Manus and Cathleen Flynn.
Neutral Human-Fae Sorcerer and Anti-Secrecy Werecat.
A street in Michigan, USA.
ARPers: None.

It just wasn’t fair.

Neither Cathleen nor Manus had wanted anything more than a pleasantly uneventful evening. They had initially planned for Cathleen to go to one of her friends’ houses to do some ‘studying’ while Manus hawked ‘magic’ items at customers. Cathleen’s friend would drop her off at some point, and eventually the shop would close, and maybe they would share popcorn and a movie and poke holes in the actors’ performances.

However, when Cathleen phoned Manus saying that - surprise surprise! - her friend had suddenly come down with something resembling the flu, the grouchy magician was forced to close the shop temporarily and drive his somewhat weatherbeaten Cavelier down to the school. Both of them were irritated, and they said nothing on the ride home. Cathleen stared listlessly out the window for most of the ride, which was why she managed to spot the icicle-filled wind lancing toward their car.

“Manus, duck!” she cried, curling up into a ball. Her startled uncle did the same, shouting a couple of hasty incantations. Those were probably the reason that, rather than bisecting the car, the gust threw several knife-sharp icicles through the windows and sent the vehicle rolling. It halted on its side with a sickening crunch, leaving Cathleen near the ground and Manus suspended by his seatbelt.

“You all right, kid?” When Cathleen muttered an affirmative, Manus grunted and reached into the back seat to grab a largish stick. “Keep your ass in the car unless I say, get it? That was an Unseelie attack, no mistake. I’ll handle this.” As soon as he had finished speaking, the stick flashed in his hands, changing into a staff that, as it expanded, sent the pseudo-glass of the windshield flying in a burst of gold light. Manus tore his seat-belt loose and clambered out into the open, looking around for hidden dangers.

The first thing he noticed was that the area was dead silent; the second was that he was nearly choking on Unseelie magic vibes; the third was that he was surrounded by cornstalks (many of which his car had crushed); and the fourth was that someone else was trying to break into his mind.

His immediate thought was to throw whoever it was straight out of his mind, but he fought down the urge. He couldn’t tell how powerful his foe was, and until he could it was best not to give everything he had in a desperation play. Instead, he offered a weaker resistance, letting his opponent think that he was much weaker than he was. As soon as the presence’s first wave of assault had finished, Manus was able to scan his surroundings again - and this time he could see the four people picking their way through the ruined corn: a large, muscular black man with tattooed arms and dark eyes; a small, mousy-haired young woman who looked too pale and frail to be an Unseelie assassin; a broad-shouldered woman with red hair and many knives; and a tall, thin, grinning man with teeth much pointier than they should have been. Power rolled from them in waves; they were obviously less than concerned about stealth.

“Manus Flynn,” said the black man, whose proud stance and raised chin seemed to indicate leadership. Manus was tempted to fry him with a fireball, but he was still grappling with the mental presence, which was trying to drown him in fear. He gave it resistance, but also a surge of panic. He had to let it think it was working until he figured out which of them it was coming from. “I didn’t know you’d fall this easily. I had heard that you were the best of the best. Honestly, it’s kind of disappointing to find out I’m wrong.”

Manus tightened his grip on the staff. His knuckles were almost as pale as the younger woman’s face. “Yeah, well,” he grunted, wincing at a fresh wave of panic from his unseen attacker. “We all have our off days, don’t we?” his voice was conversational, but layered with forced bravado. “I can still kick your ass.”

The leader let out a loud laugh. “You may have lost your skill, but you’re still as arrogant as everyone says. I don’t suppose you’d be willing to tell me where your niece is.”

Manus’s first impulse was to lie. After a quick consideration, he decided that he should probably still lie. “Home,” he said tensely. “So you’re out of luck there, I’m afraid.”

“She’s in the car, Cethin,” the frail girl interrupted. “He’s lying.”

So she must have been the mental attacker. “Thank you, Cerdwin,” said Cethin with a grin. He gestured to the red-haired woman and the tall man. “Go and get her.”

As the other two moved away, Manus decided to attack. He wasn’t going to get a better chance.

With all the strength he could muster, he threw a jolt of raw panic at his attacker. The girl’s mind buckled under his assault, and he left her to grapple with the image of a roaring, nightmarish monster rising out of the ground to attack her - it was incredibly cliched, but he was rushed - before turning to meet Cethin, who was rushing at him with a knife in hand. He shot a blast of flame at the man, only to watch his enemy dissolve into wispy shimmers. An illusionist, Manus realized. Well don’t that just beat all?

The sound of a car door being wrenched off of its hinges caught his attention. He whirled to see the tall man holding the door high, glaring into the vehicle - until fire exploded in his face, a roar seemed to shake the earth, and a gleaming gold lion burst out of the passenger’s seat.

Heracles (Thomas Archer) and Achilles (Leonard Cole).
Anti-Secrecy Manticores.
A bar in Blackpool, England.
ARPers: None.

Guitar chords, sweet and melodious, echoed through the old bar. Seconds later, a sonorous voice joined in. "When she was just a girl, she expected the world," sang Achilles the manticore-in-disguise, "but it flew away from her reach, so she ran away in her sleep and dreamed of para-para-paradise!"

The bar was abuzz with conversation. Live entertainment was a huge hook in almost every case, and Achilles tended to draw crowds with his - quite literally - enchanting voice. As he sang for the unsuspecting mortals, he layered the music with magic so as to inspire emotion and imagery in the minds of his listeners. "She'd say oh-woah-oh-ho, I know the sun must set to rise!"

With a quick riff on his guitar, Heracles finished out the song. "Thanks, ladies and gentlemen!" Achilles responded to the sound of a few scattered claps. "Any requests?" he added, and when no one suggested anything further, he shrugged and glanced at Heracles. The latter replied to the look by starting up a new song with a loud chord on his guitar. Achilles turned back to the mic and began to sing again.

((The song that Achilles was singing is Coldplay's Paradise.))