Thread: Shining Life(Marvel) Lady/Fox

Grant Ward was doing the same thing he did every twenty eight days on the new moon. How he knew when the New, and the Full Moon was, was as much a mystery to the people of 'The Bus' as his habit of getting up at the exact same time every day and doing his exercises. Every Full and New Moon he payed Homage to a Goddess he had worshiped since he was a small child. It was in his files, he had done so from the beginning and he continued to do so now. He smiled as he settled in front of the little makshift Alter he had created using what was supposed to be his eating table. On it where three candles. One white, one black and one Re that Phil had allowed him to have. He had to admit, he was grateful to Phil for the small things like this. Technically speaking, Grant did not need such things to pay homage to his Mother Goddess. They did make him feel much more at ease though. In front of each candle where three hand carved figurines. Ones that Grant had made himself. He was a gifted wood carver and he had carefully carved everyone on the Bus at least something, but these three statuettes where exceedingly special. The one on the very left was a woman sitting, she held a baby in her arms ad her stomach was swollen with child. There was a young doe sitting next to her, and a pair of doves sat on her knee. She wore no shirt and was feeding the baby, and her lap was draped with a blanket, hiding further nudity. She seamed to have no real name, and he only ever called her The Mother, or The Mother Aspect. The one on the right was just as beautifully crafted. It was of a girl, somewhere between the ages of ten and eighteen. Everyone who looked at her seamed to think she was of various ages. She was wearing a flowing dress and her arms where outstretched and a smile graced her beautiful face, one leg out as she danced, spinning in a circle. There where butterflies in her hair, robins and hummingbirds clinging to her dress and there where flowers everywhere. Two hawks hovered in the air as if dancing with her and a Fox was in mid pounce near her feet while a cat, kitten really, leaped for one of the flying locks of hair, or maybe one of the many ribbons that adorned the figure. This one was The Maiden, or sometimes the Child. It was the figurine in the middle that he had spent the longest time on with the most devotion. It was of an old woman, her face wrinkled, wide and a slight smirk that often made Phil think she was planning on gutting someone. She was cloaked in a heavy winter cloak, each detail painstakingly carved until it looked as if the cloak was going to start fluttering in the wind at any moment. There where crows, or Ravens everywhere around her, sharp beaks and beady black eyes, wings spread and feathers detailed perfectly even if the figurine was only a foot tall. To the side of the woman was a massive black wolf, lips lifted in a snarl while a pack hovered barley sketched into the background like some twisted painting. A dead tree was to her right, covered in Ravens and snow. The woman held a gleaming knife in one hand, and a gnarled walking stick in the other,a healthy mare stood proudly at her back, as if waiting to battle or race through the open plains. This one was the one he spoke of with the most reverence, the few times he spoke of such things. She was The Crone, The Lady, or in a hushed voice full of veneration and respect, The Morrigan. The Morrigan was payed homage to every month without fail, with an Alter or without. Sometimes he would pay homage to the Mother on the full moons, but he didn't ever miss a New Moon. Ever. Even if he could not do it when the moon rose, he always took the time to offer homage to His Lady, even if he was battling. Though, to be honest, Battle was one of Her favorite things, so doing battle on her Holy Nights was about all the homage she really needed, but he preferred to do things properly and without shortcuts. Even now, he placed on the little makeshift alter a bright ruby red apple, purloined from his breakfast, and a jet black feather that someone must have given him. They where up too high for birds to fly, and even if they weren't there was no way he could have gotten the feather otherwise, as there where no windows, doors or even vents or gaps large enough to fit such a feather of that size. He knelt before the Alter and began his tradition of greeting the Morrigan and thanking her for his battles and his strength. This knight, however, he did something all together different. He stood after his greeting, though he usually meditated for several minutes up to an hour, reflecting on the past month. This time he stood up straight away and moved over to the glass wall that kept him encased. Kept him trapped. He reached out and touched the glass, ignoring the warning sparks that it let off. He knew from experience that if he kept contact too long that he would get zapped hard enough to drop him and keep him down for several minutes. He smiled a little at the camera and mouthed two words. 'I'm Sorry' and the glass cracked at his fingertip. The crack spread in an instant, covering the entire glass wall before the entire thing shattered as if it had exploded. Glass was flung everywhere and an Alarm began to blare, warning of Grants escape. He was gone in the six seconds it took for May to get there, no hint of him at all save for the alter with it's red apple, black feather and three candles. The statues where gone and all that was left was a pile of shattered glass. Even his personal effects, boxed up in storage including what usually went on his Alter, a silver Athame, a branch of Blackthorn and some wine or Ale, depending on the season. Everything else was gone too, his pictures, his books, his clothes, his everything, as if he had never been there in the first place.