Smiles and Knives [Wes & AngelLass]

[WesteriaVale]

Quinn muttered under his breath as he jabbed at his cellphone for the nth time. GPS sucked. He lifted his arm to throw the blasted thing against the pavement then stopped. He couldn't afford to lose a buy a new phone yet. With a groan he lowered his phone and began trying again, in vain, to find out where he was.

Florida officially sucked. Before he had been hired to come here, all he knew about Florida was that it was where fat old men when to retire (and die). Since arriving at the Orlando International Airport there had been nothing but delays. First was he didn't even know how to get to the town from the airport. Second was that his GPS hated him. With a passion. It lead him down dead ends, told him he was in a different part of town than he really was and was just generally a pain.

So having been to Florida Quinn was now sure the Devil resided within it's boarders. Or whatever evil diety he was supposed to believe in being half Valkyrie. Norse mythology just went in one ear and out the other. It was some serpent biting at the roots of the world or some dragon or something. Quinn had stopped caring a long time ago. Not that there had ever been anyone around to care.

No, the Blonde had been abandoned upon his father's doorsteps. And the man hadn't wanted him. Why the man had even left Quinn grow up there was beyond Quinn. The only explanation he could ever arrive at was even though his father was a Grade A SOB, he had a soft spot for babies. Lucky Quinn.

"Are you lost?" A voice asked from behind the young man.

Quinn turned, his left hand dropping to his veiled sword, but there was no one but a pinked headed girl looking at him.

"No." Quinn tersely replied. Though the girl wasn't even the slightest off put.

"Where are you going?" She asked trying to get a peak at Quinn's phone. Quinn tucked it into his pants' pocket and hoped she wasn't the daring type to go after it.

The pink haired girl frowned then shrugged. "Whatever man." And with that she was walking away.

Quinn sighed and pulled his phone back out. The GPS said to go left. Quinn looked left and was greeting with a rather large building. He snorted, left indeed.

 

[Saint Anne]

Sam sighed as she flipped the page of her journal. Budgeting was never fun-- but it was a necessary evil.

She one hand through her hair as her pen scratched away, slowly watching the large number ( a whole three digits this week) tickle down to 90... 80... 40... 15. She glanced up as the bell rang to the door. "Hello." she greeted from behind the counter. The wooden floor boards groaned as a couple of teenagers came in, giggling and spreading out over the shop-- none paying her any mine.


It was a tiny shop a whole two hours south of Orlando. Hidden away on a long country road called Allapatta-- named by the local native population-- it was a small store front built into an old two story home, marked only by a hand-carved wooden sign. Simple black lettering proclaimed it "Sullivan's Collection" with smaller block lettering below "ACCORDED NEUTRAL TERRITORY" Upstairs was where Sam lived, the front three rooms were what made up the store front. It as a wild assortment of books and nicknacks, freshly dried herbs from the small garden out back, and or course a little section of home made candles, right next to the new-age music and fanfaire. In short-- an occult shop. She had lots of teenagers, creepy old people and zen maniacs come in, most of which dabbled in things they had no idea about. Others thought it was cool to browse her wares, while others came in and rolled their eyes.

Of course, she also had a fourth and fifth room, closed off to the general public. The fourth room was a simple room, painted in old faded blue with a low hanging ceiling fan and a small round table. On that table sat two glass bowls, a pitcher, a few candles of various height and shape, and a deck of cards. The fifth was a supply room that no one but she herself went into-- stocked with 'specialty items' for her 'regulars', which oddly enough often times were anything but regular. The shop out front-- while a good way to occupy her time and support herself, was more or less a rouse-- while her back two rooms provided the occasional financial windfall and usefulness to anyone who really was of the supernatural world.


The old house creaked as it settled every now and again. wards humming in the air to any who might be sensitive to notice. Oil lamps served as the only source of light after dark-- while during the day the windows shutters were cast back to allow for sunlight to illuminate the shop.