Interlude: Outside Oblivion

October 11, 2018:

Ripclaw, the Witchblade, and the Magdalena regroup and reorient themselves to the task at hand.

Just Outside the Oblivion Bar

Alleyway outside the bar. Oilcan fire, alcohol, various and sundry denizens of NYC.


NPCs: None.



Mood Music: [*\# None.]

Fade In…

Outside the Oblivion Bar; dark, though a clear zone. No Limbo Demons present within a good two to three block radius, they had made sure of it along with the runes being placed by fellow Bar goers. It is effective to a point. The planemeld is something else entirely an entire city on lockdown, unheard of since Metropolis was attacked by Atlanteans, areas perhaps when the Apokolips pillars appeared and also during the Gotham Earthquakes of 09. Now, they stand there, under the night sky. Chill but warmed by the bonfire set up not far to the left. Ignited by a man in a red cap who is short, with bandy knees and a big nose. One would think this was some slow roasting kegger but its not, its an intermission and a small celebration for days of hard work.

Robert stands with a green military jacket, hoodie underneath overtop a flannel, torn jeans and cowboy pants. His hand rising up to look at his cell phone, staring at the light and putting one careful thumbprint to it.

There is alcohol being passed around, several bottles to the huddle of bodies, not transients, or homeless but the victorious patrons of the OB.

Ripclaw waves the offer off so it passes next to him.

"A small win but more important, we can seek out the Bearer supposedly hiding here." The Ice Giant….


Vivienne was, loosely, among the group that was gathered around the fire, but she was not standing. Rather, she sat slightly away from the group, having pulled over whatever box or crate she could scavenge, one of her swords laid across her knees, a bit of rag worked back and forth as she cleaned it. She was exhausted. It was in the set of her shoulders, the cant of her head. Even the slowness with which she cleaned her weapons was evidence enough of her current state. But for all of that, she looked as grim, as determined as she ever did. She had, after all, been raised by the church, and they seemed to place in high regard those who were willing to push themselves until they dropped in the traces. She was close enough to hear the shaman's words, "Are we any closer to identifying them?"


Sara is in her usual attire, although the weather has become colder, so the leather jacket is now zipped once outside of the bar, the lapels even pulled up to shield her neck and jaw-line from the bitter winds cutting between buildings to funnel over the undaunted flames of fires.

The bottle passed off by Ripclaw is captured by a bare hand where a zipper barely dances against the glass. "Small wins are the skirmishes in war that lead to the end." For which side, Sara does not state, but she raises the bottle for a sniff before she sips it and hands it down the line to the others awaiting.

Through firelight, Withchblade passes a glance towards the Magdalena - looking back to Ripclaw to await his answer.

The illumination cast off by the burnbarrel shows the faces of those huddled near, an orc perhaps, a stunted troll, a beautiful woman with three eyes, several typical looking men and women and one overgrown white skinned fae that has no wings. They're keeping to themselves but near enough to the trio of Artifact bearers and hunter to feel still like them.


"Closer, it is not so much my task to identify as hunt. That is on you, Detective." He glances with red eyes from Witchblade to the Magdalena, "Then you, likely will be the one to lay it low so we can contain and remove. LIkely not this night but soon… " The bottle this time is accepted when it passes by, taking it up and drawing a swig.

"Join us Viv, you're amongst your pack." Robert grins, "Some of us… I suppose."


Vivienne looked over, as she hears Sara's reply, looking for a moment, as she if she were going to reply. Instead, she simply put away her sword, leaning forward to rest her forearms on her knees, listening to the banter being passed around, hearing Robert's reply, and his entreaty to join them. Again, she opens her mouth, but then simply closes it, rising from where she'd settled herself and moving towards the fire, toeing the crate across the ground in front of her, before she set herself back down on it. She did not accept the bottle when it was passed, save to move it on to the next person. "I've had enough practice doing that." She finally offered something into the conversation.


Sara pays no mind to those in the backdrop, no matter how beautifully morphed, they are.

Once the bottle is taken from her hand, she rocks forward - towards the flames…

Her facade is aglow on a warm side of the color wheel, casting the long fall of her hair in a burning Auburn/Amber - falling over a leather clad shoulder and filling the black creases of her leather jacket.

Empty hands clasp together and fingers knot while the Sicilian blooded woman gives a small smile and a shrug. "What is 'on me', is relative. Like Cyber Warfare…." A glance towards Ripclaw and Magdalena is given a similar moment.

"Crusades? I am curious, did you share a glass with Joan of Arc while the Bay…" No glass needed to tip to companionship.

Ripclaw was even hinted a sidelong stare with an exhale. Sara's proverbial fistbump, made, and over while she rests her back against a brick apartment-rise. "I have already began the research and done what I need in my line to open data for the departments use. Closing cases…" A snare of a pasing bottle. "… and all."

Unspoken lingo, although while modern day P.D. does not look to artifacts -

They Do.


"And I am grateful." Robert says in regards to Vivienne's prowess in detaining demons, bearers and the like.

"The detecting, finding the real names of these other bearers we hunt and fight. That is on you." The man explains and glances to one woman then the next, mindful that the rest of their barrel party is filtering off, likely back in to the Oblivion Bar or whatever fae mound to sewer they climbed free of. The bottle left behind he lifts it after them in a show of respect before it's handed Sara' way once more.

"I know we're all tired, exhausted but I feel we're making headway or I could simply be feeling this…. " The odd bottle is glanced at, rope vining wrapped about it, archaic writing etched in to the sides and inside of it, what appears to be 'wings' float about. "Unf… should have looked before drinking. It's potent at least. My face is numb."

"What about the Crusades?" He echoes the cop.


Vivienne managed a smile, at Sara's words, whether the woman had intended them to be companionable or not, "I am afraid that was a different Magdalena. I have only been in service for seven years. I'm am twenty-two, though, so that puts me at about half the shelf-life of most Magdalenas, so I suppose I need to make the most of the years I have left." Vivienne looked away, watching the figures fading away into the backdrop of the city, off to parts of the city known and unknown. She turned her palms up, studying the scabbed slices there. She had not been healing herself as completely as she might have done if they had not been so overrun with demons, "Might as well enjoy the bottle while you have it."


The bottle Ripclaw… claw-taps is eye'd carefully by Sara, and the white of sclera go a light ashen shade for a moment.

A light laugh with a shake of her head and she commences sipping her 'Heimlager' to pass it onward and simply eye the Winged Bottle Spirit in its passing. "No, you're feeling the right Spirit, Brother Spirit." The final wording in his title even changing a tenor in her voice, but with a pitch of her hand through her hair, that Age Old Bracelet is glimpsed in Chitinous cling and the clawed grip over a Lava Huen Stone.

Even then, the Witchblade smiles at them both. "Our time is not that different, but we both still have.." A silence as Viv studies her own "visual" scars, and Sara glances aside to avoid an era over 200 years ago, or one almost 500…

"Several years to enjoy," The pause has Sara looking back at them both and in a moment of a sweep of a finger over her DataPad Cell, Ripclaw is receiving a download. "While we have them."

A glance to Viv, as well then. "All I have gathered thus far." Another sip…SIP..Pass.


"Drinking this years will become hours, at best." Ripclaw's pale lips curl up and he waves it at Madgalena, "Take one drink. It is impolite and considered incredibly rude if you turn away an offering like this." He is full of it but his stoic and serious expression is very much that.

"Twenty two? I thought you were older, hell." A lift up of that earlier phone, splintered, cracked, chipped up yet it still works. "So, we're closer and closer. Good…. a janitor? A florist?"


Vivienne closed her hands, pushing herself up to her feet, as she took the bottle. She gave it a once over, before she took a sip, not a large one, before she passed it back, slipping her free hand into her armor, pulling out the phone she kept there, checking the screen, before she slipped it back in, "I feel twice that age and then some. I don't suppose it helps that I was in eastern Europe hunting demons when most girls were thinking about what they planned to wear for their sweet sixteen." There was no regret in her tone, or anger. How could there be? She was what the Church and her blood had made her to be, "Thank you," that offered to Sara, "I appreciate having something to work with."


A placid glance is passed towards Ripclaw, one that has no -tell- of age, but seems locked 'in time'.

But he is the Tradition, lived on and brought to current and made… Real.

The pass of drink is regarded just as much as the exchange of glances at their Devices and the further closure gained. All that Sara wanted in regards to all of this chaos that is shredding people - via Soul before body.

Viv's revelation has Sara rising with a hand burrowing into the crevices of her seat (made of a milk crate backdated….).

"It is not much, but it is proof enough." Right?

"Bitch, please." A final glance to Ripclaw in his regard for ages (or lack thereof!)

"You know better." Artifacts after all!

Sara, on the other hand, takes her exit down the alley and out, without the 'you're welcome', to Viv, or Robert. It's accepted at this point.

"I would appreciate any known archaeologist librarian references, mine is…" A waffling gesture of her hand and Sara exits stage left.


"Sounds like the better alternative to me." Robert comments, "We're all feeling beyond our age. Lets hold up on drinking that." A grin is fired at Sara and her /bitch, please/, "I am saying stop because I have an idea."

That bottle is acquired again, held aloft, "This speak of the past, lives and all… you realize we can through the right methods visit those past selves and this fluid, fae liqour, its about the correct potency and effect." The man rambles off on this explanation, clearly it is affecting him - at least some, that's saying something as he has an on and off again trigger-able healing factor.

"Spirit Walk, a trip through your former hosts, in doing so we may be able to learn more of our enemies."

"We can speak of it another day."

"I… Sara, one of these days you will hold still for a full sentence." He smiles warmly and then looks at the embers and final flames.

"Think on it and we can discuss it more later… we have much to do." And he is gonna keep the bottle.

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