It had taken many nights of work, countless phonecalls to both new faces and old acquaintances, advertisements on newspapers, local radio and television, and had required no small amount of organization, but at last... Maryl's long-standing plans had begun. There was no better way to search for answers, and to draw in those looking for them, than to open the new Harper Rock Museum of Occult History. Not only was it a legitimate business and a source of income, but it was, ironically, an actual lair. A place that was guarded day and night by cameras and security systems, and people that were unaware of Maryl's... condition. But, the whole thing was still a gamble, and it had to start small.
The place was no grand National Museum by all means, but it was well-situated with plenty of parking space and natural surroundings. And with things only just having started, exhibitions were varied, but small, and not all of the building was being used yet. Still, with the old contacts Maryl was able to dig up from her days as Professor of History and Anthropology, she was able to afford a fair quantity of relics, and even a good few donations had been granted to the new Museum. All that had to be done now, was attract attention, though she wagered with all the strange happenings in Harper Rock, as well as open vampirism, there was no shortage of people looking for answers. It was, however, a tricky subject to display. For Maryl was wholly unaware of any vampiric communities that would still object to a gallery-like display of the modern vampire either vocally or violently, and even she herself was skeptical of wether it was even wise to do so. But there was no doubt that it would draw more customers...
The current sections weren't that bad, however, as the museum boasted sections on Egyptian worship, Viking mythology and runes, Voodoo practices throughout the Carribdean and Southern America, Witchcraft of the past and present, Paganism from Ireland and England and remnants of it throughout Europe, Eastern European myths and superstitions like Baba Yaga and a surprising number of vampiric references, and several other sections that were available, but not yet as widely documented in the museum, such as devil worship and necromancy. Any visitor could tell the place was young and could use more, but looked very promising. It was trying to be astutely professional and scientific about it's facts, yet still leave room for questions and leave one wondering. At the front of the museum, though barely noticeable unless one was paying attention, was some manner of advertisement stating that if anyone has testimonies and/or evidence of a supernatural nature, you could contact the museum to make an appointment to have it recorded, potentially anonymously.
Maryl was silently proud of finally having opened the place, and with everything in order on the opening day, she was finally able to take her time to inspect some of the objects she'd gotten for the museum more closely, not only to inspect their quality, but to sate her own curiousity for the occult a little. Even though she knew that the real answers she needed were not displayed anywhere within, and her powers had yet remained entirely unexplained. But it was a step. A small scoop in the huge pond of unknown knowledge. Perhaps in time, this could become a place where great minds try to link the present weirdness to the legends of the past, and see if any real answers can be found. Yet for now, such was only a dream... a daydream as she wandered about the new museum, among it's first customers...
Arun Dumitrescu had heard about the museum and its impending opening night. The rumours he had heard were varied; some hailed it as a much-needed addition to the Harper Rock playground, given the supernatural happenings as of late, and the true and genuine revelation of vampire-kind to the masses. These things shouldn’t be disregarded as myth and hoo-hah, right? Maybe all those legends and old wives stories should be taken seriously, and picked apart to find out the answers to what they were currently experiencing.
Other people, however, laughed. A museum for the occult? A museum for crazy people and conspiracy theorists created only to stir the insanity taking over this city in a slow but sure tidal wave. Arun, the rarely-quite foreigner, said nothing about the museum. He didn’t say whether he thought the idea was good or bad, because he was wary of how he was going to fit in. He was wary of passing for normal; for telling no one about the things he was capable of. He still hadn’t shared his secret – through his veins ran power, untapped, that he had no idea how to use, nor where it had come from. And a museum for the occult? Was, perhaps, the perfect place to go looking for answers. Better than an abandoned museum shaft, anyway. Not that his previous run in was going to stop him from going back down there…
Coming straight from work, Arun was still dressed in one of the suits he commonly wore. A kind-of uniform, as it were. It wasn’t a requirement, but he did deal with public quite a lot and he wanted to give the observatory a good face. This was why he had taken so long to figure out the answers about himself; he was so untethered from this world, from this earth, his eyes constantly on the stars and the planets so far away that had to have life. Had to.
But here he was, away from the museum of the stars and instead standing in the lobby of a museum for the past. A past that was as mysterious to them as the undiscovered stars were. In his hand was a staff that he used to help him walk, the wound so deep in his thigh still healing. He’d been told to take it easy, but Arun Dumitrescu had never been one able to sit still for too long – unless he was standing with his eye to a telescope.
The sorcerer meandered further into the museum, absently taking one of the little pamphlets that served as a map. Where to begin?
Most of the interest of the visitors seemed to go to the Eastern European vampiric legends of the Strigoi and, of course, Dracula. Always Dracula... She almost regretted even adding the topic to her displays, like it felt childish and degrading any credibility. Maryl had an innate distaste for pursuing such popularised tales, for as the media gorged themselves on popular myths and the supernatural became a daily fixation of fiction and entertainment, spawning an uncountable number of fraudulent 'researchers', doing actual scientific research towards the unknown had become near impossible, mocked by everyday society as a waste of time, chasing children's stories. No one would fund actual investigations, no one would listen to theories of 'madmen who pursuit ghosts'. She wondered if, perhaps, a vampire was behind it all, protecting vampiric secrecy by ruining the reputation of anyone whom was performing actual research. But such were just more guesses, more questions to which the answer was like finding a needle in a sea of hay.
But that was then, and this is now. She knew what she was (well, sort of), and what she could do (though not really). This was real, and she wasn't delusional and insane... was she? Her train of thought was interrupted by a lanky, middle-aged man spewing hateful, anti-vampire propaganda and had to be escorted out by security. Even though expected income was shaky at best, she now knew the money she'd spent in the museum's security was at least well-spent. There was no time to sit about and wonder, now. If her plans were to bare fruit, she was going to have to put effort into it herself, too. When people began muttering about the incident that had just happened, Maryl decided to lighten things up and start talking to the visitors. As they asked questions, soon enough she found herself giving lengthy explanations to a youg couple that seemed very interested in Nordic mythology, speaking of gods as Odin, Thor, Freyr and Freyja and the various known practices, among which were even human sacrifice, often voluntarily.
When the couple had thanked her for her explanations, for a brief moment she felt like her old self again... a teacher in a classroom, trying to show parts of the world to those who would listen. As she glanced around for whom she could help next, her gaze fell upon a shockingly familiar figure. It couldn't be... was that the guy she'd shot, and whom she'd helped get to the hospital? Did he come here looking for her!? No, there was no way... She'd walked behind one of the exhibitions briefly, out of sight, pondering on what Arun's being there could mean. He didn't seem hostile, at least, not yet, so perhaps he didn't fully remember. However, she'd feigned to be a police officer then, and there was no lying out of this one. Still... she was now surrounded by paid security guards, and there was no evidence of what he might've seen, or what she might've said. Maybe he wouldn't even recognize her, at all. There was only one way to find out, as she straightened the suit she was wearing a bit, and adjusted her hair, before slowly walking over to Arun with a soft smile on her face: "Welcome to the Museum of Occult History! I'm the curator, Maryl DiVosari, if you have any questions, feel free to ask them!"she said, extending a friendly hand, yet with cold and calculated eyes that were trying to gauge what Arun was doing here.
"Sections of life, reflections of pain... in this mirror, we all look the same."-- God Module
There was something gleaming about the museum, and Arun’s eyes were wide in wonderment as he started his meandering. He wondered if there were a library attached, if there were books that he could peruse. Or someone he could talk to. Someone who knew what they were talking about. Someone who knew about the history of Harper Rock; about why there were supernatural creatures gathered here and nowhere else. Nearly nowhere else. Everywhere else Arun had been, anyway, he’d been laughed at. No one believed he could do magic. It was a miracle he’d not been thrown into a lunatic asylum – though there were some pills he’d taken for a while. Someone had actually convinced him that he was mentally unstable and that the pills would help. They only made things worse.
The gangling male turned as he was addressed – as if the woman who approached him could read his thoughts. Questions, yes. He had numerous questions.
”Hello!” he greeted, ever cheerful. ”Arun Dumitrescu,” he said, holding out his hand to shake – but that hand had a flyer in it, so he went to move it to the other. But the other was holding a cane, which he required to stay balanced. He ended up pushing the flyer into his pocket, the odd end of it sticking out. Finally, his hand was free.
”I have a lot of questions,” he said, glancing around. ”But I am sure you are very busy. You are the curator!” he said, as if it were a surprise to the both of them. He paused, frenetic energy taking a rest as he focused on Maryl DiVosari. She looked… familiar, somehow. Like someone he’d known, once. But he hadn’t been in this city that long, and he couldn’t imagine her being the barista that sold him coffee every day.
”Have we met?” he asked. It wasn’t one of the numerous questions that he had planned to ask. But it was a curious question nonetheless.
"Nonsense."she said with a beaming smile as her eyes yet tried to gauge any deceit from Arun."It's opening day, and I'm here to help enlighten people to parts of history not often spoken about, at all. I used to be a professor in History and Anthropology in Chicago, you know. Managed to wrestle enough old contacts to get this unique place underway..."her well-prepared explanations were almost abruptly interrupted by the very straight-forward question of wether they had met before, or not, that gave her pause. She hadn't expected him to ask it so bluntly, and it caught her off-guard, for she was still formulating a response in her mind."Well, I-... No, I don't think we have, for I would've remembered such a handsome face."she spoke, trying to deflect the issue with a compliment and trying to bring up a convincingly playful smirk, though the words did not sound as convincing as she'd hoped they would be...
"Though you mentioned you have questions, what section do you have your mind set on? Ancient Egypt? Or perhaps the ever-popular vampirism?"she said, attempting to continue the conversation hurriedly along, and brushing a hand along the front of her hair."I'm not too fond of the Dracula myth, myself, but perhaps if we look deeper, there might be hidden truths. After all, concealment is the very definition of the occult, though usually under some manner of requiring circumstance, such as the law or an established doctrine that opposes such."Though her words sounded calm,
there was a certain tenseness about her, like an animal ready to jump on it's prey. Never before had she allowed any human to know of her vampiric nature and live, for she felt safer knowing no one knew. But she was standing amidst her long-desired future in Harper Rock. Any incident now could mean complete ruin. The irony of it all did not elude her. With great effort, she tried to compose herself as Arun formulated his response...
"Sections of life, reflections of pain... in this mirror, we all look the same."-- God Module
It wasn’t so much the veiled attempt at flirtation that tipped Arun off, but instead the immediate assumption that he was there looking for answers about vampirism. He stood there a little stunned, having not been called ‘handsome’ before by anyone that was not one of his many aunts. Family were allowed those kinds of liberties, thinking anybody of their blood was automatically better than anyone else. Arun had no thoughts about his own looks; he was far too distracted by everything else in his life to be preoccupied with the modern conception of beauty.
Still, despite Maryl’s mildly erratic behaviour – it wasn’t enough to inspire Arun’s suspicion – he still did not know where he could know her from, if indeed she was trying to deny the fact that they had met. He could not think of any reason why she would want to hide it. And so he let it go. That nagging feeling of familiarity could sit in the background – the more he looked at it, the more he tried to figure out, the less clear it was. If he let it go, it was more likely that the answer would come to him when he was least expecting it. In the end he just shook his head and focused on Maryl’s questions.
”No. I mean. Vampirism is fascinating and all, but that is not why I am here,” he said, clearing his throat. Now it was his turn for the nervous tension, for the evasion of a secret he didn’t particularly want anyone else to know. Simply asking the questions didn’t give away what he was though, did it? The more nervous he acts, the more it would look like he had something to hide. So he tried to remain calm – like any ordinary person interested in the occult.
”Would you say, for example, that sorcery was a direct result of the vampires in this city?” he asked. Vampires were real. He had seen them. Their secret was out – and that was the exact reason he was here. ”I am more interested in the… magic, rather than the creatures. If that makes any sense…” he said.
Maryl's demeanor had changed entirely to curiosity as Arun posed the strange question, and things had finally begun to make sense. Why he was down in the sewers on that chaotic day, and why he was standing here in the Museum, today. He was looking for answers, just like Maryl herself, for whatever reason he might have. For Maryl, the pursuit of questions towards magic, in particular her own, was an exhaustive subject with much speculation that she had added theories to, for every single day. Steadily, her expression lowered the facade of any attempted subterfuge or deception better left to an Allurist, and instead she focused on her long-standing area of expertise and knowledge, for the pursuit of the occult was a passion of hers long before the day she was turned.
She squinted her eyes as her expression went to one of accompanied curiosity as she analysed the question in her mind, clasping her hands together gently as she began to formulate a response, barely containing a certain enthusiasm for the topic:"Ahh, an interesting question, especially in times as these. The metaphysical has been a pursuit of many cultures throughout the ages, each in their own ways, and very little recorded as fact. Moreso in tales and legends that have been spread by word of mouth, and have thus lost many important details, traded for the telling of a good story." she paused a moment to turn lightly towards an enlarged photograph behind a glass casing in the Egyptian section they were just barely standing in, depicting an uncovered mummified body buried together with a strange rod and decayed parchments."Do I think that sorcery or other strange phenomena are the result of vampires? I do not believe there's anything to confirm such a claim. At least, not yet. Still, I suppose we do not know how long vampires have existed, nor the extent of their knowledge of that nature. Before recent days, the mere thought of magic or sorcery being real was a joke. Any historic theories were dismissed immediately as the ramblings of romanticizing historians with no scientific evidence. Today? Today we live in a new age, I feel. An age where those who care about the past, may wish to take a second glance."
She smiled genuinely at Arun, with a knowing nod that his question had just unleashed a veritable torrent of subjects that Maryl was willing to put forward and discuss, as if she could speak of the subject for many hours to come."For example, we have been burying our dead for at least one hundred thousand years, and not always was it so that the dead were placed to rest in coffins. Most folk have come to believe that these practices we today find common, are to return the deceased to the earth. Yet still... throughout history has come a steady increase in rituals and manners that would, according to beliefs in various regions, prevent the dead from rising again, as undead. There are certain peoples in the world for whom rituals have always been common to both stake and decapitate their dead, before burial. And what of ancient Egypt? The most agreed upon explanation is that they were given treasures on their journey to the next life. Yet if they took all belongings with to the next world, then why were their entrails, including the brain, the centre of all thoughts, removed from the body? Merely for the preservation of the remainder of the body? Or to prevent magic from bringing them back to our world? These are the things we must take a second look at in this new age, if we are to uncover any shred of truth about magic in our history."
She took a moment to pretend to breathe, eyeing Arun curiously as if he were one of her students, with a look that spoke volumes of a passion of the subject."Though now you have me wonder, what has sparked your question about magic and sorcery? Any particular culture's take on the subject that has got your interest?"
"Sections of life, reflections of pain... in this mirror, we all look the same."-- God Module
Although Arun listened with all the interest good manners dictated, he began to frown. Although he had asked the question about vampires, he had also said that it was not the vampires that he was interested in. The myths about the burying of the dead, about the Egyptians and their afterlife – it sounded a lot like Maryl was focusing on the vampiric myth over the sorcery. But, she did bring it back around again, and Arun was forced to clear his throat. How could he explain his interest without giving it away…?
He stopped their forward momentum, the cane came to a halt in front of him, one hand over the other as he clutched the top of it, knuckles white. He chewed at the inside of his cheek and shook his head.
”It has never been a joke, not to me,” he said, his anxious gaze swinging from side to side until it landed upon the woman in front of him. He still couldn’t shake it, that familiarity. Should he trust her? Could he? He sighed.
”I am not interested in any culture’s take on sorcery, I am not sure which. I am not interested in the myth, I am interested in those who might still practice the sorcery. Perhaps they would know which culture their power has come from,” he said. That, he thought, should be question enough – and if Maryl did not know of any practicing sorcerers, than Arun would have to try to find someone else. Or continue to try to figure out the answers on his own.
He’d found some confidence in his questioning, his eyes now bold rather than shifty. He’d been wandering around this city for far too long without finding any answers – but he hadn’t been smart about how he’d gone about looking, either, mainly because he had no idea who to trust, if anyone. Better to just become part of the city, and let the answers find him.
She raised her eyebrows at his explanation, a strange expression of curiosity on her face."Ah, forgive me, I do tend to ramble on with the subject of necromancy..."she straightened the collar of her shirt, a moment, seeming to think deeply for a moment."I must admit, I am a bit confused as to your request, what manner of sorcery are you inquiring about? For each kind is culturally and societally different. Have you perhaps witnessed something odd within our fair city, itself?" she said, asking each question with serious conviction. It was clear now, Arun was not here to delve into myths and legends, but had come here for a singular goal."Perhaps an example would be of great help, here?she asked in all seriousness, her curiosity peaked as to Arun's line of thought.
"Sections of life, reflections of pain... in this mirror, we all look the same."-- God Module
Arun’s meandering thoughts jumped back to the night in the tunnels. The wound in his leg throbbed at the memory, causing him to shift on his feet. Sometimes he put too much weight on his wounded leg when he shouldn’t; he relied more on the cane, knuckles whitening as he took all his weight from the bad leg. The throb eased.
He recalled the way his body had reacted to the life and death situation, the way the power had surged through him, as if searching for anything, anything that would keep him alive. To think that he was capable of such things – things that he had not yet tried to replicate, as he had not had the time nor the space – filled him with a kind gleeful pride. He was not bitter about the change his body was going through. He wanted to understand it. He wanted to embrace it. He just had to figure out how.
He recalled the violent rush of bright light that could have been injurious to any specific target, had he aimed it at them – instead, the bright light had slammed into the rock beneath him. He knew he wasn’t being clear, that he was bumbling in his questions as he tried to skirt the real issue – but instead of explaining the peculiar power to Maryl he took a step back, recognition now clearly written into his features. Now he remembered why he had not aimed his power at anyone specifically. He hadn’t wanted to hurt those trying to help him. Ainsley had mentioned another woman, someone whom Arun could not quiet remember beyond a shadow. But now he remembered. Now, her face swam into clarity within his memory. He’d been terrified of her, then. He remembered, now. Near the end. The teeth.
But she had not bitten him. She had not drained him of whatever blood he had left. She’d left him alone. He wet his lips with his tongue.
”I think that you could have witnessed it yourself,” he said, hushed. Now he understood. She’d not sounded convinced when she’d said they’d not met before. She’d been lying, wanting to hide something. Just like Arun was trying to hide something himself. ”Didn’t you?” he asked. To his credit, he was far calmer now than he had been, then.
