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Marcine Sterling Overture Scene: Oak Alley, June 19th, 8:00pm Marcine did her best to ignore the faint patter of paws behind her head as she checked her violin’s tuning. Her sunrise-toned tunic was just the color for performing at the Summer Court; she hadn't forgotten her scarf or the hat with the brooch sprouting a small spray of white feathers. Topaz had assured her that her music choices were fine. But she couldn't shake the feeling that something was off, and she didn't know what, and when the paws padded past her head for the seventh time she finally twisted around in the bench to face her companion. “Sit still or pace somewhere else already.” The chubby gold-furred fox spirit responded to this by flopping down on the shelf behind her and flicking all three of his tails over her head, blocking her vision. She sat still for a moment, sighed, and rolled him into her arms to stare down at him. “Adorable.” Topaz puffed his cheeks out at the indignity of being held like an infant and reached up to bop her on the nose with one brown-booted paw. “Marcine,” he said, his concerned voice unusually deep for a creature no larger than a corgi. “You should take this more seriously.” “Sure, let me just start pacing around the room and looking dire.” She drew her legs up to settle some of Topaz’s weight on her lap and fluffed his belly. (He enjoyed it - in private. Typical fox.) “That won’t annoy anyone.” The fox maintained his indignant look but didn’t interrupt the belly rub. “I mean it. Summer’s zenith is upon us, but Lord Narcissus is hiding in his chambers instead of riding forth to restore the blight that’s eating away at the Nevernever. Winter is arriving soon, and if they sense weakness...” “Probably not a war. But trouble.” Marcine set one leg back on the ground so Topaz could tip himself upright. “It’s weird, but it’s not like I can go ask for a private audience. Unless he’s really in the mood for music. Which…” She waved at their surroundings. The other banquet hall musicians were still setting up. She’d played with a few of them before, but she didn’t know any of their names; there wasn’t usually much time for talk at these events. All were mortals, and most had traveled much farther to be there tonight at the request of one faerie or another. It was a traditional group of mainly strings, though she noticed a few cases for wind instruments and one nervous balding man setting up a percussion kit. It was either his first gig for the fae or he hadn’t had good experiences at others, she thought. Several rows of walnut benches had been set aside for them, in the corner nearest the large open windows so the music could be heard on the balconies and even onto the lawn below. Music of every variety was already playing out there, of course, and had been all week. Marcine could see down the corridor of oaks from where she was sitting, the thousand faces of Summer dancing and chasing and playing and eating. It was almost a shame that she was inside - but it was easier to focus here once things got underway than out in that chaos. The Sidhe themselves had gathered inside the plantation home, though they were all downstairs for now. Narcissus had yet to open the upstairs banquet room, though it was beginning to look ready for guests. Row after row of covered silver platters graced the long tables on the other side of the room, and Topaz was eyeing them hungrily. Marcine didn’t blame him. She’d made sure to eat before she arrived and they still looked tempting. Huffing, Topaz slipped off her lap and onto the floor. He put a paw up on the bench where her violin was resting, and nudged it towards her. “If you play for me, I’ll keep watch over you tonight,” he said with a sparkle in his eye. Marcine smiled. “My knight in shining fuzz?” It wasn’t worth pointing out that this was what she’d meant to do (more or less) before his pacing distracted her. She picked up her violin, tested the tuning, and started a lively tune that she hadn’t planned on playing later. But she knew Topaz liked it. And he did like it, so much so that he danced along, as only a fox could.
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Feb 27, 2016 06:11
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Second Movement Scene: Oak Alley, June 19th, 10:30pm Topaz was waiting just inside the balcony entranceway, glaring daggers at the back of Pontchartrain’s rocking chair. “I said I would watch you, but I can’t protect you from that one,” he said quietly. “Are you alright?” “I’m fine.” Marcine shook herself and crouched to both pick up her violin and give Topaz a reassuring scratch on the head. “He was friendly enough. Didn’t try making a bargain or anything.” She reviewed the conversation in her head. “Narcissus promised him a show worth coming for. Then he said something about gambling that seemed...timely, given present company.” She straightened and scanned the room for their host. The kitsune was too anxious to enjoy the pet this time. “Narcissus did? He said that?” “It was implied that it was him, considering they entered near together…” She paused her search to frown at the floor. “Whoever invited him did, anyway.” “There is bad blood between those two, old scars that will never heal. Older than you and me put together. They don’t usually go to the same parties.” He pawed at the ground, unable to sit still. “But he agreed to come. Do you know what happened?” “If Narcissus invited him, it was only because he couldn’t prevent him from coming. The Old Man is stronger than he is, but held to the terms of an old wager… He lost control of the city in a bet.” “Which of them cheated?” She probably didn’t need to ask. Topaz shrugged. “Which of them won?” “Right. Better question: Who’s planning a show for who?” Marcine stood up and stretched her fingers for the next song. That was when the lights went out. If it had been a mortal crowd there would have been screams, but this was anything but. Silence, broken only by hissing and the growls of the four-footed fae, held the room. A were-light blossomed in the air roughly where the main chandelier hung, bathing the hall in eerie silver light. It reflected in the eyes of the faeries as though they were cats. Lord Narcissus stepped into the center of the hall, which had cleared during the brief darkness. “I know you’re there,” he said, sounding almost bored. “This is Summer’s time, wyldfae.” “Summer’s, aye. Not yours, though,” a thin, raspy voice answered from the doorway. The owner of the voice was man-sized, but hunched over, with a face like an ape’s. He was hairy, with arms too long for his body and legs too short. He wore no clothing, but carried a branch in one hand that had been sharpened to a point. “Aye, you knew I’d be coming, but you couldn’t stop me. You brought this on yourself, with your vanity and neglect. We’ll not be ruled by you any longer.” “You grasp for something beyond your reach, Bohpoli,” Narcissus said, spreading his arms mockingly. He glanced to the balcony, and the Old Man, framed by the moonlight, watching him. “Your master cannot touch me, and you were never more than a thorn - one that I now have cause to remove.” The wyldfae grinned, showing a row of sharp teeth. “We’ll see about that.” The were-light flickered, and the faeries began to move. In the strobe it seemed as though they were caught in freeze frame, and though the whole event took less than a minute it felt like an eternity in slow motion. Bohpoli hurled his makeshift spear at the Summer Lord with both hands, shrieking in fury. Narcissus side-stepped it easily, but the spear embedded itself in the floor and began to grow, sprouting leaves and branches as it transformed into a full-sized oak tree. It burst through the roof above them, and as it did, a hundred battle cries sounded as the wyldfae army descended the trunk into the hall. Marcine scooped Topaz up and half-tossed him onto her shoulder. She could run, but that was risky. She was closer to the balcony. The wyldfae wouldn’t overrun Pontchartrain (probably). Choices… She waved the other musicians back toward the wall and away from the chaotic center, ignoring her pounding heart. “What the gently caress did he do in that bet?” she muttered. Topaz balanced on her shoulder on his hind legs like a rabbit, scanning the crowd. “Miho, Miho, where are you? Where- oh!” He jumped, a bright golden blur that vanished in the press of bodies. “Hey-!” Marcine stumbled and reached after him, but she didn't dare follow and leave the other mortals without any protection at all. She edged closer to the balcony. The Summer Sidhe were unarmed, but not without weapons. Magic began flying from both sides as the wyldfae swarmed down the tree trunk. The were-light stopped flickering and grew brighter, illuminating the room starkly and casting long shadows. Now there were screams, and battle cries, and snarls, and a cacophony of resentment and old anger that was finally boiling over. Three of the wyldfae, squat creatures, bent-backed with leather masks covering their bulbous noses, split off from the others and ran at the easier prey cowering in the corner behind their benches. They were armed with heavy clubs, which they quickly began to use on the instruments themselves. Crash! went the cellos. Boom! went the kettle drum. Twang! went the harpstrings. Then they turned their beady eyes on Marcine and her violin. “Down with the minions of Narcissus!” the front-most one shouted. “gently caress off.” She put the instrument under her chin and dragged her bow across its strings. It shrieked, loud enough to hurt her own ears, and with it she sent an image of stinging, burning iron at their minds if they didn't go back to their own fight. ((Provoke to create the advantage “Don't mess with Metal”: //+/ +3 = +4, invoking Magic in E Minor to make that +6.)) The goblins covered their floppy ears with both hands, and when the piercing sound ceased, two of them fled altogether. The third raised his club like a torch, “The gobbies will not be intimidated by-” but he didn’t get to finish, because Topaz landed on his head and bit him on the ear. He squealed and ran in a circle, shaking himself like a wet dog. “Aiyeeeee!” The fox spirit dropped to the ground, standing protectively in front of Marcine, and the goblin dropped his club and ran from them. Topaz turned his head. “I said I would watch out for you,” he said smugly. Marcine smiled. “My hero.” She tapped her shoulder and backed further out of the fray. “I'm more worried about them right now,” she said, angling her head toward the other musicians. He hopped up on her shoulder again and followed her eyes, but the other mortals, terrified though they were, appeared unhurt. “Nothing broken that can’t be mended,” he said, looking back at the melee. “In fact… I wonder if that’s the point.” The invaders were armed with blunt tools and fists, and their main target seemed to be the party itself rather than the partygoers. Tables and chairs were destroyed with reckless abandon, but the Sidhe were being herded and split apart, forced to yield one by one. Narcissus was still shouting orders, the wide sleeves of his emerald robe swishing this way and that. His two guardians flanked him to either side, and none of the wyldfae had managed to get close enough to touch him, even though his supporters were surrendering all around him. Marcine could see Miho’s knives gleaming, one in each hand, but they were still clean. “I couldn’t get to them,” Topaz said, pointing with his paw. There was a fierce pride in his voice as he continued. “But look, neither can anyone else.” Marcine looked. She saw the kitsune turn around and face the Summer Lord. She saw Ruby take a step back, as the fox’s right hand slashed high across Narcissus’ unprotected face. Blood splattered as Miho struck a second time - not aiming to kill, but to scar. And then Narcissus simply wasn’t there. He was ten feet away, fleeing, bleeding. Miho vanished as well, reappearing in his shadow, slashing again and again - but each time, he wasn't there. She never landed a blow after the very first. This time when Narcissus reappeared, his clothes were fraying and losing their color. The cut on his face was healed, newly dried blood flaking over an ugly puckered scar across his left cheek. “Traitor!” he wailed, covering the scar with his hand. A heat wave coursed through the room as he gathered summer’s power. “Nay, cheater lord,” Bohpoli spat. “Only reminded of older, stronger debts than the one you held.” Finally, Old Man Pontchartrain stepped into the hall. “SO THAT’S HOW YOU DID IT!” he bellowed, so loud that the entire battle paused, every faerie in the room staring up at him. He was growing as he spoke, until his bald head touched the ceiling, and the scent of lake water and mud overpowered the flowery fragrance that had marked the hall before. “BENDING TIME WAS AGAINST THE RULES, NARCISSUS. OUR OLD AGREEMENT IS VOID.” The faeries made way as he strode through the crowd, his long beard snaking forward as if alive, reaching for Narcissus. The Summer Lord’s eyes bulged as he realized what he’d done, but he held his head high and sneered at the lake-spirit. “There will be a reckoning for this!” “THIS IS THE RECKONING, FOOL.” Pontchartrain boomed, but as his beard reached Narcissus, the Summer Lord vanished entirely. For a moment, there was silence. Then the Old Man turned to the crowd. “THE USURPER HAS FLED!” A cheer went up from the wyldfae, while the Sidhe seemed too stunned to respond. “AND NOW I WILL HAVE PEACE, FOR WINTER IS COMING, AND WE MUST BE READY.”
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Feb 28, 2016 08:21
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Caught Scene: Vampire Encampment Aspects: Dark and Dirty, Behind Bars (Or at least Chain Link), Way Too Many Vampires Some hours later… Marcine sat in the center of the dog cage. It was a tactical decision. She’d started out huddled near the back after they threw her in there, still trying to figure out what the hell had just happened to her, shaking and swallowing bile. Then she realized that it was nothing but chain link keeping her from whatever was out there. In the middle, they’d have to go through some effort to get at her. So there she'd stayed, and considered her options. It was better to focus on defensive positioning than the fact that the flyers outside New Orleans said she was in 2018 when the stars stopped going weird. Or that she was pretty sure these were Red Court vampires, which were supposed to be too dead to make a comeback. Or that she hadn’t seen Topaz since she got out of her car to investigate the roadblock. It was too dark to see much in the clearing. Firelight reflected off car windows in the woods (one of them hers, her hat and violin still on the passenger seat), more cages (empty), and sometimes eyes (too many). They were expecting more, so maybe she wasn’t the first to wander out of the past. If another showed up maybe they could freak out together. “One straggler,” one of the vampires said to another, spitting on the ground. These two were in human skin, though a few others weren’t. Marcine had quickly realized she was the only real human present. “Nothing from the other camps?” the first’s companion asked. “Nothing. I think it’s all a trick. Maybe they want us to break the barrier for them. Maybe they’re just too weak to do it themselves.” “The Duke wouldn’t fall for a trick.” “No, but he has to be sure, even if it is one.” “loving wizards.” “loving wizards,” the first agreed. Not as hosed as vampires, Marcine thought. She had some ideas for how to escape, but even if she could mentally manipulate vampires without getting killed (and that was a gigantic if), then what? Run straight into another patrol? Better to wait and see if the situation changed. She stayed motionless. For some time, nothing happened. Then there was a sudden flurry of activity near the road. A flash of blue light and the scent of ozone marked the hole that was torn in the veil as a huge vampire in bat-form arrived though a portal, flanked by two hideous ghouls. The vampire carried a man-sized bundle over one shoulder. It barked orders in Spanish, pointing at the cage where Marcine was being held. It approached the cage, hooked its claws through the chain link and leaned down to look in at her with bright yellow eyes. It sniffed directly at her, stump nose twitching, as if deciding to keep her around or not. Marcine managed not to wrinkle her nose at the ugly thing. Bats were ruined forever. She dropped her head back down. Maybe if she just looked resigned, they’d leave her alone for a while. ((Deceive vs the vampire: /+--+5 = 4 vs --+/ +2 = 1. Marcine bores the gently caress out of him.)) “This one is for the Duke,” the vampire said to the two guards, who jumped to attention. They peered at the new prisoner. He had a bag over his head, and his wrists were cuffed behind his back with rune-covered silver manacles that sparkled in the firelight. “Wizard?” the first one asked. “Warden,” the bat said slowly, licking his lips. This close, Marcine saw that the creature was wounded. Much of its coarse fur was burned or cut, and there were fresh scars on its chest and belly, pockmarks that looked like bullet holes. The vampires laughed like hyenas as the big one threw the man into the cage. He bounced off the ground, limp, a small grunt of drawn breath the only noise that came from him. Marcine studied him, but with his head covered, she couldn’t recognize him. Warden? That would be too much of a coincidence, and yet, right outside New Orleans… She waited until the vampires lost interest, then leaned over and put a hand on his shoulder. “Human,” she said. “Going to see if I can get this bag off you, at least.” She felt the edge, found it unsecured, and slid it off. He didn’t respond. But it was definitely Warden Cole, and the knock on his head looked serious. Probably a concussion. Promote circulation, reduce swelling, keep his head stable. She carefully shifted him into a better position, supporting his neck, and massaged pressure points. What bit of water magic she knew (and dared use with vampires close by) cleaned the blood from the wound and cooled the area. ((Medicine to stabilize Cole: ++/-+1 = 2, invoking Where the Wyld Rose Blooms to know enough first aid to bring that to 4.)) It was almost another hour before Cole shifted, letting out a quiet groan of pain. “...where… Angie?” He tried to sit up, but discovered his hands were bound behind his back, and that moving his head at all set it to pounding so hard that he couldn’t see straight. He settled for rolling onto his side and curling up in a ball. Holding still cleared his vision a little, and he finally noticed he wasn’t alone in the cage. He didn’t recognize Marcine, though. “Nnng,” was the closest thing to a greeting he was capable of. “Hello to you, too,” Marcine said, though her tone held more sympathy than sarcasm. “Don’t move much. You have a concussion. I did what I could, but I'm somewhat limited.” He grunted in assent, fighting down the sudden wave of nausea that accompanied the pounding headache. “Where are we?” he managed to ask. “Outside New Orleans.” She watched him curiously. He didn’t look like he was six years older than the last time she’d seen him, but in the darkness, she couldn’t be sure of anything. “Vampire camp. They have some sort of checkpoint.” “New Orleans?” he repeated, as if the words were familiar but didn’t make any sense. Despite the warning, he propped himself up on one shoulder and gave her another look. “Wait, did you come from inside the city?” “Yeah. Marcine Sterling. We’ve met, Warden Cole. You might not remember.” She leaned back against the chain link. She’d traded him the defensive position. At least she could actually put up a fight if she had to. “Sterling…” He winced; thinking too hard hurt. “Right. Haunted music hall? Curtain ropes going after the stagehands? Yeah, I remember… Hey, help me up. I can’t see anything from down here.” She chuckled dryly. “You don’t know what ‘don’t move much’ means, do you? Won’t see anything from up here, either.” But she helped him sit upright anyway, settling him against her shoulder for support; better than letting him try it on his own and hurt himself. It cost him a lot to move even that much, but he didn’t complain out loud. “Spirits, there’s a lot of them,” he said under his breath, wide-eyed as a deer in the headlights. But he grit his teeth and forced himself to start counting heads. “Five… Six maybe… Couple of ghouls. It’s too dark.” He gave up and sighed heavily. “Anyone else come in besides me?” “No.” She bit her lip; he’d asked for someone else when he’d come to. “I don’t know where the kitsune that was with me is, either.” “Getting help, if we’re lucky,” Cole said, though he didn’t sound very hopeful. He kept straining his eyes into the darkness, as if expecting someone to show up any minute, but no one did. “drat it, Angie…” he whispered to himself. “Not again. Please God, not again.” “Shut up in there!” one of the ghouls growled, throwing something that rattled off the chain link. It took Marcine a second look to realize it was a bone. She set her jaw and rested a hand on Cole’s arm for a moment, the most reassurance she could offer a mostly-stranger in such a situation. He didn’t say anything, but some of the tension went out of his shoulders. They stayed quiet for a few minutes, leaning on each other, until the guards went back to the fire. Cole used the time to take stock of the rest of the camp. “I don’t get it,” he said eventually. “Why are you the only one here? Can’t normal people cross the time barrier?” “Sounds like you’d have a better idea than I do. I just got here.” She laughed, but there wasn’t humor in it, and she wrapped her arms tight around her shoulders. She’d been keeping calm because the alternative was panic. Now she wasn’t sure whether to be relieved or worried that Warden Cole sounded as resigned as she did about mass time displacement. “What did I miss in six years?” “Hell if I know, I’ve only been here for three days myself,” he said. “But I can tell you this much: this isn’t six years in our future, it’s six years in a future that shouldn’t exist. Someone changed the past and hosed it all up.” Marcine frowned. “On the Solstice?” He nodded, then wobbled as another wave of vertigo hit hard. His skin was clammy and cold, and she had a feeling it wasn’t just the concussion that was getting to him. “You should lie down.” She balled up the burlap sack and tossed it behind him for a pillow. “On the Solstice… I was performing at the party before all this. A few hours ago.” She snorted. “Time magic. I knew Narcissus was up to something.” “Spirits, you were there!? Tell me everything you saw, everything you remember!” If his hands weren't tied, he would have been shaking her for answers. “I don’t even know what happened, but I have to fix it. Somehow...” His voice had an edge to it, like he couldn’t decide if he wanted to laugh or cry. Poor guy sounded like a dead man walking. Pointing that out wouldn’t help what spirit he had left, and neither would letting him dwell on it. So Marcine recounted the night’s events (of six years ago? How did this work?), from the sense of something bad about to happen, through Pontchartrain’s coup and Narcissus undoing his injury. “He liked the music, so I stayed a while,” she concluded. “Nothing else really happened after that; things went surprisingly well. But it was suspicious that Lord Narcissus stayed gone so long. Didn’t think even he would do something this crazy, though…” She shook her head. “I left around midnight. Wasn’t even out of the city when things went weird, and I ended up here. Stopped to look at the roadblock when the sky stopped moving, and the vampires jumped me. I surrendered. There wasn't much point in resisting.” She gave him a sidelong glance. She’d been right not to fight, by the looks of him. Then she turned toward the cars, trying to determine from reflections which one was hers. Her hat with its newest feather was still in it. She hadn’t mentioned that part. Not yet, at least. “Narcissus taking such drastic action does explain some things, though.” “Sounds like he didn’t have much to lose,” Cole said nervously. “To his perspective. But his is all that matters, isn’t it.” He closed his eyes, not feeling the need to agree with the obvious. “Ugh, I’m not supposed to sleep with a concussion, right?” “You could under normal circumstances, long as someone could check on you, but these aren't that.” She sighed. “Not that there’s anything to do now. Plans depend on too many ifs.” She fell silent for a moment. “I could try to break those cuffs. But probably not.” “Anti-magic silver, don’t bother,” he said, wincing. His wrists were already bloody from earlier attempts. “We’ve been sitting here for too long. Need to find out what they’re planning to do with us. Hold on, I’m gonna ask.” “Wait-” Marcine began. But he kicked the chain link, the cheap metal ringing out noisily. “Hey! Beevis and Butthead! What are you waiting for?” The two vampires turned to look at the cage. Marcine shrank into the corner, her posture insisting that she had nothing to do with this nut. “Look at that, I guessed your names,” Cole shouted defiantly. “Only one name you need to remember, Warden,” said the first one as he approached. He knelt down, leaning in until they were face-to-face. Then he whispered a single word: “Roqueza.” A shiver ran through Cole’s entire body, and the bold show he’d been trying to put on vanished instantly. The vampire hooted with laughter. “Oh, you know it already! Good!” Butthead joined his friend at the cage side. “This is the one, isn’t it? The one who got away. It looks like him.” “It can’t be that one,” Beevis disagreed. “There’s no child in him.” Child? Marcine wondered, slowly shifting into a crouch. Things were about to go badly. “The other one had a child, the woman he was with. Meruda said so.” “Where is she?” Cole demanded, cold fury replacing fear. “What did you do to her?!” Butthead picked up the bone the ghoul had thrown against the cage and ran it over the links. It was a straight bone, about the length of a human arm. Cole screamed. He threw himself bodily against the fencing, and the vampires hissed and jumped back as it bowed out. The temperature around the Warden dropped and a thin coat of ice formed on the manacles, but they did their work and the spell fizzled. The Warden’s eyes rolled back in his head as he collapsed, unconscious from the pain; but Marcine caught him before he hit the ground, ignoring the cold bite from the silver. “loving wizards,” said Beevis, shaking his head. “loving wizards,” Butthead agreed.
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Apr 5, 2016 01:11
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Miss Misdirection Vampire Camp They were nearly done and no one had seen past her illusion yet, so Marcine started her final preparations. She worked the sack apart at the seams and tore pieces off, searing simple circles and runes onto each. “Okay… Step with your heels down and roll toward your toes. You won’t disturb the ground as much.” “Heel-toe, got it. Just about done here, you ready to go?” Cole whispered, holding the last few links of the fence to keep it from falling open. “Nearly.” She finished her work, picked up the first aid kit, then rejoined him to finish melting through and set the chunk of cage carefully aside. There was a stretch of open ground leading into the swampy woodlands if they ran directly away from the camp, and enough moonlight to make it risky to just bolt. The cars were parked closer to the bonfire, and would provide some cover but not much. The empty road was past the cars, though it was hard to see from this far away. Cole strained his eyes at the darkness, trying to find cover for them if they went for the woods, but there wasn’t anything. ((Cole attempts some Notice to get us a boost, -/-- +5 = 2. Too dark!)) Or at least there wasn’t any cover. There was something out there, in the woods. He didn’t catch more than a glimpse of movement, leaves snapping back into place after being rustled, but there had definitely been something... Marcine crept outside with two of her scraps, the smallest and lightest ones with some threads pulled out, and tossed them into the air. A flick of her hand sent a small gust of wind to carry them over the camp to the other side, or at least to not where they were. It was too dark to track their progress; she just had to trust in the time she’d spent experimenting with the properties and limits of wind magic. Which had been a lot of time, all told. ((Will for good positioning: /+-/+3 = 3)) Another she balled up and rolled across the ground toward the cars, when she thought no vampires were looking that way (though it was hard to tell). One to each side of the cage. Another back into the cage, as she waved Warden Cole out. She considered her setup as she propped the section of chain link back in place. It’d take longer to notice the hole in the dark. “Got enough juice for a fog or something? That’ll spread over a few minutes, not at once.” “I think so. But as soon as they see that, they’ll know what’s up. Where are we heading?” “Save it for later, then.” She pointed toward the treeline, straight back from the cage, then reached to the scraps of burlap she’d positioned at either side. Images of the same scenery that was behind the cage, unchanging, angled back to block the view from a wider range. ((Deceive for more veils: -++/+5 = 6)) “Good as it’s getting.” She offered Cole her arm for support. He took it, but only to steady himself standing up. “Where you want the fog show?” “When we’re by the woods, if we need it. We might not. They should be preoccupied enough by then for you to make a portal.” She watched him for a moment to make sure he was steady on his feet. “If you get dizzy, lean on me. Better than stumbling. Let’s go.” She glanced toward the cars again, regretfully, then started out, slowly, watching either side, head tilted to listen for anything approaching. “Saw something move out there,” he said, once they’d started. “Didn’t catch what. Be careful.” “Now you say that,” she mumbled, but it didn’t matter. This was still the best option she could see. Could be an animal. Could be Topaz, she could hope. Anything but a vampire, but even then… She could deal with that. The problem there would be the Warden at her side. --- Over at the fire, one of the vampires on guard glanced over at the cage. He narrowed his eyes at the illusion, frowning. “Hey, did you see…?” “Hmm?” The only movement was Marcine waving a determined insect away from the Warden’s head. “Nah, nevermind.” ((Beavis and Butthead try to Notice the illusion: /+/+ +3 = 5! FP on “Guard Duty” to bring that to a 7. GM FP: 2/3 Marcine counters with an invoke on Mind Games to pass with 8, leaving her at 2 FP.)) --- Marcine paused when they reached the point where anyone standing at the edges of the camp could see them around the edges of the illusion. “Showtime,” she muttered, rubbing a thumb over the main chunk of burlap she still held. On the other side of the camp, something moved in the brush. It was hard to make out in the darkness, but whatever it was, it was noisy enough to grab attention, and moving just out of sight of the fire. It seemed to get farther away when anyone approached, yet always remained annoyingly close. No one was going to notice the tiny scrap of fabric it had originated from. ((Deceive: Look, a distraction! /++-+5 = 6)) Cole rubbed his hands together, and a glob of water formed between them. He stretched it slightly, molding it into a round ball, and threw it as hard as he could in the direction of Marcine’s distraction. It flew like a well-tossed water balloon, smacking into a tree with a hiss of hot water as it hyper-evaporated into steam. ((Cole assists, which grants a +2 bonus thanks to his stunt, bringing Marcine to an 8.)) The alarm went up immediately. The ghouls took off into the fog after the spell while the vampires started shouting at one another. The general gist was something about ‘rescue attempt’ and ‘watch the prisoners’ and ‘no escaping’. “And now we book it.” She sped up for a few steps. He lagged slightly, so she caught his arm and helped him balance until he could match her pace. ((Booking it with Athletics: Marcine rolls +-+-+5 = 5 to Cole’s //// +4 = 4, so she gives him an assist in turn to bring him to 5 as well.)) They made it to the treeline just as Beavis and Butthead discovered the ruse. Shrieks of panic went up from the pair of them. And that was about when they’d get close enough to realize that they’d been watching an illusion this whole time, so Marcine triggered the next diversion. One of the cars revved its engine and turned on its headlights, flooding the camp with sudden light. Or so it appeared to a group of alert vampires who would probably take a moment to notice the lack of exhaust or driver. It was pretty drat effective. Now that they knew the cage was empty, the cars were the first place the vampires turned to look for the escaped prisoners, and one starting up on its own didn’t just draw attention - it drew a burst of machine gun fire before their leader snapped a command. “Alive, idiots! Or Roqueza will have all our heads!” Marcine flinched at the sound and nearly tripped on a branch. That had better not have hit her car. “Portal,” she whispered, “soon as you have some cover. I’ve got one more.” She slowed and half-turned to keep an eye on the camp. Cole leaned against a tree, panting hard. He felt dizzy, but it didn’t seem like their captors had figured out where to look quite yet. “You are something else, you know that?” he said, reaching with both hands to touch the cold, damp earth. Under the twigs and the leaf litter he found it, and reached through it to the veil. “If they have a mage they’ll feel this,” he said. “No time to be quiet about it.” She laughed breathlessly. “Not expecting you to be.” She looked for an opening through the tree branches, wrapped up what remained of the poor sack, and threw it as hard and far away as she could. She had one scrap left in her pocket. “Go for it.” “You know, the last time I ripped a panic-portal open I ended up in Hades,” Cole said. He had his eyes closed and he was breathing hard, and the ground around him was starting to sink slightly. “So, no promises.” “Better or worse than here?” She gave him a firm - if careful - thump on the back. And with that touch, imparted the lightest breeze of reassurance and calm she could make meaningful, keeping him steady. They’d gotten this far, and she’d prepared for this, too; they’d be fine. (And she’d rather not end up in Hades if she could help it, but she kept that part to herself.) ((Empathy to give Cole a boost of confidence: +-+-+5 = 5 to place the advantage “Didn’t Even Need Plan B”)) “Ask me later,” Cole said, crouching. He shoved both hands under the dirt and lifted a square chunk of sod a few inches thick up high as if he was opening a trap door. Under the dirt there was a hole, that led to darkness. “Get in, now!” Marcine activated her last illusion, and in the distance through the trees, in time with the pulse of magic from Cole’s efforts, a much more obvious portal flared into existence. She tossed the final scrap onto a breeze to carry it away from them and dropped through the hole. For a few more seconds she could see a sliver of moonlight filtering in from above, and then Cole jumped in after her and the ground swallowed them both up.
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Apr 15, 2016 05:40
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Cave Story Scene: Nevernever Mine The tunnel continued straight ahead for a few feet before gaining a much steeper incline. It continued turning to the left at an upward angle, making it impossible to see more than a few feet ahead. There were torch holders built into the walls, but not a single torch in any of them. Cole paused to catch his breath and shielded his eyes from his own light. The headache he’d been nursing since he woke up was getting worse, and the glare off the white crystal hurt his eyes. He hadn’t spoken to Marcine since they started up the new tunnel, and the constant angle of the walls was starting to disorient him. He turned his head to make sure she was still behind him, worried that he wouldn’t notice if something happened to her. Marcine was watching the torch holders go by, but she heard the change of volume in his breathing and looked up. He didn’t look great. “Is it getting worse? We can rest a minute, you know.” “You’re fussy, you know that?” he said, shaking his head. “Yeah, It’s getting worse, but If I sit down now I might not be able to get back up. We can rest when we’re out.” “‘Fussy,’ says the guy who showed up in a sack.” She rolled her eyes and trotted a few paces to pull even with him. “At least that was more optimistic than the usual phrase.” She studied him askance. He’d gone from talkative to quiet, and she wondered how much that really had to do with the change of scenery. “You know anyone else who got out of New Orleans, or are we special?” “I wasn’t alone,” Cole said. The crystal in his hand flickered, and when it steadied it was dimmer than before. He closed his hands around it, plunging them into darkness. “I don’t know if you’ve met any of them.” When he opened his hands, the light was warm and yellow, and there was a boy’s face reflected in the crystal’s facets. “Hugues Turner,” he said, smiling faintly. “He’s… very capable for his age. Rather have him next to me in a fight than anyone else.” The crystal turned a soft green color. “Elbridge Hardley, the old bootlegger I told you about, and the most dependable man I know.” Pale blue now. “Jenny Hirsch has a reputation in Hell, and a weakness for Rocky Road.” Dull orange. “Rupert Singh, New Orleans’ most active retiree.” The crystal flickered twice more, steel grey and bold red, but no new faces appeared. He covered it with his hand again. “Everyone who’s made it out that I know of has magic. I’m just guessing, but I think that’s important.” Marcine noted each face, chuckling at his descriptions. “They’re not familiar, but I haven’t gotten involved with the human magical community much.” She toyed with a loose strand of hair. “Magic gets us out, huh…” She flicked it behind her ear. “But I didn’t use any magic when I drove past the city limits. Did you?” “No. I think the barrier let us pass through, into the between-place and eventually out again. I don’t know what happens to normal folks who try to get past it.” His head hurt a little less when he had something else to focus on, and remembering his friends gave him a better reason to keep going than simple survival. He had to get back to them before they tried some crazy rescue mission. On a hunch, he turned the crystal red again. He studied the woman’s face within, as if trying to remember every detail, and the hint of a smile touched the corners of his mouth. “What about her?” he asked, passing the crystal to Marcine. “Do you know her?” Recognition dawned. “Oh, Ada! Yeah, she’s been to a few of my shows. She’s here too, huh?” She looked up from the image to his face, and paused. “...Is she?” His smile turned sad, and put his back against the cave wall, sliding down until he was sitting on the balls of his feet. “I swear she knows everybody.” He shook his head. “She’s not here, no.” Marcine’s stomach gave the same sort of lurch she’d felt when she first realized Topaz was missing. That wasn't the sort of reaction he’d have if she just hadn't left the city. “What happened?” “I lost her,” he whispered. “Outside the city on the night of the Solstice. I tried to go after her, but it would have broken the Laws of magic. So now all I can do is trust that she can find her own way back, and make sure she has something to come back to.” There was a gritty determination in his voice. “I don’t know how yet, but I’m going to put things back to the way they were. I promise.” She went silent, digesting that information. A Warden willing to lawbreak. Now she really had heard everything. But her stomach loosened. As long as Ada wasn't in immediate danger… “That Law’s going to get broken one way or another.” She leaned against the opposite wall and tilted her head as another question came to mind. “Why aren't you with your friends?” He turned away from her. “I needed some time to think.” She decided not to press on exactly how ‘some time to think’ ended in vampires. “I don't know if I can help beyond getting you back to them intact, but if I think of something, you'll be the first to know.” Her brow furrowed. “Wouldn’t they be looking for you by now?” “Probably,” he admitted. “That’s another reason I want to get to the cabin. El has to know that’s the first place I’d go if things went south-” He broke off mid-sentence and stared down the tunnel in the direction they’d come from. “poo poo. Something followed us in from the woods. The ward I left on the Way in just got popped.” “I’d prefer it was Topaz, but with that many vampires around…” Marcine pushed off the wall. “So much for a break.” “I do feel better, some,” Cole said. He snapped his fingers and the quartz flickered white again, brighter than before. “Hold onto it for me? Too much light hurts my eyes.” She raised her eyebrows in a silent See? and accepted the light, holding it on her opposite side so it shone ahead but not at him. She waited until he was on his feet and took the lead. He followed, keeping a shield spell at the ready in case whatever was coming behind them was fast and armed.
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Apr 22, 2016 06:05
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Letting it Go Scene: Nevernever Mine The tunnel didn’t open back out. It made the turn and then kept going, farther than Marcine’s light could reach. Now that she was inside it, she could see spiral shaped grooves in the walls, as if it really HAD been bored out by a giant drill. The air smelled fresher at least, other than the slightly slimy smell from the algae. “Do you hear that?” Cole asked, pressing his ear to the wall. There was a strange hum coming from… somewhere. It was impossible to tell which direction. “I think it’s getting closer.” Marcine framed an image of the tunnel filled with flames in her mind, the visual and the crackle of fire alike, and set the illusion into the lump of wood. It wouldn't do much if the monster burst out of the wall into one of them… She grimaced and kept an ear out. “You know, the good news is that the Reds are probably too fat to get through these tunnels,” Cole said, with a nervous sort of cheerfulness. She snorted. “Don't they have sharpened senses or something? They can have fun with the mushroom blood.” She didn't want to make light of that massacre, but making light of this whole situation seemed like the best method for sanity. “Yeah, tracking us by scent is going to be impossible, between that and the slime.” There was a T-junction ahead of her. Right would head back towards the shroom-folk’s mine, but the breeze was coming from the left. The left junction also sloped down sharply, and looked more like a waterslide than a tunnel. “Oh come on,” she grumbled. She edged as close to the sharp drop as she dared and tossed a fireball down the slant for a better look. It slipped down the chute and out of sight immediately. “What is it?” “Air from a waterpark slide or back to the mushrooms. I can't see down there.” She sighed irritably. “Hmm…” He sounded unsure. “The air’s gotten us this far, but down is the opposite of what we want.” “I would rather check for other exits. I'm crazy, not insane.” She backed off from the drop and turned right. “So uh, this is probably not the best time to say this,” Cole said, with the same manic nervousness. “But just in case you were expecting me to tear a hole out of the Nevernever if we run into whatever owns these tunnels? There’s like a 99% chance we end up buried in a mountain somewhere in Appalachia and suffocate. So, you know, letting you know that’s not really an option.” “Then we'd best hope it’s got a recognizable brain,” she muttered under her breath. Ahead of her, the tunnel stopped. There was something small and metallic glinting in the rock wall. There were no forks this time, just a dead end. Marcine pressed her ear to the wall. The buzzing had stopped a short while ago, and she didn’t hear it at all now. “You think it’s close enough that we can dig the rest of the way through?” Cole asked. “I’m usually better with spatial stuff but not with this headache. Can’t tell.” She made a non-committal sound and lobbed a bit of her lighting fire at the metallic shine. The wall grunted. It was a low, animal noise, like something you’d expect from a wild boar. The metallic thing shifted, chips of stone sliding free of it to reveal… A butt. A heavily armored metal butt, that looked like an armadillo’s. The corkscrew shaped silver tail was what had caught Marcine’s eye. Heavily clawed back paws scrabbled against the stone, and the buzzing sound started up again, this time painfully loud. It wasn’t buzzing at all, it was drilling. The butt vanished into the stone. “...Huh,” Marcine said, when it had moved far enough that she could hear herself again. “I was picturing more like…an eel.” Which was when a drill the size of her head burst through the tunnel floor only a few feet in front of her. The creature that followed it was made of precious metals. It had rubies for eyes and diamond claws, and gold plated ears, and the ugliest naked-mole-rat face she had ever seen. The drill extended from its forehead like a chrome unicorn horn. “What the gently caress -OW- is that?!” Cole yelled, backing up so fast his head bounced off the ceiling. Marcine recoiled from it, but in some way, it was more of a relief than anything. She’d been expecting…something. Maybe not this, but finally having it here in front of her was better than the unknown. In the moment it took her to size it up, her magic reached for its mind, passively observing whether its awareness was an animal or humanlike intelligence. ((Empathy: /--- +5 = 2.)) All she got was that it was very upset. She triggered her illusion. The air between them was suddenly filled with the sound of flames and the impression of heat. She backed away, cursing under her breath. Should have just taken the drat slide like a reckless idiot. ((Rapport for illusion: --/+ +5 = 4)) “Screeeee!” the drill-mole made an unearthly sound and stopped at the flames, tapping its shovel claws on the stone. It didn’t stay blocked for long though. It stood on its hind legs and drilled up into the tunnel ceiling, scrambling out of sight. And then more buzzing started up, not too far away. “Oh great, a whole family of the things. Where is that other tun- WHOA!” The Warden’s feet found the slide and slipped off into the empty air. He grabbed Marcine’s legs before he went all the way over, but there was nothing for her to hold onto, so all he did was drag her over the edge with him. Marcine hissed several curses through her teeth and curled her arms around her head. The light flickered and swung wildly, providing a completely useless horror movie strobe over their descent. Cole flipped himself over so he was sliding on his backside and conjured up the strongest shield he could manage, slamming it into the tunnel slime and holding it in front of them. Sharp bits of stone chipped and chunked into it, and his vision started blurring so badly he went half blind with the effort. ((Create Advantage, “Safety Shield”, Will: ++-+ +5 = 7!)) A few seconds went by that way, and then the top of the world just went missing. The stone ceiling was gone entirely. The bottom half of the slide continued, sloping ever downwards. It wasn’t as though they had suddenly reached a natural cavern. This was the Nothing that Cole had talked about before. There could be no mistaking it. This was also the source of the breeze that she’d been following all along. Ahead of them, coming up fast, there was a gap in the slide that fell into the endless void. The tunnel was gone on the other side, there was only a flat plain of rock, slightly lower than their current position, where the Nothing had eaten away at it. It would have been too far to jump, normally… but with this much speed there was a chance. Marcine had streamlined her posture; now, she braced her feet against the shield and caught firm hold of Cole, who seemed like he might fall off if he had to do this on his own. He had provided the framework for the shield; she poured magic into reshaping it, elongated and pointed until it better resembled a bobsleigh. “You got it?!” Cole yelled over the rushing wind. She shifted the shield entirely into her own hold.“Yeah,” she shouted back. The sleigh jerked slightly but righted itself as Cole let it go. “Alright. Alright you can do this…” He took a deep, deep breath and blew into his hands as if to warm them. Then he slammed his palms into the slime behind him and shouted “Iqhwa!” at the top of his lungs. The slime froze instantly, the ice spreading down the slide ahead of them in a rush of wintery magic. Cole started laughing hysterically. It was SO. EASY! His spell leeched into the Nevernever itself and drew on the power it found there, multiplying the effect beyond his wildest expectations. As he realized what had happened he pushed harder, no longer willing to settle for a risky ramp. He poured his power into the spell until the ice extended fully over the gap into a solid bridge with railings and he had to yell when he couldn’t contain the sheer rush of playing with that much primal force. “WHOOO~HOOOO!” ((Cole rolls Will to Create an “Ice Bridge”. ++-- +5 = 5. FP on Thin Grey Line to bring that to a +7 and do it in ~style~)) Marcine stared at the bridge as what she’d thought would be the most absurd sledding incident turned into… Still an absurd sledding incident, but in an entirely different way. She guided the shield over until ice gave way to friction, and she grunted under the strain of holding it together until they had skidded to a stop on the plateau. She let it go with a ragged sigh of relief and sprawled directly on the rock. Then she smiled, the smile became a laugh, and she pushed herself up. “Dammit, you could have totally smashed that blockade.” She punched his arm (lightly) and slumped back again. “Jesus Christ.” He nudged her arm, too tired to punch back. “Wanna go again?” “Not in a million years.” She flopped an arm over her face. “There I thought I was being cautious… What even was that?” She moved her arm and stared at the Nothing; her breathless chuckles faded. “It doesn't matter, does it. It’ll be gone.” Cole held up one finger. “I’m going to call it an Armadillicorn, because you get to name things when you’re the first person to find them. One of the perks of being an explorer.” He joined her in looking up at the expanse above them. “But yeah. That’s it.” He frowned, but only because he was thinking very hard. “...that’s it.” A devious little smile took its place. “I know exactly how we’re going to get out of here.”
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Apr 22, 2016 06:07
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Cabin in the Woods Scene: See Title Once the initial relief passed, Marcine decided that this cabin didn’t appear to be much better than the old abandoned sheds and barns she’d occasionally come across in her hikes. Except knocking on the walls...didn’t really sound like wood. She was curious, but some things might be best left unknown for the time being. She wandered outside to look for a pump sink or a well, and found the latter with a bucket handy. Cole - er, Rick - could have his creek. Her pants washed off easily enough. But after a few minutes of trying to deal with her shirt without ruining it further, she grumbled, yanked it off entirely and stuffed it in the bucket to soak. It wasn’t like it could end up in any worse condition by now. She’d liked that shirt. --- In the cellar of the cabin something dragged itself through the tiny rip in the Veil and collapsed on the hard earth floor. --- “Your turn,” Rick called as he headed her way from behind the cabin. He had the temerity to look completely clean and dry; even his hair looked freshly washed. He kept his eyes firmly on the ground as he passed her the red bucket, but he did take a look at her shirt, attempting to soak in the well water. “Yeesh. Um, want to borrow mine? Don’t think even magic can save that.” “gently caress water wizards.” But she sounded more amused than annoyed as she stood up from where she’d been attempting to scrub it and raised an eyebrow at him. “What, they don’t have joggers in New Orleans?” She wrung the shirt out and walked back toward the cabin. Rick sighed. His head was still pounding and he decided if she didn’t care he wasn’t going to either. Before she made it to the door he reached one hand towards her and whispered a word of power. All the water in Marcine’s clothes dropped into a big puddle at her feet with a wet smack. “There, better?” She nearly tripped near the doorway and blinked down at it. “Quite,” she said, and stepped inside before calling back, “Thanks.” “Anytime,” he said, shouldering the bucket and following her. They would both smell like slime until they got some real soap, but it was a start. They built a small fire in the stone fireplace to warm up what would have to pass for dinner. “Just… don’t look at the dates,” Rick said, finishing off his second can of Spam. It was basically flavorless shoe leather, but he hadn’t eaten since pancakes the previous morning and he’d lost most of those during the early part of his capture. He was grateful for anything at all, and would have sworn it tasted like a Christmas ham. “We need to sleep. Should we take shifts?” Marcine had smoothed her shirt out as well as she could while they ate. Even dry, it wasn’t comfortable, but it was an improvement. For whatever that was worth. “You should rest first. I’ll need to check on you in a while anyway.” She shrugged. “After all this, you’re probably not going comatose, but best to play it safe.” He wanted to argue, let her take the first nap, but another pulse of pain behind his eyes cut it off before he could voice it. Setting the empty can down, fork still inside, he nodded. “No more than a few hours, I need to find some way to contact my friends. There’s no phone here, or anywhere we can easily get to, and I...” He paused and touched the collar of his shirt. There was a small hole there, as if a badge or a pin belonged there. “I shouldn’t have left it,” he whispered. “Spirits, I’m an idiot.” Marcine tilted her head. “Tracking device or something?” “Communicator, like Star Trek,” he explained. “It wouldn’t work over this long of a distance anyway, but I still shouldn’t have left it. I...” He pulled the blanket closer around his shoulders and forced the words out. “I just wanted to be alone for a while. But I couldn’t even do that right.” Her first thought was how stupid it could be to willingly abandon your friends from your own time. But there was Ada. Stress over that seemed a safe assumption, never mind all the rest of this mess. She went silent for a moment, then made a show of looking around the cabin, down at herself, and finally back at him, casually propping her chin on her hand. “Guess not.” “Very funny.” “Go to sleep,” she said. He took the blanket with him to the steel-spring cot and collapsed onto it, with no further arguments. The snoring started before his head hit the rock hard pillow. Marcine finished eating slowly. She was hungry, but not hungry enough for Spam to be enjoyable. She put their dishes (if they could be called that) as close to “away” as possible, and returned to the basement, a small mage light bobbing over her shoulder. She yawned on the way down the stairs. Checking on defenses would keep her awake, if nothing else. There was something down there. A dark lump in the center of the floor, where there hadn’t been anything before. It didn’t move, or seem to notice her, but she could hear it breathing, shallow gasping breaths. Marcine stared at it from the foot of the stairs as she brightened her light, then cursed rather more loudly than she intended and hurried over. “Topaz,” she said, so as not to startle him, and gently gathered him into her arms. He was in worse shape than her shirt. She hugged him close anyway. “Don’t tell me that was you following us after all. drat it.” “I promised to look after you, didn’t I?” he whispered, curling up in her arms. “There were too many vampires by the cages, so I waited in the forest, but you were too fast for me.” He shivered with cold; there was ice caught between his paw pads. “Nothing else will follow, I made sure.” “I know you did. I mean-- I knew. Or I thought. I even mentioned it.” She darted back upstairs as quietly as she could, holding each paw until it warmed a bit. “But I was too worried about vampires and his condition and...ugh. I could have checked.” “I’ll be alright,” he said, nipping her hand gently. “You kept the drillers away from me while I blocked the path, and left me just enough of a trail to follow. It was well done. But I don’t understand. Why are there vampires at all? Faerie was not so broken as this last night...” Marcine sat beside the fireplace and settled Topaz on her lap next to the warmth. She chuckled dryly. “Welcome to the halcyon days of 2018, courtesy of Lord Narcissus. I think. Somehow. I don’t know much. I don’t think anyone does. But when he disappeared at the gala, he must have gotten up to something, because the timing is too perfect, and in this time period New Orleans just...isn’t there. Warden Cole over there and some of his friends are the only other people that have made it out, besides us.” Topaz gave an uncertain whine. “Then this world is false, like a rotten fruit on the branch. I want to go home.” She smiled and gave him another hug. “We’re working on that. He brought us here because it’s a safehouse one of his friends built. So we can plan.” Not that she knew what they would be planning for, exactly, other than trying to contact those friends, but they could figure that out when they weren’t addled by head trauma and fatigue. “You should rest, too.” He settled on her lap, laying his head on crossed paws. She snorted. “I’m in the best shape out of all of us. You clowns sleep, he’s snoring anyway.” Some time later, she lifted her head from where it was propped in her hand, blinking and wondering how much time had just passed. The light hadn’t changed, so not much. Then she tried to straighten her wrist and cringed. This was going to be a long watch.
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Apr 28, 2016 07:49
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Getting To Know You Scene: The Cabin Marcine was outside stretching her aching back before anyone else had so much as opened their eyes. Served her right for falling asleep sitting up after dozing on the floor. She’d hoped Topaz would be around, but she spent a while meandering around the cabin without so much as a glimpse of fur. Or any sign of life from inside. Not that that was entirely due to most of them still being asleep. Now that she knew the building was full of people, the veil that made it look completely uninhabited - down to hiding smoke from the chimney - was impressive. Especially if it hadn’t been maintained in six years. Curious, she traced the spell patterns to figure out how he’d done it. “It’s frozen,” Elbridge mumbled through the window, blearily rattling about in the cramped kitchen for his tea kettle. “Just like it was in 1928, eighty years ago now.” Once he’d set the water over the hearth, he shuffled outside and pointed to the nexus of the Veil’s energies, buried beneath the cabin’s cornerstone. “Should be right...ah.” He pulled away a rough-hewn block of cement. Inside was a wooden strongbox, still pristine despite decades under the Louisiana soil. In the box was an ancient, black-and-white photograph - the kind that took a tripod, a flash-pan, and almost a full minute with everyone involved stationary to take. It was the cabin, just as it had looked so many years ago. “Huh. That’s neat.” Marcine took a good look at the photo, then stepped back to find the same angle. “I never tried making a permanent veil.” She chuckled. “This place makes me want to make a hideaway, but it looks like the prime location is taken.” Her eyes drifted skyward, and her tone turned more serious. “How far is this from the edge of the city, anyway?” “Two miles to a dirt road. Twenty from there to the Interstate, and then another twenty or so to the city limits,” Elbridge calculated in his head. “Close enough that we could reach it in a hurry, far enough to be safe from any crisis in New Orleans proper.” “Good thing. I was on my way home from the Solstice gala. Had to leave some important things behind.” She’d planned to talk to Elbridge when she had the chance, based on Rick’s descriptions. This was as good a time to compare notes as any. “What have you found out so far?” “A lot, and yet, not nearly enough,” Elbridge grumbled, opening the door a crack to listen for the whistle of his kettle. “In brief, however: the Summer Queen took issue with a wizard’s part in her daughter’s death, and orchestrated a time paradox to undo both this and the destruction of the Red Court. We survived; evidently, much of the world would rather we hadn’t.” Marcine considered that. Useful, but the implications were more than she felt like she could deal with now. She set it aside; something had been bothering her for much longer. “People with the Gift can wander out into this time period. Which had changes made from before that gala. So...if we’re the only people out since, what’s going on inside?” “That’s what we’re here to find out,” Elbridge told her. “As well as preventing the vampires from doing the same. Principally the latter - if any of them manage to breach the anomaly and find their way into the original timeline…” He shuddered. “It only takes one to start the infection anew.” She grimaced. That was another thing that felt too big to consider at the moment. “The vampires were speculating that the Council had set up a trick to get them to open the barrier for them. Which...probably not. But they got information somewhere.” She paused. “I don’t know what the ‘trick’ would be when they must have seen me drive out of there, though. Are they expecting you?” “Unfortunately,” Elbridge grumbled again. “Although, if they’re expecting a trap...well, that’s something. At least they don’t know any more than we do.” She nodded, distracted. It was hard to sort through the information. Too many jumbled pieces. She barely knew where to start, so she decided on the part she did know. “Okay... My side. I was performing at the gala. Narcissus had invited Pontchartrain over - to brag at him, I guess. And the wyldfae staged a coup. No one got hurt, except someone scarred Narcissus’s face. He used time magic to rewind it, which Pontchartrain called foul on because that voided the bet that had put New Orleans into Narcissus’s hands. Then he ran off and we didn’t see him again.” By now she was pacing. “Everything was fine for the rest of the evening, until I left around midnight. Then...this-” she waved her hand at the world at large “-happened. So if he was using time magic and this barrier thing happened coming to this time…” She stopped moving and clapped a hand over her face. “Oh Jesus Christ, pride is his downfall but still--” She slid her hand up to look at Elbridge again. “Was he involved in the Queen’s plan?” “He was a useful idiot in the Queen’s plan,” Elbridge clarified. “He’s certainly responsible for this disaster, but he wasn’t its ultimate architect. Wait-” he blinked. “-Wyldfae?” That seemed like the mildest part of the story, but she nodded. “They wanted to reclaim New Orleans from Narcissus. It was...confusing. Something about how he knew it was coming but couldn’t stop it. Other factions were in on it. The one who scarred Narcissus was one of his own bodyguards, who had guarded him to answer a debt, but apparently got usurped by another debt...” She shook her head, at a loss to articulate it all. “He was incredibly unpopular. I think the one who showed up to announce it was named Bohpoli?” “Oh, bollocks.” Elbridge pressed his face into his palms. “I suppose...under the circumstances...well, this complicates matters. We may need Narcissus to undo what he did, and if he’s been ousted by Pontchartrain...I don’t even know, at this point. We’ll need to speak with Wizard Cantor, and the Winter Queen, and deal with the bloody vampires before they overrun the city…” He looked up. “I don’t suppose you saw their sorcerer? The one who opened their portal? It would have arrived along with Warden Cole.” “Yeah. Meruda.” Marcine smiled dryly. “Big ugly guy. Very distinctive description, I know.” “A name. That’s something,” Elbridge considered. “We’ll keep an eye out - killing him would slow their reinforcements.” Her smile faded. “I might be able to do you one better than an eye, depending. But there’ll be more. They said their Duke was coming. Roqueza?” She waited to see recognition. “I gave the underlings the runaround, but from Rick’s reaction to that name, I don’t think it’s going to be that easy again.” Her gaze drifted to the door, remembering the vampires’ taunts. “So him and Angie…” She trailed off, and sighed heavily. “This could go very badly, couldn’t it.” “Already has, really,” Elbridge said glumly, heading back inside to pour his tea. “Always room for things to get worse, of course, but if we don’t make enough headway, and soon, it won’t matter much.” The grand overview questions could wait until they talked to that Wizard Cantor he’d mentioned, Marcine supposed, as she followed him in. “Enough for two?”
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May 6, 2016 05:09
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Valet Parking Scene: Vamp Camp Nicholas ran across the road, arms pumping, to catch up to Angie, Marcine, and Rupert as they headed down the path into the woods. The shouts and screams ahead of them said that Fire Team was already engaged. Angie bit her lip and sucked on it lightly, the taste of copper helping her to stay focused. The second set of spotlights over the cars were watched by two more men with rifles, and a pair of German Shepherds. Angie grabbed Nicholas and dragged him into the bushes as the searchlight focused on the pathway. “Which one is yours?” she whispered to Marcine, pointing at the two rows of vehicles. Most of them were big SUVs with dark windows, and a few cargo vans with no windows at all. Good for transporting vampires. But there were a few sedans. “Grey one over there,” she said, indicating the middle of a row. “We want a few cars left intact, right?” “Yes. I’m taking that one,” Angie said, pointing at one of the cargo vans. It looked armored. “Rupert, you and Nicky figure out what you want to blow up and what you want for distractions.” Rupert glanced at Nicky, “You know any air magic? If we can get open up the tanks and get enough fumes in the air, we can cause some chaos with enough of a spark.” “That sounds dangerous!” Nicholas protested. “...but o-okay. I can try.” Angie nodded. “You do that while we take out the guards, and their little dogs too. Come on Marcine.” “I’ll take out that searchlight, give you some cover,” said Rupert, studying the distance, “Should be able to hit it from here. Harpon fléchette.” With a flick of his wrist, Rupert willed a spinning dart of force through the air, straight toward the searchlight. ((Rupert, Combat: -/// +5 = +4)) Glass shattered as the light popped. The guards raised their rifles and turned their flashlights on. They let the dogs go, and both of them ran straight down the lane between the cars towards the group. Marcine wasn’t willing to count on her reflexes with an unfamiliar gun with animals moving that fast. Instead, she quietly whistled a two-note tone and sent an impression into their simple minds: This way was trouble. Their handlers had sent them into it. Therefore, go bite them. ((Deceive: +-+-+5 = 5 Dogs defend with Will: -/+- +2 = 1, SWS!)) The pair of German Shepherds pulled up short together as if they’d heard a whistle. They pricked their big triangle ears at Marcine as if they were listening. One whined. The other lowered his head. Both of them turned and ran back the way they’d come, sounding warning barks, followed by the grunts and curses of their handlers. Angie had been about to start shooting but when the animals turned back on their owners she gave Marcine a raised eyebrow instead. “Was that you?” “Maybe.” Marcine ducked past the nearest car to circle around to her own. Dashing into the cluster of cars, Rupert waved Nicky forwards as he set about opening the car’s fuel tanks - a broken window here and there, along with more than a few smashed locks gave him quick access to pop the tank doors. “Nicky, see if you can use an air spell to aerate the fuel,” he asked as he unscrewed a fuel cap. “O-okay!” Nicholas said. “I’ll try to do that animation spell that we talked about too, if I can.” Leaving the younger wizard to his task, Rupert ducked under the car nearest the road, muttering a quick incantation as he placed his hand near the tank, ”Tranchage scie.” A spinning disc of energy quickly formed above his hand, slicing through the metal tank like a hot knife through butter. Petrol began to leak onto the ground, it’s telltale stench adding to the already miserable aromas of the camp as Rupert moved onto the next car, slicing open a few more fuel tanks in succession. Rejoining Nicky at the edge of the cars, Rupert said, sounding satisfied, “That ought to do it.” ((Rupert, Craftsmanship: /+// +3 = +4. Place aspect “Leaky Tanks”.)) Angie blared the horn on the big van and pulled up next to Rupert and Nicholas. “IN!” she yelled through the open driver’s window. “And keep the doors open!” “There’s no seatbelts!” Nicholas wailed as Rupert dragged him inside. “Just grab ahold of something and don’t let go,” Rupert suggested, turning to Angie, “All it needs is a spark and most of those cars are going to get blown sky high.” “And then they’ll drive into the treeline!” Nicholas added. “We-we’re burning the whole place down!” “Perfect,” Angie said, narrowing her eyes as she hit the gas. “Wait for Marcine to get clear then do it!” ---- Marcine opened the door and slid a case out from under the driver’s seat before she got in. She’d have to load her handguns later. Her hat was still where she’d left it, feathers and all, and the vampires hadn’t bothered to take the keys out of the ignition. The engine clunked when she turned it on, but it started up anyway and she pulled out of the spot and backed up before it got hexed. “This is exciting!” Topaz exclaimed from the passenger seat, where he clearly hadn’t been just a second ago. He had both front paws on the dash and his head hanging out the window, which was now open. “To war!” He leaned back and barked into the night. The dogs howled back, from somewhere in the woods. Marcine snorted, but grinned. “Glad someone’s enjoying it.” Topaz pulled back into the car and dove under her arm, coming up in her lap. “Sound the horns of battle!” he yelled, pressing the center of the steering wheel. The car went “MEEEEEEEEP!” She looped an arm around him and snuggled him. Rather intentionally hard. “I’d rather not sound the horns of battle with vampires God knows where if it’s all the same to you.” Topaz stretched a paw for the horn, but Marcine was holding him too tightly for him to reach. And then she wasn’t, and he was hanging his head out the window again. “Are we going to fight them? Should I help?” “No,” she said firmly, the kind of tone someone would use to warn a cat not to jump onto a counter. “We’re meeting back up and you’re introducing yourself. They probably think I have an imaginary friend by now.” ---- Leaning out the van door, Rupert aimed carefully at the nearest car - now sitting in an ample puddle of fuel - and with a incantation barely heard over the van’s engine, ”Grève de feu,” threw a bolt of searing flame at the car. With a loud woosh, the fumes and petrol caught aflame. “Drive!” shouted Rupert as the chaotic sounds of fuel tanks - and the attached cars - exploding began to echo through the woods.
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May 30, 2016 06:53
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The Pied Violinist Scene: Vamp Camp Murray didn’t bother looking for the cages, he simply rotated his ears all the way around, (twice) until he’d found what he was looking for, then he took off running. The cages weren’t far from where Angie was parked. There were three of them, but only two held prisoners. Hugues did a quick headcount, three people in one, four in the other. “That’s the seven.” Hugues unsheathed his sword and cut the locks. “Hurry, to the van, we’ll get you out of here!” Maybe three pairs of eyes looked back at him with any recognition. No one moved. “gently caress, saliva. Forgot. ANGIE!” Hugues sparked his fire gauntlet like a signal flare. Hopefully she would help him move them in. A young man not much older than Hugues was, currently, shook the girl next to him. She didn’t respond. He shook her again and she leaned into him, head lolling backwards to present her bared throat. One of the others, the aware ones, took one look at Hugues and the open gate and started screaming. “gently caress,” Hugues muttered again, glancing back at the van to see if anyone was coming yet. In this body he wasn’t strong enough to knock the screaming man out and drag him to the van. Not to mention it would panic the others. Well, more than they already were. “I’m not one of them, I’m here to help you!” Hugues said, glancing nervously to the sides to see if the commotion had gone noticed by any other vampires. A note sang out from the direction of the cars, and Marcine approached the cages with her violin under her chin and the bow testing how its tuning had held up. She motioned with her head for Hugues to step aside, and launched into a song without further preamble. It opened on a minor note as she reached for her audience - drugged, too addled to realize anything beyond the fact that the only thing they could think of was about to be taken away - and as the key rose, she put music and magic together to pull them out of it. ((Empathy to lessen the addiction’s impact: ++/-+5 = 6, with her Music Therapy stunt giving her a +2, for a total of 8.)) As the haze lifted, the melody became energized, encouraging. Marcine walked backward from the cage, each step in perfect time. The prisoners watched her, all of them. Some, like the young man who’d seen Hugues, with hope. Others, like the screaming man, with the intense longing of another fix. But one by one, they found their feet, and followed the sound of the music. Marcine didn’t miss a note even as she tracked both her course and what else was happening in the camp - as well as she could, at least. She guided them to the van, and there finished without fanfare and swept her bow to point them to it. “A friend will get you out of here,” she told them. “You’ll be safe soon.” As they piled inside, Rick and Elbridge pulled themselves free of the broken trailer and headed to meet them. Rick tapped on the side of the van. “Their mage is dead. Can you get everyone clear?” he asked Angie. “I’ll head for Shreveport,” Angie said. “There’s a Fellowship cell there who can take them in.” “We’ll meet you there.” Angie didn’t wait for any more instructions. She made an awkward three point turn with the van and evacuated the camp. “Marcine,” Rick said, following her to her car with El right behind him. “We need to make a stop somewhere first.” “A grove,” Elbridge winced, clumsily sculpting crude charms from a lump of wet clay with his good hand. “An ash grove. Need to see Ash.” Marcine glanced at El’s arm, then did a double-take. “What-? Okay. Whoever can navigate up front.” She jogged ahead to throw a door open for him and get situated. “Trap?” she asked, when they were headed for the road. “Curse,” El grunted tersely. “Their witch is dead, but it was...costly,” he finished hollowly. Marcine glanced at him worriedly in the mirror, then to her violin, on the back seat beside him. “If it gets much worse before we get there I can...try to do something.” “Ash will have the cure,” Elbridge mumbled. “Until then, I need to thread these tokens onto - confound it!” he swore as the loop of copper wire fell from his leaden hand, scattering the charms over the car’s floor. “Topaz,” Marcine said, “I know you’re back there.” The three-tailed fox materialized next to Elbridge with one of the fallen charms in his mouth. He passed it carefully. “You are looking for a faerie?” “Apparently so,” Elbridge nodded, beginning to thread the wire again. It was dangerous, accepting even the least generosity from an unknown faerie, but Elbridge wasn’t in a position to refuse help where it was offered. “You are Topaz?” he asked. “That’s what Marcine calls me,” Topaz said with a foxy smile. “It will do.” He looked forwards. “Do you know how to find an ash grove, Marcine?” She pointed her thumb at Rick. “The only one I know is the one behind El’s house, in the time bubble.” Rick looked at Elbridge. “Where are we going?” “Not there,” Elbridge said simply. He grimaced as he sealed the magic with a daub of his own blood on each earthen talisman, then gasped in relief at the feeling of circulation returning to his arm. A stone could not bleed, therefore what could bleed was not stone...yet. “Ash is...she was cut off from her tree when the ripple hit. If we find another, I can at least speak with her. Any place there’s a forest…” Marcine's hands tightened on the wheel as the engine shuddered, but when it settled, she sat up straighter. “If it’s any place, there’s a grove around where I hunt.” She caught her lip between her teeth. “It’s a bit of a drive, though.” Rick wanted to help Elbridge with the talismans, but using more power could stall the car, or worse. “Hurry,” was all he said. “There’s one good thing about a vampire apocalypse,” Marcine muttered. “No police around to give a drat.” She pressed down the accelerator.
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Jun 7, 2016 05:24
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Old Friends Scene: Ash Grove / Afterlife The song cut off with a jarring squeak, and Marcine was at El’s side, ignoring the mud as she checked for pulse or breath and felt nothing at all. At least they’d been warned. She leaned over him - his corpse, she thought grimly, then: not for long - and started chest compressions. The timing matched the rhythm to Stayin’ Alive. That song, she kept to herself. (Somewhere below necessity, she was relieved that whoever made the guidelines for these things no longer recommended artificial ventilation for CPR.) “Monitor for a pulse,” she ordered Rick, her words coming between compressions. She already sensed the rising anxiety. Some of it might have been hers, momentarily detached enough it felt like someone else’s. “Or just...movement. Won’t be steady. Might stabilize. CPR doesn’t usually resuscitate on its own, but since this is magical… I still have another plan.” Rick grabbed El’s wrist obediently, but dropped it with a cry of pain. “What the hell?” El’s hand was hot, so hot the skin was blistering. “Keep trying… I’ll deal with this…” He whispered a word and conjured a handful of ice, pressing it against the burn and looking for something to wrap it with. “No pulse yet, just keep trying...” The Sight had shown Marcine a scalded spot burning through the parchments at that area on his wrist, but no sudden flash of insight followed that connection. And she still didn’t feel movement. CPR was supposed to create a flow of oxygen to stave off brain damage. How long had it been, two minutes? They had about four minutes to get this working before things started dying. “At least something’s happening,” she muttered, and spared a glance to Ash. “Any ideas?” “I’m sorry,” Ash said, a single tear trailing down one of her sunken cheeks. “NO!” Rick yelled, yanking the moly garland off El’s chest. The cucumber-shaped buttons popped as he tore his friend’s shirt open. “Spark, we need a loving SPARK, some kind of… you know, CLEAR?!” There it was - the mask was breaking. She’d felt that building for a while. “Defibrillation. That’s the idea. I can do that, I think…” For the sake of his nerves, she didn’t elaborate on the ‘I think’ part; she’d only theorized on this method in case of an emergency. “There needs to be a heart rhythm to jolt. Compressions should induce that. But it’s not moving.” She gritted her teeth. Rick looked down at his shaking hands. If Ada was here this would be so easy. She could circulate blood with a touch; that was how she’d kept Skinner alive while the blessed bullets were extracted. He wasn’t a blood mage. He didn’t know how to do that. But… But maybe he could fake it. “It’s just water. Just water. You can make it move. You’re a goddamned water mage.” He placed one hand below El’s heart and one above and on the other side of his chest. Gently, at first, he pressed down with one hand, then the other. Like a pump. In, out. In, out. It resisted, sluggish, more like mud than water. The last remnants of the petrification spell lingered in his veins, preventing Marcine’s CPR from being effective. Rick closed his eyes. He listened to the rush behind his ears as he slowed his heartbeat, then matched the one he was trying to create to that. In, out. He pressed harder as he felt the blood start to flow under his hands. Marcine blinked and stopped compressions, catching her breath. “I...have no idea what a doctor would say about this.” But doctors didn’t have magic to work with. This was all guesswork anyway. She braced her hands on El’s chest, over his heart. “You might want to let go for a second,” she warned, and with a word under her breath, sent the shock into him. Rick did let go as Elbridge’s body seized under the electric pulse, but the shock hit him anyway. A side effect of linking his own heart to El’s, through his magic. It felt like being kicked in the ribs by a horse, and he clutched at his chest and took a ragged, painful breath. El took one with him. Marcine left one hand on his chest and caught his uninjured wrist with her other, laying two fingers over the artery. The pulse wasn’t strong, but it was there; and after an interminable count of thirty seconds, it stayed there. “That worked,” she said without inflection, then laughed shakily. “It should have, but it’s not like I could test it, but I said I’d do something and by god--” She cut off her babbling and finally rescued her violin from the mud. “His body lives,” Ash whispered. She retrieved the dropped ice pack and pressed it over his burns, which had gotten much worse. “...but his spirit is still absent.” --- Meruda was gone, consumed by fire, and Elbridge was back in the empty white space. “Do you really want to know?” The voice behind him was smug, self-satisfied, and instantly recognizable. “Stop asking stupid questions, you insipid gigolo.” Elbridge rounded on the speaker. “Start giving us some loving answers.” “Who do you think I am?” Narcissus asked, spreading his hands wide. The shadow he cast flickered and split into several, then recombined. His smile was the same as Mel’s. As Peter’s. As old Willy Wylbore’s. “A useless old arsewipe who’s overstayed his welcome. Three times, we saved your loving city from demons and monsters and your own idiot blunders. THREE!” Elbridge fumed, his nostrils flaring as he hyperventilated. “All undone in an evening because of your loving GAMBLING HABIT!!!” He narrowed his eyes. “You’re not real. I know you’re not the real Narcissus. But when I find you, you’re done. You Sidhe and you vampires and all of those wretched old gods - no more. A loving pox on the city, you are. I should have let Lytle shoot the lot of you.” Narcissus laughed. He removed the harlequin mask from his face and it became a familiar grey cowboy hat. “Too late,” JR said. But just as quickly he turned into Jenny. “We understand more now,” she said, force shimmering around her. “Power without control… Without conscience…” Jenny became Circe. “Bearing bitter fruit, defeat snatched from the jaws of victory…” Circe became Ash. Weakened, wounded Ash. She clutched at her heart. “All your efforts come to nothing… this is what you cannot abide.” Ash became Narcissus once again. He pointed an accusing finger at the wizard. “You, Elbridge Hardley… Are a sore loser.” “Aye,” Elbridge said simply. “It’s why I took up soothsaying and scrying to begin with. What was I going to do, settle down as a tradesman and wait for the vampires to get me? Bollocks to that! But you,” he pointed his own finger. “You’re not me. You’d have changed into me by now if you were, rubbed it in. You are something - someone - else. And if this is a contest, which - as you said - I would hate to lose,” he turned away, “then I suspect the winning move is not to play.” “But we finally have something you want!” Narcissus said gleefully. “We can get you into the city, where this poor fool is. We can lead you directly to him. And you can have your grand revenge, and put all the wrongs to right, and no one will ever know.” ’Just like that night. No one will ever know.’ “Just...like…” Elbridge echoed. “I know you.”
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Jun 13, 2016 06:15
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Way Back Home Scene: Ash Grove Air. Sweet, precious air. Elbridge took a deep, gasping breath, and then another. It still wasn’t enough - he felt as if he’d never have enough air again. It took a while before he could properly move his limbs or open his eyes, as if he were still buried alive. His left wrist hurt, a raw, stinging sort of pain, and it felt damp and humid even for Lousiana in June. Ice. He was covered in ice. Briefly, Elbridge wondered if he still had both of his kidneys before remembering where he was, and why. The Blackleg Miner concluded with a flourish that ended abruptly as her hand faltered. “I got him,” Marcine said, and laughed with a slight tremor in her voice. “I said I’d fix the odds, didn’t I?” She reached out and gave his shoulder a firm squeeze and gentle shake, grounding him to reality, and only when he seemed to be recovering did she finally withdraw mental contact and sink her elbows onto her knees, and her head in her hands. “El? Can you hear me? How many fingers am I holding up?” Rick asked apprehensively, waving his hand in front of the old wizard’s face. “Talk to me, buddy, anything.” He trusted Marcine, but when you were playing with the line between life and death you had to be sure. “That is your entire hand, Rick.” Elbridge winced against the morning light. “I can tell, because it does not have a drink in it.” He pushed himself up on his elbows, quaking with the strain of even this minor exertion. “How long was I out?” “Half an hour, perhaps,” Ash said, leaning forwards against his back so they were propping each other up. “The moly finished its work within a few moments but there were… complications.” “We had to jump start your heart, without a defibrillator,” Rick said, holding out a bright fuschia thermos with an ‘I’m a Blood Donor!’ logo on it. The pungent scent of grapefruit was strong enough to penetrate the sealed lid. “Marcine had to do some kind of musical soul dive to get the rest of you back.” “Ah, yes, I thought I recognised…” Elbridge trailed off. “Thank you,” he said simply. “All of you.” “I said I’d--” She cut herself off; what she’d said was that, already. She laughed tiredly. “Just hug him already, Rick, jesus.” “Please don’t.” Rick’s cheeks turned bright red, but while he was relieved, it was too early for hugs. “You scared the poo poo out of me. And after going through all that just to save your arm you almost burned it off while you were out. What the gently caress happened in there?” “I met some old friends and had a lovely conversation,” Elbridge told him glibly. “They weren’t eager to see me leave. I had to be firm with them.” “Do we need to worry about them coming to visit, now that they know where you live?” “No more so than usual,” Elbridge shook his head and took the proffered thermos. “Not unless someone’s thick enough to invite them.” Marcine lifted her head to give them both a rather put-out look. “I hunt demons,” El told her bluntly. It was a true statement, and even relevant. It just happened to not be an answer to her unasked question. She dropped her head again. “Who was hunting who?” “‘Whom’,” Elbridge corrected before he could stop himself. “And I can now safely say that disembodiment is a terrible state in which to fight.” He lowered his eyes. “Thank you,” he said again. “I don’t think I would’ve escaped without that song.” She smiled. “You helped yourself with that, in a way. I noticed it with the Sight.” She tilted her head to the side in one hand, curious. “What’s its significance, if you don’t mind me asking?” “It’s an old one,” he told Marcine. “I was born in coal country, so I heard it often growing up. Labour movements, university reform. Likely wouldn’t have gone to Oxford if the Crown hadn’t forced them to open their doors to the unwashed masses.” She nodded, trying to remember the lyrics to find any further association, but it was too distant. “I heard it a long time ago, when my grandfather was still alive, so I only remember a few of the words. But the music was still there.” She straightened and looked thoughtfully at her violin. “Might have to add it to my repertoire.” Rick pushed himself to his feet and stretched out his cramped muscles. Kneeling for that long in the mud hadn’t exactly been comfortable. “Alright. Shreveport’s about three hours drive north of us. We need to catch up to Rupert and Hugues before something else happens.” He looked at Ash. “Can you watch him for a second while we get the car ready?” The dryad nodded. “Good. Come on, Marcine.” He went quiet for a second, then added: “Might take a few minutes, I need to get a message to Bellworth about Warden Finch.” Marcine’s mouth twitched at that thought. She pushed herself up out of the mud on one knee, and held out a hand to Ash. “Thank you.” What was happening to her was obvious; still, Marcine did a brief mental brush to see if there was any way to help her. It told her nothing she didn’t already know. “If I can do anything for you, let me know. Even if it’s just a song.” “That was not just a song,” Ash said, taking Marcine’s warm hand in her cool, thin fingers. She gave it a friendly squeeze. “If you could find the song of my heart, the way you did for Elbridge… But it must be another time, when things are not so dire. I would like to hear that very much.” Marcine smiled and returned the squeeze, gently. “As soon as I have the chance, I’ll try my best for you.” She stood reluctantly, and followed Rick toward the car, violin tucked under her arm.
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Jun 16, 2016 00:06
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A Pal and a Confidante Scene: Ash Grove The path was clear in daylight, so Marcine didn’t need to lead the way back to the road. She followed Rick slowly, watching the ground, trying to ignore her shaking hand. But it only got worse. She finally stopped and stared at it for a long moment, then sighed and slung her violin case over her shoulder. “Topaz?” she asked the woods. “I’m here,” the kitsune said, stepping out out of the brush ahead of her. He padded over to her. She knelt on a hillock and scooped him onto her shoulder to rest her cheek in his fur. His was the only mind here that wasn’t in varying states of panic or conflict. “You saw all that,” she said, not asking. Her voice shook. “So many things could have gone wrong at every stage. I don’t know what else we could have done, but...” She got unsteadily back to her feet and loosened her hold on him; she’d been smothering him a bit. “He was dead,” she said faintly. “And now he isn’t,” Topaz said, nuzzling his wet nose under her chin. “You’re stronger than you think, Marcine.” She snorted. “Strength isn’t the question here.” She remembered the Tarot card. She must have meant something to Elbridge already - or maybe it was just her mere presence. Who knew with the Sight? “I just-- There was something else. I don’t know what it was. But he was dead and I dragged him back from somewhere I don’t even know even though something else was fighting both of us and it could have won.” She shuddered. “It let us go. He’s not going to tell me what it was. Maybe that’s just as well. But…” She shook her head, trying to find words. “My magic… Strength. Sure. How much, if I went beyond his mind to-- that?” Topaz stopped her rambling with a nip on the ear. “Did you cross into that place beyond death? Did it see you? Think carefully.” “I’m not sure.” Her brow furrowed. “I didn’t sense much beyond Elbridge. I was more, like...leaning over a pit and holding onto him. If I crossed over it was my arm dangling in. Sorta. Whether it saw me...I don’t think it did, but there’s no way to know. I didn’t see it. I just knew it was there because it was pulling from the other end. Maybe that’s all it knew of me.” “I think you’ll be safe, then. Though, it may come back for him again.” “That’s what I’m worried about.” Her jaw tightened. “I beat it this time because it let me. I don’t know how a second round would go. Probably not that well.” She didn’t need to tell him that, if it tried, there would be a second round. He frowned. “First you must find out what you intend to fight. Demon, or otherwise.” “I have the feeling that trying to get information from him will be like trying to get water out of a stone.” That was somewhat unfortunate wording, she realized after she said it. Topaz’s barking laugh echoed through the forest. Marcine rolled her eyes, but she started laughing, too. “God, we’re terrible.” “Perhaps he’s softened up,” Topaz said, mischief twinkling in his brown eyes. “He does owe you his life.” She swatted him lightly on the nose. “Perhaps.” She walked in silence for a moment, scratching the kitsune’s ears. “I wonder if he’ll figure out what I actually did. And if he’ll tell Warden Cole.” Rick might be the name of a friend, but this was the matter of the title, and she couldn’t say which would come first in the face of a lawbreaking power. She hoped the first one. She thought the first one. But she couldn’t be sure. “Maybe I should and get it over with. I don’t know.” Topaz crawled up on her shoulder, tired of being held. “Are you afraid of him?” “That’s...complicated.” She absently put a hand up to keep him steady as she walked. “I got him out of the camp, now I saved El… He’s a good guy. I think he trusts me. But he’s still a Warden. And they’re so afraid of mental magic that they don’t even know how to defend against it.” That had been one of her father’s objections to the Council, not that he spread it around. “Do you… fancy him?” “He’s taken. By a friend.” “I don’t see a ring!” She abruptly shrugged the shoulder he was sitting on. “If we find Ada, I’ll tell him to remedy that.” He dug his claws into her shoulder for stability. “Kitsune fight for our mates! You should fight this other girl. I bet you’d win.” She winced. “I’m throwing you in the next puddle.” At that he jumped off her shoulder, gingerly walking alongside instead. “I don’t think you’re afraid of this ‘Warden’, Marcine. I think you’re afraid that Rick won’t trust you anymore, if you tell him.” The moment’s humor faded. “It’s the same thing in the end.” “It’s not. Losing a friend and making an enemy are very different.” He jumped over the next puddle, then pawed at Marcine to pick him up again. “Cheeky brat.” She scooped him back up. “If we’re going to solve this, I need him to trust me. But I also need him to know what I can do.” She sighed irritably. “Damned if I do, damned if I don’t.” “Is Ada the girl with the red hair? The one who asked you to play at the Christmas party, at the soup kitchen?” “Yeah. She’s been to my shows.” “I remember… Maybe you shouldn’t fight her. She’s a blood witch.” She snorted a laugh and nearly tripped on uneven ground. “You don’t say.” She stepped onto the more solid part of the trail that led a short distance to the car, and to Rick. “I’ll have to think about it after we’re not going to be stuck in a car for three hours.” She ruffled Topaz’s ears. “Thanks.” “You’re welcome! For… what?” He tilted his head and his ears flopped adorably. “For talking. I needed to hear from someone who wasn’t so...close to all this.” She caught the tip of one long ear and flicked it over his face. “And also fuzzy.” He shook his head and curled up quietly. “I need to leave you for a short time, to see if there is news of my sister. Her actions led to this, so I am partly responsible.” “You’re not responsible for someone else’s actions. But I do hope she’s okay. Anything you can learn will be helpful. Just be careful.” He nodded. “It would be best if other faeries didn’t know I was here for now.” “Our Summer fae ace in the hole?” She smirked. “If you were meant to come here alone, I wouldn’t have fallen asleep in your back seat,” he said confidently. She still remembered how much he’d had to drink after the Wyldfae takeover settled down. “Uh-huh. I doubt angels are that specific.” It would be a bit worrying if they were. “But I’m glad you did in any case.” “Mysterious ways, Marcine. And a bottle of mulled wine.” He laughed. “I’m glad I did, as well. I’m never allowed to have this much fun at home.” “’Fun’ is a very interesting word.” “You should try it some time!” She stepped into the trampled clearing and headed for her car. “Never mind puddles, I’m throwing you out the window.” “Take care, my friend!” He dropped to the ground again, and this time when she turned to look, he was gone.
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Jun 16, 2016 05:30
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Watched Scene: Shreveport The walk back to Marcine’s car was as creepy as it was uneventful. Murray took the letter and vanished into the bushes around the parking lot without a sound, and there was no sign at all that they were being observed. “Who besides us even knows where we went?” Rick asked, the take out bag for Angie and Nicholas tucked under one arm as he climbed into the backseat. “We’re on the other side of the state!” “All it would take is a single traffic camera,” Elbridge said soberly. “It might be coincidence,” Marcine said, but she slid into the driver’s seat and shut the door before she continued. “If a vampire or something did follow us, what would they gain? Guess they wouldn’t necessarily know about the death curse.” “That’s how death curses work,” Rick said. “He doesn’t get magical seeking powers, things will just… start to line up in his favor. Or at least in favor of finding us. But it’s a little too daylight for a vampire to be tailing us directly.” “Maybe they didn’t tail us?” mused Rupert, “Who’s to say they didn’t put human agents in all the nearby cities to keep watch? Or, worse, they could be working with someone who already had people here.” “Guess it doesn’t matter much if we can’t do anything about it.” Marcine started the car. “I was thinking of getting some more clothes so we wouldn’t all be stuck in the same thing for days on end - bad idea to do that right now?” Rick thought about it. “Maybe not. We don’t want to lead them back to the shelter, whoever they are.” “So bore them to tears with a shopping trip. Works for me.” --- The thrift store was larger than most and had what might be called an eclectic fashion sense, but there were too many of them to go anywhere else on Marcine’s emergency funds. Elbridge managed to divine a few lottery scratch cards at the gas station to supplement what she had, but it was still petty cash. Marcine had taken her time among the clothing racks, but that could only be convincing for so long. The others looked like they were about at the end of their patience, too, when she wandered back to El. “I’d suggest checking big lotto numbers, except for that whole randomness-changes-outcomes thing. How’s the spell--” She cut off when she noticed what he was holding. “What is that.” “A change of clothes,” he told her. “Only had the one set on me when I left the city. I’ll have to enchant these all from scratch…” “Are those...poker chips and Jesus fish?” she asked, forcing herself to acknowledge what her eyes were telling her, then put a hand to her forehead. “Not Jesus fish. Never mind. Has your fashion sense scared our tail away yet? If not, I respect their fortitude.” “Let’s find out,” Elbridge said, and discreetly cast his spell again. He’d palmed the cafe’s shaker of salt, and a nearby, second-hand card table was already so smudged and stained that what he did couldn’t really be called defacing it. ((Magically-enhanced Notice to catch our tail: +++- +5 = 7!  . Pursuer rolls Stealth: +/-- +5 = 4. Elbridge gets Success with Style! Naming the Boost “I See What You Did There”.))The red eye opened immediately upon being drawn, the central iris pointedly looking to the left. When Elbridge glanced that way something disturbed the clothing racks. It was small, not human sized or shaped, but he didn’t catch any more of a glimpse than that. However… There was a stain on one of the (previously) white t-shirts on that rack. A spatter of black dust. Marcine only looked out of the corner of her eye, but put the clothes she’d found down on the table and reached for some sense of its mind, that startle from being noticed. She’d considered doing it before, but it helped to know where to look. ((Empathy: ++/++5 = 8.)) It was frightened, but eager, and very small. Fast, too; every time she turned her head it moved again, making it difficult to track even though she could feel it. With the strength of her ability, she was getting a lot of feedback from the other people in the store, and they were just… larger and hard to filter out compared to this tiny speck of hunger and excitement. She soon stopped trying to follow it visually, hoping it would stop moving again, and realized she’d taken several steps away from Elbridge to put some distance between her mind and his concern. She drummed her fingers on the edge of the table. She didn’t know if El had figured out what she’d done to help him yet, but if anyone would put two and two together… “I’m tracking it,” she said slowly. “But it’s hard to tell… Seems like some kind of fae, and I think it’s just hungry.” “Let’s be certain of that,” Elbridge muttered darkly. “Fae?” Hugues whispered from under the clothes rack behind Marcine. “I’m on the case.” He reached into a side pocket of his backpack and pulled out a Jolly Rancher. Stepping up he walked over to the line of hats, put one on his head then placed the Jolly Rancher on the floor when no one was looking, partially unwrapped. Then he turned around the corner and back into another clothes rack, ready to use the hat as a net. ((Hugues Lore: Faeries -/-+ +4 = 3 Welp. GM calls for Athletics +/-/ +4 = 4. vs ++-+ +5 = 7! Welp.)) By the time Hugues poked his head out, the Jolly Rancher was already gone and in its place a splatter of black dust. “Huh. Quick little bugger.” Hugues got up, with the hat still on his head, and shrugged at Marcine. Marcine stared at him for a moment, then snorted and slumped over the table, trying (and failing) not to laugh too hard and draw everyone’s attention. While Marcine was distracting the others, Elbridge surreptitiously “borrowed” another of Turner’s candies and put a very simple spell on it. A touch more substance to their eavesdropper and its dust trail should become far more pronounced, easier to follow. Elbridge rolls Will to apply a tracing effect to the critter: --+- +5 = 3. Critter resists with Physique: /++/ +1 =3. Clearly Krysmbot is in one of its moods, so we’ll tag “I See What You Did There" to bring El’s result to 5. Soon enough, this lozenge was gone as well, vanished between eyeblinks. Its thief’s contrail soon became apparent, tracing lines of black dust-motes between the rows of shirts and slacks...and then a second, over a table of moulded plastic knick-knacks...and a third...and a fourth… “Oh, dear…” Elbridge murmured quietly, nudging Hugues and Marcine to take note. Hugues took off his hat as he followed the lines. “I’ll get more hats.” Marcine looked around the room and pressed a hand to her forehead; there was a lot happening in here, and some potent upset from Rupert and Rick’s direction wasn’t helping her focus. She dragged her mind back into her own head now that El had given them a trace. Luring them out had seemed like a good idea… “Okay.” She snagged a Jolly Rancher from Hugues’ backpack and held it up, then clenched it securely in her fist. “If you want any chance of more snacks, behave.” She pointed at the floor in front of her. ”At this rate my stash is going to be empty…” Hugues grumbled. ((Rapport to get some cooperation: -+/++5 = 6.)) Something flitted past her hand. Two somethings. Three, no, four somethings. None of them managed to snag the candy as she flicked her wrist away from each of them (once having to move her whole arm), the other hand still pointing demandingly. ((Athletics: +++-+5 = 7 vs their +/// +5 = 6. Can’t touch this.)) Like naughty children they lined up in front of her. Four iridescent scarab beetles, roughly the size of mice. They had black carapaces that reflected shiny green, and the dust fell from their wings when they flew. Chubby, fuzzy legs wiggled in Marcine’s direction. They were still hungry. She crossed her arms, the candy safely tucked away, and felt out their minds to judge their responses. They couldn't speak, but they at least understood. “Is that all you wanted this whole time?” It wasn’t. They wanted...something else, something she wasn’t able to understand. And there were more than four of them. A lot more. The desk clerk let out a shriek, pointing at the front windows of the store. Which were now completely blotted out by beetle bodies. “Um, Marcine? There aren’t enough hats in the world for catching these fellows.” Hugues glanced back at Rick and Rupert. “Do we run or cause a commotion here?” “Too late,” Elbridge observed as the rest of the store’s customers followed the cashier’s shriek and the screaming began in earnest. ((Milestone improvements: Marcine adds Medicine to Performance (1).)) Echo Cian fucked around with this message at 07:40 on Jun 28, 2016 |
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Jun 28, 2016 07:37
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Trust Scene: Shreveport Marcine’s father had walked a difficult line between making her cautious, but not paranoid. Be careful, don’t do anything reckless, don’t tell anyone. ‘Innocent until proven guilty’ wasn’t a concept that all Wardens took to heart. But his advice hadn’t accounted for what to do when a Warden all but called her out and...didn’t seem to care. She should just be relieved. She had no reason not to trust Rick. But when it came down to it, a lifetime of caution was surprisingly difficult to shake off. They could only walk in silence for so long before her sudden inability to form a sentence became painfully obvious. She crossed her arms, irritated with herself. “I usually got called the Pied Piper of Monroe. Dr. Doolittle is new. Maybe we were assaulted by a pushmi-pullyu. With hands. New species, very unusual.” “Very.” Rick gave her a smirk. “But piper? I thought you played strings?” “The Pied Violinist doesn't have the same ring, I guess. People used it sometimes. I did chase rats out of a barn once. Someone had hexed it to draw them in.” She shrugged. “Didn't lead them out of the village in a merry procession, though.” He laughed. “Don’t tell me you’ve actually run the birthday party circuit, too.” “Naw. Do my shows at some cafes, bars. Rented firehalls a couple times. Local festivals if I can book them. Not always easy.” She grinned up at him. “Winter wonderland in July, though? Some people haven't even seen snow. Find a toboggan hill, set up a cocoa bar, line up some winter classics, rake in thousands.” “Yeah for the all of ten minutes it’ll last,” Rick said. “It’d take a lot more power than I have to keep that up for any length of time.” “It was something, though. You sure that ice bridge was because of the Nevernever?” “Heh, not all of it, I guess.” He stood up a little straighter, unused to anyone noticing his spellwork. “I’ve always been better with controlling temperature than say, summoning up the pure elements. Never tried anything like that before, though. I’m just glad it worked.” Marcine managed not to laugh; that putting a spring in his step was kind of adorable. And a bit sad, if he really wasn't used to it. “Keep trying it and maybe you’ll do more than you think. I found cantrips hard enough to learn. Elemental magic’s not really…” She trailed off, fell silent, and finally sighed. “You…really don’t care?” “That you’re a mentalist?” He raised an eyebrow at her. “Should I?” “It’s one constant step from breaking the Third Law as far as most people are concerned.” He frowned, not liking where this was going. “Yeah, well, most people are idiots. That’s a long step, and it leaves a mark.” “I’m glad you think that. But if my father is to be believed, some of those idiots are also Wardens.” He pulled up short. “Like me.” She stopped so fast she nearly tripped and spun on her heel. “No, that’s not--” But it was, wasn’t it? That was the entire reason she’d hesitated. “That wasn’t at you,” she finished lamely. “Right.” He ran a hand through his hair, frustrated. He’d thought… hoped… that he wouldn’t have to go through this song and dance again. Nobody trusts the Warden. Ada’s words still stalked him, like a second shadow. “I swear, that cloak is all anyone sees, even if I’m not wearing it.” Marcine’s gaze dropped to the ground. “I’m sorry,” she said, and meant it. “That was stupid. I know better. I know you wouldn’t…” She clamped her hands on her arms, not sure where she was going with that thought. “Wouldn’t what, chop your head off?” He snorted. “Be kind of rude after you saved my life, multiple times, now.” “What?” She caught his arm without thinking, and barely remembered to not make eye contact. “That’s not what I mean. You wouldn’t. Maybe some would, I don’t know, but that’s not you at all. It’s more--” She let go and shook her head in frustration, trying to find the words. “Doubts. Or hesitation. I don’t want you to think I’d abuse this. I went back and forth on if I should just tell you outright, and I planned to, because it’s important and I didn’t really think it’d be a big problem, but I’ve been careful for a long time, and it just… This.” She waved vaguely, then dropped her head into her hand. “I’m explaining this so badly.” It was hard for him to stay mad at someone who was so obviously sorry, even if her words stung. But it was clear to Rick that this had been bothering her since they first met, and it wasn’t going to go away until he proved himself somehow. There was only one way he could think of. He reached over and gently tugged her hand away from her face. “Take a breath and try again.” She stared at their hands for a moment. He was ready to make good on that dare she’d given him when it looked like he and Elbridge might doubt her, it seemed. She met his eyes and held them through the pull of a soulgaze.
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Jul 13, 2016 07:42
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Truth Scene: Shreveport The soulgaze ended. Marcine was still looking into his eyes, and her hand was still in his. Reflex made her glance away, though she no longer needed to. Her free hand twitched. Then she stepped closer and hugged him tightly, because she’d already said sorry and that didn’t really matter anymore anyway. “That bad, eh?” he said, returning the hug. She was just tall enough that he didn’t have to lean over. He couldn’t help giving a small sigh of relief. After his last few experiences, he’d been a little shy to look into anyone else’s eyes. She laughed faintly and released him. “You’re not fleeing in terror, I take that as a good sign.” “I’ve seen worse,” he frowned slightly, then shook it off. “Was that your first time?” Marcine raised an eyebrow. “I was just curious!” he said, feigning innocence. “A guy likes to know where he stands after something like that. Last time I got yelled at.” She snorted, clearly not buying the act, but sobered as she reviewed what the soulgaze had shown her. “I didn’t see anything worth yelling about. If there are scars, we’ve all got them. Regrets...those, too.” He sighed, serious for a moment. “So, not your first time then.” She shook her head. “Couple times.” “I hope there’s more to me than scars and regrets.” “Of course. There’s spirit and determination.” She smiled. “But nothing was all that surprising, because I think I’d already seen those parts, and what I hadn’t just...hasn’t mattered.” She wasn’t sure she was being any clearer about this than when she’d tried explaining her fears earlier. She gave an awkward half-shrug and moved on. “But I do wonder - if that cloak is so heavy, why keep wearing it?” She thought she had an idea. But she wanted to hear his own words. He touched the base of his throat, where the clasp that held his cloak normally rested. He hadn’t been wearing it as often, since Circe. But he hadn’t put it away, either, and as much as he’d complained earlier, he missed having it. “I’m not sure if I’m good for anything else, anymore,” he admitted. “And there are so few of us left… Even in our world. I can’t walk away now.” “Is that it?” she asked. “Pragmatism?” He shook his head. “I can’t go back to what I was before. It wouldn’t be enough. And... you know, this might sound crazy, but you don’t get to stand up to insane demi-goddesses, archdemons, and faerie timelords in most other lines of work.” “So, the excitement, for one thing? I can see that. It’s why I hunt and deal with faeries. Never a dull moment.” She paused. “Well. Seldom a dull moment.” “It’s a lot of things,” Rick said, seriously. “It means I have the White Council’s authority to act on behalf of humanity, so I can stick my nose into immortal business without getting it snapped off, and I can make sure when things get rough we still have a seat at the table. But…” He sighed, not wanting to go where he was about to, and not having much choice. “I do have responsibilities that come with that.” Marcine sensed the change, and she knew why. “They have to do with coins, I expect.” He nodded. “Normally, I’d say coins are above my pay grade, but ever since a pair of them rolled into town this year… Yeah.” He wasn’t going to make the same mistake that he had with Jenny. If that darkness he’d seen in her soulgaze meant something worse… he wanted to know now. Her shoulders stiffened. “A pair?” But she could ask about that later. She wondered where to start. She didn’t like to think about the full version, but the short version was dishonest at best. After they had literally bared their souls to each other, she couldn’t lie to him. She couldn’t have before then, really, but that moment had only reinforced what she already knew. He hadn’t recoiled in disgust. She sighed and rubbed her forehead. “You need the whole story. But it’s not going to be pleasant. Just...I meant what I said, before.” “About abusing your power?” She nodded, and started before she overthought it. “It was in high school. I sensed something weird from a classmate. Wasn’t sure what, I was still new to the whole magic thing. I got worried, so I followed him. He started acting sort of like he was arguing with someone that wasn’t there. So I nudged his mind a bit, just to find out what was going on. And you know what I found.” “What happened?” She folded her arms, staring at some point on the other side of the street behind him. “I figured, Well, this is my wheelhouse, I can fix this. So I stuck my mind in and tried to throw that other awareness out. I...had no idea what I was doing. It let me think I was winning, but it was really just going deeper and leading me on. By the time I caught on and backed off, it was too late to do anything.” Her tone became bitter. “Then the rear end in a top hat showed himself to gloat. I thought he must be a demon, or some insane wizard, or… I don’t know, I just know I was angry and in shock and I’d already broken one mind, so what was one more if it meant he’d never do it to someone else? But I couldn’t do anything to him. Of course. He knew what he was doing.” She took her hat off to push her hair back irritably, and looked down at the feather brooch. “I remember he wanted me to take the coin. I wouldn’t touch the drat thing. Beyond that, I don’t really… There was too much happening. And there was something--” She frowned, and shook her head. “I don’t know how to explain it. There was something else there. Someone else, I guess, because next I knew he was gone and this was on the ground.” She brushed her fingers over the feather she’d shown Rick before. “I didn’t put it all together for a while. Still not sure of the details.” There was no mistaking what she’d done for anything other than breaking the third law of magic, but as a child, at the urging of a Fallen… He didn’t know what to say. It’d still left a mark, just like he’d said it would, but it hadn’t come to dominate her soul the way it had for some of the others. Maybe it’d just been too long ago, or the true angel had shielded her from the worst of it somehow. He’d never heard of an angel interfering with a Fallen’s business, either, but the proof was right in front of him. Knowing all of that, it still hurt to hear her admit to it. “I thought… I hoped you’d be different,” he said, looking up at the clear blue sky. There weren’t any answers there. “Fool me what, five times now, Zophiel? Shame on me.” For a moment, Marcine thought her fears had been right after all, despite the soulgaze - but this was something else. “Different from…? “Remember when I said I’d seen worse?” he said darkly. He was so tired of holding onto everyone else’s dirty secrets. Of covering for and protecting them. Angrily, he pulled the quartz out from under his shirt. “Every face - except one - that I showed you in this crystal is a lawbreaker.” It flashed colors as he ticked them off on his fingers. “Murder, necromancy, murder, more murder, I never did find out, and now mind-wrecking. I can practically call Bingo, for Christ’s sake.” His shoulders slumped and he looked a lot older than he had just a moment ago. “When this all comes out one day, which I’m sure it will, they won’t just execute me, they’ll bronze me alive and put me on the front lawn as a warning to future generations.” She didn’t answer immediately. There was too much to address with that news. “Knew something was up with Hugues,” she eventually muttered; then, louder, “Since you met them?” He shook his head, pinching the bridge of his nose as if to assuage a migraine. “A long time ago, like you. I only got here last November.” “But you introduced them as friends you’d trust with your life.” Marcine met his eyes. “Maybe we’re all the ones that needed you.” “I’m not a leader!” He’d told Zophiel that, back in the Superdome, though the angel hadn’t bought it. “I’ve failed my way forwards through everything I’ve ever done. If you want to follow me, we’re going right off a cliff.” He thought of the ice toboggan run in the Nevernever. “Another cliff,” he amended. She smirked. “First one worked out, didn’t it?” He shook a finger at her. “You’re not invincible because you have a few white feathers in your cap.” “I know I’m not. But I think I’ve gotten decent at making up for it.” She frowned at his hand, then caught it and turned it over to look at his reddened fingers. “That looks like frostnip. Have you been rubbing them?” “I… no!” He tugged his hand out of hers and stuck both of them in his pockets, sulking. “Weren’t we supposed to be getting drinks?” She grinned and clapped him on the shoulder. “Convenience store ahead. Find poor Rupert something cold and you something warm, huh?” “Maybe I’ll try one of your latte things,” he mumbled. “I’m sure you’ll survive.” He sighed. “That… has never been the problem.”
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Jul 13, 2016 07:52
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Sanity Check Scene: Still Shreveport Scarcely a second later, Marcine banged through the cafeteria door and scanned the room. Some of the tension left her posture when she saw El upright, but her eyes went straight to the book. The familiar anti-spy spell beside it glared at her, and she glared back. “What the hell was that?” she demanded. Wizard Cantor let out a cry of alarm that went very like “EEEK!” and attacked the book with the rest of the roll of duct tape and a sharpie. “A private chat that didn’t stay private,” Elbridge told her, hastily disposing of the corrupted ward. “We have new information regarding New Orleans.” She blinked and glanced between him, Nicky and the book. “How?” she finally asked. “I felt like I had ants in my head, and then I felt that-- I thought I felt that thing again. Thought I was going to find--” She shook her head, agitation fading to worry. “If you got information just now…” “She wasn’t with us the last time,” Cantor said, hastily drawing the strongest sealing runes he knew on the unbroken tape. “What is she talking about, Hardley?” He shrugged. “The source of our interference, I’d imagine.” “But why would she…” Nicky stopped and addressed Marcine directly. “I’m sorry. Miss, when did you sense it? I’ve kept it under ward and key. If there’s been any leakage we need to know immediately!” Last time? she almost asked, but settled for a puzzled frown instead. El obviously hadn’t told Nicky about the curse. If he hadn’t, she didn’t want to overstep. But the book had something to do with it, and if they’d used it before, then was that why it had happened? She was certain she’d recognized that presence, or something similar enough to it. Oh, gently caress all this. She turned to Elbridge. “He’s directly involved in this, but you haven’t told him.” Her glance flicked to the book, and her voice lowered. “And I’m sure you haven’t mentioned this to Rick. Or anyone else.” “Miss Sterling, these are things I wish I didn’t know,” El whispered back, just as sternly. “And I doubt that even your gifts would suffice to make either of us forget. So before you ask another question, be very drat certain you can live with the answer, and that you can take it to your grave if you must.” She gave him as direct a look as she could, rather certain that neither of them wanted a soulgaze. “It’s not me I’m worried about right now.” She sat down with an irritated grunt and returned to a conversational volume. “I assume that ‘last time’ was before early this morning?” “In Lisbon,” Elbridge affirmed. “And to answer your question, Wizard Cantor, Meruda - Roqueza’s pet witch - was a very sore loser. Her petrification curse took some...extreme measures to survive, during which something decided to resume what we’d interrupted back in Portugal.” “My God, that’s awful!” Nicholas said. He tucked the book into his pack again, holding it with the tips of his fingers, trying to minimize contact. Once it was safely stowed he clutched it under one arm and stood up. “But as toxic as this business is, we’ve learned a great deal from it. I need to speak to Wizard… I mean, ex-Wizard Singh immediately. To confirm a few things. May I be excused?” He blinked at Elbridge like a student asking to leave class early. “You may,” Elbridge told him, like a professor dealing with a student outside of designated office hours. Nicky didn’t need to be told twice. He ran for the exit as if the room were on fire, pausing only to empty half the contents of the wall-mounted hand sanitizer into his palms on his way out. “It’s leaking,” Marcine observed when he was gone. “And all the duct tape in the world isn’t going to do a drat thing to stop it.” She pressed a hand to her forehead. “I was going to try shielding if it hadn’t stopped when it did. Don’t know if it would have worked.” “It works,” Elbridge said softly. “I made some slight...revisions to Cantor’s wards before we parted ways.” “I do different sorts of shields, but you knew that already.” There was more to ask, but she couldn’t ignore his earlier attempt to change the subject, either. Too important. “What did you learn about New Orleans?” Elbridge repeated Minsk’s report again. “Time in there is like a calm and steady river, but with the occasional undertow, and very sharp rocks hidden under the surface,” he summarised at the end. “Not surprising when all this started from time getting blown up.” Marcine sighed faintly. “It’s good to know they’re alive in there. I wonder what it’s like, though. Do they still see their own sun? Is everything beyond the city just a void? What are we all doing?” She shrugged, as if to answer her own questions. “But using that book’s going to cause more of this, again, isn’t it.” “Yes,” he said with grim certainty. “And with the seeping wound in reality between this timeline and its native New Orleans, so will not using the book.” “Was going to say we can’t afford not to know what’s happening in there. Figured you thought the same or it wouldn’t have been out today. Where did you even get it?” That mental wall of ice came back. She dropped her head in her hands with an exasperated noise. “Look, if this works, something else has to, right?” “...I wrote it,” Elbridge said at last, quieter than she’d ever heard him speak. She looked up at him in surprise, then sat back thoughtfully. It was too earnest an admission, loaded with too many implications, to get too excited about. On the one hand, it was a bit thrilling--he’d written a book that could communicate beyond reality!--but she’d already had a tug-of-war with what that entailed, and there was no doubt that he meant every warning. He probably would have thought of it already, if it could be done--but she had to ask anyway. “Then...is there some property about this that could make a different way to communicate, with less risk?” “If I knew, I’d be using it,” he sighed, shaking his head sadly. “It might be worth considering, even if...” She trailed off as more connections clicked into place. They didn’t lead to anything pleasant. “That would have to be you on the other end. Six years. How desperate would you have to be to use it?” “Not quite out of options,” Elbridge said, thinking back to his ‘change jar’, “but fairly-close.” “So he didn’t think of anything else with this, either, with more time and motivation. It just seems…” She frowned. “Do you remember much of when I brought you back? Or, how I did.” “I recall,” he said. “You think the song could bridge this gap, as well?” “Maybe. The music wasn't enough, though, even though it was as direct as it was likely to get. I had to follow the path mentally, catch you that way. But if it had wanted to, it could've used that link to climb right out, couldn’t it? Never mind a mental connection.” She let out a short, humorless laugh. “If we’re stuck with that book, Round Two seems inevitable.” “We’ll need to address the Queens before we even consider sorting out the rest of this mess.” Elbridge rubbed his aching temples and checked the clock. Too early for drinks, and this was a dry shelter at any rate. “For now, let’s just focus on building bridges faster than we burn them.” Echo Cian fucked around with this message at 22:32 on Aug 14, 2016 |
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Jul 21, 2016 19:40
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En Garde Scene: Shelter It wasn’t the distant clink of metal on metal or the sound of boots scraping the dirt that woke Marcine. It was the laser-focus of two people in mortal conflict, the adrenaline high of the duelist. She sensed it through the walls. For a few muddled moments, she pictured Rick and the shadowy figure of Roqueza that had unsettled her dreams, and the thought sent her fumbling for her holster. She didn’t find it before she realized that it was Angie, not Roqueza, and there was no killing intent. Practice. She sighed and dragged herself out of bed. One thing was clear before she reached the yard: Rick was reveling in it. She sat on the porch to watch. Her father had taught her some basic swordplay, for exercise and the fun of it. She’d be useless with it in a fight. But she did know enough to follow their rhythm and roughly judge how they fared against each other. Rick had the advantage of height and reach, using a loose stance and remaining still between bouts to conserve his energy. Angie was light on her feet, bouncing slightly even as she waited to make her next attack. Which she did, over and over, with pinpoint precision. She’d had more practice - or at least more recent practice. Rick’s bare chest was covered in small red welts. He knew what he was doing, or at least what he wanted to do, but his reflexes weren’t there. They were sharpening, though, if the black marks on her white tanktop were any suggestion. Angie seemed to be trying to draw it out of him. It was like trying to remember how an old song went, Marcine supposed; and he was faring better than her attempts to recall the words to The Blackleg Miner. (It was invading her dreams, now.) Gradually the shuffling and grunts of effort and the conversation of beat and parry became a steady rhythm that made her eyes want to drift shut (despite how interesting it was to watch Rick's muscles as he acted and reacted). She'd been up too late working on the drat shirt. She finally gave up and propped her her elbow on her knee, head on her arm, listening. And feeling. She didn't need to watch to follow their actions - a spark of excitement at the sight of an opening, alarm at a riposte, triumph at a successful touch, frustration at a poor move. Rick felt most of that one. It didn't ruin his fun; only galvanized him to try something different next time. An unexpected jolt of elation made her look up in time to see Rick execute a near-flawless bind and disarm that twisted Angie's weapon from her hand and gave him the touch before she could recover. It had been pure reflex, maybe old instinct kicking in. Marcine couldn't tell which of them was more surprised. “Maybe there’s hope for you yet,” Angie said proudly. She didn’t retrieve the foil, but bent her knees and curled her fingers into claws, taking a boxer’s stance. “If you manage to disarm him, he’ll still fight.” “I know,” Rick said, flushing with anticipation. He gave her a salute and stood en guarde. “Come on!” That woke Marcine up. None of them planned to fight fair; this might give her a better idea of just how to do that. Foil against foil they’d fought in a straight line, advancing and retreating, rarely stepping more than a single pace to either side. Now though, they circled each other like dancers, the gap between them narrowing to one lunge on either side. Hearts beat in unison. Angie remained on the defensive, slapping the sword away with one claw or the other, her movements very clean and with enough force to tear the sword from an unprepared hand. Rick sought an opening, but couldn’t find one. Frustrated, he moved faster, the blade whipping in consecutive thrusts that culminated in a low body shot that pierced her block and bent against her midriff. “Hah!” Rick yelled, just as Angie grabbed the blade in one hand and yanked him towards her. Her other hand came up to cuff him on the neck hard enough to knock him to the dirt. If it had been a real sword and not sports equipment she would have had to impale herself to do it, but if it was a real vampire and not his dancing instructor, Rick would have lost his head. “Damnit.” “This is a problem,” Angie said, pulling him back to his feet. She handed the foil back to him. “He’ll expect you to go for the belly. Don’t.” “Then where do I…” Rick looked up and noticed Marcine, watching from the porch. He smirked at her. “Uh oh, we’ve got a spy.” Marcine looked innocent. “Me? I’m just enjoying the view.” Rick covered his eyes with one hand and groaned. “I’ve got one clean shirt and it’s staying clean until we’re ready to go meet your bug buddy.” “I didn’t say it was a bad view.” Her tone sobered. Slightly. “Seriously, though, I’ve been here for at least ten minutes. You both get an F in situational awareness.” She pointed an imaginary gun at Rick for emphasis. “Awareness is for battle. Focus is for dueling,” Angie said. “In the ring, a spectator’s distraction is a death sentence.” It was a perfectly good excuse, only given away by the slight irritation in her voice. “But I only give private lessons. If you want to watch, then help. You do illusions, yes? Make me into something scarier.” “In my experience there isn’t much scarier than a beautiful woman who wants to kill you,” Rick said, flexing the foil until it was straight again. “If that’s the best use you can think of,” Marcine said skeptically. “What’s with all this fair play nonsense, anyway?” Still, making one thing look like another was basic enough. Making it look convincing while moving around was worth perfecting. She pictured the transformation in her mind, how it would map to Angie’s movements. When she was satisfied, she manifested the image and snapped her fingers entirely unnecessarily. “Poof.” There wasn’t any fanfare in the illusion itself; one moment it was Angie, the next she was the best Marcine could remember of one of the bat-shaped vampires from the camp. “Raaaawr!” Angie growled, cackling with glee. She advanced on Rick, who backpedaled out of the way a good deal faster than he had the last time. “But can you do realistic battle damage?” Rick called, taking a few preliminary swipes that the Angie-pire blocked easily with a forearm. “You try sewing a costume on someone while they’re jumping around.” Marcine stayed focused entirely on following Angie’s movements. Although if she wanted to be scary, a vampire from the uncanny valley was even creepier than a real one. The practice took a more serious turn after that. Angie limited her comments to short critiques and rare nods of praise. Rick didn’t talk at all, focusing his efforts on breaking through Angie’s guard without leaving himself open to the counter-kill. He didn’t use any magic at all, not even his shield, in case Roqueza knew a way to break through it. It was hard work, and tiring. Rick knew the weaknesses of the Red Court but human endurance had limits. The third time she knocked him down, with a gut-punch that would have pulled out most of his intestines if she’d actually had those vampire claws, he called for a time-out. “I don’t think this is going to work,” he said, gulping water from a gallon jug on the porch. He wiped his mouth and sighed. “I can’t match him in a physical contest. I can’t even match Angie. Has to be another way.” “Question,” Marcine said, letting Angie’s guise fade. “Does Roqueza’s anti-magic whatever just nullify what tries to hit him directly, or is it more like a field around him?” Rick shrugged. “No idea. For all we know it’s a rumor he’s encouraged over the centuries to make himself more intimidating. But… I saw it once...” He tried to piece the memory together. Rachel, darting forward towards the hulking one-eyed bat. Rain, mud, a sword flashing, screaming. His brows knit together as he ignored the warning headache, trying to focus on Roqueza and not the girl he was fighting. There was something there, if he could only grasp it... “Rico!” Angie snapped his attention back to reality. He let go of the memory and wiped the thin line of blood off his throat with his sweat towel, where the invisible garrote had started to tighten. “Guess that’s off limits,” he muttered. Marcine was on her feet, wide-eyed. “What the gently caress was that?” “An old failsafe,” he said numbly. “It’s not a big deal, I just can’t think too hard about… certain things.” “Like the guy you’re planning to fight.” Her posture slowly relaxed, but her worry didn’t. It wasn’t just something invisible slitting his throat; she’d felt the fear, the sense of entrapment, that the memory had brought him. “Never mind fencing. Rick...are you going to be able to do this?” The look he gave her was all the answer she needed. “Don’t have a lot of choice, do I?” “Don’t you?” He wanted to fight, he was afraid the odds, and all of it was nearly buried beneath guilt about something that reminded her of a cave she’d glimpsed in the soulgaze-- Marcine bottled up her own empathy. It felt rude to know so much more than he could tell. Or that he wanted to. “First El, now you - how many of you do I have to worry about up and dying on me?” “He doesn’t want to kill me,” Rick said, darkly. But even as he said it, he considered that. “...huh.” “That isn’t better,” she grumbled. “No, but there’s a big difference in how you fight if you’re trying to win instead of trying to kill.” Angie said, crossing her arms. “It’s not worth considering, Rico, he won’t hesitate to kill you if you press him.” “I know, it’s just… being realistic, the only way I don’t end up dead is if I cheat. Just need to figure out how.” Marcine took a quiet breath to settle herself. “Guess you’ll have to try playing dirty. I did tell you I’m good at that.” Rick sighed and finished off the water gallon. “Speaking of dirt, I need to hit the shower. It’s almost time to go to the park. Thanks, Angie, Marcine. It helped.” “Anytime.” Angie said. Marcine smiled. “I’ll think of some ideas to try.” When he’d gone inside, though, her jaw set. If he was going to fight even with a literal noose around his neck, she’d better figure out how best to back him up. Sure. No pressure at all.
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Aug 4, 2016 08:12
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Don’t Touch The Sides Scene: Shreveport Shelter Marcine caught Elbridge while the others went ahead. “I know I’ve asked a lot already, but there’s one more thing…” Her mirth from a few minutes ago had vanished. “If you really need something to worry about, help me figure out how to get that thing off Rick’s neck. Or Roqueza might kill him without having to lift a finger.” “I’ve had...some thoughts along those lines,” Elbridge admitted. “It can’t be dispelled, save by the wizards who laid it - not without a very strong chance of Rick losing his head. However…” He gave a faint smile. “We may be able to trick it.” “That sounds more promising than what I could think of. What’s your idea?” “It’s a string - a garrote, rather, made of magic drawn like a wire.” Elbridge traced a line of silvery force in the air to elaborate. “Feed more magic into the cord, and it grows longer.” He demonstrated. “It slackens.” The cable in midair sagged, drooping before dispersing altogether. “It’s a trickier bit of spellcraft than all that, and it’ll re-affix itself in time...but what if we should, er, ‘convince’ it that it were still attached?” “I’m not sure I follow. I haven’t looked at it yet.” She’d need the Sight, she expected. “Do you mean lengthening it to remove it?” “It’s somewhat elastic,” Elbridge said. “If we try to remove it entirely, it’ll resist, perhaps violently. However, I’m not altogether certain the spell would ‘know’ if some protective layer were inserted between Rick’s neck and the cable while it’s loosened...or if it can tell one neck from another.” She considered it. “It’s made of memories, right? I thought I might be able to do something with that. But it seemed risky.” “No, no,” Elbridge said. “The trigger is a set of memories, sealed behind a psychic barrier. But the barrier is only effective in a human mind; the collar was meant as a failsafe if Rick had ever fully turned. It was intended to kill a vampire.” “This is the most convoluted and pointless way to kill a vampire I’ve ever heard of,” she muttered. “Clearly, you’ve never watched anything by Hammer Horror.” “They’d have to try hard to reach this. I just don’t… How was this not a lawbreak? Ugh.” She rubbed her forehead. “So it could be neutralized without messing with that, maybe…” She shook her head. “This seems too easy if it was meant to be permanent.” “Oh, no doubt there’s layer after insidious layer of countermeasures,” Elbridge said, pondering the spell. “Difficult, but not insurmountable.” Marcine chuckled faintly. It was only a theory, but even that much was better than nothing. “‘Difficult, but not insurmountable’ might be the best odds I’ve heard since I got here. I’ll have to try to get him to talk about it later. He wouldn’t earlier, but maybe after…” She sighed. “He did bad enough at fencing, he doesn’t need this on top of it.” “No one conventional strategy will suffice for Roqueza and his coterie,” Elbridge said, contemplating their options. “All we can do is throw everything we have at the wall and see what sticks. Mind you, it’d help if we knew just what it was that took his eye. If even a vampire couldn’t recover from it…” “I don’t know how you’d find someone who knows and is willing to share. ...Or unwilling to share, if it really came to that.” She grimaced. “I’d rather it didn’t.” “Our preferences would seem to count for very little in this,” Elbridge said sourly. “Are you guys coming or what?” Rick yelled from the front door. “Right behind you,” Elbridge called back, and followed him out. Behind them, Marcine pulled out her keys with a sigh.
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Aug 27, 2016 07:37
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Test of Air and Darkness: Marcine Marcine reached for the nearest solid object, which should have been Rick's arm, but she only felt air. He'd been right beside her a moment ago. So had Rupert, but he wasn't where he should be, either. They couldn't have gotten separated that fast. “Rick?” she asked, and only heard the ringing in her ears. Great. "loving Nevernever," she didn’t say. She hadn’t understood fear of the dark until her first cavern tour. The darkest night still had enough ambient light for the eyes to adjust to. Underground, when the guide shut off the lights, there was nothing. She’d lost her sense of balance. The world felt like it ceased to exist. That total deprivation of a primary sense was deeply unsettling, even when she knew there were people beside her and the lights were coming back on in a minute. There were no other people now. The door wasn’t where it should be. And the background mental presence that she'd felt just a moment ago - that she always felt - was gone. Reaching for someone familiar felt like tumbling down a well. She dropped to a crouch, her breath shaking, and willed a bit of fire into her cupped hands. It lit her fingers for a few seconds, then winked out, leaving her seeing spots. It could be some kind of defensive illusion...or it could be an effect from their proximity to the Outer Gates. She shuddered. She didn’t want to move, with the darkness weighing on her from all directions. But she was getting colder. Had to. She sat with her eyes closed for a moment longer, unwilling to stumble her way through a sensory void. But she got up anyway. In front of her lay a feather, as white and pristine as the ones in her pocket. It glowed like it had caught an errant sunbeam from nowhere. Beyond it was another, and dimly, a third. Their presence made no sense, but neither did anything else. She followed the path without hesitation. Until she reached the fifth, and the ground crumbled beneath her. She pitched through air for a heart-stopping moment before slamming into the earth, and laid there, stunned and bewildered. Angel feathers. That wasn’t supposed to happen. Had she misjudged, or turned, or…? ((Will at diff 5: --+-+4 = 2, marking off 4th mental stress box.)) Her head and shoulder hurt, but nothing seemed broken. She sat up, wincing; and nearly lost her breath again when she saw the angel. He was every painting combined and distilled down to the essence of beauty, from his gentle face to his white wings and the decorated robe he wore. He looked kind, and strong, and sure, and everything else Marcine hadn’t been feeling much lately, no matter how she tried to fake it. He knelt beside her and erased the pain with light touches to her shoulder and head. Then, just as she had for Rick earlier, he rested his arm reassuringly across her shoulders. “There’s no need to be frightened,” he said softly. She stared at him, then looked up at where she’d fallen. She didn’t see any feathers from here. “You were panicking,” he said. “I’m sorry this happened. Are you all right?” When she nodded, still feeling dazed, he stood and offered his hand. “Come with me. This place is a dreadful illusion. I have too much faith in you to let you lose yourself here.” He looked real. He felt real, complete with the body heat and subtle movements of life. She let him pull her to her feet, and he lifted her weight as solidly as any man. drat everything, she wanted to believe that she had a protector in this world. He tucked her arm through his, and she let him lead her through the dark. “I’m not supposed to interfere,” he told her, “but I can bear to stand aside no longer. Only your skills can resolve this disaster.” He patted her arm. “It pains me to see you struggle, but I’d never ask more from you than you’re capable of handling. I have every confidence you’ll make the right decision when the time comes.” Decision. She’d already made hers in that terrible moment when she thought she’d lost Rick and Elbridge both: This miserable timeline, infested with Reds and Outsiders, wasn’t worth dying for. They didn’t belong here. They needed to get home. But, another part of her mind insisted, what about Angie? “Your abilities are remarkable,” the angel continued. “Music as bold as your soul. You have such potential to save lives, as simple as a thought. Just think, Marcine--” Something caught her eye, and she turned to see a familiar institutional room, and a familiar bed. “--you could fix Joey, if you tried.” ((Will at diff 6: /+// +4 = 5, marking off 2nd mental stress box.)) Except it wasn’t Joey in the bed. It was Elbridge, staring at nothing with empty eyes. “I wish that I could have prevented it. I was constrained… But, think--” His grip tightened on her arm. “Yes, his personality would change, but that would be expected. His mind would be whole. His family would be delighted. No one would know the difference. His condition is my fault as much as yours. Between us, we can undo the damage.” She shook her head. This wasn’t what an angel would say. This was… He stood over her, his voice oddly gentle even as she fought to keep his mind from boring into hers. “I can show you how to heal him,” he’d said, sounding genuinely saddened by her refusal to see sense. “Anything you take apart, you could piece back together.” She felt her mental shields cracking as he held up the coin, felt a soul-deep horror as her hand jerked toward it against every last scrap of her will. “Stop fighting. You’ll thank me when you understand what we can do together.” ...what a Denarian would claim. He’d lied. You couldn’t fit a smashed pot back together like new. There would be cracks. Anyone who looked at it would know that it had been broken. And she already knew in her gut that she could reach into someone’s mind, erase everything they were, and then restore them to whatever personality she wanted. With her sense of empathy, it would even seem convincing. She didn’t need a Denarian’s knowledge or power to do it. That was all hers. She wouldn’t. But she could. And that was playing God. “I understand your worries,” the angel said. “But I protected you once. I can do so again.” Breaking free will, trying to accomplish something that only the Creator should be capable of-- Marcine tried to pull out of his grasp, but his fingers dug into her skin. His expression remained understanding, if a little disappointed. “Please calm down, Marcine. You’re not thinking clearly.” Someone wasn’t thinking clearly, all right. Marcine yanked her arm free hard enough that she nearly stumbled into the bed behind her. I can’t, she thought behind clenched teeth. If I start, where would it end? I’m not God. Neither are you. You’re insane! What if it had already started? Had rescuing Elbridge hurt him in ways they hadn’t noticed? Her mind raced through past incidents. A drunkard who lost his balance before he could land a punch on a hapless patron, thanks to a little prod at the right moment. A freeze that made someone hesitate just long enough for anger to fade to clarity. With each memory, the darkness receded to reveal another person on the ground, as mindless as Joey, as unmoving as the illusionary Elbridge. There weren’t many. But there were more than one. She’d been careful. She hadn’t read their thoughts, or changed anything in their minds. She hadn’t dominated them. Just nudges, here and there - only providing them with a second to think. To stop them from hurting themselves or others. She hadn’t seen any ill effects in the people she knew. They should be fine. Or was that just what she wanted to tell herself? She still hadn’t told Rick how she’d gotten the keys. She could have wreaked utter havoc in that camp, she realized, because vampires didn’t count. It would have been fun - maybe the only time in her life she’d get to use the full extent of her power without consequences. But she couldn’t afford that slip. If it became reflex, she might not be able to stop. Or want to. The angel regarded her. Like he thought he was right. Like he thought she’d just turn around and follow his advice because he’d lavished her with compliments. “You could break free of this,” he said quietly. “Reach out to the Warden, or to the enchanter. Or seek out the one you fear for most. You do have a direct link to his soul.” He smiled slightly at that. It wasn’t kind. “Reach any one of them, and you have the power to escape.” He spread his hands. “It’s only an illusion, after all.” ((Will at Diff 7: --//+4 = 2, FPing with Mind Games to reroll: -+-/+4 = 3. Grand. Invoking Nudged by an Angel as well to reduce damage to the 3rd stress box and take the Mild consequence, “Broken Feathers.”)) Right. It was an illusion. And so was he, and she couldn’t believe a goddamn word that had come out of his mouth. There was no divine guidance, she wasn’t anyone’s only hope, she wasn’t a savior, she couldn’t know if Elbridge was really unharmed… She could break out. But she had no idea how much power she would have to put into the effort, and too much could just fry the mind of whoever she touched before she could stop it. That wasn’t an option. But...no. That wasn’t right either. Nothing in an illusion could hurt her. Not him, not falling off a cliff. It could fake an impression of mass, but it couldn’t have mass; thus the fact that he’d lifted her weight meant that he couldn’t possibly be physical. This entire thing was inside her mind, then - some spell making her subconscious manifest while her actual body hadn’t moved far from the doorway. She could work a spell like this. So she could unwork it, now that she had abandoned the delusion that this construct was in any way real or trying to help her. Rick’s portal to the cabin wouldn’t have worked if he hadn’t believed enough for both of them, because she knew that it was only a detailed pile of sensory tricks and couldn’t convince herself otherwise. She’d wanted to believe in the angel and what he represented, even though his presence was as impossible as a bed from a mental institution. She laughed aloud without hearing the hysteria in her voice. So this was all belief got her. What else had she expected? Of course there was no higher power protecting her. That feather at the party had probably meant something else entirely, and here she was, acting like she had some kind of holy mission to save two entire worlds. If the real angel was still watching her, he’d been shaking his head in disgust this whole time. She upended the bed with one hand. ‘Elbridge’ slumped to the ground and collapsed into a pile of old pillows and crunched-up newspapers. She dropped the limp cardboard cutout of a bed on top of the mess. “Do you think it’s going to be this easy?” the false Denarian asked. She drew her gun as she turned and shot him through the forehead. The report didn’t echo. He didn’t flinch. Only watched her dispassionately as blood dripped down his face. “You’re not as strong as you think, Marcine.” She curled her lip. The gun wavered in her hand. Then she took a slow breath and lowered it. “I only need to be stronger than you,” she said, knowing he could read her lips. She kept her eyes locked with his as she pressed the barrel beneath her ear and pulled the trigger. The world fractured. She was sprawled in a heap on a cold stone floor, loose gravel digging into her cheek. She drew a shaky breath, then another. Then giggled weakly when she realized she could hear her own breathing. She pushed herself up, saw the heat jar lying on its side a few feet away. And she could see it, because ahead there was a doorway with a torch burning on the wall. She rose unsteadily, nearly toppled over when she bent to retrieve the jar. Each breath was tinged with nervous laughter that she couldn’t quite suppress or release. By the time she slumped to the floor beside the doorway, knees hugged to her chest, it wasn’t laughter anymore. “gently caress you,” she whispered to the memory that had haunted her for years, and buried her face in her arms. “gently caress me.”
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Sep 11, 2016 05:55
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One by One Scene: War Room The doorway led into an antechamber, a small room with six chairs arranged around a war-table. Maps were spread haphazardly on it, and large troop tokens, some which appeared quite well used, held down the corners. Dust fell from the stone ceiling as the ground shook for a few seconds, accompanied by a monstrous bellow, (or perhaps a horn? Too distant to tell.) Hugues was the first one to step through, the ashes of his hollow-self still clinging to his hair and clothing. At first, he thought he was alone, but after a few silent seconds, a tiny figure stepped out from behind one of the model ballistae. “State yer business!” yelled the pixie, drawing his bow. “Weren’t ‘spectin no messengers today!” He was dressed in full plate armor, which looked to be made of amethyst , and his arrows were tipped with something that dripped dark green. His wings didn’t give off light, they drank it in, giving him a black aura instead of one the usual rainbow of pixie colors. At nearly eight inches tall, he was a giant for one of the little folk. “We’re here to seek an audience with the Queen,” Hugues said, knowing not to make fun of the pixie and his doll sized arsenal. After all, he knew better than most that dangerous things could come in small sizes. “There’s more of us coming through, may I wait here for them?” “More of ya?! Who sentcha?” he glanced over Hugues’ shoulder at the door, which was made of wood as thick as he was tall. There had been a relief on this side as well but it was gone now, just the imprint of one remained. Hugues thought for a moment, trying to figure out if he should implicate the troll in any of this. “We sent ourselves. We have valuable information about one of Summer’s plots that the Queen is going to want to know about.” “Sure, sure, and who’s we?” He pulled the bowstring taut. “Wizards who escaped from inside New Orleans.” The pixie gave him an appraising once-over. “Wizards,” he said. He didn’t sound like he believed it. “Aren’t cha a little short to be a wizard?” Hugues smacked his face on his hand. Like the pixie was one to talk. He quickly pulled out his slingshot and fired a small air pellet to knock over the ballista model. “I’ve got the magic for it.” “THAT’S NOT A TOY!!!” Hugues was about to become a pincushion when Rupert came through the door. Rupert was too busy looking down at his hand with a sense of loss to notice the standoff he’d arrived in - until he bumped into the back of Hugues. Ignoring whatever had suddenly appeared in his hand for the moment, he looked up and frowned, “What did you do, Hugues?” “Hey, hey, I’ll put it back! It was just a demonstration!” Hugues hollered, waving his arms to get the pixie out of his hair while he flailed around trying to reach the knocked over model. Rupert’s bump knocked him into the war table. “Here! See?” he said, putting up the model. “Look, here’s another one! He’ll confirm my story! Rupert, you’re a wizard, right?” Rupert frowned slightly, “Ex-Wizard.” “And I suppose you want to see the Queen too?” the pixie said, from his new perch on Hugues’ head. He yanked on a curl of hair as if directing a horse. “NOT THERE, put it by the Ogres!!! Where it WAS!!!” “Ow ow! Okay okay!” Hugues grumbled, but slid the ballista over. “That’s what we’re here for,” replied Rupert, absent mindedly as he raised his hand and looked at what he’d somehow found in the doorway - an old silver roman coin. Backing himself against the side wall with eyes wide with horror, he said, his voice full of worry, “Hugues... blast me if I do anything strange.” “I’ll blast you both, if you want,” the pixie said darkly. “Huh?” Hugues asked, getting up off the table. “What are you talking about?” Rupert held up the silver coin, “I somehow ended up with this.” “That’s uh...noted,” Hugues said, eyes wide. Marcine announced her entrance by unceremoniously dropping her violin case to the floor. She froze, staring at the coin; then drew a settling breath and crossed to the table stiffly, like she had to remind her legs to work. “Was that a required test or did Breenfjell decide to get the last laugh on us?” she asked the pixie. “Breenfjell?” the pixie said, flipping his visor up. “Did you say Breenfjell sent you?” She nodded and slumped into a chair. “We sent a letter. He decided the Queen needed to hear us out and guided us here.” “Are you a wizard?” he asked her. “No.” She turned back to Hugues and Rupert, taking in both the coin and the ash. “That isn't real.” She absently felt the edge of her sleeve, torn where the false angel had grabbed her. Her voice was steady, but her hand shook. “None of it was real.” Rupert glanced at the coin again, “I hope so.” She clamped her hands hard on her arms. “Illusions and sensory tricks. Nothing else.” “I think it was more than that, but I also think you’re right,” replied Rupert, as if he wasn’t entirely convinced, “I think this is a reminder.” “Didn’t cha bring a light?” the pixie asked, confused. “What?” asked Rupert, equally confused, “Lights didn’t work right in there.” The pixie facepalmed. “That’s why ya had to bring one! From outside! Don’t cha know anything?” “So we could have avoided all of that if one of us had brought a lighter?” said Rupert with a sigh, “Funny how Breen didn’t mention that part.” “Now I know how ‘troll’ became a verb,” Marcine muttered to the table. A howl echoed from inside the door, long and loud. The pixie glared at the growing number of humans in his war room. “Oh great, you brought a pet?!” “I wouldn’t call him that,” Elbridge said, jostling Hugues’ backpack in passing. A malodorous wave of dead-fish stench followed him, thick and heady. In the bag, Murray perked up and sniffed hungrily. “He’s been through enough hazing already. Wizard Hardley. Vouchsafed and escorted by Breenfjell Stonebones. We seek an audience with the Queen.” “Alright, that’s one wizard out of-” he counted heads, “-four. At least this’n looks like a proper wizard. General Rime, of the Gatewatch.” He gave a small salute, but stayed well away from El’s fishy odor. “I s’pose Breenfjell would send a pack of mortals through the Grue’s nest in the dark, if they were arrogant enough to seek an audience with the Queen.” Marcine had straightened at the sound of the howl. “Five,” she corrected, watching the door.. “Where’s Rick?” “And what the heck howls like that?” asked Rupert. She stood, her hand brushing over her holster out of habit from time spent hunting. “Wolves.” Echo Cian fucked around with this message at 15:57 on Sep 15, 2016 |
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Sep 15, 2016 15:54
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Wingman Scene: Mab’s Outsider Murdering Emporium The armory was a massive room lined from wall to wall and floor to ceiling with weapons on one side and armor on the other, with even more shelves and racks in between. They ranged from swords to glaives to oddly-shaped staves to things unrecognizable to mortals, from unadorned breastplates to intricately-decorated battle gowns laced with enchantments. At least looking for something human-sized narrowed the options. In the center were benches and an open area for testing out weapons. Everything gleamed in the colors of ice and snow, as if in defiance of the things from beyond the Outer Gates even on their hooks. Marcine didn’t know where to begin. She knew her guns, some basic hand-to-hand for self-defense, and a level of swordplay that was utterly useless. Anything else was beyond her. Did Outsiders even blink at bullets? She gave up trying and took a seat on a bench to watch the others, feeling hopelessly out of place. Rupert sat down next to her, a silver-blue dagger in a lacquered wooden sheath in his hand - as much as the sidhe crafting might interest him, he’d long since lost his curiosity when it came to weaponry in the long years of the vampire war. At least with a dagger, you could use it as a tool as well as a weapon. Glancing over at Marcine, he asked quietly, “Feeling overwhelmed?” She hunched her shoulders. “Can’t avoid thinking about it anymore. Don’t know what I’m doing here.” Rupert inclined his head slightly, “You said as much, back in Elbridge’s cabin. But what if it’s the wrong question? Does it really matter why you’re here?” The question she’d been wondering, until a short time ago. “If someone shook the tree to get me here, then I expect it does,” she muttered. “Maybe it was just to help Rick and Elbridge. That’d be fine. That’s enough of a reason.” She dropped her head in her hand wearily. “So am I done? No one gave me a pink slip.” She snorted. “Or there was never a point, and I’ve just been telling myself I’m important because it’s better than winding up here for nothing.” “What do you think would have happened if you had chosen not to perform at that party? Where would you be right now if you hadn't?” asked Rupert, “We're here because of the choices we made, all of us, even if some higher power was involved.” He paused for a moment, then added, “Besides, you’re only done when you decide to stop.” “I didn’t choose to come decide the fate of some grafted-on world. If anything I’d expected had actually happened, I’d be home.” She grimaced. “I’m… I’m glad I could do what I’ve done so far. I don’t mean to say that I’m not. But if there’s something else, I wish whoever pointed me here would tell me.” She took a shaking breath. “Because everything in that cave was in my own drat head, which means I can’t trust any of it. Because it wasn’t real. But if it wasn’t loving real--” she yanked on her sleeve, and it tore further “--then what the hell is this?” She shoved to her feet and flung out her hands. “Behold, the master of illusions! Who doesn’t know a goddamn thing because her oh-so-clever method of escape could have killed herself.” “It’s not worth letting that anger control you. Trust me, I know more than most,” said Rupert with a sigh, “The creature took our darkest fears and forced us to confront them. What did it show you that hurt you so much?” “Lies,” she answered. “Pretty little lies I’d been telling myself instead of thinking about reality. Until it stopped lying.” She shook her head. “I’d forgotten it until then. The Denarian offered to show me how to fix Joey. Mend his mind. And, you know, I could do it.” This would earn her the wrong end of a Warden’s sword for sure, but she couldn’t stop now that she’d started. “Piece scraps of his personality back together into something that could function on its own, maybe become a person again. It’d be a medical miracle. No one would know. The cracks would just be due to the brain damage, after all.” Her chuckle utterly lacked humor. “But he was lying, too. I don’t need him for that. I can do it on my own. Don’t need a coin. Just my power. Just a thought. So I shot myself in the illusionary head to shut him up.” She paused, staring at nothing. “That’s what a Denarian wanted from me. What the gently caress does an angel want from me?” She sank back onto the bench. “Hugues was right,” she whispered. “Sounds like a story I know all too well. I did... something different, but I still ended up lying to myself afterwards. I ended up in some awful motel on an entirely different continent, as a wreck plagued by paranoia and nightmares, drinking myself to the grave,” said Rupert, quietly, “You’re not alone.” Marcine’s gut twisted at picturing it. Murder, Rick had said. Hard to imagine. “I’m sorry.” She managed a weak smile. “Looks like you’ve got a nice bunch of nutjobs to keep you busy now, at least.” Rupert chuckled, “Aye, they do that. Helps that we’re all messed up. Except Hugues, he’s just played far too many video games.” There was a sudden *clang* as a sword rang against the floor. “Crap, I, uh…” Hugues muttered, stepping around the rack of mithril swords trying to put the sword back its place. “Is this a bad time? I can come back later...” From behind Marcine, Rupert shook his head. Hugues blushed a teeny bit in embarrassment and looked away. “Uh...sorry, I was trying to talk to Marcine alone and...look, I’ll just come back and--” She gave him a flat ‘get on with it’ look. “Umm...so, the comment I made awhile back, about butterflies being dangerous? You see my school helped out with a butterfly garden a while back and there was this sidhe there who...sorry, that has nothing to do with anything.” Hugues groaned, what he wanted to say was now ruined by what he had overheard. “That was meant as a joke over something completely different, and I didn’t realize it triggered some painful emotions or memories in you. I don’t think you’re dangerous at all. You’ve done nothing but help us since we met, and for God’s sake we barely even know you,” he said, chuckling with equal parts nervousness and self-deprecation. “Which is fantastic, since a lot of people who know us kind of want us dead.” A lump formed in Marcine’s throat. Even after that rant… “Thanks, Hugues.” She swallowed it down. “But you were right about the other thing, too.” Her mouth twitched into a faint smirk. “It’s just funny to make him blush.” “Oh definitely. Just a few days ago I told him that he’s getting up there in years and sooner or later he’s gonna need shirt advice from Elbridge.” Hugues smirked back. “I’ve been waiting for the right moment to pester him about it. Right now it’s fun watching him wait for me to say something.” Marcine snorted and covered her mouth. “No wonder he looked like his world was ending.” Rupert smiled and shook his head in amusement, “Poor Richter…” He drew the dagger and began inspecting it. “But, umm...about that…” Hugues said, nervously looking around as he lowered his voice. “Uh, what exactly are you feeling towards him? Because he’s already taken, and I don’t want there to be issues when we figure out what happened to Ada.” “You just want gossip.” But she considered it, and tried to ignore how strange it was to be having this conversation with a preteen. Not that she believed for a second that he really was one. “I’m not going to get between them. He’s just...nice, and a good friend.” She had to admit, there was some more to it, but it wasn’t worth mentioning. It had to end there. “Phew. After seeing how Ada got with Circe, I’m glad we don’t have to deal with that again,” Hugues said, letting out a sigh of relief. “Sorry, I’d stay out and let you two take care of it on your own, but it’s a rough time right now for all of us, especially him. Rick’s my brother-in-arms, and we watch each other’s backs.” She smiled. “This will sound weird coming from me, but I’m glad he’s got you all. I only have some idea of what he’s been through, but...it’s enough to know that he needs you. Even with all that happened in the camp, the first thing he did when we were out was talk about his friends.” About then, Rick walked around the corner wearing a full suit of faerie plate armor, with the plumed helmet tucked under one arm. “Too much?” he asked, oblivious to the previous conversation. He grinned at Hugues. “They come in hobbit-size if you want to match.” “You look like you’re dressed for the ren faire,” Hugues smirked, before looking over the armor and his facial expression changed. “Squire! Help me don my armor!” he suddenly shouted as he jumped off and ran around the corner. “Uh,” Marcine said. “Don’t tell him but he’s the squire,” Rick stage-whispered, and disappeared after him. “It’s like they heard you call them nutjobs and decided to prove you right,” said Rupert with a smile. Satisfied with the dagger, he sheathed it, stood and began looking through a nearby rack of mail shirts. “Probably did.” Marcine looked down at her violin case, and the feathers within it, and sighed. “Thanks for listening to my ranting. I get stuck in my own head. Talking helped.” “Happy to help,” replied Rupert, glancing back at Marcine, “I hope you find whatever answers you’re looking for eventually.” “I don't know if there are any. But it would be nice.” She watched him wander back among the shelves, and finally got up to begin her own search. --- Rupert's Empathy to treat Marcine's mental consequence: +-+++3 = 5, for a SWS. Echo Cian fucked around with this message at 05:20 on Apr 17, 2017 |
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Sep 16, 2016 03:43
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Marcine Sterling (FP: 1/5) Hand-Me-Downs The weapons were fascinating but useless to her, so Marcine crossed to the armor racks. Every piece displayed beautiful craftsmanship; even the plainest armor had a certain stylization that set it apart from mortal-made equivalents. There was no mistaking any of it for mundane equipment. Topaz was going to hate coming back to find her with Winter gifts. She thought of that reunion and grimaced. At least “protecting reality” was a good explanation. A riding coat finally caught her eye - or, more accurately, grabbed her attention and trapped it there. It was the deep red of blood on the snow, or winter berries. Intricate silver embroidery cascaded from the flared skirt in patterns of winter-blooming flowers and ice crystals. The outer shell felt like some kind of sturdy suede, and the bodice beneath glinted with thin silver scale armor. Filigree detailed every edge. And it appeared to be exactly her size. It seemed too nice for some random mortal to take. Mab hadn’t mentioned a limit, but she still felt guilty as she slid it off its stand and tried it on. The inner shell felt like velvet. Three layers, one of armor, and it was less bulky than the winter coats she’d worn in Massachusetts. She wouldn’t have known there was scale between if she couldn’t see it - and feel the solidity when she rapped her knuckles against it. She held out her hand to create a mirror illusion. “Oh wow,” she breathed. She couldn’t possibly be allowed to take something like this. It looked like something she’d expect a princess to wear. But now that she had it on, she didn’t want to take it off. It was so soft, and the warmest she’d felt since they’d left Shreveport. Which meant it’d be way too hot for Louisiana. General Rime tugged on his tiny moustache as he noticed what she’d found. How had that gotten down here? Well, he had a feeling he knew the answer. “It suits you,” he said, landing on the shelf next to the coat stand. Marcine smiled self-consciously, surprised by a compliment from the pixie. “Thank you. This is the prettiest coat I’ve ever seen.” She smoothed it in places, adjusted it until it sat just right. Except for her holsters. Not much she could do about that without taking off her belt entirely. “But it...seems too nice to just take. And too warm, back home.” “Gryphon-hide is never too warm or too cold,” Rime disagreed. “And it’s too nice to sit here, useless to anybody.” She couldn’t argue with that. There were other pieces with it, and she slipped the glove on her right hand. It was made of a fine chainmail with a soft lining, decorated with silver plating that matched the embroidery. Pixies must have made the chain. “Was it made for something specific?” “Someone specific. Tribute for the Winter Lady.” Marcine froze in the middle of reaching for the circlet. “And it’s...here?” Rime nodded, wary of saying too much, but clearly frustrated. “She has not come in… well, ever. There are closets full of things like this. It won’t be missed.” She slowly picked the circlet up and turned it in her hands. It was plain by comparison, but there was still just enough detail to tie it together. “It looks like we could share a wardrobe.” She looked back up at her reflection and couldn’t help smiling again. “Well, as long as you’re sure…” All that remained were leg guards that looked more like knee-high fashion boots than armor; they didn’t even bunch up her jeans when she had them in place. The circlet she hung on her arm for the moment. She already felt bad for putting the coat on over her muddy clothes. Until she got a shower, she’d rather not draw attention to the state of her tangled hair. She took one last look with the complete ensemble, turning to see it from all angles, and dismissed the mirror. “Should we return these if we…” She paused, narrowed her eyes. “When we find a way back to our own time?” The pixie chuckled. “You’ll have earned it six ways over by then. Keep it.” Marcine rubbed her arms to feel the soft hide. “We’ll fix it,” she said quietly, and managed to sound more certain than she felt. Maybe if she said it convincingly enough she’d start to believe it. She turned to Rime with a genuine smile. “Thanks for your help.” “Hah, and what’ve I done besides play tour guide?” he said. “Waste of my talents!” She chuckled. “I’d ask to learn some strategy if we had time. I don’t mean just that, though.” Her tone sobered. “Hugues already said it. You and everyone else here are fighting a war most people don’t even know about. I just hope solving this can let you all take a breath.” “If ya want to thank me, find a way not to drop us into the abyss!” Rime said. He drummed his fingers nervously on his helmet. All those crossed out numbers over the years. Maybe it was fitting that his own name was now on the chopping block. Standing a little straighter he added: “But if ya must, don’t hesitate.” The weight of what they’d been asked to do loomed over her again. Marcine snugged the coat around herself and focused on how comfortable it felt. “We will.” She lifted her chin, unconsciously adopting a posture suited to the coat's intended owner. “Winter always was my favorite season for hunting.” As she headed back to the wardrobe collection she’d noticed earlier to find clothes that would actually go with the coat, she caught herself wondering, before all else, how Rick would react. Rupert’s remark came to mind, and she had to laugh. She really was dressed like a princess, and all she could picture was Rick's ridiculous suit of armor. Who wanted that clanking around? Honestly. --- Marcine gets the stunt “Winter’s Warmth: Armor:2" Echo Cian fucked around with this message at 14:01 on Oct 9, 2016 |
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Sep 20, 2016 00:39
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Just Friends Scene: The Armory He met her at the end of the aisle, and cheered up immediately. “Whose closet did you raid for that coat, Battle-Princess Barbie?” She’d only laughed when he caught her topless, but now she felt her cheeks heat. She stepped back and spread her hands to show it off - and distract him from her face. (To her lifelong annoyance, she wasn't dark enough to hide a blush.) She’d added black leggings that set off the silver leg guards much more nicely than her jeans, and a new belt for her guns. “I don’t know if the Winter Lady would appreciate that name.” “Then she shouldn’t wear so many sparkles!” Rick said, feeling like he’d won somehow by making her blush this time. “Relax, it looks nice. Honest.” She grinned and turned to show the frost-whorl filigree on the back, then faced him and held out her arm. “Gryphon hide. I’ve never felt it before.” She looked down at it, and noticed in the periphery that Rick’s sword was no longer sheathed in a bath towel. She stopped admiring her own clothes to look at his. “Hey, those look cool, too.” “Apparently Chimera skin is infinitely adjustable,” he said, showing off how the leather stretched in an almost elastic manner before snuggling back around his waist. “And not alive, I made a point of asking. Might have belonged to one of Winter’s knights, a long time ago.” “Were there any for guns, too?” If she could just have one pair of holsters for everything she owned... “I was looking at the cutlery. It’s probably on the other side of the store, you know how these big box armories are.” She suddenly pictured poor General Rime in a Best Buy uniform guiding customers around with acute resignation, complete with sadly drooping moustache, and nearly doubled over laughing before she wrestled herself back under control. “Just thought of-- Never mind.” She shook her head. “I’ll have to look later. Chimera skin and gryphon hide…” She ran a hand over her sleeve again. “I don’t even know what any of the rest of this is.” “Rupert might, but don’t ask me,” Rick said, smiling while shaking his head at her. “I don’t think you’ve been this happy since I met you.” “There’s this thing called retail therapy.” Her smile faded despite the joke. “It’s been hard. It still feels like too much. I’ve been trying to hold it together, but things keep happening… You probably heard me a little while ago. I’m going to enjoy this while I can. Because it won’t last.” “I heard a few things,” he admitted. “Something about ‘shooting yourself in the illusionary head’? That’s pretty hardcore.” She laughed nervously. “It seemed like a good idea at the time. Symbolic suicide of the part of me saying those things. Apparently, very near actual suicide.” She clamped her hand around her arm before it could start shaking again. The feeling of suede helped. He covered her hand in his. “Hey, you told it to gently caress off on your own terms, and it worked.” She didn't take his hand, but she did relax. “That time. Just hope I can keep telling it to gently caress off without needing more extreme measures.” She hesitated. “What happened to you? I understand if you don't want to talk about it. But...seeing you come in like that kind of freaked me out. I didn't know what that thing could have done to you.” He let go of her arm, respecting the line they’d just drawn in the sand. “Long story short, a demi-goddess made me her personal chew-toy earlier this year.” “Hugues mentioned it briefly, when we heard a howl.” “Oh.” It wasn’t that he didn’t want to tell her. It just felt like he couldn’t. His throat closed up when he tried to force the words out. The mark that wasn’t on his arm itched so badly that if he was alone he would have taken his teeth to it. “I thought Circe was the test. She was just the bait.” Marcine sensed his shame even through his mental walls, the same as she’d seen in the soulgaze. Whatever this Circe had done to him had left one hell of a mark. She stayed silent, listening, so he could let it out. “Gods’ blood,” he whispered, hands shaking not from fear, but with the jerks and starts of an addict who hadn’t had his fix. “I thought I was clean, but I was just sober. It took her all of ten minutes to convince me to sell my soul for another round. God drat her!” Killing her once wasn’t enough. A hundred times wouldn’t be enough. Nothing he did to her would ever fix what she’d done to him. It was the only reason she was still alive. She wordlessly took both of his hands in hers and pressed on the acupressure point between his thumb and forefinger. There was a faint spark of magic, and both the shaking and the craving eased. And so did his tattoos. She watched as they faded from red to black, and then to nothing. “Huh,” was all she said, as she massaged the spot with the studiousness of a doctor. Rick stared at her with something like awe. “How…?” “I had a couple friends who wanted to get clean. I spent a while studying addiction to figure out a way to help them. It’s not a cure-all, they still had to work for it, but it makes it easier to get past the moment.” She released his hands and looked at his now-bare arm thoughtfully. “What are those? I saw them on Angie, too.” “The wards of St. Giles,” he said. “They help people who’ve been infected by the Red Court to control their blood cravings, or warn others when they’re about to snap. I haven’t seen them like this since...” He trailed off, then shook his head. “I thought it was strange that Circe’s blood magic brought them back out, when Ada’s didn’t. Maybe it’s the craving itself that they’re keyed to.” She smiled wryly. “Guess I know what to look for if you need that cantrip again. Feel better?” “Yeah, thanks. I was afraid my ink was on the fritz but it was doing exactly what it always has.” He looked like a small weight had lifted from his shoulders, but he didn’t smile back. “There wasn’t any Gods’ blood in that vision, the grue just made me remember how bad I wanted it.” It was strange to be so directly reminded that he’d been a vampire. Her attention wandered to his neck, remembering the cut he’d gotten from the invisible garrotte. She sighed faintly before giving his shoulder a reassuring squeeze. “Any time you think you need that spell again, or if you just want to talk, I’ll be here.” She chuckled. “So will your wingman, for that matter.” “God help us when he turns sixteen,” Rick said, finally letting a smile through. “He already gets more phone numbers than the rest of us combined.” “That might have more to do with him not frying his phone.” “God help him when he turns sixteen then, that’s when I started frying mine.” “I’d worry about his nerd cred, but that doesn’t seem to get in your way any.” She thumped his back considerably harder. He laughed. “You just have horrible taste.” She snorted and crossed her arms. “I’ve made violin arrangements of the themes to half the games I’ve played. But don’t tell him yet.” “Video games are the one nerdy thing I never got into,” he said, sadly. “We didn’t have the money, and by the time I was old enough to buy my own, I was old enough to fry my own. Alas poor Xbox, I never even got to finish Halo.” She motioned for him to come with her back to the benches. “I’ve been lucky with that. It’s getting worse, though. I just hope I don’t end up as bad as my dad. Mom has to keep the phone, the coffee maker and the microwave sequestered at the far end of the house behind wards, and he’s not allowed within five feet of the doorway.” She shrugged. “Guess throwing thunderstorms around does that.” “And this is the guy Nicky Cantor has a ‘professional disagreement’ with?” He made the scare-quotes with his fingers. “It’s not like dad would throw a thunderstorm at him. He studied the effects of breaking the Laws when he was on the Council. Sounds like they had some disagreements about time travel.” Rick spread his hands in the air as if he were showing off a banner. “Time travel: NOT EVEN ONCE.” Marcine snickered at that. It kind of wasn’t funny, but the way he said it was. “If you do it once, you’ve got to do it again, and then everything’s a wreck.” She spotted her violin case past the bench legs. She’d only played once, and no one had been in much of a mood to enjoy it. She glanced back at Rick with an impish smile. “Speaking of nerds, let’s see how long it takes to make Hugues come running.” --- Marcine's Empathy to treat Rick's mental consequence: /-+/+5 = 5, for a SWS. Echo Cian fucked around with this message at 08:13 on Jun 3, 2017 |
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Sep 21, 2016 03:34
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Girl Talk Scene: The Road to Monroe Angie was lying on her cot, arms behind her head. She’d been dozing off and on for a few hours now, enough to rest without falling into deep sleep. The book she’d been tasked with guarding was in a satchel under her butt, just in case Nicky decided to get ideas. He hadn’t so far, but she wanted to be sure. You never knew with wizards. When Marcine entered the room she looked up briefly, took in the new outfit, and nodded in approval. “Looks like things went well. I was starting to get worried.” Marcine smiled wearily. “More or less. Elbridge and Rick nearly got killed by an Outsider, we saw Arctis Tor, got trolled by a troll, talked to Mab and got carte blanche in her armory, and rode back in Rudolph’s sleigh.” She spread her hands. “But hey, I got an awesome coat.” “Sounds like a trip to Faerie,” Angie said, sitting up. She grinned at Marcine. “Still up for Monroe?” “Yeah.” She slumped against the wall and sighed. “After I get a hot shower and some coffee, or we’re going to end up in a ditch.” “I can drive, if you want to sleep.” Marcine shook her head. “I don’t know if an hour’s going to be enough to sleep without feeling worse. If I start drifting into oncoming traffic, it’s all yours.” She brushed a hand over her hair and grimaced when she felt mud. “I’ll find you when I’m presentable.” --- Her hair was still damp when they met up again, and frizzier than she preferred. The coat was too nice to wear casually, so she carried it over her arm to get stashed in the car. The pine-green tunic with silver frost embroidery around the neck and her stormcloud-grey pants were still odd for a Louisiana summer, but less likely to get her mugged. She grimaced at the first sip of cheap coffee and made a mental note to add that and the proper shampoo to her car supplies. “I should do some sparring to see if this coat controls sweat as well as it does temperature.” She lifted up the collar to show some of the silver scale. “And how this works, exactly. It’s so thin it hardly seems like it can be armor.” “That’s the best kind of armor, the kind that’s sneaky. Though, the rest of it isn’t. It will draw eyes, if you want it to or not.” “Yeah, should put an illusion on it to make it look more normal, once I figure out exactly what it can pass for in Louisiana.” She frowned at her coffee. “Otherwise I’ll have to keep it stashed unless I expect trouble.” Angie nodded. “It’s only practical. A shame though, it’s a beautiful coat.” Marcine chuckled. “I can’t say the Winter Lady has good taste if this ended up in the armory, but whoever made it does.” --- It was about an hour’s drive to Monroe, and Marcine filled Angie in on the details of their trip, though she glossed over the cave and a few other things. Angie listened patiently, only asking for a bit of clarification here and there. “This time you aren’t leaving me behind,” she vowed, at the end of it. Marcine chuckled dully. “I’d feel a hell of a lot better with you around. Seems like I keep finding Rick already in trouble, or watching him get into it, and I’m just not much help if I can’t throw an illusion at it.” Her thoughts drifted as she watched road signs flash by. “What was it like, seeing him and knowing he’s not really the one you knew?” “It was confusing,” she admitted. “I didn’t believe him right away, and when I did I was angry with him for not being…him. Now I can hardly tell the difference, and that bothers me too.” She trailed off. “I don’t want to lose this one before finding that one, if that makes any sense.” “It does. I hope our selves from this time have been as okay as they can be.” Might as well get to the point. “I was really hoping dad would be there when we got back, but maybe it’s for the best. Whatever's happened in there, I know I'll have changed. Meeting him now, as he remembers me... It might mess up his expectations. I don't know.” “You think he’d prefer you as you are to as you will be?” “Maybe,” she admitted. “I can only imagine it’d be like trading his daughter for a stranger. Ending up with a version of me that isn’t who he remembers, then watching me leave again. And what if we can’t fix this? He’d march straight in there once he knew he’d survive it, and I don’t want...” Her throat closed. She tried again, hoarsely, eyes fixed on the road. “Maybe it’s better if he finds out after it’s all over. He doesn’t always...handle things well.” Angie looked at her seriously. “How well would he handle it if he knew you left him behind?” “Would it matter?” Her hands tightened on the wheel as she ran through scenarios. “He’d be upset, but he’d understand. He’d have the me he knows with six years separating them like there should be, not looking straight from me to her.” “You could get drunk and call him in the middle of the night, and see what he thinks about it,” Angie said with a quiet laugh. “That’s what Rico did…and I’m happy he did, no matter what we find in the city.” Marcine managed a faint smile. “I’m not drunk calling my dad even if he did have a phone. I know he’d want to see me. But I don’t want to hurt him, or her...me, whatever. I just don’t know what would hurt worse.” They passed a sign advertising the show. “Not that it matters if Nicky can’t reach him anyway.” Angie shrugged. “Rupert said there’s another Council team on the way. The word is out there, we’ll just have to see who turns up.” “I guess.” Marcine desperately hoped he’d show up, and dreaded it just as much. Who could say what had happened in six years? She was saved from having to analyze it further when she turned the next corner. “Here we are.” Echo Cian fucked around with this message at 09:08 on Jun 3, 2017 |
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Oct 2, 2016 00:57
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Written in Quicksilver, Sight Rnd 1-2-3 Scene: Shelter Cafeteria: Within the Collar Rick still looked human, under the Sight, but the details were sharper, the shadows crisper, as if he were drawn with a pen instead of solid. His tattoos were visible, black ink that shifted under his skin as she watched. The ghostly image of a cloak rested on his shoulders. One of his arms was scarred, deep, like he’d fought off an animal attack barehanded. For a single blink, his eyes were golden, but when she looked again, they were still green. She focused on the collar. It glowed steadily, bright white, and she had to squint to see it clearly. The mechanism was as simple as a hunting snare. A thin core of magical energy, drawn into a sharp wire, was wrapped around his throat. It pulsed slightly, in time with his heartbeat, drawing power from his life force. It was coated with a mercurial liquid that dulled the razor’s edge. Figures and faces swam through the quicksilver, daring her to look closer. ((Sight, round 1. Difficulty 3. Notice: +/--+4 = 3. Will to defend: +/--+4 = 3, no damage. Aspect: “Like a Rabbit Snare”)) Marcine shifted over to the seat next to Rick. The shield seemed so fragile… She shoved down both sympathy and revulsion. Time for those later. She lightly rested two fingers against his neck as if searching for a pulse, feeling for the magic, and began examining the memories themselves. As El warned her, the memories were fuzzy, indistinct. They moved, playing and replaying, sliding around the trigger wire in some pattern she couldn’t read. The collar was warm, and she felt the tingle of static as if there was electricity running through it. She let the images pass by, looking for something familiar. It didn’t take long to see the commonality. The same woman was in every single one. She was younger in some, more a girl than a woman, with bright brown eyes and curly brown hair that fell to her shoulders. In others she was older, more stern, and wore a Warden’s cloak. In others she had a red party dress on and a Bloody Mary in one hand, leaning back on her barstool. The images were clear now, and even clearer to Marcine, the traces of emotion tied to them. He loved her. He had for a long time, but there was a hesitance to it, a reluctance. And eventually she saw why. A box, a ring, a rejection. But it hadn’t ended there. Not long after, she pressed a cloak into his hands, and his entire life changed. Though the images were silent, a single name repeated in her head, every time the woman’s face appeared. Rachel. ((Sight, round 2. Difficulty 4. Notice: +//++4 = 6. Will to defend: //-++4 = 4)) ((Aspect: “For Love of Rachel”)) Marcine wasn’t sure why it felt surprising; it wasn’t like she knew him well yet. Perhaps because these were memories he had agreed to have erased, which meant trauma had overcome his love for this woman. She hesitated, but curiosity drove her on as much as necessity. There had to be an answer. She steeled herself for what she’d find. Up to this point, the memories had been scattered, some more recent than others. After he accepted the cloak, they settled into sequence. But there were only bits and pieces, as if Rick still had these memories, just without Rachel in them. Marcine could see the craftsmanship in the working now, the surgical precision it must have taken to remove only what was necessary, and leave the rest. She saw fragments of fights, chases, lives saved and the favor repaid in kind. Partners. She must be his Warden partner... the one Angie had said Roqueza killed. There was only a fragment from the frozen lake she recognized from the soulgaze, but as she focused, she realized this one was important. A keystone. The gravity of it pulled her consciousness in, until she was no longer watching, but participating. Marcine could feel the freezing cold of the winter snow between her fingers as Rick drew the sigils that would get them away from the vampires. Rachel’s blood on his hands was interfering with the runes, almost as much as the shaking in his voice as he spoke the words. Just a few more seconds, please God I never asked for anything else, almost got it- BANG The flashbang was close enough to singe his cloak, and for a second he just laid there in the snow, stunned. The circle was broken, ruined, no chance to get out. He kept trying anyways, the panic and fear spilling over until Marcine could hear them in his thoughts. Get up, get up, get up, where are they? I can’t see- LET GO OF ME! Rachel? NO! GET AWAY FROM HER! What are you- gently caress! This last came with a scream as his arm was dislocated in the struggle. The bat who held him leaned over and licked his face, and as the drugged drool kicked in the fight seeped out of him. He dropped to his knees. Not like this. Not like this. Please... He didn’t come out of the stupor for a while. Even within the collar there were only vague impressions of being dragged for some time, of leaving the Winter lake and entering a tall stone structure. Metal clamped around his wrists and ankles, cutting off his magic. It was the warmth of a fire that brought him back to consciousness. Every joint ached, and he had bruises in places he couldn’t even name. He was being carried over a vampire’s shoulder, like a sack of potatoes. He turned his head as much as he could and saw Rachel being carried by another one, just beside him. Her eyes were closed and blood dripped from her face. He couldn’t tell if she was dead or alive. Their captors were armed with assault rifles, and wore modern tactical gear, even in their monstrous forms. “Council spies,” the vamp announced, and dropped him on the rug in front of the fireplace. Rachel landed next to him with a soft thud. The room was stone, like a castle hall, piled high with crates. Most of them were marked in German or Russian, but it was clear they all held weapons. In front of him, a shower of sparks flew out, as a knife scraped against a whetstone. For a brief moment, a face was illuminated - the face of a man with a scarred neck, wearing an eyepatch. “Not for much longer.” His voice was soft, yet raspy. “You came looking for our base of operations, wizards. Well, here you are.” Duke Roqueza. The Warden-Killer. Even thinking the name was like a punch to the gut. Of all the Red Court’s generals, this one was the most hated, the most feared. Rick glanced at Rachel. She was breathing, barely, but not for much longer. He had to get help, keep her alive somehow. “We surrender, under the Accor-” Roqueza hit him on the cheek, hard. “Caught spies have no rights.” What was chilling was not the venom in his voice, but the complete lack of emotion. His tone was just as serene as it had been a moment ago, when he was several meters away, sharpening the knife. “Your people will not rescue you. They will not fight for you. As far as they are concerned, you no longer exist. If you leave this place, alive or dead, it will be on my terms.” Rick pushed himself back up onto hands and knees. They must have something he wanted, or they’d already be dead, right? It wasn’t much hope but... “What are your terms?” “They are simple.” Taking a step forward, he picked Rachel up by the head with one hand. “I will bleed you out.” With slow, excruciating precision, he tore Rachel’s half-mended wounds open. Her eyes fluttered and she gave a pained cry. Rick yelled and tried to stand but the vamp that brought him in stepped on his back, pinning him to the rug like an insect. “I will turn you.” Roqueza’s flesh mask receded, leaving a creature of nightmares behind, who bit into Rachel’s neck with barely-contained savagery, drinking its fill for what felt like an eternity, before throwing her away like a broken toy. “And then you will join me...or you will die.” Rick called on every spell he knew, but the cuffs sank spikes into his wrists and drained the magic out of him before any of them could complete. The pain blinded him for longer than the flashbang had. When he came to, he saw Roqueza standing before him, a wicked grin on his inhuman face. “You look tired, Warden. You should rest now. Your old life...is over.” This time, he held nothing back when he hit him. The world spun around for a moment, his head exploded, and everything went black. ((Sight, round 3. Difficulty 5. Notice: +/-/+4 = 4, invoking No Time for Doubt to bring that to 6. Will to defend: /+-++4 = 5.)) ((Aspect: “Terms of Surrender”))
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Oct 11, 2016 01:52
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Back to Reality Scene: Shelter Cafeteria Marcine ended the Sight. The image faded, and so did Rick’s face and the rest of the room. He felt unusually warm when her hand slipped nervelessly from his neck. He caught her before she could fall, letting her lean on his arm while guiding her hands to the table so she could right herself. “That was way too long,” he said, under his breath. Louder; “Are you alright?” She focused on breathing until her vision cleared. “Found some things,” she managed. “You can’t fight him alone.” Her skin felt as cold and clammy as if she’d been standing in the rain with him. Roqueza had countered everything effortlessly. “You can’t--” Her voice cracked. She needed to write it down, but her fingers were too weak to hold a pencil. She turned and buried her face against Rick’s shoulder, wrapped her arms around him as if he could disappear on her at any moment. Her shaking breaths choked into sobs. “You can’t.” “I’m here,” he said, hugging her and rocking back and forth as if he were soothing a child. Inside, he felt like he’d swallowed glass. How the hell had Elbridge convinced him to go along with this? Letting an empath relive his worst memories? Stupid idea, dangerous and stupid. “I’m still here, whatever happened. It’s okay.” It wasn’t only this, she wanted to say; it was also nearly losing him in the swamp, and seeing Elbridge die before they cheated him back to life, and that they might never get home, and how desperately she wanted to protect the only people she had in this world even though she didn’t know the first thing about real combat, and that the one trick she had would be useless, and she wanted to tell him everything would be all right but he didn’t even remember anything… But she was still gulping air to settle her stomach, so she gave up and just let him hold her until she could speak again. “I’m the one that asked,” she mumbled eventually, sensing his agitation. “For the collar. This is better… You’re not at risk.” A shudder ran through her body. “Just memories. I’m fine. This--this is the Sight, going too long. I can deal with this.” She sounded less convincing than she’d like, and the shaking didn’t help. Rick stiffened. He hadn’t said that part out loud. Not like it was hard to guess but… “I’m really getting sick of other people deciding what’s best for me, that’s how I ended up in this drat collar in the first place. I shouldn’t have...” He trailed off. It was too late to take back now and the last thing he wanted was to make her feel worse about it. “No more getting hurt for me, okay?” Marcine finally straightened and dried her eyes with her sleeve. “That depends on our definitions of ‘hurt,’” she said bluntly. “Compared to your head rolling on the ground, this is nothing.” She picked up the tea mug, now that she was steady enough, and let the warmth seep back into her cold hands. The feeling of damp air faded. “Besides, who jumped into a loving Outsider whirlpool? Hypocrite.” She smiled despite herself and raised the mug slightly to Elbridge in gratitude. “Misery loves company,” Elbridge said, joking for the first time in days. “Rick wasn’t about to lose that.” “Heh, fair enough,” Rick said, shaking his head. There was no denying that diving in after El was just as reckless and stupid as this, but he hadn’t had time to think about it. This was different. Making the decision to help someone when you had plenty of time to mull over the consequences took a lot more guts. He pulled the plate of cold eggs back towards himself. No point in wasting food, and now that the danger was over he was hungrier than he remembered. They tasted like vaguely egg-flavored rubber, but he barely noticed. “What I figure is, as long as I don’t try to force the memory, it won’t hurt me to just hear about it. It’s different if it’s Roqueza, he’s part of the whole mess and separating that out is probably impossible, but...” “It should be fine without context,” Marcine said. “Please, Ms. Sterling,” Elbridge groaned. “We’re tempting fate enough as it stands. Have you found any of the Duke’s weaknesses?” She let out a short, bitter laugh and pressed the mug against her forehead. “Weaknesses. He deflects swords with gauntlets, he turns attacks against the attacker, and he can smell through illusions.” She closed her eyes, thinking. “Duelist. Might have trouble dealing with multiple people. Distance is an advantage. Staying downwind would keep him from smelling us out, if we could take advantage of his blind side.” She frowned slightly. His combat skills weren’t all that mattered. “Arrogant. Likes to monologue. Could be baited, maybe… Let him start grandstanding and he might be too busy with that to notice something in the background. Seems like the type. Not something to count on, though. What I saw was...a very specific scenario.” She set down the mug to write notes that she hesitated to say with Rick around. “Then we can’t play remotely fair,” Elbridge said. Not that he’d ever intended to, but this took away whatever shred of pretense he’d had. “Last time was a blind raid on his stronghold. This time, we know it’s him, and we know he’s coming. We can’t detect him, but he seldom works alone…” Elbridge blinked, checking and re-checking Marcine’s notes to be sure he had the right of it. “He’s stubborn,” El noted. “A perfectionist. Once he’s set a goal, he won’t settle for less. And here you are, Rick: a living, breathing affront to his ego. We can use this.” “Great,” Rick said, giving the paper a sideways glance. “I love playing bait.” “And you do it so well, too,” remarked Rupert from behind as he walked over, mismatched knives sheathed at his hips, a towel over his shoulders and his hair damp from exertion. He pulled up a chair and sat down. Cole just rolled his eyes. “I’m not asking you to hold still and wait for him, Rick,” Elbridge said exasperatedly. “We keep moving and keep him following us. Unless he has Winter’s protection as well, the Outsiders won’t just leave him alone. Bleed him and his entourage out over the road to New Orleans, and never face him unless it’s on our own terms.” “That’s what the Captain’s been doing.” He tapped a finger on the table. “Warden- no, Captain Singh is bringing reinforcements, but I don’t know if we can wait.” “We’ll need to co-ordinate with them in any event,” Elbridge said with a shrug. “Splitting up in the Void would be suicide.” Marcine glanced between them uneasily. “You’re planning on leading him into the city?” “That’s an idea,” Rick said, considering it. They had allies inside, maybe, but so might he. The situation in there was too much of a question mark to rely on. “As much as I’d love to kill him, remember that our goal here is to make sure he can’t destroy the barrier. We need to find out how he’s intending to do it. That death-curse is going make things tricky, but we shouldn’t be looking for a fight with him unless we don’t have a choice.” “It seems…” Marcine hesitated. She wasn’t sure if she should even say it. But she’d already started, so she continued slowly. “It might be useful if we could contact them and have help waiting for us on the other side, in case we bring trouble. We have ways. He probably doesn’t.” She hunched her shoulders. “It’s just a question of whether they’re worth using.” “That call has already been made,” Elbridge said resignedly. Two rooms over, under Nicky’s bed, the sealed tome laid dormant. Once Wizard Minsk felt safe in making another attempt, it would begin to strain against its duct-tape bonds, its pages writhing and whispering. “Now the question is whether we answer it.” “If we don’t, something else might,” she said. Rick kept his opinion on the Outsider pen-pal book to himself. “While we’re talking potential allies, we can’t take the Wardens in with us.” He crossed his arms. “If we gently caress this up they’re needed here. It’s bad enough bringing Nicky and Angelique, but I don’t think they’d accept no for an answer at this point.” Rupert nodded in agreement. “A fair decision,” Elbridge said levelly. “While we’re on the subject, how do we intend to get Narcissus to talk? We have no real authority to compel him.” “Pull a page from JR’s book and go with threats of imminent violence?” Rick asked. “Normally I wouldn’t, but drat near erasing reality is a special case.” “First, the Accords are Byzantine, insane, and cruelly-indifferent to the suffering of...anyone, really,” Elbridge remarked. “We may be able to claim right of vendetta based on personal harm, but we should still tread cautiously. Even if this is a suicide mission, our outstanding debts would devolve upon the Council as a whole. And second…” He sighed. “I’m not certain that there’s anything we could do to Narcissus worse than what he’s done to himself. If anything, death might be a release.” “I don't think a fight should be necessary,” Marcine said. “We have no idea what state he’s in. He might be completely willing to get help fixing it. He might not. It's a total black box in there.” She sighed irritably. “Everything is. I hate not knowing anything.” “Wouldn't be the first time we're walking into unknown territory,” replied Rupert with a shrug. “Eh, we just walked into Mordor once before,” Hugues said while chewing on some ‘eggs’, wearing his new cloak. “How’s this any different?” “How long have you been sitting there?” Rick asked, one eyebrow twitching. “I got up for seconds, twice, and no one noticed.” Hugues said, holding back a yawn. “What? It’s better than cafeteria food.” Marcine stared at him. It wasn't even worth commenting on the drat cloak. “Cafeterias got worse?” “They were ever good?” “No, but there are degrees.” She shook her head. “Personally, I'm going for fast food because even that’s real eggs.” “Have you ever seen the inside of a McDonald’s?” Hugues asked, standing up and leaving the cloak on the chair. “I’ll come with you. He likes to smell stuff? Let’s create a bacon smoke bomb.” Marcine raised an eyebrow. “You’re all coming with me, unless you go with Angie. Get packing. We still have three hours to talk.”
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Oct 11, 2016 04:21
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The Door was Ajar Scene: The Cabin It was quiet in the woods, except for the creaking of the cabin door as it rocked back and forth on bent hinges. The lock was destroyed, and the wards that had protected the door were gone. It was dark inside, the thick bottle-glass windows blocked by something. “That didn't take long,” Marcine muttered under her breath, and motioned for the others to give her a moment. Her head tilted at a listening angle as she mentally scanned the cabin to determine if anyone was still waiting in there. ((Empathy: -++/+5 = 6)) There was someone inside, and as far as she could tell, they were alone. The surface feelings she grasped were confused. Fear, anger, and a deep current of shame. She held up one finger, then tapped her holster with her other hand and shrugged. It didn't seem like an enemy, but she couldn't be certain. They could probably march in and deal with one, whatever it was. “I’m just going to go sit in the car,” Nicholas said, turning around and walking the other direction. “Let me know when it’s safe!” With a shrug, Rupert crept closer, rummaging in his satchel as he moved towards the door. Pulling out Ada’s hand mirror, he angled it towards the swaying door to try and glance inside. ((Rupert, Notice: -+-+ +4 = +4)) “...it never fails,” Elbridge said, quietly-seething. “Never bloody fails.” What Rupert saw was the same single-room they’d left behind. There were cold embers in the fireplace, and a whole stack of empty tin cans on the floor in front of it. The cot was empty, and the blankets had been hung up to block the windows, like makeshift curtains. No one was visible from where he was peeking, but there was a dried brown smear on the fallen remains of the doorknob. Creeping back and stowing the mirror, he said, “Someone’s camping out here. Probably in the basement right now.” “Do Reds get drunk?” Marcine asked as she headed to the door. Blood, someone hurt bad enough to hide - it looked less like a vampire every moment. “They can, just don’t like it. Hunter instincts and all that,” Hugues muttered quietly. “Usually because of drinking from drunk victims.” While the others debated, Elbridge set about inspecting the rest of the wards. Save for the trap on the door, they all felt intact. It was a clean break, at that - surgical, not the brute-force counterspell of a novice, or someone with no regard for collateral damage. Whoever did this was good. Elbridge hated them already. Lore: Wards //-- +5 = 3, ick. “There’s another spell on the building,” he announced. “Uninvited guests feel dull, enervated, and lethargic. More apt to lie down for a nap than to tear the place apart. We should have the advantage.” “I’m not so sure we need it.” Marcine thought she knew what was going on here. She stepped across the threshold and knocked on the wall, though the intentional clomp of her boots on the floorboards announced her presence more loudly. “Backup from Shreveport,” she called, monitoring for a reaction. What she sensed remained consistent from before, with a small spike in intensity. The only answer to her call was the sound of a glass shattering, below her. The cabin’s main floor was empty of life, and the trapdoor was closed. Marcine frowned and turned to face the others. “I’m the only voice here that someone from the Council wouldn’t recognize.” “Oi, you!” Elbridge stamped twice on the trapdoor. “This is private property! You had best make yourself known - unless you’re a trespasser, in which case you’d best make yourself scarce!” “How are they going to make themselves scarce if the basement only has the one exit?” asked Rupert. “Same way Rick and I got in?” Marcine suggested, watching the floor worriedly. There was a muffled sob from below and another glass jar broke, this time rather violently against the bottom of the trapdoor. “I think someone got into your moonshine,” said Rupert, pulling at the very stuck trapdoor’s handle. ((Rupert, Physique: /-// +4 = +3)) “WIth any luck, they’ve gone blind,” Elbridge muttered darkly, stooping down to help out with a pry-bar. “No don’t worry, save your back, I’ve got this,” Hugues said, rubbing his gauntlets together. He grabbed at the trapdoor’s handle. The door resisted opening, so he changed his position. With a grunt he pulled as hard as he could and caused the warped wood to finally pop loose (Physique +-++ +3 = 5, good enough to pass on its own!)
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Oct 21, 2016 03:23
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Losing Faith Scene: Cabin “Dammit,” Hugues grunted, chucking the phone back in his backpack. “Hexed piece of poo poo.” Leaving his cloak off (Cole’s orders), he got off the porch and started pacing around what he approximated to be Elbridge’s front yard, with Bree’s sword in hand. The pure silver weight felt heavy but oddly familiar in his hand. Even if it was longer than he could reasonably wield, it was the principle of the thing. Here they were hunkered down nursing a casualty, with one of the strongest Red Court vampires and sorcerers on their trail. He wanted to be ready for an ambush. Marcine thunked the pail of already-filtered water beside him. “It needs boiling,” she said. Which they could easily do inside, but he looked like he could use something to busy himself with. Hugues suddenly turned around at the sound of the pail of water. “Right,” he grunted, walking over to lift the pail of water on a hook. Then he crouched underneath and used his flame gauntlet to create a steady stream of fire to heat up the pail. She leaned against the wall, watching him. She would have had to actively block out his stress not to feel it. With anyone else, she’d think he was just shaken from the fight. But he wasn’t anyone else. “Do you know her well?” He hesitated before answering, trying to figure out a cover story. He hadn’t known her too well, but she was one of the wardens who helped organize the training camp in Arizona. “Heard she worked with my dad, other than that, not too much.” He tried to keep his voice even, since he didn’t want her picking up too much. (Just for fun, rolling Hugues’ Deceive, +-/- +3 = 2… vs Marcine’s Empathy +/-+ +5 = 6!) That was the lamest attempt at a deflection she’d ever heard. She frowned, considering whether or not to press him. Eventually she shrugged and slid to the ground. “It’s none of my business if you don’t want to talk about something, but I feel like I should point out that you’re a terrible liar.” Internally, Hugues grumbled to himself. “Lies work better on something who’s just trying to manipulate me into one of their deals. Not...whatever magic you’ve been using, since you actually care.” He let out a sigh, but didn’t look up at her. “We shouldn’t be here. We shouldn’t be back in this war. People are dying, getting turned, and we’re just loving everything up in this world.” She echoed his sigh. “The world was already hosed. Mab thinks we can un-gently caress it. I just wonder how bad it’ll get before we figure out how the gently caress.” She pulled the feather brooch out of her pocket. “Fat lot of good this has done on that front.” She halfheartedly tossed it over her shoulder. It bounced off the wall at an improbable angle and rattled to a stop by Hugues’ foot. He glanced down and picked it up with his other hand. “What’s this?” he asked, with equal mixes of curiosity and relief for having a slightly different subject. Did he forget about it because it wasn’t on her hat? Oh well. “Angelic ‘guidance.’ Mab’s tree-shaker. Completely useless.” She rubbed her forehead. “Doesn’t matter. If we weren’t here, our timeline would be stuck, people would still be getting turned, they wouldn’t even know this could be fixed, and they might still have had to defend the bubble anyway. So, gently caress it. Here we are.” She smiled grimly. “Not the heroes New Orleans needs, but maybe what it deserves.” That got a snort out of Hugues. “Nerd.” Vapor started to rise up from the top of the pail as it made the muffled hissing noise of steam bubbles bouncing against the sides. He turned off his gauntlet, and walked over to Marcine to hand back the brooch. “Angels like to play the long game, and surprisingly care little for human suffering along the way. They prefer a distant Catholic form of encouragement.” He shrugged. “Or so I’ve heard, we’ve only met the one.” “I used to want to meet an angel. Not anymore.” She added, standing, “You need to keep it boiling for at least one minute to kill microbes.” She moved to the edge of the porch to look for tracks that Hugues’ pacing hadn’t ruined. “How far could she have made it to get here, you think?” “Hard to say,” Hugues said, starting up his gauntlet again. “It looks she’s been down there a little while, not really knowing where to go. Plus, vampires usually don’t turn someone then walk away...but we haven’t been attacked so far, so this probably wasn’t a trap. So she must have fought her way out and life or death adrenaline can take you a long ways.” He watched where Marcine was looking, then a thought occured. “Oh, and there’s the Nevernever to consider. Best to ask her on that. If she feels like talking after this.” “Angie can help her. One bit of good news.” Marcine straightened and frowned at the door. “Not knowing… No. She came here intentionally. She split the one ward that would keep her out, left the others to stop pursuit. And maybe to control herself. Might have also counted on us finding her, before she got drunk.” “This sword’s responsible for the door, it’s designed to cut through wards. But you’re right, she probably would have known that Elbridge’s remaining wards would protect her.” Hugues turned back to the door for a moment, wondering if they should somehow fix it up while they waited. “So…” Marcine took a slow breath. Someone had to voice it eventually, even they didn’t have an answer. “Where are the others?” “Patrol, possibly. Either on this side of the time vortex or in the Nevernever. We should get in touch with Bellworth. Probably only Roqueza could take her down, and I’d love to watch that with popcorn.” He turned off his gauntlet again. “Think if we say her name three times she’ll come?” “With or without a mirror?” She wondered if it was that simple--if only Bree had run into disaster, and not the rest. “I should tell Nicky it’s safe and get some stuff,” she said, now that the water seemed properly sanitized and Hugues was tending to it, and headed for the woods.
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Oct 21, 2016 03:31
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Cantrip Theory Scene: Cabin, parking area Nicky was sitting on the ground next to the car, using a small pocketknife to carve symbols into the bottom side of a cork drink coaster. He had a whole stack of them in his satchel that he’d been working on while the rest of the party had been in Winter. Animation spells were finicky and precise and he never wanted to try scribbling one out while being shot at again. The enchantments on these wouldn’t last more than a few days, but he could renew them fairly easily. The coasters were thin, discreet, and waterproof. They could even be concealed by flipping them right side up to display some truly hideous pink flamingoes touching beaks to make a heart shape. He was quite proud of them, really, though he hoped he wouldn’t need to use them. He still hadn’t heard anything from the direction of the cabin. If anyone was fighting he would have heard it, right? Yelling, fireballs, all of that made a lot of noise. No sound was a good thing. It wasn’t like he was of any use in a fight, all he’d done the last time was get in the way. Marcine deliberately stepped on a twig when she got near the edge of the road so she wouldn't startle him much. Her own nerves were on edge. “It’s clear,” she told him, and headed straight for the trunk. She still stopped and looked up and down the road before she opened it. Nicky jumped anyway, but only a little. Once he realized it was Marcine he settled back down and released the death-grip on his tiny knife. “Um… Is everyone okay?” The trunk popped open, and she spent a moment leaning on the bumper before she answered. No point beating around the bush. “We are. Warden Ford isn’t.” She sighed and pulled out her coat. “Bitten. She was completely out of it, but I got her calmed down.” “B-bitten? Bree?” He slumped against the side of the car. He didn’t know her well, but she’d been nice to him and not many people were. She was the type who was nice to everyone, even if she didn’t know them. His hand tightened on the little knife again. “What are you going to do with her?” “Don’t know yet.” Marcine finished fastening the coat and pulled out her shotgun. “It might be safest if she stays here. Reinforce the wards, I can enchant some things to help her deal with the hunger…” She trailed off, looking down the road again. “Elbridge was trying to contact someone, last I heard. Maybe he got an answer by now.” She didn’t sound hopeful. Everything about this felt wrong. “We’ll learn more when she wakes up.” “If she’s here, like that, this place isn’t safe anymore,” Nicky looked up at the sun nervously. “I don’t think we should be here when it gets dark.” She dragged an actual EMT jump bag out of the corner with a grunt and slammed the trunk shut. Then stood there, staring at nothing. “Maybe Angie will have a place to take her.” But they needed Angie. Bree might be willing to help them, but it was too much of a risk. They’d only met briefly, but that was all she’d needed to know that she was kind, and that she had family, and Marcine had seen the panic in her eyes and felt the echo of Rick’s hunger. Bree didn’t deserve this, and maybe it was their fault-- Marcine made an irritated noise in her throat and stepped around the car to look at Nicky’s project. “What are you working on?” “Oh, nothing special, just um… The technical term… Lets just call them golem brains.” He shrugged and held one up for her to see. There was a circle on it, but the majority of the symbols seemed more like letters. “Instructions, like the laws of robotics, right? The automaton has to abide by them. You can’t create the illusion of life without giving it a purpose to fulfill, or it won’t last long. Like the cars, the other night. They were only animate for a few seconds, because they had no purpose.” “That’s cool.” She wasn’t sure how it would be relevant, but maybe they’d find something for it again. She looked up at the sky, then sighed, set her things on the ground and sat down with her back to the car, too. They couldn’t do anything until Angie and Rick joined them. She picked up one of the coasters for a closer look. “Can we build our own self-driving Shagohod?” He laughed at that. “Oh, that would take a lot more power than these have… and unfortunately, they would still short out any robots you tried to put them inside. They were originally developed to work with clay, actually. Something man-made but pliable. Though worked stone is alright too. Or metals, like bronze, or brass. I’ve made a lot of progress with plastics recently. Toy models and such.” She set it back on the pile thoughtfully. “You know, I’ve wondered why you can’t just replace the systems in, say, a car to run on magic instead. It can’t be all that much different.” “You can, but you can also have a horse pull it, or use steam power, or coal. The internal combustion engine is just cheaper to maintain and fuel than any of the others. Technology replaces magic because it’s efficient, and reliable. I always get so irritated when I see mages try to replicate technology with magic… do something we can’t already do!” She snorted. “The point of replicating technology with magic would be the ability to use that technology without having to keep replacing it. Money doesn’t grow on trees, and I want a smartphone that’ll survive Dad getting within half a mile of it.” She grimaced. “Rick almost killed my car the other day. I don’t think my insurance covers time travel.” “Well there’s that,” Nicky acknowledged. “But I’d still rather push the boundaries than just recycle things. Within the laws, of course.” “I guess.” Marcine fell silent for a moment. “I’ve been meaning to ask, but didn’t know if you’d be comfortable in the car… Can you use time magic?” He blinked at her. “Um… I… I mostly just know the theory...” She tapped her fingers on a leg guard. “I’ve just been thinking, to undo what happened to the city, we’d probably need to counteract what got it that way to begin with. I don’t know anyone who can use that magic, though, unless Narcissus is willing to work with us. If we can find him. Maybe one of the others can, but it seems like they would have mentioned it by now.” Nicky sighed. “I know spells that bend it, slightly,” he said, holding up one of the coasters. He concentrated on it, and then let it go. It hung in the air, frozen, then started to fall in slow motion. “Anyone who knows the theory can manage this much, but it’s just a cantrip. Applying this to a city… I mean, that wasn’t bending time, that was breaking it. I couldn’t do it. I don’t know if there’s anyone alive who can.” “Except for the one who did it. Which was really… Titania.” She ran a hand through her hair, frustrated. “I don't know. I hate that we don't know. Maybe El will have an idea. He knows a hell of a lot more than I ever will.” She snorted. “I can't even make a basic shield.” “Well, I can’t either,” Nicky said, shrugging. He plucked the coaster out of the air before it reached the ground. “I suppose everyone wishes they were good at being a soldier during war times. But wars don’t last forever, and then no one wants the soldiers around anymore.” He paused, shaking his head. “There’s so much more to magic than using it as a weapon… I wish things weren’t so desperate.” “There’s plenty of practical things that I can't do, either,” she grumbled, but it wasn't worth dwelling on. She still had illusions and bullet diplomacy, when it came down to that. “Rather than argue about what we can’t do, let’s go help with what we can.” He almost sounded cool, until he leaned over and struggled to pick up the EMT kit she’d pulled out of the trunk. “Goodness, this is heavy!” Marcine laughed as she stood and picked it up herself. The thing did weigh over forty pounds, last she’d checked. “The weight of preparedness,” she announced. “And maybe of paranoia and shopping sprees. Hopefully she won't need much of it."
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Oct 22, 2016 19:43
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Disco Inferno, Round 2 Scene: Cabin Hugues was granted no respite. He’d barely hit the ground when another shot was fired. He wasn’t so lucky to dodge it this time. A blinding pain surged up his leg as a massive sniper bullet punched cleanly through it, tearing through the flesh. (He opts to shoot Hugues some more, invoking Winded for free. Gets a +10, which beats Hugues's +4 by a lot. Hugues invokes My Life For The White Council to raise, but the vampire counter-invokes Scoped and Dropped to push the result back up, ticking his third stress box and inflicting a Moderate Consequence of Shot Through The Leg and a boost of Brutalized. Things ain’t lookin’ too good...pass to Marcine now. GM FP Count: 3|5 left, 4 megastunt pool FP remaining.) Marcine flung up her arms to shield her face from the grenade. Shrapnel bounced harmlessly off her coat, only leaving some tears in the surface hide. Sadly, first impressions of her armor in action took a backseat to what she heard outside. Why hadn’t Hugues waited? She had to change the field fast. The grenadier was in view. “It’s going,” she said, and activated her illusion. The image of the shielded Warden darted off the side of the porch from behind the tear gas, and--more importantly for the moment--blocked the view of anyone in the doorway. She didn’t wait to be sure it worked, just leaned around the corner and fired. The slug lodged in his body armor. That’d leave a bruise. (Marcine’s armor soaks the grenade’s damage. Combat with Range Regular: //--+4 = 2 vs grenadier’s defense: /+-++4 = 5. Krysmbot why. Invoking “No Time for Doubt” (2/5 FP) and “Faking A Break For It” to make that +6, hitting with w:2 to mark off his third stress box. One invoke remaining. Pass to Rupert.) “This place is a bloody death trap,” muttered Rupert, the words lost under the constant drone of machine gun fire. Keeping low, he quickly made his way to the rear wall of the shack and began tapping bricks, seemingly at random. Satisfied, he placed his palm flat against one and spoke another incantation, ”Enlever le mur,”. The wall rippled outwards as the wave of magic spread out from his palm. And then the wall exploded outwards, showering the forest with rubble and leaving another exit to the shack. (Rupert, Combat, Overcome vs Shack Wall: /++- +5 = +6. Success. Pass to Angie.) Angie slung her rifle over her shoulder, slipped out the newly made hole and grabbed the edge of the roof. “I’ll cover you, keep at them,” she said. Without waiting for an answer she scrambled up, lying flat on the hot tile, and took aim at the SUV. “That’s enough of that poo poo,” she muttered, flicking the scope down. (Angie crawls into position and sets up “Sniper on the Roof”, Combat: +/+- +6 = 7! SWS!) Nicky stumbled out in a fit of coughing at the dust, a thin line of blood leaking from his temple where a shard of the grenade had tagged him. He sat down with his back to the remains of the wall and shivered. “W-what do we do?!” “Just stay down, Nicky, we’re dealing with it,” Bree said, biting her lip and taking a step back from him. Her hand was on her sword. “Cole, flank with me?” “I… That’s…” Cole drew his sword and looked at El. “Can you draw their fire?” “I’ll do more than that,” Elbridge said ominously, pulling the mirror down from the wall between volleys and stowing it safely in a valise. Cole gave a quick nod. “Marcine, gimme the best illusions you got.” She was already studying the forest when she joined them, EMT bag over her shoulder. “Just need a moment… Bree, if the hunger gets to you, I can help.” “I’m okay,” Bree said. She was still biting her lip, but that seemed to be helping. “Focus on the enemy.” “Turner, you can-” Cole stopped when he couldn’t find the littlest Warden. “Where’s Hugues?” In the forest, things were not at all going well for Hugues. His plan to sneak around had completely backfired and left him alone and exposed. He dove behind a fallen tree and unstrapped his shield. Right now he needed cover and protection before he could even think about firing back at them. (Simple Athletics Advantage to Hunker Down, /-/+ +4 = 4.) If there was one thing to give the Red Court’s troops credit for, it’s that they were very well prepared to deal with wizardly tricks. They didn’t pay the illusion much mind after the first few shots whizzed through it harmlessly, instead turning their attention to the back of the house. A hail of bullets ricocheted off the walls, trying to reach Angie - and some did, grazing her arms and ruining her aim. (Machinegunners roll attack against Angie, get a +7 against her defense of 4, and tag Suppressive Fire to up by 2. She invokes Sniper on the Rooftop to counter it, which is counter-countered with Red Court Soldier, which is finally beaten by an invoke of We Prefer “Freedom Fighters”, paid for by Cole (5->4FP). She ticks off her fourth stress box and the SWS generates a boost, Hailstorm. The machinegunners pass to the rifleman. GM FP Count: 2|5.) In spite of this, however, Angie’s aim was steady enough to catch the rifleman as he began taking potshots at Hugues, right through the head. (Rifleman tries to shoot Hugues. This proves to be a bad idea, as he rolls a 1 on his defense vs Angie’s result of 6. RIP. Grenadier goes!) KA-THUNK. The grenade sailed upwards into the air before coming down...right on Angie’s hiding spot. Rick and the others heard the telltale sounds of structural collapse moments later, as the ceiling caved in. (Revenge shot! Grenadier fires and gets a +6, boosted by Hailstorm to +8. Angie defends and gets a 4, not good enough - she ticks her third stress box and takes a Mild of Bleeding Nose and Ears. Grenadier generates the boost Mass Destruction with that SWS. This concludes Round 2! Pass to the van sniper for the start of round 3.) Echo Cian fucked around with this message at 20:17 on Oct 30, 2016 |
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Oct 30, 2016 20:08
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First Aid Scene: Cabin Remains It took Marcine a few moments to shake herself back to the present and take stock of the aftermath. No one badly hurt...except two that weren’t in sight. “Hugues,” she called, stumbling in her haste to grab her EMT bag and get inside. “Angie?” Hugues had barely moved from the position he fell in. The only movement was a bit of wiggling from the backpack as Murray unzipped it from inside and crawled out. The demon wasn’t concerned for the safety of the child lich, since he could just get a new body if anything bad happened, and was more curious about the dead bodies outside. Hugues' eyes flickered a bit in Marcine’s general direction as she stepped inside and he tried to mutter something but could barely get any words together. She knelt beside him, tossing her coat aside, and opened the bag. “Take it easy. Don’t move your head.” Her voice was a bit too strained to be properly comforting. She quickly stabilized his neck and made an ice pack before she moved on to clean his wounds and see what else she was dealing with. Once he was in a more comfortable position, Hugues seemed slightly more alert and tried to tilt his head to look at Marcine. “H...How…. m-man-ny ssshurvivorsssh?” Rupert’s head poked around the corner of the remains of the cabin’s wall and answered, “You look the worst of all of us, Hugues.” Stepping round, he knelt next to Marcine and started to help her check Hugues' wounds. A weak smile appeared on Hugues' face. “G-gooood….” “We made it, Turner,” Elbridge told him. The old wizard was rooting around sadly in the wreckage. He hadn’t been particularly-attached to the cabin, but it’d been his, and their last safe haven in this war. “They didn’t.” The basement, at least, was still intact, and he made a note to carry as much of the glassware and home-brewed distillation with him as he could. It’d have to last him now. “Here, what are your poisons? I’ve got single malt elixir, vodka and tonic remedy, and antidote a la Peach Schnapps.” “Are you seriously offering alcohol to a preteen?” Marcine asked, grimacing at the state of Hugues' leg. “It’s medicinal,” Elbridge said, neatly-eliding the question of Hugues' age. “Is that what you told Sheriff Coltrane, too?” asked Rupert, sarcastically. “Sssshat b-bad, huh?” Hugues grumbled out, then attempted to make some chuckling noise. “A-any.” “Peach Schnapps it is,” Elbridge decided, on the grounds that Hugues was least likely to spit that one out. (Elbridge rolls unmodified Lore for a potioncrafting CA: //// +3 = 3, how perfectly neutral. Aspect placed: “Good For What Ails You”) Rupert started by bandaging the angry graze on Hugues' side, pouring a few drops from a tiny blue vial that felt cold as they touched Hugues' skin before wrapping the wound tightly with bandages taken from Marcine’s EMT kit. (Rupert, Medicine to treat Hugues' 2: -+-+ +4 = +4 Invoke on “Save Them” (FP:6->5) for +2 to SwS (Aspect: “A Touch of Winter’s Remedy”).) “So what possessed you to dive straight into enemy gunfire?” Rupert asked Hugues as he continued the treatment - half to make sure Hugues was conscious and half to take his own mind off the vicious wounds. “Ffflank,” Hugues said, slightly moving his shoulders to represent a shrug. “Fffailed.” Marcine washed Hugues' leg wound with a cantrip and disinfectant. The bullet had gone clean through, but she still had to work out some shrapnel. The constant pressure of a thin layer of water slowed the blood loss enough that she could see what she was doing. Gauze wasn't going to be enough for this. He needed a hospital, but they didn't have time… She rinsed off her hand and reached for sutures, and nearly dropped the needle when she tried to thread it. She scowled at her hands. She’d done this before, why get shaky now? Rupert picked the needle up and threaded it with practiced ease. Telling himself it wasn't that different from sewing clothes, he took over the suturing, glancing at Marcine with an attempt at a reassuring smile. She just grimly held the wound closed and kept his view clear of blood. (Medicine to treat the Moderate: //+-+4 = 4. Rupert assists to succeed with 5.) Marcine got the bandages ready as he finished the last stitches and quickly wrapped the leg. She finally moved on to properly examine his head. “Failed seems like a bit of an understatement,” said Rupert, finally replying to Hugues. “I had an illusion ready,” Marcine said, worried frustration breaking through as she gently - very gently - checked for skull fractures. She shouldn't be berating him for his condition, but this could have all been prevented if he’d just-- Her voice cracked. She’d failed him, somehow. “I only needed a moment...” “Ssay came p-prepared…” Hugues slurred out, slowly reaching out to grab her hand. “Bettttter me sssan you.” “We weren't helpless.” She wanted to meet his eyes, to check his pupils or to try to be reassuring, but this wasn't the time for a soulgaze. She turned her face away. Sometimes she hated being a mage. “Is everyone here a loving martyr?” she asked a fallen beam to her right, and rubbed her eyes, leaving her other hand with his. Keep it together. “Yes,” Hugues replied promptly. “Just making up a shortfall for someone absent,” Elbridge said. They were getting closer to the city, and to whatever had befallen Ada. Assuming they survived Roqueza... ...well, one thing at a time. Right now, the thing at the top of Elbridge’s list was picking the shrapnel from his lacerated back. He was looking into the silver mirror - miraculously-intact, although perhaps it was no surprise that Winter’s artisans knew their business - which showed himself from behind. Screwing up his face in pain and concentration, he levitated another few bits of wood, glass, and iron out of his skin, applying a cold compress to staunch the bleeding. Marcine forced herself to focus. “If I'm going to have to keep you idiots intact...” She started wrapping a bandage securely around Hugues' head. “Make sure you leave me enough pieces to work with.” The protective bandage got a dose of Rupert’s Winter spring water to work through the skin. Marcine made sure it had enough give to accommodate swelling. Next was a splint to keep his neck and head stable. She eased his pain and facilitated physical healing with pressure points (their efficacy in normal medicine was debatable, but their use in magic wasn't) and carefully eased him up enough to manage El’s potion without choking. The smell of its alcohol base made her grimace, but a small amount wouldn't cause lasting damage. (Medicine to treat the severe: +//++4 = 6, tagging both “Good for What Ails You” and “A Touch of Winter’s Remedy” for 10.) “I wish I could let you rest but we don't have the luxury.” She leaned back and stared at her hand. It still felt sticky even though she’d cleaned and disinfected it several times throughout. Hugues had to stay immobile, but they had too few cars and too many people. “What now?” she whispered. She didn’t expect an answer. Echo Cian fucked around with this message at 07:45 on Jan 7, 2017 |
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Nov 5, 2016 21:18
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Strength and Temperance Scene: Cabin Remains Marcine picked up some supplies and let Hugues rest. Angie looked okay, relatively speaking, and it didn’t take an empath to know that she didn’t want to be bothered for now. Outside, where it hadn’t gotten much darker even though the short fight had felt like ages, Rick was in the van and Bree… Marcine turned her back and grimaced at a twinge of nausea. She’d seen plenty of animals tearing into carcasses. She didn’t want to be stuck with the image of this variant. It was still better than seeing her turn fully. That left Elbridge. Marcine met him with the gauze and disinfectant. “Need me to look at that?” “I’d say that it couldn’t hurt,” he told her, taking a seat on what was left of a footstool so she could take a look, “but that would just be tempting fate.” “I promise I’m at least certified enough to not make it worse. I can’t guarantee the ‘no hurting’ part.” As if to emphasize her point, she daubed the astringent onto a scratch and pressed gauze against it. Blood and liquid stuck it in place. “It went well, comparatively.” She didn’t sound optimistic. “‘Comparatively’ was enough for this battle.” Elbridge shrugged, then immediately regretted it. “It won’t be for what comes next. We will have a vanishingly-small margin for error, going forward.” He glanced at the mirror again and saw that his eyes were still bloodshot. He wasn’t sure if that was from too much alcohol or not enough. “It bodes ill that Roqueza took the boundary so quickly.” Marcine didn’t want to think that far ahead just yet. “Just how strict are the Laws when it comes to Reds?” “They aren’t people,” Elbridge said flatly. “One might run up against the Accords, but the Council and the Red Court are in a state of open war, and you’re not acting under official Council seal, so I doubt it would matter in any event.” He sat in silence for a while, brooding. “But although one can do anything to a vampire with impunity, that’s not to say that one should. They’re monsters, yes, but it reflects…poorly to stoop to their level.” “How far is it stooping to shoot a rabid dog that’s trying to bite your friends?” It wasn’t a perfect analogy, because the answer was to just shoot it. “I didn’t break any Laws,” she added defensively. “It’s not like it’s my first choice. I just...” She stopped. Had to say it sometime. “I don’t know what’s going to happen if I get pushed. No one gave me a drat manual.” “I was speaking in hypotheticals,” Elbridge said. “You pushed hard enough to hurt them without breaking them, or the Laws, and under the circumstances, it was the right thing to do. But with a little more exertion, or less control, it would have been a gamble. Their wills would have been the deciding factor in your adherence to the Laws, not your own. It’s a dangerous thing, to gamble with someone who’s trying to kill you.” He looked over to the makeshift stretcher where Hugues lay comatose beneath a mountain of bandages. “Turner learned that the hard way.” Marcine finished applying gauze to the worst of his wounds, and a moment of focus held it in place. “Life would be easier if I could just Force-pin people to walls.” She rinsed her hands and sat on the floor beside him without bothering to look for a chair. “Do you know much about it?” “Mental magics, or telekinetic pinning of people to walls?” Elbridge asked. She smirked at that. “Both? But mostly the former.” “Alas, most of what I know pertains to countermeasures,” he told her. “Wards, potions, talismans and the like. With the right materials on hand, I can manage certain rituals, but thaumaturgy and evocations are entirely different beasts. I suppose that you could liken it to the difference between arranged music and jazz.” He sighed. “However...hmm. While it would certainly help you to learn under a more-experienced mentalist, I’m not talking about technique so much as skill.” The bottle next to Elbridge gently uncorked itself, poured an ounce and a half of amber liquor into a shot glass, then returned to upright while the cork reseated itself, all without spilling a single drop. “Control,” he said, taking a sip from the glass. “An entirely-separate matter from power, and something that even the strongest of raw talents can lack.” He swirled the alcohol, and the reflection scattered and stirred, briefly taking on the pale outline of Dr. Jennifer Hirsch’s face before reverting to Elbridge’s own gloomy visage. “Often to their detriment.” Marcine wished she had time to down an entire bottle of whatever was nearest to hand. “Maybe I’m just overconfident, but control isn’t the issue. I had to learn it as soon as this fully manifested. Everything leaked. I heard thoughts I didn’t want to. Took most of a year to learn to block it out on my own. What worries me is more...not knowing how far I can go. The damage I might do if I misjudge. I can’t exactly practice.” She dropped her head in her hand with a sigh. “This timeline looks like my only training ground.” “Training for what?” Elbridge asked, pouring a shot for her as well. “Exploding vampires’ heads? You have guns for that. If you’re talking about refining powers that you couldn’t rightly use on humans, every timeline has monsters a-plenty.” He passed the glass over to her. “Animals as well. Have you ever considered veterinary psychiatry?” “A cat’s going to sleep on a couch, not talk about its problems.” She downed the shot, considered its potency, and held the glass up for a refill. Two would be safe. “I guess I could make a cool outfit and take up demon hunting.” “Hrm. I might be able to teach you a thing or two there,” Elbridge said, nodding along. “About hunting demons, and self-control, I mean. Magic. I don’t think you’d want to learn from my fashion sensibilities.” She laughed and nearly choked on her drink. It took her a moment to breathe again. “Hugues already made you Rick’s personal nightmare, you know that? It’s not a bad idea…” She sighed. “It feels like a cramped muscle sometimes. Needs to stretch. Can’t do it.” A guilty pause. “It felt good.” Elbridge regarded at his own drink, perhaps a quarter-full, with a mixture of appraisal and disdain. Then he tipped it over and poured the rest onto the packed-dirt floor. “The things that’ll kill us often do,” he said.
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Nov 6, 2016 01:01
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Crossing Lines Scene: Cabin Remains Marcine had never thought that a plan to save two worlds would depend on her staring at corpses, but here she was, committing every meaningful detail to memory. She could cut some corners as long as they looked right overall - odds were that the PMCs didn’t all know each other, and all the Reds sure wouldn’t. Angie might be a problem, since they hadn't seen the vampire, but she could work around that. She set the illusions to the insignias and handed them out. One at a time, she had Elbridge, Rupert, Nicholas and Angie alternate standing still and doing basic movements, adjusting as she went, until she was satisfied that they mapped properly. The illusions could be turned on and off with only slight effort; she made a trigger spell for Angie. It was unsettling to see dead figures coming back to life, replacing her friends. They’d stay alive. She’d make sure of that. (Deceive + Stage Illusion stunt: +/-+ +5 +2 = 8. Anyone trying to see through the illusions will have to beat that.) With that finished, there was one other matter. “How are you feeling?” she asked Rick, while the others finalized their new guises. It wasn't just an opener; she’d cut off her empathic sense after the mental blast. Her brain felt bruised. “Like I’m about to jump out of a plane with no parachute,” he said, honestly. “But you probably knew that.” She gave him a wry look. “I’m not always invading emotional privacy. Think I sprained something.” “There’s been enough traumatic brain injuries around here, no need to self-inflict.” She snorted. “I don’t try hurting myself.” Rick knelt next to the ditch where they’d dumped the bodies and rubbed mud and a little blood into his hands, then started painting his face and arms. He might be going to this costume party dressed as himself but he had to look roughed up, not cleaned up. At least his clothes were still filthy, though the deerskin had held up well under the circumstances. “What did you try, anyway? Don’t get me wrong, it worked, and it probably saved our lives…” “Pain-bomb,” Marcine said, after a pause. “Weaponized the panic and horror they were inflicting on us and dosed them with their own medicine. Guess they didn’t like the taste.” He nodded. “Smart. By the time Bree and I reached them they were already recovering. If you have to do that again, don’t expect it to last more than a minute or so.” He paused. “Are you done here? I want to ask Rupert to bury them, before we go.” “Yeah.” Marcine turned away. If she never saw them again, it would be too soon--but she was going to, by her own hand, and she’d be one of them. “Something else was bothering you,” she said softly. When he spoke, he rested his hand on the hilt of Finch’s sword. “I’ve killed a lot of monsters since joining the Wardens. But I’ve never had to…” He skipped the words he couldn’t say. “...not people. Feels like, I don’t know, like I crossed a line. Lost something.” He took a ragged breath and turned away from the ditch. “It’s stupid, I know.” She shook her head. “Not stupid. There’s a reason why the First Law is about murder. Magic makes it worse, I guess, but even without that... “ She considered her words. Saying they had it coming wouldn’t help, and the thought even being in her mind made her uncomfortable. Like she was betraying her own nature. “I keep seeing that drat grenade, bouncing through the window,” he said. “I know they wanted us dead. Doesn’t make it right.” She sighed. ‘Right’ had nothing to do with it, but that wasn’t comforting, either. “If you hadn’t crossed that line, Bree would have crossed hers, and you’d have had another drawn in front of you. You’re not lost as long as you can still feel this way.” He gave a quiet, broken laugh. “Yeah. Nausea, the true mark of the action hero.” She patted his back gently. “The ones the audience really cares about.” “You aren’t making this any easier.” He reached for her hand when she lowered it. “Think I can pull it off?” If she was being realistic, between Hugues’ injuries and sheer numbers, their chances were pitiful. But she squeezed his hand and smiled. “You do have a parachute. We can pull it off.” He squeezed her hand back. “Now you’re just saying what you think I want to hear.” Her smile faltered. She wasn’t used to being read if she didn’t want to be. “Maybe it's what I want to hear, too, because it's the only way we're going to keep our heads above water, and no one else will say it.” Her tone darkened. “I already let Hugues down. I had no control over his decision, but even so… Not again.” “You patched him back up, which is more than I could do. He’ll be alright.” “I don't know if I could have done it without Rupert. I’m--” Marcine hesitated. She didn't want him worrying about her when he had to focus. As much as she wanted someone else to be the one reassuring her, she'd wanted that in the cave and look what that had gotten her. “I'll manage,” she finished quietly. “So will you. I'll be there for you.” “Not this time. You look out for the others. Roqueza and I have a score to settle.” He gave her a weary smile. “I’ve got an ace up my sleeve. Not sure if it’s going to work yet, but if it does, then we’ll do a lot more than manage. If it doesn’t, it’ll buy you a lot of time. I can promise that much.” He showed her an ordinary-looking paring knife that had been tucked into the chimera leather sheath, almost invisible next to the sword. The blade was only an inch long, but it fairly hummed with magic. She felt it out, curious. There was a sense of something feral and hungry--of teeth, claws, and yellow eyes. She remembered his hatred, talking about the wolf, and drew a sharp breath to object before realizing: Did he mean to use it on himself, or on Roqueza? She didn’t want to hear one of the possible answers. So she didn’t ask. He knew what he was doing. Even if ‘buying time’ might mean... She blinked the stinging from her eyes. “Alright. I can do that.” Her hand twitched, searching for something, before she reached into her pocket and pulled out the brooch. “Not a lucky hat anymore,” she said as she opened the clasp and removed the smallest feather. “Maybe not a lucky anything.” She tucked it behind his Warden pin. “But you never know. Maybe he’s allergic to down.” The weight of the gift wasn’t lost on Rick. He leaned over and kissed the top of her head. “Thanks.” She nodded. For a moment, keeping her voice steady felt harder than anything they had planned. “We need to get that shield ready.” “Alright.” He made a face. “Going to hose off the vampire’s body armor afterwards. No sense letting it go to waste.” He touched the pin, ran his fingers along the spine of the feather, and sighed. Then he reached for something in his shirt pocket and offered it to Marcine. “I should have given you this a while ago.” It was a silver pin, twin to the one he was wearing. She accepted it like it was made of something more fragile than metal. “Ada’s?” “Yeah.” He smiled, cheeks coloring slightly. “She’d kick my rear end if she knew it’d taken me this long. Just put a little will into it, and it’ll open up a line to any one of us. You’re officially on the team, now.” Marcine smiled and clipped it beside the feathers. “It’s hard to hand off something like this… I’ll take care of it. Thank you.” She met his eyes as her smile shifted into a smirk. “Captain Cole.” He punched her lightly on the arm. “Never gonna happen, thank God.” She reacted with an exaggerated grimace and silently wondered if a rescue attempt for the real Captain and the other Wardens was possible. Her friends and the city took priority, but if the opportunity appeared… Well. She’d already pulled off an escape from under vampire noses once. “Let’s make sure of that.”
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Nov 13, 2016 19:24
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What To Forget Scene: Cabin Remains "So how exactly do you want to do this?" Cole asked Elbridge, frowning. They’d brought the chairs from the basement outside, and he was sitting in one of them, watching Marcine and El with his arms crossed. He still thought tampering with the collar was a bad idea, but losing his head during the fight because he couldn’t keep his mind clear was even less palatable. “It will be...similar to the ritual that was used to place the collar in the first place.” Elbridge sighed. There was no easy way around this issue. It would not be a pleasant experience for anyone involved. Not even the fang-grinned bat-skull sitting on a barrel of bootleg gin could inject any levity to the situation. Well. Perhaps a little levity. It was fairly entertaining, all things considered. “Once we’ve inscribed the proper circle, we’ll each have our parts to play,” Elbridge said, continuing. “Miss Sterling will need to extract a suitable memory from your mind and temper it into a link. I’ll guide her in splicing the new link into the existing chain, while Mr. Singh enchants a ward and places it in the gap between the collar and your neck.” “Not exactly,” Marcine said. “It’s not a chain, it's a wire. Like a rabbit snare. I could lengthen the wire by melting the memory into it, but I don't think there's a way to get it back without dismantling the whole thing, and I expect it would become subject to the same rules as the rest of the spell.” She didn't know if he’d expected to recover it. “Isn’t it dangerous to leave the slack in it without the shield?” Cole asked El. “I don’t want to need this buffer as a permanent thing, it’s bad enough as it is.” “Only if something should happen to put you at risk of recovering the new memory,” Elbridge said. “And then only if you should recall it after reabsorbing any of what was originally extracted. Which memory have you chosen?” “It has to fit the same purpose, so… I mean I don’t have a lot of choices. I can’t give up what I have left of Rachel or I won’t even know why I’m here. So it has to be something close to that… someone close to me.” He sighed miserably. It felt like he’d got his hand stuck in a bear trap and had to pick which fingers to sacrifice. But he’d had time to consider it, and he’d made the decision a while ago. “Circe crashed my first real date with Ada. She had the coin, and I basically had to watch Ada deal with her from the sidelines. Ada protected me, so it fits. It also sucked big-time, so if I have to lose something… I hope that will do the least damage.” Marcine nodded. “Think of the exact parts of it you want removed in advance. I’ll only see what you want to show me, but related thoughts might come to mind and be distracting.” She looked down at her folded hands. “I don’t want even a little risk that I’ll take more than you intend.” “Me neither.” There was an understatement. Rupert set about preparing a trio of concentric circles around the chairs for the spell - for each circle, he sliced a groove into the earth and crushed a stick of chalk in his fist, filling each one with chalk dust. Satisfied with the circles, he began to carve sequences of runes between the enclosed circles - on the inner ring, a focusing spell, on the outside, a sequence of wards. Cole sat up straight in the chair and closed his eyes. In his mind he pictured the Aquarium tunnel, the rainbow scales of the fish glinting in the light of his crystal. Ada’s hand in his. Now that it was time he didn’t want to let go of it. But what choice did he have? “I’m ready.” The circle should be finished by the time this was done, so Marcine took his hand. There was a spark and a tingling sensation, and although to Elbridge and Rupert they only went still, Rick abruptly found himself far from Louisiana. Snow filtered through a silent forest of pine trees. Water dripping from branches and fog hanging above the ground placed it at early spring, during the thaw. Marcine sat on a log on the other side of a small round pool. It reflected their surroundings in vibrant colors, like a painter had dropped her palette in the water and decided to make the best of it. “My parents have a cabin in the Adirondacks,” she said. Her voice was muted in the stillness. “It's the quietest place I know. I can do things here that I can't in reality. Or at least, it’s easier.” He glanced to either side and then at his feet. “Pretty.” But the scenery was wasted on him. His appearance shifted in front of her eyes to a blue collared shirt, jeans, and a long grey cloak. The same clothes he’d worn in the soulgaze. “Just...get it over with. Please.” She knew the feeling. “Treat the pool like a memory stone. It’ll handle the rest.” Cole held a hand up over the water and focused. An image distorted the perfect reflection, bright and colorful and warm… but it didn’t coalesce into anything. He frowned and tried again, brows knitting in concentration, but the picture remained a blurry mess. His hand dropped to his side. “I can’t... I don’t want to do this!” His whole body flickered as she started to lose him. “We don’t have to,” she said softly. She caught him before he slipped away, holding out her hand in silent entreaty to stay. “Just wait a moment. Maybe we can think of something else.” She lowered her hand to pat the empty space on the log beside her. The flickering ceased when he sat down. “I lost her, Marcine. I lost her, and if this is all I have left of her I can’t just--!” He choked on it, and covered his eyes with one hand. “I love her,” he whispered. Marcine wrapped him in a tight hug. He seemed to need it. It wasn’t fair to him or to Ada to press the issue, but they couldn’t just cross their fingers and hope for the best. “I know. You shouldn’t have to lose more… This one was painful, and I’m not saying that bad memories should just be erased, but you do still have others. They’re not going away.” “For better or worse,” he said. “But the ‘worse’ is what really binds us together, isn’t it? You don’t know what it’s like to wake up with gaps, not knowing who someone is to you, if they ever meant anything... I won’t do that to her. gently caress this.” Marcine shuddered. She didn’t need firsthand experience to see how it affected him. “I understand. I do. I just…” Wanted to make this easier. Wanted an answer that didn’t have to hurt him. Wanted to keep him alive. She straightened, keeping an arm across his shoulders. “So we can’t use her.” Her tone left no doubt that the possibility was off the table. She was silent for a moment. “What about your memories of me?” (Compelling her concept "Singer to the Soul" to take the metaphorical bullet. FP: 0 -> 1) He looked up sharply at her. “Marcine...no.” She ignored him. “Would anything fit? The camp, the tunnels...” She laughed dully. “I can barely even keep it straight after all this bullshit.” “I won’t give that up either. That’s when we became friends.” Just friends. Right. How did this get so drat complicated? The first time they’d met... He paused, considered it. “I have an idea.” He raised his hand at the reflecting pool one more time. Whitewashed wooden planks resolved into view, and a neon sign above them. Echo Cian fucked around with this message at 20:47 on Nov 20, 2016 |
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Nov 20, 2016 18:01
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Unception Scene: Memory Pool The image sank into the pool, leaving them looking at their painterly reflections. Marcine opened her mouth, but caught herself. She couldn’t leave him with a memory referring to it now. They couldn’t laugh about the weirdness of it all, or talk about how he’d seemed more distant to her at the time, and he wouldn’t remember that they’d been saving each other even before he got thrown into her cage… But their friendship had developed in this timeline. Losing their first meeting would be strange, but not disastrous. Not like forgetting Ada. “This should work,” she said finally, and looked from the reflection up to Rick. “Are you okay with this?” “No, but at least I can live with it.” Marcine knelt and traced a circle around the pool’s edge. It acted like a cross-stitch frame, setting that one memory apart with the rest of his mind just beyond the boundary. She could reach past easily, if she wanted to--see what he’d done before or after, or follow threads to what other thoughts were associated with it. But she looked no further than the edges, and that only to make sure the separation would be clean. The circle and the water within flashed a painful white. When it faded, she reached in and withdrew the severed memory in the form of a quartz crystal shaped like a quarter note. He rubbed his temple. “Spirits. That’s it?” “That’s it.” It was so easy. Why was it so easy? “Like breathing...” It felt like a violation, and all he could think about was his soulgaze with Polly from his first night in New Orleans. Her rows of empty sand-heads, her empty father. Had he just started Marcine down that road? She was trying to help, but that’s how Polly started too, what she’d been screaming while Bellworth dragged her outside to face the sword. “I don’t miss it,” he whispered, feeling like the latest sand-head in the row. “I know I should, but I don’t, and that’s what scares me.” Marcine stared at it in her hand. She felt ill. Punched in the gut by the force of his fear in her own mindspace. Worse, some part of her was elated--the part that had wanted to shatter the mercenaries’ minds. The part that wanted to know what else would be so effortless...and what could actually challenge her. “That might not be a bad thing,” she said without inflection. She didn’t know how to comfort him this time, except keep him from guessing what she was really thinking. “Nothing lingering.” He shook his head, his anxiety shifting--at least partially--to curiosity. “No, there is… It feels kind of fuzzy, like a pulled tooth. There’s a gap, in that shape.” He knew better than to play with it, but it was hard not to. The memories that touched it were altered, redacted. He’d written a report of the incident later that night, but he couldn’t picture any of the words. Ada asked what he’d been up to, and he couldn’t recall his answer. It was unsettling, and sadly familiar. All his memories of Rachel had the same gaps. “Does it hurt?” she asked quietly. “No. Should it?” “I don’t know.” Marcine sat on the log again, stiffly. “I copied the original spell as well as I could work out. I never want to hurt you. But I just don't...” Her hand closed around the note delicately, like she was afraid to crush it. “This isn’t something someone should just be able to do.” “Not many people can,” he said. “I gave you that one. If you tried to just take it, I think it would hurt.” He probably didn’t mean that to be reassuring, but it was, somewhat. “I won’t take anything. This feels awful enough.” She shouldn’t have done it, but they didn’t have a choice. She took a slow breath. “We’ve probably kept them waiting long enough.” “Probably.” He stood up to leave, which wasn’t necessary in a dream-space, but he needed things to make sense right now. “I don’t know if it’s fair to ask this, but do you think it’s even possible to put a memory back once it’s been taken out? After this… I’m not sure. It’s already healing over, compensating for what’s missing.” She considered it. “Should be. If it can heal over once, I would think it could again. Probably not pleasant, but doesn’t seem worse than getting it removed... Maybe Elbridge would know, based on the original spell.” “Maybe.” Privately, he wondered if it would feel as fake as a falsely implanted one, even if it was the original. (And wasn’t that the whole problem with Steven the unfortunate basset hound?) He shook his head. The vampires were going to notice their team hadn’t come back soon, an existential crisis would have to wait. “See you outside.” The mental world began to dissolve; fog spread until it was indistinguishable from snow. Marcine found herself reluctant to leave. Reality meant leaving the peace she only found out in the woods, and dealing with things she dearly wished she didn’t have to. But she did have to. Rick had already faded when she finally let her awareness return to El’s front yard. Echo Cian fucked around with this message at 20:52 on Nov 20, 2016 |
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Nov 20, 2016 18:08
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Breaker Breaker Scene: Red Base, Comm Station The comm station was an abandoned building a quarter-mile from the camp, three stories tall. It looked like some sort of warehouse, though what a warehouse was doing in the middle of nowhere was hard to say. An antenna had been set up on the roof and was broadcasting instructions to the rest of the camp. The guards gradually diminished in number as Marcine, Rupert, Nicky, Elbridge and Angie got further and further away from the camp, but their numbers rose back up as they got closer to the station. There were at least a dozen of them, and that was just counting the outside. Marcine walked toward the station like she belonged there. They’d discussed their options on the way, and it seemed safer for it to be just her when they didn’t have the vampire’s ID for Angie. It felt less overwhelming now that she had a goal. Twenty meters from the warehouse, she heard the muffled sounds of movement and a voice called out, “Who’s there?” “Mowser,” she answered, slowing a bit. She had to hope that she mimicked his voice well enough what with the machine guns going off when she’d heard it. “Just got back. Wizards fried our poo poo.” “Mowser? It’s about time! We thought you guys were goners.” Now that he’d raised his voice a bit higher, Marcine noticed that the one speaking was a man behind a pile of sandbags. Though still careful, he visibly relaxed and emerged from his hiding spot while a few of his comrades stood on, keeping an eye out. From up close, Marcine could see his eyes were hidden...he was using night-vision goggles. “No wonder we didn’t get any messages for such a long time. We’ve got a stock of replacements on the ground floor, come on in,” he said, hooking his left hand’s thumb to point towards the warehouse, his right hand still firmly gripping an assault rifle. Marcine felt a twinge of guilt and crushed it before it got any funny ideas. “At least the van held up or we’d have stayed goners ‘til sometime tomorrow,” she said on the way to the door. The warehouse still held boxes, but much fewer than would’ve been expected of it had it still been fully operational. A large section of the ground floor had had tables and chairs added, and several soldiers more (another dozen by the looks of it) mingled inside, waiting to begin their shifts. In one of the corners, a large pile of crates labeled ‘COMMS’ had been set up. The topmost ones were open, and Marcine could see walkie-talkies and a few handys peering out of them. A ladder led to the next floor up. She sorted through the crates, but didn’t find enough variety to make a long search convincing. So she tossed aside her broken radio and picked up a few new ones--Angie could use one even if the others couldn’t. In the process she snapped off a clip from a walkie-talkie in the bottom of the box. It was the kind of damage that could easily happen in transport, and the rest of it wasn’t likely to go very far. She wanted the sympathetic link here. Just in case. With her comms chosen, she sat down to rest for a moment. No one would be able to blame Mowser for that. She listened closely to the chatter around her. Anything could be useful. (Notice: +-+-+4 = 4) The soldiers were at ease, playing cards, and mostly complaining. The Duke was a hardass about security. Someone wondered if they'd need more than earplugs for the explosion. Night vision goggles were a pain in the rear end. Putting bits and pieces together, she determined that they were on hourly shifts (with one soldier noting that his shift was up in fifteen minutes), and in two and a half hours they were due for a relief. She didn't think they had that long to sit around waiting to take advantage of it. She wondered if knocking out a guard and taking his place worked as well in reality as it did in movies. If it did, she might have to rethink her worldview. She felt the sudden interest directed at her before the soldier spoke. “Mowser, we were starting to take bets on if your unit’d get back in one piece.” He folded his arms. “I should throw you outta here, but my wallet needs to know: Are you in one piece?” “In five distinct but intact pieces,” she answered. “Got banged around, but nothing serious. We caught ‘em by surprise. Looks like bullets beat magic.” It was a lousy joke but the unknown soldier grinned (smugly) anyway. She sat forward like she was considering getting up, but he didn’t seem like he wanted to evict Mowser just yet, so she wasn’t going to pass this up. “Did I miss any excitement?” “Maybe if you think recon of a no-man’s land is exciting. This place gives me the creeps.” The soldier shivered, then continued. “Finding a place to put the toys at kept us busy for most of the day, but we finally found something a couple hours ago. It’s all set now.” Another one of the soldiers whistled. “Hoo, boy, I still can’t believe it even after seeing it myself. Where d’you think the client got that? Cutting edge is one thing, but that thing looked like it was right out of the pages of a sci-fi book.” Marcine raised her eyebrows. “That sure sounds like some excitement I missed.” “It’s not quite as good as it’s cracked up to be. Had a chance to take a look at one of those before - it’s pretty impressive, but not one-of-a-kind,” the first soldier said, shaking his head. “We DID get to spar with the client some, though...that was pretty impressive alright. He was holding back, but I’ve never seen a guy move so fast before. He’s definitely preparing himself for something big. Your boy got something to do with it?” he asked, giving Marcine a meaningful glance. She shrugged. As much as she wanted to ask about the ‘toy’ directly, there was a reason why they were being nonspecific and Mowser would know it. “Don’t know. He wasn’t in good shape when we delivered him, but the client could’ve just been preparing for the worst.” The second soldier made a tch-ing sound. “What’s the point of going through all this trouble if he’s just gonna slaughter some poor sap? Makes no sense, I tell ya.” Probably because he expected that poor sap in fighting form plus backup. But she did wonder if something else was going on that they didn’t know about. Couldn’t hurt to keep the possibility in mind. “Couldn’t tell you,” she said; then added, fully aware of the irony, “I don’t claim to know what’s going through his head. I don’t suppose I could sneak a peek in the toybox?” Her sarcasm didn’t expect an affirmative answer. “You on break? Masterson’s in charge of overseeing who goes in and out of it. He can let you in if you got nothing else to do, but you’ll have to make it quick. The client’s people are keeping a close eye on it.” She grimaced. “Haven’t been back long enough to know what I’m doing. He still in the same place?” Being gone while things moved around was proving to be a handy excuse. “Don’t think you’d get him out of the depot if you tried.” That seemed to be a common joke, judging by the smirks, so Marcine snorted in agreement. “I’ll check on that. And what I was supposed to be doing by now. Wanted to grab these before I got dragged into anything else.” She tapped the walkie-talkie for emphasis and heaved herself to her feet. Probably best that she didn’t wear out her welcome. “Think there’s a chance for more action tonight?” the second soldier asked, more than a little bit eagerly. Her answer was a wry smile. “I’d never rule it out.” She walked toward the door. Attention slid away from her as she left...and stayed away. They expected Mowser to leave, so he left; and the person who changed course for the stairway was so nondescript that no one could say they didn’t belong there. She held up her walkie-talkie. Her illusions didn’t interfere with electronics (much); as long as the radio she was holding didn’t go on the fritz, neither would any other equipment. She checked to make sure no one had noticed yet, and started the climb. (Deceive to create an overcome: -+-++5 = 5 +2 from Stage Illusion for a 7 to see she’s out of place.) Nobody interrupted Marcine’s ascent. They just took one look, nodded, and turned their attention back to other matters. The second floor was a far cry from the first - here, the four mercs on station were focused on their task, sitting by a wall of computers hooked up to a power generator, keeping tabs on each and every soldier in the camp through GPS signals and periodic reports. None of them seemed to have noticed her, thankfully, but that was unlikely to last - and this place, barren of everything but the necessary material for their task, was one where even nondescriptness would look out of place if spotted. She stopped just inside the doorway. A map of the camp sprawled across the monitors, complete with arrays of signals showing where the soldiers were congregated. She studied the GPS map, committing it to memory before anything else - patrol routes, clusters around sensitive areas that might give an idea of where the prisoners were...and especially the location of the largest group nearest the barrier, and how they were laid out. There were several maps on the desks the soldiers were manning, she noticed in the process, but only one within easy reach: a very large map of New Orleans pinned to a wall. There probably wasn’t a way to get that quietly, but it gave her an idea. She created a layer of light over the hand-drawn map of the camp which, like transfer paper, copied the image beneath. A quick gesture slipped the illusory paper to her hand. She lined it up with the image on the monitors and added the GPS markers, then finally traced a rune over the light-map and dismissed it for recall later. Marcine went back downstairs before she was noticed. A smug grin tugged at her mouth, but she kept her expression serious. A nondescript guy looking too pleased with himself wasn’t very nondescript, and she wasn’t out of the woods until she was...well, back in the woods.
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Dec 8, 2016 23:12
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PMCs R’ Us Scene: Red Military Base- Storage Barn The toybox was past the camp’s southern edge, an old, large barn that had had its ceiling collapse on itself. It seemed lightly guarded, but that only lasted until a green dot appeared on Marcine's shirt, followed by four others. It wasn’t until Masterson raised his hand to bring attention to himself that the dots disappeared. “Snipers. You know how they are. Jittery bunch, the whole lot o’ them...” shaking his head, he moved ‘round the barn first and came back a moment later, nodding with satisfaction. “That one’s in place at least. Gotta do a routine inspection to make sure it’s all in order. C’mon, take a look.” Behind the barn was nothing less than an attack helicopter. Two minigun cannons half as long as Marcine was tall were slung underneath its nose, and its wings were packed to the brim with missile racks. When Masterson opened the side of the chopper to let her in, she saw a heavy machinegun mount just beyond, in case any infantry transported by the chopper needed to provide fire support. “It’s a beaut, isn’t it?” he said, patting the tail fondly. “Top of the line and handles like a dream. Any joe could look like an ace on this thing.” “It’s something, all right.” Marcine had always wanted to ride in a chopper, so she didn’t have to pretend to be suitably impressed. She just couldn’t think too hard about why it was here just yet or it’d ruin the moment. “Is this built like the vans? Ours got its drat roof crushed by some magic poo poo that bricked everything inside, and it still drove us back.” “Sure is. Client said he’d made drat sure those magicians won’t be able to kill us just by looking at it funny.” “Must be nice to be able to afford all this...” Rupert’s spell had blasted the van’s interior without affecting anything in the dashboard, but it hadn’t been near the dashboard, and this thing was much newer and more complex than a van... She wondered if Mowser was supposed to know why they had it. The station chatter hadn’t indicated one way or the other. Everyone knew it was here, but that didn’t mean its purpose was common knowledge. “I’d hate to be on the wrong end of it.” “Who wouldn’t? Bitch and a half to take these down. Pretty drat well armoured, and loaded for bear with heavy duty weaponry. That all you wanted to see? Or you wanna take a look at the other one too?” They had mentioned toys, plural. Knowing where they both were couldn’t hurt. “Sure.” She stepped back from the helicopter, thinking. Leaving this one meant she wouldn’t get to sabotage it, but if she could come up with something for the other one by the time they got there, that would still be a plus… She wondered if Angie had a piloting license. Masterson led her into the barn. “If you thought that one was good, this one’s a doozy. You won’t believe your eyes when you see it! Come on, it’s...” He turned on the lights, but the place was empty. “...Huh. Strange. Where did it go?” He frowned in concentration, trying to determine if this was cause for alarm or not. “The big bat mentioned wanting to keep this one ready...maybe he took it out for a spin?” Marcine frowned. She was with him on wondering if it was a problem, but for very different reasons. “I saw him earlier with the guy he wanted us to bring him. Maybe he finished with him already.” It was hard to even suggest it. The important thing was learning what they were for without bumbling into what Mowser should or shouldn’t know. “If this one was even better than the other, it...honestly seems like overkill.” “No kidding. If I had to fight that thing, I’d rather run. The client’s gotta have some connections to armstech labs to get his hands on something like that. Must be some kinda prototype or something of that sort.” She managed a dry chuckle. Something was nagging at her, a sense of stress and anxiety. She didn’t need the distraction. “Is he expecting a wizard army or something?” “I’m hopin’ not. Rather get to know what kinda foes we’re facing before taking on them in bulk. Hey, what were those wizards like? You never told me how that hunt went.” She’d expected the question (surprising it took this long, really) so she’d already come up with an answer. Longer she kept him here, the longer the others had to work. She leaned against the door frame. “It was hectic. Pinned ‘em down in a cabin that took a hell of a lot more bullets than it had any right to. I’ll give ‘em credit that they tried to fight back, and we got knocked around a bit, but the worst casualties were the van’s roof and windshield. Ice and some kinda blast from above. That was a close one for the bat... Don’t think I’d have wanted to deal with them if they’d been ready for it instead of having afternoon tea or whatever the gently caress wizards do.” Masterson grimaced. “Here’s to hopin’ their friends learn the lesson and don’t come pickin’ a fight with us. I don’t want any of the boys comin’ home in a body bag if we can help it. Us, or theirs.” The corpses lying in a ditch after they’d taken what was useful off them flashed through Marcine’s mind. No one had even shown any suspicion yet. “Yeah,” she said dully, and decided to take a gamble on Masterson’s good nature. She hadn’t expected to like a mercenary. “Hasn’t felt right. Even the guy the client wanted, I’d have felt better putting him out of his misery. But that was the job. What makes this worth the trouble?” “My kids.” Masterson didn’t even hesitate to answer. “They’re back home in Austin. I never was much good at anything but fightin’, and with the army’s budget cuts, work like this was the only option I had left. This job’s high risk, but the pay’s just as high, so if I can make it through a couple more o’ these messes, maybe I can come back home, settle down, learn something that isn’t how to shoot a man to death. And if I don’t...” he took a deep breath. “It was all paid upfront in cash anyways. They won’t starve without their father.” Marcine tried to ignore the sick feeling in her gut. She hadn’t found any indication that Mowser had a family. They hadn’t come to hurt anyone, she reminded herself--just to free the Wardens and stop the ritual. But people would probably end up dead anyway. They could try to limit it to vampires, but would they really be able to tell if a fight broke out? She wanted to tell him to get out, or just not interfere until the ritual stopped, because if that thing broke who knew what would happen. But a moment of camaraderie wasn’t going to convince him of that if she revealed she was one of those wizards he thought was dead. She shook her head slightly. “Good thing they sent me and not you. With any luck, that was the end of it and we can get this poo poo over with.” But she couldn’t resist an uneasy look around the empty barn. How did you move a helicopter without anyone noticing, anyway? The ammo depot wasn’t that far away. The ammo depot...if it blew, he’d be dead, and it’d be her fault. “Might be a good idea to find out where this went,” she said. And let her come up with a way to get him out when the time came. Abandoning that part of the plan was out of the question. Masterson shrugged. “I’ll make some calls. See if any of the COs saw anything. It’s probably nothing, but better safe than sorry. Now come on, let’s go back to the camp. That’s enough of a tour for now, don’t ya think?” “It was interesting.” She gave him a crooked smile. It was the best she could manage while her thoughts were shifting elsewhere entirely. “Might be time to get that sleep.” “I think we got a couple empty bunks on tent 5 if you want t’catch some Z’s. It’s the one with the purple strip on top of the entrance, you can’t miss it.” And with that, Masterson turned around to begin the trek back to camp. “Thanks,” she said to his back, and walked in a somewhat different direction. The sense of anxiety hadn’t left--if anything, it was getting worse. It was from someone else, but there was nobody else around. She focused in as she walked, trying to pinpoint it. Rick. She looked toward a set of tents she could barely make out in the dark. He was fighting nearby. It wasn’t quite desperation that she felt, but it wasn’t good. If she could just go take a look-- She’d promised. She closed her eyes, forcing the sensations to the back of her mind. They’d shared a mind-space, so this wasn’t surprising. She had to trust him. He had a plan. But she refused to let go of that link. If things got bad...at least she’d know. Alone for the moment, she cupped a hand over the pin and focused on Elbridge and Rupert. “Status?” she asked softly. After a brief wait, Rupert responded, “Bomb’s set, we’re in the woods, setting something up. Meet back up where we were waiting for you.” She switched over to just Rupert; El could answer when he had the chance. “Okay. We might or might not have a problem…” She paused. She hoped Masterson was headed for the comm station, or some other point of authority, anywhere but the ammo depot, but they couldn’t count on it. “Think Angie has the chance to very quickly find some anti-aircraft weaponry?” Rupert’s reply was brief, “I’ll ask.”
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Dec 14, 2016 23:24
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Regrouping Location: Woods Clearing Rupert lowered his pin and walked across the seemingly unused clearing - save for the odd discarded cigarette butt - to Angie, leaving Nicky to unpack his new toy from the heavy bag he’d dropped on the ground when Marcine had called. “The bag has a few spare blocks of C4 for you. Figured you might be able to use them. Oh, and Marcine had an odd request for you,” he said quietly, “She says we need an anti-air weapon.” Angie gave him a tired look. “I left my RPG in my other handbag. Was there anything in the armory we could go back for?” “I didn't see one, but even if there was, we’ve no chance of being able to sneak in again,” replied Rupert with a shrug. “At least we’ve got some air power of our own,” Nicky said, as the drone’s tiny rotors started to turn. It lifted off the ground and wobbled slightly in the air, giving off a quiet hum. The primary camera’s view displayed on one of his glasses lenses. ---- Marcine dropped the pin and continued her trudge. She’d only made it halfway when the sensation in the back of her mind sharpened to a stab of fear. Helplessness. Her hand dropped to her pocket and clutched the brooch inside, heart pounding. A hundred possibilities flashed through her mind. She should have gone to him. She shouldn’t have left. She knew she couldn’t leave, if she didn’t act-- *CLANG!* She wasn’t sure if she’d actually felt that in the air or just a sharp echo in her mind. Sensation faded. Then, slowly, it returned--and now she felt triumph. Tentative, but building. She let out a breath that she hadn’t known she was holding. He was okay. Whatever just happened, he was okay. She could trust him. Had to trust him. She shook herself back to her present situation and kept walking. Her nerves still hadn’t settled by the time she rejoined Rupert and the others. It kept her pacing across the clearing. “The ‘toys’ are a pair of attack helicopters with the same hex-proofing as the vans. Probably more. One’s missing. It would have been moved around the time I was at the comm station. I don’t know how the entire drat camp didn’t hear it unless it’s got a silence spell as ridiculous as the equipment.” “Bloody hell,” grumbled Rupert. “I don’t know much about magic,” Angie said, looking up at the night sky warily. “But military helicopters can be heard for miles. I almost went deaf last time I was in flight school and that was through the ear protection.” Marcine finally stood still to stare at her. “Can you fly a chopper?” “Yes, but if you’re asking me if I can fly that one, I would have to look at the controls.” Marcine grumbled incoherently. “Should have brought you. Snipers only let me through with Masterson. A vampire took the keys, I assumed Roqueza but he’s still fighting Rick...” Something shifted. Too muddled to tell what. She took a nervous breath. “I don’t know if normal weapons are going to even dent it.” “I’ll keep a lookout,” Nicky said, tapping his glasses nervously. “I can’t imagine it’s flying about without a purpose. Even if it is invisible.” “Good.” She rubbed her forehead. “Have you heard from El or Hugues?” “Elbridge was working on freeing Bellworth from some sort of knockoff Boleyn Collar,” replied Rupert, leaning against a tree, “He sounded stressed, but that’s nothing new.” “Wasn't the collar Council work?” She grimaced at the thought. “He didn't answer my status check.” “He was probably too busy with the spellwork to answer,” suggested Rupert. “Probably,” she echoed, less certainly. “Should we go find him or--” It wasn’t just an emotion that struck Marcine; this time, she almost heard his voice. His thoughts--so strained, pleading, that she picked them up from across the camp. She hadn’t picked up stray thoughts since grade school. She turned back toward the duel, though she couldn’t possibly see anything from here. Something had gone wrong.
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Dec 20, 2016 09:03
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Regrouping Scene: Edge of Camp “Well, Laura,” Elbridge muttered to her as they walked. “I have good news and bad news. The bad news is that they’re using your sword in a tracking ritual. The good news is that getting it back is now a priority.” Bellworth smiled. --- Marcine arrived only shortly before Elbridge. Except the second person with him wasn’t a kid. Her hand went for her gun. “Hey, hey,” the grown up Hugues said, waving his hands. “It’s us!” It had nearly cleared the holster before she stopped, studying him. Her voice incongruously returned to normal as she slid it back in. “Do I want to know?” “Well I had to enroll myself at my school somehow,” Hugues shrugged. “Can’t be short all the time.” The ectoplasm suit’s visage looked vaguely familiar to Rupert, like he’d seen him before, but he couldn't place it. Blinking, he said, “Must be a useful spell.” ((Contacts: --++ +4 = +4. Rupert vaguely recognizes adult Hugues from a Council meeting somewhere.)) “It has its uses, but the potion is finicky.” “Laura Bellworth, this is Miss Marcine Sterling, late of New Orleans, and Ms. Angelique Montes, of the Fellowship’s South American chapter,” Elbridge said once he had a moment to get a word in edgewise (and to glower at Hugues for baiting Laura). The camp was beginning to rouse to full activity, and their covers wouldn’t hold much longer. Time was of the essence. “Marcine, Angelique, this is Warden Captain Laura Bellworth.” Marcine couldn’t remember a time she’d had to look up higher than around Rick’s height to (not quite) meet someone’s eyes. Someone human, anyway. She wondered what her father would think of this as she dropped the guise of Mowser and offered her hand. “I’m glad you’re safe.” The Captain’s handshake reminded her of Breenfjell more than anyone else, but the magic spark that passed between them carried a different impression: Powerful, but hollow, like an echo of itself--a dry gully left where a river should flow, drained by exhaustion. Shock wasn’t far behind; must have been buried to deal with later. Bellworth had nothing to hold herself together with but her own will. She shouldn’t even be standing. Marcine’s grasp tightened reflexively, as if that contact could offer her strength. Not that she felt like she had any to give. Not half as much as the Captain, to still be functional in this state. “I heard a little of what happened,” she said, fumbling for a more graceful way to say what she wanted. She gave up. Nobody gave a poo poo about grace. “I’m sorry.” The Captain nodded once, but her expression remained grim as she broke the handshake and turned towards the road, clasping her hands behind her. “She’s not one for words,” Elbridge said quietly. “Now less than ever.” Marcine gave him a puzzled look, but it dawned quickly. If you wanted to incapacitate a wizard… Her teeth clenched. An odd vibration in the air made ears pop until she took a harsh breath and stomped down on that, too. “Let me make you a disguise, at least,” she said when the pressure was back to normal. “And… If you need, I can relay anything you want to say. I understand if you don’t want me to.” Her empathic sense of Bellworth cut off as soon as she spoke, much like it had with Elbridge. Older wizards were apparently more adept at hiding what they felt, if they knew they should. The time for disguises is past. Take your position, or take shelter. Her voice, even through telepathy, was low and commanding, though her tone wasn’t as harsh as her words. The truth was, she hated involving civilians in war business. They were untrained, unreliable, and far too emotional. Her eyes dropped to Marcine’s gun. Aim to kill, Sterling. They will. A slight twinge of something that might be regret leaked through whatever mental defenses she’d raised. Marcine didn’t want to hurt anyone she didn’t have to; but she only had to remember sewing Hugues back together, and ‘have to’ became a broader category. I know. All this has to mean something. Roqueza the Warden-slayer is dead. There was a fierce pride in the way she said it. Believe me, it already does. Rachel’s words: Make it mean something. He had. It wasn’t enough for Marcine, or for any of them from 2012--but she couldn’t say that, as if she thought it didn’t matter. It did here. It would. But leaving without Rick… We can make it mean a lot more, she said. Agreed. “I think he’s nearly finished the spell, something’s started glowing,” Nicky reported, watching his golem-cam and trying to stay out of Bellworth’s line of vision. Angie shouldered her rifle and kissed her crucifix. “For Richter,” she said quietly. “For Rick,” Elbridge said, and poured out a measure from his hip-flask. Rupert glanced back into the camp, towards the ice block, and said, “For Richter.” Hugues pulled out the eternally frozen shard of ice. “For Rick.” Marcine didn’t trust herself to speak aloud. Instead, she unstrapped her hunting knife from her leg, sheath and all, and wordlessly offered it to Bellworth. Its serrated blade was a good five inches long, and suitable for more than just cutting meat off a carcass. Bellworth hooked it to her belt, next to Hardley's contribution. Marcine gave voice to her words, but with an inflection that left no doubt to whose they really were: “Let's make him proud.”
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Jan 6, 2017 03:38
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