The Universe's Mixer

There is an invitation. The envelope it's in is made of a very thick, almost cardboard. Decorated with a design that looks like a mixture of feathers and flames. There is a seal on it, deep red wax, in the center, just a swirl. The paper is thinner, but no less well made. It's almost like touching cloth. The words upon it are done in a very beautiful script:

You are hereby invited to take part in a meeting in which you should discover very great things about what is around you.

Even if you choose to not accept this invitation, your daily movement around the City brings you to a building. There is only one door. The door is a very heavy, dark wood. It looks as if it might take a giant to open it, but it pulls free easily for you. When it shuts, it sounds almost as if a latch has clicked into place.

The room you are standing in is an odd shape. Triangular. The widest part is where the door is set in, and the other two walls meet opposite it to make the point. There is nothing in this room. No chairs, no table. No mirrors. No sign that anybody else will be able to get in here with you at all.

You will wait a while. When the last participant shows up, the walls in the center of the room will raise into the ceiling. From the floor will come a great table, laden with food and drink. Chairs will scoot out from where they were tucked away under it.

There are other people in this room with you.

( Read more... )

Dean was happy. Or as happy as a man could be when he knew his brother was no longer a dog and when he had a wayward angel to worry about. So, the hunter was probably not the happiest fellow in the City, but he was more than eager to take care of a job he knew he could do - if there really was a job to do.

Fred called earlier than he would have liked that morning, but the information she gave him made up for it. It seemed that a woman in some apartment building had seen a ghost. In fact, the woman, who could have been crazy, said that the ghost had a habit of stealing underwear; Dean would have placed money on the woman's insanity, but Fred had promised to give him 75% of the fee the woman had paid in advance to have the ghost dealt with. Fred was keeping a finder's fee; the woman had come to Angel Investigations after all.

Dean left a note for Cas...Jimmy, and sent off a quick text to Sam. If this was a ghost and Dean did die at the spectral hands of a panty thieving ghost, he wanted to make sure that someone knew about it. At least they'd know where he had gone should he go missing for a while.

The hunter did a quick stop by the Library and found nothing in any archives about the building, only that it didn't exist until recently, which put yet another mark on the crazy side for the woman who'd hired a real ghostbuster. With no info, he headed over to the apartment building only to find that the woman was not at home. He guessed she'd decided to do her laundry somewhere else.

Dean knew that he could break in, but he decided to go a different route. He pressed all the buttons to see if anyone would let him in. Maybe he could even find someone to talk to. If there was something going on, maybe someone else had actually seen it. He was desperate enough for a little action, that he was giving crazy woman the benefit of the doubt.

Evening had fallen, and things were picking up at a particular club in the City. The night suggested mischief, which was exactly what a certain member of the City's more aware citizens was creating. The tall man didn't look as if he belonged in the club with its blood drinkers and fangbangers. He didn't look as if he didn't belong there either. The jeans were fitted without being too tight; the button up shirt hinted at the toned physique underneath. His hair was longer than the more conservative types running around, and his green eyes held a hint of the mischief he was after.

He moved through the club, giving faint smiles and slight nods to anyone who noticed him. He wasn't a vampire, that much was obvious, but there was something different about him. He certainly wasn't one of the tourists, here to see a vampire and get a picture with one, not that pictures were allowed really. He gave a quick glance to the throne to see if it was occupied before he turned to the bar and ordered a beer, bottle.

He didn't ask for who he had come. He didn't say anything more than chat quietly with the young thing that was sidling up to him now. His accent was English, and his voice soft and smooth. He watched the woman bat her lashes at him, and he even leaned in ever so slightly to show that, yes, he was flirting back in return. Only, he wasn't there for her. Now and then he would glance around to see if his true target was in. Would the great Viking king even know what was happening?

It was time to play, and not even the newcomer knew all the rules of the game.