Creature City Revival

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The room was smokey, which did nothing good for Rook's asthma. Now there was a damnable thing she had carried from childhood into the adult word. Her eyes positively watered with the acrid stench of blue smoke filling an unventilated room.
The others, the Henge girls with their strange, long burning sticks that smelt faintly of incense, and Volkof, with a fat celebratory cigar in her mouth, didn't seem to mind it.
The Henge laughed with their faces behind their colourful fans. They were grouped tightly together, sitting on a king size matress as if it was their own private island. Glittering black eyes appeared occasionally over the top of their fans, elusive as always with their true features. Volkof sat splayed on her usual arm chair.
It seemed, with the trade between the Chief and Volkof finally sealed, Volkof had sunk into a week of indulgences. She smoked, drank, and made merry with her permanent entourage of Henge at her side.
"Rook? Where's your glass?" Volkof demanded, snapping her subordinate out of her reverie.
"No glass." Rook said, offering a brief but awkward shrug. The way she was feeling now, if she started drinking, it would carry long into the afternoon.
"Come now, Rook! Today is a fine day for celebrating!" Volkof, all heels and exaggerated make-up, made an attempt to pour Rook a glass of wine, and sloshed liquid from her own glass over the carpet.
"Whoops!" Rook frowned, rushed to her aid, finding the display faintly disturbing. Her boss was almost never like this. Never took the willing opportunity to usurp control, even in calculated displays. Maybe the Henge were having an effect on her.
Rook poured herself a glass with a sober hand, just to appease Volkof, to stop her from making any more embarrassing moves.
"There now." Volkof raised her own empty glass, oblivious to the contents having spilt, urging the Henge to do the same. The Henge silently lifted their glasses.
"Come here, O' Lizard of the Nile. Drink this down, to the health of your absent friends, and to the sucess of our careers!" Rook grunted, complying.
When Volkof looked away, amused with something one of the Henge had done, Rook found herself sweeping her sleeve over her face. Absent friends.
 
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"Dark hair," said Jack, tone clipped. "Deep bronze skin, Egyptian-like. Yellow eyes: he's a Phoenix. He wears black jeans mostly. That's all you need to know - his eyes give him away before anything else."
 
Minerva let out something akin to an affirmative grunt, eyes taking on a glaze as she painted the mark in her mind. A Pheonix!
 
Phoenixes were rare. She wasn't surprised that the Chief himself knew one; he had all sorts of funky connections up and down the city. She constructed a mental image in her mind; the guy must be decently handsome. Jack seemed to have some more personal connection to him. She wondered, distantly, what it was.
 
It's Hans. Except it's a reanimated, freshly deceased version of Hans. His hands are curled into claws, and he walks with that signature, shambling walk that screams out undead. Through the veil of Abner's dreams, he's at Chance's, except the rooms are far too large and the proportions of the furniture are all wrong. There's a hellish quality to it, things are topsy-turvy, the room tilts him back and forth yet Hans still walks, gaining on him with steady, patient determination. After all, why should the dead run? Abner cowers at the other side of the room, backs away, clutches at the curtains. Hans flashes him a yellow-fanged grin. He's wearing the same suit Chance killed him in, but the stitches by his arms are all popped, the sleeves dragging by his sides. Blood runs like a flowing stream from his ears and nose.
"No son of mine," He starts, snarling the words out even though he doesn't have a voice anymore, shouldn't have a voice anymore. He's so close now that Abner can see the moss growing by his cheeks like peach fuzz.
Abner's eyes widen to the sizes of saucers, his heart thunders. The horrors are hardly ceasing, overwhelming in their vice-like grip-
"No son of mine."

Abner jolts awake in the quiet Helarisi household. For a moment he doesn't know where he is. The large bed he awakes in gives him the sudden impression he is swimming in it. Drowning under the covers and fighting for air.
He thrashes above the duvet and takes in gasping breaths. The sheets are drenched in a cool sweat.
 
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Azur stands, staring out of the window across the street. At Cecelia's house, lights darkened, and the houses beyond. Such a different view, he thought, to their old house. To live here now was truly impressive. He rocked his hand in a circle gently, watching the ruby liquid swirl around inside the goblet. Crystal. Interesting. This stuff was expensive- would go for a house's worth in the lower districts. But up here they flaunted them. Along with their cobblestone pavements, horse-and-carriage inventions, and lit streets. Your nightvision was all but wasted here.

No wonder he couldn't sleep. It was always so damn bright.
 
Abner kicked the duvet off himself, attempting to regulate his breathing. Moonlight streamed in from the curtains. He sat upright and knuckled his eyelids, rubbed his face and running his hands through his hair. He noticed, with a creeping fear, that his fingertips were shaking, could hardly keep still. Withdrawal symptoms, or just wasted adrenaline from the dream? If it was the first, he was shit out of luck. He'd left his drugs at Minerva's after she thrown him out. His heart beat a little faster at that thought.
Christ. He had to get out of here. Even if it meant dissappointing Azur, even if it meant leaving a a safe shelter. He had to meet his dealer. Get his hands on some more cheap booze in the mean time. After all, Azur, for all his kindness, could hardly be asked to accomodate him in that manor. His bare feet touched the wooden floor. The window to the bedroom, he noticed, was locked shut. He'd have to take the main stairs to slip out, go down a floor.
He tried to remain as silent as possible as he took his exit from the room, looking down the hall. The Helarisi house was so big, it felt all too easy to take a wrong turn and get lost. He imagined himself pacing the silent halls, descending down an endless spiral staircase until morning.
Ah. Houston, we have a problem. Just where the hell was his clothes? Azur had provided him with a snug pair of pyjamas, he recalled, but had taken his clothes upon arrival to get them cleaned. Another hole in the plan.
Careful not to wake anyone that might be sleeping in the house up, he started on the stairs. He paused, foot halfway on one step, the other at the top of the landing. Abner could make out a shadow, standing at one of the windows on the floor with its back to him. He squinted three eyes. Was it a person, or some funny looking coat rack? The shadow moved, swirling what looked like a cup in their hands. He could make out an arrow-head tail in the darkness.
It was Azur.
 
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Rook was glad once her boss retired to bed. The evening had been manic, and Volkof herself, rather obsessive. Her uncharacteristic wine bender had been noted, and the creepy Henge observed upon invitatiom.
She stood outside the room now, watching the Henge file out of it. They were curious creatures, synchronised in their movements and hiding the lower part of their faces behind their flittering fans. The fans were colourful and patterned, covered in unreadable inscriptions. Their clothes were shimmering cloaks, black like the back of a beetle's, but with flecks of blue showing themselves when the light hit them. The Henge tittered amongst themselves in a language Rook couldn't place. Rook was supposed to escort them back to their own suite that Volkof had provided for them, but she trusted they would find their own way back. They seemed content to be in their own group anyway. Rook didn't want to disturb them, because if she was honest with herself, she found them more than a little spooky to engage with. One of the Henge stopped for a moment, lingering behind the rest of them. It stood stock still, staring at Rook in a manor she found she didn't like at all.
"Absent friends." It repeated, voice cold, no inflection, no tone. It was a voice with no tell-tale gender to it. Entirely flat and montone. Rook curled her hands into fists, unsure if she was being mocked.

"Excuse me?" This was the first words a Henge had ever spoken to her.
The Henge stepped forward, head bobbing in its graceful movement. A pale hand seized her arm, fingernails digging into her armored scales. Rook made an attempt to shake it off, narrowing her eyes.
"Just what the hell do you-"
The creature lowered its fan from its face, and its eyes shone. They seemed to melt, shifting into another stern, fixed shape, then meeting her gaze again. Rook blinked. It was Volkof, her pointed expression and cupid bow lips, that stared back at her.

Rook shouted in surprise, knocking her head into the wall behind her.
"A pound of human flesh, in exchange for happiness. And a deal with the devil for success!" It exclaimed in Volkof's breezy voice. It was a perfect imitation of her boss. Looked like her, talked like her, except her boss was sleeping in the next room over.
The Henge's face ebbed and flowed like liquid again, eyes changing and taking on a red tint. The Chief.
"I'll have her, you know." He said, voice clipped and dark. His eyebrows arched in that irritating way, she'd witnessed, as if regarding her like some kind of interesting insect.
"You just wait and see."

This time the Henge's head spun, and once it stopped its whirling, the face was her father. Laugh like a rattlesnake's death rattle.
"Rook? Is that you?"
She screamed.
 
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Azur turned around at the sound of the door opening, only to see Abner trying to leave. He blinked, before moving towards him.
"Abner? What are you doing up this late?" Could he not sleep? Was something wrong? Azur felt worried- an unfamiliar emotion for someone like him, granted, but it still showed in his eyes and filled his veins as he stepped towards the Araneae.
 
Abner swallowed, looking around the darkened place. Lights from across the street shined a spotlight on him at the top of the stairs. Hearing Azur's surprised words, a wave of guilt washed over him. To think he'd been planning on simply leaving the household without so much as a word Azur's way.
"I had a nightmare. Woke up n'... I just couldn't sleep right after that." His mouth felt dry. He offered up a tired smile.
"What's up with you? Awake too?"
 
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"Yeah." Azur frowned, setting the crystal goblet back down on a table. "The city's so...noisy. Amd bright. I'm not used to it, so I couldn't sleep as well as I normally do."
 
It had been two months.

"Coke with your dinner, Chief?"
"Yeah, please." Jack sat on the chaise-lounge, legs spread lazily and chewing the end of a joint hanging out of his mouth. It had burnt out halfway, but he hadn't bothered to relight it yet. Beside him lounged a handsome young man with Chinese features, slick black hair in a man-bun and red scales surfacing across his nose and cheekbones like freckles. He sat watching Jack with heavy-lidded eyes and took a puff of his own joint. The whole room was thick and hazy with smoke; it had become difficult to discern even who was sat across from you.
"Diet or full-fat?" Dawn asked with a grin, appearing in front of the Chief with a dinner-tray.
"Are you gonna make that joke every time?" said Jack slowly. His mouth felt so dry he could barely move his tongue properly. Dawn laughed, placing the tray on the coffee-table in front of him. Next to a sizeable bag of blood, two lines of cocaine were neatly prepared. Without ceremony the Chief leaned forward and violently snorted. He slumped back against the chaise-lounge when finished, tearing open the corner of the blood bag with his teeth and beginning to drink. Dawn grinned, eyes manic from her own recent coke hit.

She went out shortly after to work her shift at the club. The man beside Jack pressed a scaled, elegant hand to the base of the Chief's belly. It was a gentle pressure, a request for permission - and Jack obliged. He let the Chinese dragon undo his belt, and relit his joint.
The Chief appeared emaciated. Beneath his dull, reddened eyes there were bruise-like bags so dark they appeared black. His face was gaunt, cheekbones angular, Adam's apple threatening to slice through his skin. His hands shook with each movement and his hair was a mass of dark red curls falling over his forehead and brows. When was the last time he'd been sober? He couldn't remember as he puffed on his joint and pressed the Chinese dragon's head down further. When this was all over, he would pay Dawn's brother for his services. Dusk was very good at his craft - besides, paying for it meant it felt more like a business deal than sex. Jack was careful to keep things that way between them.
Aside from the cocaine, weed, ecstasy and various other things Dawn brought him, Jack's diet was contributing to his emaciation; pretending to be a vampire meant he had to drink a whole lot of blood and eat nothing else. He stole from the pantry on rare occasions when Dawn and Dusk were both out, but Wendigos' stomachs were sensitive to anything other than human meat, so keeping down stale pizza and dry cereal was a real task. He smoked and snorted and let tabs of MD dissolve on his tongue in part to beat down the hunger. Mostly he didn't even notice the pangs in his belly.

The Red Chief's empire was crumbling around him. He'd been off the grid for two months now, barely leaving the flat; Dawn tended to his every whim and Dusk kept him entertained. He had left a handful of senior creatures to scramble for dominance and try to run his business with only the occasional text from their Chief. This, unsurprisingly, was leading to chaos. Tensions in the downtrodden districts were high between those who defended their absent leader and those who had been messed around by his men. There were those, too, who saw unguarded power and wanted to seize it - if only they knew where exactly the Chief was in order to dispense of him. Nobody knew, it seemed. Even more troubling was that it didn't seem that anyone knew why he had disappeared, either.

Jack crushed the finished joint against the wall behind him; his heart was thundering dangerously from the coke hit and the sensation Dusk was working hard to give him, but the weed kept his mind pleasantly foggy, unable to focus on any particular thought. This was the way he liked it. This way he could find temporary relief from the yellow eyes that haunted him.
 
Finally, there were curtains on those enormous bay windows. In fact, the whole room looked much better with its fresh lick of paint and renovated fireplace (now the smoke actually went up the chimney instead of billowing out into the room). Afi stood back and admired it; he went by his real name now, instead of his childhood nickname. 'Arrow' was a semblance of the times he bartered with criminals and brushed shoulders with those who might kill you for looking at them wrong. Now his clientele was more affluent - it wouldn't befit him to use a nickname with them.
He'd turned the bedroom into his office; there were boxes everywhere of old paintings, ancient artefacts, leather-bound spellbooks he'd half-translated from Runes or Ancient Greek, and the like. Gone were the four-poster bed and the enormous wardrobe - he'd donated most of the salvageable old furniture and replaced it. He slept on the sofa at the moment, beside the fire and with a hand dangling down to comfort his newest friend.
Blue had been the dog at the shelter that nobody wanted. She was a nervous, ageing blue greyhound with a front paw twisted from birth; it seemed only fitting Afi took her. He couldn't bring himself to have any of the others. She made the flat feel less empty, especially now Kastra had gone.

"Oh goodness, Arrow - I can't believe..."
"Happy birthday, Lady Cecilia!"
Cecilia dropped to her knees to cup the face of the Griffin Arrow (she refused to call him 'Afi', preferring his affectionate nickname) had brought with him. She was truly beautiful, feathers gold as autumn leaves and eyes of the mellowest brown. Cecilia, who was something of an expert, could tell the creature was bred by the elite.
"I bought her recently. As soon as I saw her I knew I had to get her for you," Arrow lied. "She wasn't in a good situation. I knew you could give her the best life she could hope for - and I knew your birthday was coming up."
"What happened to her wings?" Cecilia's hands pressed over the scars in dismay.
"The seller didn't know. They were most likely cut off, my lady; Griffin wing-feathers and bones are incredibly coveted. What the seller did know, though, was her name... she responds to Kastra."
Cecilia froze. Even her breathing ceased, and Kastra looked her in the eyes before pressing her head softly to Cecilia's. The Baroness' eyes filled with tears.
"Arrow, you -" she paused, her hands carding through Kastra's feathers desperately. "This is my brother's Griffin, from all those years ago. She survived."
Afi knew keeping Kastra was cruel. They'd agreed she'd be better off with Lady Cecilia and that was the end of it. He saw her sometimes when he visited the Manor; she looked positively regal. He knew he'd made the right choice, but that hadn't made it any easier.

He went to sit down by the fire, looking up at the new curtains, still in awe of them. His business was booming; he could easily afford to move out of the poor districts entirely and get himself a decent-sized house far closer to his wealthy clients. But he just couldn't give up the flat. He curled up on the sofa, squeezing his knees to his chest. Even Blue, with her doting grey eyes, couldn't fill the hollow in his chest. His eyes filled up as they did most days, and he allowed tears to roll silently down his cheeks, straining to hear the door open and the Chief to walk in. He'd give all the money he'd earned and go back to black market selling for that.
 
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Volkof heard Rook's shrill scream, and lifted her weary head. She looked briefly at the clock mounted on the wall and padded out of the room. Bare feet crossed the floor. She walked silently, the only thing signaling her approach the rustling of her floral gown. When she saw the pile of black leather and green scales, she bent down in front of Rook- who had taken up a variation of fetal position against the wall.

"Rook? Are you quite alright?" She said, loud enough for her voice to echo down the hallway. A smile found its way on her lips.

"H- he said, he said-" Rook began shakily, and Volkof pretended to frown, puzzling over Rook's words.

"Who said?"

"The Henge." Rook breathed. Her voice was a nice kind of hoarse, Volkof noted. All ruffled and croaky. It sounded good, sounded a decent level of disturbed.

"A wonderful breed of freaks, aren't they?" Rook gave up a pitiful look that made Volkof bite back laughter. "To you or I, we like consistency. Anything else jars us, frightens us. But to them, changing their skin is as instinctive as breathing." Volkof swirled a red fingernail in the general direction of Rook's head. "They like to root around in there. Find faces, memories. Dredge them back up again. That's how they acquaint themselves with you, you see. Almost like a greeting in their species, one might say."

Rook bared her teeth. "Wasn't a very nice how'd you do, to be honest."

"You're not alone, Rook. When I met them for the first time, one gaudy little bastard changed into the spitting image of my broodmother. Can you imagine? Why, I hadn't seen that old crone in a millennia!"
Volkof's cool eyes observed Rook for a moment. The lime scales by her face had reddened, blood rising to the skin. The Henge had obviously worked their charm on her.
"What did you see?" She prompted, cloying innocence in her words. Underneath, a cold curiosity stirred.

"I saw..." Rook swallowed. "You. And the Chief." The skin on her forehead knotted in confusion. "And my father."

Volkof grinned. So that was it.

"You know," She said after a moment, "You needn't spend too long with them tomorrow if the encounter bothered you so. I could get one of the girls to send the Henge up to Jack's door in your place...?"

Rook shook her head firmly. "Won't be necessary, boss."

"Marvelous. I can always count on you, Rook." With that, she ruffled the collar on Rook's jacket, and disappeared back into her room.
 
Dusk went out once he'd done Jack's belt up for him and rolled him a fresh joint; he'd had to stab a new hole into it recently to keep his jeans up as his waist grew thinner. He was alone in the flat for a little while now. He checked his phone - one of the girls watching his old place had texted.
The Phoenix boy left with a Griffin earlier in the direction of the upper district. Almost definitely visited the Aster-Pitch or Helarisi Manors; he always goes there when he is off-duty. Returned without the Griffin. Seems to be keeping his mouth shut so far. No interesting visitors or anything else suspicious as yet.
Jack considered the news; the drugs fogged up his brain so it took a while to process. Kastra had gone to live with Jet, then. Or perhaps Cecilia. Either way it didn't matter - did anything matter now? The coke was wearing off and he wanted another hit because pain was coiling in his belly at the thought of Kastra and that bloody Phoenix. Wendigos' systems could handle a lot of shit; perhaps that was why the upper echelons of society, full of Wendigos, so often found release in addiction. It meant he wanted to push and push and push, because he knew he could handle it. More coke, then. He puffed deeply on his joint and thought briefly of the horrendous sum of drug money he now owed. Once upon a time he could have afforded to pay it off - now he didn't know how much he had. He couldn't bring himself to care much.
 
Rook treat the herd of Henge with a newfound cruelty that morning. She staggered, whirling on her feet with a drunken glaze in her eyes. The idea was, the Henge couldn't root through old memories if she could hardly remember them herself. She knocked brazenly on the Henge quarters, shouting and making the maids nearby flinch. They whispered amongst themselves. The sun had only risen minutes ago, and if the Volkof girl was drunk already, it was bad news. They'd be issued harsher orders, perhaps even kept in Rook's leering attention for longer.
"Are you all decent?" The lizard steadied herself on the door frame, knuckles resting on the wooden door. The door opened slowly in response, and the Henge filed out of the room one by one, like they always did. They stared ahead, humble and plain and pale in their movements. There was something regal about them, but also repulsive to the eye, Rook noted. To see them was to see a wild cat in the streets, its fur matted and starved, but untouched by domesticating hands, and therefore undiluted in its form. Black eyes glistened above floral fans. A few Henge, Rook saw, had taken to wearing different robes for the new occasion. They were striking red now, symbols painted down the back.
"It's off to your new employer!" Rook hissed. She held a shotgun in two large claws, (a precaution) sometimes shoving lingering Henge ahead with the butt of it. She'd learnt her lesson alright. No more risks were to be taken, and she'd certainly ran out of lenience towards them after last night. These creatures were different and loathsome, and had to be treat accordingly. Volkof wasn't around, so she could be as mean as she wanted.
"I'll be glad to see you off this compound. Maybe the Chief will appreciate your presence better." Rook said. Like a parade of circus animals, they each marched ahead, stepping into the formidable truck parked outside without prompting. They couldn't understand her of course, (only the passing word) but it comforted the creature to hear her own commentary.
 
Aelia sighed, lying back in Krala's coils and resting her head on the topmost coil. The Naga sat with her on the floor of the break room, giving the worn-out dancer a much-needed massage. It was one of the many benefits when your housemate was a Naga willing to come all this way to help the various performers loosen up and relax after their shows. Her muscles were a blessing. All the lady had to do was flex various parts and it gave little Aelia a full-body massage, though she was aware it looked rather comical to outsiders, seeing her all wrapped up as she was.
She'd gone back to performing after sending the news to Jack regarding his target's development- had trailed him back to his flat, then gone to work. She could still see his house from the break room, and Krala kept an eye while she was up on stage. It was a symbiotic relationship, though she had yet to find out what the blue Naga lady wanted from her in return for all this. Likely gossip of some sort. She'd kept her ears out and picked up on some good tidbits.
For example; supposedly, there was another in the city now that matched the middle district ruler Jet's power. Looked to be the same species as her. Nobody could confirm, because he'd vanished as soon as he'd appeared, but there was talk about a possible battle for power between the two, unless they worked together. Jet still monopolised the market, and likely would for as long as she was alive. It wasn't questioned that most of the creatures didn't feel they could touch her. That being said...nobody actually knew what Jet was. It was why they hadn't been able to tell the newcomer's identity, either. Jet's identity was something she kept very close-guarded, and there weren't any documents existing on it in the city. Of course, them living on the outskirts as they were, the rest of the world didn't think too fondly of them. So there wasn't any wandering elsewhere to find clues. Not that most people minded; it helped retain the aura of mystery she seemed to shroud herself in. People were curious, but the answer wasn't going to come along anytime soon, and they weren't exactly about to wander up and ask.
On another note, the Red Chief's empire was crumbling. He'd vanished. She continued to work for him, and didn't doubt that'd change until someone came for her. The spying job was fun, all things considered, and tied smoothly into her normal work schedule; she'd shuffled a couple of shifts around to leave her free for the hours their target usually left the house. But the Red Chief himself had gone off the radar, and people were starting to squabble for dregs of his power. Claiming he'd died, or been killed, or just abandoned his throne.
She'd told him as much, of course, along with names of people who looked like the biggest threat, but she hadn't received a reply on that note.
Krala whispered things sometimes; about a neighbouring city, growing restless and wanting the spot on the border. She opened her mouth to ask, but Krala simply put Aelia's favourite pipe in her mouth and held her lighter up to it, and Aelia instead settled for taking huffs of the fragrant smoke and letting Krala work. The lady was already doing enough for her as it was; no need to ask any more of her.
 
Emeryx glared at Galzra. The dragon was supervising him ever since he'd arrived, keeping tabs on his interaction with everybody in the household.
Currently, he was supervising him and Jet. After breaking her wing, it happened he was the only one who knew how to use shadows to fix it, and so was teaching Jet through demonstration. Alexis had mysteriously vanished. It'd be easy enough to find her, but with Galzra breathing down his neck fear kept him on the straight and narrow.
"Here. Let the shadows form a cast, and-" he ignored Jet's hiss as the shadows wrapped around the bones, sealing them again, "-they'll realign the bones. Your shadows need to fill in the broken bits unless you want me tied to you." The fiery glare he got in return answered his question well enough, so he stepped back and let Jet fill in the pieces.
To her credit, Jet worked remarkably fast. She had healing talents already, and applying it to her shadows was relatively straightforward after the intense work they'd done over the past few days teaching her to control them properly. She felt more balanced when she walked, more at tune with herself and the world around her.
And the more she learned, the more she wanted to do something with her newfound abilities. Alexis was coming along in leaps and bounds too; already formidable as she was, the girl had gotten a firm grasp on shadow control. Jet, meanwhile, was mastering the art of subtle manipulation, making her victims see things in the shadows that played on their fears every time they tried to tell her "no". She liked this art.
She decided, as the bones set and inky shadows poured into the gaps and solidified, forming new bone, that Emeryx's arrival had been a very good thing. The two of them looked at each other and grinned.
Galzra suppressed a shudder. At this rate he'd have to find a new victim. Though Emeryx had had his uses with him, too, assisting with finances and teaching him how to be a more efficient and ruthless leader and charmer. Galzra now had his claws in the upper district, with a few of the smaller houses swooning under his control due to effortless charm of the new, gentlemanly noble. Emeryx was still terrified of him, and he doubted that would change, but it was a shame to see him be slightly less scared than when they'd first met.
Still. He was instilling that fear into Jet and Alexis, emphasising at every point how Vesrux were inferior to dragons and phoenixes, and other fire races such as that. And while Galzra would always know Jet ruled the roost, and would always bow to her when she pulled his leash, he figured with the way things were shaping up, it'd be lovely to have three fully-trained Vesrux helping his rule along.
What things would they be capable of?
 
Alexis peered in through the window to Arrow's house. She hadn't seen Jack at all since Emeryx attacked them, and they'd been so caught up in everything after that that they hadn't been able to talk.
Still, she knew about him and Arrow. News spread, even among those who only knew them. Arrow now occupied Jack's old house; for now. The phoenix would be in danger soon. A couple of Jack's rivals were looking like they might want a piece of the old throne. But Jack was gone, and she wanted to warn Arrow so he'd be prepared to leave if things went wrong. She wondered if he would mind her visit; seeing how things had changed, perhaps he didn't want any connections to his past. Perhaps that included her.
She knocked on the window anyway.
 
Arrow flinched at the sound of a knock; he bookmarked his spot in the spellbook he was translating and went out into the living room. Blue followed a foot behind. Squinting, he looked out into the semi-darkness.
"Alexis?"
Upon recognising her he immediately went to the window and let her in, unable to hold back a grin. Visitors to his flat were few and far between - his truest friend right now was the Baroness, and he'd never want her to see the squalor of the district he lived in, even if it was true he could afford to leave. He'd started to think about that in recent days. Perhaps it would do him good to get out of here; he was only clinging on for Jack.
 
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