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Game System

World of Darkness



Full Description

The World of Darkness resembles the contemporary world, but it is darker, more devious and more conspiratorial. The dichotomy between rich and poor, influential and weak, powerful and powerless, is much more pronounced than in the real world. Decadence, cynicism and corruption are common. Humans are unwitting victims or pawns of vast secret organizations of supernatural creatures. Vampires, werewolves and wraith —among others— struggle with internal factionalism and against other species in secret wars of intrigue for control of reality. The battles in these wars may last centuries, beyond the realization or comprehension of ordinary humans. This status quo is recently threatened by the rise of a global Technocratic cabal (and/or an animistic spirit of stasis and control) intent on monopolizing the power of belief and destroying all traditional supernatural societies.

*This is not a 'by the book' World of Darkness game.  While a lot of themes and events may be recognized by players, anything and everything can and will be changed to best suit the need of the story.

  1. What's new in this game
  2. Casey Mason

    Chosen 02: The Gala

    Casey took one more pass around the kitchen making sure everything was ship shape then she went to the door the led from the prep area out into the main floor. She pushed it open just a crack to look thru and still couldn't spot Horatio anywhere then let the door swing shut and turned back toward the kitchen only to find herself face to face with Becky Monroe the co-manager she had brought in after Horatio made her his 'date'. “You can see a lot more from out there Casey, than back here.” she said with a tilt of her head. “I know Becky, and I'm not trying to micromanage I swear I just feel so...” Casey said the pleading in her voice but the look on her friend and co-workers face stopped her in mid sentence. Puffing out her cheeks and blowing air she straightened up smoothed her dress and nodded. “You are right. I am being a chicken. You got this I will go face my demons.” As soon as she said that she regretted it and a small shiver went down her back but she gave Becky a smile and spun and pushed the door open and stepped out into the gala. It had been a long time since she had been to an affair this posh. It was one thing to come a the caterer but when Horatio had called and said that he was making her his plus one, it had put things in a different dimension. She couldn't just go dressed in work clothes or even in the sort of dress the manager of the caterer would wear no she had to dress the part. Which wasn't easy on her budget. Still as she passed a mirrored column and caught a glimpse of herself, Not too shabby she thought. Becky was right,Casey thought as she moved through he gather party goers, I can see better out here and still on Mr. Mourn but after passing and old couple who were arguing and some intense looking guy watching them she did spy a group of her former associates. Shit, I really do not want any of them to see me, flashed through her mind as she turned on her heel and found herself face to face with Roger Lampman the asshole who cost her her job. “Man, Casey Mason, last person I expected to see at an art gala, but still easy on the eyes.” He said not even attempting to hide his leering gaze at her bust. Resisting the sudden urge to puke and then kick him in the balls Casey Smiled instead “I'm surprised to see you here too, I thought the only art you would be into would be porn.”
  3. Mel Grimson

    Chosen 02: The Gala

    It was simple. Too simple arguably for Mel's tastes, but at least he could walk around. Still, the money was money. Though he wasn't sure if this really applied as 'getting out' in the therapeutic sense Brent intended. Still, he'd agreed to this, and in a sense Brent was still Major Connors in this way, the commanding officer, and Mel had his orders. Patrol, one, two, three. Examine the area. Security here, nothing to see, moving on. Two, three. Routing past the line of Impressionist or Romantic something paintings, look at the static guards. Meet their eyes, all's well, moving on. It wasn't until he rounded a sculpture probably worth in the hundred grand zone that something different cropped up. Raised voices, though he couldn't discern the words quite. It brought him to a corner where one tuxedoed man in his fifties and an impressive black mustache was finding his chest jabbed by a woman of similar age, well dressed. Probably his wife. Whatever the precise argument was (though Mel would put money on the man's focus having been on the more slinky ladies in slinky numbers) it was definitely severe, and of sufficient noise to suggest his attention. He came over and cleared his throat. "Is there a problem?" The couple quickly shifted to awkwardness at their dirty laundry overheard. "No, no. Just a disagreement. All settled, thank you." The woman primly put. It clearly wasn't, but obviously the bickering had been put on hold for a more private occasion. Mel gave them the pro forma 'just checking' smile and nod and moved on.
  4. The three guests, all strangers, were quite aware that had stepped into a world of high society that was leaps and bounds above what they were used to. As far as social stratas went, they were no where near having their feet on solid ground. Manhattan's richest and most affluent individuals were present, from CEOs to Philanthropists to celebrities. The Gala was taking place at the David Zwirner gallery on 19th street, and for an event like this, unless you had seven digits in your bank account, they wouldn't let you smell the food from the street. [Casey] Casey and her people had arrived early, and she still wasn't a hundred percent on board with the idea. Mr. Mourne could talk a good talk, but the dream hadn't left her mind the last several days. Something was eating away at her, like something out there was stalking her and hunting her joy so it could consume it before it found its way to her. Still, she pressed on, and was none to surprised to find that Mr. Mourne had elevated her to his 'Plus One' so while her people and one manager she brought with her were catering, she was free to mingle with sycophants and people she had nothing in common with in a dress she really couldn't afford but was to proud to not show up looking her best (well, on a budget best). Despite it all, she'd yet to see Horatio anywhere but she did catch sight of a few partners from her old law firm. Including the bastard that cost her a future in Law. [Maya] Life had been weird for the last several days. The strange words hadn't stopped, but the doctor she went to see told her there was nothing wrong with her eyes and she was not dyslexic... but that didn't' seem to stop the world from making her see 'things'. The two beings never came back to her 'dreams' so she was thankful for that, yet a part of her was a bit worried... after all, the way they talked, they seemed to be in danger. What if the entity they were running from caught up with them? Then again, they were figments of her addled mind... why should she care? They knew things though, things no one else could have known. "Maya," Mrs. Richards, the woman who had invited her to the event, greeted her as she arrived. Not far from the entrance she and her husband were entertaining a few friends/clients/whatever, shaking hands and smiling. Everyone here looked so wow. Mrs. Richards was in a dress that was worth more than Maya made in a year, pushing up a chest and hugging a butt that cost slightly more than the dress. "Oh, I'm so glad you could make it. You look amazing." She wasn't sure if Mrs. Richards was being serious or just in that placating, complementing mode rich people get into when around other rich people, but it was nice to hear, nonetheless. "Feel free to roam and mingle, Keith and I have to our obligatory 'hellos' and I'll find you and we can catch up." Her smile seemed genuine, but just as fast as she broke away from her husband she was right back at his side, shaking hands and getting her diamonds kissed. [Mel] His finger nails were growing back, that was a plus. Showered, shaved, and in a suit, Mel had to admit, he didn't look half bad. Still not quite sure this security life was for him, he couldn't quite argue the money. Well, he could, but he'd already spent some of it to replace the throw rug he clawed through trying to dig his way to China the other week. He wasn't packing, unless you counted the taser under his jacket (he didn't). Brent had given him the details and for the most part the gig was a cake walk. A few grand to sit here and make sure some idiot doesn't get too drunk? Too easy. The Gala was talking place on the first and second floors of the four story building, and they had men positioned all over the place. Mel was one of a few roamers, security who kept in motion and made sure the guests knew that they were not far off. Mel didn't expect too much trouble, like Brent had said before, the most they'd dealt with was on disgruntled guy several months back. Since then it was all rich guys needing to escorted out to a cab. With a tug at his coat he rolled his shoulders and went back out for a walk around the floor.
  5. Brent Conners Old War Buddy Quote: “The war doesn't end just because you come back to the states. This place is just as messed up as any other place in the world, all you can do is find a pay day, get rich anyway you can.” Background: Major Brent Conners is an honorably discharged Army Ranger and old friend of Mel Grimson. After his service to the country he returned to the states he began a private security business with the assistance of a secret partner. In the last eighteen months Bent has covered more high profile clients than most private security firms cover after decades in business. Description: Brent Conners is rolling in money and it shows. Always in the best fashions and tossing money around like it rains from the sky. He's every bit an Army Ranger still and his fitness and physical readiness are never in question. He possesses a smirk the devil would envy. Storytelling Hints: You're rich and making more bank than the military ever could have provided you. Sure they trained you, but you wasted twelve years of your life serving your country and pulling the trigger overseas every time they said so and all you got for it was sixty-eight thousand a year and free counseling for your PTSD. Now, you got it made and making more in a week than you made annually in the service, so... why are you so worried?
  6. Horatio Mourne Idealistic Guide Quote: “Life isn't about sitting around and waiting to be dealt a better hand. It's about playing what you've been dealt with dignity.” Background: Horatio is the Chief Development Officer for the Manhattan Metropolitan Museum of Art. He recently approached Casey Mason at The Full Pot about catering an upcoming event at the museum. Aside from impeccable credit and a sports car no one has any business driving in Manhattan, not much can really be found on the guy. Thus far, he seems relatively dirt free. However, unless he's an investor of some sort, it'd be hard for him to have the sort of money he does on a salary of a Development Officer. Description: Tall, handsome, broad shouldered and irresistibly charming, Horatio carries himself as 'just-a-guy' who just happens to be blessed with good looks and personality. His dress of choice is expensive suits and keeping his hair bound back in a pony tail. Storytelling Hints: Don't sweat the small stuff, look at the bigger picture. Too many people live in the now and never think a step or two ahead. They get lost in the emotions of the moment and make rash choices and those choices can set them back in ways they never dreamed possible. Situations are not always ideal, but they are what they are, focus on finding solutions, not dwelling on the problems... and do it all while looking great, feeling great, and smiling the whole way.
  7. The various NPCs of the Chosen game will be here. Once some of the bigger mysteries unravel I'll include character sheets for them, so if you want to steal them for your home games, you can. While Chosen does not follow OWoD canon I'll set the format up like the old style so making use of them for a home game won't be difficult.
  8. Maya Flynn

    OOC: The Chosen PCs

    Name: Maya Flynn Nature: Explorer Demeanor: Sage Concept: Frustrated Underachiever Age: 25 Physical: Strength ●●, Dexterity ●●, Stamina ●● Social: Charisma ●●●, Manipulation ●●●, Appearance ●● Mental: Perception ●●●, Intelligence ●●●●, Wits ●●● Talents: Alertness ●●, Athletics ●●, Awareness ●●, Brawl ●, Carousing ●, Empathy ●●, Expression ●●, Intimidation, Leadership, Streetwise ●, Subterfuge ● Skills: Animal Ken ●●, Crafts, Drive ●, Etiquette ●●, Firearms, Game-Playing ●, Larceny, Melee, Performance ●●, Stealth ●, Storytelling ●, Survival Knowledges: Academics ●●●, Computer ●●, Culture ●, Finance, Investigation ●, Law, Medicine, Occult ●, Politics ●, Science, Technology Backgrounds: Allies ●, Contacts ●●, Influence, Resources ●● Virtues: Conscience ●●●, Self-Control ●●●●, Courage ●●● Humanity: ●●●●● ●● Willpower: ●●●●● ● Background: Works at Yorkville Public Library, lives in a small furnished studio apartment on E 79th St., Upper East Side. Can drive a car (and has a license), but who drives in NYC? Smart people ride bikes. Studied Anthropology, had difficulty finding work after college and took temporary employment with the Yorkville branch of the NYPL at the request of a family friend. She’s still there, beginning to despair of ever accomplishing anything meaningful with her life. Saving up to travel overseas- she has a list of “must-see” places gleaned from magazines and friends who’ve actually gone. Had an opportunity to study abroad for a summer in college, but a family health scare caused her to miss out. Owns precisely one cat. Just one. She blames him for a lack of dating prospects. He doesn’t seem to care. Her social life is largely limited to reading aloud for the children during story hour on the second floor of the library, and helping her friend Mason create a weekly podcast about a lonely, fictional town in upstate NY. Has one sister, Leticia, 2 years younger, married to a financial analyst. Is occasionally called upon to babysit her niece and nephew on “date night” because, honestly, what else does she have to do? Sometimes screens her mother’s calls, despite concerns over her health, because she is tired of being compared to her more successful sibling. Lists her ethnicity as “colonial.” (Her family is of Irish, English, Kashmiri, and Maori ancestry. It’s complicated.) When in the neighborhood, stops by The Full Pot for an afternoon pick-me-up Bonus Point Costs Attributes: 5 per dot Abilities: 2 per dot (x6) Ability Specialties: 1 per dot (max of 3 per ability) Backgrounds: 1 per dot Virtues: 2 per dot Humanity: 1 per dot Willpower: 1 per dot (x3) 3
  9. Disoriented and confused, Maya fumbled for something to write with, tipping over an ancient owl-shaped mug full of brittle pencils and dried-out markers in her haste. Her hand fell on a green felt-tip pen with the cap still intact, and she jabbed the point repeatedly on the back of an old receipt until the ink reluctantly started to flow again. The result was legible, but only just- it didn't matter if the information was coherent, just that she needed to get it all down. She could always figure out what to do with it later. Mason A name? Job? Org? Soulless Ginger? What? Woman + Window- Accident ---Obits Man + Shadow = WTF Pooka Rabbit Troll -Seth Chosen ??? Dreams & doors She jammed the scrap of paper into the front pocket of her purse and left it there, and for the next 45 minutes, as she finished tidying up and getting everything ready for that sticky-fingered slag in the morning, Maya let the entire experience just sort of... go, like leaving the radio on in the background while focusing on other things. She didn't have time to really sit down and process anything just yet, and despite just having awakened from a nap, she felt completely exhausted. There were no other interruptions, no strangeness that didn't already exist in New York. When the young assistant librarian finally locked up, the utter disinterest of the city that never sleeps was almost a relief.
  10. that's all cool I wasn't expecting to get a bunch information immediately that why i said began a comprehensive research project. i figured i'd need to make rolls and refine as we went along
  11. Casey, if you're running a comprehensive search for info on Mourne I'll set you up this one as a freebie since most of the investigative work can and would probably be done in a few days. I'll also assume she calls in a few favors from contacts, but being a freebie, those favors won't be held against you later. Mostly because everything she get's back on Mourne is legit. The guy is exactly what he says he is, complete with office and pretty Admin Assistant. Thus far his alaby is tight... being the World of Darkness... maybe a little too tight. He's clean. However, what sort of GM would I be if I left it at that? So, another freebie, if you want to investigate him, you certainly can. The problem at the moment is that you're looking in the wrong places and you may have to fracture a law here or there to get the info you want (whether you do it yourself or hire a guy, is on you). Investigate his home. Investigate his office. Following him. Are all great ways to get that ball rolling and if you want to pursue that, we can (probably in a different thread). While we're on the topic of the law... Remember this is the World of Darkness. Everything is a bit bleaker and there's more crime and more problems and more of everything negative. Which means, sometimes you guys are going to want to do something that isn't quite 'good'. Put the good and evil baby to bed, rip that band aid off, you'll thank me later. As PCs you are going to have to do some things that are not quite nice or frankly just plain wrong in the grand scheme of your personal moral code. I get it. The game has a theme and that theme is dark heroism, which means that as long as you guys are not running around murdering and and devouring the flesh of babies... I'll be okay with most of the minor bad things you wanna try and get away with, especially if it's in line with getting the plot resolved. In fact, you will probably have to do a few questionable things from time to time. Examples: Starting a fire to evacuate a building for a distraction. (Cool) Setting people on fire to cause a distraction. (Not cool, bro) Breaking and entering to gather intel on someone or something. (Cool) Breaking into some dudes house to murder him because he cut you off in traffic. (Not cool, bro) Hitting museum security with a baton to knock them out. (Cool) Tossing museum security from the second floor and impaling them on the Japanese samurai spear exhibit because you saw in a movie once. (So not cool, bro) Basically, use discretion. It's a forgone conclusion that eventually you guys are all going to kill someone or something, it happens. Aside from that, I don't care wasted or stoned your characters get or big of an asshole they become, as long as they aren't doing things to end up on the FBI's most wanted list, have fun with it and be reasonable.
  12. Mel Grimson

    IC: Mel - 'Deb By Dawn'

    Mel looked at the card, then at the towel on the floor. Tasks, clean up the floor and dispose of the blood and fingernail. Call Brent tomorrow and get the monkey suit handled. And investigate this art show so the situation was understood. Just because nothing never really happened at these events, did not mean Mel Grimson the ex-Ranger would forgo his reconnaissance.
  13. The bitter chill of the New York streets at night greeted Horatio as kindly as it did all others. He pulled his collar up and walked off down the street. He was not but fifty yards when his smartphone dialed a number and he pressed it to his ear. The call connected, but no one said a word of greeting. "I've found one," he said. "The dreams, the visions, it's all starting. It's loose. The time has come." He looked back down the street at the coffee shop and sighed softly. His expression marking that he didn't envy the rather normal Miss Mason and what was in store ahead of her. He pressed the thumb sized red button on his screen. "Weaver have mercy on us all." Quietly he walked off into the night.
  14. Casey Mason

    IC: Casey - "Hear I Am"

    Casey had been a lawyer, technically still was, maybe not a brilliant one but a good one. She knew how to read people, how to interpret reaction, how to cause reactions. And as she sat there staring at her coffee and the nail lying on the table, listening to Mr Mourn, Horatio, one part of her brain the inquiring, inquisitive litigator part wasn't hearing what it thought she should have been hearing. Casey had just told this man, a man she had only met today and had in the middle of the night called up and begged for a meeting, told him a story that should have had him questioning if not her sanity, her suitability at the very least, to handle an important event such as the catering job. But instead he was still wooing her so to speak, trying to convince that this was an important step in saving the coffee shop. His story had a ring of truth to it and she could hear the heartfelt if reserved emotion behind it, but why not at least mention that he had been a patron of the shop in the past this afternoon. That would have gone along way to establishing a historical rapport. Something was nagging her and she couldn't even begin to fathom why or what. Maybe she was going crazy. "Maybe your right Mr Mourn," She scooped up the nail and slipped it into her shirt pocket, then wrapped her hands around her coffee mug., "Maybe it's just the stress of the last few weeks. You definitely hit a few nails on the head. I'll take the rest of the night, get some sleep and think it over when my heads a little clearer and the sun is up. Again I am sorry for dragging you out here for nothing. I'll call you tomorrow with an answer one way or the other." "That sounds good and fair Casey," he took a last swallow of his coffee and sat the mug down as he stood, "I look forward to your call." She stood as well and they said good night and she watched as Mourn left the shop returning the small wave that he gave as he passed the window outside. After a few moments she turned to Nancy the night manager, "I'm gonna be in my office just lock up when everything's done I'll let myself out." Alone in her strangely immaculate office Casey Mason opened up her computer and began a much more comprehensive research project on a certain Mr. Horatio Mourn.
  15. Brent laughed. "Yeah, honestly, I wish, sometimes. These things are dreadfully boring, but they pay a lot. We won't be packing. Tasers and batons only, and so far the most we've had to deal with was a disgruntled ex we had to carry out after she took an exacto to an exhibit one evening. She was off her nut, drunk and probably on something too. They can get interesting, but ninety percent of the time, they're dull and as much fun as standing watch on Christmas." "Here," he handed Mel a business card. "Call me in the next few days, I'll have Suzanne, my PA, get you measured for a suit. On me, I still owe you for spotting that fake Rolex in Taiwan, you saved me a bundle." "You know everything in Taiwan is fake, right?" Mel shot him a look from a raised brow. "Well, I do now." He laughed. "Get in touch and uh, get your hand looked at man, You're uh, bleeding a little bit there. You're supposed to wear gloves when you hit the bag, old man!" Brent laughed again and let himself out. Mel could hear him already on his phone setting up some other deal before he even hit the staircase.
  16. "And, dreams are places, kid. Our doors are locked, as are yours. You don't think of it that way because your human mind is all garbled up with the banal things like logic and reasoning... like trying to guess where you've seen us from instead of simply accepting that we are, what we are." The rabbit-man approached her, now that she seemed to be calming considerably. He motioned for her to walk with him. He took a few steps and when she followed (still completely weirded out) he continued. "We're not figments, or your minds way of putting masks on a finer point it'd like you to remember. Frankly, we don't have time to get into Pookas and Trolls right now, that's later." "Lady, you seem like a sweet kid," his tone was something of pure fatherly empathy. In just those few words she felt like she could have trusted him implicitly with anything... except he still looked like a rabbit. "And I really hate having to dump this on you, and trust me, you sure as hell ain't gonna believe a word of it if pookas and trolls are too much for your mind, but here goes..." Seth chimed up before the rabbit had a chance to continue. "World's dying. Not just ours, but yours. People don't dream anymore. People don't believe in magic, so magic dies. People don't believe in dreams, so dreams die. Dark world, no joy. No love. No laughter or kindness." "W-what he's trying to say, kid... is, uh... there's something out there, something mean and dark, and ugly. It'd slowly, one smartphone and one corporate cubical at a time, killing all the love and laughter in the world," the pooka sorrowfully hopped up on a chair, then a table and was finally eye level with the young librarian. "Crime, school shootings, Trump, police brutality, rioting, Justin Beiber fans... the world hasn't gone mad, kid. It's infected. Infected by an entity that causes and spreads absolute chaos until all that's left is a downward spiral into Oblivion. We need you to find a way to stop it, or it will lead to war and anarchy, and there will be nothing left, eventually. As far as I know the prophesy said find the Mason and the Souless One, which I'm guessing is a last name and Souless One could only mean a Ginger, right? Ghosts can't be Chosen, as far as I know. Find the others, and we'll talk again, I swear it." "Time." Seth said softly, reminding the pooka. "Right, well, good luck lady, have fun, don't die oh and uh... that old heffer sometimes steals money from your wallet when you fall asleep in here at night reading. See? Knowing dream people has advantages." He smiled (could rabbits smile?) and raised his hand, snapping the 'fingers' on his paw. "You can wake up now." Maya lurched up from her nap, like she'd awoken form a fall right before she'd struck the ground... or someone else struck the ground... someone fell out a window, but it wasn't a window... it was... a dream? Like all dreams the memory of it swiftly because to fade. Enough of it remained to make her believe that something wasn't not okay with either her life, or her coffee... because she saw the entity that tore an unknown man in half and consumed in the folds of it's darkness... she saw a woman fall to her death. Where did she know her from?
  17. "That's our call, Casey," Mr. Mourne said, sympathetically. He sipped his coffee and pursed his lips to savor the taste. Say you wanted about the place, they sure knew how to make great coffee here. He sighed and looked her in the eyes. "I understand you're having a really weird night, I get that. I've had a few my self in my day. Telling me what you told me took some courage, I gotta give you that, so I'm going to be honest in return." He took another swallow of his java and set the cup down, spinning it with his finger tips, like nervous people often did. "Miss Mason, Casey, I didn't select this place at random. This is one of the last locally owned businesses we have here in Manhattan. It has great people, great atmosphere, and it's something that stands for neighborhood pride with a ton of history in these four walls. What's more, is that it's dying, Casey. We both know that. This place is one, maybe two missed bill payments from becoming broken and limp in the jaws of another Starbucks." "My dad and I came in here all the time when I was a boy, never was much of a coffee drinker, but man, did I love the smell," He smiled and chuckled, perhaps lingering a memory. "Places like this have... an amazing amount of value. To the people, to the city. They start to have a life of their own after awhile, like Ol' Joe's Barber Shop a few blocks away. There's a certain magic to them, where boys like me learned so much sitting in that chair, or sitting here with dad while he drank his coffee and I nursed a chocolate milk." "People tell me you've done great things here, so far," he smiled at her, and there was certainly a sense of compassion behind it, like a silent 'thank you' for deeds he had no idea she'd even done. "But we both know its not enough. I can't force you to cater, but from one not-quite stranger to another: don't let a strange dream, a rough night, and an awkward moment between strangers snuff out a dream that's decades old. This place doesn't mean a whole lot to a ton of people, but it means everything to just enough people that it's worth saving. Just my two cents. Why not get a decent night's rest, and give me a call tomorrow sometime. If you feel the same way then, I understand, but for now, don't let the oddity of the dream or the stress influence your decision. Okay?"
  18. "I'm... dreaming." Maya repeated dazedly as something clicked into place in her brain, and the battle between her eyes and her logical mind ended in a reluctant truce. It was, after all, the only possible scenario in which she wasn't a raving lunatic. She realized too that it was actually quiet in the library, without either the normal city noises bleeding in from outside, or the omnipresent voice of Deb, who was apparently filling in for literally every other DJ at the station today. "Okay, that... that makes sense, I guess," she continued, staring at her sleeping self for a moment while her body's alert system ratcheted down from DEFCON 1 and her explosively racing heartbeat slowly returned to normal pulmonary function. How would her dreaming mind perceive her actual face? Would she even be able to see it, or would it be horribly distorted? As much as she wanted to lift the book that was obscuring her other self's appearance, to see what "she" looked like, something gave her pause. This dream was already going in a weird direction, and seeing her actual self while sleeping in a dream felt like it would be crossing some boundary, violating a taboo or something. "So, then, where did you guys come from? I mean, yeah," she gestured vaguely toward the two, "Alice Through The Looking-Glass, and maybe Shrek since we had it on repeat for a while, but it's been a minute since either of those has come across the desk." Then again, sure, talking animals and helpful monsters are pretty much a staple of fairy tales and folklore, and so is the whole 'hero's journey' idea. Man, Jill is gonna have to book me for an extra session for this. A pair of tiny furrows appeared between her brows as she frowned, tentatively moving away from the door and addressing the pair of interlopers into her head-space more directly. Somehow, knowing that this was only happening because she was asleep didn't diminish the level of wiggins they were giving her. "And what's this 'something big' in 'my world' that I'm supposed to somehow help you with? You just said this was a dream."
  19. Mel Grimson

    IC: Mel - 'Deb By Dawn'

    Mel opened his mouth to say something, anything... and then his mind flashed back to the torn fingernail hidden under a towel. Perhaps he really did need something. "An art show, though?" It sounded sharper than he meant, so Mel amended. "I mean I'll take it Brent. But what do you expect? A daring heist? A band of gunmen storming in to take the assembled upper crust hostage for ransom?"
  20. Casey Mason

    IC: Casey - "Hear I Am"

    Casey can't help but see her reflection in Mourn's eyes and the sympathetic look on his face. She closes her eyes for a second shaking hr head slightly. "God you must think I'm a fucking lunatic. And I don't blame you." She takes a deep breath and lets it out glances around the coffee shop. "And I don't blame you. Look I am so sorry I bothered you tonight....I don't know maybe your right and I'm just stressing out over... everything." She looks at her hands and the nail on the table top, maybe it was just stuck in the sofa, but then it would have had to have been there since before she had moved in. "Again Mr Mourn, I am sorry to have bothered you and to have wasted your time asking you to come down here. I think maybe we need to pass on the catering job."
  21. "Us, hurt you!?" The rabbit proclaimed, his arms outstretched wide. "Lady, you're the one throwing books and hitting poor Seth in the face, and screaming and yelling, and carrying on like a maniac! What is wrong with you? How could you do that to poor Seth, I mean look at this mug?" In a single leap the rabbit hopped from the floor to a display table and off of it spanning a great distance to land on Seth's shoulder, and slowly arc his hand down in front of Seth's face, like Vanna White drawing attention to a turned letter. Seth smiled a crooked smile, his tusks fully exposed as his lips parted to reveal a grin and giant as his physique. "I mean, honestly, you people are so uppity. Lady, you're not even awake! Where were you planning on going?" The rabbit motioned with his arm, directing her vision to where Maya was resting, her head resting comfortably on her arm. The book she was reading had fallen over, masking her face from soft reading lights glowing overhead. "Dreaming." Seth said softly. His monstrous features seemed misplaced as an expression of compassion washed over his features as he gazed upon the sleeping Maya. "The Darkness. We can't come to your world." "D-dreaming?" Maya stammered, still scared out of her mind. "Something like that," the rabbit said. He hopped down from Seth's shoulders and approached her, his hands up like he meant no harm. "I mean, we're not invading your steamy Tom Hiddleston fantasies, or nothing. I dunno what it is about that guy that drives you women nuts... but last week, you and him in Spain... ugh, nice choice. Very romantic sunset." "Help." Seth nudged the rabbit. "Right... right, as to why we're here. Something big is about to happen in your world, lady. Something real big, and it affects us too. Problem is, we can't do anything about it, so we need you and others like you to do all the leg work for us... if you don't... well, one day... there just won't be any dreams left to dream."
  22. "Well," Mr. Mourne smiled. "That's not the worst pick line I've heard, but certainly up there on the strange meter." Casey's look did not describer in the slightest bit as amused. "Okay, sorry. Casey, look, think of it from my perspective, that's one hell of a weird pill to swallow. You're under a lot of stress lately, that much is obvious. Maybe too much coffee... or not enough? This isn't the movies, people don't have 'visions'. You had a bad dream, and we just met today so I was still fresh in your mind, so I happened to be in it. That's it. You're going to be fine, just try to unwind and get some decent rest."
  23. "Doing well," he replied. "I heard about Cecilia, Mel. I'm sorry. I was in Bahrain when I got the news, I'm sorry I couldn't be here for the service." Conners took Mel's hand, gripping it tight and pulled him into a hug. "Been awhile, man." "Too long," was Mel reply. It was a weird night for the guy, so it was no surprise was currently a man of few words. Brent (which was Conners's first name), broke off the embrace and Mel ushered him into his apartment. It would be more suspicious if Mel tried to hide behind his door, so he figured if the guy was gonna notice something off, he may as well face the music standing tall. "Wow," he investigated the obvious downgrade from the home he'd visited the Grimson's in before Cecelia's passing. "Okay, I ain't gonna lie, Mel... I've known you a long time, and I gotta say... you look like shit, bro." As Mel rolled his eyes with a sight, not really in the mood for a lecture, Brent continued. "When was the last time you were out of here, barring a workout? Look, hear me out... my guys are booked for a gig in a couple'a weeks. Security for some art show, or something. I want the best for this one, it's a big deal for my business and, well, Grimson... you're the best. I want your eyes there, man. Plus, and I'm saying this because I love you, bro... you really need to get out and meet some people."
  24. Mel Grimson

    IC: Mel - 'Deb By Dawn'

    "Gimme a minute Connors!" Mel took the time to quickly fold up the throw rug and throw down a towel so that the blood and the scratches were concealed. He did not want to have to answer painful questions. Mel smiled for once in the past few days when the door swung open."Sorry, my idiot neighbor's been bothering me. Thank god it's you." He didn't recall if Conners had called after Cecelia's death. He reached out to shake Connor's hand firmly. "Long time, no see. How are you?"
  25. Casey Mason

    IC: Casey - "Hear I Am"

    Casey just looked at him for several seconds then she glanced outside through the plate glass front at the street. It was just starting to rain big fat drops hitting the glass, one, two, then two or three together then it started coming down in sheets. Mourn watched her looked outside then back at her. The barista brought him his drink and that seemed to wake Casey up. “Let's sit.” She took his hand and led him to a booth instead of the office, she wasn't going in there that was where the weird had started she was sure of it. “Miss Mason, Casey, Is everything alright?” Horatio asked after they sat facing each other.. Casey shook her head No then leaned onto the table getting as close to him as she could with him on the other side. “You know I'm a lawyer and I'm logical, analytical and fairly observant. I'm not prone to flights of fancy nor do I drink excessively or take drugs. So while I know what I am about to say to you sounds crazy. I'm not” She sits back and looks around the Full Pot, looking for anything out of place, anyone paying more attention to Mourn and her than they should. For any shadows moving like they had a will of their own. Abruptly she sits forward again “I had a dream or vision tonight. It was after I got home, I was about to call you to accept the offer when you knocked on my door...” She relates the whole of her 'dream' to Horatio in quick detail “...and I woke up just as it got me. Right there on the couch just like … as if I had fell asleep and dreamed it all. But it seemed so real and I don't have dreams like that. So when I moved to grab my phone off the coffee table I felt a sharp pain and pulled that out of my back.” She tossed the nail still stained with dried blood on the table between them. “Don't ask me why, but I needed to tell you.”
  26. The scream caught in Maya's throat, escaping only in erratic whimpers and panicked, juddering breaths; her whole body shook visibly as she pressed her back against the doors, rattling them with every terrified spasm. This couldn't be happening. It couldn't. Monsters weren't real- not like these, anyway. Monsters were people, people who lured kids into dark places, who enjoyed hurting and abusing, who were so broken inside they were compelled to destroy beautiful, innocent things. She could almost feel her grasp on reality slipping as she stared at the two figures before her, even as her mind clawed desperately at its fraying edges. No! They're just vagrants! Just a couple of weird homeless guys, a big biker dude and a- an- an albino with dwarfism, it insisted, frantically trying to make sense of a nonsensical situation, to rationalize, to figure out how to create a plausible scenario to which she could react. In this case, she was obviously being confronted by a pair of drug addicts, or maybe mental patients, but who knew what they wanted from her, and because she was panicking she'd just missed the alarm button, and the doors- Her eyes, however, dispassionately related a different story, one her rational, reasonable, mundane mind was trying so very hard to refute: An ogre and a talking rabbit had invaded her library, and trapped her inside. She wanted so badly to squeeze those eyes shut, to block out the insanity and wait for reality to reassert itself, but she was too afraid to look away. "Please," the assistant librarian, who definitely did not get paid enough for this and who was (in her estimation) far too young to die, begged tearfully as she tried in vain to melt backwards through the doors, her words scarcely more than a choked whisper. "P-please don't hurt me."