abandon all hope -- OPEN

[PERDITA CASTLEBON]

[atrb=border,0,true][atrb=style,padding-left:16px; padding-top:0px; padding-right:0px; padding-bottom:0px; background-image:url(http://i51.tinypic.com/2nbr3oi.jpg) ] with your halo slipping down atrocious stories now you stand reborn before us all - - - - - - - - - - - - - - NOVEMBER 22, 2008 She knew that she shouldn't be taking the time for a sight seeing side trip such as this. It was only a few days time until the first night of the full moon and she had not yet secured herself a haven for the three night's duration that she would need to have herself locked securely away from anyone that she might hurt. This was not one of the towns normally on her route of world travel. She did not have a hold prepared; be it the an abandoned basement in a warehouse district, an actual dungeon in an old castle or monastery, or a cavern with walls thick and deep enough for her to secure the chains of silver worked steel that rested in the saddle bags of her motorcycle. Perdita had learned quite a few tricks over the hundreds of years that she had suffered with her curse when it came to keeping herself contained. When she was in a place long enough, the haven would be secured with silver coated doors and hallways, making it more painful to risk escape than frustrating to stay within for the beast. Of course she was not always capable of making such a sturdy haven; at one point she'd had to resort to paying off a worker of a silver mine to collapse a dead end tunnel while she was trapped inside, to be rescued several day's afterwards. She did what she had to, to protect the world from herself. Which made it all the more unreasonable for her to be making this venture. Yet here she was. St. Peter's Catholic Church had stood the test of time well. It was one of the first that had been built, officially affirmed and blessed by the Roman Catholic Pope himself over a hundred year's ago. It should have held no special significance to her. She had never served here, she had fled from her duties to the Catholic Church and its ferver hundreds of years before this place had been built. She had not watched a baptism of a loved one, or observed the last rites of a beloved friend here. It was, or should have been... just another church. Even the Saint to whom the sanctuary was sanctioned held no particular significance to her. St. Peter, the so called Prince of the Apostles, one of the most well known martyrs of the ages, suffering his death at the hands of the Romans with grace bequeathed of his love for the son of God, begging to be crucified upside down, finding himself not worthy of sharing the same death as his lord and Master.... He was the Saint of craftsmen, of bakers and builders, of cobblers and fisherman, of the papacy and the holy seat of the Pope himself.... but not of anything that she had ever been or ever would be. And yet, still, here she was. She had not even known that the church would be on her route as she traveled through another city with another name, another day and another hundred miles behind her. She was not fervent or faithful enough any more to mark each church, every sanctuary, cathedral and monastery as she once might have. It was just another building. Beautiful, perhaps; with its crafted spires and is thick masonry walls and the intricate and gilded windows that shone like glass as the last of the day's sunlight wavered through them, lighting the pews and the aisles with gem hued light. Candles glittered, flickering with the airy drafts that such cathedrals always had, no matter how well secured the windows and doors were, and the scent of patchoulli and heated wax washed over her all too familiar as she passed through the double doors that were propped open by small triangles of wood, granting any that would enter permission to step into the church. How long had it been since she had stood in a church? How long since she had dipped her fingertips into the basin of holy water at the entrance and made the motion of a cross to bless herself, and fortify herself against the sins of man and flesh? She did not do these things now, but she could not help but wonder. A hundred years? Perhaps less, perhaps more... she lost track of time so easily. She felt her eyes drift close as she stood at the front of the church in front of the large wooden and brass crucifix. So much that was familiar, and yet where was the comfort in it? Where was the sense of protection and strength that should have filled her, once a tempered and forged and faithful servant and soldier of this God? Gone. Fled, from her, as she had fled, abandoning her vows and her faith, abandoning the Church of Man that had tainted what should have been pure, and blessed, twisting it into something for it's own devises. She shouldn't be here. She no longer belonged here, in this temple, in this once holy place. So why was she? NOTE ME IF YOU WANT TO JOIN IN. WORDS 880. OUTFIT. TEMPLATE BY OH SO COOPERNATURAL ! @ CAUTION.

[ANASTASIA SIDOROV]

A quick trip to New York city. Anastasia was happy she'd finally been allowed out of the Bureau. To her, it was the proof of trust, and a sign that they considered her 'clean' enough to be autonomous. It had been a while since she'd stopped taking all the drugs that had messed her life and mind up so much, and she felt remarkably free. Not the artificial feeling brought about by substances, but a feeling of genuine freedom and elation. It was as if a huge weight had been taken off her shoulders.

She'd roamed around the city for a while, keeping well away from her old, disreputable haunts. While she was in the city, she went to see the only friend of hers who'd gone to rehab, Paul Foubard. Like her, he'd dropped into the very depths of drug addiction, and had managed to pull himself out of it. With the day drawing to an end, Anastasia decided it was time for her to head back to the Bureau.

Unfortunately, however, the city's traffic jams had made her miss her train back, and she found herself out on the streets of New York with not even enough money to pay for a taxi. Thankfully, she had a working mobile phone with credit on it, and was able to send her godmother Ludmila a text message asking for help and explaining the situation. In the mean time, she was forced to find shelter somewhere, as it was starting to pour with rain.

After roaming the streets on foot and getting soaked to the bone, Anastasia finally came upon a worthy refuge: a church that was still open. She'd slept in churches before. Priests didn't seem too inclined on kicking out a homeless girl back in the day, and she doubted that had changed much.

She ran over to the heavy, wood and steel doors and went into the church, shutting the door behind her quietly. She glanced around the building's interior, looking for signs of anyone who might decide to evict her. The only source of light seemed to come from candles, which plunged the church into a haunting semi-darkness that was nonetheless comforting to the exhausted Anastasia.

It was then that she saw a female figure standing silently in front of the church's altar, alone. Anastasia stayed stock still for a few minutes before slowly making her way down the small lane between the pews. Now that she wasn't running any more, she was also starting to feel the cold, and she began to shiver. She decided it was best not to disturb the woman, and Anastasia headed quietly for one of the pews that lay out of the candle light.