Xx_MadSkeels_xX

"Most people don't." Metzli nodded curtly, reaching for a clipboard tucked under the lip of the reception desk. "But I take good help seriously. I recall you being good with your hands and good at the details I provided." As someone particular, Metzli liked that a lot. Especially because they took great pride in the gallery. Presentation was everything.

"Sort things?" Metzli's brows raised with an idea, and they nodded again as their eyes cascaded down the list of things that needed to be done. Something in particular caught their attention. "There are some submissions I've appraised that need sorting." Metzli canted their head down a hall, walking down it and expecting Sammy to follow. "The pieces need to be labeled and then sorted by era. I will show you how."

He smiled at the compliment, his shoulders slumping in visible relief as Metzli offered the kind of task that would occupy his hands and give him a chance to keep his mind from drifting too far. He followed down the hall, pushing down that uneasy feeling from before and adjusting the bag over his shoulder.

“That sounds... uh, yes, thank you, that would be perfect.” There was a pause before he realized that he still didn’t actually remember this person’s name. Manners, Sammy. Stop acting like it’s your first day on Earth. “I still didn’t get your name...?”

"One moment." Ailsa said, keys clacking on her keyboard as she sent Metzli a quick message.

Someone is here looking for work.

The vampire read the message and thought for a moment. They didn't have the need for more employees, but if someone needed the money, Metzli was inclined to help. Nothing was free, and it spoke volumes to them that someone wanted to lend their time and labor. So, taking a chance, Metzli rose from their desk and made their way to the front, adjusting their vest.

"Hello--ah, wait." The gallerist paused to think, recalling the gentleman's face. "Sammy, yes?" Had to be. With all their training, Metzli rarely forgot a notable face or name. "You helped with the Satin Mourning exhibit." Metzli politely shook his hand. "We unfortunatelywon't have another exhibit for a few weeks, but I'm sure we can find something for you. Are there any skills you prefer using?"

“Yeah, that’s me.” He said, honestly a little surprised. It usually took a few more instances of volunteering somewhere for his name and face to become known. His face fell at the confirmation that they didn’t have any new exhibit with some pressing need for someone to help with setup. “Sorry, I didn’t expect to be remembered, I don’t know your name.” 

Something was setting off an alarm in his head. Something was wrong, although he had no idea what it might be aside from the vague notion that there was a smell. Not a bad one, just... something that made him feel like he was being watched. He tried to shake it off, almost succeeding before he spoke. “I’m mostly just... I like to help move stuff, or sort things, or whatever tedious stuff people like to put off. I volunteer at a lot of other places, I’m not super picky about what I do.”

When God closed a door (many doors, all slammed abruptly shut), he would have to open up a window soon enough. She really, truly couldn’t have asked for a better set-up. And while it was a shame (Sammy’s such a nice man…), she couldn’t risk leaving the fridge empty for much longer. It was a touch different to be operating in the daytime, but… she would figure out something. She had to.

(It’s so much harder having to plan this all on my own.)

“Hey!” She called back, with a little wave. Buttercup let out a friendly woof! and rushed ahead to greet Sammy. The leash wasn’t quite long enough to reach him, so she urged Vidya to pick up the pace. “Buttercup, be nice.”

The dog bounded around, clearly excited, but restrained herself from jumping up on Sammy.

“Yes! I really hoped you wouldn’t mind, she’s always got the energy to burn,” she said. “How is Wanda doing? And the other one, the uh… the cat, right?” Pleasantries were almost too easy — play nice, be friendly, and don’t arouse suspicion.

“They’re good! Wanda’s getting old, but she’s still in pretty good health, all things considered. And Cosmo’s got just about as many brain cells as he’s always had.” Which was zero, in true orange cat fashion. Sammy dug in his pocket for the dog treats he kept on him for hiking, for whenever he bumped into someone else with a friendly pet, tossing it for Buttercup before straightening back to his full height. 

“How are things in the greenhouse? Still pretty quiet?” He wasn’t directly asking her about her dad, but he was still a little curious. He’d met the guy a couple of times, whenever his great-aunt had taken them to evening mass instead of the morning services, and it was weird knowing that someone was there one day and just gone without a word the next. 

Realistically, her dad had probably either skipped town or something bad had happened. Either way, it really sucked for Vidya. They might not click very well, but she was still nice, and she didn’t deserve that sort of thing. 

Where: Stitch

The smell of salt, the sea that lingered in the bar, ingrained in the foundation. Some would turn their nose up at such a smell, but Louisa found it reminiscent, romantic even. It was a bitter sweet reminder of the life she lost. She was grateful for Chiara, for what she had given her and she never squandered her vampirism but in fleeting moments she wondered what it would have been like if she hadn’t gone to the coast that day, if the crude oil hadn’t filled her lungs , coated her body. Who would she be?

She has spent more time as a vampire now than her time under the sea. And in the grand scheme she was still young when it came to other vampires. She’d changed so much already in just over fifty years, what would the next fifty have in store?

Tonight she was doing one part of her job. Listening. If one just sat and listened to those around them talk you’d be amazed what you’d hear. The stigma that came with sitting alone quietly watching the condensation of the cold drink occur did bother her.

His dad hadn’t come home the night before. That was a huge source of worry when he was younger, but now... he was at least old enough to get into the bars he knew to check. Stitch was closest to where the ferry dropped people off, only a short walk from West Port, and that’s where he checked first, even if it rarely ever got results. It was a box to check off before he hit the sports bars that he was way more likely to be. 

It really just was a matter of waiting for whichever one of his dad’s coworkers or drinking buddies that let him sleep off a hangover on their couch texted him back. Checking the bars just gave him peace of mind, on the off chance that he’d ended up hunched over in a booth instead of with someone who might keep an eye on him. Usually, he stepped in, looked around, waved if he recognized anyone, and headed back out to keep going down the list. 

No sign of anyone he knows, no sign of his dad. There was a lady in one of the booths who smiled at what he was pretty sure was someone standing behind him, but nobody was there when he looked. He turned back to her, pointing at himself in a quiet gesture of Me?

When Avi isn't out getting drunk or keeping someone ~company~, he's usually out in the woods. He doesn't like being alone, in fact he would say he hates it. But with the earth beneath his paws and the moon high in the sky, is he really alone? He doesn't think its that simple when you're a wolf.

He's just out for a run, cutting through the trees at a fairly decent speed, snapping branches underfoot and scattering birds from their perches. He's just about to approach the usual absolutely fucking not zone, but before he can turn around to head back, he catches the scent of a boy ahead. Decidedly human. Avi slows, watches from the shrubbery. He assumes the boy will turn back. People usually do at this point. The boy does not, in fact, turn back.

Holy fuck, does this guy not have any self-preservation?

Avi's ears wiggle in irritation. To the left, the woods lean towards fae nonsense that might just break his brain in half. To the right, solid Cailleach territory, aka asshole central. Not exactly safer, either.

Brilliant, he thinks, as he purposefully walks into a shrub in an attempt to alarm the human, to give him a proper signal that he should really turn back. His lips peel back from his teeth and a low growl rolls out of him, right from the base of his chest.

It was supposed to be a short walk, something to clear his head, but it had run long. The sun was sitting lower in the sky, and he was along a path that he honestly couldn’t remember seeing on his past hikes out this way.

They had a whole pamphlet on this sort of thing, something they handed out to tourists who came to Eden Rose to hike through the woods and up the mountain without necessarily doing the proper research. Top Five Most Common Ways To Get Lost In The Woods, And How To Avoid Them. Going off-trail was number one. It would probably be really embarrassing to have to call one of his coworkers and admit that he’d managed to get himself lost. 

And suddenly, the circumstances shifted. The thought of pulling out his phone and calling his coworkers left his mind when something started growling. It was low at first, almost something he’d missed in his muttering to himself, but it became unmistakable quick.

He didn’t deal with bigger wild predators often. He’d been lucky enough to avoid having to do that in his work, but it seemed like his luck was running out. What was the protocol for wolves again?

Friday night meant Kevin's choice of movie -- The Lord of the Rings: Fellowship of the Ring, extended edition -- was playing on one of the tavern televisions, captions on and volume low. Retro beeps and boops intermittently pierced the space, occasionally audible over the grumble and hum of conversation. If you wanted a traditional Scottish pub experience, you would not find it at Rosie's.

Still, Morgan was grateful they'd managed to stay in business for a whole year now, keeping her nights occupied and her family fed and housed. That wasn't insignificant. So to thank the community, and acknowledge the modicum of success she'd found, Morgan was hosting a small anniversary celebration this week at Rosie's. Thankfully, it looked like it was drawing guests new and old (and all at least 18 years of age).

"Hiya," the bartender smiled at the patron approaching the bar. Her recitation of the special deal was a little practiced, she'd already said it several dozen times in the last day or so. "Snacks and mixed cocktails are 15% off, and every order gets a free arcade token for the games. It's a pound if you want five more tokens. Just let me know what I can get for you."

Rosie’s was pretty familiar to Sammy by now. He wasn’t exactly old enough to drink back when he’d lived in Cali, but the arcade and all of the retro theming made it feel enough like home that the bar part basically came second. He’d found it only a few months after it opened, and had proceeded to almost immediately start dragging his friends there whenever he got to pick the location for nights out.

And that’s exactly what he was doing tonight. It wasn’t a group thing, and if this was to anywhere else he might feel a little bad about going to a bar alone, but there was no way he was going to miss the one-year anniversary sale. Not when he still needed something to get that weird dog off of his mind, and sinking an hour or two into bumping SAM a little bit higher on the Defender leader-board after it had been dethroned again was better than lying around worrying. 

Right now, though, someone else was at his game of choice, and he wasn’t going to be that asshole who stands right behind someone to try to crowd them out. He could camp at the bar a bit until they seemed ready to back off. 

“Hey, Morgan! This is a great turnout!” He said, smiling as he sat at the bar. “Can I get the Punch-Out and some chicken Nintenders?”