sacrilege

Morgan Leander Page 32 | Hunter | Alchemist Butcher at The People's Grocery & Fisherman

[bigbadmorganinactive-blog]

amityxbell:

“No, I just needed a change,” they lied. “How are you doing, then, underdog? How’s your boat?”

Morgan was happy to see Amity, mainly because they appeared healthy, and they were bringing up topics that had nothing to do with the recent hunt. He needed to get his heavy mind and heart off of it. “I like the look, your hair doesn’t hide away your face now.” A smile showed in his eyes and he shook his head, “I haven’t worked on her since we first spoke, got caught up with a few things. I’m uh... I’m doing alright. What have you been up to today, sweetheart?”

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benjamin-mackenzie:

“What a tragedy. It’s such a shame to see young life lost, but to see it done in such a horrific manner,” he trails off slightly. To any outside observer, he appears solemn, but to one of his own he looks like the royal prick he is. “There are deaths similar to this all throughout history, usually involving legends of witches. Well, witches and hunters. Not that any of that is real, but an interesting thought. The exactitudes are fascinating – well, fascinating in a macabre sort of way.”

Unlike other boot licking hunters, Morgan didn’t contain his frustration with Ben. He had plenty of reasons to despise him and even more-so since Ben was in a position of leadership. A position that Morgan felt he didn’t deserve though he was doing exactly what hunters should do. Hearing him go on was sickening but he masked his emotions with a heavy sigh. “Are you done?” He found the man hypocritical, speaking about the events in such a tone was not helping his cover one bit, let alone bringing up such specific history. “You’re a fucking imbecile.”

[bigbadmorganinactive-blog]

amityxbell:

“I cut my hair, that’s probably why you didn’t recognise me.”

“Oh yeah.” Morgan shows a sheepish grin, not very suitable on him. “It’s nice... any reason why you went short?”

[witwerlove]

[bigbadmorganinactive-blog]

12/∞ pictures of Sam Witwer

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amityxbell:

His description of the boat made them laugh, and Amity could see that he was bashful. “She sounds like a great boat,” they said. It had always puzzled them as to why boats were called “she”. Then again, it also puzzled them as to why they were called “she”. “No,” they answered, quickly. Then, yielding, they amended, “Well, it is whilst sober.”

“Yeah.. she will be, soon enough, I really look forward to getting her out on the lake.” Morgan smiled, setting the now stained and crinkled napkin down on the polished wood counter. That earned a soft laugh from the hunter and he nodded, “Was it to your taste, or would you like something else? I’m Morgan, by the way, ‘work at the People’s Grocery most days.”

[bigbadmorganinactive-blog]

benjamin-mackenzie:

“Nobody gives a shit about yer loyalties. But if ye mean t’be of use in bringin’ about some justice to the witch th’did us wrong, I’d bes’ stop bringin’ attention t’yerself. Ye ken?”

“Says the “hunter” asking me for information. It actually means a great deal in our line of work, fighting with brothers and sisters at our side, but I can see how a trigger happy guy like you wouldn’t get that. Since my brothers trust in your loyalty as a partner ended up meaning so little in the end.”

“What makes you think you’ve earned any right to order a Page around? From the looks of it I’ve got the upper hand on this territory, not you. New guy.”

[amoswilder-deactivated20150907]

Amos propped himself up against a hollow stump which had grown up through the deck; it was dead and the crackling roots whined underneath his weight. The sky was a seamless array of colours new and old. The black of night bleeding into the lilac of gloaming, the twinkle of distant, rebellious stars dreading the sun’s arrival and their impending fall into obscurity. With a deep pull, he filled his longs with the harsh smoke, let it find its way into his blood stream, then released with a booming cough. Suddenly, everything was pulled apart and realigned, and his heart pumped hard and low. Like a ticking clock at the bottom of stone well.

“That’s the point, man,” he said, leaning through the plumes of white smoke still lingering in the air. “You speed everything up, and ride that wave til you can’t take it.” He offered his pouting friend the joint which sizzled and cracked and  yawned like something alive between his fingers. “Then you get off the ride.”

Once he’d handed off the joint, he ambled over to the small little niche in the ground where the beginnings of a fire sat in a heap. He took too long to arrange everything, stoned and off in his own little world. But eventually, he lit the kindling and their the flames began to roar.

[bigbadmorganinactive-blog]

“Well I’d like off.” Morgan retorts before grinning upward toward Amos, not interested in ruining their evening with complaints any further. He took hold of the joint with care though his fingers still shook with jitters. “Wh-whoa, what did you put in this thing?” Morgan gasped, noting the crackling that he hoped wasn’t just something he was seeing. The daredevil in him, or the careless idiot, drew in a deep puff without an explanation. If it was good enough for Amos it should be good enough for him.

The man child leaned back now, admiring Amos as he put the last pieces together, tilting his head up again to see more stars had faded in the sky. Finally he breathed out, the affect fogging up his mind steadily yet far quicker than any other weed he’d tried before. He was gonna need to get his own stash, that is if Amos planned to be straight with him. “Shit.” Morgan choked gently, grinning after.

[tombadgerlocks]

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And I miss Logan. Every day.

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For Event 2

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amityxbell:

“Ah, I see. What kind of boat is she?” Amity had been on ferries before, and on whale watching boats in Whitby, but that was essentially it. So they didn’t really see. They drank about the same amount as him, but it made them cough. “Ha, I like it.” It tasted like cigarettes.

“Uh, well...” He’s suddenly self conscious. “I guess I really can’t call her a boat, yet anyway... She can float at this point, now I’m just gonna see how she handles a engine being strapped on back.” The boat wasn’t exactly something Morgan flaunted, more a hobby for now. An extra slice of the deal he made with his current homes old property owner, thrown into the deal, caked with dirt and stinking of mold. “Shit. This is the first time you’ve had it?”

[bigbadmorganinactive-blog]

micahshipley:

Sarcasm was lost on Micah Shipley, as were most subtleties in conversation. Inflection, tone, rises and falls in pitch – all the little complexities that made conversation interesting and challenging for others simply over-complicated things for the necromancer. He found it hard to keep eye contact, so when a statement was followed by a clever smile or a twist of the eyebrows, he was none the wiser. But, he didn’t dwell on it. That was unless someone took the time to point it out. Needling eyes, like black, bottomless pools, flickered here and there, slightly narrowed as if he needed to tip-toe through waiting traps in this conversation. “Seattle. It’s wet there, too,” he offered, switching his bag from his left to his right shoulder.

Micah had enough tact (which was little, mind you) not to say what came to the forefront of his clouded mind: just tell me how you want to be perceived, and that’ll save us both a lot of trouble. His indifference to people, especially strangers, was almost palpable. “You work at the grocery.” It was less a question, and more of a statement. “Is that why you moved to Birchwood? To slice cold cuts?”

Morgan gripped his right hand around his left cuff while he observed the hermits movements, however slight. It was just a habit of his, he didn’t intend to be rude, and he didn’t mean to pick up any information he wasn’t meant to know. Overall the man was what you’d expect a hermit to be; rather plain and untraceable. While other hunters might have felt threatened by these qualities Morgan couldn’t help but be a bit envious. So long he’d wished to vanish in thin air but reality and those involved in his story always came crawling back to his heels. He chuckled very fleetingly. “Yes.” Morgan nods, his eyes emphasizing how obvious that observation was. “Are you saying I should have moved to a dry Nevada dessert? ... Nevadian?” Morgan pondered, rubbing his chin. “I feel more at home where it’s bleak and overcast, makes my sunshine personality standout that much more.”

“Yeah, I love working there.” Morgan smiled. “Mans gotta work to live, don’t he?” Sliding off the boulder now Morgan sighed and patted off his jeans. “I’ve always been curious about your shop in town, but never thought up a reason to drop by.”

[bigbadmorganinactive-blog]

What was your first encounter with a witch like?

I can’t rightly say now can I? I’ve had run ins with many witches, ever since I was born, but they don’t advertise. A first encounter was probably nothing special, like passing someone on the street.

[amityxbell-blog]

“Huh,” they murmured, handing him the glass. “That’s pretty rough, man. Girlfriend? Or, sister?”

[bigbadmorganinactive-blog]

“My boat, actually.” Morgan replied, swigging down half of the glass and clearing his throat afterward. “But now that the testosterone’s out of the way he’s gonna help me bring her back to life. Or supply the parts I need, at least.”

[amityxbell-blog]

“Why not, I root for the underdog.” Amity smirked, turned to order two whiskeys from the bar, getting out their fake ID from their wallet. “What was it over, then? A girl?” they asked slyly as the bartender served them.

[bigbadmorganinactive-blog]

“That happens to be my style too.” Morgan smirked, being sociable. “A girl, yeah... a certain girl, very special in my life.” He babbled while wiping some dirt smudges from his face with a square napkin at the bar.

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[micahshipley-deactivated2015090]

“I’d rather they kept out of the deeper woods,” he said, reaching down to pull at the threads of his right boot. “Some of those places are sacred.”

“No,” he said, standing straight once more and casting his loam coloured eyes at the stranger. “Seems like a sport for a patient man.”

[bigbadmorganinactive-blog]

“Yeah... I meant to be sarcastic about that.” Morgan shot a friendly grin, it was just in his nature. “Birchwood shouldn’t be treated like a tourist spot... since moving here a year ago I’ve been most taken by the utter isolation. ‘Had enough of the crowds in Seattle.” Being a butcher at the People’s Grocery, there were few locals that didn’t know an outsider like Morgan well enough by now. That basic information he was willing to be honest with. However, Micah Shipley, a man Morgan did recognize, wasn’t one of them. More of a shut in. This was the first time he shared a word with the man in all this time.

He chuckled and with a small exhale sat up from his position, leaning forward, “I’m not patient anywhere else, so don’t get the wrong idea about me.”