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6 yrs ago
Current Off Hiatus?
7 yrs ago
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7 yrs ago
"Mecha Cowboys" has less than a thousand hits on Google. I've never been more upset.
8 yrs ago
RP Concept: "Screw just the plans, we're stealing the Death Star and taking that baby for a joyride!"
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8 yrs ago
The VeggieTales theme song has been stuck in my head for at least three days now. Can't decide if it a good or bad thing yet.
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Bio

Writer of schlock dressed up in some decent clothes.

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Interactions: Adora @Shin Ghost Note Clancy @Zombiedude101 Luca @Fernstone
The House on the Hill



Sully exhaled a deep sigh of relief as Luna apologized to Drake and Drake was grateful enough not to light her up like a Christmas tree. He leaned against the wall, absentmindedly making a drinking motion with his hand before realizing that the Chalice was in Sloane’s possession. He hoped that she’d hurry up with whatever magicky crafty thingy she was doing. There was a part of Sully that resented his role in the Coven just being the dude who carried a cup around, but at least with the cup he had some kind of importance. Without it he felt like little more than the mascot—technically part of the team and helped with lifting spirits, but ultimately a nonfactor in determining the outcome of the game.

Sully slipped behind the bar. Others had already started to help themselves to the dusty spirits that still haunted the closed down establishment, so it wasn’t like he was doing anything uncouth by helping himself. He shuffled through the glass bottles, recognizing none of the names on the labels and unable to determine if that was a good or bad thing. He took a tentative sniff of a random whiskey and gave it a sip, reeling back and gagging at the taste of turpentine from what had probably been the cheapest, saddest, dustiest handle of bottom shelf whiskey that had been gussied up by being poured into a nicer bottle. Sully could taste the plastic. It suddenly made sense as to why the bar shuttered as well as why nobody took the bottles with them. Only the deprived, debased, and desperate would dare drink something as god awful as this.

So naturally, Sully dusted off a rocks glass and poured himself two fingers. He was inadvertently saved from making an awful mistake as the door burst open and the glass dropped from his hands, shattering on the ground and stripping away some of the finish on the wood. The Kid, as Sully had come to identify Clancy as despite already having a frontrow seating proving that Clancy was well deserving of a more sinister moniker, stumbled into the bar. Whatever was left of him, anyway. The sight was sickening and Sully had to swallow back some bubbling acid of his own as Clancy retched up something akin to motor oil. Sully gripped on to the bar to keep himself steady as his legs grew weak and he stared wide-eyed in horror as what was left of the Kid called out for help.

What happened next felt disconnected and disorienting, like Sully wasn’t watching the events unfold before his eyes but rather witnessing a film student’s failed first attempt at making a stop motion movie. People crowding the body, others reeling back like they were ready for a fight, Adora tripling, Luca moving forward to put his hand on the crystal in Clancy’s chest. Sully tried to call out for him to stop, out of fear for Luca, out of fear for Clancy, but his voice was trapped in his throat and all he could do was watch as Luca and crystal began to rot away bit by horrifying bit.

“SULLIVAN!”

Something was slammed against his chest. Sully looked down to see the Chalice, suspended in air, a faint orange and blue glow radiating from beneath the base of the goblet. He didn’t reach for it immediately and the glow stopped, the Chalice clattering on the bar top as he saw Sloane violently shake her head in frustration, stop channeling her Hexmark, and start moving towards one of the Adoras, a staff identical to Auri’s staff in her hand. Sully stirred from his stupor and grabbed the Chalice as he moved towards the injured two. He was pretty sure he heard Sloane say, “Get that idiot away from that thing.”

By the time he made it to the pair, Luca had been shifted so he was face up and separated from Clancy. Sully had the Chalice in one hand and a freshly filled squirt gun in the other, his stupid little bit proving to actually be beneficial. Sully kneeled down beside Clancy, set down the Chalice, carefully propped his head up against his knee, and picked the Chalice back up with a trembling hand. He moved it towards Clancy’s mouth and pressed the rim of the cup to it, encouraging him to drink from the Chalice while trying not to think of how over half of the Kid’s mouth was some spooky shadow demon bullshit that could probably rip his hand clean off in one bite.

“It’s gonna be okay, Kid, I got you. H-hey, Luca, reach for the sky,” said Sully, trying to break the tension with a dumb joke as he leveled the squirt gun toward Luca and fired off a spray of elixir. The color drained from Sully’s face as Luca did not move to catch it. Bracing himself for what was sure to be a painful experience, Sully gently set Clancy back down on the floor, scooted on his knees over to Luca, pushed the tip of the squirt gun into his mouth, and pulled the trigger. Sully caught Sloane staring at him, her typical annoyed look seemingly amplified by what he assumed she would believe to be pointless antics.

“It only works if he can drink it, and the Rot could destroy the Chalice,” said Sully through gritted teeth as he shifted away from Luca, Sloane’s unblinking stare compelling him to explain. She didn’t respond. She didn't even look at him. He realized that Sloane hadn’t been staring at him at all. She was watching Luca intently, her hand tightening on the staff.


Interactions: Leon @AtomicEmperor Linqian @Fernstone Drake @Shin Ghost Note Luna @Estylwen
The House on the Hill



Sully’s smile sank as Anya shut down the idea of him getting the book from the dreams. Maybe she didn’t get the whole “Chosen One” thing was just a bit he was rolling with? Obviously, Sully wasn’t predestined to have the book, just like how it was dumb luck and not divine intervention that made him find the Chalice on the beach so many years ago. Still, it just felt like if they were all experiencing the same dream that there had to be some major significance to all of it that people smarter than he should be exploring. Sully was about to open his mouth to make that point when Leon chimed in.

"Oh, Sully! Bro, is one of those filled with JD? Jesus, watch where you're squirtin' your loads Brother, we're tryn'a have a private thing for a second."

“Hell yeah there is! Two, actually. Anyway, my bad bro you know how volatile these thingies are,” said Sully, waving around the cheap, hard plastic squirtgun. “Sometimes you just gotta pull the trigger and pray that it doesn’t spray back in your eyes.”

Jack was talking up a storm, but Sully got so distracted by the new arrivals that he completely missed the conversation steering in the direction of the dreams that he’d been meaning to outsource for analysis. He gave Linqian a mock look of horror on her rightful comments on his stupid little get up, but if he figured he was going to go for the bit he might as well commit. Unable to get a word in edgewise due to the impenetrable wall of sound that Jack was producing, Sully pulled one squirt gun free from his DIY bandolier and waved it in the air. He mouthed “gay spit”, as it would burn Emily twice as badly as lava while not melting through the dollar store squirtgun.

Sully started to dip back into Jack’s filibuster, almost about to chime in that they were about to get a bunch of power and resources in the form of Greenwood, but his eyes glazed over at the mention of pocket realities. His attention was yet again pulled away by Drake and Luna reigniting their feud from the other day. Sully moved closer to the two, ready to come to Luna’s defense as he had been under the impression that she had just desperately wanted to be back with her homies, but faltered as she took the opportunity to arrogantly snipe at Drake instead of just appreciating being back in with the crew. The word “useless” pierced through Drake and hit Sully in the chest. Sully’s mouth hung open, his eyes expressing hurt at the realization that perhaps he had been tricked.

He put his arm out in front of Drake, as if to hold him back. However, Sully didn’t end up giving Drake the ol’ bog standard, cliched, “she ain’t worth it'' speech. Instead, he stepped in front of his buddy and followed after Luna with a “Hey. Hey!” Sully moved quickly for a man his size, even hitting a solid spin move to avoid getting smashed by a floating hors d’oeuvres tray made out of concrete that had nearly blindsided him. He made it to the exit in time to grab Luna by the shoulder. It wasn’t precisely rough, but it lacked his usual gentleness as he turned her to look at him. During the same motion, Sully snapped off his stupid little cowboy hat and tossed it, the hat bouncing off of the beer tap he was hanging for and rolling behind the bar.

“Hey, what the hell was that, man?” said Sully. He attempted to keep his voice down, but it still carried given how heated Luna had made him. “I thought you wanted to be back with the group and the first thing you do is insult Drake? Do you have any idea what he’s gone through? We’re all supposed to be working together, not putting each other down.” Sully glanced towards Todd as he arrived, his eyes narrowing as Bé followed shortly behind, but he forced his focus back on to Luna. “If you really want to be a part of this team you’re going to go back and apologize to him for what you said.”



Interactions: Kenshiro @AtomicEmperor Luca @Fernstone Lynn @NoriWasHere Nora @Blizz Layla @Estylwen@Aeolian
The House on the Hill



"Oh, my fellow thief! Glad to see that dour expression is still stuck to your face after getting bug-zapped outside a Dairy Queen."

Sloane didn’t look towards Greyson and hoped that he wouldn’t notice the shifting of her jaw as it clenched together so tight that her teeth would have turned into diamonds given enough time. There was one terrifying moment where Sloane thought Greyson was actually aware of her prior skullduggery before realizing that he was referring to their similar means of excommunication from the first iteration of Sycamore. If that were the case he was utterly wrong: she wasn’t a thief then. A curtain of hair blocked her face from view as she looked down at her notebook, the Quill still automatically detailing the meeting as she tried to push down her bubbling anger and embarrassment at the idea that the assault against her was now being used as a punchline.

She crumpled her Channeler in her hand. It was wild to think that until this moment she had wanted to offer Greyson an apology for chiding him at the first meeting. She listened to his plan in a silent fury. She dismissed it immediately as being stupid and ill-advised, took a deep breath while counting in her head to four, exhaled, and refocused. She tucked her hair behind her ear so she could see the group out of the corner of her eyes and smoothed her Channeler back by pressing it against the table. Greyson’s idea wasn’t so much a plan as it was a delaying tactic, albeit a good one. She turned her attention to Ken and Luca, letting go of the Quill which kept writing even without her hand on it.

”You can if you want to. I don’t mind. I’ll take on the responsibility for all the other 8th members I don’t believe should.”

“I’d mind,” said Sloane firmly.

So much for getting work on the Chalice done. She shifted her chair so that she could easily grab the Chrysalis Staff. She highly doubted Kenshiro would actually take Luca up on his offer to be held responsible for the crimes of 8th Street, especially in a room full of other people, but that wasn’t what made Sloane speak up in his defense. Sloane wasn’t going to allow Luca to scapegoat himself while the real person responsible for 8th Street had just entered the room—and it wasn’t Lynette, as surprising as it was to see one of their former leaders just walk in. No, the one responsible was waving a sword around like an idiot.

Sloane resisted the urge to glance in Britney’s direction, instead keeping one eye on Ken while listening to Jack ramble. She reached back and flipped the page on her notebook, knowing that she would run out of space otherwise. The dreams were vexing, but given that Sloane knew someone with dream magic it wasn’t a fair jump to make that it all could be crafted by a Lux user trying to distract them or use them. Obviously, Anya would never do such a thing, but it would be foolish to believe others would not. Sloane nodded her head in agreement with Jack that they shouldn’t pursue anything related to the dreams at the moment.

Her nodding stopped the second Jack mentioned that he planned to travel to another reality with Kenshiro. No, that was fucking stupid, they needed them here. And what if something went wrong? While Sloane had next to no knowledge on Lila’s situation, Luca had told her about what was going on with the Rot. The Apparition Killer had failed to work on it, so it made it difficult to believe that the Brass Needle would be any different. Plus, without the Rot—Luca chimed in, making the point for Sloane. Sloane leaned forward and propper a hand under her chin. If they were also able to find abstraction granting artifacts for Luca and Lila, however now wasn’t the time to tread down this path. Leaving their reality was a bad idea. It was just like how Lynn had tried to convince her the other day about taking an excursion into the Pit.

“Speaking of journeys…”

Sloane facepalmed as Lynn presented her idea about going into the Pit with the group. For once Sloane was thankful that Britney had shown up to a meeting given how quickly she was to shut the insane idea down. Sloane was even able to bite her tongue and resist the urge to one-up Britney. They had seen in the shared dream that the High Priestess could make a portal capable of getting them out of the Pit, but Sloane did not want to give anyone in the group any more bad ideas than the ones they were already having.

“It seems like we’re getting ahead of ourselves, because the moment Greenwood arrives all of these plans could become moot points. Massively ahead of ourselves, in some regards,” said Sloane, standing to be better heard as she glanced towards Lynn. “Plus, like Britney said and you had discussed with me the other day, we could always just have somebody else make us a Wayfinder.”

“Nora, we’d like to commission a device that is capable of locating people and artifacts. Handheld, preferably, and put to the top of the queue. I imagine the whole group is in agreement that this is more important than a really long metal stick and a…” Sloane glanced down at her notes. “...an alarmingly sinister device designed for the torture and enslavement of Appar…"

"...Layla, what the fuck…

Dumbstruck, Sloane turned towards Layla but stopped as someone even more unexpected than Lynette entered the room. “Bé?



Interactions: N/A
Sloane’s Apartment



Sully let out a low whistle as he poked his head out of the driver side window of his car and craned his neck to look up at the vertigo-inducing pair of skyscrapers that made up the Harrisburg Towers Luxury Apartments. The afternoon sun reflected off of the mirrored glass window, making the building appear as if it were crafted out of solid gold and serving as a beacon to the trust fund babies and one percenters of St. Portwell. Sully suddenly felt extremely out of place. His rusty truck stood out in stark contrast with the waxed and polished luxury vehicles pulling out of the rounded drive, and he was dressed in clothes from the day before the day before while everyone else looked like they had stepped out of a Neiman Marcus catalog.

Sully let his truck idle for a moment at the turn into the apartments, taking a second to smooth out his hair and wipe a bit of campfire soot off of his cheek by wetting his finger with his tongue. He gave his shirt a sniff and heaved out a rough woof as his eyes rolled in the back of his head. Sully had taken Tayla’s advice to heart and hidden out at Greenwood’s camp over the weekend to avoid dealing with Dean, but the smell was nearly as deadly. He grabbed around in the plastic bag sitting on his seat and pulled out a can of spray deodorant, the car exploding in a sandalwood mushroom cloud.

Sully turned into the drive and got out at the valet, expecting the ladies to clutch at their pearls, the gentlemen to scoff at him with an upper crust, “my god!”, and the poor fucker dressed like a butler just trying to make rent being yelled at to remove him from their property. Instead Sully, backpack in one hand and plastic bag in the other, found himself just ignored by the valet as he approached his podium. He had to cough into his fist to get the fella’s attention.

“Hey Jeeves, I was told to leave my baby with you,” said Sully.

“Your what, sir?” said the man behind the podium. He was affecting some kind of posh, not-quite-English-but-nearly-there accent that caught Sully off guard. Surely it must’ve been a bit? Sully had been a valet before for a couple of weeks, and most of the valets he knew were either actors or comedians awaiting their big break.

“I meant my motorized vehicle, my good sir,” said Sully, unintentionally adopting the accent.

The valet gave Sully the ol’ up-down, looked at his truck, and then back at Sully. “Mm. Are you a guest of one of our residents, sir?”

“Oh no, milord,” said Sully, leaning into the accent now. He wasn’t good at it, unintentionally shifting from an English lord to a peasant shit farmer mid sentence. “I just fancy trying to have a bit of a laugh by giving away my baby, you see. Of course I’m a guest, you see, of the kind lady Sloane Faris who lives at the top of this here castle.”

“Why are you talking like that?”

“Talkin’ like what, bruv?” another shift.

The valet shook his head, went inside, and approached a man at a desk. A bead of sweat began to form on Sully’s brow, worried that maybe the guy was one of those dudes who took his job way too seriously, half tempted to bolt as he saw the other guy at the desk pick up a phone. A head was nodded and the valet came back outside, looking a little red in the face.

“Terribly sorry about that confusion, Mr. McPherson.”

“Aw now guv, ain’t no problem now innit?”

“Um, right. Your keys, sir?”

“Oh shit, right,” said Sully, shifting back into his normal tone as he pulled a small screwdriver out of his back pocket and waved the valet over to his truck. “You’re just gonna want to jam it into the ignition there and turn. You’re gonna feel like it’ll break but trust me it probably won't, so just keep turning until it starts up. This a bad neighborhood? There’s a wheel lock club in the backset just in case.” The valet gave Sully a suspicious look, which prompted Sully to add, “Don’t worry, it’s not stolen.”

“What happened to your accent, sir?”

“My what?”

“Your accent.”

“What happened to your accent?”

“It's been the same, sir.”

“Yes it has, sir, yes it has. Keep up with that commitment, man. You’ll get there one day,” said Sully, passing the valet the screwdriver and clapping him on the shoulder.

He left the man dumbfounded with a screwdriver in his hand and entered into the lobby, whistling to himself. Sully pulled out his phone and squinted to reread the text from Sloane through the spiderwebbed cracks on the screen, bypassing the first series of elevators to head to the one with exclusive access to the penthouse. He whistled along with the jazzy muzak as the elevator shot up to the top floor, the door sliding open into a private hall leading to Sloane’s apartment. Sully rapped his knuckles to the rhythm of “shave and a haircut” upon the door and stepped back, arching an eyebrow up at the security camera pointed down at him from the corner.

Moments later the door opened and Sloane stood in the entrance, her arms crossed. “You’re late, Sullivan.”

“Only by a little bit.” Nearly an hour. “What’s with your valet speaking in a fake English accent?” Dark eyes locked with his own and stared in unblinking silence for what felt like an eternity. “I mean, I assumed he was an act—”

“You assumed he was an actor before assuming he was English?” said Sloane.

“Well, yeah, it’d be kind of weird if he was from England…”

“How would that be weird?” asked Sloane. Sully rubbed the back of his head and sucked on his teeth, screwing up his face as if he were in deep, ponderous thought. Sloane held up her hand to stop him from saying something stupid. “Nevermind, I don’t care. Did you bring it?”

Sully pulled into his backpack and pulled out the Chalice, “Ta-da!”

The Chalice was plucked from his hand in a flash by Sloane, her lips curling in what Sully almost mistook for a smile on the normally dour woman’s face. She nodded her head and turned as she headed back into her apartment, the door being left open the only sign of an extended invitation inside. Sully kicked his boots off in the entrance, assuming Sloane would be furious if he traipsed about her place with muddy shoes.

He gently closed the door behind him and followed after the woman, his jaw going slack as he looked around her place. He’d figured that Sloane’s place would be fancy, but what he hadn’t expected was for it to look like his grandmother’s house, chock full of weird looking knick knacks. The only thing missing was the plastic covers on the floral couches and pictures of the Virgin Mary. Sully paused by a row of wooden toy soldiers, unable to resist the boyish urge that came across every adult man whenever he saw an action figure to have it fight the other one. He pinched the arm of the soldier and turned it so that his musket would aim at the soldier beside him, his face blanching as the soldier’s arm snapped when he moved it. Sloane, who was sat down at a coffee table, a few crumbs the only evidence of her usual tiny sandwiches that she had crashed in quiet fury about thirty minutes ago when she had assumed Sully had stood her up, her Channeler placed against the Chalice as she began to weave her dual Luxes together, did not appear to notice. He slipped the arm into the plastic bag, burying it along with a change of clothes.

“Hey I don’t want to impose, but could I use your shower? The water has been out at my place for the past couple of days and I’m starting to smell a bit too ripe,” said Sully, jangling his plastic bag with the clothes he’d snagged when he’d snuck in past his landlord to get into his apartment that morning.

If it had been warmer outside he just could’ve used the Chalice to give himself a hot shower, but he would’ve shriveled his bits off in this weather. Camping out at Greenwood’s hideout was starting to become unviable, too, but between Dean and the landlord he didn’t want to be caught hanging out in his studio apartment. Sloane looked up as if to say “are you serious” but before she could speak he hit her with his patented puppy dog eyes. She deftly rolled her eyes away from them, but still acquiesced with a sigh and a nod, informing him that extra towels were in the hall closet.

Once in the bathroom, Sully hit the fan then rushed over to the toilet, threw the arm down into the bowl, and flushed—or tried to, anyway, but couldn’t find a handle. He gawked at the panel beside the toilet, lined with a dozen buttons, and pushed the one that looked like the flush. Sully shouted in horror as a nozzle protruded out from the basin of the toilet and shot a mist of water in his face. He gagged and hit another button, ducking to the side a spray of water arced across the bathroom. Why were there two different types of sprays? He hit every button on the side panel, turning on and off lights, causing the lid to close and open automatically, playing the sounds of nature, before finally a flush, the dismembered arm spiraling down the drain. The arm was a fighter and did not stay down until the fourth flush.

What followed was the longest shower ever, partially due to wanting to purify his body of Sloane’s toilet water and partially due to not wanting to go back out into her living room knowing full well that she had to assume that he’d just blown up her toilet.

“Crazy dream the other night, huh? Is that what made you think about duping the Chalice again?” asked Sully, fresh dressed in new duds and smelling like whatever the fuck tumeric body wash was,acting as if nothing weird had happened.

“No,” said Sloane tersely.

Sully sat down on the couch across from her. “Anything I can do to help?”

“Do you have Orange Lux?”

“No.”

“Then just be quiet. I need to focus,” said Sloane.

Sully nodded his head, put his hands in his lap, and kept nodding his head as he looked around the room, part admiring all of the books on her shelves, part wondering why someone would need to hold onto so many books when the public library was a thing. Resting against the shelf was a seven-foot tall wooden staff with decorative blue butterflies atop of it. Hey, that’s Auri’s staff. Sully got up to take a closer look. Sitting on the shelf by the staff was a fancy looking pen covered in runes, a bizarre looking camera’s lens, and a—Sully laughed out loud in surprise, “Holy shit, you freaky bitch! Hell yeah, Sloane.”

Sloane’s head snapped up, the Lux that flowed around her hands fading away as she turned to see Sully standing near her bookshelf wiggling his eyebrows like a weirdo. Her eyes widened into a rare expression of panic as she saw Sully take the pen and use it like a crime scene investigator who was too cool to wear gloves to lift up his source of amusement.

“Wait, no—it’s not—goddamnit, you don’t know where that’s been!”

“Oh, I’m pretty sure it’s been in one of two places…”

“Sullivan!” Sloane let out a frustrated sigh as Sully laughed. “Just…just shut up and let me explain.”



Sunday Night

After the Preliminary Sycamore-Greenwood Meeting


An atrocity committed by @Shin Ghost Note that I was powerless to prevent.
Flowers and Canvases.




“So… let’s get work, shall we?” said Auri.

Sloane stared blankly at Auri’s smile, a smirk really, as she suggested that they get to work without even bothering to make an excuse for why Sloane hadn’t been invited to a meeting attended by half of the coven. Even after the others had departed there were still signs of her exclusion all around Auri’s flower shop—over a dozen chairs formed roughly in a half-circle and a few mostly empty boxes of pizza whose smell mixed unpleasantly with the pollen from the petunias and posies lining the nearby shelves as well as a lingering hint of skunk weed. Auri not only lacked the consideration to clean up after her little pizza party, but she had scheduled Sloane’s meeting with her to overlap so that Sloane could be embarrassed when she’d arrived.

“Yes, let’s,” said Sloane through gritted teeth.

She took the pizzas off of the counter and stacked them roughly on one of the chairs that had been placed out for anybody but Sloane. Decade old slights stung anew. Sloane remembered then and there how deeply she actually despised Auri, who had been unfairly involved in all of the decision making solely because she had been buddy-buddy with Ashley and would just side with her when what the Coven truly needed to stay functioning was someone who would’ve stood up and told Ashley no. Sloane heard Anya’s voice echo in her head and shoved the feelings of jealousy that she mistook for righteous indignation down, walked around the counter, and set her channeler down on it.

“I’m glad you were finally capable of having a meeting that didn’t end in disaster,” said Sloane as dry as a desert. It could have been a complement. It wasn’t, but it could have been. As much as Sloane wanted to continue to go off on Auri for her questionable leadership choices, both then and now, she gained nothing from getting distracted. She gestured to the counter. “The Butterfly Staff, please. This should only take about an hour.”

Sloane’s insides boiled. She shouldn’t poke, she shouldn’t poke, she shouldn’t poke, but, oh fuck it, she simply could not resist. The others had told her to give Auri a chance. She had and now five of them were dead and they were being terrorized by Emily and her goons. Sloane leaned against the counter and stared Auri dead in the eyes.

“I imagine that’s more than enough time for you to explain why you keep leaving some of us in the dark when it comes to making moves. The Void Heart, Greenwood,” said Sloane, counting on her fingers. “What did you say the problem with the old Coven was? Something about leadership making decisions without informing the others?”

Auri gave Sloane a narrow look, as she said,

“Now, Sloane,” Auri began. “In all fairness, the entire thing with Greenwood was dropped on me at the last second… I didn’t get a chance to gather everyone together! Jack didn’t inform me of the whole thing until earlier today...”

Then she shuddered, playing with her thumbs before she said, “As for the Void Heart… We just couldn’t risk the Void Heart catching on to our plan to seal him.”

She shook her head, “Please understand I didn’t mean to leave you all in the dark.”

“You still did a pretty good job of leaving the lights off after the fact. I don't necessarily disagree with the idea, but imagine if that fiasco with sealing the Void Heart had gone just a degree worse than it already did,” said Sloane, her voice cold and steady. They could’ve been killed by the Temple or trapped in the Void if Jack was taken out. “It’s not a big boost of confidence to see your supposed leader almost get herself killed because she went all-in on an idea that was undercooked.”

“But I-”

“And in all fairness,” said Sloane, a little snip coming in as she pulled out her cellphone and loudly set it down on the countertop, “A text isn’t that difficult to send. Seems like you had no trouble finding a way to get in touch with someone like Britney or Greyson.”

“It's Sunday, I didn't want to bother you, Sloane,” Auri simply answered. “Next time, I’ll remember to send you a message.”

It’s Sunday? repeated Sloane with a sharp, singular laugh as her hand slapped the countertop, unable to believe what she had just heard. Her mouth hung open as she stared at Auri in a look of horrified disgust. She raised her voice, “Is that some kind of joke or are you actually an idiot? Over a dozen of us are dead. What the actual fuck, Auri!?”

“Like you care about anyone but yourself,” Auri said with a roll of her eyes. “Now, you will not speak to me that way in my own store.””

Sloane sharply inhaled as she stood up straight, her hands tightening into fists at her side, her left eyelid twitching ever so slightly as she glared up at Auri. What a load of nonsense. Although she might not outwardly show it, there were plenty of people who could vouch for Sloane actually caring about others—Adora, Luca, even Linqian of all people. Yet there was no point in arguing with Auri about it because it was clear from her response that she was, in fact, just an idiot. An idiot wouldn’t listen to Sloane’s logic and an idiot’s opinion didn’t even matter in the first place, so why did Auri’s words sting so badly? If anything Sloane cared about others too much, way too much, overly concerned with worries about if they respected her, if they cared about her, if they even thought about her…

Sloane broke eye contact as she exhaled, her hands trembling, shaking her head in disbelief, as she muttered, “Just give me the staff so we can get this over with.”

“Now you want to get it over with?” Auri huffed, before she shook her head. “A minute ago you wanted-”

Auri said, before she noticed something at the corner of her eye, at the window. An orange mass. She whipped her head towards it to see Odessa Maxwell with her face and both hands pressed against the window.

… Then she licked it.

“A minute ago I wanted to get this started but instead, uhhhh…”

Sloane trailed off as she looked back up at Auri but got distracted by the strange woman running her tongue over the window like it was a lollipop. Sloane took a step back as her brain short circuited, the mental lag unable to compute, her eyebrows hopping to the top of her forehead as the clearly deranged woman gave the window another lick right above the decal sticker that read “Keep St. Portwell Weird” that appeared in almost every local business window. As a fellow small business woman, Sloane had also dealt with her fair share of weirdos who had taken the slogan too literally, but she’d never experienced a windowlicker.

“Do you have a backroom?” suggested Sloane, unable to pull her eyes away from the window.

“Oh! Um, this…” Auri put a concerned look on as her face went red. She gestured towards Odessa and said, “This is-”

Odessa was still licking the window.

“Odessa! My… Um, friend!”

Odessa licked the window some more.

“... She can pick the lock,” Auri sighed.

“You know her?” said Sloane, unable to hide how aghast that made her. If Auri had managed to scrape a single crumb of respect out of Sloane over the years the two had known one another then in that moment it had fallen between her fingers and disappeared beneath a floorboard to never be seen again. Tell her to leave, then.

“... If you insist!” Auri said before she walked outside. She chatted with Odessa for a bit… Before Odessa skipped past her all the way to Sloane with Auri in tow.

“... Wait, Odess-”

“Hello, friend!” Odessa greeted Sloane with a warming smile. “Why do you want me to go before I even get a chance to introduce myself?! I am so excited to meet you!”

“W-what?” said Sloane.

Sloane shot Auri a look as she took a reactive step back. Why would Auri even mention that Sloane had asked her to be sent away? She could’ve just made an excuse. Sloane squinted, a spike of pain shooting through to the back of her head as a migraine started to form. Never in her life before had anybody ever told Sloane that they were excited to meet her. It simply wasn’t a thing that was possible. Sloane wasn’t exciting. She didn’t want to live up to the expectations set by being believed to be a source of excitement.

Why? asked Sloane, genuinely befuddled, moderately alarmed, and slightly terrified.

“Because… you’re a friend of Auri’s - thus, you’re a friend of mine, friend - and I’m Sycamore’s biggest fan!” Odessa said with a wide smile before she said, “I heard you were an Artificer! I have some artifacts on me. Would you like to see?!”

“You’re deeply mistaken,” said Sloane, speaking over Odessa and rolling her eyes as she was about to correct the statement about her being one of Auri’s friend, a spark of life flashing in Sloane’s eyes as Odessa carved through her interruption and mentioned the artifacts. Sloane rubbed her hands together like she was about to feast upon a big meal. “It’d be more correct to say that I am a Counterfeiter. Now what are we working with?”

“Counterfeiter, counter-fisher, you make artifacts. Therefore, you’re an artificer, no if-ands-or-buts,” Odessa laughed as she dug around her robe, “Now, where did I put them - AH!

She pulled three artifacts out of her robes, a silvery pen with runes, a camera’s lens, and what seemed to be a condom covered in glowing runes. She pointed at the pen,

“This is the Quill. After you write an event down with it, the pen will take over and write down details you may have missed or overlooked!”

Sloane nodded along with a hand on her chin, curious about the extent of the Quill’s power. It could actually be quite useful in their investigation of Father Wolf. Still, her eyes drifted to the final artifact that Odessa had pulled out, but her attention was diverted when Odessa pointed at the Camera’s lens.

“This is the CameraEye! When looking through it, you can see people’s souls, what they would look like in different dimensions, and even through their clothes!”

Sloane stopped nodding and started blinking rapidly in confusion. What did souls even look like, and what would be the point of seeing them? Wait, did she say they could see through clothes? Who? Why? What kind of creep would make something like that? Besides, she imagined that most people looked bad without clothes alone and that they would look even worse if their clothing were smushing—wait, wait, wait, no, hold on, that implied that she was imagining people without their clothes on at all like some kind of pervert. Sloane blushed slightly and opened her mouth to protest an accusation that hadn’t been thrown her way as Odessa pointed at the condom.

“... And this is the magic condom. It's reusable and protects against magic STDs. Very handy.”

Sloane felt her migraine flare up as her jaw hung slack, silence permeating the flower shop, as her rapid blinking slowed until her eyes were completely closed, unable to believe that she was going to ask a follow up question. She asked, “What about normal STDs and unwanted pregnancies?”

Odessa shrugged.

“... You’re outta luck! But you don't have to worry about a demon baby, at the very least!”

Sloane’s hand slipped over her face as she made a sound as if she had been punched in the stomach. Her fingers moved so that she could peek one eye out from behind her hand shield as if she was gazing into the abyss, not wanting to know more out of fear of what she would learn but unable to move on from the subject. “And these demons are consensual partners that use protection?”

Odessa stared at Sloane, still smiling. It was probably ten seconds before she spoke, but it felt so much longer.

“... They’re demons.”

“So how would you ever actually use it?” asked Sloane, her voice hollow like a crestfallen soldier who’d spent weeks fighting in trench warfare.

Odessa put the other two artifacts on a nearby chair. Then…

“... Okay, first you open it up,” Odessa says as she cracks it open, “Then you either put it on the member or you stick it in because it's adaptiv-”

“No, I know how it worked, I meant—you two are friends?” said Sloane, turning sharply towards Auri.

“That is correct.” Auri awkwardly pulled at her collar.

“Everyone is my friend!” Odessa laughed.

“Like, close friends?” asked Sloane, sticking her hand out to stop Odessa before she spoke up. ”Not like that.”

“... Aw.” Odessa said.

Auri grabbed her chin before she added more context.

“I would say we’re somewhat close; it started as a business partnership - where Odessa found me the most beautiful flowers I've ever seen - but it grew from there.”

“Yes, it grew!” Odessa put a strange amount of emphasis on the last word.

Sloane gave Auri the blankest look possible, her ability to emote completely drained from her mind and body, the only hint of her disapproval the slight upturning of her nose as she merely said, “Okay.”

Auri walked over to where the Butterfly Staff was leaning up against the wall. She grabbed it, and handed it to Sloane who didn’t hesitate in snatching it from Auri.

“How about we get back on track here?” Auri began, before turning to Odessa, “... She won't interrupt.”

Sloane, who had been admiring the Butterfly Staff, gave Odessa a side eye, “Uh huh. This spell does require me to be focused, so if you two have to talk please do it quietly. Over there, maybe.”

Sloane dismissively gestured towards the other side of the store and turned her back on the two women, a thin smile appearing on her face as she turned her attention back to the Butterfly Staff. It had been a decade since Sloane had last held the artifact, the looming threat of what was to come after the Stygian Snake all Sloane needed to convince Auri to let her Counterfeit it. It was well-crafted, with a nice heft to it and a beautiful stain on the wood. Despite it being a family heirloom of the Auclair’s and the seven foot tall staff looking silly in the hands of someone as short as Sloane it just felt right in her possession, as all artifacts did. Sloane gently laid the Butterfly Staff down on the counter, giving a moment of silent reverence to the creator before she committed, what was in her mind, sacrilege.

Odessa had called Sloane an Artificer. Sloane had called herself a Counterfeiter, but deep down she thought of herself as something more than just that. Something rotten. She was a corrupter, a ruiner, a debaser. She took a thing that someone had poured blood, sweat, and tears in to make and crafted a bastardization in its image. She was unoriginal. A ripoff artist. A hack. Sure, a few of her knockoffs turned out useful, but those were the flukes. She had no real control over what came out once she started making a Counterfeit except for the option to stop making it, although she never did. She was scared to. It would be admitting the truth: she was bad with magic. Lacked the vision for it. Ten years and the improvement had been microscopic.

Sloane shook her head and grabbed her Channeler, shutting the negative thoughts out. She pressed her Channeler to the staff and began to cast, the Butterfly Staff swirling with Blue and Orange Lux. She closed her eyes tight in concentration, her lips mouthing words unheard, her brow furrowing. Lux like ink from the tip of a busted pen began to drip from her free hand as it started to form the Counterfeit of the Butterfly Staff. If it was her first time creating the Counterfeit her mind would be filled with flashes of inspiration from a source she could not cite, but instead she was left alone with the memories of how long it had taken the first crafting of the Chrysalis Staff. She guessed remaking it would take the better part of an hour, but the first Counterfeit was always the longest. Nearly an entire month, although there had been a very good reason for that.

Sloane winced. Already she felt her hand cramping up. She stopped her casting for a moment as she rubbed her wrist, her eyes opening…

… And saw Odessa standing directly next to her. Like inches away from her face.

Smiling.

Sloane reeled back with a start, “What are you doing?”

Odessa booped her. Sloane was immediately made so uncomfortable that her body essentially shutdown and entered into a near catatonic state as her mind was too busy trying to process exactly what the hell was going on to also send synaptic impulses to her motor functions.

“I think you’re beautiful,” Odessa began, before she walked around to Sloane’s back. “But, I know what will really bring your beauty out!”

“Um, Odessa!” Auri raised a finger.

Odessa began braiding flowers into Sloane’s hair. Sloane’s skin crawled the second she felt fingers run through her hair, jump starting her body as she turned swiftly and batted away Odessa’s hand with an indistinct yelp. Sloane’s hip stiffly collided with the counter as she had tried to back away, a sharp intake of breath the only acknowledgment of the pain. She rapidly combed through her hair with her fingers as if a spider had landed in it, tearing loose the stem that Odessa had managed to tangle up in her locks, as she shimmered alongside the countertop to get distance between herself and Odessa, her Channeler crumpled up against her pounding heart.

“What the fuck is your problem?” said Sloane to Odessa, her voice a meek whisper that exploded as she pointed and screamed at Auri for allowing this to happen. And what the fuck is your problem!?”

“I can’t,” Auri calmly said. “I’m afraid if I interfere, she won’t boop me later.”

Sloane believed the pain in her head wasn’t from the migraine but rather her actually being able to feel her brain cells being genocided. She gawked at Auri, her neurons lined up against the wall, facing the brick, and listening to the sounds of guns being loaded. Sloane fired off the fire shot instead of allowing the massacre of gray matter to happen without a fight as she coolly said, “God, you’re a joke. This is why nobody respects you or thinks of you as a leader.”

“... And you think they won’t feel the same way with you in charge?” Auri spat back. “Now, Odessa, please leave Sloane alone so she can work, please?”

Odessa stepped back.

“I hope this doesn’t ruin our future friendship, friend!” Odessa shouted with a wide smile. “Maybe as a peace offering, you can borrow those artifacts I showed you. As long as you bring them back to me after this blows over. So don’t lose them! Or break them. Or lose them, and then they get broken. Or break them, then lose what’s left!”

“Um, okay,” said Sloane, torn by the idea of borrowing the artifacts. On one hand, it meant she’d probably have to interact with Odessa again which might trigger a stroke and cause her to lose the ability to form sentences or breath with her mouth closed. On the other hand, it was probably for everyone’s best interest if Odessa wasn’t in possession of any of those artifacts. “Thank you?”

“And I didn’t say I should be in charge,” muttered Sloane quietly to herself as she turned back around.

She held her Channeler against the Butterfly Staff but did not start casting. Instead, she waited for a moment, shoulders tensed and braced in anticipation of Odessa creepily touching her again. It was only after a few beats that she exhaled, closed her eyes, and began casting again, the Lux weaving itself around the Butterfly Staff and then snaking up her channeler like she was siphoning it from the artifact. Sloane was a bit more rushed her second go around, heated from Auri’s insinuation and certain that there would be another interruption if she took too much time.

She pushed the Lux through her body as she formed the base of the Chrysalis Staff. Her right hand began to grow numb as a thin, shell-like coating of Blue and Orange Lux solidified itself around Sloane’s skin. Sloane ignored the tingling sensation and pushed on, the shell creeping up her wrist and forearm as the essence of the Chrysalis Staff began to spark to life. It was the other reason that it took her so long to properly Counterfeit an artifact—whenever Sloane was Counterfeiting one, her body would become subjected to the effects of the Counterfeit. With some it wasn’t so bad while with others, such as the paralyzing Chrysalis Staff, it was quite the frustration.

And, in some situations, quite the risk. Sloane took a break, the shell forming around her arm beginning to fade in luster as she tried to open her eyes but found them temporarily sealed by the Chrysalis. She started to flex her face in an attempt to crack the shell faster, a groan rumbling in her throat.

“Sloane!” Auri ran over and grabbed her by the shoulders. “Oh, lord, um, make noise if you need help!”

“... Welll, that escalated quickly,” Odessa laughed. “What if she can’t?! How are we going to help her? Chip away at her shell?!”

“I don’t know!” Auri said.

“I’m. Fine,” said Sloane. Tried to, anyway. What she actually said was something like, “Umbime.” The dulling shell began to fade and become translucent, vanishing into thin air as Sloane flexed her fingers and lightly brushed Auri’s hand from her shoulder. A sheen of sweat was on Sloane’s forehead and she felt some heat rise to her cheek as she turned to Auri and reiterated, “Really, I’m fine. Just part of the process.”

She looked down at the start of the Chrysalis Staff with a sneer. It still had a long way to go.

“Jack said something about bringing water?” said Sloane, her throat feeling dry as she checked her watch. “This is going to take awhile.”




Interactions: Tayla @silvermist1116 Anya, Luca @Fernstone Layla [@Estlywen] the Group
The House on the Hill



“Look, you’re at that age where your body’s changing and you’re starting to become interested in boys. I get it. Honestly, I’m just proud that you’re practicing safe sex, kiddo,” said Sully.

“Sully, another fucking joke and I’m going to grab the wheel of your car and crash it,” said Sloane.

She was sitting atop a towel in the passenger side of his truck. It was the most disgusting vehicle she had ever been in and even if it hadn’t become a hotspot for mildew after a Vashti storm had wrecked the upholstery it still would’ve been an absolute piece of shit. She had been so distracted telling her story—venting, really—to Sully that she had hardly made any progress on the Counterfeit Chalice. The actual Chalice was resting on her lap, while in her hand was a silver saucer shaped object that would become the bottom of the Sluice. Awkwardly jammed into the passenger side with Sloane was the Chrysalis Staff, making the already uncomfortable drive even more uncomfortable. It didn’t help that Sully listened to the same music her dad liked.

“This would be the song to do it to,” said Sully as the chorus hit.

Sloane didn’t feel so much like knocking on heaven’s door as she did like jumping out the car’s door. Sully was an idiot. A moron. Stupidly annoying and when she had highlighted how her evening with Auri and Odessa was proof that Auri was incompetent he wouldn’t hear a lick of it, barking like a loyal lapdog that Auri was trying her best. Well, if he thought this was her best then he should’ve been massively concerned, but of course he wasn’t because, again, he was an idiot.

But that idiot had saved her life.

“Thank you, Sullivan, for being there when Lu…when the Rot almost took me out,” said Sloane. “I’m pretty sure I would have been a goner if not for you.”

“Whoa, hey now, anybody could have done it. Now I know with all these dreams we’re having it’s becoming pretty clear amongst the group that I must be the Chosen One, maybe the Second Coming of the Messiah even, you know, their words, not mine, but I’m just a guy with a cup. Anybody would have done the same. Hell, anybody could have done it,” said Sully. “You should be thanking Anya. She knocked me out of my hallucination.”

“I know,” said Sloane. There was no point in explaining to Sully that he was one of the few people in the Coven who could actually use the Chalice. Most others were Adepts and without a Severance they wouldn’t be able to utilize it, and she doubted many would give up their magic for her. Anya probably would, although Sloane wouldn’t want that of her despite knowing that she’d do the same in a heartbeat.

Sully pulled into the lot of the House on the Hill. Auri had a knack for finding abandoned places for them to squat. Sloane didn’t get it. Couldn’t they just rent a room somewhere? They were much less likely to get jumped in a public place then they were in some desolate skid row. Where would the next meeting take place? In a cabin in the woods? She awkwardly hopped out of the truck, carrying too many artifacts and counterfeits, but was stopped by Sully.

“Hey, wait, can I have the Chalice back?”

“I planned on trying to finish up the Sluice. Nothing ever happens in these things anyway, so I could at least get some work done.”

“Man, maybe you should try coming at things with a little more construction and a lot less criticism and you might make things happen. Anyway, I’ll give it right back to you when I’m inside. Just go on ahead, okay?” said Sully. He could see Sloane hesitant. “Consider it paying me back for saving you.”

“Whatever,” said Sloane, going ahead of Sully.

For an abandoned bar it was actually quite nice. Sloane walked in with little fanfare, although she looked and felt ridiculous holding the Chrysalis Staff that towered nearly two feet over her head. She discreetly made her way through the bar. A good portion of the Coven was already present, discussing in tense tones things that did not sound relevant to what should have been on the agenda considering what Auri had texted them about. Wasn’t this the meeting to rub elbows and play nice with the other coven in town? She noted the presence of a couple of newcomers, perhaps representatives from Greenwood, and felt her shoulder sink at the thought that the others were clucking at one another in front of guests. She quietly slid into a seat by Anya, leaning her Counterfeit staff up against the table

“Busy weekend. I take it that we’re already off topic?” said Sloane to Anya. “Give me a second, I’ll catch up.”

She pulled out a pocket notebook and the pen that Odessa had given her and started jotting down a few notes. After a few lines Sloane stopped writing and allowed the Quill to take over for her, the automatic writing guiding her hand as it began to fill her in as if she was reading through the minutes of the meeting. Her hand slapped her forehead and by the time she was done catching herself up to speed her hand had slipped back to the top of her neck, her head having hung lower and lower and lower. See, this was precisely why Sycamore needed someone like her to pop the hinges off of doors and keep the course focused. Whenever they were given time to idly chatter they kept doing dangerous and harmful things like taking an impulse and calling it an actual thought. At least the other two weren’t Greenwood although…Vanburen? Ugh. Thank god it wasn’t Trisha.

”Our history shows that we’re more likely to get fucked over by ignorance and sheer incompetence than we are by ill intentions,” muttered Sloane to Anya, just loud enough that Tayla would've been able to hear if she wasn't rudely trying to catch up on podcasts during their meeting.

A boom rang out through the room as Sully kicked open the door. He was dual-wielding a pair of cheap pink water pistols with a do-it-yourself bandolier draped over his chest holding half a dozen squirt guns made out of duct tape and velcro. A flimsy, kid-sized cowboy hat barely held on to his head by a fraying piece of twine as he threw his head back and shouted, Yeeeeeeeeeeehaw, bitches! Reach for the skies! Your boy’s come strapped today! Lemme so those fucking hands if you’re not feeling one hundred. The Chosen One’s got you. Oh, Sloane, catch!”

Sully lobbed the Chalice gently over towards Sloane. It was a perfect toss that could have easily been caught if Sloane’s reaction had not been to scream, duck, and throw her arms over her head, the Chalice bouncing somewhat painfully off of her forearms. Sully didn’t notice as he did it a little spin, hollered at Luca and Layla, and blasted a stream of the Chalice’s healing elixir at the mouths of the two chronically weak members of the Coven. Sully then took a seat, spun it around, and stood with his foot up on it as he leaned forward on his knee.

“So what’d I miss? I reckon y’all were talking about them weird ass dreams, right? Anybody know what’s up with that book? I’m pretty sure I’m meant to have it,” said Sully, completely oblivious to the conversation beforehand.

“Case and point, whispered Sloane to Anya, grabbing the Chalice before it rolled off the table.
Happy 500 fuckers.
THE .CHALICE

| The Waters of Life |

"Thirst no more, hunger no more, and suffer no more. A limitless boon in the hands of the worthy."

ORIGINS & CREATIONS:
| Unknown, but the Chalice and artistic interpretations of it have made many appearances throughout folklore and mythology throughout the past few millenniums. Perhaps willed into existence by centuries upon centuries of wishes from the thirsty, the hungry, and the sick. |

TYPE:
| Neverending Goblet |

LOCATION:
| St. Portwell |

NOTABLE OWNERS:
| Sloane Faris: Kept the Chalice in her vault for safekeeping for Sully McPherson.
Sully McPherson: The founder and current owner of the Chalice since it resurfaced from the Pit. Mainly uses it for beer. |

ABSTRACTION-GRANTING:
| Yes |
.............................................................................
The Chalice is an artifact that has been around since ancient times, held by kings, messiahs, and so-called god and known by many other names. It somehow became lost, spurring many seekers of its powers to quest for it but never find it. Eventually, the Chalice became little more than a myth, believed to be little more than a flowery metaphor written down by a poet of yore and misinterpreted by the simple masses of days gone by. In reality, the Chalice somehow ended up being discovered by a jock in Oregon.

The Chalice is a large, empty silver goblet that is covered with runic symbols; the inside is stained a brownish red. The Chalice is a normal cup unless it is held by the Cupbearer, who is the only person able to activate its magical properties. A small blood offering is required to become the Cupbearer—about 3 drops in the goblet—and they are able to use the Chalice until another person performs the ritual. The Chalice cannot be damaged by normal means or by the contents summoned by the Cupbearer.

The Cupbearer can fill the Chalice with an endless supply of whatever liquid they want. This can range from mundane uses, like creating water or wine to drink, to dangerous, like calling forth lava or acid and splashing it upon a foe. The most notable liquid the Chalice can produce is an elixir, a magical concoction that can heal recent wounds and restore energy if drank. It’s worth noting that the Chalice is “self-cleaning” in the sense that creating another liquid obliterates whatever of the previous liquid was left in the cup. This also happens when the Cupbearer stops touching the Chalice. Therefore, the Cupbearer cannot accidentally poison others or unintentionally cause chemical reactions.

How much liquid appears is dependent on the wishes of the Cupbearer. Typically, one cupful is what is summoned on each use, but they could continue to call forth more liquid as long as they remain in contact with the Chalice.


Interactions: Anya @Fernstone Jack@Blizz, Drake@Shin Ghost Note
Kari’s House




“Anya…”

Sloane gave her a tiny smile offset by a sad, pitiful look as she pulled the jacket tightly around her body to cover her tattered clothes. It was just like Anya to be there exactly when Sloane needed her. Sloane’s mind was still a mess, having not fully come out of the shock that she had been in, finding it easier to focus on the mud on Anya’s shoes than on the people around her. She huffed a little air through her nose, the best she could muster for a laugh, to Anya’s dry retort to her question, before nodding her head gently at the suggestion that Anya take her home, her nod freezing as Anya suggested Drake join them. Her body tensed further as Jack appeared, offering to teleport them to wherever they wanted to go. She grimaced. Please god no, she already felt sick enough as it was.

Another pair of shoes approached, “Stick with Sully for a minute Sloane, heal up. Feel better, okay?”

Sloane’s mouth ran dry as her body completely turned to stone, the only sign of life being her fast-beating heart that had jumped up to the top of her throat. Besides Anya she was suspicious about all these people caring for her, and then of all people Jasper actually came over and said something to her that wasn’t absolutely awful? If she didn’t know any better she would’ve believed that she was still hallucinating. She felt like she should say something, anything really, an opportunity to prove that his preconceptions of her were misguided, the thought that she even cared about how he viewed her terrifying, the sudden sickness in her stomach misdiagnosed as anger. She remained like a statue until she caught sight of him turning and then subtly raised her head, watching him go.

The others were starting to depart now. Normally this would be the moment where Sloane would point out that they needed to formulate some kind of plan of action to handle 8th Street instead of immediately dissolving into their own cliques again, but she was pretty much fried and didn’t even consider the thought. She just wanted to go home, take a long, hot shower, and have a cup of tea. Sloane held onto Anya as she settled herself to her feet, staring after Drake as he moved to confront Luna. When had she returned? Sloane couldn’t believe that the woman had the nerve to even show her face. Unlike Sloane or even Greyson, Luna was guilty beyond a doubt for working against the Coven back in the day. Perhaps Sloane should’ve felt a kind of sympathy for her fellow reject, but there was nothing there but ice. She didn’t know whether to be proud of Drake for showing restraint and backing down from confronting her or disappointed that he didn’t give her the welcome she deserved.

”Know what? Let's just scram,” said Drake as he returned.

“Yeah, let’s go,” muttered Sloane.

She moved to leave with the others, pausing momentarily to turn back and look at Auri. Sloane did need her. Or rather, she needed something of her’s. The next time 8th Street attacked them all she refused to be defenseless. Petty differences aside, she knew that Auri would be smart enough to do the right thing. However, it could wait. Sloane would contact her once she gathered herself. For now she just turned and stuck to Anya, hanging her head once more.






In Collaboration w/ @Estylwen

Kari’s House




The bar was going in full swing by now as Sully, hunched down in the mud, tried to uncrush paper cups and fill it up with the elixir. He hummed to himself a variant of “99 Bottles of Beer” as he passed out the cups, trying to ignore his shaking hands as well as the blood underneath his fingernails. It never got any easier seeing someone hurt as badly as Sloane had been. He could tell himself that he had saved her by being there, but really all he had done was bear the cup. Sully couldn’t think of himself as being the one who had saved her. If Anya hadn’t pulled Sully out of his hallucination then Sloane would’ve been on her way to having a closed casket funeral.

He couldn’t help but think of what would be if he had tripped, or been a little slower to come to, or if he’d lost the Chalice somewhere in the shuffle. There was a reason he had given it to her for “safekeeping” in the first place. Sully couldn’t handle the pressure anymore. He didn’t like bearing the weight of responsibility, knowing that one momentary choke on his end could determine if someone woke up in the morning or not. He might’ve joked about being the “Chosen One” after all those Recollections centered around the Chalice, but the idea of being the only one capable of saving his friends from dying didn’t make him feel special. It made him feel scared.

One of the crumpled little cups ended up being filled with some good ol’ fashioned brown instead of the healing elixir blood red. Sully downed the double of whiskey and then followed it with a second just to be sure, closing his eyes as the burn slid all the way down his throat. His hand was steadier for the next pour.

Tayla’s arrival with Luna was a sudden reminder of the other problems going on in his world. Sully needed to talk to her about Dean. Specifically, he needed to convince her to swallow her pride and recruit the help of the others to beat his damn ass so bad that he’d leave both of them alone. While he would never sell Tayla out to Dean, there were only so many times Sully could get jumped by a guy before he would spill someone else’s tea. If not to Sycamore then at the very least to Greenwood, because while they likely didn’t even know who Tayla was they wouldn’t tolerate someone messing around with one of them. Sully stood up from where he had established his pop-up bar and started to saunter over to Luna and Tayla.

“Hey, Tay—”

“We have an emergency at 7 o’clock!”

“—huh?” Sully blinked, pretty sure it was closer to six in the evening, as his eyes looked over towards the bushes. “Oh shit!”

Aislin and Layla had emerged from the bushes, appearing as if some had replaced their bong water with gasoline. Sully jogged over, his face heavy with concern that twisted into shock as he got close enough to see the severity of the burns, too worn out by all the excitement to remember his bedside manners. He didn’t recall seeing them in the melee, but then again he had been too busy trying to stay alive and not to shit himself. Had they been engulfed in one of Emily’s fireballs?

“Don’t worry, don’t worry, y’all don’t look too bad,” said Sully, breathing heavily through his mouth to avoid the stench of burnt flesh.

Aislin groaned as she crawled out of the bush on her hands and knees, “Y-you’re a terrible liar, you know?”

He flicked the contents of his solo cup out into the grass and filled it with elixir, passing it to Aislin who of the two looked like she could manage to drink on her own. A little burn of the whiskey might still be present and if she was worried about getting Sully cooties then tough luck, but the elixir would be as potent as ever. Aislin took it, sitting back with a wince, before downing the contents. Cooties didn’t even cross her mind.

For Layla, who barely seemed to be with them, he moved to put the Chalice to her lips and to help lift her head so that she could drink. A bit dribbled to the sides before Layla managed to open her eyes and get her esophagus working, sipping like a child, weakly and messily.

Luna could be seen watching carefully, before nodding to herself, spreading her wings, and taking off.

Bit by bit, the burns receded away from both Aislin and Layla. The elixir patched over the remainder of their high as well, bringing both back into their senses. Eventually, the skin had healed over completely, the only evidence that they had been blasted to kingdom come the burn holes evident on their charred clothes.

Aislin clapped Sully on the back, a grateful grin on her face. “You’re a lifesaver, my friend. You get first dibs on my next run. You want the kush, you get it.” She said, trying to make light of a dark situation.

Sully’s eyes brightened. He was so used to being around Ruby and her bogarting ways that he had forgotten there were kind, caring people like Aislin who would happily give weed away. Sure, he could’ve just gone to the dispensary, but that meant waiting in line and having disposable income…or any income, come to think of it.

Aislin’s eyes moved across the remains of Kari’s charred house, to the destroyed front lawn and foliage. “It’s good they left when they did. We uh…” She grimaced. “We didn’t really stand a chance, did we?”

“Hey from where I’m standing we’re all still here and they all ran away. At worst that’s a draw!” Sully watched as a support beam gave out and collapsed another part of Kari’s burning house. “Er, unless we’re counting property loss. Then yeah. They clowned us.”

Layla scowled, half-sitting up from Sully’s hold so she could better see Aislin. “Those losers cheated. I didn’t even get a chance.”

“Hey, you’ll get them next time, killer, now upsy daisy,” said Sully, hefting Layla up to her feet.

He brushed a bit of ash off of her shoulder, which turned out to be the bit of ash that had held the sleeve to the rest of her shirt, and frowned as the charred sleeve slipped down to her wrist like a bracelet. Layla made a face, picking at the fallen sleeve before shrugging it off entirely.

“Good thing this is last year’s fashion…” She said awkwardly.

He glanced between Aislin and Layla. He would’ve offered one of them his jacket to cover up with but he’d already given that to the kid (and frankly he needed it a little more). Fortunately, there were still plenty of Sycamore left behind who could keep them from catching a cold.

“Hey, anybody got an extra jacket?” He turned around to see that almost the entire Coven had already bailed. “Oh, cool. Later then, I guess. Fuck.”

He rubbed the back of his head and turned to Aislin and Layla, “Well, looks like we’re scooting before the police show up and bust us for arson. Did either of you need a ride? I got room in MY TRUCK!!! Sully slapped his forehead so hard that it sounded like a crack of thunder, echoing around the clearing so loudly that for a moment it seemed as if Vashti had returned and restarted her storm. “I left my windows down! They’re cloth seats, Aislin! Cloth! Seats!

He pulled his beanie down over his face to muffle a scream.

Aislin's jaw dropped before horror overtook her face, “Don’t panic! Uh, fans! lots of fans and wet towels - Do you need to borrow some towels?!”

Layla just stared at the two of them with mild disdain, before she walked in between them pointedly, heading towards her motorbike. “I think it’s time to leave, then.”

She half-turned towards Sully, “I owe you one. You need a favour done, just let me know.”

Before she hopped on her bike, slid on a helmet, and drove off.

That just left Aislin and Sully. Aislin checked her clothes, or what was left of them, before sighing and turning to Sully.

“Uh, listen… I got a few spare fans and towels I can lend out.” Her head perked up a bit. “Could see who else is free and hang out a bit, what do you say?”

“I say we’re gonna have to bum a lot of towels, but fuck it, we’re already soaked anyway. Some buddies of mine had invited me to hit up this local taco truck a little bit, some joint called Los Agavez. I told them I was gonna be busy but if we leave now I think we’ll have enough time to catch them there. And, I dunno, if that bong survived, maybe we could…”

Sully’s voice trailed off as he reached into his pocket. A look of confusion crossed his face as he gave himself a quick pocket patdown: phone, check, wallet, check, keys? His eyes rolled into the back of his head as his jaw dropped, remembering throwing his keys towards a non-present Tayla and then getting too distracted by the bunch of jolly assholes trying to murder them to pick them back up. The beanie came fully off his head now as he stuffed it in his mouth, packing it in with his fist, gagging the followup string of curses. He spat the beanie out and gave Aislin a sad look, his shoulders dropping.

“Maybe we could rain check it,” he sighed, kicking the ground. “You go on ahead without me. I’ll catch up once I figure out where I left my keys. Plus, the storm might’ve put out a lot of the fire, but somebody should probably make sure it’s died down enough that it doesn’t spread…”

Aislin gave a sympathetic look, “A rain check it is... If everyone in Sycamore was as thoughtful as you, we’d have progressed by leaps and bounds by now, just saying.”

Sully smiled sheepishly. He wasn’t so sure about that.

Aislin sighed, giving a little stretch to her arms as she spied her car parked down the way. Unlike Sully, she had triple-checked the windows and doors were closed and locked. It wasted precious minutes, but it was her artistic OCD, she supposed.

She offered a smile, tapping her bag, “I got a hoot with your name on it, don’t forget.”

With one last glance, Aislin headed to her car, set her bag on the passenger seat, revved the engine once, before peeling out of the vicinity.

Sully watched the red taillights disappear around the bend and then slunk his way back into the woods. He pulled out his phone to use it as a flashlight and laughed miserably to himself as he saw the massive spider web of a crack in the screen, crunched by his own body when he’d dived to take the shots for a kid who’d turned out to not even need his help. Sully shook his head and put the broken phone back in his pocket. He got down on his knees, squinted his eyes, and began the long, tedious rummage through the tall grass where he was pretty sure he had thrown his keys, blissfully unaware of the crow looking down on him from a branch up above, cocking its head as if in confusion, the set of shiny car keys held in its beak jangling too softly for the man below to hear.



Interactions: Clancy@Zombiedude101, Luca@Fernstone, Drake@Punished GN, the Group
Kari's House



As Clancy trudged through the corpse and mud infested no man’s land to pull Sloane away from Luca, Sloane saw a young boy traipsing through the garden up to their studio. She smiled at the sight of her son, a smile that wavered as a thought punched through the illusion—if there was a desire within her to become a mother, it was something so well hidden that even Sloane was unaware of it. She could only think of her own childhood and her relationship with her mother and how she had sworn she would never have a kid simply because she wouldn’t be able to put somebody through something so miserable, especially when the ultimate reward for growing up and breaking free was still having to put up with life. She could never be so cruel. As her son’s face came into focus it began to flicker, becoming a jumbled, staticy picasso of shifting features as the illusion began to crack.

The walls of the studio fell away as Jasper and the child crumbled into dust, her vision clouding as a bloody tear was shed for her idyllic life and traced its way down her cheek. She wanted to fight back and cling to the failing illusion, but there was nothing left within her to struggle. She felt the pain now. The overwhelming, unbearable, indescribable pain. Perhaps in death she would rest in peace, but the moments up to it were nothing but excruciating torture as she felt everything inside of her begin to rebel. It wasn’t even the worst of it. Reality rushed back to her as memories filled her final moments—a sequence of cold shoulders and closed doors, the subtle nuance changes in body language whenever she entered a room, the hush of conversation, the crushing weight of constant, though not always undeserved, rejection, the forever boredom, the vast, all-encompassing feeling of loneliness.

However, in her final moment she wasn’t alone. She could feel the grim reaper holding her in an icy cold grip. It was difficult to tell what was and what wasn’t, but the angel of death felt shockingly diminutive. She heard a child shout out in unison with something that sounded as if it came from below. They foolishly called for someone to help her, simply unaware of her standing within the pecking order. Even the rain had let up, the weather declaring its utter indifference to the situation as her body went numb. Shades moved around her, ready to drag her into their folds. Then, moments before all feeling went away completely, she heard the shouting of her name followed by something pressed to her lips.

“I’m on it, buddy. It’s okay, it’s okay, slow sips now. Boy, I bet you’re happy you gave this baby back to me, huh? Slow sips, slooooow sips…”

Sloane blinked and the shades took shape. Drake had her head elevated in his lap while Sully nursed her with the Chalice, a knot forming on his forehead, with Ashley’s cousin standing besides the big man looking like he had been through a war. She was forced to take another sip of the elixir, wincing in pain as nerves eaten away by the rot came back and flared up before quickly being soothed again as Sully tilted the Chalice up a little higher. She stared in horror as if she had been bewitched as sinew, muscle, and flesh began to reconstruct her heavily decomposed body. Involuntary convulsions tried to twist her away from the silver goblet, but Sully firmly yet gently kept her head in place.

“Hold her still, dude,” said Sully to Drake.

She knew he was helping her yet her body couldn’t somehow understand that. In what felt like hours, but was likely less than a minute, she struggled against Drake and Sully in a panic, her attempts to scream drowned by the elixir. Sloane finally regained enough strength to force the Chalice away, sitting up with such violence that it startled Sully and caused him to springaway and fall on his rear as a blood curdling shriek erupted from the pit of her stomach. She was able to clamp a hand over her mouth, her other hand grabbing at Drake’s shirt, her body still not fully healed, the skin on her fingers dark and bloated, her bloodshot and bugged eyes staring at Luca in horror. She could see the worry on his face. It wasn’t meant to be an condemnation, but it sure looked like one. She wished she could tell him that it wasn’t her fault, but all she could do was muffle her scream and shake her head at him.

“Um, sis, you’re still a little, um, fuck it, sorry,” said Sully. He could feel for Sloane’s confusion. One moment he was sharing a beer with his dad, the next moment he came to with Anya beaning him across the head with the Chalice. Honestly, the illusion had broken for him the moment Anya had appeared in the camp. He would’ve invited her to go camping out of obligatory politeness, but never in a million years would she have accepted. Still, Sloane was covered with enough festering wounds that she wasn’t in the clear. It was in her own best interest that he acted.

Sloane felt her hand ripped from her mouth as Sully easily overpowered her and forced her to drink from the Chalice again. It wasn’t slow and steady anymore. It was a fullforce chug, chug, chug with the only thing missing being a couple of frat bros with popped polos hollering freshmen, freshmen. Sully winced as Sloane’s hand smacked him a couple of times outside the head, but he didn’t relent until he saw the skin on her arms return to normal. As he began to pull the Chalice away she grabbed the cup, keeping it there for a few more seconds, if only to make sure that the parts of her that had been putrefied were solid once again. He heard Sloane mutter something under her breath, perhaps a thank you or an apology, and gave her a reassuring pat on the back as he got up to give her some space. Sully shuffled over to Clancy.

“Good work on pulling her away, kid. You saved her life,” said Sully. He went to ruffle the kid’s hair but then hesitated, a vision of Clancy slashing through a man’s stomach flashing in front of his eyes. He withdrew his hand, only to then shrug off his jacket and offer it out to the boy who was basically covering himself up with little more than a few pieces of burnt fabric and a lot of hope.

“Here, kid. Maybe you can’t catch a bullet but you still might catch a cold. I’m gonna help Auri with the headcount. Make sure nobody’s off in the woods bleeding out. No running off, okay? You'll mess up my count. Plus, I ain’t losing that jacket again. I just got it back,” said Sully, turning to make his way towards Auri, fighting the urge to literally shout ‘Your Name’, feeling that now might not be the time for bad bits. He pulled a stack of mostly crushed disposable cups out of his backpack as he joined Auri. OKAY, OKAY, OKAY, WE GOT HEAL JUICE FOR THE WHOLE SQUAD! TAKE A CUP, PASS IT ALONG! IF YOU SEE SOMEONE PASSED OUT, JUST FIND A HOLE AND START POURING! THAT...THAT MIGHT WORK?

Sloane rested her head against Drake’s chest, eyes closed, quietly counting in two-three-four, out-two-three-four to calm herself, trying to regain a sense of control, desperately trying not to analyze her hallucination. She exhaled deeply and opened her eyes, fully registering for the first time that she was in Drake’s arms. She shoved herself away from him, her eyes blinking rapidly in confusion as she felt the wet of the mud against her thigh and the chill of the night air on her body. She looked down and let out a little yelp like a lapdog that had accidentally been stepped on. She felt her face flush as she covered her tattered clothes with her arm and quickly scooched back towards Drake to use him as cover.

“What happened to my clothes?” she hissed quietly, her mind still a little soupy from the near death experience. Her eyes darted around frantically as she scooted closer to Drake. Wait, what the fuck happened to everyone’s clothes?
MELLON.COLLIE.HILL

............................................................
A legendary neutral ground of the Covens new and old, Mellon Collie Hill is a location where rituals were conducted and alliances were made. Mellon Collie Hill presents itself as a fancy tourist spot where people take selfies. However, all the legends and stories about it were true. At the base of the hill is a stone staircase that leads to a pathway throughout the Hill. This pathway is etched with rune stones and sometimes artifacts from past rituals that were conducted here. At the very end of the path is a weathered stone altar, and behind it is a stone temple. Here is the spot where active and defunct Covens met and is the location where the 8th Street Covens and Greenwood Covens formed their alliance against the Das Sonnenrad cult.


Whoa, a double reference. Bravo.


Interactions: Lila @NoriWasHere, Amara @Blizz
The Slaughterhouse



Vashti flinched as two bullets crunched against her back and didn’t even pierce her skin. Amara and three of her ghostly copies surrounded Vashti, one of the phantoms leveling a shotgun her way. Vashti held strong to her grasp on Lila’s wings. The connective tissue was sturdier than she thought it would be, like it was anchored to more than just a section of her spine, but Vashti was determined. The wings would make a nice Halloween costume for next year’s festival. She glared at the shotgun, honestly hoping the stupid bitch would shoot, thinking that enough force from the blast would be the extra umph she needed to clip Lila’s wings.

”GET AWAY FROM HER, RIGHT NOW!!!”

“Oh my god, bro, I get it, I had a glow up so everybody wants a piece of me now but fuck, your incel ass is as thirsty as ever,” barked Vashti. “Wait your turn-uhhhhhh…”

Vashti blinked, her attention completely transfixed by the wings that pulsed like the lights at a rave. The irresistible urge to pluck a feather free caused her to loosen her grip on Lila, but was checked by an animalistic instinct coming from deep within. Her hand trembled, divided between desire and dangersense. She could just pluck a feather now, couldn’t she? No no no, she felt it, an old but familiar sensation, one she hadn’t felt since she had regained, or maybe it actually should just be gained, control: influence. Something else was trying to influence her. Control her. Cage her. She couldn’t allow that. She wouldn’t.

Her hands released the wings and moved to snap Lila’s neck but was instead caught by surprise as Lila clawed kick slashed against her legs. She scrambled to get back on the offensive, swiping slashes of her own at Lila’s back that fell short as a wave of pink mist expanded across the field. Vashti glanced up to the sky, yelling in anger as she saw Emily’s stupid signal, not understanding why they were backing off. They were winning. They had Sycamore on the ropes. This was the time to bathe in their blood and wear their skulls like crowns. Emily was so weak. So shortsighted. So fucking stupid. Maybe the mist would provide enough cover to let an accident befall their idiotic, fearful leader.

Vashti smiled, her eye twitching, as she reached down to grab her gas mask and patted her thigh instead. Just as a wave of pink engulfed her she saw Lila struggling with her mask. The rage faded from her face, replaced by a look of pure bliss as the storm overhand crescendo into a thunderous finale like it was the artilleryman invited out on stage to perform the finale of the 1812 Overture. She sliced, kicked, licked, arched her back, ripped, tore, broke, and whispered sweet nothings at whatever was in her way—Lila, Amara, phantoms, zombies, illusions—as she partook in her half of a violent phantasmagoria.

Then, suddenly, a portal opened up and her jaws snapped down on a Dilly Bar shoved into her mouth by George as he grabbed her with his large, meaty mitts, the temporary shock from the cold sweet the only thing stopping Vashti from turning the giant of a man into a meat ribbon. She was pulled through Brianna’s portal and disappeared, the storm vanishing with her. Elsewhere, a group of Dairy Queen employees scattered and ducked for cover as a sudden and violent wind chucked a picnic bench through the lobby window.



Interactions: Clancy @Zombiedude101
The Stadium



No, no, nononononono!

Sully had experienced several moments in his life where time had come to a crawl, the inevitable end stretching out before him, no action existing that could divert the course, powerless to do anything but watch. Bright stadium lights flooded the fields and cheers poured from the stands as he felt the interception slip from his grasp. Bright headlights appeared from around the dark corner on a slick back road, the horn blaring as he jerked the wheel as metal crunched on metal. Bright light flashing from the barrel of a gun as he started to dive to protect the kid, the shots ringing out through the storm, turning his head to see the bullets impact against the kid. Only the kid kept standing and the slow motion crawl stopped as Sully splatted in the mud.

“What the fuuuuu…” whispered Sully as he looked up at Clancy.

The kid should have been dead. The triggerman might’ve been hired by Walt or one of the Warners to take out the competition and had gotten a little too trigger happy given the headshot he had landed on the America’s third favorite t-shirt duck, “Marty Mallard”, but the crossbow expert had been going for the kill. Sully grimaced in pain just by looking at the bolt sticking in the kids face, his hands over his head and his knees pulling up to make himself a smaller target as more gunshots rang out. The kid was iron, unflinching. Sully would’ve almost been impressed if he wasn’t still internally panicking from watching two adults try to kill a kid, a panic that spiked when another kid got picked off by a sniper and dropped to the ground.

“Oh good it’s only Carol. Hey kid,” said Sully, his voice still in a low hush. He wiped the mud off the rim of the Chalice with the one clean part of his shirt. “You hurt? You look like you should oh my GOD!

The kid wasn’t just a kid. Of course the kid wasn’t just a kid. Sully hadn’t just seen it in horror movies, he’d experienced it before the last go around—he still refused to go to toy stores after that last time. Why were the kids never just kids? They were always also ghosts or gods or demons or middle-aged Eastern European women with a rare genetic disease. At the very least Sully could confidently say that his wits were about him: the kid, well, the shadowy demon nightmare thing, had been the same “kid” he’d seen shot the other week. So he hadn’t been hallucinating, although he wished he was as he watched the kid start shredding into the man with the gun, more shots ringing out from elsewhere, before suddenly he was yeeted across the yard as the announcer yelled, “TOUCHDOWN!”

“TOUCHDOWN! TOUCHDOWN! TOUCHDOWN! NUMBER FORTY-SEVEN, SULLIVAN MCPHERSON, HAS WON THE SUPERBOWL FOR THE ATLANTA FALCONS! THE FANS ARE RUSHING THE FIELD! OH MY GOD! SULLIVAN MCPHERSON HAS MADE HISTORY!”

Flashes of lightning became the flashes of camera, the mud a podium, the twig poking him in the face a microphone. Sully stood covered in grime, the Chalice held as the MVP trophy tucked under his arm, nodding his head along to the questions of an imagined interviewer, uttering canned responses, loudly declaring to a mob of dancing zombies, “I’m going to Fantasy Land!”

He blinked and the stands fell away like dominoes, colossal redwoods standing in their place, the cheers of the crowd replaced by the calls of birds as he sat in a folding chair in front of a lake and watched the rising sun. The Chalice became a cold can of refreshing lager, foam splashing up onto his shirt as a hand playfully slapped him on the back of the head.

“Little early for that, don’tcha think?” said Ashley, snatching a can from the nearly empty cooler before using it as a seat. She jerked her hand towards an older man nodding off in a chair, a can of beer still loosely gripped in his hand as he snored. “You guys seriously drink all night?”

“No. We also talked,” said Sully.

“Oh, the McPherson men finally solve all of the world’s problems?”

“Yeah,” said Sully. He looked at his dad. It was funny. He couldn’t remember a single thing about what they had talked about. Really, it wasn’t the conversation that really mattered anyway. The thing that was truly important was the time they spent together. Sully smiled, choosing to believe what the mist told him—that they still had plenty of time left—as he took a sip from his beer. It tasted funny, almost like metal, and left his mouth feeling dry. “Something like that.”



Interactions: Luca @Fernstone
The Studio



Sloane gritted her teeth as undead nails slashed across her forearm and jerked her shoulder sharply to avoid being grappled by one of the zombies behind her. Her knife was stuck between the ribs of one of the bodies, frantically wiggling up and down as she channeled lux into her tarot card to yank it free so in one final act of desperation she could turn it into an Object of Obsession and distract the horde. It wasn’t working. Besides, enchanting something else meant turning the spell off on the jacket, and Anya might still be in swinging range of the monster. Even if she could cast the spell, she wasn’t sure she would go through with it.

Between being separated by the storm and struggling in fights of their own Sloane accepted that nobody was coming to her rescue. Really, said the once tiny voice inside of her that sounded awfully like her mother and had started to become louder and louder until it was like the wail of a banshee, it was to be expected. They didn’t really want her in their little group. She had only been saved by Amara because she’d been in the same room as Lynn. Hands grabbed at her shirt and hair as she kicked and shoved the zombies back in a futile effort to buy herself a few more seconds. From the corner of her eye she saw one of the zombies lunge for her faster than she imagined possible, its hand grabbing for her throat. She didn’t scream at the oncoming death, refusing to give it the satisfaction as she turned to face it.

She felt her skin begin to sizzle, too engulfed in the moment to realize the implication, as her pointless bravery broke. Sloane threw her hands up in front of her as she closed her eyes, the noise coming out of her mouth not a defiant yell at the face of death but a quiet, desperate whimper, one final plea, as she braced for the pain. It came, but not in the form of ripping and tearing and biting. Rather, it was just that sizzle on her skin growing in intensity as if the rain had become acidic. Breathing heavily, she opened her eyes as she put her hands to her chest. She felt some kind of sludge slip between her fingers as she saw Luca smiling at her, the decaying flesh of the zombies slopping off of his body.

”I'll clear us a path…”

Sloane followed behind Luca, somewhat dazed by how she was alive, somewhat uncertain if she actually was, a ‘thank you’ trembling on her lips but never fully making it past. Luca carved a path through the zombies, their flesh and muscles melting off them and becoming a bubbling black pudding of decay that swirled with the mud. Sloane stepped carefully, trying to avoid the gore as best as she could, scared to get any closer to Luca but terrified to fall behind. The battlefield had gone from a brawl to a live reenactment of the grotesque art of Hieronymus Bosch, portraying a literal hell on earth for the modern generation with dancing Thriller zombies, burning crosses, and the creeping pink fog of chemical warfare. Sloane moved a hand to her mouth but was unable to cover as she violently gagged at the dark, bloody strings of flesh still webbed between her fingers.

And then she blinked and saw that she was looking at a painting inside of a small shed that she both simultaneously knew that she had never seen before and also knew that it was hers, no, their studio. The burning house became a burning stick of incense, the sickening decay a sweet scent of lavender, the blood and viscera coating her splashes of paint on a white smock, the storm a bit of white noise caused by the trickling of a small, tabletop water fountain. Dozens of paintings lined the wall, some of them hers, most of them not. Her eyes narrowed. Something was wrong. She grabbed a fine paintbrush and dabbed it across the corner of the painting, removing her signature by blending it to become a part of the painting, leaving the piece of art anonymous. Satisfied, she put the brush down as she felt his presence behind her.

"Im so glad. Im not dying anymore I didnt want to. Id accepted it, but I really didnt want to. Not after I met you again. For the first time since I found out, I actually wanted to live again, Sloane heard him say, his voice strange at first. Perhaps he was coming down with a cold?

“That’s a funny way to say I love you.”

“Really?”

He pulled her into a hug. The words were confusing, but she understood the sentiment. She had felt that way before—taking on the burden of protecting the whole city, refusing to cooperate with others due to simply being a control freak, a compulsion to collect and to hoard power for the sake of hoarding power. She had been dying, too, killing herself with stress, hating what she was doing, blaming others for her faults, and slowly becoming a hypocrite. Ironically, it was hypocrisy that would ultimately save her life, allowing her to stop worrying so much about what others were doing and thinking and focusing instead on slicing out a little happiness for herself. But really, he had been the one person honest enough to give her the harsh truth: she was acting like an addict. Severance was her form of going cold turkey.

“Sorry, I meant to say stupid. By the way, I have something to tell you.”

She wasn’t special, she wasn’t important, and that was completely okay. Yet even knowing that, he still treated her like she was—he was obsessed. Sloane acquiesced. Okay, perhaps she was too. She hugged him back. She felt like she was melting in his arms, the warmth of his love rushing over her. It hurt, actually, having someone who really cared for her, because it made her realize how much of her life she had truly been without that feeling. It really hurt. It really, really hurt. For the longest time she had pushed and nudged any away because the loneliness had been so normal that it had felt right—her legs felt weak, her heart was about to burst, uncontrollable tears of pain formed in her eyes as she desperately grabbed on to him—but now she was so happy that she could die.

“What is it?”

“I love you too, Jasper,” said Sloane softly, bloody tears and black mascara running down her cheeks as she stared lovingly at Luca through glassy eyes. The skin sloughed off of her fingers as she caressed Luca’s cheek. As Luca moved to try and avoid touching her any further by lifting his arms, her mind saw Jasper do a strange, little dance, the mist contextualizing it to make sense, telling her that it was just one of his eccentricities that drew her closer to him.

She gave a girlish giggle, her skin darkening and festering it continued to rot. She moved in to give “Jasper” a kiss, coughing a mist of black blood on Luca’s face instead as she briefly choked. Her legs buckled as she fell to her knees, desperately grabbing at Luca to try and remain upright as she coughed and another cascade of dark blood poured over her cracking lips. The strength started to rapidly escape from her body as it began to succumb to the Rot, vital organs beginning to shut down as she pawed at Luca like a lost puppy.

“I’m so sorry honey, I got paint on you,” she said, still in the middle of a giggling fit that gurgled on her own blood. She attempted to hold up her hand, imagining the loose flap of skin as a towel, and slumped forward into Luca’s legs instead, consciousness fading, “Let me…let me…help you clean up…”




Interactions: Lila @NoriWasHere, Amara & Anya @Blizz@Fernstone, Clancy & 8th Street (Aaron/Flora) @Zombiedude101@Punished GN
Kari's House



Oh Emily, Emily, Emily. Honestly, it still amazed Vashti sometimes how often Emily just didn’t get it. Perhaps a prude like her would see it as a bad thing, but in Vashti’s mind being mobbed by sluts wasn’t a consequence—it was a reward. Yet there was more. Perhaps Emily thought that Vashti was just an idiot, a violent, uncontrollable, chaotic adrenaline junkie looking for her next hit and, well, perhaps she was mostly right, but there was one glaring flaw in Emily’s plan: Vashti didn’t fucking care about her plan. Vashti had a plan of her own. It was a good plan. The best kind of plan. It was to do whatever she wanted to do, and right now it was going off without a hitch.

Maybe a bunch of Sycamore losers would come chase after her and Lila, and maybe that would leave the rest of 8th Street with easy targets to pick off—or maybe without Vashti running interference Sycamore would actually get their shit together and garrote the whole gang. Who cared? It was just a bunch of bodies either way. Honestly, she was doing everyone a favor. Dying young was sexy. Vashti licked her lips. She really should go back and tear out Linqian’s throat while she was still hot. It was settled. Once she ripped out Lila’s wings she would go back and finish what she had started. Vashti sighed as a wall of fire erupted in front of Lila, cutting off the bird’s retreat and ruining Vashti’s hunt. Nevermind. Once Vashti was down with Lila she was going to go back to Emily and shove her head so far up her stupid tight ass that when her body decomposed her thick skull would be revealed to have become the world’s largest diamond.

“Oh caw caw caw to you too, you emo Big Bird bitch!” shouted Vashti as Lila laughed in harmony with herself.

Vashti jumped and swung her feet out in front of her with a flying kick to knock Lila into the flames, letting out a quiet “huh?” as she felt a claw wrap around her leg followed by a pained groan that morphed into a chuckle as claws pierced into her thigh. Vashti’s hand lashed down to grab ahold of Lila and teach her the important lesson that both Leon and Linqian had to learn the hard way, but she found nothing but air as the feathery bitch launched Vashti through the air and back towards Kari’s house. Vashti crashed through a first-story window, a sudden swell of fire erupting out of the window as more oxygen fed the flames, accompanied by the faint popping sound of exploding bullets as a certain winter coat was turned to ash in the inferno.



"Make your choice, miss Faris."

Sloane furrowed her brow, unhappy with the way Amara had hinted that the best thing for Sloane to do right now was to abandon the others and run. Tactically, it was likely the right assessment: Sloane had done all she could in the fight by distracting the ghoulish giant. Any more lingering around and she’d only be getting in the way of the actual competent combatants. Yet the idea of being the first to fallback made her sick. Plus, if any of Sycamore lived they would never let her live it down. She’d lay her life down for a bunch of people that she didn’t even care for than be viewed as weak.

“I’m not going anywhere!” said Sloane defensively, raising her voice to be heard over the storm, grimacing in pain.

Her grip tightened on her knife as she felt a tug on her pant leg. The stern intensity of Sloane's face momentarily faded as she looked down, her eyes softening and her lips parting into a silent “aww” as she saw one of Anya’s cute little shadow helpers. Its presence calmed the queasiness that Sloane was feeling, partially due to how incredibly adorable it was but more so because it existing meant that Anya had to be safe. She followed the gesture of the creature towards where Anya was hiding, her face returning to granite once again as Sloane horrifically realized that the tree she had distracted the monster to was the same one Anya had chosen to hide behind. Sloane turned to the Amara phantom and cocked her head towards the tree.

“I mean, I’m not going anywhere until everyone else is safe. You, get Anya out of there,” said Sloane.



Sully blinked, a bright ball of red flames suddenly erupting before him, a wave of heat evaporating the rain from his skin, his incredibly short and ultimately unsatisfying life flashing before his eyes as he blinked again and the flames dispersed against a wall of green. Sully stared at the green ball of energy that Stormy held out from him. The magical mumbo-jumbo was something Sully had paid too little attention to back in the day and now didn’t feel like it was a time to ask for clarification. However, it sounded like homeboy was offering him an invincibility field, so Sully was so down.

“Good stuff, man, said Sully.

He dapped Stormy up, the green lightning of the Witchveil’s crackling up Sully’s arm and made his whole body tingle for a moment before the feeling faded. Sully flexed his fingers and stared at his hand. He didn’t feel any more or less emotional than usual after giving someone a bro hug, but he’d take Stormy’s word for it.

“Oh yeah, I’m going to heal the absolute shit out of Linqian now,” said Sully, standing up on his feet. He waved his hand in a circle over his head calling for the Jock Squad (and Luc—) no, fuck that, today Luca was an honorary member of the Squad. He called for them to all move out. “Drop that shit, Stormy.



Sloane moved as the Amara phantom departed, scooping Anya’s shadow fox up to her chest like an emotional support summon, taking care to cover its ears as another explosion rang out. The storm had grown increasingly violent with pounding rain and howling wind that shook trees and knocked down loose limbs and branches. Sloane was careful where she stepped, her head still throbbing from where it had been blasted by a piece of debris earlier. It made it difficult to think, to plan, to strategize. She just moved, her small frame pushing against the rain and the wind, seeking to reconvene with the members of Sycamore huddling around a fallen body.

Linqian…

Sloane found herself moving faster, her pace only slowing as she saw Linqian begin to stir before coming to a dead halt as she got close enough for her vision to fully pierce through the storm. Was she hallucinating? Had she hit her head that hard? Why were they naked? Her hand slid down to cover the summon’s eyes, hers lingering for a moment longer on Jasper’s wet chest before her view, as well as her path to the group, was cut off by a barrier of flora. She hadn’t even begun to process the visual that she saw as a body dropped to the ground beside her. She covered her mouth to prevent a scream, the summon falling free from her grasp and darting back after Anya as it began to rain bodies from the sky.



Oh god, it felt like he was going to die. Sully held his side as he jogged over to where Linqian had fallen. After tonight Sully was going to start hitting the gym and working on some cardio. As he ran, Sully caught the flash of metal reflecting a strike of lightning, the light causing him to glance over and see the kid, lightly roasted and still smoking, holding an axe and going off by himself to confront a pack of 8th Street goons. What are you doing, kid? Sully figured the boy had to be in some kind of shock. He jerked his head back towards Linqian—a group had formed around her and she was starting to stir. It was all he needed to know.

Sully didn’t know exactly what had happened at the strip club. He thought he had seen the kid get shot but then the body had disappeared. Maybe the kid was some kind of paranormal. Maybe he had just gotten lucky. Maybe Sully had taken a few too many sips from the Chalice that evening. He didn’t want to take a gamble on the truth. Actually, it was more simple than that: he didn’t want to see a kid get hurt. Sully veered, slipping slightly in the mud but correcting himself, and turned to chase after the kid.



Thunder rumbled. Wet hair clung to Sloane’s face as she held her knife out like a fencing foil, her channeler in her offhand in place of a main-gauche. One foot crossed in front of the other as she circled, looking for an opening that wasn’t there. Lightning crashed, the horde of undead that around her reflected in her dark eyes. She controlled her breathing. No point in panicking. She caught sight of a limb reaching out and reacted. Her knife launched itself out of her hand, buried into the forehead of a zombie, and flew back to her hand with a wet pop. The corpse fell, another one immediately taking its place.

Surrounded.

Her breath quickened.



“Kid! Hey, kid!” shouted Sully between ragged breaths.

The thunder drowned out his calls to get Clancy to stop. Sully gagged as they scampered past the undead monstrosity playing with an expensive looking coat. His eyes bulged as he saw one of Emily’s cronies lift up a gun. Sully put every last ounce of will he had into running as fast as he could before he leapt, facing towards the kid in an attempt to dive in front of Clancy as the gun clapped bang bang bang BANG!



The smoke, the heat, and the light. How nostalgic. Back before this was all there was. The smoke, the heat, and the light. Volcanic eruptions, impacing meteors, and striking lightning. Destructive waves that burned the land, and from those ashes came new life. The nature cycle, beautiful in its wanton randomness, nothing planned, no design, everything just happenstance. Then they took it—the smoke, the heat, and the light—took control over it, gave it a name, built homes around it, formed cults to worship it, took its power of destruction and used it to enforce order. It would try and break free, burn wild, but they always found ways to contain it.

So a storm came and with it came the flood, the waters taking away the smoke, the heat, and the light, if only for a moment. A warning shot. A little reminder. A life lesson. One that has since been forgotten by many, making it so much sweeter to be able to teach them again and again: they are not the ones in control. No one is; it doesn’t exist.

Not even for her.

She opened her eyes, a flash of yellow fleeing from the irises. The shawl was pulled up over her nose to help with the smoke. She didn’t remember doing that. She crawled on all fours beneath the smoke like a beast, the heat causing her to sweat, the light hurting her eyes, but she could see it, she could see it. The storm. The wind blew so strongly that rain was pelting in through the broken window. The storm was reaching out to her. She reached back, one hand in front of the other. The tips of her fingers reached the puddle forming beneath the broken window. The rainwater began to retreat in reverence from her holy digits, but like a flash of lightning she smacked her hand down in the puddle and splashed it. This was her storm.

Emmmmily, she heard the voices from outside shout, ...watch.

The approach wasn’t flashy like last time. It wasn’t announced with a quip or a shout. She just slithered out of the window and began stalking up behind Lila. The only sound made was the spilling of entrails as a poor zombie stepped in the path between her and her prey, the splashing of its guts largely masked by the pounding of the rain and the roaring of the fire. The murder, if they saw her, were kept away by the winds, the storm working in her favor. Her eyes flashed yellow as Lila’s wings flashed green, the want to pluck a feather drowned out by a more intrinsic want—the need for her to remain with the Leviathan, although who could say from which one of them the need originated.

“For what it’s worth,” whispered Vashti into Lila’s ear, her voice strangely gentle as she bared her fangs in a hungry smile, “I think you’re beautiful.”

She lunged at Lila’s back, her claws reaching out to carve through Lila’s back near the base of her wings so that Vashti could latch onto the bone. If she got a good grasp she would then make Lila drop to her knees by kicking at the back of her legs before putting her foot on their spine. Once she had Lila in position, it was only a matter of pushing, pulling, and twisting before the hollow bones would crack with a sickening snap and, like a cruel child who had just captured a monarch butterfly, Vashti would tear the wings free from the body.
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