Enzo peered across the table, through dim restaurant lighting to study the face of the woman with whom he shared drinks. She had the hardness of of a tragic life lining her features, which were otherwise lovely. Her high cheekbones cut like the edges of knives she carried in her boots. Strands of ash blonde hair were smoothed tight into a ponytail, pulling the skin of her brow taut. She held the cup of coffee firmly as though she intended to drink it like a shot of liquor. Enzo understood. Caffeine and adrenaline were sometimes an Atharim's greatest drug, but his mentor cautioned against stimulants. They made the mind itch and the skin crawl, he said. Corrado urged patience and study. Nothing less could track the call of a dreyken's song.

"Corrado Sabbatini was the Atharim's greatest living expert in the hunt for dreyken. Yet for the vastness of his knowledge, there remains so much unknown about their kind."
Enzo's pride for his mentor's life work was immense but as one of his pupils, he inherited a burden he was unworthy to bear.

Zuzanka tightened her jaw, disappointed. "So you cannot help me. Is this what you say?"
And Enzo's heart dropped into his stomach.

"No. I will do what I can. Se il vous plaît, tell me of your findings thus far."
He said as he took a drink of ice water. Zuzanka took a nervous look around the room. The light was dim, the booths high-walled, and the conversations quiet. "Don't worry. If one was in here, I'd know."


Her eyes narrowed. "They are not all street-stalkers."


He shrugged, "This is true. Some are incredibly wealthy and well-connected. The monsters of the tunels are easy to dispatch. The ones with brawny assistantes at their command are the ones to respect."
She scoffed, but Enzo cut her off with a look, "Oui, I say 'respect.' If you are to live through this mission, you must respect them."


She sniffed and crossed her arms, "Like Corrado?"
And with her snide remark, a pang cut through Enzo's chest.

He replied softly, "You do not know how he died. Please do not speculate on what you do not know."
Silence stretched between them like shadows.

Her hand laid across his, pulling his gaze upward. "I am sorry. I am short because I am frustrated. I will do as you say. Even respect the creatures that killed my sister."
A squeeze and she released his hand. He was glad of the freedom, but the sudden absence of warmth made his skin feel all the cooler. He took another sip of water. "Let's get started then."

My laptop has decided to be broken again. Trying to load any web pages results in a timeout "this web page is not available" page. My connection is fine because I can use my tablet fine. I'm stumped. Heeeeeeelp!

Continued from: Car doors



Late afternoon and thin streams of daylight made pale stripes out of the blinds covering the windows. They had been closed when he arrived, curtains also, like the occupant of this apartment had not been here in a day or two. Another property was registered to the name Thalia Milton, one in Old Arbat, but appearances in a residence always had more of a personal touch than commercial. In Old Arbat, also, the streets were more closely patrolled.

It was the personal touches that made Adrik Ivanov a valued contractor. For instance, as he scrutinized a wall of books, he plucked from among them a picture of another young girl that resembled Miss Thalia. A sister, Aylin, was a doctor in the city. All evidence suggested close family ties, but in Adrik's experience, even distanced relatives provided suitable pressure points for the shy of voice. But given Thalia's reputation, he doubted the girl would need additional coercion.

As night fell, his investigation of the small Filevesky apartment was fully complete and he retreated to a closet near to wait for Thalia to return home. Just another shadow among a room slated with shades of gray.


Adrik Ivanov
NPC goon

Scion Marveet
PPC



The smell of engine oil and exhaust fumes brought Scion back to his younger days. There was a time when the stoic patriarch of the Marveet empire tuned his own car. A man took a certain sense of pride of caring for his own property whether that property surrounded an engine block or if it were factories sprawling a dozen city streets.

Angel Taxi was a smaller venture in comparison to the world-wide behemoths beneath his name. Yet the company needed care and comfort just as any other. Tonight he strolled into one of several garages in Moscow. Angel was not the largest of its kind in the city, but it was useful. The thing that made Angel Taxi special was their discretion. They saved people in trouble, 'guardians' the drivers liked to joke, but only if they could afford to be saved. Personal angels weren't free.

Two important details led Scion to come to this particular garage on an otherwise fine evening. The hood of the car came into view - that of a Koenigsegg Agera, black with green bio-luminescent stripes - the car his son was driving when he disappeared. Positioned in the middle of the garage, surrounded by Angel Taxis - marked and otherwise - it waited for him.

Scion let his fingers graze the curve of the hood toward the driver's side door. The warmth of his skin left comet trails behind in the touch-sensitive paint. There were finger prints taken from inside this vehicle, but they were inconclusive. The human for whom they belonged did not exist in any network in the world, or so he was told. She existed, that was enough of a lead for Scion Marveet. He opened the driver's side door and imagined his rebellious son lowering onto supple leather seat, anxious to rip out of the city.

The second detail that brought Scion Marveet here this night was presented to him next. Three sets of footsteps shuffled across the cement floors. He let the weight of the door swing open as he turned to gaze upon the man charged with watching his youngest son the night he disappeared. Three months ago.

Scion clasped his hands behind his back, studying the man's face. "Your neck has healed?" He asked of the man. He balked, so Scion explained. "You were shot with a sedative, were you not?" The man grew visibly defensive. The two employees of Scion's whom escorted this man into his presence stepped aside, opening space up between them.

"Yes sir. I said before, many times. To your people, and to these... men." He replied carefully, but not so much as to hide the seething from his voice.

Scion considered a moment. "Now you will tell me."

The man explained the girl that he caught by surprise by Jaxen's car. He described her appearance and everything going dark. He'd hit his head, he'd discovered upon waking, and that he'd called in the event as soon as his mind cleared.

"As soon as your mind cleared? You caught an armed woman breaking into my youngest son's car on the night he disappeared and you called it in as soon as your mind cleared." Expression hardening, Scion's gaze flicked to the pair that escorted this man in here tonight. They stepped aside. Scion never entertained excuses.

Scion snagged the man's shirt in one balled up fist and with the other laid into his scrunched up face. He'd thought he'd left these days behind him, from the years he spent changing his own engine oil, but pride had new roles to play in his life. The man spun beneath the punches, but when Scion trapped his elbow behind him, the arm snapped with a little effort. The man screamed with satisfactory pain, but Jaxen remained unaccounted for, screaming did not bring him back. He brought the man back to his feet and hurled him toward the car. The dent in the three-million dollar Agera was nothing to Scion. No amount of money could replace his youngest child or soothe the nerves of his mother. Thick, trunk-like legs sent Scion's knee into the man's gut where he crumpled in front of the driver's seat, positioned between the car and the open door. Scion fisted his hair and sent that same knee up his nose. He fell back, limp and clutching his face with one hand. Scion stepped forward and slammed the car door into his skull.

Over. And over again. Until the door closed and the body fell away.

He stepped away, pulling a pocket square from his coat and wiping the sweat from his brow, spit from his mouth, and muck from his hands. He dropped it and one of his men offered theirs with which he wrapped knuckles weeping their slow welling of blood.

"What have you found out about the girl?" He asked, leaving the Agera and dead valet behind.

"She flew into Moscow air port on a ticket from the United States last summer. Your friends in government security services have facial matches from a number of different venues, most of them down town. There is a known acquaintance. Some young artist. We'll be speaking with that one next."

Scion nodded. Progress at last.



Continued at Shadows for the shy


Edited by Jaxen Marveet, Apr 19 2015, 11:27 AM.

Age: 32

Origin: Iceland

Occupation: Cop

Psychological description:

Erik is level headed as they come, slow to anger and quick to calm. But even with a mild temperament, the man can hold a stubborn streak a mile wide. His profession is taken very seriously, perhaps overly so. A chronic workaholic, often does he loose himself within the dedication to any given task, relentless to see things through. Erik is a good person, not with out a heart or compassion when the need calls for it. But he has a strong sense of justice, to him, the boundary between good and bad often end up black and white instead of gray.

Physical description:

Average of build, standing 6'1” with broad shoulders and tone muscle, the build of an athlete. Icelandic heritage is accented with steel blue eyes, a mildly pale complexion and short cut-well kept blonde hair.

Biography:

Erik came from an average family background, living with his father, mother and younger brother until he was old enough to start a life of his own. Heavy guidance from an early age helped influence those decisions however. Erik wanted, no...was EXPECTED to follow in his father's footsteps. To be a cop. Though it was a roll he easily fell in to. His younger years, he wanted to please his father and strove to meet expectations. So he never thought of doing anything else.

Not only did he meet expectations, but surpassed them. Completely dedicated to his work, and focused on nothing else. Long hours, and unwavering attitude got Eric far in his new carrier.

Then he met his wife. Love at first sight didn't exist, but it was damn near close enough. She was the only woman he ever dated, or cared so deeply for. They clicked, he adored her, was infatuated. She was sweet, kind, gentle, patient and funny. Erik became less of a workaholic with her around, because she held no expectations from him.

A few years after they were married, they had a child together and their little family was complete. A decent home in a nice neighborhood, proved a stable point for their daughter to grow up. Everything was perfect.

Then everything fell apart. His wife died suddenly. Erik was devastated, it was a heavy emotional blow, and he just wanted to just give up. But of course he couldn't, he had a child after all, responsibilities. So he kept on, and found some comfort in the distraction of work. Something to immerse himself in fully, becoming more so a workaholic once again to run away from his emotions. If he focused on something else he wouldn't be reminded of her.

The dedication to work did not go unnoticed, and eventually Erik was offered a better job opportunity that meant uprooting his broken family to another continent entirely. But Moscow would be a hard city to turn down, and it had promise of giving both himself and his daughter a far better life than Iceland could ever offer.

Alex sat at her computer in her new office. She had a picture of a grand piano sitting on her desk. It was the one she had at her place, one she actually knew how to play, but it sat dormant for years her other hobbies taking precedence over playing the piano. It had once sat in the home of some rich man, he grew tired of it and she purchased it for far less than it was worth.

But it was the article on the clog that had Alex's full attention. Sebastian was wanted, on the run. He'd attacked Ivan, a man she worked with. Alex knew that those two lives would cross paths one day, but this was far beyond anything she could imagine.

Alex knew there was nothing more than sex with Bas, but she did have a place for him in her heart, he was a relatively decent man despite his nature. But it was that nature that brought the Monster squad down on him now. Not only had he attacked a cop he had attacked one of their own. Sebastian was a dead man, if he didn't die in the fight, he would die in prison she was sure of it. He was not a good man. Decency had nothing to do with a personals moral boundaries.

Alex wasn't exactly sure what to do about this, she could easily profile Bas, she knew him personally, she knew some of the places he liked to go. But it meant his certain capture. But he'd hurt Ivan. This was definitely NOT a good place to be.

And Alex was almost certain that the Atharim would be in on this too, and how did you tell the men you worked with that you knew more than you could say, it could cost her everything including her life. Her half-sister was one of these monsters, she was one of them too for all intensive purposes, but the Monster Squad didn't think like the Atharim. But there was little definition of what they were here to do, capture not kill, but how long before that changed. Alex sighed.

Life was going to be sticky for the next few weeks. One way or the other something was going to happen. Alex just wasn't exactly sure how it was going to go down.

Chaos reigned at Izmailovsky Market yesterday as what appears to be a terrorist attack was carried out during the mid-morning rush. Two people are dead while more than a dozen, including a 7 year old boy, were injured when a man, identified as Sebastian Volodin, opened fire on shoppers in the market. According to police records, Volodin had been arrested numerous times, though mostly in connection with mob related activities.

The motive is unclear, but sources close to the investigation say that the attack may have been a preemptive strike on a new department in the CCDPD. What makes this attack all more the startling is the fact that, according to video captured by onlookers, Volodin appears to be using some sort of unknown energy weapon.

[video montage of recordings embedded in news report]

What you're seeing here honestly seems to defy explanation. The images call to mind those months earlier recorded in Jeddah, DV. In view of the press release given at that time, this new attack raises questions regarding the appearance of people with special abilities. Repeated inquiries from the Consulate of Communications have not been answered, though one source has admitted that the Executive Office of the Ascendancy took very seriously the possible threat people like this could pose, should the stories turn out to be true.

Lending credence to this and to the current belief that this was a preemptive terrorist strike is the fact that the attack appeared to be focused on Sargent Ivan Sarkozy, an officer in the CCDPD. A native Muscovite, Sarkozy recently was transferred to the newly formed Domovoi division of the CCDPD. While Domovoi officially appears to be a special response team for terrorist attacks, there are indications that its focus is specifically geared toward the danger that people with special abilities might pose. The unnamed source in the Consulate of Communcitions has stated 'the EOA is committed to the safety of people across all Dominances no matter how unlikely and that Domovoi is just one of many means the Ascendancy is using.'



Volodin's whereabouts are currently unknown, though all forms of surveillance are being used to find him. He is known to be an associate of the Mordvinov family, a group that has lately been under increasing scrutiny by police for money laundering, racketeering, and other activities associated with organized crime. The connection to terrorism is a new development, though, ensuring they will come under still more attention.

Sarkozy and the other injured were taken to the hospital and we have yet to receive word on their condition. If you see Vololdin, please contact the CCDPD at the number below. The CCDPD emphasize the extreme danger the man poses, however, so please take all necessary precautions.

[comments open]


Edited by Marcus DuBois, May 6 2015, 10:07 PM.

I've started a thread (with Asc's permission) at Dragonmount on their Turnings of the Wheel RP board. Since it's WoT related in a different age it works. We can use it as advertising for FA.

In order to keep it completely divergent from here I've pushed it 5 years into the future with a few facts that should be fun.

You have to be logged in to see the board, but here's the link to the thread. Anyone is more than welcome to join from here or at DM no bio's required.

The First Age: Charity Event

Should showcase monsters and channeling if all goes as I plan but you never now with RPs

As far as cities went, Moscow was pretty nice. Crowded, but she expected that. There was an energy here that she hadn't felt in a long time. Excitement and optimism. Everything seemed lit up, including the people. She passed a kid walking down the street with a shirt that was displaying ever changing images and scenes at a rapid but rhythmic pace. The style vaguely tickled her mind, though she couldn't put her finger on it. She hadn't grown up seeing much TV as a kid. One or two scenes made her raise her eyebrow and she laughed to herself. That'd go over real well in Idaho. The kid- maybe 19- looked her in the eye and smiled as he passed her.

Yep. Definitely an energy. In some places anyway. The higher the higher ups, the lower the lowly. She'd seen a bit, though she didn't really have much time to explore yet. She'd just gotten in yesterday and primarily had seen just the route to her hotel. The dinner in the lobby restaurant was good enough. Food didn't really interest her.

No, she was here for a reason, one that made it hard to sleep that night, so anxious was she. She'd gotten up early and gotten ready- simple black jeans and boots, white shirt and her grey leather jacket. It was cold, but she didn't notice it that much. She'd hunted in the north west in winter. You got used to it.

The sidewalks had been salted and her feet crunched their way down the street. The neighborhood had a quieter air about it, more relaxed. Small shops and houses lined the street, with the occasional market on the corner. She passed a bookstore with old books displayed in the window. She didn't bother stopping. She'd never really been interested in reading for fun.

Up ahead was a much larger building, really quite beautiful. It seemed like some old manor house or something. Stone steps lead to two polished wooden doors. Her wallet beeped. She was at her location. She stood there for a moment and then started up the stairs.

Once inside, she was questioned at the door. She gave the appropriate phrases and was taken to another room where, after an eternity of scans and verification, she was finally ushered into a library to cool her heels. There were a few tables about, but the room was empty. She did notice the cameras strategically placed throughout the room. She smiled at one of them and then leaned back to half sit on one of the tables facing the door while she pulled out her wallet and logged back into the darkweb and the Atharim forums for more research.

It seemed like forever before a robed priest, maybe her age, tall and whispy with thinning grey-tinged brown hair- no way was this guy a hunter- walked in. It seemed a bit odd to see a priest here, but she supposed there were all sort who were Atharim. "Ms. Cross. I am Father DeLuca. Would you follow me to my office please?"

She pushed off the table and slipped her wallet in her pocket. "Sure thing. Thanks."
She followed him through various hallways. She saw people sometimes walking about. It was quiet though. No seemingly idle chit-chat or anything. People seemed focused on their work. Well, it was what she expected, she supposed. An organization was an organization, after all. Especially at the heart. New heart maybe. She wasn't sure. Made sense, though. What with all that was going on in Moscow, it made sense to make this the hub.

The man let her into a small office and gestured to the chair before taking his seat behind his desk. "We were surprised at your message, Ms. Cross. We've had a few Americans join us here in DI. But in general, that branch of the Atharim tends to...keep its independence. What is it you want?"

She smiled and leaned back in her chair. She smiled. "Simple. I want to hunt gods. This new order. I want in."


The man looked at her for a moment over clasped hands. Finally his eyebrows raised. "The Order of the Archangels is by invitation only. The Regus himself is the one who chooses."

She laughed a bit. She understood of course. But it wasn't gonna stop her. "Well, then, let me speak to him. Simple as that."
She nodded at his computer terminal. "You have my record. You know what I can do, what I've done. You won't find many with more experience than me. Let me talk to him."


The man sighed, shaking his head slowly. "I'm afraid the Regus is very busy," he began but she interrupted him.

"Yeah, yeah, I'm sure he is. But it will only take a moment, I'm sure. Just let him know that I am here and..."
he voice trailed off as she tried to think of a word. One came to her, but she didn't like it. She wouldn't say 'request an audience', not for anyone. She tried to make her voice more friendly-like. "Ask to speak to him."[/color] Once she got to talk to him, she was sure he'd listen. She could be persuasive if she wanted to be.

The man compressed his lips, but said nothing. Finally, he typed something into his computer and she heard a chime a few seconds later. He looked at her and then said, "It seems the Regus is free for a brief visit. I will take you to him." A ghost of a smile appeared on his lips. "I do hope you remember that you asked to see him."

Dorian ran his fingers through his hair as he disembarked the private plane that had brought him into Moscow. His father had insisted, as usual. Cruz was with him, he was here to check out Moscow University. Cruz would return home to Madrid on the plane when he decided if he would transfer next semester. Dorian thought it was funny that Cruz wanted to come with him. Maybe being his grandfather's choice for VP of RnD was grating on him, but Dorian didn't ask and Cruz didn't offer, he only informed his father he was coming to which Dorian gave him a flourished bow and a "As you wish"
before Cruz told Anastasia his intentions.

She looked at Dorian. Dorian shrugged, "I have nothing to do with this."


The memories were still fresh from the morning. Cruz had little to say on the trip down on the subject, but he was hardly quiet. He rattled on about Moscow University, and Dorian told him of his short lived time there. Before the calling Borovsky bestowed upon him. To hunt monsters. It was not an easy job and it was more complicated being in the Department, but it had it's advantages. He had a home unlike most hunters who rarely found a haven as such.

Sadly his reputation had pulled him to Moscow, but Dorian really was glad to be away from his father. He was happy that Cruz might come live in Moscow. Ana was not happy, but she'd deal with it, like everything else. It would give her plenty of time for Christian but also make it more difficult without Cruz as a buffer between her and Dorian's father. He sighed. Life sucked!

Cruz followed him down the stairs to the tarmac. "Dad, I'm going to head straight there. I have the address to the new house."

Dorian nodded and Cruz left with his own contingent of drivers and luggage handlers, the remainder looked at Dorian as if he were the only thing in the world. He smiled before he moved towards the car that awaited him. The driver opened the door and Dorian got into the back seat of the black SUV. His luggage was loaded, the rest would be driven there on trucks. It was a pain moving, but it would be worth it in the end.

The house was smaller than he preferred but it was just him so it didn't matter. His father had found it. Dorian of course purchased it, his father would never gift Dorian anything outside of Madrid, he already owned countless businesses and houses there all gifts from his father to persuade him to come home and remove himself from this dangerous life style. He knew what Dorian really did for a living, it turns out he'd been donating money to one of their charities for years. It was a medical thing he claimed, but he wasn't certain his father truly understood what it meant.

Dorian walked into the foray and frowned, it was dreadful inside. The decor, he didn't even want to think about it. A man with greyed hair in a black suit approached him, "I'm Pavlo, your butler among other functions of the household. Can I assist you in anything sir?"

Dorian frowned, "Yes, either call my wife and tell her I'm need of her expertise on this horrid decor or hire a better designer because I refuse to stay in this."
He waved his hand at the tacky wooden panels and the gold trimmed everything. He shuddered. "I do hope my bedroom is better. I'm going out for a drink. Please take this all down."
Dorian caught sight of a watercolor on the wall. He pointed, "Except that, put that in my room."


"Of course sir, I will call Mrs. Vega and see what she recommends."

Dorian nodded, "And if you call me Mr. Vega I'll have you fired. My name is Dorian."


Pavlo nodded, "Yes sir."

Dorian laughed, "Dor-ee-an""
He enunciated his words, "Not sir."


Pavlo sighed and nodded, "As you wish, si... Master Dorian."

Dorian sighed but smiled anyway, "We'll get along just fine, I think."


Dorian stalked out the front door with a sigh, it would of course be a horrid house his father picked out. All in the name of getting him home. He'd show him. He should leave it horrid but he shuddered, no, that was even beyond his own rebellion.

He could go to Manifesto but he was hardly dressed for such a place. He went someplace else, someplace a little more tame. Where was it Martin had taken him all those years ago... Chesterfields he thought was the name. So that's where he told the driver.

It was of course under new management and the beer and wine selections were far better, as well as the food. He smiled happily. The blonde at the hostess station smiled brightly at him he smiled back at her. No point being rude. The girl who waited on him however was covered in tattoos and green hair, he sighed. She too smiled at him, but Dorian only gave her a cursory smile and ordered their finest beer and whatever the special of the day was.

Dorian sent Martin a text. "I have a new job. Figured might like to know. A new task force in the CCDPD. Apparently my reputation has caught up with me, and I've been asked to come join this new special terrorist task force. At Chesterfields getting a bite to eat, come join me oh Metatron. " Dorian laughed as he sent the text.


Edited by Dorian, Mar 20 2015, 12:42 PM.