Today The Write Practice gave a prompt for Halloween - 6 word stories with a horror theme.  I started out with a simple one.

Quote:Locked Door.  No way out.  Help!

Quote:Missing girl.  Last seen with boyfriend.

Quote:Invisible claws sundered a silent scream.

Quote:Maniacal laughter. Severed head fell. Oops!

Hood was not a good man.

He was not one for 'doing favours' or going out of his way to help strangers. Or acquaintances. Not if there wasn't something in it for him. But if there was something in it for him, he could be convinced to go above and beyond the intent of the request.

Hence why he was sitting in a long-abandoned mini-aquifer, a level or two below the active sewer and city services tunnels, a shemagh wrapped around his head to hide his features from his 'guests.' Not that it much mattered. All three were tied to much sturdier chairs than his own, and the only one that mattered had a bag over his head.

What confusion the other two may have had that their boss had his head covered began to evaporate when Hood removed his shemagh. A subtle hint on who was likely to get to leave that water-damaged brick chamber.

One, a young twenty-something piece of shit, was already weeping before Hood pulled the piece of fabric from his face. The man's sobs only deepened.

The other was a tougher sort. Self-delusion, of course; ex-CCD military. Still had the haircut. Still wore the boots. Clothes were functional, durable; much like what Hood wore in fact. The delusion though, was that he wasn't near as strong, as untouchable, as he thought. That one just glared coldly, probably thinking he was being clever as he tried to twist and flex his wrists in an effort to break the zip-ties that held them together.

The third, with the bag over his head, was the only one that actually mattered. The sort of douche-bag stylish casual suit that self-important rich kids wore to whatever shit popular club-of-the-day where he'd spend more on booze and drugs in a single night than most people earned in a month. The sort of douche-bag grease-stain that, if he saw something he wanted, he had people to get it for him. Cars, gadgets, people.

That one was the center piece of Hood's attention for the past few weeks. A sort of side-project, something to fill his free time. It certainly wasn't a challenge, and there was no big paycheck waiting the results.

Just an old bag lady that had rather rudely barged into his house one morning screaming at him in Russian. Hood didn't recycle. He didn't need the money, didn't care about the environment. But he did leave his recyclables on his porch. It was always better if your neighbors liked you (and respected you enough to leave you alone and not ask questions). The old bag lady was the one who tended to take his bottles.

He didn't lock his doors when he was at his house. His security system warned him well enough in advance that she was coming. And if anyone wanted to barge in and ruin his day, they weren't likely to leave on their own two feet.

The old bat didn't speak a word of English; a remnant of an older time. There were still a few, too stubborn or poor to learn another language. One of many that had slipped through the system's cracks. Considering how many people eked out a living under Moscow's streets, there were quite a few cracks in the system.

Luckily for her, he was fluent in Russian.

A simple demand. Not a request, not a favour. Not that she offered any payment either. Just a demand.

Kill the monsters that had killed her granddaughter. Not that the girl was any saint herself; an escort. The seedy sort. Drugs, prostitution, a criminal file. Not a saint. But she, like everyone really, was someone's child. Someone's mother, father, brother, sister. Whatever.

She'd run afoul of the douche-canoe in the suit, who now found himself sitting in an old aquifer well below the city's streets. His suit stained with blood, only some of which was his own. His pants soaked with urine. His own, plus whatever had soaked into the fabric while Hood had dragged the idiot down there.

She'd ended up in an illegal brothel. One mostly populated by the illegal immigrants that lived under the streets. That didn't exist as far as the government cared. Easier to ignore it as long as they didn't become too big a problem. And hell, it did help keep a lot of the human-trafficking kind of crime away from the city's tax-paying population.

Why had he done it? Why bother doing what some old homeless bag-lady demanded of him? Why waste ammunition and time, both far more valuable than the lives of the people he had killed up to that point, on something that didn't concern him? Had no impact on his life? Hell, there hadn't even been a risk of their activities drawing the police into his neck of the woods, not like the idiots that had thought to hide one of their trafficking projects in his part of town.

“Because I was bored, mostly.”

The answer to the babbling, weeping fool's most repeated question. 'Why are you doing this?'

It certainly wasn't what he had wanted to hear, and his weeping bawling pants-shitting fit just ratcheted up a notch. The other one just continued to glare and work at his bindings. At least until Hood waggled a finger towards him while still looking at the weeping druggy. “Same reason I'm probably going to leave that one alive. Blind, deaf, mute. Quadriplegic. But alive. Snip a few tendons. Break a few bones. Don't need to break any, of course. The tendons will do the job. Then I'll make sure he doesn't die. Leave him with the immigrants. Maybe pay one to keep feeding him. Keep him alive.”

It was his tone. The look in his eyes. When he looked at the ex-soldier, the man knew. A sudden dawning of realization that Hood would do everything he had just, because...because he was bored. It wasn't personal. It wasn't even really because of anything the ex-soldier had done. It was just because Hood knew it would be a fate worse than death, and was just bored enough to follow thru on it.

Hood stood then, walked behind the three seated men, and dragged a table over into their view. All sorts of tools sat on that table. Crude things, mostly. A box of nails and a hammer. A few bottles of industrial disinfectants...he didn't want them dying of an infection, after all. A subtle implication of just how long he expected to play with them. Pliers, a propane torch. Car batteries...good ones. Quality ones. Not some knock-off brand.

He was a professional, after all. Didn't want to use a recycled battery that might not have a full charge.

And, most curiously, a transmitter, that was attached to those batteries.

“I'm going to start with you though.” His focus returned to the addict. The one that had turned the old bag lady's grandchild into a cheap escort. Too bad; the girl would have been gorgeous if she had been born into any other family, probably. Hell, she'd probably have done very well in the same line of work if she'd just had better contacts first.

He picked up the first bottle of disinfectant, poured it into a bowl. Pulled his jacket off to reveal the body armour underneath. A pair of durable latex gloves. Then dipped a nail in the bowl. “Oh, you're probably wondering why your hand hurts, Mr Bolevsky. It's because I cut your tracker out. It's plugged into a signal booster, so your father can find you when I'm all done here. He'll probably send his best men to get you. Well, his second best...” a disapproving glance at the ex-soldier “...and I'll go pay him a visit. Just to have a talk. I have some very interesting things to tell him about your plans for inheriting the family business.”

-----

It took longer then he had expected for the douche-bag's father to get his people together. By the time a warning popped up on his Landwarriors, he had long dismissed the idea of keeping the pitiful sack's bodyguard alive. The loser wasn't worth the money, no matter how amusing it would have been.

The douche-bag had nearly drowned on his own vomit at one point. Pathetic. He couldn't even see what was happening. He could smell it, sure. Hear it, obviously. Probably a result of an over-active imagination. Impressive, considering how unimaginative the fool seemed to be in regards to his own mortality and possible repercussions of his actions.

Not the point though. By the time his Landwarriors had warned him that there were people approaching, trying to track the signal from the idiot's tracker, he had long finished with the druggy wanna-be pimp and had been taking his time on the ex-soldier.

Time up, he'd cleaned up a bit, put his shemagh back on, and pulled the bag off the idiot wanna-be crime lord's head. Let him get a good look at what Hood had done to the pair over the past two hours. The ex-soldier was still alive; would be when their friends arrived. Wouldn't be much long after though.

He'd decided he wouldn't bother visiting the idiot's father in person. Not that it would have been all that hard, but because it just wasn't worth the effort. He'd insulted the man enough, but the evidence that his own son had been planning to kill the father and take over would probably be enough to keep the old fool from trying to hunt Hood down.

It didn't take him long to get back to street level, where his old-model cellphone received a signal again. A quick glance indicated he had a new message; his day job, a new contract offer. Security analysis for some politician's new estate. Simple enough, a few days work. Someone that owed the company favours for past work. Well, it would help kill some time until something interesting came up.

Phone tucked away, he made his way into the subway and pondered what to do for supper.

The party had been interesting to say the least.  What had been planned as a fun event had been full of monsters and channelers and the like.  Emily for one, was glad to be home.  She was equally glad for the man that held her.  She hadn't known love before.  Of course she loved her parents and her sisters, but romantic love was a new feeling for Emily, and it had come out of nowhere.

Emily had known from the instant she had met Jared that she had loved him.  She felt as if she had loved him even before they had met.  It was a strange feeling.  She had never read about that sort of thing in any of the fairy tales or stories.  She sat on the couch with Jared - well, really she sat on Jared who was sitting on the couch - and his arms were wrapped around her.  She felt safe there. Safer than she had ever felt.

They hadn't said much since they had returned to Emily's place, but she felt they hadn't needed to.  Emily sighed contentedly as she leaned her head into Jared's shoulder.  She saw his arm move, his hand taking her jaw and turning her head as he gave her a light kiss. It wasn't their first, and the passion in it didn't come for the pressure of the kiss or the length.  It was ethereal, but it was definitely there.

Emily smiled as they broke it off. "I love you," the words came unbidden and without fear from her lips.

Jared smiled, but didn't answer right away.  She knew the answer - she knew he loved her too, but why did he hesitate.  He surely wasn't worried about her reaction. "And I love you." he said, smiling and kissing her again.

Emily sank into it wondering about his hesitation.  "Is something wrong?" she asked, when their kiss had ended.

"No," Jared said, smiling. "It's really the opposite...It's..."

The meds worked pretty well. Not like he still didn't hurt, but it wasn't bad. Well, maybe not as bad. He coulda taken a few more tabs but...he wanted to be lucid. And pain worked as well as any stim for that. Three of his ribs were fractured so clearly he would't be running around anytime soon; jaw nearly broken; Nu-skin covering slashes and bites itching something fierce; concussion that still made him see double at times; lip split in a number of places; a couple of broken knuckles; a broken toe; and everywhere else deep black and blue bruises covering him. 

It had been a good fight.

At least he hadn't broken his nose or lost any teeth. And thankfully, his eye was not swollen anymore- although maybe it was a shade darker that it should be. Not that he'd put on make up to cover it.


Thank God for modern medicine. He coulda done without the lecture from the doc. Her frowns made him smirk, though of course he regretted it, what with the lips and jaw and all. Her look said it served him right. And it probably did.

The Cap'n was worse. Ivan just told him it had been a fight club thing. The man tore him a new one before putting him on the DL for the time being. It was stupid of him, he knew. He had a job to do. And he would do it. But still. he didn't regret it. It had been good for him.

And truthfully, Ivan looked forward to hanging out with Ryker again. No more fighting like that. No. But it was fun all the same. Something had changed. What it was, Ivan wasn't sure. Well, nothing really had changed. Ascendancy was still the same pompous ass who allowed and even used corruption as a tool in his empire; Yun Kao was still out there holding his family over his head; Zoya was still gone; and Danya and Zara....

Ivan stood at the door of her apartment, his stomach fluttering. He took a deep breath, appreciating the sharp pain that came from his complaining ribs. It was funny. He'd had no fear getting into the ring with that man. He'd had no fear when the woman held him with the power, used it to dig into his wounds. But now....at the prospect of seeing Zara, fear paralyzed him.

His arm weighed two hundred pounds it seemed, as he tried to raise it to knock. He clenched his jaw and stab of agony lanced through him. Not broken, but definitely had been put out of joint. The resetting had been bad.

"Coward," he whispered to himself. He knocked and the door opened. The sweet smell hit him in the face and he inhaled sharply. Suddenly he was 19 again. And Danya had surprised him with dinner. Some sort of Persian stew her mother used to make. Despite himself, his heart opened for a moment, allowing himself to remember, to feel what he had felt, what had been walled off for all these years. God he missed her.

And there she stood, blonde streaked hair pulled back in a pony tail, white t-shirt and faded blue jeans. Nothing had changed. She looked at him curiously, her smile fading as she took in his injuries. "Hi Danya," was all he said before she hugged him- and then he breathed sharply through clenched teeth as his entire body protested.

She pulled back, concern painting her face. "Oh! I'm sorry." She looked at him, studying, then stepped aside so he could enter. Pain colored her words. "Oh Ivan, what did you do?" It was more chiding than anything else.

And he didn't feel like talking about it. Not with her. He felt stupid enough as it was. He tilted his head briefly and tried to give a halfhearted smile. "I just fell down. That's all." She looked at him for a moment, raising an eyebrow and one side of her lips in a smile. Then she shrugged, not pressing the issue. She knew him.

He looked around. It was as he remembered. The brown leather couch covered in different colored pillows; the plush blue chair opposite it, zebra print pillow on it; thick patterned carpet on the floor; lamp in the corner with a red and gold gauze cloth draped over it; mix of prints on the wall, some from her homeland, Iran, and others of people or script that he remembered was Farsi; a low table in between the the couch and chair. He looked over at the kitchen. An easel was near the wall, a half finished black and white painting on the canvas. There was green tea pot, as well as another on the stove giving off the aroma he remembered so well, meat and onions and cinnamon and the sweet of carrots.

But there were differences too. Childish drawings covered the refrigerator. And amid the music or art or travel books on the table were children's books. He recognized one of them, The Illustrated Book of Russian Fairy Tales. Another of Persian stories. And he saw toys in a couple of places.

He looked back at Danya. She was even more beautiful than he remembered. She was a mother. She had become a mother.

And I am a father.

He looked at her, smiled weakly, the butterflies returning. "Thank you for...well, just...thank you." Her smile warmed him- and cut him. Maybe we can...- he stopped that line of thought. He was not here for her. He couldn't open those doors again. Boundaries. He need to keep it light. Going down that road again...no. He just couldn't.

She nodded, but kept her distance. She knew what he was thinking. She always did. She didn't want to give him false hope. Her kindness cut his heart. "I want her to know her father. You're a good man Ivan." Her smile fell as she looked at his bandaged knuckles, saw how he moved, took in the cuts on his lip and the slight bruising under his eye, replaced it with a small frown, deep brown eyes filling with concern. Softly, "You deserve some happiness. Clearly."

She took a breath as if to clear the mood. Walls again. Damn her and her walls. "Anyway, I made your favorite stew. It's Zara's too." She paused, looking at him with a hopeful encouraging smile. "Ready?"

He took a deep breath, ignored the pain, and smiled, nodding. "Yeah. I'm ready."

A dull rain pattered the ground soggy when Tristan pulled into the village. The temperature hovered above the freezing point during the day, sloshing rift-marks into mud-veins that crossed the village center. The only road that was paved in and out was the sole highway that stretched around the Westfjords like a noose. A few hours’ drive along it would take him to Ísafjörður, the de facto capital of the western peninsulas. A couple thousand people called it home, but there was also a hospital, library, even an airport. Ísafjörður was a city compared to the village in which Tristan found himself. Half a day’s walk from his house (a quarter day’s walk by horse & cart assuming all went well), placed him square into the arms of Flateyri.

Flateyri was a fishing village hundreds of years old. More trade filtered in and out by sea than by land, yet the population never swelled beyond a few hundred people. Tourists came through once in a while on their way to the cliffs to watch the puffins play at sunset. Otherwise, Tristan knew everyone. He waved at Svant, an older man that first taught him how to tie a fishing line, when he reined the horse in.
“Good to see you, Tristan,” Svant approached. He was solid and healthy looking as ever. He wasn’t a tree of a hulking man like Tristan’s uncle was, but he was strong as the rocks underfoot.
“You too, Svant.” He replied and let his horse loose into the fence. A little bag was slung over one shoulder, but his smile was warmer than the rest of him.
They clasped hands, but Svant was looking closely in the younger man’s eyes. “Look like you could use a hot drink. Come over?”
Tristan would never turn down drinks. They caught up on the walk to the fisherman’s house.

Elyse woke up, feeling Sierra's warmth next to her.  It wasn't often she woke up before the other wolf-sister, but Elyse's dreams hadn't been so dark as of late.  There were times when she was in the dream with Sierra or Marta - sometimes even both.  Stinging Nose always went into the dream with her, and she was grateful.  Marta was a natural to the life of a wolfkin it seemed. Of course, the young girl had much to learn, but at least she had people to guide her though it.  

Elyse got out of bed and got dressed.  Last night her dreams had been her own and she was well rested.  She put on her jeans and a t-shirt.  Looking at Sierra she wondered.  Did she feel the way she felt because of the break up, or were the emotions she felt genuine, or was it just simply the feeling of being in a pack.  Elyse shook her head.  It was too soon for her to begin feeling those emotions. Stinging Nose sent her confused signals, not knowing how to interpret what was on Elyse's mind.  

Elyse went up the stairs and saw Marta sitting at the table with a plate of bacon.  The first couple of days had Marta with some toast, that had quickly changed to meat - bacon, sausage, or even steak.  It wasn't surprising.  Splash lay down of the floor next to her, eating some raw bacon. 

"Good morning, Marta," Elyse said, sitting next to the girl.

"Good morning," said Marta, looking up from her tablet.  The girl appeared to be doing math - and it seemed really simple for her age.

Splash sent her a greeting and Sting sat next to him, sharing the raw bacon.  Elyse got herself some juice and relaxed.

"Need any help?" Elyse asked her.

Continued from Cabaret & Candy

The directions to Jaxen’s building led the driver from the midtown cabaret theater all the way to Moscow City, the so-named business district that in and of itself operated like a miniature city within a city. Where the area around the Kremlin was steeped in history and antiquity, Moscow City was the mecca of modern civilization. Massive buildings, many world-record-holders for their size and luxury, towered glittering above Moscow River, the massive water that curled its way around the district. High-rises that belied the mind twisted and turned, art-pieces in and of themselves. The one that Jaxen called home was lost in the middle somewhere. A different sort of cat prowled these city streets. For Jaxen, the height was attractive; cats did like to claim to the highest peaks, after all. A building that sold-out in 6-hours after the design debuted was also attractive. He enjoyed his perks.

Jaxen owned a two-level chunk of the high-rise. The door itself recognized him as he approached, and the hefty security system was lifted momentarily. Of course, it made note of all his guests as well, signaled the building staff to prepare delicacies or any other manner of morsel Jaxen might order on a whim. Having enough historical instances of similar gatherings in its system, it already prompted him what he wanted. Liquor, of course, was aplenty within the apartment. Fresh food and catering, on the other hand, would arrive shortly. Perhaps also swimwear and offerings of other laundry services were on standby. One of the balconies, like the others of the building, was a cantilevered pool suspended over the edge of the building-face. It glowed an eerie blue through the windows beyond when they entered. The walls of the apartment rippled and shone like they were living entities suspecting his whim and catering to the atmosphere he was probably most likely to anticipate. In this case, it was one of intimacy, mystery and fun.

“Make yourselves at home,” he announced just before departing to change his own clothes. Maybe it was the quip about the pants, but the attire was suddenly wrong for the occasion.

The apartment was arranged such that the foyer and first level entertaining space greeted them. The style and decorations were sleek and modern, except for a display case housed a number of odd-antiques, many from India, but other cultures could be discerned among the pieces. A kitchen was nearby that appeared to be carved from a single, seamless unit. Smart technology was everywhere. No oven or refrigerator was apparent.

When he returned, he wore a black shirt with a crystal-adorned, horned-skull on the front. Electric blue pants that seemed to flicker along the seams like the points of fiberoptics glowed faintly. His hair was freshly coiffed sinister as the grin on his lips.

It was then that he scanned the members of the party, and what he found was indeed, too many members. A frown creased his forehead. “I’m breaking up the sausage fest, boys. No offense, but we have a severe shortage of girls,” he winked as he plopped into his favorite chair, legs crossed.

Oddly, it wasn’t Aiden that he was watching. It was Sage.

The guy’s head must literally be on fire right then. An addict dropped square into a heroin house and told not to touch the needles. He had a message for "Wicked Truth", but he would wait for Aiden to request the powder-room before sharing it with the hacker.

I want to do something here. This ravine is in Moscow in a park in the real world. It's cloaked in all kinds of mysterious stuff and legends. This is a link to the wikipedia page about it. but if you google it you'll find lots of cool old legends. 


Golosov Ravine

I'm not sure what it is in the first age, but I want to go there and do something. gotta be something significant. since there's lots of connection to paganism, maybe it would be better suited for Valeriya to explore, but if there's something of Atharim interest, rune could have fun there too.

anyway does anyone have any ideas?

Name: Siobhan West
Age: 33
Birthdate: 07/01/2013
Origin: New York, NY
Current Location: Moscow, Russia
Height: 5’4”
Weight: 120 lbs
Occupation: Pop Star (previously Back up vocals/bass guitar of Blarney Stoned)
Talent: Wolfkin
Alignment: Neutral Good
Loyalty: Neutral



Psych Description: Deeply intuitive and sentimental, very hard to get to know; often answers questions about personal life in an evasive manner. Very emotional and sensitive. She cares deeply about matters of the perceived family and home. Attached to the people she keeps close. Loving and able to empathize with others on the emotional level.

Guided by her heart, can have a hard time blending into the world. Impatient, has a tendency towards mood swings when running on little sleep. Has a strong sense of self-pity. Quick to help others. Is not aware of her own strength. Has a tendency to fight other people’s battles for them. Can be a little co-dependent on those she holds close.

Intuitive when it comes to relationships, ideas, and motivations before anyone has actually spoken. Hates small talk, especially when it contains white lies. Social gatherings can be overwhelming when she doesn’t know anyone. She’d much rather spend time in small groups where everyone is on the same page.

In romance, she is a giving and generous lover; she expects the same in return. She is above mind games and hates the thrill of the chase. She is liable to fall into committed loves after a few days or weeks of dating. She is happiest when part of a pair, thus keeps her manager close.
 
Physical Description: Below average height, an hourglass figure despite her height. Naturally brunette hair, bleached to a platinum shade. Wears heavy and simplistic makeup, often paying tribute to the ‘Punk Queens’ of the past.

Prefers heeled boots that will greatly improve her height; Siobhan wears the tightest pants and highest heels imaginable. Often sporting punk band t-shirts, denim vests, leather outfits, studs, and spikes; Siobhan looks tougher than she feels. The woman exudes the attitude of a lion, though she feels the calve. Siobhan’s appearance makes up for her shy nature.
 
Powers and Supernatural Powers: Can telepathically communicate with wolves that are ‘in her pack.’ When under the influence of drugs and alcohol, Siobhan experiences heightened sences and can track others much like a wolf. She begins to act like a female wolf when intoxicated.

The pack does not live with Siobhan, besides Ebony and Ivory (who come and go as they need.) The rest usually haunt whatever woods are closest to wherever she is residing. Now that she is in Moscow, the pack has scattered across the continent trying to investigate this 'calling' she was feeling. Ivory, since coming to Moscow, has developed a tendency to wander, so he is not always at Siobhan's side. Ebony is an anomaly and developed a strong bond with Siobhan, rarely leaving her side; during daylight hours Ebony is usually dozing at Siobhan's flat or wandering the forests, while after dark she is all but glued to Siobhan's side despite anyone else's misgivings. Siobhan used the pack in her act during her most recent world tour, thus earning her a reputation as a wolf-trainer and heavy comparison to Sigfried and Roy. Due to this reputation, anyone familiar with Siobhan or popular media will assume Ebony is docile, although anyone unfamiliar with Siobhan's work may very well lose their shit at Ebony's presence.
 

Bio: Siobhan was a transfer student from Fiorello H. LaGuardia High School of Music & Art and Performing Arts. Her parents, of Irish and Italian descent, were both big stars on Broadway; each starring in productions of Wicked, Phantom of the Opera, Hamilton, The Rocky Horror Show, and Ragtime… to name a few. In the year 2029, both of Siobahn’s parents scored the leading roles in a revival of Beauty and the Beast; the revival did so well on Broadway that it went on to tour the US, both of Siobhan’s parents retaining the lead roles.

The first stop on the tour was New Orleans, LA; due to the nature of the tour and Siobhan’s age, she was enlisted at De La Salle High School, a private Catholic school in New Orleans. Siobhan’s paternal Grandmother accompanied the family down to New Orleans and bought a house in the Garden District. The plan was for Siobhan to finish out her final year of high school in New Orleans while her parents finished their tour of the North American continent; Siobhan’s Grandmother would remain in residence down there throughout her retirement.
It was at De La Salle that Siobhan met Aiden Finnegan and the two became fast friends. Aiden, who would later go on to star opposite Siobhan’s mother on Broadway, was the first person to introduce Siobhan to punk rock. It affected her on a level deeper than any drug or psychedelic could have at that point in her life. This was a music that spoke to her soul. She immediately adopted the image and lifestyle often associated with punk kids. It was at this time that Siobhan also became close with Aiden’s twin sister, and eccentric artist, Rowan Finnegan.

The group, along with Aiden’s then-boyfriend, Kyle Rice, ruled the school; as uncommon as that was for ‘art-kids.’ Aiden and Siobhan stared in the spring musical, ‘Grease;’ both taking the leading roles. The chemistry between the two was undeniable. Due to Rowan’s badgering, Aiden started up an Irish-punk band in their parent’s garage, aptly named ‘Blarney Stoned.’ Rowan claimed she saw great success for the group in her Tarot cards, but most, besides Aiden and Siobhan, paid Rowan little heed. The group would not seriously entertain the notion of entering the music world until 2035 when they submitted their audition tracks to Mark Wrath, an American Publicist with connections in LA, NYC, and abroad.

The group, Blarney Stoned, was signed within the week of submitting their demo to Mr. Wrath and Siobhan shot to stardom overnight. It wasn’t long after the group’s first single, High-Ireland, took the number one spot on music charts around the globe; her social media presence became something that was required as opposed to tolerated, and her image was being captured by paparazzi no matter what burger joint or fast fashion store she was walking out of. Siobhan had it all.

During the year 2036, shortly after Blarney Stoned returned home from their first continental tour, Siobhan took a camping trip in the swamps of New Orleans. Much like a horror movie, Siobhan lost her way on the trip. Her gear disappeared bit by bit and it seemed that she was traveling in literal circles. The only constant in that trip was a lone black wolf that trailed her every move. It never made a threatening move, nor did it ever draw too close to her camp; it simply watched what she would do. On the last day, before her rescue, Siobhan fashioned a spear from a forgotten tree branch and wounded a lowely rabbit, providing her a meal for the first time in days. The wolf came to her fire that night and simply sat and watched her while she skinned her kill, then roasted and feasted upon the rabbit before passing out in the underbrush.

The next morning, the park rangers came across a sleeping Siobhan, offering her refuge and a return to civilization. The wolf followed her; much to the dismay to the park rangers, Siobhan insisted the wolf be allowed to stay. She was taken home that afternoon and the wolf stayed by her side every second.

Siobhan named that wolf Ebony for she was black as the night. To this day, Ebony stands guard at Siobhan’s side, through thick and thin.

Returning to civilization gave Siobhan a new lease on life, she was determined to live it all till there was nothing left to experience. Blarney Stoned began work on their sophomore album as soon as Siobhan was rescued and she took it all in stride. She bought a loft in NYC, just 60 minutes from the recording studio and only 15 minutes from the local forest preserve; the group met every day to refine their album, and it was released in the first quarter of 2038.

Aiden, Rowan, and Kyle all noticed the strange relationship that was blossoming between Siobhan and Ebony; to the point that Aiden penned a song on the group’s second album, The Children of Lir, about Siobhan and her wolf entitled Deserted and Derelict. The song told the story about an Irish Goddess abandoned by her divine parents and then, the goddess in question, was taken in by wolves; it was never released as a single, but often quoted as a fan favorite, especially among feminists.

The group departed on another Continental tour after the release of the second album and Siobhan took her wolf with her. Over the course of the journey, Siobhan had begun to lock herself alone in her room with Ebony. Upon questioning, she would later tell her bandmates that Ebony had begun to speak to her when the pair were alone. Ebony was said to have revealed ancient knowledge and myths to Siobhan, all of which were passed down from wolf to wolf. The other bandmates laughed it off, but Rowan Finnegan, who was just a groupie at that point, had believed every word that Siobhan spoke. The trouble was that the rest of Blarney Stoned, aside from Aiden, considered Rowan just as much of a cook as they did Siobhan.

Much like the previous tour, Siobhan found herself in a forest on the final day of the tour; although this time she was in Salem, Mass. The trees and the animals in the area sung in unison, seeming to be apart of a wider web of consciousness; Ebony beckoned Siobhan to accompany her into the depths of the woods and hunt the lesser creatures as the Queens of the forest would. Siobhan could hardly deny the call.

Although Siobhan possessed no preternatural skill, she hunted with excellence; pointing Ebony in the direction of every hiding hare and prancing faun. The woman stood above her wolven companion, who was feasting upon the gut of each lesser mammal in earnest, with a smug grin of satisfaction. She was no wolf, but it was hard not to feel a connection when the pair had worked so marvelously in tandem. When Ebony won, Siobhan won. It was also at that moment that a snowy white wolf showed up, no doubt drawn by the scent of blood and viscera.

Ebony snapped at the newfound male, fending for her prize; Siobhan only watched in fascination. The male and the female wolves each entered a dance, a contest of wills. Back and forth they snapped, nipping at the other’s neck, scattering back to a safe distance after. It truly was a dance, no matter what either wolf though; for Siobhan could hear their thoughts. It all ended within twenty minutes, each conceding to the other, both lapping at the sweet belly juice of the fallen fawn, Siobhan watching in wonder.

The white wolf followed Siobhan as well, she named it ‘Ivory,’ for its snow-white fur. It almost seemed predestined by fate, so long as Siobhan was concerned, that she should end up with a wolf so perfectly black and another so crisply white. It was almost like the yin-yang symbol, especially when one followed the other as they were prone to do.

Blarney Stoned came together for the third time, Aiden and Kyle’s relationship seeming to be on the uneasy ground; Siobhan had both wolves in tow. That junior album was met with the greatest level of success any group act could ask for, but it didn’t seem to be enough for Aiden and Kyle. Those two had often found themselves fighting and Siobahn had often found herself mediating between the two parties; it wasn’t that she felt the need to, but things had been going so well at that point. Why not try to preserve it?

In the end, no matter what Siobhan said, the pair had split due to private matters… She had tried to patch things up, but there was nothing for it. The paparazzi descended upon each member of Blarney Stoned and Siobhan couldn’t deal; in the past, she had always deflected and that had been enough. Not now. They wanted her thoughts, wanted to know the most intimate parts of her. It was almost too much to bear. Then Ebony and Ivory had beckoned to the backwoods of the Eastern Coast of the United States.

Siobhan spent a year and a day with the wolves. They had gathered an entire pack around them, Siobhan included, and roamed from North to South in search of prey and passing down the legends of the Wolf, stories not heard by any human mortal in over a millennia. Siobhan considered herself reborn by the lupine kind and refused to rejoin human society lest the wolves ask her to. At the end of that year and a day, Ebony and Ivory had approached Siobhan and told her it was time.

It was a rough transition for the ex-bassist, but after contacting her Grandmother and parents, things became easier. Within a month, Siobhan had a condo in San Diego and an agent bent on jumpstarting her career after the meltdown of Blarney Stoned. It didn’t take long before Siobhan was topping the ‘Top of the Pops’ chart in the UK and the height of the American charts with her lead pop-punk single, ‘Regulus and Remus.’ It was the beginning of a solo career the likes the world had never seen; Siobhan had taken her Irish roots and turned them into something decidedly American.

Over the next four years, Siobhan focused on her art at the behest of Ebony and Ivory. Siobhan made songs solely for the wolves and their kin; true to her aim, at every concert there seemed to be an uptick in ‘rough looking youths’ and a strong wolf presence outside of the concert grounds. Siobhan felt that her life’s work had to do with forming a ‘grand pack,’ but all of that changed after Ebony and Ivory informed her that things would be changing; Siobhan was destined to leave the continent in favor of the old USSR, the CCD. There she would embark upon a great destiny and ‘unite the wolves’ as no one had ever seen before.

Those ideas were not outside of Siobhan’s realm of scope, indeed she felt she would pursue the same dream, although in a different part of the world. The wooded areas of Russia were reputed to be wild and untamed, were they not? Just the place for Siobhan.

At this point, Siobhan had several different wolves following her; Ebony and Ivory leading the pack without a doubt. Taking all seven wolves with her, Siobhan began a world tour of her second pop-punk album, ‘Silver Skans;’ the final stop being Moscow.

Although fierce in their own right, Siobhan viewed the seven wolves as the ‘seven dwarves’ to her fairytale life. Ivory was Grumpy because he was found in Salem and always sour about something. Ebony was Happy because she was the first to change Siobhan’s life and always brought a smile to her face. Jayson was Sleepy because he was found in Massachusets and always seemed to be dozing no matter what one was doing. Mark, who was found in the hills of North Carolina, was Bashful because he always went along with whatever Siobhan said, and quite frankly, seemed to have a crush on her.

Angel, recruited in Los Angeles, was Sneezy because he seemed to be allergic to interaction with anyone no matter their species. Harley was Dopey because they found her in Florida and didn’t really seem to be paying attention to the matter at hand… ever. Last, but certainly not least was Evangeline as Doc, who acted ever the pack-mother and tended to everyone considered kin. It was all too ‘very on the nose’ for Siobhan, but it worked. The seven had come together to form a family; one that understood Siobhan more deeply than either one of her parents could.

Even Siobhan’s bandmates, whom she had known since high school, could not compare where the pack was concerned. Outside of her career and required social functions, Shobhan had become quite the recluse she chose instead to roam the forests with her pack, in search of prey and any whispers the woods might give. It proved a struggle to balance the two lives, but Siobhan saw her celebrity status as a natural evil. To enjoy the second life she craved, she would have to maintain her day job as a pop-punk star.

Siobhan has enjoyed great success in her solo music career, selling out every show on her Continental Stadium tour, far surpassing that of Blarney Stoned. Indeed, Siobhan’s name has become more well known that Aiden’s in this day and age. Upon landing in Russia, Siobhan has scattered her pack in search of that which she has been called to. Ebony and Ivory stay at her side, but the pair have proved adept at reading the Pattern. Siobhan finds herself at the heels of Aiden and Rowan Finnegan, wondering why fate has drawn them back together.