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Black Cats and Voodoo Dolls Scene: El’s Gato Negro The first thing they noticed was the dizziness. It was as if they’d suddenly crossed into high altitude, even though the city was well-below sea level. Or it had been - who even knew if ‘sea level’ was a concept that applied here, wherever ‘here’ was? It came on slowly and subtly, a disconcerting sense of disorientation and unfamiliarity, even though they’d been here before. “We’re close,” Elbridge said. “This’ll be the spell my double’s used to stay under the radar.” He focused, closing his eyes, and feeling out a thin filament of magic within the disorienting miasma. It was there, sharp and solid, following exactly the path that Edward was taking. And soon enough, they were there. El Gato Negro, said the flickering neon sign over the entrance. Authentic Mexican Cuisine and Bar. Abandoned cars were parked by the curb, bumper-to-bumper. There were fresh skid marks from the motorcycle, and no others. Nobody else had come this way in a long, long time. Jenny parked behind a nearly identical copy, (sans the recent roof damage,) of the dragon van, and Marcine pulled in behind her. Edward just drove his bike onto the sidewalk near the door and left it there. He stooped to overturn a loose brick near the doormat. The underside had deep grooves running across it; on closer inspection, they flowed seamlessly into channels in the other bricks, which connected to the asphalt, and went on for who knew how far. The moment the connection was broken, the tension went out of the air, and the vertigo went away. A ringing in their ears, which had grown from near-silence since they began the drive, abruptly vanished; now that it was gone, they could tell that it had been almost-deafening. When everyone had gone across the line, Ed put the brick back in place. The eerie feeling of disorientation was much weaker on the inside of the ward, but it was still there. Ed took the motorcycle helmet off, revealing dark blonde curls down to his shoulders. “Man, this is weird.” He gave Rupert a cocky half-smile. “Long time no see, right?” Rupert smiled back and said, “Not so much from our perspectives, but still too long. Time travel is weird.” After an awkward pause, he added, “You’re looking well, given…” He inclined his head towards the road they’d just driven down. “The whole apocalypse thing?” He shrugged. “I guess. We get by.” “Where’s Lucy?” asked Rupert. “Out scrounging. Needed some extra stuff if we were gonna have guests. She should be back soon.” Rupert relaxed slightly, relieved. “We brought supplies with us. Van’s full of them.” Ed brightened up at that. “Sweet! You don’t even know how sick of the usual I am. Let’s go.” The bar had an antechamber, the kind where customers would step inside, wipe off their shoes on the mat, and then go in to be seated. Now, it functioned as a sort of airlock. The flimsy-looking outer door swung open as weightily as an iron bulkhead. When Angie tried to go inside… ...she just…didn’t. It wasn’t a solid wall, it was like she just sort of…fell away from the entrance, if people could fall sideways. Topaz looked askance at the entrance and refused to approach it. When Hugues walked in the first door, Murray set up a yowl inside the backpack that would have woken the dead and oozed out into a puddle of slightly smoking purple goo on the mat. “What the- is that a demon?” Ed kicked the mat out of the foyer and back onto the street. The demonic puddle wobbled like a burned jello mold and moaned pitifully. “What are you waiting for, kill it!” “Oh trust me I want to,” Hugues said, taking an empty bottle to scoop up Murray’s ectoplasm. “But he’s bound to me, and he won’t cause a whole lot of trouble. Especially not out here.” He set the bottle down next to the wall, happily ignoring the angry vibrating and howling from within. Ed stared at him. “Maybe you should wait out here too.” “No,” Hugues said simply. “My best friend is dead, and the fate of far more than just two copies of this city is at stake here. I’m not going to be kept in the dark.” “If the wards will let you pass, whatever.” The young man didn’t look happy about it. “And if they don’t?” Angie glared at him. “Then you’re not human,” Edward said. “Sorry, no exceptions.” Marcine frowned. It made sense, but… “If Angie can't get in, Rick wouldn't, either.” Ed looked uncomfortable. “That was… kind of the point. Look, El can explain stuff better than I can, I’m just the delivery boy.” She glanced back at the motorcycle, then to Angie. She wasn't happy about it, but there wasn't much she could do. “Fine,” she said irritably, and stepped inside. It took several minutes for the interior door to open, all the while feeling as if something was probing at them. It was an unwelcome, intrusive sensation, like having a dental exam if the dentist was also a part-time ninja. When the door finally did open, it was into a room less like a bar-and-diner and more like a fortress. Several heavy, wooden tables were tipped onto their sides, tops facing the door to form a barricade, as if whoever lived here expected a firefight to break out at any moment. Sergeant Abel Drouillard of the NOPD went for his shotgun the moment the chime over the door rang. It was purely a reflex for him at this point, an involuntary twitch - and ‘twitch’ was the right word. Drou looked like hell. His salt-and-pepper mustache had gone solid white, and he’d lost thirty pounds since they’d last seen him. Laverne Bellafonte looked like she’d lost sixty. She had a little sprinkler pail that she brandished like a weapon, which it probably was. “Holy poo poo, you’re real,” Drou said. His voice was a hoarse whisper. “When El said someone was coming through the dome...and you still got those ugly-rear end shirts.” He laughed. “But if you were on the outside, what the hell would make you wanna come in?” “I’m sentimental,” Elbridge said dryly. “Or senile. One of those words. Where is the other me, at any rate?” “In the manager’s office,” Maria said. There she was, the bartender, still tending bar and pointing El to his stool as if he’d never left. “He said that you should go in and see him?” “...across wards that only I can cross, and if I don’t, I’m not really me,” Elbridge guessed. “It’s good to see you all.” Marcine slumped onto the nearest barstool and shrugged out of her coat, which she draped beside her. “You still stocked?” “You’re in luck,” Maria said with a thin smile. “Just got a new delivery.” “Same delivery we’ve had for six years,” Mrs. Bellafonte huffed. “What’s it to you?” Maria snorted. “Gin and juice is all you ever drink!” “Anything sounds good to me,” Marcine said tiredly. She shouldn't drink much, but she needed something after chauffeuring Taapya. “I’ll have what she’s having,” Seth agreed, nearly collapsing onto the stool. “Coke and rum then,” Maria said, pouring two bottles over a glass of ice. “Wakes you up when you’re tired, calms you down when you can’t sleep.” “All of the above.” Marcine accepted the glass gratefully. “Perfect.” Rupert dropped into a padded chair at a table near the bar, slumping down deep into the welcoming padding. “None for me. Just need to rest my eyes a while. I’m not used to throwing something like that magnetism spell around.” Marcine forced herself to drink slowly, or she’d want more. “That was pretty cool, though.” Rupert nodded lazily, his eyes half open, “Not often you make a monster crash into a hulk of metal, it’s true.” “Is Wizard Minsk here?” Nicky asked nervously. He was the only one who hadn’t sat down yet. “Out with Lu,” Ed said, fetching a bowl of peanuts. He plopped into the chair across from Rupert and waved Nicky over to join them. “So, uh… What’s going on, you know, out there? We haven’t had any news for six years.” “Let them catch their breath,” Maria said. “And then we can start with some introductions.”
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Oct 12, 2017 19:55
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Slippery Slopes Scene: El’s Gato Negro “A vain hope, I’m afraid.” The second Elbridge walked through the bay doors behind the bar. He was dressed in the same solid-white suit he’d been wearing when Elbridge had scried upon him earlier (one arm now singed and blackened from fire). “Welcome to New Orleans! Why you lot came back, I’ll never know.” “Where else would we go, El?” Mrs. Bellafonte raised her glass. “A la tienne.” “Well I know that we’re stuck here,” El-two said. “But the rest of you…” He did a brief double-take as his eyes slid over Marcine. “Hold on. Aren’t you…?” “Marcine Sterling,” she said. “I take it we’ve met. I wasn't sure.” She paused, frowning. El in white looked even stranger in person. “Why are you dressed like a plantation owner?” “We needed all of the enchanted fabric we could get for other things, and our only replacement clothing was from looting a thrift store,” he explained. “Ah - you’re that Ms. Sterling.” “Do you know where my daughter is?” Seth asked bluntly. “I do,” El-two said just as bluntly. “I’m taking her home,” Seth said, standing up. “Where is she?” “That would be unwise,” El-two said ominously. Everyone else present - everyone else who’d been in the city this entire time - squirmed in their seats, visibly-uncomfortable. “What now?” Marcine sighed. “Folks who go to Angel Tower…” Mrs. Bellefonte trailed off. “It’s basically a cult.” “It’s like a roach motel,” Drou said, shaking his head. “Something’s wrong with the place. You check in, you don’t check out. That’s if you can get in at all.” Seth glanced at Marcine. “So she’s trapped in there? Or joined this cult?” El-two shook his head. “She leads it,” he said. “What kind of cult?” Marcine asked warily. El-two gave her an incredulous look. “...it’s a cult,” he said flatly. “Kind that’d be on national news and an FBI watchlist if we still had those things,” Drou said. “Ain’t part of the N’awlins charm like Santeria, that’s what you asking.” “That doesn’t tell me much.” Marcine looked down at her refilled glass. She felt all eyes on her, now that they’d realized who she was, and she didn’t even know what was going on. People turned to cults when they wanted stability and protection...and a lot of cults used brainwashing. Which, she realized, would be very easy for her. Except she knew better than to do that. But after six years trapped in a city with god-didn’t-even-know-what wandering around…? She drained half the glass in one go before coming up for air. She’d probably need the other half in a moment. And something stronger. “So how many Laws has she broken?” “Do you truly want to know?” El-two asked. “We didn’t drag ourselves in here for sunshine and roses.” “First, Third, and Fourth,” El-two rattled off. “That I know of.” “That you know of?” Seth said. “How… how long has this been going on? Why?” “We worked together, at first,” El-two said morosely. “About a year by my estimate - not that time means much in here. I tried to…” he shook his head. “She couldn’t stand all of the suffering, death, and horror. She said that we weren’t doing enough; weren’t helping enough, especially not after…” he trailed off. “It was the drat vampires,” Mrs. Bellafonte said. “Everything we built, they started taking away, and the people went with them. First for the food, then because the vamps had them strung out. We were losing ground, and Marcine…” she sighed. “She didn’t see why we had to. If the Reds could put the hoodoo on fools, why couldn’t she?” So, the slippery slope, just like she’d been afraid of in the camp. When he put it that way, it wasn’t as surprising as she might have hoped. “And the rest of us?” “Lytle left after that business with Peter Evans-” Ed winced guiltily in his corner “-and Miss Hirsch returned to New York not long after. Neither of them were in town when the stars went out. Wizard Singh has been looking after Skinner and his household since, but mainly works alone since we had some further…disagreements. No-one’s seen Turner in ages, and Warden Cole…” El-two sighed again. “Yours fared better than ours did.”
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Oct 12, 2017 21:25
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What We’ve Lost Scene: El’s Gato Negro Marcine leaned on the counter and waved Maria over. “What’s up with Drou?” she asked quietly. Maria quirked an eyebrow in between bites of cake. “What do you mean?” She looked over at the old cop, as he calmly helped Nicholas with the broken glass he was still sweeping up. Marcine shrugged. “He sounded confused earlier, talking about losing his home. You seemed worried by it.” “Oh. That. Easier to just show you.” She set her plate down and pulled a drawer out underneath the cash register. There were several wallets inside. She reached for a brown leather one and passed it to Marcine. Drouillard’s license was on the left side, and on the right, a small photo of a woman and a young boy. “He doesn’t remember them,” she said. “That’s all that’s left. We’ve all lost people we can’t remember. That’s why we keep those in here.” Marcine thought of all the ruins beyond the barrier that they’d passed through, and that destruction in a ring all the way around the city, and how many people must have been lost… And then she remembered removing Rick’s memory: the loss he’d described, and her own empathic experience of it. She shuddered and handed the wallet back. “Then, you forget things on the resets, or...losing a respawn point?” It felt crude to use a video game term, but she didn’t know how else to put it. “Anyone lost Outside… they just become gaps. Like they never existed in our memories. Nothing physical is lost, so there’s still evidence. Photos of them, all their things… but you can’t mourn for someone you don’t even know. Drou takes it real hard every time, so we try not to remind him.” Maria put the wallet back in the drawer and closed it. Her eyes flicked towards El-two. “Losing the west side was rough on everyone. Almost broke the group up. Took a long time to recover from that.” “I can only imagine… Thanks for telling me. I got the impression it would be painful to ask him.” She shook her head, trying to think of something better to say, but came up empty. “I’m sorry.” Maria scoffed. “For what? We’ve been trapped on this island like Robinson Crusoe for six drat years. A few castaways have shown up to join the party now and then,” she nodded at Talia, “but there’s been no real hope in such a long time… At least… At least now we have a chance to change things, instead of just wait for the end. At least we’ll have tried.” Marcine smiled grimly. “Better believe we’re gonna try.” “Good. Not all of us have powers, but we’ve been living here long enough to know that don’t always matter.” She pulled a well-used bat out from under the bar and slipped a bag over her shoulder. “Let’s go.”
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Oct 13, 2017 23:33
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One Does Not Just Walk Into The Fairgrounds Scene: City Park El-two and his group caught up with them as they left the park. They were singed, with some bruises and bangs, but no serious injuries. There was blood on their riot gear; most of it didn’t look to be theirs. “Get what we needed?” El-two asked before anyone could remark. “Not what we wanted,” Elbridge said, with a nod to the grisly trophy in Hugues’ hands, “but it’ll do. We know where to go next. The horse track at the fairgrounds.” The air went out of the conversation. Minsk sucked through her teeth and looked distractedly at the ground. Drou spat and pumped his shotgun. “That’s...unfortunate,” El-two said. Rupert sighed and asked, “Someone or something nasty has made it a lair, haven't they?” “The dragon Factorax, yes,” El-two said with a dyspeptic grimace. “Of course there’s dragons.” Marcine wasn’t even surprised anymore. “Wait, Tor?” Hugues piped up. “Oh that’s fine, we buds. Plays a good Mario Kart. Nanny still hasn’t learned the controls though.” It turned out that Marcine could still be surprised, after all. “...Mario Kart,” El-two echoed, incredulous. “You lot taught your iteration of a dragon to play Mario Kart. I suppose he and Turner help each other with schoolwork as well? Perhaps invite one another to sleepovers?” “Yeah? Why not?” Hugues asked, suddenly concerned. “What’s your plastic dragon been up to?” “Growing.” “Oh.” Hugues glanced at Lucy and Ed. “Uh, you two don’t happen to have a Game Boy lying around for tribute, do you?” Lucy winced. “I think he might ask for something bigger. There’s um… there’s a bottling plant not too far away and… well, he’s kind of…” “Fat,” Ed said. “He never did figure out how to fly.” “That isn’t all,” Talia said. “If it were just an obese Wyrm to contend with, I’d say find some spears and go to it, but it’s the very epicenter of the anomaly. Ground Zero, if you will. The time-loop effect is far, far stronger there than it is in the rest of the city. It’s exceptionally dangerous for anyone without a way to snap back to enter that place.” “Oh, lovely” Elbridge Prime said, his voice dripping with sarcasm. “I don’t suppose that any of you have something that fits that bill?” “Not a something,” El-two replied. “Someone.” “El,” Drou said, tightening his grip on his shotgun, “I don’t like where you’re going with this.” “Well I do,” Lucy said. “It’s about time we did something more than tread water.” “How we gonna fight a motherfucking dragon?” Drou asked. “Very carefully,” El-two said. “Talia, help me out,” Drou pleaded. “You’re the only one he listens to when he’s like this.” “Not this time, my friend,” Minsk said, patting him on the shoulder. “This is our chance. We’ve all prepared for it, planned for it, sacrificed for it… and now it is time to act.” Marcine looked from one to the other. “You’re planning on going in?” “‘Plan’ might be too strong a word,” El-two told her. “But yes, that is the thrust of it...although we should perhaps take more than just the four of us.” “Three,” Minsk said. “You’ll need someone to maintain your lifelines, once you get that close to the epicentre.” “Two,” Laverne Bellafonte said. “Faeries is bad enough. I didn’t sign up to fight no dragon, and I already know the rest of y’all can outrun me.” “That… doesn’t seem like enough people,” Nicky said sheepishly. Both Elbridges turned to glower at Nicky simultaneously. Rupert cleared his throat to get the Elbridges’ attention and asked, “What about the rest of our counterparts? Surely they’d be willing to help?” There was another awkward silence, punctuated by another unseasonable chill. “Er...that might…” El-two mumbled. “They...had some reservations about our methods,” Minsk explained. “Specifically, the book. We haven’t really seen them in...God, what would it be? Fifty cycles, now?” “Rupert would help,” Lucy said stubbornly. “I know he would.” “No one’s seen Hugues in forever,” Ed said shrugging. “Cole’s… a maybe. I guess.” “What about Marcine?” Seth asked. He gave the Elbridges a firm glare. “We went to the park, now it’s time you held up your end.” “Of course,” Elbridge said. “If there’s anything we should know before we head to Angel Towers?” “Only that it’s a terrible idea and you should stay far away,” El-two sighed. “But since you won’t...I caution you not to trust your senses, nor your feelings. When in doubt...hmm. Ms. Sterling?” he addressed the Marcine who was present and accounted-for. “I should be able to figure out whatever she’s doing,” she said, though she didn’t sound entirely confident. “Yes,” El-two said, nodding in agreement. “More to the point, you may be needed to fix some of what she’s broken,” he added, with a sharp glance in Seth’s direction. She sighed. “Right.” She wondered just how much of her double’s downfall he’d seen in order to notice this. It shouldn’t have been a problem. She’d never had one of these nudges have aftereffects before. ...That she knew of. “We should stay together,” Seth said, crossing his arms. “There isn’t time,” Angie shook her head. “Zophiel can’t hold the door forever.” “Hugues, Rupert, you come with me and Lu,” Edward said. “We’ll head to Danny’s place and see who we can convince.” Marcine turned to Elbridge, avoiding the El in white. She had never expected to see the day when she’d prefer a shirt covered in poker chips to any alternative. “Were you coming with me?” “So I promised Seth,” he said. “I will find Cole,” Angie said. She turned to El-two. “I have a feeling you know where he is.” “I have some leads,” El-two admitted. “I’ll go with you to help you look.” Talia nodded. “The rest of us will get things prepared. Meet back at the Gato when you can.” “What about me?” Nicky asked. He looked pleadingly at Elbridge. “Shouldn’t I stay with you?” “You should assist Wizard Minsk with preparation,” Elbridge said. “It’ll be safer for everyone that way.” Because I might kill you myself if you jeopardise the mission again, he tactfully did not say. “I suppose… But here, at least take this.” He reached into his jacket pocket and pulled out the last of his premade golem spells. “Golems can’t get mind controlled,” he said, passing it to Marcine. “Be careful, okay?” She nodded, not sure how to feel about that. “I will. Thanks.”
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Oct 13, 2017 23:50
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Dire Portents Scene: Near Sun Hill Apartments At first glance, the neighborhoods around Angel Towers existed much like they had before Six-Twenty: neither upscale nor run-down, with neat lines of houses and neat lines of trees along the street. Some of the houses could use some maintenance and some of the trees could use some trimming, but that scarcely mattered anymore; the resets had left it all untouched. Then they started noticing the holes. They were small at first, like someone had taken a rifle on a shooting spree. Then they were the size of baseballs, and then cannonballs, the backyards clearly visible straight through any walls or furniture in the way. Then they reached a house that had been smoothly scooped out from roof to back door, straight through a bed’s headboard on the second floor, like someone had taken a hot knife to a chocolate sculpture. It explained why they hadn’t seen any signs of life. The apartment building itself looked whole, when they reached it, but it was in stark contrast to every other worm-eaten structure around it. “No Dune references, please,” Elbridge muttered. He didn’t like the place. Even setting aside the Outsider damage (and he wasn’t about to set that aside at all) it felt exposed. The streets were too open, and anyone could be watching from inside those houses.They had no way of approaching the looming high-rise unseen. “Never got past the second chapter anyway.” Marcine was almost at his elbow. The buzzing in her head grew louder the closer they got to the barrier, and they’d already abandoned the car when the engine started protesting, but there was something else in the air beyond that. Something that made her want to walk back to the empty gym parking lot and get the hell out. Judging by the scenery, though, she couldn’t blame her(self?) for putting up a wall of Go Away. “There’s lights on in the apartments,” Seth said. He needed to say something to ease his nerves. “But only from the third floor up.” Wasn’t hard to figure that one out. “With Outsiders and vampires around, I’d want a warded buffer zone between me and them.” “A house built to hold up against the rising tide.” It sounded like El, but the voice came from too far away, and El just looked perplexed until he saw the house with the door ajar--the only intact one on the street. The light on the porch was out, but even the wan streetlamps were enough to show the blindingly-white sleeve reaching through the doorway. “Sensible, in a place like this - at least, until the tide stops going back out. A word, please?” “How’d Colonel Sanders get here?” Marcine asked flatly. “What the hell happened here?” “The Outsiders came,” El-two said, waving them in. “Inside, if you please.” Once they were all safely within, he closed the door and addressed his double. “Again, I must stress that it was a very poor decision for you to come here.” “I take issue with your calling it a ‘decision’,” Elbridge said dryly. “This crack in reality wouldn’t have stayed contained forever. The Outsiders are already trying to widen it - they’d have battered down the Gates already if Winter wasn’t keeping them in check.” “Not to the city,” El-two clarified. “Here. Angel Towers. You shouldn’t be here.” “Is she still alive?” Seth asked. El-two simply looked incredulous at Seth’s question for a moment before it hit him. “Ah, I forgot. You’re still...death doesn’t take here, remember? She hasn’t been eaten by an Outsider, so yes - she’s still alive.” “Then I should be here. She’s my daughter.” “You absolutely should be here,” El-two said. “I was referring to him. Us. If we’re to convince her to help, we should not be present.” His spectacles had begun to slide off of his nose; composing himself, El-two pushed them back up to the bridge. “She said that she never wanted to see me again. I can’t expect that she’d react any better to you.” “What happened?” Marcine asked again, then motioned to their surroundings. “Or let me guess--was this your fuckup?” El-two arched an eyebrow. “Why would you even - ah. Pontchartrain. Of course he would have told you.” He sighed. “He blames me for the barrier’s ongoing collapse. The truth of the matter is more complex than that, but I didn’t come here to make excuses. Yes, I had a hand in this.” “The book,” Elbridge said icily. “The book,” El-two confirmed. “After I began sending messages, the boundaries began to shrink - shrink faster, I should say. Metres instead of centimetres. Cracks appeared, and larger creatures began to come through.” “Apparently.” It sounded to Marcine like the people blaming him were right, but blame didn’t matter to the people who’d been eaten already. They couldn’t accomplish anything without losses… “Well. If she hates you, and sees you and herself walking up, I don’t see anything whatsoever going wrong here.” “You should be more concerned with what happens when her guards see him,” El-two said ominously. Seth stiffened. “What guards?” “Thralls,” El-two said. “‘Rehabilitated’ vampires. Oh, and it may be prudent for you to engage the safety on your firearm,” he told Marcine. “Why--” she started to ask, trying to imagine a vampire turning a gun on her. It seemed extremely impractical. Then she went a bit pale. “She wouldn’t have actually…” “As I said,” El-two said listlessly. “Death doesn’t take.” Marcine reexamined the situation. Outsiders had attacked. That was the one way people didn’t come back. If she wanted to protect people from that, and had no hope of escape, and couldn’t just kill herself, and no one else stayed dead… Then why not just mind control a vampire? Although if she had vampire guards and guns, making someone shoot himself seemed excessive. Sun Hill. Cheery name. Sure. She suddenly had no idea what she’d find in there. It might not be her at all. She’d used that as an example of something she’d never do for bad jokes, for gently caress’s sake. “Hardley, if I wanted unrelenting defeatism I’d have asked Rupert to come along,” Elbridge snapped. “Do you have any actual advice for us?” “Don’t go inside,” El-two said simply. “If you’re going to help, it won’t be from speaking with her. This is not about power or skill at magic, although you’ll need those things as well. First and foremost, she’ll need someone to talk her down from her ledge. That cannot be you.” “Why would you say that?” Elbridge asked, suspicious. “That we will need magic? Not that we might, but that I will?” “Miss Sterling, were you born on 31 October?” El-two asked, apropos of nothing. “Uh, no?” “Then neither was the Marcine Sterling in Angel Towers, which means that she is not star-born. This makes her ability to hold off Outsider incursions - seemingly alone and unaided - a matter of some concern,” El-two explained. “A great many evil magics were set free by the Solstice, and I worry that one of them has found its way into her hands.” “Such as?” Marcine asked. “Ghosts, demons, renegade Loa, dread artifacts…” “Our basement?” Elbridge interrupted. “Lost early to the encroaching barrier,” El-two said. “I destroyed what I could and moved and secured what I couldn’t. In the chaos after the first Solstice, and again after her departure, I was able to account for…most of the collection.” “When you see your double,” Elbridge told Marcine, “be very wary of any rings or amulets she’s wearing.” “She wouldn’t use them!” Seth snapped, unable to listen to El-two’s accusations any longer. “If there is one thing, one single thing that I taught her it’s that all power comes at a cost.” He looked down at Marcine, shaking his head in confusion. “You wouldn’t...” But there was an unspoken question in the air between them. Would you? “I wouldn’t,” she muttered, in the same tone as he’d said her mother was fine. Her father turned a stony glare on El-two. “Well then. If we need to face your collection of misfit toys, bringing one of you along seems like our best chance of reaching the upper floors, no matter how much my daughter hates you.” “This is the worst part of being a seer, you know,” El-two said glibly. “Warning people and knowing in advance that they won’t listen.” Elbridge gave his double a look of mild disgust. “I’m beginning to see why they don’t.” “I performed a reading,” El-two said bluntly. “When?” Elbridge demanded. “The moment you entered the city,” El-two said. “If you enter Angel Towers, it will end in tears.” Elbridge crossed his arms. “Show me.” El-two checked his watch. It was a cheap, knockoff Rolex, and not the golden pocketwatch that Elbridge himself carried; privately, he wondered about that. “Six minutes eleven seconds. Let me borrow your deck, because I don’t have time to repeat myself.”
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Feb 9, 2018 22:34
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Roll Call 2: Tower of Illusion Scene: Sun Hill Apartments The parking lot and sidewalk in front of Sun Hill were riddled with holes and cracks that definitely hadn’t been there when Marcine left home a world away. She almost walked right past it. There was an aura around the place that at first said ”don’t even look here”, and when that advice was ignored, more firmly insisted ”stay out.” Had it been a movie scene, Marcine would be the one shouting at the idiot protagonists to stay away from the obviously evil house before they got murdered in the order of their moral failings. Under the circumstances, she clenched her teeth and forced herself to walk up to the doorway. The holes mostly stopped about a foot from the building. The doorframe itself suggested why. The trim was covered entirely in tiny etched runes; carving them all must have taken hours. Some she recognized from El’s ward knowledge. Most of them were unidentifiable. They all gave her the feeling that if she stared at them too long, they might stare back. They hadn’t been enough to keep everything out. Something very large had gouged the walls, and strange raised tunnels ran under the siding, but it all stopped around the third floor. If there were more wards up there, they weren’t visible from the ground. “Do you recognize any of these?” she asked. Seth had followed her without any sign that he’d noticed the aversion field. He studied them, but shook his head, frowning. “Only a few.” The ones he pointed to, she already knew. She turned to look for Elbridge, and found him still at the side of the road. “It’s, er...a work in progress,” Elbridge said, sweating profusely as he took one trudging step at a time toward the doorway at a pace that would have frustrated a tortoise. “Antipathic warding. Nothing I haven’t faced before, of course, but this one seems remarkably-tailored to my tastes...er, distastes.” And how. El-two must have told Marcine’s double a great many things in confidence (or else she’d simply invaded his mind), because the things that Elbridge saw were far too specific to be the work of a simple veil. He saw the sooty faces and dead-eyed stares of the Imber coal-miners who’d survived the collapse, and felt his stomach churn again because he’d known it would happen, he’d wanted to say something but his mother had insisted he keep quiet about the things he saw that no-one else could. He smelled the hideous, putrid-sawdust stench of Willie Wylbore’s lurching corpse and saw his withered entrails spill like writhing grave-worms; the monster barely seemed to notice as it seized Elbridge and hurled him from the chapel roof. He saw himself walk into Roqueza’s tent at Rick’s side, then leave without Warden Cole, telling himself that they’d be back in time to save him... Elbridge had an antidote to that. It was his favourite antidote to bad memories, or vivid nightmares, or the crushing pangs of depressive guilt over the grinding horror of his work. He pulled out a flask and removed the stopper, taking a whiff of the contents’ heady bouquet. One gulp made the coal-diggers go away. Two got rid of the Black Court vampire that had been Willie Wylbore. A third, and he felt ready to take on the world. Three gulps may have been a bit much, but who cared? It wasn’t as if “five o’ clock” meant anything here. (Elbridge rolls Physique to Create Advantage in preparation for the challenge: -/+- +3 = 2, a failure. He takes the Advantage of “Liquid Courage” anyway, but also takes the negative Aspect of “Sip, Don’t Gulp”) Marcine focused on the aura in the air. It felt strange. The magic was definitely hers, but much stronger; and whatever it was doing to him, it was tailor-made for it. Keyed to trigger an emotion, and that emotion seemed to be...regret. The violent kind of regret. The magic didn’t want to listen to her, but it shifted to her command enough for her to ease off the pressure and put her own shield in its way. It didn’t seem to know what to do with like magic from a different source. (Marcine’s Will to CA: (+//-)+4 = 4 to place the advantage “Mental Shielding”.) That little nudge was just enough for El’s well-practised skill at repression to do the rest; resolutely, wearing a broad smile on his face, he marched forward into the tower. Then, swearing and clutching his bruised nose, he actually walked inside. (Elbridge rolls Will to Overcome: ///+ +5 = 6. With both tags, that’s a +10, beating the Obstacle Difficulty by 1!) Marcine wondered if being drunk would be a drawback or a benefit as she followed him through the unlocked door. She felt a moment of disorientation past the threshold, but it was gone before she could figure out where it came from. A second later, she realized that the buzzing was gone and she stood in blessed silence. It had been the main hallway of the first floor, once. Now it looked like a bomb had gone off here. The wallpaper was shredded, ceiling panels and insulation scattered about, scorch marks on the walls, more gouges in the floor like something had dragged itself through. A path wound through the debris toward the staircase, then out of sight around the corner. However her counterpart had fought off the attack, it had taken its toll first. Marcine cautiously stepped further in and kicked a pile of debris, just in case. Her foot impacted it solidly and dislodged a panel, which slid to the floor in a puff of dust. She abruptly had the distinct impression that someone was aware of her. She knew who, and she knew why, but it made her skin crawl all the same. She looked up out of reflex, though all she saw was a broken light. Seth was doing the same thing, so she wasn’t the only one who’d felt it. “We come in peace?” she said. The silence was deafening. Seth walked past her, following the path toward the stairs. “Marcine, it’s me,” he said hoarsely. “I’m here.”
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Feb 9, 2018 22:51
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An Unwelcome Reunion Scene: Sun Hill Apartments Marcine crouched beside Elbridge and put a hand somewhat firmly on his shoulder. Maybe it was best he stayed there for a bit. “I know this is weird,” she said to her unseen double. “It would be easier to explain face-to-face, but the short version is he’s not the El you know, and we have a way to get out of here and we could use your help to do it.” No response. She frowned, thinking. Something an Outsider couldn't impersonate… She couldn't speak Welsh, but she knew something almost as confusing. She took her violin out of its case and stood as she started to play a soft and gentle melody. Maybe it was cheesy to go straight to video game music, but she loved that soundtrack and Outsiders probably weren't well-versed in conlangs. ...Well. Maybe Klingon. (Rapport to overcome vs diff 7: (++++)+5 = 9! Hymmnos OP.) “Beautiful,” said a gentle voice, when she finished. “A song that speaks to the heart.” There was a slim androgynous person standing just in front of her. They were extremely pale, with black hair tied back in a tight bun, and wore an eastern style silk robe in midnight blue, with silver embroidered into the sleeves. They dipped their head slightly in greeting. “Where did you learn to play it?” Marcine lowered her violin slowly. She hadn’t expected a total stranger. Another illusion, probably--but a weird one. “It was from a game. I just listened to it a lot.” “I know that game.” They walked in a circle around her, and there was something off about them, as though their movement didn’t quite line up with the steps they were taking. “Are you Marcine Sterling?” Even with just two words, she felt the uncomfortable tug on her True Name. They knew the whole thing. This must be whatever her double had teamed up with. “One of them,” she said warily. “It turns out parallel universes exist. Who knew?” They didn’t seem surprised. “Ah, the wizard’s beacon has attracted some would-be heroes at last. You are a long ways from home. But why have you come here? Surely you can do anything that she can.” Like she was going to tell some possibly-evil Thing, even if they did know her Name. They seemed pleasant enough, but their demeanor put her on edge. Reminded her a bit of that vision from the grue’s cave. She pointed upward with her bow. “That information’s classified.” They glanced up. “That area is restricted. If you want to speak to yourself, you must satisfy me first.” “And who are you?” “The property manager.” They smiled pleasantly. Elbridge squinted while Marcine spoke to the empty air. It seemed empty, at least - if he looked closely, he could discern a faint distortion in front of her, a sort of fuzziness. But then, everything was a little fuzzy to him at the moment. “Why are you talking to yourself?” he asked. “I’m the one who’s drunk.” The ‘manager’ glanced down at Elbridge. “Tsk. You could fix that.” “That’s his problem,” she said flatly. “I don't even know how he managed it.” “Grapefruit, absinthe, and just a dash of everclear,” Elbridge slurred. “That’s not a drink, that’s a cleaning agent.” “Sola dosis facit vomitum*,” El misquoted. “Yet I’m the one talking to things that aren't there,” she sighed. The stranger hid a laugh with one overlong sleeve. “For that, I will let him live a moment longer.” That put Marcine back on guard. “We’re not here for a fight.” “You shouldn’t be here at all. For the song, and the joke, I’ll grant both of you one opportunity to leave. I advise you to take it, and never return to this place.” They waved one pristine hand dismissively. “You can go die as heroes elsewhere, or here in my lobby, if you prefer. I don’t mind either way.” She glanced toward the ceiling again. Her double had to still be listening. “We have a way out of here. Thought you might want in on that.” A needle appeared in the manager’s hand, six inches long and sharp on both ends. “We’ve heard that before.” Marcine wondered what an illusion was going to do with a needle. Her illusions couldn’t really hurt anyone. She could give the impression of pain, but it wouldn’t do anything. But she couldn’t have made an impenetrable stone wall, either, and she was starting to wonder if this was even the illusion it seemed to be. She didn’t sense anything, but that could be a block. She focused and pushed past it. The person in front of her was neither a person, nor actually in front of her. It wasn’t an illusion in the usual sense either, any more than the glowing tip of an anglerfish’s lure was an illusion. It was merely a tiny piece of a much larger… Much, much larger… “Hello.” The word echoed inside her own skull. It was all around her, like a monstrous beast holding her between its paws. She lost sight of the apartment, of Elbridge, of everything. All she could feel in that singular moment was its overwhelming desire to own her. Like a living doll, that could be taken out and played with and put away when it wasn’t wanted. It was so strong that her empathic sense overloaded and after a brief, horrible burst of pain, blanked out. The rest of her nearly went with it. The bow slipped from her hand. She staggered on her feet and just barely had the presence of mind not to trip on Elbridge. She knew that presence. She knew that helplessness, watching herself reach for a silver coin. She nearly bolted. Running would have been the smart thing to do--take him up on his offer to leave and never look back. But Elbridge was here. Her father was here. She clamped a hand over the brooch like a talisman. “I’m sure Zophiel would love to get another crack at you,” she growled. (Accepting a compel on “Singer to the Soul”; Marcine’s empathic sense is burned out for a while after trying to use it on a Denarian. FP: 5->6) The image of the robe-wearing person was gone, but the voice in her head wasn’t. Its attention rested firmly on the brooch of feathers that she was clutching. “Ah, so we’ve met before. I wondered if those were his.” She crouched to put her violin back in its case, shaking Elbridge as she did so. She tried to add a cantrip to focus his mind, but a sharp twinge of pain in her own head told her that wasn’t going to work. “At least get up.” “Oh, if you insist,” he grumbled, pulling himself haltingly to his feet. Elbridge clearly had a lot of practice at being drunk, keeping one hand on a solid surface at all times to steady himself. As it turned out, dealing with illusions wasn’t that different from dealing with inebriation. Marcine slung the case strap over her shoulder and pounded a fist against the wall again. It was probably the Fallen’s work. Or both of them, she supposed, and wondered if her other self was still even her or if this thing had taken her over. Her jaw clenched. Warden swords were supposed to cut through enchantments, right? Elbridge was in no shape to go swinging around a sharp implement. “Borrowing this.” She pulled the sheath off his belt and drew Rick’s sword. It was somewhat reassuring to have an enchanted weapon in her hand. She held it up and sighed. “Guess I should be glad that you can’t see me make myself a liar.” She pressed the tip against the wall. It scraped, but didn’t feel right--sort of delayed, not where it should be. Her double probably hadn’t thought very hard on how to make a surface feel through another object. Marcine decided to focus on that, rather than how she shouldn’t have been able to feel it through a sword at all. It wasn’t really there and there would be no resistance. She drew her arm back and stabbed forward. (Marcine’s Will vs diff 8 to dispel the wall, using the Reforged Warden Sword for a +2 bonus: (-+++)+4+2 = 8) It passed right through. What little resistance she felt at first dissolved, and when she slashed it back out, so did the rest of the illusion. There was nothing on the other side. Literally. A white expanse, bright and empty, like a scene from the Matrix. It spread before her eyes, erasing the apartment around and behind them. Elbridge continued leaning on the empty air. “A neat trick…but can you cut what’s not there?” Marcine angled the sword to show what was in front of them in the reflection, but all it showed was more white. “Guess not,” she said aloud, and raised an eyebrow at Elbridge, still propped up on nothing. Elbridge maintained his slouch against the absent guardrail, only listing to one side once he noticed the change. “Why’d you go and do that?” he grumbled. “T’was real enough for me…” Marcine did not have the patience for this. “Sober up. This is a loving Denarian.” Elbridge blinked. Then he blinked again. Then a third time, as if to confirm that yes, this really was happening. “...balls,” he muttered. “I was right. I’ll bet I’m simply insufferable about it, too.” “I’m sure. Do you have a way to get over it?” “I delivered my Master’s dissertation on a fifth of vodka,” Elbridge stated, and pulled out the cloth-wrapped bundle that held the faerie mirror. “I’ll manage.” He cleared his throat. ”Mirror, mirror, in my hands / We find ourselves in unmapped lands / Where pathways twist and visions lie / A safe path up, I bid thee scry.” (Elbridge rolls Lore: Divinations to Create Advantage by letting us see the truth through any intact mirrors left in the apartment complex: /+/+ +5 = 7, nice. Aspect placed: “Not-So-Sober Reflections) The mirror went opaque for a moment, shadows flitting across the surface like ripples in a pond, before a single clear image appeared. It was strangely distorted, bowed as though the surface was curved instead of flat. Elbridge could see himself from the side in it, and Marcine, and a ruined lobby that resembled what they’d actually walked into when they first entered. “See?” He held out the mirror for Marcine to observe. “Not to worry.” While they looked, he furrowed his brow, searching the image. “...or perhaps we should. I can’t see Wizard Sterling anywhere.” “Dad can handle himself.” But against a Denarian who used the same kind of magic she did? Marcine sounded more certain than she felt. She turned until she was facing her own reflection, grabbed El’s arm and started walking, holding the sword angled out in front of her in case something else decided to get in their way. “A toy for every trick, I see…” But the Denarian didn’t interfere further; its presence simply followed her, like a vulture. It was like navigating a maze, upside down and backwards. She managed to keep herself oriented but if she hadn’t remembered what the lobby looked like before it was attacked she might have had a lot more trouble. When they reached the stairs she set one foot up, and as it took her weight, the white room dissolved like the other illusions before it, leaving her on the first step of a darkened stairwell. The lobby appeared again behind them, and for a moment it was quiet. *”Only the dose makes the vomit”, a pun on Paracelsus’ famous adage “Sola dosis facit venenum”, or “the dose alone makes the poison”
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Feb 9, 2018 22:55
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A Welcome Reunion Scene: Sun Hill Apartments All Seth knew was that he was alone, and being alone was terrifying. It had occurred to him that it might be some effect of Marcine’s traps, several times, but each time it was overwritten by a gnawing sense of dread that made his stomach churn. If he moved, something terrible would happen. Safer together. But they weren’t together. Over and over, no matter how he tried to think of something else, like how this was nonsense. Or how he’d been fine until the wall appeared. Or that Marcine wouldn’t hurt him. She wouldn’t. He was alone. He wasn’t sure if he’d heard her reach his mind or if he’d just hallucinated it. She wouldn’t hurt him. Neither of her. He should scry, or track, or do anything but hide in a coat closet from his own daughter, staring into the conjured light in his hand-- Safer together. But he was alone. The sound of footsteps outside roused him partway from his stupor, but the nagging thought didn’t leave until the door opened and he was looking up at Marcine. His Marcine. A weight of six years that felt like six decades lifted from his shoulders as she shut the door behind her and knelt beside him in the dark. --- Marcine opened the closet to find her father sitting on the floor with his hands pressed to his head. He looked up and drew a shaking breath like the weight of the world had just been lifted off his shoulders. The compulsion eased off. She closed the door and let him pull her into a fierce hug. “Marcine,” he said hoarsely. “Marcine… I’ve been looking for so long. I missed you so much.” “I missed you too, Dad.” He shouldn’t be here. Of all the people to wander in, it couldn’t be him, who’d drilled it into her head that power was never free and that the Laws existed for a drat good reason and all sorts of good, sane principles that had broken along with time, causality and death. But...here he was. She’d never expected to see him again. Her eyes stung. “What are you doing here?” “Finding you,” he said, as if that should be obvious, and it was, really. “We had no idea where to look until they arrived.” He loosened his hold but kept an arm around her, sitting beside him on the floor. “Now there’s a story.” Marcine shot the door a dirty look. “Before you go telling it, I need to figure out what she did.” “I feel fine now,” he said. “I’m...not even sure why I’m in here.” He looked around the tiny space. “Why am I in a closet?” She snorted. “Because you haven’t come out of it.” Seth rolled his eyes. “Of course. I suppose it’s about time I caught up with you and your mother.” She smiled and leaned against his shoulder, letting her head touch his, and traced the compulsion again. She didn’t have to read his mind, just look for her own handiwork. What she found was a very simple compulsion: Just the impression of We’re safe together. It should have slipped into his mind, calmed the argument, and then faded without him even noticing it. Except it had an addition, like a little knot in a chain. Marcine unraveled it. The compulsion slipped free like it was supposed to, and she was left with the entangling cluster of memory fragments. One, of leaving a man she cared for bound and at the mercy of an enemy. Ignoring the urge to help. Trusting him. A horrible, frozen moment when she reached for a mind that was no longer there. The impression that she’d already failed once, and how she couldn’t--absolutely could not--let it happen again. “She was afraid of you coming here alone,” Marcine observed, “because something happened to someone else she cared about. It messed up something that should have been harmless.” Seth ran a hand over his hair as if that could brush off the remnants of the compulsion. She sensed him going through several different emotional responses as he chose what to address. “The Warden,” he said finally. “It seems they were close. I didn’t meet him.” He sighed. “He used his death curse on the other side. Hasn’t even been a full day since yet.” “Oh.” The compulsion made more sense now. Marcine watched the crack under the door, but the constant half-light didn’t cast any shadows to indicate where they were outside. “Where the hell did they come from?” “It’s a long story,” he said tiredly. “The short version is that this is a separate timeline that split off from theirs. The split happened because of their Narcissus, who also caused all this--” he waved at their surroundings and banged his hand on the wall with a wince “--somehow, and they just happened to end up over here...somehow.” He rubbed his forehead like it hurt to think. “I only got there last night.” “And they think they can fix it,” she said. “If they can’t, no one can, because they managed to get Winter and part of Summer to work toward a mutual goal, and got the Council to move their asses, and then summoned an angel to top it off. Did I mention the demon in a kid’s backpack? Because they have one of those, too.” Marcine laughed faintly. “Did they get the Red Court to call a truce while they were at it?” “No, but that death curse took out one of their top members, and apparently in their timeline, someone wiped them out entirely with another.” It sounded too ridiculous to be true, but though he said it lightly, he wasn’t joking. “So…” “None of this was supposed to happen,” Seth said. “There’s a world where it didn’t, and we’re in a time dilation that’s made six years pass in the span of perhaps seconds to theirs, even outside this bubble.” He pressed a hand to his face. “They kept saying you were in the Nevernever, but I knew. I knew they were in the wrong place the whole time, but if they hadn’t shown up…” He sighed heavily and looked at her, squeezing her shoulders, as if to prove to himself that she was really there. “I wouldn’t have found you. Six years, and they solved it all in a week. Whatever they say they can do, believe it.” “We’ve been trying to find a way out,” Marcine said. “I got nothing. Elbridge made everything worse. The Reds are the ones in power. I’ve had to fight off them, and Outsiders, and gently caress knows what else, and I can’t leave here if I don’t know for damned certain that it’ll mean everyone in this building is safe because they’re all hanging around outside my wards.” Seth frowned. “The neighborhood was empty when we came through.” “As far as you saw,” she muttered. His mood shifted, and she already knew she wasn’t going to like where he was headed before he opened his mouth again. “Your Elbridge spoke to us before we got here.” “I’m sure he did.” “Have you broken the Laws?” She grimaced, her head turned away from him. “I don’t know, does living in a nightmare version of Groundhog Day count if I had nothing to do with it starting?” “Marcine…” She wasn’t going to evade him. She never could hide things from him for long, and he’d find out somehow, if the duplicates in the hall really did have a way to fix things. “What do you want me to say? Laws went out the window with consequences and the sun. Death is just a shortcut home. When dying doesn’t matter, lessons don’t stick.” “It’s not your job to teach lessons.” “When people choose to start selling each other to the Reds in exchange for a good loving time, it’s someone’s job.” She laughed bitterly. “But don’t worry. I haven’t left this building in three years. Turns out you can’t save people from themselves.” Silence for a moment. Then, “But you managed to fight off Outsiders.” Elbridge had told her about Starborn. Her father would know, too. She didn’t want to tell him. But he’d find out soon enough. Shamsiel would make himself known one way or another. This had never even occurred to her. Meeting her father again had seemed impossible. She felt cold. She lifted the necklace chain and let the silver coin on the end glint in his light. He stared. “Is that--?” He reached out on sheer reflex as if to snatch it. “Of everything I taught you--!” She recoiled and shoved herself to her feet, clapping the coin against her chest, as much to keep it away from his instinctive grab for the dangerous thing as in her own defense.. “What was I supposed to do? You saw it out there! El’s wards didn’t do a goddamn thing to stop them and what the gently caress was I going to do on my own?” Her reaction made him pause long enough to realize what he’d tried to do. He pulled his hand back. “But if death doesn’t matter--” “It does with Outsiders.” She slipped the coin back behind her blouse. “Think for a minute. Everything looks perfect out there, right? Except for the damage they caused. Death sticks.” She looked away, haunted. “Or worse. They ate Maksim. Before all this. But sometimes I swear I still feel him...” Seth drew an unsettled breath, then stood and pulled her back into his embrace. “We’ll sort it out later.” With those words, some of the weight eased off of her. Marcine’s eyes stung again. This time, she hugged him back tightly, dropping her head against his shoulder. “I’m so glad to see you again, Dad.”
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Feb 9, 2018 22:59
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The Clock Ticks Scene: All Around the City “I guess that went about as well as it could have,” Marcine said as they left the apartments. The buzzing was back in her head and her skin crawled with the awareness that there could be Outsiders lurking anywhere. She gritted her teeth and stayed alert. No point talking until they were safe(r) in the car. They were nearly there when a sound, like distant fracturing glass, made them look up. A crack shot upward through the sky, across the dome of the barrier. More cracks spread outward from it like a growing spiderweb, until with a terrible shatter they felt more than heard, it gave way and fell inward. For an awful moment, she thought she saw the horde of Outsiders lurking on the other side, waiting for this very opportunity. Then the sky collapsed, wavered, and returned to grey, like it had been before. Except a moment ago, she’d seen buildings in the distance. Now, there was only the same empty grey void as the rest of the sky. She knew that skyline. Those buildings were only a few miles away. Marcine sucked in a harsh breath and only then realized she’d stopped breathing. “Holy poo poo.” “...we need to hurry,” Elbridge said tensely. “Then I’ll pick you up at the curb.” She broke into a flat sprint for her car. --- Her counterpart stood at the window of her apartment. She’d seen this happen too many times before. Every time, they got closer. Eventually one would swallow up her and everything she’d worked so hard to protect. It had nearly been this one. She felt her father’s hand on her shoulder, trembling slightly. She was right, she thought. This really is our last shot. Are you afraid? Shamsiel asked. She looked for the high-rises that she’d seen every day from her window for all the years she’d lived here, but they were gone. Like everything else between there and the edge before this. Let’s say a dragon doesn’t sound so bad right now. Finally, a fitting audience for us. Not some low ranking vampire or idiot thug but a true opponent… I have longed to show you what you are truly capable of, Marcine. Not for the first time, they saw the destruction through her eyes and didn’t care. She tore her eyes away from the scene outside to finish getting what she needed. Finally, something she could punch in the face--figuratively and maybe literally--to solve her problems. All of them. Permanently. Good. I’m looking forward to it. --- Rupert turned at the sound of fracturing glass, the piercing tone interrupting the quiet stillness of the street they were walking down on the way back to the bar, his hand dropping briefly to the purloined handgun at his waist before he saw it. Frozen in place, he watched silently as more of the city fell to the Outsiders. “Well,” he grumbled, “That can't be good.” “We should go back to the bar,” Ed said. “But…” Lucy looked over her shoulder, as if she hoped that somehow, Turner would be there. But he wasn’t, and her brother was right. “Yeah. We’re out of time.” Rupert was silent for a moment, watching the now much closer grey sky. Turning to follow after the kids, he said to himself quietly, “Still got a chance. Just need to believe.”
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Feb 13, 2018 05:01
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Burninating all the Peoples, Round 3 Scene: Race Track Scene Aspects: Drou’s Mobile Armory, Biker Edward Marcine swallowed back nausea and tried to focus through the shock. In a moment, it lessened, as Shamsiel blocked out the worst of it. The world seemed to swirl around her in a haze. Then she realized there was something swirling around her. She sang a piercing note as she reached out to the ambient magic that saturated the fairground and wrenched it into her control. Her song shifted it in her grasp, and she sent it on until the air near the others all but crackled with it. (Acoustics to CA: (+-b-)+5 = 4, placing the aspect “Channeled Magic” with one tag.) Tor peered at Marcine, tilting his head to catch the song. “Not fly, bird…” he said, opening his mouth again. The prism in his throat glittered ominously but was still charging… (Tor takes the puck and breaths in… Puck to Elbridge.) “Abel.” El-2 whispered, and his words carried despite the impossible distance between them. “Tear gas.” Drou didn’t flinch. He was used to the spooky poo poo by now, but he still had questions. “Where, man? I can’t see through this Bargain Basement Godzilla poo poo!” “Open mouth.” The eyepiece of Drou’s scope frosted over, but he could still see...not what was on the other end. The view was moving, following the arc of the ballistic trajectory, just like in The Matrix and every loving movie that had ripped off The Matrix, showing him a clear path from the end of his barrel to Tor’s cavernous maw. “Dead centre. Five second delay, starting now.” Five. Drou pulled back the handle and rested the stock against his shoulder. Four. He cycled the drum. Three. He primed the fuse. Two. He took aim. One. “Thank you, defense overspending.” Drou squeezed the trigger and fired. A hissing canister of olive-drab metal shot from the end of his grenade launcher and whizzed through the air. It flew true through the distortions of the anomaly, over the heads of the wizards on the ground, past the cloud of burnt feathers from the maimed Denarian… ...and snagged, short of its mark, on a cancerous mass of jagged dental tissue that had erupted from one side of Tor’s mouth like an elephant’s tusk. “Did I hit?” Drou shouted, still barely-audible over the din of battle. “Er…” El-2 mumbled, his vision returning to his own perspective. The canister was still caught on the side of Tor’s face. It was starting to fume, but it was precariously-lodged, and even a light scratch would knock it to the ground. He glanced to Marcine, wondered if this was really worth the effort, and sighed. A sharp, precise nudge of telekinetic force jostled the canister over into Tor’s mouth and down his gullet. “Yes,” El-2 answered. “Yes, you did.” (Battle of the Invokes! El-2 rolls Notice to direct Drou’s grenade fire: //-+ +5 = 5. Tor defends with Athletics: +--+ +6 = 6! Not good enough, so El-2 invokes on “We Are Cancelling The Apocalypse” to shut down that lazer-breath with a 7. Tor counter-invokes on “Unnaturally-Grown” to foul the shot with his face’s freakish, Escher-esque shape. El-2 escalates with “Remember What You’re Fighting For” to SAVE a life for once, and Tor has nothing left to raise on. The Aspect sticks: “WARNING: Choking Hazard”. El-2 FP 3->1, GM FP 6->5. Puck to Old Rupert.) Nestled beneath his mud-covered cloak, Old Rupert lowered his rifle, resting it on the ground beside him. Clenching his hands into fists, he punched one skywards, knocking his cloak to the side as he muttered the first part of his incantation, drawing the excessive ambient magic Shamsiel had so kindly provided. His eyes flashed with light as he channeled the magic through himself, down into his other fist - a fist he had plunged straight down into the ground. Almost hissing, he muttered the second half of the incantation as he released the energy into the ground below. The earth below Tor’s mighty claw began to crackle with energy, hardening into a rough circle of solid rock. With a rumble, a pillar shot straight upwards, topped with a vice-like claw. Unerringly, the stone claw speared towards the claw’s wrist, striking out like the limb of a massive earthen crab, grasping the dragon’s limb within its stone grasp. (Old Rupert, Earth Combat: +/++ +6 = +9 & W:2, invoking “Channeled Magic” to force Tor to defend at +0. Tor’s defense: //-+ = +0. Uses his free invoke on “Just like King Kong”, and invokes his “Capital D Dragon” and “Armored Arm” aspects to gain +6. (GM FP 5 > 3.) Rupert counter-invokes on “The Memory Of What Once Was” for another +2. (FP: 5->4). Rupert downgrades by 1 stress to take a boost for his SWS: “Crab Claw Action Feature!”. Tor is forced to take his mild, “RSI: Rupert-caused Strain Injury” and mark his 4th box. Phys: OOOXO) Tor struggled, his remaining arm caught in the grip of Rupert’s stone one. He coughed and choked on the gas canister, smoke running from between his teeth and tears streaming from his eyes. He clenched his fist around Marcine, trying to squeeze her like a grape. She pushed away Shamsiel’s block on her pain. She doubled over again as it rushed back, but forced the sensation straight into Tor’s nerves. His claw spasmed. It hurt, but she wasn’t crushed just yet. “I’ve had about enough of this,” Shamsiel grumbled. “You don’t loving say,” Marcine growled through clenched teeth. (Tor attacks: (-+b-)+7 = 6. Marcine defends with Mentalism: (+b+-)+5 = 6. She marks her second stress box. Pass to head.) The light in Tor’s throat flashed through the cloud of smoke, and the multicolored blast emerged, but refracted and dull compared to the focused laser it had previously been, and cut off short as the dragon had another coughing fit. The blast hit the image Marcine conjured of herself dead on, but slightly below that, it grazed her wing. She could still fly, but not for long if this kept up. (The laser fires! Well, it tries to. Elbridge invokes his Choking Hazard for effect, which removes the W:rating from the laser breath. (-+-b)+6 = 5. Marcine defends with another illusion: 4dF+5 = (bb-b)+5 = 4. Takes 1 stress, filling her first box.)
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May 22, 2018 01:28
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Well, Gee, That Was the End of the Song, Round 6 Scene: Race Track Scene Aspects: Drou’s Mobile Armory, Biker Edward The motorcycle came to a stop well out of the oversized claw’s reach. Marcine took in the battle from a new angle. If the dragon could just regenerate hands with the anomaly’s magic, destroying them wasn't going to get them very far. They needed to go for the head, stop the beast from thinking…if it didn't have a way to reverse that, too. Who even knew at this point. Her body was broken, but that didn't mean she was helpless just yet. The air was heavy with residue from Tor’s attacks. Once again, she sang. Her voice stirred the magic, swept it up, converted it to her own use. It carried across the battlefield to Elbridge and Rupert and saturated the air around them with a ready force bent to her will. And her will was to murder this loving dragon. (Will?: (bbb+)+5 = 6! SwS so two invokes on Channeled Magic at +3 each, puck to El) Elbridge felt Marcine’s rage. It was distant, muted, but there nonetheless. He was aware of the waves of raw emotion, but he wasn’t carried by them, swept away in their currents. Even if he’d wanted to let the Denarian into his mind, the spellwork he’d chiseled into his own skull left him numb to her fury...and to his own. The second Elbridge felt very little these days, and it was difficult to say if that was the warding or just the sheer weight of exhaustion taking its toll. But rage was power, and Elbridge knew how to turn that power toward a purpose, and so he did exactly that. “Here,” Elbridge shouted at Tor, muffled by his makeshift filter, “let me help you with that. Kardama!” Groundwater surged up from below, closer at hand than ever thanks to the rising water table that would likely soon drown all of Louisiana. For now, however, only a small portion of the fairgrounds was going under, and that portion was directly underneath Tor. The foundations went out from under his little sandcastle, and its defensive value plummeted accordingly, as did a largish chunk of Tor himself. (Elbridge uses Will to CA on the ground in A2, turning it into a swamp underneath Tor: -//+ +5 = 5. Aspect placed: “Going Under”, which also obliterates “Homemade Dirtcastle”. Tor raises with the free Invoke on “Homemade Dirtcastle” but El counters by tagging “Channeled Magic”. Two can play the game of loving with each others’ Aspects, Fat Dragon! Puck to the head.) Tor sank, more on his left side than his right, where his withered arm was too bullet-riddled to support his massive girth. “No!” he shouted, as the mud coated his white scales an ugly brown. “Nooooooo!” He opened his mouth in a roar, and El saw the prism flashing in his throat as the light swiftly built in intensity. (Tor aims at B1 for some sweet laser-revenge. Will fire at the end of the round. Puck to Rupert!) Rupert growled, dropping low again, his rifle’s barrel silent once more. Tor had started charging up his breath again, and that damned fool Elbridge was standing right in the open, right in his firing line. As obnoxious as the old wizard was… they weren’t going to win this scrap if people started going down. Reaching down into the ground, he started on a spell. The ground beneath Elbridge’s feet bubbled and shuddered, but the distance was too great, and there was too much groundwater to deal with, and so Rupert’s spell began to peter out, the task of forming a solid platform to move proving unmanageable. Shaking his head, he shouted out, “Ed! Need a hand!” The Suzuki barely had time to rev up before he was at Rupert’s side. He flipped his visor up. “I’m here, what’s up?” “Damned fool Elbridge made himself a bloody target and there’s too much groundwater to drag him away,” grumbled Rupert, “Remember that heat beam spell we worked on? I need you to dry out the ground under him, but be quick and then get yourself clear.” Edward glanced down at the bike. “Gonna hex the poo poo out of my ride, but okay! Counting on you to get us out of there!” He didn’t wait for Rupert to respond, just hit the throttle and took off. The mud was deep but Ed wasn’t about to let that stop him. He held a charm paper between two fingers and yelled “KATON!” Heat radiated in a circle around him, like a tiny meteor. The Suzuki choked and died almost immediately, but Ed held the paper behind him like a rocket flare, propelling himself forward (and popping a sick wheelie.) A white contrail of steam chased after him as the water evaporated in his wake. He jumped off the bike when he reached Elbridge. The Suzuki kept going for a while, fell to one side, and sank unceremoniously. Under the helmet, Ed winced. If they made it through this, Cole was not going to be happy. He tossed the burned stub of his charm aside and pulled a fresh one out of his belt pouch. “Hey old man, need a ride?” He was smirking, even under the glare of the horrible light in Tor’s maw, as he yanked the wizard out of the rapidly caking mud. “Much - *haaaaack* appreciated, yes,” El-2 told him, choking fumes still clinging to his no-longer-white-at-all suit. He fumbled with his free hand until he found solid purchase on Ed’s other arm. “Er…” he glanced up at the ominous glow from the dragon’s maw. “Sooner would be better than later.” “READY!” Ed yelled back to Rupert. Seconds after Ed’s feet hit the ground next to El’s, Rupert repeated his spell. The now-dry mud proved a much better medium and a disc of almost rock hard mud bobbed beneath their feet in the otherwise swampy track. With a flick of Rupert’s wrist, he motioned towards himself and the disc started to gather speed, skimming atop the loose mud like a strange misshapen surfboard. Not a moment too soon, the platform skidded to a stop near Rupert, safely away from the dragon’s dangerous breath. Dragging himself up, Rupert nodded at Ed, “Well done.” Ed took off his helmet, his short blonde hair was plastered to his head with sweat. “Thanks, you too.” He held up his charm. “Guess I’m grounded. Let’s get this bastard.” (Rupert, Magical Physique: ---+ +4 = +2. Fails to meet difficulty 4 so invoke on Ed to hit the difficulty and succeed at a minor cost (of Ed’s bike) (FP: 2->1). El moves to B2. Ed’s aspect changes from “Biker Ed” to “Fire Ninja Ed” Puck to Might Claw.) Tor’s mighty arm buried itself in the mud, coating it entirely as the steam from Ed’s spell washed over him, drying it into a cement-like armored shell. The rainbow light burst from his mouth with a thunderous PEW! PEW! WWWOOOOOP! And the area where Ed and El had just been was slagged completely. Including, Ed was horrified to see, Cole’s borrowed motorcycle. (Might Claw uses Physique to coat itself in quick-dry mud: (++bb)+7 = 9! Vs a flat three so SWS. “Indestructible Paper-Mache Armor” created on the Might Arm with 2 invokes. Rave breath fires, but no one is there to feel it. Alas. Puck to… Wait…Incoming Peanut Gallery!)
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May 22, 2018 01:36
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Zophie’s Choice Scene: Behind the Dragon There was nowhere to hide. Nowhere to run. They wouldn't make it through the door, even as Tor’s tail jerked out of the anomaly in a death spasm. Marcine braced herself helplessly and clutched the brooch, all but crushing feathers in her grasp. “Zophiel!” The lake exploded as the impact shockwave emptied it. It should have blasted them all to kingdom come, along with the gazebo and the arch, and no amount of magic would have stopped it… but instead it split around the island, destroying the stands and everything to either side of them. When the light faded enough to see again, there stood an angel. His wings were spread wide and curled towards them, granting shelter. His sword was tip-down in the earth, and he leaned heavily on it. Everything went silent. The dragon did not stir again. Zophiel dropped to one knee, head down. Marcine thought she’d gone deaf until she heard Jenny’s breathing by her ear. She reached toward Zophiel, but her chest throbbed a warning that carrying an unconscious woman was already past her limit. “Are you okay?” “That… is my line,” Zophiel said, raising his eyes. He didn’t look okay. Hugues slapped Narcissus’ palm onto the panel one more time and this time the arch lit up, and the door swung inwards, into darkness. “It’s open!” “It’s...it’s open,” El echoed numbly. The right lens of his spectacles had cracked, turning a sooty black as if scorched by the terrible heat. He’d done that. He’d actually just done that. And more than just the way was open - that ragged hole in the sky was still there, a few more pieces of the dome splintering and flying off into space as he watched. Elbridge knew a thing or two about astronomy, and while this wasn’t the ideal vantage for stargazing, it was clear from a glance that the city was nowhere near Earth. Alien constellations glimmered in the broken sky, and the nearest star burned the bright, halogen blue of an A-type. Marcine tore her eyes from the hole and carried Jenny toward the door, but nearly dropped her when a horrendous buzzing grazed across her mind. “Did he just break the loving world?” she demanded. “Not...yet,” Elbridge said, still staggered by what he’d just witnessed. “That’s a shot below the waterline, yes...because the ship was already sinking, and it’s on us to bail it out. The seed. We need to get through and plant the seed, or everything is lost.” “Then get inside.” Marcine blocked out the buzzing with an effort of will that felt something like trying to block a running faucet with her hands and got Jenny through the door. “Move it,” grunted Rupert, shoving a transfixed Nicky forwards, towards the portal, “No time to stand around watching, there’s worlds to save.” “Quite…” Nicky stumbled at the push and then paused at the gate to stare for just another second. He looked at Elbridge, shaking his head as if he wasn’t sure who he was seeing. Then he ducked through. Rupert glanced skyward again as he trudged towards the gate, watching the display, and muttered under his breath as he stepped into the portal, “Bloody hell, El, hope you thought this through.” “Always,” El said. His tone wasn’t exactly reassuring. “...Zophiel,” he said once Rupert had gone. “How are you holding up?” He pushed himself to his feet and turned back to witness the destruction. His wings were shredded. “Not well. You?” “Dreadful.” Elbridge tried to wipe the soot from his right lens, only to find that the glass itself had been darkened and discoloured. It should have been hot to the touch, hot enough that it would have hurt...why didn’t it hurt? Why could he only feel numb at what he’d just witnessed? Was this truly what he’d done to himself? So hardened against horror as to become that horror? “...did they survive?” El asked. It was clear from his tone that he wasn’t talking about his own double. Zophiel smirked, perhaps for the first time in centuries. “I cheated,” he said. Elbridge blinked. It hurt, and his eyelids felt stiff, and it wasn’t until that exact moment that he realized he hadn’t blinked for the better part of the past hour. “How…?” “By making a choice.” His eyes turned upward. There were eyes out there in the black, more congregating by the second. A feather fell to the ground. “The scales must balance. By abusing my power, I allowed another to abuse their own. I pray they used it well.” “Yes, well, I...er…” Elbridge watched as the dark closed in and one by one, the stars began to vanish behind a curtain of writhing black. “I can relate.” Zophiel had scarcely moved since he’d appeared, and suddenly Elbridge found himself wondering if he could. After taking the full brunt of the blast for them. “Here.” Elbridge stooped down, draping one of the angel’s arms over his back like he would to help a drunken friend home, gingerly avoiding Zophiel’s maimed wings. “We’ve got a ways to go yet.” “I dare not be of more use,” Zophiel said, looking ashamed. “Lest Mel’karshok get her wish after all.” “It’s alright,” Elbridge said, sincere in his reassurance as he helped Zophiel toward the portal. “You don’t have to go home, but we can’t stay here.” They limped together for a few steps, and Zophiel leaned over to whisper something in Elbridge’s ear. “Yes,” Elbridge told him. “Yes, I do.”
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Jun 16, 2018 00:02
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Song of the Seedling Scene: Yggdrasil “If the worm shows up, yell and get out of the way.” Marcine stepped into the gap and had to crouch for a moment while her equilibrium adjusted. Gravity was mostly down-ish with the bulk of the tree, but it also pulled at her from both sides, nauseatingly. She made her way to the bottom cautiously. The center was rotten. The whole thing might give way if she tried to plant the seed in it. She’d always heard that a fire cleared the way for new growth, she mused as she braced herself above the worst of it, and carved a chunk of rotten wood away with the sword. When nothing caught fire that she didn’t want to be on fire, she attacked it vigorously. Shouldn’t Summer’s power prevent this? Who even knew what the gently caress Narcissus thought he was doing. Dead wood burned and flaked away in chunks until, after what felt like an eternity to her already-sore chest, she had exposed healthy wood beneath the decay. She placed the seed in the new gap, slipped the sword (carefully) through her belt and took out her violin. Then she played in a major key, warm and encouraging as Summer at its best, urging the seed to grow. (Rapport vs diff 8: (+b+-)+5 = 6. Marcine invokes on Friend to All Seasons, GM counter-invokes to place the scene aspect Deep Spread Rot, and Marcine counter-counters on Nudged by an Angel to succeed at a minor cost with +10.) Something within the seed responded. The answer to a question without words, a note of limitless potential. It was very soft at first, humming along inside her head. Not human, not faerie, but something different. Wholesome in the way the distant buzzing of the Outsiders was toxic. It resonated in Marcine’s mind, a feeling of prosperity, innovation, progress… Look how far you’ve come! Imagine how far you’ll go! There was another voice too, much deeper, much slower, emitting a single steady tone. It wavered once, then began again. It was too big for Marcine to make out any individual thoughts or expressions, like trying to reach for the bottom of the ocean. The third was a discordant song, fearful and in pain. Trying to harmonize and failing, over and over again. It hurt to listen to, hurt to think about. It didn’t fit, but it longed to. This voice too was far larger than the seed’s, and Marcine herself couldn’t reach it. But the seed was growing, in size and in volume. They needed to connect. The tree and branch threatened to drag her in, but she cautiously listened anyway to incorporate them into her song. She slowed the tempo for the tree, played a dissonant minor key for the branch, and slowly--with some trial and error--improvised a melody that pulled the three together. She gave the branch its own motif and smoothed out the dissonance until something seemed to slip into place. The branch and tree harmonized, and in that moment the seed burst into bloom. New growth sloughed away the rot and Marcine found herself overwhelmed by the sudden union as all three disparate aspects found each other. She had to pull back, but everything begged her to keep playing. To keep guiding them until they were truly whole. To keep holding them together. To stay just a little longer... (Compel on Marcine’s “Singer to the Soul”, she can’t leave now! Marcine’s FP 4 -> 5.) From the outside, the seed’s growth was explosive. Green, fresh shoots poked through the cracks, twirling upwards around the broken halves of the split tree. They spread up and up, pushing the break back together in time with Marcine’s flourishes. At first, the false branch, still held in place by Elbridge, Rupert, and Jenny, seemed to be ignored, as the new roots avoided it completely. But something changed as Marcine’s song adjusted to incorporate it, and the seed abruptly embraced the branch. The wood shifted as it was supported from below, and for the first time since Narcissus created it, made a real part of the whole. The scene was so mesmerizing that for a few moments, no one moved. But as the trunk sealed back together, the sound of the violin tapered off… and there was no sign of Marcine. “Ms. Sterling?” Elbridge shouted as she disappeared from view. “MARCINE!” The instant he was able to move again, he took off at a mad dash toward the splice, scanning frantically for the spot where she’d vanished. “MARCINE, GET OUT OF THERE, THE BARK IS CLOSING OVER YOU!” There was no answer. Cursing, Elbridge grabbed a sprouting vine - already as thick as a hawser, and growing longer by the second - and started to feed it down the hole, hoping it would reach her before the gap closed. “SINGH, HELP ME! MARCINE’S IN TROUBLE!” Releasing what remained of his spell, Rupert dragged himself upwards and staggered over to Elbridge and the shrinking hole in the branch, his wounded arm hanging limply at his side. Glancing around, he spotted and quickly grabbed a broken piece of rebar, a shard of the broken branch. Hefting the length of metal, he hunched over the hole and with just a touch of magic to reshape the rebar, wedged it into the hole. “I can hold the drat thing open, but you might need to drop down and drag her out,” said Rupert through gritted teeth. With both of them no longer holding up the branch, it began to list. The seed hadn’t secured it fully quite yet. “It’ll have to be you, Rupert,” Elbridge said. The tree was creaking ominously; he held up his own staff and began to chant, and the noise abated somewhat. The splinter made a marvellous focus for working magic on the rest of the tree, but it was still all El could do to keep it from collapsing. “Keep the hole open then, can’t go fixing the drat thing only to have to break it again to get out,” grumbled Rupert. Lifting his limp arm up, he tapped an innocuous travel band tied around his wrist, releasing what remained of the spells he’d woven into it. A surge of earth magic flooded up his arm, a stone wall against the throbbing pain. Grabbing the vine with his good hand, he dropped down into the hole, past the straining length of rebar, attempting something that almost looked like rappelling downwards. It was close inside, and getting closer. The seed’s new growth was evolving, taking on the same mosaic-pattern as the parent tree as it knitted together. Rupert dropped a fair ways before the light of the flaming sword illuminated Marcine below him. She was caught in a trance, the violin still propped under her chin as she rocked slowly back and forth. The tree had left a hollow around her, but it was starting to collapse. Kicking aside a curtain of dangling vines, Rupert swung down next to Marcine, the growing branch beneath them almost springy underfoot. Shoving the vine under his damaged arm, he reached out with his good hand and shook her by the shoulder, shouting, “Wake up, we need to move!” (Rupert, Rapport: /+/- +3 = +3. Rupert invokes “Save Them” for a +2 (FP: 5->4)) Marcine felt like she’d fallen down a well, her own song echoing back to her from all directions with fragments of other songs, in styles throughout history, teasing at the edge of her awareness. It was peaceful, in a way, and the seed held her like it held the tree and the branch. It was all together now. Healing, like it should be. Everything was right and she should stay in it. But she couldn’t, she told it. She had to leave. Why? What was wrong with it here? She was the one that had brought them together. Because there was something dangerous out there that wanted to tear them apart again, and she was going to protect it. The seed clung to her. But then, reluctantly, it released its hold, and she felt herself floating up, back to the surface, as it accepted that it didn’t want to be apart... Marcine flinched when she became aware of someone shaking her, then blinked, looking around at the enclosing roots that were much closer than they had been a moment ago, and Rupert. “gently caress,” she observed. She felt sluggish as she shoved her violin into its case and grabbed the fine, though she was trying to move as fast as she could. “Before you ask, I don’t know.” “Wasn’t gonna ask, no time,” replied Rupert, swapping the vine back to his good arm again. When they were both secure (as they could manage, at least) to the vine, he gave it a few tugs and shouted, “Start hauling!” to whoever was listening at the top. With Marcine taking up the lead, they climbed upwards, through the branch, Rupert shifting what parts of the branch’s innards he could manage with quick spells and a flick of his injured arm to provide footholds. With some hauling from above, the footholds and sheer persistence, they were making progress. (Rupert, Physique: -/++ +4 = +5, invokes Tommy in the Desert and Allies On Scene for a +4 to succeed without cost. (FP:4->2).) Up at the top, Zophiel and Hugues were hauling the vine, even Topaz had grabbed an end and was tugging for all he was worth. Nicky stood in the gap, one hand on either side of it, his time magic slowing the hole’s closing. “You’ve almost got them!” he yelled encouragingly. “Just a little farther!”
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Jul 17, 2018 01:45
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Tremors 2: Aftershocks Scene: Yggdrasil The tree was fading faster, the very top of the crown barely an outline against the starry night sky. It was at least going from the top down, which was far better than the alternative. The roots had formed a nearly solid connection between the branch and main trunk, some wide and some narrow, twisting and weaving around firmly enough to make a ramp they could drive down. Marcine parked her car by the roots while the van lumbered further away to get a head start if things went south. She laid a hand on a vine and focused, careful to only touch the plant and avoid the tree. She had a plan, but she needed its help. Would it be too much to ask for a few roots to entangle the danger so she could cut it away, like the rot she’d cleared to plant the seed? The childlike excitement she’d felt from it just minutes ago had tempered into something more mature, and much, much larger. It couldn’t talk to her anymore, not like it had. But she kept calling to it, and eventually it responded. The tendrils dug through the old tree, seeking out the source of corruption. (Rapport CA: (--bb)+5 = 3, to place the scene aspect “Summer’s Roots” with one tag.) She returned to where the worm waited. Her head buzzed, which for once, she didn’t mind: If she could hear it, it could hear her. In answer, she hummed. The sound built in her throat, in her teeth, drawing on her frustration at the entire situation until it was like a mental and audible knife that she flung down at the worm through layers of history. The roots followed her cue. (Provoke vs diff 7: (-+-+)+3 = 3. Marcine tags “Summer’s Roots” and invokes “Singer to the Soul” to tie at 7 to get the worm’s attention. FP: 5 -> 4) When the roots pushed into the hollow where the worm was curled up, it unspooled and thrashed. It severed some, devoured others, but the seed was not to be denied. With no way to win, the Outsider fled into the tunnels it had previously chewed. The roots followed slowly, and the worm left them behind. Marcine’s challenge caused it to whip around, facing her with its round rows of lamprey teeth. And then it started digging up, up, up, directly under her feet. It moved faster than a burrower had any right to, but Marcine’s reflexes were faster still. She flung herself aside in a controlled tumble and ended on her feet as it burst out of the tree. (Outsider’s Bane in effect. Invoking one’s own aspects costs 2 FP instead of 1 as long as the worm is on scene. Athletics vs diff 4: (-bb-)+5 = 3, invoking “No Time for Doubt” to dodge. 4->2 FP.) This worm wasn’t quite as large as the one that had pursued them in the Outside, but it was still big enough to swallow a sedan whole. As soon as it was out of the hole completely it turned to ‘face’ Marcine. Circular rows of teeth rotated inside its mouth like a drill. Hundreds of mismatched eyes lined its upper ‘lip’. The buzzing in Marcine’s head wasn’t just annoying anymore, it felt like it was draining away her will to act. Marcine raised the sword between herself and the worm and refracted the image of flames. An illusion of fire and heat swirled and spread, racing to form a ring around them. It obscured her even as she made an image of herself dash around the worm’s side, as if looking for an opening. (Deceive CA with stunt bonus from Stage Illusion: (--b-)+5+2 = 4. Places the aspect “Lost in Flames” with one tag.) It did not give chase, but instead, flattened itself against the bark, and a mass of tentacles shot up around it in all directions. Marcine had seen these before, back in the swamp one had even grabbed her leg. Now there were dozens, sprouting up all around her. They didn’t go after the illusion, or her, but if she moved… So she didn’t. (Worm Notice to grab onto Marcine with tentacles; +--- +4 = 2. GM FP 5->4 reroll on Destiny Leech to hunt down the prey. -/// +4 = 3. Marcine holds steady with Athletics: //+- +5 = 5.) Fire. If Summer was the custodian of the world-tree, then they likely used fire to protect it. Good thinking on Marcine’s part. She might yet make a good wizard, Elbridge thought, assuming that she survives for that long. While she distracted it, he searched for a good place to corner the worm for the kill. Much of the nearby stretch of tree was flat, smooth silicon, crisscrossed with metallic wires and studded with strobing lights. Elbridge wasn’t sure if the circuitboard-textured bark could be hexed the way an actual computer could, and he wasn’t keen to find out. But over there… ...right in the middle of the plain of blinking lights and beeping gadgets was a recession. It was huge, wide and shallow, and the greenish surface was thin and cracked in patches. Underneath were jagged concrete, sparking wires, and exposed spikes of rebar. Yes, this would do nicely. He tapped his Deputy Warden’s pin and whispered a message to Rupert and Marcine. (Notice CA to find a good killing ground: /-+/ + 5 = 5. Elbridge places the aspect “Sharp Recession”!) The buzzing in Marcine’s head increased until it was physically painful, and it was so strong that even Elbridge and Rupert could hear it from where they were. The worm screamed. The tentacles quivered around her, each on a hair trigger, a fish-hook that led straight to those gnashing teeth... Her teeth clenched, but she forced herself to stay still. It was just the same noise she’d been learning to block out for a while now. She put up a wall around her mind, willing the world to silence. The worm’s scream went quiet even as she began to feel faint from the effort. (Worm tries a psychic assault with Provoke: ---/ +5 = 2. Marcine resists with Will: +/+- +4 = 5. Reroll on Destiny Leech: -/-+ +5 = 4… And invoking on The Darkness Looks Back, its secondary aspect for 6 total. GM FP: 4->2 Marcine counter-invokes on Mind Games to pass with +7, leaving her with 0 FP.) Nodding in response to Elbridge’s message, Rupert darted forward while the worm was distracted, scooping a handful of chalk sticks from a jacket pocket as he reached the rebar-filled hole. Scattering them outward, he directed each one with a telekinetic spell, each one skittering across the ground to sketch spirals of runes. The designs completed, he willed the remains of the chalk back to his hand and, with the chalk dust as a connection, whispered all but the end of a hurried spell, the chalk runes glinting with power as he jogged back to the waiting vehicles and nodded at Elbridge to give the signal. Elbridge conjured a flare of emerald light and cast it high into the air. It hovered, unaffected by the pull of gravity in either direction, bright and clear for Marcine to see. Then another shuddering wave of raw magic washed over the tree, and when it passed, the light was gone. It had disappeared to a place beyond the veil, where the tree ought to be (and soon would). It was now or never. Marcine saw it before it vanished. Looked like they were set. She shifted her illusion to a point between the worm’s tendrils and where the signal had been. With some effort over the space between, she gave the image the sense of heat and the sound of tapping feet to tell the worm she was over there, just out of reach. The tentacles snapped at the false Marcine, but there was nothing there to catch. The worm reared up, flinging itself after the image. It chased right over the edge of the recession, falling like stock prices onto the broken rebar and spikes. But that alone wasn’t enough to pin it down. Tentacles gripped the metal and pulled it free, and in just moments the bulbous body was almost loose… ...but the worm’s efforts were not fast enough as Rupert finished his spell, releasing the built up magic downwards, into the crevice. The rebar shifted as the creature tried to break free, twisting and turning to hold the beast fast, the frayed wires coiling around its thrashing form. Tentacles fought with wires, teeth crunched rebar, and the creature’s back split open, releasing a flood of noxious acid that started to eat away at the retirement funds that held it. (Invoking Lost in Flames for effect to lead the worm back to 2008. Rupert, Physique: -/+/ +4 = +4 vs the Worm’s Physique: -+/+ +6 = +7. Using the tag from “Sharp Recession” and an invoke on “Forging a Better Future” (FP: 2->0) for a total of +4. The worm counter-invokes on “Destiny Leech”, so Rupert uses his experience “Anything’s A Weapon If You Try Hard Enough”, which is countered by an invoke on “Darkness Looks Back”.) “Hmph.” The goal had been to avoid damage to the tree, but then, if this was the period corresponding to the housing market collapse...mightn’t it be better to excise it? On the one hand, the Sixth Law of Magic said no; on the other, they were already well and truly past that by now. “...retirement’s been shite for me anyhow.” Elbridge gave the trunk another tap with his makeshift staff and the ground surged upward, spitting up ribbons of ticker-tape with enough force to buoy the worm aloft on a veritable sea of growth. (Spending El’s Experience “This Court Has Not Yet Determined That The World Should Be Saved” to clinch it because VERDICT’S IN MOTHERFUCKER) It was precisely at that moment that the seed’s tendrils caught up to the worm. They burst through the recession like a wave of Hope and Change, turning the ticker tape into a rain of confetti. They latched onto the Outsider and wrapped it around and around again, cocooning it in new growth. Tentacles wiggled, acid hissed, but the seedling was too powerful. The vines pushed it further and further away from the bark, until it hung above them like a misshapen hot air balloon, anchored by two main points. (Invoking Summer’s Roots for effect, the worm is now suspended.) Marcine ran to the nearer vines. The sword blazed in her grasp as she hacked it into the mass like a two-handed machete, cutting as much as she could with each swing. Elbridge strolled forward from the other side, calculating and deliberate as he took Rick’s sword in a firm grip and sliced at the vines where they were thinnest. The angel blade flared with each blow, flames licking at the vines. Even though it was as thick as an oak tree, it only took Marcine three swings to cut through. The vine snapped like a broken violin string, and the cocoon sagged further away. The worm roared, a muffled, awful sound. Now that half of the seed’s hold on it was cut, the toothy monstrosity was starting to gnaw its way out. Elbridge was having a harder time. The Warden sword was sharp, but it was never meant for something like this. Every swing fouled in the fibrous growth, and the deeper Elbridge cut, the more the thorns sliced at his own arms. He was sore, and drained, and just so incredibly-tired. His fingers held the hilt in a death-grip, too stiff and numb to let go, and every impact sent painful vibrations through his bones, but he cut, and cut, and cut until the last ragged tendril fell away. (Combat +-/= +5 = 4 to sever the worm’s lifeline, inadequate. El spends 2 FP to invoke “I Don’t Care…” for +2 and a second Experience, “Anger is an Acid…” for another +2. Cole donates “The World’s Kinda Heavy” for the home stretch, yielding a final roll result of 10) As soon as the second vine snapped, the cocoon fell. It plummeted towards the earth, shrinking in size as it grew farther away. It was too far away to hear the smash when it hit the ground, but the worm split open like a rotten fruit, and the distant puddle of gore did not move again. There was no time to celebrate. The tree groaned as if there was a heavy wind, and the strange Nevernever sky covered the stars, then it faded and the entire crown of the tree went with it. Elbridge looked up at the others, covered in blood, sap, and ichor, his eyes bloodshot and crazed. His chest heaved with the exertion of his every breath. Slowly, a broad grin of satisfaction split his face. “Guess this one couldn’t fly after all. Now let’s get the gently caress out of here.” Echo Cian fucked around with this message at 02:09 on Jul 17, 2018 |
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Jul 17, 2018 02:03
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Marcine Her phone chimed five notifications in a row on the way home. She didn’t check it until she was back in her apartment, in the building that was as properly clean as she’d left it, and intact, and at least one television was on behind a neighbor’s door with its cheerful wreath and welcome mat. Something fell on the floor when she took off her coat: A piece of root and vine. She felt a faint awareness, just as dazed and tired as she was. A remnant of the seed. Had it attached itself to her on purpose or did it just get caught in her coat at some point? She stuck it in a flower pot beside her spider plant. It didn’t respond to her, but she felt relief when she watered it. She’d figure that out later. She collapsed on the couch and read her texts. Chelsea, 1:30 AM Enjoying your party? Chelsea, 2:00 AM If you can’t make it just say so Chelsea, 2:15 AM Ok seriously tho what’s going on Chelsea, 2:30 AM Are you alive? Chelsea, 2:45 AM If you forgot im going to punch u in the face tmrw Last week, according to her phone. Marcine sighed. She’d been heading to a friend’s place after the gala. That was the only reason she’d even wandered into that whole disaster instead of just driving home. The clock on her wall said it was around 3:30. She typed back, “Sorry, long story, can’t make it,” and dropped the phone onto the coffee table before sinking back in her couch. She’d killed people. That was only just sinking in, with everything over with. Even if she hadn’t shot the mercenaries at the cabin herself, they were dead instead of her and her friends because of her actions. She’d decapitated a vampire. There was a mental image she wasn’t getting rid of any time soon. It still felt weird, surreal. Back at home, where she belonged, in silence except for the humming of the fridge, she could almost tell herself it hadn’t even happened and she’d just woken up from a very strange dream. Except the armored coat was tossed over her armchair just inside the door, a root of the plant that had repaired Yggdrasil was in a flowerpot, and she was absolutely exhausted. Her phone dinged. Now all the messages said they were from ten minutes ago today, except for the new one. Chelsea, 3:34 AM Thought u were in an accident or smth Chelsea, 3:34 AM U owe me breakfast Relief in the form of shorthand. Marcine smiled faintly and closed her eyes. Sure. But it was going to have to wait. At a reasonable hour later that morning, she made another phone call. Tears sprang to her eyes when she heard the voice on the other end. “Hey, mom… Mind if I come up for a visit? I’ve...got some poo poo to talk about.” ---- She was packing her car when the angel that looked entirely too much like her EMT instructor showed up again, leaning against her car in a way that didn’t let her see him until she closed the trunk. She smiled weakly. “I don’t suppose you can fix the hood.” “Ah, the stain of evil,” he said, glancing over at the burn mark from when the book went up in flames. “Adds character.” “And insurance premiums.” “Be sure to mention it was angelic vandalism, there might be a discount.” Marcine laughed. “I’ll list it with time travel.” She walked around the edge and leaned on the car beside him. “What’s going to happen to her?” He stroked his chin thoughtfully. “Your other self? She has a choice to make.” “Seemed like she’d already made it,” Marcine muttered. She didn’t recognize the version of herself that would ever accept the coin, but there she’d been, apparently fine with the situation. She hunched her shoulders. “Who wouldn’t want to be a kickass harpy thing?” ...Yeah, she had to admit it: That had looked awesome. “That ‘kickass harpy’ was designed to appeal perfectly to their host- to you. But the price for a Fallen’s power is servitude. Willing, in Shamsiel’s case. That one was always a puppet master.” “And proud of it,” she observed. “Must be nice to have no shame.” Zophiel shook his head. “Shame is the emotional equivalent to touching a hot stove. Without feeling pain, you can do terrible damage to yourself and others. It isn’t nice at all.” Angels didn’t do sarcasm, it seemed. “So were you keeping an eye on me, or on Shamsiel?” He frowned, frustrated. “Both, and many more besides. This vessel is much smaller than my true self. Like this, I can only do one thing, or perhaps two.” Marcine smiled wryly. “Sorry for stuffing you in a box.” He laughed. “I don’t regret it. It’s been aeons since I spent more than a few moments in a physical vessel. I think it’s done me good.” “Well, if you think so, that’s good to hear.” Nothing else about the circumstances had been. She was glad to have met him, but why did it have to be like this? She looked away, trying to remember what else she’d wanted to ask him. “When we talked before, you said something about atonement. What did you mean?” “Ah…” Zophiel’s eyes fell. “The boy, Joseph. I should have realized he was never Shamsiel’s true target. I pushed you into a trap.” Marcine sighed. She wanted to tell him it wasn’t his fault, but how would she know, really? “I probably would have noticed he was acting weird whether you were involved or not. I don’t know… Did you push me into it, or did you just save me from myself?” “A little of both,” he said. “‘Lead me not into temptation… But deliver me from evil.’ I got half of it right.” “More than half, if you ask me.” She tipped her head back and looked up at the sky, marked with feathery wisps of white clouds. “Why the feathers?” She was down to three, now--one still with Rick’s body, and the other had disappeared sometime after Tor. After Zophiel shielded them, she suspected. “An agent should be compensated fairly for her work,” he said cryptically. “They are favors. Mine to give, and to fulfill if I can, or should. I’m not a jinn who grants wishes.” If he were, Rick wouldn’t be dead. But that decision had been out of her hands. Too many things were...but not everything. She’d proven that repeatedly over the past week. “Is there anything I can do for Joey?” He looked at her seriously. “When’s the last time you tried?” She slumped down the side of the car. “I haven’t. I’m afraid I’d just make things worse.” “Something in him must hold on still, or he would have died all those years ago. You’ll have to keep trying until you find it.” “That would be because I managed not to kill his basic body functions.” Still, if it was possible… Possible, but difficult. That was the motto of her life, now. Zophiel sighed, worried. “If all that remains is a shell of flesh, you should be able to tell that, too. I don’t know the answer, Marcine. I’m sorry.” “No, you’re right. It’s worth trying. I’m just about to go up to Monroe, actually.” Maybe she’d find something that Elbridge could help her with, when she took up that apprenticeship. She looked up at Zophiel. “Will you be okay?” He was slow to answer. “I will face the consequences of my actions, with the conviction that I wouldn’t change them.” “Consequences,” she repeated. “For saving two worlds? We couldn’t have done that without you.” “That’s what I’m worried about,” he said. “Direct action is… frowned upon, for good reason. They will say I’m playing favorites again.” “Which set of billions of people was the favorite?” she asked dryly. “Blame my free choice, and if they have a problem with it, they can come down here and eat my entire hat collection.” “You don’t have enough hats to satisfy the Seraphim, I’m afraid.” He smiled at her, and his eyes went distant. “They’re right, though. I’ve been too fond of mankind. Ever since Adam… But the baby was cold, and the fire was a such a small thing… Just a going away present. I didn’t know what he’d do with it. That’s how I keep getting into trouble.” Marcine stared at him. “That was real, and that was you?” Zophiel cleared his throat. He was clearly blushing, even though it didn’t show on his dark cheeks. “We both have a long journey ahead… perhaps it’s time to say farewell.” She laughed, without feeling grim about it for the first time that day. “For whatever it’s worth, I don’t see how you can be expected to do your job if you don’t care for humanity. And fire is kind of massively important for all of civilization.” “That one only lasted for a single night, but once you knew it was possible… You figured out the rest on your own. Eventually.” “Then thanks for not leaving us freezing to death in caves.” She squeezed his hand and tried to ignore the twinge of pain at her own turn of phrase. “And thank you for everything else. Good luck… And I hope this won’t be the last time we can meet.” It was too much to beg for another one. That would have to do. He squeezed her hand back. “We’ll play it by ear.”
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Aug 15, 2018 01:38
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Interlude - Faith in Mind Joey was sitting up in his bed, staring at the far wall, when Marcine entered his room at the hospice. He’d never fully been a vegetable; his body still remembered some basic functions on reflex, like eating, when a nurse prompted him. But he didn’t talk, or look in the direction of people near him, or show any shred of awareness beyond food being stuck in his mouth. It hurt to see him again. She’d visited after it happened. She’d tried to talk to him. Sang a little. But she hadn’t felt any empathic stirring. She’d tried the barest touch to find him, but all she sensed was the damage she’d already caused and she didn't dare risk making it worse. As far as she could tell, there wasn’t a person in there anymore. So she hadn’t come back since. Only the possibility in Zophiel’s words brought her now. There was a TV for visitors, but it was off. His family visited at least once a week, she'd learned, but this hadn't been one of those days. She was glad of that. Facing them again would just be another obstacle to push herself through. “Hey, Joey,” she said. No response, still. Not a stir in her empathic awareness. She sat down in the chair beside his bed. “I know it’s been a long time. Sorry. I don’t have a good excuse. Just...cowardice.” She opened her purse and pulled out a bracelet of twine and small gemstones, each one a different color, carefully drilled through to fit on the string. She’d been into healing stones as a teenager, and she still had a collection. The symbolic link might help him. And if that didn’t, maybe the small healing cantrips she’d placed on them to enhance their purported effects would. “I made you something. Ten stones for symmetry.” She set it on his lap and gently moved his hand over each stone as she explained them. The nurse had said it was okay; they hoped physical stimulation might help. “Apatite for clear thought and focus. Bloodstone, quartz and hematite for mental balance and clarity. Dumortierite for...self-actualization. Prehnite to feel whole, and find friendships...and turquoise.” Which, when given by a loving friend, was supposed to protect from negative energy and bring good fortune. She’d only sort of known him. Maybe it was the thought that counted. “Red tiger-eye for physical vitality and willpower. Picture agate to counter apathy. And snowflake obsidian, to draw hidden imbalances to the surface and release them.” Perhaps the most symbolically important for this. She left it on his lap, and his hand resting on it. She still didn’t feel anything. Zophiel said she should be able to tell if there was nothing there, but...would she? She doubted there was. But she couldn’t doubt. He wouldn’t heal if she didn’t believe it. This must be what faith felt like. She glanced at the wall clock, by far the loudest thing in the room. If that was all he had to listen to, she wouldn’t blame him not wanting to pay attention to it. She took a breath. For the next part of her plan, she moved around the bed until she could make eye contact. Nothing happened. Not so much as a soulgaze tug. His eyes remained as blank as always. She sighed. Too much to hope it’d be that easy. Last shot to be certain. She’d painstakingly refined an empathic spell until there were no traces of her own worries to interfere with its function; it'd be useless if it only picked up on her own stress. It was simple in concept: An impulse that would seek out an emotional response, any emotional response, and echo it back to her. Sort of like empathic sonar. Thoughts were specific and needed a conscious prompt; feelings just happened, regardless of if they made sense. If he was still there, she should feel something, however vague, from that base part of the mind that emotion came from, even if it was blocked. She laid her hand over his and softly sang the spell's trigger. It was light and pleasant, uplifting, and cautiously hopeful. She still didn’t know how to pray, but there was a plea behind the words: If he was here, if Zophiel was right, let her know this wasn’t a lost cause. (CA with Empathy: (+-+-)+5 = 5, to place the scene aspect “Friendship Bracelet.” Overcome with Mentalism vs diff 8: (--b+)+3 = 2. She tags “Friendship Bracelet,” and invokes “Zophiel’s Top Agent” and “Compassion in C Major” for 2 FP to tie.) She felt nothing. A nothing so deep, so pervasive, that it swallowed her whole. She was blind, deaf, without touch, or scent, or taste. Her mind utterly alone with itself, drifting in a state of timeless consciousness and unconsciousness. How long had she been like this? Hours? Minutes? Seconds? ...decades? Panic welled up inside her until she started screaming. But was she? She couldn’t hear her voice or feel her throat. Her body was unreachable. Severed. She’d been severed from the inside. Did anyone know? Was anyone out there? Could anyone help her? Anyone? “Ms. Sterling! Are you alright? Marcine!” The orderly was shaking her. She gasped as the room suddenly existed again. She dragged herself away from the nurse and shoved open a window. Sunlight and fresh air had never felt so good. She took the moment to just focus on breathing, and come up with a plausible excuse. “Sorry,” she managed after a moment. Her throat was raw. “I think...panic attack. Thinking about, if he is still aware, like...like in some movies and stuff…” With the practised motions of a professional, Beverley (according to her nametag) shined a pen light in both of Joey’s eyes. They barely dilated. She sighed and shook her head. “If he was aware we’d have seen it on the scanners, dear. Movies are only movies. Maybe you should get some water and--” She stopped talking abruptly. Marcine watched as a single tear ran down Joey’s cheek. “Must’ve had the light too bright,” Beverley muttered. “Pay it no mind, dear. Automatic responses... It’s just a reflex.” Marcine dropped her head onto her arms. Her skin felt like it was on fire. It had actually worked. He was still there. Part of her wanted to go straight back to try to help, but the sensible part of her knew full well that without a better understanding or a plan, she might just end up screaming again. She straightened and turned back to the orderly. “I didn’t think that’d affect me so bad. Sorry…” Better to play up the anxiety angle than to try to come up with any other excuse. “I’ll have to prepare myself more next time I visit.” She laughed nervously, for good measure. “I should probably go… I’ll leave that bracelet, if that’s all right.” Beverly patted his hand, which hadn't moved from the bracelet. “Of course, we’ll put it with his other things.” Back in her car, she slumped against the window. To be alone, trapped like that… It was a blessing that he didn’t have a sense of time. But how to reach him? It seemed like it should be possible, but contacting him mentally without first figuring out a way to bring him back to his senses also seemed like a bad idea. If she even could without getting overwhelmed. Time to go back home to the city and have a talk with Elbridge.
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Oct 3, 2018 03:31
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Interlude - Reunion Marcine knocked on the door without bothering with the doorbell, because Elbridge had probably shorted it as soon as he looked at the place. Warden Hardley. There was a phrase she wasn’t sure about. She wasn’t sure how to feel about meeting him again, either. The reasons she’d given him for this whole apprenticeship thing had been short-sighted and stupid because she couldn’t think of anything but the fight when she was caught in the fringe of a war. But she had a purpose, now. She smiled as he answered and they exchanged formalities. “How’s the Warden business?” she asked him as she stepped inside. “More talking than anything else,” Elbridge told her, pulling up a plastic deck chair for Marcine. “But the community’s been receptive, and so far I haven’t had to cut off any heads.” He paused halfway through pouring a glass of lemonade, then amended his statement. “...any human heads.” Marcine grimaced. “I’d rather not see any more heads cut off, human or otherwise.” “It’s not for everyone,” Elbridge acknowledged. “How have you been?” “Okay. It was nice to just spend a while with family, after...all that. gently caress trying to explain it, though. My dad makes tornadoes and I still felt crazy talking about it.” She spotted the sword in her peripheral vision, propped in a stand beside a desk. Ada’s phone call was still clear in her mind, but there was something more immediately important. “Zophiel suggested that there might still be a part of Joey hanging on,” she began. “I went to visit him to try to find out. And there is. He’s in there, but completely detached from physical sensation. I kind of got dragged in...” She rubbed her head awkwardly. “Didn’t do anything because I didn’t know what the consequences might be.” “He’s lucid?” Elbridge asked, furrowing his brow. “No. He’s not conscious. His body’s just sitting there. If you put something in his hand, he’ll hold it, but it’s just a nerve response…” It wasn’t comfortable to recount, but she related her experience at the hospice. “...he’s decerebrate,” Elbridge said. His tone and expression were more weary and sad than anything else. “I’ve seen it before, during the wars. Bomb injuries, mostly. A piece of shrapnel to just the right place along the spinal column, and one’s a prisoner in one’s own body.” “This wasn’t caused by a physical injury, though. If I put him in there...there must be a way to reach him.” “The distinction isn’t quite so clean as that,” Elbridge told her. “While the soul may exist independent of the organic substance of the brain, the mind is quite closely-entangled. It’s nigh-impossible to affect one without altering the other. It’s why the Laws are so strict on mental magicks - no matter how well-intentioned, they can very easily cause lasting damage.” “Trying still seems better than leaving him there,” she said quietly. “Just...trying carefully.” “Marcine,” Elbridge said gravely, “are you a brain-surgeon?” “That’s kinda what I told Zophiel,” she said. “But I suppose an angel should know what he’s talking about.” Emphasis on ‘should’, Elbridge thought. “It may be possible to correct the trauma that left him in a decerebrated state,” he said. “That said, most medicine is best-left to mortal, scientific methods. Even then, the brain is a stupendously-complex organ, poorly-understood at best even by its foremost experts. What you’re proposing is an almost-incalculable risk.” She’d already known the drawbacks for years. “Saving the World Tree was a long shot, too, but we did it.” “That was an act of desperation in the face of imminent oblivion, and required multiple, certifiable miracles for us to succeed,” Elbridge pointed out. “Marcine, please understand - I do want to help, and I believe that you can help Mr. Novak, but if you should worsen his condition with your magic...he would not be the only casualty.” His gaze lingered pointedly on the sword for several seconds before returning to her. “I promised to teach you control. Control begins with humility. One cannot surpass one’s limitations without first knowing them.” Marcine sighed impatiently. She had hoped that he’d trust she recognized those limitations, after everything else. “Do you think I don’t know that? I never tried because I was sure I’d only make it worse. Until Zophiel said it might be possible. Might, from an angel.” She tapped the arm of the chair deliberately. “So let’s start with where to begin figuring that out.” “Historically, surgeons-in-training practised their craft on cadavers,” Elbridge told her. “However, those lack a mind to speak of, or if they do...well, that’s another Law. Hrm...if only there were a way for you to engage with another mind without risk of harming...the brain…” He blinked, and turned to look at the sword again. “Wasn’t once enough?” Marcine asked flatly. “Well, that’s rather the point,” Elbridge said, watching as Cole’s shade made frantic, flailing motions and shook his head so hard that El thought it might fly off. “His psyche bears the marks of...as close to a proper execution of procedure as might exist. The Merlin himself performed the resection.” “Proper, as done by people who still go to leeches to correct the humours.” “No,” Elbridge said, “Langtry’s sworn those off, as I understand.” “Has he moved on to icepick lobotomies?” “That would explain his overall demeanour,” Elbridge observed. Marcine snerked and turned to the sword. “What’s Rick’s opinion on this?” He lifted it from the desk and passed it to her, hilt-first. “Ask him yourself.” The hilt felt warm, more like taking someone’s hand than touching metal. And there was Rick, sitting on the edge of the desk beside her, looking the same as he’d been before the mission. Before the cabin. Her eyes stung as she smiled. “It’s good to see you again.” “You too,” Rick said, smiling back at her. They were close enough to touch, but there was a distance in his posture that hadn’t been there before. “What’s it been, two months?” “Without a call?” he didn’t add. “Yeah… I needed a while to process it, so I went to Monroe. Stayed with my parents. It was good to see Dad acting like himself again… You didn’t meet him.” Or know that she’d never found out what happened to her double’s mom. Some things were clear; some things were a jumble until she stopped to think about them. “Better to meet him in this timeline anyway. Eventually.” “Maybe,” Rick said, though he sounded unconvinced. “Does he visit much? El told me a few things.” “Sometimes. By the sounds of it, he’s coming down to see what kind of trouble I’ve gotten into when he’s not busy. Apparently climatology is hard when you need an answer that isn’t ‘magic did it’ when it did.” “Ah, like that demon-powered hurricane last year.” He tilted his head slightly and looked at her. “If I’m involved in most of that trouble, should I be worried?” “No.” She pointedly eyed the doorway El had disappeared through for a moment, indicating who probably was in trouble. “You saved us all, in the end… And you paid the price already.” “This wasn’t supposed to happen,” he said quietly. She looked down at her hands, her chest tightening. Never should have gone along with that stupid plan. She’d spent two months trying to accept it. It hadn’t worked. “I told you not to fight him alone.” “What choice did I have? He was the key, and we were out of time and options. I thought I was ready… I was ready. I don’t understand...” As he talked, a long cut opened across his cheek, then one on his arm, bleeding through the sleeve. Unthinking, Marcine reached for his arm. She touched nothing. “I should have been there,” she muttered, glaring at her hand like this was its fault. “I knew where you were and I wasn’t even far away, I should have gone.” “I felt you with me,” he said, reaching for her hand before she could pull it away. The hairs stood up on her skin when his fingers passed through hers. “You did a lot. It wasn’t your fault.” “And you still died, so what did it matter?” Her voice was harsh, but directed inward. “Saved two timelines, but couldn’t save a friend because I didn’t listen to my drat gut.” “Marcine…” He shook his head. “If Zophiel couldn’t change what happened, you couldn’t either. That ace up my sleeve was a ritual to lock us in a pocket dimension so his men couldn’t interfere. There was no way for you to get to me, even if you came. And… I’m glad you didn’t. The others needed you a lot more than I did. From what El’s told me, you took good care of them.” She forced back the instinct to protest, or deflect, and dredged up a faint smile instead. “Someone asked me to. Good thing, too. They needed it.” “I bet they did,” he said, but his smile faded as quickly as it had appeared. “I let you down, and I’m sorry. Everything went wrong from the start.” Marcine took a moment to process what he’d told her. It sounded like there really wasn’t anything she could have done. It still didn’t make her feel better yet, because what if there had been another option they just didn’t think of? What if…? It explained the ice block, at least. “Won’t stop me wishing I could have done more,” she admitted. “What happened?” More cuts and bruises showed on his body. Roqueza’s marks, each one sending an echo of pain through the hilt of the sword. “It hurts, every time I remember, but I’ve gone over it a thousand times and something... feels wrong. I made mistakes, big ones, but that isn’t what I mean. It’s hard to explain.” He looked at her, piercingly. “You were with me, at the end. I could tell. Did you feel it?” His sudden shift caught her off guard. “I don’t know. All I remember feeling is Zophiel’s presence when I used the feathers.” And the horrible void as Rick died… “He said that he was able to give you a choice.” “Bullshit. Something isn’t right. I’m supposed to be here, I’m sure of it. But not like this…” He looked at his hands helplessly. “I need to talk to Zophiel.” Marcine rubbed her neck. “I don’t think he’ll be around for a while.” “El said you summoned him once, can’t you do that again?” He sounded desperate, shakey, she hadn’t seen him like that before. “I pushed my luck already. But with everything else he did for us, he wouldn’t have settled for half-measures.” Zophiel might not mind an excuse to get away from the Seraphim, but the Seraphim sure would. She patted the sword hilt awkwardly. “Take it easy.” “I just thought… since you were there… I know I’m not making it up.” He looked at her again, lost. “You believe me right? I might be dead, but I’m not crazy. Please...” Now he was acting like she’d expect from a ghost. It worried her. This might be simple denial, and who could blame him for that? But she’d be the last person to tell someone to ignore their instincts. “You might be right. I just can’t confirm it.” “Okay.” He took a deep breath, but never exhaled it, as if he’d forgotten that part. “It’s just that, if Roqueza was supposed to kill me- If I just wasn’t good enough, and even a miracle couldn’t save me- why am I still here? I don’t have any unfinished business. He was my unfinished business.” “Protecting the city?” she suggested. Her mouth twitched into another faint smile. “Making sure El doesn’t cause a PR disaster?” He didn’t laugh. “The city is in good hands. I don’t think anyone needs me, anymore.” “What about Ada?” “Ada thinks if you love someone you have to let them go,” he said bitterly. Oh. She’d wondered how a romance with a ghost would go. It didn’t, apparently. “I’m sorry.” He shook his head. “It’s been over a month. I’m alright. Mostly.” And that was the end of that topic. The awkward silence lasted at least a minute more before he spoke up again. “Hey Marcine? I know I don’t have a right to ask this, but I’ve been collecting dust ever since I woke up. You’re the only person I know who can actually swing a sword. Hugues left town, and El is completely hopeless… I’m tired of being a wall prop.” Marcine perked up. “I’d be happy to. I was brushing up on my fencing lessons back home, actually. You could give me some pointers?” “I can do more than that,” he said, with a real smile. “If you’re going to be a Warden’s apprentice, you have to be able to fight like one.” “And to think, Dad wondered why I was bothering.” He would still wonder, with his disgust for the Wardens. She drew the sword. There wasn’t much room, but it felt only appropriate to raise it in a fencer’s salute. The second she did, she was somewhere else. Noon on the shore of a pristine lake in a pine forest, a half-built cabin just up the hill. It smelled like summer. Rick was standing next to her, and he tousled her hair with one hand. She felt it, really felt it, and then… she was back in the living room, and he was on the floor, panting hard. “That… was harder than I thought it’d be…” he wheezed. She blinked, then lowered the sword and laughed as she knelt beside him. She touched the image of his arm and focused. She wasn’t entirely sure it’d work on a ghost, but in the next instant they were in the thawing forest of her mental world. It wasn’t really the same thing he’d just done. The important part was that he felt just as solid when she hugged him as the other time she’d brought him here. “Looks like we’ve both got some practice to do.”
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Oct 30, 2018 02:18
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Interlude - Heirloom Marcine had barely been back home for 24 hours before Maksim called and informed her that he’d lined up their next gig at the beginning of October. When she tried to ask him what the gently caress she was supposed to be doing for it, he laughed and hung up. She’d chewed him out later at the warehouse when they met up to actually practice, but the short version was funnier. It was good to get back into the habit of practice. With the apprenticeship and her new fencing lessons on top of normal social outings, fitting practice in had gotten a lot more hectic, but that was fine. She needed it to feel normal. Especially with a ghost unliving with her. The show was a couple weeks away, and she still hadn’t settled on a Smooth Criminal cover she was happy with. Maksim already had the tribute dance down, loving second coming of MJ that he was (...trying to be), and here she was in her living room, trying to come up with the right flourish that wasn’t just copying some other string cover artist. The wards on her walls kept her neighbors from hearing the twentieth repetition of Annie are you okay, are you okay, Annie? This time, she accented the beats with plucked notes between the bowing, changing the timing experimentally. She was onto something here. She’d also about had it for the day. Once more all the way through, then. First verse she was mostly in the background, accenting Maksim’s vocals. She stepped in for the chorus. From there they would alternate. There were only so many Michael Jackson moves she could do with a violin, but they’d already worked that out. The new chorus, plucking, going into the bridge… She went low when Maksim would be going high, and there it was: It needed refinement, but she finally thought she had her cover. She set her violin down beside the sword and drained the other half of her glass of water. “If Maks complains I’m sticking my bow through his throat,” she said when she came up for air. Rick had been listening from inside his demesne. His voice echoed slightly through the metal, like a phone with a bad signal. “Then he’d be struck by-” He paused. “A smooth criminal.” She flipped a placemat over the sword. He appeared in the room a moment later. “Okay, I’m bad, I’m bad, you know it.” “Your talk is cheap, and you’re a white man.” She refilled her glass. “Sometimes I wish that thing had creativity enchantments, would make my life easier.” “Couldn’t you add some?” Rick said, floating over to take a look at the violin. It was a classical instrument, darkened around the edges and joints with age. The top beside the fingerboard had an inlay of three overlapping lilies in mother-of-pearl, and a flower with leaves had been lightly carved into the soundboard next to the chin rest. The fingerboard itself had a different flower-and-vine design winding along it, perfectly flush with the wood. All three had different levels of wear, from different eras of its history, though one of the lily petals looked recently replaced. Ringing the sides entirely were designs of simple vines and flowers twining around tiny runes. Some were inlaid with silver; others were just carved. Some went over top of others, carefully positioned to not interfere with previous enchantments. It was beautiful, but trying to actually decipher more than the obvious fireproofing ward would be a challenge. “I have no idea how I would do that,” she said. “Me either,” he admitted, peering at the runes. “Rupert might know how. But you’d need to know what’s already there before you start adding to it. How long has this thing been in your family?” Marcine sat down at the table beside it. “Not sure. Dad said the records get muddy past around four generations back. It’s changed hands so much it’s a wonder it’s still intact. It’s just a family instrument, not anything like a Stradivarius.” “A what-a-whovius?” For a moment, she just stared at him like he’d just said he had no idea what a dog was, and took a moment longer to figure out how to describe it as plainly as possible. “Violins made by some guy named Stradivari in the 1700s that are supposed to have the best sound quality ever that no one’s been able to replicate since. It was a guy making them before mass production was a thing, so they’re extremely rare and worth millions of dollars.” “Do they? Have the best sound quality ever,” Rick asked. “According to multiple blind tests, nope,” she said. He smiled. “Then I’d say this one is worth a lot more. Inherited enchantments grow stronger with each generation. I wish I could...” He reached out but his hand passed right through it. He sighed. “Well, I’m not an expert on runes but I know a little. Did your father play?” “Yeah. He’s really good, too, but I’m the one with time to start a band, as he once put it.” She turned it over briefly. The back was carved, too, with a bird and more floral designs, in a wider variety of styles and sizes. “Apparently it’s agreed with the mentalist practitioners in the family better than elementalists.” “Makes sense, music speaks to the heart.” He studied the pattern, not sure what he was looking for. “I’ve seen this one before. It means ‘key’.” “Of...C?” “No, like a door key. And here’s ‘lock’...” He’d crouched down to examine it more closely. “At least I think it’s lock. Runes aren’t really words. The same rune can mean ten completely different things, sometimes in the same spell. But- Oh! Okay. Not lock, a closed door. A door that opens to the world. No, the world opens to the door? That doesn’t work. The key that the world’s door opens for. The world that the door’s key opens to? Wait, small. The small world that is the key… no that’s not it...” “Lockbox?” Marcine picked up her bow and idly played the titular bar of ‘It’s A Small World After All.’ Or an approximation of it, since she didn’t bother with the fingerboard. Rick snapped his fingers. “That’s it! I knew I’d seen that one before! It’s the key to a small world- a NeverNever pocket!” “That’d make sense for a magic focus. Much more convenient than lugging a case around.” She leaned over the violin, trying to pick out what he was looking at without literally invading his personal space. “Could I use it?” “If you couldn’t I’d be surprised, this stuff is usually meant to be passed on.” He sketched out the rune in the air. “Jera, the rune of crossroads. See how it’s in the center of the others? But hold on a second- before you send it to the pocket, you need a way to bring it back.” She gave him a look of No, duh before ducking into her bedroom. She returned with a slightly tarnished silvery ring. “Attunement, right? This should be soft enough for engraving.” Her next stop was to get a box of jewelry-making supplies out of a cabinet. With Rick showing her which runes to use, it didn’t take long to carve the retrieval spell. “Just one more thing,” he said, when she’d finished. “Attunement requires more than just the right runes, it needs sympathy. Right now there’s nothing connecting the ring to the violin. You’ll need to make your mark on both.” “That explains all the carving,” she observed. “Wonder how many attunement rings are floating around…” “They wouldn’t work anymore if their owners are gone,” Rick said. “I’d er… recommend adding a drop of blood to both, too.” “And that might explain the extra varnish.” She knew carpentry, not woodcarving. So had most of her family: Out of however many people had attuned to it, most of them had decided to leave their mark on the back, judging by the differences in color. Old designs painted over or scraped off, with something else done over to make them less obvious. She’d wondered about that. She didn’t have the confidence to try something even as complicated as a flower; curves were hard. Something simple, with straight lines, that she could easily engrave in wood and metal… Hugues would have approved as she carved in the Triforce, first on the ring, then in a small corner that could be easily removed by whoever inherited the violin next. That was a thought she didn’t dwell on. She pricked her finger and rubbed it into the grooves on both, then wiped off the excess and stuck her finger in a tissue as she examined her handiwork. “That should do it, I’d think.” Rick gave the symbol a raised eyebrow. “Triangles?” Marcine put the violin to her shoulder and played a line of the Hyrule Field theme that she’d heard on Hugues’ ringtone. “Video games,” she concluded. “Of course.” He shook his head. “Well, you’ve done everything right as far as I can tell. Want to give it a try?” She eyed it warily. “And if I didn’t do it right, is it gone forever?” “Keep a string, just in case. That should be enough for… for someone else to find the pocket.” He’d almost said ‘for me to find it’, but he couldn’t, not anymore. She removed a string without complaint, and wrapped it loosely around her finger next to the ring for good measure. This was a really good idea if it worked, and a really bad one if it didn’t. She could just imagine calling her father to tell him how she’d lost the family heirloom in the Nevernever like an idiot… She focused on the rune she’d carved at the center of her attunement spell on the ring. “Jera,” she muttered, copying Rick’s inflection, as she sent her will into it. The violin disappeared. She waited a beat, took a slow breath to keep from psyching herself out over it not working, and focused on the rune again. It reappeared in her hand, rather than where she’d left it on the table, and she clamped hold of it with both hands before it fell--but not quite fast enough to keep it from bumping the table with a thrum of strings. She laid it down carefully, silenced the strings. Then she looked up at Rick, and started laughing.
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Nov 8, 2018 05:07
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Party Crashers Scene: Outside the Voodoo Shop Meanwhile, Rick watched as yet another small group of people he knew walked into the Voodoo shop from the safety of Marcine’s car, which was parked on the street a few stores down. His sword was propped up on the passenger seat, unsheathed so he could see from inside. “I don’t know if I can do this,” he said quietly, his voice echoing through the silver. “Wouldn’t they be glad to know you’re still around?” Marcine asked. “What if they aren’t?” He sounded worried. “I don’t want to cause a scene.” It wouldn’t do any good to bring up that he was the one who’d insisted on coming. It was frustrating, but nerves had a way of failing at the last moment. Even ghost nerves. She doubted anyone would be unhappy, but then she didn’t know what had gone on during his tenure as Warden. Neither of them cared to talk about that. She watched someone else walk in and smirked. “But you’re so approachable. And the alternative is Elbridge.” “He’s probably in there already…” Rick said. “Look, just leave me in the trunk. I’ll work on the cabin for a few hours. It’s fine.” “You can’t keep hiding in my house,” Marcine said. “Or my trunk. Are you planning to hide forever?” “No, I just…” He sighed heavily. “The only people who know about me right now are close friends. But this is different, you know? People will talk. I won’t be able to hide anymore, at your place or any other.” Marcine watched as a bead of condensation ran down the edge of the blade. "But do you really want to keep hiding?" “No, not forever...but...that’s what it’s going to be unless I go through with this, isn’t it?” “It’s not exactly now or never,” Marcine said, “but you’re here now. What do you have to lose?” “Yeah. You’re right.” The sword slipped to one side, resting against the center console within easy reach of her hand. “Let’s do this.” --- Marcine had debated on wearing her coat from Winter. It was awfully fancy for a casual meeting, and she wasn't planning on making a statement. But when she was putting Rick in his sheath (that mental phrasing amused her much more than it should have), she remembered him calling her Battle Princess Barbie, and well, why not? She could pretend to be a local who couldn’t deal with a little chill in the air. Any excuse to wear it instead of leaving it in the closet because it was too fancy, or too hot, or too likely to set off a metal detector somewhere. So when she stopped giving the shrunken heads a dirty look and stepped inside, she was dressed in her burgundy coat with its silver armor trim, her matching hat with its brooch of white feathers, black jeans, and a silver sword at her hip. If it would ever look right to wear an actual sword into a tourist trap, now was the time. As soon as she was away from the windows the air just to her right shimmered and a slick-haired man appeared wearing a black dress shirt and vest with a red tie, sleeves rolled up to his elbows. His patent leather shoes hovered slightly above the weathered wooden floor and he was visibly transparent. “Hi, everyone...” he said nervously, putting one hand behind his head and forcing a smile. The room went silent, but only for a moment. Then, a low whistle cut through the quiet, coming from a chair in the back of the room. “Hey, tiger,” Ada called out, raising a hand to greet them. “Looking good tonight.” It turns out ghosts can blush. “Ah, Rick. Marcine.” If Elbridge was either surprised or dismayed by this development, he didn’t show it. Not showing his feelings was one of Elbridge’s strongest skills. “Glad that you’ve decided to join us.” Ordinarily, he would have introduced them both out of habit, but it seemed unnecessary for Marcine, and lately he’d come to the conclusion that Rick wanted to distance himself from the Council. Naming him as Elbridge’s predecessor wouldn’t help with that. Rick was wearing his sword-pin on his tie, yes, but Elbridge decided he’d let Rick bring attention to it first. Pizza still halfway in his mouth, Gorden turned in his seat to wave hello at the newcomer--correction, newcomers. The girl, presumably Marcine, looked...really overdressed. And combined with the sword she looked like something out of Sailor Moon, or Rose of Versailles. The guy, though… “Rick’s a ghost,” he muttered around his pizza, so it came out more like “Ricc a ghoss.” And a fancy one at that. He swallowed and rubbed his eyes with his free hand. “Okay, sure, magic, transforming demons, fish people...maybe the next guy will come through the door with a Pikachu on a leash!” He chuckled out of manic exasperation. “How the hell did I miss all this?” “In the case of magic, because it tends to scramble delicate electronics - a phenomenon we call ‘hexing’,” Elbridge explained. “Communications from primary sources therefore tend to be limited to written documents or word-of-mouth. Demons exist primarily in their home dimension, and their corporeal forms revert to ectoplasm, which rapidly evaporates, when slain or banished from this plane.” His expression turned grim. “The ‘fish-people’, as you call them, are simply very diligent about silencing witnesses.” “That they are,” said Maria quietly. She gave the storeroom a worried glance. Mary didn’t usually take kindly to non-humans in her shop, even if Cole had been a good customer... Gorden reflected on what he’d heard from Shirley and Danny and grunted his agreement. “Yeah...Shirley sounded pretty angry about them. Can’t believe someone at Tulane would get involved with things like that, and drag students in with him. Dammit.” James raised an eyebrow at the entrance - not so much at the sudden apparition, though the fact that everyone could see him meant the old warden must be getting better at his whole ghost mojo thing, but at Marcine - and leaned over to Anna to ask quietly, “Uh, since when do Winter send emissaries to Paranet meetings?” “Good question,” said Anna, looking more than a little shocked. “Marcine, can I have a word please?” And going along with a joke from months ago was turning on her already. “I’m not going to stab anyone, if that’s what you’re worried about,” Marcine said. “Well I should hope not. Store room, please.” She turned to the group. “We’ll get started just as soon as I get back, so everybody get situated.” Then she motioned Marcine to follow her. She did, confused. Did she really look that weird?
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Nov 21, 2018 07:59
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About Your Dead Friend... Scene: Voodoo Shop Storeroom The storeroom behind the counter was packed full of long shelves that were stacked to the ceiling with all sorts of tourist-flavored knick knacks and snack items. It was dimly lit by a shadeless lamp in the front corner and a heavyset black woman in a pretty blue patterned dress was just finishing unpacking a box full of incense when Anna dragged Marcine between the beaded curtain strings. “Wow,” Mary Laveau said, seeing Marcine’s coat and sword. “Since when does the Winter Lady come shopping in N’awlins?” “I'm just the bootleg version,” Marcine said, with a brief smile, before turning back to Anna. She didn't want to be rude, but there seemed to be a more pressing issue. “Is there a problem?” “I hope not,” Anna said, looking her up and down. Her eyes settled on the sword, not the coat. “Look, there’s no nice way to ask this question so I’m just gonna say it plain. Are you possessed?” “Oh. No.” Maybe wearing it openly had been a bad idea after all. The worry spread from Anna to the other lady immediately, so this was a serious matter. Marcine gave them a small, disarming smile. “Long story short, he’s the former Warden. He's been staying with me.” She glanced back toward the window. “I just had to bring the sword in so we could both attend. Elbridge invited us. He probably would have warned you if we'd decided we were actually coming sooner.” Mary looked at Anna and narrowed her eyes. “Please tell me she didn’t just say that Richter’s ghost is haunting my shop. It’s the middle of the afternoon!” “It is, and he is, and he’s fully manifested too. I don’t even know how he did it and I’m the ectomancer,” Anna said, sounding frustrated. “Can I see that?” She pointed to the sword. Marcine rested her hand on the strap that held the sheath on her belt, but hesitated. If they knew him, it should be fine, but this wasn't exactly the reception she'd expected. Why hadn't he mentioned this? “If you're not going to exorcise him or something.” “Well I can’t just snap my fingers and send him to great beyond,” Anna said, rolling her eyes. “Cole did me a solid a while back. If it’s him, you ain’t gotta worry.” Marcine didn't sense ill will over the worry or the words, so she handed the sheathed sword over. “This is new,” Anna said, admiring the brown leather sheath. There was a delicate spiral pattern pressed into the material. “Singh’s work,” Mary said. “The blade should have Turner’s maker’s mark- there it is. Yeah, that’s the original sword alright.” “So it is him,” Anna said, releasing a breath gratefully. “Thank God, trying to un-mojo Elbridge would have been a trick and a half.” “No kidding.” Marcine rubbed her neck. “Sorry for this. Nobody bothered to explain ghost etiquette to me.” “It’s not about manners,” Anna said, fully unsheathing the sword. “The first time Elbridge came to the meeting a couple months ago he was showing signs of recent possession. Like, real deep too. The kind where you don’t really know something’s gotten hold of you and started influencing your thoughts. I was worried sick but he insisted he was fine, which is usually what you do when someone’s controlling your mind. I made a point to visit him a few times, helped him move some of his creepy collection while that was going on, but it looked like whatever it was musta got scared off, or at least it wasn’t doing its thing on him anymore.” “When did he move in with you, again?” Mary asked. “Around a month,” Marcine said, “but he was with Ada for a while before then.” Recent possession, and El had been acting weird…while he'd been carrying the sword. There had just never been a good time to bring it up, what with Outsiders and world trees. “I think he was. Before Rick woke up. That would actually explain a lot.” “...woke up?” Anna asked. “From what I understand, after Rick died, he was in the sword but not really aware for a while. El had the sword, but none of us knew he was there.” She smiled nervously. “Is accidental possession better or worse than intentional possession?” “Sorta depends on the intent of the possessor, doesn't it,” Mary said darkly. “Accidental is usually weaker, and much more random,” Anna said. “You start to pick up the habits of the deceased like stopping to pick flowers at a certain place or watching a certain tv show you never cared about before. It’s a psychic imprint rubbing off on a living person. It happens a lot with fetters like this, physical contact with the ghost’s most precious object leaves a stain behind. Any of that been happening to you?” Marcine shook her head. “Things have been pretty normal. Ghost aside. I do remember noticing some of that with El, but we were in crisis mode at the time.” And running off to her parents’ place without following up on it suddenly felt very irresponsible. Not that she should feel responsible for a century-old wizard... Anna ran her hand up and down the smooth silver blade. “I don’t feel any psychic leakage,” she said, brows knitting together. “But what you’re telling me doesn’t make a lot of sense, Marcine. Ghosts don’t wake up, they’re more like echoes, or afterimages. Whatever they are when they’re made is how they stay, unless they start doing some things I don’t expect someone like Cole would do. If he was just an imprint, he should have stayed one.” “I’ve only dealt with a couple ghosts before, so I don’t have much to go on, but they were more like what you’d expect to see in a Halloween movie and Rick doesn’t act like them at all.” She shrugged. “You’d learn more asking him.” “Asking me what?” Rick said, poking his head through the beaded curtain. He shivered as Anna touched the blade. “Please stop doing that.” “Why, Warden Cole…” Anna stroked the sword again, as if by seeing him she’d just realized something important. “This isn’t a fetter at all, is it?” Rick glared at her. “Just Cole is fine, and no, it’s not.” Marcine felt his spike of discomfort. She narrowed her eyes slightly, though her tone remained neutral. “I’d like that back.” Anna held up one hand. “Just a second. See, I think what I’ve got right here is a vessel.” Mary blinked in surprise. “Really?” “What’s the difference?” Marcine asked, though she doubted the answer was worth antagonizing Rick over. “Price,” Mary muttered, giving the sword a serious appraisal. Marcine shot her a look of disbelief. “Fetters are mementos that anchor a ghost to the living world,” Anna said, her eyes still on Rick. “They represent the unfinished business or the trauma that caused the ghost to exist. They’re fragile, and destroying them usually gets rid of the ghost for good.” She glanced down at the sword, which she was now holding as if it were a precious treasure. “Vessels on the other hand...” “Vessels act as bodies for spirit-beings, like genies,” Rick finished for her. “...or lost souls.” “So what does that mean?” Marcine asked. “That he’s really Rick Cole.” Anna said. She sheathed the sword and handed it back to Marcine. “He’s not a ghost. Ghosts don’t change, or learn, or grow. They can’t, by their very nature. Unless they start cannibalizing other ghosts, and then they go crazy.” “It usually takes a lot of crazy for a ghost to manifest visibly,” Mary added. “That’s why Anna was worried.” “I’m not crazy,” Rick said, annoyed. He gave Marcine a sideways glance. “Am I?” Another time she might have ribbed him about it, but since they were talking about actual destructive insanity, this wasn’t that time. “No.” She returned his sideways glance as she put the sheath back on her belt. “Is there a particular reason you didn’t mention this before?” “I wasn’t sure,” he admitted. “Not until recently. It’s pretty hard to tell the difference and I didn’t want to be that guy, you know, the ghost who’s in denial about being a ghost.” She smiled, her hand settling on the hilt protectively (and out of habit from fencing practice). “It sounds like that was already more self-awareness than the average ghost.” “Yeah, maybe.” His cheeks colored, as much from her words as the touch of her hand. Anna clapped her hands together. “Well, if no one’s crazy or possessed I think we’re good to go start things off. Oh, last question, you’re not actually here on behalf of Winter or anything are you? That’d be a bit of a problem.” Marcine glanced down at the coat. “No. It’s just a nice coat with a long story.” She grimaced. “A really long story.” “Well hey, I might have a better chance of pulling it out of you than Elbridge,” Anna said, grinning to herself as she pulled the beaded curtain back. As she stepped past the curtain, Marcine reached her mind to the spirit beside her. <I shouldn’t have let her take the sword. I’m sorry.> <The only three people allowed to lay hands on that without my direct permission are you, Elbridge, and Ada. No exceptions.> His anger was mostly directed outwards, but the disappointment was all for her. She sent back an acknowledgement tinged with annoyance at herself and the two women. She hadn’t realized, but there was no point saying that, because he knew, because he hadn’t told her, and he would be thinking of that already anyway… And all because she’d talked him into coming in when he didn’t want to and so dumped him into this on top of finding Ada. Sometimes she needed to just not open her mouth. And now they were back among the rest of the group. <It won’t happen again,> she said - unnecessarily, perhaps, but she had to say something. <And next time, feel free to tell me to shut up.>
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Nov 27, 2018 02:31
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The Preemptive Paradox Prevention Plan Scene: Voodoo Shop As the meeting wound down and people began to clear their workspaces and leave with their new dolls, Elbridge’s eyes lingered on Mr. Maxwell. This would be a difficult conversation, and one best had out of earshot of the others. If Gorden intended to use his coupon tonight, they might be able to talk in a crowded restaurant without being overheard… Marcine had packed up her sewing supplies, grabbed a mini bottle of water, and joined Elbridge. She followed who he was looking at. “What was that magic?” She couldn’t tell what Gorden had done, but it had bothered El, and that bothered her. “That was time magic,” Elbridge said softly. “Remember how strangely things behaved at the centre of the anomaly?” “So that’s why it was weird to watch.” Something had been unsettling about it. That made the unease she’d felt from him make sense. If you were suddenly informed there were strict limits, but didn’t know what those were… “Should talk to him away from all this.” “Rick, I’d like for you to be present,” Elbridge said, addressing the sword on Marcine’s belt. “We really need to impress upon Mr. Maxwell just how much harm he could cause without meaning to.” “Ambushing him over tacos is perhaps not the most diplomatic method of preventing him from going warlock,” Rick said, once he’d joined them. “Was that what-?” Marcine began, then sighed. “Of course it was. Excuse me.” She crossed the room and approached the mage in question with a smile. “Hey. Your name was Gorden, right?” Gorden had written one last note about effigy dolls--”sacrificial anode? Sackboys out of zinc or similar?”--in his note before snapping it closed on the coupon as a bookmark at the sound of his name. “Oh? Yeah, I’m Gorden. You’re...Marcine, right?” She nodded. “Marcine Sterling, Elbridge’s apprentice.” It felt less potentially aggressive than invoking the Warden title. “Thought I should introduce myself properly since I forgot earlier.” She offered her hand. “Gorden Maxwell, nice to meet you,” he answered, returning the handshake. “Does Elbridge have more than one apprentice? Do they all dress like…” he shrugged. “...like Sailor Moon, I guess?” Marcine smirked. “That’s Sailor Mars to you. Nicky’s the other one, so I’ll let you decide on that. I know there’s a lot to take in, so I wondered if you’d want to meet with us at El Gato Negro so we can get more into the whole wizarding world thing?” She thought a moment, and added, “I’ll cover dinner, save the coupon for another day.” Gorden was about to ask who “us” was when Marcine dropped the offer of a free full service dinner. “Sure, sounds good,” he said without thinking. “What day? Tomorrow?” She managed not to laugh at how fast that went over. “I was thinking later this evening.” “Tonight works, sure,” Gorden answered. He should have wondered about why Marcine seemed to be in such a hurry to get him alone, but dinner was too good to pass up. Besides, he owed Sharene and Shirley to get contacts and leads to help them as soon as possible. “Great.” She cocked her head slightly at a vague undercurrent. “Is something bothering you? Oh - you said something earlier about students getting caught up?” “Yeah, that’s, uh...I think one of the professors at Tulane has been doing some shady magic poo poo. Same with Shirley--she got caught up in it too. I’m trying to look into it as...a favor.” He waved his hand around. “That’s how I learned about this place.” Marcine glanced at the emptying meeting room and wondered if stragglers would be kicked out soon. “We can discuss that, too,” she said, and smiled. “Gives you time to see if you have any particular questions. See you around supper time, then.” “See you then,” Gorden responded, finally getting the chance to think about it. Elbridge’s apprentice...why the interest in seeing him away from the crowd? On the other hand, she wouldn’t offer to pay for dinner if she was going to help him cut off his head...right? As they parted ways, she thought it was a shame that this had to be a business thing. Gorden was pretty cute. --- “What’d he say?” Rick asked, when Marcine made it back to him and Elbridge. “We’ll meet him for dinner,” she answered. “I figure we can answer any questions he has after reading the pamphlet, and he has some things he’s worried about too.” “Correction, you’ll meet him for dinner. I’m going home with Cantor.” “You won’t come?” Elbridge asked. Rick glanced Gorden’s way. “I think it’s a bad idea. You’re so worried about what he could do that you’re not giving him any time to think. He’s not gonna trust you if you open up the conversation by laying out all the reasons you can’t trust him first.” “I don’t intend to put him on notice,” Elbridge protested. “Only...I think that it would help for him to know in advance where certain boundaries lie. He seems prone to experimentation - what happens if he decides to put his magic to the test? If he tries to send a message to his past self instructing him not to send a message to his past self, or see how many billiards balls he can cause to knock themselves into holes? If he only appreciated the risks involved…” Rick had to admit he could imagine Gorden doing either of those things fairly easily, but... “He’s managed to survive for a year on his own without paradoxing himself out of existence, give him some credit.” “Rick, we still have no idea what became of Lytle.” That made him pause. “Well, if anyone could help us find some trace of where JR ended up, it’s another time mage… That’s even more reason not to scare him off.” “I don’t mean to scare him off,” Elbridge reiterated. “Just to warn him which avenues of inquiry we already know will end badly. This...world,” he sighed. “This reality. It all seems so stable, until you’ve seen how easily it can break.” “I wouldn’t say it broke easily,” Marcine pointed out. “It’s just still a lot easier to break than it is to put back together. So...I’m sure there’s a way to balance the warning without scaring him.” She shrugged. They both had good points; better to focus on merging them than picking one or the other. “You’ve got a few hours to narrow it down to the key points if it’s that much of a problem.” “I just want to go home…” Rick’s shoulders slumped and his whole body visibly faded. “If you think it’s the right call, then go ahead, El. You’re the Warden now. You should trust your instincts.” “Hmm...if you think a lighter touch is warranted, Marcine-” Elbridge broke off as he noticed Rick’s condition. “Rick, are you unwell?” he asked, concern evident in his voice. “Tired,” he said, shaking his head. “Losing my grip on-” He vanished mid-sentence. “...oh dear.” Elbridge grimaced at Marcine. “Does this happen very often?” He tapped the rim of his spectacles twice, and saw Rick still standing there, crossing his arms and looking peevish. “He hasn’t manifested this long before.” Marcine lightly patted the sword hilt. “Guess I’ll hand you off to Nicky.” It was disappointing to have him go, but at the same time...it’d be nice to have her apartment back. Not all of her friends were ready to meet a ghost, but having them over without including Rick would have been incredibly rude. She angled her head toward El. “I’ll try to keep him in line.” “Thanks.” Rick let his arms drop and gave her a tired smile before turning to Elbridge. “Hey, I know I’ve been kinda… I’m not trying to...” he sighed, not sure what he could say. “Sorry.” “No worries,” Elbridge said. “You just take care of yourself.” Whatever that meant any longer. “Try not to kill Wizard Cantor. He’s finally making progress.” “We’ll be best pals in a week,” Rick said, giving the boy scout salute. “I’m already planning a trip to the Library.” “The Library…? Ah!” Elbridge exclaimed softly. “The golems. I expect he’ll want to study them.” “Well there’s also books,” Rick said, not wanting to admit he’d forgotten about the security system. Or rather, wished he could forget about it, after his run in with it last year. “I want to do some research on vessels too. Anything you need looked up while we’re there?” “See what you can find on Midas of Phrygia,” Elbridge told him. Between Ada’s scheme and whatever had happened with Benjamin Frisk… “I have a feeling we’ll be dealing with him again sooner rather than later.”
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Dec 11, 2018 04:16
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Yellow Fox Marcine had been hearing bits and pieces of things happening among the fae, but Rick and her apprenticeship had been good excuses to avoid looking into it. She hadn’t had anything to do with the Summer debacle directly, not to extent that Ada was involved, but she still hadn’t wanted to deal with that. But she’d ignored it long enough. It was about time she learned what was going on in the aftermath. She drove out to the woods and called her violin to hand. Good thing she only needed to play for a moment; she’d turned the heat on in her car, only to not get any. Wonderful. She made her way to the log where she usually met Topaz and played his song. It wasn’t long before a brown nose emerged from one end of the log. Topaz took a tentative step out and then wriggled free. He looked bigger than Marcine remembered. A little thinner too. “Marcine, Marcine! Look!” He circled the log and jumped up in her lap, wagging his tails. All four of them. “Wow…” She grinned and gave his neck a good, rough scratch with both hands. “Way to go. Congratulations!” He flopped down and leaned into the scritches, enjoying all the attention. It took him a moment to remember to ask: “Why did you call for me?” Marcine settled for rubbing his neck so she wouldn’t distract him as much. “Can you fill me in on what’s going on with the Courts?” “Hmmm… Things are not good,” he said, ears laying down against his skull. “The Summer Queen is missing, and no one knows where she went. If she doesn’t come back the Queen of Winter will make war on us, and probably win. It’s got all the lords and ladies on edge. Even some of the oldest enemies within Summer are starting to call for pacts of truce until the Queen is found. Otherwise there’s not too much to tell, since Lord Pontchartrain has taken firm hold of the court locally. He got rid of most of the rules that Narcissus put in place. ‘Faeries for the faeries,’ he says. ‘Do what’s natural.’ It’s caused some, er... disagreements.” “What kinds of disagreements?” Marcine asked. “His folk are wilder than the court is used to. They like to have parties and sometimes they like to invite people without sending them home.” Topaz looked uncomfortable. “But it’s not all like that. I think the main idea is that the faeries here have grown too close to humans and he wants us to stop being so civilized and toothless. To spend less time on this side of the veil and more time running free in the forest and the swamp. It’s very fun! But I don’t want to say goodbye to all my human friends, so I’m not so sure about it.” “I don’t see why those should be mutually exclusive,” Marcine said. She hunted when she felt like it, no apparent reason why fae couldn’t hang out with people when they felt like it. But that wasn’t the important part here. She frowned. “How many of these parties are going on?” “Most nights, on the riverboat,” Topaz said, shrugging. “Lord Pontchartrain really like parties.” “People are going to notice the missing if he keeps that up.” Among many other problems, but she was talking to a fae, here. “That’s why Lord Narcissus didn’t let them,” Topaz agreed. “Some of the courtiers are using the parties to bring in human soldiers, since there might be a war. It’s because they’re afraid, I think. Afraid enough to put their pride aside to bolster our numbers. It’s gotten that bad.” Marcine sighed in irritation. “What good is a fae war going to do when we’ve already got the Fomor on our asses?” “It won’t do anyone in Summer any good,” Topaz said, sighing. “But without the Queen it’s probably inevitable. Ten thousand years of winter, if nothing changes soon.” She’d never heard him sound so down. She scratched his head, thinking. Sounded like Summer was on the back foot entirely. Only Winter would benefit from a war...but Winter only cared about itself anyway. Mab had been willing to accept their help, but that was in the face of the world getting destroyed. “I think I should meet the Winter delegation,” she said, eventually. “What will you say to them?” Topaz asked. She shrugged. “I plan to get to know them first. Emphasizing the Fomor seems like a first step, though.” She sighed, remembering the meeting. “It got so bad in Florida they dumped a toxin into the gulf, which I’m sure killed fae as well as Fomor and God knows how much wildlife and how many humans will suffer from the fallout… We can’t let it get that bad here.” Topaz wrapped a tail around her arm. “I know you want to help Marcine, but words can’t stop Winter from coming.” “I’d still rather take my chances with the ones that might want to kill me over the ones that definitely want to kill me,” she said dryly, and fluffed his ears. “It’s time to scout, not come up with some grand scheme. Don't worry about me.”
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Mar 9, 2019 21:39
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