#salustarter

No matter how hard he tries the visions won’t stop. 

He’s wrapped in a thick jumper to keep himself warm; too strung out from days of no sleep. He’s grateful though that the apartment he has has a good shower. At least it makes looking the part of a prostitute easier. 

But’s he’s not looking for his next pay check, that’s for tomorrow night. Instead he’s nursing a whiskey because Bran spent the morning trying to scrub the image of dead children form his brain. It’s not really working.

He presses the cool glass to head for a moment trying to find comfort behind his closed eyes but all he sees is red. Bran opens his eyes and downs the drink lifting the empty glass to signal for another.

He looked at the poster printed off with his face all over it. He wondered if they twisted the story he told them. Meni was slaughtered and decapitated by him. That was the basis and depending on how sober he got the story would change various times. He was content with what he had done when he was stone cold drunk. Too drunk to move his eyes without getting a head rush. When sober he was distraught over how much of a monster he was. He disregarded what Meni did and completely took on the entirety of blame. The woman he loved was ripped apart and forced to have her dead head preserved so he could live. Here he was on the steps of his work place, just waiting for the police to round him up but they didn't come. Not yet anyway. Why he saved himself he didn't know. Why he felt a need to survive would baffle him until the moment he was desinigrated or his magic drained. "I didn't mean it Meni. I loved you." He whispered before downing the remaining rum in his flask and dropping the container in his lap. His head raised to look at the clouds. If he let it rain before making up the bodies he need to then he would most likely end up with a muddy grave to dig.

But no matter how many people she had killed over the centuries, and it was a lot, children where always something she did not touch. Maybe because he childhood had ended in death that she avoided the squealing things like they contained the plague. Now she was looking at a sign that claimed she had done just that. Killing a child was something that Hadley wasn’t capable off, not really. With a fury she ripped the sign down something burning low in her stomach. 

Blinded by the rage she practically stormed towards the nearest building that would contain a officer. One way or another someone was going to pay for making her seem like a child killer. 

Outside the building a small group had formed probably to do the same as her. But in that moment Hadley didn’t care about petty crimes. Someone was trying to pin a murder of a child on her, if the town wasn’t bad enough now she was stuck being accused for false crimes. If it had been anything but that she would have gladly taken the credit, but this. This hurt the little bit that was left of her soul. “Move” she hissed at someone wishing not for the first time that she could tear the stupid amulet of her finger and tare them all to shreds.

When the person didn’t move Hadley got angry, or angrier. “I said fucking move!” she shouted pushing the person out her way, they might have fallen to the ground but the harpy couldn’t care. The wanted sign in her hand crumbled and she pushed her way to the front until there was only one person in front of her. “I advice you move so I can hurt these pieces of crap” she shouted the last part at the building hoping someone was listening. 

On the top of the envelope he always got everyday (since he was able to receive mail that was) that was just covered in stickers and terrible writing that was clearly addressed to him, there was a plain envelope with former writing. The second he read it a sigh was already in the process of being drawn out. Here he was, a man that has been in Salutem for a little over a month and just got off of parole two days ago, staring at a statement that declared he was accused of larceny. He didn’t get bothered or angered that easy, but this offended him. It was a part of his own code of conduct that he never stole from anyone’s home or place of living. Yet there was a letter from the council that stated otherwise. 

Larceny. Complete, utter horse sludge. Despite the rude start to his morning, Sasha still went to work but instead of just staying quiet while he cleaned there was a bit more noise in his motions. He swept a bit faster than usual and cleaned with a rag a bit harder as well while he stared blankly at whatever was in front of him. His brows were furrowed deeply, and after about half an hour of just staying silent, he couldn’t take it anymore. It bugged him immensely that he, out of all people, was accused of something like that. It was like a slap to his face, his mother’s and father’s face, and even his ancestors. 

Soon enough he started to mutter under his breath and even began to mock the word. Larceny. Oh, of course he would be charged with that. Exaggerated lines formed around the corner of his lips as he quietly bickered to himself, and he popped his arm off and moved it around as he made fun of the damn letter. The cleaning was put on pause as he lived out the small amount of anger he felt at the thought of being put on parole again, but he wasn’t aware of how much of an idiot he must have seemed to the other person that could see him standing right beside the inside of the gates to Boulder Grove Cemetery. 

Hadley snorted into her glasses looking for the fool across the room who was still cupping his jaw from where she had promptly shoved her fist into his mouth. It was only the thought that she was being watched that stopped her from just grabbing his jaw and pulling it off. 

Putting her glass down Hadley turned towards the barman smiling just a little too sweetly, absently fiddling with the amulet on her fingers, “How about you get me a bottle of something a little more expensive. I’m tired of drinking shit”

Demons were usually looked at as big bad beings of hell. They were once just as real to everyone as the big bad wolf himself. Kolya was no saint but he was not a complete monster either. He had his moments where he lost control and other times he was more merciful than a demon really should be considering how he was trained by Lucifer. Whips, chains, daggers, claws, maces, and whatever else should have turned him into a beast. After so many new years on the surface he controlled himself and learned to play the perfect game of life.

After snapping in his club and meeting with his brother he needed something to ease him besides vodka or any alcohol. He had had far too many recently and would rather take a breather. Finally he did while his bar was still closed for the morning after the big pathetic party, he went to the pet shop. Just as he told everyone, he knew them all and could work just about any deal. He managed a discount on his favorite thing at Garrett’s shop. 

While exiting he store with a little box of dog treats and a Bull dog puppy in hand he stopped to look at the new mewling pet. “Just wait till you meet the three other pooches and the two cats at home. I think you’ll like them, Nico.”

Late, late, late. Only a few times was the banshee ever late, but Cash still rode her about it. It was a good thing she had gotten used to talking her way out of trouble otherwise she may not have had a job this long. Her eyes were glued in front of her while she sprinted down the sidewalk holding her accounting books and inventory checklist. “Please, don’t notice, please, please, please.” She begged whatever force might make the demon sleep in, like she had just done, so that he couldn’t get on her about this again.

As sweat dripped down her face, and her little legs started to burn she turned her eyes just for a moment to wipe at her forehead. That was all it took to run into the crosswalk without looking. She slowed as her hand fell back around her books. She gasped and froze as a bus whooshed around her, narrowly missing her. The young banshee fell back onto the white rectangles on the asphalt, dumbfounded as to how she even survived. 

There was only one way to fix his bad attitude any time, any where. Alcohol. He drank knowing that he and his vessel could handle large amounts without getting extremely crazy. So that’s what he did. Consumed as much as he could, put on a sweet face, and sauntered in on the little party they had, putting on his best smile, and using his kindest words. Once inside he spread his arms and took a deep breath, then he was spinning on his heal looking at the other party-goers. “Who is ready for a good time? Come, come, Kolya Lazar, also known as Lazarus or even Lazzy, is here to liven up the place.”