Not a Normal Girlie-Girl

[Molly Quincannon] [[Why do they always make me roll WP at the start of these things?]]
Dice Rolled:[ 6 d10 ] 1, 1, 4, 6, 6, 10 (Failure at target 8)

[Nocturne] The scene was like something out of a movie. The kind of historical romance where wealthy socialites went to fancy parties and engaged in their little games of love and deception. Molly was standing at the outskirts of a huge, domed ballroom. The architecture was stunning, if a little old-fashioned. White marble floors. Huge, sparkling chandeliers hung from the ceiling, and flowing blue silk curtains draped over the windows, rippling when people passed by beneath them. In the center of the room, the floor had been cleared of furniture, leaving a wide open space that had been designated as the dance floor.

Here is where most of the people were gathered, swirling about in pairs as jazz music played in the background. It wasn't clear where the music was coming from. No band seemed to be in sight. And an electronic sound system... that wouldn't have fit, here. Once could know, simply by the outfits of the dancers, that such things did not belong in this world. The men were dressed in old-fashioned suits. Sexy but timeless. More distinctive were the women, with their short haircuts and flapper dresses. Some of them glittered in the light from the chandeliers. All of them seemed to be having a wonderful time, cutting loose to the music in the way of people who'd either had a few too many glasses of champagne, or simply knew how to properly enjoy life.

Further out from the dance floor, there were tables and plush chairs. A long banquet was laid out next to one of the walls, showcasing what seemed to be hundreds of elaborate, delicious-looking foods. Some of the party guests had gathered around here, laughing at a story that one of them - an old man with a ridiculous handlebar mustache - was telling in a very dramatic fashion.

If Molly happened to look down, she'd see that she, too, was dressed for the occasion, in a simple but flattering dress made of white silk and lace. The edges of the lace on the skirt glittered when the light struck. Her hair was done up at the top of her head, with a delicate white feather sticking out. The entire room smelled like a kind of ambrosia. Champagne and lavender.

No one here was recognizable. Except for one.

Nathan.

He was standing in the group around the old man telling the story, listening with rapt attention. Unlike the others, he did not have a glass of wine or champagne in his hand. (There seemed to be so much of it. A prohibition party perhaps - gleefully flaunting the rules because they could.) He was dressed in a black suit with a matching fedora. An unusual look for him, perhaps, but it seemed to suit him.

[Molly Quincannon] Well, of course Nathan doesn't have a glass of anything alcoholic in his hand. That would be silly.

That's more or less the first reaction, once she sees him. The rest can more or less summed up to great Google, what a place! She's not entirely sure about the white, mind you. Still, she wears black all the time and it does nothing for her; maybe white's an improvement. She does tend to prefer red or green, though.
........You care why?
The inner voice gets an equally internalised shrug. Because she can, that's why.

That gets more or less shoved aside; one of the things Molly's generally good at is going with the flow. Besides, she's curious about the story the old party's telling. Must be something to have Nathan paying attention in a way that an onlooker would notice. So she makes her way over there, finding herself a place near enough to the one person she recognises (and then some). Catches his eye if she can, and smiles at him, but doesn't interrupt. It's bad enough she's going to miss the beginning of this story; seems a shame to make anyone miss the middle or end on her account.

[Nocturne] The story, as it turned out, was a hunting tale. The mustachioed man had just been back from Africa, where he'd been hunting with his friends. He was presently conveying a scenario in which the group's guide had been required to dive into a very dangerous watering hole to rescue one of their party members, who had gotten so drunk that day that he'd stripped off all his clothes and wandered right into the watering hole for a swim.

The crowd laughed and clinked their champagne glasses together. And that was when Nathan turned and saw Molly, his face breaking into a shy but delighted smile. "I was waiting for you!" He looked her up and down, briefly, in an appreciative manner. "Oh, you look... beautiful."

And he meant it. That much was obvious. You could see it in his eyes. When he held up his hand, there was a long-stemmed red rose between his fingers. This he held out to her as a gift. "I got this for you." And for a moment there was uncertainty, as if he expected her to laugh or refuse the gift. "Would you like to dance?"

[Molly Quincannon] The remainder of a story got a laugh (just as well it hadn't gone in for the actual shooting-and-killing-things bit; Molly? Not so much a fan) ... and then Nathan. The compliment gets a shy smile and a duck of her head along with the murmur of "Thank you", though...
Nathan? Shy? What?

The flower ... well, she'd never admit it to another soul but her heart skipped a beat, then cranked up to the kind of RPMs reserved for hardcore techno at that. "It's beautiful," she says. "Puts me to shame. Could you ... in my hair? You're taller and I'd only make a mess of it."
Although...
Uncertainty? Nathan? Seriously, WHAT?
But whatever's going on here, probably best to just enjoy it while it's happening because this is kind of fun.

And then he asks her to dance. Which is all well and good, because at least she can. "That would be lovely."
What the hell just came out of my mouth?
Never mind; to the dance floor! And a question, because however she's managing the girlie thing, she's still Molly. "Enjoying the party?"

[Nocturne] Molly asked if he could put the flower in her hair, and Nathan happily obliged, breaking off most of the stem so that the beautiful, elegant blossom could be tucked neatly into the elegant knot at the top of her head, replacing the white feather that was there previously.

"There. Perfect." This time his smile was less uncertain. He even winked at her, a little bit of flirtatious mirth showing in his eyes. Enjoying the party? she asked. And he said, "It was a bore until you came along."

And then he was leading her out onto the marble floor, amidst the other couples, and the song shifted from a lively jazz affair to something softer and more romantic. Strings playing a slow, beautiful melody. Some of the other couples left to make room, and Molly would find, after a time, that the rest had fanned out to leave them space, as if they were the favored guests at an important occasion. And they danced, her and Nathan. He held her as they spun in carefully orchestrated circles, waltzing in perfect time with the music. The scent of the room was heady - added to as it was by the perfumed flower in her hair. And everything seemed to sparkle so brightly.

At one point, when Molly glanced upward, toward that beautiful, domed ceiling, she'd notice a girl sitting in the chandelier. It was hard to make her out, because of the light, but from the look of her she was somewhere between 14 and 16, and wearing a dress exactly like the one that Molly had on. She looked different in it though - more waif-like. And her hair was long and golden-blond. The girl was perched quietly, observing the scene below. Watching Molly and Nathan dance.

And just then, Molly would feel something tug ever-so-lightly at her hair. When she looked to see what it was, she'd find another familiar face. Jarod was standing there in a suit rather similar to Nathan's (though without the hat,) and he had Molly's rose in his hand, bringing it to his nose to smell the petals. He didn't say anything. Just smiled. And if anything, he looked even more handsome here, but also more sinister, as if he were conjuring some devilish plan in his head at that very moment.

Nathan seemed... unhappy about this, and stopped dancing. "Give that back."

[Molly Quincannon] Oooooooh no. There is a point at which the whole girlie thing is just not going to cut it, and Jarod - well, yes, gorgeous, fine, whatever but he's not the one who delivered the Gun-Butt of Chivalry to Molly's head (about where he'd put the rose, in point of fact), nor did he go through gun-blazing, Qlippothic-magic hell to save her from death or worse. He's pretty, is Jarod, no doubt about it, but that's ... really not the important thing, is it? Nathan's got looks and heart, and Jarod's is yet untested. And anyway, it's a flower.
But ... he gave it to me and I want it...

"You're really going to throw a downer on this really nice party over a flower? You can buy those at any flower stand for ten bucks a dozen, you know, Jarod. And why is no one curious about the teenager in the freakin' chandelier?"

[Nocturne] Evidently, this oddity was not something that either of the two men (or, for that matter, anyone at the party) felt was worthy of notice. There was no indication that any of them had seen her, and neither Nathan or Jarod seemed to respond to her comment about the girl at all. The girl herself, however... she smiled shyly (in a manner that was almost eerily similar to the way that Nathan had smiled earlier) and lifted her hand to give a little wave.

But it was difficult to focus on her when here were two men - one of whom she knew and cared about, and one of whom she'd had at least a minor flirtation with once upon a time - who seemed rather intent upon causing a stir. Both Nathan and Molly voiced dissent to the dark-haired Disciple's flower-stealing ways, but Jarod just kept smiled and turned on his heel, making off with the rose as he headed toward the banquet table. Nathan, now more than a little agitated, shouted after the other man's retreating form. "Give it back now!"

But of course, he didn't. And then Nathan was holding a gun, and a shot rang out that echoed and reverberated across the giant ballroom, making the chandeliers shake.

A couple of crystals fell from them and bounced on the floor next to where Molly stood.

Jarod fell. And the rose fell. And he lay there, motionless and silent, as blood pooled around his prone body.

If Molly happened to look around then, she'd notice that no one else was in the room with them any longer. Just her, and Nathan, and Jarod. And the girl in the chandelier.

[Molly Quincannon] There are no words. There are no WTFs in the world enough for this. Oh, sure, there are questions, but they've more or less bottlenecked and they're all pretty much pointless at this stage anyway. A thing has happened. She has not got the power to take it back. (Not yet. One day. Not yet. But soon. Damnit, soon.) She does not know entirely what is going on here, but there's one thing she does know, at this point.

"...........Kibo's shaven balls, my subconscious is a fucked-up thing."

At which point she turns her head back up to the young lady in the chandelier. "And just what in the Great Digital Beyond are you supposed to be, anyway? Because the voyeuristic thing is really psychotic, okay?" No, she's not talking to Nathan just yet. What is there to say beyond the things he would, were he the Nathan she knows, know she was thinking anyway? Right now, she can't cope with "my maybe shot that guy I flirted with over drinks one night over a fucking rose", so she'll deal with kiddie-in-the-chandelier.

[Nocturne] Nathan had shot Jarod. Over a rose.

But of course, it wasn't really Nathan. And Jarod wasn't really Jarod. None of this was real. But it felt real. At least, in the way that incredibly vivid dreams always did. Almost too real, really. As if the lights were too bright, the smells too intoxicating, the colors too vibrant. Unable to fully process what had just happened, Molly asked the girl to provide some insight - at least into her own existence. But the girl didn't answer. Instead she vanished, and when she reappeared, she was standing in the pool of blood that slowly seeped from Jarod's body and grew steadily larger. She frowned, as if this were something vaguely upsetting, but she couldn't quite figure out why. Then she bent down and touched the blood with her fingertip, lifting it to her nose (to smell it) and then to her lips (to taste it.)

Suddenly her eyes widened. ...Oh no. Except her lips didn't move. She didn't speak the words so much as... project them, somehow, so that they echoed around the now-empty ballroom.

Nathan was gone. His disappearance hadn't been noticed. Only that one moment he'd been there, and the next... not. Molly wouldn't have much time to register this, though, because the girl spun on her heels and bolted away from Jarod's body as if she expected him to rise from the dead or something equally horrific. Which... was pretty much exactly what happened.

Only the thing that leaped up from the blood... that wasn't Jarod. It was a huge black panther, much larger than any real predator had a right to be. Like something out of another time and place, long before people existed. The panther's eyes were solid black, flat onyx that somehow refused to reflect the light. And blood dripped from its fur as it pulled back its lips and snarled, tail lashing back and forth as it stalked menacingly toward where Molly stood.

And somewhere, the girl screamed. Run!

[Molly Quincannon] [[Shooting the Jarod-panther-thing]]
Dice Rolled:[ 6 d10 ] 4, 7, 8, 9, 10, 10 (Success x 5 at target 6)

[Molly Quincannon] "Ohyouhavegottobefuckingkiddingme ... why can't I just have Rapunzel dreams like normal girlie-girls-in-denial?"

Well ... because she's Molly, that's why.

All the while she's saying that, she's picking up the gun that Nathan shot this beastie with the first time (While he was still Jarod or at least looking like Jarod and oh what the fuck who cares at this point?) and shooting it again. This is not particularly hard. Nathan was the one who taught her to shoot, after all.

[Nocturne] [WP - can we dodge the bullets?]
Dice Rolled:[ 10 d10 ] 1, 2, 2, 4, 6, 7, 8, 9, 10, 10 (Success x 3 at target 8)

[Nocturne] The girl told her to run. But... no, Molly was not a normal girlie-girl. Molly was Molly.

And Nathan was Nathan, so of course he'd have a gun. And of course it would be there, just waiting for her to pick it up. Molly's own certainty of this fact was probably the reason that it was there, but she didn't have time to wonder about that. This was how dreams went, after all. And there was this black, primordial beast about to leap at her and tear out her throat.

She lifted the gun at the same moment that the panther jumped into the air, and although it saw the gun and twisted to the side, her shot hit its mark, causing the cat's chest to burst open in a spray of blood. Not normal blood this time though. This blood was as black and reflectionless as the creature's eyes. As if everything it touched disappeared beneath it. Liquid nothing. A void.

Molly wouldn't have much time to contemplate this though, because the panther's prone body fell on top of her in a great, heavy heap of fur and muscle and blood and claws. It knocked her to the ground, pinning her underneath it, but further attack did not occur. Instead it shuddered, and opened its mouth to pull in a breath that bubbled sickeningly from punctured lungs. Lips pulled back, and it bared its fangs, touching them to the side of her face. But it didn't bite. Instead, it uttered a strange, rumbling whimper. And then it lay still.

The room gradually receded. Into blackness. Into nothing.

And that was all there was.