Moonrise [M] (IC)

[Nightwind]

The darkness of night surrounded Leoriell as his eyes were kept on the road, the almost shining rubies hiding behind a set of black sunglasses. The water splashed against the leather jacket covering his torso, something he had left by the door as he entered the mansion. His maker always used to say that his sense of respect and honor would be the end of him; who takes his jacket off in respect when entering the house of someone whom you intend to kill? Leoriell’s mind was unlike many others’, the young vampire being rather stuck in the 15th century. Today a person’s demeanor is laid back with feet placed on the table as the frame rests in the sofa and eyes plastered upon the screen. While Leoriell would fall into such a category would he not have been working that night, he refuses to be disrespectful to those who are cursed to have their lives ended. He would shed darkness and could at the very least do so without being a nuisance as he would put it.
The sound of the motorcycle reminded him of the time period, that he had to adapt somewhat would he not fall flat one day.

Reaching for his jacket’s pocket he produced an IPod and attached it to his ears, turning on some music to accompany him during the night.
He was unsure which band it was and even less whom the singer was but the genre was alternative, modern rock and it was of great company on the road. While classical music was what held his hand at home, more action touched music such as rock, hip hop and the occasional exotic dance was to be preferred outside the haven of his home.
The hunger was creeping up his throat and stung in his stomach, when was the last time he fed? Stopping the motorcycle Leoriell threw his right leg over the vehicle and leaned against the device, looking up at the night sky as he rested below a balcony, leaning against an apartment building. Nothing but the music lingered, the droplets dripping down the boy’s pale cheeks before hitting the concrete below his feet. Moonrise, it was the place where he could feed without needing to hide, a place for shelter and company. The young man only hoped to avoid bumping into any vampires, most of them tended to be disgusting to say the least. Not to mention that his own reputation has been shattered before even ever getting the chance to have one. Seeing Leoriell would most likely give off the impression of a young man looking to meet up with some friends for a coffee or something of the like, his clothes not really fitting into the club’s dance floor nor a wealthy suite.
Pausing for a moment to enjoy the silent night was a habit, a pleasant one at that. Always on time, extremely punctual and never late, Leoriell knew exactly how many minutes he could spend relaxed without having to think of official business nor plans for the night.

Eventually the vampire shifted positions and saddled himself upon the motorcycle, storming out below the rain for another go. Once inside Moonrise he would have to adapt to whatever stretched out around his frame and he didn’t think himself in any position to change that. Thus enjoying a few minutes of solitude before dinner sounded like a good idea.
Stopping in front of the building the vampire parked his motorcycle, got his bag and gently opened the door, unzipping his brown leather jacket and shaking his hair a little bit to remove some of the water. Gazing out across the interior one could see one supernatural entity after the other…and one of them seemed to be bloody as all hell. Raising his eyebrow for a second, Leoriell decided not to pursue curiosity. He made his way to a place where he could sit down and dropped a black leather shoulder bag down next to him, producing a bottle containing a red liquid; an obvious giveaway. He removed his sunglasses, wet and dripping, and grabbed a hold of a newspaper, Moonrise special. Taking a sip from the blood, he decided to read the headlines…a murder…how original.

[Manic]

Michael. Clarice made a mental note to remember that. Harper was terrible with names and the woman was probably going to ask her at one point or another, if not her name again, what this man’s was. He’d said something...complimented her name. “Oh, thank you.” Awkward and about ten second later than it should have been, but then that summed her up, now didn’t it. She was offered entrance to her room and manners had her stepping through the threshold before her mind caught up and mentioned it might not be the best of ideas. But the man was polite and she knew the gun at his hips would be faulty.

Clarice sat in silence in the old wingback chair that matched the rest of the room about as well as she fit in with the crowd downstairs and watched his produce funny little cards. When he began pasting them around the room, her mouth drew into a little O and her eye brows disappeared beneath her bangs. The man asked after the library and she just shook her head.

“Yes, there is, um… I don’t know that Harper would like you posting things…” She had seen Harper ripping down posters of bikini clad women on cars from another guest’s room a few weeks back. She watched him place his guns in one of the dresser drawers, noted the symbols carved into the dark metal. “Do you…do you hunt us?” She asked softly, fear creeping into her voice. She knew if she screamed harper would be here instantly, not to mention the oddly dressed bouncer. But if he was skilled enough to hunt Supernatural beings, she may well be dead before getting the chance.

---

In the end, sex and hiding in her loft won out over dropping 500 bucks on food for random patrons. Go figure. “Hey, you hungry?” she asked Joel, hearing the door open and shut. “I’m thinking Lebanese tonight. We’ll just add it to your ta-“

What plopped down next to Joel drew her attention, mostly because it smelt like a stray dog that had been rooting in the trash behind Mio and it was dripping blood onto her counter. Her sentence trailed off and the flirty smirk was replaces by a pissed grimace. To make matters even better, something tiny and pale as a corpse slipped onto a stool next to him and began sipping something she knew wasn’t clamato juice. If the idiot who’d sprung a leak got himself bitten under her roof, she was going to have to step in and – oh, who was she kidding? They guy looked like he was going to fall off his stool. The time for intervention had come. Faraday paused to wipe up the drops of red and the half dead witch ordered a drink. “I got it,” she told him.

"First drink's free for new faces," she said, reaching one hand behind herself the bottle of whiskey flew from the shelf into her hand. A glass appeared on the counter before his as she tipped it to pour. “So, you alright there, buddy?” She asked, taking in the gashes bisecting his chest through the haze of the man’s aura, red and blue combating to take over in a weird violet swirl that matched the man’s eyes. “You kinda look like you’re about to kick it, and I’m already responsible for a drunk kid, don’t need a corpse on my hands, too.” She set the bottle down and dredged up the moral code she’d decided to live by when she’d decided to make the joint a safe place. “You need a place to crash, you can have room six for free until you’re done doing the polka with the reaper. There’s a ton of medical shit in the bottom dresser drawer and showers through the door marked bathroom. Now quit dripping blood on my fucking bartop. It’s reclaimed walnut and it was expensive.” The little copper key poofed itself into form next to his glass and she looked to the vampire. “And you, other newbie: no eating him.” With an aggravated sigh Harper returned her attention to Joel and asked, “so, falafel?

[dman0649]

James glanced upward as he heard something whizz through the air, and he looked to his left to see the woman on the bar brandishing his whiskey. She conjured a glass before him, and poured it in, then fixed him with a pretty irritated look. His eyebrow immediately twitched upward as she began to speak, and James lifted his violet eyes upward to meet her golden ones. He sighed deeply, thinking of a phrase or two that might cut through the gloom of the atmosphere after his entrance, but his thoughts immediately shifted to the man that had sat down next to him. He had sickly pale skin, and was drinking a thick red liquid from a decorative looking bottle. A scowl automatically replaced the look of hopeless exhaustion on his features, and he glanced toward the apparent owner of the bar with extreme dissatisfaction.

“I appreciate your concern, miss. Though I’ll be fine within a few hours. I’ve taken a lot worse than this,” he paused for a moment, glancing down at his bleeding chest. “I had a run in with a vampire while looking for a job—and while I’m mentioning it, I see you don’t have anyone playing those instruments over there.” His eyes immediately lit up with enthusiasm as he saw a guitar leaning on it’s pedestal, a beautiful black Gibson with blood red strings. He almost started drooling as he laid eyes on it, but decided that’d he better at least finish talking to this woman before automatically looking for yet another job opportunity.

“I appreciate your hospitality, Ms..?” He trailed off a moment, realizing he didn’t know her name, but quickly picked up where he left off. “But I’d imagine my money’s as good here as it is anywhere else. Will five hundred do it? And as for your walnut.. You’ve just showed me that you can make glass appear out of thin air. Maybe you should upgrade to black marble. Maybe I’ll bleed on that next time, if I come back.” As the woman finished pouring his drink, he reached into his right pocket, withdrawing his wallet before pulling five crisp Benjamins from it’s depths. He tossed them on the bar next to his drink, then quickly grabbed the glass and downed it in a single gulp; not even pausing to so much as cringe as the liquid fire stirred his stomach contents. As she turned toward the man to his right however, his politeness quickly turned back into fury.

“As for you,” James said in a low tone. “I don’t wish to cause any problems within this fine alcoholic dispensery, and I’m incredibly pissed off at the moment. I’d recommend avoiding me until I’m just a little bit less sober. Furthermore, if you even so much as try to bite me, I promise you I’ll dash your brains out of your skull against this bar.” He then turned his attention to the spiky haired barkeep who’d mopped up his blood. “I’ll take another drink, if you don’t mind. The name’s James; James Hawthourne. Witch extraordinaire. And yours?” He extended his hand toward the barkeep, then glanced back toward his former server, who seemed to be talking to the man next to him.

“Oh, I forgot to mention.. I promise I won’t die in your bar. If I feel like I’m going to, I’ll kindly escort myself into the nearest dumpster.” The sarcasm oozed from every pore as he spoke to her, and with a playful grin spreading over his features once more, he leaned backward slightly, making sure not to continue bleeding on the bar. He briefly thought about going and finding his room, but he figured he’d at least finish his next beverage before retreating to the showers and bandaging his wounds. He felt uneasy here; as he often did in new places. Especially when those new places were full of bloodsuckers. He briefly flashed back to his teen years, and his mother’s face haunted his mind for a moment before he snapped out of it and awaited his drink.

[Nightwind]

Flipping the page Leo took another sip of the blood and scratched the side of his nose, seeing how a murder had been reported. It was rather ironic, a murder being reported and an assassin reading about it. People were so sloppy now a days. When Leo preformed his work of art it would quickly get cleaned up by some co-workers, one could call them fellow noble vampires working for the ‘greater good’. Needless to say, Leo didn’t exactly work alone.
As the two picked up a conversation, a bloody patron and what seemed to be a playful hostess Leo looked up for the occasional smile but it would soon enough be met by a frown and even a threat. It didn’t cut deep, the vampire knowing beforehand that the others had tarnished whatever reputation the vampires used to have. Noble, graceful, beautiful and in every way romantic and philosophical the old ways of vampirism was but a dream remaining. Well, a dream and Leo along with his close friends. “I’m sorry to have given a bad impression.” He spoke, a calm tune. “I have no intentions of overstepping any boundaries, you need not worry about that.” He smiled faintly and returned to reading the paper. People were so paranoid...vampires were disgusting and people were paranoid, what an ironic combo. The frustration was only building within the vampire, not even having to speak before being judged anymore.

As if such wasn’t enough, this James individual seemed to have been battling a ‘bloodsucker’ prior to his meeting with Leo, an inconvenience indeed. “I won’t eat anyone...madam...” He replied to the order, no matter how playful it seemed. The atmosphere was pleasant but he’d have to expect more bashing later, most likely. It was easier back in the day when a dispute was settled with a duel, organized and prepared. The year 2012 wasn’t exactly flourishing with honor. You’d be lucky if someone declared a fight before throwing the first punch, and you’d be beyond lucky with a fight was avoided. The vampire assassin would have been lying if he said that avoiding fights was a feat that he possessed but he did tend to keep it to work. More than once he has been forced to deal with a bodyguard or two before reaching his target, it isn’t always a conversation and a cut.

“Vampire and human violence has increased.” He added, looking down at the paper before flipping to yet another page. “Will this continue until one group has been annihilated? How unnecessary...” Fights based on nothing but anger and rage, an incredibly pathetic way to go. The vampire noble could brag with saying that he had never truly given in to hatred and anger which would draw him into a fight that served no purpose. He has indeed been forced to protect himself from onslaughts but it wouldn’t stretch further than that.
One could think that violence between the two factions, humans and vampires, was bigger before but it was in fact a more civil relationship between the two. The vampires tended to stick to their halls of marble and gold while the humans lived their daily lives. Sure, the occasional newly sired vampire could go on a rampage but would soon be calmed and collected by those of more years but apart from that humans and vampires didn’t cut each other down over a whim. Everyone knew their places, there were a few hunters from both factions dedicated to killing and naught else but they were few in numbers. Today vampires are a source of orgasm and blood, acting upon one of the the most primitive of instincts. What would the old ones say? The vampires had fallen further for each passing year and only a handful of them could walk the night streets without bearing their fangs at a ‘hot ass’. “It’s a shame...really. While many improvements have occurred...” He looked back at a few vampires donning the establishments. “Others have devolved...a shame indeed.” It wasn’t all bad, of course. Human society had improved greatly with a much bigger amount of social acceptance. Leo could actually kiss a guy without being burned at the stakes for it. There were some improvements indeed but where did the vampires go wrong? Or better yet, when did they fall?

[Aikalynn]

It was driving her absolutely crazy. What in the world could that dream have meant? All she could grasp firmly was one detail--one itty, bitty, little thing.

A pair of hazel eyes.

Those eyes were mesmerizing, to say the least. Like small orbs of chocolate. But somehow they looked just a little golden to her, or maybe a golden brown? Chestnut? Hazel? The color was driving her crazy--to her, they were gorgeous, and that was what was most important. She bit her lip slightly, breaking into a smile. Oh, she couldn't wait to see them in person, she was sure she'd finally be able to get the exact color.

"Still on break?"

Giselle blinked a few times as she gazed up at the source of the voice with a small frown on his face. The guy was older then she was, but was drop-dead gorgeous, with his most defining trait being his baby blue eyes that seemed to sometimes cloud over to grey. Ironically, she had a vision of his eyes, too, before she was hired. It was kind of a giveaway, but hey, at least it was a nice thing to see.

Oh, maybe those eyes belonged to another man? She hoped he'd be gorgeous, too. How utterly shallow. She mentally reprimanded herself, though giggled a little bit as she smiled brightly at her coworker. "Yes. Are you?" She asked as he sat across from her.

"I'm about to get off, thank the lord." He groaned, throwing his head back. "I hate working."

Giselle let out a small chuckle, crossing her legs. "Lazy, lazy Wally. No lady will find that complaining attractive, you know." She teased as she took the cup of tea in her hands. "As a matter of fact, isn't it the man who is supposed to be the provider for the family? At least, that is how I've always believed it to be so..."

His laugh was hearty and somewhat tired, though he sat up straight and placed both hands on the table between them with an eyebrow raised. "Sexist. So you'll conform to society just like that?"

"That I will, if it means a comfortable life for myself."

"You need to stand up for your rights!"

"I'd rather not, it's very tiresome."

Wally tilted his head to the side as he laughed some more. Giselle only smiled in response, tugging at a loose strong on her sleeve. A plain, black dress hugged her body and gave her some poofy sleeves lined with lace, and she wore a white apron over it. The lace was getting a bit irritating, though, always having some loose bit that she needed to get rid of. Once she finished her tea and washed the cup out, Wally spoke again, "Did you hear? There's been a murder."

She frowned and dried her hands. Of course she heard--it's all the customers talked about. Most people were posing their own theories, ranging from bears and wolves to the utterly ridiculous. She didn't really want to get involved, however, and so far she had done a good job staying out of it. Still, she found herself answering him, "Yes. It's sad." She said very gently. "The thought of someone wanting to hurt someone else is very sad."

"Humans are bastards. Poor son of a bitch didn't know what hit 'im."

How do you know? For all they knew, it could've been more. Wanting to avoid the subject, Giselle cleared her throat hurriedly and grabbed her little notepad. "I'm going back out, I'll see you."

He sat up, surprised. "What? Already?"

"I...yes, um, I need more tips, after all no man wants a lazy woman!" She laughed. "I need to make money to support myself, after all."

"Hypocrite!"

She winked and started cleaning the tables. It was a bit slow at the moment, but she really, really didn't want to talk about that. There was something poking her, telling her to stay away from even the subject. Not only that, but the thought of killing scared the living hell out of her. It just wasn't right--how could someone do such a thing?

[Hellis]

“Libanese you say?” Joel raised a eyebrow. He had not had anythin middle eastern since a kebab ages ago. American didnt get a lot the donar kebab he was used to back hoe in europe. On the plus side, the chinese was so much better here in the states it made up for it. But the male Witch had another appetite he saw fit to satisfy today as well. His eyes looked over his friends form again and he was being obviusly leacherous now. He ignored the man soaked in blood, another weapon crazy man with a size complex, no doubt. His eyes only lingered on Leo. The young looking vampire was as pretty as always. To bad he was a blood sucker. To his credit however, he was not bad for a vampire. He kne the old leach could hold back, act civil and rreally act somewhat human. But in many ways, that made him worse, more dangerous.

“Alright. It's my treat.” Joel got up out of his chair at the mention of a Falafel, something he had not eaten in a while. Offering Harper his arm and a trademark smirk, the German grey witch were bac in his comfort zone again. He chuckled as Akira narrowed his eyes. No doubt, the vampire chance to harass him had been lost.
–

Meanwhile, Akira answered his detractors comment.

“Oh you mouthy lil' bitch, you wish you could rock a dress as well as I do.” Akira chuckled. There was no hatred from him, he actually liked the sassy and quickwitted tinkerer. She had made him his gun with no questions asked. She had even entertained him with conversation when he was bored. Albeit she never, ever fell for his charms. He wondered how that was possible. Then ggain, it made him like her even more.

But for now his eyes fell on the bloodsoaked man and he, quite obviusly licked his lips. Not that he was hungry or wanted to do anythin. N he just liked antagonizing the human a bit. He looked so.. Out of his element.

[kizubu]

Mic just shrugged off her comment; if Harper had a problem with him wanting extra protection then she was rather arrogant about her own powers. There was no guarantee that she could protect him from some of the spirits he knew to exist out there, especially since he didn't even know the woman. When Clarice made the remark about him possibly hunting her he couldn't help but chuckle. "I wouldn't know. Are you evil?" Asking as his eyes wandered over to her. With a smile lacing his lips he made it clear he didn't think of her as a potential target. There was no chance she was for a few reasons, one of them being she wasn't effected by the Ofudas, the other being she was staying here at Moonrise, which meant she wanted protection from something, or someone. That didn't sound like a target to him so he went back to preparing the room like he did with all his other hotel rooms.

"I only hunt spirits anyway. Vampires and the like I have no interest in." Mic wasn't going to give out his life story; she didn't need to know why he chose to only hunt spirits. "You didn't tell me what it was that you were doing in the library." He wasn't bothered if she told him or not, but she did come up to him, so she must've wanted to talk at the very least. So, he was making his own inquiries instead of asking the usual generic, 'how are you?', 'what do you do for a living?' and the rest of the drivel.

Mic pulled out a silver flask and began pouring some of the contents it contained down his gullet, clenching his teeth together at the burning fluid. Strong whisky, which he had kept stored in the coolest pocket he had. Reason was rather simple. Having any company other than spirits or people he was going to con made him uncomfortable. Yes, he had been doing this particular job for far too long, it seemed. The hand containing the silver flask out stretched towards her. "Fancy some?"

[Manic]

Harper peered at the man who was again interrupting her conversation – not that her and Joel were talking about anything particularly amazing – and watched as he set cash down on the bar top. That helped. Green always improved her mood. She took the cash with a nod and tucked the bills into her pocket, which also contained Aedan’s keys and her bag of drugs. Both were handed over to Faraday. For some reason the guy really got a kick out of rolling her joints. Golden eyes that were glowing a little in the dim light peered at the instrument strewn stage. “My name is Harper,” she told him. “And if I let you get blood all over Zeke’s Gibson he is going to hunt my ass down. Wouldn’t win the fight, but he’s only mildly annoying and a good lay so I think I’d rather not cripple him. And I like my walnut,” she tacked on with a grumble.

Joel, ever the gentleman, stepped down from his barstool and offered her his arm. She was prepared to take it, when the bleeding man began telling the vampire he would bash his brains in against her bar top. She gave him a sharp look as she jumped down, boots clicking against the floor. Her eyes went to Joel. “As nice as that sounds, let’s make it my treat and you can stay here and keep my house from turning into murdering chaos. Deal?” Not that she gave him much of an option. As she turned to look back at faraday, a leather jacket formed around her and she rolled her shoulders. “Fair,” she called out, and he looked up. “Help Joel keep everyone breathing, I’ll be back in a bit.” To the rest of the patrons she called out, “No one kill anyone!” Joel was given a kiss on the neck, the bleeding guy was given a death stare, everyone else was given a wave, and she danced out the front door, stepping into the torrential rain like it was a mid-spring afternoon.

She should have been soaked instantly, but she was a witch, and she’d never been one to not use her gift. If anyone loosed closely they would note the water around her seemed to hit an invisible barrier and roll away in rivulets, leaving her perfectly dry. To Harper it was a purple haze of her magic that was like looking through a thin cotton t-shirt. She could see stuff, but everything was muted and cast in purple. She let the shield fall once she was settled into the iridescent VW that ran on magic instead of gasoline, and pulled into the street after giving its engine a power boost.

As she drove along Burnside Bridge, a bolt of lightning helped the street lamps illuminate the stretch of asphalt for a split second. She was staring at one of the little towers that, to her, had always looked like squat lighthouses with their red roofs and wraparound green-trimmed windows, when the accompanying thunder clap hit. It reverberated through her, and should have made Harper giddy; she really did love a good storm. But for whatever reason this one was throwing out all kinds of ominous vibes that had her hair standing on end over more than just the ozone in the air.

Sky churning overhead she parked in the Andy and Bax lot - even though that was frowned upon – and wandered over to Nickloas. It was a half hour until closing and the place was nearly empty, only a few late dinner stragglers occupying a few of the small tables that filled the space. It’s warm, rich tones and arched windows were familiar and comforting after having been outside. Harper stepped up to the counter, offering the perky blonde behind it a smile. She got a faint buzz as their eyes locked, the girl’s aura shimmering like the surface of a mint green pool. She got a widening of those pale green eyes and Harper wondered if the clairvoyant could sense Harper was a witch.

“Hi. Order to go, please,” she said as she lifted a to-go menu from the counter even though she already knew most of what she wanted. “Alright…can I get…a meat mezza, a chicken kebab pizza, kafta kababs and lamb kababs, two meat calzones minus the mushrooms…and for dessert…a layered custard, chocolate mango cheesecake, and a chocolate torte. Oh, and can I get a turkish coffee while I wait?”

The girl gave her an odd look – it was a lot of food, she supposed - but rang her up quick. The bill was over a hundred and she pulled the cash the bleeding guy – what had his name been? James? No that was what he’d been drinking… – from her pocket and passed over two bills. While the girl was making change Harper plopped her butt in the nearest chair, only getting up when the girl had the pile of cash gathered. When she was brought the coffee, the girl hovered and just sort of...stared. “Whatcha staring at, clairvoyant?” she murmured into her coffee before taking a sip.

[Callthecops]

The sensation of walking was still unfamiliar as Charon left the plane, pulling his black knapsack over his shoulder. Like most of the other passengers, he was now turning on his phone and beginning to text whomever they most urgently needed to speak with. In Charon’s case, this was a drug dealer. After a few keystrokes on the touch screen however, his phone began to ring. It was Nathan Bernstein, the clairvoyaint drug dealer that Charon had stupidly tried to text. Immediately upon answering the phone, Nathan was already speaking, “You don’t need to text me to tell me you’re back, John. I knew all this shit hours ago. I know you need some more weed, and I know that you want to find out what you missed while you were off in New York. So get yo ass down here stat, cause I got places to be man!” Then, without saying another word, the man hung up.

With a sigh, the Ferryman grabbed his dufflebag from the baggage claim, and made his way over to the parking lot, before hopping in his 2011, black dodge charger. After rummaging through his duffle, Charon found his silver knife tossed it up on the dashboard and started the car. As he pulled out of the airport, he plugged his iPhone into the stereo system and hit play. Then, he absent mindedly reached into his dufflebag again, producing a cigarette case full of expertly rolled spliffs. He took one out and haphazardly tossed the case up on the dashboard with his knife. The Witcher grabbed for his lighter and lit it up as the speakers pumped the sweet melodies of The Avett Brothers into the car.

“When I am too old of a man, will you forget?
When we- have paid our debts?
Who did we borrow from
Who did we borrow from?”

The Ferryman cracked open the sun roof a tad to let the smoke wisps float freely into the wind. It took about half an hour to make it to Nathan’s house in the suburbs, and by the time he got there, Charon was two spliffs deep into his high.

However, as soon as the Ferryman parked his car in front of the house, he could tell; something was wrong. As he got out of the black dodge charger, his suspicious were confirmed by Nathan’s door (or lack thereof). It had been completely kicked in, but oddly enough there were no sounds of fighting from within. Charon debated whether or not to grab his silver sword from the trunk, but opted against it. This was probably just a bunch of thugs who didn’t want to pay for weed after all, and he sure as hell didn’t need a weapon to take out a couple of broke stoners.

Quietly, Charon proceeded into the house, trying to make as little noise as possible, when he heard two voices coming from the dining room. Hoping to get the drop on them, he then tried to make his way into the living room, but the moment he walked through the threshold, somebody grabbed him by the shoulders and threw him on the ground. Charon grabbed hold of a chair and picked himself up to his knees as his assailant moved in for another attack. But the Ferryman hit first, grabbing the chair with both hands and smashing it over the other man’s head.

“It’s him!” Shouted on of the guys in the other room, who were now rushing into the living room. Quickly, Charon grabbed the dazed attacker and shoved his face downwards, as his knee flew up to meet it. With a grunt of pain the man went reeling backwards and collapsed on the ground, just as his friends showed up.

The first guy charged him, while his friend started changing into a werewolf, much to Charon’s distress. “Man, I am too high for this shit…” He sighed, bracing himself for his first attacker. These brutes clearly had strength on their side, but Charon still held the upper hand in that the group tactics that most were-packs utilized would not work in such close quarters. Activating his heightened awareness, Charon scanned the room and found exactly what he was looking for: a silver fireplace poker. As his hand shot out, the Ferryman manipulated the ley energy in the air to pull the prod flying into his hands. Slashing it across his attacker’s face, the man reeled back in pain, temporarily stunned. It would not last though, and soon he would have to deal with two attackers at once.