The ScreenWriter, The Scribe

When the staff of Warfstache Studios were informed of a new employee, Samael couldn't help but grin. Scribe had actually given him a useful prophecy, that it was Murdock. Naturally, Samael wanted to have a little fun with it.

On the primary screen, in a green document are the clear words, big and bolded:

What a welcome, Murdock tries to shut down the computers. It could’ve been at least a little better of a welcome, maybe with a cake instead, but he’ll take it. Tapping the screens a few times, he holds his breath when he feels something rest against him.

Samael laughs, resting his elbows on Murdock's shoulders. "I'm just fucking with you."

Hissing when he’s touched, Murdock pushes Samael off of him. Deciding to examine the various mushrooms and plants growing within the room instead. “You’ve tried to kill them? Is that just a thing?”

"Oh yeah, it's a thing. It's more rare to have someone here who hasn't." It laughed. "Apparently they're the gods of time's favorite or something. I don't know. They're supposed to be dead but they keep ticking."

“Glad I’ll fit in then.” Taking off his sunglasses for a better view of the room, he pinches the bridge of his nose. Blood has burst in his irises again, making the room a bit too fuzzy for his liking.

Samael rests his head on his hands, laughing. "Yeah, why do you think I was so insistent on you not stabbing me? I don't have the courtesy to play dead."

“Probably would’ve gotten some fucking curse from you if I did. You’re like one of those haunted roadside attraction, waiting for a chance.” Letting one of his knives gently move across the desk, he tries to ignore the constant shiver that goes up his spine in this room. Probably just nerves from finally having a real job.

Samael cackled. "Oh if it's not a curse, it's a fungus!"

“Be a better food source than some of my usual..but you can see that later. You alright there?” Stifling a laugh, he offers a hand back for it to grab and try and get back to its feet.

"Are you... All right?" Samael squints.

“Why wouldn’t I be?” Murdock seriously couldn’t be the only one, in a building full of supernatural beings, to be the only one who’s ever taken a bite from his victims. It was two birds with one stone: Body disposal and free food.

"I don't know, you sounded sad about the cake thing. I'm checking on you."

“Yeah, it’s a little fucking frightening when the hit you were supposed to kill walks out of the furnace like nothing happened. Still check it every night just to make sure no one else decides to crawl out of it.” Sitting down by the table, Murdock is hesitant to touch the cake.

"Oh, you poor bastard." Samael chuckled. "I think they're an outlier."

Pulling out a knife from his pocket, he checks it over a few times to make sure there’s no dried blood on it. Carefully slicing into it, just making sure that there’s no otherworldly surprise hiding inside. “Lucky me. I was a little surprised, they were even encouraging when I couldn’t kill them. I was expecting at least a scream, but there was nothing.”

Samael cackled. "What the hell did you use on them? I want all the details, this sounds hilarious."

Finally, someone who can appreciate the art of his works. Better than some of the people he’s worked for, who frown in disgust as they hear the details. Cowards. They wanted something horrible to happen, and Murdock manages to deliver every single time.

Samael wheezed. "God. That's hilarious. I swung at them with my bat, and they caught it. Their hand cracked a little and then they just asked me to stop. I was too surprised not to comply."

Finn stood outside of an eerie cabin in the woods, a small of curiosity playing at their lips as their eyes scanned the outside for any form of life. One of their sources had informed them that there was... something here.

And that she did, unable to keep from staring open-mouthed at the intriguing creature before them. It wasn't fear in their eyes, however. On the contrary- they seemed as if they were in awe, like a kid that had just walked into a candy store for the first time.

"The Scribe knows many things, and it knows more the closer things are." It backed up, letting Finn enter.

Finn opened their notebook and scribbled down this information quickly, quite impressed by how clearly The Scribe was able to communicate. Most of the time, when she tried to speak with cryptids other than ghosts and demons, it was very unfruitful and mainly consisted of grunts and growls from the other party.

The Scribe perches on the couch, its hands resting on the floor.

They grinned softly, appreciating its willingness to cooperate. “Thank you... and yeah- a glass of water’s okay,” they responded, taking another look at it and humming. 

The Scribe got up to fetch the requested water, shuffling very carefully, as not to accidentally hit or displace something.

Finn’s eyebrows raise in surprise, and they write something else down before looking back over at The Scribe again. “You’re in a human body?” they asked, clearly shocked. 

"It is akin to lycanthropy, perhaps. It does not trigger based on time of day, however." The Scribe explained.

Finn scribbled a rather quick and messy sketch of The Scribe’s face, before writing down what The Scribe was saying to her. “What triggers the transformation, in that case?” they asked, a curious smile playing at their lips. 

You're going to have to tell them something.

“Oh?” Finn hummed, deep in thought as they hastily scribbled this information down. They knew a minimal amount of information about human systems, but they had never encountered a supernatural entity that experienced alters. This raised so many more questions, but they decided that they should do their own private research on that specific matter instead of asking potentially invasive questions. 

"Pitch Lovelace is also a system. They have not stated this as it did not seem relevant on last meeting." The Scribe announces, before swishing its head back and forth for a moment.

Their eyebrows raised, surprised that they hadn’t realized this sooner. Still, since it wasn’t terribly relevant to their business with Pitch, Finn decided that they wouldn’t ask them about it unless the topic came up in conversation. 

"The Acolytes tend to keep to themselves if possible." It chooses its word carefully. "They mostly stay at home, or in their office at the studio."

“‘The Acolytes’... that’s what you call them?” Finn wrote something else down, their handwriting becoming a bit too messy to read. “Am I allowed to ask for their names, or is that too personal?” They were still completely unaware of the internal conversation that The Scribe and Samael were having, but they were starting to wonder if they would get a chance to speak to these “acolytes”.

"The Acolytes rarely go out. If they do, they pass off their abnormalities as eccentric accessories. They tend to interact with other paranormal entities."

"Could you describe Samuel and Samael to me?" she asked, tilting their head and scribbling their names down quickly. "Personality wise, I mean."

Uh oh, what now, genius?

Finn gently took the pictures, looking over them with intrigue. They were both clearly visually different from The Scribe, and she couldn't help but be a bit disappointed that she couldn't meet the two of them yet.

"Dormancy is a term used to describe when an alter is not active in headspace or front, like taking a long rest. It can be due to any number of other reasons. It is like a volcano, it can last a long time, but never permanent." The Scribe carefully took the photos back, putting them away.

Finn's eyes widened slightly, clearly surprised that The Scribe was older than ninety years. "I... may I ask how old you are?" they questioned, their head tilted and their pen at the ready. Sure, it was difficult trying to tell how old people were- especially when they weren't human- but they wouldn't have guessed that The Scribe was much older than forty.

"The body is 133. It was born in 1890, five years before the commercial public screening of the Lumière brothers films in Paris. Considered the breakthrough of cinematographic motion pictures." The Scribe explained.

"I see..."

"Safety." Samael grinned, undoing the blindfold. "Oh, but it didn't work. Killed lots of people."

Finn was confused for a moment, furrowing their eyebrows slightly as they tried to figure out the reason for the sudden energy change, but then they realized what was happening and their expression softened.

Samael shook Finn's hand. Its hand is cold. Fingernails overgrown, but not talons like Scribe.

When the staff of Warfstache Studios were informed of a new employee, Samael couldn't help but grin. Scribe had actually given him a useful prophecy, that it was Murdock. Naturally, Samael wanted to have a little fun with it.

On the primary screen, in a green document are the clear words, big and bolded:

What a welcome, Murdock tries to shut down the computers. It could’ve been at least a little better of a welcome, maybe with a cake instead, but he’ll take it. Tapping the screens a few times, he holds his breath when he feels something rest against him.

Samael laughs, resting his elbows on Murdock's shoulders. "I'm just fucking with you."

Hissing when he’s touched, Murdock pushes Samael off of him. Deciding to examine the various mushrooms and plants growing within the room instead. “You’ve tried to kill them? Is that just a thing?”

"Oh yeah, it's a thing. It's more rare to have someone here who hasn't." It laughed. "Apparently they're the gods of time's favorite or something. I don't know. They're supposed to be dead but they keep ticking."

“Glad I’ll fit in then.” Taking off his sunglasses for a better view of the room, he pinches the bridge of his nose. Blood has burst in his irises again, making the room a bit too fuzzy for his liking.

Samael rests his head on his hands, laughing. "Yeah, why do you think I was so insistent on you not stabbing me? I don't have the courtesy to play dead."

“Probably would’ve gotten some fucking curse from you if I did. You’re like one of those haunted roadside attraction, waiting for a chance.” Letting one of his knives gently move across the desk, he tries to ignore the constant shiver that goes up his spine in this room. Probably just nerves from finally having a real job.

Samael cackled. "Oh if it's not a curse, it's a fungus!"

“Be a better food source than some of my usual..but you can see that later. You alright there?” Stifling a laugh, he offers a hand back for it to grab and try and get back to its feet.

"Are you... All right?" Samael squints.

“Why wouldn’t I be?” Murdock seriously couldn’t be the only one, in a building full of supernatural beings, to be the only one who’s ever taken a bite from his victims. It was two birds with one stone: Body disposal and free food.

"I don't know, you sounded sad about the cake thing. I'm checking on you."

“Yeah, it’s a little fucking frightening when the hit you were supposed to kill walks out of the furnace like nothing happened. Still check it every night just to make sure no one else decides to crawl out of it.” Sitting down by the table, Murdock is hesitant to touch the cake.

"Oh, you poor bastard." Samael chuckled. "I think they're an outlier."

Pulling out a knife from his pocket, he checks it over a few times to make sure there’s no dried blood on it. Carefully slicing into it, just making sure that there’s no otherworldly surprise hiding inside. “Lucky me. I was a little surprised, they were even encouraging when I couldn’t kill them. I was expecting at least a scream, but there was nothing.”

Samael cackled. "What the hell did you use on them? I want all the details, this sounds hilarious."

Anti had somehow found its way into Pitch's dressing room as they were preparing to film. They were dressed elegantly, looking as if some sort of peculiar royalty. They did not use the mirror, they couldn't, really, applying makeup through practiced accuracy alone.

"... I can't say I feel any different than usual, no." Pitch frowned, growing an eye on their palm to double check their work.

Reaching forward and using the tips of its claws to pluck off one of the blue gems, Anti squinted its blackened eyes at the shiny thing. "I actually wanted to ask you something... but I forgot," he responded with a hum, before levitating off Pitch's desk and leaning on the door.

Pitch stared blankly at Anti, their eye twitching. They stooped down to pick up the gem and re-affix it.

Anti hissed, as if it was a feral cat in an alleyway, and glitched back in Pitch's way, blocking the doorway once again. "Hey, don't fucking pick me up!" he demanded, now pissed off. Its favorite knife appeared in the glitch's hand, and he pointed it at Pitch's neck. "I'm not a fucking kid, you can't just move me around like that."

"If you're not a child, you certainly fooled me. I have to be on set now." They narrowed their eyes. "Just because you can't understand the need to be punctual, it does not mean that I must suffer for it."

As it was ignored once again, Anti let out a holler and drove the knife into the back of Pitch's right shoulder. "Come on, don't be fucking boring!" It pouted. "What happened to the old, powerful Pitch that wasn't too much of a pussy to miss work?"

"Your tastes are an enigma to me." Pitch simply responded, pulling the knife from their shoulder and placing it firmly in Anti's head.

"Excuse me- I have fucking amazing taste," it retorted, flipping Pitch off as the knife was driven into its head. It distorted a bit, hissing in pain as it yanked the blade out of its head. "My hair looked good today, what the fuck is wrong with you?" Black and red blood dripped from the fresh wound in Anti's head, down its neck and onto its t-shirt.

"What's wrong with me? I could ask you the same question. You attacked me first." Their red aura crackled.

"Hey, fuck you!" Anti, as expected, floated after Pitch and started flicking the side of their head repeatedly. "You don't get to just walk away! What about our fight? I wanted to fight you!" he hissed. "Come back and let's fight!"

"I don't! I don't want to fight you, I want to do what I was asked and then go home!" They growled.

"Aw, come on! You never used to do boring shit like working when I fought you before," it whined, glaring at the cane as it was pushed away. "It's not like a dumb role is more important than spending time with cool motherfuckers like me anyway!"

Samael waved cheekily in response.

Anti growled as Pitch started pushing it towards the door, swatting the end of the cane off of himself and pointing its knife at Pitch. "Hey, don't put your fucking cane on me!" he snapped. "That's demeaning as hell- I'm not some dumb teenager you can just push away, I'm a grown ass adult!"

"Oh, god forbid I care about something that doesn't involve you, right? God fucking forbid I have a life outside of you." Pitch catch aside their cloak, voiding it. "God forbid. God forbid."

"Oh, don't you fucking dare call me jealous," he spat. "I'm perfectly fucking fine without some demeaning job, unlike you!" It wasn't perfectly fucking fine. "And if you don't shut your fucking mouth, I'm gonna make you regret ever accusing me of being 'jealous'."

"I'll stop when you stop acting like it, you insufferable brat." They hissed.

Anti gripped the knife as it was stabbed through its hand, utilizing this moment to backhand Pitch and cut their face with the part of the blade that was sticking out of the back of his palm. "You piece of shit!"

"Well maybe if you didn't carry yourself like an impudent teenager, I would treat you like an adult, but you're so quick to pin your problems on me,I can't really tell."

Anti screeched in pain as their claws slashed across its chest, wheezing and coughing up blood onto Pitch's shoe while they stomped on its chest. "You fucking asshole," it struggled to speak, voice gargling as blood bubbled from its mouth and dribbled down its stubbled chin. The distorting demon yanked his knife out of his palm, stabbing it into Pitch's foot and kicking their knee.

They fell easily, kicked in their bad knee. Their skin cracked beneath Anti's hands, but it hardly seems to faze them.

Anti had fallen to the floor as Pitch voided themself, yanking out the sword that was still stuck in its abdomen and clutching at the blood pouring from its gut. Fuck, that hurt. It stood up shakily, picking up its knife up off the ground and turning around to face Pitch as they reappeared with the axe.

Pitch swung their axe, the blade glinting, catching all the nicks from wear and tear over years and years.

At the feeling of a small piece of metal being lodged into Anti's heart, it looked down and stared at the brand new bullet hole in its heart, stepping backwards as more of that disgusting slime-adjacent blood began pouting from its chest and mouth.

"I never once claimed to play fair, especially when it comes to annoying little brats intruding on my business." Pitch sneered.

Anti slapped Pitch's hand away, hissing like a stray cat that was protecting half-eaten chicken under a dumpster. "Edward can eat shit for all I care," it snapped, rolling away and letting out a rather dramatic groan of pain. "Fucking motherfucker."

Pitch rolled their eyes, getting to their feet. They would rather be in their dressing room than suffer further Anti's sour behavior.

When the staff of Warfstache Studios were informed of a new employee, Samael couldn't help but grin. Scribe had actually given him a useful prophecy, that it was Murdock. Naturally, Samael wanted to have a little fun with it.

On the primary screen, in a green document are the clear words, big and bolded:

What a welcome, Murdock tries to shut down the computers. It could’ve been at least a little better of a welcome, maybe with a cake instead, but he’ll take it. Tapping the screens a few times, he holds his breath when he feels something rest against him.

Samael laughs, resting his elbows on Murdock's shoulders. "I'm just fucking with you."

Hissing when he’s touched, Murdock pushes Samael off of him. Deciding to examine the various mushrooms and plants growing within the room instead. “You’ve tried to kill them? Is that just a thing?”

"Oh yeah, it's a thing. It's more rare to have someone here who hasn't." It laughed. "Apparently they're the gods of time's favorite or something. I don't know. They're supposed to be dead but they keep ticking."

“Glad I’ll fit in then.” Taking off his sunglasses for a better view of the room, he pinches the bridge of his nose. Blood has burst in his irises again, making the room a bit too fuzzy for his liking.

Samael rests his head on his hands, laughing. "Yeah, why do you think I was so insistent on you not stabbing me? I don't have the courtesy to play dead."

“Probably would’ve gotten some fucking curse from you if I did. You’re like one of those haunted roadside attraction, waiting for a chance.” Letting one of his knives gently move across the desk, he tries to ignore the constant shiver that goes up his spine in this room. Probably just nerves from finally having a real job.

Samael cackled. "Oh if it's not a curse, it's a fungus!"

“Be a better food source than some of my usual..but you can see that later. You alright there?” Stifling a laugh, he offers a hand back for it to grab and try and get back to its feet.

"Are you... All right?" Samael squints.

“Why wouldn’t I be?” Murdock seriously couldn’t be the only one, in a building full of supernatural beings, to be the only one who’s ever taken a bite from his victims. It was two birds with one stone: Body disposal and free food.

"I don't know, you sounded sad about the cake thing. I'm checking on you."

“Yeah, it’s a little fucking frightening when the hit you were supposed to kill walks out of the furnace like nothing happened. Still check it every night just to make sure no one else decides to crawl out of it.” Sitting down by the table, Murdock is hesitant to touch the cake.

"Oh, you poor bastard." Samael chuckled. "I think they're an outlier."

Finn stood outside of an eerie cabin in the woods, a small of curiosity playing at their lips as their eyes scanned the outside for any form of life. One of their sources had informed them that there was... something here.

And that she did, unable to keep from staring open-mouthed at the intriguing creature before them. It wasn't fear in their eyes, however. On the contrary- they seemed as if they were in awe, like a kid that had just walked into a candy store for the first time.

"The Scribe knows many things, and it knows more the closer things are." It backed up, letting Finn enter.

Finn opened their notebook and scribbled down this information quickly, quite impressed by how clearly The Scribe was able to communicate. Most of the time, when she tried to speak with cryptids other than ghosts and demons, it was very unfruitful and mainly consisted of grunts and growls from the other party.

The Scribe perches on the couch, its hands resting on the floor.

They grinned softly, appreciating its willingness to cooperate. “Thank you... and yeah- a glass of water’s okay,” they responded, taking another look at it and humming. 

The Scribe got up to fetch the requested water, shuffling very carefully, as not to accidentally hit or displace something.

Finn’s eyebrows raise in surprise, and they write something else down before looking back over at The Scribe again. “You’re in a human body?” they asked, clearly shocked. 

"It is akin to lycanthropy, perhaps. It does not trigger based on time of day, however." The Scribe explained.

Finn scribbled a rather quick and messy sketch of The Scribe’s face, before writing down what The Scribe was saying to her. “What triggers the transformation, in that case?” they asked, a curious smile playing at their lips. 

You're going to have to tell them something.

“Oh?” Finn hummed, deep in thought as they hastily scribbled this information down. They knew a minimal amount of information about human systems, but they had never encountered a supernatural entity that experienced alters. This raised so many more questions, but they decided that they should do their own private research on that specific matter instead of asking potentially invasive questions. 

"Pitch Lovelace is also a system. They have not stated this as it did not seem relevant on last meeting." The Scribe announces, before swishing its head back and forth for a moment.

Their eyebrows raised, surprised that they hadn’t realized this sooner. Still, since it wasn’t terribly relevant to their business with Pitch, Finn decided that they wouldn’t ask them about it unless the topic came up in conversation. 

"The Acolytes tend to keep to themselves if possible." It chooses its word carefully. "They mostly stay at home, or in their office at the studio."

“‘The Acolytes’... that’s what you call them?” Finn wrote something else down, their handwriting becoming a bit too messy to read. “Am I allowed to ask for their names, or is that too personal?” They were still completely unaware of the internal conversation that The Scribe and Samael were having, but they were starting to wonder if they would get a chance to speak to these “acolytes”.

"The Acolytes rarely go out. If they do, they pass off their abnormalities as eccentric accessories. They tend to interact with other paranormal entities."

"Could you describe Samuel and Samael to me?" she asked, tilting their head and scribbling their names down quickly. "Personality wise, I mean."

Uh oh, what now, genius?

Finn gently took the pictures, looking over them with intrigue. They were both clearly visually different from The Scribe, and she couldn't help but be a bit disappointed that she couldn't meet the two of them yet.

"Dormancy is a term used to describe when an alter is not active in headspace or front, like taking a long rest. It can be due to any number of other reasons. It is like a volcano, it can last a long time, but never permanent." The Scribe carefully took the photos back, putting them away.

Finn's eyes widened slightly, clearly surprised that The Scribe was older than ninety years. "I... may I ask how old you are?" they questioned, their head tilted and their pen at the ready. Sure, it was difficult trying to tell how old people were- especially when they weren't human- but they wouldn't have guessed that The Scribe was much older than forty.

"The body is 133. It was born in 1890, five years before the commercial public screening of the Lumière brothers films in Paris. Considered the breakthrough of cinematographic motion pictures." The Scribe explained.

"I see..."

"Safety." Samael grinned, undoing the blindfold. "Oh, but it didn't work. Killed lots of people."

When the staff of Warfstache Studios were informed of a new employee, Samael couldn't help but grin. Scribe had actually given him a useful prophecy, that it was Murdock. Naturally, Samael wanted to have a little fun with it.

On the primary screen, in a green document are the clear words, big and bolded:

What a welcome, Murdock tries to shut down the computers. It could’ve been at least a little better of a welcome, maybe with a cake instead, but he’ll take it. Tapping the screens a few times, he holds his breath when he feels something rest against him.

Samael laughs, resting his elbows on Murdock's shoulders. "I'm just fucking with you."

Hissing when he’s touched, Murdock pushes Samael off of him. Deciding to examine the various mushrooms and plants growing within the room instead. “You’ve tried to kill them? Is that just a thing?”

"Oh yeah, it's a thing. It's more rare to have someone here who hasn't." It laughed. "Apparently they're the gods of time's favorite or something. I don't know. They're supposed to be dead but they keep ticking."

“Glad I’ll fit in then.” Taking off his sunglasses for a better view of the room, he pinches the bridge of his nose. Blood has burst in his irises again, making the room a bit too fuzzy for his liking.

Samael rests his head on his hands, laughing. "Yeah, why do you think I was so insistent on you not stabbing me? I don't have the courtesy to play dead."

“Probably would’ve gotten some fucking curse from you if I did. You’re like one of those haunted roadside attraction, waiting for a chance.” Letting one of his knives gently move across the desk, he tries to ignore the constant shiver that goes up his spine in this room. Probably just nerves from finally having a real job.

Samael cackled. "Oh if it's not a curse, it's a fungus!"

“Be a better food source than some of my usual..but you can see that later. You alright there?” Stifling a laugh, he offers a hand back for it to grab and try and get back to its feet.

"Are you... All right?" Samael squints.

“Why wouldn’t I be?” Murdock seriously couldn’t be the only one, in a building full of supernatural beings, to be the only one who’s ever taken a bite from his victims. It was two birds with one stone: Body disposal and free food.

"I don't know, you sounded sad about the cake thing. I'm checking on you."