The First Age

It was beautiful. The sound lulled, glorious on its own. But it was the rush of feeling that sent Esper into gentle stupor, lips parted, eyes soft as she simply stared. Whatever curious intention drew her impatiently up the stairs, it all misted away. It was like every listener was braided into a single thread, their emotions harmonised. She barely saw the man himself, but she was aware of him as a conductor. And then like a key change, it all warped around her. A different mellifluence of feeling. A song just for her.

Roza’s whispers tickled her attention, her touch familiar and warm and always welcome. Esper didn’t resist the tug, though it wavered her balance more than it moved her to follow. “Do you feel it, mia dolce metà? His voice makes feelings.”

Roza clung to Esper and tried to pull her along, she teetered into her and Roza clung more to help them both stay upright. "I do." she whispered in her ear. "It's saying get the fuck out. It's dangerous."

Roza couldn't explain the desire or the feeling it just was. It pushed every bone in her body. Esper hadn't ever made her do things, but she'd seen her do it before. And this must be what it felt like. It felt like her on idea, but it wasn't. She was aware of that much.

She tugged on Esper's arm again. "Please szerető. Let's go. Before it's too late. Whatever the masked man told him was not good. He's warning us. Please, before it's too late."

The crowd moved with urgency. And Sage did too except it as against the flow and it was difficult to move. So much so that when a body fell into him they both collapsed to the ground. The flow around them both didn't stop, but they weren't trampled, it was like the red sea being parted. Maybe they were just being nice in their frantic departure, but he looked up at the man singing his heart out to a song that was so old no one really knew where it came from.

Sage enjoyed the song. He liked music of all kinds. The lyrics were appropriate. He chuckled to himself as he helped the fallen masked lady up from his lap. It had been nice feeling a warm female body in his lap, but he didn't miss it that much. "Here let me help you up."

The way the people were moving was eerie – with purpose, but unsettlingly calm. There had been no alarm, nor anything at all to explain why everyone was suddenly shifting to the same rhythm of silent warning. Whatever caused it, Nesrin didn’t like it. Moments ago she’d felt in control. Now waves of chaos churned an undercurrent, and her powers had failed. That had never happened before, and it made her more afraid than the threat of whatever might be coming. It had to be a fluke? She didn’t panic, but eyeing that closed door – what she could see of it now, anyway – she was ready to get the fuck out.

Assuming everyone was going in the same direction, and letting herself join the flow while still watching behind her, she collided with the stranger at a pace that sent them both to the ground. At the impact her teeth jarred around the clasp in her mouth, and, still tucked neatly into the hollow of her palm, the Emissary’s keys bit hard into her skin when she fell on the closed hand. Though the landing wasn’t all bad – practically half in someone’s lap – it still wasn’t the way she preferred to be on her knees.

A glance took in the red mask, and she didn’t need to see much more than the screaming mouth to immediately understand who it was. Not long ago she’d thought it was Nox’s face hidden under there. Now she had no idea who Wicked might really be. For all his legendary mythos on the dark web, he was ultimately vigilante – not a hire easily paid to a cause – and his prowess rivalled the m’Antinomian’s exceptional skill. For that reason she’d intended to steer clear. But in the moment, Nesrin couldn’t resist the temptation of an opportunity fallen right in her lap. Or, quite literally, in his.

As she accepted his hand the power swirled headily around her, and when his attention was on assisting her back to her feet, the threads spun into him. Trust me, love me, protect me, I’m a friend. The same manipulations she’d urged into the Emissary, and her heart beat hard in fear of failure a second time. Back on her feet she looked up at him with warm dark eyes, like she’d caught sense of something familiar about him perhaps, or in simple flirtation for his chivalry. She lingered close, and her free hand reached for the edges of his mask, gently urging him to be the one to lift it up.

She wanted to stay forever, to sink into the moment and never relinquish it. To claim this strange creature with such unfathomable gifts; to have him sing and sing and sing for her until the world around them crumbled to dust. But something of Roza’s words and closeness finally made an impression, for Esper suddenly realised that what she perceived as harmony, Roza was being pushed to actually feel with some urgency. It soured her perception enough that her brows drew low, and it was that understanding alone, and not the warning, which moved her.

It was like refusing a feast when starving, but she turned herself into the other woman, forehead pressed close. She was always aware of Roza’s emotions, but she rarely curled herself so tightly into them as she did now. Esper didn’t consider it a violation, just a cherished connection. But it proved difficult to tune everything else out, even though it was all the same feeling – because every instinct of her own wanted to luxuriate in it, not act on it. The idea of leaving almost made her want to snarl with the unfairness. “Make me follow, Roza. I can’t do it,” she murmured. Her limbs were soft, interwoven with Roza’s clinging grip. She wouldn’t fight the movement, but she couldn’t bring herself to shift away of her own volition.

Things all changed quickly and they didn't quite understand it. The flutter again tickled at his senses and the keys lost to the girl with no voice. There was another strange sensation but it flickered at the edge of its mind. The body felt something, several somethings. An urge flee, a comfort in this Bode's presence, but it did not go. They did not follow the body's whims. It left forgetful of the keys. A problem for another day. Though the body might not be happy. Might give away things. But it didn't matter, they wanted to touch that power. It called to them, tickled at their being like an old memory. If only they could remember.

This time the body walked them towards the door. Though it was like wading up stream in a raging river with bodies pressing the other direction. They didn't understand. But they kept moving towards the flutter.

Esper was transfixed by the man singing. She was lost to his voice. And all Roza wanted to do was run as calmly as possible out the door. It was hard to make Esper do anything she didn't want to do, but it was easy enough to wrap her arms around her friend and back slowly away with the crowd. Esper didn't fight her. "We'll find him. We've seen his face, and with a voice like that we'll find him again. I promise you, we'll find him again."

She didn't know how or when, but she knew when she made the promise it would be something they did. Roza stopped in their backwards progression and pulled out her wallet and snapped a picture of the man singing. He was good to look at. And the picture would help them find him later. "Come on szerető. Another day." She cooed into Espers ear as they finally made it down the stairs were Roza turned them around and walked normally down the stairs, though she still had to tug Esper, the music could still be heard until they reached the double glass doors that they had entered to gain entrance to this party and out into the cold air of the Moscovian winter.

They weren't far from home and they should have thought about their jackets before leaving. But Roza didn't dare go back for them. "We need to get home quickly. We can come back later for our coats."

She took his hand and stood with him. He felt at peace with the moment. It wasn't that the panic of people had died down, they flowed around them easily thanks to Ashton's song. But his eyes couldn't leave the mask in front of him, and her soft hand in his. He might have fought the crowd had they tried to knock them over again, it was unusual the way in which things had transpired. Sage glanced down at the name tag even as he reached up to unburden the mask from his face. It was hot, and he wanted to show her who he was. It should have set off an alarm but in that moment there was nothing in Sage that said revealing his identity was bad. He knew it on the perpherial but it didn't stop him from lifting the mask.

It revealed his face as he started into the dark pools, her hand caressed his check and then pulled the mask back down settling it back on his face. Strange conflicting feelings, but she knew his face. Seen it. Not many could say they knew what Wicked looked like here in Moscow. Phaser wasn't unknown in Alexandria but that was only to the locals. And Phaser was long gone -- locked up in some cell or worse yet a cubical doing god knows what for god knows who. Sage stumbled over his words and eventually settled on "Hi."

The need to get her out of Nox's potential ire was strong and he took her hand and used Ashton's flow of words to keep the crowd from tumbling them down again. "Let's get you out of here, Bode"

There was much about the scene that Jaxen couldn’t look away. Who didn’t get a kick out of spying on a pair of hot people humping? But the curve of Oriena’s ass sitting on Nox, the sly smile as she twisted over her shoulder at him, it wasn’t the worst thing ever. Add in the fact she was practically strangling the poor guy to death, well, Jaxen might have watched out of sheer curiosity if she would actually go through with it. For one thing, if they ever fucked again, it would give him decent insight into the state of his own danger, for instance. For another, well, it was just plain weird.

But he knew the difference between a friendly warning and a warning. “Lame,” he said, rolling his eyes. He started to slip back out the way he came, but not before giving Oriena a nice Ancient-Power-fueled slap on the asscheek on his way out. The glow of red that bloomed made him smirk like the devil he was.

He wandered back toward the main party, devil mask firmly back in place, disenchanted with the affair, and assumed he’d leave, having struck out three times in a row. Only, as he approached, he noticed the music was different from before. Perhaps different was the wrong word… it was more. He began to walk in rhythm to the beat. His head bobbing as his body swayed beneath him as though enchanted.

The first tendrils of emotion curled its way into his chest, but it was a sensation he recognized. From Almaz…. and farther back.. from the bathhouse.

Beneath his mask, a brow furrowed deep. He thrust his hands over his ears, gathered a shit ton of the ancient power into himself, and rushed in, searching for a familiar face, fighting the noise attempting to poison his brain.

He found it quickly. 

“Hello there, little buddy.” He doubted the kid would realize the danger he was in, especially given Jaxen's devilish disguise, but given his propensity for manipulation of tongues, he might recognize Jaxen's voice.

If not, too bad for him.

He stretched out his hand and the air began to shimmer. At first, it's subtle—a ripple, as if reality itself is bending around them. The furniture that the kid stood upon began to shake, glowing in tendrils of gold and yellow streaks as if it might break into a thousand pieces at any moment. They lifted around the kid's feet like serpents from the earth, weaving in and out of each other, forming intricate knots and coils. They might have clamped around those vulnerable legs, but Jaxen wasn't interested in pure binding. This was a performance! A spectacle to instill the same sense of awe and fear that he endured at the hands of his captors.

With a dramatic sweep of his arm, the tendrils exploded into hundreds of tiny, glittering illusions: butterflies, locusts, wasps and bees all made of shimmering light. They swirled around the kid, faster and faster, creating a dazzling whirlwind that made it impossible to see beyond the riot of colors and shapes. It looked like chaos, but Jaxen's power was precise. As the illusions closed in, they begin to solidify—turning into solid ropes of light, glowing brighter and tighter, binding the kid's arms and legs in an intricate, shimmering web.

Then, in one final flourish, Jaxen snapped his fingers. The web contracted sharply, lifting the kid into the air—hovering just a foot high, wrapped in gleaming, pulsating threads of raw magic where he hovered, cocooned in a display that’s part artwork, part prison.

The devil walked casually around his captive. There were few remaining witnesses, but those that stayed cowered safely away. "Don't worry--you're not hurt. Not yet. Let's see how long that holds, shall we? First, the cannibals. Second, the aliens. What will be your third trick, little buddy?"

Esper didn’t fight. In fact she didn’t do much of anything beyond drift like a sleepwalker, trusting her entire being to Roza’s care so that she could still listen for every last greedy second, even as they moved away. The promise drew her attention, though, as such things always did. She felt it seep into her bones and blossom in her heart. After that it was Roza’s singsong voice she was listening to as she was led out of the building.

Outside she drew on the cold air. It wasn’t that she could no longer feel the emotions within, but that the intoxicating high of it faded, hollowing out her insides like a wrung out cloth. The crash left her numb, not satisfied, and she shivered. Fiery red braids and dreads pooled down her arms but offered scant warmth – neither of their costumes were fit for the weather, but she felt Roza’s reluctance to return within like an accent to her words. She would find no argument. Instead Esper drew a finger under Roza’s chin, and placed a soft kiss on her lips. An unspoken thank you. Afterwards she looped their arms so they could share heat. While she came back to herself, she would follow wherever Roza led.