Magical Adventures

lokelani had lots of repeat customers. people that came routinely for date nights, anniversaries, to leave flowers on gravestones, and lately a beautiful blonde. she'd lost count of the amount of times the blonde had come in but it was certainly enough to take notice. it didn't seem to matter what the flowers were, only that they were beautiful (almost as beautiful as the woman buying them).

Was it sad to be single and buying yourself flowers just because you happened to doomscroll past a bookshelf that was kind of your current apartment aesthetic? Probably, yeah. Bobbi was just trying this ‘allow yourself nice things’ thing she had been put onto.  

Getting forcefully sidelined at work definitely helped in that. Like a government funded vacation, minus the part where once again the dedicated ‘Definitely not a car’ CIA lookout was still following. 

“Hm? Nah—well yeah? Used to live in the building behind this place a couple years ago, then I moved. Then some sentinels decided my building would look better as a parking lot and well here I am again.” A believable tale as old as time. 

“It... actually does, yeah.” He wasn’t about to explain or even consider elaborating, because this wasn’t about him. Well technically it was, but this was about Liv getting answers she deserved. Plus, that meant more energy to dedicate to story time. 

Because this story was about to be long. 

“It ain’t magic if that’s what you’re asking...” Manny shrugged. “Story I grew up with is how some priests of Xolotl got the idea of stealing the power of transformation from Tezcatlipoca. They were successful, but cursed, as Tezcatlipoca gave them exactly what they wanted... unending transformation but there’d never be enough for them to return to normal. Xolotl had apparently found this funny and so he stabilized the power t’ give them what they wanted. And ‘cause it was so funny that Tezcatlipoca was offended, it came with a deal: spread it to the ends of the Earth. If they refused, he’d just let them continue their unending transformation ‘til their bodies were nothing more than vaguely sentient flesh that felt nothing but pain.”  

“Jesus …”

Eyebrows furrow, and she can’t help but set her fork aside in a vague attempt to settle herself while she listens. It felt … wrong somehow, to act like the conversation was casual. Something you could discuss over eggs like it wasn’t some kind of generally earth shattering information.

None of this was supposed to exist.

A few years ago this whole thing would have driven her generally insane. Ghosts, werewolves, magic, the whole ten yards. Sometimes the old her flickered back to life somewhere in the distant recess of her memory. The self that would have put her foot down and filed this all away as impossible. Sometimes it felt like it would have been easier, to just let the denial back in and let it take over. She knew better, in the end.

Well enough, anyway, to tell herself she’d have to figure out how to google Tezcatlipoca later without having any idea how to spell that. At the very least she’d have to grill Alex about it the next time they were over.

“You’re not about to tell me half the town is werewolves right? Because I feel dense enough already having overlooked you, so …” Her ego couldn’t take a hit like that again, not right now.

“ — and how is it supposed to spread if you’re not out doing any biting?”

She pauses.

“No Jesus here, just some Aztec Gods playing fiddles with their followers.” He shrugged. “Dunno how valid the story is, it was mostly passed down by word of mouth by the elders. One claimed she was old enough to remember getting to meet the priest that started our pack.” Which he always believed was just a bunch of bull, there was no way any of them were ever that old at any time. 

It was a shame that he never got a chance to ask properly, with what was left being buried along in the sands of the deserts like she had asked. Just more history lost to time... 

“Each priest was cursed with a portion of the cycle of life and death that Xolotl commands. Ours is life, so it hides in the blood ‘cause--y’know. Humans drink the blood and become changed, mates are formed to quell the gnawing urge to violently fuck and pop out as many babies as they can... my family had rules in place to have it die with us for a reason.”  

He almost wanted to make a joke about how beast needs, but judging by the look of her that’d probably cause problems. So down the rest of the coffee went instead just so he could make another pot. Fresh coffee always helped. 

“Can’t speak on if there’s any local packs, everyone tends t’ steer clear of the top dog.” He paused, considering for a moment. 

“Partially figured you’d appreciate your privacy. Mostly figured you’d also appreciate not being covered in whatever the hell passes for vaguely sanitary in this building.” He pointed over to his dresser top where Manny had folded up everything into a shopping bag. “Didn’t nose around, before you ask. Cleaned up and sewed up what I could, was more concerned about trying to find where you were bleeding from so it’s probably not my best handiwork.” 

A quiet frown, eyes watching each movement. He really should call an ambulance, but such a... high profile would definitely bring eyes where they didn’t need to be. This was definitely what he got for sticking his nose in this town’s business. 

Fuck me. 

“... Rest. Fact you woke up in the first place tells me I did somethin’ right.” Considering the violent nature of the attack, he had to guess that someone was bound to come back and make sure the job was done. It’d just make sense. 

“You don’t actually have any clingers, if that helps at all….” She trails into silence again, awkwardly clearing her throat in a vague attempt to make it seem like any bit of this conversation was normal. “And I mostly try to fly under the radar because of some past assassination attempts, so. I’m not exactly noticeable, by design.”

Her face flushes, and she has to fight the odd urge to shrink into herself. Now was hardly the time to lean in to her obvious inexperience or obliviousness. With any luck they could flit right past that part of the conversation and never circle back to it again.

“It’s a curse? Can’t curses be broken?” Her head tilts, eyebrows furrowing like she had any real way to catalogue any of this information. Like she could somehow manage to be scientific about it instead of just clueless.

“It... actually does, yeah.” He wasn’t about to explain or even consider elaborating, because this wasn’t about him. Well technically it was, but this was about Liv getting answers she deserved. Plus, that meant more energy to dedicate to story time. 

Because this story was about to be long. 

“It ain’t magic if that’s what you’re asking...” Manny shrugged. “Story I grew up with is how some priests of Xolotl got the idea of stealing the power of transformation from Tezcatlipoca. They were successful, but cursed, as Tezcatlipoca gave them exactly what they wanted... unending transformation but there’d never be enough for them to return to normal. Xolotl had apparently found this funny and so he stabilized the power t’ give them what they wanted. And ‘cause it was so funny that Tezcatlipoca was offended, it came with a deal: spread it to the ends of the Earth. If they refused, he’d just let them continue their unending transformation ‘til their bodies were nothing more than vaguely sentient flesh that felt nothing but pain.”  

“Sure, yeah …”

She blinks a few times in rapid succession. He wouldn’t have been wrong to assume she was reviewing … well, everything. The thousand and one minute signs, the inklings of something different roiling underneath his skin. It would have been funny if she hadn’t been objectively pissed at herself for not putting two and two together at any point.

What a terrible god damn psychic she was, couldn’t even hash out what was right in front of her.

“Uh …” She trails into silence, nodding absently. It wasn’t like she didn’t get it, she hadn’t exactly ever figured out how to spit ‘I see dead people’ out in casual conversation, so it wasn’t like she could hold it against him in turn. She does wish she had a shot of vodka, or a glass of wine, or literally anything to momentarily disrupt her sudden spiral. Breakfast will have to do.

“Sorry, have you always — ? I mean, were you born like that, or …?” Maybe that’s too personal to start with right off the bat, but it’s the only question she can process at the moment, fingers reaching to fiddle with the offered fork just to keep her busy.

“Yep.”

Easy enough of a start at least, though her own admission had him raising a brow between scoops of egg. “... Huh. Surprised y’ haven’t had a pup or three wanting to pass on some message ‘bout how I’m a fucking failure then.” For him it was some light deprecation. For anyone else that was probably the most alarming thing he could’ve said.  

Oh well, more food to stuff that can of worms. 

“Seventy.... three, I wanna say and no, not by biting. It’s by blood. The curse is just—weirdly virus-ish? I dunno, I ain’t smart enough to understand most of how it works.” Manny chewed idly on another scoop and thought for a moment. It was a lot, and hell he was pretty impressed by the fact Liv hadn’t just bolted out almost immediately. 

do you remember what you said to me on our wedding night?

can we do it again?

you said that god brought us together for a reason.

the devil exists. god exists. and for us, as people, our very destiny hinges upon which one we elect to follow.

we've been called ghost hunters. paranormal researches. wackos.

when the music stops, you'll see him in the mirror standing behind you.

want to play a game of hide and clap?

there's a case in long island he'd like to discuss.

diabolical forces are formidable. these forces are eternal, and they exist today.

the fairy tale is true.

look, i gotta tell you, you have a lot of spirits in here, but this is the one that i'm most worried about because it is so hateful.

sometimes it's better to keep the genie in the bottle.

hear that?

i don't hear anything.

that explains a few things.

what's an inhuman spirit?

it's something demonic.

there's a lady in a dirty nightgown that i see in my dreams.

it scares us just thinking about it.

when you hear it, you're gonna think we're insane.

try us. please, from the start.

everything you see here is either haunted, cursed, or has been used in some kind of ritualistic practice. nothing's a toy.

don't touch it.

stop farting. it really stinks.

don't blame that on me. it's you.

i'd take a guy with a gun any day.

yeah, i don't know what her problem is.

we can't leave her out there.

we keep everything locked in here.

feel free to look around. just don't touch anything.

this clock stopped at 3:07 and so did the one in the hallway.

that's weird.

there's something horrible happening in my house.

If it wasn’t Maze, he wouldn’t be asking. Lucifer much prefers to handle these things himself, after all, but even the devil knows when to call in help and so far nothing he does has turned up anything useful.  

They may not always get along but, Lucifer knows if anyone has any luck of finding her, it would be John Constantine. If he finds her and helps her get back safely, maybe he’ll even forgive any past transgressions in their history. Mazikeen means the world to him, and he’ll tear down both heaven and hell to get her back. Nothing will stand in his way. 

“List? Oh, no, no. I’m going with you.” If Constantine thinks he’s going to hand him a list and sit around to wait for John to come back? He’s deeply mistaken. He will not sit idly by while someone so precious to him could be in an intense sort of danger. 

“Did--did you not just friggen ‘ear what I said?” No, he did. He definitely did, but this was Lucifer. And this was Lucifer’s literal right hand that was missing. Of course the possibility of near extermination for deciding on a ‘retirement plan’ wasn’t about to stop him any more than any other normal selfish-riddled day...  

“Gettin’ me tadger twisted off all ‘cause no one’s gonna listen to ol’ Johnny... par for the fucking course.” A groan, suddenly the tabletop seemed like the most solid thing in the room and so John just sort of... thunked his forehead against it. Alright, this was now easily about to be number one on the list of things he’d be doing to piss that guy off. 

 He waved a hand. “Fine. Fuck it. Just—make yourself a little less you while we’re down there. Can get out on me own just fine, don’t fancy finding out who’s wrath you’d be risking if you’re felt.” There’s a pause. “... Can’t go down your way either. He’ll pick you out faster than you can spout the ol’ litanies.” Luckily, John had his own ways. 

“MacCready,” she echoes, committing it to memory. “So you’re a freelancer, huh? Is guarding caravans your usual tune, or do you have a finger in more than one jello cake?”

On the road, one meets a number of precarious people, but Lucy can’t say the armor sounds familiar. Sounds like she’s been lucky, so far. And that’s saying something.

An assaultron? Well, sugarfoot…

“Mercenary work pays better than you’d think, though this one’s Kessler cashing in a favor I owe her.” The fact that no one else seemed willing to take on the job? Probably smarter than he was, but Mac didn’t like the idea of new variables already choosing the shoot first option on one of the few places that’d be open to business. 

The answer hadn’t been one he expected, but it was something worth filing away for now. “Well I took care of him all the same but we’ll  have to keep an eye open. Where there’s one raider there’s bound to be more—unless he was a scout.”  

Which wasn’t a good thought and was enough for MacCready to grab the binoculars on his waist. Look, keep walking, gather as much of a feel for whether or not they were marching through a trap. Simple enough. 

"not a killer," she says lightly. "and you? because you certainly don't belong with the cops out there." looking away from the body on the floor, cassidy turned to look directly at the man that had just walked in. he didn't much look like a hunter either, making her all the more curious.

“Nah but the bloke who’s lookin’ like he’s gonna lose yesterday’s dinner in the gutter likes t’ pay me a couple hundred quid when he finds something he doesn’t know and don’t wanna file in th’ case log.” The piles of books stacked in the hall that had his ears ringing just for existing near them was weird enough, and an understandable reason for why he got roped in already. 

Didn’t need to burn any part of the forty-five minute time limit to figure out why that was. 

The copper and bile was thick enough that to anyone with a weaker constitution it might’ve knocked them cold. John was willing to take it as a sign that there was definitely more at hand than the victim waking up to their neck spontaneously clawed out. “Y’ find a key for that?”  

"Cute?" Robby questions with an arched eyebrow. He won't deny that maybe he is kind of desperate. It feels pointless when they both know the need that Robby feels right now borders on desperate. The way he wants so much more than what Jack is currently giving him, and his words spoken reek of desperation, too. Robby can't be bothered to care. 

Something tells him Jack likes him desperate, anyway, and that's just fine with Robby. 

Wide desire filled brown eyes that seem to be plead without Robby fully meaning to, flicker down to Jack's hand, watching as Jack trails his own hand down his neck and shoulder.   

Yeah, he wants Jack's hand, but he wants so much more than that, too. He wants Jack's lips on his own, he wants Jack inside of him. He wants everything and fuck, he feels greedy, but he doesn't care either. Not when it comes to Jack and having him. 

Jack's hand lifting stops Robby from moving forward like he wants to. Instead of disobeying, Robby decides he's more of in a mood to obey him. Besides, he likes the way Jack looks at and watches him. Like he's the only man on this earth that fucking matters and how can he not chase that high? 

He obeys almost instantly. The hoodie comes off first, tossed aside, followed by the t-shirt, jeans, and underwear that he all tosses somewhere to the side to expose himself completely to Jack. He's achingly hard, cock fully erect and leaking once he settles back down in his spot. 

“Yeah. Cute.”  

Not meant to be demeaning in any sense, more that it was... fascinating, no matter how many times that he was the one that got to see Robby like this. Still new, still something just for his eyes, Jack would be a downright fool to not treasure this sight like any other. 

There was probably something clever to be said about age and beauty, but right now Jack didn’t want to even try and think about it. 

“You’re doing so good, Robby...” A slow inhale, definitely trying to not sound as heated up as he was though it was hard not to. Jack needed to find some kind of focus but it was already pretty hard to try and keep cool. “Good... good... you can stop now. I don’t want you to finish just yet.” 

He replaced his hand against bare skin, using his touch to draw Robby back up. Having to reach upwards for a kiss wasn’t much of a problem, but it definitely made the scene he was trying to paint just a bit silly. Oh well, Jack got this far, he could make up the rest. “I’m gonna take you outta your own head if you’ll let me... and when you finish, you’re not gonna know where you are.” 

One of his own hands took Robby’s remaining to place on his own hip. A tease, a sign, just to let Robby uncloth his reward if he wanted. And fuck did Jack really want him to, even if he barely felt like a restrained animal wanting to shove his dick into just something. 

The familiar itch scratched in the back of his head. Daylen wanted to see some red. Spill blood, rip out guts. His twitching knife hand had been dry too long.

"I don't answer to that cunt. I don't answer to anyone!"

Daylen hadn't been associated with the Warden's in a long time. It felt too small, being in that fortress. Leading men against Darkspawn. It wasn't satisfying. And now? The world was imperiled again. He'd kept his nose out of that bullshit with the Inquisition, mostly. And now? Shit was falling apart around him.

“You’re angry. Good. Maybe think about putting that to use to help these people rather than winge about it, because trust me beautiful, this all is very real.”  

The storm wasn’t aimed at him but rather up. Higher, cliffside, where they could see the ogre picking up yet another piece of ruin. Evka hadn’t been kidding about the bigger ones trying to get creative on how to squish the survivors... never a good sign. 

A big target for the dead storm, at least. Something for the anger to rip its way into. A snap of fingers, the sickly green already dissipating set to chase up the rockside to tear into the beast.