Encounterlogs
Novels Odd Encounter Sr Colton 250212
In the dimly lit, raucous interior of SLUDGEFUKK, a grungy underground establishment teeming with the raucous energy of punk rebellion and heavy metal, Novel, the bar's owner, encounters a group led by a man named Mack. This group, all dressed in unassuming jeans and tees but with a palpable undercurrent of purpose, approaches Novel with an air of familiarity and a proposition. They reveal themselves indirectly as members of The Black Flame, a cult with grandiose plans of societal upheaval and destruction, seeking to recruit Novel for his reputation as a dissenter and chaos agent. Despite the manic energy and the constant threat of violence that characterizes his bar, Novel is intrigued but cautious, engaging with Mack and his crew as they hint at their intention to radically disrupt the current world order, looking for allies in their dark cause.
The conversation takes a swift and dramatic turn when the cult's true nature and intentions become clear, with Mack suggesting a move to a more secluded area for further discussion. Novel, however, confident in the chaos he reigns over, rejects the need for privacy, demonstrating his control and influence over his patrons with a shocking outburst that goes cheerfully unchallenged. Mack's frustration at the public setting leads to a display of supernatural power, as he and his followers compel the bar's patrons to leave, revealing their true, grotesque forms and their intentions to ensnare Novel's otherworldly ally, Obsidian, into a ritual circle. Novel, faced with the direct threat to his establishment and to Obsidian, chooses to let the cult leave unharmed, a decision that saves Obsidian but leaves Novel contemplating the cost of survival in a world teeming with hidden dangers and entities with devastating powers. With the departure of The Black Flame, Novel is left in the eerie silence of his bar, a testament to the precarious balance between the known and the unknown, and the lengths some will go to for power.
(Novel's odd encounter(SRColton):SRColton)
[Tue Feb 11 2025]
In the bowels of SLUDGEFUKK
Now you've done it.
Past the metal security door lies a dismal space, resembling some manner of basement more than an aboveground dwelling. The only light source seems to be from flickering aged fluorescent bulbs; they would make a grating hum, if it wasn't for the wall of noise that filled the space otherwise. On the right, entering in, is a bar made of scrap materials such as cinderblocks and cargo pallets. The majority of the space is taken up by a rather improvised dance floor, the black linoleum tiling worn away by the endless stomp of steel-toed boots into a ragged ocean of concrete underneath.
A wall of sound fills the entire area, regardless of whether a band is playing or not. A shitty PA system roars out tunes best described as abysmal and hostile to life as we know it; chugging guitars, screaming, growled vocals, and savage breakdowns punctuate every motion in the room in an endless repeat. It was nearly impossible to make out any noise -other- than that hellish cacophony; one has to yell to people standing right next to them in order to have a conversation. This is likely by design.
Ahead of the doorway, and past the mosh pit, is the main stage.
To the left of the doorway is a single door, labeled, "RESTRUM". A note tacked to the door reads, 'put your fuckin needles in the trash im done cleanin them up'. Lovely.
It is night, about 14F(-10C) degrees, and there are a few dark grey stormclouds in the sky. Ankle high mist flows through the area. There is a waxing gibbous moon.
Novel is operating into the deep, late night - or early morning - of this place. The weaker dancers have started to collapse or been dragged out for one reason or another in this terrible place and, in his own part, the owner behind his bar soaks in the ambiance with a pleasured sigh and a beer on his lips. He's needed this.
(The Black Flame has identified your target and their allies as beings of potential and seeks to convert them into members of their cult. Your target and their allies must resist their attempts at indoctrination, which could range from charismatic persuasion to mind-altering magic. Their ultimate goal is to escape the clutches of The Black Flame before they're converted or worse, sacrificed in one of their world-ending rituals.)
There's a whole world of pleasures greater than a simple beer, but it's easy to wave them all off in the moment of that first sip. Novel's right to enjoy it. He doesn't have long to relax, though - even from inside the bar, the amount of cars rolling up and parking outside is audible, and a few minutes later, quite a few people come spilling through the door. Five men, one woman, and all of them dressed in variations of the same theme; jeans, solid colour tees, jackets. Sure, the colours and exact pieces vary, but with it's impossible to miss with the way they all come in one after another. They filter up to the bar, filling up the stools - or the crates and blocks that serve as stools - by Novel's sides, ordering their drinks. Just beer for all of them, nothing too strong.
"Hey, man," says the man to Novel's right. He's a little overweight, if fairly tall. "I'm Mack. You're Novel, right? You run this place?"
The crowd isn't in full swing. The men and women in question don't literally have to fight their way to the counter, but the agonized wails from the speakers - and the people around them - means that a normal conversation is done by shouting, even if it sounds loud. The bartender next to the man works as Novel serves out beer instead of fuckup juice or... 'wine', which would probably be a mistake for any human being to order. He's got a drink himself, which he drains before serving the people from behind the motley assortment of metal and welded refrigerator parts that make up the surface they're being served on.
"Who's asking?" Said the man, clad in leather and looking like he belongs as he gives the person a casual once-over.
"I'm Mack," the man reiterates, then gestures to his buddies. "This is Tom, Jonesy, Nazir, Ben and Shirley. We, uh, got a little business to talk with you. Offer to make you know?" He gesticulates loosely with the bottle of beer in his hand, then says, "After we've had something to drink, anyway. Long drive. Thirsty stuff. How's business been?"
His friends don't speak, even to each other. They might meet Novel's eyes and offer him grins and friendly expressions, but they don't spare a word; they just drink. It's a little unsettling, really, but SLUDGEFUKK's vibes are hard to cramp out in terms of sheer weirdness. The crowd don't seem to mind them much worse than they mind each other normally.
"Sure. And yeah, I own this place. I mean, decent," Novel lies. It's terrible. The man makes no money on this place between the repairs and all-else: But it makes a decent front for... other business and at his heart, he loves the horrible place and there's a deep abiding pleasure he gets by hanging out in the morass of violent humanity. Violent stabbings are considered flirting here, so some people acting a little off isn't complicated at all.
The only eyes that meet Mack's is his own in the mirrored sheen of Novel's sunglasses as he leans forwards with a leer, arm right on the counter.
"But I'm always happy to cut a contract," Novel comments.
Mack drinks while Novel speaks. The quality of the beer might give him a moment's pause, but he recovers quickly, setting the bottle down on the scrapmetal bartop as he slouches forwards onto his elbows, nodding along to the other man's words. "Not looking for contracts, exactly," he says, revealing his teeth with a little smile. "More of a, you know, recruitment effort. I mean, word gets out about a man like you." He gestures vaguely to the trash heap around him. "You don't have much taste for how things are. You're about ready to burn it all down. I mean, we hear you were getting ready to do just that, at one point. Disruptor. Anarch. Kinda the curse of movements like these that they burn out quick, right?"
"Sometimes. Sometimes. Sometimes they find a dry forest and spread out real, real far. The way I hear it a lot of people are REALLY pissed with how this country's going and what certain CEOs are doing. There was even that hit. What was his name? Ran some big medical company? Kind of fucking weird, considering how many layers and pacts he was involved in - and then the whole thing's caught on camera and spread over the news." Novel chats casually, a slow, lazy smile crossing his features. "You never know what's going to happen next, do you? Times are changing. Gotta run to keep up."
He tilts his head. "But you offering something more permanent?"
"Permanent's a word for it," Mack laughs under his breath, nodding his head. "But like I said, probably better to discuss behind closed doors. You got a place we can sit and speak openly?" He glances to his assembly of friends, then says, "Maybe somewhere biggish, if you've got the space for it."
Novel casually watches a strung-out drug addict wander by. He responds by socking them in the face, sending them spinning across the bar floor, where they crash into another. A minor scuffle and makeout session ensures. He turns back to Mark. "No-one gives a fuck in here," He tells him bluntly. He cups his hands together, bellowing, "I'M GOING TO KILL AND EAT A BABY." There's a cheer. Some people say "That's fucked!" Then pause briefly to watch anyway. He just sort of turns to the group and shrugs.
"See? They don't fucking care."
Disappointment ensures and the morass of mayhem continues after a moment, more agitated than before. If the group aren't careful, they might get dragged into it by someone flirty. Ben may have already been dragged in, unnoticed in the mayhem of the place.
Even then, the assembly of plainclothes individuals don't seem enthused. "I get that you got an edgy crowd," Mack murmurs, glancing aside. "But they get to back home and go back to being normal, afterwards. Kind of things we want to discuss with you, Novel, we don't want people rolling around in their heads when they're lying in bed with their wives or playing ball with their kids, you know?" He lowers his voice a little further. "You were interested in a permanent solution. Let's find somewhere to talk about it."
His friends are looking a little antsy, now. Running a place like this, Novel's seen a tension like this plenty of times, simmering under the skin. Of course, he could probably get them to fuck off, if he's not interested. The way they're acting, they probably won't be coming back.
Novel spreads out his hands, palms up. He smiles, in a den of sin, a grin splitting his features that you'd see on a jolly ol' Nick. But no saint, that one. "What, Mack. You don't like the place? I thought you were gonna offer a deal." He leans forwards, suddenly, his expression nearing his face and his voice growing lower and illicit substances and liquor pouring in scent from his lips. "Something -permanent-. I thought you'd love a place like this. Burn it all down, start on over. I mean..."
He makes a low, sweeping gesture, indicate the crowd with a smile. "You're looking at it. Why not join in? Participate," He purrs. "I'm sure the crowd could teach you a thing or two - and you could try teaching them. Whaddya say, Mack? Why not play ball with the crowd? They'd -love- to play with you."
Pursing his lips for a moment, Mack looks Novel up and down, accepting the challenge for what it is. "Alright," he says, keeping his voice nice and polite. He looks around the room, getting an eyeful of the patronage before he sits up straight. When he speaks next, his friends speak in unison with him - and when their lips and teeth part, they reveal the stubs of cut tongues; mouths that should not be capable of forming the words that spill forth.
"Everyone," Mack-and-company says, "Get the fuck out of here." They don't need to raise their voices too much, with the six of them all together. A moment later, the bar begins to quickly empty as the patrons hurry their way out, none seeming aware of the psychic influence driving their exit. Even the bartender by Novel's side clears his throat and moves to leave.
"Yeah, you'll do." Novel says in faint approval and steps back, extending an arm and a 'be my guest'. "Go ahead and close the door behind you on the way out, Tim. And don't tell anyone to come inside for a bit, yeah?" Escapees. The scuttling mundanes, or non-notables, making their way out before things get serious. The door of metal and iron slams shut. Now it's just him and Them. Well.
And another. He reaches under the bar, picking up bottles of fuckup juice behind the counter and lining them up. Tops are popped, as if setting out drinks as if the bar were still full. The place seems cold and empty now, though the wicked noise that blares through the speakers is even sharper and more piercing as he lines the bottles up.
"Much obliged," Mack says, though his beer still sits there with just the first sip taken out of it. He reaches for the new drink nonetheless and swallows down a mouthful, and once he has his, his associates follow suit, moving in near-perfect sync. It's not robotic, exactly, but it's certainly something. "We're with the Black Flame, Novel," Mack says, shifting his weight on his uncomfortable stool. "Burning the whole world down is right up our alley. It's our symbol, actually." He reaches into a pocket, bringing out a ring emblazed with a society symbol: an obsidian flame-wreathed globe. He slides it over to Novel for him to feel, to inspect, to weigh.
"Existence is holding us back," he says. "Human nature all but guarantees it. We're stuck in stasis. But nothing can last forever. Now the world's ending, Novel, and all we are is just meat in fancy clothes, whether we fuck each other up in... enlightened culture-centres such as this, or whether we're slaves to wages and work. People like to use the birdy in the gilded cage line when it comes to living in modern times, but they don't realise that the real prison in that little analogy is the bit covered with feathers." He tips his chin forwards a little and says, "You have the history and the skill to work with as. For real, I mean, not just another brainwashed grunt. You wanna blow it all up? Do it with us. See what comes next."
"Mack, Mack, Mack." Novel sighs faintly at the the men-woman-they, the SCHRRIIIP of a match an a fancy, ivory matchbook. "You just shooed everyone out of the door that you should have been convincing. Should have been talking to." Like lighting birthday candles, he touches the candle to each open bottle in turn, the potency of the evaporating liquor allowing for the continual flame to hover in blue above the bottle's top. A fancy party trick, to be sure. But it's a bit like lighting candles.
"And I never did intend to stick for a long time, just a fun time. If you're gonna crack a cage, you're going to need a lot of birds. A lot of direction all pointed the same way. Lots of flesh and blood and gears funneled towards one goal. In the grand scheme of things, me, personally? I'm not that important. And I like existence. Maybe it's not destruction - but the ending of fate and prophecy itself." The room feels darker. The lights are failing, leaving the dancing glow of scavenged bottles made in an illicit distillery somewhere. It forms a circle. Or an ouroboros, if one prefers, the glinting of glass looking almost like scales.
And then his hand drops to the ring handed over, taking it up in smiling examination. "Besides. I already work for something Obsidian. Say hello."
There's sudden hissing of a large snake behind the Black Flames as the air itself thickens.
Things happen quickly, as he SMACKS the glasses and flames, bottles and potent liquor, into the cultists in the same instant.
There's a flurry of movement in response to the wash of flame that spills out and catches on the cultists' clothing, with the woman in particular letting out an inchoate shriek of fear. Not fond of fire, that one. She dives to the ground and begins rolling around madly to extinguish the alcohol fire. The others are a little calmer, though, as Ben pulls a curved and knotted ivory wand from a jacket pocket, and the flames begin to choke and dwindle under the yoke of the pyromancer's will. He's not even burned, as resistant to flame as he is - and the others don't seem too angry for it. Bar Shirley, that is. She's very angry.
"Novel," sighs Mack, casting annoyingly impassive eyes over the sudden apparition of the smoky eidolon behind him. A red glow suffuses him - an aura. His Sanctuary must be failing. "The Black Flame doesn't bother with tiny little spirits. There are greater powers to be found within the Void." He lifts a hand - which is quickly becoming something other than a hand - to his ear, speaking quietly, "Slaugh. Grab the one from the Bringers of Duat." His arm falls limp, and his clothing begins to fall away from him has his flesh unweaves and re-weaves into a mass of slick, pink tentacles, only vaguely resembling a humanoid figure.
He - It? - turns back to Novel, lifting a suckered limb in the air. "We'll be leaving," he says. "And in about five minutes, your eidolon will be trapped within a ritual circle in a compound of our choosing." His-its eyes are black orbs on an expanse of pink flesh, now, and too lidless to blink, but a sphinctered tentacle pops out a fart-like pocket of air to exaggerate his point regardless. "If we make it out of town just fine, then we'll release it, as simple as that. If you hurt us, well." He pulls back his lips, revealing the hard ridge of a beak, rather than teeth. "You'll have to come looking to break the circle, and it's not going to be easy to get to." The corners of too-human lips turn into an unpleasant smile. "I was hoping you'd be more receptive." Mack turns back to the eidolon, watching it warily. "You could always go back to sleep. Hard to catch a sleeping spirit."
"Vampire, huh?" Novel watches Shirley burn with distinct interest and then curls up his lip in obvious annoyance. "Man. Am I gonna have to let the crowd fix this place up with fucking explosives AGAIN?" He reaches back to rub the back of his neck, his other hand settling on his hip as he considers the group. His gaze wanders down to liquor behind the counter, the bar, a certain amount of smile and flushed excitement crossing his features - it's clear he's seriously considering starting mayhem and violence and summoning his own squad. A certain amount of bloodthirst crossing his countenance.
And then his gaze settles on the snake and he releases a long, reluctant sigh. "All right, all right, go on. Crack on out of here. And yeah, well. People think a lot of things about me. But, see. If everyone's dead, Mark."
"You can't make them hurt anymore."
"And what's life without fun?" A Mexican standoff - of sorts. Though if any of them reach for him, he will be perfectly happy to blow up his own bar and shadowwalk out.
Mack offers up a creepy, convex smile, his lips bulging around that inner beak. His-its voice remains perfectly human, though. "It's good to know where you stand, at least," he says. "And she's not a vampire." Inky eyes turn over towards the seething young woman, and he says on her behalf, "House fire when she was a child. Killed the rest of her family, hm?" There's a jerk of the chin, shapeless as it is, and the Black Flame filter out of the bar, leaving Novel to a moment's peace. As promised, there's a tearing sound - like a sheet of paper being ripped in half - as Obsidian is violently yanked out of its place in reality, snagged by the magical entrapment that threatens all such spirits... but as agreed, it does not last. The Black Flame does not take long to get out of town, and the circle is broken as soon as they report their relative safety.
At least Novel's been left with a cool ring.
The conversation takes a swift and dramatic turn when the cult's true nature and intentions become clear, with Mack suggesting a move to a more secluded area for further discussion. Novel, however, confident in the chaos he reigns over, rejects the need for privacy, demonstrating his control and influence over his patrons with a shocking outburst that goes cheerfully unchallenged. Mack's frustration at the public setting leads to a display of supernatural power, as he and his followers compel the bar's patrons to leave, revealing their true, grotesque forms and their intentions to ensnare Novel's otherworldly ally, Obsidian, into a ritual circle. Novel, faced with the direct threat to his establishment and to Obsidian, chooses to let the cult leave unharmed, a decision that saves Obsidian but leaves Novel contemplating the cost of survival in a world teeming with hidden dangers and entities with devastating powers. With the departure of The Black Flame, Novel is left in the eerie silence of his bar, a testament to the precarious balance between the known and the unknown, and the lengths some will go to for power.
(Novel's odd encounter(SRColton):SRColton)
[Tue Feb 11 2025]
In the bowels of SLUDGEFUKK
Now you've done it.
Past the metal security door lies a dismal space, resembling some manner of basement more than an aboveground dwelling. The only light source seems to be from flickering aged fluorescent bulbs; they would make a grating hum, if it wasn't for the wall of noise that filled the space otherwise. On the right, entering in, is a bar made of scrap materials such as cinderblocks and cargo pallets. The majority of the space is taken up by a rather improvised dance floor, the black linoleum tiling worn away by the endless stomp of steel-toed boots into a ragged ocean of concrete underneath.
A wall of sound fills the entire area, regardless of whether a band is playing or not. A shitty PA system roars out tunes best described as abysmal and hostile to life as we know it; chugging guitars, screaming, growled vocals, and savage breakdowns punctuate every motion in the room in an endless repeat. It was nearly impossible to make out any noise -other- than that hellish cacophony; one has to yell to people standing right next to them in order to have a conversation. This is likely by design.
Ahead of the doorway, and past the mosh pit, is the main stage.
To the left of the doorway is a single door, labeled, "RESTRUM". A note tacked to the door reads, 'put your fuckin needles in the trash im done cleanin them up'. Lovely.
It is night, about 14F(-10C) degrees, and there are a few dark grey stormclouds in the sky. Ankle high mist flows through the area. There is a waxing gibbous moon.
Novel is operating into the deep, late night - or early morning - of this place. The weaker dancers have started to collapse or been dragged out for one reason or another in this terrible place and, in his own part, the owner behind his bar soaks in the ambiance with a pleasured sigh and a beer on his lips. He's needed this.
(The Black Flame has identified your target and their allies as beings of potential and seeks to convert them into members of their cult. Your target and their allies must resist their attempts at indoctrination, which could range from charismatic persuasion to mind-altering magic. Their ultimate goal is to escape the clutches of The Black Flame before they're converted or worse, sacrificed in one of their world-ending rituals.)
There's a whole world of pleasures greater than a simple beer, but it's easy to wave them all off in the moment of that first sip. Novel's right to enjoy it. He doesn't have long to relax, though - even from inside the bar, the amount of cars rolling up and parking outside is audible, and a few minutes later, quite a few people come spilling through the door. Five men, one woman, and all of them dressed in variations of the same theme; jeans, solid colour tees, jackets. Sure, the colours and exact pieces vary, but with it's impossible to miss with the way they all come in one after another. They filter up to the bar, filling up the stools - or the crates and blocks that serve as stools - by Novel's sides, ordering their drinks. Just beer for all of them, nothing too strong.
"Hey, man," says the man to Novel's right. He's a little overweight, if fairly tall. "I'm Mack. You're Novel, right? You run this place?"
The crowd isn't in full swing. The men and women in question don't literally have to fight their way to the counter, but the agonized wails from the speakers - and the people around them - means that a normal conversation is done by shouting, even if it sounds loud. The bartender next to the man works as Novel serves out beer instead of fuckup juice or... 'wine', which would probably be a mistake for any human being to order. He's got a drink himself, which he drains before serving the people from behind the motley assortment of metal and welded refrigerator parts that make up the surface they're being served on.
"Who's asking?" Said the man, clad in leather and looking like he belongs as he gives the person a casual once-over.
"I'm Mack," the man reiterates, then gestures to his buddies. "This is Tom, Jonesy, Nazir, Ben and Shirley. We, uh, got a little business to talk with you. Offer to make you know?" He gesticulates loosely with the bottle of beer in his hand, then says, "After we've had something to drink, anyway. Long drive. Thirsty stuff. How's business been?"
His friends don't speak, even to each other. They might meet Novel's eyes and offer him grins and friendly expressions, but they don't spare a word; they just drink. It's a little unsettling, really, but SLUDGEFUKK's vibes are hard to cramp out in terms of sheer weirdness. The crowd don't seem to mind them much worse than they mind each other normally.
"Sure. And yeah, I own this place. I mean, decent," Novel lies. It's terrible. The man makes no money on this place between the repairs and all-else: But it makes a decent front for... other business and at his heart, he loves the horrible place and there's a deep abiding pleasure he gets by hanging out in the morass of violent humanity. Violent stabbings are considered flirting here, so some people acting a little off isn't complicated at all.
The only eyes that meet Mack's is his own in the mirrored sheen of Novel's sunglasses as he leans forwards with a leer, arm right on the counter.
"But I'm always happy to cut a contract," Novel comments.
Mack drinks while Novel speaks. The quality of the beer might give him a moment's pause, but he recovers quickly, setting the bottle down on the scrapmetal bartop as he slouches forwards onto his elbows, nodding along to the other man's words. "Not looking for contracts, exactly," he says, revealing his teeth with a little smile. "More of a, you know, recruitment effort. I mean, word gets out about a man like you." He gestures vaguely to the trash heap around him. "You don't have much taste for how things are. You're about ready to burn it all down. I mean, we hear you were getting ready to do just that, at one point. Disruptor. Anarch. Kinda the curse of movements like these that they burn out quick, right?"
"Sometimes. Sometimes. Sometimes they find a dry forest and spread out real, real far. The way I hear it a lot of people are REALLY pissed with how this country's going and what certain CEOs are doing. There was even that hit. What was his name? Ran some big medical company? Kind of fucking weird, considering how many layers and pacts he was involved in - and then the whole thing's caught on camera and spread over the news." Novel chats casually, a slow, lazy smile crossing his features. "You never know what's going to happen next, do you? Times are changing. Gotta run to keep up."
He tilts his head. "But you offering something more permanent?"
"Permanent's a word for it," Mack laughs under his breath, nodding his head. "But like I said, probably better to discuss behind closed doors. You got a place we can sit and speak openly?" He glances to his assembly of friends, then says, "Maybe somewhere biggish, if you've got the space for it."
Novel casually watches a strung-out drug addict wander by. He responds by socking them in the face, sending them spinning across the bar floor, where they crash into another. A minor scuffle and makeout session ensures. He turns back to Mark. "No-one gives a fuck in here," He tells him bluntly. He cups his hands together, bellowing, "I'M GOING TO KILL AND EAT A BABY." There's a cheer. Some people say "That's fucked!" Then pause briefly to watch anyway. He just sort of turns to the group and shrugs.
"See? They don't fucking care."
Disappointment ensures and the morass of mayhem continues after a moment, more agitated than before. If the group aren't careful, they might get dragged into it by someone flirty. Ben may have already been dragged in, unnoticed in the mayhem of the place.
Even then, the assembly of plainclothes individuals don't seem enthused. "I get that you got an edgy crowd," Mack murmurs, glancing aside. "But they get to back home and go back to being normal, afterwards. Kind of things we want to discuss with you, Novel, we don't want people rolling around in their heads when they're lying in bed with their wives or playing ball with their kids, you know?" He lowers his voice a little further. "You were interested in a permanent solution. Let's find somewhere to talk about it."
His friends are looking a little antsy, now. Running a place like this, Novel's seen a tension like this plenty of times, simmering under the skin. Of course, he could probably get them to fuck off, if he's not interested. The way they're acting, they probably won't be coming back.
Novel spreads out his hands, palms up. He smiles, in a den of sin, a grin splitting his features that you'd see on a jolly ol' Nick. But no saint, that one. "What, Mack. You don't like the place? I thought you were gonna offer a deal." He leans forwards, suddenly, his expression nearing his face and his voice growing lower and illicit substances and liquor pouring in scent from his lips. "Something -permanent-. I thought you'd love a place like this. Burn it all down, start on over. I mean..."
He makes a low, sweeping gesture, indicate the crowd with a smile. "You're looking at it. Why not join in? Participate," He purrs. "I'm sure the crowd could teach you a thing or two - and you could try teaching them. Whaddya say, Mack? Why not play ball with the crowd? They'd -love- to play with you."
Pursing his lips for a moment, Mack looks Novel up and down, accepting the challenge for what it is. "Alright," he says, keeping his voice nice and polite. He looks around the room, getting an eyeful of the patronage before he sits up straight. When he speaks next, his friends speak in unison with him - and when their lips and teeth part, they reveal the stubs of cut tongues; mouths that should not be capable of forming the words that spill forth.
"Everyone," Mack-and-company says, "Get the fuck out of here." They don't need to raise their voices too much, with the six of them all together. A moment later, the bar begins to quickly empty as the patrons hurry their way out, none seeming aware of the psychic influence driving their exit. Even the bartender by Novel's side clears his throat and moves to leave.
"Yeah, you'll do." Novel says in faint approval and steps back, extending an arm and a 'be my guest'. "Go ahead and close the door behind you on the way out, Tim. And don't tell anyone to come inside for a bit, yeah?" Escapees. The scuttling mundanes, or non-notables, making their way out before things get serious. The door of metal and iron slams shut. Now it's just him and Them. Well.
And another. He reaches under the bar, picking up bottles of fuckup juice behind the counter and lining them up. Tops are popped, as if setting out drinks as if the bar were still full. The place seems cold and empty now, though the wicked noise that blares through the speakers is even sharper and more piercing as he lines the bottles up.
"Much obliged," Mack says, though his beer still sits there with just the first sip taken out of it. He reaches for the new drink nonetheless and swallows down a mouthful, and once he has his, his associates follow suit, moving in near-perfect sync. It's not robotic, exactly, but it's certainly something. "We're with the Black Flame, Novel," Mack says, shifting his weight on his uncomfortable stool. "Burning the whole world down is right up our alley. It's our symbol, actually." He reaches into a pocket, bringing out a ring emblazed with a society symbol: an obsidian flame-wreathed globe. He slides it over to Novel for him to feel, to inspect, to weigh.
"Existence is holding us back," he says. "Human nature all but guarantees it. We're stuck in stasis. But nothing can last forever. Now the world's ending, Novel, and all we are is just meat in fancy clothes, whether we fuck each other up in... enlightened culture-centres such as this, or whether we're slaves to wages and work. People like to use the birdy in the gilded cage line when it comes to living in modern times, but they don't realise that the real prison in that little analogy is the bit covered with feathers." He tips his chin forwards a little and says, "You have the history and the skill to work with as. For real, I mean, not just another brainwashed grunt. You wanna blow it all up? Do it with us. See what comes next."
"Mack, Mack, Mack." Novel sighs faintly at the the men-woman-they, the SCHRRIIIP of a match an a fancy, ivory matchbook. "You just shooed everyone out of the door that you should have been convincing. Should have been talking to." Like lighting birthday candles, he touches the candle to each open bottle in turn, the potency of the evaporating liquor allowing for the continual flame to hover in blue above the bottle's top. A fancy party trick, to be sure. But it's a bit like lighting candles.
"And I never did intend to stick for a long time, just a fun time. If you're gonna crack a cage, you're going to need a lot of birds. A lot of direction all pointed the same way. Lots of flesh and blood and gears funneled towards one goal. In the grand scheme of things, me, personally? I'm not that important. And I like existence. Maybe it's not destruction - but the ending of fate and prophecy itself." The room feels darker. The lights are failing, leaving the dancing glow of scavenged bottles made in an illicit distillery somewhere. It forms a circle. Or an ouroboros, if one prefers, the glinting of glass looking almost like scales.
And then his hand drops to the ring handed over, taking it up in smiling examination. "Besides. I already work for something Obsidian. Say hello."
There's sudden hissing of a large snake behind the Black Flames as the air itself thickens.
Things happen quickly, as he SMACKS the glasses and flames, bottles and potent liquor, into the cultists in the same instant.
There's a flurry of movement in response to the wash of flame that spills out and catches on the cultists' clothing, with the woman in particular letting out an inchoate shriek of fear. Not fond of fire, that one. She dives to the ground and begins rolling around madly to extinguish the alcohol fire. The others are a little calmer, though, as Ben pulls a curved and knotted ivory wand from a jacket pocket, and the flames begin to choke and dwindle under the yoke of the pyromancer's will. He's not even burned, as resistant to flame as he is - and the others don't seem too angry for it. Bar Shirley, that is. She's very angry.
"Novel," sighs Mack, casting annoyingly impassive eyes over the sudden apparition of the smoky eidolon behind him. A red glow suffuses him - an aura. His Sanctuary must be failing. "The Black Flame doesn't bother with tiny little spirits. There are greater powers to be found within the Void." He lifts a hand - which is quickly becoming something other than a hand - to his ear, speaking quietly, "Slaugh. Grab the one from the Bringers of Duat." His arm falls limp, and his clothing begins to fall away from him has his flesh unweaves and re-weaves into a mass of slick, pink tentacles, only vaguely resembling a humanoid figure.
He - It? - turns back to Novel, lifting a suckered limb in the air. "We'll be leaving," he says. "And in about five minutes, your eidolon will be trapped within a ritual circle in a compound of our choosing." His-its eyes are black orbs on an expanse of pink flesh, now, and too lidless to blink, but a sphinctered tentacle pops out a fart-like pocket of air to exaggerate his point regardless. "If we make it out of town just fine, then we'll release it, as simple as that. If you hurt us, well." He pulls back his lips, revealing the hard ridge of a beak, rather than teeth. "You'll have to come looking to break the circle, and it's not going to be easy to get to." The corners of too-human lips turn into an unpleasant smile. "I was hoping you'd be more receptive." Mack turns back to the eidolon, watching it warily. "You could always go back to sleep. Hard to catch a sleeping spirit."
"Vampire, huh?" Novel watches Shirley burn with distinct interest and then curls up his lip in obvious annoyance. "Man. Am I gonna have to let the crowd fix this place up with fucking explosives AGAIN?" He reaches back to rub the back of his neck, his other hand settling on his hip as he considers the group. His gaze wanders down to liquor behind the counter, the bar, a certain amount of smile and flushed excitement crossing his features - it's clear he's seriously considering starting mayhem and violence and summoning his own squad. A certain amount of bloodthirst crossing his countenance.
And then his gaze settles on the snake and he releases a long, reluctant sigh. "All right, all right, go on. Crack on out of here. And yeah, well. People think a lot of things about me. But, see. If everyone's dead, Mark."
"You can't make them hurt anymore."
"And what's life without fun?" A Mexican standoff - of sorts. Though if any of them reach for him, he will be perfectly happy to blow up his own bar and shadowwalk out.
Mack offers up a creepy, convex smile, his lips bulging around that inner beak. His-its voice remains perfectly human, though. "It's good to know where you stand, at least," he says. "And she's not a vampire." Inky eyes turn over towards the seething young woman, and he says on her behalf, "House fire when she was a child. Killed the rest of her family, hm?" There's a jerk of the chin, shapeless as it is, and the Black Flame filter out of the bar, leaving Novel to a moment's peace. As promised, there's a tearing sound - like a sheet of paper being ripped in half - as Obsidian is violently yanked out of its place in reality, snagged by the magical entrapment that threatens all such spirits... but as agreed, it does not last. The Black Flame does not take long to get out of town, and the circle is broken as soon as they report their relative safety.
At least Novel's been left with a cool ring.