2460/(bad)Magic in the air

(bad)Magic in the air
Date of Scene:	15 July 2020
Location:	Imperial arms Hotel
Synopsis:	No description
Cast of Characters:	Wallace Wolf, Nessa Donovan

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Wallace Wolf has posed:
    Richie Evans was a god damned dirt bag, even without all the occult bullshit. He liked to think of himself as some sort of gangster, a member of the rarified criminal elite about to break into the big leagues at any moment. In truth he was a petty meth dealer, and a pitiful stick up artist who'd only gotten away with it this long because of luck and an overworked NYPD. The meth had mixed with edgy occult BS in bad ways, he'd convinced himself he was some sort of adept. He just needed a little help to get his break, and the devil was pretty cool right?

    The Imperial arms had been built in the 50s, and was a fantastic example of graft really. To stuff their pockets the place had been (lead) painted something like fourty times during construction, and they'd blown more than ten times the correct amount of asbestoes into the place. NYC had been trying for years to actually tear the place down since it went vacant in the 80s, but every year it just ended up being too damned expensive. Not that it wasn't a shithole when it was operating, but thirty or so years worth of vacancy had just made it all the worse. So when Richie snagged a "working girl" off a street corner, and dragged her screaming inside nobody had been in much rush to go after them.

    Until Bones showed up at least, swinging that matte black sportbike into a shadowy alleyway before killing the motor and stepping free. He stands motionless for a moment, before finally reaching back to tug that cut down shotgun free. Casually double checking for brass in the chamber, as he ducks into a back entrance and draws to another stop. Listening intently for a moment, before he can make out the chanting on the floor above. "Yeah, I don't reckon that's gonna fly."

Nessa Donovan has posed:
Chasing down villains, rescuing damsels, stopping crime? That wasn't exactly Nessa's wheelhouse. You get her behind a stove, though, and it's the best bacon and eggs in town. Toast, if you ask nicely. Even though she spends a good amount of time making pancakes and smelling of bacon, it's not all there is to her. The magic's what draws her.

When she's not working, her ice magic is the focus. Magic, in general, has been her interest and so sensing it is more than enough to draw her in. The curiosity to learn often found her getting into trouble--that and she's always a sucker for the underdog. Dressed in a comfortable pair of jeans, a t-shirt, and a black leather jacket, her hair is pulled back out of the way at the nape of her neck. Not exactly a hunting for trouble get-up, but she's gotten off work not that long ago.

When she draws close to the building, she stops, focusing on feeling the magic out. There's more than one source in the area, which makes her frown a little. Which one to investigate? Should she get closer? Her back against an exterior wall, she tries to listen in. Unlucky for her, she doesn't have any sort of enhanced hearing.

Wallace Wolf has posed:
    It's like a change of weather, when a big storm's just starting to roll in. Enough magical energy to be nearly mistaken for an actual breeze, and from deep inside comes something primal and wild. Something that shouldn't be in a city much less New York, some ancient and forgotten and unlike anything else. Then comes the crushing silence, at least out on the street. Cats scatter, birds wheel around in the skies and take off for anywhere else.

    Inside, well Bones cracks that double barrel open with a grunt. Casually snagging the two smoking empties that are ejected up into his hand, before reloading and casually stuffing the shotgun back into it's scabbard. Slowly he flips his visor up, letting his gaze wander over the candles and all that blood. The pale white skeleton painted over those leathers standing out even in the dim light, before casting about for a blanket. He takes a knee there, tugging his glove free and reaching down to feel for a pulse mutely.

Nessa Donovan has posed:
It's not supposed to be like that. While Nessa doesn't know everything there is to magic, she's been feeling it since she was a child. She may not know what it /means/, but it's certainly big and maybe wrong somehow. Her gaze settles on her bare hands for a moment, then checks the pocket of her jacket to make sure her gloves are there before she carefully moves for the door and makes her way inside.

She's careful, both physically trying to remain quiet and magically trying not to cause a stir. If there's something dangerous, she doesn't want it lashing out in her direction. She's playing defensively until she can figure out who, or /what/, is scribbling with magic crayons all over the area. She freezes, however, as soon as she's aware she's close enough to audibly hear slight movement.

Wallace Wolf has posed:
    The second floor is a gutted -mess-, but an area's been cleared not far from the stairs. Cheap red candles set out in the circle, with a pentagram drawn within in blood. For starters that's not how any of this works, and whilst intent can go a long way it can't bridge this gap. Not that the aspirant practicioner will get a chance to try this all again, nor anything else for that matter. Richie Evans hasn't been cut in half, but it's not far off honestly. He's taken two barrels of ten gauge buck at close range, and well he's been -painted- across the wall. A gaudy "ceremonial dagger" still clutched in one hand, a glock nearby.

    Bones then is the sole remaining source of that pressure, and well even that is starting to slack off. Whilst he may be clad in head to toe, with that black helmet and his skeletal leathers? Well the scarf around his neck is leaking whisps of pale blue energy, and no small amount of blood. Not that he seems terribly concerned. "Sorry darlin."He offers in a low tone, reaching across to grab a tarp and pull it across the dead woman's form set in the center of that ritual circle.

Nessa Donovan has posed:
Nessa's close enough to see what's gone on. She isn't, however, a hardened fighter. Death of this sort isn't something she sees every day, so the sight of it doesn't quite turn her stomach but it does both give her pause and cause her to try and avert her gaze away from the splattered mess on the wall. Instead, she focuses on the figure that's still alive in the room.

While there's no telling the intent of the figure, the context gives her a good clue that he's not the villain in this situation. Ceremonial dagger on the other guy, apology to the other in the room who was slain? It's the tail end of something. Still, regardless of who he is, she's trespassing on the situation and likely to startle him if he's not aware of her presence. So, rather than cause a stir, she slowly starts to back away, doing her best not to make a sound.

Wallace Wolf has posed:
    Slowly he rises to his boots, casting his glance about for a moment before finally kicking over those candles and neatly snuffing out each one in turn. Sure he's pretty sure this was never going to work, but theres no need to take risk it right? This done, he finally lifts a hand to give his neck a rub. Heavy boots drifting across the floorboards for a moment, before finally heading back towards the stairs. "Sorry I didn't get here any sooner darlin."

    He heads right for the staircase of course, but he's hardly in a rush of course.

Nessa Donovan has posed:
Backwards down stairs is not the easiest thing in the world, but Nessa does try it, a bare hand creating a patch of ice on the railing as she does her best to make her way down swiftly. At the bottom of the stairs, she moves to walk quietly, her gaze snapping to a collection of crates covered by a tarp before she instead moves towards those, ducking down low to use it as a hiding spot. There's no telling if she'd make it to the door quickly enough, so she goes for what she thinks will be a safe bet.

Wallace Wolf has posed:
    Slowly he eases down the staircase, before drawing to a dead stop the moment his hand brushes the railing. He stares after it in the dim near pitch darkness, before experimentally rubbing a finger across it's surface. There is of course the possibility that our wanna be occult hustler, was not acting all by his lonesome of course. So casually he rolls his neck left, and then right with an audible snap-crackle and pop. From there, well the change comes easy.

    It comes down the staircase like a rush of water spilling over a dam. It's enough raw juice to bring a faint glow to the long discarded light bulbs about, enough to shake cellular phones free of their connections for a few seconds. Then it's gone, gone into thin air like a bad dream. Only theres this faint glow now, illuminating the staircase as it goes. This pale blue otherworldly light, and the soft click-clack of dull claws on concrete as it creeps down the staircase.

Nessa Donovan has posed:
It's a strong energy. Maybe not as strong as the one she felt when Sorcerer Vega had created an entire palace of ice around her as she stood there, but Nessa was very aware that it was a particular kind of magic and not one she had experienced. She was starting to think that trying to figure out what the unusual bits of magic were had started to become a bad idea. There is, however, the fact that she's chosen to hide instead of just go for the exit and hope for the best. She's made her bed and she'll lie in it.

While she is fairly certain she's visually and audibly hidden, her breathing slow and careful, she's not entirely sure he can't just find out where she's at with magic. Which leaves her wondering what sort of gameplan she can make. It had better be fast.

Wallace Wolf has posed:
    "You know my dear, It isn't safe for a little girl to walk through these woods alone."Spoken in plain English, from an utterly inhuman mouth. A low basso snarl as much felt as it is heard, "looking for Grandma's house are we?"Now there are werewolves, and then there are -werewolves-. This one quoting little Red Riding Hood, is decidedly one of the latter. Less of the big two legged bruisers so commonly discussed, no this is something altogether different. Six foot or so at the shoulder, an enormous wolf built out of mostly transparent pale blue. Save for that coal black skeleton within, on full display of course. Head lifted to sniff at the air, before slowly turning it's gaze towards Nessa's hiding spot.

    Those empty blackened pits where it's eyes should be, narrow slightly "Your friend isn't coming, he's quite dead I'm afraid. Didn't your mother ever teach you not to play around with human sacrifice, little girl? Now stand up, and tell me who taught you these wicked things and I'll consider you the one that got away."

Nessa Donovan has posed:
He (it?) is certainly aware of her presence, but Nessa doesn't quite feel comfortable emerging behind her stack of boxes. She was not prepared for any of this. "... friend?" It takes her a moment to realize that he didn't just think she was an intruder, he assumed she was part of that. "Oh, oh no. Nonono, that wasn't me. I came because I sensed the magic was different here. I came to /investigate/. Not... whatever that was."

She swallows hard. "I don't know how to prove it to you, but I was at work just before this. I'm assuming you can... smell?" She is, of course, making assumptions based on his form. It's all she can do. "I work in a diner. I smell like bacon, I wasn't here."

Wallace Wolf has posed:
    He doesn't approach, but well he does slowly circle around. Those claws click-clacking against the concrete with every step, until slowly coming into at least partial view. "Curiosity can get you killed, if you're not careful little girl. All this skulking about, terribly unladylike you know."Those blackened pits where eyes should be narrowing just a touch further, before seemingly satisfied it turns back towards the exit. "In my day, witches understood the necessity of having good manners."

    Through the door it goes, and then well that light fades almost immediately as Bones steps from a rush of pale blue mist. Glancing casually over his shoulder towards the building, before moving towards his bike.

Nessa Donovan has posed:
"I'm not a witch, I'm a mage, and I'm sorry if my self-preservation instinct was stronger than my curiosity. You /did/ kill someone, unless I was mistaken in all of that," Nessa moves, pulling herself from behind the boxes and getting to her feet. She moves to pull the gloves from her pocket, tugging them on. It feels safer that way. "I apologize if I didn't introduce myself, but you just killed someone and I had no way of knowing if you were trigger happy. I'm curious, I'm not /dumb/."

Wallace Wolf has posed:
    "Semantics with a werewolf, something new every day."Resting one boot on a footpeg, before saddling up. "Don't take any shortcuts on your way to Grandma's house, Bacon girl. Not unless you're ready to be polite, or fight."And with that that straight six comes to life with a ripsnarl, kickstand tucked away. One lance glance after Nessa, and well off into the night.