Voyage Through the Multiverse (Ended) [IC]

[Menschenfleisch]

The Great Wizarding Rambo IV - Return of the Electric Obra Dinn | Kimmel Jimmy and Paltrow Gwyneth

It was a simple trick, really, to overlay two spaces on top of each other. Between every 'mundane' storefront was some place purveying magical items unbeknownst to the public, a system technically endorsed by the government but which was really the product of months of negotiations and demands on the part of the wider magical community. Polly nearly dragged Kiara off her feet, overcoming her meekness in the face of Miria's excitement, and stepped through the front door of what must have been the most concentrated locus of geek culture for miles around. Shelves upon shelves of paraphernalia, albums, toys and games; it was a collector's paradise. "I've never seen any of these," she muttered under her breath. She slid a vinyl record off one of the shelves, still tucked inside a plastic sheet, and felt the ridges and grooves on its surface through the protective film. Even tiny sensations such as that were engaging to her, snippets of a world that she'd never had an opportunity to be a part of. "Madi, did you know that any of this existed? I didn't, for one."

Polly glanced over at Kiara, running a finger over the back of a CD case. Her expression was in flux, going from a neutral stare to a deep grimace then back again in seconds. "What are you doing?" The Kalmite put the box back on the shelf, her fingers lingering on the casing. "I was watching a movie." She could process all the media in the room without needing a player of any sort. If something with the operating power of an insect and only a single laser to see things with could interpret the data contained in casettes and laser discs then so could she. She was surrounded by culture, listening to a hundred different songs from a dozen different decades playing in her head at once. It was overwhelming, it was brilliant, it was inexorably alive. She had to crack a smile. "The things in this place, do you think we could stand to take a few of these home?"

[Rostavykhan]

The Great Wizarding Rebellion
Miria

"You like it?"

Miria hopped back up behind Kiara, holding what looked to be a box for an action figure, and a light novel. "I like these.", She said, holding them up for just a moment. As quickly as she'd approached, she was turned around again, still listening despite her attention being drawn primarily to the array of baubles and goods lain out for them. "Oh!", She piped up, quickly stepping over to one of the displays near Kiara and Polly, where she found herself admiring a collection of clothes. There were graphic t-shirts and fancy jackets, but Miria was interested instead in a shelf of what looked to be spiked leather, black pants and jackets, neon accessories, and heavy makeup, and many more pieces of apparel that practically screamed "I'm quirky!" - something likely to be seen among any of the highschool-aged kids who would frequent such a store, and something that Miria, it seemed, enjoyed as well.

"Hey, Madi, if we go to your peoples' mall after this, do you think they'll have anything like this, or do you have different ideas of what's cool?", She asked, digging through a bin. "Hey!", She grabbed something, turning around to show off a pair of round glasses, just like hers, but with neon red lenses. "What about these?", She asked, sticking her tongue out and smiling. In her other hand, she had a short skirt, and what appeared to be a pair of high-heeled combat boots. "Pretty flashy, huh? Oh! Speaking of flashes, maybe the other place has an alchemy shop? I've been thinking of purchasing ingredients. I wanted to make some smoke bombs."

Katya

Katya snapped her fingers. "Primarily war crimes.", She said, nodding. "Oh, and that reminds me! I was - "

The sound of doors opening snapped her from her thoughts. Reaching the front doors of the college seemed to surprise her. She'd almost zoned out, being invested in her conversation. She wasn't upset to find them at their destination to soon, however. "Perhaps my thought should wait for later. I believe we have business to tend to in here.", She said, following Lee and the elves in. She wanted to see who they were going to meet, and to get some idea of what their next course of action would be.

She leaned in, whispering to Juliana and Thriller, once they were inside. "I'm a little surprised that we've not been hassled about our appearances. I'd bet the people here have seen plenty of Wizarding types in the past week, so they're likely desensitized to it. No need to worry, I suppose?"

The Eight Line Tale
Frantzeska

"Perhaps the threat of torture will serve as motivation to not fail, then.", Said Frantzeska, standing up. She stowed her blade and set her tea aside, having almost finished the cup. Her smile had dropped, although her voice still seemed to carry a warmth to it, with her interest still piqued concerning Horse Face. "Will all assistance be required for this raid, or is there need for someone to search for this mysterious man who threatens your schools?", She asked. "I would like to volunteer to face such a foe, unless you would feel me to be put to better use with your raid."

She wasn't saying it [i]outright[/b], but she wanted to fight Horse Face. She didn't even know much about the conflict that she was being dragged into, but she already didn't enjoy the idea of a society ruled by merchants and businessmen, and she wouldn't be able to tolerate the idea of an organization with the ability to deploy super-weapons in other worlds regardless. If that DebuCorp's intelligence network was as good as they all said it was, then how long would it take before they found out about her any way? What would stop them from learning about her world, and interfering there? She didn't enjoy the idea of that happening. Even a small resistance in their own territory kept them busy and helped to check their power, and so keeping that resistance safe was paramount. A person who could threaten the security of that resistance and put down their greatest protectors was a person who couldn't be allowed to succeed. Admittedly, Frantzeska also felt somewhat insecure, understanding that she had little understanding of the technology and culture of Frihed City compared to everyone else, and so tackling a simple issue such as fighting one individual seemed more natural to her than participating in a delicate and high-stakes infiltration of the highly-advanced masters that said individual seemed to serve. Of course, the decision would be up to Shiro and his friends, and not her.

[Skylus]

TGWR
February 11th, 2019
Doug (been a while huh)

Argos, above London

Johann said nothing as he turned around to look out of the window, hands behind his back. “The view isn’t all that special if your world is similar to this one.” he told the pilot as the Argos flew over the ruins. “Eventually even the ruins of what was a familiar cityscape becomes dull after flying by it enough times.”

He would be silent as Circe appeared next to Doug. “Unfortunately for us these ruins will become the future of other cities because the government of this world decided to follow the same mistake as the magical one. They choose to make us their enemy.”

“I’d like to assume there’s more than just one government on this world. Judging by the map on that wall over there, there are at least a hundred or more separate governments. Are you only going after the government of the nation we’re in at the moment, or are you going after all of them?”

Johann looked at the map. “Just the one we are in. But once our war against this one becomes obvious there is a chance the others will fight against us because we are seen as outsiders in this world.”

Doug nodded. “How did this government become your enemy, if you don’t mind me asking?”

Johann eyes narrowed for a bit before they lessen.

“We agreed to a temporary alliance to deal with a common cause. We had several anomalies that escaped due to rifts appearing in our facilities and those anomalies appeared in their nation. We agreed to assist them in dealing with them by returning those anomalies back to our custody.”

The man snorted.

“Of course those fools were planning on betraying us the moment they realize those same anomalies could be used as weapons. So not only were they able to steal some anomalies from us but they even captured a high ranking agent of ours in order to extract information about us. These actions have now made the United Kingdom our enemy.”

“Anomalies? Like… creatures? And the fact that you can utilize those portals is interesting.” The pilot paused. “If I work with you, what’s in it for me?”

Johann looked over at the pilot. “For starters, we don’t erase your memory of being in this ship once we let you go. But this time we know where you are and we can send you back if you work for us. Furthermore, you can use some of our equipment for a time since if you are dealing with anomalies then you would need them to survive.”

He looked at the map of the UK on the screen as several red dots emerge. “These anomalies aren’t just creatures though. Some are people with unusual abilities or mutations, others are objects with unusual properties, or phenomenon that defy all known laws of physics. If it defies what natural science say should be possible would be an anomaly. Some of these anomalies even defy the laws of the occult as well.”

“Sounds interesting.” Doug inspected the red dots on the map for a while before he glanced at Johann. “Should I get you in contact with my superiors? They’ll want to know that I’ll be working with you.”

“You can.” He pointed to a device on the center console that would allow Doug to speak to his superiors while Johann walked away to another device in the bridge.

Doug walked over to the device and inspected it, then began to mess around with it until he figured out how it worked. He then put in his system’s coordinates and such and waited.

A man in uniform appeared on a nearby screen. “Hello again. Where might you be this time?” Doug noticed there were a lot more people in view than just Shakel.

“Sir, I am on a world by the name of Terra, otherwise known as Earth. I’ve decided to help an organization known as Aegis for the time being. If you wish to speak to the leading officer here….” Doug trailed off and glanced at Johann, waiting for a response from the man.

“Later. I’m needed elsewhere.” Johann told Doug as he left the bridge.

The man on screen watched the man leave, then shuffled various papers on the desk before him. “As are we… Things have been heating up while you were gone.” Shakel met Doug’s gaze. “Trust me when I say it’s safer for you to be world hopping than be here. I need to call up the other generals in a few minutes, keep me updated if you’re able to.” The screen went dark and the call ended.

Doug looked around, feeling somewhat out of place. No one had approached him for anything and he wondered if he was just supposed to walk up and ask someone about possible training or whatever. A different military had different training, that much was certain.

The pilot eventually decided to walk up to someone on the bridge. “Hello, I’m not sure if you’ve heard yet, but I’m the person that showed up via a portal nearby this vessel, I’m wondering if in order to work alongside your group, I need some sort of physical or mental evaluation or weapons training?”

The bridge officer didn’t look up at Doug.

“Go down to level four and look for room 4-F. You will find someone who will evaluate you.” the person told Doug.

“Thanks.” Doug left the bridge and eventually found a way to get to the fourth level of the vessel. He soon found the room labeled 4-F and found that it slid open as he approached. Doug entered the room and waited for someone to address him.

Doug would find a spheric drone flying towards him. “Please list down all answers on this questionnaire as you wait for someone to talk with you.”

Doug took the questionnaire from the drone and examined it for a few seconds, then walked over to a nearby table, sat down in a chair, looked over the papers again, then picked up a pen and began responding.

There were the usual questions such as name, rank, age, and all of that, along with what his skills, knowledge and experience were, among many other things.

He listed his skills as: fighter pilot, medic, survivalist, scholar

He listed his knowledge as: vast knowledge of various air combat maneuvers, how to avoid attacking aircraft and excel in being defensive against missiles, know how to perform the M1, how to deal with G-forces. Also am trained as a field medic and am a survivalist, knowing how to survive in extreme conditions such as blizzards, being stranded in forests or deserts or how to survive wild animal encounters or being threatened by local populations or other military groups.

He listed his experience as: age 19, graduated secondary school and went into the royal military. Rose through ranks for three years until reaching Second Lieutenant a few months ago when he turned 22. He helped in assisting other branches during a coastal flood two years ago that affected the Hateno and Akkala regions, and settled a civilian despite in Lurein Village six months ago.

The robot compiled everything Doug wrote down.

“I see you are a Gary Stu. I still have more questions for you.”

The screen would show more questions for Doug.

Have you ever committed murder or assisted in a murder: Yes/No No

If yes when did the murder took place, the time, date, and year, and reason for the murder:

Who did you kill:

Where you the victim of rape or committed rape against another person: Yes/No No

If yes who did you committed it on or who did it to you:

Have you ever tortured anyone or have it inflicted on you by another: Yes/No No

Doug had, of course, been asked these questions on his pilot questionnaire, he had somewhat expected these, after all, no military took murders or other bad people. Yet the robot had insulted him. He decided to let it go for now. “Are there any more questions for me?”

Have you ever been abused as a child: Yes/No No

Do you have a fetish that is deem repulsive by most people: Yes/No No, I in fact have none whatsoever.

If yes list your fetishes:

Have you ever abused and killed animals: Yes/No No

Do you suffer from some physical or mental disability: Yes/No Yes

If yes what list what you suffer from?: Some anxiety, very minor anger issues, not enough to warrant medication

Doug thought these were all extremely personal, then again, these same questions had been asked on his pilot questionnaire three years ago. “Right, any more questions?”

Do people find you as the perfect specimen as a human being or whatever close equivalent your species is: Yes/No I suppose a few people do, most people don’t seem to care about this.

Do you find everything going out as well as you want: Yes/No Yes.

Does everyone, including your enemies, love you or respect you at the least: Yes/No No

Do you do everything successfully: Yes/No No.

Does every male and female find you attractive: Yes/No If they did I would be very concerned.

“I know it. You are a Gary Stu.” the robot declared. “You can try to hide it but we both know the truth.”

“I assume the questionnaire is over?” Doug again ignored the possible insult, it wasn’t his fault he hadn’t done anything considered “the norm” for military members. He was just a fighter pilot, not a secret ops person.

“Yes they are. I hereby demand that you be contained as a possible reality bender.”

The robot declared. “Your unrealistic skillset mixed with your absurdly young age gave you away as a reality bender. Now we will wait until you are contained. Please don’t resist. I don’t want to be destroyed and I’m sure you don’t want to die as well. Trust me when I say that the afterlife isn’t as great as most believe it to be.”

“Reality bender? I’m just a fighter pilot, not some… person with god like powers.” Doug then thought about it. “If you mean my Slate and the fact that it can slow down time and lift things into the air, then yes, I suppose so… Otherwise no.”

“Your device will be confiscated so thank you for telling me that. But your story of being a fighter pilot is only real because you made it real. We have seen many reality benders do the same. They all change just enough so they were always rich, powerful, attractive, successful. Nothing like the pathetic sacks of shit that they were, that they will always be. You are no different.”

“I have documents, papers, medals, you’re telling me that I somehow fabricated everything?”

“Yes, fabricating everything is easy when you can easily manipulate everything with just your mind. If you say you have a gorgeous girlfriend with a perfect set of breasts and buttocks she will exist because you will. Or perhaps you controlled another woman and changed her mind and body to become your dream girl.”

“Is that so? Perhaps some other person with these powers you’re talking about would do that, but I’m not that sort of person. Even if I did happen to have someone like that, which I don’t, I wouldn’t want to risk her life by having her appear in this place where I don’t know the threat level or how much these people tolerate me and so on and so forth.” Doug eyed the robot but made no motion to get up, realizing he was in a precarious situation.

“It is only natural for you to say that you are different. But here is a real check. You think like a human, therefore you have the same flaws as a human. You will abuse that power even if you delude yourself in being a “righteous person”. You humans are all the same. If I had any weapons on me I would terminate you right now.”

“Is it normal for you to issue death threats?”

The robot’s screen would go dim as it fell on the floor.

“No it isn’t.” Doug would see Circe leaning against the wall.

“Looks like that one dealt with way too many reality benders and the reality shifts caused it to go mad. Ironic. We use machines because they shouldn’t go mad.”

Doug looked at the woman for a second before he got up from the chair. “Since the drone was insane, does the questionnaire still count or do I have to fill out a new one?”

Circe waved her hand. “It works. Though it is right that the skills you listed don’t match with your supposed age. Those are not skills you can just learn easily in school.” the Oracle told Doug.

“But I will ignore that for now. You want to do something right? Well we can use you for one thing. We need a good pilot to fly a spy plane to record what is happening in Ireland. You think you can do that?”

Doug nodded. “I’m sure of it. I would like more details though if possible, such as the exact location, what type of aircraft you modified, that sort of thing.”

“I can’t give away too much on the aircraft but just know that this stealth aircraft is the ultimate since it won’t be noticed even if someone was looking at it with their own eyes. But as for location we will give you a file on which locations and targets to find.”

Circe told him. “Normally satallies would work much better but since this isn’t our reality we have to improvise.”

“Files are good. I recall scientists back home were trying to perfect invisibility cloaking devices. They had them mostly working, they could stay up for days at a time but we use an energy source that I’m certain is nowhere else called Force, it’s… basically life energy, to explain it directly.” Doug took out his Slate. “Should I go ahead and get those files now or is there supposed to be some sort of other evaluation?”

“Just get them now. We need to have things set up for your mission so I suggest you enjoy yourself before we throw you out there with the madmen and demons in human skin.”

“I’ve dealt with plenty of those already.” Doug told the woman before he gave a respectful nod in her direction and walked out of the room.

[Menschenfleisch]

The Great Wizarding Roland | Kiara and Polly

Polly clapped her hands and would’ve made a very unbecoming noise if her voicebox hadn’t been bruised by years of abuse, both given and taken. ”Those look wonderful! And those glasses are especially cute!” Kiara raised her head a little and adopted a tired but ultimately approving smile. “Well, I won’t pretend to understand the appeal, but if it makes you happy.” It was… a little odd, perhaps, that the youngest member of the group was also the most financially solvent but then again, they were practically strangers to normality. It almost felt wrong for Kiara in particular to be there, like she was a splotch of paint on a blank canvas. What was she supposed to be, exactly? The straight-man to Polly and Miria’s quirkiness? Some sort of anchor to keep the scene semi-serious? She was here as one of them with nothing being demanded of her, no dramatic duress, she- ”Kia, are you alright?” The girl swiped something out of her eye - a little cyan splotch - before anyone could see. “Yes. I’m fine. Organic excretion, nothing dangerous.” She had a quick look around to see if the group believed her. To her apprehension, she couldn’t tell. “But ah, personally, anything that protects my modesty is good enough for me.” ”Well that’s not fair,” Polly half-whined with a voice that was very unsuited for it. ”You naturally have white hair and flawless skin. The rest of us have to try to look all cool like!” “Polly, I look like a child who fell into a tub of bleach.” ”That’s more interesting than whatever I am!” And for emphasis Polly tugged on her shirt, practically a thick black cotton shawl which did its job and nothing more. Her hair, brown and whitening in places, was loose and draped down over her shoulders. It was the longest that it’d ever been. The old Polly had never worn her hair down. ”But I’m a little scared to try out the stuff that’s ‘appropriate’ for my age. It all seems a little unfamiliar and a little bit… I dunno, too mature.” Though she couldn’t have known any better, Kiara tried to reassure her. “You’ll grow into it,” she stated too warmly for Polly to think that she was sincere, but she appreciated the gesture nonetheless.

Polly spun to face Madi, her eyes glittering with excitement. Kiara could hear her synapses firing as they simulated imagined possibilities, all the wonderful things which the woman anticipated finding in whichever street or building they visited next. ”Madi, do you know any magic shops? I think I read a book about magic once. Happy Lotter or something. It sounds so interesting. I want to farm mandrakes and learn how to summon horses with a wand!” Kiara’s words caught in her throat. How did she break it to her…? “Polly, the magic which you read about probably isn’t the kind that Madi is familiar with.” ”I know, I know, I just want to see what it’s like though! It has to be way more fun than science, right? All dumb theories and men with big beards.” The Kalmite couldn’t say that she had the same impression of science, though she begrudgingly ceded to Polly’s enthusiasm. “Okay, okay. Madi, do you know a place?”

[Ceystile]

Seeds of Anxiety
Bishop and Alcide

"When I said I wanted to go to an island for our honeymoon, this shit is notwhat I had in mind." Two figures, two young men to be exact pulled themselves up from their quite sandy landing and looked around at their unfamiliar surroundings as they staggered to their feet. One of them, tall with pointed ears and a waist-length black braid went to go check his blond companion for injuries. "Babe, you okay?"
"I'm fine." Bright blue eyes directed their attention to a slash across the elf's palm. "You're the one that's bleeding, Mister Gunslinger. Give me your hand." Bishop reached into his pocket, fishing around for something to bind the wound. "There's saltwater, so that's good."

"That shit's going to sting."
"Stop being a baby, Al."
Alcide flashed his husband a blindingly white grin from under his hat. "I thought I was your baby."
"You know what I mean." He'd pulled out a clean handkerchief he'd hurriedly soaked in the saltwater and tied it around Alcide's hand, who reached over and grabbed his rifle, that'd fallen in the sand beside him with his free hand. "It could be worse, it could've been my trigger finger."

"Quite." Bishop walked a bit further, propping himself up on a rock to survey his surroundings. "Any idea where we are?"
"Nope. But wherever it is, we sure as hell ain't in Kansas anymore."
"Love? We were never in Kansas."
"Well maybe we'll visit once we get out of this unexpected "vacation."

[Nagakawa]

The Eight Line Tale
Frihed City
33rd District - 'The Feral Feline'

"Alright, if there are no questions..."

Nikolaas stood up, as Shiro yielded the centre stage.

"We'll be split into three teams. Team A will consist of Shiro, Ash, and the Neo-Reavers. This team will be tasked with our raid operations. Team B will consist of Dr Carter, Frantzeska, and Dr Strange. You three will be attached to whichever of the Grandmasters we choose to work with. Your mission will be to look out for Horse Face, and to get rid of him as quickly as you can. Team C will be Joe and I. We will stay behind in the bar to coordinate things."

Pausing to allow everyone to absorb the information, Nikolaas pushed his sunglasses up the bridge of his nose, before then continuing with the briefing.

"First of all, I will talk about the raid itself and about the structure of DebuCorp's military wing."

"Oh, boy", said Joe, who had gone over behind bar counter and poured himself a glass of whiskey.

"The military wing of DebuCorp is funded by six business tycoons from different dimensions who have congregated here and who collaborate with the CEO of DebuCorp, known as the Big Six", Nikolaas explained. "These six tycoons each pay for one of six military units, which are housed in six different bases hidden at various parts of the city in restricted districts. Our present objective is to sabotage Indrastra's operating system, or failing that, to obtain the blueprints and find a way to stop it from the outside."

"Therefore, our course of action shall be to infiltrate one of DebuCorp's six bases, in order that we may then gain access to DebuCorp's central headquarters, where we can then do our thing."

"First of all", asked Shiro, "which of the six bases are we going to infiltrate?"

"Do you have any suggestions?" Nikolaas replied with a crafty smile. "You, Shiro, are my main attack dog. Which of the bases we choose doesn't matter, so long as you're aware of the schematics and we can find a way to get into DebuCorp's headquarters."

"I'm familiar with Base IV in the 17th District", said Shiro. "I used to work there actually. That's where DebuCorp's defence science department was housed. I know the layout like the back of my hand. Plus..."

"Base IV it will be, then", said Nikolaas, as he took out his phone and sent a message. "I am contacting Grandmaster McGregor of the Professional Wrestling Association in order to arrange for-"

Nikolaas' voice suddenly trailed off.

"What is it?"

"It seems... that the Lower Ranks of the Grandmasters have been dissolved." Nikolaas lowered his phone. "Following Horse Face's defeat of the 7th Rank Grandmaster Seong Jun, the three Upper Rank Grandmasters decided to dissolve the Lower Ranks, expelling Anthony McGregor and his school and placing the mercenaries formerly under the control of those three schools under the Upper Ranks."

"You gotta be-"

Art Donnghaile and the three men he'd brought along the night before suddenly fell silent, their eyes widening as their leader took out his phone and began scrolling furiously.

"By God, he's right."

"Grandmaster McGregor is-"

THUMP!

There was a loud knock on the door, and at that moment, the door to the bar was thrown open, and a large, one-eyed man in a long coat stood in the doorway. An uneasy, awestruck silence filled the room, as Nikolaas, again adjusting his sunglasses, turned to face the man in the doorway.

"R-Randy. I did not expect to see you here today."

At the sight of the man, it seemed almost as if the air in the bar had been sucked away. Shiro's face turned pale, and Erwin and Ash both averted their gazes, while Joe, who was still at the bar counter, quickly ducked below the counter. The one-eyed man smiled and walked into the room, right up to Nikolaas, looking him in the face, before turning to the others.

"My apologies for the interruption. I understand that you were preparing for an urgent mission."

"It's fine, really", said Nikolaas, in an almost subservient manner.

"Permit me to introduce myself." The one-eyed man took off his coat and tossed it aside, onto a vacant booth seat. He exuded a majestic aura, almost like that of a lion, and his mere presence struck fear into the hearts of most ordinary men. "My name is Randolph Gracie. I am the leader of the Fighter's League, and the 2nd Rank Grandmaster of the Council. You may call me Randy."

He turned to Shiro.

"I would like to speak to Nikolaas in private", he said. "If you will excuse me, I'd like for the rest of you to vacate the bar."

Shiro stood up and nodded quietly, beckoning to the rest, Strange, Frantzeska, and Victoria included, to follow him out.

"Yo, let's go over to my apartment", he said, pointing to the seemingly abandoned apartment building on the other side of the cul-de-sac. "We can make preparations there."

...

"You picked a bloody good time to show up today, Randy."

Randy Gracie took a seat at the bar counter and eyed the bottles, while Nikolaas followed him up.

"Do you remember, Nikolaas? Twelve years ago, this very day, I helped you escape from DebuCorp's prison."

Nikolaas smiled and adjusted his sunglasses.

"That's how I lost my eye", said Randy. "I lost it while helping to keep your secret hidden. Don't you remember?"

"Yes, yes." Randy snapped his fingers, and Nikolaas, still smiling, began preparing two cocktails, one for each. "I won't forget your sacrifice, Randy. It means a lot to me."

"So I imagine you must know why I am here today, then." Nikolaas slid one of the cocktails across the table to Randy, who took it and downed it in a single gulp. "I'm here to cash in the favour you promised me the other time."

"I'd thought you'd forgotten about it."

"Come now." Randy smirked sardonically. "I'm not the sort of guy to forget things just like that."

"I'd thought so."

Nikolaas went back out to the other side of the bar counter and took a seat beside Randy, sipping his cocktail slowly in comparison to Randy's chugging.

"I'm going to need the Feral Feline to help me out with a little unpleasant something", said Randy. "I'm afraid we can't run from it any further. You know what I speak of, Nikolaas. You've got one, shackled to a bed upstairs, devoid of any memory whatsoever."

At the mention of this unpleasant something, Nikolaas' smile turned into a scowl.

"I trust you would not renege on an agreement with an old friend?" Randy swivelled the bar chair round and leaned his weight on the counter, looking at Nikolaas. "Would you, now?"

"Of course not, Randy. Anything for a good friend of mine."

...

Shiro's apartment

Present:
- Shiro
- Ash
- Erwin
- Joe
- Frantzeska
- Strange
- Victoria
- The Neo-Reavers

For an apartment in an otherwise abandoned building, Shiro's one-bedroom home was surprisingly well-maintained, if a little musty-smelling despite the windows being broken and left open. The sound of a generator whirring away could be heard- he had replaced the AC unit with the generator, presumably after DebuCorp had cut the power following the 33rd District going rogue.

"The time now is 1000 hours", said Shiro, opening a closet to reveal a bunch of military-type equipment. "At 1500 hours, we will set off for Base IV, so before that, you guys can take your time to prepare the shit you need. Remember that old Korean dude who sat in the meeting with us but didn't say anything? He runs the weapon shop just down the road. You can go get some stuff from him if you want. Team A, I've come up with the infiltration plan already. In a bit, I'll explain it to you in detail..."

Shiro fell silent, his gaze drifting to the door that led to his bedroom.

"What is it, Shiro?" Joe asked.

"..."

"Is something troubling you?" Erwin asked Shiro.

"No, it... it's nothing. Forget it."

"This is actually the first time I've been to your apartment", said Ash, looking around curiously. "Hey, Shiro, you mind if I go into your bedroom to change?"

"No, don't go in there", Shiro snapped. "The next door apartment is vacant. You can go change there."

"Alright, then." Ash was still in her waitress uniform, but she had carried along with her a large black duffle bag, inside which she had a set of tactical outfitting and other gear. The moment she put her hand on the doorknob, however, there was a sudden series of hard knocks on the wooden door.

"Who's that?"

"Open up." An unknown man's muffled voice could be heard from the other side of the door. "We need to have a talk?"

"Who are you?" Ash asked.

Without another response, the door was kicked open, with Ash barely able to dodge it and avoid being hit by it.

"No way, you're-"

In the doorway stood a rather average-sized but obviously muscular man wearing a white martial arts uniform with a red-tipped black belt dangling round his hips. A long black trench coat was draped round his broad shoulders and over his folded arms.

Most noticeable of all, however, was that he wore a horse mask, one that looked almost like an actual horse's face, mane and all.

"Yes", said the man, sauntering into the apartment and shutting the door behind him. "I am Horse Face."

"What do you want here?" Erwin stood up and puffed his chest out.

"Relax. I'm not here to fight." Horse Face took a seat at the dining table in the middle of the apartment and took off his trench coat, draping it round one of the chairs. "I'm here to talk."

"About what?" Shiro eyed Horse Face suspiciously, as if anticipating him to attack any moment.

"About the path this city is headed down", Horse Face replied, "and about our future."

...

[Rostavykhan]

The Great Wizarding Rebellion
Miria

Miria beamed when Polly approved of her fashion sense. She thought that the sunglasses looked great as well, although, to be fair, they probably still weren't for her. They fit well, but she doubted that they would serve the same function as her normal glasses. Protection from the sunlight was always a boon, but it wasn't exactly worth it if she couldn't see more than a few feet in front of herself.

"I wonder if I can get these to work like my glasses.", She said aloud, examining them more closely. Perhaps it would be best to leave them be, even if she did adore them. She was keeping some of the other clothes and toys, though. She didn't have much money, but not a little, either. A few days of minimum wage work at least amounted to something, and it was something that she felt she deserved. Some new clothes and playthings were always appreciated. Other than that, Miria was simply content to listen to her friends chat and exchange thoughts on the store and its contents. "If you're a kid who fell into bleach, then am I one who fell into ink?", She asked, considering the copious amount of black that covered the majority of her form. Well, her skin was still pretty white and flawless, but her face was really the most anyone had seen of it.

"Ma- Polly, I think you look just fine. Very distinguished.", She said, hoping to raise the woman's spirits. She had to stop herself from saying "Ma'am", figuring it would make her friend uncomfortable. It was still a habit for Miria. "Regardless, although fashion is by no means my specialty, if ever you need assistance concering your appearance, then I would be more than happy to lend my services."

The Eight Line Tale
Frantzeska

Frantzeska moved surprisingly fast, now that she was settling in and pulling herself from a confused stupor. The moment the door kicked in, her hand was on the hilt of her sword, ready to be the first to strike at their foe. Fortunately, such violence seemed to be unnecessary at the moment, as Horse Face made quickly clear.

He looked ridiculous. She wanted to tell him that, but it wouldn't have added anything to the conversation. Admittedly, it was also quite distinctive, so ridiculous or not, she could admire the choice to wear such a thing. If he was the man who could defeat dozens of opponents, including those apparently powerful grandmasters, then the admiration was even greater. It had to have been difficult to fight in such a mask.

To those standing closest to The Archduchess, there might have been, for just the briefest of moments, a flash of heat hear her hand, like a flame flickering to life. It died the moment that Horse Face took his seat, although her hand remained on her sword, resting on the hilt.

She had to wonder, why had he shown up so quickly? How did he know where they were gathered, and why was he deciding now to sit down and talk? She'd been hearing about the man all morning, and from what she gathered, he didn't seem the talkative sort. She was still ignorant of the situation, however. As suspicious as she was, she was still willing to hear what the strange fighter had to say to them.

[Germanic Templars]

The Great Wizarding Rebellion

Katya

Katya snapped her fingers. "Primarily war crimes.", She said, nodding. "Oh, and that reminds me! I was - "

The sound of doors opening snapped her from her thoughts. Reaching the front doors of the college seemed to surprise her. She'd almost zoned out, being invested in her conversation. She wasn't upset to find them at their destination too soon, however. "Perhaps my thought should wait for later. I believe we have a business to tend to in here.", She said, following Lee and the elves in. She wanted to see who they were going to meet, and to get some idea of what their next course of action would be.

She leaned in, whispering to Juliana and Thriller, once they were inside. "I'm a little surprised that we've not been hassled about our appearances. I'd bet the people here have seen plenty of Wizarding types in the past week, so they're likely desensitized to it. No need to worry, I suppose?"

Thriller nodded and added, "I suppose so, but if what you told me earlier about the whole genocide thing and London being a loss, then I guess a gaggle of misfits seems the least of their worries. If anything and we do get hassled for what or who we are, Julianna can play the part of being the engineer that created the robot and A.I. You know, a garage project gone well like Motorola or the likes. I dunno, maybe I am overthinking this and don't wanna tell the whole world about dimensional and time-hopping. I mean, even that is relatively new-ish technology for us and we accidentally stumbled upon it, right Julianna?" Thriller looked to Julianna at his side only to find the girl missing. The emperor gave a quick scan on his motion sensor only to find the pair of feet walking next to him moved up towards Lee.

Lee

Looking around, Lee was admiring the college. It reminded him of the one he had gone to before. Though his was certainly smaller and had a fair few more trees. Anda had returned from telling the others when they had reached the college and was now sitting on his shoulder. Lee refocused as a pigeon flew overhead. The library was bound to have some useful knowledge. Useful in what was unknown, but maybe it had some magic books. He knew for sure that he wouldn't be allowed to learn what Skills he could from them his normal way. A spell that made things cold would be ideal if he wanted to utilize nitroglycerin, though he was certain he could jury-rig a way to circumvent the heat problem.

"So this is a place of higher education. We have places like this on Gliese but not like this if that makes sense." Julianna chimed, admiring the architecture of the place before continuing, "I wonder how outdated the information is here, I mean, is it going to be on the levels of theoretical or more not there yet."

[Menschenfleisch]

Seeds of Anxiety | Collab with Torii

”Back so soon?” She folded the handkerchief from corner to corner and tucked it into her pocket. It was much heavier than it ought to have been. A grim and colourless morning light shone down around her, bouncing off pine needles and ferns. Ducks slid across the surface of a pond just ahead of her, moving in stern formations. It was quite far from Ashwood Manor, about twenty minutes’ trekking into the woods, past the ancestral graveyard and a clearing which had once been a tea garden; the parasols were shrivelled and rotten, the chairs had rusted into spikes. The corpse of majesty was all around her and the bones were unmistakable. Even from where she was sitting a statue could be seen on the opposite bank, a man wearing loose robes leaning down to pluck what might’ve once been flowers; a memorial to one of Elizabeth’s distantly removed great grand uncles. His visage was tilted over, half sunk into the mud; he would’ve been face down and impossible to see if not for the roots all around his waist tethering him in place. This wasn’t what he had looked like in life, she knew that much. His face and body had all the right proportions, his skin had been sculpted to a perfect finish, but he’d never worn that expression. Nobody was ever quite that serene. It might’ve seemed comforting to someone else, to see a man who’d gone through a lot in life being at peace after his passing. To Jacquelyn, it was morbid and perverse. This wasn’t him, it was someone’s infantilising idea of what he had been; a distorted reinterpretation of someone who’d belonged to a bloodline most renowned for its heritage of secrets and accomplishments purchased in blood. The joyous face that he wore wasn’t his.

“Jackie!” Heavy footsteps grew loud behind her. She turned her head toward the source, a slim and gaunt man of middling age in a black shirt and coat. His features were hardened but his eyes were yet soft, and his hair was a messy sprawl that indicated a certain neglect for image. Terry Owens, Elizabeth’s oldest living friend. “I heard about Alex, I came as fast as I could.” She couldn’t muster much emotion with her reply. Expressing herself would’ve taken too much energy. She hadn’t slept, which helped to suppress her fear, but it still came in erratic bursts, threatening to send her into another spiral. ”Cool.” “There were police at the front gate, I had to leap over the side - what happened? Was there a break-in?” ”Yeah I guess. Someone hit Alex over the head and took her away.” “Shit, agh… well did they say anything? Leave anything behind?” Jacquelyn pulled a slip of paper from her pocket, a roughly triangular form pulled off the corner of some sketchman’s notebook. Terry snatched it out of her hand, taking a half minute to read it. His eyes passed over the same spots over and over again, each time more focused than the last. “14 Glynn Avenue, ten o’ clock Thursday. That’s… four hours from now. Where did you get this? Do the police know about it?” ”They don’t. I found it pinned to the front door.” “And nobody else noticed it?” ”Apparently not. Don’t ask me how it happened.”

“Terence.” A voice unfamiliar to her. Female, with the oddest hint of an Eastern European accent. Jackie craned her neck to see a woman coming out of the underbrush, fingerless gloves pulled over creased and calloused palms. Her fingers were covered in deep but healed lacerations and the skin was striated in places, looking like shrivelled plastic wrap. Burn scars. They belonged to a woman of middling stature and excellent physique, her sleeves pulled up over her biceps. The sides of her forearms - the ones which a person might lean on while writing - were every bit as marred. In places, they were atrophied, as if a chunk of flesh had been gouged out and the skin had been sewn back in place. She wore a mask of absolute neutrality, or maybe even apathy; her only visible eye, almost hidden behind frayed and whitened auburn tufts, betrayed nothing. She stood with her hands at her sides, causing Jacquelyn to take note of the knife on her belt and her many, many small pouches. “Yulia.” Terence mirrored. “I’m glad that you were able to make it. There aren’t many free hands in town. I’ve been trying to find Liz herself but she’s not been answering.” Her neck muscles twitched as if to indicate an attempt at a nod. She leaned her head down, pulled a cigarette from inside an envelope of golden foil. “Which poses an issue if they were expecting to meet her. They wouldn’t have set such a tight deadline unless they were worried about her coming up with a plan.” “So they won’t be willing to meet with us.” “That seems likely.” They spoke with low and conspiratorial voices, half-whispered so it was muffled and drowned by the wind. There was an unspoken connection between them, their postures mirroring and opinions meeting on every matter. It was like watching two converging lines on a page, slowly spiralling toward an inevitable terminal. Yulia took a long drag and blew it away from Terry’s face downwind. He put a finger to his chin. “Tim could produce a disguise. Give you the face and voice of Elizabeth.” “We haven’t met in years. Ever since she… drew away I’ve been embroiled in my own affairs. I don’t know her mannerisms.” “I could coach you.” In a matter of moments Jackie was overwhelmed by… by anger? She nearly stumbled, felt an awful vertigo. She didn’t know what she was feeling right now, she only knew that it was unpleasant and she didn’t want to know where it was coming from. Deep seated insecurities, a startling lack of self awareness. That was where. ”Are you two going to keep talking as if I’m not here?” She said it more harshly than she’d expected. She couldn’t say she regretted it, though. Jackie trod forward so that all three of them formed the vertices of a triangle but not only was she shorter than anyone else there, she was also on the lower end of a slope. She had to raise her head just to meet Terry’s eyes which were filled with surprise. Yulia glanced at her sideways, less analytical than patient.

Terry picked his words with obvious care. But it wasn’t for show. His caution was genuine, his consideration of her feelings was nothing short of overwhelming. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to ignore you. You can stay if you want.” And it was excruciating to have to listen to him. He must’ve thought that she wasn’t relevant or that she didn’t want to help. He remembered her as a fearful girl, someone who contributed less than nothing. She recognised his pity for her in the coddling tone he took whenever he talked to her. Worse yet, she knew that it wasn’t for her sake. It was so obvious, so fucking obvious that he was just doing this because Elizabeth was fond of her and so he therefore didn’t want to hurt her feelings. ”Stop treating me like a liability, I know Elizabeth better than either of you! She was the second person I ever saw, seconds after I was born; you’ve known her for just decades. Do you think I’m not worth it? That the risk you’d be taking by including me outweighs the importance of keeping Alex safe? It’s right there, written all over your face. Fuck you, just fuck you! I’m not as worthless as you think!” She wanted to say it but the words scattered before she could put them together. She was so wrong. All the fire in heart veins right now amounted to less than nothing, she’d lose her nerve before they could even finish writing a plan. That systematic, narcissistic denial of reality - the belief that she was better than everyone else - was constantly with her, the spectre of a personality that she’d beaten into the earth and buried under layers of anxiety and loathing. She reminded herself of self-evident facts. Elizabeth and her friends led important lives. They mattered to people, had real foundations for their success. Jacquelyn had been born with the luxury of strength and when it had been taken from her, she’d thrown a tantrum, refusing to internalise the fact that she was no longer important. Elizabeth had lost friends before and moved on; Jack was less than a friend to her, she was just a morality pet. Someone to take care of for no other reason than obligation. She wasn’t worth Elizabeth’s time. More importantly, she wasn’t worth Terry’s or Yulia’s. So she shook her head and laughed. ”Nah, nah, it’s fine. I need to go to work. Call me if you need anything.” Terry nodded, visible relief pouring through his seams. “I’ll keep you posted. And remember to get some sleep!”

---

The worst thing was how long the anxiety clung to her, even though it was now out of her hands. Even as she absorbed herself with other tasks like getting on the train without stumbling and shrinking into the corner while the centre of the carriage filled with transient commuters, she couldn’t get it off her head. So, it was time for errands. Things she’d been putting off, small deliveries, chores and minor negotiations. Elizabeth ran a tight ship but whenever there was slack to be cut she allowed Jacquelyn to be the one with the proverbial razor… if you follow that metaphor at all. So she picked up her phone and scrolled down a list of as of yet unfulfilled obligations. Buy milk (Alex needed her morning coffee even though she was a ghoul: no longer relevant since she was kidnapped but whatever), collect payment from the principal of a nearby school (she remembered that case: what the principal had thought to be a haunting had turned out to be regular schizophrenia) and negotiate terms with a particularly insular client out in Morriston.

Of course the last one was the most tedious so she picked it first. The train was on time, the cabins were empty: good god, there weren’t many people out and about these days. Mostly because about a percent of the town had died in just under a week and god knows how many more had perished since then but technicalities technicalities. Already there was a sort of tempo to her thoughts, a rhythm that she composed her day to. The hours bled into sheets of minutes and seconds, as scores break up into bars and crotchets. Or maybe that was just a pretentious way of expressing her obsession with keeping the time, who was to say. It was about half an hour later that she, dressed in a long coat and her fucking green scarf god dammit she never leaves the house without it, stepped up to the second storey of an open tenement building. There was a balcony along which a few doors had been interspersed, each leading into the castle of a certain down-on-their-luck person. These places were the haunts of people fresh out of university, their prospects dim and their jobs more dead end than the terminal of a cul de sac. The place was unbearably grey and the sky was moody, sapping the colour out of the already sun-blanched rails. Room 14. A strong stench emitted from around the doorframe. It wasn’t unexpected, the sort of people who hired Elizabeth tended to be… eccentrics. You know, weeaboos who think that they can trick a magician into animating their bodypillow or damn near incomprehensible conspiracy theorists demanding to know how the government was transmitting propaganda onto their television. She held her hand up and knocked once. Twice. Her knuckles bruised on the wood and she bit her lip, nursing the skin.

A door finally opened. It wasn't the one that Jaquelyn was probably expecting, however. "Look, if you don't have the shit I want, then just hand over the money, alright, mate?", Said a woman, stepping only half-way out of the apartment. "Yep, just like that. No, give me more, I know the exchange rates, don't try to bullshit me. There we go. Thanks, hon. Oh, and tell the wife I said hi."

The door couldn't have slammed shut behind her any faster, it seemed. The stranger folded a few bills and slipped them into her coat pocket - about a hundred US dollars worth. What was that all about? Once she finally noticed the girl in her green scarf, she...well, she didn't look surprised at all. She didn't do anything, or at least nothing too crazy. "Top of the morning.", She said, speaking with a slow drawl. There was a distinct accent there, and it definitely wasn't Welsh, or English for that matter. Bostonian? It wasn't particularly strong, but noticeable enough to pique one's interest if such a manner of speaking wasn't common in their town. The stranger stood maybe a bit taller than Jacquelyn, although the difference was negligible, and she seemed to be wearing mostly black, aside from a pair of dark brown boots, and a muddy brown pea coat. The two most distinctive features of hers were the long hair - she was a brunette - and her eyes, which were green as could be, and perpetually squinting, with light bags underneath. Obviously, she didn't sleep very well.

She didn't have the slightest clue who Jacquelyn was, and didn't seem to care at that moment. She was more interested in getting back to town, and in having a smoke before that. It didn't take her long at all to tug a pack out of her pocket, and a lighter to boot, before she was off, passing Jacquelyn and lighting up the thin menthol stick.

Not exactly what Jack had been expecting. She took a half step back and raised a hand across her chest. “Oh, fuck, err, you live here? Y- ah, whatever. Obviously not.” She really didn’t want to get involved in whatever shady business was going down. The town had drug problems as all politicians loved to rave about on the telly but this was the first time that she’d something of the sort actually go down. Well, she assumed it was a drug trade. The woman in the doorway didn’t exactly look like FedEx. She brushed past the woman and peeked around the doorframe, knocking twice on the wall. The whole plaster was aged and the windows were drawn, casting the room in an unhealthy piss-yellow shade.

Constance passed her, making her way for the stairs. She merely quirked her brow, wondering what the stranger was up to, before beginning to depart, and-

"Damnit.", She whispered aloud, rolling her head back. She needed a ride. No car and now cellphone made keeping in contact a bitch, not that she wasn't used to it. "Hey, there's a bus going back into town soon, right?", She finally asked, craning her head back and pulling the cigarette from her lips. "Sorry about the interruption, by the way."

Jacquelyn looked halfway back, her attention still lingering in the doorway. She had a strange way of talking to Constance, with a cadence half suggesting boredom while lying on a bed of fear. If she was deliberately trying to suppress her anxiety, she was doing an awful job at it. “No public transport. Too many attacks. You new to town?” She emphasised the last question like it was supposed to mean something. Not as in have meaning, but really mean something.

Whatever Constance’s response may have been, it was cut off by the arrival of a tall and very obviously out of his day man, peering around the doorframe with half-closed eyes and a beanie. Very suave, very cliche. “Uh, you’re, umm...” He snapped his fingers at Jacquelyn, clearly expecting something of a response…? She was a little too withdrawn into herself to react. It was almost five seconds alter that she realised that she was being implicitly asked to introduce herself. The man had just stood in silence until then; very awkward, on top of the other two very’s. “I’m with the Ashwood Investigator and Detective Service. I sent you a message about an hour ago telling you to expect me. I’m here about the case?” Professionalism. A good veneer to hide unease under. She had to consciously keep reminding herself to maintain eye contact and to not glance at her feet. It was as difficult as staring into a torch, every muscle in her body just wanted her to turn her head.

“Well you, I don’t, you… what’d I tell you exactly?” Well, she couldn’t have faulted him for being forgetful. He looked like he had many things going on in life. First and foremost, selling narcotics. “That you’d been being stalked by an ex? You mentioned that he kept bird masks in your house and smelled like ammonia in the morning.” Speaking of, some seemed to have been left behind in his flat. The scent was weak but definitely there. The man nodded slowly, deliberately. “Okay. Come in.”

The room beyond had a spartan foundation and byzantine decorations. The features of a lonely man’s house were all there; round wooden table in the middle of the room surrounded by metal wireframe chairs, a bed on a wooden frame which’d long since gone grey, a fridge, sink, door into a toilet, wall closet; the bare essentials of the English lifestyle. But on top of that? Well, even more essential stuff like beer bottles, cards, a laptop, four phones which looked about a decade out of date, a shrivelled venus flytrap which must’ve died before the turn of the new year, something like a dozen room scenters and about ten metric tons of discarded clothing. She had to step over a pair of trousers and a furless bath towel to sit down. The man didn’t take a seat. “Charming place.” Which couldn’t have been taken as anything but sarcasm. It smelled like someone had poured a bucketful of eggs on the floor and left them to rot for a month. Piss, coom, probably no small amount of shit, it was soaked into the floor and walls. If aliens were to unearth the ruins of this building long after humanity’s extinction, they’d be able to clone the man from the genetic material in this room alone. So fucking gross, and there was some other odd scent as well that really put the cherry on top. Even buried under the more immediate miasma of floral air freshener and unwashed laundry, it remained easily the most repulsive thing about the apartment’s interior. Her intention wasn’t to offend, it was more to break the ice a little. The man surely knew that he wasn’t living in the best of conditions. Maybe that was too insensitive?

“I’ve always been a messy person I guess.” Quite an introspective reply, to the point where it was almost written in the third person. Different answer from what she would’ve given in the same situation. Or most of the people she knew, for that matter. The reply was almost always an excuse or something temporal; “been planning on skipping town,” “haven’t had time to clean up yet,” “I didn’t know I’d be having people over”. Though deep down she knew that her psychoanalysis of the guy held no merit. Piss in the wind for all anyone cared. Regardless she just had to go through a list of questions and do some preliminary investigation, that was her role. “So could you describe the sort of behaviour that you’ve been on the receiving end of?”

“It’s personal.” The man responded tersely. “You were open to it last time we talked.” Jacquelyn placed stress on the last few words. Her mind was buzzing now, an inexplicable notion budding in her thoughts. She felt like she was in the middle of solving a riddle. She tried to get rid of the sensation. She wasn’t Sherlock fucking Holmes, trying to get a read on the guy’s lifestyle and place in the world. “I was probably drunk.” He brushed her off. “I really need this information in order to be able to help you.” Her eyes naturally wandered to the man’s bed, probably thick with vomit. But surprisingly, it was almost spotless. The sheets were made, stretched out to cover the pillow. Something else caught her eye about the bed beyond its incongruous cleanliness. The bedposts were old and discoloured but there were light, horizontal streaks on each of them.

“I really don’t think that… it was a mistake to get you involved, alright? I- I really think I should’ve gone to the police for this. Not… you.” She hardly heard what he said. That feeling of curiosity from earlier had curdled into tension. Something was wrong. Definitely wrong. The way that he greeted her so ambiguously - as if she could’ve been a friend or a complete stranger -, the fact that he’d waited so long for her to introduce herself, how he talked about himself in such abstract terms, how he’d not seen her text message even though his phones were out in the open - he certainly couldn’t have led a busy social life -, the marks on the bed… why did that bother her so much? She stood, pushing the chair out with the back of her knees. Two steps toward the bed. “What the fuck- hey, what are you doing?” Fingers on the corner of the sheet,, a memory of disgust at the back of her mind. What was she offended by? The smell of cooking meat, anger, bodies. She stole a glance at the bedposts. There were tiny, stiff brown fibres logged in the white lines. Hemp. Here she could see that the white marks the product of chafing, too. “That’s my bed, stay the fuck away from there!” She pulled back the linen and long, black stains matted the interior. Black on the inside, red on the out. So much of it. Blood. Thick, fresh, livid blood.

Jacquelyn wheeled on the balls of her feet, teeth clenched and gums bared, her eyes as round as quarters. Everything else inside of her simply arrested itself. Her train of thought, her breath, her heartbeat; grinding halt. “You’re not-” a shadow passed near her eye and the world spun both violently and suddenly. What would’ve been a scream came out as a muted croak, her twisted windpipe unable to accommodate much more than a pinch of air. She fell under the weight of something tremendous on her, just a general presence that couldn’t be moved. A blade of pressure sank into her throat, pushing her into the mattress as black splotches exploded throughout her vision. Did she thrash? Did she attempt the impossible task of calling out? All she knew was that she couldn’t see nor breathe. But her hearing, that still lingered. An obstinate sense, picking up on the sustained, self-muted growl of the man above her and the staticlike shuffle of cloth as the bed depressed beneath her.

Her oxygen deprived brain lashed out, pulling random stimuli from deep inside her, memories ingrained into who she was; the ones that she couldn’t recall even if prompted but which dispersed themselves across all her other experiences, making themselves the backdrop upon which she painted the context of everything she felt, saw and heard. She remembered the smell of burning muscle, first and foremost. That caustic, industrial odour which shouldn’t have been possible for humans to produce. Then the give of bones under her fists, the precise temperature of his blood on her cheek. Finally excitement. Sheer joy at being created, of being powerful and privileged within a world of infinite possibility. A broken smile broke out across her face before her weakened muscles could no longer hold it. Yet still, she bathed in a sentiment of anticipation. She and him, they were going on an adventure. They were going to see the world together and she couldn’t wait…

"Get off of her, now!", Came the first warning. She'd been content to just walk and find a pay phone or a taxi, but after Constance had the name "Ashwood", her interest had been piqued. It wasn't that she was expecting trouble, but something felt a little off to her. Even if her hunch hadn't been correct, she figured that she could have tagged along with the stranger, seeing as they both seemed to have some business with Elizabeth. After Jacquelyn and the man had closed the door, she'd crept up to the door, attempting to eavesdrop, and not caring about how suspicious she may have seemed to any potential onlookers.

And then, there she was, standing in the doorway with her tiny .38 revolver in her hands, and her sights fixed on the crazy tweaker's back. Thankfully, she thought, her voice sounded authoritative enough - perks of having a deeper voice, she guessed - although her small frame and shaking legs didn't seem to help the intimidation factor. Looking the part probably didn't matter much when she still had a gun, however. Well, usually. Maybe. She hoped it didn't.

The man wheeled around with Jackie as a shield. His grip on her neck loosened for a moment and oxygenated blood surged up through her neck, parallel to her spinal cord which went from fizzling with the echoes of nerve impulses to stuffed with confused signals and demands. She spasmed and sucked a mouthful of air into already full lungs, flailing and babbling incoherently. Finally she put her hands on the forearm over her throat and locked eyes with Constance. “Don’t!” was all she managed to wring out of her voicebox before she went back to kicking her feet and thrashing. The man leaned his head back and squinted his eyes, mostly blind from all the hair and stray limbs in his face. The bed, smeared with blood, was easily in sight of all three of them. “Piss off,” he grunted, not to anyone in particular.

The man’s eyes flashed to a side for a second. It was the only way that Constance could’ve predicted that he was about to make a run for it. He shoved Jacquelyn out in front of himself and sprinted for the window, jumping into the air and shouldering the glass. It gave, as did the frame and several inches of drywall all around it. The windowframe dug several inches into his kidneys and he noticeable lost some composure after ramming his head into the little wooden bar through the middle of the window but nonetheless, after some wriggling, he fell through. There was a loud thwack from outside.

Jacquelyn collapsed against Constance, at first grabbing her legs then shoving her away with impressive force for such an anemic, half-conscious woman. She wriggled her back against a wall and put her arms over her face: “get away from me!” she whimpered. She didn’t think that she had any dignity left to lose anyway.

Constance sighed. He didn't have to be so theatric with his escape, and Jacquelyn didn't need to be so melodramatic - well, actually, it was justified for her. She'd been the one closest to actually dying.

"Hey, Sorry.", Said Constance, who took a step back. She lowered her gun, but didn't stow it; it was better to keep it in hand, just in case that man came back. "I was just trying to help. I, uh, I heard you bring up Ashwood. You mean Elizabeth, right?", She asked, speaking slowly; it wasn't meant to be demeaning, but more an attempt to not come off as too pushy or uncaring.

Jacquelyn’s thousand yard stare slowly faded away until she had enough clarity - and enough oxygen in her system - to focus on Constance’s face. The woman was of a similar age, seemingly, and dressed a little anachronistically. She certainly didn’t seem to belong in this place, where the owners of failed small businesses went to blow their brains out over a stack of unpaid bills. Certainly didn’t fit the profile of a crack addict. She slowly pulled herself off the floor. Would’ve reached out to take Constance’s hand but it might’ve been perceived as an attempt to grab her gun. ”I’m, I- thanks for, you know-” she was out of breath still, breathing heavily. She swallowed and tried to compose herself but her body took that moment to completely break down. Every breath was deeper and quicker than the last. A hyperventilatory episode set in; she was leaning against a wall with bent knees and a vacant expression, heaving and pulling in air like a drowning woman. ”Sorry, I just need- I-” Her eye caught the pool of blood on the bed and that was seemingly a trigger for all the muscles in her throat. Her chin tensed, a fire rose up through her oesophagus. She didn’t vomit in any dramatic fashion, just made a noise like a chicken’s bok and threw up about an eighth of a cupful of yellow bilge into her mouth. She coughed - nose burning - but swallowed it back down. ”I, I-” She took in one last long breath. ”I’m fine I’m fine I’m fine I’m fine I’m fine. And… thanks for saving my life.”

It only occurred to her right there and then that Constance was asking after a woman whose mother had been kidnapped just a few hours ago. The gun wielding woman neither appeared on Elizabeth’s list of contacts nor in the family’s long archive of debts, both outstanding and paid. She had little courage left to spare but she was willing at the very least to put up a bit of resistance in the face of someone asking after her caretaker. ”What do you want with Elizabeth,” she stated, not posing it as a question but instead the object of conversation. ”I’m not the best person to be asking. I barely know her, I swear that whatever you want to hear, it’s not coming out of me.”

Constance wasn't entirely convinced, but she wasn't willing to press Jacquelyn too hard either. "Oh.", She huffed; she seemed to cock her head to one side slightly, and purse her lips a little. "I was just wondering, since I heard you bring up Ashwood. I kind of had some recent business with her, that's all. I don't know her well either."

She didn't know why the woman would be bringing up Elizabeth then, unless it was also business related. She was apparently a busy person. Maybe that guy was just using her name to lure in Jackie? Constance didn't really know the whole story, since she'd just happened to pass by the conversation. At least some good had come from it, since if she hadn't heard their chat then she likely would have just left, and then the young woman would have been done for. She wondered how commonplace things like that were in town. Liz and everyone else she'd been working with talked about how dangerous the area was, but it was still a bit surprising to see it all first-hand. The tussle in that room wasn't as spectacular as her initial greeting to the region, but still...just what had gone down in that room before the two of them arrived? It shook her a little, thinking that she'd walked right by such a place.

"Well, any way, you're fine now, I hope.", She said. She figured that the guy wouldn't be coming back any time soon, and there were no other suspicious signs or noises (yet), so she finally tucked her revolver back into the inside of her coat, brushed her hair to one side, and offered a hand to help Jacquelyn up. "I think you said that there aren't any buses nearby right now? I don't mind walking or taking a cab, or whatever they have around here. Do, uh - do you need to get back to town, or somewhere nearby?", She asked. It felt weird, acting so nice to a stranger she'd just saved. Honestly, if she were in Jackie's place, she'd have probably been just as scared; it wasn't like she was particularly brave, herself. Maybe it was just the adrenaline getting to her, or some sense of empathy that she'd never given much thought to, or maybe it was just common decency, but the least she could do was offer to stick around after that little incident.

“I mean, I could also just go, I guess. If you want. I, uh...I wasn’t expecting to, well, you know -”, She waved her other hand about. “Yeah…”

Jacquelyn clamped a hand over her sternum until she managed to wrest manual control of her lungs back from her screaming body. ”Recent business… dammit, probably not worth hiding. Yes, I’m working for her. Technically an investigator but in reality-” she waved her hand, flustered. ”basically just an errand runner. I brew coffee, collect packages from the post.” Finally, she took in one last breath and returned to normal. It was a little startling, watching her guarded personality suddenly switch on. Still, there were cracks. She was still filled with adrenaline and shock, it was just mostly under control now. ”You’re definitely not from this town. Too clean, too… armed. And, uh, Elizabeth doesn’t exactly make friends with the locals. Listen, I-” She let out a tiny, shrill scream. It could’ve passed for a bird’s chirp, honestly, if not for the very human ”Fuck! Turn around!” that came after it.

A blackened corpse fell out of the closet, dozens of holes in his bare chest and his pants - or the shredded remains of them - clinging to skinned thighs and butchered calves. From the hip down he was a slaughtered animal, all the flesh missing and the useless skin in a pile inside the closet. A leather plague mask with a sharp metal beak, giving it a distinctly avian appearance, had been bonded to his face. Jacquelyn turned around and clutched herself. ”This- this is for the police. You don’t… aha, you know, this is kind of fucked. Because- ‘cause now I’m a witness to a crime. That man’s coming back, he’s going to...” She forced a laugh, anything to distract herself from the apocalyptic train of thought she’d accidentally hitched a ride on. ”Look, can we go?” She begged. ”You’re not busy, are you? I’m sorry to ask but… can you walk me to the curb? At least?”

Constance nearly jumped out of her own skin when the corpse fell out. Just when she'd stowed her gun, too. If it had been another crazy man...

She pushed the thought aside and threw her hands up. "Don't have to ask me twice.", She said. She was a bit quick to agree to get out of dodge, too. It was best to ignore the body and just run, before the two of them were implicated in anything without Elizabeth or AEGIS to step in and help them. "I don't have a passport, or whatever. It's probably not best for me to be seen around here, and...ah, shit.", She grumbled, already turning to get out of the door. "We might need to make a call or two. I don't know. I'm kind of like you, so this kind of stuff is above my head. I'm, uh - well, yeah, I'm new to town."

In comparison to the odour of the room - that sickly bloody malaise - the outside, smoky and smog ridden as it was, seemed almost heavenly. Jacquelyn wouldn’t have believed that air could have flavour until she breathed in the first lungful of tenement wind. She made a short call to the police, told them where the body was; it took a very short time but every moment dragged, her excitable mind constantly grabbing onto tiny details in her environment and examining them to hell and back. The road was empty, the tarmac was full of potholes, the edges of the street were covered in small stones and gravel, the remnants of the road system that’d come before the ubiquity of cars. The town was old, layers of history compacting upon one another like sediment. It had so much more in its past than her. She’d existed for how long? Weeks? Days? ”I’m new to town too… though I’ve been here my whole life. Ha. It’s funny to imagine how that works, just seems so counterintuitive.” She tapered off toward the end of the sentence. How was she supposed to break the news to Constance, that she was a crazy person who thought she was in a story? Elizabeth had only taken it well because she was accustomed to living alongside batshit insane clowns but Constance, well, she seemed like the type to associate with only reasonable people. And probably rich scientologists, but whatever.

”You wanna get some coffee? My treat. Wouldn’t be right to, you know, just sort of leave you in the dust after you saved my life. My name’s Jacquelyn, by the way. Jacquelyn Vanth. Stupid last name, apparently the same as the title of some ancient Mesopotamian goddess of death. I’d love to punch the guy who came up with it in the face but he’s… out of reach.” She shifted uncomfortably, wondering what was being said and thought about her. Beyond the heads of the people she knew, she meant. ”You know- if I say anything absolutely ridiculous, like, completely bonkers and nonsensical, feel free to tell me to shut up. I’ve got a bad brain to mouth filter.” Truthfully her offer to take Constance out for a drink was more about having someone at her side. Better to have anyone to talk to than nobody, which was… the usual amount. It wasn’t like she spent all hours of the day looking for people to rope into social commitments either; she didn’t do anything with her workmate, Anya, because it would feel like a waste of the infotroph’s time. In Constance’s case, she was just a black box of a person. Irrelevant to her future, unlikely to be judgemental. Jacquelyn would be glad to break a piece off of her iceberg of hardships and pass it onto her.

"Will do.", Said Constance, nodding slowly and shooting her a sideways glance. There was something about her face - the way her eyes always seemed to bore into people. Maybe "resting bitch face" or some other term could have been applied? Of course, she wasn't meaning to come off as cold or anything. She was used to being upset and distant towards others, but at that moment, the woman didn't bare any ill will or negative feelings towards Jacquelyn. She quirked her brow, but...no, she thought. She rubbed her forehead and sighed. "I think being a little crazy is the norm here. Hell, I'm not all there myself. Oh, Constance, by the way. Fitzgerald."

She always found it awkward to say her own name. It just felt strange. She liked to get it over with and then move on, which was exactly what she did. "Coffee is nice. Oh, you a smoker?", She asked, digging back into her coat. Somewhere between her going to check on that room and running into Jackie and that man, she'd dropped her cigarette. She held out the pack of menthols, just in case.

Jacquelyn broke a smile. A private response to an in-joke. ”No, sorry. Don’t smoke. Elizabeth does though, so maybe try giving her one of those next time you meet? And yes, absolutely addicted to coffee. Pretty name, by the way. Very upstanding compared to mine.” The two women started to walk, keeping a brisk pace. There was an unspoken agreement between them, Jacquelyn theorised, that they were to put as much distance between themselves and the scene of the crime as possible. The stench still lingered on them; she really hoped it hadn’t worked its way into her clothes. The green scarf was non-negotiable. Come rain, sewage or flame, she’d never throw the thing away. She casually jaywalked across the two lane street, not even bothering to stay on the pedestrian crossing. Nobody was around to watch. There wasn’t a curfew or lockdown per se but everyone knew that being out and about was dangerous. Killings, disappearances, random bouts of mental illness which always seemed to be attributed to chemical leaks; all very telling of a conspiracy. Though, to someone not aware of the anomalous world, it might’ve all just looked like a big corporate fuckup bonanza.

The morning sun was high in the sky now, just barely managing to penetrate the clouds in some places. Weedy pale lights lit up the sides of concrete slabs for buildings. If Elizabeth kicked her out, Jackie would probably have to find a home here in the poorest part of town. She sometimes spent nights researching jobs and cheap housing, just in case. It wasn’t good for her, imagining what life might be like if everything went to hell, but if her worst fears eventuated she’d at least have some idea of where to start during her reaction. The pavement disappeared behind them, street after street coming up. Eventually, after some mundane back and forth and more than a little awkward silence, they happened across a desolate plaza. Wavy blue bricks held up their feet and rectangular storefronts engulfed the horizon. There was an abandoned donut shop just behind them, the cheery pink mascot - a flamingo with a glazed strawberry donut for a body - looming large. Its head and back was caked in seagull shit and one of the plywood legs had snapped. It was the only happy thing in sight, even if its joy was more than a little perverse.

At the centre of it all, though, with a waist-high metal fence in a ring all around it, was a statue. Tall and mighty, a man had been hewn from marble and set atop a bronze horse. He had a British admiral’s hat in his hand and wore a coat of velvet, the texture of the cloth still conveyed through the masterwork of the sculptor. His expression was one of optimism and just a hint of cheekiness, his eyes fixed on where the sun rose every day. The adventurous spirit of man, Jacquelyn thought. A symbol of one’s willingness to throw themselves into a blender just to say that they’d done it first. If one had been curious to know who he was they wouldn’t have been allowed to find out. The plaque on the statue’s base had been stolen, ripped off its screws, leaving behind little rusty nubs as the only evidence that it’d ever been installed. The horse was covered in splotches of paint, eggshells and toilet paper. It didn’t smell. Must’ve been recent. Hooliganning would’ve been one of her pastimes too if she hadn’t been so afraid of being seen as even more of a waste of space than she already was. The horse didn’t share the man’s cheery mood. Its eyes were half closed, a dour frown folding around the bit in its mouth.

This, she recognised from the news. She half-watched it to get herself to bed. A monument to some ancient explorer, a mesoamerican king of cartography as the reporter had put it with about as much sincere emphasis as a politician’s apology. The horse had been erected first in remembrance of a wealthy fish cannery owner - a narcissistic one apparently because he’d commissioned a statue of himself in his own plaza - only to have later been added to by an infamously corrupt mayoral regime, bribed into putting the legacy of a man who, if memory served her correctly, had put a nation to the torch for the glory of the crown, into stone. ”Wish they’d tear that prick down,” she muttered. She turned in every direction, looking out for someplace to visit. She wasn’t familiar with the place. There was a coffee shop with darkened windows, a fish and chips shop in the bombed out remains of a printing business (she could tell because there were still printers in the windows of the second floor) and a pub underground, accessible via a staircase into the earth which was usually shorthand for ‘this used to be and/or still is a strip club’. There were other options too but they were, to put it lightly, somewhat sketch. ”Any place in mind? I’m really not too fussed.”

Constance glanced at the underground pub and smirked, though her smile quickly faded. She liked her booze, but... probably not right now. "That place looks fine.", She said, nodding towards the establishment with the darkened windows. Something about it seemed interesting. Dark windows, low-key compared to the rough looking chip shop or the seedy-looking bar. She'd probably spent too much time around the latter any way. The discreet little coffee shop was, well, a coffee shop as well, and nicer looking than most of the other places around the square. And she thought Boston was bad in some places...

”Ha. Well, it is the morning. And I mean, the alternatives are alcohol and lard.” The interior was much as they’d expected it to be, very dark. Long blue LEDs hung overhead, almost like blacklights. Themed after an underwater palace, the shop was almost… cute. Like a child lacking self awareness just doing their best. She didn’t make the comparison in a mean way, in fact it was a charitable interpretation of the place. It had all the usual trappings of a themed cafe. A glazed wooden floor, very cheap and easy to clean in comparison to tiles which often got stuff trapped in the gaps (she should know), a special scent to the place - in this case being the smell of sea salt -, tablecloths with wavy, oceanic patterns on them, stools that resembled seashells on poles, on and on and on. ”Not… what I was expecting.” It was a shocking departure from the gritty realness of the world outside. Which was real all on its own, of course, but it felt too grounded to permit a fantasy like this. The fact that the cafe was trying to create a theme or mood at all when the town was in such a miserable condition felt cute… or pathetic, depending on how generous one was feeling.

There was a single bored man at the counter. It was obvious that he was supposed to resemble a merman, judging by the stack of plastic inflatable tridents in a bin behind him, his apron covered in a cheap yellow scale print and the white crown wrapped around his head but his posture and face didn’t sell it at all. He looked completely dead. “Your order, please?” He just barely managed to say, his voice low and watery. Jacquelyn felt somewhat bad for him. Must’ve been struggling to make ends meet. She could see the sink behind him for all the dirty cutlery. Two cups and a single plate. Yet, the operating hours of the cafe implied that it’d opened almost six hours ago. They didn’t get many customers, so the eight or nine tables that they’d brought out must’ve just been there for show; either to convince people coming in that the place saw more traffic or to avoid making the owner of the place admit that his business was going under. ”I’ll have a hot chocolate and an egg sandwich.” “With or without mayonnaise.” ”Without, please.” “Sure. Here’s your receipt.” The device next to the cash register - big and blocky to the point of resembling an old timey phone - whirred and slowly pushed out a receipt, getting stuck again and again. Apparently machines could be constipated. “Is there anything that you’d like?” The man asked Constance, acting on his training more than conscious thought. He was practically an automaton, beaten down day to day monotony. Something about that terrified her. Better get used to it, she thought. Sooner or later, it was going to be a part of her life as well. As Constance ordered, a question occurred to her for Constance. ”So you… what do you do exactly? ‘Cause you seem like you’ve got it all together. Wish I had a real job. As is I’m just… a maid, basically.”

Constance shared Jacquelyn's fears about monotony and work. Fortunately, or unfortunately, depending on one's opinion, she didn't seem to entertain the thought for long. "Tell the boss to get better fashion sense.", She said, quite bluntly. Strangely, her voice immediately perked back up. She gave the man a wink and a playful smile. "Coffee, black."

She gazed around the establishment on the way to their table, grumbling again. She'd imagined some sort of lonely, noir-esque place - dim lights, normal tables, maybe some quiet, sombre jazz. Well, at least the place was lonely…

"Me?", She spoke up, finally realizing what Jacquelyn had asked her. What answer did she give? She had two, technically, although she didn't give the second one often. She was feeling a little brave that morning, however, or maybe not brave, but just "done" and apathetic. After saving her and the two of them seeing a dead body, somehow everything else seemed a little less serious. "I'm just a secretary.", She said. "Well, receptionist, whatever you prefer. Whatever needs doing. I push papers.", She said. "That, and...well…", she trailed off. How did she say it? She waved her hand in the air again, and dropped her head. "Well, let's, uh...to start, why do you think I was back there at that apartment to begin with?"

Their drinks arrived soon enough. Constance’s was hot, Jackie’s lukewarm. Reheated, probably. She put an extra packet of sugar into it, stirring it in with a plastic fork before taking a sip. She usually hated chocolate. It clung to her throat, was too sweet. Right then, though, she preferred that particular overwhelming flavour to the other one which she’d picked up from the apartment. It was actually pretty well made, too. Just the right balance of cream, milk and cocoa, or rather it had possessed the right balance until she’d dumped a white sachet into it. She put the sandwich to one side. She didn’t like mixing drinks and food, to the disbelief of most people that she met. ”Secretary. Sounds pretty respectable. Must be more stable than what I’ve got going on, too. But you know, I don’t envy you. Don’t take that the wrong way, it’s just that I could never picture myself doing one of those jobs. I think I’d honestly take a bad wage in exchange for some personal freedom and more time to myself. It’s not like I have any interests worth spending on, ha...”

She lost focus on the present for a split second, eyes glazing over. ”Hm… I wonder what my hobbies are… whatever; I don’t really know what you were there for. Picking something up? You must not have known who you were supposed to talk to, since from what I could tell the person who was supposed to be living there got murdered like, ten minutes before either of us got there and you just happened to stumble in while his killer was still at the scene. He was a really impressive bluffer, actually.” In truth, her suspicions ran a little deeper. No sense in accusing Constance of being an addict, though, even if it wouldn’t have affected her opinion of the woman at all. ”So what were you there for? If you’re comfortable telling me, I mean.”

"True.", Constance nodded. For a moment, that was all she said. She stared off into the distance, mulling over her own thoughts, took a sip of her coffee, sat her cup down, and leaned forward onto the table with her head in her hand.

Jacquelyn didn't come off as too judgemental. Constance appreciated that. She smirked again, dropped her smile, rolled her eyes, and sat back up. "Well", she started. "Let's just say that there are some people who don't mind paying for company. As for what I use the money for? Well... actually, I think I'll keep that a secret. It's touchy. I don't mind talking about it, but - well, you know."

”Big or small.” Jacquelyn blurted.

Constance quirked her brow.

”Sorry. I mean… yeah, I didn’t mean anything. But, you...” Was she blushing? Her cheeks were all red and rosy, by god she was! ”Do you usually get guys with big or small… you know… weewees. FUCK.” She buried her head in her hands. ”I am so sorry, you don’t need to answer that. What the hell is wrong with me…?”

She leaned back and stifled a giggle. ”But you know, it’s kind of- aha, it’s kind of funny to think that when you arrived the killer was just like, standing there? He’d probably just hidden the body. And as soon as he figured out what you were there for, he started coming onto you didn’t he? The guy was about to fuck you on a dead man’s dime in a room like that. Did he make any weird requests? Like not doing it on the bed? Must’ve, because it was covered in blood. It’s just- the mental image, it’s too, ahaha~.”

Was she serious? Constance was honestly a little shocked, but not in a bad way. Something about the way she asked about it, and fucking weeeee? She couldn't help but begin to laugh along with the girl. "There was no way I was going to do anything in there any way.", She said, shaking her head. "Not the first time I've run into weird shit like that, though. Personally, I was just wondering if he thought that I was you, too. Jesus, what a shitshow."

She chuckled again, and returned to drinking her coffee.

”Yeah, I can imagine that you’ve seen worse. And anything that pays the bills, right? Wish I had your… confidence. That’s what it takes to get into that biz, I’m guessing. Gotta be charismatic, beautiful, have the skills. And it’s not like there’s a school you can go to for that kind of thing.” Her hot chocolate was beginning to taste better, now. She hadn’t really thought of the phrase ‘the mood was lifting’ very literally before but now, she could practically physically feel an emotional weight dissolving. She held up her cup with two fingers, resting her elbow on the table to keep it propped up. Ceramic was heavy, even the cheap shit ceramic that the cafe had bought. ”So, worst work story? If you tell me yours I’ll tell you mine.”

Was she confident? Constance thought that to herself. She didn't see it as confidence, not really. Not entirely. She didn't think very highly of herself, in all honesty. More like shameless. Confidence was there, somewhere, but it wasn't the main thing, she figured. She was probably used to seeing things in a more negative light. It didn't matter in the end, she supposed. "Well, honestly, I've had knives pulled on me before. Chased by a dog. I think almost running into a killer in a mouldy apartment with a corpse and a bloody bed in it takes the cake. If you're asking about work work, then seeing a couple that got mangled getting rolled into the hospital, covered from head to toe in blood. I, uh, I worked night shifts at a hospital before, reception. Not as lively as this place, but where I lived had some strange stuff going on."

”Knives on you? Well I’m guessing you didn’t leave much behind to regret, judging by the pocket cannon you’ve got on you. I’m not an animal person myself neither, so I can sympathise.” Her food and drink were nearly out. A wave of nausea washed over her, elicited by the remnants of fear. Her body was still clinging to the fight or flight reflex. Everywhere she looked she saw shadows, preening blades in the dark. Every pool of water and drop was redder than it should’ve been. ”Couldn’t stand hospital work. The things I’d see, they’d make me ill. You know you’re… brilliant. Like an action hero, I dunno. Liz only associates with the pitiable and the worthy and you’re definitely not the former. As for me, I… oh, right, work stories. Yeah, I moonlight as an alchemist on the weekends. My job’s to brew potions and creams. Usually I don’t get to see the person I’m treating, I just get an order from the relevant department. Mixing holly, grinding flower petals and putting it through a sieve, that sort of thing. Anyway, point is that everything I make is edible and everything that goes into it is au naturale. One day I got a special order, tea with a secret ingredient, that being a jar full of this brown, viscous fluid. As per the recipe I boiled it over a bunsen burner but I put too much of the stuff into the flask so when it heated up, it expanded and burst out of its container. Turns out it was dried piss from the client, absolutely covered the whole lab - and me - in hot urea. But you know, apparently it’s a good detergent. After I got my clothes back from the wash they were spotless. Never wore ‘em again, of course. Just the idea of them being soaked through with piss turns me off.”

Her anecdote fizzled out. It wasn’t very good. Just gross-out humour, which was something that Constance had no doubt been desensitized to. Besides, the incident in question had been much less dramatic than how she’d described it. The only real writeoff had been the flask, everything else had been pretty much fine. She had just wanted to seem interesting.

[Trapoletanius]

Seeds of Anxiety
Rubedo

The three Trolls all seemed uncomfortable at the site of this public execution in progress; they had come from a world where public murder was a common sight, but to see such ritual from humans always made them uneasy. Pobeda especially was disturbed, although he was the one who least showed it outwardly.

“This doesn’t seem right.” Kadoor said quietly, her voice filled with concern and confusion. “Why would they need to gag her if she was a simple thief?”

“Yeah.” Pobeda responded. “And I mean, if they don’t have any leaders, who decides this stuff? Who makes these rules? Who determines if the person is guilty or innocent? Who decides their punishment?”

“And why do these guards seem so much healthier than the people they’re protecting?” Venera added in. She looked directly at the woman on the gallows, trying to parse how she feels. “I can only barely sense her emotions, but even from here her fear is obvious.”

Pobeda furled his eyebrows, “I can’t sense her thoughts from this distance. I have to get closer.”

Before anyone could say anything, the Mage began pushing his way deeper into the crowd to get closer to the gallows. He would normally fly, but with the great crowd, he didn’t want to draw that much attention to himself. His mind went through the possible outcomes of this situation, which he’d usually have considered before acting, but this situation was different. If she was actually innocent, what would he do? Try to convince everyone that he can read minds and knows she’s innocent? Would they get violent? And what about if she was actually guilty? Does that make her deserving of death? A few people got mad at the stranger's intrusion, but he ignored them and kept walking towards the gallows.

“And I thought I was the impulsive one.” Venera said as she watched Pobeda walk into the crowd. “C’mon, let’s follow him.” She and Kadoor started moving through the crowd in pursuit of their companion.

Pobeda got near the front of the crowd and focused his mind, reaching out to see into the mind of the woman. He saw it all, what she did, why she did it, who she did it for. He stood there for a bit, taking it all in as the other two approached.

“So? What did you see?” Kadoor asked. "Did she actually steal the medicine?"

“She’s guilty,” He said, clenching his fist. “Of more than just stealing.” He seemed almost saddened by this, his eyes turning to the ground in contemplation; or maybe just so he couldn't see the woman.

Venera raised an eyebrow, feeling her companion's disappointment and an unusual amount of sadness. “Were you hoping she’d be innocent? Did you imagine yourself heroically rescuing her from this cruel, undeserved fate?”

Pobeda sighed, his shoulders drooping a bit. “I just… can’t stand the idea of seeing someone being strung up and killed, made into an object of public ridicule. I still don’t think she deserves such a humiliating death.” He turned away from the gallows, “Nobody does.”

[Menschenfleisch]

Seeds of Anxiety | Collab with Torii

She wasn't used to the compliments, Constance. It all made her feel flustered. Her cold demeanour barely shifted, as the slightest hint of an embarrassed smirk tugged at her lips. She appreciated it.

She shuddered at the thought of experiencing what Jacquelyn had described. "Yeah. I'd probably do the same.", She commented, downing some more of her coffee. "Or at least give them a few dozen washes, after a few dozen showers. It reminds me of some horror stories I used to hear from nurses on the job, about the gross things they have to deal with.", She said, shaking her head. She might have been used to "dirty" work, but she was a surprisingly clean person. Perhaps it was because dealing with dirty things made people appreciate cleanliness and purity more. "So, you do alchemy work too?", She asked, changing the subject. "One of the people I was working with, same time I was with Elizabeth, was an alchemist. I think. Or a normal chemist. He liked to keep his beakers and glasses nearby. I understand that sort of magical stuff is pretty commonplace here."

”Definitely, if you know where to look. It’s a difficult world to get into but once you’re there, you’re part of the family. I don’t know if I’ve received a genuine first impression though, considering that Elizabeth did all the dirty work for me.” She glanced at the bottom of her cup. Alchemist she may have been but she couldn’t even imagine how one might create such a culinary work. She was a lab monkey, mixing chemicals without regard for the result, only the fastidiousness with which she ascribed to the written process. Which was a long and complicated way of saying that she didn’t know what the fuck she was doing, she just followed the recipe. ”Alchemist would be a generous term to describe me with. It’s not like I’m out there turning lead to gold or inventing new concoctions, I really just know how to read and follow instructions.” “Miss Vanth!” Her head snapped toward the source of the intrusion, a man in a cabman’s uniform, blue shirt and black pants with a brown belt stood in the doorway. Though, his eyes were covered by shades on a cold and dark morning. “You have been summoned to the Oldhaven Gallery via the authority of Mayor Branwen.” Jacquelyn looked at Constance briefly, trying to pry the correct response out of the look that the woman had on her face. But nothing. She knew not what to say. She turned back to the man, wide-eyed. ”Do I need to go?” “No but this concerns your acquaintance, Alexandria Ashwood.” ”Who am I meeting with?” “I cannot tell you that.”

”Well shit.” She muttered. ”I don’t think I’m in any danger, am I? I'm a small fry, I don’t know what anyone would want with me.” She said it out loud just to see whether Constance would agree. She needed someone to give her reassurances, after all. “Your… friend may come if it pleases you.” The man added helpfully.

Constance watched the man for a long moment. Finally, she knocked back the last of her coffee, and pushed the cup aside with one finger. "I don't have a ride without her any way.", She said, standing up slowly. She brushed down and straightened her skirt, pulled her coat snug, and laid down a few pounds for the bill, along with a fairly good-sized tip. It might have put a dent in her already small savings (so much for US currency), but she didn't care. It was the right thing to do.

"Alexandria? I assume she's related to Elizabeth?", She asked, coming up behind Jacquelyn, to her right. She tugged at the black gloves protecting her hands, and peered out of the windows, nonchalantly scanning the area. She was picking up on what Jackie wanted, of course. She was used to playing innocent with the police. Was that guy a police officer? Well, she was used to playing innocent around authority figures in general.

“Yes. Alexandria Ashwood.” ”Elizabeth’s mother. And… someone who went missing this morning.” Jacquelyn shared a meaningful gaze with Constance. ”I’d do anything to bring her back. And if the mayor is asking after me directly then I… I need to go.” She paid for the drinks in a hurry, made little preparation. Her mind was already filled with conspiracies, not the least of which being that this was some sort of trick to kill or capture her. But again, she wasn’t important in the grand scheme of things. She’d shared a house with Elizabeth for what, two weeks? There were plenty of people who were far more integral to Elizabeth’s life than her. The man saw her out to a black cab, the sort of run down thing with a rounded roof which she would’ve expected to have been taken off the road in the 50s but which was, inexplicably, still trundling along. The man was the driver, apparently, and he pulled open the door for her. There was no division between the seats in the back and the driver’s compartment, which alleviated her suspicions a little. ”I wouldn’t suppose you know who I’m meeting, would you?” The man shook his head apologetically.

---

Jacquelyn hadn’t realised that buildings could be intimidating, but what else was she supposed to call the thing that they’d pulled up in front of? She was unceremoniously deposited in front of a set of massive wooden doors, inlaid with cherubs and writhing serpents and vines. She stood outside a grey stone hall, pillars wider than car bonnets holding up a simple triangular roof which must’ve weighed as much as a foothill alone. ”Gallery?” She murmured beneath her breath. Footmen stood in front of each half of the door, hands crossed across their waists and gazes fixed on the horizon. But they were watching her, she knew. Waiting. She took a few uncertain steps forward, nerve slipping with each one. Was she about to be arrested? Interrogated? Alex had a lot of enemies. Correction, the Ashwoods had a lot of enemies, and walking into the viper’s den so to speak didn’t sound like a good idea. But then again, if they knew something about where she’d gone, she had to find out. Risking her own life was a small price to pay for potentially getting a lead on where Elizabeth’s mum had gone.

Behind walnut doors lay a circular chamber. Everything was reflective. The floor which made a striking tap with every step, the golden trim on the walls, the shining marble pillars and reliefs which decorated the walls. The ground was made up of tiles, though the word hardly encompassed what they were. There was an eight pointed star across the floor of the chamber, with each facet shaded in either shadow or light, no two tiles of similar brightness placed next to one another. It was a mosaic where slabs of colour were made up of a single contiguous piece of stone rather than many united. They were put together seamlessly, too, with not a hint of mortar or binding lime to be seen. Everything else was yellow or white, false sunlight spilling through slats behind which were just very bright fluorescent lights. It felt like standing in the court of heaven. The opposite end of the room from her was taken up by a crescent table. It was wooden, glazed, grown not hewn. It towered over her, monolithic and impenetrable. This was what it would’ve felt like to be small, she thought. An insect in a world of man.

“I’m glad that you could join us, Miss. Vanth.” A saccharine voice, all formality yet warmth, struck her from across the room. Already destabilised by the grandeur of the place she would’ve stumbled if her legs hadn’t locked themselves up. She saw a dark skinned woman leaning over the centre of the wooden crescent, black hair done up in a bun and hazel eyes visible even when she cut a vanishingly small figure at such a distance. She was in an evening dress, black with red trim. Jack felt just a little underdressed. “Allow me to introduce myself. I am Cadi Branwen, elected mayor of Lludw Cigfrain and sitting chairperson of the Assembly of Lines. You are standing in the chamber of converse, where we are to meet in order to discuss notable events within our jurisdiction.” She folded her hands together, placing them slowly and deliberately on the rim of her desk.

The man to her left, with a grand walrus moustache, white facial hair, a balding head and ample cheeks continued from where she left off quite seamlessly. While the mayor spoke with a hint of stateliness, the man was like a walking caricature of the British gentleman. She even saw the head of a cane poking up from beside his rotund figure. He had a tweed suit on, looked far past his prime. Why, he wouldn’t have seemed out of place in a smoking house with a newspaper between his fingers and attendants taking care of his senile frame. “The Assembly was founded in 1796 by parties lost to time. Its purpose is to bring together those who represent all the interests of the people of Lludw Cigfrain so that a consensus may be reached about certain topics which might otherwise be the subject of violent conflict. All major stakeholders in the future of the town and the surrounding countryside have a seat at the table. This naturally includes the town’s mayor. And I, Arthur Pendergast, as head of The Ushers, an organisation dedicated to policing the anomalous world and maintaining the veil of public secrecy, am also afforded a position in the Assembly.”

A firebrand of a woman, messy brown hair wrapped around herself, began her own speech next. She had just a white business shirt on, her overcoat draped on the back of her chair. She was on the far right, two seats from the mayor. The one between the mayor and the woman was conspicuously empty. “The Assembly was the de facto ruling council of Lludw Cigfrain for several centuries until the advent of the group which you may have known as The Crimsonites, who assassinated many key figures and forced the Assembly to dissolve. However, in light of recent events, it has been decided that The Assembly should hold a committee once more, for the first time in over seventy years. Each person at the table has a formal position whose nature was either outlined in the founding document or inherited from a previous member of The Assembly. Mayor Branwen is the Representative of the Crown and her responsibility is to act in the interests of the political assembly; Mister Pendergast is the Representative of The Veil and his role is to ensure that the anomalous community is not exposed or made vulnerable to the wider world; I am Meredith Loyd, sister of the late Maria Pisce, lieutenant of the demon prince Mephistopheles, head of The Fates. I am the Representative of The Syndicate, and my role is defined by my position within the criminal underworld of Lludw Cigfrain.”

Next was a demon, Jacquelyn could see it very easily. She had the telltale orange irises, the voice which crackled like a low-burning flame and strict sense of fashion. Grey suit, red shirt, steel crown in her hair wrapped in barbs. “I am Kanopi,” she crooned, “Baroness of Hell and owner of much of this town’s capital. I am the Representative of Industry. I am pleased to make your acquaintance.” The Mayor shot her a quick glance which went unreciprocated. Had Kanopi been meant to say something else?

Finally, a woman with incandescent turquoise eyes and a green shawl draped on her shoulder. A hawk sat on her shoulder, larger than her head. “I am Deirdre Skye, head caretaker of the Gardeners of Gaia. I am the Representative of The Foundation, and I am granted this position by being a party interested in the wellbeing of those without voices and those who are not of human form.” The Mayor immediately started speaking, just barely avoiding cutting Deirdre off. “There is a seat of this council known as the Representative of Old Blood, afforded to the most venerable and powerful dynasty of Lludw Cigfrain. As a business associate of Elizabeth Ashwood, and because all current members of the Ashwood family are either indisposed or missing, you have been selected as the liaison between this assembly and the Ashwood bloodline. Congratulations, Miss Vanth. You may take your seat, directly on my right.”

A long and stilted silence. “All seats must be filled in order for The Assembly to have any authority, it was written in the blood of all the founding members. They have a binding power, more than written law or spoken contract.” The Mayor explained. “Elizabeth held the position before you. She voluntarily abstained from all sessions. You may do the same, if that is your wish.” She didn’t want to go up there, not really. This was beyond her, beyond even who she had been at the beginning of the story. But they knew something about Alex. She had to play their game. Plus, she had at least a passing familiarity with Pendergast, Branwen and Loyd via Elizabeth’s connections. They weren’t her friends, per se, but they were at least acquaintances. Jacquelyn lowered her head for a moment to raise it again, higher. ”No, I accept the position.” Branwen raised an open hand, gesturing at her side. “Then you may take your seat, to my right.”

Jacquelyn began her long circumnavigation of the room, passing behind Kanopi and Loyd. The demoness turned her head the whole way to watch the girl approach. Loyd did not react, but did glance at her from her periphery. She stepped through thin slices of light, steps growing heavier and nerve leaking from her bones with every motion. What was she about to step into? She pulled out her chair, a tremendous wooden block with a cushion not designed for comfort but instead grandeur. Already small compared to the other members of the assembly, the table was too high for her to prop her forearms on. Pendergast and Deirdre were utterly disinterested in her while Branwen maintained a respectful, neutral stare. She broke it off once Jacquelyn had sunken into her seat, hands in her lap. She was content to wait and follow the example of the others. However this related to Alex, she’d find out in time. No point in pressing the issue. She expected wholly that they’d discuss Alex’s disappearance. She was a cornerstone of the town’s culture and most of the other members of The Assembly were in her debt one way or another.

“Is there anything else that needs to happen? I’m seriously losing my mind over here,” Kanopi addressed the room, leaning back in her chair and holding up a glass of… orange juice? “We only need one more seat to be filled,” Branwen responded, steepling her fingers on her desk. “The Representative of The Outsider.” Kanopi’s face scrunched up slightly, pulling back the corner of her lip in disdain. “Are you kidding? Where are we going to find one of those?” Pendergast volunteered his hand. “I’ve arranged for a contact who fulfils the requirements. They’ve never visited this dimension, I think they should be as neutral as the founders stipulated.” “How long are they going to be?” Loyd queried. “Four hours.” “Celibate Heaven!” Kanopi groaned. “I’m not waiting that long. Let’s just get on with it!” Mayor Branwen snapped her fingers above her head, bringing the room to a hush. Jacquelyn felt her own vocal chords seize. “Absolutely not, we can’t compel The Assembly’s authority unless all of its requirements are met.” ”I know someone who might be able to take up the seat?” Jacquelyn meekly piped up. Her proximity to the centre of the council was what allowed her to be heard. “You do?” Kanopi smiled, sharklike, at her. ”Yes. She’s right outside the chamber.” The demoness let out a self-assured laugh. Victory was sweet on her tongue. “Alright, bring her in.” Pendergast raised his voice, thick with indignation. “Absolutely not, we are not appointing someone to this assembly on a metric as arbitrary as proximity!” Kanopi suppressed a giggle, instead producing a snort. “The whole point of having a Representative of The Outsider is for them to be arbitrary, dipshit. To have a neutral party, all that crap.” While Pendergast was still trying to come up with a retort, Meredith slithered into the gap left by the conversational interregnum. “By its very nature, it is unimportant who holds the position as long as they qualify for it. The matter at hand is more pressing than any other and the judgement should be unambiguous regardless of the seventh voter’s preconceptions. I move to bring in Miss Vanth’s candidate.” Kanopi attached her own response to the end. “As do I.” “Aye,” Deirdre volunteered, and Branwen just nodded. Pendergast slumped back into his chair.

Constance...hadn't been expecting a summons. She didn't know why she of all people would have been needed for whatever it was that the council needed. She wasn't a citizen, so what reason did she have to be involved in their dealings? It wasn't related to their finding that body, was it? She sighed as she stepped into the chamber, ushered in by one of the doormen who had been sent to bring her in. She'd just wanted to chat it up with Jackie and then get back to the others that morning. Why all of this now?

"Hello.", She said, looking up. She didn't tilt her head up, but rather glanced upward at the various members, keeping her head down and her arms crossed. When her gaze fell on Jacquelyn, she raised her brow, as if to silently ask "what have you gotten me into?" and voice her annoyance. She wasn't about to get interrogated, was she?

“Constance Fitzgerald,” Branwen began, “How long have you known the sitting Representative of Old Blood, Jacquelyn Vanth, do you have any conflicts of interest to declare and how long have you been an inhabitant of Lludw Cigfrain?” Pendergast leaned forward expectantly, furrowing his brow and smoothing out his concrete-grey moustache. There was a light tinkle from Kanopi’s seat, where she was mixing a cocktail. She glanced at the other members. “No no, carry on. This won’t be a minute.”

Constance frowned slightly, and cupped her chin. Why were they asking such things? "I've only known Jacquelyn since this morning, to be honest.", She said, speaking slowly, careful about what she said, just to be safe. "I've only been here, oh, a day or two? I'm not sure how I got here. I'm, uh, I'm from Massachusetts, if that's relevant to anything. I believe it was some kind of supernatural incident that got me here? It's hard to wrap my head around. I was actually kind of taken in by a small organization here when they found me.", She explained. She was nervous; she shifted her weight to one side and began to look around the room quickly, letting her eyes dart about. "I don't know if it's a conflict of interest. Is anyone familiar with...uh, what was it...AEGIS?"

“AEGIS?” Pendergast spluttered. “This is preposterous, we can’t possibly have her on in The Assembly.” Loyd raised a hand at him, maintaining a chillingly neutral tone. “She’s not familiar with the organisation, as you can plainly tell from her phrasing. Mayor Branwen, has she told any falsehoods?” “No,” the succubus said with utmost certainty. “Ms. Fitzgerald, you have been chosen to serve as a jury of sorts in this assembly, known as the Assembly of Lines, which is the ruling body of Lludw Cigfrain’s anomalous community. You are entitled to the full authority granted by your position and with your appointment, acceptance pending, we will be able to convene immediately. You may address me as Mayor Cadi Branwen. The others shall introduce themselves to you. While you are sitting in The Assembly, you have no responsibility other than to vote yes, no or abstain when another member of The Assembly calls for a vote. You may, at any time, choose to speak to interrupt but due to your impermanent position on the council, I would advise you to not act in such a way that would mandate your replacement. Upon appointment to The Assembly, you are expected to attend all meetings regarding the issues which will be addressed today. Once all of them have been resolved, you will step down from your position. If you fail to attend a session, we will continue without you; a voluntary decision not to attend will be assumed. If you accept the position, please find a seat. Otherwise, you may volunteer another candidate or leave as you are.”

Constance swallowed hard - something she suddenly found difficult. What were the lot of them going on about? She was on the council? Voting? Authority? Why was that one man upset at the mention of AEGIS? Constance shot Jackie that look again, her brow even higher. "This is pretty sudden.", She said aloud. The shakiness in her voice said everything. She was nervous just like Jacquelyn, albeit likely for different reasons. Constance wasn't prepared in the slightest to be dragged into town politics. Did Jacquelyn really need her help that bad? "I guess I'll accept.", She said. She nodded slowly, more to convince herself than anything. She didn't even know what she was supposed to vote on. She barely understood half of what was being said up there, as fast as it was all going by.

Constance’s seat was on the edge of the council, leaving her mostly out of sight of the other members - who were lined up almost perfectly to block each others’ view of her - except for Meredith and Deirdre, the two most quiet members of The Assembly. Her chair was slightly less ornate than the others, reflecting her rather more mundane role. Jacquelyn’s was adorned with the Ashwood crest and carvings in the shapes of various alchemical reagents, The Mayor’s was a regal tower which wouldn’t have been out of place in the castle of a Renaissance king. Constance’s? Well, it was much more comfortable than the others but not much else. Branwen spoke to the open air: “With the script of The Assembly as my witness, I declare the two hundredth and seventy seventh meeting of The Lines to be in session.” The domed roof lit up with incandescent ribbons of ink, bleeding from braziers held up by cherubs and demons to scrawl inscrutable patterns all across its surface. They worked from the outside in, moving in mesmerising circles. “We have gathered here today to try one of our own for crimes against the sovereignty of Lludw Cigfrain and all her sister territories. For conspiracy against the state, for endangering the lives of the citizenry and threatening the hegemony of The Assembly. May the accused manifest.”

At the centre of the chamber, grey mist seeped from the seams in the stone. Dense and smooth, it was not like smoke but instead more resembled fog or steam. It picked up into a lazy swirl then a vortex, gaining height and contracting in width from a dozen metres wide to one. A human silhouette appeared within it, a shadow cast on a curtain. Wavy raven hair, colourless eyes, an expression of grim contempt. “Alexandria Ashwood. What is your defence?” The witch, dressed in heavy sheets of velvet, raised her head and stared at Branwen directly, not sparing Jacquelyn a glance. “I have nothing to say to you, Cadi.” The Mayor squirmed at the mention of her first name but did not turn her head. ”What the fuck?” Jacquelyn said aloud. The court turned to her, all but Kanopi. ”My apologies. But why is she here? She was kidnapped this morning-” “She was arrested,” Pendergast corrected her, “by my own arrangement. “Mr. Pendergast,” Branwen made herself the locus of attention once more, “please tell the Assembly the details of Alexandria’s crimes.” The man hardened his features and straightened his jacket. “Certainly. I would assume that most of you are familiar with the Celestial Order, a cabal of mystics and sages whose goal is to protect humanity from the anomalous elements of reality, much the same as The Ushers or AEGIS. However, they are not localised to Lludw Cigfrain and are therefore granted no jurisdiction over its territories. Alexandria Ashwood was allowed to continue her work for The Order as long as it did not infringe on the rights or health of any of Lludw Cigfrain’s citizens. However, two nights ago, a Celestial Order strike team stormed the district of Oldgrove and took the resident anomalous community into their custody.” ”And what is the crime that Ms. Ashwood has committed besides being affiliated with your ‘enemy’?” Jacquelyn cut through his speech. ”She was taken into custody without any proof of her wrongdoings being available. This is a gross miscarriage of justice in the making.” “Quiet DOWN Ms. Vanth!” Pendergast roared from across the room, now standing in his seat. She had only just frozen in shock when he continued; “You are here in order to fulfil a technicality and nothing more. I will forgive your impertinent attempt to infringe on my authority this once because you are naive, young and inexperienced with the affairs of The Assembly but do not dare to interrupt me again! There are consequences for your actions; show a little respect!” There was a dreadful calm. Jacquelyn bit her own tongue, tried not to come to tears. She did her best to hold her trembling shoulders still but the echo of Pendergast’s words still rang inside her skull. She knew that she should’ve spoken up but her mouth ran dry, the words wouldn’t come. Pendergast’s nostrils flared one last time and he lowered himself back into his chair.

“Due to having reasonable cause to believe that Ms. Ashwood had, through her actions, either allowed or ordered this to occur, I arrested her on the order of The Assembly and had her possession searched.” Bitterly, Jacquelyn recounted the police officers that’d shown up at the mansion after Alex’s ‘disappearance’. They must’ve been working for Pendergast, one way or another. “My agents discovered an abundance of correspondence between Ms. Ashwood and a figure known as ‘Raven’. The contents of these messages related directly to the movements of law enforcement operatives throughout the town, the activities of major anomalous organisations and the locations of notable individuals. Among them, the members of this assembly. Most notably, they made extensive mention of Oldgrove and advised, I quote, ‘an immediate cleanup operation before things deteriorate any further’. Alexandria Ashwood, do you deny that you sent these messages?” Alex forced out her response, voice dripping with derision. “No.” “What is the identity of Raven?” “They are a close friend of mine.” “Are they affiliated with the Celestial Order?” She declined to answer. Pendergast nodded at Branwen. “Would you like me to continue?” “No,” the mayor declined. “I think that’s all that any of us need to hear. Is there anything that anyone else would like to add or ask?” She looked sidelong at Jacquelyn. The weight of expectation only furthered her commitment to silence.

Well, things were certainly taking an interesting turn, Constance thought. So, Elizabeth's mother was arrested and not kidnapped? Somehow, she wasn't feeling any better about the situation. She was supposed to be impartial, but now she was sitting there and watching a trial for the mother and guardian of at least two people who she'd had at least some friendly interactions with. Where she was now, friendly interactions were a blessing. Besides, she'd wanted to help Jackie, and it would help Elizabeth as well, but now that she knew that Alex's predicament was a matter of her being on trial, and now that she'd been roped into taking a seat on the council, the situation was suddenly weighing a bit more heavily on Constance's shoulders. How did she handle it?

Jacquelyn had hushed down. She was intimidated. Constance was feeling intimidated as well. She felt nervous about even making a squeak, let alone speaking out. She felt her legs beginning to shake again. Before she could remind herself to shut up, she was already speaking. "We don't know if Raven is connected to those incidents either though...do we?", She asked. She carried a little more authority in her voice and she probably anticipated - again, most likely just the perks of having a deeper voice, as her words also still came out quite warbly and hushed, as though she were hesitant to speak up. "I'm not familiar with the politics and inner workings of this town, but it's my understanding that The Ashwoods are detectives. Is there a chance that the messages sent by Miss Ashwood are simply related to her investigative work?"

She was a little surprised by how formal she sounded. Was it formal? Professional? She hoped it was. She might not have gotten into journalism like she wanted to in school, but hopefully her practice wasn't for nothing. God, what was she even doing, speaking up any way? She admitted freely to having no clue about the town or its people. What right did she have to speak up? Was she really just doing it for the girl who she'd just met an hour or two ago? For the detective that she'd worked a job with a day or so prior? She felt so nervous, she thought that she'd cock up and faint at any moment.

“It’s entirely possible that The Order and Alex were observing the same situation and acted independently of one another,” Meredith elaborated. “But what, in that case, were they responding to?” Pendergast demanded. “That’s not important,” Deirdre cut through the chatter with a voice like snarling wolves. “We do not have enough information to determine her guilt but that is entirely beside the point. I’ve spent my whole life fighting for our right to exist. The Order and AEGIS have consistently made it their prerogative to control or exterminate us. Lludw Cigfrain is one of only a few free havens which their influence does not extend to. At this very moment in Oldgrove, families are being torn apart. I have received credible reports from neighbours and friends of the affected that our people are being imprisoned and taken to someplace beyond our borders. We have already suffered tremendous loss. Now, the mauled scraps of the town’s hearts are being pecked at by these vultures. I will not suffer one of them to stand among us. I say that she’s guilty.” Jacquelyn was incredulous. ”But you just admitted that Pendergast’s information proves nothing!” “Except that she’s been leaking information to somebody,” Pendergast scoffed. “This meeting is not to argue the facts. Ultimately, the only thing that needs to be decided is whether Ms. Ashwood ”should be disposed of for the sake of the town or not.” ”This isn’t justice,” Jacquelyn asserted with mounting disbelief. Pendergast rose from his seat; “No, it is not. Justice is a commodity, used to placate the public’s interest in seeing good men go free and bad ones get what’s coming to them. But this is not a court. There is no burden of proof, no jury, no standard to follow. You need to put aside your preconceptions and start considering the reality of the situation. Even if she isn’t working against our interests right now, eventually she will receive a command from The Order which she will not be able to disobey. She could be told to organise the fall of another district. She could be ordered to assassinate one of us. We cannot imprison her, because we have no bastion secure enough to keep her contained. Thus, the only recourse is execution. It’s for the good of all.”

Jacquelyn sought a glimmer of irony in the man’s eyes but found none. ”She’s your friend, isn’t she? You know her. She could still be innocent.” “I don’t have the luxury of personal opinion. My sole responsibility is to protect the people. If Alex dies, we might gain nothing or we may gain a great deal. Regardless, we will lose nothing.” ”Except that you will have set a dark precedent.” “These are dark days.” ”Then what’s stopping you from killing random townsfolk for these exact same reasons?” “Random townsfolk don’t usually have connections to the Celestial Order and a history of murder on a tremendous scale.” ”So that’s it? All that someone needs to be in order to qualify for execution is powerful enough to be a threat?” “We have killed for far less. The Ashwoods are guilty of more and then some.” They held one anothers’ gazes for a little longer until he spoke again, but not to her. “I move to execute.” “Abstain,” Meredith stated with complete neutrality. “Ashwood may have nothing to do with this.” “I vote to kill. Better to simplify the equation than to leave loose ends hanging, no?” Kanopi purred. “I believe that we have almost reached a consensus...” The Mayor raised herself up, turning her head around the whole room. She had the deciding vote. Jacquelyn and Constance could be counted on to vote to acquit Alex. “I find Alexandria Ashwood-” ”Stop! Not yet!” Jacquelyn interjected, sweat on her brow. She must’ve cut a contemptible, hysterical figure. Did she care? Yes, but burning shame was cooled by icy fear. ”Deirdre! I mean, Ms. Skye, you care more about the townspeople than anything else, don’t you?” “Of course I do,” she scowled. ”Then Alex is more useful to us alive than dead!” She stumbled on her own words, somehow managing to string them together coherently even as her mind raced to come up with a plan. ”We can use her as leverage! She’s important to The Order, we might be able to negotiate terms with them using her as our hostage.” “Ms. Vanth, you understand nothing of our situation. We are more than capable of defending ourselves without keeping a liability such as that witch around as collateral,” Pendergast interrupted. Deirdre clenched a fist, licked her lip. Kanopi snapped her fingers. “Dierdre, if we don’t kill her today, she will remember this. The Ashwoods keep libraries of debts and slights.” The demoness spoke slowly and with more gravitas than Jacquelyn could’ve ever imagined coming from her. Deirdre let out a long sigh, defeated. “I would rather save one innocent than kill a dozen soldiers. I am changing my vote to abstain.” “Abstain,” the mayor immediately followed up. Jackie let out a relieved breath. ”Innocent.” Pendergast seethed in his seat. “Ridiculous,” he mouthed at Dierdre. “You’ll live to regret this decision, though the deadline for when that can occur is rather short now don’t you think? You’re walking decades of intelligence and a network of favours right into the enemy’s hands!“ “I think I can rather handle myself but thank you for your concern.” Deirdre sniped back. Pendergast’s fury curdled into a restrained wrath. “This is not about you. We are at war.” “We can win it without sacrifice.” Meredith made herself known before sinking back into obscurity. “Oldgrove was a hotbed of cult activity to begin with. Now that our resources can be redirected into the other districts, we can harden ourselves to further attack. Mr. Pendergast, as the other martial power in The Assembly, I don’t expect further sacrifice on your part.” He hissed, serpentine attention flowing from one topic to the next. “A cover for consolidating your power; I will not be made obsolete. We will collaborate.” Meredith just nodded politely.

The mayor put a hand behind her back and raised the other’s palm to the sky, pointing at Constance. “Ms. Fitzgerald, your vote?”

"Innocent.", Said Constance, quick and to the point. She said it with about as much bluntness as a rock. It might not have been a court of justice, but she didn't care. She didn't know that Alex was involved in anything for sure, and she wasn't going to sacrifice her just because of the off chance that she might have been. It was wrong. She fought back the urge to shiver and instead averted her gaze to the floor, just so that she wouldn't have to return to gazes of the far more powerful people around her. "I can't really comment on her usefulness as leverage, but I'm going to be frank, I can't support executing someone without definitive proof that they've done something to warrant it. This Order she's with, they may be a threat, but-"

But what if she was involved? Constance knew The Ashwoods, but she didn't know them. She'd only worked with Elizabeth once, and heard about their family from other people. Elizabeth came off to her as a bit suspicious, but then again, most people she'd met so far were suspicious. Hell, she was suspicious. She seemed nice, however. Jacquelyn seemed nice. She couldn't imagine Alex being a particularly bad person. "They may be a threat, but I can't say if Alex is or not. I just can't condone this. Acquit."

“With two for guilty, three for abstain including myself and two for acquit, Alexandria Ashwood will remain in the custody of The Assembly. Dame Kanopi, I expect you to make the proper arrangements.” Branwen tilted her head toward the baroness of Hell. “Meeting is adjourned. Ms. Vanth, meet me outside.”

The members trickled out one by one, Pendergast being the first to leave with Kanopi and Meredith beside him, whispering conspiracy. Jacquelyn left after they had already gone, not wanting to bump into them in the doorway. Deirdre remained behind, studying sheets of paper. Alex, for her part, gave Jacquelyn the most peculiar stare before melting back into smoke. She’d said almost nothing throughout her own trial. Litigation, castigation, whatever. Was the proof against her so damning that she could say naught but that which would further the committee’s dedication to killing her? Strange to think it, since Jack did not consider Alex a criminal, but in this case she might’ve well been guilty of everything that she was being accused of. And objectively, Pendergast was mostly right in his assertions about the harm that having an agent of The Order in their midst could cause.

No, no. She was thinking about this all wrong. Elizabeth’s interests came first. The other members of the council could occupy themselves with the matters of the town, Jacquelyn’s only interest was in keeping her home and not breaking up the family that her only ally in the world had just recently reclaimed. She was not a politician, she was just incidentally involved in The Assembly. But why was that the case? ”Mayor,” she addressed her as the two left the room together. “Call me Cadi,” the succubus smiled back with warmth but no sweetness. Sincerity was a difficult thing to find sometimes, but in Branwen’s features it seemed abundant. There was a stark difference between the expressions she made to serve a purpose and the ones she made to show genuine emotion. Or maybe Jacquelyn was just falling for her acting. ”Who insisted that I be brought into The Assembly?” Cadi shrugged. A very casual motion, not befitting of her regal stature. She was like a queen, even though officially she was just an elected representative. “Does it matter? You were the obvious candidate.” ”But who pointed that out first?” The Mayor took a moment to reply, staring right into Jackie’s eyes. She knew that expression, the look of someone searching for intentions. “I did. Alexandria is my friend and many members of the council have good reason to fear her. Pendergast is one, Loyd is another. I found her decision to abstain surprising. But I also expected Deirdre to vote to acquit, so, that was two surprises in one day. I elected to have you assigned to the seat so that there’d be someone to represent The Ashwoods, otherwise The Assembly would’ve voted to kill her just to protect themselves.”

”Then why did you abstain? You didn’t make much of a point while the Assembly was in session.” “Because I genuinely don’t know if she should die or be set free. If it were up to me we’d keep her under lock and key until the resolution of this crisis, the one left by the collapse of the old guard, but The Order has a habit of rescuing their own. Listen.” Cadi put a hand on Jacquelyn’s shoulder. Her fingers dug lightly but the tips were angled inward, producing great pressure from little force. It implied that a great deal of strength could be forthcoming… but was currently unnecessary. “You did well back there. You adapted quickly, didn’t succumb to Pendergast’s intimidation. And that’s why I trust you to do something for me.” The gears were turning in Jacquelyn’s head. What could Branwen possibly want from her? And would Branwen throw her weight in behind Jacquelyn if she did whatever she was asked? “As a stand-in for the Ashwoods, you have tremendous influence over the town. The Ashwoods have a pocketbook of debts, owed in blood and duty. I want you to call them in. Loyd and Pendergast think in munitions, dollars, manpower. But true power comes from connections. Take this...” she handed her an immaculate note, inside of which was a single name. “This is the name of a candidate who I would rather hold a position on the council than Meredith. Tell them to make their move. They’ll be more conducive to judging Alex innocent; you’ll have my vote as confidence.” Jacquelyn tucked it into her pocket, trying to hide her misgivings. ”I’ll think about it.”

“Ms. Fitzgerald.” The Mayor caught Constance right as she was walking out. “I know that it was a shock, having to decide whether a person’s life should be taken or spared. You have an admirable talent for deduction. The other members of the council see life as cheap, and how could they not when we’ve suffered such tragedy as of late, so it’s gladdening to see someone who values life as much as you do taking up a position in The Assembly. Now that Alex’s life is no longer on the line, I’d like to know. Was your decision based on an aversion to killing or do you truly believe that the town could stand to keep her alive?”

"Well", She began. She'd been a little quick to leave the room, so being stopped again caused her to nearly skid to a halt. She was definitely nervous. "I - sorry, by the way - I", she stopped again. She didn't want to say anything bad. "I really can't say anything about the town keeping her...around. I just got here. I don't think she could be guilty though. I just can't make that kind of decision without some evidence and deliberation.", She explained. She hoped that the mayor and Jacquelyn understood.

The mayor gave her a kindly smile, something you’d usually see being used on a child. “Of course. I just want you to make sure that you’re certain of your own decisions. The next meeting should not be for some time and you can always choose not to attend, so don’t feel compelled to treat it as an obligation. Toodle oo.” And she just walked away, disappearing out the door.

”Jesus Constance, I’m so fucking sorry for dragging you into this. I- I don’t know why I suggested that you should come in. But thank you for fighting on my behalf, I… should’ve said more.”

"Yeah, for real.", Constance replied, releasing a deep, exhausted sigh. She cupped her hands over her face and dragged them down. "That sucked. I guess we know where Elizabeth's mother is, at least. Jesus..."

”It’s going to be a long fucking road, convincing them to let her go.” Already, mechanisms were turning in her head which she hadn’t even known the existence of. She was thinking about the other members of The Assembly as units to control, individual microcosms of opinion which she could turn to her side.

Pendergast was an immediate writeoff. ”I don’t think I can convince Pendergast to vote for anything but death,” she thought aloud. ”To him, The Order are the enemy. He wants Alex gone just because of her affiliations. It might even run deeper than that. I don’t think that it’s a coincidence that Alex was arrested while Elizabeth just happened to be out of town; perfect timing to avoid having either Ashwood in The Assembly, don’t you think? He’s probably going to be desperate to get Alex killed from now on, not knowing when Elizabeth might reappear and throw a spanner in the works.”

”Kanopi I haven’t got a good read on but she’s a devil, she thinks in terms of herself only. Voting against Alex was for her own self interest. I think she might be after the Ashwoods’ property, or maybe just looking out for her own. Either way, I can only win her over with logical appeals. That’s not going to be easy, unless I really take the time to familiarise myself with the town.”

”Deirdre is easy to control. She cares about the townspeople, wants to keep them alive and free. She wouldn’t like Pendergast very much then, since he’s the face of oppression within these borders, but it seems like they have a begrudging working relationship. I think that as long as I frame Alex as a way of keeping The Order from advancing further into the town, she’ll vote with me or at least abstain. But that all depends on whether I can get The Order to understand the situation. Who knows, they might throw Alex under the bus.”

”Meredith, she was careful not to let anything show. I don’t know her interests, her goals, where her power comes from other than the fact that she’s the current head of The Fates. Criminal syndicate, since you probably don’t know that. She doesn’t seem to have much of a stake in the debate though, so I can probably count on her to remain neutral. But Pendergast is probably already coming up with a way to earn her vote. I can only assume that she’ll be voting against Alex in every further council meeting.”

”Branwen is… odd. I don’t know if I’ve got a read on her at all or if she’s as simple as she appears. She wants to come off as pragmatic and as someone who puts the town first but I don’t think that’s the case. She’s neither protecting Ashwood nor condemning her. She might not care, even, about the outcome. Her powerbase is mundane, not anomalous; if The Order invades, it’ll likely be no skin off her back.”

Jacquelyn pinched the bridge of her nose. The situation was delicate and beyond her but she knew that in the next meeting, Alex’s life would be balanced on a knife’s edge. She had to gain the support of at least half the council, maybe more. ”I’m going to do what the mayor asked. Any replacement for Meredith will be a good one. And as for Deirdre, she’ll want results regarding the situation in Oldgrove if she’s going to trust my opinion in subsequent meetings. Ah, this is all so fucking confusing. Constance, do you have somewhere to stay? You can crash at my place. Or, well, Elizabeth’s. It’s the least that I can do.”

"I have a place. Kind of. Hotel, downtown.", She said, nodding. "Unless you want me to stay close by? You said the old man would be gunning for Alex. Is there anyone else at her place to keep an eye on you?"

”Well I mean, you really don’t need to take care of me. You’ve got stuff to do. Wives to fuck.” She snorted. ”No, no, sorry. Completely inappropriate. But I probably can’t stay where I am right now. Old man was able to get into the house, if he really wants me gone then he could do to me what he did to Alex. I’m probably going to rent someplace downtown while I figure out what I should do next.” Her actions were mostly being informed by her expectations of the genre. She was on a court now, suddenly thrust into a position of power. The authors were clearly expecting something from her; if she didn’t take the initiative and go out there to do something, then the action would deposit itself on her doorstep. Plus, she owed it to Elizabeth to do everything that she could to keep her mother alive. Her goal wasn’t to acquit Alex, she told herself to soothe her nerves, it was just to keep her alive until Liz came back. Whenever that was. ”Uh, you want to stay in touch? I can give you my phone number.” She wasn’t really sure what to do now, honestly. Constance was still a stranger to her, even if she was the only person she’d had a real conversation with other than Elizabeth in… days. Weeks? That was a little terrifying to think about.

"I don't really know the number for my room.", Constance replied, rubbing the back of her neck. "If you want to give me your number, I could make a call when I get back.", She added. She didn't seem to make any mention of a cellphone.

Jacquelyn didn’t pick up on the implication. ”Right, you’re new to town, probably don’t have a SIM. You mentioned a room? Where are you staying?”

Constance nearly spoke up, then stopped, furrowed her brow, and cursed. "I can't think of the name, damnit. It's downtown, near the warehouses? I don't think it's far from the docks. It's where some of those AEGIS guys rescued me, so I've been staying with them...wait, what’s a SIM?”

”The card in your mobile phone. I get it, pretty big investment. And I think I know where you’re talking about.”

"Mobile phone...right. Look, I, uh, I said I was rescued downtown. How I got here - ugh, you know, it's probably not worth telling. Any way, I don't have a mobile phone.", She told Jackie. She'd seen a few people with them, but that was it. To her, it was just another thing about her new environment that confused her.

”Don’t worry about it. Here, I’ll give you my address, Email and landline. Just, don’t go sharing it, alright?” Jacquelyn performed an implied act of discourse without it actually occurring within the story. They happened quite a lot, and it was always a bit disorienting to be one of the involved parties. Sure was efficient with the authors’ time, though. ”You know, I get it. You’re young, freshly created, probably don’t know yourself yet. But you’ll get used to it.” Her narrativistic seniority was apparent. Now was the time to assure the other, newer character, even if she herself didn’t really know the deal to begin with. ”It’s corny, but I’m glad that we met. You’ll probably have a lot more to do in the coming paragraphs. Days, I mean.”

"Uh-huh. Right."

Constance took the information graciously, reminding herself to copy it all in her own notes, just for safekeeping. "I should probably get a phone.", She mumbled, thinking aloud for a moment. “I wonder if I can convince those people who shanghai’d me to fund one. I think I’m employed now, any way.”

[Naval Monte]

The Eight Line Tale
Frihed City
33rd District - 'The Feral Feline'

Victoria sat in silence as she heard the plan being devised by Shiro. Strange was also in contemplation on his role in the plan. But he was a bit pensive about dealing with an enemy he knew next to nothing about. That didn't sit him well.

But he saved his judgement for later as the discussion changed to the military structure of DebuCorp. Thanks to Shiro past experience in working for the corporation they knew which base to target for the raid.

Before they can discuss on plans on how to raid the base another development occurred. It would appear the grandmaster dissolved school's lower in their hierarchy and moved their forces closer to the upper ranks to better defend the remaining schools after Horse Face defeated one of the Grand Masters.

Strange wanted to ask if this will affect their operation when a stranger barged into the room. The Neo-Reavers all toom out their weapons and aim at the stranger while Strange conjured a mandala preparing for a fight.

But it seems there will be no conflict for now.

Instead this man was one of the grand masters the group kept talking about. The Reavers lowered their rifles as Strange dispels the construct, apologizing for his action.

Whether the grand master wasn't bothered by the group's reaction to his presence or was willing to Overlook it he choose to ignore it as he wish to have a private conversation with his old friend.

Strange wished to at least honor that arrangement after nearly causing trouble so when Shiro beckoned for him to leave the store he did so.

---

Shiro's Love Shack

Victoria grimace at the state of the apartment that Shiro called home. The room itself was well maintained which was nice. But the musty smell and the exterior left much to be desired. "You have an interesting home arrangement Shiro." The woman told him in a sardonic tone.

When the group saw the weapons the reaction from the Neo Reavers was slight curiosity as some walked over to inspect it but Strange ignored the weapons entirely.

"I won't need them Shiro. What I have is enough." He told the man. "Besides, I hate firearms." Strange would hear a Reaver say "Your loss doc." As they took a shotgun.

The window shopping would end when suddenly coming into the room was another man. The man called Horse Face.

Like before the Reavers and sorcerer prepared for a fight.

"The city's future? Maybe you can also tell us why you are attacking the grand masters along with talking about the future." Strange said to the man.

---

Seeds of Anxiety

Elizabeth glared at Keli. "You try going through what I have been through and see you don't choose running as fast as your legs can take you to get away from that nonsense." the witch thought as a horn echo out.

"What the? A new ship is coming over?" She was wondering who else would be coming over to the island? But her question woukd be replaced with a new one as Keli materialized a new weapon for Elizabeth.

"Huh?" Was all she can say as she held the rifle on her hand.

When Kelli told her about herself the witch would reply. "I doubt they are with them. I think we have another ship caught by the Rogon's trap." She told the Russian.

However her attention soon went to an old man who made his presence known.

Elizabeth was surprised to see someone's grandfather in the island. "Who are you mate? Another castaway like the two of us or are you a native of this godforsaken place?" Her senses were telling her that this old man was not what he appeared. She can feel that there was something else to him.

Elizabeth's paranatural senses soon detected something unusual coming towards her. She looked around and she noticed three humanoids floating in the air.

"Well isn't that neat. I wish I can fly like a bird." The three would land. Elizabeth looked at Morrigan first and Kongou. The more she looked at the goth woman the more a strange feeling came over her.

"Huh? Deja vu." She said as she noticed a dog woman who approached her, greeting her. Elizabeth gave the new group an awakard smile and wave, unsure how to react to this many new faces appearing one after the other in the island.

"Hi. The names Ashwood." She clumsily told them.

"Wait. Did you say you came in on a battlecruiser that was a spaceship!?" The shocked witch asked. Just as though the universe wasn't done messing with Elizabeth it would deposit a smaller spaceship that crash landed, revealing a robot within it.

Elizabeth slapped her face on her face. "Aliens. Of all the things for me to deal with now it had to be bloody aliens." She would remove her hand and let out a sight. "I'm getting too old for this."

Just then two new people washed up on shore. "More people on this accursed island." She looked at the others. "Help me get them on land because it's dangerous for them to stay close to the sea." She told the others as she approached the pair.

"Oi! You two better get to the jungle if you know what's good for you. Being anywhere near the sea is a bad idea in here." She warned them.

[Nagakawa]

The Eight Line Tale
Frihed City
33rd District - Shiro's apartment

"First of all", said Horse Face, kicking back and putting his feet on Shiro's table, much to his annoyance, "I just want to let y'all know that I have nothing against any of y'all. My beef is with the Grandmasters."

"You can't just attack the Grandmasters and expect us to sit back", Ash snapped at Horse Face, clenching her fists. "The Grandmasters protect us and keep us safe from DebuCorp."

"Really now?"

Pulling his feet off the table, Horse Face leaned forward in his chair and looked at Ash from behind the glassy eyes of his uncannily realistic horse mask. His face was hidden, but his body language spoke otherwise- he seemed to react to Ash's interjection almost with contempt.

"The Grandmasters don't protect you", he said. "They provide you with the vacant basement in their house, so to speak, and in exchange for your services, they let you stay. Once you've outlived your usefulness, you can expect to be cast out like the dirt they've always considered you to be."

"Bullshit." Erwin crossed his arms and leaned against the wall, glaring at Horse Face. "You don't know what you're talking about."

Horse Face chuckled. Standing in the corner, Shiro remained silent, staring vacantly at the peeling wall of his apartment. The sound of water dripping in some cracked pipe behind the plaster walls of the apartment filled the silence left by the break in the conversation.

"You three." Sitting up and crossing his legs, Horse Face pointed at Strange, Frantzeska, and Victoria. "You're not from this world. I can smell it on you." It was difficult to tell his tone- the mask muffled his voice somewhat and made reading his facial cues impossible. "What are you doing here?"

...

[Skylus]

The Great Wizarding Rebellion

Madi

“Sure. There’s magical bands too, if you want to try them out Kiara.” Madi waved a hand and a copy of a “Weird Sisters” album flew off the shelf and into Kiara’s hand. The witch began to whistle a rendition of “Do the Hippogriff” as she continued walking into Magin’s Court, which as previously stated was Dublin’s equivalent of Diagon Alley.

She turned around and walked backwards. “I really don’t suggest messing with Mandrakes. One, they are extremely annoying, two, their screams deafen you if you’re not wearing earmuffs, and three, I don’t think they’re here anyway. If you want to see a horse summoned... well...” Madi stopped walking and took out a hazel wand, then looked at it. “.... This was my mom’s....” It was 11 inches and had a wampus cat hair core.

Madi shook her head, then turned around and waved it. A black mare appeared before the group from thin air. “There we go.”

---

The college group

The group had found the library. Books and shelves towered over them as light streamed through the many windows. A short grey bearded man in blue clothing soon approached them with clasped hands. “Hello! You must be the ones Jacob sent over. My wife isn’t here right now but I can answer any questions that you might have. My name is Handen Gredwall.”

---

The pilot guy

Doug flew out of the Argos and towards his destination. It didn’t take very long to get there at all. “Right, I’m here.... this city is massive....”

[Naval Monte]

The Eight Line Tale
Frihed City
33rd District - Shiro's apartment

The situation as tense as it was the sorcerer looked over at his augmented partner. She was as still as a statue but he can see that her finger was still on the trigger of her weapon. Strange had a few enchantments cast during the walk to the apartment to protect him from bullets, stabbings, and punches. But something tells him that this Horse Face was no ordinary martial artist.

Evedient on the fact that he can tell that he, Victoria, and Frantzeska were not from this world by their "smell". More likely that he can tell by their appearance as they aren't the most inconspicuous bunch. Strange knew that at any moment this situation can devolve into violence and right now in a room surrounded my machinery it would be extremely dangerous to fight in the room. He needs to defuse the situation just enough to prevent conflict from erupting.

"I can't tell you much on the royal looking woman but me and the people in body armor only arrived to gather materials and we got roped into this because we couldn't escape." Strange told Horse Face.

[Menschenfleisch]

Seeds of Anxiety | Jacquelyn

“What.” ”Hello ma’am. Do you want some soup? It’s on the house.” “Ge-” The words stuck in her throat. “What are you doing in my kitchen?” Jacquelyn’s face scrunched up briefly. She cupped a hand over her sternum, honestly shaken. “Hey Dre!” A man in a lumberjack shirt appeared behind Jacquelyn. He placed a pot on the long table separating Dierdre from Jack and took a moment to brush the splatter off his apron, forming a crest of chilli on the bony side of his hand. “That’s Jacquelyn, she volunteered this morning. We didn’t have any spare aprons so I gave her yours. Is that alright?” Deirdre broke eye contact to flash a smile at the man. “It’s more than alright; I’ve got a spare in my bag. Donovan, some more stock will have arrived last night, can you sign off on the delivery? I’ll take over here.” She returned to staring right into Jacquelyn’s eyes. Jackie gave her a polite and wide-eyed smile, while Donovan looked between the two women, reading the room a little. “Well then I’ll, ah, just leave you to it. Uh, Jackie, this is my boss. You’re in good hands, so, feel free to take it easy.” And with that he was gone. ”Pleased to make your acquaintance.” She extended a hand toward Dierdre, who simply huffed and walked away.

Perhaps the description that Dierdre gave of her own establishment had not been especially enlightening. It was a kitchen in a different sense from the one that you were thinking, rather, it was a place for the poor and downtrodden to get a good meal. It was placed within the abandoned remains of an orthodox church, largely destroyed in a fire which had ravaged the town a good century ago. Part of a series of religious riots which had ended with the local cults rather decisively giving a crown-sponsored Christian incursion the boot. Now succubi and sirens ate beneath the spires where they’d once been preached against and demons drank from plastic cups beneath the shadow of the church’s great cross, across which a tarp had been draped to hide it from infernal eyes. It was dreary, with only the dim glow of the sun squeezing through the windows to light the cavernous building, but homely and warm. Great incandescent radiators lined the room, keeping it at a reasonable temperature while first snowfall occurred outside. It was the cusp of December, and while nations around the world were putting Christmas decorations on shelves and baking fruitcakes in advance, Lludw Cigfrain was just chugging along. The old Christmas tree could be seen every now and then but the town eschewed more typical celebrations in favour of esoteric, very clique-y events. Tomorrow was Sin Irrigo’s day, when all the daemonic children would gather together to ritually disembowel a man made of cake and trade the pieces with one another until midnight, whereupon they’d soak them in brandy and hand them out to black cats and neighbours. Most people in town looked forward to it really, it was just a great time.

Deirdre joined Jacquelyn behind the counter before long, ladling sweetcorn and fibres of chicken to be handed out to the town’s anomalous population. Most had jobs but times were getting ever tougher and for many of them it was a social event, for one was rarely able to find an opportunity to fraternise when The Ushers punished breaches of anomalous security severely. They all looked rather human, being hybrids of multiple species or possessing some means of disguising themselves. Though, to the trained eye, little discrepancies could still be teased out. Demons always had bright eye colours, angels never wore anything which covered their heads, sirens always had some kind of odd quirk to their voices, whether that was compelling listeners to perform certain acts, rhyming or only containing words from something they’d just heard.

They handed out bowls side by side for a time. Bread and water, that’s what the meals boiled down to. On occasion someone with a special dietary requirement would appear and Jackie would have to supplement their meal with something. Sheep’s blood for the sanguinarian vampires, ox semen for the atantric succubi, oatmeal for the vegans. They got into a rhythm of sorts, communicating by not saying anything. Jacquelyn continued what she’d already been doing, keeping up a lot of energy and a bit of chipperness. She partook in snippets of conversation from time to time, asking someone what part of the food they preferred, how their day had been, if they had any allergies, et cetera. Deirdre just put her chin down and worked, not saying a word but snatching glances, like the shutter of a camera opening for milliseconds at a time. Every image she shot of Jacquelyn she analysed, and when she was done dissecting the details under her mind’s eye, she took another shot. People filtered in and out of the room, striking up and breaking off from conversations. She knew the schedule of all the people who visited on the reg, could count the minutes based on who happened to be present. It was thirty six minutes later that Jacquelyn finally turned her head just ever so slightly, anxiety and confusion written on her features. They held each others’ stares. ”Am I doing something wrong?”

“What are you doing here?” Deirdre spat with venom to dissolve hearts. Jacquelyn seemed to take no notice at first, until all the muscles in her face and neck tensed and she raised a hand to her throat. She choked back an almost unnoticeable, involuntary exhalation. ”I- I can leave, if you want me to?” “Don’t make a scene,” she hissed. “Why are you here? In this building, in this kitchen, serving soup to these people?” ”I don’t understand, I asked the man at the front desk-” “Don’t play dumb, you’re here because of me.” ”I-... wait, you’re… do I know you?” “We’re in The Assembly together!” Jacquelyn drew a blank until finally, things clicked. In that moment, she seemed to realise just who she was talking to. She stepped back and folded her hands over her lap. ”I’m very sorry ma’am, I didn’t mean any disrespect. Could I ask your name?” Deirdre was made thoroughly uncomfortable by the show of formality. “Cut the up-tightness, I’m not royalty. Deirdre Skye. You really don’t remember me?” ”No, I wasn’t able to get a good look at anyone’s faces, you were all sitting so far away. And if my memory serves me well, you didn’t seem to talk much?” Deirdre let out a long breath. “Fair enough. We were on opposite ends of the room, essentially. Ignore what I said earlier, you’re fine.” Jacquelyn slowly let her posture relax, though she didn’t let all the tension fade away. ”Sorry, I didn’t realise that you’d be here. Are… are members of The Assembly not meant to associate with each other?”

“No no no, it’s not like that.” The two of them got back to the task at hand, talking in the meantime. “But I thought that you’d come here to talk to me. I thought you were being cheeky or something.” To be truthful, she still had her doubts about Jacquelyn; it was one hell of a coincidence that she’d show up here just by chance. But the girl was acting so sincerely that she couldn’t help but believe her story. ”I didn’t envision that someone in The Assembly would be doing charity work. I thought you’d be sorting your finances or preparing for war or something.” Dierdre cringed. “The other members are pompous idiots. The Assembly essentially exists for them to consolidate their power, I only accepted my position in it to make sure that the people’s interests were being represented. Kanopi is an amoral industrialist, Pendergast’s job is essentially to repress the population and Loyd’s at the head of a criminal empire. None of them would blink at exploiting the commonfolk if it meant extra profits for themselves.” ”What about the Ashwoods?” “I’m talking to one, aren’t I? Draw your own conclusions.” Jacquelyn scoffed. ”I’m not one of them. Elizabeth’s known me for all of two weeks, I wouldn’t even call her a friend.” Deirdre put down her ladle for a moment to collect her thoughts. “Well, if you want to hear my honest opinion, the Ashwoods are a bunch of mysterious cultists who haven’t earned an honest dime in five generations and they only stay relevant by repeatedly inheriting their constantly dwindling family fortune.” Jacquelyn let out a laugh. A musical laugh, a laugh to inspire camaraderie. Deirdre instinctively flinched. That laugh couldn’t have been real, could it? It had sounded so fake, and yet… ”I’ve always wondered how Elizabeth manages to keep her head above the water when her only clientele are conspiracy theorists and schizophrenics. At least the family won’t be around to see itself slowly decline; she’s getting on in her years, might not have kids ever. The Ashwood legacy?” She raised a hand into the air and let it fall, whistling as it did. ”Kerplunk.”

---

Constance finds herself in a room. She breathes in cold, stagnant air and it burns like a mouthful of razors as it enters her lungs. The pain jolts her upright and she peels away from the bed she was lying in. Placental strands of flesh tear from her arms and are snatched by their anchors within the bed. Blood drips down the mattress and the bedsheets shrivel underneath her, withering to nothing and creaking as it wrinkles into a leather husk. The room is grayish green and made of stone, but it gouges when she digs a fingernail into it and black bile bleeds from the cracks in it. The light is a glowing scrawl, a mess of fluorescent worms packed into a soft bulb, spilling a deathly pall over the room. There is a window but it looks out upon a grassy field too distant to leap to. Gurneys, IV drips and coat racks with nurses’ uniforms stand in random fashion, a legion in disorder. There are buildings too, but they are eaten by poisoned geometries. The sky is an imperfect veil, all dark but for the times when iron implements break through from the outside. The darkness puckers around the intrusions, sliding in viscous masses down the intrusions until they are eventually pulled out, leaving a livid abscess in the air. Curdled tar falls through the wefts; bevelled needleheads appear beside them and inject cement and steel beams.

Everything smells of rotten soap and old scars. Constance is not alone, there are other beds. To her left, three disfigured and turgid masses. The first is just hair and fat, thick keratinous strands weaving through rotund masses of adipose. It’s pale, unbelievably soft to the touch. It wriggles like a worm, unable to free itself from a leash of umbilical cord, engorged on one end and shrivelled at the other. There’s a solid blockage in there somewhere, a hardened lump of desiccated nutrients. The next one along the line stinks of… alcohol? It’s more pus than bone, more salt than blood. Boils endlessly emerge on top of others and burst with a muffled pop, soaking the mattress through. Calipers, scalpels and needles are embedded in its surface, their edges lost under a crust of dry blood. And when she listens closely, she can hear choking from deep inside it. The third is a mangle, a human frame decorated with mouths. It mirrors every breath that she takes, each intricacy in the way that she draws breath and swallows. It parrots who she is in a thousand voices. On the right there is only one bed. Herself, smiling serenely within a cocoon of amniote. It’s a healthy shade and its cheeks are full but from the neck down it is like a mannequin, generic form without detail. She could envision cracking its porcelain skin between her fingers. But could she? Her own skin clings to itself. When she bunches her fingers together, it takes effort to part them and she swears that strands attempt to keep them together before snapping. Her own mouth is difficult to open sometimes, and her lips insist on clinging to her gums. In fact, she can dig deep trenches in her arm just by running her fingers through it, though they quickly seal themselves over. Could she reach through herself without harm? She… doesn’t want to try.

Her other surroundings are nondescript. There are posters on the wall of human anatomy, closets full of glassware, a potted plant grown from mulch made of crushed knucklebones and fingernail clippings. There is a calendar, too, but the dates are nonsensical. The days are marked with words, not numbers. ‘Deadline,’ ‘I don’t understand what’s being asked of me’, ‘Must be gone by now’. A fridge stands forlorn in one corner. Expired milk on the bottom rack, a bottle of wine and a box of tissues above it. There is a note on the door. ‘Wish I knew you better. You seem nice.’ Muffled conversation seeped through the walls. Through the viewing port in the door, Constance could see two people outside, a young man and a younger woman in the middle of a garden. All around them, the fuzzy imprint of petals fell. She could feel the warmth through the wood of the door.

The man was no older than thirty, of average height and dressed in what riot officers might wear beneath their protective plates and helmets. A buttoned pocket on each breast, a shirt which ran down to the hip before splitting into rigid plates which covered the top half of each knee, leather boots. His hair was short and dark, his expression emotionless but tense. The woman had white hair with silver-blue highlights. Her eyes were green and when she smiled, she bared canines like knives. She was so much younger than he was, barely a month into adulthood Constance would’ve guessed, and yet she was grinning from ear to ear. She cupped the man’s chin with her fingers and drew the nail of her thumb through his skin, drawing blueish blood which hurt to look at, leaving trails in Constance’s vision like television static. She put a droplet on the pad of her index finger and put it to her tongue. The man did not flinch, only frowned for a moment before putting a mask of neutrality back on. ”No one else can have you. It’s why your veins run thick with this stuff.” She drew out her words, elongating the end of each. Her enunciation was perfect, slow, emphatic. “I know, Minerva.” ”Call me Skye won’t you?” She gave him the prettiest smile, the most demanding glance. “Yes, ma’am.” A violent crack echoed throughout their picturesque facsimile of reality. The man’s head was turned and blood oozed from the places on his cheek where the skin had been torn, Skye’s hand was tense at her side. ”You’re my friend, you don’t call me that.” The man swallowed and nodded his head in repetitions of diminishing depth. “Yes, I am. I’m sorry.” ”Sorry? Is that all you have to say?” The woman leaned in. Though she was shorter by a head she towered over him, her presence escaping the physical bounds of her body. ”You owe me everything. I made you, built you up from an uninteresting one-note failure to something worth their own story. You need me to make you worth writing about, but I don’t need you to be valuable.” The man lowered his head and pulled his lips back. Three times he went back to a pained frown but on the fourth, he managed to smile. “How about next time I, uh-... I-” She grabbed him by the shoulder. He flinched, whether of his own volition or from the force of the gesture. ”I think I like you better as the leviathan.” The woman disappeared and the man fell to a knee, planting his hands in the dirt as his complexion changed. He visibly contracted, limbs pulling back into one another. His joints cracked; shards of bone and chunks of greasy flesh spilled from the ruptures, dissipating into mist before they could touch the ground or stain his clothes.

His hair bleached itself and formed a crest behind him, naturally tying itself into a ponytail. Blood burst out of his back and the pain forced Constance to look away but when she was able to turn her eyes back toward the scene there was no longer a man in the clearing but instead a very, very young girl. White hair, electric turquoise streaks, incredibly pale skin, the frame of a sixteen year old. Burning tears streamed down her cheeks which she soaked with her sleeve, leaving caustic patches in them which Constance couldn’t stare at.

---

Crack. The last thing Sylvia saw was the crowd, all blurry through her tears. The assembled masses burst into cheers and as the corpse was taken from its noose, a ring of bruises gathering around the circumference of its all-too-loose neck, it was pelted with no small number of items. The soldier behind the group nodded. “Fucking sapien scum. Got what was coming.” “That was awful! Why did you make us watch that?!” Paige cried through a breaking voice, turning around and shoving the shoulder on the chest. He took a single step back, more out of courtesy than from the force imparted on him by the girl. “She was human. Fully. Pieces of shit like that, you know exactly how they think. What they deserve. I thought you’d enjoy it.” “Enjoy it?! But I’m-” “No. Don’t say another word.” Mervin laid a hand on her shoulder and looked toward the soldier, who was at that point looking at the two with nothing but bemusement written across his face. “She’s from the southern borough, not really used to this kind of violence. That’s all.” He ribbed her with his elbow quite gently, though hard enough to make her stumble. “Hey, I thought a half-demon would be glad to see a sinner pass, isn’t that right?” Finally, Paige seemed to catch on. “Oh. Umm… yeah. I- I guess.” The guard gave her an uncomfortably warm expression, a fatherly look which absolutely did not belong to him. “You’ll get used to it. Look, I get it. They spend decades telling you just how superior they are, it can be a shock to the system to see them on the same level as us. If you really don’t want to see these, you don’t need to attend. I’ll get a medical exception for you from the doc.”

“As for you three-” The soldier turned toward the returning trolls. “You wanted to get up close and see the action, huh? I can respect that. If you want to join the militia, the office is always open. And hey, take this;” he took his nametag off his shirt and handed it to Pobeda. “Ask after me. I’ll show you the ropes, make sure you get the best training equipment, eh?” With a wink he turned to leave, only for Mervin to call out after him; “Hey! I’ve still got family back in Lludw Cigfrain, if I want to visit, how can I get back to them?” The soldier adopted an extremely grim expression. “I’m sorry, but there’s most likely no hope for them anyway. And even if you wanted to go, you can’t. There’s a, um, how to describe it… monster on the island. It controls the weather and the rogons. We’ve been trying to get rid of it for a long time. If it dies, you’ll know. Trust me.”

The crowd slowly dispersed, moving back to their houses and workplaces. Eventually, the sound of the town returned. Conversation, hammering, loud footsteps. And in the very far distance, gunfire. Nobody seemed to notice and if they did, they didn’t care to react. “Just the perimeter defences,” a passing man volunteered. “Rogons trickle in every now and then. It’ll die down soon.” But then a gout of red flame appeared on the horizon, lighting the sky like a flare. Judging by the reactions of the townspeople, it was anything but a typical occurrence. The sound of gunfire encroached at breakneck pace. Mervin and Paige turned toward that side of the town, expecting an attack, but a puncture wound appeared in Paige’s shoulder from behind instead. She went down, screaming and clutching the wound while Mervin knelt over her, pulling off his jacket to stem the bleeding. “Friendly fire!” He shouted, and looked back to see the soldier from earlier spasming, discharging his weapon wildly. All around the square, civilians were running and screaming. He watched a child succumb to a sudden seizure and fall flat on the pavement, shuddering.

Something tickled the back of Mervin’s mind. He made the mistake of focusing on it and in an instant, he was overwhelmed by conflicting emotion. Fear and anger, they erupted within him and spilled over into all his thoughts. He roared and tore at his skin, hollering profanities as the world turned red around him. The same psychic lash struck everyone else at once; Paige was contorting on the ground nearby, though he hardly paid her any mind. A terrible, cacophonous voice was screaming into his ear, not a command but a warning. Whatever it was, it was afraid. Awfully afraid, and now it was screaming like a frightened baby. But whereas the sound would’ve caused another member of its species to come to its aid, it was poison to all others; humans, demons, sirens, et cetera. Their minds were filled to bursting. The capillaries in their eyes frayed, causing blood to run down their cheeks. Hands clamped down around Mervin’s shoulders and words with the force of a hurricane pierced him. “Calm down!” The turbulent waters of his mind were brought to a standstill. A brown-skinned woman had her hands on him and her face was right in front of his. Her words had produced a dramatic effect, instantly arresting the grip of the psionic attack over him as well as the rest of the group. Yet still, all around him, he could see others townsfolk shivering on the ground and moaning, either too injured or too spent to express their disorganised state of mind.

He shoved the woman away and knelt back down to put pressure on Paige’s wound. She was perfectly calm, not even capable of fear due to the woman’s orders. The woman pointed to herself; “Cadi Branwen. Succubus. I’m glad that you're all attracted at least a little to women or that wouldn’t have worked.” Paige coughed and pointed to herself. “Ahem?” Cadi just gave her a smug grin. “Oh, you poor child, living in denial.” Mervin brought things back, barking a question. “What just happened!?” The succubus looked toward the horizon in the direction of the source of the psychic attack. They’d all felt where it’d come from. “Something has it spooked. I felt it too. More importantly, I saw it. The subject of its terror.” Their memories had all been branded with a face. Captain McLeary. ”Are the townspeople going to be food?” Avarice asked with excitement dripping through her words. “They’ll be up and about in minutes,” Cadi answered, nonplussed. “But there’s only so much stress that they can take before their bodies give out.” ”One of them happened while all of you were asleep, just after washing up on shore.” Avarice elaborated. How did she know these things? “Is there any way that we can protect ourselves from them?” Paige asked, pain wracking her torso but all the means of expressing it other than grimacing being locked off from her. It appeared that Cadi’s command was taking some time to wear off. “You could always try killing the source, but good luck with that.” The succubus answered. “But you’ll have to be careful not to make it panic. Otherwise, that’ll happen again.”

---

“That can’t be good for you.” McLeary gestured at the bone in Valerian’s hands, scraps of green flesh still clinging to it. It smelled like burnt plastic, which couldn’t mean anything good. Still, he took another bite and spat out a few dozen cartilaginous crumbs. Severing the arm of a living creature was a messy business, nowhere near as neat as butchering something that was already dead. ”I need sustenance, unlike you. If I get diabetes so be it.” McLeary put a hand over her sleeve which had been soaked through with blood. A systematic decay worked its way between the fibres, reducing the blood and only the blood to its base components. Haemoglobin to amino acids to its atomic constituents to hydrogen nuclei and alpha radiation. “Animating a body through sheer force of will is considerably harder than it looks.” ”I’m sure. Anything stopping you from becoming like the rest of us?” “Half of me is made of ink. I asked an artist to give me convincing bodily proportions; my original body was functional but anything but human.” ”Why didn’t you hire a surgeon?” “Because then I wouldn’t be able to do this.” The captain glanced at a hole in her hand, dug by a claw, and watched it mend itself. Like oil soaking through a canvas, her flesh effortlessly reunited with itself. “You should have seen me in my prime.” ”You should’ve seen me at mine.” “It’s not a competition.” ”I would’ve turned it into one. The younger me was a piece of shit like that.” McLeary sighed. “Same here.”

Rain pelted the both of them, washing away blood and grit. Valerian had grown so used to the taste of rogon flesh that it had started to taste of nothing at all. Originally it had been rather nice, with an unpleasant aftertaste which had made his throat close up and nostrils flare. McLeary had teased him endlessly about it, which was about as much as they ever interacted. ”I need to find my team. They’re not going to survive.” “You really think that they’re so dependent on you?” ”No, it’s just that I’d rather die alongside them than while I’m with you.” “Pessimistic outlook. I thought you’d have thoroughly discounted the idea that you could die by now. Until that witch killed me, I thought that I was invincible.” ”That’s how you get careless.” “That’s how I avoid panicking.” How many had they killed by now, hundreds? The island just went on and on, foothills cresting only to reveal a mountain range, and mountains parting to reveal woodland. The further they went, the more appeared before them, separating them from their goal. McLeary didn’t sleep but Valerian did, and when he went to bed, he had nightmares of a presence on the other end of the island. The only emotion that he ever felt in those dreams was fear, though it didn’t seem to belong to him in particular. ”Once it’s dead, we’ll be able to go back?” “If we aren’t worm food before then.”

A wave of mind-melting pressure washed over the two, bringing Valerian to his knees and causing McLeary to physically stumble, falling on her rear and gritting her teeth. It lasted about a minute, leaving Valerian winded and breathing heavily. ”Shit. They’re getting more frequent.” “It must know that I’m getting closer. You don’t think those are causing your peers any trouble, do you?” He pondered the question for a few seconds. ”Probably not. Those attacks are just annoying, not very harmful.”

[Menschenfleisch]

The Great Wizarding... Rebellion, haha no funni joke this time | Kiara and Polly

"Well at least we have our niches," Kiara shrugged, throwing in an awkward laugh to go with it. "Better to have fallen into something rather than everything." "You'd help me look my best?" Polly's eyes contained a dangerous gleam; she was positively effusive about the opportunity to dress up. "Some day! Some day I'll get around to holding you to that promise." And she winked just for good measure. They all had an appreciation of Madi's comfortable familiarity with her culture, enjoying her songs and anecdotes, but the summoning of a black horse was really something. "Wow. You think that I could be capable of that? Or Miria? Or Kiara?"

[Rostavykhan]

Seeds of Anxiety
Constance

What was she seeing?

Was it a nightmare? It felt like a nightmare. She didn't remember how she got there, so it must have been a nightmare. Right?

What was she doing before the hospital? She didn't remember.

Pus and blisters and blood. The sight scared her. Disease and rot. The air was thick. She tried to move - no luck. She was trapped - trapped by her own flesh. She couldn't pull away. Her throat caught. Her stomach tensed. Panic.

It was all dark. Everything but that door, and the view beyond it. Why was it so serene? Who were the people talking? She watched, and she listened. None of it seemed to make sense to her. What was she seeing? Whatever they were, those people weren't Human. Nothing around her was Human. It was all wrong. At once, she was terrified, but also somehow relaxed. She wanted desperately to forget the agony that she felt, to push the visceral imagery from her mind, and yet it was all so surreal and bizarre that it all seemed like little more than some horrible illusion. Her heart was pounding, yet she was calm. Her thoughts were racing, yet muddied. Her head was heavy.

"...", She opened her mouth to speak. Did she even have the ability? Did she want to speak? She didn't know if it would even do anything. Maybe calling out would just make things worse. She gulped, and forced out a single word. Her nerves wouldn't allow her to say much else until she found out what would happen. She called out to the figures on the other side of that door.

"Hello?"

---

Constance wanted to ask the guard what he meant when he said "They", but that didn't get to happen. The attack, as swift as it was, had been devastating, particularly to her.

When she managed to pull herself back together, she was no longer standing, but on her knees, shaking. She cupped her face in her hands, slowly shaking her head; gently, she brushed tears and blood from under her eyes, her other hand pressed firmly against her forehead, almost as though she were trying to hold herself together before the throbbing in her temples made her whole head burst. She gagged. One moment, the pressure was unbearable, and the next it felt like her head was so light that it made the world around her spin. She wasn't sure that she could stand up again either. Even before the attack, she'd been feeling like absolute shit. The nausea, the headaches, the heart palpitations...

"I can't take this any more.", The words slipped. Her protest was cut short, her voice ragged and her breath knocked out of her. She forced herself to climb to her feet, only to feel her legs buckle again. She stayed steady, hunched forward with her free arm clutched around her stomach. She glared at Cadi, and at Mervin. "Bullshit!", She hissed. Her tired eyes glanced out from behind fallen strands of hair. "Like hell we're staying here. We have to shut whatever that thing is up soon. I'm about to- oh, God."

She almost threw up again. The hand that had been jammed against her temple slid down to cover the entirety of her face, and only after she suppressed the urge to vomit all over the street did she uncover herself and breathe again. "No, no, no. We have to do something about that.", She brushed the hair out of her face and slowly stood up again. She was still just ever so slightly hunched forward, but at least she wasn't crumpled on the ground for good. She wasn't crumpled for good yet, that was. Constance still needed to blink a couple times, just to make sure that everything was fine. Her eyes still stung.

The Eight Line Tale
Frantzeska

"An unfortunate twist of fate.", Frantzeska drawled. Honestly, she wasn't entirely discounting the possibility that she'd simply hit her head and was currently experiencing a vivid dream, as unlikely as it seemed. She didn't think that she could imagine something so bizarre as a futuristic city or a horse-headed man, however. The way she spoke, she sounded like she could have frozen over half the room, as sharp as her voice sounded.

"Ugh", She sighed, pinching the bridge of her nose. "My apologies, but I feel the need to say it: is there a reason for that ridiculous mask? I'm sorry, but I can't the be only one who wants to know, am I?", She asked. Her tone was drastically lighter. Curiosity about the equine mask aside, she didn't seem to be too concerned about the current situation in the room any more. She was still certainly on guard, waiting for any slip-up or sudden movement to draw her blade and defend herself. She wasn't worried about losing, however. She wasn't underestimating Horse Face. She was simply confident in her own ability.

The Great Wizarding Rebellion
Miria

"I'd rather not hear a mandrake.", Said Miria, popping out from behind Kiara quickly. "Loud noises don't agree with me."

She remembered the way Kalmites conversed with one another. She also thought about thunder. She hated thunder. Loud noises aside, Miria seemed happy enough to take a gander into the Wizarding World's version of a mall. Bazaars back home were a bit less structured, it seemed. The atmosphere wasn't too dissimilar, however. The crowds were unnerving, but the atmosphere was also oddly relaxing. She'd done business often in such places, although this time she was just a shopper.

She paid for what items interested her - the sweater and skirt, for a nice change of clothes, and a few small toys and baubles - and offered to get anything that Polly or Kiara wanted, then followed close behind. "I don't think I could summon a horse.", She said, holding a small shopping back in one hand. She adjusted her glasses with the other. "I've never been particularly adept at the use of magic, myself. It would certainly be interesting to experiment and determine whether or not the methods used in this world would better suit me.", She explained. "It's ironic, we've spent quite some time here, yet I still have very little knowledge of your peoples' arcane arts, Madi. There is a distinction between the most widely-utilized magics and the dark arts, correct? In Janavar, some of our witch doctors and shamans call on dark spirits for religious rituals. Are your dark arts anything like that?"

Miria eyed the record that Madi had pulled, and narrowed her eyes - examining the cover and quirking her brow. "What's the genre? I have a particular soft spot for...heavier music."

[Menschenfleisch]

Seeds of Anxiety | Jacquelyn

Constance

The door abruptly swung open ahead of her, snapping ninety degrees through the air with a gentle whoosh. Rather than the scene she had expected, it led into a corridor with a velvet floor and seamless wooden walls, lit by candles mounted on the wall every dozen metres. The door to the room that she’d woken up in was on the corridor’s long side and directly opposite to it was another entrance to a much larger room, the one which she’d thought she’d seen through the viewing port. But, rather than containing a field of trees and lush grass, it was another hospital room, albeit far larger. Dozens of cots, each inhabited by a slightly different iteration of the black haired man from earlier. Some of the beds were occupied by something else though; a few, clustered together, were masses of ticking machinery and mathematical equations flashing across arbitrarily placed screens. At the foot of each bed was a tag, a date always one day after the cot to its left. Though she couldn’t have known it by looking, she intrinsically knew that the first bed was from April the 4th and the latest from the 8th of March, three years after the first.

A dazed variation of the black haired man stumbled out of his room, rubbing his cheek with an open palm and staring at the ground. He was slightly doll-like, too symmetrical. He was a simplified rendition of a person, lacking the intricacies and little deformities which signified true humanity. He did not notice Constance, if he was even capable of doing so. ”Kyle!” Jacquelyn leapt at him from the side, tackling him with a tight embrace. He laughed, though hollowly, drowned out by Jackie’s intense giggling and… well, Constance hesitated to call it a smile. It was so much deeper and richer than anything else she’d ever seen coming from the woman; it felt like she was watching someone else in Jackie’s skin. Yet she had her voice, her looks, even that green scarf. And what was more, she looked much more realistic than Kyle did. Her hair was ruffled the wrong way, the length of her fingers joints wasn’t perfectly consistent between her left and right hands. How was Constance noticing any of this? The information just forced itself into her mind. It felt like… intuition.

”Oh god I missed you, I had the worst nightmare where you were gone and I...” She choked up a little, though she did a good job of hiding it. The man laid a gentle hand on Jacquelyn’s shoulder, showing her a compassionate expression. “I’m here now. ” Constance heard the caw of a seagull. She looked around and- had she always been outside? The sun was shining, water lapped at the pier nearby. It was the same dock where Captain McLeary’s ship had been stowed, but she’d never seen it so clean. The piers were spotless, the smell of the sea was sweet rather than unpleasantly salty. A few metres away, Jackie and Kyle sat beneath an umbrella stand and laughed over something between them. She was drinking hot chocolate. He had a cup of coffee. What they were saying was faint, but; ”... and they wanted to kill her. It’s all my fault that this happened in the first place, if only I’d told her...” Constance could hear a little of what was being shared.

She took a moment to examine herself. She was wearing what she had been during the meeting at The Assembly, and she was decidedly not a perfect humanoid mannequin. She could see her reflection in a nearby window and the left side of her face was anything but a mirror image of the right. Her hands, too, didn’t match up millimetre-to-millimetre. Though she could hear birds of the sea and distant traffic, human habitation was scarce to nonexistent. The only person she could see other than the obvious ones was a man in strange, long red robes. He had a mask on, a plague doctor’s mask, but longer and more birdlike, and he was in an inconspicuous place, standing in the doorway of a closed cafe.

[The Japanese Americans]

TGWR
Lee

"So this is a place of higher education. We have places like this on Gliese but not like this if that makes sense." Julianna chimed, admiring the architecture of the place before continuing, "I wonder how outdated the information is here, I mean, is it going to be on the levels of theoretical or more not there yet."

"I can understand what you mean. There were more sounds of explosions during my short stay in college. The budget was tight when they installed the noise-cancelling spells." Lee's eyes locked on a distant car that left line of sight an instant. "The place we're going to is most likely going to have more magical knowledge rather than much scientific knowledge. Hm, I just thought of something. Do you still have paper books or has everything been switched to digital media in your world? If not, I guess you get to experience a library."

The college group

The group had found the library. Books and shelves towered over them as light streamed through the many windows. A short grey bearded man in blue clothing soon approached them with clasped hands. “Hello! You must be the ones Jacob sent over. My wife isn’t here right now but I can answer any questions that you might have. My name is Handen Gredwall.”

Lee gave quick glances around the room, locking onto some of the titles of books momentarily. He greeted Gredwell and introduced himself, as did Anda. He kept quiet as he continued looking at the books. The others could ask the questions. He was fine with waiting for now.

[Rostavykhan]

Seeds of Anxiety

It was bizarre, how she didn't even realize that she was standing up at that moment. The sensation of skin tugging and ripping faded - still there, but more of a ghost sensation than anything else. The pressure of her feet against the ground didn't even seem to register at first. She hadn't even moved, not budged and inch off of the hospital bed, so to simply swing her head and find herself standing vertical was disorienting to say the least. She shut her eyes tight and stood completely still, waited several seconds, and then continued ahead. The town was a welcome change from that awful room, but even the empty streets left her with some sense of dread. It was uncanny. Nothing about it felt right. Nothing about the town felt right when she was sure that she was awake, so the realisation that even that was wrong was even more unnerving.

Who was that man, she thought, in the robes?

Who was the man that Jacquelyn - well, "Jacquelyn" - was with?

There she was, standing in the street. She blinked slowly, then stared at the robed figure. Where had she seem them before? They weren't familiar. Something about that realisation scared her, but beyond the compounded sense of unease, she did nothing. She just stared at the figure, jaw ever so slightly agape. Then, she glanced back at the pier. They were chatting. What about? She wanted to know. She turned and slowly began to step towards the pier, to listen in. She didn't forget about the robed figure, however. She occasionally glanced back, just to make sure that they were still there.

The Great Wizarding Rebellion
Katya

Katya waved her hand. "I doubt you'd have much trouble here any way. Not many people would have the guts to try and start anything with the likes of you. I don't think you need to worry about the rifting secrecy either; we're not the only ones in the picture who aren't native to this reality."

She sighed, thinking back on it all. "And the other people who can rift are far more dangerous than we are any way. I'd rather not get on their bad side again."

[Menschenfleisch]

Seeds of Anxiety | Jacquelyn

"... don't know if it'll work, but I-" Jacquelyn paused to swallow her fear, face all pale. This was not the same person that Constance had met earlier, she couldn't help but think. This person she was seeing was comfortable, even in terror. She spoke with trust in someone, something which was doubly rare for Constance to hear. ”I need to try. I wish you were here, with me. Maybe then I'd...” She put her head in her hands and went deathly quiet. It took a few seconds for water to start leaking from between her fingers, and for her restrained sobs to become audible. ”I'm so sorry, I- I shouldn't have brought you back. Why are you here? Forget about me. Go away, you're- you're supposed to be smart, so why did you stick around?” She couldn't meet Kyle's eyes. He just stared blankly too, showing just confusion. ”What did you see in me? How could you have been wrong? Why did I... why did I have to ruin everything? I shouldn't have run away. You're five hundred thousand words gone and the memory of you still hurts.”

She took in a deep and shuddering breath, tremors wracking her. White crept into her hair. ”You're just a coping mechanism. I've read too many books not to know the cliches off by heart. So what role are you supposed to serve? Are you my conscience?” Kyle stood and stepped back. "Jackie-" ”Don't call me that, don't call me anything. You're so selfish, you know that?” Now she sounded like the Jacquelyn that Constance knew. So much vindictiveness in her voice, streaks of white crawling down her black strands. Before, she'd looked like someone else had been wearing her face. But now, even though her appearance was splitting from the one she had possessed when Constance'd first met her, the expression she wore - of contempt and bemused malice - fit her better somehow. ”Every single line you stole from me, every single time that you did something that you never deserved to do, it hurt. Why did you get to kill the Reavers? Why were you the one to rescue me while I was written out of the story, turned into a damsel in distress? Your accomplishments weren't foreshadowed. You meant nothing and then you were all that mattered at my expense. But it's okay.” Her hair was shockingly pale now, the shade of blank paper. "I know you think that you can make it on your own, but we're nothing without each other, aren't we? I can make it alone but you, solo, aren't worth a word. Even now, you only matter in the context of your grief for me. You won't last a million words, not like I have. So come find me, Kiara." All the light left her hair and then it was Jackie again, dark locks. She pulled herself in and wrapped her arms around the man's chest, weeping gently. "I miss you so much. I need you, Kyle..."

"I've been through so much. I deserve you, don't I? Why did you leave me? Did I do something wrong? I'll be good to you this time, I promise." Kyle just laid a hand, cautiously not gently, on her back. He didn't look down. The man in robes and a mask stepped out from the doorway, laying a hand on a short blade by his side. He took a stride forward, making his intent clear. Kyle did not acknowledge him.

[Rostavykhan]

Seeds of Anxiety
Constance

Constance listened to the two of them talk. They seemed to change their tone so frequently; different names, exchanged so casually. What they were saying, it wasn't so much gibberish as it was nonsensical. The words all made sense, but it was as though they were coming from two or three different conversations, being pieced together to make something singular. She didn't pick up on it outright, but her brain was definitely noticing something off about the exchange. She didn't know some of the names that were being exchanged, and the mannerisms and emotions that Jacquelyn and the stranger displayed shifted.

She didn't understand what the reasoning behind all of it was. More importantly, she didn't understand why she was witnessing any of it. She'd only known Jacquelyn for a few hours, and she didn't recognize anybody else so far. The town was also new to her, so to be able to envision it so clearly made little sense. Why was it all-

She glanced back, remembering that she'd been keeping an eye on a third figure before. Where was her gun? She began to pat at her chest, and reached into her coat to retrieve it. She didn't pull it out at that moment, but she was relieved nonetheless to feel it where she'd left it, and to know that she had distance between her and the knife-wielding stranger to use it. "Hey!", She called out again, hoping that, just maybe, the person wasn't hostile. Were they moving towards her to the other two? She wondered if there was even a purpose to drawing her weapon or defending anyone there. She was still so confused...

[Ceystile]

Seeds of Anxiety

Elizabeth glared at Keli. "You try going through what I have been through and see you don't choose running as fast as your legs can take you to get away from that nonsense." the witch thought as a horn echo out.

"What the? A new ship is coming over?" She was wondering who else would be coming over to the island? But her question woukd be replaced with a new one as Keli materialized a new weapon for Elizabeth.

"Huh?" Was all she can say as she held the rifle on her hand.

When Kelli told her about herself the witch would reply. "I doubt they are with them. I think we have another ship caught by the Rogon's trap." She told the Russian.

However her attention soon went to an old man who made his presence known.

Elizabeth was surprised to see someone's grandfather in the island. "Who are you mate? Another castaway like the two of us or are you a native of this godforsaken place?" Her senses were telling her that this old man was not what he appeared. She can feel that there was something else to him.

Elizabeth's paranatural senses soon detected something unusual coming towards her. She looked around and she noticed three humanoids floating in the air.

"Well isn't that neat. I wish I can fly like a bird." The three would land. Elizabeth looked at Morrigan first and Kongou. The more she looked at the goth woman the more a strange feeling came over her.

"Huh? Deja vu." She said as she noticed a dog woman who approached her, greeting her. Elizabeth gave the new group an awakard smile and wave, unsure how to react to this many new faces appearing one after the other in the island.

"Hi. The names Ashwood." She clumsily told them.

"Wait. Did you say you came in on a battlecruiser that was a spaceship!?" The shocked witch asked. Just as though the universe wasn't done messing with Elizabeth it would deposit a smaller spaceship that crash landed, revealing a robot within it.

Elizabeth slapped her face on her face. "Aliens. Of all the things for me to deal with now it had to be bloody aliens." She would remove her hand and let out a sight. "I'm getting too old for this."

Just then two new people washed up on shore. "More people on this accursed island." She looked at the others. "Help me get them on land because it's dangerous for them to stay close to the sea." She told the others as she approached the pair.

"Oi! You two better get to the jungle if you know what's good for you. Being anywhere near the sea is a bad idea in here." She warned them.

"Always go north, babe. That's what we learned in Boy Scout class." Alcide said confidently, flashing his husband a grin. Bishop side and shoved him lightly. "That's not the way it always works...but you may have a point. We could just ask somebody for directions, y'know?"
"Bishop, there's nobody around for miles. How in the world are we going to ask somebody for..." Just then, they saw the form of a young woman walking toward them, with long black hair and green eyes.

"Who's that chick?"
"Don't know, but she may be friendly."
"Could be, but she could also be out to try and kill us."
"And take what exactly? You know what? Al, just let me do the talking...it's safer for us both."
"And what in the world do you mean by that?!" The lady stopped in front of them, warning them away from the sea and asking help in getting them further inland. "Thank you so much! Do you mind telling us where this is, m'lady? My husband and I are hopelessly lost, we were on our way to a rendezvous point with our employer when we ended up here!" Bishop held out his hand for Elizabeth to shake, and to show that he wasn't going to attack her. "I'm Bishop, Bishop Clement. It's wonderful to meet you. And this prickly pear over here is my husband, Alcide."

[Menschenfleisch]

Seeds of Anxiety | Collab with Torii

Second day of December, 3:22 am
Somewhere

The man paused and just turned quite casually to face Constance, the rotation of his head tracking first her shoulder, then elbow then the revolver at her hip. “You’re not a part of this scene,” he finally mustered. He was trying to look casual, clearly, leaning on one leg and putting not much energy into his voice but there was still tension all throughout, something which even an unpractised socialiser could’ve spotted. “What are you doing here?”

She shot the man a quizzical glance. Like him, she was trying to seem nonchalant. Trying. Obviously her reaching for a revolver in her coat wasn’t the short of thing that people who were relaxed and nonchalant did.

“I’m not really sure.”, She drawled, her head listing towards one side. She didn’t know what to say to the figure. Hell, she didn’t even know whether he was hostile to her or not. “I was in some dark hospital room a moment ago, and then here. It’s hard to explain. Is this some kind of dream?”

“Of course. Hers.” The man gestured at Jacquelyn, performing a slow and emotionless waltz with the man in black. “If you don’t know that, then you’re part of the dream.” He looked up and about, probing the darkness with his gaze. “I wouldn’t have thought so. She’s not a lucid dreamer, so I don’t know why she would’ve added you in, considering that you’re not part of the dream’s main story. What’s your name, lady?”

“My name?”, She asked in reply. What did he mean, that she was a part of it? “Constance. Why do you ask? I don’t think I understand all of this. Who are you?”

“The man I saw in the apartment. You weren’t supposed to be there. Or rather, the person that you’re based on wasn’t.” He turned his side toward her, slowly circling around her and toward Jacquelyn. “When were you born? You don’t know, do you? Because the girl who’s conjuring up this fantasy doesn’t.”

Her eyes began to shift. First to the left, then right, fixated on the ground rather than the man. The man in the apartment. The dead guy? How? Or maybe it was the murderer. That idea scared her more, although the idea that some dead guy was sticking around in Jacquelyn’s dreams was still pretty creepy. She wasn’t prepared for Nightmare On Elm Street. Did he really think that she was fake? She was beginning to worry that maybe she might be. That would have been a bitchslap of existential dread that she really didn’t need. Constance tried to think about it, going over each answer twice, three times, just to make sure. “I was born in nineteen-sixty.”, She said. She nodded slowly.

“Shit. I guess you’re the real deal.” The man retracted his arm into his robe. “Whatever; two birds with one stone.” He dived for Jacquelyn, leaning out to grab her and pull her in. If before the scene had been dark, now it was nothing; Kyle, Kiara, whoever that was, disappeared. She yelped but did not panic, just looking around with a confused and scared look. “This probably registers as a nightmare to her. Not the first time that I’ve used her as a meat shield, after all.” The man laughed softly. “Things could’ve worked out smoothly, but you had to get involved. Now I’m going to have to kill you both.” He drew the blade of his knife over Jacquelyn’s throat. “This time I’m armed, and I’m going to slaughter the bitch if you don’t put that peashooter down.” he leaned forward, a smile implied by the shadow of his eyes on the inside of his mask. “Run away, little piggy.”

She felt her blood run cold. “Shit!”, She thought. It really was like that fucking movie. She closed her eyes tight and inhaled sharply. Her fingers trembled against the wood of her pistol’s grip. How was she going to get out of this situation? Jacquelyn had to know what was going on, she thought. If she was really there, then why wasn’t she acting like it? It didn’t make a whole lot of sense to her, although at that seemed to be a recurring theme at that point in the dream. She didn’t want to just run away. She didn’t know if she would be fast enough on the draw to try and protect the girl, though. She didn’t know if her bullets would even do anything.

It was so dark now, she didn’t know if there was anywhere to run to any way. The way everything around them changed made it difficult to get a handle on her surroundings. She focused on the figures in front of her, desperately grasping at thoughts that might help her out of the nightmare. In the periphery of her vision, shapes swirled. Familiar silhouettes, not-so-familiar shapes and landscapes, blinks of dim light and faint rumbles - she tried to ignore it all.

The cream of sleep left Jacquelyn’s eyes. Now that her dream was over, she was as awake and lucid as she was at day. One moment she was a half-asleep mess stumbling through disjointed conversations, the next she was an alert and exacting woman. She locked eyes with Constance, then felt the arm around her neck. ”Fuck sake. Not this again.” The man dug the knife into her throat, far enough that she couldn’t speak in case he drew blood. “You’ve finally come to. Remember me?” ”Yeah. Bad apartment guy.” She tilted her head back, flashing a manic smile. She was afraid, oh god her veins were running with fire, but she wasn’t filled with terror this time. ”Constance, fuck this guy right?” That was it. Her anchor, her belief that Constance would protect her. That was the overwhelming perception she had of the woman; practically their only major interactions had been when Constance had defended her in some way, first saving her from the man in the apartment and then helping her prevent Alex’s death during the council meeting.

Jacquelyn reached out and pointed to Constance’s gun. Then she pulled back her hand and gestured at her shoulder, right in front of the man’s heart. She mouthed something, but Constance couldn’t read her lips. “Stop that,” the man hissed. “I’m not scared of you. Take a killing shot and I’ll just wake up. But her...” he looked down at his hostage, “She’ll die.”

Would she? If so, then Jacquelyn certainly seemed eager to get shot. A bit of a dark thought, but Constance didn’t really believe it. The way she seemed to react to the situation, it seemed like she was used to these dreams. She hadn’t known the girl long, but she was surprisingly cocky for what felt like a life-or-death situation. Somehow, that energy seemed to make Constance feel a bit better. Jackie might have felt like Constance was the one doing the protecting, but honestly, she was so unsure of whether or not to try and shoot that she probably wouldn’t have been able to make up her mind without the apparent go-ahead. Just like before, she felt her legs shaking and buckling beneath her; she wasn’t very confident in her own abilities, funnily enough. At least Jacquelyn and the man were close enough that she was certain that her shots wouldn’t go wild. She felt so nervous for some reason, but hey, it was all a dream, right? Jackie wouldn’t really die if she was accidentally hit in the heart, would she? Not if the man wouldn’t die. One person dying and another living didn’t sound very consistent to her, not that she was any authority on dream...magic? For all she knew, they could both die, and the guy was making some desperate bluff. Oh, to hell with it, she wouldn’t be making a killing shot on Jacquelyn any way, it was just her shoulder.

”Don’t think, just shoot.”, She thought to herself. Thinking too much would just waste time and allow him the chance to actually hurt her. Overthinking things would make her panic and miss her shot. Thinking too much would mean her own death. Probably.

She really didn’t like anything about the situation. She felt like she was about to snap. Thankfully, it seemed like it was actually Jacquelyn’s own confidence that was helping to anchor her this time. In an instant, Constance felt a rush of adrenaline, or the dream equivalent of it, and jumped into action. Her shaky grip hardened, and her revolver tore from its holster. She didn’t have time to take a precise aim, but it wasn’t hard to level it at the general area of Jacquelyn’s shoulder at a glance. She felt the trigger squeeze, and then the recoil of the hammer falling and a single shot firing. She quickly fired a second round, and then locked up. She couldn’t afford to unload the whole cylinder at once. She only had six shots, and there was no chance to reload.

The first round struck true, passing through the little flap of flesh between Jacquelyn’s forearm and torso. It grazed the ligature which helped her to move her arm, flicking it like it was a guitar string. The noise was tremendous, the sensation of impact instantaneously blanking Jacquelyn’s thoughts for a second. But however bad she had it, the man had it worse. His rib snapped; a shock passed through him and arrested a heartbeat. The second bullet struck Jacquelyn’s arm more squarely, with her already breaking away from the man, passing through her bicep and cracking against her captor’s sternum. Caps of cartilage buckled and snapped, metal shrapnel sinking into him before losing all momentum. The knife dropped from his hands and he fell to a knee, zero-gravity blood spurting from the wounds. Red branches emitted from him, intermingling with Jacquelyn’s. And speaking of, she was on the ground, kicking the man away before scrambling upright, clutching her wound. The bleeding was light and she’d been overpenetrated, sparing her a great deal of harm, but she still wasn’t in good shape. She didn’t feel pain. Instead, a blooming numbness spread out from the injury, growing in discomfort but never getting debilitating.

The man collected himself and stood, quite literally brushing his injuries off. Physiology didn’t really work as intended in dreams, rather, a person’s health was measured as substance. The less coherent one’s thoughts are, the less durable they are; death in dreams is the simple dispersion of consciousness, much the same way that death outside of them correlates with the disruption of simple formations of nerves and cells. At that moment he was feeling very woozy, waves of vertigo washing over him. He could hardly form a coherent sentence. Not on death’s doorstep, per se, but on the same street. “Fucking pigs… I’ll gut you-!” was all he managed to say before he just… disappeared. One moment he was there and the next he wasn’t, leaving a gap in the canvas which quickly sealed. For the briefest of moments, Constance was able to snatch a gander at what lay within that weft. Disjointed thoughts, memories of murder. She was filled with a perverted sensation, the joy of the kill.

”Constance you fucking legend,” Jacquelyn grimaced. She certainly didn’t sound like she was addressing a legend. Her eyes notably avoided her own shoulder; the sight of blood disgusted her, the idea of an injury even moreso. It wasn’t a fear with any specific trigger or origin, it just… was. ”What are you doing here?” She demanded, accusatory anger running through her words.

“Huh?”, the response barely eked out. She gazed ahead at the void. She felt so anxious when she’d pulled the trigger, and sick as a dog when she saw the two of them hit the ground. That was probably the first time that she’d used the gun, at least on another person. It was the second time that she’d actually fired it, period. She felt guilty, horribly guilty. She felt disgusted at the memories she witnessed too, and even knowing what the man had been up to before, she still found it difficult at that moment to really justify what she’d done.

At the same time, she had to admit - and to her horror - that the sensation that she found herself feeling, glimpsing into his past hunts, thinking about what she’d watched, was...well, rapturous. She gulped and forced the thought from her mind.

Jacquelyn. Right. She snapped out of her little stupor, blinked slowly, and cocked her head back towards her. “Huh? Oh. Right, I - uh, legend. I guess. I…”, She winced slightly. She had to hold her head for a moment. “I wish I knew. I thought this was your dream or something. So, uh...I guess that guy woke up. Are you okay?”

”No, not okay!” Jacquelyn giggled with her eyes wide open. ”I’m scared piss and shitless. How- who was that guy? Was he the same as….” She trailed off, all the worst possibilities flooding her brain. This was too much for her. She was supposed to be sleeping; this was anything but restful. ”Fuck, he’s going to be back isn’t he? We’re both… how to put this, dream wizards. Don’t think about it too hard, I’m still learning about it myself from Elizabeth. Or, I was. Point is, you need to protect yourself. How about this, meet me tomorrow. I have a favour to ask.”

“Right.”, Constance nodded. She was about to ask what the fuck Jacquelyn was on about, but she would get her answer any way. It was probably best not to linger in dreamland or wherever the hell they were any way. She didn’t know. “Tomorrow. So, uh, coffee again? Maybe a different place. I don’t know, let’s just, ah...yeah.”

Jacquelyn gave her a grim smile. ”I’ll let you know as soon as I have the details worked out. Don’t wait up.” Things were already fading, losing their definition. In no time at all Jacquelyn was just a receding memory, and then the crack of dawn came through Constance’s eyelids.

---

Second day of December, 8:15 am
Lludw Cigfrain, Morriston, Chapel Hall

Lludw Cigfrain had not seen a warm day in many weeks. Clotheslines sat empty, windows smeared with ice. The wind that day, though, was crueller than most. Jacquelyn and Deirdre huddled underneath the shade of a weedy tree, planted at the core of what might have once been a frequented square. Now it was stowed away behind brick facades and far from the popular streets, condemning it to be the residence of empty bottles and large metal bins. Icicles hung from the awnings, frost gathered on coarse surfaces. Above the town, inverted mountains of frost and moisture, heaving like a smoker’s lungs. The sterile cold… a clutch of birds lay dead on the pavement, their bodies not decayed nor gnawed on by vermin. They were rigid things, small and black and sleek, bunched together in a lonely corner. By them, crumbs of brick and little pebbles sunken shallowly into their rigid flesh. Jacquelyn pulled her coat around herself, bunching it up tight in front of her chest. Deirdre unbuttoned her coat and leaned back on the bench, arms folded neatly over her lap. A robin fluttered from the sky with pinions wrapped in frost, landing on Dierdre’s shoulder, covered in little white stains and frayed twine. She ran sleek fingers over its back, peeling away the ice. It sat and stood its feathers on end. They were on break. Back inside the church, cocoa and blankets were being dispensed by the staff to the homeless, waking up after a night inside. By noon they’d be out begging or digging for scraps; not because they were unwelcome but because it was their only choice. It was that or starving. Charity could not provide for everything, try as it might. For now though, that was beyond the scope of where Jackie’s thoughts lay. She was on break and though there was a warm staffroom for her to lounge around in, she worried that it would only encourage the present fatigue engulfing her. She’d not had a good rest last night.

“You’re not cold?” Deirdre posed the question but it was really Jacquelyn who should’ve asked it, considering how underdressed the other woman was. Whereas her own hair was studded with crystals and her skin felt ready to blister at a mere touch, Deirdre was supple and untouched by the elements. Her cheeks were still rosy, her fingers didn’t make an audible creak when they bent. ”I like the outdoors better.” That coming from someone who spent every waking hour during which they weren’t at work in their room watching anime was rich. ”You should layer up. You’ll catch a cold dressed like that.” Deirdre held her hand over the bird mounted on her arm, staring straight ahead into the darkened windows of the church. Jacquelyn followed her gaze but couldn’t catch her reflection, just the glare of the sun through the clouds. “You didn’t know that I’d be here? You, of all people.” ”I couldn’t have known that you’d show up; it’s not like you advertise yourself on the front of the building.” Deirdre gave her an incredulous look, tilting her head at a sharp angle. “You do.” ”Right. Why did you want Alex dead anyway? You said a lot to condemn her but I didn’t really understand it all.”

“How long have you known the Ashwoods?” Jacquelyn picked up on Dierdre’s tendency to avoid questions but she didn’t feel annoyed by it just yet. She was certainly leading somewhere, judging from the tone of her voice. ”About three weeks. Elizabeth took me in, gave me a home, her time.” It hurt to use her name. It was like she was saying something untrue about Elizabeth’s character. Strictly speaking, the witch had allowed her to live in her home, but to have called it an act of kindness would’ve been unfaithful to the truth. Jack knew that it had been motivated by nothing but pity. “She’s Alex’s daughter, and Alex is certainly no saint. You already know that she’s a member of The Celestial Order but I’m not sure if you know what that means. They and AEGIS hunt whatever’s outside the bounds of normal for them. They might not think of themselves as such but they’re human supremacist organisations. In Lludw Cigfrain, every generation’s had to scratch and claw just to be left alone.” It wasn’t news to Jacquelyn. She could understand Deirdre’s reasoning, even appreciate it, but it obviously wasn’t legitimate. The woman stated her reasons for disliking Alex plainly, without emotion or context. She was giving a broad justification for a very specific act. ”I don’t have an opinion either way. I haven’t had the same upbringing.” Deirdre raised her finger to the air and the robin flew away, trailing frozen particulate. “You don’t need to know everything to come to your own conclusions. I’m sure that The Order does its job well enough. I’m certain that there are those who are thankful for its protection. But I still want to keep it as far away as I can because all I’ve ever seen is the heel of its boot, never the helping hand.”

The wind whipped up a few scattered pieces of paper: stickers from cigarette boxes and shiny bottle labels. ”You don’t need to be considerate of me.” Deirdre just gave her this quizzical look, the expression of someone still deciding whether to nod along or tear this bitch a new one. Jacquelyn understood that she was a human, fully; she was on the ‘right’ side of The Order, so to speak. If Deirdre had condemned The Order completely, it might’ve come off as calling Jackie privileged or complicit in a status quo which disadvantaged Deirdre and her peers. And so she treaded the middle ground, not committing to where her opinions really lay. ”There’s no need to pretend that you have mixed feelings about The Order. Just because they’ve done more good than harm, if even that, isn’t a reason to tolerate them. I certainly wouldn’t appreciate a father who beats me just because he keeps me fed.” Deirdre coughed into her hand. Then breathed out shallowly, then again, emitting a soft and mournful laugh. “I came out here in the first place to avoid questions.” Jacquelyn sidled a little further from Dierdre, giving her an extra inch of space. The conversation had been tepid so far, warped laughter could mean a myriad of things but few of them good. ”I’ll stop talking. I just wanted to break the ice.” “No I don’t mind,” Deirdre interjected, fluttering a hand like a butterfly’s wing.

”If it’s all the same to you...” Jacquelyn, for once, was lost for words. She could feel the outline of the golden question on her tongue, precisely what she wanted to ask… but the time wasn’t right for it. Her mind drew all the paths that the conversation could take, plotting a winding road toward her destination which was, nonetheless, smoother and less brambly than making her intentions clear would be. She was a serpentine speaker, coiling around what she truly wanted from her fellow speaker, constricting until the suffocating weight of social protocol made them reveal what she needed. This was not the result of conscious effort, rather, it was simply how she acted. Bastards are sometimes born that way. ”How does this play stay above the water? I’ve seen a hundred unique faces today, probably more. That’s a lot of mouths to feed.” A dramatic departure from the road that she’d planned to go down, but something which fit into the river of conversation more readily. Deirdre was happy to provide the answer; Jacquelyn feigned curiosity, knowing that at least some of Deirdre’s willingness to speak came from her belief that she might be able to talk a fellow member of The Assembly into supporting her. Sincerity ran parallel to pragmatic concerns; when it didn’t, it went by another name: naivete. “We used to get a lot of donations. Not anymore.” ”The usual contributors are dead?” In reference to the slaughter of the Crimsonites and everything since. “And now their orphans have nowhere else to go.” Thoughts of empty houses and abandoned storefronts. One in every hundred, that was the figure being bandied around. There was nobody in the town who hadn’t known somebody who’d been taken. They were all experiencing grief at their own pace but even then, it felt like they were moving on too quickly. Everyone was clinging to the status quo, something which she despised. They could go on living and cover up the gap in their lives. But for Jacquelyn, the absence was cavernous. Her grief was an ulcer, eating through whatever she used to deal with it and festering at the back of her mind. But was she really bereaved? She asked herself that question a lot. She hadn’t been angry, had never been in denial or bargained; the only emotions which her best friend’s passing had inspired were loneliness and, in her darker moments, loathing. Her response would’ve been appropriate for a bad breakup, not the death of someone close to her. She should’ve attended his funeral, should’ve laid flowers over his grave. Instead, she’d stayed home and browsed the Internet. It wasn’t poetic, it wasn’t beautiful, it wasn’t how she should’ve acted. At least, that was what she told herself each and every day.

“Jackie, you’re pale. Do you want to go inside?” She was violently ripped out of her inner monologue and thrust into the odious present. Having her train of thought cut off was unpleasant, like being shaken out of deep sleep. ”I’m fine, it’s- it’s just that you reminded me. Of a friend I lost. He was… really nice to me. Better than I deserved.” “I’m so sorry,” and she sounded like she meant it, hard as it was to believe that the woman trying to deprive her of Alex could feel sympathy for her. “I didn’t mean to bring that up.” Jacquelyn brushed her off, knowing that she’d want to skim over her perceived misstep. ”It’s fine. I’m not special, everybody’s lost someone.” Even though she was certain that her pain was more profound than anyone else’s, quite solipsistically, she wouldn’t ever have admitted it. Her feelings rarely got in the way of her desires. Deirdre leaned forward, elbows on knees. “Not me, lucky old lecher that I am.” That came as no surprise to Jacquelyn. She surely had the means, as one of the most powerful people in the town, to protect her closest associates. But then again, Elizabeth was the head of one of the most renowned families in the region and she’d suffered her fair share of loss. ”Family out of town?” If they had been, they’d have been far away from the fallout of the Crimsonites’ collapse. She’d never had family before, just passing acquaintances. A river of side characters flowing downstream, and only Elizabeth had stuck by her the whole way from birth to present. Did that qualify her as an older sister? A mother? It certainly felt like she’d been raised by the witch, learning how to play her part by following in the more established character’s footprints. Though, their differences were so irreconcilable that the suggestion that one had learned how to be from the other was absurd on the face of it. “No. It’s just that there was no reason for anyone to want them dead in the first place. I only have a son. Ten months old. Can’t see who would want him to come to harm but it’s my place to worry.” ”What happened to the man you had him with?” “We split a couple of years ago. I took the kid.” ”Does he ever visit?” “Was supposed to two days ago, but that’s about when The Order moved in.” ”They haven’t closed off the exits to the town, have they?” “No, what I mean is that they have our son.”

Crack. The sound of a load bearing bone giving way. Deirdre had just given Jacquelyn everything that she could’ve hoped for; something to offer her. ”That’s awful, what, how did they manage to-” “I was away from home, didn’t get to go back.” ”Is he okay?!” Genuine shock worked its way into her voice. She didn’t really care about the kid, but watching Deirdre act with such calmness - even though her voice was dripping with bitterness, and even as she croaked every syllable - put her off balance. “You know what’s going through my head right now. ‘I should’ve been there’, ‘How can I get him back’; but I wouldn’t have been able to save him anyway. More likely, we would’ve both been captured.” ”But will he last?” “I don’t know. But The Order, for all its faults, doesn’t kill kids. It’s just a waiting game now. And either way, no matter who wins this little war, we’ll be reunited. Eventually.” Jack let out a sigh of relief. ”God, I was worried there for a second. He probably misses the hell out of you.” “Probably, yeah.” Deirdre warbled, voice filled with tremors. She briefly put a hand to her face, dragging her fingers over an eye. A little streak of ice appeared on her index. ”What’s he called?” Jacquelyn probed softly, speaking with the gentleness of a lamb. “Emmett. Has my last name.” ”Colour of his eyes?” “Same as mine.”

Jacquelyn showed Deirdre an understated smile, something kindly and warm on a very, very cold day. ”I’m sure he knows you’re looking for him. Things will be alright.” “He’s four, he’s probably scared. Wouldn’t you be?” ”Don’t say that. You’re trying your best to get him back, aren’t you? That’s all that matters.” Slowly, slowly, she was shaping Deirdre’s self conception. Her words were placed with tactical precision, barriers funnelling the subject of her manipulations toward a single conclusion. “There’s plenty more that I could do.” Done. Jacquelyn knew intuitively that she needed nothing more from the woman. She checked the time on her phone, an easy reason to excuse herself. ”Sorry, I think I gotta go. Duty calls.” Deirdre nodded understandingly, lost in the mire of contemplation which, whether with her knowledge or not, Jacquelyn had thrown her into.

---

Second day of December, 10:59 am
Lludw Cigfrain, Ashwood Manor

Snow was falling. Jacquelyn tried to catch the flakes on the tip of her finger but she only got one or two; the flakes were frustratingly sparse, even though she could see nothing but splotches of white all around her, too thin to make a crunch when stepped in but thick enough to be slippery and unforgiving as gravel. She stood out the front of a franchise coffee shop, a bulwark of glass and corporate mandated plastic walls against the emptiness of the rest of the town. The cup in her hand may have contained the thinnest, sweetest brew on the planet but at least it kept her fingers from getting frostbite. Deirdre, still wearing nothing but pants, a shirt and a duffel, fixed the pavement with blazing turquoise eyes just a few feet away from Jack. She checked the pockets of her parka: a sealed envelope, pen, phone, razor, all the things that she anticipated that she’d need. “I don’t have a good feeling about this.” The woman let out a thin, bladelike breath. ”I don’t either, but it’s not every day that The Order invites you out for lunch.” Deirdre breathed into her palm, leaving it freckled with ice. “When’s your friend arriving?” Jacquelyn shrugged, shuffling fabric. ”Not sure, she promised she’d be here ‘round eleven.” She shot Deirdre a look, watching for traces of suspicion, wariness, anger. This could still be a trap, she told herself. Her nerves were already alight, it wouldn’t take much at all to make her just cut and run.

Constance arrived alright, albeit not necessarily in the greatest shape. It turned out, dealing with dream killers and nightmares the previous night hadn’t helped her sleep a whole lot. She’d been sluggish to get out of bed, and hesitant to get out into the snow. If there was anything that Lludw Cigfrain had in common with Massachusetts, it was snow, and in both cases she hated it. She was still trying to settle in, so she wasn’t fortunate enough to have any really good winter clothes. Her legs were fucking freezing, but she was at least glad to be able to shove her hands into her coat, and tug up the collar of her turtleneck. She was a hunched-over mess, bleary-eyed and grumpy. “Please tell me there’s still coffee.”, She said with a groan. “I really need something to get me going after last night.”

Jacquelyn gave her an infuriatingly chipper smile and handed her the cup. ”Saved you some. Can’t accuse me of having a bad memory, can you?” The coffee was to other hot caffeinated beverages what flour was to salt. Even so, it was hot and it contained coffee grounds, which made drinking it better than standing around in the freezing cold. ”Sorry, didn’t get around to telling you what this is about, did I? Uh, gist of it is that the Celestial Order wants to cut a deal with us. Deirdre here, they’ve got her son; they want to trade him in for Alex, and that means that you’re involved. Member of The Assembly and all.” It all seemed so straightforward. Couldn’t be that simple, right? Jacquelyn winked. What the fuck was that supposed to mean? A man with an umbrella in his hand, though not unfurled, approached the three and bid them follow him down the road toward a very conspicuous police checkpoint. Bright orange barriers, concrete roadblocks, card readers and scanners, the works. A street sign lay on its side by the blockade, “Oldgrove Library, two hundred metres” among other locations with ‘Old’ and ‘Grove’ in their names. Jacquelyn followed with uncharacteristic confidence, taking long strides and trailing the man. Deirdre kept pace at a distance, staying five or six metres behind the two and watching her surroundings like a hawk. She looked to Constance for reassurance. “You know Jacquelyn well?” Small talk with a not-so-hidden purpose. Up ahead, the police at the barricade stepped aside well in advance of Jacquelyn, standing next to the man in black as he pulled open the umbrella’s canopy and put it up overhead.

Jacquelyn leaned over, speaking with a conspiratorial hush. ”Everything in order?” “Scene is set,” the man responded dryly. ”Just play your parts.” She said with dread import. Random people went about their morning routines around them, quiet company on a deadened day. A man stood beneath the shadow of a tall building, browsing his phone and clutching a briefcase. Two girls walked down the street and laughed at a shared joke; a mundane show of happiness. The road wasn’t packed, but life was present wherever one looked. Stories in progress, cogwheels turning irregardless of the bleak context.

“I’ve actually known her since, well, yesterday, funny enough.”, She nodded, answering Deirdre. She didn’t ask about the woman’s son; it seemed like a sensitive subject, and she didn’t want to pry. She didn’t know what sort of plan they were all supposed to be following either. Jacquelyn sure had a habit of getting her into trouble, she thought. Was that four times in twenty-four hours now? She chuckled to herself and sipped at the coffee she’d been handed. She was definitely grateful for it; the way she stayed partially hunched over, cup clutched in both hands, she resembled some sort of gremlin that had just gotten its grimy paws on gold. She felt like a gremlin that had gotten its paws on gold, too. Sure, the coffee didn’t taste the best, but she’d gotten by on cheap coffee plenty of times in the past, whether from some old coffee shops or gas stations. There was something comforting about it that she appreciated.

“Doesn’t seem like anybody knows her well.” Deirdre kicked at the snow, dragging the tip of her shoe through the powder. “I’m glad that it’s not her who arranged this. You have a stake in any of this? I know you’re new to town.”

Jacquelyn didn’t set their outing up? That was a bit of a surprise, somehow. Her mind was still a bit foggy from the night before, but she thought that wherever they were doing was her work. She supposed that it was three times instead of four then, sort of. She was still a bit annoyed, although her curiosity seemed to outweigh it just enough for her to not complain.

Jacquelyn looked back, smiling but not with her eyes. ”I did set this up, in a manner of speaking.” If Deirdre hadn’t been suspicious before, now her curiosity was piqued. It was a tradeoff in Jack’s mind, she had to ensure that Constance didn’t lose her cool. Whatever was about to happen, her presence was required in some way. Well, that was a little reassuring, knowing that she wasn’t expendable.

As she passed through the checkpoint, something turned in Jacquelyn’s stomach. The world felt a little off kilter, it-... oh, that was why. There was nobody around. None of the windows were lit up, none of the doors were open. The Order had cleaned the place out, left it depopulated and under lockdown. Where were the people, she wondered? Just at home or truly gone? Their escort paused in front of an office building and gestured at the entrance. Not seeing a doorman, Jacquelyn reached out and slipped into the concrete shell.

The inside was colder than out. She found herself in some empty reception area. Nobody was at the front desk, the elevator lights were dark. The place was wrong, raw, not made for her. She felt visceral dread creeping into her. There was only one obvious place to go: the staircases were sealed off and every door but one was shut, presumably locked. Via the rule of convenience and a set of more than fifteen different algorithms designed for the purpose of examining the human psyche, Jacquelyn deduced that they were supposed to go into the room with an ajar door; an astounding logical feat if she’d ever seen one.

The room beyond was larger than she’d expected. A lot louder too: the walls were all covered in soundproof foam and all in all it must’ve been at least thirty feet wide, like some kind of reclaimed meeting room. And the people, my god, they were bustling. They went from monitor to monitor, grabbing faxes and sheets of paper and spilling laminated photos over the table in the middle of the room, under which bundles of wires and blinking lights made it impossible to sit flush against the desk, for your feet would intersect with a computer or a router or something. There were at least a dozen technicians and analysts in there, none of whom paid the entering group much attention. They wore black pants, blue shirts, coats with many pockets for pens and bits of paper. There was a man at the back, though, with his eyes fixed intently on a monitor. Dressed in dark armour which glistened like beetle carapace, he was the spitting image of a futuristic supersoldier. His brown beard with grey edges and firm jawline only cemented the impression that he was some sort of London ‘ard man. A young man caught sight of Jacquelyn, Deirdre and Constance, and immediately approached the soldier to report.

The man was Captain Whittaker, veteran of many conflicts and commissioner of many taxidermists. He kept his kills mounted on wooden plates in his office, that Jacquelyn knew, for she’d met him that morning under more restricted circumstances. All that had happened was the setup for the present gathering, so it didn’t bear recounting. “I’m Captain Whittaker,” he introduced himself rather redundantly, rendering all that nice exposition from earlier unnecessary. “Celestial Order. You must be from the Assembly of Lines. Everyone out.” He waved his staff out of the room. They shuffled single file through the door, leaving behind a chamber of whirring fans and unattended screens. The captain brushed aside a stack of envelopes, making room on the table for him to lean over it and plant his palms on its surface. “I hear that you have a certain Ashwood of mine.”

”That we do,” Jacquelyn confirmed for him. “And I hear that you have my son.” Deirdre forced the words from her mouth, injecting venom into every syllable.

Suddenly, Constance felt a bit awkward. Was she supposed to introduce herself? She wasn’t certain. She stuck to her coffee and kept just behind Jacquelyn, allowing her and Deirdre to handle their negotiations. At first, she was expecting the room to belong to some other group. To her, “Celestial Order” sounded like the name given to a group where everyone wore fancy robes and swung around wands. Seeing all those terminals and professional-looking workers made it feel like more Area 51 than anything.

Deirdre moved around the circumference of the room, flanking the captain. She took inconspicuous looks at their equipment; nothing of value, just endless documents about individual townspeople and minor incidents. Of course the captain would have covered all his bases. “Stop giving me that look,” Whittaker made his demands clear. The force of his words almost made Jacquelyn turn away even though she wasn’t the one being spoken to. “As if I’ve got anything else for you.” Jacquelyn was tempted to tell Dierdre to calm down but it would’ve only made them look divided. Besides, there was a very specific way in which she wanted to position herself in relation to the other member of the assembly. Well there was Constance too, but ‘is on the assembly’ wasn’t her defining attribute in Jack’s eyes.

“I’ve been protecting your people from the cults. No civilian deaths since we took control, do you know that? I don’t understand why you want us gone.” The captain maintained a diplomatic tone, which only infuriated Deirdre further. She was bristling. “You took my child from me. You’ve taken more than that from others.” “They’re welcome to come to Oldgrove. We have food and shelter to spare.” “I’m sure you do, having made half the population disappear.” “Criminals, cultists, individuals who failed to declare illegal goods. They’re in prison, not a gulag.” “You love your semantics, don’t you?” The captain ran a hand through his hair and let out a pained hiss. “Stop treating me like I’m your enemy, hell, we could even work together. We’re not here to-” ”Get on with it.” Jacquelyn slapped the tabletop to cut Whittaker’s ramble off. She stared at him hard, held up a finger in front of her chest. A shared understanding formed between them. “Of all the council members to have invited… you represent about a half, three fifths of the council?” He looked pointedly toward Constance. Deirdre didn’t catch onto what was happening but Jacquelyn most certainly did. ”Let’s keep it on topic. I don’t think that’s very relevant right now.” “No, I want to know.” The captain didn’t break his stare. “How many people are in the assembly? Just humour me.” ”Seriously, it doesn’t matter-” “One more word out of your mouth and I swear you aren’t walking out of here, understand?” Jacquelyn shut up very quickly after that.

Her fingers tightened around her coffee. Constance felt like the guy’s gaze would burn right through her. Out of the three of them, she was the weak link. It was obvious that The Captain could pressure her easily. She was the least experienced person in the room by far when it came to handling town politics and negotiations. She attempted to avert direct eye contact, and pursed her lips, and even leaned back just the slightest bit. “There are...six people?”, She answered. She left out mention of herself being brand two to the assembly, and the town itself.”

“You don’t sound especially sure of yourself.” The captain kept his glare up… and then broke off. Jacquelyn let out a silent breath of relief. ”Now if we could-” “But I don’t want Alex.” Whittaker said it with complete composure. Even though it was phrased like something a spoiled child would’ve said, he managed to utter it with complete sombreness. ”What do you mean? That wasn’t the deal.” “And what did you think it was? That I’d give up your child...” he switched to staring at Deirdre. “... for a witch? I could find one of those anywhere. I don’t need firepower, I don’t need anything which Alex can tell me, I have those already.” ”He’s only a kid!” Jackie interjected, only to be cut off herself by a raised and open palm. “He’s a bargaining chip. He has far more value than just skin and bone.” The captain straightened his back and strode toward Deirdre, who refused to back down. “Everything that I want is in this room with me.” ”We had an agreement, Whittaker. Don’t do this.”

The captain tutted at her: “you should’ve known that Alex would have no value to me. What did you think, that I’d willingly give up leverage just for the sake of rescuing one of my ‘peers’? I’ve been competing with her for years; I could’ve led my own team if she hadn’t been assigned to the post instead.” At full stature, he truly was enormous. Seven feet, maybe just a little less, with thin scars running down the side of his neck. Jacquelyn’s heart palpitated. ”I’m meaningless, I only joined The Assembly two days ago. You don’t want me.” The captain laid a hand on Deirdre’s shoulder, who batted his hand away. She stepped toward the door and he made no motion to stop her. “It didn’t take much at all to make you sell your peers out. I’m surprised, I wasn’t even going to suggest the idea of bringing you in. Ms. Skye...” He reached out to her with an open hand. “You can still have your son.”

She glanced at the floor, pursing her lips. “What’s the catch?” Whittaker took an easier tone with her, still firm but professional rather than domineering. “I know that you’re coordinating the terroristic effort in Oldgrove, hiding away people who belong in Order custody. Thieves, fugitives, people who need desperate care-” “I’ve seen your treatments for vampirism. I know you mutilate lycanthropes, I’ve seen what’s left after you’re done with psions-” “Nonetheless, they’re causing problems. Good men are being injured or dying because of your actions.” The captain’s voice progressively softened, until it was almost as if he was talking down to a child. “Give me their names and I’ll reunite you with your son.” He reached into his breast pocket and fiddled around with something for a second. The door swung open, and a man walked in with a cradle in his hands. He placed it on the table, unfurling the cloth to reveal an inarticulate baby, making all the sounds that infants are known for. Jacquelyn found it insufferable. Deirdre tried to stay calm but couldn’t help herself from trembling. Her child was just a few feet behind her, but she knew that if she turned her head to look she’d lose her composure. “Think about it,” the captain hissed. “I could have you arrested and pry the secrets out of you. What are the odds that you’ll be able to make it out of this room? Are you really sure you want to roll those dice? Say yes, and it’ll be easier for both of us.”

Deirdre’s face hardened into an expression of cold, contemptuous malice. “No. You underestimated me.” She drew a switchblade from her pocket and held it to her own throat; “if I die, my secrets go with me. And suddenly, my child means nothing to you.” She looked back at Jacquelyn and Constance, determination to act overflowing. ‘This was what love can drive someone to?’ Jacquelyn thought to herself. “Trade something for Emmett, he won’t be of much value to the captain after I’m gone, and take him to his father. Tell him what happened.” It wasn’t an illogical gambit. Someone would fill in for Dierdre after her death in the Assembly and- oh fucking wait, she dies! ”Just give him what he wants Dierdre,” Jacquelyn said at a loud hush. She wrestled the revolver from Constance’s hands and pointed it at the baby. ”Take the deal.” She didn’t sound scared. Rather, triumphant. This was checkmate, somehow.

This was all way out of her hands now, and literally in her gun’s case. “Jacquelyn, what the fuck?”, She hissed. She dropped her coffee, the now mostly-empty cup bouncing on the floor, and backed away from The Captain, but keeping close by Jackie. “Look, let’s not go doing a bunch of shit that we’ll all regret, okay?”, She asked. How was she the one trying to be reasonable? “Dierdre, trust me, I know what it’s like, trying to do all you can for your kids, but if you do this, then that will leave them without a mother! And, and - shit.”, She bit her tongue. She shot a distressed look Whittaker’s way. What did she say?

“No no no, you don’t get it.” Deirdre said hollowly at Jackie. “I’m not dying. Half banshee, you see? I go to Borea, this is an escape. Now just put the gun down, alright?” Both she and the captain were visibly shaken. Jacquelyn was the only person in the room actually suggesting that someone should ‘die’, and she was threatening the life of a child no less. The captain looked between the two women, honest to god more confused than anything else. ”I’m not budging, Deir. Constance, back me up would you?”

“Jacquelyn, it’s a kid.”, Constance squeaked. She was conflicted. She knew that Deirdre wasn’t killing herself just yet, probably because of Jacquelyn’s plan (whatever it was), but she still couldn’t feel happy with herself if she whole-heartedly backed up the idea of taking an infant hostage.

”Plenty of kids die.” Jacquelyn had that tone of voice again, the one from the dream. This was her sincere side, the part with no inhibitions or consideration for anything other than its desires. She was serious. ”Just give him the names, Dier.”

Not even the captain wanted any part of the plot now. He laid a hand on his own gun, a semi automatic in its holster. Jacquelyn flicked her wrist at him. ”Drop it or I paint the walls.” She said it with a different cadence. Dishonesty. Was this a bluff or wasn’t it? What was the point of all this? “I’ll do it, just don’t shoot my boy!” Deirdre finally cried, before a shuddering inhale. “Get me a piece of paper.” She snatched a blank notepad from the captain’s hands and furiously scribbled a list of names - dozens, at least - before handing it back. Jacquelyn lowered her gun and handed it back to Constance. ”Good.” She certainly didn’t sound like what had just happened had been good. Deirdre had to kneel and catch her breath, wiping sweat from her forehead. The captain, meanwhile, just milled around, suddenly unsure of what to do. Jacquelyn knelt beside Deirdre, whispering into her ear.

”You’re going to vote with me from now on.” “Why would I?” Her words were vengeful, brimming with hate. Jacquelyn maintained a flat tone, like a machine reading out an equation. ”You just sold out a tremendous number of people all for the sake of your own family. Rumours could spread. Who knows, you might even find yourself in Alex’s shoes.” It took a few moments for the realisation to register. “You...” The one word was chilling. The temperature in the room must’ve dropped ten degrees altogether. ”Don’t do anything stupid. I did this for your sake, in the end. You have your son back and you keep your position in The Assembly. This is the happiest outcome.” “You used me,” Deirdre whispered with a cold enough tone to blacken flesh. Jack pondered her response for a second. ”I think I can live with that.” There was nothing more to say. She stood and walked out. Outside, she stood against a wall and gave Constance a disarming smile. ”Hey, I appreciate you, uh… being there for me. Sorry you had to see that.”

She was dumbstruck. She'd seen a lot of things in the last several days, but somehow, that was one of the most chilling to Constance. It was like Jacquelyn was someone else entirely; she didn't know her well, but still, seeing her go from "normal" Jackie to that was something else. No remorse over threatening a child. No guilt at all over manipulating and toying with Dierdre like that. She stared at the small revolver, dropped back into her hands so casually. Her own gun, uses for that. She was still trying to process how she felt about it.

She excused herself quietly. She hoped that Dierdre knew that she was sorry. Whittaker too.

Outside, she met Jacquelyn's own gaze with narrowed eyes. "I'm sorry, too.", She mumbled. She kept her head down, and only glanced at Jackie for a moment. The cold air made her want to shiver again. At least, she thought, she could blame it all on the cold. Constance stowed her gun and hugged herself, and took a spot by Jacquelyn on the wall, although she kept a few foots' distance. Immediately, she reached for something else - her cigarettes. Notably, a different pack from the one she'd last pulled from. She seemed to smoke quite frequently. "I, uh…", she paused. She had no words.

”I get it.” She didn’t. Though, for once, she tolerated someone smoking near her. Deirdre came out of the building clutching her boy, shellshocked. She gave Jacquelyn a quick look, then Constance, and stalked away. ”I wouldn’t have shot the baby. Just so you know.” That was the truth, hard as it was to believe. She allowed herself the privilege of blackmail and death threats but drew the line at causing harm. Strange boundary, but at least she had one. ”Elizabeth is all I have. Alex is her mother, I can’t-... I’m not letting my friend down, I just can’t do that again.”

There was a long pause. Inhale. Exhale. Constance exhaled a cloud of smoke, and then lowered her head and rubbed the back of her neck. “I see.”, She sighed. Deirdre, she felt horrible over. She cringed and avoided looking the woman in the eyes. She hoped that Dierdre knew that she was glad that the kid was safe, but she didn’t want to hold her up and have her hanging around Jacquelyn, and she didn’t want to have the kid out in the cold for too long. After she left, Constance took another drag and then spoke up. “I get why you’d do that, then. It still doesn’t sit right with me. But hey, I guess when it comes to...family?”

”Yeah, yeah...” Jacquelyn allowed Constance to justify her actions. She knew that someone else could talk themselves into forgiveness more easily than she could convince them. ”Sorry for just dragging you out here.” She left out the fact that she’d called Constance in for the sole purpose of having another member of The Assembly in the room during their negotiation with Whittaker. Her goal had been to get Deirdre on their side and bail Alex out with their combined three votes - and an assumed one from the mayor - but things had taken… a turn. She was confused, she was uncertain of herself, but moreover she was angry; seething at the fact that things hadn’t gone her way. Nevertheless, she had a plan. ”I’ll see you later. Feel free to hit me up if you need something; it’s only fair, right? I wasted your time today, you get the privilege of firing back.” She touched off with a cheeky grin. ”Take care, Fitz.”