[Nathan Spriggs] Body chalk-outline in the alley. Graffiti in every visible wall, window and post. Drug-dealers and gangbangers hanging around in the corner and talking without even bothering with the hushed whisper voice. Prostitutes out earning a buck so they won't be slapped by their pimp and, maybe, they can feed their family tonight.
It was a sad day when you could walk through this scenery and feel safer than usual. But that's how it was today. Because it didn't make him that much safer, if at all safer, but it felt it. Felt like he'd see it coming if a bunch of suits or the odd guy or maybe a drone policeman came by and tried something. The safe life was now the horrible criminal-laden lifestyle. The irony of it all.
Today, he steps through the city streets mired of filth and that scenery that repeats itself over and over again. But his mind isn't quite there, isn't on the multitude of ways he could probably die in this spot. Get mugged, get shanked, get shot for staring. A myriad of 'em, but it was probably better than the alternative. He'd seen what those bastard, the Fallen, the Barabbi, the Nephandi, call them whatever you want, could do.
So this is the safe alternative, the one that at least gives him that bare sliver of peace of mind to set his thoughts straight. Maybe even resolve that damn dryness in his throat, that makes him want a drink so very badly. Because these days, he's hanging on by a thread to sobriety. A very battered thread.
[Kage Jakes] [?]
Dice Rolled:[ 7 d10 ] 1, 4, 5, 7, 9, 10, 10 (Success x 3 at target 6)
[Kage Jakes] [And awareness?]
Dice Rolled:[ 6 d10 ] 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 7 (Failure at target 6)
[Kage Jakes] [And how at home, Kage, how at home?]
Dice Rolled:[ 4 d10 ] 2, 3, 4, 8 (Success x 1 at target 6)
[Kage Jakes] [And - am I investigating something?]
Dice Rolled:[ 8 d10 ] 1, 1, 1, 3, 5, 5, 6, 7 (Failure at target 6)
[Kage Jakes] [*squint*]
Dice Rolled:[ 8 d10 ] 3, 3, 3, 4, 5, 7, 7, 9 (Success x 3 at target 7)
[Kage Jakes] This is an easy place to disappear. This is a place where people disappear without looking to disappear. Where the cracks in the sidewalk just open up and swallow names, wallets, teeth and fillings whole, and leave nothing behind of the person who came walking on the street in the first place. This is a bad place, but there aren't many good places. This is a bad place, and it's difficult to pretend that there's any other kind. Look. That man, there. On the corner. His eyes are dead. They're hollow. Life's just scraped any spark he might've had once clean out. Life's scraping its spoon and the bottom of (the eye sockets) the dish (the mind [no spirit left, no sir, don't leave so much as a scrap]), and they're smart. He's not just a pimp. He's not just a gangbanger. He's more. He thinks of himself as more. Hollow.
And look, that man, over there. The one who's hunched over, looks uncertain, looks miserable. He just came from beating the shit out of his eleven year old sister because her pencil was too loud on the paper while she was trying to do her homework. He smacked her around, and she didn't protest, so he smacked her around more, smacked her around until blood sprayed on the paper. And see that woman, there? Squat, muscular? Jaw thrust out? She's a nurse. She takes care of some of the welfare families in this neighborhood. Provides in-home service. And in her pocket, she has an old man's disability check, all but twenty dollars of it, and you know what? She doesn't think it burns at all. She doesn't even think much about pocketing something extra here and there. Doesn't she wipe their asses? Doesn't she deserve something for her time?
What does she deserve?
And look, that woman. Over there. Her eyes aren't particularly hollow, and they're certainly not dead; that's Kage, see, and although her eyes are dark, they're textured like shadow, in some lights, they're ardent. She looks a lot taller than she is, merely because she carries herself like she isn't particularly afraid; she carries herself well. A certain sort of grace. Somehow, though, she manages to fit in: she's not wearing fancy clothes, Hell, she's not even wearing nice clothes, and there are no colors that would send the wrong signal to the guys who own these streets, and she's just finished talking to a woman with as many braids as Kali has murder-victims under her belt, and that woman has left. Kage is left on her own, thoughtful, standing in the mouth of an alley.
After a second, she leans her shoulder against the wall and reaches into the pocket of her summer-short coat. She's watchful, but she hasn't noticed -- hasn't Felt -- Nathan Spriggs yet.
This is a good place to disappear.
[Nathan Spriggs] [I think I'm paranoid; Awareness]
Dice Rolled:[ 5 d10 ] 1, 1, 4, 9, 10 (Success x 1 at target 6) [WP]
[Nathan Spriggs] There is always some slight amount of good to the bad. Always. Some times it's so deep inside that you never see it, never even imagine it was there. But it is. Most people just go their whole lives without really thinking about it. Take for example this neighborhood, the streets are filthy, the people who live in them more so, and most of them are dead inside. Hollow beings that are the result of their hollow lifestyle. No one strives for greatness anymore, you'd think.
But it's not true. See Donny over there? Big Hispanic guy who's dealing some powder to those gangbangers. He's got dreams. He's striving for a lazy sort of perfection. One day, he sees himself with his stack of money that came easy and living a grand lifestyle. Paid through college with it, helped his mom raise his little sisters and little brothers with it since their useless drunk father is too busy barhopping and abusing his family to care.
He's got plans, he's got dreams. He's got that spark of life. Sure, he won't live to see the end of this month, but he doesn't know that. In his mind, he doesn't picture himself dead in an alley from a deal gone bad. He's so much more.
That's the thing about this street. This street has stories, you just gotta listen.
In this case, this story is about a man, a blond man who left his home searching for something else. That same sort of lazy perfection, and he strived for it. Tried and tried and tried, and was backstabbed and he recovered, and he was pushed back down. But he recovered again. Until at some point, he got what he wanted. Then he realized it really wasn't.
Then he realized how small a fish he was in this big ass pond and how worthless it all was. But at least he realized it, so now he tries to find a meaning to it. A method to the madness, and an answer amongst it all. Most people don't know him, even more never will. But on the other side of the street, he detects someone who does. A woman by the name of Kage, an acquaintance.
And he doesn't back away, doesn't escape. He sidesteps for a moment, sure. But only to edge near to a wall that's in plain sight of her and lean against it, then just wait. Wait until she notices.
[Kage Jakes] [Holy crap, I see you now. Do I -still- not Feel you? *also paranoid*]
Dice Rolled:[ 6 d10 ] 1, 1, 2, 3, 3, 8 (Failure at target 7)
to†Nathan Spriggs
[Kage Jakes] [BOTCH OR BUST.]
Dice Rolled:[ 6 d10 ] 2, 3, 5, 7, 7, 10 (Success x 1 at target 8)
[Kage Jakes] He gets noticed. Nathan Spriggs. You'd think a man like Nathan'd get noticed more than he does, but of course, that's just not the way of the world (that's not really how he'd like it [inherently mysterious, their natures]). You'd think a man like Nathan, all gold hair, all silver tongue, would be well on his way to happiness. You'd think that if you were some of the people who spend a lot of this time in this neighborhood, but you wouldn't really believe it. Because you'd be jealous, but you wouldn't actually hope: wasn't hope that motivated that rangy, lean teenager with the wolfish features over there to tell her little cousin that ain't noone liked to hear his fucking babble that he'd heard Mona say he sounded ridiculous. Was fear. He was afraid that his cousin, who can speak so well, would one-up him, would get better, would leave, and he'd be left alone here, be left here, still be here, still be miserable. If I'm not getting out, noone's getting out. Some of the people who live here are afraid of success because it doesn't exist. Because there's no point in moving.
They try to imbue their lives with meaning, too. That's why there are secret signs. That's why there are handshakes, words that mean more. That's why people band together, survival of the fittest. That's why.
He gets noticed, Nathan Spriggs. Because people, in spite of themselves, band together; because Nathan Spriggs and Kage Jakes have a history. He doesn't feel her strongly, just now, the dame who calls him T. H. and Sunshine, who disdains lying, but isn't exactly publishing her life story and all her opinions in the Daily News and making sure all of her friends have subscriptions. He gets noticed, physically, before she Feels him; before she becomes Aware of him. Kage cocks an eyebrow, surprised. And studies Nathan, framed against the brickwork of a building that's never going to get fixed, that's going to burn sooner rather than later, and then she studies him again, and then she gets a glint of that air, that attitude, all subtle machinations, which sticks to Nathan like dogshit to a shoe when you're on your way to make a good impression.
Kage's mouth crooks, now. And she cups one hand around her mouth, then whistles, long and low: Hubbah, hubbah, who's that leaning against the opposite wall? Casually sardonic. That's Kage. After she whistles, the hand she'd been using to cup the sound: she offers Nathan a wave. Two-fingered salute. Here we are again.
[Nathan Spriggs] It's the little things you don't notice, the little people. As Kage salutes the man over across the street, a boy passes by. For a moment he might even obscure the line of sight between the two. He's a nice kid, Charles. All respectful, all nice, the kind you don't see much these days on these streets. Works at a convenience store down the ways. Small shop, gets vandalized frequently.
What people don't know. What people don't see. The real Charlie. Because under that easy smile and that stuttering respect for his elders, there's a small devil. A monster. On his off days, when no one's looking, he'll take a neighborhood stray cat out back and slowly cut him open, rearrange some organs, see how long he lasts. That's who the real Charlie is.
Because when he was little, his real father split and his mother was drunk and desperate. She found a nice man, bit of money to his name, all friendly. But again it's the small things you never see. Some step-daddies abuse their daughters in ways most people wouldn't like to think about, most abuse their sons with a belt or a good punch to the face.
His had stranger tastes, worse tastes, the kind you expect from the daughter variety. And it left a scar, it did. So now he fills away the emptiness by spreading the pain and misery, filling that hollowness deep inside. Meanwhile, still in his corner the blonde man, Nathan, gives the woman a small smile. Just 'hey you!' with that slight bit of perpetual unease to it. Here we are again indeed.
Doesn't cross over though, too comfortable against his wall.
[Kage Jakes] Kage has a certain kind of style. That certain kind of style doesn't allow (necessarily [of necessity]) for a what's up, Hey you tete-a-tete that is only a what's up, Hey you tete-a-tete, followed by a few minutes of meaningful and meaningless stares. Kage isn't complacent. And Kage isn't comfortable in the mouth of her alley; it's not a good place, that alley: a place where a lot of people've been broken; a place where at least three've disappeared. Doesn't feel good there. Feels dark: feels dank; feels like it's building up its own resonance, almost, and that resonance is dangerous.
There was a runaway disappeared in the alley just three days ago. Someone who decided to come to Chicago because that's what the voices told 'em to do. Because that's what they thought was right. They brought their pet, a dog named Ballet, for protection, and they weren't wise at all: certainly not streetwise. Fifteen year old kid and a dog named Ballet. They walked and wandered and huddled on stoops, and at least it's hot at night. Then three days ago the streets decided to finally take 'em in: they wanted to slip through the cracks?
Okay. The cracks opened. The sound of that dogs last yelp: it was so loud, so horrifying, that a woman in the apartment building adjacent to the alley closed her eyes and prayed, thought hard about St. James's, and it didn't do much good.
Some of the neighborhood kids giggled when they found a dog paw the next day, but they didn't play for long in the alley.
Kage is the kind of woman who'll stay beside a dangerous alley, just to see if its mouth'll really eat her. But not for long; not for ever. Not when there's someone she knows across the way, leaning against a brickwall. Some kid with mean eyes, some stutterng, shying-away kid with callused hands and a callous over his heart, walks between them and the red-haired woman watches him go, then pushes off from her wall. Looks both ways, before she crosses the road. Crosses the road.
Both of her hands are in her pocket, and when she looks to the left, her pulse jumps in her throat. Not nervously. The edge of her summer jacket flicks sharp against her thigh, butterfly's wing: smooshed across the cement.
"Hey, T. H.," she says, "Aren't you going to show me what kind've gentleman you are today, offer me a patch of that wall?" Her mouth is still crooked; an almost smile: shadow, on moonlight; moonlight, at the edge of a shadow -- easy. Secretly flamboyant. "You sure don't look a thing like Sunshine today."
[Nathan Spriggs] For a moment, a second that turns into a small eternity, he watches the people go by. Back and forth through the street as the woman with the crimson hair moves. She's crossing the street to his side but his eyes aren't on her, they're in the world around them. Her, he's seen countless times before. If he's lucky, very lucky, it'll probably be a countless times more too before life has it's way. Before one of them dies, or the people of the city slowly part ways or one of millions of variables that occur at every moment, every blink of an eye, every breath, every thought, every time you opened your eyes and woke up from bed.
Things were just like that. Maybe he'd just never wake up tomorrow, the stakes these days were set about that high.
His eyes shift momentarily to her when she greets him. The familiar face with a familiar expression. In turn, he too returns the shadow of a smile with a small twist of his lips into a casual smile of his own. Just 'hey'. A scoot to the side with a careful step as he edges to the corner of the wall to let her have space. "You say it like I'm not a gentleman every other day."
The words are casual and friendly, biting back to oppressive sensation of anxiety and fear that governs his day-to-day life nowadays. No hints to the 'hey, we've got Nephandi running around!' factor.
[Kage Jakes] This happens. The mages who live in Chicago grow acclimated to a sense that they're being hunted, that they're in danger, that bad news is just a coffee shop away, that any time they happen across one another's path, there's no guarantee that it won't go South. That they won't be dragged South, kicking, screaming, afraid for their lives, for their souls, for the souls of the people on the streets [think they still have some? Even the guy who owns that autoshop, right there? The one who held his hand over his little brother's nose and mouth when his little brother was just, what, two months old, and he was the only guy around? Because he wanted to see what it was like when somebody stopped breathing, stopped working? Because after that, his little brother just wasn't right? He tries not to remember the time he sold his little brother to a very scary eighteen year old girl who wanted to try f'ing something a little younger, a little sweeter, who wanted to experiment with someone completely malleable. But he needed the cash. Things've gotta work. He just wanted to see].
The world's a really dark place. Nathan knows that. Kage knows that. And Kage doesn't seem inclined to bring up the current doomsaying, doesn't seem inclined to talk about kidnappings and murderers, and it's possible she doesn't know. Nathan knows this: Kage keeps her cards close. He's smart enough to've figured that much out. Nathan also knows this: she's been reliable before -- she'll probably be reliable again. Can rely on her not to be all doom and gloom, at least.
Witness. Nathan scoots to the side. Kage puts a hand over her heart before she takes her place. Presses her palm downward. Her eyes don't widen in mockery, and her eyebrows are no more sardonic than usual. Her lips curve just a little more: the shadow of a smile kindled into something more radiant by amusement.
"But didn't say you weren't, T.H.," she says, and then: that's when her shoulders touch the brickwork. Her hand finds her pocket again. She crosses her legs at the ankles. The gesture is small: careless, elegant. "You came up with that angle all on your own. Speaking of 'all on your own,' how are you settling in to life without a body of work to believe in?"
[Nathan Spriggs] Life in Chicago. Deadly. Devastating, both physically and emotionally, to the self and to those close to you. But damn was it exhilarating. Was it addictive. Who needed drugs when you were living the Awakened life in Chicago?
So that's where they stood at now. Blurring the line between what was protecting the city they lived in and getting a rush out of the danger. That's just what they did. Ascension was just an excuse for a bunch of masochist bastards to get together and put themselves through the gauntlet over and over and over and over again.
As Kage presses herself against the brick wall, he watches her with the corner of his eye for a moment. Waiting for that comment that's undoubtedly coming. She doesn't let him down either, a small chuckle to the words and a shake of his head. "Oddly the sam--" What he wants to say though is cut out by a sharp... was that a moan? A gasp?
It came from the alley just feet to his right, off the corner of the wall and deeper into the crease between the two buildings. You'd think it awkward, weird maybe. But right there and right now two people are all over each other pressed against the wall of a dirty alleyway. Doing things you'd rather not think about in the middle of the day and in public.
Because public decency isn't worth a damn anymore these days. Not when there's a working girl who's making her dinner money there. What she doesn't realize though is the carelessness behind it. She's a young one, barely fifteen, and nevermind the man who's three times her age. A poor family, a poor education, not even a decent explanation of the human anatomy.
How is she to know what she's been doing carelessly? It's been a month and she doesn't even realize it. That seven to eight months from now, she'll bring yet another life to this overgrown and overpopulated world. Probably won't even care for him, why should she? He was a mistake, bastard child of some nobody that was three to four times her age most likely. Just another guy.
Maybe if he's lucky he'll grow up to get out of the neighborhood, to be somebody. Maybe when he dies people will remember him and the things he did, and the things he accomplished. But don't count on it. Just another lost soul in the masses of lost souls. No one to notice him. No one to care.
[Kage Jakes] [Uh. Let's see. Decisions, decisions. Wits + Alert.]
Dice Rolled:[ 5 d10 ] 3, 3, 3, 5, 8 (Success x 1 at target 6)
[Kage Jakes] Kage (who is ardent, but demure - reserved; whose resonance feels like the verbing of the word beloved) pauses. That wasn't an I'm-being-murdered, help-there's-a-zombie-in-here moan/gasp. In a certain kind've comic there'd be an ellipses over her head and her eyes'd be kind've squinty half-moons. In another certain kind've comic her eyes'd just snick to the side and there'd be a lot, and we do mean a lot, of shadow, of inkery, of heavyhanded foreshadowing, and Nathan'd be in a trenchcoat (isn't he?) that'd be so black it'd blend in with the wall. There's a moan that cuts away from what Nathan wanted to say, was saying; and Kage pauses, and then blushes. That's the only sign of discomfiture, though. Kage may be streetwise and worldweary, sometimes, but a lot of that is presentation. Nine tenths of reality, presentation: a lot like possession that way.
There's a man walking down the street. He's walking down the street toward the alley, actually. He's older, too. Three times the girls age. He's a cop, and it's so hard not to be crooked. He's walking down the street, and everybody knows he's a cop, or at least suspects, even though he's in plainclothes. Hell: even Kage and Nathan can tell. They blend in enough. And the plainclothes cop, he's thinking about what his superior told him yesterday, thinking about his fiancee, about having no job at all, about what they might pin on him for knowing too damned much, and his shoulders are slumped, are slouched, and he think sit'd be a lot easier to just die.
Kage sideglances at Nathan. Quirks an eyebrow. "You gonna finish that thought, or did it get thieved away?"
Dice Rolled:[ 7 d10 ] 4, 5, 6, 8, 8, 9, 10 (Success x 5 at target 6)
[Nathan Spriggs] His eyes shift to the side momentarily, not to the side of the sound but to the side where Kage is. That's his only reaction. It's not that he isn't surprised, not that the thought of what's happening in that alley right now is odd and a bit gross, and even a bit interesting, and yes... maybe even a 'nice...' But that's not what he's focusing on, it's not his problem.
Such things weren't irregular around here. Every corner was a drug deal waiting to happen, or a sordid sex affair waiting to unfold. Every inch of this block, of this neighborhood, even of this city, was just waiting to be exploited for some nefarious (and possibly kinky) affair.
So he doesn't care. Unlike Kage, it isn't all presentation with him. That's just what most people see, what he'd prefer they see. Better they think you're hopeless at it than you're good, right? Meanwhile a patrol car is whizzing by in the distance, the klaxons of it's sirens blaring out that melodious sound that serves as a warning to all the crooks everywhere.
Down about ten blocks, someone's taken a leap of faith. Right. Into. Concrete. It's not some kid who was abused, not some drug dealer who was sentenced to death. No. He had a normal family life, caring parents who weren't divorced, a loving little sister and a successful elder brother. It was just dull. So utterly dull.
Now, for at least the few seconds before his head hits the pavement and cracks, shattering and exploding like a burst air balloon full of blood and brains... Just for those moments, he remembers what it feels like to be truly alive. Not some mindless office zombie, not some dull family man. He is his own person, and he's made his own choice. Nevermind it kills him, it feels like freedom.
[Nathan Spriggs] Then, with a glance over to Kage and a mischevious, almost amused smile, he says, "Sorry. Was too busy seeing your face getting camouflaged by your hair."
[Kage Jakes] [Oh man. Don't let the evil power of blushes work and make me blush MORE NOW.]
Dice Rolled:[ 7 d10 ] 2, 2, 4, 7, 8, 10, 10 (Success x 4 at target 6)
[Kage Jakes] The sad thing is that nobody notices for a good minute. The man who just jumped. The man who just hit the ground, ten blocks away. Ten city blocks is a vast difference. Neither Kage or Nathan'll hear what happens when somebody does actually notice the man who just jumped. Neither Kage or Nathan'll suspect that there's a little girl, cousin to a girl with a long name that Nathan actually knows, Lulu, tried to help once, who sees it. Who's just a couple've feet away, who sees it happen, and then later that night, will look into a mirror, and see it again. Who'll try to sleep, and see it again. Who'll lie, sweating, shaking, afraid, listening to peoplein the apartment above walking, treading heavily, fighting [Fuck you, I hate you], and will think about that man who died.
Who'll, two weeks from now, start drawing pictures with black crayons and red, and be placed into therapy. The family'll go into debt. They'll never get out've it. Doesn't matter, though: the little girl is haunted, and even when -- and if -- she reaches the age of eighteen, slender, ballet-delicate, she'll pause under buildings, looking hard at the ground, afraid that the shadow she sees is getting bigger, and is going to be someone who'll die. That's what she'll be doing when she gets hit by a car, drunk driver. That's what she'll be doing when she gets hit by a car, and paralyzed, waist down.
Don't think about it. Don't even see it.
Kage thinks about it. Kage considers it: the people around her -- she observes them; believes that there's just gotta be more. Doesn't like to spread it about, but it's clear: it's something felt; there's nothing hollow, or empty, about Kage. Go on, call it inner radiance; see how it shines? She manages not to blush further when Nathan calls her on it. Instead, she cuts him another sideglance; something more inscrutable, more opaque - and then smirks. Self-deprecation.
"In the future, I'll try not to blush so red; don't want to make it difficult for you to keep your train of thought going."
[Nathan Spriggs] The sideglance and self-deprecating smirk are in turn rewarded with a small grin and a shake of his head. "Oh no. Hardly. It just seemed so... honest." The grin a little wider there. Honesty, yes, that was it. Because people's reflexive actions told stories about them. Stories they might never otherwise tell consciously. You could tell a lot about a person by how they reacted to the small things.
Some times, it was a good thing, honesty. Lies are hurtful things. Take for example that apartment upstairs, where the people fought. All of it stems back to one single event, one small white lie. He'd been late getting back home for an important date, you see. Been drinking with the buddies. So when he arrives, all messed up and slightly drunk, his wife's there and she's tapping her foot and giving him the Eye with all that 'where were you?!' fury that a woman can.
Buckling under pressure, he answers with a small lie. Business meeting, you see. Bosses made 'em all go out for a drink after. Yep, that's it. Of course, the chain of events he's about to unleash escape him. He doesn't realize that in three days, making up for that lie will make him arrive home early with flowers. Where he'll find his wife in bed with another man, that weird Hispanic guy who lives two doors down from he does. Worked as a pool guy or something.
Then more fighting will start, more of the 'fuck you, I hate you's. Those screams and arguments and fighting that a little girl downstairs will hear. What she won't know because her parents won't tell her is that one days, on that day... Well, he lost it. On that day in fact, from that little white lie.
Two murdered by knife, nearly a hundred stabs each, one suicide. Hanged. A crime of passion. All because of one little lie.
[Kage Jakes] There might be something to the idea that bad luck is contagious. That bad fortune is catching. There's a reason that the poor, the downtrodden, the unhappy: they tend toward susperstition; toward magical thinking, where breaking a mirror'll actually do something, where hanging around other people who're so damned miserable'll heighten the chance that misery'll find you. There's a reason gamblers are so superstitious: try to impose a sense of order on a disordered world. There'll be a knife fight. There'll be a suicide.
There'll be some poor schmuck who has to come in and clean it all up. That poor schmuck'll find a ring, and it belonged to that woman's grandmother. Didn't you think she had a daughter? Lived with her father, the daughter did: but still. The poor schmuck'll find a ring, and it's been in that family so long: it gleams gold. The schmuck'll take it. Put it in her pocket. And later, when the daughter tries to remember her mother's face, her grandmother's face, she won't be able to. She won't have anything to hold. Won't know that, years and years and years and years ago, another woman who was very much in love with her husband [who went away, away to war] cradled her daughter and said, I know it's silly, saying these things aloud. But I want you to know that I want you to have your father's ring. He's far away, but I love him. And this means love. Forever. And maybe one day you'll be brighter than the ring.
The poor schmuck'll lose his paycheck. They won't reimburse him. But he has a ring.
Bad luck can be contagious. Maybe that's why the Mages of Chicago are so unlucky. They spend time around one another, when they should know better.
"Don't you believe in honesty, T.H.?" Kage asks, genuinely curious.
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