Mutants and Gods, See OOC to join.

[Anzu]

The Ascension: it was the perfect place to meet, where no one would bother a few converts to Anzu's cause. When he was beyond this place's walls, no mask was worn. Why would a member of the Locatellis need to wear a mask? They had nothing to hide, after all. They were simple businessmen - very rich businessmen, but simple nonetheless. They were pillars of the community, one might say. One might also say nothing against them, lest the Locatellis be forced to silence the opposition before it could gain ground.

But in here, things were different. In here, there were two people so drastically different that it was a wonder they never saw one another. But the Locatellis had no reason to come into contact with Anzu, and so nothing was ever suspected. A long, black robe and an ornate mask made sure of that.

The others just thought they were some kind of club that liked to meet in the Ascension from time to time. That was all good and well, of course. The less people knew about Anzu's little cult, the fewer people would be sacrificed to the dead god. Of course, sacrifices could be made as public or as private as necessary. But privacy was something Anzu's most devout follower desired above all else, and that was why he was gaining followers as Anzu himself only slowly.

Their low voices were drowned by the music as they discussed who their next sacrifices would be. They never discussed the past; Anzu forbid it. There was only the present and the future - more the present than the future. Studying the past would gain one knowledge, but it would serve no purpose in this particular case - or in most cases. But their conversation halted as a figure made its way to their table of eight, the eighth being the self-proclaimed avatar of Anzu. Anzu himself stared the man up and down. He did not look like a man that wanted to deal with a cult, but perhaps he'd make a good sacrifice...

[Justice]

Josiah looked at the smaller man. He wasn't impressed by the black mask or robe. The hell kinda freak was this guy? This was the chump messing with the homeless? Josiah was curious now. He offered his hand. "My name's Joe. Lost my job with all the layoffs, lost my crib. Few of my boys said you had the answer. Hook a brotha up, man. I'm tired of being on the streets." Josiah did his best to play dumb. He wasn't as down with slang these days as he used to be. But most people just saw another big black dude when they looked at him, and he would use that to his advantage when he needed to.

[Anzu]

The others looked far too suspicious of the man. His words fell on deaf ears in their case, for they had minds only for their master - the man they thought was the god Anzu in physical form. Some of them were older men; others were young adults. There were even a couple of young teenagers sitting there = all in black robes, though none of them wore hoods. The one wearing the mask wore a hood as well, presumably because his face had been badly scarred by an attack from a rival god. That was the reason he had given his followers for the mask: that he had been attacked and had almost died, and that his face was too horrific to be seen now.

The hooded, cloaked leader was silent and did not move to shake the man's hand. He was just another follower in the making, and thus not worth the conversation - yet. But perhaps when he decided to join Anzu's following, he would be worth a talk or two. One of the people flanking Anzu's secretly mortal avatar turned to him instead with a stern, critical look. His voice was the steady tone of one who fully believed what he was saying, not a doubt manifesting even in the back of his mind.

"If you seek an audience with Anzu, you must go through us, his priests. However, if you like, we can see about something."

The priest seemed to think for a moment before speaking. He gestured to free chair at a nearby table.

"Sit. We will see if you are worthy to join us."

In truth, he would almost certainly be accepted - unless, of course, he was the sort who was too self-involved to care for the woes of a god. If that was the case, he would promptly be..."dealt with".

[Justice]

Josiah sat down. This was some heavy shit. Even the Viets and factions in Mozambique felt more trustworthy than these guys. Even so, he felt pretty confident he could take these guys. Leadership types weren't usually much for fighting, and while the robes hid their shapes pretty well, most of 'em looked either fat or scrawny. Pretty much like every other REMF he'd ever met.

"So, uh, like what you cats want back? Ain't nobody doing nothing for free." When the waitress came by, he ordered a glass of cognac. Josiah didn't hold with drinking, but given the Super-Soldier Serum in his bloodstream, he was unable to get drunk. The Prophet would just have to understand. "I spent some time in the Army. Busted some heads in my day."

[Anzu]

The priest who had spoken looked at the vet critically for a moment before finally beginning his investigation. It was true the priests weren't trustworthy, but that was because they didn't want just anyone joining them. For example, the man sitting before them had only recently become homeless. Perhaps he had found out about Anzu from other homeless, but usually they took in people that had been homeless for a while and had given up hope of ever living a decent life again (if they ever had to begin with). Still, someone from the army could be useful. He knew how to take orders; that could make him an excellent soldier.

Locatelli, of course, heard everything that was going on. Just because he didn't respond didn't mean he wasn't listening. Already the gears were turning in his mind, figuring out how he could use this man. It was suspicious, him showing up here, and his priests knew that as well as he did. Most of the time, they were approached on the street - not in here. But it hardly mattered. Locatelli was mostly left alone by his family, allowed to run his side of the business without someone hovering over him all the time. That meant he had a lot of time without close observers to become Anzu. A lot of time to gain recruits.

"Are you a religious man?" began the priest, asking the most obvious of questions.

[Justice]

"I guess so. I mean, I believe in God and all. It just ain't Charlton Heston." It was disquieting to lie like this. Josiah had grown up in a Catholic orphanage, and was a minister himself. But Allah would understand, it was for the greater good. And if not, well, he could take it up with Josiah. "But I always liked the God from the OT, you know? Vengeful mofo, took care of his own. I can get behind a God like that. Like Sam Jackson in Pulp Fiction? That speech was all Old Testament. Not like the New Age stuff from later on." His cognac arrived, and he took a deep sip of the liquor that bedeviled the community. It was smooth, sweeter than he remembered. He'd been a box-wine and beer man back in the day. Loved getting PBRs, only used to cost a dime. "But Islam always seemed like it was alright. Do what you gotta do, just do it to the infidel. The rules didn't look all that bad. I read up on it when I was a teenager," he read the quizzical body language, and hoped to forestall the question. "Is this a anti-Christian thing? Or you playing at voodoo or something?"

[Anzu]

The priest's smile was sinister and secretive, as though a joke that only he knew of had been played upon the one who dared to question him. He would learn soon enough that questions were not tolerated by Anzu. But for now, he was simply a civilian; he knew nothing of the ways of Anzu - yet.

"Or something."

The priest shrugged and took a sip of his dry vodka. It was the only drink Anzu would have and thus the only drink that his priests were allowed to have, but that was fine. If they couldn't handle it, they became the next sacrifice to Anzu; if they could, they became his priests - beacons of hope for the homeless, like lights that drew in the flies. Only instead of being burned by electricity, they began to burn inside with a cold fire that could only be quenched by the deaths of their enemies.

In return, they lived quite well indeed - when they weren't busy. Like now.

"How did you find out about us?"

[Justice]

"Old man that lives the Y I been staying at said his buddies was all moving on up. Some kinda new group helping 'em out. I thought I'd see what was up, ain't got nothing to lose. I'm tired of bein' broke, man. Feeling like I ain't got nothing going my way. I wannabe somebody. And if it means some kinda freaky voodoo shit and black hoods, that's fine by me." He downed the rest of his cognac. He was feeling the role, channeling his own pain when he'd run away from the orphanage.

"So, there some kinda initiation? You dudes don't look like you could jump me in, no offense." Josiah flexed his heavily muscled arms, biceps bulging. He thought about making his move now, but wanted to see if this was just a buncha wannabes, or maybe the next Jonestown or Heaven's Gate.

[Anzu]

Now the man's eyes became even more suspicious, and it wasn't as subtle as before. His glass stopped halfway to his mouth as the man spoke. Then he set the glass down. First of all, they had been taught where to hit and how to move to avoid taking hits in a fight; muscle-bound idiots were hardly a concern. But that wasn't even the issue. The 'old man at the Y' was Johnny Sparks, a mutant who could generate sparks to start fires. He had been naughty, it seemed, if he had told people about Anzu's followers. His job had been to watch and to report, not to recruit. Either this man was lying through his teeth or the old man had turned traitor for some reason. Perhaps this man had threatened him. However he had found out about it, Johnny Sparks was as good as dead.

The priest leaned over and whispered something in the ear of another, who then nodded silently and rose. He downed his drink and left. Two others followed him. Then the priest turned to the man before him once more.

"Before we get to that...what exactly were you told about this group?"

[Justice]

"That you was looking for people. You could help a brother out, but it wasn't for free. I got no trouble payin' my way, long as you don't need cash man. But I got skills, y'know?" He lifted his glass for another, and was quiet while the waitress was close. "Said you maybe needed some guys to crack some heads. Put the fear of, what was it? Put the fear of Kudzu in 'em." Josiah mispronounced it deliberately. Let 'em keep thinking what they wanted. Tracking down that name, Anzu, had been the end result of weeks of leaning on people. The name, however, had only led to more questions, and eventually, to Johnny Sparks. "So, was he right? You need some muscle?"

[Anzu]

The more the idiot spoke, the more suspicious the priests got. And he glanced at Anzu nervously as the man spoke, but his eyes returned to the man with anger flashing in them. As he spoke, his voice got cold as he spoke on behalf of his master. Still Anzu had yet to speak, or acknowledge the stranger in any way. He had to restrain himself from narrowing his eyes and glaring at the man when he mispronounced the name, but he covered it by downing his vodka and laying his hand flat on the table. The signal given, his glass was immediately taken up by a priest on his other side for a refill. The first priest, one of only two remaining, spoke continued.

"You have yet to answer the question."

They might be willing to help him out if he committed to belief in and servitude to Anzu, but not if he was here for reasons other than those stated. The priest and Anzu both believed that he was, due to his attitude and habit of dodging questions. Beneath his robe, Anzu's body was already starting to be covered in a quickly-solidifying gaseous substance of a poisonous green hue. The body armor was indestructible - even adamantium would have trouble with it, or so he'd been told, though adamantium would eventually cut through it. That, of course, assumed the gas couldn't repair the armor, however; it worked much like a healing factor. In short, Anzu was preparing for war.

[Justice]

"What was the question again? Oh, yeah. Why a buncha uptown mofos running around in black Snuggies is telling people to do shit in the name of Kudzu? But that's my question, fellas, and you gonna talk." Faster than they could process, Josiah's hand was inside his coat and then reappeared, a Glock 18 in it. In the dimly lit club, filled with pulsing music and dancing bodies, no one noticed. "Now then, you cats gonna be doing the answering now. Or you gonna see if them Snuggies is bulletproof, cuz otherwise, you gonna meet Anzu. You guys look ridiculous." Josiah didn't like how this was going down. None of the cultists still left had moved, or even started the babbling that a gun pointed at a man normally produced. At least he was happy he'd brought the Glock. It'd been a tough decision, if they'd searched him, they woulda found him out, but he felt better armed. On full auto, it'd even the odds PDQ. He didn't pick up the other cultists in his peripheral vision in the crowd, but that didn't mean they weren't lurking there.

[Anzu]

The priest looked at the gun, but he didn't look at all surprised. And seeing as it was a Glock, he knew at once this wasn't some homeless man from nowhere - something he had suspected halfway through their so-called conversation. But then the priest's eyes met the man's once more, and he sneered. There was a great deal of arrogance in his eyes, mixed with pity and condescension.

"It doesn't matter. What matters is how you found out about us and what you're really here for."

Anzu had been correct to protect himself with body armor. Now that he knew what was going on, he downed his drink - but he didn't signal for more. Instead, he leveled his gaze at the man who was now holding a gun on him, silently staring into his eyes.

The priest on his other side, however, was not nearly so docile. He didn't want to die and he was eager to prove himself. His movements beneath the table were almost imperceptible above the table, but his next move occurred in the blink of an eye. His sword arm whipped out, aiming a devastating blow at the forearm of the man with the gun. The sword was light-weight and razor-sharp, and the man behind it was fast enough to make full use of it.

[Justice]

The priest was fast. Fast for a man. To a man with reflexes and hand-eye coordination superior to the finest baseline human, he might as well have been swimming in molasses, he was so slow. Josiah had time to stand, and brought his forearm into the priest's wrist, before throwing a powerful uppercut with his other hand. A quick squeeze of the trigger put four rounds in his chest before he was on the ground. The gunshots panicked only the very nearest of the dancers, the music was so loud and pulsing. The muzzle flash left him seeing stars, momentarily, and combined with the darkness, the strobe lights, and the black robe, made it impossible to tell if the cultist was wearing body armor or not. Through it all, Josiah's pulse had barely quickened.

Still standing, he looked back over at the one who still hadn't spoken. "That's one strike, son. You still gotta chance you might walk outta here under your own power. But don't insult me with your...flunkies."

[Anzu]

Everyone always tried to be a hero. That's why body armor was the first thing Anzu learned to make with his newfound powers. But the others had to fake it with actual body armor. The priest was unconscious, not dead, but the man across the table couldn't possibly know that in this light. Nonetheless, he had talents. The other priest was pissed, practically snarling as he stood and back against a wall. Anzu just looked at the man, seemingly unconcerned. It was the living priest who spoke.

"You come here to threaten us, try to kill us, and expect us to cooperate? You still haven't answered my questions, hero, nor have you the brains to realize how much trouble you're in."

Testing his powers, Anzu tried to extend the protection of the breastplate. It was difficult and draining, though he showed no outward sign of it. He did manage to extend the protection to his neck, head, and upper arms, but nothing else; at least he had a bit more protection than before. He'd have to keep trying.

"What do you want with us, you crazy half-wit? We're priests, nothing more. Leave!"