[i]P[/i]unctuality was never one of Noah’s finest qualities, in fact, the method of decorum didn’t register at all in his woefully short list of propriety. One could fill of a thimble with the mannerisms Noah did practice, aside from his daily intake and ingestion of anything and everything mind-numbing and soul-bending. However, rare circumstances arose in the most peculiar of ways, tangible and unnerving of course, but startling in their collections. Such was the state of mind he roused from, clutching nimble fingers against the matted tresses of his unruly locks, ripping through the impossible maelstrom of brunette curls to cease the bounding orchestra of voices within his mind.

In various tongues they spoke, communing with him through violation, and they all uttered of the same thing that had been plaguing his dreaming-aware and state of trance. It was a gargantuan creature with no name, bestial and ancient and it terrified Noah to the roots of his spirit quaking in the confinements of his mortal being. Constantly warped into a induced stupor, not much effected his reality when the outer realms spoke within his fragile mind, but shaking in the throes of withdrawal and disturbance; the fine lines of brittle woe and terror marked across his visage. Eyes wide, the ecru of his complexion paling in dread, and a fair tremor causing his twitching gestures to claw at the sensitive skin concaving at his temples. He inhaled, sputtered, and exhaled shakily until he reined in some degree of composure to still his thoughts and the voices weaving about the jumbled pieces. 

He didn’t have an answer as to what he kept seeing, and he hadn’t dared to seek out Ray to inquire to what exactly that creature was. But, someone had found it, and someone had a malicious purpose to its’ awakening, and Noah felt a hopeless sense of inevitability burn into his mind as a crude sigil. Tearing away from his tresses, his fingers finally settled into a clasp at his down-turned mouth, perching on trembling lips as thin elbows prodded against equally thin knees. Contemplating and in desperate desire of a fixture, Noah sorted through the voices and spirits teeming about the lobes of his consciousness; attempting to make sense of the manic sputtering and wails like Ray had instructed of him during numerous nights lost to the late hours. Each timbre and cadence seemed to vocalize and whisper the same thing; the end. But, an end to what? Their worlds, the various realms, or their fickle existences? Endless possibilities bade inquiry in his mind, hopping over the over as his thoughts often did, and producing a jumbled and hectic mixture of hypothesizes and conclusions that didn’t have any foundation.

Of course, each of these formalized objectives were better left unspoken and unanswered, and Noah was determined to shutter himself off from further violation by these horrid dreams and visions. He rolled off from the lumpy motel mattress, finding his knapsack within easy distances and plucked it from the pine green carpeting, purposely dark enough to distract from stains, he mused. Noah did his best to collect the remains of psyche as he plunged into the depths of his collection: packets, sealed baggies, rolled up, bottled, liquid vials; crushed into powders or bloomed in natural plants; he had anything and everything he could indulge in. Some introduced peculiar visions and scenery, others pelted him into a trance of ecstatic dance, and some numbed him entirely within and without or altered him enough that he could [i]participate[/i]. Noah’s arsenal knew no boundaries or limitations, and a quick ritual he performed each time he sealed the sack kept it from prying hands and curious glances. 

He snorted. Magic used to smuggle entheogens to and fro across the country, Ray would be appalled. Of course, the mundane wouldn't be able to discern the details and contents of his possessions, but, [i]others[/i] might and he couldn’t risk anyone obtaining his habits. They’d go beyond the brinks of exotic insanity.

His hazel eyes lit up a fraction when he procured his fixture for the day, immediately letting the chemically enhanced tissue paper settle and dissolve on the abused palette of his tongue. The concoction was an assortment of venoms, the exact brew containing the delicate amounts Ray taught to him; enough to warp the senses, but not enough to keep you unaware, he had said. Noah indulged in only one, for the moment, and made sure to keep the contents within easy reach atop the rest of his wonderful sweets. He exhaled, the crawling tendrils of bliss slithering across his mind, blanketing the voices in a fog of silence. 

Only then, fixed into a stupor, did he notice the letter. 

[i]“Madamme...”[/i] He muttered, tracing the looping penmanship of the moniker and felt the finest tremors of power slip through the grooves of ink. The paper felt peculiar to his hands, the message cryptic but detailing in so few words. He didn’t ask how, or why, for Ray’s tutelage taught him that sometimes there really never was an answer to the arcane. It didn’t make the situation any easier, however, when he became addled with a decision to follow the missive or simply hitch his way out of the city. Of course, where could he go, other than across the sea, and the daunting task of smuggling himself onto some dismal barge made him grit teeth and purse his lips. 

[i]“Well...”[/i] Noah whispered, idly floundering around for his clothes and leaving the directive letter on the discarded bedding. There wasn’t a specified time, only the written urgency, but Noah had the nagging sensation that he was definitely past the respectful introductions. If this Madamme was anything like his peculiar intuition was telling him though, she was already well aware for his lack of punctuality. Still, Noah took his time in meandering through dressing, slowly donning cotton and denim, lacing battered black and white sneakers, and sliding on the fleece of his jacket. Twining a scarf around his neck and tucking the wild mass of his hair into his hood completed the ritual of his wardrobe and with a careful ritual of concealment, he grasped his knapsack and shoved the letter into the space of his pocket.

[i]“Guess it won’t hurt to meet this.. Madamme...”[/i]

Thus he left, slowly and dawdling as his world began to swirl in colour and euphoria.

[hr]

[i]S[/i]tation 7 proved complicated for Noah to locate, becoming turned around numerous times, and distracted by a plethora of oddities that his lucid state of mine honed in on. It was on chance, and the same person directing him in the opposite direction, [i]again[/i], that he found the establishment. Knowing a ritual for clairvoyance, but lacking the means to perform it, Noah sheepishly muttered to himself of gathering the materials for such later before embarking across the threshold. His posture tensed upon coming face to face with the bear of a woman standing guard - a bouncer, he thinks -, fixing Noah with a stare that made his spine rigid and his reflexes to bundle within a coiled spring. He almost fished for the letter in his pocket, but a directive nod proved such unnecessary, but none the less did he keep his fingers crumbled around the sheaf of paper as he descended down the stairs... And more stairs.

Blinking away the haze, and possibility of a never ending stairway, Noah admired the dimly lit setting, wishing he could slunk off into a booth or a corner and loll the day away in his blissful trances. 

[i]“Not what we’re here for,”[/i] he drawled, dragging his heels, seemingly guided by the pull of something to the rooms nestled within the back. The bar called to him, next, along with the man seated in the corner, and he almost stopped if not for the surging amount of energies battering against his mind. He clutched at his sack, contemplating in partaking on another blot of the venom when hushed voices slid through the barrier of his awareness, addling his mind in a hiss that made Noah rush forward and thus barge into the occupied room. There was a switch, a sudden blink of magic that shuttered off the invading spirits and lines calling to him, and Noah, suddenly aware, blinked at the assemblage before him. Swathed within the dark, the Shaman boy eased himself further in, shutting the door behind him with a hushed click and fumbled for some method of greeting even when distracted by the troupe.

A unit of four, thus far, hazel peering at each of them within the magical gloom. He didn’t recognize a single one, not that he expected to, but Noah found himself nearly daunted by the lot. They were... Interesting, being the only description his mind could accumulate, that and something more; [i]they were here for a reason.[/i]

[i]“Uh...”[/i] He glanced up, aside, in a complete rotation to take in everyone once more until his lips tipped into a grin, lopsided and perhaps a bit bashful that was Noah to a fine tee. [i]“You must be the Madamme...  Am I late?”[/i]