Stitches

Paradigm Shift: Agents of Fate

Abigail was expecting a plaster, or a bit of antiseptic cream, or something of the sort. To see Angeline use magic so willingly was a jarring reminder of what company she now kept, where she was, and what she was doing. Arguably, watching the tepid liquid pool in Angie's hands was more of a wake-up call than the bodies themselves - she was on the wrong side of the war here. Her brows furrowed and eyes widened at the sight of the miracle - some vague hindbrain neurons fired off, muttering vague impulses over Jesus and his purifying water - and it rattled the kid enough to stun her into silence without so much as a 'thank you'. She just stared at the back of the seat in front of her as she disentangled the noise in her head back into thoughts.

It was in this state that Abigail registered her new colleague, perhaps the most heathenish witch to walk the earth. Siobhan had darker skin and funny clothes. She was the epitome of the bewilderingly unfamiliar; Abigail could manage, in these circumstances, to tolerate her presence because the alternative was a higher risk of getting shot. She didn't have to like her companion either, nor did she have to listen to her - after all, they were both complete novices in the face of true bloodshed. Abigail didn't have any words for Siobhan and didn't wait for her as the other mages filtered out of the truck, instead mustering up an awkward little nod of acknowledgement before she crept out of the Kombi and into the shed.

It was sheer dumb luck that kept Abigail from danger. She never bothered to check for any signs of occupation. She just opened the door to the shed as if the shooters ceased to exist the moment they were done murdering those two bootleggers, and the shed just so happened to be devoid of any occupants. In fact, it didn't look like the kid even realised what she had done. She instead wandered around the dusty abode with absent minded curiosity. She wasn't sure what she was looking for but the building wasn't any larger than eight feet square, lined with dusty tools, a few empty water butts, pieces of scrap and construction materials alongside an egregious amount of cobwebs and little nooks and crannies where the local wildlife would have undoubtedly crept in. Abigail fidgeted with a five inch scrap of plywood as she scuffed aside a couple of bent and rusty nails against the concrete floor, sighing softly. "What do you think," she asked the heathen. "Looks pretty clear to me."

Empire of the Dead

Thanks for the interest!
@Cyclone I'll have to see how he is first. I was aiming for a "freshly awakened gets used to undeath" angle to begin with, so some degree of empathy might be necessary. If he's too brutal I'll probably go with @gorgenmast's offer.

Looking forward to reading the new posts, though. Your prose here is far longer than mine but full of substance - makes me a little nervous to jump in. Thankfully I don't have to until I've given Silver an owner.

By the by, you can change her name to whatever as well, it's a placeholder instead of a pompous title. One of the quirks of being a bit of a blank slate.

Empire of the Dead

This looks interesting! I've deliberated over it for a couple days. I'd like to make a revenant minor that'll be reaninated for my first post - is anyone who plays a revenant major looking for a lackey?

I'll make the sheet ASAP that'll depict who she'll be but I'm thinking some sort of tactician with a sword, capable of light armoured/mounted combat as well as an advisor for her superior(s). Unflinchingly loyal but also getting to grips with undeath so she's a bit more lively than most.

Edit: finished the sheet.

The Silver Blade (name TBD)

Name: The Silver Blade

Rank: Revenant minor

Description: Her hair is a striking coppery red whilst her skin retains a shiny silvery-brown complexion - both clear signs of peat preservation. With the pads of fat that typically accentuated a woman's attributes long since rotted away, the flesh crafter's stitchwork has pulled the skin taut against the sinewy bone and muscle and cut off the excess, leaving her flat-chested, only slightly wider at the hips than her comrades and less weatherbeaten than most.

Whatever is left of this knight has been carefully crafted and sculpted to emphasize femininity. Her armour has been embossed with flowers and branches, pinched at the waist and curved at the back. The hairs of innumerable women and children dyed in the bogs and punched into her scalp to give her a long set of flowing locks, albeit at a receded hairline to prevent any stray strands from obscuring her vision. Her clothes are colourful, bright and painstakingly embroidered with long flowing skirts. She's adorned with chain tiaras, bracelets, necklaces and rings. Despite her undeath, she's been deliberately crafted to resemble an echo of the living.

Background: Not much is truly known about The Silver Blade. It was something of a pet project for Eagoth to collect persons of note and preserve them for future purpose, making the unknown lady one of hundreds kept in stasis across the kingdom. She's spent the last decade or so locked in a stone coffin, suspended in peat and embalming fluid with a small contingency of ghouls maintaining her physically whilst the necrotic energies that ought to give her sapience glowed dim behind her watery eyes.

What the records do show is that she was somewhat of a nuisance at court. Through methods unknown she had risen from nothingness to advisor of a long-forgotten lord, the latter's name and achievements scrubbed from the annals of history in a mix of inevitable property damage stemming from the war in Leria and a deliberate attempt to expunge him from the archives. She may not have lead his troops, but it was her whispering in the ears of his captain. She did not own the estate but she attended all the meetings that he did. She grew fond and close with allies and rivals alike then returned at the call of her master to reveal her findings. What her honeyed words couldn't accomplish, her silver rapier made up for it. Someone so flippant and frivolous with the secrets of men in power inevitably found herself becoming a keen combatant and wary soul, though evidently not wary enough. Perhaps it's no surprise at all that Eagoth's servants found her, identifiable through her ornate armour, buried in a bog beyond the bridge with her throat slashed open. She couldn't have been older than thirty.

Her achievements didn't warrant the privilege of becoming a Revenant Major but she could have been worth more than a ghoul. Her name and her feats are listed in a catalogue of these persons of note with a brief description of the brainwashing techniques used to detach her loyalties from her living superior, leaving her in a comatose state until a new lord could fill his place.

Wards(If applicable): N/A

Paradigm Shift: Agents of Fate

Abigail was on a bit of an artistic streak. Whatever coated the windows - some strange mix of grease and cigarette stains - made it easy to draw on. After she drew her sun, she smeared a line for a road. Siobhan regaled her with stories of a rickety little plane which elicited a grunt of acknowledgement, but it was so beyond her meagre scope of existence that she just didn't know how to respond to a tall tale such as that. Better to focus on her masterpiece. She started drawing the Billy bus, but when they entered a dark garage she cut her losses and slumped back into the seat to wait for something to happen.

In those fifteen minutes, Abigail immediately clocked on to a familiar fullness that let her know she needed to cast her flame spell quite soon. Her face twisted up. How long did it take to drive to the outback if you're not driving? What sort of repercussions would she discover if she shot a stream of purple fire out of the window and into interdimensional space? Before Abigail could weigh up the specifics, a new wave of discomfort - like someone slowly pouring a glass of water on her without any of the wet or the chill - swept through her body and she squirmed, screwing her eyes shut and stretching one leg out until that horrible feeling was over. At least it felt intentional; Billy was blessed with the inability to experience all the weirdness of blue magic and she watched him in the gloom from the advantageous circular clean spot of her sunshine. He opened the basement door and Abigail had enough light to keep drawing. She finished the Billy bus but it looked more like an RV than an old Kombi.

They pulled out of the basement and passed a corpse, though Abigail didn't immediately recognise it was a corpse, and wondered something along the lines of 'why's that lady lying down' before the realisation struck and that lapse in concentration mingled with the shock and the fright to produce a very small spurt of fire, one that licked the interior of the back window for little more than a second as Abigail grabbed her (now red and shiny, freshly burnt) wrist and stuffed the offending hand under her armpit. "Are they dead?" She blurted out as she doubled over with discomfort, fear, and the kneejerk reaction to keep her head out of the window lest she becomes an easy target. It was at this point that her missing the majority of the briefing began to have its effect as she stammered "well, what do we do now?!" And pointed at Angeline. "Whatever happens, I'm buddying up with you, first aid lady."

Good Ol' Boys

Looks good! I hope you don't mind, been working on a sheet these past few days:

Abigail Flint

Name: Abigail Flint

Appearance:
Abigail is a lean, flat sort of woman with a short bob of blonde hair. Her features are angular and she's a fan of high waisted trousers. When she's out on errands, she'll wear any old thrift shop attire and has a collection of grubby clothes for exercising. Her eyes are a pale blue shade that makes them look wide and piercing, giving the woman an eerie intensity. She has a few scars scattered all over from a rambunctious youth.

Age: 26

Occupation/ Cover: Police Deputy

Public Goals: Abigail is looking to settle into rural life. She's hoping to get by and do some good in the town, carve out a decent living for herself and maybe find herself a nice man while she's at it.

Private Goals: Abigail's loyal to the ex-detective. She doesn't give a crap for O'Connor county and wants to wrestle her way out of the sticks and back up the career ladder.

Personal History:
Abigail grew up as a bright and ambitious child. She had high hopes for her future; her sights set on judicial law and becoming an attorney. Unfortunately life doesn't always go the way you planned and academia wasn't her sort of thing. Growing up in and around Illinois, she moved to Chicago when she was around thirteen and found the change in atmosphere to be a bit overwhelming. Money grew tight and the accountancy firm her dad worked in was starting to go under, leaving her mother stressed and dismissive to Abigail's achievements. The kid couldn't keep up and, anxious to avoid breaking her parents' bank account, was quick to take on any sort of work she could qualify for. Thankfully she took up a job as a cop when she graduated high school and helped save up enough money for a cheap apartment closer to the station, bringing the family cat with her for company.

Her first few months were spent as a glorified receptionist. She was ridiculed and belittled for being a woman and so fresh to the force. It was a demeaning change of pace from what she had imagined and left her dispirited and alienated from her peers. She often considered calling it all in and taking a job as a clerk or something similar...until she started to notice discrepancies between the salaries of her co-workers and the shiny new toys they could afford. Ever the little sleuth, Abigail started trying to inch her way into the boy's club and unearthed the corruption within - bribery, taking cuts from organised criminal families in the city, looking the other way during suspicious shipment of cargo. Before she could even begin to think about how to dismantle this apparent failing of the system, she was promptly requested for by Detective Boscom.

Boscom had kept Abigail under close surveillance when at work and made sure she made it home okay in the evenings. His stern command left her little wriggle room to address the growing corruption of the police force and for a while she was convinced this was some sort of deterrent to keep her out of the way. As she started to get to know her fellow deputies and through her conversations and performance reviews with her boss, she was gradually convinced that the Detective had reassigned her for her own safety. Indignant at the patronising treatment and still blissfully naïve to the dangers of her job, Abigail grew frigid towards her superior and kept stubbornly digging into the involvement of the Mafia. The more she tried to investigate, the shorter the leash became - soon she was essentially a personal assistant to the detective and worked right outside of his office. She'd catch him once or twice, leering at her through the blinds. Making sure she fell in line. In defiance of her circumstances, she persisted.

During her third year in the force, Boscom relented. He started to give Abigail field training and pointed the little do-gooder out on patrol with some of the other officers. Abigail took well to the legwork and enjoyed feeling like an actual cop, even though her first instances of assault and violence rattled her. When she started bringing in felons with drug possession charges Boscom actually started listening to her. What started off as a rocky and strictly professional relationship was now turning into something a bit less formal. He began advising her on how to behave, who to talk to, who to avoid both in the force and out of it. Within a couple more years he was asking for her council. It turned out that Boscom was an honest man in a dishonest job, toeing the line between puppet of the Mafia and protector of the people. Abigail learnt that things weren't so black and white. She, too, learnt not to kick up a fuss when a known murderer walked free within the week. There were plenty of times where she could have stopped, protecting herself and her family. She felt like she was at least making a difference as a cop - especially when she took a look at trials in the courthouse and the dealings of lawyers. She made friends with her co-workers and had a healthy social life beyond work. Her visits home were scarce due to the hours and the pressures of the job.

Eventually Abigail was becoming too sharp for her own good. Being an accessory (and an instigator) to Boscom's tampering with confidential information, she was transferred to O'Connor county at a moment's notice alongside the detective. This threw her off guard; she barely had enough time to stop her lease, move her belongings back to her parents' house and figure out what to pack. The houses out in the country were above the miserable pay she was going to get - no doubt a move to try and separate the protégé from the mentor. Vindicated after years of the mob pushing her around, Abigail agreed to pay cheap rent at the house her boss had lined up just to keep working her way back up the ladder.

Notes: Abigail's history is recoverable through the Chicago Mafia, though she wasn't exactly a person of note. She's known for her efficiency and energy, often working late hours to get things done. Too sceptical and astute for her own good from time to time. She likes to rollerskate.

Paradigm Shift: Agents of Fate

Abigail regarded the combivan with a mixture of scepticism and awe. Patchwork repair jobs like this always tended to go sideways at the worst of times but you just couldn't tell when it came to lower class rural engineering. Practitioners varied wildly in terms of skill. Abi had seen flaming wrecks of old pickup trucks alongside mysterious trailers with sawn off paneling, vents and all sorts jutting out at bizarre angles. She'd seen miracles performed with PVC pipes, a blowtorch and a bit of ingenuity. It's a strange vocation that came with a lot of trial and error, but when it worked...her gaze slipped to Billy with just as much scrutiny, as if she was trying to sniff out his origins. Weighing him up against the fruits of his labour.

All of these things were a moot point regardless. Abi hadn't seen anything else in the car park big enough to hold the entire squad and she wasn't about to dig her heels in over a clunky undercarriage. If it broke down, it was everyone's problem - not hers specifically. And it smelt like doughnuts. "Should'a painted on a bit of décor," she remarked critically, mangling the pronunciation of the word into something that could best be described as 'americanised to the extreme'. "But hey, looks good. Dibs on the back seat!" She'd taken off before she even finished the sentence, wrenching open the side door (it made a nasty THUMP when it hit the end of its hinges) and launching herself into one of the stiff grey seats near the back window. A cloud of dust, dirt and various ashes rose as she collided with the cushions. She didn't even flinch at the disgusting condition of its interior, even looking around with some fondness at how…well-loved it was. Instead she took to drawing on the window with her finger, smearing the brownish film on the interior as she drew a sun shining.

Paradigm Shift: Agents of Fate

Abigail sat up after dutifully inspecting ceiling panels for mould. It was darker here, with some shafts of sunlight speckling the pools of fluorescence from cheap strip bulbs installed to just keep everything in the esoteric structure visible. Here the moss had crept across the tiles and some small saplings were starting to crack through the surface. Even some of the broken bulbs in the fixtures were repurposed into homes for nesting birds, the fragments littering the ground like raindrops. It was just...empty space. Nobody really had a reason to be in here unless they were getting deeper into the mall or heading outside.

“Why’d you say yes?” Brooks asked, having crept up to the spot she was seated in.

Abigail jolted. “Jay-sus, man. Don’t do that. I could’ve burnt you to a crisp.”

“Last I remember you could only burn yourself to a crisp. Why’d you say yes?” he interjected, arms folded as he stared at her for an answer.

“Well, I mean, fire...is pretty indiscriminate,” Abigail drawled, opening her hands out. Even now, under her sleeves, the redness and yellowish blisters shone from the wrist down. “I’ve seen it burn plenty of other stuff. Trashcans, mostly. I’m sure it’ll do the trick against people.” She scratched her wrist, popping a few of the sores, which leaked down to her elbow. “Unless you mean, uh, more’uva moral and spiritual ‘why’...?”

Brooks unfolded his arms and sat down next to her whilst rolling his eyes with a tired sigh. He spoke: “No. I mean a practical why. I got you here to safety, why’d you not take the way out and hide?”

“‘Cause, uh…” Abigail fidgeted. “If I do that, I’m guaranteed to die. If I at least make whatever’s left mean something...and if it’ll keep me in the here and now, fer sure. So uh, lesser of two evils?”

“We’re going to need you to keep a level head when you’re out there. You think you’re capable of that? You’re more wily than the others.”

“Is ‘wily’ your way of saying ‘batshit-fuckin’-crazy’?” Abigail smirked at him, rubbing her chapped hands. She picked at a fraying patch on her jeans. “I’m doing worse without something to focus on. I think, if anything, it’ll be the times I’m not getting shot at that you gotta worry about, uh, about…” she waved a hand. “Temper tantrums? I’unno. Call it what you like. But I’ve been out of it ever since I settled in. But everything, from ho-...from the RV to actually getting here, it’s all crystal clear man. Crystal.”

“Whatever you want to call ‘em, it’s dangerous. A danger to you and the others. Are you sure that you can control it if you’re in the middle of a situation?”

“Wuh-...how should I know? How do you know the rest of ‘em aren’t gonna flip a switch and start freaking out’n’all? Or is it just ‘cause I’m a kid?” Abigail scowled. “Call it a god-damn occupational hazard.” She fell quiet for a moment, mulling it over. “You...you an’ I, we know what this is. At least, I assume you’ve noticed. Ain’t no other…” her jaw twisted as she spat out the word, perhaps for the first time since she landed in Goodnight. “Ain’t no other mage that has trouble keeping the magic in. That makes me a weapon. So the least I can do ya, is a promise.” Her features twisted into a cynical grin and her eyes lit up, if only briefly. “I’ll face the other guys when it happens.”

Brooks let out a sharp breath of air through his nose, going back to stare at whatever was before them. He was quiet for several more minutes: “Alright.” he slowly crawled up, groaning lightly on the way and dusted off his pants. “I’ll be about in case anyone else wants a word. Six hours. Be ready.”

Abigail watched him leave. Hungry. She was hungry. She missed breakfast and threw up whatever was left, so the first of those six hours was spent loitering around one of the cafeterias, grabbing a bowl of oatmeal and a couple of those pink diner sugar packets to make it somewhat palatable. She found some place to sit and started making a tiny yet tall pile of sugar in the middle of her gruel, finding comfort in the distracting little game whilst methodically blocking out any more intrusive, fearmongering thoughts.

Paradigm Shift: Agents of Fate

"You seem to be the one taking charge, why don't you try'n take the reins on this one?" Abigail scratched her cheek. "You're definitely the most….en-thusi-astic…" her jaw worked over the word with uncertainty. Was there any way to be enthusiastic over your imminent induction course into becoming a terrorist? Her stomach turned. Her decision started to bring bile to the back of her throat. Terrorists. Witches. Insurgency fighters and, god forbid, liberals. She watched Syl with distaste, then peered beyond her. It was all becoming clearer now, more immediate and infinitely more worrying. A defiance of everything she'd ever been taught, and out of what? Spite? Oh god. Oh fuck. Oh Jesus Christ what had she done--

"Well, I'm pretty confident with all of this!" Abigail gave Ellen a hearty pat on the back. "S'just a quick pick-up, I doubt we'll be there more than ten minutes, n' I can vouch fer Billy-n-Brooks, ruthless sunsabitches…" she took a few sloping backsteps, "...so uh, I uh, I look forward to working with y'all!" She used her back to open the doors to the headquarters, shot a clammy pair of finger guns and, as soon as she was out of sight, sprinted to the closest trashcan and threw up into it.

"Damn sis," asked a nearby mage, "what happened in there?"

"Poor life choices. Mind your own business," Abigail hocked and spat a cloudy wad on top of her spew, wiping her mouth on the back of her hand. She half skipped, half staggered out of the crowds - beyond the bickering and the tension - further out into the department store, the overgrown corners of Goodnight. Once she found a mossy grove in the middle of the light fixtures corridor, where the dusty sunbeams reflected infinitely across the threshold, she fell to her knees and she started to pray.

It wasn't even prayer. It was pleading, mixed with some snot-faced tears and a bit of frustration tossed into the mix. Her heart went at a mile a minute as her ribcage seemed to shrink and her breath came out in short gasps. She folded her arms, clutching herself, doubled over into a little ball and sobbed. It felt bad. Abigail lacked the vocabulary to express it. Like the hand of God himself was squeezing her chest and putting all his divine weight on her shoulders. She stuffed the collar of her secondhand long-sleeved top into her mouth and gnawed on it, using it to muffle her fearful grunts and whimpers. But as time passed, her body and mind gave way somewhat. She rolled onto her side and then onto her back as she watched the light flicker endlessly across the gaudy pseudo-chandeliers. In increments, she squashed it all down and went back into that distant haze in the back of her head.

It was nice, cool, quiet and peaceful out here. One of her many hiding spots around Goodnight. Let the future Abigail deal with all that existential dread; she deserved a breather. She lay on the ground and tried to make shapes out of the patterns of mould on the ceiling tiles.

Paradigm Shift: Agents of Fate [Currently Accepting!]

Not only are applications closed for now, we've also moved to Advanced. Sorry about that!

Paradigm Shift: Agents of Fate

Abigail scratched her arm. She regarded Simon, then Ellen, then the cold and steady gazes of Brooks and that other lady - Syl, the dark and stern one she met a couple weeks ago. "Yeah...M'gonna need a hot minute to mull it over," she drawled. She was sure Simon would say something reassuring and sympathetic, probably along the lines of 'take all the time you need,' and maybe even stress that she doesn't really have all the time she needs if she's going to be of any use but...by the time he'd probably get around to saying that Abigail was already almost out of the headquarters. After all, what were they going to do; tell her to come back? He did say 'volunteer', after all.

No, Abigail just didn't want to be put on the spot. She thought she knew her answer from the get-go but also recognised that this was a significant decision she was taking on and should at least ruminate on it in the time it'd take her to do a lap of the mall. It just... didn't feel like one. Things like consequences, urgency, other people's feelings, her own feelings; they didn't have as big of an impact on her since she 'settled' into Goodnight. It felt like she was watching from a distance, or that she was far away. Maybe her good Christian soul was still in Arizona and the demon that's possessed her corporeal form is the one making the decisions, she just didn't know anymore. In fact, she tried not to think about it. She tried not to think about anything. Living in the here and now meant dealing with the big questions like 'Am I now condemned to an eternity of torment in Hell' and 'Has God abandoned me' and 'Why has everything I've been taught suddenly turned against me in every possible way'. It was far easier to just...check out of the whole situation and float through the days, which is why she wasn't sure what time it was or how long she had been in the mall.

There were, of course, times when Abigail did want to feel like she was still a person. Those were her jogging times. Abigail ran a lot since she showed up in Goodnight. She took cold showers because it felt like home and the shock to her system was an excellent means of lifting the haze in her head. Her trembling, aching legs and pangs of hunger were similarly nice little reminders that she wasn't just making everything up and had gone absolutely batshit. She didn't talk to anyone, but she enjoyed the company of her silent running partner. Some pretty lady who couldn't keep up. Abigail liked to slow down a bit for her. It was that kind of silent connection that meant more to her now than any kind word or knowing smile; after all, she wasn't a fan of pity.

Abigail looked up and realised she was outside the mall by one of her burning bins. For the hell of it, she jettisoned a thin line of purple flame into its warped and melting bottom. Her magic wasn't behaving like everyone else's; she quelled it, tried to squash it in. She rejected the lessons for as long as she could, and had to have them in rooms set aside for 'difficult cases' because her magic was so difficult to control and overpower. Either way, their teaching wasn't sinking in as much as she liked; to progress at all, she was told she'd have to accept that she was a mage. Since that was in line with those terrifying truths she was tactfully avoiding, Abigail decided she didn't want to progress. She kind of knew how to hold it in by now, and if she could catch herself doing something weird, it was easy enough to just...squish it in. Leave the refinement of her unholy power to the future Abigail who had her affairs in order. At the moment, she was content to just manage it.

Her feet took her back in the direction of the headquarters and past a new squabble over breakfast, which she drifted in between with a glassy eyed glance in their direction and a quirk of her scraggly brow. She knew she couldn't stay with these people. She didn't want to stagnate here and get sucked into the petty politics of a displaced and unstable mass. That was probably why she was back in the headquarters after a such short while. "Yeah alright, I'm in," she intoned with the same disinterest that she displayed in the first place, leaving a smidge of doubt as to whether or not she thought over it at all.