lostcarnival | ⇨ The Tourist Trap: WEEK 2

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⇨ The Tourist Trap: WEEK 2

Who: Anyone, anywhere in Portland.
When: October 7st - 14th, 2017
Where: Portland area, in the new reality.
What: The week begins as the time of the Animal Fair finally arrives! Meanwhile, the truth of this reality starts to be revealed, and forces both human and celestial alike attempt to take advantage of a rare opportunity.
Warnings: Individually marked!

BY ANY OTHER NAME↴

Tensions thicken as various supernaturally forces react to the events of the previous week. Something critical is afoot, and it's only a matter of time before things start coming to a head. It's time to find out more about what's happened to this world, and what will happen in its future.

► A NIGHT AT THE FAIR: From the night of the 7th to the morning of the 8th, the Animal Fair is officially in town. There is a top level down below with more information, though you can also RP content from this elsewhere if you wish. The host, who is very likely something called a Wyld Fae (if you discovered that ICly), will be present, but they will only be appearing to you of their own accord and attempting to track them down by force will be ineffective. Just kick back and relax! Fairs are supposed to be fun.

► THORNS IN YOUR SIDE: Culminating in a full fledged attack against the Sanctuary, it would seem that The Rose Queen is declaring war on the changeling population of Portland. Though the vicious attack of thorns against the safe house was eventually stopped, it wasn't without damage, and the black roses that caused it are still popping up around the city and threatening the places where homeless and lost changelings would be likely to congregate. It's obvious now that this is a serious threat - will it ever stop without an intervention?

► HELL ON EARTH: As Anath's march draws near, the first waves of her demons will be entering the city. Primarily acting as scouts and foot soldiers, these demons will be attempting to secure loyalty from the local demon populace, as well as taking out any angels they can manage to catch. It's a level of aggressiveness against heaven's forces that hasn't been seen for years, and it's a foreboding hint of things to come. These demons can be NPCed by anyone, and will mostly be thugs or manipulators who don't know much about Anath's plans but do know that you need to join their side. They are also rowdier than most of the demons in Portland, and are a threat to the innocent mortal populace as well, if they decide to try to get their kicks here.

► THE WIZARD POLICE: The Enlightenment Council seems to have demanded control of the local Circle chapter, and now backup has arrived. These mages are being sent out into the city as if they are a police force, and will be attempting to demand control of various common supernatural areas, as well as questioning community members that they run into. Whatever is going on, it seems to have resulted in the Council instituting what is essentially martial law... of course, not everyone sees any need to heed their demands. If you are a demon, warlock, or other rogue element, expect to be harassed or even attacked by them. These character can be NPCed, and if you need additional information you can ask the mods.

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

[Closed to Sans]
There have been more memories of a human life. It doesn't quite fit, much to Iuliael's disappointment, there are... things aren't right. It's hard to think into very much, but it's bothersome. Anyway, to feel better about things Iuliael puts on a human guise and walks sidewalks in parts of the town where people don't mind, singing Hallelujah. Most songs are Iuliael's favorite while he's singing them, but that's one of the best.

A car full of Anath's demons sees him. They brake and idle, forcing what little traffic there is at this hour to detour. Then three figures leave the car and it continues on its way. These are unremarkable-looking demons, cliche even; nearly human-shaped in well-fitted pinstriped suits, red or blonde curly hair with horns hidden under trillbies, coppery eyes concealed by heavy sunglasses, black tongues behind sharp white teeth. A matched set that's fond of the 20s gangster aesthetic, armed with knuckledusters and thin daggers with an ugly sheen. They creep after Iuliael without making a sound, but they needn't have bothered.

This is not a mindful or observant angel and he doesn't know people are watching him until they're within a few feet, and he doesn't know they're demons until they lay hands and weapons on him. Then he has no thought but to escape, or try to - to run, but there are three of them and they're naturally inclined to near-human form while he isn't. To become a flock of doves, but the demons are fast, they can take advantage of the moment of disorientation and catch or strike enough of the birds that Iuliael can't escape, and now angel blood has been spilled. The street smells nose-stinging and peppery, like incense. No one speaks.

The sunlight's fading and anyone who was out to see the start of this has decided to hide and wait for it to end. Iuliael makes a game effort, flowing and shifting like water or flame, flaring up into a towering vaguely floral mass of wings to startle them, even screaming - and Iuliael has an amazing scream, astonishingly loud continuous, like nothing from a human throat, the kind that seems to make the world throb and shudder. Even hench-demons have to stop to clap hands over their ears. But they came prepared to kill angels and have wounded Iuliael already. Even if he doesn't have to stop to breathe he can barely move while making that noise. They can struggle towards him, human guises slipping, murder on their faces.

[OPEN]
After that Iuliael is more careful. It's a little easier to remember or plan things, or so it seems. He tries to stay out of trouble, to actually spot it beforehand and back the heaven away. There's still at least one case of a frantic partial seraphim and a winged imp going on a high speed chase - as Iuliael is probably the least imposing, most defenseless angelic presence around, even low-level hellspawn has a chance of bringing him down alone.

Sans has had a lot to think about recently, and a lot of it has involved demons. He'd never had any memory of a human life before his angel one, but the visions he'd had while capture by Nightshade have left a gash in the ease of his recollection. He remembers hell, and he remembering suffering, and he remembers the hands of demons on him.

Much like there are hands on Iuliael right now.

Sans doesn't know the other angel particularly well - he expects it might be hard to know Iuliael even at the best of times - but the sight of a pack of demons already laying into them triggers a feeling of desperation, fear, and importantly... anger. It's not often Sans's sense of oncoming death is triggered by another celestial, but that is what he is feeling today, and he knows for a fact that there will be no soul to usher to the afterlife when they are done.

Sans isn't a warrior, or a guardian. Fighting groups of demons was never what he was intended for - he was meant for stealth, speed, and cunning. It was his job to whisk souls away before hell could ever get to them.

The thing is, all three of those traits do actually translate to being deadly, given some practice. Practical that Sans has made a point of having. And then there's that scream. Good thing skeletons don't have any ears.

While the world seems to shatter under the weight of that sound, Sans enters the group of demons as swiftly as a bullet, his wings and halo ablaze and his scythe drawn - by the time he's stopped, his blade has already passed through one of them.

There are no words. For now, he moves on instinct and fury alone.

Even the scream, that cracks glass and ruptures eardrums at close range, that had saved him years ago in some vaguely recalled confrontation with a warlock, that's not enough. Iuliael sees his own demise in the mean little scrabble with minor demons and - he should be relieved, for all that he's found beauty and divinity in a world without Heaven. He should welcome oblivion. He can't. It's not just that this is a meaningless death, that he's been among mortals for long enough to pick up traits. The thought comes; If I die, what about- what? No, who?

He won't get to know. It's not... it's not fair!

Then a little psychopomp, of all things, comes zipping through with a flashing scythe. The scream stops, though odd echoes and some of the reverberation linger. Honestly Iuliael's first, shocked thought is the equivalent of muscle memory, the affront that the Dove of God would feel if it saw someone defying their purpose. Angels of death are not made and placed to extend lives, nor to cut them short before their time!

The Dove's reaction does not last and Iuliael manages to focus, to take stock quicker than usual, to think more clearly and rapidly than he has in a very long time. The two demons are reeling and recovering. They've processed enough of the situation to start to act. Psychopomps are fragile. They are not looking at Iuliael now. He can do something.

Long, long ago he brought fire and sword to battle, and perhaps it was longer ago that he flew at... aliens and beat them with his wings. He can't fight now. But, quickly, he can gather himself up and up and out, not in the random terrified flare like an animal making itself look bigger, but an approximation of the shape he had taken before the Severing. Hiding the injuries. Improbably tall. Six-winged. Robed. Inscribed with letters of fire. Bearing what looks like a great burning sword, point-downwards on the asphalt because he can't really support himself on two feet.

"Do Not," he tells the two demons, in something like his old voice. One looks up at him and blanches. He can't keep this up for more than a few seconds before the form melts and collapses. Too big and orderly. Maybe it's enough of a distraction.

Yikes. Sans is an angel, too, and even for him that's a little bit daunting. At least he doesn't have to focus on it - he's got something else to be doing.

It feels a little wrong, of course, but not as wrong as it would if it were anything but a demon. Psychopomps are meant to protect souls, and take them to the afterlife. Though most of the time that can be accomplished by being quick and careful, being completely useless in a fight wouldn't do much good.

Like a D&D rogue, though, he's much better at attacking by surprise. Now that they have their eyes on him things get more difficult - though its somewhat helped by the fact that Iuliael looked like he was going to become a contender for a moment there. Guess not.

It keeps the heat off of him for a few moments longer, which mean he can get in a second strike. His attempt to delimb the demon is caught short by them blocking his scythe with some kind of demonic chain weapon, snapping around the other side to try to catch Sans off guard. He bolts backwards with a flair of his wings, which brings him right into the range of the other demon.

Despite that demon preparing to defend against Iuliael, they spot the spot the opportunity, cracking down on Sans with a fist full of hellfire. Sans swivels his scythe, deflecting the punch and moving in to get another blow - only for the other demon's chain to whip out and catch him around one of his wings.

Fuck.

Iuliael is too far removed from biological processes and all the feeling associated with them for curses based around excrement or disease or sex to have any punch. All his association with humans and that hasn't rubbed off on him. So instead he thinks, with all the passionate conflicted-desperate feeling that a creature of Heaven has while taking the Lord's name in vain: Goddamn!

He falls to a knee, details sloughing into more eyes, more wings of solid flame, unable to maintain that much size and structure, but the effort hasn't hurt him. Fleeing, escaping crosses his mind, this would be a great time for it, but both who the Dove's agent and Julien had been are united on this: that would be wronger than any of his aimlessness for the past quarter century or his arrogance before.

Iuliael does the only thing he can think of, though it's not even really thought - lose all cohesion, all pretense of being solid, and move like the slap of a wave to splash and curl over one of the demons. He can't even keep track of which one is the bigger threat to the psychopomp, and he can't get up enough mass to get them both, but he bears this one to the ground, arms and legs bound by long mutable wings.

The demon's unholy weapons are white-hot brands thrust into water, but it goes both ways. His golden blood on a demon's skin sets off smoke. Crying out, Iuliael wraps and flows and offers no solid resistance to the demon's struggles, just thick, elastic substance that tugs the weapons away out of the creature's hands and jerks back from its teeth. He can't kill. But he can incapacitate, and dramatically. Of course this does mean that if something's not done about the other one, he can't even run.

Sans would love to be able to take off right now - these demons can probably fly, too, but he bets he can fly faster. Unfortunately, the second he lifts into the air, the demon jerks him back down to the ground again with that chain, and the sensation only proves to further rattle Sans's mind. It feels like what had been done to him before - a dark power, binding his ability to escape.

It's enough to cause him some panic, and where it not for Iuliael smothering the other demon in his wings, they probably would have had the chance to get in a blow strong enough to take Sans out. However, it's the sight of that strange, broken angel fighting that helps Sans get his head back together.

He darts around the side of the demon, using his own chain to trip him up, dashing around him more quickly than the demon can untangle himself. Despite the other end of the weapon tearing into Sans's wing and scattering golden blood, he still manages to lift himself into the air - just enough to drive his scythe through the demon caught in the middle.

Blood splatters, and he's not certain that the demon is finished for good - but he has other things he needs to worry about. Shaking his wing, but still unable to dislodge himself from the corpse he's chained to, he calls out to Iuliael:

"Let go and get back!"

It hurts, and it also hurts to know he's hurting someone. Yes, a creature of Hell, but if Iuliael has been proud of anything about what he's been on this world without the Dove working through him it's that he has been kind. He has partaken of the flesh of the dead, but also has quite literally never harmed a fly. It hurts. Iuliael weeps blood and clings.

It takes a moment for him to understand when the psychopomp speaks, and for another moment he clings harder. Pulling back means Sans will kill the demon. The Dove's agent would think correct, and a righteous act. Julien... Julien would feel both that this must happen, and that it is sad. Sometimes you cannot be a pacifist and still live and not do worse wrongs. Iuliael flows away, leaving bright golden smears.

Immediately, chest heaving, the demon starts scrambling and gets to all fours. No longer does it look like a mostly-human in a pinstriped suit. Clothes are in a few hanging tatters, skin is largely steamed away to show muscle, dark teeth and bone, silvery bits of organ held in by thick translucent membranes. It got exposed and held against a lot of blood, but not enough to kill it or even render it helpless. Even now it rasps defiance and tries to spring.

It won't get far, because Sans is ready - and unlike Iuliael, his first priority isn't isn't thinking about the demon's safety. His scythe is already pulled back, and as soon as Iuliael is clear, he's sent it spinning straight into the core of the hellion's body.

Just like the other angel suspected, Sans is killing the hell out of this demon. There is sort of an unfortunate whirling and slicing sound as his blade meets its mark. The demon goes down with a splatter of sizzling blood.

Sans lands and starts trying to detangle his wing. His wings are usually more like an ambient manifestation of light than physical objects, but demonic energies are capable of actually rending them, as is the case here. He flinches as he tries to get his figurative feathers out of the chain links.

"We should get out of here. If they were scouts, there's bound to be others."

Iuliael makes a little distressed sound, huddling in on himself. He doesn't look like an angel just now. A still photograph would resemble some kind of bizarre gold-streaked rag sculpture set with weeping blue eyes, but he moves and flows too much in real time.

"Holy, holy, holy, Lord God Almighty, who was and is and is to come, have mercy," he mumbles, unable to carry the tune. After the Severing there had been a long time when Iuliael had sung nothing but that in different languages - that praise seraphim in Heaven sing continually. It gave and gives a little bit of comfort to know that the Dove sings it at the same time he does, even if the timing and chosen language is probably really, really off.

But this really isn't the time for that. The bleeding psychopomp speaks and Iuliael tries to gather himself, his form becoming less disorganized. He's in that place that Julien knows and he doesn't, where something awful has happened and part of him is calm and unreal and pushing through the rest of him, which is anything but. "I - but - they split from a larger number when they saw me. There will be questions when they do not return. Can you fly? I can carry you."

The imp doesn't have long to chase Iuliael. What almost seems like a shooting star suddenly burns its way straight into the demon and against the wall of a building.

Joker is only half a man as he pins the creature, decapitating it neatly with his jaw clenched tight. The rest of him is burning, shifting light, an aurora crafted roughly into the shape of a man and wings. What part of him is human-looking enough, however, is clearly stressed. Angels don't really need to sleep, being what they are, but he in particular looks exhausted.... and pretty pissed off, all speaking.

"Bleedin' shit week, innit, Iuliael?" he says, managing to remember the other angel's name.

Iuliael banks, comes around, forming himself into a gently glowing dove-shape that hovers nearby. The remains of the imp smolder unpleasantly, staining the side of the building.

"That's an unwholesome image!" That biological creatures transmute what they eat into excreta, and the excrement itself for that matter, does not upset or disgust Iuliael. He's too removed from the whole process; even when taking his best human guise he's never bothered with a digestive system. He has taught himself about swearing, though, and knows blood should not be an element of it. "But I know what you mean. Thank you for stopping. You know I can't... Thank you."

"Supposed ta be." Letting out a breath, he pushes himself away from the building, wings flapping to keep him airborne while the details of his usual human appearance come back into focus. It always seems to be easier for guardian angels, perhaps because of how directly their duties tend to be tied to humans. He sweeps back his air a bit once that's a thing, looking aggravated.

"It looks like every faintly put together group and their grandmother is convergin' on Portland, doesn't it?"

"I know." Iuliael watches with a bit of envy. It had been easy for him, too, once, even though seraphim in Heaven are usually more abstract. These days if he's honest bird shapes are easier than human ones. Part of that is just that human faces are wonderfully complex.

"Yes. They're very motivated... I fear this is a bad sign." He sighs. Iuliael is all too aware that he is just not capable. If there's a major demonic push, he couldn't help much. "Jaoel, are you all right? You look weary. Or... it was Joker, too. Wasn't it?" The more human names some angels take don't always stick well in his head. He often has to ask.

'A bad sign' is putting it lightly, Joker thinks, although he doesn't say it aloud. A high ranking demon on the move, magical nonsense happening, the attack on the Sanctuary, and a call to angels that will be happening soon...

He'd be losing feathers without the visions.

Speaking of- Grimacing, he presses one hand against his face. "Jaoel's fine," he says, although a part of him shudders as if that's a lie. Like it's something that doesn't fit quite right. "There's just- too much goin' on too quickly, after all these years of peace and quiet. I can only take care of so many demons on my own."

More is happening than Iuliael can completely track, and unfortunately he's aware of this. "I can call you Joker! I don't mind. Helen likes being called Helen... I don't really get it, but I don't need to get it." He's very earnest. Iuliael has found a lot of beauty in this world, but not so much that he wants to make it harder on anyone.

"I wish I could help. Can I help? Without having to fight?"

That's the nice thing about Iuliael. Not the strongest or sometimes the brightest, but he cares, and just that is enough to make Joker smile slightly. It falters a little bit at the offer, because he's really not sure if someone like-

...Oh. Hm.

"It's a bit embarrassin' ta ask, since it's rather what I was made for," he starts off, slow, "but... I can't be everywhere at once, which is a problem when I have demons ta take care of and a charge ta watch. If ya wanted, could ya make sure he doesn't get inta too much trouble...? Just watch over him and such, with emphasis on 'watch'."

Iuliael literally glows brighter as Joker starts. A task? Could it be?

"Of course! As long as... I'm sorry, I forget. He's independent now, isn't he?" He's actually fairly good with children small or sweet enough to be taken in by singing. "I can follow but I can't see trouble coming like you could, so sort of it depends on what he'd be doing. I can't actually tell if something's poisonous."

The seraphim pauses. "I helped kill a footsoldier a while ago. A few days ago." He can't be more temporally specific than that. Keeping precise track of time is tough. "So, if it wasn't big trouble, maybe I could keep it from being too bad until you came."

"Oh, don't worry-" His hand flutters through the air for a second. "He's grown enough ta have some common sense in him. But if any of this fae nonsense get ta him, or any demons... Well, having someone as a second pair of eyes never hurts, does it?" He shakes his head a little.

"If it's anythin' too big or dangerous, just find me and I'll come racin' back."

A couple more eyes appear and open, looking hopeful. Iuliael understands most sayings, it's just at the same time he finds them odd and tends to take them literally as well. "If he doesn't go looking for trouble, or not when I'm there, anyway, then I could help if he finds it accidentally. I can still send doves, if you leave me something so they can find you."

He means the messenger magic, like what took Prudence's letter to so many angels recently.

"I want to meet him first," Iuliael says firmly, and then immediately undermines that firmness. "I mean, it'd be good for him to know, and to know maybe if I'm there go and be careful."

"Easy enough, huh?" Usually his angel form tends to obscure whatever human clothing he's wearing- all that bright light, you know- but he reaches up to pop a button off of the jacket he's wearing and hands it over. Simply enough, not something he's liable to miss. "Here ya go."

And as for Sora- Joker cranes his neck to look around, reorienting himself in the city. "Last I checked, he was over that way- you'll probably find him lookin' for folks on the street. Messy brown hair, big blue eyes- you'll see him. Or, rather, he'll see you if nothin' else. Psychic and all."

Iuliael takes the button and cups it like something precious, all aglow. To be of use! To be trusted with something! He'd hardly hoped anything like this would ever happen again. "Thank you."

"Yes. Yes, of course," he says, trying to listen with his whole body. It's important not to forget, and Iuliael forgets so easily. "What was his name again?"

Just... listen with your ears, Iuliael. The ears and the brain are enough. Still, it's a little endearing to see someone be all excited in this shitshow, enough that Joker smiles a bit.

"Sora. Like I said, psychic, so he'll be one of the few people who can see ya."

"Who can see me... uh. Right. Yeah." Looks like someone's forgotten that angels can just make themselves unseen. Iuliael's grasp on angel glamour is shaky anyway, but as a seraph or partial seraph he has a fluid and mutable form, like flame. He basically folds himself into less unusual shapes and lets the magic work off of that, he doesn't have the skill to go around as an abstracted wings-and-eyes creature while appearing to be human.

"Does he have enemies? Anyone to watch out for?"

Oh, Iuliael. Joker is starting to get worried about you.... But it's too late now. "He shouldn't, but with the local fae actin' up, the mages doin' who knows what, and all these demons.... Who knows what might take an interest in him."

"Yes. But I should also stay far enough that if there are demons that want me, they won't see him," he thinks out loud. "Because that would defeat the purpose. I swear to do everything I can, Joker."

⇨ The Tourist Trap: WEEK 2

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