Oswald 'Oogie' Marks

There was a smell in the air, and it made him want to gag or raise his sleeve to his nose in some sort of effort to block it. Oh, how he hated the heightened senses at times like these. How animals lived like this was beyond him. He would wait it out, knowing that smell was the weakest of the five senses. In a minute or so whatever forsaken thing had died and been left to bake on the concrete could go unnoticed. 

Besides, it seemed as though he had other more pressing things to worry about.

It was going to take a lot more than on cursory glance and touch of palm to undo him. Ratigan allowed himself to smile, creases forming at the corners of his eyes as a small and light chuckle hummed from his chest. 

“You’re very kind to a poor old man.” The cursed animal inside seemed at alert now, taking on the defensive despite Ratigan’s history with the man standing before him. It was why he despised it, so. It had no use for logic, it only did what it felt and he couldn’t stand the infernal thing. Emotions dulled the brain until it fell to its knees for decisions made by the heart. He would sooner die than become one of the mindless oafs that wondered this town, this world. 

“I returned from a conference just a few weeks ago. Not really a vacation since it was for work, but– it was a much needed break.” He held Marks’ gaze, his chin lifting ever so slightly to be noticeable. A silent challenge to see if he would call the bluff.

Oogie let a quiet laugh from his nose and shook his head. Old. He’d never understood the human habit of over estimating their years. Why the world seemed like hell once you passed the age of thirty. He, who had been born of the underworld when the first shreds of humanity had tasted something better than simple survival and wanted more. Granted, time moved differently in the rings. And though he never aged, he’d felt the weakening bones of the original Oswald. But age spoke nothing of power. He knew that much for the souls he’d tasted, ruling the world from their deathbeds.

“Well, you can tell a lot about a person by a lot of things — star signs, coffee orders, how they treat people in the service industry. You just have to look.” Lottie commented with a shrug. She’d always been especially adept at reading others, though she felt most people were (with the exception of an old friend or two back home — but really, they weren’t the brightest in general). 

She couldn’t help but let out a little snort at his question. “Well, what’s the fun of telling you my divine insight now that you’ve admitted it?” She teased. “Straight espresso gives me the impression you work quite a bit. Or sleep very little. Or perhaps it’s a combination of the two?”

Oogie let out a short huff of laughter and nodded. Star signs and coffee orders may not have been his sphere of expertise, but the last group certainly was. It was part of the reason he liked to frequent stores and coffee shops. After all, as what essentially constituted an ethereal blob of soul-sucking matter made whole, he hardly needed worldly possessions - and food even less. But the people, the complainers of this world made the trip worthwhile. You could almost taste the sin on the air before they opened their mouths. A stir of Pride, Wrath, Greed and often Envy, that he loved and despised in equal measures. Made worse, no doubt, by the sphere of his influence.

“I was hoping you’d say that.” Lottie laughed lightly before finally retreating to the inevitable warmth of Hatter’s. As soon as the front door swung open, she could practically feel her soul thaw (though her icy fingers were another story entirely). Leaving her umbrella in the stand by the front door, she flashed Oswald a slight smile as they filed into the line. 

“What’s your drink of choice?” She asked, only half paying attention as she eyed the menu board. She wasn’t in the mood to venture too far from her usual order — which was typically entirely too sweet and nothing like coffee at all. “You can tell a lot about a person by their coffee order.”

The summer was quickly approached them, and for a man in many layers it was the most trying part of the year. Especially now that his temperature ran above what he was used to, it was almost stifling to step outside in his usual attire. But no monster, even one inside of him, would rip him of his dignity as well as his humanity. 

The morning had passed by in a blur of meetings on curriculum and retroactive justification. It had been followed by a serious of phone calls to clean up of an incident reported to him from the states, something about California ports and shipping difficulties and oh, how idiotic some of these people were. He had to remind himself that he loved what he did and the business part would always be like this. Crime – when done correctly – took talent and training, and neither were free.

Now the evening had released him from his day job and he was on his way home from the university. The sun still shone brightly above him, casting deep shadows across the ground from its angle. 

The sidewalk had been clear up until he reached the apartment complex down the road where a familiar face was just ahead of him. Inwardly he groaned as the monster within perked up in interest, knowing he would have to say something to the man now that they had spotted on another. 

“Good afternoon, sir.” He offered up his hand as soon as the distance between them had been crossed. A smile accompanied it. “Have I caught you in the middle of leaving or returning?” 

@causeimmroogieboogie

Late spring. The bane of his life in Swynlake. He could already feel the meat in his legs going squishy - with the fan running all day and his curtains drawn to keep out the heat. Frankly, if he could isolate all summer, he would. But he had the strange feeling his neighbours were starting to notice - especially the nosy ones - and he hadn’t fed for nearly a week. 

Really, kidnapping a sorcer was starting to seem like a reasonable idea in his head. If only he could find one a little less high-profile. Though perhaps that was the hunger talking.

As the weather began to cool for the week he resolved to a single walk, past the bars and the university, to see if he could suck enough sin from the world to keep him running for another sint indoors. Or at very least until the next time it rained. Though as he opened his front door, it seemed fate had handed him her own dish.

“Just leaving. Thought I’d catch a bit of sun while it was out,” he laughed, glancing to the sky and hoping that the moments stillness wouldn’t cook him too much. He’d always been quite fond of Ratigan. He had a sharp mind, made things interesting. And the air around him was such a cucophony of flavours, Oogie could hardly resist submitting to the other man’s company.

“And here I was going to suggest Miss New Orleans. Or perhaps my alternative title of Mardi Gras Princess.” She laughed lightly, giving his hand a firm shake — though she had to physically stop herself from recoiling at his touch. Was everything about this town cold? She didn’t even want to imagine how dreadful she’d feel come wintertime.

“Charlotte La Bouff, though most folks call me Lottie.” A chill ran through her as the raindrops started falling a little more steadily. “Would you care to join me for a warm drink? It’s the least I can do after, well,” she gestured to her umbrella, then to Hatter’s, with a smile.

Oogie smiled as the faint taste of Pride caught his soul and he breathed it deep into his being. After his failed attempt at board and his plans for the whole town had been lost, he’d mostly been sucking shards of Envy, Greed and Wrath from strangers that he passed in the street. It was refreshing, for once, to swallow something so close.

Good to eliminate it from the list of possibilities for this guy– curious though, he wasn’t sure what other types would be in the forest collecting for apparently magical purposes. Perry blinked at the flash of a cut on his hand– was that… Bleeding correctly? “Right, well. S’pose I should-” He swallowed, looked back down at the hand. “Be leaving you to it, unless you need a hand.”

“Is that so? Hm. Maybe I won’t feel so out-of-place, after all.” Lottie commented with a chuckle. “I’m from New Orleans.” Despite how embarrassed she felt, speaking of her hometown always rustled up a sense of pride within her — and it showed in her smile. 

“Oh, I do hope spring decides to settle in sooner rather than later.” She said, her gaze flickering skyward. Another round of showers was rolling in, and she didn’t want to be caught outdoors when it did. Would it ever stop raining?

“Well, I think I’m gonna take cover in Hatter’s. Thank you again for the help, and sorry again for the trouble, er — I’m sorry. I don’t think I ever got your name.”

“Oswald Marks. My friends call me Oogie. Quirky, I know. Don’t ask,” he laughed, offering a hand to shake. Usually he would have warmed it before allowing human touch. But given the weather he rather hoped that it would communicate as the chill in the air and not rouse suspicion. “And yourself? Can’t rightly go around calling you Miss New Orleans. As pleasant as the city is.”

He’d been there once. Or... borrowed the memories of the real Oswald who’d visited long before his time and had rather enjoyed culture and the clingy, humid air - though at this moment in time, Oogie couldn’t think of anything worse.

Charlotte could feel the heat of embarrassment rising up the back of her neck and ears, but she tried to play it off as best she could (which, truly, wasn’t very good at all).

“I don’t know — in wind this strong, a wayward umbrella could do just about anything.” She let out a breathy laugh, accepting the handle and gripping it tightly. She didn’t need to repeat that moment any time soon. “Thank you. I suppose I’m not used to this sort of inclement weather just yet. I only just arrived in town this morning — as if the accent didn’t already give that away.”

“Where from, if you don’t mind me asking? There are plenty of foreign residents in town, so I imagine you’ll blend right in,” he smiled. At times, really, he almost wished he’d decided to pose as a foreigner when he’d arrived. Mistakes and odd habits might be expected if one could pose themself as a subject of an alien culture. Though, by now his chance for that was little too late.

“Either way, the weather at least might settle,” he said, holding his palm to the sky and feeling a faint drop of rain settle in his palm. “I assure you it can be quite pleasant when spring truly settles.” If somewhat to his detriment.

Perry snorted out a soft laugh at that, “Right. Always a better place to die.” For him it would probably be his office, sad as it might sound. Spent more time there than home anyway. “As long as you’re collecting responsibly it shouldn’t be much of a problem. I can’t imagine a town with sorcerers doesn’t see a fair amount of scavenging through the trees.”

Luckily he probably had enough friends nearby to mitigate any damage that might be done to him, but he couldn’t speak for this stranger in turn.

It was a damp and dreary the day that Charlotte La Bouff arrived in Swynlake — which was all too appropriate, considering how she felt about moving away from her beloved home of New Orleans. 

After her new house had been arranged and the moving company dismissed, the blonde chose to explore the town she would begrudgingly call home. Pulling on her tan trench coat (something she’d hardly worn previously), she stepped out into the chilly air, closing her front door behind her before opening her umbrella. Perhaps it wasn’t the most ideal weather for a stroll, but she couldn’t stand the thought of being cooped up inside. Her eyes scanned the buildings as she went, memorizing some of the landmarks and important places she felt she’d eventually need to visit. 

Lottie soon found herself on Main Street, unsure of what to do next. In front of her, she saw a sign for Mad Hatter’s Tea Shoppe. Why not? She thought with a shrug. Just as she was about to pull the door open, a strong gust blew her umbrella right out of her hand, sending it soaring across the street, where it almost crashed into another pedestrian. 

Lottie cringed. “I’m so sorry!” She called to the other person, her silky, accented voice clearly filled with embarrassment. “Are you alright?”

Spring was upon them. You only had to smell the air to know it was warming up and that only meant one thing to Oswald. Disaster. Of course, the poultices and salves he’d made from magic herbs from Enchantra had had some effect in reversing the damage of over a year’s worth of death, it wasn’t enough to fix him. It certainly wasn’t enough to stop him spending the coming weeks working out ways to refrigerate himself before the first wave of heat hit the town. And though on might not have imagined it, the plants had been tricky - in ways one might imagine plants were incapable of.

But that was magic for you.

He stepped out from his office into the last of the cool air. No coat. Only his shirt and vest, sleeves rolled up to his elbows in some hopes the cold might soak into his bones. He’d get himself a coffee, grace himself with something to enjoy before he had to hibernate.

Well, before he was almost struck from his path by a rogue umbrella.

He leaned down, plucking it from the ground before it made another escape, and quickly collapsed it. “Quite. I’d hope it would take more than an umbrella to finish me off,” he laughed, offering the handle back to her.