Moscow wasn't built for cars.

Asha didn't have the frivolous cash for the metro system, nor enough in her account to pay for accommodation if she also wanted to eat. Russia was expensive, and her options - she realised quickly - were limited. All her worldly belongings - Wallet excepted, that stashed in her pocket - were shoved under the foot-well. A pile of blankets lay folded on the passenger seat, faded bright colours and fabrics - worn, loved items. A cut of quartz hung on a thong from the rear-view mirror, rainbowing the winter light like sentimental kisses across the interior.

The car was home, or close enough.

She'd parked on the far outskirts, in a location that didn't buzz with too much peripheral activity so she'd feel safe when she slept. That morning snow an inch thick had blanketed her windscreen; she'd woken in a freezing white cocoon, reminded of the icy winters of her youth. Her breath puffed frigid little clouds in front of her nose, and despite thick socks and ugly boots her toes were chilled. She never had liked the cold.

The walk to the city was a good long trek, but the gentle entrance to civilisation at least gave her the opportunity to acclimatise slowly. She'd travelled cities a hundred times with her uncle, but alone the transition was always more traumatic, and Russia was utterly foreign her to her. She was charmed, in a way, by that strangeness - both austere and beautiful, old and modern. The colours delighted her. The fusion. Only the people marred the experience, though through no fault of their own. The humdrum of their emotion soaked into her. Like rain that slowly hardened to hail. She could ignore it, but it wasn't pleasant to endure.

Asha was here for a reason, but not one that carried urgency. She meandered like a tourist, pausing to take pictures with her Wallet of anything that caught her fancy. She'd sort through those later, probably back at the car this evening. Best be back before it got dark; some of those streets hadn't felt pleasant, and it didn't seem wise to walk them alone in the dark. Concerns for later, though. By mid-afternoon she was entrenched in the city. The day was bright, the sun cold and proud in a pale sky, and she was frozen. Her coat was thick, but she'd been spoiled with warmer climates. She could do with a rest, use the time to start drafting words to go with those photos.

This close to the centre there were no really quiet places, so she just picked the one that felt the least intrusive to her sensitivity. It smelled nice, drawing mild pangs of hunger, but mostly she just wanted to warm up. A smile greeted the young man behind the counter, her dark gaze briefly glancing up to take in the boards overhead. She tugged at the scarf wound round her throat. "Uhh... A coffee? Please?"
These days it wasn't popular to carry cash, but the habit was engrained. Asha upended her purse into her palm, fingers numbly plucking through the bits of shrapnel. She spread the treasure out on the counter, counting each piece.

And came up short.

"Ah."
She felt her cheeks heat at the realisation. There was a line forming behind her; she could feel the impatience prickling her skin without needing to look. The guy behind the till was radiating pity and discomfort at her situation, and it only made her feel worse. His gaze flittered away. He cleared his throat. Move on. She could feel it in him, the urge to save her further embarrassment. "Does that get me... anything?"

<small>[[continued from you know how we do it]]</small>


Marcus waited in the foyer of the restaurant for Elouera. His lunch earlier must not have agreed with him because he felt a bit quesy in his stomach as he sat there. Perhaps it was the thought of Thai food. He wasn't a huge fan. Too much peanut butter. But for some reason people kept suggesting it. He shrugged. He'd rather have had Korean. But food really didn't matter. Sustenance was sustenance. And if Elouera was more at home and relaxed, the better. One less thing to think about.

Finally Elouera arrived. He was puzzled she had changed. After the gym- he'd hit his back and chest hard in super-sets after which he'd done kettle balls and clean-and-jerks- and a shower he'd changed back into what he'd worn earlier. But she was wearing a dark yellow dress with mid-rfff flows down to a swirl skirt. She was very attractive in it, though, so he didn't mind. Women were different anyway. And he had no desire to sit at a table by himself waiting

He said hello and then indicated to the maitre'd that his party had arrived. "You look lovely. I hope you had a productive meeting."

The husband-wife team that headed the multibillion dollar company responsible for the development of the technology in the Wallet, Shale Industries, died in a tragic plane crash last week. The circumstances behind the plane crash are still unknown.

The question remains: What will become of Shale Industries? All shares of the company that have belonged to Martin and Victoria Shale have passed on to their oldest daughter Emily, 25.

Miss Shale received a B.S. in Human Services and a MBA from the University of Illinois - Champaign-Urbana. Until recently, she was a Junior Associate in the Philanthropy Division at Shale Industries. The jump from Junior Associate to CEO is quite the promotion. Will she be able to handle it?

Miss Shale has declined to comment on which direction she wishes to take the company.

Comments are OPEN

Age: 25

Origin: Chicago, IL

Occupation: CEO of Shale Industries and Philanthropist

Psychological Description: Emily is kindhearted and smiles a lot (although at the beginning of posting she is stressed and grieving her parents’ death). She is very professional in her business dealings. She has a heart for people and seeks to help those less fortunate than herself. Due to an attempted rape when she was 18, she has a phobia of men touching her physically – this includes hugs, kissed, hand shakes, ect. As she has to shake hands with businessmen quite a bit, she can bring herself to do so, but it is a fear and she does it cautiously. She has a strong sense of family, taking on a natural role of mentor to her younger sisters. She believes in creating real relationships, and although she loves communication technology and social networking, she is consistently looking for ways to improve real social interaction between people.

Physical Description:
Emily is 5’9” (1.75 meters) tall. She has shoulder length blonde hair with green eyes. She is athletic.

Powers: Channeler

Current Strength: 5

Potential Strength: 29

Experience: New

Reborn God: Isis

Biography:

Shale Industries:
Shale Industries is a multibillion dollar company based in Chicago, IL. Founded by Martin and Victoria Shale in 2005, the company started out in oil production and has expanded to include technology (mainly microchips and processors), software, hardware, steel, and manufacturing. Most notable of its accomplishments is the technology used in the modern Wallet – a handheld device that combines a Smartphone and supercomputer.

Humanitarian Efforts:
Martin and Victoria believed that it was the duty of the fortunate to assist those less fortunate than themselves. As a result, Shale Industries has been involved in Philanthropy activities from donating to disaster relief funds and other charitable organizations. They also initiated a project to give the underprivileged job training and eventually jobs within the company.

Emily's Biography:

Emily Shale was born to Martin and Victoria Shale on December 25th, 2020. Growing up in a wealthy family, she wanted for nothing, but still developed her parents love for hard work. She went to a private school and was very successful. As a child, she proved to be clever and great at solving puzzles. Growing up, she enjoyed volunteering at shelters and helping the less fortunate. Her parents taught her that it was the responsibility of the wealthy to help those who were less privileged. Going to school with other rich kids, she learned that her parents were in the minority.

College Life/Magic:

Emily attended the University of Illinois where she majored in Human Services. Although she had dated some in high school, she met her first real boyfriend, named Bryce, while in school. At first, Bryce was kind to her, but Emily wanted to move slower than he did. After they had dated for a few months, he tried to force her into having sex with him. She resisted, but he pushed harder for it, even becoming violent. With a yell of “get off”
Emily put her hands on his chest to push him away and to her surprise, Bryce went flying across the room, hitting his head on a desk in the dorm room. Bryce was knocked unconscious, and a scared and confused Emily ran from the room. The next day, she broke up with him. Bryce didn’t remember the incident. Since then, Emily has had a fear of males touching her and hasn’t had a boyfriend since. She didn’t understand what she did, but thought it had to have been some type of supernatural strength – like when a mother pulls a car off of a baby. She hadn’t pushed him that hard. It was in about a week that she became sick and was bedridden for a few days. After getting better, she began to research the circumstances of the incident with Bryce and even went to a campus Wiccan group to figure things out. She met Chelsea there. Chelsea explained magic to her and Emily thought she had figured it all out. She was some sort of magician-witch thing. Chelsea had some experience and taught her how to control it in time, but Chelsea’s own experience was limited. They became roommates eventually, but that caused more problems than not. The two were not compatible and they soon had a falling out, and Emily left the Wiccan group to explore on her own. Emily never used her power much, so she is weaker in the power, but is able to control it. She stayed at U of I, getting her Bachelors Degree in Human Services and a Masters in Business Administration.

The Job Interview:
Emily returned to Chicago and moved back in with her parents. Her parents wanted to give her a job, but Emily insisted that she earn the position. Her parents had smiled at that, so she filled out an application and was summoned for an interview.

Luckily, her interview was with a group of women. Her parents had probably had something to do with that. They knew her fears, but they had also made sure though that Emily didn’t know the women on the committee. Emily met them with a smile and shook their hands before sitting down. She stored their names for later – Amy Somers, Marcelina Martinez, and Jaylen Smith. The interview as pretty typical – questions such as tell us about yourself, and why should we hire you. Emily was confident; she met their gazes and smiled often as she spoke of her internships and experiences. She was even prepared for the harder questions.

“Shale Industries prides itself on innovation. What does innovation mean to you and what can you bring to the table with regards to that – both in your division and out?”
Amy, most likely the leader, asked.

Emily smiled at her and met her eyes. “Innovation is creating goods and services to meet different needs and/or expanding on those ideas as the times change and new needs or problems arise. Take this for example,” Emily pulled out her own Wallet and set it on the table. “Shale Industries’ staple technology. It’s fantastic. Imagine the turn of the millennium where you had to carry a cell phone and a bulky laptop to the office. Now we have this – a combination of the two. It’s small, light, compact, and has many times the operating capacity of that laptop. This is a true innovation, but has it reached its full potential? I would say no. Technology is always shifting and thus, we are always innovating. There is also a problem with this device though – social interaction. People don’t talk as much anymore. It’s been a problem since the invention of the Smartphone and no one has approached it. The question we need to ask is how we use this technology to bring each other together, rather than separating them.”


Emily paused for a moment to transition to her next topic. She had noticed the looks of approval in the committee. She had been worried about mentioning what she thought to be a weakness in the Wallet, but it was important to her.

“I’m applying for a job in the Philanthropy division so a more specific example would be orphanages. Let’s face it, in the last few centuries, orphanages haven’t changed much. They are holding pens for children without families, and the family is the most important social unit for society. I’m lucky; I’m from a fantastic family that supports one another very well, but these kids have been denied that. All of their physical needs are met, yes, but what about their emotional and social needs. I’ve seen many orphanages and some are stellar, but there are still many out there in which the children fight to get special privileges. The children steal from one another and are ignored. Many of the children deal with abandonment issues wondering why ‘mommy and daddy didn’t love me enough to keep me.’”
Emily couldn’t keep the sadness out of her eyes as she said it. She would never forget the face of the boy that had told her that. “The whole issue is made worse by the adoption process. Many children have several interviews with several families before getting adopted. They are constantly being reminded of their loneliness and don’t feel loved. The process needs to change – the institution needs to change. All orphans should feel loved at the orphanage while we work to find them a loving family, regardless of the reason why they are there. The process needs to be shorter – we need to find ways to have fewer interviews and make the process quicker. As much as orphanages should feel like home, we still need to realize that our goal is to find them a loving family, but while they are there, they should feel unthreatened by their peers. They need to be staffed more and by people who want to help the kids.”


Emily realized that she was rambling, but the issue was very important to her. She picked up the three books she had put together for the interview and handed one to each member of the committee. “I’m going to be completely honest with you. This issue is very important to me, and if I’m hired, I will propose this idea to the Philanthropy Board. This is that proposal.”


Present Day:

Emily sat in her room of the Shale Mansion. She had gotten the job in the Philthropy division. She had moved back into the mansion and lived with her parents and two younger sisters. The two girls were happy to have her back. Rachel was 18, a young woman starting college for the first time and she confided in Emily often. Mara was 15, an adolescent trying to figure out her place in the world. Emily always made time for both of them. Their mother was gone a lot, and Emily found the role of advisor as natural to her. She had no problems offering her advice and experiences when her sisters asked. They were her little sisters and she would always be there to protect and guide them.

Her parents were heading to Moscow for a business meeting, and she was doing some work at home – continuing to work on her orphanage proposal. The work made her happy. It was exciting to make a difference. Her parents had invited her on their trip to Moscow. They had never hid the fact that she would inherit the company some day. She had decided to stay home and work and spend time with Rachel and Mara between working. In just an hour, she was going to surprise them with an ice cream trip. It made her smile to think that even though they were all adults, the idea of going out to get ice cream still made them giddy. Her thoughts were interrupted when a knock came on her door and she responded by telling the knocker to come in.
The head butler, Matthew Reeves, entered. The old gentleman entered with a sad look on his face. It caught Emily off guard – Old Matt never had a sad look on his face.

Emily frowned, “Hi Matt…what’s wrong?”


“Pardon me, Miss Emily,”
the older man’s voice trailed off. “You have a phone call. I think you better take it.”


This was bad. Old Matt wasn’t acting like himself. “Okay…”
she said quietly and followed him.

Matthew took her to the phone and passed it over to her. “Hello, this is Emily Shale.”


A moment later her jaw dropped and tears started falling from her eyes as the man on the other end told her of the plane crash in Moscow. Her parents hadn’t made it. Emily dropped the phone and sunk down on the couch, putting her face in her hands and sobbing. Matthew picked up the phone and spoke to the person on the other end, ending the call and sat next to her. He tried to put his hand on her shoulder to comfort her, but she shifted away from him. She had known and trusted Old Matt her whole life, but even when he tried to touch her, it awakened a deep pain in her.

“I’m so sorry, Miss Emily. If you need anything, just ring for me.”
He said

“Thanks,”
she said. She really just needed to be alone for awhile. She would have to tell her sisters soon.

The next week was a blur. She was too busy planning funeral arrangements and taking care of things at Shale Industries. Her parents had left her everything. Within the span of a week, she was promoted from Junior Associate to CEO of the company – becoming one of the most powerful women in the world. She owned the Mansion and all of her parents’ assets. The reporters and lawyers were the worst. On top of this, she was trying to grieve, but no one would let her. The reporters came by trying to get a statement on what she would do with the company. She didn’t let them in and avoided them when she had to be in public. It wasn’t long before she hired temporary security to assist her with keeping them away. She didn’t want to be bothered with the press. The lawyers on the other hand, she had to see. The legal ramifications of taking over a multibillion dollar company were overwhelming. Old Matt and Andrew Mitchell, her parents’ former and now her own assistant, helped keep her sane throughout the week. They could tell how stressed she was and know she needed to grieve. They would send her little gifts and responded to whatever she needed even if it was something simple like a candy bar. The client in Moscow had understood and the meeting had been rescheduled for after the funeral. As soon as the funeral was over, she would be flying to Moscow.

Sebastian- Bas to his friends- walked down the sidewalk. The sun was warm despite its being the middle of winter. Not enough to lose his green military cut jacket, of course. He wasn't gonna freeze his balls off just because the sun decided to show itself after weeks of hiding behind clouds.

Didn't matter though. The cold air in his lungs invigorated him. Well, it wasn't just the cold air. He looked down at his black boots and saw the small smudge on it. He didn't bother cleaning it off. He never did. Blood always blended in with the rest of the shoe anyway once it dried. He smiled. Those fuckers thought they could jack them, huh? Get in on their turf?

Mr. Mordvinov had been pretty adamant that he and Roman teach those dicks a lesson. That asshole Vlad got himself offed by the police and everyone had pretty much scrambled to take a chunk of what he had while his underlings fought over control of the family. Course, didn't help that Vlad was such a control freak. His ambrosia was like no other drug they had ever seen. He knew he'd never had such a good high. It was like X and Viagra and weed and every other good drug he'd ever taken rolled into one. Fuck, but that was a great night! For him and the girls. He wondered if there was any more ambrosia out there. Cuz Vlad's people were sure as shit not making anymore. Vlad had kept the formula secret. And now that he was dead? Gone. They'd tried to recreate it- had their white-coats analyzing it or some shit, to try to figure out how it was done. But so far nothing.

But in anycase, Vlad's death had left a nice big opening and Mr. Mordvinov made sure that they moved into that territory. Course, that meant the occasional scuffle. But that was what Bas liked best. Roman gave him the nod and Bas and a couple of guys went and decided to give them a little taste of being on the wrong side.

But shit, he was hungry now! His wallet buzzed and it was his brother Arkady. "Sup brateek....Man, you read my mind. Yeah, eating sounds good...Chesterfields?...Nah, I'll look it up. See ya."
A quick check of the phone for directions- and a couple trains later- and he was walking into the place. His green military jacket, black jeans and boots fit in as good as any. His close shaved head was uncovered. He saw Kady and Karl in a booth and thrust his chin out in greeting. The blonde hostess said, "How many?"
She was cute. Little thin, but that was ok. In the end, that didn't necessarily matter. He smiled to himself. In the end. Hah! As long as she wasn't too thin there. He always liked a little more ass.

He leaned forward on the hostess stand, smiling at her, his voice low. "Well, let me think. There's me. And there's you."
He looked down and idly touched her hand that held the wax pen. Then he looked up at her giving the smile that the girls seemed to like. "How many does that make?"


The look on her face was friendly and he could tell she liked his moxy. But she could play along too, it seemed. With a seductive smile, she leaned in and in a louder voice called out, "Table for one!"


He busted out laughing and so did she. He gave her a sweet smile."You win gorgeous."
He nodded to his brother and Karl. "I'm with them."
He gave her one more look that said he thought her pretty cool and started to walk away before turning around quickly and saying in exaggerated almost singing tones, "You broke my heart woman,"
holding his hands to his heart. "But imma win you back."
A last smile at her, to show that it was all good, and he was at the table. "What's up brateek?"
He clapped Kady on the shoulder in affection, and also to shove him over so he could sit on the end of the bench. "What's going on?"

Description: She is something of a cautious idealist; cautious because she is aware of humanity's frailties, and idealist because she chooses to remain hopeful anyway. Curious by nature, and fearless in its pursuit. Her gifts lend her an empathic quality; she is uncannily perceptive of those around her, yet often too quick to trust. She likes to use touch to amplify her reading, but unexpected touch can still be overwhelming. In guilty compensation for her abilities, she's usually quick to show emotion, and has a tendency to wear her heart of her sleeve. She adores the open road, and loves to drive for its own sake. Asha stands 5'2'', is of slim build and soft-featured. Wavy black hair, worn long, with liquid dark doe-eyes.

Biography: Ashavari Mehra. That's what the birth certificate says. She doesn't remember much, and what she does is awash with mud and colour, a blur of disconnected images. The pain, though, the firework bright hysteria of it. Explosions of fear, revulsion, confusion. If the severance of a mother's love has a moment, a clarity, a taste - a tangible mark - then that was what she witnessed. Unknowingly so. Now she only has the memory. Taste, sound, colour. Memory and pain.

Of course, she had been a child then; fearful and repulsed and confused herself, every emotion filled up like an overflown cup, mimicking the feelings of those around her. For a while the doctors had thought she was autistic; her speech was stunted, she recoiled from the touch of some and clung to the embrace of others. Her face was blank, an empty canvas gulping in the spillages of others, not understanding the discrepancy between the lies of a face and the songs of a heart. She assumed everyone was the same.

After the incident, they knew she was not autistic.

When her mother stopped loving her, her uncle became her primary carer. The transition is a blur, but every clear memory that comes after has him in it. She remembers fear; of his fierce height, his jet black beard, the tattoos that wound about his wrists and disappeared under his sleeves, snaking out by his collar. They called him rākṣasa hatyārā and gave him a wide berth and quiet respect. He said he wouldn't kill a child. So he took her instead. That's what he says anyway, a story she discovered years later when the questions had pooled for long enough for her to finally think to ask for answers.

The basic gist: Why?
Because they were afraid of you. But why?
I don't know. Why were you even there?
Business.

Inside he was calm, as still as undisturbed water. Stoic, confidant, solid. Whatever his words were, however evasive his non-answers, she trusted him because it felt right to.

They did not stay in Lucknow, the city she had been born in. Not that she remembers much of it, or of the journey north through the chaos of India - except that the further they drove from civilisation, the quieter it got. The peace had an echo, and the only noise within it was her uncle. After that things brighten, probably because it was the start of a little consistency, a foundation on which memories could grow. She remembers Ludakh. The monastery. The school in Leh. It was also when she began to realise she was different; that if she did not smile, others did not know that she was happy on the inside, and that without tears, they could not tell when she was sad.

The monks asked plenty of questions, in hindi or english, and spoke about her in a tongue she didn't understand. If her uncle was a pool of still water, then they were like a vast plain of the same, which she found kind of magnificent in its beauty. The school was a little more chaotic, a kaleidoscope it took time to make sense of. She learned slowly. Despite her uprooting and the slow dawning realisation that she was somehow different from other children, she seemed happy enough. In Leh the stars were so clear in the black velvet of night, and the air was cold and pure by the lungful. When it snowed they were cut off from the world, guarded by the tall and benevolent mountains.

Three years passed before they moved on; it was the longest time they ever spent stationary, in hindsight perhaps because she had been so young. Maybe her uncle had intended to leave her there, she was never really sure, but she remembers his indecision when he said he was leaving and she climbed on up into the truck. Fog rolled in thick - that's what it left like anyway - and then the sun broke and he shut the door behind her, and that was that.

Afterwards they travelled. A lot. She never really questioned it, which was strange because she questioned everything else. Constantly. Insistently. Until her uncle gave her a Wallet and the ticket to free information at her fingertips, and then she discovered the ability to be quiet as a mouse while they rumbled down highways, through mountain passes, across desert plains.

The first time they went to a city was hard. It was also the first time in forever that she ever thought back to the day she left her home, probably because the chaos tasted so similar. Panic blurred the vortex of emotion, so many lives insistent on her attention. Contradictory, vibrant, demanding. A thousand needles puncturing her skin, bullying her out of her own consciousness until everything she was sank like a stone at the bottom of a pool. Her uncle picked her up from the dusty floor. A few circling faces radiated absent concern, curiosity, then washed away. He squeezed her hand, chased away the intrusion of others by force of presence.

New questions surfaced after that. The gist?: What am I?
I don't know. What's wrong with me?
Nothing.

When they stopped - in cities, villages, motels; in wide empty passes, in forests, sleeping curled tight on the backseat - her uncle was frequently absent. The older she got, the more independently she spent her time, exploring. Sometimes they stayed weeks. Sometimes months. She used the Wallet to pass the hours after the sun went down, and kept a journal that eventually became a blog. Connection over the net was more pleasant than face-to-face, or at least less confusing. She took photos, documented their worldly travels, and her uncle didn't comment accept to turn the camera away from his own face. These days it bothers her she doesn't have a picture of him. Not even one she kept for herself.

Once she brought up the definition of a word on the Wallet, and scooted into the front seat. Vigilante. He laughed, but wouldn't tell her what he did for a living. Sometimes he returned with scratches, cuts, bruises. He kept a locked box in the trunk. Money was tight, but never absent, and the time they spent in any one place seemed arbitrary. There were little things. Odd things. But if he was a bad man he didn't feel like it. When he looked at her, he shone with protection, purpose, focus. So she chose trust over truth, and they drove on.

But the little things. The odd things. Those she noticed more.

She liked the mystery, or maybe just liked that there was the whisper of stranger things than her. The locals always had stories. Her uncle never involved her in his work, that was a rule, but people liked to talk, and she liked to listen. Even when she couldn't speak the language she could feel their fear, taste it, smell it - not fear of her uncle, but of something else. Something unknown. That was in the villages, anyway, where people were still superstitious. In the cities people didn't notice her uncle at all, let alone emitted feelings she could interpret amidst the cacophony of everything else. She could have followed him; after so many years, his mental signature was engrained in her very soul. But she never did.

Her blog veered from travel to folk stories to conspiracy theories. Then she turned eighteen and things changed. She supposed she'd felt the creep of it for a while, the little ripples of disquiet. Sometimes guilt, sometimes resolution, sometimes uncertainty. He grew quiet on their journeys, like he had been back when she was a kid and her chatter had invoked a mixture of annoyance and endearment. Not that he had ever been what she'd call talkative, but the silence sounded louder, and the waves of emotion wafting off him for the first time made her uncomfortable.

He wanted to know what she wanted from her life, and he dropped the question like a ton of bricks - literally swerved the truck over to the side of the dirt road. She was grown now, and he didn't want her to have the same existence as him - rootless, ephemeral, anonymous. Existence was his word, which hurt even though she could feel the reasons he used it. How deep had he hid regret that she only tasted it now? Were there recesses to him that she'd never felt?

Their relationship was transparent, and she was startled by the suddenness of its change. She didn't want to leave him - and told him as much, but entertained the hypothetical under duress, suffocated by the determination he radiated. Maybe she should consider these things for some distant future. She thought of Leh and the stars. The calm of the monks. Every stop they had ever made that sparked some pleasant recollection - and there were plenty of grand reminiscences. But home was a person. Home was him.

For a time he didn't mention it, though she could still feel it in him, burning like banked coals.

He left a letter - had not wanted to betray his emotions in the very end, and so now she'll never know if the sentiments he did leave were true or false. He also left money, the keys to a car - where she also found her duffel-bag of belongings - and the beat up map she'd used countless times to orient them when they were beyond the range of gps. The sight left her hollow. The abandonment hurt, just the fading taste of sad and the belief that he was doing the right thing for her to pick through for comfort. She waited three weeks. Hopeful. But he never came back.

In the two years since she has continued to travel. Spent some time, too, researching where she came from, though the urge to return has never been strong. What she is is a bigger question than who, something her uncle had always stepped lightly around despite his acceptance. Her blog has continued to grow, and has a small cult following. She chases conspiracies, seeks answers, and shares the information. Which has eventually led her to Moscow.

• <li style="display:none">
  </li>
  
• Exploration (Emily Shale, Ayden, Sebastian)
  
  
  
• Getting Out (Elias, Nox)
  
  
  
• Helping Hands (Elias, Nox, Aria, Lucas)
  
  
  
• Waves in the Crowd (Elias, Jensen James, Ivan Sarkozy)
  
  
  
• Of Monsters and Magic (Elias, Nox, Cain)
  
  
  
• Aetas Adumbratim (Elias, Damien)
  
  
  

Need-ignited dreams had brought him back to the city, the result of months of curious work in the other place, drifting on docile tides which had seemed to lead nowhere but eventually converged, as ever, at the heart of Moscow. The obsession had a gentle grip, light as the touch of a lover, but insistent. Sören's peripheral life faded to shades of grey when its beckoning sounded strongest, the magnitude of the taunt unbearable. Ever the consummate wanderer, he answered the call.

The girl lay quite still when he stepped out from the shadows, her attackers fled into the maze of alleyways. A few feet away spilled the neon lights and noise of a busy main street, and yet sheltered by the black canopy of roofs above, hidden in shadows pooling inky dark, they might as well have had the privacy of walls. No-one came. One of his hands curled into a fist, raging his senses, while the other replaced a slim Wallet back in his pocket. Five minutes. By which time he did not plan to still be here.

He bent by her body. A bed of snow sucked the warmth from her skin, chilling it blue and freezing the darkness of her hair in a halo round her head. One heel had snapped when she fell, the ankle torn at an unnatural angle. She was not dead; he could hear, barely, the shallowness of her breaths, the sluggish beat of her heart as the wound spilled crimson from the ragged hole in her stomach. Sören placed a hand in the snow, palm flat, spiralling runes that unfurled like petals around them. Then he plucked the necklace round her neck.

With a weak flame of life, she pawed at his hands, fingertips slipping off in her own blood, trying desperately to reclaim the small charm he cradled in his palm. An antique ring, it turned out to be, looped on a cheap silver-plated chain. One yank and it would snap off, but he refrained. "Curious trinket for a whore."
The words were soft, not accusatory so much as thoughtful. Vibrations shuddered against his fingertips, a hum of recognition. He'd been chasing this epiphany for a long time.

His brows drew low as the crunch of footsteps sounded behind. Moments later he felt the perimeter breached. The irritation soured his expression; he'd timed it perfectly, only for chance to frame him as a criminal. Her blood was on his hands, her fingers still clawing at his, the distress palpable in the staring whites of her eyes. He laid the ring down carefully into the tomb of her hands, and turned his head to see who had interrupted.

Age: 27
Hair: Brown
Eyes: Blue
Height: 6'
Weight: 160 pounds
Build: Athletic

Sebastian was born to Lorena Volodin when she was 15. He never knew his father. His younger brother, Arkady, had a different father. Lorena was pretty much hit or miss as a mom. She worked a lot. And partied. And then slept for hours on end. Sebastian- called Bas- ended up growing up quickly, taking care of his younger brother and his mom.

They lived in the run-down blocky apartment buildings of the Zamoskvorechye district of Moscow and spent most of his time outside playing and fighting. Sebastian learned how to fight early on. It was necessary to protect them from the older kids. But it wasn't so bad really. He liked fighting. And he liked the reputation he was getting. He didn't do great in school but no one cared about that anyway.

One time he was walking to school when a couple older kids- maybe 15- jumped him. His mom had just gotten him a brand new track suit for his 12th birthday- she was in her on-again phase as a mom. It was dark blue with the Adidas logo brightly visible in grey and he wore it proudly. He knew he looked like a badass, what with his shaved head and combat boots and all. Plus, he felt good. He really didn't get a lot of stuff from his mom so this was pretty special.

The jacket was big on him- ma either had gotten it big enough for him to grow in to, or- more likely- hadn't known what size to get- and the kid wanted it for himself. They came up to Sebastian and started crowding him, trying to intimidate him. Sebastian didn't back down. Instead, while they were still doing their looming thing, trying to scare him, Sebastian just hauled back and socked him in the eye. Like seriously hard. The other kid wad standing there in shock when Sebastian turned and sucker punched him in the throat. Then he knocked both boys down and started kicking them hard in the side and in the head, filled with rage at what they had tried to do. In his mind, he kept seeing the smile on his ma's tired face as he had opened his present.

The ferocity was so surprising and relentless that they had very little time to respond before they were hurt badly and finally managed to run away. Later, Bas found out the kid whose eye he'd punched had suffered permanent damage there. And the other kid a couple broken ribs. People kinda walked wide of him after that, which was pretty cool. His mom was pissed but he didn't care. He'd had to do what he had to do.

So that had been when he was 12. A lot of the older gopniks who ran the neighborhood started calling him Little Man, which, of course, he loved. Sometimes they'd let him have a smoke or a drink. Maybe even some weed. And the girls that hung around the gang were cute. These guys were the shit. His little brother tried to tag along but he'd tell him to go home. This was no place for a nine year old.


So yeah, he was one of the gang. One of the guys, Sarge, took him under his wing and started using him for stealing- sneaking him into windows- and other petty stuff. Soon he was running with them for real. By the time he was 15 he was a full part of the crew, which he proudly displated with the tattoos on his body. It was awesome. So they'd go out and get into fights with other cocksucker gangs and then come back and drink and smoke and fuck the girls. Yeah, definitely awesome.

They were a pretty tough crew. Enough that when some of the more powerful crime families recruited gangs as muscle or enforcers, the Mordvinov family usually wanted them. They ran a lot of the drug trade in their part of the city. And some of the prostitution rings- the stuff that wasn't exactly legal-like. Also protection scams. The usual stuff. Guys always needed muscle for that kind of thing. You know, maybe to go into a shop and kinda let the owners know what their protection would mean. Or what it would mean NOT to have it, if you know what I mean. And of course, there were always the turf wars. Some little fucker from the Perov family selling in their area would get stomped for sure.

Arkady joined too once he was older and Sebastian made sure to look out for him. He was his brother after all. His mom was all worried but he'd take care of him, no question. After all, he was the man of the house. He made sure that he always brought meat and vodka home at least twice a week. He'd even make borscht for his mom, when she got him from work or a parting or was sick or whatever.

This was his family. He took care of them. Presents on birthdays or at Christmas. They went to Mass and confession every week and he prayed to the Holy Virgin for guidance and protection of his family. For some reason, he felt a special bond to the Holy Mother, full of grace and kindness. He even had a large image of Her tattooed on his right arm. And if anyone gave him shit for that, they were usually walking around with a busted up nose for the next few weeks, that's for sure.

When he was 19 he had been sent with a small crew as back up for a new supplier meeting. Rodion Mordvinov, head of the family, had sent his son Roman, 20, along with an older trusted lieutenant to work it all out. Well, things turned sour fast. Turned out it was an ambush from of a rival family- AND a set up by that trusted lieutenant.

Pretty soon it turned into a shoot out. While hiding behind a crate, Bas saw Roman go down to a shot to his leg. He ran to the man, intent on protecting him. Security had been his job and he knew he'd be responsible if Roman was killed. His heart was beating, had he hoped he'd get there in time.

Well, he just wasn't that fast. He saw the lieutenant raise his gun to shoot Roman in the head. In panic, Bas desperately prayed to the Holy Mother, even as he ran az fast as he could. Bullets whizzed around him, but somehow they missed him. Just as the lieutenant was about to pull the trigger, he flew back as if hit by a truck, slammed into a wall and going down. Sebastian grabbed Roman and got him to safety. The rest of the crew took care of things- it was dying down anyway. Thankfully, Roman's only wound was the hit to his leg, really more of a graze.

The blame for the ambush was placed on the lieutenant- who had not died, something he ended up regretting for the next few hours of his life- and a blood vendetta was placed on the other family, the Kolomovs. Far from being called out for any security failures, Rodion thanked Bas for saving his son and made him part of the family.

Over the next few days, though, he took sick with fever and nearly died. Rodion made sure the family doctor took care of him so that there was no need for a hospital. Gradually he got better and he and Roman became good friends.

Suddenly he found himself in a different world than the one he'd grown up in, a world of money and power and influence, of clubs and expensive restaurants. He had a nice place to live, good clothes, the best to eat. And he loved it. Now this was his kind of spread. He made sure his mom and brother also benefited. By this time Arkady was pretty important in the old crew and he got him on in the new family. Times had changed for the Volodins. Yeah.

But sometimes he missed the old life. No negotiations. No endless meetings. No politics. He missed the simple struggle of life back home. So he'd put on some old clothes and go down to the old neighborhood. Maybe pick a fight or two. And then, back to his new life he'd go.

Something else had changed too. After that shootout, he found that if he prayed hard to the Holy Virgin, she blessed him with her power and he could do things- just like he had when the lieutenant had been thrown into the wall. He liked to play with his abilities and gradually learned that the Holy Mother's power was divided into different...flavors or whatever. Some he recognized, like fire or air. Once he learned that, hooo boy!, did he had fun, setting cars on fire or knocking things over with air. Other combinations did cool stuff too, like explosions. The police and others were always looking for bomb residue or which family was targeting which. And he just laughed at them in secret. It was all great fun.

All in all, things had gotten pretty interesting. He and Roman worked together all the time and Mr. Mordvinov used him more and more. Roman was a good guy and they became bros. Nobody was gonna mess with Roman and the Mordvinovs, not on his watch, any more than they would Arkady or his mom.. And he made sure that his family lived in style.

It was pretty sweet.

After the incident at Igor's Calvin had woken up in a prison cell. He remembered little - a bar and some snowmen, but beyond that, everything was a blur. Beyond the normal hangover, Calvin's nose hurt and he could feel that it was swollen and a bandage was over it. A warm ice pack was on the floor.

It wasn't long before the prison guard came to his cell and unlocked the door. "Come with me. Time for you to go."


He didn't know what earned him a night in jail, but he had slept through the entire sentence. Calvin followed the jailer to an office where a cop issued him a hefty fine for public intoxication and disorderly conduct. The guy was also nice enough to tell him that his nose was fractured and the doctor wanted him to ice it. It should heal fine, but might be slightly crooked. Calvin didn't speak at all, accepting the fine and wondering how he was going to pay it.

Jared opened his eyes, meditating had taken sometime, but he was sufficiently calm. He had decided not to hold mana while he was meditating, clearing his mind of everything.

He was in the basement where he had practiced with Jay. He went to the basement every so often to practice using magic. The other Legionnaires had mostly stayed away from it. His purpose here wasn't to use magic, but to relieve his sense of unease. The situation in Sierra Leone was bad and bothered Jared, so he came to the basement to relax and ease his own fears.

Jared was shirtless and the chill of the underground room slid across his skin. No matter - he would be warmed up in moments. Like most students of aikido, he had some knowledge of how to use a blade. He had found a broom in the basement that would work as a makeshift bokken for working through katas. He removed the handle - after all he wasn't here to sweep. It was light for a bokken, but would do for now.

Jared moved through them, slowly at first, focusing on his breathing. The moves were deliberate and graceful - almost like a dance. Although he felt the calm, the fear was still there - fear not only for himself, but for his his brothers-in-arms and the people of Sierra Leone as well. The slow katas were not enough. Jared needed to move.

Jared went to his Wallet and scrolled through the music on it. Music always got him in the mood to exercise. As a gamer, he always found the music of video games inspiring - particulary retro games from the 1990's and early 2000's. He soon found a track the suited his mood - Don't Be Afraid - the battle theme from Final Fantasy VIII.

As the intro began, Jared moved into position and as the energy picked up in the song, Jared began the katas once more. Their pace quickened, the katas still held the grace, but this time it was a deadly grace. Soon, Jared's heartbeat was quickened and his skin became glistened with sweat. Jared became to feel exhilarated and in his excitement, he drew mana into himself and summoned a ball of flame that he sent spinning around his body as he did the katas.

One more, and another, and another, and another. Soon Jared had five orbs of flame orbiting his body and the heat increased the sweating, the exhilaration of the katas and magic driving the fear - both of the situation and of his magic - away as he fought his invisible opponenet. Like the name of the song, Jared knew he didn't have to fear. Under the leadership of Danjou and with men such as Jared and Jay fighting for their cause, the Legion would fight for a better life for the people of Sierra Leone, and they would succeed.

The track ended and with it, Jared's katas. He dismissed the balls of fire and stood still for a moment, breathing and sweating heavily. A bead of sweat hit his eye and stung until Jared blinked it away. And then Jared smiled. It might take awhile, but Sierra Leone would be free from tyranny.


Edited by Jared Vanders, Sep 7 2014, 06:26 PM.