https://thefirstage.org/forums/ Sun, 17 May 2026 11:08:55 +0000 MyBB https://thefirstage.org/forums/thread-1953.html Sat, 31 Jan 2026 12:50:57 +0000 Penny]]> https://thefirstage.org/forums/thread-1953.html here))

The truck was warm, but still Penny shivered. The paramedics had some extra clothes in the truck that were warmer than what she had on. The boys went up front and Anita helped her get changed. Penny had tried on her own, but with her shivering she had struggled. She asked Anita for help.  She still wore Anita's paramedic coat. Both the clothes and coat were too big for her. She wanted Anita to at least take her coat back, but there was a firefighter coat in the ambulance that she put on.  It was too big for Anita too, and that made Penny laugh a little bit. They both probably looked ridiculous.

After that they laid her down on a gurney and covered her with blankets. The truck began to move, and even though Penny couldn't see, she knew it was slow. Getting out of the house had shown her how much snow had fallen.  It was more than she had ever seen before. She had also seen her reading tree. It had snapped and landed on the house. That had hurt to see.

Penny was still shivering. She asked Anita why and to her surprise, Anita answered. Penny had hypothermia and that meant her body was loosing heat faster than it could produce it. That sounded scary, but Anita was calm and that helped Penny to remain the same.  Their speed picked up and she heard one of the men up front say they had gotten behind a snow plow. Hope seemed to blossom in every one after that. It all ended when they suddenly stopped.

"What is it?" Anita asked the driver.

"Plow stopped," the response came back. "Driver heading this way."

The front doors opened and the men exited, but they opened the back door and came in, accompanied by another man. The plow driver Penny assumed. He informed them that the snow was too high even for his plow.  It was stuck. The men seemed dejected, but Anita remained calm. Penny didn't know how. She was feeling scared.

"Where are we?" she finally asked, looking outside.

"The Sanctuary of Ascendant Flame is the closest building, but we have to hike to get there. Should we just stay here?" he answered.

That seemed the best plan to Penny, but Anita shook her head. "This isn't stopping anytime soon. We have either until we run out of fuel or until we're buried and start breathing in exhaust fumes. Pack up the water bottles, rehab snacks, and medical supplies.  Tether them to a back board. I'll wrap up Penny. We can make a makeshift harness to help me carry her.  This coat is big enough I should be able to keep her underneath to keep her warm."

They all went to work, including the plow driver. Anita began to wrap Penny in blankets. "I'm scared." Penny finally said.

Anita looked at her, compassion in her face. "I know, honey," she said. "We're close to safety.  It will be nice and warm there and we'll get you all taken care of." Anita put a hand on her cheek.  It was warm. "You're going to be okay. I promise."

The work done, they began to use straps to attach Penny to Anita. They then covered Anita with the coat and buttoned it up. It wasn't very comfortable, but Penny understood why this was best. She didn't complain. They then began their trek towards the building.  One of the medics and the plow driver was in front of them with shovels trying to clear some of the snow to make the going easier. It was hard for them to keep up with how much snow was falling. The other medic was behind them pulling the the back board with supplies like a husky carrying a sled. 

It wasn't easy going. Penny was still shivering. She didn't speak much, but Anita kept saying comforting words. Penny felt guilty. If they hadn't stopped for her, the medics might have made it to safety.  She didn't say it, but she felt it. The cold out here was worse.  Even with the blankets, coat, and Anita's warmth.  Penny turned her head the best she could to get a look.  She could see the building.  It was so close, but so far away at the same time.

"We just need to get there?" she asked Anita. "They we're safe." Anita confirmed it and even with her calming presence, Penny was losing hope. She was scared she was going to die out here and bring these nice people with her.

I want us to live and all we have to do is make it there for that to happen. the thought kept repeating itself in her head over and over again. I want us to live and all we have to do is make it there for that to happen.

Penny reached her hand out towards the building the best she could while tethered to the woman carrying her - a desperate reach for the safety near them. As she did, a warm light spread through her abdomen. Its contrast to the cold around her made it almost painful.  She gasped and then saw threads of fire and air go in front of them. When they were gone, there was a melted path through the snow. The warm light was gone, replaced only with the cold.

Penny felt incredibly tired then. She had trouble remembering what was going on.  She felt so confused and so cold. "Warm light is gone. Cold...so cold... her voice was quiet as Anita began to run.]]> here))

The truck was warm, but still Penny shivered. The paramedics had some extra clothes in the truck that were warmer than what she had on. The boys went up front and Anita helped her get changed. Penny had tried on her own, but with her shivering she had struggled. She asked Anita for help.  She still wore Anita's paramedic coat. Both the clothes and coat were too big for her. She wanted Anita to at least take her coat back, but there was a firefighter coat in the ambulance that she put on.  It was too big for Anita too, and that made Penny laugh a little bit. They both probably looked ridiculous.

After that they laid her down on a gurney and covered her with blankets. The truck began to move, and even though Penny couldn't see, she knew it was slow. Getting out of the house had shown her how much snow had fallen.  It was more than she had ever seen before. She had also seen her reading tree. It had snapped and landed on the house. That had hurt to see.

Penny was still shivering. She asked Anita why and to her surprise, Anita answered. Penny had hypothermia and that meant her body was loosing heat faster than it could produce it. That sounded scary, but Anita was calm and that helped Penny to remain the same.  Their speed picked up and she heard one of the men up front say they had gotten behind a snow plow. Hope seemed to blossom in every one after that. It all ended when they suddenly stopped.

"What is it?" Anita asked the driver.

"Plow stopped," the response came back. "Driver heading this way."

The front doors opened and the men exited, but they opened the back door and came in, accompanied by another man. The plow driver Penny assumed. He informed them that the snow was too high even for his plow.  It was stuck. The men seemed dejected, but Anita remained calm. Penny didn't know how. She was feeling scared.

"Where are we?" she finally asked, looking outside.

"The Sanctuary of Ascendant Flame is the closest building, but we have to hike to get there. Should we just stay here?" he answered.

That seemed the best plan to Penny, but Anita shook her head. "This isn't stopping anytime soon. We have either until we run out of fuel or until we're buried and start breathing in exhaust fumes. Pack up the water bottles, rehab snacks, and medical supplies.  Tether them to a back board. I'll wrap up Penny. We can make a makeshift harness to help me carry her.  This coat is big enough I should be able to keep her underneath to keep her warm."

They all went to work, including the plow driver. Anita began to wrap Penny in blankets. "I'm scared." Penny finally said.

Anita looked at her, compassion in her face. "I know, honey," she said. "We're close to safety.  It will be nice and warm there and we'll get you all taken care of." Anita put a hand on her cheek.  It was warm. "You're going to be okay. I promise."

The work done, they began to use straps to attach Penny to Anita. They then covered Anita with the coat and buttoned it up. It wasn't very comfortable, but Penny understood why this was best. She didn't complain. They then began their trek towards the building.  One of the medics and the plow driver was in front of them with shovels trying to clear some of the snow to make the going easier. It was hard for them to keep up with how much snow was falling. The other medic was behind them pulling the the back board with supplies like a husky carrying a sled. 

It wasn't easy going. Penny was still shivering. She didn't speak much, but Anita kept saying comforting words. Penny felt guilty. If they hadn't stopped for her, the medics might have made it to safety.  She didn't say it, but she felt it. The cold out here was worse.  Even with the blankets, coat, and Anita's warmth.  Penny turned her head the best she could to get a look.  She could see the building.  It was so close, but so far away at the same time.

"We just need to get there?" she asked Anita. "They we're safe." Anita confirmed it and even with her calming presence, Penny was losing hope. She was scared she was going to die out here and bring these nice people with her.

I want us to live and all we have to do is make it there for that to happen. the thought kept repeating itself in her head over and over again. I want us to live and all we have to do is make it there for that to happen.

Penny reached her hand out towards the building the best she could while tethered to the woman carrying her - a desperate reach for the safety near them. As she did, a warm light spread through her abdomen. Its contrast to the cold around her made it almost painful.  She gasped and then saw threads of fire and air go in front of them. When they were gone, there was a melted path through the snow. The warm light was gone, replaced only with the cold.

Penny felt incredibly tired then. She had trouble remembering what was going on.  She felt so confused and so cold. "Warm light is gone. Cold...so cold... her voice was quiet as Anita began to run.]]> https://thefirstage.org/forums/thread-1947.html Tue, 27 Jan 2026 14:45:39 +0000 Anita]]> https://thefirstage.org/forums/thread-1947.html
Day One
Location: Near Red Light District

”Moscow FD for Rescue One,” Anita spoke into her headset.

”Go ahead, Rescue One,”, the voice of the dispatcher said. 

”Rescue One is on scene.”

The dispatcher confirmed. Anita moved quickly. They had been on alert due to the upcoming storm. The snow was beginning to fall and was already falling faster. The car in the ditch had not only swerved, but had flipped over before landing again on its wheels. It was pretty banged up. The driver had to be going like a bat out of hell. Probably intoxicated. It didn’t matter now though. 

”Need a neck brace and a back board,” Anita ordered her crew. They were already doing so. They were well trained, but the orders were coming more from habit than anything else. 

They approached the vehicle - a small sedan. Thankful the door opened. The victim, a male - maybe mid 20’s, was silent. Anita put a hand on his chest. She let out a breath as she felt it move up and down from his breathing. She also caught the heart beat. 

”Sir, can you hear me?” she asked. No response.

A medic handed her a neck brace and she put it on. She had no idea if how hurt he was, so better to be safe and assume spinal injury than not. Another medic went to the other side and they stabilized the spine with a back board before carefully extricating the man from the vehicle. They loaded him carefully on to their stretcher and into the ambulance. 

Anita heard the driver inform dispatch they were en route to the hospital. Anita began to assess. The trip to the hospital would not be as fast as she would like. She did what she could, gathering as much information as she could and stabilizing the patient as much as possible. They passed the patient on to the hospital along with Anita’s findings. 

”Rescue One for Moscow FD,” the dispatchers voice came as Anita handed over the patient. 

”Go ahead MFD,” she responded. 

”Rescue One, you are needed at…” the voice continued. Anita sighed. It was going to be a long, hard day.]]>
Day One
Location: Near Red Light District

”Moscow FD for Rescue One,” Anita spoke into her headset.

”Go ahead, Rescue One,”, the voice of the dispatcher said. 

”Rescue One is on scene.”

The dispatcher confirmed. Anita moved quickly. They had been on alert due to the upcoming storm. The snow was beginning to fall and was already falling faster. The car in the ditch had not only swerved, but had flipped over before landing again on its wheels. It was pretty banged up. The driver had to be going like a bat out of hell. Probably intoxicated. It didn’t matter now though. 

”Need a neck brace and a back board,” Anita ordered her crew. They were already doing so. They were well trained, but the orders were coming more from habit than anything else. 

They approached the vehicle - a small sedan. Thankful the door opened. The victim, a male - maybe mid 20’s, was silent. Anita put a hand on his chest. She let out a breath as she felt it move up and down from his breathing. She also caught the heart beat. 

”Sir, can you hear me?” she asked. No response.

A medic handed her a neck brace and she put it on. She had no idea if how hurt he was, so better to be safe and assume spinal injury than not. Another medic went to the other side and they stabilized the spine with a back board before carefully extricating the man from the vehicle. They loaded him carefully on to their stretcher and into the ambulance. 

Anita heard the driver inform dispatch they were en route to the hospital. Anita began to assess. The trip to the hospital would not be as fast as she would like. She did what she could, gathering as much information as she could and stabilizing the patient as much as possible. They passed the patient on to the hospital along with Anita’s findings. 

”Rescue One for Moscow FD,” the dispatchers voice came as Anita handed over the patient. 

”Go ahead MFD,” she responded. 

”Rescue One, you are needed at…” the voice continued. Anita sighed. It was going to be a long, hard day.]]> https://thefirstage.org/forums/thread-1946.html Tue, 27 Jan 2026 13:40:44 +0000 Hayden]]> https://thefirstage.org/forums/thread-1946.html
He sat there finishing his food.  Nox left with a grin and put the baby into her bed in the back room.  He came back and leaned against the hallway door. "I assume you wanted to talk. You've been avoiding me."

Hayden chuckled. "I wasn't sure you wanted to talk to me."

Nox shrugged. "I'm not upset with you. You didn't talk me into anything I didn't want to do."

Hayden walked over to Nox and stood in front of him.  "Then what is it? I feel the tension, see it in the way you look at me."

Nox sighed. "You see me as me. You like who I am. You want to be part of my family. You just don't want me." He pushed passed like his words meant nothing. Like they didn't matter and started to clean up the kitchen.

"Nox. I don't do relationships, you know this."

He nodded. "I know that, Hayden. That's what I'm pissed about. The man I fucking love doesn't want my help, doesn't even want me in his life anymore. He won't ever trust me because of the fucking Horde in my head. The horde was gone, and any chance I had with him is gone forever. I'm just pissed at the fucking world and all the shit in it. I know I fucked it up."

Nox shook his head. Hayden could see the clenched fisted, the anger boiling inside that he was keeping to himself. It was such a small thing, he looked calm, he sounded calm but Hayden knew there was fury just below the surface. "I'll watch Lily till Liam or Marta come to collect her. You know where to find me."

Nox stared at Hayden with sadness etched all over his face. Hayden didn't like seeing the look much less directed at him. And Nox knew it.  He turned and walked back out of the house.  Hayden spoke to the AI in the room. "Monitor him Sky. Make sure he doesn't do something stupid."

"On it."]]>
He sat there finishing his food.  Nox left with a grin and put the baby into her bed in the back room.  He came back and leaned against the hallway door. "I assume you wanted to talk. You've been avoiding me."

Hayden chuckled. "I wasn't sure you wanted to talk to me."

Nox shrugged. "I'm not upset with you. You didn't talk me into anything I didn't want to do."

Hayden walked over to Nox and stood in front of him.  "Then what is it? I feel the tension, see it in the way you look at me."

Nox sighed. "You see me as me. You like who I am. You want to be part of my family. You just don't want me." He pushed passed like his words meant nothing. Like they didn't matter and started to clean up the kitchen.

"Nox. I don't do relationships, you know this."

He nodded. "I know that, Hayden. That's what I'm pissed about. The man I fucking love doesn't want my help, doesn't even want me in his life anymore. He won't ever trust me because of the fucking Horde in my head. The horde was gone, and any chance I had with him is gone forever. I'm just pissed at the fucking world and all the shit in it. I know I fucked it up."

Nox shook his head. Hayden could see the clenched fisted, the anger boiling inside that he was keeping to himself. It was such a small thing, he looked calm, he sounded calm but Hayden knew there was fury just below the surface. "I'll watch Lily till Liam or Marta come to collect her. You know where to find me."

Nox stared at Hayden with sadness etched all over his face. Hayden didn't like seeing the look much less directed at him. And Nox knew it.  He turned and walked back out of the house.  Hayden spoke to the AI in the room. "Monitor him Sky. Make sure he doesn't do something stupid."

"On it."]]> https://thefirstage.org/forums/thread-1943.html Sun, 25 Jan 2026 02:17:54 +0000 Jaxen Marveet]]> https://thefirstage.org/forums/thread-1943.html
Jaxen wasn’t built for obscurity, even when he meant to be invisible. His face was sharply defined: strong brows set over chocolate eyes that missed nothing, a neatly trimmed beard that suggested he cared about symmetry more than comfort, and a wide, expressive mouth that seemed to unconsciously telegraph disdain, amusement, or impatience all at once. His hair was dark and thick, deliberately tousled so it looked effortless. He cut a presence that was both interesting and predictable.

Most of the time.

Today, his clothes were a careful performance. Not flashy, but unmistakably chosen. He wore a dark, insulated winter coat in muted charcoal tones, the kind that read as practical at first glance but had subtle flourishes of leather trim and seams hinting at someone who chose function with at least a quiet eye for form. A well‑worn scarf wrapped around his neck, knotted snugly against the cold rather than fashioned for effect, its deep navy threads just visible beneath the coat’s collar. Denim pants were dark and solid, and his boots were practical with a faint polish. He blended in without sacrificing too much style.

He should have felt out of place among the crowd shuffling toward the Sanctuary, but he didn’t. Part of Jaxen was carved from that rare stone called presence, an instinct for stepping into any scene he wanted and appearing integral to it. He studied the procession of devotees and curious onlookers, scanned faces starting at the snow‑dappled plaza and stretching back into the line, and cataloged their rhythms as if they were cues in a ballet he was meant to anticipate.

The Sanctuary’s tower loomed ahead. He had researched the space as much as possible, but this was the first time on site. Even the falling snowflakes seemed to gather near the doors in reverence. People in thick coats and scarves leaned into each other, chatter soft behind gloved hands. Some carried tiny drones that darted and hovered, capturing this moment of ritual and anticipation like digital fireflies as they filed indoors.

Inside him, a different kind of current hummed. Not the chill of snow, but the constant undertow of the Emissary’s presence. It throbbed at the edges of his thoughts, insistent and repetitive: Get the Key. Get the Key. Yet he mostly ignored the Emissary's insistence like a buzzing in his ear and navigated the queue. They weren't here to worship. His eyebrows flicked at the screens above the entrance broadcasting sweeping visuals of rejuvenation and miracle testimonies as they approached the entrance, but he wasn’t immune to the spectacle either. The world of the Brotherhood was one of showmanship as much as belief, but Jaxen respected a stage when he saw one.

He tugged at his scarf, a habit rather than necessity, and exhaled a plume of warmth that mingled with the snow. He didn’t just want to get inside; he wanted to see what made this place tick. And once he saw, he would know more how to adjust their plan for the moment.

Nearby Bode matched his quiet stride.]]>
Jaxen wasn’t built for obscurity, even when he meant to be invisible. His face was sharply defined: strong brows set over chocolate eyes that missed nothing, a neatly trimmed beard that suggested he cared about symmetry more than comfort, and a wide, expressive mouth that seemed to unconsciously telegraph disdain, amusement, or impatience all at once. His hair was dark and thick, deliberately tousled so it looked effortless. He cut a presence that was both interesting and predictable.

Most of the time.

Today, his clothes were a careful performance. Not flashy, but unmistakably chosen. He wore a dark, insulated winter coat in muted charcoal tones, the kind that read as practical at first glance but had subtle flourishes of leather trim and seams hinting at someone who chose function with at least a quiet eye for form. A well‑worn scarf wrapped around his neck, knotted snugly against the cold rather than fashioned for effect, its deep navy threads just visible beneath the coat’s collar. Denim pants were dark and solid, and his boots were practical with a faint polish. He blended in without sacrificing too much style.

He should have felt out of place among the crowd shuffling toward the Sanctuary, but he didn’t. Part of Jaxen was carved from that rare stone called presence, an instinct for stepping into any scene he wanted and appearing integral to it. He studied the procession of devotees and curious onlookers, scanned faces starting at the snow‑dappled plaza and stretching back into the line, and cataloged their rhythms as if they were cues in a ballet he was meant to anticipate.

The Sanctuary’s tower loomed ahead. He had researched the space as much as possible, but this was the first time on site. Even the falling snowflakes seemed to gather near the doors in reverence. People in thick coats and scarves leaned into each other, chatter soft behind gloved hands. Some carried tiny drones that darted and hovered, capturing this moment of ritual and anticipation like digital fireflies as they filed indoors.

Inside him, a different kind of current hummed. Not the chill of snow, but the constant undertow of the Emissary’s presence. It throbbed at the edges of his thoughts, insistent and repetitive: Get the Key. Get the Key. Yet he mostly ignored the Emissary's insistence like a buzzing in his ear and navigated the queue. They weren't here to worship. His eyebrows flicked at the screens above the entrance broadcasting sweeping visuals of rejuvenation and miracle testimonies as they approached the entrance, but he wasn’t immune to the spectacle either. The world of the Brotherhood was one of showmanship as much as belief, but Jaxen respected a stage when he saw one.

He tugged at his scarf, a habit rather than necessity, and exhaled a plume of warmth that mingled with the snow. He didn’t just want to get inside; he wanted to see what made this place tick. And once he saw, he would know more how to adjust their plan for the moment.

Nearby Bode matched his quiet stride.]]> https://thefirstage.org/forums/thread-1940.html Sat, 03 Jan 2026 12:24:09 +0000 Calliope]]> https://thefirstage.org/forums/thread-1940.html
She closed her eyes and hummed. It wasn’t a song with words, more a wandering melody, the kind her aunt used to murmur while turning the pages of her books. The sound vibrated low in Cali’s chest, steadying her breathing. The note shifted instinctively, adjusting to the space, to the cold, to the living things beneath the snow. She felt them instinctively. Not with her hands, though her fingers rested lightly on her knees, numb despite her gloves, but with something deeper, subtler. The plants slept, but sleep was not absence. Roots curled tight against frost, sap drawn inward, life banked like coals beneath ash. Shrubs along the garden’s edge leaned toward one another, sharing what warmth the earth would allow. Even the ancient trees, stripped bare, hummed faintly with patience.

Hello, she thought, fondly.

The response was not words. It never was. Just a sense of acknowledgment, a quiet rightness, as though her presence had been noted and accepted. She could help them if she wanted. The awareness came as easily as breath now. She could encourage the smallest stirrings, coax a whisper of green against the white, prove that the gift was real. That she was real. That she was chosen.

Her hum faltered.

No, she told them gently, the way one spoke to children who did not yet understand hunger or cold. Rest. Keep your strength. Spring will come.

The plants settled, content. Approval warmed her more than the coat ever could.

Cali exhaled slowly and turned inward, the way Seraphis had taught her. This was what she was supposed to be doing; why she was out here. The power was there, she knew that now. Vast and luminous and terrifying, like standing on the edge of the sea in a storm. You did not seize it. You did not command it. You opened yourself and let it take you, trusting it would not drown you. She tried to still her breath, to let herself outward, but instead distracted memory intruded. Moscow, grey with slush and exhaust. Her father’s voice, controlled and furious, when she said she was leaving university. Aunt Oleander’s laughter, bright and musical, and then the hollow absence where her name should have been. The box of books under her arm. Quillon’s smile. The Luminar’s gaze, heavy with purpose. The word Ascendancy, ringing like a bell she could never quite stop hearing.

And Samiel.

Her shoulders tensed. It all slipped away like water through clenched fingers.

She tried again. Let the thoughts pass. Do not push them away – accept them, release them. That was the trick. Surrender without losing yourself. Strength through yielding. Her hum returned, softer now, a single sustained note. She imagined roots, deep and dark and steady, drinking sparingly from frozen soil. The plants helped her then, lending their patience, their understanding of seasons. Of waiting without despair.

For a heartbeat – just one – she felt it.

A vast, serene presence brushed the edges of her awareness, cool and brilliant. The power did not rush her. It invited her. Wrapped her in the promise of endless motion held in perfect balance.

Her breath caught.

The world sharpened. Snowflakes seemed to hang, suspended. She could feel the shape of the garden, the slow turning of the earth beneath it, the sleeping green heart of the world.

Then excitement flared bright and unguarded – and the connection shattered.

Cali gasped, hands curling in her lap. The moment was gone. She laughed softly at herself, the sound misting into the cold air. “Soon,” she murmured, whether to the Power, the plants, or her own impatient heart. “I’ll learn. I promise.”

She closed her eyes and began again. The garden did not hurry her. Winter never did.]]>
She closed her eyes and hummed. It wasn’t a song with words, more a wandering melody, the kind her aunt used to murmur while turning the pages of her books. The sound vibrated low in Cali’s chest, steadying her breathing. The note shifted instinctively, adjusting to the space, to the cold, to the living things beneath the snow. She felt them instinctively. Not with her hands, though her fingers rested lightly on her knees, numb despite her gloves, but with something deeper, subtler. The plants slept, but sleep was not absence. Roots curled tight against frost, sap drawn inward, life banked like coals beneath ash. Shrubs along the garden’s edge leaned toward one another, sharing what warmth the earth would allow. Even the ancient trees, stripped bare, hummed faintly with patience.

Hello, she thought, fondly.

The response was not words. It never was. Just a sense of acknowledgment, a quiet rightness, as though her presence had been noted and accepted. She could help them if she wanted. The awareness came as easily as breath now. She could encourage the smallest stirrings, coax a whisper of green against the white, prove that the gift was real. That she was real. That she was chosen.

Her hum faltered.

No, she told them gently, the way one spoke to children who did not yet understand hunger or cold. Rest. Keep your strength. Spring will come.

The plants settled, content. Approval warmed her more than the coat ever could.

Cali exhaled slowly and turned inward, the way Seraphis had taught her. This was what she was supposed to be doing; why she was out here. The power was there, she knew that now. Vast and luminous and terrifying, like standing on the edge of the sea in a storm. You did not seize it. You did not command it. You opened yourself and let it take you, trusting it would not drown you. She tried to still her breath, to let herself outward, but instead distracted memory intruded. Moscow, grey with slush and exhaust. Her father’s voice, controlled and furious, when she said she was leaving university. Aunt Oleander’s laughter, bright and musical, and then the hollow absence where her name should have been. The box of books under her arm. Quillon’s smile. The Luminar’s gaze, heavy with purpose. The word Ascendancy, ringing like a bell she could never quite stop hearing.

And Samiel.

Her shoulders tensed. It all slipped away like water through clenched fingers.

She tried again. Let the thoughts pass. Do not push them away – accept them, release them. That was the trick. Surrender without losing yourself. Strength through yielding. Her hum returned, softer now, a single sustained note. She imagined roots, deep and dark and steady, drinking sparingly from frozen soil. The plants helped her then, lending their patience, their understanding of seasons. Of waiting without despair.

For a heartbeat – just one – she felt it.

A vast, serene presence brushed the edges of her awareness, cool and brilliant. The power did not rush her. It invited her. Wrapped her in the promise of endless motion held in perfect balance.

Her breath caught.

The world sharpened. Snowflakes seemed to hang, suspended. She could feel the shape of the garden, the slow turning of the earth beneath it, the sleeping green heart of the world.

Then excitement flared bright and unguarded – and the connection shattered.

Cali gasped, hands curling in her lap. The moment was gone. She laughed softly at herself, the sound misting into the cold air. “Soon,” she murmured, whether to the Power, the plants, or her own impatient heart. “I’ll learn. I promise.”

She closed her eyes and began again. The garden did not hurry her. Winter never did.]]> https://thefirstage.org/forums/thread-1898.html Tue, 21 Oct 2025 14:27:32 +0000 Jared Vanders]]> https://thefirstage.org/forums/thread-1898.html
Jared had searched and The Monkey King's School of the Mystical Arts seemed to suit him.  It was owned and run by the famous movie star, Tan Li. That wasn't what attracted Jared to it. At least, Li's celebrity wasn't what attracted Jared to it. Anyone with a discerning eye could tell that Tan Li didn't fake his stunts in his movies.  He knew his stuff and was quite adept at what he did.  The man was a true master of martial arts, including what Jared had studied - Aikido. The commercials also showed something else that intrigued Jared. It showed Tan Li channeling, and it claimed that he could show you how. Jared knew how, but no one ever stopped learning.

Jared arrived at the dojo.  He wasn't dressed in his gi or hakama, but he had brought the garments and had them in his gym bag. He wasn't a member of the dojo yet, but was just going to see if this is where he wanted to be, but he was pretty certain he'd fit in here. The building was two stories and he entered into a lobby on the first floor.  He approached the desk and spoke to the person there.

"Good morning. My name is Jared Vanders. I saw some of your commercials and I was interested in learning more about your school here. I have a Nidan in Aikido, and I'm looking for somewhere to train. I'd also be interested in learning some other arts as well. Would like to see what you're about."

[[OoC: The title of this thread is the translation of the word "Aikido"

*Nidan = Second Degree Black Belt]]]]>
Jared had searched and The Monkey King's School of the Mystical Arts seemed to suit him.  It was owned and run by the famous movie star, Tan Li. That wasn't what attracted Jared to it. At least, Li's celebrity wasn't what attracted Jared to it. Anyone with a discerning eye could tell that Tan Li didn't fake his stunts in his movies.  He knew his stuff and was quite adept at what he did.  The man was a true master of martial arts, including what Jared had studied - Aikido. The commercials also showed something else that intrigued Jared. It showed Tan Li channeling, and it claimed that he could show you how. Jared knew how, but no one ever stopped learning.

Jared arrived at the dojo.  He wasn't dressed in his gi or hakama, but he had brought the garments and had them in his gym bag. He wasn't a member of the dojo yet, but was just going to see if this is where he wanted to be, but he was pretty certain he'd fit in here. The building was two stories and he entered into a lobby on the first floor.  He approached the desk and spoke to the person there.

"Good morning. My name is Jared Vanders. I saw some of your commercials and I was interested in learning more about your school here. I have a Nidan in Aikido, and I'm looking for somewhere to train. I'd also be interested in learning some other arts as well. Would like to see what you're about."

[[OoC: The title of this thread is the translation of the word "Aikido"

*Nidan = Second Degree Black Belt]]]]> https://thefirstage.org/forums/thread-1893.html Sun, 19 Oct 2025 02:43:42 +0000 Nora Saint-Clair]]> https://thefirstage.org/forums/thread-1893.html
The closer she came to the Sanctuary of the Ascendant Flame, the more that coffee cup felt like a lifeline. Her fingers were warm from it, steady, even though her heart stirred with something quieter than fear but deeper than nerves.

She passed the stone sculptures outside with barely a glance. She remembered the first time she’d come here almost a year ago now, under a different sky and under someone else’s orders. That visit had been secret, cautious, and very brief.

Inside, the Sanctuary smelled faintly of incense and cold stone. The air was still, the kind of stillness that made her feel like someone was always watching her. Morning sunlight poured through stained glass windows, casting fractured reds and ambers onto the tiled floor. She wasn't sure how to go about doing this, so she stepped forward mustering as much confidence as she could, and approached the first person she saw.

“I’d like to join,” she said simply, voice firm.

There. Said.]]>
The closer she came to the Sanctuary of the Ascendant Flame, the more that coffee cup felt like a lifeline. Her fingers were warm from it, steady, even though her heart stirred with something quieter than fear but deeper than nerves.

She passed the stone sculptures outside with barely a glance. She remembered the first time she’d come here almost a year ago now, under a different sky and under someone else’s orders. That visit had been secret, cautious, and very brief.

Inside, the Sanctuary smelled faintly of incense and cold stone. The air was still, the kind of stillness that made her feel like someone was always watching her. Morning sunlight poured through stained glass windows, casting fractured reds and ambers onto the tiled floor. She wasn't sure how to go about doing this, so she stepped forward mustering as much confidence as she could, and approached the first person she saw.

“I’d like to join,” she said simply, voice firm.

There. Said.]]> https://thefirstage.org/forums/thread-1880.html Thu, 09 Oct 2025 00:26:49 +0000 Nika Raskov]]> https://thefirstage.org/forums/thread-1880.html
A week incommunicado became two then three then a month of a habit broken. Nika was well into the flyaway races by then; races on the far side of home as the team stayed in South America, Australia, and New Zealand. Then her injury in Japan right before the month-long break.  

She remembered only being tucked in on the straight when a tiny spark just outside her field of vision grew into a brilliant crescendo. There was an echo of a crack just preceeding. An aperture of darkness overtook the bright before a pin prick of light appeared once more to reveal Liv's face. 

Only it hadn't been; the Japanese doctor didn't look anything like her. Eight more days were lost in the blink of an eye. Eight days and two surgeries for the swelling to go down.  

Nika had watched footage of herself sit up briefly after the brake pad's impact, before the Ducati veered casually toward the wall on the fastest part of the track. She too had held her breath as the clutch lever guard sparked at the swiping contact, red bike wobbling ominously in what normally would have ended in a terrible crash. Only, irrefutable visual and cataloged data saw the pilot open the throttle and stabilize the bike once more. She did not recall downshifting to naught or calmly lean the machine against the wall and dismount.  

Trackside media had sussed out what she'd kept repeating to the medical staff who'd sprinted toward her. “Tell Olivia I'm sorry.” Over and over regardless of the question as she was guided toward the emergency transport. Nika's earnest request drew agreement from the caretakers eventually and whatever part of her that had kept going finally shut down.  

Olivia.

Nika's eyes strayed back to her wallet. Guilt and regret that was enough to bubble from her subconscious when nothing else remained had not lessened at all since she'd been woken up.  

A message was already typed out on the screen and had been for a while now. There was something more here. A weight. Urgency? Desperation? She didn't know why or how but Nika knew without a doubt that this girl would change her life. It scared her more than anything. 

“I am so sorry I disappeared. Can I tell you that in person?”

She hit send.]]>
A week incommunicado became two then three then a month of a habit broken. Nika was well into the flyaway races by then; races on the far side of home as the team stayed in South America, Australia, and New Zealand. Then her injury in Japan right before the month-long break.  

She remembered only being tucked in on the straight when a tiny spark just outside her field of vision grew into a brilliant crescendo. There was an echo of a crack just preceeding. An aperture of darkness overtook the bright before a pin prick of light appeared once more to reveal Liv's face. 

Only it hadn't been; the Japanese doctor didn't look anything like her. Eight more days were lost in the blink of an eye. Eight days and two surgeries for the swelling to go down.  

Nika had watched footage of herself sit up briefly after the brake pad's impact, before the Ducati veered casually toward the wall on the fastest part of the track. She too had held her breath as the clutch lever guard sparked at the swiping contact, red bike wobbling ominously in what normally would have ended in a terrible crash. Only, irrefutable visual and cataloged data saw the pilot open the throttle and stabilize the bike once more. She did not recall downshifting to naught or calmly lean the machine against the wall and dismount.  

Trackside media had sussed out what she'd kept repeating to the medical staff who'd sprinted toward her. “Tell Olivia I'm sorry.” Over and over regardless of the question as she was guided toward the emergency transport. Nika's earnest request drew agreement from the caretakers eventually and whatever part of her that had kept going finally shut down.  

Olivia.

Nika's eyes strayed back to her wallet. Guilt and regret that was enough to bubble from her subconscious when nothing else remained had not lessened at all since she'd been woken up.  

A message was already typed out on the screen and had been for a while now. There was something more here. A weight. Urgency? Desperation? She didn't know why or how but Nika knew without a doubt that this girl would change her life. It scared her more than anything. 

“I am so sorry I disappeared. Can I tell you that in person?”

She hit send.]]> https://thefirstage.org/forums/thread-1871.html Sat, 30 Aug 2025 00:20:41 +0000 Jensen James]]> https://thefirstage.org/forums/thread-1871.html
Jensen chose it for exactly that reason. It was Catholic. Foreign enough to him that he would be just another quiet stranger slipping into a pew, but not so obscure as to feel abandoned. He wasn’t here for novelty. He was here for a place where no one would know his name. Where no one would look twice.

The nave was warm, filled with the low murmur of prayers and the scent of incense that seemed to sink into the stone itself. Midnight Mass. Candles flickered in their brass holders. Children yawned against their mothers’ shoulders. Families gathered close, coats draped across pews.

Jensen slid into a seat near the back, leaving distance between himself and the nearest worshippers. He did not belong among them. He knew it in the tightness of his chest, but he bowed his head when they bowed, rose when they rose, murmured the words he half-remembered. It was enough to pass as one of them, even if the motions felt borrowed.

His mind was elsewhere anyway. With Rachel’s trembling hand in his, with the sudden light that had returned to her eyes. With Emily’s relief, with her gratitude. He’d left them to their celebration, but the image of them lingered. For one evening he had been a miracle worker. A vessel. A man who could pluck nightmares out of the air and leave peace behind. And now he was, what? Nothing again. Adrift?

His thoughts slid toward Jessika. His wife, ex-wife, widowed wife - he wasn't sure how to think of her. She was here in Moscow now, walking halls of power, wielding authority like it had always belonged to her. He hadn’t spoken to her tonight. He wasn’t even sure he could if he wanted to. But the knowledge pressed on him all the same, stirring up memories best left buried.

The service passed in solemn rhythm. When the priest dismissed them, the congregation drifted out into the winter air in small clusters, voices muted with emotion and weather alike. Jensen followed behind, his steps indirect but steady.

Outside, the cold bit sharp against his cheeks. He pulled his coat closer and was about to cross the street when something caught his eye: a statue set off to one side of the churchyard. A lone angel carved of pale stone, weather-softened but still graceful. Its wings arched behind it, its face lifted slightly toward the sky.

Snow had gathered along the folds of its robe and the curve of its shoulders, softening its lines, but its presence felt like it was watching him.

Jensen stopped before it while the crowd drift on by, their voices disappearing into the night. He studied the angel in the dim light, the way its expression seemed almost tired, yet resolute. A guardian, still standing after years of wind and cold.

He lingered a moment longer, the breath from his lips clouding the air, before lowering his eyes.]]>
Jensen chose it for exactly that reason. It was Catholic. Foreign enough to him that he would be just another quiet stranger slipping into a pew, but not so obscure as to feel abandoned. He wasn’t here for novelty. He was here for a place where no one would know his name. Where no one would look twice.

The nave was warm, filled with the low murmur of prayers and the scent of incense that seemed to sink into the stone itself. Midnight Mass. Candles flickered in their brass holders. Children yawned against their mothers’ shoulders. Families gathered close, coats draped across pews.

Jensen slid into a seat near the back, leaving distance between himself and the nearest worshippers. He did not belong among them. He knew it in the tightness of his chest, but he bowed his head when they bowed, rose when they rose, murmured the words he half-remembered. It was enough to pass as one of them, even if the motions felt borrowed.

His mind was elsewhere anyway. With Rachel’s trembling hand in his, with the sudden light that had returned to her eyes. With Emily’s relief, with her gratitude. He’d left them to their celebration, but the image of them lingered. For one evening he had been a miracle worker. A vessel. A man who could pluck nightmares out of the air and leave peace behind. And now he was, what? Nothing again. Adrift?

His thoughts slid toward Jessika. His wife, ex-wife, widowed wife - he wasn't sure how to think of her. She was here in Moscow now, walking halls of power, wielding authority like it had always belonged to her. He hadn’t spoken to her tonight. He wasn’t even sure he could if he wanted to. But the knowledge pressed on him all the same, stirring up memories best left buried.

The service passed in solemn rhythm. When the priest dismissed them, the congregation drifted out into the winter air in small clusters, voices muted with emotion and weather alike. Jensen followed behind, his steps indirect but steady.

Outside, the cold bit sharp against his cheeks. He pulled his coat closer and was about to cross the street when something caught his eye: a statue set off to one side of the churchyard. A lone angel carved of pale stone, weather-softened but still graceful. Its wings arched behind it, its face lifted slightly toward the sky.

Snow had gathered along the folds of its robe and the curve of its shoulders, softening its lines, but its presence felt like it was watching him.

Jensen stopped before it while the crowd drift on by, their voices disappearing into the night. He studied the angel in the dim light, the way its expression seemed almost tired, yet resolute. A guardian, still standing after years of wind and cold.

He lingered a moment longer, the breath from his lips clouding the air, before lowering his eyes.]]> https://thefirstage.org/forums/thread-1792.html Fri, 11 Apr 2025 11:54:54 +0000 Nox]]> https://thefirstage.org/forums/thread-1792.html
Nox watched as the rewound footage finally came across the elusive man escaping custody. How foolish the officers had been, they clearly hadn't worked with the Monster Squad at all. They would have known to heed whatever warning Dorian gave him. Either that or Dorian's reputation had truly been tarnished in the IA. Dorian was cleared of all wrong doing and he was back on the case -- which was good but Dorian was not a hunter, he was a cop and he had to follow the law.  The escape couldn't have been better planned. 

There was no way that they'd get this man on a death sentence for cohesion. It was hardly serious enough, and putting him in a prison was a no go, he'd be out or running the thing in a matter of weeks.

Nox found the direction he bolted in. "Sky follow him, see if you can can catch up to him.  I'm going to talk to Dorian."

Dorian was inside the precinct and several of his fellow officers greeted Nox. "Good to see you. Can't wait to see what you'll teach us next."

"We got a sentient on the lose, not the friendly kind like Alex. More like her father -- her brother actually."]]>
Nox watched as the rewound footage finally came across the elusive man escaping custody. How foolish the officers had been, they clearly hadn't worked with the Monster Squad at all. They would have known to heed whatever warning Dorian gave him. Either that or Dorian's reputation had truly been tarnished in the IA. Dorian was cleared of all wrong doing and he was back on the case -- which was good but Dorian was not a hunter, he was a cop and he had to follow the law.  The escape couldn't have been better planned. 

There was no way that they'd get this man on a death sentence for cohesion. It was hardly serious enough, and putting him in a prison was a no go, he'd be out or running the thing in a matter of weeks.

Nox found the direction he bolted in. "Sky follow him, see if you can can catch up to him.  I'm going to talk to Dorian."

Dorian was inside the precinct and several of his fellow officers greeted Nox. "Good to see you. Can't wait to see what you'll teach us next."

"We got a sentient on the lose, not the friendly kind like Alex. More like her father -- her brother actually."]]> https://thefirstage.org/forums/thread-1784.html Sat, 05 Apr 2025 23:20:17 +0000 Luminar]]> https://thefirstage.org/forums/thread-1784.html Continued from: Sight Seeing

The word ready sat well on Anton. Not with the bravado of a soldier marching to battle, nor the naive eagerness of a boy chasing ghosts, but with the gravity of a man who had been waiting—perhaps unknowingly—for a door to be opened.

Theron inclined his head, the faintest smile curling the corners of his mouth. “Then let us pass from shadow into knowing.”

He turned, his cloak catching the light of the Chamber of Echoes as he stepped away from the circular nexus. Behind them, the chamber returned to its quiet heartbeat—the murmuring walls swallowing silence as reverently as they had once devoured sound. The others would linger or depart as they were called, but Theron’s stride was already aligned with a deeper current, and he knew Anton would follow.

They moved through the Sanctuary’s inner halls, architecture designed to humble. Vaulted arches bowed like monks in prayer. Glass lanterns suspended from the ceiling flickered with pale violet flame—ethereal, smokeless. The floor beneath them bore the sigils of the Ascendancy in delicate embossing, visible only when the light passed over it just so. Theron walked them not with haste, but with ceremonial pace, as if the very act of traversing this distance was a rite of passage.

At last, they arrived at the threshold of the Sanctum of Reflection. The air here was different. Quieter. Heavy, not with oppression, but with the weight of knowledge. The room opened like a cathedral turned inward. Shelves climbed the walls in spirals, packed tight with scrolls, books, and illuminated manuscripts that whispered in languages long buried. The scent of parchment and wax was as sacred here as incense.

In the center of the space, pools of light spilled from reading lamps perched like watchful sentinels above clusters of carved desks. Cushioned alcoves built into the walls offered solitude to those who preferred to study in silence, while the centerpiece—a great circular window of stained glass—cast shifting patterns of aquamarine, vermilion, and gold upon the marble floor. It was the Ascendancy, rendered in glass: arms outstretched, cloaked in threads of light, stepping between worlds.

Theron stopped just within the chamber, allowing the moment to breathe. “This is where the mind prepares for what the soul already knows,” he said softly, his voice echoing in the hushed reverence of the space.

“The Sanctum of Reflection is not only a library. One does not come here simply to learn, but to remember. The Veil keeps many truths hidden—but sometimes, the right words, spoken at the right time, can part it like silk.”

His gaze moved across the room to a figure seated beneath the stained glass—half-shrouded in shadow, half-painted in gold. A man surrounded by open books and drifting dust motes, moving as though time moved differently around him. Perhaps it did.

“Lucien Octavius,” Theron intoned, “is our librarian, keeper of the Celestial Codex, and chronicler of those whose questions deserve better answers. Such as yours,” he paused to lay a reassuring hand on Anton's shoulder before guiding them within.

He stepped aside now, as if Anton’s approach was the next act in a quiet ritual. “Lucien has an unusual memory for the arcane and the mythic. He may know of others like you, or of those long forgotten. I suspect he will be… intrigued.”

With that, Theron allowed the moment to settle into silence again—one hand resting loosely behind his back, the other at his side, patient as ever. He was watching now—not just Anton, but the Veil itself. It had brought the man this far.]]> Continued from: Sight Seeing

The word ready sat well on Anton. Not with the bravado of a soldier marching to battle, nor the naive eagerness of a boy chasing ghosts, but with the gravity of a man who had been waiting—perhaps unknowingly—for a door to be opened.

Theron inclined his head, the faintest smile curling the corners of his mouth. “Then let us pass from shadow into knowing.”

He turned, his cloak catching the light of the Chamber of Echoes as he stepped away from the circular nexus. Behind them, the chamber returned to its quiet heartbeat—the murmuring walls swallowing silence as reverently as they had once devoured sound. The others would linger or depart as they were called, but Theron’s stride was already aligned with a deeper current, and he knew Anton would follow.

They moved through the Sanctuary’s inner halls, architecture designed to humble. Vaulted arches bowed like monks in prayer. Glass lanterns suspended from the ceiling flickered with pale violet flame—ethereal, smokeless. The floor beneath them bore the sigils of the Ascendancy in delicate embossing, visible only when the light passed over it just so. Theron walked them not with haste, but with ceremonial pace, as if the very act of traversing this distance was a rite of passage.

At last, they arrived at the threshold of the Sanctum of Reflection. The air here was different. Quieter. Heavy, not with oppression, but with the weight of knowledge. The room opened like a cathedral turned inward. Shelves climbed the walls in spirals, packed tight with scrolls, books, and illuminated manuscripts that whispered in languages long buried. The scent of parchment and wax was as sacred here as incense.

In the center of the space, pools of light spilled from reading lamps perched like watchful sentinels above clusters of carved desks. Cushioned alcoves built into the walls offered solitude to those who preferred to study in silence, while the centerpiece—a great circular window of stained glass—cast shifting patterns of aquamarine, vermilion, and gold upon the marble floor. It was the Ascendancy, rendered in glass: arms outstretched, cloaked in threads of light, stepping between worlds.

Theron stopped just within the chamber, allowing the moment to breathe. “This is where the mind prepares for what the soul already knows,” he said softly, his voice echoing in the hushed reverence of the space.

“The Sanctum of Reflection is not only a library. One does not come here simply to learn, but to remember. The Veil keeps many truths hidden—but sometimes, the right words, spoken at the right time, can part it like silk.”

His gaze moved across the room to a figure seated beneath the stained glass—half-shrouded in shadow, half-painted in gold. A man surrounded by open books and drifting dust motes, moving as though time moved differently around him. Perhaps it did.

“Lucien Octavius,” Theron intoned, “is our librarian, keeper of the Celestial Codex, and chronicler of those whose questions deserve better answers. Such as yours,” he paused to lay a reassuring hand on Anton's shoulder before guiding them within.

He stepped aside now, as if Anton’s approach was the next act in a quiet ritual. “Lucien has an unusual memory for the arcane and the mythic. He may know of others like you, or of those long forgotten. I suspect he will be… intrigued.”

With that, Theron allowed the moment to settle into silence again—one hand resting loosely behind his back, the other at his side, patient as ever. He was watching now—not just Anton, but the Veil itself. It had brought the man this far.]]> https://thefirstage.org/forums/thread-1780.html Mon, 17 Mar 2025 16:46:13 +0000 Rachel Shale]]> https://thefirstage.org/forums/thread-1780.html
About an hour later, she finally got a response from him. She smiled, knowing she would see him soon. She a little more to finish though before she stopped working today. I have about a half hour more of work to do, the. I can head over there :-)

Rachel knew he wouldn’t mind the wait. He actively encouraged her studies. Rachel hadn’t taken to wearing skirts and dresses more often lately, and so was already dressed nicer. After making sure all her work was saved, she headed to meet Lucio at his hotel, letting him know she was on her way.]]>
About an hour later, she finally got a response from him. She smiled, knowing she would see him soon. She a little more to finish though before she stopped working today. I have about a half hour more of work to do, the. I can head over there :-)

Rachel knew he wouldn’t mind the wait. He actively encouraged her studies. Rachel hadn’t taken to wearing skirts and dresses more often lately, and so was already dressed nicer. After making sure all her work was saved, she headed to meet Lucio at his hotel, letting him know she was on her way.]]> https://thefirstage.org/forums/thread-1779.html Mon, 10 Mar 2025 12:10:31 +0000 Legione Sumus]]> https://thefirstage.org/forums/thread-1779.html
Andrew Mitchell
[align=left]As Mrs. Shale's personal assistant, Andrew had essentially taken over the company during her honeymoon.  In reality, things pretty much ran themselves and mostly, he did a lot of the work anyway.  Mrs. Shale wasn't lazy, but she trusted people to do their jobs and do them well.  He just kept her on track.  He had worked with the Shale's since they laid the first brick, and that hadn't changed with the death of Emily's parents.

Emily was back though and Andrew wanted to make sure that she was ready to come back into her role.  She entered her office and he had a coffee ready for her - just the way she liked it.

"Good Morning, Mrs. Shale," he said, a bright smile on his face. "How was Italy."

"It was abosolutley wonderful, and you've known me since I was a little girl.  How many times do I have to tell you to call me Emily." It was their typical interaction.

"As always, at least one more time, Mrs. Shale."

Emily gave him a grin.  She enjoyed the familiar banter. "Fine - I'll deal with it for now. How's Daniel."

Andrew smiled at the mention of his husband. "Very well, he of course sends his regards.

"I'm glad. Now - get me caught up.  Any fires to put out."

The gears shifted fast to work mode. "None at all.  Everything ran smoothly. I only have a couple of things for you to deal with.  The Board discussed upgrading our security in the building and feels that now is a time to do so.  They've given you control of deciding what.  I took the liberty of doing some research.  Her is my recommendation." He handed her some pages.

She flipped through them. "Durante Securities. Thoughts?

"They have a good reputation - solid company to do business with. Very professional."

Emily nodded. "Call them up - let's get a quote. Something else?"

"Ana Vega contacted us - wants to discuss a charity with you. Second Chances."

Emily smiled at that. "Set up the meeting," she said.

Andrew nodded. "Yes, Mrs. Shale." He turned to follow her instructions.]]>
Andrew Mitchell
[align=left]As Mrs. Shale's personal assistant, Andrew had essentially taken over the company during her honeymoon.  In reality, things pretty much ran themselves and mostly, he did a lot of the work anyway.  Mrs. Shale wasn't lazy, but she trusted people to do their jobs and do them well.  He just kept her on track.  He had worked with the Shale's since they laid the first brick, and that hadn't changed with the death of Emily's parents.

Emily was back though and Andrew wanted to make sure that she was ready to come back into her role.  She entered her office and he had a coffee ready for her - just the way she liked it.

"Good Morning, Mrs. Shale," he said, a bright smile on his face. "How was Italy."

"It was abosolutley wonderful, and you've known me since I was a little girl.  How many times do I have to tell you to call me Emily." It was their typical interaction.

"As always, at least one more time, Mrs. Shale."

Emily gave him a grin.  She enjoyed the familiar banter. "Fine - I'll deal with it for now. How's Daniel."

Andrew smiled at the mention of his husband. "Very well, he of course sends his regards.

"I'm glad. Now - get me caught up.  Any fires to put out."

The gears shifted fast to work mode. "None at all.  Everything ran smoothly. I only have a couple of things for you to deal with.  The Board discussed upgrading our security in the building and feels that now is a time to do so.  They've given you control of deciding what.  I took the liberty of doing some research.  Her is my recommendation." He handed her some pages.

She flipped through them. "Durante Securities. Thoughts?

"They have a good reputation - solid company to do business with. Very professional."

Emily nodded. "Call them up - let's get a quote. Something else?"

"Ana Vega contacted us - wants to discuss a charity with you. Second Chances."

Emily smiled at that. "Set up the meeting," she said.

Andrew nodded. "Yes, Mrs. Shale." He turned to follow her instructions.]]> https://thefirstage.org/forums/thread-1770.html Wed, 19 Feb 2025 17:06:24 +0000 Rachel Shale]]> https://thefirstage.org/forums/thread-1770.html
But Rachel couldn’t stop thinking about about Luk. That moment before they left the ice cream parlor she had wanted more. She had needed more. It was odd, but she had thought him attractive and he seemed sensitive too. That was what she had needed now. 

Rachel woke up the next morning, no thoughts on studying again. She probably should - it had been a couple of days, but she was distracted still. She called Luk in the after noon to set up their meeting. ”Hey! It’s Rachel Shale - from last night. I’d love to show you around today if you have time. Meet me at the Sanctuary of the Ascendant Flame in an hour?”

If he agreed, she would be there. She wasn’t a worshipper and had no desire to do so, she just thought it was a good location to start their little tour.]]>
But Rachel couldn’t stop thinking about about Luk. That moment before they left the ice cream parlor she had wanted more. She had needed more. It was odd, but she had thought him attractive and he seemed sensitive too. That was what she had needed now. 

Rachel woke up the next morning, no thoughts on studying again. She probably should - it had been a couple of days, but she was distracted still. She called Luk in the after noon to set up their meeting. ”Hey! It’s Rachel Shale - from last night. I’d love to show you around today if you have time. Meet me at the Sanctuary of the Ascendant Flame in an hour?”

If he agreed, she would be there. She wasn’t a worshipper and had no desire to do so, she just thought it was a good location to start their little tour.]]> https://thefirstage.org/forums/thread-1765.html Sat, 15 Feb 2025 18:39:27 +0000 Hayden]]> https://thefirstage.org/forums/thread-1765.html
The workers were almost done installing the tile to the bathrooms. It was a nice new look and he was happy with the work. When they left he grabbed his coat and took a cab to the address Elsye had sent him.  

It was strange walking up to a strange house in Moscow. In London it had been common place but this wasn't a hunt, or an interrogation either. This was a friend.

He knocked.]]>
The workers were almost done installing the tile to the bathrooms. It was a nice new look and he was happy with the work. When they left he grabbed his coat and took a cab to the address Elsye had sent him.  

It was strange walking up to a strange house in Moscow. In London it had been common place but this wasn't a hunt, or an interrogation either. This was a friend.

He knocked.]]>