What are dreams? Are they anything more than pictures created by our subconscious, figments of an underused imagination? Some say that they are visions of a future that may happen, pictures of individuals that we may someday meet. Perhaps that is the reason behind the phenomenon known as déjà vu. We see events that have not yet happened and then we have a familiar feeling when we see that event in the paper or on the news or perhaps a familiar feeling from a person that we have never met. Maybe, just maybe, dreams contain messages from somebody, somewhere, that perhaps needs our help. Some believe that dreams mean something or they would not have come to this place on this night.

Emilia glanced around at those trying to get into the night club known simply as Haven. It was very popular as she could see, known by many more mundane that it used to be and by all appearances still kept up the guise as being a very restrictive, members only club. The woman gently shoved her way the masssed throng of individuals that were trying to get into the night club and made her way ever closer to the entrance. They wanted what they could not have, but Emilia knew that if they did have it they would not want it. That is just the way the world works. She envied these mundane, wish that she had she had their ignorance of the metaphysical world; sometimes ignorance truly could be bliss. Magic had already cost her both of her parents, and her brother was missing. Emilia herself never learned the art of sorcery but had developed natural talents that were most assuredly not wanted.

A burly example of a bouncer ushered her in to the club; his signature wasn’t exactly weak. He was more than just for show and could definitely hold his own if anybody started any trouble. Her black boots, a pair of leather combat boots that the army used to use, thudded softly on the checkered tiles of the lobby before entering the actual club. She wore a pair of black cargo pants with a black belt on then a red muscle shirt that came up and exposed her midriff with an old military jacket hiding the pistol in its shoulder holster. A lone silver bracelet with a pentacle on it decorated her right wrist and was the only piece of jewelry that she wore besides a plain watch on the opposite side. Platinum blonde that was cut short and remained straight down framed her face with its dark blue eyes. Her body was lithe and athletic, very slim and attractive. The woman had made a living for a short time as an exotic dancer back in Russia before her current predicament brought her here. This cult of demon worshipers would not get far.

Rock music greeted Emilia as she walked into the main part of the club, a certain kind of heavy metal with indiscernible lyrics. It was not what she would prefer to listen to but not too bad nonetheless. Emilia looked around the room as her mind felt familiar presences: the aged detective, even if he did not see himself as much anymore, with his bast familiar and the woman he felt protective of for some reason; an ancient man of faith, his power coming from believing is something other than himself; the woman who saw herself as a fey, something other than human; and lastly, the twin witches of Celtic descent. So they had answered her summons of aid, even if they did not know that it was truly her that had drawn them here. Their dreams had drawn her, and she had used them to her own end, bringing them here with dreams of this place and hidden promises of fulfilled desires. A few of them even had the same end as hers, to track this coven of demon worshipers and bring them to their knees.

An overwhelming presence of anger flooded her mind as the Azezalite she had been following glanced over their shoulder to notice her. Behind the anger was a diabolic sense of glee, a feeling of satisfaction. Her mind reached out to touch his, and Emilia was awarded with the reason for his satisfaction. She had been led into a trap, into a gathering of Azezalites that knew she had been tracking them and had wanted her to follow. Well, she would not be an easy prey to catch. A swift movement brought the 9mm pistol from its holster and aimed at the cultist. He atleast would not make it out of her alive.

“Damn the consequences,” was the only thing she said as she squeezed the trigger and released a trio of rounds, two in the chest between his breasts and the third entering in through the man’s nose and exploding out the back of his skull. The money she had paid out had more than been worth it. Feelings of intent to take her alive were now turned to outright hostility as she felt the other cultists in the room. She had broken the rules of safety here and would most likely not be allowed back, but to hell with it.

(Ok, the Azezalite wear silver pendants around their neck with a ’unique’ signature about them for anyone who can feel essence. Emilia feels familiar to all of you but you can’t exactly place from where. You’re here because she planted messages in your dreams that called you here. Feel free to act against the Azezalites or her, the club is beginning to erupt in a sense of panic but individuals will still act out against you if you strike out against them. Welcome to the beginning of what is to come)

It surprised Rosetta that she had come here in the first place. Here, where the border of the mundane and supernatural blurs and becomes indistinct; where to merely come is to prove that one has abilities beyond the norm. Perhaps, without the comfort of going with these two people, and her rapier in its sheath by her side, she wouldn't have come at all. Now, she is beginning to wonder if it would've been better to stay home...

Immediately, when the sound of gunfire shattered the calm window of evening, Rosetta's heart nearly stopped. A quick glance at her digital watch proves her false; this isn't one of the Ordeals, but merely at the turning point between safety and danger. Yet, if this isn't an Ordeal, what would the true one be?

"I hope this isn't just a taste... 'Expect the unexpected, or you'll be in for a fright.'" Rosetta murmurs, just loud enough for Alex and Smoke nearby to hear her over the commotion in the club.

Biting her lip, Rosetta's mind threatens to beat her skull into submission, as the commotion and her considerations plant the seed of a headache. What do I do? She thinks.

Don't get involved.

Unbidden, unheeded, her typical assessment rises to the forefront of her mind. Yes, although she knew she would be a difficult target to hit, there is no reason for her to be involved. No, that isn't true, another fragment of her thoughts considers, who is the one that is fighting? A woman. She felt familiar, yet at the same time, distant. Kind of like one of those people from high school you see at the reunion, but can't remember their name. Is she on one of the teams? Is that where she's from?

Move!

Rosetta's attention returns to the situation at hand. Yes, right now the most important thing is to get behind cover or something. After that she can contemplate more. Looking around quickly, only the bar seems to be sufficient cover; tables could be upturned, that is true, however it wouldn't be much to a bullet. Rosetta's breathing deep but swift, just as it is in practise, she rushes at the bar, and somersaults over it, landing on her knees and ducking down underneath it.

"I hope you don't mind if I hide here for a bit?" Rosetta asks sheepishly of the bartender.

The woman that called herself Penelope Rosa walked along the LA streets, the heels of her brown cowboy boots clicking on the pavement. She wore slim fitting jeans tucked into her boots and a turquoise tank top. Her long curly black hair fell simply to the small of her back, and a few simple beaded bracelets clicked at her wrists. Plainly attired as she was, she was still far more beautiful that most women. She had once been even more beautiful, she had once been so much more. Fragments of memories remained of her past, so much had been lost.

She turned a corner to the entrance of the night club, Haven. Aptly named she supposed, the Gifted and the supernatural gathered there. An odd thing, once they had held themselves in secret, hiding in the shadows. Though some still did many were more open, so much was different from the world she remembered. She kept herself apart from others with the Gift, fearing one might recognize her for what she was, unlikely but possible. Tonight the Iara would walk among them, dreams had called her to this place. Perhaps she would find another of her kind, maybe even find a key to unlocking memories forgotten.

Iara walked past the crowds of mundanes and stepped into the club. The rhythms of music enveloped her. She sighed, night had once been a time of quiet. So much had changed. Walking through the crowd she took in her surroundings, seeking what had called her here. She would know it when she saw it.

The loud bang of a gunshot rang out over the music, and she turned quickly in its direction ebony curls flying wildly and brown eyes widened. A blonde woman stood holding a gun at a falling man. She watched him fall, and her eyes narrowed as his tainted essence came into her awareness. Mulengro? No, a taint that strong would not have skipped her notice. The woman drew back her attention, there was something familiar about her, something that called her. Was this why she had come here? NO! She never acted directly, never made herself known. She could not become involved, she could not take the risk. But what of the taint? What was it? She could not reveal herself, she could not become involved. Too far from any barriers to hide behind she pressed herself against a shadowed wall as pandemonium ensued around her and waited. But for what?

“That’s nine,” Alex murmured swallowing a mouthful of scotch as his grey eyes fixed on the latest Azazelite to stroll into Haven. He sat his glass down and reached a hand out to stroke the cat’s head; “Somethin’s goin’ on here, Smoke. It’s like the Zazy’s are havin’ a convention or somethin’. I don’t…”

It was then that he noticed the girl who had entered the club behind the cultist. There was something vaguely familiar about her, some kind of hazy recognition like he’d seen her in a dream or something… Let’s get away from dreams, alright? Haven’t had one in three weeks and would prefer to keep it that way… but it wasn’t that ethereal association that had drawn the detective’s attentions to her. No, first it was the self-satisfied look on the Azazelite’s face when he had cast a glance back at the woman and, then, as Alex’s own eyes panned in her direction, he recognized the look in the woman’s eyes… vengeance… retribution… justice… unfettered malice. Alex had seen that look plenty of times during his days on the force and felt it settle over his own features like a death-mask in the years since.

“…like it,” Alex finished his sentence as he stabbed out the dwindling remains of his cigarette and reached under his coat to thumb off the safety on the 9mm secreted there. “It ain’t no convention,” he mumbled, nodding faintly in Emilia’s direction, as he started to slide out of his seat, “it’s a set-up and that girl’s about to…”

The words ‘get herself killed’ hadn’t formed on his lips before all hell broke loose. Even before Alex could get it in his mind that he needed to intercept and help the girl, she produced a pistol of her own and blew three, neat holes in the Zazy.

“S#i^,” Alex cursed, “so much for plan A.” Training and instinct had caused him to draw his gun and lower his profile as he continued towards the girl per his original intent. Reflex had caused him to channel a bit of essence into a shield around himself.

“I hope this isn't just a taste,” he heard Rosetta squeak, “Expect the unexpected, or you'll be in for a fright.”

The poem, again? he thought as he flicked a sidelong glance at the Asian girl, Now? C’mon, little sister, don’t lose it on me, here. Before he could tell her to get clear, though, Alex saw Rosetta snap to and, in a flash of typically acrobatic action, disappear behind the bar. A wink of grey in his peripheral vision told him that Smoke, too, had seen fit to get herself clear of any stray bullets (or, in this place, essence) that might possibly be flung around. “Good,” he muttered, his gun held low but at the ready and his eyes sweeping a continual circuit from the girl, to each remaining Azazelite, and keeping mental tabs as to the positions and potential risks from the club’s other patrons as they came into view while, also trying to discern alternate exits (and entrances) to the place as he moved through the crowd.

He wasn’t exactly sure what he was going to do. The Azazelite had gotten what he deserved, in Alex’s opinion… You’re in deep enough that you’re wearing that amulet and you’re beyond savin’… He had no clue, of course, as to why the girl had decided that blasting the bastard was a good plan, especially in public, and most especially in a place where the gifted had their own rules and laws piled atop those that applied to the mundanes in the world… Is she crazy? Hopin’ to pull a suicide by cop or, maybe, taking the magickal way out?… It didn’t matter, now. The deed was done and, regardless of the outcome, Alex had chosen his side a long time ago… The only good Zazy’s a dead Zazy… and if that side was going to stand up for long against the forces that he knew were building on the other he was going to have to do something about getting this girl out of here… hopefully without getting anyone else killed in the process.

His lips moved, weaving the essence required into an aura of confidence, as he weaved through the panicked crowd towards Emilia. If he could get to her unchallenged and find a quick and clear way out, they’d be leaving Haven soon enough.

((OOC: Close enough to see what’s going to happen next, I suppose. Tossed some essence at a mid-level shield… no need for the physical protection level, just yet… and Alex is weaving an Aura of Confidence (hoping to keep the challenges from others in question) as he works his way to Emilia. If he reaches her, he’s hoping to physically haul her out of the club and to the car… no one get’s shot unless an Azazelite happens to make a move… they’re fair game as far as Alex is concerned… assuming he gets that far, he will also holler something along the lines of “Smoke! Rosie! Car!”… ))

Rhiannon was no longer sure why she and Morganna had come here. It was not for the music, if you could call it that, being raucously loud with the as yet, not understandable, lyrics of whatever was being played. After they had finished their gig at the local Celtic Bar, a place called the “The Highlander”, where the music was heard and understood, they had come to check out the place that they had heard about. A place the Gifted frequented.

Rhiannon sat upright from nursing her margarita as she heard the first of what was to be three shots that rang out in rapid succession. Such were her reactions that she turned in time see the bullet that struck the victim in the nose and come out the back of his head.

The shooter was dress in dark combat gear. Her black boots, a pair of leather combat boots that the army used to use, She wore a pair of black cargo pants with a black belt on then a red muscle shirt that came up and exposed her midriff with an old military jacket hiding the pistol in its shoulder holster. A lone silver bracelet with a pentacle on it decorated her right wrist and was the only piece of jewelry that she wore besides a plain watch on the opposite side. Her platinum blonde that was cut short and her eyes were dark blue. Her body was lithe and athletic, very slim and attractive.

Rhiannon turns to look at the victim, a neatly dressed man with a yen for flare, though he did have some sort of amulet that flew up into the air as the first two shots knocked him back a few steps. Two relatively handsome people, one dead, considering the shot that went straight through his skull, and the other his killer. The question was why especially in this place known for its neutrality. Private matters should have been kept out of here.

Rhiannon glanced back at the shooter, there was something very familiar about the young woman.

For now Rhiannon was true to her Wicce teachings, “For every action there is a reaction or consequence, and no one should do anything if she is not prepared to face the consequences.” All true Wicce practitioners were taught to turn a questioning eye towards most things and told to use the Wise Craft lightly (why disturb the flow of Essence if your strong back or a telephone call can do the job?), but when you must, do not hesitate. After you are finished, remember to leave things as you found them (or a little better), to dismiss the forces you invoked, and to make sure no wrong (including your own) goes unpunished. Rhiannon made no move except to evaluate the scene. Balance must be maintained in all matters.

Rhiannon looked to Morganna, she was almost sure Morganna had the same thoughts. Just in case she uses Insight to scan the club.

LA. So this was the land of the rich and famous, of milk and honey, and of poor housing districts, drugs, scantily clad women, everyone wearing too much jewelry, and loud night clubs. As the cute little grey kitten sat in this nightclub she longed for home. Although she had to admit that that she was nearly tickled pink at the place because it let her in without having to sneak in through some cracked window in a dirty back bathroom or in a bowling bag under Alex’s arm. They recognized her for what she was in here and didn’t seem to care that she was sitting on the table taking a bath either. Although it was disturbing that besides carrying the taint of the Gift there were no other restrictions as to who could enter the place, as was obvious by the large amount of Zazy’s Alex had just noticed as well.

“That’s nine,” Alex murmured swallowing a mouthful of scotch as his grey eyes fixed on the latest Azazelite to stroll into Haven. He sat his glass down and reached a hand out to stroke the cat’s head; “Somethin’s goin’ on here, Smoke. It’s like the Zazy’s are havin’ a convention or somethin’. I don’t like it”
Then the shots rang out. Her ears flattened against her head at the noise and she turned to look over at the woman who had fired them. Something flashed in her head like a memory at the woman, but she couldn’t place where she might have met her. A series of curses rang through her head as the Zazy fell to the ground in a pool of blood, Alex immediately went into action, as was typical of him, no matter how much he had drunk he could always get sobered up really quick if there was a chance to kill one of those demon worshipers. Rosie got up pretty quick too and went flying over the bar in her typical fashion of acrobatic avoidance. Smoke let out a little meow of frustration and looked at her glass of milk. It was in one of those low wide glasses so she could get her muzzle into it without getting stuck, and was laced with just enough Kahula to make her feel tingly, it was such a shame to waste such a nice drink. Sticking her nose back into the drink she took two laps and then leapt to the floor.

From under the table she puffed herself up and focused her golden eyes on the action, letting them wander between the bar where Rosie was hiding and the middle of the room where Alex was heading. If anyone dared to hurt either of them they had a kitty to contend with.

((She won’t leave the bar until she knows Rosie and Alex are out safe, until then she’s on high alert and will retaliate with some nasty necro magic if anyone tries to hurt her humans))

Morgana sipped her l lemon-limeade appreciated the tart tangy citrus flavors. She did not often drink alcohol, some wines of course, but rarely anything stronger. She looked up to Rhiannon neither of them much appreciated the more raucous music that was now playing. It was music technically, but not her sort.

Tonight they had both had a gig at a local Celtic pub. The ancient folk tunes in Gaelic, Welsh and a few in English had been their repertoire for the evening. This wasn’t their usually gathering place preferring quieter less crowded venues, even if this place was know to be a gathering spot for the Gifted, but they had been drawn here by dreams. Morganna and Rhiannon had always shared the dreams and feelings. It was one way they had to sort out what was important to more than to just themselves. Therefore, when they felt the urge to come here after several nights dreaming they came, and waited and waited.

Morgana caught Rhia’s attention and looked at her watch and motioned with her hands “3” and “0” their signal for 30 minutes. Over the years, the twins had developed their own hand talk. More than just signals, but they were able to carry on whole conversations with gestures if they had wanted to. IT was not any known dead-mute signing languages but their own creation.

Rubbing her eyes Morgana looked around again, for what she was not sure. Both she and Rhiannon had felt the tug that brought them here. They watched and waited for whatever it was. Both were a bit tired because of the time differential, especially after the long flight from Wales to LA. They had accepted a small gig at the pub on their return returned from several concerts over in England and Ireland, and before they left, they had visited their Welsh grandparents. It was there that they had learned the latest from their parents, who were officially listed as dead, but were very much a live. It was hard knowing you parents were alive but as good as dead to you, but to protect them and the lives they had carved out for themselves it was necessary to keep the secret.

The twins had mutually agreed after they had shared their dreams that they would come here and investigate the urge they had felt.

One kept watch visually one kept watch on thing not visual. Morgan was currently “Seeing” things around the room. The Gifted ran the gauntlet from light to dark. What surprised her was the number of darker auras that she “saw” however, this place was a neutral zone and by common consent and tradition, all animosities stopped at the door—well outward animosities at least. There were plenty left that were unexpressed while in this place. But most were here to be with other Gifted, even the mundane hanger-ons.

When the shots rang out it Morganna ducked behind the nearest column. She did not have to say anything to Rhiannon as she has seen her move just a quickly, martial training had sharpened her reactions and she ws glad of the training she had had,especially right now,

Morgana looked out to see what was happening, while holding herself ready to aid or protect as needed. Her eyes were drawn to a young woman in dark colored clothes stood with a smoking gun in her hands. Like ripples from a rock thrown in a pond, people were moving away from her. While the shooting was completely unexpected in this place, what was stranger, was that Morganna “recognized” the young woman even though she also knew she had never seen her before. No, her “seeing” was not the visual kind but rather a recognition.

Looking around the room Morgana scanned for anyone moving to targeting the woman. She used her insight to know the good guys form the bad guys though just to make sure. One could be mislead. NAs she would hate thaving hat happen.