Halloween GP

[londoncallingmods]

The weather today had been fairly pleasant, a mostly sunny day wedged between fairly grey ones. It wasn't warm, but the chill was minimal for this time of year, and there wasn't a drop of rain in sight. As night crept in, however, the streets slowly faded from sun kissed and painted in autumnal colours, to foggy and damp. An odd thing, really, since the forecast had predicted a clear and pleasant night.

It wasn't normal fog either, it was denser, thicker, and it carried an distinct scent, like cinnamon sugar and chestnuts. It was so thick it seemed to drain the streets of their colour, leaving the wold desaturated and grey. More importantly, anyone with a bit of magic in them would sense, quite quickly, that it wasn't of this world. It crackled quietly with power, dark and heavy. Unfriendly.

It was around nine pm that the local police stations began to receive calls, things they assumed were pranks at first, but soon began rolling in so quickly and frequently that it seemed something more was afoot. The evening news spoke of mass hysteria, warning people to stay indoors. Conspiracy blogs were lit up with chatter of chemical warfare, and some 'airborne drug'. There were reports of people seeing everything from long dead loved ones, to killer clowns.

Though despite the nervous chattering of talking heads and twitter addicts, most people were paying the supposed danger no mind. Clubs and bars on every block were blasting music and throwing costume parties, people were out with friends, wandering the streets and looking for a fun time. It may have been Monday, but that didn't seem to be stopping many people from enjoying the holiday.  

For the most part, everything seemed fine. ...The crowds and groups remained oblivious to the danger of the fog. ...It was only those who slipped off on their own, to have a quick smoke, to get some air or head home early. They were the ones in danger, they were the ones who's darkest fears seemed to emerge from the thick fog. 

Around 10pm, reports started to come in regarding a body found in Whitechapel, cut open wide and left to bleed out. No prints at the scene, no signs that anyone else had even been there. The CCTV footage had somehow been rendered useless, glitched out and blurred. A trouble echoed by every other security camera on the street. It was enough to set twitter and the internet off all over again, with talk of how the things seen in the fog might, somehow, be real.

(Happy Halloween! The fog is bringing fears and spoops to life! You can make the creatures and fabrications of the fog as personal or general as you like. Whatever works best to spook your pup. If, for any reason, you don't want your pup to see any spooks, that's totally fine too. It's not a required plot. Unlike last year, this time around the creepy things your pup might see can harm them and do real damage. Though they will vanish in the morning. If your pup is sensitive to magic in any way, they might sense that this magic is distinctly fae. If you have questions about what you can or can't do, just ask in slack! Though really, the only limit here is your imagination. Remember to check with other players before doing anything that might seriously hurt their pup, ect, ect, and have fun!)

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[faizel]

Faizel had seen quite a few strange things in his day, but this fog was something new. The magic inside it felt familiar to him, like the darkest depths of the Wyldwood where the stranger fae dwelled, and it smelled sweet and inviting- Which, to him, only made him more wary.

Leaving the crowds that filled the streets, the half elf wizard slipped off towards the park, away from the sounds and bustle of the people celebrating. Here, the fog was even thicker, and he reached out with one hand, touching the magic with his own- And then sharply drawing back. It felt sharp, it felt angry.

Reaching into his bag, he pulled out a rather large bit of amber, smoothed out and hanging from a leather cord. Holding it out, he began to chant softly under his breath- Though he stopped abruptly as the amber slowly turned to black. ...Oh, that wasn't good at all. Tucking it away, he turned to leave- Only to find himself face to face with someone he'd been certain he'd never see again.

Aspid had been old for as long as Faizel had known him, frail looking and slight. Though that had never made the man any less frighting or vicious. The figure before him now was not frail, and he looked as youthful as Faizel himself. Though he was, without a doubt, the man who had once been his mentor. ...Youth should have made him softer looking, and yet he was still all harsh lines and sunken eyes.

The dead wizard reached for him, and Faizel took a step back, hating the way his breath caught and pulse quickened with fear.

"You're dead," he said softly. "You're dead, Master Aspid, and this is all nothing more than an illusion. I will not quiver for you."

Aspid held his gaze a moment, then smiled coldly. "I'd expect nothing less from such an arrogant little half breed like yourself."

Power flickered from the wizard's fingers like lightning, hitting Faizel square in the chest and leaving him a crumpled mess on the ground. Hands trembling, he knew he couldn't fight Aspid, of all people, without focusing his magic more- And he dug through his bag again, this time producing a wand. It was tooled from grey birch, and in it's heart one could find a few strands of unicorn hair. He brandished it quickly, aiming at where the Wizard had stood, only to find him gone.

Except he wasn't gone, not really, Faizel could feel it in his bones, and he slowly struggled to his feet as he looked around.

[akatawitch]

Sunny was working on getting home and bolting herself--and Philip, the blessed stupid little bird--in, but it was kind of hard to ignore something like a wizard you knew actually whipping out a wand in the street when he damn well knew better than letting the Lambs see anything. She didn't draw, but her hand reached into her purse and wrapped around the hilt of her knife.

"Faizel?" she called experimentally. "You all right?"

[jageskro]

Halloween hit Jag particularly hard that year, given what had happened last year. It had been fucking awful, but he had been thankful for it, in the end, since it had allowed him and Val to reconnect. Now, with no answer to his text, he had to face the fact that they were very probably done for good. He couldn't resent Val, not after what Jag had put him through, but that didn't diminish the pain of it.

It was only fair, he figured, after the pain he'd caused in Val.

So it was no surprise that he wasn't in the mood for fancy dress. He simply went to a bar and started drinking, paying very little mind to the fog outside, even when he stepped out for a fag.

It was only a vague figure in the mist, at first. But the closer the bloke walked, the more Jag tensed, feeling as if it were... It wasn't until he was standing right in front of him that Jag managed to utter his name, his voice choked. "Paul."

He didn't see the punch coming, and he ended up on the floor, jaw aching, cigarette dropped to the ground. He could've defended himself easily, with his fire, but he didn't. The kick in his ribs pushed him back against the side of the building, and he cried out in pain, but still made no move to defend himself. He only hauled himself into a sitting position, back against the wall, and looked up at Paul.

"That's right, I should stop hitting you," Paul stated, his words venom, a tone Jag had never heard from him before. "You like it too much."

And then it was Sam, holding his jaw hard enough to hurt, between her thumb and fingers. "You're not worth it, are you, Tommy?"

She was gone as soon as she'd appeared, and Paul was nowhere to be seen. Out of the fog came another figure, that of his foster dad he'd set on fire. The man was burnt almost beyond recognition, but Jag could never have forgotten him. He made a strangled noise of fear and struggled to stand up and run away.

"That's right, boy," the well-known, Brummie-accented voice called after him, "you'd better run!"

[leloupnoir]

Akeem had no specific plans to celebrate Halloween. He would much rather remain at home and read a book than take part in exhausting festivities. After closing up the bookshop, he'd stepped outside for a cigarette, meaning to go up to his flat afterwards.

He'd already closed up the shop, and lit his cigarette, by the time he felt the wolf growl menacingly inside him, with a very strong distrust for the fog. A young woman was walking by, and almost immediately he found himself fighting the very real urge to shift and sink his fangs and claws into her. The next man to walk past garnered the same reaction from him, and he began to feel the pain of the shift, starting in his spine, as the back of his hands grew hair.

He dropped the cigarette to the ground and fumbled his keys with shaking hands, trying to open up the shop. He needed to get to the cage downstairs, and he needed to do it now.

[nirav]

The fog was heavy with dark magic, thick and too sweet to be trusted. Still, Nirav had found himself outside taking photographs, snapping pictures of the fog as it curled around lampposts and landmarks.

He was setting up a shot of a car that seemed to be consumed by it when he noticed the man though, his scent familiar even though he was sure he was a stranger.

Moving near, he picked up the keys and held them out in offering.

"Are you alright?" he asked, his voice warm and smooth, and unnaturally soothing.

[wispofathing]

Curnen did not remember everyone she met while busking, as it was an awful lot of people, though some were more memorable than others and this man was one of them. All the same, she nearly kept going anyway to get out of the creepy as shit fog, but his distress was so sharp that she ignored her own.

"Hey," she ventured. "Everything all right?"

[trustearned]

Michael didn't like the look of that fog, for no reason that he could pinpoint. He'd just stepped out from the party where he was, shadowing Cesare, because a suspicious bloke who worked for a former associate of Rover's had stepped out to answer a phone call, and it might be important.

He learned nothing good from the one side of the call he could listen in on, until the man passing it turned around and looked straight at him. "I'm glad it's worked. He was easy to lure outside. It'll be a pleasure to tell him Cesare Borgia's now dead."

Michael stepped out from the corner behind which he was hiding, looking the man dead in the eye. He wanted to rush inside and check, but he knew that the moment he turned his back on him, he would be attacked. So he did the only thing he could; he rushed the man, and pulled his knife when the other man produced a blade. It was a short fight, and then the man was on the ground, convulsing and bleeding to death.

Before Michael could rush back inside, Cesare stepped out. He was pale as death, and there was a bullet hole in the centre of his forehead. Michael stared at him, unable to reconcile this sight with the reality of things.

"Come on, Micheletto, no words for me?" Cesare asked, his words a dark taunt.

It made no sense. If they were going to kill him, at a party, by gunshot, made no sense.

"I'm disappointed," Cesare went on, advancing on Michael. He clasped a hand on the back of his neck, bringing their foreheads together, smearing his blood on Michael's. "Don't you care, Micheletto?"

Michael shoved him away roughly, and Cesare laughed, a dark, amused laugh, a rivulet of blood running down his face from his wound.

"It's your fault, you've got to know that," Cesare went on, and pulled a knife out of jacket. "Now I've got to take you with me."

The struggle was another short one, and then Cesare Borgia lay on the floor, open eyes unseeing, Michael's blade planted in his heart. Michael stared at him, until Cesare looked over at him, and winked. He pulled the blade out of his body and sat up, smiling.

"It might take me all night," he told Michael, getting to his feet, "but you're coming with me, Micheletto. You and I go beyond death."

And Michael knew, without a shadow of a doubt, that when Cesare attacked him this time, he would not fight him.

[utterly_mysterious]

Angelique had never seen either of these men before. At least, not in person. At the party, she thought she'd caught sight of someone who might be Cesare Borgia, but she'd been much too intent on escaping the insistent hands of her 'date' (who had proven more trouble than the money he'd offered her was worth) to think too much of it.

Once she'd slipped away from the party, however, and was outside, the world seemed to turn upside down. Surely she was drunk, because she could have sworn she'd just seen a man fall to the ground with a knife in his chest... only to rise back up again and rush the other one who'd killed him. This time, the red-haired man seemed unable to fight back. Well, thought Angelique, to hell with that.

In her red sequined dress, sharp heels, and matching mask slid up on her dark hair, she flung herself out of the fog. Angelique's clutch purse tonight was the one Fin had bought for her some weeks ago, with solid metal and glass rings she could grasp like a set of particularly gorgeous brass knuckles. A working girl didn't get far in this city without knowing how to defend herself. She was definitely drunk, Angelique thought, because she aimed a solid punch at the back of the should-have-been-dead man's neck.

[show_me_something]

Plans to stay in and give out candy were dropped at the first screams for help that held real panic, and Victoria was out the door and adequately armed within what seemed like no time at all. She was surprised how thick the fog was, and more surprised to find herself face to face with a gunman she'd killed years before.

This Halloween, phantoms walked the streets, indistinguishable from people in costumes until the danger was too real to deny. But Victoria had no intentions of dying tonight or any time soon, and no compunctions against killing any who threatened her or those around her.

Victoria recognized Borgia immediately, despite what seemed at first to be very accurate Halloween makeup. She recognized his redheaded shadow too, although the man would probably prefer she hadn't. When Cesare pulled a very real and deadly sharp blade from his chest and stood up, Victoria wasn't going to wait around to see what happened next. A round from her H&K MP7 entered his temple and knocked him back to the ground.

"It's not him," she told Borgia's man firmly. Ivan had answered her phone call after she'd added three more holes to a younger version of him who'd already had three in his chest when he'd grabbed her. "I'm sure the real Borgia will be very put out if you get yourself killed like this. Quickly now."

[kersen]

Kersen was on his way to his bar, walking quickly, hands in his pockets, coat collar up to brace against the cold. He was not paying attention to much around him, until -

The scent of blood in the air. Different scents, but one familiar one in the mix.

It was enough to make him turn and run towards the large building nearby, the one he's noticed people milling around outside. But there in the dark was Michael. And there was someone else with his back to Kersen as he approached, holding a knife, already bloody. But it didn't smell right. Not like human blood.

Kersen stopped, just close enough that he could get to the man in an instant. But first, he met Michael's eyes.

[london_spy]

His phone had been acting up all night, and though he'd tried to ring Hex to see if he was feeling strong enough to face a party tonight, he'd eventually given up and gone on his own.

It was late when he finally slipped out to have a smoke, He'd come to the costume party dressed as the sidekick of one of his beloved childhood superheros, and he tugged at the slightly scandalous green shorts as he leaned back against the alley wall and took a long drag off his cigarette. Pulling out his phone, he tried once again to call Hex- Then paused as a light near the end of the alley flickered on and then off again, briefly illuminating a familiar looking trunk. ...It couldn't be though, it had to just be his mind playing tricks. That's what he kept telling himself as his curiosity got the best of him and he approached the trunk.

The smell hit him hard, that too familiar rotting scent. A smell that still crept into his dreams sometimes and left him sick and his chest aching.

"It's not him," he said quietly, reassuring himself as he touched the trunk- Only to jump back with a gasp when it abruptly burst open and a body came tumbling out.

Barely glancing at the familiar form, Danny felt the contents of his stomach creeping up on him, turning away and covering his mouth as he tried to keep himself together. When he turned back towards it, however... It was gone. All of it. As if it had never been there at all.

"What the fuck did I take?" he said softly, taking slow breaths, and then tensing at the feeling of a hand on his shoulder. Expecting it to be one of the men he'd been dancing with tonight, he relaxed a bit and turned to face them.

"Dance card's full to-"

Alex stood before him, pale, eyes glassy and dark, and Danny found himself shocked silent for a moment. He'd hallucinated before, but never like this. Never so vividly, and not in a very long time.

"You're not real," he said quietly. "I wish you were, but you're not real..."

Alex tilted his head, then smiled- And it looked wrong. It wasn't the way Danny remembered at all. "Come be with me," Alex said softly. "Come be with me, and we can have forever."

Reaching out, Danny moved to touch his cheek, surprised by how solid and real it felt. It was just his mind playing tricks, he knew that, but he found himself smiling softly as he nodded. "Alright, I'll go with you. I'll follow you anywhere you want to go. When I sober up, you'll be gone. So I'll enjoy you while you're here, love."

Alex smiled again, but it was too broad, too sharp, and Danny drew away slightly right before the vision of his dead lover grabbed him and kissed him hard. Cold lips pressed against his own, and Danny found he couldn't breathe. No matter how hard he tried, he couldn't take a breath, couldn't break away.

The world was starting to go dark as his arms hung limply at his sides, his eyes catching a glimpse of a figure near the end of the alley.

[just_hex]

Danny's missed calls came through with a location tag at a club he knew the man liked to go to so Hex decided to venture out into the fog to meet up with him. He'd just left his AA meeting and was feeling good. However, the longer he walked in the fog the less good he felt. Dread crept in and by the time he got to the club he was jumping at shadows.

The line was long and so he had a thought to see if Danny was smoking in the aley before commiting himself to a wait.

A single light illuminated a tall, athletic man holding Danny. But it only took Hex a second to realize it wasn't some passionate tryst. Danny was limp.

"Oi!" he shouted, running forward. "Let him go, you bastard!"

[harrowgate]

Felix knew he shouldn't go out into the mist. Shannon would be waiting for him, and would call him a fool for his curiosity, but once Felix Harrowgate had started to wonder about a thing, nothing could convince him to turn his attention away. It was magic completely unlike, and at the same time very much like, anything he had ever sensed before. It tickled at his thoughts and nipped at the edge of his power until Felix had to know what it was.

So he went out, in a casual shirt and jeans with a light sweater thrown on against the cool. Just for a moment, he told himself. Just until his curiosity was satisfied.

It wasn't five minutes before he was lost outside his own home, tangled up and turned around on streets that seemed like strangers, with the fog draining every familiar color and feature into grey. Felix wandered, bewildered, unable to sense through the clouds of magic to the heart of the enchantment -- unable to discern what it was when it was everything.

A voice slid out of the mist, low and silken, and a hand far too large and familiar wrapped around his throat. Felix froze, the breath torn out of him. All at once he felt seventeen years old again and terrified, as the choking binding of the obligation de sang slithered to life from the dead remnants he'd torn to pieces when he freed himself six years ago. The thing that held him melted into the shape of a man, impossibly tall and broad, and one hand was all it needed to consume Felix's will utterly. He couldn't move. He couldn't even breathe.

"Did you really think, my darling," purred Malkar Gennadion, a creature made of dark and fog, reeking of magic and old blood, "that I would let you get away?"

[miss_ives]

Vanessa had gone out out of a morbid sense of fascination for the fog. She knew very well that she ought not to, but here she was anyway, her coat buttoned up, walking through the odd mist that seemed to drain London of its colour. It was a wonder that so many people seemed out and about, in their usual costumes, but there was a certain resilient obstinacy to the people of London that she could only admire, even when it blinded him to the dangers around them.

But then even through the mystery of the mist came a dark calling, a beating at her temple and a tightness in her lungs that hurried her forward and around a corner, until she stopped in her tracks at the sight of Felix being manhandled by someone who felt as vile as any nightcomer she had ever met, and possibly as old as the worst of them.

"And do you think," she answered, drawing herself up and stepping forward, until she stood in the fog-dimmed halo of a street lamp, able to see and be seen, a frail, pale woman with frighteningly intense eyes, "that he has no friends to help him out of your clutches?"

[wispofathing]

This fog was fucked.

Curnen felt her hackles rise just being outside, but she had a way to go yet before she was home. The streets were so quiet. Everyone with some kind of sense was already behind a closed and locked door, but no, here she was still stranded.

Well. It was only fog and she was Tufa. The whole reason they called them the Smoky Mountains was because of all the fog. She whistled to keep the dread and the magic at bay.

She forgot, though, that she should never whistle in the dark, for it summons evil.

Another voice joined hers, trailing behind her far enough that she saw nothing when she turned to look. Whistling unfortunately meant she couldn't hear if it was male or female, but that sense that something was wrong went from a six to a ten in less than a second.

Curnen considered running. She wished harder than she thought she could that her wings could carry her away. But running from something or someone following you never made anything better. If anything, it just made the chase worse.

When she heard him--and it was a him--singing, though, it almost made her break into a dead sprint anyway.

Oh Polly, Pretty Polly, would you take me unkind
Polly, Pretty Polly, would you take me unkind
Let me set beside you and tell you my mind

It was a higher voice in the male range, a strong and clear tenor. What followed that voice out of the mist was--even in his advanced age--a large and solidly built man, dressed in jeans and a flannel shirt. His hair was stark white, though his ink black brows and dark skin spoke to Tufa blood just as pure as Curnen's own.

Curnen went white. "You can't... I..."

"Oh, you got me good, little missy, I ain't gonna deny that," Rockhouse drawled. "Really, though. You think some flatlander's gonna be the end of me?"

The girl felt her whole body go cold and she whimpered. Rockhouse strode forward and took hold of her arm. His hand was larger, broader than her own, but six-fingered just like her own. "You can't..." she tried again, "be here."

Rockhouse smiled. "Shit, girl, we ain't in the homelands. I can be anywhere else I like."

He started to sing again, the ballad of Pretty Polly's murder brimming with power, and Curnen mewled and started to cry in pure animal terror.

[winter_wisp]

The fog had been whispering to him all night, telling him frightening tales and whispering secrets. It smelled like sweetness and warmth, and hung heavy with the magic of darker fae than any he knew, but Winter wasn't afraid. Even when it led him past wicked looking creatures and panicked mortals, Winter wasn't worried yet.

It was Halloween, after all. Halloween was meant to be frightening.

He'd skipped a costume, deciding he was too old now to go begging for candy, but what he wore tonight was easily mistaken for a costume anyway, and had gotten him into several clubs. So he'd had a few drinks when it seemed as though the fog had stopped talking, and had begun singing instead. ...And crying?

Something crackled in the fog, and Winter shivered at the uneasy feeling that settled over him.

"Hello?" he called, moving deeper into the fog and slowing when he spotted Curnen and a very large man. The scene was enough to sober the pixie, and he inhaled a tiny and sharp breath before growing bold and venturing closer still.

"Leave her be," the pixie demanded, voice low and level as his features turned sharper and his wings tensed beneath his clothing, ready to free themselves if need be.

[callmevod]

The fog was weird. But abnormal weather patterns were just things that planets tended to have, right?

He was still wearing his stocking cap and tucking his tail when he heard a familiar click-clicking in the air, and he froze, his eyes searching the fog and corners.

That sound shouldn't have been on this planet. Without even thinking, his hand went to his revolver. He only had four shots, yes, but it wasn't like an Aari'kata could take more than two. And unless he was drunk, he could hit one. Probably.

He'd ran out of rounds in his rifle before he'd fought his first one. After his first, he'd learned to hide. Smear himself with shit and mud and lie still so that the thing would pass him on. There wasn't any shit or mud to do that here.

Seeing it half-slither, half-walk out of the fog, climbing on the side of a building, brought chills to Vod, so much that he couldn't even focus on his revolver at the moment.

The thing was about the size of a bus, with six legs and a serpentine body, and large forearms ending in single, long, hardened blades. Its mouth opened, baring the long, thin fangs that lined its mouth, and its beady, black eyes fixed upon him.

"No, no," Vod murmured, taking a few steps back. "Not here. This isn't fucking possible."

The only option was to run. Shooting at something like this with only four bullets was a fool's game.

[utterly_mysterious]

Angelique hadn't seen the thing crawling down the side of the building. Humans rarely looked up when they went about their business, and she was already in something of a hurry. In a red sequined dress and severe spike heels, with a matching red mask perched atop her elaborate twist of dark hair, she was surely on her way to a party somewhere. She was almost late, and knowing her "date" for the evening, he'd be sure to claim every minute he'd paid for somehow -- if not in time, then out of her tolerance or out of her body.

One of those dangerous-looking heels stuck in a divot in the sidewalk as Angelique passed the building in her rush, and she momentarily lost her balance. She threw out a hand to brace herself against a darkened window so she didn't fully topple to the pavement, wholly unaware of what lurked above.

[shannonteverius]

Felix hadn't come home. Shannon knew he shouldn't worry, but with the mysterious fog and the gossip running around the city he couldn't help but be concerned. The fog alone was cause to worry. Felix could get lost in their library/closet, let alone a city where he couldn't see six inches in front of him.

Shannon had had no response from Felix's cell the numerous times he'd called. He paced their apartment until he chanced his hair frizzing from the stress. Then he grabbed a coat and headed out into the fog.

It was a mistake. He couldn't see a thing, but he could hear voices. He thought they were voices. They were garbled and vague. Occasionally one would become clearer than the rest, but that only made things worse. Laughter mocked him from the mist. He heard Robin's voice, smug and satisfied as he informed Shannon that Felix would never be returning home. He even thought he heard his mother's voice.

"Felix?" he called, hesitantly as first and then more urgently as fear began to take hold of him. He wouldn't listen to the voices. He refused to believe they were real, but the fact was, Felix was missing.

"Felix!"

(At the end of the night)

[harrowgate]

Felix hadn't heard his name being called. He didn't hear much of anything, not after the drink Malkar had given him, laced with something he distantly remembered from all those years ago. It made him forget, made him pliant and obedient, and made Malkar's guidance the most necessary thing in the world.

The man that held Felix beneath the sodium glow of a streetlight was not unfamiliar. Malkar Gennadion had been the one to bring Felix into Shannon's world, after all, nearly ten years ago. His teacher and protector, Malkar had been the source of everything untrue that Shannon knew about Felix: who he was, where he'd come from, what he once had been. Now, Malkar had Felix bent back over one arm as if in a lover's embrace, his mouth at Felix's throat, his other hand lost somewhere in Felix's clothing. And Felix's arms were loosely hung about Malkar's neck, his head dropped back and eyes closed against the truth.

[vampcharmante]

It should not have been possible. Daviau had been dead for over nine hundred years. Janette had killed him herself – first kill, first blood, memory of the fear-laced taste forever etched in vampiric memory. And yet, somehow, this long-dead human, her bite still fresh on his neck, came out of the fog and overpowered her.

Thrust into a room dark even for her eyes, Janette heard the bolt thrown into place behind her. The space felt big, empty and old, echoing slightly, smelling of dust and mold and rat droppings.

And, she realized, a faint whiff of smoke. Not old like the rest of the warehouse, but fresh and growing stronger along with a crackle building too quickly to a roar. Oppressive darkness was chased away by flames burning out of control, that shone out upper windows even through the fog.

Over the sound of the fire, Janette could still hear Daviau outside, laughing his vengeance, shouting at her in Old French, calling her a whore, that she would die screaming, that she never should have crossed him.

Feeling like the nearly helpless woman she'd been in the brothel, Janette couldn't think to fly, to rip her way out of the building before the fire reached her completely. Her panicked scream carried over the fire.

[thenorthman]

Eric did not trust this fog, and had sent some of his lieutenants out into the night, to try and figure out what the fuck was going on. He had of course gone out with the same purpose, and was beginning to think that he might go back to the Diamond and stay there through the night, given the amount of insanity he'd witnessed so far.

That was when he heard the shouts in Old French about a bloodsucking whore deserving to burn, and he zoomed over to the bitten human and snapped his neck. One more corpse wouldn't be noticed tonight. Whatever vampire was inside the burning warehouse, Eric would not let her die, and he kicked the door open before rushing inside, following her scream to locate her in time to fly them out of a window when the way back out the door was barred with too many flames to be safe.

He landed in the street outside, cuts from the glass already healing, and looked at the vampire he was setting on her feet. "Janette."

[sunsongs]

Coby'd been asked to fill in for a pianist who'd broken his arm, for a band with a gig playing some fancy Halloween charity ball, but people were having a good time and the donations were still going up, and things ran later than anyone expected. So it was late when he stepped outside, stopping for a smoke before trying to find a cab in the fog that seemed to seep into not just the requisite tux, but into his bones.

A group of men in costume, Coby got hints of old-fashioned uniforms and what he could only think of as peasant clothes, came out of the fog with swords and long... what were they... pikes? Or... Coby didn't know, but they didn't look friendly at all. "There's another one!" one yelled in a language he both did and didn't understand, and couldn't have recognized as Russian. But the one who yelled was pointing at Coby, and fear ran through him before the mob began to charge.

The cigarette dropped from numb fingers and Coby stood frozen a moment while a voice inside screamed RUN!

[offthebeatenpath]

With art for the London deck finished and with the publisher, Em went back to busking. In honor of the holiday, Ollie had talked her into letting him do a leaves and vines makeup. Em didn't know if it was the makeup or just the spirit of Halloween, but it was enough to have more people than usual stop for her to read their cards.

By mid-morning, she was almost wishing they wouldn't. Every reading was filled with dread, of danger approaching. A few people seemed to take her warnings to heart, but most thought it was a good-hearted Halloween scare from someone who made up her fortunes by their reactions and what sounded good.

Dark and fog seemed to come on more quickly than they should and as she packed up for the night, Em texted the boys and a few other friends, asking them to be careful tonight, that she had a bad feeling. But the signal on her phone kept cutting in and out and she wasn't sure the text went through.

Wanting a coffee for the trip home to ward of the sudden chill, Em stopped at a café that was packed with a mix of people getting off work and those in costumes about to start their Halloween celebrations. She pulled a tarot deck from her bag, shuffling and pulling cards seemingly at random as the queue creeped forward. Her eyes grew more and more unfocused with each card, until she turned and walked out of the café.

As she stepped into the dense fog, the brilliant green of her eyes faded, going white as her clothes were replaced by a flowing gown in shades of the night sky covered in faint moons, a flower crown upon her head, and haloed by a crescent moon.

Visions flooded through her mind, and The Moon walked without seeing into the madness and fear blanketing the city.

[akatawitch]

Sunny had been aiming for a quiet Halloween this year, given all the fun stuff had happened over the weekend and nothing good ever happened on a Monday night. So it would just be her, pajamas, and a horror movie or two.

But of course, that was when things started to get weird.

She didn't recognize the lady beyond a vague sense of deja vu, but Sunny couldn't help think that she looked slightly, and felt nothing like, a fae. "Good night."

[quartermaster_q]

The fog, and the many police reports he'd watched roll in while frolicking through Scotland Yard's network, were just too interesting to ignore. He was 99.9% positive this wasn't chemical warfare. There was no chatter, no one attempting to take credit, no intel indicating that was the case- Which meant it was simply strange weather- Or something new.

Q liked new, and he had slipped out onto the street to just have a look around. He felt like he'd been walking for hours by the time he reached Piccadilly, disappointed by the lack of excitement or signs that this was anything more than twitter hysteria. The fog was dense and had an unusual scent, but it appeared to be little more than an inconvenience.

He was about to turn and head home when the fog started to grow thicker, so thick Q was certain he'd choke on it- and he was gasping slightly when a large figure manifested before him. The man was massive, built like a wall, and Q's heart skipped a beat as a name reached his lips and strong memories hit him hard.

Before he could say a word though, one large hand flew out at him, striking him hard enough to knock him to the pavement. His palms scraped against unforgiving cement, and his trousers ripped right at the knee. A bit of glass that had been wedged in a crack of the pavement sliced into his shin, and his glasses shattered as they hit the ground. Before he could even try and right himself, a steel toed work boot caught him hard in the gut. Once, then again and again, until the world went dark.

When Q woke, he was alone and trembling. His whole body ached, and his back felt as though it had been sliced right open. Picking up his broken glasses, he shakily got to his feet and looked at himself in the window of a closed shop. He was a mess.

"He's dead, it's not real," he told himself. "He's dead, and you're fine. Everything's fine."

He was practically chanting the words, beginning to believe them even- Just as a vicious shock coursed through his body, bringing him to his knees.

It couldn't be. ...Terrance was dead, he'd watched James kill him. Yet, when he reached back to touch the small of his back, he felt a familiar lump. The device Terrence had once embedded under his skin to keep him under control and prevent him from running away. PAnic rose up in him, and paniced fingers clawed at skin, desperate to remove it.

[0_0_7]

Since Q had gone missing Bond had taken to keeping track of him on his mobile. It was a simple tracking app and Q was aware it was there. Just a precaution. And so tonight when Q should have been on his way home and Bond saw he was somewhere in Piccadilly the agent had set out immediately. If it was nothing he would fade into the shadows, but Q's signal had been still for some time and that didn't set well.

The fog was buggering up everything and as Bon drove he saw odd things, shadows and shapes everywhere. He saw a man he could have sworn was a guard at the Chinese prison he'd been held in for some time. But he didn't have time for that. He pulled in to park and checked his phone again, using the GPS to track Q near a building.

Phone in one hand and gun in the other, he approached the point of Q's signal.

He heard Q before he saw him and rushed forward toward danger.

"Q!" he called.

[sauntereddownward]

Crowley had been driving, listening to Tchaikovsky's We Are The Chamions when his car stalled and he rolled it in against the curb. He didn't know what was wrong. It wasn't out of petrol because it didn't need petrol. It ran on his will alone.

'I've paid my dues...zzZZzzCrowley we need to meetzzZZzz...time after time...'

"Oh bugger," he sighed. Ahead of him in the light of te street lamp he saw two figures. A short, squat one and a tall, slender one. Demons both.

Hastur and Ligur.

He got out of the car and started for them. The heels of his snakeskin boots clocked loudly on the pavement.

"All hail Lucifer!" they said in unison.

"Yeah, hail," Crowley halfheartedly agreed.

"We must be quick, no time for pleasantries," Hastur said.

"We have a job for you," Liger followed.

"It's not another baby, is it?" Crowley asked.

"No. Tonight the fae are coming for the world. They aren't ours nor are they on the other side. They're their own sort of creatures and the cause of the fog has raised flags in Hell," Hastur said.

"So? Let them have their fun, what's the harm?" Crowley said. "Faeries damn souls as well as we do."

"This doesn't mean to damn. It means to harm. We know your job is to wile, but tonight you will thwart," Liger told him and reached out to snatch Crowley's dark glasses off his face. "You'll need to wear your true face."

Crowley's face was still and placid, but he did tilt his head.

"What for?" he asked.

"To battle the fae," Hastur answered.

Liger reached out and touched him and Crowley's true face took shape and he couldn't simply change back. His viper's eyes were amber, fangs dripped with venom. He was a snake but like no snake that had ever slithered on earth.

"How can I smoke without lips?" he protested, but Hastur and Liger were gone and the half man shaped snake demon found himself lurking in the fog just waiting to be some poor human's newest night terror.

[pixiesweat]

The kid who ended up walking his way wasn't human. Or at least not entirely.

Manuel had been out when the fog started to roll in. The magic seeping through the air made his skin prickle, and he recognised it almost at once as fae magic. It seemed to be everywhere. Whoever cast the spell had to be powerful to send it through the whole city. He didn't know what was going on, but he knew that it was bad.

He was heading back towards his flat, hoping to hide there from whatever was happening. He moved slowly and carefully through the mist, watching the world around him as he went, keeping an eye out for danger.

Only he couldn't see very well through the fog. So when he finally spotted Crowley, he was already much too close for comfort.

He froze. And stared.

[alcuin]

As soon as Alcuin heard about the reports on the news, he was trying to get home as quickly as he could. He had no idea if the reports were real, but he knew enough about the dark and magical side of the world that he believe they could be.

He was trying to keep to crowds, but at some point slipped into an alley near a shop in Soho, prioritizing the shortcut. It turned out that was a mistake.

Slipping out of the shadowed fog was a man. No, not a man. A corpse. Walking. A knife sticking out of his chest. Blood dripping down it. He was wearing only underwear. His lips were blue. His eyes were white as if rolled back in his head, and his mouth formed two words directed at Alcuin: "Hello, pet."

Alcuin scrambled back so quickly that he tripped and fell. He screamed, just as he saw another form emerging from the fog, this one a man with a knife in his stomach and his head twisted at an unnatural angle.

[drfeelbad]

House was on his way home on his bike when he he had to lift one hand to wipe an eye, thinking that some dust had flown into his eye. But then he realized that instead the fog was so thick that the city did not look like itself through it. And then it got even blacker and he swerved his motorcycle off to the side since he couldn't actually see to drive anymore. He hit the curb sooner than expected and his motorcycle tipped, sending him crashing to the side, though luckily not far enough to actually hurt him as he tumbled off.

He groaned in pain and finally looked up, where the fog was still thick except coming out of it were bodies.

He had a good eye for faces. He remembered them all. Patients he had once failed to diagnose properly, or he'd been too late to save them. They were clearly dead, ranging from Twilight vampire pale white to Walking Dead style zombies. And in the back... was that James, so pale he looked dead, too?

Okay, clearly House was hallucinating. He rubbed his eyes, closed then opened them again, and the zombies-or-whatever were definitely coming closer. And there was a smell.

It was enough to get him to try to scramble to his feet, but scrambling was not exactly easy for him these days.

[prince_of_nymphs]

Fin was heading home, and given that cabs were, unsurprisingly, scarce tonight, and the tube was even more dodgy than usual, he was walking. For the most part he'd done well, keeping near enough to other groups that the fog couldn't single him out. Eventually, however, he'd wound up alone. ...That's when he'd spotted House, struggling to his feet.

"Greg?" he called out, not sure what he was seeing. His vision was far from perfect as it was, but in the fog it was even worse.

[callmevod]

At least he'd managed to give the Aari'kata the slip. He felt bad for whatever poor bastard ran into that, but at the very least, it would probably bleed out before long.

Three bullets left in his gun. Only a handful at home. Which wasn't close. In fact, he had no idea quite where he was. And this damn fog wasn't going away.

"Son."

The word itself would have given Vod pause, but spoken from behind him, and in that all-too-familiar voice, Vod froze, momentarily, before turning.

The man before him was impressive in his build. Though Vod was taller, the military dress his father was in, coupled with the man's muscular build, had made Vod feel small and insignificant since he was a child. The man was clean-shaven, his skin a dark tan like any Kathaari. His hair was grey, rather than silver, and his eyes a piercing blue. Vod had inherited his mother's green, rather than this man's own eyes. For the Emperor, it had been a constant source of pain.

"What a disappointment you've become," Vod's father began. Emperor Urvos Karrik Char'han took a step toward his son, and Vod took an instinctive step back. "Hiding here, of all places. In this human cesspit. Sniveling cowards, where not even a full-grown man dares to bear a weapon. How fitting you would wind up here."

"Dad, how did you--" Urvos interrupted his son, his expression growing cross.

"Enough, son. Each word from your lips is further disappointment. You will return home. You will face punishment for your crimes. As will your thrice-damned brother."

"No. No! I'm never going back!" Vod shouted. "You can't make me go back."

"Son," Urvos continued, sternly. It was then that Vod felt two sharp prods dig themselves past his jacket and shirt and into his ribs.

He nearly bit his tongue off as he convulsed, electricity coursing through him. No response could hope to be made in that state, and all he managed was a strangled cry that he prayed anyone might hear. The electricity mercifully ceased, sending him in a heap to the ground, convulsing as the pulses still sparked their way up and down his limbs.

Standing over him was a Kathaari woman in beautiful, elegant dress, the cloth made of a fine silken material cast in a splendid shade of jade. He recognized that dusky tan hair, worn in a long braid down to her ankles, and those piercing golden eyes anywhere.

"S-s-s-r..." Vod couldn't form the words with his jaw spasming, but he knew it well. The elaborate golden bracelet on her arm proclaimed her relation to him. Sareenah Irreia Han-Karr, betrothed to the prince of the Kathaari.

"Hello, dearest fiancee," Sareenah purred, looking down at Vod. She was holding the the electrified prod elegantly in her right hand. "So strange, seeing you here with the filth. But I suppose it's fitting. Waste will inevitably join its ilk."