Flynn
Sweat beaded down Flynn's face as she sat up in bed. Her chest heaved up and down as she took a very long few minutes to collect her thoughts, her sanity. "Shit," she groaned as the headache and nausea hit her hard. Wincing against the pain and hand on her head, she eyed her cell phone-- to find it dead. Frustrated, she tossed it to the other end of the bed before groggily climbing out, gripping the bottle cluttered nightstand for balance. The dim sunlight streaming through her window was both a relief and trigger for panic: what time was it? For a normal woman working full time during the day, this unknown element would push her into hyper-drive. Piper Flynn Holmes, however, lazily put on pants and shambled out of the room to prepare for the day, leaving the light on behind her.
It was one of the busiest times of the years for autoshops. The threat of ice reminded people to change their tires, install automatic car starters, and few people wanted to be out in the cold to do any of these things themselves. So, for Flynn to be running late on a cold, winter day was a problem... But typical. So she leisurely smoked a morning cigarette, staring outside as her coffee cooled beside her. The hangover clung to her, leaving her groggy and unable to enjoy the late morning. "Ugh," she groaned after discarded the cigarette butt. She downed her coffee, pulled on a beanie over her dark hair to protect her from the cold, and donned sunglasses to protect her from the bright light.
For most, it would be far too cold to ride a motorcycle. However, with her sunglasses and a face mask to protect her against the chill, Flynn hopped on her bike. She was yet to be able to afford a car, and it wasn't a terribly long ride to the shop. So she was off--but she didn't quite make it to the shop.
The loud roar of her bike warned churchgoers and the homeless that hung around that she was coming. However, through her sunglasses, she grew fixated on men she didn't quite recognize from this small town. They hung around the church, they were tall, dressed in dark colors. Panic clutched her heart as violent memories flashed in her mind and--
There was no loud crash or scene, but suddenly Flynn was on the ground--her bike had slid away from her. The world was spinning and she struggled to reground herself in the world. And when she did, it hurt. "Ow, god damn it!" she yelled, the face shield muffling her curses. She was barely aware of the few people who had seen, one being an officer with a suspicious scowl. It wasn't a secret that she liked to drink, but this early? That was unfair. She slowly stood, waving away an arm she didn't recognize. "I'm fine! I just skid out," she said, irritation in her words as she brushed herself off. Her pants were frayed from the slide and her head felt extra rattled, but she was standing well enough.
Although concerned about the bike, her hazel gaze shifted back to the church again. There had been talk of murder and blood draining. Flynn had mostly avoided such talk, and did her best to push it out. But a sudden familiarity had crept into her mind, and she felt especially cold. "I'm fine," she repeated to no one in particular. Then, she pulled her bike up from off the curb to inspect the damage it took.
Rowan
The small town had a quaint cafe, run by an older woman who liked to provide the local youth with work so they'd stay out of trouble. Flynn may have been elusive in that sense, but Rowan was perfectly happy spending his mornings making coffee. Especially in the winter, where he could make it to the cafe before the sun would rise. By the time it rose, he would be safe inside, preparing for open and the regulars coffee. The old woman, Maryanne, had a variety of regulars: Billie who only ever ordered blueberry pancakes, the Sheriff enforcing nothing but the donut-eating stereotype, and others. Rowan, since arriving in town a few years ago, had learned the customers' patterns and tastes, and often had the food ready just as they walked in.
Today, though, he had to return the donut to the bakery. He could feel there was something...off in the air. Something tense. And nervousness set in. The body must have been discovered. However, Rowan wasn't the type to stay down for long. As the morning went on, the regulars came and went. It wasn't terrible busy, especially thanks to the cold, but that left the barista time to clean and stock. He checked his phone often, open to word from Amelia or even Father Luca. Though any correspondence would no doubt leave a little guy like him out. So, Rowan stayed on his duties.
Tending to the cafe allowed Rowan to blend easily with human life, and the work provided him the money he needed to keep up with hobbies. Housing was provided by Amelia and the coven, so he had life pretty good here in Middleborough. It did grow dull from time to time, but with the recent "animal" attacks, things have been...less boring. He didn't allow himself to dwell, however, and poured himself a cup of hot chocolate to sip at the counter.
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