RedDusk

CLOSED.

I will get a CS up... later. Sorry, got a lot of stuffs to fill out. Also, I take it that there is still a Transfer Student slot? I scanned through the CS tab and there is only one.

CLOSED.

Man, I was in the mood for some sort of school/academy/university RP, then I stumbled upon this majestic thing...



The CS is a tad overwhelming tho... Are you guys still accepting?

Amongst the Lonesome- A return to Santa Somabra [Fantasy Noir]

((Collab with @JulienJaden ))

It was barely a minute into the sprint, and Sander stumbled. He caught himself on the grimy wall of an alley, one hand pressed against his temple. His head just throbbed, all of the sudden. It didn’t even hurt properly, just this odd kind of pressure between his eyes that made the world around him distort in the strangest way. The walls, the streets, everything just… bled out. Their color was stripped away like dry paint under a prying hand, and he found himself staring at shimmering shadows that were almost transparent. Somewhere behind him, he heard footsteps. They were loud. He didn’t even know it was humanly possible to make that much noise by just walking. He turned to look.

The light almost blinded him. Instinctively, he squeezed his eyes shut, lances of pain shooting through his head. Then they were gone.

He took a few shuddering breaths, before forcing his eye lids to open again, only to find a stranger standing before him, an unconscious Valorie in his arms. And she was bleeding. That triggered quite a number of alarms in his head, and he was utterly confused. Memories of recent events slammed back into his brain, and he almost winced. What the hell was he thinking? It was a string of bad decisions; first getting himself involved with Valorie’s stupid ruse, then ended up giving a goblin his entire wallet, only to run back here for what? A woman he didn’t even care about. It was like he was drunk the whole time. Something was seriously wrong with him.

He straightened up from where he was leaning against wall, barely registered the gun still clutched in his left hand, sizing up the man before him. After a moment of silence, he finally spoke, voice still breathy from the sprint –“Who are you?”

Cain had only gone about half a block. The police sirens seemed to come from everywhere and a few firefighters seemed to have joined them. But these backstreets were empty and relatively quiet and it wasn't too far to his apartment and office. The girl hadn't stopped bleeding, despite his murmurs of healing charms - those had never been his strong suit, regular old gauze bandages seemed to do the job much better than anything he could conjure up. Everything he'd need would be waiting at least.

That was when he ran into what appeared to be a junkie cowering in the alley before him, a young man who seemed to have trouble breathing, out of fear, exertion or maybe coming down from a high, his eyes shut. Or at least they were until a second later, when he not only opened but focused them on him, then on the woman in his arms. Cain noticed a hint of recognition in the guy's mimic and saw his posture change, his grip tightening around a gun Francis hadn't registered until now. The question that hung between didn't help with the tension.

But that didn't mean he didn't respond with the same mustering gaze. Or remained silent.
"I'm just your friendly neighborhood doctor and this is my latest patient. She'd say 'hello', but..."
Cain shrugged casually, causing Valorie's head to sway.

"So, if you'd excuse us."
He half-turned away from him, towards the end of the alley.

The stranger’s answer was suspicious at best, and creepy at worst. You didn’t go around picking up strange wounded girls around here; doing so would be the equivalent of him gathering up unidentified corpses and pilling them up in his basement. Socially unacceptable, or so he was told. So Sander grabbed the stranger’s shoulder as he passed, his grip light but persistent.

“Hey, hold on!”- He furrowed his brow, only now noticing a trail of red behind the trenchcoat cladded man –“Wha- Valorie!?”- He called out to her first, but once realized her unconscious state, turning back to the stranger, his voice softened. –“She… isn’t dead, is she?”

He remembered. The masked figure, blades in its grip as it ran the Rats down before his very eyes. He ran, but Valorie, well, she did something else. It was her choice, and he wasn’t going to get killed for that. The thought of her dying, though, was rather disturbing, to put it mildly. He couldn’t put his fingers on it, but the memory of those Rats dying kept haunting him. He couldn’t let Valorie ended up the same way they did. Memories of the lights were still clear as crystal in his mind.

“Where are you taking her?”- He spoke again, this time with steel in his tone. The stranger was taller than him, and while Sander wouldn’t want to get into a fist fight with anyone, he was the one with the gun here.

The grip at his shoulder was not unexpected but it still tripped several alarms in Cain's mind.
Tonight was not as casual as he thought it would be, with a couple of drinks and a friendly Wyrmblood to share them with. Vigilance had still been part of the entertainment alright but by the looks of it, the only alcohol that was of any concern would be disinfectant. And given the soon-to-be high police presence in the area and the unknown element of threat to the woman he carried and to himself for carrying her, being touched by armed strangers was not something he took lightly. Somebody more vicious than him might have attacked outright; but old-fashioned as he was, Cain preferred to know he was facing an enemy before he struck.

Nonetheless, his eyes narrowed and the stranger's steely voice was met with a hard look that showed without fault how unimpressed he was by the gun.
"You better be careful, friend. It's dangerous to go around pawing at people you don't know."

He wasn't without options if it came to hostilities but it wasn't in anybody's best interest to let it come to that. Valorie could certainly do without more cuts and scrapes and while he had had no time to assess her wounds, wasting time could prove unfortunate if they were more serious than he knew. The main issue, however, was that he didn't know the stranger's motive:
Yes, of course the guy could have been a true, concerned friend of hers but the odds of running into somebody like that through pure chance, not far from where she had fought a most dangerous opponent were slim at best - either he hadn't been with her when Vigilance crossed her path or he had abandoned her the instant things got serious. The guy could have been a Rat; if any of the group she doublecrossed had survived, they would no longer be feeling cordial towards her. Or he could have been somebody else entirely, with unknown intentions, which made the possible outcome of this encounter all the more uncertain.

Cain only knew two things with absolute certainty: Since he was the only person here he trusted with absolute certainty, he would be the one taking care of the brave, stupid Demon's Blood user in his arms for now; and he would not allow somebody of unknown allegiance and intention to accompany him to or even enter his sanctuary (read: apartment).

Understandably, his other responses were a little vague but he would have to let on that he had saved her and see how the stranger reacted.
"She isn't dead, although she certainly tried her hardest to get herself killed, even after I stepped in. As to where I'm taking her... well, let's just say that after tonight's events, I don't think it's in her or my best interest to have anybody know that until she is back on her feet."

He mustered the young man again, head to feet. There was something strange about him. There was magic in the air, and not the kind that got you lucky. At first he thought it was just the girl, a residue of the Demon's Blood or maybe some power of her own, but the longer he stood here, the less likely that seemed to him. The problem with this instinct or sense was that you could never tell where it came from. Maybe a mage had died in this alley, or the gun was charmed in some way, or perhaps a wizard had thrown up over that trash can over there. Or it could be the guy himself.

"What is she to you? Who are you and what are you doing here?"

It took him far too long to notice the sound of sirens in the distance. Far, but they would be here soon enough. He had minutes at best. Well, they had. He didn’t think the cops would just let some guy carry a bloodied girl go without at least nagging a couple of bucks out of them. He didn’t think they would let him go either, since the gun he was carrying technically wasn’t his. So it seemed he would have to work fast. The older man was surprisingly calm, which unsettled Sander somewhat. He knew this type, all minced words and casual violence. He didn’t think threats would work in this situation, and neither would violence. Why did he think of those in the first place? This was wrong. Shooting a stranger in an alley just a short sprint away from a cop patrol was probably the fastest way of earning a ticket to prison. Or a bullet, if those officers weren’t too keen on paperwork.

Sander quickly let go of the man, seemingly surprised that he put his hand there in the first place. He regained his composure almost instantly though as he dropped his gaze to Valorie in order to confirm the man’s statement. She looked a bit worse for wear, battered and bruised and pale at dead, but the steady rise and fall of her chest suggested she was still among the living. For now. If there were any truth in this stranger’s words, that he indeed helped her and was taking her to safety, he couldn’t just leave her. Then again, why? He certainly didn’t have any trouble leaving her before, when the masked figure attacked.

The masked thing was armed and hostile, all it carried was darkness. Running was his best course of action then, seeing as how Valorie herself wanted him to, whatever her plan was then. This man was different. He could be talked to. Reasoned with. And for some reason, Sander thought he was weaker. Manageable, should something come up. And Valorie certainly couldn’t deal with this situation on her own now.

Sander considered the questions carefully. He knew the stranger was sizing him up again, so he didn’t take too long with preparing his answers. Hesitation often came with dishonesty, after all. Then again, he wasn’t really lying here.

“I’m one of her friends. Not from the Rats, mind, I work at the chapel downtown.”- He said without missing a beat, his eyes meeting the stranger’s.-“Look, you can check the message on her phone, probably saved as Sandy or corpse guy or something…”

He paused then, only noticed the absence of Valorie’s handbag just now. Females and their frustrating habit of keeping important things where they could easily get lost.

“-aand she doesn’t have it here. Of course.” –He let out a sigh then –“Alright, I suppose this is rather hard to believe, but I was with her when the, eh, masked thing, attacked. Valorie wanted me to get the goblin out of the way, which I did. Only to come back to this.”-He gestured at the bleeding girl-“So I hope you’d understand that I’m concerned. I can’t just let some strange guy carry her off. At least let me know where you are taking her, if you really wanna help.”

He stopped then, waiting for the stranger to make his next move. His fingers twitched slightly, and only then, did Sander realize he was still waving a gun around. Wordlessly, he held the weapon up, only to reveal that fact that the safety had been on the whole time. With that done, he took out the clip, slipped it into the pocket of his leather jacket, then putting the now empty weapon back into its holster.

The guy's story didn't seem completely out of whack to Cain. There were many chapels downtown but now that the guy mentioned it, he seemed vaguely familiar somehow. Francis was certain that he had never spoken a word to him or even heard the young man talk before tonight but he could place the build and haircut in one of the corpse collection 'businesses' he had to visit every now and again.

You couldn't spit in Santa Somabra without wetting somebody you knew, somehow.

But that still left the issue of the magical presence. He could believe that there was some connection between the girl and him, friendly or otherwise, but he was now convinced that it came from him. It was strange, unlike anything he had ever sensed, but it clung to him like a hint of sweat - even between a million different smells, you could still notice it if you knew that it was there. He had no intention of taking him with them before and he saw nothing to convince him of the contrary. If anything, that seemed like an even worse idea now.

"You will not accompany us; I will not allow you to."
His voice was adamant; he had been calm before but now it was commanding in a way that was different from somebody of self-proclaimed authority: There was a hint of magic to it that bent reality just a little bit, made him look a little bit taller, a little bit stronger, absolutely capable of defending himself and the girl in his arms; but at the same time, it also made what little light shone into the alley more favorable, made him appear friendlier and more trustworthy.

"But you are right: I am a stranger to you, although not to her. Reach into my coat pocket."
The guy was surprised at first but he complied and found a business card with a splotch of blood on it - the coat was taking the brunt of Valorie's hemorrhage.

"Francis Cain, is who I am, and I will bring her someplace safe. If she wants to contact you after tonight, she will, in time. Speaking of which..." Some of the sirens had stopped, and not too far away. At least some cops were moving on foot. "Ours is running out... 'Sandy', was it?"

He gave the man a hint of a smile and turned away from him again, already taking his first few steps towards home.
"You'd do well to leave the scene while you can. The police are looking for a serial killer and getting desperate."

Amongst the Lonesome- A return to Santa Somabra [Fantasy Noir]

Just realize I forgot the banner. God I'm a horrible human being ><

Amongst the Lonesome- A return to Santa Somabra [Fantasy Noir]

(More collab posts @Drinky )





They rounded the corner, then Sander whipped out his gun, pointing it at a random Rat. Except it might not be so random. The smoke was drawing a target on her face. Quite literally. He gulped down air and let Valorie talk to them. His hands shook again, but he wasn’t afraid. He knew the coiling anticipation in the pit of his guts; he was looking forward for this. He just needed the first step. A provocation. An excuse to shoot. Then again, why?

Why wait? They were clearly a threat. He had to do it now. Kill them before they kill him. Voices turned into whitenoise as smoke rolled in.

The trigger caved inward, slowly. Then he stopped. Things just, sort of, happened. A scream tore through the air, an odd weight was pushed against his side and his target got a blade in her stomach. He watched as it tore her apart and decorated the street with her guts. Then he saw the light again. It was just like Valore’s, bright and warm and full of promises. But they snuffed it out. They just snuffed it out like that, like it was nothing; a worthless, dying cigarette destined for the trash, while he wanted nothing more than a puff. It was more vibrant, more alive than any of them combined, and they dared snuffing it out like it was nothing. How could they? One after another, he stood and watched the massacre. Darkness claimed their light one by one, and he was helpless. A blind man denied his salvation. He wanted to see, but they were not his.

A foreign rage bubbled up his chest, star-bright and white-hot, and it burnt through his reasons like lava. A part of him was alarmed as he pointed the gun at the newly arrived figure. And yet, he didn’t shoot. This one had no light. It almost felt pointless, just shooting it down like this. A waste of bullet. For a moment, he faltered, his feet stumbling backward. Then he bumped into something. Out of the corner of his eyes, he noticed the green figure standing just behind him.

Oh. Gish.

It felt as if he just woke up from an especially vivid dream, and had just now regained a sense of his surroundings. He turned, just in time to see the masked figure dropped the last body. The smoke retreated as she drew near. His instincts finally kicked in, and he dashed off. He shouldn't stay, not now. That masked thing would kill them all. If the goblin and Valorie had any sense, they would have done the same. These parts were unfamiliar territory for him; he rarely had a reason to travel down here. People in Chinatown preferred to bury their own dead, it seemed. So he just kept running, rounding corners when he could and half-expecting a bullet to find its way to his back the whole time. It didn’t, but he stopped after a while. Dead end.

He stared at the brick wall in front of him, breaths labored from the exertion. His mind was in overdrive, memories bled into thoughts and for a moment there, he could still see the taunting lights behind the wall. He raked shaky fingers to his hair, pulling until it hurt.

“Did you see it?”- It took him a few seconds to realize it was his own voice speaking. He turned around, only to realize Gish had followed him. –“The light? Hers?”

Seeing Sander turn tail and run, Gish followed. Between the thugs, the one in the mask, the gunfire, and the slashing, all he wanted was to be as far away from it all as possible. He always did his best to plan for the worst. Escape routes, holdout weapons, stashes of his best guns in corners of the city, he had even planted a few bombs in his apartment should the place ever get broken into while he was away. But when the shouting and shooting started, it all came apart in his mind. His mind was in panic mode, no thought to where they were running, what alleys would wind and bend to elude attackers, what buildings were abandoned or what bars he could weave through to throw people off. He just kept his head down and ran.

Before long he heard the footsteps ahead of him stop. He looked up, Sander had caught them at a dead end. His breathing quickened and he began swiveling his head around trying to get his bearings. His surrounding felt alien to him, which only served to heighten his panic.

"Wot light son!?!, Don't we ave' us a getaway drivah or somefin?!?"

“You can’t see. Hah. You really can’t.”- Sander mumbled under his breath, brown eyes widened in disbelief, as if the goblin had just sprouted wings and claimed to be Satan. Metal dug into his palm, hot and uncomfortably slippery because of sweaty hand. He glanced down, finally loosened the white-knuckle grip on his weapon. But he didn’t put it away yet, instead just flipped the safety back on and straightened himself up.

“Sorry Gish. No ride.” –He seemed calm enough, but that was just the outside. A façade he put up for his sake, nothing else. He still barely knew what he was doing. On any other day, he would have ditched the goblin, walked out of here and grabbed a cab home. No, he wouldn’t have showed up here in the first place. But after this morning incident, coped with the brutal deaths he had just witnessed a few minutes prior, his rational mind had decided to go on strike. His own thoughts felt muddled and groggy, something akin to a bad hangover, and he did things just because. Whenever he hesitated, his mind just supplied a reason, and he clung to it as he pressed on. Maybe he had finally lost it.

Now he had to go back for Valorie. Why? Because she was his contact in the Rat. Also one of his regular. He couldn’t let her die. Yeah, that sounded about right. He dug into his pocket for the wallet, then tossed it over to Gish. –“Get a cab. Go. I have to…find her.”- He paused for a moment, locking eyes with the goblin –“Why, you have no light yourself.”-He remarked, almost surprised, before turning and backtracking to the alley where it all started.

He never found the original site of the murders, of course. It bothered him more than it should, and he didn’t understand why. It didn’t stop him from trying though. He pressed on, pushing his stamina to its limits on the maze-like alleys of Chinatown. Then, he saw the smoke. Not his tainted, blackened version, but the white, wisp-like type you get when you burnt things. He turned, hesitated for a split second, before breaking into a sprint.

Amongst the Lonesome- A return to Santa Somabra [Fantasy Noir]

Sorry if I had held you guys up. A bunch of random work was dropped on my lap out of the blue, so I gotta leave my house for a couple of days. It's all good now though. The collab post will be up soon.

Amongst the Lonesome- A return to Santa Somabra [Fantasy Noir]

@RocketteHo boi, it's like Christmas all over again. Thank you!!!

Amongst the Lonesome- A return to Santa Somabra [Fantasy Noir]

@Kingfisher Happy birthday man. Have a nice one.

Amongst the Lonesome- A return to Santa Somabra [Fantasy Noir]

(Collab with Atrophy)

She didn’t care about the undead man’s confusion. She didn’t care about the questions Sander would ask or the answers he would receive. She didn’t care about finding out who Nichole was, or even who this man was. She only wanted to watch. To see how he moved, how he reacted, how he ticked; if he fell apart, if he burst into flames, if he turned into dust. She needed to consume everything, so she watched and she listened. Her look was one of fascination lined with silver twinges of hope. Perhaps this would be the one. Practice, hard work, and dedication would be her path to success, as it was for the necromancers who had come before her. A smile flickered on to her face as the spirit recognized that he was no longer in the blissful dreams of death, but in the dank morgue of Sander’s abbey. He was of a sound mind, good, good. Panicked, confused, but aware. That was fortunate. She couldn’t help but beam as a wave of giddish fluttered through her body.

I think I finally did it; I think I finally…

The eyes. Her own went wide while his went white. She half-started up to her feet before freezing, a hand clasped across her open mouth. No, no, no, it’s fine, it’s fine, it’s fine, it’s fine, she thought as the body rocked forward. Just a flight of dizziness. Not unheard of, he’ll recover, he’ll--Gravity took over what the spirit could no longer control. The body landed face-down on the hard floor with a wet thud; Valorie followed suit. Crumpling to her knees, the woman stared with disbelief at the corpse as a dark cloud of emotions swirled over her. Hands shaking, lips trembling, she folded into herself, her gaze becoming muddled with tears as it fell to the ground at her knees. She was upset. Angry. Embarrassed. With magic there was always room for error, always a chance things wouldn’t go right. Regardless, that sentiment made her feel no better. She wasn’t improving. Hell, she was getting worse. Why? Why was she trying so hard if this was what her efforts got her?

It pissed her off that she was pissed off. Any good occultist would brush this off as an experience, as an exercise, but she could only see it for what it was: a failure. She was a failure, and she did not want to admit that. She certainly did not want others to know it. She also didn’t want others to see her frustrated or upset, but she couldn’t help it and that made her only more distraught. Give up, she thought. Go home. Go back to college. Get a four-year degree. Marry some boy. Be miserable working for forty years. Have a kid or two at some point. Die alone and unloved in Florida.

As if she could go back. As if she could give up. She couldn’t have been getting worse. That’s an impossibility, she thought, trying to She looked for a fault. There had to be a fault: maybe the circle was slightly misshapen. Perhaps the runes were smudged. She hadn’t used enough blood or she had used too much blood. There were chemicals from the embalming throwing everything off or there were chemicals from the drugs in her system throwing everything off. Something. Anything. If not her, something else. Sander had fucked something up. Blinking away salty tears there were no revelations, only further frustrations. She had just failed and that was that. She’d have to accept it.

But she wouldn’t have to do so gracefully.

“God fucking damn it,” she screamed, punching the ground. She heard something pop and felt a pain in her hand. Good, maybe she’d do better next time; she hit the ground again. Dragging herself on her knees over to the body, she punched it while whispering obscenities hotly under her breath. She hit it again. It looked like and was as immature and unfathomable as a child throwing a tantrum over a toy that they themselves had broken. The gauze on her arm darkened with her own blood as she aggravated her cut. The hushed obscenities grew into a guttural roar as Valorie stumbled up to her feet and threw one final hard kick against the back of John Doe’s skull. For her effort, all she got was a throbbing foot. She angry chuckled at her own behavior. She didn’t feel any better, but she did feel exhausted. That was better than nothing.

As Valorie unleashed hell on the now inanimate corpse, Sander decided not to interfere and slunk back to his previous spot on the barrel. She was beyond words now; he knew that look. To be frank, he had no words of comfort to offer her. That, and he didn’t trust himself to be standing close to another human being at this moment. Not after what happened earlier.

Sander had seen glimpses of his unwelcomed passenger before. Sometimes, when he couldn’t sleep, black smoke and shadow would coil and twist at the corner of his vision. Often, he would solve it by getting shit-faced on a weekday. Marco used to rant about it, but well, he was dead now. He knew something got into his head during the ritual, but seeing as it barely did much than making him hallucinate vividly, he hadn’t paid it much mind then. Then this happened. It was like the thing was getting tired of the backseat so it began riding shotgun and wrestled for the wheel. To think he had come this far, only to get his metaphorical car highjack by some entity that might not even be real. But it didn’t. Sander looked down at his hands, and unclenched his fists, just because he could. He still could. He would be fine. No damage done. It was probably just a slip; his brain finally went haywire after inhaling too much magic residue or whatever. Maybe he shouldn’t stand too close next time Valorie came over to do her dark magic voodoo thing. Maybe he shouldn’t be in the same room. It wouldn’t happen again.

He pushed that particular train of thought in the back of his mind. It wasn’t that hard. He had had practice when it came to running away from things he couldn’t deal with.

Coward, came a thought he barely registered.

He was going to leave then room. Then Valorie was done with the corpse.

Putting on her sunglasses, she turned and gave Sander a half-smile. She couldn’t think of anything to say. No quip, no apology, nothing. She didn’t even bother to wipe away the tear stains that escaped from below the rims of her shades, lick the blood dripping from where she had bitten her lip in rage, or tame the wild mess that had become of her hair. She didn’t care. She was too tired to feel ashamed and too beat to be embarrassed. Sander had already seen her fail to bring the John Doe back for more than minute, there was no point in saving face. Valorie wouldn’t be surprised if he never talked to her again, never called her again, never wanted to see her stupid bitch face again. Hell, she would have been okay with it, too. If all of her practice was going to get her to this point every single time, then fuck it. She could barely handle disappointing herself; she didn’t need others hating her too.

Turning away from Sander she wiped the muck on her hands off on the white sheet and threw it in a ball on top of the dead body. Without looking back she stomped up the stairs, out of the basement, and out through the front door. She called a cab as she collapsed on the stoop, lit two cigarettes, and inhaled one of them with such a force that she nearly swallowed it. As she nursed the second one her face fell into her hand as she massaged her temples. If she couldn’t give up on her path, then she could at least give up on the day. She sent out a text. Ether wouldn’t be strong enough of a medication anymore. Fairy Dust shouldn’t be too hard to find. After her shopping trip, she’d go to her apartment and sleep it off with Sammy. At the very least her dog would never hate her.

Sander sidestepped as she ran pass, and for a moment, he considered returning to his room and took a day off. In the end, he didn’t. Having a Rat owning him favors had been useful; he didn’t intend to lose that edge yet.


He opened the door, just a crack at first. She still hadn’t left yet. So he stepped out, closing the door with a little more force than he would have liked. Then he realized why. His hands were shaking. He dug nails into his palms to make them stop and let out a breath he didn’t even know he was holding.

“You have never done that before.”-He said simply, flopping down next to her. The gesture felt casual enough, but he was keeping his distance from her, as much as the stoop allowed. He doubted she would notice. Eyeing the lit cigarette in her hand, he snatched it up with a quick movement and took a long drag before she could protest. It helped. –“Look, it’s…fine. The guy talked. That’s something.”

At first it appeared as if Valorie did not even notice the man. "It's not fine," she said, finally, without raising her head. Her voice was shaky; weary. She held out her tiny hand that was still stained with grime in anticaption of Sander returning her cigarette, a sigh escaping from her lips. "Do you know what happens when you die?"

Sander breathed out. The smoke was still the right color. But then, why wouldn’t it? He sighed and took another drag, quietly ignoring Valorie’s outstretched hand. This one was for the mess down in the basement. Still, the weariness of her voice did bother him somewhat. He had no trouble dealing with the bratty, sarcastic Valorie; the defeated girl next to him was a stranger. At her odd question, Sander simply shrugged, only to then realize that she probably wouldn’t see it.


“Think you can remain dead long enough to find out?”-He half-smiled, a note of humor found its way into his voice.

"It was a serious question," Valorie said as she pulled another cigarette out of her pack with her teeth and lit it. Her hair fell over her face as she studied her feet. "I'm not worried about finding that out, either. I'm worried about finding out what happens when you die again. I just ripped that guy's soul out Heaven, Hades, The Summerland, I don't know what else bullshit, forced him back into his body, and then watched him die again because I can't even raise a proper fucking corpse. It's not just like I can bring him back once I take a breather, I can't. He's gone. All because I..." Her voice broke.

“I know. Sorry.”- He scratched the back of his head awkwardly, the cigarette held in his left hand promptly forgotten. But if she really felt this way about her ‘hobby’, why keep doing it? The reasons escaped him. But he digressed. He needed her necromancy, encouraging her self-doubt would do him no good. –“But if you really can put a soul into a dead body, what about, say, a live body? Can…two souls share the same body?”

"Huh?" It was a question she hadn't been expecting. Of course, she knew the answer. It had come up several times in the PDFs of old necronomicons. "Well, yeah, they can," she said, slowly, as she rose her hand and gave Sander a curious look. "But eventually one wins out over the other, like a twin consuming its other half in utero. Why do you ask?"

“Just curious.”- He said, a little too quickly. His gaze fell to the curb beneath them, and for the longest moment, you would think he was admiring the patterns within the concrete. After a short pause, he began again, turning to Valorie, his expression purposely blank –“ Which one will win? The souls, I mean.”

"The stronger one?" she said, uncertain herself. "I don't know, really. There aren't that many documented cases of two souls in one body. If the original soul wins they very rarely say anything, because who would believe them? Likewise, if the parasitic soul wins they would certainly never say anything, because why woulld they tell others that they had just destroyed a loved one?"

She waved her hand dismissively. "All I know is that most exorcists are frauds. You, er, you aren't planning on branching out your business, are you?" she asked, her face slightly brighter than before. "Because I don't think I can really help you fake possessions. Or create real ones, for that matter."

Sander had nothing more to say to that. So he laughed, though it came out sounding more like he had something unpleasant in his throat. Fortunately, a yellow taxi came into view right then and he took his chance-“Looks like your ride is here.”- Heat bit his knuckles, so he dropped the cigarette and snuffed it out with the sole of his shoe.-“Feel free to give me a call whenever. I will set something up.” –He put on his practiced smile, before giving her a small pat on the back.-“Good bye.”

"You're not very good at this friendly priestly thing," said Valorie, smirking as she got up and hopped in the cab. "Just saying."

Play The Hand You Are Dealt With (Overlord RP) [[Open]]

@rivaanSure, that works.