Realistic or Modern &nbsp; BORROWED TIME

lyn. · Jul 20, 2024

Elyn was lost.

The park was as overstimulating as she expected. Loud families and children, obnoxious couples taking up as much space as possible in the limited pathways, and annoying workers trying to get Elyn to buy their overpriced food. There were many things Elyn wished she had done when she was alive, but this was not one of them. It was unfortunate her after-life job required her to be here. She could not fathom how all this noise could be fun.

Even with the blessing of being able to teleport to her mission just by walking through a door, Elyn quickly found herself swept up in the chaotic mess of the park. Unable to focus, unable to think with all the noise. By the time she had regained her bearings, she was lost, and could not find her way back. She had asked a clown for directions a few minutes back, but all he did was honk at her and point. Unfortunately, following his weak directions only led her to an area of carnival games. And after a group of kids splashed her with one of the stalls affixed water guns, she decided to sit down and attempt to regain her bearings again.

The mom only scolded her children for a measly one minute before letting them free to go play another carnival game, and did not spare Elyn a glance. They were currently attempting to knock down a bunch of badly printed photos with tiny balls, their aim was atrocious, and after failing for a third time one of the boys began to cry and demand one of the plushies. A good amount of bribing later, and the mother managed to gain a tiny, hot pink bunny that reminded Elyn of Angie, in some strange way.

The boy wasn't even grateful, he complained about the color and then ran off to another stall, leaving the bunny unattended on the bench next to her.

After a quick moment of debate, Elyn walked over and snatched the bear when the mom wasn't looking, stuffing it into her backpack and bee-lining it out of there. It wasn't that bad of a crime, just revenge, that's all.

Elyn walked around the park for another five minutes before asking for directions once again. Thankfully, the employee did not honk at her this time, and she managed to spot the rest of her team. "Got lost, sorry." she said, one hand fumbling with the strap on her bag.

glauciel

elyn

filler tab!
location

wallys adventure world

mentions

Zedalith Togy Wyll

♡coded by uxie♡

Elyn was lost.

The park was as overstimulating as she expected. Loud families and children, obnoxious couples taking up as much space as possible in the limited pathways, and annoying workers trying to get Elyn to buy their overpriced food. There were many things Elyn wished she had done when she was alive, but this was not one of them. It was unfortunate her after-life job required her to be here. She could not fathom how all this noise could be fun.

Even with the blessing of being able to teleport to her mission just by walking through a door, Elyn quickly found herself swept up in the chaotic mess of the park. Unable to focus, unable to think with all the noise. By the time she had regained her bearings, she was lost, and could not find her way back. She had asked a clown for directions a few minutes back, but all he did was honk at her and point. Unfortunately, following his weak directions only led her to an area of carnival games. And after a group of kids splashed her with one of the stalls affixed water guns, she decided to sit down and attempt to regain her bearings again.

The mom only scolded her children for a measly one minute before letting them free to go play another carnival game, and did not spare Elyn a glance. They were currently attempting to knock down a bunch of badly printed photos with tiny balls, their aim was atrocious, and after failing for a third time one of the boys began to cry and demand one of the plushies. A good amount of bribing later, and the mother managed to gain a tiny, hot pink bunny that reminded Elyn of Angie, in some strange way.

The boy wasn't even grateful, he complained about the color and then ran off to another stall, leaving the bunny unattended on the bench next to her.

After a quick moment of debate, Elyn walked over and snatched the bear when the mom wasn't looking, stuffing it into her bag and bee-lining it out of there. It wasn't that bad of a crime, just revenge, that's all.

Elyn walked around the park for another five minutes before asking for directions once again. Thankfully, the employee did not honk at her this time, and she managed to spot the rest of her team. "Got lost, sorry." she said, one hand fumbling with the strap on her bag.

Pilgrim59 · Jul 20, 2024

Nyctiel

The Blue Composer

Anna Maria Schwarzschild

Wally's Adventure World, NEW YORK CITY

Fair blue eyes widened at the slightest glimpse of glowing lights and uniformed personnel to complement the perception of a supposed crime scene. But amidst the crowd, the obsolete creature of grace found herself nurturing the very pretense of this false paradise with her presence. A grand field of allure flourishing by the attractions that brought forth curiosities and wonders. Mesmerized by the sight of its scale as she was disoriented by various distractions that surrounded her. An outdoors center, unfamiliar to the young woman, yet eeriely reminiscent of her first time at the International Exhibition of Industry and Art in 1862. Even now, those familiar excitements were called to her, particularly that of a certain man that she accompanied then. The ingenuity of mankind, exhibited and praised from time to time. It appeared as though the distractions they conjured for themselves were not much different from her time. Even so, she has yet to make amends with her lackadaisical studies of the modern world. Despite her diligence in securing the thousands of hours with Regenesis, there was much to learn - particularly that of her companions, whose varieties brought about a sense of camaraderie and perhaps hope for her.

Untainted blonde hair, fashioned specifically for the unsavory endeavors that Nyctiel had advised prior, were secured with an elegant bonnet, while her choice of attire adhered to her principles of a bygone fashion. Sky-blue ribbons embellished her attire, a motif that reflected her ardent intrigues akin to that of a little girl poised on the reverence of the marvelous wonderland. Dainty fingers, dressed with immaculate white gloves that completed her pristine apparels, vertically swiped past the bolded outlines of the schematics before her. As she was tracking the amusement park's layout, so too were the curious gazes that were drawn to the oddly foreign caricature before them. Deservingly so, for the foreign lady was as alien as the concept of amusement park. It was only when she had completed her scribbling within the small notebook that served as her footnotes for personal researches, did she notice the eyeballs cast on her. Offering a courteous curtsy and a soft smile to disperse the crowd, she cast aside her notes and slipped past the captivated pedestrians. Before long, she found herself detached from the rest of her company.

A peculiar face came to mind, of whom was specifically designated to keep her within sight when they started. Questions ran her by, shelved away for a time when she would be able to cast upon her unsuspecting colleagues. Considering their previous circumstances and joint adventures, she was sure that Angela would be the first to provide the necessary expositions, lest the Prussian find herself consumed by loss of contexts.

Her most difficult assignment yet was the mastering of a handheld communication device, which required only an occasionally-regulated amount of rejuvenation to sustain it. Countless hours spent on deciphering its intricate design left her with more questions than answers, let alone her English lessons to complement her understanding of an advanced world after death. Yet, these minor tribulations contributed much to her compartmentalized state of facing her own demise in the past. Rather, it distracted her from her own regrets. Even now, she wondered if the Officer survived the war. Her melancholic eyes fell to the ground at the thought, conjuring for herself an imaginary world where she could perhaps see him again - even if it was a brief moment, it would have meant the world to her.

Before long, she quickly stowed away her shackled thoughts, casting her sight on the petite brunette beside her. Reeling back to reality, she put on a genuine elated smile.

"Ms. Chang!" She finally spoke with a relieved expression to complement her northern German accent. "Would you be a dear and indulge my curiosities? Has it always been a Yankee tradition to consume dyed cottons?" Anna raised her curiosity, referring to the cotton candies within grasps of the local residents. "As an extension, I find it quite an irony for dog owners to be consuming their pet's dear-departed counterparts. Though I must profess, dog meat can fetch quite a decent meal in Prussia." She added with a nonchalant expression on the matter while pointing out the nearby dog owner with a hot dog in their hand. One could only fathom the disconnection of language differences, let alone explaining it to a time-bound survivor of a bygone era. In this case, the matter of American term for sausage and actual canines had completely eluded the Prussian woman.

"I do hope you'll be inclined to acquiesce my recently-acquired interests, Ms. Chang. That is, if you are not in a position to decline." Anna tilted her head with an excited smile as she brought Qing-Yi's attention to the hand-sized notebook within her hands. The exposed page was filled with various topics relevant to their surroundings including but were not limited to certain outstanding attractions such as a ferris wheels, bumper cars and pendulum rides. Beneath the neat cursive handwriting were semi-detailed doodles of snacks with question marks attributed to them, distinguishing corn dog nuggets, chocolate-sauced churros and whip floats. A fitting detail to absolve her concerns for their ongoing investigation, as their operational prudence often came hand-in-hand with getting the lay of the land - of which included the reconnaissance of native reactions and hearsays. By now, it was a recital of routine for Anna and her colleagues.

Code by Serobliss

ERode · Jul 21, 2024

Kovacs

Of all the things that an aberration could do, bodysnatching was the cruelest. To commit sins and then leave the consequences for others to face, it was an unforgivable thing. A true violation of body, mind, and soul.

And to do so to a young mother, to force her to lay hands on an innocent babe?

It spoke much of Qing-Yi, or perhaps spoke broadly of the apathy of today’s youth, that knowledge of such an instance only aroused a vague discomfort. Such sensation was lost as the Chinese woman, who was perhaps even less worldly than her time-displaced companion, watched Anna explore with a wide-eyed gaze at all that the amusement park had to offer to the two of them. When she had first met the proper western lady, Qing-Yi had thought her mature beyond her years, the proper, decorous sort who would lived the political drama that others merely starred in. It was nice to see ‘wonder’ etched upon her companion’s dainty figure. Certainly, it wasn’t just curious on-lookers and wannabe social media influencers who snapped instas or tiktoks of the ever-proper Anna Maria Schwarzschild. Qing-Yi took photos too, of the real, physical, instant type. More to be added to the photo album, more to fill up the plastic files.

Memories embalmed, to be retrieved and shared on a sentimental evening, even once those in it had long changed, or were long gone.

“I’m with Anna, yes,” Qing-Yi replied, reciprocating the voice note sent through the robust Nokia. “And Nick, don’t spend too long in the toilets. Your guts will fall out from your butt.” Not that she was unsympathetic to what nerves the handsome boy had. The squad hadn’t even faced an A-rank since he joined. Now there was a possibility of an S-rank? When it rained, it poured.

Rain complimented sunlight though. She quickened her steps to catch up with Anna, taking the lady’s hand to guide her to the places that aroused her curiosity. An African-American youth operated the cotton candy machine; “It’s not cotton, babe. They’re spinning sugar. Like dragon’s beard candy, back home.” He completed the cloud of sugar by taking a damp stick and pressing it against the cloud to shape it into a flower. With a design like that, how could Qing-Yi not fork over a wad of bills and get one for both of them? And was it not natural to salute the hard work of a teenager on such a busy, sunny day by telling them to keep the change?

“Dogs are more friends than pets or livestock in America, I hear,” she continued, passing by a stand where a pair of greasy-faced twins seemed to rotate with their backs as a hinge as they grabbed toasted buns and steamed hot dogs for a line too long to wait for. “But ‘hot dogs’ are just a name for sausages. Don’t know what meat they use for it though; it could totally be dog.” An inappropriate joke, perhaps, one that earned her a glare from a white lady with a hot-dog-sized chihuahua. Qing-Yi smiled apologetically, then promptly forgot that interaction two seconds after. “It’s easy to make. After this, I’ll show you.”

Granted, hot dogs became tastier when they were in the right environment, and a hotel filled mostly with gloomy people who couldn’t figure out if they were dead or alive wasn’t a great environment for that. So maybe…

“No rides until after the job’s done, because we don’t want to keep Angie and Nickie waiting,” she spoke, shoving a hand in the pockets of her jersey to retrieve a crumpled twenty dollar bill. With all the graciousness of an auntie on New Years, she bestowed the gift (forcibly) into Anna’s hand. “Get some to share. One day of experience is one year of study.”

Some people couldn’t figure out if they were dead or alive, but Qing-Yi certainly believed she was alive. And that meant she needed sugar in her brain to keep things running, and water in her tummy to keep her guts going!

Hm…

“Make sure to buy something meaty too!” The brunette called out to the proper western lady. “Give Nickie strength!”

Kovacs · Jul 22, 2024

NICHOLAS NEALE-ST JAMES

LOCATION. WALLY'S ADVENTURE WORLD

𖤍 NYCTIEL 𖤍

Turns out, even in the afterlife, mornings and Nick still made for poor bedfellows. He awoke with a jolt, the lump of a nightmare still lodged in his throat. Beads of sweat poured off his brow, snaking down his bare back and mingling with the leather of the couch he'd been crashing on for the past month. The lump could have been made of anything—a hairball, a chicken bone, a piece from last night's Chinese takeout—it made no difference. Like the ghost of a breath on car window glass, the nightmare was left free to roam in the fog, shake hands with many of its kind, while its sole nightly witness was left reeling and muscle-ached for what felt like the hundredth time. Bleary-eyed, he squinted at the familiar green glow of his Seraphim-issued Nokia, standard issue for all their sorry lot.

Or should he say, Regenesis agent. The very word still felt foreign in his head, like a poorly-fitting puzzle piece sitting in a sea of Lego. Damn cheapskates, he thought groggily, running a thumb over the phone's scratched and dented surface. Guess even death can't take a Nokia outta commission, huh?

He tapped the screen, the dim light momentarily banishing the shadows clinging to the corners of Miss Angie's living room. If he had to guess, his mentor was already up and about, attemptin' to pry out of their ever-cryptic Seraphim more details on today's mission. He bypassed his agent inbox for now, the lack of meaningful responses a familiar sting. He tapped open his email app instead, fingers flying across buttons as he scrolled through the applications he'd sent out to farms in the market for able-bodied farmhands. In his heart of hearts, there was a longing for a place willing to take him on closer to his hometown. But Angie's recent reprimand about his absenteeism, her voice laced with a concern that sent both sparks and shivers down his spine, had effectively strangled that dream. He let out a defeated sigh. In the end, any farm that offered a lifeline, that's where he'd go.

'Course, these disappearances were a mystery Angie could only smell – the acrid tang of cheap beer clinging to his clothes; the seemingly willful disregard for the antiseptic of afterlife agent routine; the oft-nightly return in one of two ways: either a hollow shell, eyes vacant and as lifeless as the grave he'd been resurrected from, or radiating a forced joviality fueled by the dregs of forgotten courage and the bottom of a bottle. Their celestial ledgers couldn't distinguish between vanquishing rogue poltergeists and drowning sorrows on the outskirts of his hometown—never penetrating farther than the gas station—both acts devoured his precious afterlife hours with chilling impartiality. Now, despite his mentor's best efforts when it came to hunting Aberrations together, Nick's conduct was at best a hit-or miss, all culminating to a measly 369 hours. Nothing about it exactly screamed heroic afterlife agent behavior.

His resume was, in all honesty, a joke—at least, a half-written one. Childhood summers spent sweating under the unforgiving sun on his uncle's farm instilled in him a begrudging respect for hard work and a basic understanding of animal husbandry and fence maintenance. It wasn't much, but in the face of his dwindling afterlife hours, it was all he had to offer. Half the time, he was tempted to just lay it all out there in the Objective subject line: "Resurrected from the dead to fight aberrations for the sake of humanity. Looking for extra cash because employers still apparently underpay, even in the afterlife." A wry chuckle escaped his lips, the absurdity of his situation settling in his gut again, only to rise back up sooner or later like pockets of oil in water, for next time.

He slammed the Nokia shut. For some reason, it felt like a crushing blow, echoing a hollowness in his chest. Maybe today would be different. Maybe this Wally's Adventure World mission wouldn't erupt into another soul-sucking mess, one that'd expose him as the liability he increasingly feared he was. Most of the other agents had been decent folks, offering a sliver of camaraderie in this entire bizzare affair. He owed them at least a half-decent showing. Maybe today, just maybe, he could contribute something worthwhile. And maybe, just maybe, a farm far and close enough away would answer his pleas and offer escape from the suffocating pull of his past. But the thought of getting close, truly close, to the life, the ~~lives~~, he'd so carelessly extinguished... he didn't dare to finish the thought. Nick lurched off the couch, a dull, regretful thrumming in his bones. It was a background noise compared to the white-hot swirl of guilt that snarled at him from within. He took a deep breath.

Here goes nothing.

God, did the air hang thicker than molasses in July.

The vicious, cloying scent of cotton candy and popcorn made Nick's stomach churn worse than a bowl of bad grits. Oversized cartoon characters plastered every surface, their manic grins stretched like they're mocking him for missing out on, well, everything. Past life with a single, struggling mother has a tendency to do that. Luckily with friends, invitations to their family trips to the local fair did the trick. But the joy still laced itself with the bitter aftertaste of being the outsider looking in. It was what he was doing now—catching glimpses of families on the roller coaster, shrieks a mix of terror and pure tickled excitement. A pang of sudden longing shot through Nick, like a phantom limb aching for somethin' it should have had long ago. His gaze landed on a little girl clutching a giant stuffed panda holding her mama's hand, her face lit up brighter than a swarm of fireflies. Nick's throat tightened, a strange feeling bubblin' up inside him, threatenin' to spill over like a pot of neglected beans on the stove.

One moment became the next, and before he knew it, the dam broke. Panic surged through, a cold sweat slicking his skin. The world started to spin, the garish colors blurring into an unrecognizable mess. Nick stumbled, the happy screams morphing into a deafening roar. Instinct took over, guiding him towards the faded sign of the men's bathroom.

Thankfully, the place was empty. Nick slammed the door shut, collapsing against the sink, whitening knuckles matching and gripping the cool ceramic edges. He splashed water on his face, the icy liquid a temporary reprieve. His hand, seeking an anchor, brushed against the cold tile. A strange sensation—a tingling, a pull, followed by the sickening sensation of falling. When his vision cleared, he found himself on the ground outdoors, facing the back wall of the restroom. Only feet away, stood his only little witness. A toddler, his sleek black curls bouncing with the force of his quivering lip.

Nick scrambled to his feet, a jolt of fresh alarm electrifying him. He hadn't meant to…where the heck did he just... ?

"Are you alright?" he rasped, the question a desperate attempt to ground himself. "Where's your mama?" The words hung heavy in the air, until a chilling whisper, cold and accusatory, sliced through it and through his mind.

She's dead. Dead because of you.

Nick's breath caught. The whisper faltered, replaced by a flicker of panic. This wasn't… this child wasn't... Relief, sharp and unexpected, momentarily blinded him. A pang of empathy, raw and real, lanced through him, following the toddler's outstretched finger jabbing into the heart of the joyous chaos, slamming the truth shut with a resounding thud. This little guy, barely past the stage of wobbly steps, was lost.

The pang of empathy morphed into a different kind of urgency, a cold dread slithering down his spine. He had to find this kid's mama, and fast. "Hey there, little fella," Nick said, forcing a smile onto his face. It probably looked more like a grimace, but it was the best he could muster under the circumstances. "Don't cry, we'll find your mama, alright?"

Nick scooped up the little guy, brushing frantically at the dust on his clothes. His phone buzzed in his pocket. Qing-Yi. He fumbled it out, his vision blurring again. "Bathroom," he choked out to the voice note, "Be there in a sec." He shoved the phone back in his pocket and walked out into the crowd again, gray eyes scanning and swiveling like there was no tomorrow.

Just then, his phone buzzed again. Qing-Yi's message was blunt: "And Nick, don’t spend too long in the toilets. Your guts will fall out from your butt." Nick couldnt help but roll his eyes, followed by a twitch of the lips, a wry recognition of his teammate's special brand of humor.

The amusement was fleeting, a tiny spark swallowed by the growing urgency gnawing at him. Time wasn't a luxury he had. He had a lost kid on his hands, a mission on the horizon, and a churning stomach that still hadn't emptied itself.

Luckily, in their path was a young, pert staff member for one of the toy gunshootin' stalls. He approached her, his voice strained but resolute. "Hey, excuse me miss, but I found this little fella wandering around alone. Help him out, won't you?"

The staff member, all sunshine and smiles, took one look at the tearful toddler and Nick's harried expression. "Oh! Sure, of course. Lost his mama, huh? Poor lil' guy. I can take him to Lost and Found. Don't you worry, we'll reunite them in no time."

Nick knelt down, his voice thick with a strange emotion he couldn't quite place. "Hey there, little man," he said, wiping a stray tear from the boy's cheek. "You give your mama a big hug when you find her, alright?"

The little toddler nodded, and even offered up a small smile. Nick faltered a smile back, his heart clenching. Shame, that crippling, godforsaken thing, settled in his chest; hypocrisy too. He couldn't go see his own mother, not yet. But at the very least, he helped reunite this little guy with his.

The staff member's gaze flickered to him. "Hey there," she said, her voice laced with concern. "You alright? You look a little pale."

Nick simply shook his head, the lie a bitter lump in his throat. He straightened his shoulders, took a deep breath, and forced a smile. "Just peachy," he replied, his voice rough around the edges. Stepping away, he scanned the throngs of people, his eyes desperately searching for the familiar crimson and white striped awning of the hot dog stand—their designated rendezvous point. Relief washed over him as he spotted it in the distance. And there, leaning casually against a post, stood Angie.

She looked meaner than an alley cat fighting for scraps before winter rolls in, and yet, to Nick's ever-present surprise, the sight of her only intensified the nervous thrill that shot through him. With a renewed sense of purpose, Nick navigated the sea of bodies, the weight of the whole deal with the toddler and his panic attack clinging to him like a damp shroud. As he drew closer, Nick noticed the rest of the details of her attitude. Her eyes were narrowed to slits, her jaw clenched tighter than a gator on a gnat hunt, and her usually playful features were etched with a frown that could sour the sweetest lemonade.

Nick felt a familiar flutter in his chest—a confusing mix of worry and a ridiculous quickening of his pulse that made no sense for a fella who was technically pushing up daisies. He plastered on his best southern charm, a slow, easy smile that (hopefully) wouldn't come across as too smug, or betray his anxiousness and tiredness. "Sorry," blurted out the young agent automatically. For what? He didn't know, but reading Angie as it were, it couldn't hurt. "This is it?" Nick's tongue clicked, gray eyes roaming the empty hot dog stand, a hand going up to squint back at the crowds. "What'd you reckon is holding them up? Qing-Yi get lost in a funhouse mirror maze? Or maybe... maybe Miss Anna decided to join a surprise pie-eating contest?" He chuckled, the sound a little strained around the edges, but the twinkle in his eye held a hint of genuine amusement at the sheer thought of an eighteenth century ladymaid gorging herself on a stack of Buc-ee's pecan pie.

INTERACTIONS.

AURS · Jul 22, 2024

angie yeon ;

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mood

disgust, nostalgia, melancholy.
outfit

jeans, tube top, a sleek, allsaints leather jacket, boots.
location

wally's adventure world.
interactions

ERode Pilgrim59 Kovacs

It's always a hit-and-miss with Angela like this. Only half-vexed, with stormy eyes, only half-apocalyptic. Like she'd grafted the parts attributed from the harshness of her world to her body, and unlike reformed reformed prisoners turning the page of a new life; she did not eat the angel's food cake. She looked right into the wrinkles of the priest's forehead and told him to fucking choke on it.

Maybe she imagined the flavors of that redemption cake, that pure symbol, and instead, delicately savored the idea of it against her lips, tongue, and throat.

Her and Nick. They fell into a routine over the last month. A quick, very scalding, but not entirely dry one. Qing Yi and Anna's tenures were too short to manage an apprentice, so the responsibility was hers, loathe to admit it as she was. He wasn't the sole reason behind her logic, but Angie pondered the illusion of free will at set hours, hoping it would become clearer with the hour. That, perhaps, for the time that she wore Ha Neul's face, she'd realize the essence of the cosmic hoax.

Nevermind that. The christians won, and circumstance offered very little choice.

So she keeps the true degree of her exasperation to herself. His tendency to push the boundaries of punctuality was a thorn in her side, sure, but his arrival meant they could finally get to work - she'd make the best of it. She thought that the first time, seeing him; all red-eyed, glassy and tattered. Horror, confusion, horror on his face until it sunk into the shape of his skull.

A month later, and she knew his nature, better than his poor mother - that she was twice-damned, pinning any hope of a quick cleanup on the guy.

Still, Angela told him no later that 6 AM in the morning to get up. Get dressed, come to terms with it all, (again), the night was going to be long (always). He shows face he feels like and the leer of their Seraphim echoed in the back of her head, wroth and ill at ease with the state of affairs presented.

...

Angie faults him a whole fuck lot more than before. Even more, this time, when he comes with sweat running down his chin like bullet ants, his face sick to his stomach, and yet - daring to persevere - his words, like a well-oiled machine, roll over skin with an artificial jabbering.

Circumstance doesn't allow the better of her own nature to tell him this. Yet.

"If I had to guess? Sightseeing. They'll be here soon." A statement of fact, she trusts those two more than she trusts him. Sure, it pisses her off, that half her team is out there frolicking among the greasy-faced, sticky-fingered, snot-nosed brats jiggling about - but she doesn't let on to the double standard it creates, that they could and the poor bastard in front of her had to be collared tight.

"It's hard to convince Anna to save the oogling for next week." Next week, because there was never a guarantee that it would be over soon, that they would survive in one piece. That they'd have the time, the peace of mind to celebrate after what might grace them in the bowels of Wally's, where screams of joy might as well be occasionally drowned out by someone's last will and testament read over the intercom.

Angela noticed him, jittery and trying so hard to seem put together. Putting on a front, and failing miserably. She doesn't spare his charm from the dismissive hum in the back of her throat. "God, I hope you're sober. You're sweating more than a senator in court, and we're going in soon." It was a poorly executed dance, she'd seen it a thousand times before - hollow charm from an unsure man, trying too hard to hide away. The amount of men who did this, even in death, was a fascinating anomaly that needed to be documented. Perhaps, the pipeline of don't-ask-don't-tell anxiety and white-hot suicide.

"Qing Yi looked into the reports of unexplained deaths and hauntings with me," Angela pulled out her notepad and pack of gum. Tearing off the leaflet, she folded it and handed him a shorthanded account of the mission to keep. "Seems like we might be dealing with an A-rank and possibly an S-rank aberrant. You need to be at the top of your game. One wrong move and we might end up in a John Doe catalogue."

She pulled him close by the collar, levelling him as her voice dropped to a low, dangerous murmur. "Believe me, you're my last choice for this. But we’re going to need your phasing this time. You don’t get to disappoint me again."

Her hand softened into a gentle touch on his shoulder. Gives him space to process her words. Her face softens, just a fraction, acknowledging the pressure he was under. "You know I wouldn't ask if it wasn't crucial. I know you've been...distracted lately, but we need you here."

Her thoughts flitted to the past, her own failures, outweighing every accolade, every morsel of recognition she worked so hard to gather - and yet, she threw it all away twice. Looking at him, she could kick herself. Had she done enough for him, this time (no)? Did she have enough time now (never)? Had she messed up with him, and like a ticking bomb, it was only a matter of that time she wanted?

"Just, remember your training, yeah? Phasing isn't just about passing through walls. It's about precision and timing. We're going to be counting on you to get us out of tight spots...and,"

"Take this," she instructed, popping a piece into her own mouth. The gum from earlier, strawberry starburst. Clearly she knew the pink kind was the best kind. "It'll help you calm down."

Once she clears the air with Nick, Angela’s fingers brush the edge of her phone. She punched a text she could've sent with her eyes closed she looked him over once, twice; sized him up to decide if she had any more words for him.

She snapped the phone shut, the baby blue flip closing with a satisfying click. "Have you met Alma? She'll be working with us today."

"Once Anna and Qing Yi are accounted for, we go. If the smell of pot is anything to go by...we might run into some clown counting down the minutes till their next existential crisis."

no song linked

♡coded by uxie♡

Zedalith · Jul 23, 2024

Ilia Drubich

Sanity’s Edge

Luke’s Holy Journey

Excited

interactions

Togy

lyn.

"Curse me . . . Bless me . . . Curse me . . . Bless me ... Curse me ..." it speaks with lungs laden with water. The voice carries astray, rebounding within the earthen walls of the cavern. It sits still, an austere shadow sulking within its moonless den. Two legs kiss the water's surface, vantablack and unperceivable in the inky cover of light's absence. They sit at the edge of the pool, their whey-faced profile carries a somber expression set forward and unblinking into the surface of the water. Gentle undulations of liquid ripple across the surface of the icy blue pool from their small movements.

“CURSE ME - BLESS ME - CURSE ME - BLESS ME,” the chanting crescendos to a deafening volume, the room reverberating from the sheer might of it. Its body rocks with the exertion, mouth agape between the terse moments between words. Stalagmites quiver and become disjointed, pebbles jitter with the utterance of each vowel. When the room is fit to burst, it ceases, leaving behind an alien quietude - like the passing of a storm. It stills for a moment, and the etches of its face twist in contemplation. "They are … they're coming...," it whispers, its larynx trembling with the effort it takes to speak. As their body drops into the blue depths, foamy wavelets cling to their appendages like pearls. The water around its shape begins to boil and its limbs dissipate until they become formless. Its shape returns to nothingness and the cavern lulls in greeting for its coming guests.

Cerulean eyes narrow in annoyance as they appraise the faces of his so-called cohorts. Three teammates, and they were all a different breed of nuisance. Worst of all was the raven-haired disaster of an alcoholic who was named after some street in New York. Ilia wagered that Mellor had to have been a dog trainer in a past life, the ease at which he herded Fifth took talent and patience that Ilia lacked. As the crow-headed man lay limp at his foot, Ilia appraised his prone form impassively.

“Morning' princess. Ready to be a Western movie star?” he mocks, one hand extended into the duffel bag he wore over his shoulder. When his hand retreats, he grasps a tight coil of rope. It dangles for a moment, and Ilia swings the shape rhythmically as if it were the hand of a grandfather clock. As ineffectual as Fifth was, he was still a body with a beating heart - though its intact state was often a source of displeasure.

Before Fifth can process the thought, Ilia presses a heel down hard onto his prone body. His foot was an anchor that kept the drunkard pinned to the dirty concrete floor. No force on this earth, or in the afterlife could stop him from admiring his handiwork. It was a station deserving of the worm, writhing on a floor that had likely been stained with puke, spilled soda, and seraphim knows what else. The foot kept him steady while the rope made circles around his wrists. Finally, Ilia draws the knot taut enough to bite marks into his joints as he completes the double-column tie. "No running away. You're going to earn your keep," his expression dims and a reel of Fifths ceaseless failures plays across his mind's eye. His frown deepens at the recollection. Not even a day had passed before the fool hurled himself down a flight of stairs, yet the seraphim saw fit to pin this reject onto Ilia.

They were like oil and water, the two could never mix.

"Lyn. Mel," he offers a curt nod in recognition, before yanking the leash of Fifth's restraint hard enough to bring him to his feet. "Have you ever watched 'Barney Oldfield's Race for a Life?' It's a classic. They popularized that famous trope where a helpless woman is tied to a railway track," he announces, shutting his eyes and wearing a nostalgic smile. His shoulders broaden and his arms stretch in both directions. "We are all at the apex of imagination, the land of creativity and dreams — so why not recreate it?" he questions. "Fifth ... will be our damsel, and this," he gestures to the looming ride overhead, "will be our railway track."

"What better bait for an aberration than a helpless and beautiful damsel? Are we all in agreement?" he turns without waiting for an answer, pulling the end of his makeshift leash. "Good!" As he steps to the loading station he makes eye contact with the familiar face of the rides operator. Her smile recedes into a confounded brow raise as her glance grazes over Fifth's restrained wrists. "Hello again, beautiful. Please don't mind my friend, he was just born a little differently. But, he still loves the rides here. The leash is for his safety,” he beams with confidence, belying the lie's inanity. “Don’t trust any words that come out of his mouth, either. He has a big imagination.”

“Are you sure?” the operator leers at the offending rope, her expression uneasy. Her hand hovers over a button obscured behind her station in contemplation. A panic button. Ilia catches the motion but does not allow it to show in his face. Instead, he affirms her question with a wide nod. "We were hoping to get a closer look at the maintenance section," Ilia said, his tone casual yet resolute. "My friends and I are huge fans of the mechanisms of amusement parks. It's like seeing the magic behind the curtain, you know?"

She hesitated, her gaze lowering to the Wally’s Adventure World badge clipped to her shirt. "I'm not supposed to let anyone back there without proper clearance," her voice was but a whisper in the wind. Hedonism gave way to sin, and there was no better tutor in the art of abandoning one's consciousness than Ilia. The younger man leaned in closer, lowering his voice to a suave whisper. "Come on, just a quick peek? It would mean the world to us. Besides," he added, with a wink, "I bet you have the best stories about this place. I'd love to hear them over a coffee sometime."

The woman bit her lip before a light switched on behind her eyes. The operator already decided her answer; the apprehension was a poorly framed performance. “Alright, just for a few minutes. But if anyone asks, you didn't talk to me.”

Ilia's grin widened as he straightened up. "You won't regret it," he assured her. "Don’t worry; I'll take you up on that coffee offer."

Togy · Jul 23, 2024

Fifth

"Bitch, are you insane!?" Fifth cried, dismayed he was being sold out for a date with a sociopath, "Jesus Christ woman, how desperate are you!?"

Twin brows soar to the topmost portion of her forehead and the skin grows taut from the strain of it. Her eyes bat open in disbelief, as her lip quivers while her mind struggles to form words. She looks down at her station for a moment, as if in contemplation, before a wry smile skulks onto her lips. "You're right honey," she says in a low voice.

She turns her body at the hip, right shoulder first, with one hand idly placed over her waist. If one looked closely, one could see her witchery possess her, bright blue eyes reducing to a subdued midnight shadow. "The blond one is right, I mean. You are a little slow," her grin widens into a sicklingly wide corporate smile, that seems ill-placed in the moment. It was the kind of smile she gave to ill-behaved children, or unhappy customers that saw fit to take their anger out at her. For once, she was in a place of power and the feeling was ecstatic.

Fifth made a noise of disgust and reeled back against Ilia. "When they fish my bloody remains from that coaster, that'll be on you."

A laugh was caught in Ilia's throat, it crawled its way outwards in a deep and foreboding resonance. "And who will mourn you? Lyn? Mellor? Maybe, but they're just sweethearts," he retorted through a close-eyed smile. "You should've played nice. I could've helped you. I still can help you - if you can prove your worth," he suggested. Ilia felt his resistance through the rope and he pulled back in turn; with a hard yank and step forward, he leaned in close to Fifth. "You've only died once, or should I say twice? You have plenty of hours left for me to capitalize on," he spoke in a whisper that only Fifth could hear. “What was the word you insulted me with again? Back at the hotel? There’s still time to fix this,” he mimed in a sweet-sounding voice, almost mimicking Mel.

Without warning, Fifth slammed his head back into Ilia's nose. Blood trickled from his nostrils as his head bounced backwards.

"Alright, spare me the soliloquy Pushkin," Fifth spat, walking towards the coaster of his own volition, "If it means a moment away from you, then send me in."

Whatever small respect Fifth had garnered from that move was immediately squandered as he struggled to wiggle his way into the front seat of the coaster without hands.

Interactions:

Zedalith

lyn.
Written with:

Zedalith

Wyll · Jul 23, 2024

The Caretaker

Mellor
Akir

I am not strong.

I know this, everyone knows this. People don't value me for my strength - they never have and they likely never will. It is not a slight against myself, rather a reminder to stay where I'm needed, stay where I'm useful, stay where I'm valued. My value is my brain and the insight I bring; the analysis and equaling of the battlefield and making my teammates their most effective selves. That is what I do. That it what you do, Mellor. Don't lose track of the mission...don't lose track of the big picture.

It was his pre-mission talk he gave himself before going out on any mission. It was his reminder not to get greedy and not to be jealous of his colleagues that, in their own powerful and unique ways, could level a mountain with a single move. However, where they could level a mountain, with Mellor's help, they could level three. He's there to support and amplify and there is pride to be taken in that. This is to remind himself of that pride. And so, in preparation, he set up 3 portals. The first was directly under a sun lamp that he had. From the descriptions given by the seraphim, a lot of these incidents took place in the dark and it is likely that the aberrations they will be dealing with have an advantage in the dark. If that was the case, he would even the playing field with some light when the time was ready.

He also knew that Ilia liked to prepare ahead as well and had some useful items of his own and so placed an exit portal that let out at Ilia's door in case Ilia needed some last minute supplies. Finally, for Elyn, he placed an exit portal next to a set of small charges ((think concussive blasts rather than explosive)) and gloves she could hold them in so she would absorb the impact without damage to her body. If there was ever a need, a time where their backs were against the wall, he knew Elyn had the ability to be their trump card and so he would help her in that.

These were the only three that he did and they were all less than a foot wide. Any more or any bigger and it would hinder his ability in battle. And what type of strategist prepared so much that they made themselves ineffective; Mellor would never. Having done all that, he was set to leave...sans one minor thing; Fifth. The two were meant to meet at the front door and head to the amusement park together but Fifth was nowhere in sight. Mell rolled his eyes but couldn't resist the gentle smile that found its way to his face. There was something amusing about new agents and Fifth was a reminder of that. However, he also enjoyed looking out for them; probably why he was assigned as babysitter.

Resigning himself to the role, Mel created a small, palm-sized portal and sent it zooming around the hotel. He hoped Fifth wouldn't have wondered into any rooms that weren't his and so neither did Mell's portal lest he see things that his eyes were not prepared for. He had covered the hotel pretty quickly and learned that Fifth wasn't in the hotel. Mell's guess was that Fifth had gotten impatient and left without him - not uncommon for new recruits that see this as their chance to live a second life the way they want and without consequence. The search continued outside the hotel. Mel stepped through the doors, instantly being teleported and chuckling slightly at his own trick being used on him. He foun a quiet alley to hide in so people didn't see and, while Mel stayed hidden, looking through the first portal, a second zipped around the park. It started at the parks center and made its way through the park like the maze it was, travelling several dozen miles an hour yet not raising any flags to those around because it was small and fast enough that most people wrote it off as their eyes playing tricks on them.

All of a sudden, for half a second, he sees a figure that looks suspiciously like Fifth pop up on the other side of the portal and calls the portal to a halt immediately. However, because it was moving so fast, it had passed the person by a considerable amount and so he had to backpedal. Eventually, he came back to the person and, lo and behold, it was Fifth. He gave a small smile, happy to have found his teammate. There were people around and so, while he may have been able to explain away a portal as a mirage in the heat, someone suddenly appearing where there wasn't previously anyone can't be explained away so easily. Through the portal, Mell spots a dark alley behind Fifth and teleports there, closing the portal after him.

Shortly after, Mell comes through the alleyway and walks up to Fifth, hands crossed in front of his chest. "I'm sure there's a great story for how you got here. Now come on," he nods his head back toward the alley, "we got a mission to get to".

Fifth starts saying something about the two of them getting to know each other but then Mellor realises something. He looks around and there is absolutely nobody looking their way right now. This is likely the only moment he'd get and so he opened up an exit portal at the rendezvous point agreed on with Ilia and then, without warning, opened up a portal to swallow both himself and Fifth. The two popped out on the other side not long after and, thankfully, Ilia was still right there. Fifth was on the ground, complaining about something but Mell let out a good-natured chuckle. "You'll be fine, kid. It just takes some getting used to, is all."

It was unlikely that the different in their ages as of the time they died was far apart enough for Mell to refer to Fifth as a kid - in fact, Fifth may be older - but in the world of Agents...Mell had walked a little longer.

He nods back to Ilia in response to his greeting and offers Elyn a polite smile. He can't help the little snicker that escapes as Ilia begins tying Fifth up, but he quickly reminds himself that he shouldn't laugh at new agents and recomposes. He could simply have set up a portal loop for Fifth where Fifth would just keep being looped back to them until he passed out or threw up from the warp sickness - a feeling Mell was familiar with. However, Ilia's more "direct" method worked as well and was probably less...throw up-y.

Mell smirked as Ilia turned the charm on for the ride attendant and took some notes. He may be a strategic person, but all that strategy is tossed into the depth whenever it is time to flirt or be flirted to. He becomes a mess who doesn't know what to do with himself. It's not pretty; if he had his way, he'd avoid the whole thing all together. But, maybe watching Ilia would give him some ideas. It seemed to be working, after all.

Once Fifth's outburst started, Mell narrowed his eyes. Not because he entirely supported what Ilia was doing and wanted Fifth to be a quiet little captive, but because he knew that this would draw attention. And attention was the last thing a group of four agents, one who was currently bound by ropes, needed. He stepped forward, about to say something, but Ilia leaned in toward Fifth and the matter seemed to resolve itself with whatever it was Ilia said.

After the headbutt and Fifth began moving toward the ride, Mell followed closely, glad that the group didn't need to do any more explaining or convincing. As he watched Fifth try and get in the ride, one thing kept replaying in his head. Don't laugh at new agents, don't laugh at new agents, don't laugh at new agents, don't... The repeated reminder was the only thing that kept him from dropping to the floor, weak from laughter. Instead, he found himself a seat behind Fifth. He was tempted to open the light portal now but figured that if it never got dark, the aberration might never show up. So, instead, he kept his eyes trained on Fifth's back, ever sense of his on alert. Fully aware that it wouldn't take much for Fifth to be snatched away and, if he was quick, he could portal after Fifth. But, more importantly, he wasn't letting a new agent get taken out. Not on his watch. The other two could take care of themselves but, as far as Mellor was concerned, Fifth was under his protection, whether he liked/wanted it or not.

Mentions: Ilia (

Zedalith ), Elyn (

lyn. ), Fifth (

Togy )

lyn. · Jul 24, 2024

Things escalate at the pace they normally do when on a mission with Ilia, which is too fast. Elyn had only just arrived, and they were already on the move. Fifth was being tied up, and unkind words were being exchanged. Already, Fifths addition to Glauciel was making an impact. A chaotic one, and one Elyn is unsure how to feel about.

His reluctance to cooperate was frustrating, that's for sure, but Elyn wasn't sure why it mattered. He didn't even have a gift yet. The three of them could complete the mission no problem without him. Hell, all she needed was a few aggressive power-ups and some assistance and they could deal with the Aberration-of-the-day with no problem. That plan has a 70% success rate, pretty good odds.

Watching Fifth struggle and yell out in his binds did nothing but form an uncomfortable feeling in Elyn's gut as she pulled at the straps of her backpack. She did not voice this discomfort, unsure how to form the words in a way that wouldn't somehow get backlash, and simply followed along silently. She watched as Ilia convinced the operator to let them in with only a few words (what the hell?) and flinched when Fifth suddenly head-butted him.

Elyn moved to sit by Mel on the ride, "You okay?" She asked Ilia, taking off her backpack and placing it on her lap. Unfortunately, the only thing in it was an empty wallet and her stolen plushie. She had considered getting brass knuckles, but she had no money and felt too stupid to ask someone else to get it for her. Her bare fists worked fine on their own, anyway.

Elyn watched silently as Fifth struggled to get into his seat, praying this mission ended quickly. The sooner they finished this, the sooner she could escape this agitating hellhole they call an amusement park.

glauciel

elyn

filler tab!
location

lukes holy journey

mentions

Zedalith Togy Wyll

♡coded by uxie♡

Things escalate at the pace they normally do when on a mission with Ilia, which is too fast. Elyn had only just arrived, and they were already on the move. Fifth was being tied up, and unkind words were being exchanged. Already, Fifths addition to Glauciel was making an impact. A chaotic one, and one Elyn is unsure how to feel about.

His reluctance to cooperate was frustrating, that's for sure, but Elyn wasn't sure why it mattered. He didn't even have a gift yet. The three of them could complete the mission no problem without him. Hell, all she needed was a few aggressive power-ups and some assistance and they could deal with the Aberration-of-the-day with no problem. That plan has a 70% success rate, pretty good odds.

Watching Fifth struggle and yell out in his binds did nothing but form an uncomfortable feeling in Elyn's gut as she pulled at the straps of her backpack. She did not voice this discomfort, unsure how to form the words in a way that wouldn't somehow get backlash, and simply followed along silently. She watched as Ilia convinced the operator to let them in with only a few words (what the hell?) and flinched when Fifth suddenly head-butted him.

Elyn moved to sit by Mel on the ride, "You okay?" She asked Ilia, taking off her backpack and placing it on her lap. Unfortunately, the only thing in it was an empty wallet and her stolen plushie. She had considered getting brass knuckles, but she had no money and felt too stupid to ask someone else to get it for her. Her bare fists worked fine on their own, anyway.

Elyn watched silently as Fifth struggled to get into his seat, praying this mission ended quickly. The sooner they finished this, the sooner she could escape this agitating hellhole they call an amusement park.

Kovacs · Jul 25, 2024

NICHOLAS NEALE-ST JAMES

LOCATION. WALLY'S ADVENTURE WORLD

𖤍 NYCTIEL 𖤍

Nick shrugged, his gaze still fixed on the masses. Gliding from one sunny expression to the next, keen to catch glimpse of Miss Anna's antique bonnet bobbing in the air, or Qing-Yi's sleek, mouse-brown tresses. The ebb and flow of the crowd reminded him of ant trails, fat with bits of sugar, strung up on balloons that rubbed against one another like antennae. They swarmed around the brightly colored attractions, their faces illuminated by equal parts ignorance and bliss.

And there he was. Feelin' like he was less agent and more actor, playin' his part in maintaining the illusion of a normal day in a normal world. A world he once believed was ruled solely by tangible forces, Newtonian physics and empirical evidence; a world whose seemingly ironclad laws of nature he spent years studying because he'd hoped to one day contribute to it as an aerospace engineer. But who knew, all it took was dyin' to finally understand the truth of things? That this was all a grotesque masquerade, a carnival of cosmic horror where the familiar laws of reality have been suspended, where his dreams of building NASA spacecraft felt now like the delusions of what he had been in the end: a drunkard.

God, went the cruel, little voice. You useless, fucking piece of shit. I only hope you're sober.

Those weren't her exact words, but to Nick, they may as well have been. He opened his mouth sharply. To protest, to explain, but no words came out. The truth was, he didn't even have a good excuse. Today hadn't been a particularly bad day. Not compared to the days where the horrid ache in his chest—that unsteady, suffocatin' beat of unspoken and unknowing guilt—felt like a two-ton anchor dragging across the seabed of his soul. Where the nightmares were so visceral they felt lived-in, their echoes lingering in his quivering, sweat-drenched, tearful body long after dawn had erased their specific horrors, telling him someone was dead because of him. Someone, someone, someone's dead because of him. How? Who? He had yet to remember. It remained just out of reach, enveloping him in a constant pressure, a looming dread of what he might face, of what he hadn't yet faced, and the shame of knowing he couldn't handle it all stone-cold sober.

"I—I'm not drunk," he managed to finally say, his voice thick with a mix of defiance and wounded pride. Sweat beaded on his brow, but his gaze was fixed on hers, revealing slivers of shame in their stony depths. "Honest. Look, maybe I—I took a gander at that leftover beer from last night, but I swear, I'm—"

Nick's voice trailed off as she shoved a notepad into his hands, his mind blank. A-rank and possibly S-rank? His repetoire, previously confined to the kiddie pool of C-tier missions with the occasional B-tier splash, was suddenly submerged in the Mariana Trench. These weren't mere creatures; they were cataclysmic forces, Godzilla and King Kong rolled into one monstrous, city-flattening package!...

Granted, he'd had a whole month to prepare, a fact that hung heavy in the air like a self-inflicted gunshot wound. Nick couldn't wrap his head around it. Could she really still want him, the guy who self-admittedly couldn’t resist a leftover beer that morning, to be apart of this?

Of course not.

The grip around his neckline said as much. The fabric bit into his nape, eliciting a mild wince as his long, lean frame bent down to meet its captor at her level. As their faces drew startlingly close, the temptation to phase out of her grasp was overwhelming. It would be so easy to disappear, to vanish and retreat into his cups, leave her to figure it out on her own. But there was a look in her eyes, a mixture of determination and something akin to a plea, that held him in place. He couldn’t do that to her. To Miss Anna. To Qing-Yi...

Then, her hand softened into a gentle touch on his shoulder. The unexpected tenderness caught him off guard, making him blush. Her voice, when she spoke, was laced with a soft sympathy. I know you've been...distracted lately, but we need you here.

An understatement, if he ever did hear one. His mind was less a brain and more a battlefield; constant war between guilt, fear, and a desperate need to escape. The truth, though gentle, cut deep. Her words about phasing resonated with him too. He'd always taken it for granted, a convenient ability, a shortcut. But now, she was reminding him of its true potential. Precision and timing. Not just a means of escape, but a tactical advantage. It was a stark realization, a cold splash of water to his face. He'd been so focused on his personal demons that he'd neglected to hone his skills.

"I'm here," he finally murmured, his voice low, determined. "I know. You can count on me. I'll be.. I'll be ready."

He took the gum from her, the sweet strawberry flavor a surprising comfort. It was a small gesture, but it felt like a lifeline. As he popped it into his mouth, he made a silent promise to himself: to fight hard, to focus better, and for Pete's sake, to not fuck it all up.

"Ael-ma?" Nick tried sounding out the name, his accent comically placing too much emphasis on the A. The name rang a distant bell. He'd heard it before, perhaps in a briefing, or maybe in passing by a Seraphim. Angie’s casual mention of her implied a level of familiarity and seasoned-ness that piqued his curiosity. Nick wondered what her abilities were. Would they complement his phasing? Angie's pain transference? How would she interact with Qing Yi's flight or Anna’s piano wizardry?

The mention of pot pulled him back, not to the present, but to college, which still only felt like yesterday. Hazy with beer-soaked parties and the sweet scent of burning herbs, the rush to class the next day, the horrors of communal kitchens. Zack Nowak, his roommate and de facto campus cannabis dealer, had introduced him to the green stuff. And though booze clearly was more his thing, both were escapes from the rigorous demands of his engineering degree.

"I'd kill for a hit right about now," he said under his breath, almost wistfully in spite of its sorry placebo, Angie's gum. A sharp pang of something, perhaps loneliness, maybe nostalgia, hit him at his chest. He couldn't quite place it. The memory of those shared smoke breaks, the laughter, the camaraderie, felt like a lifetime ago. Now, all anything pointed to so far was the memory of a car. His car, in a crash, and a blinding pain. Beyond that...

Nick didn't finish the thought. Instead, his gaze zeroed in on a giant panda. No, the giant panda. The same one he'd spied when he'd only arrived to the fairgrounds, before his panic attack derailed his route. The little girl who had been holding it came into view, no longer carrying the stuffed animal. Instead, it now cradled under the arm of her mother. They walked right past him and Angie, heading for the parking lot.

Just like him that fateful night, they were heading for home.

INTERACTIONS.

Gh0stOcean

Gh0stOcean · Jul 26, 2024

The Witch of Rhys

alma rhys

location

Wally's Secret Cove

tags

Naomi (

Klown )

Alma’s phone buzzed life into her hotel room, cutting through the thick silence that had hung within it after her brief. Delicately, with a soft sigh escaping her lips, she flipped open the aged device, and read the text to herself. Filled with attention and purpose, her small and frail fingers began to dance upon the phone’s 12-button keypad, making few mistakes, but perhaps with a twinge of nervousness, making mistakes nonetheless:

Understood. I will meet you there in 10 minutes.

Upon finishing, she navigated the various compact menus to her contact list, a page with very, very few entries, and sent a text to one of the few residents of said list:

Naomi. Be ready within 10 minutes. We need to go.

Another breath, a small shake of anxiety, exits her lungs, as the device quietly and gingerly clattered upon the dresser before her. Slowly, she lifted her gaze from the antiquated phone up to her own reflection in the dresser’s mirror: Her gentle, spring sky-like eyes held worry and isolation within their reflective pools, a sort of tiredness that lay plainly across the rest of her face; a face like that of a porcelain doll, lifeless and devoid of any pink from blood flow. All framed by a curtain of moonlight, hair that flowed like ash far beyond her shoulder, and near perfectly obscured that damning mark, that proof that her death was real and would never be just a nightmare.

Yet, she could still see the edges of the scar, peeking out from behind the bangs that tried oh so desperately to obfuscate her shame. As if in instinct, trembling fingertips reached up to these sorrowful edges, traced their outline with melancholy and anxiety. She still feels the heat, feels the slow numbing of the senses on her face, feels the hot air and ash filling her lungs. But even death was not the end, for she remembers the sneers, the shameful gazes, the quickly averted eyes, the rumored whisperings.

All will be well, in deep breaths, she tried to reassure herself, recompose herself, bring a shred of control back to the present moment. It’s just Naomi and Miss Angela. All will be well. All will be well…

She had a mission. She couldn’t afford to sit and dwell on past pains. She shifted her gaze, instead, down to her attire, something she could control. A pressed, bone-white three-piece suit seemed to nearly match her ashen skin tone. The only color of note was the lack thereof: a void-colored tie, which she ensured was snuggly knotted up to her collar.

“My liege,” a knight, robed in rusted and decaying armor, apparated next to her. It knelt, offering to her a simple, plastic hairbrush. “Shall we be departing soon?”

“Yes, Caerwyn,” her voice was soft, fragile, as she gingerly took the brush from her vassal’s hands, and began brushing the bristles through her snow-white locks. “I’ll be ready shortly. We will be waiting for Naomi before we leave.”

“Understood, my liege,” the knight rose to its full stature, remaining aside its charge. “Have we the scope of the threat?”

“At least two A-tiers, possibly one S-tier. An unknown presumed number of B-tiers as a result of higher-tier interference.”

“And yourself and Lady Naomi will suffice for this battle?”

“We will not be alone, Caerwyn.” Alma placed the hairbrush back on her dresser after finishing with her hair. Given the short timeframe, there was no time to braid, she would have to settle for a simple, loose-hanging ponytail. Not perfect, but it kept her hair out of the way. “Now come, let’s wait for Naomi in the lobby.”

Caerwyn gave a curt bow as it faded into dust, and on her way out of her room’s door, she took hold of a small satchel bag that hung next to the door. Bleak white, much like the rest of her aesthetic, with a single red cross in the center. Slinging it over her shoulder, she departed for the lobby.

Fifteen minutes had passed, and Naomi was still nowhere to be seen.

“My liege, were we not meant to depart several minutes ago?” a voice echoed in the back of Alma’s mind.

“We were. Naomi has yet to come.” Alma crossed her arms, impatiently. She stared at the grand staircase that led up to the many rooms of the hotel, then back to the main entrance, wondering if she should just go without her. Though first, she thought to herself, I should probably apologize to Miss Angela for my tardiness.

Just as the thought came across her mind, she heard a shrill cry behind her, and the all-too-familiar pinkette bounding towards her in a hurried pace.

“Naomi,” Alma started with a sigh, “please try to be more timely. Miss Angela requested my presence over 15 minutes ago now.” And it wasn’t until her companion approached further that she noted her shoes were still untied, possibly due to the hurry with which she left. “W-wait,” Alma’s usually stoic voice rose with worry, “Naomi, your shoes, they’re still—!!”

When Alma next opened her eyes, she was in a dark cavernous-looking area. Based on the description she received during the debriefing, she wagered they were within Wally’s Secret Cove. The walls were ripe with the stench of chlorinated water, and every tiny shift they made as they recomposed themselves echoed throughout the many jagged walls of the Cove.

Without warning, Caerwyn appeared before the two girls, blade drawn. “My liege, Lady Naomi, I sense the presence of an aberrant. Possibly A-tier. Please, be on your guard.”

Seeing Naomi’s heightened emotional state, Alma thought it best to make at least some attempt to calm her down. “Please, do not fret. I will reach out to Miss Angela and let her know we are in the Cove.” The phone screen in her hands served as one of the few sources of light in the caverns of the Cove as she dialed the number to the closest thing she had to a mentor. And unsurprisingly, her somewhat-mentor had quite the earful to unleash upon her.

“Y-yes, Miss Angela, I— No, I’m sorry, I— No, I did not take a detour to Timbuktu— …Yes. I understand. I’m sorry.” A small sigh escaped her slightly pursed lips. “Naomi and I were thrown into Wally’s Secret Cove. I suppose the hotel doors thought this to be the best location to place us into. While we’re here, I figured the two of us should press onward and get a start on investigating the Cove, while you wrap up outside.” Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Naomi start to panic, but returned to her call. “Very well. I will keep an eye out for him. And do not fret, we have Caerwyn. All will be well, Miss Angela. Oh, and please do inform team Glauciel Naomi is here with me, I would not want them fretting over her as well.”

Finally, Alma turned back to Naomi after clapping the phone shut and sliding it back into her pocket. “Miss Angela will be arriving shortly. She sent Mr. Nicholas as a scout, so we should keep an eye out for him while we explore. In the meantime, however, it looks as though it will be just you and I.”

code by @Nano

Zedalith · Jul 27, 2024

Ilia Drubich

Sanity’s Edge

Luke’s Holy Journey

Excited

interactions

Togy

lyn.

His world becomes a lurid crimson, as a searing hot sensation spreads outward from his skull's center. As his legs give way, he is thrown backward, knees buckling down to catch his full weight. The pain is a dull roar in his skull and his senses scatter like leaves in a gale; there is no light or dark, up or down, only a vast, echoing silence. The first sense to return greets him with the scent of caramel and cotton candy. The voices of his allies remain a distant rumble. As blood enters his nostrils, his eyelids burst open in primitive anger.

It had been some time since he had been struck like this by a human. The lingering sensation of pain brought him back to memories of his mother and father. To the time when he felt so small, powerless, and helpless. The memory bites at him and pride urges him to flee from his complacency - to destroy the source of his wounded dignity.

He can feel the waters flow in his palm, a surge of waves springing free from the brittle dam that contains its ebb. It'd be simple to open that drunkard's throat with a blade, to rend his guts with a spear, to cleave his head free with an ax. His palm opens and closes, and he struggles to fight the compulsion. Steady yourself, he’s not worth it, he’ll be dead on his own soon enough - he repeats the phrases like a mantra. By the time he fully calms himself, the object of his ire is comfortably nestled within the confines of the cart, much like a child. The sight of that smug face almost sends Ilia reeling a second time.

Sharing a name with a street in New York was a nicety that he was undeserving of. Instead, Ilia would dub him “Filth.” A vacant seat next to that mutt of a man was the sole space that remained after his allies took their places. He represses any remaining anger and fills the seat, still grasping the leash he secured around Fifth’s wrists.

“I’m fine, Lyn,” he answers, his voice notably lacking the enthusiasm that he always used to address the girl. He clutches each nostril between his index finger and thumb, halting the flow of any unsettled blood. He and the girl were on tense terms, but he could put aside his quarrel long enough to get the job done. After which, he planned on reverting to the “silent treatment.” He felt himself owed an apology for a past incident, an apology that had yet to leave her lips.

“Now that we’re all in, don’t forget your seatbelts!” he exclaims, securing the strap around his waist with a click. His glance quickly pans down to the loose seat belt at Fifth’s side, hanging laxly by his hips. “Don’t worry Filth. You won’t need yours; I have a good grip on you,” he states coolly, holding the leash high enough to be level with their eyes. The enthusiasm in his voice does not match the scorn in his features. He shoots an arm high into the air and gives the ride’s operator a thumbs-up before the wheels spur into action. The roar of the cart chain screeches, heaving the ride forward at a comfortable pace. This ride was not for thrills, but rather to create eye-catching scenes for the passengers.

"Mellor. As soon as the ugly shows its face, get ready to drop a portal with Elyn in it onto it. We can use the momentum of the cart to our advantage." Ilia orders. “I’ll cut the chain and bring the ride to a stop, so we will all have more room to work with.”

The ride was rising now and the air grew thinner and crisper. The landscape ahead of them presented a grand vista and Ilia could see all four sections of the park in explicit detail. He wondered if their other team would be visible if he searched for long enough. The moment brought him back to when he was a kid, hours spent hunched over his desk with a leering tutor to his right and a book with words he couldn't even pronounce spread open in front of him. He always wanted something like this, to get rid of the stress he lacked the years for and to lose himself in childlike glee. It was the first time since arriving at this park that he felt this place was deserving of its title.

“Do you want to charge up, Elyn? They say every force has an equal and opposite force. You can knock Fifth in the back of the head and his hard skull might give you enough feedback to work from,” Ilia half-joked.

As the cart met its highest point, his own eyes lowered onto the track ahead of them. It was a short dive, followed by a voyage into a series of tunnels. The mouth of the tunnel was a hungry entity, absent of daylight. From his vantage point, he could only see a few feet inside, before only greeting darkness. Light fixtures on the inside allowed them some vision after passing a brief threshold, the fixtures shine a light on a series of illustrations depicting the history of this location.

“Filth, I hope you have your best scream prepared. It's time to show the world what you're capable of.” The ride tilts downward at the apex of the coaster before gravity brings it rushing forward. The metal beneath them screeches from the friction and Ilia begins barrelling into darkness.

Pilgrim59 · Jul 27, 2024

Nyctiel

The Blue Composer

Anna Maria Schwarzschild

Wally's Adventure World, NEW YORK CITY

"Sugar." Anna muttered softly, steadying her sights on the cotton candy craftsman while whizzing along by Qing-Yi's hands. Tilting her head in a quizzical manner, she conjured for herself the shape of the item in question and forbade herself from missing any peculiar details. Her fair, dainty fingers glided past the parchments in her hands, as she briefly made a mental and physical note. Another footnote followed, illustrating a cartoonishly round dragon with miniature dots representing ants on its magnificent beard - all to formulate this idea of a candy called dragon's beard.

Now, with the cotton candy within her grasp, at the behest of Qing-Yi's generosity, it would beget the woman not to give it a taste at the very least. An acknowledging smile as she gradually consumed the sweet texture of a dissipating form. Like that of short-term thoughts and instinctive intrigues, the candy melted just as quickly. Yet, with its short-lived tastes, it only prompted the consumer to continue to press on like chasing a cloud of dreams. The implication, while not dawned on her, was an undeniably familiar understanding that was already well-embedded within the Prussian lady's grieving heart. Nodding along as Qing-Yi indulged her curiosities, Anna found herself immersed in the simplicity of her explanations.

"Wurst." She remarked with renewed enlightenment, looking at the chihuahua across from them as her instinctive giggle was quickly suppressed at the behest of her hand covering her face. It has been some time since she was able to find her genuine laughter. "My presumptions are now corrected. I look forward to your culinary guidance, Ms. Chang."

Upon Qing-Yi's reminder of their primary endeavor here, in this wonderland of endless distractions, Anna nodded in agreement, only to be granted a note of compensation for a task that she has yet to be given. As Qing-Yi made it abundantly clear of her gracious intentions, Anna was most delighted to abide. "I shall take it upon myself this endeavor with zeal." It did not take long for the woman to take it upon herself to carry out the task, zipping past the vendors that she had already surveyed from afar prior. Reverted back into her mental state of a housemaid, the woman went about it as if it was a grocery trip, tendering the bill and its remaining dividends upon each exchange to procure what she thought would complement her colleagues' tastes.

A chocolate crepe for Angela. A strawberry-flavored float for Qing-Yi that saw a discount with some turkey mini-sliders on the side. And, with Qing-Yi's words in mind, some barbecued ribs for Nick.
During her procurement trip, some gracious vendors were less-inclined to accept her spendings. Instead, they would ask for a picture with her instead. An odd commodity for barter, she thought, but was more than enoughI to complete her list. As surprising as it was, it seemed that even in the modern world, not much has changed in terms of bartering - even if she was not the one to initiate. Thus with the budget that was entrusted to her, Anna returned with only about half of its value while being able to acquire a variety of goods for Nyctiel's finest. A successful and perhaps enlightening experience just as Qing-Yi had said, she thought to herself.

As for the rides themselves, perhaps they could cut some time following the mission's completion to indulge. Despite the harrowing thoughts of facing an aberration, Anna was less keen on letting her fears getting the best of her. Rather, she possessed the benefit of conditional immortality that came with the job. Even if they were wounded, as long as they bound to the hourglass, standing against the grain was part of the job's description. With the procurement completed, Anna returned to Qing-Yi as they navigated their way to rally with Angela and Nick.

Despite her elegant apparel and demeanor, her experience as a headmaid of the Heeringen household was not lost with her death. She managed to balance the snacks and refreshments in her hands with ease. Offering Qing-Yi her float with the wrappers containing the mini-sliders, alongside a Hamilton note and some dimes for change. "I shall be sure to return the favor with commensurate benefit in due time, Ms. Chang. Let us be on our way." Anna remarked, accompanying Qing-Yi to catch up with the others.

After a few minutes, they finally caught sight of their compatriots.

"Ms. Yeon." She greeted Angela, bending a knee slightly to offer a light curtsy. Offering a wrapped crepe, she continued. "I haven't the slightest mind of your preferences, I do hope this will suffice to your liking." At the very least, for Anna, the snacks she had chosen to procure were minimal in nature with little needs for elaboration with utensils. Easy to consume, and less likely to interfere with their movement. Even so, it did not elude her to bring along the appropriate amount of napkins to distribute.

"Now. Where might Mr. Neale-Saint be?" She inquired peering past Angela to catch a glimpse of Nick, before taking a few paces forward to pass him his share of barbecued ribs. "An army marches on its stomach. Courtesy of Ms. Chang." Anna smiled softly, ushering forth a sense of reassurance and perhaps inquiry, while she attempted to discern the concerns that was written as bright as day upon his expressions. For the time being, she would sheath her questions, as they prepare themselves for the official induction of action.

Kovacs

Code by Serobliss

Klown · Jul 27, 2024

LOCATION: WALLY'S SECRET COVE
INTERACTIONS: ALMA

Gh0stOcean
MENTIONS: MELLOR

Wyll . NICHOLAS

Kovacs . ANGELA

AURS

Naomi wore ignorance how one might abdicate their identity to indulge in the liberty of enacting a disparate role.

She smoothed ignorance over her lips in glittery pink gloss, gently stroked it across her cheeks to ripen them, and patted it into her skin to soak. She slipped into ignorance like its sole purpose was to be draped upon her, tailored to her.

A mask at a masquerade. A pure white lie at her expense, but one which the fraying strings of her finely stretched sanity gorged themselves.

Her mirror bore witness to a manifold of combinations from thin-strapped tops that hardly held her chest to t-shirts whose hems fell just before her knees, more dress than they ought to be. It assessed shorts, jeans, skirts—then shorts again. Absorbing each indecisive snapshot of an outfit until the room beyond Naomi’s reflection amassed a designer horde.

Where her pursuit for the perfect ensemble likened itself to a jaunt, the arrangement of her hair culminated an expedition. Nothing of Naomi’s was higher maintenance than her hair; a voluminous pink cascade of gentle waves subsumed in silken tresses. She gathered it all into a ponytail high atop her head, then grimaced with dissatisfaction. It comes undone, shifted unto the side of her scalp instead. She humored the style for a miserly minute before releasing it with a vexed huff, arms slapped limply over her lap.

The honeyed scent of perfume that wafted across her room, pilfering her senses, faded enough to let the stench of awareness bleed though. It sends its best soldier—anxiety—to excoriate her defenses.

What are you trying to look good for? This isn’t for leisure. It stretched a jeering finger at her, hissing with laughter. But I guess we both know you’ll run away, so go ahead. Look your best and have your fun.

Naomi’s chin trembled as she sucked in a shuddering inhale, lungs relieved for the air she’d unknowingly denied them. A stranger’s reflection stared at her, and it took the motions of her hands as they parted her hair in half to remember it was her own.

Her fingers deftly wove the halves of her hair into two, thick braids with bows tied at their curled ends. A plastic smile sweetly dressed her lips as she admired herself whole in the mirror, then reached for the crossbody bag she’d prepared with essentials. Bandages, hair ties, pain killers, nausea medication, feminine hygiene products for emergencies, and of course, lip gloss.

“Okay, outfit, check. Hair, check. Baggie, check. Where’s my…” Her discarded clothes are carelessly thrown and swung, forming additional piles until she unearthed her rhinestone encrusted phone under the heap. “There you are!” Its dainty charms clinked together as she flipped it open.

— Naomi. Be ready within 10 minutes. We need to go. Sent twenty-five minutes ago.

The horrified gasp that scoured her lungs nearly closed her throat, sounding identical to the grating screech of tires burning against concrete. She barely closed the door to her room as she rocketed through it, dashing to the lobby to meet with Alma.

"I'm here, I'm here! Sorry!” Alma is within her sights; Naomi’s panic pushed the experienced agent’s words in from one ear and out the other. There’s an abrupt tug on her foot, laces snapped tight around it. It takes Naomi half a second to glance at her feet and see her shoes untied. It takes another half a second for her to hurl into Alma, catapulting them through the teleportation door.

Naomi’s heart punched against her ribcage at the immediate darkness that surrounded them. The cool air betrayed any sense of refreshment, shuddering with foreboding. A chlorinated miasma congested the space, the reek of it answered Naomi’s question before it even occurred to her.

Wally’s Secret Cove.

"Oh god. Oh my god. Are we—Oh shit. Is this my fault?" Fear was a natural predator to confidence. It crept in shadows with baleful eyes anticipating the smallest fault. Naomi, with confidence in abundance both authentic and manufactured, was easy prey. When Alma’s suit of armor manifested with its sharpened blade in position to warn them of an A-tier aberrant’s presence, Naomi’s bones rattled out of her skin, and she swallowed the ugly squawk that almost tore from her mouth.

“L-like, here? Close? Right now?” Her voice wavered, wobbly attempting to balance on a tightrope. Alma’s reassurance helped to dim the fright making snacks of her conviction. Her relief at the sound of Angela’s name was not a reflection of any mistrust Naomi felt towards Alma or her skill. It was only that Angela was likelier to tell Naomi to get her ass to Glauciel’s agents and not waste any more time.

Her hands found her phone to immediately reach out to her comfort, though her thumb stops short of selecting his name, worrying her lower lip between pensive nibbles.

When Mellor first approached her, Naomi saw every man who swore to protect women who were meek, helpless, docile creatures ill-equipped and too vulnerable for cruel reality. Soul fresh into her role as an agent, and mind refusing to grasp her demise, she saw a man who offered consolation where it wasn’t wanted, because to accept it would be reaffirming she’d died.

Then Mellor was stricken down by the vice of her bulbously inflated ego during the earlier days of her tenure, sacrificing himself knowing Naomi didn’t have time to spare. After that, Naomi came to know Mellor as a man who held his heart out on a platter for anyone to take a piece of. He had so much of it to share.

Despite risking their mission and forcing him to waste hours for her stupidity, Mellor offered her a piece again, which she shamefully accepted. They’ve grown close albeit not having been assigned further missions together since, but texting Mellor during her free time bore a difference to reaching out to him on the job. It left her pigeon-hearted.

“…I figured the two of us should press onward and get a start on investigating the Cove, while you wrap up outside.”

What did she say?

Naomi’s head snapped towards Alma in perfect tandem with the echoing clap of her own phone closing. Her jaw goes slack, staring at the doll’s back who continued her chat with Angela completely oblivious to the utter bewilderment on Naomi’s face.

No the-fuck we won’t!

That disorienting blow of shock is enough to kick her ass into standing, her hands immediately pat away any dust that clung to her clothes.

“Eeh uhh, right.” The words squeaked out as if there was too much friction between her vocal cords. “That’s great and all but are you sure we should investigate more just us two?” The answer she wanted to hear was clear between each nervous glance that bounced off the cavern’s walls. A dreadful theory struck her: what if they were inside the aberration right now?

She shook her head to purge the thought.

“I’ve never faced an A-tier aberration and the last thing I want to do is get in yours and Caerwyn’s way! I could totally fuck something up, ya know?” Her hands talk alongside her concerns, each gesture softly clicked from the bracelets on her wrists or the length of her nails. “We could stay here or…or try to find the exit? It would make it easier for Nick and Angie to find us then, right? I’m sure if we…” Naomi looks down one dark end of the tunnel to another. Her words dwindle and crumble from her tongue. “I’m sure if we can…figure out which way…”

ERode · Jul 27, 2024

Kovacs

She really could make money just by standing there and looking pretty, hm?

A bemused expression flitted over Qing-Yi’s features as she watched the temporally-displaced lady be pulled into a selfie or two, no doubt a victim of being mistaken for a famous actress or someone. What was with old married men and ‘jokes’ of adultery though? Partway through Anna’s extended dialogue with the owner of the BBQ stand, Qing-Yi cut through and pulled her away, flashing the boomer the smile of a bartender about to replace whisky with water before the two of them disappeared into the crowds.

“Aiya, favours between friends aren’t meant to be returned,” Qing-Yi replied, her head on a swivel for trash cans as she held her own bounty with her. “And you can keep the money, babe. We can buy celebration-snacks with it afterwards.”

Angela and Nick, of course, formed a much more dour pair. Perhaps their emotional state was more appropriate to the situation, but the brunette didn’t feel a need to stop her gaze from wandering around the all-American fair. “We’re picking up Alma and Big C today, right big sis?” She asked, turning her gaze towards Angie. “Also, what’s the plan here? I can fly underwater for the whisperer, but no-eyes sounds like they'd be more tiring to deal with.”

She took a sip of the float, sliding her tongue over her teeth as she did so. Super sweet, but not very strawberry. The color was pretty though, especially against the sun. Like Himalayan salt, with the gradations of pink and red, mixed with white veins. Qing-Yi wasn't too thirsty though, so pointed the float towards Nick, the straw raised up to head-level. “Handsome, wanna try this? Looks like a Pink Lady.”

The mini-sliders she'd share with Alma once they found her. A full stomach was about as bad as an empty stomach for Qing-Yi; better not to be gluttonous.

AURS · Jul 27, 2024

angie yeon ;

.
.
.
.

mood

incredibly pissed.
outfit

jeans, tube top, a sleek, allsaints leather jacket, boots.
location

wally's adventure world.
interactions

ERode Pilgrim59 Kovacs

Angie leans against the sweltering kiosk counter, wiping sweat from her neck. The sun is a quiet interloper in their conversation.

Arms crossed under her chest, she held her phone in one hand, and an exorbitantly priced, laminated map of the ve in the other. Held rigid by its axis fold. The price taped to it was far less than the mark-up he swore by.

She had bought it after texting Alma. The vendor, a man of middling years, with a bravura that could give a skyscraper a complex, barely hidden behind a sad excuse for a smile that said, 'I've seen it all, darling, but I'll still sell it to you for a buck fifty more.'

The only reliable piece of him is that glitzy tie around his cable-wire neck; fluttering in the sea-salt wind like a lost kite, and clinging to vulgar aspirations hosted on the wallets of unsuspecting passersby. It set her skin crawling.

Her eyes trailed a family, shuffling in the heat. Gleaming, stubby legs, and sagging custodians in tow. She hadn't looked his way in ten minutes, but Angie thought of him—in that silent, near unblinking way of focusing on the asphalt, her eyes like hot ocean water, light breaking on the waves that shored her thoughts against night-dyed hair.

"You never talked much about your life before all this." Only his mother and his hometown. Usually in passing. He thought she didn't hear him, until she warned him, one strange, early morning, not to go back there. Too many agents fell for the same trap, too many of them sat before her, sharing breakfast, lunch, dinner. Scaremongering their autobiographies and stalking dust; till they became dust.

"I know you weren't always a drunk, boy," she huffed, "but I don't know what you were before. What did you dream about?"

She never asked about death. It...was a private affair. Painful like a lover's rejection and succinct; the only thing a creature truly owned. That's what made it the ultimate intimacy, the ultimate letting go, the ultimate entitlement.

The last strip of dignity might have been dying without knowing...without prying eyes making a spectacle out of it.

She hadn't checked the media outlets in her home country for that reason. A year had passed since her death. So much had come to her and gone already, and yet she was still afraid. Like a lethargic little dead girl checking the closet to see if her parent's belongings were still there; imagining the headlines: 'Eldest Daughter of Renowned Pianist Tragically Killed in Overseas Car Crash,'

and wondering; was it supposed to feel this surgical, cerebral, pro forma? She had more compassion for overdosing addicts on the street corner. Rather, she wonders how they stomached that in front of their careers, their families, themselves. Did they mourn her, erase her name from the family records out of shame?

Her thumb traced the map's path to 'Wally's Secret Cove,' zigzag like her nerves. "Forget it. It's not my place to ask."

She snaps the map close with a loud [thwack !] as she snatched her phone from her pocket and brought it to her ear. Her other thumb dug into her other pocket. The digital readout taunted her. Twenty-eight minutes since Alma confirmed she was coming. Her boot tapped unforgiving and sour-like as she dialed again.

When the line clicked, she hissed before the greeting. "Speak. Now." Her glower climbed to the clock above the kiosk's bulletin.

The words "hotel", "Naomi", and "Cove" tumble out, making Angie's jaw clench. Glare on the clock, ticking away like a metronome of still doom; a familiar rotted wait plummets down like a rope holding up a hanged man.

"Bitch you'd better be joking," she mouths at nothing. Her body sags. The phone almost slips from her ear, knuckles grazing the kiosk's edge. Wide-eyed, and then, inkspill-black-eyed frustration, her teeth sink into her nails, already plotting her next move.

This was new. A friendly fire, a monkey wrench flung in by their very own.

Pinching the bridge of her nose, she hung up. "Nick." She calls him with a precise scalpel-cut. "Keep your eyes peeled for Alma and Naomi. They're...down there. Freak accident. We just have to work with it." It'd be hard to miss them; ALMA, faded like a forgotten ashtray in a funeral parlor's backroom. NAOMI, contrarily, a walking neon sign of manic panic hot pink hair dye.

She took the last sip of her now-warm cola, the fizz long gone. "You'll take care of them if you run across them, right?" There it is again; gravel and nectar in her voice; commanding soothing, full of sweetness that seeped through the cracks in moments like these.

A beat passed. Angie watches Nick. He watches a little girl and her mother walk by. The girl cradles a stuffed animal. A red panda, with an exceptionally fluffy face.

"I've gotta make a call. Stay still." Retreating to the corner of the kiosk, she leaned against the shadowed wall, her forearm pressed against the rough grain. Punching the number in with embarrassing ease, her thumb hovered over the call button before pressing it. She'd keep it brief.

XX : XX CALLER ID ‘ILIA’ —

The line connected, tension reverberating like a riptide in her chest as the phone rang. Ilia's infuriating, chameleon voice came through after two rings.

"Hey," a whipcrack hello, gentled with a forced joviality that risked the veneer spread over their history. "We've got a situation."

“Angie. What kind of situation?” he returned calmly, his voice a smooth timbre with an edge of anger. It was easy to miss the small nuances in his even-tempered manner of speaking, but Angie was the one person who could read him like a book. “You won’t believe what that bastard newbie did to me. I smelled the shit attitude wafting off him the second he stepped in,” he spat through clenched jaws. In the quiet between words, the oscillation of a cart turning bled through the other line. “We can talk more about it later, what went wrong?”

Her voice held a hint of mischief at the mentioned newbie. Trouble always bit at Ilia's ankles like a lost puppy; it stood out to her. Endeared her. It held the axis that housed their entire relationship, but like the moon and his tides, it pushed her away with twice as much force.

“Is that right, weren't you too ‘enthusiastic’ to greet him,” bullshit. Of course, always. Ilia often deserved the trouble new agents brought, and she long disagreed with his methods of blooding them. Still...it never stopped her from taking an interest in the shenanigans. Common sense tells her it's the right thing to do, those fights get ugly. The staccato rhythm of her heart says otherwise.

“Naomi’s in the cove with Alma. For some reason, that god-fucked hotel spat them out there and, well. We have our suspicions of what’s down there.” All subtlety is lost in the sobriety of it.

A little more superstitious, and she’d find it fishy for the building to place them in a literal hotbed for conflict.

For now, Angela chalks it up to the Seraphim’s blindness.

“Alma says they’ll be fine,” ‘Fine’ means a lot of things in their line of work. Fine is often accidental, harmful, punishing, lethal.

“I’m sending Nick down there soon, but he’s green too. I…don't want to see any of them hurt.”

“We’re a few minutes from entering the Cove ourselves. Alma just wanted me to relay the message–so I guess, I am asking. What’s your play?”

There is another brief pause, as the sound of the motion of his vessel fills in the silence. “I see. Unfortunate. Defeating our own devil takes priority.” he states flatly. He leans in, the richness of his voice cutting through the excess of ambient sound. “Look, I know you’re worried. But we all have our own stations. We won’t be far—we might be able to help out before you get there if our battle goes quickly.”

“I can’t promise anything,” he reiterates with finality.

“You're being realistic. You sound so sure now.” It didn't surprise her. He could make promises, they could all be empty, but maybe he's learned not to. After all, she was always so quick in wanting to believe him. She was black and white; Ilia was an indefinite grey. “I get it. Thank you,” soft like molasses, acceptance oozed in. What she needed was trust in those girls, her team, herself. She couldn’t always babysit, no matter how it put her on edge. The line went quiet, unspoken words, left unresolved. “Take care of yourself for me.”

XX : XX ELAPSED TIME 3 MINS —

She's left with an echo of his voice in her ear and the weight of the day already nesting on her shoulders. She looks down at her hand, at the way her thumb still taps the phone. A weary giveaway, one she hasn’t allowed herself in years.

Shaking it off, she tucks her phone into her pocket and comes back into the glare. Anna, dragging along an assortment of fat and grease, is the first person she sees, waddling towards the kiosk in bonnet, muslin, and petticoats like an extra from a Merchant Ivory flick. Qing Yi tracked closely behind, more self-satisfied than usual.

The heavy mood bursts like a faulty valve. An incredulous chuckle slips from her as she covers her mouth.

“Well, I'll be a sonnet in a sex shop,” she murmurs, “hello Anna. I think you’d make Hofburg proud.” The crêpe, folded into a perfect triangle and oozing syrup on the brown paper wrap, looks rather large and out of place in Anna’s lace-gloved hands.

“You really enjoy spoiling her Qing Yi,” She hums, another crack in the tension-dam. She took a bite, never quite used to the greasy, fructose death grip of cheap American chocolate, barely masked by lemon and berries.

Angie wipes her fingers clean. Rolls her neck to release the tension as she checks herself. A handgun bound in her jacket holster. A small, flat knife hidden in her waistband. They wouldn't do much against the supernatural, but that's not what they were for. Despite the moment, the bitter predicament stays. She knows the dangers they face all too well, and she’d be damned if she let Alma, Naomi, or Nick pay that price today.

It did little to mask the bitter predicament they faced; the juxtaposition of the quaint and the sinister was almost comical at this point. Wiping her fingers clean, she cleared her throat and her body a coiled spring. She knew the dangers they faced all too well, and she’d be damned if she let Alma, Naomi, or Nick pay that price today.

“I hate to break up the party, but we have to move,” she says, the seriousness returning.

“The routine’s...fairly unchanged. But the stakes are higher. Alma’s already in the Cove. Naomi’s with her too. Hotel hijinks,” she taps the map, then the Cove's entrance. "Nick's scouting the area. Qing Yi, I need you to go with him. I considered the underwater route, but only if you make quiet entries and exits.” Too much noise and they’d be fresh blood in an anthill. Overwhelmed, and violently consumed.

“We'll do a pincer movement. Flush out any stragglers and secure the area around the pool."

She presented the map once again, still new, but relatively crumpled after a trip to her jeans. She unfolded it with urgency, revealing the layout of Wally's Secret Cove. Uncapping a pen with her teeth, she traced the path they were to take, pausing at certain points.

"Here," she marked a spot. "This is where I suspect most of the B-tiers might be. And here," she stars this one, "is where I think the A-tier could be lurking."

"We'll need to be careful. The S-tier... I'm not sure. It could be anywhere."

Wind whistled through the eaves, distant, shrieking laughter riding on it and juxtaposing the macabre discussion. "If we get separated, this is our rendezvous point."

Her pen circled a point beyond the pool and the route leading to it; a manmade artware of foam and paper mache, meant to mimic a grotto skylight. She gave the map to Qing Yi first. "Memorize it. It’s your lifeline."

"If anyone gets injured, fall back to my position."

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♡coded by uxie♡

Zedalith · Jul 28, 2024

ARC 1

[164 years earlier]

“Father Lynch. It is ready,” a woman spoke flatly. Her face was guarded by a white coif and wimple of a nun and only her mouth and eyes were visible, the rest swathed in cloth. She wore a rosary at her waist, and her hands were hidden in the wide sleeves of her habit. She stood in a spacious church, with a nave and aisles, in which a hundred people might have stood. High up in the walls were windows with pointed arches and stained glass, through which the sunlight streamed, casting colored patches on the stone floor. The chancel was adorned with carvings and a beautifully wrought altar, where candles stood in holders of brass. The volume was deafeningly silent, save for the distant echo of footsteps and the occasional creak of the wooden floor underfoot.

“Excellent Sister Agnes,” the Father responded. He was a tall, thin man with a white face, eyebrows, and a scanty white beard. His voice was quiet and his words were very distinct. He was dressed in a soutane of faded black material, frayed and threadbare at the cuffs and edges. Most uniquely of all were his eyes, they were a pupilless milky white.

Behind the priest stood a father and a young boy, the father maintained a tight grip on the boy's shoulder to steady him while the boy's expression made his mind seem elsewhere. "The devil's grip on that boy is strong, but we will rend him free," the Father promised, his voice solemn yet confident. His vow seemed to alight the father's features and he commended that confidence with a curt nod. The nun approached the boy now, taking his hand and placing it into her own. "You have our word, we will free your boy's soul of the devil's grip, as we have done countless times before."

With the boy's smaller hand held in her own, Sister Agnes led him down a narrow staircase. The air grew colder and more damp with each step. The scent of mold assailed their senses, as the repugnant fume became stronger with their descent. She led the boy to an open room, much more spacious than the tunnels that led to the catacombs ahead. At the center of the earthen room was a crudely dug hole, with water filling the entirety of the shallow chasm. The sight of it made the boy pause, his cursory glance transformed into a quiet fear. "Ma'am what is this place?" he asked, nervousness coloring the cadence of his tiny voice.

Sister Agnes kneels to the boy, bringing her eyes to be level with his. She took both of his hands and held them gently in each of her own. "It is a place, where troubled children come to find peace," her smile slipped into the tone of her spoken words. The boy seemed to empathize as a smile crept onto his face as well. Satisfied, the nun stood to her full height. "Lower your face into the water, as if you were taking a drink from a pond," she requested. She walked the remainder of the way to stand by the shallow hole as if permitting him to follow. He complies, diminutive features cusping the edge of the puddle. His own eyes stare back at him through the reflection. He admires himself, miming various exaggerated facial features - each one elicits a chirp of playful laughter.

That was when he noticed a hand, as large as his head, looming behind him. It pushed him face first down into the waters beneath him. He tasted the dirt of the earth while the liquid was pumped into his lungs through his nose. She was resolved to do it quickly. She dared not trust herself with a long, lingering look at the little face, lest she should suddenly take to her heart again the poor burden of life she was going to cast away. His limbs flailed desperately, but her grip was unyielding, dragging him down.

She shut her eyes and began to pray, “Our Father, which art in heaven…” She couldn't remember the words - all that came into her mind was “Hail Mary, full of grace…” and then she looked at her rosary, the beads slipping through her fingers like water. She forced herself back to the Our Father, muttering under her breath as if she could shut out the sounds of the fight, the splashes, the cries. “Forgive us our trespasses as we forgive them that trespass against us…” but she couldn't let go, and the words turned to dust in her mouth. “…Amen.”

…

"We saved the soul but lost the body. The devil's grip on him was too strong," the Father explains emotionlessly, his voice interspersed by the raucous cry of a parent grieving. "I'm sorry. We have already delivered his body to the catacombs. He will find peace in death."

The aberrations body materialized from the dirt underfoot, too quick and too quiet to notice. A dark-bladed hand jutted through the pitch-black cloth that coated the thing's arms. A dark silken fabric hung limply from its wrists. It appeared behind the witch called Alma, using the cover of the cove's darkness to disguise their movements. A dark hand covered Alma's eyes, blocking what little light her phone's screen cast upon her. The Whisperer, Sister Agnes, stood behind Alma now, impassive black eyes set onto the etches of the witch's porcelain face.

"To sleep. To dream of a world free of the six-winged god spawn," the words trickle out of her mouth in a pained croak, her neck twisting to accommodate the motion of her dampened vocal cords.

The walls of the cavern shake with The Whisperer's arrival. Dirt becomes dislodged and scattered. The walls move as if they had become alive. A boned hand breaks the threshold, using the base of the cove to pull itself free into the cavern. Then, in a slow surge, several more skeletal hands broke through rock, clutching and scraping at the air before prying themselves free from its constraints. With a shrill cry, the first one charged forward, rot and torn cloth dislodging from its body in a breakneck line towards Naomi.

The Whisper's clawed hand lowers from covering Alma's eyes and instead wraps around her neck. A lanced index finger and thumb pinch the opposite ends of her larynx, drawing small blotches of blood. "You are cursed. Unwanted. As am I," it breathes the words onto her neck, their voice an icy whisper. The Whisperer's mouth opens wide, the edges of its jaw snapping to accommodate the chasm that apparated onto her face. An array of fanged teeth spring free from its jaws, and the light of the phones reflects off of them to reveal their pearlescent white surface. It aims a bite at her neck, mighty enough to rip flesh from bone if its grasp is not somehow released.

Klown

Gh0stOcean

WORLD WITHOUT EYES

Wyll · Jul 29, 2024

The Caretaker

Mellor
Akir

Mellor briefly questioned how and why Ilia was in charge but quickly brushed it to the side. In a team, there needed to be one leading voice and if it seemed like Ilia would be that voice for this team. Given that he has been an agent for the longest out of all of them, it made enough sense that Mell didn't have a problem with it. He did, however, have a problem with how Fifth was being treated. Yes, the boy was annoying but he still felt as though Ilia was treating him...unnecessarily poorly. A conversation for later, perhaps. As long as Ilia didn't outrightly attack Fifth, he'd let the harshness slide. For now, at least.

To Ilia's command to prepare a portal for Elyn, Mellor simply nodded and kept his palm open and eyes peeled, ready to shoot out a portal for Elyn at a moment's notice. However, something began silently gnawing at the back of his mind. Ordinarily, he'd try and ignore it and instead keep his mind on the mission at hand, not letting in any distractions. But this one didn't feel like a distraction. If anything, it felt like a warning. One that he had to heed.

We're dealing with A- and possible S-tier aberrations; they have no reason to play by Ilia's rules. Right now, we're all acting as if Fifth is the sacrifice that we're presenting to the aberration and hoping the aberration takes the bait. However, the aberration could very likely see four sacrifices and decide to take any one of us.

We're technically all sacrifices right now.

It was at this thought that his heart began to beat a little faster and his breaths became ever so slightly sharper. These weren't nerves...this was adrenaline rushing through every cell in his body, so much so that there was a prickling of his power beginning to form on his palm and his fingertips. It was almost as if his whole body was electrified with excitement. Even as the blood pumped around his body, he closed his eyes and brought his breathing into focus. The adrenaline was good, but he needed to keep it from clouding his mind and causing his thoughts to spiral.

I may be overthinking this, but overthinking is what has helped me keep so many alive. If I'm wrong, then I'm wrong. But if I'm right...

He gently places a hand on Elyn's shoulder and another on the rope connecting Ilya and Fifth, such that he could tell what happened to them based on which direction the rope was tugged. His touch was gentle and his hands were warm. It is likely that the rope couldn't care less about what his touch felt like, but maybe the rope would act as a conduit and transfer that gentleness and warmth to Ilia and Fifth. God knows they could use it. In fact, if there was anything he was worried about truly getting in the way of this mission's success, it was these two's seeming inability yo work with each other. Hopefully, when the threat arrives, they'd be willing to put that behind them, otherwise, things would get very chaotic, very quickly.

In his mind, he had made the decision to protect everyone and he would do so to the best of his ability. But guarding three different people (somehow, he had forgotten to include himself in the list of people that needed protecting) simultaneously was a lot and would mean he'd have to be perfect. Literally perfect in both reaction time and response. Against an unknown, possibly S-tier aberration, he wasn't sure that he could be perfect. He'd need some help.

"Stay sharp," he said gently. "Let's not assume the aberration is just going to go for Fifth. Aberrations can be crafty...we're all bait right now." He hoped that would be enough of a warning to keep them on their toes. Even if they gave him a quarter-second to get the right portal ready, it would be something useful.

Then again, the aberration could really just be a dumb lump of supernatural goop that they don't need to do much thinking for. Still, he'd rather he prepared and nothing happens, than the alternative. And then they are swallowed by the darkness and Mell has to fight the urge to open the flashlight portal.

Not yet, not yet. Wait for it to show itself. For now... his grip on Elyn's shoulder and the rope gets ever so slightly firmer ...focus on them.

Mentions: Ilia (

Zedalith ), Elyn (

lyn. ), Fifth (

Togy )

lyn. · Jul 31, 2024

Elyn idly took up a hand to scratch at her head as Ilia made her way into the cart. He was in a bad mood, that much she could tell. Though how someone like Fifth could so easily get under his skin was something she couldn’t bring herself to understand. Elyn's not sure that she’ll ever fully understand Ilia.

She felt herself tense as the ride jerked forward, only just now realizing this was the first time she had ever been on a ride. It wasn’t like the others she saw, huge, twisting rides full of screams, but Elyn still felt anxiety crawling up her throat.

She took a deep breath, barely hearing Ilia’s orders, and strapped on her seat belt to help quell her uneasiness. It wasn’t even fear of the ride, just fear of something she had done before. She wasn’t going to die. Well, she could, and she has, many times, but not like that. Not a true death, a real death. Not like Joel.

Quickly ending that thought, Elyn focused back on Ilia’s words. Something about hitting Fifth, a joke, probably, since it made no sense. Only now did she notice Mel's grip on her shoulder and was silently grateful for the grounding it gave her. Not supplying Ilia with a response, Elyn turned her attention to the view in front of her.

She was sure the view looked great to those next to her, but to her, it just felt like a place she never wanted to return to. All she needed to do was find this aberration and go home, back to the hotel.

Elyn forced herself back on topic and nodded in agreement to Mell’s words.

“How is tying him up going to help? He already doesn’t have a gift, he’s just going to get in the way like that,” she said, cringing at her own words moments before the ride began to fall. Mell’s grip tightened, and Elyn was almost glad for the darkness, sure, that for once her face would give away the dread she was feeling.

The ride bumped as it began to slow down again, and Elyn finally opened her eyes, not realizing they were closed in the first place.

She cleared her throat, her eyes slowly coming back into focus. “We should all be able to defend ourselves.”

glauciel

elyn

filler tab!
location

lukes holy journey

mentions

Zedalith Togy Wyll

♡coded by uxie♡

Elyn idly took up a hand to scratch at her head as Ilia made her way into the cart. He was in a bad mood, that much she could tell. Though how someone like Fifth could so easily get under his skin was something she couldn’t bring herself to understand. Elyn's not sure that she’ll ever fully understand Ilia.

She felt herself tense as the ride jerked forward, only just now realizing this was the first time she had ever been on a ride. It wasn’t like the others she saw, huge, twisting rides full of screams, but Elyn still felt anxiety crawling up her throat.

She took a deep breath, barely hearing Ilia’s orders, and strapped on her seat belt to help quell her uneasiness. It wasn’t even fear of the ride, just fear of something she had done before. She wasn’t going to die. Well, she could, and she has, many times, but not like that. Not a true death, a real death. Not like Joel.

Quickly ending that thought, Elyn focused back on Ilia’s words. Something about hitting Fifth, a joke, probably, since it made no sense. Only now did she notice Mel's grip on her shoulder and was silently grateful for the grounding it gave her. Not supplying Ilia with a response, Elyn turned her attention to the view in front of her.

She was sure the view looked great to those next to her, but to her, it just felt like a place she never wanted to return to. All she needed to do was find this aberration and go home, back to the hotel.

Elyn forced herself back on topic and nodded in agreement to Mell’s words.

“How is tying him up going to help? He already doesn’t have a gift, he’s just going to get in the way like that,” she said, cringing at her own words moments before the ride began to fall. Mell’s grip tightened, and Elyn was almost glad for the darkness, sure, that for once her face would give away the dread she was feeling.

The ride bumped as it began to slow down again, and Elyn finally opened her eyes, not realizing they were closed in the first place.

She cleared her throat, her eyes slowly coming back into focus. “We should all be able to defend ourselves.”

Kovacs · Aug 1, 2024

NICHOLAS NEALE-ST JAMES

LOCATION. WALLY'S ADVENTURE WORLD

𖤍 NYCTIEL 𖤍

Did someone say his name?

Before Nick knew it, he was staring down a delicious, sauce-soaked pile of barbecue prime rib, nestled garishly in a styrofoam takeout container. Miss Anna's voice matched her smile; soft and inviting Nick's stomach to quite suddenly and insistently rumble out his reply.

"Awh man," murmured Nick, licking his lips, eyes solely on the prize. "Qing-Yi... she really didn' hafta..." But boy, was he glad she did. As nice as Angie was, Nick knew she'd never spoil him in a hundred years like this. She would (in a hot way) probably lecture him about the caloric intake and the sugar content, all while suggesting a healthier alternative. The rest of the thought and sentence died in his throat, buried six feet deep by ribmeat. Taking a seat on some sun-baked rocks the size of go-karts, Nick was about halfway through his meal when his throat began to itch for something to wash it all down with.

Just then, like clockwork in came Ms. Chang in the flesh, holding up a float that looked like she'd captured a sunset in a cup. The nickname 'handsome' hung in the air, as warm and familiar a tease as wearing an old, worn-out Christmas sweater. Nick's face steadily flushed a shade not unlike his patroness' Pink Lady float. Swallowing the remaining rib in his mouth and accepting the offer, he managed a sheepish, lopsided smile. "C'mon now," he said, a coy glint in his eye. "You keep callin' me that long enough, I'll end up believing it. One of these days I'd have to start callin' you Gorgeous instead of Qing-Yi to return the favor."

Bold, but smoothly said. At least, he liked to think so. As earnest as Nick was in his feelings, he was a leaky faucet when it came to expressing them; no matter how deep his puppy crush for Angie ran, there'd inevitably be drops of affection spilled elsewhere. Qing-Yi was a prime example, and frankly, a very close second. Despite the six-year age difference, she treated him as an equal, valuing his input and respecting his opinions.

Enjoy it while you can. You don't deserve one fucking iota of her goodwill.

Nick's throat tightened, a momentary shameful expression flitting across his features. Peering down, he sloshed the float around a bit, marveling at its colour. "You're right, it really does look like her," he chuckled between sips. "And it tastes like just the thing to give me some extra oomph to phase through a few dozen more of 'em aberrations."

Speaking of the devil. The carefree bubble he'd been floating in popped with a sharp, unpleasant sound. Angie's words were a cold bucket of water, dousing the warmth of the moment. His gaze flickered to his mentor, reminded of their earlier exchange, before she told him to forget about it.

You never talked much about your life before all this.

Well, I s'pose that's the tragedy of dyin' young. I went off and died before I got the chance to have anything I did be anything worth talkin' about.

His heart twisted into a painful knot. Liar, hissed the little voice inside him. A sharp image flashed before his eyes: a car, a screech of tires, a blinding light. He squeezed his eyes shut, trying to dispel the dream---no, the memory. But it was there, persistent, a jagged edge to his consciousness.

He'd died before he'd done anything truly meaningful, that was true. But he hadn't died before he'd caused irreparable damage. The weight of that stillborn realization pressed down on him with crushing force. The carefree college kid who'd been more interested in beer, bars and video games than the consequences of his actions was a coward. Worse, the young agent who was now about to face down otherworldly creatures was a monstrous creation in his own right, christened in the blood of his own mistakes.

Panic surged through him. The fog of deep denial was clearing; the fragments of that night were piecing themselves together inch by inch, like the Iron Giant with his leviathan metal body parts. A child, a mother, a road, a crash. The images were blurry, the order of them indistinct, but the latent horror was undeniable, the weight of that swirling undercurrent of guilt unbearable. He was a fraud, a hollow shell of a man, marinating his denial in afterlife alcohol. How could he face these creatures, these embodiments of darkness, when the darkness within him was so much greater?

He forced himself to focus on Angie, her face etched with determination. They didn't know. And some dark, desperate little part of himself knew he'd do anything to keep it that way. All they knew was that they were counting on him. She was counting on him. Qing-Yi was counting on him. He couldn't let them down. He took a deep breath, trying to quell the rising panic. He had to become more than what he was. Focus, went his little mantra. Focus. Fight. Don't fuck it up.

Sharpened gray eyes scoured and traced the map, committing the details to memory. The plan was simple, or as simple as it could be in this situation. Partner up with Qing-Yi. Scout ahead, clear the path of lower-tiers, meet up with the two agents the Hotel had spit out into the front lines: Ms. Aelma and Ms. Pink Lady herself, who so happened to remind Nick of a cross between a pampered pink poodle and his ex. Last but not least, fall back to the rendezvous point in case of injury.

A surge of adrenaline coursed through his veins as he took Qing-Yi's hand, pushing the fear to the back of his mind while bringing his phasing ability to the forefront. To face ~~phase~~ the unknown, to fight for survival - in the end, wasn't that the essence of being alive, of being human?

INTERACTIONS.