Prey: A Character Driven RP [FINISHED]
- Thread starter SamuelT
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Cool, I may get to see it tonight, although I'm going out at 8.30 GMT and won't get back until after 11 but I'll try to see if I can write my character's first post todaySamuelT said:
Is your character Paul MacGregor? Its's just I can't see a character sheet attached to your name, nor can I see Paul's sheet's original posting.Oneirius said:
Chapter 1: Trouble in Paradise
Today was a very special day for Alex Ronson, one of those rare days that came about once in a blue moon. Today was his day off, something he'd been looking forward to for a long time, and where better to spend a day free of work than Paris? Shops, sights, women - although that lead Alex right back to "sights".
Haven't got laid in months, he thought to himself, sipping on a rather overpriced cocktail outside one of the capital's highest rated bars, Women around here sure are pretty though. They got bodies like swimsuit models.
Alex wasn't going to lie to himself, Paris wasn't his choice location for a day off. Sure, it was sunny and the girls had "asses like that chick out of Scream", but he was more used to relaxing in a more drug and alcohol filled environment.
"Alex Ronson.", a mystery voice said from behind him, breaking his deep thought, "I'm a big fan, can I get an autograph?"
"An autograph?", he laughed as the women sat at his table, "I'm a reporter - not a celebrity, but I don't see the harm in it. Who can I make it out to, Mrs...?"
"Miss Joanne, if you would. I'm a big fan of your work, Mr Ronson. I only buy the Daily Bagel for your articles."
"That's very flattering.", he smirked, catching a view of the woman's rather pretty face, "Here, I hope you don't mind it on the back of a napkin."
As Alex passed the autographed "Le Swain Bar" napkin to the women, she gripped his wrist with her surprisingly strong hand. Alex tried to pull away, but she just gripped tighter to the point where she was causing him a considerable amount of pain.
"You are to come with us, for your own good, Alex. I have men watching your every move, your every step, and they're armed. I suggest--"
"Get off of me, you freak!", he shouted, breaking her grip and jumping up from his seat, "You're crazy! Batshit INSANE! I bet Tom Cruise don't have to deal with this shit."
Grabbing his coat and storming away from the bar, Alex headed to his hotel room for the night. Paris could go fuck itself now, he'd dealt with enough crazy women in his life and he didn't plan to get involved with any more anytime soon.
One rather short nap later.
After drinking enough whiskey to kill a small animal, Alex collapsed on his bed intent on forgetting all the work he'd have ahead of him the next day. That, and the giant hangover that was sure to great him in the morning. However, his nap was cut short by the sound of heavy knocking on his hotel door.
"Fuck off.", he murmured, "I don't want no damn room service or no damn French prostitutes, I know what you lot are lik--"
"Mr Ronson, I think it's in your interest to open this door.", a familiar voice boomed from behind the door, "We don't want to hurt you, yet. We just want to talk. Open the door and we won't have to fire. Or, you could keep it closed and we can make this quaint hotel the next destination for a media frenzy."
Confused, and somewhat scared, Alex got up from his bed and slowly made his way toward the door. The voice was the same voice of the woman at the bar and she sounded more than pissed off this time round. It was obvious she was no stalker.
"I'm opening the door.", he said, trying to keep as calm as possible, "Please, just don't hurt me. I don't want any trouble-- please."
As the door clicked open, a swift kick from the other side propelled it to a full swing and knocked Alex to the ground. He grabbed his bloody nose, staring up at four rather heavily armed and masked people at his door.
"Cuff him.", the woman of the group said, keeping her weapon aimed at Alex, "Pop him in the legs if he causes trouble."
One of the guards nodded, walking over to Alex and lifting him off the floor. He pulled both his arms around his back and attempted to cuff him.
"No! Get off me-- get away!", Alex screamed, forcing himself backward.
As he pushed himself and the other man off-balance, they crashed through a window and into the street below. The fall, from the second story of the hotel, killed the man who was attempting to arrest Alex - his body softening the fall for Alex as the two hit the floor.
"Oh my God.", he gasped as the blood flowed from the man's head, "Oh my God, oh my God, oh my God..."
"Fire on him, make sure not to kill him! Get a medic in for agent Thornton!", a voice cried out from the window Alex fell from, "Fire, goddamnit, fire!"
Already half way down the street, Alex used his arms to shield him from the rubber bullets circling him overhead. As he rounded a corner, he collapsed onto his knees to get his breath back. As he did so, his phone slipped out of his pocket. Noticing, Alex quickly dialed the only person he could think of. No, not the police. His boss.
"God-fucking-dammit, Ronson! It's 3 o'clock in the morning you ass-bag! You woke my fucking kids up you stupid pri--"
"For the love of God, Jasmine, shut your stupid whore mouth for five seconds! A bunch of police lot just chased me out my hotel! I-- I think I killed a man, too. Oh, man, this is not cool. Not cool."
"What? Did you just say you killed someone? What happened Ronson-- answer me!"
"I don't know, I don't know, I just... can you get me out of here? Please, I don't know who to call, Jaz. Please. I just don't know what's happening. I fucking killed someone, Jaz! I killed someon--!"
"Calm down, calm down. I'll Piers to pick you up-- my God, this better not be a joke, Ronson. I swear to God, I don't care how much of a good reporter you are, if this is joke I will fire your stupid Canadian ass."
"Just send Piers, Jaz. Just send him. Please."
Today was a very special day for Alex Ronson, one of those rare days that came about once in a blue moon. Today was his day off, something he'd been looking forward to for a long time, and where better to spend a day free of work than Paris? Shops, sights, women - although that lead Alex right back to "sights".
Haven't got laid in months, he thought to himself, sipping on a rather overpriced cocktail outside one of the capital's highest rated bars, Women around here sure are pretty though. They got bodies like swimsuit models.
Alex wasn't going to lie to himself, Paris wasn't his choice location for a day off. Sure, it was sunny and the girls had "asses like that chick out of Scream", but he was more used to relaxing in a more drug and alcohol filled environment.
"Alex Ronson.", a mystery voice said from behind him, breaking his deep thought, "I'm a big fan, can I get an autograph?"
"An autograph?", he laughed as the women sat at his table, "I'm a reporter - not a celebrity, but I don't see the harm in it. Who can I make it out to, Mrs...?"
"Miss Joanne, if you would. I'm a big fan of your work, Mr Ronson. I only buy the Daily Bagel for your articles."
"That's very flattering.", he smirked, catching a view of the woman's rather pretty face, "Here, I hope you don't mind it on the back of a napkin."
As Alex passed the autographed "Le Swain Bar" napkin to the women, she gripped his wrist with her surprisingly strong hand. Alex tried to pull away, but she just gripped tighter to the point where she was causing him a considerable amount of pain.
"You are to come with us, for your own good, Alex. I have men watching your every move, your every step, and they're armed. I suggest--"
"Get off of me, you freak!", he shouted, breaking her grip and jumping up from his seat, "You're crazy! Batshit INSANE! I bet Tom Cruise don't have to deal with this shit."
Grabbing his coat and storming away from the bar, Alex headed to his hotel room for the night. Paris could go fuck itself now, he'd dealt with enough crazy women in his life and he didn't plan to get involved with any more anytime soon.
One rather short nap later.
After drinking enough whiskey to kill a small animal, Alex collapsed on his bed intent on forgetting all the work he'd have ahead of him the next day. That, and the giant hangover that was sure to great him in the morning. However, his nap was cut short by the sound of heavy knocking on his hotel door.
"Fuck off.", he murmured, "I don't want no damn room service or no damn French prostitutes, I know what you lot are lik--"
"Mr Ronson, I think it's in your interest to open this door.", a familiar voice boomed from behind the door, "We don't want to hurt you, yet. We just want to talk. Open the door and we won't have to fire. Or, you could keep it closed and we can make this quaint hotel the next destination for a media frenzy."
Confused, and somewhat scared, Alex got up from his bed and slowly made his way toward the door. The voice was the same voice of the woman at the bar and she sounded more than pissed off this time round. It was obvious she was no stalker.
"I'm opening the door.", he said, trying to keep as calm as possible, "Please, just don't hurt me. I don't want any trouble-- please."
As the door clicked open, a swift kick from the other side propelled it to a full swing and knocked Alex to the ground. He grabbed his bloody nose, staring up at four rather heavily armed and masked people at his door.
"Cuff him.", the woman of the group said, keeping her weapon aimed at Alex, "Pop him in the legs if he causes trouble."
One of the guards nodded, walking over to Alex and lifting him off the floor. He pulled both his arms around his back and attempted to cuff him.
"No! Get off me-- get away!", Alex screamed, forcing himself backward.
As he pushed himself and the other man off-balance, they crashed through a window and into the street below. The fall, from the second story of the hotel, killed the man who was attempting to arrest Alex - his body softening the fall for Alex as the two hit the floor.
"Oh my God.", he gasped as the blood flowed from the man's head, "Oh my God, oh my God, oh my God..."
"Fire on him, make sure not to kill him! Get a medic in for agent Thornton!", a voice cried out from the window Alex fell from, "Fire, goddamnit, fire!"
Already half way down the street, Alex used his arms to shield him from the rubber bullets circling him overhead. As he rounded a corner, he collapsed onto his knees to get his breath back. As he did so, his phone slipped out of his pocket. Noticing, Alex quickly dialed the only person he could think of. No, not the police. His boss.
"God-fucking-dammit, Ronson! It's 3 o'clock in the morning you ass-bag! You woke my fucking kids up you stupid pri--"
"For the love of God, Jasmine, shut your stupid whore mouth for five seconds! A bunch of police lot just chased me out my hotel! I-- I think I killed a man, too. Oh, man, this is not cool. Not cool."
"What? Did you just say you killed someone? What happened Ronson-- answer me!"
"I don't know, I don't know, I just... can you get me out of here? Please, I don't know who to call, Jaz. Please. I just don't know what's happening. I fucking killed someone, Jaz! I killed someon--!"
"Calm down, calm down. I'll Piers to pick you up-- my God, this better not be a joke, Ronson. I swear to God, I don't care how much of a good reporter you are, if this is joke I will fire your stupid Canadian ass."
"Just send Piers, Jaz. Just send him. Please."
Samuel asked me to post this if anyone is confused.
Kay couldn't sleep he hadn't done, for the last few weeks. His skull was gone, and someone had it; without it he could get no rest form the world, and thus he stalked the world. Unfortunately, until the thief showed his hand and tried a spell, Kay had nothing to go on. He couldn't sleep and couldn't search; indeed, he could do nothing.
There are few places a man can go to do nothing all day, and even fewer if he cannot leave the city. Thus, Kay sat in a bar, nursing his drink and mumbling, half to himself and half to the bartender. The alcohol hardly touched him, but the words he spoke to the bartender certainly made him seem a little worse for wear.
"The bastard, y'see, the bastard took my skull," he confided in the poker-faced proprietor, "And I can't sleep without it. Gotta have a skull, y'know what I'm saying. Gotta have one. S'one of life's vital wossnames" The slur was fake, but only to hide the truth of the story. Kay enjoyed this exercise, of seeing how honest he could be before they stopped serving him. He was getting better and better every day...
"Trouble is, y'understan', I can't just go and take it back, can I?" the bartender shook his head, making a good show of being understanding, "I can't fight him if he's got my skull. As long as he's got it, I gotta do what he says. It's a bloody-" he was interrupted by a crash of glass and shouting.
Surging to his feet, the tall, pale man was suddenly far more coherent, and he crossed to the room in two long strides, to find the street in chaos. A man was disappearing round the corner as someone fired guns form the other direction. Kay took in the scene, then sprinted off after the running man.
It wasn't much of a distance between them, and Kay's legs just seemed that little bit longer. He caught them man up easily, came along side him and laid a hand on his shoulder.
"Easy there, friend." he said, smoothly and with a friendly smile, "Can you tell me what's going on?"
There are few places a man can go to do nothing all day, and even fewer if he cannot leave the city. Thus, Kay sat in a bar, nursing his drink and mumbling, half to himself and half to the bartender. The alcohol hardly touched him, but the words he spoke to the bartender certainly made him seem a little worse for wear.
"The bastard, y'see, the bastard took my skull," he confided in the poker-faced proprietor, "And I can't sleep without it. Gotta have a skull, y'know what I'm saying. Gotta have one. S'one of life's vital wossnames" The slur was fake, but only to hide the truth of the story. Kay enjoyed this exercise, of seeing how honest he could be before they stopped serving him. He was getting better and better every day...
"Trouble is, y'understan', I can't just go and take it back, can I?" the bartender shook his head, making a good show of being understanding, "I can't fight him if he's got my skull. As long as he's got it, I gotta do what he says. It's a bloody-" he was interrupted by a crash of glass and shouting.
Surging to his feet, the tall, pale man was suddenly far more coherent, and he crossed to the room in two long strides, to find the street in chaos. A man was disappearing round the corner as someone fired guns form the other direction. Kay took in the scene, then sprinted off after the running man.
It wasn't much of a distance between them, and Kay's legs just seemed that little bit longer. He caught them man up easily, came along side him and laid a hand on his shoulder.
"Easy there, friend." he said, smoothly and with a friendly smile, "Can you tell me what's going on?"
"Jesus! Fuck!", Alex blurted out, turning to look at the man that had caused him to nearly soil himself, "Get outta' here, man! Run for your damn life! Didn't you hear those damn guns blaring out like it's the fourth of July?"
Alex got up from his feet, looking at his phone as he did so. The call was still connected, but he ignored it. Maybe he could get himself and his obviously suicidal new arrival out of harms way if he put his mind to it.
"I got someone picking me up at the end of the street, out of the way and all that. I don't plan on getting shot. What's your name anyway, man?"
Alex got up from his feet, looking at his phone as he did so. The call was still connected, but he ignored it. Maybe he could get himself and his obviously suicidal new arrival out of harms way if he put his mind to it.
"I got someone picking me up at the end of the street, out of the way and all that. I don't plan on getting shot. What's your name anyway, man?"
"I'm Kay" said the spirit, then remembered he was supposed to be mortal and in fear. He ducked low, and assumed an attitude of fear, "Now let's get outta here! Those maniacs are still shooting!"
He began to run, keeping to a human pace so as not too lose this person, whoever he might be
He began to run, keeping to a human pace so as not too lose this person, whoever he might be
- Mar 31, 2010
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As the newly risen Sun's rays crept over a rubbish dump on the edge of Jinan, a small face briefly poked itself from the underneath of a cardboard box before swiftly disappearing again. After a few moments of silence the box lifted again and this time a small girl of about seven crawled out. Her dark hair was messy and her face covered in several months worth of dirt and grime. She furtively observed the piles of trash with her large brown eyes for any signs of life. When the dump remained as still as ever, she set off down the mountain of waste for the already bustling town below.
Once in the city the sounds of over six million people getting on with their daily lives surrounded Maya Li. As she wandered along the pavement she had to duck and dart around the passers-by who carried on with their daily tasks; oblivious of the child slipping right by them. Presently she reached a fruit stall, selling all kinds of fantastically coloured produce, most of which she couldn?t even name. She read the symbols above the store "Mr. Wang's Finest". Mr Wang himself appeared to be a jolly old man, chatting happily to his customers. He didn?t notice Maya reach out and grab an apple before she ran off into the crowd, weaving round the people who could not see her.
Once the little girl was sure she was safe, she sat down on a step in an alleyway and began to munch on her apple. She didn?t like the taste much but was too hungry just to leave it. She looked out on the pedestrians walking past her, all in so much of a hurry. Even after two months of living on the streets Maya still marvelled at the fact that these people simply couldn?t see her. She didn?t know what had happened to herself on that fateful day her mother had disappeared but since then she might have well have been a ghost. A ghost that required food, that is. While she had considered trying to talk to a policeman, or maybe even just a shopkeeper, every time she got near she just couldn?t bring herself to get any closer. Occasionally she would go down to the school, to look through the fence to where the other children were playing, and wish she was with them. They never saw her though, and she had never been to school either. Maya often dreamed of what it would be like to dress up in a neat uniform and to have lessons every day. She lay back on the step, closed her eyes and imagined that she was being cradled in her mother?s arms once again.
Once in the city the sounds of over six million people getting on with their daily lives surrounded Maya Li. As she wandered along the pavement she had to duck and dart around the passers-by who carried on with their daily tasks; oblivious of the child slipping right by them. Presently she reached a fruit stall, selling all kinds of fantastically coloured produce, most of which she couldn?t even name. She read the symbols above the store "Mr. Wang's Finest". Mr Wang himself appeared to be a jolly old man, chatting happily to his customers. He didn?t notice Maya reach out and grab an apple before she ran off into the crowd, weaving round the people who could not see her.
Once the little girl was sure she was safe, she sat down on a step in an alleyway and began to munch on her apple. She didn?t like the taste much but was too hungry just to leave it. She looked out on the pedestrians walking past her, all in so much of a hurry. Even after two months of living on the streets Maya still marvelled at the fact that these people simply couldn?t see her. She didn?t know what had happened to herself on that fateful day her mother had disappeared but since then she might have well have been a ghost. A ghost that required food, that is. While she had considered trying to talk to a policeman, or maybe even just a shopkeeper, every time she got near she just couldn?t bring herself to get any closer. Occasionally she would go down to the school, to look through the fence to where the other children were playing, and wish she was with them. They never saw her though, and she had never been to school either. Maya often dreamed of what it would be like to dress up in a neat uniform and to have lessons every day. She lay back on the step, closed her eyes and imagined that she was being cradled in her mother?s arms once again.
Lily stood in the doorway with a small smile on her face. The man sitting in the chair in front of her was unconscious, his head lolling back and left as a grunt tied the man's hands to the chair he was slumped in. "Thank you, you can go now." Lily said to the grunt with the air one used for a friend, but held enough authority that the order was obeyed. She didn't care for names, and had forgotten his as soon as they had greeted each other at the door. The man tied to the chair, however, was much more useful to Lily in the current situation. He was wearing a cheap, dirty-white suit, with a shirt that matched, bulging out because of his belly, his protruding stomach held back by yet more rope, stopping him from moving much more than an inch. She walked behind the desk and looked through the drawers for a little while, looking for something to amuse herself with. After sifting through various pieces of paper and general mess that had accumulated, before she found three items of interest. Number one, a sizeable picture of the man's wife and son that was folded in the middle, number two, a lighter and number three, a fancy looking pen. She perched herself on the edge of the wooden tabletop and crossed her legs while she clicked the pen a few times, looking at the way the light reflected off the casing as she twirled it in her hands.
After five long minutes of fiddling with the pen, Lily noticed the man returning to consciousness. Eagerly, she hopped off the desk and pressed the heel of her foot onto the man's freshly broken toes. Instantly he gasped with pain and shot to full alertness, quickly focusing on Lily. "So." he said, keeping his cool despite the situation. "You found out?"
"Yes I did, Mr. Bell." Lily replied, pacing around him. "But the thing is..." she began "I did. Not anyone else, just myself and a friend." Lily revealed, smirking at the look of relief in Mr. Bell's eyes. "My friend can be disposed of easily, and I can be influenced otherwise" She said, standing the photograph on the table, and setting alight to the top right corner.
"I know how this deal works." Bell said, blowing at the spreading little flame. "Name your price, but I can't go higher than thirty percent."
"Thirty percent of how much?" Lily countered, trying to see how much she could get from the fat fool. She figured if she played her cards right and Bell was making enough, she could easily get him to offer another couple of grand every months.
"Eight thousand a month, but it goes up and down." Bell pleaded, cracking after next to no external encouragement, from cool and collected to whining and begging in moments. It was a shameful act, but Lily smiled at what he had just said and began another word when a knock came from outside that idnicated they needed to move soon.
"Did you hear all of that, boss?" She asked, speaking a little louder than before, needing to wrap things up quickly.
"W-what?" Bell stammered, slowly figuring out that he had been stitched up, and looking around for a phone somewhere. Having it in the interrogator's pocket only let the person on the other end hear what they were saying, not the person under question so it was usuall placed in the surrounding area or near the interrogation subject's head.
"Yes, I believe you now. You were right again." Piped up a heavily accented woman's voice from the breast pocket on Bell's shirt. "And I must say David, the higher ups will not be pleased that someone they trusted as much as you was stealing from their pockets." The voice changed tone from a gently chastising one to one of command and authority "Noble, deal with him."
"Yes ma'am" Lily said, plucking her phone from David Bell's pocket, flicking it open and pressing a couple of keys before placing it in her own. As she left the room, the bottle of whisky on the soon to be late David Bell's desk fell over, the fluid flooding around the edge of the photograph as the flame approached the bottom. Lily's goon stepped into the room and fired a single shot into Bell's chest, leaving no chance that he could survive, before briskly following Lily's lead and concealing the gun as he exited the building.
After five long minutes of fiddling with the pen, Lily noticed the man returning to consciousness. Eagerly, she hopped off the desk and pressed the heel of her foot onto the man's freshly broken toes. Instantly he gasped with pain and shot to full alertness, quickly focusing on Lily. "So." he said, keeping his cool despite the situation. "You found out?"
"Yes I did, Mr. Bell." Lily replied, pacing around him. "But the thing is..." she began "I did. Not anyone else, just myself and a friend." Lily revealed, smirking at the look of relief in Mr. Bell's eyes. "My friend can be disposed of easily, and I can be influenced otherwise" She said, standing the photograph on the table, and setting alight to the top right corner.
"I know how this deal works." Bell said, blowing at the spreading little flame. "Name your price, but I can't go higher than thirty percent."
"Thirty percent of how much?" Lily countered, trying to see how much she could get from the fat fool. She figured if she played her cards right and Bell was making enough, she could easily get him to offer another couple of grand every months.
"Eight thousand a month, but it goes up and down." Bell pleaded, cracking after next to no external encouragement, from cool and collected to whining and begging in moments. It was a shameful act, but Lily smiled at what he had just said and began another word when a knock came from outside that idnicated they needed to move soon.
"Did you hear all of that, boss?" She asked, speaking a little louder than before, needing to wrap things up quickly.
"W-what?" Bell stammered, slowly figuring out that he had been stitched up, and looking around for a phone somewhere. Having it in the interrogator's pocket only let the person on the other end hear what they were saying, not the person under question so it was usuall placed in the surrounding area or near the interrogation subject's head.
"Yes, I believe you now. You were right again." Piped up a heavily accented woman's voice from the breast pocket on Bell's shirt. "And I must say David, the higher ups will not be pleased that someone they trusted as much as you was stealing from their pockets." The voice changed tone from a gently chastising one to one of command and authority "Noble, deal with him."
"Yes ma'am" Lily said, plucking her phone from David Bell's pocket, flicking it open and pressing a couple of keys before placing it in her own. As she left the room, the bottle of whisky on the soon to be late David Bell's desk fell over, the fluid flooding around the edge of the photograph as the flame approached the bottom. Lily's goon stepped into the room and fired a single shot into Bell's chest, leaving no chance that he could survive, before briskly following Lily's lead and concealing the gun as he exited the building.
Sorry for doing this, but I'm going to drop for the night because I'm knackered.
Anthology looked up at the night sky. It was, to something with a soul, beautiful. It had landed in a fairly secluded forest somewhere, far away from the large concentrations of electricity that signified organic settlement. Or near any location that could be considered magically important, which was what Anthology was aiming for anyway. The old ones from before, those masters of magic, could have conceivably stopped It before. But they were too weak to do so. It knew the power of magic, from hearsay or experience, and It would not underestimate those who wielded it's powers.
But that was not on it's mind right now. Right now it was looking up into the sky and marveling at how different the stars looked from a planet within the Time stream's confines.
Back at It's Origin point, Anthology would, from time to time, look up into the stars. It had no memory of those inside places, those within the time stream, so it spent it's time looking up into the stars. They were...subdued, for lack of a better term. It could sense them writhing and spitting nuclear reactions out into the void of space, but it seemed to come from a long while away.
But here? It could practically taste it.
Shaking his head, and pushing those jumbled memories away, it looked back down and started thinking of a way to get itself out of this predicament.
It had misjudged the force necessary to land. In all respects, it was an understandable mistake. It had spent all It's life in a Domain where time held no meaning, as such, there were changes when It would first make contact with the ground. How could it not.
But still, a very faint part of It was embarrassed that it was chin deep into the earth. It had planned to land feet first into the ground, landing gently in a properly impressive gesture. But It had miscalculated. It was still drawing from it's own experiences of breaking his Origin Domain's grasp, which required a very large amount of energy, and it had overcompensated. To make matters more interesting, It was being licked at.
The animal stood on 4 legs, had a tail with brown fur, and had a tongue which, if Anthology had nerve clusters, would undoubtedly annoy him. As it stood, the thing kept on licking him for no apparent reason. It's pink tongue moving to cover a portion of It's face that it hadn't reached yet, and if It hadn't already attempted to communicate with it, It would have guessed that the creature was enjoying irritating It. However, it sympathized with the creature's lack of self awareness, but his sympathy was rapidly diminishing.
Giving the rough approximation of a sigh, it accessed it's power. It created a large depression in the ground, more than enough to get him out of the ground. The side effect of the thermal explosion did not bother it so much. It was only a small explosion, incinerating a several meter wide area around It, which enabled It to climb out of It's place. It looked back at the animal and discovered that the explosion had scattered it's body parts all over the area, with it's head taking a prominent place right at Anthology's feet. To Anthology's miniscule understanding of the creature's facial expression as it licked him the past few hours, it seemed to be surprised.
Side stepping the creature's skull, it began to move towards the largest population center, signified in the air by the massive electronic signature it was sending into space.
But that was not on it's mind right now. Right now it was looking up into the sky and marveling at how different the stars looked from a planet within the Time stream's confines.
Back at It's Origin point, Anthology would, from time to time, look up into the stars. It had no memory of those inside places, those within the time stream, so it spent it's time looking up into the stars. They were...subdued, for lack of a better term. It could sense them writhing and spitting nuclear reactions out into the void of space, but it seemed to come from a long while away.
But here? It could practically taste it.
Shaking his head, and pushing those jumbled memories away, it looked back down and started thinking of a way to get itself out of this predicament.
It had misjudged the force necessary to land. In all respects, it was an understandable mistake. It had spent all It's life in a Domain where time held no meaning, as such, there were changes when It would first make contact with the ground. How could it not.
But still, a very faint part of It was embarrassed that it was chin deep into the earth. It had planned to land feet first into the ground, landing gently in a properly impressive gesture. But It had miscalculated. It was still drawing from it's own experiences of breaking his Origin Domain's grasp, which required a very large amount of energy, and it had overcompensated. To make matters more interesting, It was being licked at.
The animal stood on 4 legs, had a tail with brown fur, and had a tongue which, if Anthology had nerve clusters, would undoubtedly annoy him. As it stood, the thing kept on licking him for no apparent reason. It's pink tongue moving to cover a portion of It's face that it hadn't reached yet, and if It hadn't already attempted to communicate with it, It would have guessed that the creature was enjoying irritating It. However, it sympathized with the creature's lack of self awareness, but his sympathy was rapidly diminishing.
Giving the rough approximation of a sigh, it accessed it's power. It created a large depression in the ground, more than enough to get him out of the ground. The side effect of the thermal explosion did not bother it so much. It was only a small explosion, incinerating a several meter wide area around It, which enabled It to climb out of It's place. It looked back at the animal and discovered that the explosion had scattered it's body parts all over the area, with it's head taking a prominent place right at Anthology's feet. To Anthology's miniscule understanding of the creature's facial expression as it licked him the past few hours, it seemed to be surprised.
Side stepping the creature's skull, it began to move towards the largest population center, signified in the air by the massive electronic signature it was sending into space.
He always had strange dreams. Everybody had, of course, that's part of what dreams are all about, being strange and nonsensical. But somehow, and he knew that it was an awfully haughty thought to think, Paul felt that at times, his were weirder than the norm.
His mother always told him that dreams have meanings, not because of some mystical connection or anything, but because they are an expression of our hidden thoughts, our repressed memories and desires. "When you dream", she said, "The subconscious, which contains all the things you know but never think about, becomes just a little bit closer to the conscious, which is what you think about at any given moment, you see?". He was about eight years old when she said that, and it made a lot of sense to him back then. When he was a bit older, maybe thirteen or fourteen, he grew more curious and decided to check it all up himself. He went to the library, searched through a couple of incredibly heavy books (well, at least he assumed they were, for most people. They felt like nothing in has hand. Most things do.) for people who knew a lot more than he did, and were probably also a lot smarter. So after spending a few nice days of his life, he got the conclusion that his mom was probably right, even if she was a bit oversimplistic about it, and that there is no way he'll ever be able to make it as a psychologist.
He wondered for years about the symbolism in his dreams. About what they could possibly mean in relation to his memories, or fears or desires. He usually just ended up confusing himself. Because often, his dreams were just weird. They had no purpose, it seemed. No symbolism at all.
And the strangest thing about it all? The weirdest dreams were also very often the clearest. When you dream, you don't notice, for example, that your point of view changes all the time. Sometimes you see things through your own eyes, or through the eyes of some "dream-self", and sometimes your are like a hovering camera behind your neck, and sometimes you are just like some sort of invisible spectator in the room. When you dream, you don't notice when things change features or color or shape for no reason at all. You don't notice that the flow of time is acting all freaky, and that the laws of physics have completely lost their hold of you. It just makes sense to you, when you dream. Like you were handed a script of the whole thing before, and now you are just following the path that has been already planned, and nothing that happens on it can scare you or faze you.
But his "weird dreams" were never like that. They were like watching a movie. Not a chaotic mishmash of images, an actual movie, with actors who's faces always retained their shape and a landscape that was not only constant, but marvelously detailed.
He dreamed of deserts, vast and primordial under the night sky, endless horizons of silver sand and mountains of grey rock, and a trillion stars above. He dreamed of cities full of impossibly tall towers, palaces made of gold and marble and ivory which shined like the sun, and gardens so great and majestic that a person could get lost in them and never find his way out.
And he dreamed of fire. Pure, powerful, eternal. People of fire, made of it, surrounded by it. As beautiful and as terrible as the sun and the stars. They flew on wings of fire, above deserts and mountains and oceans. And cities. And when they did, the people of clay and flesh that lived down below worshiped them, knelt before them, sang their praises in a million tiny voices that combined to a mighty scream that could tear down the sky.
He dreamed of kings who have earned the fear and respect of the gods, and of sorcerers who could walk the hidden paths between the realms of the living and the dead, perhaps even beyond. And of warriors who could crush entire armies without breaking a sweat, and slay beasts so fearsome that their very gaze was death and destruction.
Maybe these dreams were the reason that he was always so disappointed to wake up in the morning.
Maybe it was just human nature.
But work is work, and it has to be done.
His mother always told him that dreams have meanings, not because of some mystical connection or anything, but because they are an expression of our hidden thoughts, our repressed memories and desires. "When you dream", she said, "The subconscious, which contains all the things you know but never think about, becomes just a little bit closer to the conscious, which is what you think about at any given moment, you see?". He was about eight years old when she said that, and it made a lot of sense to him back then. When he was a bit older, maybe thirteen or fourteen, he grew more curious and decided to check it all up himself. He went to the library, searched through a couple of incredibly heavy books (well, at least he assumed they were, for most people. They felt like nothing in has hand. Most things do.) for people who knew a lot more than he did, and were probably also a lot smarter. So after spending a few nice days of his life, he got the conclusion that his mom was probably right, even if she was a bit oversimplistic about it, and that there is no way he'll ever be able to make it as a psychologist.
He wondered for years about the symbolism in his dreams. About what they could possibly mean in relation to his memories, or fears or desires. He usually just ended up confusing himself. Because often, his dreams were just weird. They had no purpose, it seemed. No symbolism at all.
And the strangest thing about it all? The weirdest dreams were also very often the clearest. When you dream, you don't notice, for example, that your point of view changes all the time. Sometimes you see things through your own eyes, or through the eyes of some "dream-self", and sometimes your are like a hovering camera behind your neck, and sometimes you are just like some sort of invisible spectator in the room. When you dream, you don't notice when things change features or color or shape for no reason at all. You don't notice that the flow of time is acting all freaky, and that the laws of physics have completely lost their hold of you. It just makes sense to you, when you dream. Like you were handed a script of the whole thing before, and now you are just following the path that has been already planned, and nothing that happens on it can scare you or faze you.
But his "weird dreams" were never like that. They were like watching a movie. Not a chaotic mishmash of images, an actual movie, with actors who's faces always retained their shape and a landscape that was not only constant, but marvelously detailed.
He dreamed of deserts, vast and primordial under the night sky, endless horizons of silver sand and mountains of grey rock, and a trillion stars above. He dreamed of cities full of impossibly tall towers, palaces made of gold and marble and ivory which shined like the sun, and gardens so great and majestic that a person could get lost in them and never find his way out.
And he dreamed of fire. Pure, powerful, eternal. People of fire, made of it, surrounded by it. As beautiful and as terrible as the sun and the stars. They flew on wings of fire, above deserts and mountains and oceans. And cities. And when they did, the people of clay and flesh that lived down below worshiped them, knelt before them, sang their praises in a million tiny voices that combined to a mighty scream that could tear down the sky.
He dreamed of kings who have earned the fear and respect of the gods, and of sorcerers who could walk the hidden paths between the realms of the living and the dead, perhaps even beyond. And of warriors who could crush entire armies without breaking a sweat, and slay beasts so fearsome that their very gaze was death and destruction.
Maybe these dreams were the reason that he was always so disappointed to wake up in the morning.
Maybe it was just human nature.
But work is work, and it has to be done.
It was a relief to disembark the underground trains. The clusters of people, the sweat on their brow, the feeling of animosity between everyone that had to share that tight space - it could all get a bit much. The train doors opened with a sigh. Being the first to step out, a young man hopped onto the platform. He clutched onto a strap of his beige rucksack; the tips of his fingers from his black fingerless gloves being the only visible part of his pale skin. An "I <3 NY" baseball cap with an overlapping hood concealed the majority of his face. He walked as close to the wall as he could as he went for the exit. Less people if you stick to the wall, you see.
Where is it... I had it somewhere... Please, be here...
The young man groped about his wallet and his pockets to find the train ticket so he could leave the station. He eventually found it, but with the amount his hands were shaking and frisking his person without much care, he probably could have found it a lot sooner. He swiped it on the scanner and left the station. He shook less, now, feeling more comfortable in the open space. He looked to his right and to his left. The electronics store wasn't open for another fifteen minutes and he was getting thirsty. With that, he headed to his left, to the "Get up & Go" cafe situated on the corner of the street. As he entered, a cool breeze hit him. He got in line, his eyes widening at the variety of delicious looking sweet foodstuffs behind the counter. He was so lost in his own greedy eyes, however, that he did not realise the line had already moved down.
"Can i help you, Sir?"
His eyes darted up to the barrista. He looked like a college dropout. Shaggy hair, five o'clock shadow - you know the sort. The pale man hadn't even thought about what he'd want to drink yet. He slowly raised his arm up to the board on the wall and begun to reply.
"L... La.."
Confused, and somewhat irritated, the barrista looked to his colleagues. Was this guy for real? What was he, anyway? A tourist? But still, he continued to try to pronounce the word. His finger began to shake a little as he had difficulty saying what he wanted to drink. But the barrista still didn't get it.
"L-L-L... La... Lah-"
The college student laughed vindictively. It clearly hadn't occured to him that what the young man was trying to ask for was a simple Latte.
"La-la-la? Who do you think you are buddy, Pavarotti?"
He sneered at the unfortunate gentleman, looking to his colleagues as he chuckled as if expecting them to join in too. From that moment, Marcus' finger curled into his hand, and his hand into a fist. His shaking was no longer from fear of trying to say what he was trying to say, but of indignant rage. Without warning, his fist then slammed down onto the counter hard enough to shake the cups that were placed on it by the side. Marcus looked up, glaring at the barrista with cold, steely blue eyes. His jaw locked into place.
"I WANT A GOD-DAMN COFFEE, YOU FUCKING COMEDIAN!"
Having been taken aback, the barrista stumbled to the machine, nodding rapidly and apologetically at the man who'd gone from timid to terrible in the space of a few seconds. He called out to his assistant Kacy to fetch him some more water for the machine. As she went to take the jug over to refill it, she suddenly let out a sharp scream and dropped it. The lid from the jug flew open as it hit the floor, and steam rose from the water as it pooled out onto the floor. The coffee house employees looked at each other quizically. Finally the girl spoke;
"But... I don't understand... That jug of water was boiling hot, but it came from the... the fridge..."
Marcus didn't break eye contact with the now bewildered man who'd tried to serve him. He waited a full five minutes for the manager to come out, ask his workers what all the commotion was about, apologise profusely and bring him a fresh coffee free of charge. As Marcus stormed out with the cup, the warm air outside the store hit him and he shivered. He sipped the coffee and re-run the events through his head. Trying not to think about it, he made a break for the electronics store, which was now open by this time.
I lost my temper again... i didn't mean to... i just... it wasn't my fault...
All of this because he needed a new battery for his laptop. He knew it'd been a bad idea to leave the apartment. He knew this probably wasn't the first of a chain of events that were about to befall him, either. But now that he'd caused a scene, Marcus was feeling particularly vulnerable again. He hugged the walls and windows as much as he could as he briskly made his way across the road to 'Big Jim's Electronics Boutique'.
Where is it... I had it somewhere... Please, be here...
The young man groped about his wallet and his pockets to find the train ticket so he could leave the station. He eventually found it, but with the amount his hands were shaking and frisking his person without much care, he probably could have found it a lot sooner. He swiped it on the scanner and left the station. He shook less, now, feeling more comfortable in the open space. He looked to his right and to his left. The electronics store wasn't open for another fifteen minutes and he was getting thirsty. With that, he headed to his left, to the "Get up & Go" cafe situated on the corner of the street. As he entered, a cool breeze hit him. He got in line, his eyes widening at the variety of delicious looking sweet foodstuffs behind the counter. He was so lost in his own greedy eyes, however, that he did not realise the line had already moved down.
"Can i help you, Sir?"
His eyes darted up to the barrista. He looked like a college dropout. Shaggy hair, five o'clock shadow - you know the sort. The pale man hadn't even thought about what he'd want to drink yet. He slowly raised his arm up to the board on the wall and begun to reply.
"L... La.."
Confused, and somewhat irritated, the barrista looked to his colleagues. Was this guy for real? What was he, anyway? A tourist? But still, he continued to try to pronounce the word. His finger began to shake a little as he had difficulty saying what he wanted to drink. But the barrista still didn't get it.
"L-L-L... La... Lah-"
The college student laughed vindictively. It clearly hadn't occured to him that what the young man was trying to ask for was a simple Latte.
"La-la-la? Who do you think you are buddy, Pavarotti?"
He sneered at the unfortunate gentleman, looking to his colleagues as he chuckled as if expecting them to join in too. From that moment, Marcus' finger curled into his hand, and his hand into a fist. His shaking was no longer from fear of trying to say what he was trying to say, but of indignant rage. Without warning, his fist then slammed down onto the counter hard enough to shake the cups that were placed on it by the side. Marcus looked up, glaring at the barrista with cold, steely blue eyes. His jaw locked into place.
"I WANT A GOD-DAMN COFFEE, YOU FUCKING COMEDIAN!"
Having been taken aback, the barrista stumbled to the machine, nodding rapidly and apologetically at the man who'd gone from timid to terrible in the space of a few seconds. He called out to his assistant Kacy to fetch him some more water for the machine. As she went to take the jug over to refill it, she suddenly let out a sharp scream and dropped it. The lid from the jug flew open as it hit the floor, and steam rose from the water as it pooled out onto the floor. The coffee house employees looked at each other quizically. Finally the girl spoke;
"But... I don't understand... That jug of water was boiling hot, but it came from the... the fridge..."
Marcus didn't break eye contact with the now bewildered man who'd tried to serve him. He waited a full five minutes for the manager to come out, ask his workers what all the commotion was about, apologise profusely and bring him a fresh coffee free of charge. As Marcus stormed out with the cup, the warm air outside the store hit him and he shivered. He sipped the coffee and re-run the events through his head. Trying not to think about it, he made a break for the electronics store, which was now open by this time.
I lost my temper again... i didn't mean to... i just... it wasn't my fault...
All of this because he needed a new battery for his laptop. He knew it'd been a bad idea to leave the apartment. He knew this probably wasn't the first of a chain of events that were about to befall him, either. But now that he'd caused a scene, Marcus was feeling particularly vulnerable again. He hugged the walls and windows as much as he could as he briskly made his way across the road to 'Big Jim's Electronics Boutique'.
It was...strange, to be in a crowd.
Anthology walked through the crowded city streets, walking through the city streets as he dodged each organic he came across. It was..unusual, due to the Anomalies' complete unfamiliarity with the concept of peace as it was. Anthology had been shaped and formed from the continual chaos and conflict of many centuries of war. The concept of organics not killing each other for whatever reason was still a new one to him, and it was still fairly disturbing to the anomaly.
As It walked, It observed organic life as it passed. The main form of life was undoubtedly the bipedal walking species, similar enough to Anthology's own Origins that it was fairly disquieting. It managed to get the word 'Human' from observing several of them at work and one of these 'Humans' had said it for some reason or another. Language barriers did not faze Anthology, needing to be organic for it to actually matter. Anthology could sense the intention of the organic it was observing and it would translate to words.
It continued walking, moving farther and farther away from the more ordered aspects of Human Civilization as It went to something Anthology was more familiar with. It was a run down place, grimy and filled with the subtle sickly sweet stench of despair and anger. Even as far away as It was, Anthology could sense it. It, while only being a flicker of what It was used to dealing with, made Anthology feel at ease.
It observed this new aspect of Humanity, the one It was much more familiar with. It seemed run down, as if no one cared had the collection of Homes and Warehouses were taken cared of anymore. On the sidewalk, human specimens were loitering, the stench of a variety of chemicals wafting of them along with the much more potent smell of Despair. In the distance, It could see the beginnings of a fire accumulate in a nearby building. From Anthology's knowledge of such things, it estimated that a good portion of the surrounding buildings would fall to the flame as well.
Anthology shook it's head, reminding itself of why it was here in the first place. A short struggle began in It's mind, several thoughts and ideas clashing until the most immediate one won out. It would stay. Observing the more alien aspects of Humanity would wait until Anthology had It's fill.
It moved to the center of the street, uncaring for any damage that might be done due to It's actions, and stood in the street. It's hands were at it's side and It's gaze directed upward, as if It was enjoying the smell of Humanity's Pathetic State.
Anthology walked through the crowded city streets, walking through the city streets as he dodged each organic he came across. It was..unusual, due to the Anomalies' complete unfamiliarity with the concept of peace as it was. Anthology had been shaped and formed from the continual chaos and conflict of many centuries of war. The concept of organics not killing each other for whatever reason was still a new one to him, and it was still fairly disturbing to the anomaly.
As It walked, It observed organic life as it passed. The main form of life was undoubtedly the bipedal walking species, similar enough to Anthology's own Origins that it was fairly disquieting. It managed to get the word 'Human' from observing several of them at work and one of these 'Humans' had said it for some reason or another. Language barriers did not faze Anthology, needing to be organic for it to actually matter. Anthology could sense the intention of the organic it was observing and it would translate to words.
It continued walking, moving farther and farther away from the more ordered aspects of Human Civilization as It went to something Anthology was more familiar with. It was a run down place, grimy and filled with the subtle sickly sweet stench of despair and anger. Even as far away as It was, Anthology could sense it. It, while only being a flicker of what It was used to dealing with, made Anthology feel at ease.
It observed this new aspect of Humanity, the one It was much more familiar with. It seemed run down, as if no one cared had the collection of Homes and Warehouses were taken cared of anymore. On the sidewalk, human specimens were loitering, the stench of a variety of chemicals wafting of them along with the much more potent smell of Despair. In the distance, It could see the beginnings of a fire accumulate in a nearby building. From Anthology's knowledge of such things, it estimated that a good portion of the surrounding buildings would fall to the flame as well.
Anthology shook it's head, reminding itself of why it was here in the first place. A short struggle began in It's mind, several thoughts and ideas clashing until the most immediate one won out. It would stay. Observing the more alien aspects of Humanity would wait until Anthology had It's fill.
It moved to the center of the street, uncaring for any damage that might be done due to It's actions, and stood in the street. It's hands were at it's side and It's gaze directed upward, as if It was enjoying the smell of Humanity's Pathetic State.
"He's a cheat! A stinkin' lyin' cheat!"
The rather large, scruffy looking man shouted drunkenly around the table, pointing at the smaller and paler young man sitting across from him, a royal flush face up in front of him. Shrugging, the pale man smiled lightly and held up his hands, showing off his slim arms
"You've already had me turn out my pockets and roll up my sleaves good sir. Is it so far to believe that I am simply a far better player?"
The scruffy man growled and began looking to his friends for support, but they were all looking away, getting a tad bit uncomfortable with the way he was acting. The pale man scooped up the cards around the table and began casually shuffling them, waiting for a reply while the scruffy man seethed in anger.
"Outside. You and me. Now"
The pale man shrugged again, looking almost bored as the scruffy mans friends began to protest, not wanting to get thrown out of another bar
"I'll gladly accept your challenge, provided we go at it alone. I don't want your friends helping you"
The pale man suddenly spoke up, his voice cutting through the other protests like a knife. He was still smiling, and there was nothing really threatening in the tone of his voice but he talked with the tone and authority of someone who was used to his opinion being heard.
Smiling cockily, the scruffy man motioned to the door, the pale man nodded and grabbed his suit jacket and cane, tipped his hat polietly to the bartender and made his way outside.
The night was dark and cool, the sun just begining to peak over the horizon as the two men made there way into the alleyway. Standing beside eachother, the scruffy man looked down on the pale man and smirked
"Ready whe-GAH!"
The pale man had spun around and grabbed the scruffy man by the throat, and a terrible, dark feeling suddenly washed over the man. He could feel himself getting weaker, aging, his body thining before his eyes as his very essense and life were drained out of him and into the pale man.
He screamed then, a terrible inhuman scream as everything he was, everything he hoped to become was violently ripped out of him.
The whole process lasted little more than two minutes and when it was over, Adam stood alone in the alleyway. He looked to the horizon, the sun growing steadily large and brighter as the day began.
Straightening his suit and slipping on his gloves, Adam whistled cheerfuly to himself as he walked away, his cane twirling from hand to hand. He had a feeling it was going to be a wonderful day
The rather large, scruffy looking man shouted drunkenly around the table, pointing at the smaller and paler young man sitting across from him, a royal flush face up in front of him. Shrugging, the pale man smiled lightly and held up his hands, showing off his slim arms
"You've already had me turn out my pockets and roll up my sleaves good sir. Is it so far to believe that I am simply a far better player?"
The scruffy man growled and began looking to his friends for support, but they were all looking away, getting a tad bit uncomfortable with the way he was acting. The pale man scooped up the cards around the table and began casually shuffling them, waiting for a reply while the scruffy man seethed in anger.
"Outside. You and me. Now"
The pale man shrugged again, looking almost bored as the scruffy mans friends began to protest, not wanting to get thrown out of another bar
"I'll gladly accept your challenge, provided we go at it alone. I don't want your friends helping you"
The pale man suddenly spoke up, his voice cutting through the other protests like a knife. He was still smiling, and there was nothing really threatening in the tone of his voice but he talked with the tone and authority of someone who was used to his opinion being heard.
Smiling cockily, the scruffy man motioned to the door, the pale man nodded and grabbed his suit jacket and cane, tipped his hat polietly to the bartender and made his way outside.
The night was dark and cool, the sun just begining to peak over the horizon as the two men made there way into the alleyway. Standing beside eachother, the scruffy man looked down on the pale man and smirked
"Ready whe-GAH!"
The pale man had spun around and grabbed the scruffy man by the throat, and a terrible, dark feeling suddenly washed over the man. He could feel himself getting weaker, aging, his body thining before his eyes as his very essense and life were drained out of him and into the pale man.
He screamed then, a terrible inhuman scream as everything he was, everything he hoped to become was violently ripped out of him.
The whole process lasted little more than two minutes and when it was over, Adam stood alone in the alleyway. He looked to the horizon, the sun growing steadily large and brighter as the day began.
Straightening his suit and slipping on his gloves, Adam whistled cheerfuly to himself as he walked away, his cane twirling from hand to hand. He had a feeling it was going to be a wonderful day
"Two more houses to hit, then I can finally grab some grub." Rezetta Morwood slid into the driver's seat of her delivery van with a sigh. She picked up the clipboard from the passenger seat and peered at the paper on it. "Good, these are both near each other." She set the clipboard back down and drove down the street.
It took her about seven minutes to reach her destination. She pulled the van alongside the curb by a small, quaint looking house. She reached back for a small, light box and double-checked the address printed on the top. Leaving the van idling, she exited the vehicle and headed up to the house's front door. She pressed the doorbell and could barely hear a ringing behind the door.
"Coming!" she heard somebody shout from inside the house. A few seconds later, the door opened and a woman of about fifty greeted Rezetta with a smile. "Hello."
"Ms. Corb?" Rezetta asked. When the woman nodded, Zetta held out the small package. "Delivery for you. If I could just get you to sign right here?" She handed the older woman a pen and gestured to a receipt sitting on top of the box. Ms. Corb took the pen and scribbled a signature onto the receipt, then handed both that and the pen back to Rezetta and took the package for herself.
"Thank you, dear," Ms. Corb said. "Have a nice day."
"You do the same," Zetta replied with a toothless smile. As the older woman headed back into her house, Zetta turned and slipped back into the van. The last house on her list was just down the street from Corb's house. Once more leaving the van idling, Zetta took a large, heavy box from the back. She headed up to the house, small and painted an obnoxious shade of blue, and rang the doorbell.
She waited for a minute, then rang again. When that got no reply, she set the box down on the porch and rapped her knuckles on the door. When that warranted no reply, she sighed and pulled a piece of paper from her pocket. Using the door as a surface to write on, she penned a note detailing the next scheduled drop-off for the package. Putting the pen back into her pocket, she next took out a roll of tape and used a small piece to stick the note to the door.
"Time to go," she told herself as she lugged the heavy package back to the van. "Finally, now I can eat."
Fifteen minutes later, Rezetta sat in a booth inside of a small diner, halfway through a plate of scrambled eggs with a side of toast. It was a little late for breakfast, but thankfully this place was one of the few that served breakfast throughout the entire day. Zetta always had more of a taste for breakfast food than for anything else.
She had been lost in her own thoughts, not paying much attention to what any of the other customers were saying, when something caught her attention.
"You hear about the demon the police caught last night?" A young woman in the booth behind Rezetta's was talking.
"One of the one's they'd been looking for for years, wasn't he?" came the reply of another woman. Zetta slowly lowered her fork to the plate and turned her head to the side a little, intent on hearing the conversation.
"Yes, the news said he was part of some drug bust almost ten years ago," said the first woman.
"Good thing they caught him, then. I heard those guys killed a couple of cops," the second woman replied, voice dripping with scorn. "I heard they sold some bad stuff, too. Made a lot of their clients ill."
"I don't care about them," the first woman said with a snort. "If a druggie gets themselves hurt or killed, it's their own fault. But anyway, this demon guy, they said he'll be interrogated for the next few days."
"Why? Oh... Oh, right! Two others got away that night, didn't they?"
"Yes, and..."
Rezetta, heart contracting, tuned the rest of the conversation out. She pushed her plate away, no longer hungry. It couldn't be true, could it? It had happened just about eight years ago, but the memory of the deaths of her friends that night still ate at her. Drug traffickers or no, they were the only real family she'd had after her uncle drove her from her home. And if one of the two who had managed to escape with her was caught...
Zetta took a deep, shaky breath and called for a check as a waiter passed by. Her hands clenched into fists as she thought about what the cops would do to whoever it was who had been caught. That was the question, too; which one of them had been caught? Thorn? Fallon? She thought they would have had more sense than to return to the city where they'd all been busted.
Her meal paid for, Zetta strode out of the diner and entered her van once more. She rested her forehead against the steering wheel, fighting the urge to scream.
It took her about seven minutes to reach her destination. She pulled the van alongside the curb by a small, quaint looking house. She reached back for a small, light box and double-checked the address printed on the top. Leaving the van idling, she exited the vehicle and headed up to the house's front door. She pressed the doorbell and could barely hear a ringing behind the door.
"Coming!" she heard somebody shout from inside the house. A few seconds later, the door opened and a woman of about fifty greeted Rezetta with a smile. "Hello."
"Ms. Corb?" Rezetta asked. When the woman nodded, Zetta held out the small package. "Delivery for you. If I could just get you to sign right here?" She handed the older woman a pen and gestured to a receipt sitting on top of the box. Ms. Corb took the pen and scribbled a signature onto the receipt, then handed both that and the pen back to Rezetta and took the package for herself.
"Thank you, dear," Ms. Corb said. "Have a nice day."
"You do the same," Zetta replied with a toothless smile. As the older woman headed back into her house, Zetta turned and slipped back into the van. The last house on her list was just down the street from Corb's house. Once more leaving the van idling, Zetta took a large, heavy box from the back. She headed up to the house, small and painted an obnoxious shade of blue, and rang the doorbell.
She waited for a minute, then rang again. When that got no reply, she set the box down on the porch and rapped her knuckles on the door. When that warranted no reply, she sighed and pulled a piece of paper from her pocket. Using the door as a surface to write on, she penned a note detailing the next scheduled drop-off for the package. Putting the pen back into her pocket, she next took out a roll of tape and used a small piece to stick the note to the door.
"Time to go," she told herself as she lugged the heavy package back to the van. "Finally, now I can eat."
Fifteen minutes later, Rezetta sat in a booth inside of a small diner, halfway through a plate of scrambled eggs with a side of toast. It was a little late for breakfast, but thankfully this place was one of the few that served breakfast throughout the entire day. Zetta always had more of a taste for breakfast food than for anything else.
She had been lost in her own thoughts, not paying much attention to what any of the other customers were saying, when something caught her attention.
"You hear about the demon the police caught last night?" A young woman in the booth behind Rezetta's was talking.
"One of the one's they'd been looking for for years, wasn't he?" came the reply of another woman. Zetta slowly lowered her fork to the plate and turned her head to the side a little, intent on hearing the conversation.
"Yes, the news said he was part of some drug bust almost ten years ago," said the first woman.
"Good thing they caught him, then. I heard those guys killed a couple of cops," the second woman replied, voice dripping with scorn. "I heard they sold some bad stuff, too. Made a lot of their clients ill."
"I don't care about them," the first woman said with a snort. "If a druggie gets themselves hurt or killed, it's their own fault. But anyway, this demon guy, they said he'll be interrogated for the next few days."
"Why? Oh... Oh, right! Two others got away that night, didn't they?"
"Yes, and..."
Rezetta, heart contracting, tuned the rest of the conversation out. She pushed her plate away, no longer hungry. It couldn't be true, could it? It had happened just about eight years ago, but the memory of the deaths of her friends that night still ate at her. Drug traffickers or no, they were the only real family she'd had after her uncle drove her from her home. And if one of the two who had managed to escape with her was caught...
Zetta took a deep, shaky breath and called for a check as a waiter passed by. Her hands clenched into fists as she thought about what the cops would do to whoever it was who had been caught. That was the question, too; which one of them had been caught? Thorn? Fallon? She thought they would have had more sense than to return to the city where they'd all been busted.
Her meal paid for, Zetta strode out of the diner and entered her van once more. She rested her forehead against the steering wheel, fighting the urge to scream.
Gabriel saw that his shadow fell over the charred remains. He grinned lightly when the surprisinly appetising smell hit him. He lifted a palm of flames lightly, teasingly. He was ready to strike..
"Ready yet?" A voice suddenly rang out. Gabriel started and quickly slapped out the fire on his worn-out jeans. He grabbed the pan he'd been warming on the stove and exited the extremely small kitchen to the equally small 'Grand Dining Hall' as dubbed by Raoul. He sat down the pan on the crickety table and fell into a bare-wooden chair. Femke looked up from her book and gingerly lifted the top.
"Whassat?" She asked.
"Hot Pot." Gabriel asked. "Oh come on." He said as she threw him his what horrendously creature have you created this time look. "YOU were the one that made me cook, remember?"
She rolled her eyes, but he could see she did it mockinly, as she ladled some onto her plate. She motioned to the screen of the TV that had been on the entire day. It depicted the street of some city torn apart, with a clearly visible crater in the center of the street. All sorts of police and authority people were on the scene.
"What happened there?" She asked. Gabriel shrugged and continued eating. Suddenly the door burst open. Gabriel tensed and Femke immediately launched her from her chair. Raoul had finally returned from three months of active duty. Already the couble was intertwined in a hug so tight he thought seperation was impossible at this point. For an awkward minute none moved from their place. Raoul nodded from over her shoulder, and Gabriel nodded back. Although close friends, they hadn't really spoken during Raoul's absence. After another minute Gabriel silently got up and slipped passed them, taking his coat with him. He wasn't in the mood for their lovey-dovey stuff at the moment, which he knew they were going to indulge themselves in pretty soon.
He stepped outside into the cold evening, pulling his beanie down as the wind bit his face. He quickly walked through a maze of alleys he knew by heart, and onto the streets. Crowded as it was, he still felt better moving with the people. He wandered around, going nowhere in particular. It wasn't long before he sensed the first oddity; a long man in a coat, most of the collar concealing his face and the rest hiding behind some large sunglasses. Gabriel nodded to him, and the man gave a slight nod back. That was the only contact he every had with his swing of people outside.
At a crossroad he hung a left and passed through the glass doors of one of the many coffee bars in the city. He passed the pubecent ones behind the bar, and half-grinned at the elderly woman a way further down the bar. She gave him a smile, baring her disfigured teeth, and mentioned to the wooden door behind it. Gabriel entered quickly. He'd found this place by following one of his people back here. The woman, Nicole, had almost immediately pushed him through the same door he entered now.
The mirror image of the bar outside was here, only a more colourful gathering of people sat here. Gabriel had to step around the wings of one, and under the lightning bolt of another to get to the bar.
"Gabe! The usual?" The man behind it said. Gabriel grinned and nodded, throwing his coat over one of the chair and sinking down into it. A smoking cup war brought to him, and he immediately gulped it down. He sighed, grateful of this place.
Anthology
He snapped his head to the right. Whispering..
Find him.
Now it came from the left. Gabriel waited for a few seconds. Nothing more came. Perturped, he ordered another drink.
<spoiler=OOC>Juuuust throwing a hook out there. You don't have to do anything with it yet if you won't wanna.
Also: You lot feel free to interact or get near each other. This chapter is for character-establishment.
"Ready yet?" A voice suddenly rang out. Gabriel started and quickly slapped out the fire on his worn-out jeans. He grabbed the pan he'd been warming on the stove and exited the extremely small kitchen to the equally small 'Grand Dining Hall' as dubbed by Raoul. He sat down the pan on the crickety table and fell into a bare-wooden chair. Femke looked up from her book and gingerly lifted the top.
"Whassat?" She asked.
"Hot Pot." Gabriel asked. "Oh come on." He said as she threw him his what horrendously creature have you created this time look. "YOU were the one that made me cook, remember?"
She rolled her eyes, but he could see she did it mockinly, as she ladled some onto her plate. She motioned to the screen of the TV that had been on the entire day. It depicted the street of some city torn apart, with a clearly visible crater in the center of the street. All sorts of police and authority people were on the scene.
"What happened there?" She asked. Gabriel shrugged and continued eating. Suddenly the door burst open. Gabriel tensed and Femke immediately launched her from her chair. Raoul had finally returned from three months of active duty. Already the couble was intertwined in a hug so tight he thought seperation was impossible at this point. For an awkward minute none moved from their place. Raoul nodded from over her shoulder, and Gabriel nodded back. Although close friends, they hadn't really spoken during Raoul's absence. After another minute Gabriel silently got up and slipped passed them, taking his coat with him. He wasn't in the mood for their lovey-dovey stuff at the moment, which he knew they were going to indulge themselves in pretty soon.
He stepped outside into the cold evening, pulling his beanie down as the wind bit his face. He quickly walked through a maze of alleys he knew by heart, and onto the streets. Crowded as it was, he still felt better moving with the people. He wandered around, going nowhere in particular. It wasn't long before he sensed the first oddity; a long man in a coat, most of the collar concealing his face and the rest hiding behind some large sunglasses. Gabriel nodded to him, and the man gave a slight nod back. That was the only contact he every had with his swing of people outside.
At a crossroad he hung a left and passed through the glass doors of one of the many coffee bars in the city. He passed the pubecent ones behind the bar, and half-grinned at the elderly woman a way further down the bar. She gave him a smile, baring her disfigured teeth, and mentioned to the wooden door behind it. Gabriel entered quickly. He'd found this place by following one of his people back here. The woman, Nicole, had almost immediately pushed him through the same door he entered now.
The mirror image of the bar outside was here, only a more colourful gathering of people sat here. Gabriel had to step around the wings of one, and under the lightning bolt of another to get to the bar.
"Gabe! The usual?" The man behind it said. Gabriel grinned and nodded, throwing his coat over one of the chair and sinking down into it. A smoking cup war brought to him, and he immediately gulped it down. He sighed, grateful of this place.
Anthology
He snapped his head to the right. Whispering..
Find him.
Now it came from the left. Gabriel waited for a few seconds. Nothing more came. Perturped, he ordered another drink.
<spoiler=OOC>Juuuust throwing a hook out there. You don't have to do anything with it yet if you won't wanna.
Also: You lot feel free to interact or get near each other. This chapter is for character-establishment.
As the city began to come to life with the morning, people came out into the streets with various levels of alertness. Most were still a bit drowsy, and many were even in a state of impaired awareness as they tried to banish the fatigue from their minds. But in the midst of the sea of partially-asleep people was one bursting with energy.
A young boy was already dashing through the streets, dodging people and other obstacles as he ran. Behind him was an enraged man in hot pursuit, carrying a rake as an impromptu weapon. And despite the apparent trouble the boy was in, he was giggling to himself as he ran and had a big smile on his face.
The boy, Takeda, had actually slept in the man's house for the night. But hadn't been a guest, he'd found his way in and had curled up on the couch while they were all asleep. While that might not have been a big deal, he'd also carelessly tracked mud through the house and helped himself to some of their fine food. It was obvious this person was fairly well-off, and it made the young kitsune even happier that the person was so loath to help others. He could learn a bit of humility.
So Takeda was running down the street, leading this person on as long of a chase as he could. His small feet pattered against the ground as he went, turning a corner and ducking under an awning. He glanced over his shoulder, seeing the man falling behind. He had more trouble moving through a crowd, it seemed.
Seeing an opportunity to lose him, the boy got down on his belly and crawled underneath the steps of a nearby building. He got relatively comfy laying there, content to wait a while until he was sure the man was gone.
But it wasn't long before he felt a firm hand grab his ankle. He yelped and scrabbled his hands and feet against the ground to try and get away, but to no avail. The boy was dragged out into the open, then roughly flipped onto his back and lifted up by the front of his sweater. He looked up the man who was chasing him, who was red in the face now. He hauled off and slapped Takeda across the face, getting a pitiful whimper out of the boy. The strike made the hood slip off of his head, revealing the orange vulpine ears on top of his head. They were flattened down against his hair at the moment, and tears were in his eyes.
A look of disbelief came to the man's face, giving Takeda the chance to wriggle out of his grasp and sprint away. He turned a corner, tripped and fell on his side, then got back up and kept running. A bushy, orange tail now flew behind him.
Quickly ducking into a narrow alley, Takeda ran to the back and wedged himself in behind a dumpster to hide. He sat down with his back to the wall, his knees tucked firmly into his chest. A few tears streamed down his cheeks as he watched for the man again, hugging his tail in fear. But this time he wasn't pursued.
A young boy was already dashing through the streets, dodging people and other obstacles as he ran. Behind him was an enraged man in hot pursuit, carrying a rake as an impromptu weapon. And despite the apparent trouble the boy was in, he was giggling to himself as he ran and had a big smile on his face.
The boy, Takeda, had actually slept in the man's house for the night. But hadn't been a guest, he'd found his way in and had curled up on the couch while they were all asleep. While that might not have been a big deal, he'd also carelessly tracked mud through the house and helped himself to some of their fine food. It was obvious this person was fairly well-off, and it made the young kitsune even happier that the person was so loath to help others. He could learn a bit of humility.
So Takeda was running down the street, leading this person on as long of a chase as he could. His small feet pattered against the ground as he went, turning a corner and ducking under an awning. He glanced over his shoulder, seeing the man falling behind. He had more trouble moving through a crowd, it seemed.
Seeing an opportunity to lose him, the boy got down on his belly and crawled underneath the steps of a nearby building. He got relatively comfy laying there, content to wait a while until he was sure the man was gone.
But it wasn't long before he felt a firm hand grab his ankle. He yelped and scrabbled his hands and feet against the ground to try and get away, but to no avail. The boy was dragged out into the open, then roughly flipped onto his back and lifted up by the front of his sweater. He looked up the man who was chasing him, who was red in the face now. He hauled off and slapped Takeda across the face, getting a pitiful whimper out of the boy. The strike made the hood slip off of his head, revealing the orange vulpine ears on top of his head. They were flattened down against his hair at the moment, and tears were in his eyes.
A look of disbelief came to the man's face, giving Takeda the chance to wriggle out of his grasp and sprint away. He turned a corner, tripped and fell on his side, then got back up and kept running. A bushy, orange tail now flew behind him.
Quickly ducking into a narrow alley, Takeda ran to the back and wedged himself in behind a dumpster to hide. He sat down with his back to the wall, his knees tucked firmly into his chest. A few tears streamed down his cheeks as he watched for the man again, hugging his tail in fear. But this time he wasn't pursued.