#cocacolonial

Aside from the many wars that he had taken part in, John-Robert hadn’t left his precious south for decades. Of course, within the last two or three years, he hand’t returned to Virginia either. Somehow, the former Rep knew that if he set foot back in his native state, his quiet human existence would be over. So, when restlessness and an urge to travel overtook him, the Virginian found himself racing one of his modified cars up to New York.

Passing close to the border between North and South and on a Westward leading highway was a painful order to turn around, to travel home instead. Ignoring it was difficult and JR had to grit his teeth until he was far enough into Daniel’s territory to ignore such things. He was determined to remain human, and eventually after a good long life (or a wildly short one) to die human. 

@coca-colonial

Hands shaking and apprehension rolling off of him in waves, the young lawyer made his slow progress down into the cellar. This was no root cellar either. It was deep, stone steps cut into the dirt, a branching tunnel lined with bricks and ballast stones and at the end of the main corridor a heavy solid door locked and sealed with chains. Two of his brothers guarded it and gave him pittying looks before undoing the chains and swinging it open. 

Religious symbols lined the walls and were etched into the inside of the door - part of the Order’s “research” into controlling and taming their prisoner through pain. He ran a hand over the Templar cross etched on the inside of the door and scowled as his hand came away blackened with soot. Torture and magic, the equivalent of training a dog of child through beating and starving it. Once he was inside the door was closed and chained behind him. Now alone with the vampire, several slow breaths helped to steady his voice. 

“I heard you were in London,” Mycroft stated from underneath his umbrella, rain pouring down around him as he took a slow drag from his cigarette. It had been a stressful day - one that he had only just managed to finish cleaning up when he’d caught wind of the other’s arrival in the city.

The large canine, oversized even for the wolf hybrid that it was, prowled silently. It was a full moon night and the sphere blazed overhead while a hollow stomach cramped and drove the beast forward. It stopped as a smell drifted to it on the faint breeze and immediately saliva flooded its mouth. The coywolf sprang into a lope following upwind and rumbling to itself when the prey came into view. A tall man, alone and illuminated by the moon.

He had been lucky, something was looking out for him as things could have been so, so much worse. Five months had passed since the invasion and Albert, his family and those still loyal to him had slipped into hiding. The true king was hidden in a small cottage in Canisbay, Scotland. He was there to meet with one whom his own resistance believed sought to right what had happened.

“You’re a child. Kids without a guardian don’t tend to get by easy these days.”

::starts picking out favourite candies:: What’re we watching?