Ebb and flow, the bitter sea. Wing beat.

Ebb and flow, blood in her veins, pressing against bandages, pressing against clotted scabs. Nora's body sat stiff with very little to ease the sting of every scrape and the ache of every limb. What few aspects of life she did have to distract herself from these wounds delivered by the incarcerated Azazel were the landscape flying beneath them, a very tiny screen playing some low-budget film on the back of the seat in front of her, and airline food (including a pinch and glimmer of alcohol, even tossed into one of those classy glasses to promote drinking in moderation - because if she'd been given the whole bottle, she'd've chugged every damn sip down in the first half hour of the flight).

Moderation was best, though, she decided. Under one condition: if the plane started going down, she wouldn't hold back.

Lazily, and slightly buzzed between the ears, she turned her head towards the window and looked out across the ebb and flow of a bitter sea beneath them. They'd been flying a lot, lately - over Canada, through windows, to Japan. The one difference that the latter had with the other two, however, was the fact that something fresh and hopeful came along with it. Meaning. A goal. Somewhere in Japan, the Empress was being held captive - at least, per Azazel's testimony - and somewhere in Japan, Nora would get her reward and she'd be safe from the search and scour of anyone who might be out to find her. It was almost over. We're almost done.

The rim of a glass touched her lips slowly, stretching at the skin before dipping back to pour gold down her throat. It felt golden, too, in the way it tasted bad but was nonetheless hailed as luxury by its maker. And the sky was golden, too, in the way the sun clipped up over the end of the earth and said it no longer wanted to see this part of the world. Me too. But distantly there was a tiny dot, blackened by shadow and blackened by being. It flapped and swirled out there, far away. It could've been a gull. Nora didn't like, it, though. She drank harder. Okay, so maybe the birds are relevant. Okay.

Most recent victim of the ravens, Azazel would be sitting in darkness in a fully-lit room. They'd pecked his eyes out. Perhaps his superhuman makeup would bring sight back to him, perhaps it wouldn't. Nora pitied him, almost. Y'know, getting past the whole "he threw me out a window and tried to kill me with fire" deal. He'd given information. He'd given them a means to an end, even if it was involuntary. They were headed to Tokyo.

That, and his words still rang in her ears: "We could get rid of that host problem of yours. It's overwhelming you. It'll kill you."

She swallowed even though there was nothing left in her mouth to swallow besides saliva. This realization made her shake her head, and blink her eyes, and turn to the passing flight attendant (who didn't have much to do, given there were only a few passengers), and say, with a weary smile upon her lips, "Can you fill my cup again, please?"

The flight passed quickly. By the time their feet were on steady ground again, day had fallen to a blue dusk. Merle and Palila were there as well, and hurried the six tired members into a large van, where many of them nodded off. Those who didn't were simply quiet, looking up in quiet awe (as well as they could through tinted windows) at the passing city of Tokyo, where lights were bright and Nora wouldn't mind hiding for a little while. It was much like Los Angeles, but more anticipated. Probably for the tourists.

The advertisements were blinding, flashy, contexted by a language she had no hopes of understanding. Their trip, which Merle and Palila had promised would be a short one, was severely lengthened by traffic. They'd drive for a while, ignored by the sea of people waiting to cross, and then they'd stop for a while, waiting for the sea of people to cross. After the first two instances of this, Nora felt everything blurring together. The lights. The people. Alcohol did that sometimes.

When they did arrive at their destination, Irene had to nudge her back to reality (again, with an item rather than her hand), and Nora had to blink the old landscape away. She was the only one left in the car, curled up by the window. The other door was open. It was cold and the car was running and she didn't want to leave it but she did.

"So we're there, then?" she asked, groaning her way to a stand. "The wise old fortune teller's place, eh?"

Palila, as always, stood stiff and crisp in her suit. "I feel it would be more appropriate to refer to them as an oracle. We must also remember that this metahuman was previously rejected from joining the team, so they might not be incredibly willing to assist us. They might be more inclined to help if we use respectful terms."

Nora's expression fell flat. "Ah, yes. It's not like the words 'fortune teller' are painted up on a sign right outside their door, in big, blocky letters, for all to see. Is that neon lighting, too?" She pointed, and Merle, who was closest to her at the time, smacked the finger down in hopes that Palila would fail to see it. Nora laughed lightly.

The building itself was built like a house, and a shoddy one at that. Lopsided. Chipping away. A little green. It didn't fit at all with the rest of Tokyo's sharp appearance, and perhaps that was how this "oracle" of sorts made business. Nora stepped further from the heat of the car and closer to the sign she'd pointed out earlier, squinting in vain. "Anyone know how to read Japanese?"

"I do." Irene said. What a surprise. The girl (literally) stepped forward to translate. "Just fortune teller again. And also they only take one customer at a time. 'Several equals no service.'"

"Huh," someone else in the crowd of six said. "Who wants to go first?"

Silence. Shuffling feet. Sighing.

Oh, so very boring. And cold. I bet they've got heat inside. "I'll go," Nora said, "given I'm closest to the door anyways. If it goes bad, I'll scream, I guess." Or just look for the birds outside.

The others weren't opposed to this, and a few took it upon themselves to sit against the curb, arms folded, as Nora bounded up the concrete steps to the front door, which was unlocked, and which she opened, and which she stepped through, to feel mysterious warmth and the smell of cinnamon and incense burning in the air. The door closed behind her. Clattered was a better word.

Nora stood in a small rectangular entrance area, small enough for her to spread both arms out and touch the walls, elbows cramped in. These walls were stubby and pale with color but lit by the sort of lights you'd find outside at Halloween, purple and bright. A thick curtain of a similar color sat in front of her, pinned to the threshold of another doorway. Nora coughed. "Still open? 'Cause I have a little bit of an urgent thing to talk to you about, so like, it'd be nice if you were still open but if you aren't I still need to-"

"Come in, Miss Belasco. But keep your eyes averted. I must fix my bra."

"O-kay," Nora whispered. She waited a moment before pressing her hands on the curtain to push it aside, but it was heavy, like if it were to fall on her she'd suffocate, and took some time all on its own to get through. When she did, the weight seemed to fall away under the calm glare of lights - candles, bulbs, strings, a little bit of everything. The new room was much more spacious than the last, and was done up like you'd expect from any other fortune telling shop, save the obvious hint of Japanese tradition in the decor. In the center of the room was a round table, and at that table, a woman. The woman sat in wait.

Nora had her arms slack at her side. She stretched her toes and patted her outer thighs twice, waiting for the woman to say something, but she said nothing, so she finally released a breath and sat herself down quickly on the chair opposing her. "Hi."

"Greetings, nomad." Nothing else. The woman's hands never moved from the tabletop, where they sat clasped together. The woman's eyes never moved from Nora's face, where they sat expectantly, but drooping slightly with the hint of age. She was perhaps in her fifties, but the makeup on her face helped distract from that. The purple tinge of her lips subtracted ten years, at least. Her raiment was also draped across her shoulders like the curtains, and Nora saw by the sharpness of her bones that she was a willowy woman beneath the bulk of it. There wasn't much hair to hide her face. It'd been buzzed and only black prickles showed themselves against her scalp.

Nora coughed. "You're the oracle, then?"

"That's such a lousy word," the woman answered immediately, "I prefer fortune teller. It is displayed outside, as you might have noticed."

Nora scoffed, but the woman's confused look made her shake it off as another cough, and she proceeded. "Right. Listen, though. I- I come from Project Phoenix. You know it?"

As if the fire had gone out of her - or maybe even gone into her - the woman's shoulders deflated, and her arms raised above her shoulders in a comfortable stretch, matching the comfortable yawn that pulled her painted lips every which way before closing. "Whew! Of course I know it!"

"Wh-"

"The stare is for the clients, you see. As is the get-up with my attire and the shop. And this ball?" Her knuckles rapped against a glass sphere in the middle of their little table. "Pah! It's for the tricks and gimmicks. People like to see the stereotype to see that it is legitimate, you see. Especially tourists. It is much easier to get my information from the ceiling. It reflects through the ball, anyhow. I just thought I would clarify for you. It is all very embarrassing for me otherwise. Now, what do the fire birds need of me today?" Her elbows struck the table, and her teeth began to pick at the skin of her thumb, eyes laid intently on the visitor.

Slow to realize that the attention was now on her, Nora raised her brows and blinked around a minute before continuing on. "We're here to get answers. Your ability, uh, you can just...pop your little head into the future, right?"

The woman pressed her lips together finely. "Answers require questions as a precedent. My ability allows me to allow you only three, three per individual. Ask me what you will, but deliberate carefully upon what it is you will ask."

Nora spread her fingers out on the table. "Oh, trust me, that's fine with me. I think I...where're you going?"

"My cards have fallen over again. Keep going, I'll just be shoving them back in the deck."

As the woman stood lingering by her shelf in the corner, placing her tarot cards or something in a neat stack, Nora inhaled in preparation. "Where-"

She was cut off mid-question by the inexplicable and sudden drop of the woman's neck, as though her body had gone slack but not allowed her to fall completely to the floor. Nora's first instinct was to stand and shake her awake, but her eyes were open, and she was not asleep. "Oh my god," Nora began, "I just saw a woman die. Right in front of me. She's dead, that's it, there is no hope for anything, she croaked, kicked the bucket, nada, nunca, time to go, time to-"

Another curtain fluttered through the air behind the table, and a man stepped through, a pep in his step, a tray of cinnamon flavors in his mittened hands, and an elderly "ta-da!" springing melodically from his throat as he struck a pose.

Nora's first instinct was to stand and run. She accomplished the first half.

"Oh, no no no! I didn't mean to frighten the tiny bird! Sit, sit! I will explain!"

"I really should probably be reporting back, y'know, teams and communication and stuff."

"Sit, tiny bird!"

I don't like that name. She sat. The man lingered. Huffed, the both of them.

He seemed to need a moment to collect all the information he needed, and then he moved forward in one long stride to set the tray down on the table. Warmth and dough spread up as an aroma, and Nora felt her mouth wettening at it all, but still, she looked at this stranger who looked strangely similar to the woman in the corner. He yanked the chair out further and talked rapidly. "My sister is not dead. Technically, I am the dead one, and yet, I am alive. Born from the same womb, at the same time, two bodies with one soul to share. We cannot function equally at once, I'm afraid. I am so very lonely during the day, so I took over for her. I will do the job. May I do the job?"

Though both characters - brother and sister, evidently - were a bit too wild for Nora's tastes, she would've much preferred to have the woman back, who at least seemed to have a stronger purchase on reality. But the man wouldn't leave even if she wanted, so she sighed and bit into her lip and nodded. "Alright. As long as you can answer me right."

The man's brows furrowed and his back stiffened. "I can answer you right just fine. Question."

Just get it over with. Be fast. "Where will we find the Empress?"

Though he remained stiff, a smile spread widely across his face, and a short giggle sprouted at the back of his throat. "Oh, that's too easy! But first, first - my sister failed to tell you something vital - I must ask you a question for you to answer before I can answer the question you gave me. But honest - and I will know if you're being honest - or I will refuse you."

"Sorry. Talk slower?"

He repeated himself, and when it finally processed in Nora's mind, she collected a great deal of air in her lungs, slammed her back against the back of the chair, and expelled all of it in a violent gust. "Really?"

"You seem agitated. Would you like a cinnamon roll?"

"Just ask your question," she said, pressing fingers into the tear ducts of her eyes to wipe the sleep from them, "before they get cold."

The man smiled again. There was youth in it.

"Why are you afraid, Nora Belasco?"

"What the hell kind of question is that? Afraid of what?"

He merely shrugged, and clutched one fist tightly in the other. No more was said.

Just think of the first thing that comes to mind and say it. We don't have time for this. We drank too much for this. "I don't want someone to grab me and try to kill me with myself. That's why I'm afraid. Can you answer me now?"

He seemed to squint, to strain, as if trying to punch holes in her statement, but it was truth in its own right, though only partially, and it worked. His eyes cast themselves to the ceiling and he followed whatever images moved up there to formulate a response. "You will find the Empress shackled down by concrete and stone somewhere in Tokyo. I do not know the exact location. It is wet." He glanced down. "Now would you like a cinnamon roll?"

"Okay. Stony. Wet. Kinky. That might narrow somethin' down. Next question: who's captured the Empress?"

The man parted his lips to ask a question of his own, but, similarly to his sister, his head fell forward, barely missing the hot tray. The woman returned to her old devices and rubbed a new ache in her neck as she stepped forward and cast a glare at the freshly emptied vessel. "I do not appreciate being interrupted, brother dearest." Nora flinched at the last two words, but quickly refreshed herself. "He is very lonely. And he loves to bake." The woman, with her painted fingertips, reached down for a roll and took a bite. "What was your question again?"

I really need that reward. I really need to get away from...people. "Who's captured the Empress?"

"Mm. Well, before I get to that, I really must ask you something, given your...misanthropic way of accomplishing things." She swallowed loudly. "You are bitter. It swims in you. Bitter and tired, and yet, I see compassion in the lines of your face. Tell me, for whom do you harbor this empathy, this emotion?"

It was this question that initiated a change in Nora, for she began to cross various aspects of her body: legs, arms, and if she could've folded her body into the very Star of David, she would've, to shield herself from the soul-searching that these individuals seemed to want to require of her. "You wanna know who I care about, is that it? Because I care about plenty of people."

"I want you to name them. Show me your humanity and I will show you what I know."

Nora's hips wriggled in the chair to keep her comfortable. Looking into the glass ball on the table, as if that'd help her see the answer herself, she sighed, shrugged. "I have a friend, Aiyana. I..." And then came the oh shit at the back of her mind. "I don't know if she's okay. I haven't talked to her or anything, and, I mean, she's not very safe at all where she is. I'll call after this," she said shamelessly, but feeling all the shame still soaking into her tongue.

"I see. Who else, Nora?"

"What do you mean, 'who else'? I gave you someone. That should be enough, in my book."

"But in my book it isn't. Keep going until you tell the complete truth."

"I mean, I don't want the rest of my team to die, if that counts. Does it count?"

"And what of the ones who are already dead? Does your compassion not spread to them as well?"

"It does," Nora said truthfully, "but I don't dwell."

"You don't dwell, and I'm the Empress herself! You very much dwell. You dwell on everything, and so your answer for my question should be very simple." The fortune teller, with the drapes falling over her shoulders, dipped forward, hands flat on the table and sticky with cinnamon. "My brother is growing impatient. I insist you hurry before this entire exchange has to take place all over again."

Temperamental and sickened by the strengthening scent of homemade pastries, Nora pressed her hands to the table too, and used them to help her stand, chest puffed and cheeks flushed with the sensation of both irritation and infestation. "Who all d'you want me to mention? The man who waters his plants every day only to have 'em ripped out by douchey little boys? The woman who moans in the other room every night only to walk out in the morning to smoke the sound outta her lungs? Every sad bartender I've ever met? Every happy bartender I've ever met? The Phoenix girl, dead in the dark, and Obsidian, dead from a fall I could've prevented? Maanyo and all the shit he's probably gotten for his physiological difference and the father-daughter pair who got gunned down before anyone could even realize they'd ran the fuck out? My uncle who screamed 'mazel tov' so many times I couldn't hear him say it anymore and my mother who had to get over the fact she thought I was a fucking witch from Hell? Merle and Palila, who probably hate their jobs because they have to put up with complicated fuckers like me? Azazel? Who, by the way, I'd give this third eye any day of the week if he just asked!"

Vocal cords raw, she fell back into the seat, and stared at the table roughly. "And why don't we throw that little boy who got all caught under the tires of a bus, too?" she said, joints tight with a need to just keep on going and going. "A whole lotta people get my empathy and I don't act upon anything to fix that. I'm human. What else do you want me to say about it? More gimmicky yelling to brighten up this shop for the tourists?"

The woman's brows had knit together, and she nodded, eyes glimpsing the ceiling. "They are people she knows. Her captors, I mean. It reaches into her background and it is very doubtful anyone from Project Phoenix will be able to discern who exactly the group is but I can say for a fact that she has defeated them before. They want to use Miguel's Compendium, too. Look for the masks."

Nora rubbed her face with both hands. "Okay. That helps. That helps."

"You have one more question at your disposal, Belasco. As do I."

The hands moved to her mouth, and she inhaled against them, which made it seem to shriek in her ears. One more question, one last question. It would be wise to ask about the enemy, but she came prepared only with the two, as the others had come up with some of their own. They were rather straightforward questions, too, and would likely be all they'd need. This, paired with the occasional self-interest placed under the guise of curiosity, helped her come to an entirely separate medium of questions, of which she only had to reach in and pick.

But she found one she genuinely wanted an answer for, unlike the previous two.

"Is it possible to get rid of the third eye? Like, can I get rid of it?" It came out pleading, fingers clinging around her lip, curling into her mouth in wait. She tugged and pulled and didn't quite care how she looked because she cared more for the answer than she did for her appearance.

The standing woman tensed, muscles tight, and she raised her eyes to nothingness. "A raven is perched outside. They are connected to you, you know."

"I know. But," Nora, gentled by the need to know, reached out and tugged at the fortune teller's get-up, "can I get rid of the eye?"

The teller, seemingly a little shaken, looked directly into Nora's eyes for what could've been the first time, and she herself showed a little compassion, connecting her fingers with Nora's wrist unknowingly. She wanted to wrench away. But she didn't. And the woman, poor in voice, asked,

"What did your brother do to you the night of your graduation?"

And thus, Nora decided she no longer wanted to know the answer to her question, and she did wrench away, and she did stand up, and she did thank the teller for her time, and she did turn to leave. But what she didn't do was answer the oracle's question.

"The raven is still out there, my dear. I will ask a different question if you ask about them instead."

"I don't care." She beat through the heavy curtain leading to the front door.

"Oh, please, would you like a cinnamon roll?"

She left, feeling mirrors against her ears, banging, banging, banging, and then flipping upwards once she entered the outside. Warmth diminished and cold took hold. It smelt of nothing but cigarette smoke and exhaust.

Above, a black bird circled in the blue dusk, ebbing and flowing in the bitter sea. Wings beating.