Quiet Horizon: A Caelo Usque ad Centrum

Discussion in 'THREAD ARCHIVES' started by Endless Cosmos, Jul 13, 2015.

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  1. from heaven all the way to the center of the earth.

    "In the light of the morning sun, dusk is laid bare and dawn comes anew."
    A quiet tempo rang in monotone time—a continuous clack against wood, evenly spaced, precise, in a rising crescendo that descended to a quick staccato, then a scuffle. Heels drew in tight formation, whilst hands worked furiously to carve inscription on the door. Long fingers, and longer finger nails, scrawled sigils in swift sweeps of the hand before it pressed, palm flat, to push into the spacious hotel room. One pair of hands grasped a series of binders held tight against a petite form and the lady in question surveyed the topics of the room, her lips pursed in a grimace. Upon placing herself in the center, two men entered swiftly behind her and sealed the room shut with quiet incantations on their lips.

    Another survey of her surroundings gave her the information she required. Or perhaps the look of disgust scrawled on her face hinted at her distaste for the situation. Regardless, she settled her eyes on the mangled figure to the side, between a large set of doors and the leather couch. Her grimace then was obvious, though schooled within the second. She turned toward the windows, her wrist and fingers flicking in a brisk order, as intimidating as the hard lines of her face.

    As far as aromas go, the stench of the present dead body lingered and the steel taste of blood settled on her tongue. It wasn't an unfamiliar taste, but it didn't offer any pleasant stimulus. It had likely been a day since her death, enough time for the room to fester, not rot.

    "My liege is quite..." she hummed as the men placed the body before her, "unkempt, today. As fabulous as ever, though." She talked as if the lady in question still lived, as if she still served from the grave. Perhaps that still rang truth.

    With another flick of her wrist, the two men went to work, removing any obstacles in their lady's way and setting to the ground like rats scrawling into the woodwork. She watched them momentarily before fetching a piece of chalk from within her binder and bending into a low stoop that stretched the fabric of a tight, formal skirt. She was the picture of a professional, after all. With that in mind, she never once stumbled nor put herself in any kind of precarious position, even stooped to her crouch in dangerously high heels. The pride in every move she made held true and, in working out a perfect circle of Babylonian markings and various forms of Sumerian she placed herself above the corpse in almost reverent glory. Likely her greatest work to date.

    A twitch of her lips was the only indication of her satisfaction and she never once took her eyes off the cold corpse beneath her. "The souls, please," she ordered, her tone firm and ringing with her vanity.

    "Yes, Lady Gremory."

    "Quick," she punctuated with a clack of her heels as she circled the corpse once, "our mistress Abaddon does not like to wait. Even in death."
    "Damnation is truth."
    Roswell, New Mexico, an infamous tourist attraction with an overabundance of all things alien. Alien is quite a nice word to sum up an average experience within the city. It was not quite large, but enough to warrant being among the various towns to pop up after Santa Fe on Google Maps. Big or small, Roswell attracted its various tourists and even more conspiracy theorists among them. It held the world's largest consumer supply of aluminum foil for a reason, all likely crafted into tin hats.

    Definitely an over-exaggeration.

    It amused the man sitting with a tumbler of scotch in his hand, though, whilst he rifled through old newspaper clippings. With an office that sat a few feet from the entrance to the museum under his care, he could very clearly hear the incessant hiss of the front door entrance allowing visitors in. Now, however, with night descending, the door kept quiet and the entire museum held an eerie quality about it. Like something out of the X-Files, he'd always muse when gazing at the dimmed interior, as he was now from his cushioned seat.

    He didn't realize he'd been smiling until it faded, making room for a chilling worry to settle in his old bones. A cross sat directly in front of him, as did a copy of King James' Bible, a Tanakh, and the Qur'an—the book of Mormon shoved grumpily in his bottom drawer, under a pile of forgotten paperwork. Off to the side lay the monitor to his state of the art computer, or at least it was back in 1992. And on his person, a deep set frown.

    He left with the sudden need to hold the bible in a vice grip and double check the devil's trap embedded in the floorboard of his office. He did so swiftly and with a momentary nod to the night shift guards.

    With everything settled, he made for the interstate directly west of Roswell, until he could veer into the country road and up the barren slope of an abandoned trail. The maroon Cadillac swerved beneath the observatory, down a hidden pathway until it was secured within the garage embedded within the observatory walls. The entrance from the garage was kept under tight lock and, though he usually went through said entrance, the man made his way up the steps toward the front door of the observatory, decrepit and nearly falling from its hinges. He made a quick roundabout before setting aside the desk that was placed in front of the hidden entrance, of which he made sure to keep as obvious as was sanely possible in the night air. His hand slid behind the nearest desk where the switch lay and he made sure to press the button with just enough pressure to open the panel just beside the door. He kept it open as he pulled the lever down and strolled his way down the series of steps.

    Satisfied with the work he'd accomplish, the man swung into the wide space of a study, hidden a reasonable amount below the rocky terrain the observatory sat on. With reasonable chagrin, he made way to the lone computer shoved into the very corner of the room and began typing away, forging articles, letters, requests, and most of all, sightings. With ample aid from a rather unprofessional website (blog, was it? Something about ghosts and faces; he couldn't be bothered), he made due to spread the word among the people, thus laying the tracks down for various hunters to make their way to where he sat now.

    It'd be a few days, which would give him enough time to lay down a few more cases and let the foundation settle. Something peeked over the horizon and it didn't feel good.
    "Preparing for the worst—inevitably."
    #1 Endless Cosmos, Jul 13, 2015
    Last edited: Jul 13, 2015
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  2. — Name —
    Cordelia Chase

    32 miles to go, that is what the sign said. 32 to Roswell, New Mexico. It was her birthplace, and the first possible step she could think of to find her father. It didn't help that she'd been getting these... visions. She didn't like the term, but it was the best thing she could think of to describe the blood pounding, migraine causing, daydreams from hell. Two had happened so far, and both were about some old man with glasses and an ever present frown. He looked like a librarian or something, and her best guess was that he worked at the hospital or records office. That was, after all, her starting place.

    When her mother had died Cordy had thought nothing of the manilla folder of legal documents that they'd given her. She'd first poured through pictures and family videos. However, on a whim, she'd looked inside and found her birth certificate. No father was listed, but with the unwelcome first of a vision Cordelia knew that she had to find her father. She'd packed up, and now she was on her way. She looked at her passenger seat, the manilla folder sitting innocently, and sighed. She missed her mom, she needed her mom.

    She turned with the highway as she closed in on Roswell, pulling into the local library. She grabbed her backpack, slipping the manilla envelope in it and checking its contents. Her holy water bottle, a silver knife, a small sandwich baggie in a pencil pouch of rock salt, and her journal. The bag was her school bag, an olive jansport with two pockets. The Harvard Alumni patch proudly displayed on the left side of the outermost pocket, she'd fit in in this library and she knew it. She looked at her clothes, jeans and a white t-shirt with her docs, she wasn't exactly threatening. She didn't need to be though, so she got out of her car, locked it, and headed inside.

    "Hi," She said to the attendant brightly. "My name is Cordelia and I was wondering if you could help me with finding some records."

    "Of course," He said, smiling in turn. "How can I help you?"

    "I'm looking for a copy of my birth certificate? Maybe one with both parents listed?" She asked, and he nodded but frowned.

    "You might be able to get that at the records office, but I wouldn't be sure. If you have a copy and it's not on there, chances are it's not anywhere." He gave an apologetic smile, "Anything else I can help you with?"

    "Um, yes, actually, are you guys hiring?" She asked, and he frowned again. She sighed, "Well, thanks anyway."

    "If you're looking for a job, check out the museum, I think they're hiring." He said, and Cordelia nodded. She headed out then, starting her car and then running GPS to the local museum. She parked and reached for her clothes, grabbing a tan plaid button up to put on over the t shirt, maybe look a little more hireable. She carried her backpack in, asking the lady at the front desk if they were hiring. She handed her an application after looking Cordelia up and down with a frown and went to the back without a word. Cordelia assumed she was going to whoever ran the museum.​
    #2 HelloBeautifulChild, Jul 14, 2015
    Last edited: Jul 29, 2015
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  3. [​IMG]
    "I don't understand, are you saying these aren't actual unicorn horns?"

    Santa Fe held the sunrise in a frame of mountains to hold the sun in a pink, purple hue, allowing the sunlight to filter into the second story of an antique shop sitting downtown. Situated near the front, where the window could shine said sunlight directly along the head of the bed, sat Hermes' bedroom. He himself sat with the phone pressed between his ear and shoulder, loudly discussing matters whilst he pull up his way too long socks. Apparently modernizing himself didn't mean putting ankle socks anywhere on his shopping lists. There was a possibility that this article of clothing provided at least some semblance of security. Or because he couldn't be bothered with filling his dresser with enough pairs to last him the week.

    With everything situated and his hands working to button up his shirt, Hermes turned his full attention back to the conversation. "Alright, so I have to pay extra for the jaguar? Shouldn't the cost be included in that?" he paused halfway down the stairs, his winged Adidas pattering against the wood as he shuffled. After listening to the explanation on the other end, he caved in a sigh and continued his routine.

    "You moon people are frustrating," Hermes replied. A frown stretched his lips while he moved across the store, straightening a few things as he went. "Yeah, I know, you're the only non-crazy that side of the hemisphere. But I guess being normal doesn't encompass being generous, does it?" he sighs, "Yeah, I know, you got a business to run. I completely understand where you're coming from."

    After flipping the switch on his 'OPEN' sign, Hermes turned toward the his meager little counter with the too old cash register and an assortment of Led Zeppelin records waiting to be cleaned and re-cased. Yeah, he really did know what running a company felt like and it took its toll on Hermes. But a man who'd lived centuries, millenia even, couldn't ever tire of something he truly loved and Hermes loved people, all kinds. This brought him closer to people, let him see their passions come alive and happiness overwhelm them. Surely there were plenty of customers that weren't satisfied with the atmosphere or their product, but in comparison, they were far less than the ones who'd leave practically beaming at him.

    Settling into his high standing chair, Hermes turned his attention back to the conversation. "Alrighty, I'll pay the extra, I just need it here before next week. It's urgent and I have a feeling you know why," he said, staring at the early risers taking their morning jogs past, "Oh, hey, before I forget, do you have any kind of help you can point me to? People that are, um, special—I suppose you could call 'em that. I'm sure you've got a good idea of the locals. Mhm, nearest market would be in Albuquerque. Yup. Just post a wanted ad there? And you're sure it's that simple? This isn't some Crossroads crap, is it? Cause I don't know if I have a soul to give. Even if Purgatory ain't exactly for us. Okay, okay, thanks. I'll be seein' ya."

    Once he hung up, Hermes padded toward the light switches in the corner, having forgotten to flip them on. He immediately dialed a number that'd likely graced his phone more than a couple of times. It only rung twice when he finally decided to hit the call button.

    "Mr. Magoo's Emporium, how can I help you?"

    "Yeah, this is Hermes, you guys have heard of me plenty—"

    "I ain't know nobody by that name. You must have the wrong number, kid."

    "Jesus in a handbasket, I just talked to Awilix about this. Is this kind of security even necessary? Pretty sure whoever's making up the pass-phrases over there is about a century old and not the immortal kind. This is ridiculous—"

    "Kid, you're wastin' my time here."

    Hermes huffed in his exasperation, but conceded nonetheless: "'Persimmon Pressurizer?! Holy astringent plum-like fruit, Batman!' This is the third Adam West Batman phrase this week, Magoo. If I have to say Holy anything nonsensical the next time, I'm filing a complaint."

    "Go ahead, we'll get the trash can ready. Now what do you want?"

    "I just need to post a help wanted ad. It's kinda important and it's really, super urgent."

    "What's the task? Any preference of person?"

    "I don't need people who want a quick buck. I need people who want a quick buck but have a conscience."

    "The Han Solos? Not a lot of those in the monster world, kid."

    "Don't worry, I don't need a lot of people. My address is 889 9th Street, Santa Fe. The Golden Record Fleece... and Things," Hermes explained, looking around at the lack of 'Things' in his store. He shrugged and continued, "I'll explain the job once they get here. Just tell 'em it's quick, easy, painless, and it pays well." With that complete and utter lie the man merely grunted his approval and the both of them hung up in unison. Hermes took the time before the usual flood of customers to go through his first e-mail—it'd had the pleasure of waking him up at three in the morning—one more time. He bit down on his lip, reading, in grand orange letters, the phrase, 'It's just an adder, Sir Gawain,' near the bottom. A possibly dire alert—a kind of warning. It only served to slump Hermes shoulders and break another sigh.

    He had a feeling that this day, in particular, was going to be far too long.
    #3 Endless Cosmos, Jul 17, 2015
    Last edited: Jul 19, 2015
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  4. Sandy


    The memory (open)

    What's your name?....Where are you from?.... Is there anything you can tell us about yourself?.....Why did you have a phone with no contacts?....And the cash?....

    All of her answers were unified in response.


    The feeling of being released from that station was more burdening than liberating. Wandering the vast beachside of Los Angeles for hours on end before coming to a stop at a motel in the middle of the valley. Thanks to a trucker, Dale. She still remembered his name. He'd been driving for 12 years now, with his family adapting to his absent lifestyle. Her memory recollection was ironically intact when it came to detail retaining, however her mind still alluded her from the events of past before waking up. It was like being stuck in a dream where you don't know what's going to happen next, like you're falling and you don't know when you'll hit the ground. She was caught in a loop. Dale gave her his number in case she had no one to turn to, and left that morning. She stayed for two more nights, and then it happened. The incidents that would spark her newfound journey and drive to discover who she is. She closed her eyes and jerked her head mildly remembering the screams. Poor young lady.


    She balled her fists at the vivid memory of the feeling she'd gotten walking past the attacker the first time she encountered him. It was no Twilight feeling that's for sure. His aura was damning, eyes hollowed in soul like an abyss of chaos, and his entire being wreaked of nothing but pure darkness. Like that of a shadow. It was the first time (since waking) that she'd ever experienced anything like that. It made her blood run cold as ice inside her veins. She thought it was nerves, but something in her gut said it was more... It was then the day after a man turned up murdered, bitten savage but precise like. Her mind rejected the concept but she knew even in stubbornness...it was he who caused it.

    Sandy jumps slightly in the passenger seat, mildly startling Adam. She'd brushed her hair away from her eyes and focused on her memories again. Lately she'd been obsessed with them. Evan was probably used to it, but she knew that Adam was weirded out by it. Three months since she's known the group of hunters, and her rep has started to spread heavily through the community as impressive, but wary. Even then she hardly ever speaks. She felt like that was why she was still with them, they seen her as a mysterious science project they had to decode, or maybe they just never take her as a threat type, seeing as how the past two cases have been for her with her lacking combat. Those were the only two cases she'd ever worked, and the only ones she wanted to. She didn't want to be here with them, but it seemed they all had common knowledge about the supernatural. Except they knew why, she didn't. She watched the road sign as it displayed Roswell and a number of miles until destination. A cluster of activity the hunters have never seen before, even Sandy had a hard time putting it together with her innate knowledge. Abductions, missing persons, sightings of lights, and creatures alike... Sandy had an idea of what to expect, but she wasn't sure. The two hunters she'd gotten at least somewhat used to were Evan and Adam. Evan was more of the leader, 'Captain' of the little troupe. Sandy studied his hunting methods, really cunning and proficient that one, and his fighting skills were adept. Adam she learned a few nifty computer tricks, and how to set up certain traps and setups. All she could give them in return was knowledge that they would eventually have found out anyway with research, all she's doing is saving them loads of time. As Evan put it: "Time is Life. Literally." Her memories were still vivid in her mind, as they should be when you only have a handful to recall out of your entire life. She groaned and closed her eyes.

    Flashes (open)

    'Vampire....Dead Man's Blood.....'

    A night sky. Bright and radiant stars littered the sky, and a full moon that's glow covered the landscape in a beautiful white-blue aura. Sandy just sat there, by the ice machine. She was simply staring. Her eyes focused to a sky in a ray of vision that never diverted gaze. Inner thoughts worked against her heart, for she felt no peace, nor did she feel any tranquility looking at the commonly positive annotated scenery. This was the second time she's felt like this, the other waking up to this foreign place. She clutched the crumpled not in her hand tightly, making sure to feel its texture to assure herself that this is real. She didn't know if she should just scream, cry, or stow her anger inside. Her gut nagged with an annoying tug of intuition, like something was eating away at her. What seemed like minutes to her was actually a couple of hours, listening to the cars go by on the road in front of her. The crickets chirping away in the night, Sandy closed her eyes and meditated her spirit on peace. She thought about the man that died the night before, picturing his soul ascending to Heaven.

    That's when her eyes shot open to a feeling of coldness. Not physical, but more like spiritual. It was a whisper, beckoning her to follow its voice. With an unknown force of movement, Sandy began to step slowly towards the feeling, her hand brushing the brick wall of the motel as she drifted about around the corner. She could feel something else, something tender. Something pure, like that of a delicate diamond...it was emanating. Sandy felt its resonance, in fact it was almost mesmerizing to her. She could deviate between the two feelings, one of despair and darkness and the other of radiance. It caused her heart to rampage out of control, shocked and scared of these unexplainable feelings going on inside of her.


    Sandy heard the sound of something clicking against the pavement. She peered the corner to see a young woman, quite pretty if she had to say, walking along a narrow alleyway. She was alone...or so she thought. Sandy still could feel the other...thing. The woman stops dead in her tracks and shoots her head around to look back, but there was nothing. Sandy had taken cover behind the wall to conceal her suspicious ways. And then everything changed. Sandy posted against the dry and warm wall, only to hear a sharp, but brief, muffled scream. It was still distinct and clear in Sandy's mind.


    Her eyes shot open as even before she turned to see what was happening her emotions became clouded with morbid fear and helplessness. Sandy turned into the alley to see a man...the man from before sinking his teeth into the woman. Sandy didn't scream, and it was if time slowed down. She treaded backwards from the sight in disbelief, the smell of blood even in her nostrils. The man looked up from the limp woman with eyes of pure primal rage. That was the last thing he...it would see.

    The sound of a needle piercing into flesh could be heard.

    She exhales with angst. She peeked over at Adam bashfully, but also sultry like. She wanted to talk. Maybe she should. It was like the moment you knew what to say, but you froze up. Sandy was horrible at starting conversation, she always needed a bridge into it. She picked up the laptop of hers, purchased by Adam with some assets he had, and opened the screen to the reports around Roswell.

    "So, is this going to be another case?"

    Her eyes locked with his, almost as if she was staring past his eyes. She tended to make people around her nervous...especially those who knew of her given 'talents'. Her abilities were most gripping in this world, and the fact she was no demon, walker, vamp, lycan, etc...it had the community reeling about the origin and history of 'The Silent Chick'.

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  5. [​IMG]

    The squirrel struggled in Karissa's hold, attempting to uselessly free itself from the iron grip. But his attempts were vain, for his little body was soon pierced by sharp teeth that sucked away its life, quickly, but no less painfully. The woman's fingers flinched around the animal's body as it became lifeless, slumping motionless like a child's stuffed animal, its dark eyes staring at Karissa as if asking why, the only witness. She was hungry, that's all she had to say. She had made a promise to herself, one she could never break.

    Leaving the buried body behind, the vampire continued on her way, entering Santa Fe not too later after. Her motorcycle boomed with life as it crossed the streets, cutting all of the cars with a supposedly dangerous velocity. Karissa didn't care though, it's not like it could kill her. A shame. She continued like this for a while, stopping a few times to do a little research to see if there was any strange things going on, things that normal people could not deal with, but she could. And that's when, at midday, she came across an ad, a job one. It didn't specify what kind of job, but she had a feeling. Taking a quick look at the address, the vampire quickly made her way, craving to get out of the path of the sunlight, even if she had all of her body covered. It wasn't pleasant.

    Upon coming across an antique shop, Karissa stopped, staring at the house as she wondered what secrets it kept. Hopefully, nothing too bad. Parking the bike just across the street, Nora made her way to the shop, entering without cerimony. She took her time looking at the goods the shop had to offer, before going towards the cashier, a completely blank look on her face. She fixed the bag on her right shoulder, before finally saying, low and calm.

    "I'm here for the job." Her dead like eyes stared at man's ones, hoping to unveil all of his secrets. Only to find that she was extremely uncomfortable in his presence. Whoever this man was, he was not a nobody.

    @Left Half of Lancelot
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  6. [​IMG]
    Charlotte's not good with birds or lots of water, so of course both of those things happened to chase her from Nevada to New Mexico. She'd go into the whole traumatizing story, but she's not here to be laughed at, so don't ask her. Maybe she'll tell it eventually, but only when she's in the mood.

    Her sight blinkered out half a day ago, so her other senses adapted to accomodate her. Her ability to function as a perfectly normal human being was shot through even before turning into an Arachne, but being blind wasn't helpful either. Wandering off to a corner in a market square, Charlotte rummaged through her bag before finding glasses and a thin stick. She put the shades on and extended her white cane to its full length. The feeling of the (red, as red as her hair) handle both comforted and exasperated her. It'd been a while since she last had to use it.

    Alright, the nostalgia needed to go. Zipping up her bag and shouldering it again, she tapped her way out of the corner. The smell of food (fresh, ripe fruit, citrus and the smell of the sea, the musk of humanity, salty sweat, copper blood) and the sounds (children shrieking, vendors yelling, bread crackling, dogs yapping, pounding footsteps on brick and stone) overwhelmed her considering this level of sense enhancements Charlotte hadn't had to deal with since when she found out she turned. Ah, the normal days.

    Traversing the busy market with ease, she felt stares on her. So much for blending in. She'd think it'd be because of the cane, but not this time. The stares were most definitely the way she looked. After all, she could still feel the grime on her skin (granules of dirt and sand, wet cotton sticking to her skin, denim dragging her feet down with the weight of water, her hair still dripping, a stray leaf still stuck) and knew she looked like a pitiful wreck. Hurrying, she slipped out of the overcrowded square into an empty side street to collect herself.

    The tunnel people (she might have been in some tunnels) informed her that someone at a particularly unsubtle address needed some help. Thankfully, Charlotte wasn't going to Santa Fe blind (hah, sight jokes). She'd only been to the city once, but she'd done enough wandering to recognize where she was. The street she'd entered for a reprieve from sensory overload had a shortcut to 9th street between the third and fourth house on her right coming from the market square entrance. She'd recognize the statue on the first house anywhere; a rearing ram wasn't exactly common.

    Tapping her way through the shorcut, she stepped onto the street across from Hermes's stupid store. Her cane clanged when it hit metal. Furrowing her brow, she did it again in a different spot; leather this time. Sniffing (leather, oil, metal, exhaust, recently stopped, still hot), she'd realized it was a motorbike. There hadn't been a bike the last time she was here. Charlotte made her way to his shop, the steady tapping sound of her cane echoing in the quiet street.

    A dark spot in her vision and the smell of blood and oil and something else (like vanilla, like the dead, ooh, sounded fun) stood in front of Hermes's door. Probably another not-so-human person who signed up for helping a god out. Peeking from behind her (most definitely female, body shape and the smell of a woman so much different from a man's), she dripped water on his front step.

    "Hey hermano," she said cheerily. Whoops, just called a god her brother. "Heard you needed a friend. I also brought friends, and gifts too!" The creepy artwork she tookgot from the tunnel people and the spiders hanging out in her bag came to mind. "Except not her," Charlotte pointed at the girl she just sidestepped, "she's a stranger. Love that vanilla-death smell you got going for you, by the way."
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  7. [​IMG]
    "Oh my stars and garters,"
    Every ticking moment of the day passed by, one little piece at a time and fruitless as the next. Without a thorough job description, either he garnered the attention of the desperate—something not bad in and of itself, aside from the fact that their desperation stretched further than a simple job—or no attention at all. Sometimes, even desperate individuals disliked going into something blind. For Hermes, that meant the days grew longer and more worrisome, even with the recent tide of individuals looking for something to put on a wall or to actually use. He couldn't blame them for fate's complete lack of punctuality.

    Quiet rapping filled the shop's various disarray of stocked shelves. Hermes eyes flickered continuously from the magazine opened before him to the shop door and its bell. It was entirely redundant for him to worry the entrance with his eyes, seeing as he only needed to listen carefully. Something inside him nagged, however, and Hermes couldn't refuse that notion that his eyes needed to be glued on the glass windows and the glass of the door itself. That only unnerved him further and he wished he could will that feeling down and hide away.

    The constant back and forth had him stressed within the hour and the fact that the day slowed to a near, dragging halt aggravated him further. However, it was the moment he decided to scrub in frustration at his face that the bell decided to ding. His hands clapped the counter top hard and he hissed as his head snapped up to feel the chill run cold down his spine. That feeling had helped him avoid various confrontations before, but this was one he wanted and almost willed to happen for the entirety of the day.

    The moment she decided to enter and stalk toward his location at the counter, Hermes moved with his usual swiftness to unplug the 'OPEN' sign. He dashed back to his previous position and within that second, the next customer dragged herself into his abode. Of course, he paid her no heed until the lady in front of him spoke her piece.

    His eyes widened at her words, a smile lighting his face.

    "I'm here for the job," she'd said, whilst the next individual sauntered in. Her stick clacked against the wood floors (freshly waxed, thank you very much) and the body that held onto it sidestepped the other woman completely.

    "Hey hermano," Oh no, please don't be any of my actual siblings, "Heard you needed a friend. I also brought friends, and gifts too!" Hermes' brows knitted at that and followed her gesture toward the other lady, "Except not her. she's a stranger. Love that vanilla-death smell you got going for you, by the way." He took that opportunity to look at the individual closer—the blind lady with the poker. In that instant, he leaned back in surprise at the sudden realization.

    "Whoa," he huffed, leaning forward then, "if I'm not mistaken you—" his eyes widened at the memories and then his brows furrowed again, addled by a frown, "It took me weeks to get those spiders out of my store, much less my actual home. I was sputtering and flailing at webs ever two damn seconds. If you think just for one more minute that I—wait." Hermes slid from behind his counter to walk up to her, his face scrunching in skepticism as he did. "You aren't here for the job I posted, are you? Oh, sweet baby Jesus, who I had the opportunity of meeting—wonderful feet, that guy has—you are here for that. Well... now..." he let out a sigh at the sudden conflict pulling at him. On one hand, he didn't want to deal with more spiders; on the other hand, she offered an olive branch and he did consider her somewhat of a friend.

    Rubbing fiercely at his eye, he finally caved in and finally turned his attention back to the other lady, whom he realized was a vampire from the smell of her. "Alright, but a few ground rules: no eating people, no making a mess of my entire establishment and living area, and no unsupervised critters. That includes your spiders, Miss Webster," he explained.

    "Now, all we need to do is wait. I suppose," he sighed, looking at the other lady, whom he hadn't the opportunity of introducing himself to. He held out his hand to her, "I'm Hermes, by the way. Yes, the deity, Hermes. I suppose I'll be your host for the time being and you'll be my patron. The relationship should, indeed, be symbiotic; I hope you'll reciprocate."​
  8. [​IMG]

    He totally knew where he was going...

    Well, actually. He had no clue where he was at. Santa Fe wasn't a familiar city, far from it. He was used to small cities, not large ones like this. So many people at once... it was odd. So many hearts beating at once, he could hear them all. It was all he could think about. Hearts. Human hearts. What would happen if he just took a small tast - no. He would never hurt a human being. He prided himself on staying clean since his turning, he was the vegetarian lycanthrope. He did not eat humans. This was the exact reason why he lived in a small city. Griffin sighed, glancing around. If only he could find his way to that damn shop...

    He had a job, or was going to apply for a job at least. It was posted by a man named Hermes - like the Greek god. What the job consisted of? That was another mystery to find out. He was supposed to meet the other at his record store, but he needed to find the store before anything else. If only he learned to read maps while he was young. "I'm a veterinarian, not a navigator. I don't understand how to get places. If I was a naviga- is that a dog?" he jerked his head to see a small puppy in an alley way. How he knew it was there? Just simply instincts. It was a cute little german shepherd puppy and he loved german shepherd dogs. They we're so sweet and protective and loving - the list could go on. Griffin walked over to the puppy, whom instantly began wagging his tail. The lycanthrope looked around to see if anyone left the dog before finally picking it up. He couldn't just leave the poor thing!

    He dug his leash out of his pocket before hooking it up to the puppy. With a broad smile, he let the puppy down and began walking down the street. Along the way, he thought of a name for the dog. It would be Bart. Bart Maddox, the lycanthrope's dog. It was almost catchier than the name he gave himself.

    Eventually, he stumbled upon the record shop. He had no idea how, though. From what he could tell and hear, there were already other people there. Griffin let himself inside, the puppy following right after him. "Who's the guy that run's this place? I'm here for the job! God, you have no clue how long it took me to get here." he bent down to pick the puppy up. "I heard there was a job here for 'Special' people. I've been told I was pretty special, and not just by my mama."

    (hope I can go ahead and post for him. I'll get the others later. Not long, but I hope it works!)​
    • Love Love x 1
  9. [​IMG]
    "It's not supposed to be romanticized, it's a curse. It does not come with great power, it comes with misery and madness. It has done no good, to know that I won't die unless someone else does it for me."

    "Hey hermano," Karissa heard a female voice saying, the owner of said voice completely sidestepping her to talk to the owner of the shop. Hm, so they probably knew each other, interesting. Was she here for the job too? It's not like it mattered anyway, it was none of her business. Until the woman mentioned the vanilla scent. The vampire couldn't contain a soft snort at the irony, the woman herself didn't smell quite so normal either. Nora couldn't quite describe the scents she smelled, but the smell of venom and cunning practically radiated from the girl. So, knowing this, what was she? This was a smell she only came across a few times, it was familiar, but not so much.

    The conversation that came between the owner and the woman lighted up a few things, such as the nature of said lady. Spiders, huh. It couldn't be more obvious. Well, no wonder she couldn't recognize the smell, it's been years since her last encounter with an arachne.

    "Alright, but a few ground rules: no eating people, no making a mess of my entire establishment and living area, and no unsupervised critters. That includes your spiders, Miss Webster," The sudden voice of the man interrupted Karissa's thoughts, feeling slightly offended by the "no eating people" bit, it's been years since she last "ate" someone, but she contained her frowning and put on her best poker face. Best not to cause a havoc right on the first day of job, even Karissa had enough common sense to know that that was pathetic. Also, it's not like it's a lie, after all, her kind wasn't really known as the good guys.

    The man turned to her once again and held out his hand, to which she just kept frowning until he introduced himself. Oh, right, introductions. The vampire shook his hand, firmly to show that she wasn't there to play, and to show a kind of dominance, even if the man kind of bugged her. In the bad way. However, that was soon explained. Hermes, a deity. No wonder she felt... little while nearby him. She hated that. But politeness always came first, even for a monster like her. "Karissa," she replied in a soft and unimpressed voice, keeping the nonchalant persona. "And don't worry about the eating people bit, I've been..."sober" for more than a century, and I plan to keep it that way."

    The smile Karissa gave him was supposed to be gentle and harmless, but, truly, it came out creepy and menacing. Suddenly, the smell of fur and flea invaded her noise, to which she just had to drop Hermes' hand to cover her nose. There were two kind of smells, one of a dog, and the other - The bell rang loudly as the smell intesified, Karissa immediately identifying who, or what, just entered. "Fucking werewolves, always so smelly." The vampire muttered as she tried to cover her nose even more. It's not like she hated werewolves themselves, it was just their smell and rumbustious ways that bothered her, but mostly their smell. It's like the dislike for them came with transformation, like some preconception already embedded in your veins. She knew she was just stereotyping, but she couldn't help it. Perhaps the vampire who transformed her really hated werewolves.
  10. "From an outsider's perspective, this is the start of either the best joke ever or the worst. So a spider, a vampire, and a werewolf walk into a god's house..."

    Charlotte returned Hermes’s complaints with a cheeky grin. Webs, spiders, and haunting places were kind of what she did. If a Greek god couldn’t deal with a little annoyance and some bugs, he clearly needed to work on that.

    “My ‘critters,’” she used air quotes because, wow, offensive, “don’t need me supervising them,” she replied. With a huff, she added, “They have great manners and can take care of themselves.” Was she staring at the right place? She hoped she was (Charlotte’s pretty sure she’s a bit off). This is why she doesn’t talk to people. Spiders didn’t give a shit if she wasn’t looking at them because they couldn’t see either. Not that she talked to spiders, that’d be ridiculous.

    The vampire (no duh, the eating people quip and the whole “century” thing plus the smell. She could put two and two together) sounded intimidating. Very broody and sulky-like; it reminded her of the Daredevil movie except she doesn’t want to think about that since, ugh, bad memories. Most would compare Karissa to Batman, but um, Charlotte liked to think she had bat-temperament plus Iron Man’s personality; two billionaires in one.

    A dog and a werewolf (dirt, sweat and dust matted in fur with a distinct human smell. Helped that Karissa confirmed it) came in. Yay, puppies! She loved puppies, they were great and now all she can think is what one of them would taste like, dammit. It had to be the hunger speaking. She hadn’t had a bite (oh, she’ll have to use one) to eat yet.

    “We’re all special here. Get in line, Stilinski,” Charlotte said. Was that a paraphrase of an Alice in Wonderland quote? It was. She’ll have to use the actual one later. But also, dammit. This was not a good way to start a work relationship with these guys. Would chocolate help? Wait, dogs couldn’t eat that. Maybe a fire hydrant; get the dog happy, have the werewolf laugh, and the vampire mock the two, thus putting her back in neutral territory. She’s gotta remember that one.

    Turning back to Hermes, and loud enough for the rest to hear, she said, “Let up on the ‘Miss Webbster’ stuff, would you? I’m an adult, not a middle schooler in trouble. My name, which is Charlotte in case you’ve forgotten or don’t know, is nice and I like it.” She swung her cane at his shin, aiming for a light tap. Wouldn’t be surprised if she missed, but she tried and that’s all that mattered.

    She continued to drip water on his freshly waxed floors. Served him right for being a shit host and not offering snacks or somewhere to clean up. “Herman, where are the towels? I’d hate to ruin your furniture when I sit on it.” Of course Charlotte would sit down. She’d been running for hours. “Hope you haven’t moved anything. I’m navigating this place thinking it’s laid out the same way.”

    How embarrassing would it be for him to have moved everything slightly to the left like an asshole would do and her to end up accidentally tripping headfirst over the counter? Very. She slid the glasses to rest on her head. Blind eyes stared at nothing as per usual. Charlotte kept her cane out because she wasn’t letting any of these strangers help guide her.
  11. [​IMG]
    "Webbster has two 'b's'? Pretty sure that's a typo. That's obviously one 'b' that looks like two."
    At least the turn out ended up far better than he expected. Not that he expected an absolute no show. Monsters with hearts on their sleeve didn't exactly come in droves. The majority of pagan deities had a distinct taste for humans and the rest stood on a fence a mile high. Self-interest seemed to be a running shtick these days. It often worked to leave Hermes on his own fence, distraught and often alone in most matters. And most matters required more than just one person to tackle. Even as an free agent for Heaven, Hermes only ever found himself alone in most matters. Unfortunately, the entirety of the angel population had this thing about being so aloof in a situation that certain things happening right under their noises were already distant memories.

    In other words, ones that didn't require inner monologues, Hermes felt finally less alone. Even if Charlotte had a steel stare directly on the mint poster of the Beetles' Crosswalk cover. He continued giving her sunglasses an odd look—he didn't like them.

    However, despite his warning of critters and Charlotte's unabashed disregard for such, the mangiest mange of the Supernatural world alerted his senses far quicker than any bell could. And with a puppy to boot. That frown on his face, that grew tenfold at the sight. For once the sight of a puppy did nothing to further his happiness. Only distraught ran cold through his veins. Could a puppy cause any more conviction that was already possible? The sight of one twinged this little nerve in him, something that screamed "TAKE ME WITH YOU!" and another that yelled, "FUR. PEE. POOP. EVERYWHERE."

    "I certainly hope you aren't here to sell me anything," he said, frowning at the puppy still, "Pretty sure you saw the 'no soliciting' sign in the front there." Upon confirming what the werewolf was actually here for, Hermes' smile only lifted slightly. He turned his attention toward Charlotte, however, with an eyeroll to boot. "Is that supposed to be a Teen Wolf reference?"

    "Regardless of that," he started, looking down at the dog, "I don't know what you intend to do with that, but I'd keep it away from Vegetarian Vampire, there, and make sure it doesn't crap on anything."

    Of course, the situation took a turn for the worst at Charlotte's tiny outburst. "There are guests here; I'm sorry I wanted to make this at least semi-professional, seeing as I'm asking for more than just a plumbing job," he snapped back, eyes on the cane as it swung. She missed his shin, no doubt, hitting the wonky part of his barstool to topple him over. "Alright!" he growled, head smacking against the side of the counter before he caught himself and straightened. "Put a stake in my heart, why don't you."

    As she left, he spat, "Miss Webbster, my internet isn't too amazing. Try not to bog the bandwith up with all that BDSM porn you find on the web."

    Another roll of his eyes brought him to the remaining two individuals. "I don't suppose you two would like the details on the job I requested?"
    "Ironic isn't it? That an archaeologist finds himself a curator of a space museum?"
    Give or take a few more days and this area would be thriving with throes of hunters looking for either a quick buck or to help people. He certainly wished to find the latter types at his doorstep, rather. It was certainly something to think over whilst he wait for his water to boil. Many people would loathe the fact that any kind of burner sit in an offense made entirely with too much wood. Not many people, however, required a regular diet of tea. Stereotypical, no doubt, but he hadn't been British born for no reason. Hard strung habits don't just die.

    The kettle whistled its tune, the sight of steam rolling waves behind the man. He turned his attention, suddenly conflicted at the knock on the door following the kettle. "Come in!" he called, turning to pour the water and begin steeping the tea. His tugs were subconscious and his eyes locked onto the lady the instant she peered from around the door.

    "Sorry to disturb you sir," she said, timid as she came. It was as if she came to talk to some head honcho CEO, something Percival was far from. He shook his head regardless and offered her a soft smile. "There's a lady waiting in the lobby. She's asking for a job," her tone was borderline distraught. He assumed she knew there were none to give, but a thought struck him and he frowned in thought.

    "Hm," he hummed, looking down at the fine bone china tea cup sat in front of him, "If she's still there, feel free to send her in."

    "Are you certain, sir?"

    "Quite," he said, smiling again, "thank you."
  12. — Name —
    Cordelia Chase

    Cordelia read through her application after filling it out; Name? Cordelia Chase, Age? 22. Female, date of birth, education? Bachelors of Neurology from Harvard, graduated with honors.... She sighed, she was ridiculously over qualified for a job at a museum. Where else could she work? Yeah, no where here. She was supposed to work in a lab, and had in fact turned down a lab position at Harvard that would have worked her until she had her PhD. She ran her hand through her hair, trying to fix it/ Now was't the time to think of that, now was the time to get this job so she had money and thus a lively hood while she looked for her father. If she happened to come across any demons or other supernatural beings then killing them would just be icing on the cake.

    Where was that horrid woman? Saying nothing and walking off, it was simply terrible manners of anyone to do. Rude, she thought before seeing the woman enter back into the main lobby. Finally! She watched as the woman walked forward, she didn't know how to walk in her heels and kept almost tripping over herself. Cordelia tried her best to not laugh, but she wasn't so sure she hid it very well. When she got closer Cordelia almost sighed, Honey, not everyone can wear red lipstick.

    "The curator said to send you in," She said, pointing past the picture of the rocket and down the hall. It occurred to Cordelia then that while she had a degree it was in the entirely wrong subject to work at a space museum. She headed down nonetheless, making sure to have her belongings and application. Dear god I shouldn't have worn jeans, she thought for a second as she saw the woman look her up and down when she passed her. Whatever, ignore her, you're a beacon of positive light and people will be attracted to that and support you in your goals . OOC-I know the quote is off.... Oh well...

    When she walked in the room, without the woman from the front desk, she took a deep breath before speaking. "Hello, my name is Cordelia Chase and I was looking for an opportunity to work here." She said, stepping forward to pull out a resume and hand him the application as well. "As you can see I have a degree from Harvard in Nuerology - I graduated with honors. I also know Microsoft suite and work very well communicating with people." She tried to sound strong, but this job was the best job she could think of in an area like this and no matter what they had her doing she really wanted it.
  13. Johnathan Kenly winced seeing the mans shot, the cue ball was knocked into the middle pocket. He chalked the pool stick and walked to the pocket where the ball was. He pulled it out and walked to the end of the table, he had stripes, and only 3 were left. The 11, 9 and 15. He lined up the shot on the 9. He pulled back the cue and rammed it forward, the cue ball rolled and clacked against the 9. The 9 bounced off the edge and rolled into the corner pocket at the end of the table. He smiled and looked at the guy, the man was getting pissed off. It was clear he wasnt going to win.

    "It's your shot man," Johnathan said smugly. The man grumbled and lined up his shot, the pool stick scratched under the ball caused it to jump and lightly tapped the target ball. John laughed hard and rested himself on his pool cue. The man got angry and walked over to John and poked him in the chest.

    "You dirty hustling prick!" The man shouted, drawing attention to them. John backed away with his arms in the air as the man berated him.

    "Look buddy just because you have some practicing to do doesnt mean I hustled you!"

    "Oh bull!" The man said shoving John with both hands, "I'm gonna kick your sorry ass!"

    John grabbed his pool stick with both hands and broke it over his knee. He tossed the skinny end and held the thick end. He aimed its splintered end at the mans throat and grabbed him by the shoulder forcing it to press into his neck slightly. The man stood stock still staring into John's eyes. John would have done it, he would gladly have done it. But the bar was filled and he didnt need another warrant out on him. The man put his arms up and adopted a scared face.

    "I was joking, man only joking."

    "Grab your wallet," Johnathan began explaining, "Slowly pulled it out of your pocket and give me all the money you have in it. Or this gets ugly, and I can claim self defense. So dont think of skimping me."

    The man slowly reached into his pocket and pulled out his wallet, John felt his phone vibrate in his pocket and reached down with the hand he'd been using to hold the mans shoulder to grab it. He checked the number, hunter's digest. He flipped open the phone and answered the call.

    "Hey Johhny boy!" The voice on the other end said, "Got some rough shit going down not far from you, you got time to go to Roswell?"

    John looked away from the guy and held his phone to his ear. He listened and grumbled a bit. He tossed the broken pool cue in the air and caught it in the reverse of how it had been before. He bent his elbow in then swung at the man, the force and weight of the gat end of the pool cue knocked the man out cold.

    "I finished up my case this morning, I got time to kill until they need me in ST. Louis for that vamp gig. You said Roswell right?"

    "That's right bucky Roswell, all kinds of crazy reports coming in from them."

  14. Sheldon found most of his leads through the Internet, searching for anything that set off the alarms in his head, preferably something within his immediate area for the sake of gas money. Many of his searches directed him to the Hellhound’s Lair, but Sheldon always took anything those morons had to say with a handful of salt. Though they did occasionally stumble upon something real (and Sheldon doubted they did so purposefully; he likewise doubted their ability to distinguish the real deal from the rest of the shit they published on their joke of a site), most of their information was faulty, incomplete nonsense posted by over-excited amateurs. Both as a hunter and a journalist, Sheldon found their work insulting.

    But there was a buzz, a buzz about Roswell, New Mexico, and the Hellhound’s Lair was on the case, excitedly reporting the events and their own plans to investigate (God forbid). Sheldon hadn’t ever made it to that particular state – hadn’t had a reason to – and couldn’t comment on the norm regarding supernatural activity for the area, but this seemed a bit out there, even for a city known for its supposed alien sightings. But the hounds backed up their posts with links to more credible, though perhaps more naive and mundane, sources and articles from a variety of authors and sites. Yes, there was something up in Roswell. Still, Sheldon hadn’t felt the need to go running off immediately, especially since there were several states between him and the location, and with a buzz like that, all kinds of hunters would be checking it out, not to mention all the normal weirdos would be out looking for a way to connect the suspicious activity with their alien theories, and did he really want to deal with all that? The thought of crossing paths with another hunter, however briefly, made him gag, never mind all the tinfoil hat idiots. No, did not seem like his kind of party. Someone else would handle it, and handle it well, he was certain. And so Sheldon put Roswell out of his mind and went about his business for several days, at least until his cousin called.

    Night had fallen and Sheldon was lying in bed in the dark motel room, netbook propped open on his lap, when his phone rang. Blocked name, blocked number. Never one to turn down a possible lead, even at the risk of answering a telemarketer, Sheldon answered on principle. “Hell—“

    “I want you to check on something.” Brief, rude, and to the point. Sheldon recognized the voice as his cousin, Gabriel. At least, that’s what he’d been going by the last time they spoke. It changed from time to time.

    “Nice to hear from you,” Sheldon muttered, continuing to browse the Hellhound’s Lair. He was three pages in and the idiots were still going on about Roswell. Roswell, Roswell, Roswell! He’d puke if he heard one more thing about goddamn Roswell!

    “There’s something happening in Roswell.”

    “Oh, for fuck’s sake,” Sheldon closed his laptop, extinguishing the light of the screen and exiling himself to darkness. “Why don’t you go look? Where are you?”

    “Europe. I can’t leave yet, and I don’t want someone getting to Roswell first.” Gabriel had always been more of a collector than a bonafide hunter, and his selfishness and vanity decreed he be the first to the site of new discoveries. After all, a real hunter might slaughter whatever prized beast Gabriel intended on adding to his collection.

    “You’re a little late on the uptake, Cuz,” Sheldon informed him. “Someone else is probably—“

    “I was out of range. I just heard about it.”

    “What are you hunting?”

    “There’s something big happening in Roswell,” Gideon had never been one for conversation, nor for sharing his hunts.

    “I’m not—“

    “I’ll pay you.”

    Sheldon paused. Gabriel was loaded. “How much?”


    “Where does your money even come from?”

    “I understand a hunter works at the Roswell museum. Call me when you have something.” Click.

    Sheldon huffed and tossed the phone on the bed. Well, shit. Goddamn Roswell, then.


    Approaching the city limits, Sheldon could see nothing to suggest supernatural activity. Sure, the place was aggressively advertising its extraterrestrial heritage, but that wasn’t Sheldon’s MO. He’d never been one to believe in aliens, anyway, not even after his descent into the hidden world of monster and myth. Aliens were just plain stupid. He briefly considered continuing on down to Mexico, take a little vacation, see if From Dusk Till Dawn held any truth in it. But Gabriel had already wired a grotesque sum of money to his account, and his cousin was not a man he wanted to piss off. So a plan, then. Visit the museum, hook up with this hunter. Cruise by the library for some in-depth research. Take a walk around town that night, see if any creeps came out after dark. Good.

    Sheldon parked outside the museum, the sedan coming to a sharp and shuddering halt. He pushed his lopsided sunglasses up on to his head and brushed the remains of a breakfast burrito from his T-shirt, wiped his mouth on the back of his hand. He didn’t expect to fight any monsters in there, and took with him only a small notebook, pen, and a small pocketknife that museum security might or might not confiscate. He also stuffed into his back pocket a piece of paper containing generic sigils and runes of protection; just wearing them in his jeans was enough to give him a small degree of general protection. Just because he didn’t expect trouble didn’t mean he was going to walk in there as good as naked. Of course, Gabriel hadn’t been so helpful as to give him a name or position of this hunter he was supposed to be finding, and he wasn’t going to just wander over to the greeter and ask if they could direct him to the resident monster killer. God forbid Gabriel call ahead and warn them Sheldon was coming. Idiot.

    He was grabbing a museum map when he heard a woman speak: “The curator said to send you in.” Ah, well there’s a start.

    Sheldon followed the woman down the hall, hanging back and taking his time, apparently examining the pictures and information on the walls, but keeping her always in view. After she vanished through a doorway, Sheldon dropped the pretense and followed with more purpose. Outside the office, he found the door had closed, but not latched. Sheldon leaned against the wall beside the door, then gently pushed it, hurriedly retracting his hand. The door slowly opened, hardly an inch, as if of its own accord or through the fault of a breeze, just enough that Sheldon could hear the conversation within. His brow furrowed and he smiled sardonically at the woman’s weak pitch. Did she even know where she was applying? Guess it was true, graduates just couldn’t get jobs in their preferred field these days. Made him feel better about not finishing his own degree.

    Sheldon remained still and quiet outside the door, hoping the curator might inform the applicant of . . . well, something interesting. The curator might feel more inclined to share with a prospective employee than a nosy stranger. Anything he had to offer might help Sheldon get his bearings and prepare him for the job ahead.
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