Everlasting

[Nekomimist]

Day in and day out drivel could easily lead one into the arms of suicidal tendencies, but even in the heart of such a coward lingered not even the courage to such a freeing act, and all he was left with was a man too simple and bored to do anything about his fate. It was not that the world around him wasn't colorful; New Orleans was a place of festivity, especially in the spring. Lights and laughter filled the evening purple air, a tempting array of delights and pleasure with the beat of jazz. Everyone should be having the time of their life, but he could not seem to fully indulge. No, it was something much deeper, whatever the burning restless in his chest was. The fishy yet fresh scent of the Mississppi River wafted through the window, riding on the heavy breeze. From that window illuminated with color he stared, tapping a finger on the glass.

He had been in hiding from some time in this city of music and food, but he couldn't stay there much longer. Underneath its beautiful surface, New Orleans was known for its supernatural reputation. Julian Aminova had flown under the radar most his life, but when he walked unscathed from an ultimately fatal accident, he'd involuntarily brought attention to himself. Not the media nor gossip, but the dangerous kind, the kind that doesn't believe things of the dark shouldn't exist.

His face fell into the cradle of his palm and he breathed in deep, thinking back to the break in at his original residence. It was much like the break in at his father's home, blood smeared in letters on the wall. At a young age, with a father as honest as his, he had learned that the blood flowing through his veins was not only human, but demon as well. It was not the kind of demon one would imagine, either. The story, much more in depth, had been enough to give a child nightmares—but those fearful days had faded away with a busy adulthood, until the recent incident. Looking at the world now, he saw a new side, a new face.

Julian found home at a simple law firm as a simple paper-pusher. It was discreet and safe, and generally he was out at five, before sundown, but this evening was different. Too much work was to be filed and there he stood, eyes watching the sun fall behind the horizon. Everyone else had gone home, and in their absence he'd made himself comfortable, tie loose, shirt unbuttoned by a few. It was time to go, unless he wanted to sleep in his boss' office all night.

The door was set to automatically lock behind him, but even so, after hearing the click, he couldn't help but look behind him. His jacket was hung on his arm, other hand free. As an "errand boy", of the age of twenty-eight, he had no use for a briefcase. Cajun and jazz was everywhere, filling the air around him. How he could enjoy it if he weren't in fear for his life.

 

[Laggy Lagiacrus]

Above the atmosphere, in the vast vacuum humans had taken to calling space, an alien life form – that looked remarkably human – sat, hoping to take the day off. Not that he had any real concept of day or night in his current position, however – merely roughly what time of day it was on a particular part of the Earth. The ship was, by and large, nothing particularly special, to him – and it would likely lose its charm to any strangers who happened to waltz in, as well. There were no fancy control panels, no flashing lights, and the AI was a standard model. Of course, the user interface could be called up, but that holograph was as impressive to him as a stick of butter.

Earth was special – it was so dull, and so drab, and the beings that claimed to be the most intelligent on it were but ants, compared to even one of his species. However, they had been progressing at an alarming rate, and given a few hundred years, they would likely be taking their first steps into the realm of travel into other galaxies. For all their faults, they were remarkable little people – that charm was one for he reasons why he loved to stop by Earth, when he had the chance. Watching how the humans had evolved over the last decade was far more interesting than watching the Mzariftans build yet another museum, to house things only beings of a higher plane could comprehend. Hence, the reason why he hovered above it.

A traveller from beyond the stars, he had traversed many planets in his time. And yet, he was always fascinated by Earth. He had seen the rise and fall of many an empire, he had loved and lost, and had just generally been about. But this tiny planet, an insignificant speck in the grandness of the conceivable universe, was something that he would return to, time and time again. But, there was another reason for him attending, this time around, and it wasn't because he was going to stock up on supplies. No, there was something much more serious afoot, and the authorities weren't going to deal with a planet not within their jurisdiction.

The sound of gears grinding sounded – an odd noise, considering that this was a ship that would astound the hardiest of science-fiction fans, but that was the closest thing it could be compared to on Earth. He had swiped his hand through thin air, to call up a globe hologram, the ship being telepathically linked to him in order to provide more efficient service. He picked the exact spot to land, and the short-range teleport activated. It faded in and out of visibility, and had anyone been where he was landing, they would have seen the exact same thing happening, though with his ship slowly solidifying.

A chameleon circuit had been built into it – essentially, it was a disguise kit for the ship. However, while it would usually adapt to the environment around it, and change appearance to blend in, the circuit had been damaged beyond repair – it was now stuck as a red phone box, similar to the ones dotted throughout central London. There were some main differences, however – mainly the fact that it was slightly larger, and that even if someone was inside, the windows would only show an empty phone box. Not that many people knew about the second one, though. The travelling man stepped out, looking about the area for any signs of extra-terrestrial (relatively speaking) activity.

Unfortunately for him, he didn't see the plastic shop dummy in the window move, ever so slightly.

 

[Nekomimist]

He could barely see the slightest twinkle of the stars above for the sky was blanketed with smog from the city. Not to mention, this time of year there was undoubtedly a storm rolling in. They were expecting rain, and lots of it. Fierce weather had a way of alarming him, it always meant disaster of some kind. "It's humid enough as is," He growled, irritated by the feeling of every part of his clothing sticking to him as if someone had poured a bottle of honey down his collar and pants. Julian swept a hand through his short ash-blond hair sand took in a deep breath. His heart lodged into his throat when a car horn blared just behind him—he all but leaped out of his skin and turned around, which felt like an eternity. A group of young party-goers were laughing, waving as they passed by what could only assume to be friends. The car came to a halt and two girls hopped out of the convertible, one embraced one of the walkers in a hug. The shaking in his knees led to him stumbling, and it was down a different way home than he normally took. He shrugged it off, gaining a decent amount of composure, and laughed. The idea of his assailants honking was ridiculous anyway.

The stone pavement of the alleyway was uneven, walls around lit up with neon signs. It was away from the crowd, and he couldn't be sure if that was the safest route or not. Either way, he was free of the noise. He stepped over a pile of garbage without so much as a scoff. It was a party city, and he was used to it. Actually, the very idea of leaving the place made his heart grow heavy. He'd been in New Orleans all of his life, it was his home, he loved it. Where else in the world could he call home?

Something ahead, just out of the alley caught his attention, and he knew his eyes must have been playing a trick on him. Out of nowhere it appeared—must have been a car of some kind, because spaceships didn't exist. He struggled with his vision, forcing it to focus when what he thought was some kind of flashy car vanished, leaving a telephone booth. He rubbed his eyes between his finger and thumb and cursed, "What the?"


It was in that moment that his intrigue was broken—breathing was suddenly restricted and his hands flew up to his throat. A chain was around his neck, crushing down on his esophagus and he gagged. His shaking fingers grazed gloved hands and he cured, again; they'd fund him. He stomped backwards, crushing a foot behind him and pressed his body against the attackers just enough to sneak a leg behind his and send the killer flying with a hip throw. Shouts and footsteps alerted Julian that more were coming, and the one man down on the ground was already on his feet.

 

[Laggy Lagiacrus]

While his ship may have been made to adapt to different climates and suchlike, the traveller had no such capabilities. Not biologically, anyway. There was a piece of technology able to alter the user's blood, in order to allow them to adapt more quickly – to different climates, anyway. But, it was still experimental, and the last person to use it had bled to death. Out of their everywhere. He pulled a face upon remembering what the scene in the laboratory was like, but quickly wiped it off of himself. He had detected hostile beings alien to the planet, and as the only one in the quadrant who actually knew and cared about what was going down, he was essentially a vigilante now.

Dabbing at his brow with a cheap green square of cloth, the fringe of his dark-brown hair was swept to the side, if only to allow more air to reach his forehead. His tired green eyes scoured the area, him trying to blend in with the crowd – despite the fact that there was no crowd to speak of. Not that it would be easy, for him – what with his choice of clothing. While the white shirt and black trousers were typical of your run-of-the-mill office worker, the brown trench coat flowing behind him was not particularly well-suited to the weather. It was one of the last things a person would consider wearing – in the current weather, at least.

He breathed deeply – and then coughed for a good few seconds. He'd wanted to taste Earth air again, but the fresher kind, not the kind that tasted like someone had left the proverbial in the air conditioning system. He was only where he was because of the signals he'd detected – or, to be more accurate, the signals that he didn't detect. According to the sensors, no life forms could be detected within a five-mile radius of the ship's current location, but there were obviously going to be people there. Something was blocking his signal, and there was no way poxy Earth technology was going to stop the scans.

He'd taken a risk by taking his ship out of orbit, and onto the ground. To activate the AI, let alone contact it remotely, would essentially be him broadcasting his position. Thus, he had had to keep technology on his person that would be out of place to a minimum. And even then, he hoped he didn't have to sue it – there was no telling what could actually happen to him if he did use it. His trousers hadn't got singed by magma surfing that was for sure. He shuddered once again at the memory, but froze upon seeing a rather violent scene unfold before him.

Gripping something in his pocket, the alien pilot dashed towards the scene, and stood between Julian and his assailants.
"Hello!" he began, in a worryingly jovial tone, "Sorry, I had to do some… stuff. Anyway, this all looks fairly horrible. Anyone mind telling me what's going on?"

Still grasping the item in his coat pocket, he flashed a smile at the men he was standing in the way of. To most, it would look like he was not-so-subtly brandishing a gun at Julian's aggressors – and, in a sense, this was true. However, outward appearances only told so much, and he was relying on this bluff to keep the situation from spiralling out of control.

 

[Nekomimist]

At first the sudden body before him sent his gut dropping and, if it had not been for the pleasant 'hello', he would have attacked the brown-duster only to realize he was actually coming to his aid. A cop; it was the only reasonable persona the young man could conjure and that would be a problem. The blood coursing through his veins was not a forgivable kind, and many police officers were aware of what he truly was. The again, it was not common place, especially with the rise in lawsuits, for an officer to pull out a gun or threaten with one. They had protocol and this didn't resemble it whatsoever.

The apology was the next thing to catch the paper-pusher off guard, and as reaction, he hesitated. He shook his head, ash-blond hair swaying against his brow, "They--"

Before he could finish, the attackers nodded at the man, growling, "This ain't your business, get outta here--now!"

This was New Orleans and gangs were not a rare sight, but these men were not of the "crypt". They were true assassins posing as whatever needed in order to invoke the utmost destruction of Julian's kind. The blond had been very careful not to alarm them of his presence, but it wasn't easy. Demon-blood had a rich scent. How they found him was a mystery he wanted to unwrap, actually.

The man coming to his aid was all too much a blessing, and he would use it. While the stupid assassins were busy shouting at the new-comer, he focused. He could feel the hollow ground beneath him, feel the subway pulse underneath the city. Killing, to say the least, wasn't his bag, but he had no other option. His defender needed the help, as did he, so no alternate choices were open. The ground collapsed beneath the attackers, all but one, and fed the electric train below. Their cries filled the warm, Cajun-scented air above for only a moment, and then the soothing clicking of metallic tracks could be heard before melting into the evening. The remaining attacker moved, not for Julian, but for the man in brown duster, gun first.

If Julian had the strength, he would have protected him, but using his powers made his mind whirl violently and he struggled to stay on his feet.

 

[Laggy Lagiacrus]

While most normal people would have been astounded by the fact that a gaping hole had appeared in the ground beneath most of the gang members, the traveller was far from impressed. He had seen far less impressive beings perform far more impressive feats – however, the fact that they had died was enough to set a horrified expression into his face. While Julian would likely not have seen his face, the alien was evidently even more averted to killing than he was. He decided to ignore the situation for the time being, however, in favour of taking care of his approaching attacker.

In one swift, practised motion, he drew out his supposed weapon, and aimed it at his aggressor – or, more specifically, he aimed it at his aggressor's gun. The traveller's weapon seemed not to be of any Earthly origin, naturally. A silver cylinder, roughly six inches long, with a green bulb on the end – hardly something that looked deadly, but it served its purpose well enough. He pointed it, and pressed his thumb down on a depressed section of it, causing the bulb to glow. Immediately, the firearm flew out of the goon's grasp – forcefully enough to fly several feet back, one might add.

Still holding his device out, backing up slowly, the traveller maintained a firm glare, staring down the mook that he hoped would be too shocked by this sudden development to do much.
"Now, I don't know who you are, or what you're doing. But I want you to just back off a little, drop anything in your pockets that won't kill any of us, and tell me what's going on. Just do it slowly, and carefully, and nobody needs to get hurt.

However, he wasn't actually willing to hurt anyone. He was determined, yes – but killing, and maiming? Not really his thing.

He did a half-turn, allowing him to face Julian, while also keeping an eye on the remainder of the group, so as to keep the situation under what control he could.
"Look, I'm really sorry for getting involved in this, and once it all gets sorted out, I'd really like to have a word with you. But, for now, do you think you could just wait over there, for a minute? Things might get a little ugly, they usually do. And you don't really look too good."

Alas, he was pointing to a shop with a plastic mannequin in the window – one that had definitely not been staring at them before he had used the device. Not that many people would have paid attention to it in the first place.