Rachel lay down on her bed feeling so relieved. The semester was finally over, and she had time to actually be a person instead of a drone reading vast tomes of the psychological theories of Freud, Skinner, Maslow, and Jung. Her professors had still told her to make sure she was still working on her thesis over break, but right now - she needed a break more than anything. 

Rachel pulled out her wallet and her first thought went to Cruz. She had told him at the wedding that she would make an effort to be in contact more and she had. It hadn’t changed how busy they both were. Both of them were dealing with grad school, but Cruz had his work with Jivana on top of that. Rachel had time now though, and it was too good to pass up a chance. She missed him a lot. 

Hey!!! Just got done with the semester. Miss you lots! Any chance I can see you soon

Rachel was really open to anything - dinner, dancing, or a night in the city. She just missed spending time with Cruz and hoped that he was available soon.

Twins ran in the family. When nineteen year old Eirini Vero returned home six months after running away, alone and very pregnant, the entire carnival celebrated her return to them in spite of her indelicate condition. For the Vero family itself, though, it was doubly significant. For generations their carnival attraction monopolised on the mystique of prophecy and divine twins, proclaimed proudly under the banner The Vero Sisters. It was not always twins at the helm (not that the world knew it) but the superstitions ran deep in the family mythos – all daughters were special and sight-touched, but twins were particularly auspicious, a marker of both luck and prosperity for the future, and more importantly a sign that the prophecies and fortunes of the Vero daughters remained true for a generation.

Eirini’s own twin, Esma, had already welcomed her first daughter into the world two years prior, with childhood sweetheart Fennix Pekelniak, whom she had married at only seventeen. A daughter was cause for joy, but twins were cause for security. No one asked Eirini about the father since he was a gorja and she returned without him. Unmarried mothers were still not common amongst the Roma people, though the Vas Carnival had softened somewhat into modernity over the years, and the Veros themselves already shucked convention with their matrilineal lines. However, despite how badly they were wanted, the promised twins were not meant to be. Only one of the babies would survive the birth.

Three years later, Esma and Fennix finally welcomed twins of their own, girls Masilda and Maira, and the matter of legacy was secured – at least for the next generation. Despite it, Lalitha’s inauspicious beginnings left a mark that did not fade. Great Mami taught her the Vero ways, but always with a tut and grumble. Her mother said it was just because Mami was old, old enough to well remember the days when Lalitha would have been considered a didikai because her father was an outsider, but Lalitha knew better – it was because a twin sister inexplicably dead in the womb was as good as a curse for their family. But if the Vero women had one rule, it was that they never read the fortunes for each other. And whatever else Lalitha was, she was still a Vero.

The carnival was home to more than five Romani families, and the intergenerational community was tight knit. In those days they travelled the Custody, setting up tents and entertaining the masses wherever they were welcomed. In the provenance of fortune-telling the Veros were natural rivals of the Vas family, but the conflicts never filtered down to the children, who intermingled freely and without bias. Lalitha can’t remember a time when she was not a little bit in love with Dominik Vas, Renáta’s son. He was firm friends with Ceija, Esma’s eldest and Lalitha’s favourite cousin. She was always in their shadow.

As a child Lalitha was highly creative but fickle as a hummingbird. She drew with Ceija, fashioned makeshift ouija boards to summon spirits with Sámiel, and looked after the snakes with Viktoria. She was always making music, inspired by everything around her, but rarely wrote anything down. In their free evenings her compositions were spontaneous things, sometimes with just a clapped beat and impulsive lyrics. The singing and dancing was collaborative, most memorable when Roza Vas joined in with her violin. It was only ever for family, spun around the fires once the visitors had all gone home, but it always drew a crowd, even the elders – even maudlin Esper.

She was fourteen the first time she got drunk on Pekelniak moonshine, and it was like her mind opened to a whole new world. Bright with the intoxication, she encouraged Ceija to perform her first tattoo behind one of the tents, homemade with none of the proper equipment: a small smiley face on Lalitha’s inner forearm. That same night, emboldened by the alcohol, she kissed Dominik for the first time. They became inseparable after, though the relationship remained chaste in line with custom and the watchful eyes of both their families. Infatuation blossomed to something more; she fell in love quickly and deeply, consumed by feelings she poured out into music; melodies and lyrics she finally began to write down when the inspiration struck like lightning.

Six years later Dominik made their intention official. But when Renáta read the match’s fortune, she condemned the marriage to be a barren one and refused to give her blessing. Neither of them had expected it to be an easy persuasion; everything at the carnival was a performance to some degree, and the union between a Vas and a Vero was a noteworthy juncture in the carnival’s ever unfolding story. But neither had they anticipated such a forceful condemnation. After a family conversation from which Lalitha was excluded, Dominik acquiesced quietly to his mother’s wishes. Lalitha felt her heart break, as surprised as she was hurt. She went to her own family, begged her elders to read the fortune themselves and prove that Renáta was both vindictive and wrong. But even her own mother, who once abandoned the carnival and its customs for reasons she never shared, claimed that Renáta’s word was as good as law, whether it was true or not.

The rift between the two families deepened.

Soon after Dominik grew Sick and the carnival ground to what would become its final halt in Moscow. His younger sister Roza swiftly fell to the same illness, right on the heels of the most magical show of lights and awe and music the carnival had ever seen. Tents became colourful wooden houses as the anchor set in. Less than six months later it was Lalitha’s turn to suffer. She doesn’t remember if Dominik came to her bedside while she was writhing with the fevers, but Roza did. Like the others, she learned to control her new gift with music and dancing. Lalitha survived, but it felt like a death. Her life was changed.

Description:

Lalitha loves her home and her family, and would do anything for them, but she struggles to find her place there. With nowhere else to go she still lives in the little house with her mother and her aunt’s family. But now that the carnival has grown roots more and more often she roams the city, falling foul of a society that sees her as an outsider. The nightlife dazzles her. She travels between bars peddling her gifts, making no distinction between dingy backstreets and high end venues guarded by security that rarely lets her through. Not because she’s naive but because she’s fearless, and refuses to be categorised to where society believes she fits. Sometimes she busks in Old Arbat, though she doesn’t have a licence and is usually moved on.

Lalitha is persuasive, spontaneous and emotional. She can read palms and cards (which is to say she can read people) and is both superstitious and skeptical of the answers provided. She wants to believe though.

She has a knack for inspiring others and awakening desire and ambition. When she is passionate she is unrestrained, and in her enthusiasm she can easily get carried away. Alcohol often makes her incandescent, which others mostly find compelling, but it enhances all the extremes in her personality – good and bad. Risks seem like adventures. She doesn’t think before she acts. Her heart is usually in the right place, but consequences rarely care for intention. Poor decisions have landed her in debt with the wrong people.

She’s a talented musician and singer, but her deepest mastery lies in an ability for composition and lyricism that cannot help but move. Her music communicates something in the soul, whether it be joy, sadness, anger, ecstasy or madness: nothing remains forbidden or taboo. Her performances are usually intimate and spellbinding. Though the lyrics are highly poetical (and not always in English), the feeling behind them is personal and raw: Lalitha cannot separate the two. She usually plays guitar or darbuka drum.

She’s an undiscovered talent, and a diamond in the rough, but she craves authenticity rather than fame. Her creative processes are all chaos unsuited to commercialisation.

Lalitha is small (5’1’’), with blue eyes and brown hair often dyed blonde or other colours. She has various tattoos, all small images dotted around and down one arm. They include Ceija’s smiley face, a coffin, a jester, a slice of cake, a rainbow, a cartoon ghost, musical notes, and on the back of her shoulder, a crude dancing devil in red ink. She likes jewellery, often wearing intricate pieces made by her uncle Fennix.

I know there are other muses out there (Roza and Danica if I remember correctly). This is something I’ve been thinking about for a bit. Are the muse powers (power to inspire artists/scientists to greater heights) come from the one power or is more of a “natural” gift to inspire? In the recording session thread, I played it as the latter. I think of it as a more natural inclination as opposed to a more supernatural push/manipulation. Any thoughts?

Marta didn't come here much, and this was the first time she had consciously decided to come here since Sierra had left.  Ricky had told her that she could stay a second night with Elyse, and Elyse had agreed.  Elyse didn't like it here either, but Marta was here now.  She felt braver since her talk with Hayden, and she was certain that she should really begin to understand this place.  It was a scary place.  She knew her thoughts could change things in an instant, and she had the ability to 'wake up' should she need to.  

Splash was here too.  That was another thing.  Splash had a better understanding of the dream than she did.  Wolves just seemed to naturally get this place.  They were inherently connected to it. Splash also wasn't too happy that Marta had decided to come, but Marta did.  She couldn't learn how this place worked without being here.  She awoke in Nox's Building, but this wouldn't do.  She needed someplace else.

"Splash," she said, the words translating to images that she sent to her companion. "How to I get to the woods from here."

Splash sent her back the instructions.  She closed her eyes, and pictured the spot in the woods where she had met Elyse and Sierra, remembering every detail.  She even remembered the scents, and the way the wind rustled through the trees, and when she opened her eyes, she was there.

"Okay - I have to remember.  I'm real, not a dream, and I got to remember what I look like." her clothing, which had been shifting slightly solidified.  She smirked and thought of herself with a bow, and suddenly one was in her hands and she felt the familiar weight of a quiver on her back.  Now she just wondered what she should do now.

((OoC: Any dream walker is welcome - no plans here))

Ricky found himself out and about.  Marta had convinced him to allow her to stay with Elyse.  Of course, when it came to Marta, Ricky trusted Elyse more than anyone he knew.  Elyse was not only a good person who was rather skilled in her own right, but she also understood Marta in a way he never could.  Ricky smiled as he thought of Marta's last words to him as he dropped her off: Have fun and relax, dork!

She had changed so much in a short time, even if he could still see the darkness of her trauma hit at times.  The change had been even more apparent since she started online school and going to Kallisti everyday.  It was strange that a whole bunch of kids spent their days at the burlesque club, but Elyse ensure him that it was one of the safest places in the city.  Marta had hardly shut up about Sterling since they had met.  It seemed like Marta had truly found a peer who understood and accepted her without a thought.  It was what Marta needed.

Ricky decided to try and heed her advice and found himself in a Moscow bar.  It wasn't run down, nor was it one of the super extravagant Moscow clubs.  It reminded him quite a bit of his bar in Mexico City.  At times, he missed it, but he had made a choice to do what he needed to do for Marta - and he had no regrets on that.  There seemed to be a decent crowd her tonight, but Ricky spent his time alone at the bar, sipping at a beer.  It was a strange thing after so long to be alone and to have a night of no responsibilities and Ricky wasn't sure what to do with it.  He sat with the air of someone who would welcome company, but did not require it, as he slipped his beer, he pulled out his wallet, and used the app to cue up some classic rock on the jukebox, resisting the urge to send Elyse a text to check on Marta.  Marta would be fine, and she was right.  He needed to relax.

Im going to use this thread as a venue to summarize what is happening with the club plot that involves the Yakuza, Syndicate, Cartels, and Mafia. This has been unfolding IC for a while now (ahem-years), and can be a pain to keep up with it. 

Main players

The short of it is Adrian owns various land spaces and buildings around moscow via AK Holdings. He has leased his property to the club owners on 30-year contracts. 

The Yakuza group, the Edenokoji-gumi based in Moscow are building a series of 5 Japanese-style Host and Hostess clubs, which until now are completely new and novel business in Moscow as they generally only exist in Japan. This is the group that Kiyohito has now joined. His brother, Haruto, is part of the plot as well. They will operate any gambling that takes place within the clubs. The theme of each club will feature a Japanese-style wrestling circuit and entertainment.

Zixin will use the Syndicate to orchestrate human trafficking of discovered channelers (usually very weak ones) discovered in Southeast Asia to offer them "work" in the Clubs. They are coerced into going to Moscow on the promise of wealth and independence, but are indentured to remain on site. Security does not allow hosts or hostesses to leave without permission or being followed until they have "paid off their debts", which may have accumulated for any number of reasons. This is very shady stuff. Other non-channeler hosts and hostesses are also 'employed' by the clubs. The is the primary reason Zixin was sent to Moscow from Singapore. 

Previously, the Amengual cartel was going to provide drugs, but now that they are defunct thanks to Jay, that job will likely transfer to the Russian mafia. 

The vodka kingpin, Gregor Petrovich will supply the clubs with alcohol exclusively. However, other members of the Russian Mafia can participate in various ways. For instance, Gregor's son, Zholdin was instrumental in recruiting Alistair to be a headlining wrestler in the club circuits. Zholdin is into the theatrics and story of wrestling. Other members of the mafia may be involved in the construction process. 

Clubs

There will be 5 clubs around Moscow. I'll post detailed descriptions of each in future posts.

"Hikari" - Arbat Street, Enlightenment District
"Kaizen" - Moscow City Business District, Adjacent to the Radiance Hotel
"Sakura Noir" - Patriarch Ponds, Central District
"Yūrei" - Red October Industrial River District
"Nocturne" - Red Light District

What exactly is a Host/Hostess club?

A host/hostess club is a type of nightlife establishment where customers pay to spend time in the company of professional hosts (typically men) or hostesses (typically women), who provide companionship, conversation, and entertainment. These clubs are known for their luxurious, intimate atmosphere and are a prominent part of Japan's nightlife.

Hostesses engage with men or women patrons, while hosts entertain female or male customers. The focus is on personalized service and attention, with hosts or hostesses acting as charismatic companions who create a relaxing and enjoyable experience. They pour drinks, engage in lighthearted or meaningful conversations, and may sing karaoke with patrons.

Importantly, these clubs are not usually about physical intimacy. Instead, they emphasize emotional connection, flirtation, and escapism, allowing customers to feel special and valued. Guests often become regulars, forming ongoing relationships with their favorite host or hostess like on-site girlfriends/boyfriends. The clubs can be quite expensive, with customers paying for time, drinks, and sometimes extravagant gifts for their host or hostess. Drinks, services, and gifts can run into the thousands, and guests are encouraged to spend lavishly to maintain their connection with their favorite host or hostess. Many are led to believe they’ve formed a genuine romantic bond, only to discover that their affections are part of a well-honed performance designed to secure loyalty and drive revenue. This emotional manipulation can drive customers into debt, with some even turning to loan sharks—often with ties to organized crime—to fund their habits.

Hosts and hostesses operate in a fiercely competitive environment, where their income depends on meeting sales quotas or commissions from drink sales. Those who fail to perform may face significant penalties, both financial and professional, creating a culture of relentless upselling and constant stress. Some workers are pressured into accompanying clients on paid dates outside the club, a practice that can veer into dangerous territory.

Marta woke up and got up from the air mattress on the floor of Elyse's room.  Ricky had been good enough to allow Marta to spend the night with Elyse.  It was good for her to get out of the house, and it was equally good for Ricky to have some time to himself.  Marta hoped he had spent his time having fun and not just sitting around at home.  He needed a break.  The fact that she had a group meeting with some of the Blackthorn kids and Elyse's new friend Hayden had just made it make more sense for her to stay here.

Elyse was still asleep and Splash still snoozed at the edge of Marta's mattress, so she padded across the hall to take a shower and get changed.  Today she wore a pair of blue jeans a white long-sleeved shirt with a black batman tee over it. She then went back over to the room, and Elyse was still asleep.

"Elyse, wake up sleepy-head!' she said shaking Elyse awake.

Elyse woke up and checked her wallet. "We still have time before you have to go down. Is something wrong?"

Marta shook her head. "No, but we have things to do first!" Elyse sat up in her bed and Marta went to her pack and pulled out a small wrapped Christmas present, climbed on to the bed, and handed it to Elyse. "Merry Christmas, Elyse!"

Elyse smiled at the package. "For me? Really?" Marta nodded vigorously and smiled. "And I haven't gotten you anything yet." Elyse frowned.

"It's okay.  You don't need to get me anything," Marta smiled.

"Nonsense - it's coming - don't you worry!" Elyse smiled and opened the package to reveal a small wolf statuette. "This is amazing.  Thank you so much, Marta!" She gave Marta a hug and put the statuette on her nightstand.

Marta stood up and pulled Elyse by the hand.  Splash woke up from all the movement in the room. "Not done yet - it's breakfast time.  Get dressed! It's time to go!"

Elyse complied and the pair (with Splash following) headed downstairs. Marta began to pull eggs and bacon out of the fridge and began to cook breakfast.  Ricky had taught her how.  "You don't have to cook for me," Elyse said, and Marta just gave her a smirk. 

When breakfast was completed, Marta sat next to Elyse and they began to eat.  Marta's thoughts turned inward.  She was anxious about this meeting - mostly because she hadn't met this Hayden yet.  At least she would be there with the other kids, and she heard Sterling was going to be there too.  That would help, but she still hadn't revealed much of her past to the Blackthorn kids either.  She was going to be vulnerable, and that was difficult.

"You'll be okay, Marta," Elyse said, placing a hand on her shoulder. "You don't have to say anything you're not comfortable saying.  This is the first one - I'm sure no one will mind if you don't say anything."

Marta nodded. "I know.  You really think this will help?" Elyse nodded. "I'm anxious about it. I really do want to be here though. It's just hard to think about sharing."

Elyse gave her a hug. "Just be open and trust yourself.  You know these kids and what they've gone through.  There will be no judgement.  If it doesn't help, you don't have to go again.  You know yourself.  Let that guide you."

Marta smiled. "Thanks Elyse," she said. 

The pair talked a little more while they finished their breakfast.  Marta preparing herself for the talk that would be coming that day.  She would be open and ready.

The Halia restaurant of the Singapore Botanic Gardens had been closed to accommodate her visit. Tourism curtailed in the winter months, but the heat and humidity would remain long into the coming rains. Jia Xin sat with legs demurely crossed, nursing an iced glass of teh peng. An array of sweet treats had been left in an elaborate arrangement on one of the tables, decorated with expensive and rare blooms, and beyond that stood two women with folded hands and downcast eyes, ready to serve if required. Security was not absent, merely discrete. After some pleasantries Jia Xin had dismissed the garden manager, citing a need to enjoy the air and beauty of his wonderful gardens in solitude. The tips of his ears pinked with the charm of her order, but if he found it rude (and it was unlikely that he did) he was not about to argue with a Kao.

She’d spent the afternoon engaging effortlessly with the crowds which gathered to seek a glimpse of her presence while she was led through her public tour, pausing to pose for photos, and filming the segments that would form her own edits of the occasion. The tropical gardens were ranked amongst Asia’s top tourist attractions, but their links with the Kao family were blooded far deeper than popularity. Cultivation of rubber extraction techniques here in the early twentieth century had led to domination of the global latex trade, and the Kaos were ever the roads upon which such wealth travelled.

Today the orchid house had been as beautiful as always, filled with the rarest specimens and newest experimental hybrids for which they were world renowned. Jia Xin greeted and encouraged with charisma and interest. The expertise here was why Singapore was known as the Garden City, so the Kao’s continued patronage was no surprise. Such was the prestige that diplomacy was often awarded visiting dignitaries or celebrities in the form of a named orchid, and today Jia Xin’s publicised visit had been to accept the newest bloom to be bred and named in honour of the Kao family. It was exquisite, as were its predecessors.

“Moscow?” Liyana repeated. Her cousin was leaning on the restaurant’s railing, looking out into the lush tropics of the surrounding garden. The chimes of a small waterfall sounded distant, and the scent of the flowers was nothing short of heavenly. “You know that’s where they sent Zixin. There’s no way Yeye will let you go there while he’s on business.”

Behind the shade of her sunglasses, Jia Xin’s attention moved over to where she stood. Ice clinked as she sipped her tea, sharp with a suffusion of ginger. The gesture obscured the sly twitch of her smile. Of course, Liy wasn’t wrong. While the Kaos carefully and quietly expanded their territories, the bold and unexpected descent of Singapore's nominal princess would spook all the existing powers into attention with her interest. Jia Xin’s tours were no small things after all; she travelled light in neither people, nor in possessions. If Moscow did not yet understand the invading power, they soon would, with a display like that.

But she had no interest in stepping on her brother’s toes, nor in defying their Yeye – at least in the spirit of his wishes.

Liyana shot a look over her shoulder, then turned fully at whatever she perceived of Jia Xin’s expression. Suspicion clouded her features before she folded her arms, lips pursed together in resignation. All as quick as that. No one ever really argued with Jia Xin, least of all little cousin Liya. Only her father or grandfather might truly rein in her desires, and it rarely happened. Not even her own beloved brother had that power unconditionally, though he might like to think he did. But that was exactly why she had no intention of informing any of them of her plans.

“Just think how hideously cold it will be there, Jiji!” Liy said in disgust. Which, to her credit, having implored whilst surrounded by the beautiful tropics of their home, still decadently warm even in November, was another very good point made. Not that it was a worry Liyana needed to concern herself with, since whatever Jia Xin's normal habits, she wasn’t coming.

“I won’t be gone long enough for anyone to notice, and you’ll help me make sure it stays that way.” Jia Xin stood, setting aside her glass and lifting the sunglasses atop her head. She took her cousin’s shoulders in gentle persuasion. Not that the battle was not already won. Her lips already found themselves plumped in a mischievously triumphant smirk, and the cunning was aglow in her dark eyes.

Liyana only sighed, releasing her arms from their defensive fold across her chest. “You can’t seriously be thinking of going there alone. At least tell me why!”

“Singapore is just so quiet without Zixin,” she said with a smile. “I miss my brother, that’s all.”

It was too dismissive to be the only truth, and they both knew it. In fact she intended to see Zixin not at all, though Liyana didn't need to know that. She'd be back in the Garden City before he ever realised she'd been right under his nose.

[[continued from A Little Broken]]

Her mother lived in the shittiest part of town, and it was not a long walk from the church. Oriena paid gopniks to watch her door, make sure she stayed out of trouble, keep her safe from herself. Nadezhda just thought they were nice young neighbourhood men, despite the baggy pants and tattoos on their necks and hands. When she arrived she let herself in the apartment without knocking – there was rarely any point announcing herself. It was gloomy inside despite the cold afternoon sun, the curtains drawn until Ori tugged them aside. Her gaze wandered over the evidence of her mother’s strange obsessions without much feeling. The woman herself was kneeling in the dark of the living room, muttering to herself.

Nadezhda didn’t react right away to the light, though her gaze did rise, fixed on something unseen. The rosary was tight in her grip, the skin of her hands chapped and sore. Exhausted and soul-weary, Ori sat on the sofa to wait it out, running her hands over her head. Her muscles ached from the church floor, but it was the lingering weight of the ijiraq’s possession which muted her. She longed for the hot steam of a shower to scour memory away. But for now she simply sat with the one thing in this world that mattered to her above everything.

A hand eventually clutched at her knee, signalling her mother’s awareness of her presence. Ori let her hands drop from her face, wary for what Nadezhda would surface. She saw demons as often as she mourned for Ori’s soul, had done ever since the Sickness assailed her as a teenager, though none of the injuries were ever inflicted intentionally, physical or mental. Today her eyes were glazed and distant as she smoothed the hair from Oriena’s cheeks, wiping at imaginary tears. The rosary bit between them, but Ori didn’t flinch.

“Darling girl, darling girl,” she said over and over.

Oriena was dry-eyed, but the whites were all red. From the self-abuse of her own recklessness, from the tears she must have cried unknowing in the ijiraq’s grasp. She didn’t speak. It wasn’t like Nadezhda was really here. After a moment her head dipped, coming to rest on her mother’s shoulder.

Nadezhda sobbed enough for both of them.