They Lived

Shit.

One was a cakewalk...

Two was doable, but annoying...

Three was a fucking problem, but he wasn't expecting four.

The pain radiating from his head felt as if it were being squeezed from the inside out–which was exactly what was happening. The four yellow-eyed demons decided to sync their telekinetic attack, leaving him little choice but to run as blood dripped down from his nose. Not wasting any time, he jumped from the balcony and landed with a thud onto the sidewalk below. Starling a couple who'd been in the middle of a romantic interlude, Boden stumbled forward as he muttered, "Don't stop on my account."

Bounding down the street, he waited a good block before looking over his shoulder to find they were indeed exiting from the door and making their way towards him. Clearing another block before he tucked himself down an alley, where he ran as fast as his legs would carry him several more blocks. Moving so fast, he actually ran right past the illuminated door and quickly and loudly came to a sloppy stomping stop. Turning on his heels, he passed through the doorway and, without a second glance, immediately closed and latched the door. Pressing his back to the door, his eyes settled across the room.

It was then he found out he wasn't alone.

A young girl stared through him, and he realized his mistake. Looking down, he caught the blood on his shirt, knowing just how unpresentable he must have appeared. Lifting to show his palms, he cleared some blood from his throat, "Heya...sorry. I didn't mean to startle or scare ya. I just need to hang out for a few minutes before I head back out there," he paused, taking in a deep breath before he continued, "I don't have to move from this spot. If you could just let me stay."

"Hm."

A tiny sound in the coming and going of the world. Perhaps a glowing example of its maker. She passes between and around and through with every open and close of her shop's doors. Wake up in Paris, have dinner in Bangkok. She didn't exactly make the rules, even if she always seemed to be where she needed to. And where she needed to was always where she was thinking about at the time. It was a convience and sometimes not that too.

A snuffling at the door.

"Oh alright, I'm coming, Pooka. He's still so far away but alright, alright I'm coming."

The repeat is more for her benefit than the dogs. Sure feet though eyes do not work carrying her to the door. The knob found and turned. Old wood that creaks and groans. A turn away but oops...no no. Not there. A little less open, that last stop is going to throw off his balance. So right about---there. That should do it. And she moves away again. Finding some where more comfortable to be. The chair by her tarot table will do. Pooka disappearing beneath the long table clothe for now.

It doesn't take too long. To her credit she hears him before she...sees him. And despite knowing it both is and isn't doing so--time slows. Unseeing eyes that blink slow and deliberately. Oh he is so much more than her vision had given hint to wasn't he? It shouldn't surprise her and yet it does. Takes moments for her mind to catch up. To remember she has seen this all before in two second bursts. Caught glimpses tucked between sunbeams.

He's dripping in honey gold and liquid rust, this one. Burning brightly and hot like a dying star that doesn't know how. There is beauty to him so great that it hurts and pain so deep that it burns. And it becomes a kaleidoscope at the center. A beautifully and terribly fashioned beacon. Made only that much more vivid against the void like back drop of what lies behind him. And then all at once--

The sudden woosh of him going by the door. The blur of color and streaks of warmth and coldness too. Mixing all together as he--in an almost cartoon like way--comes to a halt and doubles back. Streaking through the door, the knob right where it needed to be for him to catch it right. And there's another woosh of pressure when old wood connects with older wood. Sealing them in like a vacuum.

She gives a smile when he makes apology, the warbling colors along the edges of him feel kind. There's so few people like that anymore. Still she's standing up near the end of his hope he can stay here. A hand held up though her eyes don't move from empty space.

"I would...I would perhaps not open door again just now, da? Travel between... places can be bumpy."

Her accent isn't too thick but the fact English is not her first language is evident. Unmoving eyes don't track him at all as she turns to step out from behind the tarot table. Pooka peeking out from beneath the table cloth. A curious nose that twitches back and forth but nothing more. No growl. No bark. No heckling. Though after a good second of gauging the dog moves. Finds space to be at her left.

"Would you like drink? Something to eat? I was just heating water for tea. It will help headache. One shadows give you, da?"

A touch of two fingers to her own forehead to emphasize the issue and the fact she means to help. Forgetting that might freak him out. Forgetting that he hadn't told her that yet. That he might have chosen not to entirely in this collection of events. But its said now and there's no taking it back. Maybe karma would be kind because that is truly all she had meant by it.

Kindness.

"Worry not. Shadows can not find you here."

Said like an after thought in the corners of the small smile offered him.

"Merlin," he said, making sure that there was a sure shot of the man's face through his glasses. "You pick up anything about him, mate? Any sign of him anywhere?"

"I'm looking," Merlin's voice came through the comms, the prisoner's face flashing across the glasses screen and filtering through his program. Eggsy closed his eyes so he didn't have to see the way everything swam for a few minutes. He was getting used to the way Merlin's program worked, but it made him a bit nauseous to watch it run when he was on the plane. "His face has shown up in different systems around the world, but no one has a name for him. It looks like you've captured someone invisible."

"Bloody fantastic," Eggsy grabbed a drink from the mini bar, a glass of scotch to sooth his nerves. The job hadn't exactly gone smooth, but now he had someone new to deal with. "Ain't anyfing easy, is it," he took a sip of the scotch, letting out a quiet breath. "What sorta jobs he done then?"

Merlin gave a sound of disapproval, probably because of Eggsy's coming through. Merlin hated when Eggsy let his accent loose while he was still on the job. It was part of why Eggsy did it. Had to keep the old man on his toes, didn't he? Life would be too boring without it.

The energy that ran through him was making him jittery, and Eggsy sent a charge of it through his drink, watching the way it made the scotch bubble.

"Eggsy," Merlin's voice was disproving. "If he wakes up and sees your drink you could blow your cover. Control yourself."

The charge cut off, scotch returning to normal. Eggsy watched the way his prisoner started to move, sitting up and setting aside the drink. Now was when the fun started. "Merlin, mate, 'e's wakin' up."

"Yes, lad, I can see that. Let him wake up fully before you start asking questions."

Eggsy rolled his eyes but forced his body to relax, leaning back in his seat. He knew what he looked like, a posh gentleman in complete control of himself. He'd learned it from Harry and it was something that he thought he pulled off quite well. The appearance of a gentleman was something he'd practiced, but even Roxy said he'd figured it out.

It was a relaxed man that waited for his prisoner to wake up, hands flexing on the armrests of his chair as Roxy lifted the plane into the air. He still hadn't gotten used to flying. He discretely yawned to pop his ears before looking at his companion.

Are you awake, I've got a few questions for you.

A head snaps up. Upper and lower limbs trying to go in opposite directions, like he's trying to dodge something. Like a loud noise had startled. Like he was trying to grab something because of it. Eyes that flicker back and forth between their natural blue and bleeding red, as they dart about the space. The brightness battled with rapid blinks. Where was he? When was he? Wait no..no he meant where was he. And maybe he could have grasped it but then there's blinding pain. An ache at the center of mind, radiating outward like a throbbing wound.

Pietro?

Sunt aici, soră, dar-- [ I am here sister, bu--]

Why does she sound so far away? What---what is that? It...it hurts. And still flickering eyes are squeezed shut. A nose scrunched up in the process. A head that is shaken in a chaotic pattern and rhythm of speed for moments before it stills. What the fuck is that? Something pushing back something blocking something--hands twitch. Fingers flex and brows gather tightly over slitted open eyes. And its only breathes of a second before his mouth is skewing into something angry. Into something ugly.

He can't feel them can he? Can't feel the strings the tesseract had stitched into his skin. They're there but he can't feel them. And that enrages doesn't it? Bleeds red through his gaze. Red splattered blue that rise up to look at the one that's caught him. Or maybe the one that hired another for his catching. Because whoever this is doesn't appear to have worked a day in his whole life. Pressed and primed like a proper gentlemen. The cut of his words and accent. And yet there's something else, something hidden. Something that Pietro knows he would know in a moment if not for the aching throb.

And while it hurts. While it sends blood oozing from where the bullet had ripped into him, Pietro leans ever so slightly forward. Head tilted to one side before he's doing the only thing his pride will let him do in the moment.

@goodlawman insp.  / The Future’s Memory Is Short

       “1694 Brook Valley Road…New York…this year…August Twen–twenty-second. Se..seven thir—teen am.”

   “What?”

Leon always enjoyed when the weather was perfect, giving him the ability to use his motorcycle without a care in the world on his way to work. That had been the plan considering how nice it was outside. But that could wait, he had to handle a few things first before he found his way going to work. Starting that off with a workout. Going to the very gym in his building where he could lift some weights, throw several combinations of punches at a punching bag, and eventually cool down with a run on a treadmill. Nothing too insane, just enough to get what he was needing today. His off day was where he planned to go more in depth with his workout but that wasn't for a few days. It took up a good chunk of his afternoon, grabbing a quick bite and a protein shake in the kitchen soon after to at least begin getting ready for work. With all of that consumed, he made his way to the shower and was able to clean himself off from the workout minutes before.

Standing in the mirror, he was able to put the final touches on his appearance. Gel used to slick back his hair for the night as he combed through it to make sure it stayed in place. Only when that is done to his satisfaction does he step back to observe himself one last time before moving to put on his black long sleeve shirt and grabbing his jacket for the motorcycle to finish it all off. One last check of the weather to make sure nothing would change and off he went. Grabbing the keys, he went down to his bike in the garage and started the engine. It roared to life, letting it warm up enough before he started to back out of his spot and drive out of the parking garage. There's little worry from the blond as he begins his commute. It was something he had done plenty of times since he moved to the city here. Though it did make him wonder if he was up to move soon, no that shouldn't be the case. He wasn't here that long just yet. Besides, it wasn't like it was complicated to get from his place to work.

It was almost instinctual to drive the route he knew so well, everything almost muscle memory as he moves through the streets. And on top of it, everything had seemed normal. Why would today be different? He was wrong of course, wrong as he hears a horn and a person standing almost in his way. He has to react fast and so has to make the bike fall, a shame really, but it was the quickest way to make it stop. Thankfully he has dark jeans on, a buffer somewhat as he skids to a halt. No doubt that would leave a mark but he'd heal. It wasn't like it would be permanent, nothing was on his skin anyway. Well, aside from the scar on his chest but that was something else entirely. Slowly he rose, looking over at her with a furrowed brow as he wonders why a woman was standing there like that. Almost like an immovable object. However, it wasn't enough to stop the rest of traffic. And so the blond moves fast, arm wrapping around her waist after running over to make her move and pull her towards the sidewalk.

Just then the rest of traffic moves along, his bike thankfully more off to the side and easily avoided by the rest of the cars who didn't want to ruin their vehicles. Stil, he takes in a deep breath and looks her over a moment before looking back towards his bike. "Are you alright? I mean...you might be a little insane for that." He half mumbles, no moving back towards his bike to get it up and wheel it the rest of the way over to her. Thankfully he had left early enough where this little incident wouldn't make him late. "Not everyday someone decides to step into traffic for....no reasons." He says looking her over again. She seemed fine, but that didn't mean she wasn't entirely okay. He doesn't say much of anything else after, moving slowly then to look about his bike and see what damage was done. A curse in his native, modern tongue leaves his lips as his head shakes. He'd have to work that out later, maybe his day off if he had the time. He was going to be a little sore on top of it but that wouldn't matter and he only had to endure it for a little bit.

She hears him talking, hears the questions. But the truth is her stomach is still in the middle of the street. The change in futures flicker flashing in her mind like a broken tv for seconds before beginning to settle. And once she can stop blinking so rapidly--they go very wide...very very quickly. Because her vision hadn't shown her this part had it? The part where the sickening crunch of a person is replaced with a ...well wall of one. Jesus Christ what did they feed these guys?

"Itworked! Ohyourbiggerinperson--Imean sorry not---Imfine. Insane? Oh yes that was totally not...imeani don't make a habit out of walking into traffic that's nuts right?--Yes! I'm totally fine and imtalkingtoomuchs---."

Eyes. Oh no. Oh no no no no. And its everything she can do not to look around them. Not to meet the gaze of anyone currently staring at her like--like she'd just done something absolutely insane. Because she had...just done something absolutely insane that is. Oh Z was going to murder her. Straight sororicide. He would get away with it too. And she would not blame him one single iota, though she hopes he wouldn't give Pooka away.

Pooka. Her dog. Her dog that was still---

"I...my dog. He...he was right here I--" Everything is a mess. A complete and entire disaster. Her sight was never meant to be looked at in real time, at least not at this degree. And its becoming a little hard to keep straight what's already happened, what's happening now and what could happen in the next five minutes. But she does her best to shoulder it because the alternative has her wanting to throw up with the vertigo.

No. Nope. We are not doing that Sasha Petrov. You will keep a grasp upon what very little pride you might still have left.

If her life had a narrator this is the part where they would say : she did not in fact have any pride left. And if she did it probably got lost some where in between:

"Ohmygodthisisnothowanyofthiswassupposedtogo. Хуй. Imcrazy. Ilooklikeacrazywoman. imnot. iswearimnot. IdidnotleavethehousethismorningthinkingheySASHAweshouldWALKoutintoTRAFFIC! Ruinthiscompletelylovelymansmorningandput-h-his--"

Every record in the entire world could have scratch in this moment and it would not have held a candle to the harshness of Sasha's own mind coming to a screeching and immediate halt. Hands coming up to cover her mouth as she finally looks back up at her rescuer. The horror showing clearly in her gaze. Even as it really dawns on her that not only is he bigger in person but his eyes are much brighter. Like something caught between sea foam and evergreens. Its a wide range she knows that. Its why she thought it. Or well, will later--its complicated.

"Oh no! Your bike! Oh no...no no no. Oh I'm so sorry I---"

Hands move to her cheeks as she turns to look at the beautiful thing set funny from the sidewalk. Trying to see something upon it that would cause it irrevecapable damage. She doesn't know the first thing about motorcycles accept that they're pretty to look at and her father would kill her if she ever got on one. Not that that had stopped a day dream or two about doing that exact thing from happening. Especially that summer in the French countryside.

"Is it...is it broken? Oh gods please tell me its fixable? I'll...I'll pay for repairs...or i guess my insurance will?"

One thing that nobody knows about him is that Eliot has... well his mama calls it the Sight. Not clairvoyance in the way that new age hippies who pay twelve dollars for a pound of pine nuts think. Eliot doesn't see the future or anything like that. But he does have an awareness of the more magical things in the world. He's always been able to see through magic, though he hasn't tested it out on more than granny magic between Appalachia and Eastern Europe. The magics in the Middle East and Asia worked differently, but Eliot can still get a feel for them to a degree. Enough that he knows when they're there. The Sight has gotten him into and out of trouble before. He doesn't have much else in the way of magic, but the Sight has always been enough for him.

So when the woman he's following appears in double, Eliot knows there's more to her. He isn't sure what yet, has never seen hair as ethereal and silver before, but he knows she isn't the blonde she appears to be. It's enough that he decides to follow her closer, to watch her every move. He's on the hunt for a crystal violin, and, seeing this woman, he's positive that there's more magic to the violin than he originally thought. That does complicate things, if only because Eliot only carries the charms and hexes that his mama made, and mama only knows the kind of magic you learn over a cauldron in the kitchen, something he has a feeling won't work out here. He thinks he should have brought his other magic with him, the things older than the trees, spells he got in places he wishes he could forget. But he doesn't have them, so he'll have to be especially careful.

He follows her to the pickup, watching through a window as she touches the violin he practically can't see for all the magic wrapped around it. That violin is exactly what he's been sent after, but, seeing the woman hold it, Eliot's almost tempted to call the job a wash. Anything that fits so well as that violin does with a person must belong to them, and he has a feeling that this woman and this violin were made for each other. He's a criminal, but even he hesitates to separate two things that so obviously belong together.

Still, he follows her when she leaves, stays in the shadows as she travels through the city. He would lose her for her height if he couldn't see through the magic that conceals her true nature. She glows like a beacon in front of him as he follows her, only peripherally paying attention to the world around him. No one else is following her, and that is what matters. Eliot can work with magic as long as he doesn't have other distractions.

He doesn't blink at the heavily woven spells around the building she leads him to. It glows almost as brightly as she does as he follows her inside, revealing a night club that Eliot doesn't doubt is full of magical creatures. Everything and everyone in here glows so bright that he loses his target in the heavy magic, can't find her when his vision suddenly clears. He has no idea where she's gone to, but he knows he has to find her. He needs that violin.

Why they don't notice they will blame later on the excitement. The way they shine brighter than they ever had on the street. The fur coat taken almost automatically by something or someone that blends into and back out of reality. The case with the violin hugged close as they take to the air. A streak of silver dust that rains down up the dancers on the pit floor.

Ira relishing in the sensation of the thrumming music moving through them and their wings. They land a moment later perfectly upon the second floor. And that is about as far as luck takes them before...

Ήρα, πού ήσουν! [Ira where have you been?!]

"Мы ходим, куда хотим." [We go where we please.]

Το έχουμε συζητήσει αυτό, αν θέλεις να βγείς έξω, πάρε τουλάχιστον έναν από εμάς μαζί σου! [We've talked about this if you want to go out you take at least one of us with you!]

"Да ладно, Сайлас. Война закончилась, опасности не было. Мы далеко не ушли. А теперь нас всё ещё развлекают?" [Oh enough, Silas. The war is over there was no danger. We did not go far. Now are we still entertained?]

Δεν θα σου λείψει η Άρι. Αμφιβάλλω αν ξέρουν καν πού βρίσκονται αυτή τη στιγμή. Η Αθέα έδειξε τον εαυτό της. [Ari will not miss you. I doubt they even know where they are right now. Athea showed herself.]

Хорошо. Тогда я уйд--- [Good. Then we shall lea---]

They notice it a fraction of a second before theirself appointed guardian. A fraction of a second that ends up being the very thing that probably saved the human's life let alone mental state. Its quick and faster than they even considers the intruder could move because humans can't. Four flesh formed gargoyles cutting through the crowd like sharks. All four headed in one direction. Half a heart beat more and they would be on him. And perhaps half of that half they give the human closer look. Something reflective along this man's edges something not---

"Успокойтесь!" [BE STILL]

It booms louder than the music. Music that dies in the wake of the ear splitting command. The precious cargo in their hands held closer for a second before it is turned over to Silas for safe keeping. They themselves alighting to the ground. The crowd dazzled by the spell they cast unknowingly moving out of their way. Sharp silver boring holes into this human that clearly wasn't supposed to be here. They saw no marking no claim by any other being. And perhaps they take further advantage of the opportunity presented.

Fingers that flit in the direction of the gargoyles that had cut off any exit. The human shaped beings taking a singular step back. Ira stepping forward. Head tilted at perhaps a slightly awkward angle as though they have never laid eyes upon something of the man's make. They circles him once, a singular sniff. Oh this one is strange isn't he? This one smells of green things and that tar that humans call asphalt. Smells like nature but not the forgiving kind. Some kind of overgrown dwarf? A mix between? No no. Something else. Something more magical than dwarves could ever be. Something...something--an internal scoff. They can't decide not with all these eyes on them.

Мы могли бы просто спросить об этом. [We could just ask it.]

A glare shot behind them and up. Silver meeting gold from the balcony.

Мы нашли его, оно наше. Возвращайся в Айви. [We found it its ours. Go back to Athea.]

Очень-очень трогательно. Ладно, мы попробуем, но обещаем поделиться, если нам надоест. Но поторопитесь. Играла наша любимая песня. [Touchie touchie. Fine we will but promise to share if we bore of it. But hurry up. Our favorite song was on.]

A much more annoyed quake of wings, before their attention returns to the not quite human. Silver meets blue with the kind of self importance human queens only wish they could achieve.

"Что ты?" [What are you?]