#by way of convincing him to help the local populace wherever they go

[fluff-writing]

What if...

Horrible Accident-Cathedral Roadtrip AU...

aka a bunch of people find an angel wandering around and proceed to follow him and start a cult about it.

Inarius is just trying to find a working gate back to Heaven and/or Tyrael himself, but people keep hanging onto his words as gospel and burning people/demons in his name. Can y'all not.

Featuring;

Prava, whom he healed on a whim and now has decided he's the messiah come to free humanity from Hell's grip,

Urivar, who saw him set an entire troop of Fallen demons on fire to save a random town, and has now decided they have to Burn Things In His Name,

Vigo, who kinda accidentally ended up with these people, but thinks maybe he can overcome his own guilt for accidentally starting the apocalypse through divine influence?

and Inarius, who hasn't yet thought up the possibility of sacrificing an entire army's worth of people so that he can maybe-possibly go home, and is instead searching for old lost artifacts that can just open the gates manually. What's he gonna do when he gets to Heaven? Probably die honestly, but he's okay with that as long as he can hear the Arch, aka Angel Respawn Point.

Being alive post-Mephisto sucks so bad y'all. Everything hurts, always.

Along the way, they learn more about human history, All the reasons Heaven is Terrible, All the reasons Hell Is Worse, why you can only burn people Sometimes, and how to cheat at poker without getting caught.

[brownstonearmy]

2020-08-01: Juiced! (Part 1)

August 3 (Monday Morning)

It's been several days since the last adventure, and Norm has been laying low to evade detection from folks who may aim to do him harm. The rest of the party, unencumbered by such thoughts of self-preservation, seek out their daily work orders as usual. And with the arrival of a new day, Q goes by Daffodil and accentuates their safety vest with lots of blinged-out yellow stuff. Snazzy! Lucky swings by the lizardfolk restaurant to grab some spell components like mushroom powder, saffron, and fat.

Back at HQ, Bob the Modron has three things on the docket today. The mayor wants to meet with SHART, Silas wants to discuss another undercover criminal investigation, and there are several complaints from the locals demanding to know when the sewer will be fixed after it was damaged by the appearance of the outhouse.

Since only one of those items is clearly a sanitation issue, the party opts to repair the damaged sewer first. They trek up toward the intersection of Thirty Oaks and West Champion Ave and find the area already cordoned off. A group of people in SHART vests are rudely telling passers-by to move along.

While the populace might not know better, the party notices something suspicious about these people. First off, no one in the party has seen these workers before. Secondly, aside from their work vests, the impostor SHART workers don't seem to be doing any actual work. They're just chasing everyone away from a hole in the street.

Lucky approaches the apparent leader of the not-SHARTs and asks him about starting work on the repairs. He tells her that Dave has some urgent business that the party needs to go back to SHART HQ to address. So Lucky calls the guy's bluff.

She pretends to cast sending and puts on a convincing one-sided conversation. Lucky gets the guy's name (Garry) and proceeds to write down a message "dictated" by Dave. According to Lucky, this is confidential information that Dave needs Silas to have ASAP. She stuffs it in an envelope and instructs Garry to give it to Silas.

Unfortunately for Garry, this is what the letter that's destined for Silas says: "This is a stick-up."

As Garry saunters off to have his unexpected encounter with the justice system, Daffodil sneaks past the work perimeter and listens for sounds of work. They hear sounds, but not the kind that would normally be associated with repair work. Amid the din of shuffling, scraping, and thumps from below the street, Daffodil hears the familiar voice of Holden Harcourt barking orders.

Daffodil hops into the broken sewer and stealthily works their way toward the sound of Holden's voice. The sounds of flowing sewage mask Daffodil's approach, and they come to a chamber where Holden is directing ratfolk to relocate several heavy chests of treasure.

Spleenifer and Lucky follow behind Daffodil, but Spleenifer's armor is not conducive to moving stealthily. And thus, Spleenifer ends up blundering right up to Daffodil and attracts the attention of ratfolk. The party's scent is familiar these particular ratfolk, who begin chanting excitedly about the arrival of the people who brought back foods from the Land of Plenty Beyond Wall.

Holden is irked that his task has been interrupted, but tries to play things cool. Just walk away for a while, he says, and there could be some monetary reward in it for the party. But the party says "nope!" and negotiations go sour. Holden unleashes a cloud of magical darkness and tries to escape with the ratfolk and treasure.

"I don't like the dark," Lucky says and counterspells away Holden's tactical retreat. Ultimate power move right there, folks! So now Holden is back at the negotiation table, but he still has one card up his sleeve when the party demands to know where Trashpit is.

Trashpit was captured and imprisoned by Holden to ensure the cooperation of the ratfolk. If the party wants to see Trashpit alive, they're going to have to give Holden and the other ratfolk a few hours to finish their work uninterrupted. Only then will Trashpit be returned.

Conveniently, the party's assorted magical abilities are able to repair the sewer issue in about the time it takes for Trashpit to be returned. Trashpit is weak and famished from being caged up and not fed very well, but Daffodil digs through their pack and finds a length of hemp rope that is for... Other Purposes. But they also find a handful of maggots in some food that wasn't packed properly. Trashpit feasts upon the offering and then has a joyous reunion with his favorite Tall Lady. Daffodil and Lucky excuse themselves from the reunion because they don't want to see a reunion tithe getting collected.

While Spleenifer and Trashpit are basking in the post-tithing glow, Trashpit mentions that he was being kept in a warehouse of some kind where people would bring in lots of rings. More than could reasonably fit on all your fingers, even if you had more than the usual amount of fingers. Bags and bags of rings. And with that, Trashpit collapses into a blissful slumber in Spleenifer's arms.

Once out of the sewers, Lucky suggests taking a detour by the constable's office to see what's become of Garry (and also to see what Silas needed). And Garry's fate involves pretty much what you would expect to happen to someone who gives a robbery note to the constable. Yep, Garry's in jail.

Silas is happy to see our band of crafty adventurers, because they have gifted him with a source of information who gave up all sorts of information. Silas's original plan was to ask the party to keep an eye out for potential break-ins during their daily work-activities. There's been a rash of burglaries, but the only things stolen were rings. No one saw the burglars, but several of the houses had empty bottles of JUICED! energy drink nearby and/or some intestinal skidmarks on the window frames.

But thanks to Garry (who insists he isn't directly involved in this stuff, of course), Silas knows of a place that you DEFINITELY don't want to go to if you have rings and want to keep them. He gives the party an address of where crimes are almost certainly going to be committed tonight, and asks the party to stay away. Everyone except for Spleenifer is fluent in winks and subtext, and thus makes a plan to do the exact opposite of what Silas is suggesting.

Lucky casts Seeming and outfits everyone with an ostentatious amount of rings on their fingers, before splitting the party up to make appearances and get noticed about town. Hilaria accompanies Lucky on a date to acquire a perfectly-balanced sword, before going out to a nice dinner at a place where the lights really glint off the all the jewelry.

Daffodil, meanwhile, will play a show at Uggo's Rag Shack. Spleenifer's never been to a place where dancing was conventionally allowed or encouraged before, so she wants to see what the fuss is about. But first, Spleenifer needs to offset the potential sinful allure of dancing by placing lots of wreaths on the headstones in the cemetery.

By sunset, the wreaths are on the graves and Daffodil is playing some excellent metal music on their hurdy gurdy. The crowd is thoroughly amped up when Spleenifer arrives. Daffodil notices an older man in the audience eyeing their rings more than the other people.

Once the bass drops, Spleenifer feels the music course through her body. "Glory be to God," she yells to the dance floor. "Let's do the lawnmower!" She then plants her face upon the ground and mows through the crowd to raucous cheers.

After the conclusion of the song, Daffodil takes a break to mingle and keep an eye on the mysterious stranger as someone puts on a Barbena Bloodkith single to keep the dance floor hopping. The stranger's eyes still nonchalantly follow Daffodil's rings wherever they go.

The stranger leaves with bulky backpack around 10PM that night, which is COMPLETELY COINCIDENTALLY (wink wink) the time the party retires for the evening at a house in a crime-infested neighborhood. The party sets up some traps, Home Alone style and waits.

Lucky casts Mage Armor to appear like a nightgown and then claims the largest bed in the house. Spleenifer meditates in prayer in another room, while Daffodil is couch surfing. The scene is set!

Around 1 in the morning, the mysterious stranger sneaks through Daffodil's window. Ever the consummate performer, Daffodil feigns sleep as the stranger starts looking for stuff to loot. As he leaves the room, he hits the tripwire Daffodil left and falls flat on his thieving face.

Everyone leaps into action with various levels of preparedness. Spleenifer and Daffodil jump into the hallway with weapons drawn, while Lucky stumbles into the hallway after having fallen asleep. Lucky helps the wannabe thief up and then goes back to bed.

The thief tries to explain away his presence by saying he had the wrong house and was actually trying to visit a special friend for some nighttime activities that special friends have been known to engage in on occasion. Daffodil's ears perk up at the mention of special friendship. It just so happens that Daffodil has some "special friendship rope" in their pack!

But don't worry, dear readers! Things are not about to take a turn in that direction! It turns out that the party is only interested in getting information out of our restrained special burglar friend! Daffodil runs point on the interrogation, with Spleenifer offering "moral support" by standing ominously in the shadows of the hallway with her quarterstaff smacking against her palms in an uncomfortably meaty fashion.

The burglar claims his name is Yance Elbereth, a trader of antiquities. He's working with some other people to steal a bunch of rings for his boss, a woman he knows only as Z. Apparently Z is working with Brynnan, but she would like some sort of leverage over him to ensure his continued loyalty. There was a magic ring Brynnan was looking for, and since no one knew exactly what sort of ring to look for, they just took all the rings they could find and hoped one of them was the one Brynnan needed.

Daffodil searches Yance's backpack, and finds some stuff that corroborates his story. There are spell components, vials of drugs, lots of rings, and a battered ram's horn. When they ask about the ram's horn, Yance says that he was contracted by Brynnan to retrieve a horn like this. From Yance's account, Brynnan recently came into a lot of money which is how Yance is getting paid to find the horn. He was planning on visiting Brynnan later and using the horn as a pretext to search for the ring.

If Yance is some sort of double agent, he could be useful to the party. Daffodil releases Yance and sends him on his way into the night. Minus several of his possessions, which Daffodil is keeping as payment for their trouble. They take a fancy cloak, the spell components, drugs, and rings, but leaves the ram's horn and the bottle of JUICED! with Yance as the adventure concludes for the evening.

Stay tuned next time for more!

[nyeusigrube-haven]

Inbox of Diana Smoke: Thanksgiving Drabble

12 pm: Rosemary

Rosemary Marinitch ran her "to-do" list through her mind as she looked around the sprawling kitchen of the Briar Patch farm. Butcher-block counters were piled high with sweet potatoes, beets, carrots, mushrooms, cranberries, and assorted other fruits, vegetables and tubers.

The venison mince pie was almost ready to come out of the oven; the dessert pies and the bread pudding had all been done for hours. The sweets-and-beets could share the oven with the turkeys, Casper and Nixon... both named by Mare's youngest brother, Jay, who had apparently been in a whimsical mood that spring and was now hiding somewhere in the back yard in order to avoid any semblance of "helping." Now headless, plucked and brined, Casper and Nixon were patiently awaiting their apple-pecan cornbread stuffing.

The acorn squash, stuffed mushrooms and au gratin potatoes were all done, ready to be put in the oven and re-warmed shortly before serving...

She paused to take a deep breath.

Since Mare had taken over cooking from her father, Thanksgiving had always been a wonderfully frantic day. Including several local family friends, they normally had about a dozen people, but this year the number would be higher. Most of the Vida family had accepted her invitation, shocking her to the core, and some of them had asked whether it was all right to bring guests. Even her cousin Nathan had promised to show up.

On the other hand, Mare knew all her guests well enough to know that a good half-dozen of them were at risk of cancelling at the last minute.

The doorbell rang.

She took a deep breath and braced herself.

4:00 pm: Sarah Vida

Sarah woke, groggy, at four in the afternoon. Christine was gently shaking her shoulder, and reminding her, "Sarah, you asked me to get you up. It's Thanksgiving."

The reminder probably wouldn't have been sufficient motivation if she hadn't known that the family had pushed Thanksgiving dinner to five in deference to their newly-vampiric niece's solar challenges. In previous years, they had eaten at about one in the afternoon, an hour Sarah suspected she wouldn't comfortably see for quite a while.

People kept saying things like, We'll see. It's different for everyone, when she asked how long it would take her to adjust so she could be awake during the day, but she had figured out that they meant, No one really gets over it, but if you're powerful enough, you can endure.

"Thanks," she said to Christine, as she rolled out of bed and shook out her hair. Being undead had a few- only a few- unexpected advantages. Vampires didn't sweat, or secret oils, or shed skin cells, or perform any other messy mortal processes. This made showers unnecessary unless one spilled something on oneself, or wanted to bathe purely for the comfort value. It also greatly lessened travel time. All that combined, and meant that Sarah had time to get dressed, feed, and make it to dinner in time.

With her feet still bare, she padded downstairs to see who else was around.

She found Nikolas in the dining room, but it wasn't Kristopher seated at the rarely-used formal table with him.

By this point, Sarah was getting used to seeing individuals whose faces she had memorized from pictures in the Vida's collection of targets. She tried to avoid staring, and was almost always able to avoid saying the first thing that came to her mind. Sometimes she chose to be tactful, and just backed away slowly.

In this case, she spoke the instant she thought. "What the fu-"

"Sarah," Nikolas said, rising with enough of a guilty start that she was sure he knew exactly why she was upset. "I'm sorry, our meeting ran late."

"Sarah Vida," the other vampire said, standing with a smile and an offered hand. "It's a pleasure to meet you. I'm-"

"I know who you are." There wasn't a cell in her body that wanted to shake that hand, so she ignored it until it lowered. She had spent a month learning to play nice with other vampires, but there were lines. This was a line.

"Excuse us," Nikolas said to his guest, before stepping forward, catching Sarah by the arm, and guiding her to the next room. It wouldn't give them privacy- vampiric hearing was too good. He just wanted to get them out of each other's sights.

"I have been nice to Kendra," Sarah hissed, "and I have been polite to Kaleo. I love you and Kristopher despite what I know of your history, which you have to admit cuts pretty damn close to home. But if you try to convince me to dissemble and shake the hand of one of Midnight's trainers, by the goddess I will do it with a blade in my hand and I don't care what you say about consequences."

Jaguar stepped into the doorway, but wisely chose not to acknowledge Sarah before saying to Nikolas, "I left the documentation on the table. Good luck."

He disappeared. At Sarah's glare, Nikolas said, "He's changed, Sarah."

"I. Don't. Care," she bit out. "He worked for an empire that tried to make my entire species extinct, Nikolas. For centuries, he deliberately tortured and enslaved innocent humans... not to mention shapeshifters and witches whenever he could get them. If he's changed, great. Maybe he can keep walking the Earth. But I will not associate with one of Midnight's power-players. I can't."

She recognized the expression on his face, which meant he was trying to decide between handling her to avoid an argument, or going with tough-love.

She decided first. Nikolas couldn't back out of this argument, but she didn't have time for it now.

"I'm going to feed, then head over to the Briar Patch. I'll see you and Kristopher later tonight."

"Should-"

"Later," she snapped, interrupting him before he could shove his foot further into his mouth.

4:08 pm: Kyla Cobriana-Vida

"Vemke'tasa," Kyla swore, as she raced for the showers. She had overslept. If she didn't seriously hustle, she was going to be late for the first family holiday she had ever been invited to... and it wasn't easy to hustle here.

She had to climb over three other people to get out of the sleeping area and into the common room. It wasn't that they were all normally nocturnal, but they had been up all night working on a particularly tricky intre'marl with Stefan, and then a few hours more partying. They had all crashed sometime around eight in the morning.

Good judgment? Maybe not. Worth it? She hoped so.

Most serpiente didn't celebrate Thanksgiving, so her nest-mates were going about their daily routines like always, which meant the showers were busy at this time of day.

As long as she didn't try to claim a crown, something she had no desire to do, the serpiente didn't care that she wasn't legitimate. The vast majority of serpents weren't. That meant she got all the advantages of cobra blood without any of the responsibilities, which meant people got out of the way and let her duck under one of the shower heads without objecting.

Normally, there was some fooling around here- you couldn't have a communal shower without people playing tricks like hiding each other's clothes- which meant Kyla didn't keep her street clothes in the dressing room. Buck naked except for a towel wrapped around her long black hair, she went back to her cohorts' den. They had been warned about how important this day was to her, and threatened with skinning and dismemberment if they dared do anything that could mess it up.

When she got there, they were all awake. Stefan had her street clothes laid out for her, and Alicia was readying a hair-dryer and clips. Luke was blinking sleep from his eyes, but greeted her with an encouraging smile.

They didn't understand, but that didn't matter. They wanted to help.

The thought brought tears to her eyes- followed immediately by rolling nausea.

I can't do this, she thought.

"Sit down, girl," Alicia commanded, as Kyla froze in the doorway, fighting panic. "We'll get you all primped to go have a fancy dinner with your mother's folks. Just remember, no matter what, you're one of us. You're beautiful, you're talented, you're proud. Got it?"

4:28 pm: Michael Arun

It took Michael Arun quite a while to remember where he was when he woke up.

Patchy carpet under him. Thin blanket half over him. Knife digging into his side- just the handle, thankfully, since it was still sheathed at his waist. No bruises, though he'd had those before going to bed, too.

He was in a slightly run-down motel. He was on the floor because Rant and Rave, two crow shapeshifter sisters whose real names were never uttered, had taken the bed and this rat-trap didn't have a cot or even a couch.

It did have a television, on which he vaguely remembered watching a ten-hour marathon of Supernatural. He was pretty sure there had been a drinking game associated with it, but in the glaring light of day sneaking around the edges of the closed curtains, he couldn't remember what rules they had been following or even what they had been drinking.

He put his head back down.

It had been a good party, anyway, celebrating the conclusion of a multi-day hunt in which they had been stalking a nest of vamps that had managed to make themselves the feudal lords of this tiny town. Vamps were gone now, and the town of wherever-they-were was marginally safer. Michael couldn't wait to see what SingleEarth told the terrified populace.

On second thought, yes he could.

He didn't know what day of the week it was, never mind the date. He considered checking his phone, but if he turned it on he knew he would probably have messages, and he didn't feel like answering any more distress calls yet. He wasn't even sure if it was November or December.

December would be better. November had been the month from hell.

Putting his head back down on a makeshift pillow made of a rolled-up sweatshirt, he closed his eyes again. Another eight hours of sleep seemed like a good idea.

4:30 pm: Nathan Marinitch

Won't be able to make it to dinner this year. Love you all. Happy Thanksgiving. Don't reply.

Nathan Marinitch sent the text to his cousin Mare, and then deleted any evidence of sending it and tucked the ultra-slim phone into the inside pocket of his suit jacket.

A bird fluttered to his side, sharing images of the local landscape. The American kestrel Nathan was honored to have as a companion could see vivid colors that had no words in human language. It refrained from perching on Nathan's shoulder because its talons had a tendency to leave noticeable marks in his suit jackets. He couldn't afford that at the moment.

By the time he approached the stronghold, he knew the exact location of every guard, every gun, every hostage, every door and window and bolt-hold.

He cast Kestrel back into the air. Her fierce cry was silent, purely mental, so it would not draw attention. Nathan focused his power, seeking out threads of energy from every living creature around him.

He checked his watch. He had twenty-seven minutes.

4:39 pm: Zachary Vida

In the past, Zachary had always followed Dominique's lead when it came to holidays, which meant that like her he had put the hunt first. Thanksgiving usually meant camping out with a container of Chinese food and a few other hunters while they discussed the upcoming season.

Some people loved the holidays. Some people dreaded them. Hunters knew that the days between Halloween and Valentine's Day tended to be bloody. Few vampires celebrated the birth of Christ or the triumph of the Maccabees, but they enjoyed revelry and over-indulgence just as much as any human.

This year, Olivia had convinced him to take a break and relax for the holiday- though she had not convinced him to join her and her friends. Instead, he had accepted an invitation to the Briar Patch, the Marinitch family home. The invitation had been extended every year for as long as he could remember; sometimes he had remembered to decline, but just as often he had forgotten. He almost hadn't had the courage to say yes this time.

When he had, though, Rosemary Marinitch hadn't even paused. She had continued the phone conversation as if he had been a figure at their Thanksgiving table every year of her life.

Now he was in the car with Diana Smoke, another witch he had rarely given the time of day previously. Rosemary had arranged for Diana to give him a ride; conspiratorially, she had explained to Zachary, "I know Diana. If she isn't responsible for someone else, she'll get pulled into work and won't get to the house before Christmas." He wondered if she had told Diana the exact same thing. I know Zachary. If he has to drive himself, he'll chicken out half-way here.

She would have been right.

It made for an awkward car ride, however. Their occasional attempts at small-talk failed. Zachary's life might have taken a strange turn a while back, but he still didn't have a lot in common with the woman considered the heart and soul of SingleEarth.

Well, no, there was the fact that they were both trying to hold together the shattered wreckage of everything they had ever cared about. If they had wanted to, they could probably have had a lengthy conversation about that.

It was a long, silent drive.

4:44 pm: Jeremy Francisco

Oh, to be a fly on the wall... and feel like, at any moment, the swatter might come down.

Jeremy Francisco stepped into the Briar Patch feeling like he was on the verge of explosion, or implosion, or something along those lines. He had certainly never been happier not to be a witch, since he knew perfectly well what such powers could do when combined with high emotions.

With his brother's hissing voice still lingering in his mind, he was certainly experiencing high emotions. "It's all about you, isn't it? It always has to be all about Jeremy!"

He had wanted to reply, "Yes, Dave, my wedding is all about me," but he knew better.

SingleEarth had pamphlets titled things like, How do I tell my family? He could vividly recall reading one specific piece of advice, echoed by numerous others: Telling your family about the paranormal probably means challenging a deep-seated world-view. Even in the best of circumstances, you may face anxiety and denial, which can come out as anger.

We advise against announcing your status to a group. Talk to your family members one-on-one, so you can appeal to their reason and offer the support they need to cope with new and often frightening information. Save big holidays for announcements of weddings, graduations and promotions. Announcing that humans are not alone and you are now a shapeshifter at the Christmas dinner table is more likely to make people remember "the year you ruined Christmas" than it is to inspire good will and tolerance.

Jeremy had followed half of that advice.

He had pulled his brother aside an hour or so before the Thanksgiving turkey was due to be served. They hadn't been as close since high school, since they had followed different paths, but at least Dave wasn't a vampire hunter. If Jeremy could win him over, he would be an ally.

It didn't work that way.

"I've proposed and she said yes," went very well.

"There's something I need to tell you..." didn't go quite as well.

Jeremy left before dinner, with Dave's parting shot- "I'll tell Mom you had some kind of emergency at that stupid clinic where you work"- echoing in his ears.

He tried to shake off the strain of the confrontation as he pulled onto the dirt driveway of the Marinitch family home, a large ranch set at the edge of several acres of farmland that had long ago mostly gone fallow. Some had been reclaimed by neighboring woods, and other parts had been deliberately filled with native plants. Only one acre was still cultivated, with a combination of herbs, fruits and vegetables.

4:45 pm: Jay Marinitch

From three acres away, Jay could hear his sister Mare fuming. At this distance, he should have been able to tune her out, but she would have known and that would have made her even angrier.

Nathan had just bailed at the last minute... again. Caryn, who was supposed to be helping Mare cook, was as nervous as a fly on a griddle because Jeremy hadn't arrived yet or called to say how late he would be. Zachary and Diana were supposedly on their way, though Zachary's voice had sounded strained when he had called Mare to say they had hit some traffic. Sarah should be there any moment.

Should he wander in and offer assistance?

Or would that just frustrate her more?

He wasn't much help with-

JAY! I know you're hiding out there!

Strictly speaking, Mare was not telepathic, but she had always had a unique way of communicating clearly within her own family.

Wincing, and wishing he'd had the sense to be out of range, Jay trudged through knee- and waist-high brush and grasses before traveling carefully between rows of actual tended plants and then slipping discretely inside. A glance at the clock he passed revealed it to be 4:49 pm.

"How can I help?" he asked, as he found his sister frantically trying to remain calm as she attempted to add final touches to four different dishes in the vast kitchen.

"You're not dressed," she snapped.

He glanced down. Shirt. Pants. Even shoes. Seemed sufficient. Mare's glare made it clear that this was not acceptable for Thanksgiving, however, so he wordlessly retreated to his room.

"Your cat is sleeping on your clothes," his brother, Vireo, remarked as they passed on the stairs. "Mare left one of those sticky tape rolls in the guest bathroom. Use it before you come back down. And brush your hair!"

And here Jay had been so proud of his forethought in setting out his Thanksgiving clothes ahead of time, to make sure he had all the pieces and they all still fit.

Jerk, he thought to the Canadian lynx, who was indeed curled up on top of Jay's amber-green dress shirt and tie. Both items had been picked out and personally approved by Mare, which meant he couldn't switch them for something else even if he'd had anything else.

Cat's faces were not made for grinning, but Lynx pulled it off somehow anyway.

I'm going to get some turkey, Lynx announced, as he jumped up and rubbed against Jay on his way out the door.

Jay heard the cars and other ruckus downstairs as he dressed and diligently de-furred himself, but there was no way to prepare for this confrontation. He had to force himself to walk downstairs, where he stepped into a fog of anxiety, frustration, and fury concealed behind strained but smiling faces.

Across the room, Vireo met his gaze with his own apologetic one. Why hadn't Jay taken Michael up on his invitation to go hunting this week, instead?

5:45 pm: Rosemary Marinitch

Vidas were nothing if not prompt, but other guests straggled in late, as if five in the evening was an absurdly early hour to have a Thanksgiving dinner. Finally, though, all of them were gathered around the tables... including Jay's Canadian lynx, who had insisted on having his own chair at the table.

Two large mice, having been granted a reprieve by Nathan's last-minute cancellation and Kestrel's resultant absence, were now enjoying a feast of carrot greens, apples and cranberries before they were due to be released back into the wild... unless Lynx got bored of turkey before he was as stuffed as Casper. Mare's bond, a female Hanoverian, was keeping company with her father's greyhound; both were happy to avoid the stressed-out crowds of people, and to indulge in their Thanksgiving gifts. Vireo's fox was delightedly pigging out on a mouse-berry pie that Mare had assembled and set out on a mat for the fox, who had no intention of placing himself in a chair. Two barn-cats, though not bonded to any particular witch, had nevertheless also been invited and were happily sharing in scraps.

In deference to the sensibilities of both the people and the poultry, none of the turkeys had been invited.

Except Casper and Nixon, of course.

Mare had given up on socializing with the other people as soon as everyone had been introduced to each other and dinner had been served. Vireo did the work of engaging people in conversation, breaking the ice and the tension both, until Jay finally stopped looking like he was going to faint and actually started to eat.

Now that everyone was talking, occasionally laughing, and smiling in a way that didn't need to be faked, Rosemary's job was done.

At least until the dishes needed to be washed.

[bornfromscarletcords]

Western Dreams: Of Hope And Death

Well It wasn’t precisely a galaxy far far away, not to everyone at least, but given the nature of social economic structures, the general far reaching scope of racism (it just makes everyone more relatable), strange senses of imperfection that are often misplaced (short, tall, beautiful, not beautiful, isn’t that stuff all just a state of perspective), and the miraculous nature of a people’s ability to break certain poorly prescribed habits to rise beyond their common sequences and general dumbness, it would seem that this little western town, more or less out in the left hand of nowhere would become a beacon for destiny, it’s callings and trials.  

Well as it goes, or at least as we’ve heard it told every now and then, there was a bit of a dispute between the strongest and most powerful of this infinitely sided set of stories we call existence. Real bad ass nonsense you know, battles of ultimate destiny, and collision courses aimed at becoming the greatest the universe has ever known. Well as it probably should have been apparent (though in truth it’s hard to really tell these things when you’re punching your dumb brother or brothers in the face) greatness takes diligence, and patience, and something a little more deep than the general superficiality we are challenged with on a daily basis. Something’s are more simple to show than to explain, and vice versa, so we will balance both as best we can, and in short much of the story can be summarized with these words (though in truth the truly sweetest and most awesome bits are in those details oh so personal) “true tests never end” (I suppose we will add the “our loved ones” to the last bit). If you are getting the sense this may be something of a last will and testament, well then you wouldn’t exactly be wrong, as for all intents and purposes, we are already dead, or will be by the time this story is at least half way through. In fact every now and then we have been called something like the grim reaper but we didn’t come here to name drop. I suppose you could consider it something of a time capsule, crafted from the stuff of dreams, bearing the scars of hopes endurance, with many lessons on the nature of nurturing order in a senseless and unforgiving world. If this work speaks to you, consider your existence very carefully, there are enemies far and near, and sometimes your greatest enemy could be right beneath your skin, they could beat with the very same heart as yours, like twins, they are freaky business ya know. I suppose the short way of saying it is, be strong, be smart, and believe that their was a point to you surviving when so many things did not. Heroes are amazing, monsters are scary, but above all others, we needed a miracle. So much has been, and will be sacrificed (again we imagine) do not be sheep just waiting to be slaughtered, or to slaughter yourself. We’ve seen it written, in one way or another, that the god and devil do not look so different, but such is often the way of such complicated, and hilariously dangerous entities.

Well I suppose that’s good enough as far as precursors go, as a last note I should say that the events described here are subject for interpretation, as describing an interdimensional-space-time anomaly of the heart and soul, is more or less like describing a dispute in heaven, or the variance between sins and virtues. Have you ever considered the nature of ideals, or the epitome of chairness and one ultimate chair prime casting all chair’s in it’s image. Well this is sort of like that, one giant map of harmony between principles both divine and mundane connecting everything in existence. Driven home the point looks something like, if every aspect life and death revolves around the nature of a story, as in even the air you believe you’re breathing could be a story, then somewhere out there is the strongest most powerful story of all, and we were all molded around its image. Look for the signs, search deep within, the handwriting is everywhere you could say.

Let’s start with the simple stuff, their once were a couple of strange kids, who became so much more stranger, as kids are likely to do when they are finally convinced (even if only a little) of their ultimate greatness. You could say that there were around forty two potential candidates for this mission or even path, but as things were, in those early days only about seven showed up. It’s okay, though, the youth is fond of its odd schedules.

So let’s see, their names were something like Emma, Jared, Nathaniel, Conti, Anthony, Terra, and Arianne, though in the course of one’s existence you could have many names forgetting and recognizing others as time goes by. I suppose they were special, but you have to understand we are a strange people prone to much martial conditioning and spiritual trials. The simple way to say it is, many of us work on the perspective, that a broken leg will heal stronger than before if only for knowing that it was broken (the how’s and why’s of an event) and those that don’t heal, must have been too weak, and would have been eaten anyway. It’s harsh, and it’s far from right, but the existence of evil, and divine agony (and or irony) , sort of require a somewhat awkwardly twisted perspective on most ideas often taken for granted by the general populace (whoever and wherever they might be). Short version, they were special because they chose to be, it was not something that could be given, it was earned from one deep self to the other.

Emma was native american and had shortish hair around the ears and neck, and was, generally speaking, very very hot (or pretty or whatever). She was also, generally speaking, disagreeable and prone to being especially brutal if not educational to her fellows at the karate dojo her cousin was in charge of. Jared was the picture of at risk teen, though many could be fooled with his somewhat perverse understanding of the complexities of human desire and need, you could say that for all his angst and bitterness he had a way of getting things to go down the path he found most beneficial. He was something like arabian which may not sound right but we are not entirely in tune with the specifics of the niceties and public policies of your dimension (this is a pretty messed up story after all). Terra was half japanese, half dominican (not in the religious sense, more of that half island off the coast of wherever) and was often teased by her friends for being blasian (black and asian) or hispanese (hispanic and japanese). She was a pretty enough girl but like some of the greatest ideas, her true beauty and awesomeness were both internal things as well as a thing that could be understood through much effort and patience. Anthony was Emma’s slightly older, and slightly more ridiculous brother, he often scared people with his stone man disposition or general “don’t make me kill you” manner of bearing, he looked and was strong, if a bit foolish, but we’ve all been foolish at one point or another. He liked to keep his hair long and braided down his back. Conti was a ginger so his soul was always at least a little in question, and though we have no great love for the white man, he was alright as far as things went. With fiery red hair and freckles galore, his general laid back and humorous approach to life and other trials was endearing when it wasn’t downright disturbing. The man could find the gold in a highway pile up (gold because he was not always sold on the nature of silver linings and pipe dreams). He was a bit on the thin side, but we suppose you could say in a sort of lean gaelic swordsman type of way, or even like a highlander or something. Pretty macho when he wanted to be. Nathaniel was funny too in the way all possible future overlords are funny when they’re all cute and without their many tools. Nathaniel was black and was teased, in a not so endearing way, for it, though he didn’t especially mind as he was relatively certain it was the price he payed for the tiny yet effective actions of vengeance he took out on his peers in that not so normal town, where not quite nothing happened. He liked the other seven because they were “real” when so much had failed to be. Plus it helped that they didn’t call him a nigger, and that in a general way he didn’t feel the need to desecrate their family graves. Arianne had a face that was pleasing if you knew how to vibe with a person’s strange rhythms, otherwise it was unassuming, she had womanish curves and hair like autumn leaves which often left people unprotected from the cutting and concussive intellect she could and would often slam them with. It wasn’t exactly her fault, everyone’s a little different you see, and Arianne just had the burden of being awkwardly correct about a lot of things, like those mongolian warmasters of old or time travelers.   

So, one day these seven folk were walking, for reasons both mysterious and tragically humorous, towards the same destination. Because destinies are so strange and disturbingly insistent upon themselves, there were different paths between them, different angles from which to view their trajectory so to speak, but at some point we all just sort of get to where we were going (those that choose to exist are complicated that way). They were heading to an arcade, which occasionally doubled as a magic-shop and source of occult knowledge. Anthony was walking with Terra, because they shared a couple of classes together, Arianne was walking by herself because she had trouble trusting people (often for good reason, people suck), Then there was Nathaniel, Jared, and Conti who were sort of walking with sort of following Emma because she was smokin hot and great at video games (lots of virtual skill that one).

Some traffic accident and general local mayhem made the usual routes of access difficult to achieve, so each group, though pieces of a pattern far grander took their own special way to almost reach the arcade. Their journeys were disrupted/interrupted, by some mean ol’ bastards (or bitches depending on who’s telling the story). In some mythological story, which, like many myths, has far more truths than not (people tend to be more scared of what is true rather than what is false, which would explain the falseness you’re probably sensing in the world you currently reside in) there was a technique, the ultimate execution and counter-force method so to speak. The basics, though it was a relatively advanced style, was to take the negative energy provided by your enemy and the environment (like with pollution, or spiritually corrupted ghost realms) and to use them to fuel your own reverse strike(s). In theory a clear and brutal enough focus could burn the negative energy from your system so that it found no purchase even as you redirected it back at your foe, like creating a dimensional sink in the energies path lines and steering it towards your desired or required end. The technique was used by some of the greatest swordsman and death lords in that world, but it was a great strain on the mind, body and spirit, and so many were often corrupted or broken by the awesome might of the technique. It should be noted that although the demands of battle are great, in theory the technique, in it’s most evolved form expels, and does not allow any excess negative energy into their system. We are not exactly pacifist but our opinion is that it has less to do with morality (though it can play a great part in people’s individual choices on it’s uses) and more to do with the efficiency of focus and the extreme danger of handling such volatile energy all at once. But those are just the basics. The technique could lead to, and was in many ways centered on a slightly adjacent principle or “execution art” of tracking the “channels”  or “frequencies” of cosmic energy. There is a similarly labeled mathematical principle which deals in the nature of critical points, so we will use that term to describe the principle’s purpose. The ability to track and touch the fabric of dimensions and cosmic critical points of space-time, but more pointedly, to see how, at these points existence could be fractured, shattered, and manipulated. At a slightly more straightforward level it operated on the basis of destroying any hard substance by striking it’s most vulnerable point letting some of the hardest materials  more or less crumble like sand with the most delicate, yet precise, of touches (generally speaking, breaking a thing through its own design). By pairing this principle of critical centeredness with what you could call the ultimate reverse strike you could in theory, track the energies of any and all cosmic trendlines, straight to the core of their most pertinent openings and from these openings heal or break the cosmos as you saw fit.

In short you could say that for all the fortune or misfortune which was heading their way, it was within their potential, and still is depending on how or why you read this story, to at anytime become the strongest and most powerful entities within their existences by, in a manner of speaking, accepting and bending their most ultimate and truest selves as well as the most ultimate and truest versions of those both enemy and foe. So, moving things along, they sort of died and or got dimensionally turned inside out and folded to the end and back again. It wasn’t so much an explosion though it might have looked that way to many, it was more like a dimensional energy ripping itself loose through the fabric of creation. You could even picture it as something like a sharp cube-dimension (like an oddly ordered black hole) crashing. They were not okay, but at least you could say they had each other. They each probably saw something equivalently horrible as well as awe inspiring in its own way (glorious you could say) though a person’s heaven and hell is their own business more often than not. They had been shattered, broken though those who have been broken may know much of breaking in turn, and that which has been shattered can unshatter all the same. Most trauma’s require patience and a degree of depth to be understood in a useful way, there is seldom love without heart ache, or the fire of stars without the cold absents of the void.

The left quickly, stumbling and moving together in awkward yet oddly synchronized motions. You could say that what is magic to one world would be science to the other, but we often approach dichotomies from something of a yin yang perspectives or perhaps more straightforwardly, from the nature of balancing scales.  In a world of people more or less out of control, (which is not wrong necessarily, control can often be very overrated) order tends to come as a response to chaos, though by that same logic one society’s logic is another’s insanity. Our champions, if you want to call them that were both themselves and not, each other and nobody, their scales, their energies had been sent into undulation, and who could say if they’d ever truly rebalance. They passed out in a forest.

A couple of abstract and surreal dreams later some of which would give even those inclined to opiation a spark of envy, and the seven had awakened. A somewhat funny story as something of a non-sequitur. Two racers competed with one another every day to see who was the fastest and one racer would always win. The other racer felt really bad about this and pondered what it could be that kept him from succeeding. Well one day he noticed that his rival had always gotten to the racetrack before him, and so on that day he got to the race track first and one every race they had ever had (or never had depending on who’s telling it). Ha ha, a little bit of death-time humor.