Who: Badb and Open to Any and All What: The Endbringer brings some chaos to the streets of NYC Where: A bad 5-square-block in Queens When: 2amish, Sunday morning Rating: R for violent images Optional Score:Count Bodies Like Sheep to the Rhythm of the War Drums
Don't fret Precious, I'm here. Step away from the window. Go back to sleep.
It hadn't taken more than twelve hours for Brenna's prescriptions to leak from her bloodstream - natural metabolism would do that, but the shallow (but lengthy) knife-cuts in the mortal's shoulders, hips, and ankles certainly helped the process along. While the mild blood loss probably wasn't the best healthy choice for Brenna, Badb was perfectly confident in the practice, as well as the mystic spiral patterns she carved into her vessel's skin. As soon as the chemicals bled from Brenna's system enough for Badb to take ahold, she did.
Safe from pain, and truth, and choice, And all the poison devils... See they don't give a fuck about you. Not like I do.
When the cocktail was completely gone, Badb tucked Brenna away somewhere deep and dark; singing her the lullabies of crows and wolves as she stretched and saturated every aspect of her new 'body'. It was weak, dying around her, despite the old measures she took to infuse the woman with the ancient magics used by she and her sisters. So, acting on sheer chaotic will and instinct, while reading the words on a nearby newspaper on a darkened New York City Block, the Boiler brewed herself a plan.
Count bodies like sheep. Count bodies like sheep to the rhythm of the war drums.
An hour later, it was all over the news. A rough neighborhood in Queens had exploded in a sudden, completely unexpected wave of looting, rioting, and random violence. The strip of cheap dance clubs and bars had apparently spilled out droves of people who'd been unsatisfied with their lot in life, and agitated just enough by alcohol, poverty, and anger that all they needed was a catalyst; they got one in the shape of a young, well-to-do woman with cold, pale eyes, who wandered their ranks whispering in ears until the dam finally broke. And when the torrent was released... Badb's whispers spread further. With each person enacted, enticed to lawless, violent frenzy, another would be pulled in and infected by it. The atmosphere throbbed with car alarms, breaking glass, gunshots, crackling structure fires, sirens, and a horde of self-righteous screaming. The air was thick with acrid smoke, the street dirtied by debris and broken glass.
Count bodies like sheep to the rhythm of the war drums.
The riot spread like a tentacled thing, bleeding into allies and further streets. A mass of people, all out for their own, yet attached to a hive mentality that urged them forward, especially against the scattered police. It was their uniformed and tear-gas-armed ranks that Badb aimed her newly accumulated power. A blackbird mounted on the perch of a nearby streetlight cawed at their line and stirred their blood; they (and most passerbys) would hear whispers attuned to their inner-most hatred, pulling at the perfect strings for complete, unjustified frenzy. People turned on firemen and paramedics, who turned on pedestrians and police, who turned on each other in a free-for-all orgy of unorganized chaos.
And Badb, in her glossy, oil-slick feathers watched and sang along to the drums.