OOC: Thank you to Lab Rat King for the collab! All tarot readings are done with the first draw based on cards selected by my opponents and myself. If you would care to read this on my WordPress, there is a link in the title. Enjoy!
Club Chthonic
No one should brave the underworld alone
– Poe, Hello
He dreamed of the waking shadow city when he was a child.
Something put to sleep in fire and blanketed with its replacement. But replacement could not be rebirth, and no phoenix ever rose without first becoming ashes. And so he dreamed the city rising, shaking off its mantle of brick and concrete, and rising again encrusted with purple glass.
That was what had got him curious in the first place—the purple glass tiles embedded in the sidewalks of downtown. After he’d learned they were prisms whose purpose was to diffuse light from the surface into passages below, he knew wherever there were purple bricks, below his feet was the Underground. It was the first Seattle that had burned and upon whose bones the present city stood. Tours were available for parts of the subterranean city, but the touring companies didn’t have access to the whole thing. Other portions—tunnels, sunken shops, forgotten speakeasies, even public baths long since gone dry—were owned by other private entities or abandoned to time altogether.
It didn’t surprise Silvio that the Lab Rat King had immediately taken to the city below; in fact, the whole thing had been abandoned specifically to the rats when it was sealed up in the early 1900s. It was here, in familiar territory, that the fortune teller figured he could do something he’d not yet been able to—get to know his partner.
The rest of his partner.
“You’re gonna have to try and hit me.”
Kane stood across from Silvio on a wooden walkway near one of the many mouths of the Underground; he was dressed plainly in his usual fatigues and boots, a maroon-red hoodie covering his distorted frame. His tone was matter-of-fact.
“I can’t let the Big Guy take over at will. You gotta start a fight—or at least pretend to. Threaten me.”
Nodding, Silvio considered for a moment, tapping his chin before snapping, and meeting Kane’s gaze, pointing at him accusingly.
“You look like the kind of guy who drives past a space in packed airport parking lot, getting up the hopes of the person driving behind you, only to back into the space.”
The Oracle was met with a blank stare, which eventually broke into a roll of the eyes.
“You know, if we’d met under any other circumstances, you would be the exact kind of nerd I would throw upside-down into a trash can in a Denny’s parking lot–”
As Kane was busy back-talking, Silvio took the opportunity to take a few steps forward and deliver a super kick directly to his chin.
King staggered back, caught off-guard by the assault—when he caught his balance and reeled forward, he lunged at Silvio with a feral snarl, only to suddenly look away with a hiss of frustration as Silvio’s Spooky passenger took the first bite of sweet madness.
“Rrrrgh stupid boy. Get out of the LIGHT.”
Apparently the attempt had worked—King retreated further into the tunnel, keeping his blazing eyes set firmly ahead into the dark.
“Aye, aye, King Rat! Nice digs, by the way.” Silvio followed his partner, placing one hand on the wall as they ventured into the dark to keep himself from stumbling. “Can you see down here or do you just know the place so well you don’t need to?”
The Big Guy didn’t offer an immediate verbal answer, leading the way further into the Underground. Some turns he was taking were very truly dark, devoid of the purple diffusion from the street above—even so, his steps weren’t hesitant. Once the pair were a bit further off the beaten path—into an area that had been closed until the mutant had forced a gate open—he made a raspy sound in his throat and glanced over his shoulder.
“Don’t need to see. We can hear, smell… the dark is ssssafe.”
“When I was a kid, I always thought one day this place would… wake up or come back to life or something; reclaim what it lost.” Silvio passed through the gate with Big Guy, his own steps careful. “People get scared by this kind of thing; being underground, being in the dark. But when you think about it, there’s nothing down here that’s going to hurt you. Or if there is, it’s not as dangerous as anything that might hurt you up on the street.” He grinned. “I mean, provided no one threatens you.”
The Lab Rat King seemed to process this in a beat of silence, only his boots on the wooden walkway sending noise that was quickly muffled by the small space. He seemed intent on moving forward–it was rare that he would ever be still when he was in this state.
“We came from a place like this,” he rumbled, calloused fingertips occasionally touching the railing along the path as though counting distances. “Somewhere dark and cold and wet. Where there was fear, we found fury. We grew stronger until we made such places ours. We know these places, familiar as familial faces… We turned hell into a haven.”
“‘The mind is its own place and in itself can make a Heaven of Hell, and a Hell of Heaven,’” Silvio mused. “Thanks for talking with me. Now that we have the chance, I finally wanted to meet you. This is the first time we’ve really been able to communicate, and regardless of how you two differ, you’re still Kane as much as he’s you.”
The mutant took pause for just a moment, his hand resting on the corner of a wall—Silvio could see the breath in him, the way it made his whole upper body shift like a coil. It was clear he wasn’t accustomed to being addressed this way, though it reminded him of one other familiar face – The Huntress. Quinn had, indeed, made a similar attempt to exchange words with him without the pretense of a fight.
“What does the Tarot Terror want to know? There are some things buried in the dark, hidden away from ravenous eyes with reason.”
“Big picture? I want to know how I can help. I want to be ready for the inevitable.” He didn’t want to even say Rose’s name at the risk of upsetting the Big Guy. “And, overall, the better we know each other, the better we’ll be able to work together.”
King exhaled sharply through his nose, giving the impression of a frustrated bull unsure of where to charge. This wasn’t exactly the type of back-and-forth he was meant to deal with… but he seemed to understand. At least, on some level.
“When war comes,” he said at length, his voice a low, hoarse noise in the dim, “be ready to fight… and don’t get in our way.”
“Definitely able to do that. More immediately? I wanted to talk with you about our upcoming fight against Valentine and the Insensate.”
The mutant’s silhouette shifted in the dark–a cock of his head in interest.
“The little one,” he growled, not quite looking in Silvio’s direction, “he’s been snapping at your heels. We don’t like it.”
“Yeah, you’re not the only one. I have no idea why this guy is so pissed at me, and that chairshot’s got me a little upsetti spaghetti. Half-tempted to rip the guy’s mask off to make him finally look me in the face. I don’t usually take things this personally, but this jerk’s got my survival instinct all shook up, and I can’t ignore that.”
“You’re one of MINE.” King’s voice was more of a snarl than anything – he pounded his fist against the wall as he said it, triggering a shower of dust and debris. “If you don’t rip the mmmask from his mug, I’ll rip his TONGUE from his MOUTH.”
“I take it as a compliment, Rat Man. Though if you say that on TV, I guarantee we’re getting another torrent of art and fanfic. People dig us and I got the creepy Tumblr posts to prove it. I get the feeling you’re not too happy about Valentine, either. That dude’s got the same kinda vibes Lang does. I do not like these rich fucks who think they can just use people and throw them away however and whenever they like, and you may quote me on that.”
“Tarot Terror says eat the rich.”
“‘Eyyy you get it!” Silvio replied with a grin. “That whole writing Davie off as being beneath him didn’t sit well with me. Although I relish the opportunity to be the proletariat scum to kick his ass. I’ll even do it with pinkies up to make it fancy for him.”
“Best watch out for what’s beneath you,” the Lab Rat rumbled; there was an audible smirk in his voice, even in the dark. “You won’t be rrrready when it bites.”
“See? I knew we had stuff we could bond over! Hey, speaking of stuff that bites… I dunno if they’d be cool with it, but can I meet your rats?”
There was a long beat of silence.
“…….. Yes.”
Silvio tried, as was only partially successful, at not squealing like a schoolgirl.
“Sweet! I always wanted pets when I was a kid, but my folks never let me have any. I had some wild crow friends, though. My buddy owned pet rats, and they were really cool.”
King’s shoulders finally seem to relax a little; the tension in his silhouette lessens.
“The white one is Sssssswitchblade. The mottled one is Noose. They are…. our friends. From dark places time is forgetting.”
“Been with you a while then. That’s good; nobody should be alone when they’re going through something.”
Another beat of silence. Then King sighed, rubbing and scratching at the back of his neck.
“No… that’s why the Little Man has me.”
“Yeah,” Silvio said gently. “That’s what Kane was telling me. And, hey. Thanks for looking after my friend.”
With what seemed like extreme difficulty, the Big Guy replied.
“Yyyyyou’re… w… welcome.”
“So!” Silvio said, wanting to shift the subject. “Noose and Switchblade!”
“Named after FAST DEATH AND SLOW DEATH.”
“You’re covering all the bases! I appreciate a thorough man. Do they just roam freely or do they have a cage?”
The mutant started walking again, leading Silvio deeper into the more unknown parts of the underground. Distantly, the scrabbling of wild rats among the rafters and cellars could be heard.
“We thrive in cages,” he said, his eyes forward as he traversed the uneven ground. “But the doors are always open. We are the masters of our own bars.”
“I envy you that,” the fortune teller said with a little sigh. Brow furrowed, he reached up to touch one of the scars beneath his shirt, a phantom echo of pain lancing through him. “But I’m working on it.”
“Time to get back to my roots.”
The words are spoken in complete darkness before there’s a crisp, echoing, ‘snap!’ The sputtering hum of electricity stutters to life along with a number of light bulbs hung along the ceiling of the room in which the audience finds its Mystifying Oracle. He’s seated beneath a red brick arch, moss-covered with age, in a high-backed chair of gleaming wood and burgundy upholstery. Dressed in a red button-down with the sleeves rolled up past his elbows, a black vest, dark jeans, and red converse, his piercings catching the yellowish glow of the sodium lights, accentuating facial features sharpened by the high contrast between light and shadow. A pair of rats – one white, and the other mottled, perch stop the chair, occasionally lifting their heads to sniff at the still air, whiskers flickering. Before him is a small wooden table atop which rests a deck of cards. With walls of earth and brick surrounding him, he looks like some underworld noble in a catacomb castle whose courtiers are lichen, rats, and shadows.
“Literally and figuratively. Welcome to the Underground, Ascended Army! Seattle 1.0.”
Picking up the deck of cards, he begins to shuffle them with practiced ease, the rhythmic sound of paper sliding over paper almost hypnotic in the damp, cold air of the submerged city.
“Our next Collision will have Ascended’s first tag team match! On one side, we have Mr. Tall, Dark and Brutal, the Lab Rat King, fighting alongside yours truly. We are Hellbent – two great tastes that taste great together! And on the other side?”
With a knife’s edge smile, he sets the deck down and spreads it across it with one hand before drawing six toward himself.
“Oh, let’s sit down and have a good, long chat about those two,” he purrs, voice dipping into velvet tones. “It’s been a while since I consulted the cards, so why not see what they have to say about Mr. Roy Valentine?
“What’s new with you, man?”
Flipping over the first card reveals an illustration of a crowned figure in a red robe seated between a pair of pillars, a scale in one hand, a sword held aloft in the other.
“Justice. You’re feeling like things are going to go your way, don’t you? I mean, it must have been… real upsetting not to win. And not just failing to win, but against David O’Toole! The dandelion to your rose! The peasant to your noble! I bet about now you’re feeling like the universe’s scales are going to be tipping back in your favor; setting the world back on its axis once more.”
The grin that spreads across Silvio’s face, carnivorous and hungry, claws at the back of the mind like a primal reminder that in most species, exposing the teeth is a threat.
“I wouldn’t count on it, sweet pea. This could also refer to things like contracts and partnerships; legal matters. You wheelin’ and dealin’ behind the scenes, my man? Maybe we’ll find out a little more when we see what it is you want.”
Turning over the next card shows a depiction of a child crowned with flowers riding on a white horse, the sun gazing down at the scene serenely.
“The Sun. Accomplishment, enlightenment, vitality. Like I was saying in the last card – you want victory in this match. It’s not just about improving your record, it’s an affirmation of your worldview. After all, you have LRK, our bloody poet whose prose you might find a wee bit distasteful. And me? I’m your second chance to take a swing at the working class!”
He taps the side of his face, eyelids heavy, smile lazy, voice taking on the low tones of secret confidences exchanged in hidden places.
“I’m sure you’d love to give me one right here in my trailer trash, American mutt, high school diploma-havin’ mug for even daring to step into the ring with you. So, what’s got you scared?”
Turning over the third card shows a man dressed in red and white robes standing behind a table scattered with arcane items. He holds a scroll above his head with one hand, points to the ground with the other, and above his head floats an infinity symbol.
“The Magician. Willpower, manifestation…”
Lifting the card, he causes it to disappear in a flourish from one hand only to reappear in the other.
“…chicanery. It’s all about making something from nothing, and boy if that don’t fit right in with the rest of your anxieties. You showed us your preoccupation with lineage; bloodline. Hierarchy. The common should give way for the exceptional, and perish the thought of the common actually becoming exceptional themselves. The idea of some nothing without a special family or background making something of themselves and gaining access to those upper echelons of society just disturbs you, doesn’t it? Nothing scarier than people where they don’t belong, right? I mean, gosh,” Silvio says mockingly, “who knows what they’d do if they got those tricky, lower class hands on a little power? They could ruin everything! Putting a pin in that, what do you have working in your favor?”
A crowned man arrayed in armor and red robes sits on a throne carved with rams on the next card. His face is stern, clutching a scepter in one hand, mountains stretching off into the distance behind him.
“The Emperor. Authority, structure, establishment. If what you’ve shown us and what I’ve researched about you is accurate, you’ve got a lot going for you.”
He begins to tick his points off on his fingers.
“You’re at the head of a botanical dynasty, which you don’t achieve without being skilled at influencing and controlling people, you’ve got resources in abundance, can afford to dedicate substantial time to training, and likely with the best coaches money can buy. You benefit from the established status quo, and I won’t deny you’ve taken full advantage of what’s been offered.”
The fortune teller’s eyes narrow, lip curling as he leans forward, gaze locked with the viewer’s.
“I know better than to write you off as some pompous pretender. You’re dangerous. The fact that you’ve seemingly disappeared someone is proof enough of that. With that in mind, what do you have going against you?
The fourth card turned over reveals an illustration of grey-skinned men, women, and children rising from their graves, arms outstretched, at the summons of an angel sounding a trumpet in the sky above them.
“Judgement.”
Smirking, he flicks the card between his fingers.
“What this card represents is pretty self-explanatory. Per the first two cards in this read, you might be looking for justice – for things to go your way, for the ledger to balance. And per the first two cards, I’m telling you, that is not going to happen. But, hey, don’t take my word for it. Let’s see what your ultimate fate here is.”
On the last card, an angel stands with one foot in the shallows of a river lined with reeds and yellow irises, and the other on its bank. The angel pours water between a pair of goblets, their expression focused.
“Temperance. Patience, connection, moderation. Pretty safe to say, Mr. Shower of Roses, that you enjoy a little excess in your life. If you want to succeed here, you’re going to have to dismount your high horse and walk the middle road; connect with the rest of us. And I get the feeling you are loathe to even entertain the idea. You like how things are right now. And I bet you don’t like thinking about what makes it possible. The idea of dependency, especially on your ‘lessers,’ must seem obscene.
“You denigrate the dandelion, and revere the rose, but you can’t have the one without the other. When the world is warming from winter, when the roses are still resting with nothing to offer, it’s the common dandelion that rises first to sustain the pollinators the rare depend upon. You define yourself by what you are not instead of what you are. Without the very people you hold in such contempt you use to define yourself against, you wouldn’t exist. Without us, you are nothing. And when Kane and I are done with you, the tears we rend through that thin skin of yours will show everyone the vast emptiness beneath it.”
Sweeping the cards back up, Silvio begins shuffling them again. The hypnotic, soft susurrus from before is gone, replaced by a sharp, purposeful sound whose echo snaps up the spine with ghostly fingers.
“Which brings us to the other half of our opposition. The Insensate.”
Setting the cards down again with a touch more force than necessary, the Oracle spreads them again in an arc across the table.
“Y’know, when somebody’s got a beef with me, I typically try to sit down with them and talk it out. Usually over doughnuts and coffee or something. But that possibility was mercilessly put down to the tune of you hitting me upside the head with a steel chair. Now we gotta talk with our punches or some anime BS,” he sighed, bumping his fists together for emphasis before reaching down and drawing six cards toward himself from the array.
“How we feeling after that little stunt you pulled on the last Collision?”
The first card that’s turned over reveals The Emperor, seated on his stone throne and gazing imperiously from the illustration.
“Mighty proud of that ambush, I see,” Silvio growls, bristling. “I’m not even that mad that I got brained. That’s an occupational hazard I accepted. My problem is that other people got hurt when they didn’t have to. Lang got to indulge in her sadomasochistic streak, so…”
Silvio lifts his hands and gives a few slow, sarcastic claps that bounce hollowly around the earthen walls.
“…good for her. Hope it was everything she dreamed it would be. But Grace, King, and Zephyr? They didn’t deserve what they went through. They didn’t deserve to be used to further someone’s agenda.”
His frame rigid with an anger that seems only a few heartbeats away from breaking free of whatever restraints willpower still provides, the Oracle draws in a long breath. As he exhales, tension leaving him, he taps the card again to refocus himself.
“This card can also represent a man of significant power or resources that’s going to help you, and I’d say Valentine fits the bill.
“Now here’s the $64,000 question: what is it that you want?”
The second card depicts a skeleton arrayed in black armor astride a white horse, holding a black banner emblazoned with a white rose. At the horse’s feet lay women, children, and kings. A bishop begs on his knees before the skeletal knight, hands raised in pleading.
“Death. When Death shows up in this position, it signifies a desire for complete change; an ending of something significant. Gleaning what I can from the things you and Lang have told us, it sounds like you weren’t always the beefy gimp you are today. In fact, I gotta wonder if you’re actually a finished product. You’ve obviously got a problem with yours truly, so that makes me think that kicking my ass is part of you achieving your final form. That’s where Kane and I have to disappoint you.”
The third card is turned over to show a sun gazing down on a jubilant scene of a child riding a horse holding a flowing banner, a field of sunflowers behind them.
“This is what you’re afraid of; The Sun. As it happens, this is a personal card for me, so maybe deep down you’re a little unsettled by your friendly neighborhood cryptid. This also represents success and fulfillment. I’m thinking maybe there’s a part of you, whatever hasn’t been mutilated by Lang, that’s afraid of what’s going to happen if you pull off a win here. Maybe there’s still something inside that doesn’t want this. But how about what you have going in your favor?”
Turning over the next card shows a demonic figure perched on a plinth, one hand raised, the other clutching a torch. Beneath it are chained two imps, one male, one female, shadowed by the demon’s bat-like wings.
“The Devil. Addiction, bondage, unhealthy relationships.”
For a long moment, Silvio is still, expression pensive.
“You,” he says at last, “have got some interesting paradoxes in this reading. Whatever it is that Mara did to you, whether you wanted it or not, is going to serve you in this match. Whatever you’ve become as a result of her ‘treatments’ is well-adapted to endure what Kane and I have to dish out.”
As he reaches for the next card, Silvio’s mouth twists, brow furrowed; a mask of consternation. It’s as if he’s uncomfortable admitting, even tacitly, that Lang’s methods are effective. Doesn’t want to endorse anything about her.
The fifth card is revealed to be a woman kneeling on a river bank, a pair of ewers in her hands beneath a star-spangled sky.
“This is what you have going against you; The Star. Hope, inspiration, opportunities. Something in you is… giving up. Giving in. There’s a window that’s only going to be open for a short time longer, and you might not make it through.”
Uncertainty darkens Silvio’s expression like storm clouds gathering; something furtive in his movements.
“And this is how it turns out.”
The image on the last card is of a person seated on a throne between two pillars, a triple crown upon their head, a triple cross held aloft in one hand. At his feet rest the keys to Heaven, two penitents kneeling before him.
“The Hierophant. Learning, spiritual guidance…”
He hesitates before continuing.
“…help. You need help. And it’s close at hand.
“You’ve made it clear the only help you want is the kind delivered in the old-fashioned way. Which, in our business, means beating the crap out of each other. I am happy to oblige. Your interference on Collision was more serious than the folks at home might realize, but I get the feeling you knew exactly what you were doing.”
His previous hesitation forgotten, Silvio’s fingers curl into the arm rests of his chair, the sinews of his arms flexing beneath his tattooed skin.
“You knew about Kane and me. You knew I was his safeguard. You knew I could stop him, and you made sure that wouldn’t be possible. The fight was over, but that didn’t matter because you and Lang weren’t there for a fight.”
Eyes burning like dark embers, the Oracle’s frame tenses, and the wooden armrests give an audible creak beneath his white-knuckled grip.
“No. You were there to cause damage using my friend and you didn’t care who was on the receiving end.”
Drawing in a shivering breath, Silvio closes his eyes before leaning against the chair, causing it to rock slightly. Noose and Switchblade, still perched atop it, scuttle down the upholstery, tiny, pink paws scratching lightly as they come to settle on the fortune teller’s shoulders. Exhaling, he opens his eyes and gives the rats a little smile, reaching up to scratch Switchblade between the ears.
“People keep telling me I’m too nice. But the truth is, I’m not, and I’ve never wanted to be. I’ve seen ‘nice’ cover up a lot of evil shit to try and make it look like it was right. Nice isn’t something to aspire to.
“What I want is to be good. And unlike being nice? Sometimes being good means getting a little rowdy. And babies, that’s fine by me. I am done with playing your games, Insensate. I am getting to the bottom of this, and if that means I break the damn ring with your body, so be it. I am not letting you get away with just causing wanton destruction to anyone you feel like inflicting your wrath upon. We had the opportunity to do this another way, but since this is the only avenue you’ve left open? I’m not exactly going to shed a tear over what I’m going to do to get the job done. And don’t feel left out, Roy. There’s enough of me to go around, but I’ll be honest – I’d be more concerned about my partner if I were you. He was talking about feeding you your own teeth and absolutely no part of that sounds pleasant.”
He sweeps the cards back into his hands, getting to his feet, stepping in front of the table, and shuffling the tarot for a last time. Above him, one by one, the light bulbs begin to buzz and flicker like angry insects before going out.
“And what’s in store for your Mystifying Oracle, Ascended Army? What can I expect going into this fight?”
As the scene continues to dim, Silvio draws a single card from the deck. Looking it over, a little grin teases at the corners of his mouth. He holds it up to show each of the curiously sniffing rats with a conspiratorial glint in his eye before turning it to the camera revealing it to be the Magician.
“Determination, dexterity, resourcefulness; using your full potential to make your reality manifest. Looks like somebody’s boogeyman is coming out to play.”
The final lightbulb above him stutters, the Oracle flashing in and out of view as he turns and approaches the camera, smiling as he comes closer, the rats on his shoulders leaning forward, beady eyes glinting even in the dark.
“Fortune favors the bold, Ascended Army.”
Kissing the card, he flicks it at the camera as the last light snaps off with a high, hollow, ‘ping’ of burning filament.
“See you at Collision.”
oracularmysteries 