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    1. (Yes, I'm aware it's posting three times. Unable to solve at this time.) Wood groaned. Slowly, rhythmically, sound muffled across a packed dirt floor. A mixture or orange and golden light flickered around corners and oozed into shadows, bringing with it stifling heat radiating from steam pipes that laced through the building. The iron behemoth was the heart of the building, producing its volcanic temperature beneath the stone and marble of the cathedral above. The creak of wood and rope mingled with the taps and pings of angry steam guided through pipes. Exhale matched the cadence. Rope around his wrist was tied to a rafter, other hand behind his back, ankles crossed to create a controlled, lean line as he pulled himself up repeatedly. Lips formed words, methodically counting each time the cords in his arm strained to complete a pull up and lower himself back to a measured position. Entire body tensed as he squeezed on the last count, dropping to the floor when he let go and his hand slipped from the loop. Stretch to the arm was long and languid, shrugging both shoulders several times before grabbing a towel and wiping down his arms and his neck. There was a sheen to his skin from the intense heat of the room. The fire magus did sweat with exertion; it just took a hell of a lot. He’d turned the boiler room into his own space specifically for that, filling it with rudimentary strengthening basics to push himself past the point of being a weapon. He’d surpassed that, and come to terms with his conscience, and choices. He was violent, he was built for it; to kill without guilt, complete actions that could change the course of the world. The difference was now… he made those calls. Cracking the seal on his water bottle, it was tipped up, drinking the entire bottle. Watch was picked up off the tiny table in the far corner from the boiler, checking the time. Both were set down, fingers wandering over the athame in its sheath on the table. Head lifted to look over his shoulder before he heard the first tap. Smile slid over his features and he put on his watch and athame, sliding on his hoodie and stuffing the empty water bottle in his pocket. Stairs upward were taken two at a time to meet his morning delivery. Paper, caffallatte and fette biscotti from his favorite café before a shower, a change and beginning his morning duties at seven am sharp.
    2. March 1st 7pm New York, Unknown Earbuds were something she rarely wore. Her focus had to be so precise when she was working on her glass, somehow this evening the sounds of cellos playing heavy metal made her more intent. Hair was pulled up and piled high on her head, a small lock was tickling her cheek. Narrowed eyes were trying to ignore it, a whiff of breath from her lower lip trying in vain to get it from her skin. Spacers were set aside and she sat back, pulling her hair down to re-twist and pull it back again. The project was coming along, spending time at her work table was not something she had done a lot of in the last month. She’d been meaning to finish the stained glass repair from the café door window for a while now, tonight had given her the opportunity. The shop was slow, after Valentine’s day. Quiet, evening rush over. Perfect. Heels of her black ballet flats hitched up on the rung of her stool. Elbows on the workbench, her chin came to rest on her hands as she stared at it, deciding what to do next. Eyes flicked up at the light that signaled the front door had opened, going back to studying all the colored pieces laid out. Fingernail played with one of the aquamarine studs in her ear, sliding down to twirl the long pendant with her finger. Jesse’s head peeked in, *npc* “Detective Stanford stopped in.” She looked up, pulling out the earbuds. He wasn’t a stranger. Sometimes he checked in just to make sure things were okay and get free coffee, which she was fine with for any law enforcement types, sometimes he was following up on shoplifters and such. Nothing like that had been an issue of late. Just saying hi probably. “I’ll be out in a sec.” She slid off the stool, black worn button up cardigan sleeves pulled back down and wrapped around her a bit closer. It was chilly for some reason, and the deep aqua blue cami wasn’t doing much to help even though she’d layered it over a black one. Earbuds were popped out of her phone and she wound them up and dropped them on the work bench. Phone in her back pocket. He was rifling through one of the leather bound blank journals she sold as she stepped out. The older gentleman had been around for about five years or so, he knew her and the area fairly well. Was a cop somewhere else in the city before this position, but she didn’t know where. *npc* “Sorry to bug you so late, was gonna call but then remembered you don’t drive so thought I’d save you the trouble.” “Coffee?” she asked. He set the journal down, shaking his head. *npc* “Not this time, thanks.” “You pick that up every time you come here. I think it has your name on it.” He smiled, then nodded. *npc* “Sorry to bug you in the evening. We arrested a guy a few days ago, had some interesting things on him. Found one of these tags in the bunch.” He held up the journal and tapped the price tag with the store name on it before putting it down. *npc* “Think he might have been stealing from here, thought you might want to come down and take a look at the stuff.” Brow furled. Great. She hadn't been in the shop as religiously since the holidays. Not as many eyes to watch the place. Jesse was closing, and it was unlikely to pick up. She could do that. “Sure, as long as I get a ride home.” Cars had been elusive. What she wanted and what she could afford seemed to be two entirely different things. Ballet flats were slipped off and replaced with an older pair of black biker boots. They were more feminine and the older they got, the softer the leather became and they had begun to slouch. They were easier to wear over tighter jeans, and they were comfy. Leather jacket. Scarf… she was so fucking ready for winter to be over. Phone was pulled, a quick text to Ryan, just because. “Hey, I had a Detective Stanford come by to take me down to the local precinct. Happens once and a while when they find stolen items, he's our usual guy. Shouldn’t be long, he’ll bring me home so I don’t have to catch the subway… see you soon.” Phone back in her pocket, she checked in with Jesse and went out the front door. There was someone else in the passenger seat, a face she didn’t know. *npc* “Rorye, this is Detective Fields, apparently I’m getting old and I have to train my replacement,” he said as he opened the passenger rear door for her and then slid into the driver’s seat. She rubbed snow from her eyelashes as she got in and he closed the door. It was getting bad out. “Nice to meet you Fields,” she held her hand over the seat and he reached behind and shook it. “You’re not old Stanford, maybe they just have more money to hire more help.” He laughed. Settling back in, she fussed with the seat belt. She hated the fucking things, but she hated cars too. Stifling. She felt like she was in a cage, and she was getting one. Joy. From the limited driving she’d done, it was a little different when you were actually in control of the thing. *npc-Fields* “I’ll get the heat up.” Stanford was playing with a Cantigo as he drove, taking a long drink. They didn’t even make those anymore. Lucky bastard. Traffic was light, the snow was managing to keep everyone home. She recognized the shortcut, looking down for several moments as she discretely pulled out her phone. It just didn’t… turning the screen brightness down all the way, she hit the text with her thumb. *Another detective in the car. Fields. Doesn’t feel right. Will send location.* She looked up, trying to find the streets, not able to read the signs that were coated in ice. Shortcut had become somewhere she didn't recognize. No immediate traffic. She turned in the seat to look out the back window, forearm wiping the condensation that lingered in between the defroster lines. Stanford looked at her in the rear view. *npc-Stanford* “Rorye, just relax.” She sat, muscles tense. “Stop the car,” her voice left no room for argument. *npc-Fields* “Relax. You’ll be fine.” Seat belt unlocked and she slid to the center of the seat. “Stop the car,” it was the only chance she would give them. Everything spun through her head at once. All the training, all the work, all the advice... and the mantra every girl had drilled into their brain from birth screaming through her thoughts. Never let them take you to a second location. *npc-Stanford* “Rorye, it’s okay. They said they just want to talk.” She spun in the seat, kicking the window until it cracked. Fields turned in his seat, the muzzle of the gun very real. *npc-Fields* “I will not hesitate to shoot you in the fucking face. Sit. Down.” Standford looked panicked. *npc-Stanford* “This was not the deal.” She slid next to the rear driver’s side door, putting the seat belt on. His gun stayed trained on her. She knew exactly how to disarm him, but there were too many variables. The weather. The streets. The traffic. She would have to plan this. “Where are we going,” she asked quietly. Her eyes were on him, but her attention on the traffic. She'd absorbed the way he held it, where it was aimed. Slightly over her left ear. He had trigger discipline. She was faster than this man's ability to fire an aimed shot, but she couldn't bank on Stanford's reaction and she'd be the only one not in a seat belt if they crashed. They were going too fast, and she wouldn't risk getting hit with an airbag unrestrained. If she was unconscious it would be for nothing. Headlights on the passenger side and a lone intersection were coming up, readying to kick the back of Standford’s seat as hard as she could. She finally knew this intersection, she knew where to go once she was out. Stanford looked up at her for a moment as if he almost knew, and that was all it took for the world to spin out of control. He blew the stop sign on purpose, Fields and his gun turned away from her at the sound of the horn blare. The nauseating sensation of weightlessness that she knew would end in pain spun through the car as the other vehicle slammed into Fields' passenger front door. The sound of glass and metal erupted, reverberating through her bones. Then silence.
    3. October 29th 2022 Eris' Compound She was looking up into a light golden glow in the window through a haze of illuminated gray. Mouse had retrofitted the windows in her office with the same light shields her plane had. The girl was a genius. The effect was much like a fogged over moon in the midst of a bright night; she couldn’t quite reconcile she was actually staring at the sun through the window and not be on fire. Ahanu cleared her throat softly and the viceroy blinked out of her contemplation. *npc* Does it bother you at all? She shook her head, going back to the business on her desk, handing her assistant and bodyguard several leather folders to take care of. “Only because it seems so strange to look at after all these years. I don’t think the world realizes how disorienting it is to never see the sun. It doesn't bother me physically,” she said quietly, picking up the Bakkhos invitation in the next small stack of things she didn’t feel like taking care of. “Decline this please.” She handed it off as well. She hated parties. She hated gatherings. Fuck, she just hated people. *npc* You should go. Ahanu tossed the invitation back on the desk. “…and you should stop dating Roderick, but we can't always have everything we want can we?” Words were a bit vicious as she signed her name on a few other items and slipped them into another leather portfolio, ignoring any reaction from her associate. *npc* Maybe you’ll meet someone there too. Might chill you out a little. Lips pressed together, the viper knowing it was a fair swipe. Dark eyes looked up at her. Only here, in this space, did Ahanu ever dare question her. It was welcomed sometimes, it knocked her back out of her neverending drive when she needed it. This was one of those times. “You have every right to be happy,” she placed down the pen and leaned back in her chair, hands on the arms as one leg slid quietly over the other. “Just not at the expense of Nation security. You have to be more careful what you say. You’ve been to Glamis, you know the risks. You’ve seen what happens when we step over the line. Bakkhos is not our friend. If we are seen there, it calls into question the relationship between us and them.” *npc* In a way, that’s good… correct? You being seen there, Adrian can’t question you’ve done what they’ve expected of you. He just doesn’t realize Bakkhos also knows. Eyes fell to her desk a moment. “Being seen at Thyrsus and their clubs while repairing the fallout from the Bloodmoon was enough,” lashes flicked back up to her. “Being seen too much calls to question that it isn’t just a business relationship.” *npc* So what, Ausar doesn’t question your loyalty. “But Adrian does.” Ahanu looked at her a moment, there was more there than the Viceroy was divulging. There always was, but this was more personal. *npc* You’re concerned about retaliation from Adrian, more than just his usual bullshit. “Yes,” her voice was a bit harsh. She didn’t have to say a word for her perceptive right hand to confirm her suspicions. *npc* Why didn’t you say anything. “It wasn’t relevant.” *npc* It is now. You’re afraid he’ll fucking smash Bakkhos if he thinks you’re too attached to them. The Sheut kneaded her temples a moment. *npc* He doesn't want you associated with anyone but us... that’s why he absolutely lost his shit when he thought Reid… Eyes snapped up, the weight of their ferocity halting Ahanu’s thought in its tracks. *npc* He's treating you like property. You are the last person I ever thought would let someone screw with you like this. Take it to Ausar. “No, this is a personal matter.” *npc* Take. It. To. Ausar. “NO!” she stood, force of her hand smacking the desk making even the floor shudder. “Ausar doesn’t need to hear about our fucking personal problem!” *npc* He didn’t put you here to be micromanaged by a jealous asshole! ...wait, this isn't just about being associated and seen with Bakkhos is it? You don't want to be seen with Gallo. Ahanu glared at her with suspicious eyes, the stand off terse as the Viceroy's silence left much unanswered, but confirmed at least some points. Eris sat again, fingers pinching the bridge of her nose. *npc* For god’s sake, what are you in this position for for then? Signing papers, ferrying rich people and Nation back and forth, watching over us and Bakkhos? What are you doing it for? Christ, do something for yourself for once other than buy designer shoes and sit in here by yourself. Ahanu snatched the invitation from the desk and took the other portfolios as she made her exit. The Sheut sat there a moment, eyes finally opening to look at her cell on the desk. She needed to cancel herself, in case Ahanu did something stupid. Picking it up, she dialed her favorite local stylish Were, leaving a message. “I appreciate the Bakkhos invitation, but I will unfortunately have to decline. I wish you the best with your event.” Phone snapped shut and was tossed on the desk, sliding over more business in front of her. She had quite a bit more to go, and a party wasn't in the cards... neither was making anyone a target from her presence. Bakkhos had always been a target, one she had softened the blow for considerably. Thomas, would be collateral damage if someone got irritated in the wrong way, then Bakkhos would follow and all her work and risk would have been for nothing. Protecting her motley band of outcasts from constant Nation threat was easier because they were always with her. Thomas wasn't. She couldn't protect him... but that was why she'd picked him right? Because he could protect himself? Ausar had put her there because he trusted her. Maybe it wasn't just that. Had he meant some other outcome besides stabilizing New York? She didn't fucking know, and she had other things to do than try to figure out his mind...
    4. Rorye's Loft above The Book of Kells 2am March 8th, 2022 Braedyn snorted a breath at her, the older of her two brothers outside the ring in the corner, arms draped over the ropes. Frayed bleach white towel over his shoulder had blood on it, hers. *npc* “C’mon Barra, you should’ve finished this git by now!” Term of endearment for her didn't hide he was impatient, and disappointed. Rorye pulled herself up for the umpteenth time from the mat and tried to find her footing. The strong, lithe form wobbled a bit but came to a resilient stance as her arms came back up. Gloves returned to their guard. Puffy eye hurt, the glance up toward the mirrored glass on the second floor overhang bringing another shake of Braedyn’s head. He ran his fingers through longer dark curls to pull them from his forehead while scanning the other rings and bustle in the gym. Though busy, the gym inhabitants were trying their damnest not to watch the "sparring" match. It was all the buzz, he could feel it. She felt the disappointment, knowing her father was watching from behind the office glass. Finding someone that trained at the gym ballsy enough to go toe-to-toe with the boss’ daughter was rare enough. Actually squaring one that would be willing to kick her ass in front of her father and Rottweiler brothers was a lucky shot. She’d begged him to find someone because she was ready and now when he finally agreed to it, she was getting her ass handed to her. Braedyn called time and waved her over to the corner. Chest heaving, footsteps were stable, expression a bit like a wounded puppy as she moved toward him. He took her mouthguard and gave her water, wiping her eye. She’d have a helluva shiner. *npc* “What the fuck is wrong with you? My sis is having an existential crisis about not kicking a man’s ass because wuh?” Her expression was sullen. *npc* “Is it him?” Braedyn’s dark eyes glanced incredulously at a young man her age near the lockers that was talking to a rather gorgeous blonde. Her brother Brae was born on the Isle, and New York had done nothing to stave the brogue her brothers had; especially the more annoyed they got. Right now it was thick as molasses, the sibling ten years her senior having none of the young man she was obviously crushing on and the girl she was obvious jealous of. School mates for sure, though the man he’d seen here often watching his sister. Brothers bristled at someone chaffing their baby sister’s pride. Braedyn grabbed her chin and turned her face to him. *npc* “Look’a me… iffin’ a man is intimidated by you, he don’t deserve to have you at his side.” She nodded, spitting out the water. He brushed the towel over her brow one more time and nodded back. *npc* “When we go back home to get things in order with mum, we need to know you’re good ‘till we come back. You gonna swoon on a Yankee he better be worthy.” Her eyes had wandered back to the young man, Michael. He’d taken notice, so had the blonde… Genna. Genna not so much of Rorye in the ring, but the fact Michael was no longer paying attention to her flirting. Rorye nodded to her brother and he gave her back her mouthguard. She hated that catty bitch. Useless trophy wife material interested in only his money. She'd made that abundantly clear in high school bathroom "girl meeting" bragging sessions. Returning to the center, squared off and stance together, the fight resumed. Several hard hits were taken, ribs hurt. Whether it was a lucky shot or skill was up for debate; the opening she took advantage of allowing for a brutal assault on her opponent. It wasn’t the ultimate perfect high school movie ending. It was bloody and hard won. Her opponent hit the ropes, lingering there for a moment before he fell and didn’t get up. Chest heaved, gloves felt too heavy to raise so the ref did it for her. Braedyn had come into the ring afterward, wet towel wiping her features. Her father had come down sometime during the end and taken perch in Braedyn’s former spot, as did her brother Callum. Both brothers had the same dark curls in varying lengths. Callum’s was pulled back into a short ponytail, Braedyn’s shorter. She had the look of her father, the expressive eyes and thick mahogany hair that hinted of red in the light. His now twinkled with silver at the temples and was almost always shorn in a high and tight. Intimidating just in stature, his muscled appearance demanded pure respect before he ever spoke a word. The man was a mountain with the heart of a lion. He rarely smiled, self-conscious perhaps about the scar his dimples would accentuate. Half of a Glasgow smile marred his face, able to have broken the men’s necks before they had finished the job. An old scar, it still bothered him. It was a testament to how strong he actually was. He didn’t see it that way. He rarely saw anything the way she did, but she still adored him anyway as daughters did. +++ Lashes fluttered a moment, remaining closed as her body woke up to join her consciousness. Warm, incredibly comfortable. Middle of the night. Living room was dim, fire still flickering in the hearth. Lamp behind her gave off a soft glow, enough to read by. She’d fallen asleep on the couch in her favorite t-shirt and boxers, drifting off with the picture being used as a bookmark in her hand; spurning the dream. Having gone back to the gym to view again what had been disturbed a week prior, the picture was the one thing she’d brought back. Leaning down slightly from her soft couch and blanket she picked up the picture and book that had fallen from her fingers in sleep. Book placed softly on the coffee table, she kept the picture. Expression thoughtful, though a bit melancholy, thumb slid over the faces captured in time. The four of them. She still had the shiner when it was taken. It was the last picture they took before the three of them left to settle her mother’s affairs. It was the last time they were all together. Fingertips wiped at the moisture on her lashes, stinging silent tears. Rorye didn’t cry, but a daughter did. She missed them. More now than ever. Vivid dreams could do that. Voices and faces that felt so real they could be touched, crushed sharply against the reality she could no longer just pick up the phone in the middle of the night when she was missing them. It would be early morning for them. They would be up. They always were. Looking at the back, she had written all their names and the date. Sighing, she dropped it on the coffee table and pulled the fluffy white comforter around her and settled back in to try and sleep. Contemplating seeing if anyone was home she could climb into bed next to, she finally decided against it. Tears brought concern. Concern brought explanations. Explanations sometimes just churned up more hurt. Eyes closed, long exhale to try and let it all go... hoping sleep that could wipe away the crushing loss felt in her chest wouldn't be fleeting.
    5. January 17th Rorye's apartment, Book of Kells 5:30am She'd gotten out of practice, refining each lense to bring the burst of color in the fathomless darkness into focus. It was chilly in the turret room of her upstairs apartments, but the curved glass on the Victorian era window was perfect for the telescope to stare upward at the sky. Early morning, the night was still so deep in the west that she could get an incredible view of the deep violet rip, spatters of stars peeking through. Sensation was always the same as she gazed at it, a deep drawing lust for the depth of color, the wordless whispering at the back of her neck like a lover's breath. It happened every time. It drew her to it, and wasn't sure for the life of her why. Lips pursed to blow across the surface of her hot coffee to cool a bit while she fiddled with the telescope, unfolding her legs from the chair and touching down to the hardwood with bare toes that whispered back to her bedroom to change. Coffee cup clinked on her nightstand after a sip and she pulled off the silky emerald green cami and loose sleep pants that skimmed her calves, tossing them in the corner hamper, carrying the cup into her bathroom and the walk in tile shower. Streams were as hot as she could tolerate. Bruising faded, the sickly pale yellow from impact points still ached, skin and muscle still hard. She tried to knead them out as much as possible during every shower with the heat. It would take a while, especially when the weather was so frigid. Hair was let loose, water slithering over it to ride down painted skin. Palms planted on the wall in front of her, leaning there while the hot water peppered her shoulders. She had to get moving, a significant task to do before Nina came in to open the doors. Other than fixing one of the window panes in the tea house that the extreme cold had cracked. Other than making sure Jesse had the right list of stock to exchange on the shelves. It was the door nobody was allowed to use, past the basement shelter that had been set up after a fucking Were had almost burned down the block. Face lifted to the waterfall, shutting it off and clearing her eyes. Huge white towel was wrapped around her torso and secured, another twisted into her hair. Toothbrush scrubbed white teeth diligently, examining the pale yellow on the side of her neck under her ear where the asshole had been strangling her. Almost gone. Sigh long, rinsing her toothbrush, the soft quirked smile of her lip revealed the good things about that evening were still on her mind. A certain troublemaker and the tattoos he bore. It was because of that, the keys to the massive safe under her shop had been pulled out of another safe in her upstairs apartment over the shop. The things she hid there were that precious, and that dangerous. A terrifying threat to be met with terrifying force. Things she never should have had, but kept regardless for this very reason. She had a feeling she, and he, would need them soon.
    6. St. Patrick's Cathedral Vaults and Catacombs 2-7-22 3am That tiny little thing on those whistles… the plastic… those leather half circles with the tiny piece of metal and a tambour of plastic that you could put on your tongue like a wafer and press to your palate. The high pitched whistle they could squeal was piercing, penetrating through your sinuses like a fire alarm, itching the center of your brain like whipping rain against a window of tissue paper until it popped. It was all he could think, hear, see, feel- that vicious searing sound crescendo through his every sense. Gasp was immediate, the uncontrolled reaction unusual as the world that had spiraled to a pinpoint of focus was broken by some shred of consciousness from somewhere. His hand was on fire, and the dirt floor room was vibrating, fist closing to stave the blood. He snapped the towel from around his neck and swathed it over the flames to extinguish them and muffle the blood that had almost just created something catastrophic. Breath seethed through his teeth at the first look of the split knuckles, then the ancient load bearing beam he’d been hitting. Wood was also spattered with his blood, quickly wiped off as well. His blood was like gasoline. Once he bled, his spark could ignite a firestorm. When his consciousness this time had fallen into seizure and errored, he’d no idea. Meditation was not new to him, physical training and focus were not new to him. Together, was most definitely not new; it was what gave him the intense control he had. This crack was getting bigger, and he was starting to lose longer moments of time. Under recent intense reflection, he had pinpointed it just to before the binding, before he walked into enemy territory of his own free will. His consciousness had bucked even the strongest of cuffs, and ever since then there had been a tiny leak in his brain. Enough to drip over years, testing his patience, his sanity… breaking open a crack that was swiftly destabilizing an already volatile mix of skills and magic. He could see his past so clearly before the Resonance. His hell after. Then numbness as he was a machine, and now. Now was this person he didn’t recognize. He was calculating, and angry. An angel on one shoulder, and a devil on the other. The angel he knew and still loathed, but this devil was seductive and unknown. Now as this person in the deep bowels of the cathedral where even the Vicar didn’t go, he was training again. Why? A deeply thought out plan. Physical training was at the forefront, his specialty was quiet and slick death. He needed to inflict more damage, be able to take more damage. The more damage he took, the crack would split further apart. The more he focused on it, the angrier he became, the angrier he became the more darkness flashed in his field of vision. Somewhere else, something else, and he couldn’t hit hard enough to make it either go away- or find the white rabbit. In the wane electric light of old brick, dirt floors and cement tombs, he just kept hitting, letting the fire flush up from his feet and over his form as his hands fell to his sides and chest heaved before it extinguished. Growl preceded the heels of his hands smacking together and palms thrust forward, the fierce blade of flame from his hands turning almost white as it scorched a brick wall, extinguishing as quickly as his temper tantrum had started. Knees hit the floor and he fell to sit, pushing himself back against the wall with the heels of his Tims. Elbows rested on his knees as he tried to knead the tension out of his skull. It felt like he was splitting apart, and all he wanted was another throat to cut. Or a world to burn.
    7. January 3, 2022 Evening The Book of Kells Occult Shop Lips pursed as she blew out the flame on the Nag Champa stick. The scent was her favorite, it always clung to skin like a sensual swath of warmth... bringing her back to center wherever she was. The smoke curled upward, then spun in a tight coil as she placed it into a gold burner. She lifted tea to her lips, eyes still on the smoke that left her bookshop of the arcane always in a lazy and intoxicating haze. Almost the end of a long day, the regulars in the teashop the next room over were deep into books and late day conversations. She, was on her favorite stool behind the main counter, eyes wandering over the Sky Disc on the wall she'd risked her ass... Alistair's as well, to go retrieve. Her addiction to collecting everything dangerous and powerful hadn't abated, but without her 'partner in crime' the task had been much less fun and a lot more dangerous. Magus had the ability to kick ass. She on the other hand, was just... fast. Enhanced her ass. Lately... she was regretting throwing her hat in with Arma. A lot. The entrepreneur dealt everything to anyone, if they couldn't use it safely that was their business. Arma had kept her straight. Gave her a code to honor. That code hadn't been seen in over a year. Long sigh preceded her rise from the stool, taking her empty tea mug with her as the pillar of Hell's Kitchen went to retrieve another cup. She needed to pay Arma a visit. Soon. Time to sever ties.
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