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A Different Life

Gabby Latour
A Gabby 2.0 story. Read it here.

Gabby 2.0 you ask? Long story short, this is a different version of what she could have been, had she not been embraced. Takes place in a different reality, which the storyteller is calling Earth-3.

Very excited about this game and this project.

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Her Puzzle

Calliel
OOC: I've moved my stuff over to wordpress, but I will try to remember to link here when I update.

A Calliel story. Read it here.

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Day of Justice

Calliel
And you might like the place where I have been
But I don't want to go there with you
All the sunset skies
Meant to blow your mind
And now your skin is gold
And the earth shall shine


Callie sits, her whole body vibrating with impatience. She has waited for this for long months. Is it a year? She's lost track of time, one threat to life and limb follows on another's heels. Month after agonizing month has gone by, while the one who tortures and kills children goes free, protected, gently embraced by the laws of her home.

The Warlock can abide much, but she cannot stand this injustice. At times she had considered resigning from her post as Symposium secretary to bring the matter before them. If others could die for the cause, however, for believing, then she could wait.

The minutes tick by. The master with the now-ruined eye grows as impatient as she, and his minions are burnt from within. Without thinking, she clears the air of the room, sending the stench far out, to the sea, and replacing it with the clean salt air. Seers get what they deserve.
 
She takes a moment to tremble in the privacy of the mind that she shares with her cabal. Safe.

And then she stands up to speak.

After all, promises made in the full view of others are better than resounding silence.

Pour on, pour on what you need
You might like the taste of what you seek
Oh, if the sunset goes
You should take what you can
And you might like the place where I have been
I don't want to go there with you

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The Last Night of Convocation

Calliel
The curb where we sit is dark, behind a car. We are warlocks. We could meet on the moon, for all it matters. When we walk through the brightly buzzing throng, we know that we do not really belong.

You need us, but you don't understand us. You stand before us, swollen with your own pride, and blind to it. We should carve it out of you, inch by inch.

I seek the knife's edge. In that seeking, I become the knife's edge. From your throat to my own.

I wander in a razor wire garden. I consider my life, for a moment. I consider the things I have seen. I consider finding my bed, as I am certainly drunk.

I wonder if anyone will ever know, the things that drive me exquisitely mad. How can they, when I give every sign of embracing them.

I seethed when he touched her, seethed when he fucked her. I hated how it made me feel. I loved how it made me feel. I don't remember it being like this, before. Was it because of how I felt about both of them, then? Is it because of how I feel about him, now? I do not know.

It was amazingly devastating. I cannot wait to do it again.

-

Note: I was really tired when I wrote this. Considering tossing the whole thing and starting over.

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She Can Dance

Segura
She hated dancing. Sometimes she did it, believing that meeting a social necessity was more important than her personal preference.

Sniffing the air, she tried to find the reason for the distaste.

A memory. Long skirts, a lace mantilla. The sound of violins, and whirling in the arms of man. The lights in the room are candles, so they move in shadows. A night of celebration. She cannot see his face.

They whirl faster, until she screams, his hand on her wrist tight enough to break it.

She cannot get away.

So she will never dance again for pleasure.

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The Funeral Taste: Hope

Segura
Her expression grim, Segura Maria Pomar approached the entrance to the funeral, the dark-eyed, body-armored kindred guarding the door pausing to inspect her. "Are you a member of the city, ma'am?" he asked politely. She shook her head, replying softly "I am a guest of Prince Essex." He peered at her a moment more. "Go right ahead." Faintly, she could here the voice of a speaker. "I will wait and not interrupt."

A rustle, and another man behind her, brushing past the guard. "Lord Elliot! You are an enemy of the city and..." he trailed off, following the other kindred in frustration, and she went behind him, sensing that she should perhaps be by the Prince of her new home.

She watched, silently, as the kindred confessed his sins and immolated himself. She made no judgment, she was a stranger here. When he was dead, a battle begin in earnest, one far more deadly than her own not inconsiderable skills. She stayed out of it, hidden, silent.

And afterwords, as they entered the Cradle and she drifted through the room, reminding herself of faces attached to familiar scents, familiar people, she found that the air of Chicago was perfumed with expectation. There was the perception of opportunity here, for many. Hands reached out to grab it.

They had missed the lesson of the man who burned, she thought. The air was scented with hope, and she knew that in shattering, it would be bitter.

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Prompts: Yeah, I Should!

Pen





































































































001. Hope002. Dance003. Enough004. Disaster005. Speechless
006. Forgive007. Broken008. Hot009. Chase010. Danger
011. Sorrow012. Time013. Light014. Ice015. Crazy
016. Wet017. Right018. Send019. Book020. Fun
021. Death022. Box023. Hero024. Mistake025. Circle
026. Disappoint027. Campfire028. Stuck029. Fear030. Relief
031. Happy032. Injury033. Child034. Searching035. Black
036. Silence037. Hug038. Grave039. Hand040. Garden
041. Move042. Rescue043. Haunted044. Kill045. Smile
046. Scream047. Kiss048. Prison049. Friendship050. Blind
051. Shot052. Cry053. Rain054. Strong055. Flowers
056. Eat057. Drink058. Run059. Knife060. Letter
061. Stranger062. Open063. Future064. Battle065. Love
066. Holiday067. Steal068. Work069. Push070. Lost
071. Dream072. Create073. Reward074. Family075. Memories
076. Breathe077. Shadow078. Drive079. One080. Innocence
081. Try082. Ocean083. Change084. Never085. Machine
086. Betrayal087. Home088. Moonlight089. Answer090. Rest
091. Win092. Maybe093. Patience094. Disappear095. Delusion
096. Believe097. Stay098. Hurt099. Leader100. Dust

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Feel Like a Yahoo

Calliel
I answer questions by the dozens, giving the best of my wisdom, of my heart. Terror burns in the back of my throat, and I wonder... will it be enough?

Sometimes there is more wisdom in keeping your light to yourself. That's my watchword. I don't talk about my research except with my fellow academics. I will not write a how-to manual that teaches criminals how to fool doctors, parole boards, juries, and judges that they are full of remorse for their crimes. The light of my work can only be shone carefully, to those most deserving of illumination.

Go to a large criminal justice lecture on a big college campus sometime. Look around. Chances are, there's at least one person in that room - maybe on the attendance roll, maybe not - who isn't there to learn in the academic sense. They want some hands-on experience, and the professor is about to tell them how to get it.

I can't show you my wisdom, fucking trickster spirit, because then you'll have it.

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Wakeup Call

Calliel
It bothers me that I can't even shut my eyes and put down this OMG MAGES SAVE WORLD! shit even at night, when I'm supposed to be sleeping. I should be having a dream where I'm supposed to be at work and I can't find two shoes the same, not standing in a plane with avatars of people who aren't even in my cabal. I mean, yeah, sometimes I do dream work with Project so he can get some rest despite the shit he sees in his exploration of the Death arcana. But it's still too intimate to share with strangers.

Asha shows us all up, and I think, well, it's about time a Silver Ladder did something fucking useful. But I don't know what's going on, and it scares me. I don't belong in mythic stories about the origin of fire. I belong in a lab, or an interrogation room, or an office with a couch.

I belong on a beach, making love to my fiancee. Or to a friend. But this is water I'm totally unprepared for, and further, I have no desire to swim in.

I wish O was with me. I wish Raphael was with me. I don't want to be here.

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