i'm pure at heart, it repels the dirt

Isabelle woke up – for once – a little bit later than usual. Maybe it was down to exhaustion. The Angel knew the dark under her eyes had not gone anywhere over the last couple of weeks.

Still, now that she was up, she pushed herself upright without wasting any time laying down. She stretched her arms, then looked over at Flick.

[ooc: NFB, for that guy, CoLS]

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.]

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.]