7200/1000 Faces: Reaper Man

1000 Faces: Reaper Man
Date of Scene:	03 August 2021
Location:	Oblivion Bar
Synopsis:	The theft of a mask is successful, but at what cost?
Cast of Characters:	Jane Foster, Hela, John Constantine, Strix, Phoebe Beacon, Hope Svelgate
Tinyplot:	1000 Faces of Death

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Hela has posed:
Knowing how to get into the Oblivion Bar's half the battle. Tonight it can be accessed from SoHo. All the usual pass phrases or tokens fail, though. The only guests getting past heavily-armed security boast some talent and want work. They get through, it's simple as that. "He'll see you now." Ghoulish red light strobes over concrete stairs leading to the basement level, the heavy thumping music shot by a techno thrum.

     "So glad to see you well,
     Overcome them, completely silent now;
     With Heaven's help,
     You've cast your demons out."

The smattering of guests spread out among the booths, strategically placed to watch everything that goes past. Mirrored walls laden by shattered tinsel spreads out around the smoky floorplan, leaving no one an iota of privacy. Sort of the point, as the clientele gathered here largely smokes, drinks, or discusses matters in quiet tones that brook no eavesdropping. Running the gauntlet leads to a blank door, beyond which is a private room. Black lines of magic streak across every inch of the bar, but that door smells of spice, grave-dirt, and ash. Crossing through it is a wholly unpleasant experience, like stepping on the threshold of one's own afterlife, and finding something wanting.

Within sits Papa Midnite, a glass of rum at his side, the gloriously dressed bastard in a magnificent white coat and tilted hat rimmed in red ribbon, the very essence of someone concerned about fashion. You know, too wealthy and busy.

John Constantine has posed:
    ...and in walks John, in his battered trench coat and same drab clothing beneath it, a quiet, "Stay close to me and keep your mouth shut," is uttered for Phoebe's benefit. He's still not even sure why the hell he brought the kid, he does like her moxie though.

    Before he arrived, he'd done a few things. One, he took a walk about in the astral side of things just to see what he might glean there in regards to all it, then he conned his way into a murder scene to take a look directly, then he sneaked BACK to a murder scene to take a magical looksie loo, rewinding time in a blue haze of smoke overlay, a video to be watched, rewound, paused and studied.

    "Still playin' the part of an overdressed pimp, I see, Midnite? Or is that your 'European' look?" ... not that *he* has any room to throw shade at anyone being 'European', amirite?

    "Screwed the pooch, didn't ya?" Leave it to him to go in bold and ballsy. But, his phone did ring the night before, even if it was one that wasn't supposed to. "...or someone screwed it for you. What with your precious Baron being amid one of his dead now."

    Really though, despite the tit for tat and the crap he and Papa toss back and forth, he's here to help or he wouldn't *be* here. Doesn't mean he can't get pissy 'bout it all.

Strix has posed:
Strix isn't the kind of person you would typically meet in a bar. Heck, she probably wouldn't go to a bar if there wasn't a hot tip that there was some money to be made. While Batman is footing the bill of her apartment, she feels bad enough that she's been doing mercenary work to have some kind of income. It was on one of these jobs that she heard about /this/ job, and got its location. Don't ask how.

Which brings us back to Strix walking into the bar. She pauses in the doorway to look around herself with some amount of wonder. So /this/ is what a bar looks like. It's.... not what she expected. The mishmash of styles gives the bar its unique look is somewhat upsetting to the woman, for some reason. Still, she's here.

The woman looks underdressed compared to Midnite. She's wearing overalls over a white My Little Pony tee. As always, her head is wrapped in gauze, hiding the myriad of scars on her brown skin, and her dark brown hair is poking out all over the place through the bandages. She forewent her Talon costume in favor of a civilian look. After all, the job description didn't mention about anything that needed to be hurt or killed. Just an errand. What could possibly go wrong?

She sees Papa Midnite, and walks up to him, giving him a cheery wave in greeting. Then she slides to him a piece of paper detailing the job, and the location of the bar (never mind the drops of blood on it) and gives him a questioning look.

Phoebe Beacon has posed:
    Phoebe is accompanying John Constantine tonight. The young black woman has her braided hair pulled back and was wearing dark matte lipcolor, and had done her eyes up in a smokey sort of look. She had a pair of silver earrings in and was wearing dark gray stockings, a professional looking gray skirt and well-fitted flats (with decent rubber tread on the bottoms -- have to watch your sole around the city, don't you?). She's wearing a light linen jacket in matching gray and a lighter plain shirt beneath, canvas messenger bag at her side as she runs through what she's got in it -- throwing knives, a couple bottles of heady Lavender-infused vodka, couple of smoke pellets -- can't go without the smoke pellets.

    She smartly just stays a bit behind John, but seeing Strix here...?

    Strix gets a little nod of her head. Outsiders in the Wild.

Hope Svelgate has posed:
In the space not far from the Oblivion Bar's current entrance, a blade seems to poke through the fabric of reality itself before a tall woman who looks like some sort of albino undead valkyrie steps out and walks towards the security with purpose. Corpse white skin, long flowing white hair, white eyes that seem to burn with blue flame, there are no pretenses tonight, no illusions, Lady Death has arrived.

Her arrival might surprise some, after all Lady Death is not known for her mercenary work. This is because there are few rewards that mean much to her, she has likely either sensed something much larger behind this or owes Papa Midnite a favor and she /hates/ owing anyone anything. Really it's probably both.

Lady Death strides through the security and into the otherworldly bar. Her eyes briefly lock upon Papa Midnite before giving the proprietor in his fancy attire a small nod and dropping into one of the seats. A gesture is made for her usual glass of Akvavit, but her attention remains upon Papa Midnite.

Hela has posed:
Coming into a man's club and insulting him is one thing. Going into his private office to do so, quite another. The door leading in there evinces damn near perfect soundproofing once anyone heads through, and the music in the club is silenced along with the slides of racks and ammunition slotted into place.

"And what do you know, street wizard?" Had the decaying, vivid soul of the Caribbean a voice, one crooning through Delta jazz and pain borne on the bloodied backs toiling in the fields, it would sound like Papa Midnite's baritone. "You play a dangerous game. You know the rules of my house. While you are here, you will abide by them." He doesn't immediately look up from the cigar burning in a polished bone ashtray at his side, seated behind his polished desk. No, he's not rising for anyone. "See to it that he doesn't leave you for dead by his impertinence, Hesperid. You would not be the first."

A few marks are left on a ledger, then he lifts his dark eyes to Strix waving and offering a page. The briefest smile for her follows him sliding the page over with a finger to read. "Very good. Welcome. Rum?"

"The job is straightforward. I need a souvenir from a temple in a town called Thirukkadaiyur, in southern India. There's a festival during the week and it will be the only time they make these items available. I can provide the private jet to take you to Chennai and then to the district. Magical transportation is out of the question. The locals do not look favourably on it, and I'm unwilling to tolerate their noses out of joint. Go and each of you will receive a hundred thousand dollars. Twenty-five thousand upfront, the remainder on your return with the item. A mask," he adds to everyone but John. Because looking at a deranged white quasi-valkyrie or a pair of teenagers is singularly more enjoyable. "Aside from the transportation time, you have two days to complete the job. We're in the height of the festival. Any questions?"

John Constantine has posed:
    "Don't like the games I play, Midnite, lose my number," John shoots back, muttered to the point that it doesn't carry too far away from him and the Priest. Seriously, didn't he already handle a zombie horde at the man's behest this month? Last week? "I know the astral plane near that funeral home is destroyed, Ravens gone, magical energy in the area dying, necrotic... bloody well fucked. ...and I'll fix it and you'll lose. my. fucking. number."

    Two weeks hence they're as like to be sharing a spiced rum over stories of women and war, three they'll be blowing up the place trying to kill one another. It is what it is and always will be between them.

    "Ever flown before, luv?" he asks of Phoebe, venom gone from his tone like that, more proof that maybe he's not as downright pissy as he seems to be, he doesn't get over the deep down pissy that fast.

    It might be noted, however, that faded denim blues did narrow a little at the mention of 'Hesperid' - set wheels turning in his head in regards to the little glow worm, yes it did.

    ...as an afterthought, Lady Death's arrival is noted with a softly uttered, "Bollocks."

Strix has posed:
Strix accepts the offer of rum with an enthusiastic nod. She's never had alcohol before and has always been eager to try it. She takes the glass and gives it a tentative sniff, which causes her brow to furrow. This isn't exactly what she expected it to smell like. Then she downs a gulp of the amber liquid and immediately starts coughing, the alcohol burning on the way down. She shakes her head, with a sour look, and pushes the rest of the drink away. No thank you.

Phoebe gets a warm smile and a friendly wave, before she turns her attention back to Papa Midnite. As far as questions go, she really only has one. She pulls out a phone and taps out a message on it, "WHY DON'T U GO?" The mechanical sounding voice, much like Siri, is her new voice, and one that she's proud of. It's a much better way of communicating then her old pad of paper and marker, though, it does mean she can't adorn her messages with hearts and stars like she sometimes does.

Phoebe Beacon has posed:
    "... ah, once or twice." Phoebe replies semi-truthfully. "I don't get out of the tri-city area much." she mutters back to John, and Strix gets a bit more of a warm smile -- and an apologetic look to Strix's reaction to the alcohol (which she politely declined, on the grounds of 'not old enough'. Such a cinnamon roll). She toes tap her fingers a little nervously against her messenger bag. "I don't have a passport, though."

Hope Svelgate has posed:
Lady Death makes a face at the notion of mundane transportation. There is a moment where she contemplates if a flying albino Nightmare counts as non-magical, but she lets it go. The favor will be settled and the fact she owed someone something removed. That alone is good enough for her to play along with this. She hates nothing more than being bound in some fashion.

There is a glance in Constantine's direction before the glass of Akvavit is tilted back and emptied. "Are you sure he's up to this?" She asks Midnite, her experience with Constantine not really ranging beyond a recent spike of mystic trouble in Hell's Kitchen and an unfortunate altercation in the Laughing Magician. She knows Midnite's rules though and even follows them it seems, looks like her wrath from the previous evening is stayed for now.

Lady Death's eyes also linger on Phoebe far longer than one might expect, but says nothing to her for the moment. When John brings up what he has learned though, Lady Death's head cants slightly like just maybe she underestimated him, attitude aside.

Hela has posed:
"I have business, and no time to go off on a lark. The street wizard again gives the Hollywood treatment to matters." His contempt is clear, but Papa Midnite is a man of smooth statements and not mincing words. Strix splutters on top-shelf rhum agricole, arguably from the city's finest pour, and treats it like whatever Jack Sparrow dug up on a dry Tortuga. He ought to be offended, but mildly withdraws a handkerchief in perfect violet silk for her. "I aim to stop a gang war from erupting in the city." The tone suggests he's not speaking about the matter further, case closed with a polite nudge.

"Passports won't be necessary." The luxuries of wealth whisper. Real money and power never shout. They don't have to. "The jet is already warming up on the tarmac. You can be gone as soon as you are ready." Albino nightmares are always in style, but do they come in five-passenger seating? If so, Papa Midnite has some inquiries to make afterward.

He doesn't nod to Lady Death's question immediately. Damning praise here. "He is a magical magpie and a jackdaw. That serves some purpose in this sort of endeavour. If you agree with the terms, raise a toast and let's have this over with."

John Constantine has posed:
    Underestimated, story of his life, not that he minds much. Being underestimated tends to give him the upper hand at the end of the day.

    ... or maybe he *is* that pissy. He hasn't touched a drop and apparently doesn't intend to, he'll be going, but he won't be toasting.

    "Hollywood treatment," he mutters under his breath. "Fucking *asshole*," channeling his inner Chas there just a little bit. He's not drinking, but he does light a Silk on the way out the door. It isn't until they're out the door and to the tarmac that he pulls away from Phoebe to tell Lady Death, "Don't buy his bullshit, Baron Samedi's dead, Midnite's bloody well rattled and like to not sending us into a situation some of us won't make it out of. Keep it in mind, keep the girl safe if it comes to it."

Strix has posed:
Strix looks grateful for the handkerchief and dabs at her mouth. She gives Papa Midnite a truly apologetic duck of the head. Sure she may not know the value of the drink she tried, but she is genuinely sorry that she couldn't finish the offering. She bobs her head as she gets the answer to her question, looking satisfied with it.

Before they leave, she taps on the phone again and the mechanical voice says, "I HEART EMOJI UR HAT," to Papa Midnite.

When they get out to the tarmac, Strix's eyes go wide at the airplane that they're going to be on. The only time she ever flew was back when she was young, to go from Portland to Gotham, where her training as a Talon of the Court of Owls began. This job has already been a wealth of new experiences for the woman.

She tilts her head as she listens to John, and pulls out her phone to talk to him. "HE SEEMS NICE."

Phoebe Beacon has posed:
    Phoebe looks to John. In for a penny -- and then to Midnite as she breathes out in a gentle huff, and toasts with an invisible glass on the two's behalf.

    The teenager follows John onto the plane looking absolutely aghast as she types in a couple of messages from her phone, which buzzes angrily before she shuts it, and then takes a deep breath. "Should have brought my other outfit." she murmurs to Strix, but gets in, straps herself into place, and bows her head a little bit. Seems Phoebe doesn't like flights.

Hope Svelgate has posed:
Lady Death raises her glass because she likes to drink and because the deal erases a chain from upon her. The second glass of Akvavit is drained. Expensive rum is all well and good but sometimes you just want a taste of your 16th Century home.

Once the formalities are finished, Lady Death rises with a flourish of her red and black cape. She has a very good idea what she's walking into and for a moment wonders what She must think of all this in her infinite abstraction.

Outside Lady Death does Papa the minor currency of not being seen as an internationally wanted individual boarding his plane and throws up the illusion of 'Hope' her once mortal self with a wave of her hand. The now blonde Scandinavian woman glances at John when he falls into step next to her. There is a moment of silence hanging in the air and it almost seems like she might ignore him, maybe she's still annoyed, until she finally says, "It is not just Baron Samedi. Mictlantecuhtli has also fallen." She lets the fact not one but two Gods of Death have apparently been killed hang in the air. Suddenly her presence makes a lot more sense.

Hela has posed:
Their exit comes via another door. It opens to reveal a sleek white Gulfstream out on the tarmac at a presumably private terminal. Step out and they're into the heat of the night, guided by a perfunctory but polite crew to sit in the lap of luxury. Leather seats, champagne or some great coffee, even those satin masks. Eighteen hours in flight is no joke, even with a stop on a tropical island for refuelling and a walkabout. They can do what they like in midair short of bringing down international governments.

Details waiting in folders are old school but functional. A map of the town of Thirukkadaiyur lays out the general gist of the place. The Sri Abirami Temple, their destination, is smack-dab in the middle of town. It's surrounded by other temples, houses, even a dubious-quality "hotel" better classified as a flea-bag hostel. That ancient site of worship hosts a religious holiday for long life, celebrating the immense power of the universe that emerged when a goddess defended her favourite devotee against another god with her diamond nose-ring. Details on that are slim. Pictures of their target are pretty clear, a simple aged mask of the sort so often used in Hinduism: simple, molded to the face, probably made of painted metal or wood. It has two painted eyes, a third eye running vertical, in the lingam style of many Hindu gods. The thing looks fairly modest, all in all, no bigger than a bowl.

Landing in Chennai is a bit like going to a flea market after a private shopping tour of Yves St. Laurent or a private shop on Savile Row. It's loud, noisy, and jam-packed even for a terminal for Indian billionaires. The hop south ends up at an airstrip wreathed in shopping plazas, farms, and temples. The Indian Ocean lashes the coast in rolling brown water, the air steeps with gasping humidity. Sounds of rickshaws, Tamil music, Bollywood dance music, and traffic getting nowhere outside an airport thrown headfirst into thrumming, mad civilization are a reality as soon as they depart the jet into the higgledy-piggledy lanes.

The Sawan Shivaratri -- a holy celebration in August -- is already in full swing. Everyone with a moped or a donkey to ride is trying to get around crowds of devotees drawn to a 3,000-year-old temple honouring the gods, or specifically two. Maybe three. At least the instructions to find the Sri Abirami Temple are quite easy: follow several thousand other people from children to elderly couples, *lots* of those, and eventually they'll get right in.

John Constantine has posed:
    "So do Koala's but they'll eat your face off," John points out.

    Once boarded, unless someone insists he do that thing called conversation, he plugs in a set of earbuds and blasts Johnny Rotten and the Pistols near loud enough to make ears bleed, he smokes like a fiend while looking over pages from old school files, likely right under the 'no smoking' sign if there is one and... he naps.

    When one lives the life of John Constantine, sleep happens when there's a chance and when there's least possibility of it being interrupted by the screams of a young girl sent to Hell by a stupid kid playing with things he didn't know enough about yet.

    Instead his dreams are wrought by images of death and the missing dead on a plane where they should be plentiful, of Hiroshima shadows on the wall in the shapes of the pieces of a dead Lwa, of an Aztec equivalent killed in the streets, absence of the two spelling a whole mess of bad for the dead. He doesn't wake until they land and when he does, it's with a soft gasp and eyes wide in an instant.

    His first order of business upon landing is to cast an illusion over them all, it's one of his strong points, it is and now? Well, they all fit in. Elderly couples or random loners, take your pick people.

    Second order of business is to say, "Time to put plans in order. I can do a walk about, pinpoint the mask's exact location. Invisible or Astral, doesn't matter." Invisibility, really, is no more than an illusion of the absence of something, right up in his wheelhouse again.

Strix has posed:
Strix spent the entire flight glued to one of the windows, watching with wonder as the earth falls away from them and they fly over the clouds. There had been several times when Strix excitedly grabbed Phoebe to point out some landmark or feature that they're flying over.

She goes through the files that are provided to them, getting Phoebe's help to sound out some of the more difficult words until she fully understands what's to be expected of them. Like Phoebe, she laments leaving her costume and swords back in Gotham.

Once on the ground she's all business though. The illusion helps hide her somewhat odd appearance, and she gives John a grateful nod. As unlikable as John is, he seems to be the one who knows the most about what is going on, so she follows his lead for now.

Phoebe Beacon has posed:
    Phoebe spent the flight either with her head down, or helping Strix. Apparently, the two are already close. She had nodded at the landmark and features, told Strix good eye -- and provided Strix with one of the ten-inch throwing knives and Gotham quality smoke pellets. Just in case, she had whispered to her, and slept when she could. She did not sit at the window. She did, in fact, get airsick.

    Well, at least she fit in a little already, even if her skin was 'undesireable' dark for the subcontinent.

    She follows behind JOhn, hair braided, wearing a pink and green sari now, keeping her eyes on her group and staying close as she rolls her shoulder.

    "So, we get into the place, find the mask, and get out?" she asks, "This isn't going to be behind one of those forbidden doors like in the Taj Mahal, right?"

Hope Svelgate has posed:
Lady Death looks through the materials provided during the flight, sleep isn't something she really does, trying to get a sense of the best way to pull this off. The sheer number of people make it a lot harder or easier as the case may be. Part of her remembers a time when she would have just killed them all, before she met Her.

Once on the ground she shifts her illusion to look more like a member of the local populace and blend in a little more than a 6'4" blonde Scandinavian would.

"The temple is surrounded by powerful energy, the energy of active worship. These gods are still loved by their people. I hope Kali isn't around. She's kind of a bitch."

Hela has posed:
Sri Abirami Temple isn't at all like the Taj Mahal. The town literally runs up to its gorgeously carved gate, separated by a low concrete wall that's not much of a barrier at all. Stone gods, devas, and heroes parade in front of a painted dome marking the entrance, visible some distance off over hundreds of black or grey heads. (https://goo.gl/maps/AfPv5iiYzzzXP6U77) Humanity heaves in the oblong courtyard, packed along the colonnades, moving around the shrines. There's no such thing as a quiet or isolated corner, even among the statues crowding the temple roof. Sung chants fill the air, mixing with laughter and prayers being offered in front of weathered statues totally laden by flowers, coins, and gorgeous garments. It may all be a little overwhelming for the unprepared.

Ritual offerings burnt in sacred fires send fragrant smoke roiling up into the sky from the three main temples. Flowers spill over from practically every corner, piles of orange and yellow blooms. Worshippers wear them as crowns and necklaces, and smiling priests offer them to the illusioned quartet.

Eager vendors hawk everything from the Star of India, absolutely the real jewel, to sweets wrapped in edible paper and incense, beads, and more. They pile up along the temple grounds, spotting just one being a test of anyone's perception. One insists that, yes, John really wants to buy himself an icon of Abirami Pattar to take home, just like the ones in soft focus that reside inside the pillared mendapa halls stretching the length of the complex.

Another vendor happily waves about his wares to Lady Death. <<Parottas and roti! Give your offerings to the Mother!>> They smell lovely. His portly wife and daughters expertly form the crispy little circles, puffed up into heavenly fluff. Tamil, Malayalam, and Hindi are used almost interchangeably, and everywhere, people push in on them. It's a blur of colour and sound.

John Constantine has posed:
    "Astral it is then," John grumbles when no one seems to pipe up with a direct opposition to his plan. Because he's absolutely not going to just be shoved along in a crowd toward a destination unknown without getting some general idea of the lay of the land in one form or another. "We need a place out of this mess for a bit, aye?"

    The very thing pushing them along is the very reason he's opting to not go with invisibility, it doesn't equate to intangibility. He'd spend hours trying to avoid running into people. He's good, but not good enough to make the lot of them, or even himself, just vanish from all senses.

    "More'n that," John offers in a belated reply to Lady Death.

    "Should only take a few minutes ta find it and get back." - provided nothing tries eat his face or sever his connection to his body.

    Followed or not by the others, John starts pushing his way through the crowd in a direction that it starts to thin out. But his steps falter when something draws his attention toward one of the offering fires. "Huh," because really nothing surprises him any more.

    For no obvious reason, other than to do so it seems, John - who by the way, now looks like a little old man, unassuming, innocuous and 'blendy' - lets out a whistle as one might if calling a dog. Plans for the Astral Walk About on hold, for the moment anyway.

Strix has posed:
Strix took the offered knife and smoke bomb, while showing Phoebe that she has a dozen or so throwing daggers stashed away on her person. Where they hell they came from God only knows.

As they walk along the crowded streets, Strix's eyes wander, taking in the sights. Not only because this is an exotic location which is exciting in and of itself, but also to mark out potential points of entry and escape. Where the local police are, that kind of thing. She may not have the kind of mystical senses that the others have, but she /does/ know a thing or two about effective infiltration.

It's during this size up that there are... things that catch her eye. She can't quite see them should she try to look directly at them, but they're definitely there in her peripheral vision. It takes her a bit to suss out what they are, and once she's sure she tugs on John's sleeve to get his attention. She taps out a message on her phone, and holds it up for John to read, since it's too loud for it to be heard. "BIG SPIDERS EVERYWHERE" She tilts her head, trying to spy one, and once she does, she points, directing John to its location. Big doesn't do the spiders justice, not when they're bigger than your average mid sized sedan.

And then John whistles and that gets the spiders attention. Strix freezes, and that ten inch long knife is suddenly in her hand. She keeps it held low. And then she sees the dogs. The dogs that are the size of rickshaws. Her body tenses, getting ready for the impending fight.

Phoebe Beacon has posed:
    Phoebe wrinkles her nose a moment as she steps over something, and steps out of the way of a moped rider yelling to her before turning to Lady Death, and she purses her lips. "I somehow want to ask questions but know the answer will be both great and terrible, considering who I hang out with." she states with an uneasy grin. This was such a different environment than her native Gotham. She gives a slight smile, looking about. Someone puts flowers on her head. The flowers seem invogorated by being on her, life returning to them at her touch, though she shies away from others. "If we can go Astral that would be just fine by me--" she states, and then she pauses.

    She looks up in a double-take. Her eyebrows go up as she purses her hair, and she nearly walks right into little old man John, and grasps at his arm a moment.

    "... Shelob?" she questions, her head tilting a moment as she regards the sudden appearances of more spiders on the sides of her vision. She gets tense, her right hand dropping to her side and curling slightly, shoulders squaring a little bit as she goes shoulder-to-shoulder with Strix, watching the other side, and she puts her hand very gently against Mary's arm.

    "Breathe." she states in a soft voice.

    And Phoebe is really, really hoping that aura of happy and calm is not betraying the fact that she is swallowing a scream.

    That is... a lot... A LOT... of giant phasing spiders.

Hope Svelgate has posed:
'Hindu Hope' has little trouble passing among the crowd. More like a rock within a stream, unable to actually move her the crowd flows around her. Jostling into her being akin to jostling into a wall in human form.

As Lady Death walks her eyes go to the temple and the divine power she can feel emenating from within. The way that entropy has been all but banished from the place gives her pause.

She is half listening to John's talk of an Astral jaunt until he stops walking. "There is powerful divine magic within the temple. Multiple sources." She actually isn't too thrilled about that last part. The last time she dealt with this Pantheon she came to blows with Kali. "And a near absence of Entropy." Her eyes move to see what John is looking at as she says it, surely some random fire outside isn't their target?

Hela has posed:
The crowd isn't thin anywhere within the complex or the streets around it. Between food-carts and elderly people sweating it out under umbrellas, the roads are nearly at a standstill. Sri Abirami Temple only hosts movement so people can get into the main shrine to the mother-goddess Abhirami, offering thanks to her or other gods, overlooked by the great battles depicted in stonework.

The burning offerings don't seem to be anything other than a source of sheer delight for the devotees. Sweet herbs and scorched flowers add a nice smell to the cooked food. "Om namah Shivaya!" is repeated often and lustily by the singers in chorus.

With some effort, it's possible for them to be carried along or enter a shuffling queue into Abhirami's main prayer hall. Here's where most have come to gather under a seven-tiered pyramidal tower depicting various legends in lushly painted detail. The route snakes past priests standing by braziers surrounded by offerings and niches filled by various objects like necklaces, small paintings, 3D printed devotional idols and bronze or pewter statuettes studded in gems that might be paste or real.

Absolutely no one seems to grasp what Phoebe or Strix suggest, but then, they're speaking in English. Shelob is not going to translate. India may be an English-speaking country, but the large crowd is unlikely to react, packed in like sardines to petition the gods for long life and happiness.

John Constantine has posed:
    Things are twitchy, getting downright uncomfortable and he still doesn't have the bigger picture and no one else seems to have a *plan*.

    "Stop walking," John hisses at Lady Death once they find themselves shoved inside like a bunch of sardines. "Just stop and make sure an old man doesn't bloody well fall over. And if it goes to hell in a handbasket, get those soddin' kids out."

    His intention isn't to pass through the veil fully and completely, but the road to hell and all that, right? His intention is just to shift his focus more there than here, a sort of in between state that *should* leave him standing, but also leave him pretty fuzzily aware of their current 'here' surroundings. There but not, a little like sleep walking with one eye open... he opens his awareness of the Astral Plane without actually *going there*.

Strix has posed:
Strix looks about her, keeping her eye on multiple targets. Near invisible spiders. Spiritual dogs. All of these ping on her radar and she's ready to move into action should any of these things become aggressive.

She's moving through the crowd like a fish does water, reading the ebb and flow of people and stepping fluidly through them. She watches as John stops, and goes a little slack, and gives Phoebe a curious look as if to ask what is happening.

She looks frustrated at the lack of progress. She pulls out the phone and punches in a message which she shoes to Phoebe. "I WILL FIND MASK. WATCH OUT FOR SPIDERS AND DOGS" And with that she disappears into the crowd. She doesn't know how far the illusion John cast on her will stretch, so she starts to unwrap her head so that her dark skin will easily blend in.

It's kind of amazing how invisible the assassin is able to make herself in the crowd, hiding in plain sight. She moves as if she belongs to wherever she is, using the throng of people to mask her movements and somehow she manages to get past the gates and into the temple itself. From here it's simply a matter of slipping from room to room to find out where the mask is.

Hela has posed:
In the Astral, milk-dim spiders turn beyond sixty-four opalescent eyes in John's direction. If only Lady Death could translate the <<Who-dat???s, OOoooOOO, can-we-can-we?, dirty-demon-rag-man.>> Bone-hooked legs rub together. Others tippytap against the ground. Only those peering beyond the mortal veil will actually hear the sounds, which exist somewhere between white-noise fuzz of an old analog TV not pulling a station, the reverb of a plucked electric guitar chord, and a shrill. It's an excited shrill modulated to an absolutely deafening pitch. The two shadow hounds continue rolling around in the soot and get up, shaking themselves off. Milk-grey flame dancing in their eyes brightens, vantablack maws lolling open for black tongues to taste the air. Bit like a snake or a cat, really.

The ghost spiders have absolutely no problem about abandoning perches among the gods or kings and heroes, arising from a fountain, or apparently moving through several hundred tons of mortar like it's thin air. Smaller ones scramble for a new perch. One sedan-sized arachnid clears seven stories in a bound much too light and excitable for something that large. //SKREE!//*
*<<Why does he smell like the bottom of a bog?>>

Phoebe Beacon has posed:
    "Seventeen, hardly a child." Phoebe reminds John--- and then Stix disappears.

    "Stri-- no-- come... back." she states, and she gives an unsettled sound, knowing that if anything happens to Mary, technically Phoebe is the 'other' Outsider here.

    "Fiddlesticks." she states, and then she loops one arm up and around Old Man John, acting as another set of eyes for him, trying to do the 'good daughter' bit. She looks back to Hope, and then tries to search the crowd for Strix again, worry boiling up in her.

Hope Svelgate has posed:
John earns himself a brief /look/ from the disguised Lady Death, orders are apparently not something she does well with, at all. A glance is made in Phoebe's direction, "Help you're grandfather, it seems he is quite frail." She tells her, apparently quite comfortable with /giving/ orders.

One hand falls to one of the unseen blades that rest at Lady Death's side beneath the illusions that conceal her as she begins noticing more and more of the large spiders, slightly out of phase with this reality. Really this is more what she was expecting from an errand of Midnite's. "It's here. Just ahead. In one of the niches." Not normally quite this much of a team player, John has at least shown himself somewhat capable and Lady Death has ever been an egalitarian.

The hand that isn't near her sword begins shaping subtle magics, just a twist of the senses, a bit of illusion to make that mask appear like it is already gone.

"Fuck." The word is spat with every bit of invective curse it was originally meant to have when the spiders begin getting stirred up by whatever John did.

Hela has posed:
There really isn't any suggestion of trouble happening in the temple courtyards. Eager worshippers continue on their way through the open-air halls and stretch back to the temple pool where the water barrier forces them to the left or the right. No sign at all they know of ghost spiders decorating the statues, nor the dogs shifting past them.

Inside the temple, all remains bright and well. The polite cries of delight at offerings going up in flames, or the soft reverence of a prayer continues unabated.

Lady Death and Strix find very little to block their efforts as they move along, searching niches visually or drawn to the offeratory altars laden in flowers and fruits. Priests wish them long life. They are blessed if they wish to be by a smudge of powdered paint applied to their brows, like everyone else.

The swirled magic rests thickest, least changing, before the statues of a goddess raising her arms, of a man watching her with adoration. Of a god smiling, armed fully, dancing upon a fallen bull and beside that, another figure being crushed under perfect feet where lotuses grow. So easy to reach past all the statues and into a quiet little niche to pluck out a mask, a rope, a jewelled bronze statuette or a belt. The assortment of things left behind each carries no real obvious value or weight except gold jewelry, which there's quite a lot of.

Smoke swirls. The singing continues. A hobbling old woman is seen out to the shrine for celebrating long life, laughing as she goes in her toothless amusement. This is life, vibrant and sharp.

Easy as pie. In and out. $100,000 richer.

John Constantine has posed:
    It's never easy as pie

    John's Old Man head jerks back as if trying to avoid something, reflex that and then he's back squarely in the 'here'. "Find the mask, get to the plane... can't find the bloody thing, get to the plane anyway, I need to get either get these spiders out of here or get the people out. If those things attack with them inside this place, it'll be a bloodbath."

    What if it's actually their faith, the power of their prayers that's drawing them here in some sick, twisted irony? Maybe if he can break that up?

    ...and so it begins that John Constantine attempts the most blasphemous con he's ever conned. Could be he's dead wrong about the situation, but could be he's dead right and there's about to be a bunch of dead fools. It's a no brainer for him, for the man he truly is that few ever really see. He begins his means to an end.

    It starts with a whisper, builds to a chant briefly, a mantra to Bhairava for any that speak the language. Just an old man saying a prayer, really... nothing to see, if Lady Death was here? Well, she might see it, the way he's starting to draw in power from the source, harness it for his own bidding; power of faith and prayer, not really likened to a blackened soul like his is it?

    He drops to one knee, then both, hands at his throat, can't breath, can't speak... but he *can* still think, for the moment. He hits the ground hard, back arched, can't... breathe, can't take a breath to let out the scream of agony building in his chest. Then he's still, somewhere Meggan's white rock turns from bright red to darker, near black.

    It only lasts a moment though and when he stands again? He appears, in every way, as the embodiment of Bhairava. It's not simply his appearance, it's the 'power' he's channeling into that illusion, the power borrowed from the very followers of the God he's impersonating. Protector of his people, both from internal and external threats, holding Brahma's skull in hand, a large dog at his side. The message he 'broadcasts' is simple. It's time to go now, all of you, it's time to go, it's no longer safe here. Like a damned Hindu God version of 'please exit through the back door in an orderly fashion'.

Strix has posed:
And like that, there's the mask. Once Lady Death pointed it out, it was easy to acquire. Strix waits for an opportune time when nobody is looking and then, without preamble, takes the mask and stuffs it into her overalls. If the woman can somehow hide a dozen throwing daggers and a ten inch knife on her body, she can certainly hide this. After a bit of consideration she takes a fancy bowl that's nearby and sets it in place of where the mask was at, so there isn't a glaring hole of where an object used to be.

When she comes out of the room she gives Lady Death a knowing nod as she passes by, indicating that she has the item and... just walks out the temple, just like anybody else. It takes her a bit to find out where John and Phoebe are, especially because of the illusions that John has woven.

Not that she needed to search for very long. Bhairava is right there where John used to be. She has no idea that this is another illusion that John has brought up and she hustles to see if she could fine Phoebe. Once she does, she tugs insistently on the cuff of her sleeve. Time to go! And then she's off in a rush to the airplane.

Phoebe Beacon has posed:
    "-- John what the heck are you--"

    Well. Fuck. Tim is going to kill her. Or at least be very, very angry with her, she thinks. She's startled a minute, and then she grabs into her bag as she spots Mary returning.

    To add to the 'please step away from the temple', she lobs some of those Bat-brand smoke pellets, high up against the buildings. Just smoke, colored bluish gray against the colors of the sky, and she looks to Strix.

    "Guide me. I'm going to concentrate." she states, and she starts moving, reaching for Strix's hand. Why?

    Because Phoebe is trying to broadcast her own light, healing, nurturing and safe aura, trying to push it out further to not let anyone panic and trample as the 'please exit through the door in an orderly fashion' comes about, and Phoebe stumbles after Strix.

Hope Svelgate has posed:
Lady Death smiles a bit at Strix's deft aquisition of the mask, it's almost too easy. No, it's definitely too easy and definitely time to go.

Stepping out of the building is when she see's John, pulling his divine Con. If the god wasn't right where she left John she might be thinking she had a fight on her hands. She still isn't convinced that she doesn't as they eyes the spiders, walking towards 'Bhairava'. There is the off chance that it isn't John, but that's why beneath the illusion one hand is still resting on the hilt of Apocalypse.

That is of course when she meets the /flood/ of spirit dogs and phantom spiders rushing into the temple all around her. She just keeps walking though. Turn into a false god, that's certainly one way to pull off a distraction, she's actually kind of impressed or will be should John survive the attention that may garner him.

Hela has posed:
It was going so nicely.

Flowers and songs stutter to a halt like a record player with a broken arm, needle skewing off the track. Relatively easy movement through slow, shuffling crowds becomes considerably harder when startled pockets react at different speeds to the mad old guy who apparently is now on his knees, now standing up. Strix has to work to get around the slower folk, but her smartly concealed mask hardly weighs much. A kilogram, tops. She squeezes through the gate before the stirrings of confusion are shocked into fear. Hauling along Phoebe makes this a bit more difficult but not tangibly so.

Smoke pellets and the fear-mottled image of a destroying god? Yeah, a lot worse.

Fear is an ugly option in an enclosed space. The quickest, mostly young men, start peeling off. The better herding wives, sisters, and mothers over the low concrete wall collide with the busy street. Spillover slows retreat but John gets them moving. It's hard to ignore an inconceivably fierce avatar that looks the big version of a painted statue. Not all run though; some fall to their knees, others stand gaping. One or two victims of a huge moving body are invariably squeezed, knocked down, hauled away. Bruises, broken limbs, are fewer than a mob screaming in all directions. That aura, where it draws away, sees the surge of frightened responses.

John's body opens with wounds when he hauls up the depleted store of magic. Bruises tumble around his throat, blue-black and livid. His lips crack. Bloodshot eyes may bulge. A tripled cut flares in his chest, three white energy tines erupting out his back to those who see magic through the illusion; some of the Indian crowd can, and scream.

Lady Death isn't knocked, of course. Much too rooted to earth and place, though the stasis spell collapsing as John sucks it dry presents another issue. Flaking paint and crumbling mortar adds more smoke and coloured sparkles into the air, and down crashes a rotting plaster statue. It hits someone, and they rush away in a bloody mess. Stone groans when she crosses the gate. It isn't freedom fully; they have to still hit the crappy runway, but Papa Midnite's jet is on standby, fuelled fully. Salvation on Gulfstream wings is more than the residents here have.

Hela has posed:
In the astral realm, the ghost spider who leapt down from the tower lands lightly near him. Its phasing partly into reality causes absolute mayhem, and it almost eagerly waves its leg around to see how horrible he really is. Several little ones pile up into a spider wave that crashes into the illusion, throwing ichor splats that smell of the rotting goo at the bottom of the dumpster. Another large one circles him, skreeing all too excitedly, waving and prepared to lash out.

But the two dogs swivel away -- could be the whole 'man has dog companion' aspect of Bhairava. They rush straight into the temple proper. A number of the ghost huntsmen spiders crash in behind the black dogs, almost convulsed by a frenzy. It's only seconds before they collide with a priest, only seconds before the magic holding the temple grounds is drained dry in its death throes. Tooth and claw and arachnid bits scythe him down, and the last burst of negative energy spiralling up ends too soon.

John Constantine has posed:
    John certainly has the right 'power' flowing through him to make the whole thing believable. He 'feels', to those that can sense such things, like at least some slightly tainted version of Bhairava, enough of the absorbed power to sell it anyway.

    But it also hurts like a fucking bitch, it truly does. Holy power absorbed into a body tainted with demon blood and a soul marked thrice by Hell itself? Yeah, that's not comfortable. If the spiders and hounds don't kill him, that just might. It might also be, however, that that power saves him from the former of the possible deaths? How long he can hold it all is up in the air. Maybe long enough to look scary and intimidating and chase away the last of the once circling him? Maybe long enough to make that Big Ass Dog snarl menacingly since actual verbal threats are impossible for him right now.

    Maybe long enough to stalk out of it all with his God head held high and clear a path before him?

Hope Svelgate has posed:
Lady Death makes her way away from the collapsing temple complex like an action hero walking away from an explosion, if the explosion were composed largely of massive dust clouds kicked up in the air as the magic that was sustaining the place heaves its last pained gasps and gives in. The 'children' as it were are clear. Whether she intends to pull John's ass out of the fire should he need it remains to be seen. For now she is certainly enjoying the spectacle as she moves to get clear herself.

Hela has posed:
The Gulfstream waits for its package and the couriers. One of the crew actually looks a bit surprised when the group shows up. Maybe they heard about the madness if they monitored local radio bands or social media, but probably not.

A ragtag band has the leisure of leaving before the police are alerted, and people clog the roadways to look at a rolling disaster. Phasing ghost spiders in hot pursuit of John are, in fact, swift moving, but spooling up engines and getting airborne keeps even their mighty leaps from reaching the precious cargo.

Papa Midnite doesn't waste time or money. Sightseeing is not quite an option. The comfortable white leather interior and chilled bottled water or good rum await, along with that puddle jump to Chennai before they ascend properly over the open Indian Ocean. It's a long way back home. Ample time for everyone to sleep, eat a square meal, and feel rather dodgy about the burns seared into John's chest and back. He looks like someone ran him through with a fork. A really big fork.

Their landing doesn't take them back to the Oblivion Bar. In fact, they're met literally on the tarmac by the man with his excellent tophat, and security absolutely barricaded around the terminal. When fighting to suppress gang wars, it pays to watch your back. He's even remembered the aquavit and some rancid bottom-shelf liquor the Laughing Magician might serve. Tea for the two underage drinkers. Handing over the mask is all it takes for the deposits to be made, as they prefer, with a handshake of thanks. Nothing too serious.

Half a world away, a temple collapses. Statues smash to the ground. Bystanders mourn and rage and stare at the destruction of a landmark. Kala-samhara and Abirhami's sacred space is no more. The spell has fallen.

Le roi est mort. Vive le roi!

What have they done?