The Occularum Role-Play

August 13th, London, England

It is a brisk, albeit gloomy day in London. The leaves of August just barely showing signs of their inevitable turn; their limp and lifeless forms saturating, dejected, into the murky, scum lined pavement of the city's dingy streets, quickly forgotten, like refuse. A light fog dusts the city; for what is a London day without fog- a musty gloom which encapsulates the city? Men don their hats, bundling into their waistcoats as though the thick fabric could protect them from the city's taint; women bundling their children to their skirts as to hurry to whatever destination awaits them- for no one merely takes a happy jaunt on a day such as this. It looks like rain, though in London, every day looked like rain. But still, most kept their umbrellas tucked beneath their coats for good measure.

Within the halls of Vandellum Manor, however, an entirely different mood is present. Four figures sit in the parlor, adorned with deep brocades, muted reds, deep mahogany woods. The first figure, a boy, lays rather unceremoniously sprawled across a rather plush lounger, encapsulated and cradled in its velvety fabric, his head resting upon rich pillows. His light, golden hair bore a striking contrast to the deep colors that surrounded him, and the pale visage of his skin, lacking any childish ruddiness, clashed against the black of his attire, a suit he apparently had no concern for getting wrinkled. He laid so still, if one did not know any better, they could assume he lay there dead. None of the other figures motioned to move him, or wake him; so he lay, peaceful as the grave. The second figure, a young woman; dressed in light attire, nothing to denote any sense of high class- but a work dress, a painters dress, smock and all- sat atop a stool, behind an easel, painting away. She had angled herself to look at an empty armchair that sat by the fire, occasionally peering around the side of her canvas at it for a few moments, before resuming her work. Her black hair was bundled up, a few strands escaping here and there, her hands lightly flicked with paint- her smock bearing the stains of her work. These two were silent, a light 'hmm' occasionally escaping the womans lips as she peered at the empty chair. The third, another woman, with darkened skin contrasting to the pale visages of the other two, her hair pinned neatly up, wearing practical, modern, well tailored attire of muted greys. She sat at a table towards the edge of the room, working intently at something, scribbling away, reading, then scribbling again. Her stormy grey eyes read a sense of frustration that her companions did not share.

The fourth, and perhaps the most striking, was none so silent as his companions. He was tall, towering over all him the room, and his darkened skin was warmed by the light of the fire. He was dressed; partially, pants, shoes, a loosely unbuttoned white shirt- but he turned to his companions with two vests in his hands. Both blue, to the untrained eye; though one slightly paler under the dim light.

"Which one, do you think?" He held up both in either arm to the painting woman, Ophelia, the lady of the house. Her eyes departed her work as she observed the options before her, tilting her head slightly.

"I like the indigo." She said after a moment, eyes falling to the darker colored vest.

"They're both blue." The other woman, Billie, commented, looking up from her work to entertain whatever fashion crisis Baelor had involved himself in.

"No," Ophelia looked back at her as Baelor looked at the latter woman incredulously. "Indigo is indigo." Baelor nodded his head and agreement as he smiled at Ophelia.

"Thank you kindly, my- what-ever would I do without you?" His smile was impish, and Ophelia let out an airy laugh before being sucked back into her work as quickly as she had departed from it.

"What about the burgundy?" The voice was a man's voice, but not Baelor's- and to the naked eye there was no other man in the room.

Baelor clicked his fingers. "I've had trouble finding the burgundy. I'd thought the same thing- but it seems the new 'help' has taken a shine to re-organizing my entire closet." There was a frustrated tinge to his voice.

"Check your wardrobe. With the mirror." The voice came once again, as Baelor set his two prior choices down on the back of the lounger as he quickly departed to follow the voice's instructions.

The remaining three were silent, Billie returning to her work, Ophelia continuing to paint, and the boy, Elias, continuing his peaceful slumber.

"There, there, Mrs. Abernathy, almost done. Then you can move," Ophelia's voice was quiet, lulling. This time, Billie barely flickered her eyes up from her papers.

Baelor returned after a few moments, a smile pulling across his face, his burgundy vest triumphantly in his hand.

"Ah, Elias- if you were here I could kiss you! Weeks I've spent looking for this!" Baelor looked about the room, his eyes energetic, sparkling as he tossed the vest on, buttoning his under shirt. A smile faintly traced the mouth of the sleeping boy, but no other movement was made.

Ophelia leaned away from her painting, looking it over once more with a critical eye.

"There, Mrs. Abernathy. All done, take a look." Once Ophelia had leaned away, one could see she had been working on the sitting portrait of an older woman, sitting in the same empty chair. It was masterful, capturing each minute detail that might have been present. Freckles, crows feet, stray hairs- Ophelia crinkled her nose as a breeze ran past the right side of her head. "Well, Mrs. Abernathy, from my perspective- that is what your nose looks like." She was silent for a moment, fighting back a sigh. "Very well, Mrs. Abernathy," She dipped her brush back into the flesh colored paint, tiny and nimble, and set to work evening out the crooked extremity. "I'll fix the nose."

After a moment of silent work, she leaned back again.

"Better?"

A breeze shifted through her hair, and she smiled. "Very good. I'll see it delivered to your son, Mrs. Abernathy." The fire flickered, and Ophelia's gaze raised once more to Baelor. A cold air whipped through the room, billowing through a window, tossing it open, shaking the panes against the outer wall. Billie sprang to her feet, rushing to close it before more cold air got in.

"Elias was right, I do believe the burgundy suits you better."

Yami woke up as he all too often did in the mornings, to the sound of his men yelling at one another. Throwing on his jacket he stormed down stairs, and by the time he had reached the bottom his men were all looking at him in silence. Scanning the room Yami slowly glared at his men one by one before lighting his cigarette and leaning against the bar. "What, not going to finish your little argument now that I'm here?" Silence. "Good. Cause we've work to do today so gather round." His men slowly formed into a small group around where he stood, attentively waiting for their directions. Yami finished his cigarette before dropping it in an ash try and looking at the man to his right. "I believe you have the agenda for today Jack." Straightening up, Jack cleared his throat before addressing the group. "Yes, we'll, umm. I thought it best to inform you of a situation I've heard whispers of before we get started." Yami stared at a very nervous looking Jack silently for a few moments. "Go on then." Jack released a sigh of relief before noticing Yami's disapproving look. "Ah yes, we'll, I have uh, heard talk of an incident that has only been described as a, a sort of supernatural happening to me. Details are scarce, but I can tell you where it happened if you would like." Yami slowly let a smile cross his face before standing up and straightening his jacket. "Alright lads, me and Jack are going to have a little chat, and then I'm going to be heading out. Jacks in charge today, listen to what he says and everything will go smoothly."

Yami and two of his men stepped out into the dirty streets of London. It was a particularly bad day with the smog being thick and the clouds looking thicker. Yami looked towards the sky for a moment before pulling his hat down and silently trudging through the streets, following Jacks directions. Eventually the three arrived at a dingy looking building in one of Londons many back alleys. Yami turned to the other two before entering the building. "You two are staying here. Come get me if it looks like anyone's coming this way. Other than that, stay out. This won't take long." And with that, he disappeared into the building.

Briar is standing before the tall mirror, looking herself over in the deep, maroon gown with its dark, metallic adornments along its edges and her right shoulder.  She picks at it, straightening the edges and the wrinkles and adjusting the shoulder piece so that the transparent cloth would dangle over her arm properly.  The headpiece is already on, but she's already forgotten it--this is the part of her clothing that she always wore.

The metal is a dark silver--or Nickel Silver, to be specific.  It's this metal and darker red and purples that appear throughout her adopted family's line and it is this reason that she often adorns it.  Her parents expect her to represent her family at all times, something that surprises her beyond means.  To this day, she still does not understand why they are unashamed or even embarrassed by her.  

She has uttered strange things, made guests uncomfortable, and she was once called a witch when she was a child.  Things weren't always pleasant, as a result of her "gift," but yet her parents doted on her, loved her, lavished her with rich and fine things all of the time.  Whatever the reason, Briar was happy for it, happy to be accepted by her parents, anyway.  And by Clara.

"You're not gonna get any prettier by starin' at yourself."  Clara says, stepping in with a shake of her head, "You goin' to get this done, or not?  If you keep dawdlin'--"

Briar sighs, rolling her eyes in a very non-ladylike way.  "Yes, yes.  Of course.   I know my duty and all that.  Let's go and be done with it."

Clara was dressed in her usual attire, as well--gold and white, sticking out like a sore thumb on such a dark, dreary day.  They walk together, side by side, and although Briar seems to soak up her surroundings, blend into it, Clara just thrusts herself into the day air, clashing against it with an unapologetic, confident strut.

Briar had once asked why she wore all of the shiny golds and whites.  Clara had replied with: "If you wanna look good, you do.  I was poor back in the states, but here, I get to look fancy-pantsy, so I'mma gonna do it."  It had made her laugh back then--she was so young and the way Clara talked made her smile.  Nowadays, she suspects that Clara does it so that Briar wasn't the only odd person in the room.

Clara had a way of redirecting the discomfort of a room onto her, somehow, and she did it frequently when it was needed.  Of course, Clara also had that sword....Briar has never before seen her use it, but she truly hopes she doesn't have to.  For all she knows, Clara is frightening when she goes all "battle mode" on the world.  Either way, her parents swear by Clara's skill, so she can't be terrible at it.  

"Clara," Briar says as they walk, "Why do you wear that blue sash?  You wear it every single day and you've had it always, since I can remember."

Clara looks down at the thing, pulling at it absentmindedly with a small smile on her face before she looks back up to where they are going, "When your parents found me back in the states and offered to hire me...only one o' my family wanted me 'cause of the way I am.  My uncle. Bart.  He gave me this when I left, to say goodbye.  I miss that ol' man."

Briar smiles, "Oh."  She appreciates the sentimentality.  It's the only thing mildly girly or ladylike that she ever wore and now she knew why.  She knows that Clara's uncle taught her to fight, too.  Briar's actual parents didn't want her, either.  The only difference, though, was that she doesn't know her parents...or why they didn't want her.  Clara knows why...and she remembers her parents...

But which situation is less painful?  Which one is "better?"  Sometimes, she wishes she knew, but...with the way Clara looks, sometimes, she wonders if maybe she's the luckier of the two.  She brushes the thoughts away as she clears her throat and stops before the small little shop called "Sandy's Sweets."  

She steps into the candy shop with her bodyguard following after holding the door open for her.  She smiles her thanks at Clara before switching her smile to the shop owner, Sandy. Though, he goes by "San."  He doesn't much like his name, though it generally goes unsaid.

"You're late," San replies softly, but he doesn't sound surprised or bothered by the fact, "Welcome."

Briar places her right hand over her heart to express her sincerity, "My apologies, San.  I overslept."

"Shouldn't be sleeping so late--you'll make the parents do all of the morning duties on their own.  You have a responsibility in your home, you have your duty to your--  I'm sorry.  It isn't my place to judge you or to tell you what to do."  San says respectfully, his eyes casting downwards to his feet.

Briar says nothing, at first, watching as he lifts up the gate blocking the path to the area behind the counter.  She enters through, as does Clara and he leads them to the door in the back and move into the back room where storage and other inventory are kept.  There's a small table with four chairs seated, all simple and made from an old oak.  

Clara moves out a chair for Briar, who takes a seat before Clara follows.  San used to give Clara some odd looks, but now he has seen her so many times and spoken to her on several occasions.  He's grown accustomed to her manner and now, she is looked up on with familiarity and kindness.  San was a bit of an old fashioned bloke, but Clara liked him.  

Despite the fact that her very life style is against everything that San believes in and values, he still respects her, treats her with good manners and speaks to her as though she is an equal.  That is something that Clara's parents could never do.  

"I've come to ask you..."  San asks.

"No."  Briar interrupts him, "I cannot answer the question that you wish to ask me.  However, the one that's been nagging at the back of your mind--that I can answer."

San shakes his head, "What?  No.  I just--this business offer--"

"You don't love her, anymore."  Briar says softly, "Though you once did.  However, San, do not feel guilty.  She never loved you, not once."

As Ophelia puts away her easel, tucking her paints away in the black leather case from which she came, her and her three companions are given a start as the door, rather dramatically, swings open.

Billie leaps from her chair, Ophelia's head whips around, Baelor- once posturing in a mirror trying to get his collar to settle correctly- almost pounces on the newcomer. Elias does not even twitch.

In through the doorway, out of the cold London air, a dusting of morning dew forming a halo in his inky black hair- comes a dark skinned man, wearing a neat waistcoat, his hat held in one hand, a briefcase in another. His deep, dark brown eyes sparkle with excitement, and there is a mad look about him as he billows in through the doorway- the heavy oak entry swinging shut behind him as he proudly walks into the parlor.

"Deverim-" Billie hisses, swatting his shoulder as he walks by her. "You almost gave us all a heart attack!"

"You're lucky I recognized you before I jumped on you, I've been told going boot to chest with me is a very unpleasant experience." Baelor smiles at him, turning back over to his mirror, scowling once more at his now mussed collar.

"Dev," Ophelia began. "One day you're going to charge in and one of them is going to knock your teeth out." Despite her warning, a smile traced her lips as she spoke, returning to her work to click the case shut, before straightening herself.

"Sorry, sorry-" Deverim apologized, his smile never wavering. "But look, I've made a breakthrough. Apparently that....organization," The disgust on his tongue was palpable. "The Nightcrawlers-"

"Gang." Billie idly cut him off. "They're a gang."

"As long as I wasn't the one to say it..." He grumbled, placing his briefcase atop one of the side tables. "The Nightcrawlers are set up in a pub, crammed into one of the rather...derelict corners of the city."

Billie wrinkles her nose. "A pub? We've been struggling to find one measly pub?"

"It is not a matter of finding it; it's a matter of asking the right person." A mischievous smile traced Deverim's lips as he held up a stack of papers, proudly lifting them as th-

"Yoink." Before Deverim could finish Baelor had plucked the file from his hands, leaving through it as he sauntered away from the group. "A pub, eh? Sounds right up my alley."

"Baelor." Ophelia said flatly.

"What? Are you going to trust any of these candy asses to look into this? Billie might be able to handle a few, but Dev? He'd cry." He ignored the other mans scowl.

"Baelor." Ophelia's tone grew a bit harsher.

"Besides we all know these types, throw a few punches, knock them on their ass, you're right as rain." He managed one final step.

"Bae." At that, he stopped, turning to her, his expression surprised, perplexed.

"My lady?" He turned, taking steps towards her now, tucking the files into his coat. He came to stand before her, dropping to one knee as he took her hands in his. "Aw, are you worried about me? I assure you, it would take much, much more than a common band of cut-throats to do me in." He grinned wolfishly up at her. Her expression was....not amused.

"Stand." She sighed, and he obeyed, coming to his feet, her paint stained hands still in his. "Do you remember the incident last week? The job on Fleet Street?" Her gaze tore into his, and he paled, releasing her hands and awkwardly adjusting his collar as he took two- three steps back.

"Er- well..."

"Do you remember the unturned carriages? The dead horses? The broken windows? The new roofing I had to pay for?" Her voice was calm, a tinge of sadistic amusement flickering at the edges.

"Yes..." Baelor took a few more steps back, his ears reddening from embarrassment; he could tell Billie was smiling to herself at him being cooked alive.

A smile quirked up on Ophelia's lips, her eyes dancing with playful amusement. "You still haven't made that up to me, have you?"

Baelor's eyebrows raised; and the same, wolfish grin returned. "Ah, and what would you have me do, my lady?" He sauntered back to her, his hands clasped together as he played the image of a parishioner. "Tell me, and it shall be done." Once he was close enough, leering down at her, clasping her hands in his once again, he dropped to one knee once more- looking up at her with impish excitement, waiting to see how long she would play along.

"I have something in mind," She cast her gaze over to the other woman in the room. "Billie," The woman perked. "The sewer case." The other woman deftly plucked out a small pamphlet of paper, already folded, and handed it to her. Ophelia freed one of her hands, taking it, and swiftly offering it down to Baelor.

"I expect that London will still have a working sewer system come morning, yes?" He took the paper from her, grinning, tucking it away in his jacket.

"You won't even be able to tell it was me." He bowed his head, pressing his lips to the womans stained knuckles. He hated the smell of acrylic paint- it grated on his nose, but it had grown on him, during his time here. If only out of necessity.

He swiftly rose to his feet, turning to the door, with his new found tasks close at hand.

"You have my symbol about you, correct?" Ophelia spoke after him.

"It is always close to my heart, don't fret." He turned, clasping his hand over his chest to demonstrate, reaching for his hat on the rack.

"Baelor?" She asked him once more as the door clicked open. He looked back at her, raising an eyebrow. "Watch the landing."

He grinned back one last time, before ushering himself out into the brisk London air.

There was a moment of silence after his departure, the ticing of the clock the only noise to be heard; until Billie cleared her throat.

"What about the Aldonis girl? We've been scouting her out, too. Would you like me or Deverim to check it out? Doesn't seem to be dangerous."

"No," Ophelia hummed lightly, walking over to the couch where the boy lay still, sleeping. She reached down, pale fingers gently caressing his golden hair with a sense of familiar affection. "No, I think that's well at hand."


He'd been sitting here for over an hour now; having left Vandellum Manor soon after helping Baelor with his trite little 'fashion crisis'. Ophelia had requested he canvas out their next recruit; a young woman- strange. Her power resembled Ophelia's- was that why she wanted her so badly? Why she had sent Elias out here rather than Deverim or Billie?

He waited outside a shop, 'Sandy's Sweets'. Queer. If he'd been in his body, he might have gone inside; bought a few little candy's for Billie, he knew she had a sweet tooth. He leered closer to the window; they had gone in a while ago- and, while he hated invading the privacy of others, curiosity was just proving to be too much for him. He pushed himself through the glass; physical objects held little meaning to him but glass- glass was tricky. Mirrors were impossible. But he'd manage. He floated through the store, his spirit shooting passing gazes at the colorful candies that lay behind the counter.

Quaint.

He makes his way; back, back still. To the room where those three- 'Briar', 'Clara' and who he assumed was 'Sandy' all sitting about a table.

'She'll be able to see me,' Elias thought. 'If she hasn't sensed me already.'

Even if she could; he knew his spirit was quite...different, than the others. His was golden, shining; entrancing and intimidating. It left ripples behind it, stronger than mundane spirits, capable of oh so much more.

That said, she might be spooked- cornered by a glowing apparition? Who wouldn't be at least a mite terrified. Ophelia hadn't been; but Ophelia was hard to shake- his sickening curiosity prompted him to wonder if this woman shared that in common with her too.

He slipped into the room, shifting into the corners. If she saw him; she saw him- if she didn't, well- more canvasing.

Yami reclined in his chair, looking at a stack of papers on his desk, a glass of whisky in one hand and a cigarette in the other. A feint knock on the door broke his attention and pulled his gaze upward. "Come on in." Jack akwardly fumbled through the door, softly closing it behind him before crossing the room to place another stack of papers on the desk. Yami watched as Jack shuffled off to the side of the desk and put his hands in one another, never quite sure how to act in these situations.

"Come on now lad, relax for once. How do you ever expect to get a woman acting like that." Yami got nothing more than a forced chuckle and a small nod out of him. "Alright then. How'd things go on your end today?"

"Yes, the job, well, everything went according to plan. We didn't encounter any uh, unexpected problems, and the men performed wonderfully. So the job went off without a hitch. I umm, I do hope you had just as much success in your endeavours today." Jack looked at Yami with an uneasy expression, almost as if he was pleading with him to say he found success.

"Sadly Jack, I can't say I found the same success as you did today. Bu-"

"I'm, I'm very sorry to hear that sir." Jack took a quick step back before yanking his hat off and staring at it as he held it in his hands. "I hope this wasn't my fault, that I might have sent you to the wrong place." Starting to fumble with the hat, Jack slowly looked up at Yami, releasing a sigh of relief when he saw he wasn't the least bit displeased.

"You don't need to be worried about that Jack!" Yami quickly rose from his chair and moved to Jacks side. "We've all of your success to celebrate today, forget about my failure." As they started to walk Yami stared them towards the door. "Tell the men to gather by the bar. I want to give them a little thanks for thier hard work today." Yami opened the door, but held Jack in place. Jack turned his head to see Yami staring at him, a grin slowly breaking on his face. "Tonight Jack, The Nightcrawlers celebrate."

Leaning against the bar once again, Yami was surrounded by his men. Only this time the mood wasn't one of discomfort, but one of joyful anticipation. Through his scarcely seen grin, and swigs of his drink, Yami started to shout into the group of men. "Allright lads, I know you've all worked hard today, and I wanna thank you all for that. I'm just sorry that I couldn't have been there with you." The crowd around him started to murmur, snide remarks, muffled chuckles, and others shouting back at him. "Settle down lads, settle down. As I was saying, you've all done some great work today. And for that great work we'll all be better off. And because you all did so great today, there's something in order tonight." In an instant Yami dashed from where he stood at the bar into the group of men. "Tonight men, tonight The Nightcrawlers celebrate a job bloody well done!" After a moment of joy about this announcement, the crowd dispersed, and it wasn't soon until everyone had a drink in thier hand. And so, the night began.

San's expression shifts from curiosity into sadness. His gestures hold what Briar interprets as embarrassment, which is understandable. Matters like "love" and such are quite private within a family--especially with older, more complicated marriages. Some are quite public about their relationship and their affairs, but many are not.

As she awaits for his reply, the boy appears. He couldn't have been more alien and his spirit was...alive. She'd never before seen a soul move the air, the very atmosphere the way that he does...she simply cannot stop staring at the ghost of gold. Yet behind those piercing, unsettling eyes, a wisdom held fast, a wisdom of experiences unknown to her.

Stan is speaking now, her gaze shifting back to him only because Clara jabs her arm sharply. She blinks, finally, looking over at San apologetically as she hears, "Did you not hear me, Ms. Aldonis? Are you not well?"

"My apologies, San," Briar replies, her gaze shifting back to him and then back to the boy momentarily, "Please repeat what you said."

San repeats himself as Clara looks at her with an intense glare, one that seems both confused and curious. San says, "So, there is nothing that you can tell me about the job offer?"

"I'm afraid not," Briar says, "However, if I met the man, I could tell you of his character or intent, possibly."

San sighs, "Very well. I'll arrange for you to be there when he arrives next. I'll send a note at our next meeting. Thank you, Ms. Aldonis. I really appreciate it, regardless."

Briar nods, standing. She wishes to remove herself from the room, mostly. The man, the spirit...it is wandering about the room, looking and listening. She doesn't like it, she doesn't trust it. She makes her leave of the room and of the shop with polite swiftness, saying her goodbyes as always and Clara follows suit.

"What was that about?" Clara asks her when they are back out onto the dreary streets.

"A ghost," Briar replies softly, her eyes darting around to see that it is, in fact, following them. Fantastic. "A ghost that isn't a ghost at all."

Clara shakes her head. She's used to the girl's riddles, but she's more used to never understanding what is going on. They keep walking together as Clara's movements become more defensive. She'll be ready to defend them, if need by, but Briar doesn't seem to be...on edge, as she sometimes can be. Perhaps she does not detect an intent to harm? The girl always tells her when she senses hostility, so it should be fine.

Elias was....amused to say the least; observing the young womans panic. He was sure she was used to ghosts following her, clinging onto her ankles to try to get her to 'help' them. It had happened to Ophelia, and it happened to him when he inhabited his body. They had grown used to it- but he supposed his presence was very different.

He followed them- at a respectful distance of course, even in this form he didn't enjoy violating the personal space of anyone, let alone a lady. Two ladies- though one rather oddly dressed. A servant, maybe- perhaps another magi- but it mattered not, for now. He was not here for her.

He shifted through the hustle and bustle of the city streets- feeling and moving through other peoples auras. He never pulled, never pushed, never hit or tore- he simply moved through. It was second nature to him, at this point- he was more comfortable in this form than he was in his body, with all the time he'd spend in it.

He noticed the other womans movements growing more....defensive. Perhaps she had some magic mettle after all. In such crowded streets, it was hard to bisect her aura from the cloud of others- but perhaps he would make it a point later. Then again the reason Ophelia had sent him instead of Aurelia was because she trusted him to not accost the new recruits.

For now, he trailed them with an aura of...intrigue.

He saw the uneven trail before them; a unsteady tumble of cobblestones that would surely lead one of the women to tumble down into the puddley street below.

He grew closer, now almost whispering in her ear. A little bit of helpful fun wouldn't hurt? It would let him see what she was made of.

"Watch your step..."


Unlike Deverim, Baelor had no such problem finding 'The Huntsmans Rest'. Eh, lacked the rustic charm other pubs had- name wise, at least. 'The Crone's Hand', 'The Hound Pitts', 'The Dead Man's Eye'. Shit, pubs around here did love making allusions to death, blood and decay, didn't they?

No matter, Baelor had found the place, the rest was going to be candy he was sure. Or- at least- it better be, or Ophelia would have his ass and Billie would get to do all the unsupervised missions from hereon.

Baelor had never really had much contact with gangs. Well, he'd had contact but that was usually fist to face boot to chest and, according to Deverim, didn't really count. He'd never really usually talked to the people; sober, at least.

He stood outside the establishment, looking in through the yellow tinted windows- seemed as though there was some sort of party going on. What sort of thing a bunch of thugs could be celebrating on a weekday was beyond him; but, it gave him a good opening.

His gaze flickered briefly away from the building before him, and to the slow paced onlookers and gawkers, seemingly flabberghasted by his presence. He seemed to be an oddity in London, his size, his presence, his visage. Not to say he didn't absolutely relish in the attention, but it made missions such as this a tad more...difficult.

Before anymore people could draw attention to him, he ducked inside- deftly and swiftly, making sure to remove his hat. His entrance caused more than a few side eyes- thugs and lackeys sizing up the newcomer. Possibly trying to decide if they could take him in a fight. Most of them came to a expedient answer; 'no'.

Dismissing the side eyes and low glares, he hunkered down at a spot at the bar- the wooden varnish riddled with stains and stab wounds of ages passed. However, it was still clean, old but clean. He put one hand on the counter, idly picking one of the gauges in the wood with his fingernail.

He looked to the bartender, a haggered man just trying to keep the booze flowing; probably trying his best not to get stabbed by an angry drunk.

"Bartender," His voice carried, hushing several conversations for at least a moment or two. "Bourbon, if you would? Or whatever you have that isn't rotgut. Because that-" He gestured to the displeased looking man sitting beside him. "That smells like rotgut." The man scowled at him, Baelor gave him a smile that could mute out the sun.

Given a few moments, he was sure he could weed out the....proprietor of this establishment. The man they'd been after.

Clara watches as Briar squeaks, jumping up with her hands in the air as she almost tumbles down the cobblestone path below. Fortunately, Clara was ready and catches the girl and pulls her back up and allows her to restore her balance. She sees Briar's face light up, red as a tomato and her hand over her chest as she catches her breath. Clara tries not to laugh.

"You!" Briar spurts out, her hands moving down to her sides, clenching into fists, "Ugh! Don't do that!"

Clara cannot help but laugh, this time. She's looking away from her, clearly at this apparition that she cannot see. Briar glares at her and Clara tries to desperately calm herself, but instead, she doubles over. She cannot help herself at all. It just worsens as Briar's face becomes even more crimson from her hot anger.

"Stop it, both of you! Ugh! That was just mean!" Briar says, "Wait. Wait! I just understood you! I can't talk to ghosts....why can I talk to you?!"

Elias can't help himself, he laughs- well, as much as he can laugh in his current form; the two women could hear him, he knew that much.

"My lady, I was merely trying to help. The intent was not to frighten you- apologies." Elias' voice is deep, smooth and calming, rumbling in his chest as he speaks in a poised and polite tone. His golden form shifts closer to them- the two can hear him, better and better as he ventures closer- he does not need to, but he'd rather keep this 'episode' contained. "As for why you are able to speak to me, Lady Aldonis. I am unlike other spirits, as I'm sure you might have noticed. I can speak to the living, I can interact with the world around me as I see fit. I can even deter other spirits, among other things. Perhaps you may have noticed how no spirits have approached you on your walk." His golden head twists to the side; cocked like a bird. "Even your assistant can hear my voice." His gaze shifts over to her; knowing full well he couldn't be seen.



"Yami watched this strange man who had walked in and sat down with no regard for the men around him. He had no clue why he would be here, or who he was. And judging by his men's reaction none of them knew either. After a moment of contemplation and some uneasy looks from his men Yami decided to approach the man. Sitting at the bar beside him Yami turned to the man and said "Now what kind of business would a man like you, have in a place like this?"

Baelor looked up as he was addressed, the bartender warily placing a glass before him as he greeted the newcomer with a charming smile of white, nigh perfect teeth. "Same business as all of you, I'm sure. To get drunk." He raised his glass to the man before downing the whole thing in one fell swig. He set the glass back down, and the bartender quickly poured him another. "How rude, allow my to introduce myself. Baelor Devorak, at your service." He gave a bow of the head and a flourish of his hand.

"Well then Baelor, pleasure to make your aquatince." Yami raised his glass now and finished it in kind before slamming it down on the bar. "I go by Yami around here, and I'm the owner of this fine establishment you've wandered into." Yami quickly turned around and gestured to the rest of the men in the bar, who were now curiously watching the two's interaction. "If getting drunk is what you're here to do, I'm sure these lads would love to entertain you."

Baelor's smile widened, a single eyebrow quirking as the man introduced himself. "Ah, well, if that's the case- I must fess up to being a bit of a liar. I'm a terrible liar, as well- never really managed to get rid of any of my tells- but besides the point." He downs yet another glass, politely setting it back down and leaning towards the other man. "You see, me and my friends. Well; 'friends' as in actual friends, not friends as in business associates. Just so we're clear. We've been...well, scouting you, for lack of a better word. 'Trying to find you' would probably be a better description; but we did some research into you beforehand. Then had to get down to the business of finding you; and well, since you live in a bar, the delegation of the task then fell to me. A man very well associated with these kinds of establishments- but I digress." His wolfish grin didn't falter as he looked impishly at the other man. "You following thus far?"

Yami looked at the man for a moment before standing up. He took a step away from the bar as he lit his cigarette. After having a look around at his men, he turned to give the man a response. "Firstly, Baelor, I'm honored you thought so much of me that you would seek me out like this. But secondly, people don't generally come straight to me when the want something of me. There are other people that you go through. But not tonight, tonight is an exception Baelor." Leaning down to the bar Yami bought himself level to look into Baelors eyes. "Since we are all in such a high mood, there's no need to bring that down. So tell me Baelor, what is it you want from me?"

'Oh, lovely, this is going to be one of those fighty evenings. I'm going to be in the shit once I get home, I'm sure of it; the deepest, deepest shit...' Baelor's nose wrinkled at the cigarette smoke. His sensitive sense of smell working very much against him in the moment. "Ah, well, you know. There are so few like us. Your presence so close to us has given us such a desire to meet you. Though, it was my friend Mr. Suresh who first found out about you; good lad. Flammable. He gave me this little- ah, where did I put it?" He left his vague and concerning comment in the air as he wheeled to the next topic, briefly searching his coat, fanning the smoke away from his face. "Though, unless your group here is secretly a group of mystics and hoodoo skeptics, I recommend this be a conversation we have elsewhere."

Yami kept staring at the man after he finished speaking, a mixture of shock and confusion on his face. Eventually Yami stood upright, and straightened out his jacket. "Well, if it's that kind of business that you have with me then you should have just said so." Turning around Yami started to walk towards a door on the the other side of the room, nestled under the stair case. "I'm sure my office will do just fine for us to have this conversation." As he walked he waved away a couple of his men who started to follow him. "You don't need to come with me lads. I doubt Baelor is likely to cause any trouble while we chat." Yami stoped and opened the door before taking a look back at baelor. "Come on then."

"Well I was trying." Baelor downed one last glass before pulling himself out of his seat, trailing after his new companion as two men started to in turn, trail after them. "Yes, no need to concern yourselves gentlemen. Your boss will emerge with all the appendages he entered with. Not a scratch, scouts honor." He made an 'x' over his heart with his free hand as he funneled himself in through the door; taking note of anything peculiar.

Now, if he'd been Elias or Ophelia- he would have been able to easily detect any magical presence- but alas, all he was really good for was as a nose. He could track magic to a general area; but nothing more. A bloodhound, he supposed.

"Now," Baelor clapped his hands together, turning as the door shut. "I'm unsure if you've heard of us- I belong to a little known group refered to as 'The Occularum'. Ring any bells, tickers or pipes?" He cocked his head, awaiting an answer before continuing.

"I have heard of you yes."

Baelor rolls his wrist as if to tell the man to keep talking. "Okaaaay, a bit vague. To what extent? Do you just know us as the people who perform seances at rich kids birthday parties or do you know about us?"

"Actually, I do have some handy-dandy pamphlets Dev printed out," He made a comical display of checking the pockets of his jacket. "But, alas, it seems I've left them all at home. Seems I might just have to give you 'The Spiel' as I like putting it."

Yami leant forward, elbows resting on his desk. "I do in fact know about you and your merry little band of magicians. Hard not to hear about such a big group of people like us when it's such a small circle. You and the lady all of you so loyally serve."

Baelor smiled fondly, nodding. "Ah, Ophelia, yes. I consider it less 'serving' in general and more her corralling a bunch of misfits and freaks into one place for the greater good. Well, the greatest good one can achieve without spilling the beans on magic and all that. That would incite quite the panic. But; yes, now you're getting the spiel. It's a treat, I've practiced it in the mirror for hours." He cleared his throat, stepping one foot up on the chair beside him, putting himself up in a rather dramatic pose. "The Occularum, founded years ago, by the most distinguished Lady Ophelia Vandellum; was created in response to an outbreak of spiritual, magical and supernatural phenomena. While spiritualists, abominations, metahumans and magi are limited in their capacity alone; together they can accomplish great things. With the world now facing such horrors as it has been; it is now more than ever that we need people practiced in the arcane arts, to join us to help put an end to whatever may be causing this outbreak."

It'd been a while since he'd given a speech- ah, his flare for drama was once more called upon. He loved drama. He looked at the man. "Long story short; my lady has extended to you an invitation to join us- after a brief 'test' of course, and a meeting. She's very adept at reading the arcane aura of others. It almost feels like an invasion of privace. Because it is- but I digress."

He put his foot bad on the floor. "Questions, comments, concerns?"

Yami muffled a chuckle as he looked at Baelor in such a dramatic pose. "Pity you got hit with the magic stick Baelor, you would have had a wonderful carrer as an actor." Yami stopped laughing and leant back in his chair, no longer a smile on his face. "All jokes aside though Baelor, after giving me this little rundown of yours your yet to sell me on your lady's organisation. I've got a perfectly good thing going on here, so why should I up and leave my band of misfits to join yours?"

Baelor bowed. "I do try." He held up a finger. "Well, for one, Dev not only found out about your magic inclinations- but also found out about the research you've been doing into them. He's awfully crafty, almost concerningly crafty- no matter. We can help you with that. Lady Ophelia has ways of finding things pertaining to the arcane, and you'd have more resources to help you than you do now. You have a good thing going here, sure. Killing people for money, always good- never really doing anything to help anyone else. When's the last time you took pride in something you did? Real, honest pride? You could use that which you have no name for to help people; and frankly that's a better feeling than anything I can describe." He snapped his fingers. "And suprisingly Ophelia made no mention of you leaving your little gang here. Though I'm sure she'd give you the whole 'murder is bad and you should feel bad' spiel. But she gives that one to me all the time. It's not that terrible. Well, mostly."

Yami gave another chuckle, this time he made no attempt to hide it. "You know, I take pried in what I do Baelor. Genuine, honest pride, because I am damn good at what I do. And if helping people is what you wanna do, then be my guest, but it's not really my thing." Yami grabbed the bottle of whiskey he kept on his desk and filled his cup, taking a swig before continuing. "So your lady said I don't need to leave my men huh? Tempting offer Baelor, tell me what this test cosisits of."

"Ah, yes;" Baelor raised his eyebrows. "Killing. Anything and anyone can simply kill someone, my friend. Ghonnorea, spoiled meat, a bad tumble down the stairs- a very determined duck. Killing in itself isn't that special. It doesn't distinguish you from the rest of the cuthroats in this city, frankly." He clasped his hands behind his back, observing the room. "And no, she never specified if you'd be required to leave it. She never implicitly told me you could stay. You'd need to take it up with her. As for the test; before initiation we like to test the magical abilities of those who wish to join- so we can observe their strengths and weaknesses in a way that is safe. Well, safe-er. Magic always comes at a risk, as I'm sure you know."

"Well I'll be sure to straighten my position here out with her once we meet." Yami stood up from his seat and walked around to the front of the desk, leaning against it. "Tell your lady that I accept her invitation, and I'll be happy to complete whatever test she wants to throw at me."

Baelor smiled. "Splendid!" From the inner pocket of his coat he pulled out a pre-folded stack of documents, slapping them onto his chest. "And oh boy do I have a test for you."

Clara backs away as the voice that she cannot see becomes louder. Her hand is on her hilt, at first, but Briar signals for her to lower it, shaking her head. She looks unamused, but calmer than before. She nods her head with understanding and then waits patiently as Briar dusts her dress off carefully and delicately before she she moves her hands to her waist.

Briar asks, "So why are you stalking me, what is your name, if you have one, and why can we hear you?"

"I apologize for the rudeness. I am Sir Elias Veglebud; and as I said before, I am different than other spirits, more powerful- and can commune with the living. For I, in a way, am living. The semantics are too long to get into on a street corner, I'm afriaid. The reason I have been following you are simple. My lady has an interest in you. She leads an organization. 'The Occularum'; you might have heard of us."

"I have," Briar says as her eyes cast down to her feet briefly before she looks back up to his eyes once more, "I'm heading home--you're welcome to join us."

Clara nods her head in understanding, following suit when Briar begins to walk the path once more. They are nearly there, anyway, and it's not like any of them want to look crazy while talking to thin air out in the streets. Clara considered introducing herself, but if the spirit's lady knew Briar's name, then she probably knew hers, as well. They went hand in hand, always.

"It would be a pleasure." Elias bowed, out of habit; whisking along behind them. He breezed through several unfortunate passers-by who happened to walk through him; watching in placid amusement as their heads whipped around in confusion at the sudden sensation. "Lady Aldonis, while my lady has told me about you, and your family- somewhat, at least- I find myself curious as to whether or not your family has any serious connections to the occult. Or do they merely not know what it is you do?" He cocked his head, knowing they were getting close to their estate. It hadn't been hard to find, according to Deverim.

"My parents know, Sire," Briar replies awkwardly, "Handling my oddities like Saints. I must say that I am very blessed and although I do not know you, I know that you will like my parents."

"It is not saint-like to accept the supposedly 'peculiar', Lady Aldonis. Though I suppose their actions are better than the alternative." He notes her strange tone. "Is it odd for you to speak of it? Or do you find it odd of me to ask." His gaze flits to Clara. "And what of you? I was told vaguely of you. Do you possess any spiritual abilities?" She could lie to him for all he cared- he'd find out soon enough.

Briar sighs, "Most call me a witch. And most don't ask--they consider it rude. I don't really think of it as such, I suppose. I'm just not used to people blatantly asking me. Oh--Clara--she cuts things with her sword, of course. Even ghosts. She's my personal bodyguard and she's damned good. I'm sure you noticed by her accent that she's from America. Which state was it, Clara?"

"The gross one," Clara says with a scowl, "London is better. Cleaner. Less stupid people an' all that."

"Is it rude to be curious?" Elias's gaze tracks to Clara. "Ah, an American. Who can fight spirits. Fascinating. I'm sure we'd quite like to test your ability. If you are willing, of course. We shall not force you." Elias doubted there were many states in America that didn't qualify as 'gross'; but he kept that to himself. "We are approaching your home, yes? I shall remain silent. I wish to speak to you both in the most privacy I am alotted in polite company. "

"Understood," Briar replies as they step up to the doorway and Clara opens it up for them. She chooses not to answer his question--she took it as rhetorical. When she enters her home, she immediately moves into the den to find her parents sitting before the fireplace quietly. They did not move as they entered, but her father complimented her attire and appearance and she thanked him. Briar had turned to move up the stairs to her room, but she halted so suddenly that Clara had almost bumped into her.

Looking to her right at her parents, Briar's voice is grim, "The Counselor was here again."

"Yes," Lady Aldonis replies tiredly, "Never you mind it."

Brair says, "The answer to your question is yes. He'll be back later--and he won't come alone and he's not the only person calling me a Summoner."

Lady Aldonis listens to her husband sigh as she leans forward in her chair, resting her face in her hand as she leans upon the elbow of it for support. Her eyes are hidden as she says, "So be it."

Briar frowns, but she says nothing. Choosing to move up the stairs, Clara follows her to her room as she hears her father speaking in the distance behind them, "What will we do when an entire mob shows up?"

Lady Aldonis says, "They have no proof--besides, you shouldn't fret around Briar. She'll just stress ove rnothing."

When they reach her room, Briar moves into the lovely room and gestures for Clara to follow. They have two connecting rooms, so it's easy to travel between the two and Clara is more often in Brair's room, anyway. She waits for Clara to enter before she closes the door--she doesn't want to hear their discussion anymore. It's unsettling.

Elias lingers, listening to the conversation between the two as indiscreetly as he can; hiding in the shimmering light of the room. Interesting, he thought. Perhaps his lady would like to know about this....Perhaps she could aid them. People in this age could be so archaic in their views of the supernatural- terribly dull.

He shifts through the door; his glowing presence standing before the two women- only one of whom could see him. He could naturally tell she probably wouldn't wish to speak of the matters discussed below further. Perhaps she'd be more apt to discuss it in more...tangible company.

"Now that we're alone Lady Aldonis; tell me," He shifts the subject, his disembodied voice polite, soft. "What do you know of The Occularum, of us? I'm sure you must have dabbled in a bit of research, considering your 'unique' talents." He shifted about the room, observing, bemusidly shifting curtains and fabric as he passed.

"I know that you fight against the paranormal," Briar replies as she sits upon her bed, "At least, the paranormal that's bad or even evil. The unhealthy kind. I don't really know much else because people just call you superheroes vaguely and then stop talking about it. Or at least, they do around here."

Elias smiles, though neither of the women can see it.

"'Superheroes'? Quaint. I'm sure Ophelia would love that title. But you are not wrong, Lady Aldonis. We fight supernatural beings who wish to do harm upon the waking world. We use our abilities to mediate between those from this world, and that which lies beyond the veil; and, Lady Aldonis, our founder has taken a very keen interest in you. Which is why she sent me. She knew you would not only most likely be able to see me- but also that I would be able to communicate with you." He turns to face her again. "Think of this encounter as your first 'test'."

Brair lets these words sink in for a moment before she replies. She looks to Clara with uncertainty, he simply stares back. Clara's thoughts are her own, kept to herself. Finally, Briar says, "I'm not a superhero. I'm cannot battle spirits--not in the way that Clara can."

Elias 'tuts' after the woman speaks. "Fighting is not the only way one can keep the living safe. Spirits are not always inexplicably hostile. Some are just confused, afraid, lashing out. You can see that which lies within them, their emotions. Let us know if they are malicious- or if they are merely afraid. Your ability is as valuable as you believe Clara's to be, Lady Aldonis. My lady would also insist so."

Brair blushes, "You seem to think highly of me; I'm flattered. Thank you. So if I've passed your test, what's next? If you ask me to do some form of Parkour, I'll have to decline. I like dresses too much."

Clara snickers at Briar's joke--not because it's funny to her, but because of the fact that she likes dresses that much. Clara hates dresses with a passion, so she's always amused at how girly Brair can be. She has no doubt that Briar knows the true amusement behind her snickering, but she is sure that the Lady doesn't mind.

Elias does not laugh, but politely smiles, shaking his head. "No. Now I have been instructed to offer out to you a formal invitation to the Vandellum Estate. Home, estate and hub of our founder Lady Ophelia Vandellum. Who would very much like to get acquainted; with both of you." He looks between the two. "You would be welcome tonight; or could very well wait till tomorrow morning, if you desire."

Briar smiles happily, "I'd love to, then! Will there be tea? I just love tea parties; I could bring some very good flavors in the morning with me--will you be escorting me there or are we going up there by ourselves?"

Briar clears her throat, reminding herself to breathe between her words, rather than spewing them out like some sort of heathen. Clara loves talking like this when she's in the middle of battle, but she isn't a lady like Briar is and she can actualy get away with it. Briar represents her family, so she has to think on that all of the time.

Elias's amused smile is lost on Clara, but his chuckle is not. "If you'd like. Lady Ophelia will most likely be serving refreshments if you knows you're coming. I'm sure she'd be delighted if you took the time to bring tea; absolutely flattered. As for escorting you, if you wish, I could come back in the morning. In my body, as to perhaps make your family less....'suspicious', perhaps? Pay some adherance to formality and the like."

In his body? He has a body! Right! Of course, he did say he was sort of living, too. This must be his magical ability. Briar finally says, "Yes, of course. I'll be ready at...nine. Is that too early?"

Elias shakes his head. "No, no. Though I deign to consider your bodyguard might be reluctant to rise that early?" His gaze returned to Brias. "Either or, I shall arrive at 9. If it takes you both longer to ready yourselves, I shall simply wait. Until then, I shall return, and inform my lady that you both are coming." Elias bows; disappearing in an almost dazzling display of golden dust; flickering to the wind.