𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚖𝚊𝚐𝚒𝚌𝚒𝚊𝚗 𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚍𝚎𝚟𝚒𝚕 | closed

it totally up to you on the starter front

y e s they need to meet. ezra would probably try to ease his homocide times and help
or kill someone for him, who knows ]]

тαωηу｡。 so ill do a thing where he leaves and comes back, what should happen then
would samar still be there? ]]

no thats fine! i might not respond right away cause my back is sad ]]

Harlow Zima : Enchanter : Ashburn Park : Mentions Mateo

Harlow nodded, glancing aside to look thoughtful. “Yes, that’s quite helpful. I’m sorry if I wasted your time. I just realized I could just get cacti, huh? Better to be pricked than poisoned, I supposed. Higher shelving would work pretty well. Maybe a terrarium. Anyway, thank you. Nice to meet you, Mateo. Also thanks again for the meds. Fewer side effects than any non-magical ones I’ve tried. Your mentor and you have a gift there.” He offered a wave of goodbye and then he was off, purposefully using his hands this time to leave the shop. He usually felt safe letting his chair move by itself. Habit had made him go ahead earlier. Now he was grateful he generally still wore fingerless gloves.

He wondered if he guessed right that Mateo wouldn’t notice him, not really. Not remember him for long. Flattery would help that. It usually did. Especially for the young. Sure, Mateo was probably about the same age, but younger, but Harlow has the “gift” of velvety, supple skin that bruised and scarred something awful, but made him look permanently youthful himself. He was sure people would still be mistaking him for a freshman college student by the time he was 40. Ignoring the fact his joints ached like he was 60.

Luckily for him, it wasn’t far to the Ashburn Park Sade house. The sidewalk was pretty level too. In his mind, he considered what Mateo had said. He also remembered in his head a botany student in his year. Few people had gotten along with her. She’d talked to plants like they were people, so therefore she was “weird”. He’d just been curious. He remembered her complaining to him about how badly the college was landscaped and how poorly they managed weeds. “One time, I even saw people burn poison ivy! Can you believe that? They ended up in the hospital hacking up their lungs.” Poison ivy was everywhere and had no paper trail. That could work. Better than just inducing vomiting, certainly.

As is, the safehouse was also a front, a touristy mineral store called the Rock Shoppe. One he enjoyed, but he was pretty sure the owners disliked him. Maybe detested him. They had made a mistake. You were supposed to put all minerals through a test for magical energy. They had cut corners. Someone had been maimed, a faction member too. So now the owners, Debbie and Jonathan, owes them a great debt. One that couldn’t exactly be repaid in money.

Going through the door, he caught Debbie’s sour look. She was a heavier middle-aged woman, white but somehow almost always with a sunburn. Short puffs of blonde hair. As usual, she was wearing florals. He didn’t dislike her on the contrary. She knew an absurd amount regarding the minerals he frequently used. She was just cheap.

He looked into the glass cases. All kinds of jewelry, small polished stones, little carved stones like hearts or animals, even replica arrowheads. Around the front shop, there were larger pieces, geodes and abstract-shaped minerals. There were raw stones, pick your own from a heap in a wooden crate. Towards the back, the less visually interesting but rarer specimens.

“What do you want?” Debbie asked, retail voice inactive.

“How about some arrowheads?” he replied.

Not caring too much but also imagining enchanting them to be drawn through anything white. Like white suits. He just wasn’t sure what the collateral damage would be. He did still need to “buy” something. Less conspicuous. She just handed them over, huffing.

“Has anyone else been through?” he asked, looking at the curtain leading to the storage rooms and stairs.

“Just one. Left blood on the floor. Someone will clean that up, right?”

“Of course.” Probably not. “Anything else?”

Debbie handed him a slip of paper. He saw a familiar scrawl. To anyone else, it would make no sense, but he recognized the code. A place to regroup, he imagined. Surviving Ver Tahesh. This was good. They had to determine who all was now in charge and what their next plan would be. He just tried to ignore how many familiar faces he wouldn’t see again. Outside of a funeral, if they could even manage open casket.

“Thanks, Debbie.”

“Thank me by leaving us the hell alone.”

“I’ll make online orders, okay? We still need your help. You know why. If the Fourniers come here, or you see them, call. If you don’t—“

“I’m aware. Now get out.”

He got out. He took the time to drop by that overpriced cafe, get some food. Waited on a ride that would actually fit the wheelchair. He always wondered if the taxi or ride-share drivers were snitches, but he also realized as always, the wheelchair obscured him. Maybe it would be fine. He’d get himself dropped off a few blocks away. Then he’d see how many others had survived and gotten the message.

Edit: Phone spelling errors and re-read some prior posts for better context.

Jeanne Beck : Regeneration : Tenderloin

Jeanne was a big believer in balance. Most of the Spades knew it, especially the higher ups and her crew. By now, some would mockingly repeat back to her, “Three or more is competition. Two is war. One is dictatorship.” Unlike most, she wasn’t hugely ambitious about the Spades gaining more territory. This put her sometimes at odds with the leadership, but later sometimes they’d realize her restraint had been the better choice. Besides being somewhat unusually powerful for a Spade, this is what got her a spot above foot soldier. It had taken awhile. Well, awhile for her. She’d joined up as a teen with a spiked bag and wanted to rain destruction on those she hated. Eventually she’d learned patience. If she wanted power, she had to learn patience. She had to accept balance. They had vast numbers, sure, but running her crew as Captain was like herding cats. She could paraphrase too: “To keep a secret between two men, one man had to be dead.” She forgot who’d said that, but as it was? Their greater numbers meant secrets leaked like water through a sieve. It was difficult to accomplish anything. Eventually she’s gotten a more unique position: managing bodyguards for the higher ups, herself often joining them in that role. She also managed a larger crew, but the subset was easier to control. A few useful bruisers with fast reflexes and no issue taking a bullet if needed. Hard to find, but apparently being suicidally an adrenaline junkie wasn’t unique to her. They just had a bigger risk. Whereas sometimes she felt like those functionally immortal jellyfish. Nothing was big enough, daring enough, and now she was left being an often unheeded advisor.

She knew the Fourniers had been planning something. Their territories didn’t much overlap, but it was obvious. The rumor mill’s sense of impending doom has made her increase all security, try to stop up all the holes a killer could slip through here. Instead they’d just gone after Ver Tahesh first and Jeanne had the distinct impression the higher ups might have known, but avoided telling her. Because she knew well enough if that cult fell, the Fourniers would come after them next. There would be no peace. It would go from skirmishes and occasional deaths to war for them too. It was a bad plan. They should have aided Var Tahesh or at least meddled enough to hurt both of them. Instead the Shah was dead and a whole lot of them too, and if they didn’t bounce back, the Fourniers would have the option of eradicating the Spades bit by bit. They had numbers, sure, but they were disorganized. Easy to target. Easy to remove like ripping up dandelions from a lawn. The strategy had been ridiculous. Now some Spades were dead and she wasn’t sure where she stood with surviving leadership. The Fourniers did want everything.

Which was why she was pacing at one of the more important locations of the Tenderlion, waiting for audience with someone above her. Anyone. She doubted it would do anything, but she could yell enough to feel less awful. In the meantime, she was babysitting the teen daughter of one of them, Victoria. Kept away from the windows, busy on her smart phone SnapChatting and shopping for expensive foreign clothing apparently. Jeanne didn’t bother to stay away from the dirty windows. She watched the rooftops across. She looked down at the pothole dotted street, like pox marks, and the extensive littering. She eyed the buildings: bars from Irish to Western saloon, strip clubs, a casino, and currently dark clubs. People moved across the street, scurrying quickly like rats, and the cars slowly trudged through traffic, honking. In many ways, the Tenderloin was terrible. Somehow she could overlook it and consider how much better this was than the alternative. At least people were honest about their vices here. They didn’t lie and try to avoid the fact they enjoyed losing all their money on blackjack or finding a woman in leather boots who’d whip them until they bled. Honesty was the best policy, wasn’t it? She accidentally knew far, far too much, but at least she knew. Like she knew Victoria was being babysat because she’d had a “pregnancy scare” with some dealer and Daddy wasn’t happy. So now Jeanne has one of the most boring jobs in one of the most vicious but interesting recent wars. It was pathetic. They needed to let her do something. Maybe since Ver Tahesh was laid low, they could offer help at a steep price. Gain more ground in Radial City and the Bowery. She had so many ideas if someone would just listen. The problem was, of course, no Spade wanted to work with VT and the Fourniers had already began their grab. She wasn’t sure if they could avoid dictatorship now. Especially with that sniper they now had hold over. Somehow Jeanne also doubted they’d just let her go try and get rid of that problem. It was a pity. She felt pretty murderous today. It was an ongoing massacre. It had to be stopped. Balance had to be returned, even if the city was always unsteady, this was far worse.

my back is better than yesterday but we shall see

youre doing a lot of work and i thank you for that, it means a lot
unfortunately with these sorts of things, you know, it might be overwhelming or too much lit requirement for people
thank u for the compliment! ]]

collided, do you want to do something with my other character Pryderi? He's an accountant for the Fouriners and in his late 60's.

(No worries I've taken a few days to reply before.)

(Less so information, but more so to meet up with the other Ver Tahesh. Maybe. Assuming it wasn’t a tea if someone wants it to be.

True. He’s fairly resourceful, but also I’m probably going to have it be like one of the few trusted people whose company he enjoyed died...days ago? So beyond Riven, he’s just personally upset. I’m also unsure exactly how much information he’d have. Having only one other VT character insofar has made me have to guess a lot lol. Also on phone so harder to check back. What timeline and info should he have atm?

Also lol over poor Isaac. I’ll try to reply with him soon. Hurry up and wait at airport but I’ve got two hours so assuming I can make my blood pressure stop freaking out, I’ll be able to think IC.)

(Oh yeah, true. It’s not like he wants for money. He’s got the cash lol. I guess he could try seeking out the Serpent first rather than go to any supposed meeting? Not exactly a strict timeframe there, I’d wager. “If you aren’t dead, get in contact.” Time to make sure he had some idea of what he was rolling into. Coup? Trap? Actual honest for once attempt at regrouping without (probably painful) loyalty test? Heh.)

Isaac Garcia : Animal Magic : Bowery : Mentions Kai Nicollier

As he was waiting for his order to come up, he’d glanced back over towards the shadowy stranger only to have his heart lurch in his chest. At first, all he could notice was what appeared to be a wolf shadow puppet. He stepped back. He felt rather than saw his nails thicken and darken, turning toward claws, and he scrambled for pockets. No pockets. Armpits then, like his arms were crossed. He tried to take deep breaths, try to ignore the fact his teeth had lengthened and his irises were probably larger. Nobody would notice. Everyone only focused on themselves in the city. Except this guy because...Isaac had looked at him? Noticed him? Apparently that was enough but how the hell did he know? There was no way he could know, right? He hadn’t told anyone except his boss? Right?

Again he had to be reminded he had ordered coffee. He grabbed his order, ignoring receding claws and the heat of the paper cup, and weighed his options. Instinct suggested he should either punch the guy or run, but those weren’t normal human behaviors. Even here. The city was weird, but still. He also obviously couldn’t punch someone because gangs were everywhere and he’d end up arrested or, you know, very dead. So he had to pretend it was totally fine this stranger was doing a magic show. Everyone had magic. Maybe the guy just liked wolves. Wolves were cool. Lots of people liked them. Coincidence.

Still some anger kept him on edge. He wouldn’t sit with his back to the guy, or the door. He’d intended to just leave. Now he felt trapped, and angry. It was a distraction but the fight/flight was overlapping with something else, some hehe to run but run in a specific direction. He needed to stay here. He needed to keep the distraction going. Keep the bond feeling weak, like a thread rather than a rope dragging him along. So he sat at a table near the strange shadow puppet guy and just nodded at him in greeting.

“Nice trick,” he said, voice unsteady, too rough. “Fan of wolves?”

His teeth normal again but something felt wrong. Deeply wrong. Churning in his gut. Maybe that bone hadn’t agreed with his linked dog. Or maybe it was the stress. He had a lot of the stress. He was sweating some even in this air conditioned building, but at least he could still sweat. He’s felt almost as if he’d turn completely like he was a kid, that he wouldn’t have been able to hold back the tide. His heart was still beating too fast. Not the caffeine he’d already got in. His drink wouldn’t help, sure, but whatever. Didn’t matter. The iron taste was coming back so he ripped off a piece of the scone to eat.