#;ftf

“Fuck ya’self.” They groan, that New Englander accent coming out hard in their current distress. “Help me if ya gonna help me, d’n say shit.” They’re lying on the ground in a nice pool of their own blood. Such is life when one dabbles with protecting people from monsters, right? 

@billiehum

The information of what had happened had been purposely not handed over to Carole - Rory really couldn’t handle her being more protective than the murder itself had made her, but he did find himself staying at home way more than he’d planned for his summer. The knock on the door was actually exciting, giving him something else to focus on, and he got even more excited when he peaked through to see Billie on the other side. A smirk tugged onto his lips when he opened the door, leaning against it as he peered down at her. “Hey... this is a surprise. Usually I get a little warning before you visit,” he pointed out. “Not that I’m complaining.”

When they Arrive, they'll find it's a nice place. The music is soothing and soft. You know the place well, as Waterfall. Somewhere off the beaten path, far from where anyone would stumble across your little spat.

Why are you doing this?

Does it matter?

There’s this odd pause from them, before they glance up- the two of them a matching set of sorts. They’ve a scar over their left eye that’s left it about as useless as his, though they make no point in covering it up, showing off the milky white in contrast to the one remaining on their right, sharp and intense blue. 

Mystique Isle is the kind of place a hunter could have a field day about. It’s got disappearances, it’s got strange sightings, it’s got mysterious deaths, hell, even some of the records insist the place was off the coast of South Carolina, and others say it’s off the coast of Rhode Island and some even claim it to be off of Maine, closer to Canada then the states, really.

And within the deaths, the missing people, all of that had happened and had been happening for years. Almost as soon as people settled there kind of time, there have been these insane reports. But in the most recent things, within the past five years or so, a face kept popping up in all the pictures. 

Always in a lifeguarding shirt and swim trunks, arms crossed, hair in a short braid. Looking intently somewhere off camera, eyes narrowed. 

And they’re there on the island, too. Sitting atop their stand is when they notice the pair first because they’re new and they don’t really. Look the beach type. But they hadn’t paid much mind. They were just finishing up and before they could interact Daniel had called them over to help gather the umbrellas off the beach and the two of them had ridden down the coastline to the other side to start the nightly chore. By the time you got back, whoever they were were gone. 

They see one of them again at the grocery store, that night, just as they’re checking out, he’s coming in. They grab their bag, which doesn’t hold much in it, and slide out the door without saying a word. The guy had been talking to the store owner, and Sass wasn’t really interested in whatever conversation he was having. 

They have the next day off and spend it in their normal way, which is lying around and watching tv. Nor a glamorous style, but their’s nonetheless. 

They’re not an easy person to find. People seem to know who they are, some even know where they live but no one seems to want to spill. Or that they can’t spill, like something is stopping them from telling. They don’t even have a full name to go off of, just Sass. Is it a nickname? Anyone asked doesn’t seem to know that, either. It’s just what they go by. What they’ve always gone by. 

It ends up, their house is a tiny, near shack like structure nestled right between two hotels, beach front. It’s one story, and the windows are open, and there’s music playing from inside. They’d laid around all day, and had their energy at night, now. Like the kind of energy to be sitting up lowkey dancing to Tainted Love blaring so loud anyone outside can hear it through the open windows.

And then they hear the knock. 

They hadn’t been expecting anyone, and they hadn’t ordered pizza, so this was strange. But they’ve dealt with a lot of strange. They go to the door and open it, looking out plainly. They look... No different then the pictures, really, though they’ve got a t-shirt and basketball shorts on, and their eyes are really, really sharp and bright blue. Their skin has some freckles, and it’s just between fair and tan. Right on the border. They have that look about them. An utterly exhausted look. But maybe that was evidenced well enough in all the pictures. 

*[As you cook them, over easy with a couple pieces of toast loaded up with butter, there is a strange feeling that resonates inside you]

*[All of this seems familiar somehow.]

Sass didn’t take trips from their home town often. They had a tendency to get ill anytime they were away, and would joke it was a side affect of being away from the ocean. Sand and Salt, the best way to combat any illness that always seemed to come back and hit hard when they were away from home. They weren’t sick now, no, but they’d come across another spot of bad luck. They weren’t the kind of person who wore a lot of jewelry, and their whistle wasn’t really even jewelry, but it was theirs. And they’d had it a long time. It was almost like a comfort item and being without it was really freaking them out. 

They’re a very slight person, Sass, thin and somewhere between pale and fair skinned with freckles across their cheeks. Everything else was covered up, really, a sweatshirt at least two sizes too big and basketball shorts and tennis shoes. Their hair was only just long enough for a braid, which it was still kind of in, but had mostly come undone. Messy brown hair and as soon as Deon’s hand touches them they jerk away as though he’d hit them rather then just brushed against them. 

Their eyes, really the most striking part about them, sharp and blue snap to him and they seem... Startled for one. And a little angry.