Mages in the Night

April 24, 2015:

Phobos is trying to lure out HYDRA but it is Wanda that hears him yelling

New York


NPCs: None.


Mood Music: None.

Fade In…

This has been good, to have a sense of purpose of late, to follow a plan and to execute it. There's something about this that is appealing to the young man known as Alexander Aaron. He received the leyline crossings from those seeking Hydra and had been going from point to point triggering a crescendo of power at each, seeking to get the response he was looking for. At times people had seen him and called him a freak, at others they ran off screaming whenever he did it. So of late he's been trying to be… a little more subtle.

So it is that we are here so terribly late at night in the Village. The city, true to its reputation, is not entirely asleep but at such an hour it's definitely dozing rather deeply. There's still the faint sound of traffic and distantly a cat yowls as it seeks its breakfast. Nobody's on the street for now, save one.

The lone silhouette walking down the street with his hands in his pockets and a brown leather jacket providing warmth seems terribly distant. Something about him seems to make the world around him seem somehow… less real. There's no reason for it at apparently, at a glance he's just a thin young man, yet somehow…

He pauses at the corner of a street, a dog barks from inside a fenced in brownstone. He pulls out a cellphone or a small data pad, then turns left… turns right, then starts to walk out into the street.

"You should not go out in the street" offers an Eastern European accented voice from the darkness of an alleyway near the corner. "They yell at you and beep at you with their cars." There is a pause. "Why are you being so loud?" Something moves in the dark alley. The first sign of the talking figure are flickering red eyes approaching in the blackness.

Then Wanda emerges into the light of the street. Her eyes now a normal blue as they look over Phobos. The woman's clothes have seen better days; boots, tights, short dress, scarlet jacket. They are torn and weathered…and there look to be stains of some kind. Blood? She tilts her head from side to side. "If you keep yelling then they will come."

And when he turns to look upon the mortal that approaches to speak to him, she'll see… his own eyes aglow. Faint pinpricks of crimson light, just bright enough to leave faint trails. It's there, present, deep in the young man's existence. She can almost sense the otherness to him as he stands there in the middle of the road, the lack of traffic aiding him in that endeavour at such an early hour in the morning.

Looking up one way, then down the other, he turns that gaze back upon her and cocks an eyebrow. "Perhaps I wish for them to come." The way he speaks is calm, measured, it adds to the curiosity of him. The way he stands, the way he holds himself, that utter perfection in form that might make him seem like a classic statue carved from alabaster and given life. He narrows his eyes faintly, looking at her closer.

"I am about to shout again, you may wish to cover your ears."

"Why do you want them to come?" Wanda asks in a sing-song tone before looking up at the gloomy skies above. "When they come it gets…messy." There is a heated whispering at the space behind her left shoulder before she nods as if receiving an answer. "Shouting is rude. Are you rude?" Her fingers absently start to draw shapes in the air next to her thighs. Scarlet energy trailing the paths of the digits. "We know what you really are."

Save for his eyes… his movements… his being, there is naught that draws the eye and would scream Other, yet she can read him easily, openly. There's that timeless feeling of power, the age-old connection to the terror of ancient man. He is the being that has stood over man as plague swept through his village. He is the threat of the sun when the moon has passed before it, depriving man of the light. He is the red-eyed predator that was barely beyond the half of light from the campfire that man's ancestors clustered around.

Yet those words, those soft words from him are so gentle. "I can be rude. I choose not to be. When I can." There's a pause as he seems to gauge her, to watch. His 'voice' has not lifted yet though there he stands upon the line of power. "I want them to come for they hold speakers such as you and I. They prey upon the sighted. I would make them regret their choices."

"They tried to catch me already" Wanda replies, smiling faintly, "But my friends made sure they failed." She looks up and down the street. "Where are your friends? Why do you want to call upon them by yourself?" She crouches down on the sidewalk and her fingers start to trace over the pavement. They cut grooves into the concrete. Grooves that form sigils that glow red upon the leyline. "The last time that they had me…though they may have been different people. So many people want us." A sigh at that followed by a frown. "But they only want to cut us up. Do you go to church?"

For now she's put off his plans, his hands falling to his sides as he looks upon her. There's a curious calm to him, no fidgeting, no nervous motion, as if he were in control of himself fully… or that this whole mortal visage is but a pantomime. "I was going to let them take me, perhaps bring me to where they keep others, then free myself." Such a straight forward plan, and he seems to have no qualms about sharing such with her… as if it were but an inevitability that he has simply chosen not to act upon yet.

He steps towards her, out of the road as the city begins to wake up, as evidenced by a car driving down the street. The moment has passed, now if he were to manifest amongst such a neighborhood… people would end up with more than a few nightmares. He advances on her, mouth curving into a wry half-smirk. "What are you called?"

"What if they keep you asleep" she whispers as if they were conspiring against the world. "That is how they take you…in your sleep." She stops to admire the markings in the concrete before standing once more and looking over at him. "I am the all great Wanda!" she booms before laughing uproariously at her 'ego'. "I have heard worse names" she adds with a sigh and a shrug of her shoulders. "Many at home called me witch…before they tried to kill us."

Wanda glances up at the night sky once more as the city starts to stir. "They will find you if they want you" she notes, "You do not have to yell." Her eyes narrow as she looks at him again. "Who have they taken? Do you think they would not be free if they could be?"

Spreading his hands wide, Alexander seems utterly unperturbed at the prospect of being kidnapped. Yet that gesture is made so precisely, so smoothly that it's almost as if he were executing a manoeuvre he had taught himself in an effort to appear more… human. "I trust in Fate." And somehow she might imagine he means it as if Fate were a person to him he spoke with at times.

"Wanda," He says, his hands sliding back into his pockets. He bows slightly, crimson eyes lowering subtly as he murmurs, "I am Alexander." He steps off the street and onto the sidewalk, moving a few steps and then leaning back against the fence of an old brownstone, his arm resting comfortably upon a wrought-iron black fence top. "I do not know who they have taken. An acquaintance spoke to me of such going on, I took an interest." He pauses and looks upwards, brow furrowing a moment before he looks back down. "I have no horse in this race, as it were. But I am bored… and so I find myself enjoying the hunt."

"Bored?" Wanda giggles at that, seeming to find it very amusing. "How can you be bored when there is so much going on?" She drums on the side of her forehead with her fingers. "So many voices speaking…how do you stop listening to them? They told me at church they could fix it but…" A deep breath. "They lied. Everybody lies. You are probably lying. Maybe your friend is lying?" A long pause. "Hello, Alexander. I am Wanda." She glances up at the brownstones around them. "These houses don't walk" she decides.

As if she had asked him only a moment ago he responds, "I do not go to church. It would strike me as… odd." Alexander settles back and looks upon her, his regard falling upon her heavily as if he were gauging the very worth of her existence. He makes a small 'hm' noise and then replies to her, "I only have the one voice that speaks to me for the most part. It is loud enough, I find. And it rarely lies. At least to me." Then again one's own self-delusions rarely speak.

But then the conversation shifts, "If they do not, do you?" He asks this almost teasing as he pushes off of the fence and starts to walk down the sidewalk slowly, his pace easy and calm as if half-expecting her to come with.

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