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Confessions [closed] Marcus & Mallory

Who: Marcus & Mallory J. Quinn
Where: Middle of the New Jersey Landscape
When: April, 8th - Midday

It was to say the least a miserable spring day....Collapse )

Last call

Who: Mark, OT Valentine
Where: Philadelphia
When: Wednesday evening

To say Mark was overly cautious might have been an understatement if not for the fact that he was reasonably certain he was right. Instead of making this particular call on a landline - or even within city limits - he had gone all the way to Philly just to get hold of a safe phone and make a call.

He'd gotten the number from that strange prophet person, or that person who said he was a prophet, anyhow. The plans were coming along well, but in order to make some sort of global broadcast, he couldn't very well leave out the person who everyone already knew, could he?

"Please don't ignore this number... please don't ignore this number..." he muttered to himself as he listened to the phone ring.
 Who: Lloyd OT Veronica 
Where: Werewolf Heaven 
When: March 25 

Lloyd shuffled through the halls, his hands in his pockets, half smiling at the various wolves as they passed.  Things had been busy, between the pits and the vegetables.   He'd been working a lot and in between he'd been meditating and running to try to maintain his balance, like everyone else in the place.   

But however bad he had it, he knew Veronica, Marcus's right hand woman had it ten times worse.    And she didn't have a family like Marcus did to escape to.  Thats why he was going to ask her if she wanted to go out somewhere.  That and because they were friends.  That was it.  

She'd probably smell him coming, he though, with a smile.   It made him want to learn more magic so he could find people as easily as the wolves could.   He could probably tweak his sense of smell if he tried but how would he know who he was smelling if it were only temporary....

He came around the corner and saw her, talking to a group of people with shovels.   He approached and smiled at them, before tapping her on the shoulder.  

"Veronica, you got a minute?"  

Phone a friend?

 Who: Brier OT Tony
When: Sunday 
Where: phone call 

Brier slid into the kids' bedroom and had a seat on the bunk bed.  She reached over and shut the door behind her.  After a moment more of thought she locked it. 

They'd split most of the people she was used to up this week.   She hadn't seen Tony for days, but someone told her the Olympians  had been getting 'vaccinations' this week.    She scrolled through the friend section of her phone, to the T's   Tony.   She pressed send, took a deep breath and waited.  

Who: Marcus, Open to allies
When: Late morning
Where: Essex Mountain Sanatorium grounds

Marcus McGovern was restless and unhappy. He had every reason in the world to be happy. He'd woken up that morning when his beautiful baby girl had been laid on the sunny pillow beside him. He'd shared a pleasant breakfast with his pack, heard their stories, smiled at their jokes. He had spent an hour working beside them, erecting a crumbled wall. Life was good.

And yet it felt wrong.

He'd excused himself from the work to take a walk. He'd been doing this quite a bit of late, slipping away from his fellows and enjoying the company of only himself. Surely Chelsea had noticed. The time they spent together was the same as it had always been, he had the same smiles, and the same care for her. But when he didn't think she was looking, there was visual evidence that all was not right.

Not one to talk out his feelings, he took these walks. Wandering under the thick trees that dotted the grounds. Sometimes he would talk to them, ask what he should do, but on this topic they remained frustratingly silent. They were telling him, he knew, to find the answer inside himself.

He knew the answer. It was simple. Forget safety, forget trying to build eden. War was brewing, and he needed to fight. He needed to lead the charge with his pack at his side, and reclaim the world that belonged to all the people of the world.

Black leather boots that had seen hundreds of mountain trails crunched over dewy grass and the last few leaves from the previous autumn. His hands were in his pockets and a cigarette dangled from his lip. He had all but given up the habit, now only indulging when he knew he'd be completely alone. He normally wouldn't smoke on a walk such as this, as it dulls the nose to the delightful smells of nature. Unfortunately, the breeze blowing in from the coast smelled like the city that lay between him and the ocean, so tobacco smoke was a pleasant alternative to smog.

The sun was shining from a watery blue sky, bringing the illusion of warmth to the black fabric he so favored. Within a few short weeks, he could lose the jacket entirely and maybe get some color.

His path took him up a rise to a small outcropping of stone that faced the city in the distance. He came to a stop here and stood, watching the city sparkle in the morning sunlight. It was beautiful, he had to admit. He hated the city and everything it stood for. It was crowded, smelly, and busy. It was a testament to mankind's ingenuity and strength. The best and the brightest were there, living in their glass towers, dictating how the world should run from comfortable chairs. That was precisely what was wrong with the world. People living in their version of Oz, separated from the truly beautiful things in the world, claiming that they knew what was best. When usually they just made things worse.

And yet, the city was in peril. The world was in peril. Not from stupidity, but from those who desired to take advantage of stupidity. And Marcus found himself wanting to save the steel and glass jungle below him, to protect every innocent life within its borders. Save them from themselves, and save them from the forces that desired only to enslave and kill.

He wasn't doing a very good job of that, was he? Here he was, in a peaceful sanctuary, leading his band of refugees, waiting for someone else to start the battle.

And that was the core of his frustration.

He sighed and dropped the cigarette long enough to crush it with the heel of his boot. He knelt to pick up the butt and stick it into his pocket, he had never in his life left a cigarette on the ground. As he rose he caught a glint of light in the distance. A car. Headed this way?

Well. That would make for a nice change of pace.

What a way to go, they have no fear

Who: Hans, Eddie, Duva, Liann, other Mount Sinai hospital employees and Guardian agents
Where: Mount Sinai Hospital
When: Monday, 8:02:18 AM

"She's two minutes and eighteen seconds late," Eddie observed, glancing down at his watch. They were currently waiting in a well-furnished, comfortable waiting area - the sort of place where you'd expect to rest your feet if you were a big spender looking for a charitable cause to donate to, while they gathered up the necessary fleecing paperwork required for such an endeavor. Personally, Eddie had other things on his mind at the moment, like the absence of his girlfriend, but those were thoughts he allowed himself to mull over only as background, in his usual roundabout way. "This 'Guardian wing' -- it is sounding peculiar that they do not at least put your name about it somewhere, charitability or not withstanding. 'Hello, I am giving you my money, can you please name it as a political contribution to your great and glorious cause?' Even a little plaque would be nice..."

The three of them were here, if one were to sum up the purpose behind their visit, to investigate a new wing of the hospital that was being added - using Hans' money - as part of reparations for that unfortunate little incident with the little actor boy who said stupid things on national television and had become a minor Internet celebrity as a result. While Eddie wasn't certain of medical technology, he was mostly present to identify important non-medical technology, ostensibly for the purpose of asking whether these expenditures were really necessary for a medical facility, and less ostensibly for the purposes of noting such down, should it become relevant in the near future. The person they were supposed to meet with was an 'Agent Liann Mitchell' of the 'Guardians of New York Human Relations Department', a job title with a double meaning if ever there was one. And, to Eddie's mild annoyance, she was running late according to his watch. Considering it was set according to atomic time, he blamed this entirely on her. Damn inhuman entity and her lack of chronological skills.

Down with the sickness

Who: Tony OT Tamara
When: Sunday evening, after practice
Where: Tamara's house

Tony was not feeling well today. In fact, he was actually feeling suspiciously warm, particularly around his shoulder, and it was starting to bother him. He felt particularly cranky today, and really what he wanted to do was go back to the dormitory and sleep, but he'd promised his sister he'd come over for dinner, and so here he was, knocking on the door and feeling generally grouchy.
Where: A McDonalds in Manhattan
When: Saturday afternoon
Who: Mark OT "The Illuminated"

Mark had been doing some serious networking over the past few weeks. Some might even have called him social. He was now working with at least two anti-Guardian groups -- and this second group had contacts that reached into other groups of like-minded individuals. As long as nobody turned out to be a plant by the Guardians or the government, things were running perfectly. Of course, Mark never could quite eliminate that paranoid fear in the back of his head, and so he made a point of randomizing meeting locations every now and then, just in case it might help. A diner, a Chinese restaurant, a fast food paradise, a coffeehouse, an all-you-can-eat (although that last tended to get them too much attention from the waitstaff, in the form of polite inquiries about whether they were ready to leave. Somehow, 'all you can eat' had lost most of its impact over the past twenty years.)

Right now, Mark had two orders of business to discuss -- one was the showmanship aspect of things. If they were going to try to get a message out to the world, it was going to have to be expertly planned and timed -- and it was going to have to be the best damned piece of guerilla broadcasting ever seen, rather than some grainy cave-footage.They really needed someone in the TV industry to help with that, but given that said industry was thoroughly saturated with Guardian and government propaganda agents, finding someone likely to be genuinely sympathetic to 'domestic terrorists', as the Illuminated would doubtless be called as soon as anyone cared enough to figure out they existed, was going to be a serious problem. As it was, their group needed a logo, and needed some idea of what to broadcast. The camcorder, at least, was already taken care of, and Mark was aware that there were people out there who had a story to tell the world.

The second, while related, was more in the realm of dangerous things, and as such was something Mark traditionally approached with extreme dread. Unfortunately, he knew perfectly well that at least some of the people in his group were more interested in acts of mayhem and sabotage than peaceful resistance and propaganda... and, truth be told, the Columbia riots had taught him that some stronger measures might be necessary, both to expose the truth and to make progress.

"So," he said, after the last person had settled with their food. "Two things. One is the gentle path, one is the hard path. Both need our attention. Which should we discuss first?"
Who: Mallory & anyone [open]
When: Midmorning, Mar. 18
Where: Around Chelsea
What: Newish girl awkwardly wandering until she stumbles across something interesting

Mallory had been in New York awhile now, but she really hadn't gone out much.  Grocery shopping?  The occasional trip down to the nearest video store?  Well, yes.  But she hadn't been able to bring herself to do much more than that, to be around other people.  She was still grieving, still sore, still numb and tired.  But she was tired of feeling this way.

Tucking her camera in her bag, she began wandering around, venturing out further than she'd been before from her little apartment.  She found herself in and around Chelsea, though she barely registered the neighborhood's name; to her, all of the tall brick buildings still seemed more or less the same, a bit intimidating and foreboding.  She halfheartedly snapped a few pictures here and there, but she couldn't help but wonder what the point was.  She didn't even know if she'd have a place to get the film developed.

She wanted to do something more, but she hadn't the faintest idea where to begin.  She hoped very strongly she'd run into someone friendly, someone helpful, someone who'd be a catalyst to her own helpfulness.  She'd gone from numb to reckless in a matter of hours, it seemed.  She was ready to start in getting - well, maybe vengeance was too strong a word, but something very much like it.  She was tired of just playing nice.  It was too dangerous a world to rely on "nice." 

She wanted an opportunity to play hero to present itself. 

A wild ride, over stony ground

Who: Wolves and friends
When: After sunset, March 6th - Fist night of the full moon
Where: Essex Mountain Sanatorium
What: Werewolves on the loose!

These last few days leading up to the full moon had been rough on the wolves. Anxiety and frustration was already running rampant on this isolated hillside, throw that in with the draw of the moon and all hell was very close to breaking loose.

Patience, they say, is a virtue. Wait long enough, and release will come. The moon rose that night as it always did at the end of its twenty-eight day cycle, far more precise even than clockwork.

The hillside, one moment populated by fifty irritable humans, broke into a chorus of wolf song. Wolves all over were shaking themselves free of their human frailties and taking off into the night. There was virtually no prey left on the land to hunt, but the joy of running together was more than enough to make up for it.

At the head of the pack was a large silver wolf. Six-foot-three from the tip of his noes to the end of his tail, 130lbs of muscle and power. He was not the biggest or the strongest of the group, but the alpha rarely is. It was his resolve, his desire to bring peace and safety to all, and his cool head in a crisis that won the respect of the others. They followed him not because he was a bully, but because he was a natural leader. Even if he didn't know it, yet.

The grounds were expansive. Two-hundred acres, some of it woods, some of it farmland. The perfect place for wolves to run. They tore across the open ground, the wind rippling in their fur. They played hiding games in the trees, pouncing each other, wrestling, nipping, enjoying the bonding of family. Of pack.

The wolf that was Marcus McGovern every other day of the month, played with the rest of them, bowing and tackling. There were a few glances to the sky on his part, wondering where the other half of himself was.

This was perhaps the most enjoyable full moon night to date at the compound. Tensions had been so high that letting go was just what they needed.

With any luck, when the sun rose the next morning, everyone would feel better about their situation. At least for the next month.

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