Atrophy

Winds of Fate - A Thieves' Adventure (Semi-Tabletop)

Solange Belgard
Level: 1
Class: Seducer/Thief (novice)
Currency: 18G, 59 bits
Ammunition: Verbal
Armor: +0, Common Clothing

Vitality: 10
Status: Scheming

SOLANGE

Gender: Female
Age: 21
Race: Human, Bretonian
Origin: Pembrook, small farming settlement east of Gullian’s bay.
Religion: Voi
Attire: Billowing dress, loosened bodice, wrapped sandals, cheap jewelry.
Demeanor: Composed, attentive, shrewd.

Attributes:

Awareness: [3] (Bretonian) The phony horror stories the older girls used to tease Solange with kept her up at night and taught her to have an attentive eye. Now she’s quick to single out the drinkers and the talkers and the tag-a-longers, and wakes up the next morning eager to hear the actual horror stories about the men she passed over.
Intelligence: [2] She keeps a couple of books hidden in her room, knowing full well that less than a century ago they would’ve thrown her in a pyre for even dusting off a tome.
Strength:[1] Solange is strong enough to keep her chin up and capable enough to get someone else to do the heavy lifting.
Wit: [3] With understated cunning and tongue as sharp as a soldier’s rapier, she keeps her plays obfuscated until ready to drop the game winning move.
Dexterity: [2] She has quite the nimble fingers and has the graceful, poised movements more like a lady of high nobility than a woman of ill repute.
Willpower: [3] Solange works in a brothel for trade and regularly handles toxic plants and addictive substances for a hobby.She’d have been in a casket long ago if she wasn’t strong of body and soul.
Charisma: [2] She’s pretty enough as it is, but with a touch of rouge and the proper light she stands out as one of the more popular girls amongst the clientele. Still, good features are of little use outside of the house. Her profession marks her as undesirable amongst the more “reputable” members of society, even the ones that are regular clients...especially the ones that are regular clients.
Luck: [0] It is easier to accept that she is cursed to forever have bad luck than to admit that perhaps she has made bad decisions.

Skillsets

Words like Spun Wool [3]- Lying. Her whole profession is one giant charade. Nobody would pay her if she was honest. Solange knows how to thread together strings of deceit to spin a proper lie.
Clandestine Chamomile [2]- Poison. Solange is known amongst the girls of the house for making a cup of tea fit for royalty. Perhaps they would be more hesitant to take a sip if they were aware of the herbs she was growing in that little garden of hers. She’s just happy the ones she doesn’t like haven’t made the connection between their stomach cramps and her herbal tea.
Bitter Leaves, Better Lives [2]- Drugs. Not all of the flowers in her garden are there for prettiness or pettiness. Some of her herbs are quite practical, able to help others to get by or get high with painkillers, ointments, “powdered dreams”, and salves for sailor rash.
Threading the Needle [2]- Evade. Be it a wild haymaker from a rowdy drunk, a rogue beer bottle flinging through the air, or the Marm giving out cleaning duty, Solange is aces at getting out of the way and making herself scarce.
The Window Shopper’s Special [2]- Sleight of Hand. She works hard for her money. Why spend a single cent of it on something that can just as easily slip into the many hidden pockets she has sewn inside of her dress?
Boarding Party [1] (Bretonian)- Sailing. Solange is not a sailor. She’s only ever voyaged on a boat once. Nevertheless, she’s acquired enough knowledge from the seafarers she entertains to know port from starboard and that if she's the best sailor onboard then it's time to abandon ship.

Flaws:

Strife’s Seamstress: Solange is a miserable person that largely finds comfort in cruelty. She views others as playthings, toys to amuse her until they break or she grows bored of them. She’ll push people to be their worst self, or try to turn them against one another, or spread complete lies about them to ruin their reputation. She’s managed to avoid any comeuppance so far, always playing dumb and acting the innocent, but it’s only a matter of time before somebody sees through the bullshit.
Eyes of Evil: Solange believes that she was cursed to have bad luck. How else can she explain her awful existence? She will do everything in her power to avoid tempting fate and treats superstitions as if they were gospel. The woman seizes up in fear at the sight of black cats, avoids every crack she can despite her mother already being dead, and will leap the damn table to chuck salt over her shoulder if it is spilled. She has spent a small fortune on good luck charms, follows certain rituals every morning and every night, and listens to fortune tellers as if they are genuine prophets.
Pacifistic Pretense: The world better believe that Solange wouldn't even harm a hair on the head of someone who wronged her. It's not that Solange opposes violence or is against killing, it's just that Solange knows she's not really good at either one of them if it's an obvious act. She's just bad in a straight fight, easily telegraphing her attacks and barely ever considering her footing. She'd be better off running when against someone trained with a blade.

Background:

Born the youngest child in a small village to a largely unsuccessful tailor and a locally renown midwife, Solange settled into the role of becoming her mother’s replacement once her elder sister, Renata, eloped with some traveling merchant. She accompanied her mother for a number of years, enjoying the travel and the learning but absolutely revolted by the deliveries. Even when her mother told her she was ready to strike out on her own Solange insisted that she still needed more practice, something that her older sister now living in Gullian would call her out about in letters when not boasting about how magnificent her life was in the city.

When her mother became pregnant in her late thirties it was Solange who suggested they find another midwife instead of doing it herself. In the years Solange had followed her mother she watched the woman never lose a child or a mother, regardless of how harrowing the birth seemed. Now, Solange watched as the other midwife did both. Enraged and fueled by the stammering excuses streaming from the idiot woman’s mouth, Solange was determined to cause a third death that day. She managed to nick the woman’s neck but it wasn’t deep enough to finish her and a skittish Solange fled as the woman ran screaming for the local authorities.

She seeked shelter with her sister, but found that Renata had been lying in her letters about how lavish her life in Gullian had been. The merchant she had married was a charlatan and a scalawag, abandoning her a year after their elopement with a massive gambling debt she had no hopes of repaying. To pay off the debtors Renata had been working at the Red Sail for Madame Fontaine. Bitter about the gentle betrayal, Solange nevertheless took up Renata’s offer to join the brothel once she told her Fontaine could protect her from the law.

She hated it. Not necessarily because of the work—generally it was forgettable, and forgettable was generally better than the alternative—but the other girls. Renata had sung the praises of Fontaine so highly that she had failed to mention the awfulness of the other girls or the sheer terrifying presence of Fontaine’s red-headed enforcer. Solange felt like she was teased mercilessly, unaware that she was just being oversensitive to a hazing ritual. The teasing eventually faded as newer playthings were hired, and she even began earning a modicum of respect amongst the girls once she began using her midwife knowledge to treat the ailments that commonly befall women in their trade.

However, Solange’s status as a vital member of the whorehouse did little to change the fact that she still did not want to live out her life as a whore. Plus, she was pretty sure the bartender had begun to notice her slipping things into the drinks of the girls and the patrons that annoyed her and rather not face Fontaine nor her enforcer. She began making moves and pulling strings to look for a way to get out of there. Her latest client had mentioned that Vargas might be cooking up something. Maybe it was time for her to offer him some of her other services.

Personal Effects:

Dress with hidden pockets (well-worn but clean).
One filled poison vial of a dark purple liquid, enough for two full doses.
One filled antidote vial of a dark purple liquid, enough for one full dose.
One filled painkiller vial of a dark purple liquid, enough for three full doses.
One filled with a clear liquid that causes drowsiness, enough for three full doses.
One filled with poisoned coffee that causes stomach ailments, enough for one full dose.
Three additional empty glass vials.
A flask of distilled water.
Some basic bandages, a suture kit, and a few pouches of ointments.
A pouch containing a few medical components and some “dust”.
A tiny mirror and some touch-up makeup.
A coin purse containing a few coins and some dust.
A journal filled with notes and an inkpen too expensive to have originally been her own.
A pocket knife generally used for clipping plants. DMG: 1d3, CRIT: 18-20 (X2) RANGE: 5ft, (10ft thrown)
A punch dagger sheathed on her lower leg. DMG: 1d4 CRIT: 18-20 (X2) RANGE: 5ft, (10 thrown)
An utterly useless trash rock painted to resemble jade that supposedly wards off evil spirits, worn as a bracelet.
A folklore book designed specifically to give her nightmares about sea travel.
A bag of caltrops.
A vial of sweet, red spirits from Lymms.

Ship Storage/Solange's Medical Cabinet

2 Apothecary’s Grace (10 Uses)
2 Clotting Honey
12 Medicated Wraps
30 Purifying Tablets
4 Blessed Waters
2lbs of Purified Salts
Waterproof Cloak, Black Leather
Oil Lamp with 3 Oil Refills

Solange's Misfortune

Winds of Fate - A Thieves' Adventure (Semi-Tabletop)

Aw yeah it's time to get rolling, @Arkitekt.

_{Get it? Because there's dice mechanics and...I'll just leave this here and show myself out...}

Hider

Solange Belgard
Level: 1
Class: Seducer/Thief (novice)
Currency: 10G, 70 bits
Ammunition: Verbal
Armor: +0, Common Clothing

Vitality: 10
Status: Vexed (0)

SOLANGE

Gender: Female
Age: 21
Race: Human, Bretonian
Origin: Pembrook, small farming settlement east of Gullian’s bay.
Religion: Voi
Attire: Billowing dress, loosened bodice, wrapped sandals, cheap jewelry.
Demeanor: Composed, attentive, shrewd.

Attributes:

Awareness: [3] (Bretonian) The phony horror stories the older girls used to tease Solange with kept her up at night and taught her to have an attentive eye. Now she’s quick to single out the drinkers and the talkers and the tag-a-longers, and wakes up the next morning eager to hear the actual horror stories about the men she passed over.
Intelligence: [2] She keeps a couple of books hidden in her room, knowing full well that less than a century ago they would’ve thrown her in a pyre for even dusting off a tome.
Strength:[1] Solange is strong enough to keep her chin up and capable enough to get someone else to do the heavy lifting.
Wit: [3] With understated cunning and tongue as sharp as a soldier’s rapier, she keeps her plays obfuscated until ready to drop the game winning move.
Dexterity: [2] She has quite the nimble fingers and has the graceful, poised movements more like a lady of high nobility than a woman of ill repute.
Willpower: [3] Solange works in a brothel for trade and regularly handles toxic plants and addictive substances for a hobby.She’d have been in a casket long ago if she wasn’t strong of body and soul.
Charisma: [2] She’s pretty enough as it is, but with a touch of rouge and the proper light she stands out as one of the more popular girls amongst the clientele. Still, good features are of little use outside of the house. Her profession marks her as undesirable amongst the more “reputable” members of society, even the ones that are regular clients...especially the ones that are regular clients.
Luck: [0] It is easier to accept that she is cursed to forever have bad luck than to admit that perhaps she has made bad decisions.

Skillsets

Words like Spun Wool [2]- Lying. Her whole profession is one giant charade. Nobody would pay her if she was honest. Solange knows how to thread together strings of deceit to spin a proper lie.
Clandestine Chamomile [2]- Poison. Solange is known amongst the girls of the house for making a cup of tea fit for royalty. Perhaps they would be more hesitant to take a sip if they were aware of the herbs she was growing in that little garden of hers. She’s just happy the ones she doesn’t like haven’t made the connection between their stomach cramps and her herbal tea.
Bitter Leaves, Better Lives [2]- Drugs. Not all of the flowers in her garden are there for prettiness or pettiness. Some of her herbs are quite practical, able to help others to get by or get high with painkillers, ointments, “powdered dreams”, and salves for sailor rash.
Threading the Needle [2]- Evade. Be it a wild haymaker from a rowdy drunk, a rogue beer bottle flinging through the air, or the Marm giving out cleaning duty, Solange is aces at getting out of the way and making herself scarce.
The Window Shopper’s Special [2]- Sleight of Hand. She works hard for her money. Why spend a single cent of it on something that can just as easily slip into the many hidden pockets she has sewn inside of her dress?
Boarding Party [1] (Bretonian)- Sailing. Solange is not a sailor. She’s only ever voyaged on a boat once. Nevertheless, she’s acquired enough knowledge from the seafarers she entertains to know port from starboard and that if she's the best sailor onboard then it's time to abandon ship.

Flaws:

Strife’s Seamstress: Solange is a miserable person that largely finds comfort in cruelty. She views others as playthings, toys to amuse her until they break or she grows bored of them. She’ll push people to be their worst self, or try to turn them against one another, or spread complete lies about them to ruin their reputation. She’s managed to avoid any comeuppance so far, always playing dumb and acting the innocent, but it’s only a matter of time before somebody sees through the bullshit.
Eyes of Evil: Solange believes that she was cursed to have bad luck. How else can she explain her awful existence? She will do everything in her power to avoid tempting fate and treats superstitions as if they were gospel. The woman seizes up in fear at the sight of black cats, avoids every crack she can despite her mother already being dead, and will leap the damn table to chuck salt over her shoulder if it is spilled. She has spent a small fortune on good luck charms, follows certain rituals every morning and every night, and listens to fortune tellers as if they are genuine prophets.
Pacifistic Pretense: The world better believe that Solange wouldn't even harm a hair on the head of someone who wronged her. It's not that Solange opposes violence or is against killing, it's just that Solange knows she's not really good at either one of them if it's an obvious act. She's just bad in a straight fight, easily telegraphing her attacks and barely ever considering her footing. She'd be better off running when against someone trained with a blade.

Background:

Born the youngest child in a small village to a largely unsuccessful tailor and a locally renown midwife, Solange settled into the role of becoming her mother’s replacement once her elder sister, Renata, eloped with some traveling merchant. She accompanied her mother for a number of years, enjoying the travel and the learning but absolutely revolted by the deliveries. Even when her mother told her she was ready to strike out on her own Solange insisted that she still needed more practice, something that her older sister now living in Gullian would call her out about in letters when not boasting about how magnificent her life was in the city.

When her mother became pregnant in her late thirties it was Solange who suggested they find another midwife instead of doing it herself. In the years Solange had followed her mother she watched the woman never lose a child or a mother, regardless of how harrowing the birth seemed. Now, Solange watched as the other midwife did both. Enraged and fueled by the stammering excuses streaming from the idiot woman’s mouth, Solange was determined to cause a third death that day. She managed to nick the woman’s neck but it wasn’t deep enough to finish her and a skittish Solange fled as the woman ran screaming for the local authorities.

She seeked shelter with her sister, but found that Renata had been lying in her letters about how lavish her life in Gullian had been. The merchant she had married was a charlatan and a scalawag, abandoning her a year after their elopement with a massive gambling debt she had no hopes of repaying. To pay off the debtors Renata had been working at the Red Sail for Madame Fontaine. Bitter about the gentle betrayal, Solange nevertheless took up Renata’s offer to join the brothel once she told her Fontaine could protect her from the law.

She hated it. Not necessarily because of the work—generally it was forgettable, and forgettable was generally better than the alternative—but the other girls. Renata had sung the praises of Fontaine so highly that she had failed to mention the awfulness of the other girls or the sheer terrifying presence of Fontaine’s red-headed enforcer. Solange felt like she was teased mercilessly, unaware that she was just being oversensitive to a hazing ritual. The teasing eventually faded as newer playthings were hired, and she even began earning a modicum of respect amongst the girls once she began using her midwife knowledge to treat the ailments that commonly befall women in their trade.

However, Solange’s status as a vital member of the whorehouse did little to change the fact that she still did not want to live out her life as a whore. Plus, she was pretty sure the bartender had begun to notice her slipping things into the drinks of the girls and the patrons that annoyed her and rather not face Fontaine nor her enforcer. She began making moves and pulling strings to look for a way to get out of there. Her latest client had mentioned that Vargas might be cooking up something. Maybe it was time for her to offer him some of her other services.

Personal Effects:

Dress with hidden pockets (well-worn but clean).
One filled poison vial of a dark purple liquid, enough for two full doses.
One filled antidote vial of a dark purple liquid, enough for one full dose.
One filled painkiller vial of a dark purple liquid, enough for three full doses.
One filled with a clear liquid that causes drowsiness, enough for three full doses.
Four additional empty glass vials.
A flask of distilled water.
Some basic bandages, a suture kit, and a few pouches of ointments.
A pouch containing a few medical components and some “dust”.
A tiny mirror and some touch-up makeup.
A coin purse containing a few coins and some dust.
A journal filled with notes and an inkpen too expensive to have originally been her own.
A pocket knife generally used for clipping plants.
A punch dagger sheathed on her lower leg.

Solange's Misfortune

Winds of Fate - A Thieves' Adventure (Semi Tabletop, Extensive Campaign)

Gonna formally submit my interest. So good to see this come back.

Recollections: Magnanimous (Cancelled)

---

---

It was difficult to tell by the black scarf covering his mouth or the determined look in his eyes, but Ezra was furious that they were all marching through the woods following some teenager with a hard-on for confrontation. He’d thought that Arabelle’s idea to get in touch with the cult’s traitor had been the most solid of the one’s proposed, but his family had drowned out logic with bickering and infighting. Now what was the plan? Show up at their front door, hope to hit them with a couple of suckerpunchs, and run them out of town? Stupid. An icy cloud of breath escaped from Ezra’s scarf. His boots cracked on snow and twigs and he continued after Justin in silence.

His body felt like it was being weighed down. Ezra tugged on the duffel bag hanging from his shoulder to try to make it less strenuous, but it seemed to change nothing. Perhaps it was just a drawback from lugging around the Masterpiece while walking through the woods. Maybe the weight he was feeling was a different one, tied to firearm squirreled away inside of his long, black winter coat. Going to kick in the door and bloody their noses as some chest-beating sign of strength would just keep the cycle of violence spinning, but amputating a few choice limbs would force the cult to let go of the merry-go-round, smack their head open on the concrete, and get the dangerous, rusted playground equipment permanently removed from the park. Justin had insisted that they avoid killing, but Justin was also a naive kid who’d probably think that every confrontation could be solved by gathering in a circle and singing Kumbaya.

"Alright, team, huddle," said Justin right on time, causing Ezra to break his silence with a quiet chuckle.

Ezra heard the branch snapped above and sidestepped to avoid the sudden shower of snow as he made his way over to their pee wee football coach. In the trees above, Nisha giggled as her foot broke a weakened branch and had to catch herself from falling with the Slaugh’s Long Arms. She’d joined the Vanburens on their woodtime assault even though nobody had asked her and, quite frankly, nobody had wanted her. Nisha knew from experience that only fun things ever happened in the woods at night, especially if some chucklefuck was stupid enough to bring a few bottles of Buckie with them. Besides, her “family” needed her to infiltrate the cult’s hideout and pretend to be joining. That was the plan right, after all? She had been distracted by Georgie’s little outburst to focus on the task at hand. Nisha smirked, thinking about how the girl had just dunked on her entire family. She was an utter bitch; Nisha quite liked her.

When they had made it to the woods, Nisha had taken it upon herself to play the role of the lookout. In actuality, all the girl had done was give herself an excuse to swing from the tops of trees like some kind of tentacled Tarzan. The Phantom Limbs had made it simple for her to scale up on, and every now and then the Vanburens would hear a branch shake from above as Nisha made her way through the treeline above. She was surprisingly silent with the exception of the occasional laugh when something bad happened or when she dropped snow on someone.

When Justin called for the huddle, Nisha dropped down from a branch with the same intensity of a jumpscare on a haunted trail. The only thing stopping her from crumpling to the ground were the watery limbs jutting out of her shoulder blades that snapped back into her as she landed softly on the snow below. Her bare arms were riddled with tiny scrapes and scratches, and one cut on her temple from a rogue branch was deep enough to cause it to bleed a tiny, harmless trickle. Nisha seemed as unbothered by her cuts as she was by the cold, still dressed for lounging on a couch while binging episodes of trashy teen dramas instead of a nighttime excursion in the woods. She bounded over to Justin, eager as ever, ready for a winter rumble.

"... Why you all look like you're ready to go to war."

Nisha turned with Justin and let out a surprised little shout as she saw the suited skeleton speaking. Instinctively, the four Phantom Limbs shot out of her and grabbed on to the trees behind her, slinging her back a few yards before snapping back into her body as she felt a warmth in the back of her head. Ezra’s reaction was more muted. He had seen what he thought was a deer approaching at first, and when its true form came clear he was able to keep his shock down to a simple eyebrow raise. He let the duffel bag slide from his shoulder to his hand as the thing spoke, ask questions that were strangely pointed. Ezra slid his scarf down to under his chin, a slightly amused smile on his face as the creature told Justin off.

“It sounds like you already know the answer to that question,” said Ezra, his steady voice managing to hide the fear he felt in the pit of his stomach. “So what of it? Are you a friend to those cult freaks? An ally of the Triple Goddess?”

“Are you her ex? Casual hookup?” asked Nisha loudly. These were the important, helpful questions that would crack open this mysterious intruder and spill the beans on his plans. Her smile was smacked from her face as she caught a sharp glance from Ezra. Under her breath, so she would avoid being hit by another piercing stare, she muttered, “You two do a lotta boning?”

Recollections: Magnanimous (Cancelled)

---

---

By the time Nisha finished explaining how she even knew all of the graphic methods of interrogation they could use on Morgana the conversation had long abandoned her and moved on. Her pal from the cafe, Ara...Are...Arielle? Arabelle. Right. Her friend Arabelle had joined the squad of soured faces, still clutching that security blanket of a skull, before the pudgy one whisked it away. Nisha had expected more of a fuss seeing how cagey Arabelle had been about the skull earlier that day, but apparently there was a pecking order. The girl turned on her, speaking with a posh English accent that Nisha assumed Her Royal Majesty was using to mock her for using both less fancy words and verbal wanking.

"And keep mum around...that. Can't have outsiders knowing too much."

Nisha winked and smiled at Georgie, seemingly unfettered by the jab. Truth be told, “that” was one of the nicer things Nisha felt that she had been referred to in her life. Generally, “that” was followed by something much worse. Alone, it didn’t really sting at all. What really hurt was how the family wasn’t absolutely jumping on board her fantastic idea. The sad(dest) looking guy said something about hoping she was a better actor than a Vanburen. She couldn’t help but quietly chuckle to herself as his insinuation went completely over her head.

The plan to come up with a plan had derailed itself as the cute guy hosting their little assembly began to spin hot, flaming balls around himself to show off his abilities and prompt the others to do the same. Nisha watched with widening eyes as several of the Vanburens demonstrated—god she was sure Her Royal Majesty was going to shit herself when Ezra had started pouring out the tea. This whole family had magic? That made everything so much more fun. Hopefully none of them could read minds. Or sense apparitions.

"What can you do, though?”asked the rock guy, perhaps unaware of how hard Nisha had been fiending for someone to ask her to show off. Nisha shrugged. “If you're gonna be here... would be better if you help us with this dumb plan."

Raymond had nearly finished his sentence as a mischievous smile began to stretch on the shrugging girl’s face as four phantom limbs crept out of her body and joined in with the shrug. Then in a flash the Long Arms reached up, grabbed two different sections of an overhanging outcropping from the second-story of the house, and suddenly flung Nisha up into the air. A rush of adrenaline spiked through her system as the Long Arms grabbed the rooftop and she violently hurled herself up even higher. She cackled with childish glee as she hit the peak of her arc and began plummeting back down to the patio. Maybe she should give them all a shock and show them all of her abilities. No, don’t rush it, dearie. Keep some tricks to yourself. Nisha sighed as her phantom limbs hit the ground first instead to break her fall, spidering out but barely bending as they kept her several feet from even touching the ground.

“Ta-da! Pretty cool right? But wait, there’s more!” she asked, waiting for no affirmation as the watery limbs poofed away. She dropped the remaining couple of feet and the limbs cascaded out of her body once again, this time snaking around the patio and looping between Vanburens to show off her control of them before they snapped back to her side and wiggled about like a quartet of wavy tube men caught up in a crosswind. “So much weird stuff I could do with these bad boys. They can pretty much squeeze through anything, so if you lock yourselves out of your Porsche or something feel free to give me a call. “

“So does this mean everyone in this family has some kind of super special power?” asked Nisha, followed by a sharp inhale of excitement. “This is so cool. Wait!” Nisha pointed a finger at Georgie. However, she was looking at Sabrina, who had a phantom limb hovering a few feet away from her face and pointing towards her, while the other three limbs had each pointed towards a different Vanburen. “So what can you do!?”

Recollections: Magnanimous (Cancelled)

---

---

Ezra felt the web of a slow, creeping migraine spread from the back of his eye to the base of his neck as his family threw their pennies into the pot. Nisha’s asinine idea (which she was still embellishing upon in the background, underneath the voices of the other Vanburens) was followed with a more sensible one from Arabelle. His eyes lit up as Georgie stashed the ram skull in her secret vault of roses. It was potentially an ingenious solution to their little theft problem, yet the only kudos he gave her was a nod of approval upon her return.

Whatever warmth had begun to radiate from him for his family was quickly cooled as Shane excused himself to go raid the old man’s bar—Ezra’s bar, actually. Ezra thought to go after Shane, either to stop his half-brother from sliding further into his addiction or to, at the very least, stop him from drinking Ezra’s good scotch. Alternatively, the idea of grabbing a nip to ease the throbbing in his brain sounded pretty good too. Unfortunately, he was obligated to stay and play his part as head of the house, slipping away only for a minute to grab himself a cup of tea.

Justin had moved on from making it clear that they had to deal with the Triple Goddess no matter what and had moved on to dismantling Sabrina’s suggestion to call the cops. As a rich, white, middle-aged man it had been Ezra’s first thought, but he’d quickly come to the same conclusion that Liao did. Naturally, they wouldn’t say anything about magic being involved, just that a group of hooligans had raided their house, damaged their property, and assaulted their persons. Nevertheless, it would be negligent to call the cops on people who commanded hellhounds and whipped up tidal waves—might as well just call Officer Dewey over and feed him to LeBeau and save the time.

"So, uh, what can you all do by the way?" asked Justin before he demonstrated his own abstraction.

“How to even...I improve people and things. Temporarily, anyway,” said Ezra with a wave of his hand. “I can Configure the size of an item or make it a perfect Masterpiece, nigh indestructible, flawless in its design, and even capable of being an infinite resource...as long as I am able to maintain the spell, that is.”

As he spoke, the tea cup served as a model for the demonstration. As the memento bracelet on his wrist glowed orange and swirled with faint sigils, the cup doubled in size and then shrunk back down to normal as he channeled the entirety of the item to become a Masterpiece. He walked over to the edge of the deck so as to not make a mess and the channeling stopped, the cup radiating an orange light before the energy faded. Then, he glowed for a split second as he made himself a Prodigy. He began to pour the steaming hot tea out, his eyes focusing on Justin nonchalantly as the drink continued to endlessly flow.

“I could spend the next several hours explaining to you the proper etiquette for a tea ceremony, the history behind ceramics, or just blindly taste test teas til the charm wears off of me explaining to you the subtle difference between Earl Grey and Lady Grey, but I think that’d be a bit excessive,” said Ezra. He tilted the cup back up, which by then had poured out several gallons worth and had melted a fair chunk of the snow below him, and dropped the spells. “After all, my siblings need their go, and we still need to get back to the real discussion on hand.”

“Which, for the record, I think Arabelle's idea to contact the girl is the most sound. At the very least we’ll know what we’re up against. We don't even know if who attacked was the entirety of their cult or not,” said Ezra. He gestured to his siblings. "But we'll get back to that. Who wants to go next in show-and-tell for Mr. Liao?"

Recollections: Magnanimous (Cancelled)

---

Earlier, the Hospital

---

Okay, okay, okay. Nisha knew now, as the ungentle nurse used a cotton swab to fence with her uvula and tested the limits of her gag reflex, wasn’t the time to panic. She needed a plan. Another plan, actually. Plan one had been to stop the test. It was simple enough: she could swab the nurse’s throat with one of the Long Arms of the Slaugh and see whatever she could rip out until the nurse stopped swabbing. Of course, then she’d have to deal with being charged for murder, or potentially another nurse. She could just off that one too, but killing the entire overworked hospital staff wasn’t really a plan.

Neither was her second idea, which was to burn the motherfucker down. The third was to pull off the old switcheroo and swap the swab with a dummy one that wasn’t covered with whatever booze that was still lingering in the back of her esophagus. However, that plan was dashed because it arrived about three seconds after the nurse had finished shoving the swab into the bottom of Nisha’s stomach and gingerly popped it into the vial, cruelly adding a “There, see? Not so bad,” as Nisha resisted the urge to yak. That left Nisha with one option and one option only: she’d have to steal it after hours. Filing Operation: Spit Take firmly into the “good idea” mental filing cabinet, Nisha hopped off of the white sanitary paper and followed the nurse to the lobby.

Nisha watched which ward the nurse headed down after she had returned Nisha to her guardian. Ezra was in a conversation with a female doctor with straight, blonde hair that was in such a tight ponytail that just looking at it gave Nisha a contact headache. Although Ezra looked as calm as ever, there was a redness to the doctor’s cheeks and a wagging of a finger that showed their conversation wasn’t casual small talk. It came to an abrupt halt as the blonde woman held up her hand and walked away, her heels clacking as she left the lobby. Nisha watched Ezra stare after her, swearing that she caught a faint smirk on his face.

Ezra wouldn’t admit it, but he had been smirking. He had just convinced Dr. Vaught to run some tests on the bloodsoaked knife he’d recovered from one of the cultists. Sure, Anne had been right when she said it was unprofessional, and unscrupulous, and, yes, even a bit uncool to put a friend in that kind of spot, but it was a spot Ezra knew he could put Anne in and that she would still pull through and they would still be on good terms. He just owed her dinner, and maybe a written apology. Smartest person he knew, but still a sucker for the sentiment. It’d take a day or two, and possibly three out of spite, but he should have the identity of one of the cultists soon enough. Anne had even promised to call him if anyone came in with a knife wound.

“She looked pissed. You two dating?” asked Nisha.

Ezra gave Nisha a blank stare. He not only didn’t trust the young woman, he was also fairly certain he didn’t like her. After what had been basically an interrogation, their talk had shifted into getting to know a little bit about one another. Well, okay, it had been Nisha dominating the conversation and talking about herself for nearly twenty minutes straight. She was rude, seemed impulsive, and sounded from her choices in life that she was fairly self-destructive. Honestly, those bad qualities made him believe that perhaps there was a chance that she was his father’s daughter after all. James wasn’t one to control his urges.

Regardless, Ezra wasn’t going to speak about his dating life with a stranger. He ignored the question and said, “How did it go?”

“Great. Is she your ex?” asked Nisha, studying Ezra’s face for some kind of revelation. “Casual hookup?” He blinked. She considered that to be a definite yes. “Oooh, you dirty dog! Sounds like you’re a chip off of the ol’ block, eh? Like father like son, huh? Apple doesn’t fall too far from the—”

“Oh look, I think that’s Arabelle,” said Ezra, rushing in the direction of some random woman and praying that the actual Arabelle would be released soon enough.

---

Now, the Vanburen Estate

---

Nisha finally understood the nature of Ezra’s pointed interrogation when it had just been the two of them in the car upon their arrival at the mansion. In fact, he had downplayed it quite a bit. It hadn’t just been a break-in, it had been a full blown assault on the mansion. Someone must’ve brought some serious firepower to blow a hole in the wall that large. Ezra made some quick rounds with her to give her the lay of the mansion and show her the guest house she’d be staying in for the time being. He even did the honors of introducing her to the handful of Vanburens that were still around, taking them aside to what Nisha assumed was to ease their suspicion.

In reality, Ezra had reminded them of what James’ policy was on alleged offspring and to treat Nisha like a guest, but to remain vigilant around the girl and be careful what they mention around her. Even when James was around to expedite the process he was always suspicious anytime someone came knocking about being a new Vanburen, and her timing in relation to the attack did little to ease his nerves. Still, on the miniscule chance that she was family or at least believed that she was then he didn’t want her first impression of the Vanburens to be negatively colored by the tension brought upon by the day's events. Although it was hard to tell between the exhaustive girl and his extensive family which one would give off the worst impression in the first place.

Regardless, it wasn’t long after Nisha had found herself settling in and turning the guest house into a guest home by tossing all of her shit around in a mess that would seem chaotic to anyone but her that she noticed a small group of rich marks gathering on the patio. She gritted her teeth and flared her nostrils with a huff. First day “home” and they didn’t even invite her to the winter cookout? Well, she wouldn’t let a lack of a proper invitation stop her. She’d just crash the party. Nisha rushed out of the guest house barefoot without even thinking to throw a jacket on over her purple tank. Nevertheless, she trekked through the snow to the patio without even noticing the cold, seemingly heated by her spirits.

Ezra gave her a quizzical look as she snuck in behind the others. He put a finger to his lips as Justin started to speak, silencing the complaint that was about to come from Nisha’s mouth. Her eyes widened as the kid went on about a cult that lived in the woods and about how they should fight them and rambled on about gods and goddesses and, holy shit, it looked like everyone was taking this seriously. A gleeful smile spread on Nisha’s face as the Vanburens started chiming in support of the idea. Either these rich people were crazy, or the hot asian dude was a brilliant swindler, or what they said was true, or a little bit of everything. No matter what, this was going to be fucking fun.

“Oh, oh! I can help!” Nisha excitedly jumped forward in front of the gathering of what were basically total strangers, waving her hand in the air like a know-it-all teacher’s pet eager to volunteer to show the class how to diagram a sentence. “They don’t know I’m one of you, you know? So I could go in pretending like I’m really there to join the Horny God Cult—” “Nisha.” “—but really I’m not there for that I’m there to help you guys fight them and like I can drug their drinks—” “Nisha.””—or set off a bomb or do something really cool to fuck them over while you all charge in like a couple of badasses and—”

“Nisha, hold on!” barked Ezra in a rare moment of visual frustration. He stepped forward, grabbed the bothersome woman by the shoulder, and lightly shoved her out of the circle. His tired eyes scanned the faces of his family, a look of reprimand striking upon those who’d spoken up in support of this idea, and then his face relaxed as he sighed. He pushed his hair back, rolled his shoulders, and resumed his cool demeanor.

“Why are we immediately jumping to the idea that we go in swinging? Like you said, Justin, they caught us unprepared and still lost. They didn’t get what they wanted, they were forced to retreat, and they took casualties while we only lost the use of our dining room until repairs are done and the bearskin rug in the entryway that, in hindsight, was a bit tacky. I honestly think the threat of violence would be better than actual violence, and I rather not go murder a bunch of people who might have family that might start asking question. So before we go galavanting off to assault what seems like a couple of losers who hang out in a ransacked Five Seasons maybe we could try brainstorming a few other ideas? Anyone?”

Ezra closed his eyes and tightened his lips as Nisha spoke up again, “What if I pretend to join their cult but, but, but instead of kicking their asses I instead lead their leader to a mirror? And then Arabelle and I could pull them through and they’ll have nobody to follow, causing a power vacuum which will make them turn on one another and crumble from the inside.”

“That is, by definition, technically an idea,” said Ezra, as Nisha continued rambling on about something involving a car battery and jumper cables. “Anyone else?”

The please was unsaid, but heavily implied.

Recollections: Magnanimous (Cancelled)

---

---

“I’ll be there as soon as I can,” grunted Ezra, hands still up in surrender.

“I hope your wrist feels better,” said Nisha in response to Arabelle’s take care, already forgetting that it was Arabelle’s shoulder that was injured now that her mark was here.

Fortunately, her words were muffled as she pressed herself into Ezra’s chest, so it was likely that they didn’t even understand what she’d uttered. The door to the ambulance closed, the sirens whined, and the vehicle drove off. Nisha felt Ezra’s hands slowly shift down to wedge her away from him, but she only tightened her grip. Was she coming out seeming a bit too desperate and clingy? Sure, probably, but pride be damned, it typically worked with men, although typically she wasn’t pretending to be related to them. Nisha dialed it back and let go of Ezra.

“S-sorry,” Ooooh, forced stutter? Now that was a smooth move. Keep it up, Nisha! It almost sounded natural, too. She brushed a stray bit of hair behind her ears and extended her hand. “I got a little too excited. I’m Nisha. Pleased to meet you.”

“Ezra Vanburen. It’s good to meet you,” he said, taking her hand. It was a solid shake, but the flatness of his tone made it impossible to tell if he was being sincere. She locked eyes with him and found herself looking away. It wasn’t to be cutesy, either. She had been trying to get a read on the guy, but he looked like he was seeing right through her—like he had already called her on her own bullshit the second he’d touched her hand. She didn’t want to give away more than he had already taken. Hell, looking away probably had given him all he needed. She dragged her teeth against her lower lip. She could feel his eyes still on her. This was getting uncomfortable. Why wasn’t he saying anything else?

“Nice wea—”

“Let’s talk in the car,” said Ezra as he walked past her.

Alarm bells rang in Nisha’s head as she realized she was about to get in a vehicle with a total stranger. How many murder mysteries began with a beautiful young woman trusting an older white man? Of course, how many victims were inhabited by a water hag and capable of projecting spectral arms out from their body? Nisha figured the crossover was zilch. She ignored what little common sense she possessed and jumped into the car, taken aback by Ezra’s lame ride. Maybe the Vanburens weren’t so rich after all. He fired up the vehicle and drove away.

“So, James Vanburen is your father?” asked Ezra, the doors locking with the question.

“Well, I never knew my father. I really hope so, but—”

“It’s a simple yes or no,” interrupted Ezra.

“I was told he was,” said Nisha, glancing over at Ezra. He was keeping his eyes on the road.

“By whom?”

“My mother,” she said, letting out a nervous laugh. She was about to spin a fairytale story about how her mother always told her that her father was some rich and powerful man and how she never had believed her, but Ezra was already onto the next question. There was no chance to even build a narrative into what was quickly turning into an interview.

“And her name is?”

“Amara Reddy.” Shit! She’d used her mom’s real name. “Why all—”

“You’re accent...you’re from Liverpool?”

Nisha’s eyes brightened and she answered before she could even think to lie. “Wow, impressive. Close enough, yeah. Have you—”

“You’re, what, twenty-five?”

“Wow again,” said Nisha, accidentally revealing the truth. “Yeah, turned it a few months ago.”

“When exactly?”

“September twenty-ninth,” said Nisha, furrowing her brow.

“And has your mother ever been to Ara—”

“Hey, what the fuck! What’s with all the questions? You gonna ask my blood type next, see if you can harvest my organs? ” shouted Nisha, glaring at Ezra. It was the first time he glanced over at her, and then back to the road. “I might be your fucking sister, and you’re interoggating me like I committed a crime. What is your fucking deal?”

Brakes screeched as the car swerved over to the side of the road and came to a stop. Nisha held her breath and watched as Ezra shifted the gear into park and killed the engine, his eyes focused dead ahead as the corner of his lip twitched. Crap, he was going to throw her out of the car. She had blown it. She had really blown it. She glanced outside. They were away from the crowds, away from the shops. She felt a tingle in the back of her skull. She gritted her teeth. No, she hadn’t pressed all her options yet. Maybe she could—

“I’m sorry, Miss Nisha. If you honestly believe that James Vanburen was your father then I realize that the prospect of meeting his family and being accepted in is truly exciting, but for me this has become rote. I should’ve begun with this explanation, but I had a really trying morning and I have seemed to have forgotten myself,” Ezra said as he sighed and looked over at her. It no longer looked like he was trying to analyze her, but it was difficult for her to tell if he looked remorseful or if he was just distracted.

“Let me explain—you are not the first stranger to show up to Araminta claiming that my father is your father. You’re not even the first one this year. Since I can remember, people have been showing up saying that they’re a Vanburen or that their kid is a Vanburen. Sometimes, it’s true, but my father was a very magnanimous man—and a very, um, active man—and people tended to take advantage of that fact. It’s not that we don’t want more members of the family, it’s just that we cannot afford to be one hundred percent trustworthy. So he developed a system when a stranger shows up claiming to be kin. It has proven to take care of most claims almost instantly, as most of them are false. It’s only one question,” said Ezra, who unbuckled his seatbelt and turned so he didn’t have to crane his neck. “Do you actually think you are family, or do you just want something?”

Nisha was about to answer when Ezra held up his hand to stop her. “I am only looking for honesty here, Nisha. My father wasn’t the only generous man in our family. If you need something—money, shelter, anything—I can provide it for you. Trust me, I am not lacking in resources or in wealth, but like my father I know that the most valuable thing a man can have is connections. If I help you today, one day you might be called upon to help me. Look at me.” Nisha looked at him. It was suspicious how genuine he seemed. “This isn’t a trick. I can provide for you, if you need it. So, do you want to be part of the family, or do you just want something?”

It was tempting, but more than that it was insulting: did he think she was a fucking idiot? If she asked for money he would’ve kicked her out of the car. Besides, she wanted more than just money—the payday was just an added bonus.

“I hope I can be part of the family, but I feel like I’m not wanted,” said Nisha. Cue the sniffling nose, the watering eyes, all made easier by the lingering smell of cigarette smoke messing with her senses. Disgusting little things, but they helped force the acting. She swore she even saw Ezra frown, perhaps upset at himself from making her cry, the thought that he was possibly annoyed not even crossing her mind.

“Your timing was just poor, but that’s not your fault. As long as you aren’t trying anything funny, this will be good for you,” said Ezra, turning the engine back on. Nisha didn’t dare ask what would happen if she was trying anything funny, feeling as if it would be too much of a giveaway. “Whether he is or isn’t your father you’re going to find some closure. I’ll explain how things are going to go while we’re on the way to the hospital. How are you with needles?”

“Needles?” choked Nisha, worried for a moment that Ezra might have been able to probe her mind and dig into his past. His employee had powers; did he as well?

“Well, yeah. How else are they going to draw your blood for the DNA test?” He must’ve seen her face tense, because he laughed and shook his head. “Relax, I’m just kidding.”

“Had me going,” chuckled Nisha, trying to stop her heart from exploding.

“Pretty sure they use the swabs now...” muttered Ezra, merging back into traffic as he headed towards the hospital.

…shit.

Recollections: Magnanimous (Cancelled)

---

---

Ezra drove with one hand on the wheel, the other holding a cigarette near the barely cracked window to keep the smoke from soaking into the leather, and a bluetooth headset jammed into his ear. The car itself was nothing fancy, a standard suburban sedan with good gas mileage and a high safety rating. It wasn’t the kind of car that made people think one of the wealthiest men in town was behind the wheel, but that was kind of the point. Ostentatious displays of wealth really wasn’t Ezra’s style. Shoved into the console of the car was a brown paper bag that contained the knife that had been jammed into the chest of one of the Wiccans, still wet with the victim’s blood. Once he checked with Arabelle and picked up Nisha he had an errand to run.

“Hey Anne, it’s Ezra. I’m going to need to call in a favor and use that lab of yours. Preferably without anyone else knowing about it. Ring me back when you can,” he said as he sped through a yellow light as it turned red.

He heard sirens coming from behind him and grimaced. Even though he insisted against it the police typically turned a blind eye when a Vanburen did something outside of the law, but he had definitely gone through the light before it had been red. He pulled over to the side of the road and watched as an ambulance drove by instead, headed the same way he was. Ezra pulled back into the thoroughfare with the intent to follow behind the ambulance the full way to his destination.

Instead, he hit the red light. White knuckles gripped the steering wheel as he flicked the cigarette out the window and watched with narrowed eyes as a battalion of Christmas shoppers marched across the street right as the crosswalk countdown timer started. By the time the little old granny holding up the rearguard was no longer in front of his fender, the light had hit another red. Ezra banged his head against the back of the driver’s seat, lit another cigarette, and gunned it the minute green flashed.

By the time Ezra made it to Café, Oh Yay the lights on the ambulance had been killed, the backdoor was open, and he could see an EMT in a blue uniform grabbing hold of Arabelle’s arm and pushing. He hurriedly chucked the cigarette out of the car, even though it was clear from the expression on Arabelle’s face that she was distracted by the lady popping her shoulder back into place. He pulled past the ambulance and found a place to park next to the curb, leaving the window open to air out the evidence. As he approached the ambulance a young Indian woman in a tracksuit swished up towards him with a look of determination, her mouth opening to speak.

“About time! Oh it is so nice to finally see you in the flesh, brother. Thank you for coming for me, I—”

“Excuse me, miss,” said Ezra without stopping. He didn’t see the woman’s jaw drop as his hand brushed her shoulder to prevent the two of them from colliding as he deftly stepped around her to check in on his employee. He looked from the EMT to Arabelle down to the skull. It looked identical to the weird one dad kept in his study. He pulled his gaze away from the oddity back towards the women. “How is she? Are you okay? Did one…”

“Brother!”

“She dislocated her shoulder from her fall but I was able to secure it back in place,” said the EMT. A look of relief washed over Ezra’s face before it faded back to its usual calm, although it was difficult to tell if he was relieved because Arabelle wasn’t badly harmed or because Arabelle had kept the attack on the mansion underwraps. “While she should be fine and, technically, I am not allowed to force her to go, it’s standard procedure to take her to the hospital just to make sure that there was no last damage to any ligaments.”

“Better to be safe—”“Brother!?”“—don’t you agree, Ms. Matthews? I could meet your at the hospital and pick you up after they run a checkup, but it’s your call. Just—”“EZRA!!”“—what!?”

As he shouted, Ezra turned to see the same lady in the tracksuit rushing towards him. He instinctively seized up as she practically leapt from the sidewalk and threw her arms around him, pulling him into a surprisingly tight hug. He gave Arabelle a look of wild confusion that shifted to discomfort to fear as he realized the lady was not going to let go. He could’ve sworn he heard muffled cries coming from where the stranger had buried her head into his chest as he tried to squirm free from the hug, the stranger’s grip only tightening.

_“What?” was all Ezra was able to eek out. Hopefully, Arabelle knew what the hell was going on and had a trick to getting this psycho out of his personal bubble—a hope that was quickly fading away as the EMT moved to close one of the doors on the back of the EMT.

Recollections: Magnanimous (Cancelled)

---

---

Nisha’s eyebrows jumped as Arabelle mentioned there being a break-in at the Vanburen house. She imagined if one of the richest families in the town got burgled then the whole damn police force would’ve gone to their house, but she didn’t recall hearing any sirens when she had waited. Plus, Ezra had sounded fairly calm for someone who had just been robbed. Was Arabelle pulling her leg? Nisha’s gutcheck was a firm no, but her gut wasn’t always on her side. She gave Arabelle a shrug and helped her with the bathroom door.

“Wow, that’s pretty wild. Hopefully you gave that wannabe thug a little one-two”—Nisha gave the air in front of her a gut shot and an uppercut—“in return. Sorry about your shoulder, though. I had that happen to me once—oh, not get it dislocated by a robber, just dislocated—and it hurt like a mother. Gyah. It was like three or four years ago. Funnily enough, it happened in a bathroom too, see I was...”

Nisha walked beside Arabelle as she led her through the somewhat crowded cafe, oversharing a story that a person normally wouldn’t tell a total stranger unless they were working on their fourth margarita after their third divorce. Midwestern mothers turned their heads as Nisha regaled an unfortunate Arabelle with gratuitous details regarding an on-the-clock bathroom tryst that was cut short when Nisha had slipped and fell on the bathroom floor thanks to the piss that was everywhere from some old drunk. The two woman exited the building and stepped out into the cool winter air to wait for the ambulance as Nisha wrapped up, “And so then what this idiot does is, this idiot picks me up off of the ground, see my dislocated shoulder, and decides to fix it by slamming me into the wall like in that one movie. The crazy thing is, it worked! So there I am with a totally fucked and then unfucked shoulder, almost in a complete blackout, smelling like a month old urinal cake, and he tries to go back in for some more— ”

A dangerous look flashed across Nisha’s face, “You know what? We could just slam your shoulder back into place. Hospitals always ask too many questions and are so judgmental. Make it seem like it's your fault for breaking your ankle when you just barely miss the jump from your friend’s rooftop to their above-ground pool. How ab...”

Thankfully, Nisha’s words were drowned out by the sounds of the ambulance pulling up, giving Arabelle the opportunity to escape from what was quickly becoming a hostage situation as a somewhat disappointed Nisha flagged the EMTs over.