Rapid Reader

Avonshire - D&D Based Adventure

The promise of a classic D&D-esque jaunt intrigues me and I enjoyed this pitch, I will write some manner of Druid.

Should have something ready tomorrow-ish.

The Elder Scrolls: City of Anvil

Unknown character as of yet, but I will defiantly be posting one soon!

Falling Skies: Reboot ver 2

Clara / Zoom

Meanwhile in the hanger bay...

With her MAS running on external power, Clara began feeding data into her PDA. She was alive. She was unhurt. And that was something. That was enough. The scramble had been something of a disaster she knew. The UEE fleet was in shambles. She wasn't sure she even wanted to know how many casualties there were.

The Peregrine had performed well. When it was running that is. Someone had a made a mistake. Someone had made a giant fucking mistake. And that someone had almost gotten her killed in her second combat sortie. She was lucky she hadn't been shot to pieces when her MAS lost all power in the middle of the battle. Fortunately for her, there had been enough active targets for the Coalition MAS to attack than her lifeless MAS drifting silently through space.

Numbers, flight parameters danced across her ocular implants, the lenses beaming bright with graphs and figures generated by the Peregrine's onboard AI. The profile for the DA-597 flight boosters could be tweaked. Efficiency at the very edge of maximum thrust could be improved. The AI proposed slight modifications to the Peregrine's generator setting. A modest 1.15% increase in acceleration was nothing to scoff at, Clara thought, looking over the simulations the AI had generated.

Satisfied, Clara opened the cockpit, relishing the fresh air that raced into to meet her. She took off her helmet and wiped the layer of sweat plastered across her brow as she climbed out of the Peregrine, slowly making her way down the ladder, and onto the gangway of the Roanoke.

"Chief," she said, waving in the direction of head mechanic, one of the mythical Master Chief Petty Officers that inevitably commanded respect from any member of the UEE military. "What did your boys do my MAS?"

"Problem, lieutenant?" the Chief said, sauntering over with a hobbled gait.

"You could say that," Clara said holding out her data pad to the senior NCO. "Someone didn't follow directions, the breakers weren't installed correctly. Popped a couple mid sortie. Spent the better part of five minutes floating until I could replace them."

Low whistle, "You managed to swap them out mid combat?"

"Well, it was that or wait for the Coalition MAS to realize I was just drifting without power and finish the job your mechanic started," Clara continued.

The Chief frowned, shouting a string of curses and a barely audible name that brought a sheepish looking mechanic out from the shadows.

"Private First Class Johansson, care to explain to the lieutenant why you tried to kill her?"

"I'm sorry, what, sir?"

The chief jabbed the data pad that Clara had handed him into the chest of the unfortunate PFC as Clara shot daggers at younger, too young looking, mechanic with her eyes.

"Oh no," the PFC muttered as the correct systems configuration appeared on the screen.

"Oh yes, you did an excellent job of making sure that the breakers would pop under any significant power load...it was that or let the power conduits fry themselves," Clara added with a irritated smile.

"I'm so sorry!" The fresh-faced mechanic stammered as his face turned an alarm klaxon red. "I thought it was just like a standard MAS. I didn't have time to double check with the Chief. I didn't think you'd sortie so soon after arriving and I barely had time to get your MAS setup before the Coalition hit us."

Clara clinched her first listening to the private. Mistakes happened. Mistakes happened when you were sloppy. Mistakes happened when you weren't paying attention. Mistakes happened when you lacked the skill needed for the job. Mistakes killed pilots. Mistakes killed test pilots even faster and left even less of them around for a casket. She didn't have time for her own mistakes and she certainly didn't have time for other people's mistakes.

She was already operating on the razor's edge, balancing on the atomically thin margins that the souped up engines and generator of her MAS left her.

"How would you suggest Johansson here install the breakers and setup the power conduits in the future? I'm not going to pretend that the systems you people installed made any sense to most of my unit," The Chief interjected rubbing his chin thoughtfully. Gracefully saving Clara from launching into what she expected would probably have been a very loud and very angry rant.

"Let me show you," Clara said, grabbing a screwdriver from out of the shirt pocket of the PFC.

---

An hour later, Clara stepped away from her MAS and the two mechanics with a fresh layer of sweat covering her. That was the trouble with prototype MAS using state-of-the-art technology modified until it made little sense to all but the most experienced mechanics. She had made it though. She was alive. Her MAS was undamaged, barring some minor scratches. Under the circumstances, particularly considering the Coalition ambush, her first combat sortie in the Peregrine had gone exceedingly well.

Speed was life, Clara thought, as she walked out of the hanger.

The Sunday Group - The Flicker Cases

Anna Kerensky

---

Summoned to life by a loud ringing that fell like a hammerblow against her skull, Anna woke up with a cold sweat and the sickly sweet doom that seemed to have followed her back from the Pyramid Club. Fighting a wave of fear, she lurched upwards in a panic and gasped for air, desperately grabbing for her phone and then throwing it halfway across her bed before she had even read the caller ID of whoever had brought her back to the land of the living. Burying a sob in her hands, Anna pushed the blankets aside with a low, weary sigh. She ignored the half-awake complaints from the woman next to her and the fumbling hand that reached for her shoulder.

She couldn't remember the woman's name. It was probably Sarah. Maybe Sophia. It didn't matter. It never did.

Rolling out of her bed, Anna grabbed a crumpled t-shirt that lay in a pile of clothing at the foot of the bed and threw it on. It smelled of sweat and vodka. A small cloud of glitter attacked her and flashes of the previous night exploded past her retinas, smashing her visual cortex with bright strobe lights and visions of excess. She held her head between her hands and cursed. Magic infused drugs always kicked hard. And tequila never helped. The young trash alchemist sat down on the floor several steps later with another groan of pain. She fished a pill out of the back pocket of her discarded jeans and swallowed it dry.

Praying for mercy, she collapsed onto the cold floor with a low whimper, waiting for the moment to pass.

"Hello?" Anna heard, refusing to move or open her eyes as she tried to melt into a puddle on the wooden floor.

"Who? What? Hang on, I'll get her."

A hand shook her, gently at first, and then more forcefully.

"It's for you, someone calling about a Sunday Group, whatever that means, she says her name is Eleanor."

Rolling over onto her side and squinting between her fingers Anna eyed the disheveled women sitting next to her on the floor suspiciously. It was a trap. It had to be a trap. She began to feel a growing sense of dread that manifested into absolute despair. Curling into a sad ball on the dusty, glitter strewn floor of her room the young wizard began to plead with the universe at large.

Not work.

Not Eleanor.

Not now.

Please not now.

Anna studied the ceiling for several seconds as she contemplated the excuses she could make. Eleanor Tregellan didn't seem the type to buy a sad story. And the company still believed in her. She hadn't burned enough bridges for them to hate her. They didn't know her, not really. Not yet. The buzz from the pill calmed her. She breathed slowly, enjoying the tingling warmth that crept outward from her core. She was an artist. A real artist with drugs. It was a pity so few people knew. The office. Anna closed her eyes and let herself fade from the moment. When she opened her eyes again words floated past her.

"Fuck," Anna muttered, feeling suddenly dizzy as she remembered the linear flow of time. She grabbed the phone unsteadily and sent her midnight companion away and back to the bed with a chastising wave of her hand.

"What's up, boss?" Anna said, leaning her head gloomily against the floor as she pressed the phone against her ear, managing to sound only halfway under the influence of too many fresh arcane ingredients.

"Anna," Eleanor replied her voice clipped with a deliberate lack of emotion.

"You shouldn't have someone else answering your phone it's not... never mind. We have a case and I need you here immediately."

"Immediately?" Anna said, swallowing the sob that threatened to escape her throat.

"Are you sure there isn't someone else you can call? Someone closer? I'm...incredibly busy at the moment," Anna continued uncertainly, casting an eye towards her bed and the other women.

"If I need something shot immediately, I call Clive, if I need an alchemist immediately I call you. So kindly shake the glitter out of your eyes, put your panties on and get your ass in here," Eleanor responded in a tone so calm that it would have shamed a Catholic Saint. One of the old kind that might get to smiting any minute now.

Anna felt an electric surge of fear. Calm was not good. Calm Eleanor was extremely not good. The haze of a long night and morning was not enough for her to forget. Not really. Not completely. She needed Eleanor. She needed the Sunday Group.

Haphazardly covering her phone with her hands, Anna turned to woman who's name she couldn't remember, "Ummm...do you think you could get me an Uber? I'll pay you back next time, promise. I'll buy you a drink. A fancy drink. It's a work thing. Something important. I don't think I can get out of it. Not this time."

"Mmm, maybe," came the reply. "But only if you come back to bed, at least for a bit."

Anna sighed and the sweetness had faded from her voice as she addressed Eleanor with an obvious edge of exhausted defeat, "Fine, boss, fine, I'll be there as soon as I can. I just need...I just need to get some things first."

"Wonderful," Eleanor replied with a nonchalance that almost burned, "I'll see you in twenty minutes."

---

Minutes passed as Anna lay in the bed in a panic.

Her head remained buried beneath her pillow and she tried her best not to cry. She kept her eyes closed shut, as if the darkness could protect her from having to get out of her bed. Colors swirled across her vision. Strange colors that hurt her head as she tried to see past them. She felt herself falling as she tried to scream. There was no sound as the she felt the darkness, true darkness, overtake her.

A poised figure seemed to loom above and behind her. Eleanor. The Boss. Springsteen? No. Tregellan. Less Americana and soulful crowning. More witchy and half muttered curses. Anna remembered her. Anna knew her. Anna knew her all too well. All those freckles, all that competence, and all those gold framed glasses. Eleanor intimidated her. Eleanor scared her. But she needed her. She needed Eleanor. She needed the Sunday Group.

Another form danced in front of her. She saw a smooth face and rumpled clothes. A toothpick held in place between smirking lips. An investigator. One of many. Another enigmatic private dick she'd met at the Sunday Group. Manny Rockefeller. She wasn't quite sure what he did, but he seemed like the capable sort. He'd heard Eleanor say he was a problem solver. Whatever that meant, whatever that really meant.

The vision faded.

A serious face and serious eyes appeared instead. Grim eyes stared back at her. A man with guns, so many guns. Clive Davidson. The name meant little to her, but she heard faint music and an Ennio Morricone banger banger began to play. She hoped he was like John Wayne. John Wayne in True Grit. A mean man, perhaps a stupid man. A gunslinger. Just the sort of monster the Sunday Group needed to hunt the real monsters.

Gun smoke shrouded the figure as she vanished into the darkness.

A cheerful smile that was somehow as distressing as it was kind emerged from the smoke. The librarian. Junia Harris. A strange woman, but a clever woman, and the owner of an oddly shaped face. Anna saw books, endless stacks of books, as she thought of the tall woman. She felt as if the image of the books that appeared unbidden in her mind would overwhelm her, and she could have sworn she was staring at a an endless maze that seemed to stretch into long eternity. There was a low song, full of words she couldn't understand, and the wet smell of the ocean. Somehow it made her afraid and Anna shuddered.

"Get a hold of yourself," Anna admonished and pleaded with a desperate laugh. It was the drugs. It was the pixie dust. It was always the drugs. It was always the pixie dust. The visions weren't real. She wasn't real. Nothing was real. Not anymore.

---

The bed rocked as Anna tore the pillow away from her head and forced her eyes open.

She resisted the urge to scream and gulped down her anxiety. She couldn't let them down. Not yet. Not now. Not again. She needed rent money. She needed caffeine. And she needed a breakfast burrito. She had to get up. She had a job to do. With her mind made up, she rose to her feet and walked unsteadily out of her bedroom. She didn't bother putting on any more clothes. She wasn't a prude. She didn't believe in pants. Not within the safety of her own flat. Well, Milo's flat, but she paid him. So it was hers. As long as she had cash.

Trying her best to walk like a human and not a zombie, Anna stumbled through the hallway, past the crumbling kitchen, and walked into the bathroom with a muted grunt in the direction of the bowler wearing young man sitting on the living room floor as he delicately fussed over a kettle of tea and ornate tea set. He waved back at her, but his eyes didn't move away from the tea.

Slamming the door behind her, Anna undressed and stepped into the shower. The cold kiss of water jolted her completely awake and she leaned her head against the wall as the water rose to an almost unbearable temperature. The water fell over her and she felt tears on her cheeks. She needed a way out. She needed more time. She needed Cara. Drugs couldn't banish the nightmares. Magic couldn't quiet her desperate need. Scalding water and burning soap couldn't make her clean. She could still see the fangs. She could still smell the sickly sweet death that haunted her.

Her life had been good. Her life had been simple. She had lived in nondescript warehouses subsiding on a well-tested diet of coffee in Styrofoam cups, instant noodles, loud thumping music, and party drugs. But she'd fucked up. She'd fucked up and now she was trapped. The Sunday Group was her way out. It was her only chance. If she could make a buck. If she could make a lot of bucks. She could get out. She could buy her way out.

A loud thump on the door interrupted her frantic thoughts. Milo didn't like it when she wasted water. He said anything more than fifteen minutes was a waste of money. Uninterested in another argument, Anna turned off the water with a string of curses and wrapped herself in a nearby towel. She flashed Milo both of her middle fingers as she walked past him. His low chuckle followed her back to her room. Her friend from the previous night hadn't moved much.

Several more minutes passed before the alchemist was ready. She had dressed reluctantly, perceiving real work to be suffering. Her black jeans were tastefully torn at one knee and her t-shirt was a loud electric blue. Feeling a need for some level of professionalism, Anna put on a pair of scuffed green canvas sneakers that seemed more than cool enough for a business meeting. She hoped the rest of the Sunday Group would be pleased that she'd even taken the time to do her makeup. She grabbed her jacket from the chair where she had left it on her way out of the bedroom.

Still reaching for some semblance of calm, Anna crossed the apartment and stopped at a thick metal door that seemed oddly out of place in a residential apartment. The door latch looked to be fashioned from the rear axle of an old Ford and had been haphazardly welded across the metal lined door frame. The alchemist pulled a key from her pocket and unlocked the bike lock strung through the latch.

Anna walked into the room deliberately, stopping to disarm the trigger mechanism of the alchemical bomb she had set up. She'd picked up the design reading a redacted paper from some three letter agency about modern IEDs. She didn't bother to close the door behind her. Milo knew to respect her privacy. She felt a small rush of slowly growing excitement. Eleanor needed her. The Sunday Group needed her. She knew something. She could do something. She was useful. She wasn't a failure. She wasn't a loser. She wasn't doomed, at least not yet.

Idly dreaming, Anna grabbed her work bag. It was a tattered leather bag that lived in the corner of the room. She kept it stocked with basic alchemical ingredients and her own personal takes on classical potions. Peering inside she noted that she had a potion to heighten the senses, a potion to facilitate a hasty escape, a potion to increase strength, and a potion to heal minor wounds. The key she mused pridefully to herself, flicking a vial lightly with her fingertips, was adding cherry flavor. Powerful magic was so much more tolerable when it was accompanied by a sweet flavor.

Without a second thought the young alchemist reached for a jar of small pills that she shoved into an empty bottle of Ibuprofen. Shaking the pill bottle, she stashed it in the inner pocket of her jacket. The color coded pills were an elicit mixture of arcane drugs of her own design, varying in potency and effect, from a mild buzz to a psychedelic magic fueled trip into another plane of existence. They would help her ease the boredom she expected. They'd numb the familiar pains. They'd help her escape herself. They'd keep her functional, at least for a while. Maybe they'd even help her forget.

Shutting the heavy door to the laboratory behind her, Anna reset the alchemical trap. It was powerful enough to level the room if not the entire apartment. She wrapped a heavy bike lock through the latch and tugged forcefully on it before nodding contently to herself. She wasn't taking any chances. She trusted Milo, but she wasn't an idiot. He was a friend, a good friend even, but friendships wasn't an insurance policy when dealing with groups of cranky wizards drunk on their own moral superiority and delusions of grandeur.

"I'm heading out, Milo", Anna said, putting on her jacket. Wearing her armor, she finally felt ready, ready to face the world and the monsters that lurked in the shadows. At least that's what she wanted to believe. If only she hadn't known better.

"A party, this early?" Milo asked as she reached for the door knob.

"No, I wish," Anna said. "Work. Got a phone call from the office."

"Office? This that Sunday Group thing you were talking about? No more peddling drugs, ey? You've finally went and gone straight on me, have you?"

"Yes, I'm upstanding member of society now, Milo. An honest woman, as it were," Anna said sarcastically. She crossed her arms and nodded in the direction of her laboratory, "Keep on eye on things will you?"

"Sure, sure, you pay me for the privilege of two rooms and I will guard that privilege with my life."

"Wonderful, just don't let anyone into my laboratory."

"Of course, that's what you pay me extra for," Milo answered without even a hint of offense in his voice.

"And if the cops show up just make sure to burn my kit before they get through the front door."

"What do I do if a council of wizards show up?" Milo asked with a raised brow and a smirk that betrayed his true nature.

Anna paused in thought for a moment and then offered a shrug, "If a council of wizards show up, make sure to burn my stuff even faster. I don't need them offering me any more advice."

"Right, napalm it is. Let's see those older geezers deal with that," Milo said with a laugh.

Anna rolled her eyes at the young trickster, fighting an urge to call him a child. She gestured with a thumb towards her bedroom, recalling a recent complication, "Oh, there's a woman in my room, Sarah, can you make sure she leaves in a couple of hours."

Milo turned and looked at her with familiar eyes. Sad eyes, full of disappointment. Anna swore under her breath. She knew she had fucked up. She had fucked up again and the trash alchemist felt a wave of self-disgust surging through her. The hoodlum tutted softly, "Samantha, she said her name was Samantha. You'd do well to listen, just once, Anna. You can't keep treating people like this."

"Yeah, ok. Samantha, that's what I said. Get off my back, Milo. Just get her out of my room and don't let her back in."

"Yeah, yeah, but don't expect me to apologize for you."

"What's there to apologize for?" she hissed at Milo, trying her best to channel her shame into anger. Anger was good. Anger was easy. She could work with anger. She could handle it.

She heard Milo rising from his merch on the couch before open the door, "Wait, hold up Anna."

Even with the bowler hat on his head, he was a good head shorter than Anna and a fair bit younger. Anna always hated how much older he seemed. He lorded his position as household authority over her. He cared. He cared and sometimes she hated him for caring. Oblivious, he beamed a smiled at her and held out a paper shopping bag. She made no move to take the bag and Milo impatiently flashed a gun from within the paper.

"On the house. Something to keep you safe. 9mm Para-fucking-bellum. Czech Steel. Shoots ace. Not a lot of kick. Will last you for a good hundred years. Clips loaded and you've got 16 rounds. Just don't forget to turn the safety off before you start blasting, yeah?"

"I don't need a gun, Milo," Anna said, feeling her heart lurch in her chest. She wasn't a fighter. She wasn't even a sometimes fighter. She was a runner. She was a coward.

"Yeah, well wizards always say shit like that and then they take a round to the dome or find themselves eaten by some monster. You're an investigator now, Anna, you gotta bring some artillery with you when you hit the streets."

"Fuck," Anna said, regretting her life choices for only the fourth time in an hour. "If I get arrested I'm telling them you gave me this."

"Just use some magic, make it look like a rock or something. Use a glamor, can't be that hard. I've seen other pointy hatted fellows do it. Not like anyone is gonna look to carefully at your bag, are they? You've got enough going on to keep them staring," Milo replied with a wink.

"Fuck," was all she weakly managed as she took the gun and stuffed it into her bag.

She wasn't ready to kill.

She wasn't a killer, even if she could check off a long list of sins.

---

Ten minutes later, Anna strode up to the offices of the Sunday Group with her tired eyes hidden beneath a pair of sunglasses.

She had stolen them from a shop rack after her Uber at dropped her off a couple of block from the office. Free was almost always better than $179.95. The alchemist wielded a questionable breakfast burrito she had purchased from an even more dubious food cart in her right hand. She had an office. They had said so on her first day. Well, it was less of an office and more of a chemistry laboratory. She couldn't remember where it was. She didn't feel like asking. It was somewhere in the basement and the idea of stairs didn't appeal to her. The short car ride and walk to the office was enough adventure for one day as far as she was concerned. She had survived and she wasn't taking any more chances.

Touching the door to the office, Anna felt a hint of magic, old magic. A Magical door was a nice touch she thought. She was impressed. She wondered if there were any old wizards around. Old wizards with valuable artifacts that she could borrow. Old wizards with ancient tomes full of forbidden knowledge that she could read.

The office felt new. The office felt as if it had changed. Anna wondered if she had forgotten. Memories felt as if they had changed. Anxiety coursed through her blood and she reflexively palmed the vial of blood she kept in the pocket of her jacket. She was falling apart. She was losing it. She wanted to forget. She had to forget. She wanted to drink the blood. She needed it. She needed it, she needed it now, but she knew that she'd really need it later.

Concentrating on each step she took, Anna found herself standing in front of a large counter worthy of any Fortune 500 wannabe corporation and peering at the flustered looking secretary that sat behind it. Anna moved her mouth to speak, but found the motion troublesome and instead leaned dramatically against the counter.

"Yes, Miss Kerensky?" the secretary finally said. She sounded annoyed and Anna could see the way she looked at her. She felt judged. She felt measured. And she felt that she had been found wanting. It was the story of her life, Anna thought, feeling increasingly unsteady.

"I need to see the boss. I need to see Eleanor. Where is she? Take me to her," Anna began effortfully, pausing to offer a smile as she tried her best to keep from falling, "Please?"

Summary of Post 1 for Anna

Eleanor wakes up / terrifies Anna (Anna has her one night stand answer the phone, because that's what adults do).
Anna cleans up (mostly).
Anna takes an Uber to work (getting her "friend" to pay for it, because she is clearly being very bad).
Anna steals some sweet sunglasses and then strolls up to the Sunday Group offices.
Anna asks the secretary to take her to Eleanor because she doubts her own ability to find her.

The Sunday Group - The Flicker Cases

First post is away, I repeat the first post is away!

@Penny

Time for a certain Trash Alchemist to face a rude cellular awakening.

The Sunday Group - The Flicker Cases

Anna Kerensky the Raver Alchemist

Name: Anna Kerensky, goes by Anna and sometimes Anya, usually when with family and close friends

Age: 25

Appearance: A dervish of excited energy and alchemical science, Anna does her best to dance through the bubbling arcane cauldron that is her life. Her hazel eyes shine bright with intelligent mischief and magically induced hallucinogenic distractions. Lightly chewed on lips, oscillate wildly between expressions depending on the present company and the current amount of drugs she has coursing through the blood in her veins. She has shoulder length hair the color of midnight that is dyed an ever shifting range of colors. Any effort to blend in is purely accidental and Anna prefers to surround herself with color. Her skin is pale and it is clear that she spends a minimal amount of time outside in the sun. Terrified of boring others, Anna keeps her lips and nails painted in dark shades or vibrant hues of neon.

An esoteric dresser in her private life, Anna favors t-shirts bedecked with a kaleidoscopic array of neon colors, short skirts, and fashionably torn fishnet stocking. She has a penchant for accessories and pairs her clothing with florescent jewelry that dances with color when hit by artificial light. Favoring the elaborate, her footwear of choice remains black hologram platform shoes that sparkle brightly in the night.

In a professional capacity, Anna replaces bright colors with minimalist black, pairing a closet stuffed full of black t-shirts with slim black jeans and unremarkable canvas sneakers.

Across all domains of her life, Anna believes in wearing cool jackets and her prized possession is a well-worn leather jacket embroidered with a black cat and words in a very faded neon stitch work that looks to be a name written in Cyrillic.

Concept: Anna is a self-taught alchemist of the "do it yourself" variety, unburdened by stuffy professional organizations such as wizard councils, safety regulations, and anything approaching a realistic appraisal of her own abilities. Increasingly afraid of the things that go bump in the night, Anna has recently survived a series of particularly poor interactions with vampires, having found herself captured and drained of a significant portion of her blood by coven of vampires preying on the local rave community. Escaping with no small amount of trauma and an unfortunate addiction to vampire blood, Anna has taken to burying the memories from her unwilling jaunt into the darkest shadows of the supernatural night through self-medication, imbibing in drugs both mundane and magical whenever the opportunity presents itself.

Running scared, Anna shares precious few of the lofty goals of other magical practitioner. Although discovering the philosopher's stone and achieving immortality through perfect alchemy still holds an inescapable appeal to the young woman, most days Anna simply aspires to get paid and to stay beneath the radar of the terrible monsters that she knows are lurking just beyond the light.

Powers/Skills: Anna is a skilled chemist and alchemist. To pay her rent, she operates as a professional alchemical consultant, offering her services to private individuals and organizations willing to pay in hard cash or precious metals. In her spare time, Anna is the creator of an exponentially growing number of extremely potent magically infused drugs that she reserves almost exclusively for her own use. Gifted with a mercenary mentality, Anna avoids asking too many questions of her elicit clientele, especially when it comes to love potions or the occasional poison. A combatant only in terms of creativity, Anna prefers to run away from any trouble, especially when violence is in the mix.

Things Your Character Wants to Happen (probably wont):
Anna would love to discover the philosopher's stone, attain immortality, and escape the clutches of her recent unwanted vampiric overlord. However, having long abandoned any hopes for a happy ending, she'll settle for more money to use as a down payment for the alchemical ingredients she needs tp prolong her drug fueled stupor for another night.

Things You as a Writer Wants to Happen (Maybe will):
Adventure, spooky stuff, and cool character interactions are all things that I desperately want to see happen in character. I'd love for Anna to at least try to overcome her addictions and for her to become a slightly more responsible person. Related, I would very much enjoy seeing her past come back to bite her, be it through the aforementioned vampire blackmailing Anna or another disgruntled past customer.

Writing Sample:

Late Night Potion Brewing

The paint scuffed door to the small shed opened with a weary protest of wood, followed by heavy footsteps that seemed to shake the ground. A cauldron bubbled in a corner of the room, spewing thick tendrils of smoke over the steel blackened edges. Anna didn't bother looking up, she already knew who it was. Instead, she remained huddled over the repurposed wok pan that she had bought for $20 at a garage sale. Saying hello wasn't worth setting off a magical explosion. Her hands moved carefully, slowly stirring the concoction in front of her with a wooden spoon. Flashes swam through the thick liquid within the cauldron and filled the room with a strange, dreadful light that danced off the the mason jars scattered across the room. Sitting atop crumbling IKEA bookshelves that were hammered into each wall, every bit of free space in the gardening shed seemed to be stacked with ramshackle containers. A small fortune in arcane ingredients lay in glass, protected by nothing more than 1-inch-thick boards of lumber, a combination lock, and a string of hastily scratched arcane curses.

"What do you need this time, Schultz?" The alchemist said once the mixture began to settle. The strange liquid crackled with power as arcane energies defied the laws of physics, ionizing stray oxygen atoms that settled in the bottom of the cauldron with violent sparks of electricity. Eldritch waves, faded into a rolling slumber as Anna continued to carefully move her bargain bin ladle.

"A simple potion, a potion guaranteed to leave a troll sleeping for...four...let's say six hours," the demonic mobster said, crossing his arms and leaning against the wall of shack with a broad smile on his lips. Smoldering coals of flame shone from beneath the iron mask he wore.

"Nothing you ask me to make for you is ever simple," Anna scoffed, wiping sweat from her brow with the sleeve of her jacket, "What's weight of this troll?"

"Above average, I haven't asked, but let's just say he's got a robust figure," Schultz said with a low, booming laugh that threatened to collapse the shelves closet to him. "How much is it gonna cost me this time?"

"Same as always, $1500 now, $500 when it's done."

"That's a lot of money. How about we say $200, for old times sake?"

"How about you find someone else to do it for you then? Just don't blame me when your friend wakes up after thirty seconds, tears off your right arm, and uses it to beat your stupid ass straight back to hell."

"Now, now, don't be cross, I was only teasing, Anna," the gangster chuckled. "Your work is top notch and I wouldn't dream of frequenting a different alchemist. Besides, trust is all we have in this business. I trust you to do excellent work and to keep your mouth shut if anyone comes knocking. And so, in return, I do not hesitate to seek your services when matters requires them."

"You trust me, don't you Anna?"

"Yeah, sure, I trust you, Schultz," Anna said. "Well, as much as I trust any entity who's paid to break bones for a living, but do you know how hard it is to find Pixie Dust in the middle of winter?"

"Oh, I'm sure you'll manage."

"Of course I will," Anna huffed, waving the wooden spoon angrily at the mobster.

"By the by, I heard a strange story from one of the boys. He said he'd seen someone that looked just like you at the Pyramid Club."

The demon stopped for a moment and Anna's heart lurched with unexpected panic as she realized he was embarrassed, he was embarrassed for her. Clearing his throat and mercifully murdering the awkward silence, Schultz finally addressed the horror looming in the shadows, "Now, I know it's none of my business, but I thought you were done with Cara, Anna?"

Anna shot him an angry glance.

"You know that it's a bad idea, Anna. A really fucking bad idea. And that's saying a lot given your recent penchant for fucking up your life."

"You're one to talk, asshole," Anna hissed back, trying to hide the lump she felt in her throat.

"Hey, you only get this old, wise, and powerful by making a lot of mistakes," Schultz replied with a shrug.

"Yeah, well, no one is paying for advice from the demon who had to make a deal with an angel because he ended up owing money to the Chechenskaya mafiya," Anna said, rolling her eyes.

"You win some, you lose some when you play a game of poker with those guys," Schultz said with a dismissive shrug as he ignored Anna's desperate bait. "You know that you can't trust her, right?"

"I know," Anna snapped back.

"Then why?" Schultz said running a hand wearily across his scalp. Anna wasn't sure what expression he made beneath his mask, but she knew it wasn't a good one. She didn't like it, she couldn't stand his concern, she couldn't stomach his judgment, but he stopped himself before she had to hurl a beaker of glass in his direction. "That bad, huh?"

"You have no idea," Anna replied, fighting the pang of fear that coursed through her, the visions of sharp teeth and blood that swam through her mind.

"I suppose I don't."

"Hey, Schultz."

"What?"

"Fuck you."

Off the Grid

The sports jacket was a mystery to her. It was soft and smelled new. Brand new. Like no one had ever worn it before. Nice cut, elaborate tailoring. Anna was convinced it was expensive. It didn't quite match her torn t-shirt emblazoned with the Bloody Kisses album cover, but in the morning chill the warmth was welcome.

The frost covered bench was cold and Anna shivered, wrapping her arms around herself. She let the cigarette crumble into embers in her mouth, watching disdainfully as the ashes fell onto her lap. Small holes appeared in her skirt as the ashes burned out in wisps of smoke. She hated winter. She hated the city in winter. She hated the Sunday Group. She hated Eleanor. She hated everyone and everything, at least for a moment. But most of all, she thought, she hated herself.

She knew they'd find her eventually. She knew that Eleanor wouldn't take long. The Sunday Group. Whoever they were. Whatever they were. Whoever Eleanor was. Whatever she really was. Not whatever the sign on the door to her office said she was. The money had been good. They'd said it would be easy work. They'd lied. The money had been good. It had kept her going. It had kept her drugged. It was the only way to keep the eyes away, the glowing eyes that seemed to peer at her from the darkness in the middle of the night. It wasn't easy. It wasn't fun. They'd lied. All she'd gotten was more nightmares. More monsters to be afraid of. More horrors to bury with a fresh batch of homemade arcane drugs.

Anna heard the explosion, managing a low laugh as a cloud thick with magic enveloped the landscape in front of her. The cursing that followed filled her with a new warmth and drew more weak laughter still from the exhausted alchemist. Business casual figures emerged from the vegetation that lined the sides of the dirt road practically sparkling. Covered in pixie dust and glitter, they seemed far less serious than Anna remembered, but no less angry. They couldn't stop her from having her fun. They couldn't stop her from making a statement. Stumbling to her feet, Anna lit another cigarette, drawing in a long breath of tar streaked smoke with a satisfied sigh.

"Eleanor, boss, I can explain," she began slurring only slightly as a familiar, pain filled smiled played across her lips.

The Sunday Group - The Flicker Cases

With basically the max possible interest possible in terms of an RP, I did some writing (and also shamelessly stole the format for the CS from the last iteration of the SG).

---

A DIY alchemist on the run from the vampire mob wanders into a supernatural detective agency and somehow gets a job.

Anna the Raver Alchemist

Name: Anna Kerensky, goes by Anna and sometimes Anya, usually when with family and close friends

Age: 25

Appearance: A dervish of excited energy and alchemical science, Anna does her best to dance through the bubbling arcane cauldron that is her life. Her hazel eyes shine bright with intelligent mischief and magically induced hallucinogenic distractions. Lightly chewed on lips, oscillate wildly between expressions depending on the present company and the current amount of drugs she has coursing through the blood in her veins. She has shoulder length hair the color of midnight that is dyed an ever shifting range of colors. Any effort to blend in is purely accidental and Anna prefers to surround herself with color. Her skin is pale and it is clear that she spends a minimal amount of time outside in the sun. Terrified of boring others, Anna keeps her lips and nails painted in dark shades or vibrant hues of neon.

An esoteric dresser in her private life, Anna favors t-shirts bedecked with a kaleidoscopic array of neon colors, short skirts, and fashionably torn fishnet stocking. She has a penchant for accessories and pairs her clothing with florescent jewelry that dances with color when hit by artificial light. Favoring the elaborate, her footwear of choice remains black hologram platform shoes that sparkle brightly in the night.

In a professional capacity, Anna replaces bright colors with minimalist black, pairing a closet stuffed full of black t-shirts with slim black jeans and unremarkable canvas sneakers.

Across all domains of her life, Anna believes in wearing cool jackets and her prized possession is a well-worn leather jacket embroidered with a black cat and words in a very faded neon stitch work that looks to be a name written in Cyrillic.

Concept: Anna is a self-taught alchemist of the "do it yourself" variety, unburdened by stuffy professional organizations such as wizard councils, safety regulations, and anything approaching a realistic appraisal of her own abilities. Increasingly afraid of the things that go bump in the night, Anna has recently survived a series of particularly poor interactions with vampires, having found herself captured and drained of a significant portion of her blood by coven of vampires preying on the local rave community. Escaping with no small amount of trauma and an unfortunate addiction to vampire blood, Anna has taken to burying the memories from her unwilling jaunt into the darkest shadows of the supernatural night through self-medication, imbibing in drugs both mundane and magical whenever the opportunity presents itself.

Running scared, Anna shares precious few of the lofty goals of other magical practitioner. Although discovering the philosopher's stone and achieving immortality through perfect alchemy still holds an inescapable appeal to the young woman, most days Anna simply aspires to get paid and to stay beneath the radar of the terrible monsters that she knows are lurking just beyond the light.

Powers/Skills: Anna is a skilled chemist and alchemist. To pay her rent, she operates as a professional alchemical consultant, offering her services to private individuals and organizations willing to pay in hard cash or precious metals. In her spare time, Anna is the creator of an exponentially growing number of extremely potent magically infused drugs that she reserves almost exclusively for her own use. Gifted with a mercenary mentality, Anna avoids asking too many questions of her elicit clientele, especially when it comes to love potions or the occasional poison. A combatant only in terms of creativity, Anna prefers to run away from any trouble, especially when violence is in the mix.

Things Your Character Wants to Happen (probably wont):
Anna would love to discover the philosopher's stone, attain immortality, and escape the clutches of her recent unwanted vampiric overlord. However, having long abandoned any hopes for a happy ending, she'll settle for more money to use as a down payment for the alchemical ingredients she needs tp prolong her drug fueled stupor for another night.

Things You as a Writer Wants to Happen (Maybe will):
Adventure, spooky stuff, and cool character interactions are all things that I desperately want to see happen in character. I'd love for Anna to at least try to overcome her addictions and for her to become a slightly more responsible person. Related, I would very much enjoy seeing her past come back to bite her, be it through the aforementioned vampire blackmailing Anna or another disgruntled past customer.

Writing Sample:

Late Night Potion Brewing

The paint scuffed door to the small shed opened with a weary protest of wood, followed by heavy footsteps that seemed to shake the ground. A cauldron bubbled in a corner of the room, spewing thick tendrils of smoke over the steel blackened edges. Anna didn't bother looking up, she already knew who it was. Instead, she remained huddled over the repurposed wok pan that she had bought for $20 at a garage sale. Saying hello wasn't worth setting off a magical explosion. Her hands moved carefully, slowly stirring the concoction in front of her with a wooden spoon. Flashes swam through the thick liquid within the cauldron and filled the room with a strange, dreadful light that danced off the the mason jars scattered across the room. Sitting atop crumbling IKEA bookshelves that were hammered into each wall, every bit of free space in the gardening shed seemed to be stacked with ramshackle containers. A small fortune in arcane ingredients lay in glass, protected by nothing more than 1-inch-thick boards of lumber, a combination lock, and a string of hastily scratched arcane curses.

"What do you need this time, Schultz?" The alchemist said once the mixture began to settle. The strange liquid crackled with power as arcane energies defied the laws of physics, ionizing stray oxygen atoms that settled in the bottom of the cauldron with violent sparks of electricity. Eldritch waves, faded into a rolling slumber as Anna continued to carefully move her bargain bin ladle.

"A simple potion, a potion guaranteed to leave a troll sleeping for...four...let's say six hours," the demonic mobster said, crossing his arms and leaning against the wall of shack with a broad smile on his lips. Smoldering coals of flame shone from beneath the iron mask he wore.

"Nothing you ask me to make for you is ever simple," Anna scoffed, wiping sweat from her brow with the sleeve of her jacket, "What's weight of this troll?"

"Above average, I haven't asked, but let's just say he's got a robust figure," Schultz said with a low, booming laugh that threatened to collapse the shelves closet to him. "How much is it gonna cost me this time?"

"Same as always, $1500 now, $500 when it's done."

"That's a lot of money. How about we say $200, for old times sake?"

"How about you find someone else to do it for you then? Just don't blame me when your friend wakes up after thirty seconds, tears off your right arm, and uses it to beat your stupid ass straight back to hell."

"Now, now, don't be cross, I was only teasing, Anna," the gangster chuckled. "Your work is top notch and I wouldn't dream of frequenting a different alchemist. Besides, trust is all we have in this business. I trust you to do excellent work and to keep your mouth shut if anyone comes knocking. And so, in return, I do not hesitate to seek your services when matters requires them."

"You trust me, don't you Anna?"

"Yeah, sure, I trust you, Schultz," Anna said. "Well, as much as I trust any entity who's paid to break bones for a living, but do you know how hard it is to find Pixie Dust in the middle of winter?"

"Oh, I'm sure you'll manage."

"Of course I will," Anna huffed, waving the wooden spoon angrily at the mobster.

"By the by, I heard a strange story from one of the boys. He said he'd seen someone that looked just like you at the Pyramid Club."

The demon stopped for a moment and Anna's heart lurched with unexpected panic as she realized he was embarrassed, he was embarrassed for her. Clearing his throat and mercifully murdering the awkward silence, Schultz finally addressed the horror looming in the shadows, "Now, I know it's none of my business, but I thought you were done with Cara, Anna?"

Anna shot him an angry glance.

"You know that it's a bad idea, Anna. A really fucking bad idea. And that's saying a lot given your recent penchant for fucking up your life."

"You're one to talk, asshole," Anna hissed back, trying to hide the lump she felt in her throat.

"Hey, you only get this old, wise, and powerful by making a lot of mistakes," Schultz replied with a shrug.

"Yeah, well, no one is paying for advice from the demon who had to make a deal with an angel because he ended up owing money to the Chechenskaya mafiya," Anna said, rolling her eyes.

"You win some, you lose some when you play a game of poker with those guys," Schultz said with a dismissive shrug as he ignored Anna's desperate bait. "You know that you can't trust her, right?"

"I know," Anna snapped back.

"Then why?" Schultz said running a hand wearily across his scalp. Anna wasn't sure what expression he made beneath his mask, but she knew it wasn't a good one. She didn't like it, she couldn't stand his concern, she couldn't stomach his judgment, but he stopped himself before she had to hurl a beaker of glass in his direction. "That bad, huh?"

"You have no idea," Anna replied, fighting the pang of fear that coursed through her, the visions of sharp teeth and blood that swam through her mind.

"I suppose I don't."

"Hey, Schultz."

"What?"

"Fuck you."

Off the Grid

The sports jacket was a mystery to her. It was soft and smelled new. Brand new. Like no one had ever worn it before. Nice cut, elaborate tailoring. Anna was convinced it was expensive. It didn't quite match her torn t-shirt emblazoned with the Bloody Kisses album cover, but in the morning chill the warmth was welcome.

The frost covered bench was cold and Anna shivered, wrapping her arms around herself. She let the cigarette crumble into embers in her mouth, watching disdainfully as the ashes fell onto her lap. Small holes appeared in her skirt as the ashes burned out in wisps of smoke. She hated winter. She hated the city in winter. She hated the Sunday Group. She hated Eleanor. She hated everyone and everything, at least for a moment. But most of all, she thought, she hated herself.

She knew they'd find her eventually. She knew that Eleanor wouldn't take long. The Sunday Group. Whoever they were. Whatever they were. Whoever Eleanor was. Whatever she really was. Not whatever the sign on the door to her office said she was. The money had been good. They'd said it would be easy work. They'd lied. The money had been good. It had kept her going. It had kept her drugged. It was the only way to keep the eyes away, the glowing eyes that seemed to peer at her from the darkness in the middle of the night. It wasn't easy. It wasn't fun. They'd lied. All she'd gotten was more nightmares. More monsters to be afraid of. More horrors to bury with a fresh batch of homemade arcane drugs.

Anna heard the explosion, managing a low laugh as a cloud thick with magic enveloped the landscape in front of her. The cursing that followed filled her with a new warmth and drew more weak laughter still from the exhausted alchemist. Business casual figures emerged from the vegetation that lined the sides of the dirt road practically sparkling. Covered in pixie dust and glitter, they seemed far less serious than Anna remembered, but no less angry. They couldn't stop her from having her fun. They couldn't stop her from making a statement. Stumbling to her feet, Anna lit another cigarette, drawing in a long breath of tar streaked smoke with a satisfied sigh.

"Eleanor, boss, I can explain," she began slurring only slightly as a familiar, pain filled smiled played across her lips.

Winds of Fate - A Thieves' Adventure (Semi-Tabletop)

Nora

---

Swords on her hip, musket slung over back, and with a bag of supplies in hand, Nora appeared in the common room of the Faded Lantern with silent steps. She had been delayed. They had been delayed, but there was still time, and she did not doubt that Vargas had expected some trouble. Y'Vanna was already infamous in the Faded Lantern for her debauchery and no one, least of all Nora, held much hope for the moral fortitude of a roving sailor. Men who spent years on the sea were no doubt poisoned by the salt tinged water and seemed to inevitably fall to all of the many vices offered for a price in the Faded Lantern. Ne'miah's fresh infamy presented new problems, chiefly with the corrupt servants to of the law, still, dealing with the Sheriff was always part of the endless chess game that Vargas said he played.

Approaching the bar, Nora waved a hand dismissively as the bartender reached for a flagon, it was too early to drink, and she had already had her morning coffee in her private quarters. Casting a watchful eye over the room, she spotted Solange and Maréngo. Suspiciously they seemed to be deep in conversation and even getting along. Polite discussion, worrisome as it was, was better than insults, Nora thought, remembering the unfortunate incidents of violence and debauchery that had spoiled the past evening.

"You look restored, sailor," Nora said catching the end of their conversation. She nodded in greeting to her two companions and offered a subtle wave of her hand in the way of the desert people.

"The merchant Salman, is known for the quality of his coffee beans, but I warn you, his prices are not cheap, and the man knows how to haggle. Still, what price is not a good cup of coffee worth?" Nora generously added, deciding that scowling for once was not necessary.

The Sunday Group - Paranormal Detectives

I'm so in.

Fortuitously, I have spent some time rewriting Val (now Anna), so I'll be tossing a DIY alchemist raver doing an alarming quantity of magical drugs into the mix once more.

Forsaken

Valanthe Vanatar

Having suffered patiently through a litany of questions concerning matters that were far beneath the necessary attentions of a master wizard, Val had somehow managed to remain quiet and composed.

"Performing great feats of magic requires a certain amount of rest and necessary comforts. It would be a tragedy if I was too tired to cast a spell as a result of overtaxing my delicate constitution."

"... As I told our fine goliath friend, any comforts beyond the basic necessities are your own responsibility, Miss Vanatar."

"How sad," Val mused with a hint of mischief in her voice, "I had hoped perhaps that an exception might be made, but I shall welcome the challenge of acquiring a carriage for my personal for my private usage at a reasonable price."

"Cinder, perhaps you would like to be my driver? I will pay you a fair wage in compensation. You were always so wonderfully talented when it came to simpler tasks," Val asked with a soft smile and what might have passed for kindness in the elf sparkling behind her eyes.

Silence greeted the elf as Cinder gave her deadpan stare. The flames in her hair had died down a little, but it continued to smolder while she remained in Valanthe's presence.

"Why don't you ask one of the tabaxi to do it? They already have a wagon, just ride with them. I've got Ulleiss to look after.

"Oh, but Cinder, you are such a wonderful conversationalist, and we have so much to catch up on," Val said, clasping her hands together dramatically as she relished the moment of banter and teasing. She had forgotten how much more fun adventuring was when Cinder was forced to travel beside her.

"However, you raise an intriguing point, my dearest Cinder," Val continued, turning towards the tabaxi brothers. "Gentleman, do you perhaps have space in your wagon for a gentle wizard and her modest possessions? And if not, might one of you be interested in driving a carriage for me. I have no doubt I can find one for a winning price in town if there is a need for more space on what promises to be an undoubtedly perilous journey."

Cinder could be heard actually laughing behind her but it was clearly too dry to be genuine amusement, and was more likely to be the wry sort of laughter one does when they hear something so outrageous they can't even contemplate how to respond.

Pursing her lips into a thin smile, Val waggled a finger at Cinder, as if playfully chastising the fire gensai for interrupting her proposition to the tabaxi brothers.

"Well, gentleman, what do you say?" Val said, flashing her most winning smile. "Naturally, I will compensate you fairly for any services rendered. I am afraid my talents in wizardry far exceed my ability to handle animals and wagons."