Occult Crimes Unit Archive Tape Transcription
The Nature of Sibyls:  Volume I

 

Is this stupid machine on?

The real question is, Andy, is it working? You know electronics and Sibyl energies don’t mix. That’s why we couldn’t use anything more sophisticated than this piece of crap.

It’s working, Riana. The tape’s moving.

Andy:              OKAY, ladies. Here we go. My name is Andy Myles, and I’m here to
                        interview three of New York City’s bravest Sibyls:  Riana Dumain, Cynda
                        Flynn, and Merilee Alexander, collectively known as the North Manhattan
                        triad. Anybody listening ought to know I’m a cop, not a reporter. If I don’t
                        do this stupid archives tape and improve my “interaction skills,” my
                        captain will fire my sorry ass.

Merilee:          Is this because you shot your partner in the butt cheek when he pissed you
                        off last week?

Cynda:            Give her a break. It’s not like you need to be talking about shooting
                        anyone in the ass.

Merilee:         That arrow was a total accident, and you deserved—

Riana:             Okay, okay. No more about ass-shooting. We’ve got to help Andy
                        with this. Let’s move along.

Andy:              Thanks. Now, for the naïve listener, could one of you please explain what
                        it means to be a Sibyl?

Riana:             For me, for most earth Sibyls, I think, being a warrior in the Dark Crescent
                        Sisterhood is a deep spiritual commitment, a calling. See this tattoo on my
                        right forearm? Mortar, pestle, and broom in triangular points around a
                        dark crescent moon—that’s the mark of a Sibyl, and I’m proud to have
                        earned it. I’ve been in training since my earliest memory, at Motherhouse
                        Russia. I fervently believe in our purpose, learning to fight and use our
                        elemental talents to protect the weak from the supernaturally strong.
                        We’re all that stands between the mundane world and horrors like the
                        Legion.

Cynda:            Well. La-de-da. How touching. For fire Sibyls at Motherhouse Ireland, it’s
                        more about swords and kicking ass and blowing shit up. Nothing like a
                        good, hot burn to set things right.

Merilee:          Hmmm. Air Sibyls train at Motherhouse Greece, and I’d have to say we’re
                        more balanced. One-half spiritual experience, one-half blowing shit up
                        and kicking ass. Cynda, if you don’t stop lighting my shirt sleeve on fire,
                        I’m going to kick your ass.

Cynda:            Ease off on the wind, killjoy. You’re just feeding the flames.

Riana:             Andy. Talk. Now, please.

portions of the tape damaged due to melting

Andy:              Wha—oh. Yeah, sorry. What kind of powers do earth Sibyls have?

Riana:             Earth Sibyls can do just about anything with rock and stone, and with the
                        energies that run through the ground itself. We’re very centered, calm, and
                        stable, and that’s why we’re the scientists of the group, and the mortars of
                        our triad. Some earth Sibyls, like me, also have terrasentience, or the
                        ability to track what’s touching currents of energies, or what’s been on
                        certain pieces of earth.

Cynda:            Centered, calm, and stable. Oh, cut me a break, please? Earth Sibyls act
                        like they never get pissed off and lose control. That’s bullshit. Ever heard
                        of the Grand Canyon? The Laurentian Abyss?

Riana:              Trainees make mistakes.

Merilee:          Shake, rattle, and roll. Yep. When Ri takes it in the teeth, the foundations
                        of the planet tremble with fear.

Riana:              I have never—

Merilee:          Hello? Tell it to all the ceiling plaster and cracks in the wall. You’ve
                        shaken our brownstone so many times I’m surprised it’s still standing.

excessive profanity deleted

Andy:               CYNDA. HEY, CYNDA. What powers do fire Sibyls have?

Cynda:            We blow shit up.

Andy:              Come on, seriously.

Merilee:         She is serious. Ow, Cynda. Lay off my damned hair, and I mean it.

Cynda:            Okay, for real. Fire Sibyls work with heat and fire, attracting it, dispersing
                        it, and—

Merilee:         They cook everything. All the time. Sizzle. Nothing but ashes.

Riana:             Cynda’s burned through three sets of fighting leathers this week.

Cynda:             I’m ignoring both of you. Andy, some fire Sibyls have pyrosentience, the
                         ability to use fire to track objects and people, or to know where and how a
                         blaze was created. We have big personalities. Bright personalities. We talk
                         when other people—not mentioning any names—would rather everybody
                         just shut up. That’s why we’re the pestles of the triad. We grind up
                         anything that gets in our way, and we handle communications for the triad,
                         like sending messages across long distances.
Riana and
Merilee:          They blow shit up.

portions of tape unintelligible due to roaring blasts of flame and wind

Andy:               And air Sibyls, Merilee?

Merilee:          We work with air and wind, moving it, directing it, and using our
                         ventsentience to read whatever information a stray breeze might contain.

Cynda:            I blow shit up. She just blows shit. Like this guy at the gym—

Riana:             ENOUGH.

Merilee:         Before I was so rudely interrupted, I was going to add, as an air Sibyl, I’m
                        the broom of the triad. I get to clean up all the messes, in fights and in
                        daily life, too.

Cynda:            Amazing, because let me tell you, she’s a total slob. Have you seen her
                        room? I never knew that many potato chip bags existed in the universe.

Merilee:          Air Sibyls are the archivists. We keep detailed records of everything.

Cynda:            On potato chip bags? Ouch! Hey, no fair with the little tornados.

Riana:             Please don’t knock the mirrors off the wall again. Those things are
                        expensive.

long period of deletion on tape, with some screaming in sections

Andy:              So, Riana, does being the mortar of the triad make you the boss?

Riana:             Yes.

Cynda:            No friggin’ way.

Merilee:          Sort of. Cynda, if you set my couch cushion on fire one more time, I’m
                        bringing a hurricane.

Andy:              The house is shaking. . . .

Cynda:            See? Earth Sibyls are calm and stable. They neeever lose control, right?

Riana:             Sorry.

Andy:              Phew. Okay. No shaking. That’s better.

Riana:             I choose the triad. Earth Sibyls always choose the triad, and it’s our
                       responsibility to hold the team together.

Cynda:            We’re all just as responsible as you are.

Riana:             Yeah, but I call the shots.

Merilee:         Somebody has to.

Andy:              The house is shaking again.

Merilee:         So much for the plaster in my bedroom. Damn it. I might as well by stock
                        in the hardware store.

Riana:             Sorry, sorry.

Cynda:            Quit being sorry all the time, Ri. If you feel like an earthquake, just let it
                        out. Let it happen.

Andy:              I’d rather you didn’t. New York City would rather you didn’t.

Merilee:         Don’t worry. We won’t let her get too out of hand. That’s the nice part
                        about Sibyls. Our energies balance each other out.

Cynda:            Except when we blow shit up.

Andy:              All righty, then. I think we’re done here. More of this later. The next time
                        I get in trouble.

Cynda:            Tomorrow?

Merilee:         Nah, she won’t shoot anybody until the weekend at least.

Andy:              Ha, ha, ha.

Riana:            The chimes are ringing. Turn off the tape machine.

Cynda:           It’s the North Bronx triad sending us a message. They’ve got a rampaging
                       demon tearing up Van Cortlandt Park.

Merilee:         Andy, we have to suit up and grab the weapons. You might want to—

Riana:            Turn off that damned tape machine! It’s time to go to work.

end of tape