Chicago Valentine
Mordo sneered, adjusting the collar of his shirt and keeping a careful eye on the average looking pit bull at his heel. The dog was holding up under the glamor well enough, though Mordo's magic couldn't quite obliterate the subtle aura of dread that surrounded Cerberus. Still, it was enough to walk the streets, and that's all Baron Mordo needed.
"Do you sense it, brute?" Mordo asks Cerberus, pulling him down a very particular alley, scrubbed clean in the mundane reality, but to eyes awake to the spiritual world, well. The blood that spilled on the St. Valentine's Day Massacre could never really be cleaned up. The Baron waits a few moments, and then idly pulls a paper rose from the brim of his hat. A flick of the wrist lights it on fire; a simple way to pacify the angry spirits that still haunt this part of the city. The dog moans, as if slowly coming under the effects of some sort of inhibiting drug, but Mordo does not allow it to rest, eyes glimmering in anticipation. "One of the breeding pits of the disease that infects urban humanity. London would, perhaps, be stronger..." But Mordo was risking enough already. No need to invite failure.
Slowly, softly, from between the bricks that keep the Windy City together and the layers of asphalt that hide her secrets, it comes trickling out and bubbling up. Blood. Fresh blood, first highlighting the mortar between the gray-red bricks, but steadily forming some sort of shape, a sinister design that only the Master of the Demonic Arts can fully appreciate. "Steady, beast. You'll be home soon."
"Do you sense it, brute?" Mordo asks Cerberus, pulling him down a very particular alley, scrubbed clean in the mundane reality, but to eyes awake to the spiritual world, well. The blood that spilled on the St. Valentine's Day Massacre could never really be cleaned up. The Baron waits a few moments, and then idly pulls a paper rose from the brim of his hat. A flick of the wrist lights it on fire; a simple way to pacify the angry spirits that still haunt this part of the city. The dog moans, as if slowly coming under the effects of some sort of inhibiting drug, but Mordo does not allow it to rest, eyes glimmering in anticipation. "One of the breeding pits of the disease that infects urban humanity. London would, perhaps, be stronger..." But Mordo was risking enough already. No need to invite failure.
Slowly, softly, from between the bricks that keep the Windy City together and the layers of asphalt that hide her secrets, it comes trickling out and bubbling up. Blood. Fresh blood, first highlighting the mortar between the gray-red bricks, but steadily forming some sort of shape, a sinister design that only the Master of the Demonic Arts can fully appreciate. "Steady, beast. You'll be home soon."