Plotlogs
The Crown Of Nefertari Sr Thierry
In the heart of Boston, a team of diverse individuals, Deacon, Marija, and Autumn, executed a daring heist to steal the Crown of Nefertari from the Museum of Fine Arts. The mystical crown was fiercely protected by both security measures and ancient wards, suggesting its supernatural importance.
Deacon, a seasoned operator, led the operation with military precision, serving as both a strategist and physical powerhouse. Marija, weakened from previous activities, tapped into her mystical abilities to bypass the museum’s wards, using her own blood to craft a temporary passage. This sacrificial act drained her strength significantly, leaving her reliant on her companions as they moved through the museum.
Autumn, equipped with unresolved strength and demonic lineage, kept her senses tuned for any supernatural elements, helping the crew navigate through the treacherous heist. She could sense the presence of her infernal home, a whiff of brimstone, indicating the power of the object they sought.
Upon acquiring the crown, a security guard named Bob confronted the team, leading to a bloody showdown. Deacon, recognizing the threat to their mission, made a split-second decision to eliminate the obstacle with extreme prejudice. His actions resulted in Bob’s death, unleashing a profound sense of urgency as the team fled.
Deacon employed the Nightmare once again to provide cover, navigating through shadowy paths to evade law enforcement who swarmed the museum, their sirens wailing through the night. Through the shadows, the team found their way back to Haven, carrying the prize and leaving behind the chaos they had wrought.
Upon arriving in Haven, Deacon acknowledged Autumn’s assistance, while maintaining a buoyant attitude despite the night's intense turn of events. The mission was accomplished; they had secured the Crown of Nefertari, but the echo of the high price paid, Bob’s life, lingered in the air.
(The Crown of Nefertari(SRThierry):SRThierry)
[Thu Nov 16 2023]
In the Egyptian Wing - Museum of Fine Arts Boston
The Egypt Galley at the Museum of Fine Arts in Boston carries an unexpected, subtle air of mystery and unease under cover of night. Dimly lit, the space is filled with the towering statues of pharaohs and deities, casting long, eerie shadows that play on the walls adorned with ancient frescoes and cryptic hieroglyphics. The stillness is punctuated by the silent, enigmatic presence of sarcophagi and mummies, their age-old secrets locked within. This atmosphere is deepened by the muted lighting over the displays of ancient jewelry and pottery, creating pockets of darkness that fuel the imagination. The explanatory texts, though informative, seem to only hint at the deeper, more mysterious aspects of Egyptian lore, leaving readers with a lingering sense of intrigue and an unsettling feeling that there's more to these artifacts than meets the eye.
It is about 50F(10C) degrees.
Boston, a small rented apartment somewhere near the emerald necklace and the Museum of Fine Arts. AirBNB has made secretive planning a lot easier, widening the options from 'hotel room' to anyone with a spare apartment. This is one such place; Marija and Deacon are here, along with high-definition photos of the Crown taken from the MFA's catalogue. It's on loan, given a special place of prominence in the center of the Egyptian Galley.
Just down the street: across the street, really, looms the Museum of Fine Arts in Boston. An imposing edifice, it is a museum in the old school, full of art and artifacts looted from across the centuries.
Here in the apartment, Deacon can be noted standing over the said photos of the crown, studying the object easily as much as whatever information can be garnered for such a heist. Since blueprints are often available as public record, it's likely they have managed to acquire a copy and those would be spread out on whatever surface is available for study as well. Every now and then, the tall man uses a white mark pencil to make little notations on the blue prints as he watches them. This vent too small, good overwatch positions - marking where security booths are known to be located, or where he thinks new cameras mighjt have been installed. A thief in profession he's not - but covert operations are his bread and butter.
This motley crew has been hired by a supernatural organization unknown to some and decidely known to others, but regardless, they are set up across the street from the Museum of Fine Arts in Boston. That brick building is a museum in the classic old style, full of looted artifacts from across the globe.
Tonight, the crew's benefactors have arranged a side door to be unlocked: because inside, on exhibition, is the Crown of Nefertari. It is a priceless artifact and greatly desired by someone in the occult underground. Here, in this rented AirBNB apartment, Deacon, who appears to be the representative of the hiring party, has maps drawn out, while Marija, quietly drawn away, keeps to herself. Autumn is the last to arrive, introduced by a reputable broker in the occult underground.
As the last of their motley crew arrives, Deacon looks up from the maps and blueprints he's pouring over from their little stakeout location across the way and he nods toward Autumn. "Glad you could make it, cher. We got a small window tonight but I think we gon' be alright." The man's accent is Cajun and southern, all twisted together in that classic New Orleans sound. His face is familiar to the woman, vaguely remembered in passing amid memories of terrible coffee and late-night diners.
Marija is AFK for a bit, not feeling well, she says. She'll be back for the action.
Outside, the moon is a crescent. It squats over the museum, casting it in shadows. For those who are superstitious, some of the shadows may move on their own accord.
Having arrived in territory unknown to her, Autumn finds Deacon and Marija and lifts her good right hand in a small wave. "Hello," she says to the man and nods. "I see. I have heard word of many treasures, yes. So at least I can lend help."
Indeed. There are many treasures in the museum; the Crown is but one, with others promising other, fascinating things. While entry has been arranged by some combination of money and magic, the inside of the Museum remains guarded: security systems, to be sure, and also physical security guards, roaming the halls with flashlights. Even from here, the beams of their lights can be seen.
The man gives Autumn a nod. "Well, I'm Deacon. Think I caught your name th' other night but it's Autumn non?" His accent is thick, but his english is understanable and he's turning his attention back to the blueprints. "Well, we were told that we might be looking for extra loot, depend on who them send us now." Deacon's finger comes down on the map in the centre, where the crown is being held. "This our main objective, but if we wanna hit up other cases we gonna need to know now so's we can compensate. What's your interest, cher?" He asks of Autumn, before glancing toward Marija. He doesn't bother her, but there's clearly some sense of concern or affiliation between the two that Autumn can pick up on, even if faint.
As the appointed hour approaches, some slow mist begins to arise. In Haven, that would be unremarkable, but in Boston? Some weirding work is in play here, full of blood and chants to reach out and touch even the northern city where it glowers and stoops upon the shore.
Wan and so pale that every freckle stands out stark on her features, Marija has certainly seen better days, but she manages to pick herself up and get it together enough to at least approach Deacon and Autumn, eventually. "Alright," she offers as her full explanation. "I think I'm ready..."
When it's time, the trio doesn't have far to go: across the street, then, mist-clad, up and over the lawn to a small basement door. It should give access to tunnels beneath the museum, and from there they can make their way up to the Egyptian Gallery.
"Yes. Autumn Lynx. And it's nice to meet you," Autumn tells Deacon in a husky contralto, walking over to where the group is and looking at the map. "I'm getting paid for this, but whether there is something that is helpful, it's probably there. But for now, I will focus on helping in getting crown."
With a nod for Marija, Deacon turns his face back to Autumn with a serious expression, waiting for her to give any details as to her own intentions or endeavours this evening. "Once we hit the first case, I figure we got a couple of minutes max before police will show up. The fog we got rolling in should extend that by a few extra minutes but not much longer than that. This is gonna be a straight-forward smash and grab. If it comes down to it ... you two will extract with the crown and I'll draw off any heat that comes at us if we can't make it out clean. I've got some contacts I can call on if I get nicked. Might burn my bridge doing it, but it'll get the job done."
Nefetari, the wife of Ramseses II -- Ramseses the Great. Her husband, Shelley's Ozymandias, beat back foreign invaders even as he adopted many of their gods, erecting many of Egypt's greatest monuments. She reigned with him, and, according to supernatural rumors, shared with him some magical might.
"We are making it so obvious?" Marija winces slightly, states, "I am in no shape to fight, but magic is easier, surely. I cannot use illusion though..." She sighs, a hand lifting to rub over her face as if she can push energy back into her body that way.
Mist curls around the legs of the trio, low as if it has a life of its own.
"I can not fight yet," Autumn murmurs while her eyes are on the map, one hand gesturing towards her bandaged left arm. "But if something happens, I can tap into demon blood and go berserk."
"I'd prefer not to, but I don't think we have anyone who's going to be able to disarm the alarms on the display. We have an in, but beyond that it's fair to say that we might be in the lurch. I have another thought .. but I'm uncertain how risky it may be. If the artifact itself is that powerful, will it have presence in the Nightmare's shadows? And could we use these to make our escape, or move about the museum unseen? Reflective surfaces are bound to be abound, if I have to guess. This could provide us some cover the museum may not expect. IF they don't have one of us on payroll" Deacon considers.
"You know best," Marija concedes with little fight, offering a wan but genuine smile to Deacon and Autumn. "We'll do what makes the most sense." She gives herself a little shake to pull it together.
The rising mist is waist-deep, now. It's time to move, as even the moon overhead seems occluded, deepening the shadows here in Boston's Back Bay neighorhood. There is the distant howl of some creature, almost like a wolf but with higher-pitched, piercing ululation. Those who have spent time in Africa or the Middle East might recognize it as the wail of a jackal.
Autumn ponders for a moment before she nods her head. "Right," she says and glances at the mists. "This mist will be our cover. Our shadows for tonight."
"That's our cue" Deacon says ... but the expression on his face says even he doesn't know why. For a moment in the mind's eye Marija and Autumn might catch a glimpse of some kind of glowing mark - a hint of laurel perhaps? That eminates from his forehead and then he's nodding at Marija and Autumn both. He gathers himself quickly and giving the ladies time to do the same, he leads them down stairwells and across the street. As the mist covers their approach, it seems almost forgiving the ease in which Deacon is able to cover the fence they have to climb to get over but he's just as quick to provide help for them to scale it also. That door that's been left open for them remains available and it's there he pauses them before heading inside. "Alright. Let's take to the shadow here ... give us more time to check out the challenge and the danger." He grasps at his dog tags of all things, gripping them in his hand before he seems to SLIDE sideways in a way that looks wrong to the eye, slipping into the penumbral realm of the Nightmare.
Deacon knows that using nightmare can be wonky during plots, he's gonna let the SR assume the Nightmare status and react, rather than shifting over ot it.
Yeah, we'll just RP the Nightmare.
As the trio moves, the mist follows them like a lover: it wraps around the trio even in the Nightmare as they slip sideways, out of reality and into some other space. Crossing the street in the Nightmare is easy: the mist is breezeless, and if there are things that hunt in that liminal, unseen realm, they are not hunting here, tonight: or at least they hope.
She's not dressed for scaling fences, in a miniskirt and heels-- but none of her clothes are fit for such a task, whatsoever. Given that, and her exhaustion, Marija clearly needs Deacon's help to make it over. But there's no complaint from her, as she tags along with he and someone, waiting some point where she can be useful.
She's not dressed for scaling fences, in a miniskirt and heels-- but none of her clothes are fit for such a task, whatsoever. Given that, and her exhaustion, Marija clearly needs Deacon's help to make it over. But there's no complaint from her, as she tags along with he and Autumn, waiting some point where she can be useful.
With another nod, Autumn adjusts her cloak and begins to follow Deacon and Marija. Given she doesn't have a nightmare charm, she keeps close with the others to not get lost while she peers around.
Nor in the nightmare do fences matter: they're insubstantial things, wisps of flimsy. As the trio moves through the space between worlds, they can see glimpses of strange doors opening promising entrance to unknown worlds. Those worlds are not for tonight: tonight is for the Museum.
As the trio gets close, the brick walls loom. The side door should be like any other, some insubstantial breeze, but when Deacon, as leader, goes to touch it there is a spark of fire. In the dark space of the Nightmare it is almost blinding, like an electric red, and it hurts. The building, home to power, is warded.
There's that flash and a hiss from Deacon as he curses to himself in French under his breath while gripping his hand tightly in a fist as if the pressure will somehow help sustain the pain like a normal burn. "That .. that is not something I was expecting. They definitely know what they have" he surmises rather lamely. He turns toward Autumn and Marija. "I know you are unwell .. but can you bring this down? If you know a way I can give you more oomph .. just say the word." He himself is a soldier, not a magician. If she chan't they'll have to do this the old-fashioned way.
Having small black horns poking out of her hair in the nightmare, Autumn pauses upon seeing the red spark. "Is there something wrong?" the dusky person begins to wonder with a tilt of her head. "That spark... There is something else in there?"
"I can try. I do not know that I will be able to do much more than this though, especially if it is strong," Marija warns softly, pondering the vicious red glow for a moment. She reaches into her purse, pulling out a small knife, and bares her left arm to the slash of the blade. With other, very fresh marks still there on her arm, it might become more clear as to just why the waifish young woman is so exhausted right now.
Kneeling there in the nightmare, she starts to use her blood to trace ancient heiroglyphs on the ground in front of her. "You will need to be fast," she warns Deacon and Autumn. "Very fast to get in."
Perhaps she's too confident in her capabilities.
With a nod, Deacon waits but he also watches his compatriot as she begins to perform her work. For himself, there's the crown of laurel leaves nestled within his hair, an elfin cloak that flows behind him like that of spun gold the shadows doing their best to betray his lineage.
As Marija chants, magic begins to rise. Blood flows down her arm, and in the Nightmare it seems almost ruby read, like it is too real. The hieroglyphs glow like fire, and then from them, a low arch seems to open. The look of the doorway is archaic: not a true arch at all, it is a pillared gateway with cross lintels. The trio must pass through and quickly; already, it is draining energy from Marija.
Her ash-grey wings slowly flex behind her, each feather tapering to a bloody red tip. Marija doesn't seem to even notice the movement of the appendages, though they seem as if they're ready to lift her upward at a moment's notice, with their slow but consistent flexing. She's busy, instead, with etching out her commands in blood and ancient lettering. Eyes nearly closed and face growing more and more pale as the ritual drags from her, she murmurs, "Go. Go now..." but her fingers keep tracing their marks.
There's no hesitation in Deacon's steps, as soon as the entry appears Deacon is moving. He's grabbing Marija as well, trying to time it so that he can disrupt her casting just with enough time to help pull her through. His arm will cinch her tightly against his frame and all but WHISK her along until they can find themselves on the other side of the barrier that prevents them from getting inside.
Nodding towards Marija, Autumn turns and proceeds to run through the gateway with the others. "Whatever is in other side, it must be guarding crown," she speaks on their way towards the end of the gateway.
When Autumn, Deacon and Marija step through the gateway, it is as if a bubble surrounds them. At first, the red bubble is large, but with every step it is shrinking. Marija is battling against the wards, with each step shrinking the bubble. The trio needs to find a mirror, fast.
Down here, in the service tunnels, mirrors may be harder to find. Steam pipes roam overhead, with museum-white walls and tile. Doors run along, with neatly labeled titles like 'c.XIV conservation unit' or 'deep archival storage.'
The great unknown question? What happens to the three here inside the words when that bubble of power shrinks too small.
Who needs wings when they have Deacon to carry them? But still, even as they search for the way out, she can do little but fight to maintain her magic. Through gritted teeth, the young woman grits out, "If this falls... it will be most definitely bad." An understatement, most likely. Marija's body trembles, the strain showing clearly on her features.
Sensing a need for urgency, Deacon continues ot move them quickly He holds Marija tightly so she doesn't have to worry about anything else but he saw how wan she looked already, and each passing moment draws more blood from the woman more essense. His trekked steps are militant, ground-covering as he pushes them forward. "Be on the lookout for anything reflective" he calls out to Autumn but his focus is on the way forward, hoping against hope he'll find something that can be used. Polished metal, exceedingly polished bit of glass at just the right angle - anything he can find that reflection to help him with. Right now there's no sense of surprise or need for keeping themselves low. Deacon focuses on finding the one thing that will save them before Marija's time runs out, and thus time runs out for all of them.
"We will die if protection fails on us," Autumn looks around with gritted teeth. A slow nod, and she squints her eyes in an attempt to find any reflective surface.
The bubble is getting closer. When it brushes against Autumn's arm, there is a sudden line of fire. Is it a small relief to know you won't be crushed to death?
Up ahead, a door: the Enlightenment Conservation Room, and in the middle of it, a great mirror, half-way through being restored.
There! Deacon sees the room .. but it's also a clear indicator that it's purpose is precisely what they're gonna use it for. "This could be a setup but we don't have a choice!" He grits out and gesturing with his free hand to follow - the soldier and company slide right through the door and he's already focusing on that mirror. It's not the smallest surface he'd ever used but the smaller it is the harder you have to concentrate on that image of yourself standing in the reality of the world. Standing there, Deacon uses every ounce of training he has to block out the dangers incoming. He blocks out the bubble enclosing more and more rapidly. He blocks out the presence of his slowly fading friend in his arms - His eyes focus on the image of himself and them partially reflected in the mirror with a lazer's gaze as his hand grips those dog tags. His mind focuses, filling out the rest of the image in his own mind's eye, forcing himself to WILL them back into the reality of the physical. "NOW!"
It's a mad dash to the mirror, as the red bubble closes in. If there are small reliefs? The mirror is large. Once upon a time, perhaps, Napoleon or King Louis stood in front of this, full-body.
Marija is utterly dependent on Deacon in the moment, to pull her through that mirror with him. It's doable, but she can't drop the spell until it's done, and that means that it's a juggling act for him to get her through, but not before Autumn gets through. Poor Deacon. Still, as he yells, she tenses her body, preparing that last burst of energy to push them on.
Now Marija feels the burn as one of the red walls of the bubble comes close to her elbow.
And with that last push, Deacon does his best to shove them all through that mirror's space - leaving himself for last in that imagery, knowing that it'll be him that takes the worst of what remains if the bubble bursts too soon.
Autumn yelps in pain from the shrinking bubble and gets closer to the group upwards through the door. Upon seeing the mirror, she gets ready to dash with them through the mirror out of the nightmare while she rubs her arm.
Deacon, indeed, is last: and as the bubble closes, he can feel the fire. It's hard not to imagine it, some combination of heat and pressure, like being squeezed into some piece of diamond in the center of a volcano. It lingers, singing, and when all three of the trio tumble through they can smell scorched hair and clothing.
...and tumble through they do. There is a crash, as Deacon, Marija and Autumn end up in the conservation gallery. The tumble of bodies sends the mirror falling, and there is a loud thunder of shattered glass as the priceless artifact is lost to history.
Marija doesn't even seem to notice the sear of her flesh when it comes into contact with the boundary she's trying to maintain, but when the mirror shatters and she can drop the spell, there's a shuddering gasp and the girl goes fairly limp in Deacon's arms. If he falls? She's hitting the ground hard. There's enough life in her to at least wrap arms around his shoulders, though that means her blood will likely rub off on him. She'll recover in time, hopefully quickly, but that magic's taken a lot out of her.
An immediate wince comes to Deacon's face not at the loss of the artifact but more likely the noise of it falling. Alas, he's more interested in rolling around as soon as he hits the ground, the smell of smoked leather permeating the room as he tries to save some of his jacket. The pain is secondary for him, though not something he can completely block out it's so intense. It takes him a full minute or more to find his feet assuming they don't get interrupted before then. Watching on, Marija or Autumn will see him actively fighting a sense of fog and fatigue that's actually more noticeable now where the mantle of his bloodline isn't overshadowing it. In pain and recovering he seems far less virile here in the material than he did moments ago. But still, his eyes will open he'll find himself entangled in the arms of Marija and doggedly he'll force himself to sit, to help her sit and them to their feet in slow agonizing order. Still, despite all that .. there's some sense of victory in the expression on Deacon's face?
Letting out a groan once out of the nightmare and onto the floor, Autumn gets to her knees and checks her burned arm. "Note to self, should get charm for whatever other world that was from mirror," she says as she slowly gets up to her feet while avoiding getting cut by mirror shards.
There is in fact some victory among the glass. They are inside the museum, and the location of this room is marked on their map. From here, it's not a terribly long jaunt down the corridors and up to the Egyptian Gallery.
...of course, nothing is ever easy. While they've bypassed the building's external security, there are surely actual, physical guards inside the museum.
"Koshmar," Marija manages to mutter across to Autumn. Perhaps she doesn't realize she's not speaking in English, for she says a few more words, before sinking in against Deacon's side once more. The poor man has volunteered for crutch-duty, it seems. As for the rest of what's to come, she might well be a washout, but with the help of the others, she scrambles to her feet.
And then they are through the galleries: down the halls, on padding feet. In truth, the plan here is going smoothly. Around a corner, down a corridor, around another corner...
...down a corridor. Then a door, stairs. On it, a sign: EGYPTIAN GALLERY. Up these stairs is the prize.
Carrying his friends figuratively and literally seems something that Deacon has grown accustomed to, part of the military life as it were but he nods toward both women, speaking quietly. "Okay. That wasn't as easy as I woulda liked but I don't hear alarms or have a bad feeling in my gut for now so .." he trails off though, perhaps uncertain of jinxing it as they move along. Seeing the sign, he pauses again but begins to move slowly up the stairs. His ears aren't special in any way but he strains them to their limit in search of sounds of footfalls or grunts or anything that might give away the location of a patrolling guard. He motions with his hands toward Marija and Autumn both, putting a finger to his lips now, and then pointing two at his eyes first, then pointing them in front of them.
Nodding at Deacon, Autumn scans around for any guards nearby while she walks with the group through the planned path to their destination. She looks up at the stairs to the Egyptian gallery and carefully walk up the stairs as well, remaining silent.
Marija doesn't do much more than walk. She keeps behind Deacon and Autumn, and makes her cautious way up the stairs and down the halls, but a hand pressed to the wall for support is a frequent occurrence, and more than once she stumbles on legs of jello. She doesn't fall though; perhaps it's merely her nature, but the girl has grit and she pushes onward.
Up the stairs they roam quietly as a unit now with the one leaning against the wall for support and the other trailing in between. The Cajun man never trusts anything TOO easy so he remains cautious and slow in Deacon's continued approach up stairs, and toward the gallery that holds their true prize.
And then they arrive: the gallery. Stepping out from a side door, the Egyptian Gallery is huge, monumental, even. Huge columns looted from Ancient Egypt support a glass roof, along with purloined friezes. Mummies sit in glass cases, looking out over the floor, and a space in the center of the exhibit has been cleared for a special exhibition.
Velvet ropes and all, behind a glass case, there it sits: the crown. The Crown of Nefertari.
Around the exhibition, the shadows seem to dim and lengthen. The feeling of magic in the air pricks at everyone's skin. Marija feels it most strongly, but all of them can tell that something here has crossed over into an arcane world.
"What can you tell me about the crown?" This question from Deacon comes directed at Marija but also to Autumn the man takes a look. "Trust your instincts. Bottom line .. once we make our move here it's gonna be whatever it is. If we get attacked by ANYONE - don't hesitate. I'm guessin' you won't have an issue with that." He glances toward Marija again, his expression softening if only slightly. "The price will be worth it if we succeed."
Marija and Autumn might both know the story: this crown, which appears to a simple band of gold, has three cobras rising along the band. That triple cobra arrangement is deeply unusual; in Ancient Egypt, royal crowns had one cobra or two, perhaps signifying upper and lower Egypt. Here, the symbolism is something different entirely, with one golden cobra having onyx eyes, another ruby, and the last sapphire. Marija would say each cobra signifies one of a divine trinity:
The onyx-eyed cobra is Seth.
The ruby-eyed cobra is Astarte.
The sapphire-eyed cobra is Anat.
"There must be presense around here," Autumn says in a low voice. "Perhaps it is why we couldn't cross easily over there." She then gazes upon the crown, her eyes widen with awe before she glances around.
Perhaps. Perhaps it is the crown: or perhaps it is the proprietors of the Museum, who know the value of what they keep.
Glancing between one and then the other ... Deacon takes a breath. "I'm gonna take a shot ... be ready for anything. This is our time" he says to himself at the last more than anything else. He moves forward slowly, leaving the others behind for a moment with one glance behind his shoulder toward Marija and Autumn to flash them a reassuring, charming grin before approaching the crown, up to and including over the velvet rope and toward the glass case. He focuses his eyes on the sapphire-eyed cobra that rests atop the crown, using it like a guideline for himself. Those watching might almost get the impressiong the cobra has caught him in the cliche gaze of hypnotism if he weren't still moving.
As she watches Deacon make his move, Autumn slowly raises her right hand out from her cloak in a thumb-up gesture. She then takes on a defensive stance just in case something, or someone, comes out. "Be on lookout," she speaks.
Is it there time? As Deacon moves for the glass case surrounding the crown, it seems as if the whole world stands still. Marija and Autumn can feel a kind of anticipation in the air, and there is a palpable sense of the shadows deepening. Deacon's footfalls seem heavy, as even the carpet doesn't stop them from making heartbeats in both womens' chest.
For Marija, she can catch the edge of the desert wind, whipping along without a breeze: a smell of some distant, foreign place, one that tickles her nostrils and reminds her of Egypt's wide expanses.
For Autumn it is is different; instead for her it is the scent of fire. Sulfur, and brimstone, and Hell itself, pricking at her nose with a familiarity.
All three balance on the knife's edge, in the liminal space between real and unreal.
As things begin to almost stand still in the flow of time, caught in the mollasses that holds in enshrined in the moment ... and then Deacon is moving to touch the glass case. Lift it if he can, break it if he must he expects an alarm or a reaction of some sort but he has no idea what may come and he's almost strung as tight as a wire because of it. Never breaking stride, never breaking gaze fro m the crown and that sapphire-eyed cobra he'll make the move swiftly. Lift or break, he'll reach for the crown and take his shot! In the back of his mind he already begins to work on the preperation to focus on weaving together a path through the Shadow Woods, which from this side of the wards shouldn't be too bad. That focus is strained however, held in tight balance with that waiting anticipation.
Deacon hits the case with a thud, and then the glass knocks over. There is a terrible crash, and immediately, a siren begins to wail. Still: Deacon can grab the crown. They have it.
As Deacon's hands fasten on the object, he can feel a sudden rush of power: a familiar rush of power, as some feminine force fills him with sudden vitality. Autumn can feel it, too: suddenly there is a breathtaking sense of presence surrounding her, something mighty and divine. It feels, frankly, amazing.
"I smell... home," Autumn speaks, her voice quiet enough to not distract Deacon while she still stands in that anticipation. Her eyes focus on the crown, and she jumps when the alarm goes on and peers around. "I can feel it."
Crown in hand, Deacon is already turning around when the siren begins to wail. That he expected if nothing else - and he's gesturing for the others to turn tail and he's moving in their direction. "Back! We need an isolated space we can control while I get us the fuck out of here! Down the hall!" He's grabbing up Marija again, not really giving her an ask in the matter knowing how weak she is physically right now. Autumn he figures can keep up, but he's not staying in the place where the alarm's gone off that's for sure. "Back to the mirror room!" He's hissing out as he's hoofing at an aggressive pace now to re-trace their steps back down into the bowels of the basement.
Autumn turns around and runs to follow Deacon as soon as she hears him. "Yeah, let's get out of here!" She dashes with her cloak flowing from the speed.
...and that's when Bob arrives, hurrying with a puff of pink cheeks as the alarm sounds. He's got his baton out already, his flashlight up in the other hand, and he is scanning around. "STOP!" he yells upon spotting Deacon, Autumn and their companions.
In the distance, behind Bob, more feet are running in the group's direction. Bob is here right now, though, and he is a problem.
Whirling about, a small knife suddenly goes flying toward the cop as Deacon drops to a knee even as one hand sets down someone against the floor who's all but passed out from her exhaustion and he's dropping the duffel that's been slung across his shoulder to let it drop to the floor. While the knife flies through the air at the cop - the soldier is hefting up a LARGE-looking rifle. It's a Barrett M82, and in the hands of a normal human being, it would require a table-top and a bipod to fire at all. In his arms though he lugs it up to his shoulder as if it were a normal-sized weapon in hopes that the mere sight of it will pause the guard dead in his tracks. Or if he's super lucky - the knife will find it's mark. Either way, his voice goes into a dead-pan calm as he speaks at Autumn. "Keeping moving. We'll hold at the room. One door in, one door out." It's a spur of the moment-choice. He'll have to judge but if it looks like the guard isn't slowing down; the loud report of his rifle will fill the halls and echo against the walls and tile underfoot.
Whirling about, a small knife suddenly goes flying toward the cop as Deacon drops to a knee even as one hand sets down Marija against the floor who's all but passed out from her exhaustion and he's dropping the duffel that's been slung across his shoulder to let it drop to the floor. While the knife flies through the air at the cop - the soldier is hefting up a LARGE-looking rifle. It's a Barrett M82, and in the hands of a normal human being, it would require a table-top and a bipod to fire at all. In his arms though he lugs it up to his shoulder as if it were a normal-sized weapon in hopes that the mere sight of it will pause the guard dead in his tracks. Or if he's super lucky - the knife will find it's mark. Either way, his voice goes into a dead-pan calm as he speaks at Autumn. "Keeping moving. We'll hold at the room. One door in, one door out. Take Marija." It's a spur of the moment-choice. He'll have to judge but if it looks like the guard isn't slowing down; the loud report of his rifle will fill the halls and echo against the walls and tile underfoot.
"Got it," Autumn nods her head at Deacon. She pauses her tracts to grab Marija and continues to run with the passed-out woman over her shoulder to the mirror room. "One in, one out? Okay."
"You're not going anywhere!" Bob shouts, and of course that's when he makes the wrong move: he draws his taser and fires, aiming it right at Deacon, rushing forward. "Stop!" he says. "We're calling the police, they're already on their way!"
Indeed, the sound of sirens is already rising over the city.
Combat in the mists might be broken, I'm not sure.
No worries! We'll just RP it.
Yep - wrong move. The crack of his rifle comes roaring out and the large .50 calibur bullet comes ripping out toward the guard at break-neck speed. He's already twisting and standing to push himself to his feet and run down the hall, pusing toward the room where they'd broken the mirror and trailing behind Autumn and her passenger, now. "We got more company coming, so let's make it fast, cher!" Deacon's voice echos out and if nothing else, the guards and cops will have one clue to their investigation come morning: A Cajun accent.
There's an explosion of blood like like a red flower from where Bob's head used to be, and then shouts, terrified shouts, from the security guards running up after him. It's time for Deacon and Autumn to go, as fast as they possibly can.
Running as fast as she can while carrying the sleeping woman, Autumn nods again and she focuses on the path. Should any guard attempt to block her way, she will either attempt to either dodge past them or push them away with rage through blood and even suffering.
Deacon's plan is to haul their asses down and back to that room with the mirror where they can hold the door long enough for him to bring up a Path out of here! Pushing and shoving Autumn and Marija toward that end, he'll go so far as to use his own rifle to jam up the door if he has to, holding against any intrusion that comes before the Path is ready. With Autumn working on providing them one instead? All the better, he can use his supernatural strength to help keep the door back if they rush it.
Thundering boots. To someone unaware, it might sound like an army running towards the Egyptian wing. Autumn's heart is pounding, and Deacon's adrenaline is up as they speed through the halls, looking for the closest exit. There are plenty of mirrors here, of course: but inside the wards, the Nightmare is too disturbed to enter. They need to get out, onto the lawn, and then they can flee to freedom.
The mist is gone, now, over Boston, and the late fall air is split with wailing police sirens: men and women in dark uniforms hurtling through the night in screaming chariots, all headed for the Museum of Fine Arts. Why?
...well: Bob is why, slumped to the floor of the Egyptian Gallery in a rapidly spreading circle of blood. All things have baptism, perhaps, even the Crown.
Then it's the door they 'came' through in the first place. From the inside it shouldn't present much of a problem to get open! "Turn the other way!" He calls out to Autumn, pointing down the hall they'd come through in the Nightmare in the first place. "Hit the door running and keep your mind on that path, oui?" Deacon tries to keep his voice down, but now the rifle's back in the bag so to speak and literally he's keeping up with the other woman more easily. Hitting that door, he'll put his shoulder into it with FORCE - let thim think about that and hopefully opening a hole to freedom that will lead to the outside.
Autumn doesn't know how to path, so she decides to look for way out without her and her crew getting caught. "Damn guards," she mutters while running. "They probably have sun hum- Path? What path?" She does hit the door and knock it down. "Not sure how to do that, but maybe I can try?"
"No need" Deacon puffs, having misunderstood the situation. "If we can make it outside with a couple of minutes to spare, I can get us home."
BANG!
Autumn says "Alright! "
Deacon's shoulder hits the door. It flies open; someone is dead weight in Autumn's arms, but then the cold air rushes behind them. Behind them, at a distance, the security guards are reaching the edge of the building.
Deacon's shoulder hits the door. It flies open; Marija is dead weight in Autumn's arms, but then the cold air rushes behind them. Behind them, at a distance, the security guards are reaching the edge of the building.
Pop. Pop. Pop-Pop.
Gunshots start to fly, the panicked guards drawing Berettas. Is this in policy? No, of course not: but then their friend is dead, a bloody mess on the Museum floor.
Ducking, Deacon instincually reacts to the sound of gunfire, spinning about and as soon as he can he slamming the door shut again. In this posture he almost looks like a man in subservient pose. Head bowed, hands pressing against the door to slam and keep it shut as bullets start whizzing down the hallway toward them! "Stay down!" Calls the soldier, at least he's wearing kevlar! His mind has to focus again, blocking things out as he tries to form, that shadowy pathway that will them out of here. "C'mon ...." he mutters, trying to wipe his mind of the other worries pressing in around them. One hand still clutches the crown, he hasn't let go of his grip on it since grabbing it, but to fire his rifle the once. His fingers are white-knuckled around it.
Up close like this, the night is raw. Adrenaline is pounding with blood in Deacon and Autumn's ears, but the Nightmare is right here. Just a slip, a slip to the side, and they can step away. Of course...
Following close to Deacon, Autumn holds on to Marija while dodging bullets. Making sure the door behind them is blocked and glances back over her shoulder.
...more bullets are flying, and from the other side, cop cars are starting to roll up. Suddenly, the night is all red and blue lights, reflecting garishly off the Museum and the nearby apartments of the Back Bay. The net, literally, is closing in.
Mentally, Deacon is slapping himself before he shakes his head and turns suddenly to grab at Autumn and then they're all slipping sideway once more. Into the shadows they go, lost to sight from those mundane cops and security guards still on the chase. This ... this gives him the breathing room he needs. "Fuck me ... I feel like a rookie" he mutters before settling himself down now.
"You alright, Deacon?" Autumn asks quietly once they are in the shadows.
Silence reigns as soon as the Nightmare envelops Deacon and Autumn. They can see the police outside, but they can't hear them, and they are just amorphous blobs, rushing the lawn. They're searching frantically, now, and perhaps a little bit of their panic reaches through the ether, but for Deacon and Autumn's part? Well. They are free.
Dim through the nightmare, flashlight beams probe the lawn, as the police and guards get more and more confused as to what happened.
With a weary nod, the tall man replies to Autumn "Alive .. so. C'mon" he says to her then .. and once more he focuses on bringing up that path that will open in the more relative safety (ha!) of the Nightmare and shadow here. Eventually if he can, the sight will open to reveal a small dirt trailway that wanders through a shadow wooded forest that leads ... on into infinity as far as anyone can tell. "Follow. Don't step off the path. If you do, you'll wish you'd died tonight" he warns the other woman who's carrying his friend. "Hell, grab my jacket or shoulder if you feel better. It's almost enough watching them now for Deacon to want to stick around but he gestures toward that strange path to nowhere and everywhere. "Let's go.""
With a weary nod, the tall man replies to Autumn "Alive .. so. C'mon" he says to her then .. and once more he focuses on bringing up that path that will open in the more relative safety (ha!) of the Nightmare and shadow here. Eventually if he can, the sight will open to reveal a small dirt trailway that wanders through a shadow wooded forest that leads ... on into infinity as far as anyone can tell. "Follow. Don't step off the path. If you do, you'll wish you'd died tonight" he warns the other woman who's carrying his friend. "Hell, grab my jacket or shoulder if you feel better." It's almost enough watching them now for Deacon to want to stick around but he gestures toward that strange path to nowhere and everywhere. "Let's go." [Fix]
And then the path: home, and safety, and success. Autumn paid, Deacon and Marija exalted... victory, and at almost no price.
...just that poor security guard, lying in a pool of his own blood.
"Okay." Keeping the other woman over her shoulder, Autumn holds on to Deacon as they step into the path back to Haven.
Once they reach home, Deacon will ensure everyone makes it back to a place of safety before they all part ways and re-taking possession of the woman who is his ally. "You did good support work tonight, even an extra set of eyes can be the difference. I'll remember your name" he offers to Autumn with a grin as they're re-entering the confines of that small town, stepping through some random bathroom into a late-night business that never quite get used to people kind of .. coming out of their bathrooms they don't remember going in. The cool night air brushes their faces, and Deacon carries the angelborn in a carry cradle in front of him. Now that things are past his mood is considerably higher. "Damn but that was a thing!"
Deacon, a seasoned operator, led the operation with military precision, serving as both a strategist and physical powerhouse. Marija, weakened from previous activities, tapped into her mystical abilities to bypass the museum’s wards, using her own blood to craft a temporary passage. This sacrificial act drained her strength significantly, leaving her reliant on her companions as they moved through the museum.
Autumn, equipped with unresolved strength and demonic lineage, kept her senses tuned for any supernatural elements, helping the crew navigate through the treacherous heist. She could sense the presence of her infernal home, a whiff of brimstone, indicating the power of the object they sought.
Upon acquiring the crown, a security guard named Bob confronted the team, leading to a bloody showdown. Deacon, recognizing the threat to their mission, made a split-second decision to eliminate the obstacle with extreme prejudice. His actions resulted in Bob’s death, unleashing a profound sense of urgency as the team fled.
Deacon employed the Nightmare once again to provide cover, navigating through shadowy paths to evade law enforcement who swarmed the museum, their sirens wailing through the night. Through the shadows, the team found their way back to Haven, carrying the prize and leaving behind the chaos they had wrought.
Upon arriving in Haven, Deacon acknowledged Autumn’s assistance, while maintaining a buoyant attitude despite the night's intense turn of events. The mission was accomplished; they had secured the Crown of Nefertari, but the echo of the high price paid, Bob’s life, lingered in the air.
(The Crown of Nefertari(SRThierry):SRThierry)
[Thu Nov 16 2023]
In the Egyptian Wing - Museum of Fine Arts Boston
The Egypt Galley at the Museum of Fine Arts in Boston carries an unexpected, subtle air of mystery and unease under cover of night. Dimly lit, the space is filled with the towering statues of pharaohs and deities, casting long, eerie shadows that play on the walls adorned with ancient frescoes and cryptic hieroglyphics. The stillness is punctuated by the silent, enigmatic presence of sarcophagi and mummies, their age-old secrets locked within. This atmosphere is deepened by the muted lighting over the displays of ancient jewelry and pottery, creating pockets of darkness that fuel the imagination. The explanatory texts, though informative, seem to only hint at the deeper, more mysterious aspects of Egyptian lore, leaving readers with a lingering sense of intrigue and an unsettling feeling that there's more to these artifacts than meets the eye.
It is about 50F(10C) degrees.
Boston, a small rented apartment somewhere near the emerald necklace and the Museum of Fine Arts. AirBNB has made secretive planning a lot easier, widening the options from 'hotel room' to anyone with a spare apartment. This is one such place; Marija and Deacon are here, along with high-definition photos of the Crown taken from the MFA's catalogue. It's on loan, given a special place of prominence in the center of the Egyptian Galley.
Just down the street: across the street, really, looms the Museum of Fine Arts in Boston. An imposing edifice, it is a museum in the old school, full of art and artifacts looted from across the centuries.
Here in the apartment, Deacon can be noted standing over the said photos of the crown, studying the object easily as much as whatever information can be garnered for such a heist. Since blueprints are often available as public record, it's likely they have managed to acquire a copy and those would be spread out on whatever surface is available for study as well. Every now and then, the tall man uses a white mark pencil to make little notations on the blue prints as he watches them. This vent too small, good overwatch positions - marking where security booths are known to be located, or where he thinks new cameras mighjt have been installed. A thief in profession he's not - but covert operations are his bread and butter.
This motley crew has been hired by a supernatural organization unknown to some and decidely known to others, but regardless, they are set up across the street from the Museum of Fine Arts in Boston. That brick building is a museum in the classic old style, full of looted artifacts from across the globe.
Tonight, the crew's benefactors have arranged a side door to be unlocked: because inside, on exhibition, is the Crown of Nefertari. It is a priceless artifact and greatly desired by someone in the occult underground. Here, in this rented AirBNB apartment, Deacon, who appears to be the representative of the hiring party, has maps drawn out, while Marija, quietly drawn away, keeps to herself. Autumn is the last to arrive, introduced by a reputable broker in the occult underground.
As the last of their motley crew arrives, Deacon looks up from the maps and blueprints he's pouring over from their little stakeout location across the way and he nods toward Autumn. "Glad you could make it, cher. We got a small window tonight but I think we gon' be alright." The man's accent is Cajun and southern, all twisted together in that classic New Orleans sound. His face is familiar to the woman, vaguely remembered in passing amid memories of terrible coffee and late-night diners.
Marija is AFK for a bit, not feeling well, she says. She'll be back for the action.
Outside, the moon is a crescent. It squats over the museum, casting it in shadows. For those who are superstitious, some of the shadows may move on their own accord.
Having arrived in territory unknown to her, Autumn finds Deacon and Marija and lifts her good right hand in a small wave. "Hello," she says to the man and nods. "I see. I have heard word of many treasures, yes. So at least I can lend help."
Indeed. There are many treasures in the museum; the Crown is but one, with others promising other, fascinating things. While entry has been arranged by some combination of money and magic, the inside of the Museum remains guarded: security systems, to be sure, and also physical security guards, roaming the halls with flashlights. Even from here, the beams of their lights can be seen.
The man gives Autumn a nod. "Well, I'm Deacon. Think I caught your name th' other night but it's Autumn non?" His accent is thick, but his english is understanable and he's turning his attention back to the blueprints. "Well, we were told that we might be looking for extra loot, depend on who them send us now." Deacon's finger comes down on the map in the centre, where the crown is being held. "This our main objective, but if we wanna hit up other cases we gonna need to know now so's we can compensate. What's your interest, cher?" He asks of Autumn, before glancing toward Marija. He doesn't bother her, but there's clearly some sense of concern or affiliation between the two that Autumn can pick up on, even if faint.
As the appointed hour approaches, some slow mist begins to arise. In Haven, that would be unremarkable, but in Boston? Some weirding work is in play here, full of blood and chants to reach out and touch even the northern city where it glowers and stoops upon the shore.
Wan and so pale that every freckle stands out stark on her features, Marija has certainly seen better days, but she manages to pick herself up and get it together enough to at least approach Deacon and Autumn, eventually. "Alright," she offers as her full explanation. "I think I'm ready..."
When it's time, the trio doesn't have far to go: across the street, then, mist-clad, up and over the lawn to a small basement door. It should give access to tunnels beneath the museum, and from there they can make their way up to the Egyptian Gallery.
"Yes. Autumn Lynx. And it's nice to meet you," Autumn tells Deacon in a husky contralto, walking over to where the group is and looking at the map. "I'm getting paid for this, but whether there is something that is helpful, it's probably there. But for now, I will focus on helping in getting crown."
With a nod for Marija, Deacon turns his face back to Autumn with a serious expression, waiting for her to give any details as to her own intentions or endeavours this evening. "Once we hit the first case, I figure we got a couple of minutes max before police will show up. The fog we got rolling in should extend that by a few extra minutes but not much longer than that. This is gonna be a straight-forward smash and grab. If it comes down to it ... you two will extract with the crown and I'll draw off any heat that comes at us if we can't make it out clean. I've got some contacts I can call on if I get nicked. Might burn my bridge doing it, but it'll get the job done."
Nefetari, the wife of Ramseses II -- Ramseses the Great. Her husband, Shelley's Ozymandias, beat back foreign invaders even as he adopted many of their gods, erecting many of Egypt's greatest monuments. She reigned with him, and, according to supernatural rumors, shared with him some magical might.
"We are making it so obvious?" Marija winces slightly, states, "I am in no shape to fight, but magic is easier, surely. I cannot use illusion though..." She sighs, a hand lifting to rub over her face as if she can push energy back into her body that way.
Mist curls around the legs of the trio, low as if it has a life of its own.
"I can not fight yet," Autumn murmurs while her eyes are on the map, one hand gesturing towards her bandaged left arm. "But if something happens, I can tap into demon blood and go berserk."
"I'd prefer not to, but I don't think we have anyone who's going to be able to disarm the alarms on the display. We have an in, but beyond that it's fair to say that we might be in the lurch. I have another thought .. but I'm uncertain how risky it may be. If the artifact itself is that powerful, will it have presence in the Nightmare's shadows? And could we use these to make our escape, or move about the museum unseen? Reflective surfaces are bound to be abound, if I have to guess. This could provide us some cover the museum may not expect. IF they don't have one of us on payroll" Deacon considers.
"You know best," Marija concedes with little fight, offering a wan but genuine smile to Deacon and Autumn. "We'll do what makes the most sense." She gives herself a little shake to pull it together.
The rising mist is waist-deep, now. It's time to move, as even the moon overhead seems occluded, deepening the shadows here in Boston's Back Bay neighorhood. There is the distant howl of some creature, almost like a wolf but with higher-pitched, piercing ululation. Those who have spent time in Africa or the Middle East might recognize it as the wail of a jackal.
Autumn ponders for a moment before she nods her head. "Right," she says and glances at the mists. "This mist will be our cover. Our shadows for tonight."
"That's our cue" Deacon says ... but the expression on his face says even he doesn't know why. For a moment in the mind's eye Marija and Autumn might catch a glimpse of some kind of glowing mark - a hint of laurel perhaps? That eminates from his forehead and then he's nodding at Marija and Autumn both. He gathers himself quickly and giving the ladies time to do the same, he leads them down stairwells and across the street. As the mist covers their approach, it seems almost forgiving the ease in which Deacon is able to cover the fence they have to climb to get over but he's just as quick to provide help for them to scale it also. That door that's been left open for them remains available and it's there he pauses them before heading inside. "Alright. Let's take to the shadow here ... give us more time to check out the challenge and the danger." He grasps at his dog tags of all things, gripping them in his hand before he seems to SLIDE sideways in a way that looks wrong to the eye, slipping into the penumbral realm of the Nightmare.
Deacon knows that using nightmare can be wonky during plots, he's gonna let the SR assume the Nightmare status and react, rather than shifting over ot it.
Yeah, we'll just RP the Nightmare.
As the trio moves, the mist follows them like a lover: it wraps around the trio even in the Nightmare as they slip sideways, out of reality and into some other space. Crossing the street in the Nightmare is easy: the mist is breezeless, and if there are things that hunt in that liminal, unseen realm, they are not hunting here, tonight: or at least they hope.
She's not dressed for scaling fences, in a miniskirt and heels-- but none of her clothes are fit for such a task, whatsoever. Given that, and her exhaustion, Marija clearly needs Deacon's help to make it over. But there's no complaint from her, as she tags along with he and someone, waiting some point where she can be useful.
She's not dressed for scaling fences, in a miniskirt and heels-- but none of her clothes are fit for such a task, whatsoever. Given that, and her exhaustion, Marija clearly needs Deacon's help to make it over. But there's no complaint from her, as she tags along with he and Autumn, waiting some point where she can be useful.
With another nod, Autumn adjusts her cloak and begins to follow Deacon and Marija. Given she doesn't have a nightmare charm, she keeps close with the others to not get lost while she peers around.
Nor in the nightmare do fences matter: they're insubstantial things, wisps of flimsy. As the trio moves through the space between worlds, they can see glimpses of strange doors opening promising entrance to unknown worlds. Those worlds are not for tonight: tonight is for the Museum.
As the trio gets close, the brick walls loom. The side door should be like any other, some insubstantial breeze, but when Deacon, as leader, goes to touch it there is a spark of fire. In the dark space of the Nightmare it is almost blinding, like an electric red, and it hurts. The building, home to power, is warded.
There's that flash and a hiss from Deacon as he curses to himself in French under his breath while gripping his hand tightly in a fist as if the pressure will somehow help sustain the pain like a normal burn. "That .. that is not something I was expecting. They definitely know what they have" he surmises rather lamely. He turns toward Autumn and Marija. "I know you are unwell .. but can you bring this down? If you know a way I can give you more oomph .. just say the word." He himself is a soldier, not a magician. If she chan't they'll have to do this the old-fashioned way.
Having small black horns poking out of her hair in the nightmare, Autumn pauses upon seeing the red spark. "Is there something wrong?" the dusky person begins to wonder with a tilt of her head. "That spark... There is something else in there?"
"I can try. I do not know that I will be able to do much more than this though, especially if it is strong," Marija warns softly, pondering the vicious red glow for a moment. She reaches into her purse, pulling out a small knife, and bares her left arm to the slash of the blade. With other, very fresh marks still there on her arm, it might become more clear as to just why the waifish young woman is so exhausted right now.
Kneeling there in the nightmare, she starts to use her blood to trace ancient heiroglyphs on the ground in front of her. "You will need to be fast," she warns Deacon and Autumn. "Very fast to get in."
Perhaps she's too confident in her capabilities.
With a nod, Deacon waits but he also watches his compatriot as she begins to perform her work. For himself, there's the crown of laurel leaves nestled within his hair, an elfin cloak that flows behind him like that of spun gold the shadows doing their best to betray his lineage.
As Marija chants, magic begins to rise. Blood flows down her arm, and in the Nightmare it seems almost ruby read, like it is too real. The hieroglyphs glow like fire, and then from them, a low arch seems to open. The look of the doorway is archaic: not a true arch at all, it is a pillared gateway with cross lintels. The trio must pass through and quickly; already, it is draining energy from Marija.
Her ash-grey wings slowly flex behind her, each feather tapering to a bloody red tip. Marija doesn't seem to even notice the movement of the appendages, though they seem as if they're ready to lift her upward at a moment's notice, with their slow but consistent flexing. She's busy, instead, with etching out her commands in blood and ancient lettering. Eyes nearly closed and face growing more and more pale as the ritual drags from her, she murmurs, "Go. Go now..." but her fingers keep tracing their marks.
There's no hesitation in Deacon's steps, as soon as the entry appears Deacon is moving. He's grabbing Marija as well, trying to time it so that he can disrupt her casting just with enough time to help pull her through. His arm will cinch her tightly against his frame and all but WHISK her along until they can find themselves on the other side of the barrier that prevents them from getting inside.
Nodding towards Marija, Autumn turns and proceeds to run through the gateway with the others. "Whatever is in other side, it must be guarding crown," she speaks on their way towards the end of the gateway.
When Autumn, Deacon and Marija step through the gateway, it is as if a bubble surrounds them. At first, the red bubble is large, but with every step it is shrinking. Marija is battling against the wards, with each step shrinking the bubble. The trio needs to find a mirror, fast.
Down here, in the service tunnels, mirrors may be harder to find. Steam pipes roam overhead, with museum-white walls and tile. Doors run along, with neatly labeled titles like 'c.XIV conservation unit' or 'deep archival storage.'
The great unknown question? What happens to the three here inside the words when that bubble of power shrinks too small.
Who needs wings when they have Deacon to carry them? But still, even as they search for the way out, she can do little but fight to maintain her magic. Through gritted teeth, the young woman grits out, "If this falls... it will be most definitely bad." An understatement, most likely. Marija's body trembles, the strain showing clearly on her features.
Sensing a need for urgency, Deacon continues ot move them quickly He holds Marija tightly so she doesn't have to worry about anything else but he saw how wan she looked already, and each passing moment draws more blood from the woman more essense. His trekked steps are militant, ground-covering as he pushes them forward. "Be on the lookout for anything reflective" he calls out to Autumn but his focus is on the way forward, hoping against hope he'll find something that can be used. Polished metal, exceedingly polished bit of glass at just the right angle - anything he can find that reflection to help him with. Right now there's no sense of surprise or need for keeping themselves low. Deacon focuses on finding the one thing that will save them before Marija's time runs out, and thus time runs out for all of them.
"We will die if protection fails on us," Autumn looks around with gritted teeth. A slow nod, and she squints her eyes in an attempt to find any reflective surface.
The bubble is getting closer. When it brushes against Autumn's arm, there is a sudden line of fire. Is it a small relief to know you won't be crushed to death?
Up ahead, a door: the Enlightenment Conservation Room, and in the middle of it, a great mirror, half-way through being restored.
There! Deacon sees the room .. but it's also a clear indicator that it's purpose is precisely what they're gonna use it for. "This could be a setup but we don't have a choice!" He grits out and gesturing with his free hand to follow - the soldier and company slide right through the door and he's already focusing on that mirror. It's not the smallest surface he'd ever used but the smaller it is the harder you have to concentrate on that image of yourself standing in the reality of the world. Standing there, Deacon uses every ounce of training he has to block out the dangers incoming. He blocks out the bubble enclosing more and more rapidly. He blocks out the presence of his slowly fading friend in his arms - His eyes focus on the image of himself and them partially reflected in the mirror with a lazer's gaze as his hand grips those dog tags. His mind focuses, filling out the rest of the image in his own mind's eye, forcing himself to WILL them back into the reality of the physical. "NOW!"
It's a mad dash to the mirror, as the red bubble closes in. If there are small reliefs? The mirror is large. Once upon a time, perhaps, Napoleon or King Louis stood in front of this, full-body.
Marija is utterly dependent on Deacon in the moment, to pull her through that mirror with him. It's doable, but she can't drop the spell until it's done, and that means that it's a juggling act for him to get her through, but not before Autumn gets through. Poor Deacon. Still, as he yells, she tenses her body, preparing that last burst of energy to push them on.
Now Marija feels the burn as one of the red walls of the bubble comes close to her elbow.
And with that last push, Deacon does his best to shove them all through that mirror's space - leaving himself for last in that imagery, knowing that it'll be him that takes the worst of what remains if the bubble bursts too soon.
Autumn yelps in pain from the shrinking bubble and gets closer to the group upwards through the door. Upon seeing the mirror, she gets ready to dash with them through the mirror out of the nightmare while she rubs her arm.
Deacon, indeed, is last: and as the bubble closes, he can feel the fire. It's hard not to imagine it, some combination of heat and pressure, like being squeezed into some piece of diamond in the center of a volcano. It lingers, singing, and when all three of the trio tumble through they can smell scorched hair and clothing.
...and tumble through they do. There is a crash, as Deacon, Marija and Autumn end up in the conservation gallery. The tumble of bodies sends the mirror falling, and there is a loud thunder of shattered glass as the priceless artifact is lost to history.
Marija doesn't even seem to notice the sear of her flesh when it comes into contact with the boundary she's trying to maintain, but when the mirror shatters and she can drop the spell, there's a shuddering gasp and the girl goes fairly limp in Deacon's arms. If he falls? She's hitting the ground hard. There's enough life in her to at least wrap arms around his shoulders, though that means her blood will likely rub off on him. She'll recover in time, hopefully quickly, but that magic's taken a lot out of her.
An immediate wince comes to Deacon's face not at the loss of the artifact but more likely the noise of it falling. Alas, he's more interested in rolling around as soon as he hits the ground, the smell of smoked leather permeating the room as he tries to save some of his jacket. The pain is secondary for him, though not something he can completely block out it's so intense. It takes him a full minute or more to find his feet assuming they don't get interrupted before then. Watching on, Marija or Autumn will see him actively fighting a sense of fog and fatigue that's actually more noticeable now where the mantle of his bloodline isn't overshadowing it. In pain and recovering he seems far less virile here in the material than he did moments ago. But still, his eyes will open he'll find himself entangled in the arms of Marija and doggedly he'll force himself to sit, to help her sit and them to their feet in slow agonizing order. Still, despite all that .. there's some sense of victory in the expression on Deacon's face?
Letting out a groan once out of the nightmare and onto the floor, Autumn gets to her knees and checks her burned arm. "Note to self, should get charm for whatever other world that was from mirror," she says as she slowly gets up to her feet while avoiding getting cut by mirror shards.
There is in fact some victory among the glass. They are inside the museum, and the location of this room is marked on their map. From here, it's not a terribly long jaunt down the corridors and up to the Egyptian Gallery.
...of course, nothing is ever easy. While they've bypassed the building's external security, there are surely actual, physical guards inside the museum.
"Koshmar," Marija manages to mutter across to Autumn. Perhaps she doesn't realize she's not speaking in English, for she says a few more words, before sinking in against Deacon's side once more. The poor man has volunteered for crutch-duty, it seems. As for the rest of what's to come, she might well be a washout, but with the help of the others, she scrambles to her feet.
And then they are through the galleries: down the halls, on padding feet. In truth, the plan here is going smoothly. Around a corner, down a corridor, around another corner...
...down a corridor. Then a door, stairs. On it, a sign: EGYPTIAN GALLERY. Up these stairs is the prize.
Carrying his friends figuratively and literally seems something that Deacon has grown accustomed to, part of the military life as it were but he nods toward both women, speaking quietly. "Okay. That wasn't as easy as I woulda liked but I don't hear alarms or have a bad feeling in my gut for now so .." he trails off though, perhaps uncertain of jinxing it as they move along. Seeing the sign, he pauses again but begins to move slowly up the stairs. His ears aren't special in any way but he strains them to their limit in search of sounds of footfalls or grunts or anything that might give away the location of a patrolling guard. He motions with his hands toward Marija and Autumn both, putting a finger to his lips now, and then pointing two at his eyes first, then pointing them in front of them.
Nodding at Deacon, Autumn scans around for any guards nearby while she walks with the group through the planned path to their destination. She looks up at the stairs to the Egyptian gallery and carefully walk up the stairs as well, remaining silent.
Marija doesn't do much more than walk. She keeps behind Deacon and Autumn, and makes her cautious way up the stairs and down the halls, but a hand pressed to the wall for support is a frequent occurrence, and more than once she stumbles on legs of jello. She doesn't fall though; perhaps it's merely her nature, but the girl has grit and she pushes onward.
Up the stairs they roam quietly as a unit now with the one leaning against the wall for support and the other trailing in between. The Cajun man never trusts anything TOO easy so he remains cautious and slow in Deacon's continued approach up stairs, and toward the gallery that holds their true prize.
And then they arrive: the gallery. Stepping out from a side door, the Egyptian Gallery is huge, monumental, even. Huge columns looted from Ancient Egypt support a glass roof, along with purloined friezes. Mummies sit in glass cases, looking out over the floor, and a space in the center of the exhibit has been cleared for a special exhibition.
Velvet ropes and all, behind a glass case, there it sits: the crown. The Crown of Nefertari.
Around the exhibition, the shadows seem to dim and lengthen. The feeling of magic in the air pricks at everyone's skin. Marija feels it most strongly, but all of them can tell that something here has crossed over into an arcane world.
"What can you tell me about the crown?" This question from Deacon comes directed at Marija but also to Autumn the man takes a look. "Trust your instincts. Bottom line .. once we make our move here it's gonna be whatever it is. If we get attacked by ANYONE - don't hesitate. I'm guessin' you won't have an issue with that." He glances toward Marija again, his expression softening if only slightly. "The price will be worth it if we succeed."
Marija and Autumn might both know the story: this crown, which appears to a simple band of gold, has three cobras rising along the band. That triple cobra arrangement is deeply unusual; in Ancient Egypt, royal crowns had one cobra or two, perhaps signifying upper and lower Egypt. Here, the symbolism is something different entirely, with one golden cobra having onyx eyes, another ruby, and the last sapphire. Marija would say each cobra signifies one of a divine trinity:
The onyx-eyed cobra is Seth.
The ruby-eyed cobra is Astarte.
The sapphire-eyed cobra is Anat.
"There must be presense around here," Autumn says in a low voice. "Perhaps it is why we couldn't cross easily over there." She then gazes upon the crown, her eyes widen with awe before she glances around.
Perhaps. Perhaps it is the crown: or perhaps it is the proprietors of the Museum, who know the value of what they keep.
Glancing between one and then the other ... Deacon takes a breath. "I'm gonna take a shot ... be ready for anything. This is our time" he says to himself at the last more than anything else. He moves forward slowly, leaving the others behind for a moment with one glance behind his shoulder toward Marija and Autumn to flash them a reassuring, charming grin before approaching the crown, up to and including over the velvet rope and toward the glass case. He focuses his eyes on the sapphire-eyed cobra that rests atop the crown, using it like a guideline for himself. Those watching might almost get the impressiong the cobra has caught him in the cliche gaze of hypnotism if he weren't still moving.
As she watches Deacon make his move, Autumn slowly raises her right hand out from her cloak in a thumb-up gesture. She then takes on a defensive stance just in case something, or someone, comes out. "Be on lookout," she speaks.
Is it there time? As Deacon moves for the glass case surrounding the crown, it seems as if the whole world stands still. Marija and Autumn can feel a kind of anticipation in the air, and there is a palpable sense of the shadows deepening. Deacon's footfalls seem heavy, as even the carpet doesn't stop them from making heartbeats in both womens' chest.
For Marija, she can catch the edge of the desert wind, whipping along without a breeze: a smell of some distant, foreign place, one that tickles her nostrils and reminds her of Egypt's wide expanses.
For Autumn it is is different; instead for her it is the scent of fire. Sulfur, and brimstone, and Hell itself, pricking at her nose with a familiarity.
All three balance on the knife's edge, in the liminal space between real and unreal.
As things begin to almost stand still in the flow of time, caught in the mollasses that holds in enshrined in the moment ... and then Deacon is moving to touch the glass case. Lift it if he can, break it if he must he expects an alarm or a reaction of some sort but he has no idea what may come and he's almost strung as tight as a wire because of it. Never breaking stride, never breaking gaze fro m the crown and that sapphire-eyed cobra he'll make the move swiftly. Lift or break, he'll reach for the crown and take his shot! In the back of his mind he already begins to work on the preperation to focus on weaving together a path through the Shadow Woods, which from this side of the wards shouldn't be too bad. That focus is strained however, held in tight balance with that waiting anticipation.
Deacon hits the case with a thud, and then the glass knocks over. There is a terrible crash, and immediately, a siren begins to wail. Still: Deacon can grab the crown. They have it.
As Deacon's hands fasten on the object, he can feel a sudden rush of power: a familiar rush of power, as some feminine force fills him with sudden vitality. Autumn can feel it, too: suddenly there is a breathtaking sense of presence surrounding her, something mighty and divine. It feels, frankly, amazing.
"I smell... home," Autumn speaks, her voice quiet enough to not distract Deacon while she still stands in that anticipation. Her eyes focus on the crown, and she jumps when the alarm goes on and peers around. "I can feel it."
Crown in hand, Deacon is already turning around when the siren begins to wail. That he expected if nothing else - and he's gesturing for the others to turn tail and he's moving in their direction. "Back! We need an isolated space we can control while I get us the fuck out of here! Down the hall!" He's grabbing up Marija again, not really giving her an ask in the matter knowing how weak she is physically right now. Autumn he figures can keep up, but he's not staying in the place where the alarm's gone off that's for sure. "Back to the mirror room!" He's hissing out as he's hoofing at an aggressive pace now to re-trace their steps back down into the bowels of the basement.
Autumn turns around and runs to follow Deacon as soon as she hears him. "Yeah, let's get out of here!" She dashes with her cloak flowing from the speed.
...and that's when Bob arrives, hurrying with a puff of pink cheeks as the alarm sounds. He's got his baton out already, his flashlight up in the other hand, and he is scanning around. "STOP!" he yells upon spotting Deacon, Autumn and their companions.
In the distance, behind Bob, more feet are running in the group's direction. Bob is here right now, though, and he is a problem.
Whirling about, a small knife suddenly goes flying toward the cop as Deacon drops to a knee even as one hand sets down someone against the floor who's all but passed out from her exhaustion and he's dropping the duffel that's been slung across his shoulder to let it drop to the floor. While the knife flies through the air at the cop - the soldier is hefting up a LARGE-looking rifle. It's a Barrett M82, and in the hands of a normal human being, it would require a table-top and a bipod to fire at all. In his arms though he lugs it up to his shoulder as if it were a normal-sized weapon in hopes that the mere sight of it will pause the guard dead in his tracks. Or if he's super lucky - the knife will find it's mark. Either way, his voice goes into a dead-pan calm as he speaks at Autumn. "Keeping moving. We'll hold at the room. One door in, one door out." It's a spur of the moment-choice. He'll have to judge but if it looks like the guard isn't slowing down; the loud report of his rifle will fill the halls and echo against the walls and tile underfoot.
Whirling about, a small knife suddenly goes flying toward the cop as Deacon drops to a knee even as one hand sets down Marija against the floor who's all but passed out from her exhaustion and he's dropping the duffel that's been slung across his shoulder to let it drop to the floor. While the knife flies through the air at the cop - the soldier is hefting up a LARGE-looking rifle. It's a Barrett M82, and in the hands of a normal human being, it would require a table-top and a bipod to fire at all. In his arms though he lugs it up to his shoulder as if it were a normal-sized weapon in hopes that the mere sight of it will pause the guard dead in his tracks. Or if he's super lucky - the knife will find it's mark. Either way, his voice goes into a dead-pan calm as he speaks at Autumn. "Keeping moving. We'll hold at the room. One door in, one door out. Take Marija." It's a spur of the moment-choice. He'll have to judge but if it looks like the guard isn't slowing down; the loud report of his rifle will fill the halls and echo against the walls and tile underfoot.
"Got it," Autumn nods her head at Deacon. She pauses her tracts to grab Marija and continues to run with the passed-out woman over her shoulder to the mirror room. "One in, one out? Okay."
"You're not going anywhere!" Bob shouts, and of course that's when he makes the wrong move: he draws his taser and fires, aiming it right at Deacon, rushing forward. "Stop!" he says. "We're calling the police, they're already on their way!"
Indeed, the sound of sirens is already rising over the city.
Combat in the mists might be broken, I'm not sure.
No worries! We'll just RP it.
Yep - wrong move. The crack of his rifle comes roaring out and the large .50 calibur bullet comes ripping out toward the guard at break-neck speed. He's already twisting and standing to push himself to his feet and run down the hall, pusing toward the room where they'd broken the mirror and trailing behind Autumn and her passenger, now. "We got more company coming, so let's make it fast, cher!" Deacon's voice echos out and if nothing else, the guards and cops will have one clue to their investigation come morning: A Cajun accent.
There's an explosion of blood like like a red flower from where Bob's head used to be, and then shouts, terrified shouts, from the security guards running up after him. It's time for Deacon and Autumn to go, as fast as they possibly can.
Running as fast as she can while carrying the sleeping woman, Autumn nods again and she focuses on the path. Should any guard attempt to block her way, she will either attempt to either dodge past them or push them away with rage through blood and even suffering.
Deacon's plan is to haul their asses down and back to that room with the mirror where they can hold the door long enough for him to bring up a Path out of here! Pushing and shoving Autumn and Marija toward that end, he'll go so far as to use his own rifle to jam up the door if he has to, holding against any intrusion that comes before the Path is ready. With Autumn working on providing them one instead? All the better, he can use his supernatural strength to help keep the door back if they rush it.
Thundering boots. To someone unaware, it might sound like an army running towards the Egyptian wing. Autumn's heart is pounding, and Deacon's adrenaline is up as they speed through the halls, looking for the closest exit. There are plenty of mirrors here, of course: but inside the wards, the Nightmare is too disturbed to enter. They need to get out, onto the lawn, and then they can flee to freedom.
The mist is gone, now, over Boston, and the late fall air is split with wailing police sirens: men and women in dark uniforms hurtling through the night in screaming chariots, all headed for the Museum of Fine Arts. Why?
...well: Bob is why, slumped to the floor of the Egyptian Gallery in a rapidly spreading circle of blood. All things have baptism, perhaps, even the Crown.
Then it's the door they 'came' through in the first place. From the inside it shouldn't present much of a problem to get open! "Turn the other way!" He calls out to Autumn, pointing down the hall they'd come through in the Nightmare in the first place. "Hit the door running and keep your mind on that path, oui?" Deacon tries to keep his voice down, but now the rifle's back in the bag so to speak and literally he's keeping up with the other woman more easily. Hitting that door, he'll put his shoulder into it with FORCE - let thim think about that and hopefully opening a hole to freedom that will lead to the outside.
Autumn doesn't know how to path, so she decides to look for way out without her and her crew getting caught. "Damn guards," she mutters while running. "They probably have sun hum- Path? What path?" She does hit the door and knock it down. "Not sure how to do that, but maybe I can try?"
"No need" Deacon puffs, having misunderstood the situation. "If we can make it outside with a couple of minutes to spare, I can get us home."
BANG!
Autumn says "Alright! "
Deacon's shoulder hits the door. It flies open; someone is dead weight in Autumn's arms, but then the cold air rushes behind them. Behind them, at a distance, the security guards are reaching the edge of the building.
Deacon's shoulder hits the door. It flies open; Marija is dead weight in Autumn's arms, but then the cold air rushes behind them. Behind them, at a distance, the security guards are reaching the edge of the building.
Pop. Pop. Pop-Pop.
Gunshots start to fly, the panicked guards drawing Berettas. Is this in policy? No, of course not: but then their friend is dead, a bloody mess on the Museum floor.
Ducking, Deacon instincually reacts to the sound of gunfire, spinning about and as soon as he can he slamming the door shut again. In this posture he almost looks like a man in subservient pose. Head bowed, hands pressing against the door to slam and keep it shut as bullets start whizzing down the hallway toward them! "Stay down!" Calls the soldier, at least he's wearing kevlar! His mind has to focus again, blocking things out as he tries to form, that shadowy pathway that will them out of here. "C'mon ...." he mutters, trying to wipe his mind of the other worries pressing in around them. One hand still clutches the crown, he hasn't let go of his grip on it since grabbing it, but to fire his rifle the once. His fingers are white-knuckled around it.
Up close like this, the night is raw. Adrenaline is pounding with blood in Deacon and Autumn's ears, but the Nightmare is right here. Just a slip, a slip to the side, and they can step away. Of course...
Following close to Deacon, Autumn holds on to Marija while dodging bullets. Making sure the door behind them is blocked and glances back over her shoulder.
...more bullets are flying, and from the other side, cop cars are starting to roll up. Suddenly, the night is all red and blue lights, reflecting garishly off the Museum and the nearby apartments of the Back Bay. The net, literally, is closing in.
Mentally, Deacon is slapping himself before he shakes his head and turns suddenly to grab at Autumn and then they're all slipping sideway once more. Into the shadows they go, lost to sight from those mundane cops and security guards still on the chase. This ... this gives him the breathing room he needs. "Fuck me ... I feel like a rookie" he mutters before settling himself down now.
"You alright, Deacon?" Autumn asks quietly once they are in the shadows.
Silence reigns as soon as the Nightmare envelops Deacon and Autumn. They can see the police outside, but they can't hear them, and they are just amorphous blobs, rushing the lawn. They're searching frantically, now, and perhaps a little bit of their panic reaches through the ether, but for Deacon and Autumn's part? Well. They are free.
Dim through the nightmare, flashlight beams probe the lawn, as the police and guards get more and more confused as to what happened.
With a weary nod, the tall man replies to Autumn "Alive .. so. C'mon" he says to her then .. and once more he focuses on bringing up that path that will open in the more relative safety (ha!) of the Nightmare and shadow here. Eventually if he can, the sight will open to reveal a small dirt trailway that wanders through a shadow wooded forest that leads ... on into infinity as far as anyone can tell. "Follow. Don't step off the path. If you do, you'll wish you'd died tonight" he warns the other woman who's carrying his friend. "Hell, grab my jacket or shoulder if you feel better. It's almost enough watching them now for Deacon to want to stick around but he gestures toward that strange path to nowhere and everywhere. "Let's go.""
With a weary nod, the tall man replies to Autumn "Alive .. so. C'mon" he says to her then .. and once more he focuses on bringing up that path that will open in the more relative safety (ha!) of the Nightmare and shadow here. Eventually if he can, the sight will open to reveal a small dirt trailway that wanders through a shadow wooded forest that leads ... on into infinity as far as anyone can tell. "Follow. Don't step off the path. If you do, you'll wish you'd died tonight" he warns the other woman who's carrying his friend. "Hell, grab my jacket or shoulder if you feel better." It's almost enough watching them now for Deacon to want to stick around but he gestures toward that strange path to nowhere and everywhere. "Let's go." [Fix]
And then the path: home, and safety, and success. Autumn paid, Deacon and Marija exalted... victory, and at almost no price.
...just that poor security guard, lying in a pool of his own blood.
"Okay." Keeping the other woman over her shoulder, Autumn holds on to Deacon as they step into the path back to Haven.
Once they reach home, Deacon will ensure everyone makes it back to a place of safety before they all part ways and re-taking possession of the woman who is his ally. "You did good support work tonight, even an extra set of eyes can be the difference. I'll remember your name" he offers to Autumn with a grin as they're re-entering the confines of that small town, stepping through some random bathroom into a late-night business that never quite get used to people kind of .. coming out of their bathrooms they don't remember going in. The cool night air brushes their faces, and Deacon carries the angelborn in a carry cradle in front of him. Now that things are past his mood is considerably higher. "Damn but that was a thing!"