#alimaccrae

The library without power was strangely reminiscent of when Alistair first moved in. Jordan had been helping him move his private collection from the store and they hadn’t yet turned the electricity on from the short amount of time the library had been closed. Only now, instead of fleeting kisses and topless library tours, Jordan was on edge, staring out from a crack in a boarded-up window. Whoever did it did a terrible job, which only made Jordan suspect it was Erica. A group of people had begun gathering in the parking lot. “They’re getting restless,” he called behind him to Alistair. “And they’ve nearly doubled in number, now. Do you think they saw us come in?” He wasn’t sure why the town started to have a hive mentality, now, but it was increasingly disturbing. It was the reason he and Alistair opted to go in the back entrance, just like they had that first time. 

The Terrance that made the appointment with Alistair was not the same Terrance that arrived. He double-checked his phone GPS to make sure he had the right address. Alistair had taken him to some weird Loft with a parking garage that only made it very clear that Terrance’s poor excuse for a car was in need of a tune-up. His breaks squealed and echoed throughout the entire complex so he’d parked as soon as he could, which meant he had a long walk ahead of him. The place looked a little too industrial compared to the wooden world of the library, but it was still miles ahead of the hovel Terrance called a home. He brought his two-handed Viking sword with him, a couple of rapiers that looked like someone put more attention into the octopus and bejeweled handles than the blade, and two katanas he was certain were real and not decorative. He’d wrapped them all in a sheet (his duffel bag was gone--burned up) and considered no less than six different times on canceling. But he needed this training. Solemnly, he knocked on Alistair’s door and rested his head against the cool metal, trying to psyche himself up into thinking this was a good idea.

Scott hesitated as he reached for the new doorknob of The Pagemaster. He felt like he shouldn’t be allowed to even touch it because of what he did to the previous one. He faltered, but knew Alistair could probably see him from inside the shop somewhere so he slowly walked in. He knew they had some kind of truce at the lacrosse game. The tragedy of what happened definitely took precedence over what Scott did to him, but he also picked up on some of Alistair’s chemosignals and knew that he’d betrayed whatever kind of trust Alistair had in him in the first place. Scott cleared his throat, noted the brand new glass case, and steered clear of it. “Hey,” he croaked, absent-mindedly punching the palm of his hand with his fist. “Sorry I’m late... not that... we were going to meet up or anything. I meant late to apologizing. Well, I already apologized, but this is a formal apology. And I don’t want you to hate me. And it wasn’t my idea, but I should have said no so I’m just as much to blame and I’m just really really sorry.” Scott rambled the apology at breakneck speed, knowing that once the floodgates were opened, his mouth words would spill out uncontrollably. 

With the power out, Jordan had his hands full. Between the generators not working anywhere and the escaped criminals pouring out from the station, he didn’t have much choice but to be out on the streets. The longer the power was out, the more bold people became. No longer were they hiding in their houses, waiting for the power to come back. They’d dared to venture out and see what was going on. Jordan couldn’t even concentrate on searching for the Horsemen in this mess when he had hoards of looters to try and detain, and Famine pockets causing people to break into each other’s homes and start eating the spoiled food. In return, he was sure Pestilence was a the back of it all, as people emptied the contents of their stomachs right onto the street. It was madness and Jordan was only one man.

He heard shouting coming from a street a few blocks down and sighed, tucking his handheld transceiver into his belt and running toward it. A group of rowdy citizens were tackling the hot dog cart Cerberus ate from the other day. They poured over each other like a pile of ants and the unmistakable scent of blood permeated the air as a pool of it began to form under the hot dog cart. Someone was trapped under there. Jordan shouted for attention, but his words drowned out in the cacophony. The only way for him to keep them from trampling each other even more was to startle them, so he shot his gun into the air once, making sure the bullet wouldn’t land in a group of people. He realized his mistake as soon as the entire crowd of people turned to look at him, ketchup, mustard and relish lining their faces. There were too many to fight, so when they started to rush him, Jordan turned and ran toward the park, hoping he would be able to lose them in the trees. He could hear bits and pieces of their words, all derogatory marks aimed at the sheriff’s department and quite a few shouts of ‘fuck the police.’ Jordan groaned, knowing that he’d have to stop and hold his ground. The hound wouldn’t run forever and eventually, he’d have to fight these people, secret or no secret. He skidded to a halt and turned to face the mob, ready to hold them off for as long as he could.

As happy as Jordan was to get the hound back, it was a bit like taking off the training wheels for the first time. However Cerberus entered him the first time, with the explosion and the fire, the second time he’d possessed Jordan had been nearly flameless. One might even say dull. He wasn’t sure if that was why he felt off or not. It was an adjustment period, that was all. Cerberus hummed within him and Jordan let him have the reins for most of the night. It didn’t matter what he was up to, just that he was back. Jordan could recall vague glimpses of the sky and the stars, a wall of trees, the Nemeton... but when he finally came to, he was standing in front of the building that held Alistair’s loft. Dirt and grime covered his naked body but for once Jordan wasn’t upset about it. In reality, the ash and mud were great for his skin. He’d missed the healthy glow it gave him. Still, it was awfully nice of the hound to drop him off at Alistair’s place. Jordan made his way inside carefully, making sure to avoid anyone who might spot a naked ash-covered man in the hallways. When he got to Alistair’s door, he took a spare key he’d hidden away behind the crown molding and let himself in. 

He’d fully intended on taking a quick shower and curling up behind his fiance and falling asleep. It was late and the loft had the quietness that only three in the morning could bring. However, once he had the shower going and reached for the shampoo, his nose caught the scent of it and that strange molten feeling he’d had with Lydia in the graveyard came back. Cerberus was trying to come out in the shower of all places. Steam enveloped the bathroom as Jordan tried desperately to hold him back, but it proved too difficult. In the end, he left the shower running as his legs carried him against his will toward the smaller bedroom Alistair slept in. Jordan felt a surge of excitement that was decidedly not his own and he knew in that moment Cerberus was seeking out the source of the shampoo’s scent. Just as he raised his foot to hop onto the bed, Jordan hissed out a “Stop!” and was surprised to find his foot obeyed. “I’m not climbing into a bed soaking wet!” he argued, as if that were the most pressing concern of the moment. In a matter of seconds, his body began to heat up, effectively ridding itself of the excess water in tiny clouds of steam. Jordan sighed, defeated, and the hound launched his vessel into Alistair’s bed and buried his nose into the scent of the shampoo. He was happy to be in a familiar setting with someone he’d grown accustomed to. The Ancient One. The Guardian of a tree. And Cerberus really liked trees. He sat on top of the guardian, nuzzling Jordan’s face all over Alistair’s hair until he woke up.

@lydisms @talblack @xavicrvolt @sour--wolfdh @ali-maccrae