self_inflictedexhile | nysm / tvd } { if you will, please move in closer

nysm / tvd } { if you will, please move in closer

In another lifetime, Dylan Rhodes never existed. In another lifetime, he didn't need to, because Lionel Shrike never drown in the Hudson River, Dylan Rhodes stayed Jacob Shrike, and his life went in a very different direction.

At age fifteen, his father started teaching him the tricks of the trade: sleight of hand, how to build a rig, how to do a little bit of actual magic, despite the fact that probably wasn't something he should be sharing, just yet. Shortly after that, Jacob met a young Alma Dray, tagging along with her grandfather, a friend of his father's, stopping by to check up on him. They grew up together, life continued on, and Jacob eventually went to college for Theatre Design and Stagecraft. At twenty-two, just after graduation, Jacob was chosen to join the Eye, his test to help the LVPD clear the name of another magician, despite all the evidence in the world making him seem guilty as sin. There, Jacob met Michael Fuller, his partner a lifetime away, and the two became friends as they managed, despite all odds, to pull off what had been asked of Jacob by the Eye. He continued on into a career as a stage magician in the Eye, eventually married Alma, and continued to occasionally work with Fuller as a consultant, when time allowed.

Over the course of the next few decades, Jacob and Alma tried to have children and failed, and eventually adopted one Jack Wilder, age 10. Using Eye resources, he helped Merritt McKinney get a good lawyer and clear his name after his brother screwed him over. He followed the rising stars that were J. Daniel Atlas and Henley Reeves, and when they decided to call it quits, pulled the both of them back together, forcing Daniel to give Henley a more active role in the show. And eventually, yes, he called the four of them together, not for revenge but something similar, to get them into the Eye. And somewhere along the way, Jacob and Alma tried for children again, and this time managed, giving Jack a brother, Lio, Lionel, named after his grandfather.

Basically, this is the best possible timeline.

And now, it's just after dinner, Jacob off to his nightly rehearsal at 5Pointz, that his space, now, like his father before him. He takes a detour tonight, though, to grab a cup of coffee, beforehand, a little bit of magic pulled around him, to make himself not completely invisible, but at least a little less noticeable. Normally, he doesn't mind showing off or signing autographs, when a fan approaches, and fans do often approach, his notoriety somewhere up there with Penn and Teller, Seigfried and Roy, but -- not tonight. He's not feeling it tonight, a little tired for whatever reason, hence the coffee, so magic it is. And now he's sitting at a table, idly people-watching as he leans into his cup. Have at him, if you can still see him (or, maybe, in certain party's cases, sense him) despite his best efforts.

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"Fair enough," she nods, before turning back to the door. Assuming that Damien heard all of that, she reaches delicately for the doorknob, paying attention to the wards to make sure that they don't activate as she twists the knob.

They don't, and the front door opens into a long, narrow hallway, a light that wasn't obvious from the outside on, above. For a moment and barring that, there are no further signs of life, and then Damien's voice is at her ear again. "In the living room, my dear." A somehow sharp pause follows, and then, for effect, he adds, "I don't bite."

If nothing else, it seems he's at least extra enough to be in the Eye, for all that they seem to attract showmen.

Regardless, the hallway continues on, past a door, left open, that leads into a kitchen, and stairs that lead up, spilling into a living room. Damien, seated in at a desk chair, a series of computers and monitors arranged around him, turns, and while he doesn't stand to greet her, it has nothing to do with a disregard of etiquette, a lack of respect. It's more that he might have trouble standing so quick, if the brace that runs his left leg from mid-thigh to his ankle is any indication. He's crippled and trying to avoid drawing attention to that fact, so he stays sitting.

"Josie, isn't it?" Oh, yes. He knows you don't usually use your full name.

"If you're going to call me Josie, do I get to call you Damien?"

Her eyes wander over the living room, looking for anything that seems personal. Most witches don't leave things that could be totems out and about, but that often depends on how lived in the place is. Once you make a place your home, everything becomes personal, in it's own way.

"Just so we're both on the same page."

"I'd prefer it," he answers, nodding. "'Mister Brenks' is so ... " He makes a face, intentionally sour, and waves the end of that sentence, whatever it might have been, away. It's unimportant. They're all friends here, right?

As for the room itself, there are computers and there are books, so many books, on almost every available surface, and on any number of subjects. Clearly, his interest are wide and varied; clearly he values intellect, his intellect, above all else. Beyond that, though, there seems to be nothing overtly personal in the room. Whether that's intentional, him expecting someone to come calling eventually, or not, however, is anyone's guess.

"Fair enough."

She makes her way over to browse the books, scanning the various topics. Her father was a historian - she knows her way around a library. But she doesn't let herself linger on anything too long, keeping most of her focus on the man himself.

"Look, I don't care about the Eye. While we're putting everything on the table. What I care about is the Croatoan someone summoned to start eating people's secrets. I just want to know if you know anything about it."

Something shifts, and every screen behind Damien flickers to life, showing Dylan, still standing outside, looking impatient, if nothing else. Damien tilts his head in the direction of one of the monitors, indicating him. "If you don't care about the Eye, then why bring our friend with you?"

"He's a friend." Which is true. "I'm the new girl in town - I don't know the witch community as well as he does, but I knew that the Croatoan needs to be summoned. It doesn't just appear. So I decided to pick his brain, see if he might know a good place to start when looking for someone who wanted to expose someone's secrets and make them pay for them."

She tips her head to the side, turning to rest one hand on her hip, the other on the table she's leaning nearby. She's used to theatrics, and there's nothing about her statement that edges the truth.

"Magical secret societies aren't really my thing. But he seemed to think that they were yours."

"He's an idiot," Damien all but snaps, rolling his eyes. A pause, then more calmly, he tells her, "You really need better taste in friends."

He pauses, drumming his fingers absently on the arm of his chair, and the screens click off just as seemingly idly. "But yes, fine. I tried out for his little boys' club. Apparently I didn't make the cut." He flashes her a thin smile, that doesn't meet his eyes -- if anything, in fact, there's an anger there, behind them. "Lucky me.

"But no, I don't know anything about your Croatoan."

That, on the other hand, may or may not be a blatant lie.

"You know, you probably don't."

Whether or not she's serious on that remains to be seen, but she at least attempts to sound convincing enough. After all, Damien is still alive. And given what she knows about the Croatoan, that isn't always the case.

"Generally speaking, the summoner is usually the creature's first victim. Honestly, we showed up here expecting to find a pile of slop, but since you're still alive I guess we're looking for another witch."

She nods as she goes back to the books again, still examining the room and seeing what clues she can glean. "But hey, now you know. If a weird creature with a hook nose and a gaping maw in the middle of it's chest shows up to liquefy you and consume your secrets, now you know where it came from."

Edited (first sentence didn't read right) 2021-03-20 02:52 (UTC)

"I'd be more worried about your friend," Damien tells her. "I imagine I don't have half as many secrets as he does." Or at least not as many secrets that are his. He likes collecting other people's dirty laundry just as much as he seems to like collecting books.

And speaking of books, while he swears he had nothing to do with this, there may be a few, more disturbing titles, in Damien's stacks. They don't outright finger him as the one who summoned the Croatoan, but if nothing else, it makes it that much more obvious that he's not as nice a person as he may be pretending to be. Civil does not necessarily equate to good.

"I am worried about him. I'm worried about me too. I think you'll be hard pressed to meet someone who doesn't have any secrets."

Basically, everyone's a target, even if it'll tend to go for the juicer secrets first. In Mystic Falls, they were luckily that Hope was keeping her literal existence from everyone. A whole lifetime as a secret was too delicious to have it going after any other targets.

"It wiped out a whole colony in a few days back in the sixteen hundreds. You've heard of Roanoke, right?"

"And the little message they left carved into a tree," he says by way of agreement. Yes, he got the reference, maybe even banked on it, if he was the one who summoned it. Maybe he's hoping the Eye will leave some nice graffiti laying around before they all disappear, too. Maybe he'll be long gone, before then.

Maybe he'll be gone sooner, still. "Lucky for me, I wasn't planning on hanging around New York for too long, then."

"Lucky you."

Josie makes a face as she finds herself running out of questions. Also, she's a little irritated, given that he's willing to just let an entire city of people die to prove a point. But that's fine. She doesn't need Damien's cooperation, not really. She has two options.

She either takes something of his, or she forces his hand. The books are a little too conspicuous, but part of her wonders if just his magic would be enough. She'll see about borrowing one of his wards on the way out the door.

But no matter what it takes, there's nothing she can do here. So she turns to go. "If I were you, I'd leave fast."

And with that, she turns and heads back out the door.

Dylan pushes away from where he's been leaning, as the door opens again. He looks her over, hurriedly, trying to gauge her mood, more. He relaxes, albeit only marginally, when it seems like she's alright, and immediately reaches for her, to guide her gently away from the door, the wards, the feeling of being watched.

"So?" he asks, when he feels like they're out of earshot.

She places her hand on the doorframe as she's led away, consciously drawing some of the magic from the wards as they go. Her hand glows briefly, but beyond that, nothing happens and she continues walking with Dylan, sliding her hand into her pocket.

"Oh, I think he definitely cast it. And he's a big asshole."

"Which means he didn't offer up whatever you need to get rid of the thing, I'm guessing," Dylan mutters, making a face. He throws a glance back at the building, before, "Also gonna guess you wanna try and break in again, later."

Based on the fact that he saw her take some of the magic out of the wards, even if Damien didn't.

"Maybe. He knows we're onto him, so he's probably going to be bailing soon."

Stealing the wards could go one of two ways. It'll either give them room to get back in, or make their mysterious friend a bigger target. There's also something she's kind of wanted to try.

"But I think he's hoping that the Croatoan will tear through the Eye before it decides to turn on him."

"He's managed to stay off its radar for this long." And from what Dylan understands from what she's said, that's a feat unto itself. "He might get his wish."

Or he will unless they do something about it. Dylan glances back to the building, that in mind, before, "We might be able to use me to bait it." To what point and purpose, if they don't have something of Damien's to dismiss it, he's not sure, but he can't just sit around and let it tear through the Eye.

Josie tips her head to the side, considering, because that's not a bad idea. They could use it to lure him here and force Damien's hand. She glances around, to make sure they're far enough away, before placing a hand on Dylan's shoulder and leaning in close.

"If we could lure it back to the house and trap it inside with him, he wouldn't have a choice. If it comes to his life or his pride, I think he'd choose his life."

They just have to get the creature here and get it in the house. Which means they might needs someone with more secrets than Dylan.

"If the guy's as much of a schmuck as it sounds like he is?" Dylan's likely to agree. He glances back at the house, either way. "So, how do we find it to get it back here?"

He's still sure he's good enough bait, but they still need to get it to notice him, to follow him into the house. While he knows there are people in the Eye with far more secrets than him, however, he doesn't want to think it might be headed in their direction, drawn in it. He wants to think this is something where he can stand somewhere, scream look at me, for lack of better wording, and catch and keep the thing's attention.

"We'd need either need a super juicy high quality secret, or someone with so many secrets that it can't ignore it."

She rubs the back of her neck as she tries to weigh their options based on who she knows is available.

"If we want to go for quantity, I know a three hundred year-old unkillable monster that could fit the bill."

Yeah, that's definitely a whole other caliber of firepower, secrets-wise -- a nuke to his assault rifle. He shakes his head faintly, more than a little taken aback, that in mind, before he finally asks, "You think they'd be wiling to help?"

And does she think it wouldn't run the risk of backfiring, for all that she called whoever it is a monster, too?

She nods as she pulls out her phone to text Hope. She was mostly referring to a monster in the technical sense, but. Marcel was raised by the Mikaelsons so the apple doesn't always fall far from the tree.

"Marcel Gerard is a lot of things, but he tends to want to avoid massacres. If we explain the situation to him, he'll help."

And hopefully he and Rebekah are still in New York.

"Marcel," Dylan starts, stops, the namedrop both fueling his surprise and helping to assuage it somewhat. He's never met the man, himself, but he's heard tell of him through members of the Eye living in New Orleans. He thinks, from what he's heard, that she might be right that he might want to help, but, "Jesus, I didn't know he was in New York."

He's also not sure he would have expected her to know him, personally, but.

"He moved here a few years ago with his wife, but he was trying to keep it on the down low." Which is a feat because he tends to be a bit of a showman, but that's neither here nor there. "But I happen to be besties with his sister, so I have an in."

She hits send on the text message, before looking up at him again. "Do you think there's somewhere nearby that we can wait until he gets back to me? I don't want to go far in case he tries to move."

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