13653/Falling down the Cracks

Falling down the Cracks
Date of Scene:	21 July 2021
Location:	Two Bridges (Chinatown), Manhattan
Synopsis:	Shamans can still be kind to the unprepared
Cast of Characters:	Askante, Vitali Svyatoslav

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Askante has posed:
Askante probably shouldn't have come here. It wasn't ready for this. It wasn't prepared. But lessons have to be learned sometimes, don't they? WHo knows what everyone sees, for it surely doesn't. There's a reasonable chance that people see a homeless bum, with mental health issues, ambling down the street, staring at the ground, pulling at his hair, draped in clothing that was born of yesteryear, muttering incomprehensibly at the cracks in the street. Not stepping on them. Seeing a black dog and crossing to the other side, being unable to pass a mechanical cat in a window without offering it a bit of red paper (Which involves it trying to FIND that red paper) all whilst looking lost and confused.

Many appear to be avoiding it, or muttering at it in determined cantonese, occasionally in thick new yorker cuss.

BUt some might see the tall, alien thing walking in a very similar manner to described above, avoiding. All. The. Cracks.

Vitali Svyatoslav has posed:
A trip to Chinatown has become something that the Siberian partakes of with some regularity. There are street vendors that have delicious food, and some of them are willing to barter with him even when he doesn't have money to buy goods with. He's wandered along some of the street vendors, much in the manner of one who is attempting to make a decision. It is a difficult decision, after all. So many things taste good! He crosses the street to the steamed bun vendor, someone that he's traded with before. He trades hand-carved buttons made of bone and wood, a half a dozen of each, and he's given a trio of steamed buns that are tucked into a paper bag before being handed to him. The eagle sitting on his shoulder clicks her beak and ruffles her wings a bit before snatching a lock of his hair into her beak.

His dark gaze happens to pass by and then return to the apparent homeless person, and he tilts his head a touch to one side. He doesn't have a lot of knowledge or understanding about mental health issues in order to recognize signs of that, but there's something that makes his attention remain. Perhaps it's that sense of being lost and confused that does it, or perhaps it's something else. His brow furrows a little bit, and then he starts to walk along the grass at the edge of the sidewalk, heading towards that very figure.

Askante has posed:
Meanwhile the homeless fellow has become stuck, staring at his feet, whilst a black dog that he couln't avoid, a small yappy type terrier mix, cornered him where there's a lot of clutter, off to the side of one of the smaller and narrower knock-off stores. Behind him, an old man has a ladder propped in the entire of the narrow alleyway, with plenty of space to go underneath it mind you... so that he can clean the apartment windows of the second story.

Tugging at his hair, Askante gestures a hand at the dog as it yaps at him, hissing at the small canine. Shooing. Hissing again. Then, he crouches, glares right into the animal's eyes and growls like he too were a dog. THe animal pisses itself and flees, tail tucked.

Vitali Svyatoslav has posed:
The predicament that the ladder poses is one that Vitali doesn't understand the reason for. His culture lacks many of the superstitions that exist in the Western world. He looks towards the dog with a bit of curiosity, then looks back to the ladder before his attention shifts again to the dog. He quietly watches the interaction between the fellow and the dog, and one of his eyebrows quirks up at the dog's reaction.

On his shoulder, Soraya makes a soft sound around that lock of hair that she has captive, and her feathers briefly slick down before fluffing up as she shakes herself off. The situation does lend Vitali time to be able to approach closer, and the delicious smell of the steamed buns travels along with him. "Are needing help?" Vitali asks, the offer genuine and sincere. His voice is accented with his native Russian, for his English is yet a work in progress.

Askante has posed:
The petrified animal does not look back, zooming on to whatever cubby it came from, to cower. Straightening up, the homeless man tugs at his hair, his sleeve, scatches at his elbow, mutters to himself and sidesteps, looking down at the cracks again, then the expanse of grass. Hopping over to it, there's a sudden and vigorous amount of gesturing over his right shoulder as if throwing salt in the devil's eye, when he has no salt in hand. Much in the way of pantomime.

Once there, he collapses onto his backside, panting and it's at this state of being that he's addressed by Vitali. The man looks up with very black eyes, hair spiked with matting and filth. Or spikes. Spines? He looks at the eagle, the man she sits on and gives a little whimpered yelp. A lot of words come tumbling out, but they sound like a foreign language, with a few familiar sounding inflections here and there. It's not English or Russian, for certain. It almost sounds inuktituk-siberakh, sounds desperate, then sounds frustrated. What the heck??

Vitali Svyatoslav has posed:
It's a string of unusual behaviour the likes of which Vitali isn't sure what to make of. He tilts his head a little bit to one side, taking in the very dark eyes first before looking over the rest of the appearance that can be better seen from this close. Soraya's wings slightly unfurl at the yelp, her feathers slicking, but she calms easily. Perhaps simply just from being on the man's shoulder, but there's something that seems more than that betwixt the pair.

Vitali lowers down to one knee, and he carefully sets the paper bag down on the ground before lifting his hands with his palms facing the fellow. Empty hands, no weapons, harmless. "Will not hurt," he says softly. "Can share food, give water?" he offers. Soraya shifts on his shoulder, then lightly hops from his shoulder to glide over to the grass and land there, folding her wings to her back. "Am not understanding words," he adds, apologetically. Then he gives his head a small shake, and when he speaks again, it's in Russian this time. "I am sorry, I do not understand. If you know it, I can speak in this language?" he offers in a soft tone.

Askante has posed:
The homeless man glances down at the buns as if he might burst. Reaching for one, he hesitates, draws his hand back and stares around himself a few times, before putting both hands on his head, clutching hair and whimpering. By now, people are actively avoiding this little patch of the street and someone MIGHT have called the authorities. It's a possibility, but likely this is not a priority kind of situation.

He stares at VItali for a long moment, then shrugs out of his coat, letting it fall to the floor. A gesture is made at it, then he spits three times over his left shoulder and puts the coat on the reverse way. There's then a stare, as if in the hopes this will make a certain sense.

Vitali Svyatoslav has posed:
There's a glance towards the buns in their paper bag, and Vitali reaches out to open the bag and then gently push it towards the fellow. He chooses to speak in Russian, since it seemed there might have been something that was understood by him using the language. "It is okay," he says softly, giving a small nod. "Eat, if you are hungry. I do not mind sharing, and if you want more then I can trade for more," he offers, his tone sincere and willing. He really doesn't mind sharing his food. He doesn't pay much attention at all to the others on the street further away, his attention instead completely on the fellow.

He watches closely as the fellow takes that particular series of actions, and one of his eyebrows quirks up. "You think that someone has cursed you," Vitali says softly. Shifting his position slightly, he lowers to his other knee so that he's kneeling near the fellow. "Do you know who did this to you?" he asks. "I will help you, if I can," he adds, giving a small nod.

Askante has posed:
Askante sighs. Comprehension seems to be a frustration on multiple fronts and the homeless man looks down at himself, before beginning to rummage through pockets. Or is it looking at rings on its fingers and charms that hang visible around its neck? It is not human, not remotely human...

...and the homeless man comes up with what looks like a small bird's skull from a pocket. It's been painstakingly carved with ancient cyrillic and smells very faintly of magic. The man looks at it, then up at Vitali, turning the bird's face toward himself, he opens the beak and mutters his incomprehensible babble at the skull, closing the jaw afterwards as if capturing the words. He then turns it about and faces Vitali with it, opening the jaw again.

"The place is a curse, this is not a very good way to talk, the bird can only hold a breath and no more."

Vitali Svyatoslav has posed:
There have been many times when Vitali has struggled with words to try to make himself understood. He's still learning English, and it's a trial to him on most days. He watches the rummaging that happens through the various and assorted pockets, but he doesn't say anything or make any attempt to stop it. It might not be human, but what he sees is human enough and... well, kindness and help aren't just for humans.

He seems quite patient, and there's a flicker of curiosity to his dark eyes when the bird skull is brought out. He looks briefly towards Soraya, who is also watching intently, and then his attention turns back to the fellow. And he's intrigued and interested and curious all at once when the bird skull releases words, when the magic is thus expressed. After the words are spoken, he gives a small nod. "We can go to somewhere else, if there is another place that is better for you to talk. I will follow you, if you wish?" he offers. "What will work best for you?"

Askante has posed:
Askante brings the bird skull back to its head and opens the jaw, to release what Vitali replied. It.... he... frowns and looks about at china town. Then the odd little ritual begins again. Muttermuttermutter, release: "I should not have come where there are so many, I don't know how to get out without breaking."

And then, to help explain, though this is a difficult thing, it points at the men, the women, the children, then up, gesturing at apartments, at the buildings, then in a twirl of fingers all around. It pulls a face, looking like its getting that monster of a headache again, grasps the side of its head and hair with the other hand and lets out a long, pained 'Nnnnaaaaaaaaaaaaah!'

Leaving the bird beak open on its palm, it.. he... puts a palm to its forehead and thumps a few times, sighing again, gesturing to the street, then along it, along to all the alleys, to the sewers and stairs down into the subway, even up, looking helpless.

Vitali Svyatoslav has posed:
The Siberian tilts his head slightly to one side at the next set of words. There's a flicker of understanding, as it's not so much the place as it is the volume or number of people that are here that's the problem. Or at least, that's what he perceives to be the problem, anyways. "Too many people," Vitali says softly. He is, still, speaking in Russian rather than reverting back to English. His Russian is, at least, entirely fluent.

"There are things that I can try, to see if they will help. I am not familiar with how you are affected by the people, but... water muffles sounds. I will make a water bubble around us, with air inside to breathe. My healing might help with the pain. I will try," he says softly. There's little he can do but try. He focuses his concentration for a moment, then makes a slight gesture with his right hand at the same time as he murmurs something under his breath. A bubble created from water a number of inches thick springs up around them both, slightly shimmering, slightly swirling, for water is ever in motion. After creating it, he watches the fellow to see if what he's done has seemed to help at all.

Askante has posed:
It's quieter at least, in the bubble of the water. It doesn't seem to have had any detrimental effect at least. The man looks around through the sphere, staring for a long moment, then cocking his head to the side. It speaks to the skull, releases the words "...I can still hear them all, though like I am under the sea, sorceror...walk with me away before I make them mad." That said, it closes the beak of the little bird's skull and places it in a pocket once again. Or in a pouch about its neck, hanging with a myriad others.

The homeless man looks at the bird, proffers a tip of the head in a mimicry of avian behaviour, then uncoils, reaching forth a hand to each living soul in the bubble. It nods, to Vitali and to Soraya, making a beckonning gesture with fingers curled.

Vitali Svyatoslav has posed:
Water is rather good at muffling sounds, which is a thing that Vitali has learned simply by using his abilities -- he can swim significantly far beneath the water's surface, with one of those abilities. He doesn't know if it muffles thoughts and feelings as well, since he doesn't have any means that allows him to do either, but he's heartened by the fact that it doesn't seem detrimental. He nods to the words, and a smile finds the corners of his lips. "Yes, it is a similar effect," Vitali affirms. "I will walk with you," he agrees with ease. "My name is Vitali, and Soraya is my eagle," he adds. Since the man seems in less pain, an introduction seems more in order at this point.

Soraya tilts her head slightly to one side, and then she dips her head towards the homeless man as she makes a soft chirp of sound. Vitali reaches out his right hand towards Soraya, his fingertips barely slipping down her back in a brief touch. Soraya looks to him, head tilted to one side, and then she steps easily to the homeless man's hand. If Vitali trusts, then for better or for worse, Soraya will also trust. Once she's settled, Vitali reaches out to pick up the steamed buns, still in their paper bag, and then he brings his other hand to place it in the hand which had been extended towards himself, and with the aid of it will come to his feet. The bubble will fluctuate and shift as it needs to in order to accomodate the additional height and will remain the same thickness as when it had first been created.

Askante has posed:
"Askante," -- a one word reply from the homeless fellow before he bows his head and breathes every little breath out, head tilted down. When he looks up again, his eyes are solid black, with a tiny distant star in their core being the only indicator of a focused gaze. The world bleeds a strange shade, like the entire of it is being viewed underwater, not just the bubble around them and it's much, much quieter... save for the whispers. The fellow nods, walking briskly with the pair, though each step seeps through the ground and leaves a fleeting imprint of feet; many strides in a few paces. They walk toward a wall, then straight though it, through all the people like water folks, through the goods, the electricity that tingles only, through concrete and iron and out.

They end up in a copse of trees in the great lawn of central park with the sun shining brighter again and only the bubble of Vitali's creation around them and now, well, it's impossible to unsee what was seen. Taken through wherever that was, stipped veils away as within the mind the mind sees freely.

The creature gently sets Soraya to her friend and partner when they are stood on soil and grass again, then crouches down to the ground hard, using two arms for balance and two to rub at its face and hug the end of its tail as it curls around ankles. After a little bit, it takes out the skull once again. "I apologize, I was not ready for so many people."

Vitali Svyatoslav has posed:
"It is good to meet you, Askante," Vitali says, giving a small nod. One of his eyebrows quirks up a touch at the midnight darkness of the other's eyes, a darkness offset by that brightness at the core. He glances briefly aside, towards the world beyond the water bubble, the world which seems different now than what it had been only moments ago. Soraya makes a soft chirp as she becomes aware of the quieter nature of things, and she lightly ruffles her wings at her back but remains settled on Askante's hand. Vitali walks with and next to Askante, paying attention to the feel of the world and their passage through it and the things upon it. It is somewhat reminiscent, to him at least, of venturing to the Spirit World. A spirit, after all, has less physical bounds imposed upon it.

Once they arrive to Central Park, Vitali recognizes the place -- he's been here before -- and his gaze turns to Askante. What was seen cannot be unseen, but it doesn't seem to have harmed the Siberian to see. "It reminded me of travelling through the Spirit World, your way of coming from there to here," Vitali says, a touch of curiosity to his voice.

Soraya looks to Askante and gives a soft chirp before half hopping and half stepping over to Vitali's shoulder to perch there anew. The Siberian lowers to one knee next to Askante, then lifts a hand to lightly touch his shoulder. "So many people can be overwhelming. I have a small idea of what it is like, though I think for you it is a much larger effect," he says, a smile touching the corners of his lips. Then he offers up the steamed buns. "Are you hungry?" he asks.

Askante has posed:
Askante recovers quite quickly, but only so far as it does not look horrendously taxed any more. It remains crouched, the quills of its head arching over the base of its spine, but flattened and calm. It turns the beak of the bird skull about, to listen to what was said and continues to do this throughout conversation, one breath at a time. A frustrating but apparently necessary means of communication, as its language is definitely not english or russian. It watches the eagle, looking mildly fond, if such translates easily to that face.

"I avoid the spirit, it always wants to keep me there." More muttering and skull turning. "That was the plane of the mind, which hungers a different way... but yes, I would share your bread." Turn, tweet tweet. It's like twitter, only with speaking and a skull, but you really do have to be punchy when you have only 125 characters. "You are a sorceror."

Vitali Svyatoslav has posed:
The set of the quills is noticed and observed, and Vitali settles to both knees a moment later. He seems rather calm and at ease, interestingly enough. He's seen spirits of a great many shapes and sizes and configurations, and so perhaps seeing Askante as it is doesn't really phase him a lot. Soraya tilts her head a bit to one side and then to the other side, studying Askante and seeming to be listening, which is quite accurate.

"The Spirit World is the only other one that I know, besides the real one," Vitali says. "What does the plane of the mind hunger for? Why does the Spirit World seek to keep you there? Are you a Spirit?" he asks, a touch of curiosity to his voice. He's been wondering about that latter question for a little while but simply kept it to himself until now. "I hope it is not rude to ask such questions," he adds. "They are all the chicken filling. Please, help yourself," he says, a smile coming easily to his features. He considers the last words that were said, and then he gives a small shake of his head. "Not exactly, although there likely are some similarities. I am a shaman," says the Siberian.

Askante has posed:
Tweet tweet tweet.

"I am Askante, what are the words?" the pause this time, is for thought. Will this translate properly? "Dybbuk, earthbound spirit, some call me." Another pause "I am not though, the best I think that there is, is to call me Daemon." It picks up a bun, sniffs it, hugs its knees, its tail, rests a palm on the floor and squeezes the food. Then it devours the bun in three short, sharp bites and bows its head to Vitali. "Spirit is not the right word, I am too old to just be that." tweet tweet "I was trying to understand what I feel, but it is a mad, mad world."

It gathers its coat about it, watches people ignoring the trio completely, or just glancing at a man and his eagle having a picnic with a buddy. Who knows? It plays with the end of its tail, again. "I have known many shamans." That sounded actually sad at the end.

Vitali Svyatoslav has posed:
There's a slight tilt of his head to one side as he listens, seeming entirely patient. "I have heard of earthbound spirits before," he says softly, a thoughtful note to his voice. "I have never met one before, or crossed paths with one, that I know of," he adds. "I have heard of Daemons as well. Never until now have I come upon one," he says, watching Askante. There's a smile that comes to his features as the bun is eaten, and he gives a small nod before choosing one of them for himself. He takes a bite of it, chewing as he considers what's been said. He takes a moment to look over the park before his attention goes back to Askante. Another bite of the steamed bun is taken, and he offers the last remaining one to Askante.

"Thoughts and feelings can become tangled easily, and it makes them hard to sort out. It is... different here, than it is in my home. Were you gone from the world for a while?" he asks. What others who look upon them might see, Vitali doesn't know or really give much thought to. "You sound sad. Do you miss them or did they not treat you well?" he asks, his curiosity tugged at once again.

Askante has posed:
"There are not many of us. Once more, now few. I am Fear." It doesn't occur to the creature that this is not something it ought to share, a hallmark of the time differential it might be experiencing. "This world fears all things, as if it has gone mad with it. I do not understand what I am feeling. There are those that fear talking itself. Fear looking in the eye. Fear a cloud-like nebula of being a human being. As I walked through that place, I could feel a thousand fears of those with slanted eyes, those who stand in one side of political rule. Fear their own food. What has the world become??" the last 'tweet' sounds incredulous.

"When I walked the world last, the west was won and lost. I went to sleep in a cavern just west of the land of the dog eaters. I awoke beneath a hostelery, amidst an earthquake and the Gift of Crow was gone. The Son of Yahweh found me and is helping me to find the Gift of Crow again. This is why I cannot talk to you without the mockingbird's tongue."

Vitali Svyatoslav has posed:
"I am sorry that your numbers have grown few," Vitali says softly, a bit apologetic even though he himself had nothing to do with such a thing. "Many people, I think, allow fear to drive them, to herd them along through life. There are a great many people, and I expect they have a great many fears. Fear of being not accepted, fear of being rejected, fear of things of all shapes and sizes, from animals to plants to other people. Fear of so many different things," he says softly. He gives his head a small shake, then. "I could not say what the world has become. I have been in this city for a little more than five cycles of the moon. Before that, I lived far away from here. What happened with the rest of the world was lost beneath the need to survive," Vitali says. He wasn't formally taught, he didn't attend 'school', as such.

"I am not familiar with the land of the dog eaters, I am sorry," Vitali says. His geography isn't exactly the greatest, as far as his knowledge goes. "Perhaps your Gift of Crow was buried in the earthquake, or taken before by others who came to the cavern while you still slept? I am glad that you have help to be able to find it again. At least there is the mockingbird to allow us to speak. If I had a gift of magic that would give you the gift of languages, then I would use it for you," he says, giving a small nod.

Askante has posed:
The Daemon seems thoughtful for a beat or two. "Maybe your people remember, there are so few that do." It looks at the skull a moment, then lets it do its work once more. "It was never meant to be like this."

It might have been about to say more, saving that at that precise time, little motes of light sparkle on its black scales and it stands itself tall, unfolding and unfolding to its full seven foot, staring at its limbs, limned with starlight. "Oh, damn it!" And then with that exclamation, it explodes in a shower of darkness of all things, leaving poor Vitali alone in central park with an eagle. There are worse fates. But the smell of incense is strong in the air and all the birds (except Soraya of course) within a half kilometer radius, take flight. Pigeons, hawks, sparrows, starlings, robins all.... flee the vicinity of where fear vanished.