Plotlogs
Through A Glass Darkly Sr Legion 240325
The tale unfolds with the intriguing ritual conducted by Tabitha, a red-headed witch, Meridith, a demi-goddess with a disdain for corsets, and Miles, armed with a keen sense of duty and a recently acquired mustache that he seems quite pleased with. Their venture began with an attempt to uncover a weakness of their formidable opponent, Legion, through a spell meant to pierce the veils of reality. However, the ritual backfired, transporting them to an alternate reality or past set in 1893 during the World's Columbian Exposition in Chicago.
In this new world, they found themselves dressed in period attire, struggling with the discomforts and restrictions of fashion of the time. They also quickly realized the significant presence of Legion through ominous signs and connections, suggesting a grave ritual was to take place.
Their investigation led them to the Theater of Mysteries, where the Amazing Garibaldi was about to perform a dark ritual with potential to allow Legion to ascend. The ritual involved sacrifices and was powered by black magic, evident through the summoning of demonic visages and the manipulation of reality around the theater. Recognizing the severity of the situation and despite the moral and existential dilemmas regarding their interference in past events, the trio decided to intervene in hopes of thwarting Legion's plans.
With quick thinking, Meridith utilized her telekinetic powers to disrupt the ritual, while Tabitha employed her witchcraft to counteract the dark magic at play. Miles, adapting to the circumstances, managed to acquire a gun and took decisive shots at Garibaldi, ending the sorcerer's life and the immediate threat of the ritual's completion.
Following the intense confrontation, Tabitha, realizing the gravity of their situation away from their own time, instructed Miles and Meridith to focus intensely on their home and the year 2024, hoping to use the remnants of power from their location and the failed ritual to cast them back to their origin.
Their attempt was a success, albeit bewildering, as they awoke back on the shores of their beginning, drenched but safely returned to their own time, leaving the trio to ponder the implications of their actions across the fabrics of time and their battle against Legion.
(Through A Glass, Darkly(SRLegion):SRLegion)
[Sun Mar 24 2024]
In a formless void lost in time and space
As the ritual takes effect, sensation leaves you -- and for a moment, you are in a formless void of time and space.
It is about 50F(10C) degrees.
Tabitha probably feels a little like saying: Siiissssstahs!
OOC: Welcome to Through A Mirror, Darkly.
It is a beachside ritual outside Tabitha's house -- like so many rituals, done as the sun sets. Miles and Meridith may not know, but the redheaded witch is well aware that sunrise and sunset are times where the borders between worlds thin: they are liminal spaces, in the parlance of sorcerers, and so magics meant to pierce the veil operate better. Beaches are another liminal space -- they are the border between land and sea -- and so are the changing of the seasons, as winter turns to spring. Tabitha's ritual, then, is thrice-blessed, which is why it is a time for magic meant to reveal even the most hidden secrets.
What sorcery are Those Seeking Redemption working tonight? A spell to reveal some secret about their opponent, Legion -- a spell to reveal some trick, some weakness, for weaknesses are also a thing about borders. After all: a spirit's weakness is the border between its life and death.
Magic, however, has its own rules. Right now, full of power, what Tabitha lacks is control -- and so when the waves crash, and the chanting rises, with the sorceress in the center of the circle and Meridith and Miles standing guard outside, it is not a vision that the trio sees, but blackness. Blackness, sudden and dark, with a moment of fleeting terror and then a sense of being transported, like falling at the speed of light through an endless black tunnel. When each of them wakes, it is clear: they are not just transported, but the world is transformed.
OOC: Please move 'up' through the hidden exit.
Meridith is standing in the midst of this strange 'new' world and is currently struggling to breath, tugging at her outfit. "Hggh..."
TabithaMiles and Tabitha didn't ride out to someone. Instead, the sea calls to her. And so the redhead has heeded that call, to the beach just beyond her home. With this strange and ancient book in her hand.
...When consciousness shocks back in the trio is all flat on their back. They're in a kind of alcove, with the afternoon sun high above them, and they are -very much- not dressed the way they were before. People move and mill about with thronging crowds in the humid, late afternoon heat, and this place is... well. Different. Smells assault them, with animal dung predominating, but so do the sights. Women in corsetted dresses move about with parasols, with every man invariably having a hat and suit on. Facial hair seems to predominate, along with high updoes, and the call of people hawking every patent cure or exhibition echo through the air. There is a general cacophany as Miles, Tabitha and Meridith are able to look out into the central plaza of an alien place -- into history, or some alternate world, or -something-, different and strange and scary all at once.
Pathing can be an uncomfortable experience sometimes, resulting in effects not dissimilar to sea sickness. What Miles experiences as his rifle is dragged out of his hands, and darkness envelops him is something closer to super dooper sea sickness. The suddenness of the lights going out has him scrambling, calling out, "Tabs! Meri! Tabitha! Meridith!" Then there's the sensation of falling, tumbling through time and space, before he jerks back into sight and sound and experience, looking a few shades more paler, and with clothing many shades more colourful. A low groan escapes the man as he starts to roll onto his side, scrambling for possessions that are no longer there, even as his brain tries to catch up to all the new sensations, "..What?" He blurts out, dumbly, then peering aside to Meridith and Tabitha and double-taking, "-What?-"
Meridith is battling with her most terrifying foe to date, the fashion sense of the 1890's. The woman, who is of course struggling to deal with the reality of the world around her has chosen to focus on something more more immediate, and manageable, the corset currently trying to strange her to death, or so the young demi-goddess choose to believe. As she sits up, she winces. "T-the heck...?" She looks over to Tabitha, curious about what the heck happened and certain she's responsible.
Miles and Tabitha didn't ride out to someone. Instead, the sea calls to her. And so the redhead has heeded that call, to the beach just beyond her home. With this strange and ancient book in her hand. The spell. New. The seasons. New. The changing of day between day to night. New. On her knees in the sand, she praises to Hecate, and calls to goddesses never spoken by her before as detailed in the strange book. It is not long until the spell is woven, and like wool, the trio is enveloped in darkness. In a void. She stands, and, through her disorientation, gives Miles and Meridith a look before she is awash again in a dizzying disorientating shift of time and space. This twilight zone. When she comes to, when it is done. When the spell is complete and the world comes to light, she cannot speak. Immediately. It could be the corset that restricts her breathing.
Miles and Tabitha didn't ride out to Boston. Instead, the sea calls to her. And so the redhead has heeded that call, to the beach just beyond her home. With this strange and ancient book in her hand. The spell. New. The seasons. New. The changing of day between day to night. New. On her knees in the sand, she praises to Hecate, and calls to goddesses never spoken by her before as detailed in the strange book. It is not long until the spell is woven, and like wool, the trio is enveloped in darkness. In a void. She stands, and, through her disorientation, gives Miles and Meridith a look before she is awash again in a dizzying disorientating shift of time and space. This twilight zone. When she comes to, when it is done. When the spell is complete and the world comes to light, she cannot speak. Immediately. It could be the corset that restricts her breathing.
The heck! Such salty talk. So far, at least, none of the crowds busying outside seem to have noticed Meridith, Tabitha, or Miles. The light is shockingly bright, though -- the transition to high summer is unpleasant -- and for the ladies, at least, breathing could be a little easier. For those that check, it certainly seems as if they are here, physically: this doesn't feel like a dream or like the nightmare. If anyone was to pat their face, it would feel, too, like their face, and their body: just in strange clothes indeed.
TabithaMeridith's question to her is met with a dumbfounded and shocked expression that she can only answer with a shrug of her shoulders, stiffled in so many layers of heavy clothing in the sun and heat, and assailant scents. She drags her hands down the front of the bodice meant to flatten her out, the lace high to leave her scratching her neck.
After a few moments of simply staring at Tabitha and Meridith in a slack-jawed manner, Miles raises a hand to pat at his face, and then pinch his hand. He shakes his head slowly, whether he discovers a majestic handlebar moustache over his lips or not, "Why in the.. why are we dressed like Harriet speaks?" The man blurts out toward the others after some small time, eyebrows raising up toward his hairline, "Did we get whamied by something?"
Meridith grimaces. "It smells like a zoo, a shitty one," she murmurs slowly crawling to her feet, offering a hand to Tabitha or Miles as she does, trying to get her bearings. This was definitely not any kind of scenario she was aware of. Dream? No. Other world? Doubtful. Why the clothes? Still, it isn't as though she isn't familiar with...well, the unfamiliar. She's sure this is all very normal, to someone, Tabitha maybe? But then...no.
Great question, Miles. Occult scholars are extremely divided on whether time travel is possible, Tabitha might know: some insist it is forbidden my magical laws, while others say they have scried into the past often. Certainly, the future has some murkiness: all three here, Miles, Meridith and Tabitha have heard glimpses of their own fate. But bodily traveling into the past? There are claims, certainly -- hotly contested claims, with some in the magical establishment swearing it can happen, others saying that it is crossing the border to other worlds, and a third faction condemning both of the first two as madmen.
Tabitha tugs down on the bodice to try to loosen it a little across her tits. "I ... don't know. I wanted to find Legion's weaknesses. Maybe there is something here..." She still is shellshocked, her voice weakened by the unusual tighness of the corset that someone has tied far too tight to make her waist far more waspish and her hips much more pronounced, though that is also thanks to the petticoats. She nods to Meridith, in agreement. "I --- would assume that its not just animal." There was a reason, afterall, that a gentleman walked on the outside of a sidewalk. Though this is Chicago, and this is civilized, and it is not the middle ages. One would hope those still with chamberpots disposed of their chambers elsewise.
"Give me a minute..." Tabitha asks though no one has said otherwise, and she opens her newly acquired book. "I've never, outside my own death, seen into the future. I can see into the present with the right tools, but this is wholly different." She presses her hand to her belly, trying to take herself a nice... shallow... breath. "I've always been told that we are not able to jump backward, though there are those who can jump forward. This has to be --- a mirage?"
"Are we in Europe or something?" Meridith asks, confused. She views all culture of 1890's fanciness on period pieces set in the time. She groans and tries to adjust this corset and is wriggling around like a cat post surgery with their cone, trying to adjust it futily.
"..Well, you both look nice at least." Miles drawls out as he gazes between Meridith and Tabitha, especially the later as she tugs on her bodice some. He clears his throat then, a surprised sound as his fingers brush against a fabulous handlebar moustache. The man's eyebrows shoot up, and he immediately goes poking in these strange pockets for his phone, desperately seeking his phone to take a selfie. "Perhaps it's a dreamscape?" He suggests over to Tabitha, still admiring the feel of his new facial hair. This might just have to be a permanent change. He's like every lad in their early twenties when they grow their first movember mo, only it's far less seedy.
In front of Meridith, a newsboy comes by -- he, at least, sees the trio. "Programs!" he shouts, waving one around. "Guidebooks for all exhibits and exhibitions! Don't visit the World's Fair without one!" Another is produced. "And if you are new to our fine city of Chicago, we have maps! Recommended hoteliers and restaurants away from the pavilions! Programs!" the boy says. "Programs, guidebooks and maps!"
Meridith gazes at Miles. "You look like a porn star," she murmurs, regarding his moustache. Then blinks as the newsboy strolls by. "Lemme see that," she says, reaching out a hand for a guidebook
The guidebook is offered to Meridith. "That'll be a penny," he says to her, holding out his other hand. "It's a steal!"
Meridith fishes around in what is to her a truly insane and labyrinthian outfit, hunting for money.
"No.." Tabitha says to Meridith, shaking her head, and digging her fingers into the bun that she is now donning, all her pretty red hair bundled up, with only wisps of it to frame her face. "It's the ... Yes. That. It's the Worlds Fair. I've ... seen pictures." Sher peers at Miles and squints, "I hope that goes away when we ... are back. If we ..." She bites her lip at Meridith then approaches the newsboy, "Good day, lad, a brochure please?" Though when a penny is asked for she halts, and tries to place her hand on Meridith's arm. "What if ... it's dated lter?" she whispers. Still uncertain that she didn't just Somewhere in Time them all.
When Meridith digs a penny out, it's easy enough for Tabitha and Miles to get a glance at it: it's copper, sure, but Lincoln is nowhere to be seen. It's just an Indian head on one side, stamped 1889. Indeed, there's really nothing at all on any of the trio's bodies that seems to be from 2024.
Meridith flicks the coin over to the kid with a casually gesture of her thumb. "Here you go kid," she says, shrugging towards the others with a helpless expression. She moves to peek over the brochure.
"Cheers." Miles chirps aside to Meridith, electing to take her comment as a compliment, even if it likely wasn't. There's a mild frown afforded toward Tabitha at her further denigration of his lip caterpillar, before his gaze falls upon the newsboy. He strokes at his new moustache as he considers the coin, and their current predicament, "I swear, really, that I read something in the archives about Legion and the fair, or around.." He glances over toward the kid, "You there, lad, what year is it?" He attempts to adopt a more formal accent than his usual blend, steering more toward the upper crusty type commonly affected by Harriet.
"Eighteen Ninety-Three," Tabitha says to Miles. "It has to be..."
"July 19," the young newsie tells Miles. "Ninety-three," he says. "Of course. We got all the day's events in the brochure, too!" he indicates, gesturing to where Meridith holds it. Sure enough: it does have a whole range of festivities. As the newsboy lingers, all three of them can look out over the center of the fair -- the grand building, the long pond, the golden statue... wait. For a moment, Tabitha double-takes. Her eyes are far keener than Miles and Meridith's, but when the cloud passed over the afternoon sun did it leave for a moment a shadow of a pentacle on the gold of the Republic?
Meridith hands the brochure over to whoever snags it first. "It would make sense," she offers moving toward Tabitha and Miles, to avoid being overheard. "If this relates to Legion in some way..." she humms a moment, then rubs the back of her head.
In hopes that Miles and Meridith follow her, Tabitha sets out in a heavy swaying dress, plumped by a petticoat and bustle. She is heading toward the gleam of gold. "It has to relate to Legion. That was the entire point of the spell..." Despite that it whisked them away in a shared hallucination of the Fair. She holds a little coin purse in green before her as she moves, prim and proper. Likely only in that she can't actually --move well. "How did they wear these things."
Meridith grimaces. "I may not have my blade but I can still throw a man through..." She begins. Then gazing at Tabitha she shakes her head. "No clue, the people in this time are maniacs," she complains. "In this heat no less? I'm going to -die-." She insists.
"Ninety-three." Miles echoes back to the lad, and chews at the inside of his cheek for a few moments. Having watched Meridith produced a coin from her pocket, the fellow spends a few moments checking his own then, those in his trousers and any on the inside of his jacket, while trotting along behind Tabitha, "Let's not make any assumptions about what we can and cannot do here." He suggests aside to Meridith with a wary wiggle of his stache.
Out in the crowd, people are around constantly. It's an odd sort of anonymity -- there are more people in this central square than in the whole of Haven, and they stroll by, talking to themselves and paying no mind at all to Tabitha, Miles and Meridith. All of them, though? All of them have a little bit of something unsettled in the back of their necks. Each of the three is bound to Legion by hatred or anger or magic, and that itch, that strange familiar itch: it's there.
It's in fact difficult to move, for Tabitha and Meridith. Their bustle is a kind of counterweight, with heavy skirts, while their corsets and bodices are tight. Even Miles can feel it: with no elastic at all, his sackcloth suit doesn't move in the way he's used to modern fabrics shifting.
"Well, considering what the Fair is partly notorious for, you might get a chance to toss a man...." Tabitha says to Meridith. "But Miles may be right.... don't assume." She pauses a moment, then captures Miles's arm to walk beside the mustachioed man.
Meridith groans. "Can I change? Like, real quick? Just tear off some layers?" she asks childishly while she follows along.
Miles curls his arm about Tabitha's own, entwining himself to her as he tries to figure out how to walk in this attire. He can't take his usual, long, sweeping strides, at least not without the material complaining and tugging at him. Smaller more measured steps are the catch of the day, it seems, "Oh, come now." He chuffs, leaning heavily into his adopted accent, "No daughter of ours is going to carouse about like some ninny, or worse yet, confederate." That's probably a few years out of date as far as comments go, but Miles didn't really study American history.
Meridith says "...Me and Tabs are like the same age. If anything you're our father."
It is, in fact, several years out of date -- but Miles is a foreigner, so those around may not care regardless. Clouds pass overhead, and again: there's some tingling. When Tabitha glances up, it's now as if there is some pentacle reflected in the crowds. For Meridith, with her brochure? Well: it scans exhibitions, most of which have no interest, but one page describes 'Patent Cures & Prestidigitations', a description of shows and booths along a side canal in the western expanses of the park. Above an advertise for 'SANITARY LODGINGS, COURTESY OF DR. H.H. HOLMES' are a series of 'cultural exhibitions' that seem to have an occult bent, many of them in a building called the Theater of Mysteries.
"It's hussy, dear," Tabitha corrects with a pat-pat-pat to Miles's hand as she teases Meridith along with him.
"It's hussy, dear," Tabitha corrects with a pat-pat-pat to Miles's hand as she teases Meridith along with him.
Meridith hms a moment.
upnods to the golden building, "We need to head over there. I swear I thought I saw something, a glint. But... its more than that. The hairs at the back of my neck are standing. He is here." Tabitha whispers to Miles and Meridith far more seriously.
"The name H.H. Holmes strike a chord with anyone?" Meridith announces.
"Yes. He was here at the fair..." Tabitha says. "Is here," she corrects herself. "The man I said you could likely toss."
Meridith rubs the back of her neck. "Isn't he uhm..." She winces. "...Rumored to be, you know..." She flicks her tongue and makes a hissy noise.
It's true, the presence likely is here. Miles felt it too, though only cottoned onto what this discomfort was when Tabitha voiced as much. He raises his free hand to rub at the back of his neck, taking Tabitha's suggestion with a wry grin before growing more serious. "That does sound.. familiar." The deputy allows, shifting that hand to stroke at his moustache then. Miles is sure he's heard the name before, or read it. If only he could remember.
Did they still call older men like Miles 'daddy' in 1893? A research topic, perhaps, when -- if -- they ever return to 2024. On that topic... how are Miles, Meridith and Tabitha going to get home?
Tabitha recites from books and videos that she's probably watched off youtube. "Yeah, some say that he was probably Jack the Ripper, but they've never been able to prove it fully. Only that it is very coincidental... I wonder if he made some deal with Legion here. To help cover everything up... He got away with a lot for a long time, afterall." She continues walking, glacing sidelong to Meridith and Miles as they weave through the hot sun and crowd in starchy clothing.
Meridith groans. "Take this fucking thing off me," she commands the general people around her. She turns. "Not another step," she insists.
Tabitha comments aside, "We have big strong Deputy Stache with us if we run into him..." She offers out, a long overdue comment from when they first arrived. "Be glad that we didn't end up on the Titannnnnn........" She stares at Meridith. "Ic."
"Don't draw so much attention to us. We already know that the paperboy could see and hear us. What if this is not some hallucination. Shared dream. What if we cause a butterfly effect?" Tabitha asks, lowly.
"You're making a scene." Miles singsongs towards Meridith as she groans, and complains, pausing in his step to afford her a wary and warning sort of look. "The last thing you want to do, if we do indeed fear that old mate the Ripper is wandering around here is to make yourself look like a pretty little target. Just blend in, Meri, -dear.-, before we have you married off."
Meridith growls. "I promise you, whatever world will exist from me getting out of this thing will be a paradise. We'll return back to our own time, and the world will be saved," she insists hotly. Then grumbles and looks away. "Fine, fine..."
Whether 'daddy' is an adopted term for this time or not, Miles elects to play the part of Daddy Stache for the time being, as well as Deputy Stache.
In the scheme of things, stripping in Chicago is probably at least a decade or two too early for Meridith. This isn't the Moulin Rouge, after all, and Meridith can't can-can. There definitely are people who can see the trio -- greetings, from passers-by, and people hawking funnel cakes with powdered sugar or teas with real ice. "This is ice from Antarctica!" claims one seller. "Polar ice has healthful benefits, you know. It's a patent cure for what ails you."
Meridith gazes at Miles. "Get me ice," she demands.
Tabitha starts to fan herself as she turns slightly pale and lightheaded in the heat and the fact that she's not much of a corset wearer, much less as tight as this one has been cinched to her. "I might faint," she does admit. She shakes her head. "We can't afford to waste much more time, Meri. Chip up or... whatever. And deal with it." She wobbles a bit in the sun beating down. "Come on." She eyes Meridith and Miles again, at both their interaction and the woman's demand. A light 'huh' escapes, with her labored breathe.
Meridith sighs and moves over to Tabitha, moving to offer her an arm and some support.
Tabitha leans her head on Meridith's shoulder for a moment, then puts her arm through hers, so that they all can look like one big happy, afterall, enjoying the festivities of one of America's biggest events.
It's a huge fair, really. There's been a glint of a pentacle on the golden statue, some side-show alley full of the occult, and the entire city of Chicago spread out before them -- but there is a growing sense of foreboding. As the afternoon shadows deepen, it feels as if the sense of -connection- with Legion is increasing, and Miles, Tabitha, and Meridith might wonder: is this what an eidolon on the edge of ascension feels like? Is this what Haven may feel like soon?
Meridith exhales. "I don't like this," she murmurs softly. Nervous energy echoing through the little demigods body. She wants a foe to strike, a beast to fell. She likes enemies she can grab with her hands.
"It could be worse." Miles tries to look on the bright side of things, of course, that's easier to do when you aren't wearing a suffocating corset. He guides their happy little family toward the fellow selling the iced teas, and rummages about on his person for some dosh to trade for a few glasses of it. "Warm weather, isn't it?" He makes some idle conversation of a sort, "Have you wandered over toward the Theater of Mysteries yourself? Have a bit of a gander?"
Meridith scowls at Miles. "We really need to stay focused, this is quickly becoming a closing trap," she says quietly.
A little dosh, indeed: two cups, then three, with Genuine Polar Ice from Antarctica. If the ice seems a little dirty? Well, it's authentic, and besides, the tea will hide it. The man talks to Miles, though, the price of a sale. "Warm just makes the ice colder," he says. "But I been down there. I saw a woman -- pardon," he says, nodding to Tabitha and Meridith. "But she had a show with snakes, a belly-dancing sort of thing from Morocco. Not for the ladies, but -very- educational. I'll tell you," he says. "Those snakes could get in a man's eyes like they was Dr. Mesmer."
It could be worse. Miles could be vying for a place upon a door in the middle of the ocean. Tabitha gives Meridith a little look, and though there is a hint of amusement suddenly considering that she was just minutes ago not so focused. "I think we should head down the alley a bit. I do not think that I have anything to assist me with magic in my little coin purse that I have only been afforded."
Meridith nods. "I doubt anyone here is selling swords," she muses.
"That sounds incredibly -exotic- and -educational-," Miles is only too quick to agree with the salesman, offloading the icy tea toward Meridith and Tabitha, before accepting one for himself. "But heavens forbid, snakes? I do hope these serpents weren't hissing pretty little temptations, no wonder we would want to keep the womenfolk away." He chuffs back to the man, making a lame sort of bloke joke to try and fit in. It's just about locker room talk. Though there is some fishing for information here.
Tabitha gives Miles's foot a little stomp.
"They were hissing, alright," the tea seller tells Miles. "I mean I wouldn't have minded if I was one --" When Tabitha comes close enough to stomp on the mustachioed deputy's foot, though, the tea seller cuts off. "Pardon me, ma'am," he says to Tabitha. "I was just having a little fun with your father. No harm meant."
Meridith drinks it fervently. Thirsty and ignoring everything else going on.
"Snakes often do, M. Stache." Tabitha says, claiming vapors again with a wave of her hand across her reddened face, seeking the tea, and listening to the seller. "What was your favorite dancer's name, I do wonder...." She adds, "Praytell...." Or is that 1793?
"..Ow." At least Miles tries to keep his reaction stoic, and measured, while grimacing at the stomp. He further grimaces, and mutters, "-Ow.-" once more at being labelled her father. Foot hurt, and heart shattered into a million pieces, along with his self esteem, Miles extends a curt nod toward the man, falling silent as Tabitha speaks up.
Well, Miles did want to be called 'daddy,' and though Tabitha might not outwardly know that, she gives the man a rather gloaty sort of smile, despite the heat, her inability to breath and the stifling oppression that is threatening to swallow them up.
"I didn't catch their names," the ice tea seller admits to Tabitha. "And it's not really for young ladies," he says. "But -- it was all part of the Amazing Garibaldi's show," he says. He digs in his jacket, producing a brochure from four days ago. Flipping through the pages, he points to an entry: "THE AMAZING GARIBALDI and his LEGION of SPIRITS."
Tabitha spares a glance to Miles and Meridith.
Meridith blinks. That's it really, what else can she do.
"..Surely not." Miles squints at the bill, and then toward the man, and then exchanges a glance aside to Meridith and Tabitha.
Meridith says "I mean, we have to though, yes?"
"Well, we can wait outside for papa, I'm sure." Tabitha assures the tea seller. "Could I have that brochure though?" Curiosity and cats, and the like. She casts a winsome smile at the tea seller, a little flirtation given him with the way she lets him eye her silhouette.
Sometimes, there are simpler times -- simpler in terms of brochures, at least. Tabitha and Meridith's undergarments seem considerably more complex. "No, it was definitely that show," the seller tells Miles. "I don't know when it's playing today, though," he says. "Usually a little after sunset." Then someone else is catching his attention, and he turns away. "Yes," he says to the young lady catching his eye. "My brother Bruno Morelli -- have you heard of him? -- he personally went to the South Pole to get this ice," he says. "And then he brought it here, in great freezers, to make this tea..."
The brochure -- dated -- is happily given to Tabitha.
There's a slight rumble in the back of Miles's through. Papa isn't quite so bad as father, maybe. He's mulling it over. Either way, once Tabitha has secured that brochure he turns to more readily face the girls, while leading them away from the salesman, "Well, we sort of have to check there, no?"
Meridith nods fervently. "Unfortunately," she says, plucking ice and dropping it down the front of her outfit, squirming and squealing once she does.
Tabitha acts the giddy girl as she pulls the brochure to her tightly bodiced chest. "Thank you, sir." She begins to flip through it, and wanders away. She casts a sidelong look at Miles, oh, yes, that will come up again. And again. "Yes, papa."
Miles still isn't sure how he feels about it, really. It's like he's seesaw'ing on whether or not it's uncomfortable or, you know, kinda hot? It's really all about the inflection. Either way, if Tabitha's intent was to tease and distract Miles, then it's working. He raises a hand to adjust his tie, pulling it a little looser as he wanders toward the side alley. "Ice is cold, Meri." He informs Meridith, giving them someone else to make fun of as she squeels.
The Theater of Mysteries is in a seedier sort of side-alley. Here, the whitewashed facades give way to a kind of festival of hawking people. There are fewer ladies in this part of the fair, and Tabitha and Meridith draw more attention, though with their 'father' Miles squiring them there's no particular challenges. The theater of mysteries is obvious, with a grand marquee -- just as Meridith's brochure from today suggests, the AMAZING GARIBALDI and his LEGION of SPIRITS is set to proclaim at 6 PM. Perhaps troublingly, the brochure today says 'Final Showstopping Performance.'
Meridith scowls at Miles. "That's the point, daddy dearest," she says contemptuously. She turns her attention to Tabitha. "There's no chance this is strictly the past, right? That Legion's mark is here so strongly, it's got to be something else...but if it is...can we not act here, and now?"
"I don't know." Tabitha says to Meridith, reaching for ... well. Does she have that book? If not, what a shame. But the does the next best this, she taps at her temple. Think. Think. Think. "If its just a dream, there are ways to affect a person. I can't believe that this is the actual past... It is just to show us his weakness." She thinks. "Perhaps it is some ... woman. My guess is red hair and green eyes."
"I don't know." Tabitha says to Meridith, reaching for ... well. Does she have that book? If not, what a shame. But the does the next best this, she taps at her temple. Think. Think. Think. "If its just a dream, there are ways to affect a person. I can't believe that this is the actual past... It is just to show us his weakness." She thinks. "Perhaps it is some ... woman. My guess is red hair and green eyes." (re?)
Is this a dream? There are powers, in dreams, to manipulate reality -- and dreams also seem to smell less of horse dung. As Tabitha, Meridith and Miles approach the Theater of Mysteries, they can feel Legion's presence more fully, starting to rise in some power.
"Redheads. Terrible." Miles drawls out wryly, and then does a little two-step to avoid any potential incoming stomps. He's probably just burrowing discomfort in humour once again. There's a glance over toward Meridith and a smirk, "That doesn't sound quite as bad, Meri." He teases her, and then starts to grow a little more serious as he notes today's brochure, and it's promise. "Well, we're woefully underarmed, and either in a dream, or a vision, or actual time travel - but let's not let that stop us. Worst case scenario? We throw a chair." There's a beat. If they even have chairs in these sort of shows. He really doesn't know. "Keep an eye out for women like Tabs suggested."
OOC: Anything else in terms of preparation before you enter the theater, emote it now.
Meridith shrugs helplessly. She can usually breath in a dream too, she follows along with Tabitha, remaining quiet when the woman is trying to think. He turns his gaze to Miles and rooooolllllls her eyes again. She peers about, looking for something she might be able to fight with in a pinch, anything large and able to hit someone with is ideal. "I'd give my left tit for a bow and some arrows..." she muses.
Unfortunately, the Amazonian archery exhibition is tomorrow. Meridith, it seems, is out of bows but with both breasts.
Tabitha opens her little coin purse in hopes that it is much like Mary Poppin's bag, and there is an endless supply of things at her disposal. "You should be careful what you wish for here... You might be left titless."
Miles pats himself down one last time, searching his pockets for anything that might help with, well, whatever it is that is to come next.
Inside the theater, people are packed in for Garibaldi's show -- and Tabitha, Meridith and Miles are all short on supplies. The fighters have their fists, and the sorceress? Well: it's been said before that magic can be cast with a little blood and a candle. She has a pocket knife, as does Miles and Meridith, and Miles has if not a candle a cheroot cigar. The air in her is anticipation as the crowd begins to gather.
Tabitha finds nothing, evidently, but lint in her coin purse. "You really need to up my allowance, papa." she remarks, and snaps the linen thing closed with a pout. But it is okay, she's seen MacGuyver.
Meridith grumbles softly and makes a quick test, trying to exercise her control of telekinesis on something inconsequential.
Far more serious, Tabitha says to Meridith and Miles. "I will not be surprised if This Girabaldi ends up being Mister Inigo..." Her words are spoken very low only for them.
"You clearly aren't well behaved enough, imagine all the chores left unfinished." Miles drawls back out in response to Tabitha, pausing as he filches the cigar from his own pocket. Ooh. There's that terrible vice of his again. He immediately glances towards one of those dimly lit candles, considering using one to light the thing. "I suppose we wait for this to begin now, yes? Should we expect to, I don't know, interrupt it?" There's a pause then at Tabitha's words, and a low groan in the back of Miles's throat.
Telekinesis works: Meridith is able to pull something towards her with effort. She is -- Miles is -- Tabitha is -- in control of their full powers. On stage, the spotlights are coming up as the Amazing Garibaldi steps upon the stage. He gestures, and smoke rises from either side, beginning his introduction... and Tabitha would notice immediately that that was no fireworks. This is real magic. He is not, thankfully, Solomon Inigo -- but he does have red eyes. In the beginning, its a patter, some prestidigitation, with oohs and ahhs from the crowd, but as the show progresses the women promised by the ice tea seller come out. They wear snakes and little more -- exotic sorts of belly-dancing costumes -- and they begin to call for volunteers, men to come up from the crowd.
Tabitha closes her eyes, maybe in some sort of thankfulness of the identity of Girabaldi
This is no dream, at least not one that Tabitha can will herself candles from. It seems disturbingly real... but it is also a place with candles. While there are electric lights here, they are few and far between, and the back corridors are lit with flickering flames from real candles. After all, it adds to the spooky ambience. If one needs larger candles? Well. Assistants are setting out thirteen black candles in a ring around Garibaldi as his assistants bring men on stage.
Meridith stares at the man, trying to lodge the image in her brain, focused hawk-like. Hopefully blending in to the crowd as she studies her quarry.
On opening her eyes, Tabitha refocuses her blues on the one with the reds on the stage. She peers and watches, listens. She whispers, "I feel like we should interrupt this, but also, I don't know if I want to... just to see what this spell is. And then .. maybe it is a spell we can use against him."
Meridith says "We have no ticket out of here yet...if this is the past, we should learn what we can, if it's not, well, it won't matter if we did interfere, would it...?"
While the others discuss what they should or should not do, Miles scans his green gaze over the various folks on stage, lingering on the dancing women and their snakes for a few moments. Likely so he can ensure none of them match the profile that Tabitha had offered earlier, and certainly not because of the way exotic movements are prone to draw the eye. There's a glance toward the red-eyed figure, and a mild clearing of Miles's throat when volunteers are called for. He almost raises his hand, but seems to think better of it. "If I had a pistol still, I could probably take him from here." Maybe.
On stage, Garibaldi begins to chant. The snake-charmers have brought five men up, and they are arranged around the circle like points of a pentacle. The two snake charmers move between them, and the movements of the snakes is sinuous. Meridith can recognize the supernatural power in the creatures, and Tabitha can recognize the magic. Miles Miles can recognize that this is witchcraft, and witchcraft is evil.
Joining the snake charmers are the assistants, now -- another young woman and two men -- and now each of the men, beguiled by the serpents' eyes, has an attendant standing close. Garibaldi turns his back to the audience as he chants, and with a gesture, some deeper, inner curtain is pulled aside -- revealing two oversized, empty thrones. "Behold!" he says. "Now I will summon the greatest spirits you have ever seen!"
Meridith nods to Miles. She blinks, are the creatures of another world? She wonders.
It's hard to know, for Meridith the snakes aren't natural. Are they familiars? Shapeshifters? Something else? Inhabitants of Hell, like the black snakes that slither constantly through the trees there?
It's hard to know, for Meridith -- the snakes aren't natural. Are they familiars? Shapeshifters? Something else? Inhabitants of Hell, like the black snakes that slither constantly through the trees there?
Tabitha watches keenly what the caster of magic does. She seems intent to understand the chant spoken, the place, on the snakes for a while. She crosses her arms, seeking her little pocket knife in the meantime. Witchcraft it may be, but this being on stage, it is not just black magic. The power is something far more evil.
If this is a vision, or a dream? Then these people aren't real, and anything that might happen to them, isn't really happening. If they've really gone back to the past, then anyone who might get harmed or hurt, are already dead. Miles grits his teeth somewhat, readying himself and trying to still whatever reaction is produced by whatever comes next. Now is the time to be at least a little pragmatic. There's another little look at the closest few armed people, and that information is squirrel away in the back of Miles's head. He reaches out for Tabitha's free hand, only to find them cross, and instead ends up resting both at the waist of his pants.
Meridith shifts to try to get a bit closer to the stage. She doesn't want to miss something.
What Tabitha sees is, in fact, black magic -- and not just any black magic. This is gate magic, something powerful, and the feeling is rising. Meridith, Miles and Tabitha can feel that connection most keenly, as if Legion's presence here is growing. The chant seems to be rising, reaching some fevered pitch, and for a moment the air begins to almost shimmer: as if here, right now, there is some connection. For a moment, it seems almost as if the air is filled with black vines, before they fade away in an afterimage.
As Meridith gets closer to the stage, Miles might notice men barring the doors behind them. That is, all things considered, an ominous sign.
As the ritual progresses, Tabitha is beginning commit parts of it to memory, as she watches. It's not complete: that sacrifice is coming soon. This is new magic to her, but it's not surprising magic. No, the air of anticipation feels like if there is something to learn? It is at the spell's climax.
Miles isn't a particularly tall fellow back in 2024, but here, amongst the unwashed and malnourished masses of early America, he's probably fairly tall, right? As such, the rather ominous sign isn't missed by Miles who glances toward each exit in turn then, lips slipping into a sharp, thin line. "They're locking us in here." He extends softly to his compatriots.
Well, earlier America at least. Miles probably could've checked his math a wee bit better.
Tabitha fingers her little pocket knife, fidgets with it. She begins to move toward a candle, to see if she can easily pilfer one from the sconce as she makes her way toward where Meridith goes. "Are they summoning a physical form of him?" she wonders, to herself, or those who may be in earshot.
Meridith is studying the room closely, looking for signs of the ritual taking place, its intent...
And then -- movement, followed by screams. It's the five attendants; knives flash, and there is a sudden fountain of blood. Garibaldi turns, then, and his red eyes are on fire, and as he raises his hands he speaks words that seem designed to bring the whole room under a spell. The screams quiet -- and now the snakes are sliding out into the room.
There are a few unaffected by this magic, and the snakes are headed for them. Among those unaffected? Miles, Tabitha, and Meridith. Meridith and Tabitha, close to the stage, seems to have a giant constrictor headed straight in their direction.
On stage, as the five sacrifices' life's blood peters out, the air seems to shimmer more fully. Figures seem to occupy the thrones, and they are both chanting -- demonic visages. One, dark, is some familiar Black Goat, and it reaches across to hold the hand of a pale figure with dark hair on the other throne. Their voices form some kind of unison, and it's clear that only both voices together are summoning enough magic to reach across the veil and touch Garibaldi, the eidolon possessing him, and the sacrifices crumpled on the floor.
...of course: revelations or not, it's probably an issue if this ritual succeeds.
Meridith flicks a hand and lifts the constrictor into the air. She turns her gaze back to Tabitha and hisses, angry. Moving to spring to her side, she pulls a knife and looks for better weapons
As Meridith flings the constrictor to the side she is surrounded by glassy-eyed sacrifices. It's as if Meridith can see the very energy being drained from them by the ritual. The constrictor hisses, rushing at her: full of venom and anger. Constrictors shouldn't have cobra's fangs, and yet suddenly this one does, striking out at the hand holding Meridith's knife.
Miles doesn't have a rifle, or his sidearm, or any of the many gadgets and gizmos that he uses to try and emulate even a portion of the powers of the supernatural. But he does have a dinky little knife, and a mean left hook. When the action breaks out, Miles goes about trying to shift things into his favours, seeking out the nearest armed fellow and trying to convince them, with a little concussive force if needed, to part with their revolver.
He may not have a rifle, but he does have some daddy deputy skills: Miles comes up with a pistol. Six gun in hand, he's at least a little more on the ball, now.
(re) He may not have a rifle, but he does have some daddy deputy skills: Miles comes up with a pistol. Six gun in hand, he's at least a little more on the ball, now.
Meridith throws the snake back as best she can with a blast of telekinetic force, or lifting it into the air if she can manage it for a moment. She pulls at her knife and tries to cut up her corset.
Cutting up a corset is, perhaps, less of a priority than cutting up the snake. It's on Meridith as she tries to summon telekinesis again, but at least she has a knife? And the corset is coming in handy, a little: as it wraps its tail around the girl, trying to squeeze, the whalebone is a kind of armor, protecting her from losing too much more breath. Still, it's snapping at her with unnatural jaws. If she doesn't stab it shortly, she'll be all venom.
Meridith can usually hold things up with telekinesis for a moment or two!!! She turns her attention on the snake and jams her blade down towards its head.
It takes Tabitha some time to come out of her concentration, having watched and listened with clear intent to understand the words being chanted, to see beyond the veil, and comprehend the nature of this vision. But when she does, she realizes the madness that now surrounds her. That little pocket knife is popped open and she pierces her flesh. Her own words are spoken, seeking to burst the eye vessels of the nearest 'snake.' The hellish nightscape of one with fangs like a cobra snapping its jaws at Meridith.
Pop. That is not good for that snake -- as its eyes pop in a little explosion of blood over Meridith, it reels -- and now Meridith's knife holds true. The snake starts to quiver, shaking, dead, and as it does it -shifts-, turning from a snake into some woman. Her eyes are bleeding as she, too, writhes on the ground.
Up on stage, the vision of the thrones is getting clearer. They are different than the thrones on stage, blacker, as Garibaldi starts to open a gate to Hell. Around him, Legion is becoming visible, a familiar black mist that smells of brimstone. If they don't stop this ritual? That connection will be made.
Meridith gasps, staring at the woman. She hesitates, horror gripping her and freezing her to the spot a moment.
Isn't it pretty futile to try to stop a ritual that already must have happened back in 1893? Tabitha is contemplating this, the information flood filling her head, seeping into the recesses of her brain, and possibly overloading it. She looks between Girabaldi and the thrones. Whose?
Did the ritual succeed, in 1893? Was it stopped? Did Tabitha, Miles, and Meridith stop it? These are the kinds of questions that make a solid plurality of magical researches insist time travel is all a shared delusion.
Meridith twists and catches her breath a moment later, she sprints towards the stage, with nothing more than a pocket knife, some pluck and a can-do attitude. And a very tight corset.
There are snakes, of course, around, Meridith, but they appear to be heading into the crowd. One is heading for Tabitha. Up on stage, Garibaldi's back is turned again -- he's facing the thrones, now, as the young woman with the knife and corset hits the stage, with his back to the crowd.
Miles doesn't stop to think about the time travel consequences of his actions, he does what American law enforcement does best. The deputy raises his pilfered six-shooter, cocks back the hammer, and takes a shot at the man conducting the chaos. Girabaldi.
Tabitha dashes toward the snake with her knife in hand. She's got the swiftness of movement, mostly. given that the corset she wears threatens to near make her pass out from exertion, she has faster than other normal humans, and a decent knowledge of knife usage. She seeks to stab it numerous times. Knowing that one turned into a woman earlier, she does expect it. Her goal, though, along with Meridith. Is Girabaldi. Should she make it. She's panting out words, chanting panting.
Meridith charges towards Girabaldi, she's not a master assassin by any stretch but she does have a good sense of where some organs are on a person when their back is showing. She tries to close, and drive a knife into his back. She ignores all else.
Stab, stab, stab -- what is it with witches and knives? Tabitha is fighting the serpent, its jaws snapping at her as she calls out with some magic -- reaching out with necromantic power. That's the kind of black magic that does something excellent for the soul, after all, as the sacrifices' spirits, fleeing their bodies, are bound back in. They stir, rising, and begin to grapple with the assistants near them.
When Miles fires -- bam, bam, bam -- the air around Garibaldi seems to blossom with magical energy, some shield of force taking a bullet, then a second, then a third, then a fourth, a fifth -- and then no flare from the sixth at all. He staggers back, only for Meridith to take him with blurring speed. Her knife finds Garibaldi's throat, and then there is a spray of blood to match five others along the stage.
As the red-eyed sorcerer's chant fades into a gurgle of blood, the vision of the black thrones and dark figures begins to fade. Legion's mist is still present, here, but its connection to the other side is broken -- and so instead, with some anger, a hot wind blows, knocking over candles. As the mist fades out, fire begins to spread. Sometimes, often, dark magic needs no witnesses. The five shambling zombies head towards Tabitha as Miles and Meridith are able to rejoin their companion. In Tabitha's mind, she can hear the torment of the spirits bound into the dead men, but they have strength perhaps to batter a way out of the theater for them and many of the people here.
Meridith says "We need to get the people out of here before the blaze spreads!"
Meridith' blade slashes across the mans throat, her eyes widen, pulse racing, heart pounding, she staggers back before she calls out that command to Tabitha and Miles. A trembling hand clutches the knife with white knuckles, before sprinting to rejoin them
That's the age old problem with revolvers, isn't it? Not enough bullet. Miles curses under his breath, though there's some mild relief as Meridith manages to finish the job, even if the slashing of the man's throat leaves him a little uncomfortable. Maybe uncomfortable isn't the right term. There's fairly time for comfort in a firefight, after all. "Check his body!" The deputy calls over at Meridith as the man goes falling. Hoping, praying that there is something to find, to make this ordeal worth it.
Tabitha holds her hand out to the undead. She knows how best to make them rise, but what was it she did to make them go away in the graveyard. The hand held out is met with one word, "Halt." Then, "Help them." She gestres to the screaming people trying to flee. Hopefully they are not the kind that simply want brains. Hers, right now? It is on fire. Like the room.
Escape. The zombies batter their way through the doors, as Tabitha, Meridith and Miles flee behind them. Fire is spreading in the theater, but some people, at least, make it out in the panic. Others do not, trampled beneath the rushing crowds or caught by the fire. As for the body? Meridith finds the usual suspects: a ritual knife, an inverted pentacle, a handful of classic dollars. If this was worthwhile, it was in some occult insight.
Out in the relatively fresh air of the World Columbian Exposition, it's time to beat feet away from the burning pavilion. But beat feet to where? How on earth are they going to get home?
Meridith doubles back to search, of course, hazarding the flame
Meridith hurries back outside, coughing. She turns over the items quietly to Tabitha.
Fire is burning in the ruins of the Theater of the Mysteries as Miles, Meridith and Tabitha make their escape.
Out of the frying pan, and through the fire, Miles flees out of the burning building - though he does wait for Tabitha and Meridith to catch up, grabbing at them then to half-drag them if need be. They managed to prevent the opening of a portal to hell, only for a different sort of hell to catch right up onto them, "What now?" He blurts out, to Tabitha, just expecting she'd have the solution.
This is not a situation where Tabitha has any damn clue what the solution is. Hopefully for her and Meridith's sake, it doesn't involve corsets for twenty-five years until flappers become the fashion. On the other hand? This is a good time for daddy deputy Miles to enjoy the fruits of patriarchy.
Meridith exhales sharp. "I am seriously not hanging around during spanish flu," she insists, joking albeit grimly. Her mind hangs on a spray of blood, a dead women. She shifts uncomfortably
"I'm thinking!" Tabitha cries out to Miles, like she's supposed to have the answer! Jeez! She wheezes and coughs. Finally looking at whatever it is that Meridith has handed off to her. "It's not like I have a DeLorean hidden in the bushes..." Jokes. But its clear that she is stressed, tired, and when she looks back to the theatre, overcome with great sadness. "Do you think that if we'd have acted sooner, none of that would have happened? That those people would be alive? That ...." She shakes her head.
If in doubt? Salt it. Unfortunately Miles's packet of salt was left behind in the present, and thus he's largely disarmed when it comes to his magical skillset. "Alright, alright." The man drawls out, glancing this way and that. "No." He answers her question, simply and directly, "They died hundreds of years ago, if they were ever.. if this is..- Let's just focus on getting away."
"Give me your hands." Tabitha requests, ready to slice through them, to grasp them. "And follow my chant." She hopes she has them right, to get back in time.
Meridith extends her hands to Tabitha instantly. She seems to trust the witchy women.
Miles doesn't even hestitate, he immediately does as Tabitha asks.
What chant, does Tabitha intend? What power? As Miles and Meridith take her hands, they can still feel Legion there, lingering in the backs of their minds. Is it watching them here? It seems like it. The eidolon had a chance, a moment ago, to ascend, and this trio stopped that. Now? Now, perhaps... it will remember.
Meridith says "Here...there's power is their not? The ambiance of that failed ritual, the suffering, we could make purpose of it."
Tabitha does only what she can think to do. The same spell that got her, Miles and Meridith here. There is madness ensueing around them, and they, they look like a family trying to console themselves in a huddle as she speaks a spell that backfired once. Or did it? She can only hope it takes them to 2024 and not backwards another hundred or so years. or 1918. Or, even 1985. "Focus on home, on the year. On Legion and things you feel strongly about in our time..." Its a longshot.
Meridith closes her eyes.
"On the year, on home. On things." Miles echoes back to Tabitha, as he does his best to do exactly that. The man settles his jaw, and floods his mind with memories of home. It's really mostly the things that piss him off. Slow internet. Too much mist. The general strangeness of Haven. His coworker disappearing. The carnage left in Tabitha's home. The smell of his sheets fresh from the dryer. The water pressure of his shower. Phone reception. How irritating he finds the Order, and Damned both. Tabitha's home once more.
As Tabitha's chant rises, the witch reaches out to try to find the thread of her original ritual, gone so terribly awry. It hangs there in the magical ether, some silver cord to hold onto. It's some psychic link: some lifeline, to follow home through the astral, and as she seizes on it the redheaded sorceress and her companions feel a great wind, as if they are being sucked away.
For a while, it seems as if the trio are lost in the astral pain -- lost forever, perhaps, as they slip between grains of sand in time's eternal hourglass.
Then, at least, they awake: each of them wet, lying in the sand at that liminal space where the water laps against the shore. It is the splash of a wave that wakens them, wet and salty against their faces as the smells of Haven and the silent fall of snow bring them home.
In this new world, they found themselves dressed in period attire, struggling with the discomforts and restrictions of fashion of the time. They also quickly realized the significant presence of Legion through ominous signs and connections, suggesting a grave ritual was to take place.
Their investigation led them to the Theater of Mysteries, where the Amazing Garibaldi was about to perform a dark ritual with potential to allow Legion to ascend. The ritual involved sacrifices and was powered by black magic, evident through the summoning of demonic visages and the manipulation of reality around the theater. Recognizing the severity of the situation and despite the moral and existential dilemmas regarding their interference in past events, the trio decided to intervene in hopes of thwarting Legion's plans.
With quick thinking, Meridith utilized her telekinetic powers to disrupt the ritual, while Tabitha employed her witchcraft to counteract the dark magic at play. Miles, adapting to the circumstances, managed to acquire a gun and took decisive shots at Garibaldi, ending the sorcerer's life and the immediate threat of the ritual's completion.
Following the intense confrontation, Tabitha, realizing the gravity of their situation away from their own time, instructed Miles and Meridith to focus intensely on their home and the year 2024, hoping to use the remnants of power from their location and the failed ritual to cast them back to their origin.
Their attempt was a success, albeit bewildering, as they awoke back on the shores of their beginning, drenched but safely returned to their own time, leaving the trio to ponder the implications of their actions across the fabrics of time and their battle against Legion.
(Through A Glass, Darkly(SRLegion):SRLegion)
[Sun Mar 24 2024]
In a formless void lost in time and space
As the ritual takes effect, sensation leaves you -- and for a moment, you are in a formless void of time and space.
It is about 50F(10C) degrees.
Tabitha probably feels a little like saying: Siiissssstahs!
OOC: Welcome to Through A Mirror, Darkly.
It is a beachside ritual outside Tabitha's house -- like so many rituals, done as the sun sets. Miles and Meridith may not know, but the redheaded witch is well aware that sunrise and sunset are times where the borders between worlds thin: they are liminal spaces, in the parlance of sorcerers, and so magics meant to pierce the veil operate better. Beaches are another liminal space -- they are the border between land and sea -- and so are the changing of the seasons, as winter turns to spring. Tabitha's ritual, then, is thrice-blessed, which is why it is a time for magic meant to reveal even the most hidden secrets.
What sorcery are Those Seeking Redemption working tonight? A spell to reveal some secret about their opponent, Legion -- a spell to reveal some trick, some weakness, for weaknesses are also a thing about borders. After all: a spirit's weakness is the border between its life and death.
Magic, however, has its own rules. Right now, full of power, what Tabitha lacks is control -- and so when the waves crash, and the chanting rises, with the sorceress in the center of the circle and Meridith and Miles standing guard outside, it is not a vision that the trio sees, but blackness. Blackness, sudden and dark, with a moment of fleeting terror and then a sense of being transported, like falling at the speed of light through an endless black tunnel. When each of them wakes, it is clear: they are not just transported, but the world is transformed.
OOC: Please move 'up' through the hidden exit.
Meridith is standing in the midst of this strange 'new' world and is currently struggling to breath, tugging at her outfit. "Hggh..."
TabithaMiles and Tabitha didn't ride out to someone. Instead, the sea calls to her. And so the redhead has heeded that call, to the beach just beyond her home. With this strange and ancient book in her hand.
...When consciousness shocks back in the trio is all flat on their back. They're in a kind of alcove, with the afternoon sun high above them, and they are -very much- not dressed the way they were before. People move and mill about with thronging crowds in the humid, late afternoon heat, and this place is... well. Different. Smells assault them, with animal dung predominating, but so do the sights. Women in corsetted dresses move about with parasols, with every man invariably having a hat and suit on. Facial hair seems to predominate, along with high updoes, and the call of people hawking every patent cure or exhibition echo through the air. There is a general cacophany as Miles, Tabitha and Meridith are able to look out into the central plaza of an alien place -- into history, or some alternate world, or -something-, different and strange and scary all at once.
Pathing can be an uncomfortable experience sometimes, resulting in effects not dissimilar to sea sickness. What Miles experiences as his rifle is dragged out of his hands, and darkness envelops him is something closer to super dooper sea sickness. The suddenness of the lights going out has him scrambling, calling out, "Tabs! Meri! Tabitha! Meridith!" Then there's the sensation of falling, tumbling through time and space, before he jerks back into sight and sound and experience, looking a few shades more paler, and with clothing many shades more colourful. A low groan escapes the man as he starts to roll onto his side, scrambling for possessions that are no longer there, even as his brain tries to catch up to all the new sensations, "..What?" He blurts out, dumbly, then peering aside to Meridith and Tabitha and double-taking, "-What?-"
Meridith is battling with her most terrifying foe to date, the fashion sense of the 1890's. The woman, who is of course struggling to deal with the reality of the world around her has chosen to focus on something more more immediate, and manageable, the corset currently trying to strange her to death, or so the young demi-goddess choose to believe. As she sits up, she winces. "T-the heck...?" She looks over to Tabitha, curious about what the heck happened and certain she's responsible.
Miles and Tabitha didn't ride out to someone. Instead, the sea calls to her. And so the redhead has heeded that call, to the beach just beyond her home. With this strange and ancient book in her hand. The spell. New. The seasons. New. The changing of day between day to night. New. On her knees in the sand, she praises to Hecate, and calls to goddesses never spoken by her before as detailed in the strange book. It is not long until the spell is woven, and like wool, the trio is enveloped in darkness. In a void. She stands, and, through her disorientation, gives Miles and Meridith a look before she is awash again in a dizzying disorientating shift of time and space. This twilight zone. When she comes to, when it is done. When the spell is complete and the world comes to light, she cannot speak. Immediately. It could be the corset that restricts her breathing.
Miles and Tabitha didn't ride out to Boston. Instead, the sea calls to her. And so the redhead has heeded that call, to the beach just beyond her home. With this strange and ancient book in her hand. The spell. New. The seasons. New. The changing of day between day to night. New. On her knees in the sand, she praises to Hecate, and calls to goddesses never spoken by her before as detailed in the strange book. It is not long until the spell is woven, and like wool, the trio is enveloped in darkness. In a void. She stands, and, through her disorientation, gives Miles and Meridith a look before she is awash again in a dizzying disorientating shift of time and space. This twilight zone. When she comes to, when it is done. When the spell is complete and the world comes to light, she cannot speak. Immediately. It could be the corset that restricts her breathing.
The heck! Such salty talk. So far, at least, none of the crowds busying outside seem to have noticed Meridith, Tabitha, or Miles. The light is shockingly bright, though -- the transition to high summer is unpleasant -- and for the ladies, at least, breathing could be a little easier. For those that check, it certainly seems as if they are here, physically: this doesn't feel like a dream or like the nightmare. If anyone was to pat their face, it would feel, too, like their face, and their body: just in strange clothes indeed.
TabithaMeridith's question to her is met with a dumbfounded and shocked expression that she can only answer with a shrug of her shoulders, stiffled in so many layers of heavy clothing in the sun and heat, and assailant scents. She drags her hands down the front of the bodice meant to flatten her out, the lace high to leave her scratching her neck.
After a few moments of simply staring at Tabitha and Meridith in a slack-jawed manner, Miles raises a hand to pat at his face, and then pinch his hand. He shakes his head slowly, whether he discovers a majestic handlebar moustache over his lips or not, "Why in the.. why are we dressed like Harriet speaks?" The man blurts out toward the others after some small time, eyebrows raising up toward his hairline, "Did we get whamied by something?"
Meridith grimaces. "It smells like a zoo, a shitty one," she murmurs slowly crawling to her feet, offering a hand to Tabitha or Miles as she does, trying to get her bearings. This was definitely not any kind of scenario she was aware of. Dream? No. Other world? Doubtful. Why the clothes? Still, it isn't as though she isn't familiar with...well, the unfamiliar. She's sure this is all very normal, to someone, Tabitha maybe? But then...no.
Great question, Miles. Occult scholars are extremely divided on whether time travel is possible, Tabitha might know: some insist it is forbidden my magical laws, while others say they have scried into the past often. Certainly, the future has some murkiness: all three here, Miles, Meridith and Tabitha have heard glimpses of their own fate. But bodily traveling into the past? There are claims, certainly -- hotly contested claims, with some in the magical establishment swearing it can happen, others saying that it is crossing the border to other worlds, and a third faction condemning both of the first two as madmen.
Tabitha tugs down on the bodice to try to loosen it a little across her tits. "I ... don't know. I wanted to find Legion's weaknesses. Maybe there is something here..." She still is shellshocked, her voice weakened by the unusual tighness of the corset that someone has tied far too tight to make her waist far more waspish and her hips much more pronounced, though that is also thanks to the petticoats. She nods to Meridith, in agreement. "I --- would assume that its not just animal." There was a reason, afterall, that a gentleman walked on the outside of a sidewalk. Though this is Chicago, and this is civilized, and it is not the middle ages. One would hope those still with chamberpots disposed of their chambers elsewise.
"Give me a minute..." Tabitha asks though no one has said otherwise, and she opens her newly acquired book. "I've never, outside my own death, seen into the future. I can see into the present with the right tools, but this is wholly different." She presses her hand to her belly, trying to take herself a nice... shallow... breath. "I've always been told that we are not able to jump backward, though there are those who can jump forward. This has to be --- a mirage?"
"Are we in Europe or something?" Meridith asks, confused. She views all culture of 1890's fanciness on period pieces set in the time. She groans and tries to adjust this corset and is wriggling around like a cat post surgery with their cone, trying to adjust it futily.
"..Well, you both look nice at least." Miles drawls out as he gazes between Meridith and Tabitha, especially the later as she tugs on her bodice some. He clears his throat then, a surprised sound as his fingers brush against a fabulous handlebar moustache. The man's eyebrows shoot up, and he immediately goes poking in these strange pockets for his phone, desperately seeking his phone to take a selfie. "Perhaps it's a dreamscape?" He suggests over to Tabitha, still admiring the feel of his new facial hair. This might just have to be a permanent change. He's like every lad in their early twenties when they grow their first movember mo, only it's far less seedy.
In front of Meridith, a newsboy comes by -- he, at least, sees the trio. "Programs!" he shouts, waving one around. "Guidebooks for all exhibits and exhibitions! Don't visit the World's Fair without one!" Another is produced. "And if you are new to our fine city of Chicago, we have maps! Recommended hoteliers and restaurants away from the pavilions! Programs!" the boy says. "Programs, guidebooks and maps!"
Meridith gazes at Miles. "You look like a porn star," she murmurs, regarding his moustache. Then blinks as the newsboy strolls by. "Lemme see that," she says, reaching out a hand for a guidebook
The guidebook is offered to Meridith. "That'll be a penny," he says to her, holding out his other hand. "It's a steal!"
Meridith fishes around in what is to her a truly insane and labyrinthian outfit, hunting for money.
"No.." Tabitha says to Meridith, shaking her head, and digging her fingers into the bun that she is now donning, all her pretty red hair bundled up, with only wisps of it to frame her face. "It's the ... Yes. That. It's the Worlds Fair. I've ... seen pictures." Sher peers at Miles and squints, "I hope that goes away when we ... are back. If we ..." She bites her lip at Meridith then approaches the newsboy, "Good day, lad, a brochure please?" Though when a penny is asked for she halts, and tries to place her hand on Meridith's arm. "What if ... it's dated lter?" she whispers. Still uncertain that she didn't just Somewhere in Time them all.
When Meridith digs a penny out, it's easy enough for Tabitha and Miles to get a glance at it: it's copper, sure, but Lincoln is nowhere to be seen. It's just an Indian head on one side, stamped 1889. Indeed, there's really nothing at all on any of the trio's bodies that seems to be from 2024.
Meridith flicks the coin over to the kid with a casually gesture of her thumb. "Here you go kid," she says, shrugging towards the others with a helpless expression. She moves to peek over the brochure.
"Cheers." Miles chirps aside to Meridith, electing to take her comment as a compliment, even if it likely wasn't. There's a mild frown afforded toward Tabitha at her further denigration of his lip caterpillar, before his gaze falls upon the newsboy. He strokes at his new moustache as he considers the coin, and their current predicament, "I swear, really, that I read something in the archives about Legion and the fair, or around.." He glances over toward the kid, "You there, lad, what year is it?" He attempts to adopt a more formal accent than his usual blend, steering more toward the upper crusty type commonly affected by Harriet.
"Eighteen Ninety-Three," Tabitha says to Miles. "It has to be..."
"July 19," the young newsie tells Miles. "Ninety-three," he says. "Of course. We got all the day's events in the brochure, too!" he indicates, gesturing to where Meridith holds it. Sure enough: it does have a whole range of festivities. As the newsboy lingers, all three of them can look out over the center of the fair -- the grand building, the long pond, the golden statue... wait. For a moment, Tabitha double-takes. Her eyes are far keener than Miles and Meridith's, but when the cloud passed over the afternoon sun did it leave for a moment a shadow of a pentacle on the gold of the Republic?
Meridith hands the brochure over to whoever snags it first. "It would make sense," she offers moving toward Tabitha and Miles, to avoid being overheard. "If this relates to Legion in some way..." she humms a moment, then rubs the back of her head.
In hopes that Miles and Meridith follow her, Tabitha sets out in a heavy swaying dress, plumped by a petticoat and bustle. She is heading toward the gleam of gold. "It has to relate to Legion. That was the entire point of the spell..." Despite that it whisked them away in a shared hallucination of the Fair. She holds a little coin purse in green before her as she moves, prim and proper. Likely only in that she can't actually --move well. "How did they wear these things."
Meridith grimaces. "I may not have my blade but I can still throw a man through..." She begins. Then gazing at Tabitha she shakes her head. "No clue, the people in this time are maniacs," she complains. "In this heat no less? I'm going to -die-." She insists.
"Ninety-three." Miles echoes back to the lad, and chews at the inside of his cheek for a few moments. Having watched Meridith produced a coin from her pocket, the fellow spends a few moments checking his own then, those in his trousers and any on the inside of his jacket, while trotting along behind Tabitha, "Let's not make any assumptions about what we can and cannot do here." He suggests aside to Meridith with a wary wiggle of his stache.
Out in the crowd, people are around constantly. It's an odd sort of anonymity -- there are more people in this central square than in the whole of Haven, and they stroll by, talking to themselves and paying no mind at all to Tabitha, Miles and Meridith. All of them, though? All of them have a little bit of something unsettled in the back of their necks. Each of the three is bound to Legion by hatred or anger or magic, and that itch, that strange familiar itch: it's there.
It's in fact difficult to move, for Tabitha and Meridith. Their bustle is a kind of counterweight, with heavy skirts, while their corsets and bodices are tight. Even Miles can feel it: with no elastic at all, his sackcloth suit doesn't move in the way he's used to modern fabrics shifting.
"Well, considering what the Fair is partly notorious for, you might get a chance to toss a man...." Tabitha says to Meridith. "But Miles may be right.... don't assume." She pauses a moment, then captures Miles's arm to walk beside the mustachioed man.
Meridith groans. "Can I change? Like, real quick? Just tear off some layers?" she asks childishly while she follows along.
Miles curls his arm about Tabitha's own, entwining himself to her as he tries to figure out how to walk in this attire. He can't take his usual, long, sweeping strides, at least not without the material complaining and tugging at him. Smaller more measured steps are the catch of the day, it seems, "Oh, come now." He chuffs, leaning heavily into his adopted accent, "No daughter of ours is going to carouse about like some ninny, or worse yet, confederate." That's probably a few years out of date as far as comments go, but Miles didn't really study American history.
Meridith says "...Me and Tabs are like the same age. If anything you're our father."
It is, in fact, several years out of date -- but Miles is a foreigner, so those around may not care regardless. Clouds pass overhead, and again: there's some tingling. When Tabitha glances up, it's now as if there is some pentacle reflected in the crowds. For Meridith, with her brochure? Well: it scans exhibitions, most of which have no interest, but one page describes 'Patent Cures & Prestidigitations', a description of shows and booths along a side canal in the western expanses of the park. Above an advertise for 'SANITARY LODGINGS, COURTESY OF DR. H.H. HOLMES' are a series of 'cultural exhibitions' that seem to have an occult bent, many of them in a building called the Theater of Mysteries.
"It's hussy, dear," Tabitha corrects with a pat-pat-pat to Miles's hand as she teases Meridith along with him.
"It's hussy, dear," Tabitha corrects with a pat-pat-pat to Miles's hand as she teases Meridith along with him.
Meridith hms a moment.
upnods to the golden building, "We need to head over there. I swear I thought I saw something, a glint. But... its more than that. The hairs at the back of my neck are standing. He is here." Tabitha whispers to Miles and Meridith far more seriously.
"The name H.H. Holmes strike a chord with anyone?" Meridith announces.
"Yes. He was here at the fair..." Tabitha says. "Is here," she corrects herself. "The man I said you could likely toss."
Meridith rubs the back of her neck. "Isn't he uhm..." She winces. "...Rumored to be, you know..." She flicks her tongue and makes a hissy noise.
It's true, the presence likely is here. Miles felt it too, though only cottoned onto what this discomfort was when Tabitha voiced as much. He raises his free hand to rub at the back of his neck, taking Tabitha's suggestion with a wry grin before growing more serious. "That does sound.. familiar." The deputy allows, shifting that hand to stroke at his moustache then. Miles is sure he's heard the name before, or read it. If only he could remember.
Did they still call older men like Miles 'daddy' in 1893? A research topic, perhaps, when -- if -- they ever return to 2024. On that topic... how are Miles, Meridith and Tabitha going to get home?
Tabitha recites from books and videos that she's probably watched off youtube. "Yeah, some say that he was probably Jack the Ripper, but they've never been able to prove it fully. Only that it is very coincidental... I wonder if he made some deal with Legion here. To help cover everything up... He got away with a lot for a long time, afterall." She continues walking, glacing sidelong to Meridith and Miles as they weave through the hot sun and crowd in starchy clothing.
Meridith groans. "Take this fucking thing off me," she commands the general people around her. She turns. "Not another step," she insists.
Tabitha comments aside, "We have big strong Deputy Stache with us if we run into him..." She offers out, a long overdue comment from when they first arrived. "Be glad that we didn't end up on the Titannnnnn........" She stares at Meridith. "Ic."
"Don't draw so much attention to us. We already know that the paperboy could see and hear us. What if this is not some hallucination. Shared dream. What if we cause a butterfly effect?" Tabitha asks, lowly.
"You're making a scene." Miles singsongs towards Meridith as she groans, and complains, pausing in his step to afford her a wary and warning sort of look. "The last thing you want to do, if we do indeed fear that old mate the Ripper is wandering around here is to make yourself look like a pretty little target. Just blend in, Meri, -dear.-, before we have you married off."
Meridith growls. "I promise you, whatever world will exist from me getting out of this thing will be a paradise. We'll return back to our own time, and the world will be saved," she insists hotly. Then grumbles and looks away. "Fine, fine..."
Whether 'daddy' is an adopted term for this time or not, Miles elects to play the part of Daddy Stache for the time being, as well as Deputy Stache.
In the scheme of things, stripping in Chicago is probably at least a decade or two too early for Meridith. This isn't the Moulin Rouge, after all, and Meridith can't can-can. There definitely are people who can see the trio -- greetings, from passers-by, and people hawking funnel cakes with powdered sugar or teas with real ice. "This is ice from Antarctica!" claims one seller. "Polar ice has healthful benefits, you know. It's a patent cure for what ails you."
Meridith gazes at Miles. "Get me ice," she demands.
Tabitha starts to fan herself as she turns slightly pale and lightheaded in the heat and the fact that she's not much of a corset wearer, much less as tight as this one has been cinched to her. "I might faint," she does admit. She shakes her head. "We can't afford to waste much more time, Meri. Chip up or... whatever. And deal with it." She wobbles a bit in the sun beating down. "Come on." She eyes Meridith and Miles again, at both their interaction and the woman's demand. A light 'huh' escapes, with her labored breathe.
Meridith sighs and moves over to Tabitha, moving to offer her an arm and some support.
Tabitha leans her head on Meridith's shoulder for a moment, then puts her arm through hers, so that they all can look like one big happy, afterall, enjoying the festivities of one of America's biggest events.
It's a huge fair, really. There's been a glint of a pentacle on the golden statue, some side-show alley full of the occult, and the entire city of Chicago spread out before them -- but there is a growing sense of foreboding. As the afternoon shadows deepen, it feels as if the sense of -connection- with Legion is increasing, and Miles, Tabitha, and Meridith might wonder: is this what an eidolon on the edge of ascension feels like? Is this what Haven may feel like soon?
Meridith exhales. "I don't like this," she murmurs softly. Nervous energy echoing through the little demigods body. She wants a foe to strike, a beast to fell. She likes enemies she can grab with her hands.
"It could be worse." Miles tries to look on the bright side of things, of course, that's easier to do when you aren't wearing a suffocating corset. He guides their happy little family toward the fellow selling the iced teas, and rummages about on his person for some dosh to trade for a few glasses of it. "Warm weather, isn't it?" He makes some idle conversation of a sort, "Have you wandered over toward the Theater of Mysteries yourself? Have a bit of a gander?"
Meridith scowls at Miles. "We really need to stay focused, this is quickly becoming a closing trap," she says quietly.
A little dosh, indeed: two cups, then three, with Genuine Polar Ice from Antarctica. If the ice seems a little dirty? Well, it's authentic, and besides, the tea will hide it. The man talks to Miles, though, the price of a sale. "Warm just makes the ice colder," he says. "But I been down there. I saw a woman -- pardon," he says, nodding to Tabitha and Meridith. "But she had a show with snakes, a belly-dancing sort of thing from Morocco. Not for the ladies, but -very- educational. I'll tell you," he says. "Those snakes could get in a man's eyes like they was Dr. Mesmer."
It could be worse. Miles could be vying for a place upon a door in the middle of the ocean. Tabitha gives Meridith a little look, and though there is a hint of amusement suddenly considering that she was just minutes ago not so focused. "I think we should head down the alley a bit. I do not think that I have anything to assist me with magic in my little coin purse that I have only been afforded."
Meridith nods. "I doubt anyone here is selling swords," she muses.
"That sounds incredibly -exotic- and -educational-," Miles is only too quick to agree with the salesman, offloading the icy tea toward Meridith and Tabitha, before accepting one for himself. "But heavens forbid, snakes? I do hope these serpents weren't hissing pretty little temptations, no wonder we would want to keep the womenfolk away." He chuffs back to the man, making a lame sort of bloke joke to try and fit in. It's just about locker room talk. Though there is some fishing for information here.
Tabitha gives Miles's foot a little stomp.
"They were hissing, alright," the tea seller tells Miles. "I mean I wouldn't have minded if I was one --" When Tabitha comes close enough to stomp on the mustachioed deputy's foot, though, the tea seller cuts off. "Pardon me, ma'am," he says to Tabitha. "I was just having a little fun with your father. No harm meant."
Meridith drinks it fervently. Thirsty and ignoring everything else going on.
"Snakes often do, M. Stache." Tabitha says, claiming vapors again with a wave of her hand across her reddened face, seeking the tea, and listening to the seller. "What was your favorite dancer's name, I do wonder...." She adds, "Praytell...." Or is that 1793?
"..Ow." At least Miles tries to keep his reaction stoic, and measured, while grimacing at the stomp. He further grimaces, and mutters, "-Ow.-" once more at being labelled her father. Foot hurt, and heart shattered into a million pieces, along with his self esteem, Miles extends a curt nod toward the man, falling silent as Tabitha speaks up.
Well, Miles did want to be called 'daddy,' and though Tabitha might not outwardly know that, she gives the man a rather gloaty sort of smile, despite the heat, her inability to breath and the stifling oppression that is threatening to swallow them up.
"I didn't catch their names," the ice tea seller admits to Tabitha. "And it's not really for young ladies," he says. "But -- it was all part of the Amazing Garibaldi's show," he says. He digs in his jacket, producing a brochure from four days ago. Flipping through the pages, he points to an entry: "THE AMAZING GARIBALDI and his LEGION of SPIRITS."
Tabitha spares a glance to Miles and Meridith.
Meridith blinks. That's it really, what else can she do.
"..Surely not." Miles squints at the bill, and then toward the man, and then exchanges a glance aside to Meridith and Tabitha.
Meridith says "I mean, we have to though, yes?"
"Well, we can wait outside for papa, I'm sure." Tabitha assures the tea seller. "Could I have that brochure though?" Curiosity and cats, and the like. She casts a winsome smile at the tea seller, a little flirtation given him with the way she lets him eye her silhouette.
Sometimes, there are simpler times -- simpler in terms of brochures, at least. Tabitha and Meridith's undergarments seem considerably more complex. "No, it was definitely that show," the seller tells Miles. "I don't know when it's playing today, though," he says. "Usually a little after sunset." Then someone else is catching his attention, and he turns away. "Yes," he says to the young lady catching his eye. "My brother Bruno Morelli -- have you heard of him? -- he personally went to the South Pole to get this ice," he says. "And then he brought it here, in great freezers, to make this tea..."
The brochure -- dated -- is happily given to Tabitha.
There's a slight rumble in the back of Miles's through. Papa isn't quite so bad as father, maybe. He's mulling it over. Either way, once Tabitha has secured that brochure he turns to more readily face the girls, while leading them away from the salesman, "Well, we sort of have to check there, no?"
Meridith nods fervently. "Unfortunately," she says, plucking ice and dropping it down the front of her outfit, squirming and squealing once she does.
Tabitha acts the giddy girl as she pulls the brochure to her tightly bodiced chest. "Thank you, sir." She begins to flip through it, and wanders away. She casts a sidelong look at Miles, oh, yes, that will come up again. And again. "Yes, papa."
Miles still isn't sure how he feels about it, really. It's like he's seesaw'ing on whether or not it's uncomfortable or, you know, kinda hot? It's really all about the inflection. Either way, if Tabitha's intent was to tease and distract Miles, then it's working. He raises a hand to adjust his tie, pulling it a little looser as he wanders toward the side alley. "Ice is cold, Meri." He informs Meridith, giving them someone else to make fun of as she squeels.
The Theater of Mysteries is in a seedier sort of side-alley. Here, the whitewashed facades give way to a kind of festival of hawking people. There are fewer ladies in this part of the fair, and Tabitha and Meridith draw more attention, though with their 'father' Miles squiring them there's no particular challenges. The theater of mysteries is obvious, with a grand marquee -- just as Meridith's brochure from today suggests, the AMAZING GARIBALDI and his LEGION of SPIRITS is set to proclaim at 6 PM. Perhaps troublingly, the brochure today says 'Final Showstopping Performance.'
Meridith scowls at Miles. "That's the point, daddy dearest," she says contemptuously. She turns her attention to Tabitha. "There's no chance this is strictly the past, right? That Legion's mark is here so strongly, it's got to be something else...but if it is...can we not act here, and now?"
"I don't know." Tabitha says to Meridith, reaching for ... well. Does she have that book? If not, what a shame. But the does the next best this, she taps at her temple. Think. Think. Think. "If its just a dream, there are ways to affect a person. I can't believe that this is the actual past... It is just to show us his weakness." She thinks. "Perhaps it is some ... woman. My guess is red hair and green eyes."
"I don't know." Tabitha says to Meridith, reaching for ... well. Does she have that book? If not, what a shame. But the does the next best this, she taps at her temple. Think. Think. Think. "If its just a dream, there are ways to affect a person. I can't believe that this is the actual past... It is just to show us his weakness." She thinks. "Perhaps it is some ... woman. My guess is red hair and green eyes." (re?)
Is this a dream? There are powers, in dreams, to manipulate reality -- and dreams also seem to smell less of horse dung. As Tabitha, Meridith and Miles approach the Theater of Mysteries, they can feel Legion's presence more fully, starting to rise in some power.
"Redheads. Terrible." Miles drawls out wryly, and then does a little two-step to avoid any potential incoming stomps. He's probably just burrowing discomfort in humour once again. There's a glance over toward Meridith and a smirk, "That doesn't sound quite as bad, Meri." He teases her, and then starts to grow a little more serious as he notes today's brochure, and it's promise. "Well, we're woefully underarmed, and either in a dream, or a vision, or actual time travel - but let's not let that stop us. Worst case scenario? We throw a chair." There's a beat. If they even have chairs in these sort of shows. He really doesn't know. "Keep an eye out for women like Tabs suggested."
OOC: Anything else in terms of preparation before you enter the theater, emote it now.
Meridith shrugs helplessly. She can usually breath in a dream too, she follows along with Tabitha, remaining quiet when the woman is trying to think. He turns his gaze to Miles and rooooolllllls her eyes again. She peers about, looking for something she might be able to fight with in a pinch, anything large and able to hit someone with is ideal. "I'd give my left tit for a bow and some arrows..." she muses.
Unfortunately, the Amazonian archery exhibition is tomorrow. Meridith, it seems, is out of bows but with both breasts.
Tabitha opens her little coin purse in hopes that it is much like Mary Poppin's bag, and there is an endless supply of things at her disposal. "You should be careful what you wish for here... You might be left titless."
Miles pats himself down one last time, searching his pockets for anything that might help with, well, whatever it is that is to come next.
Inside the theater, people are packed in for Garibaldi's show -- and Tabitha, Meridith and Miles are all short on supplies. The fighters have their fists, and the sorceress? Well: it's been said before that magic can be cast with a little blood and a candle. She has a pocket knife, as does Miles and Meridith, and Miles has if not a candle a cheroot cigar. The air in her is anticipation as the crowd begins to gather.
Tabitha finds nothing, evidently, but lint in her coin purse. "You really need to up my allowance, papa." she remarks, and snaps the linen thing closed with a pout. But it is okay, she's seen MacGuyver.
Meridith grumbles softly and makes a quick test, trying to exercise her control of telekinesis on something inconsequential.
Far more serious, Tabitha says to Meridith and Miles. "I will not be surprised if This Girabaldi ends up being Mister Inigo..." Her words are spoken very low only for them.
"You clearly aren't well behaved enough, imagine all the chores left unfinished." Miles drawls back out in response to Tabitha, pausing as he filches the cigar from his own pocket. Ooh. There's that terrible vice of his again. He immediately glances towards one of those dimly lit candles, considering using one to light the thing. "I suppose we wait for this to begin now, yes? Should we expect to, I don't know, interrupt it?" There's a pause then at Tabitha's words, and a low groan in the back of Miles's throat.
Telekinesis works: Meridith is able to pull something towards her with effort. She is -- Miles is -- Tabitha is -- in control of their full powers. On stage, the spotlights are coming up as the Amazing Garibaldi steps upon the stage. He gestures, and smoke rises from either side, beginning his introduction... and Tabitha would notice immediately that that was no fireworks. This is real magic. He is not, thankfully, Solomon Inigo -- but he does have red eyes. In the beginning, its a patter, some prestidigitation, with oohs and ahhs from the crowd, but as the show progresses the women promised by the ice tea seller come out. They wear snakes and little more -- exotic sorts of belly-dancing costumes -- and they begin to call for volunteers, men to come up from the crowd.
Tabitha closes her eyes, maybe in some sort of thankfulness of the identity of Girabaldi
This is no dream, at least not one that Tabitha can will herself candles from. It seems disturbingly real... but it is also a place with candles. While there are electric lights here, they are few and far between, and the back corridors are lit with flickering flames from real candles. After all, it adds to the spooky ambience. If one needs larger candles? Well. Assistants are setting out thirteen black candles in a ring around Garibaldi as his assistants bring men on stage.
Meridith stares at the man, trying to lodge the image in her brain, focused hawk-like. Hopefully blending in to the crowd as she studies her quarry.
On opening her eyes, Tabitha refocuses her blues on the one with the reds on the stage. She peers and watches, listens. She whispers, "I feel like we should interrupt this, but also, I don't know if I want to... just to see what this spell is. And then .. maybe it is a spell we can use against him."
Meridith says "We have no ticket out of here yet...if this is the past, we should learn what we can, if it's not, well, it won't matter if we did interfere, would it...?"
While the others discuss what they should or should not do, Miles scans his green gaze over the various folks on stage, lingering on the dancing women and their snakes for a few moments. Likely so he can ensure none of them match the profile that Tabitha had offered earlier, and certainly not because of the way exotic movements are prone to draw the eye. There's a glance toward the red-eyed figure, and a mild clearing of Miles's throat when volunteers are called for. He almost raises his hand, but seems to think better of it. "If I had a pistol still, I could probably take him from here." Maybe.
On stage, Garibaldi begins to chant. The snake-charmers have brought five men up, and they are arranged around the circle like points of a pentacle. The two snake charmers move between them, and the movements of the snakes is sinuous. Meridith can recognize the supernatural power in the creatures, and Tabitha can recognize the magic. Miles Miles can recognize that this is witchcraft, and witchcraft is evil.
Joining the snake charmers are the assistants, now -- another young woman and two men -- and now each of the men, beguiled by the serpents' eyes, has an attendant standing close. Garibaldi turns his back to the audience as he chants, and with a gesture, some deeper, inner curtain is pulled aside -- revealing two oversized, empty thrones. "Behold!" he says. "Now I will summon the greatest spirits you have ever seen!"
Meridith nods to Miles. She blinks, are the creatures of another world? She wonders.
It's hard to know, for Meridith the snakes aren't natural. Are they familiars? Shapeshifters? Something else? Inhabitants of Hell, like the black snakes that slither constantly through the trees there?
It's hard to know, for Meridith -- the snakes aren't natural. Are they familiars? Shapeshifters? Something else? Inhabitants of Hell, like the black snakes that slither constantly through the trees there?
Tabitha watches keenly what the caster of magic does. She seems intent to understand the chant spoken, the place, on the snakes for a while. She crosses her arms, seeking her little pocket knife in the meantime. Witchcraft it may be, but this being on stage, it is not just black magic. The power is something far more evil.
If this is a vision, or a dream? Then these people aren't real, and anything that might happen to them, isn't really happening. If they've really gone back to the past, then anyone who might get harmed or hurt, are already dead. Miles grits his teeth somewhat, readying himself and trying to still whatever reaction is produced by whatever comes next. Now is the time to be at least a little pragmatic. There's another little look at the closest few armed people, and that information is squirrel away in the back of Miles's head. He reaches out for Tabitha's free hand, only to find them cross, and instead ends up resting both at the waist of his pants.
Meridith shifts to try to get a bit closer to the stage. She doesn't want to miss something.
What Tabitha sees is, in fact, black magic -- and not just any black magic. This is gate magic, something powerful, and the feeling is rising. Meridith, Miles and Tabitha can feel that connection most keenly, as if Legion's presence here is growing. The chant seems to be rising, reaching some fevered pitch, and for a moment the air begins to almost shimmer: as if here, right now, there is some connection. For a moment, it seems almost as if the air is filled with black vines, before they fade away in an afterimage.
As Meridith gets closer to the stage, Miles might notice men barring the doors behind them. That is, all things considered, an ominous sign.
As the ritual progresses, Tabitha is beginning commit parts of it to memory, as she watches. It's not complete: that sacrifice is coming soon. This is new magic to her, but it's not surprising magic. No, the air of anticipation feels like if there is something to learn? It is at the spell's climax.
Miles isn't a particularly tall fellow back in 2024, but here, amongst the unwashed and malnourished masses of early America, he's probably fairly tall, right? As such, the rather ominous sign isn't missed by Miles who glances toward each exit in turn then, lips slipping into a sharp, thin line. "They're locking us in here." He extends softly to his compatriots.
Well, earlier America at least. Miles probably could've checked his math a wee bit better.
Tabitha fingers her little pocket knife, fidgets with it. She begins to move toward a candle, to see if she can easily pilfer one from the sconce as she makes her way toward where Meridith goes. "Are they summoning a physical form of him?" she wonders, to herself, or those who may be in earshot.
Meridith is studying the room closely, looking for signs of the ritual taking place, its intent...
And then -- movement, followed by screams. It's the five attendants; knives flash, and there is a sudden fountain of blood. Garibaldi turns, then, and his red eyes are on fire, and as he raises his hands he speaks words that seem designed to bring the whole room under a spell. The screams quiet -- and now the snakes are sliding out into the room.
There are a few unaffected by this magic, and the snakes are headed for them. Among those unaffected? Miles, Tabitha, and Meridith. Meridith and Tabitha, close to the stage, seems to have a giant constrictor headed straight in their direction.
On stage, as the five sacrifices' life's blood peters out, the air seems to shimmer more fully. Figures seem to occupy the thrones, and they are both chanting -- demonic visages. One, dark, is some familiar Black Goat, and it reaches across to hold the hand of a pale figure with dark hair on the other throne. Their voices form some kind of unison, and it's clear that only both voices together are summoning enough magic to reach across the veil and touch Garibaldi, the eidolon possessing him, and the sacrifices crumpled on the floor.
...of course: revelations or not, it's probably an issue if this ritual succeeds.
Meridith flicks a hand and lifts the constrictor into the air. She turns her gaze back to Tabitha and hisses, angry. Moving to spring to her side, she pulls a knife and looks for better weapons
As Meridith flings the constrictor to the side she is surrounded by glassy-eyed sacrifices. It's as if Meridith can see the very energy being drained from them by the ritual. The constrictor hisses, rushing at her: full of venom and anger. Constrictors shouldn't have cobra's fangs, and yet suddenly this one does, striking out at the hand holding Meridith's knife.
Miles doesn't have a rifle, or his sidearm, or any of the many gadgets and gizmos that he uses to try and emulate even a portion of the powers of the supernatural. But he does have a dinky little knife, and a mean left hook. When the action breaks out, Miles goes about trying to shift things into his favours, seeking out the nearest armed fellow and trying to convince them, with a little concussive force if needed, to part with their revolver.
He may not have a rifle, but he does have some daddy deputy skills: Miles comes up with a pistol. Six gun in hand, he's at least a little more on the ball, now.
(re) He may not have a rifle, but he does have some daddy deputy skills: Miles comes up with a pistol. Six gun in hand, he's at least a little more on the ball, now.
Meridith throws the snake back as best she can with a blast of telekinetic force, or lifting it into the air if she can manage it for a moment. She pulls at her knife and tries to cut up her corset.
Cutting up a corset is, perhaps, less of a priority than cutting up the snake. It's on Meridith as she tries to summon telekinesis again, but at least she has a knife? And the corset is coming in handy, a little: as it wraps its tail around the girl, trying to squeeze, the whalebone is a kind of armor, protecting her from losing too much more breath. Still, it's snapping at her with unnatural jaws. If she doesn't stab it shortly, she'll be all venom.
Meridith can usually hold things up with telekinesis for a moment or two!!! She turns her attention on the snake and jams her blade down towards its head.
It takes Tabitha some time to come out of her concentration, having watched and listened with clear intent to understand the words being chanted, to see beyond the veil, and comprehend the nature of this vision. But when she does, she realizes the madness that now surrounds her. That little pocket knife is popped open and she pierces her flesh. Her own words are spoken, seeking to burst the eye vessels of the nearest 'snake.' The hellish nightscape of one with fangs like a cobra snapping its jaws at Meridith.
Pop. That is not good for that snake -- as its eyes pop in a little explosion of blood over Meridith, it reels -- and now Meridith's knife holds true. The snake starts to quiver, shaking, dead, and as it does it -shifts-, turning from a snake into some woman. Her eyes are bleeding as she, too, writhes on the ground.
Up on stage, the vision of the thrones is getting clearer. They are different than the thrones on stage, blacker, as Garibaldi starts to open a gate to Hell. Around him, Legion is becoming visible, a familiar black mist that smells of brimstone. If they don't stop this ritual? That connection will be made.
Meridith gasps, staring at the woman. She hesitates, horror gripping her and freezing her to the spot a moment.
Isn't it pretty futile to try to stop a ritual that already must have happened back in 1893? Tabitha is contemplating this, the information flood filling her head, seeping into the recesses of her brain, and possibly overloading it. She looks between Girabaldi and the thrones. Whose?
Did the ritual succeed, in 1893? Was it stopped? Did Tabitha, Miles, and Meridith stop it? These are the kinds of questions that make a solid plurality of magical researches insist time travel is all a shared delusion.
Meridith twists and catches her breath a moment later, she sprints towards the stage, with nothing more than a pocket knife, some pluck and a can-do attitude. And a very tight corset.
There are snakes, of course, around, Meridith, but they appear to be heading into the crowd. One is heading for Tabitha. Up on stage, Garibaldi's back is turned again -- he's facing the thrones, now, as the young woman with the knife and corset hits the stage, with his back to the crowd.
Miles doesn't stop to think about the time travel consequences of his actions, he does what American law enforcement does best. The deputy raises his pilfered six-shooter, cocks back the hammer, and takes a shot at the man conducting the chaos. Girabaldi.
Tabitha dashes toward the snake with her knife in hand. She's got the swiftness of movement, mostly. given that the corset she wears threatens to near make her pass out from exertion, she has faster than other normal humans, and a decent knowledge of knife usage. She seeks to stab it numerous times. Knowing that one turned into a woman earlier, she does expect it. Her goal, though, along with Meridith. Is Girabaldi. Should she make it. She's panting out words, chanting panting.
Meridith charges towards Girabaldi, she's not a master assassin by any stretch but she does have a good sense of where some organs are on a person when their back is showing. She tries to close, and drive a knife into his back. She ignores all else.
Stab, stab, stab -- what is it with witches and knives? Tabitha is fighting the serpent, its jaws snapping at her as she calls out with some magic -- reaching out with necromantic power. That's the kind of black magic that does something excellent for the soul, after all, as the sacrifices' spirits, fleeing their bodies, are bound back in. They stir, rising, and begin to grapple with the assistants near them.
When Miles fires -- bam, bam, bam -- the air around Garibaldi seems to blossom with magical energy, some shield of force taking a bullet, then a second, then a third, then a fourth, a fifth -- and then no flare from the sixth at all. He staggers back, only for Meridith to take him with blurring speed. Her knife finds Garibaldi's throat, and then there is a spray of blood to match five others along the stage.
As the red-eyed sorcerer's chant fades into a gurgle of blood, the vision of the black thrones and dark figures begins to fade. Legion's mist is still present, here, but its connection to the other side is broken -- and so instead, with some anger, a hot wind blows, knocking over candles. As the mist fades out, fire begins to spread. Sometimes, often, dark magic needs no witnesses. The five shambling zombies head towards Tabitha as Miles and Meridith are able to rejoin their companion. In Tabitha's mind, she can hear the torment of the spirits bound into the dead men, but they have strength perhaps to batter a way out of the theater for them and many of the people here.
Meridith says "We need to get the people out of here before the blaze spreads!"
Meridith' blade slashes across the mans throat, her eyes widen, pulse racing, heart pounding, she staggers back before she calls out that command to Tabitha and Miles. A trembling hand clutches the knife with white knuckles, before sprinting to rejoin them
That's the age old problem with revolvers, isn't it? Not enough bullet. Miles curses under his breath, though there's some mild relief as Meridith manages to finish the job, even if the slashing of the man's throat leaves him a little uncomfortable. Maybe uncomfortable isn't the right term. There's fairly time for comfort in a firefight, after all. "Check his body!" The deputy calls over at Meridith as the man goes falling. Hoping, praying that there is something to find, to make this ordeal worth it.
Tabitha holds her hand out to the undead. She knows how best to make them rise, but what was it she did to make them go away in the graveyard. The hand held out is met with one word, "Halt." Then, "Help them." She gestres to the screaming people trying to flee. Hopefully they are not the kind that simply want brains. Hers, right now? It is on fire. Like the room.
Escape. The zombies batter their way through the doors, as Tabitha, Meridith and Miles flee behind them. Fire is spreading in the theater, but some people, at least, make it out in the panic. Others do not, trampled beneath the rushing crowds or caught by the fire. As for the body? Meridith finds the usual suspects: a ritual knife, an inverted pentacle, a handful of classic dollars. If this was worthwhile, it was in some occult insight.
Out in the relatively fresh air of the World Columbian Exposition, it's time to beat feet away from the burning pavilion. But beat feet to where? How on earth are they going to get home?
Meridith doubles back to search, of course, hazarding the flame
Meridith hurries back outside, coughing. She turns over the items quietly to Tabitha.
Fire is burning in the ruins of the Theater of the Mysteries as Miles, Meridith and Tabitha make their escape.
Out of the frying pan, and through the fire, Miles flees out of the burning building - though he does wait for Tabitha and Meridith to catch up, grabbing at them then to half-drag them if need be. They managed to prevent the opening of a portal to hell, only for a different sort of hell to catch right up onto them, "What now?" He blurts out, to Tabitha, just expecting she'd have the solution.
This is not a situation where Tabitha has any damn clue what the solution is. Hopefully for her and Meridith's sake, it doesn't involve corsets for twenty-five years until flappers become the fashion. On the other hand? This is a good time for daddy deputy Miles to enjoy the fruits of patriarchy.
Meridith exhales sharp. "I am seriously not hanging around during spanish flu," she insists, joking albeit grimly. Her mind hangs on a spray of blood, a dead women. She shifts uncomfortably
"I'm thinking!" Tabitha cries out to Miles, like she's supposed to have the answer! Jeez! She wheezes and coughs. Finally looking at whatever it is that Meridith has handed off to her. "It's not like I have a DeLorean hidden in the bushes..." Jokes. But its clear that she is stressed, tired, and when she looks back to the theatre, overcome with great sadness. "Do you think that if we'd have acted sooner, none of that would have happened? That those people would be alive? That ...." She shakes her head.
If in doubt? Salt it. Unfortunately Miles's packet of salt was left behind in the present, and thus he's largely disarmed when it comes to his magical skillset. "Alright, alright." The man drawls out, glancing this way and that. "No." He answers her question, simply and directly, "They died hundreds of years ago, if they were ever.. if this is..- Let's just focus on getting away."
"Give me your hands." Tabitha requests, ready to slice through them, to grasp them. "And follow my chant." She hopes she has them right, to get back in time.
Meridith extends her hands to Tabitha instantly. She seems to trust the witchy women.
Miles doesn't even hestitate, he immediately does as Tabitha asks.
What chant, does Tabitha intend? What power? As Miles and Meridith take her hands, they can still feel Legion there, lingering in the backs of their minds. Is it watching them here? It seems like it. The eidolon had a chance, a moment ago, to ascend, and this trio stopped that. Now? Now, perhaps... it will remember.
Meridith says "Here...there's power is their not? The ambiance of that failed ritual, the suffering, we could make purpose of it."
Tabitha does only what she can think to do. The same spell that got her, Miles and Meridith here. There is madness ensueing around them, and they, they look like a family trying to console themselves in a huddle as she speaks a spell that backfired once. Or did it? She can only hope it takes them to 2024 and not backwards another hundred or so years. or 1918. Or, even 1985. "Focus on home, on the year. On Legion and things you feel strongly about in our time..." Its a longshot.
Meridith closes her eyes.
"On the year, on home. On things." Miles echoes back to Tabitha, as he does his best to do exactly that. The man settles his jaw, and floods his mind with memories of home. It's really mostly the things that piss him off. Slow internet. Too much mist. The general strangeness of Haven. His coworker disappearing. The carnage left in Tabitha's home. The smell of his sheets fresh from the dryer. The water pressure of his shower. Phone reception. How irritating he finds the Order, and Damned both. Tabitha's home once more.
As Tabitha's chant rises, the witch reaches out to try to find the thread of her original ritual, gone so terribly awry. It hangs there in the magical ether, some silver cord to hold onto. It's some psychic link: some lifeline, to follow home through the astral, and as she seizes on it the redheaded sorceress and her companions feel a great wind, as if they are being sucked away.
For a while, it seems as if the trio are lost in the astral pain -- lost forever, perhaps, as they slip between grains of sand in time's eternal hourglass.
Then, at least, they awake: each of them wet, lying in the sand at that liminal space where the water laps against the shore. It is the splash of a wave that wakens them, wet and salty against their faces as the smells of Haven and the silent fall of snow bring them home.