@dontcallmepepper

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@risaen

@fadingstarshine

@heavenly-soldier

@comeintotheparlor

@beautifullyxbrxken

@refugeturned

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@dcddyrecper

@hellsmother

@comeintotheparlor

James Norrington had lived through the ages, had seen the rise and fall of empires. Loved and loss and loved again.  But never did he age since his turning, and never did he stop learning, traveling and moving.  He had seen the world. Had been to every country but found himself recently exploring the states outside of New Orleans.  

In the 1980′s James had waited for Lestat to wake from his funk below the earth, so he had started from the deep south but worked his way up the coast. This evening, he was in a small town in maine.. Tarker’s mill it was called and just as the sun had set the vampire left the inn he had taken up residence in for the week and gone for a walk to get a feel of the small home town and a meal. 

Hands behind his back as he meandered down the walk way in the breeze cool night air. The scent of something up ahead drew his attention and as he continued on he noticed the holy  establishment made of brick, the white columns and steeple atop. 

He stepped past it.. and continued on. A few minutes later, while on the empty path the brush trembled and James could smell blood, hot and alive, along with the fur of whatever animal was in the brush. He paid no heed to it.  

Richie took a walk around the small town Tanker’s Mill. He had needed to get out of Derry. It seemed like every wall and telephone post sported Have You Seen Me posters with pictures of smiling children, and it was eating away at him. If it was as he feared then there was nothing he could do about it. The evil was just too strong.

He walked past a church and following a sudden hunch he turned and ascended the stairs, slipping inside. The inside of the church was quiet and  peaceful and although he wasn’t a religious person, he appreciated the calm, a steadfast assurance that everything would be okay. It was a kind lie, and he’d love to believe that, even for just a moment. A bit further away he spotted the priest, who seemed busy with books. Bibles? He couldn’t tell and hesitated to approach. It felt inappropriate, since he wasn’t one of them. Still, priest were nice, right?

“...hi, um, reverend?” He walked up to him and offered his hand. “My name is Richie.” What was he doing? His hopeful smile turned unsure.

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. 

“Yes,” Sam nodded graciously. Cas had helped him polish his pious act before deployment. “Please- You can call me Sam.”  He nodded again, noting Lowe’s reticence, and pocketed the ‘extra’ cross.

Maine was much more temperate than the mid-west winds he was, admittedly, used to. Still, he was- for once- grateful for these religious layers. With a slight shiver, the hunter simply answered, “Lebanon.” Whether that was Lebanon, Kansas or Lebanon (Lebanon), was up to the Reverend.