Limbo Play Thread

[KtHM]

Prologue
Hell
1750 AD
“What is your intelligence report, Ms. Erell?” The voice was crisp, business-like, and utterly devoid of feminine inflection. The speaker stood straight, with convent-school posture. Red hair was drawn back from a severely plain face, and fell straight as rain down her back from beneath a cornflower blue and white cap, the front concealing her hair-line and adorned with a single sapphire strung with two silver chains as delicate as spider web. The diadem was a symbol of her authority. Her eyes were sharp and brown and filled with fiercely controlled anger.

“Great Lady.” The woman before her was kneeling, head bowed low. “It appears that Lucifer has mobilized his army. I regret to tell you that we didn’t notice this activity before.”

“How was it overlooked?” Her eyes hardened to steel as she came to her feet, blue and white silk rustling as she did so. The gown was a sheath, straight and simple and unadorned save a silver chain hung with a sapphire similar to her diadem at her waist.

“He took great pains to ensure we were unable to detect him. Our spies have reported that three dozen Psi sensitives have died to complete this task. I am sorry, Great Lady.” The agent flinched under her Queen’s gaze.

“What is his goal?” asked one of the council members, a pale eunuch garbed in a robe much like his Queen’s.

“The Creator, of course.” She chewed her thumbnail. “There must be some way to stop him.”

“There is the shield generator, Great Lady,” the eunuch murmured apprehensively.

In the high vaulted walls of the throne room, Lilith, Queen of Hell, paused and looked to the window. Beyond the clear glass lay her domain, white sand beaches stretching as far as the eye could see, lined with clear blue oceans and vast cities.

“I will do it.”

“What?!” The five council members and the agent shot up in shock. To one side, a girl with hair as red as her Queen’s and eyes of faintly alarmed blue, shivered. Silken white rabbit ears twitched atop her head and small, palm-size feathered wings flexed nervously.

“The shield generator must drain the psionic abilities of someone in order to work. It is the only way.” Her voice was hoarse, but her expression set. Stunned silence followed her words.

“Lilith, no!” cried the rabbit-girl, running forward and stumbling to her knees before the woman. She wrapped her slender arms around the silk-encased legs, buried her young face against her Queen’s thighs and wept. “No, you’ll be killed!”

Lilith laid her hands comfortingly on the girl’s head. “Gidian,” she murmured. “I must. I have a duty to my people.”

“No!” she sobbed, shaking her head violently. “No, no! Let me do it for you, Lilith! Let me stand in your place! You’ll die!”

“Brave rabbit,” Lilith whispered. “Your powers aren’t enough to generate a shield strong enough to protect the Creator. It must be me. I am the only one strong enough-"

“And foolish enough,” spat a blond warrioress entering from the western wing. “Are you mad? Lilith, these people need you to lead them!”

“And if we do not stop him?” Lilith shot back. “What then, Demea? What will there be left to rule? He will own all of us. We will be subjugated beneath him like eons before, trapped in his power, slaves to his rule. He must be stopped.”

“But this-“ Demea began and Lilith raised her hand, silencing the swordswoman.

“This is what must be done.” She turned her eyes down to the still-sobbing Gidian who was clinging to her. “My little rabbit, we must hurry. We haven’t much time.”

Through the narrow hallways of the citadel they hurried, lifts of pure blue light raising them to the top of the main spire. “Should this undertaking kill me,” Lilith continued in a strangely detached voice, “the council will take over my rule for a hundred years and groom my successor to take my place. In a hundred years time, should I die she will rise to take my place.”

“Are you sure that’s altogether wise, Great Lady?” the eunuch asked, even as he hastily scribbled down the declaration.

“Yes, Kadess” she grated between clenched teeth. “Do not question my judgment.”

“I beg pardon, Great Lady.”

“Your army has been mobilized to neutralize any troops that jump outside the city walls. The navy has also been deployed.” As Demea spoke, Lilith looked out the narrow window towards the great stands of elms floating over the water, their branches outstretched to permit the shade that allowed the jumps. “We could cut them off… bomb the jump ports to make it impossible for them to even enter the plane.”

“And cripple our economy and strand my people.” Lilith chuckled. “No. I shall stop him before he reaches the city.”

“At the cost of your own life,” Demea added darkly, but Lilith only shook her head, signing her name at the bottom of the declaration held before her. She pricked her finger on a pin and let three drops of blood fall upon the parchment, watching as they moved into the shape of her crest and burned it in coppery crimson next to her name.

“Demea.” She spoke softly. “If I should die, protect my successor. Give her comfort.”

“I hardly know her,” Demea replied.

“Swear it,” Lilith begged and Demea sighed raggedly and put her hand on the hilt of her sword.

“I swear I will, should you die Lilith, protect her and comfort her.”

“No, no!” Gidian moaned brokenly, clinging to Lilith’s arm. “Don’t do this! Don’t leave us! Please, Lilith, I beg you, don’t-“

“Gidian,” Lilith murmured and pressed a kiss to her forehead. “My brave rabbit. Be strong.” And she stepped up to the dais in the
center of the small, cylindrical room. Seating herself in the chair, she closed her eyes and relaxed as it slowly lowered her into a reclining position.

Demea, at the window, peered through the scope and swore softly as, from the shadows, airships began to materialize. “They’re here,” she barked, without bothering to set the scope down. She pursed her lips and twisted the frame, magnifying the image. Her eyes fixed upon the deck of one of the airships. “He came…” The man standing at the head of the deck was handsome, distinguished, and wearing gleaming red armor. Next to him, garbed in her dark purple, stood a woman with black hair down to her thighs and a pentacle burned into her forehead.

“Valerie…” Demea hissed, her grip tightening on the scope. “He brought that witch with him.” Behind her, Lilith flinched slightly as thick needles were placed at her arms and neck.

“Draw in the troops,” she ordered quietly. Her blood began to pump away through tubing. Parts began to move, pumping, spinning in tune to her heartbeat. Then faster, faster still, the rhythm frenzied. Slowly, ponderously, the dais rose.

“Lilith!” Gidian screamed, struggling against Erell and the eunuch who held her in place.

There was a hum, wispy and faint at first but growing until it was deep, rattling the witnesses in the tower room right to their bones. Demea dropped the scope and gripped the windowsill. With a shudder, room began to sway.

“Lilith!” the rabbit-girl wailed in a lost, shrill voice.
Then there was the sound of the Queen screaming, and with her, Gidian’s accompanying shriek. And then…

And then…

…the light swept from the tower, blasted through the airships, completely disintegrated two floating elms of one of the jump ports. Demea squinted against it and watched a small form descend from the clouds a few yards from her window, a slight child with mouse brown hair and limp limbs. The light cocooned around her and then speared out. Then it was too bright.
She shut her eyes against its brilliance and waited, jaw tight, as the tower continued to sway. They would die. They would all die for the Queen’s folly. They would-

Then.

Then.

Silence.

She opened her eyes in time to see the dais descending back into the room, to see Gidian scramble forward towards her Mistress.

“Lilith, Lilith,” she sobbed, brushing her hands over the woman’s face. The slender form of the Queen shuddered and Gidian gasped and held her close. “She lives! The Queen lives!”

August 2002

“Preparing for planar jump." Demea braced herself as they sank into the shadows of the elms floating above the water. She felt the muscles in her stomach bunch and her throat close for a moment, and then it was past and she was floating above the clear blue waters of Hell.

“Planar jump successful,” responded one of the crew crisply. One of the stewardesses began making her rounds throughout the ship.

“Thank you, passengers, for choosing to fly with TransPlanar Airlines. Please remember that we provide the sole reputable and reliable travel service linking the established, civilized Planar habitats of the United Limbo Republic with the thousands of anarchic planes and their colonies of the wider post-human Diaspora.” Demea had just been in one of said ‘anarchic planes’ and longed for the peace and tranquillity of Hell with a pain that was nearly physical. “If you are continuing to Cammoria, Sydesel, or Zabriel please be aware that our layover here will be only 100 minutes. Plan accordingly, please.”

Demea stood and stretched, pulling her carry on from the overhead compartment and joined the mass of people chattering animatedly to each other and heading off the ship. She waited in line patiently at customs/immigration, and once through headed towards the automatic doors that opened silently to the bright, sunny outdoors.

Squinting against the suddenly change in light, she spotted Erell and waved casually.

“We were starting to think you weren’t going to make it,” Erell said as Demea joined her.

“We were late getting out of Andel. It really put a damper on the whole trip. I’m amazed we even managed to take off.” She snorted derisively. “The anarchic planes really have ------ transportation.” They stepped into the spire-lift and Demea tried to work the knot out of her shoulder.

“Up-spire, J-level, express service,” Erell ordered, and the doors closed with a hiss. The clear glass allowed Demea to watch the many hover-trains fly by. She could remember a time when Hell hadn’t been so modern.

“The blast really let you guys remodel,” she mused. “It’s really changed since I was here last.”

“It’s been about two hundred and fifty years,” Erell reminded her patiently. “You cut your hair.”

“Yeah, it was starting to become a pain. I cut it about seventy years ago and I’ve been keeping it short ever since.” Demea frowned absently. “I wasn’t called back to discuss my hair. What’s going on, Erell?”

“Your last report disturbed the Great Lady,” replied the agent. “and she wanted to talk to you about it personally.”

“I can’t believe I got called back for such a stupid reason,” Demea muttered and Erell laughed.

“You didn’t miss us?”

“Horribly.” She yawned. “The anarchic planes are a pain in the
ass. It was my fervent wish to be reassigned.”

“According to your reports, you’ll get a change of venue at least.” Erell looked absently out the glass as the lift came to a silent stop. “How did you manage it, Demea? How did you manage to keep from killing her?”

“By imagining the look on her face when I killed her after I spoiled her plans.” It could have been taken as a joke. It wasn’t. Neither woman had to mention the name of Demea’s nemesis. The hover-train was waiting for them at the station. Erell had managed to time it perfectly. It was, Demea supposed, one of the reasons Lilith kept her around. Impeccable timing was a plus.

“Revenge is a hollow thing, Demea,” Erell told her.

“That’s why it fits so well.”

Erell sighed but let it drop.

“I like the look,” Demea commented as she stepped onto the hover-train. It resembled, to her, a giant Chinese serpent, winding through the sky, sleek metal bending in ways it shouldn’t. In ways it wouldn’t on the mortal planes.

“The Great Lady’s been messing around with the idea for a while. We were thinking of putting in monorails, but then they popped this sucker onto the military market and she decided to buy it up. Most of our revenue comes from tourism these days… though I suspect the Great Lady has been speculating with the royal treasury.” Erell smirked. “You’d think we’d have an open
insurrection, but people are just so happy she isn’t Lucifer that they don’t care.”

“Lilith has a way about her,” Demea agreed. They had been seated in a private room on the train, executive class. “The anarchic planes don’t have nearly this much tech- okay, some of them do. The witch has been more interested in bopping around the hinterlands, backwater planes where the people still obsess over things like the purity of virginity, saving it till you’re married and all that jazz. It makes it easier for her to feed. You don’t generally find virgins of age on a technofetish plane.”

“She’s a sick individual,” Erell murmured.

“She does what she needs to maintain her power,” Demea agreed. “How is Lilith? She still can’t-“

“No.” Erell shook her head. “No, she’s still totally psychically null. We think the only way to reverse the condition would be to turn off the shield generator when she was in the field. She absolutely refuses, of course. I can’t blame her. Of course… with what you’ve told us… she may have to.”

“It does look like a setup for an assassination attempt,” Demea murmured. “And otherwise? How is she?”

Erell gave a long-suffering sigh. “She got into the Dead Kennedys and the Sex Pistols a while ago. You probably won’t recognize her. Shaved off her hair and dyed what was left of it some unnatural shade of purple of course. She spends all her time in that ragged old Lilith Festival shirt. She was really honored by it. I think she’s taken the whole thing a bit out of proportion but I suppose we’re all allowed our little failings. What’s Lucifer been up to?”

“He’s been in Paris cavorting with young women and drinking a lot of wine. He spends most of his time at spas or a winery. I can’t say I really mind.” Demea shrugged. “He hasn’t turned alcoholic, which is unfortunate. That might have given us an edge.”

“No use lamenting now.” Erell gestured out the window to the gleaming glass and steel tower they were approaching. “Lilith replaced the citadel.”

“Good,” Demea replied. “It looked out of place anyway. So… tourism, huh?”

“Yeah. We’ve got great beaches.”

Demea chuckled. “Hell and Florida are more alike than even I realized.”

[KtHM]

Her Majesty, the Great Lady Lilith, Mistress and CEO of Hell, was lounging on a battered, sagging couch that looked more comfortable than anything Demea had ever seen and held a boxy controller in one hand while a tiny mass of pixels hopped on the screen.

“Demea.” She didn’t look up from her Mario Brothers game, but inclined her head slightly. “Have a seat.” Demea dropped into the recliner next to the couch and barely resisted the urge to put up her feet and take a nap. The cramped seats on the airship were far away. She’d sleep in a bed that night, something she hadn’t done the night before due to travel. A glance at the watch on her wrist that she hadn’t bothered to change told her that it was three in the morning on the plane she’d lived on for forty years.

“You look… well.” The Queen made her think of a cross between an exuberant pixy and a punk rocker.

“I’m experimenting with a new look,” Lilith replied. “It sort of gives me some comfort.” Demea didn’t comment that the many piercings, including the stud that flashed in the Queen’s tongue, didn’t look in the least bit comforting to her.

“How is Kadess?” Demea asked then, her voice low with worry.

“Sick.” Lilith sighed and lowered her controller before lifting a remote and switching the television off. “He’s old… falling apart.
There’s nothing we can do for him.”

“Nothing at all?” Demea felt a small clutch in her stomach. She was genuinely fond of the dry, cynical eunuch.

“A couple of years ago, he was the victim of a poorly put together assassination attempt.” A couple of years ago could have been a century to Lilith. Demea realized it wasn’t actually important when it happened. “The poison didn’t kill him, but it weakened him. He’s never really fully recovered from it.”

“I see.”

She did see. That was the awful thing. It was horrible to be so cavalier about it, the way Lilith spoke of it as though it was the weather.

Demea could see in the Queen’s eyes that it was more than that. There was in those eyes a sort of infinite wisdom that only came, she supposed, with being the first.

“I don’t think he’ll live past the year.” Her voice was quiet. “I’ll miss him, Demea. He’s been my friend for a long time.”

And there were so few, Demea realized. So few Lilith could trust.

“Is he still serving?” Demea asked.

“He insists on it, the old fool.” Her voice was sad and amused at the same time. “We butt heads over it every week and he always comes out ahead. He’s very clever for a man.”

“Half a man,” Demea corrected, and the two stood and headed for the door that would take them to the council room. The Queen was barefoot and her cutoffs were threadbare. A slender silver anklet chimed with each step. Hell’s royal advisory council was waiting for them, men and women dressed casually and comfortably for the heat and talking amongst themselves. What had originally been a group of four led by the Queen was now a mass in a large chamber.

“As our population grew we, inevitably, got more politicians.” The Queen’s voice was dry as she headed for the front of the room where a long table was set up. She took her seat at the center next to a frail old man who, Demea supposed sadly, must be Kadess.

“Demea,” he murmured softly, “it’s so good to see you again.”

“You too.” She gave him a gentle hug and took the seat he gestured to.

“Ladies and gentlemen, this session of the royal advisory of Hell will now come to order. First order of business is the increase of taxes on cigarettes-“ she glanced up and caught sight of one of the women rising to her feet. “Something to say, Secretary Astor?” she asked.

“Move to skip business to the main problem at hand, Agent Demea and Agent Erell’s reports, Great Lady,” she said crisply.
“All in favor?” Lilith asked, and a resounding ‘aye’ returned to her. “All opposed?” There were a few ‘nay’ but mostly from the disgruntled trade secretaries. “All right then. Agent Demea, if you would be so good as to go over your last report sent to the council, the one that pissed me off so badly.” There were a few hesitant chuckles.

“Sure thing, Lilith,” Demea replied casually. “As most of you know, following the Queen’s victory over Lucifer and the armies of hell and her subsequent loss of her psychic abilities, I was assigned to spy on Lucifer’s agent, Valerie the witch.” She leaned back in her seat. “Things have been fairly quiet for the past two hundred and fifty years. However, recently Valerie was assigned to go to the mortal planes to hunt for High Psi. It seems that about a century ago following a large fire in the greater Chicago on the Earth plane Lucifer had a beacon set in the city. It’s been drawing Sensitives for a while now. I wasn’t made aware of this until the time that I sent my report. Valerie’s being sent to harvest.”

“When does she leave?” Lilith asked.

“Four days from today,” Demea answered. “She’s probably taking
one of her Sensitive toadies with her to sniff them out and then she’ll bag them.”

“Permission to speak, Great Lady?” It was Secretary Astor. At Lilith’s nod, she continued, “are they after the Creator again?”

“Logically, I’d say no.” Demea shrugged. “Since giving her powers to the shield generator, Lilith’s become extremely vulnerable to psionic attack. I think Lucifer plans on launching a campaign bent on killing her.”

There were only a few gasps of shock and more grim, set faces. They had been expecting their former Lord to try it some day.

“Contact customs and immigration,” Lilith spoke sharply. “Tell them to find excuses to turn back all High Psi wanting temporary or full visas.”

“Already done, Great Lady,” Secretary Astor replied. “I suggested that to my sister two days ago.”

“I knew I could count on you. Now, Demea, what would you suggest we do?”

Demea folded her hands atop the table, suddenly self-conscious. She glanced back at Lilith and then down at her hands. “I think you should send me and a Sensitive to the mortal planes to gather up all of Valerie’s High Psi before she can. Not only would it put a crimp in Lucifer’s plan, but also we can use them to shield you, which could thwart him completely. I’d say you should get your powers back from the shield generator to protect yourself but… he might be after the Creator again. There’s really no way to know.”

“Why you?” a thin man with a pockmarked face asked.

“Valerie is totally unable to sense me,” Demea replied. “And with all the Sensitives gravitating towards the beacon Lucifer set up in the city she won’t notice another one come to help me.”

“No, but she might take him with her, thinking to use them,” Lilith argued.

“Not if the Sensitive is weak enough to not be of any interest to her but strong enough to tell me if someone is High Psi.”
Lilith mulled on it for a moment.

“All in favor of sending Demea to the mortal planes with a weak Sensitive of my choosing in order to gather the High Psi Lucifer has herded together?” she asked and there was a loud ‘aye’. “All opposed?” Silence. “Well then, it’s unanimous. Demea, permission to withdraw granted.” She stood and was surprised when Kadess stood as well. A faint nod from the Queen, and, with Erell, they left the chamber.

“Why a Sensitive of her choosing?” Demea asked sourly. “I choose my own partners when I work on a team.”

“Lilith already has someone in mind,” Kadess said quietly. “You’ll work well with her. Do this for the Queen.” She opened her mouth to argue but the quelling glance that Kadess sent silenced her.

“All right. All I’ve got is Limbo attire. I’ll need something more appropriate for the mortal planes.” She smoothed her hand down the front of her outfit and shook her head.

“I’ll get some for you,” Erell promised.

“Try not to get as creative as Lilith has with her own wardrobe. I want to look like a mortal, not a teen degenerate.” Erell disappeared down another corridor leaving Demea and Kadess to their walk. There was a short silence. “Are there spies watching us right now?” Demea asked casually.

“Of course,” Kadess replied. “Do you need to speak to me privately?”

“Yes, as soon as it can be arranged. With Lilith too, but I wanted to talk to you first.” After a brief walk, they arrived at Kadess’s office. It was small and cheery, with two open windows behind the large, tidy desk. A mackerel striped cat hopped down from the corner of the desk and waddled with great care over to Kadess to rub against his legs.

“My slightly unfaithful and very pregnant roommate,” he said sardonically, and stroked the cat from neck to tail before taking a seat. “Close the windows and we’ll be completely safe from spies and then you can tell me what’s bothering you.” A smile touched Demea’s lips as she latched the windows and drew the curtains.

“Is Lilith aware that there is a major leak in her organization?” Demea asked, not bothering to build up to her problem. She slumped in one of the chairs and grunted as the cat jumped up into her lap, directly onto her bladder.

“We’re vaguely aware that there’s a leak. I wasn’t aware that it was a major one.” The cat had started kneading her claws into Demea’s sleeve rhythmically.

“It’s pretty major. I think it’s safe to assume that Lucifer and Valerie already know about my plans to follow Valerie to the mortal planes. I imagine that very soon they’ll receive word that I’ll be stealing psions from her.” She spoke with a forced casual air, and idly moved the cat’s paws away from her arm. There was a knock at the door.

Kadess opened the door and arched a brow at the sight of Lilith.

“One of my spies reported that Demea wanted to see me,” she said without a trace of embarrassment. Kadess ushered her inside and closed the door.

“They’re good for something at least,” Demea muttered. “I was just telling Kadess about the major leak you have. I suspect one of your council members, considering the information Lucifer’s been getting.”

Lilith helped herself to the other chair. “Which one?”

“Who knows. Could be one, could be a group. I’ve got two informants in Lucifer’s infrastructure. One of them told me that the other one was found out and they’ve been trying to give me phony information through him, passing on red herrings and the like.” Demea shrugged. “I’ve been comparing what the two have been telling me and all the evidence points to it. Valerie is really leaving tomorrow or the day after and she isn’t taking a toady with her. She knows a spell that’ll draw the psions straight to her and she has a prototype reader that’ll be able to gauge their potential. So the beacon won’t futz with her spell when she casts it she’ll be turning it off as soon as she reaches Chicago.”

“Damn.” Lilith leaned back in her seat and carefully rubbed her temples, trying, undoubtedly, to ease a headache. “You’re going to have to leave tonight and not with the Sensitive I just announced to the council. I can only send someone I trust completely with you. She’s a little green, but she’s sensitive enough to pick out the High Psi and she has a good heart.”

“Who?” Demea asked. Lilith was looking beyond the window and Demea followed her gaze. Out on the sidewalk, walking up towards the building, was a redheaded rabbit girl with a grocery bag balanced at her hip and a vase of flowers in the other arm. Demea moved closer to the window and opened it, leaning out to watch the girl try to figure out how to unlock the side door with her arms full. She stood, perplexed by this for several seconds and then started juggling the items around, never thinking to perhaps put down either of them.

Carefully, with infinite control, Demea closed and latched the window, and then turned back to face Lilith.

“No.”

“She’s the only one I trust enough to send with you,” Lilith continued. “She’s a good girl.”

“I am not taking that rabbit Gidian with me. I won’t do it, Lilith. Don’t ask me to do it.” Demea shook her head stubbornly.

“Come on now, Demea, she’s really grown up since you last saw her,” Kadess assured her. The two of them had moved to the window, patting each of her shoulders in an attempt to placate her. Demea turned and opened the window again and then gestured down to Gidian. She had managed to move the vase over and had sandwiched it between her chest and the groceries. Valiantly struggling to unzip her purse one-handed where, no doubt, her keys were, she wiggled impatiently and sloshed water from the vase down the front of her shirt. She was buried up to the nose in flowers and her ears twitched.

“Now, now,” Lilith began soothingly. “She really-“

There was a loud sneeze from below and they returned their attention to Gidian, who had knocked herself down with her sneeze and sat, rubbing her nose and barely holding on to the vase. Water poured out of the container and over the legs of her pants. Demea closed the window again.

“I’m strongly objecting to this,” she warned Lilith, and the Queen shrugged.

“That’s nice. But she’s the one I picked. You’ll go with her whether you like it or not. I know I can trust her. She’s a good girl and she’ll do what you ask.” Lilith helped herself to her seat again and absently scratched behind the cat’s ears.

Demea started swearing quietly, and stomped over to a corner of the room where she stood, cursing and muttering to herself for several minutes. Then, calmly, she turned back to the Queen and the advisor.

“She does exactly what I tell her to, right down the line. I’m serious, Lilith, she better listen to me completely and absolutely, especially if we want this to work. We leave tonight.”

“I knew you’d see things my way.” Lilith smiled and the cat purred absently.

(ooc: You’re all in Chicago. It’s about ten at night. Have fun because soon you’re going to have a compulsion to go dancing… even if you don’t dance.)

[KtHM]

Chapter One
Chicago
August 2002

Moonlight painted the cement silver and reflected off of tall, glass skyscrapers. A cold wind blew in off of the lake, chilling Gary who was taking a steaming whiz against the side of a building. He had a rattling cough that shook his small, sturdy frame every few minutes, and would pause to snuffle. Wet, runny-nose noises bounced off the alley walls. He was next to a dumpster that was regularly emptied but never hosed out. As such, the stench of rotten lettuce and beans rose from the open top. A bright Taco Bell sign flickered and buzzed overhead. Gary wasn’t particularly concerned with the smell. He let off a pretty foul stench himself, and over time his nose had shut down, unable to take the olfactory assault that was sulfur, brimstone, and cheap cigars.
A circle of asphalt was missing from the alley, ripped out years ago. From the exposed dirt rose a proud elm tree in front of a bright window. Its shadow was perpetually cast upon the slimy alley floor and served as one of the many doorways between Limbo and the mortal plane of Earth.

Gary scratched at his beard with one hand and was still peeing when the door to the Taco Bell opened and a pimply kid with a trash bag stepped out into the night. Although the kid looked like he probably had some Mexican in his blood, when he called back inside that he was going to take a cigarette break there was no sharp, Spanish accent. His sneakers probably cost him a month's rent and paid three pennies to some starving kid in Indonesia, and he had a cigarette hanging from his lips. He turned and spotted Gary and froze.

The four-foot tall goat man glared at the underage punk and pulled out a cigar from the breast pocket of his workman’s shirt with his free hand, shaking the dew from the lily pad and tucking his friend back into his slacks. He struck a match and tapped a cloven foot on the ground as he lit the end of the stogie, humming Sinatra’s “Please Don’t Bug Me”. When the thick end of the cigar glowed bright orange on it’s own, he puffed and stared at the kid, whose cigarette had dropped to the ground. The kid stood there, slack-jawed with shock, and watched as Gary took the cigar out of his mouth and blew a long stream of smoke towards him.

“What the ---- are you starin’ at, Sparky?” His voice was low and gravely, much lower than it should have been considering how tiny Gary was. “You never seen a guy takin’ a ---- before?” The kid worked his mouth open and shut in shock, pointing to the little horns on Gary’s head and then at the cloven feet.

From the shadow of the elm tree rose two more figures, one
stretching luxuriously, and the other fidgeting nervously. The nervous one had rabbit ears and little wings. The kid moved his hand to point to her, still in shock.

The blonde grimaced.

“Don’t point, Phil,” Demea said, reading off his nametag. “It’s rude,” she warned. “Finish what you were doing and go back inside.” Woodenly, the boy took the trash bag and threw it into the dumpster. Then he turned and marched back into the Taco Bell.

“Will he tell anyone about us?” Gidian whispered worriedly.

Demea shrugged.

“No. Mortals are especially worried of being thought insane. He’ll keep what he saw to himself and convince himself it was all a dream.”

“But what if-“ Gidian started.

“The only people who’d believe ‘im are the tabloids, kid,” Gary told her. “Nobody believes those things anyway. Doesn’t matter.”

“But what if-“

“It doesn’t matter, Gidian,” Demea ground out between clenched teeth. Then she turned to Gary and nodded her head. “Good to see you.”

“Looks like you’re doing well for yourself,” Gary commented. “Your ass is big as a barn. You put on weight.”

“Gidian, this is Gary. He has a suicidal streak.” Demea gestured to the offensive little goat-man.

“Pleased to meet you,” Gidian said hesitantly.

“Oo-lah-lah,” Gary leered at her. “Is it true what they say about rabbits, sweetheart?”

“What do they say?” Gidian asked.

“That you all fu-“

“Gary,” Demea interrupted in a warning tone. “This is Gidian Salvatore. She lives with Lilith.”

“Oh. Damn.”

Gidian tucked her ears into a large, floppy hat and shrugged into a bomber jacket, her wings protectively folded up against her shoulders.

“You’re going to want a hat and some shoes, Gary,” Demea told him, tossing him both. The shoes were made special, ready to fit cloven feet and look almost human. He jammed the fedora on his head and then pulled on his jacket with a flourish.

“Whaddya think?” he asked. “I kinda look like Frankie, don’t I?”

“Frank Sinatra wasn’t four feet tall and didn’t have a disgusting beard.” Demea’s lips twisted distastefully. “When are you going to shave that thing off?”

Gary put a hand protectively to his facial hair and puffed on his cigar indignantly. “This thing is like a cherished friend. It’s useful.”

“You’ve got food in there from the 1960’s,” Demea shot back. Then she sighed and shook her head. “Nevermind. Jesus. Okay. Were you briefed?”

“Only vaguely,” Gary replied, as the three of them stepped out of the alley and started down the sidewalk. “Lil said that she didn’t trust the lines o’ communication or somethin’.”

“Yeah. There’s a leak in the council.” Gary whistled at this revelation and shook his head.

“Shocking,” he said.

“Not really. Anyway, Lucifer’s gathering up High Psi for some nefarious purpose. We’re here to grab as many of them as possible.” Demea shoved her hands into her pockets. The moon was bright, yellow, and cold overhead.

“Won’t that be hard?” Gidian asked. Her feet scuffed along the cement of the sidewalk. “There must be thousands of them.”

“Not really. Not of the caliber we’re looking for.” Demea lifted one shoulder in an ineffectual shrug. “The thing about High Psi is that there’s so few of them. There might be fifty to a hundred of them on a continent at one time. Then there’s the more ancient, natural draws in other cities around the states. San Francisco and New Orleans are two big hot spots, but they’re under Limbo Guardian protection. There might be ten or twenty High Psi in Chicago. Lucifer’s betting on getting all of them. Not only that, Lucifer and Lilith both don’t want exceptionally young psions. If they disappear unexpectedly, people generally make a fuss. They both want unattached young adults.”

“Who’d he send?” Gary asked.

“Valerie.”

Gary chuckled. “Well no wonder you’re here.”

“Demea’s here because Valerie can’t sense her,” Gidian put in
helpfully. Gary arched a brow.

“Valerie could sense me if she went to the trouble to look. The girl’s vain. Her arrogance makes her think she’s invincible. She won’t be looking. Demea’s here because she wants to break heads. Most notably a head with a pentacle burned into it.” Gary laughed cruelly.

“Demea!” Gidian exclaimed.

“Only if she attacks us.” Demea’s eyes were hard. “Only if she attacks us.”

Heads turned to stare at them, gawking at the four-foot tall man in the fedora. A guy in a letterman jacket stopped and put his pinkie up to his mouth in a mimicry of Dr. Evil from the Austin Powers movies.

“---- you!” Gary shouted. Gidian cringed.

“Anyway, Valerie’s going to be using a spell tied in with music. Lilith replicated it and I need you to cast it.” Demea pointed to Gary, unperturbed by his outburst.

“Why can’t you cast it?” Gidian asked.

“Two reasons,” Gary told her. “I’m stronger in magic than Demea and she can’t sing for ----.”

“You aren’t that great either,” Demea snapped archly. “You just don’t crack glass.”

“I’m a great singer,” Gary shot back hotly. “I sound just like-“

“Yeah, yeah, Frank Sinatra. I know. You tell me four or five times whenever I see you.” Demea rolled her eyes.

“Well I do,” Gary muttered sullenly and then flipped off a guy who was frantically waving his arms across the street and drunkenly calling ‘Mini Me’.

*

“Have you let your lord and savior, Jesus Christ into your life?” asked a man with a handful of pamphlets.

“Once,” Demea said casually. “We didn’t really have much in common though, so we don’t hang out anymore. He sort of gets on my nerves sometimes.” They were standing outside a church, waiting for a cab to take them to a club district. The fanatic faltered and then made the sign of the cross, taking a step back from Demea. They had used the phone inside the church to call the cab. Gidian sat on the curb, rolling a bright blue marble around on the sidewalk. Gary leaned up against the church wall, munching on a bag of communion wafers he had filched and occasionally tossing one to a stray dog that sat, begging at his feet.

“Heathen woman!” the fanatic yelled. “You’ll-“ He caught sight of Gary sharing the body of Christ with the mutt that had a bit of springer spaniel around the ears. “He’s eating the blessed Savior!” the fanatic cried, and tried to wrestle the bag away from Gary. The dog yapped, jumped up, and caught the bag in its teeth, running down the street with it, fanatic on his heels.

“I was still hungry,” Gary muttered, and burped noisily. The cab pulled up and they piled in.

“Can you take us to Fourth and Stark?” Demea asked. The driver shouted something back at them in Farsi that Demea took for a ‘yes’ and then took off at breakneck speed.

“So what club are we going to hit?” Gary asked. They hit the top of a hill and all four wheels left the road for a moment. Gidian yipped.

“Mother -------!” the driver screamed, which was probably the only English he knew. Gidian winced.

“Lola’s Room.” Demea cracked open her window; the car went around a corner with a squeal of tires.

“Lola’s…?” Gary paused. “Wait, does-“

“Nah, a guy named Steve runs it. Lola works out of there though.” Demea was watching the people whip by.

“Mother -------!” the driver screamed. Gidian winced again.
Gary pulled out another cigar and lit it. The driver screamed back at him in Farsi.

“Okay,” Gary said, and blew smoke towards the window. Gidian coughed pathetically and gagged.

The car came to a screeching halt at Fourth and Stark.

“Twenty five dollars American!” screamed the driver.

“Twenty five dollars? That’s highway robbery,” Demea muttered, struggling to reach in her pants for her wallet.

“That sounds pretty awkward since we aren’t on a highway,” Gary pointed out as he and Gidian slid out of the car.

“Twenty five ------- dollars,” Demea grumbled, and tossed the money at the driver before getting out and slamming the door. It was getting late and she was cold. “Come on, Gary. Let’s go pull strings.”

They strode into Lola’s Room and waited for their eyes to adjust to the light. It was dim and smoky, the way bars were supposed to be. A young, androgynous-looking pretty boy with pale skin and long, blond hair bleached colorless under the harsh spotlight sat like a slender snow angel, his fingers dancing over the ivory keys of a beaten and scarred piano. Cocktail waitresses in short skirts, pumps, and neat white blouses served drinks to a quiet crowd. There were a couple billiards tables set up and men and women with their sleeves rolled up strolled around them in serious games. Quiet conversations took place at small, intimate tables. Occasionally someone would laugh or shout for a beer, but otherwise it was subdued. A hooker leaning up against the wall spotted them and her expression brightened. Her name was Lola and she was an attractive if not ineffective and unintelligent Thorian spy from the Council of the United Limbo Republic. She was also a man, but no one made an issue of it.

“What are you three doing here? It’s so good to see you! Did you come to visit me?” Lola swept across the room and hugged Demea and Gary.

“We’re here to deal with an internal security issue back at Hell,” Demea murmured, almost silently. “Can you arrange for Gary to sing?”

“Sure, lemme go talk to Steve about it.” Perched on tall, Italian -----me pumps, Lola scurried off towards the bar to talk to the man behind it. Demea handed Gary a folded up piece of paper.

“Here. You’ll want this.” Gary unfolded it and stared down at the arcane symbols on it. He climbed up onto a free barstool, and gestured to the bartender.

“Scotch, rocks,” he ordered, and Demea joined him.

“Stolichnaya. She’ll have a Shirley Temple.” She jerked her thumb over her shoulder at Gidian who was claiming the last barstool. The bartender, Steve, handed Gary his scotch and poured Demea’s drink.

“Whaddya sing?” he asked.

“Jazz. Blues. Sinatra.” He sipped his scotch.

“Sinatra was King,” Steve commented.

“Elvis was King,” Gary corrected. “Sinatra was God.” They nodded sagely to each other and Demea rolled her eyes. Gidian sipped
her Shirley Temple happily.

Gary and Steve conferred for a bit before the goat man hopped off his barstool and walked up to the stage. He murmured to the pianist for a few moments and then adjusted the microphone so that he could actually sing in it. H began.

Demea couldn’t see the magic working, but she had faith in Gary. His voice had the raspy, gravely quality that made it suited for jazz and blues. While he didn’t sound like Frank Sinatra, he did sound good.

“Keep your eyes on the door,” she murmured to Gidian. “They’ll be here soon.”

*

Ten blocks up in a bar called The Meow-Meow, a startlingly beautiful woman with long black hair was singing. The men in the room had stopped drinking and talking and seemed completely fixated on her. Her deep blue eyes seemed to be calling out to them. They asked the bartender for her name but, for the life of him, he couldn’t remember. No one seemed to know who she was or if she’d been there before. Some of them tried to think back to where they might have seen her before, but the memories went soft and strange and unreadable. It was so much more pleasant to sit quietly and bask in her music.

None of them could see her voice weaving a crystalline spell, faint tendrils of it reaching out, over the bar and then out the roof, out the windows, out the door. The spell slid over and then mingled with Gary’s. It didn’t see the other magic, didn’t know it was there. The two spells spread out over the city and whispered in ears, drawing them towards the sources. They pulled people from sleep, lifted them from dreams, and drew them from their spouse’s beds.

Those with the glow of the High Psi around them were affected even more, taken with an irresistible urge to find the source. Most were so far away that they couldn’t even hear the song. Still, the compulsion to go find the heart of the spell took root in them, wrapped around them, covered them.
For better or for worse, they were enchanted.

(ooc: If you couldn’t understand that or were too lazy to read this whole long post, then let me tell you that you have been selected. You need to figure out if your character will go to the Meow-Meow where Valerie is or Lola’s Room where Gary, Demea, and Gidian are. Enjoy.)

[minwa]

He decided that the menthol lites were not worth the money he spent on them, and wondered if they were horrific enough to make him quit. No, sadly, and up it went. He found it was soothing to smoke after a bike (he tried to bike while smoking but that lead to quite a nasty cough for a bout a week) and his legs screamed "nicotine!"

He really ought to quit.

Colm Wild pulled his jacket around him, snapped it up, and shivered a little. He wore leather pants, a blue plaid flannel shirt, and a black leather jacket. Never dressed right (or for that matter, matched) for the night life, he did. He should learn. Sky always ranted about how he couldn't take care of himself.

Ah, here we are.

He liked Lola's Room. It was his sort of place, really. Not really. He prefered his cousin's place. But tonight he felt a different sort of draw to come here ... something strange was calling him here. The musty smells, the musty air, the bar. Mmm, the bar. A good few shots of his favourite girly drinks and maybe a quite shag.

No sex. He grit his teeth and shook his head, dispelling thoughts of Adri from his mind. No no no. No sex tonight.

But a drink would be nice. And as he opened the door, he commented on the decor. The husky song was exactly what fit his mood, and he made his way to the bar.

[Anzen]

Laying on her bed, Charlie stirred with a grumble.

"...can't...sleep..."

The girl literally rolled out of bed and onto the floor into her pile of dirty clothes. She rubbed sleepily at one eye as the other hand darted through the pile for a pair of socks that weren't hard as rocks. After a few moments of shifting through the pile she found some and slipped them on, then carried on her dressing until she was clothed in the same knee-length shorts and a plain tee-shirt she had worn three days earlier. Some minor groping of her nightstand rewarded her with her sunglasses and she slipped them on despite the darkness. Still, she grumbled to herself the entire time.

"Why can't I sleep I have work tomorrow I have work I have WORK.... I must need a beer," muttered the redhead, annoyed at herself. She was too old to go roaming the street every night, especially when she knew that the next morning she'd have to get up early for work. But the need to go out was just too nagging.

Aganist her better judgement she slipped on some worn out sneakers and shuffled out the door. Not even bothering with her car, she walked away from the apartment complex to the nearest place she knew beer existed. This led her into Lola's Room where she intended to just get a quick beer and leave. But the sight of a migdet singing seemed to catch her interest instead. She paused as she neared the bar and pulled her sunglasses down a bit to get a better look.

"...I am way too tired."

[Hitomi_333]

Fari stood back to get a better view of her painting. She had been working on it for some odd hours, or was it days? Yes, things were slow... "not even being able to find jobs designing napkins" slow. Soon her funds were going to run out, she was sure of it, the money from her last job could only go so far. And then what? She couldn't easily turn to her parents for money, but perhaps one of her "successful brothers" could loan her some money until her next job.

She frowned, her painting seemed to be lacking color... and she had just ran out of yellow (she was going through a yellow phase). 'Well, I don't suppose I have the money to go get some more... but I could stand to go get a cup of coffee or something... I'm not even sure what time of day it is, but I'm sure I haven't eaten in a while.'

Thus Fari left her apartment.

OOC: eh, what time of the day is it?

[Phantom Angel]

The cold breeze entered the room quietly brushing against the curtains. It slithered around the room and sunk to the floor like a cold snake, brushing past the sea of papers that resided there.

Olivia sighed deeply, and shut the laptop computer with an angry snap. She fell back on the bed, took off her glasses, and began to rub her eyes in round circular motions. A few good minutes after that, her hands fell away, and she was left starring at the ceiling, a restless feeling twisting deep inside her stomach.

She glanced at her clock, and with another dissatisfied sigh, she swung her legs over the bed. For some reason, Olivia felt like going out, on the cool august night. Her historical essay on the Renaissance period had turned out to be pure dry facts, with very little analysis, and she was feeling too tired to try to improve it. After all, she couldn’t leave all the wonderful frustration for one night only.

“I need a break.” She concluded after starring in her closet for a few minutes.

A black tank top, and her favourite pair of jeans completed her attire, and Olivia closed the window and all the lights before grabbing her jacket and locking the door behind her. She adjusted the glasses on her nose, and headed down the stairs. The elevators were always crowded at this time of night, seeing how all the other residents of the building would be out getting drunk and partying until morning. Olivia wrinkled her nose in disgust. She generally hated public gatherings, seeing as how they made her uncomfortable. There was no use for them, other than rubbing against some sexually aroused male that looked to get an invitation to a woman’s bed. Animals! She was better off without any horny prick trying to get her attention.

Out in the street by now, Olivia paid no attention to the other people outside the building. She simply walked by as if they never existed – which for her they didn’t. The night was indeed cool, as she wrapped the jacket tighter around her.

“Damn the Renaissance.” She muttered, as she walked though the streets, lost in her own thoughts.

The scenery faded away, and for the entire duration of the walk, it was only she and her thoughts, thoughts that ran in big wide circles, never letting her catch the end of one, before another idea popped up. When finally her feet stopped, due to the crowd, she snapped out of whatever had possessed, her, only to find herself in front of Lola’s Room, a joint known for the good music.

“How the he-…” Oliva trailed off, looking around her in confusion.

Her feet had seemed to bring her here, without her mind realising it, and Oliva attributed this to a little thing she called fate. Frowning deeply, she stepped into the smoky joint, and headed for the bar. Her throat felt parched.

[Fairybane]

Grey yawned, the yawn of the weary...and bored. To his remembrance, he had been on the road for about three days now, a rough estimate based on what was left in his wallet out of the thousand bucks he had started out with. Grey had already burned through nearly a third of it, but as his philosophy went...when the money ended, so would his journey.
The sinuous stripes of the freeway continued to snake past him as the determined little Vespa buzzed on through the night. On the horizon, the pale glow of a city lit the evening sky, obliterating the stars.
Chicago...never been there but it looks like a decent place to spend the night, Grey thought to himself, speeding up and maneuvering around a steadily drifting car that seemed to be having trouble staying in its lane. As he passed the driver's side window, Grey reached out a foot and planted it firmly into the polished surface of the door, caving it in a bit, and startling the woozy commuter awake from his half-slumber. With a cheery wave and a grin, Grey waved to the shocked motorist.
"I just saved your life!!" Grey beamed, shouting over the wind. The driver only stared back uncomprehendingly. "You're welcome!!" Grey gave up on the man as he noticed the upcoming off-ramp.
Some people just don't realize how lucky they are...
Grey gunned the engine, leaving the dazed motorist far behind.

In the mean streets of Chicago, the din of a million voices and a million cars filled the night air. Grey stood at a street corner beside his bike, looking around at the brightly lit towers that stretched far above, the slideshow of humanity that strode past, and the lightshow of countless headlights. There was something beyond all that, creeping in under the cacophanous shell of the city's soul. It was subtle and beautiful, whatever it was...and Grey was already captivated by the time he finally realized what it was. A melody.
"Ah!" exclaimed Grey, turning his motorbike around and leaping onto it. Started pedestrians scattered in his path with surprised shrieks as he barreled down the sidewalk, haphazardly following the siren call.

He didn't know how long he had been following the alluring song...it felt like he had just woken up from a dream-filled sleep. But slowly regaining his facilities, Grey realized he was of all places, in the parking lot of a bar. One that if the glowing neon sign on front of the building was any indication, was called "The Meow-Meow". Yawning widely, Grey ran fingers through his matted shock of black hair, doing his best to smooth out the wind-blown tangle.
The singing was definitely coming from inside...and despite the odd appearance of the bar, Grey wasn't about to just leave without investigating the source of that song...
Without a second thought, he pushed open the door and walked into The Meow-Meow.

[Aku Shi]

OOC:
My god! I love that intro!!!! So long, but so worth the read!!!!! *tackles Kiva and huggles her* You rock so very much. Did you know that? *thinks back to her favorite parts and chuckles a little* He's eating the blessed Savior!!!!! Ahahahahahahaha!!! XD
_______________

Shin tapped his well manicured, black painted nails on the counter while a customer counted out $15.98 in pennies. The bad thing about working at a store like that, especially at night, was that it attracted some very odd people. Many of the customers were a lot like Shin. They liked the same types of music, they wore the same amount of black fishnet clothing, and Edgar Allan Poe was their favorite author. But then there were the posers who only came into the store to buy the shirt of whatever metal band happened to be popular at the time, or some black hair dye to make themselves look more "gothy." They weren't as bad as the preps, who came in to buy anything remotely cute looking that the store happened to sell... It's partially because of that that Shin hated Sponge Bob Square Pants... Well, that and if ANY Nick-toon deserved a popular following it was Invader Zim. But, the people he hated the most were the weirdoes. And, coming from someone like Shin, who can't walk down the street without getting called at least six different derogatory names, that's pretty serious. The "weirdoes" weren't goth, freak, prep, poser, no sub-culture at all. They were just crazy people that would wander in, buy something random, and pay in odd ways...like in pennies.

Sir, you gave me fifty cents too much...

It was obvious in his voice that he was getting very tired of this customer, and was ready to just throw all the pennies on the floor and scream.

"Yeah, I know," responded the strange little man in front of him. "And I expect to get my change."

Shin's golden eyes stared dully at the man, as if to ask "are you freakin' serious?" Then, with a sigh, Shin filled the penny compartment of the register to the brim and pulled out two quarters.

Here you go. Have a good evening.

The man thanked him, grabbed his black bag adorned with flames, and left. Shin rubbed his temples and groaned. Was a college education really worth all the frustration?

---- it. I'm clockin' out early tonight.

He punched out on the register and waved absently at his manager as he stormed out the door. Once outside, Shin seemed to be able to breathe easier. The moon overhead made his pale skin seem to glow, and the streetlights cast his eyes in a haunting shadow.

His name, Yuu Shin (or Shin Yuu if done the Japanese way), was of Japanese origin, but he was not. At least, not fully. What bit there was in him blessed him with naturally beautiful black hair and oriental shaped eyes. The rest of his blood, mostly a big Euro-soup, gave him height, pale skin, and golden-hazel eyes. He was a true gothic beauty, it seemed. Tall, dark, mysterious, and very beautiful.

The thud of his black boots could be heard over the distant noise of a traffic jam. His black leather trench coat billowed out and rustled in the light breeze of the Windy City. A few people gave him funny looks, some murmured things under their breath, and nearly all of them moved to another part of the sidewalk when he passed.

Soon he found himself in a part of town he didn't normally go to. It was odd, because he had planned to just go back to his apartment and write angry poetry about the penny man. Now, though, he stood outside a club called "Meow-Meow." Raising a brow, he stepped inside.

It wasn't his type of place. Not dark and gloomy enough. But, there was a lovely specimen standing on the stage singing. His golden eyes locked on her and a smile came to his slightly fanged mouth. There was something about her... Something that said she didn't belong in a place like this, either. That she belonged somewhere darker...much much darker. Without taking his eyes from the singer, Shin pulled up a chair near the stage and sat down.

[Foryth]

Musty, dusty, definitely dusty. These were but a few qualificatives associated with this university's, which's name shall remain untold, library. Needless to say that spending too much time there is not the most healthy thing to do, let alone the whole day. This was exactly what young Arianne Eiichiro, studying for a master's degree of museology, had done.

It was getting near ten o'clock in the evening and the serious student's poor nose was begining to get stuffed with all this dust floating around, with bad ventilation to boot. An alien feeling began growing within her, a feeling she did rarely experienced, she needed to go out in a club. Sober Arianne was not the type to go in club. Even the music they usualy played in there, except for those small jazz clubs, was completely foreign to her, she still only had an old record player as a way to listen to music.

Nonetheless the need to head for a club was very strong and thus she gathered all her work scattered over the large table into here brown leather bookbag, quickly put on her chocolate long coat, straightened her long flowing dress, and hit the streets.

All along the way she asked herself questions such as : "What the hell am I doing?" and "Do I even know where I'm headed off to?" At one moment she was almost ran over by a man on a Vespa who seemed to simply charge through the crowd to make his way, making here snap out of her confusion for an instant as she sent a few curses the man's way.

At last she had reached her destination. Or so she felt anyway, as even standing in front of the large sign which said "Meow-Meow" she had no idea what on earth it could be and why she would come in such a place. Yet something seemed to compel her to go inside. As she entered the building, she stopped a few steps away from the doorway, looking around, completely clueless.

[Chesta chesta chesta]

Feel the city breakin' and everybody shakin',
and we're stayin' alive, stayin' alive.

The Bee Gees were playing loud on the stereo, only to be muffled by the sound of a hairdryer. Not that Silje cared any longer. The lyrics had been engraved on her mind from years and years of listening to the same song every time she was getting ready. She tapped her foot to the beat of the music. Now and again she’d make a little twirl and sing along, with hand movements.

Ah, ha, ha, ha, stayin' alive, stayin' alive.
Ah, ha, ha, ha, stayin' aaaaaaaaaaaaalive.

That was her favourite bit of the whole song. It gave her the chance to show off her choreographed movement of raising her hand as she shook her hips. Not that anyone was there to see it, only her reflection that mimicked the same movement. It was as good as an audience.

God, she loved this song.

The day had been painstakingly slow so far. The normal drudgery was taking its toll on her. Mrs Jenkins still had her smelly breath. Dr Daboul was still ugly as sin and Silje wouldn’t be able to take on another child patient. Unless it involved them, her and a nice long string of dental floss.

Tonight she was going to relax. She was going to get someone to get the drinks in, get pissed and go home. Maybe stop on the way to get a kebab. They always seemed to taste so much nicer when you could hardly stand up. Shame on the sauce though.

One last glimpse before she went through that magical door that lead through her apartment. The white cat suit she’d bough earlier that day, retail therapy, fitted like a glove. And it just complimented her white platform boots. To crown it all of she had the matching gold belt and diadem. On the prowl. She smacked her bottom in approval and then exited the door.

Ms Ogelby, from the fifth floor, stared in anger as Silje for the umpteenth time blew a gum bubble that exploded with a lot smack. Though she never returned the nasty little spinsters glare, but she could feel them stabbing away at her. Ms ogelby obviously had not been getting any for a very very long time. Silje shrugged lightly. She wouldn’t blame any man that would beat the old hag off with a barge pole. Ms Ogelby did have a face like she’d spent a lifetime, no two, sucking lemons in Hell. And she didn’t even want to think about the hair.

’Honestly, someone should do something about their outdated hairdo.’

“I just love what you have done with your hair.” The blonde exclaimed with a smirk. “It looks so…mature.”

Before the old lady could even think of something to say back, Silje had managed to dip into her little handbag and fished out a pair of Jackie sunglasses. The lift doors opened and with a large stride she was out the door.

Though it was getting much darker, due to the season, Silje kept her sunglasses on. Mostly because she just loved how they would give of some air of mystery. And for some strange reason it seemed to be an ice breaker in a club. People would ask why she was wearing them indoors and she’d harass them to buy her a drink. Very economic.

She should’ve done finance at school, she could’ve made a fortune out of planning and think up strategic plans for new ways to get someone else to pay. Breasts were usually a good reason.

Then Silje stopped abruptly. She was not too sure of the cause, since she was nowhere near her favourite watering hole. With her mouth hanging slightly open she looked up the sign above the entrance.

’Lola’s room.’ She placed a finger on her cheek and let it linger there as she tried to figure out what type of place it was.

It didn’t look like much. More than likely they wouldn’t play anything she liked. More importantly they wouldn’t have rows and rows of mirrors and mirror ball. Or any Village People. How could you have a watering hole and not any Village People? The thought was beyond her. Gingerly she took the gum out of her mouth and attached it to a nearby lamppost.

The air wasn’t what she was used to. Still there was the lingering smell of sweat, but somehow it didn’t smell out a hundred people boogying the night away. Not that you could boogie to what was being played at the moment.

Silje lifted her glasses, in the vain hope of being able to see better. This place was almost too quiet for her taste. She rolled her eyes at the singer, but found herself leaning backwards and resting an elbow on the bar counter.

’Maybe a quick drink and then I’ll be offski.’

[Hitomi_333]

*Fari looked around, still unsure of the time but knowing that it was some time during the night: not too dark for the streets to be full of life, but late enough to where anyone wise wouldn't take the alleys alone. It was obviously too late to get more paint, all of the art stores must have closed hours ago, 'You'd think they'd accomodate to the less conventional artists,' she thought sourly. 'But I may as well get some coffee or perhaps something to eat.'

It wasn't like her to wander the streets at night, if she went out late at all she knew where she was going. However, Fari was never one to remember were places were and having stayed in her apartment for weeks working on her artwork was no help. So she wandered, allowing the people and the streets to take her places. Not sure of how long she had been walking, or how she had gotten there, she finally stopped in front of a place with a sign reading: Meow-meow. "Sounds kinky. Not exactly what I had in mind, but now that I'm here I may as well have a drink."

As she drew nearer, Fari was able to make out music coming from the inside. She walked inside to find that the music was a live performance, and she found herself wanting to hear more of it, to get closer.

However, someone barely standing inside of the doorway was blocking her path. "Excuse me," she said a little irritantly, not taking her eyes from the stage.*

[Princess Samari]

~Gidian~
"Right!"

Palms growing moist Gidian nervously eyed the room. She wanted desperatly to do a good job for Lilith. Maybe if she did a good job Lilith would be able to rest and stop worrying so much.

Unfocusing her eyes Gidian stared ahead keeping herself from turning her attention to any one spot. "They're close...very, ver-ah!" One entered. Misty grey eyes cast in the scruffy and oddly dressed young man's directions as Gidian smiled widely. "Demea I see someone! he's wearing the flannel and has..." she shook her head and squinted following Colm's movements. "Blue eyes! and brown hair."

Satisfied with herself the girl went back to work, having dropped her guard previously. "Now, I see a pretty blonde wearing a tee shirt and sunglasses. She is edging towards the bar!"

"This isn't so hard! I don't see why everyone was so worried." "Hmmm...hmm....yes! another girl! blonde and with large glasses. She is at the bar as well..." Gidian hopped from her bar stool laughing "And here comes one more visitor! should I go talk to them Demea?"

[minwa]

"Girly drinks, girly drinks..." An Americanized England-Born man drunk was quite a very strange thing to hear ... and see ... and squint at. "I loves m'girly drinks... beer nasty, fok beer..." Almost carrying a tune, he held out his shot glass and smiled wonderfully at the bartender.

"Ah'd like h'nother. Dun worry, I dun drive, luv, I 'ave a bike." He half-giggled and adjusted his seating, leather squeaking on the barstool. "Oh s'nice... sweet 'n pretty, girly drinks..."

He could've sworn that man up there had hooves... "I thoughts I gave up drugs while back, an' I 'aven't been smokin' out in over five months! Oohhhhweeee, meebee it's them too many hours infronta the compuuuuuuutah." Should've brought his glasses tonight.

He tugged on the flanel, pondering it. It was a nice shirt, maybe it didn't go so well with his pants. He liked his pants, he'd had them for ages. Nice and comfy, these pants. They weren't as tight as some leather pants, oh no. These were just nice, a heavy second skin that helped fend away the cold.

"Sir? Your drink."

"AH! Right," and Colm stopped looking at his pants.

[Pen2]

By now, George was getting really quite perturbed. Honestly, just because he'd asked the guy for money didn't mean he'd wanted to talk to him. Usually, he'd get a couple of coins, silence, or a couple of expletives thrown his way, depending on his luck. This was certainly a first, and he wasn't liking it. They guy had given him $50 and promptly sat down next to him. He'd been talking to him for nearly an hour now, or more precisely, talking at him.

"So, my simply bought friend, what was your name?"

George tried not to growl, summoning his last reserves of tolerance. "George. I've told you five times now, don't you remember?"

"But of course I remember. You are a pimp, moonlighting as the whore." George looked to see if the weird little man was trying to insult him, but he looked perfectly frank.

"No, just a man down on his luck." George almost believed it himself, for a minute.

The man beside him sighed, looking dissapointed. "I'd rather the pimp, or at least to be so honest a man."

George's reserves finally failed him. "Look, what the hell do you want?"

As if waiting for such a signal, the man hopped up and brushed himself off. "Why, nothing but services rendered for payment. For the last hour, on the wind of a windless day there has been carried the scent of places unknown and unexplored. Yet, for a small downpayment, time has held itself in check and its pieces have stopped moving. You're doubting yourself now, aren't you? Tell me, if you're that desperate to sleep in filth and beg for money, is talking to a man with $50 actually that much of a degradation? You obviously can't be desperate enough. You have to have lost everything before you can achieve anything." He held out his hand.

A few minutes later, Toshiro was headed down the street with his money returned to him. George watched him from a distance as he entered a club down the street called the Meow-Meow, and he shook his head. The man had said so many words, and yet had actually meant so little. $50 was a small price to pay for him to just shut up.

(OOC: Hate this post. Hatehatehate. Giant opening post of extra happiness has made me feel woefully inadequate. Carry on.)