#emorystarter

Back on track was one way of putting it. Cautiously optimistic and yet still haunted by his past- there was something to be said about shared trauma and making amends. For all his bluster, there were still many people that Micah had hurt; somewhere in the back of his mind, he was thinking about Aurora and his dad as he sat on the docks and idly pushed the breeze over the water's edge. He watched as the wind made the lake ripple, how it churned with the magic that had bloomed under his fingertips a few months ago. Micah had already thought that he could go anywhere and do anything; freedom used to be all he wanted. Now it felt like a burden, too much rope and-

"Loaded up on Jiffy." Micah spoke casually over his shoulder with a halfhearted smile as he sat on the deck. His outfit was still a surprise so he'd put it on before they left, but Lupercalia was one year for them. One real year. One year without a breakup and one year since they had promised to forgive the other for anything. "It's tradition, after all."

Demons had gotten stronger lately, they could also be killed. Officially. So while the hunter had to be more careful, the payoff was better. On the top floor of the run down house, Bishop had been camped out for over an hour, a potion in the form of a family recipe would keep his presence concealed from the sex demon that Emory was in the process of luring here. Bishop had a deep running hatred for supernaturals, witches like his cousin got a pass, but that only went so far. Despite how big Emory had gotten, the witch was soft, Bishop was sure of it, he just wanted to see for himself; if Emory proved him wrong, then this was going to be that much better.

Location sharing had him watching Emory as the witch made his way from the bar where he'd been meant to pick up the cubi, to the house where the two were meant to put the demon down. It was out of the way, secluded, and free of anyone that was going to nark on them.

The bell over the door chimed as the human waltzed in, fists in the pocket of one of the hoodies he was rarely seen without. "What's up, pencil dick?" Bishop said as his lips spread into a toothy grin, Emory was exactly the guy that he was looking for. His cousin, his family, a witch. Word on the street was the witch had fallen in with the Dahlia. Cute. The other had come a long way from the resident scrawny crybaby, he might have left home but that kicked puppy look had followed him. "I didn't know you were in Rome, bit fucked up I had to find out from uncle Tony that you'd packed your shit and moved to Italy."

A ward that Marco had set went off in the middle of the night, a carefully laid trap that he'd set to catch a culprit red handed. Sure, Marco had bigger things to worry about but peanut butter was going missing and he had a good idea who was behind it. As quietly as he could Micah crept downstairs in his pyjamas, he could hear the rummaging coming from in the kitchen and as quickly as he could he jumped out from the hallway and flung the light on.

"Excuse you." Marco said as he all but snatched the jar out of Emory's hands, "I think you've had enough." Words that never left the witch's mouth but he put the jar into the cupboard and promptly shut it. This wasn't a free for all... Well, it was, but Marco was tired of things going missing. "What do you even do with all of this? Where's it going?"

It was beginning to get harder to get the things that people were looking for, there were enough ruins of pharmacies to get things like toiletries and lube, but things like aconite or quartz were a little farther and fewer between. Shops like All-in-One weren't as abundant as Rexall. "Found another skin mag of buff, short, blonde guys. Not an easy one. Coverboy has blue eyes though." Ezekiel said as he tossed the May 2023 edition of PlayGirl down in front of Emory, the vampire took requests, not because he was selfish but because he hated having to feed from animals or whatever was in those shit bag rations they passed around.

One second he was there, the next second he was here. Dante remembered the feeling all too well, the slimy chill that ran up his spine when he'd felt something reach through the mud and wrap around his ankle. It dragged him through the earth, filled his sinuses with muck that had him wrenching of dirt and swamp from the confines of his cell. Caked in blood and who knew what else, Dante came to and collapsed a bit against the side of it as he looked towards the person next to him. The muscular guy, that hunk with the dump truck was there - what was his name? Emmet? Abbott? No, neither of those. Dante cleared his throat after he spit out more dirt. "So, what are you in for?"

For a time, Emma had been haunted by the memory of paradise, for all that she had lost and this unspeakable torment that was the stark comparison between heaven and earth. Now, it felt like a dream she’d maybe had once long ago. Paradise frayed at the edges then slipped through her fingers like sand, whatever happiness she’d found in death, the ghoul was what had come back to life. She’d yet to find her maker, was yet to properly thank them, but she’d hidden for too long and there were people that Emma loved who deserved to know that she was still alive. Perhaps. She went back and forth on the subject, in one moment she missed them, and then in the next she was tearing into some nike-shorted-man’s forearm in a fit of cannibalistic rage. Emma wasn’t who she’d been, maybe it was best that so many people still thought she was dead. 

“Hi Em.” Emma greeted, her voice was smaller than she wanted, but she cleared her throat, “You’re wearing more than I might have expected.” 

Stocking, receiving deliveries, packaging up shipments, merchandising. These were the highs and lows of retail, Micah supposed. He’d done a short stint cleaning toilets at the library in the fall before he’d relapsed again, that was about the extent of Micah’s work experience so the faiman was glad that Abel had given him the chance to work here. Micah’s addictive personality was also grateful to be in close proximity to Emory more often than not, nights spent at one of their places; apart from meetings and the odd shift apart, Micah all but shadowed the other. He was trying to find things to do, hobbies, whatever, low-pressure things that didn’t make him feel like he was in a sealed cooker. Idle hands and all that. Emory made for a good distraction, kept him from thinking about Emma for too long. Cloe knew about Gabriel, Rowan too, for all Micah’s efforts that was the most he could do. No part of him was a hero, he was just trying to get by like everyone else in this city. 

“You guys go through a lot of these crystals here.” People had to realise all this shit was made up, right? “Someone in this city is walking around with a very clean aura I guess. Or whatever bullshit this is supposed to do.” Abel was gone so bothering Emory while there was no one else in the shop was Micah’s top priority at the moment.