---

The bright afternoon sun shone high in the sky. Santa Celia's lunch rush was well under way as the bustle of the city filled the streets. Eli would have been walking down the same street she walked along now had she started her day with work instead of a vampire hunt. Any other day, Eli would have turned left at the next street and headed towards the park to enjoy the sunny day. Instead Eli continued forwards towards her apartment. She desperately wanted to take the long route home so she could think, but she could feel that her body and mind needed rest after her 12+ hour crusade.

Despite her exhaustion, Eli walked at a casual pace. The people around her seemed to blend into the background as she kept her eyes on the ground in front of her. Her right hand was inside of her jacket's pocket, gently grasping the lace mask. Touching it anchored her to reality; her mind was consumed with thoughts. She was going over everything that had happened last night, taking mental notes about certain details that hadn't struck her interest in the moment.

She barely noticed that she had arrived home until she found herself stepping into the alley next to the building. She glanced around to ensure that she was alone before she climbed up the fire escape to the third floor. Once there, she slowly raised her apartment's window and stepped into her kitchen. Eli promptly shut and locked the window before heading into a small hallway which simply held the front door. From there she turned right into the only other room.

She now stepped into her bedroom, which also served as a living area. She headed towards the closet, peeling off every layer of black clothing on her body. The mask she set down on her dresser. After lazily pulling on a t-shirt and sweats, Eli crawled into her bed and grabbed her phone from the nightstand.

There were only two notifications displayed on her screen. The first, an email from her boss. The second, a text from her mother. She huffed and set the phone back down. Either message was too much for her to handle at the moment. She would take care of everything later, after a decent moment of rest. With a sigh Eli pulled her comforter up over her head. She was fast asleep the second her eyes closed.

---

Hours later, Eli was roused from her sleep by her grumbling stomach. She groaned lightly and sat up in her bed, rubbing her tired eyes and pushing her hair back from her face. A quick glance at the clock on the wall told her it was evening and she realized that she hadn't eaten since yesterday. She shuffled her way into the kitchen and as she pulled open her fridge she also realized that she'd forgotten to get groceries as well. She'd have to go out for a bite.

Before leaving the comfort of her apartment, Eli took a hot shower to wash off the lingering smell of sweat and scorched vampire. She soon stood in front of her bathroom mirror in just a towel, looking over the scars on her shoulders from her tussle with the vampire. They'd heal soon. Aside from the cuts, Eli only sported a bruise here and there along her body- normal damage compared to the vampire's affliction.

Without putting too much effort into her outfit, Eli pulled on a pair of jeans and a long-sleeve shirt. She pulled her wet hair up into a ponytail and put on mascara and concealer to hide her tired eyes. She took a minute or so to put away the black clothes she'd left on the ground. She removed the note Kyle gave her from the pant's pocket and tucked it into the pocket of the jeans she wore now, which also reminded her to grab her phone from the night stand. On her way out of the door she grabbed a denim jacket, her keys, and her wallet.

A warm breeze greeted her as she stepped out of the complex and carried her down the street. She walked for a while, enjoying the city sights. The city seemed calm, which gave Eli a surreal feeling after this morning's events. Tonight there would no doubt be more vampires looking for a meal, but Eli wasn't sure if she could handle another night out. She'd have to get to work early tomorrow to apologize, and she planned on bringing coffee or donuts as a gift for her mentor's worries. She still wasn't sure what excuse she would use for missing work. Today had been the first time she'd ever missed. Perhaps she could forge a doctor's note and simply apologize for forgetting to call out.

Thinking of this reminded Eli that she hadn't contacted Kyle Foster yet. She pulled the note from her pocket, reading over the ten digits before she put them into her phone. She sent him a message.

"Hello, Foster. Its Eli. Give me a call whenever you need help."

After the message sent Eli checked the message from her mother. She rolled her eyes as she read it. Her stepfather would be joining them for lunch tomorrow. Something about "he wants to spend time with you" and "he's not as bad as you think he is", which honestly made Eli want to barf. In the years she'd known Hank, she had unofficially diagnosed him as narcissistic, a pathological liar, and that he had a smidge of a god complex. Basically, Hank was a total douche and she was surprised that he could even fool her mother into loving him.

Eli tucked her phone back into her pocket and shook her head. She could already tell she was going to have a fantastic day tomorrow. With that thought, Eli looked up to see a bar down the street and decided that she was going to have a drink or two with her dinner. She hadn't been to this bar yet, and the name intrigued her. Her stomach growled, as if it was saying that it didn't care where she went. So, without making her stomach wait another second, Eli stepped through the doors of the Tír na nÓg.

---

It was later in the night now.

The plan, in theory, was simple. All things considered, it was just an attempt to recreate the events leading up to the attacks. Fortunately, most of them happened to be within a mile radius of the Tír na nÓg according to the map that the ex-cop had recorded in the book Kayla had borrowed forever. That being said, it wasn’t going to be that simple. A mile radius was a lot of ground to cover, and getting inebriated before a fight is a bold strategy to say in the last, if one could even call it that.

So here they were now, walking to the bar now with the plan to get halfway drunk in an effort to attract their party of interest.

“So exactly how drunk are we supposed to get?” Kyle asked as they made their way forward.

“On a scale of 1-10, probably about 6.5.” Kayla replied, her arms crossed. “Also, what you said earlier was mean!”

“What are you talking about?”

“Not ALL of my ideas are ‘ass and a half’ as you so eloquently put it.”

“You’re definitely caught in some more doublethink because those words have never come out of my mouth.”

“Look at me, my name’s Kyle. I like using big words because it makes me sound very photosynthesis.” Kayla said, sticking her tongue out at her brother. “Have you heard anything from your girlfriend yet or..?”

“Kayla.” Kyle replied, not in the slightest bit amused.

“Sorry, sorry. Nervous, okay?” she said, taking a deep breath. “Still, you should probably contact her. Would be nice to have someone close by in the event that we do find trouble.”

“We are literally walking into trouble as we speak.” Kyle replied, “And to mitigate that, I’m only drinking enough to get slightly inebriated. You want to slam bottle after bottle, that’s on you. But at least one of us has to be more prepared for a fight with this thing.”

“Jesus, ye of little faith in your sister. Sorry for pissing you off so much.” Kayla replied shaking her haid.

“I’m sorry, just…” Kyle replied, “I don’t like this plan. I’m still going with it, but I don’t like it.”

“I know. I’m not a big fan of it either. If you come up with anything different, just say so.” Kayla replied. “And- I’m sorry too. For annoying you.” She looked away from him and caught sight of the bar. The scene in the alley from last night all but gone. Quite morbid, the efficiency this city had achieved at sweeping its messes under the rug. “Looks like the bar’s right up ahead.”

“Alright.” Kyle said, “We’re… probably going to have to have words with that bartender.”

“I’ll make sure to apologize to her for whatever I did to set her off yesterday.” Kayla replied, sighing. “I know I was maybe a teensie bit antagonistic but I didn’t think that would give her a meltdown.”

“We’ll apologize, order drinks, and that will be it.” Kyle replied, “I don’t think we need to burden ourselves with a fresh Jäger. Especially one with… colorful choice of words.”

“Agreed.” Kayla put it simply. Bringing a newby into a fight that even they weren’t sure about was a great way to end up with someone getting maimed or killed. The two were quiet for the rest of their short trek to the bar, and remained that way until getting into the building. They both took a seat at the bar, in the exact same seats as they had the night before, and waited for the currently absent barkeep to return and get to them.

A woman is in her car, driving through Árido Valley, late at night. Late twenties, caucasian, blond. She looks somewhat tired, though she keeps her focus on the road. There are few cars nearby, either falling back or passing her. For a while, she is alone.

She eyes the trees lining the right side of the road, if only briefly. Her mind wanders, thinking about what she’ll do when she gets to her parents’ home. It’d been quite a while since last she saw them. And she-

Clicking noise, outside of the car.

Something slams into the driver’s side.

The car swerves to the right, tires squealing. It slides off the road and onto the grass before the trees. The woman is far too panicked to attempt to regain control of the vehicle. The passenger’s side slams into a tree, and the car comes to a quick stop over shredded grass and dirt. The driver’s airbag is deployed. The woman is tossed around some, but still conscious. She breathes frantically, pushing the airbag down. Once she realizes what’s happened, she attempts to calm herself, but doesn’t quite succeed. After a moment, she wrestles her seatbelt off and slowly pushes the car door open, exiting the vehicle.

She stumbles outside, still somewhat panicked. She looks around, up the incline towards the road. No lights. No one passing by. She takes out her phone, luckily still intact. She attempts to call emergency services, but-

Loud noise.

Something hits the car.

She jumps, nearly dropping her phone. She turns around to look at her car. The first thing she notices is a pair of hands - large, gangly hands - wrapped around the top. She looks up, only seeing the faint outline of something perched on top of her vehicle, before that same outline lunges forth and wraps its enormous maw around her head.

She screams. But it is muffled, and no one is around to hear her. Her phone falls out of her hands as her arms struggle wildly. The creature’s neck stretches over her body, enveloping her completely in wrinkled flesh and red tendrils. She is swallowed whole in a manner of seconds.

The creature clicks and bellows lightly, dismounting itself from on top of the car, scurrying into the forest with its abdomen bloated and loose. The car is left as it was, headlights beaming into the dark.

No one saw.

---

“I’m heading out!” Everly waved her apron at Tim, who responded with a shout of acknowledgement before his attention was again wrapped up by the hectic kitchen. After the sun rose, the first employees had slowly trickled in, and the early bird customers were fast on their heels. With the rising sun, however, came the eventual ping of the alarm Everly had set back during the early AMs, knowing full well how lost she got in planning and testing menu items, lost in the clatters and sizzles of the kitchen that gave her a strange comfort, filling some nondescript emptiness she didn’t know existed and couldn’t begin to describe.

But, despite the mysteries of the world, life went on, and so did Everly’s tidy schedule. Class was slated for the morning, and the thirty minutes before her first were allotted for transportation she didn’t need. Instead of taking the bus, though, she headed home, disappearing through her office into her bedroom. The muffled sound of the shower running greeted her when she arrived, so back through the mirror she went, exiting and entering her apartment again noisily, keys jangling in her hand.

“I’m home!” Everly dropped her keys on the kitchen table, knocking on the bathroom door as she passed it on the way to her room. “Breakfast is on the table, and I’m leaving in five minutes!”

“Okay!” Emily’s voice was muted and covered, but it still brought a smile to Everly’s mouth when she registered the American tilt in the Thai—something her sister managed to pull off better than Everly, who had the traditionally flat tone she’d picked up from her mother.

“‘Okay?’ How about a hug instead?” Everly said as she changed into clothes that didn’t smell of the smoke and oil that saturated Chinese kitchens. “Well?”

“Fine,” Emily appeared at her door just as Everly poked her head through her tee. “Were you up all night again?”

“Were you?” Everly kissed Emily’s forehead, not minding the moisture that seeped into her clothes as she pulled her sister close. “Bye Noongsaaw, love you.”

“Love you,” Emily echoed in her slightly exasperated tone as Everly bolted out the room with a grin, which slipped from her face as she locked the front door behind her, chewing the inside of her lip. She hated hiding things from her sister, hated the thought of not being as open to Emily as Emily was to her.

But, more than she hated hiding the truth, more than she hated the ‘white lies’ she told, she hated the look Emily gave in the recurring nightmares she had—the look Everly herself resonated almost painfully with.

The look of betrayal.

---

Classes weren't that bad, seeing as Everly hadn’t slept a wink, but she knew it was the adrenaline carrying her through the morning. She’d elected to take all her classes in the morning precisely because of her sleeping habits. Lingering behind the clarity she forced on herself, however, was the haze that came with failing to rest, but she pushed through. After all, there was no sleep until after class, and she didn’t much feel like trying with all her fresh case studies and assignments. Those kept her busy through late morning, and by the time she exited the library, the sun was well on its way across the sky, With the passage of time, though, had gone the vague ache of hunger that she’d chosen to ignore since hours earlier, and though the last thing she physically felt like doing was trying to stick food in her mouth, she knew she’d do well to.

A passing student caught Everly’s eye—or, rather, the coffee they were holding did. Caffeine was a bad idea, she knew, but she didn’t much care for trying to sleep anyway. She hadn’t finished her readings, which were due at the end of the week, and she also had to update the Golden Harbor’s budget for the week, seeing as she now had a definite number to do so. As such, coffee really didn’t sound bad, and she rounded a corner to the bathroom, where she stepped onto the sink and ducked out of a window on a quiet street on the edge of the Arido Valley.

Everly’s destination—a quaint little coffee shop called the ‘Woven Roast’—was a newer discovery of hers. She’d originally seen the sign when heading to the dojo, and she hadn’t given it much thought. The name, however, had resurfaced in her mind when she was pinned down on the mat by an older, more bullish member that seemed more intent on proving that he was above rolling with a woman than he was in training. As the lack of oxygen slowly reached her head, all Everly could think about was what a preposterous name the ‘Woven Roast’ was, given that it seemed to be a coffeehouse. Did it play host to a weekly knitting club, or was the owner just trying to be unique in some outlandish way?

Everly’s redirected frustration—because all it took for someone that much heavier than her to win was maneuver so that she was forced to bear their weight, and she hated how cheap but effective the tactic was—nominated the coffeehouse as its unfortunate target, and she was back in front of the shop later that night, stifling the ache of her bruising forearms with a mixture of annoyed acknowledgement that she’d been too rushed to notice what was clearly visible now that she was looking. The Woven Roast had a seamstress’ touch that was made blatant by a mannequin behind one window, clad in some chic, boho-style Californian outfit that Everly tended to associate more with locals than herself.

The shop had already closed its doors that night, but when Everly returned during normal hours, she found that the place held a slew of small niceties: a quiet and comfortable space, a friendly atmosphere, and the just-right ratio of the smell of coffee grounds to fresh air. While the owner, Taylor, had been a bit too enthusiastic for Everly the first time she’d gone, Gabriel, the other barista, was much more pleasant to be around, his lack of immediate warmth—or even conversation—allowing Everly the headspace she needed to pull out her books and fit in a bit of studying over coffee. Still, with a few visits came an eventual acceptance, then slight admiration, of Taylor’s cheeriness. Everly could never imagine herself with the same perkiness, but she dropped by sometimes to remind herself that there were still people out there who offered optimism and kindness even to strangers, however fruitless the might endeavor seem to her.

It was on days like this, when Everly was neither tired nor not, that she liked to drop by and sit in, holding a mug and listening to Nicole prattle on about one thing or another. The girl had been quick to pick up on Everly’s unwillingness to share, and though she’d tried at first to pry, Everly had never entertained her offers. Rather, she kept a cordial distance, revealing what surface details she would to any interested parties: that she was attending the local college, had moved over from winter-battered Minneapolis, and co-owned the Golden Harbor in another part of town. Such details she was comfortable with, since failing to reveal them meant possibly tripping up over details from one person to another. Instead of trying to craft multiple stories for herself, she liked to keep things simple and save herself the headache.

Opening the door to the shop, Everly was a bit surprised to see another customer, but she proceeded in anyway. Worst case scenario, she’d finish it quickly and cite her job as an excuse.

“Hello, hope I’m not interrupting,” she said, smiling and setting her bag down on a corner table before approaching the register. “Could I get an Americano, or whatever’s fresh?” A few times, she’d opted to let Nicole brew whatever the girl felt was right, and Everly had been pleasantly surprised with the results. “To go,” she added, fetching her credit card when she spotted the man’s laptop and charger. He was going to be here a while, so Everly might need to use her excuse after all, seeing as he was likely a regular. Everly had already made the acquaintance of a few loyal customers of the shop, and while they weren’t all people she’d want to see again, she liked to think she gave people the benefit of the doubt—or at least that much when she was waiting for her coffee.

“And feel free to continue your conversation. I’ll probably head out soon.”

---

@chukklehed @Lord Wraith

---

---

Location: Freckles', Argyle Boulevard
Time of Day: Late Afternoon

Natalie got a bad feeling when she saw the man she's tried to kill, and the man whose life she saved by stopping Archie, huddle with several other large men, and whisper something. Natalie used to be in an amateur gang. She knew what this was. They couldn't cause a scene by dragging her out by her hair. One of them was now going to approach her alone and spin some bullshit. Natalie knew this because that job usually went to her, as the prettiest and least imposing, if possibly the worst actor at the time.

When one did approach her, and it was him of all people, she contemplated raising some kind of alarm, but decided not to. Why didn't she? It was either professional courtesy as a former gang member herself, or a strong desire not to get involved with the police lest she get found out. Instead, she decided to play along. When this man went down the 'hitting on her' route (of all the angles to play!) she resisted the strong urge to look disgusted, and made herself flush bashfully a little by thinking of Archie.

"Welcome to Freckles'. Can I take your order, please?" she replied, not exactly shooting him down, but changing the subject. If last night hadn't happened, this is what she would have done anyway, even if she was interested. Now he was actually placing an order, with a twenty frickles coupon, and two originals. Natalie processed the order, and printed off the receipt.

"Your order is number 406. And, uh, I finish in twenty minutes. Why do you ask?" she responded, with just the right amount of wide-eyed naivety that for a second he could believe that she was legitimately interested. But there was something in the way that she looked at him that suggested she knew as well as he did that this was a farce, and that she remembered the last time they met. She just didn't want to cause a ruckus.

@Lord Wraith

---

---

_{Now arriving at... FRIENDSHIP HEIGHTS... *DING* Stand back doors opening. When boarding, please move to the center of the car.}

A wave of people pushed back and forth as a crowd exited the monorail car while an oncoming crowd tried to push into the car. There was the dull noise of working men and women shoving and the occasional 'excuse me', as the crowd filtered onto the bright and clean station and off into the surrounding neighborhood of the poorly lit Friendship Heights. A low end residential neighborhood filled to the brim with cheap apartments, shitty housing projects, small mom & pop shops, cheap chains, pawn shops, and the occasional office building. On the corners and porches groups sat in lawn chairs sipping on brown bags and smoking while blasting music on shitty speakers. Crowded as all hell- mostly with minorities and blue collar workers, and nearly devoid of regular police presence, it was a combination of a crime den and a safe haven- provided you knew who to turn to.

Quickly turning as he exited the station, one in the crowd disappeared into an alley, throwing his hood over his head as he did. Separating himself from the crowd, Logan hid himself in a corner in the alley, releasing a shaky breath. If it was fear, anticipation, or some combination of the two, Logan could never tell, but he always got them before he got into the shit. He unslung the nondescript backpack off his shoulders and pulled a black jacket out of it, which he threw over his hoodie. Logan pulled his mask out of his pocket and covered his face, and a pair of hard-knuckle gloves courtesy of the local military surplus store covered his hands. A pair of covered cans with different colored tape came out of the backpack and were set into the stretchy water bottle holders on the side of the pack, before the backpack was zipped up and thrown back over his shoulders. He hit his knuckles together, a small blue spark and the satisfying, familiar crackle of electricity made itself known for a moment.

Some twenty minutes later, Logan was on the roof of a convenience store, overlooking a small townhouse on 34th East- an Immortal’s trap house. At a glance, it would have been indistinguishable from its neighboring houses- had it not been for the rather bored looking enforcer standing at the porch. Grabbing the camera he had set up on the roof the weeks before, Logan shoved it roughly back into his backpack- he had seen enough of it to know that not many Immortals came to the den that often. There were a couple guys who lived in the house, and they occasionally had deals there, one such deal was going to be happening soon, as Logan had spotted moving truck and a box in the morning.

Sliding off the roof, Logan pulled the hood lower over his face, shoved his hands in his hoodie pocket, and began sulking over to the house, his head down and shoulders hunched. As he started climbing the steps up the porch, the enforcer perked up a bit, and held his hand out.

“Sup guy, dunno what you’re here about, but you’re at the wrong house. Turn around.”

Logan shrugged his shoulders and shook his head. The enforcer, a somewhat overweight white dude with beady, sunken eyes and a shaved head leaned in close to him, the fancy ‘I’ tattoo on his cheek easily visible. The Immortal lifted up his shirt and revealed a pistol in the center of his pants. The hammer was down, safety on- in short, ready for action.

“See this buddy?” the enforcer goaded, “You don’t wanna fuck with me, so back the fuck up.”

Like a flash of lightning, Logan had his hand firmly around the grip of the Immortal’s pistol, still in his pants but angled so the barrel pressed against the man’s inner thigh. There was a click as Logan switched off the safety of the pistol.

”Hey gangster,” Logan said with a grin- though his mask covered it. His offhand reached up and pressed a small button on the mask, the LED mouth coming to life. ”I think they’re expecting me.”

The color drained from the Immortal’s already pallid face, as Logan withdrew the gun from the man’s pants and slammed his hand into the Immortal’s chest. There was a stutter of a cry as electricity surged through the Immortal’s body, as he half fell- half flew backwards and crashed into the front door, before sliding to the ground, shuddering. Logan took a step back, aiming the appropriated pistol at the front door hinges and fired twice.

BANG. BANG.

The door fell to the ground as Logan applied a powered kick to the now hingeless door. There were confused voices inside as Logan pulled one of the cans with gray tape out from his backpack and pulled a pin. Almost immediately a thick white smoke began pouring out of the canister, which he promptly lobbed into the townhouse. The confused cries and coughing grew in volume as Logan took a breath and dived into the smokey townhouse. Quickly moving through the smoke, Logan grunted in surprise as he bumped head first into a gangster who was making his way towards the front. The gangster was covering most of his face but was coughing up a storm, and held a gun in his hand as he waved it wildly back and forth, trying to disperse the smoke. The two made eye contact, and Logan moved in close before the Immortal could aim his gun and slammed both fists into the man’s torso, sending him flying backwards as electricity coursed through him, plaster spraying the side of Logan’s face as the gun discharged and took out a chunk of the wall next to him.

In the smoke, Logan ducked into what appeared to be a kitchen as the deafening crack of low caliber handguns began to fill the townhouse as the remaining enforcers fired at what was likely the front door- and the source of their apparent invader(s). There was the sounds of plaster showering the ground as bullets tore through drywall, as Logan made his way through the kitchen around to what appeared to be the living room- coffee table upturned, TV playing the current football game, and a pair of Immortals blindly firing at the other room. Logan waited until the two emptied their pistols, reaching into their pockets for spare magazines before he sprung at them.

The first fell almost immediately as Logan sprang out of the smoke and sucker punched him in the face. The second saw Logan in time, and backed out of the way of the second punch, his brow furrowing as recognition registered in his eyes. Grabbing the upturned coffee table, he lifted it and charged at Logan, taking the young vigilante off his feet and pinning him against a wall. Logan ducked his head to the right as a fist flew at it. After a second miss, the Immortal took his arm and instead used his forearm to push against Logan’s throat. Still pinned against the wall, Logan kicked at the man’s shins, as he grabbed at the pistol at his side.

BANG.

The Immortal instinctively loosened up as he started to back up from the pistol, allowing Logan to push off of the wall and out from under the table. Logan attempted to point his pistol in the relative direction of the Immortal and managed to fire a few more times before the Immortal dived on top of him, one hand on the gun as he tried to wrestle it out of Logan’s hands while trying to beat the life out of Logan with his other hand. Wrestling under the weight of the much larger man, Logan managed to land a blow to the man’s temple, the following electric shock sending him spinning off of the top of him.

”Fuck.” Logan managed to groan as he pulled himself off the floor, collecting himself as he looked about the house, the smoke slowly clearing. The house was about what he’d expect, dirty and well lived in, crampt and crowded with now more than a few dozen bullet holes for decoration, alongside so overturned furniture and a particularly broken coffee table.

The crate wasn’t that difficult to find- the townhouse was small, and they didn’t really bother hiding it. Cracking it open, Logan pulled the top off the box to find what looked like a dozen AK-47s, neatly packed in racks surrounded by a bed of straw. Logan smirked underneath his mask.

”Bingo.”

He pulled one out of the box and inspected it. Not that he knew much about guns. It was heavy, with steel and wooden furniture and a folding metal wire stock. He debated keeping one for himself, but a quick look through the box concluded that there were no magazines inside the box, just the weapons. The Immortals were smart enough not to sell loaded weapons. Throwing the AK unceremoniously back into the box, Logan grabbed the other canister with red tape out of his backpack and pulled the pin, dropping it into the box with the AKs. Stepping back, there was a loud pop, and then the sounds of fire, as the canister began spewing flames and sparks, and straw inside the box began to burn.

Exiting the townhouse and back onto the streets of friendship heights, Logan turned off the LEDs on his mask, and drew his hood closer around him as he fled into the alleys, the sounds of sirens growing in the distance.

---

---

Laser Girl awoke to rays of sunlight painfully stabbing her closed eyelids. The bed felt suspiciously empty. She was disappointingly alone. The young woman grumbled, and rolled across the bed to retrieve the pair of mirrored sunglasses she had left on the nightstand. She hated mornings. She hated the mornings when the ecstasy had faded even more. Dramatically throwing the heavy blanket she'd been wrapped in aside, she strode into the kitchen of the hotel suit she occupied with Sir Skeleton. She didn't bother with clothes. She couldn't get a rise out of Sir Skeleton. No matter what she tried. Matters of the flesh no longer concerned him she'd concluded when biting her lip in a sultry manner failed to rouse him.

Grabbing a box of Fruit Loops from the counter, Laser Girl emptied half of the box into one of the plain white ceramic bowls she'd liberated from room service. She didn't question why a carton of milk appeared next to her, floating peacefully in the air. Nodding a silent thanks to Sir Skeleton, she poured the perfectly chilled substance over her cereal, and sat down, sans pants, on the edge of the kitchen table.

She wasn't sure where Sir Skeleton had wandered off to, but he'd left a note in his own peculiar way. The black, inhumanely perfect, and beautiful runes that covered the fridge meant something, she just wasn't sure what. Not yet. With a satisfied crunch, Laser Girl munched on a spoonful of colorful cereal as she danced across the large kitchen.

Setting her bowl of garishly bright chromatic goodness aside for the moment, she ran a hand gently over the runes. She felt a shiver run down her spine as a voice seemed to whisper in her ear.

No rest for the wicked. You have a new target, Corinne Tritten. Our employer wants to send a message. Make it bright, and make it loud, please.

Humming loudly to herself, Laser Girl smiled as she rhythmically bobbed her head and shoulders. She could hear the music. She could feel the sweet, sweet one hundred forty beats per minute shuddering through her. Closing her eyes she studied that young woman that appeared in her mind courtesy of Sir Skeleton. Curls of script followed, information, so much information. Eye color, hair color, height, weight, personality assessment, history, CV, and most importantly an address.

Laser Girl felt at peace, she felt full of love. She loved loud jobs. A little bit too much, Sir Skeleton always said.

---

---

"Got anything good for me, Kerensky?"

The barrel chested cop shrugged, devouring two donuts in a fell swoop, as he stoically eyed the freshly minted reporter. He closed his eyes in great concentration, and Cassy began to worry that the glacial police officer had fallen asleep before he finally replied in his rumbling voice,"Got some beat up drug dealers. One dead, one in critical condition, two severely injured."

"Gang violence?"

"Nah, doesn't look like it."

"What do you mean?" Cassy asked.

"Someone left us a note."

"A note?"

"Yeah."

"Care to elaborate?"

Kerensky shrugged again, "Said it was justice. Something about saving the Hills from criminal scumbags. "

"Perfect! Thanks Kerensky! That's just the sort of story I need!" Cassandra said, slamming a crisp five dollar bill onto the diner table as she jumped to her feet. Herman had told her to do a human interest piece. He'd said that people were tired of her doom and gloom. He said that some of his friends were complaining about the questions she was asking and the insinuationsshe was making about respected members of the community. She wasn't going to listen. Not this time. Not after yet another week of bullshit feel good stories that she'd help feed, spoon by spoon to the apathetic masses. Herman could fire her if he wanted, but she was back on the beat, the real beat. She was going to turn the mirror on Santa Celia, she was going to show everyone the world of darkness that lurked just beneath the surface.

She was going to find the truth. She was going to show them the truth, keystroke by keystroke.

She could see the next headlines in her head already: Vigilante Strikes Again in the Hills! One dead, three injured. Police Remain Clueless.

---

There was something uniquely harrowing about his home when he finally returned to his dwellings. Maybe it was the stark contrast between the warmth of Natalie's apartment compared to the silence of his own that shocked him into realizing how alone he was.

The worst part, maybe, is that he knew this would happen eventually. He knew it was inevitable; he wasn't a person that took well to being alone and never was. He wasn't one that could uphold the facade of being perfectly fine. He just wishes this feeling wouldn't have struck him around the time he's decided to take a step towards moving on.

It seems inane, almost. He's beginning to realize how many opportunities he's had to mend the broken. And, in natural-Archie Style, he's forced himself to overlook all of those opportunities while he was sorting his own thoughts; fruitlessly attempting to complete a puzzle when it's clear that he's misplaced half the pieces; thoughtlessly trying to write a letter without a pen; aimlessly searching for an answer in front of his face when, perhaps, it was just behind his back the entire time.

He decides, finally, to let it lie. He gives Natalie the day to mull things over herself but all he feels is the terribly familiar radio silence— a low, irritating, unrevealing buzz that stays in his ears that brings him back to horrid memories. He doesnt have work today- which is good because his sleeping schedule has long since fallen off track, and Archie feels like he's slipping. It's been a few months, he tries to reason, but a few months of silence feels like a few years with her.

It could just be bravery, or stupidity, or maybe it's the fact that he refuses to roll over to his own ignorance and refusals to fight for what he wants, but he dials her number.

He does think it over for a second before pressing 'call,' but rather than anxiety overwhelming his mind, all he notices is that the buzzing in his ears is gone. The phone rings for what feels like hours, a dull lifeless tone that makes him scrub at his face with his free hand. It takes him a moment to realize that she's definitely busy, whether it be due to an interview or a client.

"Hi, it's Ellie. I'm not here, so—" He hears a laugh in the background of the recorded message, and oh—that's him, that was him.

That was him with his chin tucked over her shoulder as she tried to record a new message for her voicemail inbox. That was him laughing against her neck and saying, 'obviously you aren't there.' That was him saving the recording and kissing her sweetly through her protests of 'give me my phone, I have to redo it.' That was him, that was them, and now they're so far from where they were.

She hasn't changed it, some part of him says. Why hasn't she changed it?

The easiest answer would be that she's forgotten it's there at all. Archie bites his lip until it hurts, and then he realizes that the beep sounded 10 seconds ago, and he's still thinking about Ellie and pressing his smile against her own.

"Oh," he says suddenly. "Uh, hi. I know you're busy right now, probably, it's the middle of the day. But—if you get the chance, sometime, you should call me back sometime. I… Right. Bye."

God, he's embarrassing. He knocks his phone on his forehead twice before tossing it to the other side of his bed, dejected. He shouldn't have called her. He didn't even know what he would have said if she picked up, and it's not like either of them had spoken in a long time. He hated that. Deep down he hated that he liked Natalie as much as he did despite his obvious hangups. He planned to see her again because she made him feel like he belonged somewhere, yet here he was calling his ex-wife who had no interest in speaking to him again. He questions why he decided to call her to begin with. Ever since the accident-

His breath hitches when his mind wanders into that all too familiar memory that always grips him like a steel trap. Archie brings his hands up to cover his face then sighs and sits up. He forces his mind to move away from that memory. He cant think about that right now. It'd be too much, so he reels himself back to Natalie. He knew what he was doing was going to end up with someone getting hurt. But he couldn't bring himself to put a stop to it. He deserves a break, he thinks. He'll... run with this. Whatever this is between himself and Natalie. It'd be something good, if only for a little while.

He looks at his watch. He's got plenty of time to do nothing, and wasn't feeling like getting a drink. So he succumbs to losing himself in his own thoughts. Perhaps he'll think up a way to unfuck his stupid mind.

---

Hexenblut.

Kayla narrowed her brow at the word, hiding the rest of her apparent irritation behind a stalwart expression. Then she sighed. “Y’know, probably not the most tactful thing.” She trailed off. This girl obviously had little barrier between her brain and her mouth- if there was much of a brain up there at all. Tourists and Jagers carried a stigma to most of the undesirables in the supernatural community, and justifiably so. During their last visit, there had been one in the very building that they had removed from the premises for Ellara. “The walls always have ears.”

“Look, we…” Kyle began, motioning his hands towards Kayla in an attempt to get her to not say another word, and then looking at Ellara, “We wanted to apologize for yesterday’s incident. It was unprofessional of us, to be that confrontational with someone we’d never met before.” He passed a look to his sister, wordlessly telling her to add to the ongoing apology. Lord knows she was the one who really had to sell it.

“For what it’s worth, I didn’t... “ Kayla said, trying to find her words. “Y’know, do anything to cause such a reaction. At least, not intentionally. Sorry for setting you off, though. Honesty, I don't think any of the three of us know what that was about.” She sent a look over to her brother before continuing. “At least, not fully.”

“We just want to have a few drinks, and then be on our way.” Kyle said, “We won’t bother you beyond that.”

“Duty calls tonight.” Kayla added, not really expanding on what they were up to. “Just get us a couple shots and something to chase them with. Any spirit will do, really.” Kayla said, then quickly corrected herself, “Except Tequila. No Tequila. Fuck Tequila.”

@Lord Wraith

---

---

I see colours. Hundreds of colours. Thousands. Pouring, flowing, boiling ,drowning. Drowning. Drowning me slowly. Purple. Green. Vermillion. Cerulean. Crimson. Orange. A rainbow. A kaleidoscope. A turbulent ocean of fresh palettes. Every wave a picture. Every tide a collage boiling. A tsunami of lost and empty muses that ebb and bob aimlessly.

I bleed black and white. Red and blue. Green and yellow. Rivers of colours that disappears into the abyss. Tributaries of pigments that branch out from my mind. The colours of my arteries, my veins, my heart, my soul that flow into the swirling basin of grief. Blood that can be used to paint both achievements and failures.

Something begins to pull me out. Someone. Throwing me a life-vest, a buoy, something to hold onto in this cursed sea. They pull me out. They tell me to wake up. They wash away the colours. They tell me what I am. They can’t tell me who I am.

Who am I?

---

He wakes up as a beam of sunlight crosses his face. His eyebrows flit suddenly as he wakes up to the sight of his room once more. The familiar briny smell of Rook Harbour fills his lungs as he slowly stands up. He notices that something has gone wrong entirely by the time he’s on his two feet. He peels open the curtains, hoping to see Santa Celia.

Only it’s not Santa Celia. The skies had been washed in a pale shade of sepia blue, the alabaster clouds like glaring cosmic storms crafted from thick wax paint and the currents of the wind decorated in sequins and string like a kindergartener’s first drawing. The walls were hewn out of musty oil paints and the air dollar-store water-paint. It looked some sort of demented joint art project made out of the efforts of a thousand artists, scrambling together to find a singular direction.

“ Beautiful, isn’t it?”

He turns around to find the source of the voice, only to be met with a strange sight. Not a person but a constantly ever-shifting body of children, animals and men. It was not unlike the body of the distortion he faced earlier except his composition seemed to be at peace with one another. The colour of its hair, skin and eyes were constantly in a state of change, fluctuating wildly. Every blink came a new body and a new face. The entity’s form rippled and shifted in place for moments before it eventually stabilised into a reflection of himself.

Moses felt the inner muscles of his throat close up like an iron vice, as he struggled to murmur the question.

“ Are you my mural?”

“ Yes and no,” The entity - mural spoke back with an unnerving tic “The other murals have...moved on. Washed away by time’s tide and the silence of shock at your actions. We were the only one strong enough to survive by feasting on each of their essence so that we could hang onto the dredges of your subconscious.”

“ So, how many murals - “ Moses took a step back, his voice quavering as he softly murmured with a tinge of fear. “ did you exactly….kill?”

“ 34 murals.” The mural began to notice Moses growing fear and then, tried to assuage him. “ I wouldn’t say kill. More like consenting to euthanasia. We only feasted on those who permitted me to do so. They felt no pain throughout the process if that’s what you’re worried about. We are the amalgam of every mural in your soul. ”

“ You - you,” Moses stuttered, trying to control his growing level of horror towards this twisted reflection of himself. “

The mural then began to circle around him like an wolf - no, more like a cat - appraising him with every pass of his eyes.

“ We were waiting for the right time when you would break out of this self-imposed exile of yours, Moses. An Artistonancer shouldn’t shield himself away from his true abilities, just as a fish shouldn’t walk out of water. Burying it all up inside you - it can be unhealthy. Even Gerald Muller wouldn’t have wished this fate upon you. ”

“ Not as unhealthy as Artistonancy. Now, let me out of here,” Moses face darkened in anger when the entity mentioned his uncle’s name, shouldering past him and searching for a way out of the room.

“ Then, pray tell, answer me this. What happens if more distortions come out and find you?”

Moses froze in the middle of his motions and the entity capitalised on his doubt, the palpable fear that radiated off him like a lighthouse signal in a dark shore.

“ What happens if more people discover your abilities? What then, Moses Muller? You think burning our history would absolve you of your heritage? You truly have no idea what the mantle of an Aristonancer means, Moses Muller. You are still dwelling within the doldrums of your guilt.”

Moses crumpled onto himself like a scrunched ball of paper, leaning back against the mache walls of his home and curling upon himself like a tangled piece of hair. He looks at him - the murals - a mural with a gaze of isolation, walls that he’d built up for himself in the last 3 years crashing down upon him.

“ Then, I don’t want the mantle. I’m just an street artist. I didn’t ask for this.”

There’s a hitched breath of frustration and then, sympathy - no - empathy as his reflection begins to speak towards him once more, this time more careful with his words.

“ Leonardo Da Vinci never did. Pablo Picasso never did. Vincent Van Gogh never did. Andy Warhol never did. Bob Ross never did. Artistonancy is born in the most unlikely of souls, from the lowliest of peasants to the most royal of kings. Every artistonancer in the world was in the same position as you are right now, Moses. They experienced triumph, failure and regrets but it’s how you live with those experiences that marks the true test of an artist. Every artist was an amateur when they first began. ”

His reflection places a hand on his shoulder that feels like they’re placing the weight of the world on him. “ We’re not asking you to uphold the mantle, but to do something with it. Can you promise us that?”

Moses looks at the shifting hand on his shoulder, ever-constantly gripping tight and transforming between that of a young child, an old geriatric man and even a chimpanzee and then, at his own shaking hands. Hands that wrought, shaped and forged mistakes and miracles. He clenches them for a moment, his face a stormy cyclone of indecision, before looking upwards towards his reflection, resolute.

“ I can, but -, “ He hesitates “ I don’t know how to do it.”

His reflection chuckles.

“ That’s what murals are for.”

The room around him begins to disintegrate into a cliff-side, eroded limestone and granite being pounded by the gentle swathes of the tide, as he stands on the brink of an ocean of colour. He looks back with trepeditation, taking a few steps towards the edge before turning back towards his reflection, unsure of himself.

“ How can you - all of you - forgive me just like that? After everything that I’ve done?, “ he says as his reflection approaches him, splitting slowly into an entire crowd of Artistonancers with centuries of hands slowly pushing him over the edge. They all smile.

“ You never forgot. That’s enough.”

He falls, plunging into the depths below. No, rising into the depths above. He closes his eyes, bracing himself for the inevitable -

---

He wakes up as a beam of sunlight crosses his face. His eyebrows flit suddenly as he wakes up to the sight of his room once more. The familiar briny smell of Rook Harbour fills his lungs as he slowly stands up. He notices that something has gone wrong entirely by the time he’s on his two feet. He peels open the curtains, hoping to see Santa Celia.

It’s Santa Celia in all of its unvarnished, dilapidated glory. The skies had been washed in a pale shade of sepia blue, the alabaster clouds like glaring cosmic storms crafted from thick wax paint and the currents of the wind decorated in sequins and string like a kindergartener’s first drawing. The walls were hewn out of musty oil paints and the air dollar-store water-paint. It looked some sort of demented joint art project made out of the efforts of a thousand artists, scrambling together to find a singular direction.

Just like his dream.

Moses then closes the window and looks at the shattered ruins of the room around him. He scratches his head for a moment, before looking at his tattoo with a solemn gaze. Wondering. Just maybe. He then presses his fingers deep into the pentagram of writing utensils, reaching deep into the faded ink that he applied himself all those years ago. His fingers burns with an fire, no, an raging cataclysm of ethereal energy that he invokes with every push that he makes. His lower abdomen contracts and feels on the edge of rupturing from the effort of it all, like an untrained lay-man trying to bench-press as an Olympic weightlifter. The pain stops and he opens his eyes. An indescribable feeling of thrill and excitement, a rush that he hasn't felt in what seems like almost decades, fills his nerves as he dances the trinket in between his hands, looking through the window as he does so.

In his hand, a simple pencil and Santa Celia, his canvas.

LET US BEGIN.

“ Could you please stop shouting? It’s getting really annoying.”

Sorry.

---

Just as she was on the third step going upwards, something or someone fell from the fourth floor all the way down. She was too slow to react: by the time she outstretched her hand, she saw the man's lifeless body, his brains splattered all over the floor and a permanent look of horror etched in his face.

She growled. What the freaking hell is happening? She could still hear gunfire and lots of shouting on the fourth floor and quickened her pace. Upon ascending, a family of four came barreling down towards her with tears and scared expressions on their faces. A father and a mother with their two sons all looked at her in shock and fear, not knowing if she's part of the armed men who took them hostage or not. She didn't blame them: wearing a white tank top, black jogging pants, white sneakers, black bandit mask she stole from some child's cowboy costume set, and her hair in a ponytail, she looked like a low-budget Black Widow impersonator.

Ember literally flattened herself against the wall and urged the family to go through which they quickly did. One of the boys kept looking at her in fascination and curiosity, before being pulled away by his mother where the four of them hurriedly made their way downstairs, away from this wretched place.

Ember thought of following them as well, but she was already here anyway. She might as well get to the bottom of this mess. Her body went back to normal afterwards and continued her way up.

Just then, an all-out fight was happening near the stairs. From the weak light of the flashlight flashing on the wall, Ember could see the shadows of people and... something else. A woman came in Ember's view on the top of the stairs, as if she was pushed. She was too transfixed on what's happening in front of her that she didn't notice Ember even when she's near her. Then the woman turned to go downwards, screamed in surprise when she saw Ember, and pushed her aside as she ran crying from fear.

Ember could also hear the pained cries of a man and Ember finally walked up the stairs to see a gruesome scene. A man, that looked to be one of the hostage takers judging from his clothing, was being brutally mauled by another... what the heck is that? The light became dimmer and dimmer, making it hard to actually see what the attacker looked like but the cries of the hostage taker and the sound of tearing flesh and breaking bones was still as sharp.

The dying man saw her and pleaded to her with eyes full of tears. But she stood frozen in place, unsure of what to do. She has never seen anything like this. Yes the man may be evil, but no one deserved to die like this. She knew that even if she acted now, the man will not even survive another minute. Ember was all set to knock out the monster but she hesitated. This time she'll try a different approach. Ember wiped a tear from her cheeks and breathed.

"That's enough", Ember called out to the monster. "You've caused so many deaths. I don't want to make this situation more worse that it is. Just please, stop".

---

---

"That's enough. You've caused so many deaths. I don't want to make this situation more worse that it is. Just please, stop."

Inque laughed at the random stranger's request while Orlando was trying to say something towards the stranger. Before he could finish his sentence, he was silenced swiftly. They were quite curious at the stranger, who was either brave or foolish to investigate the apartment and then ordered the monster to stop killing. So far, he has killed dozens of criminals that were planning to kill citizens in this apartment and saved some of their lives. And they were the ones the stranger was worried about. He stopped laughing and responded, "What do you think would have happened if we weren't here? These thugs would have killed innocent people because of one man. Almost all of them were carrying enough firepower to challenge the authorities outside. You should be thanking us for saving hundreds of lives tonight."

He turned and finally saw the brave stranger. It was a young woman with a black bandit and a white tank top. At first, they thought she was with them; however, she didn't act nor looked like one of them. They got up and carefully looked at the flashlight nearby. Inque walked towards it, turned it off, and grabbed it. They wanted to make sure that she got a clear image of them before deciding what to do next. They wanted to be clear that they aren't killing citizens. In fact, they made sure not to kill civilians at all. Inque went back towards the body and said, "You have seen the bodies, right? You know who they are? Bad people looking to create chaos. We save the blameless. The ones that struggle to survive another day. We attack and kill those that harm the innocent. Like the ones that stormed this building. You are innocent. We won't attack unless you attack us."

Inque carefully approached the woman while holding the flashlight. "You are thinking that we are the monsters. But we are not like them. We might be a monster, but we do not terrorize the innocent for fun. We defend them for the scum that want to ruin lives with drugs and extortion. And we are almost done here. Two more floors left to check. Then we leave. However, we want to reveal ourselves to you since you are innocent. It might be scary to look, but it's an important."

When they got close enough to the woman, they held the flashlight in their face and turned it on. Inque gave her a cold stare and said, "We are the ones that deliver justice. We do what the police can't and city officials refuse to enact. Bad people are out there with plans to ruin the lives of the innocent. We are here to protect them and stop the scum for harming anyone else. If you are seeking a name, then call us Inque and tell everyone about us. And if people believe in you, then tell them that we won't stop until the streets are safe."

And with the speech done, Inque crushed the flashlight with ease and watched it land on the floor. Then, they walked by the woman and descended down the stairs. When Inque got to the third floor, it looked like they unforeseen the woman to be a good fighter. Unfortunately, she didn't kill them and just left them unconscious. They didn't have time to kill all of them sadly and left for the second floor. When they arrived on the floor, it was quiet; but, he knew that the owner of the green car was somewhere. Inque slowly walked across the hallway and carefully examined everything. Then, they heard noises coming from the room nearby. Before the people inside could react, Inque kicked the door down and saw two people in the room. One of them was hiding in the bathroom while the driver was using a cell phone. It was him.

Inque walked towards the driver and said, "You must be the very important person in the building, right? We have some questions that you are going to answer."

---

---

Kyle glanced at his sister, wondering how liberal to be with any information. She seemed to return a look to him that said ‘just tell her the basics’.

“We’re...” He began with a low voice, trying to find the right words, “We’re part of an informal organization of people who, travel to different places and… solve problems. Of the unnatural sort. We call ourselves Tourists, we know it’s… not a very imposing name.” He paused for a short moment and then continued, “We came to Santa Celia since our superiors have been hearing about more and more abnormal activity here. This string of murders for example, the body from yesterday.”

Ellara listened closely as the male began to speak, her ears honing in on his words over the dull roar of the busy bar. Her eyes narrowed with skepticism as he continued to speak but Ellara surprisingly didn’t interject or voice her doubt, deciding to take him at his word. Her head suddenly spun towards the female as the other woman opened her mouth to add her own thoughts.

“Speaking of yesterday-” Kayla said, immediately reaching for one of the jagerbombs and downing it without a second thought or even a chaser. She winced, but powered through it. Kyle, somewhat hesitantly, followed her lead. Kayla reached into her satchel for a small bag of powder that she had made earlier in preparation for this meeting. She rubbed her hands together and then clapped them near Ellara’s face. ”Elea!” Kayla snapped.

The power was fairly simple. If Ellara was some anomaly, she wouldn’t be harmed, but if she was Jäger she would finally see Kayla for who she was rather than what she was.

As the woman spoke, Ellara reared back in surprise, her face changing into the monstrous visage as a foreign word left her lips before disappearing as quickly as it had appeared. Instead, sitting across from her was a fair skinned brunette, and it was only now that Ellara realized the other woman was actually attractive and not just the wretched hag from the books in her father’s trunk.

Kayla waved her hand in front of Ellara’s face from across the table. She was no doubt somewhat disoriented. “Sorry about that. And yesterday.” Kayla started. “I read up on your documented physiology pretty last night. You probably have been seeing some branch of my ancestry rather than, well, me.” She retracted her hand and motioned to herself. As his sister spoke, Kyle took to looking at his phone, seemingly messaging someone while Kayla handled the conversation. “My name is Kayla.” She continued, “It’s nice to meet you. A Hexenblut is a witch. Our bloodlines had history long ago. Between Tourists and your type, it’s been water under the bridge for eons.” Kayla finally concluded. “Again, sorry for being… cryptic. Technically we’re always on the clock, y’know? Also, got a lime?”

Kyle downed his second shot, scrunching his face a bit. He shook it off and then went back to typing on his phone. Kayla, not to be out done, followed suit.

Looking up from the table, Ellara spotted another waitress making their way past the table and she quickly pinched a lime from one of the Coronas atop the balanced tray. Tossing it towards Kayla, she gave her a bit of an odd look before speaking.

“What do you mean documented physiology?” She asked, her mind was still racing as a nagging feeling in the back of her mind told her that things weren’t quite as copacetic between the Jäger and the Hexenblut as the woman would have her believe.

“Excuse me.” Kyle said, suddenly getting up from his seat and walking away from the conversation with nary a look towards the two.

Kayla nodded to her brother as Kyle got up, but didn’t leave with him, instead more intent on speaking with Ellara. “You are a Jäger. A lineage of legendary monster hunters. Witches are unnatural and for the most part were one of the monsters that Jägers used to hunt.” she explained, taking another shot and chasing it quickly with the lime she’d been given. “Much better, thanks.” she said, before continuing. “As your kind got fewer and fewer, others took their place to help keep the peace. Some magic users like witches decided they were more human than monster. Our group is, well, one of them. We have quite a library, so I called in and asked what we know about your kin. Several of your brethren have worked with us over our history.” She said, taking another breath to finish her fourth shot in the span of only a few minutes. She sucked on the lime again and put the shot glass down. “I should probably slow down before I get myself killed.” she said, giving Ellara a small smile.

“Fewer and fewer?” Ellara asked, obvious confusion in her voice. “Sorry, you’re obviously… uh, working?” She continued looking at the empty shot glasses.

“I must be in the wrong fuckin’ line of work.” Ellara muttered almost enviously. “You get reimbursed for this too?” She asked, slight mirth in her voice before she stood up from the chair she had been straddling.

“I know we got off on the wrong foot but, look I’m Ellara, is there any way we can talk sometime when you’re not busy?”

“Reimbursed if it’s important to the job. We live comfortably when we’re not risking our tails.” she smiled. “And, water under the bridge, Ellara. It’s nice to meet you.” she said, sitting back in her chair. “Listen, when Kyle and I got here we came here expecting to find some experienced monster hunter to help us, and you’re not that.” she sighed, and continued. “But you know what you are now, and if you don’t go looking for trouble, it’ll come looking for you. I’m no elder Jäger sensi, but we can show you the ropes. Y’know, help keep you and each other above ground.” Kayla reached down into her satchel and pulled her phone out, swiping to create a new contact and passing it to Ellara, wordlessly asking for her contact information.

Taking the phone, Ellara entered her information quickly, before raising a sly eyebrow and mischievously entered a heart beside her name. Saving the entry, she passed the phone back to Kayla as she looked around the bar.

“Did you need anymore drinks?” Ellara asked, “Tequila could really speed the process up you know.” She teased cheekily.

Kayla laughed. “That’s- that’s what I’m afraid of.” She replied, matching Ellara’s mirth. “Listen, I gotta go find my brother so we can do what we came here to do, but if I don’t die tonight, I’ll text you.” she said. She reached into her satchel again and pulled out her wallet and placed a fifty dollar bill on the bar. “Keep the rest as a tip.” she said, giving Ellara a wink and slipping off the stool to catch up with her brother.

Looking down at the large bill before watching Kayla as she walked away, Ellara let out a low whistle before tucking it into her pocket quickly.

“Holy fuck.”

---

---

Location: Freckles', Argyle Boulevard
Time of Day: Late Afternoon

'Charming' was the opposite of the word that Natalie would have used to describe Vinnie. Luckily, he got called away before she had to go through the trial of turning him down carefully. She gave a pained, clearly irritated fake smile-grimace at being called 'dollface'. Natalie didn't even know there were still men left who talked like that. At least he rightly got chewed out by his friend, and the girl who Natalie didn't know by sight. She wasn't at the house yesterday, at any rate. After a brief conversation that they couldn't hear, everybody bar Vinnie left the restaurant, and he returned to pick up his order, as well as ask her if she could get out early. Without the context of last night, if she was being hit on by this creep, she'd have told him where to stick it, but as she knew that this wasn't a coincidence, or even if it was, there were still sinister schemes at work, she decided to spring the trap.

"It's pretty dead right now, so I don't see why not," she sighed. All the acting in the world couldn't let her muster enthusiasm for Vinnie's sake. "I'll be waiting at the staff door."

Once Vinnie left, Natalie told her coworkers that she was heading out early and for them to cover for her, and slipped into the changing room. She didn't carry a change of clothes unlike some other staff members. She was more the type to keep her uniform at home and travel to and from work in it, though wearing it under a coat. As she slipped her coat on, she felt a buzzing in the pocket, telling her that she had a text message. Her heart skipped a beat when she wondered if it was from Archie. Of course she wanted to talk with him in general, but more than that, she wanted to tell him about today, about seeing those two men again at Freckles'.

But no, the text was from Ellara. Natalie was initially disappointed, until she realised that Ellara texting her was quite rare. It was probably going to be asking her to pik up something. Speaking of which, Natalie made a fresh mental note to pick up some coffee on her way home, as she opened the text.






Natalie typed a reply and sent it back.





With that taken care of, Natalie hesitated, then took a deep breath and headed out the staff door, without a hint of fear. Just nerves.

Time to face the music.

@Lord Wraith