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Chapter Text

“I call the first meeting of the Cooperation of Dread Powers Initiative to order!” Nikola said through unmoving teeth, lowering themself off of pointe and into a seat at the head of the table.

”And hopefully, the last meeting,” interjected Rayner, leaning back in his seat. A wave of darkness followed him as he moved, swallowing up the light that Nolan seemed to emit from the spot beside him.

”I suppose that depends on your outlook, Rayner. You always were a tad gloomy and… dark!” Nikola paused for a laugh track that seemed to rumble from their own torso. “Personally, I find that this collaboration would only be improved by several meetings!”

From his spot in the corner, Peter Lukas sighed and looked at where the laughter was presumably coming from. “Really, Nikola? Must you do that?”

”I think it’s fun,” Raymond Fielding said around a cigarette. “A little spooky, sure, but who isn’t at this table, Pete?” He adjusted the string figure between his oddly bent fingers.

”It’s Peter,” He replied, sighing again. Lukas watched as the spiderweb figure transformed into a whale-like shape with a few smooth tugs. Fielding shrugged, as if the distinction didn’t matter to him.

”I’m in agreement with Nikola. About the meetings, not… the laughter.” Nolan looked at his companion and sighed, lighting a finger and reaching over to burn a hole in the heart of the string creature. Raymond sputtered and dropped it, mumbling something about Nolan being unfair to him.

”As am I! I think this could be quite fun!” From the doorway, Simon Fairchild entered, bright blue suit practically blinding. He sat beside Rayner’s plus one (a plump dark skinned woman he addressed only as Dominguez) and winked at her. She looked away quickly.

”You’re late,” Jonah said, looking down at Simon over ornate gold glasses frames.

”’Fashionably late’ is the new ‘on time’, you should know that by now, Jonah!” Simon leaned an elbow on the table.

Jonah huffed, adjusting his collar. “It’s Richard now, if we must use first names, Fairchild.”

”I still think the new body is stupid,” Rayner mumbled to his plus one. “Devoted to a power of all-seeing, and he needs spectacles?”

”They’re for appearances!”

”And how frequently are those appearances at your optometrist’s?”

”Now you see here—“

”I am seeing here! Better than you apparently—“

”Boys!” Ms. Dominguez spoke for the first time in the meeting, her voice loud and commanding. “Can we stay focused, please?” They both mumbled their agreements. “Thank you. Now, Orsinov, I’m afraid I’m out of the loop on this plan of yours. Care to explain?”

”Oh, let me tell you! You see, we have all been running around, foiling each other’s plans for the end times! Wouldn’t it be so much more fun if we worked together and made a more powerful version of all these blasted rituals!”

”But… isn’t the whole point to see who’s the most powerful?”

”I’ve never seen much point in there being a point,” Nikola said, her grin fading slightly. “When the Change comes, whichever Power has the most followers and victims will have the most power.”

”Terminus will always win, of course. Everyone dies, in the end,” Fairchild added, “but it’s fun to compete for second. Like… talent agents, trying to swallow up as many people as we can into our cause before the set date of the ritual. Which is…?”

”October 18th, 2018,” Magnus answered.

“I’ll inform some of the others. Amherst, Thorpe… Is it Herbert? Or is that his first name?” Fielding somehow had acquired another string, and had made a spiderweb again, which was glowing faintly.

”As in Trevor Herbert? That’s correct, yes.” Nolan’s fingers traced the edges of the table, scorching them.

”Yuck! Not really a fan of him,” Nikola said.

”If we’re all going to be working together, then that doesn’t really matter.”

”I suppose you’re right, Peter.” They smiled wider, mouth still not opening. “So… I think that settles everything?”

Rayner stood. “Everything, except for the fact that I already said I wasn’t interested. I’ll complete my ritual long before then.”

”Without all the Powers, you’ll never truly succeed,” Jonah replied.

”Then I fail a million times over, until 2018 actually comes! Until then, I’m not throwing in the towel so we can have little meetings over tea and act friendly. Come along, Dominguez.” She followed in his shadow, not daring to look at the others as they sat in shock. The door shut firmly behind them. Simon was the first to speak.

”Well… That’s one group out of the running. Shall we place bets?”

Chapter Text

Simon Fairchild looked up at the skyscraper before him. Concrete, glass, and stainless steel stared back; a marvel of human creation. A mere reach at the vast blue beyond. He smiled widely, swept the snowflakes off his shoulders, and made his way inside.

The building was headquarters for some telemarketing scam, but its purpose didn’t matter to him. What did matter was one specific person under their employ, a young woman named Harriet. She had been the one to call him, and he had to admit, he was impressed. Whether it was dedication to her job or the exact opposite, she had stayed on the phone with him long after he had told her he had no interest in whatever she was selling, and kept up impressively well with his telephoned musings on the meaninglessness of existence. She wasn't even freaked out by it. It was certain; Harriet would make a perfect avatar, and he suspected she wouldn't need much convincing.

Simon very quickly stopped his plotting when he saw Peter Lukas speaking to a receptionist at the desk. What was that scamp doing here? He waited, somewhat impatiently, for the man to finish his conversation, then sidled up to him, grinning like a madman.

"Hello, Lukas! I must admit, this isn't the sort of place I'd expect to find... your kind in." He whispered the last part, looking around with large dramatic gestures, more like a cartoon animal than a man. "What's a handsome fellow like you doing in a dump like this?"

He pressed his arms closer to his sides to avoid accidentally touching Simon as the smaller man launched himself at him. "Working."

"Certainly not for yourself! This sort of thing is the opposite of Lonely! Or Vast, even. It's so invasive and irritating..." He gasped. "Are you here on Jonah's behalf?"

Peter's body language replied affirmatively to his statement far more than his grunt of a response. Simon had suspected that Lukas had begun developing feelings for his colleague (something that seemed so inevitable with his lack of socialization and Jonah's invasive testing of boundaries), but he hadn't realized just how quickly Peter was willing to step out of his comfort zone for just a touch of the love he was starved of.

"I see..." Simon smiled. "Well, I'm warning you and Jonah that I don't think you'll find what you're looking for here. Lots of misery, sure, but not fear. People don't pay enough attention to telemarketers to really be afraid of what they're saying." He shrugged. "That's my two cents, take them if you'd like."

Lukas grunted again, more an exhale than a sound. Icy fog trailed out of his mouth, slower than the quick huff should have allowed. Simon knew that warning sign; Peter had been social just a tad too long, and would rapidly become volatile. "Then what are you doing here?"

Simon was impressed; Peter's tone of voice was almost civil. "Oh, I had a delightful chat with one of the employees here about skydiving. I think I may be able to convert her to my cause, if I can only get her to quit..." He smiled. "Still, I shan't bore you with the details." Peter's chilling sigh of relief indicated he had somehow made it through this interaction with his friendship unscathed. He counted his blessings there; it was a rare treat to be considered a friend of a Lukas, and yet here he was.

"Right... I suppose I'll leave you to that then." Peter eyed the exit. "I'll... I'll tell Richard you say hello."

"Oh, please do." Simon waved as Peter exited the building. Brilliant. Now the place was his to collect victims from (and perhaps some avatars, if his talk with Harriet went well).

Chapter Text

"You know, one of these days, I'm gonna figure out your scheme with Agnes."

Arthur removed the cigarette from his mouth and turned to face Raymond. Ashes drifted from the lit end to the carpet beneath his feet, and he watched as Raymond's eyes followed them.

"Scheme? I'm afraid I don't know what you mean," he replied.

Raymond rolled his eyes (his main pair, anyways) and leaned back on the headboard. "Don't play games with me, Arthur."

"Sorry, too close to your brand?" He turned away again, leaned over the end of the bed, and took a puff.

A sigh from the other man. "She's changing. You can tell me it's puberty all you want, but even being on the rag's never made her this temperamental. Something's coming, and I suspect you know what it is." Arthur watched the shifting shadow of the man on the floor as he reached for the glass on the nightstand. "I just hope it doesn't tear her away from me."

"You see, that's your problem, Fielding-"

"Raymond-"

"-your problem," he repeated, "is that you get too attached. You've always known she was going to leave eventually. She's not your daughter."

"She could have been!" The bed shifted behind Arthur, indicative of Raymond rising in anger. He didn't turn around, just pictured how he thought the other man looked; messy auburn curls pushed forward by the spindly legs now protruding from his back, lip curled to reveal a fang. Monstrous and lively and real. A version of Raymond he refused to look at. "She could have had a father- hell, she could have had two- but you wouldn't let her get close."

"You don't understand."

"Then help me to understand." A gentle hand on Arthur's back. He didn't flinch at how hot Arthur's skin had gotten. Didn't slink away like a wounded animal, as lovers in the past had.

Arthur sighed. "If she had gotten too close, she would have had to kill you. It would be the only way to prove her legitimacy as our Messiah."

"Oh."

"Oh," Arthur repeated.

"You didn't want her to kill me?"

"Don't ask me that. You know I'm not allowed connections outside of the Cult."

"That answer betrays your affection, my flame-"

"Raymond...," he said, barely above a whisper. "Please."

"Okay." Raymond's finger traced complex patterns along Arthur's spine, the waxy skin giving way to his touch and leaving streaks. "Okay," he repeated, quieter.