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

Connor and Ayden. (adorable!)

Nick and Reed. (is Nick Whitney Houston?)

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

Jacques and the Legion. (total devotion!)

Drayson and his job. (his whole world)

Jaxen and Oriena (hot but distant?)

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

Hood and Spectra (survivor's respect?)

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

Tony and Claire (flirty)


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

The Koenigsegg Agera S - green color


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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Tap, tap. Someone touched her on the shoulder.

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

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


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


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

Rune grinned. I'm gettin' a hedgehog.

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

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

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

Tonight would be no different.

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

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

Takeo was in the Dream World.

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

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

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

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



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

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

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

Updating as people post:

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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


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

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

Dreyken in Moscow, from Alla, at large.

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

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


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

Hi guys,

I will likely be unavailable for a couple of days this weekend (the 10th and 11th) as I will be traveling for the holiday.

If anything comes up, feel free to email me:

ascendancynikolai@gmail.com

Such as if you're dying to post but are worried your work is questionably too dark *winks at Dane*, I'll try to get back to you pretty swiftly via email.

Otherwise, have a great weekend, everyone.

-A

Somewhere above DV, bound for Dubai

Jacques sat in what amounted to his own private jet, going over pages upon pages of legal rigmarole and red tape. His various contracts in DV had turned into a nightmare of red-tape with the increasing violence in the region and the CCD's crackdowns on travel and movement through and into the region. Unsurprisingly, they had some qualms over letting a few hundred heavily armed private security employees into the region, especially since most were identified as Muslims.

The meetings in Jerusalem had gone well enough really; even in light of the growing tension, the companies whom had sought to hire him had still been eager to finalize their ends of the paperwork. They had even agreed to the increased costs of their contracts, in light of the current risks. Légion Première came with a very well earned reputation, and they were willing to fork out the cash for it to be in their service.

He set the stack of papers aside and glanced out the window, squinting against the bright light of the sun, unfiltered by cloud at this altitude and barely held in check by the tinting of his window.

A second stack awaited his attention; Sierra Leone. He had a few hundred men on the ground there, and it too was falling apart from the inside out. He'd already received reports from his field officers of the outbreaks of violence. A few had even already begun setting up refugee camps within the fences of the mines and plants they were contracted to protect. Not the most hospitable places for civilians to live, even temporarily, but it was better then being on the receiving end of a machete because of your last name. He was already planning to deploy the rest of his men in the Casablanca barracks to the region; contracts there had been much easier to ratify with the foreign companies. They stood to loose billions of dollars in infrastructure and profits should the situation spiral any further out of control, and Jacques was more then willing to take their money to save lives.

His mind wandered for a moment, staring at the distant earth through the thin wisps of cloud the desert heat allowed to form even at this altitude. Roads and villages doted the landscape far below a midst vast swaths of open dead earth. Dead from the air, at least. There was no abundance of life below, but it was there, hidden among the rocks and scrub brush. And people, of course.

It was a strange life they lived; ruled by religion and fear, barely eking out a living by the standards of most of the CCD, although that seemed mostly brought upon themselves by themselves. He couldn't fault them for clinging to tradition of course; who was he to look down upon such loyalty? Légion Première was but a shadow of it's origins, but they clung to their traditions no matter that they were forsworn by their homeland and birthplace.

His Wallet chimed to life suddenly, and he returned to the moment to see what it had to offer.

It was bad news.

DV was aflame with insurrection and murder on all fronts. It was happening far too quickly for the CCD forces to respond. Terrifyingly efficient and coordinated, with huge swaths of religious extremists popping up armed and ready throughout the region.

Over the next two hours, based off civilian news reports, he was already beginning to piece together an understanding of the situation on the ground. When word that Dubai was teetering on the edge, Jacques gave the signal to change their destination.

It was back home to Casablanca for him and his. He would have to cancel the contracts, or at least put them on hold. There was no chance the CCD would allow him to put his men on the ground in their territory in the current political atmosphere.

(from Calling in Favors)

The woman pulled Aria through the door way, she nearly fell into the other woman as she tripped over the broken floor board in the entry way. The woman giggled, "Opps sorry about that.". Aria pulled her hand free of the other woman's grasp and looked up the stairs. Words didn't come out, Aria just nodded towards the entry way up the stairs. She could feel the world closing in on her, Aria sought peace and calm. Not expecting to find Dane so close, Aria latched on to him and prayed it would be enough. The reverberation of her own self was nearly too much. She felt like exploding, nothing keeping her inside her own self. The bubble she lived in was far gone, and completely unreachable.

Aria wondered if the woman had offered her name, in all honestly it didn't matter Aria would not be offering her own. She smiled down brightly at Aria "Lock it for me." And then she started up the stairs.

Aria nodded, but for some unfathomable reason she didn't follow through. Aria turned to shut the door, noticing the street for the first time. This reporter must truly need a good story, she lived in a rat trap. The street lamps lit the garbage from the dirty globes of yellow light. A bug skittered across her boot as she shut the door with a distinct thud, but she did not lock it. Something inside said don't. Instinct, fear of being trapped, it didn't matter, the door remained an exit she intend to use with ease.

Aria closed her eyes and took a deep breath, there was much more pain and pleasure to be had that night, and Aria didn't know what would win out in the end as she ascended the stairs after the down and out reporter.

Upstairs was not any better than the street outside. The windows were covered with make shift curtains, that looked like they could stand on their own. The kitchen sink off on the far wall was full of disgusting dishes, as if she had no time to do them. Empty take out boxes sat on the counter, the floor and just about every possible flat surface. The blond standing in the middle of the room stared back at Aria with a fire in her eyes Aria had not seen the likes of ... ever.

The disgusting details gave Aria a moment to snap back to some sort of herself. "Bathroom?"
Her new found 'friend' pointed in the direction of the bathroom with a satisfied smile.

Aria opened the door and was so very glad she did not live her, the bathroom was tiny and it only had a shower. Aria sighed as she shut the door. Annoyed at herself and her actions but she had to get the wallet. She was thankful for the break, what little good in the end it would do.

Aria grabbed her wallet and sent a text for clean up. Telling them to hurry. It was important that it not be there later. So very important.

Aria looked at herself in the dirty brown mirror. And turned away with distaste, not for herself but the state of the apartment, she was afraid to touch anything. What she did for the Atharim!

Aria took off her coat, and removed the single sword that sat at her waist and put the gun in her coat pocket so it didn't drop to the floor. She hadn't intended to wear anything that looked attractive to anyone but herself, but then all her clothes fit to her curves. The black t-shirt clung to her body and the jeans were very close fit as well. The only thing out of place for bar hopping or clubbing was the combat boots she wore.

Another deep breathe and Aria opened the bathroom door to find the blonde wearing nearly nothing at all. Aria tried to pretend she was interested. But from the look on the woman's face she had failed miserably. Aria stepped forward and caressed the woman's cheek and found the emotion she wanted, Dane wasn't far away, it wasn't hard. The memories flooded in and she drank them up. The woman smiled and handed Aria a bottle of beer. "It's all I have."

Aria was thankful it was a bottle and took a long drawl of the foulest thing she'd tasted in forever. The woman giggled and touched Aria's cheek. "It'll taste better after a few more." Aria didn't hear a word, the world flew around in circles. She barely noticed taking another drink. Aria ran her hand over the soft skin of the woman in front of her. Her desires were elsewhere, but she was here touching and being touched.

Aria's hands mimicked the half naked woman's in front of her. Very little registered with Aria, the longing turned to desire and the desire into something far more stronger. There was nothing else, except for the seemingly close calm center she truly sought, this woman was just a mere echo to what she wanted.


Edited by Aria, May 8 2014, 03:53 PM.