Utrax

Recollections: The Coven [COMPLETED]

^{The Parking Lot}

Hector had a spare helmet from his Boxing nonsense laying around, right? Because, as Mariah staggered into the parking lot, she figured that she should just start wearing it, whenever the Coven went anywhere. Max had met her very conveniently with his car down the street from The Dollhouse. Maybe it was the fact she looked like she'd dived into a pool-- the fact shed had trouble even grabbing the car handle-- or perhaps it was her downcast body language, but Max hadn't said a word when she climbed into the back seat.

He'd very conveniently, again, brought a gym bag with clothes in it for her to change. In the light of police cruisers, Mariah started getting dressed in the back seat in silence, as pain caused her vision to blur, and she ended up puking out the window.

"You're going to the hospital," Maxi told her, putting the car into gear. "Meeting," was all she managed to mumble coherently. That earned a wordless grunt of anger from Maxwell, but she was already out the door, and headed for the parking lot.

So this is how she came walking up, in the middle of Maya and Emily yelling at Penny, dressed in a track suit. Wordlessly, she plopped down next to Isla, and would have prayed to the god of Head Trauma to keep her conscious, if shed had any ability to focus. This was worse than the horse. All she recalled was walking down the stairs after Kimberly in the club and then a blackness took out anything that happened next.

"She didnt make it."

Floating to her clearly through her concussed haze, Mariah turned her attention toward the DENS-- when did they get here? Who were they talking about? Mariah looked at the group-- who was missing? She squinted as she looked again-- counted again in a harsh whisper under her breath-- who didn't make it? Her head was pounding as the lights seemed too bright, as she counted again she bit her lip-- who? Why was it so hard to focus? Where was Claudette?

No no, she was here with them, wasn't she? Damn concussion. As her eyes overflowed with tears, Mariah looked around the group and counted again, finding it hard to focus-- damn concussion. A sob left her.
Who? No.
Not Claudette-- Mariah counted again

Recollections: The Coven [COMPLETED]

^{The Dollhouse}

Mariah had a temporary lag in attention. After having thrown furniture at Luis to no effect, a lot of things kept happening, and it was all a bit much for her to pay attention to, especially after having witness whoever-the-fuck-knows what drag someone into the floor. That was some spooky shit. Reality was that Mariah had stared at the spot in the floor until the sprinkler system went off. This somewhat snapped her out of that laser focus and into the present-- immediately she noted that Isla was not where she'd last saw her.

And Claudette?

Where did they go? More importantly what the fuck were they doing right now-- as in herself and the others in the room. What were they doing? Yes, these spooky Dollhouse people had attacked them, but didn't they have a traitor on their hands instead? Hadn't two of their friends disappeared? Wasn't this deal in shambles with no hope of repair? Clearly they had some kind of previous beef with this "Babbylawn" but that wasn't important right now. If Kimberly was here then the possibility that Vashti had been harmed back in Tampa presented itself-- and that's three.

It was then, in her loudest Latin-Tia voice that Mariah shouted, "Why the fuck are we fightin' them when we should be guttin' that KIMBERLY BITCH?!"

"They ain't givin us no cures-- that's her damn fault-- fuck this goddamn shit--" Mariah whipped around, then made her way quickly toward the door they'd come though. Channeling the volume and fury of every Latin parent when their kid wssnt home before the street lights came on, Mariah shouted, as she left the room, "ISLA?!"

And thus did she see Maya, Emily, and Kimberly downstairs. In an instant Mariah was running, gracefully as hell considering the six inch heels, with a murderous look in her eyes, as she made a path toward Kimberly. The whole way, she dripped water and left puddles, seemingly only growing in anger as she went. Spanish-curses and rage left Mariah as she closed her fan up, balanced on one foot, and withdrew her knife from under her dress. Oiled and sharpened, the switchblade opened with a flash in the light, as Mariah marched toward Kimberly.

"--fuckin' explain yoursel' GRINGA--" was thrown in her curse filled shouting, but did it really matter? If she was able to close the distance with "Kimberly", she was going to shove past Emily and Maya and beat the shit out of her with the straight edge of her fan, if not begin some classic Latin Gangster knifing-- the fuck your face up forever type of knifing.

Recollections: The Coven [COMPLETED]

hi here is my secret OC thank u

Maxwell "Maxi" Thompson

[26? | Maxwell "Maxi" Thompson | Male]

Description:
Maxi is semi-athletically built, standing around 5ft 9in, and of average weight. This young black man very easily blends into a crowd with his average looks. He's become one of Mariah's "housemates"-- having met her at the age of 18 on the road from Southern Georgia to Florida. They've been through a few things, most notably having survived an explosion at the rail yard together. He and Mariah dance together and he often works sound, lights, or as a backup dancer for her. He's mild tempered, often rolls his eyes and sighs, and has a thick Alabama accent, with some 'good ol' boy' manners, with a preference to laugh and lighten the mood, while helping his friends.

Extra-Normal Ability:

Shh It's A Secret

Abscised -- The Gandy Dancer
A young "Laborer" (freed slave prisoner forced into labor) that had been used to build southern traveling railways, back in the early 1870's, that was "lost"(murdered executed by the slave driver prison warden), while constructing the railway. Oddly, he seems content to live life as a mortal, and his powers are yet to be truly revealed. When he is upset the low hum of spirituals and jingling chains slowly builds, carrying with it an unnaturally hot southern wind, which brings the smell of decayed flesh, dried blood, and sea-water...

Recollections: The Coven [COMPLETED]

^{The Dollhouse}

"M-Molly?!" Madison spoke, catching Mariah's attention, but only in a brow raising way.

As The Jaws activated around Madison, Mariah side eyed Claudette, and wondered why they would invite the hot-head with the Dinosaur to a delicate negotiation. Of course, there was now a gun pointed at them, and this caused Mariah to let out yet another dramatic sigh. Her phone vibrated-- who the hell was calling her right now of all times?

"Is everyone a cowboy in this part of the world," laughed Isla.
And again, this caught Mariah's brow raise. Great. They drugged Isla. Fantastic.

While normally, she would have walked over to help Isla, the fact things were still quite tense kept Mariah rooted in place. This wasn't the first time she had a gun pointed at her, but it was the first time she had one pointed at her while not knowing what the fuck was going on. Herik tried steering things back on track and Mariah silently thanked hin for it, though it was Lyss who forced the damn thing.

Good.

With some of the tension letting up, figuring the negotiation was ample distraction, now was when Mariah decided to take out her phone and check it. Her brows knitted as she fanned herself whilst looking at her phone screen. Seven missed calls and fifteen text messages-- all from Maxwell? She balked slightly as she began to scroll through the text messages, trying to make sense of them. He was asking why she was at the Dollhouse? How did he-- was the weirdo following her again? And then her phone started vibrating once more-- Max's face popped up as he was actively calling her. Softly she mumbled, "Why?"

Sharply, she jolted as a gunshot rang out, adrenaline flooding her system as she spotted Kimberly with a smoking gun. Her lips moved but Mariah couldn't hear her. Mariah watched Kimberly move slowly to point her gun at someone. Flashes lit up the room twice.
Screaming pieced the silence.

Yellow-Orange light flared to life around Mariah as she reflexively enchanted her dress-- BANG-- Another scream. Blood sparkled in the light and something tapped Mariah on the side-- a bullet fell to the ground, coppery and bloody--

Claudette's bones were showing--

Madison's feet slid across the floor--

A man bun jiggled around--

All in one motion, Mariah grabbed one of the pretentious little cube foot rests-- her abstraction practically turned it into a yellow-orange block of doom-- and she lifted it over her head, before chucking it directly toward Luis with all her strength, stepping toward Madison as she threw it. Her hands found another one and she readied to throw it as well as a sharp gust of hot wind hit her. A what?

Chains clanged and jingled loudly.
Violent gurgling and churning noises picked up.

Mariah looked over to notice that Molly sank into the floor slightly, but then there emerged a man from the floor-- as if he were lunging from the depths of a pool. Dressed in an old school black and white stripe prisoner outfit, with rusty iron shackles, complete with dangling chains, around the dark-brown corpse-like skin of his wrists and ankles-- he wrapped his arms around Molly's waist violently. She was given little time to react as it happened so quickly and she released a strangled noise of surprise. Thorns and bones attempted to manifest around Hraesvelgr in their final moments before the chains, glowing eerie green, wrapped around her throat of their own volition. Just as quickly as he emerged, the abscised apparition pulled Molly "down" into the watery depths of the floor as both of them screamed.

Only a puddle that led nowhere and a muggy humidity was left behind.

Delete Things? For Utrax?

Hello!

Can you delete this one as well? We didn't get anywhere and called it off.
roleplayerguild.com/topics/183367-the…

Recollections: The Coven [COMPLETED]

^{The Dollhouse}

Mariah didn't want to go.

Though it was never a stated thing, it was clear that certain places were aimed at certain individuals.
Every place had an audience. Hooters was for sad office workers that were dissatisfied with their wives at home, sports bars were for sad office workers that were dissatisfied with their wives at home, and the Dollhouse? Well, this place was for sad office workers that were dissatisfied with their wives at home. Said sad office worker was a very specific type of person, right down to their stereotypical appearance. They were a white straight, cis, male, and not a single thing that Mariah is.

She knew that going into here meant that she would be out of place. There wasn't going to be any blending in for her. She was probably going to get clocked and she was going to stand out no matter what she wore. So, when it came time to actually do her wardrobe, fix her make up, and walk out the door? Mariah didn't really try to tone down anything.

Yeah, it set something fluttering into her stomach-- her heart was practically pounding in her ears-- but when wasn't it? As far as she was concerned, most of the time when she left her apartment, she was already on stage. She had to perform for herself-- to prove to herself that she could be who she wanted to be-- so the world was her damn audience. That warm electrical feeling of power spread through her, reassuring her that this was when she was at her strongest. And so Mariah walked into this club, dressed to the nines, tens, and elevens, practically fucking glowing in her outfit and with her confidence-- that fearful form of courage that asserted the presence of the self.

So tonight, she was wearing an outfit that said very up front and just from a glance, 'I am not here to dance I am not here for your pleasure I'm just here to look good, for my damn self, to slay, because I am definitely dressed for a funeral.' This look walked straight out of the 50s Vogue Magazine.

Her long black dress sways as she walks, shimmering tastefully with sewn in silver thread. Atop her head is a wide brimmed black hat being an impractical but fitting crown for a Queen. Beneath her hat, a self-styled wig of gently cascading auburn curls, which end at her shoulders. Silver jeweled chain and earrings twinkle as stars in the night, even if they're bought from Wal-Mart. Those black gloves on her hands are dramatic-- plainly stating that whatever she's touching is too dirty for her bare supple skin to brush against. Of course, as if she wasn't tall enough, she wore some heels that elevated her past Amazon. To complete the look, her makeup was clearly done with the word sharp in mind, and her lips are blood red. She holds her fan in her hand-- along with a shimmering silver clutch purse that looks damn good for being dollar store clearance-- and she looks well prepared to fan herself, if she were to suddenly 'catch the vapors'.

When she drew attention, she was not caught by surprise. When there were sneers or some looks up-and-down, she completely expected them. Mariah was quiet but not tense as they stood in the club. Truthfully, she was still foggy headed from being BONKed by a horse hoof. Applying makeup, getting her outfit together, and meeting these people on time had used most of her mental energy, so she let herself go on cruise control, as it were. They went up the the VIP section and she followed, not entirely certain how they managed to get up here.

The dude said some stuff. Some guy. Man bun, bro.

Deeply sighing, Mariah stepped off to the side, choosing to stay standing next to the sofa Claudette plonked down on, and began fanning herself dramatically, looking every bit of the bored widow at her husband's funeral from his expected-- but surely-- unfortunate death. Hell, she wasn't even paying attention to anyone else in the room or anything in general. Wait? Was she supposed to introduce herself? Confused, she looks between Lyss and Claudette a few times, but doesn't say anything.

---

hello this is a post in a thread because ghost note told me to do it i am being held hostage

Recollections: The Coven [COMPLETED]

^{The Mall}

Mariah was pretty content to follow Isla around, answering questions or redirecting her away from security guards as needed. For the duration of their walk through the mall, Mariah mostly snickered at Isla's glee, and found that she was actually kind of enjoying her presence. Isla's energy was kind of refreshing and it weirdly reminded her of Tory-- though the amount of times the word 'fuck' had been said so far was severely lacking. As she would with him, Mariah let Isla's conversation carry itself-- not really bothering to respond unless there was an actual adequate pause for some. Usually people like this were more on the "thinking aloud" style of speech anyway. On the whole, Mariah really didn't mind it, as the adventure through the mall would be more entertaining with Isla's commentary.

Penny! PENNY!"

When Isla scooted off, Mariah took her time to catch up, not really bothering to keep pace. She could see Isla-- everything was fine. By the time she caught up, Isla was tossing questions her way-- “What’s after smoothies? I haven’t eaten yet, we should definitely get food… And shopping! Can adults go in that playground I saw earlier? Not that I want to, I'm just curious…” Mariah gave Penny a smile and a little wave, before glancing at the smoothie line, already making peace with the fact she was going to join it.

With a shrug, Mariah replied, "I mean, you can pretty much do anything anyway as long as nobody stop you, right?" Which was probably some kind of modern philosophy point. She stared up at the pretty glowing ceiling through her shaded lenses and added, "Food court here ain't bad. It'd be good fuel for shoppin'-- I got 'bout two-fifty from all them scratch of lotto tickets I had." Which had been a rather alarming amount of good luck, considering the situation surrounding said tickets. It was at this juncture that Mariah zoned out pretty hard.

She had got kicked by a horse yesterday-- a whole HORSE.

While she wasn't exactly in critical condition, the side she landed on was covered in a considerable amount of bruises and scrapes, and her head had been feeling kinda foggy since then. It was as if the horse had kicked out some a her brain cells-- or maybe they had decided to leave the place, in the face of such danger. And it was also at this juncture, that she noted her ability to understand what Isla was saying, had increased considerably. A smirk followed by a weird and low laughter escaped her then. Maybe getting Tory kicked by a horse would increase his grasp upon more words in English that weren't 'fuck'.

"Strawberry Banana," she head herself mumble.

Wherever Isla's hoodie went, Mariah followed, like some kind of yellow seeking zombie. She looked down and found a smoothie clutched in her hands. Without questioning it, Mariah went ahead and started sipping, only pausing to ask Isla, "What other kinda Miami stuff you wanna do? I'm free all day or whateva. Might go perform tonight tho. Wanna go try some fried gator?"

Recollections: The Coven [COMPLETED]

^{The Mall}

"Imma go find some shoes."

"First you insist on goin with me then you ditch me?"

Mariah pulled her thick-ass old people shades down to stare at Max. If her tone was any indication, she actually didn't give a shit, her smirk had to be the confirmation. They'd arrived outside of the mall closer to 4 than had been planned. Mariah had responded to Isla's text, saying that they should meet up somewhere outside of the Mall's many entrances, detailing enough landmarks that Isla might not get lost. So as Mariah moved to take a seat on a nearby planter, she waved a "shoo" gesture at Max as he made his way into the doors, then took out her fan and began her self-breeze. The night's previous escapades had netted her enough to pay the rent, with a bit left over as change, and she'd planned on spending something on a meal at least, if not pick up a bit of mall garbage.

She gazed into the parking lot, watching the people of Florida go about their business, and figured she really didn't have much room to judge those people today. This was mostly due to the fact she was dressed in a pastel pink zipper-front hoodie, with the sleeves completely cut off, that was host to a plethora of flamingos in various poses, with the outfit accented by some jeans cut off into booty shorts--despite her natural lack-of-ass, and she was wearing her favorite extremely worn white leather sneakers-- the ones where the leather had worn down to gray. Sure she was dressed like shit, but she was very much not going to carry herself as if she were, so she fanned herself with the elegance of an exhausted Queen, seated atop her palm tree planter throne, as a family of six, decked out in real-tree camouflage, walked by. She took her phone into her other hand and sent a quick message--

from -MainLineDrag☆
remember: dont go in meet me outside we gonna get smoothies first!

Mariah gazed that her name in the chat, the fact that it had to little verified sticker around it, and slightly considered the fact that maybe-- quite possibly-- she shouldn't have used her actual account for this group chat. In literally the next moment she realized she actually didn't care, then shrugged it off. Pretty much her plan today was to wander around aimlessly with Isla in the lead, make sure they didn't get arrested, and perhaps act of some kind of tour guide. Since Isla was from... Sss...Slovakia? Started with an S. Whatever. Since Isla was from out of town and definitely out of the country, Mariah figured she would have to introduce Isla to several American things. Cinnabon, fried gator, and scratch off lottery among them.

Recollections: The Coven [COMPLETED]

^{The Road --> Heckin' Miami}

"Noooo, Jaaaaws," Mariah groaned in the spaced-out tone of someone with a concussion, "Not my pickle." An unmistakably apathetic edge was to her voice. There she was, in the parking lot of a gas station, handful of scratch off tickets, as a ghost dinosaur ate her pickle. So it went without saying that, for the rest of the trip, she went ahead and sulked about it, you know, a whole two seconds before she went to sleep again.

It was only when the vehicle rolled to a stop, after they arrived in Miami, that she actually woke up again. While of course, now would have been the time to actually asked what the fuck happened, Mariah instead exited the vehicle, immediately recognized her surroundings, then decided it was probably time to leave. She didn't even entertain the thought of going into the hotel. In fact, she made it clear that she was not going to stay in this particular hotel, with an off hand remark about finding days old condoms underneath the pillows on more than one occasion.

"I got a apartment near here anyway, sorta kinda," she finished, sounding very energetic, "So I'mma see yall in the mornin' or whateva." And of course, she barely waited for any sort of response before sauntering off into the night.

She took in a deep breath-- with it came the acrid scent of salt, sweet barbecue, and drunken piss on the humid Florida breeze-- Ah, Miami. MIAMI!

It felt good to be on familiar turf again. As she walked down the street, headed to a familiar Bodega, Mariah took her phone out, dialed a number, and immediately received an answer. "Baybeee," Mariah shouted into the phone excitedly, "I'm back in town, slide me on the strip tonight! The Mainline just pulled in, sis!" She snatched up a bagged pickle, went to the cash register to cash in a few of her lottery tickets, and practically fucking skipped out of the shop, continuing her conversation on the phone in RAPID Spanish.

Not only was she about to get into drag for the rest of the night, but she definitely was not going to sleep until probably seven am the next day. All that was left to do was round up her boys and hit the town. So all night she spent out, performing and socializing, running the streets as she usually did, and it was well past noon by the time she woke up the next day.

She awoke atop the heap of blankets and pillows and fluff, sprawled atop the mattress on the floor, that she called a bed. Sounds of of not so muffled voices drifted to her through her slightly ajar door-- which could only be kept closed by wedging a sock between the frame and the door itself. This sacred duty had been neglected by Drunk Mariah-- damn her. Any time that happened she always ended up waking to the sound of Tory's shouted conversation, because he simply didn't possess an inside voice, and Maxwell bordering on an argument with him-- thus was her current situation.

Groaning, Mariah grabbed one of her blankets and wrapped it around her shoulders, then proceeded toward the dining-room-kitchen-living-room-Max-bedroom-space-thing-- there was probably a word for it but who cares?

"--No, what I'm tellin' you's that's dumb. Real dumb. Dumber than ya usual brand of dumb," Maxwell was saying, "You gon' hunt a whole drug ring by yaself? Dumb."
"Ah, fuck you, ah yeah, ya, fucking you fuck no," Tory retorted, "No is not dumb you fuck."
"Where my--" but Mariah didn't have to finish the question, as Max slid her phone across their dining/card table. He went on bickering with Tory as Mariah scrolled through pictures and messages from last night silently. At the message from Claudette, which came twenty minutes ago, Mariah grunted, then put her phone down. As she turned away, Max piped up, "What's the plan today?"
Sucking his teeth loudly, Tory mumbled, "Changin' subject stupid fuck." Usually, that would at least get Max's attention, but he was instead staring at Mariah-- in a way that vaguely reminded her of suspicious cops.

Mariah pulled her blanket closer, mumbling, "Mall?"
"I'm comin'," Maxwell told her in a tone that was equal parts pleasant and insistent. She squinted at Max as Tory huffed a bunch of curses under his breath. With a shrug, Mariah turned to go get ready.
"--AYE! You goin to them stupid new friends you have?"
She halted, then stared over her shoulder at Tory with an arched brow.
"TELL THAT CROISSANT FUCK I SAY SHE A FUCK!"