seveninchmotto | Entries tagged with canon: city of fallen angels

There was something eerie about fighting the cultists of the Church of Talto. They moved all together, less like people than like an eerie dark tide — eerie because they were so silent and so bizarrely strong and fast. They also seemed totally unafraid of death. Though Alec and Isabelle shouted at them to keep back, they kept moving forward in a wordless, clustering horde, flinging themselves at the Shadowhunters with the self-destructive mindlessness of lemmings hurling themselves over a cliff. They had backed Alec and Isabelle down the hallway and into the big, open room full of stone pedestals, when the noise of the fight brought Jordan and Maia running: Jordan in wolf form, Maia still human, but with her claws fully out.

( The cultists seemed barely to register their presence. )

[ooc: NFB, to be continued in the comments! Taken once more from City of Fallen Angels, which concludes here because I am efficient, omg.]

There were no messages stuck to Jordan's apartment door, nothing on or under the welcome mat, and nothing immediately obvious inside the apartment, either. While Alec stood guard downstairs and Maia and Jordan rummaged through Simon's backpack in the living room, Isabelle, standing in the doorway of Simon's bedroom, looked silently at the place he'd been sleeping for the past few days. It was so empty — just four walls, naked of any decoration, a bare floor with a futon mattress on it and a white blanket folded at the foot, and a single window that looked out onto Avenue B.

( She could hear the city. )

[ooc: NFB, NFI, OOC-okay! From City of Fallen Angels. Warning for unpleasantness with dead children.]

Years previously, when Long Island City had been a center of industry instead of a trendy neighborhood full of art galleries and coffee shops, the Ironworks was a textile factory. Now it was an enormous brick shell whose inside had been transformed into a spare but beautiful space. The floor was made up of overlapping squares of brushed steel; slender steel beams arced overhead, wrapped with ropes of tiny white lights. Ornate wrought iron staircases spiraled up to catwalks decorated with hanging plants. A massive cantilevered glass ceiling opened onto a view of the night sky. There was even a terrace outside, built out over the East River, with a spectacular view of the Fifty-Ninth Street Bridge, which loomed overhead, stretching from Queens to Manhattan like a spear of tinseled ice.

( Luke's pack had outdone themselves making the place look nice. )

[ooc: NFB, NFI, OOC-okay! Edited from City of Fallen Angels.]

"Okay," said Isabelle, putting away the first aid kit with a brisk gesture. They were in one of the Institute's many spare rooms, meant to house visiting Clave members. Each was plainly furnished with a bed, a dresser and a wardrobe, and a small bathroom. And, of course, each one had a first aid kit, with bandages, poultices, and even spare steles included. "You're pretty well iratze'd up, but it's going to take a little while for some of those bruises to fade. And these ––" She ran her hand over the burn marks on Clary's forearm where the demon blood had splashed her. "–– probably won't go away totally till tomorrow. If you rest, they'll heal faster, though."

And maybe that way Isabelle wouldn't have to come bail her ass from Hydra demons again, like she had today. But guess that was okay. She'd been getting a little bored, anyway. Dead Shadowhunters kept turning up and there'd been nothing much for her to do but stay around.

( Clary you're so amazingly dumb. )

[ooc: NFB, OOC-okay! Taken with editing from Cassandra Clare's City of Fallen Angels.]

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i'm pure at heart, it repels the dirt

Entries tagged with canon: city of fallen angels

New York, Even Later Friday Evening

Around New York, Late Friday Evening

The Ironworks, New York, Friday Evening

The Institute, New York, Monday

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