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| [P] Graybacks and Ladies; Lady Eko | |
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| Tweet Topic Started: Sun Nov 3, 2013 2:32 am (152 Views) | |
| Bristow | Sun Nov 3, 2013 2:32 am Post #1 |
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Jonathan fell into the sturdy chair set against one wall of his run-down home in the slums of Western Balefire. The legs groaned under the sudden load, but held firmly. Stripping away the long coat and straps, he reached for a warm blown-glass bottle full of amber liquid. Taking a swig, he winced against the searing of his throat. Coughing, he pulled into himself. A dollop of drink sloshed from the full bottle, wetting one of his boots. Once the coughing had subsided, he set the bottle aside, finishing removing his uniform. He stared at the pewter badge of his authority, running a thumb over the embossed pattern in its face. A speckle of blood marked a lamp symbol on it, still holding its color. Not yet old enough to fade to brown. He wiped it away. He couldn't bring himself to feel remorse over the death he'd brought that evening. The man had been abducting citizens for nearly a month now, evading capture and leaving little evidence to trace him by. By a stroke of luck, Jonathan had spotted him across a busy square. The pursuit was an arduous one, following him through several false trails. He'd been using one of the enchanted sticks of chalk to make doorways in plain walls. Following him through one of these doorways into an otherwise sealed room, Jonathan had executed the man on the spot. Fishing a pendant from the pocket of his gray coat, he touched the silver crystal orb. “Samuel.” the calling sent a hook into the depths of the Vault, fishing out the spirit in question. It took little time, not having had enough time to pass far into the world in the crystal. A large man with something of a gut on him came together in front of Jonathan, staring at the Sheriff. His features were colorless and misty, a ghost that did not exist to any but himself. Fear touched the balding man's eyes and he began searching for escape from the room. “No.” Jonathan warned him. “You cannot escape. There is nothing for you left in this world.” The man seemed to rile at this. “Then what is the point of drawing me here? I have no reason to help you, Grayback.” Jonathan watched him without emotion. “You have every reason. I am the master of your world now. I can make you suffer with the most depraved souls at my disposal for the next decade, if I wish it. Or, if you prove remorseful and a changed man, I may see fit to return to you your life.” The ghost sneered, but he was considering it. “And I'm to trust you, am I? Ent nobody telling Sam Carver what to do but Sam Carver.” Jonathan's face twisted in anger. On most occasions he'd have kept his head level, but the week had been a long one. This man had put great amounts of strain on Jonathan's workload with numerous disappearances and bodies popping up all over Western Balefire. Such things were not unusual, but several local children had disappeared and never been found. It had brought him too close to home. “Fine. Rot in the sixth, child-killer.” Jon stood and slashed a hand through the fat man's broad chest, scattering his image and banishing the spirit deep into the depths of the Vault. Dropping the orb into a pocket, He scooped up his personal coat and stepped out of the shack. The wintry air nipped at him, but his coat remained loose and open, more to hide his form than ward off the cold. Since taking up the demon all those years ago, Jonathan Bristow no longer felt the biting cold of winter on a sunless Balefire day. Passing the kitchens passing out the last remainder of its day's foods, he rounded the block and passed the doorway into Mohdu's Inn and Tavern. “Ategnio.” Jon waved to the bartender. The shadow demon nodded to him from the featureless void beneath its hood. He was familiar with the man after numerous visits. They had never spoke of it, but he felt the demon knew what creature Jonathan had dealt with in his youth. Ategnio drew a glass from beneath the bar and immediately filled it with drink. Nodding his thanks, Jonathan took his usual drink and upturned it, draining it in one swig. Setting it down, he pushed it forward with two fingers before the demon could put the bottle away. The void beneath the hood was trained on him a moment, a gesture Jon took akin to any other man's lifting an eyebrow. “Long day.” Nodding, the bartender refilled his glass. Jonathan gave the previous drink a moment to settle before sipping at the fresh. Chairs scraped against the floor as several locals dropped a few coppers for their drinks and departed, giving sly glances at the Sheriff at the bar. Jon looked straight back at them. Meeting his eyes, the patrons turned their heads and hurried out. The bar was nearly empty now, only a handful of people left in the room. Jon caught whispers of “hornet”. He pursed his lips and kept quiet. It was no secret he was a Sheriff, but people often mistook him for one of those around Sokolovsburg. He understood it well enough, he lived in the area, but his area of interest was in the South quarter. His charge was the oft-violent gangs of werewolves and non-humans. He shook his head and took another sip. |
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| Lady Eko | Wed Nov 6, 2013 2:42 pm Post #2 |
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Eko closed the carriage door behind her. It didn't start moving until she properly fastened the latch that kept the whole thing locked, which took a bit of force and one good hit to shake it past a thin layer of rust. She felt Mohdu's eyes -- Rhett's, rather, she really needed to get in the habit of calling him by his real name -- looking at her, but when she turned her head to face him he stared straight forward and pretended nothing was the matter. The girl's eyes hardened. "Whatever it is, just say it." "You certainly don't look like a mayfly." He grinned sheepishly. Eko's reaction was to punch the side of the carriage with the outer edge of her fist. Her driver shot a concerned glance over his shoulder, but then quickly judged it appropriate to go back to guiding the carriage's team of horses. Ansha, who was sleeping on the open floor of the rather sizeable carriage, only twitched her ears at the sound. "Was that supposed to be comforting? I don't need it. Rats, mayflies, dogs -- people just compare me to animals to belittle me. It's not new, and it's not clever, and I don't care." Mayflies. When they became adults, they only lasted a very short time before dropping dead or being eaten. Sometimes a few days, sometimes mere minutes. For a speaker in the House of Lords to make such an insulting comparison... well, actually, it wasn't a surprise at all. "To be fair, you did open your mouth at your very first assembly when I expressly advised you not to. You do realize that every single person in there is basically your enemy. That past war you were fighting earlier, with Kelok and Noochesce and the other smaller forces? Think about your enemies as having suddenly multiplied from that number by a factor of one-hundred or more." "I can make friends. I approached Lord Averin after the assembly. I mean, he has to be the second-weakest Lord after me, right? Strength in numbers, right?" "Oh? He does still owe you that favor, if I recall." Rhett leaned forward with interest. "...He refused to speak to me. He looked nervous just being near me, with so many people watching." "Ah..." They sat in silence, watching the lights of Balefire blur by. Eko groaned and leaned the back of her head against her seat's cushioned backrest, eyes on the ceiling of the carriage car. "I need a drink." Rhett grunted an affirmation. They'd all been through a lot these past few nights. Mohdu's Inn and Tavern was a massive, relatively high-quality establishment sitting in a sea of mild destitution. After so many months and years of renovations, it was finally the headquarters Eko could really be proud of. It had dozens upon dozens of rooms, offices and facilities for Ekonen forces, a temporary armory and barracks downstairs that doubled as a safehouse for emergencies, Eko's personal living quarters and office nestled deep in the building as opposed to the penthouse, and a fully functional public serving area as a tavern and restaurant. That last feature hadn't exactly made back its cost yet, though. Business wasn't increasing. In fact, patronage had been experiencing a slight downturn as of late. The customers who'd originally used Mohdu's for its small, quiet, homey atmosphere had gone to new pastures. Eko tried to fix it with her separate private and public entrances, but the imposing look of the building never helped the situation. So she wasn't surprised when she came into the tavern and saw almost no one there. Ategnio waved at Rhett, calling him by his alias Mohdu. Eko made a beeline for the bar and set herself on the center stool; her dire dog Ansha curled up in front of the lounge's fireplace. She didn't even need to speak, gesture or otherwise indicate her order before the shadow demon was on it. It was only after she'd guzzled a tall glass of something strong and bitter that she even paid attention to the man next to her. The grey coat, the pewter badge... Eko was not in any kind of mood to deal with this. "Couldn't find any other taverns around here?" Her tone was unabashedly challenging. It was an indirect way of asking him what the hell a Balefire Sheriff was doing here. Eko only had ties to the Special Investigation Unit, and this guy was clearly just a Sheriffs regular. Rhett came out of the back room and flashed a look at her. "Cool your head, Eko. This guy's Jonathan Bristow. He's all right. Comes here every so often." Eko regarded him for a little bit longer, but decided not to press him. She tapped the bar again with her fingertips to get another drink. |
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| Bristow | Wed Nov 6, 2013 4:48 pm Post #3 |
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Slowly swirling drink about his glass, Jonathan felt a large creature enter the tavern, a pressure raising the hairs on the back of his neck. Amalgam's presence was notable to any who was sensitive to spiritual beings. Even many who were not could sense a shift in the room from time to time. Mal swept along the floor, a haze of gray mist to his eyes. It moved to sit beside Jonathan. “I found their spirits, sir. The youths have passed. I took care to ensure their passage safely.” Jon kept his silence and gave the spirit a sidelong glance. “Well that's just not fair. You know as well as I that the rules of my... diet are strictly set.” Jon lifted two fingers from his glass and the familiar spirit was cut off. Mal, short for Amalgam, was just that. A repository of spiritual energy, a product of mixing a number of souls. Jonathan had spent many months traveling the depths of the Vault, and a score of level deep he had come across a creature feeding on others who had been cast so far. It was neither good nor evil, and held no mind. It was merely a growing predator surviving on its most primal needs. After long, arduous hours every week the ectomancer had managed to shape it into a container of its own and bind it to his will. It had grown intelligent, proving capable of retaining knowledge provided it near flawlessly. “Playing it quiet for the demon?” Mal asked, and was pointedly ignored. Jonathan didn't know how much the bartender or the tavern's owner knew of him or the spirit, but he didn't plan on sharing more than necessary. his left hand faded beneath the bar, becoming transparent and colorless. He traced two words on the bar in invisible gestures, leaving a spiritual residue. The Hive. As far as he knew, Mal didn't have eyes. despite this, Jon got the distinct feeling the spirit was rolling them, turning and vanishing from the building to patrol the slums for hostile spirits. His arm solidified once more in his coat sleeve and he sipped again in time to see Mohdu and a young woman enter the bar just as Mal left. The man he knew well enough to warrant a raised hand and a smile. “Every so often? You make me sound so balanced and prioritized.” Jon shook his head and set the glass aside. Turning to the Lady, he tilted his head and bowed shallowly. “Milady. You need not worry about me, my business is conducted in the southwest. I'm sorry if my presence offends you.” Jon looked her over for a brief second. Nothing untoward, simply observing her stature and features as if looking for something. He let his gaze follow the third member of her part, the enormous dog that lay in front of the fire. A memory smoldered in the back of his mind, on the edge of bursting into clarity. Sure enough, as he pursued the memory it faded, dancing out of his reach. He set it aside for the present. “I'm afraid I haven't had the opportunity to make your acquaintance. Business keeps me in the were-slums most days. Enough happens day to day that I continually request a second hand, but the only thing the Sheriff keeps tighter than his purse is his...” He trailed, coloring slightly. “My apologies, my mouth's running again. Jonathan Bristow.” He bowed again, a little deeper than before. |
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8:18 AM Jul 11

