Maggie screamed in horror as she stared down at the dead girl.
Because you truly thought separating Elaine from her spirit would have had a different outcome,
salope?
Grizzly stood and grabbed a large handful of Maggie's jacket and shirt. “What did you do?” she snarled, hauling her up to eye level. Before Maggie could answer, Ms Hartford's voice rang through the speakers.
Tried to backstab her best friend beccause she thought she knew better. Again.
“Everyone remain calm and back away! Bluejay, come here!”
Oh, nice. The last real mention of Bluejay I remember were the stories with Petra, a long time ago.
The ancient healer looked up from what he was doing and shook his head. “There's nothing I can do,” he admitted with great despair. “Her soul is gone!”
Welp, there was no other soul to expel...
“Not on my watch,” Carson declared. “Kodiak go with the EMTs and get her into Doyle. Keep her body alive and if any of the doctors have issue with you, tell them to come see me with their resignation letters in hand!” She stood and wheeled on Maggie, her face as angry as anyone had ever seen it and was even more terrifying with the demonic makeup and horns she was wearing. The crowd shrank away a bit from the fierceness of her gaze. “Miss Finson, what have you done?”
Served as guinea pig for Nimbus to test his Avatar Removal formula. I swear to Gygax, if that story ends without you connecting these dots, Astarte...
Ms Hartford made her way up to the pair as best she could in a ball gown. “Liz, I have Bluejay on his way to get Banned Aids from Purdue...”
“I don't think Banned Aids can fix this, Amelia,” she whispered as she led the way to Doyle in her purposeful stride.
Lies! Banned Aids can fix everything! ...As long the problem is only physical.
Murphy’s Law #55: Never sink all of your resources into your Ultimate Plan. If it fails, you are Ultimately Screwed.
Someone has been reading the Evil Overlord List, or something equivalent.
Maggie “Lifeline” Finson almost flew into her room in a frantic, tear-wracked panic, barely aware of the three stone-faced men who filtered in behind her, two of whom were armed, and all of whom were wary of this seeming attempted murderer who frantically maintained that she was innocent of poisoning and that the concoction given her trouble-magnet once-friend was not, in fact something that was supposed to harm anyone other than a spirit needing exorcism.
Sorry, but I don't think even the original of that one would save you,
Lit Bitch.
Franklin Delarose watched warily as the frantic teenager ripped through her belongings, desperately unlocking the box where she’d hidden the grimoire, triumphantly opening it and flipping to the last used pages to find them...blank.
Eh, had Nimbus' goon anything to camouflage ripped off pages by the way? that sort of things leave traces.
It was an expression Trish Savage had learned meant doom for someone when she served in the military. “Franklin, it happened in front of the entire school at a party! What do you expect...?” She sighed and focused herself. “What else can I do?”
You said it yourself, that little mask is
doom. Just... try your best.
“Perfect. Get with Elyzia or Earth Mother, find a blank Grimoire that is unprepped and unwarded for student use, two hundred pages, Eighteen inches vertical, by twelve horizontal, or as close to it as you can. Lifeline claims she had a grimoire filled with spells and incantations to exorcise deadly spirits from possessed hosts. It’s gone, and the sheer number of times I have seen evidence removed from a site suggests that I should give her a chance to try.”
“You think Lifeline has been framed?”
“I think I need to explore all avenues to determine what happened. This reeks, the crime is too clean, it’s too obviously open and shut.” He didn’t say This isn’t a teenager’s crime.
Thanks Gygax and Philemon the staff is allowed to be competent this time... Where all of that skill went in G2 (Looking at you and your 'cover-up', Jacob, Head Loser of the Pit), or when Kigabidule wanted to make a snowball battle?
“All Avenues, Trish. Can you coax Lifeline into re-creating this Grimoire from memory?”
Trish Savage nodded. “I can certainly try. What good will it do?”
“It’ll tell us what the hell got into that damn girl’s head, and if her formula is as harmless as she thought.”
“I’ll work on it, but I swear, Franklin if this is used to railroad…”
“Trish, Murphy is functionally dead. By all appearances she drank a poison meant for Loophole and her bear spirit. Lifeline was handing Loophole the poison when Murphy snagged it to screw with them, as I am told might as well be clockwork behavior on her part.” Delarose stopped her. “I want to know if this was willful, dementia, or compulsion before I begin anything.”
Do you know how much I like you right now, Delarose?
“And Trish?” Delarose said as he watched his once-Dragonslayer minion obliterate anything resembling feng-shui in the room dispassionately, “Once Lifeline finishes her re-creation of this book I want it examined by Eldritch before anyone made of actual meat and blood touches it.”
“A Student? Why?”
“Same reason Pejuta was tasked working on plucking Skybolt’s body modifications. When you have a native expert, you USE the native expert. That and Eldritch can look at the nastier wards around campus and only suffer a skull-splitting migraine for her trouble.”
That, and you gotta remember the 'Angel In Dickinson''s explanation of why Mystics at Whateley didn't spot Cavalier and Skybolt's enthrallment: If the magic is dark and corrupt enough, mages can't detect it, because even the knowledge allowing to do so is corrupting enough to be highly bad news.
With a hesitant, jerking motion, she nodded. Circe held up the box and Maggie reached out, her arm tingling as it passed the ward and felt the natural flow, but that did not continue up her arm due to the ward line. That feeling was instantly gone as she touched the necklace. It was as cold as death and set her skin to crawling. It was all she could do to not snatch her hand back as if it had been scalded. With a great effort of will, she picked it up and drew it to her. As her hand crossed the ward line, most of the feeling vanished as she was closed off from the natural world. But the necklace was still inordinately cold. Some part of her remembered a lesson in magic, that certain, powerful charms and artifacts could cross a ward line and be unhindered by it. Clearly, this was such an artifact.
Swallowing, she put the necklace around her neck and instantly she felt like someone had punched her in the chest. She was nauseous and had to be steadied by the guard or she might have fallen as the feeling flowed through her that something important had been taken. The cold left the necklace, but it seemed inordinately heavy against her skin and even as she bent over in reaction to the feeling of imminent sickness, it did not leave her skin as if it had been glued in place.
Feels like a lot of yikes.
Murphy’s law #27: If it’s dead, shoot it again, just to make sure. Sometimes dead ain’t dead enough.
Good Old Dresdenverse Wisdom:
Overkill doesn't exist.
“Yes,” Raul continued. “We found hyoscyamine and scopolamine in her system. They were highly concentrated, but the chemical chains point to an organic, rather than a refined chemical process source. Most likely harvested mandrake root. We've already flushed that from her system with physostigmine, and in any event, even at the levels in her system, it wasn't enough to have killed her this quickly. What's worse, since she has been here the albino scarring has begun creeping across her body. Gunnarson’s other eye has been blacking out visibly over the last hour. Whatever happened, her mangled BIT incident is coming fully to the fore, and fast. It’s like whatever resistance there was to it has been completely removed.”
Now, I'm not a Whateleyverse scientist, but I can say that last part is bad.
“Yes I do. Joanne was one of my students. She was attacked on my watch, and half a year later we have no culprits, no suspects. Her parents had to be convinced, I convinced them that Whateley was the best place for her to control the mangling and the channeling that caused the dead animals to follow her around and they allowed her to come back. Now this.”
“You won’t find real answers if you have this in your head.”
Maybe, but for some reason I don't see that slowing her down any.
Joanne’s face had changed, subtly, her figure filling out even in the hospital bed. There was no resemblance to Vamp in the quiescent face, nor in build. The waifish Poe troublemaker’s BIT had been the template, but only the skin and hair color was being mimicked. Murphy had never been “small” and the body in the bed followed the trend. Where Vamp was slight and waifish, Murphy’s taller-than-average body was filling out like a light weightlifter, one with solid tone, but keeping all of the curves. Vamp’s red eyes weren’t mirrored in the glassy, black orbs set in Murphy’s head. The face didn’t change much at all, seeming to be a more idealized version of Murphy than her unwilling BIT-donor. It looked like she, and her family, would still recognize her face, despite the changes.
Small Mercies.
...And now I'm wondering if she will end up getting Vamp's hermaphrodism or not.
Joanne was extremely ADD, was seemingly impulsive, and often uncaring of consequence. She was also vividly imaginative, often vividly vindictive, a warper who considered three-dimensional space a polite suggestion, a mangler of odds and fate and carried a disturbing and elusive connection to the energies of death and the underworld.
It was hard to imagine which was worse, the damage the Astral could to to Murphy, or the damage Murphy could do to the Astral.
Does the second could hopefully mean that once Murphy's mind is found it will be while she's 'partying' accross the Astral?
The Kurdish girl smirked. “Mrs Nelson is over at Whitman, covering for Mrs Savage. She's wrapped up in this thing with Lifeline and Murphy.”
“Where's Mrs Selkirk?”
“Took the night off, of course,” the other replied, rolling her eyes. “Mrs Nelson left me in charge.”
“Thus all the...?” Prue asked, making a gesture about the room and the amorous nature of the visits.
“While the cat's away,” Semi declared. “If the two of you plan on...anything...keep it discreet and make sure Mr Lambert is back in his own Cottage before it gets too much later.”
Eh, with all the sneaking in she and Zenith probably did for that very purpose...
“Am I the only one that gets the creeps watching her write?” Trish Savage asked softly as she, Circe and Chief Delarose watched the teen through the two way mirror that looked into the next room. At a table, Maggie Finson sat, hunched over the blank spell book Trish had given her. She was using a regular ball point pen, and none of the materials had been properly prepared. As a spell book, it would be worthless, but it was hoped by looking at the formula it could be deciphered as to what the young girl had done, and if they were lucky, why.
“It's not just you,” Circe replied. “She looks like she is writing under a compulsion. There is no hesitation, no struggling to remember. Something is very wrong here.”
Bordel de merde, Nimbus had that one covered too. At least it is a bleedingly obvious cover-up. Don't try to sneak one through a half-goddess with millenia of practice in magic, ducktard.
The metallic eyes rolled and suddenly the mystic, living statue's posture became one of annoyance and it became an annoyed teenage girl. “Oh, anything for you, Frank,” she growled, sarcasm dripping from her tone.
Remind me again, how many people on the staff are aware about Mahren already?
The Chief of Security smiled a very false smile. “That's why you're so popular on campus, Cait! That sunny disposition of yours!”
“Fu...hang the campus pecking order,” Bardue growled. “What do you want?”
Pure wisdom, that first part of her answer.
Even on Chef Marcel's worst day his cooking was preferable to the bland, humorless hospital food of Doyle Medical Center's cafeteria.
Don't tell that around Phase, because you'd be at it for hours if he had his way on that subject. Evils of a palate spoiled rotten.
“It is,” she insisted. “Ah had Kayda bind Grizzly to me! Ah chased Maggie away! If Ah hadn't...”
Euh, Lifeline's mess of a reaction is on her alone. And the
Lit Bitches were the ones doing the chasing away, after very plubicily backstabbing you, leaving you to twist in the wind rather than reasonably mediate between you and Lifeline, and had the
fucking nerve of complaining about how you reacted to that, as if they intended to use your tears to spice up a cocktail before you ran away. And they also failed Lifeliine as a friend by letting her pull off that shit. Still have that Murphy story scene in the throat. Friends. Are. Not. Supposed. To. Behave. Like.
THAT!
“It's a long story,” Wyatt replied, falling into the one role he felt comfortable in, the Leader. “Wakan Tanka can show you the details. Get into Dream Space and find out what became of Jo Gunnarson's spirit. If you can, hold onto it so we can try and reintegrate it with her body.” Her mouth opened, but Wyatt shook his head. “Seconds count, Kayda!”
Euh, not to take a piss at how necessary and noble this is, but I do think something that massive could use a little bit more planning.
Wyatt sighed and looked at the girls around him. Out loud to himself, he said, “Maybe I should go to sleep, then I can truthfully say I slept with three girls at once!”
Don't quit your day job, Kodiak told his host drolly.
With the current circumstances, I'd give it an A+. At the same time, lame jokes are a speciality of mine.
Wakan Tanka looked up from the fire circle she was tending, an eyebrow raised as she did so. “How may I help you, Coyote?” she asked, her tone somewhere between annoyed and sarcastic.
Yes, making anyone wear that costume is at least a war crime, WT. But is it necessary to take it on the victim?
Wakan Tanka's jaw dropped at Kayda's stern, even angry, rebuttal. "How is this my doing?" she demanded.
"You started this whole thing, remember?" Kayda reminded her. "And you got Tatanka to introduce me to the animal spirits - who all frequently reminded me to disguise myself and my capabilities, remember?" When Wakan Tanka nodded grudgingly, Kayda continued. "The administration thought that was a prudent precaution, and decided to carry it a bit further."
"But ... Coyote?" Wakan Tanka complained, gawking. "You know that mangy mutt is never going to let either of us hear the end of this!" she grumbled angrily.
Factually true, but taking Wile E Coyote's appearance as a basis is still a war crime.
Wakan Tanka crossed her arms. "Then ... she is dead," she declared firmly.
Not the expert opinion people wanted, WT. Care to explain how to make her
undead? ... On second thought, just how to fix that.
The spirit woman gawked at Kayda, as though she had declared some horrific falsehood to be absolute truth. "We don't ... we can't do that!" she stammered in disbelief. “We cannot allow...”
Come on, it's just the natural order. It sees worst abuse everyday with any Device.
“Do you believe that I would allow my shaman to tread the dark paths of evil?” she thundered. “This is forbidden! The dead are gone! Grieve your friend and ...”
Care to explain that more accurately please? Just tells
why it is impossible.
The Spirit's face was drawn and sour, at having her logic turned back on her. She crossed her arms and almost petulantly declared, “You are well named, Coyote. You have tasted deeply of the Trickster's Fire Water and are drunk with it!”
Okay, '''Great Spirit''', fun is fun and all that jazz, but that sort of extremely crass and repugnat insults are just unbecoming of anything having even only an academic knowledge of decency! Besides, Kayda's line of thinking was very much logical.
Wakan Tanka gawked, and though her jaw moved, no sound came out. Finally, with an anguished cry, she turned away from Kayda, and the girl realized that she'd stumbled onto something which really hurt her spirit mentor. Finally, Wakan Tanka lowered her gaze, still faced away from Kayda. "We will have to meditate to find holes, or the remains of holes, in the barriers between the physical and different layers of the spirit realm," she avoided the question and acquiesced to the girl's logic. She gestured for Kayda to sit by the fire. "Brew some tea while I prepare. And explain more of the intricacies of the spirit realms." She sat down cross-legged next to the girl, still avoiding looking directly at the girl. "I saw something unnatural tear a hole from the physical realm to somewhere in the spirit realms. But it's very unlikely she's in this dream space on what you call the Astral plane."
You know, moments like this ones are why I tolerate most of Whateley's named aetheric bastards, and why I actually like WT. And their compete and utter abscence is why I hold nothing but deep hatred and disgust for Wile E. Coyote, It Which Is As Much Of A
Fucking Plot Device Than Jacob Meatpuppet And His Shard Plot Device, third rate-knock-off of the Joker never allowed to be hurt or lose in any meaningful way while he leads his pack of murderhobos through Worm. Now granted, if Wile E. Coyote were to suffer a moment like this in the future, the only thing I'd felt would be schadenfreude. Intense schadenfreude.
"Some of the planes may have ... things ... like Unhcegila's son in them. Evil things that would capture and torture or destroy the girl's spirit. We will need to be prepared for battle." The spirit gave a soft sigh as she stood and laid her hand on the girl's shoulder. Somewhat startled from the touch, Kayda turned and looked up into the older woman's face. “That is the worst that can happen. The best is that the spirit of your friend will find its way to the...” she paused, almost as if unsure how to form the thought into words.
“The what?” Kayda asked, taken aback by the behavior of her spirit. She had never seen Wakan Tanka act this way before. “Tell me,” she pleaded.
The hand on Kayda's shoulder gripped harder. “There is a place,” Wakan Tanka told her softly. “It has many names. Valhalla. Folkvang. Hel. Sheol. Tien. Xibalba. Hades. Tian or Diyo. Most religions have the same concept - a place of eternal reward or eternal punishment. In the Tradition of your Headmistress it is called the Tabula Rasa.”
Let's call it more simply:
Afterlife.
A fire lit behind the Spirits eyes and her other hand took Kayda's other shoulder and for the first time, Kayda saw fear in her spirit's face. “Swear it, Shaman! You must not enter the Tabula Rasa! Swear it or I will aid you no further!”
I smell someone important to her didn't do that in the past...
A flash of autumn sunlight heralded one of the fantasies that was Tansy's favorite. She was in jeans and an angora sweater against the chill of the coming winter. She was sitting against a high, proud oak that was ablaze in crimson. Elaine was leaning against her as they sat and watched Wyatt in the glade below them, rough housing with a gaggle of children of indeterminate ages. “Joann is dead because of me,” Elaine whispered and Tansy hugged her lover.
Again, nope. Lifeline snapped hard, Nimbus used her as a guinea pig, the Lit Bitches failed extra hard at being any sort of friend...
Music swept through the glade, washing away the park to a English tavern, the wide grin of Mustang shaking his head as he tuned his mandolin over his knee. “It's never been done,” he declared. “Not in any tale or song I've ever heard.”
Speaking of music, how true is Orpheus' story here? Because that looks like someone who suceeded... Until he couldn't keep it at the very last step.
“It would be an adventure for the ages,” Mustang declared, now on all fours and liveried as a New York Mounted Police Horse. He turned and looked over his shoulder at Police Woman Grizzly on his back. “I'm up for the challenge if you are, Grizzly.”
Yeah, happy you think that's a nice adventure, Bronco... Just make sure Wile E. Coyote isn't mooching a ticket on that ride.
“Trusts her to mind her studies,” Mrs Nalley declared. “That's why she's at that school, not to go tearing off, leave that to Mrs Carson!” New York washed away and in the blackness, only Elaine was with Tansy now, the two girls kneeling and facing each other.
You mean even in the Dream World, parenting can happen, if your spirit thinks you need it? Ask for a refund.
Tansy brought Elaine into her arms and kissed her, deeply. In her mind, as their tongues danced, Tansy felt their minds come ever closer and she began to understand what Shakespeare had meant when he talked about knowing the bottom of someone elses soul. To her lover, she swore, Never, my love. I will always come for you.
Euuuuh... Do I tell them about G2, or someone is biting that particular bullet?
A brief expression of annoyance flashed across the older woman's face, but it was quickly washed away to chagrin. “As long as it's been for anyone else,” she admitted, then she spoke a heavy sounding word and her Armani skirt suit became a pair of worn jeans and plaid 'lumber jack' shirt, the make up vanished and her face seemed worn and a bit tired and her hair was back in a simple pony tail. “There, not quite so in your face?”
Amelia smirked. “I have to get you to teach me that,” she told her friend around her smile. Carson's expression changed to much put upon horror.
Magic, the instant wardrobe. Might want to tell Jadis how to perfect it to that point though.
“And grant you magic in the mortal realm to go with the electronic one? Heaven forbid!” The two friends shared a chuckle, before Amelia put a hand on Carson's arm.
But magic can't be used inisde the Matrix, and the cyberware Hartford would need mean her Magic Score will be quite low because of her Essence rating... What?
The dapper looking shade sighed and nodded. “At the risk of sounding flippant, there is a great disturbance, right at the time Miss Gunnarson consumed the tainted punch. It was not the same as someone dying, though, not that instant departure through Astral Space of the person's presence. Indeed, it felt like Miss Gunnarson went...sideways...for lack of a better metaphor.”
Well, Nimbus wants to nail these Avatars he gets them out, after all.
Ms Grimes stood, still in her Morticia Addams costume. “Liz, you're talking about necromancy. That's...”
Some flippant aetheric bastards doesn't seem to agree, Miss. Also, it reminds me that you shouldn't trust that ''Fate''' gibberish, because G2 shows you alive long after that stupid gravestone said you shold be dead. In your beak, Black Chicken!
“Well within is your opinion, Doctor,” Hakim rebutted sharply. “The Mystic Court may not agree with you!”
Well, if these wankers wanted a voice in, they should've appeared in-story earlier.
Circe stood and joined Ms Grimes next to the Headmistress. “No one here questions your devotion to these children, Elisabeth. But, are you sure your actions are as spotless as you claim? Are you sure you're not desperate to not have to live through another Heyoka incident?”
Lady Circe? With all respect due to a millenia old sorceress and a daughter of Helios,
shove it where the sun never shines, and help with this. I want to know how true is that bit in the Odysse wheere you point Odysseus in the direction of Hades for asking questions to some dead dudes.
“Hey, back off...!” Amelia started, but Mrs Carson quelled her objection with a soft gesture.
That's adorable, she thinks Carson needs the help.
“Certainly,” she declared softly, staring down her fellow mages, “there are some who may take issue with my conclusions. All of us, at one point or another, have made this choice when we took up the cape, or swore the Oath to the Contract. I have done both. If there are consequences, I will face them. But I cannot stand idle when there is a chance by attempting this Joann Gunnarson's life might be spared. Do any of you dispute my logic?”
“It could cost you your license,” Circe warned.
“Then I will cease the practice of magic,” Carson declared firmly. “If your consciences will not allow you to assist me, then I ask only that you stand by and not actively hinder me.”
See what I mean?
“I'm coming with you,” Grimes declared. “Knowing you, these 'experts' are going to be students and you'll need more than your bon vivant to ride herd on who I think you have in mind.”
Euuuuh... Who's gonna tell them the 'experts' already ran for it on their own?
When she drifted awake, she felt nothing, like she was suspended in… something, everything, nothing all at once. She hurt, she felt good, blissful even, in a confusing simultaneous way. It was too much, and she opened her eyes.
Murphy, the Astral. The Astral, Murphy. Please ruin it bad girl, so it send you back ASAP.
Joanne opened her eyes, but didn’t fully, and saw a pile of moose nuggets lying on the ground not ten feet away. As she pushed herself to her feet, gravity seemingly re-asserted itself as she looked around at the landscape her mind had created out of the chaos, and like a dreamer, didn’t question that the land wrapped and twisted itself, the squirrels darting around in impossible-to-track paths as the land curved up and trees hung down from stalactites on the ground above as they did around her.
Why am I feeling like I'm getting an insight on Pinkie Pie's mind here?
The once-nameless, murderously hateful thing that stirred in the cold that she sensed had fled her kind before. The pain of calcification into reality awoke it fully from it’s long, drifting joy of unawareness. The deranged, pain-maddened abomination of antler, claw, hoof, fur and fang. Something between bear and moose, but neither and other stirred and twisted. It could feel the land itself writhe as everything that was NOT got caught within the grasp of the Namer’s sight and was twisted, calcified and reshaped into some semblance of order. The pain of limitation ripped through them as potential became dirt, or tree, unshaped concept became mundane chill, or air. Glorious nothing became squirrel.
No place is safe from adventurers... Mr. Owlbear.
Another part of the Astral “screamed” in horrified outrage as reality was imposed upon it. The Moose/bear abomination tore through the walls in pain-maddened fury, charging across the nothing of potential to slaughter one of the Namers it had fled long ago for catching it in their hated existence.
Okay, guess Mr. Wildkin, like the Warcraft ones, is more appropriated... Won't save from becoming XP fodder though. I mean, you
fled the two-legs little buggers before, remember?
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