Lih sat for a while, then began to pace in the conference room. He stared down into the corner stand where there was an ornate brass timepiece... a vintage clock. He watched as the imperceptible crawl of its polished hands across the equally gleaming dial of the timepiece. 

He went to the small door of the conference room, and looked out into the narrow hallway. People were busy elsewhere. He could hear the echo of raised voices in the distance.

He went back, sat down in the comfy leather armchair, and sipped a cup of now cold caffeine somebody from chief inspector Drayson's office had brought. 

He took out Aiden Finnegan's novel Weaving Wheel and tried to read another one of the Irish folktales, but his mind wasn't on it.

His senior from Drayson's office reappeared and closed the door behind him.

"What's going on, Sir?" Lih asked, rising to his feet. "When can I start this interview?"

"In a short while, I trust," said the tall, copper skinned man evasively. He flexed his chin, as if there was much more that he wanted to say but couldn't.

Lih stared at him and slowly resumed his seat.

"In the meantime, is there anything I can arrange to have brought out to you? Some refreshments, maybe?"

Upon Lih shaking his head, the senior officer turned to leave... 

Lih asked the empty room, quietly and urgently, "I'm not in trouble am I?"

It hadn't taken long to tell Yun his plan.  He wasn't surprised when she agreed to let him off her leash.  In a way she really hadn't, Dorian had a tail almost a mile long.  He'd agreed to a chip for tracking purposes.  He wasn't planning on keeping it forever, if at the very least Sage would be able to disable it.  That was thing the girl seemed to not know about him, was his house full of misfits.  Dorian regretted not allowing Sage into his wallet while they were still under the same roof.  It might have saved a lot of aggravation having his son's bodyguard coming flaming the house.  Might even show Yun that she might be barking up the wrong tree.

But he hadn't, and he had made a deal.  A Deal that gave him and his family some freedom from the Atharim, once they put a stop to IA's investigation on his part though.  Yun saw to the precinct side of it.  But it was Dorian who was going to end that particular Atharim threat.  And sick Domovoi on Nox's little crowd below the city.  A dead police officer would do just that.  The trick was to only get Abt to follow him.

Which really wasn't hard.  Yun and company had left Dorian's car unattended where they found him.  Dorian got into it and drove into the Red Light District.  He and Ivan had done through chasing Sebastian.  And that's when his world changed.  He'd met a boy and a girl Atharim, god and sentient.  He'd covered for Martin for the last time.  And now his friend was dead, and Dorian had betrayed everything he'd ever done or stood for - except the sacrifice was to save his family.  A family he hadn't loved enough before but the thought of losing Cruz to the Atharim deaded his resolve.  Abt would not threaten his family.

Eventually someone would come looking for him.  Dorian just hoped it was not Nox.  He hoped the boy was still asleep after the big gala.  He'd be home soon.  And Cruz would be safe and Nox could do what he did best - fight monsters  - keeping the rest of the world safe.  Dorian knew that he'd never stop fighting that fight, it was in his blood.  Though the Atharim would hunt him forever - he didn't care.  It was a strength Dorian envied.  But it would likely get the boy killed.  

Dorian headed into the tunnels below the Red Light District and he made sure he was seen by ever security camera he could.  Sage would find him at the very least, he was counting on the boys stalker tendencies.

[[Some time following post #1 in A New Page Turned]]

Grass tickled her skin, her limbs baked warm and brown where they poked out from the crisp linen of her dress. Small flowers rooted up through her hair, spread out in a halo of wild curls around her face. Nimeda stared up at the sky, pulling the clouds into whimsical shape or sparking arcs of sunlight through raindrops. Today she was trying very hard to keep hold of a single thought, and it pushed a thoughtful furrow to her brow that had nothing to do with the concentration it took to manipulate her surroundings (which really took very little effort at all).

She waited for something.

For dark shadows to vein through her perfect sky, or the field in which she lay to suddenly scald with the whip of dry desert winds. For rain to fall like daggers of ice, for something that squeezed a smile to her lips in anticipation, so much so that her head tipped back, grey eyes searching, playfulness swelling in her chest.

And then remembered to hold onto that thought.

She waited for someone.

Raffe had been watching the man that night, the first he had been allowed down from the rooms upstairs to mingle amongst the patrons. His cheeks were clean-shaven, his shock of dark hair neat. The press of his crisp clothes hung odd, like his body did not know how to relax beneath them, or they felt uncomfortable against his skin. The burnished eyes drew attention as much as they created an arc of silence around him. As far as Raffe could tell he spoke to no one, just wandered like a lost puppy, bright eyes drinking in the pomp and splendour of Kallisiti until he finally found a quieter corner to absorb it all from.

It wasn't exactly the first time Oriena had welcomed the city's waifs and strays into the heart of her kingdom, but he was certainly the oddest in the collection.

The evening rolled along fine, until one of the patrons put his hands where they weren't wanted. Lilya was professional; her grip efficiently pinched his hand off, eyes narrowed. Presently she would inform Carmen, who would take care of the rest, but Kasun clearly sensed something beneath the current. And he snapped like she'd screamed against a predator.

The rush of his bare feet padded against the floor as he launched himself at the man, and chaos erupted.

Raffe had always been something of a mediator in the orphanage, so he didn't even think before he vaulted forward, leaving the gape-mouthed customer he had been serving with a half finished drink. Ice and mixer spilled against the bar.

The man's muscles were like corded wire as Raffe tried to wrench him off amidst a shower of blood.

"Get everyone out." The snap of Carmen's orders knifed the pandemonium. Raffe managed to grapple the man back into the changing room before his grip slipped. Kasun's lips bared over bloody teeth, a growl low in his throat as he spun, gold eyes utterly mad. And he was fast. Nails raked Raffe's chest before the flash of those teeth dived low.

Something burst in his chest, like a storm suddenly raged uncontrolled. 

And Kasun flung back, the twin orbs of his golden eyes winking abruptly out.

Raffe's hand shook at his throat, hot blood gushing through his fingers as he staggered back into the rails of costumes lining the wall. The pain didn't even touch him yet, eyes wide as Carmen's face swam into view above. Feathers and silk brushed his skin as he collapsed, the wire of hangers digging awkwardly as he crashed through.

"Shit shit shit." Carmen's hands slipped frantically, her face frozen with panic. Stoical Carmen. He'd never seen her so unravelled, and it pressed a stupid grin to his lips. But when he tried to speak, bubbles of iron burst against tongue instead of sound. She pushed his hands down hard. "For fuck's sake hold the pressure, Raffe!"

Hello all,

I wanted to issue apologies to those who may have been in the chatroom when I have been.  I've been very frustrated about my writing (and feel basically anything I write right now is sub-par).  As a result I've been rather cranky and feel that my attitude has been inappropriate, especially given that most of you have tried to help.  For this I offer my humblest of apologies.  I will strive to do better in the future.

Much Love,

Gio

If your character had a tattoo (or has one), what would it be? 

All you atharim already carrying around the death-eater-mark, I mean, ouroboros, do you have another non-cult-identifying ink? 

Let's hear it.

The soft fur of the reindeer skin sat in Armande's lap. A small smile played on his lips. Last night had been far more successful than he had imagined. The news was still trickling out. The guests were powerful and rich. They could not be silenced or disappeared so easily. There were still only rumors, obviously grown through exaggeration, but chaos had reigned at the Ball.

And his seeds would find it fertile soil, weeds that would thrive in the cracks, spidering webs that would eventually  shatter Brandon's grip on the empire. They just needed water and time.

He still needed to travel to Rome, but that would be later. The map was what intrigued him. He needed a starting point, a way to sync it up with the real world. The language too was a mystery, though he suspected Valeriya would provide the key.

As if his thoughts had been a summons, she came into the room. His eyes drank her in. So lovely. So fiery. He had let her sleep, her hair a tangled mass that did nothing to diminish her beauty. He rose to greet her with a kiss. "Valeriya, my love."

@Valeriya

Continued from The Grand Ball



The fervor with which Jensen gripped his hands surprised even Jay. Who, lets face it, tended to be the most dramatic in whatever group he found himself.  "Alright. I guess we'll take that as a yes." He grinned, pat Jensen on the hand and looked at Natalie. She looked bright eyed enough for the looming 17 hour journey in three planes.

It was the first time outside the walls of the Kremlin in longer than Jay wanted to think about. The fresh air filled his lungs in a way he hadn't appreciated before. Some of the others from among the Nine were below ground far longer than himself. Jay learned to work the power faster than most, if not all of them, according to Karim. Some of the others were as strong as Jensen, and in the case of Michael, stronger. But the speed at which Jay learned was remarked upon. Julian and Dominick reminded him almost hourly. 

So no wonder they were going batshit crazy down there. Men just weren't meant to be locked away in the dark. It did fucked up things to the mind; six months down there? Longer? Jay shivered to think about it. He'd be crawling the walls. Literally. Probably end up having conversations with the blank patches of canvas, scrawling out anything and everything to cross his mind, until the scribbles were incomprehensible. 

The fresh air felt great. A Kremlin employee approached, offering to drive them to their destination. The car was welcome cover. Windows blacked out, as soon as they rolled through the gates, tourists lined the barricade to get a closer look at the inhabitants. Media and paparazzi flashed. Jay stared above the heads of them all, though. The new triumphant arch loomed like a fortress. The power with which it was built was unbelievable. So much power. Jensen was a kitten next to Ascendancy. It really was hard to believe the man .. wasn't something more than a man. He swallowed and turned his gaze upon the city instead. They had three stops to make. The nearest was the former French embassy that the Legion now occupied. Jay had no idea if his stuff was still there. Though he had to assume when Jacques and Ascendancy struck their arrangement about his .. service.. that his belongings were accounted for.

The sprawling mansion was lined with flags of the Legion, but no other markings designated it as occupied by foreign officers. "You should probably stay here. I'll only be a few minutes."  He swallowed, catching Natalie's eye. It's not that she would be uncomfortable there. The Legion headquarters was her temporary home, after all. 

Jay didn't want her to see what the others would say the second he walked in.

The security code flashed green, the door unlocked. He faced two Legionnaires posted at the front. He set his jaw, let them see him. "Henri, Vernier," he looked from one to the other until their disbelief turned to utter confusion. His intuition wasn't wrong.  

"Jay, you're not dead."  Henri relaxed the worried stance gripping him tight. 

Vern's gaze was fixed upon the uniform. Jay didn't blame him.

"I've been reassigned."  He turned an arm. Showed the winged demon and sword stitched upon one shoulder. The patch of DI was on the other.

A former citizen of DIX, Henri's eyes flashed wide. Vern's expression turned to disgust. He was born Moroccan. To the man's credit, he held Jay's gaze tight as tension. And he half worried they wouldn’t let him in. So he called the power to grasp just in case. He'd be polite, talk. But they weren't going to slow him up more than a minute. There wasn't time. They were barely going to make the airport as it was. And the next option for a flight was another four hours delayed from the current plan. He eyed their weapons. Vern was alert. It would be easy to neutralize him. Though Jay heould hate to do it.

Jay stepped easy around them. But he didn't release the man's gaze until he was across the foyer. "I'm just here to get my stuff. I'll be gone soon enough." 

Henri waved him through, but Vernier made a move to intercept. If he was no longer a Legionnaire, it meant he wasn't cleared to wander the mansion alone, but they Henri didn’t care. Vern on the other hand.. He reluctantly returned to his post.

Jay was halfway up the stairs when he overheard Vern's comment: "traitre*." 

He grit his teeth and hurried. Vernier didn't know how right he was.

When he returned to the car minutes later, he was changed into jeans, undershirt and a short-jacket. He wore the same boots from the Dominion's uniform but otherwise, there was no other sign of it. He dumped a bag in the trunk and slipped into the front seat, but Jensen would know that he didn't release the power. 

The power built walls. Walls were useful.

A few minutes later, he released it, but didn't say anything about what happened inside.

Age: 26

Origin: Unknown (Some midwest state in the middle of nowhere)

Occupation: Grifter/Con Man

Aliases: John Lee, Danny Murphy, Barry Rogers, David Smith, Alex Kennedy, Richard Martin, Tobias Johnsen, Noah Preston, Alexis Trottier

Description: Xander is 6 foot even. He is muscular but not overly so. He prefers running and boxing to weights but will lift to get stronger. He has ice blue eyes and inky black hair that he likes to style in a faux Mohawk. He likes to wear comfortable jeans and t-shirts with cool sayings. But he wears a suit well. Xander has several protection brands, the eye of horus on his left shoulder, the eye of rah on his right shoulder, a pentacle over his heart, a triquetra  on the inner side of his left hip

Personality: Xander has a hedonistic nature.  He believes in a pleasurable life at the cost of everything else.  He is a very good liar and exceptional con artist. He was raised with an us against the world mentality that when his parents died became me against the world. He's a hard worker and always gets the job done. Xander needs to be in control of everything.  He doesn't trust easily and once broken it's hard to earn the trust back.  He is a very passionate lover, but he doesn't take any relationship seriously.  He's got a mild exhibitionist streak that rears its head at times.  He believes in finding the truth even if it's ugly it's one reason he thrives in his chosen career path.  He likes to control which truths make it to the right ears.

Supernatural Powers: Xander can see images in a person’s aura (like Min) He doesn’t always understand what they mean. (Prophet)

History: Xander was born to a single mother. His father died shortly after his conception. His mother never told him of his demise, not really. But Xander saw it in his mother’s aura. The pain the tragedy and the hurt she was going through. Her death was not a surprise. He found her when he was 8 years old with her wrists bleeding into the bath he’d drawn for her.

But before that Xander and his mother lived a good life. She taught him everything she knew. School was boring but it was required - she said you gotta have book smarts as well as street smarts to make it in this here world. So Xander did as he was told. 

And when he first started seeing the colors, he was afraid. Xander couldn’t stop seeing them. And that was when he saw the darkness in her aura. The death and the pain. He saw images of a man bleeding out. He saw things he didn’t understand at the age of 5. When Xander told his mother what she saw she was afraid. Not of him, but for him. They searched for months to find someone who didn’t think he was crazy.

They found an old witch woman who said Xander could see the soul. See truths in it. She didn’t offer to teach Xander, but his mother left him anyway. It wasn’t until Xander told the witch woman what he saw when he looked at her did she offer to help him. But before she would teach him he had to survive. 

Xander was five, he’d survived so far and his mother wasn’t there to say no. The first brand upon his chest made Xander cry out in anguish. It burned. He cried. It was torture. But the witch didn’t stop there. She pressed three more into his skin, one at each shoulder and one on his hip. Then she told him her name, though Xander would never repeat it again. There was power in a name, and Xander never offered up his own. Xander Mitchel was a ghost. No one knew his name - no one but his mother and the witch who taught him about his gift.

The witch taught Xander what the colors meant the surrounded people. She taught him to translate most of the images he saw. They always came true, if they were the future, and if the past it was such a strong emotion it was usually all Xander could see. She also taught him how to ignore it, turn it off so it wasn’t blinding.

Xander’s mother came back a little more than a year later and yelled at the witch woman. She scared her son. His mother was about to strike the woman when Xander stepped between them and spoke softly. “Mommy, it’s okay, it’s to protect me. To protect her. To protect you.”

His mother had asked to protected her from what, Xander never told her to protect her from the evil within. The witch hadn’t considered his viewings to be a gift, they were a curse sent from the to torment me. She only taught Xander because he saw her death. There was nothing she could do about it except teach me. She didn’t have long to live.

But the images around his mother were worse now that he understood. Xander lived with the lights off most of the time, he couldn’t bear to see the images around her. But once his mother found out that his images came true, they used it to find the best payouts and the most lucrative payouts. And that’s how they lived for another three years. And then she commited suicide with a bath he’d drawn for her. He still saw the image of her lying in the water. It was a nightmare he saw anytime he saw death in the auras. 

Xander was a child when he became a man. He couldn’t own anything. But there were ways around that. With Xander’s gift he knew what strings to pull and how to manipulate a person so that they would do exactly what he wanted. He never hurt anyone, and he only took what someone else didn’t need. He never took from the poor, in fact he gave some to them whenever he had a chance.

But Xander wasn’t alone for long he fell into a group of people who all worked the same thing doing various things. Anita was the oldest, she was almost an adult at 18. She was like their mother. And she acted like it most of the time. They weren’t homeless, though they did bounce from one location to the next to keep the authorities off their cases. 

Junior was next he was 17 but no one knew why anyone called him Junior, he said that was all anyone had ever called him. Trevor was 15 when Xander joined them, and he was the first one to introduce Xander to the fine art of using sex as a tool. Trevor was with Lillian she was some rich girl they all stayed with from time to time. Xander thought she was a slut even at that age and when he was 14 he got the full experience. Xander was second youngest, Diana was the baby, she was five and she was Trevor’s little sister. They had just a tragic story as Xander did, both parents dying, no living relatives and when you run away from your foster home continuously they soon forget about you.

Xander wouldn’t know about that he never stayed around long enough for anyone to find him till he found this group.  They taught each other things and helped each other out. They were sort of a family, but none of them were really close. A few of them were considered friends, but Xander didn’t tell anyone his true name. Knowing his name was against his own rules. They all played their own games. And helped each other out, but they were still alone in this world. No one fully trusted anyone else. But they needed each other to get through growing up. 

No one ever really questioned him growing up, and by the time he was a teenager he had enough connections to fake whatever identity he wanted. Criminal masterminds always wanted his talents. Even the low level scum who couldn’t afford his prices wanted what he had to offer. Xander’s visions always came true and they all knew if he said something was good, it was good.

By the time Xander was 16 he’d made a name for himself in the midwest. He moved east and spent a few years making scores on the east coast before he decided to try his hand at the precious CCD. America wasn’t what it once was. So with his newly minted CCD ID Xander made his way across the ocean. He was 18 when he first set foot in the CCD.

There he didn’t have connections, the challenge was new and through his gift and his acquired wealth from his former life in American, Xander grifted his way through what was once England, and then France. He hit Spain for a few months. The Ukraine was next, and he eventually moved into what was once Italy and the City of Rome where he learned through his visions to avoid the men with the ouroboros tattoos. These men and women were deadly snakes, and the visions surrounding them were awful. Their deaths were always gruesome and that’s all he saw for them. Just death - lots and lots of death - theirs and others.

Xander moved on quickly from Italy finally into the center of the world - Moscow. He was there when the big announcement about Ascendants and channelers was made, and the giant monument the Ascendancy created it. He wished he’d have been there when he did it. Xander had seen strange things around men and women with the sickness. He always saw their deaths and Xander wondered what images he would see around those who had survived. Where they any different.

Moscow was ripe for the pickings. Xander only had to find his next mark but who would it be?