We're already dead, Xochi :)

The sea spray was cold against Doyle's face as he sat on the edge of the pier, legs swinging in open air as he leaned back against the outside of the railing the went around the edges of the pier. It was said to be unsafe to be on the warped wood at the very edges of the structure but Doyle wasn't worried. A swim in the cold water might be what he needed to get rid of this lethargy. The warlock had been in Chicago for just over a week and was still recovering from blacking out from over using his magic. It was a slow recovery indeed, but he was glad to find that a walk to the pier wasn't beyond him, even if he'd been breathing heavily by the time he'd perched himself precariously over the ocean.

Looking out across the great expanse of water, Doyle brought his legs up, crossing them beneath himself so he was more comfortable and resting his hands on his knees. Letting his chin drop until it was touching his chest he closed his eyes and relaxed. It truly wasn't a position you'd find just anyone in - many would be scared of the fall, water or no - but Doyle was unperturbed and confident. Even if someone was to push him, his magic would react appropriately. Okay, so he had no experience with such situations, but he was still fairly certain of what would happen. Maybe. Hopefully.
"Calm..." Doyle breathed out deeply, taking a few slow, deep breathes as he fell into a shallow meditative state. Normally he would shut himself in a room where he knew he wasn't going to be disturbed, but he didn't feel comfortable in this universe yet and instead opted to do his meditation in the open where he had the room to maneuver and flee if needed. Here, he wasn't completely oblivious to the world but the magic keeping his sight at almost a perfect 20-20 (as he had been told by a helpful angel, he seemed to recall) dissipated and mingled back with the dark aura that almost became visible around him. It was like smoke hanging around the young-looking man but flowed like mercury, silver and black and every shade of grey in between mixed into the swirling shadows. The darkness of said shadow showed just how much black, or dark and harmful magic the warlock used, though the flickers of silver were an embodiment of the good that struggled to keep a place in his heart. Doyle wasn't exactly evil, but his actions sometimes hurt and hindered more than they helped and he was all too eager to kill using his magic. But as eager as he was to shed blood, he also couldn't stop himself from responding to a cry for help. He was a glory-seeker and if saving someone got his name into their mind then he'd do it. If he had to kill several people from a gang to make himself known to them and make them fear him, then so be it.

The hours passed and he barely moved a muscle, apparently immersed in his meditation. The clouds overhead were dark and foreboding and after a while it began to rain, slowly at first, and then heavier. Doyle opened his eyes, breaking his concentration, and turned his face up to the clouds, letting the water falling from the skies to wash over his pale skin. He smiled. The rain was cool and woke him a little more than the ocean spray had. As he shifted to stand and lean back against the railing once more, the shadows around him receded again.

Life as a force of nature walking on two legs meant that Xochi often found herself drawn to certain places or people without ever quite knowing why.

Stepping off the bus in Chicago had been a shock; it had taken all her focus just to keep up a human appearance. Her friend Thomas had waxed lyrical about the city and his misspent youth there but nothing had quite prepared Xochi for the sea of concrete and traffic that hit all her senses at once. Her first stop had been the Park District, a vast oasis of greenery that pulled the little goddess in like a magnet. Rather than waste her last few dollars on a hostel it was simple enough to trigger a little extra plant growth and set herself up a hideaway in the park woodlands. On her first morning Xochi simply let herself wander.

By lunchtime she’d found herself outside the ‘Children’s Museum’, a building that gave off an aura uncannily similar to one of her old temples, where mothers had brought their broods to her for good luck. She noticed at least three children in the passing crowd staring as if her green skin and dark eyes were plain as day. That meant the baffling metropolis was building up a high percent of gifted humans. There was definitely more to Chicago than met the eye.

The noise and lights of the pier then drew Xochi further towards the water. A half eaten corn dog here, an abandoned tray of noodles there - Soon enough the scraps of junk food left behind by tourists amounted to a veritable feast. Having taken her fill she curled up on a bench at the very end of the pier, pulling her knees to her chest and wrapping her thick wool coat around her. Looking across the walkway she noticed a teenager sat alone, facing out over the water. With his legs tucked underneath himself it didn’t seem like he was planning on jumping. It was odd (for a human) but not what Xochi would define as troubling enough to approach.

Gulls swarmed overhead, still scavenging and squabbling over the leftovers the goddess had passed over. She studied their size and decided to come back early one morning with a bow and arrow. Two or three in the bag and she’d have a decent barbeque. Full of starchy food, it didn’t take Xochi long to drift off and no one thought to disturb her. She dreamt, briefly, of the jungle and the hunt. But she wasn’t the only one tracking quarry, something was following her, some strange creature that she could never quite… She woke to the feel of rain, like a gentle hand waking her from a nightmare. She looked up to the grey sky with a smile. “Thank you, in-icham.”

It didn’t bother her as the rain worsened. Looking across, she saw the boy from before, still in exactly the same position, which officially made him odd enough to be of interest. Except now she wasn’t so sure it was a boy. A writhing cloud of dark energy curled around him, twinkling in and out of even Xochi’s perceptions. The only time she’d seen anything even remotely similar was when she’d watched her ex sleeping. And he was a war god. The light streaks that darted in and out of the liquid shadow eased her anxiety; she concentrated on that quicksilver dash of hope. She sat watching, utterly entranced, until the magic dissipated. When the stranger rose and turned she decided to take a chance. If fate had brought her to another immortal then who was she to ignore that?

The rain had driven everyone else into the pier shops and restaurants, or else they ran huddled under hoods and umbrellas. Xochi dropped the glamour covering her appearance and raised a green hand to catch the supernatural’s attention. “Al ah-waay? Hello?”

Doyle ignored the call from behind him for a moment, before realising that almost everyone else had gone inside, seeking shelter from the rain. He turned his head to see a woman stood watching him a few yards away. He tilted his head at her and raised himself up onto the railing, swinging his legs over so that he stood within its boundaries once more.
"Hello," he greeted lightly, taking in the woman's appearance as he approached her. The green skin didn't alarm Doyle, but it made him wonder what she was. She felt powerful, but he couldn't tell whether or not her pressence made him wary or put him at ease. for now he chose to act normal - as normal as Doyle could be, any way. "It seems that the rain only ever deters the mortals," he smiled in amusement as he glanced to the nearest building and the humans taking shelter there.

Now, the warlock did not know what kind of being this woman was - other than a powerful one - and so couldn't tell if she would welcome him trying to shake her hand. It left him with only one safe choice of introduction that would be considered abnormal in the current times, but charming, respectful and reverent at the same time.
Doyle moved into a sweeping bow that had been common ettiquet in his time of youth. "My name is Doyle Turner. And it is a pleasure to meet one such as yourself," he told her as he stood straight again. "I hope it would not be rude to ask just exactly who you are, my lady?" It was blunt, but it showed that while he didn't know who she was, he would respect her choice on whether she gave him her identity or not, even if that identity is a false one.

Her call of greeting had been odd, though. Surely she hadn't come out into the rain just to talk to him? Maybe she'd been on the peir for longer than he had realised and had seen him meditating. Humans may be blind to what they don't want to see or believe in, but other supernaturals and humans that were aware of the supernatural were mostly more attentive than Doyle liked.

"Hello," he greeted lightly. “It seems that the rain only ever deters the mortals.”

Xochi wasn’t sure she’d understood the word “deter” correctly but her face lit up nonetheless. It had been a long time since she’d managed to engage in a conversation, and centuries since she’d encountered anything but typical weres and vampires from the supernatural world. She missed the other gods. Even the violent ones. “We know the rain is good to make the corn grow,” she smiled, gesturing between them, “They know it does not make the human tall or strong. Only wet.”

“My name is Doyle Turner. And it is a pleasure to meet one such as yourself,” he told her as he stood straight again. “I hope it would not be rude to ask just exactly who you are, my lady?”

“Pleasure for me also, Doyleturner. You are not rude.” She was still sat on the bench but let her legs drop down as he approached, like a tiny queen on a ramshackle throne. Xochi liked his respectful tone and the phrase ‘one such as yourself’ gave her hope that she had perhaps found someone who recognised what she was, if not who. “I am Tetetoinnan Xochiquetzal-eh Tamoanchan.” It took her a moment to remember that her mother-tongue wasn’t received well in the New World, not even among the supernaturals. “Forgiveness,” she apologised, “the Human say it ‘Sho-Chi-Ket-Sal’. Say just ‘Xo’ if it is better for you.”

She rose from the bench and offered a little bow of her own as a matter of courtesy. The New World seemed to be made up of a dizzying array of peoples and customs, so Xochi had found it much easier to avoid offence by simply copying whoever she was dealing with. Her hair was already soaked and hung in long brown rats tails that had to be scraped back from her face when she was upright again. Before moving away from the bench she picked up her bag, a large brown battered leather thing, and hooked the strap over her head. Once her belongings were safely at her side she gave in to the urge to inspect the boy-shaped creature, treading a slow semi-circle.

“I sit here a long time, Al ah-waay. I come to eat and then I sleep but then I see your magic.”

Scarred green arms covered in bracelets peeped out from her coat sleeves as she made a sweeping crescent motion with her hands around Doyle’s torso. The jewellery rattled a little with her enthusiasm. In a bigger body Xochi would have interpreted her own behaviour as predatory, but the little goddess often took for granted that being 5 foot 4 with a cheery disposition made it difficult to look threatening.

“It is like dark water in light.” She added. “Very beautiful, good control. Are you high-priest in this city, Doyleturner? Or god, like me?”


[*Al ah-waay = Young (looking) sorcerer]

Doyle couldn't help but smile at her infectious demeanour, but as she gave her name, Doyle's eyes grew wide. "You... You are Xochiquetzal? The Goddess of fertility and beauty?" he asked softly, despite the fact he already knew the answer to his question. He smiled even wider even as she bowed to him. "I learned of you from my master. You humble me with your presence." The warlock's tone was reverant and respectful. She was a goddess, after all. He would have bowed to her again, but from Xo's own greeting, he wondered just how much modern culture she knew and knew how to react to. He didn't want her to have to lower herself before him, despite his master's voice ringing in his ears that his head shouldn't be higher than a god's.

Looking over the bag she picked up, Doyle couldn't help but try and guess what she had been doing and why she was in the city now. He allowed her to inspect him, though, standing still and unmoving.

Oh how precious she was, to think him anywhere near her equal. He was shocked that she had seen his magic, but not so shocked for it to show too much on his face. Her sweeping gesture, on someone bigger and more imposing, would have been predetory, almost offencive, but as it was, she was slgiht of build and not as imposing as he had thought a god to be. He tilted his head at the compliments and nodded once. "My magic is not as pure as it once was, my lady, but I have had several centuries to practice and disipline myself in controlling it. I am neither a high-priest, nor a God," Doyle added with an amused smirk. "I am not even of this world, to be truthful. But thank you, it is a rare occasion for someone to comment on my magic like that."

"My magic is not as pure as it once was, my lady, but I have had several centuries to practice and discipline myself in controlling it. I am neither a high-priest, nor a God," Doyle added with an amused smirk.

Lately, Xochi had tried not to make assumptions since she found herself to be invariably wrong. That said, the combination of Doyle’s smirk and an accent markedly different from anything else she’d encountered made her think perhaps she was missing a joke there.

"I am not even of this world, to be truthful. But thank you, it is a rare occasion for someone to comment on my magic like that.”

The idea of different planes of existence wasn’t foreign to Xochi. She had walked through lands no human would ever set foot on. Some had called them ‘Heavens’ but they were dangerous realms and the idea of someone as gracious as Doyle having to navigate the wildways was unsettling. She didn’t like how he seemed so remorseful at the thought of his magic’s purity either.

Although they’d only just met, Xochi couldn’t help but offer a conciliatory pat on the arm. “Do not let your heart be heavy at this.” She held out her hand to catch a little rain in her scarred palm before tipping it onto the pier decking. “Water is useless before mixing with earth. Less pure makes more beauty.”

She wiped her hands over her neck and face before sinking them into her hairline. Her fingers left a normal skin tone in their wake and when her hands emerged from the brown mass of hair they too were a human colour. “With so much water I make myself thirst.” She grinned. A clean drink was often the hardest thing to come by for free. She could taste the smog traces in rain water and public fountains were few and far between. The problem with navigating shops was that she couldn’t read the store signs. Many times she’d wandered into things like hardware stores or opticians by accident. She didn’t do much better with packaging or price labels either. “I have a small number of trade leaf, the… uh… the dollars. But I do not understand the merchant signs… Perhaps you could help me in this, Doyleturner, and share drink with me? I would like to hear of your birth-world and master.”

Doyle couldn't help but smile appreciatively, understanding her point but not feeling it. "But alas, my lady, beauty is in the eye of the beholder and many do not see past the black and white, into the many shades of grey that make up the order of the worlds." His words were heavy with regret and sorrow, but not towards himself - Doyle had spent long enough dwelling on his own mistakes to come to terms with them and accept them - but his sorrow was for those that were ignorant and turned to look the other way. Especially when things happened that they did not like. They followed blindly behind those that were equally as blind to the way things really were.
Normally only those that lived longer than the megre lifespan of an average human being could see that things were bigger than they could ever imagine. There is always a bigger picture to take into account, and they are all just pieces in the puzzle. Many of said pieces eing replaceable but not invalueble.

Her changing skin colour intruiged Doyle, and he followed the movement of her hands with his eyes, curiosity shining in his eyes. Was it an automatic response to something? Her powers tricking his eyes into thinking she wasn't green? Or was it something else entirely? He had no answers to any of those questions, but the mystery was fun to try and work out so Doyle kept his questions inside for now and simply observed her a little more.

"I would be delighted to join you for a drink," he said honestly, though with the hesitation that followed, a guarded look passed across his features. But it was gone a moment later and he smiled once more. "It may be easier for you to ask questions, rather than me just talking about my birth-world and my master. That was all so very long ago and I'm afraid my memory of that time is rather hazy in places," he told her. It was an honest agreement to what she'd asked, but where the preferred reading of his words was that his memory had faded over time, the reality was that he had wanted to forget and wipe all but the most important things from his mind. Xochi had, after all, asked to hear about the two most painful parts of his past.

"I would be delighted to join you for a drink." he said honestly, though with the hesitation that followed, a guarded look passed across his features. But it was gone a moment later and he smiled once more.

Xochi wasn’t entirely sure how to read the pause. “You may choose what we have...” she offered in an uncertain tone. Given her own way, Xochi preferred tea or beer but she’d happily drink whatever was put in front of her if that was all the sorcerer was worried about. Her fingers curled around the cuff of his jacket and she tugged in an almost childlike way, gesturing for him to walk beside her.

"It may be easier for you to ask questions, rather than me just talking about my birth-world and my master. That was all so very long ago and I'm afraid my memory of that time is rather hazy in places…"

The healer sensed an air of pain in Doyle’s manner but thought it a result of what he couldn’t remember rather than we he didn’t want to dwell on. Xochi was built to live forever but understood that when some humans had longevity thrust upon them they could find it… difficult.

“My son Topitzin was same...” She cheerily span out a story as best she could in her broken grammar, legs working almost double stride to stay level with Doyle. Topitzin was born about a thousand years ago. The humans realised the priest-king’s magic was keeping him alive no matter what they did and the Toltecs started worshipping her clever son as “Quetzalcoatl”. A child after her own heart, he abolished human sacrifice in Tula and oversaw an artistic renaissance there. But after a few centuries and several dead wives he’d not known quite what to do with himself, let some of his vital inner workings start to degrade. Xochi talked about how she’d tried to eek out a longer life for his last wife using her own blood and, as she coaxed Doyle into a little more back-and-forth, ended up segueing into anecdotes about some of the odder things her blood had been used for and the origins of some of her more unusually placed scars. Even the stories that others might have deemed sad or horrific Xochi related with the same enthusiasm as anything else since she deemed it all part of a rich learning experience. As they approached a coffee shop she recognised the logo and somehow got onto the topic of a chilli cocoa recipe.

Xochi was oblivious to the odd looks passers by shot her as she casually babbled about mixing her green blood with the bitter drink to feed plague victims during a 17th century smallpox epidemic, even though a lot of the humans had forgotten who she was by then. The little goddess eventually talked herself back round in a circle to the topic of Doyle‘s origins. “But you, Doyleturner, you are not from this Chicago and you are not from my lands and yet know of me when man here does not. I find this strange. Is your home very different to this, Al ah-waay? Are there gods there?”

One of her original roles had been to take confession of sins, listen to humans pour out their hearts and then burn the weight of their misdeeds, both figuratively and literally. Given the choice between asking awkward questions or steering away from painful topics, Xochi would always pick the former over the latter as a matter of principal.

When they reached something Xochi recognised as a café she stepped under the canopy, shaking her soaked hair as she beckoned the sorcerer to come and waste an afternoon with her.

[Slight edit of the May 6th post - Aaaand for the sake of Sorrow's sanity I think I’ll count that as a thread conclusion for now…]