4537/After the Show

After the Show
Date of Scene:	30 December 2020
Location:	The Moveable Feast Club, Tribeca NYC
Synopsis:	Amanda explains all she knows about the troubles in Tribeca to Lois, who agrees to help her shape the narrative in the press.
Cast of Characters:	Amanda Sefton, Lois Lane

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Amanda Sefton has posed:
It takes roughly an hour after the little supernova Amanda set off in the club for there to be enough room to breathe. During that hour, the reporter doubtlessly noticed the sorceress moving among the victims and witnesses -- completely unhindered by the first responders. She spent several moments speaking with them, and even noticeably healed wounds and injuries for those who were caught in the stampede or burnt in the explosion. Her energy is clearly flagging, however. She can't entirely heal the worst of them. She can only reduce the injuries to something far below critical.

Still, neither the NYPD nor NYFD spend a lot of time inside the club and, oddly enough, as it becomes fairly clear that most people were surprisingly unharmed, they eventually begin to pack up. As they do, Amanda moves towards the door of the old cotton building and glances towards Lois to see if she intends to follow. Once she does, the sorceress steps through the door and lets it close behind them. As she moves along the hallway, the illusion she cast comes down -- thereby making it obvious there was an illusion there in the first place. What the authorities took to be superficial damage from a bad short in a lighting rig looks far more like the destructive nature it was.

She inhales a deep breath and pushes a whisper more of magic out, letting it fuse itself with the structure enough to reinforce it so they will be safe. But it is, she had decided, probably the best place for them to talk.

Lois Lane has posed:
Lois isn't quite so good at the healing thing, but she can do basic first aid on those who need it, help direct the emergency workers, and get some undercover interviews in as she goes. She's getting live quotes from those least harmed (with their permission, of course), and taking photos of the damage when she can. The photos confuse her. There should be more.

So, when Amanda drops the illusion, her brows arch and she turns to get a few more quick snap shots before she follows the woman off to the sidem her pale eyes now all sober curiosity. She hasn't popped anything else again but does, as she walks over, slip behind the bar to pick up one of the top shelf bottles that DIDN'T get sacrificed to the cause. She pops the top off and starts drinking straight out of it as she follows Amanda to the little destroyed corner.

"You look like shit." She mutters, offering the bottle in the witch's direction.

Amanda Sefton has posed:
Interestingly enough, most of the quotes Lois gets -- namely out of those Amanda happened to speak to first -- all tend to suggest that what they witnessed was, indeed, just a lot of sparks from the lighting rig and a few people having a bit of a bad trip from some of the more experimental stuff. Almost no one says anything about ooze or fire or magic.

Nevertheless, the witch takes the bottle she's offered and takes a fairly heavy pull of the stuff. "I feel like shite," she admits. "I don't really have a whole lot of juice left, tonight." Not without one of her energy potions... which, of course, she doesn't have on her. She offers the bottle back to the other woman and grabs a stool that's still got enough legs to be sturdy to sit down on. Frankly, she's really just gathering a little strength so she'll be able to do a better scan of this place to make sure there's not a smudge left of the magic that animated the ooze. She doesn't want it feeding and growing again anytime soon.

"I imagine you have questions. But, I'd like you to answer one of mine, first: Who are you?"

Lois Lane has posed:
The reporter sinks down onto a stool opposite of Amanda that might end up collapsing on her, but doesn't the moment she puts her butt on it. She then thinks better of it and, instead, springs up to sit on what is left of the side of the bar. She drinks the grey goose in her hand like it was gatorade, but seems like a woman who doesn't fall hard to the whims of intoxicants. She's now studying Amanda with thoughtful, narrowed eyes, trying to piece some things together.

"...So. Did you brain fuck'em too on top of patch them back together? Or is this just 'cause people don't wanna believe their eyes when shit is fucked up?" Lois then sighs as she's asked a question in turn. She rolls her pale eyes to the ceiling, almost debating what she's going to say as she takes another drink. "Lois Lane. Daily Planet. I've got two Pulizter's under my belt and... have seen a whole lotta shit more that wouldn't win me awards. Including tonight."

Amanda Sefton has posed:
"After a fashion," Amanda admits. "I merely encouraged them to believe what's easiest for them to believe. Very few of them are as sharp or as inquisitive as you. Most of them have seen more than their fair share of darkness, too. Regardless, most of them don't want to believe in scary things like demons and witches on top of the aliens, gods, and superheroes they already know. They'd much sooner those, at least, stay on the silver screen. It saves them having to contemplate the state of their souls." Apparently, it's not a worry she particularly shares.

A wry smile touches her face as she hears the woman's name. "Lois Lane. Daily Planet. You're a long way from Metropolis, Ms Lane." She looks across the bar and spies a bottle. "Pass me that Beefeater's would you?" It's not entirely out of the reporter's reach.

"The name I usually give out to nosy reporters is Daytripper." She eyes the brunette speculatively. Her smile, though weary, isn't hostile at all. It's almost friendly. "If you something other than that, it will need to be off the record."

Lois Lane has posed:
A little grunt escapes Lois' lips as the woman gives her the nosy reporter name. Lois stares at her over slightly soot-smudged blue glasses, as if considering just how much to press but, instead, she leans back to reach for the Beefeaters. She's stretchy like some weird muppet, limbs definitely working in ways that seem to defy gravity, but she manages to JUST pull the Beefeaters down. She then hands it over casually and slumps back to her usual slightly slouched position.

"Sure. Off the record, Daytripper. And yeah, I know about things people don't wanna hear. So much shit I coulda published and they'd just shove me in the loony bin instead of giving an award." Granted, Lois definitely sends some national inquirer articles out there for extra money. "Of course, I might pitch this as some weird fucked up drug spazzing people out. I like to get as close to the truth as I can... as much to protect people as to be a good reporter."

Amanda Sefton has posed:
"Mm." Amanda takes the bottle from her when it's passed. "Cheers." She takes a swallow of the gin, wrinkling her nose some as she swallows. It really does make a better mixer, in her opinion. But, whatever.

"If you keep my name out of your article and you're willing to go with the drug angle," she admits, "you'll save me the hassle of hexing that footage you took."

Not to mention turning her hypnotism on the woman. Amanda really hates doing that. Especially to someone like Lois, whom she's pretty sure would eventually break the spell, anyway, and then come hunting her with a vengeance. She's seen witch hunts. She'd rather not fall victim to one.

She inhales a deep breath. "Okay. Short version: As you've probably figured out, I'm a witch. A sorceress, actually, but that hardly matters. My job, magically speaking, is to keep the ghoulies and ghosties and long-legged beasties that would like to turn people into lunch from doing so. The boy I was following tonight died of an overdose earlier today. His body was left beside a dumpster a few blocks from here. The Devourer found it and decided it made a sweet ride. I tried to stop it there. It threw me into a brick wall. But, I'm not Superman, so that didn't turn out so well for me. I eventually tracked it here."

She looks around. "The thing about this place, though, is that it's not just good for getting the latest experimental pharmaceuticals out there or to indulge in recreational activities frowned on by mainstream society. It's also a good meeting place for magic types like me and worse -- a feeding ground for shadow creatures like the Devourer. All the different energies in here confused my tracking spell. So, I lost him until it was too late."

The way she sucks down another mouthful of gin suggests that doesn't sit well it her.

Lois Lane has posed:
The explanation is taken in with surprisingly respectful silence, for as 'fuck the man' as Lois seems. Maybe Amanda doesn't qualify as 'the man' in the gonzo journalist's eyes. Or maybe this is just gonzo enough for her to believe it all. Either way, Lois sighs and gives a slow, slightly mournful shake of her head. "Just another bit to add to the brainwashing of fuckin' everyone... damn shame they all wanna be brainwashed." She mutters to herself. She then takes another deep pull of the vodka and then sets it down so she can pull her crumpled cigarettes out of her back pocket.

That fateful lighter for the night is, somehow, still going with fluid. She uses it to strike up the cigarette in her hand and drags in a deep, savoring breath even as she processes all that knowledge. "So, it wasn't the OD that turned him into that thing. It was just a plain old OD and something took advantage of it? I need to know how much to scare people off the shit and the place... What do these things...look like, when you encounter them? Where do they haunt? I can spin it, but I need the details."

Amanda Sefton has posed:
Amanda wrinkles her nose and sighs. "More or less, yeah," she says. "One of my gifts is healing. It's... separate from my magic, really. So, I'm gonna go out on a limb and say there was fentanyl laced in whatever shit he took, but even if there wasn't it was an OD. He was dead when I found him."

As for details? She lets out a bit of a frustrated chuff of air. "That's the problem. This is the third Devourer I've come across this week alone. But the darkness has been growing since Hallowe'en. I've only recently realized that it's centered here in Tribeca."

She glances to the other woman, and takes another small sip of alcohol, less this time than before. "I don't know how closely you bother to follow New York news down in Metropolis, but in the past month the local media has had reports about an increase in animal attacks. They speculate it's because it's winter and food reserves have been running low. They're wrong. Anmials have been transformed by demonic energies, turning into supernatural predators. That's how it started. That's what I first started trying to stop. Then, there were shadow haunts, that the media reported as brownouts and unfortunate CO2-related deaths due to the usual holiday hazards. Shadow haunts suck away energy and life, you can guess where they are because they dim lights and interrupt radio signals and electricity wherever they go. *Now*, there are Devourers out there, and the media thinks it's an increase in ODs or muggings or other street crimes. Those people the thing absorbed tonight? They were its food, plain and simple."

Lois Lane has posed:
That gets a low groan from Lois as she considers the best spin possible while still keeping people informed. She belts back another gulp of vodka before she stretches one arm up languidly to put it behind her and then sinks down to actually lay stretched across the damaged bartop. Staring at the blackened ceiling, she muses over smoke rings she makes with her lips.

"You ain't crazy. I mean... you might be, but not about this. I'm gonna trust the shit outta your mouth is legit. The question is, how do we spin the story enough I can get the truth of it out to warn people. What do we need to tell them to...be ware of. How do we arm them without telling them the shit they won't believe?" Slightly drunk and chain smoking, Lois still seems damned passionate about this. She really does care. She's not going home or to sleep until they figure it out.

Amanda Sefton has posed:
Some days, Amanda feels crazier than others, but the truth is, she has remarkable strength of mind and will. Necessary in her line of work. So, she chuckles softly at Lois' willingness to believe in her sanity.

"We tell them what they want to believe. That crime is up. There's a new drug out there that makes its users more agressive than normal. That they need to lock their doors and stay in after dark. That the authorities are working on finding out where this new drug is coming from and have leads, but it's going to take time..."

She looks around the darkened space, the only illumination a bit of witchlight she cast to make it a little less pitch. "I don't want to burn the Moveable Feast. It's one of the best places, outside of the Undercity Market, for me to meet with my contacts. As it is, we both know it'll just set up somewhere else in a week or two, anyway. But I don't want the cops poking around more than they need to. I know cops who can handle shit like this. Most of them can't."

Lois Lane has posed:
"Fuck, I don't want to either. I get the *good* shit here. No one sells shit like this in Metropolis, clean cut fuckin' stuffed shirt city..." Lois mutters about the city she very much loves, but that does explain why she's all the way down here. She takes another lazy drag of her cigarette, blowing long rings like she was some felinesque dragon sprawled across that bar. Even in the middle of all this chaos, Lois is languid and calm.

"...So, I guess I print the same old. Won't even make the front page, much less above the fold. But..." She sighs, wanting to curse. Wanting to hit something and scream for just a moment, "... it's what the sheep fuckin' want."

Amanda Sefton has posed:
"Welcome to my world, Ms. Lane," Amanda says with a throaty laugh. "I moved to this city six months ago. Since then, I've fought in a war to keep a demonic god from possessing the city's soul, chased goblins out of Central park, stopped one of the oldest evils in creation from rising again to take over the world, and now I'm hunting the heart of darkness... in *Tribeca*." She actually grins at that, blue eyes sparkling with the irony of it all. "I mean. Tribeca, Ms. Lane. Not Hell's Kitchen. But Little SoHo Wannabe."

In other words: There's a reason she likes the Feast, too. She just won't admit that to her foster brother.

She leans back against the bar, rolling her shoulders and looking up such that her blonde hair drapes on the counter some inches above Lois' head. "I really do need to finish scanning this place to make sure there's no trace left. I'd hate for it to eat a rat or something and then start growing all over again."

Lois Lane has posed:
The pale eyed reporter turns her head to look over Amanda for a few moments. "Go... do your thing. I'll call us an uber and get you home safe so you don't pass out from all the mojo, or whatever happens when you fry your own brain." Lois motions for her to finish up, not going to abandon the woman who really did save everyone's lives here. She respects that much.

Then, with a little groan, she rolls herself up into sitting straighter and pulls out her cellphone. She starts putting in for a ride somewhere but doesn't quite hit send yet. Then she's swinging behind the bar and grabbing at a can of some mixer. She pours it out -- making a booze container for the road, most likely.

Amanda Sefton has posed:
Amanda sets her bottle down and rocks herself to her feet. "Hold off on the uber until I'm done," she suggests. Who knows? Maybe she'll have enough juice to open a portal after. It's... preferable to her.

She moves towards the dance floor and begins to walk it in an expanding spiral. As she goes, an eldtritch green energy spreads out from her footsteps, blanketing the space in an eerie green light. It's like watching frost form on a window pane -- if that frost was made of green light over burnt tile.

Slowly, she expands the energy as she walks. It spreads into cracks over furniture, into corners and up the walls. It moves across the ceiling. It even encroaches on the bar where Lois stands. Nevertheless, Amanda keeps moving.

When she does finally stop, the whole room is glowing green like a neon chemical stick light. Only one spot of darkness remains -- a bit of sludge against the far wall. Amanda crosses to it and crouches down. She forms a small magenta shield and wraps it around the thing. There's a high pitched, aharmonic tone that rips through the space. Amanda winces at it. The shield she weilds thickens. It mutes the sound a little, though it's still piercing.

She chants softly, tracing out a circle around her on the floor. Golden webs of runes and arcane symbols spring up around its perimeter. She lifts her hands and lets the shield orb float above her head. Murmuring a soft spell, she pours energy into it until there's another flash of light and the piercing sound abruptly stops. Amanda lets out a soft breath and sags down to one knee.

A brush of her hand obliterats the circle. And she sits down on her butt. "Would you like a drink of the good stuff?" she says, glancing over to Lois. "I need a better bottle than what they serve here."

Lois Lane has posed:
The reporter does watch everything carefully. She's no longer recording because she's not a complete asshole and she knows she can't print it anyway, but she does watch. Learn. Lois lights another cigarette, chain smoking through Amanda's entire light and cleansing ritual. When the woman is finally done, Lois actually drops down off the bar, moving to try to catch her as she sags. The drunken reporter does genuinely seem to care.

"You alright? I mean, I'll always take a better drink but... I feel like maybe we should get you to bed. Or, at least, a few uppers to set your brain straight." Lois is teasing about that last bit. Mostly. Still, she offers a hand to help Amanda up and a shoulder if the woman needs somewhere to lean.

Amanda Sefton has posed:
Amanda smiles at that, leaning back against the nearest wall. "Oh, it's not my brain that's the problem. I've just put out a lot of magic tonight. There's a cocktail I can take to solve that, but it's at home. And, frankly, you're right. A good night's sleep will cure most of it, even without it."

She slowly pulls herself to her feet. "I've got enough juice for one more trick," she tells the other woman. "It leads to the room that holds my liquor cabinet in a far better neighbourhood than this, you see. So, as thanks for your help this evening, I can offer you a drink and either your choice of spare beds or a safe place to call an uber." She looks around. "You know. Some place a little les... Hmm. Sooty." It's as good a word as any.

A beat.

"And, off the record... My name is Amanda. Since you're willing to play ball with the what the... sheep... need, then I at least owe you that."

Lois Lane has posed:
"Amanda. I'll...try to forget by tomorrow morning." Lois states with a wry, somewhat teasing smile. Eyes flicker across the room once more, considering if she wants to stay here or head back to the woman's place.

She then shrugs casually, "Who am I to say no to a beautiful woman offering me a ride and an expensive drink? Lead the way, lady." Lois gives her a wink that is on the edge of flirtatious, takes one last drag of her cigarette, then reaches over to kill it on the ruined bar before she flicks the butt into the room. No one cares. It's all trashed. With that, she bows for the woman to portal away.

Amanda Sefton has posed:
Amanda raises her hands and takes a moment to focus. Then, she makes a simple, yet arcane gesture. Golden energy flares like a spinning sparkler that expands into an oval large enough for a person to walk through. Through it, a well-appointed apartment with a balcony that overlooks Central Park can be seen. She gestures lightly for Lois to preceed her and then steps through herself. The portal winks out and she takes two steps to flop uncerimoniously down onto a long couch draped in a cozy throw. "Give me a moment," she tells her guest, "and I'll pull out the Glenfiddich."

Though she gestures to a small bar in one corner. "Unless you're feeling daring. In which case, have at it. Take your pick."

Lois Lane has posed:
"Oh shit. You can afford this place? Yeah, you're totally buying the drinks in the future." Lois mutters, as she walks through the portal like it was NOTHING, like she takes magic portals every other day of the week. Maybe she's just that drunk, or high, or has really just been through that much. Either way, she steps through into the incredibly nice apartment with the million dollar address and just gives a low whistle, looking around.

"Oh honey, I'm always daring. Somehow, I doubt you got the *real* good stuff here, but I'll settle for a Glenfiddich. Or absinthe, if you have it." If she can't take drugs about it, she might as well get as close as she can with a liquor.

Amanda Sefton has posed:
In actual fact, when Lois opens the cabinet, she'll find that the Glenfiddich is, in truth, the least expensive thing there -- which stands to reason, despite the fact it is one of the better bottles that sells from that particular distillery. It just happens to be the bottle Amanda bought, instead of the stuff Pepper provided.

But Amanda knows that Pepper's moved into the penthouse and really doesn't care what's in this liquor cabinet any more. She doesn't have to worry about her old college roommate interrupting her here without warning. Certainly not at this hour of night. Pepper treats this place as if it were soley Amanda's... even if she is the one who's still on the lease and still paying the rent.

"Neh," Amanda says with a laugh, her accent a little thicker than it was earlier. "This place belongs to a friend of mine -- who has decided to cohab with her boyfriend and for reasons I do not understand, has declined either to kick me out let me properly sublet."

Amusingly enough, there are actually probably more intoxicating substances in Amanda's bedroom, where she keeps her spell components, than there are in the liquor cabinet. And as Lois starts to explore the bar, Amanda pulls herself to her feet, saying. "I'll be right back. I need that cocktail." Thus, she disappears into her bedroom for a few moments and emerges short minutes later in jeans and a tee-shirt, looking just a little more refreshed than she did when she went in.

Lois Lane has posed:
When Amanda steps out, Lois blinks a bit more to the things in the cabinet. She's tempted, horribly tempted, by far more expensive things but she's also not drunk enough yet to be THAT rude. When she hears the information that the place belongs to a friend, however, and that friend is generous enough not to ask for subletting? Lois blinks and grins, reaching for the VERY high end brandy in the crystal container at the back of the thing. She might as well enjoy while she can.

"Your friend must be rolling in it. Hell. Lucky ladies, both of you." She admits with a little laugh, though there is a small trace of jealousy behind it. Lois seems the working class sort, through and through. She heavy pours herself several fingers of that brandy, though, and heads for the balcony to pop it open for a cigarette. "... Feeling better? I could use a cocktail like that some mornings. Damn."

Amanda Sefton has posed:
Amanda was raised in a gypsy caravan. This place? Way out of her comfort zone, normally. But she's one hell of an actress. A professional, actually. She smiles at Lois' assessment. "Her more than me," she says, noting that brandy. She pours herself some and joins the woman on the balcony. "Feeling much better, yes. Here, let me warm this place up and the smoke won't be a problem."

Instead of casting a warmth spell, however, she simply turns on the outdoor heaters. Because she does her meditation out here most days, regardless of the season, bowing only to the whims of the weather.

She steps out to look over the park, but then glaces back to Lois with a bit of a smirk. "I'd offer you one, but unless you're hiding a latent magical talent neither of us knows about, it wouldn't do anything for you. Anything I have that would give you that sort of pick-me-up is generally reserved either for healing critical injuries or, you know, shamanic highs."

Lois Lane has posed:
"...now, see, you shoulda left out the shamanic highs bit there and I wouldn't give a shit. But there you're talking my language. Molly gets boring after a while and the come down from it is always total shit." Lois admits, seemingly having judged Amanda as someone she can trust with talking about this stuff. Or, perhaps she just has enough dirt on the woman to fight back if Amanda would decide to blow up her spot.

Lois takes her cigarettes, brandy, and self to the heated porch for a flop down. She's finally hitting her own exhaustion and a comfortable level of drunkenness that she might be able to shut off her brain sooner rather than later. She raises her drink to Amanda in a silent toast before knocking back a deep, savoring sip.

Amanda Sefton has posed:
Amanda laughs lightly, turning and leaning against the rail as Lois sits. She lifts her brandy in response to Lois' gesture and takes a sip. "There's a reason," she notes, "that the 60's were a hotbed of New Age mysticism. And that it was revived in the 90's. I've had trips that have literally taken me out to the far edge of the universe and back. And not with Molly." She'd offer, but she has a greater sense of responsibility than that.

"Seriously, though. That brandy's the best I can offer, tonight. I'd apologize, but..." She gives a mild shrug. "I need a clear enough head to sort things out come morning."

Lois Lane has posed:
"Raincheck?" Lois asks with a hopeful arch of her brows. She pulls her shades off, sticking one stem of them between her bra and skin, down the front of her button down shirt. She then sprawls back, taking a savoring drag of her cigarette as she continues to just come down from the night. "I should get to work in the morning anyway...Kansas'll worry if I'm out too damn late and don't drag in until noon.

Amanda Sefton has posed:
"If I need a spotter for a trip, I'll let you know," Amanda says, chuckling at the request for a raincheck. "Or if you do, call me." That suggests she's willing to give Lois her number. Though gods only know why.

She smiles, sipping her brandy and crossing to the other balcony chair. "I can open a portal for you to... any place I've been in Metropolis, which is limited, or any place you can give me a decent photo of. Now. Or in the morning. I'm feeling much better, in that regard. Or you can call an uber whenever you choose. But I think, I'm soon to sleep."

Lois Lane has posed:
"Same. I ain't fuckin' Kansas yet. Hell, I still think he's a virgin and just won't tell me, so it ain't like I gotta be home to him... I can crash here. And any time you're willing to share the good stuff, you call me. We'll take a very lovely, lovely trip together, I promise. I'm never a poor companion on vacation." Lois winks to the woman with a wide, teasing grin, but there's hope behind her pale eyes as well. She's most certainly interested in whatever Amanda can provide.

Amanda Sefton has posed:
Again, Amanda chuckles, letting that brandy burn down the back of her throat. She is, in fact, unwinding, looking up at the winter stars. The fact is, though, she's still dwelling on the lives lost earlier in the night and just how she's going to find the heart of darkness in gods forsaken Tribeca. She's just not putting that out onto her houseguest.

"Darling," she says dryly, "you could be stone cold sober and I could take you on a trip you'd never forget." It's probably the booze talking. She raises a hand and lets just a hint of witchlight dance over her fingertips. "It just comes at a cost, that's all." She watches the light for a moment, and then abruptly flows to her feet, downing the last of her brandy.

"Right. Portal in the morning, then. I'm heading in." She meets Lois' eyes for a moment. "Thanks again for your help... Metropolis."

Lois Lane has posed:
It's not that Lois isn't thinking about the people dead. She is. She will be. But that's why she drinks. And smokes. And takes all the drugs she can get her hands on because, otherwise, she simply dwells on every damn thing she can think about of this horrible world. So, she knocks back a bit more of the brandy and lifts the glass in one last toast. "Go. Sleep. You deserved it. I'll find somewhere to pass out and bother you to hitch a ride in the morning. Thanks for the... help. We saved more people than died. Best you can do, some nights." Lois calls after her quietly, a glimpse to the fact that the drunk reporter isn't all bullshit. But she says nothing else, staring up at the stars through her cigarette smoke as she sinks back onto the balcony. SHe has more drinking to do before sleep can happen.