SCION

Childish Grumpino

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The Banks of the Mississippi River
Three Days Ago...

Linus Love is, to put it mildly, extremely hungover.

This is no small feat for Linus to have achieved. He likes a drink, after all. When it comes to the noble act of excessive alcohol consumption and reckless abandon, very few have him outmatched. This is partly to do with his experience. Like any skill, the ability to consume unhealthy quantities of booze grows more potent with time.

But it's mostly to do with the horns on his head and the hooves on his feet.

He keeps them hidden, of course. He's not a moron. The mortals are an unobservant bunch at the best of times, but even he wouldn't be so foolhardy as to risk that level of exposure. But the horns and hooves are there to see, for those who know how. There are precious few who do in this city, however.

And as of this morning, there's one less.

Linus watches the officers of New Orleans Police Department haul the body of Gabriel Mackie from the shallow banks of the Mississippi River, as he tucks a cigarette into the corner of his mouth.
"Fucks sake..." he mutters under his breath, shaking hands fumbling with the lighter as the forensics team below are busy bagging up the corpse that was until recently a man. They don't know who he is yet, of course, and even when they figure that out the significance will be lost on them. Another dead visitor to NOLA. Maybe he drank too much. Maybe he imbibed something that disagreed with him, or wandered into the wrong district. It happens all too often, after all. But Linus knows better. He knows that it would take far more than that to kill a Scion, the offspring of Ogoun himself. The Loa build them tough and crafty. But not tough enough. Not possessed of the necessary cunning. Gabriel Mackie is dead, and Linus knows all too well that he could only be the first.

"Needing a light, mon ami?" The voice is accented, and carries with it a sting that would send shivers up the spine of any mortal that heard it. It's intonations convey the feeling of funerary processions and charnel houses, existential dread compressed into the utterance of a word. Linus, fortunately, is not phased by such sounds. He's heard it before. Nor is he overly concerned by the dark-skinned finger that extends out to touch the tip of his cigarette before igniting in a blue flash of heat. Instead he just takes a long, grateful drag of the Newport before turning to blow smoke towards the new arrival.
"Much obliged," he says with a grin, taking in the sight of the gaunt, emaciated figure in a white suit before him. The suit stands in stark contrast to his skin, and hangs off him like a child borrowing his father's suit. "You're looking especially healthy today, Bacalou," Linus remarks. At this, the Loa spirit flashes a grin and gestures at the police below.
"Still healthier than him, satyr. By your presence I presume you know who it is that they're dredging from the banks, non?" Linus nods, taking another hit of his cigarette.
"One of your boys, isn't he? New arrival? I saw him at Belle Epoque just the other night. Fuckin big lad, he was. Knew how to handle himself." Bacalou shrugs, his grin taking on a rictus quality.
"Not well enough, it seems. And you know what this means as well as I."

Down on the banks, the forensics team have finished loading the body into the back of a coroner's van. Most of their number are combing the sodden banks of the river, portioning off sections to be combed over for evidence. Linus knows they will find very little. Whoever, or whatever, managed to finish off the Scion will have had the sense not to leave a trail. He sighs, smoke trickling out of his nostrils like fumes from a crematorium.
"Yup. Means they finally decided to make a play. Shame, I was enjoying this Mexican standoff we had going on. A lot better for business than open fuckin warfare."
"This is our city," the spirit riding in the emaciated corpse intones, "and he was one of ours. Ville au Camp is not going to take this well. Open warfare is coming, mon ami, one way or another. Ogoun is not exactly known for backing down from a challenge." The embers of the cigarettes remains spark and bubble as Linus takes his last drag before tossing it down towards the river.
"There's some local assets we can bring into the fold. No doubt the Powers That Be can bring in some outside talent, too." He clicks his tongue distastefully.
"So it begins again," Bacalou remarks, and there's a sombre quality to his rattling voice all of a sudden.
"More meat for the grinder," Linus spits, "more children off to die for a cause they don't understand."

At this, Bacalou's rictus grin returns.
"This is what I love about you Greeks. So world-weary, so cynical." He turns on his heels, the body he's riding wobbling precariously all the while. "I'll send for my people. Have yours do the same, and put the word out to the others as well. If there's a war to be fought, we shall need foot soldiers." Linus watches the spirit depart without a word, glowering all the while. Once Bacalou is out of sight, he reaches into his jacket for another cigarette only to pull out an empty packet. With an irritated grunt, he hurls it onto the ground.
"Dulce et decorum est," the satyr mutters, glancing back at the spot where they found the body of Gabriel Mackie, "pro patria mori."



New Orleans Historical Museum of Voodoo
Dumaine Street
Today...

The early evening rain descends in uniform, almost solid in its force, a thick blanket of moisture that coats everything it can reach. The balconies that line the narrow street are the only shelter out in the open for those willing to risk stepping out into the height of a Louisiana rain storm. Few are so bold. But anyone perhaps peering out from the balconies of one of the French quarter's many hotels might perhaps be able to spot a few of the city's more eclectic characters doing so.

Linus Love is many things, but unassuming is not one of them. The white suit does not exactly help matters, nor does the bright pink umbrella coated in unicorn illustrations. He's not alone, either: keeping itself under the shelter of his umbrella is a white cat that is alternating between keeping away from the rain and trying to trip Linus up by weaving between his legs. A more keen-eyed observer might be able to note something even more unusual about this already strange sight. Namely, that the cat in question appears to have two tails. They might dismiss this as their eyes playing tricks on them, or else the haze of the rain obscuring what they're really seeing. But they would be wrong in thinking so.

Together, the unusual duo step out of the rain and under the protection of one of the balconies, Linus shaking his umbrella out and seemingly directing the water towards the cat. His two-tailed companion retaliates by slashing at his legs, but the satyr dodges the attack with a chuckle as he comes to a stop next to a heavy-set wooden door. Though a hand-painted sign that's visible through the glass reads 'CLOSED', the door is nonetheless quickly opened for them. The cat skips through and into the building first, managing to land one claw on Linus's leg as it passes. Cursing, the satyr steps inside after it.


Shadows creep and waver their way up the walls of the room inside, mingling and twisting across the cacophony of shapes that can almost be seen there. Charms and amulets, mounted alligator heads, a flurry of symbols and relics that seems to be stuck to every available surface. All of it is barely lit, flickering candles offering the only source of illumination in this place. A woman, eyes obscured by sunglasses even in the gloom, stands by the door she's just opened for them holding a candle. She gestures towards the door on the other side of the room, past the myriad displays of voodoo paraphernalia.
"They're waiting for you," she informs them, very clearly speaking to both satyr and cat. Linus nods, tucking his umbrella under one arm as he follows the cat towards the door. The cat has stopped in front of it and reaches up to paw at it before turning to gaze at her companion. Linus snorts.
"Open it yourself, you lazy shit." The cat hisses at him, then the shadows seem to deepen around it. Obscuring it, expanding it, stretching it from the frame of a two-tailed cat into that of a young woman with pale blonde hair pulled into twin tails.
"Chivalry's fucking dead with you, honestly," the woman who was just moments ago a cat mutters, before reaching for the door handle herself. Linus rolls his eyes.
"You're hardly a lady are you, Yone. It doesn't count."
"Cloven-footed bastard," the woman snaps back, but she's grinning now. Together they step through the door and descend down into the depths of the museum.

Redbrick walls are illuminated by blazing torches and little else, the naked flames sending patterns dancing across the brickwork. Their steps echo, announcing their presence to whoever waits below. Linus and Yone finally reach the bottom and step out into a cavernous redbrick basement room, supported in its four corners by twisting pillars. The Loa like their places of power to be in inconspicuous locations, but that doesn't mean they skip out on the grandiosity entirely. At the centre of the room is a podium clad in effigy to the Gods of Ville au Camp, burning candles and acrid smoke clustered in and around iron-wrought skulls that seem to float of their own accord. One of the symbols of the Loa's dominion over New Orleans, the beating heart beneath the city. Around this effigy stand three figures, each of them looking towards the new arrivals.


Bacalou is there, of course, the body he rides looking even more distended and rotten with each passing day. Beside him is a man with features so angular they might almost be called jagged, and none of them more so than his pointed ears. To his left is a young woman with pale skin and blazing red hair, clad in a summer dress that has clearly suffered the wrath of the summer downpour just recently.
"Welcome, compagnons," the Loa spirit calls through the mouldering throat of his current ride, "you're just in time. Our guests shall be arriving shortly." Linus is staring around the walls with a frown etched on his face. He's never liked these spaces. There's something more than a little unnerving about the way the Loa do business.
"Couldn't we have done this someplace easier to get to? A bar, maybe?" The red-haired girl giggles and the elf rolls his eyes, but Bacalou just keeps grinning.
"Come now, there is a way of doing these things. Protocols to be followed. And besides, what we have to discuss is best kept from prying ears."

Yune drifts over to the others, gazing into the effigy with a tilt of her head.
"I swear, you just bring them down here to try and send a message," she remarks absently.
"And what message would that be?" Bacalou asks.
"Oh, you know." The woman who was until recently a cat matches Bacalou's smile. "'This is our city, new blood, don't fuck with us'. That sort of thing."
 

Kitti

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The same dream again, it feels nostalgic somehow. She's had this dream once before, she's conscious enough to recognise this much. A world and an ocean from this place, she knew this place before her toes had curled into the rough white sands of its beaches. Before she could turn around to face the city that she could feel rather than see at her back, something began to pull her in towards it. The sweet scents of tobacco mingled with a rotting odor filled her nostrils. Instinctively, she lashed out -- was this how it happened last time? She couldn't remember now. It was as though she were reliving a memory but not everything was the same anymore. Bony hands broke the surface of the sand, limbs emerging from shallow graves along the waterline. She felt them filled with her own desperation, sensed somehow that they were also her.

A hum of approval emanated from the city itself. Bones, yes. The pull eased and Tsurue was finally able to turn around on her own to behold the uneven gaping grin of buildings alight with candles. Had there always been a crane here, just outside of reach, preening its feathers? "Not so rough," it spoke without moving its beak and Tsurue couldn't tell if it was speaking to her or to the city. Now, though, it fixed her with an unblinking stare, bowing its neck. "Don't be afraid." It spread its wings and disappeared into the surf.

She was walking, now, through empty streets. The smell of alcohol grew as she made her way further in, past Bourbon Street, and almost managed to conceal the dark undertones but she could still smell death clinging to the cobblestone. Her feet were leading the way of their own accord, the smells giving way to clean petrichor until she was close enough to see the grain of a wooden shop door.


Thunder rumbled as abruptly as Tsurue woke, eyes blinking into the half-light. The sun hadn't quite taken the sky yet and the city below was splitting apart as half fell into a languid drunken slumber and the rest began to stir itself awake. Sitting on the bedside table and not at all where she remembered leaving him was The Majestic Mister Crane. Unsure if she was actually awake or still lost in dreams, Tsurue unfolded him to find an address written in neat script, headed with the name: New Orleans Historical Museum of Voodoo. Outside, rain began its steady harangue against the windows, urging her up.

She swung her legs out of bed and gingerly pressed one foot to the wooden floor and recoiled from the chill. Why were the floors here always so cold? From the folds of her blankets, she managed to extract a thin pair of socks that she'd worn to bed and tugged them on before making another attempt at the floor. This time she succeeded, padding into the cramped kitchen to heat her new stovetop kettle. The grey morning became almost bearable when she had a steaming mug of coffee in hand and dressed to ward off the cool breeze that found its way in through the drafty window frames.

Now able to focus, her thoughts wandered back to the dream and the address. While she had misgivings about the whole affair, it seemed to be endorsed by Mister Crane and therefore merited at least an attempt at investigation. Not before she'd gotten something to eat, though, and her apartment had little to offer; even the coffee had been from a bag she'd brought with her from home. Or was this home? Japanese coffee, she decided, waving away the conundrum. One dilemma a day and today it would have to be foreboding dreams.

Down in the streets with her trusty umbrella (also Japanese, a caramel color with sakura print), she realised that she hadn't the faintest idea
where one could go to get something to eat at such an early hour. New Orleans, she was beginning to realise, liked to sleep in a little later than she was used to. She drifted, letting her feet guide the way, first managing to first herself in front of a flower shop on a sleepy street. Nothing to eat here. She continued onward, finally managing to find a café tucked not long away that claimed to have the best beignets in New Orleans. Having no point of reference, she deemed them passable, though perhaps a bit enthusiastic with the sugar.

A nagging feeling at the back of her mind told her that she ought to get to looking up that address but she silenced it temporarily with another cup of coffee, this time rich with cream. A few more errands, she decides, telling herself that it would be better to try to wait out the rain before she goes poking around streets she saw in dreams. After finding a grocer to stock her fridge, investigating her new place of employment, and tracking down a thick rug featuring a bizarre print of dancing crawfish carrying various instruments she realised that it was late afternoon. The pattering of rainfall mocked her dashed hopes of waiting it out as she stepped once more outside.

Finding her way to the store was strangely easy, as long as she didn't think too hard about it. When she paused, trying to decide if there was something familiar about any one building along the way, she found that she wasn't even quite sure where she was in the city anymore. Still, she managed to wind through the bustling crowd that swallowed her up as it ignored her until at last it thinned and she was alone again. A weathered sign creaked and slammed against the building as though it were knocking to be let in and out from the downpour as well. Just as Mister Crane had said, New Orleans Historical Museum of Voodoo. She hesitated at the door, tempted to turn tail and return to the warmth of her kitchen, put on a kettle for tea...
 
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Gands

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She sat in her studio, sitting in a rocking chair looking out at the heavy summer storm. Storms and rain usually made her feel comfortable and at home. She lived in one of the wettest cities in the country. This storm felt different. Most had a feel of refreshing and renew, this one more like an angry beginning.



From the very beginning, Branna had connections with things that really only made sense now. Crows and Ravens, fighting and a stubborn streak a mile wide. She had always worn darker colored clothing, a slight gothic sense of style. A stint in the Marine Corps had done a lot to settle her down. Teaching her patience, without dousing her inner fire. She had gone into the military to prove something to herself and to doubters. Within the service, she excelled at martial arts, making progress faster that even she herself could have imagined.



She had received a visitation during an attack on her base, after she herself had been shot twice and was close to death. A being… a beautiful nude black-haired woman wielding a silver headed spear, attacked and finished off a handful of terrorists who were poised to overrun Branna’s position. Branna remembered waking up in the hospital. The doctors quite pleased with themselves at her amazing recovery from near death. There with bouquet of dark blue roses was a beautiful silver pen, engraved with Ravens.

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She shook her head, rarely so deep in reminiscence. Getting up from the chair, she spent the next hour within herself, doing martial arts. The physical maneuvers always centered herself, balanced her mind and body. She had cancelled classes today due to the heavy storm. After vigorous exercise, she felt the need to go up to the roof and soak in the hot tub. She had, when she bought the building, remodeled the roof for purpose of comfort and relaxation. Off to one side, a little hut, to shelter a flock of crows who had taken up residence on her roof.

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She didn’t quite doze off, oddly comfy in a hot tub during a rainstorm. She daydreamed; a dead man being fished out of a river. A museum here in town (complete with address), a group of people meeting there. She and her friend Melody going to the museum. Finally, the voice of her mother…



“Time tah join tha dance Branna, go to tha meetin. War is commin… “
 

Yonni

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The world bloomed.

Exploded into pastel colors, hues unimaginable.

This world was familiar. Felt like an embrace; soft and sweet. A warmth that only came from arms wound tight. He’d been here before, even since he’d met her. A garden that could only exist by having been tended over eons by loving hands. A mother who wanted nothing more than to share something so beautiful, that it’d only bare itself in a dream. Built by hands that were ever-stained with soil-stuff. He liked it here. It was almost as if he were surrounded by his favorite things; his shop, his flowers, his safety; comforts he could only cling to momentarily, before they shimmered, shook, and sifted away.

A wayward dream, and nothing more.


He slumped onto his back, into the bed of flowers and moss. They enveloped him, drew him in as if he were lying back into the ocean. Floating in a sea of colors; a technicolor beat. Violets, lilies, orchids. Roses, verbena, lilacs. Vibrant, blindingly so. They drew his worries away, whispered sweet-nothings into his ears. Things he’d like to hear, and seldom did. His fingers dug through the moss and into the soil, eyes firmly shut against the ethereal sun poking through the overhead canopy. Tiny, pinpricks of light speckling the landscape.

He inhaled deeply, and wrinkled his nose against a familiar smell. A scent so fragile, it might’ve not existed in the first place. Clean, and crisp, like scrambling up the mountains; like childhood days spent huffing through the glades back home, searching for four-leaf clovers, wet from ushering through tall shoots of grass. The tang of rain, before it dropped. A drop pattered off his nose, and his eyes snapped open. He drew himself up on his elbows, and the flowers at his sides whispered louder this time. Impatient, all at once, a billow of insistence. He strained his ears to better understand. The Linden trees violently shook, branches and leaves rustling overhead.

Something. Anything.

He felt a stirring at his side, beside his hand. A pale, moon-colored flower. The night blooming cereus—one that only bloomed once a year, in the most specific of climates, and only once, before closing forevermore. Queen of the Night. It trembled, stretching its petals wider, and wider, until a slip of a letter, cream-colored and only as wide as his palm, fell to the ground. All at once, the sky was tar-black and the soft patter of rain drowned out the crooning of vegetation. It sounded like the buzzing of bees, assailing all else. One long, whirring noise.

A streak of hot silver split his vision, made the beautiful flowers cower, wilt against it. The following crack of thunder had him toppling head over heels. Falling. Falling.

Bose’s wooden stool toppled over and spilled him onto the floor. Like a flopping fish on dry land, he’d been so surprised, he hadn’t been able to shoot out his arms to halt his fall. The ceiling greeted him as he lay splayed on his back, a quiet groan hissing out from between his grit teeth. Once he’d sucked in enough air to prop himself up on his elbows, he realized where he was. In his shop. Guess he’d fallen asleep at the cash. He doubted it was accidental, because he couldn’t remember this ever happening before. Thankfully, he didn’t hear anyone worrying above him. So, he was alone.

Thank fuck.

Wouldn’t have looked good if he was caught dozing off, drool snailing from his mouth. He rubbed the remnants of sleep from his eyes and caught hold of the counter’s edge, dragging himself back to his feet. The fall itself had been non-destructive, fortunately. No damage, nothin’ to worry about. He leaned over to drag the stool back in place, when a small piece of paper he hadn’t realized he’d been holding dropped from his hand. Cream-colored. A fragrant smell of lilacs filled his senses. Invaded, more like. He snatched it from the ground and peeled the corner, opening it up. There was a simple address there, alongside Freya’s telltale symbol. A small, nondescript flower. Her favorite: a daisy.

He made another sound. Something halfway between a sigh and a groan. If she were trying to lead him somewhere, then he had to go. It was important, or else, she wouldn’t have bothered to send him such an obvious sign. No riddles, no tease of a clue, this time. He pressed the letter to his nose, momentarily. Shuttered his eyes, as if he were trying to will himself back to his dreamscape. She wasn’t the sort to answer his questions to casually. Best to learn yourself, sapling. It was a fond sentiment of hers, trying to sort things out yourself. Be an adult. A man. Better. He shoved it into his back pocket and rounded the counter, stopping short of the door to pull his leather jacket off the coat-rack.

Shite,” he whispered softly, shrugging it on. The lack of context made his insides twist and his legs feel like jello. Discomfort was his default. But, this didn’t really help any. He twisted the OPEN sign over, displaying CLOSED instead, and paused for a moment, as if in thought. He hummed softly and leaned around the door, scooping up the flower-shaped umbrella leaning in its nook. Best not to chance showing up like a sopping wet hound. Impressions were important, after all. He stepped out into the streets, locking the door behind him.

Didn’t really take him long to find the place, and just when he got there, he swore he saw someone disappear into the doorway. A pretty, pink umbrella; and then, nothing. There were less people here, as if he’d walked into an abandoned alleyway. The slap of an old sign shook him free of his trembling thoughts, and despite his inner voice hissing things like danger, danger, danger, Bose willed his legs to carry him towards the building. New Orleans Historical Museum of Voodoo. The name was foreboding enough. His lanky legs carried him straight to the stairs, and if he hadn’t looked up in time, he would’ve slammed into the girl standing at the door, holding the umbrella he thought he’d imagined moments before.

Woah—” a startled response, as he stumbled backwards, flower-umbrella craning up. He blinked at her, and smiled sheepishly, ducking his head. “Sorry ‘bout that, wasn’t really expecting...” he was rambling. He did that a lot when he got nervous. Clearing his throat, he flagged an eyebrow at her, and tightened his grip on his umbrella, “that door locked?

Here he was. Some strange dude, alone, carrying a flower umbrella. Asking a girl if the door was locked.

Idiot.
 

Michale CS

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Melody Singer-larastjohn.jpg


I have this music in my mind

( That says everything will be all right )










Melody had a fitful night. A few half-remembered dreams followed by one that was unforgettable. She was on a rocky hillside of some type, with sparse greenery and a worn path heading up the hill. She followed the path and saw what looked like what she imagined an old Greek temple would look like. Once reaching the temple, she saw a man sitting there, looking a bit incredulous...

apollo.jpg
"Really? This is what you thought I'd look like? This is horrendous."


Melody couldn't help but giggle at it. "Hey, I'm an old Star Trek fan. When my mind says Apollo, this is what you get."
He looked back at her and sighed. "Fine. Next time, I'm coming in person. This is positively embarrassing. You got the Violin?"
"Of course. It's amazing."
"And magical. An artifact of the highest quality."
"...all right. Just another thing to get used to."
"I'm glad you approve." Apollo replied, shaking his head.
"So... was there any sort of pep talk or orientation or...?" Melody trailed off.


"I'm trying to build a nice vision here, and here you go right to business." The god of Music (among other things) replied.
"Sorry. Do... do you want to start over?"
"No, I don't want to start over. Listen, I know that the Morrigan is giving a vision to Brana right now, and I bet she's not having such a hard time of it. When you wake up you'll find an invitation with an address on it. You and Brana are going to go there, so are other Scions."
"Scones?" She smirked.
"No- You're making fun of me now."
"A little bit. Is that all right?"
"Actually... yes." He chuckled. "It shows you don't have fear of me. Not in the non-useful way anyway."
"Good. Also, you're speaking pretty modern, is that because it's my mind interpreting it?"
"No. Listen, music is coming in so many ways now, digital, streaming in everyone's pockets. I have to keep up with the times."
"Fair enough. So... we Scions are going to meet somewhere. Is this like... an Oceans Eleven sort of thing?" The Muse asked.
He thought for a moment. "...that's not far off. Go with that. An elaborate scheme by people with various skills with a less than guaranteed chance for it to work. Yes, that's about right."
"Right, then. Can I get back to my food dream? I was halfway through a strawberry tart when you buzzed in."
"...you were not." He crossed his arms.
"Well then, can I at least have the tart?"
"...yes. I have a feeling I am going to spoil you."


The dream faded and she sat up. On the nightstand by her bed was a literal engraved, and apparently laminated, invitation to the museum.
And a strawberry tart. It was a very good strawberry tart. After finishing it, she went to go find Brana who was in the hot tub. In the rain. "Ah. that's why he laminated it. Hey, Brana... are you awake yet?"
Gands Gands




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Gands

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“Time tah join tha dance Branna, go to tha meetin. War is commin… “

Melody went to go find Brana who was in the hot tub. In the rain. "Ah. that's why he laminated it. Hey, Brana... are you awake yet?"


In an odd turn of events, Melody could just hear the tail end of the Morrigan's eerie yet beautiful voice.... {war is commin}. Branna took a deep breath and looked up at her friend and neighbor Melody.

" Mostly Mel, mostly.”


Well, look here..." Mel showed the invitation to Brana. "We have a literal engraved invitation. Did your mom give you the directions?


" Yeah Mel, I know where the place is, it's probably on Waze anyhow" She chuckles at the absurdity of the thought. She then gets up slowly out of the hot tub, stark naked, moving over to a cabinet for a towel. Present on her back was a breathtaking tattoo of a Raven taking flight.


"Well, mine left me a strawberry tart. In retrospect I should have asked for two." She shrugged.
"It rains here as much as London, except it's usually warm."


"This is maybe the third time I've had any communication with herself at all. "
She gets wrapped in the towel quickly enough, turning to face Melody again.

" I've not met anyone from town, of that nature, since I moved back here a couple of years back. I suspect Flower Boy a
and yourself of course. I did see an image of them though and a back of my mind thought to bring some good whiskey."



"Same here. First was when he left the violin. I guess the flower guy is special... In more ways than one."



"Be careful, might not be especially friendly, Voodoo types aren't especially known for kindness and a welcoming attitude. I am going to go armed. Shall I meet you down at the back door in about twenty minutes ? "



"Sure, seems reasonable to me. I'll bring my violin; it can actually be a weapon." She nodded.

"I really like that tattoo" she said in passing.



Now, the idea of Branna blushing might seem unlikely to say the least. Facing away from her friend, she was indeed blushing. " Thanks Mel" she replied softly. I'll see you downstairs in a bit"



By the time Brana was downstairs, Melody would be playing The Book of Days by Enya on her violin.



Branna stands silently to one side listening, appreciating. Mel really was a prodigy.

When she stopped... " That was really nice, reminds me of the story of Orpheus.. You ready to go ? and it's a long walk, but doable.. or you could drive ? "



"I can drive. The Miata is a little squeeze in the front seat, you don't mind?" She asked.



Might be more trouble than it's worth to find parking, but I don't mind "

{ It should be noted, that Branna is wearing a wide brimmed dark hat, a black denim Kilt style skirt with a splash of blue...
fancy combat boots... a gothic looking trench coat of her own.}
Tucked in the back of her skirt is her Smith and Wesson model 500 revolver.

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1576646327264.png

"It's worth it not to be soaked between the tram and the entrance" Melody is in a sundress, under a London Fog trench coat with a hood."

They managed to park the car in the back, there was a small lot for tourists.

Not long after the other two people, Mel and Branna came to the door.
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Mel at 5'8" with brown hair, Branna a stocky 5'3" both stand near the door observing the other two people.

" Lo Bosse" Branna smiled at her neighbor, you remember Melody ? Hi! (to the other girl ).
 

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Phi Chisym

Contagious Phi-pidemic!
Roleplay Invitations
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Several Posts a Day, One Post a Day, A Few Posts a Week, Slow As Molasses
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3-8 PM Central, but tends to be on during day @ work from time to time.
Writing Levels
Intermediate, Adept, Advanced
Genders You Prefer Playing
Male, Female
Playing Style- Passive or Aggressive
Balanced Playing Style - Honestly, if I feel the story dropping, I'll come up with a reasonable situation (major or minor), or a new charrie for the moment, or a conflict, or new setting to return life back into the story.
Favorite Genres
Fantasy, Modern, Magical, Romantic Fanatic, some Steampunk, a bit of Viral, Anthro.

I'm new to SciFi and Horror and not afraid to play. (I need the practice in those genres anyway).

I have played a few Yaoi charries for MXM

Not too big on History, but will play a History based RP if I have the time to do the research. At this point, I'm deeply into Japanese History based stories.

Not very good at Military genres and not a strong in writing out fight scenes, but will put myself in the center of the storm to better myself.
Genre You DON'T Like
I have my limits of a few hated genres, but will run charries within them mainly to build myself as a better writer.

So, come what may!
1576745956305.png
Attire of the Day:
[
Trumpets

A fire in the distance wreaking havoc across a once-grand city, a small boy standing next to a freshly dug grave, a mutilated corpse chasing a sobbing girl, bodies piled on a stinky, plagued street; a ship sinking with no escape for anyone aboard – her clutching a man’s drowned body –

Wake up, ma chère petite Una. It’s your time.


The voice and images from nights ago jerked Lithiuna back to her bearings as the somber hum of the taxi rocked her in the back seat. The visions were becoming worse. Normally, she would collect snitches of visions from complete strangers or strange spirits, all unrelated but deeply laced in their collective personal fears about what was to come. Now, ever since her Awakening, they’ve started to strategically connect to each other and ravage her rest at nights, and even her meditation during the day.

Sitting up taller, she stretched her legs out as well as she could. The hour and a half flight from Austin, and then the long drive from the airport to Dumaine Street did nothing for her tense muscles or her focus. Modi sa, sa fè tout sa vle di? she scoffed softly under her scarf veil as the car continued through the awkwardly calm morning on Canal Street – the famous corner to Bourbon held minor action; people slinking out into the dampness to catch the trolley or the bus to work. Regardless, activity was far too fair for an always vibrating city full of all souls.

Think! Think! Lithy racked her mind for a translation of her dreams, again searching for clues to decipher its meaning, but she still couldn’t come up with anything understandable. There was no explanation for her to grasp at the moment, even with the little clues she’s obtained through research and keeping an ear to the movements of the Iwas that have seemed to have populated themselves around her wherever she goes. Whatever was happening in the world, in NOLA, has placed the fear of hell in the Iwas limboing within this realm.

The young Mambo felt no fear of these visions, only irritation for her lack of comprehension and the sickly, overwhelming sensation of her limitations. It’s a gut-wrenching feeling of having no control over anything that happens within your life - even when you are running as fast as you can, you’re only inching along, never to reach the mark. It was a weakness that Lithiuna felt she would never conquer.

“Here we, Miss; Istorik Vodou Mize,” the taxi driver parked before the closed black French doors – closed off from all visitors, including the ones standing before it...

Four, plus one... and one more to come...

Standing beneath the dried croc head above the entrance were four people with aura's that vibrated around them in various positive colors - but there was something else. Inching her shades from her sight, she also noted a golden glow she's oftentimes seen within her own candle's aura. Keeping her eyes steady upon the group, Lithy handed the fee towards the driver, “Mèsi ou.” She replaced her shades and begins to collect her items, tucking her red beret tighter over her strawberry dreads and wrapping the black scarf tighter around her neck as the taxi driver stepped out into the drizzle to open the passenger door for her. She nodded in gratitude and found her footing upon the pavement. Shouldering her purse and rolling bag, she took a breath and headed towards the door.

“Papa Legba, louvre pòt la…” Stopping, Lithy gazed over her shoulder. The driver stood before his car, nodding his head slightly, respectfully, towards her. “…pitit ou ap tann.”

Even with her shrouded form, somehow the driver knew… She noticed his positive aura and concluded that he was either one of the Faithful, or part of this new, large powerful family she’s learning more and more about every day she breathes. The taxi went on its way.

Before she could take another step, she was instantly hit with a wave of energy, Iwas bombarding her as if she was open for business and taking orders right then and there. As if a strong gust of wind targeted her footing alone, the spirits that connect themselves with the Vodou museum wanted her ear, her heart, her blessing, or anything else she could utter by her words to aid their travels. She easily stood her grown, showing no strain from the attack, but if anyone could see her eyes at that moment - they would see fire.


This is getting out of hand.

Before she is able to throw a ward of protection over her, a large black cat steps from behind her to stand right upon her boots. She's here on business, and none your own. Pote sou ou! The instant the cat's mental touch reached the atmosphere, Lithy was clear of the paparazzi of the dead.

"Took you long enough," she teased. Her familiar shook the droplets of rain off his fur but didn't remove himself from the top of her boots until she shook them. I'm okay, Amos. No worry, please. Just... keep them away from me, so I can think clearly today. Removing her shades, she moved towards the group at the door, hearing one of them greeting another as they stood.


"Looks like I didn't miss the party after all," her bright red lips grinned lightly, holding uncharacteristic attention to the strangers when normally she would be hiding around the corner until they had vacated the front before attempting to enter herself. "I believe we're all here...for the same reason."
 
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Kyatto

Stop trying to pronounce my username, just say Kat
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Karim Mido - The Detective
Interaction: No one as of yet, but soon...
It was a river, a river one both the top and the bottom. The boat gliding along the murky water of the bottom one but above them was crystal clear water. It seemed to be at peace, where to worthy souls slept and dreamed of their previous life.

“You can’t keep kidnapping me, father.” Karim’s bouncy brown hair fell back as he looked up toward the jackal headed god he had come to know as his father. Anubis was much taller with gold bands and skirt that matched the egyptian style. It contrasted to Karim who wore much more... modern clothes such as pajamas if some could call those modern at all. They were but not publicly speaking.

“It’s not kidnapping if you’re my kid.” Karim snorted at his father while crossing his arms, the god above simply looking ahead while pushing the boat forward with the oar.

“What is it?” Karim decided to get right to the point instead of just spending time in a place like this. It was the place between life and death, closer to death. It made the mortal part of him twitch in nervousness.

“The voodoo museum... Go there today when you get back.” A pause took over them as Karim got a bit sassy with his only parent. Despite the annoyance he felt, over the years he had grown to love the blood-related father he had. Even if he was often asked where his dog like ears were from people after they found out Anubis was his father.

“That’s why you kidnapped me? Commanding me too take a break from work?”

“Well, you should do that too.” Anubis said sarcastically while finally looking down at his son and just staring a bit.

“Fine...” Karim finally admitted defeat as a sigh escaped his mouth, turning into a white cloud due to the colder temperatures. Instead of saying much else the half mortal embraced his father, feeling a clawed hair pat his head. His brown eyes were shut in a relaxed manner but when he opened them the ceiling of his room greeted him. It was like a dream but it really wasn’t at all.

“Fuck that.” He huffed while yanking his blanket to his shoulders and closing his eyes again. Karim had no plans to get up at all and maybe it would have worked if the blanket weren’t ripped off of him only to land swifty on the floor. “Fine. I’m going, happy?” He mumbled to no one that was visibly there before rolling out of bed and going about his day as usual. A large cup of coffee found its way into his hand as did his usual clothes for the job, some jeans, a white shirt, and a leather jacket. It was rather stereotypical really but he wasn’t trying to stand out, just trying to stay warm.

The coffee left a swirling mass of white over it as the cold air outside rapidly cooler it, making him regret not taking a visit to Cafe Du Monde. Karim didn’t find himself in a rush toward this museum, even though he knew exactly where it was. Several people passed him, giving him a nod and recognizing him with a soft smile. His mind wondered to work causing him to almost pass right by the museum and keep on toward his work. It was muscle memory at this point and this museum was just a blur in the background, apart of the background. Despite this he abruptly stopped, looking the colors up and down before entering.
 

Childish Grumpino

FUGG
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The door swings ajar before Karim can finish reaching for it. Earthy scents, cloying together with smoke and tobacco, seem to sift out from the doorway as a woman with dark skin and even darker sunglasses steps into view. There's a flicker of a smile on her face, but no surprise. They are expected, after all. She motions with one arm, beckoning the small coterie that has assembled at the entrance to the New Orleans Historical Museum of Voodoo.
"Come now, enter. Byen vit. Don't need any more godsdamned damp than I already got in here." She ushers each of them in, matron-like, brooking no comments or questions as the six of them seem to pulled in from the rain-swept streets of the French Quarter and down into something far stranger.

Inside the walls are faded and stained murals, coated from floor to ceiling in artifacts and paraphernalia. Shadows dance across them, animating them, bringing them to life with animalistic fervour as the woman leads them across the main floor of the museum. Past the displays and iconography, past the vast portrait of Marie Laveau and the shrine beneath it in her honour. Their guide has still not removed her sunglasses, but the gloom does not seem to bother her in the slightest. Finally, she comes to a stop next to a door built into the back of the museum. An afterthought, seemingly. Perhaps an old fire exit, if one had to guess. Yet the woman reaches for its handle with a certain reverence, a priestess hard at work, opening it as though revealing the entrance to an inner sanctum. "They await you below. Don't tarry, now."

The stairs wind downwards into the bowels of the earth. It can't be that far down, yet the weight of the passage feels immense. Alcoves with billowing candles are all that light the way, wax trickling down into skulls and statues. The Loa are many things, to many different people, but above all else they are great lovers of the aesthetic. They know how to dress a room in order to convey the right mood.

And right now the mood they are going for is foreboding and reverence, with equal measure.


Six Scions of the Great Pantheons emerge out into the chamber beneath the earth, into the Fold that the Loa have claimed as their place of power within the city. A space within space, within worlds, its very presence hits the Scions like a gust of wind as they step into it. Ahead of them, before the podium that stands as the Loa's throne within New Orleans, stand five figures. A motley even more curious than the one that just entered the chamber, were that possible. One of them steps forwards, arms open in what might be a greeting if he were more of a man and less of a corpse posing as one. Instead, the gesture just seems like a threat.
"Bienvenue à vous tous. I'm thrilled you could all make it on such... short notice." The corpse-man looks around each of them in turn, fixing them with his ricktus grin. "Some of you, we have seen around before. Residents of this fine city. Some of you are newcomers. It does not matter. New or old. Vous servirez tous. The Ichor that flows within your veins has called you here today, and no doubt you are eager to learn why."
"Not the only ones..." mutters the Japanese girl with lurid blonde pigtails behind him. The hulking, bearded man with horns snorts into his hip flask in response. The corpse man seems to grin wider in response to the heckling. He twists his head around, almost a one-eighty degree turn, to stare a them, before finally fixing his gaze upon the fiery-haired girl standing near to the podium.
"Aisha, ma chérie. If you'd be so kind as to join your fellows." The girl blinks, a deer in the headlights under the man's eyes. Quietly, she hops down to stand next to Bose.

Swiveling his head about, the corpse man continues. A raconteur before a crowd, a showman about to reveal his star attraction. "Seven of you stand before this place. Seven children whose blood runs quick with Ichor. But that number should be higher still. There should be another amongst you. Had we held this little gathering three days ago, there would have been." The skull-like face pauses, twisting about to regard each of the Scions before continuing. "That was, of course, before Gabriel Mackie was killed. A child of Ogoun." His gaze lingers on Lithiuna here, his grin widening to even more alarming proportions. "One of our own. And one of your own number, too, after a fashion. The first casualty in a war that may well be soon to break out. This is why you have been brought here today, mes chers." Behind him, the white-suited man who was swigging from a hip flask clears his throat before stepping forwards.
"If you got questions, now's the time for them. Bacalou's got to catch you up with a lot of shite, so we might as well get the obvious stuff out the way first." The Japanese girl giggles and chimes in.
"Yeah, so anyone who feels like telling the call to adventure to go fuck itself best speak up now."

 

Gands

Edgeknight
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both
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sci fi, modern magical, horror
The dark haired young woman considered the others at the door for a moment with a small smile. An eclectic gathering to say the least. A tall guy with crazy hair, a pretty Japanese girl, Bosse the flower shop guy, an exotic looking Albino girl...
"I believe we're all here...for the same reason."

"Yeah, Time tah join tha dance"


The last part of that was either her approximation of her mother's voice, or.. her mother's voice, even Branna wasn't exactly sure. She certainly felt her mother's amusement and presence.

" I'm Branna and this is my friend Melody"

There was a few moments as they introduced themselves before the door opened. The museum lady ? or more likely Voodou lady was both matronly and a bit ... mystical ? creepy ? or both. She didn't bother Branna, but it was noticed.
As they were led in, and then down... and down... more felt than real Branna thought, briefly looking back at Melody. Again, Branna felt more excited than scared. This was the real deal now.


Once down in the Loa room ? Branna steps forward, seemingly unaffected by the Loa stronghold. In front of what looks to her to be a reverent spot in this gathering place, she pulls a bottle of Dead Bunny whiskey out of her jacket. Setting it down as a guest would bring a gift to their host.

"Hey there! My name is Branna. I for one, get the feeling, that my mother is farsighted. This is the place and time she bid me come to. New Orleans has been my city for a while now. I was born near Baton Rouge. I have had dreams, probably like the rest of you. It's in my nature to defend my home, and the people I care about, ( she looks back at Bosse and Mel ) from our enemies. That being said, when the introductions are over, it would be nice to know more about our enemies. Herself, my mother has not been forthcoming with any details."

For those who have not seen her before, a slight refresher. She has short black hair that always seems to show a little tint of blue no matter what the light. She is dressed slightly gothy with a black and blue plaid utility kilt style skirt. It is complete with pouches chains. Even her combat boots have a splash of that same plaid.
 
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Michale CS

Ignorance of grammar is not an excuse.
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Male, Female, Androgynous, Primarily Prefer Female
Playing Style- Passive or Aggressive
Fine with both, but mainly aggressive.
Favorite Genres
Urban Fantasy, Sci-Fi, Modern, Horror, Magical... pretty flexible.
Genre You DON'T Like
Can't really say there's a bad genre, but there's poorly written genres...
Melody Singer Banner 2.jpg
Melody Singer —————
————
Cry Havoc! And let slip the dogs of war.
"Charmed, I'm sure." Melody added when Brana introduced her. She looked around at all of these people. It looked... well, very intense. After following everyone down to the meeting area and when prompted to speak, she did. In spades. "So... I'm guessing that my father - who is apparently Apollo and does not appreciate Gene Roddenberry's rendition of him - told me that this is, essentially, a sort of 'Oceans Eleven' thing. We've all got our special skills that we're fairly new at using, have never worked with each other before - at least this way, and we're going up against opposition who have done both. Is this an adequate assessment of the situation? Not that it's going to change my mind about doing this, it's quite exciting to me. However, I just want all the cards on the table before we sit down to a hand, what?"

After her rant, she cast her eyes around at the others. "I think a few of us might have quite different ideas on how to handle things, and it might be best if we decide on the things we're going to agree to disagree on, as soon as they come to light. If we're to be a team, we're going to have to tolerate each other - if not be friends... or... more..." She stole a glance at Brana and there was something there, something... possessive, in the way she looked at her dear friend. Something that wasn't there before they entered here and she included the flower boy in the 'people I care about' category.


"In any event, we're here, someone's killing people who are special like us, and we're to stop it. Any more information than that or are we going in essentially blind? Not that I mind, I'm quite good at obtaining information, but yes... I think that sums up my questions and concerns, presently."


 
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Kyatto

Stop trying to pronounce my username, just say Kat
Roleplay Invitations
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Fantasy, Romance, Yaoi, Scifi, Magical, and just anything I find interesting.
Karim Mido - The Detective
Interaction: Childish Grumpino Childish Grumpino , Michale CS Michale CS , Gands Gands
Karim’s interest was peaked when they mentioned the recent murder that had gone on. He hadn’t realized the victim had a god parent... no pun intended. It was his job after all to figure out what devilish evil could and was disturbing the public. That included gods, children, humans, and animals so he has an obligation to do this. It was his job afterall.

“I’m Detective Mido, I’ve already been notified of the recent murder so... I was in before we met.” He muttered with a straight face as he scanned the room. Branna crossed his sight to which he gave a curt nod. “My father sent me here... Do you happen to know where to body of the victim might be?”

It was an odd question but Karim had to let the soul pass on in peace or to eternal damnation. If the heart was lighter than a feather the purer and if the heart was heavier then they were horrid. Souls of both kind had crossed his path and usually they were horrified of him, especially when they found out their fate laid with him. On top of this he might have been able to get a hint from the soul, maybe a clue as to what had happened to them. It was unlikely but it happened on occasion which made his job so much easier in the long wrong but one could only hope.

Despite the fact that everyone else seemed to mention their one special parent and he just preferred to leave it out, not really knowing how these people might react to his father being Anubis. If they asked he's comply to answer though, it wasn't secret information but they were to put that on themselves.
 
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Kitti

Empress of Niflheim
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Like the unyielding flow of a river, events had begun to wind out of hand as though only natural. Raindrops falling on the mud before streaking rivulets into the earth as they joined together to form a trickle. As anticipated as a spring shower forming streams, the individual actions random but the result all according to plan. Tsurue followed along with the group with something akin to compulsion drawing her down into this place, a place where the humming of the city seemed lowest and deepest, primal - the throbbing artery of the throat, she imagined. These forms were not drops of rain but beads of blood, which seemed a better fit for the smile of the man who greeted them.

As the introductions began, Tsurue's mind whirled. This was too much to be a joke. She was silent for a time, collecting all the words and turning them over in her mind as a child might examine a new discovery with probing fingers. English was not her first language, though she'd studied it in school and continued to enjoy movies and books in the language. Ordinarily, she considered herself quite fluent but now she felt doubt. These things that they were saying seemed bizarre to her and they moved so quickly.

Ichor that flows within your veins
She tasted this one first, not too complex an idea. She'd heard the word ichor before. On his lips, the word had a strange humming to it as well, as though it had attuned itself with the humming of the room. The word felt special somehow, in a way it hadn't before. She tucked it away for later.

The smattering of names that came next meant little to her, though some of them had the same curious timbre. Ogoun. This one she didn't recognise but it was surely a name and when he spoke the word seemed to twist with a mongrel's growl so lightly that under any other circumstances she would have dismissed it as background noise or imagination.

Wanting to speak and perhaps confess that she had intruded in what was clearly a private gathering for some kind of... game? Tsurue felt it only polite to at least listen to the names and stories that followed. In truth, she hadn't quite worked up what she was going to say and there was something about it all that she couldn't bring herself to turn away from just yet.

Branna. A hum so weak it was lost at once before Tsurue could catch hold of it. Defend, enemies, mother... such a weak throbbing and all confusing. Defend against what, what enemies? The ones that the skeletal man mentioned. Did he mention enemies? She tried to remember details but it was as vain as trying to discern which stream had brought with it which leaf. She let it flow over her hands instead, the rippling eddies of information.

Apollo. Yet another tune, like disparate melodies threading together into the cadence, this one bright like cold water into glass. Did they know her father, Apollo? Perhaps he knew Branna's mother. That made sense and it felt right. Tsurue was familiar with Ocean's Eleven but didn't quite understand how it applied. At least this speech contained fewer words that Tsurue needed to hold on to and examine later.

Mido. Too faint again. Practical, this one. Tsurue felt a small surge of approval for his straightforward questions. These things felt important and if there was a murder. Ocean's Eleven to... solve murders? Enemies were... murderers? Tsurue's nose crinkled as she tried to find the threads that connected everything that they had said. The brief lull in conversation, however, roused her thoughts.

Before Mido could receive an answer - she shot him an apologetic look - she cleared her throat. She'd been practicing her English speaking in preparation for her new job but she felt a little nervous testing it out in front of this unfamiliar lot. Still, she had to say something.

"I am sincerely sorry but I think there has been mistake," she began slowly, dark eyes flicking around the room. The strangest thing was the feeling that perhaps she did belong, but the barrage of information seemed too surreal for that to be true. "I am thinking that I have been intruding on this group that I do not belong to. I should have said sooner but did not wish to interrupt." She took a tentative step backwards in the direction that they had arrived in, aware that she had made a few mistakes while trying to carefully choose her words.
 

Yonni

Meow Town
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Genre You DON'T Like
Straight up fluff. Gimme substance, pls.

A party?

Bose almost laughed at that. The bright-lipped girl’s comment was so off-kilter, it loosened the awkwardness he’d felt earlier, almost bumping into the other girl. He scrubbed a hand over his chin and closed his umbrella. “Sounds real foreboding, don’t it.”

Following them inside this bizarre establishment was the last damn thing Bose wanted to do, and as much as his brain shrieked to hop himself back down the stairs, he found himself dogging their heels in silence, smile twitching itself back into a hard, steeled line. There was a pull at his collar, as if he didn’t have a choice in the matter, anyway. An unruly child being pulled by a force so ridiculously strong—it would’ve looked like an insect trying to wriggle itself out of someone’s hand. He couldn’t turn away. Couldn’t will jellied legs to carry himself far, far from this place, because it was obviously trouble, and if it weren’t for the familiar sight of Karim’s head bobbing at the forefront as he pushed through… he would’ve thought himself crazy for ignoring the warning signs bleating in that animal-part of his skull.

Even then, there was something familiar here. Like, coming home at Christmas to the smell of cookies wafting through the doorway. A warmth. Family, in a sense. It was hard to wrap his head around it, because it was illogical. Didn’t make any sense at all, feeling like these were people he knew well. Some of them he did. A hollow pang of recognition that made it even harder to deny that maybe he was meant to be here, in this peculiar place that felt heavy and dark all at once. An oppressive sheet pressing at his shoulders, a bewitching sense of midnight fancies. Melody and Brana were here. His neighbors across the way: two girls he’d often hear chattering on their rooftop, air slick with the heat of their hot tub. He’d never spotted them there, because his roof was lower.

Not that’d he ever spy. No sir.

Sometimes, he heard Melody playing her violin. Left him enraptured, almost. The cry of strings reminded him of sinking low in his mother’s moss-field. Her well-tended gardens; endless, infinite, arms open. An audible beauty. He’d never heard such a sound before, and though he’d never admit it, he lounged on his roof as long as he could manage, if it meant hearing her play. Aside from that, he didn’t know much about her, aside from the occasional hi when they bumped into each other. There was an odd look he’d catch from her sometimes, like a fox cocking its head at him. Curious. Unimpressed. As if he were a mouse, and nothing more.

Branna was different, of course. A wildfire, a tsunami, a woman who was stronger than him, in spades. Someone he wished he could be, if he was made of stronger stuff. He never understood just how she was built that way. How she seemed to never stumble, and always managed to drag people up by the shoulder, making sure their footing was steady, too. A pillar, unwavering. Seeing her here made it easier to will himself inside of the unfamiliar building—wading into the unfamiliar, a museum that felt as if it were baring its teeth at them, grins wicked.

And there, there was Karim. Someone he’d never thought to see here, in this odd arrangement of misfits. He instinctively ducked his head lower, as if that’d hide the fact that he was here, and maybe getting himself in more trouble. They were on a first-name basis, now. Definitely not something someone would want when the authorities were involved. The hollow pang in his chest bloomed louder, and he feared that they might hear it. Stupid thought. Impossible. A hummingbird’s wing beats, fluttering against his rib cage, booming loud as a drum. He swallowed uncomfortably and followed down the winding stairs, noting the slithering of candles casting shadows. He felt watched. His skin itched.

The chamber itself made him feel small. As if it were drawing him in, and casting him out. He couldn’t move, couldn’t will his legs to carry him any further. A peculiar, serpentine sensation felt as if it was coiling itself around his feet. Keeping him anchored, but unbalanced. The others at his sides, he didn’t recognize, but still felt as is he knew them. A sickly-looking man cut through the silence, as if he’d dragged a finger lazily through them. It was effective, because he swore he could’ve felt a pin drop. His voice made him shudder involuntarily. Like the man was actually a predator licking his chops, looking at them as if they were a meal to devour, instead of patrons he was inviting inside. None of the information made any sense, because no one other then Freya had ever spoken to him. He’d lived a fairly normal life until now, and it felt like he was being asked to do something. Him? A flower shop owner.

He felt a presence at his side, and turned to regard her. Aisha. Hair like wildfire. Like Freya’s, almost. It made him feel a little more grounded. He dropped his gaze back down and fought the unseemly urge to stuff his hands into his pockets. Instead, he held his umbrella tight to his side, and watched as water dripped down to the tip of his umbrella, dripping off onto the floorboards. He only swiveled his gaze back up when other voices were heard. No obvious fuck-you’s, or this-is-stupid, but something else entirely. A level headedness he didn’t feel. Introductions were made by those most bold and undeterred by the situation. He blinked at them, wondering what kind of balls they had. Steel ones, probably.

The girl he’d seen at the doorway. She was backing away. Her voice was made of softer stuff. But, she’d made it quite clear that she didn’t think this was the right place to be. He, too, maintained his reservations. Besides, introducing himself here, and admitting that he, too, had some godly matron-mom… felt so weird. He watched her and vaguely wondered if she’d be allowed to leave. The thought itself felt strange. Of course, anyone could leave.

Couldn’t they?

“Ya, she might have the right of it,” Bose glanced back at the winding stairs the girl was aiming for, “Feels like this is the wrong party.” He rubbed at the back of his head and swallowed around the tightness of his throat. “I dunno, I just think we should leave something like that to Detective Mido. This is cop business, isn’t it?” He awkwardly laughed as he tapped his sopping wet umbrella against his leg. "I'm just a flower shop owner."
 
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Phi Chisym

Contagious Phi-pidemic!
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I'm new to SciFi and Horror and not afraid to play. (I need the practice in those genres anyway).

I have played a few Yaoi charries for MXM

Not too big on History, but will play a History based RP if I have the time to do the research. At this point, I'm deeply into Japanese History based stories.

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So, come what may!



Upon the door of the museum opening, releasing the overwhelming mildew aroma and looming Iwas to flow around her head, the Mambo hostess ushered them through the public areas of the museum. Other than the bother of more spirits for Amos to shoo away, Lithy felt more at home and at peace as soon as her first step crossed the threshold. Taking in that deep, earthy, tobacco-like scent, candles and ash and High John were strong within, she soaked it all in.
As if I’m back on the island again.

Lingering close to the back of the line, giving Amos clearance from the herd of feet before them, the group passed a shrine of Louisiana’s Vodou Rèn, Madame Laveau. Pausing for only a moment, she gave reverence and Amos meowed in a respectful tone. They reached the group once more and waited with them before a left-over door – not hidden from view, but distant from any normal activity seen within the place. It was meant to be lost in the mural ambiance, unnoticed but quite clear to see. Lithy understood why. She could feel why. The energy that radiated through the spaces around the door was abundant.

“They await you below. Don’t tarry, now.”

Deeper and deeper they treaded, and darker Lithiuna’s senses rose. We’re walking into our answer, Amos acknowledged in her mind, and she nodded knowingly.

She knew her Uncle’s presence before the group reached the revered chamber of Loa Ogoun. It wasn’t just from the heavy scent of glamour covering his stench, but the wild abundance of death that now howled in her ears and called her by name for a favor. Amos kept her from their touch but the wails of their voices begging within their limbo easily reached her and raised a mighty storm of a headache.

Papa, ou te ka avèti mwen. (Papa, you could have warned me.)

Oke, men ki bon sa fè sa, um? (Aye, but what good would that do, um?)

As quickly as they came, they left at the sound of Legba’s tone in her mind. A breath of relief left her just when the group reached the inner chamber and her eyes fell upon the gods – four unknown, and one much known.

"Bienvenue à vous tous. I'm thrilled you could all make it on such... short notice."

Uncle Bacalou took the task of host for the group, explaining why they were all present. He spoke of things already explained to her, either from Amos’ teachings, from her countless connections within her new Vodou family, or from Papa’s harsh lessons through her dreams. Either way, Uncle repeated what she’d already figured from the first sight. Their misfit group was there for the same reason…but that reason was the only thing she could not predict.

"… There should be another amongst you. Had we held this little gathering three days ago, there would have been. That was, of course, before Gabriel Mackie was killed. A child of Ogoun."

– her clutching a man’s drowned body –

Lithy’s eyes vibrated in shock, but she remained solid in her stance, even with Uncle Bacalou’s morbid grin landing upon her, widening to the brink of falling apart. Now her vision was coming to play, and pieces of the puzzle beginning to fit. Three days ago, that’s when the drowned man showed up in my vision… Amos sat on her boots again, meowing that he agreed. She’s never met Gabriel face to face, per se, but Papa did introduce her to him and a few other “cousins” after she’d eventually gave into the idea of her true father being the very Orisha Legba-Ji (god of the creation) the Grand-Chemin (the Great Way)! The few cousins she’s met kept up with each other through social media, creating a group chat to just – cope with this new fact that -they're more than human. Gabriel's correspondence had stopped - three days ago.

“The first casualty in a war that may well be soon to break out. This is why you have been brought here today, mes chers."

A man dressed in the cleanest white ever seen within the depths of the earth stepped forward, "If you got questions, now's the time for them. Bacalou's got to catch you up with a lot of shite, so we might as well get the obvious stuff out the way first."

Then the Japanese girl standing near him giggled, "Yeah, so anyone who feels like telling the call to adventure to go fuck itself best speak up now."

Everyone expressed themselves, bringing up concerns, doubts, and logical questions suited for the situation before them. Lithiuna stood there in silence, digging into her thoughts and visions, searching within the souls now quietly looming within the chamber respectfully for any information – witnesses to the murder of their own. None of them spoke to her – no now, not while in the presence of power and during a time of mourning, but a few of them lingered closer to her. Their eyes were wide, haunting and sorrowful; yet, held knowledge. Three of them stood beside her and silently waited for a chance to speak. Amos called to her, I’ll talk to them. You focus.

Fighting to refocus on the life around her, Lithy listened to the others once more. A few seemed too concerned about themselves than about the fact that someone like them was killed…

“There are no mistakes made here,” her eyes rose towards the group, bouncing towards the few whose auras altered with their words, and her heavily accented tones resonated in the chamber like summoning chimes. “As Uncle stated, the Ichor called us here. It matters not how simple our lives were before this day. We are here now for this reason – because, we are the ones who have to do something about it; or else fall to the same fate as Gabrial.”
 
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Childish Grumpino

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Linus groans and rolls his eyes mid-sip as the Scions begin to speak.
"They’re referencing bloody movies? Fuck me, if they were any greener this'd qualify as daycare right now." Bacalou, meanwhile, continues his grinning skeleton impression as they continue, only stopping to focus on Lithiuna when she finishes.
"Truly your father’s daughter, ma chérie." His attention returns to the group as a whole. "It is as she says. If you are here, in this place? You are here for a reason. Un objectif vital."

Before Saito can step any further, the strange Japanese girl in pigtails decides to perform the first blatantly supernatural display of the evening. One moment, she is there on the pedestal with the others. The next, she is gone. Nothing but a gust of wind and the scent of cinnamon in the air.

In the next, she's standing in front of Saito. The smile on her face might even be construed as sympathetic.
"Sumimasen, gōkadesu. Nigeba wa arimasen." The elf clears his throat impatiently.
"Same goes for you, Bose. If you walk out now your mother will actively try to impale me on a spear. So do me a favour and stick around, please?"

Bacalou claps his hands together, the sound somehow resonating throughout the chamber with a force that could not possibly have been generated by such skeletal, almost distended arms.
"Distractions may come later. Let us return to the matter at hand. What the guerrière," he nods to Brana, "and the diplomate," he nods to Melody, "are keen to discuss." His head twists towards Aisha in a leer. "Unless you have anything to add yourself, fille?" Aisha again does her best 'deer in the headlights' impression.
"What? Uh, no? I mean... I'm in the same situation as the others. New to this, I mean. Fresh off the boat? Just arrived to town? I'm babbling, I'll shut up now."

Finishing a swig, Linus gestures with his flask to Mido.
"Boy scout here's got the right idea of it. Though I'm a little concerned a detective don't know where the fuckin bodies are kept."
"Don't be an asshole, Linus," the Japanese girl chides, "guy probably thinks we've whisked it off to a land far far away, or something." The satyr shrugs.
"Well, we've not. Cunt's in the morgue, isn't he? Rule one of the God Squad, kids. Don't draw too much attention to yourselves. We're not about to go stealing bodies for your convenience." For a fraction of a second, Bacalou's grin shifts into annoyance at the interruption. This, somehow, is worse than the smile.
"If I might have the floor again?" he asks, in a tone that implies demand rather than request. When Linus shrugs and gestures at the ground with his hip flask, the skeletal man continues.

"In terms of the information we have available? There is not much, but what we have we shall share. Gabriel was pulled from the banks of the Mississippi River three days ago. His body was found not long after dawn. The condition of the body, we cannot report on. Such things, the police do not share widely." His grin lingers on Mido here. "At this time, we have but speculation as to who the perpetrator might be." Linus lets out a scornful bark of laughter.
"It's not speculation, it's basic fuckin deduction. X equals Y. Dead Scion equals Titanspawn on the march. If you're sending the children into war, corpse man, at least be bloody honest about it." Bacalou sighs audibly, giving Linus a withering look before re-commencing.
"We were getting to this, bouc, if you would but let me. Some of you are new to this world you find yourselves in, so let me give you the essentials. There are Gods, which means that there are Titans. There are Scions, which means there are Titanspawn. The offspring of your parents' enemies." His grin widens. "Who are, par procuration, now your enemies. They exist within this city as well. Up until now, they have kept to themselves and we have seen no reason to poke the proverbial bear."
"Until the bear woke up and ate someone," concludes the Japanese girl in a sing-song voice. Bacalou shrugs.
"That is the long and short of it, oui. We believe Gabriel's killer, or killers, to be supernatural in origin. Titanspawn, to be precise. We know they operate in the... less fortunate regions of the city, but our attempts to gain further insight over the years have met with little success." His grin sweeps across the assembled Scions. "We remain confident, however, that the Ichor you carry will grant you success where others have failed, however."
 

Gands

Edgeknight
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1578041935506.png

Listening to the others, Bose and the Japanese girl seem to be trying to back out already. Great... Voodoo girl while not exactly a pep talk, brings the problem to a distinct point. We're all in this together because likely divided we may well be taken apart or taken out. In Branna's mind, there isn't any question. It's the whole reason for her being. Destiny. Well, like it or not, it is for everyone.


Branna listens carefully to the rather sketchy explanation. Bocou is a Loa god, given his obvious undead like state, some sort of god of the dead. The lord of the rings elf guy, is Norse. The Pan look alike is Greek. The young red head is one of us... sort of. No introduction... just... go over to that side of the room and stand.

As for facts... really none outside of the dead guy.... Then some logical suppositions and conclusions.

"All right, what you've said does make sense, with what few facts you've told us so far. Once again, I will say, I have remarkably few facts about anything though. No offense! For example, based on conversation, I can piece together some information about our hosts. A Loa god, related in some way to death... A Pan look alike who drinks... A very fast Japanese woman.... and last but not least, a Norse fellow who seems to look... Elvish ?. Forgive me for my bluntness, perhaps you weren't done with introductions yet. Then there is the poor redhead. Miss Aisha ? Who was simply told to go stand on our side of the room. Do we know anything more about what Titan spawn look like, can do ? What do we look for ? Anything ? How about then, what we can do over here on team Scion ?"

Clearly Branna is not well known for her diplomacy.

She goes over to Bosse, standing in front of him.

" I've been living next door to your shop for over two years now. I had always had the feeling you were special, like I could just tell. Time to dig deep inside yourself Bosse.[/FONT] Time to man the hell up !" ( her expression saying this is neither mean, or cruel, more friendly, like a big sister.)

"I got that feeling again when Melody showed up and I rented her a room, special, I can't tell you exactly how or what that means. I certainly get that feeling now with everyone in here."

"I am certain she's right you know. (Gesturing at Lithiuna) We really don't have a choice but to involve ourselves. I've personally known for a while now, my destiny was going to be some sort of conflict. "

She moves to her friend Melody.

(in a stage whisper) " You and I talk to much when we are nervous or excited you know!"

Branna then moves over to Lithiuna with a smile on her face.

"Nice to meet you by the way, though I haven't heard your name yet. I have a good feeling about you, that I'll like you. "

Lastly, she moves over to Detective Mido, holding her hand out to shake.

"Detective, nice to meet you !" ( A sharp eyed detective type might notice a large raven feather sticking out of one of the many pouches in her kilt like skirt. )

1578043698195.png

Turning so she faces everyone...

" Like the big guy said... what I do is pretty simple. I am pretty strong for my size, and I fight pretty well. I have a really nice silver spear and sometimes I get prophetic dreams and or just feelings about things. My background is Irish if you were curious. I didn't talk to Miss Aisha or the shy Japanese girl, cause the two of you seem overwhelmed, and well, sometimes I'm a lot to take in all at once, being blunt and all. "

When she is done with her talk, she moves over to one side of Melody, turned so she can see most of everyone, arms folded across her chest.

She reviews in her mind the base feelings and suppositions she has so far. Bosse... Plant guy ? Melody, sound, social skills? Voodoo girl... mystical stuff ? Detective ? can probably fight, and smart... she hopes..Not certain about the other two as yet.
 
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Michale CS

Ignorance of grammar is not an excuse.
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Fine with both, but mainly aggressive.
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Can't really say there's a bad genre, but there's poorly written genres...




Now the question falls to you, my friend, No beginning has no end. Will we ever learn, will the world still turn, will the circle start again?

In a normal voice to Brana, but no one else could hear her, though her lips could be read if you were observant. "Excited, yes. Something amazing is happening even out of tragedy."
She turned to the other recruited Scions, focusing on those who seemed to be having doubts. "Listen, while I won't just be blunt like Brana, she is right. You walk out that door, nothing changes as far as the people after us are concerned. The only difference is that you won't have any allies or patrons by your side. If you thought this was scary as a group, how do you think it would be if you were alone?"

"So... Detective. You really seem our best legitimate lead into this. Now, I know this doesn't work like the movies, you can't just call some Medical Examiner who owes you a favor to let you peek at files of a case you're not personally working on, but perhaps you could express interest in working the case and be officially assigned to it?"
She addressed Mido.
Looking over to the others, she smiled and spread her hands. "I know that one of the big things that have been happening to us are dreams. Do any of you have any insight into the realms of Death ...or Prophecy?" Her eyes fell on Saito and Lithiuna. Perhaps we could get more inside information as it were?"




 
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Kitti

Empress of Niflheim
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The room had an anxious energy and it seemed to be making everyone in it a little antsy. The news of a murder certainly helped with that, to be sure. Still, wasn't it asking a lot of them to suddenly decide that they were at war with someone elses' children just because they were someone's children. It seemed like the others were all fully confident in who their parents were and it felt like a less than ideal moment to ask if someone might know of Tsurue's own. The feeling of being unwanted rose up in her throat again, as it had so many times before. But that wasn't all true, was it? They did want her and had all but drafted her into whatever was going on.

It was comforting to hear the sonorous voice of Yone whispering to her in the familiar tongue. It tipped the scales a little further, tapping into some kind of kinship that made her want to assist even if she was, quite frankly, unsure of what they wanted her to do. If they needed someone to help solve a supernatural murder, she could at least try. Whoever it had been, that boy... his family deserved to know what happened, right?

"Shikata ga nai, onee-san" she murmured, followed by a small smile. Before more could be said, however, it seemed to be time for a pep talk. It wasn't needed for her, so much, as she'd already decided to lend what she could to the cause but it was nice enough to get an appreciation for who they were as people. Branna was... brusque. Tsurue had to fight back showing amusement while Branna rattled off facts as though she were applying for a job. It seemed like they'd been hired whether they liked it or not, anyway...

The Melody was a little more here and there in hips and hops. So many ideas at once. She gave Tsurue an expectant look and Tsurue realised that she had not, in fact, introduced herself. Was this what she wanted? Her dream about the city was a little... something else, but it didn't seem to hold any special meaning as Branna mentioned having being driven here by dreams as well, even said she did prophetic. If she was hoping for someone to speak prophecies, she was probably looking at the wrong girl.

"If I can be of help to this drowned man and bring peace to his family, it would be my honor to help you," she addressed her words to Bacalou, bowing a little to him as she finished even though she hadn't meant to. Old habits died hard. For the rest, she had a reassuring smile, rolling up the sleeves of her plum-colored cardigan as she continued. "I'm called Saito, by the way. I will assist in any way that I am able."

Mido seemed the most helpful, here, though, the most relevant. She considered her own abilities, unsure what she could offer up. The unsulliable nature of the Majestic Mister Crane did not seem relevant and cooking them dinner only slightly more so.

"If it is just the body to see, is it possible, Detective Mido, that they would let us see the victim to identify? If perhaps you tell small lie that one of us is family or loved person?"
 

Yonni

Meow Town
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Straight up fluff. Gimme substance, pls.



The overwhelming amount of information made Bose’s head spin—and the fact that no one else seemed at least a little spooked by the corpse-addled grinner spinning some superhero vs super-villain tale, well… it made him doubt that he was anything other than what he’d said: a flower shop owner. There was one thing that made this all easier to swallow. Not that people were filling in the gaps of their godhood. No sir. Not even that ichor churned in their veins, making them all the more susceptible to callings like this. An outright war-cry, a bugle calling them to a stifling basement with people he’d never met before, and still, felt a kinship towards.

No, it was sharp-eared woman, with the smallest, most delicate features he’d ever seen, referencing his mother. It was Lith matter-of-factually stating the obvious; that they were being targeted and since one of then had already been murdered, then they’d be next. Hearing it made it real. Made it matter. He wanted to shut his eyes against it and go back to his routine. Tend the shop, care for his flowers, escape to his Freya’s dreamscape, catch fists, bare bruises. A simple life, one that didn’t involve potentially dying. Ending up like a gutted fish in the river, a bloated mess that meant far more than just some casualty. It meant war. “I-I guess if that’s the case.”

Acceptance came like a cool shudder. He couldn’t be the only one to walk out of here. It didn’t seem like the safe option, and even though he’d lived his life recklessly, intentionally so, Bose wasn’t stupid. And these people weren’t liars. He could tell. When Brana rounded to him, he almost felt like shrinking under her gaze, because he knew what she’d say. Chin up, be strong, you’re not just a shop owner. What he hadn’t expected her to say was: you’re special. He wasn’t. At least, he didn’t think he was. He took a deep breath, puffed his chest and scrapped his hand back across the nape of his neck. Defeated by his next door neighbor’s, the cop who often dragged his ass out of the fire, and a bunch of strangers he’d never met in his life.

Damn.

“I’m Bose,” Introducing himself at this point only seemed proper, “Freya’s kid.”

He dropped his hand back to his side. He had no real inclinations towards death. He knew little of that side of his mother, though she toed the life often between life and death—being like Mother Nature, as it were. There was never one without the other, she’d say. It was a balancing act. Freya reigned over a place called Folkvang. An afterlife realm that she hardly spoke of. One he’d never asked about either, so Bose maintained his silence, watching the others with intent. There were others here, however, looked like they fit right up that alley. The ones that didn’t shudder when stepping down the spiraling steps, into the unknown.

Bose stepped to the side, letting them speak. Offer up their ideas, their thoughts and feelings about the situation. He didn’t really know what to think. How to feel. Even though he did his best to ignore it, the well of unease weighed heavily in his belly. Even Saito seemed wholly convinced that she should stay, now. She was clever, that one. He swung his gaze towards Detective Mido, anticipating a refusal. Though, he’d been known not to follow all the rules. If that was the case, he would’ve been charged countless times for getting into fights. For being at the wrong place at the wrong time.
 
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