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Montrose Deleon

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Everything posted by Montrose Deleon

  1. Death. Muerte. Mortis. Teleute. The End. He's been present at his great-grandmother's funeral when he was a teenager. His buddy Jordan had gone driving five beers south of sober and wrapped his car around a power post. When he'd volunteered at a retirement home, an old man that he'd been reading The Stand to had simply leaned over and stopped breathing. This was a whole new level. The blood on Akemi's corpse had a glittery, coppery sheen that brought the sound of grinding rocks to his ears. The expression on her face, not of shock or horror or even irritation seemed to make it all the worse, as though she'd simply had to pay a large credit card bill. For some reason, the image of a key dropping off of a ring assailed him and he shook his head to clear it. When he'd reached out to the vampires (Massassa, right? Man, fuck Anne Rice and Joss Whedon) to cloud their thoughts, the link hadn't been entirely one-way. In order to cloud their perceptions, he'd been forced to a brief eternity of sharing their senses to know how to confound them. For that never-ending tenth of a second, all he could think about was a time when he'd been marching from Maricopa to Tuscon beneath the blistering September sun. The agonizing squeeze of muscles dripping sweat and the tearing of his throat with sandpaper had nearly been the death of him on one of his first self-inflicted ordeals. Most of all, he remembered crying but having no tears from thirst. If a passing motorist hadn't picked him up, his journey to enlightenment would have ended on that road. And he'd never taken water for granted since, cherishing every drop in memory of that eternal thirst. The same thirst that was these creatures' every waking moment. He'd done the absolute worst thing that he could have done: he'd empathized and seen through the enemy's eyes. Suppressing a shudder, he stood back, letting the surviving members of the cabal handle the interrogation. He wasn't about to stop them from getting answers, but he didn't have it in himself- didn't hate the dead thing enough- to force answers out of it.
  2. Montrose Deleon

    Mage 20 - COMBAT THREAD

    So this is what a wizards' duel feels like? The prismatic flow of willworking prickled at Montrose's skin and reminded him of the smell of tangerines. The image was quite at odds with Kaitlin pulling a Lou Feringo and Cade doing the James Bond thing. He'd been in plenty of fights, but this was turning into something on a whole new level. There was also the fact that he used his magick to see and feel and experience, not attack. Besides, there were too many cooks in the kitchen. Rather than try to force his magick to do something it wasn't suited for, he went a different route. Ramming his fist into the side of the vehicle that he remained close to, he let the momentary explosion of pain loosen his senses to once again try to interface with those of their attackers, he whispered to them, and if the movies were right, vampires would hear it. "We aren't here. We are there. We are everywhere. We are gone. We are beside you. We are behind you. We aren't here." OOC: Using a Mind 3 effect to create confusion among the attackers
  3. "Sure. This normally requires contact, but I'll see what I can do." Reaching to his jagged stone pendant, Montrose squeezed it between his hands. The skin of his palm broke slightly and he used the pain of his actions to loosen his perceptions from his body, trying to quest back to the sense-clusters of the vehicle following them.
  4. Okay... not gonna lie, didn't see that one coming The fact that he was surprised struck him as silly. Perhaps he'd allowed himself to get out of the mindset of being under siege by events. Indeed, Mia had aroused everyone's suspicion, but to actively attack them in this way seemed... uncouth. Wasn't she supposed to deny everything or make subtly veiled threats about leaving well enough alone? Vampires. Okay. Mist. Superstrong. Stakes. Hypnosis. Sex appeal. Buffy. Wha'd that poindexter in Texas call them? Massassa? Yeah that sounds about right... hypnosis. That would be bad. Standing up, Montrose moves slowly between Cade and Kaitlin, the two that have approached. Putting on a friendly smile, he addresses the head leech. "Master... Radu? Yes? Perhaps someone could explain these accords to us so that we don't accidentally make a social boo-boo? As you see, you have my associates and I at a bit of a disadvantage." Seemingly nonchalant, he claps his hand on each of their shoulders whispering "sorry 'bout the pinch". As his hands clap on them, he digs the nail on each pinky finger into their shoulder, causing a minute amount of pain. He has never tried this spell before, and he's flying by the seat of his pants. In hope that he can jar their senses just enough to allow him to interact with them, he extends his psychic defenses as far out as he can.
  5. Over the course of the afternoon and evening, Montrose had worked to still his body's responses to the itchy fabric. Something about cotton just make him shift uncomfortably. Still, it was useful in that the discomfort of the suit into which he had essentially been poured kept his mind focused. Under normal circumstances the too-short skirts on the ladies and slightly taut fit of the shirt across Hitman's chest might have distracted him, but embracing the infernal irritation between his shoulder blades and not scratching helped him pay attention to Mia's words and actions. "Yeah. Things got a little... unexpected back there," he said as he looked over the cocktail list, forcing nonchalance into his voice. "So how do you think Gaunt and Mather are connected? And should I get a scotch or bourbon?"
  6. "All right, let's get dolled up. But really, we should have a game plan. I'm getting the impression that a point-blank 'What aren't you telling us about the disappearance' is... less than ideal." The speed with which Mia had called Cade after the meeting with Simon occurred to him, as well as the circumstances. "Also... maybe we should stop naming names. There's every possibility that uh... You-Know-Who -yeah, laugh it up- has set up some sort of sympathetic magical surveillance."
  7. "Or maybe he's some kinda simulacrum. A golem. A made man and not in the mafioso sense of the word." Shopping. A night on the town. Oh what the hell, it's not like it was the weirdest thing that had happened so far.
  8. Motrose steps forward, not at all sure how he can suddenly be here and around Cade and Simon. "Waaas this some sort of test? Explica, por favor?" Equinox? Meh. Cheshire seems more fitting somehow.
  9. Events had spiralled quite out of control and Montrose mentally shrugged and let go of his need to actively know and opened his mind and senses to simply absorping what was being thrown his way. Life was funny like that. "I guess you're not talking about that old disney movie, right? Never read much of the classics. I thought Plato described Utopia? Meh, I guess he did both." Fixing the aptly-labeled Cheshire Cat with a quizzical eye, he simply waited for it to spring into action. At this point, if it were to start reciting the Gettysburg address, he wouldn't have batted an eyelash. "Got a name, fella, or shall we just call you Cheshire, like my associate suggested?" There was still the matter of finding Mathers and his possible connection to their benefactor's death, (what if he hasn't died yet but will and this spell reaches through time to set into motion events that lead to his death so the spell goes off properly and yeah that's downright silly) if any.
  10. You found- Y'know what? Sure, let's go with that. Doesn't really matter. Montrose took a moment to examine the sensations of confusion and trepidation that seemed to have been his constant companion. It occurred to him that he was truly doing what he ostensibly set out to do: have new experiences. All the dodgy, dangerous things he'd done in the name of experience had been done from a relatively safe place. Even the risk-taking had been embarked upon with a cavalier sense of fun. For the first time in a good long while, he was honestly afraid that he was out of his depth. He'd jumped into this situation without thinking and now there was at least one magician actively out for his life. It was certainly a new experience. "Yeah, good call." With a grunt, the lumpy man turns to follow Kaitlin back to the secret door. "May as well see how far the rabbit hole goes. Which of us is Neo and which is Morpheus?" That guy was clearly out to kill us... why am I worried that Hitman over there is going to kill him in the course of questioning him?
  11. "Oh, we're so far beyond the pale in terms of enchantment here, it's a wonder any of us can see straight." There were most assuredly patterns at work here. The books were stacked and the sign was enchanted. Like... like a lock... the stacks as tumblers, the sign as the lock? Or was it a pin? And the cat. He'd never been much of a cat person, so there wasn't perhaps as much significance to the animal having enchantments of its own. Just another magical pet. At least the pantry was well stocked. Spices, breads, baking supplies. There was definitely a homey sense of- And what have we here? Carefully, the lumpy man moves a sugar jar away from a seam in the wall. Although made to look like nothing more than the segmentation between two wall decorations, it went deeper. Maybe this was the door that would be opened when the lock was- The sound of yowling feline broke his reverie. "Oh, what now?" Abandoning the secret door, he heads out to see what this ruckus is all about.
  12. "Fair enough. But it was sure trying its damndest to end us. I got a sneaky suspicion it wouldn't'a shown you the same consideration." "Hadn't escaped my notice. Normally when I try to join senses with something it takes some jiggering, poking, prodding, what have you. Like trying to squirm into a suit sized for someone else." The compact lump of a man carefully advances past the doorway, trying to stay light on his feet and not extend his center of gravity too far in any one direction. "...this time was more like... I dunno. Falling into a bathtub. Full of gravel." His fists involuntarily curled in sympathetic frustration to his brief, vague memory of touching the elemental's mind. An honest scrap was one thing, but actual malicious violence was something he deeply abhorred, simply because his style of magic was to share the experiences of the people and places around him. What had been done to the spirit seemed to fit very firmly into the second category. Someone puts a slave collar on you for eternity, think you'll care too much about what you do when you finally shuck it off? Triessa's right. "So, anyway, this is likely a place of power. Think this... 'Gaunt' fellow is trying to claim it? Or did we just trip the alarms that our benefactor put into place?"
  13. Carefully pushing open the door, he scans back and forth. He's used to facing things head on, but this most recent engagement where he'd been confronted with a creature of magic and hate had shaken his world view. Be honest. It would have killed you. You thought you were ready for anything and how'd that work for you, eh? Trying to keep his breathing steady, he ponders shutting himself off from his own fear. But then, if he did that, how would he know he was alive? "So, Hitman Cade," he whispers as he looks around, "That's clearly not the first time you've fought some sort of magical... monster based on your reaction. Any pointers?"
  14. He seemed to lurch forward, tearing himself out of the strands of magic that he had conjured. For a moment, he had to look down at his hands, to make sure that they were flesh and blood and not stone and earth. The sense of raw frustration and vindicated anger had given way to... to... Montrose blinks and looks around. "Okay... note to self... do not try to share the senses of a spirit as old as time or somesuch..." Pinching the bridge of his nose, he tries to take in the surroundings. At the very least, this evening can definitely be construed as a New Experience. "So wha'd I miss? Aside of..." he looks around, sheepishly, "Everything?"
  15. "That... is an excellent question for which I have no adequate answer..." Seriously. Montrose was all about new experiences, but this took the cake. The fucking hulk just arrivedand Kaitlin leapt like a fucking panther which in foresight won't be as surprising as might be expected and Aja did something and the guy just exploded like they do in Doom when you blow up the barrel which seems appropriate since Cade is some sort of hitman action star who was apparently expecting the surprise to act so quick and now Triessa had caused the explosion with what looked like the world's most powerful letter opener and what the ever loving fuck was this pile of brick- Think! Right. Think. Did this thing think? He pulled on his pendant, breaking skin and using the twinge of pain in his fingers to loosen his perceptions, trying to reach out to whatever was on the other side of the moving bricks.
  16. Okay what how that wasn't supposed to happen what holy shit Montrose had never been quite so dumbfoundedly terrified in his life. He'd gone cliff diving, polar-bear bathing, and faced down a mountain lion naked just for the experiences. This was on a whole new level. Move! What Do something! Be an action movie cliche! Do holy shit what the hell did that guy do to himself Distantly, he will be aware that he needs to have done something but his mind, shielded from external assault, falls prey to something far more prosiac: confusion.
  17. With a smile he didn't quite feel, he turned back to the van, shrugging. Quite at odds with his nonchalant manner of his actions, he began to share his senses with the rest of the burgeoning cabal. His mind brushed the outermost layers of theirs with a tremendous impulse of caution. "Don't look back at the road to hard," Montrose said, his voice hard and in stark contrast to the smile on his face. "He thinks he's hidden. He's here on the orders of someone named Gaunt, and he's got a magical knicknack of some sort that he is convinced can kill us with a thought." What the hell have I gotten into? Although he'd fought many, many times, and quite of few of them had been dangerous affairs, it was the first time he'd ever come to contact with someone actively wishing to kill. It was... disquieting. Inwardly, he examined the sensations caused by the slowly-erupting sense of fear that was simmering just below the surface of his thoughts. "We can either try to rush him or proceed inside and pretend we don't know he's there."
  18. "Huh. Assume that I don't." Casting a glance back to the manor, he gave it another once-over. His magical senses were probably ill-suited to seeing the resonance of the place. "All the more reason to make sure we're not being followed in." Seeing through concealments, on the other hand, was something he could do. He reached for his stone necklace, squeezing it to unlimber his senses and expanding his awareness.
  19. "Oh, I don't think any of us are destined to live very quiet existences. Something will always be wrong. Thank Anson for getting us involved, eh?" Stepping out of the van, he scanned back toward where they'd come from searching for signs of something amiss, but knowing that whatever was happening probably involved magical concealment. With a sigh, he turned back to the mansion, then back to the road. "Should we determine who's following us? I'm thinking that it's rude to eavesdrop and we should, yanno, ensure we have privacy."
  20. Montrose tilts his head. "You have to ask? I'm in this for the proverbial pound. Lead on."
  21. Oh boy! Murder mystery time! "Okay, that make sense. So then I guess your next series of statements involves where his home and sanctum are." Inhaling, Montrose ponders, letting his senses encompass a greater idea of now than typically considered. They will fail which means they will have always failed, which means that this act of magick was one of desperation. Desperation could fuel Will like few other things aside of fear and perhaps insanity. That Anson was enacting this magic indicated that the sense of danger in the constant-now of temporal senses must be impending indeed. "On another note... how many times will this conflict been fought and lost?"
  22. "Naturally" The door he gravitated toward had a simple outline of a stone arrowhead. It had no meaning apart from the object it depicted, but to Montrose, it represented a turning point. Indeed, he wasn't the least bit surprised to discover that the image was almost exactly like the gravel chip hanging from a leather thong around his neck. What started as a fist-sized chunk of roadside gravel had been smoothed by blood, sweat, water, pressure, and time into a smaller, arrow-like charm. Past the door was the gym he was always going to have had. The persistent dream suddenly made a bit more sense. "Anson," he said with a chuckle. "You shouldn't have." In the center was a sandbox in a slight pit, about the size of a boxing ring. The heat radiated upward as he stepped the edge, promising a sweaty, uncomfortable time to anyone who spent more than a few minutes in its confines. Past that was an array of weights as well as a jungle-gym like array of posts and bars that looked to be modular and able to be set up into any number of configurations to practice jumping, hanging, gymnastics, acrobatics, or pretending to be Tarzan. Close by were three heavy bags made of thick canvas, one filled with sand, one with gravel, and the last seeming to be inflated with nothing but air. As he moved past the pit and gym, he encountered a small kitchenette with an old-style percolation pot and bags of coffee. In the small fridge were an assortment of fruits and vegetables and he gleefully snagged an apple and bit into it while he continued the inspection of his new digs (is that what the kids these days are calling it? gotta ask my godson). Against the back wall, There were three small rooms. The leftmost held a cot and chair, and a few small creature comforts, including a small shelf with a few paperbacks. On closer inspection, they turned out to be bad mysteries and trashy romance novels. The side of his mouth came up in a lopsided grin. "Don't judge me, you all-seeing sonofabitch." The second room greeted him with the quiet gurgling of water from a small pool. It was about the size of a dinner table and about six inches in depth. Water emerged at the top of an upper tier and flowed into a small drop into the bottom pool. The disturbance of the tiny fall seemed to give way to an unnaturally still edge, even as the liquid beneath flowed into a pump to go back up to the top level. It was surprisingly cool, seeming almost frigid in comparison to the flushed heat of the rest of the sanctum, and Montrose knew that this would be a place for stillness and contemplation. Stepping into the third room was like walking into a solid wall of heat. Within was a wooden sauna, with the central rock oven giving off waves of burning, water-leeching heat into the small room. He dubbed it the purge room almost immediately and shut the door. Finishing the apple, he looked around at the sanctum. He could train, fight, sweat, meditate, and think in this place. Indeed, this was a spectacular-looking and feeling place for safety and reflection. Anson was definitely buttering them up good. Montrose was under no illusions that the piper wouldn't have to be paid. Perhaps sooner, perhaps later, but one of the most axiomatic laws of magick, however it was worked, was that nothing was free. Anson was setting them up as a cabal in New Orleans, but to what purpose remained to be seen. Based on the workings of Magick that Anson had apparently enacted and the lengths he had gone to, Montrose had no doubt that it was a very important Purpose indeed. Abruptly, he stopped, blinked, and looked down at the apple core in his hand. It was a second before the significance hit him. "Forgot something, Anson," he said. Grinning, he set off looking for a wastebin.