Topic: Empty Vessel

CalaveraStJohn

Date: 2011-12-29 01:46 EST
The night was cool and quiet. He stood alone among the piers and planks of the docks. Leaning against a crate, the cherry on the end of the hand rolled cigarette glowed in the still of the night. Soft whispers surrounded him as he stared into the heart of the city, watching the neon glow ebb and flow similiar to the tides that lick against the shore. A voice calls out his name, bringing him back from his solitary place in space. His senses slip into a higher, more alert, status as he turns his attention to the blue woman making her way toward him.

She seems to know him. His name at least. But he cannot remember her for his life. words that could hardly be considered memorable pass between them as the usual pathetic human greetings are exchanged. A shift in the breeze forces him to reposition his body. On a whim his eyes slide over the rooftops when, like a cat spotting a critter in the brush, his attention is brought to the flue of a chimney no more than 30 yards from his lowered position on the dock.

A bit of strange shadow, a glint of movement against the still air, and the being on the rooftop is mobile again, his entrance having been covered by darkness and lack of attention, but his exit quite noticeable as he trips, making quite a ruckus against the clay tiled roof.

That's all it takes for Cal to draw his weapon and give chase. The being upon the roof moves as quickly as his legs and feet will allow him, damning the silence for utter speed. An elevated foot chase being less advantageous to the unknown runner, Cal uses a stairwell railing, then a windowsill to run up the wall, and jump to an adjacent rooftop, keeping good pace with the other.

A rather flashy display of stupidity has the runner diving feet first from the rooftops, behind a fence in a closed off alleyway. The fall and speed of impact crushes the mans ankle and he collapses to the ground with a bit of a scream and a slew of curses. Cal slows his pace and drops off the edge of the rooftop on the other side of the fence, and hops it deftly.

He keeps his weapon trained on the runner as he circles him on the ground, judging the threat level. he kneels down a few feet away and growls to the runner as he speaks, his voice curled with the waves that slap against the shores of a thousand distant lands, his accent twisted by a thousand languages, and spat out with a bit of a lazy and lax lip. "W'at dae ye t'ink ye be daein', boy' Runnin' abou' o' tae roo's ca' be...'azardous...". The runner plead for his life, knowing the name and a basic description of the man he was supposed to avoid at all costs. And here he now stood. Well, kneeled, before the runner, and the runner was stuck.

"Please sir", the runner begged, "I was hired to deliver a package to the market, that's all, I swear.". After the clear choices of bribery or death were presented to the runner he chose wisely and handed over the package, finding a few coins of the empire enriching his pocket for his troubles.

"Sir", The runner spoke once more, "I have this as well..." and he hands over a small folded piece of paper with few sparse words written on it. The instructions were simple and clear enough. Deliver this to the marketplace. Avoid Calavera at all costs. No signature. No watermark. Black ink on cheap cotton thread paper. Curiousity now plaguing him, Cal lifts the man to his feet...er...foot and dusts him off, handing him back the package.

Cal speaks gruffly once more. "Finish yer job, boy...". The runner understood what was being asked of him and he limped toward the gates leading to the market.

CalaveraStJohn

Date: 2011-12-29 01:48 EST
My ankle is murder. Every step I take is a new journey into eye-crossing, blinding, white hot pain that shoots up into my knee, through my thigh, and digs its way into my hip. I know he is out there, somewhere in the shadows, dogging my every step and move. my heart has been racing and I cant believe how much I'm sweating for how cold I feel.

I finally make it the predetermined destination, the fountain in the center of the myself into, but I am damn scared. But I refuse to show it. Mama didnt raise no pansy.

I call out to the shadows, proclaiming my arrival with your package. Hurry up and get out here so I can be done with this whole mess. I wait for you. And wait for you. It seems like my entire life has been spent standing in this godforsaken square, waiting for you.

I hear something behind me and turn to look for you, but you aren't there. My anxiety is now growing with each passing tick of the second hand. I feel a hand move onto my shoulder and I near jump from my skin. But I resist the automatic urge to jump and run, instead stiffening and turning once more.

I must say I am relieved it is Calavera, for some reason. He rushes me into this side alley bar and sets me down. He grills me over this package and the letter, asking every possible question that could be asked, following every thin little fiber of a thread, hoping to lead back to this mysterious packages owner and relevance.

The pain in my ankle has subsided slightly, now only the aching throb of a million bee stings all at once pushes its way through my veins. My mind swims through the fog of pain, wrapped in the cloak of this mystery, and drowned in the rum Calavera and I drank as we studied and talked...or as he studied and interrogated I suppose.

I put my forehead against the hard coldness of the bar's wooden varnished tables. I am exhausted. I'm in pain. And all I can think of at this point is going home and going back to bed, and trying to forget this day ever happened when I wake in the morning.

Just then I look over to see Calavera doubled over on his knees, gripping at his head and almost screaming. I move to his side as quickly as I can, asking whats wrong.

Blood Sister

Date: 2011-12-29 01:58 EST
Leta knew much about Calavera St. John, much more than he wanted anyone else to know. She spent much of her time and money to find out. Eventually she found the information she was waiting for. It didn't take her long to plan out what needed to be done.

A letter was sent to a courier, along with a package with simple instructions. The package was to be taken from the Westend of Rhydin, through the docks, and north to the marketplace, where someone would be waiting to receive it. There was one important instruction. When going through the docks, the courier must avoid a man called Calavera.

Leta was not a stupid woman. She knew that Calavera would run into the courier which is just what she intended. In trying so desperately to avoid him, the courier instead piqued Calavera's interest. Calavera was a smart man, too. Once he caught the courier, he investigated and opened the package, an empty box. Interrogating the courier proved fruitless, since the courier knew nothing of Leta and her plan.

When Calavera learned that the package was to be delivered to someone in the Marketplace, he went to see who would arrive to pick it up. Hiding in shadows, he waited for someone to accept the package from the courier. No one showed up. The whole ordeal gave Leta the time she needed to complete her assignment.

CalaveraStJohn

Date: 2011-12-30 02:52 EST
Cal had been having a long day. He didn't want or need this. Not tonight. With a sigh he took another drink of the rum. The box, which had been opened and broken down into a single flat sheet, was turned over and over in his hands. He stared at every centimeter of it, looking for some kind of clue as to the owner. He sets the flattened box down ans lifts the letter, again scanning it for any clue to its origins. Cheap black ink and cotton paper.

He goes to lift the glass to his lips once more, but has to set it down as the small flame ignites in his temple. He mistakes it for an oncoming headache and sighs. He stands and moves toward the bar but doesnt make it more than two steps. The pain of the Black Swan screaming in his mind brings him to his knees. He grabs at his temples and tries to stop the noise in vain. The runner comes to his side, asking some ridiculous question like are you alright.

He makes it back to his feet and growls out the words, as if any who would hear them should choke on them as if they were being rammed down their throat. "Tae swan...she nee' meh.". And with that he runs for the door. He near bowls a customer over as he makes his way through, bumping tables and upending a chair. He hits the door so hard it threatens to burst from its hinge.

He runs down the street, the sheer determination making the adrenaline course through his veins, forcing them to dialate and pump the blood faster. His cornealess and pupiless eyes of rolling smoke trapped in glass balls narrow as he focuseson the wooded path he enters from the back of the market, rushing to the hidden cove.

As he reaches the edge of the clearing he slows himself and gets low. The unnatural shadows that roll around him close tightly creating a barrier between he and reality. He shifts himself in and out of the etherereal as he gets closer and closer to the gangplank of the swan. He stops shifting and slows his steps, drawing the nickel plated desert eagle from its hidden holster.

He moves up the small makeshift dock and flattens himself against the side of the ship. Knowing every bolt, board, and drop of pitch on the ship, he climbs his way up the bow. As he reaches the deck he looks out from under the lowest railing. Seeing nothing on the deck he slips lythely up and over the rail, landing on the deck silently. weapon drawn and aimed, where his eyes go the barrel follows.

Silence and darkness surround him along the dock. He makes his way down the deck to the first set of portholes into the holds. he checks them quickly before moving on, making it to the mast in the center of the ship. He peeks around the mast and checks the rest of the empty deck, and the open bridge. He notices the door to the captains quarters is ripped off its hinges and hanging loosely. he growls and moves swiftly across the back end of the decking, once again flattening himself against a wall

He slides along the wall and takes a quick look into the room from the doorway. He sees a charred corpse, still smoldering, lying on the floor. The room is wrecked, charts and maps flung wildly, every drawer turned out and emptied onto the floor. Every cabinet door swung open, some of them ripped from their hinge. The furniture flipped over, some ripped open and torn apart.

He moves into the room, still leading with the weapon. he searches the small room quickly. Seeing no one he begins to take inventory. The first thing he checks is the captains hold. The thick wooden door, trimmed and styled to hide in the wall, was swinging open. He growls and looks inside for the single item it held. On the inside of the small dumwaiter sized opening was only a small metal hook bolted into the back wall. On it was supposed to be a green canvas bag.

It wasnt the bag that was important. It was the contents. Two small glass orbs. One filled with a red smoke, the other filled with blue. he growls and slams the door shut, breaking it the rest of the way off the frame. It drops the wooden floor with a loud thud. He moves back to the corpse and looks it over before aiming the weapon directly at its skull and letting off a round. The head explodes as the white phosphorous round slams into it. The rest of the flesh left after the massive damage burns slowly from the burning phosphorous. he moves out to the deck and sits near the mast, silently plotting and planning what to do next, rubbing his temple with the tip of the barrel of the weapon.

Blood Sister

Date: 2011-12-30 03:22 EST
In a small office building owned by the "company' Leta devoted her life to, Leta hid away for days trying to find out the secret of the orbs that she had stolen from the Swan, Calavera's ship. The two orbs sat carefully on two crystal ball stands. Long heavy oak tables were covered with ancient texts and some of the Swan's logs and maps that she grabbed while on the ship.

She had heard rumors of the two soul orbs. One was a soul of an infant that had been judged to hell. The other was the soul of an old woman who has been judged to heaven, in spite of her countless sins she committed in her lifetime. Leta pondered over how such a thing could happen. Eventually she came up with a theory. The old woman somehow, probably through magic, must have transferred her sin to the infant, resulting in their end judgements. Leta researched, theorized, and finally broke onto the Swan to gain them and their secrets. She knew the Swan was heavily protected, which is why she brought an expendable staff member with her on the assignment.

In the office, Leta looked over the details of the soul orbs. Eventually she pieced together some ancient texts and logs from the Swan until she understood what the old woman may have done. It was more then just simply switching sin. The old woman needed a sinless person, an empty vessel, to transfer her sin to it. Leta could now devise ways to use the old woman's technique so she may do the same, but she needed a victim. She needed a sinless person, another pure infant.

Leta loved a good twist. It just so happened that Calavera, himself, had impregnated a young woman, someone close to him, that he cared for. Taking their child would prove a fun bonus to her assignment. She began to plot ways to steal the infant, but it was so many months away. She wondered why anyone would even desire to have a child if it took so long. She needed another plan. She thought she could easily find a newborn, but she wasted so much time already. She needed a solution now. The "company' wanted results and she wanted to be rid of her sin.

The soul orbs sat on their crystal ball stands as if mocking her. She walked over and looked at the evil old woman's orb. The solution had been in front of her the whole time. She needed a sinless soul, just like the evil old woman's, who cursed all of her sin on to the infant. Leta quickly grabbed the old woman's orb. It took her several hours, but she completed her assignment. Leta was satisfied with her work and, now, completely free of sin. Over two centuries of sin erased. She had no use for the infant and the old woman's soul orbs now. She would return the two orbs and many of the ship's logs back to the Swan. She would take three staff members along this time, just in case Calavera would step up his security, as she expected he would.

CalaveraStJohn

Date: 2012-01-02 23:18 EST
The sun shone bright and hung high in the sky. He walked along the paths of the glen this day, having decided the night before to forget the incident and go about his business. The security measures on the swan have been upgraded. The holds have been repaired, the safe resecured and moved. He smiles with a bit of a sigh.

The swan slowly begins to come into view. his pace slows as he sees the top of the cage on the deck.Not being a good sign he draws one of the twin desert eagles and slowly moved up the dock toward the gangplank. Slowly, once again letting the barrel lead the man. He reaches the upper level of the deck and drops to one knee, aiming the weapon as he scans the deck for movement. not seeing anything moving, He moves to the cage trap that had been triggered and dropped to the deck.

Attached to each wall, and in each corner of the roof of the cage, aimed inward, are nozzles with gravity fed petroleum tanks, and small pull-pin strike plates with thin little scorched pieces of wood to activate the mini flame throwers, the cage designed to do nothing but trap and burn, and it had claimed a victim. The stench was horrific around the cage and the charred remains inside of it.

Fighting down the urge to gag and vomit, He moves deeper into the ship, down the deck to the bridge. Buried into the back side of the mast is an 8 inch steel disk with razor sharp blades, much like a circular saw. It is coated with a single, wide, streak of blood. About ten yards farther down the deck lies a lifeless lump. Keeping the weapon aimed he moves forward to it.

As he nears the body, he sees the corpse was obviously the victim of the flying disk. He looks around for the corpses head, not seeing it right away. As this one is not charred to a crispy pile of ash, he kneels down and begins to search through the pockets and hidden places. He found a few things of little interest. A couple of coins, a lost button from something, and a ticket stub for a movie. He looks the stub over and tosses it away, deeming the movie awful.

Moving deeper into the ship he makes it to the captains quarters, the door once again swinging open, this time still on its hinges. He moves into the captains quarters and sees the open hold doors. He growls and looks around the room, seeing the hidden blade on a spring action under the hold had been activated, and had a bit of blood on it. He looks into the hold and sees the orbs had been returned. He kneels down and wipes a finger along the bloodied portion of the blade. He examines the blood on his finger for a long moment before almost erotically licking it from his finger, smiling, and silently swearing his vengeance.

Blood Sister

Date: 2012-01-03 16:22 EST
The second time Leta broke into the Swan would be her last. As her three staff lead the way onto Calavera's ship, a cage dropped down on one, abruptly shooting flames and engulfing the screaming man. The air quickly began to smell of burning flesh, a smell she was often accustomed to in her line of work, but seeing one of her men caught in a fire cage of death unsettled her since she was always petrified of fire.

Her other staff members were a little reluctant to continue and she remembered why she only liked to bring one henchman for trap fodder. After some convincing of more horrendous pain if they didn't continue, the men lead the way. As they headed down the deck, a circular saw blade shot out from somewhere. Leta dodged instinctively, but the blade would have missed her anyway. It instead, was aimed perfectly towards one of her henchman, instantly beheading him. She watched as his body fell to the deck. She didn't wait to watch where his head landed.

Leta questioned herself as she walked into the captain's quarters behind her last henchman. Why did she want to return the orbs again? Oh, that's right " to prove she had the upper hand over Calavera. As she was distracted in thought, she couldn't warn her last man as he accidentally released a blade trap hidden in a small hold in the wall, cutting his knee as it swung out towards him. She looked around to reassess for any other dangers. She quickly returned the orbs took off as her final henchman limped away from the boat in a different direction as planned. He proved his worth today. She would be calling on him in the future.

She would be laying low for awhile. She went through all the work to lose her sin for a reason and she wasn't going to ruin it by accumulating it all back so quickly if she could help it. But she would have some of her most trusted men keep an eye on Calavera. He was proving to be a much more worthy opponent than she had initially given him credit.

CalaveraStJohn

Date: 2012-01-07 00:54 EST
He layed in bed. He stared at the ceiling and sighed. Every inch of memory gone over with a fine tooth comb. 2 bodies were there. For some reason the blood on the blade hidden in the wall under the safe bothered him. Why would someone steal the souls from there resting place" How were they discovered" What thread tied it all into a neat little bow"

Finally the tension and the stress got to him and he took himself out of the bed. He quietly began dressing, being careful not to wake his love, lying so peacefully in the bed. She had to have been used to him getting up and moving around in the middle of the night, as was his nature.

Slowly and quietly he closes the door behind him, and cinches up the black leather duster, heading down the path from home toward the city itself. In the shadows of the dark and winded path he checks the clips and chambers of each Desert Eagle, ensuring they are loaded and primed, ready to fire at a moments notice. A bit of thick brush and bramble hide the entrance to the path to his home. He pushes it out of the way and steps through, releasing it as he does, and the brush snaps back into place, hiding the entrance from view again.

He moves down the street quietly, his hands in his pockets, his head down, doing his best to remain in the forgotten realm of shadow and steam rising from the sewers. Just another joe walkin' down the avenue. He arrives at the Hospital in the center of town and makes his way around to the back, just inside the fenced perimeter. He smirks to himself as he spies the lone, unguarded, unlit fire door, peacefully and quietly sitting in the back wall of the large building. silent and quick steps carry him to the door, an eye kept out for cameras or passers-by. A leatherman tool is plucked from the right pocket of the duster, and the blade pulled out of it. Slipping it just behind the edge of the aluminum casing next to the door and prys it off, exposing the wires for the alarm system attached to the door. Quickly going through the various multi-colored wires, using the wire cutters to snip the usual red wire, cutting the power to the alarm.

With another smirk and a mental "I still got it" he's inside and roaming the halls. Passing a coatrack the Duster is hung up and a white lab coat is snatched and slipped on. It just so happened to fit well enough to sufficiently hide the shoulder holster that hangs under his arms from anyone who should glance his way.

He makes his way to the back side of the admitting desk, near the front lobby and ER. He watches for a moment before sliding open the first filing cabinet drawer, quickly scanning the pages for a report of a leg injury the previous evening. Furstration begins to build as time winds down, the chance of being spotted raising with each passing second.

And finally, there it is. A lateral wound, serrated and dripping with an odd substance, a mix of nightshade and rosin oil, the specific oil he uses to clean all his blades. He notes the treating physicians name and rips the page from the stapled packet of notes and charts. he then moves back the way he had come, dropping the lab coat on the hook and taking up his duster again. Back out the rear door, and around to the front of the hospital again. He checks the names on the reserved parking spots for the doctors. He nods to the one that matches the intake form.

As he enters the hospital's sliding front doors, he lifts a pamphlet from a rack and flips it inside out. He moves to the intake desk and acts surly with the nurse on duty, laying some story about being there to repo the good doctors car and if he wants it back he better get out to the parking lot right now. He flashes the pamphlet as if its an official document, not letting the nurse see it well enough to call his bluff. In a fluster, the nurse picks up the receiver and drops it once as she panicedly pages the doctor.

He moves back out to the parking lot and seats himself on the trunk of the doctors overpriced luxury sedan. He goes about rolling himself a cigarette, and lights it, exhaling a large plume of smoke from his lungs, as he waits, the crooked, half insane smile playing on his lips. After a moment or two, about half the cigarette gone, the good doctor comes flying out of the dual sliding doors, muttering obscenities.

Cal looks to the doctor and smirks, waiting for him to get closer. "What the hell is going on here" This car is bought and paid for!" shouted the doctor. Cal smirks and slides off the trunk of the car, flicking away the cigarette. "well tae be entirely 'ones', I dunnae drive a tow truck..". Cal jams the barrel of the .50 caliber handgun into the doctors ribs and clicks the hammer back. "No' t'is ca' gae on' o' tae ways. Eit'er ye ca' tell me w'a' I wan' knae, or physician, heal thyself.".

The doctor gasps and raises his hands, frozen in fright. He shakes and mutters something about his wallet. Seeing the subservience, Cal lowers the weapon, but does not holster it again yet. He shakes his head. "Pu' yer damned 'ands dow'. I be nae robbin' ye. I wan' tae knae abou' a patien'. Las' nigh', a man with a strange cut tae 'is leg.". The doctor comes back to reality from his terrified state and blinks a few times before speaking, slowly, his voice shaking. "Yes I remember him. But I don't know anything about him. I just treated his wound. I was in the room with him for a total of maybe ten minutes.". Cal nodded and began to grill the doctor over the smallest details. The wound, the mans mood, his behavior, and his answers for how the wound happened.

After a few tense moments Cal is satisfied with the doctors answers. To show his appreciation he slams a hard right fist into the doctors gut, doubling him over. "Naet'in' personal doc, I jus' cannae 'ave ye blabbin' abou' me. Ye'.".

As the doctor stays doubled over, Cals knee raises and slams into the mans face, the inky blackness of unconsciousness washing through the mans eyes as he crumples to the hard, cold concrete. Cal rifles his pockets and finds the keys. A push of a button and the doctor is locked into the trunk, his wrists and ankles bound with a convenient roll of duct tape found in the trunk. After another moment the motor roars to life and the car begins moving.

CalaveraStJohn

Date: 2012-01-11 21:28 EST
He drives along the narrow path to his home, the headlights off, the engine racing as it flies through the forested dirt path. As he comes to the gate leading to the courtyard next to the home he locks the brakes and slides the car to a stop. The transmission is rammed into park and the keys are ripped from the ignition as he steps from the still sliding car. it comes to a full stop putting him next to the trunk. Once again the button is pressed and the trunk pops open. He looks down at the terrified doctor, seeing the tears welling in the mans red eyes. The doctor doesnt bother to plead for his life, or even speak a word. He just stares at Cal, who shakes his head and slams the trunk again, leaving the doctor there.

He makes his way up the stone path toward the front doors. He slows his pace and checks himself for blood or any other type of questionable substances. Seeing none he unlocks and pushes open the door to the great hall. As quietly as one can close a ten foot tall one foot wide door, he does, and turns into the room, taken a little by surprise as he sees shaya standing there, yawning, watching him, and holding a cup of a steaming liquid one can only assume is tea. He smiles slightly, his back pressed against the door. "'ello my love...w'at 'as ye up sae late?" She smiles strangely and puts a hand on her swollen abdomen. "Tae babe be ki'kin somet'in 'orrible t'is eve." He smirks a bit and moves over to her, gently putting his hand over hers on her belly. She looks up to him with a concerned look. "ye wan' tell meh w'at be wrong love?". He smiles to her as he speaks. "T'ere be naet'in' wron'...Bu' we nee' tae talk. Please sit.". He pulls a chair from the table in the great hall and gently helps her into it. She watches him with a worried look on her face.

He kneels in front of her and begins to recount the happenings of late. The soft smile she generally wears fades, and her hand goes over her mouth. Finally he finishes and looks up to her. She looks down to him. "An' tae docter...'e be dow' t'ere in tae trunk...right now?". Cal nods and watches her. She shakes her head slightly. "Dunnae t'ink ye 'ave gone a bit...far my love?". Cal shakes his head slowly."W'oever be daein' t'is be screwin' wit' tae balance o' goo' an' evil...I cannae stan' by an' abide t'is.". She nods a bit and looks away some. "I understan'...bu' ye nee' tae le' tae doc ou' tae trunk. 'e be innocent.".

Cal nods and stands, taking her hand gently. "Ye nee' tae leave love...take tae pant'er an' make fer open water. I will come fer ye w'en it be all over..". She begins to protest but he puts a single finger to her lips. "T'is nae open tae discussion love...I willnae 'ave t'em 'urt ye or tae babe.". Her hand goes to her belly and she looks to the floor, nodding obediently. He puts a finger under her chin and lifts her face. He bends down and kisses her softly.

He smiles as he speaks. "I love ye...mare t'an I can tell ye...". She smiles and stands, giving him a deep kiss and a soft, still worried smile. "I love ye tae. An' ye better come back tae me, er I swear I shall rip t'rough tae seven levels o' 'ell tae get ye back. I am nae raisin' t'is boy on me own.". She smirks with the statement, and he smiles back to her before moving through one of the rear doors off the great hall.

He moves through the rooms of the home to his bedroom. In the closet sits a large wooden chest, looking very old. He pulls it from the closet to the middle of the room and takes the key off his neck, the long silver chain clinking a little as he moves it. With a sigh he pushes the key into the lock and turns it with a click. It pops open and he pulls it from the brass loop. He lifts the latch and slowly opens the chest, the trapped air of a thousand years rushes out as the lid creaks. He sits on the floor and begins slowly and delicately pulling items and setting them on the floor around him. Once the chest is empty he stands and takes stock of the items, checking the completeness of the kit.

He starts by taking the leather duster and throwing it onto the bed. The silk shirt is stripped off after the shoulder holster is tossed onto the duster. The shirt is crumpled into a ball and thrown into a wodden hamper in the corner. He slides his boots off and sets them on the floor at the foot of the bed. the khakis are stripped off and tossed along with the shirt. His body is covered in scars and tattoos, a lot of which having to do with the Rhy'Din Navy SEALs and the time he spent with them. He looks over the blackout kit once more and nods, going to it.

He bends over and pulls on the thick cotton socks first. Then the brown, non-descrip t-shirt. One leg, then the other slide through the black military grade canvas pants, with various pockets and hidden holsters. He sits on the edge of the bed and pulls on his jump boots, as black and shiny as the day he left the service. He laces the tall boots before sliding the three throwing blades into each, six in total. They slide into the hidden sheaths and lock into place with a soft click. He then picks up the twin .45 ACP's and checks the clips and the chamber to make sure theres one in the pipe and a full clip in each. They are then holstered at the small of his back in the sewn-in holsters inside the hem of the pants. He then picks up one of his old favorite toys and strokes it lovingly. The fully automatic walther 9mm glints with its blackness. He pulls the clip and empties the chamber before squeezing the trigger almost to the point of firing. The red dot laser beams across the room to the wall. He releases the trigger and reloads the weapon, making sure to put the extra round into the chamber. He puts the weapon back in its holster and straps it to his thigh, buckles coming up from his knee and down from the waist of the pants built in for specifically this purpose. He slips the 2 Kbar knives into the sheaths on either hip.

He then lifts the matching black kanvas jacket and slips it on. He takes his time buttoning the shirt as he goes over the last of his gear. A zippo with the skull and crossbones and a small little number 6 on it is slipped into the left breast pocket. The small pouch of tobacco and rolling papers goes into the other breast pocket. He picks up the shoulder holster with the twin nickel plated desert eagles and slips it on. He lets his snow white hair down and shakes it, smoothing it out some, before putting it up into a tight ponytail once again. He then sets a black stetson with a white band on his head. He picks up the modified AK-47 with the enhanced nightvision capable scope and slings it over his back. He then picks up the duster and slides his arms through it slowly, a sigh escaping as him arms push through the leather of the sleeves. The old uniform, bearing no markings or symbols, brings back a lot of dead memories. He looks at himself in the mirror and smirks. Two thoughts keep running through his mind. The first being what the hell did I get myself into. The second being Do they know how deep and wide the mess they stepped into is.

CalaveraStJohn

Date: 2012-01-11 21:29 EST
He moves back down the stone path toward the car. He pulls the keys out and pops the trunk open. He roughly reaches in with one hand and violently rips the man from his mobile temporary cell. He sets the doctor on his feet and rips the duct tape off his wrists, leaving his ankles bound for now. "I be takin' yer car. Ye mos' likely willnae ge' i' back. Tell anyone anyt'in' abou' meh an' yer family will ge' ye ba'k. In small pieces. Savvy, mate?". The doctor nodded and stood as still as stone. Cal smirked. "Ge' ou' o' 'ere 'fore I change me min'.". He makes his way to the drivers door of the car and gets in, bringing the motor to life. He backs down the path at high speed, leaving the doctor there to fend for himself.

At the first sizable enough clearing he spins the car around and starts moving forward. Sparks fly as he comes out of the hidden path and the front bottoms out as it comes off the curb onto the street. The rear end slides out harshly, the tires screaming their discomfort as the headlights come on and the car starts heading toward the shipping company the man had put as his employer on the hospital intake form. He stops the car a few blocks away and shuts it down. He waits a few moments before giving a sigh and exiting the vehicle. He silently slips into a back alley and finds a fire escape to the roof of a nearby building. He moves as swiftly and silently as a wolf as he goes from roof to roof, finding a perfect spot to set up and surveil the companies entire grounds. A heating duct above him, a short wall with small openings just big enough for the barrel and scope of the rifle in front of him, heating and air conditioning units on either side of him.

Slowly he scans the entire grounds through the scope, making a note of each mans post and movements, as well as what weapons they carry, if any. He spends hours doing this, until the sun threatens to make its appearance. He crawls backward on his belly, inching away slowly. He goes behind the larger unit to his right and sits with his back on it.

He pulls the pouch from his breast pocket and rolls himself a cigarette. he uses the zippo to light it. Before closing the lid, with the flame flickering before him a little, he turns the zippo, looking at it from this way and that, an odd calm washing over him, instincts and training taking over at this point, reverting back to his more base and animal instincts. He closes the zippo and replaces it in his pocket.

He smokes half the cigarette before extinguishing it and replacing it in his pocket. The sun begins to rise and he belly crawls back to his position, checking on the guards and workers once more before begining to watch the street.

He slides the cover down, the small slit in it reducing the area he can see through it phenomenally but also making sure that no sunlight reflects off the glass of the scope, giving away his position. He watches the street and main gates for hours, occasionally swinging the scope around to check on the others already within the gated walls.

In the late hours of the morning a man comes limping down the street toward the front gate. He looks nervous and as tired as Cal feels. Cal keeps the crosshairs trained on the man, waiting for him to turn so he can get a good look at his face. The man turns and looks behind him as he enters the front gate, and Cal sees his newest target.

He follows the man with the scope all day, throughout the various tasks of the day. At one point he pulls the rifle back to him and screws the silencer into the barrel. He squeezes the trigger a little, so tired and irritated he comes very near to killing the target, but at the last second he releases the trigger and lets out a slow breath, reminding himself that this peon couldnt have possibly done what he had seen. He needed the man for information. As he sees the other workers preparing to leave, he slides back away from the ledge and gathers up his things. He puts the rifle back on his back under the duster and makes his way back down the fire escape to the back alley.

He watches from the corner of the alley and the main drag in shadow and silence, stepping back to hide himself as the workers begin to file out and past him. He smirks to himself as he sees his target leave the main gate and take a right, heading right for him, a few seconds and feet behind the last group to leave, his limp slowing him down greatly.

CalaveraStJohn

Date: 2012-01-11 21:30 EST
As the man approaches, Cal readies himself. He slips out of the shadow just behind the man. He puts his left arm around the mans shoulders, his right hand hidden in his duster in front of him, digging the barrel of the .50 caliber Desert Eagle into the mans ribs."'ey me ol' boy! 'ow's abou' ye buy yer ol' frien' a drink?" He says out loud to those around that may be a bit nosy. He whispers to the man after "get in tae car or tae only memory o' ye will be 'ad by tae poor soul 'as tae clean yer blood off tae wall..". The car alarm chirps as he presses the button on the key in his left hand. He "helps" the man into the car as he slips the desert eagle back into its holster under his arm. He moves around to the front of the car and gets in, turning over the motor.

He begins to pull away from the curb as he watches the man. "I dunnae who ye be...an' I dunnae care. I jus' wan' yer employer. If ye tell me tae trut' Ill let ye live.". The man found this agreeable and nodded. He started to speak, telling Cal of Leta, describing her, and where she can generally be found. He does everything but tell Cal the womans name.

The fact that its a woman surprises Cal slightly, but he never shows it. He drives along slowly, blending in with the traffic and surrounding peoples getting off work and away from the stress, the days headaches being more on their minds than what is happening in a car moving down the street. Except for one. The thought of I need a drink more relevant and prevalent in their minds than this dirty and dusty luxury sedan here in the warehouse district.

The man recounts to Cal how they had gotten aboard his ship. How the two men had screamed as they died. How his employer was internally sure of herself until everyone but she was hurt or dead. Cal asks a few questions as they drive along, getting to know the lead target better and better through this mans eyes. She certainly wasnt one to be taken lightly, but all he had to do was find the chink in her armor and exploit it, and she, like anyone else, would melt.

Cal nods to the man as he takes a right hand turn. He looks over to the man. "So w'at be 'er name?". The man opens his mouth to speak but is unable to as the rifle round penetrates his forehead, splattering his brain and bits of skull all over the car. In shock Cal punches the accelerator and roars down the street. He reaches over the corpse and opens the door, kicking it out of the moving car as the gunfire erupts, shattering the rear window and ventilating the trunk. He pushes his boot down on the gas pedal, the tires squealing as the motor roars to life and propels the vehicle down the street at breakneck speeds. He makes turn after turn in vain, the highly trained and skilled drivers in the two vehicles following him keeping pace with every step.

CalaveraStJohn

Date: 2012-01-11 21:32 EST
He keeps his head low as he tries, in vain, to get away from these...security personell. The thought doesnt dawn on him at the time, but they are way too well trained to just be security guards for a shipping company. Being fairly unfamiliar with this part of Rhy'Din, He makes a wrong turn down a dead-end street. He has a few blocks to decide what to do. Gunfire pings off the ground and the body of the car as all three vehicles head for the wall of the warehouse that borders the end of the street. The only thought that occurs to him is to pull the fuses for the power steering and anti-lock brakes. Without time to stop and look he just yanks the entire fuse box out of its hole in the hush panel under the dash. The wires spark as he yanks them free, and all the power systems in the car shut down, though it continues to run. Blessed art our lady of carborated motors. He pushes the brake pedal to the floor and wrestles with the wheel to send the car into a 180 degree spin. as it nears the apex of the spin he slams the transmission into reverse and pushes on the gas again.

He pulls the full-auto handgun from his right thigh and aims it through what was the windshield not long ago and begins firing at the lead car, the 30 round clip emptying in a few short seconds. The lead car chasing him sustains massive damage to the motor block and front suspension, a few of the 9mm rounds going completely through the firewall and burying in the legs of those sitting in the front seat of the car. A few more of the rounds pass through the windshield of the chase car, spraying blood from the passengers multiple hits and shattered glass throughout the passenger cabin of the vehicle.

Getting sprayed with the glass and blood causes the driver to take his hands from the wheel. As he does the car suddenly jerks sideways and slams into a telephone pole, spinning with momentum into another car before flipping onto its side and sliding to a stop. As the lead car hits the pole Cal braces himself and the car he's in slams into the wall of the warehouse. The wall crumbles, as does most of the body of the vehicle. It slides to a stop inside of the warehouse. Cal pushes the door open and falls out onto the floor.

Battered and bloodied, he rises to his feet as the second car skids to a halt just before the wall. Limping, Cal runs into the shadows, searching for a stairwell to the catwalk. He hears the two men from the other car enter through the door he had made. He slides the AK-47 off his back and makes his way up the stairs, watching the floor through the scope. He almost screams every time he puts weight on his right leg. The two split up and begin slowly searching the ground floor. Cal lies on the catwalk, watching the one that swings to the right.

As he moves along the right wall, the man is tracked in the crosshairs of the low-light scope. He watches the guard search, quickly checking each empty room. He comes within an easy range. Cal squeezes the trigger slowly, getting to the point where the pin is just about to release into the powder charge that will send the round out of the barrel.

He swings the barrel as it follows the man, even taking into account the bounce of his steps. Cal takes a deep breath and releases it slowly and lets the round fly. It exits the suppressor with nothing more than a whispered whoosh. It sizzles through the air, the white phosphorous barely able to get itself lit before it slams home. The mans chest explodes as the round punches a fist-sized hole in it, blowing his heart all over the floor and wall behind him. Before the breath ends two more rounds fly from the barrel, the first hitting the mans chest on the opposite side and the last drills itself between his eyes, emptying the contents of his skull.

Before the first guard dies and drops to the floor, Cal has swung the barrel around and lined up the second guard. As the first guard falls, he drops his weapon, and it clatters across the hard concrete floor. The second guard snaps his attention around and starts quickly moving toward all the noise. The sirens of the local law enforcement officials on their way begin to become audible inside the warehouse. They were getting close. It was time to move.

Cal aims low on the man and squeezes the trigger, ripping the guards knee to shreds, and dropping him to the floor. He swings the rifle around again and fires off two more rounds, both rounds cutting through the mans spine, not killing him, but paralyzing at least a large portion of his body.

Cal slings the rifle onto his back again and moves across the catwalk to a boarded vent. He grabs it with both hands and rips it out of its old and failing supports. He drops it to the catwalk and climbs out onto an upper roof on the opposite side of the building. He drops down to the lower roof and growls as the pain shoots through his right leg.

He hobbles to the edge of the lower roof and looks over at the ground below. He growls and takes the long step, falling the ten to fifteen feet to the ground below. He rolls as he lands, still growling in pain. He limps over to a side street alley and slips into a bit of shadow, leaning against the wall as exhaustion and pain overtake him a moment. He bends over and vomits before sliding his way down the wall, deeper into the alley.

He looks around with each painful step. He sees a glint of black metal and tries to focus on it. He smiles to himself as the form takes shape in front of his blurred vision. A sport-bike motorcycle, Black with orange tiger-striping. He runs a fingertip over the gas tank and swings his leg over the saddle. He leans over to the side and after a moment of searching his fogged mind, he remembers how to hot wire the bike. It growls to life and he revs it a few times before taking off away from the warehouse, the description of his new target the only thing clear in his mind at this point. He growls in pain each time he has to shift gears, and the sudden jerk of pain makes him pull the throttle wider open, forcing him to shift again. He disappears off into the darkness of the setting sun.

Blood Sister

Date: 2012-01-13 00:28 EST
Leta was enjoying laying low. It was nice to live as a normal person, going to work, completing tasks that didn't hold people's lives in the balance. She was excited to work for her beloved company in this new way. It was different, but rewarding. She could understand why her twin sister enjoyed a simple life teaching. She rarely spoke to her sister and was never seen with Lydia in public. Leta worked hard to make sure that no one knew of her twin. She knew if anyone found out about Lydia, they would exploit her in order to get to Leta. Leta could not handle that, so she chose to limit her activity with her sister.

While attending a few honest meetings for work that day, one of her men contacted Leta and told her to come to her office right away. Laying low just never worked out well for her. She quickly headed to her office, where some of her men gave her the summary report. Calavera found out about one of her henchmen who went with her to Cal's ship. Cal grabbed the man at his place of business at the docks. Some of her crew were watching Cal and silenced the henchman before he could reveal too much about her. Cal fought back against the crew, killing three and paralyzing the last.

Leta knew Cal could have easily killed the man. He left him alive so he could tell them what had happened. Four random nameless henchmen had died, but now three of her own crew were dead, and one critically injured. These men had proven themselves to her and the company time and time again. She reached out an open hand and was instantly given the crew member's medical chart. She skimmed over the words. "comminuted cervical vertebrae" Not only was his neck broken, it was shattered. The spinal cord was ripped to shreds with no hope of him ever using his arms or legs again. Three words never said so much.

She didn't need to give the order. Her men knew the code. They all may be liars and killers and thieves, but at least they had honor among themselves. "Offer his family our condolences. Make sure they have no financial burden these next few years," she said as she returned the chart she was sure they took after putting him out of his misery quickly and without pain or suspicion at the hospital. She walked out of her office to attend her next meeting that day. This was becoming a problem. It had to end.

CalaveraStJohn

Date: 2012-01-26 22:48 EST
He had ridden the bike home. After cleaning himself up and getting a little rest he decided it was time to head out and look for this woman. Sore and tired, battered and bruised, but still burning with vengeance he mounts the bike again and heads for the marketplace. As good a place as any to start the search. He rides hard and fast, his own and others well-being not being a major concern at the moment.

Once he reaches the market he ditches the bike in an alcove in a back alley. He mentally marks its location, determined to keep this wonderful piece of machinery. He does his best to blend in to the throngs of late evening bar patrons and last minute shoppers. He pulls the leather duster tight over the blackout fatigues, hiding the various weapons and other indications of the malice that burns bright within his heart. He moves along the cobblestone streets as if out on an evening constitutional.

He slowly and quietly meanders his way up to the gates of Bristle Crios. The grounds spread out before him as the magics in the gate recognize him as a member, and open before him. He slips his hands into the pockets of the duster and he moves within the fenced in area, still walking as if he's just meandering along. Each woman he passes is scanned from the peripherals of his vision. Each guards location and route is noted.

He slips into the shadows in a central position, able to see most of the grounds from his hiding spot. He seats himself on the ground and waits. From the corner of his eye he spots a woman walking with a young man. She matches the description he had been given. His eyes focus on her as she moves along with the man, toward one of the houses on the grounds. They stop just outside the door and chat for a few moments. He watches impatiently, cursing the fact that he cannot operate in the open anymore.

After what feels like an eternity to him, the man and woman part company. He heads inside while she turns and begins heading toward the opposite end of the grounds. Cal waits a moment before he begins to parallel her in the shadows, just outside the treeline. He strokes the .45 ACP on his hip lovingly, considering just putting a round through the back of her head from his hidden position. The thought occurs to him that she is fairly unguarded and vulnerable for someone who was able to callously break into his ship and leave her dead crew behind.

He removes his hand from the holstered weapon and steps from the shadows, out of her sight. He moves quickly to catch up with her, passing her by and tipping his hat with a soft "evenin?" offered to the woman, confirming the smaller details of the targets appearance. Once he has passed her he slips back into the shadows. He stays ahead of her, but only just, silent steps carrying him through the shadows and the underbrush, hiding him from all perception. He whispers an incantation and a thick grey mist rises from the ground, swirling around her feet, quickly rising to her ankles, then her knees. The air stops moving and turns cold enough to turn breath into steam. The fog rises to surround her, making it impossible to see more than a few inches in front of her. If she strained to hear she could almost swear she heard taunting whispers coming from the fog itself, cursing he and damning her in the ancient tongue of the gods, the gruff Aramaic.

She then did something completely unexpected for one so brutal as to just leave the corpses of her cohorts behind. She began screaming for help. This enraged him just that little bit more. Enough is enough and he steps from the shadows, into the fog, about three steps behind her. The K-bar sheathed on his belt is slid out and held in his right hand, his left coming around to her mouth as he takes the three steps into her, the blade then moves to her throat.

He shushes her quietly before speaking, his grip tight and unrelenting. ?Shh shh shh. Be calm deary. Be still. He pushes her off the path and into the brush and treeline. Just past the brush and bramble is an old one room shack, long forgotten to nature and the elements. The roof covered in dead leaves, the walls in thriving vines. He roughly pushes her through the door and into the shack.

Blood Sister

Date: 2012-01-27 01:03 EST
Lydia had just finished tutoring a teenage werewolf student about the science behind the phases of the moon. She began walking him from her office in Vampire House to the front door of Werewolf House, on the opposite end of the Bristle Crios grounds. As they approached the door of Werewolf House, he thanked her for her time. She smiled and said thoughtfully, "You are welcome for tutoring any time. Don't forget to complete your history paper due for my class next week." He asked her a few questions about the details for the paper and then they each parted, bidding each other good night.

Turning, Lydia began to make her way back across the compound in the dark of the night. What few people had been out and about before, were now in their houses. Lydia began going over what she still had left to do that evening; grading essays, completing tests and answer keys, a few more tutoring sessions in a few hours. She was lost in thought and planning as she walked across the grounds.

A man concealed in a leather duster approached next to her as he walked passed her, tipped his Stetson hat, and bid her a good evening. She smiled politely in return. "Good evening," she said pleasantly. She watched as he quickly returned to the shadows. She stopped and surveyed her surroundings. Concerned about the man's behavior, she tried to return to Vampire House with a quickness in her light step, but it was in vain. Lydia watched in terror as a fog quickly surrounded her. "Please....Help!" She cried out, hoping someone on the grounds could hear her.

Within an instant, the man pushed her through door into some shack and stepped in, slowly and quietly closing the door behind him. She pleaded with a soft, sad voice, "Please, I have no money. I am just a teacher. There is nothing I could give you of value. Please, just don't hurt me." She seemed to be holding back tears in her frantic eyes.

Blood Sister

Date: 2012-03-16 01:21 EST
He sheaths the blade as he closes the locks the door behind him. He looks over his nails as if this were an everyday occurrence and boring him, watching her in silence for a moment. She is obviously frightened, seeming to be "out of her element' as it were. For now he chalks it up to good acting skills. She begins to plead and beg. She speaks of being without coin or things of value. He almost scoffs. "I be nae interest' in ye belongin". Ye need nae lie tae me. Ye knae me name well enough. Now ye can knae me face." He lifts the brim of the Stetson from his eyes, the unnatural shadows that obscure the finer details of his face remain even as the only thing that could be making such shadows is moved. With a glance a lantern on the floor lights and remains low, the dust crackling slightly as the pods burn their florescence into the small room. Another glance has a chair sliding across the floor. It rams into the backs of her knees and sets her down upon its seat.

She fell onto the chair with a soft whomp. He smirks in his decidedly evil little way as he speaks once more. "Ma"e yerself comfortable. It be tae only comfort I will be offerin" tae ye?" She gripped the chair in white-knuckled fear, as if the seat were in James Deans Spider and they were doing 90 down canyon road. She begs more, denying knowledge of his identity and cause.

"Dunnae try tae mix words wit' me" he growls out. Three short steps put he in front of her, his right booted-foot lands on the front edge of the seat, between her knees, forcing her to move quickly or be stepped upon. "Ye knae me name well enough tae write it "pon a scrap o' paper" he continues. He is bent down, his face to hers. He uses his foot to upset the balance of the chair, pushing it back onto 2 legs and holding it steady with his foot. "Di" ye knae it be considered a" act o' war tae steal fro' a" admiral o' tae fleet' Dae ye "ave tae soldiers at yer command tae make war wit' me?"

She looks shocked to be accused of thievery. She denies it vigorously, the fear still obvious in her eyes. Then a look of realization washed over her. She mentions a sister. Disgustedly he pushes away from the chair, sending it backwards, sending her *** over teakettles. "I s"pose ye ar" gon' tell me ye "ave a twin sister an' she be tae one tae blame, eh?"

She yelps as she tumbles. She looked up to him from the floor and offers to find someone to confirm her identity, as if he believes any of her story. He leans back against the door again and pulls a small pouch from his pocket. He goes about the task of rolling himself a cigarette. He puts it to his lips and it ignites on its own. The scent of the pure shredded tobacco leaf is sickeningly sweet. He exhales a large lungful before speaking again.

"So ye wan' me tae believe t"at yer evil twin caused all t"is trouble?" He shook his head a bit. "Le" me as" ye"would ye believe ye if ye be me?? He asked with a raised brow, silently smoking the cigarette as he watches her.

Blood Sister

Date: 2012-03-16 01:39 EST
He had only wanted her sister. It was all a horrible mistake.

Lydia watched through solemn eyes as he asked if she would believe her if she was in his place.

She sighed and said with regret, "No, I honestly would not." She heard her truths, but even she would admit they seemed fantastical.

How could she explain the blood bond that she and Leta share" Whatever one does to their physical being, the other experiences. When Leta chose to be a vampire and went through the embrace, Lydia suffered the same fate as she, even though they were cities away. Whatever magic Leta learns, Lydia is shocked when she accidentally discovers what she can perform as well. Once Lydia tried to cut her face to distinguish herself from her twin, but Leta formed the same scar and when she eventually healed it with the use of her black magic, it healed on Lydia as well. But she was not her sister. She knew her sister tries to keep her out of her world, out of this danger. People could easily use her to get to Leta, or even kill her to kill Leta. She didn't even know if that would work.

Her explanations proved fruitless in his eyes. She said shaking, "I don't know everything my sister has done, but I know enough of what she has been accused. I would completely understand if you did not believe me and killed me right now. I only ask that you make it swift and painless as possible.?

Blood Sister

Date: 2012-03-16 01:41 EST
He watches her in silence for a long moment before speaking once more.

"I "ave decided tae be merciful and sha" le" ye try tae convince me of yer innocence". There were no guards. No soldiers. No fight in her at all. No one could fake the fear he can smell welling up inside of her eyes. "Ye shall "ave tae minutes tae convince me. Or I shall torture t"is body til yer soul leaves it's mortal vessel an' becomes"mine". The shadows that swirl around him leave his form and surround her, whispering their secrets to her. "Death waits upon your soul" they scream in almost silent whispers. "Pain and suffering will be your release" One slithers into her ear. "Only truth shall save you? poses another. "Only fire can save the sin" The whispered Aramaic, the ancient dead language of the gods, sounding like evil garbled gibberish to those unfamiliar.

His face twists and distorts, like a wet painting left in the torrential downpour. He wings stretch and unfurl behind him as he moves into the demonic side of his nature. She is near tears but she keeps her voice level and calm, speaking to her resolve.

His voice grows deeper and more resonating, as if the words are spoken in his chest and escape up his throat and out his mouth through echoes. "Nae. Ye "ave one minute an' thirty secon's". A light fog begins to fill the room as the air turns cold, her breath turning to ice and hanging heavy before her. His demonic side is fully released and his body grows and folds, enhancing all the normal human traits, making him quite a bit taller and larger. The clothes seem to move and stretch to accommodate the new size and shape of his body.

She looks away and closes her eyes, almost as if a child playing hide and seek has the false notion that if they cant see you you cant see them. She offers an explanation that almost seems satisfactory though. He growls and opens his hands by his waist. Her body lifts from the floor and she levitates in the air a moment. The air goes unnaturally still and then feels like its sucked completely out of the room, leaving them in a vacuum. "T"en ye die, she die. Pro"lem be solved." He smirks as he releases her, her body falls back to the floor. She still offers only the denial and little quips about her sister. He takes a step and a half toward her. He draws the K-bar. "T"en ye can deliver a message tae yer sister fer one who coul" ge" t"is close"." He digs the tip of the blade into her cheek and draws it down all the way to her collarbone, giving her a shallow and long scar. The air in the room turns to fog once more as he disappears with the dissipation of the fog. As she regains herself and moves to leave she finds the door still locked from the inside. Seeing no windows its obvious he has either moved out of the realm or has hidden himself in the room. Neither matter to her as she moves to leave as quickly as possible, the frightening ordeal over for now.

Blood Sister

Date: 2012-03-16 14:16 EST
Leta grabbed at her bleeding face and neck. Angered, she knew someone had to be hurting her twin. She immediately interrupted her current assignment for the company and rushed back to Bristle Crios where Lydia lived and taught, hoping to find her twin. It didn't take long for Leta to find the visibly upset Lydia, alone in her room at Vampire House trying to recover from her new wound.

After a quick exchange, Lydia explained everything that had happened. A man had grabbed her off the grounds of Bristle Crios and started questioning her about Leta, telling her all the things she had done to him, mistaking her for her twin. He had threatened to kill her, but somehow he showed mercy and only cut her face and neck instead. Leta felt her own matching wound and said almost softly to her sister, "I will take care of it."

Lydia was still shaking, but Leta was too outraged to provide her with any comfort. She began to interrogate Lydia, barraging her with questions about the man. Lydia slowly began to paint the portrait of the man. Leta's eyes grew wider with each detail as she put the pieces together quickly. She knew him. Calavera. She looked at Lydia with clear eyes and repeated, "I will take care of it."

CalaveraStJohn

Date: 2012-03-28 22:53 EST
He steps lightly among the stalls, looking over this and that absently. For many hours he walks up and down the cobblestones. Tiring of the monotony he moves indoors, to a small caf". He takes a seat near the back of the small hall with large arches leading out to the street, making it easy to see both in and out. He waits for the waitress patiently and quietly. He orders himself a small salad and an Italian desert Caffe. He also orders a small salad for the guest he waits upon. He leans himself back into the chair and unfolds a newspaper in front of his face. He waits and reads in silence, sipping the small cup of caffe . He felt her presence as she entered the caf", the same way he had felt her minions watching him in the market. He clears his throat and ruffles the paper a bit to hide his hand reaching to his inside thigh and slipping the weapon from its holster, placing it in his lap under the edge of the table. He sips the caffe once more as she stopped across the table from him and speaks. "You visited my sister." She bluntly spurted out with. He smirks behind the paper and speaks without bothering to look at her. He knew who she was and why she was there. "I" be possible. I "ave visited me fair share o' sisters" he begins before taking the last sip of the caffe. His voice held the violent undertone but remains calm and even, as if discussing the weather with a stranger. She states her case. She wants to end it, but she offers nothing. He tries in vain to ascertain why these things have happened. She acts coy and cold. He dislikes it immediately and becomes intentionally arrogant and apathetic in general. She takes offense to this turn of events and begins to walk away. He shakes his head and sets the paper down once more. He speaks once more, bringing her back and with a soft internal sigh he agrees to end the hostilities. He does not like the decision but he knows he is too old and she is too well connected to wage a lifelong war with. And that's exactly what it would be. Reluctantly, stroking the barrel of the weapon as she walks away, he watches her go and take all the answers out the door with her. He simply sighs and goes back to reading the paper, wondering when and where their paths will cross again.