Fantasy Murder in the City of Devils- IC

[strawberryspiral]

Murder in the City of Devils​

IC THREAD
​

A murder mystery set in the fantastical Los Noctis an international epicenter of the arts, culture, and entertainment. Bloodywood is a place for self discovery, expression, and where dreams are said to become reality. Some say The City of Devils is both a symbol of hope and everything wrong with the world.

In the year 2024, Los Noctis City has prided itself in upholding the Mythical Mandate. A series of laws put into action by The Order of Divine Judges. A council of wizards with presidential power, and strict moral codes. The mandate deems all arcane/supernatural beings as deserving of equal rights and the right to asylum from Hunters. Some prevalent places of worship have begun to pop up within the city, taking on the title of “Safezone”.

Due to the current tense political environment some living in the so-called: “City of Stars and Plastic,” have noticed strange comings and goings as of late. Rumors of mass violence and uprising to come makes waves with conspiracy theories online. Pointing to the acceptance of the Arcane as a sign of the times. Some even believe magic to be a great sin, that one day it will come back to bite humanity in the end.

With the Mythical Mandate, magic related crime has almost doubled. Not only is it abundant, but the severity of the crimes has increased. Often violent and disturbing in nature, and involving magic's much darker facets. As the government pushes to accept the supernatural into everyday life as equals. The people wait with bated breath, just because a law is written doesn't mean others will follow. Especially those in positions of power who consider laws to be beneath their illustrious feet. As for secrets the city hold plenty, the maze of alleys hide plenty, and fear of the unknown holds many mortals hostage. This story follows detectives, several celebrities, and beings both heroic and nefarious as they go about their daily lives. Attempting to survive within the shadows of the City of Devils.

Collaborators
Garbage. BuggaBoo Pumpum Ayama Coryen2 joestar

This city is my home, it raised me up when the world pushed me down. My family’s lived here for generations. Some people say this place is cursed but I disagree. From the beginning, humans have always labeled magic as a gift from devils. I think it’s because we were envious, and didn’t understand it. Personally, I’ve always seen magic as a gift to us all- it’s saved lives. Provided humanity with so many opportunities. We should cherish that- human or arcane doesn’t matter. That’s why I love this city, it brings our dreams to life. Rashani Sharpe

 

[strawberryspiral]

Part One: Things Better Left Unsaid​

-October 10, 2024-​

-9:30 AM-

-Downtown Central Business District-​

-Los Noctis City Police Department-​

Sgt. Detective Andrei Silverspun​

There’s that smell again- Andrei’s head snaps up from where he was anxiously tapping his foot while scrolling through emails at his desk. Sniffing the air with just the barest flaring of his nostrils, one of the guy’s bought that atrocious pumpkin spice latte again. Everyone at this point knew how sensitive werewolf’s noses are to certain smells, Andrei particularly.

Nothing against pumpkin, just that the smell of it mixed with spices always irritates his sinuses, and gives him migraines. One of the newer AIU officers- Nelson D’aprile, a guy twice his age who Andrei knew from the early days in the police academy gives him a shit eating grin as he passes. It’s too early for his nonsense, so he opts to ignore him.

How Nels made it to the Arcane Unit is beyond him. He once watched D’aprile step on a Pixie’s wings on purpose, and walk away with a slap on the wrist. He’s the sort of jackass that knows just how to press Andrei’s buttons, he’s been at it since the first day they met. The moment he found out Andrei was a werewolf a switch seemed to split. Nelson made it his mission to drive Andrei insane, maybe he wanted to see the werewolf snap- go feral on him or something. Not that he’d ever give the prick the satisfaction, he’d have to do a lot worse than that.

“Oh, sorry sniffer. Does this bother you?” The elder detective asks with a snide smirk, free hand running over his bald head as if he had hair to sassily toss over one shoulder. Nels winks in his direction as he sits at the desk directly across from him, and Andrei just rolls his eyes. Not even bothering with a response because Nelson just wasn’t even worth it.

Looking over to Julian, his half- banshee partner who usually finds the guy just as irritating as him. Digging through a desk drawer to find a paperclip he’d fashioned into a clip for his nose specially for situations like these. Clamping his nose helps and he goes back to scrolling through emails to distract himself from the smell.

While searching through messages he stops on a response he received from the Captain late last night on the Stalker and Violent Threats case he’d been putting together.

Send New Email

New Email Received

Captain Julia Ramirez

Re: Requests and Referrals

Meet in my office at the earliest convenience.

Walking past Julian whose desk is saddled up against the opposite side of his own, tapping his shoulder lightly as he passes. “Be right back, the Captain needs me-” He starts only to be interrupted by Nelson who always has something to say.

“-Ooh someone’s in trouble,” D'aprile sings-songs.

Andrei just gives him a flat look before turning on his heel to walk across the expanse of their relatively small department towards Captain Ramirez’s office. From behind him he can hear Nelson let out an exaggerated huff, “Huh, looks like the Big Bad Wolf woke up on the wrong side of the bed.”

There’s some weak laughs, mostly sympathy chuckles. A couple of other officers give him panicked looks as he walks past their desks as if begging him not to leave them alone with him. Stopping at the open door awkwardly, Andrei pokes his head in to throw a casual smile her way as he knocks lightly on the doorframe.

“Morning, Cap, how’s things?”

From where she’s hunched over, fingers flipping through a case file she waves him over. “Things are shit, everything’s turned to-” She stops as someone walks by the doorway.

A single hand raising, and dark brown eyes glancing to the ajar door pointedly, “Close it the door will ya? And have a seat.” The sergeant does just that with a pep in his step, moving to sit down in one of the uncomfortable chairs sitting just beyond her desk. A heavy sigh leaves her lips as the Captain shuffles through the manilla folder on her desk.

“Seems like you’ve been knee deep in shit since the first of October.”

Andrei shrugs, brows raising as he realizes the case file she’s got is one of his recent ones. “Yeah, I guess, the Tidal case- celebs got it rougher than you’d think. Something’s wrong with people these days, whoever’s been tracking her is clearly not of sound mind.”

Captain Ramirez chuckles, pushing rectangular glasses up the bridge of her nose as she eyes the paperwork before her. “Clearly, and we need to take these threats seriously. You mentioned something in the report about New Veil City- the attack back in 2022?” She flips through paperwork as she reads it aloud and he nods.

“Yeah, I think it could have the potential of developing into something similar. I mean, they did threaten the Jubilee Ball in letter three. That’s why I put in the request for extra manpower and specialty N.O.P gear.”

Captain Ramirez tosses the folder on her desk with a loud groan. Pushing her glasses back up on her wrinkled forehead with a grim frown pressing its way onto her face as her dark eyes meet his. “Do you want the good news or the bad news first?”

Sergeant Silverspun sucks in on sharpened canine teeth, “Lay it on me Captain.”

“Well… Good news is they’re giving you the manpower- Blackthorne and Montgomery. Bad news- your request for special N.O.P gear was denied. Until, the Order of Divine knows for sure an Arcane is involved they won’t touch it.”

Hand smoothing over his face Andrei tries to shove all the frustration he feels into a tiny ball. Pushing it to the back of his mind for later. “Of course, just my luck. Can I be frank with you Captain?”

The Captain answers in a pitying tone. “Feel free, Sergeant.” She throws her hands up in the air as if to say there’s no one but her around to listen anyways.

“I thought the AIU was supposed to make this stuff easier. I mean, it feels like there's just as many hoops to jump through here as there was when I was just a Private on the force. The Order said that instating the Arcane Unit would help us bypass all the B.S. But it feels like we're doing the exact opposite here. I’m fighting an uphill battle with the Order just to get past all their security clearances!” He grumbles.

Leaning over to drum his fingers against the wood surface of the Captain’s desk. Trying to dispel some of the tension piling high on him as this conversation draws on. The International Hall of Culture and Arts Jubilee is tonight, and he still doesn’t have everything he needs to guarantee this girl’s safety. Andrei's got zero leads and nothing to back his claims. Nothing but a gut feeling so true just thinking about the Jubilee makes him want to throw up.

Grabbing the old cord phone on her desk, the Captain taps some buttons to make a phone call. Glancing between Andrei, and the manilla folder on her desk, as she speaks. “I know, I know- believe me you’re not the only one who’s said that to me. I’m doing my best, you know how it is in the LNCPD- we have to make due.”

“Ain’t that the truth,” The half werewolf mumbles as she makes a request of the secretary on the other side of the line.

“Hey, Janet. Send in detectives Montgomery and Blackthorne for me will you? Thanks.” She slams the phone back down on the receiver as her eyes slowly drift up to meet Andrei’s once again.

There’s weight there, as if there’s something on her mind she wants to say but can’t. Within the dimly lit office, curtains closed, and door closed the Captain shifts in her seat. Hands clamping together into a ball on her desk as she awaits the arrival of the two other detectives.

“Just try to survive the night, and we’ll see what I can do about that referral. Alright?”

Brows shoot his hairline in surprise, “They okayed the undercover operation but not the gear? Forreal?” He asks incredulously, voice raising an octave in disbelief as she cringes.

Captain Ramirez somehow manages to look more disappointed than he feels. Andrei can smell the subtle shift in her scent- from confident to wary. “Sorry sergeant, our funding’s gone to shit. As usual.”

Bronzed skin betrays him, tinged red with the rage he’s managed to hide so well, up ‘till now that is. “You gotta be kidding me Cap’.”

Mentioned
Ayama (Julian) joestar (Phillip)

---

-West Bloodywood Hills-​

-Tidal Twins Residence-​

Jazmine Tidal​

BANG BANG BANG

The balled fist of one of the Tidal Twins slams repeatedly against the locked door of her older sister’s bedroom. “Jess! Get up! I’m not kidding!”

There’s no answer from the other side of the door, leaving Jaz faced with no other option but to keep ramming her fist into it. “We have to be on the red carpet in less than ten hours! Get up! Or I’m dumping your fish tank into the toilet!” She threatens from the otherside of the door, voice slightly hoarse from just waking up.

At this point she knows Lillian can hear everything from where she’s setting up her expansive kit of makeup and application tools. Not that she cares, Lillian’s seen them go at it worse than this. Her and Jessica hadn’t really been getting along as of late. Spending a lot of time apart while her sister did a press tour, promoting “All Out of Luck” her first acting gig. While Jaz focused on what brought them to Bloodywood in the first place- their music.

As she raises her fist to slam back down on the door one more time it swings open to reveal the blue skinned merfolk clad in a baggy shirt and underwear. Rubbing on eye sleepily with a yawn, “Gods above- chill the fuck out. I’m up- I’m up-”

“About time, you know how long I had to bang on your door? How long were you out last night? I told you to go to sleep early-” She pinches one of her sister’s swollen, dried drool stained cheeks. “-Ugh, now your face is all puffy from the drinking.” She chastises only for Jess to slap the hand away.

“Don’t touch me, your greasy fingers are gonna give me pimples.”

“The drinking will make you break out before I do,” Jaz snaps back and watches Jess walk right past her, heading down the hall towards their shared living room.

“Whatever loser, you’re one to talk. You’ve got dark circles for days.”

“Yeah, because I was working on our album. You remember our album right? The whole reason we moved out here, to record-”

“-Yes, I know Jaz, can you quit it with the passive aggressiveness? You’re worse than our Moms.” Jessica complains, wandering across shiny wood floors to the saltwater fish tank setup that holds all her fish friends from back home.

“I’m not being passive aggressive, this is just outright aggression.” Jaz gripes as she goes to sit on their giant coffee table, the low hum of the TV playing in the background.

“Breakfast for my sweet babies-” Lifting a hatch on top of the tank Jess coos to the little fishes as they sing her praises, sprinkling dried flakes into the clear blue water. “-You don’t have to be such a bitch about it," She tags on while chirping to her angel fish.

Lillian- their make up artist, and general life line is off to one side of the living room. Setting up her station of applicators and makeup. She doesn't like fighting in front of staff, it makes them look bad. But Lillian's seen thema t their worst at this point. Jaz reaches to grab a grocery store bag full of wax strips off the floor.

“Because of you I had to write a whole album alone and we have to wax our legs, I’m allowed to be a bitch.”

Jess just lets out a bubble of laughter, as if the thought of Jaz being uncomfortable in a mini skirt amuses her. “Short skirts are a slay though! Besides, you would’ve written the whole album on your own anyways. You never take my criticism seriously.”

“You can’t even find middle C on a piano, of course I don’t take you seriously.” Jaz scoffs not catching the brief look of hurt that crosses Jessica’s face as she looks over to where Lillian is prepping for make up.

“I could, if you taught me-” Jess stops as the front door opens. Whole body jolting at the sound of their security system beeping. One of their stylists enters, pushing a garment rack on wheels into the living room. Their manager- Willow Turner follows closely behind, holding an ipad so close to her face Jaz doesn't know how she's able to walk in without bumping into something.

Her sister’s wide turquoise eyes follow the stylist’s figure as she enters warily.

“You’re jumpy,” Jaz notes, only for Jessica to turn away, a sour look crossing her features as faces her fish friends.

“I’m just hungover,” She traces the glass of the fishtank watching as the small school of angelfish bob along happily, nibbling at the food floating around.

Jazmine rolls her eyes, “Of course you are. You want me to order something?”

Jess’ lips purse and as she slowly nods, eyes still fixed on the angelfish. "Get me a smoothie- well blended," Is all she responds with.

No please, or thank you, just a command- like Jazmine's her butler or something. Looks like it was going to be one of those days then. Sometimes her sister got this way, moody, and slightly on edge. Jumpy for some reason Jazmine isn’t able to understand, probably hang-xiety from the night before, but still. She could tell something was off about her twin lately, they'd grown up together after all. Jessica’s not the paranoid type, Jazmine’s usually the fidgety one given her social anxiety.

Maybe that's part of why she’s in such an off mood this morning too. The last place she wanted to be was sitting in an audience while cameras projected her every facial expression to millions watching world wide. But, it was necessary- she’d been nominated for something. Jessica too, and if they wanted to bring in more fans for their album’s debut they’d have to get their name circulating more in mainstream media.

The IHCA Jubilee Ball would give them an opportunity to rub shoulders with some pretty big names too. Probably the only thing she looked forward to- getting the chance to meet Saint Laurence. An artist she’d been listening to since she could barely crawl. Her mom’s still to this day have all their stuff on vinyl, blaming the song “I Want You To Love Me” for the twins’ conception.

Looking to where her sister stands motionlessly staring into the deep blue saltwater tank, Jazmine can’t shake the feeling that something’s off. Probably because something so obviously is- Jess has been drinking a lot lately. To the point of being belligerent and reckless, sometimes Jaz thinks her pupils look blown out too. But she doesn’t have the courage to confront Jessica on that, and doesn't like what it could mean for them either. It’s easier this way, communicating through backhanded insults and judgemental looks.

Grabbing her cellphone she begins to put in an order for food delivery, watching Jess stare through the fishtank like she’s looking into another world. Swaying abc and forth on her feet, mind in a daze. Jaz shakes her head, if this got any worse she’d have to call their Moms. That’s the last thing she wants to do. Jess hates being snitched on; she sees it as the ultimate twin betrayal.

Tapping her cell phone screen, Jaz navigates to the menu of a decent restaurant nearby. “Hey, do you want anything from this brunch place Lillian?”

Mentioned
Ayama (Lillian)

---

-Bloodywood Harbour & Warehouse District-​

-The Arouet Chasseur Agency-​

Jethro Agot​

Expensive, waxed loafers made of snakeskin slap against pavement. A man in a long coat and button up shirt, far too nice for this side of town, makes his way through narrow alleyways. Passing by shabbily dressed humans and arcane alike who send speculative and conniving stares the man’s way. His clothing catches their attention but they keep their distance- recognizing the power he holds by the odd ember orange irises he sports.

Though on the outside he appears put together, anyone who knows him could recognize the anxious twitch of his left brow. See the worry clear on his face, skin pale yet blistered red in places, with cracked lips. As if he’d been standing in the cold weather all night leading up into the early morning. His legs shake as he reaches the massive front door of the Arouet Chasseur, a Private Detective Agency he;d been frequenting as of late for business. Being a man in the business of selling rare and ancient magical artifacts he found himself in all sorts of places. This one was no different than any other, Dr. Voltaire Chariot- the owner is a man driven by scientific and magical curiosity. Something Jethro himself can relate to, that’s why he was the first option he’d considered when the news struck his ears.

In Los Noctis City people whether arcane or mortal, all beings are relatively the same. Either searching for purpose or knee deep in nefarious means meant to give them one. Jethro pokes the little doorbell, listening to the mechanical buzzing that sounds on the other side. Hopefully, the doctor would know something.

Anything to make sense of the hushed conversations he’d overheard last night. He should’ve stayed home, this is what he gets for roaming the streets at night. Eventually it was bound to happen Jethro always somehow finds a way to get himself into trouble. He just can’t mind his own business, never could. Gossip attracted him like rot to flies.

Staring straight into the heavy, steel reinforced door, his mind wanders back onto the strange metal contraption he’d come across while wandering downtown. It was mechanical, with cogs, wheels, and gears- a strange mix of magic and metal. Could only be the result of advanced, new age magic. Just being in its presence had been overwhelming, like every atom in the air was vibrating on a different frequency. The air had felt thick and there was this horrible groaning from below the cement ground, as if the earth itself was tossing and turning in pain.

Waiting impatiently with one thumb still jammed on the doorbell button, Jethro swallows the spit collecting in the back of his hoarse throat. If the Agency couldn’t give him any answers he’d have to go to the police. They’re the last people he wanted to turn such an advanced piece of technology over to.

Only the Holy Seeress knows what the LNCPD or the Order of Divine would do with the device. Power like that was volatile, and Jethro had no motivation to turn it over to those bumbling idiots. They wouldn’t know what to do with power like that, or they did know exactly what to do. And that could only end in catastrophe for everyone.

Mentioned
Garbage. (Voltaire) Ayama (Akari)

---

-Downtown Arts District-​

-Lucida Cross Chapel-​

Salem Byrd​

The crisp morning air and clear blue skies of autumn did little to soothe the ghostly young woman’s rampaging fears as she hovered close to the ground. Drifting through a small group of shapeshifters, all laughing boisterously just outside the local community Safezone. Salem reaches up to pull the brim of her snapback down lower over her face. Dressed down in loose fitting sweatpants and a matching baggy sweater she tries to remain as unrecognizable as possible. Distinct pale pink wisps of translucent hair tied in a messy bun at the base of her head.

The young men in front of the chapel are doing tricks on skateboards. Zigzagging around one another, scraping down guardrails with incredible balance, that Salem finds herself jealous of. One of the shifter’s- a young man covered in scales with snake-like pupils, pauses his skateboarding stunts. Going to hold one of the massive double doors made of shined oak wood open for her.

“Thanks,” She murmurs meekly, surprised by his sudden act of chivalry.

The young man just tips his head nodding, a smile parting green lips. Forked snake tongue darting out between sharp fangs as she passes by. The shifter doesn't seem to recognize her thankfully, so she makes a dash for an altar shoved into an alcove at the back of the Chapel. It's a beautiful building lined with polished, wood, and brilliant multicolored reflections of stained glass windows. Casting colorful glowing lights over the small gathering of people held within the Chapel’s walls.

She steers clear of the crowd gathered at pews, or knelt at the massive stage, just before the altar upfront. Several arcane and mortals of all backgrounds turned to look in her direction as she entered; only to thankfully immediately ignore her.

That is until, someone within the Chapel shouts out her name, “Salem!”

A familiar voice rings through her ears as she hovers in the back of the Chapel. Some within the Chapel begin to whisper, eyes darting back to glance in the ghoulish celebrity’s direction. Salem just huffs, glaring to meet eyes with an old friend and her current employer, Rashani Sharpe. The aging woman’s wrinkled face creases into a large, warm smile as she approaches the ghoul/human hybrid. Something in her hands that she holds tightly at the center of her chest. It flickers gold- some sort of necklace that she plays with as she stops just before Salem’s translucent, corporeal form.

“Hey, you made it-”

Salem can feel their eyes, the pointed looks. They’re all starting to recognize her, she can see a young woman- human, pulling out her cell phone or covertly filming her as she wanders over in their direction.

“-What the actual hell Rashani, why would you scream my name like that? Everyone’s looking- everyone knows-”

“-Relax,” A single hand reaches out to tuck a lock of hair behind her ears as Rashani whispers next to her ear. Getting into Salem’s very personal space but at this point she’s used to her CEO’s maternal nature.

“It’s fine, we have the law of hospitality on our side here. No one’s going to be rude. Trust me.” She waves a hand flippantly through the air.

Salem eyes the young woman who is trying to hide her cellphone camera with a piece of paper. Pretending to read some sort of “Mental Health Outreach” pamphlet whilst violating her privacy- ironic really.

“Oh, yeah? What about her?” Her chin juts out to signal Rashani to the mortal teenager not so sneakily taking footage of her.

The CEO of Lucky Sun Entertainment smiles. A glimmer of humor flickering through dark eyes as she rubs fingers around the golden pendant, hanging by a tiny chain at her neck. “Oh, no need to worry. The fancy faerie in charge of this place- he don’t play...”

Mentioned
Coryen2 (Cadmus)

---

 

[Ayama]

Captain's office, with Andrei & Captain Ramirez

Goddammit, Julian thought, relishing the mundane expression as he walked to work with his hands shoved in his pockets.

As members of the Divine Order, the Blackthornes were, of course, devout followers of the Seeress, but ever since leaving the family behind Julian had taken great pleasure in becoming as mundane as he possibly could.

His father, whom he rarely had contact with at all anymore, would grit his teeth in irritation when such expressions crossed his son's lips, torn between wanting to yell at him for blaspheming against their prophet and the feeling that, with his inability to carry on the family's legacy, it was actually more appropriate that Julian not invoke her name.

Even as he savored the expression, however, his soured as his mind turned, once more, to how bad things had been in the city lately. Mundanes attacking arcanes, arcanes attacking mundanes... It was the AIU's job to establish and maintain the peace, but they were fighting against literal centuries of prejudice and bad blood, and that kind of radical change didn't happen overnight.

Not to mention the fact that they were grossly understaffed, and what staff they did manage to get (most LNCPD officers wouldn't even consider a transfer to the division- they preferred to deal with mundanes and mundane affairs only, too prejudiced or too scared to step up) were, at best, incompetent, while some had clearly joined purely for the ability to make life hell for as many arcanes as possible under the pretense of a badge.

It was these assholes that Julian took something of an issue with (to put it mildly), and he'd already been called in on several occasions for making it clear to them that he wasn't about to tolerate that kind of problematic behavior.

Speaking of which...

The smell reached him a few seconds after it did Andrei's sensitive wolf nose, though he knew it was coming by the familiar expression of distaste on his partner's face. He and the younger detective had bonded fairly quickly after being paired up- they had similar values and a similar view on what their function was in this position as AIU detectives, and their struggle with fatherly approval or abandonment had further reinforced their being kindred spirits.

The two locked eyes following Nels' usual daily insult, Andrei's seeming to say 'Hasn't this prick gotten tired of this immature bullshit yet?', clipping his nose against the smell and returning to his emails. Julian had always admired his partner's impressive restraint in the face of prejudice and bigotry- between the two of them, Detective Blackthorne was the one most often deemed a 'loose cannon'.

Julian had petitioned to have Nels booted from the department for inappropriate conduct several times now, but nothing doing- they had no money, and they needed the manpower; even if that manpower was actually adding to their problems, rather than helping to solve them.

Julian nodded at his partner as Andrei walked past him to go meet with the Captain, his lips tightening thinly as Nels made another annoying comment.

If this idiot doesn't shut his mouth soon... the detective thought, vein pulsing in his forehead.

To take his mind off it, he made a quick stop by the coffee machine, grabbing a cup of the scalding-hot brew. Luckily, Andrei didn't mind the smell of plain coffee- it was the annoying additives that did it. As he took a sip and caught another whiff of the abomination himself, Julian thought that it was utterly appropriate that a basic asshole like Nels should be a pumpkin-spice drinker.

He walked slowly back to the bullpen, sipping and thinking, when his thoughts were interrupted by the Captain's secretary- a kind, middle-aged woman named Janet- poking her head out her office door and saying in her quiet, breathy voice "Detective Blackthorne, Captain wants to see you."

Julian made it a point to walk purposefully close to Nels' desk, 'accidentally' bumping into his chair and spilling his piping-hot coffee into his colleague's lap.

The officer jumped up, screaming like a banshee (no pun intended), and directing several choice expletives Julian's way. The detective responded with a bland and carefully neutral smile.

"Oh, sorry about that, Nels," he said without a hint of actual apology in his voice, "you know how clumsy I can get sometimes. But hey, too bad you aren't a werewolf, eh? Otherwise you might've been able to smell that coming."

And on that note, he left the man white-faced behind him, covered with coffee and spluttering with incoherent rage.

He stepped into the office to see a familiar long-suffering expression on the Captain's face and frustrated scowl on his partner's.

"Blackthorne, what was that ruckus out there?" she demanded. "You're not going to make me have to write up yet another report, are you? You know how much I hate the paperwork," she said as she stared at him hard. He responded with his most innocent expression.

"Of course not, Captain- it was just a little accident; no report needed."

"Hmm," she responded, not remotely mollified or convinced. The staring contest went on for another couple seconds before she sighed, resigned, and said "Anyway, you're assigned as backup on Silverspun's case- he believes Tidal's stalker might be hitting the Jubilee tonight."

Julian nodded- Andrei had shared his suspicions with him, and he trusted his partner's instincts.

"Of course, cap. Anyone else on this detail?"

"Montgomery's coming with." Another nod- Phillip Montgomery was an excellent resource to have on any obscure, arcane-related case, even if he'd been assigned to the division more on a consultant basis than for actual field work.

"Tac support?" he asked. The expressions on Andrei's and the Captain's faces told him everything he needed to know about that.

"Dammit. Okay, well I don't want us going in there blind. Drei, I think we should stop by Lucky Sun- talk to the Tidals, and anyone else there who might have some information."

The more information they could get on this stalker and the credibility of the threat, the more likely it was that they'd survive the night.

The Bloodhound

Julian Adrian Blackthorne

code by Nano

 

[Pumpum]

- Laurel Canyon, West Bloodywood Hills-
- Lawrence Residence -
- Edward Lawrence -​

This award thing’s been in the plans for months now. A for your consideration campaign, Gérard had called it when it was first brought to Ed’s attention. He’d heard the term from Mr. Reed, who’d made it very clear that this whole plan had cost the label a great deal of money.


It’s why Ed hasn't stayed up this late into the morning worrying about the song they’d chosen, or the awards they pushed for. What’s done is done, as they say, and now they’ll have to deal with the consequences. All he has to do now is put on one of Talia’s masterpieces, don a mask to tie the outfit to the theme, and accept an award or two with everyone’s eyes on him, which isn’t so bad really, or shouldn’t be, not after everything.

With that thought, Edward opens the ribbon of the delightful package delivered to his home studio. Surrounded by plush velvet, his own face stares back at him – though it isn’t his anymore. It’s based on the only portrait they’d managed to hold onto and detailed instructions from the only man who remembers him when he was still human.

“Cast from bronze, as requested,” Gérard comments behind him, his hand a grounding weight on Edward’s shoulder.

“A bit heavy, what?” Edward says as he picks up the mask by the stick. He barely recognizes himself in it. Was his nose always so narrow? “I’ll be done in trying to keep people from catching a glimpse of my actual face.”

“If nothing else, it will make for an effective means of defense,” Edward barks out a laugh and tilts his head to meet Gérard’s gaze. The cove looks as amused as he gets when telling a joke – which is to say he doesn't look very amused at all – but there’s the telling tilt to his lips.

“Expecting trouble?”

“Always.”

Because Gérard thinks the Mandate means nothing. This award ceremony, being invited, it all means nothing. He’s only coming because Edward had begged him on a night when he’d felt very sorry for himself, and very sorry for all those millions of people he won’t ever get to know. Before that night, Ed was so certain of going about this on his own.

With a gentle squeeze, Gérard begins to pull away, but his hand is caught by Edward before he manages to escape. Gérard's hand is warm in his gentle grip; only the tips of his fingers feel cold.

“Oh, but we’ll be fine. We always are!” Edward assures them both. He shouldn’t have to lean on Gérard as much as he does, really, but old habits have a habit of sticking around no matter how you try to shake them off. This gallivanting in fancy outfits with cameras everywhere, it’s all new to him of course but really, “This’ll be a breeze compared to the Great Hunger and the wars, and the lack of respectable sires and clans and what-not.” Gérard nods once at that, not looking all that convinced and putting up an attempt to hide it, but not bothering to hide it so well that Edward doesn’t know he’s pretending.

It doesn’t bode well if they’re both feeling anxious. All Ed can do is smack a calming kiss on the knuckles and stare at up him.

“This will be the greatest night of my life,” he promises his man, and then goes on to ask, “and won’t it be fun, running commentary on every ugly tie you find until we both forget ourselves?”
Maybe by that point, Ed will no longer worry about the song, or the views, or the eyes on him. They’ll go out tonight and come back home, and Edward will once again sit in his studio until Gérard rests a hand on his shoulder and reminds him to eat. What he means to say is, I can’t do this without you, Gérard. You have to come with me.

“Perhaps,” comes the answer, which means a whole lot more than that, because the hand in Edward’s remains there. Not leaving at his moment of need, what? As expected; Gérard's always been reliable.

And then, because his man can't handle too much of this soppy stuff, Gérard pulls his hand away and changes the subject.

“You’ll need to eat before we leave – but we have a guest.”

Edward blinks at this but remains bewildered only for a moment.

“Talia’s here?” he asks as he clambers to his feet. “Ahh, she wouldn’t let you dress me, would she? Not with so many eyes on me. She doesn’t like the way you tie my cravat.” No doubt she’ll insist on Gérard not touching it – though that’s never stopped his man before.

“A rare lapse of taste on her part,” Gérard says, endearingly stuffy, and lingers only a step behind Edward as they leave the room. Ed’s mind is already somewhere else; after all, he'd promised Miss Thomas something called a ’selfie.’ Talia will surely help him send her an acceptable picture.

 

[joestar]

-Downtown Central Business District-​

-Sleepy Goblin Coffee House-​

Phillip Montgomery​

The wrong people are always in the right places.​

Cars without mufflers, the honking of horns, hushed arguments, fraternizing, the sun becoming visible through the haze of the smog, the smell of pumpkin pie spice-Phillip’s thoughts were interrupted as he looked up to see a barista who had tripped while holding pumpkin pie spice, this in turn triggered sneezing from those affected by this pumpkin spice dust bowl.

“Flip M? Is anyone here Flip?”

Phillip turned to face a confused cashier.

“Hi, are you Flip?” The cashier looked at the name again, with a befuddled look. “Wait, is your name Phillip?” The cashier trailed off a bit, muttering “Why would they think Flip is a name?”

“Yes, I would be Phillip.”

“Okay, sorry about that,” the cashier offered his cup before looking toward the mess, “Anyway, have a nice day.”

“You as well,” Phillip muttered, forcing a polite smile.

Despite his constant… RBF- as the kids called it, he always gave at the least a polite smile for customer service workers. From his own experience, working with the public could be harrowing and unpredictable, the last thing underpaid workers needed was a customer who looked like a jackass.

As he walked out of the coffee shop, he took a sip of his brew and nearly spit it out.

The pumpkin spice cloud seemed to have been aggressive in nature and created unwanted flavoring in any nearby drink. Phillip turned to look at the chaos transpiring within the messy coffee shop and decided he was better off making some weak coffee in the break room when he arrived, and tossed his cup in the trash. This Thursday wasn’t off to a great start. Between the coffee debacle and the amount of work he had amassed over the last few days, he couldn’t foresee days off anytime soon.

To add to the coffee debacle, he has cases, on cases, on cases to look into. One such case involved a rogue wizard- which was virtually unheard of, and would most certainly require a reduction in days off in the weeks to come. Luckily, Phillip was not left to his own devices in this case, and he had help from the sergeant. Andrei Silverspun was a competent, young officer, which was also virtually unheard of. Too many young people joined the force, tempted by the offers of driving fast and feeling above the law. Once they realized how much shit work was truly put on the cops in this city, they fled to greener pastures.

Phillip stopped at a crosswalk, wishing that today had been a bit more monotonous. Monotony was comforting, it meant there was no job to be done, and no job to be done meant safety. Unpredictable days like the one he faced ahead made it hard to keep a cool head. There were simply too many stressors, when his days weren’t going as planned

The crosswalk sign lit up, signaling pedestrians to cross.

As Phillip continued his walk, he spotted a small tabby cat sitting on a stoop. He reached down and stroked its head; he was fairly certain this would be the best part of his very long day. Since he knew he wasn’t getting days off anytime soon, he relished his morning walks, it was the only time in the day he had to think to himself without the presence of others interrupting with their ever-high-priority duties.

As he arrived at the police department doors, he took a breath that filled his lungs, preparing himself for what lay beyond the double doors. Walking through the automatic doors, nothing seemed anymore out of sorts than usual. Thank god, no fires to put out. Passing through the main lobby where he pulled out an ID to scan at the front desk. An elderly half-gnome woman- Laurel, greeted him at the desk.

" Good mornin’ detective,” Her eyes not bothering to meet his, focused on the computer screen she busied herself at.

“Yeah same to you,” He pulled his ID from the scanner and continued through another automatic set of doors. Headed down the corridor and passed by the processing lobby where several civilians sat in cuffs waiting to be put into the system. A burly man with only one shoe on and a wife beater covered in puke was forced by two officers to stand still as they took his mugshot.

“Fuck! You sick, twisted pigs! I do not consent! I am a sovereign citizen! I do not consent to my picture being tak-” He cursed through bile-covered lips protesting to the policemen who tried to get him to cooperate.

Watching the ordeal makes him instantly a tad bit more grateful for his own complicated duties. He’d rather go through piles of paperwork and chase after rabid ghouls, and whacky wizards than deal with a belligerent drunk who spat all over him. He breezed past the criminal intake lobby and entered the AIU department, darting between rows of desks towards his personal office. He was appreciative of the fact he did have his own office, collaboration was a huge aspect of his job, however, he did not need to be shoulder-to-shoulder with a co-worker to practice good communication.

Phillip had just booted his computer when a knock came at the door. As expected, it took less than two minutes for him to be summoned to take a look at a new case. Oh, the joys of being a law enforcement officer.

“Come in.” Phillip looked up toward the door to see the secretary, Janet standing in the doorway.

“Agent Montgomery, you’re needed in Captain Ramirez’s office.”

Of course he was. “Alright, thanks for telling me Janet.”

Phillip began gathering up his freshly settled items and headed to the Captain’s office. Passing by colleagues along the way who either avoided eye contact with him or grimaced. The scent of pumpkin pie spice wafted over the entire office as if by some sheer coincidence or not, he couldn't be sure. Maneuvering his way through rows of desks cramped into one of the smallest wings of the entire LCPD building, Phillip catches the tail end of some chatter at the officer's lounge, a few officers in uniform gathered whilst sipping on strong coffee. Something he craved but knew the Captain would have no patience for, but he pauses just outside the doorway. Not to pry, just to catch up with anything he'd missed while on his long trekk to work.

"Did you see? He spilt hot coffee all over-" One of them gasps out between quiet giggles.

A taller officer beside her shrugs, "But D’aprile deserved it, he's such a jackass."

Sounds like someone's having a worse day than he is.

"Bet he burnt his balls!" The third cop says with awicked grin.

There's a chorus of choked laughter from the group of rookies, and the corner of his lip twitches. D'aprile was the classic example of an incompetent cop, he'd seen the absolute creetin flirt with a woman who'd just watched her husband pass and been in a traumatic car accident. He was lowest of the low and got by promising he'd change every time he was reprimanded for unprofessional behavior. Hearing D'aprile unlucky circumstances for the morning almost put a positive spin on his dreary morning.

"Shh! He's changing shirts just across the hall," An officer with pointed ears, and short, blond hair mumbles. Eyeing the doorway just in time to catch the eyes of Phillip, who turns away, and proceeds down the hall towards the Captain's office.

Phillip entered to see Andrei and Julian Blackthorne sitting before the Captain. Though they worked in the same department he hadn’t interacted with Julian as much as with the half-banshee’s partner Andrei. The younger vouched for him and only spoke highly of his partner, but Phillip had his doubts given Blackthorne’s hotheaded reputation.

“Come on in, Montgomery. You can have a seat if you wish.” She gestured to an uncomfortable-looking chair. Giving it a second glance she added on, “Or you can stand.”

Phillip just nodded in response, closing the door behind him.

“So,” the Captain began, “I will reiterate what I’ve spoken with Silverspun and Blackthorne about. There has been a development in the Tidal case.”

“Oh?” Phillip was well aware of the Tidal case. Although this was not a case he was directly involved in, he knew enough to know that that young woman’s violent stalker had managed to elude the cops far longer than he was comfortable with.

“Our guy is hitting the Jubilee Ball tonight and you, along with these two, have been approved for an undercover operation.”

Phillip sighed, he supposed there were a few things that he could put on hold. Priority was one of his least favorite words, realistically, some things were time-sensitive and had to take precedence, but having to pick and choose frustrated him.

“Well,” Phillip crossed his arms with another sigh, “Will we have any backup? Tactical gear?”

It was the Captain’s turn to sigh.

Yep, this was exactly what Phillip expected. There was absolutely nothing wrong with either Andrei or Julian, but Phillip preferred to have something of a cushion if- no, when, things went awry. Even the best agent couldn’t beat Murphy’s Law.

“Alright then, do we already have a game plan?” Phillip looked between the three officers.

Julien and Andrei looked at each other as if they shared a thought, but wanted the Captain’s confirmation before speaking out.

The Captain adjusted in her seat, “A few ideas have been shared, so far, the best idea is to go directly to the Lucky Sun and look for anyone who may have information.”

Phillip nodded slowly and took a breath in, “Well if I might pose a second opinion, perhaps we reexamine the case files and see if we can find names, tangible people. That way we could at least have an idea of who we’re looking for before we charge in and scare any potential leads off by asking too many questions.”

Phillip shifted on his feet, “That of course, is your decision Captain. You have the final say.”

The Captain looks to Andrei, “It’s your case, Sergeant.” Andrei grimaces, eyes darting between his new partners, obviously embarrassed to be put on the spot.

Phillip didn’t care what Andrei chose either way, Phillip simply didn’t think it was smart to charge in guns blazing in an unfamiliar setting, but he had been put in more precarious positions in the past. Phillip was solid in his decision, but this was not his decision, this was not his case, and whatever they ended up doing wasn’t going to be on him.

Phillip’s schedule was officially booked for the next few months and he still hadn’t had his coffee.

 

[Coryen2]

-Downtown Arts District-
-Lucida Cross Chapel-
Cadmus Blanch​

Sitting in his comfortably office chair, Cadmus calmly sipped his tea while the young Wayward man before him continued to blather on about how unfair life was. The conversation had started interestingly enough, but once the young man had finally explained just how, exactly, he had ended up running from a Labripoodle whilst wearing his girlfriend's tutu, Cadmus's interest had waned. Still, it would be rude to interrupt the young man's rant without reason.

Just then, a soft tug on his mind informed him that yet another person had accepted the contract of hospitality. Sadly, not quite important enough to stop the conversation, but the near immediate response of a broken contract immediately following was a different story. Holding up a hand to pause the conversation, he reached over to the intercom on his desk. "Kathryn, be a dear and refill the snack table upstairs? Oh, and remind everyone that if you feel the need to hide the action you are performing, it probably isn't a polite thing to do in the first place? Thank you!" Turning back to the tutu wearing cynophobe he gestured for him to resume his rant, "Continue. You were talking about self-expression and the need for drag as an outlet since your mother left?"

~~~​

Kathryn stifled a small laugh as Cadmus recapped the conversation over the intercom before it disconnected. Putting her phone away, she got up from her desk and made her way out to the main foyer. Moving at a leisurely pace, she greeted a few of the regular attendees, restocked the donuts, and entered the Nave and crossed to the pulpit. Before she arrived, a text message arrived that simply read 'BTROH'. Sighing softly, she took to the stand and quietly spoke to the room, "By The Rules Of Hospitality"

In one voice, those present who knew the response answered, "We Follow And Abide".

The silence in the room was palpable. Even though these particular words were little more than a way to frame what was to come, it still sent a shiver down Kathryn's spine. Swallowing, she nodded and continued. "Today, I provide for you a warning and a guideline from our elders. While partaking in hospitality, should you feel the need to hide your actions, double check your reason for doing so. Perhaps your action could be considered rude or harmful. While secrets have their place within hospitality, feelings of guilt are an excellent guide to avoid trouble."

Just then, a loud sparking noise erupted in the middle of the congregation as the battery of a teenage girl's phone exploded in an array of sparks.

~~~​

Down in the Priory office, Cadmus felt the balance of the broken contract restored. Turning to his pretty-in-pink refugee, he brought the meeting to a close, "You are free to dress as you please within the Lucida Cross Chapel. However, if you notice anyone who is made uncomfortable by your preferred adornment, please refrain from interacting with them, as doing so could be seen as provoking or inciting someone to break hospitality. Likewise, if you find yourself offended by the presence of someone else, I recommend that you either learn to temporarily put aside your differences or, barring that, ignore their existence to the best of your ability." Standing up, he showed walked the man to the door and passed him along to Keeper. "If you will excuse me, I believe I am needed upstairs."

​

 

[Ayama]

Tidal mansion, with Willow and the twins

Lillian woke up absurdly early that morning, as she always did. Unsurprisingly with her history, she was both a very light sleeper and a severe insomniac, plagued by nightmares pretty much every time she closed her eyes, and she usually woke just before or just as the sun rose, startling into consciousness in a blind panic, convinced someone was coming for her, breathing hard and covered in a cold sweat.

Most wouldn't have guessed this from interacting with the seemingly laid-back makeup artist, but Lillian lived her life in nearly ever-present fear.

Fear that someone from Los Linces or Lagunilla would track her down and exact revenge, fear that the Mexican Federales would issue a new warrant for her arrest and come straight to her door, or fear that the US government would take issue with her illegal immigrant status and have her deported.

Sometimes, the nightmares had some of her worst memories in them, like the day she'd first gotten thrown into jail, or the day of the riot, when she escaped but had to leave a mortally wounded Vlad behind. She thought of him often, especially when she felt lonely or low, or when she was brushing her teeth and inadvertently caught sight of the Thrall rune still tattooed on the underside of her tongue.

By law, she should have undergone the purification ritual to get the mark removed once she moved to the city but, given the manner of her arrival, she wasn't about to go through anything that was likely to identify her to the authorities so, despite the obvious risk it posed to her, she still kept the ink.

For the same reason, she also had not registered with the proper authorities as being a shapeshifter. Given that she hadn't had an uncontrolled transformation in years, and that she wore a Nullium bracelet at all times to prevent the possibility, the danger she posed to others on account of this was small, but nevertheless still there.

The thought of transformations brought back the other terrible memory she often revisited in dreams- that of the day she'd come back to the hideout to find Carla curled into a ball, crying and bruised with her clothes messed up and torn.

Lillian had flown into a rage she hadn't known she was capable of feeling and, to this day, the image of Carla from that morning haunted her dreams far more than that of Santiago's blood that same afternoon- spraying crimson across the darkened alleyway and splattering her snow-white fur.

Lillian might be a quiet, gentle soul but, within yet seldom revealed, a beast lay dormant.

That morning, said beast was content to stretch and growl as the young woman performed all sorts of cat-like contortions to get herself nominally awake, blinking the insufficient sleep from her gummy eyes.

She grabbed her glasses from the bedside table and rummaged around her dresser for some clothes, pulling on the usual leggings, skirt, half-length long-sleeved shirt and oversized sweater, grabbing her keys on her way out the door and downstairs for her usual morning ritual.

Lillian lived in a neighborhood of Los Noctis known as New Veil Heights, as its diversity reflected that more commonly encountered on the East Coast. Her neighbors were pretty much all immigrants from different parts of the world, and a cacophony of languages and sounds and smells greeted her when she stepped outside each morning.

Lillian loved her neighborhood- it made her feel at home, in a way. And she loved the little Mexican cafe open absurdly early every morning that served café de olla and pan dulce just the way she remembered it from back home. The familiar smells often brought a surge of sadness and tears spilling from her eyes- especially because she couldn't even converse with the kind abuela in her native tongue, as the combination of fluency and her singular looks would be a dead giveaway-, but somehow she felt that the only thing worse than torturing herself this way each morning would be not to do it.

She smiled when she left the cafe with breakfast in hand, savoring the warm bread and intermittent sips of the scalding brew as she headed back upstairs. By the time she entered her apartment again, she was awake enough to face the day.

It didn't take her long to gather her kit- she'd mostly prepared everything the night before, since she would be on assignment with the twins pretty much all day that day, so she just double-checked everything before heading out the door.

When she was first getting started in this business, she usually rode the bus or the train to work, having no other means to get around. In the last year or so, however, pretty much everyone she worked on were such big names that they had cars sent to pick her up- the buses didn't even go to their fancy mansions up in the Bloodywood hills.

This morning's car was steered by her favorite driver- Javier, an upbeat family man from Guatemala. As always, she had to resist the urge to give a familiar greeting as she smiled softly and said, in perfectly unaccented English, "Good morning, Javier."

These deceptions hurt her heart to employ but, if she wanted to preserve this life she had carefully acquired for herself, she couldn't afford to take any risks- especially in the business she was in, where loose lips were money and gossip and rumors were everywhere.

The people were nice enough, and she'd even managed to make a few friends- Willow and Rashani were understanding of her situation as an illegal immigrant and willing to work with her, which she was immensely grateful for, but even then she'd not seen fit to divulge the truth of her story. The fact of the matter was that self-preservation, for her, lay in maintaining her new identity and secrecy about her past, lest it catch up with her.

Apartment buildings and skyscrapers quickly gave way to grand mansions and lush gardens, and she was soon on the familiar road to the Tidal house.

Even though the ball wasn't actually until that night, she was supposed to get there by 9am as, with Jess in particular, there could be any number of costume and makeup changes needed before she found the look that was juuuuuust right.

The older Tidal twin was single-minded in pursuit of her goals (a trait she shared with the younger one, even though their goals were different), but equally anxious and insecure. Jessi's insecurities usually manifested themselves in a need to always have her way with everything and the occasional bout of substance abuse, while the quieter and perfectionistic Jaz was her own worst critic.

Lillian smiled to herself as she set up her equipment in the living room, listening to the familiar litany of sibling frustration. She liked the Tidal twins, each in her own way- felt she understood them well, and she'd gotten to know them the more time she worked with them and spent around them.

As Jaz walked towards her following their latest repartee, she didn't fail to notice Jessi's nervous reaction at the opening of the front door. Jess had been afraid of something lately, and the fear was turning into more partying than ever. Lillian frowned as she noticed the sallowness of the merfolk's skin- whatever was going on, it was affecting her health.

Lillian smiled when Willow walked in. The Tidals' manager's understanding and caring nature was why she had the contract she did now. Even though she hadn't felt comfortable accepting an entire 2-3 year exclusive gig with Lucky Sun and all the benefits that came with it, her current 6-month one contracted her to work for every appearance the Tidal twins made, which had been increasing lately in preparation for the release of their album, and the steady work had placed her into a more solid and secure position financially than she'd theretofore been able to have, and she was infinitely grateful to Willow for that.

The shapeshifter was lost in thought, thinking about color palettes and what makeup she should use to try and rid Jessi's skin of that pallid, sickly tone when she heard her name being called.

She turned her wide green eyes to Jaz, taking a second to register the question.

Brunch... right... she thought. The American tradition had acquired popularity outside the US in recent years, including Mexico City, but the word still felt absurd to her. Nevertheless, it was going to be a long day, and she knew she was going to need the calories. Due to Lillian's shapeshifter metabolism, she put food away like you wouldn't believe for such a small girl- particularly protein, in quantities that would put a professional bodybuilder to shame.

Jaz was used to it by now, so she wasn't as surprised as she might've been when Lillian said

"6-egg omelette with ham, bacon, and sausage and a large orange juice, please."

The White Wolf

Lillian Thomas

code by Nano

 

[BuggaBoo]

---

'Ms. Chaser' - DJ Chea-Soeur - Witch/ Wind Sorceress -

​

Spending the morning with 'Someone'...

Upon her tinted visor reflected the 4 story villa beyond the trees and the tall iron-wrought gate. Behind that visor, green eyes lit up, a broad smile accompanying the heated emerald glow.

DJ sat there straddling her monstrous green and black e-motorbike, smoke tinted visor flipped up now. Her helmeted head swivelled away from the house beyond the gate, her attention now upon her gigantic phone. One hand was free of her armoured glove and set to text away, the other still covered and playing idly with long black tail. A happy smile held at her lips, green eyes shining bright. One boot tapped to a rhythm running thru her head as she scrolled to her brother's messages.

{{Eyo I'll be back in a few hours k}}

{{Still? i thot you were done?}}

{{not yet. gunna meet with a homie}}

{{Who? CC or Maddie}}

{{Just someone}}

{{rly SOMEONE?! My gosh Ditzy! in broad daylight!}}

{{Chilllllll lil bro. i'm literally just visitinggggggg}}

{{you are risking waaaaay to much. wru?}}

{{Dun worry bout it. im a big girl. later }}

A bubbling giggle escaped her lips as she silenced her phone and put it away. Malachite, her little brother was a biiiiit constrictive and over cautious but she knew he meant well. Armada Inc. did have it in her contract to abide by all guidelines and agreements. But nowhere in the contract mentioned she couldn't visit her homies. Sure public displays of affection wasn't permitted but she wasn't going to be in public for long.

The intercom buzzed.

The tinted visor snapped down in place. Morning sun glinted off silver stripes from all over her helmet, leathers and giant e-motorbike, Purrge. The green and black beast whirred into life and slowly wheeled past the sliding double gates. DJ giggled and waved as 3 huge dogs barked and chased along side her on the smooth paved path leading to the villa.

Her head turned to admire the skatepark built right next to the house. So empty right now yet filled with memories of such good times with friends and families alike. Even older and fonder memories of little DJ heading to the bowl near her old run down house trickled into her mind’s eye. Even back then she had to prove to the others that she was legit and could hang with the big kids.

And here she was now, rolling up to the house of one of the biggest kids in any skate park out there. This one in particular probably never had to prove to anyone, hands down, that she could hang with the big kids. Ever. The fountain with all the bronzed skateboards said it all. Each one of those decks was retired and held as a reminder of every championship or accolade this big kid ever had; one Corinna-Kiana Chanter. She was all over the internet, socials, posters and stickers known simply as 'Corki'. But DJ knew her more than that, and called her 'Clicky.'

The garage door slid open and DJ spied the famous big kid leaned up against her fancy-assed convertible coupe, dressed in nothing but slippers, an oversized night shirt, a pair of multi-coloured pigtails and tan face filled with a welcoming smile. DJ waved then parked her bike as her entourage of oversized puppies clamboured over each other in slobbering grace trying to vye for their guest’s unfettered loving attention.

Off came the helmet and clasped onto the back was the Armada Inc. branded thing. A few more shakes of her head set her wavy dark locks free flowing once again, big black ears unflattened themselves, perked up once more. Long black tail flitted about excitedly.

“Okay okay hi hi hi hi hi hi, girlies! HI!!!!!!” DJ practically dove head first into the lovely kisses of the big dogs. Ahvi, the lead King Sheppard and Halo, the Rottweiler and largest of the trio, she held with her arms. Naughty, the cooing Doberman, DJ held with her long black fuzzy tail.

“What the actual eff in the face…?” a hand scratched the back of the other girl’s head, the suspicious raised brow juxtaposed the wry smile across her lips, "and what am I now? Chopped liver? Sheeeeesh…”

“D’awwwww don’t you be jealous. Girl, we are giving affection in order of importance so you just get in line hahahahah!”

A crossing of tan tattooed arms and a head shake complete with scrunched face was all the other girl could do in retort. But when the puppy greeting continued on for much longer an annoyed series of clicks escaped the side of Corki's mouth. Accidentally, a slipper flew from her foot and smacked DJ in the back of the head. Yeah, accidentally by accident.

“Whoops. Guess that's why they called slip-pers...”

“Owwww heyyyyy! Are you a bit off…? Clicky! Girl, that hurt…!”

“Yeah well so does being ignored, Chasey.”

DJ stood up, green and black full body leather creaking, face with full scowl, full pout. Slowly her boots strut over to the other girl. “Girl, don’t be jealous. Be paaaaaaatient, ‘kay?”

“I gotta better idea; you just hurry your... best-supporting-actress-fancy ass up!” both arms she held out to DJ, night shirt jostling up and down as she bounced excitedly, “eyo, CONGRATULATIONS! Bring it in! Bring it innnn-uh!”

DJ squealed, rushed Clicky and embraced the other girl tightly, picking her up and spinning her round and round, “Yeah, girl! Thank you! Thank you soooo much! But like I'm only a nominee, 'kay? And eyo, I thought we said we gunna celebrate. You not dressed for it?”

“Yeah well, Chasey, neither are you.” Clicky’s tattooed hands held DJ by the shoulders. Both young women were about the same age and about the same height and build, but the main difference was in pose and poise. Clicky was more rough and tumble, down to earth. DJ was slinky and elegant, airy fairy.


“Yeah I am…” DJ undid her collar then unzipped her leathers from nape of neck to below pierced navel. What she wore underneath was fancier than mere bra and panties. Clicky’s eyes reaffirmed that fact.

“Whooooaaaa… well… ummm…. Well I ummmm… okay… let me help you with that…” a smacking of lips, a rough swallow then a shrill whistle, “okay, okay you 3! Out, out, out out, go guard the place. Mama gonna be busy! Yo! Like let’s be so for real, mama gunna get reeeeeealy busy alright! Gogogogogogooooo! Shoo! Shoo! Go guard the place, I said…!”

Several protesting whines the pack of 3 gave before Ahmi moved off her haunches, grunting and leading the rest out back into the courtyard. Once the garage door finally closed, Clickly quickly turned her head back towards DJ, multicoloured pigtails chasing her motion Blue eyes glinted as they met, smouldering green ones. An eyebrow pop, “Sooooooo shall we go upstairs and start celebrating–umphh...! Oooooooh...”

“I thought you were impatient?” DJ bit down playfully upon a lower lip. From between her legs had her tail slipped and slid savouringly slow up beneath Clicky’s night shirt, “I was thinkin' we start celebrating right here, bae… mmmmm…”

Lips found lips and pressed, then a heartbeat later parted for a deeper connection. Both bodies clutched tightly together, kissing passionately, heartbeats thrumming, clothes falling. Their morning celebration commenced warming up with more than sharing affectionate hugs and kisses upon the hood of a cherry black convertible coupe.

---

 

[Ayama]

Arouet Chasseur Agency Warehouse, with Jethro

"Please, stop, I beg you..."

A fangy, lupine grin animated the youthful face of the young Demi-Fae at the entreaty- she loved hearing that tone of voice. The whining, submissive, pleading note that told you a subject's spirit was broken, and they would give you anything you wanted if only you would just. Make it. Stop.

Akari poked the cattle prod through the bars of the cage again, electrocuting the goblin sharply.

"Ow! Why are you doing this to me? I ain't even done anything!" he protested, rubbing what felt like the millionth electric burn of the night.

"Now that ain't rightly true, is it?" Akari said, imitating the goblin's speech pattern to perfection. "After all, I caught ya in here snoopin', didn't I?"

"Yeah but I didn't take nuthin', so what in the hell gives ya the right ta lock me up in here and poke at me all night like I'm some kinda science experiment, huh?" he demanded, puffing out his tiny chest and looking offended.

Akari laughed- a piercing, disturbing sound.

"You are a science experiment, little one," she said, all trace of the goblin's speech gone. "I'm trying to find out how many shocks it takes for that surprisingly resilient heart of yours to give out."

She was staring at his chest as if trying to look inside him, and the look chilled the would-be thief to the bones, making him cold with dread.

"Look, I'm sure we can work something out here..." he said slowly, clearly aware that he was trying to reason with a mad person. "Having a goblin around can be useful, y'know? We can get in places other people can't, find stuff that's been lost..."

Akari laughed again, and the sound of it sent rolling shivers cascading down the goblin's spine.

"But you are useful, little one," she said. "After all, you're the first goblin I've been able to experiment on- I'm learning so much..."

The delicate stress she laid on the word 'experiment' left no doubt in the thief's mind that she wasn't referring to making a volcano with vinegar and baking soda or powering a clock with potatoes, and as she moved closer again with a manic light dancing in her electric blue eyes, he pressed himself back as far as the cage would allow.

She was just lifting the cattle prod again when a loud buzzing reverberated throughout the room, irritating and insistent.

Akari huffed in annoyance and lowered the instrument, the goblin letting out a breath of relief as she turned on her heel and left the room.

He swore to himself that, if he could manage to figure a way out of this cage and out of this creepy warehouse lab, he would change his wicked ways and be on the straight and narrow from now on. After all, if this was what could happen to you for trying to steal something, it just wasn't worth it.

The Demi-Fae hummed to herself as she strode through the various sections of the lab, rattling the bars of various cages as she passed. This part of the building housed hers and Voltaire's biologic experiments, and what could be found there was enough to turn the stomachs of even the most staunch medical practitioners.

Climbing up a flight of metal stairs to the next sub-level brought her to the storage area, where shelves and boxes and crates held supplies and tools of the trade for their business and research.

Finally one more flight of stairs brought her back up to street level, where the rear portion of the warehouse was occupied with what could only be described as a mad science lab, obscure arcane paraphernalia and technical equipment occupying nearly every inch of available space.

She made her way to the front of the building, however, where a steel door connected to a small enclosed office, which was the only publicly accessible part of the entire warehouse.

This was where Voltaire usually received clients, and how he made most of the money used to fund his endless experiments.

No task was too vile or unsavory for the Arouet Chasseur Agency- kidnap, torture, murder, trafficking... anything was an option as long as the payout was worth it, and Akari particularly enjoyed any assignment that called for her to hurt someone.

Akari enjoyed causing pain- one could say it was her life's greatest passion, and they would be right.

She entered the office and crossed over to the steel door, from the other side of which the buzzing had not ceased. Akari rolled her eyes- their clients could be so pushy sometimes.

When she opened the door and stepped back to let their visitor in, she was pleasantly surprised to see none other than Jethro Agot walk into the room with an impatient stride and greater agitation than usual.

Akari liked Jethro- he, like Voltaire (and like herself), was primarily concerned in life only with his own goals and pursuits, and didn't much care about other people's desires or motivations. This was why he did great business with the agency- pretty much anything was on the table, as long as it was a matter of mutual benefit.

Akari watched the salamander with some interest as he stormed into the room without preamble, looking around expectantly.

"Where's Voltaire?" he demanded, clearly not in the mood for pleasantries. Akari rolled her eyes. She was, technically, Voltaire's assistant, so she had to drop whatever she was doing to answer the door if he was busy with something. He could be anywhere inside the building doing god knew what, but she knew that answer wouldn't satisfy the arcane dealer, so she crossed over to the other door, pushed it open wide, and called into the space beyond

"Voltaaaaaaire! Jeth is here, and he looks more impatient than normal!"

Voltaire had told her a million times to call him over the intercom but, after she'd shorted out about the fiftieth one, he'd given up and just let her shout until she reached him instead.

Akari turned back to Jethro with a bright smile, electricity dancing around her fingertips.

"I'm sure he'll be here any minute."

The Voltaic Viper

Akari Aine Akamine-Havros

code by Nano

 

[strawberryspiral]

​

-West Bloodywood Hills-​

-Tidal Twins Residence-​

Willow Turner​

It’s been a long night for Willow, one that continued into an even longer morning because of her fussy toddler back home. Ellisar had just turned three only a few weeks ago and already he’d developed the habit of breaking out of his crib. Finding ways to crumble his blanket up in a corner and climb over the tall frame for freedom. Her husband’s been stuck overseas for the past week, only flying in this afternoon just before the IHCA Jubilee Awards Ceremony. As the designer for Salem’s outfit of the night (another one of her talent clients) he’d be busy all day which meant Ellisar was left with his regular babysitter for the day.

She still felt guilt leaving him in the hands of someone else, her conscience like a constant tug on her heart. Once they’ve parked in the Tidal residences’ circle drive, Willow takes a couple of deep breaths as she steps out of the car her assistant slash the Tidals’ stylist picked her up in. Molly is a bubbly and quick witted young goblin woman, a recent graduate, and desperate for experience in the entertainment industry. As she gathers some of her boss's things- bags and such, Molly glances over her shoulder to the moderately sized yet expensively located home.

“You think they’re awake yet?” Her assistant acts, lips pursed in a quizzical expression.

Willow just huffs, barely there smile coming to her lips. “Maybe one of them is,” she obviously refers to Jazmine, the more responsible of the two twins.

Their home in the hills was modern and sleek, with high marble walls and expensive dark wood floors. Provided to the sisters by Lucky Sun Entertainment itself. The property itself is located on a ledge overlooking the Bloodywood Hills multitude of multi-million dollar homes. As she walks from the driveway down a path of smooth polished stones placed in a colorful mosaic Willow catches the tail end of some biting comments.

Familiar with the Tidal twins constant arguments she doesn’t pay them any mind. Merely sliding her key into the door and swinging it open, as she steps into the living room. As she walks in Jazmine begins asking about brunch and she catches Lillian ordering the usual high protein meal.

“A six egg omelet loaded with all the meat, got it.” Jaz repeats back to their make-up artist. “You guys want anything?” Willow shakes her head and her assistant’s request for complicated lattes and flaky pastries as she tries to recall what she had for breakfast a few hours earlier.

Willow watches as Molly shuts the door behind her, darting in to join another one of the assistants- Sammantha, who had already arrived long ago. The two begin to take inventory of materials, pulling out various items meant to prepare the girls for a long day ahead.

Looking at Jessica, the greener tinged of the two blue skinned women. She’s usually the one Willow has to watch out for. At the moment the eldest merwoman is standing over her tank of angel fish, watching with a lost look on her face as they flit around in the bright blue water. Zipping around the tower of black stones layered throughout the expansive tank with dark green moss balls bobbing around in the saltwater.

“Jess, how’d you sleep?” She asks as she passes by, glancing over eyeing Jaz who’s got a wax strip on one leg and her cellphone in the other, ordering brunch for herself, and the others.

“Fine,” Is all she replies and Willow immediately knows that she means the opposite.

Only a few days ago she’d accompanied her while filing an official statement with the LNCPD. As of late Jessica had been finding strange letters addressed to her and security had noticed some interesting comings and goings. She wasn’t sure of the details- Lucky Sun’s security kept a pretty tight lid on things, and claimed they could fully manage the case on their own. But Jessica had insisted on filing an official report with the police; seeming particularly freaked out by the letters she’d received. Security had collected them before she could get a look at them, or share them with the nice detective in charge of Jess’ case- Aaron, or Anthony? His name was something like that, but anyway, all Jess had said about the letters was that they were weird.

“This is your first public appearance since All Out of Luck’s red carpet premiere. Are you nervous?”

At that question Jessica seems to snap out of her intense focus on the fishtank. “No, why would I be?”

Willow shrugs, “I don’t know, that’s why I asked.”

Instead of responding Jessica just sighs, walking with long, slow steps towards Lillian’s side of the living room. Out of the way, facing a large set of windows for the sake of being able to see her work under the natural light Lillian’s set up her workspace. A mirror boarded by lights attached to a large wood surface covered in various implements and makeup pallets. A chair facing the mirror and window for her first client to sit in that Jess plops into without a second thought.

“My skin is so dry, do you have any serum or-” Jess leans over the rows of carefully placed tubes and sleek glass containers with various substances. Poking through and messing with Lillian’s carefully organized materials like they’re her own. She feels bad for the young woman who had only joined them recently but proved herself to be worth her weight in gold. Jessica could be a handful but thankfully they had Lillian around to diffuse her sudden mood swings, not that it made her feel any less bad for the makeup artist. Dealing with unstable talent could be taxing and wearing on anyone, Willow had little patience for it herself.

Over towards the kitchen island Molly is pulling out boxes of various pieces of expensive jewelry. While Sammantha takes out a steamer and begins to try and remove any visible wrinkles from the twins’ look of the night. Straightening out the skin clinging, glittery material that hung loosely off the garment rack from hangers. Molly went out on a limb and got the dresses from a smaller, underground known designer. As their stylist it was her responsibility to manage their public fashion appearance, and her own tastes aligned rather well with the girls’.

Though Willow had her doubts about the matching looks- personally she thought it better if they tried to offset each other. Just because they were twins didn’t mean it was smart to market them as such for such an important event. Especially when this was about their own personal achievements and not them as a collective musical duo. There would be time after they’d released their first album to do the matching, twin thing. It just felt so stale, but it was cheaper to match than to do two completely different, stylized, tailored looks- and the girls hadn’t made a big enough drop in the bucket for Lucky Sun to invest that much money into their looks.

Salem on the other hand had her husband personally flying out to be there for her fitting of an archived Barone custom piece. A dress covered in ruffles and tiny diamonds threaded throughout the piece. She knew the moment Jessica saw Salem- someone she perceived as her competitor within the label, that she'd throw a fit. Seeing Salem dressed by one of her favorite designers and dressed obviously in something more expensive than her would be a large blow to her sensitive ego. Willow just had to hope she wouldn’t get the blow back for being married to the guy.

“I need to look perfect, and my darkcircles are going to fuck everything up!” Jessica frets from where she’s staring into her own reflection in the lit mirror.

Both Jessica and Salem are up for “Best Breakthrough Role,” and she could see the stress of it getting to her. Probably comparing herself to every picture she’d seen of Salem being posted by the multitude of fans who looked forward to watching her win. Not only was Salem up for acting but her newest album as well- Souls For Sale was doing better than even the company had projected. Being only her third album, this much attention was unexpected, but a welcomed surprise. Being nominated for “Best Album of the Year” was no small feat, and something she knew Jessica had always dreamed of herself. So, the Tidal Twins’ first albums' rather slow progress was obviously bothering her. Willow could tell it was causing a rift to form between the twins as well which wasn’t ever good in a musical group- she’d watched bands break up over less.

Glancing back over to where Jaz is struggling with wax strips she feels a surge of energy burst through her as she hurries over to help the clueless mermaid out.

“Let me see that, you’re pulling it off in the wrong direction- you’ll get ingrown hairs that way.” She grabs the strip and quickly pulls it off, soothing the area with a palm.

“Ouch! Fuck Willow! Watch it!” Jazmine hisses and she just laughs lightly, going to prepare another wax strip. “Oh don’t be a baby, beauty is pain.”

Arms cross over Jazmine’s chest but she stretches both legs out, “Ugh. Just get it over with.” She whines like an impudent child, obviously not a fan of all this high maintenance self care in general.

Willow just nods, continuing her pace of placing and pulling the tacky strips from her legs with precise force. Occasionally she looks up to catch sight of Jessica, the young woman seems to have Lillian’s ear, complaining about something with fervent passion. At least she had someone to talk to, maybe a quick chat with Lillian would snap her out of whatever funk she was in. Though she doubted that was completely possible Lillian had surprised her with her ability to manage Jessica’s turbulent nature before. That was why she’d hired the young woman after all- though rather introverted and pretty private, she was highly capable. So good at her job that that was all Willow needed to know about her, for now.

 

[Garbage.]

-Bloodywood Harbor & Warehouse District-
-The Arouet Chasseur Agency-
Dr. Voltaire Chariot​

---

The world was far too fascinating, it drove him mad. There was simply too much to discuss, dissect, and research. He felt his gray matter pulse against his skull, it was going to crack like an egg. The mortal and arcane had become a hodgepodge of possibilities that were converging all too fast; He was having an epiphany amidst a panic attack. It was something that happened a few times a week, and become quite normal to him and the other members of his agency (though he loathed calling it that. It was a laboratory at it's heart, but successful hunting agencies in this new world of magic payed far more than any university grant-

"Hey, Doc? You've been staring at my X-Rays...for like thirty minutes"

The sound of Ingvar's voice cut through Voltaire's lunacy; The boy had been of interest to him ever since he found his upper half three years ago, left in the gutter behind his agency. Voltaire was not often swayed by notions of the heart, but this young man seemed worth the investment. The doctor merged him with an assortment of body parts he had in storage, creating his very own frankestein's monster. He very much doubted Mary Shelley would agree on his take of combining the lumbersome creation with Igor.

"Time is of little consequence when it comes experimentation."

The clinic they were in was low lit; full of medical equipment that surrounded a beveled zero gravity cot. A rhythmic sound of whirring hums, and tertiary computer chatter reverberated across corrugated walls. Voltaire laid the X-Rays down onto his desk, swiping his hand with a gesture and opening a drawer that automatically sorted the documents.
"Look, Doc, I get what you're trying to do, but what does getting powers have to do with growth? It just makes me more of a freak...right?" Ingvar's insecurity flared up, and made Voltaire quirk a brow.

"Who cares what labels we are given, you must see it as a new way to interact with the world-"


The resounding doorbell rumbled through the facility with it's familiar sullen dirge; It was a slow day on the business side of things, so perhaps this was a potential client. Ingvar volunteered to answer the door, wanting to beat Akari to it. She had shown him up ever since she showed up, so he'd always try and get something over one her, even if it was just answering the door.


Akari still managed to beat him to the door. Jethro seeing both her and Ingvar; One of the doctor's experiments assistants. He had met the quiet and brooding boy a couple times, but it was difficult to ever get a read off of him. It didn't help that he always smelt like embalming fluid and cigarettes.

"Yo, Jethro. You here to see the doc?" Ingvar said, sighing as he glared at Akari. The entrance closing automatically whenever Jethro entered. The atrium was quite sparse, lacking much in terms of decor. Ingvar waved him toward the a waiting room. It was cold, but surprisingly cozy.



"Akari, what have I told you about the shouting? I am running out of microphone material for the insufferable intercoms you insist on breaking!"

Ingvar moseyed down a hallway, vanishing around a corner. Jethro being left alone for several moments before the sound of clicking heels brought his attention back toward the hallway. Voltaire had a menacing aura, but it wasn't hostile. His eagerness, excitement, and joy always had an air of intensity. This was no different; He beamed at Jethro. "What a tip of the scale, isn't it? Today is a day full of fascination, and here you are, making it even more so" He said, rocking on his heels, unable to sit still.

"What have you brought me today?"

 

[strawberryspiral]

-Blood Orange County-​

-Lexington Residence-​

Xander Lexington​

Chimes blow through warm autumn winds. The fresh air from the mountains westwards blows long locks of red hair askew over a pale face. A man sits with perfect posture, hands gripping his knees as he sits with bent legs, reveling in nature’s eternal beauty around him. But he cannot fully absorb the natural comfort offered to him at all sides.

He knows too much is expected from him today, if this drama doesn’t make the splash he’d told their producers it would…

The actor’s reputation and future will be royally fucked. All the work to get sober, to clean himself up would be for naught. Then it would reveal the ugly truth, all of it had been pointless. His suffering would be the cost of only more to come.

“Peace. Calm. Control.” He dutifully reminds himself, swallowing around the lump forming in his throat.

The yoga mat he sits on is plush, and he’s comfortably placed himself under the shadow of a great tree. He should feel lucky, blessed even. Eyes shut and mind open as he takes slow breaths. Rippling hills that lead off to nowhere, and the multitudes of birds chirp as they fly in formation overhead. Going south for the impending winter to come.

All around him is harmony, he is calm, he is collected. Xander is in control, he is happy, for once in his miserable life there’s peace and-

“Uhm, sir- Xander! You have a visitor-“ The soft voice of his manager’s personal assistant cuts right through his carefully crafted tranquility.

He’s told her repeatedly to not call him sir. It ages him and Xander hated how his father always demanded it of everyone, even his own son. It was so old school and not to mention toxic, Xander didn’t want to be like that.

“-How many times do I have to tell you not to interrupt my meditation hour Biply? My perfect peace is ruined and now the start of my day has been dismantled!” Xander snaps without meaning to, forcing himself to his feet with a grunt.

Then turning to face the shorter, eyes scrutinizing the PA’s face.

“Did you get your teeth fixed?” He’s both walking and staring at Biply’s odd gnashers. Her teeth were crooked before, but the veneers were far too white, and the front teeth obtusely large for her mouth.

Biply blinks slowly then blushes covering her mouth with one hand while nodding. “Yeah, you noticed?” She’s smiling, like it’s a good thing.

“Of course I did-“ Every time she opens her mouth all he can see is those two white cement bricks she calls teeth.

Biply beams up at him and shifts her weight to the other hoof. A hand finding its way to twirl a strand of dirty blonde hair.

“-Aw, thanks.”

Sighing he rubs one hand on his face stepping up the stonework steps to the covered patio. “You look like a chipmunk now Biply. What have I always said about getting discount dental and surgical work?”

The young woman’s lips instantly sink into a deep frown, while she rubs one arm sheepishly, “To not to?”

“Yes, exactly, that’s how you get botch jobs hon. It’s so jarring it hurts to look, I won’t be able to focus!” Xander flops out on the patio lounge. Body slowly sinking into soft cushions, turning over to stare up at the centaur’s face as she leans over him.

“Oh dear, I’m sorry Xander,” Biply’s dark brows pinch upwards in concern.

He rolls his eyes watching her mouth move, lips clinging around her teeth, hiding the atrocity from his sight. “Swing by my dentist next week, I’ll foot the bill.”

“Oh, yes, thank you sir! Sorry, Xander! Th-thank you Xander!” She corrects herself immediately.

Said man just hums, rubbing both temples as he tries to right his mind again.

Peace.

Calm.

Control.

“Who’d you say stopped by?”

“Oh! Uhm, I actually didn’t say- sorry! Your reflexologist- Cynthia, she’s waiting upstairs.”

That makes him sit up straight, going to stand as Biply pulls back surprised. She nearly trips over her own hooves and he has to grab her by the waist, pulling from harm's way. Xander jumps apart from her, hands removing from her sides as soon as she’s stabilized herself.

“Watch yourself Biply, you nearly tripped over air. What is up with you?” He snorts, crossing both arms over his chest.

Eyes a bit glazed as if she’s not even paying attention, Biply nods frantically. “Y-yessir! Xander! Xander! Why do I keep fudging that up?”

“That wasn’t an answer,” He moves to walk inside the open glass doors of the lodge house.

An open concept home made of expensive shining wood and decorated with minimalistic detailings. Art pieces hang on the walls, some looking ancient and others more contemporary. The furniture is all relatively new in appearance, the counters gleam, and various light scented candles are laid about the living room.

“Gods, I need a massage. My brain feels like it’s trying to crawl out of my skull.”

Biply pouts, “Should I pick something up from the pharmacy?”

“No, unnecessary, honestly. I don’t need anything strong. That’s what I’ve got Cynthia for, right?”

“Right, yes, Cynthia’s such a great masseuse!”

“Oh, you’re a client?” He asks with a single red brow raised.

“Oh, no, b-but you always seem so relaxed after her treatments. So, I just assumed-”

“-Hm, let’s not make assumptions, Biply. She’s decent, overpriced for sure. But professional, so I let it slide.”

“That’s good, I think? Yeah- uhm,” She glances around the room frantically, obviously taken off guard by his question. “Well, can I do anything else for you? Your outfit for the night is upstairs, and we’ve already taken care of transportation-”

“-You know what you can do for me hon?”

“-Uhm, no, that's why I asked?” Biply blinks up at him with wide honey toned eyes.

Xander looks to the clock, it’s still early, but he’s got a full day ahead of him. Cameras would be flashing, people gathered at his heels like hungry rats, and who knows the next time he’ll have a chance to actually eat something?

“Could you get me one of those- those yogurt parfaits?” The thought of strawberry yogurt doused in granola and sweet custard is actually the only thing that might actually save this horribly, doomed day.

“I make those, they’re in your fridge, stacked. Have you not been eating those?”

“Oh? Really? That’s sweet, I hadn’t noticed, I’d been ordering them online.”

Biply sighs, looking severely disappointed. “Sir-Xander, didn’t your accountant say to cut down on frivolous spending?”

“Frivolous? Breakfast is the most important meal of the day, Biply.”

“I know! That’s why I make the parfaits and leave them prepped in the fridge.”

“Hm, not fresh though. Probably plenty lots of preservatives-”

“-I got everything from the farmers market or Half Harvest Grocery just like you asked. Please, I’ll go grab one right now. You need to eat those, otherwise why are we buying such expensive groceries?” She’s so exasperated she forgets to hide her front teeth and they’re all he can see.

“Groceries aren’t that expensive-”

“Sir- Xander- with all due respect... When’s the last time you stepped inside a grocery store?”

That actually gets him to crack a smile, Biply much better at this than his manager’s last PA. He was completely oblivious and not in a cute way like Biply, more like the guy didn’t have a clue on how to handle stressful situations. Often bursting into tears at any little biting comment or point of criticism.

“Touche Biply, touche.” Is all he says, ascending the stairs for his designated spa room. Finding Cynthia already standing beside her setup of a leather massage bed and hot stones. The room has a small indoor pool of smooth, natural stone. Built into a waterfall that descends along the backside of the lodge that is built into the rock of the mountains surrounding it. The pool has two stories, the upstairs that is customizable with heated waters, it leads down with massive rocks, the flowing man built waterfall going to the ground floor where an expansive infinite pool backs up into the view of stunning purple mountains. It’s one of his favorite places in his home, a private space for himself that he only shares with close friends. Speaking of which-

He grabs his cellphone writing a quick text or two to a friend of his with connections. Montana should be able to help him get his mind right before this event, he’d just have someone get him a ride here. Then they could head to the awards ceremony together. It would do him some good to have the younger at his side, his whimsical energy was contagious.

“Clothes,” Cynthia walks away to wash her hands at a nearby sink as he begins to undress.

Pulling a towel from the folded stack on a small table she’d placed beside her massage table. As he lays out on the leather his mind wanders as her small yet nimble hands begin to work along the smooth planes of his back.

There was no way to have a bad time while Montana was around, it relaxed him to get a positive response from his life coach and newly added close friend. At least someone around here was reliable, Montana would never go off and get horribly distracting veneers.

Biply knows better, she knows how much he loathes those cheap white smiles of actors with too much time to study themselves in the mirror, in search of imperfections. He’d gotten tasteful botox in his days, but had slowed down when he realized a good skin care routine and genetics were his real fallbacks in the looks department. Besides, a crooked smile was more recognizable on screen than the standard bucktoothed chompers every dentist in Bloodywood seemed to copy.

The masseuse hits a particularly sore spot and he flinches, gritting his teeth. “Gods that’s bad,” He grumbles out and her touch softens.

“You’re tense, are you stressed?” Her softly accented voice asks as he stares down through the hole in the headrest at the stonework floor.

“No, I’m in control,” He insists and his only answer is an unsure hum as she begins to massage the area around his sensitive muscle.

Already his day seemed to be going bumpy, not only had his meditation been interrupted, but his manager was nowhere to be found! Willow had said she’d be there in a few hours after checking on someone else, leaving him with her trusted PA- Biply. But, this is the most important day of his life, she should be here, now. Making sure everything goes smoothly personally, and tending to his impending panic attack. She seemed to have confused him with a much more put together man, maybe he’d been too lenient on her. Xander should make a fuss about this to Rishani, really, what were they? Understaffed? If so, hire more managers, what’s with all the lack of support?

He’s winning a goddamn award tonight!

Xander’s shooting up from the massage bed in an instant, Cynthia jumps back in surprise. “What’re you doing?”

“Cancel the massage, go downstairs and tell my PA to call Rashani. Now.”

Cynthia just gives him a look, “I’m not your errand girl. Go tell her yourself.”

Xander’s had it with these people, could no one be trusted to just do one little thing?

“You're fired.”

“Okay? Whatever Xander,” She rolls her eyes and starts packing her things up.

“Say that again!” He takes a large step closer to her, brows narrowing as her eyes meet his.

Sighing Cynthia just shakes her head, “We do this every other month, you’ll be back.”

“Go fuck yourself Cynthia, there’s a million reflexologists out there!” He exclaims grabbing the nearest object (which happens to be a bottle of massage oil) and throws it across the room.

“Yeah, but none of them know your spots like I do.” She responds calmly, glancing at the oil spilled all over the stone floors with indifference, “You have to pay for that now. Great job.”

Her sarcasm does nothing but frustrate him more, “Get your things, get out, and never come back!”

“Okay, I’m going! Sheesh,” She continues gathering her things at a snail's pace and he stomps off, heading back downstairs to find Biply stirring honey into a bowl of fruit and yogurt.

“Oh! That was quick! Here, breakfast is served-”

“-Fuck breakfast! Send a car to pick up Montana, and call Rashani, I want to speak with her. Now.”

“But Xander- sir- you know Rashani doesn’t want you calling her personal number anymore.”

Xander tosses back a long lock of crimson red hair. Staring up at the ceiling incredulously, “I don’t care Biply! I am being disrespected, put aside. Where the hell is everyone? Tonight’s the biggest night of my life and no one gives a shit!”

“Uhm- but-”

“-And look at who profits form my suffering, her, the company! What do I get from it? A pat on the head, a slap on the butt, atta boy! While Rashani sits on her laurels collecting profits from my hard work, my ideas, my blood and sweat!”

“That doesn't seem fair at all.” The centaur looks up at him with sympathetic eyes and he speaks between gasps of desperate laughter.

“Of course it isn’t! Nothings ever fair! Story of my life. I drive myself insane for inspiration. Only for them to turn around, edit out an entire hour of my masterpiece, and dress it up in gimmicky press releases! And does anyone ever ask me how that makes me feel? I think not!” He gripes, grabbing the sides of his head, and flings himself onto the massive couch at the center of the lodge’s spacious living room.

“Ho-how does that make you feel s-sir- I mean- Xander! I’m so sorry!”

Peace, calm, control. Peace-

He listens to the sounds of Cynthia walking downstairs and out the door, waiting for the front door to shut before finally answering. “That bitch, she’s dead to me. Never rehire her Biply, no matter how much I beg or plead later. Just don’t.”

“Oh, uh, okay. You got it,” She nods, looking down to the yogurt parfait she’d prepared with a disappointed sigh. Grabbing the glassware of yogurt and going to place it back in the fridge.

“Wait, bring me breakfast,” He relented, reaching out with hands and sitting up on the couch.

She rushes over, hooves clopping along on the floors to hand him the container and a spoon. Watching him with wide eyes as he scoops up a bite and plops it into his mouth. Immediately his senses are overtaken by the sweet and creamy texture. The slight sourness of the greek yogurt and lemon custard mixing well with fresh berries.

“This…”

“Yessh?” Biply asks with lips stretched tight over her top teeth.

Xander nods, taking another large bite. “Is absolutely exquisite,” He licks his lips as Biply’s face breaks out into a warm smile.

Unable to hide her teeth, she covers her mouth with one hand instead. “I’m so glad you like it. Good food always makes me feel better when I’m down in the dumps.”

Xander pauses his eating, staring down into the bowl of brightly colored fruit covered in yogurt. “Am I- Biply,” He sighs, trying to fight past the embarrassment he feels even thinking about asking her this question. “Do I seem down in the dumps to you?”

Lips purse and brows furrow, then Biply’s whole expression relaxes. She looks up with a frown, “Yeah, you do.”

“Really? I thought, I don’t know- my life’s perfect. And, and, yeah. Great, so I just thought, well, how could I be so sad? On such a grand day? I mean, I dreamed of this all my life Biply. Thought that one day I’d finally get to prove the old man wrong you know?”

“Prove the old man wrong?”

“Yes, my father, but it doesn't really matter what I achieve really. To him, acting- it’s not a real job, and I suppose he’s right.”

Her little head shakes side to side furiously, face lost in a halo of dark curls. “Acting is a job, it’s hard. I haven’t been here long but I know that much. Sometimes your life seems perfect but, there’s parts about it I don’t think I could deal with. So, so, don't think so little of yourself, sir, Xander. Sorry!”

An exaggerated sigh leaves his lungs, “It’s fine Biply, don’t apologize. Thank you, for saying that I- I know I can be a lot. But, I’m not like this… On purpose. I hope you know, I appreciate you being here. Even though everyone else isn’t.”

The woman’s face scrunches up, “Can I- Could I tell you something, honestly, Xander?”

He nods, eyes moving to stare down at his bowl. Here it comes, she’s going to call him hard to work with. Lay the dastardly truth on him- he’s the reason no one’s here. Xander is a walking catastrophe that no one wants to stick around for. Not worth the trouble.

“Maybe it’s not about other people being here to support you. Maybe it’s about you, showing up for yourself.”

He says nothing, digging into the mountainous parfait in his bowl instead. It does strike a chord with him, her words ring so true Xander for once in his life is dumbfounded. So he eats, and eats, shoving spoonful after heaping spoonful into his mouth until the bowl is completely emptied. Only then does he look back up to the PA, eyes finding her standing at the kitchen island, head bowed as she stares at her cell phone screen. Probably seeing if she can get a hold of Rashani like he’d asked.

“Forget calling the boss then. Just see if you can get a hold of Willow, tell her my reflexologist was a total bitch, and I need someone ASAP. My back is-”

“Don’t worry, I’ve got someone on the way. They’ll swing by and pick up Montana for you too, that should help right? He’s always fun!” Biply speaks to him like a child, as if he’d just thrown a temper tantrum and she was enticing him with a playdate to get over the dip in mood.

Xander however couldn’t care less because Montana being on the way means his instant pick me up is as well. “Perfect,” This might be another trainwreck of a day but at least he’d have an artificial high to pull him out of his coming lowest of lows.

If Xander loses this award that’d be it. He’d snap, and right now he’d rather not sit and think on the particulars of just how devastating that oncoming mental break down might be.

 

[joestar]

-Southside of Los Noctis City-​

-Haven Way Apartment Complex-​

Montana Fredrick Williamson​

​

“Hey, Montana, so Rockford won’t be home for another 30 minutes which means we still have time to put up the rest of the decorations- wait, have you seen the fake blood?” Denton emerged from their cramped bathroom holding a pair of garden shears.

Rockford and Denton were Montana’s twin roommates, and today was Rockford’s birthday. They were setting up a super sick set from the scene of Rockford’s favorite movie- Texas Razor Blade Slaughter which was pretty much the same as any other slasher movie ever, but it made for a fun birthday party theme.

Denton did not share the same taste in movies as his brother, that was fine though because they could just do Denton’s thing tomorrow. Rockford and Denton may have been twins, but they did not share a birthday. Denton’s head was so large that it took an extra 8 hours for his mom to squeeze him out, this resulted in a birthday one day later than his twin.

“Yeah man, I got it.” Montana grabbed the fake blood off the kitchen counter and walked into the bathroom to look at Denton’s handiwork. He handed Denton the bottle and whistled, impressed. “Damn man, this goes hard.”

The bathroom light had been replaced with a red one and the window had been covered with tin foil, giving it a dark, eerie glow. Various weapons (such as the garden shears mentioned previously) were strung from the ceiling and the walls were painted with ‘help me’ and ‘let me out’; he’d even put a few handprints, like someone covered in blood had been clawing at the walls.

“Thanks, dude, I just need to put the finishing touches.” Denton took the cap off the bottle and dribbled viscous liquid onto any surface he determined needed it. Which seemed to be every surface. “Alright man, I think the bathroom is officially done. Dude, Rockford is gonna be so scared when he tries to use it. It’s making me kinda nervous actually, I think I might just pee outside until this is over.”

Montana nodded in agreement, “This is exactly the vibe I was thinking when I imagined the bathroom. Nice job, man. Wanna see the living room?”

Denton followed Montana into the living room where a soaked heap lay in the middle of the living room, a red liquid pooling outwards, spreading in a dark, widening circle across the floor. The walls had plastic skeletons chained (taped) by their wrists to the walls. Pink and red tissue paper streamers hung from the ceiling like entrails. Montana has also taken the liberty of scattering every knife in the kitchen (including the butter knives) onto the floor.

“Dude,” Denton said, taking it all in, “What the hell is that?” He pointed at the large dripping mass on the floor.

“Oh, I just took all the laundry and stuff off the floor and covered it in fake blood. I thought it would look like guts or something and I thought it would match with the intestines and stuff I put up there” Montana pointed above his head at the streamers.

Denton put his hands on his hips, looked around, and nodded, “I think the knives were a good touch.”
Montana laughed, “Thanks man, I just thought, like, if Rockford had to watch his step and stuff that would be funny.”

Denton opened his mouth to speak before cutting himself off to look at his phone. “Oh, he’s five minutes away.” Denton looked around frantically, “Uh- uhm, get in your hiding space! I’ll hit the lights.”

Montana nodded before squishing himself under the coffee table, it was hidden from the front door by a couch, so Rockford would have no chance of seeing him.

Denton hit the lights, which didn’t do much considering it was only two in the afternoon and quite bright outside. He then hid behind the living room curtains in the window opposite the door, his shadow visible through the fabric in the daylight.

Both men held their breath anticipating Rockford’s arrival when the door handle began to jiggle. They heard him try and fail with a few keys, cussing with each failure, before finally opening the door.

“HAPPY BIRTHDAY” They both blurted. Denton jumped out from behind the curtains and Montana hit his head on the table trying to escape.

Rockford looked around, “Is this Texas Razor Blade Slaughter themed? Wait-” he walked further into the house and peered into the glowing red bathroom. “You guys, this is going to be so scary when I try to use the bathroom! I don’t even know if I can sleep tonight…” He was clearly impressed. Denton is beaming from ear to ear, clearly pleased with his twin’s astonished expression. Standing next to each other, the two become even harder to tell apart.

Being identical; they were practically carbon copies of one another, both pale with pinkened cheeks covered in freckles. With curly orange/blonde hair and chins lined with thick scruff, the two looked like your typical frat bros. Two hulking figures usually dressed similarly in oversized cargo shorts and football jerseys, (they shared a wardrobe because life’s just cheaper that way).

Montana smiled before checking the time on his phone, “Shoot, look, bad timing, but I have to run. I’ll be back before you can cut the cake.”

“Aw man, you’re always running off somewhere,” Denton whined.

“Nah man,” Rockford held a hand up to stop Denton’s cries, “It’s cool. We’ll catch you in a bit.”

Montana walked alongside the derelict street, avoiding glass and water-filled potholes. Even though the gas station was a 5-minute walk, he felt slow. He wished he had his bike, everything was easier when he had his bike. Unfortunately, he had fallen victim to the neighborhood dog gang. You don’t know true vulnerability until a gang of stray dogs force you up a tree and drag away your bike to god knows where.

And so, here he was, forced to walk. Luckily, remembering his run-in with the strays always caused an unexplained loss of time. So, he was already standing just outside the gas station by the time his memory had concluded.

This particular gas station was not regularly patronized- it sat on a lot of wild dead grass, and the white paint on the building was peeling having faded into more of a yellow with time. The inside was no more impressive, outdated coolers, uncleanable floors, and a musty smell greeted anyone interested in purchasing from the store.

Montana entered through the door and turned left, as he passed short shelves stocked with candy and novelty lighters, he shouted to the clerk behind the counter in the corner. “Yo, Jeevy”
A scrawny guy wearing an unbuttoned company shirt with a greasy wifebeater underneath turned around and eyed him. “You got it?”

Montana pulled a baggie out of his sock, “Sure, do you got it?”

Jeevy pulled out a brown shoe box, “Yeah,” sliding it across the counter towards him.

“Let me take a look,” He opened the box to reveal a pair of dark green snakeskin sneakers. “Oh shit,” Montana reached in to touch the material before the clerk snapped the box closed.

“No touch,” The clerk glared at him.

Montana shook his head and offered up the baggie to the clerk. The clerk snatched the baggie from Montana’s grip and dumped the contents onto the counter. Several coins clinked onto the particle board counter and the clerk picked one up, scrutinized it, and returned it to the bag before following suit with the next coin. This clerk was a collector of sorts, he knew a guy who could get him rare and expensive shoes, and in return, Montana traded him rare coins from the old world.

Once he had finished inspecting all of the coins, he nodded slowly, “Very nice,” and shoved the box of shoes at Montana. “Very expensive, can’t find in regular market. Now go.”

Montana took the shoebox and walked out of the store, as much as he wanted to wear his shoes right then and there, this was not exactly the neighborhood to do that in. Especially, with those bastard dogs running around.

Montana’s phone buzzed in his pocket. It was Xander, the coolest guy he knew. He began walking down the street as he typed.

Recipient

them

yo are you bringing the stuff???

me

getting it rn

them

don’t play, i’ll send a car for you in 30.

me

ight man ill be ready

Montana picked his pace up a bit, he had no stuff to bring, and he had forgotten that there was even stuff to bring. He broke into a bit of a jog and made a call as he did.

“Hello?” The voice on the line sounded suspicious.

“Hey, Violet. Er- sorta last minute, but I have a pickup order.”
The old woman’s voice comes out in croaks, “I thought I told you to stop calling me! You know they got the damn phones bugged.”

Montana sighed, continuing to jog, “Look, I’ll be there in a few, can you just get things set up?”

The phone line beeped as Violet hung up without answering. Whatever.

Montana rounded the corner where Violet’s home stood. It was a pale green color with white trim, the porch was adorned with various herbs and corn husks of all colors strung up to dry. As he approached the door, he could hear the squeaks of the porch swing that had probably sat unused for at least 10 years. Through the slightly opened curtains, Montana could see the purple glow of her blacklight- not slick.

The door was answered before he could even knock, a suffocating cloud of dank hit his nose causing him to cough. “Geez Violet.”

Violet was an old, short, tan woman; she was kind of glamorous with beads in her hair, dangly earrings, and tattoos of various symbols and lines on her face.

“Oh you know it’s for my glaucoma,” Violet dismissed Montana and turned down a hall to her right, leaving Montana to close the door behind him.

He took a seat on her dusty couch in the living room, sitting his shoebox next to him, and moved her overflowing ashtray to the table. She was his great aunt’s former partner, a little old lady called Violet. He was fairly certain she’d been introduced to him as Iris and again at some point as Agatha, but that didn’t really matter, Violet suited her.

Violet reemerged from the side of the house and sat down next to Montana. “Here’s what I got.” She displayed various plants and powders to Montana.

Montana picked a bag up and examined it, “Yeah, I think a few ounces of this will work. It’s just for tonight. We’re celebrating a big lifetime achievement.”

Violet shrugged, “You know my prices.”

Montana took his shoe off and reached into his sock, under his heel. He dropped a wad of cash into Violet’s hand.

Violet flipped through the cash before turning to him and yanking his ear lightly, “You be careful, Montana. You better remember that nobody is looking out for you and everyone always wants something.”
She let go and Montana reached for his ear instinctively, “Yeah, yeah, no one cares about my well-being, the government bugged my house. Yadda yadda.”

Violet narrowed her eyes, “You youngins think you know everything, but let me tell you something- I’m old as dirt and I don’t know shit.” She flounced back into her seat and looked out the window where a painted cow skull sat, “One day boy, you’ll see. You’ll understand why I think what I think.”

Montana rolled his eyes, “Vi, I don’t think anyone thinks the way you think.”

Montana’s phone buzzed.

Recipient

them

ay, my driver just pulled up

me

cool omw

them

thankgod losin my mind over here

Montana looked toward the window, a black luxury car sat idle on the opposite side of the street- it looked out of place in this neighborhood and Montana knew it was Xander’s driver. He got up, grabbing the shoebox, “Well, thanks Vi, I’ll probably be back tomorrow.”

Violet grunted in response, busying herself with relighting an old, whittled wooden pipe that looked older than she did somehow.

As Montana opened the door, Violet yelled to remind him, “Be careful out there boy!”

 

[strawberryspiral]

-Downtown Arts District-​

-International Hall of Culture and Art Museum-​

Mae Linh Vuong​

“It’s an awards ceremony celebrating the greatest artists of the current times, not some high school’s winter dance- why is there a swan ice statue?” Mae’s had it with the constant divergence of her orders. Today’s event is going down as one of the most important events to date for the International Hall of Culture and Arts, it’s their seventy-fifth anniversary- a Jubilee Ball dedicated to its continuous restoration and preservation of art, as well as a celebration of new art to come. Whoever dared to sully this event with a crappy ice sculpture would be put in their place.

Three brutish men carrying the massive piece of ice on a platform with tense muscles, trying to keep it off their shiny floors.

“Who in their right mind ordered a fucking ice sculpture?” She glares at the men whose bodies shake, struggling to keep the ice sculpture afloat, while Mae Linh’s dark eyes narrow dangerously onto them.

One of the museum’s many staff members, Stewart, stands just to the side of the massive ice sculpture. “I-I have no idea Ms. Vuong-”

“-Well, figure it out Stewart! Some idiot ordered an ice sculpture to a literal art museum full of sculptures, it’s insulting to all the artists on display here! A complete disaster, and it’s dripping all over the marble floors we just got waxed!” Mae watches his face turn red as he approaches the men with fidgeting hands, attempting to shoo them away.

“Y-you heard her, go, go-”

“-What about our fee?” One of the giants asks in a gruff voice and Stewart turns his head to glance to the IHCA foundation member with a questioning glance. Her only answer is a cold glare that never leaves the swan ice sculpture and he jumps to action.

Pushing on the large men with a begging tone of voice. “W-we’ll figure something out! Just take it out back- follow me-” The four of them leave Mae Linh, heading towards the back of the giant museum probably to let the sculpture thaw into a puddle somewhere.

A heavy sigh leaves her lips and she lets her eyes wander the giant main ballroom of the museum. The building itself is massive and was architecturally designed to mimic spaces within the Mannerist period of the Renaissance. With a high dome ceiling covered in intricate paintings depicting a tale as old of time centered around the Seeress, Necromancer, and the Druid Spirit.

She gets lost in staring at the massive piece overhead, watching as lights reflect from stained glass windows. They depict The Gallant Hunt and London Burning, panes of fire shining reds, oranges, yellows, and pinks all over the marble walls and floors. Dozens of staff bustle around her, darting in and out of the massive hall with various pieces of art they plan to display for the night.

“Hey- just a moment-” Mae Linh stops two women who push a cart on wheels that carries a massive canvas, “-Are those the Tidal pieces?”

One of the women nod, gloved hands taking the corners of the piece, about the size of half her body, and lugging it up with amazing strength. The second takes the bottom corners and the two begin to adjust the canvas, affixing it to the already placed anchors on the wall. The painting itself is not only impressive in size but detail too. A multimedia piece of thickly layered oil paints and hundreds of tiny scraps of magazine. All cut into miniature squares and placed in a way that forms an ocean shore at dawn, lined with trash, a mermaid laying on a pile of trash in the sand.

“Goes perfectly with this year’s theme,” One of the staff says as she takes a step back, wiping sweat from her brow before moving to grab the other Tidal piece. This year the IHCA foundation’s theme is ‘The Beauty of Tragedy.’ Various fashion designers had chosen their favorite celebrities to represent their brand and wear their pieces, favoring distressed and recycled materials for the fabric of their clothing.

“It’s beautiful, yet disturbing.” The other staff member comments as she begins to raise another canvas with gloved hands.

Mae hums in agreement, watching the women place another canvas up on the wall. All around them are pieces from prominent artists, then there’s this display- a new artist that Mae Linh had only agreed to display because of the high caliber of skill shown. It must’ve taken days to cut all those tiny pieces of magazine and layer them onto the massive canvases. That itself was impressive enough, but the content was what drew her attention more than anything else.

The piece they hang currently is far more grotesque than the first. A merman laid out in the center of Bloodywood Boulevard, his body stuck to the tar, rotting gray skin of scales fused in with the hot tar. People of all races and species with flashing cameras encircle a skeletal human woman as she steps over his rotting corpse. Stars of various celebrities imprinted in the cement below her bright red heels, caked in the merman’s peeling flesh.

Next they hang a canvas of a young girl, sitting atop the roof of the White House at night, fish hooks of various sizes protrude out from all over her blue skin like piercings. Mae Linh pauses, studying the works of paint and magazine scraps with a sharp eye as the two staff attempt to line the canvases up evenly.

Personally, Mae wasn’t so interested in art such as this- social commentary is an overdone branch of art that so many attempt. But, this was different, an interesting interpretation that she hadn’t seen done before. Especially since Merfolk were secluded from the rest of society to the Asterian Islands, merfolk art is hard to get ahold of. Most held within the Asterian islands and proactively secured within their own culture to never be taken off the Island keys. This artist is both merfolk and a wannabe pop singer. Winner of some cheesy singing competition that Mae didn’t have the time to waste in order to watch. Her eldest is a fan of the Tidal Twins covers and first and only single: “Like A Siren.”

A synth heavy song that Mae Linh thought wasn’t particularly that great, unless you count how catchy it was. Solid first single, but lacking personality or any true depth. Something she’s always chastised Rashani’s label- Lucky Sun for. Though the older woman and fellow member of the IHCA foundation always claimed catchy pop music was their bread and butter. And she understood because ARMADA Inc. itself was also known for such music, but they at least had the sense to let their artist have some creative expression of their own.

She’d always thought a debut single should have some hint of personal ties to the artist itself, and though it's named after the Tidal Twins’ heritage as sirens, the lyrics themselves weren’t all that profound. An obvious sign that the two didn’t have much input with their first single. A shame really, because whichever twin created these masterpieces obviously had the creative chops to contribute. Mae hadn’t met the artist personally, but had heard good things from the staff that interviewed her when considering her work for the venue. She just hopes that they have some semblance of media training, being a rookie artist in Bloodywood can be a real challenge.

At that thought she pulls out her cell phone sending a few texts to one of ARMADA’s talent managers. Checking in on where and what one of their most prominent artists: DJ, was up to this morning. She liked the young performer well enough, but she did have a tendency to stray from the path. Getting caught up in her personal life instead of following the carefully laid out schedule of her manager and team.

Recipient

them

We’re at DJ’s now

me

Is she up yet? Has the designer shown up yet? They’re expensive- make sure DJ doesn’t stretch or damage anything.

them

Actually she’s not home atm

me

Where the hell is she? She’s supposed to be on the red carpet at seven, if she’s late it holds up the whole carpet.

me

FIND HER

them

Yes of course we’ll check her partner’s place first

me

If she’s late it’s your job, your paycheck on the line

them

Of course, I know, we’ll find her

me

You better

“Miss Vuong?” One of the museum’s restoration experts- Antony, approaches her with an apologetic look on his face, “Sorry to interrupt- if your busy I can come back-”

“-No, no, I’m never too busy for you Antony.” The man was a prolific restorationist, his handiwork had saved the museum millions over the past decade he’d worked for them.

He was reliable and minded his own business, seeing the pieces personally she brought him as a chance to delve into the mysteries of the world’s ancient history. She’d employed his talents plenty, especially with the newly found artifacts her archaeology team had uncovered overseas. Being on the Founders and Partners Board for IHCA meant she could use his talents for her personal whims without questions.

“Yes, well, the thing you asked me about… It’s been prepared, would you like me to prepare it for transport?”

“No, it’s fine here. The museum’s a safer place for it than anywhere else, did you look into those carvings like I asked?”

“Well, I attempted to but the language is lost on me. A long dead one by the looks of it, you should see if Jethro can help. He’s better with puzzles and historical context than me, I just do a lot of the manual labor as far as restoration goes.” The man with thick rimmed glasses rubs one arm sheepishly.

Obviously not used to this amount of conversation with one of his bosses. She couldn’t blame him, Mae Linh was known around the museum as a bit of a hard ass. Not that she’d ever say that about herself, she always just expected things to be done right the first time. Having high expectations and hard boundaries in Bloodywood usually got you labeled as bitchy or bossy. Not that she ever minded that, she’d rather be an asshole than looked down on.

“Have you seen him around today? I haven’t seen Agot around, and he’s one of the artists on display tonight!”

Strange, usually she had to remind Jethro he was being paid salary not hourly. He’d spend long nights cooped up in the back of the museum, mulling over restoration projects and potential pieces he could try and trade/barter for. His job at IHCA was flexible, as far as she knew Jethro just did whatever the founders and partners asked.

Antony shrugs, glancing over to where some staff is setting up an open bar for the Jubilee Ball. “I’m not sure, he was here late last night again setting up his immersive pieces. Maybe he slept in?”

How Jethro Agot got ahold of some of the ancient pieces of history for the museum was beyond her and she didn’t want to know how, especially since she was sure it was through illegal means. With an extensive background in not only art but archeology as well. Half of the things on display tonight are due to his personal expertise in making deals and persuading wishy-washy artists to participate.

High heels tapping against smooth marble floors she heads across the massive Main Hall of the IHCA museum towards the display dedicated to one of the potential: “Most Impactful Artist of the Year.” Compared to this the Tidal pieces are mere child’s play. Jethro had always been a closed book, since the first day she’d joined the Founders and Partners of IHCA she’d known he’d be a hard nut to crack.

A fae of some sort, he kept his cards close to his chest. And she struggled to understand his motives or reasons for choosing museum work other than he just really liked the art of making deals. Then suddenly, he pumped out an entire collection of astounding, immersive multimedia, 3D pieces named “My Mother’s Child”. Revealing his inner genius in a way no one had really seen coming.

The museum had an entire side room dedicated to his work for the night, as one of their guests of honor. Her personal favorite of his collection being “Scraps of Reality,” an entire backyard made of yarn, the ceiling decorated with black, blue, purple, white, and yellow yarn all woven to look like a starry night sky.

“He should be here, this whole damn night is basically about him, you know?” Mae steps into the masterpiece of thousands of strands, all intricately woven into a galaxy night sky and puts both hands on her hips.

Antony standing close behind her nods, tilting his head up to look at the replicated stars overhead. “Yeah, he should. But you know how he is, Jethro doesn't like the spotlight. He’ll probably sneak in through the back, skip the red carpet altogether too.”

With a roll of her eyes she reaches out and plucks at one of the strings, listening to it snap back into place with a low hum. “He’s going to be on that carpet, even if I have to drag him by the back of his neck like a puppy. I will!”

The young museum restorator winces, “I know you will ma’am. I’ll try and call him, maybe he’s just nursing a hangover?”

“That better be all it is, we can’t have our star of the night running late. I’ll kill him if he ruins IHCA’s seventy-fifth anniversary, tell him to get his pixiedust butt here ASAP!” She snaps and Antony jumps to grab his cell phone from his pocket in a rush to please.

Mae wanders out of the room of yarn with a huff, heading back to the Tidal paintings/collages being hung up by staff. Critical eyes surveying each piece with an intense stare. Some of the staff turn to watch their picky boss as she dismantles each piece internally, before barking out to everyone gathered around.

“Get back to work! You don’t get paid to stand still- that canvas is tilted! Am I the only person here paying any goddamn attention to the details?”

The whole room quickens back into motion around her. Mae Linh sighs, everything right again in the world again as staff around her rush about like chickens with their heads cut off. Looking for a task to do that pleases their stylish overlord, her heels clicking against the floors sounding like the tic-toc of clock hands. As each minute passes the Jubilee Ball steadily approaches like a looming storm on the horizon.

 

[strawberryspiral]

-Downtown Central Business District-​

-Los Noctis City Police Department-​

Sgt. Detective Andrei Silverspun​

When detectives Blackthorne and Montgomery enter the Captain’s office, the weight on his shoulders lightens ever so slightly. Julian’s mentions of checking out Lucky Sun Entertainment immediately pique Andrei’s interest. He’s considered dropping by, but never quite landed on going because of how tight lipped Lucky Sun Ent. seemed to be in general. Even Jessica Tidal’s manager had seemed a bit off, as if she was hiding something, but without a warrant he couldn’t necessarily just walk right in and demand information.

Detective Montgomery seems to be on the same wavelength as him as far as that goes- suggesting they look through case files a second time instead of heading directly to Lucky Sun. But Andrei can’t help but think that line of thinking hasn’t gotten him that far. He’d tried tracking down a lead through the files but it was hard with the limited information Jessica and her manager gave him.

“We don’t have all day sergeant,” Captain Ramirez sighs, glancing at the analogue clock on her wall above their heads.

Everyone is looking to him to make the decision. Andrei had only become closer to Detective Montgomery recently, while working on a case involving a suspect he’d come to find out was a rogue wizard. Though Montgomery had been a consultant on plenty of his cases the other wasn’t very social, or open to casual conversation in general. Regularly avoiding all afterwork gatherings and office parties in favor of hurrying home or secluding himself to his personal office. But he respected the man, he had a lot of pull within the police department and knew enough to back it up.

It was rare that the special consulting detective didn’t have an answer to Andrei’s case specific questions. So, he didn’t want to disrespect the man’s opinion- but, Julian had a point. Lucky Sun was the obvious trove of information they needed to dig up next.

“I think we should hit up Lucky Sun, then we can come back here and prep for the undercover mission. Check out files like Montgomery suggested.”

Nodding, she gathers some of the papers on her desk, shoving them back into a drawer he can’t see. “Sounds like a plan, I’ll see to the finer details of your aliases. You’ll be posing as a security detail for the Tidal Twins. So, try not to cause too much friction with Lucky Sun while you're there, we don’t want to tip off anyone who could be a potential suspect,” She warns.

“Yeah, sure, we’ll be covert,” Andrei agrees.

Captain Ramirez looks to Julian with a particularly suspicious stare. “Oh, I’m sure you will… Now, get going! Traffic is getting crazy, but luckily it’s close enough that you can walk.”

As he stands, surrounded by the other two detectives, the captain reaches out to tap on her desk with curled knuckles, “Hopefully, you’ll find what we’re missing, knock on wood.”

“Alright, be back in a couple hours Captain,” He raises a hand to wave at the senior detective before heading out the office door, holding it open as the others say their goodbyes as well.

He hopes that working with both Blackthorne and Montgomery will be fruitful instead of toxic to the case. Andrei’s had his fill of shitty partners- Julian isn’t one of them. Probably the first guy he’s met in the LNCPD that actually takes his job seriously and puts his whole heart into his work. Detective Montogmery is a bit more complex- not hard to work with, just difficult to get to know. Both of them have made names for themselves within the police department, Julian for being a bit hotheaded and Montgomery for his cold attitude. Basically two sides of the same coin, both passionate about what they do for different reasons Andrei’s yet to fully understand.

Sometimes he wonders what sort of name he’s made for himself around here, other than basically managing all the paperwork that goes in and out of the AIU. Or working on cases with intense paper trails he doesn’t do much that would make him popular or infamous in any way. He knows being the only werewolf within the whole AIU and LNCPD people have probably spread a fair share of rumors but that hasn't been intense enough to get back to him or anything. Julian had some pretty high profile cases as of late, involving celebrities and ghosts- Andrei always sort of looked up to the older. Who wouldn’t? He seemed to have his life together, and didn’t take shit from anybody.

The same couldn’t be said for Andrei, who just stood by and let a loser like D’aprile treat him like a secondary citizen instead of a person. It doesn’t surprise him that Julian made sure to put the anti-arcanist asshole in check. He deserved to have his whole body scalded in hot coffee as far as Andrei’s concerned, but he couldn’t help but think that it should’ve been him who did it, not Julian. The problem is he’s never been the type of guy to lash out at people. Even as a kid when he was bullied- he’d always been the one to devolve into tears instead of fighting back. Some people think that being a werewolf he’d be the first to bite back when put in a corner but they couldn’t be further from the truth.

Andrei’s just not the type to have an endless supply of witty comebacks or come up with plans of revenge. His whole life he’d struggled to speak up, more likely to find a corner to cry in than face his aggressor head on. Part of it was his hippy mother’s fault for raising him to be such a sensitive kid, the other part is Andrei couldn’t help but put himself in other people’s shoes.

Maybe D’aprile’s living a much sadder life than even he could comprehend? Could he hate werewolves because one had done him wrong in the past? What if just the sight of him puts the other man in fight or flight? Andrei has known since he was old enough to comprehend a text book that he’ll forever carry the burden of his ancestor’s transgressions. Just doesn’t get why that means people think he will be just like them. As if Andrei’s some sort of feral beast right out of a children’s fairytale, cursed to do evil despite his good intentions. At least these two don’t seem to think the same of him- Julian’s a good friend, and even better person for putting his neck on the line for him like that. Andrei’s seen it all before, people love to claim the position of “ally” but rarely do they have the backbone to stand behind it. Being part banshee himself Julian probably knew all about that.

As the three of them make their way out of the department and towards the nearest exit his mind chases thoughts like these for far too long. Only brought out of his own head as they step into the light of day. The city bustling with bumper to bumper traffic and billboards displaying idols of renowned fame, advertising food and beauty products. Lit up with dazzling lights and bright colors to draw street goers eyes. Trekking down the crowded sidewalks in the direction of the International Hall of Culture and Art he tries to fill the empty, awkward air between them with professional pleasantries.

“So, uh- I’ve worked with both of you separately before, but not together. It’s kinda like I’m in the Twilight Zone right now,” He forces a smile on his face that he knows comes off as fake. Continuing on as he shoves both hands into the pockets of his coat, the chill air of an autumn morning nipping at his fingertips.

“What do you guys think of the AIU so far? It’s kinda blown my mind just how many crimes involve arcana. I dunno how the Order of Divine Judges was managing all this before we came along, I can barely keep up.” He glances at them both while chewing on the inside of his cheek, hoping conversation flows more comfortably between them than he feels at that moment.

 

[strawberryspiral]

-Downtown Arts District-​

-Lucida Cross Chapel-​

Salem Byrd​

Chills run down the ghost girl's translucent skin as the room falls into immediate silence. At the center of the pulpit stands a woman with blond, chin length hair ,and an air of calmness and strength Salem can’t help but envy. All around her she watches as the crowd almost seems to fall into a group trance. Some even drop their donuts mid bite to the plate below, taking steps towards the pulpit, hanging off every word she says.

Her light voice rings out over the multitude of onlookers, “By the Rules of Hospitality-”

They all respond to her words as one, like a choir, “-We Follow and Abide.”

With intensity the blond at the pulpit stares off into the crowd, slowly scanning over them with sharp eyes. "Today, I provide for you a warning and a guideline from our elders. While partaking in hospitality, should you feel the need to hide your actions, double check your reason for doing so. Perhaps your action could be considered rude or harmful. While secrets have their place within hospitality, feelings of guilt are an excellent guide to avoid trouble."

Sparks fly, and smoke sifts through the air as the young woman’s charred cell phone goes berserk. Salem jumps at it herself watching as the parasocial youth’s cell phone drops to the floor with a gasp, her face turns beet red, some glance in her direction. But most of the crowd gathered around chooses to ignore her out of politeness. Going back to their previous actions as intended, as if nothing had even happened.

“See, what’d I say?” Rashani’s eyes twinkle as a knowing smile stretches across her face. “Now, come along, I wanna introduce you to a friend.”

She takes Salem by her semi translucent arm, making her jolt at the sudden touch- she’s been jumpy like this ever since September. The break up must’ve affected her more than she realized. Rashani though doesn’t seem to notice, just pulling her along towards an arched doorway that leads off to a separate area from the nave.

“A friend?” Salem repeats in confusion as she comes face to face with the same woman who’d given that chilling warning at the pulpit. Her scrutinizing eyes meet theirs and instantly her whole face softens, relaxing into a pleasant smile.

Rashani doesn’t seem at all intimate by the events from earlier, “Kathryn! So good to see you hon. How have you been?”

“I’ve been well, how have you been? Haven’t seen you in awhile.”

“I know, things got busy- awards season and all that. But I’ve been alright, even better now that I got the chance to speak with you. This is Salem, she’s here to seek guidance and protection.”

Kathryn nods,”Salem, nice to meet you. I’m Kathryn, a secretary-” She reaches over to grab something out of a desk drawer. Producing a single sheet of paper and pen that she hands to Salem. “-please, take a seat, both of you, and I’ll begin the screening process. Then I can take you to see who you seek.”

The both of them take seats at cushioned chairs and Salem gulps,“Who do I seek?” She looks to Rashani pleadingly, not comfortable with being completely in the dark with what’s going on.

“Just trust me, you need protection right? They can help you with that,” The old woman states with earnesty, squeezing one of her narrow shoulders. Salem shifts uncomfortably under the touch, hoping no one noticed her jump.

Rashani’s hand drops instantly with an apologetic expression and she curses at herself silently for being so paranoid. She’s never had reason to be fearful around Rashani, the older woman practically raised her, and had always had her back. The other day she’d mentioned meeting at this chapel during one of Salem’s stress and paranoia fueled panic attacks. Called it a utopian sanctuary for those who sought understanding and safety, how could she say no to that?

“Don’t worry, the choice is completely yours. We will not force you into anything you aren’t fully consenting to Salem,” Kathryn says in a steady, soothing voice.

She thinks back all those voices speaking in unison, the exploding phone in answer, and the strange reaction of the crowd. Choosing to ignore it all instead of leering at or taunting the spying youth, a sudden sense of calmness comes over her. “Okay, I’ll take a look at it-”

“-Good, that’s all I ask, give ‘em a chance,” Rashani lets out a sigh of relief.

Looking down at the paper, Salem begins to read it silently. It’s got this almost historical look to it, with a professional watermark, and fancy monograms citing the Lucida Cross Chapel.

By signing below, I hereby swear to tell the truth during this interview.

Salem bites down on her lower lip and presses the pen to the paper, signing in short, loopy cursive.

Kathryn’s voice rings out through the still air, “This discussion will be remotely monitored, but shall remain private only between us and the one you seek. He is watching the footage from another room, purely for the purpose of having a witness. It assures our conversation remains honest and hospitable.”

“Okay, that’s- that’s fine by me,” Salem nods, still not aware of who exactly she seeks but determined to meet them even more with all the mystery.

Kathryn takes the paper from her, “Thankyou, I’ll start with the screening- it’ll be just a few questions. As long as you answer with complete honesty as you’ve agreed, things should go smoothly.”

Rashani’s eyes glance in her direction, “Just be as open as you can. These are good people, they don’t judge, and don’t gossip either.”

Well, that’s good at least, Salem didn’t want to hear anything she says here pop back up in a tabloid somewhere.

“Let’s begin with the basics- what is your name?”

“Salem, Salem Byrd,” She answers immediately and Kathryn continues with her questioning.

“Are you here of your own free will,” That makes her pause to think.

Sure, Rashani had all but begged her to show up, but she did come here on her own. Almost hadn’t shown up in the beginning but something in her urged her to wake up early and force herself out of bed that morning. She couldn’t stop thinking about Rashani’s offer- to introduce her to a place where she could feel comfortable and safe.

“Yeah, I chose to be here,” Salem says truthfully and Kathryn nods as she goes on.

“Next question- why are you here Salem?”

Lips pursing in thought, she tries to think of a vague yet truthful answer. Gulping around the ldry lump that forms in her throat. Not wanting to go into explicit details, too on edge to delve into anything descriptive in nature.

“I-I just want to feel safe, stable. I was in a… Unstable relationship for a while, and tonight I’ll have to face them for the first time in almost a week since they-“ She pauses, translucent fingers gripping the knees of her jeans tightly. “-I just need help, tonight’s one of the biggest nights of my career, and I want to be able to enjoy it. Without being afraid of everything and everyone.”

“I see, I’m sorry to hear that. No one should have to live in fear,” Kathryn says softly, and it forces Salem to try and minimize it all.

“No-no need to feel sorry for me, I’m fine. Really!”

At that Kathryn raises one brow, head cocking to the side. “With all due respect, I’d like to remind you of your agreement to remain honest.”

Salem gulps, “Oh, yeah, uhm- I guess, I guess I’m not fine.” She lets out an exasperated sigh, tucking a stray floating lock of iridescent pink hair. “Sorry, forgot that I was technically lying.”

“Yes, well, it’s an understandable mistake, but don’t feel obligated to lie about your emotions in order to make me or anyone else comfortable. It’s a disservice to yourself and others you could potentially help by sharing your pain.“ Rashani nods in agreement with Kathryn’s words of wisdom.

“I-I guess I never thought about it like that…” Blinking slowly, Salem eyes flick around the room, catching a blinking red light of a video camera hidden on a bookshelf just over Kathryn’s shoulder. It was a bit unnerving, she’s used to cameras on her being a celebrity but that doesn’t mean she likes the way it makes her feel.

Kathryn coughs into one hand , drawing her attention back to her, “Do you bear any ill will to Lucida Cross Chapel or any of its inhabitants?”

“No, of course not,” She answers with full honesty and Kathryn follows up with a random question.

“Sorry, I should have asked earlier, would you like something to drink?”

She jolts in surprise at the suddenly casual question, “No, no, I’m alright.” Salem’s dry throat scratches along with the statement, but she’s a picky person when it comes to beverages. Given her voice’s light and airy quality she only drinks warm mineral water but she doesn’t want to be seen as over demanding. Besides, it’s just a white lie, nothing elaborative or conniving, so why would they care about her lying about such a small thing anyways?

Kathryn gives her a look and she’s on the edge of her seat, leg bouncing along with her anxiety as the woman just nods. Glancing to the little camera lens hidden somewhere in the bookshelf behind her.

“Well, you should continue this conversation with Cadmus. I’ll take you both to him,” The human woman stands, turning away and guiding them to a nearby staircase.

Rashani leans in to whisper right next to Salem’s ear as they get to their feet to follow. “Did you lie?”

“Uhm- no, I don’t think so -”

“-Just up these stairs ladies, follow me.” Kathryn’s eyes pointedly stare directly into Salem’s and she feels a shiver go down her ghostly spine. Floating a few centimeters above the floor as they ascend up the stairs to the second floor of the pristine chapel. Her nerves threaten to overtake her with every step and her translucent fingers shake.

Cadmus, the name is unfamiliar, but holds a certain presence and power to it even without them being present. She gulps around the dry lump in her throat once more, and floats up the stairs with looming dread and fitful anticipation.

 

[BuggaBoo]

---

'Ms. Chaser' - DJ Chea-Soeur - Witch/ Wind Sorceress -

​

Leaving her secret, secret girlie. Heading home for hair and makeup...

Upon the plush burgundy couch the young pair reclined, sunken into the velvety marshmallow soft cushions. Both in white terry cloth towels and of course both on their phones. Brown sleek legs lay strewn across muscular tanned and tatted ones. DJ held a light expression as she responded to her fans comments, giggling everytime she found one tickled her fancy. Corki scowled and hissed everyso often. The multi-hue haired girl seemed hell bent on breaking her screen with the aggressiveness in which she typed responses to trolls and haters.

DJ slid her foot up and down Corki's shin with enough tenderness to at least soften her lover's scowl, "You have gots to just stay outta the armpit of your comments. My gosh but alla' that negativity will just eat at your soul."

Corki reached down and grasped DJ's foot and began to methodically massage with her thumb, illiciting a gentle mewl from the cat-eared Witch across the couch, "Me? Nah, busting those bitches in the chops makes me feel better. They deserve it. Besides, what soul? I sold that stupid thing a loooooong time ago--"

"Corki!" Green eyes popped open wide and DJ sat up bolt upright. In the same heartbeat she reached up, both brown hands grasping Corki's tan one, tail sliding up to Corki's lips and shushing her quiet, "Girl, don't say that! That's such a terrible thing to say! You have a soul, it's beautiful and it's why I won't ever let you outta my life! Clicks, girl don't say things like that!"

At first, the other girl tried to pull away from DJ, but with the intensity of her emerald gaze and the firmness of her grasp, Corki relented and held still. She sighed before leaning forward, blue eyes levelling with DJ green ones, "Listen. I get it. I get that you feel things differently than others. I get it. You Umbra. But me? i mean how I got here wasn't by skipping down a path made pf pure gold-hearted, butterflies and unicorns with my decisions, business or otherwise. Girl, I pissed off some good amount of people mad crazy along the way. I'm not saying I don't deserve the hate but the lies people tryna label me with--" a fancy swirling silver skull adorned the acrylic nail that pointed at her phone, "--Hell naw, screw them. I can't let that slide."

"But, that don't mean you sold your soul?! I mean, look at you now...! Young, successful, popular and absolutely gorgeous! You earned it all." between forefinger and thumb DJ gently twirlled Corki's multi-locks dangling from her pigtail.

"Yeah, I also stepped on some good people along the way. I had to drop some others because the marketing team said they were 'bad for business.' They were right. But those that didn't fit the marketing mould were my friends. Well, they used to be. My first manager was my bff growing up and they even taught me all I know about surfing. I let them go to get the bag. So don't you tell me; I didn't sell my soul. Like yeah, valid; I'm young and successful but girl, unlike most people our age; I ain't delusional. I own it. But again. Bae, I won't tolerate the lies."

"Wait. So what about me then? Girl, what about me? Why you stick with me then? Are you using me too then?"

"What? You? No. My gosh. No, Chasey... DJ. You are sooooooo one of the greatest things in my life right now. Listen. When you came into my life, I wasn't the same person as I am now after I met you. I'm a gajillion times a better person now cuz of you. If I had my way, I'd post you on socials with me and say ha! Screw alla yous! All I need is my girlfriend."

"GIRLFRIENDS?! Eeeeeeeeyyyyyy now! I like the sound of that!" DJ squealed and embraced Corki.

Corki pressed into the warm embrace momentarily, they yanked herself away, blue eyes levelling once more, breaking the mirth in DJ's green eyed gaze, "But we ain't. We can't be, right? At least not publically."

DJ pouted, then reached up to cup Corki's tan cheek, "Wait. You said you won't tolerate the lies. Soooooo you hate the hiding and sneaking around? Are you dissatisfied with me? With us?"

"Girl! Chasey, what did I just finish saying?! 'You are one of the greatest things in my life right now.' Bae, be so for real right now. But do I hate the 'covert stealth lover missions?' Hell yeah..."

Both tan and tatted hands gently grasped DJ's brown one. A sweet and tender squeeze before a sweet and tender kiss.. "...but I get it. For real, for real. I do. If I had to answer to Mae Linh flippin' Ding-Dong Vuong, Queen Bizznatch extraordinaire , I'd bow down too."

"Eyo. Armada Inc. ain't that bad. They been sooooooo good to me ever since I signed on. And besides, Ms. Vuong absolutely loves me...!"

"Yeah, sure. For the same reason why I didn't sign over my company to them. Because I don't have Umbra Clan backing me--"

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"Nothing bad. I'm just saying that as an independent Sorceress? Bae. I sold my soul in different ways than you."

"Wait. Hold up. Just you wait a second! Are you even actually saying that I sold my soul too? Be so for real right now...! What the actual eff in the face, girl?!"

"Chase. DJ. You are on the edge of possibly winning one of the most prestigeous awards out there in your industry. You telling me that path was squeaky clean? Go on. Tell me it was and that you did not hurt anyone along the way. Anyone that meant something to you. Go on. Tell, me Desiree Jeanetta Chea-Soeur. Dead ass. Right to my face..."

Green eyes held open wider with much more incredulity than her fallen jaw. Blue eyes held firm, gazing levelly right back, expectant, strong and unrelenting. Slowly the incredulity slipped away from the pretty brown face. Inn its wake, dark thick lashes descended over trembling eyes, a pout at full lips and a full, kitty-ear drooping sigh.

Thudding heartbeats were the only sound between them in the slience. Finally DJ took a breath, readying her indignation--

Like klaxxons in an air raid both their phones' notifs went wild. Both girls jumped in unison and simultaneouly snatched up their phones.

"It's Aura...? Eyo, dude, why your baby bro messaging me...? Wait. Chase! Yo Umbra came by your place...? Girl, what's good? You in trouble?!"

"'Ummmmm... lemme see... Aura... Maddie... CC... Moms--oops. 'Umbra Handlers searching for the talent...' There it is. That's me. They coming to collar me hahahahah! I have so gotsta bail, yo. Cuuuuz... Yeah. I kiiiiiiiinda' sorrrrrrta' wasn't supposed to be here. We were supposed to do fitting then hair and make up first thing this morning--"

"Chasey! Girl, you don't mean to tell me you forgot? What about Queen Overlord Ding-Dong Vuong? Sheesh. She gonna be piiiiiiiiiiissssssed!"

"Chill with alla dat. Sheesh. It's okay. It's okay. She loves me--"

"Yeah well, this award ceremony reeeeeally means a lot to her so not the best idea pissing her off--"
"--like how you LOVE ME!"

Corki snapped her mouth shut and sat bolt upright, mouth hanging open, jaw so low she could trip over it. DJ laughed heartily, clutching her tummy, "Yesssss, yes you doooooo-oooo...!!"

DJ kissed Corki's gobsmacked stricken face. Then immediately she twirled a finger, sending a gust of wind to pick her up and sweep her away on over to the bathroom. A little dust devil chased behind her, scooping up her clothes and belongings, spinning happily and wobbly hot on her heels. Another gust of wind drowned out the celebrity's giggles as it blew the door closed behind her with a slam.

Blue eyes cleared as Corki's stupor broke, "Nawnawnawnaw, hell naw! Girl! Dj! We have soooooo gotsta talk about lo-- the 'L' word! Yo. Eyo, Chase. DJ! Open up we legit need to talk!"

"Girl, you sooooo know that we both 'L' words...! I mean, your car's hood knows it.... and so does yours, feeeeeel me? Oh yeah you did! Hahahahahah!"

"HEY! You know that's not what I meant. Now open the door. We need to talk about this. Didn't we go over this already? We won't talk about... the OTHER 'L' word until we can deal with the sneaking around stuffs. Remember? Chasey? Hello? Hello! Girl answer me. Eyo. Chase. You okay? Chasey? Answer me. Please! DJ? DJ!! DEEEEJAAAAAAY--"

The sound of dogs barking drew her away from the fancy bathroom door. Three leaps took her to the plush burgundy curtains. Like superman bearing the 'S' on his chest, Corki drew apart drapes. A long drawn out, ragged hiss made of pure disdain escaped her throat. Her pack trio of doggos chased after DJ barking happily as she rocketed away on her e-motorbike Purrge, escaping towards the main gate. And there was no sense trying to keep her locked in. DJ could just leterally fly over the gate; the celebrity was an Air Sorceress afterall. Man how Corki hated when DJ wriggled outta talking about serious topics. It was like she had some kinda' instant armour, a proof against getting to the heart of the matter. So annoying.

As if she could read Corki's mind, DJ pressed a gloved finger to her visor as if kissing it. Then immediately she tossed it up high for Corki to see, a proper mid-morning middle finger flip off, in the most loving way possible. And of course that stupid tail waved like a brat that got away with stealing a cookie from the cookie jar. Corki grumbled multiple four letter words neath her breath debating whether or not she could hit DJ with a baseball sized fireball without causing her to crash.

"Meeeeehhhhh... you lucky you have an awards show tonight... sheesh," instead of gleefully tossing pyrotechnics at her secret, secret girlie, Corki decided to just return to slaying trolls and wrecking haters in her comments. It would bide the time while she waited for the Umbra Inquisitors to interrogate her and toss thinly veiled threats at her. Again.

Neath her breath and in nothing more than an exhale lest the universe eavesdrop on her wretched heart; "And girl...? You lucky I love you..."

---

 

[Coryen2]

-Downtown Arts District-
-Lucida Cross Chapel-
Cadmus Blanch​

Slowly ascending the stairs, he absorbed the sights and sounds around him. Every minute as a brand new moment to be cherished. Every inch, every blemish, nothing escaped his keen attention to details. The way his feet fell precisely in the correct spots on the stairway to prevent the sounds of creaking, the chill of the wooden railing that spiraled alongside him. The way the air cooled outside of the sunlight. His home. His Lucida Cross Chapel. As he approached a small stained glass window in the stairwell, he paused and smiled at it with appreciation. It was a simple thing, a brown square surrounded by panes of clear, yellow, and red that radiated out and away. The way the light passed through reminded him of when he had seen her in full fury. The world burning as she turned their weapon of fire against them.

Continuing on, he reached the top of the stairs. Here the bell, which he used to call the parishioners in the morning, hung silent. Placing his left hand upon it, he could feel the tiny vibrations that affected the building. The many people inside bringing the building to life. With a sharp intake of breath, he looked down at his phone. A contract had just been struck. The gentler caress of the deal against his soul sang of a contract of truth. Unlocking the wonderful device, he quickly opened his live feed of the room in which all screenings took place.

It was a simple room. Bookshelves, paintings, two warm, comfortable couches that faced each other over a coffee table. Kathryn was sitting with her back to the camera giving him a clear view of the young supplicant. A thin creature with skin as thin as it was translucent. She sat next to Rashani on the couch, unsure of what exactly was happening, but there was a determination. A desperation, even. These emotions were nothing unusual to witness in the interview process, but Rashani's presence was more than enough to ensnare his curiosity. The author turned film writer turned talent scout wouldn't bring someone here unless....

"-answer with complete honesty as you’ve agreed, things should go smoothly.” Kathryn's voice pulled Cadmus out of his musings and he noticed a presence at his shoulder.

As Rashani encouraged Salem to remain calm, Cadmus turned to his tenant, "Good afternoon, Vestica. Care to wager how long she'll last before she lies?"

With a laugh that matched even the bell's enthusiasm, the vampiress leaned up against him and leaned in for a peek at the screen. "Look at the poor thing....Hmm. I bet she breaks between questions two and four. The usual?" Sweeping past him to head over to her computer, Vestica started pulling up screens in preparation while the first question was answered. “Salem, Salem Byrd,” Fingers flying over the keyboard, her dual monitors were quickly pulling up multiple tabloids and rumors about the young celebrity.

Grunting his agreement to the terms of the bet, Cadmus carefully watches the young woman on his screen.

“Are you here of your own free will,” The silence stretches for a brief moment as Salem seeks a truthful answer. Her posture and mannerisms , unlike her ghoulish flesh, give very little away of what is happening beneath the surface. When at last she replies in the affirmative, it is as though a dam breaks. A surge of relief shows itself on her features, but are quickly brought to a halt by the third question. If she makes it past this, the bet is as good as his.

“Next question- why are you here Salem?” Smiling to himself, he watches as the girl flounders and Rashani watches on unable to assist. He had to admit, Vestica was a good judge of character. The simple fact that she was here showed that Salem's situation was less than ideal.

“I-I just want to feel safe, stable. I was in a… Unstable relationship for a while," Vestica let out a little sigh, pointing to an article from The Buzz that confirmed the girl's words, "and tonight I’ll have to face them for the first time in almost a week since they-“

Leaning forward, Cadmus watched as she gripped the knees of her jeans tightly. Something foul was afoot. “-I just need help, tonight’s one of the biggest nights of my career, and I want to be able to enjoy it. Without being afraid of everything and everyone.”

"Ha! No lies, Darling. Pay up!" Turning the the vampiress, he almost missed Kathryn's next words.

“I see, I’m sorry to hear that. No one should have to live in fear,”

"No! You're going off script! Don't....." His sentence overlapped with the sensation of the contract being broken.

With a mischievous grin, Vestica swiveled on her chair to see Cadmus turning off the feed. The Fae was shaking his head in irritation, "I'm fine," he repeated in equal parts annoyance and disbelief. "Why must mortals always hide their emotions behind such an obvious lie?"

Standing up, the femme fatal walked over to her landlord, "Between questions two and four! I win....Darling."

"Yes, but I would hardly call it a true victory. Kathryn added an extra prompt to the conversation. But, a bet is a bet. What did you find out?"

Lacing up her boots reaching for an oversized cloak, Vestica gestured to the screens, "Take a look. The girl's got music in her veins, and death in her lungs. Her mom's a legend and her dad is out of the picture. She's got talent, though. Her recent album topped several charts and she even got herself onto the silver screen recently."

Clicking through the tabs, Cadmus followed along with his techie tenant. Looking at some of the images from her performances, he could see traces of necromancy. Hardly a surprise for one of ghoulish heritage. "What of this 'unstable relationship' she mentioned?"

"That one," Vestica said with a shrug as she lifted the hood over her face, "Is a little harder to pin down. Lucky Sun has managed to keep most of this from the spotlight, but rumors seem to indicate she was in a relationship with another celebrity working for the same label. I did pull up one of the dark forums for more information on who might be a likely candidate, but I didn't get much more than the fact that she seems to have started partying since getting signed. Drugs. Drinks. You know, the fun stuff." The sound of feet on stairs interrupted them. "Speaking of fun stuff...." Swirling her cape, she vanished into mist.

***​

Leading the way up to the belfry, Kathryn wondered who had won the bet as her feet somehow found every single squeaky floorboard. It was a wonder how Cadmus made moving quietly seem so effortless. "Just a little bit further," she reassured Salem. Some people found the spiral staircase a little unnerving. Very little light entered this portion of the chapel. A deal had been made with a sorcerer to keep sun light out of the belfry when Vestica Tarmiri had moved in. And then Cadmus had gone a step further and had the lighting elements removed. Something about, 'setting the proper ambiance'.

Reaching the top of stairs, she paused to give Salem and Rashani a moment to compose themselves. "All right," she said in a hushed tone, "The belfry houses a large number of bats. They won't bother us while we are up here, but watch your step. The floors are cleaned regularly, but those shoes look like you spent more on them than a year of my apartment's rent." Opening the door, she ushered them inside.

Hidden in shadow, Cadmus's silhouette was largely obscured. From the darkness, his voice rang out harsh and cruel, "Those who would break their oaths shall be punished! You. Salem...Lied!" Stepping forward into the meager light, the figure loomed before them. Power emanated from the spindly frame as heavy footfalls shook the floor. A long, dark cape whisked behind, like it, too, were afraid to be too close to this being.

When the pale features of the face came into view, Kathryn had to repress a laugh. Beady eyed, receding hairline, bucktoothed, and triple chinned. Like someone had moved all the sliders of the character creator to the worst possible options. And to top it all off, a unibrow?

Unable to keep her laughter in any longer, Kathryn dropped to her knees and held her splitting sides as Vestica swiftly slipped into and out of her misty form.

"You should see the looks on your faces!" Vestica declared, shifting through her misty form once more to imitate first Salem and then Rashani before returning to her natural form. "Don't you worry your silly little heads. If Cadmus were going to punish someone for saying 'I'm fine' and not meaning it, this chapel would be a much different place."

Getting ahold of herself, she stepped back and away, "My name is Vestica Tarmiri. I rent out the belfry with the condition that I help Cadmus with the screening process." Pointing up, she added, "And let me introduce the pixie himself!"

Descending from above, Cadmus's wings beat impossibly fast. His one foot tall form calm and serene, if a bit bashful at the display that was just put on. Just as he reached eye level with Salem, a small burst of magical dust flew from his wings and he elegantly landed on the floor, back in his human guise.

Bowing gracefully, he smiled and greeted them, "Cadmus Blanch, how may I be of service?"

 

[strawberryspiral]

Bloodywood Harbour & Warehouse District​

The Arouet Chasseur Agency​

Jethro Agot​

“I’m sure he’ll be here any minute,” Akari, a young half-fae assures, as little sparks of electricity dance along her fingers. She gives him the usual maniacal grin as she greets him, that would come off as threatening to any ordinary person but he knows her well enough now to understand that was just her ‘resting crazy face’.

Sliding up alongside the pale faerie, he pulls a small drawstring pouch made of double lined satin from one of his inner breast pockets of his coat. Slipping it into Akari’s hand with a wink.

“Oh? He’s in?” He makes a noise of acknowledgement as the sounds of approaching footsteps cut him off, announcing the arrival of an assistant known to him as Ingvar.

“Yo, Jethro. Here to see the doc?” The young man peers up at him between overgrown white and black bangs, the scent of cigarettes wafting through the air along with him.

As he waits with both hands in the pockets of his long coat, he licks over both lips, eyeing the two employees of the Arouet Chasseur Agency.

Jethro always gets a weird vibe around the strange young man, his scent edging on chemically sweet and pungent, with notes of menthol and formaldehyde. His nose twitches, and in the back of his brain there’s this little itch. Something is off, and he’s not sure if it’s just his spark- the fire inside him begging to feed off the flammable chemicals he smells or the night he’s had finally pushing him to the brink. He hadn’t been able to sleep a wink, could barely keep track of time after it happened. It was like every minute slipped through his fingers, flowing into hours spent wandering the streets, then turning into the sun coming up.

Ingar is staring at him expectantly, with a blank stare, awaiting some sort of answer just as Voltaire enters the waiting room with his usual all consuming gusto. The eccentric doctor had a way of taking up space in a room with just his personality.

The waiting room is a far cry from inviting, but has little details here and there that make it feel lived in, despite the steel support beams overhead. Dr. Voltaire enters with a stern chastising sent Akari’s way before going into a whimsical greeting all his own.

Rocking back and forth on his heels with a hungry look of curiosity on his scarred face. “What have you brought me today?”

“You might wanna sit down.” Jethro eyes the two employees looking on from the side, then tries to maintain a neutral expression as he starts to recount the details of a night he wishes he could forget…

​

-The Past: Last Night-​

-Downtown Arts District-​

-IHCA Museum Concert Hall-​

It was way too late in the night for this. Jethro’s eyes slowly drag away from the painting he’s detail cleaning with q-tips and varnish remover, attempting to lift the yellow stain off a canvas layered with heavy oil paints. Looking at the blinking clock hung just above the doorway of the Restoration Workshop, a private employee only backroom where they focus solely on correcting and cleaning the art that comes their way.

A scrawny brunette with horn rimmed glasses suddenly enters through said doorway, the door propped open by his foot, a bag thrown over one shoulder, and scarf pulled high to his weak chin. “Jeth, you’re not heading out yet? You’ve gotta be back early tomorrow, Miss Vuong’s expecting a lot from you. You know?”

He nods, but rolls his eyes, blotting the q-tip against a napkin as he leans back in the rickety, definitely not ergonomic chair he’s in. “I know, I know- don’t need you to remind me, Antony.”

“I know you don’t, but still, someone should. It’s a big day for you tomorrow! Everything’s gonna change,” He smiles brightly, like that’s a good thing Jethro on the other hand feels a pit begin to grow at the center of his empty stomach. Should’ve eaten dinner when he had the chance, that’s what he gets for functioning on nothing but coffee and protein bars for the past two days.

“Everything’s going to change?” He repeats, placing his tools to the side, and stretching his craned neck from one side to the other.

“Yeah! You’ll be famous, established even, I’m so happy for you!” Antony insists.

“Uhm, okay, well thanks, I guess.”

“You don’t seem so happy,” he says with a note of concern.

“What? I am, I am! It’s just- you know, I don’t think that much will change. I’ll still work here, restoring art, scouring the earth for rare pieces for our collection. Like always,”

“Really? Miss Vuong said you’d be signing to ARMADA INC. She had a whole ten year plan and everything.”

Both brows pinch downwards at that. “Hm, of course she’d think that. I’m not so sure, I like my work here and with the Treasure Trove. It’s what I enjoy.”

“You really like that dusty antiques shop that much? If I had your talent I’d take the opportunity and run with it. I mean, you’re gonna be one of the big stars tomorrow night! Isn’t that cool? You won’t be one of us little guys anymore,” Antony’s eyes go wide with stars. Obviously projecting his yearning for fame onto Jethro who couldn’t care less as he begins to gather stuff from a nearby station and place them in his book bag.

Grunting, Jethro pushes himself to his feet, “Yeah, yeah, I guess you’re right. But I like you guys, I like working with people who share my obsession with history, art.” He strides over to the younger’s side, attempting to help him gather the last of his supplies for the night. The quicker Antony’s out of here, the sooner he can get back to work.

“Oh, thanks- but, you should take advantage of this opportunity. If you meet DJ, can you tell her Antony Willis loves her to pieces and will always support her? Also, get me an autograph?” Looking at him with a begging pout he can’t ignore, Antony folds both hands just under his chin pleadingly. “Pretty please?”

Groaning, he just nods as he follows Antony out of the Restoration Workshop, down a long hall of doors that lead to various offices, and storage rooms of the IHCA Museum. The automatic lights flicker on as they approach and off as they descend further through the museum’s backrooms. At points it almost seems like a maze, windows into the rooms they pass by reveal one storage room after the next filled with pieces covered in white fabric, or wrapped tightly in wax paper. Power tools are left unplugged but stacked on top of giant cardboard boxes filled with more art both 2D and 3D, placed precariously throughout the lifeless white painted cement block walls. This part of the museum is far older than the rest, still hasn’t seen much of an update because of pending donations and tax issues.

Where the rich choose to lay, so does deceit- that’s what Hoby’s always told him. The old man was right on the money when he’d told Jethro taking this job would be no joke. He hadn’t been fully prepared at first for all the underhanded dealings and odd personalities found in the art world, but eventually he got used to it. He was raised by a witch himself after all, some rich people's semantics couldn’t be weirder than that. Or so he’d hoped…

“The vibes are so off at night, I hate being here this late.” Antony chirps nervously like a little canary, Jethro almost laughs aloud at the comparison that comes out as a wheeze and a smile in his colleagues direction.

“What? You don’t think it’s spooky? I thought you believed in ghosts, your whole frickin’ display is about that, isn’t it? And- and- Leo, the old security guard, he says that you can hear people singing and it is fucks with your head!”

He snorts, Leopold is an elderly elf man with a flare for storytelling. He enjoys keeping up the haunted gag of the museum because it scares off people intending to break in, and amuses him because he’s an ornery old man.

“I mean, just because I think I saw something once as a kid doesn’t mean anything. But, this place is probably haunted. With all this old stuff around...” Jethro trails off for dramatic effect.

Another reason he wants to put this art career talk behind him, he’d gone off and made a piece far too personal. ‘Scraps of Reality’ is his baby, it took almost a full year to weave all of those strings together to form an entire walkable space. Though, the subject matter was probably a tad too intrusive, displaying the night he thought he saw and spoke to some sort of hallucinated shadow figure outside his bedroom window the night his mother died. In all honesty he barely recalls making the piece, just knows every night like clockwork he’d get off his shift here and work until bedtime weaving thousands of pieces of yarn into a navigable copy of a bedroom and his backyard.

“Really? You think it’s haunted too?” Antony jumps, turning around as he comes to a screeching halt at a door labeled ‘EXIT,’ in bright, neon red letters. “I-if you believe, it must be true. I knew it!”

Jethro gives him a blank stare, pushing open the door for the younger man to exit. As he does, Antony comes to a stop tilting his head back to Jethro with large, confused eyes. “Huh, there’s cars still here.”

Jethro pokes his head out the door to find the employee parking lot dotted with several unknown vehicles to him. The only one recognizable is the sleek black BMW of Mae Linh Vuong, parked in her usual reserved spot up front. “Must be a meeting or something?”

“Sh-should I stay and help you close up?” He stammers obviously still on edge about the whole, haunted aspect of the place.

“No, no, get out of here Antony. I can lock a couple doors, I’ll let security know there’s still a few people around.”

Narrow shoulders slump in relief, “Oh, thanks Jeth. I-I just don’t wanna stay so late. I told my fiance I’d start showing up for dinner on time and look at me! Here past midnight, Milo’s gonna kill me!”

“You’d better hurry home then,” He nods to Antony’s beat up white hyundai.

He thinks fondly of Antony’s fiance- Milo, who he met at the birthday party they threw for Antony a month or so ago. The guy was perfect for him, confident in all the ways Antony lacked. Able to make a crowd swoon, the quintessential tall, dark, and handsome stereotype all of Bloodywood seemed obsessed with. They’d ended up bonding over their shared obsession with the occult and supernatural, Milo was getting a doctorate in folklore of all things. The both of them had drunk enough wine to put down a mule while speaking of his most recent fascination, researching the well known local legend of La Chupacabra.

“Yeah, you’re right, don’t stay too late though. You have a busy day tomorrow! Plus, you don’t wanna get mind fucked by a ghost, that would be bad.” Antony says with a completely serious look on his face.

“Uh- alright, I’ll try not to… get mind fucked by a ghost, then?”

“Yeah, if you see something call upon God o-or Jesus, or-”

“-But, I’m not really religious.” He cuts him off.

Antony pouts with creased brows, in deep thought, “Oh, you aren’t?”

“Nope.”

He sighs, “Well… I guess you’re fucked then?”

Jethro raises a brow, “Dammit, really? What if I just, just, tell them my brain is too ill to fuck. Like, say they could catch my chemical imbalance or something?”

“That should work, I think?”

“Good, I’ll try that then,” He responds with a wink.

Antony grins, walking down the steps before turning around to wave, “Well, let me know how that goes! Good night Jeth, see you tomorrow!”

“Yeah, see ya,” The door swings closed and he’s left yet again to his own devices.

Jethro makes his way back to the workshop, continuing on with his original task of detail cleaning the yellow varnish of the painting before him. Hunched over his work with steady hands and a pair of magnifying glasses clasped at his ears. Mechanically smearing foaming cleanser into the painting, dabbing at it with q-tips, and lifting the yellow stain with methodic patience. He doesn’t know how long he’s sat there, just knows it’s long enough for his knuckles to have started to cramp. So, finally at a stopping point, Jethro places all of his implements away for the evening- tosses out his trash, and grabs his coat from the back of his chair. Hurrying out of the workshop and into the dark halls of the museum. His shoes tap along with the soft clicks of automatic lights that flare to life and flicker back off as he passes through.

At the front of the museum, in the main hall, he stops at the security desk in confusion to find it empty. That should never happen, they have strict policy about security here, one guard patrols while the other has his eyes on the camera footage up front. Making his way around the giant marble counter he takes a peek at camera footage only to find himself even more bewildered. All of the cars in the employee parking lot are still here and it’s almost three in the morning. No meeting would ever go so late, this place was strict about its overtime pay- rich, greedy bastards. Grabbing at the mouse he scrolls through the feed pausing when he finds the footage of the Concert Hall where the awards ceremony will be held tomorrow night.

It’s completely dark, like usual late at night. The strange thing is these little yellow lights, like the flames from a match, flickering along in the blank blackness of the footage. Any other person might have overlooked it, but this salamander fae knows a flame when he sees one. Searching the security station he finds all walkies sitting in their charger ports, meaning none of the security guards were on duty currently, another red flag- this place was very picky about protecting its valuable assets. Just as he’s prepared to walk out the door and forget about it all, assume everything is as it should be-

He stops, his eyes catching what looks to be some sort of metallic, silver box. It’s pure metal, etched with these looping swirls that create a strange pattern. It looks too new to be something from the museum’s inventory, and when he turns the palm sized cube over he finds no openings of any kind. With some hesitation, he picks it up and shoves it in his pocket. Even with his ability of psychometry he picks up little from the object, other than the strange sense of something magical.

That’s when Jethro made the biggest mistake of the night, instead of leaving, his sense of duty to the museum took over. He can’t just walk away from this, someone could be breaking in, or there could simply have been some lights left on from tech rehearsal earlier. Whatever the reason he knew it was on him to check it out.

So, he descends back into the dark back rooms of the museum. Avoiding walking through the large doors of the Concert hall back at the main entry room out of paranoia, he wanted to approach this carefully without being detected just in case. As he gets closer to the backstage area of the Concert Hall his stomach starts to do flips, an itch at the back of his neck. Like every sense is on high alert, the air feels stuffy, and with every corner he turns the longer some of the halls seem to get. There’s something distant, a far off hum- melodic yet mechanical, as if gears are grinding together while a radio plays in the background. The endless maze of halls, a loop of white walls and tiled floors, window after window showing paintings and sculptures covered in white sheets of fabric. Jethro’s worked here for years and he’s starting to feel lost, like it’s all new terrain altogether.

Finally, after what feels like hours, he comes to the large metal double doors of the backstage area- a sign reading ‘EMPLOYEES ONLY,’ his only warning as he slowly pushes one open. Something else that irks him- why is this unlocked? To his dismay the door screeches, and he has to slip in through the crack of a partially opened door, to avoid creating further noise. Tile turns to hard black flooring, he steps on the balls of his feet softly as he weaves through the gaps of giant speakers and sound equipment. Narrowly avoiding stubbing his toe on a black box full of lights worth more than his life itself.

Once he reaches the grand red curtains of the blocked off stage, he finds that the very ground below him. Waxed wood of the stage vibrates along with the strange metallic grinding sound, the hums revealed to be the mournful drones of many voices. Jethro slowly parts the curtain just an inch to peek out into the candlelit Concert Hall. Only to see the back of a cloaked head, he almost gasps but stops himself just in time. Holding his breath as he studies a large group of figures hidden by long, purple, red, black, and white cloaks. All around them in the darkness are little flames at the tips of candles, floating in the darkness, bobbing like buoys of light in the still air. Their voices ebb and flow through the grand hall, his ears ring, and the flashing of metal continues- a cacophony of sound that makes him dizzy.

Suddenly, voices hush, a white flash of light- quick light lightning blinds him, their clocks kicking up in the air from the force of the clashing light. Purple sparks shimmer through the air, and all begin to bow on their knees. Letting out shouts of praise:

“Bless eternity!”

“They have risen!”

“Our savior!”

As they begin bowing with ecstatic cries he’s finally able to see three figures, the only one still standing, each holding something in their hands. Heart racing as the wind in the room picks up, the sound of static scraping through the air, Jethro’s fingers dig deep into the meat of his palms.

The tallest of the three turns to the gathering of his fellow cloaked comrades. From beneath the shadow of his plum colored hood is a featureless white mask, a male’s voice carries out over the sea cloaked figures and candles- flames still bright despite the whipping wind around them.

“Let us commence the Hymn to Devouring Dawn-” His voice bellows, and the white light flashes once more, spreading more purpling sparks, dispensing smoke that smells of mildew and burnt meat- pungent and musky.

In unison, their voices start off in whispers, carrying into desperate screams, the lights responding in time, as if on beat with the haunting chant.

“From shadows deep where stars do fade,
We call thee forth, O Lord of Shade.
Ancient hunger, vast and old,
Rise anew, as was foretold.

With ash and bone, the pyre burns,
To thee, the wheel of fate now turns.
Consume the world, its light, its fire,
Grant us thrones atop the mire.

Through shattered skies and seas undone,
Devour all, leave only one.
Thy chosen flock, thy faithful few,
To wield the power born of you.

The earth shall quake, the heavens rend,
Thy will be done, the cycle’s end.
O Ancient One, arise, ascend—
Make us gods, and worlds transcend.

By blood and soul, this bond we seal,
In darkest truth, thy might reveal.
The dawn of thee shall end the night,
And bring thy kingdom into light.”


In an instant of blinding light and clattering of metal there’s the faintest sound of something tearing- like fabric being torn apart, or a metal zipper sliding open. With it- a blast of cold, so strong that Jethro and several other cloaked figures are pushed backwards. He goes tumbling behind the curtain, further into the safety of backstage. He feels the metallic cube in his pocket, shuddering and vibrating like a ringing cellphone within his pocket.

Curled up on the stage floor, hands over his head in fear of the shaking building collapsing on top of him, he barely peeks out from the cocoon of his arms. The massive red curtains flapped upwards with the force of the small blast of light, just enough for him to catch the sight of something horrific, something he’d thought he’d put behind him long ago.

At the center of the white and purple lights, he gets flashes of a figure with insanely long limbs. Hunched over, a being made of the very absence of light, it’s body as if God had taken an eraser at the fabric of reality itself and left nothing but dark matter. Around it light flashes, and the sound of lightning, grinding gears, and buzzing grows. As if stepping out of the light, its long spindly limbs snap and shudder through space.

The voices of cloaked people swell to cheers of glee, bouts of hysterical laughter leaving the man who stands nearest to the being. “Rise my Lord! Rise and consu-”

One moment he’s standing- the next he’s snatched up by long, ink black fingers, gnarled into jagged points that sink into the main’s torso. The shadow lifts him up, unhinges its jaw, and blood sprays the front row of hooded onlookers who gasp in awe. As its jaw flexes open and it crunches down on flesh and bone he notices something protruding from the top of its head. Cheers rise and the shadowy beast’s jagged, metallic black teeth chew around the man’s flesh. He’s crying out, pleading for his life, but those words are swallowed by another blast of light, one of the shorter leaders of the group rises to stand on shaky feet.

“Let us commence the Hymn-” She yells out from beneath her own white mask, and their voices start off in unison again.

Jethro’s eyes don’t leave the strangely familiar being, standing at the center of that warped ball of exploding light. Sweat slides down the sides of his face, mixed with what he refuses to acknowledge as tears. The creature made of the absence of light lifts its head slowly, cocking it to the side, and meets eyes with him. What looks like a flicker of recognition dances through its gray, static eyes, red pupils dilating as it meets his gaze, mouth opening to release a haunting growl. A mix between metal grinding, static, and squeal of tires as he lets the curtain drop and backs away until he slams into a wall.

From there everything is a blur, Jethro wanders out of the museum, and onto the streets. Starting off at a brisk walk that turns to a run, his shoes slamming into pavement repetitively as his mind reels to make sense of what he just saw. Something so familiar yet foreign, a nod to the past he’d reluctantly dug back up for the purposes of art. All the while their haunting chants never leave him, stanza of the odd poem looping through his brain on repeat. Hand clenching and unclenching around the cube in his pocket, he can't help but think he’s stumbled upon something no person human or arcane should.

That’s the last thought he has before blacking out. A lapse of time that turns into him waking up on a bus bench near the docks with sun beating down on him. So close to the Arouet Chasseur Agency he refuses to think of it as anything but a sign.

-The Present: Mid-Morning of October 10, 2024-​

Bloodywood Harbour & Warehouse District​

The Arouet Chasseur Agency​

Jethro's hand fishes the small, metallic cube from his pocket. Holding the thing up so it's the metal gleams silver under the warehouse lights. Head slightly spinning, he licks chapped lips as he turns it over in his hand. Eyeing the strange swirling patterns displayed all over the surface. It was hard to even look at, every time he did he half expected thething to starting vibrating like it had last night. He's so lost in studying it, he almost forgets the small group of people surrounding him. Chin clenching he finally scans over the faces of those who have circled round to hear his story. Focusing particularly on the doctor, he knows the story sounds fake, and that they'd have every right to push him away.

It's his hope they do the opposite, that perhaps the man's hunger for knowledge will outweigh his analytical brain, ready to pick away at any inconsistencies or impossibilities. What he saw defies explanation, he knows and accepts this. When he'd told his dad about the strange being made of shadows he saw outside his window as a kid, he hadn't believed him either. Hoby- his mother's former employer, owner of Hoby's treasure Trove had been the one to salt his windows and call in a favor with a priest. Since then he hadn't seen anything like that being, barely remembers the encounter other than the initial meeting of gazes and it's haunting smile. Fingers shaking around the metal cube he offers it up to the doctor, slightly afraid to even let go.

"You can call me a liar if you want, but this thing- I've never seen anything like it before. And it was there last night. It responded to-to the lights, to the creature, everything in the air was alive, and so was this thing. A-am I making any sense? I can't tell anymore, everything's been a blur since."

 

[Garbage.]

-Bloodywood Harbor & Warehouse District-
-The Arouet Chasseur Agency-
Dr. Voltaire Chariot​

---

Voltaire's expression shifted to one of staunched curiosity; Something was nagging at his associate and it wasn't something he had seen from him before. He looked exhausted, and it only made him wonder what brought him here. The doctor rose his hand and brought some distant machine to life; his eyes glinted with a 'grid-like' pattern whenever he used his ability. Coffee started to brew.

He was many things, but a terrible host was not among them. Voltaire seated himself across from Jethro, crossing his legs with his fingers steepled. He trusted the people he put interest into so he took this seriously. Ingvar leaned against the wall, listening while dimly watching the lights in the hallway flicker, blowing smoke up into the ceiling vent.

The story Jethro told them seemed like a fairytale; Voltaire lived a fine line of understanding supernatural existence while maintaining a rigid belief on science and facts. This story wanted to upend all of these beliefs. Cultists? Esoteric entities from the great beyond? Eloquent, well worded chants? He didn't know what to make of it, Jethro didn't seem to be lying, but what brought even further credibility was the strange object he procured from his pocket. The same cube he had found in the parking lot.

"I dont believe you are lying, but such concepts go against every law this plane has...It sounds like this construct is a clue, especially if it reacted to this...ritual." Voltaire's aversion to the occult was overshadowed by the sudden interest of this artifact; Jethro offered it up almost reluctantly.

"Do you have any symptoms? Magic can have very similar properties to flora and fauna; are you experiencing any psychotropic side effects?" Voltaire probed, taking the cube with a slow, meticulous patience. He knew such items could enthrall those who take possession of them. "I suspect you were debating whom to take this to, I won't betray your trust in picking me." It was usually Akari who attended to test subjects clients, but Jethro was among a few that could pull Voltaire from his work. There was a sneaking suspicion that this was a mouth of madness he was standing at the precipice of. Hypocrisy always devoured the litany of logical leaps he copiously used; He found himself ecstatic about the possibility of such a creature existing. A god made of the very things they weren't.

A chirp brought forth two cups of coffee from slots in the walls; He never forgot someone's coffee preference. He didn't know what part of his brain that worm existed in, but he couldn't help think it was taking up otherwise valuable real estate. Voltaire offered him a cup, sipping on his own as he inspected the cube with his other hand. He could, at the very least, identify if this was a machine or arcane. He had his particulars, but his family's torturous homeschooling involved a great deal of occultism.

"Let us see if I can figure out what this fascinating thing is, I wonder if it was left intentionally..."

"Inspection Engram: Classify Object"

Spoiler

 

[strawberryspiral]

-Bloodywood Harbour & Warehouse District-​

-The Arouet Chasseur Agency-​

Jethro Agot​

Piping hot black coffee hits his lips, filling Jethro’s shivering body with a much needed warmth. The familiar scent wafting over his nose, bringing his mind to the present day despite lurking thoughts of hysteria. Voltaire’s belief in him is another soothing balm to the disturbing images staining his consciousness. At least someone is willing to give him the chance.

"I dont believe you are lying, but such concepts go against every law this plane has...It sounds like this construct is a clue, especially if it reacted to this...ritual." The scientist speaks of laws, planes, and a construct, all things he knows of, but hasn’t delved into with narrowed focus.

Jethro’s always preferred history, facts, fantastical stories he could put together with historical proof. He saw something similar to it as a child, in a nightmare- a mere figment of his jacked up child psyche that he’d worked so hard to convince himself couldn’t have been real. This thing, whatever it was, looked so similar to that thing in his nightmare from childhood all he can do is assume they’re related somehow.

“Do you have any symptoms? Magic can have very similar properties to flora and fauna; are you experiencing any psychotropic side effects?"

The doctor’s voice breaks through his rambling thoughts, mentions psychotropic side effects, Jethro’s glances to his hands as the doctor carefully takes the metal cube from his fingers. “I-I’m not sure, just, uh- a little out of sorts. Exhausted, a bit on edge, but that’s to be expected. I slept on a park bench last night, apparently.”

It had been a surprise to wake up to a blue sky overhead and the smell of salt water mixed with smog. Jethro couldn’t exactly remember much from last night after running out the double doors of the museum .Had he left his car at the museum? Did he drive somewhere and hop out, only to walk miles in the direction of the warehouse district? Something about it was unsettling, Jethro didn’t like losing track of time like this.

Imagining the weight of that metal cube, it's smooth, yet cold texture almost burned in his fingertips last night, buzzing away with hidden life. Last night those strange looping lines etched on its surface had shifted and glimmered iridescent under the faint candle lights. The temperature of it against his fingertips is like a flame so hot it’s cold, similar to the frozen pits of hell, he’s read Dante’s Inferno. Knows much of the foretold underworld from stories of fiction. That’s what’s getting to him, turning his entire world upside down. How’s he supposed to go to the Jubilee now, being held in the same place as…

That thing, the Ancient One? Is that what they’d called it?

Jethro’s not so sure anymore, he needs to sleep, but something tells him if he tries now he won’t. There’s a gnawing inside of him, as if something sinister lurked around every corner. Fear is alive within him, famished and hungry for answers to explain away the beast of shadows he saw eat a man whole.

"I suspect you were debating whom to take this to, I won't betray your trust in picking me."

Voltaire says in a steady, patient tone, and Jethro just nods. Unsure of how to respond as the sound of razor sharp teeth sinking into crunching bones and squelching flesh fills his ears. That image- a clothed figure being snatched up by a hand made of pure, swirling, darkness hovers in his mind’s eye. With spindly fingers as long as his arms and rows upon rows of jagged shark teeth. Blood dripped down its elongated neck, thin torso made of protruding rows of ribs, and a caved in abdomen, as it was starving to death.

“-I wonder if it was left intentionally..." The doctor ponders aloud and Jethro flinches at even the suggestion.

What if someone wanted him to find it? What if he had taken something not even meant for him? That was far more likely, and horrifying, because that meant they could be out there looking for him, or rather, for their fancy cube.

His eyes squeeze shut for a couple seconds, rubbing over his face with a shaky hand. He takes another sip of the smooth brew, feeling some life return to his cold skin.

“I have to go back there you know… I have to, no choice about it. I’m nominated for some- some elitist award show garbage. My boss is expecting me and she’s not- I don’t wanna cause tension there. She’s relentless.” Just thinking about Mae Lihn Vuong's potential wrath is enough to make his already chilled body shiver. The fallout of not following her orders usually ended in catastrophe, unless, you were someone she avlued and wanted to keep around- then you could do no wrong.

The doctor busies himself with the strange cube in his hand, "Inspection Engram: Classify Object." Jethro inhales sharply, holding his breath to wait for the diagnosis of the strange anomaly he'd stumbled upon last night.



"Engram Inspection into Unidentified Object

Report Status: Incomplete

Dimensions: 10cm x 10cm x 10 cm

Weight: 3.5 kg, anomalously dense for its size.

Primary alloy: Unidentifiable metal, resonating with a frequency outside standard elemental spectrums. Material and full mechanics elude known classifications, possibly predating recorded magical or technological systems.

Surface texture: Smooth, mirror-like, yet absorbs all light. Metallic to the touch, but when observed closely, etched with shifting glyphs and patterns similar to ancient Fae sigils.

Technology: Displays traits of advanced construction techniques; potential link to techno-arcana hybrids. Beneath sigils are no visible seams or tool marks—suggests construction beyond mortal craftsmanship.

Energetic Signature: Traces of Fae magic detected- predating modern spellcraft. Encasing sigils is a faint lattice of light, creating the impression of a woven barrier designed to bind what lies within. The woven barrier pulsates rhythmically on a subatomic level with unidentifiable energy signature, resembling a living heartbeat. Exhibits properties of dynamic fusion, continuously cycling and combining various energy threads into a singular, potent force. It feels intensely focused, as though it is actively seeking alignment with its environment. When observed through arcane spectrometers, the energy appears as iridescent waves, flowing like liquid light interwoven with faint shadows.

Glyphs Classification: Appear to form converging seals, seals show signs of wear, likely due to prolonged containment and strain from energy contained within.

Origin Hypothesis: Object is ancient, bearing traces of connections to forgotten leyline structures or dimensional rifts. It resonates with frequencies not found in this realm, hinting at an otherworldly origin. Unlike conventional magic, the cube’s energy seems self-sustaining, as though fueled by an internal source that continually regenerates itself.

Report Conclusion: Unknown object is a convergence of unfathomable arcane forces and alien mechanics, likely crafted by or for beings far removed from this dimension. The cube’s energy defies traditional categorization, acting as a hybrid of arcane resonance and dimensional anomalies. It feels both profoundly alien and deeply integrated with this plane, as though it is a fragment of a greater, incomprehensible whole.

Warning: Extreme caution is advised. Recommend containment in Nullium shielding if study is to continue."



An exaggerated sigh leaves his lips as he nods to himself. Of course, what was he expecting? Jethro just had to pick up some sort of cursed, subatomic, power source. His whole life he'd always thought of himself as unlucky. Always the type to trip down a flight of stairs or return home to find all his stuff taken. It was like the world took joy in his continuous suffering, starting from the day he was six years old and woke up from that nightmare of a being made of shadows, just like the one last night. Only to then find out his poor mother had died in some random automobile accident- at this point all he can do is try to shield himself from the onslaught of his seemingly hexed future, starting with the IHCA Jubilee Awards tonight.

Dr. Voltaire had never failed him before, business-wise Jethro trusts his discernment more than most. So, even though it hurts his pride- Jethro’s not stupid enough to push aside his desire to reach out for some sort of backup or support. If anyone could help him avoid the jaws of that thing- whatever it may be tonight, it’d be the doctor and his ragtag crew of arcana outsiders.

"So, assuming you're interested in investigating this further... What would you say to someone attending the ceremony along side me tonight? I'm not, have never been interested in this elitist showmanship, but, but I do have to go. So, it'd be helpful- if one of you did too. I'll pay, after what I saw I couldn't ask you to put yourself in danger on my behalf for free, of course. And if the answers no, I'll understand. I wouldn't want to put myself in that situation, who knows what direction tonight will go in?" Jethro asks, swallowing his pride along with the rest of his coffee in one gulp.

 

[Ayama]

With Phillip and Andrei, walking to Lucky Sun

Julian turned when Phillip entered the room. Though they hadn't interacted much before, he was glad to have him along on this case. Montgomery was smart, and his knowledge of the arcane world was extensive- he might be able to spot something that he and Andrei couldn't.

The older man stood, tall and gaunt and grim as ever. Julian could swear the temperature in the room dropped by a couple degrees- unlike him and Andrei, Montgomery's demeanor rarely put people at ease, but on a case like this, he reasoned that the detective's frosty exterior could actually be an advantage; after all, if someone was out to harm Jessica Tidal, it would be best to have someone intimidating on hand who might dissuade the stalker from taking violent action.

Julian gritted his teeth. He had interviewed the Tidal twin a few days earlier- he had seen first-hand just how scared and anxious she was, and his usual protective instincts had flared up at the sight; if someone was out to hurt this innocent young girl, Detective Blackthorne sure as hell wasn't about to let them get away with it.

He relaxed his clenched fists and tried to focus back on the conversation around him.

Montgomery's first inquiry matched Julian's own, as did his reaction to the captain's response. None of them were comfortable with the knowledge that, at an event as large as this, the three of them were all that stood between Jessica Tidal and harm coming to her- these were not reassuring odds.

But they had a job to do, and they had to do it regardless of whether or not they had the manpower.

Julian was surprised when Montgomery suggested going back through the case files instead of talking to Lucky Sun. The detective was a man of action, through and through, and the idea of sitting in some room going through files when they could just be out there talking to people directly didn't really compute.

Of course, he shouldn't have been surprised that Montgomery would take this approach- the man was a dedicated researcher, believing in the information that could be found in the little details. This was, in all likelihood, probably the reason why the captain had wanted him on this case, given that the information he and Andrei had so far acquired hadn't yet yielded any tangible leads.

Still, he let out a silent sigh of relief when Andrei agreed with his suggestion. Trawling through files was all well and good, but it definitely wasn't his favorite part of the job.

When the captain told them they'd be posing as security at the event, a small frown creased Julian's forehead. He didn't think of himself as being particularly well-known, however he had dealt with cases that involved a few of the Jubilee's attendees in the past, and he worried that someone recognizing him could jeopardize their assignment.

This worry was exacerbated by the captain's hard stare in his direction. Clearly, she doubted his ability to successfully pull off a covert operation, given his tendency to jump in without thinking and worry about the consequences later.

Just as with Ramirez's earlier inquiry about the disturbance outside her office, Julian carefully schooled his features into an expression of neutral innocence. And just as it had earlier, it neither fooled nor mollified her in the slightest.

Julian was relieved to be out from under the captain's scrutiny and back in the fresh (though still pumpkin spice-scented) air. They walked in silence for a bit, Julian discreetly watching Andrei out of the corner of his eye. This case bothered the detective, he knew, and he couldn't help but worry a little- Andrei's gentle, sensitive nature made him occasionally susceptible to lack of confidence and insecurity.

It was funny, he thought- most people tended to stereotype werewolves as being hot-blooded and violent but, between the two of them, Julian fit the stereotype much more than Andrei ever did. In fact, he didn't think he'd ever actually seen his partner lose control even once, no matter the situation, and Andrei was usually the one who got Julian to calm down, and picked up after him or covered for him whenever he made too big of a mess.

Julian had once asked him why he didn't stand up for himself in the face of an asshole liked D'Aprile, and Andrei had surprised him by saying that maybe Nels had a good reason for being so antagonistic towards werewolves. Julian had felt conflicted at this response. On the one hand, the fact that his partner could feel empathy for someone who treated him with nothing but scorn and disrespect was both impressive and admirable. On the other hand, Julian felt there should be a limit to being a nice guy and, in his worldview, people chose how they viewed and treated other people, and there was no excuse for behavior like D'Aprile's- even if it did stem from some sort of childhood trauma.

As the trio left the station and began making their way through downtown LN, Julian looked around with his usual mixture of sadness and hope. The city had issues- there was no doubt about that-, and there was way more violence than he wished there was, but every day he also got to see random acts of kindness, and people getting along despite their differences, and seeing these things every day reminded him why he'd decided to do this job in the first place.

He was brought out of his ruminations by the sound of Andrei's voice.

Twilight Zone? Julian thought, cracking a smile. Is this really that weird for you?

Andrei's mention of being surprised by how many crimes in the city involved arcana reminded Julian of his partner's rather sheltered, innocent upbringing. Julian may have been brought up in the lap of luxury but, his father being a Divine Judge himself, he had always instilled in him an awareness of the terrible things that arcanes could do, and he'd seen more than his fair share of atrocities after he left home and traveled the world.

At Andrei's mentioning of the Divine Judges himself, there was a barely noticeable tightening to the set of Julian's lips. He had grown up believing his father's rhetoric about the Judges' sacred mission to 'protect supernaturals from themselves'. However, after being disowned, he had seen first-hand how, more often than not, envious or frightened humans were the ones perpetrating atrocities against arcanes, out of resentment or fear.

When it came to the Order, Julian was torn. On the one hand, he still held remnants of his childhood indoctrination, and he couldn't deny that, as the body enforcing the rule of law in the arcane world, they did important work. On the other hand, he found their insistence that 'humans were the only ones who could be trusted with magic' to be the height of hypocrisy, born from a selfish desire to keep all the power concentrated in their hands and, no matter what they might profess to believe, a mistrust, jealousy, and fear of all arcane beings, who came by their gifts naturally.

Julian sighed, the subject of conversation having brought up some of his own darker thoughts.

"The AIU is a good idea," he began thoughtfully, "but we don't have the resources we need to do this job properly. We should have more arcanes actually in the department, and our mundane members should be trained in conflict resolution and de-escalation, and educated on arcane customs and culture." He sighed again.

"We're not going to be able to accomplish our goals if they keep saddling us with idiots like D'Aprile, and letting guys like that be on the task force is just making the problem worse."

He turned his head, watching for Andrei's reaction, but also wondering how Montgomery would respond. If there was one thing Julian respected the man for, it was his dedication to justice- even if it meant pursuing a rogue wizard; something that the Order would never be willing to admit was even a possibility. After all, they were the only ones who could be trusted with power, right? It was inconceivable that one of their own could have gone rogue.

Julian shook his head at the thought, bitterness evident in his features.

Height of hypocrisy indeed.

The Bloodhound

Julian Adrian Blackthorne

code by Nano

 

[Ayama]

At the Tidal mansion, with Willow, assistants, and the Tidal twins

Lillian smiled politely at Molly and Sammantha as they began fussing with outfits and accessories nearby. She liked the stylist and assistant well enough, though she didn't really know them that well.

As they pulled out the looks they had selected for the twins that day, Lillian's critical eye evaluated what makeup palette would go best with the outfits.

She didn't fail to notice Jessi's vacant look as she stared into the depths of her fish tank as if wishing to drown herself in there with them, or the concern in Willow's voice. Whatever was bothering her, it had to be something serious.

When Jess walked over and plopped herself down into the makeup chair, complaining about the dryness of her skin and beginning to rifle indiscriminately through the veritable array of products Lillian had spent over an hour painstakingly arranging the night before, Lillian smiled indulgently.

The older Tidal twin was so much like a child at times, and Lillian had always liked children. She calmly and patiently took Jessica's hands, gently but firmly pushing her back into the chair before lifting her chin with one hand and tilting her head first this way then that, critically eyeing the texture of her skin with clinical detachment.

Through the sensitive pads of her fingers, the shapeshifter could feel just how dry and distressed the merfolk's skin was, and her sharp wolf eyes could pick out just how wide the pores were.

“I need to look perfect, and my dark circles are going to fuck everything up!” Jessica wailed as she examined her own reflection. Lillian resisted the urge to either laugh or roll her eyes and merely pushed her back towards the chair again.

First, a skin treatment, she thought, going through a few different clay masks. She had several hours to get the twins ready, and Jessi's skin could clearly use the extra attention.

She selected one with particularly strong nourishing and hydrating properties- something ridiculously expensive imported all the way from the Dead Sea. That was one thing about working with rich celebrities- they insisted on having the best of everything, and so Lillian's current palette of products would've made pretty much any other makeup artist in the world swoon with envy.

As she carefully applied the clay to Jessica's sallow skin, Lillian sniffed the air a couple of times. Ah, there it was- that strange, slightly acrid smell- like seaweed left in the sun. She hadn't spent a lot of time around merfolk in her day, so it had taken her a while to realize that that strange smell was, for them, the smell of discomfort, anxiety, or fear.

Lillian gave a small, sympathetic smile as she continued to apply the clay. She knew what it was like to live in fear- all too well-, and what Jess had been experiencing lately was clearly something beyond just insecurity or apprehension- something had her genuinely afraid.

The shapeshifter silently sighed. She wished she could confide in the merfolk- tell her that she wasn't alone. After all this time with no one to really talk to, having a friend she could actually share her troubles with was almost like a physical ache inside her chest- a longing she couldn't shake.

But she knew it wouldn't be safe, and it wouldn't be wise. Aside from the very real danger it represented to her, it could also endanger anyone she told, and it would be a pretty terrible way for her to repay the kindness and trust that she'd been shown to imperil the people who had given her a chance and supported her like this.

So she did what she could- comfort the twins and ease them through their insecurities, and do the best job possible so they could feel confident that they at least looked great.

She finished applying the clay and gently tilted Jessica's head back onto the pillow attached to the top of the chair.

"No moving, no talking," Lillian reminded her in her quiet voice. The clay needed twenty minutes to set and seep deeply into the merfolk's skin to achieve the desired effect before it could be washed off.

As she began to sort through her products again, thinking about what would go on first after Jessi's clay treatment was done, she heard Willow 'helping' Jaz with the wax strips on the other side of the room.

Lillian couldn't help flinching every time she heard one of the strips come off. As a furry animal herself, the idea of forcibly removing any sort of body hair for any reason was absolutely abhorrent to her, and she had never understood some species' obsession with hairlessness. Hair was natural- it was protection and a sign of health and strength, and removing it for any reason was just unnatural and downright wrong.

She was distracted from her ruminations by the sound of Jessica's voice.

The merfolk had (unsurprisingly) decided to ignore her reminder about being quiet, unable to contain her overflowing anxiety.

"... really hope you can do something about this skin, because I cannot go to this thing looking like I just crawled out of a shallow grave- I mean everyone will be there, and if Salem gives me that damn pitying look of hers I swear I would just die! Also, we need to make sure the photographers and reporters are properly briefed this time, because last time they asked the most inappropriate questions and they would never get my good side. I mean, 'if you have sushi does that make you a cannibal?'- really? And do we have anyone over there now who can check that our art is being properly displayed? If they put it in the wrong lighting no one will be able to tell what the pieces are really trying to say, and I'm not about to..."

Lillian was nodding along amiably, all while wondering how she could go about treating Jessi's skin if she refused to keep still.

Despite the low-level annoyance, the shapeshifter could tell that focusing on the little grievances and irritations was helping to distract Jessica from whatever had her so fundamentally distraught, so she approved of her using the outlet.

She decided to wet a towel and wipe off the clay early, and then use a more active mask that she could rub into the merfolk's skin herself, even as she kept talking. The soothing motion would achieve the dual purpose of working the material into Jessi's skin and providing a relaxing facial massage at the same time.

The White Wolf

Lillian Thomas

code by Nano

 

[Ayama]

In the office, with Jethro, Ingvar and Voltaire

In response to her reassurance, the handsome salamander slid up silently alongside her as she looked out into the warehouse, pulling a small satin drawstring pouch from his coat pocket and slipping it into her hand with a wink.

Akari's eyes went wide, everything else momentarily forgotten as she eagerly opened the pouch to reveal its contents. A small pile of what appeared to be crystals winked back up at her, in a beautiful deep purple color nicely offsetting the soft lilac of the fabric- they looked like jewels.

The Demi-Fae looked excitedly at the art dealer. He'd promised that he would bring something for her the next time he dropped by the office, and it seemed he hadn't forgotten.

Akari smiled when she saw Ingvar. Voltaire's assistant had resented her pretty much ever since she'd first arrived, but the Demi-Fae was blissfully oblivious to that fact. She just found Voltaire's Frankenstein-like experiment fascinating, and one of her favorite pastimes was electrocuting Ingvar when he wasn't expecting it to see what sort of interesting effects occurred (a habit which, surprisingly, had done nothing to endear her to him).

She giggled when he asked if Jethro was here to see Voltaire, as though determined to be deemed useful even though there was essentially no other reason the art dealer would be here, and even though Akari had loudly shouted it to the entire warehouse only moments before.

A guffaw escaped her at the admonishment about the shouting in question. As he limped down the hallway away from them, she called after his retreating figure

"Well which is it then? Either I shout, or I break your precious intercoms- you can't have it both ways!" A spark of electricity danced from her fingers as if to accentuate her point.

She smiled as the sound of clicking heels on concrete announced the arrival of her employer and, for all intents and purposes, partner-in-crime. Voltaire's open, excited demeanor contrasted greatly with Jethro's agitated one, and she wondered if today might bring about some sparks of a different kind...

When the art dealer suggested that Voltaire might want to sit down, Akari could smell a good story, and she immediately curled herself up, cat-like, into the nearest cushy chair, electricity arcing idly from one hand to the other as she listened intently.

She had to admit- the salamander was good at telling ghost stories.

The Demi-Fae found herself on the edge of her seat as he skillfully set up the scene- the late-night work, Antony's nervous superstition, the creepy atmosphere of the museum after dark...

By the time they reached the twist, with all the cars in the parking lot, the security guards missing from their posts, the floating lights in the concert hall and the mysterious silver box, she was on tenterhooks, eyes riveted to the dark expression on Jethro's face.

Ghost stories had always been a favorite of hers- ever since she was a kid. Her Japanese family had told some pretty great ones, but it was always the utterly terrifying ones told in the endless nights of the Unseelie Court that she'd loved the best (mostly because she knew that, horrifying as they might be, they were definitely all true).

She stared at Jethro avidly as he described the creepy, cult-like ceremony, picturing everything in her mind's eye. At the mention of the 'Hymn to Devouring Dawn', however, she frowned, the words eliciting a strange sort of... familiarity.

When the salamander began to recite the Hymn itself, the prickly feeling at the back of Akari's neck intensified, sharpening at the words 'Lord of Shade' and 'Ancient One'. Her frown deepened with increasingly confusing recognition as Jethro described the dark figure as being made of the absence of light.

She felt a thrill as the scene concluded with the figure literally devouring one of its worshippers, seeing the spray of blood as if she were there herself.

An Old One... she thought in awe. He saw an Old One.

By the time he finished his story, Jethro's eyes had a haunted look about them. He focused his attention on the cube he'd pulled out of his pocket, as though to prove that this didn't all just happen in his head (not that Akari remotely believed that).

She, too, found her eyes drawn to the gleaming metal object as it flashed in the salamander's delicate fingers, the swirling patterns etched on the surface hypnotically capturing her gaze, tickling that prickly feeling at the back of her neck.

She licked her lips as the cube passed from Jethro's hands to Voltaire's, throat dry, pupils dilated, and breathing shallow. She'd never felt such longing for an object before- usually the only thing that brought about this feeling of painful anticipation for her was causing other creatures pain or death- but, for some reason, the sight of that silver box was almost more than she could bear.

She was so absorbed, in fact, that she barely noticed the smell of brewing coffee- something which, ordinarily, would at the very least draw a wrinkled nose and exclamation of disgust. But her entire being was focused on the box, eyes fixed on it unblinkingly as though hypnotized.

She barely heard a word of Jethro and Voltaire's conversation, so focused was she on the cube, though a few words of Voltaire's analysis did manage to break through the fog in her brain.

'Anomalously dense', 'unidentifiable metal', 'predating recorded magical or technological systems', 'absorbs all light', 'shifting glyphs', 'ancient Fae sigils', 'beyond mortal craftsmanship', 'Fae magic', 'living heartbeat', 'otherworldly origin'... The more Voltaire laid out about the box, the greater Akari's feeling of uncomfortable recognition became.

She barely paid attention to Jethro requesting that one of them come with him to the ball that evening. Voltaire had put the box down onto one of his work surfaces, and she'd risen from her chair, drawn magnetically forward.

She reached out her hand towards it, unable to resist this strange compulsion. When her fingers were inches from the silver surface, a spark of electricity arched from them to the cube without her even willing it to, briefly connecting them.

When it did, everything around her went black.

She blinked in the sudden darkness, her eyes adjusting to show a shadowy jungle of tall, ancient trees. Though Akari had spent most of her life in cities, she could tell from the hum of living energy surrounding her that this must be an ancient Fae grove, and she was awed by the pressure of the power surrounding her.

Her eyes adjusting to the dark a little more, she realized that the trees were, themselves, covered in strange, swirling glyphs- glyphs that looked exactly like the ones on the surface of the box.

She felt the hum of magic in the air, the hairs rising on the back of her neck as she heard voices all around her and at the same time somehow inside her head.

The trees... the Demi-Fae thought incredulously- they're talking to me.

She frowned, struggling to make out their words, as the prickly feeling told her there was danger here.

It wasn't often (hardly ever, really) that Akari Aine Akamine felt fear- after all, she was just about the scariest thing people were likely to encounter herself- but the hum of power that surrounded her was ancient- ancient, powerful... and evil.

As the acrid scent of corrupting arcane magic reached her nostrils, the assassin finally managed to make out the words the trees had been whispering.

You should not be here... Turn back... Return...

Akari frowned, wondering at the warning. The voices were sharp and ethereal at the same time.

There is danger... You must return... Turn back... Daughter of the Frost King.

Akari jolted back to reality with a sharp gasp, finding her hand still outstretched and fingers inches from the box's surface, though no longer arcing electricity. The connection had been broken.

She turned her head slowly towards the two men, her hand gradually dropping back down to her side, now agitated with a familiar tremor.

"You two should go to the ball," she said, voice uncharacteristically hoarse.

"I have to bring this to my father."

The Voltaic Viper

Akari Aine Akamine-Havros

code by Nano