#calamity.starter

Selene relished being on stage - the lights, the heat, the thrum of the music through her system as she moved, sand with a pitch that could almost make the Merfolk jealous. She revelled in it.

The attention.

It fed her soul, fed a hunger in her she had since she was a child. To be seen, to be admired. And oh did they admire when she performed. She smiled out into the crowd, purple tendrils of magic coiling from her fingers, wrapping around the audience, her body, like teasing strokes that only added to the flare and wonder of her performance.

Soft droplets of rain patted gently across The Mad Wolf’s scarred skin, running down his face and his arms until it merged with the thick crimson of blood that coated his hands. Mike’s every intention had been to come here and fight. blow off some of the steam that had engulfed him and enraged him through simple text messages. The bar had been surprisingly empty, only a found young people playing pool and darts in the corner, obviously not looking for a fight or any kind of interaction outside of their own little group. Plus, he could smell the witch on them, and he wanted a fight he at least had a chance to win.

Another sickening crunch sounded as the bottom of his shoe once again collided with an already battered face, one of three unlucky recipients of Mike’s rage. Stepping outside for a cigarette had prompted the trio’s approach and Mike had been quick enough to dispatch of them. He wasn’t sure they were even heading to Beserker’s, but that was irrelevant now.

Being on the same land was basically the same as being in the building, right?

Mike’s breathing finally slowed as the adrenaline rush subsided, and he removed his foot from the crushed skull of the other man, taking note of the two other crumpled bodies around him. Fuck. All this because he was pissed at Aiden for something Obi was doing. Pissed at Obi for doing it, thriving on the attention of another wolf when he had him, committed without the need for compulsion. Pissed at Peyton for joining in, not understanding what the fuck she was talking about. Pissed at all of them. He wiped at his eyes, blood smearing across it as the rain already started to wash it away.

Are you fucking crying?

“No.”

You’re fucking crying.

“We are not.”

Aww why’s that mate? Crying because our boo has a new plaything? Because the rest of our little group are banging together and ganging up on us? Poor little Mikey.

He let out a burst of a yell, fist flying forwards and colliding with the wall, blood and rain splattering back against him.

“Fuck you. This is what happens when we let you be in charge. Everything goes to shit. People hate us. We aren’t taken seriously anymore.”

Oh but you don’t let us be in charge, we take charge. It’s what we need. So you just need t-

Both of them paused, Mike’s body standing perfectly still, patters of rain creating an aura of sorts around his frame, ears twitched at the oncoming sounds. We’ll continue this chat later. We’re no longer alone.

“We know.” He turned his head a little, to meet the gaze of the approaching stranger, a single eyebrow raising. Someone come for their friends, or just an innocent onlooker?

“The fuck do you want?”

Location: idk, pick a bar.

It wasn't entirely too that Hollis found himself drinking, alone, in a bar. In fact, he rarely found himself alone in general and he wasn't quite sure why he was now. He didn't have to be... But he assumed he wouldn't be the best company today. The anniversary of his parents death sat heavy on his shoulders. It always would, no matter what people told him. Hollis was the sole reason his parents were no longer around. And thinking about how they were gone and he wasn't just...never sat well with him. That was why Hollis dove head first into medicine. He wanted to make his parents proud of him in some way.

As he sat at the bar, tapping his fingers against his glass, he noted how low his drink was getting and how the bartender didn't seem to want to come down to his side of the bar. Clicking his tongue, Hollis released a huff and ran his fingers through his hair, "Have they come down here once?" He asked aloud. If Hollis was going to drink, he was going to drink... and he would rather it not be interrupted by the lack of booze in his glass.

Eddie rarely got out nowadays but he was beginning to feel like he might be going crazy, even a grump like him needed some type of interaction human or otherwise. He’s already five beers deep and a little tipsy when he sits down at the roulette table, taking off his leather jacket and rolling up his sleeves when he sees someone sit down next to him. He weighs the chips in his hands and turns to the stranger, giving them a tight lipped nod before throwing down a chip once the dealer calls out for everyone to place their bets. 

It had been a while since Teddy had used one of those rooms. Longer still since he had ordered anyone to come join him in it -but alas, you guessed it. He was doing both of those things tonight. It wasn’t that he was in any particular mood but rather that he’d been craving entertainment for quite some time. This..provided a means for it and he planned on using every part of the buffalo.

Having had something to drink, the vampire pushed back against the leather of that couch the second the door cracked open, blue hues staring through the darkness. Glistening as they landed on..someone. But oh?

“You’re not what I requested..”

Eitherway, the alpha was in a mood tonight. In fact, he was the one to sit alone this time..at some..cafeteria early in the morning, his arms bent over the table as he looked down on his coffee. His body language should have been a giveaway but someone did not care to notice.."If you know what's good for you, you'll get out of my face in two seconds." the male said without looking who had just touched his arm. And he meant it.

the visions hadn’t stopped. they hadn’t gotten better, nor had they gotten worse. they were just there. as constant as gravity. he didn’t remember when they had started, or knew anything about what they meant -- but he knew they were from home. 

dyl didn’t remember leaving calamity all those years ago. he didn’t remember waking up out of the state; he only remembered the hospital room. they had told him someone had found him in the gutters of a highway, brought him in, bruised and bloody and barely alive. 

he should have been more worried about why he couldn’t remember anything. he just figured that he had pissed someone off enough in calamity that he copped a good beating and was warned not to return. so he didn’t. but the visions started years later; flashes of the state, of images he couldn’t decipher -- but hey? it had been years. surely whoever he had pissed off back then wasn’t still holding a grudge over a measly human? of course not.

a wry smile came to his lips as he sat on one of the unstable benches in the streets of calamity. things hadn’t changed all that much apparently. not with the kids who he was currently watching, leaning over a merchant’s stall performing a rouse in order to steal some trinkets. if dylan could see them from here, it was only a matter of time before the fae on the other side of the stall did.