Warehouse Agents

 That’s the thing with life: NO ONE MAKES IT OUT ALIVE.

                                     independent private fandomless occult oc

 AND  YET  THE  BEAST  WAS  NEITHER  STUPID  NOR  SLOW  ON  the  uptake  ,      and  he  was  well  aware  of  what  the  man  in  front  of  him  was  trying  to  telling  him  .      ’this’  .      ah  !      as  though  he  wasn’t  already  very  much  conscious  of  the  fact  that  he  had  masqueraded  as  a  terrifying  beast  for  the  past  several  years  !      he  had  grown  accustomed  to  the  hulking  body  already  ,      and  made  room  in  his  mind  for  the  anger  that  always  wanted  to  claw  its  way  out  of  his  mind  and  chest  and  throat  .    

but  of  course  he’d  say  that  this  was  due  to  some  object  .      of  course  he’d  say  that  magic  wasn’t  real  !      it  was  entirely  real  -  there  was  no  object  responsible  for  him  .          ❛      you  weren’t  there  .      this  is  a  curse  !          ❜

“You seem to be misunderstanding me. Maybe my French isn’t coming across clearly.” He retorted, agitated with the situation. Artie had a notoriously short fuse and little patience for backtalk. He’d spent the past forty years of his life as an agent for the warehouse-- and at his age he was getting a bit... crotchety. 

Unfortunately, he was the only agent who could speak fluent French, which made him ideal to discern what artifact had caused the Prince’s transformation.

Adjusting his glasses, he took a calming breath and counted to ten in his head. Field work wasn’t his bag anymore-- it wreaked havoc with his blood pressure.

Genderbents and OCs welcome.