Page is a WIP
All around me darkness gathers; fading is the sun that shone.
We must speak of other matters; you can be me when I’m gone.
Flowers gathered in the morning, afternoon they blossom on.
Still are withered in the evening; you can be me when I’m gone.
Legion
ˈlējən
a vast host, multitude, or number of people or things.
great in number.
A man known by many names, seen as many entities, existing in many places.
But also, a man.
Legion does not know when he began. If asked, he could not tell you who (what) he is. Legion is a plaything to the devil. He is an older brother to twin demons. He is an (ex)lover of the god Apep. He is the best friend of Time itself; immortal, to a point. He can die. He just won’t stay dead.
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Where do you begin with a man who has no history? Or, rather, with a man who has no beginning?
Legion was not really… ‘born.’ One could say he was created, but it is more accurate to say he just appeared one day, bursting through the shadows like bats from a cave. He was probably around at the very crest of time, although no one could say for sure – not even himself, as he has no memory of his early life. Sometimes he remembers little things during quiet, lonely nights, like the vast, empty feeling of stillness before there was wind, or the feeling of endless wind before there were trees and land and water to disrupt it. His memories escape him, though. There’s so much to remember when you’re so old.
He knows he had made a home in Hell, before there was a devil. He believes, perhaps wrongly, that Hell once belonged to him, that he created it to live in when there was nowhere else to exist. He had been a ruler, once. A creator of things and places. An amorphous creature with powers beyond comprehension.
But now, he is just a man.
He knows also that he became a favorite toy of Lucifer’s when the angel fell from Heaven and stole Hell from him, guided by the power of a god Legion didn’t worship. He lived and he died. He reincarnated. He was at the mercy of the whims of the Lightbringer. That is, until Legion made the decision to adopt two unbearably annoying, mischievous, obnoxious little twin demons as his sisters. Creatures so exhausting and so unwilling to die and stay dead that they were banished from Hell to walk the Earth, Legion with them. Of course, he was welcome back any time. Without them.
Legion’s time on earth, some might say, has been rocky. Though his sisters were by his side for some of it, he was more often alone, and preferred it that way. Having no place to go, he wandered the earth for millenia. It’s hard to kill a creature like him, and he simply kept on living, never aging. Falling in love and out of it. The thing about living so much life for so long, is that you often become bitter. And if you don’t become bitter, you love more deeply than anyone you could ever know. Legion has been both of these people.
There is a lot of life to fit into the story of him. His most recent escapade ended, like most of the others, in tragedy. Deeply, madly, painfully in love with Apep, the god of chaos, he had chosen a life for himself at the side of the snake, against the Sun God, desperate for the life they could build together. No one had done for him what Apep had. He had felt rescued. Hell, the god had eaten Lucifer. For him.
And then, Apep died.
Or, rather, he was killed. Destroyed by his own family, murdered for his plot against the Sun. Legion fell into disrepair. He grieved in the only way he knew how: withering away. A catatonic state. Becoming one with the shadows. Starving to death.
Oh, death. Oh, what bliss.
When Legion dies, he changes. Over time, over many deaths, his memory fades away, until he remembers only a couple of his past lives. He takes a new name, a new appearance, and begins life anew. Sometimes with the memories and personality of his previous self. Often, there are alterations. He remembers Apep. Remembers the muscle of arms around him while they stood upon the beach. Remembers the elation he felt when Apep asked him if they shouldn’t live together, in a towering castle in the middle of the Irish moors, away from each of their troubles. Remembers the fear and exhilaration he felt as the god pressed a knife to his neck in a playful, sadistic manner. He remembers that their love burned quick and fast and hot, not like a candle but like a struck match. Knows that now, it’s over. Now, his name has changed. His face, too. Knows he is no longer the same.
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Legion Lucifai
He doesn’t know what he is, but he calls himself a demon. After all, he is not the devil, and he is from hell. With no other words to describe him, and with striking similarities to other creatures of the same name, this is how he prefers to identify. After all, Legion eats humans to survive. Blood, bones, skin, soul and all. What is more demonic than that?
Legion can go a very long time without food, if he trains for it. Typically, he prefers to eat every couple of weeks. In previous lives, when he was stronger and when he had more power, he could live for years, even decades at a time without consuming anything. These days, he is not the same creature he was then, and he simply must have nourishment, or he becomes ravenous and weak. When not consuming food for sustenance, however, Legion prefers sweet things to eat. Human food does nothing for him, except that he likes the taste of it. Ice cream is his favorite.
In the same vein, human vices do nothing for him except act as a comfort. Legion smokes because it hurts his lungs. He drinks because it burns. If he does enough of one drug, he will begin to feel something.
Legion appears to be in his late twenties or early thirties. He stands at a moderate 6’3 when he looks like a human. Sometimes, he appears to be shorter. Though he does have a demonic form, he has found very little reason to actually use it, and so it remains essentially useless to him. His hair is the deepest brown; without direct sunlight, it appears black. His skin is ghostly pale, and his nails are often black and mildly pointed. He prefers the aesthetics of black clothing to almost all else, though he will sport a white shirt now and again, if the vibe calls for it. The only thing about his appearance that doesn’t change with his reincarnations are his eyes. They are black through and through, from pupil to sclera, with only a thin red ring around his iris. He sports deep bruising beneath his eyes, dark purple and blue, the bruising of a lobotomy victim. He hides his eyes beneath sunglasses for the part. Once upon a time, he had wings.
Legion is a playful and somewhat sarcastic character. Most often, he comes off as aloof and flirtatious (both things he actually is) but with a temper. He tries very hard to keep his cool, but it is in his demonic nature to run hot. He is exceptionally kind until he isn’t, playful to an alarming degree, and enjoys spending time with animals.
Legion is a musician. Actually, the better description of him would probably be a singer. He fell into the job after giving up his position in a large local drug ring, realizing that the high of performing on a stage for an enraptured crowd vastly outweighed selling drugs to rich snobs. Legion craves the attention of an enamored audience. His pop-punk style of both music and clothing earns him plenty of fans, and the tabloid stories of his rendezvous with both men and women keep them interested. His fanbase is small, and though he is considered more underground than mainstream, the fans are loyal. He has gained a cult following over the years. It is said that his music can change lives. People leave the concerts feeling more pleasured than when they came in. The feeling, they say, is addicting.
He lives in a London flat by himself. When not preparing for a performance, Legion often sleeps his days away and stalks out into the dark for the London nightlife. His natural way of consuming food is very conducive to night owl behavior.
Fun Facts:
Likes
Cats, flowers, sharp things, ice cream, shitty Chinese food, most men, fierce and powerful women, arguably bad animated movies, rain, the cold, cigarettes, bonfire smoke, iced coffee, scalding hot showers, blatant flirting, the taste of Vampire blood
Dislikes
Most dogs, most animal meat, hot coffee, yelling matches, vibrant colors, licorice, bitter foods, loneliness, injustice
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NPCs that often show up in Legion’s stories. Some of these characters I have written separately and others are only ever written with the purpose of advancing plot for Legion.
Anna
Legion’s manager and a siren. Anna has been around for as long as Legion has been making music. He saved her once, and since then they have been close friends. When he decided to quit his drug business and pursue music instead, Anna was the first to support his decision and help him grow his presence in the music industry. He doesn’t make any career decisions without her input. She manages all of his appointments, from modeling to interviews to concerts. Although she is a strict manager, she would never put Legion in a position that is too uncomfortable for him. She loves him dearly and would give her life for him. Anna is married to a gorgon woman, Navy.
Aki
Legion’s little sister. Aki presents herself as a thirteen year old girl with white skin, long black hair (picture The Ring), and a thin, emaciated body. She has fascinating eyes – silver most of the time, but opalescent when she’s using powers. She has no interest in love, relationships, or even, really, friendships. She is as creepy as a child can get, and although she appears as a teenager, her behavior often makes her seem much younger. It is important to note that despite this appearance, Aki is almost as old as her brother. She is the definition of evil and annoying. She loves causing mischief, murdering people (and animals!), and terrorizing humans. She carries around a puppet-like doll with her who holds a scythe called Mr. Happy. Some people say Mr. Happy is alive.
Aki is the twin sister of Keller, a beautiful blond-haired banshee. Aki loves her sister and her brother more than anything else in the world. Unlike Legion, she will kill upon the slightest inconvenience.
(Aki is my own character, but Keller is not, so she is not available to write or play at all.)
Lucifer
The devil. The lightbringer. The morningstar. Lucifer has always had an obsession with the demon. Their relationship is complicated. Legion is branded with Lucifer’s sigil, although what the angel really wants with him is hard to say for sure. Once upon a time, Legion was stronger than Lucifer, held more power over him. Now? Well, now it’s the other way around. Legion is Lucifer’s slave. Lucifer uses him as a toy, a sexual release, a punching bag.
Apep did eat him. Although Lucifer can regenerate and is immortal, it will take a while for him to return.
Uriel
In the 1980s, Legion (who went by a different name, Cassius) was considered a growing rockstar to rival other large bands at the time. He had the stage presence, the appearance, and gave just enough of a glance into his life that tabloids and fans thought he was scandalous and fascinating. However, all of that changed after he met Uriel. A man who had come to his shows, wormed his way into the demon’s life, and eventually into his heart. But Uriel’s intentions were cruel. Slowly, he dismantled everything Cassius had worked for, including his house, his job, and his friends. Uriel wanted the man all to himself, and he succeeded. After this, the tables turned. The sweet man Cassius thought he knew shed his skin to show a monster beneath it. Everything about him was swift, abusive, vicious. Cassius had never been more terrified of an angel.
Their break up was hard and left him with nothing. It almost ended his life. Uriel, being an angel, is equally as immortal as Legion, though the demon hasn’t seen Uriel since their relationship ended. Some pieces of it still haunt him, especially knowing that, somewhere, Uriel is lurking.
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About the Writer:
Hi! My name is Micajah (they/them). I'm 28 and a grad student in Library Science. I've been writing since 2007 (16 years!!!) but have had a rocky last few years. I haven't consistently written since 2020ish. You might know me from Rolepages or Faeries and Vampires (if you're OG)! I'm typically a really fast replier, but with a full time job and full time school, my response time has been greatly reduced. I do my best to get to things within the week, but it's not always possible.
This is my second account :) Other accounts:
I am open to new roleplay threads
Threads are Open
Writer's Writing Style (OOC)
Paragraph, Multi-Para
Writer's Favored Genres (OOC)
Fantasy, Romance, Violence, Rated R, 18+, Gore, Action, Adventure
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Ryan wasn't sure what this guy's deal was with helping her. And he was adamant about it too. It made him a little desperate in his appearance. She didn't mind the wish to help her, but she barely knew him. For all she knew, she could be assisted by this stranger, and then wake up in a box somewhere in another country. Now, she had a feeling that he wouldn't do any of that to her, but she needed to be sure. She couldn't risk her life for some type of...friendship."...Thanks..."
Thankfully, her attention was brought over to the man that was bringing over their pizza, careful to place the hot metal tray on clean, but stained pot holder. A shiver rippled through Ryan's spine, as she suddenly was feeling the hunger gurgle in the pit of her belly. When had she had eaten this much? It must have been...a month, or two when she stole that awful patron's wallet after he grabbed her behind.
Giving a gentle head tilt towards the owner of the place, he couldn't help but smile and slap a hand to Ryan's shoulder, giving it a squeeze. "If 'ya need anythin' else, lemme know."
And with that, he was gone, back to deal with the pile of orders that were printing in the back. Seems this place was busy even with it being the middle of the night. New York City never slept.
Despite the hunger that panged in her gut, she looked up towards the other. Motioning with her hand towards the pizza, as if trying to get him to take a slice first. He did pay for it, afterall. He should get the first piece.
"...You seem awful in my business, yet I don't know what your deal is, other than you're some sort of singer from England." She leaned back against the crappy seat, the particleboard crinkling behind her. "...Tell me about yourself."
Legacy’s sharp eyes caught the motion of his hand, causing her to frown herself. It was a familiar reaction, one she couldn't help but mirror whenever the topic of her own past arose. Compassionate understanding swirled in her eyes as she gave a solemn nod. No questions would be asked, for who willingly dredged up such nightmares? Yet, the unspoken promise hung in the air: should he ever find the strength to unburden himself, she would be there, a steady ear.
It was hard to fathom anyone wielding such power over him; his aura screamed of potency. Yet, a hint of mystery lingered, a whisper that there were depths to him she had yet to find.
A humorless chuckle escaped her lips. "Perhaps. But not as monumental as this." It would be easy to assume judgment wouldn't linger when the full truth remained shrouded. The secret gnawed at her, fueled by the fact that no one had ever been entrusted with it. Fear of rejection had always kept her silent.
She shook her head at his comment. "Too large for a fishhook." The metal was long, slender, though not thick enough for massive prey. "Unless they hunted tuna," she quipped dryly. His suggestion sparked curiosity - could this be a relic imbued with magic? Was that the key to Aurora's uncanny sense of old emotional wounds?
Her weary eyes scanned the room once more. "I must decipher Agatha's code. Cunning, I'll give her that." Had Aurora been diverted from a different mission by Legacy's presence? "You're right, something feels...too simple. But perhaps that's because Agatha never anticipated I'd make it this far." Her fingers clenched around the metal, white-knuckled, before she forced herself to relax. This, she would keep close.
His words struck a chord. She met his gaze, her own hooded and turbulent. A soft sigh escaped her. "You're right. Rest...food..." They both needed replenishment. The metal scrap disappeared into her jeans, and she brushed her hands clean on her thighs. Her focus narrowed on the body. A flick of her wrist, and flames erupted, denying Agatha any claim to the remains. The acrid tang of burning flesh hung heavy, but within minutes, the fire raged, then died at her behest. Ash remained, swept away by a flicker of her power. Her control had been imperfect; a large burn scar marred the floor.
She moved toward the exit, the light breeze a welcome caress. She inhaled deeply, steadying herself.
"Consider the riddle again: 'A bond of blood, a mystic tie, will be the price, in time you'll see.'" She said abruptly; desperation marred her words as if she could no longer hold back the waves of guilt. "See? It's baffling, isn't it? Even you cannot unwound the threaded threat that lurks within.” She couldn’t decide if that made her feel better or worse. “I gave my blood, freely, without much hesitation. I did think about it; wondered what it would mean to me and what I would leave behind. Honestly, I did not think I had anything left. I was a stray cat with no Clan and no owner. I’m not entirely blind, either. I did have a family; one I could likely return to with a lot of groveling. But they chose their path and I chose mine. Our paths were like streams, flowing from the same mountain spring but twisting and turning until they emptied into different oceans. You know why I left my family — my sister? Because she would never be happy amongst humans. She was less thrilled when she learned about my change. So, I left her with the Clan, because that is her place.” She sighed; one laden with the weight of the world. She closed her eyes, visions of the past swirling and dancing behind closed lids. When she opened them, the amber specs burned like molten gold in her gaze, stunning and brilliant. Yet the fire was muted by the shattered gaze of someone who had lost everything, and did not know it until it was too late.
“You know I had a mate. Years ago, when I lived with my owner. It is true I never truly loved him as humans loved, but the care between us was real.”
So the fur was her former mate’s? That made sense, but why the stricken face?
“My owners perished in a fire. I tried to wake them; I would have stayed in that house with them and died with them. I loved them that much. But I had something else. Something just as precious — if not more — than my owners. I couldn’t stay with them, because I had to save her.”
Where was she going with this? The air seemed to vibrate, heavy with anticipation, as if the very house itself held its breath. Had he pieced together the fragments of her tale, grasping the threads of revelation she so tentatively offered? The question hung unspoken between them. Her words spilled out in a torrent, like waves relentlessly pounding against the shore, each one wearing down his perception of her, reshaping the landscape of his understanding.
“The tuft of fur belonged to my daughter.”
She almost wanted to laugh at his indignant stance; but something told her that was not the correct reaction so she suppressed the urge. Keeping her face carefully neutral instead, well if not for the wrinkle marring her brow; almost as if she were confused. The faint trace of sulfur in his scent told her he could only be a demon, but he didn't look like a hell fiend. Granted she'd never actually seen one with her own eyes, so what did she know? Maybe they all looked like this.
"You guess?" Her head tilted at his dismissive tone. But she didn't spend more than a minute questioning it, shaking her head a moment later as if to shake off her curiosity. He hadn't denied her claims and if he was what she thought he was, something told her his eyesight was every bit as keen as her own. Maybe even keener.
Her lips almost wanted to twitch, the image he presented; holding up his hands like the picture of innocent serving to amuse her. Innocence was not a descriptor often applied to demons after all. "No. You shouldn't have." She was aware the term had likely just slipped out without thought, some species saw a werewolf and couldn't help but bring out the canine terms. Unaware or oftentimes uncaring of how offensive were's actually found those terms.
Her tone didn't have as much bite as it had a moment before, her temper cooling quickly with the apology. "Nascha. My name is Nascha Kaltain... and yes they can."
From the way she spoke of humans; it almost seemed as if she had experience and as a result a healthy dose of wary suspicion of that race as a whole.
Roger & Legion
It was very fortunate that Legion didn't make too sudden or quick of movements as both men maneuvered their way out of the bar and close to the street. If one thing made Roger a little nauseous, it was being jerked around suddenly without warning. Thankfully here that wasn't the case and as a result, he was able to hold his resolve.
Legion had given him a fair amount to ponder over in the meantime, though. Some of which he didn't agree with in the slightest. The idea that he ignored his visions was bordering on offensive to him. How many countless mornings, evenings and nights he had obsessively tried to decipher his dreams! How he'd written down his thoughts about them, penned stories having to do with the shadows of things to come that haunted him!
But it wasn't as if Legion knew all of that. Roger had only scratched the surface of his troubles with the void-eyed man. So he would choose to give him the benefit of the doubt and stay silent on the matter until they were both buckled safely into the back of the cab. And, of course, once he'd told the driver his address. With a little more effort than it normally took, Roger did just that, giving specific directions to his home.
"You've got a load more stamina than me," Roger first addressed Legion's interest in nightly walks as soon as the door had been shut and the car began to move. The journalist chuckled and then heaved a long sigh, weary as ever before. "And you're right about t-the stress. But not everything else. I don't just...ignore 'em. I put a lot of thought into 'em. I keep journals. Trying to piece it all together. Maybe I'm not doing enough. Maybe...I ought to see a shrink for this. Might as well get a second opinion at this point. A third. A third opinion..."
He stopped talking for a short while, brought forth a hiccup and then continued to chatter. "I'm not even sure if it's my future to change. It seems that way but, ugh..." Roger gave a slight shrug. "Bein' Prime Minister? That's never crossed my mind. I wouldn't try to run Dad's pub, let alone a whole country. So why am I...catching glimpses from the Prime Minister's perspective..?"
Roger was getting close to dozing off but then the car hit a speed bump. He swallowed thickly, then groaned. "Urgh. I don't understand. I don't...feel well." With that notion, the drunk man glanced up and called to the driver, impatience cutting through his tone. "Are we almost there?"
The avian across from him wanted to get a massage at some point in the coming days, but she knew that she would have to explain her scars to the woman rubbing on her back. And that was a discussion she wanted to avoid as much as possible. Not to mention the giant black wings that were connected to her back. The best she could do would be to fly around to stretch, but even then, most of the muscles she was using at work wouldn't get the chance to be worked on. Ahh, what the struggle.
"Mmm?" His comment made Ryan raise her head from staring at the table she forgot she was, her arms coming to fold on its surface after a good moment of her thinking in silence. "Work is fine. Men are handsy, what else is new.." Not saying there weren't women who would come into the sleezy club, but the majority of the time it was the male species that wanted their hands all over her.
"...As for my place to stay," Her sneaker seemed to bounce with the motions of her leg, piercing blue eyes casting their glance out the window, and into the middle morning darkness. "It is what it is. I've been holding out in this abandoned hotel for years now. It has a bed, and it's quiet. That's all I can really ask for these days. Keeps prying eyes off of me."
Her fingers brushed along the surface of the table, feeling the subtle stickiness from the person who was sitting here before them. She could smell what they ordered from the slight tackiness.
"..And before you say anything, no. I'm okay. I don't need you to buy me a room, or offer me one to stay in. Where I am is fine enough for me. I'm...used to it." The luxury would be too much for her. The broken windows allowed for ease of access of escape if she was spotted; quiet provided a sense of security to the avian...
You're welcome. Thank you for accepting.
“In that case, I feel honored.” And she did. Pride swelled in her knowing the level of trust he offered her. It was quickly cooled with a prickle of guilt. There were things about her that he did not yet know — things that may one day alter his perception of her.
Her gaze, now human and vulnerable, skittered across the room like a trapped animal. "Quite sure," she whispered, her voice barely audible. "The necklace is a part of the ritual that turned me human. With it, she could take that away. And she did, often, especially when she wanted to play her games. I carved out her branding years ago, after I escaped." A twitch rippled through her left shoulder, a phantom echo of the agony that had once seared her flesh. The wound was long healed, but the scar remained, a constant reminder of her past. "It was only ever skin deep — a cattle branding, really."
She bent over Aurora's body, her eyes probing the still form. "A snap of her fingers and a thought, she could inflict agonizing pain from it; it was like I was being branded again. Not that I defied her often." No, she had been obedient, following instructions to the letter. What was the point of fighting? She had placed herself in that position, so she had to lie in it.
He would question the fur, of course. He was an intelligent man, after all. His question held no note of judgment, but it caused her to flinch all the same. "The fur comes from the price I paid," her voice rang like a hollowed church bell, tight with agony and swimming with regret. "A price I never knew about until years later." Not that it made things better. If anything, it made it worse. That she was so preoccupied with herself and what she wanted that she never stopped to think of the consequences. Legion had every right to feel cautious. Guilt stabbed at her, sharper than a thorn.
"Agatha always makes her deals in riddles. Always tricking, always telling you what you'd like to hear. When I met her that day, she honestly seemed nice. She fed the strays — just another crazy cat lady, you know? But then she spoke to me. And I listened. She could feel the desire in me to be more. And so, one day, she came to me and said:
Whiskers twitching, eyes so keen,
Yearn for life in human scene.
A trade I offer, dark and grand,
But beware, kitty, of my hand.
At dawn's first light, it shall be yours,
Yet with it, hidden sorrow soars.
A life you'll live with hands so fine,
But at a cost that's hard to define.
A bond of blood, a mystic tie,
Will be the price, in time you'll see.
So, cat, if courage fills your heart,
Take my offer, play your part."
She had tilted her head up as she replayed that rhyme that haunted her dreams. She held up the necklace, nodding towards the bloody vial. "I thought the price was just my blood and my servitude, but it was more than that. But my ignorance is not an excuse." Her gaze was shadowed, haunted by demons he could not yet see. Legacy yanked off the two vials. The empty one she let slip through her fingers, letting it shatter across the floor. Her shoes crunched over the tiny shards as she shifted her stance. The vial of blood, she held up in the palm of her hand. Her brow furrowed as she focused her magical energy. The vial rose in the air, about six inches, and trembled. With a burst of energy, the glass shattered, sending flecks of glass flying. Or it would have, had it not been for Legacy's control. The miniscule shards hung suspended in air before the entire thing exploded in a burst of golden light. Nothing was left. Legacy let her hand fall to her side before she drew the necklace over her head. She tucked the pendant beneath her shirt.
"Let's see if she had something else to hide," she rasped, abruptly changing the subject. If he pressed her for the truth, would she spill it? Probably. He deserved to know. Especially after everything he'd done for her. What was the price that made her fear his response? Given what they learned of Allistair, it couldn't be worst than that. Nothing could be worsenthan that tragic tale.
Her nose wrinkled in disgust. She wasn't keen on searching a dead body, but she had to do it. Waiting to be found within her pockets was a folded note. Scribbled along the sheet of paper was…gibberish. Just a bunch of random letters. "This is a coded message," Legacy murmured. "I can decipher it, but it'll take time." Quite a bit of time. She would have to figure out what format of coding Agatha had used, then fully decode it herself.
Lifting Aurora's shirt would reveal a tattoo that was etched into her skin, just along her right hip. It was a raven, so life like that its beady eyes seemed to stare right back. It sat atop a towering spire, wings outstretched, ready for flight. Beneath the spire was a golden star, as if there were some importance to the art. Legacy frowned. Tattoos often held deep, personal meanings.
Tucked into her jacket was a scrap of…metal? It held a curve, and though it looked old, it was wickedly sharp. It hummed with some type of energy. Legacy handed it to Legion "What do you think this is?" It reacted to Legion's touch by humming louder. It wasn't painful, but it was a little unpleasant. Weird. Concerned, Legacy's hand flashed out, ready to take it back in case it was hurting him. "Woah. That's creepy. I'm sorry. I don't know why it's doing…that. It felt like a piece of scrap metal to me." Her fingers brushed across the surface. As soon as she touched it, electricity danced across both their hands, giving them both a small electric shock. For a split second, the worn metal shimmered with a new life. The metal gleamed brightly, as if it was only just forged.
"That is weird!" Legacy commented. She tried to replicate what had happened, but failed to. "Do you think it's a broken piece of a weapon? Maybe it reacted to both of our magic and tried to repair itself. But why would she have it all? Do you think Agatha is searching for something? The rest of it, maybe? It could have something to do with her plans. Maybe it’s in this coded message.”
She wanted to question why his concerts got weird, but she detected hesitation in his voice, so for now, she kept it to herself. She knew sometimes supernaturals “fed” off the energy of the crowd, so maybe it was something similar. “Moderately famous,” she snorted, harkening back to his previous comment. “Most people aren’t even slightly famous.” She teased, the tip of her tail twitching with amusement.
His question was easy. “Yes. Sometimes it’s easier. But I spent a good part of my life as a cat. A good…twelve or thirteen years or so. I’ve only been a human for maybe five years. Honestly, I lost track of time when I was with Agatha and I don’t have a birthday — not one I can remember. I know I was born in the summer, so I figure when the leaves start changing colors, I’ve made it another year.” She shrugged. In the wild, cats don't really have a birthday. It would make sense she would only remember the season. “But I like being human too. I still retain a lot of my cat-like behavior. Curiosity, as you know.” Suddenly she laughed, “Catnip makes me a bit high, if you can believe it. I’ve grown more comfortable as a human. It’s cool that you can do that as well, though.”
Legacy’s fur prickled as they arrived.
“I love children!” Legacy purred, happy to have the happier topic before they stepped into that home again. “Cat, remember? I can sleep through anything. Back with Alex, sometimes the only thing that woke me was the cracking of a can opening. And when I was with the Clan, there was a lot of background noise — kits, cats, the sounds of the forest itself…trust me, I can sleep anywhere. As long as you don't think she'll mind. It sounds like she's closer as far as traveling distance." Not that it mattered, but why make it harder?
The door clicked open; Legacy’s ears twitched.
The stench of death hovered in the air, lingering like an ugly cloud. Aurora's once bright gray eyes were now lifeless and dull. In life, they had burned with hatred, but in death, they were forever frozen in disbelief. It was the first time anyone could take note of her appearance. Her legs were fitted with tight, black jeans and clung to her small waist by a belt. Some sort of threadbare jacket covered her arms, but scars peeked out from her wrists. They traveled all the way up her arms, but could only be viewed upon closer inspection. A sign of blood magic? Legacy slipped from his grasp and approached with caution.
“She cut herself to drive the magic,” Legacy commented. “More blood, more power.” And with magic, she could seal them. She clearly didn’t use enough power to avoid leaving scars — probably didn’t want to expend the extra magic.
“My necklace!” Legacy reached out with a paw, claws extended, until they curled beneath the leather string. She brought the string to her mouth, where she clasped it between her teeth. With the string in her mouth, she shifted until she stood behind Aurora’s head. With a careful tug, she was able to remove it from her neck. She took it to Legion, nearly tripping over the necklace. She set it down at his feet.
The tiny vial holding her magic burned like a little little flame. Legacy pawed at it, but she wouldn’t be able to remove the little cork.
“No opposable thumbs, sadly.” Her whiskers twitched with amusement, but her gaze was shadowed with sadness. Right; she had not seen her trinket in years. She must be recalling her days with Agatha.
The necklace hung suspended from a supple leather cord, its centerpiece a mesmerizing glass pendant. Two delicate vials dangled beside it, one filled with an oozing crimson liquid that seemed to pulse with life. Now closer, he realized with a jolt that it was blood. Legacy's blood? The pendant, roughly the size of a quarter, commanded his attention. Sandwiched between its glass layers was a tuft of fur. Since this was tied to Legacy, one would expect to see brown fur.
This was black fur. Legacy had a small mix of black in her pelt, that was true, but not enough like this; enough to warrant this keepsake.
Legacy shifted impatiently, her eyes sparkling with excitement. "C'mon," she urged, perhaps sensing his questions. "Still stuck as a kitty here, remember?" Her tail twitched as she bounced on her paws, magic crackling in the air around her. The vial seemed to glow brighter, its humming growing more insistent as if it yearned for her.
Once he uncorked it, a golden mist of pure magic erupted, swirling around Legacy in a dazzling dance. The light intensified, until it was a brilliant star that enveloped her. Then, in an instant, the magic vanished into her chest, as if called home. Legacy sighed, a look of perfect contentment washing over her. Her form shimmered, light and shadow playing across her fur as it transformed into skin. Smoke curled up, carrying the scent of magic and woman. In mere heartbeats, the tranformation was complete.
Legacy sat before him, clad in her worn jeans and faded blue shirt. Her amber eyes glowed golden for a moment, before fading to their usual warm brown. Specks of gold still danced in their depths. She sat in stillness, reacquainting herself with her human form. Then, with a grace that belied her earlier impatience, she flexed her hands and unfolded herself from the floor.
“That’s better,” she sighed, briefly running her hands through her hair to work out the tangles. She held her hand out, eager to have her necklace back. “It’s been years since I’ve seen that. I can’t believe Aurora had it! You know what this means? Agatha has no control over me anymore. Her brand is gone, and now she doesn’t have this anymore. She can’t control me and she can’t take away my human form. I’m free.” Her eyes sparkled with emotion, almost bowing with the weight of the truth. “Of course, she still needs to be stopped. Let’s see if we can find anything else. Then we can go.”
This place was always somewhere Ryan could come for comfort on an off night. No one would kick her out here. No one would judge if she was by herself for the night; as long as she had a slice, and a lone corner. She would be okay.
"...Mm, a singer. You any good?" She made the snide remark to try and get a decent smile from the semi-stranger. A chance to try and warm up.
The avian seemed to almost ignore his comment about the phone, but did take the apology. No matter the way that people saw it, technology wasn't her strong suit, and she wasn't about to get tangled in it now. She knew that being off the grid as much as she could was the safest for her; it worked so far. Why change it?
When he ordered his side of the pizza, Ryan could only raise a brow. Hm..pineapple was a good stretch of sweet, and she firmly believed it belonged on pizza. But, she didn't say anything, as she watched the other pull out a black card from a thin wallet. Interesting to see, considering she mostly deals with cash.
The man behind the counter took the card and gave it a gentle swipe before waiting until it cleared...handing it back to him. "Give me about ten minutes, and I'll bring it to 'ya. Pick where 'ya like to sit." Just like that, he seemed to disappear into the back again, and grab a handful of dough to start spinning.
Ryan seemed to have drifted to a bench booth near the window in the front after the card was accepted, plopping herself down with a long exhale of relief. Being off of her feet for the night. Hanging out with a stranger...but that wasn't the worst of it, so hey, here she was. He seemed kind enough.
It seemed that the curiosity Vanitas felt was mutual, though it was hard to tell what Legion may have been thinking since he had on his black sunglasses. To him, the eyes were sometimes a pathway to one's thoughts. A theory then flashed through his mind - maybe the other simply had a sensitivity to light? He didn’t want to intrude and ask about it, and instead smiled when Legion accepted his offer. "Great.~" He retorted jovially, glancing over at the bartendress on the other side of the bar. It seemed that she was still in a daze, which gave the duo a chance to continue their chat.
Vanitas reverted his gaze to Legion as he spoke, briefly looking over to the small crowd of people slowly snapping out of their trance. His eyebrow rose curiously at the words that followed. It was true that he could use his ability as a lure, but learning that it wasn’t his intention to do so was...surprising, a little odd even. Most supernaturals he came across since living on the surface world would’ve had the exact opposite mentality - hell, even the angels back home would take advantage of such a power. Was he really singing for the enjoyment of it all? It made the nephalem’s curiosity grow more.
"Well lucky us then. Not everyone would share that mindset if they had such an ability. Gotta say, it’s interesting to meet a supernatural that doesn’t have it out for humans." Whether up in Heaven or down here, Vanitas had gotten used to almost every non-human having something against mortals. A common hatred that he never understood. As tempting as it was, he didn’t want to pry into what exactly Legion was - at least not for now.
A few moments after the bartendress made her way back over to the duo, asking if they wanted anything. "Yes, can I have another margarita please? And my new date can have whatever he wants." A casual friendly or flirty joke was typical of the nephalem, and now wouldn’t be an exception despite the pair just meeting. His joke at least had meaning though, not really caring if Legion decided to get the most expensive of what the bar had to offer.
Vanitas waited patiently for Legion to decide what he wanted and for the bartendress to walk away, sitting back down on the bar stool while listening to bits of the current song being performed on stage. "Ya know it took me a minute to recognize you, but I’m actually a fan. I’m sure you hear that a lot though." He could only imagine what else all the fanboys and fangirls said or attempted to do. "I’m surprised a big celebrity would perform here instead of a sold out stadium." Okay, so his curiosity ended up leading him to pry just a little.
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