#lesliedonovan

The evening had, gone better than even Sariel had expected. The time away from the warehouse had been necessary and even if she felt that the place was her personal sanctuary, it felt good to stretch her legs, and explore the city.  That and she had things to do. During her evening away, Sariel had met with her contacts, most of which were either humans or angels, like herself, in hiding. They traded everything from the needles she needed for tattooing to the gossip and rumors she needed to stay one step ahead of everyone else. And on this particular errand run, her contracts had not left the angel disappointed. She learned little things such as a tidbit about a pet of a prince who had a very…unique gift. According to the rumors, he could shift faces and forms as easily as someone else could change moods. She also learned that there was someone new to the city, someone that was…powerful. A decision maker the contacts said. Although for what side…no one seemed to know. Still, the information was useful to Sariel, and allowed her to keep up on what was going on outside of the worn brick walls of her warehouse. 

Of course it was not just information that Sariel had picked up during her hours in the backstreets and dark alleys of the city. She had scored things that were more…tangible as well. As she moved in quick confident steps back towards her workspace, a bag hung from her right shoulder and rhythmically hit against her right thigh with each step, the heavy bulge within the bag comforting. The leather satchel was full to the brim with things that she had bartered and payed for; gauze and medical tape, gloves and needles for her tattoo gun, a fresh sketchbook and a new pair of jeans. She even had a half of a pound of the coffee that Gage had allowed her to sample during her visit to his bus. Although her wallet was now much lighter than it had been when she set out a few hours earlier, Sariel felt almost satisfied with herself, and with her life. She had enough money and promises to make a living for herself, to get what she needed and even a little extra, since the jobs had been steady. Not only that, but she also had a job she enjoyed and a warehouse to call her own. 

When she approached said warehouse, Sariel felt a shudder run through her spine as her dark eyes fell across the threshold. ‘Something is off.’ Slowing her pace, Sariel gingerly approached the door and frowned deeply as she realized the lock had been picked and the entry way was left slightly ajar. “Fuck.” She muttered to herself as she adjusted the bag on her shoulder and silently pushed the door open, stepping into the darkened warehouse. She took a moment to simply listen and…feel. Her keen heaven blessed senses told her that someone was in the building but they weren’t a prince…or even a fallen. No, Sariel knew just by the feel of their energy that they weren’t of her blood. No, this was a human that had picked the lock. A human was somewhere in her warehouse. A human that she did not know. A muscle in her cheek twitched as she held her jaw tight and felt around in the darkness for the crow bar that she kept hidden not far from the door. Finding the cool, thick piece of metal, Sariel took another moment to allow the energy to guide her…

After a moment however, she realized a simpler sense was necessary. She could hear the sound of buzzing, a familiar bone rattling sound that made her blood run cold. Catherine. The tattoo machine. “Oh no.” With the crow bar in hand Sariel moved quickly on quiet feet towards the tattoo parlor of the warehouse, the section that sat behind blood red fabric screens, the only part of the space that was illumined both by electric light and the pulse of energy. The only part of the space that was filled with the sound of her most prized possession and-- -she was not the one yielding it.

As she approached the workspace Sariel cursed herself for leaving the gold filigreed machine out in the open, hell she had even left out full plastic cups of black ink, and a fresh needle in the gun. Was she really that stupid? Why had she not put the machine away before she left? And more importantly, who the fuck was using it now?

Stepping around the corner into the small space filled with a desk, rolling stool and repurposed leather dentists chair, Sariel swung out the crow bar ahead of her, dark eyes blazing, “Hey, what the fuck do you think you are doing?” she strode into the space and swung the crow bar once more (for effect) before speaking again, “Put down the tattoo machine or I’ll bash your fucking head in,” she snarled, "I might do it anyways, so consider yourself warned asshole.”