Pixie is not a very effective Bad Cop.

It has been confirmed that the mutant responsible for the Proposition X riot was paid to start a fight. He was approached by two men and offered a large sum of money to do so. He was given no explanation as to why, he was merely told that it would 'make people take the mutant community more seriously.'

I showed him photographs of prominent members of the NYC chapter of the FOH. One of the men who approached him is a New York pastor and FOH leader, Donovan Zane.

I am not sure how to proceed from here.

The Rasputin family home was not far from lake Baikal, in the south of Siberia. For almost half the year, the average temperature is below zero degrees. Illyana knew this - she had grown up there after all - but somehow the weather is still a bit of a shock.

"Chyort voz'mi!" she exclaimed the second after she and Sally appeared within walking distance of her family's farm. Both girls were wrapped up in winter clothing, but even so... winter in New York was not winter in Siberia.

The wind whipped Illyana's hair into her mouth and she spat it out, annoyed. "That is my family's farm," she said, pointing. The nearby house was small, smoke pouring from the chimney. A squat building nestled against the house, where Illyana knew the few animals they kept for livestock were sheltered.

She sighed a little. She hadn't been home to see her parents in a long while. She would claim it was because she was busy, but of course the truth was that she was guilty over what had happened to Piotr, and because she did not want her parents to see how much she had changed. That she wasn't their good little girl any longer.

Illyana looked at Sally. "I called ahead, so they know we will be arriving. We can go inside and say hello first, or we can go play."

I have been instructing the Pixie in magic. Together this week we have attempted scrying, as a method to locate the mutant said to start the Prop X riot as since his release from the police he has been nowhere to be found. Pixie was, I believe, successful - I myself was distracted with other visions which I hope are only imagination and are not something worth discussing right now.

Now that we know where he is, I wish to interview him. I would like to take Pixie with me.

Rogue? Paige?

I have some news about the riot that may be nothing, but then again may be something. A man witnessed the mutant who appears to have started the riot speaking with "lawyer friends" before the protest began.

I find this unusual. After all, the man everyone agrees fired first is not exactly the sort who would hang out with lawyers, da? I looked at our records and they state he is from a low-income background, recently laid off from his job because of drinking.

I do not know. I could be wrong. But this, coupled with the SWAT presence and overreaction of the police, seems... what thay call fishy, da?

Jean-Paul would like this.

I shall record it for him. Because he is too annoying to die.



SO! That was fucked up today, da? We really screwed the pooch on that one.

Pixie.

I wish to speak with you.

October 31st is a traditional time for divination. Apples eaten in front of mirrors to predict your future husband. Drops of wax in water to discover your fate. Ghosts moving planchettes and little ones appearing in living rooms. A handful of cards, thrown on a tabletop, at midnight.

The Magician.

And God said, 'let there be light' and there was, and it was good enough, S/He supposed. Will. As above, so below. Thoughts into action. Trickery, in the oldest decks. All the best magicians were also charlatans.

The Tower.

She can't help but notice one of the figures thrown, screaming, is blonde while the other one has dark hair. What a pair. And how amazingly phallic the Tower is, even as it's golden crown explodes in flames! Rainclouds on the horizon. Droplets strike the pavement in the future.

In the dark, Illyana stares at the cards and sighs. She wonders if she should go to Genosha. She wonders if she should stay in New York. She wonders if she should pack it all in and return home... to Siberia or to someplace darker. Someplace, at any rate, where she will not be tortured by half glimpses of things that may or may not be.

Ace of Wands.

...is this the trick?
The treat?

The gift of life itself.

Illyana sweeps her cards away and goes to bed.

Song For November.

Come Sweet Death.

( Lyrics. )

Fever Ray - If I Had A Heart. I like this band very much.

A song.


Be careful now.

The Devourer of Stars.

The Pale Beast, God of the Labyrinth.

Angles that do not add up to anything sane.

He Who is Not to be Named.

The Twin Obscenities. (HAH!)

The Three-Lobed Burning Eye.

Colours that do not exist.

Yidhra.

Mike.

King of Diamonds.

The Devil. (Oh, I know your name.)

My parents.

Initiation. (Annoying. Never-ending.)

A pink skinned monster.

Piotr.

The scent of blood. ...also the taste.

The moment of my death. (But who isn't? You spend your whole life pretending it is never going to happen, after all.)

Grigori.

Yellow eyes.


And how much of that is a lie?

Much. ...most.

The Devil is a monster of his own making, chained by pride and foolishness, slave to much greater creatures. And those creatures... those huge, unspeakable, crawling things that slither out beyond everything that is. To look at them you would go mad. But would I? Nyet. At least... not any madder. Time allows you to put much of your mind back together, if you have Will. Which I do.

Cyclopean ruins, spilled blood, the colour of misery... I lie. I do not hide from these things. I find them. I walk past them. And when out of Nothingness falls something with thousands of eyes and thousands of mouths all moving and speaking and staring... No. I do not hide. Not really. And once you have seen THAT then silly mostly mortal little villains look quite pale in comparison.

You cannot hide from your blood.

Death and Initiation all at the same time over and over and over and over outside of Time. No hiding. Just... forgetting.


Yellow eyes.

These I hide from. Da, these... are disturbing.


They are supposed to be blue.

Miss Rogue?

If the offer is still open, I would like to join your team.

Imprint.

I am not the biggest fan of Asian horror, but this I like very much.

Enjoy.

Have you ever wondered if you were only dreaming?


Filthy glass and rusted metal reaches up to the sky in dizzying spirals. Fluorescent and neon light strobes over wet concrete and pregnant clouds of smog. There are thousands of people here, pressed in close against one another. Many of them look the same. Red hair. Lots and lots of red hair.

The King of Diamonds is plastered over every available wall and pole, skin paler than white.

Is that one a dream? You weren't there, shaman, no. If you were, you would have burnt it all down. Maybe. Maybe not... blood is thicker than water.


I once saw the twins and the Pixie together. Glittering, laughing mouth and eyes like ice, pressing close to anyone who could afford it. Beautiful. So very beautiful. The twins, I think, fetched a higher price because they were two for one, moving at the same time. In some cultures, they say that twins are one soul in two bodies. In some places they are revered. In others... slain. People fear their power.

The Pixie carried a knife. Very small, very sharp. A girl has to be careful.

Lipstick smeared. None of them cried. They were surviving in one of the few ways you could.


Mike was going around, taking personal things from the places people had hidden them, or from the trash. Things people did not want. Letters, mainly. He placed them very carefully where everyone would find them again. Some cried. Some reacted in anger. Some even moved to him, reaching for comfort maybe. And he just stood there, completely expressionless and naked.

I do not know if he was crying or bleeding.



And of course, there is underground.

Who put you there?

A monster.

Oh, such a monster. Huge and fleshy, nimble despite the bulk. Horrible teeth. He would eat you up. Oh yes. My brother came for me and I was screaming and screaming and screaming...

Absolutely everyone died. I know that. The strongest and bravest hero in the entire world killed children. For me.


These are dreams. But I cannot wake up.


[OOC: Some muses used and abused without permission, but obviously not a single thing is binding.]

Tonight I am watching The Devil Rides Out.


Best Satanists ever. (The sound is wonky but it is still funny.) Also the little gay boy is very much Jean-Paul as a Satanist. "Give me the evil scarf!"
"...the scarf?!"


It is Autumn! FINALLY!

Last night I watched Häxan - Witchcraft Through The Ages on DVD. I am not sure if they intended for the Devil to make me laugh as hard as he did. I watched both the original and the redone version with the jazz music and William S. Burroughs narration.


In Suspiria, the heroine asks a dubbed over Udo Kier, "but... what does it MEAN to be a witch?"

(Udo says that witches are malefic, negative and destructive. Hee!)

I am a witch. This is, where I am from anyway, a career. I have been in training since I was eleven years old, and I am good at what I do. Witches provides services. Divination, spellwork, talismans, potions and brews... these are things you charge for. There is, I sometimes think, a strange attitude here in America that people like myself are providing something spiritual and that as such it should be free. Funny, considering that America is a capitalist country, yes? And yet the little Russian girl is the one who wants to be paid for her services! Very funny indeed.

Darya Martynov taught me how to abort children. This is something people pay for. She taught me how to brew teas that will calm the nerves, make you sleep, make you well. People will pay for this also. I can make a potion that will give a boy or girl courage to speak, when they might instead just pine away for someone. People will pay for this, in bars all over the country. Darya Martynov taught me also how to read the future in cards and in water (although for a person such as myself, this would turn out to be somewhat secondary) and how to call and banish the dead. Should people not pay for this also?

Being a witch is not much different than being a plumber. If you have a problem that you do not know how to solve, you call an expert. And you pay them. It is that simple.

I am not what I am because of a higher calling. I am what I am because of talent and training. I owe you no favours, and this is not a sacred calling. For that go find yourself a priestess.