Dreams of Divinity, IC

[Eurus]

God made the country, and man made the town.

The sun sets on Saint Elijah, shifting it from the frenzied life of the day to the slightly more subdued life of the night. The city's bustle and energy is cloaked by a thin veneer of darkness and traced out by streetlights, slowing but never stopping.

But while the city may never sleep, its inhabitants do, and many of them have crash-landed from the exertions of the day by the time night truly sets in. Perhaps you count yourselves among their number, early to bed and early to rise. Or perhaps you remain awake as the clock ticks, 1 AM, 2 AM... either way, the dreams of the city hit you like a breath of icy air, opening up glittering, primeval parts of your head.

Still in that state halfway between slumber and wakefulness, you feel power erupt within you, power drawn from a greater source like a well tapping into a vast underground lake. Yet with this power comes also hunger, and purpose. What is that purpose? What will you do, tonight in Saint Elijah?

1 action each.

[Lord_Gareth]

Miranda is awake, much later than her usual time. The portrait of the young woman this evening is not reassuring; she sits at her computer in a sultry red cocktail dress, her high heels hanging from the back of the chair. Her makeup has been carefully scrubbed off, her hair let down, and her posture allowed to slouch as she dully clicks Facebook links. A faint smell of vodka can be detected in her apartment.

Why had she stood Marcus up? Miranda still didn't know. She'd been ready for the date thirty minutes before she ever had to leave, even excited about it. They were going to go to a nice restaurant and then see Lord of the Dance. Her ticket rested accusingly next to her keyboard.

And then the time had come to leave, and Miranda just couldn't. Hours passed, and she couldn't even bring herself to call, to lie or make up an excuse. The drinking had started perhaps thirty minutes ago.

And then, abruptly, Miranda is gone. The change is, at first, subtle - she sits up straighter and looks around her apartment. She tuts, quietly, and stands up with a catlike stretch. Miranda's face registers a brief moment of confusion, and then Miranda is gone.

It takes Persephone less than a second to strip out of the cocktail dress and the rest of her clothes. It isn't that she doesn't notice the open curtains. It's that she doesn't care.

The woman that leaves Miranda's apartment (locking the door behind her and tucking the keys into her bust) wears Miranda's face to anyone who manages to see her true form, but she could not be more different. The elegant dress has been replaced by a bright clubbing outfit, with a short skirt held in place by a wide leather belt, a shirt artfully cut just below her bust to bare the goddess's midriff, and knee-high boots. Persephone sweeps through the streets in a blaze of color, her hair streaked with a rainbow of dye and held up in spikes with copious amounts of gel.

Again, it is not that Persephone doesn't know that mortal eyes won't detect her efforts at brazen beauty. It's that she doesn't care. Still, bold confidence comes off of the goddess in waves, and eyes turn to look at her as she strides through the streets. It doesn't take her long to locate the most exclusive nightclub in Saint Elijah, and even less time to get inside. No one dares to question if her name is on the list.

Like a shark among seals, the Goddess of Longing enters the den of Saint Elijah's celebrity elite, a predatory smile on her face.

"Momma's home."

[Forrestfire]

Edison blinked, staring at the clock. It was 1am a bit ago, so why did the clock say 2:30? He blinked again. What.

The clock said 2:17 now, then quickly shifted to 1:32 and then back to 1:03. Edison got out of bed and unplugged the clock. It didn't help; the clock now displayed 1:52. Edison got up, murmuring "... Weird." to himself as he went to get his phone to check the time. The smartphone's illuminated face displayed the same numbers, 1:52, before abruptly shifting to the home screen, showing the time as 1:05, then back to the current time, a locked screen displaying 1:04.

Edison unlocked the phone. A minute later, there was a twinge of... something in the back of his mind. The event clicked into place, and it felt right. Edison looked around, and the feeling was gone, replaced by the silence of his small apartment. I need some coffee.

Edison stumbled over to the kitchen, not noticing the shifting of various objects in his vision. He grabbed a can of instant coffee from his well-stocked shelves and began to microwave some water in a mug. When the water was done, the man took the mug out of the microwave and put it on the counter. He blinked, and the water stopped boiling, having cooled hours ago. Abruptly, everything shifted.

In a split-second, Edison was gone, replaced by something else, a presently nameless being that shared his form. The dreams of the city flowed through it, but it considered those to be less important than the countless interweaving strands of time and happenstance that it could sense emanating from the mortals.

The being looked around, walking past the mug of boiling water and getting dressed. It had places to go, and limited time. The being dressed itself and left, locking the door behind it, but leaving the keys on the counter inside, next to Edison's wallet and the mug of cooling water.

The being walked down the street, following the path laid out through the future, slowly moving towards an uncertain plan. There were places it had to be, so the nameless consciousness would make sure it was.

[Freudianship]

"[...And ]Kevin[ and I adopted a dog.]" Phuong's daughter Jessica held up the white and grey fluff ball. It panted eagerly at Phuong through the webcam and wagged its tail.

"[When are you coming to visit? We would love to see you again in person. Technology is good and all, but nothing beats talking to someone face to face.]" Phuong asked.

"[I don't know] Mom. It depends on when I finish my dissertation."

"[When did you start calling me,] Mom? [Your sister still calls me mother. Well... I suppose with the times we must change.]"

"[Wha? I thought you were fine with being called] Mom."

"[Was I? Sorry, it must have slipped my mind.]"

"[Anyway, we should be getting ready for work soon. Love you.]"

The call ended and Phuong could only see her weathered face in the black program window. She fussed as she made sure to turn off everything. Goodness knows what strange things could happen with computers. Viruses that could record your every keystroke, control your computer... Just last week she even accidentally turned off the wifi on he laptop and had to call Jennifer to help her fix it. Things used to be so simple.

Even though the old country was embroiled in political turmoil, she did still miss some parts of it, namely how easy it was for family to stay together. Somewhere between putting away the Logitech webcam and reminiscing about her childhood or lack thereof, Phuong's kindly demeanor seemed to separate from herself. Yes, if no one looked closely she would seem the same, but the smile seemed artificial to those who knew better. Lips curled in a smile that would normally be warm, but was more a calculated act.

She picked through the pamphlets scattered across her desk, looking for the correct one.

"Volunteers for counseling office needed."


Notes: [] indicate Vietnamese.

[Happy Gravity]

Kinuki's day went exactly as scheduled; Arrived to classes on time, meals eaten when expected (delays due to the lunchtime rush anticipated and accounted for). However, her schedule fell apart as soon as she returned to her apartment, with two hours entirely lost to 'bonding time' with her 'neighbor', who seemed determined to make a friend out of Kinuki.

She had nearly refused, but she had turned out to be an exceptionally good wheedler and Kinuki did hate wasted effort, even if it costed her an entire evening. And now, it was time to sleep. She carefully turned off all of the lights, and slipped into bed. Tomorrow is another arduous duty, maintaining her relationship with her other friends in a 'girl's night out'. Before she falls asleep, an amusing thought strikes her - to sic her new roommate on the others.

Exactly at midnight, Kinuki Kumori sank into the depths of sleep, and the Weaver awakes. Darkness envelops her thin form and coalesces around it, cocooning it, and sinking into her flesh. What rises from the small bed is not Kinuki, but something...more. When she opens her eyes, several, smaller ones open on her forehead, and her lips twist into a smile of anticipation. Her garb is a robe of pure white, of the softest silk. The Weaver raises her arms, a thread dangling from each finger, a gleaming needle gleaming at the end of each.

"It is time."

Each questing tendril, with a needle at its head, hungrily snaked out in different directions from Kinuki's room, out of the window, through the crack beneath the door, seeking fresh minds to form the beginnings of what would become a web of information.

[Eurus]

It's a bit of a walk, but the cold is a trifling concern for a goddess. The streets are sparsely populated at this time of night, but the few people she passes almost uniformly do double-takes.

The silent currents of excitement lead her to the pulsing, gleaming doors of Inferno, one of Saint Elijah's more infamous hives of decadence. This was the sort of club where the city's young and beautiful -- or old and rich -- could burn breathtaking amounts of money, their own or someone else's, on a night they'd barely remember. It was good at what it did, even if what it did was build a modern-day Gomorrah in the middle of town.

There's no velvet rope in the world that could hold back Persephone, of course. The line practically parts to allow her past, every gaze following her as she enters, smoldering with resentment, fascination, lust, or some complicated combination thereof.

Inside, the dance floor glitters almost as brightly as the people on it. The bar flows freely, the music pulses like electric honey, and the clever concoctions of mind-altering chemicals present in most of the patrons could probably sedate a family of elephants.

It takes a few minutes for people to notice her, here. In a room so full of beautiful people, even a gem like Persephone can go overlooked. But not, as it turns out, for long. Heads do turn, and it spreads through the room in an almost tangible ripple. She can feel every pair of eyes that rests on her, every spark of desire, feeding the fire of divinity. Yet almost nobody makes a move to approach her yet, held mostly in thrall -- for now -- by the very sight of her.

Exactly nine and a half minutes pass in the blink of an eye, and Edison finds himself standing abruptly before the nightclub. Inferno, one of Saint Elijah's more notorious haunts. No mere dive for the newest generation of aggrieved youths, this is the club where the beautiful people mingle. Where pop stars and celebrities drink with people whose names you've probably never heard of but probably work for.

It is, therefore, highly exclusive, and usually has a line going down half the block. And a very unimpressed looking bouncer doesn't seem inclined to do you any favors.

Each thread tingles like a limb, slowly snaking out through dark cracks and corridors and dangling across artificially-lit streets. They wind and tangle until the entire apartment building is snared in a barely-visible web, gossamer strands hanging loose around and through every room and hall.

The occupants don't even notice as the threads slip down into their skulls, spinning out the information there and mailing it off along the invisible fiber-optic web. Every folder of information is neatly ordered and put away in the heart of the Weaver's lair, archives of family memories alongside encyclopedias of dull but practical professional knowledge. Through their eyes and ears, a nearly perfect map of the building, warning her against any invaders. From their memories, a history.

And then it spreads, creeping from building to building until the entire block is buried under ethereal strands, and a library of knowledge sits in neat stacks in the corner.

[Lord_Gareth]

Persephone does not strut, glide, or sashay. Hers is not a chill, elegant regality, but a vibrant waltz across the club's floor, brimming with confidence, grace, and the sure knowledge that she belongs here, that this was the throne upon which she was meant to sit. Persephone reaches the bar and takes a seat there, favoring the pretty girl on duty with a flirtatious smile.

"I'll need to see the proprietor, miss," Persephone requests in a pleasant tone. "And once you've gotten them for me, I'd like, oh...a strawberry sunrise."

[Freudianship]

The All Knowing Mother makes several calls to the counseling agencies, shelters, and other similar organizations. She inquires about volunteer times as well as signs of at risk children and young adults to better understand the children she must guide back to their families.

[Forrestfire]

The being walked past the nightclub, figures and objects dancing through its field of vision and out again. An inebriated couple stumbles down the sidewalk even as they dance and drink inside. A phone is dropped, but its owner is still talking on it, not realizing that his screen will soon be broken. Sounds from inside and out mix cacophonously, clouds shift in the night sky, and clocks display seemingly-random numbers, drawn from the near-past and future as the night progresses. The ever-present line in front of the door wavers and shifts in front of the unmoving bouncer, stands of destiny and time flowing in and out of Inferno.

A normal person might think that the experience confusing or terrifying, but the god merely notes the events, his existence stretched across the Present as he looks to the viewing the ever-changing future. When he reaches the nightclub, he takes a look inside, at the threads of fate and a curious tangle that even he couldn't see.

He looks around and sees a better path, thinking No... Not yet, I think. as he walks down many blocks, following future footsteps into an alley. Waiting in the darkness, the god pulls out his smartphone, along with a hazy memory of a tv show his host had watched.

Soon, trio of drunk guys in their mid 20s appeared on the other side of the alley.

Yes... They will do.


___________________________________

Jordan Macintosh and a few of his friends stumbled out of a seedy bar, still angry for being told to leave. They hadn't been that drunk... If only that guy hadn't mouthed off, he wouldn't have thrown the punch and gotten them kicked out... Whatever. They had better places to be anyway... Like that alley over there. Something about it felt like it was the place they should go. Inside the alley was some guy in a fancy coat fiddling with his phone. Why was he doing that? Didn't he know he was in a bad neighborhood?

Maybe I should show him just how bad this neighborhood is, Jordan drunkenly thought as he approached the man.


___________________________________

Fate, as he had decided to call himself, stood up soon after the muggers had left. He had gained a few bruises, although they were quickly healing. The drunk men had been angry that he didn't have a wallet or money, and took his coat and phone instead... Good. Time to return, then.

The god walked quickly, manipulating the present to speed himself up a bit. As he neared his apartment, he remembered that he had left his keys inside, realizing the reason that he didn't bring them as his wallet along for the trip at the same moment. Fate was undeterred by the locked door, however, stealing a moment from the future to open it easily, before closing the still-locked door and unlocking it.

Tired, Fate relocked the door and changed back into a pair of pajama pants before returning to bed, slowly fading from existence as Edison's presence grew and eventually overtook him as the morning neared.

Act used to make an artifact, in this case a smartphone that receives text messages about the future, and is impossible to destroy, always managing to coincidentally survive whatever abuse it is put through.

[Eurus]

The bartender, a young slip of a girl with glamorous country-music star curly blonde hair actually blushes, high praise indeed from someone used to the flash and press of high society, but she nods wordlessly and dials a number on a phone behind the counter. Elsewhere in the club, a handsome dark-skinned man with an easy laugh and a suit that managed to be both understated and breathtakingly expensive answers his cell phone and nods and extricates himself from the company of a hotel chain heiress and two basketball stars and heads toward the bar.

He's a hard man to faze, but his stride falters just the slightest amount as he notices Persephone before he steadies, stokes the fires of his charm, and offers a pearly white smile. The bartender assembles the smooth, sweet drink with practiced skill, while the man introduces himself.

"May I help you, ma'am? I'm Albert Brockford, the owner."

The Mother is almost the very definition of "harmless", to the nameless people on the other ends of the line. Volunteers on hotlines, they gladly give her information, times and addresses, and point her to websites and pamphlets of information. How to tell if your child may be on drugs. How to care for a "damaged" foster child. How to talk to your child about gangs, how to effectively do charity work on the streets without scaring people off, statistics on what regions of the city are considered highest risks.

If they find the breadth of her queries odd, they don't mention it; who would question a concerned mother?

Within an hour or two, the Mother has a list of most of the city's volunteer counseling and shelter services that deal with youths, maps of the places that the homeless tend to congregate, and an arsenal of strategies for approaching and talking to the city's many silent children.

[Lord_Gareth]

Persephone's smile is warm and sweet, her gaze attentive and interested. She takes the drink without looking, murmuring a thanks to the girl behind the bar, and offers her full attention to the club's owner. "A pleasure, Mr. Brockford. I'm Persephone."

The name sends a faint wind through Persephone's personal space, tousling her hair as her grin widens mischievously. "You strike me as a man of significant wealth and taste, Mr. Brockford. Honesty is perhaps at a premium in your life? Certainly company as exalted as this is unlikely to cut to the heart of a matter directly..."

The Queen of Longing takes a sip of her drink, pausing to savor the flavor.

"I would like to own your club, Mr. Brockford, and I would like you to stay on as part of its new direction," she continues frankly. "And I would like to conclude the matter tonight."

[Eurus]

Brockford reacts very slowly, like his thought processes have been briefly lagged out by an unexpected input. A lesser man might have simply laughed it off, but apparently not him. After a moment, he nods carefully.

"That is... an interesting offer. You are not the first person to take an interest in the Inferno, although you are certainly the most... aggressive. And I mean that in a good way, of course. Rosa, pour me a drink, please?"

The bartender obliges quickly, getting Brockford a tall glass of what must be his usual from a crystal decanter that could probably buy a small tenement building. Mister Brockford is clearly the kind of man who assumed that serious business should be conducted over serious liquor.

After a careful sip, he pulls a piece of paper from a pocket and writes something down on it.

"Since you've flattered me with a lack of pretense, I'll return the favor. I've devoted some thought to the matter in the past, and I have a... fairly good idea of this club's value. I trust your bank has... extended hours?"

[Lord_Gareth]

Persephone spares not a glance for the piece of paper, though she smiles delightedly at Brockford's willingness to deal. The goddess takes another sip and sighs contentedly, flashing - Rosa, is it? - a grateful smile.

"I don't intend on offering you anything as common and cheap as money, Mr. Brockford," Persephone says at last. "You've reached much past the point where you need it and into the realm of simply keeping score. A realm I appreciate, you understand, but how could I ask you to take something that has no value to you in exchange for this wonderful club and the investment of your free time? No, Mr. Brockford, I won't be calling my bank."

Persephone leans in, her easy smile turning into something wry and wicked - the smile of a goblin before a kill.

"I'm offering you a wish."

[Eurus]

His eyes widen in surprise, then narrow in suspicion. Another few moments pass while he sips his drink and tries to break down the next few minutes in his mind. While skepticism is a powerful force, it doesn't quite win out over his curiosity -- and, perhaps, greed. It is very difficult to ignore even the possibility of something so precious, even as vanishingly unlikely as it may be; it kindles a spark of hunger in the chest even as the mind tries to tamp it down.

Finally, he turns away and silently motions Persephone to follow. He leads her to an innocuous door behind a velvet curtain, which opens into a small private room, dimly-lit and stiflingly warm. Soft couches and chairs coil around a small table, and he locks the door behind you both before taking a seat.

"...For the record, I am not amused. This is completely ridiculous."

And yet, of course, here you are.

[Lord_Gareth]

Persephone takes a seat of her own, giving Brockford her full attention. Though she still smiles, the goddess looks in no way flippant or patronizing.

"I don't intend to be amusing, Mr. Brockford. I know full well the gravity of what I'm asking you, just as I know the improbability of what I've offered. A wish? The idea seems a little absurd, yes. But I'm in deadly earnest, I promise you."

Persephone takes a sip of her strawberry sunrise.

"There are limits, you understand. I am not omnipotent. But within the scope of my authority I am powerful indeed, Mr. Brockford. I'm asking you for ownership over what is probably your life's work, and to stay on as - of all things - an employee. The payment for such a profound product should be equally profound."

[Eurus]

Brockford is silent for a few moments before he smiles thinly.

"Alright. I assume you can show me some sort of proof, then? Turn glass into gold, pull a rabbit out of a hat, do some magic? Convince me that this idea is even worth entertaining."

[Lord_Gareth]

Persephone considers this. "Here is my proposal, Mr. Brockford. You will summon your attorney - who will need to be here anyway - and he will draw us a contract. In consideration of payment given in advance, you will sign ownership of one Miranda Sinclaire and agree to stay on as its manager for a year and a day. If I pay your wish, the club belongs to her - as my representative, of course. If I don't, I agree to an injunction. I walk out of your club and don't come within five hundred yards of it ever again."

Persephone relaxes, going from sitting to lounging in a moment. She takes a careful sip of her drink, dangerous eyes on Brockford.

"As I said, I am not omnipotent. I have one miracle for sale. Just one, Mr. Brockford. So the payment will be your proof. While your lawyer is arriving you can consider what it is that you want. I might suggest that you think in the direction of the desired and the desirable. Would you like beauty? Musical talent? A legion of adoring fans? Someone to fall in lust with you?"

[Eurus]

Brockford leans forward slightly and stares at Persephone intently as she speaks, as if trying to glean truth from whatever perfect face he sees. Finally, he leans back again and pulls out his phone.

"...My wish is very simple. I don't care about fame or youth or beauty, and I've gone enough rounds in the metaphorical ring of romance that it's lost its allure, for now. There is exactly one thing I want badly enough to indulge you in this, even if I can't imagine you providing it."

"I want you to help my daughter. I want her to be happy, safe, successful in the field of her choosing, and clean, for the rest of her long, healthy life. And that would be a miracle, miss Persephone. So, do you have a way to convince me that this is something you can do?"

[Lord_Gareth]

"Difficult," Persephone muses. "But not impossible. It would be easier for me to work with her if she were here, or if I could speak to her or just see her - a photograph might do. I could make her desirable in her field but that won't make her competent. I could alter her mind to desire the things you've mentioned, of course, or give her the love and attention of someone who will be a positive influence in her life. Or...I could give her a role model, someone she'd admire and look up to and seek to emulate in all things."

Persephone taps her chin thoughtfully. "Yes, this can be done. Tell me more about your daughter, and the kind of impact you want the solution to have."

[Eurus]

Brockford taps on his phone for a moment, then shows it to Persephone. On the screen is a girl, probably in her early twenties. Attractive, in the sort of way that suggested great care and effort to appear as cliche as possible. Hair dyed platinum blonde, dramatic makeup carefully applied, designer clothes intended to look vintage.
She's laughing in the passenger's seat of a car, no sign of who took the photo. ->
Brockford sighs. "That's Selina. Our relationship is... strained, and I suppose that's mostly my fault. All *this* isn't the most stable environment to raise a child around, after all. I think she just wanted attention, really. And it's hard to stand out around here. She's been in rehab once already. Such a smart girl, though. Amazing grades, before she quit.

"Everyone wants attention," Persephone muses quietly. "She's become a follower, which is no place for /your/ daughter, Mr. Brockford. No place at all. What are her interests?"

"She used to love to play the piano. I don't think she's done that since she was fifteen, though.... She was studying art history, in college. Useless, but as long as it made her happy I was thrilled. Actually, she's always been an amazing writer. Had a blog for a while. Very... unique way of putting words together. Biting."

The Queen of Longing nods thoughtfully and leans back. "I can do this for you. It won't be the cure-all - I cannot heal her - but I can /motivate/ her. Bring her and the attorney here. I'll talk to her while you draft the contract." Persephone's smile is, for once, reassuring - the smile of a childhood hero, of a saint.

"Frankly, I'm not sure if I can *get* Selina here. Isn't that more *your* department?"

Persephone offers a hand out. "Will she answer a call from your phone?"

"...Probably. You're welcome to try." He hands over the phone.

Persephone settles herself on the couch, the portrait of serene, self-centered confidence. The goddess taps the girl's name on the contacts list and puts the phone to her ear, the wry smile never leaving her face.

It rings several times before there's an answer. A female voice comes from the line, deliberately neutral. "What is it, dad?"

"Right phone, wrong person," Persephone murmurs, the smile widening. "I assume that I have the honor of speaking with Selina?"

"...Um, yeah? Who is this?"

"My name is Persephone," the goddess explains happily. "You might consider me a talent agent of sorts, Selina - if I may call you Selina?"

"...Sure." She seems like she's not sure whether to be annoyed or amused, and is settling on vaguely bewildered.

"Excellent! Your father tells me you write, Selina. He says you're very good at it. Have you been published?" The last question is casual, but Persephone's gaze is all business, even if her smile is not.

"Published? No, I... did my dad hire you for this? Look, I don't need another *favor*, okay, what's even the point of that?"

"Hire? Oh no, Selina. Not at all. Like I told you, I'm a talent agent. My job is to find exceptional people and remove the little barriers that prevent their light from shining to the world." Persephone pauses for a beat, taking a sip of her drink. "Of /course/ your father could simply buy you a publishing deal. But you don't want that, yes?" ->
Persephone leans forward, looking predatory. "You want to succeed on your own merits. You want to be praised and adored because you /earned/ it."

There's a pause. "...Yeah, I guess so. I'm... I mean, I don't know if I'm that good, but, uh." She seems slightly flustered, perhaps from the sheer unexpectedness of this conversation.

"Have you /seen/ the dreck that gets published? Selina, even if you were terrible - and I trust your father's taste enough to say that you are not - you could get published. Which leads me to believe that perhaps there is something else holding you back. Some personal difficulty."

Brockford is watching the exchange -- or at least one side of it -- with fascination, and using a *second* phone to text someone at the same time. ->
Selina pauses again before answering, and she snaps in a reflexive attempt to control the conversation. "I... look, you talked to my father, right? Don't ask questions you already know the answer to. Yeah, I've got *issues*, welcome to the club."

"Your father's concerns are known to me," the goddess admits smokily. "But I could really care less except insofar as they affect /me/. This conversation is about /you/. The drugs clearly are /not/ the problem. There are too many genius addicts changing the world of writing for that to be it. But perhaps you aren't comfortable speaking on the phone?"

"I... yeah, I guess so. Do you want me to..."

"Come to Inferno? It'd be convenient for me - but, again, this is about /you/. I'd be happy to meet you elsewhere, and happy as well to let you speak to your father if you'd like him to vouch for me."

"...No, it's okay. I'll... be there in about ninety minutes, I guess." She seems uncertain, possibly drifting in thought, but agrees.

"Excellent! I'll ask your father to arrange a private room. Would you like anything ready, Selina? A drink, maybe some food?"

"No, I... ate already, I'm fine. Uh, thank you, though."

"No, thank /you/, Salina. I'll see you when you arrive. Take care, and good evening." Persephone hangs up and offers the phone to Brockford. "Ninety minutes."

Brockford shakes his head in disbelief. "Impressive. My attorney will be here in thirty."

"Thank you very much," Persephone replies pleasantly. "If I might get the use of a room to speak with your daughter?" The goddess finishes her drink and sets the glass aside. "I'll wait for her there. A miracle's been offered, and one will be given, but to be frank I believe it would be most helpful if Selina were involved in the process." ->
Persephone stands and stretches, cat-like. "Your daughter strikes me as intelligent and self-aware. She'll know what her problems are."

He sighs and nods. "I suppose she will. There are plenty of private rooms, I'll show you one and work up the contract with Paul..."


Persephone thanks her host and takes up residence in the private room. Distantly, she remains aware of her goal here - securing the club - but almost all of her focus is on Brockford's daughter. Another potential disciple, perhaps? She'd revealed her power to Brockford already, of course, and the two would want explanations later if not immediately. ->
Persephone purrs to herself, curled up on a couch in the secluded room, and ruminates. Yes...they would make powerful allies, and bring more to her. Resolved, she awaits the arrival of Selina.

It's a little less than ninety minutes, in the end, before Selina shows up. She's by herself when she enters the room -- someone must have pointed her toward the right room -- and dressed for a night out, from the looks of it. But she seems rather self-conscious as she sits down, and perhaps surprised at the sight of Persephone. "Um, hi. I'm Selina."

"Persephone," comes the reply as the Adored One stands, offering her hand for Selina to shake. "Thank you for coming, Selina. I see that I've disrupted your plans for the evening..."

"It's... fine." She accepts the handshake, and makes a conscious effort not to stare at Persephone, whatever version of her the girl sees.

"If it makes you feel better," Persephone murmurs, "I do that to everyone. Please, sit. I think it might be best if we both choose to be honest with each other, Selina."

"Alright. Honest how?"

"Let's start with my intentions," Persephone offers frankly. "Obviously I did not approach your father about you out of the blue, and I won't insult your intelligence by claiming to have done so. I wish to own the Inferno, and for your father to remain with it as its manager. You are intimately tied to his price."

She blinks, surprised. "I... what? He's selling the club? What do I have to do with that?"

"Believe it or not, Selina, your father loves you very much," Persephone answers. "He was not selling the club until I offered him a price no one could ever refuse - one wish, one miracle, paid up front. Can you guess what he asked for?"

She shakes her head, expression mystified but too disoriented by the events of the night to muster up a skeptical objection right away.

"You," Persephone answers simply. "Not that you'd listen to him, or become a 'good daughter'. He wanted you to be happy, safe, successful, and drug-free. He did not ask for your forgiveness, or your pity, or your love. He did not want you to enhance his reputation or show off for his friends. Happiness, success, safety. Like many simple wishes, ->"
"it is difficult to grant." Persephone flashes a smile at the young woman. "And so here we are. One miracle on the table, and still no idea how /precisely/ to expend it. That's why I wanted to talk to you face-to-face. You do, after all, have a certain insight."

She leans back and looks up at the ceiling, hands fidgeting for a second as she processes this. "...And my dad signed off on this. Actually, never mind. You're... convincing, I guess. It's kind of scary. So... a wish, huh?"

Persephone nods. "One wish. The easy thing to do, of course, is to simply make whatever you do so attractive that you'll succeed no matter what you do. But you wouldn't be happy with such a solution, would you?"

"...No, you're right. I want... I don't know, to be worth it, I guess?"

"You're already worth it," Persephone says dismissively. "/Talent/ isn't the problem. And I couldn't solve talent anyway. Why writing, Selina? You flirted with music, then art, and settled on writing with, as I am told, a very unique style. Why?"

"I don't know. I mean, it sort of came easy, I guess. But it was nice to feel like I could just... say whatever I wanted, whether anyone was reading it or not. And it's something that you don't need a degree and an assload of free time to interpret like a painting, it just gets across whatever you want to say. And it's still... fun, I guess. Artistic."

"And yet you've chosen to crash and burn instead of pursue it," Persephone accuses gently, raising an eyebrow.

"Well. I guess I didn't really think it was something that people would... take seriously. Because *I* don't get taken seriously, for one thing."

"I'm taking you seriously," Persephone notes. "It wasn't hard to do. There's steel in there, and it shows, when you let it. You're intelligent, strong-willed, self-aware. Who doesn't take you seriously?"

"I don't know. Half of my friends thought I was just a poor little rich girl, I guess. When I was in college, it's like everyone was *surprised*. Everything I do, they figure it's because daddy didn't love me or something. Whatever."

Persephone nods and steeples her fingers. "You feel that your light has been hidden in your father's shadow."

"It's not his fault, I guess. He's just so *thick* about things, sometimes. He'd get mad that I was being 'ungrateful', I'd get mad back. And then I'd make friends with some starlet and try to see how trashed I could get her in front of the paparazzi."

The Queen of Longing looks thoughtful. "What is it you'd say you want, Selina? An apology from your father? The chance to apologize yourself without losing face? Acknowledgment that you're your own person?" Persephone shrugs expressively. "Your father has allowed worry for your future to taint the present. I understand that parents do this."

"Hah. Give me a minute here, this is like a year's worth of therapy I'm trying to get through in one night. I guess... I thought I just wanted him to pay attention, but I guess it's obvious that he does. Or maybe to feel like he'd support *whatever* I do, without judging me or anything... but if what you said is true, he will..." ->
"...I guess I just wanted to be independent, yeah. For him to stop trying to fix things so I can at least take *myself* seriously, and, I don't know, do something impressive. I guess I probably owe him an apology more than he owes me, though."

"So imagine for a moment," Persephone replies, "that I can change something about you, or about your circumstances. That I can alter your desires, make you appealing, ensure that something you create gets mass exposure - but only one thing. What is it that you think would help most? What miracle would help you find your own happiness?"

She looks down at herself, with a thoughtful expression. "...You can change anything, huh? That's not just some rhetorical technique, you can actually wave your magic wand and change the world? Serious question for a second, you're not the devil are you?"

"I am not," Persephone admits. "I'm...something new, Selina. I suppose you could call me a goddess, if you care to. Perhaps time will put lie to that claim."

"I guess that makes as much sense as anything. Alright. If you can fix me, do it. No booze, no pills. And... no shame. Because I'm going to lose my nerve as soon as I'm sober and not half-asleep, I know it. No fear, no embarrassment, and I'll put out something they'll *have* to ****ing notice, whether they take me seriously or not."

Persephone thinks about it for a moment, mulling over what precisely to do in her mind. Finally she stands and crosses the room, cupping Selina's cheek in one hand while she looks the girl in her eyes. "You're certain? I can get rid of those desires, and alter how you desire approval. What you've requested is easy, and it is not reversible."

She takes a breath and nods, and you can feel her starting to brace herself. "Yeah. That's what I want."

"This may feel strange," Persephone warns the young woman before leaning in. A shock of power flows across the Queen of Longing's lips as they meet Selina's, extending from the kiss and swirling through the young woman's mind and body. Inside her mind, desires change subtly - the addictions are erased and then replaced with the need to stay clean and ->
healthy, her fear of censure altered into a fierce desire to rise above negative criticism and use it for self-improvement. A faint tingle crosses Selina's eyes, and a small magenta symbol forms on her cheek - a microphone emblazoned with a star, so small that you need to be practically kissing the girl to make it out. ->

Slowly, Persephone breaks the contact, her face flushed with power and excitement. "How do you feel?"

Selina blinks slowly and dizzily, a hand raising almost unconsciously to her cheek. "I feel... better. I think. Tired, but... better. Hopefully I'm still feeling like this in the morning."

"I would actually suggest checking yourself into rehab in the morning," Persephone advises seriously. "I've destroyed all desire for the drugs, but your body doesn't necessarily know that. The withdrawals will be painful, but the clinic will know what to do. May we speak to your father now, or would you like some time?"

"Oh. Yeah, alright. I'll just... get some sleep for now, I think."

Persephone smiles gently. "Good idea, Selina. I'll leave a phone number with your father - call me any time after sunset, for any reason. May I call you?"

"Yeah, sure."

Persephone gives the girl some space and holds open the door to the room for her.

Selina departs after taking a moment to steady herself. Her father appears a few moments later, looking concerned, with the lawyer beside him, a stone-faced man with a slight paunch and a silver comb-over. "Is it done, then?"

*Selina actually accompanies you back to the other room where her father is, then.

"Mr. Brockford," Persephone acknowledges, pulling a chair out for Selina to rest in. "Selina's had a bit of a shock, but it is done. You'll see my mark on her cheek, there to declare by whose hand she has been changed."

He's obviously not quite sure what to make of that, so he talks to Selina. "Do you feel... different?" ->

"I think so. I definitely felt *something*. And I think she's... legit, if that makes a difference."

"I haven't quite caught your father up as far as that goes," Persephone says gently to the girl. "Though I intend to. Mr. Brockford, I'll offer you the advice that I gave your daughter, in the reasonable event that she forgets - she will want to check into rehab tomorrow, to deal with withdrawals before they start. They /will/ be present."

"I see. Very well. Considering the... delicate nature of this exchange, I hope you'll understand if I've included a caveat that allows me to revoke the deal, if desired, during the first month, just to be sure that this deal is... effective. After that time, it locks in, and only a serious breach can void it. But the transfer will take place immediately."

"I understand," Persephone agrees. "However, I'd like to insist that both you and Selina must agree to the first-month revocation. Deal?"

He looks at Selina, and she shrugs. Brockford tentatively nods. "Alright."

"Excellent. I hope this will be the beginning of a long and interesting relationship, Mr. Brockford," Persephone says with a smile, offering her hand out to the club's now-former owner.

"I'd say it's become quite interesting already."

[Freudianship]

Satisfied with her information, The Mother tidies up her notes. They are labeled as "Community Service Ideas." The next opportunity will most likely be much more strenuous than what was done tonight.

She tiptoes past the her mortal guise's husband to get to bed. For now, she gives herself up to sleep.

[Lord_Gareth]

Feeling drained but happy, Persephone walks her way home. Some consideration is given to the morning - she hydrates and downs two Tylenol, then sets a bucket next to the bed - before she enters Selina and Brockford's contact information into Miranda's phone. Fully clothed, the delighted goddess wriggles into Miranda's bed as dawn begins to approach, then falls fast asleep.

[Lady_of_Birds]

Ash tried to survive the harshness of winter, but she didn't know how, and no one cared enough to teach her. Too afraid to reach out for help Ash lay on her bed of cardboard and newspaper, to weak from hunger to move, too cold to feel the frostbite on her fingers, toes, and ears, and too tired to be able to care. She watched through eyes too dry to muster a single tear as crows circled closer to her, certain that once sleep claimed her, death would follow it swiftly. Maybe it was the harshness of a life of abuse and neglect. Maybe it was the realization that she was indeed unloved when no one had come looking for her, but she didn't have any fight left in her. Somewhere between running away and this moment, she had lost her hope, her will, and allowed herself to quietly freeze to death.

But death would be cheated its victim this night. Awareness slowly made it's way into a body almost to weak to receive it.

Perdita gasped deeply and sat up suddenly, startling the crows that ha swarmed around her into a frenzy of cawing and flight. The Lady of the Lost looks herself over noting the frostbite through the thin rags, the pocks made from the beaks of crows who hadn't waited for the girl to finish dying.

"Wait." was the only word she said. the single syllable was harsh, spoken with a throat that was dry and cracked from thirst. Sufficiently hidden in the dead end where an alley made a sudden and sharp turn into a building that hadn't used to be there, Perdita settled herself. She looked at the crows around her and closed dry, aching eyes.

She spread her awareness out through the hidden space and to it's avian inhabitants. What you see, I see, what you hear, I hear. You are my chosen people, my messengers, my eyes and ears, you are me and I am you, and through you I will spread my name among my children.

1 Act. - Perdita can now perceive anything any crow can perceive. This is a passive ability that is always present. She can also inhabit the crows to be able to speak through it. talking through more than one or two at a time still spends an act.

[Eurus]

Perdita watched the crows fly away for a few minutes, adjusting herself to seeing and hearing through hundreds of sets of eyes and ears before standing shakily. The person who stood in the alley looked nothing like the girl who had curled up there. She seemed... less. Less noticeable, less present. Anyone looking at her would see someone who belonged -->
wherever she was, someone with a face shaped face and eye colored eyes, someone who warranted no attention whatsoever.

She searched briefly for food and clothing for her mortal before finding both quickly, settling herself on a bench to eat the rewards of her pilferage she searched the city with her crows, finding the camps and gathering places of the cities overlooked, searching for the largest congregation, and trying to pin out who it was they seemed to look to or revere.

The hard part isn't so much finding a place as it is narrowing it down. From so many airborne eyes, the city is *huge*, a dizzying sprawl of glass and steel and concrete stretching in all directions, swallowing up everyone in it. Slowly, she starts to zero in on her goals. The flicker of a fire here, a sagging tent there... ->
But these minor collectives are passed by in the search for larger groups. Eventually, she finds one. In the maze of underground and bridge-covered roads, like capillaries around a great vein (think like a fictionalized version of Lower Wacker), she spots a small village of the homeless in an out-of-the-way alcove. ->

In the eternal struggle to maintain some place warm enough to sleep without freezing to death, they congregate here, and while it doesn't look like the most closely-knit of communities, it's a nexus of people coming and going. It's easy to spot a few figures who might have more weight than the rest. ->

One man, sporting a beard to rival Moses himself and a worn-out coat with a barely-visible camouflage pattern, seems to have a measure of respect by virtue of sheer seniority and being mostly mentally intact. A leader he is not, but he keeps track of who's around, and knows many of them by name. Alternately, there's what looks like an honest to goodness nun with a box of donated clothes.

Perdita find her way there, snatching up bits of this and that as she finds them laying about and stuffing them into pockets. She walks casually up to the encampment, passing fires and boxes, coal burners and dogs, calling her crows to the nearby perches in case she should need them.

It's amazing how many lost and abandoned things there are in this city, lurking just out of normal sight. A few dollars in loose coins gathered up here and there, a nearly-intact coat stuffed carelessly into a garbage bag by someone fortunate enough to not need it, even a cell phone. Not much use, but hey. ->

Nobody in the camp pays her much mind. She gets a few curious glances at first from some of the other kids -- there are a lot of kids, about half of them with parents -- but the adults seem to mostly keep to themselves and their families. She blends in here as she does everywhere, able to observe unhindered. ->

The bearded man seems to be telling some kind of story to a few people. A war story, from the sound of it. Most of them are only half-listening, content to just hear someone talk for a while before going back to another day of people avoiding eye contact. ->
The nun, a tiny hispanic woman in a plain black sweater and jeans with a little cross badge, goes through her supply pretty quickly, and while some of the people avoid her, most of them are very polite to "Sister Paula".

Perdita sits nearby and listens to the old man speak his story, waiting for the crowd to disperse before she approaches him. "Excuse me sir, can i talk to you for a minute?" She asks in her cracked, tired voice.

It takes a while, but eventually they slink off to sleep the night away, leaving the old man to stare off in reminiscence alone. When Perdita approaches, he manages a tired smile, mostly hidden by beard. "'Course. What d'ya need, hon?"

She smiles, almost shyly. "My name is Perdita, you've never met me, so I don't expect you to know me." She sits across from him and looks him over, taking the measure of him. "It seems to me like you've been out here for a long time. Someone as..." she takes a moment to pick the correct word, "experienced as yourself probably knows more about the lost and -->
forgotten places in this city than anyone else, otherwise how could you have survived so long, with no one to watch over you?" She asks it outright. When she's close enough to talk to like this, the gouges and peck-marks from the crows are visible, and are what look like permanent tear streaks leading down from eyes that are shadowed mysteries that hold -->
only secrets.

The man pauses for a moment and leans in slightly, trying to get a closer look at Perdita's face. Her words, so odd and eerie from such a small girl, seem to unsettle him. He may not consider himself a superstitious man, but sometimes... well, rational people can still knock on wood. "...What do you want, kid?"

She silently commands the crows to gather around her, slowly, so as not to draw too much attention. "I want to know. I want the secrets and the hidden places, the forgotten about corridors and lost tunnels." Perdita raises her head slightly to let the light catch her face, let him look on her face, and never forget it, he was one of the forgotten, and he -->
would be her first disciple.

"Tell me, please." she asks quietly as the head crow of the Murder perches on her shoulder.

The man is quiet for a minute, trying to read Perdita's eyes. In his own, there's fear, but not much. It's buried by fatigue, and sadness, and just a trace of wonder. "...Who *are* you?"

She smiles, almost sadly. "I am as I said, Perdita." she says as the crows gather closer around her, as if her name should convey all of who she was. "I guess you might call me a god, if you like titles."

He seems uncertain about that. Who wouldn't be? But maybe it's the swarm of crows, looking at him with unnatural intelligence, that makes him believe it. "...I... know some places, yeah. Places where people can hide, or sleep, or put things."

She smiles. "I thought you would." she nods, allowing shadows to fall over her face once more. "Tell me about these places, and the secrets they have revealed to you."

He tells her mostly about places that the homeless people use when they need to lay low or stash things, buildings and land that aren't in use, and various shortcuts or discreet routes from one place to another.

She nods as he speaks. "If you have need of me, talk to the crows, I will know." She says as she stands to go and find one of these hidden places for her mortal to sleep in. "Here, I found these on my way here, and i have little use of them, perhaps they will be helpful to you." She hands him the money she found, the phone, and a few sundry other things, -->
on her way to her new "home" she snatches a few other things to eat and a frozen bottle of water that is tucked into the coat next to her chest, along with an old, half used notebook and some crayons. When she gets to this place she makes a bit of a nest with what she was able to find sets the food close to hand -->
and draws a note. "You'll be safe here Ash, know that I am watching over you." The only signature is the outline of a bird drawn in black crayon. snuggled into her almost intact coat, Perdita closes her eyes, letting sleep claim the both of them once more.

[Eurus]

Whatever the first night may have been - a miracle, an unexplainable phenomenon, a strange cosmic joke - the second night proves it as a pattern, not merely a fluke. A few hours after the sun sets, the dreams of the city pour into your heads again, filling you up bigger than yourselves into the same strange divine caricatures you became last night.

Of course, not all of you are safely home this time.

Night 2 begins. 1 action per character, no limit on miracles in this chapter.

[Happy Gravity]

The change is more subtle than the first night. Kinuki drowses off, slowly, succumbing slowly to a haze of boredom as the sun disappears from the sky. As the girl closes her eyes, the goddess awakens. Four more eyes open upon her forehead, quickly scan the room with multiple, unconnected roaming gazes, and close.

This happens quickly enough that her friends, occupied as they were, and possibly mired with alcohol, do not notice. Kinuki's posture straightened and become more confident, yes, but otherwise she was quite often invisible. The Weaver regards her surroundings with disdain, as she idly mines out relevant news from the chain of idle gossip provided by the group, as well as with her initial contacts from her web. She spins the 'information' out around one finger, watching it with a discerning eye. What was worthy of the Weaver's attention?

The stock market had fallen. Both political parties were blaming the other. One of the neighbors was cheating on his wife, with a man. Some balance change in an online game was deeply upsetting the person on the floor below that. Boring.

She speaks suddenly, mostly to herself, but sharply enough, with enough presence that the normal Kinuki normally lacked, to cut in through the chatter. "Oh. How interesting. Inferno has been signed away?"

[Freudianship]

Phuong was one of the few volunteers of the day left in the soup kitchen. She had volunteered to stay last and lock up while finishing various care packages. It was simple enough work. They only needed to put together some one hundred or so packages in sturdy bags. Water bottles, socks, toothpaste, toothbrush, sanitizing wipes, some food, and other similar object. Small things to allow the lost children of the city to know that people cared about them.

Sometime past midnight as she pulled out the cooled brownies she seemed to have fallen asleep.

The Mother awoke in the split second between Phuong's closing eyelids and kept her host from falling.

She looked around seeing the quaint packages and smiled. It was so good to see like minded individuals in at least some matters regarding the lost. The Mother looked down at the brownies and lovingly packaged them, infusing each calorie packed treat with the compulsion to return to families, and if there were no families to return to, to flock to this particular shelter.


Act: Compulsion in about 100 or so servings of brownies to come to the shelter or for the various individuals who ate them to go back to their families. Some good and well some bad/awkward things can come of this.

[Lord_Gareth]

Persephone 'awakens' sitting in a chair. There is a moment - brief, yet unmistakable - where she wears Miranda's face, when she sits up straight and notices that she is someplace familiar. Then her divine splendor wraps itself around the goddess, clothing her in beauty and admiration, and she is the Adored One once more. The goddess stretches, working the slump out of her posture before finally noticing that Brockford is sitting right there.

For once at a loss for words, Persephone stares at 'her' employee.

[Forrestfire]

Edison's walk home is uneventful. He's still annoyed about losing his phone, and saddened by the fact that he never got the guy's contact information. Oh well...

He took a final turn onto the block of his apartment, not noticing that the both streetlights and people around him seemed to waver in his vision, sometimes blurred, and sometimes frozen in three or four places at once. He sees a man standing in front of his apartment, and a small part of him begins to wonder who he is before. But then, Edison is gone, abruptly replaced by Fate.

Someone who was watching might have even noticed the change. Nothing flashy, but it seemed like he... wasn't there for a split second, then was. There are no obvious physical changes except for his eyes, which are strange, to say the least. Formerly brown, they're now bright blue, unless you make direct eye contact, in which case they appear to hold an endless chasm of tangled blue and white lights, that seems to slowly "zoom in" through various intersections.

Fate doesn't need to look around to know where he is, understanding the situation immediately. From his view, peoples' paths slide along the sidewalk and the road is bathed with the trails of car headlights. Apartment lights turn on while simultaneously staying off, and the stands of destiny tangle in front of his apartment. He steps forward, smiling as he addresses the man in a voice that pierces the human's ears, heard perfectly even though he's half a block away.


"I think you have my phone."

[Eurus]

The Weaver's sudden comment is enough of a change of topic that it takes a moment for anyone else to catch up or remember what she's talking about, but once they catch on, the conversation bounces on.

"Oh yeah, I totally heard about that on the news! Someone from the bank was saying the owner just gave it away for free, everyone's wondering if he's dying or something."

The brownies look no different, but the Mother can feel the power fizzing inside them. They'll do the job.

Brockford's eyes widen slightly as the glamor settles on Miranda's body like a fur robe, but his composure returns quickly. After a moment, he smirks.

"I'm not entirely sure what I expected, but it wasn't that."

The man by Edison's door doesn't look good. His co-worker described the boy as strung-out, but to the discerning divine eye, it seems more likely that he just hasn't slept in a while. He's practically dozing on his feet by the time the god's voice pierces his skull, rattling around his head even as he looks up at Edison, and into his terrifyingly unnatural eyes.

He quickly crosses the distance toward Edison, looking somewhere between terrified and furious, and hisses in a loud whisper as if afraid of being overheard despite the emptiness of the street.

"You want the damn phone, you can answer some questions first! What the hell is going on with this thing?"

[Forrestfire]

Fate starts walking towards the man. "It's a phone. What else would be going on?"

[Lord_Gareth]

"I can see that idiot has ruined my mystique," Persephone says with a sigh, looking down at herself. "At least she had the decency to dress me well. Good evening, Mr. Brockford. I trust things progress smoothly?"

[Freudianship]

Content, The Mother smiled to herself and fell asleep, leaving a very confused Phuong with her packaged goods. The human rationalized that the packaging task was dull enough that she fell asleep.

[Happy Gravity]

"Curious." The Weaver looks thoughtful for a moment, scans her surroundings, and stands up slowly. "Excuse me, ladies. My plans for the evening have changed."

The Weaver takes her leave of the restaurant. Sometime along the way to Inferno, her garment had become a robe of the purest white, as she had worn the previous night. The lady, clad in silk, stalked through the city without fear, confident that nothing within it could harm her.

[Eurus]

The guy glares at Fate, but he's shivering from something more than cold.

"It... started getting texts last night, texts for me, from my friends. Asking me... if my sister was okay, telling me they were sorry, all this weird crap I didn't understand. I called my friends and they said they never sent anything. And then I heard that my sister was in a car crash. But I started getting these ****ing texts at one, and my sister's crash wasn't until almost six AM! What the hell is this thing?!"

Brockford nods.

"The transfer went off without troubles, but the press have been insatiable. Your... alter-ego called me earlier. I attempted to preserve your privacy, although I didn't quite grasp the situation then, but I told her the basics."

Kinuki's friends are confused and a little irritated by her departure, but only Isabella actually gets up to follow her -- and when she realizes just how drunk she is, she reluctantly sits back down. So the Weaver is able to leave unhindered.

Inferno looks like normal, today. Maybe the line is a little bit longer than usual, thanks to the publicity, and maybe there are a few tabloid reporters trying and failing to get past the bouncer, but it's mostly the same beautiful disaster as always.

This isn't the kind of club where any pretty girl can get in, but tweaking the bouncer's mind is so simple as to be almost effortless. Nobody stops the Weaver, not that easily.

Inside, everything is red and gold and black, sparkling both literally and metaphorically. A country music diva is having some sort of party on the private balcony, and the attendees between them are probably loaded with enough intoxicants to poison a small village. The bartender, a young man who wouldn't look out of place in a boy band for pre-teens, smiles at the Weaver when she enters.

[Forrestfire]

Fate gives the man a bored look as he walks towards, then past him, talking all the way. For a moment, he seems to be stretched across the sidewalk, somehow in multiple places at once, before he snaps back to the present on the other side, continuing his sentence.

"So, since you obviously haven't made the connection, I'll enlighten you. It's a smartphone. Made by Apple, two years old, seen better days. The back has scratches, the front has a cover. It has several apps on it, and right now the SIM card slot might be empty or full, depending on who's looking."

"The phone filled with messages for you because you're the one wielding it. For certain definitions. You should learn to use it."

The phone beeps, ringing with a sound from an old videogame, the screen lighting up to show that a new text message received.


http://i.imgur.com/kIMKHQD.png


Fate glances behind him just after the text, saying "Maybe you have already." before continuing to walk down the street, away from his apartment.

[Lord_Gareth]

"We'll discuss it in a few minutes," Persephone demurs. The Queen of the Admired stands and grins wickedly. "Do come with me. It's time that I addressed my most favored children. We can get down to business...after."

Persephone does not prepare, or rehearse, or even think about what she's doing. She simply glides out of the office, utterly secure in her own majesty, and onto the balcony that overlooks the main floor. She makes eye contact with the DJ and gestures subtly for the microphone. The device is tossed to her; Persephone catches it deftly, smiling her little goblin smile as she waits. Slowly, the eyes in the club turn to the Adored One, and she smiles benevolently upon the elite of Saint Elijah. Her most favored children.

The microphone is brought before delicate lips.

"Immortality."

The single word hangs in the air for a moment while Persephone begins to walk the circle of the balcony.

"Who doesn't want to live forever? Mankind's been chasing the Elixir of Life ever since the second man watched the first die. We've bowed before alien gods for it, and shivered in freezing churches begging for forgiveness from absent saviors to try and claim it. We've drank the potions and snorted the powders, embraced the cutting edge of modern medicine, and yet, the gift eludes us. Immortality, the Undying State, the Holy Grail for which men will lie, and cheat, and kill."

Persephone pauses at the top of the stairs down, meeting every pair of eyes in the club and giving each person their own personal smile, their own acknowledgement.

"But some people have found it, haven't we? The loved, the hated, the adored, the heroes and the villains of the world. We live forever because we are never forgotten. In a thousand thousand years, they will say our names to each other, and those names will be full of love, or hate, or even fear. And the rewards in life are oh-so-worth it as well. Fame, fortune, glory, power, sex, lust, drugs - all of it sitting there for the taking, offered from the hands of people who worship your name, who want just a fragment of your glimmering, gleaming immortality for themselves. It's beautiful, isn't it? It's just the way the world ought to be. The great and glorious are adored, and they do as they will with those who worship them."

A phantom chorus rises from the club's speakers as a springtime gale blows through the dance floor. It ripples clothing and rattles the glasses, laced with the scents of flowers and sex, of blood and rain and gunpowder in moonlight. Persephone's hair blows in the phantasmal wind, and she smiles wickedly at the rush of it, of the power surging through her veins.

"You are the Adored, the elite, Saint Elijah's most favored children. The people worship the ground on which you walk, hang off of every word that falls from your lips. This club is the throne from which you rule, the crown beneath which you make your proclamations and cut your backdoor deals, and it is mine now. You may stay, if you wish, and I will glut you on glory and beauty unlike any you have ever seen. Or you can leave, and watch the star of your immortality be snuffed out."

"I am Persephone, the Queen of the Desire, and I claim what is my own."

The breeze howls into the walls, threatening to break the windows. A table clatters to the ground, spraying a starlet's dress with drinks, as the club's decor changes subtly. Gone are its previous motifs, replaced with Persephone's heraldry - all the colors of spring, and the microphone emblazoned with a star. Dizzy, lusty power thrums from the walls, and the Adored One smiles crazily.

"Welcome to the Underworld."

One ACT - Converting Inferno to the Underworld, Persephone's sacred temple. Among other things:

- Those loyal to Persephone, or who are attracted by her offers of fame, glory, access to the Adored, or who are possessed of great musical talent or powerful obsession, feel comfortable here. They are given a measure of protection from harm, and a bit of glamour sticks to them when they leave; this glamour emphasizes the parts of them and their work that are most attractive, and downplays flaws.

- Persephone is always aware of who is in the Underworld, where they are within it, and if they are hostile to her.

- The Underworld subtly attracts talented and/or ambitious people, and the bouncer recognizes them as being 'on the list'; Persephone is aware of when these people are present.

- Other gods may not claim the place as their own or modify the building itself with their sorceries, though they may certainly modify the things or people within it, and the land outside of it.

[Eurus]

Fate makes it almost halfway down the block before the guy finally runs after him.

"Hey! I'm not letting you run off without explaining! You can't... what do you mean a phone that tells the future? A phone?"

It's fortunate that there's nobody else around, because this guy is making a bit of a scene.

The crowd is silent, every eye on Persephone as she speaks. The wind screams, the club shifts, and an expression of dreamlike awe spreads across the assembled faces. Behind her, Brockford watches neutrally, his expression unreadable.

At her conclusion, the crowd roars and screams its approval, and as the clamor dies down everyone slowly rises out of the haze they were in, looking around in confusion. Nobody seems quite sure what to think. The rational mind puts up barriers and explanations reflexively, dismissing the supernatural, but the subconscious wants to believe. Whether they admit it or not, most of the people here have a piece of Persephone in their hearts and their heads now, or maybe they always did.

But why should it matter? Maybe it's a trick, a really good show, or maybe it's real. Either way, what are they going to do about it? Sit down and question your understanding of the universe? Screw that. They're here to party, to see and be seen, to pry immortality out of the collective consciousness. And with Persephone's blessing, they go back to doing just that.

[Forrestfire]

Fate keeps walking as he responds, without turning to face the man. "I borrowed an idea from fiction and applied it to reality. In another time, it might have been a forked branch or a set of bones. I needed a test run, and you walked into that alleyway in the right mood at the right time."

"If you'd like more answers, I am happy to give. Your strand has already been tangled enough. If not, leave me, I have work to do."

[Happy Gravity]

The Weaver, seated at the bar, says and does nothing as her fellow goddess goes through with her display, faint surprise playing across her face, before being smoothed over into an expressionless demeanor. She treats the glamour with a critical eye, with the air of an artist reviewing a contemporary's handiwork, twisting a strand of hair around a finger thoughtfully.

Speaking, half to the bartender and half to herself, the Weaver says, "An interesting viewpoint, certainly..."

The Spider Lady remains where she is seated for a few minutes, slowly enjoying a small drink. Whether or not a dialogue begins is up to the Adored One.

[Lord_Gareth]

Persephone's attention turns to Brockford, though she does not move from her place at the balcony.

"Mr. Brockford, I'm going to need a lot of very complex things done very quickly. You are a man of intelligence and resource, and I believe that I may come to rely on you to get my schemes off of the ground. I can promise you supernatural power, the favor of a goddess, wealth, and the opportunity for much more than that - if you'll serve me faithfully. I'll even promise to keep your daughter out of any of my below-the-table schemes."

Persephone's eyes lock on the one individual who is, seemingly, unaffected by her club.

"What do you think?"

[Eurus]

"No **** I want answers, man!"

He's walking alongside Fate by now, hands in his pockets, glancing around anxiously. Even in his agitated state, he's not keen to risk embarrassment by being overheard.

"So you're telling me this is magic? Seriously? And you just dropped it off to mess with people and see if it worked? What are you going to do with it now that it does?"

Brockford spends several moments considering an offer that some men might have given an arm and a leg for. But then, that's arguably his main value. Finally, he nods.

"I can't pledge you my eternal loyalty, Persephone. I'd like to trust you, but with all due respect, a wise man plans for contingencies. But I still owe you, so I'll give this arrangement a trial period as long as my daughter stays out of trouble."

As he speaks, Persephone starts to get the feeling of being watched. That's far from unusual, admittedly, but the sight of the white-robed woman at the bar below, watching up at her calmly, is jarring compared to the bubbling frenzy of energy in the rest of the club.

[Forrestfire]

Fate continues walking as he absentmindedly responds to the man, occasionally stopping to tug or adjust a thread in the air that only he could see.

"Yes, yes, and you can keep it. Also, to further questions, my name is Fate, or The Custodian of Fate, I'm on my to a place where I'll be building a temple, and I honestly have no idea how to use the phone. Figure it out yourself, shouldn't be too hard."