BLVEBEE

THINK I’LL GO WHERE IT SUITS ME – Reality is constructed by the artist that wields it, and the Transistor is her brush. She burns, shines bright as time slows to a crawl. Here, there are just frozen figures and echoes of her voice resonating within the blade. Red bolts forward, watching overhead as the filth lashes towards them both in a slow arc. Her arms flex, and she twists the blade upwards into a sharp arc; a burst that explodes out in light. Time screams back into regularity, and she watches as the filth sprawls clumsily, skidding past them in a wet heap. Bright blue eyes flash, looking over at Damien, before the sword hums to life. It speaks where she does not. “Hey, you better hurry up, kid!”

john has a soft spot for new york city. it never tries to pretend being anything that it isn’t, and you can find just about anything you’re looking for if you know where to look for it. its a lot like london in that regard, even more so when it comes to magic. its intertwined into everything, influenced by everything. even in this little halal cart parked on the sidewalk.

he stands beside it, closer towards the corner where the crosswalk is, lighting a cigarette as he stands idle, waiting. he’s not sure what he’s waiting for, but knows that it’ll show up eventually. and just as he thinks this, he sees him… the man with the eye of horus tattoo, and knows that this must be the starting point.

they make eye contact in between the passing bodies walking down the street, and john says nothing, only blows smoke, the scent of magic lingering.

‘ … ‘

The intense complexity of New York City, with its layers of people and buildings and noise, act as a barrier between that surface world, and the world of magic and secrets underneath. Since that mid-morning procedure in Zurn's lab, tied to a table while his soul projected freely, his brain had begun to unfold. And with these new planes of thought, he could sift through the noise and the buildings and the people to perceive the messages underneath. The buzzing of a nearby radiator spelling out a memory lost to time. The skyline that, when viewed upside down, spelled out a runic rhyme. The eyes of a man from across the street that stared knowingly into his.

Some part of Damien wants to turn tail. But he feels has a responsibility to meet the magical and mysterious face-to-face. This man clearly counts, with the scent (or, some sense other than scent, that Damien has but hasn’t named) of magic lingering strongly in the air. Also, he would rather not walk another two blocks to get lunch somewhere else. If this is going to lead to something, he may as well arrive there on a full stomach.