Ruby Glimpses

[Ruby]

Tick tock, Jasmine tea.
Tick tock, rumble.

Tick tock, leaf of lettuce.
TIck tock, tumble.

One hand rests on the workbench corner, two legs tangle crumpled below. Four ribs are likely bruised against furniture, and one head left haze behind in free-fall.

"Owwwwwwww..." Ruby grimaces in the vibrant alertness pain is capable of inflicting. Her breath stands just out of reach for the better part of a minute before she catches it again.

Moving hurts, staying still is just as bad. She has to wipe away tearfulls of weakness before braving an upwards hoist.

This was harder than she thought it would be. Human pain and deprivation to divorce herself from the ugliness of flesh, to rise towards the purity of God-blessed spirit. Sin weighs down on her, the lies of the Devil that everyone else has convinced themselves is some faceless "Abyss".

I need to be stronger, I need to be better. Her resolution sounds childish in her mind, ineloquent. More than ever she's lost in the tide of things far bigger than herself, and it's so terribly hard to see the light.

Shelves of trinkets, curtained windows holding out the night, silent loneliness in her little shop. She hobbles gingerly to the back door, the stairs to her tiny apartment looming sternly. A room, a life without family. Will this place ever be home?

The light flicks off at the touch of her heavy fingers, and Ruby climbs to another empty tomorrow.

[tsameti]

Sac State Off Campus Housing, block B second floor.

Tom's face is contorted in rage. It's a mask of hurt and ugliness, and little flecks of spittle spray out of the corners of his mouth with every wheezing gasp of breath he takes.

Jimmy's face doesn't look much better. >ack< >hungh< "Tom, TOM. It's" cough "It's OK... you're here it's OK" He manages to gasp out through lightheadedness, pain, and an embryo of terror. His pink lips have a hint of blue, and his eyes are about to bug out in his skull.

Clarity. The lighthouse and self-awareness. The haze that has taken hold of him passes, and Tom realizes he's choking his friend to death.

"Shitshitshitshit..." Tom gasps as he released his clawed fingers and draws back violently. His back thuds against the wall of his dormitory and he collapses, near fetal.

"What the fuck, how the fuck..." the young man sputters, hands clutched to his face.

Jimmy tries hard to laugh, to release one awful croak to get rid of all the poisonous mojo that just went down. This couldn't be a failure, not defeat. He wouldn't let it be. His head rests gingerly against the armrest of a ratty old couch, his eyes barely open and his legs akimbo across the rug. Corduroy over beige.

Sure, this wasn't how I planned it. Sure, tonight turned into shit city. But, fuck it all, I think we got somewhere. Jimmy finishes reacquainting himself with Oxygen and assesses what's left of his friend. He forces himself to see the man that Tom CAN BE, not the Tom that's nearly destroyed.

Work in Progress, Jimmy reassures himself. Barely.

[tsameti]

Drenched in sweat, Renault launches up off of his pillow like a bat out of hell. Reality is a fire that burns away the nightmares, but Renault can still smell the smoke.

His empty apartment swelters with Summer heat, the mechanical buzzing of a single lopsided fan his only companion in the night. The sound of a steam whistle still rings in his ears. The taste of iron in his mouth, coal smoke in his nostrils and stomach. He runs his great calloused hand over the knotted, creased skin of his forehead, through the white of his short cropped hair, through the slick glisten that covers his shaken body.

The white sheet is a shroud, he strips it off. His undershirt is stained grey-yellow at the pits, he strips it off. Exhaustion is a sinkhole that leads back to the worst possible place, he strips it off.

Bare legs, yellowed toenails, pacing the bare floor of a tiny room. The only light is by streetlight ambience through burlap curtain, and a small digital clock that reads 2:34. The air is still unfamiliar. It carries all of the heat, but none of the wetness of Louisiana. There's no comfort here, no protection, no escape.

He reaches for his beat up Motorola and punches in numbers he barely remembers.

"Polo?"

"Renault... Mere Madonna... it is very early. There is a problem? What is wrong?"

"Polo, man. Ah'm... Ah'm havin' the dream still. It hasn't gone away. It won't go away."

Silence on the other end.

"It has not changed. Changed in any way?"

"It's callin' my name now. It's worse."

"Putain..." Polo spits on the floor, audibly over the phone. Polo only does that when things are very, very bad. Fear is a cold, slippery worm the burrows up his spine and its barbs dig into the base of skull. Another heartbeat before Polo whispers gravely, "You must tell me everything, Renault."

[tsameti]

Lead rains sideways, barely subsonic.

A rat a tat tat, as onomatopoeia fails to describe the sound of slugs as they punch against the flank of a Dodge Caravan.

Metadamah grimaces, taking a moment to readjust his glasses before slipping one last round into his .38. In a swift motion, he whips the cylinder snapping it into place. There are no words to share with his boss, just blind trust in the madman at his right.

Lunatic fingers manically operate, typebars of a master stenographer at work. 12345678910111213141516... Snrrrrk HAHA snrk "Reloading on the left!"

Metadamah, Richards, Slinker, Carter, all react without hesitation to the wide-eyed whisper. Carver bears down his M-16 with practiced efficiency, taking the left flank in responsive fire. Slinker cuts in tight to suppress the right so that Richards can line up a shot over cover.

Her bullet pierces a skull savagely as the sad fucker pops his melon up from safety. Then it doesn't, a moment replaced by a panicked shout from his partner.

"Pull back!"

Four soldiers withdraw again, withering fire meeting the wind they left behind.

Metadamah adjusts his glasses unnecessarily, a bead of sweat rolling down his nose. He does not doubt. OK, maybe he doubts a little. Four pairs of eyes fall again on Daimon Rex.

Snrrrrkt, hehehe, pbpbpbt! "Ass rat's still got us on lockdown." HAHAHA! "Can't jump till he's worm food." Snrrrkt. "Okay Mets, get creative. Slinkey, I can stutter you halfway. Give it a one, two, three..." and his finger cuts air.

Slinker pulls right, Rex just close enough behind to maintain line of sight. Carter blindfires around the left of the riddled vehicle to give them just enough breathing room. Metadamah presses his hands against steel and tells the laws of nature to go fuck themselves.

The rending noise is horrific, as the steel casings and plastic fuel tank contort into a new shape. A disk tears away from the Caravan's side to form a protruding cone, a gasoline rocket aimed at the Nissan Stanza across this Utah parking lot. Exposed wires spark, setting the weapon into motion with a lazy roar. Gasoline is not much of a propellant, and the heavy tank skitters across pavement before it splits into a choking fireball. Defenders react as they should, they duck. Rex and Slinker don't miss a beat.

Atlantean sigils buttress the fabric of space, but Rex squeaks just enough ripple to displace a living war engine the thirty feet to close rifle killzone.

Only one man, one man needs to die and they can get the Fuck out of Dodge. Waumont Briars leaps backwards, eyes peeled back in sudden terror, fear Rex sees all too clearly as he calls cackling across the Abyss for his next spell.

Easy peasy, guaranteezy.

[Ruby]

"On Cosmology" is a recent work that touches and builds on a long history of divergent interpretations on the structure of the the Supernal and Fallen Realms.

The unsigned work, little more than seventy pages in length, posits that the Atlantean theory of the Universe is false.

Rather, the Cosmos is formed and ruled by the True Gnostic God who resides in the highest realm, the Throne of Heaven. The Supernal is comprised of seven layers, five of which are the Realms of the Watchtowers which Awakened Mages are familiar.

In this cosmology, the Atlantean Pentagram is rearranged slightly and depicted at a tilt so that no one point rises directly upwards or downwards.

Figure

On the Supernal:
The Aether is the domain of Angels, the highest messengers and servants of the True God.
Stygia is the final resting place of Awakened Souls and the Saved.
Pandaemonium is a transitory realm where Sleepers and especially the unbaptized pass into. There they are tested in the hopes of being admitted to higher realms.

On the Fallen Realms:
The Fallen Realms have been placed under the dominion of Satan, who masquerades as the False God. His throne forms the Abyss, and he denies souls access to the Supernal.
The Realms are a mishmash of dim mockeries of the Supernal, none of which offer access to their Pure reflections.

[tsameti]

1742 | The Acamoth of Salt Lake returns to its slumber. Unable to commune with the abomination, the Scelesti who had relied on it to maintain power would diminish over the coming decades.

1756 | The Silver Ladder expunges the last of the Scelesti from Salt Lake Valley. Survivors retreat to outlying areas. The alliance of the Vox Draconis is comprised of a union of French explorers, Spanish clergy, and the native Navajo and Shoshone. Their victory is hard won.

1847-49 | The Mormon settlement of Utah occurs under the leadership of Brigham Young. They bring with them a small faction of Ladder mages who take control of the Utah Consilium forcefully. The native Shoshone and the Spanish church are expelled from Mormon territory.

1851 | The Utah Consilium refuses to honor treaties with the Uratha tribes. War breaks out, although numerous smaller conflicts would take place over the next hundred and fifty years.

1880 | The Adamantine Arrow establishes a formal presence in the city, although a number of their members belong to a fringe faction of the Order called 'The Black Tower'. This group interpreted the Adamantine Way to be a call to action, realized through Martial action and devotion to a cause rather than perfection through conflict.

1913 | The Fangs of Mara, an ancient legacy of Warlocks, identify Salt Lake as the resting place of a slumbering Acamoth. One of its masters takes residence to study its dreams, in the hope of discovering a way to slay it and so diminish the Abyss. She takes an apprentice during this time.

1924 | The Apprentice of the Fang dives too deeply into the dreams of the Acamoth and is warped by the experience. He becomes Scelestus and is executed by a Sentinel. The Fangs of Mara and their students are banned from Utah on pain of death.

1982 | The Fangs, continuing their studies in secret, have identified increased activity from the Abyssal entity. In time, they come to the realization that the Acamoth's cycle of dormancy is coming to a close. They fear the entity will begin to contact the Awakened, and so they compile an extensive report and deliver it to the Consilium anonymously. The report goes ignored.

1984 | War with the Tribes begins again in earnest.

1997 | Daimon Rex joins the Fangs of Mara, he will make significant gains in understanding the processes that govern the alien at the bottom of the Lake.

1998 | Daimon Rex and Jules Metadamah meet while tasked with capturing violators of the Utah Lex Magica. Rex reveals the presence of the Acamoth to Jules, although he hides his ties to the Fangs.

2003 | Needle-teeth, a young Uratha and son of a prominent Pack Alpha, betrays his tribe to the Concilium and the Adamantine Arrow in a misguided effort to orchestrate a peaceful resolution to their conflict. He is exiled from the packs, but granted shelter under the watch of the Talon. Jules Metadamah brings the wolf onto his team, which participates in a brief conflict with the Autumn Court of the fae.

2007 | Bai-Erlikk, Councilor of the Wilds, is contacted in his dreams by the sleeping Acamoth. Intrigued, he begins to study it and commune in secret.

2008 | The Acamoth contacts others, and in this time the first Scelestus reveals himself and is executed. The Consilium can no longer ignore the Acamoth, but a plan of action cannot be agreed on. Bai-Erlikk advises caution, downplaying the threat of the Scelesti while sending his agents to silence or subjugate any corrupted mages who might draw attention to himself.

March 2010 | The Fangs of Mara are revealed, Daimon Rex's mentor is killed and he is captured by the Hellen's Phalanx. He makes an impassioned plea to Jules, warning him that the Acamoth is far more dangerous than the Consilium admits. Jules presents Rex to the Heirarch with the advisement that the Consilium consider Rex's warnings.

April 2010 | Daimon Rex is tried and convicted. Bai-Erlikk advises the Council and Heirarch that the Fangs have been responsible for the increased activity of the Acamoth. Jules convinces the Magister of Utah to grant him audience with the Heirarch, with whom he once again pleads to listen to Daimon Rex. The Heirarch grants Rex a brief reprieve.

May 2010 | The Heirarch's leniency prompts Bai-Erlikk to publicly accuse Jules of being enthralled by the imprisoned Master of Mind. Jules is stripped of his position and Rex's execution reinstated. Determined that Daimon Rex's survival would be necessary for the safety of Utah, Jules and the Hellen's Phalanx free Daimon Rex and flee the city. They clash with Salt Lake City's Sentinels and kill its Spaciomancer in order to port to California. The Heirarch responds, at Bai-Erlikk's advisement, to dissolve the Diamond and banish the Arrow.

June 2, 2010 | Now criminals, the Hellen's Phalanx flees to the only city they know might be safe to hide in. The Lawless city of Sacramento.

[tsameti]

Thomas' shaking body is collapsed again on the floor. But this time, not in fury or pain or confusion, but relief.

A great weight has been lifted from him. The specter of his father's fist, the bottle, the smell, the terror and the screaming, they all slid off. For a while there, he really should have crumpled underneath it, but now...?

Jimmy looks more relieved than he has in days, looking over at his friend and vindicated by success. He hands over a beer and they both laugh together, exhausted.

"Sorry this had to be so bad, Tommy. But you know, you had to face this shit."

"I know, I know. I mean, I came to you. I'm sorry I freaked out all over the place, Jimmy."

"Yea. Well I'll figure something out, man. I'm sure things will sort out eventually. But I mean, you can't say anything to anybody anymore -"

"No, no, Jimmy I know. I'm sorry, my lips are sealed."

"Cool, man."

...

"So did you watch Get me to the Greek yet? I heard it was balls hilarious."


-----

Thomas Stonefeller waves his friend goodbye. This past couple of weeks had changed him deeply, and now for the first time in years he felt free and strong enough to face the future.

"Oh, shit. Man, Gwenny you scared me. What's up? You here to see Jimmy?"

"Jilted Meerkats have a new EP out. It's supposed to be butter on a mars bar."

"Is that supposed to be a good thing, or?"

"Yea, you want to hear it?"

"Right now?"

"Come on, I got like an eighth on me. It'll be brain melt-astic."

"I... uh. You... yea, sure. Okay. Why not."

[tsameti]

Police Blotter
Wednesday, June 30th

A student called the police when he found a body in a dormitory bathroom. The deceased, Thomas Stonefeller, is believed to have died from drug related causes.

[Ruby]

Ruby sets down a small shopping bag on the wooden floor before taking a good hard look at the last remaining member of the Living Stones. She gingerly places a hand on the frame of the door, skin against the rough flaked paint in case it remembers the touch of Apotheosis, Joshua Morris, Animus, and Armstrong. She hopes it does, because she's nearly forgotten the brief moments of reprieve, in which they chanced to call themselves a Cabal.

Well at least Animus is still here, Ruby reminds herself. At least. Those sound like ugly words don't they? They're not fair words. How can she blame him, blame Animus for being the one who stayed when Joshua had left? Why didn't he leave a message, a call, a SOMETHING.

Ruby doesn't ever cry, after all, she's a busy girl and there's so much to be done in this poor ramshackle city. And think of all the folks who had knew real hardship! Mister Kyle who'd lost the Theo she'd never really known, Mister Tug who'd lost his brother, Andrade who'd lost hers. They lost something.

It'd be stupid to cry, stupid. Why should she care, after all? She was going to save the city again, and Animus would stay to help, stay because he actually cares what happens to Sacramento. Look around! She has this huge Sanctum now. A seat in the Consilium. An Apprentice. Look at how much better off she is now.

Look at how better things are.

----

Ruby slowly inscribes sigils and lines into the walls of the Sanctum, room by room. Each beam, each frame, each plank, each sheet, they all need to be accounted for. Each identified, tied to a symbol and instructed where and how to migrate. Standing in the entrance here, in dusty overalls, she gives the room one last inspection. Some things need to be swept away.

Denim covered knees sink to the floor, and Ruby touches her palm to the delicate script while she closes her eyes. Hum, she can feel it. The shapes and the patterns, what they are and what they could be.

This is floor, this is what floor could be.
This is nail, this is what nail could be.
This is wood and drywall and electrical cord and carpet and aluminum brackets and old paint and everything that needs to change so that every painful memory tied up in this place can die.

This is what it SHOULD be, Ruby informs God.

So now it is. Let's do the kitchen now.

[Ruby]

A violet evening blooms over the tiny border town of Sedge Creek, some miles out from what can rightfully be called civilization. A cool wind breezes into the valley, which is not much more than a nook, really, and it sweeps out hot dry atmosphere as it goes. What little daytime bustle there is in Sedge Creek is winding down, and when the last customer is ushered out the General Store, it'd be safe to say the tiny town of Sedge Creek was falling fast asleep.

A few trucks crunch their way over the winding gravel that passes for a Main street, until even they are gone and only the wind follows Gregory Church and Ruby on their slow climb up Bishop Hill.

Soft desert bristle crunches as the Acquisitor saunters further from town. The camber of his long limbs make for a reaching but easy stride, one that Ruby struggles to keep pace with. They don't say much in that dusk calm (though Ruby does huff a bit as she goes) since Gregory is fixed on the petite white church that marks his destination, and isn't much one for talking anyway.

Ruby's sneakers aren't suited for the terrain, and she navigates the lumpy dirt with occasional clumsy hops. She's got a country music star on the front of her t-shirt, and some fancy New Yorker's name in cursive on the butt cheek of her jeans, neither of which I happen to be familiar with I am afraid. She loves 'em both to death though, and she will for about three more months until she moves onto something else, as girls are like to do these days. It's alright though, I can personally assure you that she'll grow out of it, in time.

Anyway, where was I? That's right.

Well Mr Church was dressed unusually as he was wont to do. With a wool jacket and a dark silk vest, all completely inappropriate for the heat. He had a set of slacks on worth more than I make in a week, and a pair of fine embroidered leather boots the likes you can never seem to find anymore. Everything is fitted of course, to precision too, and his beanpole frame is all the more Tim Burton for it.

"Mister Church, what's she goin' t' be like?" The apprentice asks as a low wrought iron fence comes into view.

"They're all kinds of ways, Ruby. You cain't really guess what state of mind they'll be in." The reply is gruff but kind. The way he said it, you might think he'd have kids of his own, it's that kind of patience he's got in his voice. But his vagueness doesn't seem to satisfy young Ruby, and she presses the point with curiosity.

"No, I know. What I mean is, I've never seen one before. Is she goin' to be all ugly and rotted like a scary movie, or pretty like in a drama or something."

Gregory chews on the question a bit, not in the mood to worry a girl over nothing if he doesn't have to. "They're all kinds of ways, Ruby."

Somewhere far off a coyote starts howling, probably hoping someone will finally howl back. He goes on for a long while, but he's the last one left in these hills. The old mutt's voice finally gives out, and he slinks back out into the wilderness.