11758/Games in the Dark: Home by the Sea

Games in the Dark: Home by the Sea
Date of Scene:	08 July 2022
Location:	The Home by the Sea
Synopsis:	In the Home by the Sea, Lydia Dietrich, Zatanna Zatara, Angelo Tampambolos, Meggan Constantine, Laura Kinney and Gabby Kinney end up locked in different locales in Phoebe's memories when Phoebe encounters what she jokingly refers to as a Palantir -- not knowing that they would be stuck with remembered encounters from her past. The Street in Gotham where Marius Sabry fought Leksandra and was forced to abandon Phoebee in a liquor store. The ruins of her birthplace where Leksandra was battled and defeated. And the pub where she had her first drink and mourned her parents and family. Ending in the mausoleum where Phoebe's disasterous encounter with the demon, Volroxach, responsible for Leksandra's madness and murders of Phoebe's biological family.
Cast of Characters:	Phoebe Beacon, Lydia Dietrich, Zatanna Zatara, Meggan Puceanu, Laura Kinney, Achilles, Gabby Kinney

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Phoebe Beacon has posed:
THE HOME BY THE SEA
... HOME BY THE SEA
... HOME BY THE SEA
... HOME BY THE SEA.

From the outside, facing the water, it seemed like an abandoned house. There were concrete stairs, bolstered by rocks that lead up to a railing-less front stoop and a rotting door. Windows with transoms to either side, and barred, glass windows set in the foundation. The door that lead to the basement was boarded off with a NO TRESSPASSING sign, stating that the council of Lundy takes notice.

Its metal roof has corroded from nearly half the building, laying in irregular chunks around the rocky beach that's crept up along the dwelling, occasionally tossed about by higher-than-normal tides.

It doesn't look too outlandish from the outside, a small sample of blight on the seaside of an abandoned island reachable by boat, or by magic portal.

Which is how our heroes would find themselves landing upon the rocky shore, arriving at the edge of night as the ocean rumbles and crashes, the gray sky over the ocean affording no welcome sign of sunlight.

Phoebe Beacon's inquiry had gone out, and many had answered from the varied roads she had traveled, and from meeting, she had brought them to the location tied to her very blood by her cousin, Leksandra. Clad in her black hoodie and pants, the 'mage work' outfit for Phoebe with her backpack on, with her injured neck set up in its collar with the leather and lace hiding the gauze, and a pair of blue-rimmed glasses, Phoebe mutely drops to her knees after the effort of moving everyone at once.

Lydia Dietrich has posed:
    Lydia has been through too much with Phoebe to ignore the summons she sent her way. Not that she would, mind you. Just because she's a little bit heartless now it doesn't mean that she works entirely from self interest. There's still traces of the old Lydia still left to let her know that when a friend asks for help, you help regardless of how inconvenient it is.

    She's met all that's been assembled save for Angelo, which she turns to introduce herself before they leave. "I don't think we've had the pleasure," she says pleasantly enough, extending a pale hand. "I'm Lydia Dietrich."

    She's dressed for work, with black boot cut cotton pants over a pair of hiking boots, a cream colored button up blouse with a scooping neckline and her trenchcloak thrown over her shoulders. Her tightly curled brown hair has tried to be contained into a bun, but stray locks have escaped and poke out all over the place. Her alabaster pale skin and ruby red lips suggest that she isn't quite human, and the starfield of twinkling golden light that constantly surrounds her seals the deal.

    Once ported, she stares at the condemned building by the sea, taking a look around, and smelling the air with her vampire-sharp senses. "What's the plan, Pheebs?" she asks, once the girl has had time to recover from the port.

Zatanna Zatara has posed:
Letting Phoebe do it her way has been a series of lessons for Zatanna. She remembers her father, Giovanni, and the trials she put him through as a teenager, and hopes she has half his compassion and patience for the young sorcerer.

Angelo and the magician leave from her estate timed to arrive with Phoebe. A purple line shimmers in the air and opens into a doorway wide enough for two.

A low-heeled booted foot appears, followed by a svelte form in black. Zatanna, like Phoebe, is dressed for getting down dirty with demons. Pushing back her dark, shoulder-length hair, she waits for Angelo's arrival before saying, "This looks good."

Meggan Puceanu has posed:
When in a watery world, wish you could wear a bathing suit. That's at least what Meggan partly gets away with, the halter-necked top perfectly suited for sunbathing and a dip in the fetching seaside. Greetings are given to all she sees with bubbling enthusiasm, right down to the starry glints that chase Lydia about. "So lovely!"

The waves can and do follow her around like excited golden retriever puppies, contrary somewhat to the currents and rocks, and she occasionally riffles the foaming caps in idle greeting. Further attention slews up to the ramshackle waterside house.

"Rather pretty for a ruin. You reckon anyone's been prowling up there in ages?" The tug of the wind on her damp golden hair invites her to go higher, though no bouncing above the others several meters without Phoebe's say-so. "Who's it belong to, if anyone happens to know?"

A bubble of jade energy wells up into her palm idly, a serpentine whorl that plays around her fingers and cavorts in a flamenco dance once reaching upright. "You need a boost, just say such and consider it done." A cheery but quiet aside to Phoebe; hopping places is expensive business and it's not like they don't have a nuclear reactor of a magical wellspring stuck in an elvenesque form right there.

Laura Kinney has posed:
X-23 was trained from birth to be the perfect assassin. And in a world filled with Gods, demons, mutants, cyborgs and all manner of monsters. Well it's a profession in which your targets can range from harmless to shockingly lethal. It's not a good thing for having a happy childhood but when it comes to hunting big games?

Well it's priceless.

Laura is wearing a sleek charcoal grey suit of military grade body armour. A mix of dark green camo paints cover her face. Hair bound up and out of the way. Even by her standards she really does mean business.

Right down to the weapon she's bringing along. A semi-automatic drum fed 20mm grenade launcher. A big chunky steel weapon with South African markings on it.

She lurks for now. Quietly standing near Balm. Her eyes flicking around suspiciously, as if everything is a potential threat, and when Meggan asks about people prowling she takes a deep inhale. The nose will know.

Achilles has posed:
    The sea. It truly was one of Angelo's first loves. I mean who grows up near the Aegean during his day and age and does not love the sea? It's just kinda part and parcel to whom he is. But either way, he actually pauses as he emerges from the portal, closing his eyes to focus on the smell of the sea, the feel of the sun's warmth, the sound of the waves breaking.... that sensory input takes him back ages and ages... to memories of his boyhood. His friendship with... no. His mind shies away even from that all these centuries later.

    He shakes his head like a boxer who just got punched in the face, and then he turns to follow Zatanna. The way he is dressed doesn't really indicate much. He has a handgun in a holster on his right hip. But that's really just an afterthought. Otherwise, he is wearing blue jeans, a 'I <3 New York' tee shirt, and black leather loafers.

    "Indeed. It looks fantastic. I only hope that we don't ruin it all."

Gabby Kinney has posed:
Gabby Kinney was X-23's almost perfect doppleganger. It was all the more obvious with them both here together at the same time. She'd grown up now that she was the same height as Laura, and same body build. The only real difference was the length of her hair which is held back by some barretes to keep it out of her face, and the fact that she had a series of old faded scars on her cheeks.

Well, it might be more noticable if not for Laura's camo facepaint.

Unlike her elder sister she has no face paint. The attire she wears is a fitted bodyarmor suit of black, with heavy boots, and long sleeves. Half-gloves are worn leaving the backs of her hands free for whatever reason.

While she did have some guns strapped to her body, she also had a singular sword tucked in a sheath on her back, as well as a few other easy-to-reach throwing knives. Nothing quite as... massive... as Laura.

A half-face mask to cover the lower half of her face hangs around her neck not yet put on. A grin is offered to everyone here, as well as a solemn nod, before tipping her attention back toward Phoebe. "Your lead. Tell us what to do and we'll do it."

Phoebe Beacon has posed:
    Phoebe straightens up, giving a soft sign of thanks as she rises back up, but Meggan's offer of help is met with wide eyes and no small amount of trepedacious fear. She holds her hands out, waving them back and forth in saying that she's okay, and then she looks around to everyone, and pulls out a curious little bauble -- a bit of blue stone, lapis lazuli, wrapped with copper wire. Its tip was dyed a rusty reddish color, like dried blood.

    She looks at the item warily, and then slips it over her head, letting it hang out.

    <This will be easier than signing.> is 'broadcast' magically, and she looks around to everyone.

    <This house belonged to my cousin, the one who was trying to get me last summer when I was... in New York for a while.> she looks back to the building.

    <One window is broken. Its ward was on the glass. We can get in that way.> she explains, and she takes the lead, and after pushing in the broken frame of the window, she holds it open for all to follow her.

    Through the window they go, and our heroes would find themselves in a space that does not match the outside of the house. The long hallway curves, stairs go down, and open arches without doors loom. Through the arches, shades in the shape of people wander through already, darker against the washed-out grays of the interior of the home. There is a feeling of trepedation here, of Dread. The darkness of the Home by the Sea seems to reach out, to try and get to know each who has come to this lonely stretch of beach, straddling the abused and ripped veil between worlds of Life and Death. It seems Unusually Thin here.

Lydia Dietrich has posed:
    The method in which Phoebe chooses to communicate catches Lydia by surprise. She wasn't aware that Pheebs had lost the ability to speak, and makes a mental note to ask her about it later.

    "Leksandria," Lydia all but growls, as her friend identifies who this house belongs to. "Be on your guard. She was a magician of no small means, and immensely powerful. She may be gone, but her legacy is no less dangerous for it."

    She follows Phoebe through the window, gracefully stepping through it with a little hop, and pauses on the other side. She looks around, getting her bearings, noting that the hallway is pulling a TARDIS, and steps further in to give the others room to come in.

    "I don't like it," she says with a scowl. "I mean, I didn't /expect/ to like it, but everything just seems /off./" She shakes her head with a chuckle. "Again. Not that it isn't unexpected. "

Zatanna Zatara has posed:
Clever Phoebe to use a translation stone. The play of green fire in Meggan's hand elicits a complicit smile from the magician and a nodded greeting. Where she treads, few will stand to oppose her. With a smiling dip of her head, she acknowledges Lydia. Her gaze stops and stays on the two young women with the same stature, giving them both a sharp nod. Finally, she silently focuses on Phoebe, awaiting her word.

Off they go with a hop and a skip.

Houses with interiors that don't match the exterior are not new to Zatanna. The inside smells of disuse and mold, the magic sustaining the house wrinkling her nose. Nothing is right about it - it reeks of a sea of salty tears to rival the ocean outside and anguish.

"Ugh," she murmurs and opens her hand. A small bright light springs into existence and settles on her palm.

Achilles has posed:
    Before moving on with things, Angelo regards Lydia. His brows lift and an easy grin spreads over his face, "I'm Angelo. One of Phoebe's friends." The hand he shakes with is somewhat the opposite of hers. Warm and -full- of life. I mean endless. Palm readers would envy his life-line.

    But then the group approaches the house. As for the place's feeling of the whole nearness of lifea nd death.... life and death have ever been companions to Angelo. But the sense of wrongness compels him to clench his hands into fists. He doesn't summon any of his deific gear yet. But he is uneasy. His larger and muscled form was a tight fit through the window. But that did not make him hesitate.

    As his feet came down on the floor inside, he slid aside to make room for others to enter too. His green eyes size up the area, taking in the moving forms in the distance. He is quickly getting a feel for the place. For where he could take cover if needed, where he would create choke points if attacked to minimize friendly exposure to attacks. He doesn't speak though, not wanting to draw attention. But also not feeling a need to talk -over- anyone and muck up any communication between friendlies.

Meggan Puceanu has posed:
Alas, said energy loops around and seeps back whence it came in the hypercharged prismatic aura hidden just out of sight around Meggan. Dissipated motes spend their remaining moments in a hazy heliacal descent, landing in a phosphorescent stream on the waves. Whatever flotsam and debris rests along the shore might find a little more nutrition among the squandered bits cast up by the uncaring ocean, and she ventures into the house after Zatanna, going directly after the magician. Force of habit, shielding those squishier and spellcastier than herself.

Regret that decision? You can bet the house on it. No matter how careful her mental shield is, necessary even to function in a city larger than nine residents, the sticky sense of mortal despair rams through the shoji paper screen. A gasp bubbles up from her lips unbidden. Hands smack over her pointed ears in an effort to push back the emotional octopus splatting the somewhat suspecting empath. "Mother, so bloody many of them. What was done to /hurt/ them this way?" A muttered plea blurred to mush has her staggering almost to the point of a wall, floating up to avoid contact. It doesn't help much but the weight sunken into the dreary floorboards would be worse than cement shoes.

"Ghosts. Bound ghosts? I'm sorr--" Biting that off right there, her hands curl into fists. She glances back at Laura and then nods jerkily at a wall. Well, everywhere.

Laura Kinney has posed:
Laura exchanges a few looks with Gabby then makes some slight motions of her fingers. They seem like miltary hand signals, but anyone in the know would recognise they're specifically Outsiders team signals. Splitting up the space. You cover these angles. I'll cover the rest. It's a pretty even split too. No sign she's trying to take on more of the burden than is necessary.

Her head doesn't stay still for a moment. Constantly scanning the space around her. "It smells.. unpleasant. Stale." Then again it's probably easy enough to tell that without the super senses.

Her hands rest on the large bullpup weapon like she expects to use it. And sooner rather than later. There's something about this place which has her on edge. And her fingers curl a little as she fights the urge to pop her claws.

When Meggan looks at her then nods. X-23's head snaps to the indicated section of wall. The gun barrel coming up like she's about to blow it to pieces.

Gabby Kinney has posed:
Gabby Kinney merely nods to Laura at the hand gestures that she recognized oh so well. She waits for the others to go through, and then heads up into the window herself. As soon as she has, she steps to the side to allow for anyone else to go in, or out, in a hurry. No sense in blocking the only exit.

A small shiver runs up her spine at the overall 'feel' of the place just being wrong. She'd been enough places that such a feeling was unsettling to say the least. "I feel sorry for any urban explorers that tried to get in here," she utters with a shake of her head.

When Zatanna illuminates the place a bit, she lifts her own hands letting her claws shkkt out into the air. A silvery moonlit glow comes from them that helps further add light to the place.

Phoebe Beacon has posed:
    <Leksandra was a Necromancer. She cut a deal with a demon. This house was her workshop. I have enough knowledge that I think I can bind the demon, but I need to make sure of one last... thing...> Phoebe trails off, as she becomes aware of the shades. As they come closer to the group, they gain more features, looking like old, washed-out television screens, full of static and colors just barely wrong. A woman in a green skirt, seemingly ignoring the grouping seems to phase into existence and then pass by. A tired looking man in a gray suit, the entry wound on his forehead dark red and the exit an explosive mess. A man covered in Neo-Nazi tattoos who regards the group with suspicion and fades back -- his neck was broken, bruised and rope-burned.

    Phoebe leads the way, The first room opens up, windows showing the same view of the worn seaside fading away into darkness. Its gray wood floor is solid, and the tang of salt water and blood hangs in the air like smoke and curls around all like a secret.

    In the middle of the room, on a low pedestal, there is some sort of orb, metallic and dull red-gold. It is scribed with twisted, arcane sigils in infernal tongues, and the closer one gets to the orb the louder the whispers get. Touch me. Learn from me. Let me tell you my story. Let us relive our lives in what we tell you.

Snippits of people's lives are whispered about the room. I never should have bet on that pony. I should have told him I loved him. If it wasn't for his kids I would have inherited. She was the most beautiful thing that has ever happened to me. I had to defend her against my niece -- she had gone mad. I wouldn't have gone with her if not for that last pint. She wasn't ready, this is all my fault! All of it!

Lydia Dietrich has posed:
    The feeling of all these ghosts cause the hairs on the back of Lydia's neck to stand on end. "So many of them," she whispers, as she follows Phoebe into the room. "They're...." she watches as some of them path before them and she shakes her head. "This house needs to be cleansed when we're done here."

    The orb catches her attention when they draw into the room. "What is this?" she says, peering closer at the orb. She doesn't recognize all of the languages, which isn't too much of a surprise. She's still learning a few of the arcane ones.

Zatanna Zatara has posed:
"Ghosts." Nothing more remains to be said until they start to take substance as though Phoebe were the catalyst. Homo magi have telepathic abilities but don't swim in the sea of other people's emotions. Zatanna casts a sympathetic look back at Meggan, wishing her well, glad for having her at her back. "Need I say it?"

The whispers grow, at first white noise, then becoming distinct words to the magician. She instinctively moves aside as they brush by and fade.

Their group is formidable, each capable of making a foe quail at their approach.Nevertheless, flexing her fingers, Zatanna mentally rehearses a suite of spells to throw up shields and clear their paths.

"Do not go near it!" instinct overriding her laissez-faire approach and belief in the group's common sense. The object's siren call pulls her in to forget why they are here and while away her time until her body falls to ash. Warily, she approaches it, keeping a safe distance.

Achilles has posed:
    There is a difference between having the body shielded, the soul shielded, and the mind shielded. Angelo has two out of three, and that ain't bad, right?

    His eyes narrow at the mention of the Necromancer. He thought necromancers dealt with the energies of death and the underworld, not with demons. But he's quite literally a brand new student when it comes to the ways of magic.

    However, his body and soul are super duper difficult to mess with. The mind? Less so. So it is that when he lays eyes on that orb, and it starts reaching out... his eyes glaze over just a bit, and he stares at it for a long few moments before taking a step in its direction. "It's beautiful..." he murmurs softly. Uncharacteristically, since he's been pretty much -not- talking in here at all.

Meggan Puceanu has posed:
Necromancy is something of anathema to Meggan, its very mention earning a tight, unhappy frown. "Whole lot of noise and those bits," a nod at the orb, "spell only trouble." She defers to those moving ahead, still covering her ears for all the very little good that does. Better than scraping bloody runnels into her arms. "All of the ghosts need t' be set free where they should go. Not right to be here." Her voice is soft and tight, a wisp of silken smoke that tapers away into faded echoes. The transparent conduits of stories and voices interplaying all kinds of ways are a bit wonky and disorienting, but it is better tracking after the most familiar emotional signatures in the chamber.

She is further back from that orb willing to taunt everyone, equal parts repulsive and enticing. "I don't bloody intend to while it's yapping at the top of its ruddy enchantment. That thing's loud enough to wake a sailor in Miami from here," she mutters after Zee speaks, grousing but not actually angry. "Pardon, I've a catastrophe to stop."

Angelo may be imposing -- he is. The Greek hero of legend put down another and wrote a string of victories. "Sorry, mate." Putting hands on him is probably a recipe for disaster, especially gently pulling him back, one hand on his arm. If he gets outright resistant, then she might use a dab more force or a hug to pull him free, but Gaea's youngest doesn't tip easily.

Laura Kinney has posed:
Laura Kinney fans out to form a very thin perimeter around the magically gifted members of the group. So that any hostile threats will have to come through her to get to them. At least assuming they come from elsewhere in the house.

She doesn't need magical senses to know something about the Orb is wrong. There's a deeply ingrained animal instinct within her saying she should leave. But it's not her training which drowns out that instinct. It's icy cold anger. Something here hurt her friend. No-one comes after her pack.

"I can arrange for the delivery of enough explosives to turn the entire place into a smoldering crater," She offers, sadly assuming no-one will take her up on the suggestion. Presumably there are 'proper' ways to go about this sort of thing.

Even if her way would be /extremely/ cathartic.

"I assume no-one is shocked to find unpleasant magic here?" she muses. "There was supposed to be a demon involved after all. Even I have enough pop culture knowledge to know that is /bad/."

Gabby Kinney has posed:
"Newp newp newp." Gabby had a similar idea as Meggan as she moves forward intending to stop Angelo as well. Given the older girl already was reaching for him, she subtly interposes herself between the room and the orb with her back to it. It left her feeling as if that talking magic orb was burning a hole between her shoulders in the iciest way possible. But at least she might be able to help steer others clear if the urge to give in became too strong.

As for her?

"Don't worry," she assures Zatanna with an obscenely cheerful grin. "I'm pretty sure I'm not entirely sane with all I've been through, and slash or," Yes, she says 'slash', "I've got ADD and can't keep my mind on one thing long enough for something like that to be listened to. Like that lady that just went by," she points out with a gesture toward a shade flitting through the wall. "Does anyone else think she looked like a young Betty White?"

"Maybe at the end of all this, Laura, but got to deal with the demon stuff first. They're not exactly tied to brick and mortar all the time."

Phoebe Beacon has posed:
    Phoebe gives a mute nod to Lydia. The place will have to be cleansed, but who has enough omph to do it?

    She circles around the contraption.

    <It's... like a palantir. Seeing stone, you know, what Pippin touched and wasn't supposed to touch in Lord of the Rings which -- nevermind, Red Robin would get it -- but I can read it. I can feel it, it's like... a heartbeat. Can you hear the wind?> she pauses amoment, and she makes a face.

    ... yeah, She kinda looked like a younger form of Betty White. She can't lie there. A

    She breathes out a moment, she looks to the others, and she looks down to her hands. <Well. I've already done The Dumb Thing so many times. What's one more?> There is a brilliant light that fills the room. Phoebe's hands are on the orb, and her eyes grow wide, glowing like liquid sunlight, iridescent as rainbows form in orbs from the water in the air. It's almost painfully bright.

The team has been split!

Laura and Gabby find themselves in a dive bar, some time in the late 90's. Wannabe by the Spice Girls is playing, an a Union Jack is pinned above the jukebox, the pleather-covered seats are still warm from recently vacated patrons. The place reeks of cigarettes and stale beer.

Between them and the exit, there is a creature sitting on a chair by the door. Skeletal in form, it shakily rises, connected with ages of graying, moulding rope-like structures. It teeters slightly, as if gaining back balance from decades of unuse, and its off-kilter face, disguised in shadow save for two sickly, pale red eyes that glow dimly in the shadows cast by its hanging locks regard the two ( https://i.pinimg.com/736x/d6/75/f3/d675f300cc73c0150680ace390f42500.jpg )

And then it picks up one of the booth seats with one hand, and slings it at them!

Lydia and Meggan find themselves on a street in Gotham, before it had been declared No Man's Land. In the distance there is scaffolding up on a building that reflects updates done on the C-Suite floors. The street is in one of the lower parts of the city, boardering on the Narrows. A boxy, early 90's car with dents in the doors careens past them, then its brakes screech as it turns quickly, slamming into a telephone pole and its occupants abandoning the vehicle - the reason why?

Coming up the street are a trio of Leksandra's demon dogs, jagged teeth of broken bones and exposed muscles, rotting skin coming off them in little chunks -- but unlike the previous incarnations, these have necks and 'heads' -- though they have no eyes, no nostrils, and they're dripping dark, bloody ichor from their maws. ( https://i.pinimg.com/564x/26/e3/56/26e356ed5277504dd6aa5d30148d52cb.jpg )

Zatanna and Angelo find themselves in an abandoned village -- Zatanna would recognize the Village in the Reeds, its long, low hospital to one side, the row of low, earthen houses to the other, and the church where Idu had risen from the very sands and abandoned , honored dead.

They face Leksandra, the woman in the red jacket who resembles Phoebe, except older, with wrinkles in her eyes and deep frown lines and tear trails, and she brings her hands up, dark violet energy wrapping around them as she regards the two.

Lydia Dietrich has posed:
    "Wait! Phoebe, don't!" Lydia cries out as her friend goes to touch the Palantir. Her cries fall on deaf ears, however, as she finds herself in the middle of the streets of Gotham, just in time to see a car careening towards them.

    "Meggan! Watch out!" she cries, stepping forward to put a barrier between them and the car, but the car swerves at the last minute and crashes into the telephone pole. "Phew. That was close. What were they running from?"

    Ask and ye shall receive. The trio of dogs appear and Lydia's shield is back. "Those are Leksandria's dogs," she tells her companion. "Nasty bits of work. I'll draw their attention..." Her shield of ectoplasm snaps to her skin to form a chitinous armor, and with inhuman speed she runs off to the side, shounting, "Hey! Ugly puppies! Tasty vampire treat over here! Num num num!"

Zatanna Zatara has posed:
Explosives are sometimes the answer. If only it were so simple. The magician opens her hands and shrugs, nodding her agreement to Laura's summary. But then, she silently wings appreciation to Meggan for pulling Angelo back; even mythic heroes can fall prey to magic.

Zatanna's delicate eyebrows lift, and she smiles briefly as Gabby's chatter lightens the air. Then, without warning, Phoebe unleashes the orb's magic, scattering the group to the winds of time and place.

The acrid scent of sun-heated sand bites Zatanna's nostrils. Her boots scuff the red dust of Phoebe's mother's birthplace, sending up a puff of smoke that covers everything in a fine film of magic and old death.

Zatanna flings her hands into the air, and a transparent shield engraved with golden glyphs older than Leksandra springs into existence between them, large enough to cover Angelo and herself. It revolves glinting in the waning sunlight.

"Begone," she commands the necromancer, knowing it is but the first word in the coming test of wills.

Achilles has posed:
    One thing that cannot be stressed enough. Back in his youth, and let's be honest, ever since then.. there has been one trait that made a warrior stand out. Speed. While he is not superhuman, there are very few humans who can match the reaction speed of Achilles, now known as Angelo.

    The only thing that slows him down at all is the fact that he was starting to fall under the spell of the orb. Meggan's interference, and well... let's be honest Phoebe's knowingly bonehead move broke that connection. So a blink, a second blink.. and then he knows who he -must- be looking at. In less than a heartbeat from then, his broad bladed spear forms in his hand even as he whips it back like he was miming being a baseball pitcher. And then the hand comes forward with a grunt of effort as he launches that ancient pointy stick at Leksandra.

    Yet, even as the spear flies, he has his Xiphos sword and Aspis shield out and is surging forward. With each step he takes, a new piece of his ancient Greek armor forms about his body. Starting at his feet and working upwards. Pieces forming before the eye, wrapping him protective celestial bronze... ending with the black horsehair of his helmet. One reason why he wasn't worried about what he wore earlier.... he carried this with him at all times.

    And, he is hoping that his charge might at the very least make the goatee version of Phoebe... okay, I know it's not an evil version of her. But it's still a fun description! Either way, he wants her to be distracted just a tiny bit.

Meggan Puceanu has posed:
Glowing light is never a good sign when emanating from an orb. "Phoebe, no!" has probably been thought, shouted or intended countless times in the past. Meggan doesn't get the chance to say it, spinning on her bare feet to shove Angelo away and give him at fair chance to do what he does best. Then there is no Zatanna at arm's length and no barbeque connoisseur.

The shrieking wail of failing brakes and the stench of rubber force her back from the magical shield, the fear in the passengers swinging her around as loudly as the warning. "Lydia, you're okay? I don't see or feel the others around here."

Her posture alters, weight distributed onto her back heel for the possibility of a rapid turn to the mangle-maw hounds. Her head tilts to the side. Ugly puppies indeed. "Construct or hellhound?" she calls after the vampire. Gotham usually calls for subtle magic, a rule enforced by pointed cowl. Expediency calls for other options, and she lifts airborne to form an eldritch green bolt.

When dealing with uncertain problems, the pinpoint blast bled from her aura is one part force to two parts dazzlingly manafire. No qualms about shooting something from behind in that one, who hunts with narrow-eyed purpose.

Laura Kinney has posed:
Laura whirls around the moment the location changes. There's no second guessing. No hesitation. The only things moving in the new locations are herself, her sister and a skeleton. The barrel of the Inkuzi swings up, moving as fast as her superhuman reflexes allow, and she pulls the trigger.

It's not the sort of weapon which requires pinpoint accuracy. There is a KERTHUNK. A 20mm grenade launches, covering the distance so quickly even she struggles to see it, and explodes.

Or it should explode anyway. Who knows how reality works here. Thankfully if it works as intended both her & Gabby will quickly heal up any hearing damage the contained blast might cause.

Should she have given her sister warning? Probably. Does she assume her sister knows her first instinct will be violence? Totally.

Gabby Kinney has posed:
"Phoebe don't--" The words are barely out from Gabby's mouth when it's already too late. Though the feeling of going through portals or being teleported was fairly familiar, she usually at least *expected* that to happen. Whatever THIS was it was wholly and completely disorienting to her.

For a few moments at least, until the explosions go off robbing her of her hearing. All that's left is an ringing in her ears stretching out through a void of silence as she tries to seek out sounds that weren't yet registering.

Lifting her hands, claws out, she regards the smoke that was beginning to clear from the explosion just waiting. Her eyes skirt around left, right, even upward to ensure that nothing was Alien-crawling across the ceiling toward them. If she spots any movement at all she intends to lash out with those enchanted claws to slice at the supernatural threat.

Phoebe Beacon has posed:
    THere were many Phoebe Nos. But Phoebe had to press, had to get her answers. She had to find out if what was said was true. The brilliant light surrounds her as well, but she appears in none of the other visions.

    Laura launches the grenade at the creature with the inky, gummy dreadlocks holding it together. And it's true. the grenade embeds itself in the creature, which slowly looks down to its chest before it explodes in light, sound, and gooey bits of its really, really rotted flesh and organs. It smells awful. One Thousand Percent worse than old lady farts, and it exploded all over the girls, the bar, the Union Jack Flag, the jukebox, everything.

    The Jukebox gives a rattle, it changes discs. Guitars key up, and someone begins to growl: "Dead I am the one, exterminating son, slipping through the trees strangling the breeze --"

    ... and the goo begins to crawl up X23 and Gabby, heading towards their faces like leaches made of rotting flesh!

    In Gotham though Meggan cannot feel the others, she might also not feel any connection to Outside, either. Like being caught in a snowglobe in the mid 2000's.

    One of the dog like creatures, each construct the same size as a large hog goes after Lydia, gurgling and growling at the vampire in chiton. THe other two go after Meggan, perhaps realizing she's the larger threat -- one is removed from the game immediately after being struck with the manafire -- it screams, inhuman cries turning incredibly human in anguish and pain, and then topples over, growing smaller and turning to ash. The other wants the vampire snausage. OM NOM NOM, LYDIA! It chases after her and tries to grab at her arms.

    In the desert, Leksandra doesn't speak. Her face doesn't move. Her arms are stiff, like puppetry, and she doesn't have any reaction to Angelo's drastic change -- or his spear? -- or the Begone?

    A second Leksandra appears to the side, acting in the same stiff, puppet-like manner. As if attention was spread too thin.

    A third appears to the other side of them, but the head is upside-down.

Zatanna Zatara has posed:
Oh, she knows this place and the necromancer before her. The memories of her two excursions here are etched deeply in her psyche, translated into nightmares that trouble her sleep. Angelo blurs into action simultaneous with the shield to protect them from Leksandra's dark magic. Little does the necromancer know that she is faced with bronze imbued with the power of Olympus.

Did Zatanna truly want her gone? She wants the answers to Phoebe's questions the way the desert thirsts for water. And, like a desert mirage, Leksandra multiplies, casting confusion in her wake.

Where is the target, and where is the source of the black magic? Master of illusions, Zatanna can also break them. The magician straightens, back slightly arched, arms spread as if she is ready to flourish a bow. Her stage voice reverberates in the still desert air. "!hturt eht laeveR .snoisiv eseht rettahS (shatter these visions, reveal the truth)

Achilles has posed:
    Huh. The spear dissipates when Angelo wills it to. He turns... studies the field of battle. No sense wasting efforts on what is obviously illusory duplicates. His weapons fade away before a bow appears in his hands.

    Green eyes study the ground. He is looking for something more than merely the feet of the Necromancer. He is studying, trying to figure out which feet are actually -affecting- the ground. Blades of grass bent, small pieces of stone moved about by those feet. It's not his first time facing such a deceptive combatant. After all, the gods themselves took part... sometimes directly, sometimes by proxy, in the Trojan war, among other wars. So he is waiting until he has a -real- target before sending arrows towards said target. If revealed, either by his studious senses, or the magic of Zatanna, he hopes to make the Necromancer sprout shafts in rapid succession.

Meggan Puceanu has posed:
Meggan can shudder in horror after considering what she has done. Not in the moment, when survival hinges on not cracking under a well of regret. Too much at stake. The second awful bony-tooth hound is too close for comfort and closing, thick haunches and digitigrade legs foretelling a problem. The usual go-to, barrel into problematic target at high speed, doesn't work under the circumstances.

"Mise 'n eala bhan," cries the blonde woman diagonally darting across the street. Here, puppy! Come chew a pretty bare ankle, the hussy! The ancient tongue flows in convoluted turns and twists, braiding a waterfall instead of a plain river. For a moment she touches the ground, expecting the hound to charge at her. That's the point. Feet to the broken concrete. "'Nam bhan-righinn os an cionn, mar naoi gathannan greine!"

As spellcraft goes, it's a whole lot of mana flung into a double ring. Not smooth or pretty as Zatanna would make, or the ethereal alchemy Lydia so excels at. Laura's flashbangs in a ward in effect get flung around the hound if she can net it, bubbling it in a wave to sit there. Stay put. Not be roaming around biting people. Accepted already, she has, that it will bite her given the chnace. That all her good intentions will end up with an upset girl trying to figure out where all that ichor came from. That John is rubbing his face and lighting up a Silk Cut, muttering about children playing.

Laura Kinney has posed:
The older Kinney looks at her sister and shrugs as if to say 'Well that could have gone better'.

And when the music plays she spins on the spot. Gun raising again. But this time no shot gets made. Is the music important? Do Necromancers like metal? Does Laura even know what genre it is?

Probably not. What she does know if this thing crawling up her is unpleasant. She digs into the variety of supplies on her assorted tactical belts & pouches. Retrieving a military flare. There's a snap neither of the Kinneys can likely hear and it blazes into life.

What comes next is... unpleasant. Anyone without a serious healing ability or invulnerability wouldn't even think of it. But for Laura it's an obviously solution. Burn the thing off her. No matter how much it might hurt.

Gabby Kinney has posed:
The yuck that spatters on Gabby is met with her hand lifting up to swipe as much off as she can because, let's face it--That was gross and smelled gross and she wanted NOTHING to do with it being ON her. A good swipe or two has already knocked at least the larger of the sticky chunks off of her by the time the music starts to change on the jukebox.

"Oh no. Boss theme music." The thought is stated, deadpan, as she moves quickly away from the largest of the mess toward the jukebox to hit 'select' a few quick times reading over the offerings.

And it's about now the gooey bits start to slither up toward her face.

Claws come out to start touching the tip to one, two, three... as many as she can get, just 'scratching' where she needs and flicking them away if they aren't outright killed. While she *desperately* tries to find another song to change the jukebox to because fuck this guy if he's gonna get an awesome song like Dragula.

And with a flick of a coin into the slot she selects a remix of 'We Will Rock You'.

"OKAY. PRIORITIES!" She declares only to spin around with a snap of her arm outward cutting loose the straps that hold her chest armor in place to fling it aside freeing herself of another good chunk of crawling goo.

Phoebe Beacon has posed:
    It's a Jukebox circa 1998, before half these visitors were born. We Will Rock You is definitely on there. Remixes? Well... not so much.

    Bom bom TSH. Bom bom TSH. The sounds echo across all -- the bar, the street in Gotham, the desert. It rumbles and reacts.
    The visions stop, tremble, and then shatter apart with the sound of breaking glass, and slowly the desert seems to receed, no grass, but the stone and sands blow away on a desert wind, the old stone of the street below them showing, sandstone and pitted limestone and the bones of those who had come before them, and then begins to unravel.

    The street in Gotham falls to pieces, sinking beneath a tidal wave, the hounds swept away, and with them the vision itself collapses.

    The bar seems to spiral in to itself, following the coin down the slot.

    There was now just a room. A room with a circle drawn on the floor in chalk. Candles are lit. Names of the dead are listed on the walls, and coffins can be seen through iron grates. The candles, beeswax and handmade, infused with coils burn and make the mausoleum smell of rosemary and roses. Black pepper and citrus. A box of Silk Cuts are sat in the middle.

    There are two Phoebes here. One in the middle of the circle, holding her green handled knife to her palm, and the other one, clad in gray and spider webs.

    Well. It's about time. a voice chides. It's rough, like being dragged over glass.

    And the Demon itself makes an appearance. It's tall, nearly eight feet. Gaunt, with six arms and many masks and faces -- including leksandra's, rendered in pale and broken china. Fire burns in its chest, and rings and chains are embedded in its skin. (https://i.imgur.com/TPnI6kE.jpg)

Lydia Dietrich has posed:
    Lydia manages to keep herself from being a demon dog snack long enough for the scenery to change yet again. "Phoebe!" she shouts, relieved to see that her friend is unharmed. Then she sees that there are two of her. "Phoebees..." She looks between the two and steps forward about to say something when the demon appears.

    "Demon," she says, warning in her voice. She moves to interpose herself between it and the Phoebees a golden shield forming on one arm and a sword in the other, looking for all the world like a golden glowing knight. She doesn't attack, not yet. Not unless the demon itself moves to harm anybody.

Zatanna Zatara has posed:
The sky breaks apart into jagged pieces, and the wind skirls across Zatanna's feet revealing stone pitted with age. The cacophony of glass falling onto stone is almost unbearably loud. Old bones appear and bid the first eyes to see them in untold years goodbye.

And the world changes.

Candlelight does not soften the scene. The smell of beeswax, and the familiar perfume that is Phoebe infuses the air cut by the sulfurous presence of the many-armed demon.

That rough voice, grated by a hundred thousand cigarettes faces them. The tortured body a bad simulacrum of life animated by ill intent.

"Not just any demon," Zatanna answers and makes a sign to avert evil.

Meggan Puceanu has posed:
Reality twisting and bending loses a bit of its potency on Meggan. It's a shapeshifting thing. She reacts bloody fast when the vision of Gotham crumples like a snowglobe, not as fast as the mutant sisters -- but effectively a close thing. The flash of fire meant for a binding circle won't bind a hound, but the spoiled spell leaves its traces hanging in the air.

White tattoos rise on her left arm, barely visible most of the time but the floating knotwork awakens in furious protest at the demon's presence. Anyone with a wisp of Sight probably knows of the suspended sliver of soul-stuff caught inside the meticulous magic frame. Her equivalent of flashing her colours to a possible predator, reminding them she is not the meal they want to snack on. And who would? Such tastier treats, really!

Her put-upon expression is still overly dramatic, a sigh spilling from her lips when the demon rouses itself beyond the double Phoeboi. "No? Is it Sibyl Fawlty?" Its myriad faces hang in a repugnant stack, and where to look? The centrepoint of the chest is better than elsewhere. "I don't much care for bullies, so you want to get on with it, Sybil?"

Laura Kinney has posed:
Laura Kinney throws the flare away once they're in another place. The same sort of motion Logan uses when he tosses away a cigar. It's hard to say if that's intentional or just some Howlett family thing encoded in her DNA.

Free from the corpse leach. The burns on her skin starting to heal already. In a way it's for the best they're in a strange smelling nightmare realm. It hides the smell of scorched Kinney...

"Yes. A demon which is going to die," she adds calmly. She raises the cannon. "Horribly."

Gabby Kinney has posed:
Gabby Kinney blinks in surprise as the world around them seems to just crumble and tumble away with the pulsing steady beat of 'We Will Rock You' playing. Once the images crumble away entirely, shattering the falsehoods they had been fed, she finds herself once again in the same room as the others.

And Phoebii.

A quick glance is cast around to make sure the others are here just to satisfy herself that no one was left out or missing or unduly injured. It's this look around that allows her to catch sight of Zatanna warding against evil with the gesture.

"So I guess Queen wasn't lying when they said 'It's a kind of magic', huh?" She reasons with a hint of admiration in her tone. She'd remember that one. For now she throws the only warding gesture she knows: The horns. Maybe it'd work? Maybe not. Either way it fit for the moment.

Phoebe Beacon has posed:
    The Demon gives a wry smile on six of her mask-faces, her six arms drawing down with a mix of hellfire and cold ice before she gets a sort of... puzzled expression.

    She shifts, her magic going out. Her attacks seem to have fizzled, and slowly she gives a hiss, drawing out, looking at the two Phoebii and the others in the Mausoleum.

    <Only way I could navigate everyone out. Catch you where I caught you.> Phoebe's voice can be heard, and the vision breaks again.

    The Mausoleum is gone with a POP.

    The air is salty and dark. Saltwater laps at the ankles of the assembled group.

    Phoebe herself has the orb contraption under her arm. She's also got blood on her face (big disgrace, waving that banner all over the place), and she gives an exhausted smile.

    <Have the name. I can bind her.>