Saint Death

“Do you really think I’d give a fuck if he ran around feasting on the flesh of the living?” Felix asks, snorting. “I’d only care if he did it to annoy me. Which, knowing him, he probably would. He’d find a way to be irritating about it.”

He has absolutely no idea what Orrin’s doing on the back of the mirror – drawing something in blood, maybe. Witches, man. Always up the weirdest shit.

“Quite a bit of feeling,” he repeats. “Is that a weirdly polite way of saying he hates me? I mean, yeah. Obvious.” He gives Orrin his most winning smile. “So is this what you do? Hang around in dark tents and let people talk to spirits?”

“No, have a very egocentric air about you. And unfortunately, he wouldn’t be able to help himself,” he informs the younger man. As curious as the case sounded, he wasn’t about to risk his business and all that he’s built here for a quick and likely disappointing adventure. “Ghouls have an insatiable lust for flesh, it would have nothing to do with you. Which means the city would focus on me should a massacre occur. And the last thing I need at the moment is to be burnt at the stake.” Again.

As if a smile would have any effect on Orrin. The only thing that ever pulls his attention are the sounds of agony and pain and the heavy feeling of a vengeful spirit’s rage.

“I mean. I’m not a ‘help other people’ kind of person but I genuinely like this person which is like…odd. For me.” He sighed and rubbed the bridge of his nose. Squirming as the handsome witch speaks more. “And it was an excuse to come and find you. Because after the first time it left me…curious. I don’t think there is anything in the mirror for me. I don’t care about anyone I know who died. And I know my future is to die as a slave. So.” he shrugged. “Two birds one stone. My curiosity. You might help my friend.” 

“You seem awfully certain of what lies ahead for you,” Orrin noted, finding the fact that the human had issues bonding with others a bit peculiar. He supposed this attempt to cure this friend of his was, perhaps, a romantic gesture. And if that were the case, given how illegal interhuman relationship was, he could possibly use that to manipulate the man into joining his cult. “You may send your friend my way,” he holds up a finger, “as soon as you’ve told me what it is that you need. And don’t tell me that there’s nothing-- everyone needs something.”

“Bye, fuckface,” Felix calls cheerily, watching Duscha’s image vanish.

Ah. Now he feels better.

Except for that one pending issue of the Hello Kitty wedding dress that’s hidden in Ashden somewhere. Felix wasn’t joking about having a witch find it for him, but Duscha is older and smarter than he looks, so he could probably have found a way around that.

Ugh.

“You’re really that opposed to resurrecting him?” he asks. “What, his winning personality didn’t do it for you?”

“Precisely that,” Orrin replies, without a hint of sarcasm. “He’ll come back as a ghoul, detestable creatures.” The witch drew a small blade from his front coat pocket, and in one swift movement, he knicks his own palm. He circles the mirror, and finger paints a small butterfly-shaped print onto the back of it. “Do you really want him running around feasting on the flesh of the living to sustain himself?”

Bad question, given the dragon’s seemingly insouciant disposition prior to his little reunion. Something to him the small dragon might actually prefer such a scenario.

“He’d likely attempt to eat you first since he seems to carry quite a bit of feeling for you,” he informs the man.

Felix doesn’t know what it means that Duscha is feeding off his negative energy, but he will concede that Spooky Dude probably knows more about this shit than Felix does. Duscha is already full of enough hot air, he doesn’t need more energy. So he draws in a deep breath, and pushes his hostility aside. He’s always been alarmingly good at compartmentalizing – all the fury just slides right off his expression.

It almost comes right back when Duscha reveals his stolen stuff is here in Ashden.

“And I suppose you want something in return for telling me where it is.” Felix studies his fingernails, putting on an effortless show of being bored. “You can go right ahead and forget it, dipshit, I’m sure there’s a witch in town who can find it for me. Besides, you’re dead, what could you even want?”

“Oh, you can try. But baby, I promise, you ain't gonna find it without my help.” Duscha rubs his hands together in anticipation, “And I’m not going to give that to you until you can convince our boyo over here to resurrect me.”

And there it was.

“No.” Orrin resists the urge to roll his eyes, instead opting to level a very unimpressed stare at the creature. “Absolutely not. This session is ending.” The witch slaps his has hand against the mirror’s surface, Duscha let out one final yelp before dispersing into a puff of smoke. There was no way he was bringing that thing back into this world. The fog settled back at their feet, the sea of whispers that had been triggered upon breaking the dragon’s connection eased into silence. “Apologies for that just now.”

“Fuck you, you dipshit lumberjack fucker, I’m not a potato child! You’re a potato child! Go fuck yourself!”

That stunningly elegant comeback could probably be heard halfway across the festival.

Having snatched his hand back so it doesn’t get phantom Duscha spit on it (even though that’s probably not going to happen, what with him being in a mirror and all), Felix abruptly falls silent, possibly aware that his furious hollering was a bit too loud. He doesn’t come even remotely close to apologizing, though he does cut a glance at Orrin to see if he’s on the verge of getting tossed out. It’s hard to tell. Spooky Dude is mostly just looking nauseous.

“Okay, Duschbag, why did you call me here,” Felix grumps, on the verge of sulky. “If it’s about the wedding dress, I might forgive you if you tell me where it is. And also how you died. I need a funny story.”

"Actually, it is.” Duscha was practically vibrating in place, unable to contain his excitement. “Do you remember when your joint got raided by humans? They took, what, a limited edition Hello Kitty toilet seat and some other dumb shit you were hoarding?” The dragon’s eyes flickered over to Orrin for a brief moment to ensure he was still there. “You remember that?”

The glance didn’t sit well with the witch, growing increasingly suspicious of the creature. “You should end the conversation. He’s feeding off the negative energy you’re generating.”

The iridescent dragon held up a single finger to silent their host. “Shh, kitten, let the real magical peeps talk.” He clears his throat, ignoring the scathing glare Orrin had just directed to him. “Anyways, that was me, bitch. And guess what? It’s hidden. Here. In town.”

“I just.” he paused and swallowed hard. Why admit anything to this man who could and might very well just use it against him. “You were kind- well. Kinder than most master ever has been. And I have a friend-” he paused again. Was Franklin his friend? Was he capable of true friendship anymore? Did the other even like him? “As close to a friend as I can have now. And he has been forced to ingest a truth potion. And there are things he wants to keep to himself. He’s not claimed. Or rented at the moment I just…wondered if you’d maybe help him.” 

“How noble of you,” Orrin murmurs, not at all satisfied with his answer. “Are you sure that’s what you’re seeking?” He turns to face the mirror, his inky black fingers curling around the gold frame. “I would assume, that if your friend was in such dire need of an antidote, the mirror would have lured him here itself. And yet... you’re here?” He waits a beat. “That seems a little strange to me, don’t you agree?”

Task 002 ❈ Moodboard // Orrin Monahan

Felix is practically vibrating on the spot in his effort to refrain from launching his entire self right at the mirror to fight it. Because what the fuck! He hadn’t been allowed Outside Time very often, once a week at the most, and 127 years ago he’d gotten a massive crush on a man in the nearby mountain village, and this furry faced fuckface had slept with him!

“I’m going to uppercut you directly to heaven’s door,” Felix swears. He’ll address Spooky Dude’s hilarious new nicknames later. “I’m gonna shove my foot so far up your ass you’ll have a brand new Doc Marten brand of dentures. I’ll put my fist so far into your ribcage you’ll–”

Hang on. He keeps forgetting the most important thing here. Dude’s dead.

“You know what, fuck you, Duschbag,” he crows. “Get a load of this.” Felix proceeds to put his middle finger right up against the mirror, and rubs it directly over Duscha’s stupid face. “You’re dead, dickweed, so I win!”

Orrin has seen this sort of behavior only once in his life, the brief moment he had a glimpse of something called The Jerry Springer Show at a client’s home was enough to haunt the witch for decades after. The man’s body tensed as Felix hurled threats at the ghost.

“Oh, yeah, yeah! Rub that finger all up in my face, you birdbrained bean!” Duscha pressed his face up against the glass, sliding his tongue up the length of glass between him and Felix’s finger. “Rub it! Because you know what, you limp winged chicken? Sasha’s up here with me!” He let out a manic laugh, eyes practically bulging out of his sockets. “Oh, yeah, baby. I’m fuckin that tight lumberjack ass day and night! He practically swims in my cum! Splash, splash!”

Orrin covers his mouth with a hand, looking slightly green as he turns away from the two bickering idiots. Duscha collects himself again. “But that’s not why I called you here, Felix. Oh, no, I’ve got a surprise for you, potato child.”

It’s not like Felix instantly recognizes who it is just by the look of one eye, but he’s kinda surprised the thing even works. He’s seen some magic here and there, mostly of the demonic variety, but he’s never seen anything like this. He is, very reluctantly, impressed with Spooky Dude and his spooky mirror.

Until that voice starts coming out of it, and Felix immediately knows who it is.

“You! You absolute motherfucker, ты украл мой Hello Kitty свадебное платье. Это был предмет коллекционера! You dumbshit asshole!” Felix looks about ready to throw himself at the mirror and fight it, but after one side-glance at Spooky Dude, he thinks better of it. He doesn’t want to get turned into a toad for breaking this guy’s mirror. “Wait, hang on. You said spirits. Is this dipshit dead?” he asks Orrin, gleeful. 

“Правильно, сука,” the eye roared with laughter. He stopped abruptly, eye swiveling to Orrin, the pupil constricting in surprise. “Подожди, мы очень грубы. Sorry, pretty kitty!”

Orrin’s body tenses at the terrible nickname the spectral had just bestowed upon him. He doesn’t respond but merely turns his attention to the blond. “It would appear so, yes.” Orrin eyes the still spectral dragon wearily. He’s never had a dragon spirit before, and his knowledge on such creatures was limited, which left him feeling a bit exposed and unprepared to deal with such a thing.

The white mist shifted and the eye morphing into a surprisingly small and pudgy humanoid form, shorter than even Orrin and the still living dragon beside him. “I’m Duscha, hello.” The dragon offered a little bow. “Please excuse this ослик awful manners, he was raised by a potato. But thank you for hosting us, you are an adorable little monkey, you.” He reaches out to pat Orrin on the head, only for his hand to slam right into the hard barrier between the two worlds. He cursed under his breath, rubbing at his knuckles. Fixing his suit, Duscha cleared his throat, his gaze drifting back to Felix. “Anyways, pigeon. I wore that pink little number like nobody’s business. I looked damn good in it. It drove Sasha wild.“

A spooky tent manned by a spooky dude with a spooky mirror?

Hell yes Felix had ventured in there.

He’s not overly familiar with magic terms, so the word scrying is completely lost on him – maybe he’d recognize the Russian word for it. The explanation he’s given, though, seems to sum it up pretty well. Spirits, the unseen, blah blah, magical magnets or some shit, blah blah blah. Frankly, Felix is far more interested in Spooky Dude, who looks like he’s come right out of that one painting. American Gothic, or whatever the fuck its called.

“Why the fuck should I know?” he replies flippantly. “But apparently your fancy mirror can tell me,” Felix holds up his hands, finger quote style, “what I need to see and what I’m searching for. It should be able to guess even when I don’t know, right?”

“Either you were drawn here by a need, one that you can already see when you look into the mirror,” Orrin tries to explain, when he suddenly senses a very heavy presence in the room. He turns, eyes scanning their otherwise empty surroundings. “Or, something used it to lure you in here...”

Lysander saw the tent and he knew what it was. Something in his head clicked. Sure there were tons of witches and tons of magic little booths but none like this. None he felt drawn too. That icy fog. That little nagging voice in his head told him to go in. He had been searching for a witch anyway. One to maybe help out Franklin with his truth potion problem. When he entered he wasn’t shocked by the man he saw in there, actually pleased. And it stopped him from giving his normal bullshit, smart ass remarks as a response. “You. I was looking for you.” he said softly. The embarrassment of telling the truth made his cheeks blush a bit. “You’re the only witch I know who might be decent enough to help, Father.” he said squirming a bit. 

“Me?” Orrin let out a short breathy laugh. “Decent enough to help?” The human clearly held his kind in low regard, he couldn’t blame him, really. While most supernatural creatures had no direct involvement in the enslavement of humankind, being around those who did would undoubtedly skew one’s perception of an entire kind. Orrin circled around the slave, faint whispers arising from the fog at his feet with each step. “And what exactly do you need help with?”

The canvas tent was creepy – to put it lightly – and yet somehow he still found himself tempted in there. He only startled slightly as the Master spoke, unaware he’d been followed in when he was pulled there by a feeling. “Spirits?” He asked sceptically, “I’m hardly searching for spirits.”

Why was he drawn here? Maybe that had to do with the heavy feeling in the pit of his stomach. But that was due to his own failings, certainly he wasn’t looking for any answer when he knew that he’d screwed up. And he doubted any mirror could give him reassurance that he hadn’t totally screwed Levi’s life right up. Arguably their lives were screwed up anyway with the way things had been even on the outside but he couldn’t protect his brother while he was here.

He certainly wasn’t going to tell this man that he had a brother, if that was even the thing he was supposedly looking for. Instead he backed up a step, not sure he wanted to know what he might see if he did actually look. “No I – I don’t think I’m the person you wanted.”

“I don’t choose who the mirror attracts, it does that on its own,” The raven-haired witch explained, finding the idea that he was the one choosing who saw and sensed what amusing enough to allow the faintest quirk of his lips.

“Perhaps they, are the ones searching for you?” He offered, faint whispers and moans arose from the fog as Orrin moved to stand behind the mirror. “Or perhaps there’s something deeply troubling you?” He waved a hand, the whispering mists crawling towards him with the movement, rising and climbing up into the mirror.

Orrin griped the edges, head cocking to one side as he beckoned the human closer. “Something gnawing at the edges of your psyche?” The swirling mass of fog at the center began to slow, forming something just a tad more solid in appearance. “Take another look. Do you see or hear anything?”

usually doing things adventurous weren’t really his cup of tea. but the lonely stand with no sign or people near it had him…curious. the fog spilling out from the insides was ominous, and the darkness was almost drawing him in. luka neared it with his heart pounding in his ears, his lips parted as he ventured into the dark, eyes immediately focusing on the mirror. that was odd. he couldn’t see his reflection. just as luka reached out to touch it however a sudden voice caused him to jump and pull back. “ a - a what?” he breathed out, turning to look at the figure through the darkness. “wh–really? spirits?” he’s never heard of such a thing like this before. but if magic was real certainly this had to be real too. “just…me being curious probably.” he mumbled, turning back to look at the mirror. “my mother died…when i was young..” he said suddenly, though, was that the reason he was there? “she was brutally…murdered.” he forced out. “can this show me if h-her soul is at piece?”

“It will show you what you need to see,” Orrin murmured, tapping the surface with the tip of a single midnight digit. A ripple pulsed through the abyss and out along the room, snuffing out the flames of candles, the faint sound of a thousand voices whispered at their feet. The fog began to stir, emitting a barely visible blue glow as it coiled up around the mirror. The whispers grew louder, but fewer in number, until all the fog had found its way into the center of the mirror, forming a ghostly and familiar silhouette, with only one voice left, calling out the slave’s name.

He circled around the slave, watching the spectral image as he whispered into the boy’s ear, his breath one of the few sources of warmth in the chilly room. “Say something but be gentle, they can be confused at first.” It was a warning, Orrin simpling prepping for a possible reaction to a traumatized soul. “Not all of them know they’ve passed.”

The booth the Bedwyr Coven had obtained was a peculiar one. It certainly seemed large inside that it appeared to be outside. Shelves stacked with all goods, gifts, supplies, snacks, and trinkets any magical person could need for the upcoming season. But what truly made this booth peculiar was the tall canvas tent in the back. There were no signs to indicate just what was in there, nothing to warn patrons to keep out, just an empty dark room, with icy fog spilling out from its open entrance, dissipating just a few feet beyond the threshold.

It was enchanted, yes. It was only supposed to draw those haunted by something or someone from their past, and those looking for answers that only they have within them.

Orrin watched as a man ventured into the tent, following after him just to ensure the safety of his object. It was dark, a single candelabra illuminating the small space, standing beside a tall black abyss framed in gold. “It’s a scrying mirror,” Orrin’s voice pierces the darkness. There was no reflection in the mirror, even as the witch slowly approached it, it remained an inky black. “It lets you see what you need to see, what you’re searching for, and the unseen. Such as spirits.” He paused, examining the other man’s profile. “Do you know what you are looking for? Why you were drawn here?”

It might have made him seem rude, but Christopher continued taking bites out of the apple as if it was rightfully his. No one had approached to stop him, no one had raised their voice at his actions, so what was the harm right? It was just an apple after all– well, at least he thought it was just an apple. “Huh?” The human grunted as he turned to face the young woman that was excitedly talking to him. “What about these things being laced?” Before he could get the question out fully, she was being called down by someone else which… really… is just great.

So he was left to stand there with a possibly poisonous apple in his hands– half eaten– while they talked as if he wasn’t even there. In a strange way, Christopher felt for the young girl being scolded. He knew she was some kind of creature, something that allowed her to live her life freely her in Ashden, but even then he still felt for her. Which was one of his biggest problems, really. Even though he didn’t know her, and even though he knew she didn’t need any help, part of him wanted to butt in so he could tell the other to leave her alone; to defend her and say she’d done nothing wrong, that this– whatever this was– was his own fault. Christopher always had to save someone, but could never manage to actually save himself.

“Oh, so you do know I’m here. Sorry, I couldn’t tell there for a minute– I really thought you couldn’t see me or something…” He finally interjected now that the girl– Esther– was gone and the attention was back on him. “I didn’t take it from her, by the way. It was on the ground at my feet, so I picked it up and started eating it. Not really sure why that’s such a big deal.” The man’s steely gaze sent a chill down his spine, but it wasn’t enough to send Christopher to a corner to cower. “That and she was trying to tell me something that I think was important before you came in and interrupted her. I– I know I wasn’t paying attention, at first, but she definitely said laced…. and– and something about cravings so why don’t you fill in the blanks for me before we start worrying about where the apple came from…”

The human still had some spunk in him, which only meant that he was new, no more than a month, perhaps. “You’re a human,” Orrin replied, a single brow arching at his reaction. Bold of him to imply his granddaughter had been lying. If he were any other man here, the slave would have been punished for such a small oversight, but the priest knew of better ways to correct poor behavior. He reached forward, fingertips as dark as coal wrapping around the remains of the fruit, pulling it out of the human’s grasp. “I’m treating you as expected, in fact, I’m treating you better than expected.”

He stepped back, bringing the apple to his nose, “Saffron,” he announces, handing it back. “One of two aphrodisiacs. In a few minutes, you’ll either find yourself overcome with the desire to consume vast quantities of semen, or-- ” He brushes a single dead finger along the edges of the slave’s jaw, tipping his head back to examine his eyes. “You’ll experience extreme euphoria and bursts of colors exploding across your vision at another’s touch.”

The more time he spent wandering around the festivities, the more he felt like they were trying to distract him. It all felt so damned forced; as if the creatures running this city thought that the happier they made their slaves, the more blind they would be to their lack of freedoms; as if they thought that the more they kept their slaves distracted, the more content with their situation they would become. So Christopher fought everything. He avoided the drinks, the foods, the games, the laughter, for as long as he could. He wasn’t going to let them break him that easily– he’d only been here for four days, after all. He had to last longer than this…

Eventually, though, the night’s atmosphere got to him. The sight of everyone enjoying themselves for as far as he could see slowly began to take it’s toll on him. This time, as he approached one of the stations for a classic human fall game (Bobbing for Apples) rather than simply walking away with a roll of his eyes and his head held high Christopher found himself playing; and winning. He would have been disappointed in himself for eating the apple so quickly after winning, for even letting himself feel like this was just a normal festival, if he hadn’t been so distracted by the fact he was beginning to enjoy himself. Maybe this place wasn’t so bad after all.

Just as he finished his apple, and threw the core away, his attention was pulled away by a soft thud on the side of his right foot. Looking down, the human realized someone had dropped their own apple and it had rolled over to him. Rather than looking around to see whose it was, he simply bent forward to pick it up; quickly wiping it off on his shirt before bringing to his lips. Without hesitating, he took a large bite out of the side; the sound of the apple crunching between his teeth almost comically loud as he savored the fruit’s subtle, but sweet flavor. “Sorry,” he mumbled around chewing as he turned to face someone watching him; his grip tight on the apple as he spoke. “Was this supposed to be yours?”

"Oh, you’re in for quite the ride, human!” The raven-haired girl replied, a feverish grin stretching across her pale face. She looked to be no more than 20, dressed in a plain black seventh-century gown. “They’re laced with a potion that’ll drive you mad with a craving for--”

“Esther!”

The girl froze, her piercing blue eyes widening as she turned, “Yes, grandfather?” Esther feigns innocence, offering a little bow as Orrin approached.

“Do you recall what I’ve told you in regards to humans outside of the commune?” His voice was a quiet, dangerous rumble, face stern and disapproving.

“Yes, grandfather.” She bowed her head again, voice dropping.

“Then why are you speaking to one?”

“He took an apple, grandfather!” Esther insisted, head snapping up as she pointed to the slave, his icy gaze following her finger, landing on the brunet. “I was merely trying to get it back, but he took a bite--”

“Return to the booth.”Orrin orders, clasping his hands behind his back as he turned to the slave. The girl let out a whine, stomping her foot in protest. “Now, Esther.” He waited until she was gone, his hard gaze glued to the human since Esther had named him a thief, “Well?” he trudged forward, eyes falling to the bitten apple in his hands. “Did you?”