A Circle of Broken Thørns.

Discussion in 'THREAD ARCHIVES' started by inDefiance, Jan 14, 2014.

Thread Status:
Not open for further replies.
  1. -OOC-

    (All spots taken! Fuck yeah!)

    “Check your pulse...”

    Check it. (open)

    When's the last time you said that to someone who knew what that meant...?

    Nah, shit.

    Where do I begin, everyone...?

    Maybe I shouldn't even bother, but I think I'll start here:

    I'm sorry.

    Okay? I'm sorry. There. I said it.

    I'm sorry it all went to shit.

    I'm sorry I gave it all away.

    I'm sorry that we didn't get what we came for.

    And... fuck me... you know I'm so sorry we lost 'Rena... she was my sister too. You know that.

    You are like family to me. You are my only family. Family. Right, everyone?

    I don't know if this ritual will reach any of you... I don't know if you'll ever let me know that you're okay and that you feel my aura reach out to you. Or if you'll even come back to me.

    But I need you. I so fuckin' needs you right now!!!

    I'm in the shits. I am so in the shits. It's them, everyone. Capital fuckin' Them. They are back. I knew what I gave up back then to put a stop to them. I betrayed you. All of you. All for nothing...

    But here we are. Hiding out in shit hole towns. Turning into homeless, nameless wanderers. Never staying in one place for long. Cowering away wondering if the people we fucked over, human or otherwise, would ever find us.

    I gave away our Names so that we could cripple the Society once and for all. Watch them fall, regardless of the price. We lost powers. We lost clout. We lost face. We lost 'Rena. Fuck. Me. She was my sister too.

    But I'm sorry okay?! I fucked up! I admit it. But we are still linked. WE are. No matter what I can still feel you are out there. I called in a favour and actually managed to swindle my way into getting that fucker to cast for me.

    Two spells. I sold my ass for two spells.

    One to call to you. I so needs you... I sooooooo needs you now. Please. Please respond... if only to let me know you're okay, okay? I need to know you are all okay!

    But anyways... I get it if you don't respond but... but through this ritual you will know this other spell is for reals and it worked. No bullshit, everyone. I would never have slept with that fucker Hamilton unless I knew it was legit.

    Papa Hammy located the Keeper.

    Papa Hammy located our names. Fuck yes. Those Names that I gave away.

    Our True Names, everyone.

    Once we get those back... fuckin' hell. We gather and once our Circle is connected again... well, shit, bitches... no more hiding. No more running. No more nothing. We go back to the sacred grounds and finally get what we went there for. And we end it this time. WE do it right. We will shatter the Society. If not for revenge then for her.

    She's still alive.

    Somewhere out there in our fucked up, so dark and broken, fucked up world...

    Serena is still alive...



    “...you still alive, chiclet?”

    Check it. (open)

    The Society have her. It's how They came back. We have to get her back. Just have to. She was our Eye. She saw into the NetherRealm for us. For Them... she is their Gate. Yeah, that's right. That's what happened to her.

    Now I'm told They aren't very powerful. Yet. But they do have minions out there. Those fuckin' losers are scouring for people like us-- well, like how we used to be. They're taking them in and feeding Malgoria... yeah, that's right. That bitch demon is still out there. We didn't send it to Oblivion. And now she's working with the Society. She wants us bad.

    Okay. So I killed a minion. Came for me like a rabid dog and two shots later, it was down and out. Then it rose up and came for me again. You know, you so know that I lace the bullets with the Ashes so that the minion will be cut off upon finding itself dead; can't see us no more. I emptied the clip into it and it still came for me. I had to use a ritual dagger. Both crumbled on contact. Finally stopped the minion. Remember the last time something like that happened? That's right.

    Bitch demon was in heat and made babies. WE killed those babies with all our daggers. Same thing here. But it's impossible. Mal-whore-ia will not spawn for another century. Someone-- Something seeded her somehow. But at least the daggers still work.

    But I have only one left. And we can't make any more until we have our Names back. I've been running like a madwoman because of that bitch demon... I'm sure you've got it balls deep too... Fuckin' hell...

    But whatever. Fuck it. Here goes...

    Papa Hammy is going to run the ritual tonight at a Ley that intersects with our old Line. Please hear me. Please be okay. I'm sorry, okay?

    I'm sorry I dragged us into this shit back then. And I'm sorry but I have to ask you to get dragged through this shit now. Right fuckin' now.

    If you hear me, you know where to meet.

    It's where we had our very first bad trip. We thought that fat old cray bitch sold us bad weed... coughed like dying hyenas... then boom! At the Threshold! Right there. Fuck me raw... we were just kids. A bunch of ratty street rats from a rat hole neighbourhood. We grew up but we always came back home. Please come home this time too.

    I'll be there. I swears it...



    “Check your pulse... you still alive, chiclet?”

    Check it. (open)

    We all have that mark on our wrists. Our bond. Our link. Our Circle. Who knew a bunch of skid neighbourhood kids out of Crown's Port, BC harboured such secrets, eh? We all died at birth and came back to life. Then the weird shit at seven. Even though some of us did move away, no matter how shitty our lives were, we somehow always managed to find each other there when it was time. WE were marked by thorns.

    Come back to the graveyard everyone. You know the marker. The Faceless Angel. It's the one I see in my dreams when I think of you before falling asleep. It's how I know you are still alive.

    Come back to me and let's make this right. Dammit. I'm scared. I'm alone and I need you. All of you.

    Six of us left. WE need to get her back to complete us. Fuckin' hell, please come back to me. Please.

    Because no matter what... no matter where you are or no matter what happens to us...

    We are still a Circle, everyone. A Circle...

    No matter what... no matter where you are or no matter what happened between us...

    We are still the Circle. Seven dead children...

    The Circle of Thorns.



    “That's right... It's time. Seven up, bitches...”


    Hell. Oh. Bunnies. (open)

    Welcome to Fie's RP:

    -A Circle of Broken Thørns.
    In this RP we will be playing 6 members of The Circle of Thorns, A disbanded bunch of powerful Spirit Catchers that have fallen low and are now powerless. They still have the ass-kicking physical skills and are knowledgeable in the ways of Spirits, the DreamWorld, the NetherRealm, the Threshold and the Rift. We used to be one of the major players in the fight to close the Rift that leads into the world of the Diables; physical manifestations of negativity, perversion, anger, rage and all that kind of nastiness; Demons basically.

    We grew up together in the fictional city of Crown's Port, British Columbia, Canada on Vancouver Island and were a really close knit bunch of low-life trashy urban kids that were born with power and ended up learning that we were linked and we became better and better each time we 'connected' and fought EVIL!!! and learned more about the NetherRealm.

    The shit hit the fan when the Rift tore open and the Diables spilled out and began to wreak havoc upon our world. What exactly happened can be created on the fly in the RP, but Fie would like to focus more on Crown's Port and making our way across Vancouver Island where we must fight our way north to the Queen Charlotte's Islands to find 'Rena, the kid sister and powerful seer of the group.

    All our characters will be between 20 and 27. Just know that the older you are the more you know about your powers. Every seven years of life we have to go through rituals to learn more. Age 21 is when your powers will have matured. Age 28 is when your powers will be set. We have a mentor named Ivy who's a chubby, jolly old blue-eyed gardener woman.

    One year has passed since my character gave our True Names up to bargain for the sealing away of the Society big bads. But in doing so, 'Rena was apparently 'killed' but it turns out she survived and is being used by the newly joined forces of a big bad bitch Diables named Malgoria and some of the escaped members of the Society.

    The Society is a group of Mages that have made pacts with Diables. They are the ones that tried to manipulate Demons for more power. Where Shamans and Spiritualists tap into the Threshold and into the NetherWorld (afterworld), the Mages tap into the chaos of the Rift and into the Abyss. Their thirst for more power may have caused the Rift to break a hole into our world. We can make up details as we go. The Society were people in places of power and influence, but were thwarted by Circles time and again. Our group, the Circle of Thorns, kicked their asses and sealed their major powerful baddies into the NetherRealm. But... of course that did not last long.

    And it was not enough to keep us safe. We were hunted and split up. Without powers and soon enough without many allies, we had to go into hiding. There are a lot of people that hate us and blame Circles for empowering the Diables; the Society did drain the Diables afterall. But what most people do not realize is that the Society wants to keep the Rift open because they are stronger with the Rift open despite having to combat Diables as well. We can make up details and fill in the blanks as we go as well.

    So the year is 2020 and we are at war with the Diables and their armies so it's a rather messed up time. It's been six years since the Rift tore a hole into our reality and it does not look good. We rarely get ten hours of daylight here but we know when we score a major victory because the day lasts longer than yesterday.

    Very well then.

    This is Rosi. (open)


    Rosi (open)

    Name: 'Rosi' - Rosalie Rouge
    True Name: She-Who-Speaks-With-Three.
    Age: 27

    Magic practice: Shaman. Shape Shifter and Spirit Catcher.

    Brief bio: Rosalie was 7 when Grinder spoke to her from behind the trees. She was with her first foster family and a good one it was. However Grinder was was wild and aggressive and taught her the ways of the lone wolf. Rosi was the toughest of the girls her age and the most dominant. And when anyone older than her pushed her around, Grinder the She-Wolf would give her surprising strength and speed not to mention a vicious bite. When she was 10 there was a wolf at large in the parks. And when Rosalie moved away the rumours and sightings of the wolf never surfaced again.


    Rosalie was 14 when Seeker spoke to her from the sky. She was with her fourth foster family and this one was a bad one. And Rosi was a bad girl by now. This family knew what she was and kept Grinder pinned away, for they knew how to deal with rampant spirits. But Seeker taught Rosi how to fight the enemy unseen. Seeker took her to the place of the Threshold to release Grinder. And with Grinder's mighty form, she slashed and rendered her captors. The police report stated that an Owl called from above the roof of the house before flying away from the bloodbath inside of Rosalie's final foster home.


    Rosalie was 21 when Weaver spoke to her from dreams. A young, troubled woman, addicted to drugs, the spider pulled her into the Netherealm, the host world of spirits. It was here where she learned to face her fears and answer the voices that called to her. The drugs were meant to suppress the callings, but as she lay dying, overdosed on heroin, Weaver showed her what she was meant to do. There were bad things in the world. Very bad things. And 'She-Who-Speaks-With-Three' was meant to deal with them. Both here in the Dreamworld space of the Netherworld and in the Waking world as well.

    Things changed when they started her heart again. She got a job and started going to the gym, learning how to use firearms, how to fight. She trained hard and even had to force herself into a relationship with a man to learn MMA fighting styles. And all the while, she sought out those of the Dreamworld who had ties to the physical. And soon she became a Spirit Catcher, one who may speak in both worlds as well as walk within both realities.


    Rosalie is now a woman of 27. She can speak with spirits. She can fight spirits in the Dreamworld. She can shift into three different types of animals. She can take their strengths and senses, whether crushing teeth, silent wing, or terrible poison and use them in the waking day while still remaining virtually human. And now that the dream has been set upon her, she has travelled along the Western coast of Canada and ready to face what she has been called to do.

    Rosi is a cunning, trash-talking, foul-mouthed, tough as nails, grumpy lesbian but loyal leader and loving and fiercely protective sister of the Circle of Thorns. She is about 5'9" and about 140, blue eyes and, when not dyed, she has naturally black hair.

    She's been almost-quitting smoking for years now (it's hard since she reads cigarette ashes like some read tea leaves), likes punk rock and pink underwear, hitting the heavy bag while training, and collecting talismans, charms and imbue-able baubles (fills them with magic then attaches them to her boots), and she really likes wearing different kinds of gloves.

    She is always cold and actually cold to the touch, she can't drive worth shit, and she is a sucker for cute chicks acting cute and gets all dorky when one has her attention.


    Okay. So Fie is looking for only five RPers to join as part of our Circle. Please do write like a beast as much as possible with flashbacks and emotions; get all flowery and flourish-y! But do expect Fie to type out lots too. There will be a lot of making things up as we go so let's have fun with this one. Fie loves to read your posts and enjoys some OOC banter too so she put up an OOC for bunnies to jump on board! Link is at top of post.

    Very well then. So if you want to jump in then jump on in, bunny! No need for CS but: Please do start off with your location prior to coming to the graveyard in Crown's Port and do include reaction to the call from my character.

    So knowing this please do make up what you will about past interactions with her. Fie is open to how Rosi got along with your character.

    Oh and this RP will have dark overtones, occult type things and some violent/graphic content, but please let's not turn this into a one-up-others gorefest.

    #1 inDefiance, Jan 14, 2014
    Last edited by a moderator: Jan 16, 2014
    • Love Love x 1
  2. Nicole was cooking when she felt the call. One moment it was the smell of frying chicken and boiling potatoes, the next she was almost falling over as the message hit her. Her slender hands held tightly to the edge of the counter; her knuckles were practically white from the force with which she was holding on. She couldn't believe that Rosi would dare try to contact them, after what she did. Why would she-

    She's still alive.

    Nicole almost fell at that point, right onto the cold tiled floor. Tears were starting to well in her dark eyes. She's lying. Serena's not alive. No, she was killed. And it was her fault. Nicole slowly made her way to the table and sat down in one of the chairs. Rosi had caused so much pain, why was she torturing them with these lies? Nicole's hands shook as she clasped them in front of her. She tugged on a long curl of auburn hair, twisting it in her fingers as she tried to compose herself.

    Nicole and Rosi had been very good friends; had been very close sisters. Nicole had protected Rosi and the others as much as they did her. She wasn't very big; she barely reached five foot tall. Despite that though, she'd proven that she could fight just as well as the rest of them on several occasions. And then Rosi had betrayed them. She'd betrayed her. In one moment, everything was destroyed. Serena was dead, their powers were lost, and Nicole had lost her family. And it was Rosi's fault.

    But could she not go? What if - no matter how impossible it seemed - what if Rosi was telling the truth? What if Serena was still alive? What if she had found their true names again? Could she face Rosi, knowing what she'd done? Could she sit home, wondering what was happing to her sisters? She looked up and around her tiny, trash apartment; like she was seeing it with new eyes. The one room apartment was old, drafty, and disgusting, but she couldn't get anything else. She was lucky to have gotten this. Would she leave it, for what was probably a death trap?

    Nicole was already jumping to her feet before her mind had formed the question. Of course she would. If there was a flicker of hope that Serena was alive, she was going. And she wouldn't look back. She turned off the now burned chicken and potatoes and left them on the stove to grow cold. She grabbed her jacket, tugging it on and hurrying out the door. They were meeting at the faceless angel. How that place had haunted her memories for so long; now she was finally going back. She was finally going home.

    When she reached the street, she thought about hailing a cab but decided to walk instead. It would be a good way to organize her thoughts. She was nervous, practically sick to her stomach at the thought of seeing Rosi again. She was angry, she was sad, she missed Rosi. And just like always, Rosi would know exactly what was going through her mind. No matter how often Nicole tried to hide her feelings, Rosi had always seen right through her. Often, Rosi would tease her about being more readable than a children's book.

    With her thoughts swirling around her like a tornado of emotions, she reached the graveyard before she knew it. She could feel her anxiety growing as she came closer to the faceless angel. When she saw Rosi, it was like her heart stopped. Strangely, the first thing that struck her was something of so little consequence she almost laughed. We're so different. Rosi was dressed in her usually punk clothing, dark and mysterious. She and Nicole were polar opposites. Nicole was bright, light, and airy. She was more likely to be seen in simple clothes and bright colors. Pastels, lace, and clinging fabric. The personification of girly. Her hands trembled once again as she stared at Rosi. She wanted to yell. She wanted to scream and tell Rosi that this was all her fault. She wanted to burst into tears and cry.

    "Hello. Rosi."
    • Love Love x 1
  3. Rosi you fucking bitch

    Thomas sighed before turning to his right to face the girl he'd picked up at a bar a couple hours before. She lied there naked looking back at him with a look of worry and concern on her face. "I gotta go..." he said quietly to her. Since they were pretty much...done, she didn't see the need to complain. Thomas sat up in his bed and rubbed his eyes. He looked around at the small amount of success he managed to gather up in the past couple of years. A nice two story condo. Thomas hopped up and threw on a pair of black skinny jeans, a white tank top, and a slim fitted leather jacket over that. He dug through a coupe of his drawers, looking to find the two charms that he'd wear around his neck. They were given to him by Rosy. Him being the youngest of the group left him to be the one everyone either looked after, or didn't care about. Luckily Rosy cared for him tremendously a long with Nicole her closest friend in the group. The charms were used to enhance the few powers he had. They enhanced them so much it made him one of the most unique out of the 7. Once he lost his true name thanks to Rosy, the charms stopped working. Thomas pretty much hated Rosi after that. He felt as if she'd betray him and vowed never to see her as anything more than trash, however he kept the charms. Back then he didn't think he'd ever get his powers back, but he wanted keep a souvenir. Just so he'd never forget. He put on a roped leather belt. He threw cold water in his face then looked in the mirror. Could she be telling the truth...because if she's not...she's fucking dead. he thought to himself. He chuckled. "Aren't they going to be happy to see me. Little Tommy boy all grown up..." he said to himself. He grabbed his phone then took a look at the girl as she was getting dressed. "You're so beautiful...I'm sorry I have to put you out like this, but I'm not sure when I'd be back..." She stayed silent as if she was disappointed. Thomas sighed then walked out the door. He went down the elevator to the garage. He hopped into his black Jeep Wrangler then drove down the garage ramp onto the open road where he'd hit about 100 to get to the graveyard, which was a ways out.

    Once Thomas arrived he came to an abrupt stop at the rusty gates of the graveyard. He took a deep breath before shutting off the rumbling engine of his Jeep and hopping out. His long black hair now tied in a pony tail. He rubbed his hand on his bristly face. He hadn't shaved in about a week. Definitely not a good first impression for the "all grown up Tommy boy" Even though he hated that name now it echoed in his head. To make everything worse it was Rosi's voice. Tommy boy! Little Tommy! Tommyyy little Tommy boy!! Thomas shook his head and pulled his leather hood over his head so Rosi wouldn't see the emotion on his face.

    As Rosi and what seemed to be Nicole came into view he slowed his step. He shook his head and decided to be mature about it. He let down his hood showing his somewhat neutral expression. "Nicole." he gave a small smile. It then quickly faded to a look of anger. "Rosi," he scolded. "Yeah...it's me...little Tommy boy is back...unless Rosi is lying yet again."
    #3 Wastelander, Jan 15, 2014
    Last edited by a moderator: Jan 15, 2014
    • Love Love x 1
  4. Dead. Yeah, that sounds about right. I defininitely feel dead.

    Then again, Aleksei always felt dead when he was this hung over. He nearly tripped over an amplifier as he stumbled into the grimy bathroom. He ignored the smell of puke as he splashed cold water over his face, the icy blast startling him into concousness. The face in the mirror stared weakly, greasy strands of chestnut-coloured hair over sunken dark eyes and smooth, ashen, skin. Rosi's words echoed in his mind, competing with the throbbing of his headache, the two combining to form a dark, primative chant. The circle. "That mark". He had almost forgotten about it, lost among the jagged tattoos that covered his arm and chest. His bleary mind began recalling the meaning behind the tattooed lines and swirls, the spiritual powers that he had commanded not too long ago.

    He vomited, narrowly missing the basin.

    Ugh. That's better. Well, a little better.

    Aleksei stepped back into the room in which he'd awoken. It was a demonic pit, audio cables were black tentacles grasping at the comatose damned, with cymbals and Death Metal posters standing above, watching the tormented souls sleep through the punishment for their sins of vodka. The concert had been good. Not that Aleksai rembered much of it, but the aching of his bones indicated that he must have been dancing, which was usually a positive sign, and the rawness of his throat told that he had been singing, which meant that his band had played a set. Aleksai stood upright and inhaled the sooty cigarette vapours that emanated from the carpet, reaching his arms towards the ceiling like a triumphant demon. His bare, pale, athletic, torso contrasted with the stark black of his jeans, boots, and tattoos. He would have struck quite a figure, had anyone there been awake to behold it.

    Rosi. Ah, Rosi. You fucked Hamilton? My, my, girl, what has come over you. You've better taste then that! I'd sooner sleep with a- Wait. Papa Hammy... The Keeper. Oh. That's right. She's found our true names... Ritual... tonight...

    Aleksei located the snoring body of his guitarist, Damien. What was that song he'd wanted to cover? "Confronting the Abyss"? The song didn't matter. The location of Damien's keys mattered.

    Tragic, really. This whole year I've been able to do nothing but sing about the Diables, sing about the Society, drink whatever I can get my hands on, but now... Things will go back to how the were. The Circle will be strong again. "No more hiding". We'll be able to fight again. Aleksei's mind raced as he clambered onto Damien's motorcycle, the revving of the engine matching his escalating heartbeat. He didn't think twice about stealing the bike; Damien would probably literally kill him if he found out, but all that Aleksei cared about right now was getting to the graveyard. Seeing seven hands marked with Thorns.

    No, six... Rosi. Silly girl. You always were quick to act. I hope this plan works out better than your last one...

    The motorcycle screeched like an imp as Aleksei inexpertly brought it to a halt just outside the graveyard. He disembarked hurriedly, teeth chattering, rubbing his arms; in his haste, he'd forgotten to steal a shirt. A year ago, he would've called on a spirit to keep him warm, but now he just shivered as he jogged past a black Jeep. Aleksei didn't care much for cars, but this one looked the heavy-duty off-road type. As he approached the Marker, boots trampling through moss and roots, he fell to ground.

    He vomited, narrowly missing the Faceless Angel.

    He noticed Rosi, Nicole, and Tommy standing above him.

    "Uh... Good evening, dear friends!", he exclaimed, scrambling to his feet and summoning an apologetic grin.
    • Love Love x 1
  5. After Life (open)

    Squee... Squee... Squee...

    Elysium pushed herself back and forth on the child's swing, coal colored eyes cast to the ground. The sky all around her was black, filled with the ashen evil that tainted the world. Something was wrong though, with the way the sky was turning, the clouds churning without wind or even rain. With a pale hand, she reached up and touched the strange marking. She could never quite remember when it had been etched into the skin on her neck. Or even how. Especially since it had been on her hand so long ago, or had it? Letting her hand fall back to her lap she looked blankly out across the dilapidated playground. The red-haired woman should have been freezing, but for the last six years she had felt nothing. Even when her mother had passed violently, her father dying of a broken heart, she had kept her own heart under lock and key.

    The memory of her life before she had taken part of the circle almost seemed like a long forgotten fairy tale. A fool's tale. Elysium White, the daughter of the mayor and his wife. A socialite. Such a far way to fall, and she hadn't been afraid. She had pitched her soul right into the inferno that would sweep everything she had away. Serena. The enchanted young girl, with eyes that sparkled like a starry night. Rosi. The edgy sharp tongued girl. Nicole. All lace and frills and smiles. Thomas. The new blood. Aleksei. The fool. Had there been others? She couldn't recall, her mind was muddled with whispers and dark shadowy ghosts. The carousel creaked loudly as something unseen disturbed it. A soul of a laughing child perhaps.

    Seven dead children...

    Elysium turned her head, as if listening to someone beside her. The message was so soft, nearly inaudible since it had been too long since something other than whispers invaded her mind. The impact had been almost like a soft tap on the shoulder. It was Rosi. There was no way that she could mistake the frantic and foul tone of the traitor. Seven. That wretched number that had connected a single soul to six, and with it a single wave of pain and sorrow. When they all had faded apart six years ago, Elysium had just turned 18. They had all shattered, and chose to forget the pain of what had been done. But Elysium couldn't even when she found herself drowning in her tears that wrecked her very soul. There were still the dark crawling faces of her past. The ghosts the sunk into her skin and like a masochist, begged to be let out. Leaning back in the swing, the woman's hood slid off her head revealing pale skin that couldn't hold even the pigment of a blush. Shadows were cast across her face causing half her face to disappear.

    The woman's voice was terrible and eerie, two syllables that would terrify even the bravest of men. Even with hair of fire, nothing could be done to remove the morbid aura that Elysium reeked of. It was as if she was surrounded by death, and that she was. Letting go of the chain and slinking out of the swing, her fingers trailing along the icy metal. The Faceless Angel. It was almost poetic, an angel of beauty but without a face. Without an Identity. That night for some reason, she had been drawn to the playground that Serena and Rosi had found her in. That night was greyish and not as focused as it was once before. Elysium had held the razor to her wrist, the edge glinting. "Death... it suits you." The feminine voice echoed in her head. The graveyard was all but a block away, hidden by some trees and shaded by a veil that anyone else would refuse to attempt to look through. Fear was the strongest instinct, something not even she had anymore.

    Without making a sound she approached the familiar strangers. There were only four of them, and including herself, five. They were nothing anymore, sure once they had been drunk on power and the high of doing something for good. Now what were they? Hollow bodies yearning for a soul to call their own. False hope...
    Elysium pulled the black hood from her face and let it fall. Her face a numb mask portraying no emotion as she stood behind The Faceless Angel. Fathomless eyes taking in each of the faces before her in turn.
    #5 Wanderfool, Jan 15, 2014
    Last edited: Jan 15, 2014
    • Love Love x 1

  6. The half-Japanese man bobbed and weaved under the meaty fists of his sparring partner, a Caucasian half a head taller than he was. They both wore only boxing shorts, sweat glistening off their muscled forms - the Japanese more lean and toned, while the Caucasian inclining towards bulk and mass. Trades were made, the Caucasian's form absorbing most of the punches that the Japanese threw, while the Japanese either swiped the punches out of the way or took only glancing blows. While the Japanese's strikes were quick and precise, the Caucasian's were wide and forceful, preferring hooks to the Japanese's flicker jabs. The hammer and the scalpel danced to a heavy rhythm, the thuds of glove on flesh following a melody of steady breathing and footfalls on the mat.

    Thud, thud, thud-thud, thud-thud-thud, thud. The steady beat continued, neither side actually giving ground until the half-Japanese fell to his knees as his body gave out and a voice resonated through his head. A voice that he had not heard in a long, long time. A voice he thought belonged to someone who died for her sins.

    As the message was played and processed, a grin spread over the half-Jap's face, despite the frantic slaps of his sparring partner who was holding up his limp body by the shoulders. He could feel himself being sat on a chair, as he thought to himself - So you were alive after all. Knew you were one tough motherfucker.

    Vincent returned to reality and he shook his head, cracking a smile at the American, Patrick. "Yea. Yea. All good. Must be the lack of sleep I've been getting ..." He stood back up and pushed the bigger man's hands away, waving at him dismissively. He picked up a towel hanging from the rope surrounding the ring and wiped his face down. "I think we're done for tonight. I ought to get some rest." Patrick said something but Vincent tuned it out. He had other things, far more important things to focus on now. Soon Vincent was alone in the little gym that he owned and lived in, getting by teaching Boxing, Muay Thai, Brazilian Jiu Jitsu, or the occasional private class to amateur fighters seeking their way into the circuit. Losing what had made him a Thorn did not make him any less of a fighter. Perhaps it only made him appreciate what he could do with a good, plain punch even more.

    He took his time, first crunching down a granola bar and then taking a nice, cold shower. Surely the others would get there before him. Vincent looked at the ink that covered almost the entirety of his body, although ending abruptly in a circle right where his neck began. How they looked was a memory that had been branded into his head, because he knew the price that he paid for each one to be reflected on his mortal form. They used to have meaning, they used to be ... useful. Now they were just decorative. The Japanese Kanji (you could have picked Latin, Greek, Afrikaansi - Hell, whatever would've worked) bound within bands of black ink and interconnected with lines that varied from curvy arcs to straight perpendiculars slumbered, drab and unreactive. If what Rosi said was true, however, Vincent and the rest would be able to remind the world why they once all feared and respected the Circle of Thorns.

    He dressed almost formally for this occasion. It was a reunion, after all, and reunions all called for a certain degree of decorum and protocol. Men and women he had not seen in years, not after they had lost what had made them great - what had put them in the front lines beating back the forces that would see this world burn. They grew up together, once upon a time, just good kids that had been dealt bad cards in life and had to adapt to survive, to fight on. Perhaps that was why they were chosen. They were all innocent and passionate and faithful to their cause, a long time ago, he supposed, above all else. Maybe they still were. Vincent preferred not to speculate - he wasn't entirely sure if he himself was, besides. Was he answering this call out of a morbid curiousity? Power hunger? Heroism?

    Those were all arbitrary, Vincent figured. What mattered was that he was going. That was reality, that was set in stone.

    The twenty-six year old left the front of the shophouse garbed all in black. The shadows folded into his wear as he walked through the dark streets, the black button-up (first two unbuttoned, of course) with a loose tie slung around it, covered up by a black jacket bending around each other in the dim light to become formless. He lit a cigarette as he walked - it had been quite a while since he had, right before he decided that he would start the gym, actually - and felt a sense of peace fall over him with every step that brought him closer towards the meeting place. It wasn't the nicotine surely. Well. It must be. What else could it be? Friendship? Hah. A long, thin shape, about twenty-nine inches long hung from Vincent's shoulder from a black travel strap.

    While Vincent had initially been angry at the 'betrayal', he resigned himself to it eventually. Perhaps it was the Divine Power's way of punishing them, or becoming too dependent on their powers, or whatever. Just for them to appreciate actual mortality, what they fought for, what they defended in their many engagements with those Creatures from the Outside. It wasn't like he learnt his lesson. There was still that voice in his head, the darker side of his consciousness that called for him to reclaim his old power and make those that had wronged them, wronged him kneel beneath his feet begging for mercy - and for him to say no, before he slew them all and deprived another of that pleasure.

    The Faceless Angel stood there like a silent guardian of eternity as he passed it, the last of the Circle to arrive, and what was once part was now whole again.

    "Rosi. Nicole. Thomas. Aleksei. Elysium," he greeted all of them curtly, with a nod of his head. The cigarette fell from his lips, to be squashed by the heel of his foot. He slid his hands into his pockets and walked forward to join them.

    • Love Love x 1
  7. Hollow and echoing. Just like her heart and mind right now.

    Each drop sounded out a name as hit it the surface of the water in the tub. Every ripple was a memory made of a ghost's taunting cry. She could only remember them how she wanted. But she was going to see them again. Just had to.

    The tattoos on her bare legs neath the water's surface warbled and distorted as the ripples passed them by. One in particular caught her eye. Her first tattoo. On her ankle was a messy dark green messy blob of what used to be a skull. They all did their first tattoos on each other. Shit did it hurt. They were so young then. The bubbling sound of laughter of times in their youth were overrun by the sounds of anger, rage, pain and betrayal.

    Rosi licked her lips and swallowed hard. Baby blues were captured by heavy lashed lids as she ran her hand through her wet and matted powder blue hair then found rest at the back of her neck. Her pale face devoid of her signature thick black made-up eyes scrunched up, the emotional turmoil was cracking that serene visage. Trembling hands quickly covered her face and black painted nails pressed into her forehead and cheeks.

    Each drop was a name.

    Bullshit. It was just the leaky faucet of her stained tub dripping like it usually did. Above her the tiles were faded to a muddled grey, complete with mold stained grouting. Rust covered the shower curtain rod as three rings desperately held on trying to keep the pink-ish shower hung.

    Floor tiles were cracked. So was the mirror. Above the mirror was a buzzing incandescent bulb that she had to whack sometimes to get it to work. The door was okay save for the missing doorknob and chipped paint; at least it still had hooks to hang towels off. Oh and fuck that radiator... when it did work it was noisy as hell. Hey! Why not tour the rest of the shitty place? Hey! That window fixed yet? Anyone get those rats in the walls to shut up? Hey! How about your bed... wait, does a bunch of blankets piled together qualify as a bed? Hey Rosi! What's to eat, Rosi? Canned spaghetti again? Let's see what's in the fridge! Nope, not in the kitchen. The bedroom triples as kitchen and living room! How quaint! Oh let's talk about wardrobe next shall we--

    “Shut the FUCK UP!!!”

    Tepid water splashed over the tubs edge as Rosi violent thrashed to grab the item duct taped to the underside of her toilet.

    Oh, we forgot to mention the shit crusted porcelain--

    Two shots rang out and the toilet's life ended.

    Yellowed water spread across broken tiles and out into the living/bed/kitchen room. A baby began to cry. Dogs barked in frenzied unison. Upstairs pounded the floor. Banging and outraged voices at her front door.

    “Just... shut the fuck... up...”

    Her skin squeaked against the tile as she slid down back into tub, one hand still holding the sidearm across her knees, the other dug black fingertipped nails into her scalp.

    Something playing a hand in this. Something that did not want them to fail. Something pulling them by strings...

    Dripping. Focus on it. Each drop is a name... each drop is a name... each drop...

    Her breathing levelled out and heavy lashed lids captured baby blues.

    Each drop is a name...

    Vincent. (open)

    Driven, dark and deadly. What you taught us, all the body-breaking training and mind-numbing exercises. For all the bitching and moaning you had to put up with... thank you. Yeah, you taught me how to fight properly, but I've always been a fighter. But it's the other way to fight that kept me alive all this time: Vince, bro, you taught me how to fight properly using my brain... not just using my head to smash noses.

    Sunglasses hide the Mirrors. I finally caught on about this thing you called: discipline after my second bout with returning from death. I was all splayed out, OD'd on the smack and Weaver, my tethering Spider spirit came for me and showed me what I was meant to do. Without you showing me the way of mental toughness, I would never have made it as a Spirit Catcher; I never would have made it back from the Otherside.

    Driven, dark and deadly. All the bullshit between us and butting of heads put aside, you impressed the importance of training upon us... well, impressed upon me at least. We were unified with you at my right hand. So what now, buddy? When we finally meet what will I say to you? What will you do to me? You always said there was a bullet with name on it. And that bullet would be fired a gun in my own hand. You fuckin' wisdom zen motherfucker... you were right, okay? There. I said it. Vinnie, you were right.

    You knew me. You know me. Sunglasses down. I'm gonna' make it right. Brother, this time I am so gonna' make it right. Just have to.

    Elysium. (open)

    Eyes made of the absence of Light. Hair like the flowing of red from a wound. Named by parents who did not know that happiness was only found in bullshit baubles like snow globes and quirky sayings on fridge magnets that held up vacation pictures. If only they really knew what you were really called.

    Mysterious, brooding, always watching. Oh Ellie... your eyes. I've seen beyond them. We have all been there; you can't hide behind those eyes beyond the Threshold. It's true what they say about eyes being the mirror of the soul, girl. Your mirror is just veiled better than others. But I know you.

    In the places beyond Death, I know you and your wickedness is your true beauty. Because in the places beyond Death, unlike the prison here in the world of Mortals, torment is your playground over there. I'll find you in that playground again someday, sister. I remember you, just sitting there on the edge between this world and the next... A razor in the apple. Fuckin' hell you are so beautiful... I want those eyes to look at me again. But I'm scared of what I will see, girl. Because I know I won't know them. Fuckin' hell, I don't even know my own... I can't see past the mirror anymore...

    Aleksei. (open)

    You walk like there is a soundtrack to your life. I always envied that. A snippet of a song. A lost lyric found. Yes, you could so rock it on stage, but it was the music of your aura that calmed me, no matter how erratic you seemed. Fuckin' hell, Grinder liked you, and that bitch lone wolf is so hard to please. You made her dance, brother. Thank you.

    But what is left between us? Just the breath of ghosts. Was that a title of a song of yours? Oh yeah... I loved the songs you said I inspired you to write... Fuckin' asshole... “Hey, Rosi, I wrote this song for you: It's called Rosi! She with the Twisted Panties! So much better than Bitch on the Rag Again...” You never really did grow up did you...? Maybe that's why I like you so much, bro. You keep me reminding me of who we were. Your aura keeps me grounded and loyal-- well... until that happenened.

    But when shit went down, I knew I could rely on you. Shit is going down again, boy. I need you here. I need you to make me laugh again. Remember that? Yeah, this bitch is capable of laughing. Oh, Lex... it's been so long though. So fuckin' long... Sing for me again, Lex. Sing for us. Give us a soundtrack to kick it's fuckin' ass again and find Baby Girl 'Rena again...

    Thomas. (open)

    Hey, Baby Bro... My widdle Tommy boyeeeee!!!!

    No. Just no.

    It hurts too much to say it like that. Fuckin' hell, Baby Bro. I'm sorry. I'm soooo fuckin' sorry. You and 'Rena were the youngest and you knew I always took care of you. I always had your back. I swore I would never let anything, any-fucking-thing hurt you ever again... No one would fuck you over again, I said that didn't I... I promised... pinky-sworn... you were just a kid... fuck me... It was me... I could protect you from everything except my own bullshit ambition and pride. Fuck... Fuck!!!! FUCK!!!!! I screwed it all up... for us... all of us... Oh, Baby Bro... Tommy... fuck me... I'm soooo sorry... I... Oh Baby Bro... forgive me. Please... I... oh Tommy boy... fuck me raw... Please forgive me... please fuckin' forgive me... please... oh Baby Bro... I'm gonna' make it alright again... I swears it... it will be okay between us again... it will... oh Baby Bro... come find your sis with us...

    Nicole. (open)

    Hey, Nix. Hey, girl...

    You still twirl your hair between your fingers? You still short? You still gonna remind me and make me believe that we are family? I think all of the above is true. I wish you were my moms sometimes, I ever tell you that? I know I did. Because it hid what I really want to tell you. What I really wanted to you to be with me, sister...

    I think of you a lot. I think of you staring up at me with dark eyes, shining with a different glint than what dark lustre shines in Ellie's eyes. I wonder about what it would be like if those eyes just stared at me for me and not because you wanted to protect a friend; a sister. I know you and you know me. We are both fiercely protective of what we care about. But what I did, everyone I betrayed... out of them all, yeah, it did kill me to do it to Tommy, but you... you were the final reason that made up my mind to do it.

    I knew the consequences. I did. I knew it was for the best. But what I did not consider was the fact that I would have to live beyond what I did. I hurt you. I hurt everyone. It eats my insides, making me rot that much more to know that I would have to face everyone again, sister. But I need you all again.

    Where Vinnie unified us for battle as Spirit Catchers, you unified us when we had to just be us. Where Ellie kept our fight real and right in front of us, you let us know that we started off as just kids from Crown's Port. Where Lex provided our flow and rhythm between us, you gave us the words to sing. Where Baby Bro was someone to teach, protect or just let be; our own reflection at times, you were someone to remind us that the real person was the one staring at that reflection.

    You are the one that my visionary Owl spirit sees for all times. I would always know where you were. Weaver binds us through the strands of her dreamcatchter.

    Grinder most likely still hates you though. Bitch still wants to eat you, no doubt....

    Nix. Come help us find 'Rena, okay? So needs you at my left hand. Please...

    Baby blues were finally released from heavy and darklined lids and Rosi was met with the eerily smoothed out visage of the Faceless Angel. It was backlit by the lone lampost a stone's throw away but even in complete darkness, she would know that it was still flawless. The rest of the statue was lime and fungus covered. The recesses of the folds of its gown were given deeper shadow by the dirt caked therein. The arms were long gone; only stony stumps mottled with moss remained. Wings that should span off into heaven were cracked and looked more suited to be connect to the back of a hummingbird. But that face.

    It did not age. And it always remained pure, smooth and alabaster white just like the day they all first saw it.

    It was a face from which a hidden Leyline flowed.

    It was their line; The Circle of Thorns.

    Rosi stared at it a heartbeat longer and shook her head. Orange light lit up her pale face in the dark as she took another drag from her final cigarette. There was a time when that faceless totem spoke to her as a powerful Shaman rather than just silently drive home the fact that that Rosi was just a lone and pathetic useless trashy fosterhouse-brat girl from a trashy hood with nothing left except to fade away as a lone and pathetic trashy fosterhouse-brat girl from a trashy hood should. Normally, Rosi would have felt a chill when she stared at that thing, but not now. She pointed the item in her other hand at that faceless bitch.

    Fuck it. Time's up. She took one last drag and dropped the cigarette. Time's up. No names. Not a single one.

    Baby blues popped open wide as she looked down to locate and crush the smouldering filter of her cigarette. The item in her other hand began to tremble but not as violently as her lower lip.

    Normally, Rosi would feel cold, she always did, but right now she could feel the heat rush through her body. The steady beat of her heart amped up and she could feel the beats resonate in her ears.

    The fallen ashes of her cigarette laid out before her at what was left of the feet of the Angel. And Rosi could make out some of the pattern. After all this time... Rosalie Rouge could read ashes again.

    But that could only mean one thing...!

    Rosi's legs vanished from her dark denim jeans and she fell forward. All she do was hug her studded leather covered arms around the 'Angel, face contorted as she buried herself into its waist.

    They were coming. And one was close. Holy shit. She knew who it was without even turning around. A prick at the wrist made her wince.

    Check your pulse...

    She did not even have to look to know that her birthmark was shifting, changing, becoming clearly defined again. The first of the thorns formed and flowed through her blood. Rosi bit down hard upon her lower lip, heart now screaming at a demon's pace back into memory. She trembled as she steeled herself for what was to come; bracing for that moment when she would hear those footsteps. Smell that scent of her hair. And hear that voice. Oh shit, was she ever scared to hear that voice. Rosi's embrace upon the 'Angel tightened so much more that she swore she could have snapped that bitch statue in half.

    It was her. For reals. She was here. Just a bit more than an arm's length away. She could just reach out with her black and white striped glove hand and touch her. She was real. But Rosi just could not turn around.

    Wait. Was that really her?

    Check your damn pulse, bitch.

    “Hello. Rosi.”

    Rosi turned around, baby blues sullen and lowered. In that awkward moment of silence between them, Rosi swore her heart was about to explode. A heartbeat longer and finally she lifted her chin as if it was tied to a thousand bricks. Eye contact. A clatter of metal thing hitting concrete.

    There really was a bullet with Rosi's name on it. And it really was to be fired by a gun in Rosalie Rouge's own hand.

    Just one final cigarette away from blowing her own head off if they did not come.

    Something playing a hand in this. Something that did not want them to fail. Something pulling them by strings...

    Fuckin' hell, Serena was still alive...

    “N-ni... Nnn--” was all she could manage before her legs disappeared again and she crumpled into a heap of leather, denim and combat boots to the concrete.


    Responses (open)
    As each one arrived, a pricking sensation let her know that each one was really a member of the Circle. With Tommy, she took his stabbing of a greeting in stride; she really did deserve it afterall. But she was dying inside and just could not make eye contact with her Baby Bro.

    A simple nod in his direction was her greeting, but eyes and heart were distant and looking off to the left back into yellowed and frayed memory. There was a time when she would screech his name mockingly, but with good natured, hair-mussing love for that boy. But he was not a boy anymore. And he most definitely was not her Tommy Boy right now. Would he ever allow that...?

    “No lies, Bab--” she bit her lips closed sharply then continued, “--Thomas. Feel for yourself, brother. I know you feel the change. I know you can see something's different. Check your pulse, brother.”


    Fucking Lex... 'the fuck was the soundtrack playing during Aleksei's entrance? Oh wait. It was just the sound of him puking up at the feet of the 'Angel. She could not help but smile as she always did when he tossed his cookies at the strangest moments. A sharp bark of laughter escaped her lips as she recalled the time when he was late to the fight. But made up for it by puking in the face of a second layer Diables. It's mouth was open too.

    “Hey, Aleksei... nah shit. So eww. Nice one, bro...” there was no humour in her raspy voice, but the glint in her eyes told otherwise. She even looked over at Tommy and finally made eye contact. She jerked her head in Aleksei's direction as she gave her Baby Bro a blue eyed wink , “You think he has enough left to share with the rest of the class...?”


    She almost reached up to stroke the porcelain cheek of Elysium when the hooded woman appeared out of the shadows, just like she had always greeted her sister. But she knew she had no right to give such affections right now. Out of all of them, she worried about Ellie the most, in terms of mental health. Rosi was not the most stable female, just look at what she was about to do if no one showed up, but Ellie...

    Dark and mysterious. So beautiful as she traipsed along that fine razor's edge between what was really alive and what was actually dead. Of them all, Rosi was afraid Elysium would not show. Silent yet smouldering with calm intensity. Of them all, she needed Elysium to get where they were supposed to go.

    Aww... Ellie. Fuck it. Rosi took a shot in the dark.

    A fingertipless gloved hand slowly reached out to stroke the pure white of Ellie's cheek.

    Hello, sister... said Rosi reaching out with her aura.


    Strutting in and dressed to kill. This was her boy, Vincent. It was funny how regardless of how much they trained physically, they never got on each other's case about smoking. One would think that it would be the first thing to go for such physical and rough-n'-tumble types. Rosi shoved her gloved hands into her pockets then tossed an upwards chin bob at her half-Japanese brother Thorn.
    “Vincent...” she returned the curt greeting. He was probably pissed at her, as usual, but he always seemed to get over it faster than she could ever fathom. Still had that 'fuck-you-let's-just-do-it-Rosi' expression too. Good enough. Even better that he still seemed like he wanted to drive brass knuckles into skulls over talking things out peacefully.


    One body short of completion, two names short of closing the Circle. Serena and Mother Ivy. Rosi shuddered. The cold chill that always fell over her had returned. Close enough.

    She looked at all of them gathered before her and after two heartbeats, her now baubleless combat boots took her two paces backwards. From out of her pockets came her hands and she motioned for Vincent to take her right hand and for Nicole to take her left.

    “I know there is so much to be said and so much to go over but right now we need take our first step to getting back together. Time's short and I'm sure a lot has passed up till now. And I know... she's not here, and neither is Ivy, but we need to do this. Right here, right fuckin' now. Jolly, happy, smiles and giggles reunion will just have to wait... alright. Gather round.

    Check your pulses, everyone. Join hands and let's close the Circle.”

    Each had their own prep before joining hands. Rosi's was simple. She held both wrists together and twisted them twice, feeling for a link between both arms. The birthmark prickled six times. Fuck... it was so unnerving to to not feel that last one, but whatever. They were here and circled up. No turning back now.

    “You still alive...?” Rosi's upper lipped pulled up as she snarled, heartbeats amping up in her chest, breath hot, but body icy chilled.
    “That's right... it' s time--” she did not care that they were one Thorn short. They would get that Seventh soon enough. And right now she hoped that regardless of not having any powers that the links between them was still there. There was only one way to find out right now “--Seven up, bitches...”

    When initiating rituals were done, hands were all linked and the Circle was complete, Rosi sighed as she felt the pull in her heart and mind. Waves of old thoughts and memories, past and future ripped her apart. The sensation of being born again, a stored memory for eternity, forever etched into the soul that only a dead child that came back to life could hold, pulled her back together again.

    Baby blues fluttered open and she was met with the smooth surface of the 'Angel's visage.

    Fuck. No change. I don't see nothin...'

    Rosi quickly broke link with Vincent and Nicole then hastily rolled up her sleeve.

    The birthmark was still clearly defined. And with eight points. Ivy and 'Rena were still alive. The Circle was still intact. And the ones that linked hands were re-bonded. They would know how each one of the re-bonded was doing. Rosi finally got her wish. She would know once again that her sisters and brothers were okay at all times.

    Fuck. Yeah.

    “Okay... you still alive, chiclets?” the powder-blue headed Thorn said with a hearty grin, “I sure as fuck am now...”

    A single calming breath as she gauged the others reactions. Then another breath before speaking again.

    “Right. Now about that reunion part... not guna be so happy, jolly, smiles and giggles, eh? I just want to start off with saying: I'm so-r--” why was it so hard to say it to their faces? “--I feel badly for what I've done, everyone. Let's put it behind us for now. Okay...?”

    Oh that's right. Rosalie Rouge does not compromise nor does the bitch apologize. It's it and that's that.

    “So what do you say, everyone...? Shall we get this shit going?”
  8. She'd been so angry. She'd wanted to strike out and hit Rosi, and that thought frightened her. She wasn't a violent person. In fact, she was more often the one to try and alleviate violence. She heard the sound of something metal clattering to the stony ground, Rosi's back still to Nicole. It looked like she was holding on to that statue tightly enough to hurt herself. Nicole's eyes were drawn downwards, towards the sound. When she saw the gun her dark eyes widened and flashed back up to Rosi's blue eyes. Those blue eyes Nicole had missed so much.

    In that moment, time stopped as Nicole realized several things. One, Nicole didn't want to hit Rosi. She didn't want to scream. She was angry with Rosi, of course, but she didn't hate her. Even though Nicole thought she did. How could she have ever hated her Rosi? Wasn't that what family was? Families make mistakes, but they never hate each other. She was about to step forward; about to...fuck, Nicole didn't know what she was about to do. Her emotions were flashing through her at lightning speed. Anger, sadness, happiness, fear, guilt-

    guilt? That brought Nicole to a short stop. Why would she be feeling guilt? Guilt was...Her eyes lifted to Rosi's again. Her gift. her gift was returning. Rosi was the one who was guilty, not Nicole. Of course she was guilty. Nicole opened her mouth to speak, but Rosi was talking.

    “N-ni... Nnn--” Suddenly, Rosi collapsed to the concrete. Nicole forgot her anger, forgot her pain and Rosi's guilt and the confusion of her feelings. "Rosi!" She cried out as she hurried forward. She crouched next to her friend-no, her sister. A small, trembling hand reached forward, almost hesitant to touch Rosi. It was like she was afraid that if she touched her she'd vanish. After a moment's hesitation she pushed a blue strand of hair out of Rosi's face. "We're home, Sister." She said quietly.


    As each of the others arrived, Nicole felt their emotions wash over her; her ability getting a little stronger with each that arrived. With each, she gave her greeting. She'd missed them, all of them, so much.

    She felt more than heard someone approaching behind them, and turned. "Tommy." She said quietly as he came forward. he gave her a smile. "Nicole." His smile quickly vanished as he turned to face Rosi, and she could feel his anger like a fever under her skin. "Rosi," he scolded. "Yeah...it's me...little Tommy boy is back...unless Rosi is lying yet again." Nicole stepped closer to him. She wanted to tell him not to speak to Rosi that way, but in all reality he had a right to voice his feelings. Instead she wrapped her arms around his waist.

    "I've missed you, Tommy." She said. Just like she'd missed all of them. "Lord, you've grown." She stepped back and looked up at him with a small smile. "You're little no more, huh Tommy?" She studied him. "You're hair's long." She was about to say something else, but someone was making their way to the group.

    He seemed to be stumbling more than he was walking, and just as he reached them he fell to the ground and vomited. Nicole knew who this was, for sure. "Uh... Good evening, dear friends!" Nicole frowned, concern etched on her face. "Al...are you alright?" She asked him. She twisted a long strand of hair between her fingers as she watched him.

    Elysium was the next to arrive. As usual, she was silent and her face was cold and expressionless. Nicole stepped to her and put a hand on her shoulder. "Elysium." She said. "How have you been?" She'd always worried about Elysium, kept an eye on her until they'd been seperated. Now they were together again. Well, almost together. They were, of course, missing Serena. And-

    Even as she thought his name, Vincent stepped out of the shadows. he greeted them each curtly as he put out his cigarette. Nicole smiled at him. "Vincent." She greeted him. He looked good, dressed in a nice suit that fit him well. The greetings were cut short as Rosi stepped forward again, holding out her hands. Nicole nodded as she took Rosi's hand in her own and took Thomas's hand as well. It was time.
    • Love Love x 1
  9. Metal glinted in the dark. Elysium's eyes sparked as she saw the gun and felt the promise it whispered.

    Elysium could see it. She could see that all too familiar deadly dance in Rosi's eyes. That constant pitch forward, and pull backwards. Like the ocean that tumbled over sands and swirled in the depth. She could also feel the desperate longing and hope in the woman. Elysium could feel it. But she couldn't relate to it at all. Its like asking shadows to feel the light, when all it will do is throw more shadows or scatter it into more darkness. Tilting her head slightly she tried to decipher the tension. Betrayal. Sorrow. Anger. The emotions and feeling churning like the clouds above them. The six of them reminded her of a shard of glass suspended in the air, moments away from shattering into hundreds of pieces. Would they also break?

    Rosi's fingers brushed her cheek, a familiar affectionate gesture that caused Elysium to feel nothing but remember everything. Years of Rosi trying to coax her away from the bunker of steel that Elysium had built around her heart. Elysium's black eyes locked onto Rosi. Did she truly expect for Elysium to break to the ground and drown in the tears that she had done so many times before? Did she really think that it was that easy?

    Hello sister...

    A sliver of warmth beckoned at the edge of Elysium's aura, but with a mind of its own it snapped out and retreated. Face void of any emotion, she felt no hindering remorse as her tar black aura engulfed and destroyed the familiarity Rosi tried to restore. Ellie had died long ago. "Thats unconventional girl. Vertical cuts bleed faster." The ghost of a voice filtered through the noise in Elysium's head. Lips moving she whispered to herself, "This is a play, its a waltz." Elysium White had never been suicidal. Just intensely fascinated with the cold fingers of limbo, of death.

    All around her familiar faces, the only reason she knew them was because of the sharp whispers. A hand rested on her shoulder, she didn't need to face the girl to know who it was. Nicole. So motherly, so filled with life and optimism, she could feel her own aura retreating from the girl's light. "Elysium." She said. "How have you been?" She said. Almost as if she had never abandoned her. When the world broke and everyone cried out in pain, Elysium had been scared. Elysium had clung to the feet of the Faceless Angel begging for the stone to give it all back. Cold arms, wet clothes, shattered heart, lovely Ellie had died at the foot of the Faceless One. Drowning in her own tears and self pity. No one had come back to her. No one had returned to save Ellie, so there she died. On a cold stone slab. How unceremonious.

    Without any words, or so much as a sound, Elysium took Vincent's hand and waited for Aleksei to take hers. The burning in her blood started out slowly...
    Thorns renewed. Was it her heart that pounded in her chest? This of course was impossible, as she had no heart to give her hollow shell life.
    #9 Wanderfool, Jan 17, 2014
    Last edited: Jan 17, 2014
    • Love Love x 1

  10. It seemed almost surreal, to be back here with everyone - almost everyone - again. As cheesy as it would sound, Vincent was glad that he was back together with people who ... understood. The people that were by his side during each and every one of their engagements, the people that watched each other's backs as they tried to retreat after a mission gone wrong. No one else did, really. The people that he trained in the gym, especially the amateurs that sought him out for private classes. They were the ones that didn't get it the most. They praised him for his strength and skill, and always left a comment that went something along the lines of: "Man, if you ever wanted to go pro ..." Vincent hated it when they said that, even though his only response to them would be silence until the next topic of conversation came up once more. It wouldn't be fair to them either for him to lash out. It was not their fault.

    Go pro? Vincent had already gone pro. He went there with the best of the best, into rings of fire and smoke where victory was not decided by a count down, or points, or knock out, but whether someone's heart still beat. Sometimes there weren't even hearts to beat. These fighters, when they walk into the ring and win they win money, adoration, and when they lose ... pride? Sponsors? The title? Those stakes were too low for the half-Japanese man. He had been pulled into dozens of duels, perhaps even hundreds, yet he still lived to tell the tale. With no one aside from the Circle to speak of his accomplishments, nor anything but scars and the ghosts within his eyes to mark his victories, Vincent still saw what he won as far more valuable than what all these men collectively have - he won the right to live, because he cut down the one that would deny him that right.

    Furthermore, every fist that he threw stank of weakness and he hated that. Even the fists that pounded his sparring partners into the corner. They simply lacked the pure power that he once had, the power that made demons quiver in their boots when they heard that the Vincent was coming for them. The power of promises bound to flesh in the blood of his enemies ... of light that glowed even through fabric as he called upon them to make him strong, to give him the power to vanquish those that would stand in his way.

    All of this, all of this built up to an amount of satisfaction, of adrenaline of ... everything that the ring, even when surrounded by adoring thousands cannot come close to matching.

    He matched Rosi's gaze when she returned the greeting. The ghost of a smile flickered across his face, just for a millisecond or two. No matter how much that girl exasperated him, defying his instructions of fighting with a clear head and going berserk, or skimping on her training, or whatever other act she did that just to infuriate the stoic half-Japanese, Vincent knew her as a core member of a Circle, and a Circle cannot remain cohesive if they were to all bear nothing but animosity towards each other. He had forgiven her a long time ago.

    Even for trading away their True Names.

    Before they joined hands, Vincent flexed his wrist a little, moving the sleeve of his shirt up a few centimetres. He was never one for ceremony. The first joining of hands brought a wholeness to Vincent that he had not felt in a long, long time. It was a sublime pleasure, satisfaction that one could never find anywhere else - better than getting your back scratched, or a hot shower after a cold day, or the sweetness of water after having gone hours without drink - it was that good.

    Then it was broken.

    "Language, language," chided the quiet man, though a small amused grin still sat on his lips. Few cursed like Rosi, so casually, so naturally, like the word 'fuck' was no different to 'very'

    "I suppose you should tell us on what exactly you plan to do first, considering the fact that you were the one that called us all here."

    • Love Love x 1
  11. Show Spoiler

    Before Thomas got a chance to really spill out his thoughts on everything that'd happened in the past years, he felt Nicole's arms wrap around him. It was a hug he hadn't gotten in years and the feeling of it was refreshing. He smiled as she examined him up and down. The hair's not the only thing that's changed, he thought to himself.

    Thomas watched as more and more of his brothers and sisters revealed themselves. Oh how he missed them. It was as if all the pain killers and unauthorized drugs he'd taken in the past few years to null out the pain and the memory no longer took effect. As he saw faces he began to remember. A smile crawled onto his face as he recognized the one man he'd always seen as a roll model. Thomas had always wanted to be like Vincent. Since the day they were all brought together, he'd always been there for Thomas, whether Vincent realized it or not. Good to have you back brother.


    "Yeah what Vincent said" he said with a deep intimidating voice. "YOU brought us here. What's the plan?" Thomas of course still didn't trust Rosi, and felt that he distrusted her the most out of everyone right about now. I want to hear a flaw in this so called plan just so I can go home now and continue killing off the memory of her and the circle. Bring us to shit again Rosi...do it...I dare you. Thomas blinked a couple times as if to signal something but only meat to silence the voices in his head, he'd clearly gained from his obsession with the pill.
    • Love Love x 1
  12. "Yeah, for sure, I called for us to gather... Thomas..." baby blues scanned down then up at this new look of Baby Bro. Damn, boy was smokin' hot diggity dog now. Too bad he was still Baby Bro to her... that and she was not the type of gal that spread her white bread for hot diggity dogs... "but it's you, all of you, who made that choice to come on down, buddy."

    Ragged combat boots that used to click and clatter with all sorts of charms and trinkets clomped on over to Tommy Boy and, she continued to stare up at him not breaking gaze once.

    "And it's you, all of you, who agreed to break skulls until we got to the Sacred Grounds back then. I know you had your own reasons, just like how I had my own," she sighed as she took in the sight of him once more. So not her Tommy Boy. He was all goatee'd up and his hair was long now, but oh, how she still wanted to muss up that mop on his head. Baby blues lost their ice, if only momentarily when she spoke next, "but Bab-- Thomas, that's no longer here nor there. WE lost out, okay? We missed our chance to get what we wanted from the Sacred Grounds. I know, I so knows that I am to blame, buddy, and there's no going back into the past to make it right--"

    A sigh. A breaking of eye contact. A glance back into faded, soft-lit memory of Rosi sneaking into Tommy's school, barging into the boy's locker room and shoving her naked and towel-less Baby Bro out into the hallway for what reason she could not remember. Nor would she even bother. There was no going back to those times; no going back to those times when she could get away with pulling that kind of shit on him and have him let her get away with it. Not now. Not anymore.

    Her eyes hardened when they returned to meet his gaze.

    "--but I'm not the only one that screwed you over, brother..."

    She turned to look over her shoulder at the suit wearing half Japanese Thorn then turned around. This time when she walked, it was as if the old Rosi returned; even with heavy combat boots on, the only sound she made was the clicking and clacking of her imbued charms at her boot laces, unabashedly letting all know that the bitch Shaman was here and if you knew your place, you would make way when you heard that sound. Clickety-clack, bitch is back... The charms were long gone now but even if she still had them, they would be aged, cracked and inert at any rate. But the bitch still did have somethings that held power that she dared not use. Until now.

    "Hey, Vinnie..." she said as she pulled one of those things from out of her inner jacket pocket, "you gots a light?"

    As inappropriate as it was, she did call to him rather casually, but Rosi could see that of them all, perhaps Vincent was the most receptive to listen to her... with cautious ear, yes, but with an ear that was attentive and willing to listen nonetheless. Rosi popped her eyebrows at her brother Thorn as she raised the cigar to her lips.

    It looked as if the pathetic brown thing in her gloved hand was rolled by an arthritic old coot and said arthritic old coot made the cigar with shitty, cheap-ass leaves and unclean ones at that. There were seeds dotting the surface and most likely between the layers since the layers of leaves were loosely held together did not sit flush ontop of one another. If it looked that way then ones that were in-the-know would know that it really was made by an arthritic old coot that used cheap ass reagents to make the cigar; strawberry leaves complete with dried strawberries, seeds and all. It was made by their mentor: Mother Ivy.

    Rosi would always smoke one whenever she needed to find an answer to something. The blue headed woman would read the ashes and mull over what she saw. But in this instance, she knew exactly the answer she wanted to know, it was just a question of where to look. Rosi was not going to read ashes right now. She took several puffs to stoke the cherry into finally staying lit then:

    "Fuckin' hell... fuck me twice..." she said as she grimaced and held both hands in tightly clenched fists. Baby blues met Vincents gaze and Rosi let out a single barking laugh that set her into a coughing fit as she inhaled the sweet, sticky charry smoke up her nose. But it was worth it for what she found with her momentary delve into memory. Rosi had recalled Vincent's recent chiding about her 'language, language.' There was a time when they set up a swear jar for Rosi. A nickel each time she spat out a four-letter word. They had something like fifty bucks by the end of the week.

    "...and fuck me raw..." Rosi said with a growling exhale right before she took a big drag off the pathetic looking cigar. And inhaled. Oh, the sweet funk of flavours and intense brimstone burning in her lungs and throat! If you inhale when you smoke cigars, you are probably doing it wrong or just a noob. If you inhale when you smoke this cigar, you know what you are doing and doing it right will probably have you hitting the floor, convulsing as you cough out a lung or three... at least you wish you had three to help you cough out the nasty substance.

    After Rosi recovered from hitting the floor, convulsing and coughing out a lung or three, she finally got to her feet and pointed at the smoke that began wafting out in all directions. To the untrained eye, it was just a cloud of second-hand death that the owner of the untrained eye would be wise to avoid like plague.

    To the sisters and brothers of the Circle of Thorns, they knew they would have to inhale that second hand death if they were to see what Rosi wanted them to see.

    Those that did inhale second hand death would react as they always did when inhaling Mother Ivy's strawberry sick stick smoke and see coloured wispy tendrils drift out in six different directions. Each would know their own colour... and each would have and inkling of where they would be going.

    "V-vinn--ee... bro..." said Rosi, her voice just above a hoarse whisper, "you asked what I p-plannd--ed to do first, right...? Just follow it, everyone... you should know the significance of the grave I ch-chose for you to find... You... know... you so know your own r-ritual to get into it. It's on the cusp of this side of the Threshold, but even then, you have so gots be quick and grab your stuff, right...? Right...

    You thought your stuff was gone... Oblivion'd so no trace of your gifts could be tracked before we b-broke Circle. Well, I did get rid of most of it... but the few things of yours that I did k-keep-p... those ones I knew I should hide and seal. Just... just in c-case...

    So if you're with me then go get your stuff and meet me at the gates at the entrance to the graveyard. You want to know what else I know...? Alright. Then stick around. But we just can't talk here. Re-bonding has put the Circle back in play. Like we're a raindrop into the ocean... b-but you know, you so know that there are things out there... out There that are old enough to count all drops that fall into the ocean...

    Each drop is a Name, afterall.

    Let's go to some Neutral grounds of your choosing and talk there. Then if you don't like what you hear, then go on... leave. Up to you...

    Okay. Go get your shit and hurry the fuck up, eh? You sensitives... you know, you so know what I mean: Lex, dark spirits are always drawn to your rhythm. Nix, girl, tell me you can't feel the change in 'tone.' And--" Rosi was about to call the redhead by her affectionate shortened name, but she remembered Elysium's aura backhand slapping Rosi's own aura away. The absence of Light. Who the fuck are you now? Where the fuck is my sister, my El--" and you, Elysium, tell me you don't see the shadows beginning to shift out there.

    Right. Like I said, just hear me out. Then you can leave if you want--

    But! You are still a Thorn. I don't fuckin' care. If I check my pulse, and my birthmark gives me an ugly prickling, I swear I will be there. This bitch will break down the door and butt-rape with broken glass whatever the fuck it is that messes my sister or brother... believe that. I so gots your back... right? You know how it is, everyone, no matter what, no matter where, no matter what bullshit... I've done... no matter what happens... we are still a Circle."

    Seven dead children...

    "Okay, see you at the gates..."
    • Love Love x 2
Thread Status:
Not open for further replies.