The First Age

Her eyes closed for a moment's respite. The alcohol that usually made these things bearable instead heightened her discomfort, blurring the lines of attachment; allowing thoughts to seep in when she'd rather forget. Reality merged with the flicker of something insidious. The noise; the lights. Mixing and swirling. Her skin burned the tell-tale sign of rising panic.

Cinq choses que vous pouvez voir.

She'd felt the therapy in Aubagne an unnecessary fuss when Eleanor had insisted; that she only needed time to internalise, grieve, and accept. But time proved her a liar. The things she buried stacked until they spilled over the edges -- on the inside, at least. Whatever internal battle raged, it was encased in cold marble.

Her eyes ghosted; seeking focus. Cinq choses que vous pouvez voir.

Five things you can see, Natalie.

Survivor's scars inside her wrists, faint beneath sheer sleeves; the fluted glass in her hand, fizzing with gold bubbles; the fall of emerald skirts as Jared led Emily into a dance; the gilded edge of a silver tray, swept aloft by a white-gloved palm as a server passed.

And finally, amongst the shifting crowd, a shadow in black to the throat, eyes meeting hers.

A heartbeat swept the rest of the process away. But whatever expression had been about to capture her in that vulnerable moment, it shuttered abruptly into stillness.

She'd had no real reason to expect Jay might be here, though hindsight lit a spotlight on Brandon's own words to her. Shields. Guardians. Of course he'd want to unveil his new weapons to the world, and what better way than framing it as a humanitarian gesture. Evelyn would lap it up, and he could proceed how he wished if it was in the service of peace. It was neatly done.

Jay stole her focus away from those cynicisms; narrowed her vision down to lines and shades of black, to the crook of a smile that snagged something inside.

Though she had demanded to know what had happened to him, she had never asked to see him; not quite sure of her own reaction, or the betrayal in her chest, if the request was granted. It twisted painfully now, like viewing the warmth of home from the outside. There'd been nothing but missed moments in Africa; too little substance to warrant the pull she felt, not least towards a man who had already moved on. She'd just been a job; her rational side had already reconciled with the truth.

But that was before she saw him again, and her traitor's heart lightened at the sight.

Her glimpse was caught in staccato as the other guests ebbed and flowed between them, but he looked well. The smile alone assuaged concerns for his welfare, despite Brandon's tactics for recruitment. The black fit him more comfortably than Legionnaire khaki. She chose not to dwell on what it might mean for him, nor the chain across his chest; the pin those shiny links joined to, too far away to discern. Her pale gaze moved away, a knot in her stomach, though she couldn't entirely say why.

The last time she'd seen him, he'd been cuffed in the back of a police car after admitting to murder; she had every right to keep her distance, and any normal woman would. It wasn't the truth, but as a mask it would suffice. He didn't need to know the lengths she'd gone to to find him; he didn't need to know she'd thought of him at all.


Edited by Natalie Grey, Jun 3 2018, 07:30 AM.

Jaxen surveyed the scene like a lion padding about, deciding which morsel would be the choicest meal. From what he gathered, Oriena should be able to sense any other woman using the Ancient Power, whereas himself, only the men. And there were traces of it everywhere. Echoes of a ghost in passing. Certainly, the loudest, most ominous of those echoes was the curtain of smoke itself. Jaxen openly studied its making, but found no hint by which he could duplicate it. Cloaking oneself in darkness could have its uses. Hidden from detection was a neat trick; although the base of his brain was tickled by an idea. Walking along the street centered in a cube of black smoke, while hiding himself, was not exactly the most stealthy mode of transportation. He needed to be wreathed in something similar, maybe a million mirrors that reflected the light back to the outsider. It would take some tinkering, but the seed was planted.

Oriena could likewise suggest an interesting target. Surely there was at least one woman of the Ancients in the room? She kept quiet, glint smoldering in her gaze, and suggested none. So maybe not.

He tilted a Baccarat-designed glass to his lips, savoring the cristal within. Chardonnay, complex, crisp. Probably $3500 a bottle. Unless purchasing special edition, diamond-studded bottles, of which none were on display, then the vintage originally created for Tsar Alexander II was a good choice by the Kremlin. Expensive, tasty, and rich. Alexander smirked, and exchanged the half-sipped glass back to a tray for a fresh one just for the hell of it. The server looked at him quizzically, but Jaxen smirked and went about his way.

He was vaguely aware that they seemed to have lost Scion and the girlfriend, although a quick sweep of the nearest people told him they were not far. He locked eyes on a dark-skinned, exotic temptress, and memories of warmth, entanglement, and mischief flooded the back of his brain. A nod of his head was returned by a glare. He hummed an amused laugh, glanced at Oriena and carried on.

They made the circle when the fuel of ancient power flooded the air. Jaxen immediately jerked his face toward the front of the grand hall as a grouping of some sort of uniformed men splintered into pairs. "They're all using it,"
he whispered at Oriena, eyes narrowed curiously.

[[Uh... Ori didn't remain quiet, she replied to the offer of a game ]]

She offered him first pick, but either he was reluctant to take the reigns or he did not know where to start. By his comment she supposed the room must fizz with the power, but there were no such distractions for her. Only a handful of women tickled her senses, but none of them were active -- Ori had been honing the skill, seeking out channelers for her club, an amusement more than anything, to pull the waifs and strays into her embrace. But tonight was not about recruitment.

"If someone tried to murder you in your own home, you'd raise security, no?"
Perhaps it was simply because she could not feel it, but she was unconcerned by the apparent amount of power coiling unseen around her. Rather she revelled in it. Nikolai was unlikely to pose a threat to his guests, at least not unless provoked. An unrestrained smile flickered her lips. "Or maybe he simply wishes to make it very clear who is top dog here. Power or no power, the rest of us are ants."


A flutter of air brought a glass to her fingers, curious to see if it would garner a reaction from those around them, but more curious to see if there was anything to stop her. Brandon's guards all seemed to be male. "If you suddenly discovered you were not the only god in this world, it would be bound to make you paranoid. Not that he's wrong, of course; it's not only snakes he has to worry about."
She grinned, devilish, and pressed the champagne flute to her lips.

She was so beautiful. That dress. Those shoulders. Her lips. Her eyes. He drank in the sight of her like a man dying in the desert. It wasn't like he didn't notice before. In Masiaka, a layer of dust, blood and guilt draped her like a shroud as obsidian as the smoke behind her. Those pale eyes had been the first thing that stole the entirety of his attention. She was beautiful then. Seeing her safe and whole, relief mixed with wonder. Like a hook to the gut; but decidedly less painful.

It was almost like she was another person, now. Pale blue wrapped her like the whisper. He would hesitate to even stroke the dress for fear the roughness of his hands would tear the delicate artistry.

She recognized him. Their gazes were fixed. She barely had the time to process what happened in the tunnels. But despite the horrors endured, she was pure as marble. Like the ghosts of the past haunted not a thing at all. So many ghosts she had, too. Jay's hope dropped like a weight when she broke their fleeting moment of connection. He blinked in the sudden chill. Was warmth ever there at all?

And he knew why. Ascendancy said she asked after him; but he didn't explain the context of those questions. The last time they saw one another, he admitted to murder and walked into the firing squad to make amends.

The color drained from his face. She was afraid. Horrified, probably. He was a killer. Those pale eyes beheld the evidence in Africa. He cut his way through people without a second thought. He abandoned the innocent to their fate at the refinery without a moment's hesitation. A grunt obeying blind orders. One whose allegiance shifted swiftly. From the US to a mercenary on the payroll of the highest bidder until the pendulum of attachment swung as far as possible. He wore the mark of Dominance I. The Ascendancy's property as surely as if the chain across his chest shackled him to the enemy.

He squeezed his eyes shut, vaguely aware of Samuel's voice directing him elsewhere. He would have no recognition of Natalie. Just another pretty girl that caught the attention. The crunch of glass underfoot flooded his ears. The dead technician contorted at his feet. He swore his loyalty to Ascendancy and in return the man's promise was upheld. He was being taught control. This power - his power - would not harm the innocent again.

He swallowed and pushed his gaze toward Samuel, his dark eyes an anchor to duty in the stormy seas of doubt. "Where?"
He asked. Sam had been nudging him toward a power-user that was drawing the attention of more than a few of the Nine.

One last glimpse of the angel he didn't deserve to behold and turned to follow Sam.

He felt the power, just a trickle, soon enough. His ear-piece buzzed with conversation about him and a few others. There was some confusion as to the man's status in the Kremlin as a person of interest. Yet he was gained admittance to the ball, and Ascendancy was the only one with the authority to grant such an exception. A heads up about the man would have been nice.

The crowd parted just enough, though Jay noticed that their path seemed to open up on its own. Like the people were keeping a wary arm's length from the Nine on instinct.

The blinking continued when he recognized the profile. The jaw, the hair. The same man, though the tuxedo was properly fit, it didn't suit him at all. He shook his head, "He's not one to worry over. I'll vouch for him."


He turned quickly and walked away alone, leaving Samuel in his wake. The power curled out like invisible tendrils, snatched the closest glass of whatever was alcoholic, and he drank it as quickly as he could, but downing it was a disappointment. Surviving tonight was going to require something stronger than champagne.


Edited by Jay Carpenter, Jun 4 2018, 10:12 PM.

Marcus was amused. Danika was a bit tipsy. It was not a feeling he was too familiar with. Control was always far too important to him. Still, on occasion he had indulged, if only because it was an experience.

And experience was important. What was the point of living- of seeking power- if one didn't not have the experiences that went with it? But there was so much more to it, summed up perfectly by Plagueis: "Remember why the Sith are more powerful than the Jedi, Sidious: because we are not afraid to feel. We embrace the spectrum of emotions, from the heights of transcendent joy to the depths of hatred and despair. Fearless, we welcome whatever paths the dark side sets us on, and whatever destiny it lays out for us."

He smiled. Malik smiled. This ball would be an experience. Danika would be an experience. He embraced it all, in this moment, bringing Malik and Marcus together.

He downed the flute in one simple movement, ready to feel the effect. His next would be sipped, savored, enjoyed in its each moment.

He looked at Danika and paused, really saw the woman, wide and inviting smile, twinkling eyes, nicely formed curves, seemingly framed by stars. Somehow it all seemed appropriate on her.

Her question was low and he couldn't help the chuckle in his chest. Without a word he escorted her to the dance floor where they were swept along into the current of music and motion.

He grinned at her and winked. "You'll have to forgive me if I step on your feet. I've not had too many opportunities for formal dancing."
Not really true. Part of his socializing in school had included it. But that wasn't really the point anyway. Making light of himself was. "I might be able to do the worm if you get me drunk enough."
And then he winked at her again. She was from Chicago. She had to know it.


Edited by Marcus DuBois, Jun 5 2018, 03:20 PM.

"He's laid the cards on the table."
Jaxen mused to himself and passed a side-glance at his company. For as disgusted with bureaucracy, Oriena analyzed the players in the game better than he expected. Perhaps better than himself, at that. Jaxen never cared enough to bother with such analyses.

He tapped the stem of his glass thoughtfully and watched the players roam, himself. "Why put them in a uniform though? The safer bet would be to keep them undercover and hide themselves until the necessary time presented itself. Diluting the target? Distract from focusing on Ascendancy himself? Showing off his hammers? He's playing the showman's card over the safety card. Eventually, this house of cards will collapse on itself. So which ant hill do we kick first?"


His smirk lit his eyes with the gleam of mischief.


Scion Marveet
PPC

Meanwhile, Scion Marveet danced between the pieces on the chess board like a master. His ambitions toward claiming a seat on the Sphere was well-known. Yet he did nothing to overtly undermine the current members. It was poor form to cut down those who would be your future peers. Like jumping into a pit of rattlesnakes only to realize there were vipers in the shadows.

His heavy brows lifted upon the tug of curiosity himself when the newly arrived officers of the Ascendancy revealed themselves. He easily snapped a picture of one and sending it for his assistant for investigation revealed the hand of the ascendants that took out Theo Andlain. The fires of that madman were snuffed by Michael Vellas and his so-called ascendants. Channelers, all of them. If one appeared in uniform, the others likely were as well.

Scion concluded his conversation with those in his circle, only for his eyes to narrow when a pair of these dark-robed channelers presented themselves to his line of sight. The first, a dark-haired man was scanning their surroundings, but the second, lighter-haired and light-eyed, was fixated on something very specific.

Scion swiveled his view in that direction and beheld what so fascinated this man. "My, my. Look who we have here."
He spoke softly with Vena, who moved away thereafter, weaving her way through the ball like a splinter through the skin, and followed them.

A few minutes later Vena returned. She lifted herself up to her toes despite the height of her heels and conveyed what she learned. "I dont have a name yet, but--"
, then she hesitated, "--that accent is the most American accent I have ever heard."


Scion's expression was granite. He excused himself like any true-born gentleman would, and gathered two cold goblets into his possession. A facade to be sure, but he was around the pinnacle of mankind long enough to adopt their airs.

He approached Natalie without hesitation and offered her a glass of water. "Water is difficult to come by at these functions if one doesn't ask for it. Alcohol, no matter how pleasant to the tongue, is popular for its uncanny ability to soften the company of fools. So it is a necessary evil."
He laughed as honeyed poison.

"So, a granddaughter of a Patron in our presence. An honor to be sure, Miss Grey. And I see you know the ascendant; the American one at that. A past acquaintance? Your family does seem to have many contacts with them."

Ivan ignored the waiter with the tray of champagne glasses. In his mood, drinking was a bad idea. And he was supposed to be security, after all.

It was hard to concentrate, though. Worry and anger churned in his stomach. And of course it didn't help that he could feel the power everywhere. That sense of dread and feeling like someone was right behind you was not doing anything for his mood, if you know what I mean. The worst of it came from the black mist. The mist had a presence. He was pretty sure he knew what it was, though. The Ascendancy. The name still burned just thinking about it.

He looked around and what he saw was corruption everywhere. Rich assholes, men and women, parading themselves about, owning the world. Indifferent to what people's lives really were. Living high in their towers, spending however many millions
of dollars a plate just to see a magic show. And then they would pat themselves on the back with how wonderful they were. Never that that kind of money could help people. No. They'd blow it on a meal and a show. Dinner and a movie, right?

He closed his eyes and squeezed the bridge of his nose for a moment, then took a deep breath. When he opened them again, he saw bunch of guys in black coats. He couldn't help but stare. There was a deadly grace to them. They seemed to split off and after a few moments, he felt the power fan out from them in various directions.

The room was stifling, now. What the hell was he doing here? If these guys were the Ascendancy's men, what the hell did he need to be here for? He felt useless and frustrated.

After a moment, he snagged a drink from one of the waiters. Whatever. Just a drink. And then he headed for one of the open balconies. He just wanted some air. And to get away from the feel of the power everywhere.

And from all the useless assholes. The note he'd had to write was in his pocket. He'd have to find the guy eventually. But he just wanted to think for a moment. He looked up at the quiet sky, wondering if he'd find any answers.

"You're personal security?"
He asked among a tone of surprise. Nox didn't strike him as the competent armed security personnel. Furthermore, he was apparently far from his man. A poor guard he was, if so.

"His father is stupid. Its far easier to eliminate a target in close quarters like this than shooting him down."
Stabbing. Poison. Tagging and following later. Luring him to solitude and kidnapping him. And many more options.

Ryker was soon distracted from mocking the boy further. He clearly noted the sudden appearance of threatening bubbles. Disgust touched the edges of his face at that, highlighting his own limitation to accessing the power. Ascendancy was a fool for allowing so many bombs into arm's reach. If he depended on the loyalty of men, he was even a greater fool for it.

Nox shook his head. "Not exactly."
It really wasn't easy to explain what Dorian 'paid' him for. It wasn't exactly like Nox was the jump in front of a bullet sorta guy. And he said as much to the obvious military oriented man standing in front of him. Nox was hardly bodyguard material.

The power ebbed all around. All of it dwarfed by the presence up front, but still they circled like vultures and Nox felt the presence getting closer. He didn't want them near him, and he definitely didn't want to get thrown out. Nox glanced in the direction the looming presence approached from. He caught sight of one of the nine men in uniform wielding the power, there were two but the one who turned away Nox recognized. Fuck, what was Jay doing here. Come to think of it Nox didn't know what had happened after Jay found him. Fucking knight in shining fucking armor! Nox had a lot of people to thank.

Ryker spoke about the whole easier way to kill Cruz and Nox sighed. He needed to find him. At least that was an excuse. "On that note, I should probably go find him."
Not that Cruz really needed him anymore. Nox had no idea why Dorian had wanted him to come. Cruz was no safer her than at home with or with out Nox standing guard. Cruz should have been able to bring Rachel. Though he hadn't complained when he was told to bring Nox. Which made Nox wonder how safe Cruz felt here.

Nox gave the man a smile. "Nice bumping into you."
Nox's smile grew to a grin as he turned and followed in Jay's wake. He'd find Cruz. Hell if he was really worried he'd just call Sage and make him find him in the crowd. Nox was sure that Sage tracked Cruz too. He tracked everyone he met.

The other man dressed like Jay was still standing where he left watching Nox. Nox gave him a friendly smile. Nox used the power he held to make a secret tunnel for his words, "Jay."
He called out but Jay was the only one who'd hear. It was one of few useless pieces of crap he'd learned with Aurora. It came in handy when they needed to converse just between the two of them. It was the science again that he'd had to learn to perfect it. I hate science, Nox thought to himself. Yet he used it everyday.

Looking away was like letting go of a touchstone in a raging storm. The colour and noise flooded back in, and her tolerance for it diminished. Going through the motions to satisfy her obligations suddenly felt like paltry motivation for being here. She knew exactly why she'd let Eleanor talk her into it; for a simple possibility. And she'd just turned away from him.

Because she couldn't run off that cliff edge. Not again.

And he was okay; she saw it with her own eyes.

It was enough.

Quatre choses que vous pouvez toucher.

Four things you can touch, Natalie.

Her attention diffused from her surroundings, uncaring that she stood alone. She pressed a light finger to the stud in her ear; a sixteenth birthday present from her father, the last before he betrayed their family. The pad of her thumb grazed the sharp metal of the fastening. One. But even as the dull pain deepened, the beat of her heart echoed out her chest; a more insistent call.

Only when she looked back up, Jay had gone.

And she realised it wasn't enough; the moment of connection so fleeting she could almost have imagined it.

It wasn't enough.

Her pale gaze cast, and she found him moving through the crowd, his companion left like driftwood in his wake. Better sense eclipsed itself beneath a tide of wilful recklessness; something in the purpose of his stride touching a chord like an echo through time. She slipped her unfinished glass back onto a passing tray, about to follow despite her better judgement, when another blocked her path.

A memory tugged, but it had been many years since she had truly paid mind to world politics, let alone the minutiae of Moscow's elite circles. Though frankly she didn't care which lordling she offended next; even one who'd clearly noticed how long she'd been standing alone, and had taken it upon himself to rescue her.

Though it turned out the chivalry came with a sting.

"And yet I do not recall asking for it."
She did not take the proffered glass, though appeared more curious than offended whilst she absorbed all he had to say. Russian by the accent, and perhaps near an age with her grandfather; dark to his light, but encompassing a similar magnitude of presence. It was only that intensity stopping her walking away without even a second thought to manners.

That and something that felt strangely like deja vu.

"You mean Northbrook, of course."
Her lips flickered the ghost of a smirk, falling short of her eyes. She was under no illusion the slip was anything other than intentional, but if he thought to embarrass her with past family scandal he would be disappointed by the casual way she brushed off the insinuation. The fact her reputation did not lay in complete tatters at her feet was not of her own doing, and she didn't care to keep it clean. He could think what he liked.

She tipped a dismissive shoulder and supplied no answers. Whatever it was he sought to gain, he would not get it. Her father's transgressions were years past, barely relevant to today's politics. Eleanor had no love of the game at all, and Edward spent almost all his time in London. Natalie might be related to a Patron, but it didn't make her a valuable game-piece. She shifted, leaned it, faux conspiratorial. “Rest assured, I was searched quite thoroughly before they let me in. I promise there’s no hidden detonator.”
Her sense of humour cracked dry as bone, and with only the barest hint of a smile as she retreated.

"Alas the champagne has done little to soften the calibre of company so far tonight. If you’ll excuse me."