@BlueSky44: Day 5
Morose Member
✨Krakoan Prince✨
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7 yrs ago
My power grows exponentially each day as we come nearer to Halloween.
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@Charnobylisk MUMMY!!!!!!!
Location: the Wyndham Estate
As Virginia ventured forward to the Wyndham Estate, she could not help but smile softly as one gentlemen was expelled from the abode. Her mission to rescue her dear friend would be made entirely easier, and as the disgraced lord walked by her without a simple glance, Virginia followed him with her eyes. Any gentlemen caller at the Wyndham Estate, sadly, was likely to be of an ill character, due to Mrs. Wyndham's inability to restrain herself from pairing her daughters off with any bachelor that so much as breathed and possessed a title.
However, a din called her attention away from the gentlemen, as his carriage departed from the manor. True to form, Mrs. Wyndham berated Milli on the doorstep, without any regard for whom might hear. Virginia raised an eyebrow subtly at Mrs. Wyndham's choice of adjectives. She quite fancied macabre herself, it had a certain flair to it that she quite appreciated. Peculiar and queer were equally fond choices of words, but grotesque lacked their charm.
Still, she had not come to call upon her dear friend merely to suggest better adjectives for her step-mother to use in describing her. There appeared to be a commotion in the park as well--and immediately, Virginia knew that Millicent would not come with her to Almack's until the situation was resolved. Her skills left her body limp and defenseless quite often, and so, Virginia decided that she should perhaps aid her friend in defending the manor. She trusted Milli more than others in looking after her lifeless corpse, after all.
"It is already forgotten, dear friend," Virginia assured Milli, her smile reaching her eyes. "I must be candid. I have come entirely unannounced, yet I come with an inquiry and a request for a favor. Of course, with the current crisis, I would be more than glad to remain here at the manor in order to assist in its defense. Perhaps then I may learn your thoughts on the matter as to whether or not James should soon be sent to be trained, in this present moment."
And then she paused for a moment, her voice dropping to a volume that would only allow Milli to hear. "And of course, if there are any gentlemen remaining in the house that you wish for me to frighten away, I would be most obliged to do so, my dear friend."
Tryke Lockley
Location: On Her Motorcycle, on the Walker Infested Route to Newnan
Sometimes, Tryke wished she had the good sense to shut her goddamn mouth. Right before the walker hoard appeared on the horizon, she had asked Bridgette if they were going to Valhalla. It had been a joke. But flash forward to moments later, when Astrid's axe was embedded in Bridgette's skull, and Astrid's last words to her sister had been just that. Valhalla.
At that moment of her life, Tryke felt like the asshole supreme. Despite hardly knowing her for even an hour, she liked Bridgette. She could see herself being friends with the Viking chick. She hadn't had a true friend since the year the outbreak began--and engineers at CalTech, shockingly, tended not to be very good with social skills. And as much as Tryke was pissed at herself, she wasn't the type to curl up and cry.
No, she got pissed at the world. "Oh fuck no, you asshats!" Tryke exclaimed, removing her bat from its place behind her shoulder. "That was my friend!" Tryke practically growled. Usually, her policy would have been to speed away on her bike as fast as she could, and put as much distance between her and the walkers as she could. But this was different. This was time for revenge, for payback. With one hand on her bike, the other hand held her bat. Swerving as best as she could, Tryke did her best to help Astrid clear a path to Bridgette, swinging at any walkers that came near her.
But it wasn't enough. Just as Tryke's anger had begun to falter slightly, seeing Astrid pull her dead friend into the truck, her throat caught slightly as Astrid was bit as well. Tryke had a list of things that were okay, and goddamnit, this was not on the bloody list. Her anger swelled again, and she was tempted to pull out her makeshift flamethrower, and burn the sons of bitches to hell that had done this.
But that wouldn't solve anything. For those few awkward and sarcastic moments over in Franklin, Bridgette had been her friend. Astrid was Bridgette's sister. And if the dying woman wanted to get everyone back to wherever the hell the Vikings came from, then Tryke vowed that she'd do her best to help. Enough was enough.
Édouard Riviere
Location: Franklin ---> the Infirmary
Édouard held himself deathly still as the group headed out vanished into the distance. He had fallen back on one key strategy, when encountered with situations beyond his understanding--playing dead. The pretty girl, Sana, had placed her head on his shoulder. On one hand, he was ecstatic and thrilled--but on the other, he was deeply and undeniably terrified. This seemed exactly like something Lyon would come over and kill him for. He didn't fancy death, not really. As much as he sometimes wished for it, he never wished for it all too long. Mostly, it was just when there were problems in his path, and death just seemed like an easier and less stressful alternative.
"Il est....ton frère?" Édouard repeated, still holding himself still. He couldn't help but feel more and more confused. Did they commit incest here, then? He supposed that it could just be an American thing, or another product of Lyon's brainwashing. Either way, he couldn't help but be glad then that his sisters were likely dead. The thought of kissing Darcey, or Alisanne especially, almost made the Frenchman gag.
"Je suis certain que ton frère se sentira bien," Édouard said, a bit awkwardly drawn out. He moved his hand very slowly, and patted Sana on the back, like a child petting a dog for the first time, filled with terror that it might run away. "Mes sœurs sont mortes, je pense," he added, as if that could somehow comfort Sana.
He couldn't help but feel relieved as Sana seemed to focus on his hair. He had lovely hair, he had to admit. It wasn't strange at all that someone else would become obsessed with it. Frankly, he was almost surprised more people didn't. As Sana took his hand, he nodded, once again terrified at the physical contact of it--especially as the devil himself came over. A few strange English words later, and Édouard glanced at Sana with unease.
He then made the (in his mind) unfortunate decision to trust her. He hoped his hair wouldn't perish as a result.
Following her inside the school, they ended up back in the wretched infirmary. He wouldn't be surprised if Lyon made him live there, with how much time he spent in the place. Nodding at her question, Édouard held out a hand for either the scissors or the comb. He wanted to help.
Jack Hudson
Location: Building 7 (Rec Center) ----> Death the Gate
"You deserve some relaxation time," Jack agreed, as Miss Sally sat down and directed the placement of the chairs. He abandoned his practice of announcing--still debating whether or not to leave in the bit about monstah trucks--and set to work. It wasn't too long before most of the chairs had been set up, and even Sophia, the one handed girl, was pitching in. The more he saw of Newnan, the more it seemed like a paradise, a dream come true.
He was about to whistle playfully at Tatiana, when he heard the crackle of the radio. For a second, he reached towards his hip, the way he had done back as a police officer. But there was just air there, no radio. His fingers had grasped for nothingness. Refocusing his attention on the Ashton's voice, Jack swore under his breath. Jack's immediate, gut reaction was to protect Tatiana at all costs, and he looked over at his Russian ballerina, his heart heavy in his chest.
"You sure, solovey? I don't mind staying here with you," Jack replied, having walked back over to Tatiana, a hand on each of her shoulders. He could tell how nervous she was, and he wanted nothing more than to stay with her, in the safety of the Rec Center. But if they were going to make this their home, it had to be defended. Paradise came at a price. As Tatiana reassured him, Jack pulled her in for a hug and a kiss. "I'll be back before you've got a chance to miss me," he promised. "Take good care of Bazhooli while I'm gone, yeah?" he added, cracking a joke and a smile.
Bidding his farewells, Jack left the Rec Center, remembering that Ashton had told people to meet at the courthouse with weapons. He didn't have a single thing on him, and he couldn't help but feel slightly foolish. However, he spotted a few people heading towards the gate, and figuring that crowds weren't usually wrong, he followed them. Moving at a bit of a light jog, he finally made it out to the gate, seeing the other members getting ready to go.
"I'd like to volunteer, if you'll have me."
@Lady Amalthea Will do right now then :)
@Lady Amalthea Against my better judgment, I'll be sending Jack off to help.
Nora Kingston
Location: Egyptian Museum
As the sounds of the Lady Munn and Mr. Drake appeared to die down, Nora glanced over her notes on the rubbings. She attempted to be precise each time she copied down a symbol, as to ensure the hidden meaning--wherever it was--was preserved. Biting her lip, Nora frowned slightly as she examined the symbols on the page. She must have made some sort of error. Some symbols that appeared multiple times had variations--perhaps the calamity had distracted her.
Turning her attention back to the rubbing, Nora frowned slightly. She had copied them down perfectly. Squinting at the page, she couldn't quite determine whether it was simply a smudge in the rubbings, or an actual intent. However, as her eyes flickered to the door, it didn't seem Lady Munn was returning within the next few moments. It would be perfectly well of her to operate under the assumption the smudges were intentional alterations, and see where that brought her, until she could confirm whether or not there was meaning there.
Nora opened to a fresh page in her notebook, and carefully redrew the altered marks. There had to be some meaning to them. She bit her lip anew, recalling Vera's words--that the translated words had been all nonsense in the end. Could it be the identification of the cipher to use? But the position was perplexing. She had never seen anything like it before--but, as she reminded herself, she was an amateur in this field. Flipping to the front of her notebook, where Nora had sketched a brief alphabet of sorts, she attempted to read the symbols-- but all she found was mmhn. That hardly seemed right. Flipping the page, Nora started anew, retracing the symbols once more.
And then, an idea struck her. She crossed out the symbols, and instead, only focused on the positions of the markings. Nora beamed as something recognizable came from the flow. Phi. It was the golden ratio, the divine proportion. It was a geometric relationship, then! In neat letters, she wrote phi down on the page, biting her lip anew.
Now to attempt to apply this rule to the message. She could not help but feel certain the Lady Munn would be quicker than she, given that Nora had to reference her earlier notes each time she attempted to decode a message. The Egyptologist appeared to be fluent in the language--a skill Nora wished she had attained. She had learned gaelic from her nurse as a child, as a severe illness kept her confined to her room, turned infirmary, for a great deal of time. The Irish woman had been her only company, and thus, the young Nora picked up the language quickly.
But now was not the time for regrets. Biting the inside of her cheek, Nora resumed her work.
Cecily Ashworth
Location: Alicia's Secret Hideout; Queensguard Private Airfield
Before all of this happened, Cecily Ashworth, the oldest child of lawyers Wendy and Frank Ashworth, spent a fair deal of her time on tumblr. She followed the tags of her favorite fandoms, from the Marvel Cinematic Universe to BBC Sherlock. And as she peered down at the ladder, the heavenly and glorious ladder of her escape, she recalled one post that she had reblogged in particular.
The post felt especially fitting, as she climbed her way down the ladder with some difficulty, as she attempted to keep herself from bleeding out. She had been dumped into something stranger than real life, into something akin to--and perhaps even more dangerous than--her favorite shows and comics. All of this chaos had been going on for about a week--and here she was, near to death.
She went to mention it to Caesar, before deciding to hold the comment altogether. She didn't need to lose whatever credibility she had with him by revealing herself as a tumblr nerd. That, and she was fucking bleeding. And damn it, it hurt. Cecily was amazed that she didn't fall off the ladder, with her hands shaking as she reached the landing. Adjusting her grip, she hoped Caesar knew how to get bloodstains out of clothing, as otherwise, the bandana definitely was going to need to be thrown out.
"Fucking hell," Cecily muttered, as the lights turned on, dazzling her with the intensity. She shifted her free hand to cover her eyes, squinting through the gaps in her fingers until she adjusted to it. For a few moments, it was like staring at the sun. But as her vision adjusted, she spotted a staircase, heading down. Who the bloody hell built this place?
Glancing behind her, Cecily did smile slightly. "You...You do know how to deal with bullet wounds, right? I mean...You look like you've been shot before...or at...Sorry if that's rude," Cecily asked, increasing the pressure on the wound once more, as she descended the flight of stairs. Half of her expected it to lead them to a trap, that there'd only be more gunmen down there, but for now, she was alive and breathing. That was fortune enough.
And why the hell did Alicia have Iris' card? The thought flickered through her mind, but the pain in her shoulder quickly chased it away. Biting down on her lip, Cecily made it to the bottom of the stairs, and she glanced around, her eyes widening. It looked like it was the set of a spy movie, or perhaps a still from a comic book. The room reminded her of a drainage system of sorts, containing weapons and...a medical kit.
She stood there in shock for a moment, before hurrying over to the medical kits as best as she could. Her hands were shaking as she undid them, and she knew that the bullet in her shoulder was stemming blood flow--but it was also giving her lead poisoning. Cecily unpacked the materials, a bit skeptical at her being able to do anything effective with it. "Erm...Should I pull it out or--?"
But she was cut off, as a beep echoed throughout the air, and a computer generated voice began to speak. She glanced over at Caesar, listening to it identify him, and then her eyes spotted a monitor, with the video image of the deceased Alicia Gonzalez displayed on it. She shook her head slightly, looking back down at the kit. Caesar needed a private moment--she'd figure this out. Somehow.
Taking out some of the gauze, she did her best to put pressure on the wound, and thankfully, Lady Luck allowed the blood flow to be stopped. If only Natasha was here...I mean, lead poisoning can't set in that quickly...can it?
Iris Kingston
Location: Arkham Asylum Justice Asylum For The Criminally Insane: the Ludwig Building
Potentially identity disorder. Patient--Cynthia--associates with name Valentine, Iris thought to herself. She had been blessed with a photographic memory, and Cynthia's seemingly drug induced spins and twirls were a sight Iris figured she would never quite forget. As Cynthia threw her head back, she pondered more and more what information the file would divulge. This wasn't the typical patient they encountered at the Ludwig Building--but then again, no one ever really was the typical patient.
"And what a lovely name that is, Valentine," Iris complimented, hardly skipping a beat. "Is it your birthday then? I know you mentioned it was your day in the common area." She smiled softly at her patient, debating whether or not the woman could be trusted with a spoon to eat the sorbet with. Instead, Iris opened up the small tin of cookies she kept at her desk, and offered one to Valentine.
"Well, I'd love to get to know you better, Valentine," Iris continued. "But I find it's a bit awkward sometimes if I know all about you, and you know nothing about me, yes? So. Here's my proposal: You can ask me any question you like, I'll answer truthfully, and then I can ask you a question. You can pass if you're uncomfortable answering, but I do ask you tell the truth."
Iris folded her hands neatly at the desk, allowing Cynthia to ask questions first if she agreed. Mentally, she was keeping track of her patient's movements and responses, attempting to identify what demons tortured the poor woman. As soon as she concluded this initial session with Valentine, she would write up her unbiased comments, and then peruse the file. However, Iris already had a premonition that Valentine was no ordinary patient.
Chloe "Tuesday" Ridgeway
Location: Club AfterDark
Tuesday sighed a bit, her lips comically being puffed out as she did so. Truthfully, Tuesday couldn't quite tell whether it was whimsy or fancy. She was getting sick of the same old routine--everyone acting like they were hot shit, when they weren't. Having to work out new ways to smuggle goods in for her clients down in lockup. It had become monotonous, repetitive, like a police procedural drama. The wheel turned, but nothing ever changed.
"Everyone just takes themselves so fucking seriously," Tuesday admitted, holding her head in her hand. "We're druggies. Own that shit, right? But everyone acts like they're some badass gangsta or the fucking Queen of Sheba. And then, all these runs, all these marks, all these drops? They're all the same." She paused for a moment, laughing a bit. "The kids we deal to will be us one day, and they'll deal to someone, and then they'll deal to someone...I'm getting bored."
It wasn't really medical school that Tuesday wanted--it was more a change. As exciting as the lifestyle had been in her early 20's, she would be thirty in just two years. And to be honest, she didn't want to do this for the rest of her life. Her lifestyle was just another drug for her--one that she had now abused enough to no longer bring its highs. With her head in her hands, she probably looked just like she did whenever she was in need of a fix.
"I dunno. Maybe I am serious. Maybe I'm not," Tuesday shrugged. However, her mouth then curled into a snarky grin. "But I can help you with that back, asshole. A good punch or two should do the trick. Maybe a kick, too."
@Witch Cat No worries! :) Names can get a bit confusing at times.
Aloise smiles slightly at Liam. She had felt the same exact way herself, almost every minute she had been deployed. No matter what she had learned, it didn't seem to prepare her for any of it. And for Liam, he truthfully hadn't been given a chance to learn about himself. Hell, even she didn't know much about Prophets, beyond the reception of visions. "Every vision you see, according to the lore, will come to pass," Aloise explained. "So when you see something, all you have to do is let us know...But honestly, no one knows what they're doing. No one's being a hero. We're all just...just trying to do something good at the end of the day."
And just as Aloise finished, something miraculous occurred. Liam would be struck with another vision. This time, he would see Amy Chang, enveloped with a scarlet smoke. The doctor stumbles slightly, before the room around her crumbles. Everything goes dark. Everything becomes dust.
Meanwhile, Dr. Chang and Hanson are trying their best to work on Sera. At her scream about the voices, Amy pauses for a moment, before giving a dirty look at an imaginary camera, as if she was on the Office. "The fucks wrong with you people?" Amy muttered, shaking her head. "Do I look like a shrink to you? I can't make any voices stop. Unless, of course, someone in here just so happens to be a psychiatrist and wants to work with your crazy ass mind, then they can be my guess. I'm gonna concentrate on the fucking bullet wound, kay sunshine?"
Was it perhaps fate that Trevor, who definitely would have heard that tirade, was a therapist part-time?
Dr. Chang, once resuming her work, manages to carefully extract the bullet, as Hanson keeps pressure on it. Fortunately, with the intensive upkeep she had to perform to keep Hanson's heart going, she brought everything she could carry with her to the Church. A few expletives later, Hanson is sent to get the most basic and simplest equipment out of Amy's bag, that way Sera can get a bit more blood in her. She'll need to go to a hospital still, but it won't be as pressing anymore. And as Eudora, the hobbling witch approaches with herbs, Amy eyes them for a moment. "Nah-uh. My patient. She doesn't need pot--she needs a little more blood. You donating?"
She shook her head slightly, before returning her attention back to Seraphina. "Now, mind telling me who the fuck you are, Miss Here's Johnny?"
Azrael did not turn towards Darren, busying herself with the corpse on the pavement. She rested her hand on the deceased's chest, and then after a moment's pause, she rose to her feet, the cape billowing around her, swallowing her nearly. Only the hint of a face, gruesome and disfigured, could be made out. Her skin was the color of ash. However, both Jade and Darren would get the sense that the angel of death was smiling at them.
"Ever so bold, Darren Owen," Azrael said, the voice as quiet as a falling leaf. "Before you attempt to persuade me with speeches about the pointlessness of predestination, know that I do not proscribe to the theories of John Calvin. I collect what I am due to collect--nothing less, nothing more. I suppose you find this to be hypocritical--but I do not welcome the deals my brother is ever so fond of trading in."
"Bloody hell, it's like I'm not even here," Jade pointed out, her tone both exasperated and loud. She detested the way Azrael talked about her--only directing words at Darren. Sure, Darren had damned himself for all eternity and made the deal to revive her--but godddamnit, she wasn't a child. And this wasn't the 1700's. "I'd like to be included in this, okay? It's my fucking life, after all. Not his."
Azrael's gaze did not waver. The angel of death practically ignored Jade's words, and the detective's grip tightened once more upon the blade, as the howling grew louder and louder with each and every passing minute. The air around Azrael nearly remained still, fixed in place, or rather, suffocated into stillness. "Darren Owen, you of all people know that the dead should not rise. It only brings pain and suffering. There is always a price for any manner of magic--and while you assume that cost is the slaughter you have been tasked with, do not doubt that the price will still beg to be paid."
Another pause. The sky darkened, as a storm cloud moved overhead, coming closer and closer to the center of the city. A torrential downpour was in the cards, it seemed. It wouldn't be long before it began. "The slaying of a reaper will not save her life. It will lead to the deaths of thousands--and that blood will stain your hands even further. But...That is not what I have come to discuss. I have a task for you--for you and Jade Corentine."
"Now you'll bloody acknowledge my existence?" Jade seethed, but a bit quieter. The howls were quieting, ever so slightly, and she relaxed her grip on the blade.
"Child, we do not have time for this pettiness," Azrael rebuked. "My brother has risen before. I am sure you recall the disasters in the year 2009, do you not? My brother was returned to his cage. And he has escaped once more. Restraining my brother will stop nothing. Darren Owen and Jade Corentine, I task you with the murder of Lucifer. If you succeed, I perhaps may be willing to turn a blind eye to your transgressions...Fail and there will be no need. You will be dead."
Sariel's body is limp, yet her mind is anything but. Her thoughts will be audible to only Seraphina and Azrael, leaving the human-ish caregivers that carry her feeble form entirely oblivious. To those listening, her voice is weak, as if it was liable to fade away entirely within the next moment. However, one thing comes through clear and strong: Sisters, protect the Prophet... It is Sariel's dying wish, perhaps. The performance of her sacred duty. And while the archangel has not yet passed, things certainly do not look good.
"Does this remind you of our honeymoon, dearest?" Belladonna asked, her lip slightly curled. She smiled like the cat that had eaten the canary, quietly and boldly in the oddest of paradoxes. There was an alluring darkness dancing in her eyes. As they strolled, Belladonna let out a contented sigh as the storm clouds rolled in. She always enjoyed a good thunderstorm--her darling Mercurial had been conceived during one, after all.
The walk to the Crypt Manor was relatively short, and Belladonna spotted their dearest daughter, covered head to toe in the remnants of some poor, innocent people. Their daughter was becoming such a fine young woman. Belladonna couldn't be ever the more prouder of their little murderer. "No blood? Why, you did not have to return home so soon!" Belladonna urged, a bit surprised at the lack of the substance.
"I had a horrid time, rest assured," Mercurial affirmed, wiping a bit of soot off of her color. "I performed my civic duty. Mother, Father, the flames were delightful. I know you are particularly fond to charred flesh, Father. Perhaps the scent will linger for a few days." Mercurial, the incredibly morose child, then ventured inside of the home, clearing off the table as best as she could. The events from earlier that day had left the house in considerable disarray. It was not the first time, however, her parents had brought home some wounded creature.
Generally, it was more demonic than an archangel, however.
"The table, please, darling," Belladonna responded, walking calmly into the house, as if time was not of the essence. Once placed on the table, Belladonna would set at work, her hands carefully combining the healer's blood and a thousand other ingredients, seemingly, into the large cauldron. A newt here, a rabbit skull there, she used them all. And as she worked, the spell on the angel slowly began to wear off, as a grey color crept into Sariel's cheeks.
"She has thirty seconds until the sweet embrace of death," Belladonna announced with a hint of jealousy in her voice, as she poured a portion of the potion into a vial. She took care to wipe off the side of the vial, and with ten seconds to spare, she poured the portion into Sariel's mouth, stroking her neck as to force the angel to swallow. The air seemed to thicken in anticipation.
The grey swept across the rest of her face. Unseen but felt by the Crypts, Azrael collected her younger sister. It had been too late for Sariel. Not even the wound caused by an angel blade could be cured by Belladonna.
"Time of death is 7:35 PM, June 21st, 2016."
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