August 25, 2005
.08.25.05. - spectral curse [annemarie-fangs-araceli] *ul

[forum]

(st)
Imogen filtered her way through the paperwork. She found the corpse and was able to complete her part of the mission by sprinkling the Death Dust on it. Annemarie is waiting on the otherside. The Silver Fangs are there. Gabriel (possibly, Josephina or Vast, don't know), and Jukebox.

They see the apparition, a disheveled mess and barely visible to the Garou eyes. She seems nothing more than a dark shadow, her body formless, a reflection of her face flashing in the area of where her head might be. There is an eerie, ethereal impression of chains draping from what might be limbs.

The upper torso of Araceli's ghost becomes clearer after a few minutes and all you see everything above her stomach. The rest of her body is a formless blur. She is grotesque, her soul tarnished with the touch of black magic and sins of the Father.


(am)
AnneMarie is there, and has been waiting. She had text when she was ready, and then settled to stand watch. The Fangs arrive, and receive a short nod up. Jukebox's nod up is slightly warmer, more familiar.

She however has a job to do, and steps back to watch their backs as they communicate with the spirit.

at the... tainted, touched, blackened look to the spirit, its a grunted grumble that whispers across eagles wings. I... don't like the looks of her...

Powerful good use of understatement for the Modi, don't you think?


(james)
[I... don't like the looks of her....]
his packmate's words whisper across Eagle's mighty wings
hard as James' stomach is turning - a verbal response is doubtedly needed
surely the Modi gets some impression of what magnitude at which his gut is wrenching
were his reasons not what they were for being here before this wasted wraith
the raggedyman would seriously consider simply..... turning to walk away

something does not bode well amongst the sin-stained rattle of ethereal chains
the spirit's disheveled facial reflection doing little to comfort his growing worries
the empty blur of tarnished shadow hanging below Aracelli's waist makes it even worse

the Gnawer also has a job to do, stepping forward with Gabriel as AnneMarie falls back to sentinel guard
the remaining Fangs are left to their own devices, defenses, and decisions as the Adren and Theurge step foward

let's just get this over with.

(araceli)
The wraithly image... yes we said, wraith-ly! Watches the trio through hallow, black eyes. Two icy pits watching their movements with curiosity as she remains floating there. The grim apparition doesn't seem to acknowledge the chains, which bear the mark of her sins.

~Why has me here?~

The voice echoes like a faint whisper at first, then the grating sound of nails over a chalkboard, growing in volume.

(gabriel)
No totemlink between them all is needed to distinguish that the noble features of the theurge are for a moment contorted with the distraction of just such a thought. Only a moment however. For this was strictly business in the most deadly sense of the word and the Silver Fangs were nothing if not dedicated to that cause, at the very least.

So Gabriel schools his features into their mask of stoicism, and walks toward the ghastly wraith alongside the Bone Gnawer Elder.

She speaks; Gabriel makes some quiet 'hm' of contemplation, a glance thrown James' way to question:

Who wants to go first?

(james)
deep umber eyes remain on the apparition ahead as Gabriel makes contemplative sound
if James understood his unasked question there's precisely squat for reply
unless you count the slow nudge of jawling towards the sloping lines of muscular chest
or the tension that crawls slow steel along the backside lines of his neck
(.... you recognize that sound, don't you, Jamey-boy.....)

"Our d'sire f'r your ans'ers to are ques'ions."

this is likely not one of Rank's so-called privleges
he'd rather not be here much less going first at the Healer's hesitation
speaking slowly and clearly enough to assure the shadow's understanding
but if nobody else is going to take up the slack.....

"Will yew speak w'th us?"

(aracelli)
Unlike the Gaian spirits the Garou are so used to dealing with, this was a little beyond their understanding. Araceli seems to contemplate this, devoid of any facial emotion in her ghastly visage. She inclines her head a notch.

~Ask what will~


(am)
She watches, silently. Her arms folded across her chest, her gaze on the wraithly figure before them.

She says nothing, but simply listens, watching her packmate as he questions.


(james)
well, never hurts to try and be polite when hoping for help from a spirit
seemed to work well enough with D'Angelo's sorrowful form
perhaps it'll expedite things with ghoulishly ghastly, here

"What were yew doing a cauze th' blood wi'ch t' cum'n kill yew, y'r chile, an' D'Angello?"

(gabe)
It never hurts to try and be polite when requesting spiritual aid. Directness also never hurts, and for the time being, his pack silent and watching at his back, the Silver Fang is content in his silence, his arms threaded across his chest; some expectant, assessing expression had crept across his French-hued features and he waited for the spirit's reply.

(araceli)
~Hmm...~

Araceli wavers, floating closer, drifting back, swaying in small dance. The chains clinking musically together.

~Transcending beyond the skin~

(james)
.... if that smokey bitch comes close enough to touch him
James is going to turn his own flesh inside out
that's one thing for certain

but the reactionary preparation doesn't show across his features
on the outside, the Ahroun is nothing but serious business
inner workings aside, he firmly stands ground before the ghost's cyclical dance

"Es'plain."

(araceli)
The apparition drifts closer, perhaps sensing the way James feels. It is hard to be sure if she could read him so well. She is dangerously close to the 'Gnawer, spreading white lips back into a feral grin. Araceli was once a beautiful girl, but her mummified features take on a Bloody Mary characteristic to them.

~Father promises to transcend~

Her voice is like ice.

~To know enlightenment and become one of the Goddess~

(james)
........ just freakin' peachy
maybe James should have known better than to entertain the distasteful thought
with the reputation his luck has for serials of unfortunate events
he might as well have outright asked for this to happen
but through the bitter end - the Gnawer stands his ground

[I won't back down... not even from you]

even if it's surely going to fuel his nightmares for weeks

"Who'iz Fath'r?" dark eyes meet the mummified shadows of Araceli's once-beautiful sockets, however the feral grin inspires no expression across the grim line of his lips "Did'ee worship th' Godd'uss w'th yew..... help yew bring'r here?"

(gabe)
"Father.." The Silver Fang echoes her quietly. The wraith edges closer and the expression fights its way from distaste back to some composition of focus. The french burr a sharp contrast to the Bone Gnawers slur. "The Priest. Father is, the Priest you were to meet with at the Park, hm?"

He adds this a moment after James' own query.

(araceli)
~All worship the Goddess. To transcend is to become her image. To take on her form. Not all are capable of such~

Araceli's attention is drawn to Gabriel now, like a spiritual magnet, she pulls away from Jukebox to drift towards the Frenchman. A ghostly hand lifted up, rattling the chains, as transparent fingers run an icy caress to his cheek.

~Father Throper cares for the flock. Have you come to be one of them?~

(gabe)
Ghostly fingers trace a caress down one cheek. Like the touch of frostbite, and it takes some degree of determination not to flinch away from such a cold unearthly touch. The dark eyes are resolved to remain fastened on Araceli. Though the drop in octave of the frenchman's tone--this has purpose. A baritone caress of his own, to lull it into response.

"Tell me of the flock, Araceli. Tell me of your Father Throper."

(araceli)
~Father's children. Men and woman. Boys and girls, on the cusp of their adolescence. All are welcome. He is the Holy Shepard that guides us to the Holy Mother. The flock is everywhere~

The apparition draws away her hand, drifting her attention towards Jukebox. The expressionless face flickers with a dark shadow of some discernable emotion.

~What seek you? Drummer on the skulls~


(james)
"Th' reas'n why."

the ghost practically falls upon Gabriel's interjection
and the Gnawer's silence apparently enough to leverage it back
for however much he's surely going to regret it
(.... if he just ended up rescuing a Fang..... there'll be no end to repaying the favor.....)
steadfast before the wraith's unwelcomed attentions
wary of what undefined emotions lurk behind the mask of gaunted features

"Why th' Fath'r been stealin' th' flock frum their dams, why th' Godd'uss comes f'r oth'rs in th' nigh'." a breif pause, for thought "An' what it'll take f'r her t' leave f'rev'r."

(josephine)
Trust Josephina to find amusement in any situation, even confronted with the tainted, tarnished form of the spirit. Its there when her mouth hooks up ever so slightly as the spirit touches her fellow packmate, the urge to make a quip across the totemphone strong. She, perhaps surprisingly, represses it.

Her own take on the situation resonating unknowingly with Ruhiger's comment on the Eagle line. It takes the edges off any temptation of wit.

(vast)
Vast stands a little ways off. He's in a sleeveless, formfitting black shirt -- fine-woven, high quality, turtlenecked -- and starkly white pants tonight, an apparition in monochrome. His hands are in his pockets, his head slightly cocked to the side as he watches the proceedings with his pale-eyed, cold-eyed interest.

It seems Josephina is not the only one to find amusement in the situation. There's something oddly sexy about a completely fucked-up woman, isn't there?

They're in the umbra. When Vast moves forward, the light of the moon spears down on him. It doesn't matter that they were indoors. The building is thin on spirit; its walls and ceilings and roof, almost completely translucent. You can walk right through them, and he does, coming closer. Overhead, the moon is enormous, looming like the goddess she is.

He cuts in, "What's your Father Throper get for all his trouble? A cut of the immortal souls?" There's a touch of dark humor there.

(jose)
She certainly seems your type, Josephina tosses back at the galliard. Glancing towards theurge, seeing the concentration on his face, she adds, Now make sure you don't distract Gabriel too much, Vast, unless you want your spirit taking advantage of him instead.


(araceli)
~The Shepard only brings those astray into the fold. Lost lambs in need of his affections, Drummer on the Skulls~

It is Jukebox's tune to feel the ghostly touch, only its more like Araceli passes right through him. Some form of sick amusement consumed by this spirit. The wraith begins to make her way towards Vast now, pausing briefly, turning her face to speak in Jukebox's left ear.

~The Goddess never dies. Only assumes a new form when one transcends the skin. She is ever-changing, ever-consuming, immortal~

The apparition moves on, dragging ghostly chains behind her, the lower half of her form a blur of shadows as Vast only sees the formation of an upper torso, head and arms.

~Father reaps what he sows~ This spoken to Vast.

(vast)
Have you ever seen Vast fight?

It's a far cry from an Ahroun's style. He doesn't plant his feet and bull forward, come hell or high water. Lean and lithe, the Galliard swerves, feints, flows like water. His feet are light and swift. He's literally dodged bullets, swaying back from the blast of a gun. He switches directions mid-attack, uses surprise to his best advantage.

He's the same here, tonight. Only in words, and not in actions.

"He reaps what he sows." His voice is patient, cool, calm as still water. Twisted with some personal amusement. "He sows the seeds that grow into the goddess. And then, what, he reaps? They obey him? Is that it?"

-- and switch --

"Tell me of the transcending. How is it done? How many have done it? How many avatars can the goddess have at once? One? Ten?

"Have you transcended?"

(gabe)
Stealing my woman, Sevastian?

Some faint ripple of amusement broadcast as the wraith descends upon the Galliard now, in answering his questions. Gabriel turns on his heel, observing, listening to the responses she gives. The theurge purses his lips, watching his packmate to see if he deigns--

To fire questions at her, one after the other.
An expression of particular unease crosses his face, and his gaze slides to Josephina for a moment, another of their unspoken looks before his attention returns to the spirit.

(james)
the bitch. passes. through. him.
that certainly skews any preparation responding to the chance of mere touch
either the Elderman is pushed right past the point of being able to make good his earlier promise
or he's got just THAT much fucking resolve to save thoroughly washing out his skin for a later time and place
fists clench in the shadows by his sides, and though AnneMarie may expect mental tirade for some venting in some way
there's dead silence between the Eagle packmate's minds

it gives the upstart Galliard the chance to work a word - or ten - in edgewise
(.... even Kemp's constant chatter couldn't compare to that braying jackass.....)
and the Gnawer has half a mind to let the ghastly girlie do whatever she may to the youngest Fang
hell, that may even prove to be enjoyable...... -

"Ar'celli." name barked to once more catch the apparition's attention before he can think better of it, before she can move too far away from being so close she was whispering sweet nothings in his left ear "Why dunn yeh tell me how'n who c'n tran'scen' th' skin so she c'n take new form. 'n how th' Fath'r fine's his los' lambs led 'stray......"


(jose)
Virago's brow is provoked upwards at the flight of questions coming from her own packmate - rapid succession, but she hardly expected to Vast to interrogate any other way - then from the Gnawer elder as well. For the moment she says nothing, observing how the spirit responds - though the idea that their questions may each in turn to distract the spirit from necessary response does filter across her mind.

Be assured the Fang will step in (adren or packmate) when its warranted, should that become the case.

(araceli)
The barrage of questions has in ill-effect on the apparition. It's mummified face turns a complete 180 to cast socketless eyes on very living thing there. She begins to draw backwards, passing through the 'Gnawer once more, drifting to the spirtual magnetism of Gabriel.

~Ask the Father, Wolves. He will show the face of the Goddess~

Her words run out in a sharp hiss, the chains begin to move of their own violation as the wraith starts to take on a more malevolent nature. She doesn't flinch to the rapid-fire of questioning.

~My offerings... of a wolf's life... is my offer for transcending. Next to carry the Holy Mother's visage as she is everywhere~

(am)
She watches and starts to move as the wraithly figure moves through Jukebox, but hesitates and watches a moment more. Listens as Vast starts rapid-firing questions, and there's something that hardens in her expression, in her gaze.

Perhaps her mental voice comes across as dry, perhaps it is cutting, but most assuredly it is intended for only one set of ears and likely best only he hears them across the totem.

The modi shifts her attention fully on the spirit and her packmate and elder again. There is silence between the packmates, but there is no doubt whatsoever the flicker of irritation that crosses her gaze, and tightens her jaw. She takes a step nearer to Jukebox, flanking her packmate.


(gabe)
"Araceli," She drifts through the Gnawer once again, and Gabriel's brown eyes glitter with a brief modicum of sympathy for the Elder. Something akin to having an iceblock slipped beneath one's skin, only magnified by severe degrees. They tick, slowly travel to the malevolent Spirit.

"Araceli," He says again, forcing some coaxing play to his words. A silken demand as he shifts his feet slightly. His hands, palms open against his thighs. "We wish to ask the Father, but we do not know how to find him. How did you find him, hm? How can we find him?"

(jose)
And here I thought you had a way with the ladies, Vast, is the dry observation through the Fang's minds, as the spirit so physically withdraws and as Anne-Marie's own gestures of irritation are noted. Josephina, for the most part, ignores them.

Instead, Offering of a wolf's life? Rubbed much to closely to what she had earlier thought, and blonde brows lower together in consternation. Whispered withoiut even realising it, and not intended to reach the spirit's ears - though it just might anyway. "Her child was true?"

(james)
once was bad enough
twice nearly gets a reaction
but it's contained to a chilled shiver running up his spine
instead of his spine suddenly taking leave of his being

"Whish..... wulf?" his turn to watch Araceli is physically forced, hissing grate of her voice affecting him beyond the assault on sensitive ears - so it's a safe bet he didn't catch any sliver of sympathy that may have shot his way, carefully following up Gabe's query without once more provoking a f'in mini-possession ""Y'rs? 'r anoth'r..... I dunn wanna miss th' nex' a tran'scen'."

(araceli)
They are left to stare at the apparition's back as she turns away from them, still floating in Gabriel's vicinity.

~Positive~

As to whose question she addressed, whether Josephina's or Jukebox's is uncertain, they may take it as they will. The wraith starts to drift away, chains rattling at her sides.

It's like a Hydra...

~The Mother's chosen new vessel. Soon to come with the blood of wolves' daughters. The Blue Lady won't...~

The wraith begins to fade before their eyes, turning to watch them. ~Blood in the water the Hydra grows~

(james)
"Who'z her choz'n new vess'l?"

(ara)
~End of a family line... Worth...~

There is a pause from the spirit, its head turning around in a circle, like an owl's, setting her black gaze on them.

~Already know that answer, wolf~

(james)
ever get that sinking feeling?
what happens when you already had it to begin with.....
AnneMarie's clarification gets no response from James
he knew even before he asked

"W'rth's line'z ended already. Why'z she still af'r the Gnaw'r kin."

that sinking feeling's getting worse......

(am)
She knows.
He knows.
She doesn't even bother to say it, just slides her hands over short shorn hair, and closes her eyes. Then, a step closer to Jukebox, her shoulder touching just behind his. Flank, close, touch. Not comfort, because there really isn't any. But understanding. Pack.

Steady as she goes, boss.

(araceli)
In a singsong voice they here...

~Mary Worth... Mary Stern... Holy Mary, thou art blessed in Heaven~

(james)
there's a presence behind his shoulder, strength in the Modi's solid form
it's the fucking rock the Gnawer needs else he'd slip into unseen shadowy waves
dark eyes slide closed to hide the tumbling storm brewing so deep within

animal's Rage
man's sorrow
father's......

without another word the Ahroun Elderman makes a 180 of his own and walks away

(jose)
The Silver Fang alpha understands only half of what is going on, but its enough for her to know that this is more personal to the Eagles than had been previously let on. Standing behind Jukebox, seeing Ruhiger move towards him, she can read the body language as easily as if Anne Marie had just regained her voice and spoken.

The names mean very little to her, flippantly spoken by the spirit, and while the urge to ask for the missing piece to the puzzle is building, she stills it on the tip of her tongue. Waiting for the end of the questions.

(am)
It is a rock he needs. The rock he usually has is even more personally involved. She may not be perfect, but she is pack. And he is the one who looked deeper within her.

It is a rock he needs.
It is a rock he gets.

Solid.

A nod up to the disappearing spirit. A nod up to the Fangs. Should they wish answer to their questions it is clear that now is not the time. A gesture - a flick of her hand - suggests that she will answer later.

And with that, she falls into step with the Adren Gnawer.

Steadfast.

(gabe)
The Spirit dissipates.
The Eagles begin to leave.

Questions answered and yet, for the Silver Fangs, it would seem more have been left unanswered. Gabriel's features mask themselves behind that wall of infuriating neutrality once more and if he is bemused by the actions of the Eagles members, he does not voice it. Merely moves to shadow his Alpha in watching them depart.

A small smile touches his lips.

"I think perhaps it is time to go, Cousin."

(james)
Sometimes easier said than done.

the sorrow-filled words finally creep back after long minutes of walking silence
still traversing the Umbral Realm, by now his pace had slowed to match her own
distantly pre-occupied while they worked a ways close to more familiar crossing grounds
hands still rolled to fists at his sides, deadweight against swaying step
dark eyes follow the phantasm wreckage of the real world littering the spirital ground
trusting his packmate to lead them to faithful safety

One tends to feel a shade unbalanced when a solution cannot be determined as whether or not it is the lesser of two evils.


(vast)
Vast is silent, after his initial rapidfire questions. As the spirit and the Eagles depart, he speaks up again, quietly thoughtful.

"She mentioned the Blue Lady. Seems to think she won't be any help, but I have my doubts. Do you think it's worth a shot, Josephina, to try to summon the Blue Lady?"

(jose)
Before the Eagles depart, Josephina catches Ruhiger's look. She's not one for letting strangers guess her own expressions, as clouded as they often are and not tapping into whats beneath. So she ofters before they go, "Let us know if the Eagles need us" then turns to her packmate and his question. Perhaps it was unnecessary to offer - but it was laid out, nonetheless.

"Gabriel?" The question is tossed to the theurge as before she gives her own answer, she'd hear his thoughts. This is hardly her domain.

(am)
And lead him she does. She is known for stepping in. For covering bases. For doing as she is told, as is expected of her. She is Omega, but she is modi. She is Eagle.

As is he.

I understand. Perhaps more then some would think really. A shift of her weight leads them around some obstacle or another, the return of the same puts them back on path. It is automatic, and fluid, and thus likely unnoticed. I will do all I can. That the comment includes doing the worst imaginable so that the Gnawers do not have to, does not need to be said. Either of the two evils, she would remove that responsibility from the two of them.

He saw her when she was still invisible. Such things will always be remembered.

(gabe)
"Hm." The theurge is looking after the receding figures trekking away across the Umbral landscape, his expression clouded with its own interior motivation. He turns, a movement quick enough to unsettle the overgrown hair, it drips into his vision, partially obscuring the young man's eyes. Dark, veiled.

He seems to look through his packmates for a moment and when finally he speaks beyond his initial grunt of consideration, he still sounds removed, distant.

"There is no way to be certain she will help, though it is worth a shot I suppose." His eyes shift again to the Eagles. "Though my instinct tells me this has once more become something the Eagles must remedy."

A shrug.

(jose)
The alpha's response is wry, "So reassuring, Gabriel," as those blues eyes glide over to his pensive form, catching the shrugging slope of those shoulders. "Provided we're not likely to do more damage than as things stands," and yes, that was a slight goading flick at Sevastian and his earlier rapid-fire tactic. The spirit's resulting withdrawal. Except any annoyance which could coat otherwise clipped British tones have dissipated after the galliard wisely kept his tongue immediately that barrage.

"Are you able to do it?"

(vast)
Vast's annoyance is clear. "You gamble. You win. And sometimes you lose. Better than sitting on one's hands."

It's also clear he does not mean this Blue Lady tactic alone.

(gabe)
Are you able to do it?

"Not easily. It could be done, though my recommendation would be to seek another theurge more familiar with the Rite." He pauses, straightens. "Perhaps the Mistress of Rites."

(jose)
The brow arches sharply at the annoyance in the galliard's tone, her voice perceptibly cooling when she responds, "You are right. Except I expected you to be more wise about the odds you were gambling against."

Then to Gabriel: "Do you have the necessary rite, Aurelius? If not, we will need to seek out someone who does."

(james)
I know.

the sidelong look is colored with shades of a sad smile
recognizing the burden so willingly carried by her offer

but.....

they are Eagles

a war pack that fights each battle as if their last
never holding back - even against each other
no excuses. no regrest. no mercy.
..... not even to themselves.


Posted by james at August 25, 2005 12:00 AM