#tysonblackburn

The Hotel Cortez hadn’t been the most ideal place, and truth be told, Tyson hadn’t been looking forward to going there. But, he needed to. It was all part of being a reaper. The thought was one he still couldn’t wrap his head around - you would think that after years of being a reaper, of training with death, he would be used to it by now - but he wasn’t. At least, not anymore. Maybe it had been because he hadn’t been able to feel until recently, as part of the deal when he had accepted Death’s offer the night of the fire… the fire that killed his parents, leaving his younger sister all alone. Thankfully, though, he wasn’t making the journey alone. He wouldn’t have even considered Malia a good friend, more like someone who he knew through his sister, but it worked out: she needed a vacation, and he enjoyed the company, not that he’d ever admit that fact aloud to anyone. Even before his “death”, Tyson had been a loner. He had friends and girlfriends, but no one had actually known him, having kept the majority of his life to himself. No one would have been able to understand him, or help him, so he didn’t even bother to open up. That was another thing that he liked about Malia; she didn’t push, because she too had secrets and things she didn’t like to talk about. He didn’t need to take a whole lot of time to pack his things, so he did it quickly that morning before he was supposed to leave. He didn’t own much, and the things he did own was always at the ready. Tyson traveled light, and traveled a lot, so he hadn’t really had a place to settle down. Not that he could, he was technically reported as dead, burnt to a crisp. He shook his head, ridding the thoughts of that night. He didn’t want to think about it anymore, he didn’t want all the grief that would hit him hard, a side effect of not feeling anything about it after all these years. “Time to go,” Tyson told himself, taking a quick second to glance around the motel room that he’d been staying at since he had arrived back in Beacon Hills. - - - - - - - - The drive to Malia’s house didn’t take that long. As he climbed up the porch, he balled his hands into a fist, bring it up to knock on the door. Henry Tate opened the door almost instantly, glaring at Tyson. “Uh, hey Mr. Tate. Malia here?” He asked, his heart beating against his chest rapidly. He had never formally met Henry, but Tyson had known of him, from when he used to visit Beacon Hills during vacations, and he knew about the guns Henry kept. “Yeah, she’s here,” he replied after a moment, probably deciding on if he should keep Malia from going with him or not, but then coming to the realization that he couldn’t stop her. He motioned from him to come in, and he did just that. Walking into the living room, he immediately spotted Malia flopped on the couch. “Your dad let me in.” His eyes moved over to her luggage, which in comparison to his, was a lot and he shook his head, pressing his lips together. “Ready to go?” Without waiting for an answer, he turned to go back the way he came in, but Henry Tate spoke again, grabbing his attention. “If anything happens to my little girl…” he began, and it took everything in Tyson not to roll his eyes. It hadn’t been the first time someone had given him the “hurt my daughter and I’ll kill you speech” speech, and he’d rather avoid it all together at this point.

This was it, a new road trip to scratch off the bucket list. “Malia, are you sure you want to go?” Scott asked watching his friend pack her things. “Yes, I've done told Tyson I would tag along to help out. He doesn't need to go alone.” “What about us?” She stopped in her place and turned to look at the Alpha of their little pack, her brown eyes locking on his. “You will be fine.” She flashed her friend a soft smile who in return nodded his head and left the room. Once he left the room she returned to packing some clothes. Ipod in hand, she turned the device on as she placed the ear buds in her ears. Volume on med-low, she nodded her head to the beat of the music letting it take course through her body. Her hips winding and grinding back and forth. “I'm that flight that you get on, international first class seat on my lap girl, riding comfortable 'cause I know what the girl them need, New York to Haiti. I got lipstick stamps on my passport, you make it hard to leave” her voice echoed in the room as she sang, unsure if she was on key or not - like she really cared. “Been around the world, don't speak the language but your booty don't need explaining. All I really need to understand is when you talk dirty to me. Talk dirty to me, talk dirty to me, talk dirty to me.” Instantly she threw in the famous Michael Jackson crotch grabbing move, “Get jazzy on it.” Thunder rolled outside, shaking windows from how powerful it was. The brunettes eyes locked on the clear box that let her see outside her room. Lightening lit up the whole sky making it as if it could be daylight from how bright it was. “Great..” She muttered as she pulled her ear buds out and turned the device off. For what seemed like hours, she finally finished packing her bag. Falling back against the bed her eyes gazed at the ceiling. Was this trip going to be worth it? Most definitely. She needed a get-away from the pack and her family. Peter was always a jerk, Henry was.. too protective. She needed at least a week of freedom from worrying about everyone around her. Of course this hotel wouldn't be the best place to do that since she would have to worry about herself and Tyson. For a reaper, he still needed someone to tag along just for extra caution. ------------------------------------------------- The sun peaked through the window, dancing down the bed and right into the werecoyote's face. “ARRRRR.” She growled and rolled over and fell off the bed. Stretching, she slowly began to awake. Letting out a soft yawn she picked herself up from the floor which oddly enough felt better than the bed. Reaching for her cell phone she looked at the time, “crap!” In a fritz she grabbed her luggage she was bringing with her and shoved her phone in the back pocket of her shorts. Rushing downstairs nearly falling down them, she sets the bags down and looked over at Henry. “Has he came by yet?” she asks nearly out of breath. Her father shakes his head. Slipping her phone out, she checks the time once more. “Ugh.” Just as she was about to call Tyson to make sure he didn't forget her amazing hearing picked up the sound of his vehicle getting closer to the house. “Thank God,” she grumbles and falls on to the couch letting her heart rate and blood pressure get back to normal.

It had been a long journey, a dangerous one, but Tyson finally found himself on Monument Island, where he needed to be.. Throughout sailing across the sea in a rainstorm and being shot at by what seemed like the entire population of the island, the only thought that crossed his mind was, ‘save the girl’. The things he would do to make his debt go away. Shaking his head slightly, he forced his feet to carry himself inside. Rapture had been a heavenly looking place, but, this building seemed eerie, creepy, if the Danger: Do Not Enter signs were any indication of that. Why would they keep the girl here? Was she the specimen that they were observing that was “dangerous”, as the signs had warned. He ignored the warnings, ignored the quarantine signs, and continued to make his way further inside. Although a part of him wanted to find Aaron and get out of here as soon as possible, another part of him, the curious part, couldn’t help but to search around. It proved to be a good thing more often than not, finding coins left behind for the taking and snacks laying around that would help him regain energy. The room with the projector caught his eye, and, naturally, curiosity took the best of him, playing it. On the screen played a video of a girl, no doubt the very girl he was looking for, attempting lockpicking. Why were they recording and watching her? What was Comstock up to? Tyson shook his head again, reminding himself to keep going, so he did. The next room the male entered peak his interest. It looked like an operating room, a glass-like cage with a chair contained inside. “What the hell are they doing to her?” Tyson questioned, the sight alone making him feel sick in the stomach. He left just as quickly as he went in, and soon found an elevator that carried him up. He walked down hall after hall, but soon, as he stepped into a small squared room, a Quiet! While Specimen is present sign hanging on the wall. Flipping the lever, a window opened up right in front of his eyes. “That’s her,” was all that he mumbled when he saw Aaron on the other side, unaware that someone was watching her at that moment. That hadn’t been the first room on his way to find her that had a secret window, watching the girls every move. Still though, he kept going, even when he had to go on the roof, nearly getting blown off the tower by the strong gusts of wind. Heading up the stairs, he stepped into what seemed to be the angel’s head of a statue, it was really weird, if he were being honest. It happened so fast; first he had been fine, then the next thing he knew, he was collapsing through the floor, hitting another floor with a loud thud. “Ow,” he grumbled, but before he had time to answer the girls “who are you?” question, she started to throw books at him. “Hey! Knock it off. WILL YOU STOP IT?” He demanded, his voice raising when she continued to throw them at her. At her second question, she seemed to pause, giving Tyson advantage to finally stand up. “I’m real enough,” he told her reassuringly. He only took a moment to take breath, before continuing on. “I’m Tyson, a friend. I’ve come to get you out of here.”

Are you real?"