H A L L O W E D.

❝ there’s nothing left back there worth burying ❞

𝐛𝐚𝐬𝐢𝐜𝐬: name: richard aemon ifor nicknames: ricky, raven, dick pronouns: he/him dob: september 20 / virgo species: human - hunter from the ifor clan from north wales occupation: crematory operator / bouncer (formerly) / hunter

𝐩𝐞𝐫𝐬𝐨𝐧𝐚𝐥𝐢𝐭𝐲: positive traits: honorable, honest, determined, reliable, patient negative traits: secretive, withdrawn, manipulative, wary, bossy

𝐚𝐛𝐢𝐥𝐢𝐭𝐢𝐞𝐬: typical hunter abilities, combat proficiency, natural survivalist, specializes in tracking and long-range kills, can take down a werewolf with a knife.

𝐪𝐮𝐢𝐜𝐤 𝐟𝐚𝐜𝐭𝐬:

richard was the oldest in his generation and always held responsible for the actions of his siblings. his younger sister and brother used this to their advantage and as a result there was a rift made between them that lasted well into their twenties. his father believed in a more spartan approach to things and this spats would mean they were isolated to the wilderness if their fights were too severe in an effort to 'build character'.

born and raised on the outskirts of snowdonia national park in a compound hidden for centuries, richard only knew his family's teachings. his parents instilled a strict code from early on; it was kill or be killed. the ifor clan had survived romans and british, it would survive devils and beasts, his grandfather would tell him. richard was devout in their teaching, his family's pride. it wasn't long before he set to traveling with his father on hunting trips to countless countries. john ifor was insistent his son learn the family business as his father taught him and his father taught him and onwards.

he would ultimately end up betraying his family all because of a wolf. richard hadn't planned on it but it felt inevitable. his father killed the wolf's father and he was sent to finish the job. richard couldn't pull the trigger and he went against centuries of training and rhetoric; he let the wolf live. worse still he cared for him. in the end, richard put a bullet in his father and vanished off the grid.

richard is fairly hard to approach, granted he has a soft spot for dogs. naturally he is wary of strangers and chooses to be fairly isolated with a few choice exceptions. it takes a lot for him to open up and talk which helps with his job. it's easier to enforce the rules if you don't appear friendly and in a city full of supernatural creatures there's no one better at guarding a door. three years ago though he was quick to make a career change and finds the solitude of the funeral home more than agreeable.

Nothing.

Richard is lost in his thoughts as he walks through the aisles looking for something to drink, maybe something later when he was walking the dogs for Feyrah. But there’s a bump at his shoulder and breath catches in his throat. For once he doesn’t reach out to try and help. Instead all he can think about is how quickly he can get to the knife at his thigh. Letting out a tense breath, he forces a smile.

After everything that had happened, well, it was habit to shut down and just go through the motion. He hadn’t heard from Rafferty in a long time so there was a sick feeling boiling over in his stomach that maybe this time there was nothing he could do to save him, to save his wolf. He’d done it so many time before and now? Now he was helpless.

Richard didn’t like helpless.

Which is why wordlessly he ends up back at the mortuary and heading upstairs with the dogs crowding his heels excitedly. There’s takeout hanging off one arm and a six pack assortment of wine in the other. Dropping it onto the coffee table he’s quick to circle the table. His boots are downstairs out of habit, left by the door so he doesn’t track god knows what from the city through the halls. And now - Richard is dropping onto the couch next to her and wordlessly drops his head into her lap.

-

Douglas’s lips pursed together, pulling into a thin line as he restrained himself from growling over being touched by this stranger. What came out of his mouth next caught him off guard, but simultaneously put him at ease. It was enough to silence him, and keep him from walking away. Clan Ifor, he vaguely remembered hearing that name before, but his interactions with other clans were rare unless Charles was doing business. They often kept to themselves. 

“Charles really only cared about his ways,” Douglas replied, pausing for a moment as he felt strangely unequipped for this conversation without Charles present or in the next room over. A part of him feels seen, which was both relieving and frustrating. “But yes, I’m a Muntz.”

“I don’t know about that,” he said, instinctively putting an arm’s distance between the two of them. He paused before continuing, the words he was about to say bitter on his tongue. “Charles is dead. It’s just me and my athair now.” 

“Yeah yeah, Muntz being superior. Heard that before half a dozen times from some wolf that worked with my cousin for a time.” A huff of amused laughter slips free and he keeps walking along, making room for the wolf next to him without thinking about it. Talk about surprises. It feels a little comforting and a little alarming knowing parts of his past were catching up. Made him wonder what else found its way into Los Santos. I’m a Muntz.

He remembered seeing some tawny haired wolf snarl those same words. Funny how he never thought twice about it until now.

A brief glance and he can tell the kid doesn’t trust him. Good, he can’t help thinking as he sighs and leads the way through the streets. Means that Muntz wolves haven’t grown soft. Or the wolf was afraid Richard might reach out and do something. Either way, it was smart. Trained. If he was ten years younger he might’ve been curious enough to press. Now he just figures he’s buying the kid some chinese food and maybe having a chat as he leads the way into the Underground Market through a graffitied arch.

Charles is dead.

“Well shit.” There’s genuine surprise there. Being the heir apparent for their respective clans meant they had passing dealings here and there. His father insisted on alliances and using people in a way that repulsed him but from what he remembered Charles was, well, decent. Richard sighs, shaking his head as he heads down the stairs. “He was a good man, shame to hear that.” A glance and he tilts his head to look back at the kid. “Yknow,” he starts with a fleeting smile, turning and continuing down.

“You walk just like him.”

-

Scanning over the male, she wanted to be sure she got his features memorized, simply finding it odd to stumble upon him. After all it wasn’t as if the conservatory was a popular place in the middle of night, “Not intruding so much as surprising. We aren’t known for being an overly popular place to spend time after dark, the rare plant lover time to time. But it seems I might have surprised you just as much.” She notes with a small smile to hopefully convey that she hadn’t meant to. She didn’t like to judge a book by its cover but he didn’t seem overly interested in the plant life. Though in her personal opinion that didn’t mean much, anyone could make a good excuse for being there. It made for a nice walk around without the risk of rain or the stink of the city offending. “Rikki Dune, I work here at the conservatory.” She offers out her hand in greeting.

“You uh, yeah I wasn’t expectin’ the company.” Richard feels a breathy laugh slip free, head dipping as he scuffs his boot against the well worn wooden path. If he was honest he lost track of time and didn’t think anything twice of finding a bit of quiet. Watching her a moment, there’s that quiet appraisal he can’t help even if he tried. Little details people like him were taught to spot. But she just seems, well as odd as it seems for Los Santos of all places, peaceful. Maybe he was just being stupid being wound up and wary all the damn time.

Rikki Dune. Ah so he was the one trespassing this time around.

A small smile is offered and he takes her hand easily. “Apologies for ruining your night then, Miss Dune. Guess I got lost in all this - “ A mild gesture is given when he lets go, motioning towards the plants around them before shoving his hands in his pockets. “Richard Aemon, I work at de’Mor Mortuary.”

Talk about a wake-up call. Here he thought the city was dull and he was resigned to a life of monotony. Not that coming to the mortuary was dull by any means. Lately their recent clientele was coming in with stranger and stranger wounds. Sometimes he’d catch himself meeting Feyrah’s gaze across the metal autopsy table and he’d have to bite back questions.

They weren’t those people anymore.

So what if the wounds looked similar to wolf claws but there was traces of witchcraft? It wasn’t their job to dig up the why, only the how, and Richard would burn it all away at the end. It’s a kid this time and a muscle jumps at his jaw. “They were fourteen.” Voice rough and expression dark, he stands there looking over the serene of one Oliver Wates late out between them.

“Just a kid, Fey.” Makes him think back to the wolf kid he’d snatched out of the street and it feels too much like coincidence. “Just a fuckin’ kid and no one wants him.” Of course a Tsavos orphan would go overlooked and forgotten. A muscle jumps at his jaw and he shakes his head, covering them up with a sheet once more and going about finishing tying the toe tag and grave bell before circling around. Handing her the paperwork for the seemingly endless file cabinet, Richard shakes his head. “This is the fourth one this month, you gotta- you gotta admit there’s something right? I ain’t crazy am I?”

-

He was distracted. Though he’d never admit it.

His head wasn’t interested in research or studying or training. He was interested in Kalea. Douglas had only just begun to explore city life and make friends when Arthur showed back up. Reluctantly, he allowed him in again, but it was still strange - familiar, yet uncomfortable. His warmth gave him goosebumps, but it disarmed him for his stern moments, his lessons. It  made the hair on the back of his neck stand on end, and his muscle tense - until a careful manuever of words found the most vulnerable point of his heart, weakening his pride. Since he was a kid, he remembered this. His athair and Charles were always right.

As strange as having Arthur back was, something stranger was throwing him for a loop. A girl had caught his attention, and he wasn’t completely sure why.  He’d never been particularly interested in anyone - with how much they used to travel, he’d given up trying to make friends a long time ago. But now that he’d been in one place long enough, he started to pay more attention. Then he saw Kalea, and he’d never gotten her smile out of his mind.

Douglas was distracted, stuck somewhere between thinking about how to extra the scent  gland of a fire salamander without it exploding in his face and when he’d get to see her next when suddenly something yanked him back from the street. He was about to react defensively when a car narrowly sped by him and he back stepped. He regained his bearing and blinked a few times as he looked around at the person who had snatched him from the street.

“I would’ve been fine,” he started immediately, a slight furrowing of his eyebrows at the comment. “…But thank you.” Prideful, but not without his manners. He starred him at him for a long moment. “Do I know you?”

“Sure kid. You would’ve been just fine.” A little tap to the guy’s chest with his knuckle and an amused smile surfacing before he could help himself. Werewolf durability would’ve meant that a little love tap would just mean a couple weeks laid up. That’s if he can still tell a wolf by the smell of them. The gait was right for one of the Muntz hunting dogs at least. Richard isn’t too sure who let him out to play but he knew when someone was distracted.

It was something he recognized from those first few weeks with Rafferty.

Maybe it was cause of the old wolf he found himself meddling in the affairs of wolves. One day it was going to bite him in the ass, just like Victor said. For now though he’s content to huff a laugh and shake his head. Always so damn prideful. And here he thought it was just the Muntz hunters that had that airy sort of holier than thou demeanor. Richard always laughed to Raff that it was a good thing he never adhered to his father’s teachings. Maybe he would’ve been just like this kid here.

“Tá aithne agam ar do theaghlach.“ I know your family. His Gaelic is rusty but it rolls off the tongue. Tilting his head he’s watching the young wolf and can’t help a bark of laughter. “Oh wow, you’re young then. First thing our orphans are taught are the other clans and their ways.” Richard gives a nod towards the sidewalk and sets to walking a few steps before slowing to glance back at the wolf. Touching his chest, there’s an amused glance given. “Clan Ifor. You’re Muntz right? My cousin worked for them for a time. One of the only clans to work with your kind.”

And maybe it’s sentimentality. This young wolf looked a lot like Raff did in those woods; big eyes and wary caution. Richard knows he ought to just head back to the mortuary and keep to his schedule. Work, lunch, work, home, sleep, repeat. It was safer but -

“Guess that makes us something like cousins.”

Location: Conservatory of Flowers When: Evening, (open to anyone)

The conservatory was usually filled with people during the day and she could certainly understand why, seeing the plant life and flowers through the windows of bright sunlight was always a breathtaking sight to be sure but Rikki was looking forward to seeing some sights that could only be seen during the night. On and off she had been going to check on the blooms, she was used to having the time on her own so when another set of footsteps caught her attention the familiar couldn’t help but put up her guard. “Late night stroll is it?” Taking a step back she couldn’t help but think about the missing around the city.

Walking helped him clear his mind. Being down in the quiet of the mortuary was a far cry from the conservatory on the weekend. It was like the whole city collectively decided to get together and forget about the people missing through the city. People didn’t want to acknowledge the death through the streets or the lingering scent of iron down in Tsavos. Richard was pragmatic; the council was wavering in power and whatever was growing in the city was larger than just the mayor’s underhanded dealings. At least that’s what Feyrah talked about when they were lacking on things to say over the corpses.

So lost in his thoughts, he doesn’t realize he’s not alone on the walkway headed towards the rainforest biome. Richard didn’t even see her and it has his stomach twisting in cold alarm. Maybe he was just getting rusty. “Uh, yes ma’am. Something like that.” A huff of laughter slips free and he runs his fingers along the path’s railing, tapping his fingers a moment against well worn bronze. “Don’t mean to intrude at all.” 

It ain’t often that you find another hunter’s legacy wandering the streets looking like a kicked dog. It’s rarer still considering he ain’t even trying to look for the kid. But no one in Los Santos likes to pay attention when they’re driving and everyone has some kind of death wish.

Guess today was the day he put his foot in something.

Fingers circle the boy’s arm and yanks hard enough to pull him out of the way of the car swerving just a little too much. A streetlight groans and sways from the contact but the wolf is unscathed. Richard doesn’t need to look long to tell that whoever this kid is he’s been trained. Clans talked and his was well connected where the Muntz had been withdrawn and closed off. It takes him a minute not to think of him as a child but those doe eyes and lack of awareness has him thinking of some floppy eared stray at the pound. Feyrah would fucking love him.

Jesus. Kid or not he probably had a few kills under his belt. But--

Where: Some alleyway in Tsavo, towards the end of daylight Who: OPEN What: Danny is ever impatient for the sun to go down and will often wait on the outskirts for the final rays to disappear - that’s what he’s doing now and your muse runs into him. If we haven’t plotted, feel free to assume connections!

Los Santos wasn’t quite so different than other small towns he’s come across in his long - long- life. The only difference was the fact that the supernaturals ran rampant here instead of hiding under the shadows and guise of humanity and normalcy. Or at least, the way most did. What made it better? The whole mystery of disappearing supernaturals. Most in his case would ward off the city, but Danny couldn’t stay away from something so intriguing. He wanted to figure out what was going on while causing chaos to the shadows of his past. 

The sun was setting - it was taking too long, in Danny’s opinion, and he was itching to be able to freely travel the streets. The abandoned apartments only offered so much entertainment during the day. He could have used the sewer system, but it reeked horrendously and even if he held his breath, the stench always clung to his clothing. The last thing he needed was for that putrid smell to cling to Syd’s old leather jacket. Ever impatient, Danny waited in an alley for the final rays to disappear over the town. His blue eyes analyzed the last stream of light and he let his fingers dance along the edge, ignoring the burn that came from his fingertips when the sun burned him. It wasn’t until he saw the smoke arise that Danny pulled away and inspected the damage. It’d heal rather quickly - perks of immortality.

“Pesky thing,” Danny sighed, well aware that he hadn’t been alone even if he had acted like he had been. For a moment, he let himself miss the days he could walk in the sun and enjoy its warmth. It had been centuries since he’d been able to do that. “Well, the sun’s got about five minutes till it’s gone so that’s how long you have to explain why you’re just standing there like an idiot staring at me.” It was only then that he turned to look at the intruder of his momentary solitude.

pesky thing.

hell hadn’t he heard that same shit from hundreds of vampires before? it’s what catches his attention walking to the ugly duckling out of habit after his shift. streets out here in tsavos were notorious for being unsafe and unwelcome for most humans. things liked to feed on the weak at night. richard catches old habits before he goes through the motion of pulling the .38 he carries with rounds deadly enough to harm most things living in los santos. only as a last resort, he’d promised himself.

though the thing at the end of the alley talks again and a muscle jumps at his jaw. that familiar arrogance has him rethinking his own vow to lay low and not cause a scene.

what was one less vampire in the world?

“five minutes huh?” there was a lot he could do in five minutes. but then he thinks back to the promise he made. don’t worry, i’ll be there after your shift, he’d said to the wolf without thinking about it. richard gives the vampire a quick once over and manages to keep his tone polite.

not in the traditional sense so much as he couldn’t find a reason to listen to those worries and doubts. raff knew he was alive so he had nothing keeping him tip-toeing around like he was walking a minefield. still, it felt like he ought to hold his breath. everything was too good to be true. richard isn’t used to being able to just kiss and make up. there was always some other shoe about to drop.

maybe that was why he was hanging around his old haunt watching the wolf at the other end of the bar work.

the ugly duckling isn’t particularly busy most nights but it’s always tuesday he finds himself here now. trivia night holds an odd sentimentality now. it’s hard to forget old habits and harder still to keep from staring now that he’s got nothing to hide. guess that’s why he doesn’t notice when a figure takes the seat at his elbow until the movement draws his gaze away from skimming the rest of the bar. quiet a moment, he looks them over, tips his beer to take a sip, and shifts a little to make room. maybe it wouldn’t hurt to be sociable.

“long day?”

—

From the beginning, the relationship between the two of them had been something that no wolf or hunter would have ever accepted. They had bred familiarity between them, let each other get close enough to cut the other’s throat, but nothing like that ever happened. It was just a beautiful little friendship, a kinship that Rafferty couldn’t quite explain.

Then, like nothing had ever happened, Rick had vanished as if into thin air. What a shock to the system that was, when Raff could barely even follow the scent. But Richard was a hunter, and he knew how to dodge someone if he didn’t want to be found. Even if that someone was an incredible tracker.

They watch each other for a moment, each one wondering what the other is thinking, but it’s Richard who speaks first, and Rafferty frowns only slightly. His suspicions are concerned with the things that Rick says, and it upsets him though he tries not to let that show on his face as he shifts his weight from one foot to the other behind the bar, reaching over to refill Richard’s glass even though he’s only drunk a little. “I was following something. If I knew that something really didn’t want me to follow, maybe I would’ve stayed in New York.”

He looks at Rick then, leveling his gaze at the hunter as if to cut through him, as if to say I see you. But what does the past matter now that they’re here?

“You’re daft.” Raff replies, but it’s said with a smile that he can’t even try to hide. When he’s happy, he’s always been easy to read. “It’s good to see you. You look like life’s been treating you well, too. What’ve you been up to?” He knows that Rick’s hunting wouldn’t be allowed, not inside the city, so the hunter has to have been feeding himself some other way.

looking at rafferty now it’s almost easy to remember that summer night where everything had felt too warm, especially with the wolf’s lips pressed hard against his own. back then he’d always wondered if it was always gonna end up this way with him leaning forward, fingers digging in at the wolf’s nape and mouth crushing hard enough to bruise. not much terrified him half as much as the fact rafferty hadn’t shoved him away. he’d just had that laughter in his eyes and that same stupid smile on too wet lips.

richard always wanted to write it off. It was easier that way.

but nothing about the wolf was ever easy or simple. there wasn’t a name for what they had and he refused to give it one. even now, even with it feeling like three years meant shit in the scheme of things because ten years ago he’d been staring down raff and love with a gun and hesitating. part of him always hoped that maybe he was just another notch in the wolf’s bedpost, that he meant so little. richard caught himself thinking back on it time to time over the years. a warm guy like raff? he’d thrive anywhere.

it was the best he could hope for once he took off running.

dark eyes skirt away just to watch the bourbon sloshing a bit in his glass. rafferty is generous for a bartender and those treacherous thoughts wander in toying with the idea that maybe he’s not the only one getting special treatment. no, he reminds himself, he didn’t know I was here.

“maybe.”

always been daft when it came to you ain’t i?

there’s that rare kind of laughter in the look he gives the wolf. at least it hasn’t changed that the guy was blunt as he was honest. richard always picked his words but the wolf had a way of getting him talking. bourbon helped.

“been keeping busy.” fingertips tap along his glass and he sighs. “found work. just to make sure I got what I need to get by.” swallowing a bit, there’s a hundred things he wants to say hanging on the tip of his tongue.

but of course there’s some redhead all full of salacious smiles for rafferty and richard finds himself ducking his head, closing off out of practice. she’s giggling, talking about how she just couldn’t miss seeing her favorite hottie tonight so richard takes the time to watch just a moment. usually he would’ve excused himself, choosing to run and let the wolf follow.

three years alone with his thoughts changed things, changed him.

finishing his drink, richard is leaning over the bar instead to grab a sharpie from the cup of pens near the receipts he can spot. the redhead seems flabbergasted when he tugs the cap off his his teeth and takes rafferty’s arm as if he had some kind of right. rolling up the wolf’s sleeve just a bit, he’s writing numbers on his skin before capping the pen. letting go, he returns the marker and manages a forced smile.

“it’s always busy on trivia night. do your job, mutt.”