horror business

Joy Sullivan, from Instructions for Traveling West: Poems; “All Day Long There Is a Bursting”

send one for my muse’s reaction to your muse ---

Alternatively, send ‘ + ‘ after the symbol for the roles to be reversed where possible! Please specify the muse for multimuses!

✘ = hugging them.

Δ = playing with their hair.

❤ = kissing them.

₪ = asking them out for dinner.

☀ = giving them a gift of _ ( asker’s choice ) .

♘ = stabbing them.

♕ = bowing down before them.

♒ = lying to them.

✿ = buying them flowers.

☾ = being found shirtless.

♢ = reading them a story.

☂ = giving them their jumper to keep warm.

✎ = speaking in a different language.

✏ = teaching them a different language.

▄ = telling them a joke.

♬ = singing to them.

☹ = insulting a loved one.

ஐ = slapping them.

✂ = threatening them.

❃ = dancing with them.

▤ = falling asleep on them.

☮ = waking them up after a nightmare.

♣ = discovering them crying.

回 = patching a wound.

✮ = stargazing.

▓ = caught stealing their belongings.

☽ = wandering alone at night.

♡ = complimenting them.

≡ = offering a place to stay overnight.

☢ = falling over.

✦ = being well-dressed.

❂ = wiping blood off their face.

◎ = taking care of them while ill.

☁ = being caught in the middle of a storm with them.

⇕ = holding their hand.

↱ = being lost with them.

☠ = pushing them against a wall.

The good sir doesn't buy it. Of course he doesn't. This entire situation shouldn't even be a situation. Her, alone in the woods in the middle of the night. Him, stumbling upon her.

It's a horror movie scenario waiting to happen.

Little Red Vampiric Riding Hood, the reprise.

"Cans." She's truthful, at least. "Up ahead." A beat and then: "Apologies." That's sincere, too. "I did not aim for you, no." The younger of the two sizes him up. "Your name wouldn't happen to be Remy Lebeau, would it? Or Gambit?" A joke, for levity.

It's better than explaining the fact that sometimes it feels like she's holding a thousand spinning plates on poles and every so often, it feels as if she's breaking more than she's fixing.

[ he looks over his shoulder where she motions at the cans. there they sit, gleaming dully in what little moonlight there is. he shrugs as she offers apologies, slipping his hands into his jacket pockets. he looks at her then, catches her sizing him up. Gambit? that's a new one. ]

" --- Remy Lebeau? does that make you Rogue?" [ he breathes a laugh, shaking his head. ] " --- non, petit angeau. not an X-Man. sorry to disappoint."

[ he moves closer, eyeing the gun in her hand as she asks if she may be so bold; ends her question with a polite little sir- he likes that. he shrugs, gives a non-committal sound. ]

" --- walking." [ he says simply, circling to stand just next to her. close enough he'd have a chance to snatch the gun if she decided to aim it at him after all. ]

" --- too much noise, in the city. needed... an escape. something tells me you understand that, no? i think you aren't out here shooting cans because you want to practice for your video games."

[ he looks again at the cans. there are more knocked over than there are left standing. so she's a good shot. he looks sidelong at her, curious. ]

" --- yeah, ok. at a distance. sounds good to me."

[ he almost doesn't catch what she says next, but he does at the last second. decides to let it go when she's clears her throat, but still- it doesn't leave him feeling any braver. ]

" --- if things go south, we run. deal." [ he takes a shallow breath, hands balling into fists- he has to stay calm, he has to. it could be bad for all of them if he loses control. with a long look down the hall, he nods, fairly certain the sound had come from that direction. of course they would have to go down a long, dark hallway. this really is a horror movie cliche. ]

Plenty of responses sat at the ready on the tip of his tongue-— none were offered up. Clark was a lot of things, but he really did try not to let stupid be one of them. Mouthing off to someone so strung tight with such big && bad claws seemed very stupid.

❝ You were vague. You'll forgive me for being naturally suspicious. If you'd just laid this out plainly... ❞ He didn't need to outright mention the dead hunter for the implication to be evident.

❝ Hardly your fault, I suppose. You'd have no reason to clue me in prior. ❞ Because now all the cards were out on the table and there was no more of that typical song and dance creatures like them played because no one could be bothered to just be out with it.

'Oh, hey. I'm not human. You either? Cool.' Why couldn't it just be that simple? They both now had such intel as well as a mauled hunter to boot.

❝ Some of us do deserve it. ❞ He had no love for hunters and found the whole lot of them to typically be a minefield of daddy issues and undealt with grief-— but he held little love for the supernatural world they tore through either. His eyes glanced over the shredded corpse and he wrinkled his nose.

❝ Put your claws away. It's over and done with. For now. ❞ The cambion approached the gore with little regard (aside from delicately stepping over a pooling puddle of blood). He straddled the body standing, one nice dress shoe on either side of the corpse, then he went and began patting down packets and searching them in a methodical and clinical way. He came away with a worn leather wallet and he straightened, stepped away, and began filing through the contents.

❝ Hunters are pack animals too, you know. Small ones, but they still like to run in groups. It's rare that you run into single men groups nowadays. ❞ He flipped up an ID card and made a low hum in his throat and returned it to the sleeve. ❝ Your frustration is warranted, make no mistake. But I do worry you've just caused us both a headache in the near future because you decided to be a bit too... heavy-handed. ❞

[ he glares up at the blond-haired stranger, baring still-sharp teeth, flexing said bloodied claws. ]

" --- heavy fuckin' handed? don't be stupid. he was about to draw, you can't tell me you didn't see that. you were lookin' right at him."

[ his wolf is audible, a snarling behind every word that a human's vocal octaves can't usually reach. still, he takes the point. there's no more threat- for now. he moves back some, still crouched, eyes still aglow as he watches the other pat down the hunter's corpse with a particular finesse that betrays practice. the whole demeanor with which he's regarding this situation, it's too cool for someone who hasn't done this many, many times before. ]

" --- how would you have handled it then? tried to talk your way out? get real, man. once they make up their minds, that's it. unless you got a gun under that overly tailored jacket, you'da been just another stain on the concrete. better him than any of us."

[ by us he means the whole of unhuman-kind. yet again, he's made a point Rowan can't argue. where there is one hunter, there are always more. if not a group, a partner. hardly ever a solo act. he rests back on his heels, steadying himself with one hand on the asphalt before him, tries to slow his breathing. a quick glance around and he realizes there's a bag lady staring at them from the bus stop across the street. she looks horrified, as if she can't believe what she's just seen. figures. he huffs a disgruntled sound, glaring back at his company. ]

" --- we've got an audience. doubt the cops'll believe her even if she says somethin', though." [ so maybe he's right. maybe he overacted a bit. caused more trouble than it was worth. still, one less hunter is always worth it. ]

❝-— Maybe. I wouldn't say I'm an authority on parallel universes, so I couldn't say, really. ❞ The cambion didn't seem fazed in any particular way by the strange encounter. This was perhaps due to the potential of this hardly being the first instance of running into some sort of doppelganger or perhaps due to his general apathetic approach to most outlandish situations. Clark had a habit of underreacting, as it were.

❝ I'd venture to say unlikely. At least in the sense that we might somehow be the same person. I like to think myself a bit smarter than to run the risk of having timelines cave in on themselves by talking to myself. ❞ The notion that this man was in fact not also Clark was enough to put him at ease with the situation as a whole. What could have been worse than running into yourself? Nothing, obviously. Certainly not whatever this situation actually was.

The cambion let his tired gaze finally look upon the man, let himself take in the details of him. He seemed younger than Clark, at least visually. The aesthetics were by no means similar. And, of course, this man smoked as though he did so regularly. ❝ No, I don't suppose we have. I think a name might clear all of this up. That would confirm whether or not we've a rather nasty timeline problem on our hands or not. ❞

[ granted, he might be a little stoned. but he's not that damned stoned. he blinks hard a couple times before reflecting the other's searching look. up close he realizes they're not an exact match, or not so exact as had seemed upon first glance. the other man is older, no visible tattoos, but still- he looks like a long lost older brother at the very least. the incubus hums an inquisitive sound. ]

" --- CJ. er- Jack. Jack Nimble." [ he doesn't hold out a hand to shake, though it would probably be a polite thing to do- he's too bewildered to remember his manners at the moment. ]

" --- you really think it would be that bad if we were? i mean, collapsing timelines and all that?" [ shit. this is weird. and since it's already weird, he may as well ask the question that's been bothering him for the last thirty seconds. ]

"You have it? Oh, that's perfect! Gratias," the Wytch felt a great sense of relief that his misdirection was not wasted; it turned out to be a rather fortunate one, instead. Not only was this apothecary well-stocked with a variety of flora, but he was welcomed by somebody who was more than happy to help, already guiding him towards an abundance of Angelica. They appeared fresh, and as Mylo picked up a bundle of them and pressed down gently, their roots were still quite firm. Nothing was worse than rotten ingredients spoiling the integrity when creating any kind of concoction, especially a banishing one. It was a risky procedure, so everything needed to be made from quality components for it to work effectively. "This should be enough," satisfied with his choice, three bundles were brought along with him as the other continued showing him where everything was, chatting away enthusiastically whilst they perused the shelves. The Wytch followed with ease, smiling as he listened.

"All good! Let me just..." he added, words trailing off in concentration as his fingers danced across the selection of bottled black salt before plucking two of them up. The bundles of Angelica were placed on a counter nearby as Mylo held the glass jars in either palm, staring down at them for a couple seconds before returning one to its original place. He kept the other in his hand. "This one. Five hundred and eight grams. A little bit over, but..." with a one shoulder shrug, the Wytch lightly laughed and collected his roots again. He could be a perfectionist sometimes, but in no way pedantic -- so long as the job was done. "...it's always best to have more than not enough, right?" It was needed to create a circle, not an oval, so he would rather be generous with the salt than find himself without proper coverage when trapping the spectre. Some magick users underestimated how powerful they could be, making simple mistakes such as drawing their circles too thinly or forgetting to close it; a weak barrier or missed gaps made for dire consequences.

"As much as I would love more crystals," it was tempting to treat himself by replacing the ones he already had, but they were still good as new. Living in caves and forests, his coven were highly resourceful and never believed in simply swapping out the old with new. Most of his crystals were a century old, perhaps more. "I have far too many at home. But if I need any more, I'll definitely come back and-" he stopped short as they passed by a cabinet full of the aforementioned crystals, clocking what looked to be a cat carved from Carnelian. It was a vibrant orange colour, and despite his earlier statement, Mylo decided that he needed to take the little animal home with him. "-oh, that is adorable." He pointed towards the cat with delight, already envisioning it on the windowsill overlooking Woodbourne. "Could I please buy him, as well?"

One more crystal wouldn't hurt.

With the Carnelian cat in his possession, the Wytch carefully deposited it and all the ingredients upon the front counter, careful not to disturb the stack of books that were placed down earlier. In the midst of shrugging off his backpack to retrieve some money, the reasoning behind his purchases were brought up with the casualness of somebody who was familiar. It made Mylo wonder whether his helpful host was a magick user, too. He must be. "Yes! That's right. I have a really stubborn spectre in my apartment building, and...ugh, he keeps frightening my human neighbours. I tried asking him to kindly leave, but do you know what he did? He flipped me off and-" realising that he was starting to rant, the Wytch stopped himself and laughed. "-uh yeah, so the only option left is to banish him."

[ Wytchling? why does that sound familiar? he remembers Elmira telling him once, that there are witches, and there are Wytches. but he'd thought at the time she meant the difference between dabblers and true practitioners. the way he'd said human neighbors gives Frankie a pause- it only lasts a moment. he's more than familiar with the non-human residents of Haventown- in fact, he takes comfort in knowing this man might not be entirely human himself. ]

" --- oh, she's- well, yeah. she is. teacher, boss, practically my assumed Auntie at this point. found family, y'know. she's teaching me how to control my magick." [ he laughs a little at the joke the other makes, rubbing his nose in a nervous gesture. had he spoken too much? oh well. can't take it back now. ]

" --- usually she's on me about not selling enough. most of the time people just shrug me off, say they're just here to browse. but you're not like the other customers that come in here though. nothing about you says tourist. something about you screams practitioner. uh- i mean, if you don't mind me saying so. most of the folk that come in here are just.. y'know. tourists."

[ it's nice to meet someone that understands, he thinks. who actually knows what they're doing and respects the craft. ]

" --- love these little guys. they're made locally, too. hand-carved. each one is unique." [ he smiles as he assumes his place behind the register, ringing up the Carnelian cat statue first. when he's finished ringing everything up, he carefully wraps the cat in a dark blue tissue paper, sets it carefully in the black paper bag on top of everything else. ]

" --- that'll be thirty-three fifty, with your discounts." [ he's added his own employee discount as well, even though he's not technically supposed to- he's so enjoying this customer's company, he figured why not? might make for a repeat customer if nothing else. surely Elmira won't be too upset about that, right? ]