Fantasy ••• ℬяιтαηηιcα ℒσsт ••• | [O/A]

[Crazy Trey-n]

Dominick Durham

Goliath

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WHERE: Local Library
DOING: Fraternizing
WITH: Seiko
CREDIT: WIP

The foreigner's smile was acceptance enough of his company. At that, he was equal parts grateful and relieved.

It seemed as though the fellow had been doing a fair share of reading already. He'd but a moment to ponder on how long his new companion had been at it before the man in question gestured to the only unoccupied seat. Dom clumsily stepped over the disheveled books while Seiko introduced himself and organized them into piles. He leaned over and placed a hand against the downy cushion of the chair, applying enough pressure to assure himself of its sturdiness. Its legs shifted against the hardwood floor as an objection to the weight upon them when he hunkered down onto it and he was forced to moderately squeeze his shoulders together in order to fit between its wings, but it otherwise held fast. Taking a seat was something he'd been tentative of even before his bones were outfitted with the solidity of metal. Now, it would forever be a gamble.

Dom presented a sheepish smile of his own as apology, placed his hat on the arm of the chair, and settled in just in time to catch onto the pause.

"I am Dominick," he replied in kind. "An honor to meet you, Seiko. We're like in the line of our work, in a way, but I have never met someone from Japan! I'd hazard a guess that it's quite different from England." That was like to be certain. Dom had heard of Japan in passing. They weren't as involved in the war or the business of Templars in general as far as he was aware, but he'd no doubt that even there, they weren't unknown to the long-lived of the Earth. "And while I'm no good for being on time, neither am I a stranger to God and his hand in their order... what has you curious?"

The priest had always been an avid listener. While he lent his ear to Seiko, he couldn't help but to feel a sense of unspoken kinship with the man. Despite a difference in regards to the faith that was made clear from the start, they both seemed to hold high esteem for a set of individually defined tenets, which held similarities of their own. Duty, loyalty, belief... even the excitement and adrenaline of battle, he admitted to himself. Though he was ashamed of the thought of war as a necessity at all.

"They fight under the name of God but I can’t really understand how they fit into the same picture."
"Maybe I’m thinking too personally, but I can’t relate to them at all."
"And when I place myself in their shoes I don’t see how they are choosing any of them!?"

Dom watched his counterpart's features shift to express what he felt, from confusion to frustration, and he wondered if the grief he perceived to be underlying the surface was truly there. There was certainly more than met the eye to the man. Then and there, however, Seiko purely wanted clarity and the thought of that alone was uplifting enough to broaden his smile ever so mildly.

“So I hope you can help me understand, friend... what do they fight for?”

The question caught him off guard. When Dom thought on it, he realized that Seiko had been the first one to ever ask it of him, and his recent uncertainty regarding the Templars delayed what would have been an otherwise immediate response. More time had passed than he wanted to admit before he was able to rid himself from the reverie. When he did, he found that his gaze was cast down in reverence. The familiar imprint of the cross that always hung about his neck was there to greet him, vaguely distinguishable against his chest and just out of sight.

"I understand," he began as response, "because you very well may be right. Looking in from the outside, it can be difficult to see their war as anything but a needless or losing one, and that's to say nothing of the Templars themselves isn't it? I'd imagine that seeing them as a mass of zealots is an easy thing to do." Dominick knew it all too well as of late. "Perhaps there is no real fight at all, as some might say."

But when he recalled those he'd come to know since he'd had the pleasure of meeting them - Holly, Rene, Alexei, and even the Overseer with all of his severity - Dom realized that the Templars weren't just a name. They weren't something to solely be feared, or even revered. He leaned forward, forearms resting against his thighs and his hands clasped tightly together, with his eyes seeking out Seiko's once more.

“Perhaps it is exactly as you said earlier; a choice, though not nearly as restricted as it appears. While it may be God or glory that drives them, it could also be that they fight for families who wait for them at home, or an old friend across the sea they only ever get to see by their handwriting scrawled in a letter. Perhaps they fight because they're afraid of what they're up against. Vengeance could be another reason. As is love, I'd wager." He paused just long enough to guffaw loudly at the thought of the most cynical members of the order fighting gallantly in the name of 'love'. "Maybe for others, they see it as nothing more than the right thing to do. After all, Seiko, would you abandon your ideals if you were fighting for what you believed in with all your heart?"

The keeper of the library made an appearance the moment after he'd finished speaking. Dominick had encountered enough clockwork hearts - typically on the wrong end of the blade or fang - to know that their hearing was superior and instinctively went silent, yet he noticed that he didn't go stiff as he typically did in their presence. What surprised him most was that she approached as if she were intruding. There'd only been one vampire he knew who had such humility and never had there been a timid one.

"I apologize for interrupting, but it grew darker even quicker than I hoped it would. With any luck you both found your stay a welcome one and will come again..?" She trailed off and clasped her hands together tightly, staring at Seiko a bit longer than she likely intended to. "If you wish to purchase any books on the way out, feel free to see me up at the front desk and I'll gladly help any way that I can."

With that, she received a warm smile and a nod from Dom as way of thanks, offering them each the same in kind before venturing off again.

"She quite likes you, mate." Dom's voice was kept low so that only he and Seiko could hear the words. The bellowing laugh that came a moment after, on the other hand, was far from such. It took him a moment to settle down, the laughter coming in short waves like ripples upon a lake, and he turned to the window with an exhale as the last of it faded away. The dregs of a sunset lingered on the horizon, grasping at the rooftops of New Orleans in swathes of purple and blue.

"In the end, they're people like everyone else. Do you think its too improbable to believe that for some, it's merely a matter of finally seeing something that had only been a dream before, and wishing for that dream to retain itself as reality?"

He remembered it with a low rumbling chuckle - stories of the sun had been the only ones to stray from the teachings of the Bible, and they'd always been his mother's favorite to whisper to him before he slept during the rare nights she was there.

"Whatever the case, lets hope it ends with compassion and peace for all!" Dominick palms were against his knees as he stood from the chair, stretching to rid himself of the stiffness in his limbs. "Otherwise, it seems as though we must be going soon. May I help you carry your books back to their places? It's the least I could do for you, having shared your space with me after I so eagerly invaded it."

 

[Leola_Asarai]

Kenna Mac Amery

Incendiu

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WHERE: The Brass Canine
WITH: Bjorn Thorburn
DOING: Dinner Time
CREDIT: Olivier Ponsonnet
PLAYLIST: Coming Soon

A new day had dawned, but there had been little overnight to calm the teen down. The odd set of circumstances that had brought her home to the Queen herself. Kenna had tried to keep herself calm, but being here had made her uncomfortable, but there was little chance of leaving without getting some things off her chest. Maeve was sitting back in the green chair Kenna had occupied the night before, her eyes were flittering over the pages of a worn tome, the leather bruised and beaten over time, the cover indecipherable. As Kenna had been instructed, she joined the blonde-haired woman in the parlour, her young features hard with brows furrowed as she entered, a stark contrast to the raven’s neutral expression.

"So," Maeve began, closing the book and putting it aside as the teen sat, "Tell me more about what you've been through." Kenna scoffed at the sentiment as her body plonked down on the chair opposite. “So, now you want to talk?" she said, bitterness from the night before filtered through, having been sent to bed like a child. She was somewhat surprised the 'Queen' hadn't come up with another excuse to avoid her. "I wanted to talk then, too," Maeve responded with her voice even and flat. "However, it wouldn't have been fair to you if I tried to while I was distracted with other matters."

"Ah yes, you are 'Queen' now, you have duties to attend to," Kenna replied with a roll of her eyes. "How lucky of me to even be in your presence." It was exaggerated and sarcastic, and just a little bit snarky. Kenna didn’t care. "I would only say lucky because you made it this far-- and I'm assuming-- on your own."

A small huff escaped Kenna before a slight pout crossed her face as she shook her head, finally getting to what she had wanted to get off her chest, longer than she had realised. "You lied to her. Kathrine trusted you, and you sent us here. People were practically waiting on the doorstep when we arrived. She didn’t even have a chance." They didn’t have a chance. Their whole lives had been uprooted. Their hopes of a new life as a family had been destroyed before the opportunity to settle into it could be fully realised.

"I didn't lie to Katherine. When I gave her the documents, and all of the money to get you all started in America, it was in an effort to protect your family, and admittedly as a diversion. Katherine knew that. The human shopkeeper moves to America and the Beast General fights a war in Britain." Maeve shifted, seemingly trying to figure out how to dive deeper and get to the heart of the matter. "The name she bore never carried weight to a Beast in Britain... how could they have known in America...?"

"Congratulations, so at least half your plan worked. We may not have been safe, but you diverted something.” So the whole reason they were here was a distraction. Was their safety even a consideration, or had they just meant to be more pawns in the war? Kenna sighed. “Your name carries more weight than you realise, her downfall was being attached to it."

"It was never my name she carried; it was...." Maeve’s eyes shot away from Kenna, and she cursed under her breath. "It was Bernardo's." The teen had been wrong. Kenna had always assumed that Katherine had carried Maeve’s name to America because she was the one that had set it all up. Seemed she really had no idea what Katherine had been doing in the background of their move here. “I never knew until you told me... If I had known I would've never had told her to do it, Kenna. My intentions were to protect you the best way I knew how, at a time that everything was chaos. After the second raid to Four Points, everyone in the immortal community was desperate for escape or for retaliation. I was trying to get you out of the war as quickly as possible and leave my physical presence in London. If they knew who Kestrel was and where to find him, the Beasts weren't far behind." All the information did nothing. It didn’t stop the anger she held for the raven. Kenna shook her head with a scoff. "So miscalculations were made, and my family had to suffer the consequences of it." The teen looked away. "Again," she muttered more to herself than to Maeve. How many times had her family been made to suffer by the miscalculations of people who thought they knew what was right. "So yeah, lucky me," she said, crossing her arms over her chest defensively, and unbeknownst to her, protectively. "I've been alone a lot longer than you realize, trying desperately to keep my family together while you sit there on your high horse thinking you did enough to protect us." The teen sighed, "you could have done more." Kenna stared pointedly at the blonde. "If I hadn't run into Bjorn last night would you have even given two shits as to what had happened to us? Or had we just become another number in the casualties of your war."

"I thought by staying away and keeping them on my trail, I was protecting you. I thought you were safe," the blonde heaved watching the teen with a guarded expression. "I never knew you became casualties, Kenna. There was no contact, there was never going to be contact in hopes of protection. In fear of contact getting into their hands. We don't know how deeply the Order penetrates in the states. That's why we came here.”
"There is no safe anymore," Kenna said. Anywhere she went, disaster followed. Being on her own was safer, Kenna had learnt that the hard way. She could rely on herself, and right now, that was all she needed. Kenna shook her head, "there is so much happening in this city, you really have no idea how deep it actually runs." Kenna knew she had barely scratched the surface of what was really going on, and if she was honest, she didn't care all that much to know any more. There was only one thing she cared about, the rest of them could be damned for dragging her into a war that was not hers. "I know more than I let on," Maeve said quietly. The teen had little trust in that. The woman hadn't even known she was Queen. What a joke.

Green eyes widened as realisation seemed to strike her. "Where is your brother?"

At the mention of her brother, the teen froze, her arms tightening around herself as she avoided Maeve's gaze. This was not something she was going to talk about, least of all with Maeve. What would she be able to do? She hardly had a clue what was really going on, she couldn't do anything. A tear rolled down the teens cheek as she shook her head, refusing to talk about it.

The tears sliding down her cheeks was evidence for Maeve to know that Katherine wasn't the only casualty in this. "Kenna... I can't fix what's been done, but I can help going forward. But I need you to be honest with me, lass. What happened?"

What had happened to her brother was her fault. Kenna knew that, and it was up to her to fix it. She didn't need someone coming along and telling her how much she had failed him. Kenna shook her head, "I don't want your help," she said, the anger in her voice raising, tears still lingering in her eyes. "There is nothing you can do or say that is going to change any of this." She knew she could only rely on herself. "I don't need you," Kenna said as she made a move to get up from her chair. She was done with this conversation and the direction it was heading.

"You're right, I can't change anything. But I can help." Maeve kept pressing. "No, you can't," the girl was adamant. What could Maeve possibly do? There was nothing Kenna wanted from her. "What happened to Beau, Kenna? You've been skirting around him all of this time, but why? What aren't you telling me?" Rising from her chair, Kenna yelled pointedly at Maeve. "It is none of your goddamn business!" Irritation rising in her voice. "You don't know me or what I've been through. What the hell makes you think you are entitled to any of it." After everything she had been through, she did not need the judgement that would likely come from Maeve's direction. She had enough guilt to last her a lifetime. "Stop pretending that you actually give a shit. I don’t want your pity or your stupid attempt at trying to repair the damage you've done. It's done. You can't do anything, and I don't want your help. I don't trust you!” she yelled, storming from the room, slamming the door behind her as she left.



Curiosity had got the better of her. He was busy, no one else was around, and Kenna had nothing better to do. She was planning to leave soon, but the curiosity swimming in her mind couldn’t be sated. She had things she wanted to know before she left. Was it right to be snooping around his things? Probably not, but that didn’t mean it was going to stop her. Unsure about what exactly she was looking for, but there was something strange about Jack, and she couldn’t leave without first exploring. If she got nothing, then she would have to go with questions just simmering. After Maeve’s big speech delving into who he was and why he was there last night, she couldn’t help herself. She had feigned uninterest at the time, but she had been listening and taking in the information.

Flicking through some things on his desk, not really paying attention to what was on the papers, Kenna shifted stuff about. The more she looked, however, the more she started to read what was written. "I used to pick locks, before I was taught my manners." a voice chided, "But, I was never really fond of manners myself." Kenna jumped and spun at the realisation that she was no longer alone in the space, the paper she was reading tucked behind her back as she was faced with the man that had spurred her curiosity. He didn't seem overly mad, but she knew from experience that people were not always forefront with what they were truly feeling. "Manners are overrated," she said, making no move to leave the room and no apology came out of her mouth. "I concur," Jack snickered and offered a wink. His expression was without malice, just playful. He moved then, closer to her and the desk. "So, seems like you're just as much a topic of the house as I am."

She relaxed slightly as his demeanour seemed to assure her that she wasn't in trouble, at least not yet. Kenna rolled her eyes, "Why? Because I yelled at your so-called 'Queen'?" She turned away from him, tucking the paper back on the desk. "Which I found titillating, to say the least. I appreciate someone who can put the old girl in her place." Jack crossed his arms, leaning his hip against the desk, "You have questions about me. So, ask." Maeve deserved it, she was still unsure about how honest Maeve was or how much she said was true. Maeve said she wanted to help, but there was little trust Kenna had in the raven. Only time would tell. She stepped away from him as he came closer. "You're weird," she stated. "I just, I don’t get it." Her eyes fell to the papers on his desk again. "You are you, but you’re in the body of the one you love. How does that even work?" She shook her head. "I know Maeve explained last night, but I don’t get it." His story had been hard to listen to, and although she knew it was rude to pry into his business, she couldn’t help herself. She wanted answers, and he seemed to be inviting her to ask. Why not hear it all from the man himself?

Jack raised a brow, but nodded, looking away from her gaze, "I am, aren't I?" He seemed almost hesitant to answer, but he continued regardless. "Mates," he sighed, "Are a tricky thing. I suppose it's a lot like 'love at first sight' if one believes in such things." He pushed off the desk and moved to the small cabinet in the corner, pulling out a glass and a bottle of scotch, "Bernardo and I were lovers... but more than that. Sometimes, people are meant for each other in ways we can't explain. Two souls, meant to be together. Transcending all logic or reason. And when they find one another, if they ever do, they become one. If I were to die, so would Bernardo." He poured a generous glass and made his way to the settee slowly, "I don't understand how I became what I am... but when the Templars took our lives, our bond is what kept us alive. Bernardo's body was sacrificed for my heart, and to my heart, my soul is bound. Because of him, I may exist... Albeit, I feel as though I am one foot in the grave every second I breathe."

Kenna's eye continued to linger on the papers though she wasn't reading what was written. She listened carefully as he tried to explain more about his peculiar situation. Mates bound by love; she could understand that in some regards. Her parents came to mind, their love filled the memories of her childhood with warmth and life. It seemed like a different life, one that was no longer hers to call claim to. "Mate bonds," she scoffed under her breath. If one was to die then so was the other, those words ringing in her mind, wondering if that's how her parents perished. She shook her head, not wanting to think about it right now. Kenna felt sad for him, losing the one he loved by the hands of the Templars only to be reminded of it every time he looked in the mirror. Missing people was an unfortunate part of life, but being bound to someone in such a way and losing them would be heart-breaking.

Sitting down on the chair by his desk, her fingers flicking at the paper. "That . . . Really sucks," she said, not sure what else to input. Jack chuckled, his eyes warming to her as he shook his head, "Yes... It does."

"Can I have one of those?" she asked, indicating to the glass he held in his hand. To her question, he paused. He pursed his lips, hesitating for a long moment before sighing. She had been expecting him to deny her request, but to her surprise he stood and approached the desk, holding out the glass for her, "Have you had scotch before?" a twinkle in his eye. "Maybe once or twice," she said with a smirk. No need to tell him about the drinks she had stolen on nights where she needed to have something to take the edge off. It was never enough to make her drunk, she didn’t want the lack of control of that. The environment was never safe enough. But a drink here and there, to help her sleep mostly when anxiety crept in was enough. "Try it first, see if you like it." She took the glass, taking a small sip tasting it. "Gross, but effective," Kenna said with a slight wince before handing it back. He scoffed, "I'll pretend I didn't hear it," he uttered with a wink, "But, I could give you half of mine, should you change your mind."

Kenna looked sadly at the Jack, almost not asking, fearful she was prying too much but she wanted to know more. "What was Bernardo like?" His smile wavered as he took a quivering breath, pursing his lips thoughtfully for a moment before clicking his tongue, "At his worst, Bernardo was venomous, murderous. Spiteful... But at his best," Jack's eyes misted softly, a weary smile teasing his lips, "Beautiful. Talented and observant. Thoughtful, loving... Selfish in only the way lovers can be. He was perfect. And he was mine." Jack nodded as he turned away, retreating to the settee once more with a burdensome sigh, "He wasn't an innocent man, but he was an honest man, respectable. He didn't deserve his fate..." Jack pressed the bridge of his nose between his index and thumb, cutting himself off. The tears in his eyes made her realise, perhaps she had overstepped. "I wish I could have met him," she said softly, "I'm sorry, I shouldn’t have pried," she felt bad for bringing up things that were still so raw for him.

Jack smirked, shaking his head, "Better you didn't. Bernardo wasn't fond of youth." he replied quietly. With a hand, he brushed aside her apology, "You have burning questions, and I desire to answer them for you, no matter the pain." Kenna smirked slightly at the notion that Bernardo was not fond of youth. That always made for more fun. Nodding when he expressed that he would answer her questions even past the pain, she still took note to be more careful what she asked. Kenna never usually minded about being insensitive, but she found herself not wanting to hurt him.

"How long... How long have you been alone?" Jack asked, voice soft as he found her eyes. "About a year, maybe a little more," she said, trying her hardest to avoid his gaze, but failing. "It feels longer sometimes." He raised a brow, offering her a smirk, "I was alone too when I was a boy... It sucks." A small soft breath of amusement left her as he mirrored her own sentiments from before. It did suck. But it was necessary. She couldn't stay, she knew that. It wasn't safe.

Lightly, he tapped the cushion next to him, beckoning her to join him. Relenting, the teen moved closer to him. She still wasn't entirely sure what to make of him, but there hadn’t been any sense of danger around him if anything his presences was comforting. Joining him on the settee, she got comfortable sitting beside him. "Did you see anything you liked?" he asked, referencing the desk. There was a lot on his desk, and not all of it really made sense to her. Even though she had been snooping, she hadn't really paid attention to what was written. "I'm not much of a reader, probably not the best person to ask."

Jack offered her the glass once more, a token of friendship as he gave her a genuine, albeit tired, smile, "Not much of a reader," he repeated her words, pondering, "Do you prefer to be read to? I was read to when I was a boy before my adoptive mother taught me how to read. And once I did, I never stopped. My favourites were fantastical, whimsical tales of adventure and lands of fae folk. I then came to love poetry and all the scholars of the world." He leaned back, looking over the small bookshelf recessed into the wall next to them, "I find Shakespeare to be my favourite of all. Dark fantasies, blood and wars, lovers torn apart. Tragedies, I love tragedies." he smirked, "They make me feel like my life is less burdensome than it could be." A smile tugged at the corner of the teen's mouth as she accepted the offered glass. "Oh . . . Um, maybe?" Her voice faulted slightly as his words brought back a memory, one she hadn't realised she had buried. "My uh, my father used to read to me," she said, taking a drink. Leaning back in the chair, still nursing the glass close to her, she listened as he spoke with such enthusiasm and excitement for the stories that filled his shelves. Her eyes gazed over the spines the littered the shelf. "I like the way you talk about books and stories. It seems odd but reading tragedies to make this all seem less burdensome sounds nice," she said, the slight smile returning. "What's the most tragic?"

Jack smiled, "Well, I suppose that depends on the type of tragedy you want." a gleam in his eye. Standing, he ran his fingers across the spines of the books, stopping in one particular section, "Tragedy of love?" he asked, "Romeo and Juliet, families at war, lovers that cannot be... Or, there is Hamlet, my personal favourite. A prince who must avenge his murdered father, but he slips into his own madness in the process. Everyone dies in the end." he snickered with glee, "And there is Macbeth, another favourite. Witches and Kings, madness and war." The brunet turned back to her, studying her carefully, "What do you think?"

The tragedies Jack listed off sounded intriguing, all of them having some compelling twist to them "They all sound pretty interesting," she said, contemplating them for a moment. "I want to hear your favourite though. A prince slipping into his own madness seeking vengeance sounds fun." He had a spark of life talking about the stories he wanted to share with her. She couldn't help but get excited for them. It was nice to talk about something other than either of their tragic pasts. Made up stories. She could handle that. "Excellent! I think you'll enjoy it," turning back to the shelf, the brunet pulled out one of the spines and flicked through the pages quickly before nodding, making his way back around the settee. Just before sitting, he paused, smile slipping as he flicked his gaze to her, "O-of course if you had other plans... I don't mean to keep you." Her eyes flicked to the clock, face dropping slightly as she realized the late hour it had become. She hadn't planned to stay another night, she had planned to leave before it got too late, to have enough time find somewhere new to sleep. Kenna turned back to him, about to speak, to excuse herself to leave but, he looked ... disappointed. "No," she said with a shake of her head before she could even second guess her decision. "I don’t have any other plans." One more night. She could afford herself that much, right? Two nights was a limit she would not surpass, but for now, she could have this moment. And such a nice moment it had been.

The hours had ticked by, and she hadn’t even realised she had started to dose off. Nuzzled into Jack, lulled by his soothing voice as he read to her, she had drifted to sleep more soundly than she had in a very long time.



Kenna hadn’t planned to stay another day, but she could seemingly not say no to people. She had been ready to go, planned to ditch out in the morning before anyone could see her go. She had stayed too long, and it was time to leave. As kind as most people were here, Kenna knew, in the long run, it was better to be on her own. Besides, she had to go and find Beau. It was selfish of her stay, knowing that he was still out there. She had an idea of where he was, and she knew she couldn’t delay it any longer. She was going to get supplies and then leave. That was the plan. That is, until, Bjorn caught her before she could get out the door. The offer of a walk had been simple enough, and Kenna knew she could have very easily excused herself from the situation, but she didn’t, and now they had spent almost the entire day. Kenna hadn’t known what to expect, but the day had been rather fun. Unfortunately, he was also making it harder and harder to slip away.

The nagging feeling pulling at her heart was tugging away, reminding her that she was being selfish. She had lost track of time and had now lost a whole day of ground to cover. Still, knowing it in her head and her heart that she should leave, she couldn’t seem to make her feet move in the direction away.

Feet carefully balanced upon the fence posts as they walked down the street, the added height from the fence making her finally taller than the brute of the man beside her. She didn’t know why, but she held such satisfaction from that.

“So where are we going now anyway?” she asked, jumping down as the fence ended and they continued walking up the street. As they drew closer, she slowed her steps realising where they were likely headed. “Yeah, I don’t think they are going to let me in there,” she said, looking at the entrance of the Canine. “I’ve kind of been kicked out a few times.”

 

[Luxura]

Holly Wilshire

alias: GABRIEL

health bar

WHERE: Templar HQ
WITH: Overseer, Judas
DOING: Deligating
CREDIT: AdrianDadich
PLAYLIST:

​

Time was strange; but only more so while soaring over the ocean in an airship. Two days’ time in transit passed in the blink of an eye, but the change in time difference was quite troublesome. Getting the troops on a different clock was a nightmare on short notice, and Holly was already feeling the weariness of it herself.
The days that followed were tinged with not only the stress of exhaustion but keeping the peace. Between timezones-- literally-- and tight quarters, tension within the halls of Paradise balanced on a blade’s edge. Hotheaded Brothers and quick-tongued Sisters did not a pretty couple make, but at least none of them managed to cause a brawl… Well, except for one pair.
Not even to her best efforts did Cain and Ephemera get along. Despite having been spoken to by the Overseer, seeing Cain with another facial injury the following morning in the mess hall had all signs pointed to René. She did her part to check in with her protégé privately later, and while he deigned to address the issue, Holly had a firm enough sense of what may have unfolded to not inquire.

To her delight, Goliath was able to offer her an escape from the madness for a time. In spite of not wanting to bother him with confession, Holly had found her barricades opening to his comradery; much like the time before. The gentle giant had a comforting aura that seemed to put the Angel at ease enough to let her thoughts flow fluent and true from her lips. It was all too easy for the blonde to linger long by his side when the alternative was administrative humdrum, but, as was her duty, Holly met with Jonah to discuss the letter the two leaders had received just as they left Eden.

Within the smartly penned note was an invitation for the Overseer and Gabriel to meet with one Elias Brandt in the French Quarter to discuss their current mission. While this in and of itself was a strange request, curious still was that the note came to them stamped with a High Templar wax seal, and upon the letterhead of the same insignia. Both of them agreed that it was highly unusual for their superiors not to keep them informed of mission particulars, including certain rendezvous-- especially when the mission was of such a high enough importance to pair the Legion with the Blood Sisters in this manner.
Who this contact was also perturbed the Sister. Without more than a name, she had her assistants spend time in the directory and library on board to find any details they could for the remainder of time airborne; though all of their efforts came up short. Holly wasn’t truly fond of going in blind, but for this much secrecy, there must have been validity and weight to the decision. They would oblige… with caution.

​

Landing in the Crescent City had been smooth, but getting Paradise there in the last leg of the journey had been anything but. Met with an opposing, approaching storm it was all hands on deck to make sure they stayed in one piece as they passed through the headwind and hail. Their itinerary was mangled fiercely, deep anxiety pulling the leader of the Sisters to be in a foul mood by the time they arrived safely at their destination.
The base was large enough for their military training needs, and discretely outside the inner core of New Orleans as to not disrupt the citizens too much with their presence… Though that would change shortly once they started to move in.
As soon as the first wave of troops were ready to depart, Holly and Jonah jumped into the steam-powered caravan alongside them. While Americans seemed to have their heads wrapped around electricity far earlier than their European counterparts, many of the common necessities still seemed to run on steam.

The plan was relatively simple: They were to arrive at the Headquarters to establish their connections and set up a working outpost within the city. From there, scouting parties would be assigned and arranged sectioned areas to patrol. In the meantime, Jonah and Holly would review the recruits ready to join the cause, and oversee their training into the ranks. Of course, that had all been before this supposed meeting they were to attend, and with their landing being so late they were just going to have to make do.

The Templar Headquarters was more of a residential property than it was a typical business or sanctioned military complex. Smack in the centre of a street mixed with large mansions and quaint bakeries or bookshops, the neighbourhood was seemingly wealthy and full of aristocratic charm. At least they had managed to set themselves up in the right area if nothing else.
Greeted at the gate, the Brothers and Sisters filed into the large home. Instructed to find their own spaces and to prepare themselves for patrols, the pair of commanders quickly changed before their departure, both assigned private rooms on the upper-most floor for the time being.

Map in hand from one of the administrators of the Headquarters, Holly stepped out onto the street and reviewed the street signs quickly. Jonah’s cool shadow marking his appearance and the time to depart-- they were far too late as it was.
"Let us make this quick, Gabriel. A long night looms over us."
The Angel nodded, “I concur, the sooner this is over with, the quicker we can get out on patrols.”

By this time, the city was covered in mid-evening darkness, dusk long gone over the horizon. Had the night been clear, the moon would have shone brilliantly over the alleyways, but with the storm that threatened, only crisp moisture hung about the air.
It certainly was true what they said-- this city was full of life. In London, by this time, everyone would have been tucked away in their homes for the evening, a proper dinner having been eaten and nightcaps brewing. Here, the streets were bustling as if it were the morning hour before work; people of all kinds laughing and mingling, music playing from somewhere far in the distance echoing down streets that glowed technicolour in some strange paint. A city that never slept.

It took them little time at all before La Cloche Sonnante was in their view. A quaint restaurant from the exterior, though by the sounds of laughter and music that filtered out the open windows, a very popular venue.
Stepping into the warmth of the dimly lit restaurant, Holly's eyes took in the room with wild, childlike curiosity. She glanced back at the door for a half-second to make sure Jonah had followed behind, and then proceeded to meander, lost. It was rare for the Sister to be out in a public setting like this anymore, especially for a meeting-- and in a restaurant of all places.

Luckily, the young hostess approached, her smile welcoming as she looked over the pair. It was easy to think them a couple; between their relative closeness in age and sharp appearance. Jonah, as always, dressed formally, while Holly settled to wearing a crisp white blouse and wide-legged grey trousers, nestled tightly at her natural waist. A long, grey, wool trench coat disguised her metal appendages, and soft black sheepskin gloves covered her hands. The only thing she could never quite cover was her feet, but they appeared more like steel boots regardless. The blonde took care to blend in with society as much as she could, not liking to draw much attention to herself or her occupation. Being in a new city made this easier, but feelings about the Templars were much different here than back home, so discretion was her ally,
"Do you have a reservation?" Marie inquired.
Holly smiled warmly, eyes still dancing over the faces as she nodded, "We are meeting someone, though we're very late-"
"Oh," Marie turned, and the Sister followed her eyes to the enchanting swell of the strings being serenaded in the far corner of the room. Her smile swept away with the weave of his bow, following the way the blond's form moved with such emotive elegance.
She barely heard the girl as she asked her to follow, nodding absently. Directed to the table in the center of the room, an empty glass of wine, though a fresh bottle sitting uncorked, sat with a copy of the same letter held confidently in her breast pocket. She motioned for Jonah to sit, slowly perching on the edge of her seat, eyes unable to move from the male's form, completely enchanted.

Breathless; it was the most natural way to describe how she felt by the end of it. Having missed the beginning, it was hard to say how the melody had progressed to such a point of emotional turmoil, but it haunted the room heavily, and yet, all the same, she was moved into a state of awe.
While the remainder was short, Holly's cerulean eyes blinked quickly as the performance came to an end, and while the notes proceeded in such as way as to determine it as such, there held a quivering aura about every person in the room, expecting... something. He did not present them with a 'thank you' of any sort; nor did a single person offer their appreciation. Narrowing her gaze, she flicked it around the room with thinned lips, before bringing her gloved hands together in a muted clap, shooting a glare at Jonah to do the same. No one seemed to follow her lead, so she tightened her jaw and lifted her chin, defiant.
The blond approached the table with cat-like grace, and the closer he came the more curious did she become; his body not as lithe as the light made him seem. In fact, Mr. Brandt was quite broad, a form of a well-built man-- a soldier, the opposite of what one of such musical skill usually bore. He paid them no welcome, and she could certainly feel a chill as he placed the instrument’s case on the table, taking his time,
"I like the tone of your instrument," she offered, almost shy. It was such an easy thing to tell someone that their skill was 'beautiful' or 'well-executed'; Holly made efforts to find details and present them before displaying her reviews, "You're very talented, Mr. Brandt."
He sat across from them, pouring wine and at long last meeting their eyes frigidly. Holly returned it, apologetically, "You have our utmost apologies. Our ship was late to port. While we were running on schedule for most of the trip, the oncoming storm gave us turbulence and a strong headwind." she pursed her lips, glancing at her counterpart briefly, "I am thankful for your patience to wait for us." she smiled kindly.
"You are both here, and so our business can be conducted, that is all that concerns me."

He seemed to take to her with much less enthusiasm as she'd hoped. Holly was always eager to please, but she knew very little of the man who beckoned her with a High Templar stamp. They may have well disappointed a very important contact. It was outside of their control, and she'd made her statement. The rest, if any trust could be established, would come with conversation and time.
The smile dropped, any further pleasantries seeming unimportant. When with the Overseer, Holly often played the role of the Angel-- soft, warm, welcoming to those who needed a gentler touch. This man was very much Jonah's sort, that was evident. Finding no further need for niceties, she placed upon her countenance the role of Gabriel. Inhaling tightly, she nodded, "Very well,"
Clinking loudly upon the stark china, her eyes narrowed, flicking up to meet his stare as he grinned, noting the glint of his vampiric fangs reflecting in the candlelight. Judas. Pieces began to fall into place,
"Thank you," she replied, a mimicry of his own. Grabbing the cloth napkin at her setting, she laid it flat before her and removed her gloves, folding them in her lap before plucking the pieces in her slender silver grip. Delicately, she placed the dripping and gnarled pieces within and tightly wrapped them. Her features were expressionless, "I find there to be little question as to why we were not briefed of your meeting until after our departure. You come bearing a High Templar seal upon your letterhead. To what end may we assist you?"

There was something very chilling in the vampire's gaze; perhaps it was there in all vampires, but this particular individual... he who killed his own kind, it was a bitterness that was raw and unbridled. A hunger to feed something deep in his soul. He was attractive, and that alone was a dangerous thought for the blonde to have. Crisply cut features, light silver peppering his dark blond tresses... How old was he when he was turned? How old was he now, she wondered deeper. Eyes like mossy, flush forests-- but those trees held dark shadows and even darker secrets. Holly didn't dare wander in their hollow trunks.
"Mmm, it is less about how you may assist me, and more how I may assist you," His comment came as a surprise. If he was to assist them, why was he not enrolled in the mission sooner? Something didn't click, "Your superiors have made me aware that there is a certain... asset you are attempting to retrieve. As an immortal myself, with a long history of doing contract work for the Templar Order, it seems they think I might be better suited to see this mission come to fruition. To that end, I have been sent to help you retrieve this unfortunate, ungodly, creature you wretches have created."
Her expression cooled, but she remained attentive and focused, tilting her head as she listened, "Yes," she confirmed quietly, "The Key is a rare one, and highly desired. The mission is simple and clear: Bring it back alive and unharmed."
She shrugged her trenchcoat from her shoulders, brushing her long silken hair around one shoulder. Chiffon from her blouse shifted like oil over water atop the metal of her shoulders and arms, the collar dipping in a wide 'V' to expose her decolletage, "It escaped our hold on Eden nearly two years ago, and somehow managed passage to America. Over the last eight months, it travelled down from Boston to New Orleans. Why is unimportant. We've tracked it here and now the task is finding it." Icy eyes returned to him, "What is it about Judas that is so particularly specialized for this mission? I've worked with hundreds of others like you."
"Perhaps that is something you ought to ask your superiors, or do you not trust their judgment in assigning me to this mission?"
"It is my duty to question everything," she held him, voice as even and steady as her convictions, "I may be a disciple of God, but I am not a sheep." the smallest curve of her pearly pink lips, "I wouldn't have half my accolades if I didn't question authority." Her eyes narrowed, calculating but not with malice, "What is your dossier?"
His gaze left hers, trailing lower. The smile slipped from her face, but she remained poised. She was only human, there was no monotonous ticking heart in her chest to fool him-- he would read her pulse quickening under his gaze. Out of fear? Never. Out of anxious arousal? Plausible. Her eyes widened slightly, pupils shrinking swiftly at his use of her voice, crisp and clear; never once leaving her breasts until he had her pinned in shock, "I've been doing this more than four times as long as you. The number of vampires I have killed is beyond your ken, and both my race and particular skill set enables me to far more easily infiltrate immortal ranks--should that become necessary. My senses outpace yours, my strength is at least on par, and my experience far outstrips yours. Does this answer satisfy you? If so, we can move on to specifics."
Holly's lips parted slightly, eyes turning to hot lightning as they focused and tightened. Tongue running along the inside of her teeth, she nodded, following his finger to the rim of his glass, a strange tingling spreading deep in her abdomen. Huffing hot through her nose, she shifted then, crossing her legs and squaring her shoulders, meeting his gaze, "It does," she stated bluntly, "For now. I'll judge your worth in battle."
"As I will no doubt be judging yours. Perhaps, as a warm-up, you can test my mettle in a spar or two, hm?"
His eyes lingered longer than she liked. The Sister raised a brow to his invitation. She may have been chaste, but she was very aware of the implications-- It was the same sort she'd used once or twice, herself. Her jaw untensed, face softening just a little as she raked her gaze over his arms, across his chest, noting the way his turtleneck pulled and hugged his sinewed form. Were it not for the ticking in his breathless chest, she would have actually considered it, but for now, she could play pretend. She wet her lips and inhaled slowly, giving a casual, subtle shrug of one metal shoulder, "Perhaps, I haven't had a challenge since I took Kestrel Paradin's head."
"Indeed? I'd very much like to test the prowess of one who accomplished such a feat,"
"Perhaps," she repeated once more, a fiery spark alighting her eye before she dropped the act as fluidly as she put on the show, and left the invitation upon the table. She turned to Jonah then, making sure he had nothing further to add before continuing with more important matters.
"The Key is a project of high interest to Eden. It is the only Mephisto of its particular kind, a mate bond between Beast and Vampire. The target is male, brunet with a lean physique. I'm certain you'll be able to smell the creature." Holly regarded the heart before her, blood seeping crimson through the white cloth, "They went by many names, though which it has chosen to use is a mystery. Either Jack Fletcher or Bernardo Maverick. Our assumption is it has chosen to find refuge with old company. After the Battle of Cheapside, much of the immortal populace fled London by boat. It is highly speculated that The Leech King and the Jackal's acolytes have harboured themselves in his city, and it is looking for them." Slowly she returned her gaze to his, crossing her arms over her chest, "The Mephisto is of little actual threat. It is the power it holds that makes it a rarity. The Templars have been following them for years. Their file is extensive, you may have full access to it on our ship."

Holly wasn't interested in providing much detail in such a public setting, but what she gave was enough for now, and if there were any ear eavesdropping they now had enough intelligence to know that the Templars had business,
"Excellent, that is already quite useful, though I will want to see the file as well. I have my own accommodations in the French Quarter, but for the sake of expediency, it would be ideal to have a place for myself onboard Paradise. However, I am rather insistent on furnishing whatever bunk you allot to me myself... and it may be worth considering whether your underlings will be amenable to sharing space with a vampire. I would, in truth, prefer my own space."
Expression shifting to one of mild discomfort, she glanced to the Overseer for a long moment, "Well, it so happens that Paradise is not exactly... spacious. We're already at capacity." she mused for a long moment, weighing any immediate options before nodding, “Provide me with the details of your requests, I will see how many I can manage." Her thoughts drifted to René and Cain, their issues seeming to be the worst of the lot, and part of that was her doing; sneaking the Engineer on board.
"As it is temporary I can suffer with the bare essentials. All I truly need is space enough for a double bed, a liquor cabinet, bureau, and enough space to practice my violin. Beyond that you needn't worry yourself... though I do imagine it might be more comfortable if I had my own separate bathroom," he shrugged, "Though not on my account, I have no qualms sharing if it is necessary."
Was he an assassin, or a King? The Sister held her tongue as annoyance bristled, "I will see what I can do to provide you with a space of your own that is adequate to your needs.” she flashed a tight, albeit polite, smile… though it took more out of her not to roll her eyes. He’d be lucky to get a broom closet. For anyone else, she wouldn’t have bothered making the effort, considerably more so because the vampire seemed to have his own accommodations within the city regardless. However, Judas was an associate, and one of High Templar approval… whether Gabriel liked it or not, she would have to bend the knee, even if it meant giving up her own quarters.

"One last thing,” she paused, contemplating before continuing, “We understand this city has lax rules for the immortals, and as such our presence here may be uncomfortable for many of the local citizens. I trust that with your assistance we should be able to find our mark quickly and discretely?" Satisfied by his assurance, and the leads he’d already drummed up, Holly nodded, and made sure Jonah had no further business to impart, "Do you require anything further from us before we depart? I would recommend you to follow us back to the Headquarters. If it is close to your current lodgings, you may be granted some time to relinquish your violin. I would be disappointed to see it misplaced." A small, genuine smile pulling her features warmly, reminiscent of the woman she opened with.

~ ~

The trio moved through the midnight streets in comfortable and formal silence. From the restaurant, the Templar headquarters was not far at all and they made quick time in the swiftness of their strides. A soft spattering of rain had begun to kiss their crowns as they entered the large mansion. Between a possible storm and the cover of night, this was not the most ideal of times to be searching for a runaway science experiment. But, to their advantage, this was the time of day when most of the immortals came out to play. If The Key was out there… it would likely be awake and roaming with all the rest.

The entry continued to be littered with bodies; Sisters and Legionnaires going about their business, prepping their weapons and materials, limbs of metal and flesh spreading out into various hallways and rooms. As she shucked off her trench coat, she tossed a glance back to the blond vampire who now joined their ranks, “Spend your time as you wish but be prepared to move out at any moment’s notice.”
Turning, she caught the sight of Ephemera across the room, his hands occupied in a repair of some sort, tools between his lips. Blue eyes flicked to the Legionnaire who kneeled before him and widened in amusement as she realized who, exactly, it was. Slowly, her lips curled and warmth spread across her countenance. Nearly giddy, she looked back in search of Jonah but found him too preoccupied. So, she looked back to the scene once more, standing still in a silent fondness until her attention was attracted elsewhere.
A young man in administrative uniforms approached from her side, his hair parted sharply and slicked back. Clean cut with a youthfulness to his appearance. The new recruits in this area were few but young and healthy-- Both good things if they were to keep their numbers replenished, “Gabriel, the recruits are ready to see you and the Overseer. Some are finishing their combat training for the day if you both wish to observe?”
The blond nodded once in understanding, and turned to Elias, “You are welcome to join us, if you like, Judas. Perhaps it would be best until I have an opportunity to introduce you to the Brothers and Sisters properly. We wouldn’t want an incident of mistaken identity.” While the Higher Templars were used to working with their enemies for common goals, from time to time, many of the soldiers on the front lines were used to killing them. To have a vampire without uniforms lingering in their ranks was sure to cause tension, but worse was the heightened opportunity for strong heads and quick fingers to make assumptions, and attack before they think.

Before proceeding, she took one last glance about the room with a narrowed, searching glare. Not finding whom she was looking for, she settled on the troublesome, shadowy Legionnaire, “Cain,”
The young man’s attention flicked to his name, pausing whatever conversation he was having with Ephemera as he jogged over to his superiors, rigid at attention. It was strange to see the Seraphim suit in his current state, half of the interior layers hanging about his hips, his torso bare,
“Where is Goliath?” she asked, “Has he still not yet returned from his errand?”
‘Errand’ in this case was a long walk masked as an inspection of their immediate area. He’d told her in confidence his desire to get out and explore the city while the superiors were in their meeting. Holly had granted it with a smile and asked only that when he returned he share his opinion with her.
“No, Sir.” Alexei glanced from her to the Overseer, his bright blue eyes cool and firm, cloaked in shadow and mysteries.
Holly sighed lightly, “I will be assigning the teams for patrol once I’m finished here. In the meantime, you may as well lead the first group, seeing as you’re prepared,” she looked him over with a smirk, “Please, go find Goliath, you may take my map if you like.”
“Yes, Sir.” hesitant, “Do you have a place I should start?”
Holly’s eyes blazed as she smirked, a simple and cheery, “No,” as she turned, heading after the Administrative Officer, “But he’s hard to miss.”

 

[Luxura]

Alexei Pavlovsky

alias: CAIN

health bar

WHERE: Templar HQ
WITH: Ephemera
DOING: Final Repairs
CREDIT: maria_lahaine
PLAYLIST:

​

Cain’s pace was brisk as he entered the Engineering Lab. He'd woken up early and went straight into the training bay. His sleep hadn't been pleasant with the throbbing headache thanks to his swollen nose, and with an aching in his muscles, the Legionnaire required letting off pent up aggression.
A light sweat still coating his skin, icy blue eyes flicked carefully towards his blond roommate as he approached, eyes trailing up and down his figure before looking away to his workbench and tossing his bag to the side. Those same cool eyes surveyed his workspace and narrowed onto a small note sitting upon the clean tabletop. Curious, he huffed a breath, swiped it and read it quickly,

"Thank you for the schematics, I'll be giving them more than a passing glance at a later time. It would appear you've done as much because your notes are indecipherable."
Viciously, the Legionnaire rolled his eyes. Long arms snagged a pencil and flipped the paper over, scribbling a pointed response,

"To protect my intellectual property. Regardless of what these motherfuckers think: The suit belongs to me."

Turning on his heels, Cain stalked around the partition, and with no amount of courtesy slapped the note onto Ephemera’s tabletop with a long pause. He made sure the blond looked over his face before even thinking of leaving-- the bruising from his broken nose a spattering of green and yellow seeping under his eyes, bridge swollen and red, a clotted scar from the impact scabbing over the bone. The Russian tilted his head with a testy shift of his jaw before returning to his station.

That taken care of, the Legionnaire rolled his shoulders. He approached his workbench, sliding over the suit and drawing up the arms, cradling the left glove in his hands to review with narrowed eyes the capped wires René had clipped the day before. Useless; all the work gone to waste. With only another day to work on the experiment, it wasn't worth the effort to continue forward. And admittedly, perhaps it was a rather bold idea in the first place.
With a sigh, he began to untwist the caps, flicking them onto the table. As one plinked against the metal arm plating and skittered to the floor, he tried to catch it with a quick flick of his wrist, but being so small it slipped through his grasp. Growling, he bent over and reached for the cap, but instead, he paused. Wasn’t that the note? Standing, he looked at it, then to the back of the Engineer's head, then back at it again, flipping it over to read the new note below his own,

“Until your sentence is over, you belong to the Order, therefore the suit does, too. But that's fine. I'll make due."

Ah--this game.

Clearing his throat, Cain leaned back on his worktable, thoughtfully eyeing the schematics in plain view on René’s table. He shifted his jaw, grinding his molars for a long moment. The statement wasn't incorrect, but he didn't like the tone. As much as he'd love to just... curl his fingers in those thick sandy curls and yank his head back, the Legionnaire shook himself off and scrapped the paper. Grabbing a pad from across the work table and scribbling out his next reply, he crumpled it up into a ball and threw it over René’s shoulder,

"And how do you plan to do that?"

Turning, he bent back down and scooped up the cap he'd meant to capture before, then proceeded to return to his task. Pulling over the stool and his small cart of soldering tools and wire spools, the Russian did his best to ignore the nagging itch in the back of his mind; even so far as rubbing the back of his head as if to release it.
Flicking on the burner for the soldering gun, he quickly flipped off the rest of the caps, and uncoiled the wires around each other, clipping each of them clean.... Did René know Russian? No, clearly not. Otherwise, this wouldn't be an issue. Alexei was the only one on the ship who was native to it, and it would be rare to find another on this ship with enough fluency to translate in the capacity he needed-- common dialect, sure, but engineering terms? Not a chance in Hell.

He pulled the gun from the base, the thick smell of burnt copper wafting about the air. Thickly, his nose throbbed uncomfortably, a headache beginning to form behind his eyes. His frustrations were slowly building, how in the fuck did René think he was going to know his suit well enough before they landed if he needed to translate it? Shit! This was stupid, why couldn't they all just fuck off and leave him alone? Everything was going fine until this bitch showed up.

Just as he melted the wires together a small plink against the back of his head erupted a growl from deep in his chest. Cain snapped his head around, nearly seething through clenched teeth as he made firm eye-contact with the blond, boldly standing with his precious plans gripped so dangerously in his hand,
"Careful and meticulous research, as usual." The blond all but spit.
His glare was merciless, ice-cold daggers as he snarled, "Fine." Trembling with rage, his form whipping back around and slamming the gun back into the base.

How...How did Ephemera get under his skin so well? Cain could barely recall the last time he had someone dare talk back and fight so much as Troxler did. Absent fingers drew down the bridge of his nose, dark ocean eyes following after the Engineer’s shadow as he slipped out the steel doors. He should have been pleased to finally get some peace, but for the life of him, he couldn’t shake twin suns from behind his lids.

x x​

He'd run out of time. Sure enough, it was always Cain's luck that at the very last moment something would go wrong. During one final sparing session in the suit earlier this morning he'd swung wide, and his partner-- Dominick-- had provided him with a followthrough too strong, unsurprisingly. His shoulder still ached from the impact. While he was thoroughly excited to finally be in the city and out of that shithole on wings, what he'd hoped would be a smooth ride into some action on the ground was now just another headache. He hadn't the time to finish checking his repairs before he had to scoop everything into a crate and into the docking bay. Now, suit spread on the table before him he knew he was fucked.

He knew he had to ask... And he hadn't spoken about the schematics since their spat the day before. He still had deep doubts Troxler knew what anything meant, but the kid was smarter than he looked. If anything, he'd see how quick he was now, and just how good his skills were on the fly.
Dropping down to open his bag, he fished out a small notebook and pencil. Periwinkle reviewed the blond as he stood, pacing-- anxious? No; bored?
Alexei approached him slowly, tapping the butt of his pencil against the cover of his book.
The greeting he received was curt, unsurprisingly. His lips pressed thinly together, trying, "I need a hand, with the suit," Alexei looked away to the contraption as it lay like a corpse upon the table, "Dom and I went a bit rough this morning and we tore something. I haven't been able to finish the repair but I can make do with a quick fix until we're back at the ship... I just," he turned back to him then, "It's in the shoulder nodule, and it hinders my ability to move."

The expression René gave him, whether the blond knew it or not, wasn't without a hint a smugness warming in those amber eyes. Alexei bristled but sighed through his nose. He had no choice, and he wasn't about to start believing in karma. His nose was feeling a little better today, but the bruising had worsened. It wouldn't matter, the promise of morphine in his veins in short order.

He turned and brought Ephemera to the table, turning the suit over with a grunt, and pulling it close enough to them both to point with his pencil in specific areas, "Right shoulder. In the match I swung wide and overcompensated, leaving me open. Dom came down here," mimicking the action before pointing to the still dented mantlepiece as cut diagonally down the trapezius. Placing the pencil in his mouth, he pried the piece up enough for the blond to peek under it, "I managed to replace the wiring in the rhomboid area, but I think there is a loose connection from the impact that I can't determine. It looks fine, but when I'm in the suit... Fuck it, I'll show you."

Stepping back, Alexei dropped the notebook and pencil on the floor, reached over his head with a wince and tugged his undershirt off, tossing it to the side. Pulling the suit off the table, he awkwardly slipped inside, balancing his weight on the edge of the tabletop when needed, curling the hem of his pants down for the lower plugs on his lower back to be available. Zippering up the inner layer, then latching the front shell, he flicked the switch under the front core and gasped, eyes wide for a moment as the venous system connected into his plugs. Shaking it off with a flush to his cheeks, catching Troxler's stare, he pushed off the table, "So, here," he showed a full rotation of his left arm, and the limited mobility of the right, the suit grinding and his arm stuttering with any movement above his chest, "Do you have the schematics with you?"
“It won’t matter, I’ve worked on these suits before. You’ve had this model for years, correct? You should know it inside and out if you use it and work on it as much as I suspect you do.”
Alexei watched his eyes, their stare critical and focused. He could almost see the schematics behind the amber, the connectors and cogs all moving in time. If he had the plans with him it would have been easier to show him exactly where he figured the issue was happening. Wearing the suit as much as he did, oftentimes it was truly another skin-- he could almost feel where things went wrong,
“Face your back towards me and try moving it again. Keep trying until I tell you to stop. Up and down motions forwards, to the side, and back-- as far as you can go.”
He did as he was instructed, turning and providing a range of motions to the best of his, and the suit's, ability. His lips scrunching into his nose, though he tried to breathe through the pain it brought, both in his healing nose and to the shoulder he was nearly sure needed to be looked at when they returned. Olivia may be able to look at it if it became an issue, though for now, it was more an annoyance than anything to fuss over,
“You can stop. You're probably right. It might be a connection. The plate is going to have to be replaced later, and you know that… However, the problem you’re going to have immediately is it has to come off.”
He turned back around to face the blond and shook his head, "Blyat," he hissed, frustrated. That was his dominant shoulder, "Off for the moment, or off entirely?" he asked, brows raising but his lips grim,
“Hard to say. With any luck, it’ll only be for the time being. I have to see the damage beneath the plate to know for certain that it’s a connection and not something that would put the suit out of commission.”
Alexei nodded, a sudden flicker of nervousness flashing light white lightning in the clear blue of his eyes. To put the suit out of commission on his first mission was out of the question... But without a second set of eyes, René was quite possibly right. He worried at the inside of his lip.

Bending down, he fished in his bag for a tool, similar to René's. He nodded to the Engineer, turning his back to him and working to release the front bolts from his clavicle, "I built this about 3 years ago, yes," he muttered casually, "What other suits did you work on?" he glanced back at him curiously, over his shoulder, expression softened,
“I had to learn them inside and out in the academy; I worked on several over two terms. Seraphim suits are one of the most popular armaments used by individuals such as yourself who opt out of body augmentations or modifications. Biogear like this are utilized more commonly by those who don’t expect to stay.”
As he listened he collected the bolts in his hand, placing them carefully onto the table. With the plate loosened, he felt the moment it unlatched and the other lifted its weight from his shoulder, realizing just how much it pressed down on him,
"I saw a few during my years in the infantry. They were what inspired me to make my own. I guess I never thought that many of you wouldn't want to stay. Sometimes the Order feels like a servitude given with your life."
“Some make it a living, some don’t. This isn’t for everyone, but you can tell which ones will stay, which will go, when contracts meet their end. For some of us, this is all we have or all we need. For some of the Legion, I hear, it’s all they want besides a warm body to entertain them.”
Alexei’s eyed the floor, his gaze flicked to the side, “Hm,” a gentle nod, “Perhaps for some Legionnaires.”

“Provided you didn’t change these much, my suspicions are right, rotator cuff connections have been compromised, specifically to the subscapularis and supraspinatus-- they’re torn and the hub is damaged, but I can fix the connections. The hub can be replaced later.”
He stretched his neck slightly, eagerly flexing his fingers in anticipation of the diagnostic, "Alright," he mused quietly, eyes closing as he pictured the area and connections in his mind. Nodding, he could see exactly where the impact would have pulled at the wires with each movement,
“Unless you’d rather do this yourself, you’re going to have to sit down or something. I need a full range of motion to repair it.”
Opening his eyes, he looked back to René curiously, silently pondering the pros and cons of having the Engineer make the repairs. While Alexei may know the suit better, it was going to take twice as long if he had to keep getting in and out to test it. Ultimately, while he was wary of anyone working on it, the Russian had little choice. He slowly dropped to his knees, silent for a long moment, before sighing, "Spasibo," he murmured,
“I-I was thinking you could sit in a chair….”
He flushed then, brilliantly crimson across his cheeks, black pupils shrinking to pinheads as his ocean eyes widened. He’d feel like an idiot if he said anything further to it, or if he stood and grabbed a chair. Keeping his composure, stiff beneath the cover of his Seraphim suit, Alexei cleared his throat in place of a response.
The Engineer’s field analysis checklist was routine for the Russian, so much so he mouthed the words absently with a dulled expression, flicking through the motions monotonously; flicking the switch under the core hub upon his breastplate—jerking with a sharp wince as the needles retracted, the core powering down with a soft hum. He flipped over his wrist to check the power supply gauge, watching the meter fall steadily as the core went back into hibernation, reviewing the battery life of the cell. This wasn’t ideal, but being in stasis while René worked wasn’t safe. A wrong connection and there was enough power still working through the suit to kill them both. He had to power down completely.
He sat still as the blond began to work, tension settling deep into his shoulders and neck. He could feel it all—just barely. At least there was some delicacy and care to the way he worked that gave the Legionnaire a small grain of comfort to soothe his anxiety. It was one thing to have someone other than his own hands working on his creation—even with his consent—but it was another to have them doing so where he could not observe the work being done. Periwinkle eyes closed in an effort to concentrate on the feeling of wires being pulled and snipped, the sharp crinkling of pliers.

It didn’t take René long to do the repair, and he nodded, blinking his eyes open. He would have to remain still for the glue to cure properly, “I can’t recall the last time I was on my knees for two whole minutes,” he snickered, casting the blond a curious coy glance, but the strain of doing so sent a pulling sting through his nose and he frowned, looking away once more, “You’ve got a good arm,” he muttered, filling the void, “You’re stronger than you look. I’m not surprised at your speed or accuracy… but your physical strength came as a shock. I wouldn’t mind sparing with you sometime if you were up for it.”
“Provided the evidence of the last two days, I’m disinclined to take part in sparring with you. If it hasn’t been made clear yet, I have no intention of giving you an opportunity to assault me. Neither will I give you the permission to do it with the ‘innocent’ offer of a match we both know I’d lose. I’m not interested in feeding your ego while you’re filling your need for vengeance, whether alone or in the training center.”

On some level, the Russian couldn't blame him-- Ephemera would likely lose. But to every match? That was harder to judge. He was lean and agile. So was Cain, that was why he had the suit and not some horrific modifications. They could have been evenly matched for all he knew.
His tone lowered as well, and with it all sense of playfulness; darkness seeping within and coating every word as his eyes narrowed, tempest, "You assume too much. I'm not about to risk my orders for petty vengeance. Not when this mission is my ticket out of this fucking institution," His jaw shifting, molars grinding as he scowled with the specklings of a pout, "It was an honest offer."

Given approval, he flicked the switch under the solar core and braced for the needles. The powerup was no more than two seconds before they injected forcefully, Cain grunting and seething through his teeth at the pain. He closed his eyes, swallowing hard for a long pause before finding himself in a position to stand without lightheadedness. To begin the mobility test, he rolled his shoulder tightly, then largely with his full arm, nodding with approval at the full range. For the next minute, he proceeded to play out different arm motions and combat scenarios. Truly, it was more that the injury happened on his dominant arm, meaning it would be in full use most of the time. The repair had to be able to withstand the worst of battle.
Looking back to the blond with veiled satisfaction, Cain tilted his head,
"I figured you would have jumped at the opportunity to make a fool of me. Everyone has been wondering who managed to break Cain's nose this time." he sniggered with a scoff,
“I’m not like the men in your division. If it’s such an honest offer, why make it if you’ll be discharged once we’re done?”
His frown scrunched even more. What a fucking bitch, "Why not? Perhaps I have an interest in surviving the outside world once I'm free from you pricks. Honest work doesn't come easy for fugitives like me. And with my luck they won't even clear my record like promised." he muttered the last part under his breath, "I don't have much choice in the line of work I pick up, but whatever it is, it won't be easy." As he shot René a levelled glare he added, "Besides, you're fast and agile. I've watched you spar with Olivia once or twice. I don't have many Legionnaires that match me quite like you could. The others provide a different challenge," he looked to the deformed plate René picked up within his hands, "Like that." he smirked, "Not all immortals are incredible monsters; some are cunning, light on their feet... Like you." He rolled his eyes, "But no matter. You don't want to take my offer, then I'll take it off the table."

He turned so Ephemera could replace the plate, grabbing the screws for his pieces in the front and replacing them. The sooner he was out of his presence the better,
“Where my work is concerned, you’re at risk of pulling it out of place no matter what you do. It’ll hold under the most of the strain of combat, but it is precarious. Many of the other hubs are weak, too. You’ll want to solder them properly when you have the time, and I do mean time. Cleaner lines with material used at higher temperatures will hold them more securely than rushing through it. You’ll do less repairs, replace less hubs, and they’ll hold through training and missions.”
"I'll take your word for it," grumbling, "We'll see how I hold up." What was left unspoken was that this was a test for René. Alexei was proud of his work, but he knew he could do better. Time was precious, but he wasn't an Engineer. He was Jonah's poster boy. And that meant a strict schedule. If René's work held up, and he like what he saw... perhaps they could start with something small...

The plate in place, he sighed and turned, contemplating whether to turn the suit off, or put it in stasis. As the blond spoke, gathering his belonging, he nearly choked on a laugh,
“If you have any further complications, particularly during combat, fall back and let someone else take the heat.”
Ephemera giving him combat advice? His cool eyes flicked to the blond, meeting amber suns. They truly were brilliant, something exotic in the depths of gold that flecked within them. He leaned back against the table,
"Not that you'd care for my gratitude, but I appreciate your effort. Now stick to what you know. I'll do the rest, Princess."
Now that seemed to hit a nerve, “Fine, you want to spar? Give me a reason to believe you’re not just trying to get your licks in.”
Ocean eyes flashed lightning in the maelstrom at the challenge. He could almost taste the sweat and heat of what their fight could be,
“Don’t misunderstand me, I mean your hits. If you’re looking to make me bleed, and that’s it, I have no interest. You and half of the Legion want that. It’s arduous dealing with the way your division likes to taunt and provoke me, so I make it a point not to fall prey to the ridicule. However, if you’re actually trying to be sincere, I will consider it.”
The choice of words was enough to pull and curl the corners of his lips, sharp and pointed as he gave him a toothy grin. He watched curiously as the blond recoiled, tried to take it back but knew he'd stepped into the lion's den without a weapon. While instinctively he would have ignored the rest entirely, there was something in the way René stood his ground, offered him the chance... When was the last time anyone offered him a chance? Jonah, perhaps, with this mission... but it was in his benefit, not Alexei's…

The smile faded slowly, falling away as he shifted his gaze across the room, anywhere but his eyes, "If I wanted your blood, René, I would have gone for it. I don't hold a lot of morals or self-control. I am a good soldier because the end goal is more valuable to me than the temptations in between. Perhaps if I was a different man, willing to stay, I would have... But you're not worth my time, just as I'm not worth yours."
Decidedly, he flicked the switch under the glowing core and set the suit into neutral stasis. The needles along his spine and left wrist disconnected, and he winced, the hint of a whimper cresting the reaction. Grimacing, trembling fingers pulled the latches allowing the top layer of the suit to come apart and the inner layer falling about his hips, "Hazing didn't do much to earn my respect of my Brothers either," shrugging, "Broken noses, stab wounds, shaving my head to save myself the drownings... Let's just say I'd rather test my skills with someone Holly reveres as worth her time." his features softened as he looked back to him, "The choice is yours, but if you decide to take me on, it will just be you and I. No suit, and the weapon of your choice."

Both young men stared for a moment, then looked away to the scattered Brothers and Sisters about the large entryway. Most were a little older than they were. Despite each of them being dedicated soldiers-- regardless of belief in the cause or length of service, a contract or no-- it was easy to recognize every since one of the Legionnaires was stubborn, brash, intelligent, and bloodthirsty. Traits of finely moulded predators,
“I wish I could say I was sorry, but I was never much interested in the circle jerk the majority in 84th act like.
A cheeky grin pulled at Alexei’s pale lips, a soft and boyish chuckle bubbling from his chest as he nodded,
“As for sparring,.. I don’t like making hasty decisions before a mission. I never know how dirty my hands are going to get after, but I’ll take it under consideration, as I said I would.”

With that, the Russian cocked his head in the blond’s direction, crystalline pools regarding him with sparkling clarity. Searching over his soft features, the warmth of the lights cast a halo about his countenance, glowing and ethereal. His lingering stare softened, as did the grin, charmed, “Alright,” he agreed gently.

“Cain!”
To his name the Russian’s eyes cooled, perking up and standing to look about the room for the host who beckoned him; his sight falling on Gabriel who waved him over. Quickly, he nodded to Ephemera, a shyness about him suddenly, “Thanks, René.” he offered quietly, almost under his breath, before turning and jogging over to the Sister.

It was strange for the leader of the Blood Sisters to be calling for him, considering Jonah was just off to her left. It was halfway there that he could see from the curious smirk upon the Angel’s face that he still at the suit hanging about his hips, torso exposed and bare. Surely to most, it wasn’t an issue, but there was something mildly embarrassing about confronting your older, opposite sex, attractive superior in this sort of manner. Cain did his best to shrug it off and play cool. Standing before her, he looked down slightly to meet her eyes, but her personality was just as tall as he,
“Where is Goliath?” she asked, “Has he still not yet returned from his errand?”
Come to think of it, he hadn’t seen Goliath since they got settled in the Headquarters. The Priest would have filled the spaces of this house like an elephant, it was no wonder he was out on his own. He’d been too preoccupied to notice the giant gone.
“No, Sir.” Alexei glanced from her to the Overseer, his bright blue eyes cool and firm, cloaked in shadow and mysteries. From just behind Holly’s shoulder, his eyes flicked over the sharp features of another blond. A middle-aged man, eyes steely with an air of hunger in the intense and heady green. Narrowing his gaze slightly, he pulled his attention from the man back to Gabriel as she spoke,
“I will be assigning the teams for patrol once I’m finished here. In the meantime, you may as well lead the first group, seeing as you’re prepared,”
Damnit, he cursed inwardly, his ears burning as she eyed him over with a smirk,
“Please, go find Goliath, you may take my map if you like.”
“Yes, Sir.” He took the map she held out for him, folding it once more as a thought came to his mind, “Do you have a place I should start?” He hadn’t even realized Dominick had gone off on his own. Without a direction to start in or an inkling of where he might have gone, Cain was put between a rock and a hard place. Surely Holly wouldn’t have let him go without some knowledge of his whereabouts?
“No,” she replied cheerily. The Legionnaire blinked, dumbstruck as she turned and began to follow one of the Administrative Officers, “But he’s hard to miss.” she added with a smirk.

The Russian nodded curtly as the trio passed on to their pressing tasks, promptly pulling the suit layer back on over his arms and shoulders. With a frustrated huff, Cain returned to the table to fully suit up and a few minutes later head out the front double doors of the manor.
The brilliant and white glow from the core at his chest made the Templar appear like a walking beacon, a lantern in the midnight darkness. When they had arrived it’d been a little after twilight. Now, the city in the depths of the night had truly spurred its own second life with the coming of the moon.

People lingered the alleyways, couples walking the avenues and eclectic music wafting on the cool breeze. Moisture hung thick in the air, petrichor heady on his tongue from the wet pavement. Cain pulled out the map from Gabriel and flicked it open, eyes searching the coloured lines and minute names of streets and iconic monuments. The closest church was down the street and to the left. Though, if he didn’t know better, the Priest would have been more likely to traverse to the Cathedral in the French Quarter. From where they were in the Garden District, it’d be far… But was Dom walking about, or actually taking care of business?
The Russian growled and folded the map, heading East towards the French Quarter.



[/b][/b][/b][/b][/b][/b][/b]

 

[nighteyes]

Esther Asturias

SHERWOOD

health bar

WHERE: A market street
WITH: Cassandra Caldecott
DOING: Running errands
CREDIT: John Atkinson Grimshaw

When venturing out now, the world struck Esther so vividly as to make her breath catch: smells were sharper, colors were brighter, and all she beheld would linger with her like an echo into the day. This was both a consequence and an odd blessing of her confinement; every moment spent in the open air was all the more precious.

But the feeling was not a new one, it was only heightened by circumstance.

She set the apple aside. Her hands and her gaze skimmed over produce laid out on display, appraising what was left. It was all rather picked over, unfortunately, and she was sifting through the scraps left in the wake of that day's patronage. By this time, when people were beginning to filter into the clubs and dance halls and bars, most other businesses were winding down and closing their doors for the evening.

This was Esther's morning, when all that was left of the sun was a westward sky in flames, but for all the rest of the world the hour was late, and she was falling behind. Shopping for the larder called for a different strategy. Waving away her flicker of disappointment, she told herself that it was no matter; this was easily sorted out.

Her gaze flitted up to the display window, and she saw the grocer inside, patiently milling about while he waited for her to finish. "I will only be a moment more," said Esther with a lift of the hand, apologetic, a sudden stab of guilt smarting within her as though a sharp stone were nestled in her chest. "I am sorry to keep you." Before she turned her attention back to the task at hand, she glimpsed her reflection in the glass.

The woman who peered back was not quite the woman from many days ago, who hadn't the strength to cross a room too hastily. Gone were the bruise-shaded shadows under her eyes, and the fatigued pallor with them. Today she was the picture of vigor and good health, and she truly felt it; stamina hummed in her fingers, but it would not last. She was ever wavering between wellness and weakness. A braid of duality. That seemed to be her lot, to never have one or the other; in turns, her second life mirrored her first. As above, so below.

Though they were a great hindrance, by some kind of luck these lulls had in all likelihood saved her life. It was impossible to hazard a guess at just how many of her kin were extinguished by that first dawn, but when the screaming reached her ears, she had been safely tucked away from what would have been certain death.

Her gloved hand ventured up to pass idly, self-consciously, over the high lace-trimmed collar at the nape of her neck. Then Esther turned round, and with a querying look gave the street a searching once-over. It was nearly barren, as to be expected; the great crowds could be found in the entertainment districts, but not here. A pair strolling some distance away drew her eye, and she glanced twice at the taller of the two. Esther had never found herself accused of being a short-statured woman, but she would have felt dainty—no, positively Lilliputian—standing in the fellow's shadow.

Turning away, she stepped inside to pay the grocer. As currency changed hands, she inquired about his hours of operation, and learned that his day began before daybreak. Chefs of fine kitchens and the most dogged of housewives on the hunt for the best choices made up a significant portion of his clientele, and she could expect to bump elbows with them at that hour.

Delighted as she was to hear it, the doubt began to set in after she meandered back out. Was the risk too great? The faintest hint of a frown drew at her mouth, and she mulled over it at length. Often she had wondered if her susceptibility was made twofold by her condition, but she had before walked about unharmed in the dim time before the first rays broached the horizon. She reasoned there was little need so worry, so long as she kept a weather eye on the time.

Tiny bells strung above the door of a sundry tinkled delicately overhead. An adolescent boy tasked with minding the register had been staring into the middle distance with his cheek propped on his hand, eager for his shift to end. He blinked, drawing himself up and out of a reverie; hastily he straightened, schooling his expression into one of professional attentiveness.

They bid one another a good evening, and Esther, with her encounter with the grocer in mind, did not delay. While the young shopkeep rang up her purchases at the counter, her attention drifted to a stand of magazines to her right. The front covers were emblazoned with a conjuring of the lithograph, a woman clad in what she assumed was garb in keeping with latest fashion trends. Her eye did not casually pass over; she appraised with careful consideration.

"Only five cents apiece," piped up the boy helpfully, and that gave her pause. He drove a hard bargain, a master salesman in the making. The greatest dangers to her coin purse were always lying in wait at the counter, where willpower was dwindled and she was most given to impulse.

“Very tempting,“ she conceded, but then with a lift of the chin indicated the well-stocked shelf behind him. She reasoned she could afford some indulgence. “No, thank you—but I will have a few of those anise candies.“

Bells serenaded her back again as the door closed behind her, and Esther tarried on the front step, shifting her basket to the crook of her other arm, a heavier burden now that it was flush with produce and parcels of brown paper bound with twine. "Now," Esther said under her breath, her voice a low murmur, “What next?“ With hands set on hips she contemplated what was left to do now that the essentials were acquired. Something adventurous, maybe—what about paying a visit to a bar? She shook away the notion almost as soon as it reared its head. Rarely did she imbibe, and when she did it was not much at all, but she would not necessarily call herself a teetotaler. To put it simply, she did not hold her liquor well. As a rule, she did not drink alone.

Window shopping it was. She had no intention to buy anything more, but perhaps she could have a look around to gather some idea of what her wardrobe needed. (It would need a great deal, she suspected.) Outside an establishment that dealt in antiques and curios she puffed out a sigh of disappointment at finding it closed. With her gloved hands cupped about her face, Esther stood with her brow pressed to the glass, and she peered into the shadowed interior to make guesses at the wares. Another time, she vowed silently. If she could manage to sway Jack into leaving the house to go out for a night on the town, would this interest him?

She ventured away with some reluctance. As she made her way down the street, her pace was leisurely and unhurried. Sunset was now a little ways behind but the night was not old, and she found herself itching to find new ways to fill her schedule.

“I beg your pardon, miss,“ she said, plucking up the initiative to seek out the guidance of a perfect stranger. “Could I have a moment of your time?“ It was a member of the passerby on the sidewalk, a fair-haired woman she addressed with warm courtesy. She drew her shawl snugly about her before she went on, a touch sheepish as she laid out her predicament. “I find myself in a fix, and I hope you could be the remedy. I am foreigner, you see; very new to your fine city. The lay of it is known to me, yet the finer details are not. Could you, by chance, point me in the direction of a clothier?“

 

[AntarcticRomantic]

Maeve Donovan

Phoenix

health bar

WHERE: Home
WITH: Jack
DOING: Preaparing to leave
CREDIT: peritwinkle
PLAYLIST: ♔

The newfound queen stood and grabbed the cup from the table to drag back in with her. Moving around the Mephisto languidly she ducked back in and traversed the hallway to enter into the kitchen. Long fingers poured out the contents apathetically, emerald gaze watching with a hint of what could have been disdain. Everything was so fucked up. Everything.

Her dreamscape was a nightmare nightly. Always with canines coming to attack her and rip her to shreds. Now Jack was having odd dreams, too. She’d never sleep beside him again if it meant saving him from her melancholy and fear.

Before the brunet had interrupted her thoughts, she was considering it all. Her fears and weighing them against what else she could do. There was little else to sort for a solution. The Irishwoman had become the face of her people for only heaven knew how long. She was Queen. It explained why politicians in Le Repaire de Velours smiled so kindly and held conversations with her so fondly in matters of the Beastkin. It wasn’t because she, like them, was another patron to their bars and performances; it was because she offered them leverage politically if she favored them. It made her scoff when the blonde realized that’s why they asked after the new Vampire Queen, too. They wanted her in their back pockets, too.

Then there was the matter of Templars within the region. Small as they were, rare as it was for them to come out into the city, she knew they crept by. Days off could be used to play in the city, how often had they played beside the creatures they hunted? How often had they bedded, beaten, berated them while they were away from their base? How many knew who she was as they passed on the street or went into the tailor shop? There was no telling anymore. What little peace of mind she’d been harboring was deteriorating as quickly as the man seeking a means of restoring himself.

“There’s only one person in the city I can think of who may have some answers. I don’t know if he can actually help.” Turning back to her housemate, she shrugged as she started to consider the whispers of a particular individual she’d heard of. “He’s a former Templar; but the rumor is he left them, went AWOL. I’ve heard he’s brilliant with technology, but I don’t know if he has a knowledge of chemistry to produce a serum replacement. However, ‘desperate times’ warrant a visit to inquire.”

Walking from the kitchen she returned to the hallway, to lead the way to the staircase. Resounding steps echoed around them in the darkened room as the daylight faded. “I suppose this means that Nascha wasn’t able to give you the answers you needed.” When they reached the top the Raven continued down to her quarters, opening the door to let the other in. The blonde went into her wardrobe to pull out a pair of boots and a holster. Slipping the boots on first, she went to strap the holster comfortably over her hips and slipped her karambits within the sheaths.

Seeing the look in Jack’s eyes she smirked. “He’s a Templar. I’m not stupid enough to approach him without something on me. They only respond to the impression of force if none is needed.”

Returning to the wardrobe, she slipped a light jacket over her shoulders to hide the weapons beneath them. Somber, everything she wore was appropriate for slipping through the night or walking into a funeral. It was oddly appropriate given the circumstances. However, it seemed it was never an option for the buxom woman to wear something more appropriate that did not show off her Dara knot necklace framed by her décolletage.

She offered for him to lead them out, and her eyes fell to the door through which Kenna had been staying. Listening, she knew the girl was gone. A muttered cuss slipped by her lips. “I’ll have to find her, Jack. She’s been alone long enough. I was hardly older than her when I lost my family.”

Flicking her sights back to him she sighed, heavy and exhausted, with a shake of her head. “Never mind that. We have to get you sorted first. Let’s collect the feline and get moving. If this man is to be useful to us, she’d be able to explain it far better than we ever could.”

 

[leviathan.]

theo fairchild.

canary

health bar

WHERE: The Admiral > Dockside
WITH: No one
DOING: Reevaluating life choices
CREDIT: c-home on ArtStation
PLAYLIST:

The Admiral was slow tonight.

Dust motes were clearly visible in the air, heavily laden with pipe smoke and shot through with feeble light radiating from the sputtering lanterns. It was late evening, and the chipped tables of the two-bit dive bar were empty save for a few disheveled regulars nursing their beers.

Theo was the only one at the counter, shoulders hunched in—defensive. He called over the barkeep and ordered his usual in a low, tired murmur, metal fingertips drumming softly on the grooved bartop.

“Two pints t’day, Abram. I’ve got company.”

The barkeep—Abram—raised an eyebrow at Theo, but nevertheless took out another glass and started pouring. His gauntlet graft—Theo’s own work—gleamed warm bronze in the firelight and he noted with no small satisfaction that it had been well-maintained.

“You sure, Fairchild? You’ve been sitting in that there seat for a while now. Business or pleasure?”

“‘Business. S’posed to meet a client here."

Though it was getting unlikelier by the minute. That part was left unsaid, because both of them were nothing if not tactful—a trait rare in these parts, Theo had found.

Abram slid a tankard across the bar to Theo while his eyes strayed to the man’s frayed threads and his death-warmed-over face, judging, hawk-eyed.

“Desperate, aren’t ya? You sure you’re gonna have enough to pay off your tab for the month?”

Theo huffed at that, taking a long draught of his beer in lieu of a reply.

It was true, Theo’s business hadn’t been going swimmingly, but in all honesty, when has it ever? Though this time was particularly rough—two regular clients had disappeared off to who the hell knows where, putting a sizable dent in his base income.

And it looked like a third would also fall through, judging from the still-empty seat beside him.

Theo had liked Ysabel.

It was a damn shame she had gotten mixed up with the local newturn packs.

He knew Abram was half-joking, but it was seeming more and more like he might not have enough to scrape by this month.

As Theo grimly contemplated his dire circumstances, he felt something go crooked in the atmosphere of the bar, a jolt of danger shocked his core. He instantly tensed, hackles raised.

His intuition proved correct. After a minor commotion, a man (unkempt, belligerent-looking, a Harry from the looks of it), previously drinking in a booth with his buddies, swayed to his feet and stumbled over to the bar, leveling a drunken glare at Theo. His more sober friends trailed behind out of what looked like concern, obviously reluctant to leave their drinks unattended.

“Oi! Canary!”

Theo ignored him and kept drinking, intent on finishing his pint and getting the hell out of there. It was time to cut his losses—if Ysabel wasn’t here by now, chances are she wasn’t going to arrive later.

Abram wasn’t having it, though.

The bartender narrowed his dark-eyed gaze at the man and his friends, bracing both hands on the bartop.

“Are we gonna have a problem here, boys?”

Abram was by no means a meek man, a built, bearded mekker with inked biceps and wire bifocals. His imposing stature did little to affect the whiskey-fueled courage of the Harry, who was already leant over Theo’s side, a devil’s bad attitude with breath like hell to boot.

“No, no, sir,” the man slurred right into the side of Theo’s forehead, making the veins in his neck jump and his fists clench tight round the handle of his half-finished drink. “Just making conversation with an old pal, just making con-ver-sation. How goes it, Canary?”

By now, the last vestiges of Theo’s patience had trickled away. He put down his pint a little too hard on the tabletop, liquid sloshing over the lip of the glass. He squinted at the man, squat and sullen with dull flaxen hair and beady rat’s eyes. He shifted his weight from foot to foot in response to Theo’s stare, moving a step back towards the safety of his friends, who looked even more reluctant to be there than before.

And a coward, no less. Though Theo can’t exactly throw stones.

He had met many men like him. But this one’s mug wasn’t ringing any bells.

“Say your piece and get the hell outta my face.” He growled nonetheless.

The man seemed to regain some of his composure at that and straightened up, curling his lip into a sneer.

“Got a bone to pick with ya, Canary.”

The man slammed a scuffed boot up onto a stool, ignoring the way Abram’s face turned stormy as he did so.

“Look at this fuckin’ hunk a junk leg graft you fixed onta me. Broke down within the month.”

The leg graft was good enough work, on par with most of the middling mechanics lurking around the lower Ninth Ward and such, but was obviously ill-maintained. Some of the bioceramic coating had rubbed off in a combination of poor care and mediocre foundation work, leaving the delicate clockwork inside exposed to the unforgiving elements.

It wasn’t Theo’s work, that was for sure. He knew his creations like the sun knew the sky and this third-rate leg ‘thetic wasn’t one of them.

“Shoulda expected it though,” The man laughed, turning to his friends for support. “That’s what I get for giving my business to a fink.” The men around him made vaguely contemptuous jeers in agreement, but the effect was somewhat diminished by the veritable fumes coming out of the man’s mouth and, obviously, the fact that he was lying through his teeth.

The man forged on, uncaring and unaware of Theo’s rising anger, smirk growing more confident the longer he talked.

“I want a full repair for free with some added parts to com-pen-sate for my...troubles.”

Theo internally scoffed. That was gonna earn him a dollar upcharge, if he decided to take the work—though it was becoming clearer and clearer that that wasn’t going to happen.

He threw his head back and drained the last dregs of his drink before sizing up the man once more, this time trying to see if it was worth the trouble to make nice.

Yellowed teeth, a dockworker’s stocky build, and busted-up tin can grafts, all stuffed into standard-issue pull ups over a sweat-stained mekker fit.

Chrissakes. Even Theo could shell out for a decent pair of decent pair of trousers.

Decision made in a split second, Theo put the empty pint down and stood up, squaring his shoulders.

“You sure have a lot of guts to walk up to a stranger an’ demandin’ they work on your dime-a-piece grafts for free, brother.” He growled, advancing on the man, who startled and made to take a step back before catching himself.

It was nice to know that Theo still had some of that fire from his heyday.

“I admit I’m a two-bit turncoat, but d’you take me for a damn fool?” He scoffed.

"I may be old but this?” Theo taps the side of his head, eyebrow raised. “This is working better than ever, an’ I am pre-tty sure I’d remember a face like yers.” His accent thickened low and gravelly as he stepped into the man’s space, braving the matted stink of sweat and alcohol as he jabbed a bronze finger into the stranger’s chest to his angry spluttering.

“Not to mention your mods are shoddy as hell." Theo swept another glance at the augments in question, his keen eyes picking out every flaw and dissecting each part. He cocked his head, letting just a bit of his arrogance seep into his tone. “Maybe ask around the tenements, they’ll have the kind of work you want. Now get the hell out of my face.”

That earned him a heated shove right to his core as the man lost all semblance of false nicety and rushed for him, yelling obscenities as his friends stepped forward seconds too late to hold him back.

Theo stumbled a bit back, foot behind him braced.

Seconds later, he quickly dodged a wild, drunken swing to his temple, catching the offending arm in a strong metal grasp inches from his face. The whole room seemed to freeze at that, all eyes on Theo, waiting for him to hit back, to back off, to do something.

His hand gripped tighter. The man’s wrist buckled audibly and he let out a pained hiss. His friends—there were three, all half-sober and full serious—suddenly moved in, two standing on either side of Theo while the other stayed back, cracking their fists with low-down gazes and set, tense jaws.

Behind him, he heard a low warning from Abram, who had long since come out the back and was watching the tense situation with his hawk eyes, ready to step in.

“Stand down, Fairchild.”

He loosened his grip and the man snatched back his hand, snarling but triumphant.

“Yeah, listen to the barkeep, Fairchild.”

He regained his bravado quick, hand clutching his injured wrist, a God-damned insufferable smirk on his damned face.

“Stand down.”

And any other night, Theo would’ve swallowed the fledgling remnants of his pride and stood down. His bar brawling days were years behind him, and he wasn’t in Londontown anymore—this was New Orleans. He had swindled the Templars, built gods out of gears and wire, and now he was living like a bastard in the streets again, with no friends or family to turn to.

But Theo has had a bad night—hell, Theo has had a bad month.
He licked the inside of his mouth, feeling the razor sharp canines he installed back in his youth, a jaw of titanium alloy with the force of a gator set in with alumina rivets, staring at the stranger in front of him, unmoving.

And now this nobody thought that he could be pushed around, as if he was some old coot past his prime, a hated thing left in some dark corner.

It struck a nerve.

Abram stepped forward. “Theo.”

But before anyone could blink, Theo lunged and bit.

-=-

Theo was thrown out of the dive bar without ceremony about fifteen minutes later, bruised but not beaten. Abram had done it himself, with an almost exasperated look on his face.

“I vouched for you, Fairchild,” he had told him as he manhandled the bloodied mekker out the door. “But you know how people ‘round these parts are.” He cocked his head towards the bar at the men licking their wounds inside along with the one Theo bit, who was clutching at his mangled face and whimpering.

“I convinced the boss not to sic the constable on you, but you best keep from showing your face here in the future, yeah?”

Theo gave a curt nod and with that, Abram closed the doors on him with a thud, leaving him out on the lamplit streets, alone.

He grimaced as he started plodding away, and not just because of the metallic taste in his mouth. The Admiral had been a prime source for clients—apparently, your average mekker needs some drinks in him before he’d agree to work with a reputed traitor, even if they crossed from the other side.

He’d have to find another place to lurk—and fast. He needed new clients or he’ll go under within the month and escaping the Order would have all been for nothing.

It might’ve been the remnants of his bad mood, but Theo still felt uneasy strolling through the darkened street.

Was almost like someone hung the moon wrong, like the night was crooked somehow.

He rolled back his shoulders and made his strides longer, head forward and eyes darting.

Best to find a place to hide out in until his restlessness passed. He headed portside, towards the bustling night markets of the French Quarter, quick footfalls and labored breath as the dark drew closer around him, eventide colors overtaken by inky blue-black.

 

[Leola_Asarai]

Cassandra Caldecott

Little Sparrow

health bar

WHERE: Somewhere in Town
WITH: A Stranger
DOING: Shopping
CREDIT: Wendy Ng
PLAYLIST: Coming Soon

People seemed to be spilling out of the woodwork as night loomed; patrons littering the streets as they dragged themselves to the glittering nightlife that seemed to consume the environment of this city. Cassandra found it intriguing and was close to joining them, the bars on her list calling to her to slip into, but they could wait. There would be plenty of time to join the drunken and depraved, but she had class about how she would go about it. What would be the point, if not to make a show of it?

The stores were closing up shop, packing away produce of a day well spent of selling and trading. Other stores were shutting their doors, locking up their businesses for the evening. Seemed she would either need to put in a request for later opening times or find a store that would pertain to people of the night such as herself. Surely there would be several businesses in the area that would cater to the needs of her kind and others who lingered in the darkness as well, especially since there seemed to be plenty that were around in the city.

Slim pickings were left on the stands, but she was able to observe with keen eyes the items that lingered. Blue eyes peered through the shop windows admiring the trinkets for sale and making a note of places to revisit. Cassandra enjoyed shopping and would often splurge on a number of fanciful items when she knew she would be staying somewhere for a more extended period of time than usual. Before leaving one place, she would generally sell things off again. That is what happened to her current wardrobe. She sold off the majority of her dresses and shoes, jewellery and other accessories to make for lighter travel. Cassandra held little for sentimentality, not really seeing the point of it all on the grander scale past the couple of trinkets she kept from the journeys of her many lifetimes over. An entire train load that she could quite easily fill if she so desired seemed almost a little too outlandish even for her.

Looking down at the dress she was wearing, Cassandra considered her options. The dress she had was lovely, a white patterned bodice covered by a tailored jacket of blue and white stripes, donned neatly over her billowing skirt. It had not been the most extravagant dress she had owned, but for the purposes of travelling, it had been practical. However, Cassandra needed an update. Her dress was needing to be refreshed, and perhaps a few less layers in the lingering humidity that clung in the air. It would be something delicate, something new. She was getting excited just by the thought of seeing what this beautiful city had to offer.

The blonde kept an eye out as she walked the street, looking for something to catch her eye. She would be in need of a dress shop if one was around, or a tailor that could design her a few pieces. Either option delighted her with the possibilities. As she was walking by, someone caught her attention, asking for a moment of her time. Cassandra loved small talk, and the initiation of it by others was always welcome. “Of course!” she said in excitement, stopping in her tracks to hear what exactly the young woman wanted to ask her.

The dilemma the young vampire had was not dissimilar to Cassandra's own. Seemed fate was willing the situation forward for whatever purpose it could possibly wish to impose on her. Could be good, could be bad, either way, Cassandra was going to have fun with it.

“Why it seems we are in a similar predicament,” she said with a smile. “I only arrived a few days ago, and am still finding my footing, so to speak.” Cassandra had barely been out on the town and had little knowledge of the layout of the city, nor the locations of the particulars she was seeking. “Come, I’m in need of a clothier myself, why not find one together?” she asked, holding her hand out, “Cassandra Caldecott,” she introduced.

 

[legalrehab]

S E I K O
島崎清子

alias: Kirin

health bar

WHERE: Local Library
WITH: Dom
DOING: Studying
CREDIT: Inesanemona
PLAYLIST: Winter's Nocturne

“Maybe for others, they see it as nothing more than the right thing to do. After all, Seiko, would you abandon your ideals if you were fighting for what you believed in with all your heart? "

The question burned within him, for when he thought about it there was no answer. Maybe putting himself in their shoes was not the best approach for he himself couldn’t remember the last time he fought for something he truly believed in. Not since forming his own rebellion all those years ago, and still to this day he wondered if it was the right idea. His force put a stop to the quibbles of class society, but in the end it only happened again a few decades later upon their leave.

“When I find something worth fighting for – with all my heart - I’ll let you know my answer to that question,” Seiko said solemnly. “I thought I knew what that was before, but now I’m not so sure.”

Seiko leaned back into his chair, he balanced the legs of the chair on it’s hind feet and rocked himself back and forth from the table using the pressure of his knees. His newfound acquaintance was truly a godsend. Dominick knew very plainly what he was speaking of. He could not have known the amount of bloodshed this man had seen, but he had such a brilliant optimism about him. It made him envious to see a smile so natural. It was clear that this man had found something worth fighting for.

“I wish I could procure an answer for you, truly. I fear I look too often at the past and the present, too grounded in reality to think of a golden future. I’m reminded that before this – the creatures of the night fought only against themselves, correct? Now, consider whether they and the Templars will still be enemies as this century turns.”

Seiko let his chair fall forward on all feet, and sipped from the now room-temperature bergamot tea. “Somehow, I doubt it.” He sighed, knowing he was being a terrible conversational host to ask for certainties about something as ambiguous as the future. “I guess… a part of me wanted to find something that proved the Templars may be something different than another piece upon the game board. It looks like I’m guilty of looking to justify an answer that just isn’t there and for that I apologize. Mercia Addison, Ataraxia Nihilo, Jonah Lancaster, the more I read the more their history seems to blend the same.”

Dominick seemed to take no offense, and Seiko was truly thankful for that. He was acutely aware of his own hedgehog’s dilemma: wanting to become close to others but too worried about hurting them to ever let them in. It was humans like Dominick that he appreciated, who were aware of the quills and still tried to work around them with no reward for doing so besides being a good friend.

“In the end, they’re people like everyone else,” Dominick offered. “Do you think it’s too improbable to believe that for some, it’s merely a matter of finally seeing something that had only been a dream before, and wishing for that dream to retain itself as reality?”

Maybe Seiko couldn’t relate. He gave up thinking on dreams a long time ago. In truth he’d lived most of them already: a rich-life at his emperor’s palace, leading an empire, keeping beautiful lovers, and even fatherhood. Though they were nice at the time – having them taken away didn’t make him yearn for their return. A dream? He thought to himself, I don’t think I was ever good enough for one of those.

“You’re right, I suppose we all have something to live for even if it ever remains a mystery.” [

The two men continued their conversation on much more enjoyable topics than war. He felt he owed it to him after starting with such an off-putting matter. Through this he came to know a lot about him and found out that he was visiting New Orleans on business. Had he not been human, he would have offered a referral to Ms. Donovan right then and there – but it didn’t bode well to implicate humans in the affairs of beasts. Instead he let him know where the better Inns were, to come stop by La Perle for a meal sometime, and more importantly – where to get a good drink! As the woman who owned the library hinted at closing up shop for the night he was made aware of the time and graciously accepted Dominick’s offer in putting away the piles of books he had withdrawn.

The library-keeper’s interest was far from subtle. He became aware of it from his first few minutes there. He used to be a dangerous flirt, most of the time he still was unintentionally. Even when not interest he thought it polite to feign that he did and incapable of being bluntly neutral. He thanked her for allowing his company and for the complimentary tea while he read. He smiled upon her the same way he would greet diners at La Perle and laid his purchase before her. He settled on a freshly bound book of Advances in Holy Technology as well as a more antique tome titled Folklore of Japan. He bought the book on technology mostly for the higher price tag to support the business. He had little interest in the subject but the binding would look wonderful upon his shelf and if anything would make a good conversation piece. The latter book was for his own amusement, he always enjoyed reading what the Kirin was supposed to be from the account of someone who had never seen one. This one described it as a lizard-elk, which was not very accurate but closer than most tellings.

Her name was Robin. She was very endearing. She had copper skin with freckles kissed from a former life in the sun, honeyed eyes, full lips despite an elfin frame and her waves of hair were in a half-undone bun. He could tell that not unlike him she had also been a creature of the night for quite some time. Appearances were deceiving for those who stray from time’s path, he diminished himself to not take advantage of her interest, but perhaps he may find a reason to come back to the library again. He let her know much of the same.

“Thank you, be sure to tell your friends about us and come back any time – Oh!” She said befuddled as she scattered her hands in search of something, “Before you go, have a few of these won’t you?” She lifted open a box that used to house tea to procure a few pressed flowers. They were sunflowers, an odd choice to press but still a rare sight to see this late in the season. “I was never one for flowers, I can’t keep the things alive- but they’re quite useful as bookmarks. Give these to someone you care about, will you?” With this she sealed them into a rustic envelope and bid the two gentlemen on their way.

Time had passed much quicker than he anticipated, his new friend was quite right about that. He knew about this time Jack and Maeve would be headed home and he should be ready on stand-by for their leave. He was thankful for this encounter however, as he didn’t anticipate such enthralling conversation today as he had with Dominick.

“I’ve enjoyed your insight, though I regret I’ve got to make for home. I do hope we cross paths again, I am not sure how long your visit here will be, but know that you have a friend here in New Orleans.” He slipped one of the sunflower bookmarks into the book on folklore and presented it to Dominick as a parting gift, “Until next time, my friend.”

 

[Crazy Trey-n]

Dominick Durham

Goliath

health bar

WHERE: French Quarter
DOING: Grouping Up
WITH: Cain
CREDIT: WIP

Dom had stood patiently by while Seiko exchanged payment and pleasantries with Robin, making sure to wish her well before they made their way through the front door to meet a hazy night sky. It'd began to drizzle sometime during their conversation. By now, a thin sheen of moisture clung to the streets, mirroring images of buildings and dim light as reflections across patches of puddles like shimmering apparitions of another plane. The priest was swift to place the bowler hat upon his head once more. His hair had always been susceptible to going feral when coupled with humidity such as this.

The companion he'd made that night had done him a merciful favor by sharing his time. Rather quickly, Dominick had garnered an admiration for Seiko. There was a sense of empathy buried within the Japanese fellow that he could relate to, despite the fact that his own was worn upon his sleeve without the same kind of cautious guard. All he could hope for was that Seiko would find the answers he sought, as well as to share a meeting again, preferably amid good company and even better drinks.

Dominick shot a smirk at his newfound friend once they were on the street.

"I hope you know that I'll be holding you to your word. When you finally find whatever it is you truly fight for, then I'd love to have the pleasure of being one of the first to know."

Seiko seemed to appreciate the gesture in a quiet kind of way.

“I’ve enjoyed your insight, though I regret I’ve got to make for home. I do hope we cross paths again, I am not sure how long your visit here will be, but know that you have a friend here in New Orleans.”

The words provoked yet another smile to brighten Dom's face, but the gift that followed caused it to discernibly soften. He took the book in hand and slowly, thoughtfully nodded as response. It meant more to him than Seiko likely knew.

"I'm certain that we will," he stated confidently, unable to help himself from reaching out and clapping Seiko on the shoulder just once. "You ever need anything, don't hesitate to holler and I'll see if I can't come running. You've a comrade in me any day, and a friend in me always." Afterwards, he tucked the book under the strap of his belt around his waist - currently without any other place of safety other than right against his being - and offered a brief mimic of a two-fingered salute. "Thank you again for the very fine night. We'll have to visit La Perle for our next meeting, surely. Do take care until then!"

The hour really had grown late. Much longer and he'd be missing out on his scouting duties for the night, though with whom he'd be scouting was still an unknown to him. He supposed that the only way to find out would be go forth and discover it for himself.

He'd begun to make his way back towards the French Quarter, though he turned around before he ventured too far and cheerily called out, "And remember, my friend: mysteries of the self are made to be solved!"

- - -

The streets were no less bustling than they were when he strolled them mere hours before. Steering through the swaths of bodies both cool and warm was simple enough with how easily they parted, coaxed by soft mutterings of "sorry" or "pardon" from time to time. With his mind elsewhere, however, he found navigating the streets themselves to be a difficult ordeal.

Dominick had forever fancied himself an idealist. The future had been something of a wonder to him since he was a young boy and pondering its potential was a frequent tendency. Hoping for something greater, something good, had always been a part of who he was... so Seiko's words struck a chord with him. What did the current future look like? He hadn't considered the past as thoroughly as the other had, it seemed. History was easy to peg as a constant and he could understand that there was always the possibility of it repeating itself. After all, for some there was always a loftier goal, whether or not it was warranted; Dominick was perceptive enough to recognize that ambitions ran high-strung amidst the Templars, even though he'd only been exposed to its middling ranks. What if they lost? Or worse still, what if all that came of their aspirations was one war after the next? Nothing could keep them from deciding their crusade's work was not yet done when the war came nearer to a close.

No, no. With Holly at the helm and the good intentions that he knew the majority of them harbored, the worst could not come to fruition.

Could it?

"Watch it, pal!" The voice held as much tenderness as steel against a grindstone and hastily disappeared behind him, but it was more than enough to divert Dominick's attention back to his immediate surroundings. Somehow, his feet had guided him into the French Quarter, conveniently near the alley he'd visited with purpose earlier in the day. He would have given himself a pat on the back if he were able to in that moment. At least his body was without a doubt about its direction.

Finding an opportune moment to slip into the shadows of the isolated alley was straightforward enough once the sidewalk had grown sparsely populated, as was the matter of finding his hidden gear, and yet donning it by himself was never without its hassles. It was a sentiment of his past; the rugged, tempered steel plates were littered with deep scars and dents, lent by time and serving as a testament to the years he'd spent fighting battles under another cause. The Templars had offered him a top-of-the-line powersuit when he'd joined them, but he'd refused on the grounds that his current set had served him well enough as it were. To him, it'd be like discarding an age-old friend that'd seen the thick and the thin of it all, the good and the bad.

Though he sometimes wondered how he'd look in something, well... new.

The armor was damned heavy. Dom was sure that he'd alerted half of the city with the curses that left him and the clashing of metal on metal while he'd struggled to strap everything into place. When he left the alley, protected from neck to toe with steel plating and carrying his helmet under one arm, he came chest-to-faces with a group who'd huddled together in surprise at his sudden appearance. The alley must have been too dark for them to see much within it and he must have been the last thing they'd suspected to see come out. Dom was quick to offer an apologetic wave and head off in the direction of Chapter Headquarters. Subtlety had never been his strong suit, indeed.

And it seemed as though he wasn't the only one.

His walk had been even more uneventful than he'd hoped it would be, with only a few pointed fingers and murmured whispers being the things to disrupt him, and even then he wasn't much bothered. The realization that most of the city's inhabitants were harmless had dawned on him well into his visit and had only been strengthened by his encounter with Robin and Matilda. If anything, most here were the ones that could use protecting.

A commotion from around an oncoming street had Dominick's curiosity piqued, driving him to quicken his pace. Dim light was faintly visible even before he rounded the corner. Shielding it for the most part was a crowd of people gathered at its fringes, some observing with unbridled awe and others with something similar to fear. When he was close enough to peer over the majority of the heads blocking sight of the object, Dom placed his free hand on his hip and exhaled a quiet sigh.

Alexei had been sent to accompany him, then.

They were likely the two worst candidates for missions of tact and subterfuge in this sort of environment, with Dom being an unlikely candidate for it on any sort of ground, but he supposed that he could make do with what he had. Cain had certain... tendencies. Dom had come to find that he was occasionally able to alleviate the consequences of them whenever he was around, so with a smile at face and a hand raised high, he approached between a pair of onlookers.

"So it still works!" he called out to snatch the attention of the Russian, gesturing towards the powersuit and rapping it with one of his knuckles when he was close enough. "Wasn't sure it would after the beating it took this morning."

Before he could immediately respond, Dom nodded in the direction that the Russian had been heading and placed a hand on the back of his suit, encouraging them to carry on away from too many prying eyes. For a moment, he worried about not having brought any of his weapons or his shield, but convinced himself once more: this was a scouting mission only.

"I'll take it that you've only just come seeking for me? Leave you alone in the city for but a while and you've managed to attract more eyes than even I have. Now that's an accomplishment!"

The giant man let loose a jovial laugh. At heart he worried for Alexei, oftentimes falling into fits of harmless mischief in the hopes that the young man would open up to him just a little, or even take him as some sort of an example - a silly sentiment, but one he'd stick too all the same. In the end, it was only their first day there; it'd take a miracle to find their target so soon, and they already knew of his description and supposed aliases. All that was left was to watch. The worst that his companion would likely be forced to suffer through that night was a bit of small talk.

"Only one person who could have fixed that sort of damage..." Dominick leaned down and reached around, wrapping a thick arm around the adolescent's shoulders. "You really let René get that close, eh?"

 

[ashwynne]

Nascha

Black Sun

health | bar

WHERE: Derelict Shack
WITH: Jack & Maeve
DOING: Pursuing Solutions
CREDIT: @peritwinkle
PLAYLIST:

Following bourbon laced conversation in the parlour with Jack, and with the vial tucked carefully into her bag, the healer wasted no time in finding the nearest library as soon as she left Maeve's estate.
At home in the large building with its plethora of tall shelves filled to bursting with books, anything that seemed even remotely useful was slipped from the shelves until she had a pile that no mere mortal would have been able to trek around.
With an ease that came only from her beast strength, Nascha balanced the obscenely tall pile in her arms and headed to the front counter; the stack high above her head waving slightly with every step, though agile as she was the healer managed to keep it from toppling. Understandably, the librarian arched an imperious brow at the sight of the collection being brought to her counter; taking but a brief moment to quickly count and tally how many were in the stack.
“There is a limit of thirty books that can be taken out at any given time.”
“I have forty-five here at the most, I’m barely above the limit, surely an exception--”
“No exceptions. Thirty books is outrageous already. I admire your verve for reading, darling, but surely you don’t need all of these.”
Nascha’s lips pulled into a frown, brows pinching. “These are critical for my research, it might very well be a matter of life and death.”
“Then you’re welcome to come back and sit here to read the fifteen I can’t allow you to take.”
At an impasse, the two women stared at each other. Only it wasn’t really an impasse at all, Nascha was not in charge here and she knew it… even if the knowledge rankled.
“Forty.”
“Thirty.”
“...Thirty-five?”
“Thirty.”
Scowling, Nascha set the pile down with a thump and began to pick over them. Removing fifteen of her choices felt a little like being asked to choose a favourite child, and she was in physical pain by the time she had chosen the eighth one to leave behind.
“You’re almost there, dear, only seven more to remove.”
The healer shot her a dark glare, not missing the faint mirth which glimmered behind eyes the colour of honey. Preferring not to answer--knowing that if she did it would likely end in being ousted from the library entirely--the feline eventually managed to put aside the fifteenth book. Her face was twisted in a pained grimace, but the librarian paid her no mind; cheerfully beginning to scan and stamp each of the remaining choices until they were neatly stacked all over again.
“Good luck with your research. Remember, you can always come sit here in the library to read the ones you had to leave behind.”
Nascha made no answer. The woman likely meant it kindly enough but at present it merely felt like salt in the wound.

​

The light was swiftly fading, casting an unhealthy pall on the rotted floorboards and lichen-eaten walls of the single-room shack. This sad abode, smelling of mildew and mold, was a short enough distance from Maeve’s home that she could stroll there to interrogate Jack as needed, but far enough away to be secluded from any unwanted company. In other words; it was perfect.
True, a stiff breeze might well have finished off what little still held it all together, but that was of little consequence to the healer. Frankly, she was far too consumed by the present project to care much for small details like structural integrity.

Scraps of paper and select books from her library trip lay scattered in a halo about her workspace (which might have been more aptly called ‘the floor’). Several were long encyclopedias on herbalism, a few were guidebooks to rare herbs, and one or two were related to Templars. But, at present, Nascha paid them no mind. With her knees drawn up to her chest and her chin resting on top of them, she peered through narrowed eyes at the herbs and vials assembled before her; perfectly still. Thus far they had not animated themselves and given her an answer, but a predator’s patience alongside deep frustration still had her frozen there… staring in fitful hope at the assortment of ingredients and supplies before her as though by simply looking an answer might come to her.

The precious vial with a drop of serum contained within had been placed with reverent care onto the ground beside a slew of others. None matched the reddish-brown colour of the liquid, but then, it had not been puce originally--according to Jack--but rather ‘chartreuse.’
She had needed to look up both words he had used to describe the serum’s colour. Nascha supposed it was only natural that colours had individual names, but frankly she didn’t understand why things needed to be so complicated. Surely ‘reddish-brown’ and ‘yellow-green’ were good enough descriptors, less likely to confuse and befuddle simple healers who did not ascribe to ‘colour theory’ (as the book she had read on the subject liked to call it). Though, she had to admit that puce was an excellent name for the current colour of the sluggish bead of liquid in the vial.

Regardless, the myriad attempts she had made to replicate the serum had thus far been in vain. Not for lack of trying, but there were certain ingredients she simply did not recognize. It was confounding and incredibly vexing. Yes, she was young, but all her life had been dedicated to this craft, and being so thoroughly stumped was more than aggravating. It tempted her towards the black arts. More than tempted, really, but she liked Jack and was unwilling to accept the risk to his life that using black magic might bring. It would simply need to be replicated the old fashioned way and for that she needed to learn more. And time was of the essence.

The snap of a twig from beyond the shack, and a change in the presences felt on the air, had her springing fluidly to her feet. For a moment her eyes flashed as she considered shifting, but the moment passed as she recognized the scents on the air.
Blithely, she gripped the front door by way of a hole where the doorknob had once been, swinging it open to greet her guests and frowning as the bottom hinge snapped with the sudden movement. The floorboards were too decayed to so much as squeak in protest as the base of the door thudded into them; instead they simply broke, a full corner of the brittle frame falling through to bury its point in soft earth, leaving the remainder jutting out at an uncomfortable angle. Nascha’s nose crinkled unhappily. That would be terribly aggravating to fix later.
“Jack… Maeve.” She almost added the title of ‘queen’ to her greeting of the Ravenwoman but forewent it instead. Nascha would call her queen when she felt the title had been earned to her satisfaction and not a moment before.
Amber eyes flicked between the pair, “I hope you’re here for something interesting.” It never even crossed her mind that they might find it strange… her standing in the newly broken entryway of a rotted shack, completely naked.

 

[AntarcticRomantic]

René Troxler

Ephemera

health bar

WHERE: NOLA Templar HQ
WITH: Fellow Engineer
DOING: Preparation and Repairs
CREDIT: len-yan
PLAYLIST: ☀

A calm had settled between them, one he was unsure of. A quiet agreement was struck; neither of them cared for the 84th, even if the taller of the duo was a Legionnaire himself. It was a moment before René realized why he felt uneasy. Cain was staring again. Instinctively, the blond stepped back, uncertain about being within the Russian’s general vicinity while his sights were set so closely on him even with others around them. The engineer hated the target on him, how clearly those stony eyes locked his gaze. It was as unsettling as it was invasive.

Fortunately, he was saved by the voice of an archangel. His head turned in time to see the Gabriel wave his bunkmate to her. His expression softened as he looked to the general, but the mask slipped back on fluidly as he was nodded to as his gaze was taken from his mentor. “Thanks, René.” With that he was left alone, in peace.

He hadn’t realized his name was used while he finished cleaning the space before walking away to seek if any of the others needed assistance. When it did register, it caused a nervous tick at the corner of his eye. It was foreign from the stranger with whom he shared a room. He’d known that Cain knew his surname, anyone on the mission would, and everyone knew his codename. It disturbed Ephemera’s comfort, as did the offer of gratitude because it was a rare occurrence for a given name to be used so casually among the Templars. It implied familiarity the two- sure as Hell on Earth- did not share. It had to be another game to burrow beneath his skin, the blond thought.

The worst of it was the bastard had managed to do it. A neat, leather-clad hand reached for the aching metal again, massaging the titanium of the forearm while his unoccupied hand settled on its opposite shoulder. It would do nothing. The pain Ephemera felt was psychosomatic. The best conclusion he could come to for his current phantom pain had everything to do with what little he knew about his bunkmate by comparison to what it appeared the Legionnaire had stashed away. Considering it for a moment, there was little he cared to know if only to make his survival within the shared space easier. He didn’t even know Cain’s real name. No one ever mentioned it.

His codename was called and he moved towards the engineer who had shouted for him. He looked over the augmentation of the Legionnaire they’d been working on and checked the status of the last minute repair. It was in working order and the specifics would hold through provided they didn’t suffer sufficient damage. Satisfied, the two walked away, and the other made mention of the work he’d done on the Seraphim suit.

“You must be proud you got around to working on it, after all.”

Stoically, he turned his head towards her with a raised eyebrow, considering the slight woman beside him. “And what would give you that impression?”

“Well,” the Templar started, shifting uncomfortably as they walked together, “The other day, the fight you two had in the engineering lab, it seemed like you were adamant about getting your hands on it.”

He scoffed and pushed hair out of his eyes while they wandered away from the staging tables. “Hardly. The owner of that suit is reckless, and the decisions he was making in regard to the alterations he wanted to make weren’t even halfway thought out. Anyone could have seen that just by watching and observing. He could not because of his hubris.” His amber eyes settled on the man in question as he left the preparation room, the first of the scouting party at the Headquarters to start the mission. His mind wandered to the last few days, the interactions they’d had, and the words between them minutes before. Then he remembered the passive-aggression he was shown with the schematics. "You know, somewhere out there is a tree, tirelessly producing oxygen so he can breathe. I think he owes it an apology."

 

[Kittenbells407]

1. Elijah Kaylock.

   alias: The Tinkerer

   health bar

   WHERE: Chapter Headquarters
   WITH: Beau and others
   DOING: "Training"
   CREDIT:
   PLAYLIST:

   Elijah was a creature of the night and not even the darkness that blanketed the training room could pull the wool over his eyes or dull his senses. Though the vampire child clutched his favorite teddy bear close and allowed crocodile tears to stream down his face while giving the occasional sniffle and quiet sob, he attentively watched the fight between Mathis and his nameless foe unfold. The wereowl’s fighting style was not unfamiliar to the vampire and they had clashed many times thanks to their captors, but it didn’t stop Elijah from watching and studying every little detail of the fight as it unfolded….a real shame that the opponent was nothing but a whiny, noisey, little coward. His breathing and footsteps were as loud as day to the vampire and he knew that were he blindfolded, tracking down the little nuisance wouldn’t pose a real challenge. It was that loudness that led to the boy’s downfall and he smirked from behind the teddy bear as Mathis nearly tore the poor kid’s shoulder out of its socket.
   
   Whatever training Mathis had been doing as of late, it had certainly paid off and he would be lying if he said that the Templars’ methods were not bearing fruit. Their methods were harsh and cruel to say the least: beatings, verbal beratings, brainwashings...everything colorful under the shining sun he had been forced to endure. Elijah was different from the others--immune to their torturous ways, he was reduced to faking their effects and creating a rather elaborate farce while he trained himself to be the best among their ranks and while he gathered the information and intel the girls would need in the future. He poured every ounce of his energy and focus into his current mission for their sake as they had given his life another purpose when he initially thought there was none.
   
   Without Kestrel, the young vampire’s life had all but lost its meaning. The elder vampire was young Eli’s father figure and though they disagreed often, he was always someone the child vampire could return to for unconditional friendship, aid and support. His death at the hands of their foes had hit young Eli hard and left him absolutely devastated. Although he knew better by that point in his life, he thought of the great and mighty king of the vampires as some invincible force of nature to be reckoned with, much like how a child views their own parents. To find out otherwise was quite a rude wake up call and it turned his world upside down. If not for Cecile and Esther, he may have been left to rot and his life would have been meaningless...which he thought that he deserved after having royally failed his mentor. The girls showed him otherwise and helped him get back on his own two feet again, so when the rumors began to circulate about the Templars kidnapping helpless children so as to turn them into ruthless killing machines for their cause, Elijah was the first to volunteer his aid. Although he was over 200 years old by that point, being trapped in the body of a child combined with his five star acting skills would play in his favor.
   
   Getting himself captured was way easier than he anticipated. A few crocodile tears and cries for his mommy and daddy while wandering the street at night did the trick just like he hoped that it would. Once in custody, the process of turning him into the proper soldier they desired began and he endured hours upon hours of torture and conversion tactics...none of which affected him in the slightest. For the sake of the mission though, he pretended like they had and proved himself to be quite the obedient little soldier in training. Everything they taught him he absorbed like a sponge and spit right back out at them when the time came. He was nothing but a loyal little doggy in their eyes and that’s how he liked it. Meanwhile, he took copious notes on everything they had put him through and on his regular, daily routines. He spared them no detail and kept the small notepad he used on his person at all times. To cover his own tracks in case the notebook was discovered, the young vampire invented his own code language so what he had written appeared to be nothing but the chicken scratch of a 7 year old boy who lacked the ability to write properly. Parts of his notes consisted of the names, ages and fighting styles of the other children. After each session, he was sure to write everything he had seen down before it faded from his memory. However, the time for writing was over as he felt a hand on his shoulder urge him forward.
   
   Like always, he immediately burst out into tears and begged and pleaded with his captors not to participate in the fight. Like always, his teddy was yanked from his grip and he was urged forward as Mathis’s new opponent. Pretending to still be distraught, he sobbed quietly and rubbed at his eyes and nose as his opponent stared him down. Mumbling to himself about how he only wanted mommy and daddy, Eli shoved his hands into the pockets of his pants to retrieve a velvet satchel with his weapons of choice inside: his yo-yos, one for each finger.
   
   Like before, the training room was bathed in darkness and that’s when he struck. Lashing out with all of the bladed yo-yos at once, he attempted to bind his opponent and cut him down to size rather than pussy-footing around in the dark. Mathis heard the sound of the strings and the blades heading his way and skillfully dodged them, but that didn’t deter the vampire in the slightest. He wound the yo-yos back and lashed out again and again, trying to ensnare his foe, to no avail. Meanwhile, the wereowl crept ever closer and attempted to lash out with a dagger in retaliation. He blocked the blow with a dagger of his own that he kept hidden under his belt. Again and again the blades clashed and sparks flew through the air as both children attempted to gain the advantage over the other, to no avail. Growing tired of the routine, the vampire decided to end it by shoving his foe backwards the next time their blades met. When Mathis attempted to come at him again, Eli blocked it with his yo-yos and hurled the rest towards the beam directly above his head. They caught on the beam quite nicely and he quickly pulled himself up the strings and onto the beam where he pulled forth several small chakrams that he hurled at the boy on the ground. A few came close to the boy’s face, but none of them hit their mark as Mathis had heard their approach and dodged out of the way at the right time.
   
   In retaliation, Mathis reached for the bow strapped to his back and an arrow and began to shoot at Eli. The vampire saw the projectiles coming and skillfully dodged each and every one of them...until one came eerily close to his face. It was at that point that he lost his balance and fell towards the metal floor at an alarmingly fast rate. Thinking quickly, he used one of his longer yo-yos like a grappling hook and hurled it towards the beam again. It caught in place like the others had and he was able to lower himself the rest of the way to the ground. Now safely on the ground, he unlatched his yo-yos and returned them to his satchel. His foe did something similar and dropped the bow and the dagger to the ground. Sensing where things were about to go next, the vampire dropped his dagger and the satchel as well and stared his foe down as if daring the kid to make the first move.
   
   And make the first move he did: a vicious right hook to the vampire’s jaw that made his eyes water and his world turn white with pain. Ugh...how Elijah hated fists fights. He had seen Kes get into his fair share of them especially while intoxicated. It was a disgraceful and messy way to fight and he remembered chiding the king of vampires over it many a time…..but if the wereowl wanted it to be that way...who was he to back down from a challenge? ‘What would Kes do?’ He asked himself. ‘Oh yes...I know.’ Channelling his old mentor then, he lunged forward to the other boy and clocked him dead in the nose. From there, fists flew as the boys pummeled each other without remorse.

 

[Leola_Asarai]

Beau Desmarais

Mathis

health bar

WHERE: Chapter Headquarters
WITH: Elijah Kaylock
DOING: Training
CREDIT: Olivier Ponsonnet?
PLAYLIST: Coming Soon

Standing with hands behind his back, feet shoulder-width apart, he waited. A challenge, that was what Mathis was waiting for. Training was the best way he could prove himself. Prove to them that he was dedicated, that he was willing to do what was necessary to complete whatever mission they gave him. Mathis hadn't been here incredibly long, but he had put his training to good use. He owed them his life, and he was going to give everything to them in return.

Their trainer walked the lines of those waiting to take their turn, hand falling on one of the youngest. Mathis stared the boy down as he whined and pleaded not to fight. A futile attempt at not participating. It was a show, for the most part, Mathis could tell that much. This session wouldn't be the first time they had fought together, and the challenge the boy presented was a welcomed one against the others he had been up against so far. Eli was not dissimilar to himself. They were both creatures beyond the natural order of life; they shouldn't exist. While Mathis had accepted that, it seemed Eli still needed to learn a few things.

The lights went off, and Mathis' eyes were blinded. He knew the vampire would have keener eyes than his own, but he knew he wouldn't be as disadvantaged as others may think. He had proved that a number of times. He didn't need eyes to hear the sound of Eli's weapon as it reached through the darkness. Mathis swiftly dodged out of the way, rolling to the side, staying in control as the other boy lashed his weapon out again. Mathis dodged it each time it came in his direction, lunging himself closer on every instance. Pulling his dagger from the sheath on his leg, the boy held it at the ready; if the vampire wanted to play with weapons, they were going to play.

A clang of daggers sounded as Mathis was close enough to lash out but was stopped by a blade the other had pulled. A dark smirk lined the boys face through the darkness. He was enjoying the challenge presented to him. Their short blades continued to steel against each other, neither boy giving in, trying to gain the advantage. Mathis lost his footing momentarily, pushed back, but it did not deter him, lashing out again. He was blocked, and it seemed the other boy was making a run for it. Eli used his yo-yo to pull himself up to the beams above their heads. At a higher vantage point, the vampire thought he had the advantage, he was wrong. The bladed weapons Eli threw down missed their mark as Mathis swiftly dodged out of the way. He could hear how they cut through the air, and his eyes had begun adjusting to the darkness enough to hone into their location. Granted, a few came a little too close for Mathis liking, but he made his own mental note that he needed to improve his speed.

Dodging was getting him nowhere. Pulling the bow from his back, Mathis lined up his arrows in the direction of the other boy. Taking careful aim, he let them go, listening for the steps across the beam to guide him. It seemed their trainers didn't care if they injured each other, what difference would it make if it were between two children who shouldn't exist in the first place. Mathis refused to let his soul burn in hell for some useless vampire child.

Eli dodged every one of his arrows until Mathis anticipated his movements. Still not perfect, as it did not give a direct hit, it came close enough to knock the other boy off his balance, losing his footing and falling from the beam he had perched himself on. Mathis watched as Eli fell, hoping he would hear the satisfying crash of him hitting the ground, but it was never that easy was it. The vampire caught himself with his yo-yo, lowering himself to the ground safely. With a huff, the young templar trainee dropped his weapon to the ground. If he was going to fight the boy, he wanted to do it with his own hands.

Curling his hand into a fist, he lashed out, a satisfying impact of the kids face against his knuckles as Mathis punched a right hook into the vampire's jaw. A fist to Mathis' nose was a quick retaliation from the kid, but it did nothing but to spur him on. A dark glint in his eye as he was on him, each boy taking blow after blow. There wouldn't be an end until their trainer called for the session to be over, or until one of them fell. Mathis refused to fall at the hands of a boy already dead.

 

[nighteyes]

Esther Asturias

SHERWOOD

health bar

WHERE: A market street
WITH: Cassandra Caldecott
DOING: Window Shopping
CREDIT: John Atkinson Grimshaw

The woman she had addressed, blue of eye and elfin of face, proved very amenable to being approached by a perfect stranger on the street. By happenstance this woman was not a denizen of New Orleans at all, as Esther had assumed, but was in fact another foreigner like herself. Upon learning of this common thread unspooled between them, her smile widened; earlier trepidations began to shy away in the face of kinship.

With a curiosity she opted not to voice outwardly, not wishing to pry, Esther wondered what manner of wind had borne her here. She could easily be another refugee in search of safe haven. That would not have been extraordinary with the state of affairs being what they were, though there was the likelihood that this purely a pleasure visit. Whatever the case, they were birds of a feather and much could be achieved if they flocked together.

She took hold of the hand offered her. Esther's gloved grasp was equal parts light and brief despite her enthusiasm in the company of a kindred spirit, and she was soon withdrawing her arm. “How do you do, Miss Caldecott. Our common ground grows yet; my footing here still leaves something to be desired, but I do not stumble so much as before. So if you find yourself teetering, then you might lean on my arm for balance, from one traveler to another. Sarah Weaver.“

Fortune was favoring her, and she was gladdened enough that the world seemed brighter for it; she was not always so lucky as this. “Incidentally, I may have glimpsed a clothier earlier this evening—where was it? Let me think...,“ Her sentence trailed away, and with an analytical glance, turned in place to ponder their surroundings. She believed she had spied their quarry only in passing and had thought little of it at the time, for she had been single-minded and brimming with imaginings of a well-appointed pantry.

Esther shifted the handle of the basket to the crook of her other arm. In her head she retraced the path taken from home; recollections of the sundry shop, the grocer, and many a window paraded in her mind's eye. She delved through them all for the answer, her knuckles held to her jawline in thought.

Then, suddenly brightening, she declared, “I have it! This way, around yonder corner; we will find out if memory serves.“ To the best of her capability Esther would be her guide to the city, and Cassandra her guide to mysteries of fashion; from her attire, she looked to be a woman with an eye for it.

Beckoning with a jovial wave of the hand, she entreated her companion to accompany her. Then she set off down the street, her eager step quickened by a newfound vigor. Adventurous airs that cloaked this task held the same power of smelling salts, and notions of turning her feet toward Bywater had momentarily fallen to the wayside. Best to make full use of this upswing in her health so long as it lasted.

The lion's share of the hustle and bustle would doubtless be in the scintillating entertainment districts, but she reasoned there surely had to be activity to be found in the commercial stretches, too. In her experience that was the way of all great cities: never still. She was reminded of England's capital. In contrast life in Bath, Somerset—a city of medicinal hot springs and Sally Lunn buns, where she had spent her early years—struck her as far more relaxed. The picture of Bath's famed architecture hewn from honey-toned limestone lost in the noise and refuse of great industry was one she could not conjure.

She dearly missed those buns. There existed a tearoom in Londontown where the Sally Lunn buns were first rate, but those of Bath were a cut above. This was not an uncommon sentiment. Attempts to replicate that Bathonian teacake had seen varying degrees of success, though none had hit the mark. That could be attributed to how closely guarded the original recipe was, willed with the deed to the eating house where the buns were first served. She had fond memories of taking them oven-warm on picnics to the greensward of the Royal Crescent.

A wistful sigh trickled from her, and with it, she banished all notions of the past from her person. Wallowing in homesickness did little good. She had allowed herself a moment's reminisce; any further and she was like to find herself treading more treacherous grounds, namely how many years had passed since the rich air of Spain's north coast last consecrated her lungs.

“I myself have dwelled here a little over a fortnight,“ Esther announced, a tentative foray into making conversation, though her voice was softened by a note of apology. “And I am still settling in. I ought to give you fair warning: should we happen across copperware or an herb drying rack, I will be hopelessly distracted.“

Truth be known, there was a kind of strangeness to sightseeing and strolling through parks; not so very long ago, she would not have the time for it. Whenever it caught her, this feeling, she would ask herself if there was something wrong to gallivanting this way. In Londontown where reconnaissance and business were her bailiwick, she had been pulled every which way building her company and chronicling the city's ebbs and flows. Her schedule had been so regimented she'd hardly had a chance to breathe, and then, after fleeing to Kewstoke with tail tucked firmly between her legs, she had floundered without purpose.

A good kick out of the nest was the remedy she had needed, and she'd had one. She was grateful for that, too. Now all she need do was dust herself off.

“Oh, look there!“ Reaching down to raise the hem of her skirt above her ankles, she hastened forward to a storefront ahead, but the excitement of discovery was soon dimmed—the window was darkened, and the sign on the door read closed.

“Confound it, not again,“ Esther huffed. “I had hoped this would be open.“ She looked to the well-garbed mannequins in the window, then to her own cinnamon daygown, then back again. Out of all the dresses in her wardrobe this garment was in the best condition, and her favorite, but she could not date it.

“That one must be made for a working woman. A typist, maybe,“ she said of the mannequin garbed in a long and and smartly tailored coat over a narrow matching skirt. “She would shrug off the coat once arriving at the office, I imagine. But what would be worn beneath...? A light blouse to best suit the climate?”

With her head held at a cant she cast a sidelong glance at her companion. “Well, Miss Caldecott, does anything catch your eye? What of that one?” She made a gesture to indicate the mannequin in the far right corner, swathed in a blush teagown that featured a neckline bedecked with diaphanous embroidered ruffles.

 

[CosmicDusk]

Jonah Lancaster

The Overseer

health | bar

WHERE: New Orleans Templar HQ
WITH: Holly Wilshire, Elias Brandt
DOING: Observing
CREDIT: Ástor Alexander
PLAYLIST: ♱

Loud. Obnoxious. Above all, obscene. While there was no pure rejection of the latter of the three, Jonah was not a particular fan of funfair. He found them to be overbearing at times, mundane and placid. He could hardly agree to a scene of dance if he couldn't help himself. Such indulges, he could never fathom. As Holly spoke with the musician, the Overseer fell into an old habit: observing the other party. He spoke elaborate, words like velvet came natural to him. Perhaps it had much to do with his occupation, though Jonah would not deny if there was something else that lingered in the shadows. Broad, likely due to the nature of his being as a vampire; it did peak his interest in the man as to why he would go against his own kind. Formerly human assessments, mayhap.

He was grateful the conversation was kept short and straightforward, much to his pleasure. Brandt, though curt, was forthcoming in his demands. Jonah was the same, and Gabriel, as graceful as ever, answered him promptly given the current situation on Paradise. As long as he steered clear of Jonah's quarters and his work, he found there would be no further issues. The one current already sat like poison on his tongue. However skilled the vampire hunter may be, the Legionnaire was not one to be willful with his trust.

Time would tell. As would the retrieval of the Key.

♱​

Conversation was then steered back to the streets. Jonah was not a man of words, not so kindly with strangers, so he left most of the talking to Holly. Jaws clenched at the mention of allowing Brandt to their files. While information was crucial to the hunt, who was to say the vampire may be acting as reconnaissance for them. The thought darkened the silvern hues of his eyes. Some extra eyes wouldn't do any harm. By some stroke of luck, one of his men approached him with documents on hand. With fluidity, he gathered them into his own gloved one, peering over its contents while still in earshot of Gabriel and Brandt. Pleasantries were pleasantries, and while Jonah was usually for the formalities, this meeting was anything but pleasant.

"Gabriel, the recruits are ready to see you and the Overseer. Some are finishing their combat training for the day if you both wish to observe?"

His thoughts broke at the sound of a new voice, prompting him to finally look at the duo's way since their arrival at Headquarters. Initiates. He had momentarily forgotten they were to observes the new recruits, but the sudden letter involving Brandt's existence had irritated his thoughts the past several hours that the Overseer was more than ready to fly in battle than deal with any more formalities. He delegated the next few tasks back at the young man before him, then sauntered his way to Holly's side, hand gripping his cane. His face stoic, he caught Holly in the midst of executing orders. He glanced over at Cain as periwinkle eyes attempted to meet his snow grey ones, but he remained silent.

After the mention of Dominick, the Overseer began his walk towards the training grounds. Such events were deemed mundane in his book. Many of the recruits over the years had bored him or were mere imitations of another. He considered it by God's will that he found a pupil like Cain, despite some shadows that loomed over him, most of which were of cause. Still, no one could deny the boy's talent, albeit his violent manners.

The grounds were silent except for the various clangs of weapons and exertion of breaths as pairs battled each other. Areas were evened off, barricaded to prevent clash between observations. A wave of nostalgia filled his nostrils as he walked by, but not a single person stood out. Normally people would revolt in disgust or disappoint at the sight of young boys. To the Patriarch, they were merely in their developing stage: the stage where almost everything would be easily absorbed into the mind and body. Easy to control. Manipulate.

The Overseer stopped short of one section. A particular scent rolled off, of that of non-human. Non-human recruits were not unheard of, but they were rare indeed. Especially at such young ages at that. It was not a fond thought that such creatures were still being made, being reproduced, but even a Legionnaire like himself could not deny the potential they held. Their initial speed, strength, and even accuracy would have taken a human years to master. He was intrigued by such dynamics; all the more reason to mend the young minds early to their side. Even more, what cruel person would turn a young child into a vampire so soon? He thought placidly as a yo-yo was brought out as a weapon. The werebeast responded quickly to hand-to-hand combat, an old-fashioned that even Jonah could appreciate. The boy's eyes darkened, almost as if with such anger against vampires.

Jonah remained silent, eager for the end results.

 

[CosmicDusk]

Cecile Bellerose

Ember

health | bar

WHERE: French Quarter Streets
WITH: No one
DOING: Roaming
CREDIT: Milica Jevtic
PLAYLIST:

The venue had grown since her arrival. Normally she would join in on the festivities, but tonight all such was pushed aside. The client was pleased with the piece, rewarding her more than the agreed amount. She wouldn't deny the extra money if it meant word of her work continued to roam about. Humans, vampires, beasts. All alike were clients of hers if they invested in the materials or future requests. She was also quick to commission work of any kind outside of the forge, so long as it didn't ruin her current status among the Paradin vampires.

Cecile was the first to leave. She wasn't one to linger after a transaction, her schedule filled to not allow a single moment of void. If she was left to ponder, it would only add to her spiral of sentiments. The past few days in Cassandra's presence reminded the blacksmith of simpler times; times that were rare but they held the most peace she could ever find. The noise of the crowd died to the back of her mind, vivid neon blurred away like fireflies. Steps hollowed out in echoes, voices began to trickle in her ears.

The stench of wine and opium danced in waves, a white mist covered the den of Four Points as fangs pierced the weakened, reddened skin. The tang of alcohol mixed into the sour claret, bright as the watered down wine. Squelches and slurps poured into the air among the moans that burrowed the stoned floors. Heels clacked, but not a single head lifted to see who entered the room. She approached a lone chair, one not far from the center as the sullen figure occupied himself with the body in his arms. She leaned back into the wooden seat, a glass of blood wine in hand. A few moments passed, and he finally rose his head.

"I have advised you on your slurping, my Liege."

She softly chuckled, which quickly died down to halted steps. As figures danced and waved around her, she stared at the paved ground. Only two years had passed since his untimely death, wounds have become scars, but they were fresh in her mind. The steady beat of her heart drummed in her ears, pacing without an end as her mind raced again. The blacksmith finally let go of the breath she hadn't realized she was holding, her hands relieved of their tension as blood oozed from crescent-shaped marks on her palms.

The Templars would rue the day. Cecile would personally see to it.

She resumed her walk, no destination in mind. She went where voices took her, where people saunted to the music, where silence quickly fell. The brine of the ocean winded through her nose as she took to slower steps.

"J’ai voulu ce matin te rapporter des roses,
Mais j’en avais tant pris dans mes ceintures closes
Que les nœuds trop serrés n’ont pu les contenir.

Les nœuds ont éclaté. Les roses envolées
Dans le vent, à la mer s’en sont allées.
Elles ont suivi l’eau pour ne plus revenir.

La vague en a paru rouge et comme enflammée.
Ce soir, ma robe encore en est toute embaumée...

Respires-en sur moi, l’odorant souvenir.

I wanted to bring you roses this morning,
But I had taken so many of them into my closed belts
So many that the tight knots couldn't contain them.

The knots broke. The roses blew away.
In the wind, to the sea they went.
They followed the water, never to return.

They turned the waves red, as if they were ablaze.
Tonight, my dress still carries their scent...

Breathe it in from me, the fragrant memory."

 

[Luxura]

Jack Fletcher

LAZARUS

health bar

WHERE: French Quarter
WITH: Maeve, Nascha & Co.
DOING: Fighting
CREDIT: LainValentine
PLAYLIST:

​

There was something different about Maeve that Jack couldn’t quite place. A particular look in her eyes, a movement about her form as she stood and maneuvered around him back into the house and to the kitchen. Like a shadow, silently he followed.
She had spent much of the last two days alone, thinking, lingering in her own mind at all that had transpired and changed so rapidly in a single night. To put salt in the wound, the talk between herself and Kenna hadn’t been quiet, and Jack knew that the young girl’s venom still clung to the ravenwoman’s skin no matter how much she bathed or tried to shrug it off her shoulders. While Jack should have been thinking just as much about the situation of Maeve’s inherited mantle, he hadn’t been able to shake himself out of his usual debilitating malaise. In the end, time better spent supporting her fell to the side in favour of selfish pessimism, though it seemed despite the hardships, the pair had come to find temporary remedies in their state of affairs all on their own.
As Jack offered her his vulnerabilities with open hands, he felt a strange confidence spring back to him. Perhaps it was in the way she poured out the last of her drink (an otherwise blasphemous deed, to be sure), or the squaring of her shoulders. But all of it came to a grinding halt at the option she carried to the front of the conversation: Templars.

Of course. Who better to provide Jack with the essence he needed to survive than the ones who made it; made him? The brunet scrunched his nose, brows furrowing. Did he have much choice? Falling in step behind her, Jack ascended the stairs to the second floor of the home,
“No, not yet,” he sighed, “I have faith in her still. Nascha carries strong confidence in her aura-- a certainty that I can believe in. She was the place to start… though I think there is more to this than she, alone, can solve.” Visibly, Jack bristled at the thought that passed over his tongue, “Very well. As much as it pains me to tread so close to them, perhaps the enemy of my enemy will be my saviour… provided he is what they say he is…”

Moving into her private suite, the Mephisto lingered in the doorway, arms crossing over his chest as he leaned back into the frame. His dark umber gaze fell idly upon her with his mind a foot out the door in looming hesitation. If Maeve had never worked with this man before, could they really trust the babble of stranges in a city they barely knew? Templars still lingered here, even if they were few and far between. Eyes ever watching from the shadows. What if, by the vary notion of Maeve being here, and whispers of her title abound, this Templar wasn’t a ‘defector’ at all, but a lure to bring them closer?

What if he wasn’t? Was it worth the risk to find out?

Fingers pinched the bridge of his nose with a weighty sigh, weary lids closing for a brief moment. Again, tapered fingers searched for glasses that were not there, the ghost of their presence haunting Jack’s face, making him click his tongue in mild annoyance. As he opened his eyes, Jack watched as the blonde prepared, fitting herself with boots and a hoister from her wardrobe. A brow piqued, he flicked a narrow glance towards her eyes, hesitant but not unappreciative, “I will grab mine.”

Once she was finished, Jack led them back into the hall. Slipping quickly into his room to retrieve his revolver from the bedside table, he paused only for a beat to savour the cool weight of the barrel in his palm before steadily grabbing the holster and sliding it into his belt. The relationship Jack held with that weapon was far from foreign. Despite it belonging to Bernardo, the writer had held it only twice before this madness befell him, and pulled it’s trigger once with intent to kill.
The night he and the tailor had first met, Jack had saved Bernardo’s life from being overcome by thug vampires. The firing pin had been bent even before that moment, but it was what gave Bernardo his disadvantage and for Jack to come to his aid. The next time Jack held that gun had been in an attempt to take his own life… and to his initial chargin, the same misfire gave him a second chance with his beloved.
Other than himself, it was perhaps one of the last true articles of their life together, and as loathe as he was to hold onto the cursed weapon, all the same, he could not bear the thought of parting with it either.

Closing the door gently behind him, Jack found Maeve lingering by one of the guestroom doors-- particularly, the one in which Kenna had spent her brief stay with them the last two days. Perturbed as the harpy’s face was, Jack offered her a kind smile,
“I’ll have to find her, Jack. She’s been alone long enough. I was hardly older than her when I lost my family.”
“Fear not, love. We will bring her home,” Reaching for her hand, Jack stepped closer to bridge the space between them, “She may be young, but the girl has fire in her blood. She will manage until we find her again.”
With a shake of her head, Maeve brought herself back to the present, “Never mind that. We have to get you sorted first. Let’s collect the feline and get moving. If this man is to be useful to us, she’d be able to explain it far better than we ever could.”
“Then we best get on. The night is early yet, but not for long,” he nodded, beginning his descent down to the foyer, “Luckily, I know where our feline friend is hiding.”

Somewhere between Washington Avenue and Prytania Street, a small cemetery buried itself away in the heart of the Garden District. It was a curious neighbourhood to have a cemetery; residential homes and boutique businesses lingering on the main corridors. Jack had come to find these small spaces rather charming. Unlike London, here in New Orleans, they buried their dead in marble and stone not six-feet under, but above. Vaults laid out like little houses in mazelike aisles that felt like tiny streets. Many surrounded by black iron fences, as if they had private front yards, some decorated with sculptures and crosses. But for the most part, many laid in a picturesque state of decay, revealing layers of paint, brick and stone while weeds sprouted through the cracks. Haunting, but beautiful.

Though, lingering with his brethren dead was not why Jack had brought Maeve there. In fact, it was a landmark for where Jack could find Nascha’s small abode. Generally, the area was infrequently visited by passersby, and with enough residences about, it was quiet and unassuming, much like the healer, herself. While he had never been to see her since their last meeting, the young woman had given Jack this marker should he ever need to find her to offer more thoughts on the serum.

It was nearing two hours to midnight by the time they had arrived. Light spatterings of rain plinked against their shoulders, kissing their crowns in sweet greetings of the approaching storm. A cool wind had begun to stir, and all the while as they walked, the Mephisto felt a strange sense of foreboding he could not place.
Pushing outwardly with his senses, Jack used Nascha’s aura as a beacon to guide them closer to her location, though he had been struck in awe at the shambles he’d been led to. Perhaps what had once been a groundskeeper’s shed, what now remained was a decaying shack. Rotted planks and sagging roof, the whole thing looked ready to collapse in on itself at the slightest passing wind.
With a soft grimace and quick glance to the blonde next to him, Jack shook his head softly, “This can’t be it…”

Sure to have heard their approach, or Jack’s hushed disbelieving comment, there was a soft shuffle from within. Not a moment later, slender fingers slipped through a round hole in the door, rightfully where a knob should have been and was pushed open-- at least, until it snapped off one of its hinges. Door and frame began to crack apart, sliding to fall into the dirt, jutting at an acute angle.
Frowning aghast, Jack’s narrowed eyes looked over the door and then flicked to the young healer as she welcomed them, hardly perturbed by the mess. It was only then that Jack quietly gasped and sharply averted his gaze, bringing a hand up to shield his eyes,
“Nascha,” Jack pursed his lips, “Pleasure as always.” Shoulders trembling, he couldn’t stop the chuckle at the situation-- never a dull moment with this one, it seemed, “We, ah… well,” They weren’t going to get far with her nude like that. Jack quickly glanced once more to Maeve for some sort of assistance, “I hope we’re not interrupting anything, but Maeve and I are heading to visit someone who may be able to help us with the serum formula. We need your assistance if you’d care to join us?”

While Maeve stepped forward to address the lack of clothing, Jack slid off his trench and offered it to the ravenwoman. From the brief glance within the darkness of the shack, Jack didn’t see much in the way of furnishings, and if this was all the girl had, he suspected she didn’t own much for clothing. Lord only knew where and how she’d lived before this… She could keep the trench for all he cared.
Moving around the broken door, he peered within and lingered over the small gathering of books and supplies around the floor, “You’ve been busy,” he smiled gently, “I appreciate your help. I know you are doing the best you can with what I can offer,” Slowly, he stepped over a large hole in the floor and leaned back against one of the walls-- gingerly, hoping to not bring the whole damn place down around them, “But I’m afraid my time is running short, my dear. I took half the vial today… I need more, quickly. We need to find you some assistance in order to move the research along, otherwise, I cannot say how much longer I’ll be around.”

With Nascha’s understanding and approval, and her body clothed to their collective satisfaction, Maeve led the trio out of the derelict shack to begin their mission. On their way, Jack did his best to set the door into place, if only to appear shut for the night-- it was the least he could do, outside of offering his coat.

From Maeve’s earlier discussion, she helmed the way towards the French Quarter. It would be about an hour by foot, so they headed north towards St. Charles Street where they could board a tram and cut their time in half. From there, they would have to continue around the river westward through Marigny and into St. Claude, a subdistrict of the larger Bywater neighbourhood. It was certainly out of the way, but it was the last known region the blonde had heard of for their contact. Jack only hoped he was there when they arrived, or all their time had been for naught.

Stepping off the tram on the western edge of the French Quarter, rain had begun to sprinkle more heavily than earlier in the night; slicking the streets in a brightly reflective sheen. The mixed-use of bioluminescent paint and electric lights dowsed the streets in a technicolour glow, brighter than anything Jack had seen. It brought to the front of his mind Bernardo’s memories of the Spanish carnival traversing the countryside.
It had been nearly a decade ago when Jack and Bernardo had fled New Londontown with Maeve and many others in the Leech King and Midnight Jackal’s troops. As well, that had been the first time they ever experienced the Templars-- even ten years ago they had the power to strip the immortal of their godly reign on their world… Onto ships the had fled to the northern coasts of Spain, and under a tight truce, the lot of them hijacked a touring carnival to hide their identities. Those months performing all the way to Paris had been perilous and tormenting for Jack, but lost in the Tailor’s memories the Mephisto saw a brief view of their time together as colourful and endearing.

Around them, the streets were still bustling with nightlife, people accustomed to the moist fall air and chances for tempest storms. While the trio didn’t have umbrellas available, it was light enough not to be of concern, though it did raise the question of how long they wanted to walk through the Quarter before hopping onto the next tram line to take them eastward.
Sliding his arm around Maeve’s absently, Jack gave her a curious glance, his attention quickly shifting to Nascha as she followed just behind,
“If you do not mind the walk, I’d like to pass by Café Du Monde,” he smiled softly, “I want to see how Nascha takes to coffee and sweets.” Flashing the blonde a sly smirk, he chuckled and leaned in closer to speak under his breath, “Terrible, I know, but truthfully I am craving something bitter on my tongue tonight, and the thought passed my mind that she would be an interesting subject to watch under the effects of a hot beignet.”

No more than three blocks into the Quarter proper did there catch the ravenwoman’s eye a small gaggle of citizens, gathering at an approaching glow. Jack had paid little mind to it at all; street performers were a constant in this area. But it wasn’t the glow that had her attention and the tightening of her hand upon his arm.
Jack could almost feel the rippling force through the soles of his shoes. Following the direction from where it came, he realized he followed Maeve’s exact trajectory. As he slowed, so did the other two women, all eyes upon the curious sight in the distance.
A man nearly two heads taller than himself, massive in size and thick in build, Jack had never seen a man like him in all his life. A giant titan, and had not for the armour, Jack would have thought him some kind of werebeast. But no, the only kind that would wear armour like that…

It seemed as though his train of thought aligned with Maeve’s, as he felt her grip on his arm tighten more. Reaching back quickly, Jack grasped Nascha’s petite wrist, pulling her tightly against him as Maeve led them away quickly, turning around the corner at a brisk clip; as inconspicuous as could be.
Unspoken between them, the looming danger was frightening. True, they were three immortals against one very large Templar, and surely enough they could win, but the last thing they needed was a public scuffle. Subtlety, just another shadow in the night--

“Maeve Donovan?”

Sharply, Maeve stopped, immediately followed by Jack; and Nascha tightly against his side,
“Madame Josephine,” she breathed, a weary but polite smile upon her lips.
Jack recognized the woman as the owner of Le Repaire de Velours, the popular burlesque establishment his blonde counterpart frequented often. He’d only met Miss “Fifi” de Lyons once, shortly after catching up with Maeve when he entered the city, but the memory of her was vibrant enough that he would not forget it anytime soon.

As Maeve took a pause to breathe, the other woman cut in, taking away any chance for them to politely slip by. Now trapped into a game of polite smiles and social niceties, Jack could feel the approach of the Templar nearing closer, one hulking foot at a time upon the cobblestone street. Tightly, he pulled the healer closer and the three bodies built a wall around Miss Josephine, Jack watching from the corner of his eye.
What Jack, and perhaps the girls, had not noticed, however, was that their giant Templar foe also had a companion, one of Jack’s height. As his interest piqued, both men casually approached closer upon the opposite side of the street. Jack could see now that the other bore a suit of his own armour, though this was quite different than the larger’s, one made more of just steel plates but of hoses and wire too. The mysterious glow that had caught their attention initially seemed to resonate from a large light upon the man’s chest, casting a ray as bright and brilliant as the sun itself.
It was as Jack turned his head out of curiosity that the towering Templar had to walk into the street to avoid a lower-hanging cloth canopy; bringing the pair of men much too close for Jack’s comfort,
”Meave, we have to move.” He uttered urgently into her mind just before his gaze flicked down from the countenance of the Goliath Templar down to his leaner counterpart, and their eyes locked.

It felt like a lifetime passed within a single moment. Deep umber stricken by piercing blue, held magnetic and unwavering as they approached one another. Jack had lingered far too long to turn away without further examination, and it was clear by the slow narrowing of the young man’s eyes that he had already begun to do just that. His pulse echoed deafeningly loud in his ears as his jaw began to slacken, lips parting with shallow breath. He watched as those bright ocean eyes scoured his features quickly, the coyest of smirks beginning to pull up one corner of his lips-- the same lips that began to open as his whole body began to direct itself towards him,

“Excuse me, sir.” Spoken with enough authority in tone and pitch to draw more than just the eyes of Maeve and Nascha, but most of the citizens near to them. With the thickness of a Russian accent upon his tongue and a catlike swagger to his step, the Templar approached casually, but everything about him was ravenous,
“Maeve,” Jack urged desperately once more, this time with his voice, unable to look away.
The young man paused, almost in some sort of awe, before continuing closer,
“Maeve Donovan?” He asked, his dilated eyes fixing firm upon the blonde as she shoved herself in front of Jack, “The Harpy herself.” Nodding approvingly, he then fixed his glare at Jack over her shoulder, his sinister grin like a lion’s maw, “Lucky me. Then I suppose that makes you… A very lost experiment.”

Jack had not realized the hilt of the revolver gripped tightly in his palm until he held the gun out at arm’s length, pulling Nascha closer as he stepped back slowly. His teeth ached under the strain of clenching, body trembling as he struggled to breathe. The only thing he knew to be loud and clear was the sharp order in the harpy’s voice to ‘Run!’.
The Russian snickered, his chin tilting upward with all the cockiness of a predator, “Go on, I’ll give you a head start.”

He needed no further encouragement. Haphazardly stumbling around, Jack pushed through the bodies of pedestrians, dragging Nascha by the wrist out of the swarm until they were able to break away into the street. With a quick glance back over his shoulder, Maeve was only just a beat behind. The Templar pulled from his hip a wide-barreled gun and fired a single shot straight into the air above, a shrill whistle as a trailing bullet of light cut into the clouds-- A marker, Jack realized.

With only a few weeks knowledge of the city, and not nearly enough to keep him from getting caught, Jack turned to Maeve for guidance, “Where?!”
“South!” she called back, catching up enough to grip his arm like talons and yank him sharply down a slender alleyway, much too small for either of the Templars to fit through with their broad armaments.

Exiting the other side, the trio pounded the pavement towards the Mississippi River.
Behind the Mephisto’s eyes, hundreds of memories passed through his vision. Torture and pain, endless years worth of agony and fear. Some private-- of things done to Bernardo-- and others together with Jack as they held one another close for comfort. Fighting back the thickening lump in his throat and the sour bile that threatened to choke him, Jack blindly followed the mane of golden hair as his beacon toward safety. He had little idea if Maeve had a plan for such a situation, perhaps a hideaway where they could be safe until their assailants lost their tracks, but if Jack were to keep his life, he would run himself into the river’s violent current if he had to.

Pavement and cobblestones transitioned to boardwalk, slowing their speed with the softness of wood beneath their feet. Spanning a large length of the river’s edge against the city, docks for merchant ships lined the planks for miles, pouring into the core hundreds of shipments of imports and trade goods, daily.
The city’s docks were quiet of most merchants in the late evening hours, but those that did remain were simple couples out and about for an evening stroll or dockhands who chose to work late into the midnight dark. The space allowed to them was a blessing and a curse-- easy to run, difficult to hide.

A blinding flash in the sky above shot their gazes upward, lightning crackling like spider veins through the pregnant clouds. Rolling thunder bellowed on its heels-- much like the Templars that hounded for Jack’s blood-- shuddering through his bones. With firm kisses upon his brow, Jack cursed under his breath as rain steadily poured, the storm’s eye pushing into the boundaries of the Crescent City.

Casting a glance back from where they’d come, the brunet sneered towards the approaching outline of the Templar in the near distance and shadow, his luminous core glowing brighter the closer he came despite the flickering visage in the rain,
“Go!” Jack nodded, pushing them forward, but Maeve’s heels dug into the slick boards, shaking her head. Questioning with a look of confusion, he looked past her to see the looming behemoth striding towards them, the boards beneath his massive frame groaning under the weight, threatening to splinter and break.
Frantic eyes darted around them; to their left a massive warehouse, and to the right the white-capped river.

Trapped, with nowhere to run.

“Come now, Harpy! Time to call it a lost cause,” the Russian called over the rain, his toothy grin all the more sinister in the heat of the glowing core, “The Key must come home.”
Once more, he raised the small pistol above his head and pulled the trigger to send a shrieking flare into the sky, carelessly tossing it away over the boardwalk in the aftermath.

The Mephisto felt a ripple under his skin. Anger had been growing in Jack from the moment he awoke in the Templar airship; a rage sowed into his blood and marrow by their own iron fingertips and germinated by the agony of memories he lived through every time he fell asleep. And while a deeply rooted fear veiled over the bloodlust, its shroud was beginning to dissipate with each passing second.
Slowly, fingers reached and wrapped around Maeve’s hand in a deathly hold, pulse racing as blood spilled as violently through his clockwork heart as the river raged below them,

”Promise me,” he pressed grimly into the werebeasts’ minds, ”If they have me… kill me.”

 

[leviathan.]

theo fairchild.

canary

health bar

WHERE: Dockside
WITH: An old friend > Chaos
DOING: Catching up > Lurking
CREDIT: c-home on ArtStation
PLAYLIST:

Even as the lanterns by market stalls and the gas lamps sputtering near the docks became the only source of light as dark evening turned to darker night, the dockside markets were still as lively as ever. Smoothly making his way through the crowd as he dodged errant elbows and emboldened pickpockets, Theo stopped and squinted at a rundown fruit stand, where a rather reedy man was inspecting a watermelon as he snuck some stray dates into the pocket of his patchwork druggist’s coat. He'd know that coat anywhere.

Miles Langdon. Back-alley alchemist, opium seller, and one of Theo’s oldest associates in the city. A fellow alumnus of St. Bart’s, Miles was a year above Theo, set to become a top surgeon in the Templar medic wing. After some of his more...unsavory experiments came to light, Miles left Londontown in Theo’s senior year in disgrace right before his induction into the Order. Later, he resurfaced in the lower Ninth Ward as the owner of a lucrative opium den with a side medical (mal)practice about the same time Theo defected to New Orleans.

The two had got along like a house on fire ever since.

It was unusual, though. He didn’t expect to run into this particular acquaintance on a stroll through the French Quarter.

Especially since he was under the impression that the man was out of the country until further notice.

Rolling his eyes, Theo shouldered aside some passerby, sneaking up and slapping him hard on the back, enough for the man to lurch forward.

“Langdon! What a surprise to see you here.”

Langdon started and cursed loudly, dashing the watermelon he was examining across the boardwalk. Quickly murmuring an abashed apology and throwing a few coins to smooth the fruit seller’s ruffled feathers, he glared at Theo in mild annoyance as took his arm in an iron grip, leading the mekker towards a part of the docks with less foot traffic before the seller recovered and noticed her missing dates.

As the yelling started up behind them, the men both turned the corner, the mess of sailors, merchants, and passerby rushing to and fro all around them, obscuring line of sight. Without missing a beat, Langdon palmed Theo a date from his pocket while stuffing another two in his mouth. The skin around his robin-blue eyes crinkled in mirth as he glanced at Theo, his pince-nez glasses glinting in the weak lamplight.

“Now you’re an accessory,” he said wryly between bites. “Can’t rat on me now, Fairchild.”

“Wouldn’t think of it, ’Doctor’.” Theo shot back before eating the date in one go, the sickly sweet flavor of the overripe fruit bursting on his tongue. “But I admit, I’m a little curious why the hell you’re here. Thought you hauled ass across the pond to get away from your lenders.”

Langdon chuckled. “That's what they think as well. Had to lay low for a while until the bastards finally gave up on their goose chase and withdrew all their feelers.”

“I take it then that you’re back to your debauched ways?”

“Pot, kettle, black, Fairchild. But what can I say? Men like us never learn.”

Langdon took out a bottle of tincture and unscrewed it, offering the dropper to Theo. When he shook his head, the druggist shrugged his shoulders and took a few drops himself, closing his eyes in content before dropping the bottle back into the recesses of his many coat pockets.

“Much better. I’ve had constant headaches since the blasted Sun returned. Rousseau’s blend works wonders for my head. Pray tell, old friend, how have you been faring since I last saw you?”

Theo abruptly wished that he had taken Langdon up on his offer, reminded of why he had come to the dockside in the first place.

“Bunch of regulars fell through this month. If you have any prospective clientele, feel free to send ‘em my way.”

Langdon hummed in commiseration.

“Same to you, friend. While I was gone, the den’s day-to-day was handed off to some low-level leech after some regulars found out what I was doing in the back. The git is threatening the constables on me if I even come near the place!”

“That kind of shit is precisely why the board back in Londontown revoked your license.”

“To hell with licensing boards! ‘Ethical violations’ my arse…scientific 'integrity' is a hoax perpetuated to delay progress, I tell you. Anyways, if you ever need my chemical expertise, I’m staying with a benefactor in Marigny. ”

Theo rolled his eyes at that. "'Benefactor', huh?"

"Might seem unsavory, but I've heard that Templars are positively crawling over the city as of late. It would do both of us some good if we kept our heads down for a while."

Theo nodded. It was hard to miss the gargantuan airship docked at one of NOLA's biggest ports, and even harder to miss the tense atmosphere that came with it. The denizens of the city’s underbelly were all on edge because of the influx of Templars, and Theo felt the same.

"Heard that some of the 84th was sighted recently. Your old unit, right? That must sting."

It did sting, especially since Theo hadn't known. The market urchins he’d paid to keep him in the loop had neglected to mention that his old legionnaires were among those who came with the Templar airship. A cold feeling shot through his core, and flashes of memory flit a mile a minute across his mind. For half a second, he was back in Eden again, the smell of sterile metal and fresh night air filling his nose and feeling the very first rays of sunlight warming his pale skin.

He shook out of it, all at once nostalgic and bitter, with a vicious rejoinder at the ready.

“Guess defecting after making it in is a mite more dangerous than washing out, huh.”
Theo said with a humorless chuckle.

Langdon huffed. " No need to be catty, Theodore, it was merely an observation." He then glanced up at the night sky, contemplative.

"Anyway, it's been nice catching up, but I must be going. There seems to be a storm brewing and I do hate getting wet. Do keep me in mind, hm? Cheers!"

Theo murmured a half-hearted goodbye in return before continuing his stroll as they parted ways, strides choppy. Langdon proved correct as the sky gradually turned cloudy and a light rain pattered down from above, making him more restless than ever.

Before he knew it, he was limping again.

Grimacing as he tried to correct his gait, Theo stopped near an empty stall to recalibrate his leg braces—damned things were still required after the surgery and needed constant care to act as a load bearer for his upper half. As he bent to adjust the band at his thigh, he froze. Intuition screaming, he snapped his head back up, just in time to see a blinding white flare explode into the sky, sparks showering against a backdrop of black.

A Templar marker.

Straightening up and instantly on his guard, Theo looked around wildly to see who the hell shot it: a veritable giant standing mere tens of yards away on the boardwalk, strapped in full plate armor of Templar make, huge greatsword and shield strapped onto his back, making for an intimidating silhouette.

God. Theo could already guess what his Order-assigned code name was. They were always so predictable with their aliases.

The shorter Templar the giant was flanking wore a fascinating armored suit, which Theo studied in great interest. Was that a solar cell he saw? And the connector nodes…. Theo tore his eyes away with great difficulty, instead opting to zero in on what the men were facing.

The two were cornering what looked like three people at the end of the boardwalk. As his ocular implants focused with great difficulty on the three figures, he stifled a swear as his core almost dropped into his stomach.

It was the Werebeast Queen. Bloody hell. And that man she was next to—

Theo knew his face all too well, having seen it many a time in all the briefings he had had to attend when he was in the 84th.

The Key.

Theo could feel every instinct in his body screaming for him to get the fuck out of there. There’d be no telling how it would go if the Templars sighted him and recognized him for who he was. He could only hope that his defection was humiliating enough to be covered up, with only a select few knowing about his betrayal. And considering how proud an institution they were, it was a fairly safe bet. And with the presence of the Key and the Queen...

Well. It was safe to say he was royally screwed if he stayed a second longer.

But against his better instinct, he stood his ground, flattening himself behind the side of the stall, hand blocking his face and slowly adjusting his aural implant's sensitivity simultaneously to be able to listen in to the standoff despite the distracting noise of the rain.

Theo had never been able to mind his own business.

He damn well wasn’t going to start now.

Above him, thunder distantly boomed in the distance, and the slight drizzle Langdon had hurried to escape gradually became torrential.

 

[Leola_Asarai]

Cassandra Caldecott

Little Sparrow

health bar

WHERE: A Market Street
WITH: 'Sarah Weaver'
DOING: Window Shoping
CREDIT: Wendy Ng
PLAYLIST: Coming Soon

Blue eyes gazed over the woman that had stopped for directions, though Cassandra made no visible sign that she was inspecting her. It was more for curiosity than anything else. People were always intriguing to her, and meeting new people was always a joy. The woman beside her was slight, also tall. Though that didn’t always mean much to Cassandra. More often than not, people were taller than her. Still, Cassandra would never complain about her height. She found more advantages than disadvantages to it.

Eyes lingered on the woman’s dress just a little longer. Though the colour wasn’t utterly horrendous, there were some much better options around, and one that would fit in the current style of things. The woman was in desperate need for an update, even more so than perhaps herself. No wonder she was looking for a dress shop.

With a hand in hers, the introductions were complete. Sarah Weaver. Cassandra considered for a moment if she had heard that name before, but she could not place it. There were a number of names, and just as many faces through her travels that it would be impossible to remember them all. Even such, if this was someone new altogether, well, that would be just as beneficial. She made a note to remember the name and the face of Sarah should their paths ever cross again. It seemed likely at the offer that she presented. Someone Cassandra could lean on during her time in the city. “I might take you up on that offer,” she said with a smile. “I do so hate getting lost. To be in a new city can hold much confusion. I would consider myself incredibly lucky to have someone to lean on.”

A recollection seemed to hit her new companion, coming to the realisation that she had perhaps seen a clothier earlier in her exploration. Cassandra let the girl recall where she had seen one before she declared that her memory had served her well. “Oh, how delightful!” she said excitedly, as she followed beside. The prospects of what they might find at their destination excited Cassandra. However, she was still ever careful, even if her outward expression presented differently.

As the pair moved through the streets, Cassandra kept her eyes open. She kept tabs on the roads they turned down, keeping track of the names, looking at the shops they passed and the people that flowed along the streets. All important to keep herself safe. It had taken her a number of years to learn that lesson, but she was better for it now. More easily now could she strike the perfect balance of keeping tracks of locations to keep herself safe, but still just making herself look unaware and naive in her surroundings.

The city indeed was an amazement in its own right. From the little she had already seen; it was enough to keep her guessing and planning for the duration of her stay. The smells flowing from the restaurants and bars delighted the senses. Her mind couldn’t help but compare to the places she had been and explored. The hint of similarities, but mostly a new experience. She enjoyed her travel the best when such things occurred.

As they passed the shops, her eyes keeping a lookout for the shop they were intending, she could not help but also let her eyes linger on wares in the windows. There were some more unusual attributes of the city that she would be eager to explore, the glimpses of the passing windows not enough to sate her curiosity. There would be plenty of time for all that.

Cassandra had not set time for how long she would be here, but her mind was already filled to the brim of things she wished to explore in more depth. The loveliness of the city and the intrigue of the people had her seeing herself dwelling for some time. That was, so long as nothing interrupted that.

Knowing what she needed, Cassandra had a list in her head of the items she wished to pick up, adding to it constantly. She would need dresses, both day wear and night, several pairs of shoes just for the fun of it. There would never be a time where Cassandra would not add accessories to the mix, such as jewellery and makeup. Cassandra could also see herself picking up some curios just to delight her curiosity during her stay.

The vampire would never find somewhere permanent to dwell. Life was far too long not too explore the world, it seemed like too much of a waste for an extended life she was never meant to have. She was not about to waste her extra time staying put. Her former life was the poster life of why staying in one place could be numbing and suffocating. The new scents and delights would hold too much fascination. There was no way she could ever be satisfied with staying put for too long. The world was too large, growing every minute. Her head and heart would drive her insane.

Sarah apologised, stating that distraction could keep them from reaching their destination. The blonde smiled. “That is quite alright, I enjoy exploring, and shopping no matter what it is to pick from.” Shopping would always be delightful to Cass. She shook her head slightly. “There is plenty of time to gain our bearings and what better way than to explore the available shops.”

Cassandra would know her way around this city in no time, already picking up on certain aspects. She made mental notes of the streets they walked, the shops they passed and the landmarks. Markers to keep her safe. By the time she was ready to leave, Cass would know the ins and outs of the city.

A small giggle escaped from her, as she picked up her skirt and followed her new friend through the streets, exclaiming that she had found the shop they were after. Cassandra was having fun with this. Once at the storefront, to their dismay, they were met with a sign. One that had been bothering them all night that elicited the same response; closed. “Oh no, what a shame!” Cassandra said in disappointment. Peaking her eyes through the window, Cassandra wondered if she could perhaps leave a note for the shopkeep. A promise to spend well in their store if they remained open a little later than their regular times. Of course, on the condition that they actually had things she liked. Perhaps they would just flag it in favour of another shop that would cater better for the particular sunless needs.

Sarah speculated about the clothing inside, deducting what she would see fit the design of one of the displayed garments. She mused it could be for a working woman. That a typist would perhaps fit the cut. Cassandra considered it, “quite possibly!” she said in agreement. “This climate would call for something of a lighter fabric,” she agreed; her own warmth in the humidity evidence of that. “It would look beautiful with a light blouse, perhaps one with short sleeves.”

Directing attention to another dress further into the store, Sarah asked for Cassandra’s opinion on the piece. “Hmm, delicate colour, intricate detailing in the embroidery. Its’s quite lovely,” she said. “I think though, that one might look exceptionally lovely on you.” Cassandra indicated to a dress not too dissimilar from the one Sarah had drawn her gaze to. This one, however, had a deeper colour of blue, more intricate detailing of embroidery. Cassandra thought that it would suit her new friends’ complexion well. Sarah Weaver carried an aura of mystery and also finesse. It seemed a shame not to highlight it with some elegance and finery.

Rain was coming, Cassandra could feel it in the change in the air. “Oh bother,” she said, looking up to the sky. “The rain is about to arrive.” She took her new friend gently by the arm. “Come, we must find shelter,” she said, moving away from the shop. “If not in a shop, then perhaps its time for an exploration of a bar?” Cassandra’s voice held a faint sense of innocence and naivety on the subject. “They seem . . . intriguing?”

 

[Luxura]

Alexei Pavlovsky

alias: CAIN

health bar

WHERE: Docks, French Quarter
WITH: Templars, Beasts, The Key
DOING: Fighting
CREDIT: maria_lahaine
PLAYLIST:

​

There was one thing that the Russian despised more than being pawed over: gawking. Sure, Cain adored attention-- but only when he wanted it, and only in amounts small enough to make him feel important. The attention he garnered from the Crescent City populace now was on the farthest end of the comfort spectrum for the Legionnaire. Eyes that lingered; judged him simply for what his suit implied. For what little Cain knew, one thing he had retained from the briefing was that this City adored it’s immortals, and Templars were but a small, nagging thorn in their side. Narrowed glances and harsh whispers, all of them knives that slipped through the steel exterior and into his skin. Cain was so much more than a Seraphim suit and twice more than a Templar.
A dangerous growl rolled around the back of his throat, a gravel hum as he made to avoid meeting any one pair of eyes too long. The last set he had nearly ended in a woman fainting… well, that and perhaps the smirk he’d given her.

The prior meandering of the Garden District had been the more pleasant experience of the evening thus far. While he still had orders to attend to, it was Cain’s first task out on his own, in the public, and without a ‘handler’ (as Jonah liked to call it). For a brief time, the Fugitive was free; able to walk about at his leisure and take in the sights of the American city, to make his own game-plan and be his own man.
Despite the gentle sprinkling of evening rain, the street lamps illuminated the road and brought to life the homes around him en route to the French Quarter. Uncertain if it were just his jet-lagged eyes or some cast illusion, the architecture of each home seemed to glow faintly in the shadows in vibrant colours.

Never before had he left Europe for American soil, and who was to say if it would be his last? Having no prior knowledge of what to expect from New Orleans, it wasn’t difficult for the Legionnaire to wonder if the rest of the country held as much beauty and eclectic curiosities. It was a massive landmass, after all. Was it like Europe, or did each bordered state have its own laws and government; petite countries mingling together under a shared banner? Truth be told, the Legionnaire hadn’t travelled outside of England or Russia. The world was his oyster, as they say, and the limitless possibilities had his pulse quickening with all the racing thoughts of what more there could be.

But that had been nearly an hour ago at best, and all that eagerness had all but washed away with the rain.

What spurred the blue-eyed Russian onward was a dull sense of duty and budding ire-- First, towards Holly. How in the ever-loving-fuck did she expect him to find Dominick without any sense of direction or idea as to where he went when the city was this large?
Second, towards Dom, himself, for going out without giving any sort of lead as to where he would be and when he’d be returning! It was a fool’s errand to be sure, and Cain was thoroughly fuming.
What didn’t help matters was that the suit was exhausting to maneuver around in. This was a scouting mission, after all. He should have just went in uniform and left the damn thing back at the Headquarters… It wasn’t like they were going to find their target on the first go about.

The Quarter was brighter and more densely populated than the Garden District, many out to do their business as if the city never truly slept. With their large immortal population, it was of no surprise, many still following the darkness because of centuries of it shrouding the Earth; others simply because the sun would burn them to a cinder.
Lights and flame mingled together to create a kaleidoscope of colour amidst the night, a haze bright enough to challenge a soft dusk or twilight hour. Pedestrians walked about the sidewalks and streets without rhyme or reason, shopping and strolling about to this peddler or that street performer. Cain attracted enough of his own attention to be viewed as a potential performer himself, but the scowl that wrought his features was anything but welcoming.

Pausing, the Legionnaire sighed testily and pulled out the map Holly had provided him, lining up the street name from the signpost upon the corner to the small grid within his hands,

"So it still works!"

He knew that voice anywhere. Just as obnoxiously loud as it was jovial. Cain’s head snapped up, narrowed eyes searching over the faces that ogled him until he spotted the towering frame of the Templar behemoth approaching from the adjacent street. He all but sneered as Dominick rapted his gloved knuckles upon his shoulder, his jaw grinding with a dangerous leer,
"I'll take it that you've only just come seeking for me? Leave you alone in the city for but a while and you've managed to attract more eyes than even I have. Now that's an accomplishment!"
“No shit,” he grimaced, “I feel like a damn… what do they call those, on the coast… with the light…” he gestured to the glowing core upon his chest with a roll of his eyes, “Where the fuck have you been? You couldn’t have told anyone where you were going?”

As the larger man guided him through the throngs of onlookers, Cain rolled his shoulders, “We’re supposedly the first on patrol tonight, though I do not know how much more of this suit I can take,” he pulled his arm up to check the various gauges and battery. Considering how long it took to get as far, they’d be right to turn back or else the suit would only be powered by his own physical strength dragging it through the streets… Or worse-- Dominick carrying him.
Dominick pulled him close with a giant arm, grinning as he spoke as hushed as a man his size could ever hope to achieve, "Only one person who could have fixed that sort of damage… You really let René get that close, eh?"
Growling, he shrugged the older man’s hold away, “To be clear, I did the repair myself… I only had Troxler assist me with an issue in range of motion that I could not achieve on my own,” Falling back to the moment quickly, he recalled what the Engineer had told him, “There is still much work to be done, but this repair will suffice until our next round.” He shot Goliath a sly smirk.

Unfurling the map in his hand once more, Cain’s eyes glazed over and he promptly shoved it into his small utility pocket at his hip, *“Yebat' eto, let’s go around the block and head back. I’m starving, and I recall a cart of some sort with food back from where I came. Looked like stew and shrimp…”

Whether the giant heard him or not, Cain wasn’t entirely certain. Dominick seemed to be lost in the trivial details of the street around them, his pace slowed to a crawl as he looked in shop windows with distant gazes, far away in his own mind. If not for that fact, and the need to avoid a low-hanging canopy for the giant man, Cain would have likely missed the curious echo of a name only feet before him,

“Maeve Donovan?”

He knew that name. He’d heard it time and again on Eden, cloaked under the title of ‘Harpy’. Werebeast General to the Midnight Jackal, she had many other aliases, this was certain, so it was mighty intriguing to hear that particular name out of all of the possibilities.

Cain’s pace slowed to match Goliath’s, head snapping in the direction of the voice. At first, there were too many bodies to place the lilt to a face, too many eyes flicking to his and then away out of passive disinterest or anxious fear. But one set, deep and brown, remained even as icy waters surveyed others.
As their stares locked, the Russian’s lips twitched. No… Swiftly, his narrowed eyes flicked up and down the other’s form, pulling in the details of his fine clothing and stature, the thick romantic waves of his dark hair, and the sharp angular details of his gaunt face,
**“Chto za pizdets…” he uttered under his breath, soft and incredulous disbelief drenched in his tone.

How was it possible that of all the times and places he would have the luck to find The Key? More certain than anything in his life, this man before him-- who’s pupils shrank tightly and lips parted at the realization of the moment-- was most definitely their target. The description in the file was too uncanny not to be. Had Cain noticed and he been more discrete, perhaps he could have inconspicuously trailed him, but the facts remained that he was with the world’s largest mortal man, and his suit was a beacon of interest. The Key had his sights on him, and there was nothing more he could do but engage capture protocols… the Russian way.

His shoulders and hips pivoted towards the man, lips twitching into a menacing grin, “Excuse me, sir,” He barked with an air of authority as he approached with measured steps.
The brunet all but stammered, pressing back into the blonde woman next to him, “Maeve,”

The Legionnaire’s footfalls faltered for only a second-- It was her. As the blonde’s head turned, and those bright Irish eyes dialled in on his figure, he almost laughed.
This was it-- He was going to take them back to the Overseer and Gabriel and be decorated for his efforts, his record stripped from his name and freedom from this diabolical regime would finally be his. He could walk away from Jonah… from the Order…

“Maeve Donovan?” Cain asked, his dilated eyes fixing firm upon the blonde as she shoved herself in front of The Key, “The Harpy herself.” Nodding approvingly, he then fixed his glare at the brunet over her shoulder, his sinister grin like a lion’s maw, “Lucky me. Then I suppose that makes you…” He snickered, “A very lost experiment.”

A bellied laugh rolled over Cain's tongue as the brunet levelled the barrel of his gun towards him. The blonde pressed her cohorts to flee, staring down the Russian with venom that only stoked the fire that blazed behind his eyes. Oh, if they only knew how Cain desired a challenge.
The Russian snickered, his chin tilting upward with all the cockiness of a predator, “Go on, I’ll give you a head start.”

He watched keenly, cat-like as his tongue swiped over his lower lip in anticipation of the chase. Idly, he pulled the flaregun from the holster at his hip, given to all those upon patrol, and brought it up high into the air to pull the trigger. Shrieking like a banshee into the dark night sky, the bullet of light swirled up into the clouds, exploding like fireworks; pedestrians around them pushing back to give them space with concerned cries. They would need the reenforcements of the Order to take them in-- Cain wasn’t so cocky as to think he and Goliath could do it on their own.
Dominick’s hovering presence next to him gave Cain a boost of confidence as he strapped the gun back in, turn to throw him a devious, sneering grin as he bolted off after them.

Barreling down the street, citizens steered clear of the pursuit, men ushering their ladies to tight against the buildings, children clambering closer in awe and excitement. Rain pelted steadily upon them, dark and swirling clouds making for a wicked storm, thunder rolling in closer-- all to Cain’s utter delight.
Just a few beats too slow, the Templar pair skidded to a halt as the immortal trio slipped through an alleyway to parallel street the next block over. Snarling through seething breath, Cain whipped around, gesturing to Dom to keep going,
“They’re heading towards the water. We’ll trap them there, barricade them in.”

The alley was far too narrow for their larger frames, armour making it much too broad to be able to fit such a tight squeeze. With his partner continuing down the street southbound, the Legionnaire searched quickly for an alternative path. To climb up to the rooftops would lose too much time, and there was no possible way he could turn back. He trotted down a few more shops until he met a large alleyway in which he could manage to slide through and pressed forward with haste. Through to the other side, Cain burst through into the middle of the street. To his benefit, this one was much less populated, and he could see their frantic forms yards ahead. With a grunt, he pushed forward after them.

Traversing into the French Market, the Russian knew they were close to the river. Crowds of shoppers and market stalls overflowed into the streets, as busy as if it were the morning. Shouting merchants and sweet mixes of music and laughter tugged at his attention, a spell to pull his attention, but he held fast to his convictions. Small electric lights on strings wove above them, lending a path out towards the boardwalk; the scent of water pungent despite all the aromas of fresh food.
Thicker were the waves of bodies, more so than any of the streets before; making movement slower; but still many made way for him as Cain traced The Key’s path. He’d gained a substantial bit of ground between them, and he wouldn’t let this swath of people stop his advancement now. Vaulting through a fruit stand, men and women jumped back, allowing him to squeeze through and out into the open boardwalk.

Slick with rain, the wooden boards beneath his boots clipped hollow with a soft spring to his step. The fugitive trio huddled together, Cain’s eyes roaming over each one slowly, in turn, lingering long over the grimacing countenance of The Key. His snarl only made the Russian cackle as lightning crackled in the atmosphere above, thunder booming shortly thereafter.
Mirrored upon the other side of them, he could see the towering form of his counterpart, having made it successfully to the same location to trap their escape.

Closing in with an arrogant swagger, “Come now, Harpy! Time to call it a lost cause,” he called over the rain, “The Key must come home.”
Once more, he raised the small flaregun above his head and pulled the trigger to send a shrieking flare into the sky. With the last of the cartridges expelled, Cain tossed it over the side of the boardwalk into the river below.

Here, they would make their stand. For now, the two Legionnaires would have to hold down the fight until their Brothers and Sisters arrived… Cain only hoped they did. Too much was riding on it for The Key to slip through their fingers.

*”Fuck that,”
**”What the fuck…”

 

[ashwynne]

Elias Laertes Brandt

J u d a s

h e a l t h | b a r

WHERE: Templar HQ ➢ Docks
WITH: Templars, Immortals & The Key
DOING: Assessing
CREDIT: Lain Valentine
PLAYLIST:

Rain slipped from strands of silvered blond down beneath his collar, a bead caressing its way between his shoulder blades and down the small of his back. He was too preoccupied to care. Before him loomed the Templar headquarters, the building sitting stately and proud. It was a mansion, large, though not quite as large as the ones he frequented in Europe. Still, it spoke to the power and wealth behind the Templar order, to Eden and what they had offered him. All he had to do was retrieve the Key.
Prasiolite gleamed as his gaze skated around the impressive architecture, wishing to take a moment to admire it and falling a half step behind his two companions as he did so. Of course, it wouldn’t do to lag behind them like a sightseer, so he pulled himself away with a soft sigh and stepped past the threshold after Gabriel and the Overseer.
Within, Templars of all kinds went scurrying about their tasks as they worked to settle the headquarters properly. It was a hub of activity, fully corroborating Gabriel’s assertion that their ship had arrived late. To and fro members moved at brisk paces, weapons being shuffled about and supplies carried from here to there as Legionnaires, Sisters and other underlings set about their business. The mansion was filled with the sounds of voices overlapping each other, the clanging of metal, and the unmistakable scraping of moving furniture.

Humming low in his throat in thought, the German slicked a hand back over his hair, dislodging the tiny pearl-like beads that had accumulated in the brief time they had been exposed to the rain shower. He had spent a great deal of time--more than he liked--traversing the German Chapter’s headquarters while on errands for various members of their hierarchy. It came in handy here; enabling him to fairly quickly pick up on the minute differences between the different ranks; evidenced by the clothes they wore, their general bearing, and the attitudes they took when speaking to one another. Naturally, it also helped that he was fully comfortable and accustomed to the ranks within a knightly order. Templars weren’t dissimilar to them at all. He wondered, sometimes, if that was what had driven him to offer his services to them in the first place. Nearly five centuries old and still mired in the same life he had always been in… but that was not something for him to dwell on, morose introspection was the province of lesser men.
“Spend your time as you wish but be prepared to move out at any moment’s notice.”
He blinked towards the buxom leader of the Sisters and inclined his head towards her in acknowledgement, his posture relaxed, despite the fact that he stood directly within the den of those who sought to obliterate his kind. That was the natural way of things though… always had been and always would be. Those who showed fear were prey and those who had no need to feel any were predators. And if there was one thing that could be said of Elias Brandt, it was that he knew precisely which category he belonged to… all the more so for having been forced to feel the fear of prey himself, many, many years ago.
For the time being, observation and the gathering of intel was the wisest course of action, and so he followed Holly’s gaze as it was drawn to a shorter blond man with an effeminate appearance and a taller dark-haired one kneeling before him. Curious about what it was in this scene that seemed to draw her features up in delight, he tilted his head slightly to try and give them proper consideration. Frankly, nothing about them seemed particularly interesting, so he suspected it had to do with some interpersonal matter that he was not privy to.
Turning to Holly, he was about to conversationally inquire about the pair, when a fresh-faced young man approached her. Parting his lips slightly, Elias inhaled deeply through his nose, eyeing this newcomer as he took in his scent… Passable, for a mortal. Idly, his tongue swiped his bottom lip in consideration. There were plenty here to play with, to sample. He was not truly hungry--having only just fed on the hapless vampire he had found in the alley--but then… one does not sip wine to sate thirst.

He only half-listened to the words spoken; catching the gist that there were recruits battling each other to be overseen, but his attention was entirely captured by languidly eyeing up the young administrator. A young and supple form, fresh faced and full of life, energetic too, most likely.
Dismissed from the attention of Gabriel, the man must have felt the vampire’s gaze on him because he flicked a glance towards him; deep blue eyes peeking out from beneath his lashes. Elias tipped his head towards him and offered a smirk, wicked invitation written in his expression. The young man flushed, clutching his clipboard a little tighter to his chest as he turned to flee, shooting him one last passing glance over his shoulder before he vanished into the swell of people.
The German watched him go, wondering if ‘spending his time as he wished’ could include the seduction of all the most interesting and delectable among the Templars. He smiled darkly to himself, it was certainly one way to pass the time.
Holly’s voice, regrettably, cut in before he had the opportunity to pursue that line of thinking very far. “You are welcome to join us, if you like, Judas. Perhaps it would be best until I have an opportunity to introduce you to the Brothers and Sisters properly. We wouldn’t want an incident of mistaken identity.”
He could not fault her logic. “I believe I will join you, then.” Frankly, he was not fond of his odds against a hive of Templars. He would take a great many down with him, but it was better to avoid that entirely. Besides, if the blond was truly honest, what interested him more at the moment was the enigma of a man who had joined them for this meeting.

The Overseer carried himself with an intimidating aura that was reminiscent to Elias of lords he had served in the past. More cryptically, he had not spoken a single word in the entirety of their meeting; content to sit back and observe. It was a trait the blond could respect… few had the strength of character to resist inserting themselves into every matter of business that crossed their plate. Besides, as a man more of action himself, Elias was far more interested in judging him based on what he did, rather than what he said--or did not say.
Deep within his core there lay a restless feeling, one he often tried to deny. A twisted sort of hope that he might find some greater purpose in his wretched immortality beyond simply existing. That he would find someone worth serving. He could not say whether the Overseer might be worthy of such a thing, but intuition told him it was a possibility and Elias was willing to wait and see.

“Cain!”
Drawn from his thoughts by the sound of her voice, he watched as the dark haired boy she had glanced at before--stripped to his waist at present with (what Elias assumed was) part of his suit hanging about him--rose and jogged towards Gabriel.
Once again, he merely observed, watching the interaction with interest and filing away what little he could glean as they spoke, paying quiet attention to the cadence of their voices, testing them silently on his tongue. Subtly, he also breathed deeply of Cain’s scent, filing it away carefully should he need it later. The mention of ‘Goliath’ gave him pause, a flicker of hesitation and question crossing the chiseled features of his countenance. There were few who could embody such a title but the sheer odds of-- Mentally he shook his head. It was a trouble he would contend with if it ever became a problem and not before then. For all he knew, he was mistaken in the thought that had briefly crossed his mind.
Elias felt eyes on him and lifted a brow to meet the youthful, piercing, stare of the one that Gabriel had called ‘Cain.’ Vague interest stirred as he mused over this alias. Was he a black sheep among the Templars? What had he done to be given--or to take--an alias such as this? With all the implications of kin-slaying and being cast out that it suggested? Here was another Templar that the vampire would need to find an opportunity to speak with eventually.
He met the young man’s stare with a level one of his own, offering a charming smile that was all teeth when Cain narrowed his eyes in his direction. They were all children compared to him and his centuries of existence, and while only a fool would offer his hand to be bitten by an aggressive cur, well, they did not frighten him.
Cain departed to go find this ‘Goliath,’ and another administrative officer appeared out of nowhere to guide them to where Elias supposed the recruits would be battling.

The clang of weapons. The scent of sweat, fear, and adrenaline. All of it formed a potent perfume on the air, one which the former knight breathed in deeply and appreciatively. It brought back memories of his time as a squire; learning to be a knight himself one day. The fights, the blood, the pounding of his heart in every desperate spar. All of it drew a small smile to his lips.
He had chosen to follow the Overseer as he surveyed the recruits, his pace casual as he kept a few paces behind so as to not overcrowd. But it was at the same moment that both of them were seemingly drawn by the scent of immortals. Not just one either, but two.
Elias flicked a questioning gaze towards the Overseer. He had known experimentation with immortals was a staple of Templar life, but were they using them as a live example for other recruits to brutalize too?

Leaning against the railing that bordered this section of the fight, Elias felt an uncomfortable turning in his stomach. Few things in life disturbed him, few things were off limits, but he did not directly harm children if there were any alternative possibility. Nor did he much care to see them made into soldiers. Yet lo and behold, as he looked out over this particular darkened arena there were children lining the sides--prepared for their turn or watching other combatants following their own failures--and a pair in the midst that were presently engaged in a duel. A werebeast and a vampire by the smell of them. Not, it seemed, there against their will.
The vampire was unfamiliar to him; his existence strangely grotesque, somewhat pitiable, the thought of being trapped for eternity in the body of a child. The werebeast, however, bore a scent that niggled at the back of his mind like an itch. There was a familiarity to it, but he could not place it directly.
Sighing, he pushed that thought off and watched the fight with attentive interest instead. They were both skilled, the young werebeast matching the vampire blow for blow; even when it descended into fisticuffs. Impressive. There was no telling how young the vampire actually was, and for a werebeast youngster to fare this well against him spoke volumes to the innate skills he possessed.
“Hmm,” a smile twitched his lips to see them beating each other bloody with savage energy. It was, again, reminiscent of times long since past. An afterimage of verve and vivacity playing out before him in which the blond could almost superimpose himself.

And then the straightforward peace of the battle was shattered.

New to the way they operated, Elias was not immediately aware of what was happening. He knew only that suddenly there were wide-eyed officers speaking in hushed voices to the Overseer and Holly--observed when he swiveled to find her and see if she was being given the same treatment--and a wave of buzzing energy swelled and swept through their ranks.
‘Signal flare,’ he heard whispered. ‘They found it,’ from others. ‘Already?’ from still more.
Prasiolite darkened to a shade a little closer to emerald, sharpening keenly, the vampire’s posture shifting away from something nondescript and meant to blend in. His spine straightened, mildly amused visage transforming into one that was sharp and feral. At once--in the barest moment--he went from being passable as a mortal to an extremely predatory, and fully deadly, undead creature.
The superiors were barking orders and Elias chose to stay near to Holly, refusing to be shifted aside. Anyone who dared come too close to him or appear as though they might try to take his place were offered a look so cold and malicious that most withered under his gaze directly and the rest attempted to glare back but did not push their luck. He would have liked to tail the Overseer rather than Gabriel, but having no idea yet of what the man thought of him, Elias felt his best chance was with the blonde.
He was not about to have his reward stolen out from under him because they had stumbled upon the Key on their first night in New Orleans. Fools. Letting the Mephisto give them the slip this long, only to discover him on their first day. It was grating, and more than enough grounds for Eden to say he had not sufficiently contributed to the task they had asked of him; to rescind their very lucrative offer. It would not do, Elias would tear everyone limb from limb if they got in his way. The one to deliver the Key to Eden would be him, come hell or high water.

They were packed into the back of a steam-powered caravan. A bench lined either side of its flatbed, Templars packed like sardines along them. Elias had positioned himself at the end, primed to spring out the instant he was able. Many of those squished against him were young; almost all of them vibrating with excitement. For his part, the vampire lifted his head to the sky, jaw set, and body coiled in preparation as he allowed the rain to wash over his face. The storm had grown in intensity, just as he had predicted.

As the caravan sped towards where the second flare beckoned, Elias counted each tick of his clockwork heart. The numbers rolled chant-like in his mind, focusing him, eyes having shifted back to cold prasiolite. The unfortunate fellow sitting across from him could no longer look at him, and the blond did not need to wonder why. He knew precisely what sort of terrible expression dominated his features at present: a violent grin that held not an ounce of laughter in it and eyes that bore no semblance of humanity. The devil was unleashed, the vampire unfettered, Elias nothing but a shell with commands to carry out.
The air shifted. An electric energy crackling in muted but palpable undertones. It was filled with the fear of passersby and redolent with the lingering scent of adrenaline. In the same moment he heard the gears of the caravan begin to click and he vaulted smoothly out of the caravan, deaf to anything anyone might have said to him.
Cain. He could smell the Templar well enough to follow and felt a shiver of self-satisfaction run through him for having thought to pay attention to his scent earlier.
Without hesitation he ran through the firm rain, tugging off the trenchcoat impatiently as it restricted his movements and letting it fall to the ground. He might regret abandoning it later, but for now it was impeding his goal.
Hot breath was taken in through slightly parted lips. Eyes gleamed in the dark, restlessly roving as he drew nearer to the source of the scent. Tick. Tick. Tick. His clockwork organ kept time.
He rounded a corner. There they were.
Two figures; the familiar one of the dark-haired boy and a behemoth beside him. But, more importantly, three huddled past them on the docks.
The river raged heedlessly beneath their forms, the rain a softly percussive patter against its surface. Closer still Elias came. Tick. His pupils dilated. Tick. A fierce grin of triumph visible in the gloom. Tick. They had not taken him yet, the prize was still his to win. Tick.

He was near enough now to make them out clearly: a pretty blonde, a fairly exotic petite woman, and-- Tick. As the rain hammered around him, the feral grin abruptly slipped. The steely cold of prasiolite; broken. He had not been able to smell him prior to this--too far away. But now… now! The wind shifted. Tick. He inhaled, hard. Tick…. Tick. Tick! The blood within him roared. That scent!
Over four centuries of hunting. Of sampling all the immortal blood he could desire. But nothing could compare to this. Nothing! Gabriel had said that he would know him by scent. She had been so terribly right. He stood there; tall, brunet, his face twisted into a defiant snarl. Framed beneath the lashing rain in some strangely picturesque way. Elias' entire future, dependent on his capture. The steady ticking of the vampire’s heart now fell into a discordant rhythm. Blood rushing through his ears in a pulse he could feel. God, he wanted him. Wealth beyond compare, freedom... and blood. The man on the docks needed to be delivered alive, yes, but not unmolested. What he’d give for just a taste of the ichor that filled his veins… Tick.
And then he heard the sound of Templars approaching from behind him. “Fuck!” he snarled, nostrils flaring, pushing himself into action and pacing through the shadows at the edge of the docks, watching, waiting, looking for an opportunity. Tick. He’d tear them all to shreds if he needed to. He would be the one to capture the Mephisto. The reward was his. The Key was his!

 

[AntarcticRomantic]

Maeve Donovan

Phoenix

health bar

WHERE: Garden District, FQ, Docks
WITH: Jack, Nascha, & Co.
DOING: Hauling Ass
CREDIT: peritwinkle
PLAYLIST: ♔

Her head turned back one more time to the door that had housed her temporary tenant, platinum locks hiding the guilt darkening the glow of her irises. But the Mephisto stepped forward, reaching for her hand and offering reassurance. Instinctively, she gave it to him. Her hand slipped into his grasp, cool and shivering. She gave it a squeeze before dropping his to return to the task at hand. Conquering the demons she shared with Kenna would have to wait for another day.

He offered to lead them to the feline, and she nodded, yielding to it-- an act Maeve was becoming certain would come far and few between in her days to follow.

--- --- ---

Rain was coming. She could feel it seeping into her bones before it would ever fall. She pulled the corners of the collar of her jacket closer around her neck as they walked in the pitch of night, apprehensive of the storm sure to follow. The days past were taxing enough with the madness it had exacted, but a storm was only bound to make a mess of the city in the night and days to come. Torrential downpours were common in this place, so close to the Gulf that storms were a constant threat, but it was the height of the end of summer and it only made them worse. Static tugged in her veins, lightning and thunder would come with the flood.


In the Garden District proper, only a few of the homes along their path embraced the wild color schemes and bioluminescence that surrounded the Quarter. It was still lovely, but the somberness of their errand kept emeralds from flicking towards them. Instead, they would occasionally land on her companion, observing the state he was in, and hoping against hope the man she’d heard of could indeed help them. At the very least, perhaps he could point them in the right direction.

There were also the matters within her own head. Her mind was awash in a dull buzzing. Incessant white noise filled the empty voids between thoughts and haunted her before sleep took its grasp. Gasping whispers, incongruent patterns of words fluttering in and out between her ideas and memories, and never with her own voice. Out here, in the open, and with silence between the two friends, they were pestering little things. The blonde wasn’t a fool; she’d been the victim of this before, in her youth. It came with the first stirrings of her nature, as it came to all her kin. It was the hum and whisperings of beasts around her, their unprotected thoughts, their connection in the web of their lives. However, blocking them out was proving to be difficult, just as it had been as a child. An old trick for an old woman to learn again.

Soon, a cemetary came into view. The wide block was enclosed in high whitewashed brick save for its entrance which was as beautiful as the rest of the city. The wrought iron gate stood proud and high, the protective barrier through which visitors could cross between the world of the living and the homes of the departed. And surely, they were homes. Crypts for families built as monuments to their lineage, cozy for the social elite that would not be denied their comforts in death. A few they passed beside were well preserved, the family possibly still paying for the maintenance necessary to keep their pride alive. Others, such as the long vaults for individual burials, were decrepit and falling apart. The bones that had not broken down from exposure would surely become dust once the brick walls collapsed with time and decay. Then, there were the rare ground burials; these plots were an oddity of the block, yet not the most rundown of the resting places. They were, however, the ones that stood out among the tombs and vaults, and reminded Maeve of earthen simplicity in a city determined not to drown.

Jack led them through the maze of the grounds, seeking out a corner among the walls and iron gates which encased the city of the dead. The closer they grew, the buzz in her head shifted, quieting as she focused on the journey they were taking. The cougar’s scent was growing, and Maeve narrowed her eyes as they stopped in front of a shack. There was no mistaking this was the place, even as Jack did what he could to deny it as he stared at her.

Before she could respond, movement caught her attention as nimble fingers slipped through the handle’s hole, and with a push, broke the door off the hinges. The blonde took a step forward. She gave pause as the building ceased moving, it’s breakdown over, but it’s balance ever closer to collapse. Pouting her lips, Maeve glared at the decrepit shack. “Stubborn woman, you should have stayed with us,” she muttered, knowing Nascha would hear her.

Her eyes fell from the building to the feline beast. The corners of her mouth pulled into a smile. The harpy’s eyes immediately darted to her friend as he did what he could to afford the nude Native woman dignity he imposed on her, all the while fighting his need to laugh. “Come, come, Jack! That British sensibility of yours needs to be exorcised.” He gave her a pleading glance and she moved towards the young woman with a roll of her eyes. “Good evening, Nascha. With you, it’s always interesting, lass.

“As Jack just said, we’re going to meet with someone who could assist us further with the serum, but we need your medicinal knowledge. You have tried working out what the serum is, its components, correct? Of the three of us, you would know best how to explain it to him.”

Maeve looked the other woman over, before taking the offered trench coat into her hands and following her into the shack, careful steps taken around the door and through the room. “As a fellow beast, I respect the comfort of being within one’s skin unabashedly, wholly. Clothing is a deterrent to it, but in order to move through the city, we’ll need you to cover up.” As the coat was taken and pulled over the lithe woman’s figure, she cocked her head curiously, considering options to appease her need for simple comforts. “After we get Jack in proper shape, I’ll see to it we have an opportunity for gathering a few of our motley crew for a midnight run through the bayous.” The eyes of the feline on her again, clothed within the coat, the Irishwoman winked playfully. “Truly connect with the natures within ourselves we’re denied in captivity.”

Jack joined them within the questionable space, and spoke with Nascha. Maeve tiptoed around, observing the surroundings of the home the cougar had made for herself. How long had she been living in this city, in this old shed? Books scattered the room, some open, others abandoned, all surrounded by tools of her trade. She was busy at work, trying to find solutions for the serum and doing all the possible research she could. Blonde eyebrows raised at their peaks as she looked over it all in the intimate, if dubious space. Sensing the conversation was coming to a close, her eyes settled back on the Mephisto and took the lead out.

Crossing her arms, Maeve’s mouth became a hardline as she pursed them, lost in her thoughts. There was much she was going to have to correct. While the three traveled, her mind was busy listing the faults within the world, the shortcomings of a lack of leadership within the Beasts and the broken pieces Mercia had left behind a decade before. Just as she had for years as Lieutenant and then General, she’d take on the same world to fix them, but this time with a crown on her head.
Nascha’s living conditions had wormed their way into sliding beside Kenna’s package of issues, then the complications she suffered with Bjorn, and of course, keeping them all safe as the war with the Templars raged on. She pushed her meanderings aside as her gaze shifted over her shoulder at the other two. There were bigger problems than a run down shack and teenage angst.

--- --- ---

Gentle rains cascaded over the city by the time they stepped off the streetcar and into the outer limits of the French Quarter. The humidity was still thick in the air, but slowly, it was easing with the light downpour. Maeve moved them under the eaves of businesses as they traversed the city blocks, their discussion of the next ride to cover the next length of their travels.

A slender arm wrapped around her own, pulling her in close while the blonde’s gaze shifted to Mephisto’s curiously. He proposed a stop along the way for confections and coffee at one of the landmark’s of the city, a smile on his features, mischievous intent slipping through the umber stare. “If you do not mind the walk, I’d like to pass by Café Du Monde,” he smiled softly, “I want to see how Nascha takes to coffee and sweets. Terrible, I know, but truthfully I am craving something bitter on my tongue tonight, and the thought passed my mind that she would be an interesting subject to watch under the effects of a hot beignet.”

His chuckle was infectious, and with a relenting sigh, she nodded. “You know as well as I do they stay open all hours of the day and night, and we haven’t the foggiest idea if we’ll even find our contact…. I’d rather if we waited, given the circumstances.” She peered behind them to the cougar, smiling warmly at Nascha as they schemed. Her gaze shifted back towards him and Maeve squeezed the arm around hers affectionately with a chuckle. “But now that you’ve mentioned it, I’m just as curious.”

They were nearing Jackson Square, just a block away when she noticed the crowd. Something was off about it. Performers often gathered dozens to their sides, aweing the crowd with their displays. She thought perhaps a fire eater or juggler, the glow from within the mass cut through the darkness just the same, but the typical sounds of such feats didn’t match and the light didn’t shift or undulate as fire did. There was a hum, low and ominous coming from within the group of people. A monk of some sort, perhaps? The people surrounding the subject were still awestruck, but there was no clapping or voices of laughter. Just voices and gasps, as people moved, and then she saw the behemoth.

He was massive, taller than anyone she’d ever seen. Perhaps shifted beasts could match, but this was impossible on its own. But it wasn’t his size which caught her attention solely, it was the armor. Polished and pristine, save for a few dents and scrapes deep in the metal. Templars weren’t uncommon within the city, but she’d never seen this one before. She would have remembered him for his size alone if she’d witnessed him in a patrol before. Even if he was from the outer wards of the city, or even the smaller urban areas within the Greater New Orleans area, the blonde would have heard word of him from someone. Not once had he ever been mentioned.

Her body tensed, and her arm squeezed she felt Jack’s body respond in kind. Nascha was pulled closer to Lazarus Before the Irishwoman hauled them around the block as quickly as could be managed without being spotted by the ginormous patrol officer. Taking a breath, she continued down the path with them swiftly. She was hoping they could get just far away enough to redirect themselves away from the potential danger. Her mind was busy carving safer routes they could take around the popular neighborhood; she nearly didn’t see the woman whom she’d come to know best in the city.

“Maeve Donovan?”

The blonde stilled, caught like prey beneath the talons of a predator. Her head turned towards the voice. “Madame Josephine,” she released the gasp in her throat, easing gently as she tried to tuck the other two around her while she was approached by the owner of Le Repaire de Velours. Jack pressed in tighter with Nascha, surrounding the petite entrepreneur

“Bonsoir, ma chérie! Comment allez vous? You’ve been practicing your French, qui?” Fifi de Lyons was a stately woman with an even larger personality behind her practical business facade. Bright red hair coiffed to perfection, long sweeping skirts tucked beneath a slimming bodice, and touches of lace throughout of her tasteful mauve ensemble for the evening. All with an umbrella hooked in her grasp, protecting the rich taffetas on her body. “Why are you out in the rain? Surely one of you must have the mind to protect yourself from the storm! And where have you been these last few days? What has kept one of my most admired patrons from my humble establishment? Caught in another’s trap, perhaps?” She guffawed, bright and airy, and not without a tasteful mocking in her voice that the blonde couldn’t be bothered to mind within the moment.

Sharp hazel eyes cut through her and Maeve pushed the other two again to move again, caught in the grasp of the conversation and unable to avoid answering in brief sentences between each statement. Jack’s voice pressed into her mind, urging her to cut the conversation short. “I know!” She could feel him coming closer, the massive Templar, the ground beneath their feet was rumbling with vibrations; with him came the humming and the glow.

“Je suis désolé, Madame Fifi. You’ll have to excuse us, we’re late for an engagement and the ferry waits for no one. I’ll be by again soon. Bonsoir, madame.”

“Excuse me, sir.”

The blonde cussed under her breath. So fucking close. The lioness was gone, there was nothing else that could be done. They’d have to play this smart if they were going to get out of it.

Turning as Jack spoke her name, the glow which had caught her initial attention to the crowd drew her eye, but she was shocked it wasn’t the fire she’d expected. This was something else entirely, and she was unsure of. Electricity? It hummed within the chest cavity of another Templar, the one which called to Jack and was staring him down as if he were his next meal. It took a moment before her eyes left his horrific armaments and closed in on his pale eyes, narrowing dangerously.

Her name spoken on the stranger’s tongue rose bile in her stomach, and when he used the codename she’d owned on the streets of New Londontown, it pushed acid into her throat. She could’ve vomited then and there were it not for the toxic mixture of dread and rage she felt when he named Jack as an experiment.

From the corner of her eye, she saw the pistol raise. Putting her arm out quickly, the blonde yelled, “Run!” She hesitated only a breath longer than her compatriots, witness to the challenge in the young man’s eyes, to turn and dash away.

Maeve didn’t need to see the flare to know what it was. The forefront of her mind was back on those London streets. Her eyes saw the blazing inferno of Cheapside markets and homes. The scent of destruction and death was caked so deeply in her nostrils it took no effort at all for her to taste them on her tongue as they bolted through the streets of New Orleans. Back then, it was fire. Now, it was rain, slowing them down, slipping them up, and confusing the trio as they sought safety. Her mind raced again as she caught up to Nascha and Jack, but not without the pounding of metal behind them steadily gaining distance.

“Where?”

Gripping his arm, she shouted back, “South!” Sidestepping into an alleyway, the Phoenix tugged them down its slender trail, and out again on the other side. It wouldn’t take long for the Templars to find them again if they didn’t hurry, and dear God was she ready to take flight and drag them out of there. But she couldn’t. There wasn’t a good enough reason besides avoiding an authority the city- let alone the state- barely recognized. She’d have to justify the transformation within the city, and if it would come to it, she wouldn’t be the one to start it. But first, they had to try like they were running from the sulfur pits of Hell to escape.

Her eyes kept hazing over through the rain, the water seeping into her clothes and digging into her bones with a chill not present on the air. She was hauling people behind her to escape the ruin of the bombings. The Harpy was shrieking and crying out commands to any Beast, Vampire, or Mortal alike seeking to escape destruction and death. But the Templars were everywhere, every corner there was fight, and reaching the docks would be nearly impossible from their vantage.

Then it clicked. It was a slim chance, but it was the best they had.

Reaching, following those trails of those closest to her, she followed the currents of the whispers and tangled webs of thought to press into the minds of her three retainers. “Templars, we’re being chased through the Quarter. To the docks! They’re after Jack.” Only time would tell if they heard her.

Somewhere behind them, she could hear thunder rolling, the storm coming closer, far from over. Maeve tried not to imagine the clang of metal against cobblestones and brick, tried to force the roars and screams of days bygone from her ears. She also tried not to see the glow of fires on the horizon line, the failure her last encounter wrought. Forcing another burst, she turned the corner and headed for the levee, the docks none too far ahead. Lightning flashed and heavy, fat drops of rain came down in sheets, smothering them.

Maeve could see the crates and barrels prepared for loading, imports ready to be brought into the city and sold for a merchant’s profit. Silks and satins, wheat and barley, sugar and cotton and rice-- all prepared to go to their respected final destinations. There was few places to hide here, but they could manage a way out if it came to it. Her pace slowed as their footfalls sounded against the boards of the boardwalk, her eyes scanning between ships and cargo.

Her heel dug into the wood, unflinching. Jack called for her to move again, but she could see the outline through the haze of the rain. Just paces ahead of them was the massive mountain of a man, and behind the trio with the glow at his chest ushering his arrival, the Russian. Her eyes remained on the larger of the two, weighing her options on what best to do. Scars lined his face, another decorated soldier no doubt for his time “fighting the good fight against the immortal hordes”. Then the cocky younger of two, she was unsure of, even as he called to her, demanding surrender. Her feet dared to move idly back towards the river.

The banshee cried again as he fired another flare, tossed the useless gun into the rapid current below. She halted with the flash above, a dark chill running up her spine. There wasn’t any escape. Phoenix knew, undoubtedly, his first marker had been seen. The usual patrols didn’t carry flares. This was a mission, which meant only one thing: more were sure to come.

Emeralds shot to Jack with the thought he pushed into her mind, platinum locks plastering against her cheek in the process. With a rage she hadn’t felt in a while, she glared from him to the two Templars cornering them closer. "Fuck that." Pulling away from him and Nascha, she stripped out of her jacket, dropped it, and pulled a blade from its holster. "They’re not going to."

“The only ‘Key’ around here is the one you lost to your head when you signed up for this shit. Go home, lad. You’re in over your bald, pretty head.” She began to pick with the knife’s tip under her nails, feigning nonchalance while her eyes stayed even on the glowing Templar, and her ears trained on the mountain.

“Which division is it this time that will ruin our night, hm? The Ninth? The Five-hundred and First?” Her mind dug as she tried to stall for time. She knew something about them, had heard stories and rumors. People loved to talk, and she had a habit for listening, but who could they be? Her eyes fell to the hum and glow of the suit the pretty-faced Russian wore. “No…. You’re from that Eighty-fourth lot, aren’t you? I hear you are a bunch of nasty feckers. As annoying and deadly as mosquitoes.”

Someone had to be nearby, someone had to know what was happening and would assist them. Reaching out again to her retainers the Werebeast Queen could only rush a shout of alarm, while hiding fear from her face. Maeve would sooner feed the three of them to the river below than let Jack be taken. No. Like the man standing beside her holding an ancient pistol, she was furious this is what it had come to.

More thunder, more feet pounding on the ground. The calvary would be arriving soon. She could feel the rumble through the floorboards of the boardwalk. “And here comes the rest of the swarm.”

Against all odds, the first of their kin was there. And she had to smirk as she saw him bounding forward, the Úlfhéðnar. “Interesting,” she mused with a forced grin, “because here comes the pack.”

 

[Crazy Trey-n]

Virgil Bedeau

Fantôme

health bar

WHERE: Nearby
DOING: Appraising
WITH: An Eavesdropper
CREDIT: WIP

Long before they surfaced as brewing grey swells against the distant sky, storms always stirred up fragrances that he could never describe. Virgil may have shifted in response to the approaching one’s scent had the hour spent waiting not been reserved for quiet contemplation. Lately, his imagination had become a persistent thing, intent on setting him adrift to the vast inland sea of his own thoughts. He considered it curious that the first time he found himself shipwrecked was amid memories. Stranger still was that it took the delicate touch of rain against his brow, alongside the thrum of its descent to the world outside of the one tucked away in his mind, to rouse him from the docile state he'd been trapped in for some while. Perhaps he was finally going through the woes of senility. Or worse yet, growing sentimental. The notion nearly made him chuckle.

When he opened his eyes and stood once more, it occurred to him that he'd likely not see Horatio again in the coming hours, or longer should the weather persist. The raven hated storms, but he couldn't entirely blame his feathery friend. At some point in long-ago history, he'd grown partial to the clemency offered by a light drizzle in lieu of the harsh temper that a torrential downpour brought. All he could do in the absence of his accomplice was wait and watch alone. That, at least, was always a comforting familiarity in his life.

The layout of the city wasn't as densely packed as some others of the far east he'd been to, nor were the buildings of the block far enough apart to hinder him from a leisurely stroll along the spines of their tall backs. New Orleans was impossibly more charming from the rooftops. Black smoke congested chimneys and drifted up to meet the clouds, bodies gathered in damp clusters under storefront canopies to prevent themselves from being thoroughly drenched, and the streets were cloaked with a blurry haze. The sweet smell of candles and incense came from an open second story window nearby. Beyond it, a couple danced together behind the thin concealment of a curtain drape, their swaying figures a pair of shadowy silhouettes. Virgil wondered if they'd been waiting for a time such as this to dance; a time where the sky wept intimately for them, on a night that they could both remember.

Somewhere close, rising just above the sound of rain and chatter of humanity, there was the resonant strum of a mandolin. When had been the last time he heard one? It must have been during a visit to Italy long ago, if memory still served. The occasion was purely business without pleasure, as nearly all of them at the time were, aside from his meeting a young lady who played the mandolin so vividly as to conjure images in the air and weave stories through its notes. There was only one other person he knew of who could do such a thing with music, yet the sagely old man who stood hunched over on the opposite curb below was a far cry from a certain vampire knight. He briefly pondered on what sort of wicked trouble Elias was getting himself into, wherever he was.

Virgil made quick work of hopping down into an abandoned alley and emerging from it a moment later with his hands buried deep in the pockets of his coat. For him, gliding between frolicsome groups was an act as effortless as weaving a needle through threads for an expert seamstress, and before long he was standing in front of the mandolin player with just enough space between them for others to comfortably pass through.

The first thing he noticed was that the man was blind. A tin can lay resting beside his bare feet that contained not a single coin, only enough holes to drain the constant flow of water. Most things about him were unassuming: his stooped posture, the torn tunic that hung so low as to graze the walkway, the frayed and tangled knots of his grayed hair, the gauntness of his face. Nothing at all about him appeared to be of phenomenal note, other than the subtly beautiful sounds that were a result of his fingers against his instrument.

"There's a canopy a few steps to your right if you wish to escape the rain," Virgil said.

"I know," croaked the blind man.

How curious. "Then why do you endure it?"

"Why not?"

"I certainly can’t argue that reasoning.” Though he very well could and would have for the sake of debate had the man not seemed to be a few cards short of a full deck. For a moment they stood silent, and Virgil noticed that the blind man was no longer playing the mandolin, using it as a makeshift crutch instead. “Even so, one might consider it odd.”

The blind man laughed aloud. “I’d wager that the world’s seen more peculiar things.”

Before he knew it, his lips twitched up into a grin. The very same whimsical sort of comeback would likely be what he'd use had he been in his the blind man's place. With a few steps, he closed the gap between them enough that he was able to fetch a golden coin from his pocket and kneel to silently place it in the tin can. It wasn't much, enough for a pair of shoes and maybe less tattered clothing, but that particularly lucky coin was all that he ever consistently kept on his person. Being caught with more than he wished to lose had been a constant threat in his former trade, so the things he held close were few and far between. When he rose, it was to find the man staring directly at him with sightless eyes.

"Do you like fortunes?"

The question had been so unexpected that Virgil couldn’t help the tilt of his head to one side - his oldest habit, one that so obtrusively betrayed his curiosity and refused to go away. Fortunes? He wondered whether the blind man had looser screws than he initially believed or if they were simply screwed on tighter than most at his decaying age.

"Of course,” was Virgil's reply, "Either they're right, or they're wrong and I've learned something new."

"I see. It's possible that you need not know yours, then."

"Why is that?"

"Isn't not knowing the first step to learning?" The blind man smirked widely. "I daresay you'd fear it."

"Well, here I was fancying myself unpredictable-"

"Not because of what you don't know, but because of that which you already do know." It took a moment for him to realize that the blind man was holding up between two bony, trembling fingers the very same coin he'd just placed in the can. "Not everyone lives to see themselves change. Most only live long enough to regret the price at which wisdom comes, else they forever endure, dreaming of dying like men instead of monsters."

They peered at one another through the rain. Regret... he didn't think himself capable of it. In truth, he didn't know what compelled him anymore. The future, certainly, so that he could see what would come to be, but what more? What dream did he have? To live forever seemed like a suffering of its own. Most fancies of late lacked the same excitement that they used to have, though that was something he'd been in denial of. Sometimes, at a depth of his being that was so unfamiliar as to be foreign, Virgil was afraid he'd already experienced everything he ever strove for and that everything to come after would feel like lesser versions of what had already been.

Hardly had he been subjected to such self doubt. A much more familiar part of him wanted to applaud his companion for it.

The blind man reached out for Virgil's arm. Any other time he would have resorted to a myriad of methods to dissuade even the idea of an attempt, but he waited instead, finding that the man's wish had only been to gently press the gold coin into his hand. "Best not assign much thought to my words," his raspy voice spoke again. "While there are dreams we're born into or have forced upon us, others we acquire ourselves somewhere along the way. I suppose you and I will have to wait and see."

That, the vampire believed, had been rather well said. "Who are you?” he inquired quietly.

"Someone far too unimportant for a name."

"Then a more uncomplicated question, if I may. Why are you here? You've yet to tell my fortune, but you must be aware of the bright nature in the way you played your instrument. No matter how reserved it may be, surely that, at least, would be suited to a less dangerous time."

"Need there be a reason for everything we do? Like you, I simply find the night endearing... all is equally lost and forgotten amidst its darkest shadows." For the second time that night, the blind man hacked out a wheezing laugh. "Until next time, Mr. Bedeau."

Nothing else could so readily sober Virgil of his brooding.

Before he could make a query of the blind man, a sudden streak of white light and an eerie screech drew in the attention of every pedestrian on the street, and he was no exception. Templar flares were quite distinguishable, just as he'd overheard them to be. They were ever so discreet about their introductions. Fortunately the flare's source was no more than a block or two away from where he then stood, so while its light fizzled into the fade and the rest of the world slowly churned back to life, he turned toward the blind man with a plenitude of questions he hoped could be answered.

But his companion was no longer there.

No matter where he looked - high or low, near or far - there was no sign of the blind man and his little tin can. He likely would have gone on a hunt had other business not risen. Virgil hadn't heard his own name spoken since... well, further into his past than he cared to remember. That was to say nothing of his surname; he'd never given it to another soul.

As swiftly as he'd taken to the streets, he left them, finding favor atop rooftops and among solitude. It'd be far easier to follow his quarry from above.

All is equally lost and forgotten amidst its shadows, he echoed within his mind, gazing briefly at the gold coin against the palm of his gloved hand before burying both in his coat pocket. Lost? He may be, but for all his years of endeavoring to discover what it meant to live, he had yet to forget.

Virgil grinned. Perhaps going senile wouldn't be so bad, after all.

- - -

He hadn't managed to see what the Templars were after before the chase was on. There were two of them, one of them taking off slightly ahead of his partner, and he gambled that more would soon follow. Tailing the larger one once they'd split up had been fairly easy to do in the wake of confusion, accidental destruction and hastily issued apologies. He was deceptively swift for a man of his size, if only due to his enormous stride. Virgil recalled sighting him on the streets mere hours ago. A man of his seemingly cheery nature holding a position within an order of such rigid severity? Looks were deceiving.

Thoughts of the Templars loomed heavy as they raced through the city. He hadn't much experience with them other than the occasional request to end one's life, chance encounters upon their warships before they'd taken to the skies, and he'd even once taken a job during his privateering days from what he suspected was a member of their top brass. That was all just memory now. In fact, he'd considered working for them under a more formal guise before. It was only their dependency on strict hierarchy and their litany of rules that he personally objected to.

Ah, rules. While he was more than willing to read them, or even entertain them for a time, it was only so that he better knew how to bend and break them later.

The booming timbre of the giant man caught his attention once he'd entered an empty street and undoubtedly believed himself to be alone. "I think I'm beginning to grow too old for this sort of thing."
Virgil had to repress his amused response to that of a whisper. "You and I both, big fellow."

They didn't have to run for much longer. Ahead of them lay the end of the road, and past it was a sweeping dock that stretched over one edge of the Mississippi River. A tall warehouse barred most of it from view. The Templar had been jogging at a modest clip, but when he was finally free of the chaos of a flustered audience and clustered buildings, he took off at a pounding sprint over the soaking boardwalk. He'd spotted his partner and the product of their attention not far off on the opposite end of the warehouse, as had Virgil; a man and two women, all disappearing behind its far side by the river, with the Templar in a vividly lit power suit following closely behind.

Taking residence on top of the warehouse would have been the smartest place to be if he were going to do nothing more than observe, and yet as he turned a keen eye to his surroundings, studying them through the haze of the quickly falling rain, he noticed another onlooker a mite closer to the fray than himself. How unusual it was that the man, slight of build and appearing to make himself ever more slight of presence so as not to be noticed, bore metal limbs that signified association with the Templars. A spy? Not quite, he'd gamble. There'd been rumor of a supposed Templar defector who'd made his home among the dregs of the city - to be caught here would be unlucky, indeed. Whatever the circumstances were, the man remained too obviously offhand to be truly allied with either side, just like himself.

The fun had yet to begin, so where was the harm in making an approach?

This time his fall from above wasn't so subtle. He dropped down to the street and immediately leapt back to a stand, paused long enough to conceal the saber's scabbard on his hip and the revolver's holster nestled between his upper arm and rib cage, then ambled off in the immediate direction of the man with metal limbs. His vantage point provided the perfect, albeit distant view of the trio and the two Templars surrounding them; their faces weren't familiar but his hearing was sharp, so he'd be sure to listen in to learn more as time carried on. Somewhere in the city there was the steady stomp of Templars and along the fringes of the docks beyond, vaguely distinguishable while lurking among its shadows and laying impatiently in wait, was an old acquaintance.

Well, well... merely think of the Devil and he shall appear.
The thoughts were kept to himself for he had no current wish to get caught up in whatever bloodthirsty affair Elias had chosen to set his sights upon, although they would have to catch up later. It'd been over a century since they'd last spoken and never before had the occasions been dull.

Virgil was always passively obscure about his presence and the torrents that fell around them served as excellent cover, but as he came closer to the man, his step grew so light as to hardly disturb the water underfoot. He considered himself lucky that the Templar had chosen a spot so far out of the way since it allowed his advance from behind to go undetected. Some Templars had augmented hearing he knew, and while this one appeared to be such an individual by the way his hand fiddled beside his ear, the man didn't even stir in response.

One thing he'd come to learn was that a remarkable aspect of someone's personality shone brightest when presented with the unexpected, so when he was within arm's length of the man and still out of sight, Virgil leaned in to tap his shoulder.

"It's considered quite rude to eavesdrop, you know," he whispered just loudly enough to be heard over the downpour of the rain. These days, Virgil was nothing if not curious.

 

[ashwynne]

Nascha

Black Sun

health | bar

WHERE: Shack ➟ French Quarter ➟ Docks
WITH: Jack & Maeve, Monsters
DOING: Travel ➟ Fleeing ➟ Confronting
CREDIT: @peritwinkle
PLAYLIST:

The instant umber eyes settled on her, Jack gasped, his hand performing a sudden jump to shield his eyes. Instinctively, Nascha lurched a half step towards him; “Are you alright?” concern swept across her features. It was not an anticipated reaction and it left her frowning, gaze flicking over him as she inhaled deeply through her nose--lips parted--to see if she could discern any hint of illness. A sudden migraine? Hallucinations? Was this some side effect of the weakened serum? Her mind ran over an inventory of her supplies. Perhaps a preparation of peppermint applied to his forehead for headaches and some willow bark to chew on if he was in pain, or--
The feline’s eyes narrowed fractionally, tension sliding from her shoulders as realization struck, coming on the heels of his chuckle and the ravenwoman chiding him for British sensibilities. Nascha could only sigh and roll her eyes. “I’m sure you’ve seen other women naked, Jack. I do not possess anything rare or exotic that you haven’t seen before.”
The momentary concern over his condition had swept Maeve’s quietly muttered comment to the back of her mind, but it resurfaced now. The feline didn’t say ‘over my dead body’ but she thought it. The mere idea of being trapped by four walls alongside so many others was horrifying… besides, they likely would have insisted she wear clothes.

Jack proceeded to explain the purpose of their visit and she cocked a hip, crossing her arms just below her chest with an arched brow as she listened. Intentional provocative desensitization to nudity had been her next goal, but at the mention of the serum, of someone who could help her with it, and the subsequent request for her assistance… the cougar found herself softening out of that resolution despite her previous vexation.
Maeve now stepped towards her, commiseration in her expression. Of the three of them, it was clearly only Jack who upheld some sort of unnecessary decorum.
The blonde proceeded to further explain what it was that they intended and Nascha nodded along in thought. “Yes. I think you’re right, I’d be better able to explain the serum and our needs to this contact than either of you. Besides, if this person is able to help… it will be useful information for me to have. There are certain elements which have been difficult for me to pinpoint, though I do understand some of the composition,” not much--which was a thorn in her side--but it was only a matter of time.
Inclining her head towards the inside of the shack, the feline slipped back through the gaping wound where the door had been to lead them the rest of the way into her abode.

Lost in thoughts about this new contact and what she herself currently knew of the serum, Nascha hardly heard Maeve at first. She only dimly grasped onto the fact that the ravenwoman was agreeing with her on the aggravation of clothing while also insisting that she wear something around town. “I’ve gathered as much. Humans don’t seem to care for nudity,” she murmured distractedly. It was a lesson the cougar had learned the hard way.

Automatically, Nascha took the trenchcoat that was offered to her, slipping her arms through the sleeves and pulling it closed around her. The garment dwarfed her. On Jack it had come to his knees but on Nascha it brushed delicately against the floor, sleeves well past where her arms ended. She was entirely swaddled--surrounded by the Mephisto’s scent--and for a moment she had the oddest inclination to cry.
“A run through the bayous would be fun,” she managed, though normally she would never have agreed to such a social affair. But it was with that statement and a steadying sniff that the fire began to return to her eyes, the feline forcibly pushing back the brief wave of malaise that had descended from somewhere deep and dark and wounded inside herself that she refused to acknowledge. Amber eyes locked firmly onto Maeve’s, fierceness burning there, “After we solve Jack’s problem,” she agreed, “But speak for yourself… I don’t live in captivity, and I’d like to see someone try to change that.” She very firmly waved away the pesky mental image that had formed of a cowboy who had stolen her lips; he was irrelevant.

As Maeve stepped past to observe the home she had made, Jack drew nearer; ready with a gentle smile and the observation that she had been busy. “Well,” the feline said with a slight shrug, “I’ve been given a challenge worthy of applying myself to.” A small smile of her own blossomed with that statement, but it faltered and faded into a frown at the next implication he made that he had not offered much to further the endeavor. “On the contrary, you have been an immense help. I would have no chance of figuring out the formulation if you hadn’t trusted me enough to part with a drop of the serum. I know how much every drop counts.”
He settled carefully against the wall, his next words striking like physical blows, almost as though to drive home the point she herself had just made.
“But I’m afraid my time is running short, my dear. I took half the vial today… I need more, quickly. We need to find you some assistance in order to move the research along, otherwise I cannot say how much longer I’ll be around.”
An uncertain feeling tugged at her stomach at this, strong enough that she unconsciously pressed a hand over her navel, feeling the thick material of the trench beneath her fingers. Over the past six years she had never lost a patient, not one that she had actually decided to apply herself to saving, not since she had been an apprentice within her tribe. And Jack… Wordlessly, amber eyes flicked over the brunet. She liked him. And Nascha liked very few people. His loss would not only be a professional blow but a personal one too. Slowly, her fingers tightened in the fabric.

For a very, very brief moment, the healer stood before him, feeling lost. Small. The feeling was only exacerbated by the now-familiar scent which wreathed around her, by the way the coat engulfed her form. Young. Inexperienced. Woefully out of her depth.
These three emotions were ones she had not experienced in a very long time, ones that left her floundering off balance. She didn’t want to fail him. She didn’t want to be left with only a memory of his scent and the knowledge that she had not been enough. That she--
From somewhere deep within and yet separate from herself, a voice slipped like fingers of climbing ivy, trailing up and into the private space of her mind. It was a voice she knew well, even if she had not heard it for some time. Then do not fail. Are you so weak? Are you so incapable? You would dare disturb the spirits to brazenly ask for black knowledge and yet quake now before a challenge? Who are you?
Who?
A shiver ran down her spine, gooseflesh following it, and the cougar stubbornly set her shoulders and squared her jaw. The hand that had rested anxiously over her belly dropped to her side, hidden again within the sleeves of the trench as it formed a mirrored fist to the one on the other side of her body. Nascha. She was Nascha. A woman who did not fear knowledge; no matter how black the art. One who would call upon anything it took to be unmatched in her craft. Unyielding. Unrelenting. Unbowed. Jack would live… even if only to choose death and die by his own hand. Why? Because nothing less than success in this mission was acceptable to her. Because she had chosen to help him and therefore she would. Because she had told him she would. It was that simple.
“Then we had best go find this person you think can help,” she said briskly.

​

Trams. The cougar scowled and fidgeted with the cuff of the trench. Nasty, noisy, inconvenient things. Jack and Maeve had been entirely at ease with boarding it, so of course her pride would not permit her to complain, but the moment they had stepped onboard she felt as though she had been soiled. Pressed in on by people and their eyes. Cats did not do their best work under scrutiny.
Curious gazes assailed her like unwanted touches and she had never craved the shadows more. Unconscious of it, she pressed a touch closer to Jack--searching for something familiar among the chaos and unfamiliar busyness of their transport.

The half hour in transit felt like an eternity, and Nascha was all but ready to transform and bolt when at last they arrived at the edge of the French Quarter. Stepping off the tram and into the street had her releasing a long breath she hadn’t realized she was holding; shaking herself off within the trench to rid herself of the lingering aura of the tram--not caring in the least if she offered a brief glimpse of far more skin than was acceptable as she did so.
A light rain had begun to fall and she was all the more grateful for it. Tipping her face up to the sky she let the drops sluice over her, feeling a refreshment of spirit easing over her with every bead of moisture that caressed her skin. It also set the streets alight in a dizzying array of colours; electric lights and bioluminescence mixing into something that could confound the senses. She loved it. It was one of the reasons she had chosen to linger in New Orleans; the ability to slip through chaotic light just as surely as through shadow.
With spirits significantly uplifted, Nascha padded along with them in contented silence, left to her own thoughts. It was only when Jack shifted forward to take Maeve’s arm that the feline lifted her own head and narrowed her eyes consideringly at them. There was an aura of conspiration to his movement that made her instinctively wary.
She did not understand what they were talking about. Cafe’s smelled of food but she had never darkened the doors of one. Coffee she knew and had avoided trying; not for any reason other than that it seemed frivolous when she was accustomed to making her own herbal brews. As for sweets… yet another thing she had no experience in. But it was the mention of ‘hot beignets’ and ‘seeing what effect they had’ that had her frowning and looking between them warily.
What was a ‘beignet’ exactly? A weapon? Liquor? Some sort of medication or mind altering herb? She tended to steer clear of those and could not quite understand why the pair of them would wish to see what effect it might have on her.
Maeve glanced back and offered a warm smile which did nothing to allay her concerns. But, it seemed that the ‘hot beignets’ would wait for some other time. Curiosity killed the cat and Nascha could admit to being the mildest bit disappointed at a rain check, but at the same time it did come as a sort of relief.

Onwards they went; the healer trusting to Jack and Maeve to lead them. She was not one to pay attention to road signs or maps… she went where her nose took her for the most part and spent the rest of the time asking locals for directions and then promptly forgetting them once she had arrived where she was going.

Ahead of her the pair abruptly began to slow and Nascha stepped to the side so she could peer around them, eyes widening and mouth dropping open in awe as she saw what had arrested their attention. It was a giant! Jack was already a full head taller than she was, but this man! He was something else entirely! He made Jack seem tiny by comparison.
Awed, she stared at him. Was it genetics? A freak accident of nature? Had he been augmented somehow or was he some sort of immortal? Intrigued, the feline found herself leaning towards him, eyes brought to vibrant life as they sparkled and danced while she poured over the slew of possibilities. It never even occurred to her to take note of the armour he wore. Not, at least, until Jack’s hand shot back to circle her wrist and she was pulled flush against him.
For a moment the young beast tensed, unsure of the contact or why he had initiated it. Curiosity urged her to get closer to the giant and for a moment that was the only thought that consumed her; childish resentment bubbling up at the thought of being restrained from doing so. But then it hit her. What the armour meant. What Jack was. What Maeve had told them. What she knew of the Templars and what they had done in England.
A low growl--feral and displeased--tugged itself from the very centre of her being. There was no chance she would let these brutes get their hands on the ravenwoman or her patient. They had done enough damage to him, to all of them. And left unchecked they would surely do more.
Suddenly, the giant was less a target of fascination and more a target of her claws. She’d have to climb him like a tree to do any real damage but--
Startled out of her intention to attack, Nascha was tugged along instead as Maeve and Jack quickly turned away to try and sidestep the Templar instead. “He hadn’t even seen us yet, we could have made quick work of him…” she protested, the words muttered more to herself than anything else, though they could surely still hear her. “I could have dissected him afterwards, too,” she added as a grumbled afterthought.

They had not made it far before they were stopped by some fancy lady in a ridiculous getup. She held an umbrella above her head that was equally ostentatious, chiding them for being out unprotected in the rain as though they would melt otherwise. It was enough to make Nascha softly scoff but she managed to hold her tongue.
Stress poured off of her two companions in tangible waves at this delay, enough that the feline felt a quiver of nervousness begin to grow within herself. It was silly, really, considering it would be three of them against one, but the tension and muted fear on the air was infectious nonetheless. Enough to make her restless; fidgeting slightly beneath Jack’s hand around her wrist as Maeve attempted to play nice with the annoying woman in the unbearable dress.
Through the soles of her bare feet the cougar could feel the ground thrumming with every step taken by the magnificently built Templar man. A growl began again, deep in the pit of her stomach, borne of a nervousness that came from the knowledge of what the increasing magnitude of his steps meant for their odds of remaining hidden. Long habit of hiding from the gazes of others had her growing very still; all but disappearing within the trench in the hopes of not being seen as the ravenwoman tried to make a quick apology and hurry them away.
She was too slow.
“Excuse me, sir.”
There was a haughty demand in the tone, an authoritativeness that had Nascha turning to look towards the voice with amber eyes narrowed to slivers and lips slightly curled.
Had his scent not betrayed him as a mortal, she might have wondered if he were a fellow feline beast; walking with a cocksure swagger that reminded her unpleasantly of some of the men in her tribe. But the rest of his appearance wiped that comparison away quickly enough.

While the giant beside him was impressive and eye catching by his sheer size, this man held a piece of the sun in his chest. It had aggravated her eyes earlier and was made worse now that he was before them; sneering in their direction with his eyes turning from Jack to peer at Maeve with equally malicious delight.

The cougar hardly heard the exchange. Collectively, the gazes of those gathered on the street had turned onto them and she was feeling the edges of a black panic coiling along the margins of her vision. She worked in the shadows. Black Sun the voice had named her once, and to be illuminated by the harsh brightness of the Templar’s grotesque machinery while so many inquiring eyes stared at her was…. It was intolerable.
Being instinctively cautious about causing harm to Jack, it was only her other hand that balled into a fist; nails leaving bleeding crescents in her palm as she fought against the urge to wrench herself free from his hold on her and flee far from prying eyes.
“Then I suppose that makes you… A very lost experiment.”
Her head snapped up, nostrils flaring and pupils constricting to furious little slits, panic forgotten. With a snarl she began to take a step towards the smaller Templar--heedless of the danger--when Jack tugged her tighter against him, his revolver held and pointed towards the blue-eyed wretch.
“Run!” Maeve yelled.
“Go on, I’ll give you a head start.”
She wanted to rip the cocky bastard to shreds. Instead, she did as bid, turning and running as the Mephisto pulled her along, permitting herself only one final glance over her shoulder as she memorized the faces of the two Templars: the young feline-like man with the sun in his chest, the one who had looked with such malicious intent at the man she had vowed to heal, and the giant who was clearly aligned with these evil practices. She would not forgive either of them their trespasses.

The crack of the gun and the hiss as the flare shot into the sky made her flinch, Jack’s grip tight around her wrist as they wove and pushed through the surging swell of people who had gathered to witness the spectacle.

For the first time in her life, Nascha regretted the lack of time she had spent familiarizing herself with the city itself. By habit she avoided busy places but now that lapse of knowledge acted as a detriment, and she cursed herself angrily for this failing. Without Maeve they would have been hopeless; the ravenwoman directing them as their feet thumped over the ground. But would it be enough? Was there somewhere they could hide now that the Templars were on their trail?

As they wove their way desperately down side streets and alleys, the storm increased in intensity. Gone was the gentle pattering of rain... now it pelted against them with force; obscuring vision and turning the ground treacherous. Her own feet were hardened and toughened like leather from years of walking barefoot, only a little troubled by the slickness of the cobblestone and brick beneath her, but she knew that the footing of her two companions would likely not be anywhere near as certain. It was danger on top of danger, and by the look of the ominous dark clouds gathering above their heads… it would not be long before thunder and lightning followed.

Suddenly, they were on the boardwalk. This was worse than the cobblestone for footing, and she hissed low in frustration. Still, there was no choice… run, or face the Templars.
Nascha’s brows drew inwards, fighting to settle the voices in her head as they competed for dominance of her thoughts. She desperately wanted silence, a little room to think and breathe, not the tingling of her fingertips as budding panic broke the careful barriers she kept in place and had her reaching deep inside herself towards black magic that coiled dark and thick within her soul.
“Go!”
But there was nowhere to go. Nascha all but crashed into Maeve, the sudden halt of their punishing pace shattering her thoughts so thoroughly that the inky black hand which had been reaching up towards her was suddenly lost again beneath the dark sea of her soul.

They were trapped. The giant loomed in front of Maeve; only his massive outline discernible through the storm. Behind them, the cat-like Templar with the sun in his chest glowed ominously as he cut towards them.
“Come now, Harpy! Time to call it a lost cause, the Key must come home.”
“Over my dead body,” Nascha breathed softly, back tensing as she prepared to fight, the flare shrieking high above their heads. But then, intruding suddenly into her mind, there came a familiar voice. Jack’s voice. “Promise me, if they have me… kill me.”
Judging by the look that Maeve shot him, she had been given the same message and her answer was a resounding ‘no,’ but as for Nascha… her stomach tightened. She had mercy killed before. Many times. Those she had no hope of healing, those who suffered beyond what they had any right to experience. She would do anything to keep it from coming to that for him, but…
The feline caught Jack’s eyes for the briefest of moments and she offered him a slow, cat-like, blink alongside the faintest nod. She wouldn’t let him suffer his torments a second time.

Maeve stepped away from them, assuming an air of nonchalance as she trained her sights and words on the foreigner with the strange accent and the unnatural sun embedded in his chest. To think… the Templars thought they were the monsters… but these two? Could they even be considered human? Mortals made metal, deadly. How many of their parts and pieces were even their own?
Hatred, frustration, and a growing sense of mindless fury were rising swiftly in the cougar’s heart and soul. Her study of the black arts had been restricted to healing, but for a moment she bitterly wished she could call upon some spell or enchantment to make this pair of Templars burn for all eternity--no matter what the personal cost.
With the ravenwoman attempting to stall for time, Nascha gently tugged her hand free from Jack’s grip… but only enough to slide down and find his hand, to give it a strong and reassuring squeeze, before she took a menacing step towards the giant.

Nascha eyed him up with a snarl, metaphorical hackles raised. This one had not spoken, but that did not make him any less culpable in the acts that they wished to--and had--perpetrated against the Mephisto. Against them all. “You vile monsters,” she snapped at him, fear washed away by anger as she spoke, amber eyes flickering blue along the margins of the irises as she glared at him with bared teeth. “What gives you the right to ruin and take our lives? How much blood will it take before you are satisfied?!”

Beyond them she could hear the pounding of more footsteps, and a brief scream of rage knocked in her chest, though she did not release it… not yet. Transformation would be inevitable, she could feel the twitch of it beginning beneath her skin, gooseflesh rising and breath harshening as her inner beast began to rise, but not quite yet.
And then there was hope; Maeve’s voice carrying through the rain as she declared that aid was coming, spoken just before she sensed the other beast herself--his aura familiar to her from the other night though she couldn’t picture him.
Not quite triumphant, yet feeling better about their odds, the cougar turned back with a snarl to the giant, drawing herself up to the full height of her diminutive form; a sight that should have been ridiculous considering the oversized trench, but somehow managed to seem wild and a little bit fey instead. “If you think you can capture and torture my patient before I’m done with him, you are entirely wrong… just try it, monster, see what happens.” A careful backwards step had her brushing against Jack just enough to be certain of his position as she stared down the behemoth.