Wrapped in a warm cashmere coat, Ezra remained quiet as the family started discussing what to do with the Wiccans. He almost appeared bored, watching the others with a neutral expression that hid the fact that his mind was going a million miles per hour trying to figure out a good argument against confronting the cult. Ezra didn’t buy Justin’s theory that his family would be subjugated to many more of these types of encounters, or maybe instead of not buying it he just didn’t like it. Going against the cult as if it were some kind of training exercise seemed like the equivalent of going to jail and stabbing a guy so other people didn’t mess with you. Maybe it’d make people think twice about jumping you for a pack of smokes, but you’ve just guaranteed more time in prison when you should’ve really been focused on finding a way to get parole.
There had to be some kind of alternative. His first thought was that they should pass on this information to the authorities and leave them up to the law instead of some brazen, old school style of frontier justice. He quickly dismissed it. Either they’d look like lunatics trying to explain to the sheriff how magic is real, or they’d have to omit the cult's powers and be culpable for the severe injury or death of a handful of policemen who got thrown around like chew toys. Trisha’s suggestion that their experts handle it made Ezra think that perhaps they could reach out and hire a few more people like Justin or Tuyen, but he threw that idea out even faster than the cop one. If James had something that the Wiccans wanted, it stood to reason that other so-called experts might covert things in his collection as well. The tighter all of this was kept the better. Oscar bringing in Blu was already compromising, but he understood his half-brother’s logic.
Shane spoke up, stepping one foot into Camp Confrontation that the experts had set up and Oscar had so eagerly plopped down his sleeping bag. Even Trisha, who made it clear that she didn’t want to sit around the campfire and sing kumbaya, still wanted the Wiccans dealt with. At this rate the whole family would be sharpening sticks before Ezra could come up with a compelling argument to convince them to cool their heads. Shane was right about one thing—the cult was likely to do something stupid the moment they felt cornered and Ezra didn’t want Araminta being synonymous with Waco or Jamestown.
He felt his shoulders relax as Arabelle spoke up. Her words confirmed a suspicion he had about how unorganized the Wiccans were. They’d used their names, shown their faces, and left tracks so obvious the amateur sleuths and a drunk could follow. This healer could be their ticket to avoiding a direct confrontation. At the very least they could get a sense of what kind of people the Wiccans really were. Perhaps some of them could become resourceful once given some proper guidance. If Justin’s crackpot idea that his family would face greater threats became true, it’d be nice to have a few more pawns on the chessboard. Ezra stepped forward.
“I agree with Arabelle. We’re missing a lot of pieces to this puzzle and if that healer can illuminate things for us then we’ll better know how to deal with the Wiccans and their Goddess. We could end things without even lifting a finger. Cults work because they create an us versus them atmosphere. If we confront them then it’s just like Shane said—they’ll feel cornered and desperate, and desperate people do dangerous things. But we offer them a way out? We may earn some gratitude. I say we meet with her and let her know that we’ll forgive and forget those members who agree to abandon their cause. Best case scenario she could help us unravel their little cult and win over a few allies. Worst case we know that negotiating is no longer an option and can plan accordingly,” he said.
Ezra hoped that his reasoning would convince his family from grabbing the torches and pitchforks, at least until they talked to Arabelle’s contact. He withheld the idea that isolating their healer would make things easier for them if things once again came to blows. He glanced at the ram skull in Arabelle’s hand. She’d kept it safe, but she’d been injured in the process. He’d read enough of James’s ramblings to know that they couldn’t just destroy it, and the uncertainty of the Wiccan’s powers made him uncomfortable with the idea of leaving it unsupervised, even if it was inside of a vaulet. He furrowed his brow and looked at the others. One of them should hold on to it, only…
Ezra sighed. It wouldn’t be right to volunteer anyone else as bait. He gave Arabelle a tight-lipped smile and held out his hand, “In the meantime I’ll hold on to the thing until we figure out what to do with it. Maybe we could seal it in cement. I’m going to be getting quotes for construction work all day tomorrow anyway.” He didn’t ask if anyone else agreed with him. It was better to act as if this was already the decision. He was right, but just because he was right didn't mean they'd listen. If they were committed to confrontation he'd have to help them. He just hoped that none of them realized that, giving them pause before doing something ruinous. “So, do you have a way to get in touch with this woman?”
“The world has never seemed darker. Be the shining light that’ll bring about a brighter tomorrow."
_______________________________________________ Tansy Monroe Vanburen
She/Her | 35 | American |5’9” | 150lbs _______________________________________________ Gilded _______________________________________________ Skills & Talents "I’m just playing my part. Anyone in my position would do the same." ___________________________________
[Hostess Mostest] ⫻ Tansy has spent the better part of her adult life rubbing elbows with the social elite in support of her father’s philanthropy efforts. She’s graduated beyond being a basic socialite into being a full-blown party planner who has organized several charity and fundraising events, set up art exhibitions and debutante balls, and hosted extravagant dinner parties. If there’s a ritzy social event happening in Pennsylvania or New York odds are that Tansy’s involved in some shape. [Rumor Mill] ⫻ Gossip gravitates towards Tansy like spiteful little meteorites and she’s mastered the ability of flinging the rumors back into outer space for them to be disappeared into a blackhole. Somebody’s got to keep daddy’s reputation untarnished, especially as the grace period of speaking ill of the dead expires. Alternatively, she’s more than capable of adding the necessary oomph to a rumor to really get it going, turning a minor freckle on one’s surface into a socially catastrophic extinction level impact. [Tennis Ace] ⫻ She’s been playing the sport since grade school. While by no means near a professional, Tansy stuck with the game enough that James eventually added a court to the mansion’s grounds. He said that it was out of fear she’d start trying to beat the house’s walls in a match after she’d worked her way through the staff and her siblings. [Horse Girl] ⫻ Of course she wanted a pony when she was a little girl. She just happened to be one of those little girls whose daddy was rich enough to buy her one. She typically goes riding several times a week.
Appearance ▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔ "I’m expected to look my best and I always outdo the expectations."
Tansy presents herself in the old-fashioned mold of a “proper” lady, all primed and poised while veiled in the drapes of modesty and sensibility. She tends to overeunciate her words and enthusiastically moves her hands as if she were conducting her own sentences as she speaks, almost as if she were a kindergarten teacher talking to her young students. Thriving on the spotlight, Tansy carries herself in such a way that not only does she make people think she is important but she also makes them question their own value.
Her blonde hair falls below her shoulders and the ends are constructed into loose curls. Her darker eyebrows are meticulously plucked to perfection, her lashes are long, and her eyes are big, bright, and blue. Laugh lines and a beauty mark are the only source of blemish not hidden by creams or concealers on her pale skin. A polite smile is seemingly fixed upon her face, serving as a social shield she can deflect her sharp tongue off of so she swallows any spiteful words instead of performing a faux pas. Her nails are manicured and sharply filed.
She is tall and doesn’t shy from high heels, allowing her the pleasure of another way to look down upon others. She has a shapely figure and stays fit through her various outdoor hobbies, capable of displaying a level of athleticism unexpected of a woman who basically throws parties for a living. Her wardrobe is lavish in price and quality yet modest and conservative style, trending towards a vintage look that she’d define as timeless. Tansy is almost never seen in the same thing twice and insists that she donates most of her old outfits, yet several rooms in the manor are dedicated towards storing her clothes.
Psychology ▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔ "I was raised with a strong moral compass, so I'd appreciate it if you just let me give directions."
MAIN GOAL ⫻ Tansy says she desires to make the world a better place, although that’s just the shallow textbook response she’s been regurgitating since the Miss Araminta pageant she won over fifteen years ago. It’s become a lot clearer lately: Tansy just wants to be adored.
PHILOSOPHY ⫻ The best life is the one she has absolute control over. Tansy believes that people can be divided between being a sheep or being a wolf. However, Tansy knows that she is different; she is no animal. She sees herself as a shepherd, someone who can protect the flock of sheep by controlling where they graze and flay the pelts off of the wolves hiding amongst them.
SEXUALITY ⫻ She’s straight. Tansy has taken after her father when it comes to long-term relationships. If she brings a man home for Thanksgiving by now the family knows there will be another by Christmas. Until recently she hasn’t technically been single since the eighth grade, but since the funeral she hasn’t been dating.
FEARS ⫻ She has a massive fear of rejection. Tansy is openly afraid that her reputation and the Vanburen name will be tarnished by her family. The amount of effort she puts in to appear to be a perfect, polished princess can be so quickly dismantled by one of her indignant siblings making an ass of themselves. Conversely, she wants those siblings to adore her as much as those rich elites minglings at her wine mixers. She endlessly worries that she alienates herself from her family, yet continues to project this image where she sees herself as their superior.
Tansy is also so terrified of driving that she never learned and struggles with anxiety attacks even when just being a passenger. She limits her travel by car as much as possible, lest she run the upholster by death gripping the leather. These fears do not arise in other forms of transportation.
REPUTATION ⫻ She’s Araminta’s favorite daughter. Despite a few rumors of promiscuity flying around, Tansy has a squeaky clean reputation in town and has been lauded for her efforts in assisting the town in tackling its troubles through charity work and fundraising events she’d organized with her father. While a few of the “rougher” individuals around town might consider her a bit hoity-toity and question her motivations, it’s difficult to deny the good work she has done for Araminta. Even those naysayers have seemed to be coming around ever since James’s death.
Tansy's reputation within her own family is dubious. She attempted to establish herself as the matriarch of the household, treating her siblings with a smothering presence of saccharine sweetness that would rapidly swap to veiled insults and passive-aggressiveness when they questioned her authority. It didn’t help that she was notably brusque with the staff, treated most of their mothers with thinly veiled hostility, or attempted to monopolize their father’s limited freetime in hopes of continuing to seal in her spot as “the favorite”. Although she regularly tries to keep in touch with everyone as they’ve left the nest, it was difficult for many of the Vanburen children to see Tansy as anything but a holier-than-thou fake.
THOUGHTS ABOUT FATHER ⫻ Tansy absolutely adored James because Daddy, as she worrisomely refers to her adopted father as to this day, gave her everything she ever wanted. While the other children tried to flee from out underneath his shadow, she fully embraced living in the shade. He was a great man and she plans to honor his greatness by opening a rehabilitation clinic in his name. She won’t stand to listen to any hearsay about his relationship struggles or his own substance abuse. Daddy was a hero and he deserves to be recognized as one.
FLAWS ⫻ Tansy is a control freak who is quick to send others on a guilt trip when they do not do things the way she wants them to be done. Although she isn’t a stupid person, she is one of those frustrating individuals who believes she is smarter than she actually is and struggles to accept others as being able to come up with a better idea. She turns disagreements personal, acting as if attacks on ideas are attacks on her as a person. As well, she isn’t above threatening to spread malicious gossip to get someone to acquiesce to her will.
Backstory ▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔ "It's silly but I just cannot imagine what my life would've been life if he hadn't chosen me. Less champagne, I suppose."
James Vanburen adopted Tansy when she was barely a toddler. She cannot recall anything from her life before, but when growing up she suffered from recurring nightmares of shrieking voices, a blinding light, the sound of metal grinding on metal, and an intense cold. She liked to imagine that James saved her from a terrible life. Nightmares aside, her childhood was wonderful, an idyllic life spent waited upon by other people and granted whatever she wanted. Compared to the other children, Tansy was spoiled by James. It became clearer to her when she realized he’d picked her from dozens of other children up for adoption. James had other kids, but he’d chosen her. She was special, and because she was special she knew she couldn’t let him down.
By the time she was a teenager, Tansy had taken it upon herself to become the, as some of the staff teasingly called her, lady of the estate, organizing family dinners and prepping for holiday parties. She often found herself at odds with James's current wife, but always tried to harness the affection of his other children to various levels of success and failure. A fear of driving meant she spent a lot of her later teen years on the estate horseback riding or playing tennis with her latest boyfriend, occasionally whiteknuckling a ride into town for a change of scenery or riding her bike there when she didn’t want to fight off a panic attack.
As an adult, Tansy stayed in Araminta but did not attend the local college. Rather she doubled-down on her dedication to assisting James and began organizing and hosting fundraising events to help him tackle the city’s drug epidemic. She found she had a knack for calling the shots and began to oversee more of James's charitable endeavors, allowing her father to galavant off on wherever his business took him. Her talent for event planning became noticed by the limited pool of Araminta social elite and she began taking hosting requests for other exquisite events.
Eventually, Tansy found herself soaring amongst the socialites, hosting galas in Araminta and nearby major cities. She inevitably began to split time between Araminta and New York City, ideally commuting by train and subway whenever possible, and spent her adulthood drinking out of champagne flutes, hosting galas, and guilting the rich into returning a paltry amount of the money they’d exploited from the poor to boost their social standings. Life was perfect. Tansy could not be happier. She enjoyed planning events and saw a successful evening as proof that what she did was important.
Call it self-centered but there was nothing she enjoyed more than planning the Vanburen Family Christma every year. It was James’s favorite day of the year after all, and she spent weeks of hard work making sure everything was just right. Weeks that only took his ungrateful bastards minutes to ruin with their bickering the moment their precious little egos got scratched. The image of her father’s sad, tired face as he drained his Manhattan, poured himself a whiskey neat, and closed his library’s door in her face is etched in her mind. The next day she was planning his funeral. The extra burden kept her from lambasting his children. It’d be perfect. A perfect funeral to honor a perfect father.
Only she couldn’t go. How could she possibly stomach seeing James in a box surrounded by a carnival of bastards and social parasites? How could she bear to witness one of them make a mockery out of something she helped create again? Tansy feigned being ill and sequestered herself in the manor. While alone in the house she heard the sound of a glass shattering come from James’s room. Knowing that all the staff had been given the day off she felt a cold dread take hold of her as she approached his closed door, an otherworldly light pulsing from under the door. She froze in fear as her hand touched the handle and then she heard a choir of voices in her head say, “Do not be afraid.” She opened the door, screamed as she witnessed the horrifying form of what lies beyond, and was swallowed by its golden light.
Tansy couldn’t move. She couldn’t speak. The creature was gone but she could feel it in her head. The choir chimed up again, telling her to be calm and so she did. It introduced itself as Dominion and told Tansy to consider it as an old so-called business partner of James. It just wanted to see the man one last time and pay its respects, but given the circumstances of its appearance needed a host. What better host was there than Tansy? She found that she couldn’t possibly disagree with Dominion. She joined her family at the graveyard, a bore witness as her father was buried in the ground. She felt her head swirl and then there was no more input from Dominion.
The following day she’d rationalize it as a delusion caused by intense grief. She returned to New York shortly thereafter with the goal of raising funds for a new rehabilitation clinic in Araminta named after her father to honor his memory. However, she found that her typical donors were not so interested in pursuing a pet project that offered little prestige. At least that was the case before Dominion began speaking to her again. It offered its power to Tansy to help win over her investors, insisting that it would be its own way of honoring its old business partner. Dominion explained to her what it could do. At first Tansy was a bit apprehensive, moral quandaries and all, but if it was for the greater good then she couldn’t say no. She accepted Dominion’s deal and fully became adjoined with the Apparition. She found little difficulty securing funding since then.
Tansy moved back to Araminta to drum up local support for the rehab clinic and to settle on a location to build it. She purchased the nicest apartment she could find downtown so she could avoid commuting. Tansy made a decent headway on finding a lot in East Araminta where she could begin construction after winter. However, she didn’t plan on spending the holidays at home. No matter, it’d be nice to have everyone around again. What other choice did they have?
Abstraction ▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔ "Do not be afraid, my sweet submissive subject."
TYPE ⫻ Aberration (Adjoined)
ABSTRACTION ⫻Dominion’s Majesty, the ability to take on an otherworldly form and subjugate someone who witnesses her.
ABSTRACTION DESCRIPTION ⫻Dominion’s Majesty allows Tansy to unleash the Apparition hiding inside of her and manifest it. When Dominion is manifested the Apparition tries to mesmerize a being of Tansy’s choice, attempting to snap them into a hypnotic stupor. Someone without an emotional field is almost immediately enchanted, unable to take their eyes off of Tansy and allowing her to turn them into a subject that she can command with simple verbal orders. If she does not issue a new command upon the completion of an order then the subject returns to its hypnotic state and await her next demand. Tansy can seal Dominion to release her subject from its hypnosis or to cancel an order. Upon releasing a subject they regain their consciousness but are unaware of what happened or what they did as if they were sleepwalking.
Alternatively, Tansy can choose to fully possess her subject by touching them and staring into their eyes for a handful of unbroken seconds. However doing so enters her own body into a hypnotic, nearly defenseless state. While in possession of her subject she has absolute control over them and can access their memory, allowing her to pass as them in conversation, stockpile dangerous secrets, or get her ego battered by finding out how somebody really thinks of her. To one of the Blind it would be almost impossible to tell the difference between a person and Tansy possessing a person. However, someone capable of witnessing the Extra-Normal could catch the occasional flicker of gold in their eyes when they are hit by a bright light. Tansy can end a possession at will, immediately snapping back to her body and freeing her subject. As with her orders, they do not recall the possession.
Emotional Fields absolutely hamper Dominion’s Majesty, turning Tansy’s divine right to reign into a monarch’s brutal attempt to quell a peasant rebellion through pure attrition. The worst thing that typically happens to her unruly subject with an Emotional Field when she manifests Dominion is that they experience a temporary flash of blindness and rush of fear. As long as Tansy is using Dominion’s Majesty on this revolting peon, they will continue to be blinded when looking at her as if they were trying to stare into the sun. As well, they will begin to feel the horror of Tansy’s royal mandate breaking through their Emotional Field. Looking away almost immediately frees a would-be subject from Tansy’s grasp (as does forcing Tansy to divert her gaze), but if they do not or cannot they will eventually be snapped into a hypnotic state just like the Blind.
However, unlike the Blind an Extra-Normal subject of Tansy’s can attempt to resist her orders, either following it out ineffectively or even completely breaking free of her subjugation. How hard it is to resist an order depends on how unlikely her subject would’ve done it on their own free will. For example, telling someone who doesn’t like violence, “Don’t hurt anyone!” would be almost impossible to resist because they wouldn’t hurt anyone in the first place, telling them, “Don’t hurt me, hurt him!” would make it more uncertain if they would follow the order fully or not, and telling them, “Don’t hurt me, but kill that bastard!” almost certainly wouldn’t work—nor is it something that Tansy believes she would ever request.
Theoretically, Tansy could attempt to possess an Extra-Normal. Honestly, Tansy fears that doing so might allow her to be Abscised by the very being she possesses.
While the target of Dominion’s Majesty either cannot see Dominion or is blinded by its Majesty, those around Tansy can witness it—although what it is difficult to say. Upon first manifesting the Apparition, Tansy’s eyes ignite in a golden light and her voice echoes as if it was backed by a choir. Her skin begins to glow and radiate, clothes and hair flowing as if they were in a warm, heavenly breeze. Eventually, a halo of light emerges from behind her head, growing in its radius until it seems as if it were about to swallow Tansy whole. Beyond her in the circle of light, accompanied by the beating of wings and the cries of some otherworldly language harmonizing with Tansy’s commands, lies Dominion, its form an incomprehensible nightmare that wavers and shifts like a mirage as it stretches out towards its herald, looming closer and closer but never quite reaching her. Not yet, at least.
AURA SENSING ⫻ Dominion watches over Tansy while she is in possession of her subject. She can detect the aura of entities within 10 meters of her body, although she cannot determine their identity.
LIMITS ⫻ (DO NOT FILL THIS OUT, I WILL PROVIDE IT FOR YOU)
WEAKNESSES ⫻ (DO NOT FILL THIS OUT, I WILL PROVIDE IT FOR YOU)
Other ▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔ "Now I know you’re probably all tired of hearing from me, but—"
Tansy has recently begun to have her childhood nightmares again.
_______________________________________________ Ezra James Vanburen
He/Him | 38| British American | 5’11” | 175 lbs _______________________________________________ Shrewd _______________________________________________ Skills & Talents "Everything you do is a reflection of yourself." ___________________________________
[Serious Business] ⫻ With an MBA from an Ivy League school and several years of managing private companies for James, Ezra has the knowledge and experience needed to successfully run a business. Time management, project planning, leadership, and organization skills all fall under the umbrella of Big Business, so while he might not be taking them to market he can still help keep the Vanburens from going into the red. [Networking] ⫻ Ezra is owed favors by many of the small businesses in Araminta and has friends in high places from his time at university. He’s relentless when it comes to getting things from people he knows or finding people for things he needs. [Meticulous] ⫻ Ezra has a sharp eye and is extremely organized. He quickly notices subtle differences and tiny faults. It’s rare for him to be caught off-guard, be unprepared, or appear untidy. [Puzzling Behavior] ⫻ The man has an obsession with puzzles and has the patience and discipline to finish them. He tends to always have a crossword puzzle to pull out every moment there is a hint of downtime, but jigsaws are his favorite. Just about every Vanburen has received one of his finished puzzles as a gift at least once.
Appearance ▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔ "I used to lie and tell people I was adopted when they said I looked like dad. Always got an interesting reaction."
Ezra almost always seems as if he has just awoken from a deep meditation where he achieved inner peace. His calmness is infectious and spread by his dulcet voice and his effortlessly relaxed posture. He’s the kind of person that is impossible to picture running after someone, or dropping something they are carrying, or ever doing that awkward thing where they try to avoid walking into someone only for both of them to juke the same way three or four times. To others, it seems like there isn’t a graceless bone in Ezra’s body. It’s just the most annoying thing ever.
His light brown, medium-length hair is well-maintained and styled in a “messy” look that takes an enormous amount of time to achieve. Ezra’s beard is neat and trimmed short with hints of greying nearing his sideburns. His light skin is immaculate and soft to the touch, the signs of someone who properly hydrates and actually pays attention to the recommendation of using sunscreen even on cloudy days. His hooded eyes are big and brown, and when he smiles the skin at the corners wrinkles ever the slightest. Perhaps uncoincidentally, Ezra’s full smile is a bit of a rare sight. Instead he trends towards tight-lipped smirks accompanied by bashful head tilts when pleased and an unblinking, withering stare when unamused.
Ezra is of an average height with a decent trim build that is only maintained by a healthy diet, the occasional walk, and the rare trip to a gym that generally starts and does not progress beyond the steam room. Due to his rather lax and posh lifestyle, he is almost cartoonishly weak—or perhaps he plays it up out of sheer laziness, often sending others to fetch things for him just so he can continue to lounge on the chaise. His wardrobe is simple but fits well and is of high quality, with a tendency towards cashmere sweaters.
Psychology ▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔ "I can control myself and nothing else."
MAIN GOAL ⫻ Really, the man just needs a break. Ezra is looking to escape the current responsibility he has as the business head of the family, but he has stated many times over that he won’t relinquish control until he is certain that stepping down won’t hinder the future of Araminta or the Vanburens.
PHILOSOPHY ⫻ Ezra views the world through a scope of negativity that sets his expectations low, because he knows that high hopes only makes the fall hurt so much worse. However, he is not strictly a pessimist, or at least he doesn’t consider himself one. He’s a realist, and reality can be a pain in the ass. His views fall in line heavily with Stoicism, believing that the bad in life is unavoidable, natural, and yet wholly possible to survive through. Therefore, he shouldn’t even worry about the terrible things. Instead, Ezra tries his hardest to only worry about the things he can control—namely, his own actions and feelings—and strives to be a virtuous, just person who always does the right thing. In other words, he wants to be perfect. Sometimes, it’s a maddening task.
SEXUALITY ⫻ If it ever was questioned or brought up, Ezra would likely shrug and say that he was straight. If Ezra was to consider his sexuality with more than just a shrug he would identify more as a demisexual than a heterosexual.
FEARS ⫻ In theory, Ezra believes that he has nothing to fear. It’s the creation of an overactive imagination, a negative emotion heightened by the desire for a different outcome. Things happen, and that’s all they ever do. He has a sense of indestructibility. In actuality, he is terrified of being hypocritical. He strives to be a good person that isn’t controlled by his emotions, but he questions his own authenticity all of the time. It’s a fear that feeds upon itself. The more he worries about being a hypocrite, the more of a hypocrite he sees himself to be.
REPUTATION ⫻ Reliable but severe. Ezra served as a business consultant and occasional manager for the many mom and pop stores James acquired. James Vanburen might’ve been Magnanimous, but he didn’t want his investments to be money pits. If a business was in a bad enough spot that it needed a bailout to survive, then something needed to be changed about its management and focus—and Ezra was the one who helped execute the change. Although he was often a boon for the businesses, his strict no-nonsense professionalism could be grating.
Generally too busy to ever even be present, Ezra was often quiet and reserved around the Vanburens when it came to large family gatherings. Many thought he bore some kind of grudge towards his half-siblings, but he has proven that impression wrong many times throughout the years. Almost every Vanburen can recall at least one time that Ezra has gone out of his way to help them. Be it as simple as offering a shoulder to cry on to privately posting bail so that their father doesn’t have to hear about them drinking and driving, Ezra has proven himself time and time again to the guardian angel for the Vanburen children. Yet despite his benevolence, nearly none of them can say for certain if he truly cares about them or if he is just begrudgingly following some kind of brotherly obligation.
THOUGHTS ABOUT FATHER ⫻ Ezra will give him this: James was a decent businessman and a kindhearted, charitable individual. Unfortunately, those things do not make him a good person nor a good father. If anything, they only serve to highlight how their dad was kind of a huge piece of shit. In the last couple of years it was obvious to anyone that there was bad blood growing between Ezra and James, but neither of them ever spoke about what it was over. However, despite their growing animosity, Ezra is seemingly incapable of openly saying a bad thing about his father. There’s still a deeply seated respect, admiration, jealousy, and fear rooted in Ezra for the man. He doubts he’d ever manage to shake it, no matter how hard he tries to remove the man’s influence from his life.
FLAWS ⫻ Ezra is jackknifing off of the highest diving board straight down into the empty pool of a massive burnout. Between work, family, a goddamn curse, and his own perfectionist idealism, he is spread to his absolute limits. He sees himself as too much of a protector of the other Vanburen children to share his burden with them, but unfortunately it has gotten to the point where his stress and exhaustion has worn him down to a near breaking point. He forgets things regularly, even seeming to blank out on people he’s known for years, and easily gets frustrated. While he doesn’t get visibly angry or openly snap at others, the silent treatments he implores when he has reached his limits with someone or something have become nearly legendary. It’s amusing when it’s used against the paparazzi, but downright terrifying when turned on the family.
Backstory ▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔ "I’m not just going to be the epilogue to his biography."
The rivalry between the Harrisburgs and the Vanburens was already burning between the two, but Ezra was the can of gasoline that turned the flame into a raging bonfire. Ezra was the product of a secret affair between James and Slyvia, the aunt of Richard Harrisburg and sister to his father. The two, against the wishes of the Harrisburgs, got hitched not so long after Slyvia started to show, and for a spell the couple seemed happy. At least, they were until James’ business ventures began bleeding her family dry and his eyes started to wander towards other women. By the time the divorce came Slyvia could barely even look at her son, only ever referring to him as “the mistake” while looking straight through him. She went back to the Harrisburgs; James was stuck with the mistake.
James ended up sending his son to a prestigious boarding school, both to prep his son for one day taking over the family business and to ensure that he wasn’t left alone at home for months at a time to be raised by the staff. Ezra may have hated school, but he was a bright kid and an even better student. However, it didn’t take too long for the kid to realize that he was practically being cultivated by James. That occurred when Ezra told his dad he was going to join the basketball team. Sports were trivial, said his old man, you’re joining the debate team. So he did. It became the song and dance for the rest of Ezra’s life. When deciding on a major for college Ezra expressed an interest in studying art. While art was seen as a nice hobby, it wasn’t a respectable profession according to James—his boy would go for business. So he did.
Ezra attended Wharton, where he studied and drank and dated and did the usual college shit while on the path towards getting his MBA. When Ezra graduated, he planned to move to New York with his girlfriend Autumn against the wishes of James, who wanted him back in Araminta to work for him. The goal was to establish a base, make some money, and open up an art gallery on the side. However, for the six months he lived there Ezra was unable to find a job, despite his connections, his legacy, and his degree. Eventually, he was forced to take his father’s offer to come work for him as his business manager, overseeing the various mom and pop stores he owned around Araminta.
Autumn joined him in Araminta and the two were married in a small ceremony that Ezra’s mother did not attend. However, Ezra soon found himself practically married to working for James, trying to work miracles on the charity cases he took in to turn them around into actual functioning businesses. There were a few failures here and there, but for a vast majority of them the acquisition turned into a brilliant success. While Ezra didn’t necessarily enjoy his work, he was good at it and there was something rewarding to helping the little guys out...even if the little guys ended up kicking them some cutback after. Of the “independent” boutiques operating downtown, nearly a third of them have had Ezra meddle in their business affairs at some point.
However, bad blood began to form between father and son. Normally, his time spent in Araminta was so short Ezra barely had a chance to even speak to his siblings, let alone actually get to know them. By being back in Araminta for good, Ezra was able to see how James pandered and bent over backwards for his other children; meanwhile, he’d hammered his oldest into a James-shaped mold. It planted a bad seed in the depths of Ezra’s mind that blossomed into the idea that, like his mother, his father also viewed him as a mistake, one that he was retroactively trying to fix by turning him into little more than a carbon copy. The worst part was that he succeeded—which only occurred when Autumn cited him turning into a James Jr. for being one of the reasons why she was leaving.
They were divorced before Thanksgiving. When James passed away on Christmas Day, Ezra almost looked relieved—or he did until he was assigned the executor of James’ will and left in control of all of James' businesses. In horror, Ezra realized that by dying and leaving him in charge James had trapped him: Ezra would always be working for his father, indefinitely, until he himself croaked. He would become the new magnanimous man, but it would be James, not Ezra, that people saw when they asked for a bail out. Ezra was just the hand that fed them, puppeted by James’ ghost from the afterlife.
Screw that.
To escape Ezra began setting to work to dismantle his father’s empire, but he had to find the proper balance to not destroy the businesses or the lives of others in the process. It has been slow going, but he has started to turn full independence back to some of the stores and pass responsibility down on to people he can trust. Ezra imagined that in a handful of years he’d be able to leave Araminta in the hands of someone else and to start living his life for once. Maybe he’d even try and get Autumn back.
Turning into stone kind of threw a wrench in that plan. Ezra was hit by a wave of despair. He went to his father’s office to search for any sort of clues as to what was happening to his family. When he searched through his father’s desk he found an old childhood puzzle of his, one of those annoying metal ones where they’re locked together and you have to somehow untangle them. In a flash of youthful impatience and ingenuity he’d gone to the shed, grabbed some bolt cutters, and cut the puzzle in two instead of banging his head against the solution. Seeing it now made him laugh, in part because he was surprised James would save such a thing but also because of his own reaction to the curse. It was stupid to waste time moping. Every problem had a solution. They just weren’t always obvious.
As he touched the broken puzzle, he flashed to a memory that wasn’t his own. He was still in his father’s office but it looked different, as if a fog had encroached through the window and filled up the edges of his periphery. He saw hands reassembling an antique rifle, aligning the sights and sliding back in the bolt. He watched as they affixed a bayonet to the end and slowly leveled the rifle up against their shoulder. It felt good; almost perfect. There was just one more touch. A glow of orange radiated around the rifle and then faded. The bayonet slashed through the air, there was a cackle of energy, and the world tore open in front of it. Ezra felt a wave of satisfaction hit him. There! Now it was a Masterpiece.
The vision faded, but the orange glow lingered around the broken puzzle. Ezra still didn’t know why his family was cursed, but he had a feeling he was already on the path to curing it. All he needed to do was put on a brave face and endure his responsibilities a little bit longer.
Abstraction ▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔ "Nothing is perfect unless by design."
TYPE ⫻ Adept
ABSTRACTION ⫻ Orange Lux. Ezra’s channeler is a broken wire puzzle that he’d cut apart with bolt cutters in frustration when he was a child. It has been looped through a leather strap to become some kind of wristband.
ABSTRACTION DESCRIPTION ⫻ Ezra attributes characteristics to items and people, making them wondrous by thinking outside of the box. His spells require physical touch to cast and can continue indefinitely as long as he maintains a small amount of concentration that can be canceled by emotional turmoil, physical pain, or loss of consciousness.
Masterpiece ⫻ Ezra infuses an object and turns it into a perfect version of itself, better than it ever could possibly be. For example, a pencil would never go dull and the eraser would completely remove any errant graphite. Likewise, a lock would become unpickable or a door would become unbreakable while affected by the spell. A Masterpiece spell affects the whole, not just a part. A Masterpiece car would make the entire car perfect: the tires would never go flat, the engine would never rust, and the windshield would never crack. Once an item has become a Masterpiece it no longer has to operate in the realm of logic, like a Masterpiece jug of milk would never empty or spoil while a Masterpiece computer would still operate without any electricity or wi-fi.
Masterpiece is largely ineffective on a person. They only appear perfect on a surface-level, like an airbrushed version of themselves designed to sell ads. Masterpiece items vary in effectiveness against Apparitions, but are generally more useful than normal items.
Currently, he can keep one Masterpiece item and one Masterpiece person spell going at a time. The cast time requires channeling Lux from one to five minutes, depending on the complexity and size of the target, and requires a decent amount of concentration.
Configure ⫻ Ezra can dramatically increase or decrease the size of an item while allowing it to continue to perform its function, including Masterpiece items. Configure does not change the weight of an item. Like Masterpiece, a Configure spell affects the whole. Therefore, if he has a box full of clothes, the clothes will shrink or expand with the box. However, the moment that a sweater is pulled from the box it will return to its original size because it is no longer contained in the field of the Configure spell.
While people can have Configured items used against them, they themselves cannot be Configured. Likewise, their bodies act as a natural barrier against things when they are being Configured. Therefore, Ezra could Configure a necklace to shrink and become uncomfortably tight, but he cannot push it to the point of being smaller than that person’s neck until they take it off. Configured items typically amplify the usefulness of items against Apparitions, and while they are Configured they are extremely difficult to destroy outside of Extra-Normal means.
Currently, he can keep one Configure spell going at a time. The scale of an item can range from 1/5th to 5x. The cast time is instant, but items take a few seconds to change in size.
Prodigy ⫻ Ezra makes a person an instant expert on a subject relating to any Masterpiece item they are currently using. A person with a Masterpiece scalpel will become a top level surgeon, while that behind the wheels of a Masterpiece car would make any Hollywood stunt driver jealous. The moment their connection to the Masterpiece item is severed they return to their base skill level with no residual hold over in talent, regardless of how long they were using the Masterpiece item. So, while the person might know they are performing brain surgery, they won’t know what lobe to poke at until they pick the scalpel back up.
Prodigy is curbed by someone’s own physical limitations. A person decked out in Masterpiece boxing gloves might know how to fight like Ali, but if they’re weak they’ll hit and go down like Glass Joe. Prodigy can only be cast on a person. He can only have one Prodigy spell up at a time. The cast time is instant.
AURA SENSING ⫻ Ezra can detect the location of an item or person he has enchanted within 100 meters.
LIMITS ⫻ Naturally, Emotional-Fields protect the Extra-Normal from some of the nastier effects of his spells like being shrunk, strangled, and so forth. Ezra can only have one type of spell cast at one time, and if he has cast Configure and he wants to cast Masterpiece; then he'll have to drop Configure. His imbuing spells have a range limit and if he goes further than twelve meters from an object or person that he has imbued with his magic then it'll revert back to normal.
WEAKNESSES ⫻ It seems that improving objects have a cost, that Erza has to give something. To make something a masterpiece, he weakens himself in the process. He finds that he has shortness of breath, that he's a lot more susceptible to pain, not as strong as usual, and so on. He finds out this debuff is active as long as he has the spell going. The Configure spell changes Erza's weight, as making an object larger makes him heavier, and making an object smaller makes him lighter - easier to toss around and stuff.
Other ▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔ "I'm stuck with this family. Might as well take care of them."
Ezra hides the fact that he smokes cigarettes despite being a full grown adult.
“The world has never seemed darker. Be the shining light that’ll bring about a brighter tomorrow."
_______________________________________________ Tansy Monroe Vanburen
She/Her | 35 | American |5’9” | 150lbs _______________________________________________ Gilded _______________________________________________ Skills & Talents "I’m just playing my part. Anyone in my position would do the same." ___________________________________
[Hostess Mostest] ⫻ Tansy has spent the better part of her adult life rubbing elbows with the social elite in support of her father’s philanthropy efforts. She’s graduated beyond being a basic socialite into being a full-blown party planner who has organized several charity and fundraising events, set up art exhibitions and debutante balls, and hosted extravagant dinner parties. If there’s a ritzy social event happening in Pennsylvania or New York odds are that Tansy’s involved in some shape. [Rumor Mill] ⫻ Gossip gravitates towards Tansy like spiteful little meteorites and she’s mastered the ability of flinging the rumors back into outer space for them to be disappeared into a blackhole. Somebody’s got to keep daddy’s reputation untarnished, especially as the grace period of speaking ill of the dead expires. Alternatively, she’s more than capable of adding the necessary oomph to a rumor to really get it going, turning a minor freckle on one’s surface into a socially catastrophic extinction level impact. [Tennis Ace] ⫻ She’s been playing the sport since grade school. While by no means near a professional, Tansy stuck with the game enough that James eventually added a court to the mansion’s grounds. He said that it was out of fear she’d start trying to beat the house’s walls in a match after she’d worked her way through the staff and her siblings. [Horse Girl] ⫻ Of course she wanted a pony when she was a little girl. She just happened to be one of those little girls whose daddy was rich enough to buy her one. She typically goes riding several times a week.
Appearance ▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔ "I’m expected to look my best and I always outdo the expectations."
Tansy presents herself in the old-fashioned mold of a “proper” lady, all primed and poised while veiled in the drapes of modesty and sensibility. She tends to overeunciate her words and enthusiastically moves her hands as if she were conducting her own sentences as she speaks, almost as if she were a kindergarten teacher talking to her young students. Thriving on the spotlight, Tansy carries herself in such a way that not only does she make people think she is important but she also makes them question their own value.
Her blonde hair falls below her shoulders and the ends are constructed into loose curls. Her darker eyebrows are meticulously plucked to perfection, her lashes are long, and her eyes are big, bright, and blue. Laugh lines and a beauty mark are the only source of blemish not hidden by creams or concealers on her pale skin. A polite smile is seemingly fixed upon her face, serving as a social shield she can deflect her sharp tongue off of so she swallows any spiteful words instead of performing a faux pas. Her nails are manicured and sharply filed.
She is tall and doesn’t shy from high heels, allowing her the pleasure of another way to look down upon others. She has a shapely figure and stays fit through her various outdoor hobbies, capable of displaying a level of athleticism unexpected of a woman who basically throws parties for a living. Her wardrobe is lavish in price and quality yet modest and conservative style, trending towards a vintage look that she’d define as timeless. Tansy is almost never seen in the same thing twice and insists that she donates most of her old outfits, yet several rooms in the manor are dedicated towards storing her clothes.
Psychology ▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔ "I was raised with a strong moral compass, so I'd appreciate it if you just let me give directions."
MAIN GOAL ⫻ Tansy says she desires to make the world a better place, although that’s just the shallow textbook response she’s been regurgitating since the Miss Araminta pageant she won over fifteen years ago. It’s become a lot clearer lately: Tansy just wants to be adored.
PHILOSOPHY ⫻ The best life is the one she has absolute control over. Tansy believes that people can be divided between being a sheep or being a wolf. However, Tansy knows that she is different; she is no animal. She sees herself as a shepherd, someone who can protect the flock of sheep by controlling where they graze and flay the pelts off of the wolves hiding amongst them.
SEXUALITY ⫻ She’s straight. Tansy has taken after her father when it comes to long-term relationships. If she brings a man home for Thanksgiving by now the family knows there will be another by Christmas. Until recently she hasn’t technically been single since the eighth grade, but since the funeral she hasn’t been dating.
FEARS ⫻ She has a massive fear of rejection. Tansy is openly afraid that her reputation and the Vanburen name will be tarnished by her family. The amount of effort she puts in to appear to be a perfect, polished princess can be so quickly dismantled by one of her indignant siblings making an ass of themselves. Conversely, she wants those siblings to adore her as much as those rich elites minglings at her wine mixers. She endlessly worries that she alienates herself from her family, yet continues to project this image where she sees herself as their superior.
Tansy is also so terrified of driving that she never learned and struggles with anxiety attacks even when just being a passenger. She limits her travel by car as much as possible, lest she run the upholster by death gripping the leather. These fears do not arise in other forms of transportation.
REPUTATION ⫻ She’s Araminta’s favorite daughter. Despite a few rumors of promiscuity flying around, Tansy has a squeaky clean reputation in town and has been lauded for her efforts in assisting the town in tackling its troubles through charity work and fundraising events she’d organized with her father. While a few of the “rougher” individuals around town might consider her a bit hoity-toity and question her motivations, it’s difficult to deny the good work she has done for Araminta. Even those naysayers have seemed to be coming around ever since James’s death.
Tansy's reputation within her own family is dubious. She attempted to establish herself as the matriarch of the household, treating her siblings with a smothering presence of saccharine sweetness that would rapidly swap to veiled insults and passive-aggressiveness when they questioned her authority. It didn’t help that she was notably brusque with the staff, treated most of their mothers with thinly veiled hostility, or attempted to monopolize their father’s limited freetime in hopes of continuing to seal in her spot as “the favorite”. Although she regularly tries to keep in touch with everyone as they’ve left the nest, it was difficult for many of the Vanburen children to see Tansy as anything but a holier-than-thou fake.
THOUGHTS ABOUT FATHER ⫻ Tansy absolutely adored James because Daddy, as she worrisomely refers to her adopted father as to this day, gave her everything she ever wanted. While the other children tried to flee from out underneath his shadow, she fully embraced living in the shade. He was a great man and she plans to honor his greatness by opening a rehabilitation clinic in his name. She won’t stand to listen to any hearsay about his relationship struggles or his own substance abuse. Daddy was a hero and he deserves to be recognized as one.
FLAWS ⫻ Tansy is a control freak who is quick to send others on a guilt trip when they do not do things the way she wants them to be done. Although she isn’t a stupid person, she is one of those frustrating individuals who believes she is smarter than she actually is and struggles to accept others as being able to come up with a better idea. She turns disagreements personal, acting as if attacks on ideas are attacks on her as a person. As well, she isn’t above threatening to spread malicious gossip to get someone to acquiesce to her will.
Backstory ▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔ "It's silly but I just cannot imagine what my life would've been life if he hadn't chosen me. Less champagne, I suppose."
James Vanburen adopted Tansy when she was barely a toddler. She cannot recall anything from her life before, but when growing up she suffered from recurring nightmares of shrieking voices, a blinding light, the sound of metal grinding on metal, and an intense cold. She liked to imagine that James saved her from a terrible life. Nightmares aside, her childhood was wonderful, an idyllic life spent waited upon by other people and granted whatever she wanted. Compared to the other children, Tansy was spoiled by James. It became clearer to her when she realized he’d picked her from dozens of other children up for adoption. James had other kids, but he’d chosen her. She was special, and because she was special she knew she couldn’t let him down.
By the time she was a teenager, Tansy had taken it upon herself to become the, as some of the staff teasingly called her, lady of the estate, organizing family dinners and prepping for holiday parties. She often found herself at odds with James's current wife, but always tried to harness the affection of his other children to various levels of success and failure. A fear of driving meant she spent a lot of her later teen years on the estate horseback riding or playing tennis with her latest boyfriend, occasionally whiteknuckling a ride into town for a change of scenery or riding her bike there when she didn’t want to fight off a panic attack.
As an adult, Tansy stayed in Araminta but did not attend the local college. Rather she doubled-down on her dedication to assisting James and began organizing and hosting fundraising events to help him tackle the city’s drug epidemic. She found she had a knack for calling the shots and began to oversee more of James's charitable endeavors, allowing her father to galavant off on wherever his business took him. Her talent for event planning became noticed by the limited pool of Araminta social elite and she began taking hosting requests for other exquisite events.
Eventually, Tansy found herself soaring amongst the socialites, hosting galas in Araminta and nearby major cities. She inevitably began to split time between Araminta and New York City, ideally commuting by train and subway whenever possible, and spent her adulthood drinking out of champagne flutes, hosting galas, and guilting the rich into returning a paltry amount of the money they’d exploited from the poor to boost their social standings. Life was perfect. Tansy could not be happier. She enjoyed planning events and saw a successful evening as proof that what she did was important.
Call it self-centered but there was nothing she enjoyed more than planning the Vanburen Family Christma every year. It was James’s favorite day of the year after all, and she spent weeks of hard work making sure everything was just right. Weeks that only took his ungrateful bastards minutes to ruin with their bickering the moment their precious little egos got scratched. The image of her father’s sad, tired face as he drained his Manhattan, poured himself a whiskey neat, and closed his library’s door in her face is etched in her mind. The next day she was planning his funeral. The extra burden kept her from lambasting his children. It’d be perfect. A perfect funeral to honor a perfect father.
Only she couldn’t go. How could she possibly stomach seeing James in a box surrounded by a carnival of bastards and social parasites? How could she bear to witness one of them make a mockery out of something she helped create again? Tansy feigned being ill and sequestered herself in the manor. While alone in the house she heard the sound of a glass shattering come from James’s room. Knowing that all the staff had been given the day off she felt a cold dread take hold of her as she approached his closed door, an otherworldly light pulsing from under the door. She froze in fear as her hand touched the handle and then she heard a choir of voices in her head say, “Do not be afraid.” She opened the door, screamed as she witnessed the horrifying form of what lies beyond, and was swallowed by its golden light.
Tansy couldn’t move. She couldn’t speak. The creature was gone but she could feel it in her head. The choir chimed up again, telling her to be calm and so she did. It introduced itself as Dominion and told Tansy to consider it as an old so-called business partner of James. It just wanted to see the man one last time and pay its respects, but given the circumstances of its appearance needed a host. What better host was there than Tansy? She found that she couldn’t possibly disagree with Dominion. She joined her family at the graveyard, a bore witness as her father was buried in the ground. She felt her head swirl and then there was no more input from Dominion.
The following day she’d rationalize it as a delusion caused by intense grief. She returned to New York shortly thereafter with the goal of raising funds for a new rehabilitation clinic in Araminta named after her father to honor his memory. However, she found that her typical donors were not so interested in pursuing a pet project that offered little prestige. At least that was the case before Dominion began speaking to her again. It offered its power to Tansy to help win over her investors, insisting that it would be its own way of honoring its old business partner. Dominion explained to her what it could do. At first Tansy was a bit apprehensive, moral quandaries and all, but if it was for the greater good then she couldn’t say no. She accepted Dominion’s deal and fully became adjoined with the Apparition. She found little difficulty securing funding since then.
Tansy moved back to Araminta to drum up local support for the rehab clinic and to settle on a location to build it. She purchased the nicest apartment she could find downtown so she could avoid commuting. Tansy made a decent headway on finding a lot in East Araminta where she could begin construction after winter. However, she didn’t plan on spending the holidays at home. No matter, it’d be nice to have everyone around again. What other choice did they have?
Abstraction ▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔ "Do not be afraid, my sweet submissive subject."
TYPE ⫻ Aberration (Affixed)
ABSTRACTION ⫻Dominion’s Majesty, the ability to take on an otherworldly form and subjugate someone who witnesses her.
ABSTRACTION DESCRIPTION ⫻Dominion’s Majesty allows Tansy to unleash the Apparition hiding inside of her and manifest it. When Dominion is manifested the Apparition tries to mesmerize a being of Tansy’s choice, attempting to snap them into a hypnotic stupor. Someone without an emotional field is almost immediately enchanted, unable to take their eyes off of Tansy and allowing her to turn them into a subject that she can command with simple verbal orders. If she does not issue a new command upon the completion of an order then the subject returns to its hypnotic state and await her next demand. Tansy can seal Dominion to release her subject from its hypnosis or to cancel an order. Upon releasing a subject they regain their consciousness but are unaware of what happened or what they did as if they were sleepwalking.
Alternatively, Tansy can choose to fully possess her subject by touching them and staring into their eyes for a handful of unbroken seconds. However doing so enters her own body into a hypnotic, nearly defenseless state. While in possession of her subject she has absolute control over them and can access their memory, allowing her to pass as them in conversation, stockpile dangerous secrets, or get her ego battered by finding out how somebody really thinks of her. To one of the Blind it would be almost impossible to tell the difference between a person and Tansy possessing a person. However, someone capable of witnessing the Extra-Normal could catch the occasional flicker of gold in their eyes when they are hit by a bright light. Tansy can end a possession at will, immediately snapping back to her body and freeing her subject. As with her orders, they do not recall the possession.
Emotional Fields absolutely hamper Dominion’s Majesty, turning Tansy’s divine right to reign into a monarch’s brutal attempt to quell a peasant rebellion through pure attrition. The worst thing that typically happens to her unruly subject with an Emotional Field when she manifests Dominion is that they experience a temporary flash of blindness and rush of fear. As long as Tansy is using Dominion’s Majesty on this revolting peon, they will continue to be blinded when looking at her as if they were trying to stare into the sun. As well, they will begin to feel the horror of Tansy’s royal mandate breaking through their Emotional Field. Looking away almost immediately frees a would-be subject from Tansy’s grasp (as does forcing Tansy to divert her gaze), but if they do not or cannot they will eventually be snapped into a hypnotic state just like the Blind.
However, unlike the Blind an Extra-Normal subject of Tansy’s can attempt to resist her orders, either following it out ineffectively or even completely breaking free of her subjugation. How hard it is to resist an order depends on how unlikely her subject would’ve done it on their own free will. For example, telling someone who doesn’t like violence, “Don’t hurt anyone!” would be almost impossible to resist because they wouldn’t hurt anyone in the first place, telling them, “Don’t hurt me, hurt him!” would make it more uncertain if they would follow the order fully or not, and telling them, “Don’t hurt me, but kill that bastard!” almost certainly wouldn’t work—nor is it something that Tansy believes she would ever request.
Theoretically, Tansy could attempt to possess an Extra-Normal. Honestly, Tansy fears that doing so might allow her to be Abscised by the very being she possesses.
While the target of Dominion’s Majesty either cannot see Dominion or is blinded by its Majesty, those around Tansy can witness it—although what it is difficult to say. Upon first manifesting the Apparition, Tansy’s eyes ignite in a golden light and her voice echoes as if it was backed by a choir. Her skin begins to glow and radiate, clothes and hair flowing as if they were in a warm, heavenly breeze. Eventually, a halo of light emerges from behind her head, growing in its radius until it seems as if it were about to swallow Tansy whole. Beyond her in the circle of light, accompanied by the beating of wings and the cries of some otherworldly language harmonizing with Tansy’s commands, lies Dominion, its form an incomprehensible nightmare that wavers and shifts like a mirage as it stretches out towards its herald, looming closer and closer but never quite reaching her. Not yet, at least.
AURA SENSING ⫻ Dominion watches over Tansy while she is in possession of her subject. She can detect the aura of entities within 10 meters of her body, although she cannot determine their identity.
LIMITS ⫻ Tansy, unfortunately, can only use the power of Dominion's Majesty on one target at a time and to change targets; Tansy has to release her hold on the one target she's focusing on. The Extra-Normal are heavily resistant, if not outright immune, to the effect of Tansy's abstraction due to Emotional-Fields protecting them - if they know of Tansy's ability they can easily resist the effects if they are aware of them. Tansy can use the Dominion's Majesty and use its effects in a range of thirty meters, or if she chooses to use it herself, far, far closer (which is the more effective way to use it). Tansy is able to control a blind for around a few hours before they become more and more aware of the control and is able to break free. An Extra-Normal can only be affected for a few minutes.
WEAKNESSES ⫻ Due to the low-powered nature of the abstraction; there are few drawbacks or weaknesses. The Dominion's Majesty is a very fragile Apparition not designed for combat; it's easily destroyed by attacks. If it's destroyed, Tansy will fall unconscious until the Apparition regenerates. The primary counter to this ability is awareness, if even the Blind are aware of Tansy's abstraction and somebody tells them she's using it on them; they can resist and break free of its influence.
Other ▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔ "Now I know you’re probably all tired of hearing from me, but—"
Tansy has recently begun to have her childhood nightmares again.
Sabrina.Vanburen
"The longer Sabrina continues to live in her fairytale world the sooner the real one will eat her alive." _______________________________________________
The Idiot or the Idealist. Ezra sometimes struggles with distinguishing the difference between the two concepts. Due to Ezra only spending summers at home as well as their age gap, they were not really close while growing up. While the rest of the family seemed to support Sabrina during her transition, only Ezra questioned the idea by asking, “Are you sure?” There was no hate in the question, just concern—concern both about the hardships that Sabrina would face and if she really wanted to go through with the transition. However, that one question is the perfect representation of how Ezra treats Sabrina: everything she does he doubts, questioning if it has truly been thought out or not. Is he just worried about his naive, gungho sister, or does he not trust her to make the right decisions?
Shane.Vanburen
"I sometimes wonder who is more disappointed." _______________________________________________
The Failure or the Martyr. Ezra can never be certain if Shane’s downward spiral was his own fault or the result of trying to escape from the family name only to be crushed underneath it instead. As with Sabrina, they were not close in their youth due to the age gap. When Shane told the family he wanted to be a police officer Ezra laughed and told him not to get eaten alive. At the time it had been a joke. Ezra was even a little proud of his brother for breaking off from the family to do what Shane thought was the right thing. However, when Shane returned a depressed alcoholic the joke no longer seemed so innocent. It’s rare for the brothers to talk these days, with Ezra seeming to avoid Shane almost as much as Shane avoids the rest of his family. Does Ezra look away from Shane because he feels sorrow for his broken brother and is lost as to how to help him, or is he hiding the mirth in his eyes, laughing at his little joke that keeps nailing the punchline?
Oscar.Vanburen
"Araminta’s favorite son. That's meant to be praise, even if the bar is only a few inches off the floor." _______________________________________________
The Waste or the Genius. Ezra accepts that Oscar is undoubtedly the smartest member of the family, although he questions his judgment call when it comes to what Oscar invests himself in. Ezra was in Araminta more while Oscar was growing up, so he feels closer to him than Sabrina or Shane. Ezra isn’t upset like James is that Oscar is focusing on taking over his mother’s business because he fears he’s only doing it for her; he’s upset about it because he feels like Oscar is limiting himself and wasting his potential. Ezra has frequently told Oscar that he wished he had that brain of his, although it is impossible to tell if he means it solely as a compliment or if he is jealous, hinting that he would use the kid’s mind on less trivial matters.
However, Oscar might’ve accidentally killed their father, so that awards him every single brownie point that there has ever been.
Trisha.Vanburen
"Funny. All that time in front of the mirror and you still can’t see the main source of all your problems." _______________________________________________
The Worst or the Equal. Ezra cannot decide if Trisha is just what he would be like if he didn’t have restraint or his complete and total opposite. As he was with Oscar, Ezra was around for a decent part of her later childhood, although due to both of their aloof natures it would be hard to say that the two are close. Despite practically being strangers, Ezra has a feeling that the two of them would actually agree on many things. However, her knee jerk reaction to pin the blame on anyone except for herself irks him to the very core of his being, but is he really annoyed because he finds it wrong or because he wishes he could react like she does and lash out?
Georgie.Vanburen
"The problem with thinking logically is that it assumes the other party would do the same." _______________________________________________
The Stranger or the Icon. Ezra cannot decide if her admires Georgie for her detached, goal-oriented drive or is annoyed by having a younger sister that somehow manages to out aloof him. While he was in Araminta for most of her formative years, she was overseas doing—what, exactly? The girl is basically a total mystery. He knows more about the gardener than his sister. Ezra has achieved the herculean task of getting her in a conversation before due to their mutual interest in art, but moving towards anything else feels like he's pulling teeth. He can't quite decide if her ability to completely detach herself from other people is intentional. Is she just self-reliant or is she just a broken flower without any dirt for her roots to hold on to so that she can grow?
Blu.Moonblood
“He’s really not a bad performer. Funny, you think I would’ve heard of him more.” _______________________________________________
The Discordant or the Harmonious. The existence of Blu creates hundreds of questions and proves only one thing: James kept plenty of secrets. Blu isn’t the first time James has patronned starving artists, but he was the first one that James didn’t tiresomely showoff every opportunity he had to further aggrandize his own magnanimity. Ezra took it upon himself to find Blu when his father didn’t drag the musician out to play his version of “All I Want for Christmas Is You”, discovering Blu at a tiny music cafe. Ezra caught Blu after the show, introduced himself as James’s eldest son, asked a few probing questions about how the young man met his father, and insisted that he reach out if he ever needed anything. Yet when their meeting ended it would be difficult to tell if Ezra was truly offering Blu his support. Ezra himself is unsure of the man—is his inconsistency in comparison to how James treated the rest of his pet projects and favorite children a breath of fresh air, or is it proof of something more, something rotten?
Arabelle.Matthews
"She's used to dealing with children, thankfully, although I imagine the ones she teaches are better behaved." _______________________________________________
The Piteous or the Resourceful. Ezra has always treated the help with respect and dignity, but there is still an underlying sense of superiority that always just seems to be lying right beneath the surface—as if he believes that by giving them a job he is somehow commiting some great act of charity. While Ezra knew Arabelle existed, he dealt more with her mother, whom he found agreeable, than the girl herself while they were growing up. Naturally, they became more familiar with one another once Ezra began running the estate and Arabelle came back to work on the weekends. It would be a stretch to say that he is friendly to the woman, but he has a professional, if somewhat cold, respect for the woman who is a hard, dedicated worker and has pushed herself through a number of bad years. Yet when he thinks Arabelle is not looking there is a hint of sadness, and perhaps even guilt, in his eyes, as if he knows something bad is coming yet has done nothing to prevent it.
Rumors used to fly around amongst the staff that Arabelle's father was James. Ezra used to believe them when he was younger, but now even he thinks that his father couldn't be that much of an asshole to hire his own kid back on to scrub toilets.
Tansy.Vanburen
“Like James, she manages to make everything be about her.” _______________________________________________
The Parasite or the Caretaker. Ezra never quite believed that Tansy’s devotion to their father or her charitable efforts were without their ulterior motives. Ezra remembered when James brought her home, as it was shortly before the decision was made to ship him off to boarding school. The two were close in age and growing up defaulted to being playmates during summer vacation, but they drifted apart from each other hard once they hit their teens. Perhaps it was just hard for Ezra to swallow the fact that Tansy got everything she wanted while Ezra had to be everything James wanted. Perhaps it was because Tansy was too focused on babying their siblings to give him her attention. It didn’t help that she was inseparable from James whenever he was home. By the time Ezra began to take over his father’s business, he knew there was no such thing as a private meeting with the man—Tansy was always near, whispering God knows what in James’s ear once Ezra left the room. Was he just jealous of how close Tansy was with the man who practically abandoned him, or was he upset at himself for letting James groom a young woman to act as a surrogate mother for the children he’d basically abandoned?
Sabrina.Vanburen
"You’re just too sweet, dear Sabrina. Fear not. As long as I’m around, no one else will take advantage of you." _______________________________________________
Her Poppet. Tansy is massively supportive of Sabrina, both in her career and in her personal life. Although being a whole country apart made it difficult to regularly see each other, Tansy kept in touch via social media. As well, she made an effort to go out to LA at least once a year, and would invite Sabrina to NYC every now and again to come attend some fancy event and network. Even when they weren’t together, Tansy would often show up for galas in outfits inspired by the work her sister was doing out West, shamelessly promoting Sabrina’s socials to boost her presence. Likewise, after Sabrina was targeted online Tansy became an active LGBT advocate. However, Tansy’s support has not always been there. When the two grew up together Tansy was just another part in the chorus of voices insisting that Sabrina harmonize with the status quo and “act like a boy should”. Tansy insists that it was just a symptom of the time, yet it threads some doubt into their relationship. Maybe Tansy doesn’t support Sabrina at all. Maybe Sabrina’s the one doing the actual supporting, boosting Tansy’s social standing amongst progressive elites while all Tansy does is virtue signal and control her sister like a marionette.
Shane.Vanburen
"I’ll always watch over you. No matter how far you fall I will not look away. Not until you hit the very bottom." _______________________________________________
Her Judas. With his mother not being around to steal away her spotlight, Tansy found herself hovering around Shane more than the other Vanburen children who weren’t so starved for affection. Tansy expresses that she adores all of her siblings, but it was clear to any that grew up in the mansion that Shane was one of her favorites. She never reprimanded him for getting in any fights, often thanking him for looking out for their siblings when she wasn’t there before fetching him an ice pack for a shiner. Likewise, she supported his decision to become a police officer, as cops were still fashionable at the time, and was excited to have her favorite brother be in the same city as her. Although he was busy keeping people safe and she was living between two cities, the two would hangout whenever their schedules aligned and grab a drink at a cop bar or get a nice dinner at one of Tansy’s favorite restaurants. Then he started making excuses for why he couldn’t meet up. Eventually he stopped even replying to her texts and calls. Seeing him at Christmas was like a knife through the heart. He’d change. He was a husk wearing her brother’s skin who barely even acknowledged her existence. After all she had done for him? She caught him before he left the Christmas Party, crushing him beneath a wave of anger and guilt as she unloaded on him for ignoring her. They have hardly spoken since. She wishes he’d just snap out of it and tell her what happened, but then she finds herself thinking that she only wants to know so she can tell him that he deserved it.
Oscar.Vanburen
"You’re a good son but your mother’s limiting you. I think you should do what you want." _______________________________________________
Her Project. While Tansy tried to be a relevant part in the life of all of her siblings, Oscar spending most of his time at his mom’s house made it difficult for them to forge a strong bond. Oscar’s wishy washiness frustrates a person with control issues as strong as Tansy’s. Although she attempts to support his latest obsession, typically Tansy finds herself wishing Oscar had stuck with a previous passion of his. She usually finds herself at a loss when in a conversation with him to the point that she questions her own intellect, and with how bad he is at keeping in contact with her she worries that he thinks little of her. Perhaps someone else would take this and write the person off, but Tansy embarrassingly finds herself desperate for Oscar’s approval. He’s one of the few people who can make her change her opinion, and her persistent nature helps balance out his unreliability. However, Tansy has let a number of snide comments about Eloise Price slip by in front of Oscar. Sometimes it feels like Tansy is attempting to pull Oscar away from his only living parent so he can better serve as part of the Vanburen legacy.
Trisha.Vanburen
"Oh Trisha, you have such a fun way of showing affection. I love you too, sweetie." _______________________________________________
Her Toy. Although Tansy may be desperate for her sibling’s approval, there comes a point when it’s obvious that someone is a lost cause. Trisha is that lost cause. Attempting to be the stand-in mother for a girl with deep-seated mommy issues proved to destroy any sort of actually good relationship the two could ever have. Trisha’s harshness might’ve hurt Tansy’s feelings early on, but a person can only get hit so many times before they grow numb. Tansy no longer cares what Trisha thinks. It’s truly liberating. While with anyone else she might resort to cutting them down with wit, Tansy knows the true thing that’d drive Trisha crazy is kindness. Thus, she has never said a negative thing to Trisha’s face in years. Tansy drowns the girl in unwanted affection and heavy handed compliments and dotes on her whenever she is around, knowing that it’d drive Trisha absolutely crazy. She regularly sends Trisha vapid texts wishing her a nice day, invites her out on shopping trips or luncheons when she’s in town, and has even done something as heinous as showing up at Trisha’s college to visit. If Trisha didn’t know better she might think that Tansy was just dumb, yet the occasional backhanded compliment makes it clear that Tansy is just trying to get under the girl’s skin.
Georgie.Vanburen
"Yes, I understand the technique is impressive Georgie, but how does it make you feel? It just doesn’t do anything for me. " _______________________________________________
Her Headache. When Georgie was younger Tansy took care of her almost as much as the nanny. However, with Georgie going to school overseas at such a young age Tansy has always felt like little more than a stranger to her sister. While she wrote the occasional letter, they almost never had time to interact once Georgie’s baby teeth had fallen out. Unlike Oscar, who’s unpredictable but cordial, or Trisha, who’s unfriendly but predictable, Georgie is almost impossible to read. It just feels like no matter what Tansy does Georgie shifts from being a stonewall to a striking cobra, then back again. The young woman truly just makes Tansy uncertain and uncomfortable, and is the Vanburen most likely to get Tansy’s sugary facade to crack and go stale.
Arabelle.Matthews
"I don't know where these awful rumors keep coming from, Arabelle. I've told the staff to stop spreading them." _______________________________________________
Her Rival. Arabelle's mother had a massive influence on Tansy's childhood. Not knowing her actual mother, Tansy saw Ms. Matthews as a replacement of sorts and would follow her around the estate like a duckling, helping her out with the other children as she grew older. The same jealousy Arabelle would feel about the Vanburen children was felt by Tansy on the day Arabelle was born, usurping her imagined role as Ms. Matthews's daughter. While Tansy still treated Ms. Matthews with respect, Arabelle never saw an ounce of kindness from Tansy while growing up and always drew harsh criticisms when she made a mistake around the house. However, Tansy mostly pretended like Arabelle didn't exist—something she could no longer do once Ms. Matthews passed and Arabelle begun to spend time with James. Arabelle had already stolen Tansy's mother. Now she was trying to take her father? It was unforgivable. Her childish jealously resurfaced with fiendish vigor. Although Tansy now played nicer with Arabelle, acting as if they'd grown up a sisters instead of as a spoiled brat and a servant. Yet a conversation between the two cannot exist without Tansy poking at some kind of nerve and then going behind her back to spread vicious rumors. Even with James gone, she now views Arabelle as competition for the attention and affection of the other Vanburens.
Money isn't the root; it's the nutrients in the soil that let beauty grow.
The walk to the market was brief but still gave Solange plenty of time to fantasize about the axle of the wagon splintering, the barrel hiding Neh’miah tumbling out of the cart, and it cascading into the bay where it would be swept out into the sea. In her fantasy, a marooned mariner desperate for food and drink would see a barrel wash ashore on their island prison, crack open the cask, and succumb to despair as the remains of the molding barrel thief leaked out. The thought amused her enough to fight off the urge to walk up next to the barrel and rock it herself, an action she was sure would be intercepted by one of Vargas’s thugs. It was even enough to keep her taunting tongue tied as she glanced over at Maréngo. She was almost impressed by his ability to stomach the irritant. Had she oversaturated it with coffee?
The sight of the market snuffed all thoughts of misery-making out of her head. Her eyes grew wide with greed as they consumed the stalls stocked with supplies and trinkets. Normally when she was in a market she was limited to shopping with her eyes and whatever discount she could swipe with her fingers. The parcel of gold grew heavy in her hand, the weight too much to bear. It needed to be spent. She ripped it open and an audible gasp was followed by a shuffling of hands as she stashed the money in a hidden pocket, well aware of the stickiness of the fingers of those around her. After Fontaine’s cut and the various expenses to maintain her botanical practices, it had taken Solange months of work to save up a tenth of what Vargas had just given. The stale performances weren’t even the worst of it—the amount of time spent in grueling, mind numbing conversations, so bad that she barely held back all of her urges to slash out their tongue or cut off her ears, compared to the price she was paid was pathetic.
Crunching how much time she’d have to spend listening to a sailor squawk about his shipmates to make the amount of money in that envelope made Solange’s stomach turn, her cheeks burn, and her fist tighten. Her face darkened as she glanced around the market, trying to spot her companions. When Vargas had talked about the money for the ship and the gear it seemed so abstract that she hadn’t even registered it. Now that she had a fraction of the number he’d mentioned for his price, she was bewildered. Were these thieves and killers always being paid so well while women in her profession got the scraps and the sneers? She shook and spied a jeweler across the way, the morning sun glinting off of the silver and gold. The knock-offs she wore didn’t even glimmer. Her breath caught in her throat. She deserved a treat, didn’t she? She started towards the stand.
Then she turned sharply. She would treat herself to fancy jewelry upon her return. Until then, she had to make sure she stayed alive, and the best way to do that was to prove to the others that she was of value. Ideally they would all come to their senses and see that she was worth dying for, but until then she’d settle for them at least wanting to keep her alive. She knew well enough that the best way to get someone to care about you was to seem to care about them.
Solange found herself at Ziva’s Apothecary Supplies. She knew Ziva well enough, having tracked down her stall whenever it was convenient to find remedies for Fontaine’s girls. Generally the fellow running the stall did most of the sales while Ziva prepped the packages, yet he always shied away when Solange started speaking of the girl’s unsanitary symptoms. He seemed to recognize her, because Solange didn’t even have to say a word to catch a scowl from him as he tapped Ziva on the shoulder and turned away. Solange saw Ziva as a sort of herbalism contemporary. Ziva, well…
“You do not learn? I would ask why you are here, but a blindman could see the amount of paint around your mouth. So, whose dirty little pecker did you put your pretty lips too close to this time?” asked Ziva, squinting at Solange with one eye.
“Darling, you know I do not kiss and tell. Although in regards to the blind, I am less concerned with the blemishes as I am with the fragrance of my flower. You see, this morning I thought someone had hidden murdered animal in my bed because…”
“Should really see to that delivery,” said the man as he hurried away from the stall empty handed. Solange and Ziva watched as he disappeared into the market.
“Has there ever been a better way to keep a man from infidelity?” asked Ziva, smirking. Ever since Ziva promised to share the occasional secret with her, Solange had accepted the role as the world’s most diseased harlot. All of it was to convince Ziva’s man that any working girl was a sickly, infested cesspit that was as likely to cause it to rot off as it was to get off. Solange did not know why Ziva didn’t trust the fellow. He didn’t seem like the whoring type, but watching him winge was enough to sell her on the premise.
“Castration, but that’s only fun once,” said Solange with a dark chuckle.
“So, are you here for one of the girls today?” asked Ziva.
“Myself, actually,” said Solange. She caught Ziva’s glance and stepped back with a mock hostility. “Please, love, don’t give me that look like I’m an idiot, you know I can spot a social disease even before the belt is unbuckled.”
“I know you say that. So, what are you looking for then?”
Solange explained the situation of her trip without giving Ziva any ruinous details, and the woman presented several items to prepare for the most unfortunate of circumstances. A bit of back and forth later and Ziva was bundling up a package of inexpensive but proven medical supplies. She was about to tie it up with a ribbon when she looked up at Solange and said, “You do have something to ward off the sailors, correct?”
“If raising my prices aren’t enough, I have also begun to win the affection of a very big and very violent Tork.”
“I am not speaking of your virtue. I am speaking about the drowned. Ghosts of dead sailors. Sunken ships rising out of the depths, sailed by skeletons and spirits, seeking souls to consume before the night’s end. To go sailing without the proper equipment is suicide.”
“R-ridiculous,” said Solange, feeling a chill run down her spine. “If such things exist why have I never heard about it?”
“Sailors know not to speak of it; it is bad luck. Serves as a signal to the dead. Helps them find their ships. Even knowing it is dangerous.”
“Then why tell me?” barked Solange, her fingers rubbing at her throat as she felt it start to close. Did Maréngo know of such things? Why hadn’t Vargas been informed?
Ziva shrugged. “I thought you knew. But now you can prepare. Listen, I’ll tell you how…”
Solange leaned in, listening intently as Ziva explained the necessary rituals to perform and items to prepare to fend off the spirits of the sea. By the time her explanation was done, Solange’s bundle had doubled in size as it was packed with water blessed by holy disciples of Leathe and pounds of purified salt to ward and protect. The thank yous pouring from Solange’s mouth were the most earnest words she had spoken in months, and the way her eyes looked as if they were about to pop out of her head as Ziva said that even these precautions might not be enough told the apothecary that she could fleece Solange for anything right about now. Ziva pulled a talisman out of her pocket, a black rope fastened around a piece of jade to make a bracelet. She held it out to Solange.
“Wear this on your wrist. If you ever find yourself confronted by a spirit of the dead, extend your hand forward. The jade will do the rest. Here.” Solange reached forward as Ziva snapped the bracelet back. “This is a one of a kind spirit stone that protects the living from the dead. It’s incredible rare, worth over fifty gold, b—”
“Here!” Solange didn’t even wait to hear the price drop Ziva was going to give her. Already, Vargas’s coin had swapped places with the coin and the bracelet was hanging from her left wrist.
“You are a smart girl,” said Ziva, wide-eyed. She didn’t even bother to protest. The gem wasn’t even true jade, but serpentine stone. The rope tied around it was worth more. Ziva quickly wrapped up the rest of the transaction before Solange could give it a second thought, not that she would. Solange stared at the stone with awe as she shifted the bundle under her arm and found her next stop, purchasing a black leather cloak to keep her dry if she was even needed above deck during a storm.
Her final stop took her out of the black market and back to the legitimate storefront to stock up on general goods. She had also intended to seek out a book about the island of Gnok, either of some historical value or information on local flora. Solange instead found her nose in a book of maritime folklore and sea creatures called Faithless Fathoms: Living Below Leathe’s Light. She paid for the book, returned to the cart, and sat with her back to Neh’miah’s barrel and the book opened on her lap to a chapter about the Sumek. She reached back and tapped the barrel.
“You still breathing, love? Tap once if you’re alive, twice if you’re suffocating, and three times if—” Her words pitched up into a question and grew louder as she saw Maréngo and sat up with a curious face.“—you bought a monkey?”
For fruit to grow, a flowers pollen must be spread.
Solange maintained a polite smile as the Sheriff refused her offer, even though she had already begun to pour the poisoned coffee. It was a shame to have wasted such a special blend, but at least the man was leaving. She thought about making a smart comment about offering the man something more appetizing and a larger plate just to see if she could get him to sit down and drink her brew, but the last man she’d done that to had hit her. Solange ran her tongue along the inside of her cheek where she had bit it and tasted the iron. Sometimes, it was better to let the game end early before a playmate got fussy.
It was difficult not to take a reflexive step back as the Sheriff pulled into her, but working for Fontaine had made her used to overly enthusiastic gentlemen failing to understand boundaries. Yet something told her that the Sheriff would delight in finding her afraid of him. Only two kinds of men would willingly throw away their dignity to represent something as broken as the law in this town: absolute imbeciles and complete monsters. The Sheriff didn’t seem like a total idiot. So Solange fought the urge to stick a blade into the bit of scruff he’d missed near his jugular as the Sheriff sniffed at her like she was a freshly baked blackberry pie. Instead, she took that step back, sharply drew in her breath as he leaned down to her, and put her hand to her chest as if she were in shock while using it to act like a bustier. To top it all off, she turned her head sharply and looked away, stammering out like his patheticness was any bit of a surprise, “S-S-Sheriff!"
The performance was enough to make her own skin crawl, but Solange wondered if the bait would land as he pulled away and started pretending like he was a professional again. If he would be seeing her again real soon, she hoped he’d think that she was afraid of him, that she couldn’t do anything to stop him, and that he’d feel empowered to get close enough for a shave he didn’t want nor wouldn’t see coming but certainly deserved. Still she had to respect him for not trying to make the law sound like anything more than threats. She curtsied as the Sheriff turned and made his exit, watching him navigate the tavern from the balcony, tiny splinters from the bannister pricking under her nails as they bit into the wood, relaxing only once she saw him leave.
She turned and snatched two tainted horns from where she’d left it on the table and stormed down to the common room of the Faded Lantern, the clouds around her parting as her feet touched the landing as she reset her composure. She helped herself behind the bar, one glance shutting down the protest from the morning bartender, and fished out a funnel. Solange found a stool, searched through the secret pockets of her dress for carefully wrapped package of empty vials, and began to undo the padding. She was happy to see that her confrontation with Skartsat left the vials uncracked; he would’ve found glass in his next breakfast otherwise.
Her back to a corner so that she could see the rest of the room, the front door especially, Solange set the funnel in the vial. She began to carefully pour herself a coffee to go, the other horn sitting on the edge of the counter close to her. Steam still rose from the rim, offering a tantalizing aroma of hazelnuts and cinnamon, begging to be consumed before Solange recycled it.
NOTICE: All information is considered confidential to the Federal Agency of Metahuman Affairs. Disclosure of information is subject to disciplinary actions up to imprisonment.
Accessing Personal Records...
Open Data for (Your character name Here): Y/N?
Y.
Opening file...
▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔ “Ever notice how the only people who don’t deserve your respect are the same ones who always demand it?”
Ash Pierson
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PHYSICAL EVALUATION PSYCHOLOGICAL EVALUATION BACKGROUND INFORMATION POWER EVALUATION OTHER INFORMATION
Accessing Physical Evaluation Processing...
═══P H Y S I C A L E V A L U A T I O N═══
"Weird how nailing the 'I woke up like this' vibe isn't quite the same thing as making everyone think you just woke up." ▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔
▼ PHYSICAL APPEARANCE:
Ash always looks as if he has just pulled off an all-nighter, his blue eyes glazed over with dark bags underneath them. Dark stubble lightly peppers his face, hinting at a beard that’d be too patchy to be worth growing out. His messy black hair is painstakingly styled to look like he couldn’t give a shit about grabbing a comb and smoothing out the bedhead. The symmetry of his angular face is offset by a hooked nose that is slightly crooked, courtesy of one of the many times Ash let his mouth run free. Ash speaks with a calm, low voice that quickly degrades into a mumble when around people he doesn’t fully trust. Ash is decently tall with a deceptively athletic and powerful build for someone who typically moves at a sloth’s pace, with long, toned limbs and a somewhat slim frame. He stands with a relaxed, open posture, often staring out into space as if his attention is somewhere else entirely.
▼ ATTIRE:
He prefers to dress casually and favors the color black, typically wearing just a plain black tee, a dark pair of jeans, and some Chuck Taylor’s. The closest he gets to dressing up is throwing on a black button-up; anything fancier and he starts to squirm like a toddler being forced to dress up for Sunday service. Ash wears a black leather wrap bracelet on his left wrist and a black belt with silver studs, both well worn by time.
Accessing Psychological Evaluation Processing...
═══P S Y C H O L O G I C A L E V A L U A T I O N═══
"You don’t have to be a good person, but if you aren’t you need to stay out of the way." ▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔
▼ PERSONALITY:
On first impression, Ash seems like a cool, level-headed guy incapable of getting phased by anything let alone giving a shit about it. Laidback and easy going, Ash would falsely identify himself as an introvert. While he’s a bit quiet he actually prefers being around other people—especially if those people are loud, bright, or vibrant—and is quick to engage someone in a conversation. He doesn’t take many things very seriously, can be a bit of a harmless prankster, and even when he’s trying to be supportive he finds it difficult not to crack a joke to ease the tension. His overall demeanor is quite cavalier and chill, which might be what makes it so jarring when people see Ash lose his cool for the first time.
Anger doesn’t visit Ash quickly, but when it does it overstays its welcome. A firm believer in treating others how you want to be treated, Ash doubles down on the unsaid threat hiding behind the shine of the Golden Rule. Basically, if someone is acting like an asshole, Ash is going to show them what it’s like dealing with a real asshole. He intervenes without prompt, quick to challenge anyone who is being unnecessarily rude, violent, or abusive like he’s a champion of justice...or like he’s just any basic decent person who are unable to pretend like they didn't see something. Frustratingly for many, he also calls out people for minor offenses, startings fights over slights that most people would roll their eyes at, mumble under their breath, and move on—things like cutting in front of others to join their friends in line, or parking in two spots, or not knowing what they wanted on their burrito when they got to the front of the queue.
Basically, he's just confrontational. Ash’s more of a troublemaker than he is the social hero he attempts to be, but fortunately he’s able to recognize this as long as one of his friends are around to tell him he’s being the bigger asshole by escalating. Ash doesn’t want to be a burden on them, so he will drop something if they speak up. Unless he’s dealing with an authority figure. Then even the sincerest of pleas to just let it go fall on deaf ears. Ash is highly suspicious of anyone who’d want to put themselves in a position of power, questions their intentions openly, and is hyper critical in his judgment of them. He rigidly believes that it isn’t just limited to the absolute: any form of power will begin to corrupt a person as long as they aren’t kept in check, although keeping a person in check itself gives an individual power. Really, he just doesn't like being told what to do.
Ash values honesty and transparency above all else, finding the harsh truth to be kinder and more comforting than trying to protect someone’s feelings through white lies. In fact, he finds it exceptionally difficult to tell a lie and gets visibly uncomfortable when someone else doesn’t tell the truth. He’ll attempt not to expose the lie if someone has entrusted him with a secret, but it’s clear by looking at his face that he’ll feel guilty the entire time.
▼ SKILLS/TALENTS:
As the son of an instructor with her own studio, Ash is actually quite a talented dancer seeing as how he has attended class since he was five. Trained both in classical and modern styles, dancing has made him strong, flexible, and a smash hit at weddings. Inadvertently, dancing has also made Ash better in a scrap by making him more agile and light on his feet. Considering how many fights his mouth has gotten him in over the years, he’s started taking Muay Thai classes to better defend himself. He’s still an amateur, but being an amateur is better than being totally defenseless.
Ash is also a damn good cook, specifically when it comes to baking treats or grilling out. He actually learned how to bake while being volunteered to help keep the Academy’s cafeteria clean after he (accidentally) caused a food fight.
Ash is an avid reader who crushes through books regularly, focusing more and more on nonfiction and philosophy as he has gotten older. Calling himself the best read dumb person he knows, Ash freely admits that his retention is garbage and as a student his grades barely coasted along the passable line.
Accessing Background Data Processing...
═══B A C K G R O U N D D A T A═══
“You know, people go on trips to forget these kind of things and have fun. The future will be there sucking when I get back." ▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔
▼ BACKSTORY:
Ash never had a choice. He was always part of the system. Even if he never developed powers he was considered a person of interest by FAMA. He had his dad to blame for that. He never met the man in his life, but where he is now can be directly linked to the man who sired him. It’s almost kind of funny considering how much his dad would hate it.
Maria and Stephen Pierson, Ash’s adopted parents, had always been upfront about his father. Ash knew the man was a Deltahuman named Jackson Stone who’d gone by the callsign Far Out Man whose power made it impossible for anything in the world to be out of his reach. He knew he’d worked for ALBATROSS and had stolen Delta-Crystals to sell on the blackmarket on the side for years. He knew that his father had only been caught because his birth mother Tiffany had reported him to the authorities after catching him exposing a baby Ash to a Delta-Crystal. He knew that his father was responsible for his mother’s death and that he was never, ever going to be released from prison.
So the first time Ash got a note from his birth father that simply said, “They are lying to you. Love, Dad” he thought it was some kind of sick prank pulled on him by one of his friends. Once lunchroom brawl and a phone call to his mother from the principal later and Ash was pulled from the tenth grade and taken to a FAMA blacksite where his adopted father worked. It was during the car ride that Ash felt a sharp pain in his neck. Reaching up, he found a syringe jammed into his jugular. He passed out almost immediately after touching the syringe. He was told later that it had been a power serum.
When he came to, Ash was informed by Stephen that his birth father had been broken out of prison. Ash and his adopted mom were kept under a protection program for nearly a year. During that time, Ash was harassed daily with notes from his birth father, all of them spinning elaborate conspiracies against FAMA and the government and totting Pro-Deltahuman propaganda. He heard things like how he hadn’t been adopted, he’d been stolen. He was told things like how FAMA killed his birth mother and pinned the murder on his “real” dad. The notes were always one sentence and always signed Love, Dad. The serum also seemed to take effect during this time, granting Ash the powers that his father always wanted him to have. The notes only stopped appearing after his father was neutralized by MAVERICK.
Ash was enrolled in the Academy program sometime after and he tried to make it his new normal, ignoring the hell his life had been over the last year. He made friends, finished up the high school education he’d missed, and learned how to control his powers. He kept information about who his dad had been underwraps. He was informed by his adopted father that he’d be immediately enrolled in FLETC the summer after his graduation from the Academy. However, he couldn’t shake the feeling that something was off. His suspicions were heightened between his second and third year at the Academy when a massive leak from BASILISK lined up with some of the conspiracy theories his father had been feeding him.
To this day Ash still isn’t sure what is and isn’t true about his family, but he's had enough questions go ignored by his parents that he cannot help but believe something is being covered up. He began phoning it in at the Academy, knowing that if he performed poorly he wouldn’t be accepted to FLETC. He started to refer to himself as a proud test tube Delta. He stopped hiding who his real dad was, hoping someone would come out of the woodwork and tell him what really happened, but so far all it has earned him is the ire of the Academy staff. After getting in a particularly bad fight with another student that ended up with both of them getting injured, the Academy staff figured that Ash had not properly been given the tools to cope with the trauma induced by the harassment caused by his dad.
He was forced to sign-up for a weekly, hour-long group therapy session for students whose parents were criminal Deltahumans. The teacher in charge of the sessions was Sean Rosier. As per usual, Ash challenged him on just about anything, but Mr. Rosier never showed a sign of annoyance and always answered the boy’s probes to the best of his ability. Ash soon grew to trust Sean Rosier, seeing him as one of the few people in any position of power that he could express his doubts to without being seen as a rabble rouser. Ash was only required to attend the sessions for three months, but he continued going to them until Mr. Rosier vanished.
Graduation came and went. Ash packed for the cross-country trip he’d planned with his friends to, in his words, celebrate their escape from the system. The acceptance letter for an application he hadn’t submitted to FLETC arrived for him a few days before they left. He called his adopted dad, demanding to know what was going on. Stephen told Ash that he had to pull a few strings, but they were able to get a few incidents scrubbed from his permanent record that would’ve kept him from applying. He then said have a great summer and hung up before Ash had a chance to reply.
He wasn’t getting out of the system after all.
Accessing Power Evaluation Processing...
═══P O W E R E V A L U A T I O N═══
“I really don’t think any of you realize how much of a struggle it is for me to not just constantly be sticking people’s pants to their chairs." ▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔
▼ CLASSIFICATION:
White
▼ POWER INFORMATION:
Unification & Separation ⫻ Ash can instantly remove the space between two things and make them become one. Among many other things, cause shoes or tires to stick to concrete, put a phone on the wall and have it be held in place, break a bottle and attach all the glass to a baseball bat, or cause a computer to overheat by stopping the fan by binding the blades to the frame of the cooling unit. As long as something can feasibly touch another thing, Ash is able to bind them together. Once the space is removed the two items are permanently held together until Ash uses his powers to separate them. His power is only activated to unify or separate items, so he could feasibly use his ability to daisy chain a countless number of things together to create makeshift ladders, extension bridges, or those really abstract art sculptures found outside of modern museums as long as he took the time.
To unify two objects Ash must be able to see one of them and feasibly know that the other one exists. For example, he could unify a holster he could see to a gun he couldn’t because it made sense for there to be a gun in it, whereas he wouldn’t be able to unify a purse to the gun hiding inside of it unless he saw the person put the gun in it. However, Ash can only separate two unified objects by touching one of them. If he daisy chains multiple items together he’ll still have to separate each individual piece from the last one in the chain.
When unifying one thing that is in motion with another thing that isn’t then the thing that is in motion will always stop instantly, so a car will get stuck to the highway. If he unifies two things in motion then whichever item is moving fast will determine the direction and momentum, so a car going sixty unifying with a car going twenty as it is about to crash into the side of it will continue going sixty. With more complex constructs Ash can target either the whole, like the car, or an individual part, like the left front tire.
▼ LIMITS:
As previously mentioned, Ash must be able to see an object to use his power on it. However, it cannot be an object he witnesses on a screen, even if that screen is of a live feed with no delay. While he is able to rapidly unify pairs of objects together, he cannot affect all groups of pairs at once. His power instead follows a kind of work-order, averaging about one second per pair. His power is fairly low impact, but it isn’t infinite. He can keep a slow, steady pace up for hours, but a few moments of intense, rapid bursts could leave him tapped for several minutes.
Objects he unifies together will still function the way they are intended if it is possible, so while the gun stuck in a holster couldn’t fire because the trigger couldn’t be accessed, the one inside of a purse could still shoot through the material. As well, objects don’t change their normal properties and they follow a logic. Putting a large, dense item like an anvil on top of a small, fragile item like a teacup will still cause the anvil to smash the teacup but still have the shards attached to it. Therefore, while Ash could theoretically create complex things like ladders, extension bridges, and abstract art sculptures they would still need to be structurally sound to actually hold up.
Ash’s power cannot be used to remove the space between living things, although his power does push microorganisms out of the way. Things must be within less than an eighth of an inch of one another for Ash to unify them together. Any larger gaps make it impossible for his power to work.
▼ WEAKNESSES:
Be it mundane or fantastical, anything that limits or robs Ash of his sight ends almost all of his access to his power. The other fastest way to counter Ash’s power is by making items play keep away, either through some kind of telekinesis or other similar power, or even just by simply carrying an item with your hands.
As well, his power is extremely limited in natural environments, as even the sliver of a living thing getting between two items will make it impossible to be unified. Even his favorite trick of unifying shoes to the ground to trip people up doesn’t work well in nature because grass straight up stops it and dirt, pebbles, and sand get bound only a little bit at a time. If he is able to use his power, most unified objects can easily be broken apart or smashed to pieces. Their strength solely depends on the durability of that item. Fusing a door to its frame may secure a room, but if that door is wooden and there is a deltahuman with termite breath or a fire axe then Ash might as well not even bother.
Appearance: Win stands tall at six foot three, his meaty forearms folded over his broad chest, his formerly ripped gut sucked in to hide the fact that he’s had less time to hit the gym these days. He is African-American with dark brown skin and big, expressive eyes that are of a lighter shade of brown. His black, curly hair is styled in short dreads with a fade, while grays have begun to invade his short, neatly trimmed beard. Win has a crooked smile with deep dimples that he’s quick to flash. There is a small scar underneath his left eye whose story he always promises to tell another time but never delivers, and the hint of the start of a burn scar on his chest peeking out from the collar of his shirt whose story he claims nobody would ever believe. The fourth and fifth finger on his left hand are stumps ending just below mid-knuckle.
Win dresses well, but his wardrobe is limited—the only difference between his casual weekend outfit and his work outfit is he untucks on the weekend. Otherwise, it’s dress shoes with some orthopedic inserts, neutral chinos, and pastel button-downs with sleeves rolled up to the elbows. Win has only worn a suit jacket once and that was at his wedding. He won’t even wear a winter coat unless it’d be suicidal to go outside without one. A heavy hand with the cologne leaves a thick smell of sandalwood lingering wherever Win goes, bordering upon violating the Geneva Protocol for chemical warfare.
Personality: Win is a survivor forever stuck in a limbo between deciding if he’s just stupidly lucky, extremely determined, or, as his wife once put it, stupidly determined. A Chicago native turned soldier, he doesn’t let the guilt of outlasting friends who’d died in the streets or overseas bring him down. Instead, he chooses that always unbearable path of the warm and bright optimist, saying such cliche things like how he’d live life to the fullest because anything else would be disrespectful to those he lost. In his five years at PHI there have been plenty of times where he has spoken up in disagreement, but nobody can recall a time he has complained simply to complain. He doesn’t even stress in bumper to bumper traffic.
Humble, generous, and understanding with a dangerous sense of justice and responsibility, Win is a dedicated family man—and he considers his coworkers family. Win is the kind of guy who’d invite a coworker over for dinner with his wife and two kids before ever even getting a drink with them afterwork. He’s also the guy at the bar who’d step in to stop a fight or the guardian angel who’d dive in front of a bullet, claw, or an extremely garlicky slice of artisanal pizza to protect their partner while out on an investigation.
While he has his lightbulb moments, Win’s more thoughtful and wise than he is analytical and strategic. In the field he’s happy to let others take the lead while offering advice or pointing out flaws where he sees fit, but he usually won’t push against an idea he only somewhat disagrees with. However, there are some things he won’t do. He’s sensible, but he’s not a sucker. If a plan crosses the line he’ll put his foot down or break it off in someone’s ass if he must. Win’s a survivor after all, but there are some things—betraying family, abandoning a friend—that he just wouldn’t be able to live with.
Powers, Traits, and Abilities: Even if Win has lost his six pack in favor of sneaking his son’s Snack Pack, he’s still immensely strong for a normal, non-magical human being and shockingly quick and agile for a man of his size. A former Marine Raider trained in CQC backed up by wilding teen years of street fighting, Win is a lightning fast striker whose punches hit like miniature wrecking balls. He can take it even harder than his guns can dish it, and almost always finds a way to stay on his feet until a fight is done. He still spars in a ring at a gym in his limited spare time, but generally punishes the punching bag in his basement more often than not.
Of course when you’re hunting things that have massive maws that can tear a man in two, six needle-like arms that can quickly swiss cheese a torso, or a living embodiment of fire getting up close and personal generally isn’t the best call, even if he does switch out the punches for lethal stabs with a silvered tactical knife. Win was the designated marksman for his squad back in the day, and his shot hasn’t dropped a bit. Favoring big game hunting rifles and backing it up with wrist snapping, high caliber revolvers, Win aims to stop most hostile things that go bump in the night with just one loud bang. He once jokingly asked Morgan to see if there was room in the budget for a flamethrower so he could get over his fear of fire, except the look of defeat on his face when she told them they needed a new printer first was evidence enough that he was only half-kidding.
He doesn’t pretend to be the supernatural expert or the tactical genius, but he’s extremely organized and attentive while out in the field. When needed he offers overwatch from a vantage point, runs the radio check-ins, keeps track of the other investigators, and offers to sit, comfort, and interview any victims or witnesses while the others investigate the area. In the office, Win naturally falls into the role of a mediator or counselor—things can get heated between people in the field and egos tend to swell once you learn how to cast spells, but Win always manages to let someone know they're being a shithead without hurting their feelings. He also makes the best coffee and knows how everyone takes theirs.
Otherwise, Win is a devoted husband to a demonologist, blogger, self-published author, and occasional PHI consultant named Lily, loving father to his seven-year-old son Sam and four-year-old daughter Lucy. Win is also an avid gardener, a crossword puzzle addict, a live jazz fan, and somehow slowly turning into one of those old guys who goes to the park to play chess despite never winning a single damn game. Win got rid of the old Skee-ball machine taking up a parking spot in the garage that he got from a friend who knew a guy after his Lily said that it was really alarming how much effort he was putting in to beating a child at a stupid arcade game. He now tries to get everyone over to the Air Hockey table. He crushes it at Air Hockey.
Background:
The knife flashed forward, milky white liquid dripping from the fresh cuts as it slashed through the body again and again and again. There was the sound of something snapping, followed by a crunch, crunch, crunch as the cutting ruthlessly continued. The voice of Smokey Robinson softly sang through a tinny phone speaker, doing little to mask the sniffling of an adult man crying. Win pulled the bottom of his apron up to his eyes and wiped away the tears. Damn onions always got to him. He scraped the diced onions and chopped celery into a bowl, and then started working on the carrots. A rogue hand shot out from behind him and snatched up a carrot, treading dangerously close to his careful cuts.
“For real, Lily?You know how that freaks m—!”
“Shh, I just got Sam down. Try this.”
Win glanced at the glass of white wine Lily was offering him, her dark eyes shining with expectation and a hint of playful mischievousness. The tension in his shoulders loosened as he took the glass, noticing a bit of her black lipstick on the rim of the glass. He closed his eyes, took a sip, and held it in his mouth as he felt his taste buds turn against each other and kill themselves off. He opened one eye to stare Lily down as he put his mouth back to the glass and spit the wine out. He could see the corner of her large smile appearing at the edge of the hand that was covering his mouth. He’d been with Lily for nearly six years, married to her for three years, the father of her son for two of them, and still he found himself surprised by what a little troll she could be.
“Your face! Oh god, you look so disappointed,” she said with a snort.
“Was that cooking wine?” asked Win, wiping his lip as he coughed.
“You didn’t even smell it first!” said Lily, her voice turning into a squeal as she struggled to properly breath.
“It was some kind of wine right? Lily?” Win watched in horror as his wife stumbled out of the kitchen, holding her sides. He craned his neck around the corner. “Lily, that was wine, right?”
“Hold on. Let me grab the bottle.”
Win shook his head and chuckled to himself. “Try this” had been the first thing Lily had ever said to him when they met at a mutual friend’s house party. Normally Win stuck to the creed of not taking random red solo cups from strangers dressed like mall goths, but normally strangers dressed like mall goths weren’t also pretty Indian girls so he took the risk. He woke up the following morning next to a toilet. He said he was honestly surprised he was able to remember her when they ran into one another at an occult bookstore after he'd been discharged from the Marines. She’d said she was honestly surprised that he read about Middle Eastern demonology, let alone that he was a reader at all. She’d always been quick to play the role of the jerk. It’s one of the things he loved about her.
“Ta-da!” said Lily, whipping out a bottle of fernet from behind her back as she returned. “It’s pretty terrible, isn’t it? Silvia gave it to me as a gift for agreeing to do a book signing at her store.”
“I thought Silvia liked you,” said Win, finishing up the vegetables.
“I think she knew I’d give it to you.”
“I thought Silvia liked me,” he muttered.
“She does. She just likes me more,” said Lily, trying another sip of the fernet. “It’s kind of refreshing in a weird way. I’ll give you the bottle of the good stuff after you nail your interview tomorrow. You nervous at all?”
“Knowing your definition of “the good stuff” I am now,” said Win. “Actually, I was hoping you could run me some dummy interview questions and tell me if any of my answers sound stupid.”
“Sure. Telling you what is and isn’t stupid is my job, after all.”
“Mhm, it’s why I keep you around.”
He took the bowl filled with the holy trinity of veggies and set it next to the gas stove, opened the window to vent the smoke as a gust of cool fall air rustled the curtains, and flicked on the pilot to the frustrating sound of a clicka-clicka-click as it didn’t catch. Win groaned, turned the knob again, and was met with the same sound. It looks like Romantic Dinner Night might turn into Pizza Night. He flicked it again as Lily spoke up, “Hey, give it a…” Third time’s the—whoosh! The pilot came to life and it caught the gas, creating an impressive ball of fire that leapt up before Win’s eyes. The knife clattered to the floor as Win stepped back, the cool Chicago air vaporized with the rest of his apartment as flames consumed all he could see.
Win felt himself become soaked in sweat as the desert air wrapped around him, sand blasting against his goggles as it crept past the folds in his handkerchief and sizzled against his skin like hot, tiny coals. The harsh sun had completely disappeared in the sudden sandstorm that’d swallowed up his team, the radios crackling with static interference that was drowned out by the sound of a loud roar like a jet engine except it sounded wrong. Less mechanical, more organic. Win didn’t even have the chance to consider how ridiculous of a thought that was as a wall of flame erupted out in front of him. He fell to the ground and covered his face as the blowing sand turned into lacerating bits of glass.
He heard the Raiders around him screaming, grown men crying out horrifically. Somebody called for a retreat. The wind carried the smell of burning flesh like overcooked bacon as Win heard the beating of wings. Win struggled to his feet and started running, unable to see more than a dozen feet in front of him through the sandstorm. He tripped over something and fell prone, looking back to see the crisp corpse of a Marine. He made himself stand up. Another roar, another blast of fire. A few more feet closer and he would’ve been roasted alive by it. Instead, his vest caught flames as a wall of black glass erupted out from the sand. He ripped it off quickly and chucked it away before the ammunition caught, rolling on the ground to put out his shirt.
He heard Sergeant Andrews screaming orders through the storm. The boys used to make fun of how damn loud he was; now it was a godsend. Win rushed off in that direction, grabbing a fellow soldier who was struggling to find footing up out of the sand and offering him a shoulder. He saw the Sergeant through the storm seconds before a massive black shadow flew down on Andrews so quickly that Win only really saw the black, serpentine tail as the orders stopped coming before the sand flew up to block his vision. Fear overtook the soldier on his shoulder, who shoved free of Win and ran back. Win closed his eyes and breathed deeply, ignoring the smell, ignoring the screams. Panicking would only get him killed. He had to remain calm, he had to remain calm. Win opened his eyes, the flames rolling towards him, fire all he could see. He felt a hand touch his own and pull.
“Hey, are you alright?” asked Lily, pulling her husband back from the past, her eyebrows knitted deeply with concern. The oil in the pan had begun to smoke before she’d turned the gas off.
“Yeah,” said Win, blinking away the look of sheer terror on his face as he saw his apartment again. Lily narrowed her eyes at him. He sighed deeply and leaned against the counter, pulling her into his arms. She hated when he tried to be tough and lied to her, so he didn’t. “No. No, I’m not, but I will be. Just give me a second.”
“We really need a better stove,” she whispered after his sobbing stopped.
“We need a better apartment,” said Win, letting Lily go so she could take over making dinner. She waited until he’d turned to walk to the barstool before switching on the gas.
“Wait, you don’t want to raise our son in a one-bedroom, roach-infested shithole?” she said, smiling over her shoulder as she popped another piece of carrot in her mouth.
“A second bedroom would be nice,” he said.
“A second bedroom would be nice, which means you need to nail this interview. What kind of questions do you think they’re gonna ask you at Church and Hawthorne?” she asked.
“Priest and Hawthorne,” he corrected. Lily poured the veggies into the pan. Win winced as they sizzled and popped like Marines in the desert. He reached for the glass of fernet, took a sip of it that made his face sour but his shoulders relaxed, and added a bit more to the glass. Lily was right. It was refreshing in a strange kind of way. It drove out the phantom scent of burnt bodies. “And I don’t really know. You’re the paranormal expert, miss author, not me.”
“Hmm. Okay, Mr. Coates. Do you believe in UFOs, astral projections, mental telepathy, ESP, clairvoyance, spirit photography, tele—”
“C’mon, ask me a real one.”
“Fine. During an investigation, you come toe to toe with a giant, man-eating spider. How would you handle it?” she said.
“Lily, I think the job’s more about going to a person’s house and telling them the ghosts they’re seeing is really a carbon monoxide leak than hunting down made up monsters.”
“Do you not believe in monsters, Mr. Coates? Have you never heard of a tulpa?”
Win sighed. After what he saw, of course he did. “A tulpa is a paranormal manifestation of an entity brought upon by a strong enough belief in said entity. Assuming such a thing is possible, then there are definitely enough people who are afraid of giant spiders that one could potentially be born as a tulpa. As for how I would handle it, that would depend on company protocol. If we were to capture it, I would do everything in my power to do so, unless I found the entity a threat to either the wellbeing of our contact or our team, in which case I would then neutralize the threat.”
“Awww, someone’s been reading my blog,” said Lily.
“Every post. But c’mon, a giant spider?” Win snorted and took another drink. “Really? Hit me with another question. One they’d actually ask this time...”
Lies aren't needed when others make the excuse for you.
“We must run in different circles, honey. All I ever heard about the Sheriff was that he was a man of strange taste and disappointing stamina,” said Solange with a half-smile that faded quickly as Nora’s icy stare flashed like a dagger from Skarsat over to her. The redhead stood up straight and cupped her hands together to stand like a proper, professional young lady with no hint of irony in her disposition. She nodded in acknowledgment to Nora’s departing statement, Solange’s tongue twisting in her mouth as she swallowed the desire to return the Zherpanian saying with a similar one she’d heard uttered by the followers of Voi—something about making water once the passions cooled. Neither, she realized, would be advice that would need to be followed at this moment.
“Any disputes? Darling, can you believe Miss Sunshine thought we were having a...darling?” Solange craned her neck to search for Skarsat, but her plaything had already slipped away. She exchanged a glance with Sheri and smiled sweetly. “Let’s head to the kitchen. After you.”
Solange had the misfortune of dealing with Sheri before, who’d taken it upon herself to explain the lives of every member of the staff to Solange like some kind of proud, doting mother. It amazed Solange how Sheri was able to know so much about the others, considering she never took a single moment to let someone else get a word in. However, seemingly the stress of dealing with the Sheriff was enough to silence the suffocating gossip who, much to Solange’s relief, fretted with her frock more than anything. Sheri held the swinging door to the kitchen open for Solange, who stepped through after telling the woman to wait outside.
The kitchen of the Faded Lantern was normally well organized but currently in complete disarray due to the prep done to provide the would-be treasure hunters with a bountiful feast that now would go unenjoyed by half of their party. Solange eyed a tower of dirty dishes, her tongue pressing into her bruised cheek as she fought the urge to send them cascading to the ground, porcelain shattering everywhere and ruining the day of some young kitchenhand who’d be forced to scrub it all up. Perhaps if the floors weren’t already dirty the temptation would be too much for her.
She peeled herself away and found what she’d come looking for: an iron kettle filled with black, muddy coffee. Its bitter flavor would do well to mask the taste of the leaves of iris that Solange had squirreled away for a day when her sister had deeply annoyed her. She pulled the leaves out of her tiny herb pouch, casting a glance over her shoulder to make sure that none of that staff was poking their head around. Grabbing a bowl and a wooden spoon from the pile of dirty dishes, Solange pulverized the leaves until they made a fine paste, loosened it upon with a bit of water, and mixed it in with the coffee. It might add a bit of grit to the brew, but it’d be difficult to differentiate between it and loose coffee grounds.
The poison wasn’t lethal—killing her sister was out of the question, and killing the Sheriff would be bad for the local businesses—but it would ruin the better part of the morning by keeping him contained to the loo. Most likely the Sheriff would reason that the cooking was bad or that he had too much to drink the night before and not even consider that someone would dose him. She stashed her makeshift mortar and pestle in with the rest of the dishes and grabbed the wooden handle of the kettle. Popping out of the kitchen, she nodded to Sheri and followed the woman’s gaze up to the balcony. Her nose wrinkled as she caught sight of Sheriff Gerranti gesturing with a piece of bacon to one of the guards seated with him.
Solange adjusted her dress and sashayed her way up to the pig trough. She heard a bark of laughter and paused outside of the sliding door, taking a moment to come up with a story. Nerves steeled and a phony smile painted on her face, Solange pulled on the handle and found three men with crumbs on their lips staring at her. She stepped gracefully through the threshold with her chin high, casting a quick glance at the two nobodies before focusing her gaze upon the Sheriff. Normally she’d move to a spot where she could have her eyes on the door, but she needed to be able to see the main hall.
“Gentleman, I am so pleased our staff saw fit to serve you breakfast after my partner so quickly turned you away the other night. It is always so wonderful to see them take ownership, especially when it comes to taking care of a respectable man of the law. My name is Solange Belgard, Lord Vargas’s new business partner. Sheri took it upon herself to inform me of everything. I’m afraid we’d be here well past supper if we were to wait for Lord Vargas, but I may answer what questions you have in his stead. However, before that…” She placed her hand on the back of an empty chair and leaned forward, squeezing her chest up as she raised the tainted kettle, her blue eyes narrowing. “...who needs more coffee?”
Neziul
Antlers
CassidyTheButch
ML
Simply Not Real
NoriWasHere
Blizz
Passable Writer
Evil Ghost Note
