#ubysm

grave suggestions.

        he's heard it all: demon, hellspawn, angel-killer, lucifer's first. ( he's done the most to kill that last title because he's not his sister's creation. demon-smothered grace or not, ronan will always be lucifer's twin. some old gods know him better as belial and will always refuse to refer to him as ronan. always belial. lilith was lucifer's first and she's dead. ) he— ernie, he's watching him with a look at just screams about how much he's seen. ronan isn't sure if that's good or not.

        he's pushing the spoon around a milkshake glass, half lost in thought at the revelation. ronan's seen them, lurking around the edges of reality, glitching ever so slightly. he doesn't know what to make of the void, but he thinks he never will. it's a cruel game. ( and he's seen billy, the immortal with the curse hanging over him like a patchwork blanket. his presence seems to add a bit of sunshine to the diner. )

grave suggestions.

              ❛ 'm not, ❜ billy had been sprawled out on one of the booths' seats and the notion of sleep had occured to him once or twice. whether or not it was 2:37 am was the other deciding factor. especially when the last time he'd looked at his phone, it was 1:13 am. it's eerily quiet in the truck stop and, save for something flipping through a dog-eared magazine in the booth by the door, also slow. ( the something by the door reminds them of a minnesota winter and seeing a pair of red eyes eight feet off the ground. wendigos are creatures he tries not to cross paths with anymore. )

        he doesn't see ernie until his hand's being grabbed, one foot out the door already. the thing in the booth looks up. billy knows immediately that, aside from the cook, there's no comfort in being left alone with something. without looking at the booth creature, billy nods at ernie's words. ( not that he blames ernie for his discomfort. cursed or not, there's no real comfort in not being willfully blind like the most of humanity. being immortal tore the veil for him, and now he's always chasing pixies away. )

        she's very tall, that much is noticeable. the black veil covering her face and the antlers that look painted red are both other matters entirely. in truth, sam is having trouble with the menu because this is a place she's never been to. it's definitely the claws, but that's what you get when samhain is sitting in a booth at a truck stop.

Sorry I took so long. It’s just-- ( Brighid says as she shuts the door to Windy Hill’s spacious lobby behind her, crossing the room to find Ernie sitting just as she had left him, beside the sleek charcoal hydroponics display in the bay window. 

She tosses him the lanyard-- laminated badge attached and even spangled with the logo, and sighs. ) Why don’t the Deadheads ever leave me alone? ( She’d been accosted earlier by a very friendly stranger who turned out to be, to Brighid’s discomfort, another one on her way out of the tea shop just down the road. All egregious patchouli smell, lank grey hair and unkempt bushy beard-- the watery icing on a smelly tie-dyke cake. Yuck. ) 

It’s like they can-- can smell fear or somethin’!! ( They really do seem to just pop up wherever she goes. One will wink at her at the thrift store, the other will try to slide her some trite one-liner in the Shaws queue like a twenty across a bar top. And always Grateful Dead fans! Never fans of any other band! 

Brighid shudders-- to reset, almost, to her humble, sensitive usual self. ) Now. Let’s pet some dogs, yeah? ( She’s already starting towards the other door. ) 

        it's almost immediately clear that they're not something easily contained in their human form. the void is glitching in the smallest of ways: one of their eyes turning completely black or their hair flashing through the entire colour spectrum before going back to inky black. even their voice is dual-toned and echoes, like something from a loudspeaker.

subtle romance.

        maybe it's because they're almost the same in terms of their situation, but it's definitely the first time that billy can say that his heart has successfully jumped into his throat. it's not that he hasn't experienced it before, formerly closeted bisexual he is, but it's still public. old habits die hard, especially for supposed to be dead gunslingers. ❛ you wouldn't? ❜