wilbur cross.

[coloneltm]

𝗰𝗼𝗹𝗼𝗻𝗲𝗹𝘁𝗺 ⸻ a private retelling of 𝙬𝙞𝙡𝙗𝙪𝙧 𝙘𝙧𝙤𝙨𝙨 within the group of @gonighthawks. please do not follow/interact if not in the group.

will follow from @hatchetdogs.

dossier. aesthetics. musings. headcanons.

[mommytm]

She isn't blind to the way his hand brushes her neck in passing as he returned to his seat, perfectly painted lips twitching upwards into a soft little smirk. This man? He knew what he wanted. He carried an air about him that was magnetic to her own. There was something about him she wanted to dig her manicured claws into. To rip apart and learn about. "Well, I'm okay with keeping one thing short between us, if you catch my drift," she hummed, lips pursing back into their resting smirk. "I do think you're incredibly attractive, and I feel as though I would have noticed you long before today if I had seen you around before..."

[coloneltm]

"Oh, I believe I do, Mrs. Monroe," he murmurs, settling into his chair in a way that he was leaning back into it. He has a leg stretched out beside the chair, boot dangerously close to her own shoes. His other staying planted firmly on the ground as he pushes his hands into the pockets of his jacket. He licks over his lower lip as she mentions having not noticed him around town before and he gives a nod, "That would make sense."

He lifts a brow, a curios expression befalling him despite her statements and own curiosity of him, "I'm passing through... making a pitstop to be more exact. I got some things to settle here in Hatchetfield. Don't know how long that's going to take, but I wouldn't mind the company of knowing someone beyond those I need to seek out."

[giftedtm]

"I don't talk to strangers." She says it with the flat affect of a girl unbothered, as if she doesn't have to remind herself even now not to phrase it as Lex told me not to talk to strangers. In all honesty, Lex had much stronger advice for what to do when strange men talked to Hannah, and it didn't end with "don't talk to them" if they didn't stop at the first prompting. He is a stranger, but he is also wrong.

It's too cold to be out without a jacket, and even without looking directly at the apple the shade of green is so saturated it makes her head hurt. Maybe if he was only strange she would have left it at that, an anomaly. Hatchetfield is strange, and it would not be the first incident of strangeness that the girl turned her head away from whether at Webby's behest or her own. But he knows her name, and he knows Webby.

Something in her gut twists violently as she forces herself to look at him directly. Never in the eye, but taking him in more directly in spite of his wrongness. Even as she knows better than to engage, she can't help it, tugged by the invisible string of curiosity. "...how do you know my name?"

She wants to ask about Webby, but holds her tongue. At least for now. He's a stranger, and she can't forget that. The denim clad man might say Webby's name like she's familiar to him, but that doesn't mean that he is. As subtly as she can, she grasps her phone in her pocket, just in case. If she calls, Ethan will come. If she calls, Lex will answer. The curiosity pulls her, but there is still a tether to the here and now. A lifeline beyond a bus that might take a small eternity to come.

[coloneltm]

He chuckles low at the mention of her stating she didn't speak to strangers. Good practice. Nothing is said on it, instead he lets her stew a moment with her thoughts before turning his own head after she's already looking at him. how do you know my name? Another chuckle, quiet and absent of any humor. He turns the apple over in his hand, but doesn't look at her. Instead he continues to admire the green shinning skin of the fruit, contemplating whether he wants to use his teeth of a knife to cut into it. But as he debates, he does speak up, low and crooning with his accent, "Oh, I know a whole lot of nothing and plenty about you, Hannah."

The contradiction of the statement was meant to draw her curiosity, but he continues to not look at her. Doesn't stop him from running his mouth, something he's very good at doing, "I know you got a friend you call Webby... I know she makes you feel safe, protected, like she could share wonders of the world with ya." He tosses the apple up only to catch it with the opposite hand so he could bring his now free one to his jacket's pocket. He reaches in, focuses, then withdraws a pocketknife that he flicks open, "She says something great is coming or something terrible. Warns you about nightmare time and its inevitability here in Hatchetfield."

He presses the blade of the knife to the apple and easily slices through it, cutting off a small piece, "So how 'bout rather than assume I'm a stranger... consider me... an acquaintance." Pause, eyes flicking to her from the corners as he keeps his head pointed forward and slightly down, "Or would you feel better with titles that you've given to Webby?"

[mayortm]

getting home late and arriving to work early has become a constant in solomon's life. there's nothing for him at home , not really. the only times it matters is when he has to remind his foolish offspring that she can't just do whatever she pleases. that actions have consequences -- as so piss poor grades. if it were up to him , he would never leave his office , never lay in an empty bed and be forced to be alone with his regrets thoughts. unfortunately , keeping appearances include the facade of a well rounded family man. usually , he finds himself waking up at his desk at home , piles of papers as pillows and half a dozen files open behind his locked computer screen. this particular morning , he'd woken with a start , nearly tipping over in his leather bound , and realized that his usual morning call from miss tessburger hadn't come. he must have forgotten , the previous night , to account for her alleged "illness."

despite the unceremonious way he has woken up , he's still early. perhaps a tad more unkempt than usual , but once he gets coffee in him , he'll be right as rain. though curiously , he finds the door to his office unlocked and a man waiting for him as the lights blink on. he should be alarmed , should even be frightened. but he knows hatchetfield well , maybe not the best , but better than most. and fear is of little use at the end of the day. " ...good morning , " his voice is slow and even , matching his gate as he walks over to his desk. the thought of ringing the little security button under his desk does occur to solomon , but there's little that the incompetents at the hfpd could do to diffuse any potential situations. he's made sure of that. so he does at the man says , lowering down to his chair , eyes never leaving the other's face. " i always have time for an... eager constituent. "

[coloneltm]

Wilbur knew well enough that the mayor could call on security at the drop of a hat, but he wasn't worried. He knew his presence would be intriguing alone and he knew that he was about to spark interest. Maybe some fear and anxiety, but he wasn't here to toy or play games. He wanted to know what Solomon knew about the Book beyond its use he'd had of it. He needed to know if anyone else ever knew of the book. Perhaps it would come off as obsessed, but was he not? In the wrong hangs-- like a certain witch.... that book could be powerful against his Gods. He had to find it and he would take it by force if he had to.

He waits for the mayor to take a seat, eyes locked on the man as he watches him a moment. He chuckles lowly, "Oh, I'm not someone who is lookin' to cast their approval for you into a hat." He didn't care if that hurt his chances, he wanted to be pointed, "Let's just say I was sent by someone who knows quite a lot about you, Mr. Mayor. Someone who knows your deepest of secrets and rather misses your loyalty and sacrifices." His smile stays transfixed to his face almost venomously like a snake waiting to attack, "Y'see, Mr. Mayor, I'm lookin' for somethin' I know you had last in this here town. A book and I don't have to tell you the name of it for you to know which one I speak of, especially after mentioning my friendy-wend."

[mommytm]

linda's marriage was . . . complicated. she and gerald had been open for a while, and it seemed to work fairly well for them. they had their fun in opposite directions with partners of their choosing. and for a while, it felt like they were each other's central ground. she hadn't spoken of the distance she had felt lately, and certainly not to her father, no. she didn't need him to poke and prod at any potential failures she might accrue. she was not a fucking failure. but this man? this tall drink of water with a drawl? well, he certainly could be another name in her little black book.

a smirk climbed across painted lips as he pressed a kiss against her knuckles, lips ghosting against her soft skin. oh, he knew what he was about. as her hand slipped from his, she cleared her throat, gaze dropping to the pushed in chair across from him before flicking to his expectantly. he was a southern gentleman after all, was he not?

[coloneltm]

She clears her throat and glances from him to the chair and he can't help the small chuckle that bubbles up his chest, low and amused. He licks over his bottom lip in thought about it before giving a roll of his shoulders and rising to stand. He towers over her as he does so, pausing to take that into account before moving to step around her-- frame brushing to hers. A hungry desire starts to bubble through him at the smell of her overly priced perfume, the scent running its way up his nose and down his spine. He knew she'd be wearing something, but it felt almost instant how it consumed him and only enticed him further. He wasn't going to sidestep that thought. He knew what this was about to be, he knew the potential this conversation and meeting could carry.

He steps behind the chair opposite of the one he'd been sitting in, his hands drop to the back of it and he pulls it out with a slight turn in order for her to sit. He waits a beat as she does so, giving her time to adjust before aiding in pushing the chair back in some. His hands leave the back of the chair, but one grazes against her neck and the softness triggers that hunger again. He chuckles low to himself then moves back to his own chair, lowering into it then quirking a brow at her, "I get the feelin' we aren't conversin' just for the fun of it."

[coloneltm]

closed: @mayortm where: city hall, mayor's office

Wilbur was meticulous in how he went about things, never doing anything without thought or reason. And always ensuring it benefited him to some minor degree, at least. This visit where he's already sat in one of the chairs opposite Solomon's usual spot had its benefits. He was here for a specific reason-- somewhat personal, but mostly business related by that of his master. His God, if you will. He was here to collect something that he knew was no longer where it was meant to be and he wasn't going to go around searching. No. That would be the job of a man who could have eyes everywhere and perhaps Wilbur could with the right God helping, but... well, Blinky had eyes elsewhere. This was up to him and ensuring that the Black Book was put into the right hands. It was a shame that it got dug up. If only he knew by who... but then again, that's why he was here.

So he waited patiently for the door to open and the light to flick on, knowing full well that the mayor wouldn't be expecting him. His head turned and he looked at Lauter, frown settled on his face, "Mornin', Mayor." He brings his eyes back to the pocket knife he was using to cut into a green apple, "I was hopin' to catch a word with you before business took you away completely." He pauses, eyes flicking back to him, "And if you know what's good for ya, you'll take a seat and hear what I have to say before callin' for security to have me removed."

[giftedtm]

Sometimes she can feel her presence, the pluck of a single string in the web that ensnares the world. The streetlights hum casting a bright glow across the small piles of snow that litter the edges of sidewalks, and when Hannah breathes, it seems to her that her breath hangs in the air for a second too long. The bus stop is safe. She decided that when she convinced Lex and Ethan she could ride it alone when it got late but never too late. The plexiglass shelter blocks the wind as the brunette glances around as unassumingly as she can manage, like she's looking for the bus that won't come for another 12 minutes. (The number 4 line is always five minutes late). There's no sign of her, and so she holds out her outstretched palm staring into the fabric as if by sheer force of will a small white spider will appear. "...Webby?"

She asks the air quietly, as if afraid of being overheard by an audience she doesn't think is watching. Again, she feels the pluck of a distant string, and she closes her eyes trying to isolate the feeling until it fits in the palm of her hand, recoiling when the sensation becomes unfamiliar. "Not Webby." The shelter is no longer empty, she knows it before she opens her eyes but she doesn't know how long she's had them closed. If the number 4 has already barreled past in a rush to make it to its next belated stop, and she turns her head away from the stranger as she adjusts her backpack on her shoulder until the hard edge of the binder filled with the preliminary notes for Grease is no longer digging into her shoulder blade. In the dull acryllic, she cannot make out a face, only a smudged reflection of a blue clad man standing far taller than her. A stranger, and her stomach turns in the typical knots of anxious energy. She turns her head to see @coloneltm out of corner of her eye, pretending not to study him as she places her gaze on the bus schedule. Five minutes late, or thirty minutes to the next one. If she's lucky, he won't try to fill the silence that hangs like clouds of breath in the air.

[coloneltm]

He was in Hatchetfield for this very reason, meeting and learning about Hannah Foster. He knew her sister was also powerful, but she wasn't nearly as knowing about what laid in her mind. Hannah though? Hannah knew she was special... strange perhaps, but special. She had a power like none other in Hatchetfield and there were plenty of kids her age that held similar abilities. They weren't exactly like hers, but they were special too and they were hidden away deep within the bowels of this town. All of them paid to be quiet on the upside and fighters on the inside-- money that came from Charles Coven and his little fighting ring. It was cute, truly... the disgusting dogs of Hatchetfield watching as powerful teens fought to prove themselves better than the others. They were all betting pools of wealth, but Wilbur? He was there to understand and analyze... he had to know which of these children would be problems in the future. Spitfire. Sophia. She was someone to look out for and he'd had a long conversation with Charles about being mindful of how powerful she was. Charles had first tried to dismiss him, but... Wilbur pulling the very gun from inside the man's jacket without moving across the room had him listening. He made it clear to Charles that this playground of his was just that and eventually something else would come along, something far more powerful looking to take control of these children and their abilities. He told the CEO to watch himself and let popularity run wild amongst the teens, money and power... they'd behave until they were being swallowed by something otherworldly. It had sparked questions, but Wilbur just tossed the gun towards Charles and wished him a good day before taking his leave.

But again, those teens with their showmanship powers were nothing compared to the likes of the Foster girl. There was something about her that made his God angry and ready to fight. But they couldn't fight until they knew what they were up against... so here he was to bring Hannah to the very ring he found amusement in. Putting her in with those others would give him and Wiggog the ability to know what she was capable of. He just had to figure out his approach... but he knew the best way to. He knew how to get into her head with ease because there was already someone there... a White Goddess with a power to annoy and frustrate her brothers. He just had to be louder than Webby. So he approached the girl late in the evening as she waited at the bus stop, denim clad figure coming around to where he could take a seat on the opposite end of the bench. He watched quietly as she opened her eyes, glancing his way then past him at the schedule beside his head. He chuckles a low sound and shifts to lean back against the back of the bench. He kicks his legs out and crosses them at the ankle, hand sliding into his jean pocket and other reach into the interior of his jacket. There's a pause but then he's drawing out an apple, crisp and green.

"You're going to be waiting a while for that bus," Wilbur says calmly, eyeing the apple then brushing it against his abdomen to clean it slightly with his shirt. He brings it back up and sighs, "So why not tell me, Hannah, when the last time you spoke to her?" He flicks his eyes towards her, frown touching his lips.

[mommytm]

it was a typical coffee and pastry date with her girls, women of hatchetfield's finest breeding that knew everything about every happening in town. they'd combine forces every so often to share other people's business and keep each other in the loop, and to be honest, it was the closest thing linda had to friends. did that mean she was immune to the gossip? not at all. they'd tear each other to shreds just as easily as anyone else should someone miss the meetings of the minds, but it was better to be a part of a group than none at all.

she had caught the eye of a handsome man from across the way and did a double take, a little smirk on her lips when their eyes made contact. he grabbed and held her attention, steering her away from the conversation before she spoke up.

" if you'll excuse me, ladies, " she hummed, grabbing her handbag and pushing herself up. it spurred questions, of course, those of which were answered as she crossed the way.

" i do believe you were staring, " she greeted the man with a smirk. " and i can hardly blame you for it. i'm linda monroe, and i don't believe i recognize you . . . and i know everyone in this town, " she mused as she lifted her hand to present it to him, showing off her delicately manicured nails and the flashy watch and rings she wore. " could i join you? "

[coloneltm]

Wilbur watched as she rose from her table of friends, not bothering to say anything beyond a dismissal of herself. It made him chuckle softly, gaze flickering over her frame and the way she walked so confidently towards him. It was attractive. He couldn't deny that. He may not be a man of emotion, but he was of natural desire and needs. He could admire and find a woman attractive, but it didn't mean he felt anything beyond that attraction... and right now... Wilbur would be lying if he said he wasn't interested in whatever she might be here to offer him. He'd been active here or there in fleeting moments since his disappearance into the portal, but it was never at the top of his priority list. Didn't mean he wasn't a fan of it-- who didn't like the idea of breaking tension within you and releasing with a rush of adrenaline? That wasn't to say he suspected Linda would offer him that, but with what information he'd gathered in just gazing at her... knowing what he knew from the whispers in his head. It wasn't out of the question that she wasn't about to offer her company to him beyond conversation.

She offers her hand towards him and he takes it with a crooked smirk, eyes casting a look of desire and admiration. She speaks easily and he reaches up, his own hand gently taking hers in order to lean forward and press a delicate barely there kiss to the knuckles above her ringed fingers. "It's Wilbur and I'd be honored." He releases her hand in order to hold his towards the empty chair opposite of the table he's sat at.

[coloneltm]

closed: @mommytm where: rasentin ( overpriced cafe )

Wilbur knew being in Hatchetfield would eventually draw the attention of those who long thought him dead, but he was here to stir his own things up. He had a special set of sisters he had to visit and a witch who hasn't stopped snooping around for the last few years in Wilbur's new existence. She would soon sense him here, but that wasn't his concern today. Today he was thinking, today he was preparing for what was to come and he'd picked his location at some overly priced coffee shop to more or less people watch. He found this town to be enjoyable, interesting. Around every corner there was something occurring... something twisting deep into the roots of the town. Hell, there was a whole damn fighting ring right under the noses of these civis and they were none the wiser. Not to mention there were a couple of Hatchetmen alive... and don't get him started on the Honey Festival or even the Young woman in her lavish mansion. Oh, Hatchetfield, how fun you were.

He lifts his quad espresso filled cup, lips touching the brim of the glass only to find his eyes flashing to the side at the feeling of being watched. It wasn't that he had eyes in every direction, but he wasn't normal either and he had a sense of things-- of his surroundings. And right now? Someone was definitely watching him. His dark eyes, sharp in appearance, land on a platinum blonde woman across the way. She's sat at a table with a couple of other women, all of them dressed in what would be the finest in this town. They were money, she was money. He paused his sip only to tilt the mug and finish the action, eyes cutting back to the window that was a bit off from where he sat and looked out at the streets. He didn't sit like that for long though, well aware she was still staring at him.

Linda Monroe.

The name comes through nothing and yet everything, filling him to the brim with information about her. He can hear the giggling in the back of his head, a giggling that tells him Linda is important. How? Well, that was up to her... wasn't it? His gaze darts back to her, cup lowered back to the small plate on the table. His head turned slightly and his eyes landed on her properly, lips quirking into a slow placed coy smirk. He shifted in his leaned back state, head cocking to the side and eyes staying locked with hers. He may be in Hatchetfield for personal business, but who said he couldn't get personal in other ways? So he tips his head in a 'come over here' motion, beckoning her to leave those gossipy friends and join him instead.

[coloneltm]

full name ⸻ wilbur "uncle wiley" cross occupation ⸻ ex-colonel, uncle wiley toys ceo, wiggly disciple sexuality ⸻ does it benefit him? pronouns ⸻ he / him height ⸻ 6 ' 2 " notable features ⸻ generally dressed in all denim, slicked back black hair, southern accent making him stand out

positive traits ⸻ brave, charming, strong negative traits ⸻ cocky, vain, morally grey/fucked aesthetics ⸻ a southern accent that doesn’t fit in the midwest, a full denim outfit that could be considered a little too tight, a moral alignment that smells rotten and decayed biggest fear(s) ⸻ only He knows

BIO ⸻

tw: alcohol abuse, physical abuse, neglect, death

born in Hazlehurst and raised in its small city wasn't something to bat your eyes at, but Wilbur made damn sure he rose from it like a phoenix out of the ashes. his parents were deadbeats and didn't do much in raising him. his mother was an alcoholic and his father worked more days than not and would be at bars well into the wee hours. when he was home? he'd use Wilbur as a scapegoat for the way life had fucked him. blame it on the kid they never wanted. it hardened Wilbur, changed him from any sense of innocence he could ever have. he spent most of his days out of their small trailer home from a young age and on, especially when he was able to get a job at fourteen working with horses on an elderly couple's farm. they were the kindest people to cross his path and he resented them for it. he could never take their kindness with anything, but false smiles. he didn't believe it was possible to be that trusting, caring, and nice to someone they barely knew. and even though he worked for them for two years, Wilbur barely accepted anything from them beyond the money he was owed. no baked goods, no cards, no handmade gifts from the missus. not only did he find it odd, but he didn't trust how his parents would react.

not that it mattered long with the way he moved out at seventeen after hiding away his savings in the floor of his car. he knew it hadn't been the best place for it, but it beat the house and his room where his dad could tear through it at any given moment. and he would. especially when Wilbur picked up a smoking habit that included stealing cigarettes from his dad. the last fight they got into before he moved out without a word was over a pack that the man lost. Wilbur having not even touched it, but it resulted in a black eye and a bruised jaw. Wilbur moved out two days later and never said a word to either of his parents about it. his mom died in a drunk driving incident a week later and his dad was arrested after getting into a fight three weeks later. he didn't attend her funeral or his court date.

when Wilbur turned eighteen he enlisted into the military, joining with the knowledge that none of it would be easier... but it'd beat living with either of them. he poured his life into his training and career, focusing on a path of combat. he became a sharpshooter with masterful hand to hand combat. at twenty he was brought into his CO's office where he was told he was being recruited for a special program, an unnamed one. He'd tried to ask questions, but there weren't any answers the man could give beyond that he was to be picked up that night and flown to DC. Oh, and on that note: your father passed away, heart failure. Wilbur had no comment beyond asking when he should be ready for his ride.

When he arrived in DC he was debriefed by a woman named Schaffer. She was a Lieutenant at this time and someone Wilbur would be reporting to. She'd asked if he would have any issues with that and he'd said no. Then we welcome you to P.E.I.P., Cross. He asked questions, but he was promised they'd be answered in time and as the years ticked by they were. More than less. He was given his answers and more, he was given rankings and promotions, mentees and partners. He was taken off field duty and thrust into a world of darkness about another dimension. There he learned much about the beings that lived beyond their realm, beings that held power more impactful than anything any human could ever achieve. He was given the task of studying these beings and anything pertaining to them... eventually landing him in Hatchetfield. He spent weeks researching and learning what he could, but never expected to meet someone that would try to stop all of that. Duke Keane, Sr. ... he wasn't tasked by anyone... or maybe he was. Wilbur couldn't say, but the year was 2005 and the portal was close to being finished. Something this man knew about... he knew a lot. Things that raised alarm bells and fired up the now Colonel.

The fight the ensued that fateful night in the woods of Hatchetfield was due to Wilbur luring Duke out. He knew the man would follow him if he thought Wilbur had an inkling about where a relic of time was... a book that was written by the first follower of these eldritch beings. He didn't know where it was, but he knew he could get Duke alone. Unfortunately for the father of one, Duke didn't stand a chance against a Colonel trained to practically kill. And kill he did. He took Duke's life in the woods and left him to rot on the roots of a tree.

He returned to P.E.I.P. HQ the next day, no one aware to what he'd done and the portal nearly completed. He was told, or rather asked in that same day of his return on whether he'd be willing to go into the portal once complete. After all, no one knew more about these beings them him and his mentee... but John wasn't ready for such a mission. No. It had to be Wilbur. He stepped into that portal weeks later with the thought intention to plead with the beings, bargain for the likes of their world. But he wasn't there for that. He wasn't there to save humanity. He didn't care about that... especially not after what Wiggly showed him. The world that could be. A world of power and fear. A world that Wilbur could walk around with a powerful respect no rank could ever achieve. He could have everything and more if he gave himself over. He let go of his humanity and devoted himself to the Lords...

And devote himself he did.