Anzu's childhood was idyllic.  He never really wanted for anything-- there was always food on the table and in the fridge.  His mother didn't work, so she was always home.  Flitting about the estate they stayed in, cleaning, baking, and singing.  The only thing she ever seemed to care about was loving them-- Anzu, his brother, and his father.  His father was the polar opposite-- a cold, mysterious man that kept all his secrets locked behind a locked door, reinforced with six inches of steel.  The man spent all day and night in his study, polishing his antiques and studying strange relics that seemed, at least at the time, to have appeared out of nowhere. 

Once, Anzu's father told him about the time he was born.  He said it was a day he'd never forget, unlike his brothers birth which he didn't care to remember.  His father was gazing out the window with a smile as savage as if he were a wolf with fresh blood running down his chin.  He was seeing something Anzu couldn't...

"I'm sad to say I wasn't there in person.. but I knew the moment you entered the world.  The very earth itself knew.  The rivers themselves ran red with blood, and flocks of birds fell dead from the sky.. my little devil."

 Suffice to say, Anzu and his father were never really close.  The way the man looked at him even was unnerving, with awe in his eyes like Anzu was just another one of his relics to be dusted off and stuck in a glass-shelf.

As children, he and his brother seemed inseperable-- they were light and dark, summer and winter.  Anzu was always the one picking fights and running his mouth, always the one with bruised knuckles and split lips and bloody noses, and in most cases Irra would end up involved (whether he wanted to be or not, as the older brother, he felt it was his job to keep his Anzu out of trouble) but he could normally talk his way out of any problem.  A diplomat at heart, he hated confrontation and approached most situations with one hand stretched out happily, the other clutching a dagger behind his back--metaphorically.

As they got older, they began to stray further and further apart as they became interested in different things.  And after Anzu turned sixteen, things were never the same again.  No one had been home, or so Anzu had thought, so he snuck into his father's study and went into his drawer to steal the key to the garage.  The weather was perfect, so he thought he'd take the dirt-bike out to the hills and enjoy it.  As he rode down into the creek, his bones vibrating from the purr of the engine, his eyes were on the clear, blue sky.  Not a cloud in sight.

The hills were good to him, not a soul around, so he went wild.  But just as he was making his eighth go at riding up the side of the hill with blue grass to launch into the air and soar like a bird, his path was blocked by none other than Irra, tragically handsome in a suit.  His brother has tracked him by his cell-phone.  Again.

"Joyriding again?" The way he said it made it sound like Irra was celebrating a great hunt.  Anzu couldn't stand his brother in that moment.

"So?" Anzu put as much venom in his spit as a cobra.

"You know dad doesn't like it when you take his stuff," Irra chided.

"He doesn't like anything I do--or you do--for the record.  Why don't you hang out a while?" It was a last ditch effort for peace, one of the few that Anzu would offer his brother.

"Don't be stupid."

Anzu knew Irra wouldn't try to take it from him- he wouldn't dare, the last time they'd fought, he'd left his older brother with a broken rib.  He gripped the throttle of the bike predatorily, baring his teeth. "Piss off,"

Irra must have seen something in his eyes that scared him, because he suddenly becked down the hill three steps and stuck his hands in his pockets, a sign that he was nervous.  "I don't know who you are.  You're not even human."

The words had made him fume-- "Enjoy the rain, bitch." The words came before he could stop them-- and the rain fell before he even saw the dark clouds creeping across the sky.  Lightning and and thunder battered the world.  

If he'd known his brother was telling him the truth and not just trying to be an asshole, he might have reacted differently.  But he had no way to know until it was already too late.  A month later, Irra moved out.  Six months later, and Anzu admitted his secret to his mother.  The secret that made Irra so scared of him, that made his father gaze at him with such awe.. 

But she only laughed, pulling the pony-tail out of her hair to let the ringlets of gold--the same shade as his own-- fall around her shoulders.  She took his bruised hands in her perfect ones, and then she told him she knew he was special.

"Where you were born, roses grew from barren soil to make a cradle, and the wind sang you the lullaby that I wasn't able to myself..  Baby, you're an angel."


Shortly after, Anzu learned that his powers weren't all about good and light.  There was evil in him that he didn't recognize.  No, not evil.  But fear.  Something totally out of his control.  

The night of the incident, he was dreaming about his school.  Everything was ordinary; He was walking along the sidewalk with his hands stuffed in his pockets, a warm, summer scented breeze coiling around him and tugging at his pajama pants.  He knew he was dreaming, he knew he wasn't really there.  The people--all of them familiar faces--ignored him completely. 

Anzu took his time walking across the front lawn towards the entrance of the school-- which didn't really look like his school at all, anymore.  More like the entrance to an ancient Roman temple, all hand carved pillars and arch-ways.  There were a tale carved into the walls all around him in intricate detail, one he knew all too well.  Memories from his life up until this point.  The halls were carpeted with blood red.. and then, suddenly he was walking ankle-deep in real, human blood.  It was still warm--and he knew it was human because all those familiar faces that he recognized outside were piled before him.  Pieces of them, anyway.

It was the first time a dream had slipped from his control; and it spiraled into chaos quickly.  He turned around to leave, and found that he was enveloped in darkness.  There was nothing around him.  

Nothing at all.  He was alone.

And then he wasn't.  He turned around again, and he saw himself.  Only.. it wasn't really the face he knew.  There was ink running from the doppleganger's eyes and spilling into it's mouth, which was twisted into a nasty grin he usually turned on other people.  It reached out and grabbed him by the shirt

And then, he woke up and flung out of bed.  But he was alone.  Or so he thought.  He almost climbed back into bed with a thundering heart when he saw the inky foot-prints leading away from the side of his bed, and a large, nasty smear on the doorknob of his closed door.

Without thinking, he flew from his room.  But it was already too late.  The thing had come into the world by his power, made it's mark on the world, and left Anzu with the knowledge that he'd brought about the death of his entire family.  His father dead in his study, clutching one of those relics he loved so much.  Throat halfway across the room.

Irra curled on his side in a puddle of his own blood.

His mother, a twisted masquerade of what was once a beautiful human across the kitchen floor, crucified with knives from her own kitchen set.  She was smiling.


Feeling numb and hating himself for it, Anzu packed his bags and stole away into the night in his fathers 1967 Camaro.  The Chevrolet is the only thing that remains of that haunted place-- not long after, he returned, and as a result the place was destroyed.  The once beautiful state lies in a crater in the ground, the trees dead, the gardens decomposing.  Nothin' left but ghosts, Anzu would say.


It's been a long time since the death of his family, but Anzu is still as bitter as ever.  He's good at hiding it behind a coy smile--when he chooses too.  He's good at hiding a lot of things these days- 








His first encounter with Them- was in a dream.    Little did he know- They'd been watching him for as long as he'd been slipping into his dreams.  Since the day he was born.  Watching and waiting while his powers grew and he became his own man.  

And then, when They thought he was reaching the peak of his prowess-- they snatched him from the world and dragged him back to Their Queen, through the veil into the otherworld.  Anzu--being, Anzu-- put up one hell of a fight, but all he'd accomplished was turning the ground black and barren at the portal gate he was chucked through and bloodying his own nose off one of Their foreheads. 

If he'd known then he was about to come face to face with one of the most ancient and malevolent thing he'd ever encountered, he might have saved his strength.

By all first accounts; Aibell is beautiful.  Easily the most beautiful among all the sidhe mounds across all of the Emerald Isle.  It is within her power to make you believe it with such ferocity that it's a chore to even rise to anger around her.  But beyond her glamour- She is usurper and betrayer.  Devourer of the wicked Mongfhionn, who'd once stood against Niall, son of Eochaidh Airem.  In devouring her, she'd taken all she was into herself, her sorcery and her evil--her very being.

It is Their right to claim the souls of those they please--artists, beauties, warriors, and sorcerers- at least, They'd tell you so--but Anzu was owned long before he'd come into this world.  He represented the less tangible and mystic aspects of the People; the blood of the Old One's coursed through his veins, he was not meant to play nurse-maid in a Fairy Fort, or polish boots, or stand beside a throne.

She knew this, of course.  But She also knew that the boy didn't have a clue what he was.  And She was right. 


First, She offered a place at Her side; the role was simple.  That of the Black Druid, the last of whom She'd insisted was vacationing somewhere warm.  The Black Druid-- the Fear Doirche, was second only to the Queen.  The catch? He'd have to go where She pointed him and do what She said, both protector of Her name and collector of unique artifacts-- children, like him.  Dreamers, and mages.

Anzu spit on her.  But without so much as a flinch, She rose from that throne of Hers and had him up against a wall before he could suck in a breath.  She made damn sure he couldn't breathe-- but She wasn't kind enough to kill him.  The Queen kissed him long and deep, and then when She began to draw back-- his soul went with Her.  It was the kind of painful he can't even describe, can't even summon to vivid detail within his mind- it was like vomiting up broken glass, or maybe a belly full of nails, or red hot iron.  Screaming only made things worse, but it was about all he could do. 

The second thing She did, was twist fate around him in geasa after geasa, so that even if he wasn't going to be a happy camper-- there was little he could do about it.  At least, not against Her directly.  Then She had him thrown in a six foot by six foot room without windows and left him to rot for the next two years.

At least, two years- give or take a month or two- flew by in the world he'd left behind.  In Aibell's sidhe?  He was prisoner in darkness for at least fifteen years without aging a day, and in those fifteen years- he eventully broke and accepted Her offer. 

Anything to get away from the black he'd come to know like a friend he was secretly sick of, but hadn't the heart to tell.








Anzu is the human form--the incarnation--of an old Irish god and former High King of the Tuatha; he was half Danaan, and half Formorian.  He was also a builder, a smith, a champion, a harper, a warrior, a poet and historian, a sorcerer, a physician, a cupbearer, and a brazier.

The Tuatha Dé Danann are a race of nigh-intangible immortals that came to Ireland from far off places.  Some say they came from another planet entirely.  Others, say they've always been there.  Christians will tell you they're the angels that took no side during the War in Heaven, so God who could not stand them, cast them to the earth.  The truth? Only the oldest of them know, and they're not saying anything. 

The Formorii on the other hand- are giants and jötnar, some of which rose from the sea and others that came from Scandinavia.  Destructive and vicious, they are dark where the Tuatha are bright, hideous where the Dé are beautiful.  For a time, they were foes- and then the Tuatha conquered them in battle, claiming dominion over them.  It was that or death- so the few surviving Formorii surrendered themselves.


Over time, they bred- the Formorii and the Danann, and the result of this union was the twisted Aos si--The Fair Folk, The Good Neighbors-- Them.  And they spread wide and far into the world, becoming known as the Seelie and Unseelie court in Scotland, and the Tylwyth Teg of Wales.  These days, the Tuatha are little more than echoes of an ancient past.  Some claim the Old One's still move among the courts of the sidhe, hidden in their way.  But they're just rumors, anyone that utters the name of the Danaan is quick to assure.  They died out long ago, taking all their ancient power with them..






Being the human form of a god has granted Anzu with a slew of weapons that answer only to his call and ties to places he's never even heard of, might never even see.  In essence, it has made him immortal- in the sense that he won't age as long as he continues to sustain himself with magic.  But the well timed thrust of a kitchen knife or a bullet to the head can still kill him.

That said, he has an edge over mortal men and more than a few supernaturals.  Going so far as to test his speed and endurance against vampires and his hunting prowess against werewolves, when they'll have him.

On the other side of the spectrum, he is a dreamer and one of the last surviving members of the Druid faith, well versed in magic that doesn't involve flinging around fireballs or lightning streaking from the sky to fry his enemies.

His is the power of binding. 




Through his magic, he can bind himself to an animals form.  Unlike Lycanthropy, it's entirely his choice when he changes, rain or shine.  And he's not limited to just one form.  But his favorite to take is the likes of a breed this world won't see anywhere else.   A Warhound- of the like that used to leap into the fray of battle at the side of their masters and companions to drag men from horseback.  It's basically a bigger, badder version of an Irish Wolfhound.  




It is both magic, and faith.  Both of which are lost to this world- in the Old World, the druids served as the link between the gods and humankind.  These days? They're just dead, along with most of their practices.  It is Druidry that has let him bind himself to the Earth, and that allows him to change forms, and divine the future from seemingly random patters in a cloud front, or a school of fish. 

He has a number of Druidic tattoos, all of them in the form of celtic knotwork.  Two intricate bands of it on his middle finger; the first at the base, between his knuckles.  The second higher up, just below his fingernail; one is a ward against magical tracking, scrying, that sort of thing.  And the other is an alarm, just in case someone manages to get his location anyway. 

There's more knotwork on his leg, from knee to the top of his foot and down the back of his ankle.  A painful display of the lengths he'll go to up his magical prowess-- these celtic knots allow him to siphon energy from the earth and convert it to his own.  Offering him a nigh unlimited source of power to draw from.




 Bound to the earth as he is, as he must be in order to influence change in the world around him, he can summon earthquakes on a whim and bring rockslides cascading down the sides of mountains.  When he's barefoot (which he often is) he can stretche his senses into the ground and outwards, as far as his presence will let him.  Sending out and receiving pyschic messages, tracking energy signatures and movement, and easily sucking power through the soles of his feet to heal any wounds he might sustain.

He can also push his will onto the natural world; taking control of animals and plants.   With a little effort, he can even temporarily override the bind between familiar and master, turning it to attack.  A simple combination of binding magic, a psychic invasion, and the tether connecting the animal to the world, that connects all physical things to the mortal plane.




Probably his greatest power lies in the realm of dreams- he's a Dreamer, able to control his dreams and walk through others, changing things as he goes.  Implanting scenarios and nightmares and psychological horrors.  His power goes so far as allowing him to put people to sleep, trapping them in a dream and following them in.

That being said, he's never had cause to commit psychic warfare, and isn't prone to invading the dreams of others when he's got a massive playground in his head already.

He is not the only Dream Walker- there are many across the world, by different names.  But he is the only one he knows of that can shape dreams into reality, actually dragging things out of his conscious mind to give them form.  A great boon- but also a chore, as this means he's just as likely to manifest a living, breathing nightmare as anything else.


 An da shealladh- The Sight of the Seer.  Anzu was born with this; the power to see what's hidden.  Through glamour and charm alike.  It goes further than simply being able to spy a Lesser Fae from a mile away, though.  He can see the dead, damned, and wandering, gateways to other realms, and magical energies from people, places, and objects alike. 

This ability also means, sometimes he can look into a person's face and tell they're lying, he might even know what they're going to say before they say it.  In truth, this is simply his glimpsing a few seconds into the immediate future.  Useful- but it's not something he can turn on or off.  And sometimes an event will trigger a true vision, which usually ends with him on the ground.









Credit goes out to Omega for the awesome job of editing and coloring the above picture! 






  • Anzu lives and breathes the color black.  Most of his clothes are black--all of his shoes are black, and so has been every jacket he's owned in the last five years.  At one point, there was a phase involving black nail-polish but such talk is heresy.


  • Every shirt he owns has holes in it, courtesy of his pet raven.


  • His wristband consists of a thin black strip of leather that twines around his left wrist four times.  He never takes it off.  Not even to shower.


  • He's accumulated numerous piercings; six in total.  Three in his right ear, two in his left, and a bar in his tongue.  All gold.


  • He has a tattoo on his chest; following the curve of his right collar-bone.  As black as sin, it reads, in jagged, Gaelic script;  Ní raibh as Neamh, ná Ifreann.  And on his back, a raven between his shoulder blades wreathed in six pairs of wings, each one larger than the last.  The final pair of wings overlap his shoulders, their points creeping up the back of his neck, stray feathers curling around either side of his neck.  A mess of knotwork and things from his dreams seem to appear and disappear from his flesh.  Not to be confused with the slat an draoichta creeping up his leg, and also wrapping twice around his middle finger.


  • On most days that end with 'y' Anzu will also be wearing a handful of nails around his neck, hanging on a sturdy enough chain to resist a good pulling.


  • A gold armband shaped like a snake coils around his upper right arm.  It appears ancient.


  • His faeth fiadha, the magic cloak akin to the glamour of the Fair Folk through which he can shield himself from prying eyes is, funnily enough, weakest around his eyes.


  • There's salt.  In his pockets.  All of them.  And nails hammered into the soles of his shoes.


  • He's Irish, and he has a bad attitude.  These things have nothing uncommon.


  • His is a Northern Irish lilt that he does his best to hide.


  •   His birth mother is rumored to have been born in Dundalk, just outside of Ulster.


  • He smells like a typical human (to varying degrees of humaness) but.. one taking in his scent will find it remniscent of Autumn.  At least as far as the mind is concerned. 


  • He has atelophobia. 


  • He shares the name of a monster from Sumerian mythology, being Anzu-- which is not his real name.


  • His aura is gold and fiery, rolling off him like the sun's corona.  




 M I N E, D O N T  T O U C H



"Baby-girl" "Sweetheart" "pieceofshit" and pretty much anything else that comes to mind. 

Anzu's feelings for his car are borderline sexual-- it's a sweet, 1967 Camaro Chevrolet, as black as the night sky.  Inside, and out.  It used to belong to his father who drove it when he was younger, then neglected the beauty after it broke down the first time.  Before Anzu 'stole' it it was merely gathering dust beneath a sheet in the garage.

There's memories pouring out of every crack in the leather, every ding in the door, every scratch on the hood.  It's the only thing left of his family, and he won't soon part with it.








He likes animals more than he likes people-- and he like ravens most of all.  But his black feathered companion, Ciardha, is no ordinary bird. 


While he was exploring the depths of his mind-- a dream world of his own creation, he found her nestled in the roots of an old oak tree.  She was a tiny thing, barely a bird, more like a black ball of squawking fluff.  She wasn't a real bird-- she was just a dream thing born from his subconscious-- but he still couldn't leave her behind.

So he took her from his dreams and raised her in the real world, and now she's just as much a menace as Anzu himself, only with double the sass and three times the sheen. 







Nikolas / Oɯǝɓɐ


Friends aren't an easy thing for Anzu.  After what happened to his family-- and how his last relationship tore holes in him, he's been reluctant to drag anyone down with him.  Let alone trust them.

But he trusts Nik, even though he doesn't quite know why.  It might have something to do with how when he looks at the man--it's like there's wolves tearing themselves apart inside his ribcage, shredding his guts in the process..

Or, maybe it could be that he's dangerous, and danger is always a good thing according to Anzu.  Especially when there's black magic and demons involved.



. . . More to come. . .





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  • Nikolas was left to do nothing more than rest. There was a tug-of-war in his head, as Anzu intruded. The inducement of sleep, versus the demon that was eagerly trying to tug the Vessel awake; it had grown irritable with the repeat of a presence in the domain it had staked as its own. Those attempts fell short to no avail. Anzu won that round luckily enough. No realms would go collapsing over the Dreamer’s head, as long as he had.

    It was around the tattered edges of the dream where the demon continued to stalk. As if Anzu were on nothing more than a tabletop, looming overhead as an indefinite figure, yet movement could be seen as the shadows contrasted to make way for the being’s overwatch. Why merely watch? Why not step in? Those were questions of consideration yet none that came with valid answers.

    The realm was bleak as far as landscape. To the right and left =, the trees seemed to continue on toward some unconsidered vanishing point. As they went on, they were either touching the boundaries of the dream or muddling to the point of nothing recognizable. Behind him would show much of the same. Ahead, the small structure loomed. It looked as left in abandonment as the rest of the place. The entablature read a title in a clear, arched, geometric font… “FOREST PARK.” Yet just as often, they would fluctuate. Distorting, wavering. Letters, and sigils, and contorted symbols took place on occasion. No different than Nik trying to account for what ran through his head come morning… not that he’d ever felt results.

  • To the presence of a spectator, the Vessel gave little notice. He would pass through just as calmly as the demon was allowed to ‘walk’ within his head. Noticeable, yet just as one would not regularly dwell on the fact that they needed to breathe, the demon’s tenure was seemingly an accepted one in the subconscious of Nikolas Everett. No matter how dangerous of a concept that may be.

    In being a state of disarray, his dreams were no more sorted out than his own thoughts were in the land of the awake. Through the torrent of things, most were snips of the past and distorted events. A subtle chaos, as seldom would those images form to form something memorable. And so it would be, until morning. He had not been far off in saying his brain never truly shut off.

    As the Dreamer would take form in the realm, a pensive stare looked onward from seemingly nowhere. It was, in essence, a shadow. Jagged edges wavered to any slight movement of its form, size incomprehensible as it seemed to dwell on the edges of the space like something cancerous. A little here. A little there, all of it watching the intruder vehemently like a dog that had maxed out the tension on its rope. That rope was constructed of judgment, however. Patience. Dare one assume it was curiosity over calculation? Who knew.

    The memory chosen, whatever was running through Nikolas’ mind those last few nights, was something… oddly foreign. It housed the same sensation as accidentally walking into a horror flick in theater when something ‘Disney’ was far more expected. Not that Nikolas’ mind was all rainbow and unicorns to begin with… but this place certainly was far further off.


    Upon entry, the shift in atmosphere lead to something… bleak. The surroundings lead one to believe it was still dark, in… wherever, they were. Through the trees that stood tall in their organic, twisted fashion, the sky held an unorthodox tone of slate blue that filtered down to the ground where autumn leaves were left amiss on the ground as if he were in another time frame altogether. He was in the center of what looked like a forest clearing; the demon’s presence was no longer felt as strongly, to the point where one could wonder if he followed along or not. At the end of the clearing, about forty meters out, a single stone building was placed. The receiving tomb stood barren, its roof caved in from years of neglect and absence it seemed. The decrepit stone stated the entry’s name in a large, geometric font overhead.

    [IMG1] [IMG2]

  • "I simply want it to be understood that I'm not usually this... hostile." Levi eventually finished, though even that word felt like the wrong one when he had finished saying it. When he was in this form he was definitely more than just hostile. It was an unwavering sort of anger. An anger created by a never-ending and indescribable sort of hunger. That literally gnawed at his insides and made it feel as if he was being eaten from the inside. It was enough too usually have him not give any fucks about anything. THough he was using all of his willpower too restrain himself and be calm right now. "Then I suppose there aren't as many reasonable beings out there as I thought." He spoke in between slight laughter, though it definitely sounded something much weirder since it was the combination of multiple voices laughing all at once. 

    "That is certainly a smart thing to try and keep from happening." He agreed with a nod as he switched the weight from one foot to the other. "And since that fear, if you'd call it that, is out of the way... then I suppose we can do something else. Something a bit more out there. Though I'm not sure what exactly that would be. I tend to just go off my anger and hunger. The feeling sorta just pushes me to kill most anything in my path." He attempts to explain eventually with the constant worry that the things he's saying weren't making any sense.

    "Um... nope. Not really. It kinda just stays like this. Will for the rest of the week." He sheepishly admitted. Right after it was said though, he had an idea quickly pop into his head. But it was something he hadn't really done much of so he wasn't sure if it would work or last. But it was at least worth a shot. "I may be able to do a thing though. Give me one second." 

    He'd discovered recently that he could make certain things to happen to himself if he just thought about it. So that's what he did. After turning around, he thought about how much he wanted to appear like a human. Appear as himself. It took him a minute or so before it actually worked, but it did. So when he turned around he no longer looked like a weird bull creature, and instead like himself. A human. 

    "Right, I'm ready to go when you are." He said with a smile.

  • In the meanwhile, while Anzu was putting himself together internally, Nikolas was busy wiping the issue out of his mind as best as he could. A breath was taken that seemed more like a sigh than he’d intended. He couldn’t control it, could he? It wasn’t something he could stop, he wouldn’t even notice it, unbeknownst to him. Then again, that was just what the problem was. A problem he wasn’t going to dwell on right then and there. He had enough sleepless nights ahead of him to put it off for a night. Or so he thought anyway.

    A hand swept his hair back once more and he turned his gaze to Anzu when he replied. His brow furrowed to the first few words before the stare eased up to one that was simply listening. It sounded… familiar. Similar to a source he’d rather it not be. “Like… something subconscious?” Nikolas suggested. “I mean- I notice some things…” His words trailed out at the prospect of rambling. “Maybe you’re right.” Whatever it meant moving forward, he didn’t quite know.

    A smile cracked shortly afterward. He couldn’t quite help it when a chuckle left his chest halfheartedly. “Well… I won’t mistake it then. Won’t have to ask if you’re sure.” Nik replied. His eyes fell closed to inspect the inside of his eyelids while the other’s traced the details of the windows.

    Feeling the pew shift as the other tried to get comfortable, his eyes wouldn’t open to it, trusting that he hadn’t missed anything. Given the confirmation and half an idea that the place wouldn’t burn down once he fell asleep, there was nothing more keeping them from staying shut. “Yeah… I’ll try. Promise.” Nikolas murmured.


    It took no more than five minutes or so before he was out. Another hour would pass before the combination of the day’s events and the demon’s hampered presence in the church worked to throw him deeper into his subconscious.

    If a description could be placed to the interior space of the Vessel’s mind, it was the very essence of a storm cloud rolling in, far off in the distance, but far too close yet for any sort of comfort. Quiet, yet turbulent. Softened voices of the past mixing with those that could have been someone he had spoken to that week. Voices that spoke in broken bits of English, sentences severed by the logic of dream realms themselves. Others edged far closer to tongues than anything, and one could wonder if they were his own thoughts or not. Ultimately blurred faces came in frames of vision that were unstable. Some lasted mere seconds, others for slightly longer portions of time. The kind the brain was likely to let slip, no matter how hard one would try to recall come morning. Those events so shakenly recollected were more blurred the deeper back into his past they went. Those of his family lingered predominantly as fragments. The more recent day came in as just a bit clearer.

    Oh… right. Alongside it, all was the ever-present feeling of a spectator dwelling over it. Hovering. An impending feeling that rose the hair on one’s neck, and would do worse should one attempt to search and make eye contact with it. For now, it merely lingered who-knows-where, looking onward.

  • "That's just a matter of perspective, isn't it?" Agnes answered. Her constant mode of thinking is to survive, being territorial and pugnacious about it was a symptom of that mindset. However, this state of mind could be stirred briefly, depending on what she's doing.

    Agnes noticed him putting the cigarrette back down. She didn't touch alcohol, mainly because she doesn't trust herself to be intoxicated. If she could do that much damage sober, who knew what damage she'd do inebriated.

    "Excited, huh?" Agnes commented on the sudden golden flash in his eyes. "What's so exciting?" She inquired, they were in a bar, nothing out of the ordinary happened here, especially when she was around. Regulars recognized her, either staying away if they caused trouble before, or greeting her.

    Agnes couldnt help but giggle at his words. It's true, she made the worst impression possible, sometimes Agnes preferred it to stay that way. Sometimes she would change her mind and try to do the opposite, it depended on the person. Anzu was an aquainted stranger, but he appeared to be someone of many mysteries, curiosity followed after.

    "Fair enough." Agnes said lightheartedly with a casual shrug, but then her eyebrow rise slightly. "And the damage I did to it managed not to?" Whatever was in his car, they must have been heavy sleepers. Agnes looked to Spencer about the pomegranate. He'd put down what he was doing and went to check the kitchen. A few minutes in silence passed before Spencer came back out with a pomegranate and a knife, placing both in front of Anzu.

  • For my favorite birb dude


    Kimberly shakes her head. "People are hard ta understand." Then, she looked around. With the eyes of artists, she's taking in as many details, soaking up the contrasting colors and sunlight like a sponge. "Oi don't really know where we are, yer right. But it sure is pretty. Even reminds me of home." She tears her gaze away from the room around them and looks at Anzu. The tensing of muscles, the fire in his eyes, a signal of anger. She'll have to try to be careful around this one. 

    Despite the fact that her body is screaming at her to not move, she's moving to swing her legs over the side of the bed and get up. Her limbs shudder and shake, and she looks as fragile as a baby deer standing up. For a second her legs almost give out from underneath her, but she catches herself, on the bed frame. 

    "So, rule numbeh one of where ever we are, no thankin' people. Oi got it. Should Oi know anything else about here?" There's almost a playful undertone in her voice, but seriousness lays over it. She's a survivor at heart, for reasons she can't explain, and the first thing to remember about being in a new place was adapting to it's rules. 

  • Mephistopheles awaited in his seat for the interesting guest to arrive, it is  a rare occassion for the Demon. He never holds a dinner at his place, usually when it comes to business. But at this moment of time he was using a personal day in order to have quality time with Anzu. He hoped that Anzu would arrive, but he was rather unpredictable to the Demon. After all, he is a being that can do what ever he pleases without thinking of consequences.

    He would be lying if Mephistopheles denied admiring the actions of one so bold. But at the moment when he arrive, a smile was plastered on his feet.  The portal that was opened to his hotel made the demon hum with interest and soon wonder when Anzu came looking like an offering of the sun  while having the shirt on his head which made the demon squint with amusement. 'How presentable my guest has become just for me.' He thought to himself in a sarcastic way but the smile never faltered. 

    "I presume you enjoyed your day in the sandbox, getting yourself a good tan along the way. Come have a seat, eat something and let us have a friendly conversation." As Mephistopheles said that he would start to  to cut another piece of his steak and took a bite out of it.  "You must try the steak, it is made with perfection. I hope I wasn't interrupting anything, that would be very rude on my part."  

  • (oomph, I'm getting to our reply soon. I hope you are doing okay! ) 

  • Those chatoyant, fearful, defensive eyes were locked on the giant metal contraption. Europa’s nose stung with the heat and sharp aroma of the exhaust, almost wishing it would stop. Yet, she felt the need to stay. If she was going to get used to this world, she was going to have to get used to these “car” things. She saw them everywhere in the New of York anyway with Nik, rows and rows of them seem to go on further than Panthalassa. She watched as Anzu strutted towards the car, and slunk into the leather seat. Indigo eyes flickered down to the foot that the Tuathe De left out of the machine. The expectant look was noted, and finally she arose to her full height. With a hesitant step, she never let her eyes leave the car. She didn’t trust it, she doubted that she should trust Anzu more yet she knew that he was friend with her Nikolas.


    Europa circled around the hood of the car slowly, looking down at the front window. It was strange, she thought of touching the surface. Pausing in front of the car, body facing away from it, a hand lifted listlessly. Blinking slowly, she pressed three of her fingertips to the cars hood. Cold, smooth, that sharp smell still hung in the air. The car was safe...for now. At least she would think. Finally, glancing up to Anzu with fading skepticism, she finally moved to the passenger side door. That same hand reached to grip the handle, squinting at it a little, trying to remember how it was opened. After a moment, Euro pulled open the door and carefully stepped inside.


    Within the interior, she sat on the leather seat, bringing her feet up beneath her to sit cross legged. The Jabberwocky took note of every detail, committing it to memory and watching for anything that was a potential threat. Finally, she turned to face Anzu with all intent. “You talk funny.” Europa said, her gaze soft and naive as a child. Nikolas hadn’t installed a filter into the resident Jabberwocky yet, she said what came to her mind and the exact moment it did. “I like it, though. I’ve been told I talk funny, too.” A grin finally parted her rosebud lips. “You’re a funny, like me. It’s nice to meet another one, even though we aren’t so alike.” She gave him a little shrug before she thrust her palm against the dashboard with conviction. “Now,” Europa tossed her pale blonde locks. “How does this work?”

  • (So howdy howdy! This is the owner of Coninia and I am back with a vengeance! >:D I got tired of running five accounts so please forgive me. I did save your last message and I wondered if you wanted something modern or something more historical? Either way, Coninia is good to go.)

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