threadbare soul

Jackson was still stuck in his head as he tried to put the right thing’s in order. It occurred to him that the trio might need to hire some extra help around the store if it meant things were going to look better. “Hmm?” Jack replied glancing back up at the figure. He was shocked someone else wanted to help him. “ Honestly I don’t mind the help. This whole thing is a mess and I’ve spent the last half hour trying to fix this one section” Jack replied gestured to just one section of the store. . 

Hugh thinks to himself that he is less helping this man, more of sating his own obsessive compulsive tendencies. Organization soothes him-- there’s nothing weird about that... right? “It’s alarming that it took you half an hour. Aren’t you the owner of this place?” He asks glancing at the man’s face to place his name. “Perhaps you need a better system? Organizing them by alphabetical order of the artists’ names, and then by the year...” His suggestion trails off. Rules and systems are just how his mind processes things, but that doesn’t mean he gets to give out unsolicited advice to people. “Never mind. I’m sure you’ve got better ideas on how to run your own shop.” 

That made her laugh despite herself. Hearing it from others was one thing, but hearing it and the dry tone of voice from the man himself? Priceless, really. So he didn’t much care for his own existence past the bare minimum, but he did care about this cesspit of a town, otherwise he wouldn’t spend his mortal years serving it. Or in it, one would hope. Hugh Stewart was not a sentimental man from what she had gathered out of the town grapevine, so what was it about this place that made him stay? A mystery for another time perhaps, but she was…intrigued. For now. “Bold words for a mortal man, Mr. Stewart. Then again, I’ve heard from the barista across the street that you’ve been seen drinking one of those cups full of espresso. More than once.” Gemma said, raising an eyebrow at him. No trophy but a job? She made a disappointed noise with her tongue, then favored him with a wan smile. Just enough to show adequate interest, but not enough to kiss any asses. How dedicated was he to his town, and to what facets? A little shit talking might get her some information there, and it was worth expressing. “Why councilman, are you insinuating that the Lethe police aren’t doing a good enough job with their uh…” She pretended to count on fingers, then let her hand fall to her lap again. “Zero actual culprits? Thousands of dollars in property damage? Months gone by with nothing at all? Tsk tsk.” Gemma looked him in the eyes then, eyes narrowed as she nodded at him. “What’s the hitch, Stewart? You have no reason to trust me and you aren’t my kind either. Full disclosure or I walk.”

“What can I say? We mortals are nothing without our baseless confidence and innate hubris.” Hugh replies, the word ‘mortals’ with a particular emphasis. He has never been the type to fear the inevitable death. As a child, he watched the life being drained out of his mother in excruciatingly slow pace. Now, nightmares where he gets the front row seat to repetitive death befalling on different versions of himself is a routine for him. “They call this a ‘heart attack in a cup’ which I think is a false advertisement. Haven’t killed me yet.” Hugh takes another sip of the coffee, watching Gemma and her theatrics with the disinterest of a cat toward something they cannot push off a table. His sigh is riddled with exhaustion and vaporized caffeine. “As much as I enjoy your show, Ms. Sundara, putting words in my mouth won’t serve us any good. The police department has its use, but I’m simply more of a ‘use any tool at disposal’ guy.” He tugs at the end of his lips. He doesn’t flinch or blink at her grandstanding. “Something tells me if you weren’t intrigued you wouldn’t have shown up in the first place. You are always free to walk away.” He waits for her to leave if she so desires. After a dramatic pause, he continues, “you’d be working as an independent expert hired by yours truly, Councilman Stewart, contracted to investigate and capture the arsonists. The finer details of the terms will be governed by this contract.” He says as he pulls out an envelop from his briefcase and hands it over. He wrinkles his nose playfully and adds, “and please, let us refrain from resorting to juvenile terms like ‘trust’. I don’t trust you and neither should you trust me. I approached you because I deemed you an asset. Or was I wrong to assume your capability?” 

Tilda laughs. “Don’t tell her that, she’ll take it as a challenge and then you’ll never get peace from her. She’ll try to make you eat your words - and then I’ll never get any peace trying to avoid getting roped in,” she jests. “Though maybe it’ll persuade you to take a break, you look worse than I do and I’ve got a toddler at home learning to walk.” And break things. Half of their home as charms on it to keep it from breaking, and caps on sharp corners where it’s unavoidable. Her observation, however, has less to do with her own tiredness of motherhood and everything to do with the look on Hugh’s face. His default is tired, and while this is similar shtick, she can’t help finding it off. “Appealing to my pride? Alright, you’ve got my attention, I did think you’d want to do damage control with your new position. I’ve already gotten calls from Sarkissian in that regard.” Her eyes roll at the notion. Everyone knows her love for the council is limited to the ones she knows on it, and even then she tends to regard Hugh’s position as an unfortunate evil. She takes the box from his hands, frowning, though she doesn’t lift the lid on it beyond a fraction before closing it at the first glimpse inside. “Expensive gift, you shouldn’t have,” she says carefully, holding it in her lap. Which person? “Sure you want to do it? There’s no taking this back in a couple weeks if you get cold feet. I’d hate to get on the wrong side of your lover, either.” It shouldn’t take long to dig through whatever he has on it, enough to slap article up before the gala–Hm. Tilda’s lips quirk with amusement. “Could stir the weather so close to the gala. Don’t really care myself, but do you?”

“Who says that it’s not a challenge? I thrive on challenges.” Hugh chuckles with a small shrug of shoulders. “Oh, right, how’s the little one?” He asks rather quickly, evading the topic of his exhaustion. Their shared experience of insomnia has been the staple of their friendship... But she doesn’t need to know that there is more to his particular affliction. “I’m not interested in mitigation-- my talents are better used elsewhere.” Repairing and improving have always been Hal’s specialty, not his. Hugh has always been better at... revenge, payback and destroying what destroys him. If the Council suffers from mediocre leadership and sectarianism, his solution would be removing whatever is the cause. Like cutting out cancer. “In times like this, we gotta celebrate something. You can always interpret it as a bribe for a seat at the wedding.” He says, giving her a small smile with a fraction of sincerity. He is happy for Tilda and Naomi. 

Hugh in good humor isn’t a rare sight, but it still makes her arch a brow, amusement crossing her face. “Didn’t you hear? I’m engaged now so unless you want her to hex your shoes or your perfect ties, you’ll have to be more careful during our secret rendezvous,” she tells him with a laugh, mindful of the receptionist watching them. No one in the Lethean Times can be fully trusted to not gossip, and she’s relieved Hugh is wise enough to know it. All the same, her thoughts swirl with possibilities until they take a seat. She shrugs, unwrapping her sandwich. “I figured as much, you don’t ask to meet me so often unless there’s a reason. What is it? If it’s about the article rehashing last time Lethe had a gala and it’s horrible end - as in someone literally dying - I can’t take it back.” Nor would she. Tilda has no fondness for the council, despite the fact that her friendship with Hugh is, perhaps, one of her few strong friendships.

Hugh raises a brow, mirroring hers. He did hear the news-- small town, rumors travel fast-- but he didn’t have time to properly congratulate Tilda and Naomi. “I’m not afraid of your fiancee. She’s gonna have to do worse than some hexes on my wardrobe.” He smirks with his chin lifted in the haughtiest way one could imagine, obviously joking. Naomi Clover is a powerful witch and he doesn’t need her ire on his back. If only he had power like that... but Hugh shoves off the intrusive thoughts in his head. “What can I say, I’m a busy man.” He says as he bites into the fruit. He doesn’t even like them, to be honest. It’s just an easy meal. “I don’t care what happened at the gala two years ago. I wasn’t even on the Council back then. I actually enjoyed reading your article.” More accurately, he enjoyed the way Delilah reacted to the said article. Even though their lunch meeting is tacitly off-the-record, Hugh doesn’t divulge his actual position on the gala. He trusts Tilda-- doesn’t mean he trusts others in the media. “I want you to have this...” he starts as he pulls out a small, rectangular box from his jacket and hands it to her, “and continue to do what you are amazing at.” Inside is an ornate fountain pen, and a USB, containing whatever dirt his informant could find on Maksim Kozlov. “Consider it an engagement present.” All this cloak and dagger aren't his preferred style, but considering the risk, he has to be cautious.

FULL NAME: Hugh Alistair Stewart NICKNAME(S): N/A DATE OF BIRTH: 22nd December, 1986 NATIONALITY: American OCCUPATION: Lawyer / Council Member for Witches RELIGION: Atheist GENDER IDENTITY: Cisgender ORIENTATION: Homosexual ETHNICITY: Turkish

APPEARANCE

FACE CLAIM: Çağlar Ertuğrul HEIGHT: 6′2′’ WEIGHT: 166 lbs HAIR COLOR: Brown EYE COLOR: Blue DOMINANT HAND: Left SCARS: A thin scar on his sole from stepping on a shattered glass when his father threw a bottle at him. TATTOOS: A series of complicated sigils forming an arcane circle for his oath magic, geas, on his left chest. PIERCINGS: None

BACKGROUND

HOMETOWN: Lethe, Washington, USA CURRENT RESIDENCE: Lethe, Washington, USA FINANCIAL STATUS: Middle-low class EDUCATION LEVEL: High DEGREES: Juris Doctor

RELATIONSHIPS

FATHER: Herbert Stewart MOTHER: Sarah Stewart (deceased) SIBLINGS: Harold “Hal” Stewart SPOUSE: None CHILDREN: None FAMILY: None PET(S): None

PERSONALITY

The Councilwoman nodded slightly as the witch spoke. Even at her age, she is under no delusion that she knows it all, and people like Hugh Stewart are certainly the sort of cerebral individuals from which that the lamia found herself interested in learning from: competent, clever, and acutely aware of the situations around him. Eleonor thought of him, without a doubt, as the most valuable ally within the Council to get things done. “I agree. There is more behind this than simple arson. I’m sure their actions have earned them charges for more than a single felony” she mentioned as Hugh handed over the drafts, since she hadn’t forgotten about the deaths caused by those that started the fires. She began to read through them, absentmindedly nodding, very much in agreement with the notion of punishing any perpetrator of such crimes more harshly. “Aren’t there ways to speed up the process? Say, if a Council vote were to take place”. The lamia was convinced that Yasemin, Lily and Seiha would side with the proposal, either by conviction to better the town’s current situation or due to mere dislike of Maksim and Delilah. Being a minority in such a vote, the werewolf and the vampire would have no choice but to yield to democracy.

Hugh’s admission that he was done playing by the rules piqued her interest and she regarded him with a hint of curiosity. She had never been a stranger that rules sometimes became shackles, and it seemed this was the case the Council had found itself in while attempting to maintain grace against individuals like Maksim and Delilah, both conniving and threatening in their own particular ways. “Sounds more efficient than what our dear Delilah suggested” the lamia said, appreciating the finesse of having a group of skilled people apprehend the criminals wreaking havoc in Lethe in a stealthier fashion, rather than use the townspeople as a goddamn bait during Delilah’s precious gala… “So this group of… expert contractors- how exactly would they operate?” the Councilwoman asked, leaning forward and lacing her fingers together over the desk. Eleonor would be lying if she said she wasn’t even a little bit interested in learning what else Hugh was planning in regards to Maksim, but accepted to kept in the dark. At least for now.

“Exactly. The reason why they choose to commit a crime should matter in the system.” At least in several states in the US, the criminal law not only punishes illegal acts but also malicious intents. That is why murder charges come with heavier sentences than manslaughter. On the other side of the examples would be self-defense or any other justification. Of course, the purposes of the said punishment can defer depending on which school of thoughts you follow. Hugh’s perspective is closer to deterrence or retribution than rehabilitation. “If we can secure votes from other Council Members, sure, but even if it passes the vote as fast as it can, it will till take time to agree on content, definitions and other details of each article... and that’s the part we can’t exactly brush aside.” He sighs, rubbing his temples as another wave of migraine washes over him. It would make his life so easy if everyone could just follow his directions... or make them follow by force if necessary. It takes a moment or two before he realizes how violent that his own thought was.

Hugh arrived 2 minutes before the lunch break at the Lethean Times lobby. He has been standing there without a word, making the receptionist very uncomfortable. In his hand is a brown bag, and he stares at his wristwatch until Tilda Ballantine shows up. “It is quite unbecoming of a proper lady to keep your date waiting, Ms. Ballantine.” He jokes dryly. They both know this is a business call, but Hugh is savvy enough to mask it as a harmless lunch date. Without wasting a second, he strides out of the lobby toward a secluded bench around the building. He flops down and opens up his bag, pulling out a granola bar, an apple and a banana, a can of Redbull which is his lunch. “So, I’ve got a favor to ask you.” He cuts to the chase, peeling off the banana. 

Ele’s lips tugged up into a smile, the kind that’s formal and somewhat detached, and she nodded. She could always count on Hugh to get straight to the point, and frankly, she appreciated how everything about him seemed to aim to efficiency. “No argument there” she said casually, glancing out the window as the witch Councilman went ahead to make himself some coffee. Her opinion regarding Maksim was no secret, she was one of the Council members that openly opposed him whenever she disagreed with his stance, which happened to be more often than not. “I share the sentiment. I’ve said it before and I’ll say it again, it’s completely unacceptable that we haven’t adopted more drastic measures to apprehend the arsonists and that no one has been held accountable for the damages”. The lamia had voiced such an opinion before the other Council members on various occasions, even more so because said ‘damages’ weren’t just property. People had been badly injured, people had died. She was surprised there wasn’t an uproar of indignation from the townspeople because of the Council’s inaction. They were doing a huge disservice to the people they were meant to guide, to help, to serve, by not acting in a more drastic manner than they had for months. “You understand laws and regulations better than anyone else in the Council, Hugh”. Eleonor said, finally turning to face the witch as she spoke. “The town needs to have security legislations implemented because things are clearly not working as they are now. So what do we need to make it happen?”.

Hugh sips the espresso and wrinkles his entire face as he forces himself to drink that nasty liquid. “I agree. And the fact that the Council is, at the end of the day, a political body doesn’t help at all.” Having someone like Maksim in the seat of the Council makes it nigh impossible to devise any swift solution. The jaded skeptic in his head laughs, however, the notion of unacceptability. It doesn’t matter whether they accept it or not-- the reality doesn’t care. What matters is what you do with the situation at hand. That is why he respects Eleonor Castellana. She doesn’t stop at the flimsy, almost empty cry of ‘it’s unacceptable’. She actively seeks solutions. Feeling that dark pleasure of machination creeping back to him, Hugh rests the demitasse on the desk. “My official position as a Councilman and a lawyer, would still be that we move to legislate additional protocols punishing aggravated crimes-- we can’t treat these acts as a simple arson. They are fueled by desires to create strife in and divide our community, which goes against everything this town stands for.” Hugh says as he pulls out the draft articles on revising the criminal code of Lethe to punish this kind of crimes more harshly, penalty including expulsion from the town. He hands it over to Eleonor, perching on the desk with a crooked smile. “But we both know that this legislation isn’t going to go through in the Council. At best, it would take months.” He gives a small, nonchalant shrug. “So off-the-record? I’m done playing by the rules. They certainly don’t. Why should we?” If they want to play the system and exploit the loophole... well, Hugh will gladly stoop down to their level.