NationStates Jolt Archive

Rasputin extended a hand to the Argonian. "You must forgive my friend-this miscreant is holding his wife hostage, and it puts him on edge.

"Let us continue uninterrupted, and I promise a full explanation afterwards." Rasputin doubted the authority of Catawaba in Carnivaal, but he would turn his own talents to dismissing the stagehands if need be.

The Argonian was an authority in his own jurisdiction, however, and Ten's feelings to the contrary, no one here had legal authority-the stagehands might be cowed, might be dominated to leave and forget, but the Argonian was Black Shield, and that order took a dim view of manipulating it's agents. He would have to be handled with care, and invited in-his uncorrupted acquiescence to the pair's doing would be all that would save them...

Damned throatlickers just don't know when to shut up, like the world wants to hear their jawin'. Ten glared at the vampire. If he'd wanted to give out that piece of information, he would have.

He turned his attention back down to the mage. "This ain't about she bein' my wife. Nooo...if it were about that, then this would get personal and a lot more ugly." Ten raised up his left boot and then stepped down on the man's knee. "Now, you return her right this instant, you rank heap of pucky, in the same condition or better that you took her, or I swear as sure I love her I will make your end as painful and slow as possible."

He leaned heavily on the foot on the man's knee as he lowered himself towards the big man. "I've got more then a hundred and sixty years on the Lord's earth, and by God, I've seen a wretched bit of what folk can do to each other with a bit o'time an' ingenuity."

Well to be precise none of the three currently gathered about the writhing Sovrein were legal in Carnival.

"Git yerselves the Hell out."

The roustableouts didn't back off at Ten's growled suggestions - all of the large, hard muscled men were ex or part time mercinaries - hired specifically to work for the Dark Hunters Gala because so many of the various acts had ...hazzardous materials. Those asswigned to the Circus of Blood were the rougher end of the spectrum and all were armed, if not quote of the caliburs favored by the trio of interlopers, at least with enough to get the job done. Sawed off shotguns were a favorite. They didn't much care about colateral damage

And now the low voiced converstations among them contained an ugly note.

No realLEO's about, just weird strangers, blood spilt, assault and injuries to one of those that had given them tips for the little extra's they performed...and many with no few jolts of chemical courage - or worse - up their noses. This last would prove to be a major problem for any vampiric exercise of Domination.

There were over a dozen of them and only three of strangers. Things were turning ugly. The biggest, and generally leader of the pack growled back "No that's our act you are disrupting and" He looked at his buds and snickered "the show must go on"

The moon was losing its grip over Heathstepper. The young werewolf could still feel the presence of the Bolverk, even if the dwarf wasn’t it site. It spoke volumes about creature’s abilities that the apparently crippled enforcer was able to keep pace with Heathstepper, even when the tortuous route the werewolf was following had been half-consciously thought of in order to through its pursuer off. Heathstepper didn’t want the pack to know where the hotel it was using as a lair was, but any such hope was probably futile, even without being tracked by the dwarf.

The route took the lycanthrope over roof-tops and back down in to alleys, avoiding any encounters with humans as much as possible. The animals hunted after the Ulfric’s warning had doused the need to kill, but steering clear of humans removed any possibility of temptation and breaking the alpha wolf’s order. The constant gaze of the enforcer kept Heathstepper toeing the line, too.

Heathstepper half-climbed, half-dropped down in to an alley way from the roof above. A mangled body lay in the alleyway, the corpse of one of the werewolf’s attackers from earlier in the night. A few bin-bags were moved aside and ferreted under, and the werewolf’s pistol was located. It was covered in rubbish but the werewolf picked it up in its mouth, wrinkling its nose at the taste and smell. The bags were then torn apart and the contents liberally sprayed all over the alley as the werewolf tried to hide the body as well as its own scent. With that done, Heathstepper then moved quickly out of the alley and back on its way, tension building in it as wolf in it was beginning to recede.

Whether or not the hotel manager cared about having a supernatural creature as a guest wasn’t something that Heathstepper cared about as it felt itself begin to change. It then scaled the wall of the hotel and made its entered its room via the window. Once inside, the werewolf dropped the filthy pistol on the floor and collapsed on the bed, finally embracing the move back towards humanity.

Rasputin tucked his firearm away and raised both arms. "Gentlemen, " he began, leisurely walking away, pausing between the two tiger cages, all eyes on him as he projected Harmless and Passive to them. "There is no need for threats and recriminations-our business here is not to disrupt your show."

His hands slowly lowered, resting on the tops of the small cages. "I believe the audience should like a bit of bang for their buck, and certainly deserves amusement."

In one swift movement, he grabbed the locks on the cages, willing his Blood to his arms, and shredded the locks like so much moldy cheese. As the doors swung open, the Mad Monk smiled. "I am certain the audience will enjoy their animal act." then to the tigers, "Feed."

Had the tigers been well-kept and cared for, they'd have shied from the vampire's unnatural presence, and simply needed rounding up. The Sovereign did not particularily care for his charges-they were lean and athirst, and had learned from their keeper to hate Man...

The tigers never moved, but kept their amber eyes on something just this side of the vampire. Then Rasputin felt something very definite. A sharp, firm kick to the shins.

Mari stood before him, all four foot eight of furious ghost - a fearsome scowl on her face "You leave our tigers alone!" She exclaimed - or her lips did though no sound came out. She pronounced every word distinctly so her lips could be easily read. "Or you Will regret it." And her meaning was crystal clear as the door swung closed with a loud clang.

David doubled over with soundless laughter - then Mari appeared nent to him and he straightened. Both turned their attentions to the two half grown tigers, soothing them with gentle stroking. David shot the vampire a look that was as stern and unfriendly as Mari's had been then ignored him.

No one was going to be allowed to manipulate their tigers. And the next attempt would let the fool who tried it find out just how lethal the ghosts could be.

"Oh he thinks he's a tough guy, flaking out fake locks and setting tigers on us...NOT!" The ringleader roared "Get them boys!"

And the gang of toughs descended upon the three strangers...

All fourteen of them set on the three, pulling out shivs, escrima sticks, knuckle dusters, knives of various sorts as well as the afore mentioned sawed off shot guns - in this case the venerable but still so very lethal Ithaca Model 37 12 gage - The Stakeout Version (http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Image:Ithaca_37.jpg) which had had it's short barrel shortened even further in the cut down.

Rasputin rolled his eyes-ghosts were petty annoyances at best, and this pair seemed typical. He turned his attention to the lumbering mob, snarling: "At me, fools! At me!"

Their bullets and scattershot tore into his undead flesh, generating a spray of blood and smoke from his flesh. Yusupov had tried the same when the monk was alive, and while it stunned him, it did not keep him down. (OOC:According to eyewitness reports, at least)

This time, it didn't even stun him...

The werewolf rose from his bed and stretched extensively. Joints all over Heathstepper’s body popped and clicked, protesting about having to stir so early after changing back in to a human. A busy day lay before him, especially since he dared not keep the Ulfric waiting. He wasn’t sure what time this “Lupinar” took place, but the young werewolf was going to be sure he was there early. Every little helped when other people were going to decide on your fate, and keeping them waiting would probably add to the long list of black marks Heathstepper had already managed to accrue from a day and a night in Carnival.

“Shit.”

The room was looking somewhat trashed. There were even muddy paw prints leading from the window to the bed. One of the balding towels provided by the hotel was used to scrub them out of the carpet. The bed-clothes were a write-off. The domestic staff of the hotel were not going to be happy. Heathstepper shrugged to himself. It was a cheap hotel anyway. He quickly showered and pulled on some clothes before picking up his revolver. The gun was filthy and had tooth-marks in the wood of the grip. He cursed himself for his stupidity. Heathstepper cleaned the gunk out of the gun as best he could and extracted the spent casings, hoarding the .455 cases. He reloaded it and shoved a handful of bullets in to a pocket. The werewolf debated with himself over whether to take the gun. It might be looked on as untrustworthy by the Lupinar, but Heathstepper guessed he’d probably pissed off a few people over the course of the night, so it was better to be safe than sorry. Hopefully he could drop it as soon as he was in the area and pick it up later.

Heathstepper left his room and made his way out of the hotel. He gave the desk clerk a nod as he left, but the man just gave him a surly look and said nothing. He lit a smoke as he strode out on to the street, taking a long drag and exhaling deeply. If there was one problem with being a smoker and a werewolf, it was the massive nicotine withdrawal whilst in wolf-form. Heathstepper retraced his steps from the night before, making his way back towards the alley, above which was the room where he had met the Kitsune. The creature’s magically-placed offer was in the forefront of the werewolf’s mind and he was intrigued as to what the reward might be.

Circus of Blood

Rasputin's apparent invulnerability didn't phase his attackers much - they were used to concealed body armor. The greater majority of the gang swarmed over him, but some headed for Ten - Vorn was relegated to one who more seemed to be interested in keeping him from interfering with the others than engaging in mano a mano combat with the Argonian.

Heathstepper

The young werewolf really should have been more careful in the wee hours just before dawn when it returned to its room. His actions had been noted, and not just by the Bolverk. Now those observant eyes narrowed in a speculative, greedy gaze as their owner trailed the man.

His nose wrinkled at the cigarette smoke, but he supposed that a werewolf, a real live actual man eating werewolf, wouldn't worry too much about cancer. But if he were carefull and quick he'd have his commission before noon, and he could indulge in his favorite vice, whiskey. The man carefully - he had been a soldier once, trained to hunt other men in wild and unpleasant places, tailed his prey and caressed the tranq pistol in the pocket of his long, shabby trench coat. A pistol with considerably more lethal rounds was snug in a shoulder holster.

He was pleased to see his target heading into one of the least populous areas of the city, one where those who inhabited it minded their own business.

With a great booming laugh, Rasputin faced the mob-the first was stunned with a double clap on the sides of the man's head, then they were upon him. One fell to a quick kidney punch, another mocked the monk:
"Not so tough, huh?"
"Let me show you something Ric Flair taught me..." Rasputin calmly said as he jammed a thumb in the stagehand's eye.
They swarmed, so many-but the Mad Monk had been in mobs before, and his undead nature made much of their attempts futile. It would be tricky-keeping them focussed, keeping them from running.
Rasputin hadn't had so much fun since the October Revolution.

The building had no access from the alleyway. Or, at least, none that weren’t either bricked or boarded up. The windows on the ground floor were protected by bars or covered by chipboard from the inside. It was, all in all, a bit of a shit-hole. Heathstepper ran a hand through his hair as he stood in the alley, surveying the building. He didn’t like coming back to the alley, especially since further down it was the body of one of his victims during the night. It hadn’t been well covered with garbage, and he felt stupid coming back to it. It was asking for trouble.

He drew on the cigarette and flicked it away to land in a puddle. He had a feeling that he was being watched, but put it down to the Bolverk still following him. Heathstepper didn’t think that anyone else had seen him going back to his hotel room, and guessed that the shrunken enforcer would probably still be keeping tabs on him, in case he did anything that the Ulfric wouldn’t approve of.

The werewolf wandered around to the front of the building. It was similarly boarded up, but people had obviously been able to find their way in to it before, as there was graffiti visible on the inside as well as higher up. He looked over his shoulders, making sure there was no one around, before scrambling over the fence that surrounded the building on the street side. It was the work of moments to pry out some of the boards across the door.

Ten had a string of curses and rebukes that he wanted to lay on the Monk. If Rasputin was representative of the Russian spirit, there was no wonder why the country was and had always been screwed up. As much as he wanted to curse he only had time for, "Hell's bells."

Most of the baker's dozen was intent on making sure the vampire stayed down, which at the moment was right fine with Ten. One was going after the Argonian, poor bastard just walked into this one...show him for pulling that 'I have jurisdiction over the situation now' bull. The rest were coming straight for him. The beast, aching, slathering for a fight, was cowed pushed back as old instincts honed for over a hundred years took hold.

His yellow iris drained away to grey and his cat slits widened into cold, human circles. Ten's thumb flicked upwards on the crest of the LeMat's hammer. The firing pin swung into its downward position, and Ten snapped the heavy pistol from his thigh and squeezed the trigger. The wide lower barrel of the dual barreled pistol roared from his hip. The 16 gauge silver double-ought buckshot buzzed out towards its target.

Ten dropped his hold on the kavikak to bring his hand around to fan the trigger back, doing so he snapped the firing pin back in the position to fire the .44 rounds from the LeMat's main barrel. Still from the hip, he shifted his barrel over instinctually and squeezed the trigger, sending a forty-four slug at the gut of the next man. Like a machine he fanned the trigger again, swung the barrel to the next roustabout, and fired. He fanned the trigger again, but this time brought the LeMat up to eye level, sighted down the top of the pistol at the man with the shotgun that had the clearest shot at him, and squeezed the trigger.
In the space of a couple of breaths, a handful of seconds, old instincts and reflexes unmarred by time and increased by feline blood allowed him to fire four shots from his pistol. He hadn’t been famous as a lawman back in the cowtowns. He’d never stayed, couldn’t stay, in one place long enough to garner the attention of dimestore novelists, but he’d left every town clean and with a few more piles of rocks in the local Boot Hill.

Tin star wasn’t so wide spread just as a joke about the material of frontier lawmen’s badges. It was supposed to be an ironic comparison. But…most people just forgot the Ten Starr it they were talking about and the way his name was spelled.

Heathstepper

With prudent caution Heathstepper's follower waited until the wary young man had pried the boards aside and appeared to be about to enter before coming closer around the back towards the front of the building. He could afford to hang back at this time, be cautious, since he now had his preys destination. He listened at one of the semi boarded up windows, trying to hear what the werewolf was doing within.

Vampires usually shy away from violence, despite their many advantages. The reason is quite simple, really-a human can be heroic, because he's only putting three score and five years on the line, at best, while a vampire is risking forever. For the vampire, the stakes are too high.

The longer a vampire lives, the more this simple fact becomes ingrained in his psyche, and resultingly, the older the vampire, the more likely they are to flee a conflict, no matter what their advantages.

There are exceptions, of course-the ancient Am-senef would throw himself into a fight joyfully at any time, to prove his worthiness to command the Hierophants of his dark sect, to pull upon himself the loyalty of his minions, and (most of all, if truth be known) because it was fun.

Rasputin had nearly a century as one of the undead-not nearly long enough to develop this caution, and truthfully, he doubted he would bother-endless time as a parasite and observer didn't suit him one bit.

Besides, his many attackers were largely getting in each others' way, and while they swarmed him, his dead carcass was as strong as it could mechanically be. The hard part was keeping his demon controlled in such revelry.

Each vampire was powered by a demonic force that required blood, life-force, or what-have-you. Certain Asian varieties fed on spinal fluid, breath, or body temperature-others on feces and equally distasteful materia. This demon was controlled by the psyche of the vampire, a bit of lingering soul that refused to perish with the body. One wag had likened a vampire to the spiritual equivalent of a roach motel, and this joke, like all jokes, held a kernel of truth.

There was a demon inflaming Rasputin, giving him post-mortem mobility and enhancing powers he held in life, and this struggle was enflaming it, making it wish to engorge itself on his foes.

Foolish, really-Rasputin had a taste for shapeshifters and their kin, and would never eat such as these stagehands, no matter how dire his circumstances. His chosen prey was not opposed to him at the moment, so he exulted in his physical prowess, striking out with mighty blows designed to incapacitate, but not kill.

Past experience had taught him how difficult it was to leave a living friend over a friend's corpse, and he wished to focus every animosity of the stagehands on himself, and make them reluctant to leave. Striking out at less than full strength was simple, as he really didn't need to aim-without a friend in the huddle, how could he miss?

When Ten's gun sounded, sending it's shot scattering through backstage, he lifted himself from his revelry and yelled, "Shouldn't you be taking that fool somewhere private? I have this." He then muttered darkly so only Ten's enhanced hearing could pick up. "Honestly-some people have no idea what to do with a diversion."

The werewolf’s shoed feet crunched over broken glass and other detritus that covered the floor of the presumably abandoned building. It was the sort of place that was used by junkies to shoot up and then sit around and watch the colours dance in their minds, or colonised by squatters. Either of those groups wouldn’t give a trespasser much trouble, so long as they kept themselves to themselves.

Even though he was confident in his abilities to keep out of the way of any other occupants of the building or beat them in a physical confrontation, Heathstepper still moved with caution. There could be other things that didn’t take kindly to being disturbed, and the young werewolf didn’t wish to get in to an argument with a vampire or any other supernatural creature lying up for the night. There were also more practical considerations; the abandoned building could be in such a state of disrepair that parts of it could give way.

He made his way along a few corridors as littered with rubbish as the entrance way before he located the stairs. The room the kitsune had occupied had been on the second floor, so Heathstepper plodded on upwards, still oblivious to the fact that he had been followed to this building. The werewolf tracked down the room the Kitsune had used, and opened the door.

Circus of Blood

The mano a mano fight might not have caught the attention of the crowd out front, but the roars of shotguns and the lethal bellow of the Le Matt most certainly did. And as is all but stereotypical, the crowd began a most bovine response - they stampeded, pushing their way over - trampling with utter callus disregard -any one slow enough or foolish enough to not herd with them. Then came the gridlock at the doors and loud, panicky cries rose from those 'trapped'.

Back stage four dropped groaning in pain - the first from a set of 16 gauge buckshot in his beer gut, the next two finding that .44 rounds also equal one big belly ache. The last - the round piercing his chest and exploding his heart in thorough, final and messy fashion -toppled backwards, the shotgun in his hands discharging harmlessly into the high over head rafters and currently empty catwalks,

Those about the towering vampire too were beginning to fall, laid low by his massive blows - many still wondering why their blows weren't laying him out - as the would have anyone else so buffeted and ganged up upon.

Heathstepper

The door that he opened look just like every other door - on the outside. And though he did not know it would have only opened for him.

Inside wsa a whole different proposition. The large room was not empty as it had been last night. Now now it was as if from a palace some place exotic. The walls and floor of a rich dark wood, the ceiling a crystal dome letting in a flood of warn sunlight. Along one wall corner stood an immense hand carved opium bed (http://lh5.ggpht.com/_BoutnEd6Ddg/Ri2YCZp2mhI/AAAAAAAABRI/zjVxf5ho09U/s720/IMG_0755.jpg) it’s silken curtains tied back..

Nari sat in an thickly cushioned peacock chair (http://www.propshopuk.com/media/Peacock_chair.jpg), reading a large leather bound tome, which she sat aside as Heathstepper entered. “I’m glad you came back. I will admit to wondering if you would”

Wanda's (http://www.atddm.com/wanda1.jpg) very genuine smile brought out her dimples."Why thank you Charon. It really was my pleasure" Wanda was a little too young to be top tier yet, but she was firmly on the way up- even though she was only twenty seven. Most courtesans didn't make second tier, ever, but under that mop of silky golden hair lay a college educated mind. Not too far in the future a day of her time would command several thousand dollars - if she'd agree to see you. And that did not necessarily mean she'd end up in bed with you either.

Charon had been quite inclined to praising Wanda during their little bout of lovemaking which they just had but he wasn't doing it merely to make her feel like she had been good. Indeed, he loved the experience of sleeping with Wanda. She was one of those rare gems a man would find in his life; it wasn't likely that you'd find many girls such as Wanda, Charon thought, as he talked to her with a smirk. "You were just marvelous, Wanda. I wouldn't be surprised if a man came in here and specifically asked for you on a regular basis. In fact, I may just end up being that man."

"I'd be delighted to be a second helping." She stroked a hand down his arm. She'd enjoyed his fierce passion, and his intent to make sure she enjoyed herself. Wanda liked sex, alot, but many of her patrons did not think to see past their own pleasures. A parton like Charon was a gift to be appreciated.

Charon grinned before he proceeded to chivalrously ravish Wanda with the same passion he had used on the first. The tongues danced, pleasure echoed through the room and all was history once again.

She looked up at him from under thick lashes and her voice was just a little shy. "Charon, might I" and she moved close to his ear and whispered "might I kiss you" And he should know she meant on the lips - earlier she had laid many a passionate kiss across the hard muscled planes of his body, but not on the lips...

"Be my guest, dear Wanda, for you've earned it."

Charon smiled. He didn't mind letting Wanda kiss him. In fact, he was starting to like this girl a lot. "Wanda, I think I must get going. My ward's probably waiting for me to return. Don't think, though, that I'll forget you. In fact, I'll probably be back again. If you live in some house here in Carnival, mind if I have the address?"

[OOC: Still stalling for time...]

How long had she been here?

No sun, no moon, she didn't have a watch. It was cold. She could have been here a few minutes. A few hours. Jota didn't work linearly, not the same as in the Living Realm. She hadn't slept yet. She didn't feel she needed to...she assumed it was still within the first day.

But that wasn't a reliable notion, she heard her doubt whispering. Again, Jota, magik...it didn't have to make sense. She may not have to sleep...get to sleep here. Forever awake in this bland hell.

She shivered.

The words about her still made no sense. She couldn't find anyone but knew that others were here.

Mira, please.
Mira, please, Laar'a begged.

The change from the decrepit corridor, with its peeling paint, broken windows and detritus scattered liberally along it to the luxurious surroundings of the room took Heathstepper entirely off guard. His jaw dropped open and he took an involuntary step backwards. He looked at the corridor outside and then back in to the room. The difference between the two, and the room itself from the previous night, was astounding and spoke of the kitsune’s power.

“Err…” The werewolf found himself somewhat tongue-tied. The modifications made to the room had probably been done in order to awe him with a display of power, and it had succeeded quite well.

“I’m glad you came back. I will admit to wondering if you would”

The sound of Nari’s voice broke the sense of wonder Heathstepper felt at the changes worked on the room. He looked around the room once again, before his eyes settled on the kitsune occupying the elaborate chair. The magically-implanted memory from the previous night surfaced again.

“I remember you saying you wanted a guide to the Lupinar. It’s kind of your lucky day, really. I’ve been contacted by the local pack and they want to see me, primarily about my… indiscretions from the previous night.” Heathstepper paused for moment before continuing. “I don’t know if you still want me to be your guide, as I’m not currently in the best of standing in their eyes. Some of that may attach to you if you go with me now, but I’d be more than happy if you came with me.”

OOC: We're moving on here.

Circus of Blood

The brick wall acting as a roustabout currently keeping an eye on Vorn winched as four of his fellows fell from heavy gun fire and others from the massive fists of the one he realized they should have stood back and filled full of lead. He has to be wearing some kick ass body armour though[i] the wall thought as he flinched at the ear hurting booms of the Le Matt. [i]An my bro's aint, damn! He found himself very glad the one he was blockading seemed sensible enough to not want to wade into the hurdy gurdy free for all around the giant. He might have liked a good fight but this one was turning not so good rapidly!

Sovrein took advcantage of Tens distraction to begin a quick chant under his breath. He didn't have a wide range of quick cast arcana, but thouse he did have were rather potent. If the hick tried hurting him with that strange spear again, he'd learn a nasty lesson or two. Though he was dismayed to reali8se that his shielt that normall enveloped him stopped short of his knees, where said hick had one boot firmly planeted. He just knew he ws going to be sporting a large bruise - though it would be but one among many - tomorrow.

Before the mustaqchioed man turned back it was done, his shield was up again!

Heathstepper

The modifications hadn't been done to awe him, just to give Nari a comfortable place to stay. It was one of a kitsunes basic abilities.

To a kitsune, their illusions are reality. What they make, for them, and for others, is as real as anything found or crafted in nature. Anything that a kitsune builds, or transforms, becomes what the kitsune desires. A kitsune can make people, animals, and objects, which can not be distinguished from the real thing. The more kitsune team up to make things, the more can be made. A handful of kitsune can build a city if they desired.

"I will then go with you, and give you what commendations I can. It does you honor to admit your transgressions may have put you in disfavor. " Nari replied with a nod as she stood and settled her kimono about her, steadying the katana that suddenly appeared in her broad obi with a sure hand.

“I will then go with you, and give you what commendations I can. It does you honor to admit your transgressions may have put you in disfavor.”

The werewolf grinned slightly at being called honourable. If there was one thing that Heathstepper wouldn’t have said he was, and that was honourable. He possessed a somewhat broken sense of right and wrong, especially since he had no qualms about killing humans when in wolf-form. He’d never killed anyone in human form as far as he was aware, usually preferring to keep a low profile and not draw any attention to himself in order to make hunting easier.

“Thanks. I’m not sure how well any commendations will go down,” Heathstepper said, shrugging. “After all, I’m new here, and I assume you must be as well, if you need directions to their pack meeting.” He mentally supposed that the Lupanar probably wasn’t something that was advertised widely, so conceivably the kitsune could have been in Carnival a lot longer than Heathstepper had been but needed a werewolf to act as guide. It was slightly ironic that she’d found one that was being dragged before the meeting as a wrong-doer, then.

“My name’s Heathstepper, by the way.” It was a bit of a curt introduction, considering this wasn’t the first time they’d met and she’d obviously gone to some trouble in order to get the young werewolf to return. “I’m ready to go whenever you are.” He raised an eyebrow at the appearance of the katana, but supposed that given the power the creature already had displayed, whoever got in the way of the katana-wielding woman would have their arses kicked as surely as being shot at.

Ten looked down as he felt a burst of magik, hackle rasing dark magik at that, at his feet. He looked down and saw the mage's shield back up but neglecting to cover the leg below where Ten had his boot planted.

He'd seen what the shield could do, seen what'd it done to Rasputin, and he had more than his fair share of run ins with dark magik over the years. He looked from the man's leg to his smug face.

"Give me back my wife, ya smug bastard." Ten growled, cocked his LeMat, and squeezed the trigger, firing a heavy forty-four slug at the man's naked foot.

Prematurely smug?

Maybe.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Even as Laar'a begged for her Matron, she felt an answer. Thunderous roars rent through the murmurming, and she could feel the comforting connection she'd felt all her life until coming here return. She shivered, unwiling to move. It was another trick of this place.

She wasn't here.

She shouldn't be here.

"Child?" A resonant female's voice toned in her head.

Deny her sound and then treat her with ghosts. She wasn't here.

A leathery, scaled jaw rubbed against her. "Child of Mine?"

Laar'a did not move, but the connection felt stronger, surer. She didn't open her eyes. There would be nothign to see.

But a warm, so unlike this realm, bulk settled around her, curling to surround her. "Child of Mine, open your eyes. Look at me, please?"

Laar'a unconsciously snuggled against the warmth of the scales around her. She opened her eyes and lifted her narrow vornskr head. Mira, in her full saurian glory, lay curled about her. The Matron lizard looked down at her alor through golden eyes. "Why, Child of Mine? Child of Song? I know your heart, but do not risk yourself for me." She lowered her large snout to Laar'a head and brought it sharply down swat the little vornskr.

"I have enough martyrs....I cannot bear anymore." Mira intoned sadly. She lowered head back around Laar'a to shield her view of the misty realm. All the vornskr could see was green scales and leathery skin. It brought a large amount of comfort in this uncomforting land.

Mira's outward eye traveled the mists. "I may free you from this realm. Your mate may do it first, and I will leave the struggle first to him. He is capable and brave...a true son, were he mine....you chose well, Child of Mine. We shall wait...this realm is not mine and my power is not so great here, but I will not abandon you." She kept her golden eye fixed on the mists, watching.

Charon

"Don't think, though, that I'll forget you. In fact, I'll probably be back again. If you live in some house here in Carnival, mind if I have the address?"

The second ravishing had been even more splended than the first - which had been wonderful. As had the kiss, something she very seldom bestowed upon any one.

Wanda thought , bringing her thoughts to bear on her instinctual 'feel' for her savior, and nodded slowly. Now he wouldn't hurt her, and she found she truly did want to see him again, get to know him better. Quickly she pulled out an introduction card of heavy ivory hued stock and simple but elegant lettering engraved in brown ink.

Her address was in one of the best neighborhoods to be found on the south side.


Heathstepper

“My name’s Heathstepper, by the way.”

The kitsune gave a small, polite bow. "I am pleased to make your aquaintance Heathstepper. I am Kaminariko. Please call me Nari though."

"And yes I am new to Carnival, and given that in most places the Loupe are second only to the Gaki as powers" She shrugged. She prefered to not inadvertantly insult thoughs that might make her stay less than pleasant.

"Please lead the way"

Circus of Blood

The smug look was gone in an instant - Sovrein screamed loudly, but it really didn't carry over the hysteria sweeping the vast building. His fist swing out flailing more or less randomly and smacked hard into the side of Tens near leg.

Those trying to fell Rasputin had mostly fallen, victims to the mad monks powerful blows. Other back stage were simply trying to keep out of the way of the group of trouble makers, and those out froint simply trying to get out.

Save for the odd one here and there too blotto to even move under their own power

The werewolf, feeling slightly self-conscious, returned the bow. He wasn’t quite sure how to act, as his contact with nodded and turned on his heel towards the door, once again marvelling at the stark contrast between the room in which Nari had taken up residence and the corridor outside. He didn’t look back to see if the kitsune was following him, just assuming that she was doing so. Heathstepper picked his way back through the abandoned building towards the entrance he had forced in the boards that blocked up the doorway. He considered asking the kitsune why she was in Carnival, but supposed it was not really his business, especially since it would probably mean countering some awkward questions in response.

The pair progressed in silence towards the exit from the building. As they got to the exit, Heathstepper stopped and cautiously looked around. He wasn’t sure which was the way to the Lupanar – if he’d been told whilst he’d been transformed he couldn’t remember it. He shrugged to himself. Heading back towards the warehouse that’d he encountered the Ulfric and his two lieutenants in seemed the best bet. The werewolf, standing in the doorway, turned towards Nari.

“I’m going to go to where I met the local pack leader last night, unless you’ve got any better ideas as to where the local pack would hang about.”

Vorn had watched the ensuing brawl, more out of spite to Ten's arrogant attitude than anything. While Argonians had no supernatural abilites other than a slight edge over most other species physically and through much larger adrenal glands, they were a primal race and always had been. Humans had had many centuries to work out their more violent tendencies and become 'civilized'. The Argonians on the other hand were more or less thrown out of their isolation by slaver parties and it had only been a slippery downhill slope from there, and at the bottom lay the Modernization.

It was akin to what had happened in Africa around a hundred years ago. The natives had been more than content to kill eachother with whatever they had handy, and then guns had been introduced to simplify all-out genocide. Even with the proliferation of the AK-47 in mankind's birthplace, the machete was still by far the most popular implement of death. The Africans had had a lot longer than the Argonians to establish themselves as 'civilized folk'. The Modernization had brought a nation of proud warrior-hunters into the modern age, replacing the spear and the knife with the assault rifle and other modern tools of death and destruction.

And the humans thought Africa was bad. The most popular of Argonian emotions were lust and aggression, the most primal of thoughts. Warrior cults still exsisted in large numbers in the Black Marsh, and a few of their tendencies and practices had been absorbed into certain government agencies. If Vorn was any indication, the practice of marking one's kills as tattoos had carried over into his parent organization, and God only knew what else...

"Okay, bud. Now's a really good time to step out of my way..."

The thug simply ignored him, turning to watch the rest of the melee. Vorn's eyes narrowed and his blood began to boil with an oncoming rush of adrenaline. His arms came up to encircle the man's neck in a constrictor-like grasp, lifting the large man from the floor with what looked like average effort on Vorn's part. Muscle and sinew visably tensed in his arms, applying slow and steady crushing pressure until the human's windpipe collapsed and his vertebre snapped under the impressive strain. The massive Argonian simply released his vice-like stranglehold and let the limp corpse fall to the floor, landing a powerful kick in the center of the back as he did so to get the body out of his way...

"Oops..."

Placing a boot in the dead man's back the hunter stepped onto the corpse and then over it to place himself as close to Soverign as possible without being in arm's reach. Calmly, he drew his hand-cannon and leveled both chrome-plated barrels at the man's head, cocking the hammer back as he did so. In the low reddish light the barrels themselves took on a crimson hue, highlighting the gold-inlaid runes etched into the surface...

"Hit him again and I send you to the diety of your choice. This thing packs a fuck-ton more power than that fucking forty-four he just shot you with..."

Indeed, the projectile itself on a .626 JDJ was larger than an entire round of .45 ACP, around 1035 grains, and the massive brass casing behind it drove the impressive hunk of lead at an identical number of feet per second. In short, at this sort of range both rounds would literally blow Soverign's head apart. That was enough to kill anything alive or otherwise in short order...

Rasputin grabbed up the stagehand by the front of his T-shirt and hissed, making the man wet himself before receiving a head butt that sent him to Morpheus.

Looking around, he saw a pile of unconscious about him, and those shot by his allies. He shook his head-such a waste. "Such death, destruction, and mayhem, friends-you really warm the cockles of my heart."

Gingerly stepping over the bodies, the Mad Monk noted his robes in tatters, the sleeve of his right arm torn at the shoulder. "These suits aren't cheap-you'll discover when you buy me a replacement."

Carefully, he laid a hand atop the Argonian's gun. "Friend, while my diversion was quite the wasted effort, it is incumbent upon us to retire somewhere private, now-beating up stagehands is fun, but assaulting police is work for grenades, and I'm fresh out.

"Bundle this fool up, and restimulate his wounds if he seems about to regain composure-he'll be most compliant when we are finished with him."

Ten waited through Soverien's initial pain filled throes when he heard the Argonian finally react.

"Okay, bud. Now's a really good time to step out of my way..."

The lawcougar looked over his shoulder in time to see the Argonian snap the man's neck and coldly and nonchalantly utter.

"Oops..."

That was when Soverien's flailing fist struck the side of Ten's leg. It hurt. The mage was beefy enough to fill a smokehouse with jerky, but it was going to take a bit more than that to do more than dead lega werecougar. Ten went down on one knee down onto the mage's leg. Perhaps it wasn't the best idea to dead leg a werecougar standing over you, what with all that compressed fur and muscle and bone...he was heavier than his same sized human.

Ten finished uttering his own stream of Western gibberish curses when Rasputin and the Argonian were have their conversation over the life of the man holding Ten's wife. He craned his arm to point the LeMat up towards the two. "Y'all can just get off here. Ya both been a pack more trouble then yer worth. Neither of ya are within yer rights to do what ya just did, and the both of ya made this a lot worse than it needed to be. I'll deal with the man that has MY wife in MY way, so mosey on."

Ten flicked his eyes towards the mage quickly to check on him before returning to the two loose cannons. He figuredhe'd have a tough time talking through the mage's pain, but it was worth a try. "Mage, cards on table. I don't want to kill ya. It's pointless and not gonna get me anything more than guilty conscience. You ain't gonna cooperate any better if I promise ya a quick death over a slow one. Ain't no incentive to it. So I'll strike a deal. Give my back my wife, and I'll take ya inta protected custody...which means I make sure noone in the city kills ya, including these upstanding and perceptive gents."

Circus of Blood

Silent as the proverbial cat Amasaratu watched - from the deep shadows of the catwalks above- what had been happening. She'd traced the trail the dossier provided to this location. She didn't quite know who would do what to get Jack loose but this is where it would go down.

She had a very strong hunch it involved the moaning bag of lard. She han't ever had a contract on him but she expected to eventually.

Ama was what none of the three below were - she Was local law and she Was a Friend of the Powers That Be, namely Jazz - and Jazz trusted her not to do anything stupid...like Vorn had.

Out and out murder might not get a northsider troubled, but Vorn was not one of the privileged. If a complaint was made and proved, he'd die by the numbers. And if he ran, she or others like her, would Hunt him.

Heathstepper

“I’m going to go to where I met the local pack leader last night, unless you’ve got any better ideas as to where the local pack would hang about.”

"That might be for the best, as no, I unfortunately do not have any idea. I've only been here a day." Nari apologised as she folled him out, the door closing and locking behind her. The interior decor vanished, no longer needed.

As they pair got to the first landing on the switch back stairs, Heathstepper was snarled at by the Bolverk.

The malignant dwarf snarled at Heathstepper "You really are a fool" He stood over the body of a man. The man that -though Heathstepper didn't know it -had been trailing him.

"He saw you last night, followed you and followed you again this morning. He knows what you are and was" He brandished the tranq gun "Going to kill or kidnap you fine furry ass." Oh the little man was furious, and seemed, indeed more than half about to attack the young werewolf.

"you are a danger and I will make sure the Ulfric knows this...and who is this ...oh shit a Kitsune. Just what we freaking need!" He all but screamed.

"Y'all can just get off here. Ya both been a pack more trouble then yer worth. Neither of ya are within yer rights to do what ya just did, and the both of ya made this a lot worse than it needed to be. I'll deal with the man that has MY wife in MY way, so mosey on."

"Your concern for your wife has robbed you of your reason as well as your manners." Rasputin stated simply. "You have turned a disorderly conduct charge into accomplice to murder, when you could have simply whisked this refuse off to deal with in your manner in private, no one knowing where you were.

"No, you have decided to remain, exacerbate a situation, then claim moral high ground." Rasputin spat. "This dog understands only Power and Wealth-he is the sort who drowns rather than lighten his money belt-and you have decided to cajole and plead with him."

Rasputin wheeled, tossing a business card over his shoulder. "When you are ready to take this matter seriously, I shall be available-perhaps."

He strode off, leaving behind only mocking laughter...

The second ravishing had been even more splended than the first - which had been wonderful. As had the kiss, something she very seldom bestowed upon any one.

Wanda thought , bringing her thoughts to bear on her instinctual 'feel' for her savior, and nodded slowly. Now he wouldn't hurt her, and she found she truly did want to see him again, get to know him better. Quickly she pulled out an introduction card of heavy ivory hued stock and simple but elegant lettering engraved in brown ink.

Her address was in one of the best neighborhoods to be found on the south side.

Charon was very pleased with himself after he was finished ravishing Wanda for the second time; not only did he get himself a gorgeous woman but he was also able to ravish her two times in one night. Stashing the card in his wallet, Charon walked outside and eventually found Andromeda who had purchased some candy from a local vendor to munch on while talking to a homeless old man.

Charon didn't seem to find the old man to be threatening because he looked like one of those jovial elderly men who did nothing more than crack jokes and laugh. Andromeda was giggling and Charon smiled. "It's about time, Charon. Did you have fun with Wanda? I guess you were just in a long conversation."

Charon snatched some of her candy for himself before taking Andromeda on a walk down the street; Andromeda quickly waved to the old man before she walked alongside her guardian. "What do we do now, Charon?"

Charon thought for a moment. "Perhaps we should find a meal to munch on. Let's look for a restaurant."

Heathstepper kept his face as straight as possible. Although he barely knew the Bolverk, the man had been nothing but a pain in the arse since the Ulfric had set the dwarf to follow him. The “fine furry ass” jibe especially riled him. Seeing his discomfiture at the presence of the kitsune made the young werewolf want to laugh in his face. In the end, Heathstepper merely took a step backwards and waved a hand towards the Bolverk.

“Nari, this is Bolverk. Bolverk, this is Nari. As you’ve already noticed, she is indeed a kitsune.” He continued to ignore the Bolverk’s obvious distress at seeing the kitsune, and carried on speaking. “I ran in to her last night whilst… err… hunting. She says she wants to attend the Lupanar as well. And this bloke,” addressing this to the kitsune, “was dispatched by the local pack leader in order that I didn’t get in to any more trouble last night.”

It slowly dawned on the werewolf that he probably wasn’t in the best position to be imposing on the pack like this, especially since the pack enforcer’s reaction to Nari had been quite so severe. “I know I’m not on the best standing with you lot at the moment, but it would be hardly fair to tar her with the same brush as me.”

His attention was then drawn to the body of the man the Bolverk had said had been tailing him and poked him a couple of times with the toe of his shoe. “This bugger dead?” he asked in idle curiosity.

Ten wasn't going to argue with the vampire. He was just happy to see him gone. He hadn't trusted Rasputin's intentions since he'd met him, not knowing what he did about Rasputin's mortal life, but Rapsputin's claiming words about Laar'a had put firmly in a spot of suspicion.

"Tell me, little fool-how does it feel to know you are prey?" he howled. "The woman was MINE-and you have transgressed-deeply."

While he was still useful, Ten would watch him and let him help. However when the stagehands had arrived, it was the vampire, not Ten that had sent everything to hell.

Rasputin tucked his firearm away and raised both arms. "Gentlemen, " he began, leisurely walking away, pausing between the two tiger cages, all eyes on him as he projected Harmless and Passive to them. "There is no need for threats and recriminations-our business here is not to disrupt your show."

His hands slowly lowered, resting on the tops of the small cages. "I believe the audience should like a bit of bang for their buck, and certainly deserves amusement."

In one swift movement, he grabbed the locks on the cages, willing his Blood to his arms, and shredded the locks like so much moldy cheese. As the doors swung open, the Mad Monk smiled. "I am certain the audience will enjoy their animal act." then to the tigers, "Feed."

Had the tigers been well-kept and cared for, they'd have shied from the vampire's unnatural presence, and simply needed rounding up. The Sovereign did not particularily care for his charges-they were lean and athirst, and had learned from their keeper to hate Man...

Ten had been trying to talk the roustabouts down. He might have had a chance. The whole ordeal with the tigers was a shitstorm and had goaded the stagehands into attacking when it failed.

As it was, Ten had had to kill four men to defend himself. Who knew how many died in Rasputin's little fight on top of the poor unsuspecting bastard the Argonian had killed.

Claim the moral high ground? He'd been doing his best to stand atop the whole damn night. The vampire had wanted to rush into the crowd and against the Sirens. Ten hadn't been in control of himself with his anger, the vampire had. Ten hadn't taken the Soverien off because he didn't have the time, didn't know if the magic might be place dependent, but mostly because removing him would be KIDNAPPING.

He had acted this whole night in his mind within the justification of self-defense and the defense of others. He might just be doing wrong by torturing the mage, but it is the only way he knows for sure to keep the mage from casting and he had to get his wife back quickly. He had no idea where the bastard had sent his wife. Not all realms of sending were calming extraplanar waiting rooms more than a few a disgusting sub-hells.

And if all he could hear from the house was right, they'd caused a stampede. Ten felt utterly guilty for that. He felt guilty for not stopping the rabblerouser...was that what this was? A way for the vampire to cause chaos.

Damn, he didn't have time for this.

Ten flicked his eye back to the mage to check on him before turning his eyes back on the Argonian and shifting his LeMat a little more surely in the lizardfolk's direction.

The Circus was largely emptied-doubtless in anticipation of what Rasputin feared-not the Prince or the Royal Enforcers, but the conventional police-small men who would try to make sense of it all. Those who would shine the Light of Reason on things best left in shadows.

He knew the Sovereign-or men like him-driven by their lusts and jealousies, but cunning in their way. Rasputin knew them well-had ruled an Empire by twisting their desires to his advantage-had salvaged that sad, ruined wreck misrule had made of the Third Rome by his will and reason.

Ah, well-Starr's refreshing lack of the sins wielded so sublimely would be missed, but he would call-once he realized the Sovereign would have put his dogs on them with but a word-a word Rasputin had not allowed uttered by his own actions-once he realized the vampire could terrify the magus into obedience, had been doing so from the start-Rasputin knew petty men, and one approached them with petty motives, things they could understand.

The jeweled palaces of the Northside beckoned, but Rasputin decided comfort was not what he needed now. The aristocrats were too suspicious of each other, too deceitful even among their own in their decadence.

Rasputin was a man of the people-the peasants were his by birth and by sympathy, and always had been. People lied-police, parents, everyone-but word on the street-that could be taken to the bank.

Humming a pleasant tune, he headed South-into the dens of the poor, where word could be counted on, where half-whispers spoke volumes. A few words on who had done what to whom, and he could begin his work in earnest. The truly foul would be revealed, the others chastened by any examples made of the truly foul. The night's work had just begun, and this blind alley hadn't wasted too much time...

Vorn's eyes shifted to the left, meeting Ten's...

"So much for inter-agency cooperation. The monk was right, dude. This asshole isn't going to do you any favors for sparing his ass. He's going to fuck you as soon as he gets a chance..."

He'd seen the pistol, and it would take more than a civil-war relic to intimidate him...

"Now point that somewhere else. You aren't the law around here, and unlike you, I don't exsist in anything but the conventional sense of the word. If you want to be a proud fuck-head and do things the so-called 'right' way, be my guest. Do it alone. You're apparently incapable of telling friend from foe and that will eventually get one of us killed, and it's not going to be me, at least not tonight. Pray you get lucky and find this wife of yours in time..."

The hammer was lowered and Vorn reholstered his weapon. The whole high-and-mighty routine grated on his last nerves. Criminals weren't coddled in the homeland, and they usually had the good sense to resist so someone could end them quickly and save the court system a lot of precious time and money. Vorn turned to leave, the outcome of this situation had never been his concern. Government operative or not, he was through for the evening, and he'd log that into his report. He headed to his shabby home south of the river, disgusted with all he'd seen...

Circus of Blood

There was a soft thump off to behind but more off to one side and none to close Ten. Ama landed lightly as the Argonian and the vampire left.

"Don't listen to his scaley ass. You did right, though he's right as well. This one isn't going to make nice just cause you ask him. Even with a bit of reasonable 'come along'..."


Heathstepper

Nari gave the Bolverk a minimally polite half bow. And while she said nothing outwardly she apprefciated Heathsteppers attempt to seperate his problems from her.

“This bugger dead?”

"No!" The Bolverk replied shortly "He'll have a hell of a headache when he wakes up." The squat, heavily muscled werewolf looked decidedly unhappy. He'd pawed through the mans pockets already. The annoyance had just enough legitimacy to be missed and enough connections for those connections to start enquiring. He tapped a grimy thumb nail against his teeth then grinned shark like.

"Damn it this is additional complication that is going to make it sooo much worse for you" He seemed to savor that prospect.

"Then I can help with that" Nari said firmly stepping over to the limp figure, and placed a hand on the mand forehead. Majic wove about her, pouring over him, linming him for a second in a shimmering veil. Then she straightened, and gave the Bolverk a sardonic look. "There his mind is empty of the last night actual memories and he'll remember naught but falling alseep while on the stakeout. He'll be too embarrassed to mention it."

The dwarf seemed to accept her words as fact. He knew about Kitsunes, and their abilities. Though he didn't - and hopefully never would - know that the ability to ennamor a persons mind and alter their memories was the one that Nari liked, and used, the least.

Charon & Andromeda

There were countless restraunts - ranging from shabby noodle bowl kiosks, to traditonal fast food- McDonalds had many a location in Carnival - to establishments so upscale they never advertised and had waiting lists that ran a year or better. Some were worth it, some weren't. And every cusine had it's representation in all the levels of quality.

With in a few blocks the two some would find classical Spanish, French Vietnamese fusion, Italian, German, American as Apple Pie hot dogs, Elvin, Tex- Mex, Japanese, Faux Polynesian, B-B-Q...and much more for their dining pleasure.

The young werewolf shot the Bolverk a dirty look. His dislike for the other werewolf was increasing, especially since the dwarf was obviously relishing every revelation that appeared to make life harder for Heathstepper and in return the young werewolf was more than happy to attempt to irritate the pack enforcer. The idea that this dishevelled stranger had been tailing him was disquieting, though. He mentally resolved to keep his own gun at hand a lot more, since it wasn’t just the local pack, with their apparently lenient Ulfric, that had been keeping an eye on his night-time activities. Heathstepper had arrived in Carnival with the idea of getting lost in the big city and hunting on a whim, but it looked like life had in fact got a lot more complicated since his arrival. He would have liked to have killed the tracker then and there, and probably would have had the Bolverk not been there. But, then again, had the Bolverk not been there the tracker could have got the drop on Heathstepper and life would have been a lot more unpleasant that it currently was being.

He fumbled in his pockets and drew out a battered cigarette and inserted it in his mouth. Heathstepper rudely didn’t seek permission from either the Bolverk or from Nari, as he was too preoccupied with his own thoughts which were focussed both on the new development of being pursued by an unknown organisation of some sort as well as the trial which presumably awaited him at the Lupanar. Heathstepper looked up from his lighting his smoke to see the tracker bathed in a glow and hear the assurances from the kitsune that the man would not be able to remember any of the night’s activities. The Bolverk seemed to have had some of the wind taken out of his sails by Nari’s action, something that the younger werewolf was intensely grateful for, if only because it was an action that would go some way to saving his skin.

“So, Mr Bolverk, are you going to take us to the Lupanar? I don’t imagine they really want to be kept waiting all day,” Heathstepper kept his tone as nonchalant as possible, in hope of further riling the little enforcer. He moved closer to Nari. “Thanks a lot. I probably owe you a lot for that.” The young werewolf wasn’t above acting vindictively and so aimed a kick at the prone form of the tracker.

"So much for inter-agency cooperation..."

Interagency co-op...what in the Sam Hill? Ten wondered. The damned skink hadn't identified himself as part of any organization. He'd just come in blown hot air up Ten's ass and tryin' to horn in with some sort of authority. When he got time to process this all, he'd try to pass word through channels to have that skink looked up. He didn't think he'd have much success...hell, they all looked alike.

He'd seen the pistol, and it would take more than a civil-war relic to intimidate him...

Vorn would have been surprised because this LeMat wasn't original. Ten's original LeMat, one he'd taken from one of Mosby's raiders, was in a shadow box back home. This LeMat was only seventy years old and heavily modified by the Zeebolt Bard, the founder of Catawaba's preminent toy and arms manufacturing company and grandfather of Andy Bard, its present CEO. This LeMat was double-action and broke apart like a Schofield to allow easy ejection and reloading of the brass cartridges and shotgun shells.

"If you want to be a proud fuck-head and do things the so-called 'right' way, be my guest. Do it alone. You're apparently incapable of telling friend from foe and that will eventually get one of us killed, and it's not going to be me, at least not tonight."

Tenadore wasn't really baffled how both the monk and now this skink both thought they were on the right side of things. He'd seen a lot of criminals rationalize their world to make themselves the heroes in it. Ten followed fairly simple rules, ones that everyone else was supposed to follow. In the case of the fight, he'd followed the letter of the law that bound him.

"Where the officer has probable cause to believe that the suspect poses a threat of serious physical harm, either to the officer or to others, it is not unreasonable to prevent escape by using deadly force. Thus, if the suspect threatens the officer with a weapon or there is probable cause to believe that he has committed a crime involving the infliction or threatened infliction of serious physical harm, deadly force may be used if necessary to prevent an escape, and if, where feasible, some warning has been given"

Ten, unlike the skink, had identified himself and his authority. He'd explained the situation as much as he'd needed, and with his revolver out made it very clear what his intentions were. He'd been trying to talk them down when the vampire lost it and tried to sic beaten and cowed tigers on a mob of armed men. When the thugs advance on him, he'd acted to neutralize a deadly threat to himself and the other two men with him.

As it happened, Ten had found he couldn't trust either individual. Both were dangerous, deadly, murderous loose cannons. Whether it made it harder to deal with the mage or not, Ten would not allow them to stay and make the situation worse that it was. He could not trust what they would do because they both proved unreliable and his wife's life was at stake.

If they were to be prosecuted for what they'd done here, he'd turn himself in, but not before helping the local yokels catch them or bringing them in himself.

That was a thought for later, hopefully never, and a word or two to the Catawaban Embassy in Mont Guard.

There was a soft thump off to behind but more off to one side and none to close Ten. Ama landed lightly as the Argonian and the vampire left.

"Don't listen to his scaley ass. You did right, though he's right as well. This one isn't going to make nice just cause you ask him. Even with a bit of reasonable 'come along'..."

The werecougar proved his beast's jumping ability by making it to his feet and spinning about in mid air. He came down astride but not on the mage. He looked down the spine of his LeMat at the newcomer for a few beats before he recognized Amasaratu. She'd been a fixture of the Hunter scene for years. He hadn't met her personally but had heard of her form contacts in the Strange Folk community in Carnivaal.

He swung the gun down a way from her to cover and check the mage again. He kept his eyes on him as he answered the woman. "Ma'am...I'm a furly desperate man. This bastard has my wife...I love her so...but that's only a bit of my desperation. I lost a wife before...more'n a hundred and thirty years ago. She was killed by a were...and I hunted everything that shifted for ten years...I depopulated the American West of shifters. I ain't proud of it; I'm still atoning for it."

His eyes flicked down to the coppery metal of his ridurrok, his wedding bracer. "I'm afraida what I'll do if I lose my wife again." He looked back up to the mages eyes. "I'll offer his continued life for her because it's the last bit of charity I'll have left real quick."

Heathstepper

"Thanks a lot. I probably owe you a lot for that.”

Nari shrugged and looked at the dwarf, who was nearly frothing, and smothered a grin. Though Heathstepper could clearly see the glint of laughter in her eyes.

"Mister Bolverk?! Damnit it ya unlearned puppy it's not my name, it's my title! Bolverk, no mister, no first or last name!" He howled then shook himself all over like a dog clearing a pond. Panting hard he reined his anger in and glowered at the pair.

"Come along!" he snarled at last turning and not seeming to care if they followed or not. In moments they that left the building behind and were moving quickly down the alleyway that Heathstepper remembered well...or should.

Circus of Blood

"I'll offer his continued life for her because it's the last bit of charity I'll have left real quick."

Raising a sardonic eyebrow at the Ranger in respose to the gun being pointed at her - though she didn't really blame him, given the curcumstances- she nodded understandingly. "And you'd be Tenadore Starr, yes? You're the only one who sounds like a Sergio Leone 'sgetti extra"

Amasaratu shook her head "No need to explain to me. Kidnapping is a capital crime here, and while maybe a fine point in somes craw, you are most entitled to have her back safe and sound."

She went to one knee on one side of the wide eyed, pasty faced mage, and the look on her face wasn't pleasant. Reaching out a slender finger she absorbed the arcane shield around him. "It's so nice being a demon. This makes a nice snack, prepatory to your soul." She caught and held Sovreins' eyes, letting her delicate fangs flash in the low light of the backstage area.

"Now I happen to know that you are going to do the spell at least one more time tonight, I will just say I have aboslutely no idea of what condition you are going to be in when - or after - you do it. I'd suggest you do it while you're in a better shape than you could be. It is sincerely amazing what the human body can endure. I doubt if you are interested in finding out"

Ten left silent that he'd been a consultant on a few of Sergio's films. Instead he focused on the now-shieldless and virtually naked mage below him. This is exactly what he needed. He didn't have the means to really combat the mage's powers. He just had the means to disable or kill him, mostly staying a stalemate. The tables had turned. It felt good to have a bit of control returned to him. A bit of his desperation fled away.

He squatted down across from the demoness. "Boy, I'll lay it out for ya. Yer life ain't worth shit right now, and it's rapidly depriciating. You blow any more smoke up my ass, and I'll find other ways to get my wife, however impossible and inconvient...I've got ways and time...however what'll also have a heap of frustration, anger, and loss to vent."

He reached down and took a hold of the kavikak again. "I'm a hundred and sixty years old. I've seen plenty of the awful things folk can do to each other, and I'm more then willin' to do'em to ya just to blow off some pent up emotion....and most of'em won't kill ya for a time. Tear off your eyelids, bamboo slivers under your nails which I then use to lever off your fingernails....bein' a lawman and soldier for as long as me puts ya snout first in some nasty piles of humanity. Wanna try some of it? Or ya want to be puttin' me wife back in the same condition or better that ya took her?"

The Bolverk’s reaction made Heathstepper take a step back. Whilst the young werewolf had been idly goading the enforcer, the fact that he was on the verge of being literally frothing mad made a sudden spike of fear shoot through Heathstepper. The Bolverk undoubtedly had the ear of the Ulfric, and irritating him unduly was probably the quickest way to test the pack leader’s patience and make any judgement on him harder. He quickly wiped the smirk from his face and scrubbed at the stubble on his chin with a hand. He looked down at his shoes for a minute, feeling a bit like a schoolchild being told off by a teacher.

Suddenly, the Bolverk took off, moving quickly away from the pair. Heathstepper waved to Nari his hand in a slightly ironic “ladies first” gesture whilst grinning slightly to show that he only meant it as a joke before moving off after the short werewolf. The alley they were going along had been the centre of quite a few of the night’s activity for Heathstepper, as it had been were he’d first run in to Nari and the place were he’d downed one of the muggers whilst in wolf-form. It seemed like an eternity ago, especially because quite so much had happened in the intervening hours.

Heathstepper

The path the Bolverk took was a tangled skein, a cats cradle that often crossed back upon itself. If he was trying to confuse them he may have suceeded, but at long last he led them through an eeirely deserted neighborhood to a large, semi swampy, unkempt appearing park (http://img.groundspeak.com/waymarking/log/76fb8b61-ef94-4f49-ac32-6cca3285dee7.jpg). Bordered on one side by a deep fast running bayou, it covered many acres, at least two hundred, though from the outside that really couldn't be told.

All the while they had the strongest feeling they were being watched, and that was true -for many eyes gleamed from the tangled depths and nearly soundless pawfalls kept pace with them amid the green hued shadows.

However once in it's depths the park changed into a carefully tended glade (http://danielaandsean.com/pics/Houston%20Fun--%20Houston%20Arboretum.jpg), centered with a large circular pond.

There almost two hundred of the pack lounged, some in wolf, others in Crinos or full human form. All of them watching the trio expectantly.

In the shade of a massive oak, off to the west side of the small lake, sat a large black stone and on that rock sat the Ulfric, waiting. He was crunching on an apples as he waited. At his feet sat a pile of youngesters, some reading, others curled up asleep, others quietly playing with one another. Their mothers chatted comfortably nearby, keeping an eye on their cublings.

Had Heathstepper been a native of Carnival, his sense of direction would probably have been thrown by the winding route the Bolverk used. It had been fairly hard going trying to keep up with the dwarf, as the Bolverk kept up the quick pace he had set when he first set off to guide Nari and Heathstepper to the Lupanar and still didn’t appear to care whether they were able to follow him along the route he had picked.

They were led through a mysteriously empty suburban area and in to an overgrown park. Heathstepper picked up the sounds of being stealthily followed. He shot glances in to the tree line although was unable to see any of their hidden trackers. The Bolverk was entirely unconcerned, presumably because he knew there was nothing to be afraid of. The kitsune appeared to the young werewolf to be similarly unworried, although he couldn’t really read her feelings.

As they entered the clearing, Heathstepper stopped in his tracks. When the word “pack” had first been mentioned to him, he had imagined a couple of dozen at the most, not the scores that were in the rather neatly-tended clearing in a run-down and ill-kept park. He didn’t really know what he was supposed to do at this point. The young werewolf took a deep breath and exhaled slowly, trying to fight down the rising feeling of apprehension building within him. Making up his mind after a long pause, Heathstepper slowly walked towards the Ulfric sat upon his stone.

“My name is Heathstepper, and I was told to come before the Lupanar last night in order to be,” the werewolf paused before continuing, nervousness threatening to overwhelm him again, “judged because of my actions in Carnival.”

OOC: Could someone interact with Charon/Andromeda? I would like it if people could do that.

OOC:Sure-Rasputin went slumming after Starr told him to leave, so feel free to place him in the scene with Charon/Andromeda. Just remember his clothing is shredded from fighting the stagehands and he hasn't gone home to change yet)

Rasputin, Charon & Andromeda

While Charon and Andromeda were deciding on their choice of cuisine, about them the others on the street were hurrying away from a large, indeed towering figure in freshly tattered clothing. Though if one looked past the rips, tears and bits of blood splatter, one would notice that it was quite expensive clothing, though that again was at odds with the tangled beard the man hid most of the lower half of his face with. He was moving along agilely, and not at all, apparently, discomfited with his appearance or others reaction to him.

And Rasputin might well notice a pair that took no exception to his approach. A well built but mostly non descript man accompanied by fourteen year old girl with stoic sky blue eyes and an eerily placid face. However she had fairly fresh scratches on her cheek, though they looked fairly freshly tended to.

(OOC:With regards to Rasputin's beard, in these pictures (http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=UmKxKylgtmM), you will note the only picture in which his beard appears tangled or unkempt is the one taken after they fished him out of the river-in all other pictures, the worst you can say is he's in need of a trim, as sometimes it's straggly at the edge. Despite the rumors he was a dirty, grubby man-which stem entirely from the statement when he arrived in St. Petersburg, he owned only his boots and a coat and he "smelled like a goat"-he always appears well-groomed and dressed, and was something of a clotheshorse in his day-when not in the robes he's most famous in, he wore peasant fashions in the finest materials.
Most of the negative press he receives is from three sources-the British hated him for trying to pull Russia out of WWI, a war it was in no way equipped to fight; the nobles hated him for the power he weilded over him; and the communists attacked him because the czar was still the "little father" to the people of Russia and above assault until those living under the czar were gone-one of Stalin's reasons for attacking the churchs was that the czarists had decorated them with an opulence he didn't want becoming nostalgia, as well as the deeply religious nature of the Russian people being a challenge to his regime.
Most of the official documents on Rasputin were burned with his corpse by Lenin, which further obscures him, and all of his biographers-including his daughter-were more interested in propaganda than truth. He did dictate to a secretary two books, which reveal a side not reported in history-he was sincerely and deeply religious)
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Rasputin looked at the pair, and smiled, raising a hand in benediction. "Travel well, children-the night is not kind, and the little one should be safely abed."

OOC: Well I would expect his beard to be a bit mussed after the joyous way Rasputin waded into that fight...if he could come out of that without a hair out of place, then he's not a vamp...he's...matineee idol man!

Heathstepper

"judged because of my actions in Carnival.”

The Ulfric looked at the Bolverk and some unspoken sommunication passed between them, and the Wolf King sighed deeply and all but threw his hands up in the air.

"The one who made you taught you nothing did he?" His voice was resigned, and held an undertone of deepest anger. Though some how Heathstepper knew it was not directed at him...

"So tell me of your making and how you came to be here, in Carnival."

Carnival of Blood

Or ya want to be puttin' me wife back in the same condition or better that ya took her?"

Sovrein looked mulish under his outter panick, and it was obvious that he'd been in unpleasant situations before and managed to survive. Perhaps this gave him some confidence in this ability to withstand what was obviously unwillingness on Tens part to go past certain points.

But before that look became more than merely mulish Ama spoke up "Ten, you got an auric on you?" He was miscalculating Amasaratus' however. She had been raised an odd combination of Nietzschean and Demonic. She was Very practical. Even more so than Anita Blake.

Carnival of Blood

"Ten, you got an auric on you?"

Tenadore kept his grey eyes locked on the mage as tucked the kavikak's shaft under his armpit and reached into his pocket. He produced a one auric coin and flipped it up, catching it without moving his gaze any. "One Tanaaran auric, ma'am."

Circus of Blood

"One Tanaaran auric, ma'am."

"Now that it's all legal , I deputize you to go close fown the jount, call for medics to come and take the injured and dead away and mostly go elsewhere for a bit. Be busy carrying out my 'lawful' order t6hereand no one can tie you wh whats going to happen. Not that any one will care enough to try" She grinneddown wolfishly at Sovrein, who squired slightly under the malice in that gaze.

Amasaratu had other, less beneficial resasons for wanting Ten out of the wa. He'd get his wife back, but she didn't want him interfering with her capture of the Ripper. That was one bounty she really didn't want to share. She ad expensive tastes and her favorite hunting toys were never cheap.

Ten stared at her for a long moment. He fished another coin out his vest pocket and dropped them onto the Mage's stomach. "Yer not cooperative, boy, and I think I might have to come back and put'em over yer peepers to buy off the Boatman.

Ten didn't think he'd like anything the half-demon was going to do, but he was tired, desparate. He also figured he knew her a bit better than the two yahoos he'd run off. She had ties on her that he understood, the burden of Law.

He bent down and pulled the fangs of the kavikak out of mage's ankle and set it down. He nudged it away from the mage with his toe as he broke open the LeMat, replaced his spent rounds and the shotgun shell. He again loaded silver arounds. He holstered the pistol and unslung his Barrett for the first time tonight. He made sure there was a .50 API around in the chamber and the safety was off.

He took a deep breath and walked back towards the stage to see what the situation was like in the nightclub.

Circus of Blood

Other than toppled tables, chairs, smashed bottles of various substances, the injured and dead, the club was as empty as a vampires tomb.

In short it was a wreck, but no police sirens were audible, though the moans and cries of some of the injured might classify as sonic screams.

“So tell me of your making and how you came to be here, in Carnival.”

He knew he would have to tread carefully when he answered the Ulfric’s question. Doing anything that might offend the pack leader whilst on the pack’s home turf could only be a very bad move and end unhappily for the young werewolf, especially revealing his original reasons for coming to a city known as the party capital. Saying that he came here just to indulge his feral side on an unknowing human population would probably incur the wrath of both pack leader and pack, as it would undeniably draw attention to the more supernatural inhabitants of Carnival.

Heathstepper looked around at the assembled pack and took a deep breath. Calling it “making” made the ordeal sound a lot more clinical than it had been.

“It was a couple of years ago now. I’d been helping some mates out, giving them a hand clearing some land that they owned. There were some rumours about some weird creatures being seen in the area, attacking livestock and the like. We didn’t really pay it much attention, as there’d been no attacks on people. It was thought it was like the tales of escaped zoo animals, just stories and miss-identified animals, that sort of bollocks.

“We’d been working late and decided to head back, via the local pub, one of the isolated country sorts. It was full moon of course, and we were joking about it being werewolves. Ironic as hell, really, since we were then attacked by two of them. I managed to get away, more by luck than judgement, although I got pretty badly mauled by one of the fuckers. We were in the middle of nowhere with little mobile phone coverage, so I tried to get to a nearby village to get help. I collapsed on the way back.”

He was surprised how clearly he could remember it, since it was so long ago and so far away.

“I woke up the next day, surprised that I was still alive and even more surprised to find that the injuries I got were virtually all healed. I’d been taken to a farmhouse and left alone until about mid-morning when one of the buggers opened the door to the room I was in and explained the situation. The fact that they’d attacked us was apparently a bit of a miscalculation on their part, as they’d tried to steer clear of people in order to stop drawing attention to themselves, but they’d got lost in the heat of the moment.

“The man apologised profusely and said that I was now a werewolf. There were only two of them, but I was welcome to join them as part of a pack. I asked what happened to my friends; he just went quiet and left the room. I followed him in to the kitchen of the place and picked up the first thing which came to hand, a meat cleaver, and hit him with it and didn’t stop for a long while.”

Heathstepper ran a hand through his hair and paused for a bit. The memories were surprisingly painful and he had suppressed them for quite a long time.

“I grabbed what I could from the house before the other werewolf could come back and, to try to cover my tracks, I tried to set the place on fire, using what I could find. I was panicking quite a lot by then, as it’d been a pretty traumatic day. I don’t know if I succeeded, as I left pretty damned quickly. I don’t even know if the other werewolf was in the building or not, I didn’t stick around long enough to find out.

“Since then, I’ve basically been on the move since then, not really sticking about long in any one place. Carnival kind of seemed like the next logical step, especially now it seems pretty full of other werewolves and the like. I admit I didn’t come here with the best intentions, as I assumed that it would be a good place to set up and prey on the ordinary people of the city without drawing much attention to myself.”

The young werewolf deliberately left out the fact that the reason he’d moved around so much was because he’d basically been killing virtually indiscriminately whilst in wolf-form in all the places that he’d stayed long in, which would probably be the sort of thing that disgusted this apparently fairly civilised pack. Heathstepper now waited for the Ulfric’s reply, hoping that he’d be lenient on him.

Heathstepper

"I admit I didn’t come here with the best intentions, as I assumed that it would be a good place to set up and prey

The Ulfric just shook his head again "Your initial reaction is rather understandable. In most places it's not considered 'legal' to turn some one without their permission. Usually such 'unwanted cubs' are killed when found"

He let that lay there for a moment. Then continued. "However, thats not fair to you. You should have been treated better, though that is not this packs look out. However I am willing to give you a chance...You can earn the right to stay alive." His tone said clearly that Heathstepper should think on that for a moment, as he turned his attention to the Kitsune.

"And what can we of the Throne Rokko's clan do for you?" His tone was not unfriendly but it was not welcoming either.

"I do not come to cause trouble or ask for aid. I wanted to merely apprise the Lupines of my presence. I am a historian, a gatherer of knowledge, and have come to Carnival to study and learn."

"A Kitsune causes mischief as naturally as breathing." The Ulfric countered with a frown on his lean face.

"Shall I post a bond and give you my word?" Nari asked reasonably.

"That will do" the Ulfric said reluctantly "Five million aurics" His tone brooked no haggling or discent.

Nari nodded as the Ulfric turned his attention back to Heathstepper.

Rasputin, Charon & Andromeda

While Charon and Andromeda were deciding on their choice of cuisine, about them the others on the street were hurrying away from a large, indeed towering figure in freshly tattered clothing. Though if one looked past the rips, tears and bits of blood splatter, one would notice that it was quite expensive clothing, though that again was at odds with the tangled beard the man hid most of the lower half of his face with. He was moving along agilely, and not at all, apparently, discomfited with his appearance or others reaction to him.

And Rasputin might well notice a pair that took no exception to his approach. A well built but mostly non descript man accompanied by fourteen year old girl with stoic sky blue eyes and an eerily placid face. However she had fairly fresh scratches on her cheek, though they looked fairly freshly tended to.

OOC: Sorry for not posting - I've been working on non-NS things that take up much of my time these days.

Charon had noticed Rasputin although he didn't feel much like talking to him. He was far too busy trying to find sustenance for himself and the ward he had saved from a probable death. Eventually had they found what appeared to be a lowly vendor who served meat on skewers. Two were bought and the two travelers sat on a bench and ate - talking in a strange language one would assume might have been foreign to Carnival.

Charon noticed Rasputin again. He didn't mind his presence just as long as he wasn't going to try something - and who knew if Andromeda had any tricks up her sleeves?

Rasputin watched the pair-the man did not trust him, which was for the good. The child would pull a good price on the streets of Carnivaal, which made it imperative to get her off them. That which we do for the least of us, the Lord returns to us sevenfold, the Holy Devil thought, nipping his finger as he approached.
The man stiffened as Rasputin gently drew his finger along the child's cuts, allowing his Blood to heal them before wiping it away. "This is no place for an innocent." he pronounced, rising and taking the man's hand, slipping a small pouch of coins-mostly silver, but some gold-enough to rent an apartment with a lock for a month in this section of town. "You must take her inside, where it is safe-and she will need food, as well. I am going to bathe, there-" he indicated a bathhouse. "-then get a change of clothes. If you would like, I will allow you to be my guests for one meal at that tearoom."
He nodded at the little Russian tearoom next to the bathhouse, then walked away. The money would do the pair some good, even if they did not take him up on the meal.
He stopped at the doorway to the bathhouse and spoke to the man at the doorway, his eyes blazing with the compelling power of the Undead. "My friends will need watching, and I shall require a change of clothes. Attend to this for me." he stated simply, watching as the man's will drained away, his thoughts replaced with Rasputin's orders.
He could use a good soak, perhaps a steam while his change of clothes was readied, and if the pair would dine with him, he could consider a part of the night the Lord's work...

“Killing unwanted cubs” made it sound like that they were bundled in a sack with a couple of bricks and lobbed in a river. It occurred to Heathstepper that doing that probably wasn’t that simple in actuality. There would have been no way he would have gone quietly had the werewolf who’d originally bitten him tried to kill him, although at the time he probably wouldn’t have been in any fit state to really resist, what with having been half mauled to death. For a moment he thought that the Ulfric might suggest that he was to be killed then and there, as he was an “unwanted cub”, as well as being something of a feral werewolf. He felt really alone, more so than he had in years, standing in front of the rock that was the makeshift throne of the pack leader as well as the serried mass of the rest of the pack.

“However I am willing to give you a chance...You can earn the right to stay alive.”

Heathstepper’s head snapped up to look at the Ulfric as the man said those words. He had been looking around at the rest of the pack, trying to fathom their intentions or guess at what their leader had planned, but now hope was kindled again in the young werewolf. If the pack leader was willing to give him a chance in this fashion, then they probably weren’t going to kill him for his attacks on the human scavengers last night, or on the two muggers earlier on in the night. As Nari and the Ulfric discussed the Kitsune’s presence in Carnival, Heathstepper’s mind was racing, wondering what exactly the pack leader would ask him, what sort of task he’d have to complete in order to gain the right to stay alive in the eyes of the pack.

He realised that Nari and the pack leader had finished their conversation and that the Ulfric was looking at him somewhat expectantly. Heathstepper cleared his throat.

“So what do you want me to do?”

Heathstepper

“So what do you want me to do?”

"Well the first thing you're going to do is to learn what it is to be a real werewolf, not some damned 'Garou or worse a Lycan. You don't know how lucky you got. You may not feel like you were" He looked around at the pack which had silently drawn close in a semi circle, some standing, most sitting -or if in wolf form laying stretched out. All wre paying attention, but there wan't really any hostile feeling. More of a favorite tale, or clan truth, being retold.

"The Loupe Garou are the damned, cursed to be a lycanthrope, almost completely lost to the animal, unable to enter hallowed ground, forevor tainted and torn.

The Lycans are cruel and cunning, and they must eat human flesh, and are thoroughly, visciously rabid in nature. They are not honest wolves when changed, but only a man - animal, a sad, deformed parody of the Crinos form. They hate vampires and will do anything to attack them."

"We are not true 'shape shifters'" The Ulfric made bunny ears about the term with a wry smile. True shape shifters were uncommon and could take any animal form. "But we are Lycanthropes, from descended from those who lived and worshiped in Lykaia, born of the worship of the old gods. Man, wolf and man - wolf."

"We are the moon called, the moon touched, and we honor nature and our own nature. We do not hunt the young, we do not hunt bearing or nursing mothers, we do not kill for sport, though hunting is excellent sport" Scaring hte hell out of humans was great fun, if properly done. But he held silent a second to see if Heathstepper had any questions so far.

The fact that the pack had drawn nearer started Heathstepper somewhat. Although there was obviously no aggressive intent, he knew he was an outsider whose presence was being tolerated only on sufferance, primarily from a benevolent pack leader who had apparently taken something of a liking to him, at least enough to patiently explain the difference between the various types of lycanthrope and to give Heathstepper a second chance.

The information the Ulfric had outlined surprised the young werewolf. As he hadn’t known any of his kind before, the differences didn’t really mean much, especially since they seemed to be just ways of demarcating virtually the same thing, just in a manner which painted those who weren’t like this pack in rather unflattering ways.

Once again, Heathstepper found himself the centre of attention of the pack. After years of attempting to evade notice, as well as hunting whilst under the influence of the moon any who would cross his path, he felt out of place and rather apprehensive, even though the pack around him didn’t look like they would be making any moves that could be construed as threatening; indeed, they appear to be at leisure, listening to their leader outlining lycanthropes in general and their sort in particular.

“So how is it possible to tell the difference between the different types of werewolf?” asked Heathstepper. He gestured around at those of the pack in their Crinos form. “I don’t mean to be rude, but how are those of your pack in hybrid form any different from the ‘lycans’? I’ve also got to ask how you’re certain what sort I am. One thing I do usually remember from when the full moon is up is an urge to kill, or at least hunt.” Heathstepper had the decency to look slightly ashamed of that, especially since he usually didn’t care who or what he took down. “Does that not kind of point towards the idea that I might be a ‘lycan’? As it’s been said, I don’t know anything of your culture or habits.”

Virtually the only other times he’d seen werewolves had been in films, and that had been before he’d been turned in to one himself. Perhaps the way he acted was influenced by these films – the media’s idea of how a werewolf acted could well be a place where Heathstepper, at least subconsciously, drew the cues for how he acted in wolf-like form.

Ten looked out over the club, disgusted and horrified. There was no need to close the place down. It was already closed by default and abandonment. He swung his Barrett back up on his shoulder and then took out his cell phone. He dialed the local emergency number and then moved to check on the nearest person who appeared to be wounded and conscious.

OOC: Sigh I hate loosing three paragraphs of work!

Heathstepper

“Does that not kind of point towards the idea that I might be a ‘lycan’? As it’s been said, I don’t know anything of your culture or habits.”

Nari spoke up "If you were a Lycan I would have been unable to get through to you. I would have had to have killed you. And while you were rather unkempt and shaggy, you were not the twisted monstrosity that a Lycan is" With a gesture majik rose and before him stood a rather nightmareish figure hunched (http://www.magikland.net/wip/lycan29.jpg). It was tall and bulky with bunched muscle. It's fur, though it was more hair like than fur like, was patchy and as coarse as a scouring pad. The facial features were a parody of the lupine, bestial, and only vaguely wolf like.

Heawthstepper could look at those in Crinos form (http://www.atddm.com/crinos.jpg) and easily see the difference. A solid pelt, not patchy, fur agleam with health. Bright intelligent eyes alive with curosity, a face clearly moulded from their full wolf form. Yes they stood between seven and ten feet tall, but they were in proportion and carried the long solid mucles of beings of great endurance. Hands not paws though the long fingers were tipped with lethal talons to match their fangs.

The Lycans had only two forms, human - and that form slowly desentigrated into a brutish specimine the longer the Lycan lived and the man- animal. It had no full wolf form, though it could bound along on all fours with a surprizing turn of speed. And it was an astonishingly agile climber.

"We say you last night, saw what you did. Yes you rather made a muck of it but you certainly did not do what any Lycan would have. A lycan would have torn the werepuma and his mate apart. The Lycan would have killed in more public spots than you chose, though even they are not so uncunning as to kill in the eyes of the public."

"Unless they have their dander up" Came a chuckling addition from a young woman who threaded her way through the pack to flop down at the Ulfric's feet "And having the urge to hunt. We all do. And even the strongest willed among us will admit that dominating that urge is one of the hardest things to do. But the ability to do so is the hall mark of an alpha" The new comer, while she was pleasant featured was no raving beauty. There was no cruelity about her features but some would say the chin was stubborn and the nose rather snub.

The pack about you (http://werewolf.rcromar.com/images/top100/redwoodpack.jpg)

Circus of Blood

The voice on the other end of Tens call was aparently suffering from near fatal ennui."May I have the victims CIN please. We can not begin to render aid without the appropriate information" The lemony voice stated into Ten's ear.

Bath House

"Attend to this for me."

The doorman nodded eagerly , his will completely subsumed by that of Raasputian. "Yes Master" He gave a half bow, it was rather awkwardly done, but something made hium want to be formalish

Once Rasputin entered the man scuttled off down the street to the nearest mens fashion outlet, there to purchase the appropriate clothes. Though he didn't pay too much attention to what the shop clerk was selecting. He was busy trying to keep watch out on the street, attempting to keep an eye on the designated pair.

The image of the lycan conjured by Nari certainly looked ugly and brutish, entirely unlike the hybrid form manifested by some of the werewolves surrounding Heathstepper. The idea that if he had been one he’d have been killed virtually on sight by the kitsune rankled slightly at young werewolf’s somewhat repressed sense of justice, but he assumed that Nari was more experienced in the fields of the supernatural than he was, so knew what she was doing – if such a creature was that dangerous, then it was probably for the best. It was a train of thought that quickly gave Heathstepper a sharp feeling of guilt; that he’d acted in such an unrestrained manner last night and on numerous occasions prior to that, and would probably have been dealt with in a similar manner by packs less forgiving than this one. It was slowly dawning on him that he was lucky to have been picked up by them, rather than meeting shot through with silver bullets or torn apart by others in Carnival who would have been less keen to attempt to rehabilitate a feral werewolf.

“And having the urge to hunt. We all do. And even the strongest willed among us will admit that dominating that urge is one of the hardest things to do. But the ability to do so is the hall mark of an alpha”

Heathstepper drew his gaze away from the magically-conjured lycan. Its eyes, full of animal rage, were beginning to disturb him, if only because they reminded him slightly of himself. He turned towards the new comer who had emerged from the rest of the pack to seat herself at the feet of the Ulfric. “Fair enough,” he said with a slight shrug. “I think I’m starting to get where you lot are coming from. Resisting the urge to go out and hunt is all part of being a werewolf in a functioning society.”

But there was a part of Heathstepper, quite a large part in fact, that didn’t want to rein in the bloodlust which drove him during the hours he was in his lupine form, that wanted to continue to hunt unrestrained and sate itself on whoever or whatever that had the misfortune to cross his path whilst under the influence of the full moon.

“But what of my actions last night?,” Heathstepper asked, bringing to the fore one of the things that was most nagging at his mind. “Won’t they have some, uh, repercussions for you lot, if not just for myself? I mean, I don’t know if you,” he said, nodding towards the Ulfric, “were the only ones who noticed me.” Vague images of the warehouse and the scavengers going down beneath his claws and fangs reared up in his mind.

OOC: Gah, losing posts happened to me too often, so I've taken to doing them in MSWord so that if something cocks up whilst I'm posting, I've at least got it somewhere else.

Ten brought the phone away from his ear for a moment to stare at it. He did his best to ignore the screams of the wounded. They were so loud in his acute hearing. "Gawdammit, you lil'pissant!" He bellowed at the disinterested person on the other side of the phone. "There is no way in Hell yer gonna be able to do jack she-it over that dam-blanged tely-phone. I am but one man. I can do damned triage, but yer gonna find every EMT, cop, firefighter, and dogcatcher and shove'em into every am-bew-lance, cruiser, and clown car and get'em here faster'an stink, boy."

He looked over the gal he was crouched over. She was human, young and pretty. Her leg was snapped, compound fracture, bone jutting from the skin. She was panicking, hyperventilating. She'd live, walking might be tough for a while, if forever. He grabbed her chin and turned her to face him and, then following Catawaban folk psychology, gave a 'Fortifying Slap' across the face. "Get it under control, girl. Yer government's utter bull honky, but yer gonna live. Now, drag yer ass over to the guy over there." He pointed to a moaning man. "And see what ya can do for him."

He had no mercy or kindness. This was duty, serious, and, he felt, all his fault. He was taking it out on the phone tech, the girl, but dammit he had to do something. He got up from the girl and moved to the next body. He did see the girl take a moment and then begin crawling towards the man he'd pointed to. Ten pushed her out of his mind, turning to the next victim and the phone agian. "You got that, ya yella sack of she-it? You ain't gonna get yer bur-row-cratic bull she-it. Yer gonna do yer damned duty as it was intended, or God help you." Ten cursed as he turned body over and found the front of the victim, male, crushed to an unrecognizeable pulp.

Rasputin watched the pair-the man did not trust him, which was for the good. The child would pull a good price on the streets of Carnivaal, which made it imperative to get her off them. That which we do for the least of us, the Lord returns to us sevenfold, the Holy Devil thought, nipping his finger as he approached.
The man stiffened as Rasputin gently drew his finger along the child's cuts, allowing his Blood to heal them before wiping it away. "This is no place for an innocent." he pronounced, rising and taking the man's hand, slipping a small pouch of coins-mostly silver, but some gold-enough to rent an apartment with a lock for a month in this section of town. "You must take her inside, where it is safe-and she will need food, as well. I am going to bathe, there-" he indicated a bathhouse. "-then get a change of clothes. If you would like, I will allow you to be my guests for one meal at that tearoom."
He nodded at the little Russian tearoom next to the bathhouse, then walked away. The money would do the pair some good, even if they did not take him up on the meal.
He stopped at the doorway to the bathhouse and spoke to the man at the doorway, his eyes blazing with the compelling power of the Undead. "My friends will need watching, and I shall require a change of clothes. Attend to this for me." he stated simply, watching as the man's will drained away, his thoughts replaced with Rasputin's orders.
He could use a good soak, perhaps a steam while his change of clothes was readied, and if the pair would dine with him, he could consider a part of the night the Lord's work...

OOC: Charon wouldn't really be afraid of Rasputin. He's more of the headstrong type - the one who would, perhaps, humorously walk into a battle only to be angry if, say, Andromeda was threatened.

Charon hadn't thought that the sight of Rasputin was anything different from the religious people he had met over the years he spent wandering as an assassin who worked in the fashion of a mercenary and, indeed, there was even a nun who had loved him and who, if she could, would have thrown away the habit. Charon, though, didn't respond favorably to that woman at all. As he watched Rasputin work his magic on Andromeda, he restrained any urges to break them up because he knew no harm was intended. Stuffing the coins in his pocket, he smiled. "We've already got a place to say, Father, and and we would be glad to attend a meal with you."

Andromeda smiled at Rasputin with a demure look upon the pale skinned face which Charon had seen ever since their first meeting when Andromeda, a strange child, wandered out into the streets with nothing to say to anyone who looked upon her - Charon had taken her under his wing after running away from the guards of a man he had killed and, feeling sympathetic and perhaps even in a fatherly mood, he took her in and protected her from a foe which not only killed her parents but which he had never even seen. Was it possible, he thought once, that Andromeda killed her own parents? Was it possible that beyond the innocent exterior was a dark and brooding interior just waiting to kill again? Andromeda did, after all, show no fear when she was with a psycho cannibal while many other girls would scream to death. "Father, it was very kind of you to patch up my wounds and I thank you for that but please don't think anything bad about my guardian. He is a very good man."

Andromeda had spoken in the tone of a refined Victorian girl and then walked away with Charon towards a place neither of them really knew about because, after all, there wasn't any place in particular that they wanted to go and, besides, they'd be having a meal with a possible clergyman soon.

Rasputin mixed some herbs in with the ladle of water he hurled on the coals in the steamroom and inhaled deeply from the emergent steam, receiving nothing more therapeutic than the aroma.
The man and the child were anomalies, and thus to be investigated, but the innocence and purity of the child...
These were matters to be unearthed, for they were not natural to Carnivaal. This was a city of petty powermongers and corruption, not a place where one found such as them.

Rasputin towelled off when his clothes arrived, and he dressed. Best to see what silk purses he had dredged out of the sow's ear that was Carnivaal...

Sitting in the house that they had procured as their living quarters, Charon and Andromeda were thinking about Rasputin as they relaxed before they headed over to sit down with him for a meal at the Russian tea house. Luckily, for them, they had some new clothes to change into and, of course, Andromeda still retained that Gothic Lolita look which she had when she first entered Carnival. It was a look that she had ever since she first met Charon, since time immemorial, and she had no interest in changing it. "I think that man was pretty nice but I can sense he's got a past behind him." Andromeda quipped as she sat in the lotus position on her bed. "I can tell that he's got something behind him."

Charon just smirked. "I suppose you've got some latent ability that I never knew you had, Andie, but I'm not going to question you on it. I don't think we'll have to be wary of him but, if he tries anything, I'll fight him. Let's just hope it doesn't come to that."

Andromeda nodded enthusiastically and smiled. "I hope so, Charon, I hope so very much. I'm sure he's not going to be another psycho cannibal who will chain me to a wall, naked, and so forth. Honestly, I sort of found it to be morbidly cool. I wasn't really scared and I was actually surprised he didn't kill me. He could have gutted me like a fish. Then I would have joined Mom and Dad."

Charon nodded. "Let's get going. We've got a priest to dine with."

And so they went. Down to the tea house in search of a priest.

Rasputin arranged his clothing and made his way to the tearoom, ordering some fine Madiera and rich chocolates. Although he no longer ate, he found a comfort in remembering the fine foods Yusupov had served him-though he doubted the tearoom would flavor their fare as Yusupov had. Besides, the child might enjoy the chocolate, and the man the Madiera-for dessert, after they had eaten their fill.
They would, of course, speak of their travails in Carnivaal-and this would give Rasputin the template for the future...

Rasputin, Charon & Andromeda at the Russian Tea Room...

The Tea Room staff was only too pleased to provide the requested fine wine and silky sweet chocolate "Would you prefer it in the Spanish or French manner my lord?" The plump waiter asked cheerfully. Spanish style was made with water dark honey and chilies. In the French fashion was the more common with milk, sugar and a dash of vanilla.

"And were you wishing anything in particular for the dinner. The chef has commented that the veal is particularly tender today and the salmon very, very fresh."

Before the discussion of baby beef or seafood could begin the Major Domo escorted Charon and Andromeda to the setee that Rasputin had requested because of the privacy it afforded.

Circus of Blood

You ain't gonna get yer bur-row-cratic bull she-it. Yer gonna do yer damned duty as it was intended, or God help you.

Ten found himself howling, but he'd bee hung up on. Canrival was very much a pay as you played town and they dedicated only the most minimal of funds to helping those who wouldn't or couldn't pay their own way. Now if he'd been calling from a more upscale gps location. But he'd been calling from a location square in the boonest of the docks. And no provider was required to take getting cussed out, so he'd be hung up on.

However the young woman he'd slapped back to sensibility was a citizen and though she had but the lowest rating she did have one. Behind him she rolled her eyes and fumbled her own cell phone out and shakily dialed.

From the back came a muffled crack, a flash of light, a strangled cry and the sound of a body flying several feet and landing heavily. And cursing, lots of feminine voiced cursing.

Heathstepper

“were the only ones who noticed me.”

"Not so much as resisting the urge to hunt, but hunting indescriminately." The Ulfric nodded "And yes there might, but in a city of multiple millions, " he shrugged and ruffled his little sisters hair "and having an in our pockets we can chalk it up to demon dogs being imported from some far off place."

Sue, the lady sitting at his feet grinned sharply "I've agreed to sponsor you and handle the cover up. But that means while I am your sponsor you have to comply with any reasonable request I make. When I'm on the air I neeed a steady stream of Starbucks." She stood up and dusted off her jeans, as the pack started to disperse.

The Ulfric motioned for the Kitsune to accompany him and Nari wished him well as she moved off to walk beside the tall man.

Sue stuck out her hand as she came up to where Heathstepper stood. "I'm ranked fifth in the pack. That means that I am the highest ranking werewolf that doesn't hold an official position. I'm also Lee's little sister, but in pack rankings blood doesn't count. It's all about the strength of ones inner wolf and how much control of it one has."

She went on to explain that rank was a necessary component of the pack, those above had responsibilities and obligations to those lower and in turn those lower had such to those above. It all balanced out. "A werewolf alone is a sad and lonely being. We're social animals, happiest in a strong, well regulated, healthy pack, but we're also humans with all of humans streak of independance. So it's an even greater balancing act." She led him over to park bench and straddled it.

"Let me start with the traditions. First - when travelling, always find and announce yourself to the local pack."

The mention of using the idea of demon dogs to cover up his hunting surprised Heathstepper. It showed to him that the pack was infinitely more well connected that he could have imagined, but that probably ought not to have be so much of a surprise to him. The pack itself was larger than he would have thought, so it could well have had contacts in many different spheres, especially in a city where the supernatural was so rife. After all, the many diverse therianthropes he had smelled whilst in wolf-form the night before had raised few eyebrows as far as he could tell, so it stood to reason that demon dogs could be used as a cover for a werewolf running wild.

And keeping up a steady stream of café-bought coffee couldn’t really be that hard. Like most people, Heathstepper had done jobs which basically required no thought when he was younger, and the idea of a werewolf acting as a dogsbody made him smile slightly. When Sue stuck out her hand towards him, he took it and shook it, not really knowing what else to do and feeling that he ought to continue being polite to the people he was sure had the power of life and death over him.

“Let me start with the traditions. First - when travelling, always find and announce yourself to the local pack.”

If pack ranking was about control over one’s inner wolf, then Heathstepper supposed he would be right down the bottom of the pecking order, as well as being an outsider, which probably didn’t help, especially as he had no home pack to base the rankings on. The young werewolf continued to listen with careful attention as Sue continued to explain the inner workings of the pack and the responsibilities of each member to those above and below it, striking him that it was a bit like one of the nicer interpretations of how the feudal system was supposed to work.

“I'm ranked fifth in the pack. That means that I am the highest ranking werewolf that doesn't hold an official position. I'm also Lee's little sister, but in pack rankings blood doesn't count. It's all about the strength of ones inner wolf and how much control of it one has.”

“Sorry about that,” Heathstepper said with a slight shrug. “As I’ve said, I was never a member of a pack, so that sort of thing kind of escaped me. I didn’t purposefully break any rules, although I can imagine that ignorance isn’t the best of defences in these circumstances.” He sat down next to Sue on the park bench. “It was kind of, well, fun being something of a lone wolf, but I imagine that’s somewhat strange to you, as you are a member of a pack, and what I presume a high-ranking member of one, too. I’m thankful that you lot have taken me in, though, and I am willing to learn.”

Rasputin, Charon & Andromeda at the Russian Tea Room...

The Tea Room staff was only too pleased to provide the requested fine wine and silky sweet chocolate "Would you prefer it in the Spanish or French manner my lord?" The plump waiter asked cheerfully. Spanish style was made with water dark honey and chilies. In the French fashion was the more common with milk, sugar and a dash of vanilla.

"And were you wishing anything in particular for the dinner. The chef has commented that the veal is particularly tender today and the salmon very, very fresh."

Before the discussion of baby beef or seafood could begin the Major Domo escorted Charon and Andromeda to the setee that Rasputin had requested because of the privacy it afforded.

"French." Charon responded.

Charon and Andromeda took their seats in the setee that Rasputin had requested and greeted him without words before Charon looked back to the waiter with a smirk. "I'll take the salmon and I do hope it's very, very fresh as you say it is. Don't, though, go thinking I'm taking it as a mere embellishment of an item to make it sound more appealing to a prospective customer."

Andromeda smiled. "May I try the veal, sir?"

Once the orders had been set, Charon turned to look squarely at Rasputin and so did his little ward. "How has Carnival been for you, Father? We might as well get some conversation going and what better way than to simply ask how has Carnival been. It's been quite alright for us, Father, even with what happened to my ward. You may call me Charon and my ward Andromeda."

Charon smiled. "I assume you work at a local church, Father? You look like one of those traditional clergymen who don't take too kindly to innovations. You may just be a wandering monk. You may have even been defrocked. You may be a heretic."

Andromeda was just silently studying Rasputin with calm eyes. Those eyes which had seen something so frightening and so demonic that the memory of it had been wiped clean. She had seen what killed her parents but never could remember what it had been. The eyes, the eyes of blue, studying this man of God. She didn't look afraid of him. She just stared at him. A bit intently......

"Please, eat, drink-enjoy what is here, and when you depart leave a bit of the joy you have brought!" Rasputin paraphrased the Slavic greeting, as this language was ill-suited to it.

"You should try the Spanish chocolate, child-the peppers will warm you and tantalize your tongue." he smiled at her before turning to the man: "My actual title is staretz, a wandering elder licensed to take confessions, though my occupation of late has been exorcist.

"The streets of Carnivaal are not fit for innocents, ever, but of late I fear something darker treads them alongside the predators..."

Ten howled and cursed, filing the voice away for some comeuppance later. Shifting into a werecougar a few nights a month did wonders for one's auditory senses and analysis. He started looking through his address book on the phone, the one Laar'a had setup, pitying his Edwardian, when he'd really stopped paying attention, grasp of technology. She found the number for the Tanaaran embassy. He'd wanted to just make sure where it was if he had some concern while they were in Carnival, which was an old habit throughout travels and had saved his hide more than once. Laar'a had programmed the number into his phone just to make it easier.

He was about to dial the number or at least mash the buttons until the phone obey him when he heard the commotion behind him. He cursed, again, and closed the phone. He shoved it into pocket and drew his LeMat again. He sprinted and jumped back up to the stage. He straightened and thumbed back the hammer as he threw back the curtain and revealed a scene stranger than any that been performed here before or would probably be since.

Ama, the demoness was center stage, cursing and rubbing the back of her head as she got to her feet. Stage left, right to those of you in audience, was the sort of cast would only see in a Stoppard play. Strange folk and humans of all description gaggled about, disoriented, scared, and bewildered. This was the motley collection of strange beings that mage had found interesting and 'collectible.' Exotic was the blanket term for them. The inhabitants of Soverien's personal curio dimension wore garb from far off lands and perhaps places not of the land, this realm, or dimension.

And Ten couldn't give a hoot in hell for the lot of them.

He cared for what all the others did not notice, perhaps trying not to notice, or passed off as as real or as possible as anything they'd experienced in their captivity. In the center of the group lay a black huddle curled in on itself. Ten's heart warmed as he felt Laar'a’s presence return to him. Above the black huddle and also the mage himself stood, well, a crocodile, if it had lived a century's worth of million years and still taken steroids.

Ten's excited step towards his wife slowed when he saw the saurian. He knew who it was. His wife had idols, figurines and fetishes Her, Mira, the Taung Matron Goddess. Manifested to this realm by the pain-addled and demonically-persuaded mage, Mira had no doubt been guarding Laar'a near by and then been summoned with Ten's wife. The portal needed to summon a goddess was by no means small, especially when that goddess enjoyed worship as a quite literal thunder lizard.

Mira looked up from the Death Glare She'd turned on the mage. She looked around theater's backstage. She had very little concern for the other of the mages captives, try meant nothing to Her. She paid a glanced to half-demoness, Ten, Laar'a, and then mage.

She first addressed Amasaratu. "I remember those who do mine good turns." She inclined Her long, narrow skull in thanks. "Seek my assistance for your noble goals."

She looked to Ten. "Your Chariotress does not want you to feel unloved by Her or your hiers. Speak with Her, ad'ika." She looked down to the werevornskr curled under Her. "You both deserve that." She lowered Her skull and nudged the curled Laar'a with Her snout and whispered a few words to her alor. Laar'a began to shift from her beast form back to her human self.

Mira picked up Her head and looked down at the mage. "Now, you. You and I have a few things to discuss, blarekkar." Her lower mouth split open as She swooped down towards the frightened mortal. She grasped him quickly with Her jaws and shook him like rat for a moment. Before tossing him up into air and letting him slid all the way down Her throat whole.

She grimaced as if, well, She had eaten something distasteful. She glanced around the room again and closed Her eyes. With another flash of blinding light, the Matron Goddess was gone. She could not stay in this realm for long. It took to much of the energy and faith Her children gave to Her with their worship. She shepherded it carefully to use it to the best ends.

Even before the glare of Mira's departure disappeared, Ten was already just a few steps from his wife. He could feel her, smell her, hear her. He skidded to his knees and carefully picked her up from the floor. He pulled her tight against him, wrapping his big arms around her protectively. He leaned his head down against hers, his thick mustache tangling in her dark hair. He could hear her whispering that he wasn't here, that this wasn't real.

He hushed her, tried to hush her. His voice, usually deep and strong, was weak and wavering. He did everything he could to keep from breaking down. So much had built up, his fear for her, for what he might do if he lost her. He pushed it away. That hadn't happened. She needed strength, his strength. "Ah'm here, darlin'. Ah'm as real as scent, sweetheart. Smell me, Laar'a."

He could hear her snuffle, sniffle through tears. She was tense for a second and then dam broke loose. She freed her arms from a tight, frigthened hold on herself to wrap them desperately around Ten. She held onto him like she was...no, she was afraid she might be pulled away from him, away from here again.

Ten shushed her quietly rubbing her soft, bare back with his coarse, range hard hand.

Ama groaned and rested her head on her hands, moving very carefully- the absolutely splitting headache threatened to become a real split she was sure if she so much as blinked quickly.

Now how...why...where.... had she gotten herself injured ... aka... what was the liscense plate on the planet that had run so merrily over her?

If she was cursing she really didn't recognise the fact - she was far more than merely stunned, she was thoroughly rattled - the blast hadn't just been a physical shock way but an arcane and psionic one as well - and the shields she had set up absorbed all of it, rebounding it all on to her. Then they had failed catastrophically.

"Seek my assistance for your noble goals."

Though she was aghast at seeing her tag line to Jack go down the divine dragons throat, she wasn't in any shape to quibble. Amasaratu Omega out of Perigrine by Abaddon was powerful in her own right, but a deity was upping that by a couple of factors.

Now Who the heck is Jack? She wondered for a bit before, sluggishly rememberance came to her. That jerked her upright, and caused her to pass out.

Jack Sprat could eat no fat
His wife could eat no lean
And so betwixt the two of them
They licked the platter clean

Jack ate all the lean,
Joan ate all the fat.
The bone they picked it clean,
Then gave it to the cat

Jack Sprat was wheeling,
His wife by the ditch.
The barrow turned over,
And in she did pitch.

Says Jack, "She'll be drowned!"
But Joan did reply,
"I don't think I shall,
For the ditch is quite dry.".
.

Jack first came to the world's attention, long - several centuries in fact -before he was born -as one Archdeacon Pratt who had removed from this mortal coil his plump wife Joan, some time towards the end of the sixteen hundred in rural england...

Though certain others made sure that the fact that Jack had eaten his unmissed missus was carefully expurgated, and did much work to lay clue's leading towards the idea that the nursery rhyme was of purely political origin.

It would do at all you see for any one to even think that Jack escaped punishment for his crimes. Though he did regularly.

And jumping through the centuries he came, adopting many another name, though he liked Jack best, as it was his real one. Albert, oh where have you gone Billy boy Billy boy?, and once he'd used the name Giles and laid his excesses at a more famous Giles's feet. and Jack replieing from Hell, And as Sweeny? Oh he'd not been hung, they replaced him with a changeling before he was due to swing.

After all, for all his crimes, known and unknown, he was a Citizen and thus it was required that they protect him. Even if it was from himself. Not Guilty by Reason of Insanity.

But he kept escaping and dropping back through time to pursue his favored avocation.

And now he was loose in Carnival.

"Please, eat, drink-enjoy what is here, and when you depart leave a bit of the joy you have brought!" Rasputin paraphrased the Slavic greeting, as this language was ill-suited to it.

"You should try the Spanish chocolate, child-the peppers will warm you and tantalize your tongue." he smiled at her before turning to the man: "My actual title is staretz, a wandering elder licensed to take confessions, though my occupation of late has been exorcist.

"The streets of Carnivaal are not fit for innocents, ever, but of late I fear something darker treads them alongside the predators..."

Charon smiled. "I am pretty sure that you have heard of the saying that all men have fallen short of the glory of God and, if you are an exorcist, we may assume you've found plenty of demons within the flesh of Men. I cannot accept or deny you've actually seen demons but let's not ruin this little engagement with debate about the supernatural."

Andromeda looked for the Spanish chocolate while Charon continued to talk with Rasputin. "This child of mine here is quite a mysterious one. You see, I'm an assassin-for-hire who will kill any man or certain women for the right price. After finishing a mission, I noticed her walking in the streets. Soaked in blood. She looked delirious, uttering some strange words, and I couldn't just leave her out there to get killed by whatever must have killed her parents. So, I took her in, and she's followed me ever since."

Andromeda threw some Spanish chocolate into her mouth and grinned as the warmth of the chocolate began to generate pleasure within the confines of her mouth. Charon smirked while Andromeda felt it ring through her body but the greyish blue eyes went back to staring at Rasputin. "Have you ever met demons, Rasputin? Perhaps that's what killed my parents. A demon. I've never known what or who killed them. All I remember is just being with Charon. My mind's a tabula rasa. Blank slate. Nothingness."

It looked like she had been peering into the inner confines of the soul of this wandering staretz but Charon didn't seem to notice this. It wasn't like he went around thinking that his ward was some sort of demonic creature hiding in the flesh of a child. If this she was an it then it could have gutted the psycho cannibal to shreds. She could have torn Charon to shreds. Rasputin. Anyone she wanted. So far, though, Andromeda looked pretty clean. Innocent. Without blemish.

Charon and Andromeda eventually recieved their meals and were generally satisfied with what they had recieved. "Andromeda and I have been wandering for a very long time and we like it here in Carnival. Sure, we've been in contact with some pretty wicked folks, but you'll find sinners all over this world. If anyone hurts Andromeda, I'll kill them. Simple as that."

Andromeda grinned at the mere mentioning of Charon's vow but was the grin just something innocent or something that was subtly malevolent? Was there a demonic force hiding within this child? Was this child one of those children born to human women and demon males that men of the cloth told? Andromeda was an enigma. Simple as that. "Rasputin, dear staretz, perhaps you'd like to tell us what you think of Carnival?"

"Carnival means 'Farewell to the Flesh'. originally a time of license allotted before the penance that is Lent. The penitential aspects have been lost, however, and this is troubling to me, though it permits me to fulfill my own duties by taking confessions." Rasputin allowed himself a smile.

"Demons are rarely subtle, nor have they need to be, here-though Man is more ingenious than any mere demon, as well as crueler. Demons tend to be simple creatures, wrapped about a singular concept of Evil-their power ensures they need not be more than that.

"Carnivaal is a subtle lure, and Carnival in Carnivaal a double dose of attraction for Evil. The lupines roam free, thinking they rule or live free, while other forces lurk deeper in the shadows.

"Carnivaal was forged in darkness to be pleasing to the Light-a dangerous thing, and those dangers will become all too apparent before the week is out."

"Carnival means 'Farewell to the Flesh'. originally a time of license allotted before the penance that is Lent. The penitential aspects have been lost, however, and this is troubling to me, though it permits me to fulfill my own duties by taking confessions." Rasputin allowed himself a smile.

Charon smirked. "I have probably committed a multitude of sins but unfortunately I cannot beseech you to take my confession when I'm a certified agnostic and that, my friend, would be a betrayal of my belief that I don't really know what to believe in - if anything exists beyond our world. Besides, I don't think many people really care for religion here. Everyone's hyped up on enjoying themselves."

"Demons are rarely subtle, nor have they need to be, here-though Man is more ingenious than any mere demon, as well as crueler. Demons tend to be simple creatures, wrapped about a singular concept of Evil-their power ensures they need not be more than that.

"All men have fallen short of the glory of God." Charon said with a smirk. "Man is a pretty evil creature when you get down to it. That's why I don't sugarcoat humanity or view this world through rose tinted glasses. Both are absurd delusions. Most illogical."

"Carnivaal is a subtle lure, and Carnival in Carnivaal a double dose of attraction for Evil. The lupines roam free, thinking they rule or live free, while other forces lurk deeper in the shadows.

Andromeda grinned. "The lupines do live free unless you imply that they are a slave to their inability to maintain the humanity they once had in the shade of night but, then again, there may be other kinds of lupines around. I wonder if I will ever meet one....and if it doesn't just try to eat me."

Andromeda's grin grew wider while the tone of her voice seemed laced with sadism: "How would a little girl taste to a lupine man? Wouldn't the flesh be sweet and the screams so delighful? Wouldn't it be so.....sublime?"

Then it subsided.

"I wonder why I just acted like that....."

"Carnivaal was forged in darkness to be pleasing to the Light-a dangerous thing, and those dangers will become all too apparent before the week is out."

Charon laughed. "You make it sound like something horrible is going to happen, staretz."

Andromeda was gorging on the chocolate but was still involved in the conversation. "The light forged Carnivaal in darkness and it was pleasing? Doesn't that seem a tad strange to you, Rasputin? Why would the Light want to create evil when its sole goal ought to be to destroy it? Certainly it wouldn't want to seem so hypocritical...."

OOC: I'm trying to make Andromeda look mysterious if you wondering about the way she is acting around Rasputin. I think it's about time I start fleshing out information about her past.

"You misunderstand-the Darkness forged Carnivaal to withstand the Light, to be appealing, even attractive to it." Rasputin explained. "The Lord of the Undead here is powerful and subtle-the lupines rage and tear at each other, as is their wont, and think themselves free, but there is one heart of Darkness pumping it's bile through the city, and that black heart has grown complacent and permitted worst beasts to roost-truly does it say 'Demons and monsters shall gather, the satyr shall call to it's mate, and Lilith shall travel there and make her abode.'
"Without an obvious threat, the powers that be have grown lazy-allowed demons into the subtlest of places, and this city is rotting from within. That is the prey I hunt, and it has come here, using one of it's legion of names-it is the cannibal spirit of hunger who eats flesh and thirsts for blood. It is my prey here, and I shall leave on it's heels or with it's head."

"You misunderstand-the Darkness forged Carnivaal to withstand the Light, to be appealing, even attractive to it." Rasputin explained. "The Lord of the Undead here is powerful and subtle-the lupines rage and tear at each other, as is their wont, and think themselves free, but there is one heart of Darkness pumping it's bile through the city, and that black heart has grown complacent and permitted worst beasts to roost-truly does it say 'Demons and monsters shall gather, the satyr shall call to it's mate, and Lilith shall travel there and make her abode.'
"Without an obvious threat, the powers that be have grown lazy-allowed demons into the subtlest of places, and this city is rotting from within. That is the prey I hunt, and it has come here, using one of it's legion of names-it is the cannibal spirit of hunger who eats flesh and thirsts for blood. It is my prey here, and I shall leave on it's heels or with it's head."

"Have you had any luck in cleaning Carnivaal of the demonic spirit?" Charon asked while finishing off the meal that he had ordered; his eyes scanning the staretz rather calmly as he talked. "It is possible that you still haven't found the spirit and it is also possible that you will end up losing in your fight against it. I have heard it said that the Light triumphs no matter how many of its servants pass into the cold hands of death."

Andromeda seemed excited as Rasputin talked about the demonic spirit that he hoped to exorcise from the land of Carnivaal. It was as if she had known the demonic spirit in a level which Rasputin had not. Perhaps she was in communion with the spirit or perhaps she was a demonic spirit foreign to this land. She had met Charon soaked in blood, she didn't know what happened, and she wasn't scared when she was with the psycho cannibal. Perhaps she was a demon clad in the innocent flesh of a child. Who would suspect such a child as a demon? If she was a demon, she was a damn good one when it came to hiding the truth.

Andromeda began to peer into the soul of this wandering staretz. Rasputin could possibly feel her mind connecting with his own, her presence approaching his soul, as if she were trying to take it from him. It was only a brief epiphany of sorts. Blurry and hard to understand. When she snapped out of her trance, Andromeda looked dazed. Was she a demon? A soul snatcher? Or was she just gifted with an ability to look into a person and discover what they were really all about?

"I believe it is time we ought to get going. Thanks for the meal, staretz. Perhaps we'll meet again sometime - who knows what Fortune holds in store for us as she spins her wheel around." Charon said before taking Andromeda with him to the tea house's exit. As he did, he hadn't notice Andromeda turn her head around, her eyes glaring at the staretz, making a demure look. She did not speak to him. She just.....looked.

OOC: If Rasputin wants to investigate Andromeda, be my guest. I was kind of aiming for the idea of having him suspect something isn't right with Charon's ward. ;)

Rasputin watched them leave. The child was powerful, in a way that reminded him of the perverse Lampagiu who had been Cecescu's hidden fist of terror, a bizarre and potent vampire of the soul who had drawn power from pulling the souls of those he tortured, putting this power at Cecescu's disposal until the people had had enough. Lampagiu had disappeared, but rumors traced him to a half-dozen dictators and tyrants, working with each until he found another patron, moving on when they quailed at his brutal efficiency.

The child's power was rooted in the soul, that Rasputin was certain, though whether she was divine or profane was yet to be determined. He had revealed much more than he intended-all but the fact it was his third night in Carnivaal, and he was lead as much by vision and prophecy as he was by a physical trail. He would need to return to his haven and speak with Boy-though this pair had disturbed him. He would need to investigate further...

Rasputin watched them leave. The child was powerful, in a way that reminded him of the perverse Lampagiu who had been Cecescu's hidden fist of terror, a bizarre and potent vampire of the soul who had drawn power from pulling the souls of those he tortured, putting this power at Cecescu's disposal until the people had had enough. Lampagiu had disappeared, but rumors traced him to a half-dozen dictators and tyrants, working with each until he found another patron, moving on when they quailed at his brutal efficiency.

Andromeda could sense the staretz watching them leave but she did not turn around to show that she had sensed it. She just continued to walk innocently with his guardian. If she was a demonic spirit then she hid the truth very well. If she was not a demonic spirit, was it possible that she was on the side of the Light? Or maybe on a via media between good and evil.

The child's power was rooted in the soul, that Rasputin was certain, though whether she was divine or profane was yet to be determined. He had revealed much more than he intended-all but the fact it was his third night in Carnivaal, and he was lead as much by vision and prophecy as he was by a physical trail. He would need to return to his haven and speak with Boy-though this pair had disturbed him. He would need to investigate further...

Andromeda felt the residue of her peering into Rasputin's soul and wondered if she would ever meet him again. If he had sensed her peering into it, perhaps Rasputin would try to exorcise a demon from the flesh. Perhaps she wasn't just a human with a lost soul but, perhaps, she was the demon itself. As she walked around with Charon, Andromeda felt a tingling in her hands. It wasn't much and she just dismissed it. Was it, though, a sign?

Rose slept sound, her sleep comfortable and her dreams just the sort that would be approved of back home. The sleep of the ideologically pure and innocent...and that very blindness, that smug self assuredness was just what was to prove to be Roses bane, what called the stalker to her.

On silent feet he eased into the room, the key having turned equally silently in the lock. The desk clerk having proved very...malleable, and an nice preconubial snack. Just enough to take the edge off...

Urian smiled, his thin, violet hued lips stretching abnormally wide in his strained and twisted countenance. His glazed eyes searched the room for any source of potential danger and he had to smother a cackle as he found none. His hands flew to his lips and he held rigidly still as he waited a few non breaths to see if his new bride would awaken prematurely.

Rose stirred just a bit but quickly settled back into her deep sleep.

Almost a tiptoe Urian scampered to the side of the bed and twisted his hands together, gloating that he had been the one to find such a prize. Slowly he sank down to his knees by the bed and leaned over her, sniffing deeply, savoring the scent of her.

Then unable to withstand the torturous lure of her blood any longer he tickled her nose with a lock of her hair. A twitch, then another and a small stretch, and the barest flicker of open eyes. And her mind was captured by his crazed gaze and held acquiescent, passive and enslaved.

Once that was accomplished he settled himself comfortably on the bed next to his newest bride and Embraced her. Once that was complete and he replete he slunk from the room. She must prove herself fully worthy.


He cackled loud and long as he scampered down the street, fleeing the first faint light of dawn.

When feeling dizzy like someone who has spent a long night doing drugs, it was difficult to make any sense of the situation, specially as consciousness returned and the sleep was over. With the head making turns, and an unwillingness to open her eyes, she could not even remember her name for a while, and there was a certain weariness, not unlike that of a hangover.

Not a pleasant awakening at all, and as coherent thoughts began to slowly form up, she finally realized a first fear. Something terrifying that might have just happened to her. It could have been a date rape drug, and as she remembered where she was, it was not a possibility to ignore. A very overwhelming terror came from considering it may have happened, and with anxiety, she peeked at the hotel door, and got up from bed to reach it, making sure it was locked before the dreaded self-examination, dreaded not of itself, but from the fact it would reveal the truth on what her hazy mind could not remember.

On her bed, she sighed of alleviation as she realized it did not happen. Her integrity was preserved, and that she may have gone too far with narcotics was no business of those who have sent her there, although her memory still was hazy regarding their identity. Thus there was another day ahead, of more frustrating wild goose chases for myths in service of them, whoever they were, her mind no longer could gather. Perhaps a sort of television show focused on busting myths, or perhaps a touristic show making a special on "ghost tours", but nevertheless, she still had a job to do, once her mind became clearer.

A good wash-up over the face with cold water could help, and thus she came to the bathroom, and standing next to the sink, stared at her very face, when she realized something a bit out of place. It was slight, but Roseann was a good spotter. Her reflection seemed to be translucent, in a very slightly manner. She washed her face many times, dousing water in her eyes in the hopes her vision would become clear, but the strange translucency persisted, as she concluded that maybe, whatever drug she used, its effects over her mind definitively did not worn out completely.

Thus she did the usual routine of brushing teeth and getting herself dressed, this time with a plain blue blouse and blue pants, and reasoning that the city was likely more deserted at such coming morning than after midnight, her chance to rest a bit and enjoy the more predictable, orderly and disciplined attractions of such place would come. Thus, to turn down the lights and head down, she opened the curtains.

And immediately covered her eyes as the light seemed to inflict pain against them, hurting their sensitive pupils like if they were burning. The typical symptom of certain drugs, and thus everything was obvious as her memory was getting better, and she could remember as she asked for a can of cocaine-cola in some seedy club, probably the beginning of a long, drug-ridden night she had. Rose still felt bad for having accepted it, but somehow, it was pleasing as well, to have challenged what she still remembered as rules given by her contractors.

Perhaps this morning was a good opportunity to enjoy the city, but with the increased sensitivity to light, she would probably welcome a pair of sunglasses which otherwise was rarely used. Putting them on, she then opened the curtains again, as the sunlight seemed slightly more tolerable, and headed to the door, unlocking it, to then head downstairs. Willingly active, Roseann would rather use the staircase than the elevator.

As she took the last steps and was about to turn to the desk clerk location, Roseann politely said, in a way that seemed to come naturally to her, like if it was the right way to address the moment, even if clearly contradictory, just like it is to greet someone before making visual contact with such individual:

"Good night."

And thus she stepped down from the stair and turned towards the desk.

Heathstepper

“It was kind of, well, fun being something of a lone wolf, but I imagine that’s somewhat strange to you, as you are a member of a pack, and what I presume a high-ranking member of one, too. I’m thankful that you lot have taken me in, though, and I am willing to learn."

"You can still pretty much be a lone wolf. We don't have to become the center of your world." She looked around at the once again spread out Pack "It's just for many of us, most of us are immigrants one might say this is the only family, the ones who know and accept."

She shrugged "It's like my ex roomie, he knew I was a Were...and kept saying he was cool with it ...but sometimes he'd freak out. Started claiming ..." She shared the memory one one huge fight they'd had.

They had been going to a theater, a play, and she'd gotten there first. She waited in the lobby, just watching the others attending arrive and move off to find their seats. She hadn't been aware of looking or acting in any pecular or odd manner but the roomie had rushed up to her when he'd arrived and in a fierce undertone accused her of staking out prey. That she'd looked at an elderly couple like they were dinner later.

"He kept seeing every glance I gave anyone as assessing, predatory. He...he eventually committed suicide. I know it's not my fault, but I still feel so guilty" Sue ducked her head and looked away for a second, the first sign she'd given of not being perfectly comfortable with her life.

She gave a whole body shake and returned to what she had originally been talking about "But once you know the ropes you only need to check in once in a while. You can go your own way."

"Second tradition. Protect the cubs. They are our future. And I don't know if you know it or not, but most of us ladies ...we have a very hard time with pregnancies. The little ones you see here? They're the Only therianthope offspring in all of Carnivaal...well save that there is a rumor that one of the WereTigers has had a cub, but we haven't had any confirmation on that."

The story of Sue’s roommate, and the obviously painful memories it dredged up, made Heathstepper consider the implications of being in a pack. Sue was probably right – the pack would be the only thing that was truly accepting to werewolves, as most people would probably only react badly to such a revelation. Even more so in Heathstepper’s position, as his past of hunting without any restraint would have him labelled as a murderer by a lot of people. And they would perhaps be right

He listened to the second key tradition of the pack with some surprise. Had he not seen the cubs with his own eyes, he never would have thought that werewolves were able – or wanted – to have children in such a manner. He supposed that it was probably one of the many things he didn’t know, although that list was getting smaller as the day progressed.

“I, uh, didn’t realise werewolves could have err… babies. I’d have thought it would have been easier just to go around biting people and making them in to new werewolves,” Heathstepper knew he was probably displaying a lot of ignorance at such a statement, and potentially causing some offence. “But since your pack leader mentioned that it’s illegal without permission, I imagine that’s not the best way to go about things.

“I do kind of want to retain my independence, as that is what I’ve got used to over the last couple of years," Heathstepper said, giving a bit of a ironic smile. As much as the pack was obviously willing to trust him, Heathstepper doubted that they would allow him to run wild again. “I understand if your pack is less willing, of course, because of my track record. But I don’t mean that I’m not grateful - I am. And I want to do anything to help this pack,” he finished, sounding full of the fire of those given a second chance.

Charon had decided that he had wanted to see Wanda again after the pleasurable memories of his encounter with her back at the establishment of questionable morals returned to him in the corridors of his mind. Although he would have not minded visiting the brothel again, he decided that he'd visit her home because the privacy they'd have there would be great. After some snooping around, he finally found her house and, with a smirk on his face, knocked on the door a couple of times - hoping she was there and hoping she was up for some more fun. He had left Andromeda back at the hotel, confident she wouldn't be in harm's way, not knowing that perhaps she had some tricks up her sleeve for whoever dared to try anything while her guardian wasn't around.

Charon put everything behind him, though, as he waited for the lady to step out.

OOC: Not as long as I wanted but it will do.

Heathstepper

“I understand if your pack is less willing, of course, because of my track record. But I don’t mean that I’m not grateful - I am. And I want to do anything to help this pack,”

"It's not that you can't hunt, and have fun hunting, but you just need to learn to rein your inner wolf in when it's not a right time or place to let it loose." Sue smiled. "There are places we can and do hunt with out worry or concern. And as part of the pack you'll have access to those."

One of the pups yipped and Sue looked over at them "And yeah it's hard for us to carry to term, but when one is an strong alpha and can resist the urge to change it can happen. But mostly new members are made by bites, but there are some really logical reasons for getting permission." Sue looked up at him and her tone became philosophical "What if they are totally unsuited for life as a werewolf? Mentally unstable, or a committed Vegan? Sometimes it's a cruelty to them, or a real hazzard to us, so we watch and wait and discuss it for a bit. Most of those we bring in learn about us first so they have a good idea of what life will be like. And then you have the problem of over population."

Though she was willing to admit that the Moon Lake Clan, as the local pack named themselve, was different and progressive from many other clans. And there had been actual wars fought over uncontrolled biting, hunting, and other issues.

"You see here in Carnivaal and in some nations we're rather open, but in most places we are just stories. The Great Law, the Masquerade, is meant to keep all of us safe."

Charon

Morning had come while Charon and Andromeda had dined and discussed life with Rasputin, and by the time he found Wanda's house it was close to nine a.m.

The knock on the door was answered promptly, as the household was aware of Charon impendings arrival. He'd had to check in with security to enter the Enclave, and they'd phoned ahead.

Wanda's housemaid, an older lady with iron grey hair and a dignified manner, opened the door with a wary eye, but her voice was professionally pleasant - he certainly didn't look like a salesman (she knew he wasn't but not looking like one was a bonus in her bood ) and the Enclavel security was keeping a discrete eye on the stranger.

"Good Morning Sir. Miss Wanda is just finishing up breakfast" Once Charon had entered she guided him back to a pleasant solarium filled with morning sun, plants and the scent of jasmine tea. Wanda jumped up from the wicker chair she'd been curled up in and all but danced over to him to wrap him in a close hug.

She wore a shimmering bronze silk caftan embroidered with dozens of various types of butterflies and thin house sandals. Her golden blonde hair was erotically touseled and her make up all but not existing. She looked enchanting, even with him able to guess that she'd had little more than a long nap since they last parted.

"Charon! Oh it is so good to see you again." Her eyes crinkled "I'm glad that you couldn't stay away. Would you care for some breakfast? or tea?"

Roseann

"Good night."

The clerk looked after her and just shook his head. But this was Carnival, home to a true 24 hour lifestyle. He went back to reading the latest Watchmen holozine, marveling at the skimpiness of Silk Spectre's costume.

The early morning light was warm and the breeze light. The scents of a wide variety of foods, both traditional breakfast and not so traditional fare, were carried on the breeze. Rose might well found herself tempted my the many savory offerings.

Traffic and people went their various purposefull ways and what few store that had closed overnight were already open. Flowersellers abounded, Carnivaals clime produced year round crops of flowers and the orchards and gardens were prolific. Those out and about were the usual Carnival assortment of those just going to jobs, just getting off of jobs, and partiers who were still paryting.

There was always some where to go, to be and be seen, in Carnival.

Rasputin beat the sun home and made his way to the canopied bed with it's thick curtains-three layers, the innermost a sheer mosquito netting, the second a blackout shade that stopped most light, and the third thick opaque swags of dark velvet.

He supposed a casket would be more traditional, but why alert foolish hunters?

Besides, Boy would see to it the shades were drawn should the Mad Monk stir in the day, and Boy was fully capable of handling most intrusions. Knowing his Master's desires, he had gathered white candles, chalk, and rice, and while Rasputin slept, Boy scribed the Circle of Elijah in chalk and began his preparations. He would confer with the saints while Master slept, find where Satan's most dire minion lurked, or where the saints desired him act-the saints were like that, and unrepentant in their mystery-Salvation was Man's to seek, and the saints only showed the way.

He prayed and supplicated, knowing the pattern of rice scattered by his movement would guide the Master on his next night...

As the clerk nodded, Rose approached the counter and gave her room key to him, for there was a long day to enjoy, and perhaps find more answers to her mission, despite the weariness the drugs have inflicted over her. Taking a few steps, she stood next to the glass door of the hotel and opened it, taking a long breath of fresh air as she came outside, observing immediately the local hood in the hopes of seeing a nearby bakery or restaurant, as an intense hunger came to her, not unlike the symptom felt by those who just had their daily dose of marijuana.

Fortunately there was a bakery across the street, and with no wait, she tried to find a chance to cross the busy streets amidst masses of automobiles and people hurrying up to arrive at their jobs, in the typical chaos of such cities, and as her patience grew thin, she simply dashed through the streets, likely drawing the attention of a few drivers as their cars nearly hit her, and no matter how fast and agile she went through, as if doing so was all part of a greater game.

Her emotions began to increase, and an unspeakable pleasure swayed over her after such act of insanity, like that of the thrill seekers and excessively driven by risks, and her hunger now was even greater. Roseann got inside the establishment and, looking at the clerk, asked for a plate of ham and cheese, for bread was not enough this time. Thus she enjoyed her meal, one among many, just another human being having more of the same. Only a madman or total paranoid would consider the possibility someone such individual never saw before would approach and talk for no logical reason. But Roseann was having such thoughts as she moved the fork towards her mouth to eat another piece of cheese, and the fact not everyone was constantly wearing glasses was no reason at all for it to happen.

The limitations the pack put on those who were accepted in to it as werewolves was understandable. Heathstepper idly wondered for a moment whether he would have been initiated in to the pack had he been given such a choice, and if they would have judged him to be unsuitable for life as a werewolf. He dismissed that train of thought – it didn’t really matter, as he’d never been offered the choice.

“So it’s never a case of just randomly going out and biting some sod and then collecting them the next day?” it was more of a rhetorical question than anything else. “I suppose that makes me seem a bit of an oddity, then, since I was basically done at random. And that I know nothing about how to really handle myself when changed.”

He followed Sue’s gaze to look at the younger members of the pack. Heathstepper still found the idea of werewolf puppies somewhat odd, but then the last few years had been so filled with unexpected twists and turns that he felt he ought to be less surprised by some of the things he saw.

“Does this Masquerade extend to other… err… supernatural creatures? I mean, your pack leader said they’d cover up my… attacks from last night with the rumour of ‘devil dogs’. Wouldn’t that sort of thing be breaking this secrecy thing you lot have going on?”

OOC: IC post (Charon/Wanda) coming soon.

Heathstepper

Does this Masquerade extend to other… err… supernatural creatures? I mean, your pack leader said they’d cover up my… attacks from last night with the rumor of ‘devil dogs’. Wouldn’t that sort of thing be breaking this secrecy thing you lot have going on?”

Sue looked serious "The Masquerade is the agreement all us supe's made many generations ago to pretend we didn't exist, to hide ourselves from the "mundanes', plain old humans. It's a death sentence to break it, to 'out yourself or others. And while it is sometimes breached it is mostly enforced."

Then she grinned wickedly "But Everyone knows that monsters and little green men from Mars don't exist. That all the stuff in the Tattler, or the Enquirer, or the movies, tv and ...the werewolf trotting blithely down the middle of the street is just a big ugly dog." She snickered "Humans don't want to believe, and they’ll rationalize "devil dogs" as a pack of rabid ferals."

It was all cool, especially in Carnival, were the true powers really were on their side - as long as they didn't get too rambunctious.

"We also own huge tracts in the wilder parts of Carnivaal, and we have - from time to time -held full out hunts there. We generally snatch up a bunch of the petty criminals that prey on the tourists and that make Carnival look less than golden. And I go out hunting for deer every other moon or so. The big auroch bulls are dangerous, and a Cape Buffalo? Don't ever let any blow hard tell you that one is just a hooved vegetarian, a prey animal - it will get you gored, repeatedly. Those things are down right evil!"

Rose

The fresh baked bread, the smoky ham and mellow Swiss cheese were taste treats, but some how unsatisfying. Her meal ended leaving her still yearning for more, though what she was uncertain.

The scent of dark chocolate, dense and decadent, tempted her as the baker set out a five layer Midnight Madness cake, and carved a thick slice for a slightly stooped man, of middle height, middle coloring, an absolutely nondescript clothes...

Save that to Roses suddenly sensitive nostrils came an odor utterly enticing, just the barest trickle, but it riveted her attention to the man. He took some wadded bills out of his pants pocket and thrust them at the baker. The aproned man looked at them distastefully but turned to the cash register. And Rose could realize that the odor so tantalizing to her was coming strongly, though not entirely, from the stained and crumpled money. When the baker wiped his hands on his apron, after putting away the money and giving the buyer his change, he left faint dark red smears on the white of the cloth.

Perhaps doing so many drugs was a bad idea, for no matter how well she ate, her not entirely normal hunger seemed to not stop, and her taste for cheese became sour all of a sudden, making of it a particularly dull breakfast.

Must be a very powerful drug... she thought, suddenly interrupted by a nearly irresistible but familiar scent, and immediately stared at its direction, as another customer took a peculiar cake from the bakery, leaving shortly after together with the enticing smell. As the clerk wiped his hands clean, she realized something that would make any FDA close down such establishment, although it was unlikely to exist an agency to check hygiene conditions in a place like such, as much as she hid her disgust from eating there, no matter how the smell of blood was strangely pleasant at the moment: an illusion brought by drugs, and nothing more. A quick thought crossed her mind:

I know there are people with fetish for blood, which is fittingly called vampirism... so this could be the answer I am seeking for my contractors. Or maybe just a more discrete sort of goth freak

It was then that she, finishing her meal, stepped to the counter to ask for a small slice of black pudding, staring at the cake like if enthralled by its sight. Roseann was never a fan of this sorts of foods made with blood, but she was never much into drugs before last night either. Nevertheless, some of the best grilled steaks had some blood with them, and humans as omnivores have every possibility on what to eat, and in places like what she remembered of her land, to eat themselves.

As she took the first slice, she began to voraciously eat the rest, forgetting everything about etiquette as one of the most pleasurable moments of her life came. When she finished her meal, she still had an intense urge for more, although she knew her hunger was satiated, and thus attempted to hold back the desire to eat on pure pleasure, for obesity was certainly not a goal on her personal agenda.

Sometimes she stared blankly at the other slices of black pudding for sale, her eyes fixated and unchanging as the faint, still noticeable scent of animal blood was felt, in a strange paralysis as if the part of her wishing to keep with the self-discipline and the other which thrived on hedonism were equally strong in her will, until the arbiter: logical reasoning, sided with asceticism, as she stopped looking at it and headed at the cashier to pay for the breakfast, and unlike the other customer, she handled to him some well kept, clean money from her wallet to pay her bill. There was another thing of relevance however. Perhaps the average but unkempt man she saw could be the key to finish her mission, and realizing the clerk has probably seen as many people as a place such Carnival had, she simply left back to the streets, pondering as she realized going after such man would be an wild goose chase, trying to ignore the noises of automobiles crossing the street.

There is no rational way to stop such man for an interview. He probably took a cab, left to somewhere and is too far away to be followed.

However, Roseann felt compelled to attempt finding such mean... even if forfeiting rationality would be necessary. However, maybe causality would mean an eventual answer would be found, and causality meant wandering around randomly until something happened, an idea which seemed much more attractive. To decide things at the flip of a coin, not unlike reality itself, where success and failure were usually as much a result of competence and hard work as they were a result of sheer luck.

However, she tossed too weakly the coin for it to bring a random result. It could only turn one time, but strangely, it turned multiple times and even decelerated as it landed on her hand, giving in the least likely result, a face, which meant heading to the west. As she observed the way ahead, Roseann could notice that kilometers away lied a quite seedy hood, her destination dictated by random factors, or perhaps not, although she would consider the use of telekinesis as an explanation for the unlikely result total bull.

No sane people would head to a suspicious district motivated by total randomness, but her drive for seeking answers overrode her common sense, but not her cautiousness. As she went to a particularly empty crossing, Roseann took the opportunity to discretely release the safety trigger from the 10mm pistol she carried on her bag, although hopefully they would not meet someone with the clear signs of being a junkie by opening fire, for killing paying customers was not a smart move.

And neither was logical to walk on foot than getting a cab in the hopes of spotting someone who could be heading to an entirely opposite direction. Yet she moved, as another between the crowds, only bothered by the still hurtful sunlight, and as she entered deeper into the suburbs and seedy parts of the city, the bustling streets gave place to nearly entirely deserted areas except for the expectable drunks and junkies fallen unconscious on the streets.

Her eyes scanned everywhere, and she randomly looked behind, as Roseann realized a place such as this could present dangers even to one who seemed to be seeking to buy services from the underworld rather than a threat to it. However, she could not look above, for the sun made such act unbearable, and thus much of the rooftops were completely away from her awareness.

Eventually, something would happen as Roseann roamed the streets, totally unaware of what really happened to her.

Heathstepper was impressed with the level of organisation that the Moon Lake pack had, but then the pack looked like it was fairly well established, as well as the size of it, which presumably demanded a high level of organisation to keep tabs of the activities of all of the pack’s members. And the hunts as outlined by Sue sounded really impressive. Hunting as part of a pack would be different to the way Heathstepper had previously hunted, alone and sometimes pretty badly.

“Sounds like you’ve got life pretty well worked out here in Carnival, I must say.” He fidgeted slightly on the bench. “The whole Masquerade thing sounds like it works pretty well, then. Especially since the pack looked like it was quite big, although I can’t say I really know the ordinary size of such things.” The ability of the human mind to rationalise the extra-ordinary was well known in a lot of circles, and those who didn’t conform to the ideals were often labelled as cranks and weirdoes.

“If you lot own parts of the island, do you lot have jobs and the like? I don’t imagine you spend all of your time hanging around this area, as nice as that sounds. I mean, how do you go about your lives? Do you lot hide or you take an active part in society?” Heathstepper paused as he thought for a bit. “And what sort of… thing can I be expected to do?”

"Good Morning Sir. Miss Wanda is just finishing up breakfast" Once Charon had entered she guided him back to a pleasant solarium filled with morning sun, plants and the scent of jasmine tea. Wanda jumped up from the wicker chair she'd been curled up in and all but danced over to him to wrap him in a close hug.

She wore a shimmering bronze silk caftan embroidered with dozens of various types of butterflies and thin house sandals. Her golden blonde hair was erotically touseled and her make up all but not existing. She looked enchanting, even with him able to guess that she'd had little more than a long nap since they last parted.

"Charon! Oh it is so good to see you again." Her eyes crinkled "I'm glad that you couldn't stay away. Would you care for some breakfast? or tea?"

Having been in many of these sorts of houses during his work as the mercenary assassin, Charon didn't seem too amazed when he entered Wanda's humble looking homestead but had rather been looking around with desiring eyes for that woman, Wanda, which his body craved contact with in constrast with his usually chivalrous attitude towards women. As he felt Wanda hold onto him, Charon smiled. He was quite attached to this woman but it wasn't like the attachment he felt to Andromeda, no, that was something far along the lines of father and child rather than lovers. Charon pelted Wanda with two kisses and then laughed. "It's a pleasure to meet you again, Wanda. I already had some breakfast but some tea would be nice - I've come to spend some more time with you if you were up for it and, as well, I think it'd be nice if we could go out on a date tonight."

Charon smiled. "I'll reserve us a lovely table at one of the finer restaurants of Carnival. I've got to admit that I'm attached to you, Wanda, and I don't treat you as a mere harlot. No, you're much more to me than a mere paid slut. You are....special."

That's something he never once thought he'd ever tell a woman. Sure, he had met plenty of them over the years with the most recent being one who "rewarded" him for his work but this particular woman, Wanda, was truly different then the rest of them. "Wanda, you look amazing today....it's a shame that the beauty will possibly decay but, I've got a feeling about this....you are going to be like you are for a long time....but enough with the praises. Wanda, after our tea....shall we partake in some delights? Also, do tell me if you'd want to go out tonight. I shall not be angry with you if you decline. I suspect I'm the first man you've had ask you out for dinner....."

While Charon was courting the fair harlot, Andromeda had decided that she would head back over to the hotel room where she would wait for her guardian to return. As she laid on the comfortable bed, she noticed that the room was turning dark and blurry before her very eyes, ruby red liquid pouring down like a calm waterfall, everything feeling distant. She fell into a trance and closed her eyes. When she reopened them, she found herself in a dark room. There were no signs of life but, rather, two freshly made corpses on the ground, holding hands like someone had arranged this for them, in respect for the love they shared. Looking at them, Andromeda began to recall the past events of her existence on Earth. She had killed her parents. It was a question of why rather than who, a question of why she would kill such loving parents, a question of why was all that it was. She heard a voice, then, a sly cynicism emerging from the darkness. "You're not really a human child, Andromeda. Don't you remember what happened?"

She looked up at the ceiling to see a anthropormorphized shadow looking down upon her with a cynical grin. In the middle of the shadow had been a little movie of her parents begging for a child, of her parents recieving the child, of the parents not knowing that their child wasn't really human. They had begged a mysterious stranger to heal their child and, in exchange, he had asked for the child's soul. She was healed from her infirmities but was engulfed in a demonic aura that gifted her with strange powers - some of which decimated her parents that night. The shadow smiled. "You killed your father without concern but, as you pierced your mother's flesh, tears fell from your eyes. You are a demon in human flesh, Andromeda. That staretz is bound to find out."

Andromeda began to utter some words in a strange tongue which the shadow took as evidence of her true origins and nature in the mortal world. "When the staretz tries, if he ever does, to cleanse you of what's really inside of you, will you kill him?"

Andromeda dipped her hand into the blood on the ground and sighed as she remembered her mother's words as she fell to the ground, the pierced heart unable to work any more, the eyes closed forevermore in a peaceful death. "The staretz is an interesting man. Oh, if he could meet me, he'd probably hate me, but I'd just end up killing him. Yes, yes, I'd get him well."

The shadow belched out a laugh and then leapt onto the ground, upon his clawed feet, a smile permanently fixed upon him. "Charon, your guardian, doesn't even know he's with a demon. Silly child. You were never meant to even live, you know - it wasn't God, though, who saved you. Oh, yes, God didn't do the great healing but, rather, it was a force which Man often blames for the ills it itself causes. Oh, yes, Man is his own devil."

Andromeda shivered as the shadow continued to stand in front of her and soon she fell onto her hands and felt the sweat falling rapidly all over her body to the shadow's delight. "The force within you is stronger with every moment that passes. You could have gutted that cannibal like a fish, you could have made him feel the pain of all his victims combined, but you did nothing but mock him with your childlike innocence - your apparent inability to be scared. Oh, yes, demons can never get scared."

Andromeda tried to get back on her feet but she was fixed in her current position and the sweat continued to come forth so much that she was soaked in it, paralyzed body unable to move to another part of the room, the shadow's glare transfixed upon the demon child. "My dear Andromeda, I am your new father but I'm sad to say your new mother couldn't make it. Even demon women have to deal with social functions. Be nice to Charon. I like him. Kill him, or that Wanda girl of his, and I'll be pretty upset with you. Kill the staretz, though, if you want. I think he'll try to take you from me, yes, take you from your family...and do you really want that?"

He levitated Andromeda off the ground and straightened her out before peering deeply into her eyes. "I will be watching you, Andromeda. I always have been watching you. You may have not even noticed. All in all, live like a human but, if you are going to possibly be killed like one, don't hesistate to unveil your true form."

Then it ended.

OOC: IduC, I hope you don't mind this next part. I need it for the sake of Andromeda's story.

The effects of the trance had worn off and Andromeda leapt up on her bed with irregular breathing and a pounding heart, her skin cold and her mind wracked with the dark being's words. She heard one command, then, to test out her powers. As she walked outside, the voice led her to the slums of Carnival and begged her to get herself in danger so the powers can be tested. It led her to a dark alley where a lewd man had been, staring at her with the eyes of a depraved and sinful man, his hands inching to get a feel. As he approached her with the licking of his lips, Andromeda began to unveil her powers. Bright light shone around her as she walked towards him with true evil in her eyes. A sword had come into her hand, formed out of the light, and with one great slash, she cut him in half without concern. She then hacked the rest of the corpse into pieces and arranged them to look like no dismemberment had occured. Whoever found the "corpse" would be in for a great surprise.

Andromeda looked at her reflection in the broken glass that was around one of the slum's abandoned buildings and smiled. She would be able to protect Charon and, if needed, Wanda, with these powers. And, if need be, she would slice Rasputin into bits. Him and anyone else. She walked back to her hotel room like nothing even happened.

OOC: Andromeda is basically a human being blessed with demonic powers by a mysterious stranger who made a deal with her parents. The shadow may be that stranger or a being used by him to contact her from his position. Don't try to kill Andromeda, though. I want to RP around with her powers and such before any possibility of her dying can be realized.

Rose

Perhaps she did not realize it consciously, but she was following her nose, some how able to keep getting glimpses of the man she had been following - not constantly - many a time she was sure she had lost him completely. But some how she always found him again.

It was the scent of blood she was tracing she would some day realize. The blood had not come from the dense, and opulently rich, dark chocolate cake, but from the traces of blood on the man and the money he'd used to pay for his slice of cake.

But the neighborhoods he was weaving, almost aimlessly, though were getting worse and worse indeed.

At one point she stopped certain she was lost, and not looking up was completely unaware of eyes watching her from above. The one she had been attempting to follow had resized, in his experienced, canny way that he was being tracked. He had now taken to the high ground the better to keep an unwatched for eye on the one interested in him. He would wait to she what she did before eliminating his potential new victim.

Heathstepper

And what sort of… thing can I be expected to do?”

"Well once I finish mentoring you, we'll expect you to get and hold a job, pay your own way. We can even help you find a job, if you want. Some of us own our own businesses. We count among the pack a lawyer, two butchers, a doctor, a building contractor, those three " she waved to a trio - in full wolf form -playing a rough and tumble game of killer Frisbee "own their own lawn care company. Bobby makes his living playing timed chess matches in the Celebration park, Luther and his wife Illona" she waved to three in human form hunched over a game of Pente "run the Blue Moon Cafe."

"We all owe dues, to cover property taxes on pack owned property. Though that’s mostly defrayed by monies we earn by leasing out the land from time to time. Pack dues are one percent, payable monthly. It also buys you into our credit union and group health insurance." She grinned at his look "Yeah we don't need it but it's one more layer of camouflage. Our pack Bones submits small regular claims for such things as annual exams and such, even an accident now and again."

Charon

OOC: No problem on Andromeda's little adventure

Wanda was a first a little offended by Charon’s words. She was not a mere harlot, not a slut, and she would never countenance being treated as such. But she also realized that he had come from a culture where such was the norm, that prostitution was a sinful and reviled occupation, unlike in Carnivaal. Inwardly reminding herself that he meant no insult but true compliment she smiled to herself and forgave him. Plus she liked him and enjoyed his company

Also, do tell me if you'd want to go out tonight. I shall not be angry with you if you decline. I suspect I'm the first man you've had ask you out for dinner....."

No he was not the first man to ask her out, but he was so charming about it.

"Charon, I'd love to go out with you for dinner. But I need you to understand that here, in Carnivaal, even a 'mere' prostitute has some education in her profession and health certification. I have a degree in sociology, psychology and spent many hours formally apprenticed to the finest hetairas in our nation. I am not just a bed partner, but I am- like the geisha's of Japan -highly trained to be a pleasing companion. To be a good conversationalist, entertainer, and confidant among other things.'

"I work hard at my job and I have a good and growing reputation. I own my own house, pay my own way. I'm not required to sleep with any patron, only those I wish too."

"and yes the thought of being in your arms again, so hedonistically enraptured ...yes I want you." Wanda said firmly with a infectious smile as she poured him a cup of tea. Then she leant over and gently took his hand, nibbling teasingly on his finger tips.

"Charon, I'd love to go out with you for dinner. But I need you to understand that here, in Carnivaal, even a 'mere' prostitute has some education in her profession and health certification. I have a degree in sociology, psychology and spent many hours formally apprenticed to the finest hetairas in our nation. I am not just a bed partner, but I am- like the geisha's of Japan -highly trained to be a pleasing companion. To be a good conversationalist, entertainer, and confidant among other things.'

Charon grinned. "If I were one of those lewd and uneducated men you have probably found yourself with over the course of your career as a prostitute, I could tell you that those degrees are useless but I, being chivalrous, don't stoop to such a level. It's nice to see that you care so much about your education. We need more educated people in this world. When you say you're highly trained, I can definately testify to the truth of that statement. You're probably the best brothel girl that I've been with or at least one of the best."

Charon took a sip of his tea. "I've been with plenty of women over the years but I haven't felt an attachment to them like I have with you. You're the sort of woman that I can't seem to stop thinking about. Yes, Wanda, I'm deeply fond of you."


"I work hard at my job and I have a good and growing reputation. I own my own house, pay my own way. I'm not required to sleep with any patron, only those I wish too."

"Why did you become a prostitute, Wanda?"

"and yes the thought of being in your arms again, so hedonistically enraptured ...yes I want you." Wanda said firmly with a infectious smile as she poured him a cup of tea. Then she leant over and gently took his hand, nibbling teasingly on his finger tips.

Charon smiled. "Let's finish our tea and then go on another round of carnal passion. I'm sure we can both agree on this, right? Well, we could always do some minor things together and save the major things for tonight. I'll let you decide..."

Charon watched Wanda nibble on his finger tips and smiled. "You've got talent, Wanda, and this house is a testament to that truth. You're not just some girl who gets by on her looks, no, you work for what you've got."

Being expected to get a job and then pay the pack a tithe and become a respectable member of the pack… it sounded a bit mundane to Heathstepper. But then moving from one area to another before anyone discovered what had been killing livestock and the occasional person, whilst a lifestyle that he liked and often felt like bit of an adventure, some part of Heathstepper knew it’d probably have to come to an end at some point. A more fatalistic part told him that it’d come to an end when he’d finally bitten off more than he could chew and was brought face-to-face with an angry mob or a hunter who knew how to deal with werewolves. Maybe a more calm and normal life would be good, at least for a while.

Heathstepper gave Sue a bit of a grin and pulled himself up to a straighter sitting position on the bench. “Seems like you lot have got a plan for everything and treat this pretty seriously. No wonder you don’t want the Masquerade blown if there’s a chance you might loose everything you’ve built up. It all sounds pretty civilised, really. I don’t think I would have expected that of a pack of werewolves before I came in to contact with this pack, even though I am one myself.” He slumped against the backrest of the bench again. “But then I suppose that’s my ignorance presenting itself again.

“So, since you’re my mentor, what else am I supposed to know?”