Encounterlogs
Ashs Odd Encounter Sr Fayad 240810
In a tense and vivid episode beneath the city, the dusky Autumn finds herself in the echoing, dark tunnels of the sewers, determined to dismantle a malevolent charm that was casting malign influence over the townsfolk of Haven. The culprit behind this sorcery, a vampire wisely unmentioned but obviously despised, chose the sewers and a wolf skull as the focal points for her dark enchantment, attracting a mass of frenzied rodents to guard it. Autumn's discovery of the ritual site marks a critical moment in her quest, drawing upon her elemental magic and summoning her fiery familiar, Ifrit, to assist in overcoming the swarm of rodents. Her thoughts reveal a personal vendetta, not just against the enchantment but the idea of shunning those tied to the moon, hinting at deeper layers of conflict within the town and perhaps within herself.
The showdown escalates quickly as Autumn, with sword in hand, attempts to destroy the cursed wolf skull while commanding Ifrit to fend off the oncoming tide of rodents. The swarm, charged with the task of protecting the vile relic, charges with mindless ferocity. In a cavernous chamber where sewer channels converge, creating an arena under the artificial night of the sewer system, the Ifrit's flames cast the only light, flickering against the dark waters and the approaching horde. This battle is more than a physical confrontation; it represents a clash of wills, a defense of heritage, and an attempt to reclaim peace from the clutches of malevolence. Autumn's resolve to end the enchantment and her sentiment towards the wolf skull reveal layers of her character - a person caught between worlds, wielding fire and steel against shadows and curses.
(Ash's odd encounter(SRFayad):SRFayad)
[Fri Aug 9 2024]
In Matt's Room
The decor of this room is rather vibrant, with the walls being painted a burnt orange and the sheets on the occupant's bed likewise being colored orange like the sun, paired with lighter sheets that mimic the pink shades of dawn - a burst of color, to be sure. The blinds are almost always kept open, a light gray blackout curtain with patterns of clouds pushed open and to the sides.
To the side of the comfortable looking bed sits a relatively ornate desk - something likely not brought in by this room's current occupant, and yet here it sits, different and yet not out of place. A couple books sit stacked to the side, while a laptop routinely finds itself placed in the middle, frequently ever-so-slightly off center as if it's often nudged about, while a small mini-fridge is kept just to the side of the desk, humming softly.
It is dusk, about 73F(22C) degrees, and the sky is covered by dark grey stormclouds. It's raining outside.
(Your target is possessed by an angry spirit that is forcing them to act out and putting themselves and/or others at risk. They must either defeat it or find a way to calm it down.
)
Matthew gingerly takes up the painting Ash hands him, his eyes lightening, then taken by a sense of melancholia, and he lets out a sigh, holding it tenderly as he studies it for a moment, a wistful smile appearing ever-so-faintly at the corners of his lips. "It reminds me of someone.", he states quietly, eyes still drifting over the canvas appreciatively. "...Thank you.", he adds on after a long moment of observation, then looking up to give them a brief, but candid smile.
Matthew hears a sudden grunt of anger, the swish of the wind - which is strange considering the wind isn't up at all. His mastery of clairaudience gives him a hint as to what this might be, since he's heard the like before. Something spectral in nature. The blackout curtains in the room flap briefly, as if something'd entered through the window. Whether this is important compared to the thoughtful gift that Ash had given Matthew is up to Matthew, of course.
Ash smiles at Matthew, saying, "Well, it should. It's... much better this way, I feel." Then, there's a moment of silence, as they struggle to figure out what to say next, awkwardly.
Ash seems completely unaware of anything else going on, only glancing at the curtains slightly, before shrugging to themself. Likely the AC, one might suppose.
Matthew's eyes are taken from the painting that he'd been tenderly admiring moments prior, setting it gingerly to his side as he looks to his curtains, the window still propped slightly open with the sound of rain peppering the ambiance, softly exhaling from his nose at something heard. "It's... probably for the best.", he agrees quietly, though seeming ever-so-slightly distracted by something unseen.
Ash glances at Matthew with a slight frown, anxiety breaking the confidence they often try to portray, and doubt following soon after. "Wh-what... what's wrong?" It's clear that they are convinced that his distraction is a response to the painting. Does he not care anymore? Did he think so something else? It's clear on their face - and is followed by a frown, as they look out the window. Irritation is evident on their face.
Matthew is the only one who can hear the guttural growl. "Why do you get to be happy?", an envious, bitter statement as Ash suddenly finds that Ash is filled with a strong sense of anger, of rage, of destructive impulse. A darkness falls upon Ash's eyes from Matthew's perspective before quickly clearing up, although the urge remains - destroy it. Deface the painting. It's not good enough for Matthew. It's pathetic. Why did Ash even think anything made by these hands would be worth appreciation by any other human being? Of course it's not. Ash isn't even human. Ash is a monster. The reason Matthew is so easily distracted is because Matthew doesn't like it anyway.
The demigodling Matthew is the only one who can hear the guttural growl. "Why do you get to be happy?", an envious, bitter statement as Ash suddenly finds that Ash is filled with a strong sense of anger, of rage, of destructive impulse. A darkness falls upon Ash's eyes from Matthew's perspective before quickly clearing up, although the urge remains - destroy it. Deface the painting. It's not good enough for Matthew. It's pathetic. Why did Ash even think anything made by these hands would be worth appreciation by any other human being? Of course it's not. Ash isn't even human. Ash is a monster. The reason Matthew is so easily distracted is because Matthew doesn't like it anyway.
Ash grumbles, stepping forward. "Nevermind, give it back. That's... that's just another moment of *weakness*, thinking that I could get back what made me human. I know I can't, I gave up everything to be this heartless monster - you shouldn't let it give you any hope. Give it *back*."
Ash grumbles, stepping forward. "Nevermind, give it back. That's... that's just another moment of *weakness*, thinking that I could get back what made me human. I know I can't, I gave up everything to be this heartless monster - you shouldn't let it give you any hope. Give it *back*." They hold their hand out to Matthew with a demanding gesture, as anger takes over, self-loathing. (fix)
Matthew blinks, looking over and back to Ash. "N-no.. I..", he begins, before he blinks a few times quickly, exhaling as he looks at Ash, taking the painting back into his hands as if unnerved by an unseen presence. "There's... something here, Ash.", he murmurs, looking over Ash then with some concern as his eyes flit somewhat nervously from the window to the painting, then to Ash. "W-wait.. Why? Y-you said it was for me. And.. I like it.", he states, wrinkling his nose. "If anything it at least gives me something to look at and cherish going forward.", he decides on, a stolid expression given towards Ash. "And.. You.. You're not like that. I know you're not."
Ash looks conflicted a moment, arm lowering a bit at Matthew counters it, saying that he likes it. Their eyes dart from the painting to his face, confused. There's no poker face, the doubt clear. Does he mean that? Will he cherish it? But... anger follows, more questions coming up in their mind that can't be summed up from their facial expression and body language beyond, why? Why? WHY?! "Is that fair? You get to have your happy little ending, and I get... what? Nothing! I get to watch how the world is better without me in it? Safer, happier? Is that fair? Is that the world you gave them up for? So you can enjoy a life with... that asshole, Vik? Or Fawn? Or... anyone else?" There's not much sense here, just anger, pointing fingers, seething. "Give it back, you don't *need* it. I can destroy it, *burn* it, and the world will be better off for it."
It's boiling. Ash's blood is boiling over. Ash gets to be happy? Ash gets to leave happy memories behind? No. That's not the way the world works. That's ESPECIALLY not the way Haven works. Matthew can hear an ephemeral screaming from deep in Ash's core on occasion, about at the sternum, but hasn't the slightest what the source could be from. Unfortunately for Ash, that wrath simply soaks his soul, his emotions, in a red hue. If this is what the great drake felt all the time, it was remarkable how restrained Gonthorian was, as a comparison. The direction changes like the licking tongues of a flame casting out towards the sky. It's all Matthew's fault. Ash can't keep a secret because of Matthew. Weakness? Is that what Ash called it? Yeah. The weakness here was in letting Matthew live. Too much of a temptation. It'd be so easy to just reach out and end Matthew's existance, just like Ash's fellows had urged Ash to do. Or at least cause Matthew to look at him, not with affection or adoration, but with disgust and hate. Ash is no stranger to having relationships destroyed, after all. The little man with the worst luck on the planet had that same expression during Ash's last encounter with Ash, so Ash should try to put on Matthew's face. Right? Right.
Ash looks ready to pounce at Matthew, face twisted by uncontrollable rage. Teeth bared, faint faerie fires growing and glowing as the fire that's burning inside of them starts to rage out of control. They leap onto the bed, arm aimed at Matthew's throat - and then they freeze. Something's not right. Something isn't right.
Ash remains in that position, conflict in them as their arm trembles, hand in a claw, so close to Matthew's throat.
Matthew stands up tall from his bed, looking down on Ash - there's a glint of something in his eyes at that moment - pity, perhaps - or condescension, or confidence, or arrogance, or maybe even nostalgia - or perhaps all of those. His eyes stare towards them with an exhalation from his nose. "You have the ending that you wanted. You chose to leave. I would never stop you.", he replies steadily, looking at Ash - and then Ash leaps at him, and he exhales - unmoving and yet he seems to expect them to actually go for him, and he watches quietly, fixed, unfrightened as a stone. "You know that's not what you want.", he consoles them in a gentle tone, and yet there's firmness in that tone of his as well.
Double-edged, hate is a blade that cuts deep. Of course Matthew doesn't want to stop Ash. Matthew never actually wanted Ash to begin with. Ash knows of the fae, of their terrible lineage. The lineage Ash shares. What is Ash compared to the scion of a God? Just a toy. When the toy walks away, there's simply another to play with. Is there a single demigod in this town that lacks for playmates? Some people have all the luck, with their fluids being literally revitalizing. Meanwhile, Ash gets to be at fear of being captured and tormented, taken advantage of for the blessing Ash can provide like a bottled djinn. How dare Matthew look down at Ash. How dare Matthew condescend so heavily. Standing there, so tall, like a tower - a tower that deserves to be felled. A tree that deserves to be cut. When wrath passes, only ashes remain. Let's sift through them together, insists the alien rage in the corner of Ash's brain.
Ash hisses, "This is *not* what I wanted. I wanted you to *come with me*, Matt! That's what I wanted. But, I don't get to have a happy ending, do I? Ever since I moved here, I've been nothing but a puzzle piece, moved from one hand to another. I gained freedom, but it cost me so much, Sunshine. Why couldn't I just have... a happy life? Find love, study in school, explore? I wanted to go to Paris, Matty. And yet, look at me? *Look at me!* Instead, I'm... I'm...." They choke off, confusion still on their face. But the rage remains. It fills them with an unrestrainable urge to *destroy* and *kill*, and their face says it clearly: Matthew deserves it. He's the one who should die. "You were always too good for me. I knew it from the beginning. I could never have happiness, because I never deserved it. My father knew it, I was a monster that needed to be controlled, and tamed, so he taught me that... the only way I'm worth *anything* is in obedience. But... I'm not worth anything, *anyways*." Then, the hand goes for their own throat... but that won't do. They glance around, then their eyes alight on the mirror. That. That *will* do. They get up, rushing over, the lightning flash making them a monster of light and shadow as they reach back to punch it.
"You... You wanted me.. to be free. That's what you told me.. Just as you said.. what you did would make you free, too.", Matthew begins slowly, drawing his arms close with a hurt expression, before he stares quietly listening to Ash, a stern look down. "That's bullshit.", he states quietly. "You had happiness... Even if it was for just a moment, I knew it was there. You.. You told me how happy you were. And even if it was just for a short time, it was... Something to be cherished, to be remembered.", he decides on, stepping to stand behind Ash in the mirror just as the sun catches the edge of the horizon, though likely hidden by the veil of stormclouds. He looks concerned more than anything that Ash might try to hurt themselves, and he stands poised as if ready to act to prevent that from happening.
Ash tries to break the mirror to do just that - but this isn't an action movie, and they're not physically powerful. Their knuckles hit the mirror, and there's nothing but bruises. They growl, and punch at it again and again, unless Matthew stops them. They seem frustrated at the lack of weapons in this place. Then, the words catch up to them. They frown, face scrunched up. "I-i... I *was* happy... and I... I wanted freedom. I... why can't I just cherish that? Why can't I just keep that, and move forward?" They look up at themself, in the mirror, and seem surprised, not recognizing their face. Then, they look at Matthew, and the expression on their face seems lost. Begging for help. "What's wrong with me?"
Matthew quietly regards Ash as they punch at the mirror, exhaling quietly as their knuckles -thunk- against the magically coated glass before giving them a gentle - but firm - tug at their collar, pulling them away from it in attempt to give them some reprieve from this instance of self-inflicted pain. "There's nothing wrong with you, J- Ash.", Matthew begins, before correcting himself, letting out a sigh, before his eyes flit to Ash's sternum where that screaming originated. "Of the bad.. the anger.. I often find it's... best to let go of such things, keeping the best of what we had.. and discarding our.. anger, that rage.. It doesn't do anything productive. It just.. eats, tears, rends at you.. And.. well, that doesn't really do anything for you, or for me, or for anyone, now does it?", he reasons, before gently releasing them and holding his arms out to them as if offering a hug. "Well? What do you think of that?", he wonders lightly, expression appraising and yet concerned, as if unsure of how they might react next and yet hopeful.
Everything's wrong with Ash. Who hates themselves so much that they discard their identity? Their very body? Not even Ash's father would recognize Ash now. Was losing everything and starting over, and then finding out the grass really isn't greener on the other side, not worth being angry about?
Ash stares a moment at Matthew, the spirit of fury still within them, driving them forward to hurt, to destroy, to kill. And then, their own soul, which urges them to take what's offered, more than the words spoken. Both things tell them to lunge at Matthew, to grab him, and so they do - but they lack the strength to harm him, on multiple levels. They squeeze him, but they can't crush his organs, let alone even a bruise, so it becomes a hug. Fingers digging into his back, but their nails are short, and they can't even scratch him. They're weak, especially without a weapon, and that weakness washes over them, leaving them embracing Matthew as if he were their only lifeline, instead of throttling them. They aren't even able to do as the rage demands, they're ineffectual. Their shoulders shake, and they clutch at Matthew's shirt as they cry, tears of frustration, rage, self-loathing, and helplessness.
Matthew holds Ash tightly, as if comforting a friend in time of need - none of the rage has taken him... And then he begins to glow, dim at first, and then brighter, as if a second sun had entered the room. "You've been taken by a presence. I command it gone.", he dictates - there's firmness in that tone, conviction, almost as if that confidence came from elsewhere. "I know it's not you, Ash.", he murmurs, swaying slightly even as their fingernails dig into his back somewhat - the guy's tough enough that that seems to bother him not at all. "Let your rage perish, as the old you did. Take the good memories, and release the rest.", he states as if encouraging, the glow dimming before ebbing away. "Let anger die, that some semblance of joy might live."
Ash shudders as they sob into Matthew's chest, hatred and anger flagging, unconsciously rebuffing and rebuking the spirit now that they're wrapped in his warmth. "I love when you sway like that... when you wiggle your shoulders... your stimming and your bright, shining smile. It fills me with such joy...." They sigh, Matthew's voice soothing them, and they nod, agreeing with him, murmuring, "Joy might live...."
The screaming within Ash intensifies, and the voice replies to Matthew, the demigod able to hear the whims of spirits even if he cannot lay eyes upon their ectoplasmic forms. "You do not command me, mortal. No one commands me! I *AM* Rage! I, who died, and yet live, and will never rest until those who did this to me lie in shallow graves. Why should anyone be happy when you exist in such a world?!", it demands, bringing the argument to a less physical form thanks to Matthew's complete control over Ash's corporeal form. And then, it works Ash's mouth, making the possession obvious. Ash states, in a tone not their own yet clearly the voice, "Hate is the only thing strong enough to survive death."
Ash is cut off, unaware somehow of how the spirit of Rage takes over them, controlling them. Their body tenses, as if to push Matthew away, but they couldn't even if they truly, actually wanted to. Instead, they are possessed, screaming and raving as they try to let Matthew's calm free them.
Matthew's expression lightens somewhat as Ash speaks to him, nodding quietly to his initial sentiment - and then the spirit screams back at him, which catches his attention, eyes narrowing with frustration - and then the spirit forces Ash to speak, and he goes somewhat cold in expression. "You torment those who had nothing to do with your death; your rage is unduly placed.", he asserts headily. "Unhand my friend or I will personally see to your removal from this world - if not myself, then perhaps one of my colleagues.", he states. "Your justice will be served in time. If you wish it to happen sooner, find -them-. Your rage is petulant and misdirected."
Hissing in return, it works Ash's mouth to give the ominous statement, "Justice is only born from rage!"
"Justice is born from reason and the will to enact it in the world.", Matthew counters dismissively, eyes narrowed even as he holds Ash tightly. "Let Ash go.", he states, still assertive as before.
With a wrathful, dismissive snort, the spectre vanishes, and Ash can feel the white-hot core of rage in Ash's center dissipating, slowly, the energy and adrenaline vanishing to Ash's extremities which tremble with its passing before it is gone.
Ash screams, clutching tightly at Matthew before falling near limp, worn out by the force of the exorcism. They sigh, exhausted, ready to fall but for Matthew keeping them up.
Matthew breathes steadily, but hastily, adrenaline clearly flowing through his system as he holds Ash up even as they scream, closing his eyes to listen as the spectre ebbs away, letting out a quiet sigh, eyes drifting concernedly on the now limp Ash as he takes on the task of keeping them up before lifting them effortlessly and placing them gingerly on the bed like someone would pick up a small bag or a mug, eyes drifting towards the window then. "...You going to be okay..?", he asks them quietly, evidently just concerned that they're doing alright after a literal spirit of wrath possessed them and made them to act.
Ash closes their eyes, as if planning to go to sleep, and there's a moment of pause. Then, they nod. "Yeah... if you can't hold on, hold on." They sigh, opening their eyes again, sitting up. "I feel like shit... what happened? I just remember getting... so angry... at you... and at myself. Mostly myself...." They avoid looking at Matthew, instead looking down at their knees and rubbing dry their face.
Unfortunately for Ash's state of mind, they would be quite aware that a spectre focused on a specific emotion can rarely command others - their occult knowledge is enough to give Ash the know-how to ascertain that everything stated by them was inspired by, not ordered by, the rage of the ghost. In other words, the emotion was there, but it could only summon thoughts that were adjacent to it, that were already inside Ash. Matthew may gain this wisdom from Ash if Ash is in the shape to explain, but for now, their spooky encounter seems to be over - what a dreadful timing it had, to ruin such a poignant moment.
"A ghost happened. I think..?", Matthew states, before squinting as if somehow unsure, before giving a lackadaisical lift of his shoulders. "Aaaaaaanyway. It was -pissed-. And it made you pissed. Buuuut, like, it's not personal or anything.", he says, giving a little dismissive wave of his hand, before he tacks on, "...right?", with a little flit of his brows, exhaling from his nose, scratching idly at his neck.
It seems that a friend of dogs and wolves alike has taken it upon themselves to end the enchantment that is currently spun over the seaside town of Haven. The question then is how does Autumn intend to do as much, and what does she know? The next more pressing question is whether or not she could succeed.
Autumn has been searching the sewers beneath Rosie's Diner, all geared up while she attempts to sense any sign of a charm using her magical energy.
It's dark down here, beneath the flesh of the city. Where the spiralling tunnels of the sewers weave beneath like veins and arteries. The nervous system of the town. Thankfully Autumn's gaze is enhanced by her blood, and thus she isn't entirely blinded. Hearing is another thing all together, as the added floodwaters of the endless rains have caused the sewers to near reach their limit. The roar of the water echoes in this small space.
Pursing her lips, Autumn glances at her phone and then looks back ahead as she puts her device away. "She should have been turned to dust," she mutters, walking down the sewer walkway and looking around. "Would have been less problems like this..."
Murder is an easy solution to most problems, that's true. Though rarely employed by the Order- that being said, Autumn isn't your average Order member, is she? She's torn between various loyalties. She wanders deeper into the tunnels, where it slowly but surely grows darker and darker yet as the light fails to quite reach down this deep. It isn't long before her exploration is accompanied by the chittering of rodents, growing in volume as she walks.
With one hand reaching for the backpack strapped behind her back, Autumn pauses upon the sound of the chittering sewer dwellers before she continues her path. "To make people shun those tied to moon, it would lead to vengeance from opposed," the dusky woman speaks under her breath. "I will stop her nonsense."
Yes. Causing people to shun the wild, dangerous werewolves is the peak of nonsense.
Autumn continues to venture deeper into the place, using her attunement with the elemental plane and it's various magics to guide her toward the source of this enchantment. As she gets closer, and closer yet, the sound of the critters grows louder, until eventually she comes upon a more open space, where various sewer channels meet. There is a mass of rodents here, driven mad, and crawling all over each other, as they swarm about an object that isn't quite clear as of yet.
Arriving at the space, Autumn stops when she spots the rodents and hums a bit. "Funny how she thought sewers was good idea," she muses before approaching the mass. Lifting her left hand, she makes a gesture and her hand bracelet's runes begin to glow red-orange as she points towards the rodents.
There's a rather charitable reaction to Autumn's use of magic, as the rodents twist and turn and flee away from her, skittering away from the increased heat and indeed the danger of an intruder. It is dark down here, in the sewers. An endless night. Perhaps that is why the vampire chose this place as her focus point.
As the rats retreat the object in the centre becomes readily apparent. A wolf skull, engraved with various runes and symbols. Though Autumn doesn't get long to consider it. There's a louder chittering from one of the many tunnels. A warning perhaps.
"Come, Ifrit," Autumn chants under her breath for her familiar. "Guard me while I deal with cursed thing." As a puff of black smoke appears in thin air, the woman pulls out her massive blade and points it towards the wolf skull. "To wolves, using skull is already desecration."
The spirit burns into life, spreading flames and light in the small space, and revealing an absolute swarm of rodents. They charge toward Autumn and her familiar, attempting to prevent her from undoing the ritual!
Without any talent in ritualism herself, Autumn is forced to approach this task with what skills she does have. When all you have is a hammer, all problems are nails, after all.
As the smoke subsides to reveal her glowing, fiery-winged salamander, Autumn readies her blade as she commands, "Ifrit, subdue these rat!" While she approaches the wolf skull, the salamander lets out a hiss before it starts flying around the demoness and spewing fireballs out of its mouth.
The showdown escalates quickly as Autumn, with sword in hand, attempts to destroy the cursed wolf skull while commanding Ifrit to fend off the oncoming tide of rodents. The swarm, charged with the task of protecting the vile relic, charges with mindless ferocity. In a cavernous chamber where sewer channels converge, creating an arena under the artificial night of the sewer system, the Ifrit's flames cast the only light, flickering against the dark waters and the approaching horde. This battle is more than a physical confrontation; it represents a clash of wills, a defense of heritage, and an attempt to reclaim peace from the clutches of malevolence. Autumn's resolve to end the enchantment and her sentiment towards the wolf skull reveal layers of her character - a person caught between worlds, wielding fire and steel against shadows and curses.
(Ash's odd encounter(SRFayad):SRFayad)
[Fri Aug 9 2024]
In Matt's Room
The decor of this room is rather vibrant, with the walls being painted a burnt orange and the sheets on the occupant's bed likewise being colored orange like the sun, paired with lighter sheets that mimic the pink shades of dawn - a burst of color, to be sure. The blinds are almost always kept open, a light gray blackout curtain with patterns of clouds pushed open and to the sides.
To the side of the comfortable looking bed sits a relatively ornate desk - something likely not brought in by this room's current occupant, and yet here it sits, different and yet not out of place. A couple books sit stacked to the side, while a laptop routinely finds itself placed in the middle, frequently ever-so-slightly off center as if it's often nudged about, while a small mini-fridge is kept just to the side of the desk, humming softly.
It is dusk, about 73F(22C) degrees, and the sky is covered by dark grey stormclouds. It's raining outside.
(Your target is possessed by an angry spirit that is forcing them to act out and putting themselves and/or others at risk. They must either defeat it or find a way to calm it down.
)
Matthew gingerly takes up the painting Ash hands him, his eyes lightening, then taken by a sense of melancholia, and he lets out a sigh, holding it tenderly as he studies it for a moment, a wistful smile appearing ever-so-faintly at the corners of his lips. "It reminds me of someone.", he states quietly, eyes still drifting over the canvas appreciatively. "...Thank you.", he adds on after a long moment of observation, then looking up to give them a brief, but candid smile.
Matthew hears a sudden grunt of anger, the swish of the wind - which is strange considering the wind isn't up at all. His mastery of clairaudience gives him a hint as to what this might be, since he's heard the like before. Something spectral in nature. The blackout curtains in the room flap briefly, as if something'd entered through the window. Whether this is important compared to the thoughtful gift that Ash had given Matthew is up to Matthew, of course.
Ash smiles at Matthew, saying, "Well, it should. It's... much better this way, I feel." Then, there's a moment of silence, as they struggle to figure out what to say next, awkwardly.
Ash seems completely unaware of anything else going on, only glancing at the curtains slightly, before shrugging to themself. Likely the AC, one might suppose.
Matthew's eyes are taken from the painting that he'd been tenderly admiring moments prior, setting it gingerly to his side as he looks to his curtains, the window still propped slightly open with the sound of rain peppering the ambiance, softly exhaling from his nose at something heard. "It's... probably for the best.", he agrees quietly, though seeming ever-so-slightly distracted by something unseen.
Ash glances at Matthew with a slight frown, anxiety breaking the confidence they often try to portray, and doubt following soon after. "Wh-what... what's wrong?" It's clear that they are convinced that his distraction is a response to the painting. Does he not care anymore? Did he think so something else? It's clear on their face - and is followed by a frown, as they look out the window. Irritation is evident on their face.
Matthew is the only one who can hear the guttural growl. "Why do you get to be happy?", an envious, bitter statement as Ash suddenly finds that Ash is filled with a strong sense of anger, of rage, of destructive impulse. A darkness falls upon Ash's eyes from Matthew's perspective before quickly clearing up, although the urge remains - destroy it. Deface the painting. It's not good enough for Matthew. It's pathetic. Why did Ash even think anything made by these hands would be worth appreciation by any other human being? Of course it's not. Ash isn't even human. Ash is a monster. The reason Matthew is so easily distracted is because Matthew doesn't like it anyway.
The demigodling Matthew is the only one who can hear the guttural growl. "Why do you get to be happy?", an envious, bitter statement as Ash suddenly finds that Ash is filled with a strong sense of anger, of rage, of destructive impulse. A darkness falls upon Ash's eyes from Matthew's perspective before quickly clearing up, although the urge remains - destroy it. Deface the painting. It's not good enough for Matthew. It's pathetic. Why did Ash even think anything made by these hands would be worth appreciation by any other human being? Of course it's not. Ash isn't even human. Ash is a monster. The reason Matthew is so easily distracted is because Matthew doesn't like it anyway.
Ash grumbles, stepping forward. "Nevermind, give it back. That's... that's just another moment of *weakness*, thinking that I could get back what made me human. I know I can't, I gave up everything to be this heartless monster - you shouldn't let it give you any hope. Give it *back*."
Ash grumbles, stepping forward. "Nevermind, give it back. That's... that's just another moment of *weakness*, thinking that I could get back what made me human. I know I can't, I gave up everything to be this heartless monster - you shouldn't let it give you any hope. Give it *back*." They hold their hand out to Matthew with a demanding gesture, as anger takes over, self-loathing. (fix)
Matthew blinks, looking over and back to Ash. "N-no.. I..", he begins, before he blinks a few times quickly, exhaling as he looks at Ash, taking the painting back into his hands as if unnerved by an unseen presence. "There's... something here, Ash.", he murmurs, looking over Ash then with some concern as his eyes flit somewhat nervously from the window to the painting, then to Ash. "W-wait.. Why? Y-you said it was for me. And.. I like it.", he states, wrinkling his nose. "If anything it at least gives me something to look at and cherish going forward.", he decides on, a stolid expression given towards Ash. "And.. You.. You're not like that. I know you're not."
Ash looks conflicted a moment, arm lowering a bit at Matthew counters it, saying that he likes it. Their eyes dart from the painting to his face, confused. There's no poker face, the doubt clear. Does he mean that? Will he cherish it? But... anger follows, more questions coming up in their mind that can't be summed up from their facial expression and body language beyond, why? Why? WHY?! "Is that fair? You get to have your happy little ending, and I get... what? Nothing! I get to watch how the world is better without me in it? Safer, happier? Is that fair? Is that the world you gave them up for? So you can enjoy a life with... that asshole, Vik? Or Fawn? Or... anyone else?" There's not much sense here, just anger, pointing fingers, seething. "Give it back, you don't *need* it. I can destroy it, *burn* it, and the world will be better off for it."
It's boiling. Ash's blood is boiling over. Ash gets to be happy? Ash gets to leave happy memories behind? No. That's not the way the world works. That's ESPECIALLY not the way Haven works. Matthew can hear an ephemeral screaming from deep in Ash's core on occasion, about at the sternum, but hasn't the slightest what the source could be from. Unfortunately for Ash, that wrath simply soaks his soul, his emotions, in a red hue. If this is what the great drake felt all the time, it was remarkable how restrained Gonthorian was, as a comparison. The direction changes like the licking tongues of a flame casting out towards the sky. It's all Matthew's fault. Ash can't keep a secret because of Matthew. Weakness? Is that what Ash called it? Yeah. The weakness here was in letting Matthew live. Too much of a temptation. It'd be so easy to just reach out and end Matthew's existance, just like Ash's fellows had urged Ash to do. Or at least cause Matthew to look at him, not with affection or adoration, but with disgust and hate. Ash is no stranger to having relationships destroyed, after all. The little man with the worst luck on the planet had that same expression during Ash's last encounter with Ash, so Ash should try to put on Matthew's face. Right? Right.
Ash looks ready to pounce at Matthew, face twisted by uncontrollable rage. Teeth bared, faint faerie fires growing and glowing as the fire that's burning inside of them starts to rage out of control. They leap onto the bed, arm aimed at Matthew's throat - and then they freeze. Something's not right. Something isn't right.
Ash remains in that position, conflict in them as their arm trembles, hand in a claw, so close to Matthew's throat.
Matthew stands up tall from his bed, looking down on Ash - there's a glint of something in his eyes at that moment - pity, perhaps - or condescension, or confidence, or arrogance, or maybe even nostalgia - or perhaps all of those. His eyes stare towards them with an exhalation from his nose. "You have the ending that you wanted. You chose to leave. I would never stop you.", he replies steadily, looking at Ash - and then Ash leaps at him, and he exhales - unmoving and yet he seems to expect them to actually go for him, and he watches quietly, fixed, unfrightened as a stone. "You know that's not what you want.", he consoles them in a gentle tone, and yet there's firmness in that tone of his as well.
Double-edged, hate is a blade that cuts deep. Of course Matthew doesn't want to stop Ash. Matthew never actually wanted Ash to begin with. Ash knows of the fae, of their terrible lineage. The lineage Ash shares. What is Ash compared to the scion of a God? Just a toy. When the toy walks away, there's simply another to play with. Is there a single demigod in this town that lacks for playmates? Some people have all the luck, with their fluids being literally revitalizing. Meanwhile, Ash gets to be at fear of being captured and tormented, taken advantage of for the blessing Ash can provide like a bottled djinn. How dare Matthew look down at Ash. How dare Matthew condescend so heavily. Standing there, so tall, like a tower - a tower that deserves to be felled. A tree that deserves to be cut. When wrath passes, only ashes remain. Let's sift through them together, insists the alien rage in the corner of Ash's brain.
Ash hisses, "This is *not* what I wanted. I wanted you to *come with me*, Matt! That's what I wanted. But, I don't get to have a happy ending, do I? Ever since I moved here, I've been nothing but a puzzle piece, moved from one hand to another. I gained freedom, but it cost me so much, Sunshine. Why couldn't I just have... a happy life? Find love, study in school, explore? I wanted to go to Paris, Matty. And yet, look at me? *Look at me!* Instead, I'm... I'm...." They choke off, confusion still on their face. But the rage remains. It fills them with an unrestrainable urge to *destroy* and *kill*, and their face says it clearly: Matthew deserves it. He's the one who should die. "You were always too good for me. I knew it from the beginning. I could never have happiness, because I never deserved it. My father knew it, I was a monster that needed to be controlled, and tamed, so he taught me that... the only way I'm worth *anything* is in obedience. But... I'm not worth anything, *anyways*." Then, the hand goes for their own throat... but that won't do. They glance around, then their eyes alight on the mirror. That. That *will* do. They get up, rushing over, the lightning flash making them a monster of light and shadow as they reach back to punch it.
"You... You wanted me.. to be free. That's what you told me.. Just as you said.. what you did would make you free, too.", Matthew begins slowly, drawing his arms close with a hurt expression, before he stares quietly listening to Ash, a stern look down. "That's bullshit.", he states quietly. "You had happiness... Even if it was for just a moment, I knew it was there. You.. You told me how happy you were. And even if it was just for a short time, it was... Something to be cherished, to be remembered.", he decides on, stepping to stand behind Ash in the mirror just as the sun catches the edge of the horizon, though likely hidden by the veil of stormclouds. He looks concerned more than anything that Ash might try to hurt themselves, and he stands poised as if ready to act to prevent that from happening.
Ash tries to break the mirror to do just that - but this isn't an action movie, and they're not physically powerful. Their knuckles hit the mirror, and there's nothing but bruises. They growl, and punch at it again and again, unless Matthew stops them. They seem frustrated at the lack of weapons in this place. Then, the words catch up to them. They frown, face scrunched up. "I-i... I *was* happy... and I... I wanted freedom. I... why can't I just cherish that? Why can't I just keep that, and move forward?" They look up at themself, in the mirror, and seem surprised, not recognizing their face. Then, they look at Matthew, and the expression on their face seems lost. Begging for help. "What's wrong with me?"
Matthew quietly regards Ash as they punch at the mirror, exhaling quietly as their knuckles -thunk- against the magically coated glass before giving them a gentle - but firm - tug at their collar, pulling them away from it in attempt to give them some reprieve from this instance of self-inflicted pain. "There's nothing wrong with you, J- Ash.", Matthew begins, before correcting himself, letting out a sigh, before his eyes flit to Ash's sternum where that screaming originated. "Of the bad.. the anger.. I often find it's... best to let go of such things, keeping the best of what we had.. and discarding our.. anger, that rage.. It doesn't do anything productive. It just.. eats, tears, rends at you.. And.. well, that doesn't really do anything for you, or for me, or for anyone, now does it?", he reasons, before gently releasing them and holding his arms out to them as if offering a hug. "Well? What do you think of that?", he wonders lightly, expression appraising and yet concerned, as if unsure of how they might react next and yet hopeful.
Everything's wrong with Ash. Who hates themselves so much that they discard their identity? Their very body? Not even Ash's father would recognize Ash now. Was losing everything and starting over, and then finding out the grass really isn't greener on the other side, not worth being angry about?
Ash stares a moment at Matthew, the spirit of fury still within them, driving them forward to hurt, to destroy, to kill. And then, their own soul, which urges them to take what's offered, more than the words spoken. Both things tell them to lunge at Matthew, to grab him, and so they do - but they lack the strength to harm him, on multiple levels. They squeeze him, but they can't crush his organs, let alone even a bruise, so it becomes a hug. Fingers digging into his back, but their nails are short, and they can't even scratch him. They're weak, especially without a weapon, and that weakness washes over them, leaving them embracing Matthew as if he were their only lifeline, instead of throttling them. They aren't even able to do as the rage demands, they're ineffectual. Their shoulders shake, and they clutch at Matthew's shirt as they cry, tears of frustration, rage, self-loathing, and helplessness.
Matthew holds Ash tightly, as if comforting a friend in time of need - none of the rage has taken him... And then he begins to glow, dim at first, and then brighter, as if a second sun had entered the room. "You've been taken by a presence. I command it gone.", he dictates - there's firmness in that tone, conviction, almost as if that confidence came from elsewhere. "I know it's not you, Ash.", he murmurs, swaying slightly even as their fingernails dig into his back somewhat - the guy's tough enough that that seems to bother him not at all. "Let your rage perish, as the old you did. Take the good memories, and release the rest.", he states as if encouraging, the glow dimming before ebbing away. "Let anger die, that some semblance of joy might live."
Ash shudders as they sob into Matthew's chest, hatred and anger flagging, unconsciously rebuffing and rebuking the spirit now that they're wrapped in his warmth. "I love when you sway like that... when you wiggle your shoulders... your stimming and your bright, shining smile. It fills me with such joy...." They sigh, Matthew's voice soothing them, and they nod, agreeing with him, murmuring, "Joy might live...."
The screaming within Ash intensifies, and the voice replies to Matthew, the demigod able to hear the whims of spirits even if he cannot lay eyes upon their ectoplasmic forms. "You do not command me, mortal. No one commands me! I *AM* Rage! I, who died, and yet live, and will never rest until those who did this to me lie in shallow graves. Why should anyone be happy when you exist in such a world?!", it demands, bringing the argument to a less physical form thanks to Matthew's complete control over Ash's corporeal form. And then, it works Ash's mouth, making the possession obvious. Ash states, in a tone not their own yet clearly the voice, "Hate is the only thing strong enough to survive death."
Ash is cut off, unaware somehow of how the spirit of Rage takes over them, controlling them. Their body tenses, as if to push Matthew away, but they couldn't even if they truly, actually wanted to. Instead, they are possessed, screaming and raving as they try to let Matthew's calm free them.
Matthew's expression lightens somewhat as Ash speaks to him, nodding quietly to his initial sentiment - and then the spirit screams back at him, which catches his attention, eyes narrowing with frustration - and then the spirit forces Ash to speak, and he goes somewhat cold in expression. "You torment those who had nothing to do with your death; your rage is unduly placed.", he asserts headily. "Unhand my friend or I will personally see to your removal from this world - if not myself, then perhaps one of my colleagues.", he states. "Your justice will be served in time. If you wish it to happen sooner, find -them-. Your rage is petulant and misdirected."
Hissing in return, it works Ash's mouth to give the ominous statement, "Justice is only born from rage!"
"Justice is born from reason and the will to enact it in the world.", Matthew counters dismissively, eyes narrowed even as he holds Ash tightly. "Let Ash go.", he states, still assertive as before.
With a wrathful, dismissive snort, the spectre vanishes, and Ash can feel the white-hot core of rage in Ash's center dissipating, slowly, the energy and adrenaline vanishing to Ash's extremities which tremble with its passing before it is gone.
Ash screams, clutching tightly at Matthew before falling near limp, worn out by the force of the exorcism. They sigh, exhausted, ready to fall but for Matthew keeping them up.
Matthew breathes steadily, but hastily, adrenaline clearly flowing through his system as he holds Ash up even as they scream, closing his eyes to listen as the spectre ebbs away, letting out a quiet sigh, eyes drifting concernedly on the now limp Ash as he takes on the task of keeping them up before lifting them effortlessly and placing them gingerly on the bed like someone would pick up a small bag or a mug, eyes drifting towards the window then. "...You going to be okay..?", he asks them quietly, evidently just concerned that they're doing alright after a literal spirit of wrath possessed them and made them to act.
Ash closes their eyes, as if planning to go to sleep, and there's a moment of pause. Then, they nod. "Yeah... if you can't hold on, hold on." They sigh, opening their eyes again, sitting up. "I feel like shit... what happened? I just remember getting... so angry... at you... and at myself. Mostly myself...." They avoid looking at Matthew, instead looking down at their knees and rubbing dry their face.
Unfortunately for Ash's state of mind, they would be quite aware that a spectre focused on a specific emotion can rarely command others - their occult knowledge is enough to give Ash the know-how to ascertain that everything stated by them was inspired by, not ordered by, the rage of the ghost. In other words, the emotion was there, but it could only summon thoughts that were adjacent to it, that were already inside Ash. Matthew may gain this wisdom from Ash if Ash is in the shape to explain, but for now, their spooky encounter seems to be over - what a dreadful timing it had, to ruin such a poignant moment.
"A ghost happened. I think..?", Matthew states, before squinting as if somehow unsure, before giving a lackadaisical lift of his shoulders. "Aaaaaaanyway. It was -pissed-. And it made you pissed. Buuuut, like, it's not personal or anything.", he says, giving a little dismissive wave of his hand, before he tacks on, "...right?", with a little flit of his brows, exhaling from his nose, scratching idly at his neck.
It seems that a friend of dogs and wolves alike has taken it upon themselves to end the enchantment that is currently spun over the seaside town of Haven. The question then is how does Autumn intend to do as much, and what does she know? The next more pressing question is whether or not she could succeed.
Autumn has been searching the sewers beneath Rosie's Diner, all geared up while she attempts to sense any sign of a charm using her magical energy.
It's dark down here, beneath the flesh of the city. Where the spiralling tunnels of the sewers weave beneath like veins and arteries. The nervous system of the town. Thankfully Autumn's gaze is enhanced by her blood, and thus she isn't entirely blinded. Hearing is another thing all together, as the added floodwaters of the endless rains have caused the sewers to near reach their limit. The roar of the water echoes in this small space.
Pursing her lips, Autumn glances at her phone and then looks back ahead as she puts her device away. "She should have been turned to dust," she mutters, walking down the sewer walkway and looking around. "Would have been less problems like this..."
Murder is an easy solution to most problems, that's true. Though rarely employed by the Order- that being said, Autumn isn't your average Order member, is she? She's torn between various loyalties. She wanders deeper into the tunnels, where it slowly but surely grows darker and darker yet as the light fails to quite reach down this deep. It isn't long before her exploration is accompanied by the chittering of rodents, growing in volume as she walks.
With one hand reaching for the backpack strapped behind her back, Autumn pauses upon the sound of the chittering sewer dwellers before she continues her path. "To make people shun those tied to moon, it would lead to vengeance from opposed," the dusky woman speaks under her breath. "I will stop her nonsense."
Yes. Causing people to shun the wild, dangerous werewolves is the peak of nonsense.
Autumn continues to venture deeper into the place, using her attunement with the elemental plane and it's various magics to guide her toward the source of this enchantment. As she gets closer, and closer yet, the sound of the critters grows louder, until eventually she comes upon a more open space, where various sewer channels meet. There is a mass of rodents here, driven mad, and crawling all over each other, as they swarm about an object that isn't quite clear as of yet.
Arriving at the space, Autumn stops when she spots the rodents and hums a bit. "Funny how she thought sewers was good idea," she muses before approaching the mass. Lifting her left hand, she makes a gesture and her hand bracelet's runes begin to glow red-orange as she points towards the rodents.
There's a rather charitable reaction to Autumn's use of magic, as the rodents twist and turn and flee away from her, skittering away from the increased heat and indeed the danger of an intruder. It is dark down here, in the sewers. An endless night. Perhaps that is why the vampire chose this place as her focus point.
As the rats retreat the object in the centre becomes readily apparent. A wolf skull, engraved with various runes and symbols. Though Autumn doesn't get long to consider it. There's a louder chittering from one of the many tunnels. A warning perhaps.
"Come, Ifrit," Autumn chants under her breath for her familiar. "Guard me while I deal with cursed thing." As a puff of black smoke appears in thin air, the woman pulls out her massive blade and points it towards the wolf skull. "To wolves, using skull is already desecration."
The spirit burns into life, spreading flames and light in the small space, and revealing an absolute swarm of rodents. They charge toward Autumn and her familiar, attempting to prevent her from undoing the ritual!
Without any talent in ritualism herself, Autumn is forced to approach this task with what skills she does have. When all you have is a hammer, all problems are nails, after all.
As the smoke subsides to reveal her glowing, fiery-winged salamander, Autumn readies her blade as she commands, "Ifrit, subdue these rat!" While she approaches the wolf skull, the salamander lets out a hiss before it starts flying around the demoness and spewing fireballs out of its mouth.