vindicta

Though it was not, Bastien would at least have some fun while doing it. Who didn't enjoy a little ritual sacrifice to brighten the day? Perhaps it would take his mind off of his lack of visions for at least an hour, perhaps two, if he were lucky. "Neither of us are particularly keen on apologizing," his nose wrinkled at the mere thought of it. What did he need to apologize for? Seeking the power that had always rightfully been his? For not running when all looked grim for the Asphodel coven? Bastien was almost certain that the list would be long within the minds of others. Well, those that had recovered from the torment within their dreams. Maybe he'd do the same to Levent. Or maybe he wouldn't give the elve the satisfaction of knowing that he still pouted over this. "Tell me," he started, as his gaze looked around them, "does this vile place at least have a salon?" For he would absolutely not be moving in if it did not.

"Is that what you want? An apology?" Markus couldn't help but raise his brow at that because it did sound a bit petulant, then again, nobody had ever accused his brother of not being petty. As if a few words though could balm the injury that scorched the differences between them, Markus would refrain from being surprised that Bastien hadn't seen that one coming and would instead try to dig a little deeper. As far as his brother would allow him to, anyway, while he cared about very few people in this world. Bastien and that ridiculous mop of hair happened to be one of them. "Can two people not survive on opposite sides of the battlefield? Is there even a battlefield?" More playful than anything because at present there was no obvious conflict, just two people with suddenly very different philosophies. "They have a vet, I'm assuming they do nails and washes too, but something tells me that's not going to work for you."

Bastien had made certain choices based solely upon the insurance of Pythia at his back, that he would not be left out in the cold when the blood dripped from his hands. Vivianne perhaps hadn't understood all that he had done for the Asphodel. Or perhaps she had, and her intention had always been to trap him within another coven. Where he would be at the mercy of its sovereign, unable to perform the sacrifices that had become so favorable. He supposed if it were ever something he would have actually considered, it would have worked out. Perhaps his eye had momentarily turned towards the Narcissus, but the oracle had never fathomed joining a coven that was not the Asphodel. "Perhaps I could sacrifice one of the sovereigns, take over myself," a grin slipped across his lips at the mere thought. Hadn't that little runt been given sovereign of her old coven? Perhaps that would be where he set his gaze. "If Trivia has no answers for me, then I will seek out the elves," there was a minor hesitation, his thoughts straying for only a moment, "but I have no use of that gate." Was he still salty? Absolutely.

"That sounds like how it works, whoever kills the sovereign becomes the next sovereign." Markus nodded, confident that his brother would find out one way or another. With any luck, Trivia would give Bastien the answers that he was looking for, it wasn't the entirety of the oracle's magic, but it was a significant part of his ego. These visions that Bastien held onto were among his oldest companions. "I take it you two haven't been able to reconcile?" It was difficult when someone decided to grow a conscience, Bastien and Levent had plagued this city and killed a God together - which said nothing of their previous history. Maybe Markus was more dramatic but he'd be doing a good deal more to try and get the elve's attention: what did the scorned do in this age? Key cars? Send threatening DMs? Stalk?

Safe; the word was almost laughable. For how safe could Bastien be, or ever hope to be? His hands had centuries worth of blood smeared against their palms, the lives of all those sacrificed in the name of the book or the visions that he had plucked for himself. Already those who had sworn themselves to the Necronomicon, to the Asphodel, who had revealed their true identities had been tracked down. Had been stripped of their magic and cast within the shadows. Bastien did not know what safe was, but he would be damned if he allowed himself to be thrown back into a cage. "I've been told to join one of the covens within the city," several times, if he were being honest. But did the amount of times truly matter so much as the fact that it had been advised of him? That notion was almost as laughable as Bastien ever being deemed safe. "I suppose of my choices, it would be the wisest. At least until my visions have been returned to me," for then what would he need the protection of the lycans for?

At that suggestion, Markus only rolled his eyes, "And what? Bind yourself to a sovereign for life?" Some of these covens historically didn't bat an eye when someone wished to walk away, but that wasn't the case if they were discovered to be a criminal. Bastien would be marked and at their mercy if anything ever came to light. "It's beneath you," as was this cesspool but at least here Markus had autonomy that Bastien would also share in. "If there's a way to get your visions back it won't be in the halls of those prudes, it'll be with the Asphodel, or maybe one of the elves nearby." These dogs would wag their tails for anyone who called them a good boy and tossed them the occasional bone, "Besides, you'll be much closer to the Moon Gate out here." Bastien could cut his commute to go see his situationship in half.

Bastien simply hated asking others for help, especially when having to admit that his magic was not responding as it should. The very thought of having to stoop to such a level made him sick. Though, he supposed that when the time eventually came, asking of his brother would be a much easier pill to swallow. Over, of course, having to voice it to Trivia, or gods forbid, Apollo. "Ah, well since that is unlikely to happen, I suppose the spare bedroom is mine. If I should need it, that is," though, it would be unlikely that even Bastien would need it. Accommodations had never been a particular worry for him. "Of course, for my good behavior," a grin slipped across his lips, for the oracle had just about lost his mind within the cells of the senate. Not to mention he'd hardly relinquished the vision that he had received of his inevitable escape. Oops. "Have you had any problems here?" Or rather, had any of the mutts grown suspicious yet.

The thought was there, what either would do if the other was incarcerated, but that was the risk that the necromancers ran. It might have been wiser to move onto a region that wasn't so militant against witches, but times would change, and really, where was the fun if there wasn't also a little danger? Wherever Bastien wanted to put down roots, Markus would concede to, if only until something larger called him elsewhere. The center of the Asphodel's power was here and Oztalun's requirements were far less daunting than the book had been: kill for power, that was it. No weekly meetings on how their plans for world domination were going. "These dogs only care about milkbones and anal, they don't care about where we come from and they don't ask a lot of questions." The magic they needed amounted to little more than a few parlor tricks, but Alder was interesting, and the Jotunn was something else entirely. "Elves come and go as they please, eladrins; you'd be safe here, Bastien. Even if Rome wanted to come sniffing around the lycans would run them out based on pride alone."

^*^

Nobody exiled could claim to avoid risks, but Markus did enjoy Alder's candor. He was enthralled with himself enough that it sounded like he genuinely believed everything that he said. By now Markus had released the other's shoulder because while the other witch was clearly very desperate for mentorship and approval, Markus himself was as inherently self-serving as nearly every other necromancer out there. "Opportunity never waits, it's best to seize the moments that we can." Agreement through and through, no one of ambition could fault Alder for doing whatever was necessary to see his curiosities satiated.

If there were ever a time to mock his brother, now would be that moment. But Bastien held his tongue. For now, until Markus eventually said something else that deserved to be mocked. Though, he supposed he did have many years to make up for. "Perhaps she'll try to kill me first," how exciting, it had been a while since Bastien had some real fun. Well, aside from actually being killed. And he didn't particularly want that to happen, given how he quite liked the way his hair took to the bleach of this century. "A pull out couch? Are you poor?" His nose wrinkled at the mere thought of pulling out a couch. And then actually sleeping on it. God forbid.

"I doubt she'll manage it, but it would be amusing to watch her try." Markus wouldn't want to watch his brother suffer, but neither would he offer to help him when it was so much more appealing to wait for Bastien to inevitably ask. The Asphodel's members had dwindled and talent was scarce, as were people that the other could definitively trust. However they ribbed, there was nothing that Markus would not cut down if it stood in Bastien's way. "No no, but I need to keep the spare bedroom open in case I have an actual guest over. I take it the senate was cutting you cheques the entire time that you were in their cell?" Markus did not doubt that his brother had two-thousand-year-old assets that he'd been keeping in reserve for precisely the time when he'd need them to bust himself out of financial duress; that was prophecy for you.

The mere mention of his lack of visions had his eyes narrowed, for it had felt like a part of himself had been stripped away. Though it seemed to be quite the pattern, having parts of himself taken. The annoyance only lasted so long upon his features, before Bastien rolled his eyes quite comically, "The day I get any sort of deck with mutts is the day you can put me into the ground, connard." Though his apparent dislike of the lycans didn't seem to prevent him from following his brother, into the lion's den, so to speak. Perhaps what he found within could benefit the return of the Asphodel.

"Have you considered asking your patron?" Maybe if Bastien asked the Graeae nicely, they'd start letting him stick his hand in the cookie jar again, "Trivia might have some insight, though somehow I imagine she's still pressed about the whole-" everything. Markus just gestured vaguely over it though, still, the necromancer if this unfortunate little affliction was limited to Bastien or if that other Oracle shared this present condition. "My home is open to you if you need a place to stay; the couch is very comfortable. It pulls out and everything."

It wouldn't be a bad sight, but Cassander was nothing but a horny dog, so he didn't comment on it. Or give Markus the joy of hearing it. "A non-lycan?" Cassander figured it would go to shit, or something like that. Why would they let non-lycan's compete? "The rules around here are ridiculous. It'd probably be broken up or something, we'd have to make more packs and it'll be an endless cycle. Didn't know witches were so interested in lycan politics. What if a non witch becomes your sovereign?"

"A broken-up pack would be bad for business," for now, Markus needed the other emissaries, and the lawless nature of Lupercalia suited his purposes just fine. Naturally, he didn't expect this one to know as much. "if a draegloth competes and wins, that's exactly what'll happen." Nash, Jonas, the former was predictable, though he knew very little about the latter. Markus moved past the other, "Maybe that wouldn't be the worst thing, though; it doesn't seem like the pack serves much of a purpose here."

^*^

"That's the foundation of any coven, strength as a whole." The mark and why families of witches began establishing themselves over places of great power, where leylines intersected, where great disasters had taken place, where they could easily access the Otherworld, and where Gods had fallen. "The problem with any witch's mark is it doesn't run in a single direction; to channel, you need a connection, and even if you remove it, you'll have left your mark. Be it visible or not." This was to say that Alder could leave evidence behind, evidence that would direct any Watcher or witch Marshal straight to him regardless of how well he hoped to cover his tracks.

where. outside lupercal who. @markusalarie

The smell of peroxide meant Bastien wasn't far away; next came the familiar feeling of the witch's magic. "Little brother." Markus greeted as the other approached, "What do the cards say? Anything yet?" Bastien hadn't had a vision since the world had righted itself, "Maybe we need to get you a new deck; there's some inside that has dogs on them; you'll love them." Markus smiled as he led the other through the gates so they could get more comfortable within the walls.

There had been a lot on his mind as of late. His relationships with his brothers seemed to be in shambles and he was on a fucking Senate that he wasn't sure he should've been in. It was the best course of action for them though. Pelorus always thought about them when he made a decision. Whatever. He didn't need to think about that now. That was what the mead was for. Enough of that stuff and you were able to forget your own name. Or where you were. Pelorus was more of the latter right now. He'd somehow ended up on the floor, but all he could remember before that was being in the bar. How had he gotten there? Apparently he had a guardian angel though. It took him a second to realize the hand that was being held out towards him. He would've laughed if it didn't feel like he would vomit as soon as he did. "I don't even know. Maybe. How'd I get on the floor?"

How the necromancer had ended up in this situation was beyond him, the demigod might have made a reasonable sacrifice if Markus had needed one, but keeping him in a cell until then would just make him a liability. If this one was here, then that could only mean that he had some connections in the city, which, unfortunately, meant that Markus probably couldn't kill him without jeopardizing his position here. As little as he thought of these lycans in general, Markus wasn't without his fondness for them. "That's the ground." Markus pointed out before he clasped the demigod's hand, and heaved him up. "Alright, on your feet, big guy."

^*^

There was a time when the ebb of power from the Necronomicon was limitless, now the dark magic had to come from within. Unfortunately, all things considered, Markus couldn't join a Coven and draw from them without being discovered, and even one of the elves would only be able to cast so much before they were depleted. It was a situation that rewarded few and seemingly encouraged teamwork among witches renowned for being solitary in their work. What Markus saw was competition; his God didn't care for sacrifices, not unless they mattered. Syphoned through the Abyssal dragon was the raw and relentless power of the Abyss itself, the gatekeeper in front of the door holding back the madness that threatened to lurch forth.

"Commoners," Cass couldn't help but laugh, watching the witch stretch out like he was wasting precious time standing here. His gaze followed the other's out to the yard, where plenty of lycans were wrestling about thinking that they would be the next one to hold the title. Cassander didn't hold any such thought; he'd rather have fun than hold any responsibility. Maybe he'd have more fun if he shot Markus down a few pegs, anyway. "No witches, or maybe witches have to come around here only on their knees." He stood up now, giving Markus an amused look, "And beg to hang out with the dogs. You done, now? Or do you prefer the company? Maybe you should throw your shirt in with the lycans. Compete a little."

"Is that what you want? To see me on my knees?" That was surprising, and in that statement alone, Cassander had to be joking. "It's probably a nice sight, I can't blame you," the lycan stood so Markus did the same, closer than was necessary as he looked down at the pixie boy who'd fallen into this mud pit. "what happens when a non-lycan wins anyways?" It'd be more convenient if the pack was forced to do what he said.

Cassander went to the gym often. It was sometimes to work out, mostly to work out, but otherwise, he just checked everyone else out and made sure there was room in the hall closet for whatever he and someone else wanted to do. He knew Serkan had planned that out purposefully, anyway. "If it isn't our emissary." It was a bummer none of the lycans knew how to communicate well, so much that they had one from a witch and all of that. "Enjoying your new title?" He picked up another sweet treat, because carb-loading was a thing, he supposed. All the workout videos he watched told him that. Pretending to workout was more difficult than actually doing it. "You know it. I'm always here for emotional support for the losers." He wasn't a leader, Cass definitely wasn't an alpha, either. "Going to enjoy the show?"

"I figure it's good to spend time with the commoners, let them know that I don't think I'm any better than the rest of them." Markus stretched as he said as much, joking in the fashion that while he didn't think much of the title, he absolutely did not consider the majority of them his equal. "What's going to be your first motion as alpha?" Markus asked, good naturedly as the lycans brawled in the background. "I wouldn't miss it for anything, plus I think it's expected for us to be here for it." Soon Lupercal would open its doors to Rome and invite everyone in to see how much it had grown, how their population had swelled, and just how many teeth were ready to bite down.