Age: 30
Origin: Bacelona, Spain, DVII
Occupation: Freelance Photographer - national geographic quality - specializes in real animal snapshots - best known for her wolf culture photos

Psychological description: Sierra prefers to be with the animals, but she's fully capable of having a human to human interaction. She is highly creative and can see things that most other people cannot in terms of her photography, she understands the animals and you can see it in her work. Family is very important to Sierra, but sometimes the wolves blur that line and are more important.

Physical description: Sierra has long brown hair, 175 cm tall, weight approximately 59kg. (5'9", 131lbs), her eyes have turned the classic golden color of her brethren, they were once naturally a light brown, she hides the color of her eyes with a dark brown colored contact lenses. Sierra tends to wear whatever is needed for the environment she's in. She prefers simple yet flattering clothes, even while in the middle of the woods with a group of wolves. She tends to wear neutral colors. She has one scar on her left leg from a time her brother bit her after his mental faculties left him.

Powers & Supernatural Powers: Wolfkin (wolf name: Long Eye)

Biography:

Sierra was born the oldest twin of Angelica and Esteban Lupita in Barcelona Spain. Life before 2020 had been drastically different for the Luptia family. Sierra didn't remember it, not much. She vaguely remembered the bedroom she had, the pink butterflies floating around the ceiling on strings, the mural on the wall of flowers and their winged friends. Her brother's room was decked out in trains. All sorts of cute and humanized vehicles scattered across the floor.

But her memories where just that, they were almost dream like. Her room in the compound was a cement wall with doodles in charcoal. You could tell her earliest drawings from those of her teenage years. The thin lights of lanterns were scattered through out the compound. They had lived in the bunker since the world broke out in turmoil. What electricity they had was from the generator Esteban had pulled through the mountains. It didn't run off of a traditional fuel, it was something special her father had concocted. Sierra didn't understand, didn't really care.

Sierra and Aaron had heard the terror of the natural disasters since they could remember, the tell-tell tales of the worlds end was coming and the Lupita family was going to ride it out.

Thankfully Angelica was a teacher and the children were allowed an education. Sierra's favorite from nearly the moment her mother handed her an Art history book was photography. For her 13th birthday her mother and father sold enough trinkets at market to buy her a camera. It wasn't much but she loved it.

When she was 17 things started to get weird. Her and Aaron would be out in the woods playing hide n seek, and voices would appear in her head. Not voices so much as pictures that spoke to her. Aaron confided in her that he too was hearing the same thing.

Sierra started taking photos with the camera her mother had given her, and sold them at market. The few times they went, Sierra found people were buying her photos because of their nature. She didn't know it at the time, but they were being put into magazines for minor publications. It wasn't until she found a national geographic magazine sitting thrown away on the side of the market stall, that Sierra realized that she could do that. Take those pictures.

Sierra spent the next three years in the woods taking pictures of things, and earning enough money to buy a high class camera. And then the money started rolling in, she even got the nerve up to send a few to National Geographic, she didn't hear anything back, but she kept trying.

At the age of 20 something extraordinary happened. Sierra actually spoke to a wolf, it was left for dead by some hunters who had killed the mother. Sierra had waited until she was sure the pack wasn't going to come for it before she nursed it back to health. They spoke mind to mind. And in doing so she learned about what she was and what been happening to her. Wolves were apparently granted a good portion of hereditary knowledge, that and they communicated with each other telepathically. He was her constant companion, Drifting Snow. The imagery present in his name was beautiful, she understood the concept, she called him Snow.

It wasn't until a year later that Sierra started watching the wolves more closely, taking pictures of them in action. She became one of them. Her brother, fell into with them, but his direction went south fast. He became more wolf like the more he had contact with the wolves. He lost his humanity. His parents were worried about him, so they tried to catch him, but he bit Sierra in their attempt to catch him.

Their father had found a specialist in town when they were at market. The man was traveling from Moscow, looking for weird things. He was subtle in his questions he seemed liked a good man, but he caught and killed Aaron in cold blood. And he tried to kill Sierra and her friends. The wolves helped protect Sierra. Sierra believed her family didn't survive the attack. He was fearsome but the only thing Sierra remembered was the snake tattoo on his left arm.

Sierra moved on, but the day always bothered her. The pictures of the wolf pack she'd taken she sold to National Geographic for a tidy sum. It was her first 15 minutes of fame, she hoped for more.

A few years later, in 2045, Sierra went to Moscow looking for answers. With her long time companion along as a so-called pet, she found herself in a city for the first time in a very long time with a large snow white wolf at her side.

Aria walked in a near deadened state after leaving Dane's company. She passed streets, walked in circles for hours before heading back to her apartment. Life had taken a drastic turn from where it had been heading. It was not the same direction she had been going, wandering the streets didn't help, but at this juncture Aria didn't think anything would.

On her third pass of the retro style news shop Aria saw the headlines, she'd seen them before. "Missing boy found, Mockingbird's calling card found." Aria grabbed the latest copy and paid for it with credits from her wallet. Cash was not something she typically carried, mostly because she didn't have much spending money to begin with. Other articles on the mockingbird had floated around. He was responsible for a good many deaths, and the circumstances were nearly inexpiable. A small blip of fear passed over Aria's body, the fear was unwarranted, she could take care of herself against most foes. She thought of Dane, and hoped he was alright. But then again he wielded the power of the gods, he could do much more damage the she could alone. Regret floated across the surface and there was nothing left but loneliness.

Hours later Aria found herself in front of the Desolate Scroll, unsure how she actually got there. The sun was nearly up, her body ached in places she didn't know could ache. She climbed the stairs slowly and picked up the mat and found the hidden key wedge in between two of the lose boards. She'd have to get another one made to replace this on.

The door came open with a mild squeal. She'd have to get that fixed soon. It was getting annoying.

Aria started a hot shower. But the water was cold and never heated properly, someone must have used it all up in the wee hours of the morning, in their normal routine. The cold water made Aria shiver but she washed everything twice to make sure the blood was truly good and gone.

Aria barely made it to her own bed before she collapsed from pure exhaustion, her walk and the nights activities had drained her.

****

Aria woke with a headache, and the world was still at bay despite not holding the bubble around her. Her own emotions still fled whenever they were there. But at the very least the haze was gone, the couple upstairs were gone, or dead. Nothing emoted from upstairs. The shop keep downstairs was lively and energetic. Something Aria wished she was. It was midday by the time she'd opened her eyes. Aria sat down at the little table and started fiddling with the reporters wallet. Technology was not her thing, but she managed to hook her wallet up to it and get all the contents of the reporters wallet from it.

Aria tried to get in the right way, but there was nothing she could do to get past the password lock, she was hardly a hacker.

Aria looked at the messages on her wallet, the one from Father Stone was nearly half a day old. He was going to be angry. But Aria couldn't deal with him now. She could barely deal with herself. The monster inside, the person she was, the fear of the reporter echoed in her head. The pain and suffering of Takeo's man, everything brought Aria to her knees. The world piled in on her.

****

Aria stared at the time stamp on the message from Father Stone. He was going to be highly upset she hadn't shown up immediately. But even if she'd shown up exactly as the message reached her wallet, she was sure the anger would have been the same. He was always angry, and almost always angry because of her. That was at least a little comfort, she caused the man anger. Anger was quick to lead into other things.

Aria didn't care, the events of last night had taken everything from her. Aria knew she felt guilty about everything but being with Dane, but it drifted away from her like it was a cloud on the soft breeze. It wasn't supposed to end like that.

What was left of her humanity floated on the outside of herself, like it was stuck on the other side of a panel of glass. She could see it, but she couldn't feel it. Aria had stopped trying hours ago and dealt with the collapse of the world in on her. Feeling what everyone else felt was sadly unaffected by whatever her murderous acts had brought upon her soul. God was punishing her. But in reality, God had nothing to do with it, she punished herself.

Every waking thought and breathe since leaving Dane's company had been plagued with loss and grief and desperation. She wanted to be at his side. Not because she cared, but because without him, there was nothing but emptiness. Her own self was lost with out his touch. She had given herself too fully to him. And Aria had no way of knowing if she'd ever be herself again. Aria hadn't understood it at first, but the more time away from Dane, she could clear her head, the notions, the ability to comprehend her inadvertent actions. His touch still lingered on her body, but it had been that all consuming passion that made this mess inside her head. She had surrendered everything to him - she gave him her humanity.

She wanted to cry, she wanted to hate herself, but she just didn't care. What was done was done. The line between right and wrong had been crossed and she didn't care. She remembered the sweet fear that came from the reporter. She felt every ounce of pain as the knife carved though her body like the cadavers Father Dimitri had taught her on. Aria savored every ounce of the suffering the poor women had went through at her own hands. Aria had loved every second of it. Now even in the mist of memory it was strong. Aria wanted to weep but the tears would never come.

The world went on and Aria still sat on the floor of her apartment leaning against the bed, staring at the infernal time stamp of the message Father Stone had sent her. A gun balanced precariously on her knees with one hand. She'd thought of pulling the trigger a few times, but she never got there. The gun never left her knees, she hadn't even removed the safety. It sat, cold hard steel in her hand, waiting for nothing in particular.

Self pity and disgust kept Aria firmly planted on the floor contemplating her own death. She wished Dane had followed through, had not thrown the knife away. It would have been so much easier to die than to live with what she'd done. But no matter how hard Aria thought about it, pulling the trigger was not something she could do. She could drown on the bottom of her bath tub, but she'd never stay long enough to pass out. Aria had long since stopped cutting fine lines into her arms and legs. That had been before she had learned to stay in the safety of the bubble that the technique Father Dimitri had taught her for combat situations. Death was her ally, but she could not be her own hand of Death.

It took every ounce of mental fortitude for Aria to push herself up from the floor and make herself move. What was done was done. Self pity would do nothing, and it sure wouldn't let her be with Dane. She didn't care, she let every doubt and every emotion she had go. It was deafening the silence of her own mind. Each thought was clear, everything was so clear with her emotions sitting on the side lines.

It was time to deal with Father Stone, and whatever else the Atharim could throw at her. Life went on, so would Aria.

Aria took a shower for the second time that day. The blood on her hands made her feel unclean, but there was no amount of scrubbing that would wash away those stains. The water rained down on her and left red rivulets along her skin with its scalding heat. Nothing could cleanse her soul of what she'd done.

Buck up! Get at 'em! whatever saying you wanted wasn't going to make much of a difference in a person who didn't want to be motivated, but there was nothing else, emptiness wouldn't do, Aria had to feel something, do something, so she got dressed, one foot then the other, and so on until she was ready to walk out the door with her mavel of a sword strapped to her hip and a gun holstered at the small of her back. The long trench coat hiding it all, keeping her warm at the same time.

Aria tucked her gloves into her coat's pocket, there was little danger to her physical self when there was nothing inside her. The world pushed in, she could make out each individual pulse of emotions, but it no longer overwhelmed her. She knew her neighbors upstairs were fighting again. Her landlord, the shop keep downstairs was happy with whatever he was doing, that kind of proud moment when you know you did right or helped someone, when you made a difference. Aria pushed it all away and drown in the nothingness that was hers. None of it mattered. She only wanted one thing, and right now, she had other things to do. Life didn't get any better than this, the thought dripped with sarcasm.

****

It was a short walk to headquarters. The alley way entrance was guarded per usual, and there were only a few stares as she walked passed them and down into what the Atharim called home. They knew she was in trouble, pity flowed from them like a sickening sweet sugar treat they served at the fair. Aria wanted nothing to do with their pity, it only stirred what little anger she could muster. She'd done nothing wrong that they knew of. Father Stone's fury was because of something entirely different.

The door to Father Stone's office was closed, Aria knocked. The emotions the other side of the door were calm and content until Aria opened the door. His anger pulsed and raged through his body. His face turned red as he blustered with fury. WHERE HAVE YOU BEEN?

Aria stared at him, there was nothing, his rage bounced off of her, if anything had been gained from last night she was happy with the new found power, the control she had made Aria smile.

Father Stone stalked away from his desk and slapped Aria across the face. Wipe that smile off your face, child!

Nothing, Aria stared back at him from her bent form, from the momentum of his strike had caused, through mussed hair, the pain radiated from her cheek, she could taste the blood in her mouth. The pain was wondrous. She continued to smile as she righted herself. "I was handling a problem."


She pulled out her wallet and showed Father Stone the recording she'd retrieved. He stared at her and the video. A vein in his head pulsed with his every heartbeat, his rage boiled even stronger. Aria did nothing but stare in return.

He didn't calm down, but his voice was more even "How could you let this happen?"

Aria smiled, Father Stone had assumed she'd made the kill. She could almost feel the fear through the rage. "It wasn't my kill. I found it. Something else killed it. I WAS cleaning it up."


"A likely story from you. Some clean up you called us yet again to clean up your mess.

"You can see I was interrupted. Next time I'll clean up and not worry about exposure. How's that sound?"


Father Stone's rage boiled over the top and he struck Aria again. Aria caught his hand as it left her cheek. She was small, but she knew what she was doing, she wrenched his arm behind him. She deliberately pushed fear and intimation through her hand into his body. Father Stone's eyes widened and he cowered before her. Aria spoke in a cold and quiet voice, the emptiness of her body and soul carried through, she didn't care. "Do not EVER touch me again."


Aria felt someone coming and let go of Father Stone. He cringed at her feet and Aria smiled. She wanted to kick him while he was down, but she stood her ground. Being petty would gain her nothing more, she already had the upper hand.


*edited: removed the bit about Katya in the paper, it would not be there as Dreams of Fire happens after Untethered*


Edited by Aria, Jun 8 2014, 03:15 PM.

So, how would regular folks (especially law enforcement and military) deal with Channelers in the modern age? We've access to a bewildering array of lethal and non-lethal options, and has been pointed out a time or twenty in the novels, an arrow to the back works just as well on a Channeler as on any person.

Channelers are, at the end of the day, human, with all the same weaknesses and susceptibilities. If caught unawares, they die just as easily as anyone else. So what works on a person can work just as well on a Channeler, given the right opportunity. So to rule out the easy stuff...

Swords and knives and daggers and bows and guns and bullets and poison and...etc...

But what sort of weapons exist in 2045 that would be especially effective at dealing with a Channeler that is, perhaps, aware of the danger? When they can throw up walls of Air or toss a fireball in their own defense?

Modern militaries and law enforcement agencies are developing and employing all sorts of non-lethal weapon systems.

LRADs (long range acoustic devices) use directed, high-pitch sound waves to disable people. The sounds can drive people to their knees or force the to retreat, and has proven effective at dispersing crowds. In 2045, who knows what it could do? There's scientific evidence that if you have a dream that contains sound, the muscles of your inner ear respond as if receiving actual noise, and that sound can effect emotions. Is it possible that by 2045 they've isolated certain sound waves that can stimulate emotions in people? Or at the least, have they isolates certain pitches that can disable a person? (ie: Southpark's 'Brown Noise')

- It is known in the novels that Channelers can create Wards against sound, usually intended to keep sound from within the Ward from getting out, but surely would work just as well the other way around, meaning a prepared Channeler could protect themselves against an LRAD system.

Microwave weapons, similar to LRADs, use microwaves to disorientate the target, making them physically ill. These styles of weapons have shown up in threads already, but were indicated to be 'outdated' models. What can the microwave weapons of 2045 do?

- Can Channeling stop microwaves? It can stop sound waves, sure, but microwaves are very different. However, they can also effect light, creating illusions or making themselves invisible (again, a Ward used in the novel series that hid the main characters from view). If they can stop or influence light waves, can they similarly effect other types of energy wave?

Dazzlers, basically just very painfully bright flashlights that blind and disorientate in a strobe effect. These are often mounted to firearms or are employed as flash-bang like weapons (in this case, flash rather then bang). Something to this effect is seen in the movie 'Kick-Ass' employed by Hit Girl when rescuing Kick Ass and her father).

- Again, there is evidence that Channelers can effect light, so would a Dazzler do much in this case?

Gas. Tear gas, nerve gas, blister agents, knock out gas, etc. Channelers need to breath just like everyone else. Gas is a difficult weapon to employ, as generally effects a wide area, but is most effective in buildings.

- Channelers can create gusts of wind. They can also create domes of hardened air, with convenient chimneys that can reach fairly high into the air. They could create such a dome around themselves after pushing the gas away, and be fine.

Tasers and darts. Both effective against humans in general. However, the act of darting a person with drugs is a dicey one; you cannot be sure how much of a dose is needed to drop a person, and it could prove just as deadly as a bullet in the right circumstances.

- Again, walls of Hardened air could render these sorts of weapons useless. If you can't hit your target, you can't drop them, after all.

Explosives. A rather extreme measure, but unexpected explosions should have no trouble taking out a Channeler. Things like missiles or tank shells are pretty bloody fast moving, and would be, at best, exceptionally difficult to stop.

- Exceptionally difficult to stop, unless you were aware it was coming or already had a wall of Air or some such similar defense up.

So what else can folks think of? What would they have in 2045 that could defeat a Channeler that's prepared? And what sort of defenses could regular folks have against a Channeler?

I'ma start a random OOC thread for once! Woooz!

Connor and Ayden. (adorable!)

Nick and Reed. (is Nick Whitney Houston?)

Dane and Aria. (just plain f'd up)

Jacques and the Legion. (total devotion!)

Drayson and his job. (his whole world)

Jaxen and Oriena (hot but distant?)

Jaxen and Jaxen (the deepest love the world can possibly know?)

Hood and Spectra (survivor's respect?)

Spectra and Damien (the budding of a 'healthy' relationship!)

Tony and Claire (flirty)


So who else is in wuv?
Edited by Jacques, May 25 2014, 08:06 AM.

The Koenigsegg Agera S - green color


Its a beautiful thing. And Jaxen just drove it up to Manifesto. Weep you mortals! *evil laugh.

White agreed to the meeting. A couple hours before midnight, right before the crowd's filled Manifesto's Blocks. The car laboured along the cobbled city streets, and Jaxen tucked his Wallet in his pocket as it pulled up in front of the club. The two famous Blocks were technically underground, and filled old government war bunkers that inspired their names, but at street level, the gothic Russian building was washed in bright uplighting, highlighting every nook and cranny of ominious architecture. Red carpet, dark and plush as a bloodied river, was unfurled from the mouth of club doors otherwise perched at a set of stairs leading into the gilded dungeons beneath the surface. Jaxen fucking loved it.

With a grin waxed on his face, slick as the points of his stylish hair, he emerged from a 2046 Koenigsegg Agera, a swedish sport car boasted an enormous 1,460 horse power engine on a V-8 block that cranked 100 km/hr in under 2.5 seconds. His fingertips lovingly trailed the edge of the driver's window as he revealed himself. There were always always paparazzi outside Manifesto just salivating over the chance to hit a story. This car, next year's model, retailed for $3 million CCD, and with its black kevlar body and custom "ghost light" interior lighting system, and green hood stripes diving up the hood of the car, wrapping around the frame and reaching inward like sickly sharp fangs, it was a story all on its own.

Jaxen soaked up the adoration and awe like he expected nothing less. Flashes pocketed white halos in his vision, but his pose remained the same. He another of the town's playboys, albeit a sickingly handsome one, who made sure everyone in the city knew exactly where he was tonight. Jaxen Marveet. Manifesto. If anything happened to him tonight, millions of witnesses were there to stand up for him.

After making the line of cars behind him wait an annoyingly long amount of time, he rounded the car like he was walking away from a lover. A valet passed him as he did, and Jaxen leaned to say a few words of caution. "Take care of her, or you'll have the director of the DVII Bilmodeller pound your ass for every dollar its worth."
The young man's brows lifted, and Jaxen pat him reassuringly on the shoulder. "That's three million ass poundings, kid. Remember that."
Never say Jaxen never warned the fellow, he also hated to think what would happen to him if that car disappeared under his loan.

One could say Jaxen fit right in surrounded by the chic beauty of Manifesto, but he would find the assessment offensive. He was so much better than these fuckers, and the crowd parted like they knew it also. The black of his hair was all the more sinister above an electric blue cashmere overcoat. The high collar was upturned stiff his neck, the front buttonless, and floated to knee-length. A fine white cashmere jumper shone bright beneath, sheer enough to make out the faint lines of the tattoo when his coat fluttered open on the air. The neck was cowled across his chest, and upon close inspection, was held there by a finely embroidered skull. He worse trousers in the same color and metallic-silver washed shoes with a similar skull design on the tab. The style of overcoat was something he picked up in Mumbai, and was still popular in the capital of DVIII. He had at least five variations of this same, $4,000 coat, and he loved them all.

"Mister Marveet!" He was greeted at the entrance to Block Two. The man who approached was a slender, older man with silver-tipped hair and bright blue eyes that were currently fixed on Jaxen's eyeliner blackened rims. The room beyond was echoing as the bunker in which it was constructed. The ceiling was original to the former fall-out shelter, but additional walls and architecture was overlaid in such a way as to filter and dampen the passage of sound through an otherwise cavernous hall. Alien blue and green lighting bathed his face as he peered in.

"My table?"
He asked and was immediately shown to one of the many niches curved into the periphery. They were just private enough to not worry about eavesdroppers, but not so private as to appear unwelcoming.

Of course, Jaxen did not make it there alone. Ten steps in and he was already laden by a woman on each arm.

They sat with a bottle of vodka and drank and laughed until White made himself known.
Edited by Jaxen Marveet, May 19 2014, 02:35 PM.

The one thing about her job that was far from fun was getting her gear across international borders with out inspection. Ayden had a network of connections, but you never knew who would double cross you and who wouldn't. So friends were not really of interest to an assassin. Associates and such were but they were never friends. And Ayden hardly stayed in a place long enough to make friends, it was a very lonely life if you thought about it.

Ayden's gear was supposed to arrive this morning. It was supposed to have been waiting on her when she got off the plan and to her apartment, but things happen and it doesn't work out the way it's supposed to. Plans rarely do.

Ayden paced in the lobby of the building. They were late! She disliked being in the lobby. She disliked being this exposed. The cold air from the open doors blew Ayden's fiery colored hair and sent a chill to the bone. The red and black plaid flannel pajama's were hardly something to keep the cold air at bay, and they had called only moments ago. "We are just outside," they said. WHERE are they? It should have taken her longer to get down stairs than for them to unload the truck and bring it in.

Other residents came and went as Ayden paced in the lobby. With a huff, Ayden decided to poke her head outside. She took a deep breath and sucked it up. It can't be THAT cold outside. But she was wrong. Ayden could feel the hairs in her nose freeze almost instantly. It was a feeling she'd never get use to. She preferred much warmer climates.

Just a few steps away, just outside the door sat her crate of gear. There were no movers along side, just sitting there for anyone to take. WTF!

Ayden pulled her gift around her and walked outside. She wished for the flames that had given her her nick name, at least it would be warmer. Ayden smiled and warmed the air around her until she was no longer shivering as she grabbed one end of the crate and tugged. It barely moved. She sighed. Anything more than warming the air and she'd likely give herself away.

Ayden quickly dashed inside to give the impression that she was freezing. She stamped her feet and shook her hands. Ayden looked around for something to assist her, but she didn't want to have to ask for any help. That would lead to questions and answers she did not have for them.

A sufficient amount of time passed and Ayden stepped outside and started tugging again at the crate, getting it to the door. It was going to be a long day. Her morning sucked. Propping the door open with the crate, Ayden started trying to move the very heavy crate over the door jab and onto the carpeted floor of the lobby. Ayden wondered how many people were being morons and just staring at her bent over form trying to lug a huge box into the building.

So get this, Rune's entire life was the Atharim. Literally her entire, insane, awesome life was the Atharim. She lived and breathed it since her very first wailing breath. And she loved that stuff. With every single dead monster at her feet the world became a little more right.

But every now and then a girl's gotta have a break.

She was on her little Mini Wallet, the one cased in psychedelic colors, and browsing websites in the neighborhood she originally met Thalia in: Old Hat Sky, or New Bat Sky, or something like that. There was a right onyx black cup of coffee on the table, mostly drank, and a tiny little pile of sugar packets crumpled alongside. She'd been there long enough that the drink went cold, but anything better than 48h old stale gas station coffee and she couldn't tell a difference. She absently sipped out of it now and then.

Tap, tap. Someone touched her on the shoulder.

She pulled her ear bugs from her ears and looked up. It was Silvio, the guy that waited on her this evening in the diner. Silvio's hair was dyed a white so bright it gleamed like fresh snow. He had impressive extenders in his ear lobes, and another pair of studs in his cheeks. "Closing up," he said, eyes flickering toward the screen Rune had been watching. It was a paused video of a hedgehog floating in a bathtub.

She pulled her legs off the opposite bench. "Gotcha."


She dropped the Wallet and earbugs in her bag, right next to a revolver, but stopped herself before he got away. "Hey Silvio! There any 24 hour hedgehog pet stores in Moscow?"


He thought for a second, and shrugged. "There's everything in Moscow."

Rune grinned. I'm gettin' a hedgehog.

Takeo walked into his room and immediately locked the door behind him. He threw the chain lock into place as well, then took the extra effort to drag the room's safe in front of it as well. It required him cutting through the chain normally securing it in place in the small cubby where most people hung their jackets and stowed their suitcase. Luckily, he carried a small torch in his bag for just such purposes.

He didn't worry about checking for cameras - Kasumi had thoroughly swept the entire building, again - and, true to its claims, this little B&B was as quaint and unassuming as the 80-year-old grandmother that ran it. Betty was an American ex-pat who'd bought the CCD dream hook, line and sinker. She had beautiful, long silver hair - a thing Takeo usually found grotesque on most older women, and on all older men. Like walking corpses, clinging to their last vestiges of life through their thin wisps of dead hair. But not Betty. Hers was long, wavy, and lovely.

Takeo had used this establishment for years. Betty and the various staff of the Clinton Bed & Breakfast knew who he was - it was hard not to know the faces of each of the Ascendancy's Priveleged these days. But, he tipped extremely well, and he was courteous. And, it certainly didn't hurt that Betty was such a devout Brandonian. They all thought he was writing his memoirs, or some other intimate tale. He always carried a tablet, for that purpose, and rarely left his room during his stays.

Tonight would be no different.

After returning his torch to his bag, Takeo took out a face mask and moved over to the bed. He had much to think on - the dranaika, Aria, and that woman she'd pranced off with to name a few - but he glanced at the clock. It was just past midnight - he was late. He left the light on to give the appearance that he was awake and lay on the bed, fully clothed, with his shoes on. Jun and Kasumi were out there somewhere, but he wasn't taking any chances tonight. He kept the curtains drawn on the one small window to his room and slipped on the mask and lay back on the soft, downy pillow. His memoirs would have to wait.

Within minutes, he opened his eyes, and the world was different. It was the same, but different. The mask was gone, and the room was lit by a low, soft light no lamp could emulate. Everything he'd brought into the room was gone as well, including his bag, his tablet, and even the safe - which was once again resting in the nook from which he'd dragged only a few moments before. The bed was made, and Takeo was standing now, but the covers and pillow cases often changed or shifted, usually when he looked away from them. It was the same with the drapes. When first he looked, they were burgundy, and matched the striped comforter on his bed, but when he looked again, they were cream, then white. Fortunately Betty rarely made drastic changes, so the room did not shift often. Most people wouldn't even notice the changes, but most people were not Takeo.

Takeo was in the Dream World.

Looking down at himself, Takeo found he was - as per usual - dressed in his old gi. All blacks, snug to fit, and completely soundless, no matter how he moved. He wore a black mask as well. It was soft, but covered his head and all of his face. To anyone who saw him, it would look like he had been kidnapped, with some shroud covering his head and disappearing into his shirt. No one could see his face, but he could see out as if he wasn't wearing anything on his head. That had not taken nearly as long to learn as his weapons. For now, he wore a pair of swords on his back, though that would likely change involuntarily as the night progressed.

At a thought, he was gone from the Clinton and suddenly standing atop a skyscraper, peering down over Moscow. Another, and he was in a rice field. A third, and he was standing on the side of a mountain. Mount Fuji. It was still and serene, and, although he was now very late, Takeo was the only figure in sight. His swords shifted to a pair of holstered guns, then a belt of throwing knives as he waited and the timeless seconds ticked past. He began to worry he made a foolish mistake in being late. He knew it could not always be helped - the live of a Privelege was rarely his own, after all. But, he also knew there was no explaining this to the one he'd come to see. In here, he was on borrowed time. On her time.

She appeared, not a meter in front of him, with her back to him. Her long, golden hair was tied in an intricate array of braids that could not have been replicated in the waking world. There was something impossible about the way the hair twisted - like some Esher drawing, and it too shifted every time the eye left and returned to it. She wore a gown, as usual, this time in a stark white - all the starker in juxtaposition to his black - and just a little too bright to look at for long. Unlike Takeo, she did not bother with weapons in this place. Her hands at her side were bare, and her dress was just short enough that he could see that her feet were bare as well. She made no move to turn around, to speak, or even to acknowledge his presence. She just waited.

Takeo, however, could wait no longer. He flashed, as he called it, and was in front of her, facing her, and kneeling on one knee. "Forgive me, Sensei, I was detained."



Edited by Takeo, May 16 2014, 07:30 PM.

Since in some cases there has been a bit of confusion about which monsters are the same and which are not, it was thought to be a good idea to have a thread that tracks the monsters.

So if you have a monster encounter then post your information below. If you feel up to it lol post the threads they are in so we can read back easily.

Updating as people post:

Jann/Ghul : Hood's bio - most dead (possibly some still at large)

Rougarou: Bathhouse in the Underworld - a few dead potentially still a nest left living (Aria, Hood, Rune, Jaxen and MickeyV)

Bannik: Bathhouse in the Underworld - dead (Aria, Rune and Hood)

Ijiraq: Novodevichy Monastery Cemetary - assumed dead (Aria and Dane)

Ijiraq: Streets of Moscow - dead (assumed to be the same one Aria found at the monastery) (Aria, Jensen, Giovanni and Connor)

Drakaina: Alleyway of Moscow - dead (Aria, Takeo and Dane)

Domovoi: basement of an apartment building in a bad part of moscow - alive (Katya and Jensen)

Ijiraq, Guardian Metro Station. Fled the scene after feeding. Displayed cognition not yet seen in ijiraq. Has promised to come back for Elias. (The Divine Truth: Elias, Tehya, Connor)


The Mecca Ijiraq -
- attacked Michael at Mecca, then assaulted by Michael unsuccessfully.
-Visited Hasan but passed by. Too many people around, it had a more appetizing target.
- Attacked Andrew while fleeing the assassination attempt on Hasan and threw him through a window (IIRC).
Currently at large.

Three Dreyken in Italy from Nikolai's biography, deceased.

Dreyken in Moscow, from Alla, at large.

Harpie, in Moscow, from Not that kind of help, by Jensen. - at large.

Was there ever another harpie sighting?
*last updated on 5/13/14*


Edited by Aria, May 15 2014, 06:45 AM.