Clubs have such life, such vibrance and brilliance. They so often seem to be beacons of life and energy, heralds of humanity and social graces. Each individual one remains a twinkling light in the vastness of the universe and time.
The Masquerade, for it's decrepit state was just one such place.
Sitting at the bar of Purgatory, Nycole never felt so at home. Before Nocturne, there had been The Masquerade. Before Japan, there had been Atlanta, the bustling, sprawling metropolis. Gem of the South. Before anything, there had been this place, the inspiration for what would become Nocturne.
Robin felt so utterly strange and lost. On the one hand, this place remained so terribly familiar. This room, in particular. Huge rafters spanned overhead, dust covered and webbed from years. In the upper portions of the hall, some sort of weird machinery stood, long dead and stopped. Ages ago, they ran for days on end. Now, the entire place stood still, even rather empty for a bar.
She sat next to Nycole impatiently. There was something comforting about being close to the empath, rather like being with Karasuma again. And, yet, Robin felt completely and utterly disgusted at her budding dependency.
As if to prove the point of defiance, Robin strode off, but Brett stopped her. "Where are you going?"
"No where, really."
"Don't wander off too far," he crooned at her in a fatherly voice.
Robin rolled her eyes and stalked off, pushing past Raven and Bear, striding out the door with a swagger in her step. Pride swelled within her momentarily as the teenager left them to their own misery for a moment, heading towards the rich, red lights of Hell. That joy became momentary and fleeting when a hand caught her wrist.
Amon's deep and husky voice thundered in her ears, booming even over the loud, industrial music pounding away in the other room. "Robin."
"I am not your pet," she growled.
It was the first stroke of anger or annoyance Amon had ever seen in the girl, but he refused to let loose her wrist. "What were you off to do?"
"I don't know…"
Amon let her hand slide from his hold, allowing her to step away. But, in truth, the man didn't really have anything to say to her. There was nothing. No words. No speeches of truth or responsibility. No. Amon could say not a damn thing to Robin, and he knew it. They had abandoned their lives and previous roles when the pair fled Japan along with these strange witches.
And, so, he followed her into Hell.
xxxx
Jonas.
God, they hadn't seen him in years. Okay, well a year or two. They left Jonas behind, keeping an ear to the ground, listening out for anything involving the Thirteen. Or, really, Jonas let them leave without him.
In truth, Jonas wouldn't leave. He couldn't. No. This world, this life, it was his and his alone. Jonas had oft refused to allow his previous involvements with this group rule his life and his decisions. Jonas was his own man, his own master. His law bound him, and no one else. No man could control him. And Fate most certainly could not hold Jonas by her fickle laws.
No, Jonas refused to follow his true calling.
And now?
Well, things had changed.
Jonas realized that the very moment they came into the club, stalking about on an uneasy wind. No. Actually, Jonas had known before that, when there seemed to be a charge to the air, electric and crackling. Static popped in odd ways. It was the sort of energy that only swelled when the Thirteen were about.
Jonas had known something had changed.
He saw it in their eyes. A sadness hungered at them, eating away at many of them. Especially Nycole. The empath usually remained so happy and energetic. But, now, the girl seemed sullen and listless. And no wonder. Kathain was not at her side as she always was. It was a crime for them to be apart. Jonas sighed as he rifled through his locker, changing his shirt. It was a sin. They were Oracles, the both of them. They should never have been apart once their scattered souls were found. And the Oracles were always meant to be among the Thirteen.
Oracles.
Years ago, the blonde had found it to be funny. The thought of it was utterly ridiculous. Oracles shouldn't exist. And, yet, they did. Funny.
Jonas closed his locker, and the door to his old life.
"Back in the game for me."
'Yes….'
A voice sang in his mind, low and rich with bass tones.
How sad it was. The Thirteen were gathering again, and gathering in Atlanta, around him. Jonas. They clawed at his soul and mind, dragging him back into this whole mess.
"Damn end of the world."
xxxx
Amon and Robin had wandered away again.
Nycole sighed heavily. This routine of theirs were getting old. Day after day, they seemed to silently bicker and squabble, arguing mildly with one another, in their own, silent way. Nycole slid off her bar stool, swearing softly as the girl slunk off, towards Hell and towards the pair of miscreants.
"Damned Hunters."
The empath smoothed her hair, recalling she was still in a goth club, and a former home to herself and the other witches.
And, then, she stopped dead in her tracks.
xxxx
Whispers of a faceless god; rumors of a seething death.
The world had grown clear and fresh.
She sat up, stretching each and every single muscle in their own turn, They had grown atrophied and tired, stiff and tight. It wasn't disconcerting. Just a mere fact. She had been idle and still for too long. It could have been a costly mistake in the long run.
She surveyed her surroundings, making quick mental notes. 'Room. Bare walls. Tile floor. 10x10". One door.'
There was a man. The girl studied him keenly, taking mental stock of him and all of his features. She searched for any emotion, any motivation or desires. The girl looked over his form and structure, seeking out any sort of advantage that could be used against her. At the same time, the girl hunted for any weakness that could benefit her in the event of a surprise fight.
A man called out to her, crying a name lost to the wind.
Her name.
The girl looked down at her pale hands. The word, that simple thing, was gone. It felt mildly strange not to be afraid. The girl knew she should have worried, been utterly terrified that she knew not who she was. And, yet, for how alien a sensation, it did not truly bother the girl. She merely filed it away as a part of her mental notations.
Screams in the night.
There was something lingering behind her eyes. She closed them, momentarily taking her gaze from the man before her. The girl instinctively allowed the visions to come. Somehow, for how strange that was, the girl just allowed them to flow into her, like a river, or the tide rising to meet the beach. The girl closed her eyes and breathed deeply, drawing the visions into herself.
His blades, slashing out towards her, cutting through the night and black its self. Void around her, nothing more. A man, in the dark, striking out at her. He seemed to falter. She could use that. Blood on the night.
The vision subsided, leaving her alone.
"Do you know who you are?"
The girl looked, glaring almost defiantly as she responded, but feeling nothing, really. "No."
"Do you know who you are?"
The girl shook her head. "No."
Her responses where flat, monosyllabic. He should have taken that as a bad sign. But, at that moment, there didn't seem to be any harm. She wasn't angry, enraged, or embittered. She just… was.
"Do you know your name?" He seemed to have read her earlier thoughts.
The girl cocked her head to one side, as if contemplating the question. "No."
"Would you like to?"
He was teasing her. She didn't like this particularly. But, it didn't really bother her at all. It was merely an annoyance, a stumbling block in the road.
"It would be helpful."
He gazed at her, his eyes sharp with devious glee, it seemed. "Leanna."
The girl didn't believe him. There was something to the tone of voice that betrayed his supposed 'honesty,' He lied to her, terribly. This man hid something from her, concealing some dark and terrible thing. Perhaps there was something wrong with her name, something wrong with her. May haps she had done something awful. Or, just maybe, this stranger was attempting to capitalize off of her. There were so many possibilities to be entertained, and just not enough time in the world to do so.
Unfortunately, the girl had not the time. She would just have to trust him, for now.
"A strong name."
He nodded. "For a strong woman."
She looked to her hands, pale and fragile seemed. There was no mirror to the room, and, so the forgetful creature just had to use her own features, what she could see, to guess at an age. Those hands looked so tiny and delicate. She seemed more like a child, of teenage years, than a true woman.
"Do you know what you are?"
She gave a shrug. "I seem to be some sort of seer."
That didn't feel wrong or unusual. In fact, it just felt rather… sound.
""Leanna, you are to kill."
That didn't seem too odd.
She gave a mild nod of acknowledgement. "Who?"
"Witches."
XXXX
Evening chaps. Might not have another round for a couple of days until I get a chance to write. Tomorrow starts GARF. And the day after, I have to work.