versed with Magical Girls as she would have expected.

Within seconds of her shadow step, she arrived back at her watch point - the place she had started the whole encounter. Phone still to her ear, she kept an eye out below.

"Aye, that's right. 'Ere, let the Boss know, will 'ya? Is probably nothin', but y'know how she gets with this kinda shite. I dunno about you's, but if this does turn into somethin' fruitful for us, I don't wanna be on the side that din't give her the info in the first place."

A tall door stood freely in the plaza, open to an epileptically colorful but largely incomprehensible otherworld.A conspicuous figure in the shape of a man stood in the center of the opening, hands at his hips. For a moment, he stood as a white absence in the midst of the chaos.

The silhouetted figure stepped out from the edge of the ontological orifice, facing the opening while walking backwards from it.

"Fuck you and your Volvo, I had the right of way!"

The suited man turned away from the portal, and pausing in visible confusion at the 15+ people who were staring at him. Without looking away, he reached behind his back for the keyboard and hit the power button and the music, which must have been programmed to loop, cut off. His attention shifted to one gas-masked man in particular, ignoring the portal closing in the background.

Then he spoke.

"Lenny Bruce."

"Jordan Dooling."

"We meet again."

"It's been a long time."

They both paused.

"Are all drivers in this city so aggressive? Is it a traffic thing, or maybe the road design?" Jordan asked, gesturing towards the direction he came in from. "I mean, I know D.C. has a reputation for its whole wheel and spoke road layout... thing, but I never knew other city planners took it as a challenge."

"Uh... no, it only seems to be those Volvo drivers, the majority of drivers here are fine," Liquid Len(ny Bruce?) said. "Listen, how about I give you a ride?"

"No, no, it's okay. I appreciate the offer, but I still have a few more miles to walk this morning before I hit my step count goal." Jordan cheerfully tipped his hat to everyone. "Well, you guys have fun at your costume contest!"

Then he just walked away, whistling to the tune of "X Gon Give It To Ya" as he left.

Liquid Len shared a wordless glance with Lee, before he got onto his motorcycle and departed the plaza amidst a contemplative chorus of engines.

Lee stood there for a moment, calmly watching them drive farther and farther away. "I'd say it's time for me to make my exit," he said, opening another tunnel into torchlight and the sounds of skittering bones. "Lee Richards withdraws cooly, stage left."

He waved with his free hand, though perhaps it would be more accurate to describe it as a flicking gesture over the shoulder.

...

But there was someone there who noticed something about the gesture. The girl walked over carefully, bending down once she was close enough to inspect the card he had left behind.

No name. Just a number, and an odd phrase on the back.

With a brief glance towards Speedwagon, Joanna Fujo put in her pocket.

---

A week later, a communion took place in Penrose. Three people, three girls, met one night, in a hotel room, somewhere in the middle of the city. It had been a week since the disappearance of the Cathedral, and the attack on the stadium; The Boss had been promptly informed of all the goings on soon after they occurred, and had scheduled the meeting well in advance, at Rebecca's recommendation. She was stood towards the door, maintaining distance from the two others that had accompanied her. This wasn't the kind of meeting she was typically invited to, by any stretch of the imagination, and while there was a degree of anxiety, she felt somewhat honoured.

Sat atop one of the beds was a muscular woman, adorned with what appeared to be an apron, as though she had been plucked from a kitchen to attend the event. Her legs were crossed, and though she paid no heed to Rebecca on her left, her attention was found focussed solely on the person to her right, whom she watched with nervous, anticipatory eyes. Most every other night besides this one she would have been found behind a stove, combining ingredient after ingredient to please a full restaurant. Instead, she was here.

All at the behest of this woman - this girl - with her fingerless gloves, reddish purple hair, topped with a patchwork hat, and complimented with an equally patchwork coat. While the two girls behind her looked on, eager and anxious for their meeting to begin, the girl stood, next to the window, bathed in the moonlight of Penrose in the night.
"Sasha."

"Yes ma'am?" the chef started, now stood up from the bed, "Are we starting?"

"Probably." she said as she turned, and drew a smartphone from her pocket, "Keep an eye on her." her gaze sat trained on Rebecca as she dialed a number with one hand, and Sasha manoeuvred herself into the hallway. The anxious expression of Rebecca escalated into a modicum of fear as the giant, muscled woman placed herself to her side, but upon seeing that Sasha had no intention of hurting her, though, she began to relax.

With the last number entered, The Boss turned back to the window. A soft vibration filled the silence of the hotel room, as she lifted the phone to her ear, and cast her gaze once more unto the skyline, waiting patiently for the other end to pick up the call.

The phone was picked up halfway through the second ring. "Hello," said a male voice. There was a distinctive tinge of vocal fry in the greeting. "Who may I be speaking to?"

"This is Cynthia Martell, Chief of Police for the PCPD. Is this Lee Richards I'm speaking to?" she replied, with a slight glance back towards Rebecca.

"Yeah, I'm Lee Richards," he said, without missing a beat. "I presume your subordinate passed my number along to you?"

Cynthia took a step away from the window, and approached the small hotel table, upon which was laid a number of folders.
"That's correct." she flipped one open, and skimmed through the pages, "Now, mind explaining to me what your people were doing around our investigation? And more importantly, what you're up to here in Penrose?"

"I'd be glad to do so," Lee said. "...in person."

"This is a secure line, sweetheart." she said, lifting a pen from a pot nearby, "Had enough wiretapping incidents in the past year to know when to use 'em, and I'm pretty sure now is a good time. At the very least..." with her left hand, she began to write out a transcript for the conversation, "At the very least you can give me a synopsis."

"...fair enough." Lee paused for a moment. "It directly relates to the large number of gangs that have converged upon Penrose in the past several weeks. As part of the local police, you've likely noticed the wave of suddenly unfamiliar iconography, and an vast uptick in graffiti."

A second folder was opened, accompanied by the further flitting of paper. Dozens of police reports, within various parts of the city, pertaining to various individuals and organisations, littered the pages - courtesy of a few well placed calls.
"Aye, that we have. And with all this crap with the Cathedral, and that attack on the Stadium, we've been stretched thin." Cyntha responded, nestling the phone into her shoulder, pushed up to her hat, to allow a free hand for the documents, "But why would the DEA and FBI be interested in some petty street gangs migrating to the city? Unless there's some grand conspiracy here, I believe it's our purview to deal with it."

Lee sighed. "Well, normally you'd be right. If these were just a large hodgepodge of gangs descending on your fair city, it wouldn't be as high of a priority. The thing is, until the tail end of 2015..."

There was a pause, and the quiet sound of Lee sipping whispered from the reciever. "...these gangs were fragments of a larger criminal empire," Lee continued. "Each one compartmentalized, given their own 'trademark' kinds of drugs to place on the market, deliberately made to look from the outside as a large number of unrelated but closely competitive gangs. But at the end of the day, they were all under the thumb of one man. Your subordinate heard me refer to him as The Viceking."

"And this so called Viceking was killed by a man named Christopher Magreat, I've been informed. Using scientific research and a blog." a hint of sarcasm lingered beneath the words - a personality choice for Cynthia, "Lemme rephrase the question. I did some digging, read Dipiere's "The Perfect Paradox", and I'd like to know why you people are impersonating law enforcement - which, I should remind you, is a felony - and wasting my time."

Cynthia then reached to a third folder, this one much smaller than the others, and fished out from it a rough transcript of Rebecca's conversation from earlier in the week.
"Lets get to some proper dialogue, and start again, shall we? I've got a lot of stuff here I don't understand, and you've got a lot of answers: Fears, The Viceking, Archangel's, Magreat, Dipiere, and research on Godhood. Care to explain?"

"In the interest of proper dialogue, though, we might as well get the whole 'stones and glass houses' part out of the way now," Lee said, before taking another sip. "I know that you know that she knows that I know what she really is. And we both know she doesn't work for PCPD. Now we can continue without any bush-beating." He took another sip.

"Few people in this city can see the full picture of what goes on in Penrose. Independent research can only get you so far, when you're not sure of where you should be looking. And I'll admit, you did well reading The Perfect Paradox. Even going into this conversation having read that, though, we've still got a lot of ground to cover to get you fully up to speed. So..." Lee took another sip. "I might as well ask you where you want me to start."

"I suppose you're right, a military uniform isn't particularly indicative of a police officer." she turned her head towards Rebecca, "Maybe you should start carrying around that Artifact I set aside for you, and listen?" when Rebecca nodded in the affirmative, Cynthia returned to the notes, disinterested in the fact Lee had heard the short interaction, "The graffiti. What is it, how is it read, how is it used?"

"'Subjects should, for the sake of clarity, avoid using graffiti for the sake of gang symbols. Graffiti is a means of communication. Write words, or leave a symbol representing either shelter or Fossils. Don't use it for petty gangs, or else you'll cause confusion and people will think it's a new type of Fossil.'" Lee took a sip, presumably from the mug mentioned in Rebecca's report. "A direct quotation from The Code of Abacab, a blog run by an influential Runner by the name of Scarecrow, and one that is generally memorized by others who are Running From The Fears. For the sake of clearing up some of the unfamiliar terminology, 'Fossils' are another name for referring to the Fears themselves."

Lee took another sip. "But about the graffiti itself. While symbols for safety tend to change - for reasons that are easy to puzzle out - if those places are referred to in written graffiti they'll refer to them as 'Trips.' Named so because... well, if you Trip, you stop Running. Also a neat way to signify their impermanence," he added, almost as an afterthought.

"On the other side of that coin, each Fear is associated with some form of symbol, one that stays generally static over time - you can ask your subordinate to draw you the symbol used to designate the Archangel's influence, if she hasn't already. It's the gold one she saw on the back of the bikers' leathers."

"Of course," Lee continued. "Sometimes there'll be blog urls sprayed up during a conversation in graffiti, or at least meaningful fragments of them. Most Runners use Blogger instead of Wordpress, so they'll likely work in the logo to differentiate it from standard graffiti. And while it's common to see them use the 'Simple' theme, they'll at least attempt to use more colors than black and white."

"They'll use these if they want to facilitate online discussions, a more direct set of messages that may be too sensitive or lengthy to get across with spraypaint." Lee sipped. "According to the Code of Abacab, the person for whom the url is intended for is supposed to spray over it with the specific color they were conversing with, to indicate that they've seen it. It's also considered bad form if a Runner who is a third-party does this, unless asked to by either the one whom it was intended for or the original writer themselves."

Cynthia scribbled out the explanation in short hand, forming a near incoherent mess of swirls and squiggles with her weaker hand. Some of the information was useful, other bits not so much, but when Lee finished his speech, she tore the page from the binder, and slid it across the desk in the direction of Sasha. She took it, skimmed it over for a few seconds, nodded, and pulled out a flip phone.

"So the Viceking was one of your Gods, like the Archangel; one of your Fears." she began, as she moved across to pull a laptop from a bag off to the side of the bed, "I'm sure you understand the concept of Patrons. Where do the powers you people wield come from?"

"That's a little situational," Lee admitted. "For the most part, it's power passed directly from the Fears to their servants. Sometimes that manifests as a symbiotic relationship, like between The Morphs and their Nests, though for others it tends to be a direct gifting of power. It could also be given as part of a deal with Jack of All, but that path eventually leads to pain and suffering.

"Otherwise it's either tied to possessing relics of an eldritch nature," Lee continued, "...or, in rarer cases, unlocked from within a person, provided the right set of circumstances occur. I suppose you might reconcile that situation with a Magical Girl realizing her bloodline."

"You're willing to give up an awful lot of information, aren't you, Lee? I don't know your world, I don't know your people, and I don't know your practices - and we're still having this conversation." she said aloud, withrdrawing the pen from a second sheet, where the tapped the page twice, in seemingly nothing more than a subconscious tick, "What are you going to ask me for in return? And just how much can I ask for? - how much information is too much?"

Lee sighed deeply. "Listen, Cynthia, or whatever your real name is... originally, yes, I was planning on sticking to the FBI story," Lee admitted. "While it would have been a half-truth, I would have contextualized the Fears and their servants as merely a mundane collection of migrating gangs and domestic terrorists, and convinced you to focus some of your attention on them rather than my allies."

Lee took a long pull from his drink. "Within hours of setting this plan into motion, though, something unforseen changed the situation. It was quite the lightshow. Due to its nature, I doubt either of you missed it."

"You wanted me to waste my time dealing with your problems, so you could, what, find Magreat first? Why would magical protection for mortals get in the way, hmm?"

"The exact wording protected 'those under a Veil Of Ignorance,'" Lee solemnly said. "Runners, though? They know about the Fears, and barring mental trauma will continue to be aware of this until the day they die. Which means that well-intentioned wish is drawing a lot more attention to those people because that protection doesn't cover them, and innocent people are dying thanks to that little loophole."

Lee took another sip from his drink, and then the sound of liquid pouring into the mug made its way through the reciever. "Of course, I can't go directly to the Beacon and ask for them to be protected. I know the offenses their higher-ups deem punishable by excommunication. I know that by the average Magical Girl's definition, I serve a Horror. As soon as that fact came to light, either my contact's life or my own would be in jeopardy, along with their interest in protecting those people."

On the other end of the call, Cynthia sighed. A few footsteps, only barely audible, followed, and then came the sound of an object coming into contact with something soft, underlayed quietly with the creaking of wood. Near enough five seconds passed, with Cynthia laying face down on the bed. Sasha and Rebecca looked on with a modicum of worry, but soon after, their Boss rolled over onto her back, and placed the phone back up to her ear.

"You want me to help protect them, don't you? Talk to Beacon and get them to keep an eye out, maybe deviate some of my resources to your innocent friends." the sound of her climbing off the bed found its way down the line, followed by the dragging of a chair across carpet, "You're scared, aren't you? It's not a case of getting magical girls on your side, it's because things are fucked - enough to tell an outsider whatever they want to know."

Cynthia glanced off towards Sasha, who quickly ended her phonecall. She walked over, taking not two steps to get to the chair, and handed the phone off to her Boss, who quickly began typing up a message.

"Let me tell you some truths. You don't get my name, but I head a news station - the Penrose Independent. The company's listed under Cynthia Martell. I employ several dozens of magical people, and letting Beacon know about your friends is pretty fucking easy." when she finished typing, she turned the phone towards Sasha, who placed herself between it and Rebecca. Once read, she nodded, "What Fear do you work for, Lee? What do they do, what do you represent - everything."

"...well, in the interest of 'keeping the truth truthful...'" Lee's end of the line was silent for a moment. "I work for the Fear of Memories. Of what they hold. Of losing them. Of becoming nothing more than one, and one day becoming even less than that." Lee took a sip from his mug. "As for what I represent... I suppose you could say I represent the memory of what I once was."

Lee took another sip. "I can't say for certain what will happen in the coming days. Just know that everything will soon change. It's only a matter of our apocalypse versus theirs." Lee paused. "And for what it's worth, I apologize if I offended you earlier, with my commentary on your organization's... blog design."

Off to the side, barely audible to Lee, was the sound of talking - one voice, steeped thick in a Russian accent, appeared to be arguing with the familiar, Scottish voice of Rebecca. A few words were audible. “Beacon," “The Independent,” “Your job.” It was fragmented, practically unrecognisable from the actual words being spoken, but the discussion seemed heated: Rebecca wasn’t happy with what she was being ordered to do.

”The website is a stop gap. It’s good enough for now.” Cynthia replied, ”But onto actual business - here’s your deal. I’ll get word to Beacon, see about protecting your little runners. And my standby Tracker team will keep an eye and ear to the ground for ‘em, too. Can’t guarantee all of them live, but they’ll be safe where I can find ‘em.”

A similar scraping of wood against carpet found its way down the call, as Cynthia pushed the chair out from under the desk, and took a step towards the window once again. ”I want everything you know in exchange. You said it yourself, there's still so much that I don't understand, and you've piqued my interest. Fears, Magreat, Blogs, Dipiere's Research... All of it exists and I never noticed. That's something worth learning about." at the window, she took one more, cursory look across the city - lips crested with a smile, "That's the Banker's offer. Deal? - or no deal?"

"There is so very much to learn," Lee agreed. "It will take time for you to do so, and some lessons will have to be shown, rather than explained over the phone. Language, though useful, does not always lend itself to accurately describing the eldritch." Lee took another sip from his mug. "Do you accept that?"

”Deal."

"Then consider it struck. Pleasure doing business with you," Lee said.

Cynthia removed the phone from her ear, and promptly ended the call.
"You's really want me ta do this shite?" Rebecca asked, now that silence had fallen over the room. Her argument with Sasha had ended and all three stood in the quiet.

"You are not monster girl or dark magical girl. You will be fine. More importantly, you know he will have recorded that conversation, yes?"

"Aye, 'ah might be fine. But fuck's gonna 'appen if ah ain't?"

"I'll sort out your story and protection later. If anyone, aim for Penny or the Seraph, Alicia. Main objective is giving them the information, your secondary objective is just that - secondary." Cynthia then turned back around to face the two, "Of course I know, Sasha. That's the idea."

Rebecca sighed. "A'ight fine, ah'll fuckin'... Ah's best be getting paid extra for riskin' me arse, Ma'am."

---

"So. What do you think?"

Beyond the Looking Glass: A CYOA Magical Girl Roleplay [Completed]

I see Beacon may need to purge the organization after all. Can't trust anyone these days.

@Flamelord

Which organization?

Beyond the Looking Glass: A CYOA Magical Girl Roleplay [Completed]

Ignore this post.

Beyond the Looking Glass: A CYOA Magical Girl Roleplay [Completed]

“Do what you will, I just have to catch my mark.” The detective girl seemed to be much worse for wear. Her cats, on the other hand, seemed unaffected by the dread that was targeting the magical girls, and quietly followed the detective.

As the girl departed, Speedwagon suddenly became aware of something heading right for her. She quickly looked up, tracking the sight of a figure zooming over from a nearby rooftop, landing next to her with a rifle in hand. The newcomer had a small grin on her face as she hoisted the weapon up, aimed in the direction of the witches in the air, before looking over to her side at the fellow magical girl. The grin remained in place, but Alice gave a teasing wink regardless.

"Nina sent me ahead to meet up with ya, since we kinda landed in an odd place location coming here. She decided ta' give the portal one more chance to get to a better spot. At any rate, you ok, Speedwagon?" Despite this girl's flirty grin and wink, Speedwagon could tell that her tone was sincere. A brief spot of relief broke through the unusual feeling of fear that was gripping her... which had come as abrupt as the feeling of hope she was experiencing.

As she recognized that, and pondered this strange warring of emotions within her, Speedwagon could hear the distinct sounds of motorcycle engines growing closer. Thirteen of them, to be exact, a rare type that were only used in one model of...

Oh. Oh Bloody hell. She knew exactly who was coming to the cathedral.

"I'm doing as well as I can, but things are about to get a lot worse here." She put power into her words, shouting out as loud as she could. The more who heard her words of warning, the better. "Everyone, look alive! The bloody 「Timberwolves」 are coming!"

---

"I swear, it's like these girls want to get on the news," The Faceless Bastard said, shaking his head at the footage. Behind him, the bodies of the technicians lay on the floor of the control booth, sprawled on their sides. He was sitting in one of their rolling chairs by the console, but they weren't in any condition to object to this arrangement. Whether that referred to being on the floor, the Servant sitting in their chairs, the live broadcast being shut off, the fact that he was drinking their caramel lattes (not my usual thing, but nice)... well, that was up to interpretation. And that Chloe kid thought I was being too flashy?

He sighed. "This city's is an even bigger fucking powderkeg than I thought. No wonder Magreat chose this place." Allegedly. Allegedly speaking. But it made more and more sense for him to pick here. If anyone went too high on the radar, let alone go after him guns blazing? Not only would they be dealing with Servants of the other Fears, at least one of these 'magical girls' could swoop in and make things a whole lot messier.

The Faceless Bastard typed away on Blogger, making sure to get down the details of the clusterfuck he was getting from the local feed. Of course, as he kept using the laptop in front of him, a part of his mind couldn't help but wonder... what was it's original owner up to now?

---

A black leaf blew by on the breeze, and a certain pair of eyes followed it dutifully. The black leaf drifted around for a moment in a dance of eldritch choreography, before it headed directly towards the skeleton horde. It clung to the hair of a girl they were surrounding, and remained there in plain view. Even from within the shadows of the alleyway, the message was plain to see:

Protect this girl.

So her master commanded, so she would obey.

A girl stepped out of the alleyway wearing a new mask; a blank white visage, one that obscured everything from the neck upwards save for the hackneyed grin torn into it by hand. In those hands was the sleek black form of her true weapon, an instrument of plastic and colors of five.

The Masked Massacrer rushed the mob with inhuman speed, staving in the skulls of two skeletons with her first strike, shattering a third apart on the backswing.

@BrokenPromise @Ariamis [?]

---

He shook his head. Best not waste time on that line of thought - he would probably be seeing a blog post about it before the day was out.

While the Faceless Bastard took notes on the situation, his attention kept shifting to the dugout feed. Whether that distorted mess was something only the cameras could pick up or something everyone could see unaided, he got a bad feeling about those mangled and bloody bodies popping out of it every so often. He glanced over at the microphone on the console, and the button next to it.

Fuck it, he'd rather risk discovery than death. He pressed down on the button, and the microphone light came on. "Hey, pay attention to what's going on in that dugout!" His voice boomed over the stadium. "Whatever the hell's going on in there, that thing looks like it's going to explode!" Or... something. He had no idea what the actual failure of that portal would mean, but 'explode' seemed like a pretty good guess. And frankly, he wasn't going to wait around for it to go off. He packed his stuff into his bag before slinging it over his shoulder, headed straight for the door.

And as he passed the technicians on the floor, one of them groaned.

The Faceless Bastard paused for a beat. Then he turned on his heel, knelt down next to the one who groaned, and slapped him in the face.

"Wh-what the hell?"

"Can you stand?"

The technician blinked a few times, trying to get his bearings. His nametag read 'Barry B.' "Wh... I, I think so?"

"Help me get your friend up. We need to get out of here." The Faceless Bastard grabbed the other technician's arm.

Barry put a hand to his head, absently rubbing where he had been slapped. "Why-"

"Bomb threat. They knocked you out, announced it over the sound system. We don't have much time to get out of here. Grab your friend's arm, drape it over your shoulder, like this. Where's your car?"

"Uh, Lot A."

"Well, let's get you guys there, then."

@FamishedPants @Card Captor @Crusader Lord @Erode @Rune_Alchemist

---

As she finally arrived at the cathedral, Joanna caught the sight of Nina standing atop the roof, unleashing some sort of steel ball gun attack at the witches. She felt oddly secure seeing her there, with that righteous look upon her face and the angry confidence she exuded.

"Everyone, look alive! The bloody 「Timberwolves」 are coming!"

She heard Speedwagon's voice and turned her head to look in her direction. With another [color=gold]"Zoom Jump!" she cleared the rest of the distance between her current roof and her friend. She landing not far from Speedwagon and the girl beside her, a scantily clad lady with an impressive gun in her hands. "Speedwagon! It's good to see you're alright."

"Miss Jo-star! Glad to see you made it." The two briefly hugged before the blonde pulled away, glancing up oddly at the sky. "Listen up, both of you, I'm going to make this quick as I can: in the next few minutes, a gang of cultists calling themselves 'The Timberwolves' are going to show up here. Their shotguns'll hurt as much as any other would, but you need to keep just as close an eye out for their swords. They so much as nick you, they'll come after you until you're either dead or they physically can't anymore. Fight them at range if you can. I'll be back soon."

"Where are you going?"

Speedwagon turned her head mid-stride to call over her shoulder. "I'm going to check on someone. I've got a bad feeling about what'll happen if I leave them be." She ran off in the direction of a rapidly departing girl with a deerstalker cap and a lot of cats. Joanna briefly found herself admiring the cat lady's choice in headwear, before turning back to glance at where Nina had been standing...

...only to watch her start falling.

And as she did, she caught a glimpse of a magical girl flying away from her perch, with what looked like a hellish grin on her face. close one eye

Joanna began gathering power once more. She pointed into the sky, making sure the riflelady followed the movement, directly towards the retreating form of that girl. "Stop that girl with the sleeves, I'm going to help Nina!" she said, and her power reached the golden point once more. "Zoom Jump!" she cried, and rocketed upwards. I hope I can make it in time...

Fear started to grip her heart, to make her doubt herself mid-flight...what if she missed? What if she'd reacted too slowly? What if Nina fell to the ground, and all she could do was watch helplessly as her neck snapped?

No! she thought, as the warmth of the sun pulsed through her heart. I won't let her fall! Channeling her power into her arm, bolstered by the light of the sun, she let it loose with a mighty roar of "Zoom Punch!"

---

@Majoras End@Flamelord@DarkwolfX37

Beyond the Looking Glass: A CYOA Magical Girl Roleplay [Completed]

"I'll come at them from the sky. Janet, hit them from below. Summer, get in close on the roof. We'll box them in and then shift them to the Overcity. That should remove the threat to the congregation." Halfway through that first sentence, Speedwagon's enhanced senses helped her pinpoint the speaker, and glanced around the gargoyle in their direction. That voice...! Sounded like they were going to take care of the witch problem, but what would happen when they got rid of the Quidditch team? Would they stick around?

Speedwagon set her jaw. There'd be ample time to worry about that later.

The girl whimpering on the ground was clearly a magical girl, and not one born for combat - not just because of her magic, either. But the smell of this 'detective' girl... dammit, this was getting complicated fast. Better draw her attention while it was in her general direction, buy a little more time to make sure of what she was seeing (and smelling). "Sharp as a tack you are, it's plain to see. Right about now, you're probably wondering who I am." Speedwagon finished stepping out from behind the gargoyle. She stopped a few feet from the girls, before thrusting her chest and hips as though hooked around the waist and frozen mid-pull, standing on the balls of her feet. Her right hand crossed behind her back to rest at the bottom of her left ribs, her right arm pointed down and parallel to her legs, with that hand holding her hat. Holding that pose, she continued seamlessly. "Allow me to elucidate ya! The name is R. E. O. Speedwagon!"

As naturally as the posing had come to her, she made equally sure not to put power into her words to trigger a de-transformation. This right here was headed straight for a proper dust-up, or a very one-sided one, if she wasn't careful. But otherwise, she was going to be mashing the proverbial 'style button' to hold that attention for as long as possible. Hopefully Miss Jo-star would catch up soon - she'd rather go into that fight with her at her back, if possible.

She'd left her phone on speaker in her pocket, muting the audio coming from Nina's end. She seemed like a smart girl, smart enough to realize what she was doing. "Now that I've made my introduction, it'd be polite for you to do the same. I'd hate to only think of you two as 'the detective girl taking her cats for a walk' and 'the cowering girl covered in ramen and not much else.'"

Naturally, that was the moment things went right back to hell, as a baseball defying all logic and physics sent the ramen girl up and into the arms of another magical girl.

"?! The hell?" Speedwagon decided to focus her attention on the ramen girl's abductor. The detective didn't seem like the sort who'd blame her for that other girl's actions, at least not after voicing her own surprise. Speedwagon just hoped that whoever the hell the baseball girl was, she was at least an ally of the ramen girl.

---

@BrokenPromise@DarkwolfX37@t2wave@Majoras End@Ariamis

---

Joanna Fujo heard the sound of footsteps coming up behind her, a slow, casual pace. She turned around carefully, facing the rooftop watcher. They were wearing a mask that was smooth, white, and featureless, save for a large A that dominated that space. "Tell me. Why insist on charging into a situation you don't understand? Why leap headfirst into the jaws of uncertainty, when you can take a moment to observe, and see them for what they are before they close around you?"

Joanna had a feeling this person was talking more about themselves, rather than the attack on the cathedral. "I didn't mean to offend you by refusing your offer..."

The masked figure bowed, tapping their mask with one hand. "Call me A."

"Jo-star," she replied. Technically, a valid answer to give - while it may be possible that person's true name was A, it was far more likely to be an alias. Something about this figure radiated menace - particularly, their parlor trick with the bleeding branches reminded her an awful lot of something Speedwagon had warned her about. "I have no quarrel with you. I'm going to protect my friend, and the innocents trapped inside that building. All I ask is to pass, peacefully."

"Well, Miss Jo-star. In that case...by all means." The wall of bleeding branches receded, and A gestured with both hands towards the cathedral. "You seem surprised. Calm yourself; despite the method I used to instigate our introduction, I am not utterly uncivilized. And do not worry, I'm not going to create another when you commit to leaving. I'd see more of how you use your power."

So he noticed. And yet, he (she?) wasn't going out of their way to start a fight with her. at the very least, it seemed this A had some sense of honor. Joanna nodded deeply. "Thank you." As she stepped to the edge, she felt she might as well ask the question on her mind while they were on good terms. "If you have such powers, why not come and help?"

A was already walking back over to their refreshments. "It would be for the best if I didn't get involved. And besides, it would likely cause a panic if I were to cut loose."

Joanna thought back to those bleeding branches, and nodded to concede the point. She gathered power once more, and left the roof with another "Zoom Jump!"

Back on the roof, however, A watched her leap from rooftop to rooftop on her way to the cathedral, before turning their attention back to the chaos. "Besides," A said, when Joanna was well out of earshot. They picked up a pair of binoculars, focusing in on the shivering form of Binky. "I'm here for the 「Greatest Game.」"

Beyond the Looking Glass: A CYOA Magical Girl Roleplay [Completed]

Minutes ago, but not many...

Joanna's phone abruptly vibrated. Could it be from that girl from last night, the one in the delinquent's attire? She took a look at the Caller (Texter?) I.D., and...

Oh! It was a text from Speedwagon.

"Thirteen witches just started attacking the cathedral, and this lot look like they came from the wrong side of the Yellow Brick Road. There're a lot of God-fearing folk trapped inside. Can you get out of class?"

Joanna shot to her feet, raising the hand that wasn't holding her cell phone into the air. "Excuse me, Mister Lowe? There's been a family emergency! Is it alright if-"

"Of course," Mr. Lowe said. "Just make sure you have a copy of the homework before you leave."

Joanna nodded. "Thank you!" she said, already slipping between desks. As soon as she stepped into the hallway, her pace shifted from 'briskly shuffling' to 'borderline sprint.' The door to the outside wasn't far from Mr. Lowe's classroom, and within seconds she was in the morning sunshine. She began running away from the school grounds, pulling up Speedwagon's number from her speed-dial.

"I'm on my way," Joanna said, barely waiting for Speedwagon to pick up. "What's going on there now?"

"You'd better hurry. There's a fourteenth witch that just showed up, but something tells me she and the others aren't mates. And there's this shifty looking type who's ignoring all of them, slithering around like a snake for the sanctuary."

"I'm coming as fast as I can! I trust you'll do the best you can in the meantime."

"Of course."

Joanna ended the call there, and started her transformation.

“I can feel it: the burning beat of my blood, razor–sharp! It resonates with the heart of the Earth, and of the Sun itself!”

As her transformation finished, Joanna Fujo began gathering her power, running in the direction of the cathedral. As she ran into an alleyway, she looked up to the nearby rooftops. There! That building, with a suspended hallway connecting it to another one. Joanna hopped forwards, bringing both legs together midair. "Zoom Jump!"

Her feet, pointed together at the ground, collided with the earth hard enough to crack the asphalt underneath of her. The rapid extension of her legs, combined with the strength within those limbs and her forward momentum, propelled her upwards towards a fire escape! Even as she flew up, she gathered power once more, this time into her arms. "Zoom Punch!" The joints in her right arm loosened and dislocated, extending it like rubber. Her hand grasped the railing of the fire escape several flights higher, and the momentum of her leap combined with the re-location of her arm's joints pulled her even further.

As she rapidly caught up to her hand, though, she let go of the railing, soaring past that point as well! Joanna's acrobatics had carried her past the roof of the building, but a brief blast of fire magic gave her just enough forwards momentum to make it. She landed on the roof on both feet, skidding slightly as her momentum ground to a halt.

"Oh? Come to watch the show?"

There was someone sitting on top of the covered bridge, a bucket of popcorn and a soda bottle nearby on the roof. They were wearing all black clothing - not black leather, but some kind of woolen outfit? Whatever the material was, it looked incredibly stuffy, like a fire breaking out in a sauna. There was something on their face, but Joanna's attention quickly slid past them to where their 'show' was. And sure enough, from here Joanna could see a number of dark shapes flitting about in the air above the cathedral. No doubt those witches that Speedwagon had warned her about.

"I don't have time to sit around doing so," she said, as she started walking again.

Then the cathedral's roof exploded.

"!?" Joanna started running across the roof again. The building hadn't collapsed entirely, and there was still hope that the people had managed to avoid the rubble. But even then, that meant the witches could attack them without going into the building. Joanna whipped her head around. The next rooftop wasn't too far away, and if she timed her magic right she could clear it in less than-

"Hoo! Now things are getting fun!"

Joanna kept running, trying to get the the right spot on the roof to jump from. She passed this rooftop watcher, making sure not to knock over them or their refreshments. While she didn't approve of their antics, she needed to get over there to help Speedwagon!

But apparently this rooftop watcher didn't approve.

Joanna found her way barred by a wall of bleeding wood - and no, she wasn't adopting Speedwagon's choice of expletives, it was a literal wall of wood that bled.

"Now where do you think you're going?"

---

Speedwagon ducked, casting a quick defensive spell over herself to deflect the incoming debris. Bloody hell! They just punched holes in the bloody roof! Dammit! My chapeau can reach far, but not as high as those hags are flying! Speedwagon ran for cover, ducking behind a nearby gargoyle. There was someone else there, cowering behind the second gargoyle to her right.

Speedwagon's phone started to ring again, and she froze for a second... but when she peeked around the gargoyle, the strange girl didn't react to the sound. At all. She just kept moving around in zigzags towards the cathedral.

Well, alright then.

Speedwagon took a glance down at the phone. The caller ID read "Nina Kujo," that girl from the previous night. Interesting time to make a call. Keeping an eye on the mystery girl, she hit the Accept Call button, and brought the phone to her ear. "Ey, where are you two headed to right now? There's two incidents, one at the stadium and one at a cathedral," Nina said.

For some reason, Speedwagon couldn't help but compare that to Joanna, just a moment ago. "Good timing there. I'm at the cathedral, and Joanna's on her way from school. There's another witch here apart from the ones on brooms, one that's less wicked than the others." Speedwagon looked up at the girl she was walking towards, still moving towards the cathedral in that odd bobbing walk of theirs... with a bloody magnifying glass practically pressed up to their face. No serious investigator would be acting that oblivious... unless, maybe they were hilariously naive? "And there's someone else here who seems oddly uninterested in that fight. I'm going to deal with that one first."

---

@Crusader Lord @BrokenPromise [@Majora's End] [@Whomever from Beacon has yet to arrive, but appear to be doing so momentarily.]

Beyond the Looking Glass: A CYOA Magical Girl Roleplay [Completed]

Speedwagon took a deep breath, in through her nose, and paused. This... wasn't what she expected to smell from this mystery girl. Bloody hell. This girl... she's the type that's got a true sense of justice! The type who looks cold at a first glance, but her blood runs passionate and burns inside! And from deep within her heart, she felt the familiar thrumming of her Power come to life, telling her to...

Joanna whispered to Speedwagon, taking advantage of their close proximity to do so. "Your intuition, does it say that she...?"

Speedwagon's eyes flickered to Joanna. "I don't think she's the one," she whispered back. "I think she would help us find them, though."

"Those creatures we just saw..." Speedwagon said at a normal volume. "I'd heard stories of them in my travels, even caught sight of them a couple of times. Call them what you like - Thunderbirds, The Morphs." Speedwagon pushed the brim of her hat up slightly. "But they don't exactly fly down to Penrose for migration season."

As Speedwagon began explaining about The Morphs, Joanna was in the midst of sorting out her own feelings. Something about this mysterious girl seemed... familiar, somehow. Almost as if she knew this girl from somewhere, more than just that passing glance back at that intersection. Was this girl part of a past life? Or her future, and that destiny that she was Fated to claim?

"...I think this is the kind of conversation we should really sit down for, though." Speedwagon pulled out her cell phone - several phone generations old, but when that was classified in years or months, not quite as old as you'd expect. "I have the feeling we have a lot to talk about, and not just about The Morphs being in town. Like our leads on what happened at that intersection."

@Crusader Lord