ˡᵒˢᵗ ᵗᵒ ᶦⁿˢᵗᶦⁿᶜᵗ ;;

The family business. It's a red-hot poker. It's sharpened icicles. A jolt to the hunter's system, and his narrowed eyes looked to the rougarou to see if it had been intentional. Somehow he knew Dean was a hunter; it wouldn't be a greater leap to discover Lincoln knew his true name. The infamous hunter and family of fucked hunters. There was nothing in the man's look or tone that hinted the family business bit was made purposefully. He nearly bit at that, family business doesn't count for shit. Dean refrained. His brother's worried face surfaced to his mind and it was quickly shoved away. Focus on the now, idiot. "Helluva peace."

Bitter and sarcastic, Dean couldn't help let that one slip out. Who knew if Lincoln and his family of freaks did anything. Dean had seen worse places, and he had seen better places. It was the bayou though, and the monsters seemed to thrive just like the gators. Weeping trees, humidity, cloudy bodies of water. He had no familial ties to the place, so everything about the state set Dean on the edge. The hunter didn't appreciate being kicked down like a little gnat. The big dog attitude the rougarou displayed made the hunter feel small and stupid.

Many would agree he was stupid. Stupid, violent, or having a death wish, Dean didn't spit anything back. Like to see you try, only Lincoln was entirely capable of ripping him a new one. Lightning bugs shimmered bright but away from their homes. The moon illuminated Lincoln's body. Dean didn't know if it was his imagination of the supernatural creature's power, but he seemed to shimmer beneath the moonlight. Without thought hazel eyes swam across Lincoln's body. The Mark made his senses keener, not quite to the level of a werewolf, but still better than an ordinary human.

It was some fucked up mix of hormones, pheromones, and supernatural bullshit. Something familiar rumbled inside his belly... coiling hot and tight in his guts. He's a freak, one of Dean's voices said. Another said, so are you. He pretended to look at his car, but it was too dark and far away from him to actually see it. Palm subconsciously moved to cover the Mark of Cain. "No.. I'm just saying. We're not walking there, right? Might as well give you a ride. Or not. You can probably run faster or some shit. Whatever, man. Let's see this fucked up bayou manor of yours and your family. Feel like I'm walking into a southern human sacrifice party."

lincoln   was   slow   and   deliberate   with   his   movement   while   he   followed   the   hunter   to   his   vehicle.   admittedly,   he   had   been   amused   by   how   much   the   man   fought   with   himself.   for   a   long   time,   lincoln   never   understood   the   reason   why   a   human   would   deny   themselves   something   they   craved.   he   understood   they   were   governed   by   law   but   even   that   had   fundamental   roots   in   a   religion   to   which   most   of   them   refused   to   believe   in.   he   should   know,   he   could   smell   it   on   them   as   clear   as   their   sin.   but,   to   be   ungoverned.   wild.   it   was   how   nature   had   made   them.   look   at   the   little   humans,   see   how   they   kill   each   other   over   stupid   shit.

he   admired   the   car.   hands   roamed   over   the   polished   finish   and   once   inside   over   the   dash   and   sits.   the   comment   of   his   family   drew   his   attention   and   he   shook   his   head.   “   m’family   is   dead,”   he   replied   flatly.   he   adjusted   himself,   sunk   into   the   seat   and   became   comfortable   as   he   rattled   off   the   directions   to   the   former   manor   that   belonged   to   his   family   …   the   home   that   had   been   near   consumed   by   the   swamp.   he   didn't   bother   with   a   seatbelt   as   he   rolled   down   the   window   and   rested   his   arm   against   the   seal.   “   there’s   a   big   leech   around   ‘ere   that   runs   things.   these   leeches   ain’t   nothin’   but   a   thorn   in   his   side   and   he   wants   ‘em   gone,   “   lincoln   explained.

Wow. What a place. (What a woman!?) Ash took a slow, boot-clicking walk around the oak table. Admiring it, and the room, yes; but also checking for exits, looking for witchcraft, trying to make a quick blueprint of what she'd just entered. Then she finally turned to take the glass in hand. Didn't guzzle the bourbon down the same way the others had, but raised it in cheers, and took a small sip. GROANED with enjoyment. "That's smooth," she mumbled, happily; if she'd had a dog tail, it would be wagging. Another sip, dragging out the enjoyment of it. With some reluctance, she set the glass down as Lincoln got down to business. "Right, right," she got out her trusted notebook, trying to shake herself a bit more awake, still slightly groggy from her impromptu nap. "Guy we're looking for - Jean-Louis André. Probably dead, gone from NYC, maybe haunting his grandmother; my client. I think who I'm really lookin' for is Richard Jenkins, he and André seem to be old pals gone bitter, sour rivals and bad vibes stalking. Lincy here also said you'd had some trouble in the french quarter, with André's ghost, or something - or that there was trouble afoot somehow; can you tell me a bit more about that? M'am."

alexandria   was   patient   and   polite.   a   soft   smile   kept   as   ash   spoke   and   she   even   held   lincoln   with   her   eyes   not   to   be   impolite   and   interrupt   the   young   woman.   when   she   had   finished,alexandria   clasped   her   own   hands   in   front   of   her   and   nodded.   “   my   knowledge   is   yours,   mon   chérie.   you   are   very   fortunate   as   i   know   both   of   them.   jean-louis   and   richard.   jean-louis   approached   me   some   time   back   for   a   protection   charm,”   she   moved   across   the   room   and   poured   them   all   another   shot.

raising   her   glass   in   honor   of   ash,   she   slammed   hers   back   and   turned   the   glass   over   on   the   table   as   she   swallowed.   “   i   am   afraid,   mon   moineau   that   both   are   dead.   and   i   don’t   mean   to   be   anti-climatic   about   everything   but   so   is   the   one   who   killed   them   both,”   she   smiled   and   looked   between   her   adopted   son   and   the   hunter.   “   since   i   am   the   one   who   killed   them.   the,   uh,   reason   why   your   client   is   being   haunted   is   mister   andré   is   stuck.   “

“   how   d’ya   mean   stuck   ?   “   lincoln   asked.

alexandria   tucked   her   hair   behind   her   pierced   ears,   the   small   chain   that   connected   from   the   helix   piercing   to   the   standard   lobe   jiggling   with   the   movement.   “   well,   that   is   something   that   a   hunter   may   be   able   to   help   with,   “   she   looked   back   at   ash,   her   smile   ever   polite   and   posed,   “   mon   chérie,   are   you   familiar   with   hags   ?   have   you   killed   them   before   ?   “

Ellis' greatest fear was watching those he loved being hurt and killed. Ellis' second greatest fear was dying alone. He had been told a hundred times over that it was a dog eat dog world, but he never knew a dog that ate another dog. Dogs were more likely to be friends with one another in his experience. Maybe they meant the aggressive kind of dogs that wanted to rip apart anything they saw, and Ellis was the unfortunate innocent in a world with bared teeth. His hand wasn't a plea for help... in small part it was, but mostly it was a plea for the stranger not to die. Being left alone would have made him sad and likely would have killed the last bit of hope he had in humanity but he wouldn't have been surprised either. Who would carry dead weight around? Ellis would, though Ellis wouldn't call himself dead weight entirely. He could fight still. He showed it, or tried to, by getting on his two feet.

The way Lincoln spoke to him reminded him of his male relatives; a father figure had Ellis actually known what it was to have a father. He respected orders, and the mix of the warning and his injuries zipped his lips. The Georgian wasn't the smallest man nor the largest though certainly smaller than Lincoln, so he attempted to pull his body tight and small against the other man's. He didn't know where they were going unless there was a fire escape that he hadn't noticed. When realization hit him of exactly what Lincoln was doing Ellis' heart jumped into his throat. What a way to die. Ellis pressed his eyelids tight and hugged his face against Lincoln's chest.

A mangled mess of limbs and infected did not meet them as expected. He felt Lincoln's knees bending and body absorbing the impact from the smooth landing. He felt light headed and it wasn't from the injuries. Eyes opened slowly and then shot open wide to marvel at what Lincoln achieved. He swiveled his head to judge the gap between the two buildings but by then he was already being carried into a safe... semi safe enclosure. Small and tinted windows hid them from view of the infected while providing enough light to see their surroundings. Ellis blinked away his pain. He sat still and obedient while eyes were filled with awe. "Are yuh a superhero?"

he   almost   laughed.   superhero.   why   not   ?   around   them   the   dead   walked,   some   mutated   and   more   deadlier   than   the   last.   if   ellis   wanted   to   believe   he   was   a   superhero,   lincoln   would   let   him.   it   was   better   than   telling   him   the   truth.   the   dead   have   risen   …   and   by   the   way,   supernatural   freaks   exist,   or   did   before   this.   the   hat   had   seemed   important   and   he   could   do   with   clearing   some   infected.   the   rancid   smell   of   death   and   rot   was   an   overwhelming   force   in   the   area.   there   was   at   least   one   witch   and   two   tanks.   if   he   took   care   of   those   three   and   slimmed   the   numbers   a   bit   more   than   ellis   and   him   could   rest   for   a   few   hours.   “   whatever   helps   y’kid,”   he   grunted   and   untied   the   shirt.

“   sit   down   and   shut   up.   gimme   an   hour   or   two.   i’ll   be   back.   “   before   ellis   could   answer,   lincoln   was   out   of   the   door   and   running.   his   hand   caught   the   edge   of   the   building   and   he   used   his   momentum   to   jump   over   the   ledge   and   down   into   the   horde   of   undead   below.   by   time   he   landed,   his   entire   body   had   contorted   and   rippled.   claws   and   fangs   cutting   through   the   wealth   of   the   horde   that   had   clawed   mindlessly   at   the   wall   for   them.   five,   fourteen,   twenty-seven   was   dealt   with   before   he   hunted.

it   took   him   ten   minutes   to   find   the   witch   and   sever   her   head   before   she   could   screech.   another   ten   to   find   the   tanks,   and   fifteen   minutes   a   piece   to   take   them   down.   after   the   battles,   he   was   left   with   a   few   broken   ribs   and   a   busted   arm.   both   had   nearly   healed   by   time   he   made   it   back   to   ellis.   it   had   taken   him   exactly   two   hours   to   clear   the   area   enough   for   them   to   sleep   safely   that   night.

it   had   taken   him   two   hours   to   gather   supplies   that   were   left   behind   and   to   go   back   where   he   had   found   the   man.   he   wore   the   hat   on   the   way   back.   a   change   of   clothes   for   ellis   was   shoved   into   a   duffel   bag,   food,   bandages,   and   firearms.   he   carried   it   all   with   him   as   he   scaled   back   up   the   wall   with   his   claws   and   onto   the   roof   again.

the   mercury   that   had   laced   his   beer   dulled   his   senses   and   his   thirst   for   more   had   been   near   endless.   anything   to   stop   from   feeling   their   loss.   friends   had   tried   to   pull   him   out   of   the   abyss   but   he   longed   to   drown   in   the   drudge.   his   head   killed   him   as   the   poison   started   to   be   pushed   from   his   blood.   sobering.

SHE DIDNT RETURN HIS LAUGHTER, simply raised her brow and shook her head with a small rueful smile. there was always the chance that her friends ( was he a friend? ) might end up on the wrong side of her gun especially the ones like him. in this particular case, she would raise hell if anyone tried to put a bullet in him. it wasnt a far reach though, it was only a matter of time before someone came knocking on his door. it would be a lie if she said that wasnt a part of the reason why she came. friend or not, she had his back like he had hers. she gave her word.

" i could feel them when i landed. a lot of magic in one place, " and death. she could feel that too. it was stronger when it came to those who had power, particularly those tied to the earth in some way. she could feel it in the soil— hell, she could walk to the de la morandière home without knowing where she was going. yet the man across from her felt empty, the kind of empty that was only found in pitch black darkness. fuck, the whole magic wonder twins thing was weird. since she used him as a conduit, there was an acute preternatural awareness of each other that she hadnt planned. sure, technically necromancers were witches but it was still a little unsettling.

those  hollow  eyes  focused  on  her  now,  the  moment  she  had  started  to  speak  about  them.  a  dangerous  look.  there  is  a  twinge  of  his  lip,  a  wolf  in  a  corner  that  did  not  see  her  as  a  friend  in  that  moment  but  …  a  remembrance.  she  must’ve  been  well  loved.  he  had  nearly  struck  then.  the  coil  wound  so  tight  that  the  edges  may  break.  then  she  would  have  been  forced  to  put  him  down.  survival,  her  or  him.  yet,  fortune  was  on  her  side.  in  the  corner  of  the  bar,  a  wolf  who  had  entered  decided  to  talk  loudly  to  his  friend,  who  looked  nervously  over  at  the  table  and  at  him.

“did  you  hear  ?  that  hippie  lovin’  bitch  of  the  bayou  got  herself  and  her  family  killed.  “  the  wolf  took  a  beer,  unaware  of  the  warning  glances  everyone  cast  at  him  and  his  friends  protested.  “  i  bet  that  bitch  got  it  from  the  swamp  brat  she  put  up  with,  “  the  wolf  laughed,  “  i  bet  she  tasted  right  sweet  in  his  mouth  –  what  ?  “

lincoln  looked  back  at  anita.  “  excuse  me  a  moment,  “  he  said.  his  form  moved  before  she  had  time  to  react.  lethargically,  he  moved  to  the  bar  and  without  a  beat  missed,  his  fist  punctured  through  the  wolf’s  back.  fingers  wrapped  tightly  around  his  heart  while  he  struggled  and  screamed  in  pain  with  no  reaction  from  lincoln.  “  i  need  a  refill  at  my  table,”  he  said  –  -  the  heart  ripped  from  its  placement  and  carried  back  over  to  the  table.