Realistic or Modern The Exodus of Fables

[Elle Joyner]

The Exodus of Fables

The Mundane World

​

Date:


May 3rd,


2015

Time:


Early


Evening

Weather:


Warm and cloudy


65°

Event(s):


Senator's


Speech

Senator John Sharp

City Hall

​

Emerald City. An ever moving, ever evolving metropolis of bedlam. Mobs, gangs and drug rings reigned, little wonder given the corruption deep within the heart of the law enforcement, and at the center of it all was a man so dastardly, so cruel… utterly devoid of even a shred of common decency, morality or good will. A self-absorbed, egocentric deviant… a monster.


And the people loved him. Senator John Sharp was less than halfway through his first term and his popularity had never been higher. He had the citizens wrapped around his pinky finger. Of course, it was easy to be loved when you were a brilliant con artist, and those who really knew him... who knew his true nature would hardly complain, given his penchant for taking the uttermost care of his staff. Or putting a bullet in the back of their heads…


Standing before the podium, listening to the murmur of the media crowd gathered below, John smirked, shuffling his notes. Among the throng of scoop-hungry journalist wolves were the mayor… Oz McKing, looking pinched and nervous as always, the nuisance of of chief, and Guy Gisborne, John’s sallow faced, sinister head of a security, a man whose ties with the mob had proven measurably beneficial. Not, however, amongst the crowd was the face he had been hoping to see... She hadn't come, again. He was going to need to speak to Coeur about her girls...


The speech was another sap-filled piece about community and family values… the usual schlock the media vultures and idiotic sheep lapped up with fervor. The last speech he had given had brought him up another twelve points in the polls.


Tapping the mic, John watched with a hollow smile as the crowd fell quiet, all eyes trained on him.


“Good morning, Emerald City… I stand before you today, a man plagued by concern, torn by indirection but determined to bring to you the solution to these tribulations which have for too long afflicted our precious city. When I was elected, I admit I found my hands often times tied by the political nonsense one in my station inevitably comes up against, but I will stand idly no more. You deserve better. You deserve the solidarity and strength of a community… the safety and structure of a city where your children can grow and flourish in peace, with unlocked doors and open hearts. You deserve better, Emerald City, and that is what I am proposing. That… from this moment on, will be my foremost goal. You deserve a family, and that… is what we shall become!”


Applause erupted from the crowd and John grinned…


Wrapped, good and tight…

Eloise Soot

The Royal Palace Hotel | Restaurant

Collab between Elle & Effervescent
​

Work ended as any shift might - a small rush and then three or four tables, tapering off into quiet as she and the others... though mostly she... cleaned up and closed up. The weather was cooling down, but the rain from the morning had died out. Taking her things from her cubby, Ella made her way out into the alley that would lead her to the street and her long walk home.


Backing out, she twisted the key in the doorknob and tugged it shut, startled upon turning to come face to face with a bear of a man. He was tall, too tall and with a broad frame, solid and strong, he blocked out most of the light from the sodium vapor lamp behind his head.


Heaving a startled yelp, Ella dropped back against the door she had just closed, hand to her chest as she cocked her head up to the man's face. He was smiling, and it wasn't a smile one made for family photos, his grimy teeth bared as he gestured to the purse she had slung over her shoulder.


"...Give it here... and maybe I'll reconsider my curiosity 'bout how loud I can get ya to scream for me..."


This was not what Ezreal was hoping for. Gabriel Pinkard was a repeat offender for a myriad of different crimes all of which related to theft. Ezreal couldn't quite pin point his motives, for he wasn't addicted to drugs and his targets varied from the wealthy to middle class. It was almost as if he had targeted this girl just because she was there, and it complicated matters.


Ezreal peaked out into the alley from behind the dumpster further down and adjusted his bandanna over the lower half of his face. His thumb pressed the call button on his burner cell, the number dialed being the police. Gabe made him nervous targeting a woman. The burly man had never been convicted of rape, but then again that seemed to be a neglected crime by the precinct and often overlooked. The young vigilante was close enough to catch the criminal's words and formulate his connotation.


"Nine-one-one, please state your emergency," a voice chimed softly through his phone. Ezreal put it to his ear and lowered his voice to a whisper.


"I'd like to report an ongoing mugging," he said before giving out the address. He ended the call promptly as a sudden realization hit him. They would never make it in time. Ezreal could possibly follow the man to retrieve and return the girl's belongings, but Gabe's grubby hands outstretched towards her made him incredibly uncomfortable, and he rose from the shadows.


"Hey!" he called out to garner his attention. The hood of Ezreal's jacket provided enough coverage over his eyes to make him appear almost faceless in the darkness.

The bear-like man spun, his dark eyes narrowing, the outstretched hand dropped by Ella's ear, essentially pinning her to the door. She flinched as his gruff voice barked out at the intruder, "Mind your own damn business, punk, or you'll get what's comin' to ya!"


"I think you should mind your own business," Ezreal challenged as he took a step forward. He didn't really think to mask his voice, though it's not like anyone would ever recognize it. He never had to confront anyone vocally during his night life before, and since he was reacting so quickly the thought never crossed his mind. "I've already called the cops. You should run while you have the chance, Gabe." He took slow, careful steps towards the situation as he talked, his hands within the pockets of his jacket to give off the appearance of a possible concealed weapon.


"I ain't done nothin' wrong, yet!" Gabe said with a smirk, looking back down at Ella, who cringed, "...Cops can't arrest someone what ain't broke the law!"


"She doesn't look like she's consenting to anything you have to offer," he pointed out. "So it looks like, if anything, you'll eventually do something illegal. You can thank me later."


"How about thanks, but no thanks." His voice dropped the intonation of amusement and, without moving his arm, he turned again, "Get lost, kid. Before I'm inclined to get angry."


Frustration in the man's stubbornness threw Ezreal into action. Within three methodical steps he was at Gabe's side attempting to push the rather heavy man away from his target. "Back off!"


Gabe was quick, though, for a brute... shifting at the approach with a grunt of frustration. His arm came away from the door and instinctively, or perhaps lacking instinct altogether, Ella tried to bolt. It was a meaty hand that grabbed her wrist and with a squeal she was yanked backwards against the wall of his chest, the breath nearly knocked out of her lungs. Her arm was twisted, looped behind her back at an angle that would undoubtedly feel miserable in a few seconds and as gave a startled gasp, Gabe stepped backwards, eyes narrowed.


"Stupid move, Kid. Stupid! Now you gone and pissed me off! I'd've let her go, too... but now, now I think I'm gonna have find a way to get my good mood back..."


The blonde's gasp ignited fear in the boy's mind. Gabe was easily twice his size both in stature and in weight, and judging by his hold on the girl one wrong move could result in unfortunate injuries for her or worse. Ezreal held out his hands and took a step back, hoping that he could somehow alleviate the escalation.


"Hey, hey. Calm down, buddy." As he spoke, he glanced over to Ella to see if she was okay and to try to assess just how badly Gabe might be hurting her. "There's no need for this. Just let her go. I'll buy you a beer. Or do you just want money?"


There was a significant lack of sirens thus far, the air stagnant in the alley where the distant hum of the city's night life could not quite reach. Ezreal had planned to either scare the mugger off or keep him occupied until the cops arrived, but at this rate they could come to late...or possibly not at all.


Gabe's lips split in an ugly grin and he shrugged, "Not so tough now, are ya. I don't drink beer. I'm a whiskey man. The expensive kind... what comes in glass and all. You get me a bottle and we'll see how loose my grip gets, hmm?"


"I'm not going to just leave you here with her," Ezreal said. "Just you and me go to that bar down the way and I'll get you a whiskey." His eyes stared at Gabe in hope, his hands continued to hover outstretched before him as if to coax the man into submission.


"Ah... But what's to keep you honest? Way I see it, we've got a bit of a standoff here, Kid. So we go to the bar... but I'm keeping my pretty little bit of leverage close in case you try to get stupid again..."


Ella made a soft noise as Gabe tightened his grip, leaning in close, his eyes leaving Ezreal to follow his thick sausage fingers of his free hand as they rose toy with the button at Ella's collar, "You don't mind, do ya sweetheart?"


The hooded vigilante paused for a moment in assessment, his arms lowering to his sides as he straightened his stance. There wasn't much of a choice left but to act. Like a basketball player going for a layup, Ezreal jumped around and onto Gabe's back, hooking his arm around the mugger's neck in as best of a choke hold as he could manage from the man's height. His legs dangled a few feet off the ground, but the hold could still be effective if he could get the angle just right on his throat to cut off circulation.


When Ezreal moved, two things happened. Ella, almost as if she were anticipating what he might do propelled herself forward while stomping backwards with her heel, onto Gabe's toes... and, as this occurred and Ezrael leapt onto his back, Gabe gave a loud, guttural howl and released his grasp on Ella's arm to reach behind him, grabbing wildly. Her foot smashed down, hard and the howl turned into a scream of pain. Ella dropped onto her hands, with nothing left to keep her balanced and in tandem, Gabe stumbled backwards, swinging his arms like a wild ape, cheeks reddening as his air supply was temporarily kinked by the arm round his neck.


Ezreal tried his best to keep his hold, bringing the hand other upward to try and tighten the choke. The man's thick throat proved difficult to be completely effective, but it looked as though the vigilante's efforts were effective as it brought the man stumbling backwards.


"Run!" Ezreal called out to Ella as he continued to occupy Gabe's attention, the man gasping for air. There came a distant sound of sirens several blocks away.


Looking up, eyes wide, Ella frowned. Her gaze darted one way, then the other, but Gabe's crazy flapping around made it impossible to pass by. Soon, however, the enormous man gave a choking cough, sputtering, his face purple, his eyes wide and with a grunt he dropped to his knees, then fell forward onto his face where he lay, unconscious at last.


Amidst the chaos and Gabe's flailing, Ezreal's burner phone had flown from his pocket and skidded across the asphalt several feet away from the tussle. As the large man fell to his knees, Ezreal released his grasp to insure he didn't actually kill the guy. Even then, there was a hesitant pause as he stood over Gabe's unconscious body, and he stooped down to check his pulse on his neck. At least, that's what he tried to do. It was a lot more difficult to find than it looked like in the movies, but the man was breathing.


The sirens grew closer causing a sudden rise in panic in the boy. He looked up at Ella with concern before taking off in the opposite direction of the scene.


Ella watched him run with a detached sense of shock. He'd saved her. There was no way around it. He had saved her, and then he had taken off like a scared rabbit. There was something so familiar... so ironic to the entire thing, but in her state of surprise and confusion she couldn't put her finger on what or why...


Bending down she picked up the phone which had landed by her feet. It had somehow survive being thrown... He wouldn't come back for it, but maybe... maybe there was a way to get it back to him. Tucking it into her purse she looked up to see the lights of the squad car as it pulled to a stop in front of the alley.


It was going to be fantastic... trying to explain what had happened. Just fantastic.

Date:


May 4th,


2015

Time:


Early


Morning

Weather:


Light rain


55°

Event(s):


Currently


none

Roxanne Copper

The Royal Palace Hotel

​

She’d had the dream again… the one in the cottage. She’d woken, covered in a sheen of sweat, her breath sucked from her lungs by a strangled scream of panic. For a moment, for only a moment, she could still see them huddled on the floor, their torn, broken bodies… cold, sightless eyes staring up at her, boring into her, their cries for help, for mercy ringing in her ears.


Her client, sound asleep beside her, his snores rumbling from his wide set nostrils, did not stir as she shifted, her bare feet hitting the plush carpeted floor of the hotel room. She tugged the sheets around herself, and unbidden, a tear slid down her cheek, making a small puddle on her bare thigh. The images faded from her mind, as they often did, but only gone, not forgotten. The atrocities that were committed that day, no matter how hazy the details, would never be forgotten.


A second tear followed the first and Roxie caught it with the back of her hand, brushing her cheek dry. The client had paid in advance, so she had no obligations to stick around, but the idea of leaving the bed, let alone the hotel made her stomach contract, and so she laid back down, her eyes staring blankly into the darkness of the ceiling.


It was another two hours until light bled through the canopy of curtains shut over the window, the foggy haze bringing promises of another rainy dawn. Roxie walked out of the hotel with a splitting headache, but no other remnants of the dream lingered. A cup of coffee and she’d be good as new…


A brisk chill cut through the air and she pulled her sweater down over her hands, shivering. To the left, a car pulled up along the curb, slowing to a crawl beside her. With a sigh, she glanced over, catching sight of the middle aged man behind the wheel, his dark suit and even darker shades giving him the appearance of someone of importance. His sandy hair was cut short, and as he pulled her glasses down to the end of his too-long nose, flat blue eyes stared out at her, his lips curved down in a scowl.


“…John was expecting you at the speech last night…”


“…Sorry, Sugar… Had business. John knows our contract isn’t exclusive. If he wants to reserve time with me, he needs to call me more than two hours in advance.” She straightened and waited, the man frowning thoughtfully, his expression somewhere between bemused and frustrated.


“You’ll be at the masque, though, right?”


“Yeah, Guy. I’ll be there.”


“Alright. Be good, Roxie…”


“You, too, Guy…”


The car pulled off and Roxanne sighed, rubbing the bridge of her nose. Some days, her job was difficult… Other days, it was hell.

 

[Shura]

Rebecca Punzel

Emerald Towers Apartment Complex

Apt# 701​

A warm summer breeze swirled through the open balcony doors carrying the shear white curtains with it. Faint sounds of the city rode upon the breeze missing with the melody which had already filled the room. Each note escaped from a MP3 player which sat perched on a polished white night stand, a blue Shuffle connected to the speakers.


Humming along to the melody was a young artist, golden blond hair spun up into a large bun with two paint brushes to hold it in place. A third brush had the tip coated with a murky dark blue, the oils clumping up unevenly as the artist paused to stare at her work. Gently she placed the unpainted end of the brush to her pale pink lips nipping softly at the polished wood. Critical blue-green eyes stared at the landscape searching, analyzing; trying to find a flaw with in the collection of colored oil that had been artfully spread across the canvas.


There had to be something, a fault somewhere. However none jumped out at her. With a heavy sigh Rebecca she set her brush and pallet down then stretched her arms over her head with a long yawn. She had spent days on the painting, making sure the painting was perfect and it nearly was. Something was missing but she wasn’t sure what. It was a simple painting of Emerald City at night. Dark colors of night sky and shadows meshed together broken up by brighter ones making shapes of the city which tormented and fascinated her.


The young woman strolled over to her balcony embracing the chilly breeze and the view of the city. There was a cover over the balcony protecting her from the rain. Even with the grayed clouds the city was still gorgeous in its own way. The streets were alive with movement of people. Traveling to and fro making their way to their destination. Staring down upon the people below gave Rebecca mixed feelings. She longed to be social and mingle easily with other but at the same time had a deep deeded paranoia of what could happen. It was difficult enough going to familiar places without looking over her shoulder.


Turning away from the balcony the blonde wandered back she spotted the remote on a near by table and picked it up pressing the power button which cause a rather large flat screen TV to flicker on. A news segment was playing the Senators speech from the day before. She had only been partially paying attention, most of her attention had been on the painting. Her fingers found the pause button on her shuffle and silenced the music allowing the TV to go on uninterrupted.

" You deserve better, Emerald City, and that is what I am proposing. That… from this moment on, will be my foremost goal. You deserve a family, and that… is what we shall become!”

​

A whole city for a family? She was sure there was bound to be issues with that. However there was no harm in hoping for a better city, a safer one. Becka certainly wouldn't complain. Though she wouldn't exactly believe in it either. A deep growl came from the pit of her stomach, a reminder of how little she had eaten lately. Whenever inspiration struck basic needs like food normally dropped on the priority list. The painting was done... mostly. Which meant she should probably take proper care of herself.


Nodding to herself Rebecca moved to her room for a quick shower and changing out of her paint stained clothes for something more presentable for the outside world. A simple purple T-shirt and jeans, sans paint. Pulling her long blond hair back into a ponytail she slipped on a pair of sneakers and made her way back to the living area. As she grabbed her keys and purse she caught sight of her work.


She moved to stand before the painting staring as it mocked her. Finally she spotted it, the fault that had been hiding from her. A small insignificant of blue mark upon an otherwise straight black line making it ugly and misshapen. A small dab of black to cover the glaring error and the relief calmed her agitated nerves. With a small smile curving her lips she picked up a brush with a lighter blue and marked her watermark onto the bottom right hand corner of the canvas.


A wide grin curved her lips as the artist deemed the painting finally finished. Turning on her heels she made her way out of her apartment, umbrella in hand, in a much better mood and made her way to an old family style dinner not to far away.

 

[Chordling]

Mayor Oz

The Emerald City | The Mayor's Office

​

"Hello, the Mayor's Office, this is Galinda speaking, how may I help you?" a bright-faced blonde woman spoke as she cradled the phone between her chin and shoulder. She could have easily done the task with her hand, however, both were occupied; one twirled a pen between its flanges while the other grasped onto a thin notepad. The voice on the other side of the phone could be heard. Though it was not easy to identify the exact words which they were saying, anyone could guess that the customer was in an agitated state. "Yes, I am sorry to hear that," Galinda promptly said before the muffled noises continued to rage. "I will let the Mayor know of your situation as soon as possible, Mrs. Henderson... yes, I understand... He is a very busy man at the moment. Once his meeting is over I will take your concerns to him right away, Ma'am." The Mayor was not in a meeting at that moment, however, but Galinda knew a meeting would sound better to the public ear than planning for a high-society-only masquerade with the Senator. "Yes, we'll talk again," she buzzed happily before hanging up the phone. Quickly, she stood from her chair, then realized the pen and paper she held in her hand had not been utilized. A puff of air escaped through her pink painted lips as they fell into a smirk, but her expression quickly shifted when one of the Mayor's attendants came in.


"Miss Galinda," the tiny figure greeted as he turned the corner. "The Mayor wishes to speak with you. He said to come straight away, Miss." Without further hesitation, the blonde woman made her way directly to the Mayor.


"Ah, Galinda, there you are," the man smiled. He looked much older than the female standing before him. His hair was obviously gray and the wrinkles present, though faint, were not hard to miss either. He seemed tired, too though his fatigue could easily be explained by the events which transpired the previous evening. Senator John had given a speech to mark the middle of his first term. The evening had been rather exciting. As usual, the media swarmed like a bustle of bees and forced their way through the crowds with their microphones and cameras to catch every word that made its way out during the Senator's speech. Of course, he was not the true center of their attention, but it was still exhausting.


You could still see a bit of youth in the Mayor, too. He appeared rather fit for someone his age and his eyes shined whenever he smiled. "I hope the phones haven't been keeping you too busy," he stressed.


"No, not at all, sir," Galinda shook her head after a minute moment of hesitation. "What can I do for you, sir?"


"Well, as you know, I have been extremely busy with the Masque preparations. I am hoping to get in contact with the Senator in the near future to make sure everything is running wonderfully," the Mayor loved to use that word, in any style. "Regardless, I will not have the appropriate time to pick up the suit I plan to wear for that evening's event. Do you mind going through the city for me to fetch it? I will make sure there is a coffee waiting for you on your desk when you return."


"Certainly, sir," she smiled. The formal address was unnatural for her, she would rather call him 'Oz' or even 'Mr. King', but their professional code wouldn't allow it.


"Wonderful," the Mayor smiled again, then he turned his head and looked down another hallway. "Boque! Prepare a ride for Miss Northrop. She will need it to take into the city." He turned his attention to Galinda once more. "What would you like in that coffee? Cream? Sugar?"

 

[Ozmic]

Hunter Madson

ON THE CLOCK | ABANDONED BUILDING

"I'm getting tired of this game, Marley," came a smart-assed quip from behind one of the mountains of still standing metal strewn about the abandoned warehouse Joseph Marley called his 'workshop'. The impromptu owner of the place snarled at the words and spat onto the ground.


"You're going to have to come out some time, fucker, if you want to get this poor girlie away from me," the wiry male snapped, clutches tightening around the shoulders of his captor - a just-past-teenage lass clad in dingy white shorts and a t-shirt depicting some weird logo of a store. The girl sobbed defeatedly, casting glances downward now and again at the plastic looking gun tucked in the waistband of the junkie's trousers. "I have half a mind to just drag her outta' here, long as you're taking."


"Fine, I'm coming out. Just keep that piece tucked away and we can discuss this like gentlemen, alright?" came the reply. Finally, the owner of the voice stepped into view, brushing a bit of grime from his grey jacket as he made a cautious approach. Looking over the other male and the girl, Hunter Madson gave a sigh and took in his surroundings. They were far from ideal, moreso than the usual buildings he found himself in, but the taller male hadn't gotten much of a say in the matter when Marley had tugged the girl with him... right into familiar territory.


"Tracy," Hunter started, looking right at the girl and ignoring her captor for a moment. "My name's Hunter and your family sent me. Joey and I are gonna' have a little chat and this will all be over before you know it." He smiled a little, but there wasn't much sincerity behind it. In reality, he was getting more and more on edge by the second, but he didn't want to risk having the junkie blow the girl's head off in a fit of stupid.


Talk about a ruined paycheck.


"Don't call me fuckin' Joey, asshole!" the skeleton of a man screeched, pointing a finger at him at first, then reaching down towards his pants. "Ain't nobody called me that since I was a kid and I'm not gonna' have that shit spreadin' around cause some cop started it!"


Hunter sighed and rubbed his brow. "First off, I'm not a cop. You think a cop would be this stupid comin' in here unarmed? And second, mind keeping your hands to yourself and off your crotch for a minute so we can talk this out? I don't like guns and if you keep reaching for that, I'm gonna' get nervous."


Marley laughed, a shrill and annoying sound that Hunter grit his teeth against. "Oh, the big bad man don't like guns?!" he snarled, quickly tugging the piece free and waving it around like a maniac before pointing it at him. "And just what. Do. You. Plan. To. Do. Huh, peckerhead?"


In a flash, the man in the grey jacket rushed the other and struck, shoving both him and his captive to the side and sending the both of them reeling. Before the smaller man could react, Hunter had the gun and twisted it around. His eyes were slits of rage as he brought the gun down onto Joe Marley's right hand four times.


"I. Don't. Like. Guns," he stated with every strike, punctuating the blows with his words.


- - -


Leaving the man on the ground writhing and sobbing, Hunter got back up and helped the girl to her feet, pulling her toward the door as she began stammering a series of thank yous through sobs, hands grasping at him and seeking comfort as he led her toward his car. "I'm not here to play hero, I'm here to get you back to your parents and get a paycheck. This isn't a damned fairy tale so buck up and stifle it. Plenty of tears to be shed when you meet up with the folks again..."

She stiffened and got into the car, looking away from him. Shutting the door behind her, the larger male sighed and got in, starting up the beast of a car and letting it idle for a minute before he pushed it into gear. It had been a long night of tracking this girl down and he was being an asshole again. Rubbing his head a little, the words of an old friend trickled into his subconscious. 'You've changed so much, Huntsman...' they taunted, and he pushed them away with a sigh, turning to his passenger as he put the car into gear.


"Listen... Tracy, right?" he started, letting a beat pass before he continued. "Yer' welcome. It's been a long night for the both of us, probably worse for you - sorry for the delay, so what say we get you back to yer' folks, hm? Chin up, kid, everything's gonna' be fine." He smiled at this, doing the best to ignore the fact that he was lying to himself with that smile - not that she needed to know that. After what she'd been through, some false optimism could go a long way... or at least the few blocks to the 'drop site'.


Arriving, Hunter killed the engine and opened his door, looking around warily at the disgusting scenery. What used to be a nice few blocks, alleys and all, had fallen to decay as the city expanded around it. What had been left was a blackened and wrecked pit of disgust. Homelessness thrived, as did all manner of criminal activity. The Old Huntsman wondered if the law had ever stepped foot in the place to try and take it back... but he doubted it. Too much work, not enough time.


All the time in the world couldn't put the outskirts of Emerald City back together again.


Smirking a little at the thought the man strode over to another car, a nicer and newer model, and waved the girl toward them. "Alright, Chuck. I got yer' daughter back in one piece safe an' sound," he said bluntly, then cut off the attempt at another thank you. "Yeah, you're welcome. Your kid already covered that part of it."


Taking the outstretched envelope from the mostly-rolled-down tinted window, Hunter slipped it into his jacket pocket and rapped on top of the car. "Pleasure doing business with you fine folks. Keep a better watch on 'er, man. No tellin' the kinda' crap that goes on around here if yer' not more careful." Shrugging a little if it had been the most normal conversation in the world, the male shoved his hair out of his eyes and moved back to his car, hardly noticing the others speed away. He didn't blame them. Getting out of this hellhole was always a freeing activity, even if it managed to be temporary.

 

[Dusky]

Gwendolyn Darling

Jolly Roger's Condominium Complex || Marooner's Rock Apartment Building


<p><a href="<fileStore.core_Attachment>/monthly_2015_05/wendy2.png.b4ecd15e63d0d1bb64f63d06b9c72229.png" class="ipsAttachLink ipsAttachLink_image"><img data-fileid="51373" src="<fileStore.core_Attachment>/monthly_2015_05/wendy2.png.b4ecd15e63d0d1bb64f63d06b9c72229.png" class="ipsImage ipsImage_thumbnailed" alt=""></a></p>
​

A nondescript blonde woman wakes with a gasp, starting, and lies for a moment, panting as her heart races. The man holding her close to him stirs, groaning, "What is it, Wendy, darling?"


The glint of curved metal and a thin red line on a young boy's skin and he wasn't flying why wasn't he flying and-


"Nothing," she lies, voice strained.


"Wendy." His tone conveys a warning, and she hastily corrects herself.


"Just... I dreamt of a hook. And a young boy."


"That sounds like your hallucinations again, pet."


She recoils from his disapproving tone, visibly shrinking, but as soon as she moves away he pulls her close again. A glance up reveals that a glint has entered his eyes, and as her heart drops so does his one hand. She squirms away and sits up, sliding her legs over the side of the bed, pretending to have noticed nothing, and starts saying, "I should really get back to my apar-"


Her own squeak cuts her off as he yanks her back down.


Sometimes when he holds her like this she feels so safe. Other times, like now, she's terrified. Either way, it's always for the same reason. He'll protect her from everything that might ever want to hurt her, except himself.

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

​

He stretches and slides out of bed like a tsunami receding. She watches as he dresses, fine attire covering his large frame. He's not young anymore, but he's well-built. Powerful. She watches as he lifts his trident-shaped cigar holder from its stand. She watches as he fits three cigars into it. She watches as he lights them, the cloying scent filling the air like sea brine. She watches, and does not so much as stir. She used to feel a need to wipe her eyes dry afterwards, but they've both long since gotten used to it.


He turns to look at her, smiling a gently cruel smile at her. Predatory, almost. "You're going to the Masque with me tomorrow night."


The Masque. The Masque... Is he talking about...


She bolts upright. "The Masque? Tomorrow night?!"


He inhales another drag and blows it in her face, then chuckles, patting her head affectionately. "Yes, sweetheart, that's what I said."


She stares at him, mouth opening and closing, until she finally manages, "I have nothing to wear!"


He laughs heartily at that. "You could always wear nothing."


"Captaaaiiiinnnnn..."


He waves his hand. "So sorry, that was bad form indeed. In any case, my dear, I'm sure you'll find something you're satisfied with."


Considering the state of her wardrobe given that she works as a dancer and waitress at a gentlemen's club makes her shudder. "You don't understand, Captain, I really don't have anything to wear. Those kinds of dresses cost hundreds of dollars..."


He reaches out, takes her chin firmly in his large hand. "You poor dear. This is why you need me." He lets go of her and takes his wallet from the nightstand. Flips it open. Pulls out a credit card. Hands the card to Gwen. All done expertly with one hand. "Expense is no concern. I will not be seen with something unbefitting me, and I want to show you off."


Once upon a time, Gwen would have protested. But it has been she doesn't even know how long; she's used to such nonchalant generosity. So instead, she ducks her head. "Thank you, Captain..."


"Good girl. I have business to attend to now, so you need to get dressed and go home. I will see you at the Clock, pet..." He fixes a very convincing fake gloved hand into place on his stump and steps out, without a backward glance.


When he exits the room, she slumps visibly, fingers rubbing her temples then working into her hair. What is she supposed to feel?


She has weeks when she loves James Hook. She has weeks when she hates him. This has been an upswing, but...




When she steps off the (horribly rickety and distressing) elevator onto her floor, she glances towards her friend Mary's door out of habit. Normally she glazes over it and walks the other direction, to her own apartment, but what she sees this morning gives her enough pause that the elevator doors start closing before she's gotten out.


Startling, she slips through and approaches the sleeping figure by Mary's door, shaking its shoulder.


"Mary? What're you doing out here...?"


She smells vodka. Oh dear.

 

[Erica]

Spoiler

Robert Archer Moore

Merry Men Headquarters . | . Bean & Gone Café

​

Merry Men Headquarters

May 3rd; Evening

​

The never-dusted blinds sliced the evening light into precise lines casting ever-shifting shadows across the wooden floor. Outside the brownstone apartment recently been deemed worthy to serve as the Merry Men Agency’s latest headquarters, Emerald City pulsed with its own rhythm, set to the asynchronous beat of desperation and depravity. He and Johnna had been in the city a week; it still felt foreign to the dark-haired man sitting in the wingback chair behind a worn executive desk. The chair and the desk, like him, had seen better days. But, like him, they still served a purpose.


Archer Robert Moore, most commonly known as "Rob", sat staring at the small squares of linen paper before him. They had rested on the corner of his desk, teasing him, for the better part of the day. He had ignored them in favor of the requisite discussions and errands that came with his work. (A good theft took planning, a good con even more so.) As the sun had set, the phone calls had ceased. All that remained now was to await Johnna's return. He already knew what she would say. A few lifetimes spent side-by-side makes surprises a rarity.


A masquerade party. In Emerald City. Celebrating the illustrious John Sharp on his latest Senatorial race victory. Senator John Sharp, a man who looked suspiciously like their Prince John, or so they thought. Yet it had been so long that he honestly could not be certain until he faced the man. And what if he looked the man in the eye and still remained unsure? A hundred years is a long time, and his memories had faded to the equivalent of faded sepia. Even Marian was more of a sense memory; he needed his early sketches of her to remember the curve of her smile now, and hated himself for it.


Rob had scored invitations. Two beautifully hand-penned documents that would gain them entry to the gala and a chance, perhaps, to find another clue. He set the invitation down, trying not to set his expectations too high. It was another possible avenue to explore. If nothing else, Johnna would revel in the chance to dress up and make some local connections, especially since it came with the potential to kick some ass.


Hopefully he could convince her not to start those fights until the time was right.


He set the invitations down and stood, grabbing the remote and turning on the television. Senator John Sharp’s smirking face filled the screen, larger than life and tapping his cards on the podium. Leaning on the edge of the desk, Rob focused on the man displayed in digital light. It was almost like being there, seeing him in the flesh. Instinct made his hand clench. Just the sight of the man made him want to reach for a weapon.


Yet Rob still doubted. Was he seeing what he wanted to see? How could he be certain after all this time? And even if it was their Prince John, would it make a difference in getting them home?


As the Senator waxed poetic on community and family, Rob poured himself a glass of whiskey. Looking at the television over the rim of the glass, he continued to study John Sharp as something familiar tickled the back of his mind.

Bean & Gone Café

May 4th; Morning

​

Coffee. The “Bean & Gone Café” was busy, filled with all walks of life as they each paid homage to the modern altar of shared addiction. Amongst the crowd, a tall dark-haired man once known as Robin Hood stole another three packets of sugar from the coffee condiment station, pocketing them before he tucked a folder under his arm and claimed the two cups of coffee he had procured. One cup, for him, was black. The other contained so much milk and sugar that it hardly qualified as coffee. He had to tell the girl behind the counter twice to fill it mostly with milk and a dash of coffee. He had poured sugar in it as well, long enough to start thinking about diabetes, and then added a little more. It still might not be enough. He appropriated another packet of sugar for good measure.


In place of his once-customary hood, Rob wore a brown leather jacket over a grey t-shirt and faded jeans. Opting for the dress and demeanor of the modern everyman, he hoped to blend in with the crowd. Unfortunately, that didn’t always happen. A pretty young blonde smiled at him as she reached for a stirrer. “Is that for your girlfriend?” she asked coyly. Her heavily mascaraed eyes darted to his fingers - undoubtedly scanning for a ring - before glancing around the small coffee shop, as if seeking said girl for assessment; and perhaps hoping not to find her.


He smiled. “Yes,” he lied easily, “although I tell her she doesn’t need so much sugar. She’s sweet enough as it is.” Following the cheesy statement up with a wink, he enjoyed the complex expression that washed over the girl’s face as he turned away. That mixture of romantic longing and disappointment was one of his vices. Even if he (probably) would not follow up on it, he had to admit, it was nice to be wanted.


It was a white lie, meant to avoid complications. He only hoped Johnna didn’t learn that she regularly played the role of his girlfriend in such situations. He would never hear the end of it once he recovered from the beating. Johnna, or “Little John” as the stories erroneously referred to her, possessed a gentle soul but a mean right hook.


Under threat of said mean right hook, Johnna had sent him explicitly out to get coffee, admonishing him for his reclusive and obsessive tendencies. He found a booth in the corner for them, smiling at the people vacating it with perfect timing and setting down the coffee to await her arrival.

 

[Kagura]

Mary O. Beaupree

Marooner's Rock Apartment Building


The soft voice barely ruptured Mary's stupor, it was a distanced call of a long forgotten dream calling her name. It was dreary memory of monochromatic and the life she wished to have until it was seized from her. Just like the forceful shake that forced her eyes open into the dreary hallways of the place she now called home. Bleary eyes try to focus in front of her while her stomach rolls in a reminder of the night past. Except her left arm is heavier than her right and she suddenly finds the ground - smell of mildew and old smoke - to her comfort.


Opening her mouth only to close it again, holding back laughter upon realizing it was little Gwen in front of her. Stupid. Gwen. Darling. Was that even her name? Or was it Wendy? Hook called her Wendy, but that was familiar in the way her dream was. It was effort to put that much thought into it, thought that Gwendy would just end up rebuffing. Still, an incoherent slur of sounds, maybe even words, poured from her mouth as she strategically pushed herself back up.


Elbow up at ninety degrees, flop one up over the other, push self against wall, fight gravity and lose. Mary huffed, on her stomach now "Bad idea, bad idea" the pressure on her stomach was painful enough that she manages to bounce to her feet, stumbling in her heels slightly. Hadn't she taken those off? What had she taken off? her hands drift over her exposed midriff."Am I wearing clothes?" Mary suddenly looks very critically at Gwendy before her stomach rolls again.


Leaning over slightly, the blonde opens her mouth to burp, tears gathering her eyes with the after burn. Had she really drank that much? she remembered the men taking body shots off her but - there was that haze again. Blinking hard, Mary rested her head against her door before licking her lips, tasting peanut butter on them. A frown marred her features and her heart suddenly waned, "I taste like peanut butter" she's whining, turning the handle uselessly.


It was locked, she had checked. or had she? She checked now. Yes, locked.


"Gwendy I'm locked out" she's actually crying now, as she stumbles towards Gwen, "I'm naked and locked out" her words were at least a bit more clear now. However, it didn't help matters that Mary suddenly flung herself haphazardly into Gwen's 'arms'.

 

[Effervescent]

Ezreal Aurelius

May 3rd, Evening

​

Ezreal’s burning lungs caused him to slow his pace. To most onlookers he would look like the average Joe out for a nightly run, his hooded jacket now drenched in his sweat. No one knew he had just run away from the cops as a possible material witness to the near mugging of some unsuspecting woman.


He ran because he was a coward.


His thoughts turned to the blonde in the alley as he caught his breath at the corner of Ballard and Third. He placed his hands on his knees and rested against the street light and reflected upon the familiarity of her face. She had to have been someone he knew. Everything in his mind seemed so distant or just on the tip of his tongue waiting for his lips to move with knowing. Nothing came to him, not even a name. But he felt some sort of connection to her.

“You should probably wear a reflective vest,” a man’s voice cut through his thoughts. Ezreal’s head shot up to look at a man dressed more appropriately for a nightly jog, his clothing adorned with reflective strips and dyed neon bright colors. As he jogged in place, he offered the boy a friendly smile. “I saw you running. Well, barely. Dark clothes aren’t good for a run at night. It makes you look suspicious. Especially for someone with an upstanding family reputation.”


A frown lightly tugged the corners of Ezreal’s lips. Taking advice from strangers wasn’t exactly his strong suit, and he wasn’t particularly keen on this jogger’s presentation. Never the less, his upbringing in diplomacy kicked into gear, and he reluctantly nodded.


“I guess I need to buy better running clothes,” he said in return. “Thanks.”


“Not a problem,” the jogger said, and waved as he continued on down Ballard Street.


Ezreal looked down at his choice in attire. The black and white bandana he used to cover his face was tied around his neck and hanging out just above the zipper line of his jacket. It was completely obvious, and so he zipped up his jacket further in frustration and stuffed the bandana out of sight. Some secret help he turned out to be.


Crestfallen, worn, and aching, the prince of Aurelius Enterprises shuffled back to his clock tower apartment in downtown. He repeated the night’s events in his head as he tried to discern where things could have gone better and how he handled things poorly. Interfering technically made him a vigilante, and if he were ever caught in such an illegal act it’d likely make his family look terrible.


He rounded the corner and headed for the back of the tall complex where a specially made secret entrance was located. Only those important enough to have a key card could use it, but on nights like these Ezreal avoided carrying something so telling. Instead, he would call on his butler to come down and open the door for him.


His hand reached into his back pant pocket to find nothing. He checked the other, and then the front pockets, and then the pockets of his jacket frantically. He’d lost his burner phone! A heavy sigh escaped him, and he trudged back shamefully towards the front entrance. The phone didn’t have but another day left on it.


Walking through the front meant having to approach the security desk. Having no identification on him whatsoever made things a little complicated. While his family name was known, his face was not completely recognized. His butler was eventually called down to identify the young man, and all was resolved.


Though on the ride up he realized he had made another mistake. He had used his burner phone to call someone other than the police. If they were to get ahold of that phone and look through it, his butler would likely get an unexpected phone call.

May 4th, Morning

​

He watched the sun rise from the comfort of his apartment. A freshly brewed cup of coffee rested in his curled hand as he stared out the windowed expanse. Emerald City was always alive with lights that never seemed to fade with the coming sunlight. It was alien. Ezreal couldn’t place why he felt so out of place in this world.


Upon a leather sofa sat his laptop, abandoned after several searches through various social media and networking sites. A bout of nostalgia had hit him, and he had been in search of childhood friends, all of which turned up without any results. Details were fuzzy and muddled within his mind as he tried to fish out clues of their appearances or their life goals. Surely they were out there somewhere. It couldn't have been that long since they last spoke.


Yet the lack of results caused him dismay. He wanted to perhaps catch up with them in secret. Being the heir to the enterprise of the Aurelius family had come with a solemn price for Ezreal. His parents urged him to give up select friendships and past-times in order to keep the family name unsullied. Granted, he felt now they did sort of have a bad influence over him. Those were the people that made him think outside of his little box and experiment and adventure beyond what he was used to. He always hated that he wasn'treally given a choice to leave them despite his parents making it seem so. It was an obligation to his birthright.


The years rolled on making him feel more and more useless. Every charity event his family hosted, he was more or less just a face, for he desired little of the politics and was forbidden to get his hands dirty with the work. Whenever he'd ask, his father would remind him that his inheritance is not of the work seen by the people, but the work behind walls for the people. Why couldn't it be both? Why shouldn't it be so?


Perhaps this is what drove him to take to the streets. Perhaps this is what caused him to take matters into his own hands when he knew the police would be too slow. His nerves struck him again as he remembered the previous evening, and he wondered if his butler had already been contacted. Every siren or blue flashing lights down below caused his stomach to churn.


As he turned from the window, he was again reminded of the oddly familiar blonde he attempted to aid. He walked over to his laptop and set his mug down on the glass surface of his coffee table with a clank. His fingers hovered over the keyboard and his eyes stared at the blinking vertical line in the search box of his browser. But what to search? His fingers finally typed out the name of the building he had been outside the previous night and found the Royal Palace Hotel had quite the reputable restaurant within. He had personally never eaten there, but considered perhaps it was time.


Further investigation into his very simple research allowed him to discover Senator John Sharp’s Masquerade Gala would be hosted in that very hotel. Ezreal had vehemently refused to go to the past eight fund raisers, charity balls, and galas with his parents. In lieu of recent events, however, he decided he was going to attend in hopes of encountering the girl from the alley.

 

[DamagedGlasses]

Gene Kingsley

Roxy Palace Hotel, Enjoying his coffee

​

Sipping on his cinnamon coated, instant morning, Gene looked out the large window that accompanied the room he had gotten for the next few weeks. It was a lofty expense, but for one such as him, he had little doubt that he would be able to make amends. Besides, he was an aspiring king, and there was little reason against him being frivolous at times. He had built his kingdom up from the ground with the sheer force of will that he had been found with. He had always found, ironically, that "found with" was much more appropriate than "born with".


He had always wondered about his birth, but after he had been subjected to killing off his old persona to assume a new, he had to admit that his hopes against this supposed Immortality were for naught. Many of the modern people of this time spoke of aliens in the past, and Gene wondered, if that was his prelude. He was doubtful though. The stars, pretty as they were, held no weight for him, no air of familiarity that came with being on top of things in his place of work. Wherever he was born, it must have been quite a tower.


He continued to sip his coffee as he considered the most recent events that had come from his decision to depart from his old persona. His old advisors, loyal as they were to the Gene Kingsley Sr., were very difficult towards him now that he was only a Jr. They were chosen for their tactics and brutality in the business of course, so it would do very little to complain about them doing their jobs. Not to say that he was happy about it. The shares they held within the business allayed any actions he could take, securing their seats, but he knew they would slip up eventually. Until then, he was simply enjoying the ride that his lively nature, an underestimate for suredly, procured for him.


Speaking of which, Gene glanced down at the invitation that lay neat opened on his desk. He had been invited to a ball in town, a delightful welcome to a newcomer such as himself and a useful one at that. The guest list was quite hush hush, but that did nothing to stall Gene's plans for alignment and partnership. He had heard rumors of a certain artist to be there, one that he had been wanting to scout personally for quite some time, and it would seem that this was his chance, if she were to show of course. He had a few of her peices, being a collector of the refined things, but her works held much greater meaning.


Just as the stars would have if he were to call them home, the paintings whispered of a place free of these golden chains of prosperity. The jeweled noose that lay around his neck always seemed looser in the face of these peices, and so he was quite ready to go and see if this artist knew anymore about him. Finishing off his coffee, Gene put down his mug and began to walk to his bathroom, picking up a bathrobe along the way.


His fresh and pumped up mind zipped through the days plans as he cleaned himself off. He would need to get a suit, one that seemed welcoming to all these new people. Maybe he would get a blue one? A green one? No, a blue one sufficed. A green one seemed to cliche to outfist his debut in a city that held Emerald in its name. Getting out of the shower, Gene washed off and put on his clothes, beginning his morning bathroom. He could not wait for the next day and decided to spend the rest of his current one, or all of it infact, to get ready. He would not be caught with his pants anywhere except on his hips and legs.

 

[Teh Frixz]

Mirelle
And welcomes little fishes in


With gently smiling jaws

​

Early evening had fallen across the city and there was little achievement in the Crocodiles day. It was an almost homage to the days she spent lolling through Neverland, well fed and the scent of Hook far off enough not to warrant tormenting the man. Even the little birds of the area appreciated days like this, Mirelle's open jaws providing a bounty of meat and parasites to pick off.


There is a slight crash as the current real world equivalent drops a tray and rouses Mirelle from her aquatic torpor. Situated neatly enough from the Senators commencement speech, the Royal Crowne hotel had taken every step to make her stay one of comfort and one without threat. A suite provided with a large outdoor area and hot tub had kept her calm and docile. Her nose just above the water line as her eyes stare out over the congregation, a dull look until the dropped tray snaps her up.


A tight, well muscled but obviously abused form emerges from the water. The nude figure looking back over her shoulder at the boy splayed out. She conveys no emotion back as he oozed anxiety hormones. Hurriedly he scoops the tray up, focusing fully on his work. The wine decanter is salvaged, metal tray wiped clean and a letter gently placed beside a neatly produced glass.


He backs out of the room quickly, before he can be snapped at. Mirelle stands alone now, still staring down where his body had been. The source of the trip was there. An alligator skin bag. Something that was so popular to be carried by the mammals, Mirelle only taking it to spite her farmed cousins. Papers and trash had spilled out, some whipped away by the wind. She steps out of the tub, taking careful measured steps and hoisting the purse up. The young man's scent was still on it, behind the wine and fear. His fate was sealed.


The tight green dress slipped on with little effort. Mirelle making her way down to the bar with the letter in both her hands. Apparently there was a ball. She'd been invited. Or at the very least someone thought it wise to include her at the cost of a cold companion at the party. Quickly changing direction, she veers from the bar and sits in the foyer of the hotel. There was someone here she wanted to speak to about this.

 

[Crimson Avenger]

~ ALISTAIR ~

May 4th, Early Morning. The 1001 Nights Motel.

"STOP, THIEF!"


Alistair Trey pounded up clouds of dust as he sprinted along the winding pathway of a dried riverbed. Not far behind him, two brutish men in dark green hoods crashed through the brush bordering the riverbed, one man brandishing large, twisted club and the other, a jagged longknife. He hefted a bulky sack higher onto his left shoulder, then quickly glanced at the bandits in pursuit. They were closing fast, and Alistair doubled his pace, panting and gasping for breath.


He ducked under a low-hanging tree branch, and the scene warped in front of his vision. Alistair found himself leaping onto the hood of a small car and dashing into a dark alleyway. The brick buildings loomed overhead in the darkness, only partially lit by a few scattered street lights. The bag of food he had been carrying was now the unconscious body of a young girl, and the bandits were now a pair of unsavory looking men in cheap suits, each wielding a handheld firearm. Shots pinged and ricocheted off of a fire escape ladder, not a foot from his head. Flinching at the noise, he turned and lunged for the cover of a dumpster. Setting the girl down, he pulled a pair of knives from his trench coat, preparing to defend himself and his young charge. He waited a beat, then stood and drew back his arm to hurl the sharp blade at the first attacker, but the sound of a gunshot rang in the alley, then another, then another. Alistair felt something impact him in the chest, but when he looked down, instead of bullet wounds, a single black arrow protruded from his sternum.


The scene changed again, and he found himself standing at the edge of a cliff overlooking a massive forest surrounded by hedges on all sides. Large ornate topiaries carved into bizarre creatures and shapes rose out of the forest in various locations. Overhead, a storm of gargantuan proportions billowed and roiled in the sky, emerald green lightning crackling across the horizon, connecting with the earth and trees at random intervals. Fell laughter echoed across the landscape and mingled with the booming thunder. In the chaotic expanse of clouds above and vegetation below, faces appeared and disappeared. Faces of family, friends, and even a few enemies, all crying out in fear.


Alistair turned away from the scene and ran, running for a small farm house behind him. He practically ripped open the door and slammed it behind him, just as a bolt of lightning struck the edge of the cliff, causing the hair on the back of his neck to prickle and stick straight up. Inside the farmhouse, it appeared to be completely black, with only a flicker of light at the far end of the room. Cautiously, he approached the source of the light, and the room began to come into view. The walls around him were polished, reflective metal, and the light came from a single flickering bulb hanging from a wire. A faint noise sounded out of the blackness, sounding like a faintly distant alarm or siren.


*deet deet deet*


In the shadows, Alistair saw a figure hunched over and sitting on the floor with its back turned to him. As Alistair drew closer, the figure began to turn and the noise grew louder.


*deet deet deet*


The other person stood, and Alistair recognized the face of his nephew, Jack. His eyes were squeezed shut, and he held his hands to his head. Alistair reached for Jack.


*deet deet deet*


The young man lunged forward and seized his uncle by the shoulders, shrieking like a wounded animal.


“You have to come back to us!”


*DEET DEET DEET*


“You have to wake up, Uncle Alistair!” He slammed him up against the walls of the building and shook him violently, his eyes snapping open and revealing blank white lenses. The sound crescendoed and became so loud Alistair’s ears began to bleed.


*DEET! DEET! DEET!*


“WAKE UP!”


Alistair awoke with a start, a blaringly loud noise sounding directly to his left. In one fluid motion, he leaped out of bed, drew the short knife he kept beneath his pillow, and in a blind panic, began to violently stab and slash at the noisy assailant. Again and again he rapidly brought the knife down, until his terror had subsided, and he became once again aware of his surroundings. He was in Emerald City, Room 213 in a motel by the outskirts of town. He looked over at the mutilated corpse of what had once been a rather nice alarm clock, which wasn’t much more now than a pile of plastic and wires. He breathed a massive sigh of relief.


“A dream. Just a dream.” He thought to himself, collapsing backward onto the bed. “But holy bleeding hell, what a dream.”


The nightmares were getting worse. In the days when he had lived in Fable, they would occasionally come to warn him of great dangers or perils. Nowadays they came much more often, and didn’t seem to mean much at all. He picked up his mobile phone and checked the time. 3:32 A.M. Still early. Alistair climbed back under the covers and tossed his phone onto the nightstand, next to the destroyed alarm clock. He had business to attend to in the city, but now was not the time to think about that. Now, he needed sleep. He closed his eyes, then after a moment, opened them again and grabbed his phone. Sliding the device open, he navigated to his alarms and turned off the notification he had set to wake him up at 7:00 that morning. The last thing he needed was another rude awakening.

 

[Ayl]

May 3rd


Pennsylvania


FBI Headquarters


1300 hour


"...therefore, as you can see, our main objective is Guy Gisborne. We will assign two of our best agents on field, the rest will assist them. This guy is a slick one, people, so we need to be even more meticulous. Anything we can gather to put him away for good is welcome. Agents Scathelocke and Grace, you two stay, the rest of you, dismissed!"


The meeting room exploded with the sounds of chairs being pushed back and people whispering while leaving the room, their shoes clicking against the marble floor. Although Will had no interest for their next assignment, the name of their priority caught his attention.


As he made his way towards special agent Daniels, the agent in charge of the operation, he threw a quick glance over to his to-be partner, agent Sarah Grace. He heard many praises of her. Finished top of her year, valedictorian, all that top student crap. Easy on the eyes too, with that red dyed hair, coupled with green eyes that sometime appeared blue and those glasses that gave her an authoritarian air.


"Well, as you've already guessed," Daniels said while taking a big breathe of nicotine from his just-lit cigarette, "this mission is too important to mess up. We get Gisborne, we get deeper into the mafia. I want you both at 100%. No heroics, nothing unnecessary."


After both of them let out an affirmative "Yes, sir.", Daniels dismissed them as well with a gesture of his hand. As soon as they were out, the first to talk was agent Grace, who quickly turned around to face Will.


"Agent Scathelocke, I've heard much about you. I look forward to working with you."


Simple, professional, a bit shy. "Likewise!" Will said as he shook the hand that was held about waiting for his. "Since we'll be working together, I believe we shouldn't be so formal. Please, call me Will!" . There he went again, working his charm.


With a quick blush, hidden behind a stern face, the woman replied. "Oh...of course, Will. You can call me Sarah, then." she said with an unsure tone. She did recall hearing tales about the man being a total flirt, afterall.


As they made their way towards the elevator, Will swiftly grabbed his ever present cane from his desk. At first, agent Grace gave him a confused look. He didn't seem to have a limp, so he wondered why the instrument. Spotting her puzzled look, Will gave her one of his famous smirks. "I never go anywhere without it." he explained.


Once they were out in the parking lot, Will excused himself. "I will see you there, Sarah. I must make a quick errand first.". Nodding, Sarah Grace hopped into her vehicle, a Nissan, and slowly sped away. Eyeing her vanish into the concrete jungle, Will couldn't help but exclaim a "Interesting...", stretching the final sillable.


*A few hours later*


The appartment building was badly illuminated, the hallways filled with shady figures exchanging suspicious handshakes, but that wasn't the reason Will "Scarlett" was there. He needed more info on his mark, and since the intel the FBI provided him was rather short-handed, he decided to go directly to the source.


Tony Adalberto, a very deep embedded member of the Italian mafia, with a large range of knowledge about anything even remotely linked to the "big players", was trying to stay low after a job that went South because of one very inconveniently situatedsecurity agent at the local bank. Unfortunately for him, he wasn't doing a very good job. A man has his needs, and sometimes those needs have lips, lips that were willing to part for just the right sum.


As soon as Will kicked open the door to appartment 7, Tony jumped from his couch like it was on fire and reached for his pistol, but his lack of working out got the better of him, as Will quickly knocked him over and caught him into a chokehold with his cane.


"Hi there, Tony! Long time, no see!"


"What the fuck do you want now, you damn co-" a quick jab to the liver was enough to make him empty his lungs of any air, letting him fall down like a bag of potatoes after the cane stopped supporting him.


"Look, I'm kind of in a hurry. How about you just play nice now, tell me what I want to now, and maybe I won't inform the Bureau about your whereabouts."


Although Tony gave him an explicit sign of what Will can go do, the agent simply sat down and started questioning him.


"So, Guy Gisborne. What do you know of him?"


The interrogation went on for a while. Things were kept pretty civil. Shockingly enough, Tony didn't know much about Guy that Daniels didn't already brief him about. Still, it was worth a shot. The man was a mystery. Careful, keen on details. This was going to be a tough case to crack. Just what Will needed after a long streak of boring investigations.


As he stepped into the brightly illuminated street, his cellphone's ring went off. Smiling as he saw the caller's name, he answered.


"Haven't heard from you in a while now, Much. How's it going?"


"Oh, shut it, Will. I didn't call you up to chit-chat. I found your last two targets' location."


The sound of the news which Will had been expceting for well over a few months gladdened him.


He hardly could hide the excitement in his voice. "Where?" he asked. "Apparently, they are both in a place called Emerald City.". Well ain't that a pretty big coincidence. Emerald City was also the place he was about to depart to in pursuit of his case. "Many thanks, Much. You've been a real help all these years."


"Yeah, don't mention it. Don't ever call me again. With this, I'm done helping you follow after ghosts. I've got my own life, you know!"


"Yes, yes. Don't worry, this'll be likely the last time you ever hear of me again."


"What God must I praise for that. Word of warning, though. There are some other people you might know there. Better look out for them."


"Oh, people such as...?" he asked curious.


May 4th


Emerald City


Early Afternoon


As he emerged from the car he'd shared with agent Grace, Will took in the scent of the new city. It didn't stand out much, appart from being under Senator John Sharp's tight grasp. It really surprised Will that he'd find their own nemesis here as well. He knew he couldn't be the only one when he had stumbled upon Much the Miller during World War II . A familiar face helped him get more accustomed to the new and strange world, after who knows how they had gotten there in the first place.


Now all he had to do was find the last two of the five people that brought him so much sorrow and pain, he had forgotten how many other sentiments felt. The nostalgia made him remember the night Robin had rejected his plea for aid in his vendetta. Because that what it ultimately was, a vendetta.


Though at first he did wonder whether what he craved for was either justice or revenge, he ended up by telling itself that he longed for both in equal measure. No longer was it a question of right or wrong, but of when and where. His hands were dirty with the blood of many, yet he only counted three, so far.


"William!" .


Sarah Grace's call brought him back to reality. He turned to her and flashed her a sincere smile. "Are you alright?" she asked. "I've called you twice already."


"Oh, yes, I'm sorry. I was just lost in thought!" he apologised. He sighed, brushing aside his memories and breathing in a mouthful, struggling to focus.


"Well, then, shall we get a move on?"

 

[Grey]

Peter Holmes

Apartments above The Blue Caterpillar

Early Morning

​

Smoke describes lazy, graceful curls as it rises, invisibly pushed and pulled by the bodies in motion, the breath in the air, until finally it fades into a fog on the ceiling, dragged into ageing vents. Reclining on a couch with tears in the dusky-blue upholstery, Peter takes a moment to reflect on the ephemeral tableau - and concludes that this is, as promised, some good shit.


Alan reaches out for a share, but Peter pulls away, frowning. "You can't smoke, Al. You smoke, your lungs get bad, your lungs get bad, you can't run, you can't run..." Somewhere between frustration and fear, Alan shrugs, goes to find his twin elsewhere in the building. Peter watches him go, tokes again, and looks to the door. As if on cue, Marko enters, all swagger and chains, and those goddamn sunglasses. He throws himself down beside Peter and holds out a hand. Peter passes without looking.


"Up early, boss."


"Up late. Like you."


"Right. What's happening?"


Peter stares into the dusty, grimy apartment. More a squat than a home. His eye is drawn to a shard of glass, catching the morning light to glint like a blade-


- is cold against his cheek and the blood burns in its wake -


- before he answers.


"Nothing. Too early."


"Later?"


"We fly."


Marko nods, stubs the roach, slouches out.


Peter turns to face the backrest, pulling a worn blanket over himself.


He prays not to dream.

 

[Elle Joyner]

Roxanne Copper

Out and About

​

As she walked, Roxie could feel the thrum of the engine behind her and her lips fell in a frown. She wouldn't have put it past Guy to circle round the block, to follow her, and that was part of the problem, indeed. When John Sharp, a Representative at the time, had first come to Madame Coeur's, he had shown a moderate interest in Roxie, but she had brushed it off as mere aesthetic infatuation. Now, months later, John was still hanging around and in what was considered a display of inappropriate dedication, had taken to having her followed by his cronies.


Madame's response had been simple, "We'll deal with it if he stops paying..."


The trouble was, John wasn't paying anymore. Not in anything which benefit Roxie. Favors, here and there, for Madame were enough to keep him from attracting the woman's ire, but Roxie herself wasn't making a dime. Refusing to attend his speech had been a bit rebellious, she knew, but well within her right, when it came to honoring the Escort code. Sending Guy to tail her... it was ridiculous and admittedly, a little frightening.


Shaking her head, she spun round to face the Buick, her eyes narrowed, hands on her hips as she waited for him to slow down.


Hunter stopped suddenly as a silhouette in front of him stepped out into the way of his car. It was a woman, hands on her hips, and the man rolled his eyes and sighed. He was tired; tired of the job, tired of the town, and tired of feeling trapped in the invisible grip of something he couldn't figure out how to break free of.


Anger, hot and white, built as he gripped the handle and shoved the Buick's driver's side door open. Stepping out, he glared at the other and barked forward with, "Hey, why don't you get the hell outta' the road before--"


His words cut off as he took a closer look at her face. The spiteful words died in his throat as he raised a brow upward in curiosity. There was a familiarity there and it clawed at his brain, trying to drag the name that matched it out of the cage of his weary thoughts.


The Huntsman shut the door behind him and stepped up near the hood of the car.


As he got out, the man began his tirade, and Roxie's frown deepened. It wasn't Guy, after all, but how was she to know that?


"Listen... I thought you were someone else. There's really no need to be so host--" He froze, and then she froze and all at once a memory stirred in the back of her mind, like a dream, swept from the recesses after waking. His face... but it wasn't... it couldn't be.


"...Oh, Hell. Hunter?"


He faltered when her voice dropped and his eyes studied her face. It wasn't until she'd said his name that everything snapped into place and any retort was replaced with a dropped jaw.


"Red..." he finally uttered, blinking, "That really you after all this time, or did I finally snap?" A small smile followed and all his hostility melted away.


She was quiet for a long moment, the only sound the clicking of her heels on the pavement as she stalked closer. Within inches, she paused, pulled back her hand and with a force none too gentle, slapped him hard across the cheek.


"After all this time!? After ALL this time!? You son of a bitch! I thought you were dead!" Her voice crapped on the last syllable, and she looked away, her eyes suddenly damp.


The sound of the slap made his ears ring and his cheek flush hot where she'd hit him, but the man didn't recoil. "I'd like to say I don't deserve that, but I'd be lying..." he said plainly, voice low. He sighed, rubbing his eyes as if to push away the weariness in them.


"Too little too late, but I am sorry. I didn't know things were going to happen like they did after... well, after." He paused and exhaled from his nostrils, stroking his beard and trying not to dredge up old memories involving a cabin in the woods.


"Don't!" She growled, her eyes narrowed, hot, angry tears hanging on the edge of painted lashes, "Don't you make excuses. You walked away and left me there to deal with everything! They bamed me, Hunter! They blamed me for what happened. To Gran... to Mom and Dad... to you! And how could I defend myself? Hell! I started to believe it, too..."


Shaking her head, she backed away, "...So don't you dare apologize to me, like it can fix anything... Like it means anything..."


"Means anything?!" he spat, his fists clenched at his sides. Hunter could feel anger flaring up again at her words and he bit back a reply, knowing it would just fuel the fire. He knew what they'd done, knew they blamed her - he just hadn't found out until it was too late. The Huntsman had thought the woman he saved was surely dead.


Drying her eyes on the back of her hands, Red looked up in time to spot a dark black sedan pulling by the curb, a familiar pair of Givenchy's exiting, followed by lean, strong legs, as John Sharp slipped out from the back seat.


"Roxanne. Everything alright? I saw what happened... This fellow isn't giving you trouble, is he?"


Hunter stepped back and let the two talk, his eyes burning holes in the side of the other man's skull.


John’s voice was slick, oily with a false sense of concern, his eyes roving her figure, before flickering with very little interest to the man by the Buick. Slowly, he moved closer.


"...Everything is fine, John. Just fine."


"Why don't you come with me, Roxie. We can go to lunch... and then I'll drive you home?"


"...Thank you, John... but I'd rather just go home."


"Fair enough..." Reaching out, the Senator's fingers looped around her wrist, "We'll drop you off."


Frowning, Red pulled her arm back, but the Senator's grip did not relent, "I said I'm fine, John... I'm perfectly capable of walking..."


"It's a dangerous city, Roxanne. I wouldn't feel comfortable, leaving you on your own..." His fingers tightened, and Red flinched.


"John..."


"Come along, Roxanne..."


"Shit," Hunter grumbled, stepping forward and extending a hand toward John. "Alright, slick, how about you let loose of 'Roxie' here before I rip that hand off and shove it where the sun don't shine?"


There was a smile on his face, but it wasn't a kind one and his eyes showed it. It was the look of an experienced hunter... waiting for his prey to make the first move.


The Senator cocked his head to the side, a smooth smile crossing his lips, "...Don't you worry about it, Pal. Roxanne is in good hands. How about you just get back into your... car... and move along?"


Red frowned, shaking her head. She yanked again, and this time, successfully unlatched her arr, "How about both of you do!"


John turned, the smile fading, a brow quirked. Slowly, he reached out again, taking her by the elbow, "I insist, Roxanne."


Hunter frowned deeply at both the other's biting reply to him and Red's sharp request for his departure.


"Look, whatever this is doesn't involve me, but I'm not gonna' step away until you do, 'Roxie'."


When the snake of a man grabbed her again, however, the Huntsman stopped talking. Instead, he decided it was time to persuade John-boy to leave with something other than words and sent a quick right hook toward the other's left jaw.


Two things happened when the punch was thrown. Red squeaked out a desperate, albeit useless plea for stay and John... having been to preoccupied with ushering his quarry to the town car ducked right into the fist, swung in his direction. Gucci suit and all were flung back onto the pavement.


"Are you insane!" Red shouted, reeling on Hunter, "You don't punch a Senator, Hunter!"


Red's shout surprised him and he shook his head. "You don't? Well, color me surprised. I didn't think being a Senator excused being a fucking asshole," he snapped back.


John, rubbing his jaw narrowed a glare at the man above him, carefully rising to his feet, "No... you really don't. I could have you brought up on charges..."


"John... He was just... He thought was protecting me. Are you okay?" Reaching out, slender fingers cupped his jaw, her lips curling in a frown, "...I don't think it'll even bruise."


"It's the principle, Roxie."


Sliding an arm through his, Red smiled gingerly, "...Surely you've got more important things to do, than worry about something so trivial... Your gala, for instance? I am looking forward to going with you, John. So excited, I've been thinking... maybe we'll just... call it a freebie. No charge. Now, then... you mentioned lunch? I'm famished..."


The senator's gaze jumped between the two, before settling at last on Red, who's voice turned suddenly coy, a sultry sort of sound, "...And then maybe you can help me find something to wear, tonight?"


"..Hmm... I'd like that." Looping an arm around her waist, he pulled her closer, and Red forced a small grin, "...Come on, then..."


The conversation went back and forth and Hunter just bowed out of it. Despite Red trying to protect him and smooth things over with John-boy, the giant of a male ended up just feeling more and more disgusted. He was sickened by his own actions, but the actions of those in front of him were worse.


As they made for the town car, Red glanced over her shoulder to Hunter, shaking her head. He was the last person she'd ever imagined running into in Emerald City, and she could only hope it was a fluke. Somehow, though, she imagined things wouldn't work out quite so neatly for her...


"Enjoy your lunch, Roxanne," Hunter spat venomously as the Senator lead them away. The shake of her head only made his blood boil further. "Nice seeing you again."


Ending his words with a glare, he got into his Buick and peeled off toward his apartment. Who knew? A few drinks down and a quick few hours of shut-eye and maybe he could forget about all of it.


Collaboration with @Grin

 

[Ayl]

Sebastian Scathelocke


May 4th


Evening


The Glass Slipper -> Private Investigator's Office


Collab with @Elle Joyner


The Glass Slipper was a rather nice and cozy venue, with artful furniture and well placed decorations. At least, that's what Will could see through the window as he passed by, headed towards the stairs leading to the appartment above, twirling his cane between his fingers, as he always did, as a habbit. It meant he was rather excited.


As he approached the door, he took a moment to admire the modest plaque engraved with the writings "Johnna Little, Private Investigator". He couldn't help but smirk as he knocked twice, politely, before trying the door and entering. He knew it wasn't a very smart move, knowing the blue-haired girl's temper and considering how they parted.


It was laid out very much in the vein of a Noir film... slatted blinds offering very little in the way of natural lighting - a green hightower lamp the only source of incandescence in the small, cramped room. A flat black armchair, which had seen better day, sat in front of a solid oak partner's desk, and behind that, in a similar leather seat Johnna sat, her feet perched on the desk surface, hands clasped behind her head.


A brow quirked as her eyes fell on the figure in the doorway, and slowly, she eased her feet to the floor, sitting upright, "...Well... There goes the neighborhood..."


"Come on, I can't be that bad of a presence, can I?" he asked coyly. Forcing his luck wasn't the smartest of moves, but then again, any other approach would've been boring and unlike him. He stepped further inside the office, slowly pacing towards the oak desk, while half a devilish smirk donned on his face.


He stopped as gentle as he walked, his cane making contact with the floor, gripped firmly in his hand, just in case. Eyeing the blue haired girl, from head to toes and back, he couldn't help but remember the old days, when they were all together. Snapping quickly out of it, he addressed Johnna in his well-known charming voice.


"It's been a while, Johnna."


"You look old." She said, plain as day and with very little actual conviction, "...Are you alone?"


The question was obvious enough. She was desperate, these days, for any indication that there were others. In truth, seeing Will wasn't nearly as difficult as it had been, not seeing any of them. Since Robin had vanished, all she had was the hope that some day, someone might walk through her door from the old gang. She just hadn't anticipated it being Scarlet...


He couldn't do nothing but chuckle. Old, she said. Well, she might've been right. All the things he's been through definitely didn't make him appear younger.


He also knew immediatly what she was referring to. "Yes. I've been keeping in touch with Much. He's been...helping me with some business. Unofficial, unlike the kind I'm here for." he sighed and went straight to the point.


"You see, I'm not here for a visit between friends." he said as he fished inside his coat for the FBI badge he flashed her with moments later.


"...You gonna arrest me?" She asked, with a soft smirk, kicking her feet back up on the desk, "Cause gosh, I just can't think of a thing I did to warrant that."


His chuckle became a short laugh. "And here I was ready to cuff you. Nah," he became serious "I'm hunting some serious game. I reckon the name Guy Gisborne rings a few bells, aye?".


Shifting, Johnna nodded, "Yeah. A few bells, in fact. We... hm..." Pausing, she shook her head and pulled open a drawer in her desk, yanking out a rather obese manila folder, "I've had him on my radar for a few years, now."


Cocking a brow before opening the generous folder, Will meticulously scoured the file for any relevant information.


"Wow, the FBI should really consider hiring PIs. The briefing they gave us wasn't even the 10th part of all this.". He smiled as he turned his head to Johnna. Only then did he recall he hadn't seen her in decades. Literally.


Eyeing an empty chair, he motioned towards it, letting out a soft "May I?" before sitting out down either way. His blue eyes found their way back to the small framed woman sitting in front of him. "I reckon you're doing good?". Simply asking her all that felt so unnatural, he cringed a little while saying it.


"Well, to be fair, the FBI also doesn't have agents who can live a hundred years or more... At least, I didn't think they did." A frown crossed her lips and she leaned back in her seat, "...I've had better days, but I'm breathing, so I guess I can't complain. How about you? It's... it's been a while."


"Aye, it has been. You look good." he said while smiling. "And yeah, I'm rather surprised I'm in the FBI as well. But, you know, it's a means to an end. Don't plan on staying long."


All the time he was talking, he tapped into the floor with his cane, almost imperceptible. With a more straight face, he asked his next question. "By the looks of it, you haven't seen any of the others, right? What happened, Johnna? I know we're not alone, but do you have any idea where is everyone?"


"As if there were any question..." She said with a sly grin, "I always look good, Will."


Her expression, as he continued, sobered, however, and with a sigh, she shook her head, "I had Robin with me for a while... but he... well, hell if I know where he disappeared to. Only ones I know of for sure are Prince John and Guy. Lucky us, hmm?"


"Lucky us, indeed. It seems as immortality is not the only thing we are cursed with." he said with a grim expression.


Sick of sulking, he lifted himself with a dynamic move and stared at his, his devilish smile back on his lips. "But, unfortunately for them, I will be dealing with them, for good this time. What do you say? One more job together, for old time's sake?" he winked.


The smile returning, softer this time, Johnna shook her head, "How'd you find me, Will?"


Letting his head bop back a second, he smiled in return. "What? You think that plaque on your door is too subtle?" he joked. "Much tipped me off. He's a computer genius, nowadays. I asked him to dig up some intel on Guy, back in Pennsylvania. He found out he was holed up here, sticking close to John...and he also found out about you.". He paused, not sure where he was going with all that.


Right then, his phone rang. Picking it up from his pocket, he glanced at the screen, at the new message. The sender's ID was 'Sarah Grace'.


'Senator John is holding a gala. Got tickets. Meet me at the hotel.' was all it said.


"Well, it seems my partner didn't waste any time." he said as he threw the phone back into the back pocket of his grey pants. "I gotta go..." he spoke again, with a sadder tone.


Frowning, Johnna straightened, "...Wait. You... you mentioned one last job?"


"Yeah. Don't you wanna take down Guy and John? Well, as a matter of fact, that's my aim too. Well, just Guy, but I doubt my superiors will be terribly sad if I bring John along with him. So, you want in?" he lured with a smirk.


Johnna chuckled and shrugged, "...A chance to stick it to the old Prince and his lackey? Can't say no to that. What did you have in mind?"


He didn't have any ideas up until then, but the gala that John was holding jogged his creative juices.


"It appears that my partner has acquired tickets to the gala John is hosting. Know anything about it?"


"In fact, I do. Some celebratory thing... regarding the senate race. A masquerade... of all things. I guess John's having trouble letter go of history. At any rate, it's expensive to get into, but Guy will be there for certain."


"Then that's where we'll be as well! I don't have the authority to let you in on the FBI's operation, but..." he paused for a bit, looking for something. Finally, he eyed a blank post-it and a pen on the desk. Swiftly, he wrote down something and gave it to Johnna. "Here, that's my personal cell number. Call me sometime tonight and I'll give you as much details as I can, alright?" he said, winking at the end.


Johnna took the number and smirked, "Don't you worry about me. I'll find my way in. It's good to see you again, Will. Really."


This time, his smile was most sincere, and had a tad of melancholy in it. "It was great seeing you too, Johnna. Try not to wreck anything before we bag the two bastards, OK?" he joked, while making his exit into the now much colder evening. He waved towards a cab that was just pulling into a parking lot. Getting in quickly, he informed the driver of his destination and threw one last look at the appartment where seconds ago, he felt the most comfortable he had in years.