. . . 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝖽𝗈𝖾 𝗂𝗇 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝗆𝖾𝖺𝖽𝗈𝗐, 𝖺 𝗅𝗈𝗇𝖾𝗌𝗈𝗆𝖾 𝖼𝗋𝖾𝖺𝗍𝗎𝗋𝖾 .. 𝗐𝗁𝖾𝗋𝖾 𝗂𝗌 𝗁𝖾𝗋 𝗁𝖾𝗋𝖽 ? based on fangtv, with original characters imagined by z, the writer. please dni if you're not a part of the group ! the home - base for LAYLA HUNT, 27 , HUMAN, supernatural hunter, specializes in demonic entities ... w. allen & RINRADA WARAHA, 35 (635), VAMPIRE, PR for the AVL … d. hoorne & SOPHIA BLANCO, 25, HALFLING, trauma room nurse for lafleur hospital … m. cline & ZOYA CHACHERE, 23, WITCH, fortune teller at after hours .... s. lee smith
The vampires walk among them. For a moment, she detaches herself from the public ⸻she wonders how deep this truth has bled the civilians around her. Wonders how quickly the worshiper will become the heathen. Are they all destined to wander somewhere out here? One foot in the snow and one foot in the river? One almost dead and one still dying? There’s a tightening in her chest, a growth of tenderness that seems to swallow at the thought of her brother above anyone being hurt. Or transformed into a monstrosity. Like an animal cornered and afraid, she winces at the approach of another. She figured she would be the only one in the theatre’s lobby, especially at this time of night. Zoya rolls her shoulders back slightly, tilting her face up to look at the sign showing the features ⸻they’ve remained unchanged for weeks. “ Please .. I want absolutely no spoilers for An American Werewolf in London. “ A hum of mild amusement from the back of her throat due to the sarcasm, she shoves her straw into her red slushie. Half - speaking to herself, half to the man who stands a few feet away, seemingly deciding on his own choice of movie treat. “ The cherry slushies are the best. “
When she was nine, she found a bird half - alive on the gravel road. Its heart was desperate and hesitant. She could be the bearer of life or death ⸻but never both. Is it greedy of her to want? The ambition floated around her head, like tendrils searching for a larger namesake for the family besides trauma. Still, the world turns and she finds herself always deep in the dreamscape ⸻ those impermanent moments of oblivion. “ It’s bad luck to question your future so often, little dove. “ She greets her next client with a coo, spoken as though she is somewhere below the earth. With the soil in the mouth ⸻ tongue only rotted wood. Dark eyes shimmer as they observe her, chest somehow constricting around her spine. Zoya knows the look of someone not willing to be saved. A crooked smile, however, is twisted upon her lips. She admires the dedication, or the perseverance of this particular vampire. “ It’s a slower night .. join me for a drink? “ A pause, a slightly girlish giggle before she sighs and begins to pack up some of her things. Her performance was that of a movie star, theatrical and all the more alluring underneath the warm lights. “ It looks like we both could use some company, hm ? What's troubling you ? “
She listens to the rain sometimes and thinks she hears their parents’ voices in it. Zoya even now, is an observer. She is careful here, watches the movements of the pastor ⸻ hears the passion and the strain of pain in their sermon. That sound of something unsettling being formed inside her belly, the twisting of grief. It’s possible that her twin is also correct in his questions about absolution. What mercy is given to those who live once again ⸻ reanimated and rotten to the very core. Why should vampires govern over all mortals? Why should there be exceptions to death itself? It seemed unfair. She waits in the line of church - goers thanking the pastor for the service and offers a nod and a smile to them as well. At the end of it, she lingers in the doorway of the small administrative office to the side of the entrance lobby. She leans, shoulder - first, against the mahogany wood and offers a slight hum. “ So this is where you’ve been hiding, hm ? “ It’s a lilted tease, bringing them back to times when it was just the two of them running through meadows and finding bullfrogs under a hot August sun. It was so simple back then. Now? Now it was like wading through days old mud trying to find a quarter. She could hear the rain hitting the stained - glass windows from here, a comforting sound. “ Let’s go for lunch. I want to hear what you’ve been up to. “
⋆ ⋆ 𝘀𝘁𝗲𝗳𝗮𝗻𝗼𝗯𝗲𝗹𝗮𝗶𝗹 , @deadhymn the cornfield behind a truck stop .
Like any woman who was once burnt from the flames of a quick marriage, she avoids anything that gives off heat. Perhaps this is why she obsesses over the disappearance of her husband. He ⸻ the cold hand of a buried giant. She wishes there was some way she could say it all. All the things that will eventually corrupt her. The words that sit in her throat and sound like doves before a rainstorm. The rattle of the truth. It always sounds lonely, desperate ⸻ filled with something akin to fragile hope. Instead, she eats knives, she swallows the sun and spits out a harvest moon. Sophia turns into marble and allows the vines to grow around her. She was born with too many hearts to give. “ Stef ? “ She calls out into the rustling of the cornfield, the moon is blue overhead ⸻ illuminates only slightly. Besides that, the only light comes from the neon glow of the truck stop nearby. Her trail ran cold, perhaps. Voice dangling in between awake and absent, curling around the back of her throat like a guttural confession. An animal ready to choke. “ God .. please come home to me. “ She assumes she’s speaking to the mist. Or at least something that lingers like a ghost. She blinks and thinks she’s imagining the familiar figure ahead of her. Maybe she is imagining it.
✞ 「 the howl of the north wind during a dark morning, a mountain flattening out at the bottom for a village to live in. ‘I WANT TO PROTECT MY FAMILY' at the helm of your throat ⸻ some sickness of despair slaying it before it reaches fruition. a doe searching for grass, the eyes watchful and fickle. what goodness has trickled out of the neck as the arrow pierces the flesh .. which family tradition saves and kills all at once? i was a daughter first, now i eat dreams others forget. …. 」 demi woman. she or they. ╱ now nobody in lafleur is saying LAYLA HUNT is trouble, but nobody's exactly rushin' to defend them either. folks have been talkin' about the 27 , twenty seven year old hunter (specializing in demonic entities) since the day they rolled into town. seems there's always some new story about how they're allegedly a human and have been here for three days . i don't put much stock in every rumor that floats through this shithole, but with a meticulous, misanthropic, curious reputation like theirs, something tells me we only scratched the surface of the WILLOW ALLEN wannabe's story.
FACE: WILLOW ALLEN
AGE : TWENTY SEVEN,
SEXUALITY : HETEROSEXUAL , *demiromantic*
SPECIES : HUMAN
CHARACTER INSPIRATIONS : KATNISS EVERDEEN, ELEKTRA NATCHIOS, JO HARVELLE, SUKI ( ATLA ), QARA SUREN, KAYCE DUTTON, INEJ GHAFA, JON SNOW, BASED LOOSELY ON THE BRIEF LORE OF THE CHOCTAW HUNTERS IN 'SINNERS' .
TITLE : SUPERNATURAL HUNTER, SPECIALIZES IN DEMONIC ENTITIES . PLEASE NOTE: THE HUNT FAMILY IS A WELL - KNOWN LINE OF SUPERNATURAL HUNTERS.
HEIGHT : 5'0
TRAINED IN : ALL NOTABLE SKILLS OF A SUPERNATURAL HUNTER (PEAK HUMAN CONDITION, EXPERT TRACKER, EXPERT DEMONOLOGIST INSIGHT, MASTER MARKSMAN, FIREARMS EXPERT ), HIGH INTELLECT, EXPERT TACTICIAN, ADVANCED MILITARY (MARINES) TRAINING DUE TO FATHER’S DRILLS SINCE YOUNG AGE, MYTHOLOGY KNOWLEDGE.
ACT I
YOU GREW UP IN THE NORTHWEST TERRITORIES. WHERE THE NIGHTS WERE LONG AND THE DARKNESS SEEMED TO SWALLOW UP ALL SOURCES OF DAYLIGHT. DESPITE THIS, YOU HOUSE SUNSHINE INSIDE YOU. YOU ARE NATURE’S DAUGHTER AS WELL AS YOUR PARENTS’. YOU BRING HOME HARES, YOU BRING HOME HOUNDS. YOU ARE ALWAYS SEARCHING FOR SOMETHING THAT DOESN’T HAVE A HOME. YOU MAKE FRIENDS IN YOUR COMMUNITY EASILY. YOUR PARENTS WELCOME EACH NEW FACE THAT FOLLOWS YOU THROUGH THE DOOR AND MAKES SURE THEY HAVE WARM FOOD IN THEIR BELLY BEFORE THEY LEAVE FOR THEIR OWN HOME. YOU ARE OFTEN THINKING OF THE SKY AND THE BIRDS IN THE SKY — HOW LONG BEFORE YOU GROW WINGS? YOU EXCEL IN SCHOOL. YOU FOCUS ON BIOLOGY AND CHEMISTRY, YOU PERFECT HOW TO FIX A PIG’S HEART AND WONDER HOW EASILY IT WOULD BE TO FIX A HUMAN’S HEART. ON YOUR THIRTEENTH BIRTHDAY, YOUR PARENTS TELL YOU THE FAMILY'S LEGACY: RIDDING THE EARTH OF EVIL. YOU ARE TAUGHT FOR TWO YEARS, BACK TO BACK, EVERY DAY: HOW TO DEFEND, HOW TO CLAW, HOW TO RESCUE. WHEN YOU TURN NINETEEN, YOUR PARENTS MOVE TO AMERICA. NORTH DAKOTA, SPECIFICALLY. THIS IS YOUR HOME AWAY FROM HOME. THERE IS STILL WINTER HERE, BUT THE SUN IS STRONG AND DETERMINED. SUCH AS YOURSELF.
ACT II
FINALLY TAKING COURAGE TO HEAD OFF ON THE ROAD, ACCEPTING THE FAMILY NAME, YOU EVENTUALLY MAKE YOUR WAY TO A SMALL TOWN DOWN SOUTH. IT IS HERE, YOU MEET YOUR SON'S FATHER. YOU CALLED IT LOVE, THEY CALLED IT SOMETHING ELSE. YOU END UP WITH A BEAUTIFUL BOY AND YOU NAME HIM ' ROHAN '. YOU JUGGLE YOUR HUNTING CAREER AND HAVING A CHILD TO LOOK AFTER THANKS TO ' THE IRON BOND ' ( WANTED CONNECTION ) WHO MAKES IT POSSIBLE TO DO SO. YOU ARRIVE, ALONGSIDE THE IRON BOND, IN LAFLEUR. THERE HAS BEEN RUMOURS THAT A LARGE AMOUNT OF DEMONS HAVE BEEN GATHERING HERE, NOT TO MENTION OTHER ENTITIES.
CONNECTIONS :
0/1 ⸻ the angry river ⋆〝 OATS IN THE WATER .. you met layla five years ago. she called it love, you called it something different. a distraction, a fleeting affection. you end up having a child with her, just a long line of mistakes in your life. a son with the face that looks too much like yours to deny. it was her, after all, that made you feel a warmth in your chest so unlike your regular wintertime frost. trauma wins over anything in your life and you abandon them both. tracking them to lafleur in hopes to see how your child looks now, five years of age and blooming into what you could never be !
0/1 ⸻ the iron bond ⋆〝 AS THE OLD PINE FELL, WE SANG .. you would follow each other in the dark, no matter what. a thread travels through your wrist and into hers. you love and you love deeply. she entrusts you with her son and in turn you entrust her with your family secrets and traumas. this bond is unshakable, you have met her parents when you all flew to north dakota. there is nothing you wouldn't do for each other !
0/1 ⸻ the old willow tree ⋆〝 IT'S ONLY A BROKEN HEART .. you've know the hunt family for years. her parents, lillian and scott, took you in when you were sixteen due to unfortunate circumstances. taught alongside layla for five months and given warm meals, you witnessed the home that this family had built. because of this, you find yourself almost indebted to her. you want to ensure her safety, at any cost. is it envy? or something sweeter? !
0/1 ⸻ the doe and the snare ⋆〝 WHY DID YOU DIG ME UP FOR THIS ? .. you are an old being. you hold bitterness to those grandparents of layla's. the ones who originally left their scar on you. your stomach is big and holds many grudges, this one is the most precious of them. what should you do with this bait? this young hunter, so far away from the warm lights of her home? !
0/1 ⸻ the black sheep ⋆〝 GIVE ME SOMETHING I CAN KILL .. you're the black - sheep of the hunt family. the cousin who refused to lean into the traditions and instead dug yourself into a different grave. you are a thief, or a con - artist, whichever sounds more poetic. your wiles bring you to lafleur. you owe something big to someone very bad. allegedly. perhaps you want to meet up with your dear cousin to see what safety you could gain from her .. she had always been the one to show you the most kindness !
The world is not kind to those who linger between forms. Not a full faerie, nor a full woman. Something in limbo, perhaps ⸻ bleeding out onto the floor. Something inhuman, ugly and full of scars. She had always been enchanted by similar wars in other creatures. A bleak future awaits her and it seemed obvious even when she was a girl ⸻ seated in the church pew and day - dreaming about fields of flowers. She always felt suffocated indoors. Split open the body of the deer and one would only find blood and bone splinters. There is nothing beautiful about nature’s prey ⸻ and yet the hunters will all flock to see it. One by one, as if time itself were repeating and the moon above them is a milky white witness. The old sermons of her father are washed away in a moment, her mug of coffee now luke - warm and abandoned to the side of the table they sit at. “ I haven’t told you the worst part. This haunts me. I … I can’t stop thinking about it. “ A dry swallow, her gaze breaks from staring at the porcelain mug to the sign up poster behind Jasper’s head. The nerves are rampant in her mind and they are evident in the slight tremble of her hands. The Kangs are well known in Louisiana and she suddenly grew self - aware at what she was about to admit. “ His eyes. Black as night .. empty and overflowing all at once. I just ⸻ I need to find Stefano. I’m terrified for him. Can you please help me? “
This evening there were few breezes and there was stale air around her as she parked her old pick - up at the fuel station in front of the shop. She knew Lennon from around the town, and the hospital. A bit of a troublemaker, but she had tried not to judge ⸻ as if she had the space for it. The bell to the shop’s doors jingles as she enters, the hum of refrigerators offering ice cream treats and cold drinks welcomes her. “ Hope I didn’t wake you. “ A tease, gentle as it falls in between the low murmur of the radio and the static from the bug - zapper in the back. She searches the aisles for some barbequed peanuts, mouth watering already. At the counter she pauses, noting the man standing behind it. “ You looking mighty tired, Mr. Talbot ⸻ they ain’t working you too much, are they? “ It sounds disinterested, despite the concern that flashes in her dark eyes. For years they have crossed paths only through necessary stops at the gas station and his countless run - ins at the hospital. Cuts and bruises mostly, some major injuries here and there. She shies away from mentioning how he smells like wolf, and in turn, perhaps, he’s avoided mentioning anything about her own scent.
She dislikes the heat in Lafleur, the summer that seems to dull her perception ⸻ it keeps her docile for the most part. She’s surprised, in all honesty, that Kore speaks to her. It’d been years since she had last traveled to Thailand. The homeland of so many old memories ⸻ pushed aside for something modernized and sterile. “ It all pales in comparison to your songs. “ This is not spoken with a mockery of those who do fear the coming winter. Rin moves lazily, languidly, as though she were in the middle of a swampland and the other is floating fallen timber. The music she speaks of is thudding in her eardrums, loud and arrogant ⸻ perfectly irrelevant. She has heard the musical notes of the sea, the sirens who drag sailors to the bottom of the sandy floor. Even now, Kore smells like brine and the north wind. “ It’s comforting to see a familiar face. How have you been? “
Here they form a rivalry; the leech and the dragon. What grave did they crawl from? What tomb kept them so lifelike and warm? Rin supposes that in his version of this myth she allows Viktor Rosseau to experience mercy. However, she refuses any other aspects of the world to paint her into something ugly and horrid ⸻ rather than something that bloomed into vengeance. Revenge meaning : her title was eaten in the belly of the beast. The beast meaning: the political side of madness, the guillotine that carves worthiness. So, therefore, loneliness has no meaning. It is defined only by the slow drops of a leaking faucet in her mind. Echoing down corridors of the past. She is haunted by loneliness ⸻ but it’s still far too loud for her to ever be enticed by it. “ So gluttony must be your sin. You know you’ll only find pain here. “ She smiles, empty and cold ⸻ some sort of cruel desire that twists her stomach and gives her a violent sensation of impulse. But she awaits him like a python awaits the limping rabbit. “ How has traitor - hood treated you, my darling? “ The taunting question does not need an answer, she speaks it only to see any type of wince in his composure. Her fingers trail along the shelf in front of her, digging out a book on war and men’s obsessions with war. They will never evolve. Her mouth waters. A lovely sigh echoes from her, like a queen amid a royal quarrel. “ I should bring you in. I know the authority would love to pick your mind apart, no? “
This story has been told before. She is ancient, filled with swamp - water and hunger. How many lives has she been the same woman? Deathless and stunned ⸻ twisted into a misshapen willow tree that dangles her branches in the river below. She is all teeth with a small heart. Someone that has felt the knife of loss go deeper each year. The wound - ache spreads. If it were a monstrous urge that held that thin - fleshed organ in its hands, it wasn’t shown on her features. They are dull and managed well, dried out under the sun until her skin pulls taut. “ This is embarrassing .. but my car broke down up the road. Is there a phone I may use in the bar? “ Voice soothes the windpipe, comes out quiet and half - awake ⸻ as if she speaks from that inescapable grave. The heathen - dirt of whatever land she haunts. She approaches like a spirit vaguely remembering her home, eyes curious and searching, but the face is cold. “ I’ve never been inside, is it a safe place? You know how the news is … always horrifying us. “ His scent is wolfish, but she knows the moon is not overhead. She knows the moon is sly with her tricks. Still, what wolf would want a scene? What dog looks for a fight?
Zoya realizes, as one should, that there is no time like the present to become more solid in self - preservation. She understands that the grief - wound has yet to stitch itself closed. This disappoints her, this causes something inside her to sour and suddenly she has an urge to cut out her stomach. “ You’re a crazy one for this, you know. God only knows what’s underneath that water, the gators themselves would love to eat you up for dinner. “ Her gaze steadies on the splashing woman in the water for a moment before she drags her attention to the surroundings, keeping a close eye on anything that moves. It’s raining ⸻ finally something to slice the humidity. She couldn’t help but giggle, a feminine melody from the back of her throat, the nature around them seems to wrap her up and offer a comfort that could only come from something ancient. “ Come on now, it’s getting late. We should head back. “
She could still smell the smoke. A severing of ties, all threads cut loose. Now, it feels like a century. Years - deep, this wound. Her heart is still unable to comprehend how to piece itself back together. The nights come and they leave her the bones of other rituals ⸻ dreams that feel like memories. Like a reaper, a snakeskin - keeper, she is neither here nor gone. The owner of After Hours offered little information regarding the vampire world of politics and terror. Zoya remained professionally curt with them, elusive if not on the emotional boundaries of anger and swallowed fear. “ I’ll be working the rest of the week, the clients tend to want their futures spilled no matter what day of the week. “ She greets them with a nod of polite acknowledgement, feigned almost to perfection. She turns back to organizing her tarot cards, the magic crackling underneath her fingertips at the presence of a vampire. Something involuntary, perhaps. “ What about you, hm? Have you had any curiosities on seeing your fate? “
Some women are hungry and hold hostages, some witches are just as familiar to her as her own tongue. Men too could create a war inside of her, if they wanted. But she stomachs things they could never. Blood, rage, the mastery of manipulation ⸻ vampires follow pretty faces into the dark all the time. Haven too. He with his bleeding heart, the cut out vase of abandonment and sin. Devils and their desire for teeth, no matter what context. “ Back so soon, hm? “ Soothing murmur seemingly out of place underneath the dark red glow of the bar. She places her drink on the bar’s counter near her ⸻ head tilting to look at him. Perhaps peering at the wounds. He’s been in here often, searching for something … looking for an answer that only the ostracized citizens of the world could understand. Her belly turns, it sours, it swirls into something akin to the aftereffects of dead venom. She remembers the rumours she’s heard ⸻ selling vampire blood was dangerous, even more so when you knew your clientele. “ I hope it’s worth it. Whatever it is you’re looking for, Hay. “ An affectionate shortening of his name, used only when she is comfortable with his presence and he with hers. It’s been years, after all, that they’ve run into each other underneath this artificial light. " Have time for a reading? It may be valuable .. "
It’d been too long, she supposes, since she had been clean. Or at least less muddied up. Like a black oil spill ⸻ her past will always float just along the surface of the present. Half - awake, the girl and faerie of old folktales. Sophia dreamed of bigger endings and softer blades. Mei, however, was a gentle rush of a river. Comforting and intimidating all at once ⸻ like mother nature while she slumbers. She admires her and therefore has confided in her for many years. One of their adventures finds them in the forest, just before the bayou. The trees weep and stretch out in front of them, the maw of the woods opening with each step they take. The flashlight stutters and dims before Sophia whacks it, hard, and continues on. “ I’m sure he’s just going to show up on the front porch somehow, acting like I’m the crazy one for calling him what he is: a missing person. ” Her voice cuts through the chirping of crickets and croaking of bullfrogs, all watching them with their careful eyes. It wasn’t that she was in denial, of course not, but there was an unsettling dread that had kept its claws in her spine since she saw those black eyes of Stefano's. She glances over her shoulder at her friend, the concern a crushing wave on her face. “ That dang horsefly almost snatched you up! “ A mutter as she swats away the insect, her Kentucky accent momentarily showing.
The halfling does not return to the water, not when the sailor is so far out from shore. She supposes the hunger will cease, eventually. Whenever Stefano emerges from the black depths ⸻ like a bog - born body. Starved to the very bone marrow. The husband gave her a bag of bones as a meal. Still, she yearns. She swallows dreams. She orders another drink, drawn by the sensation of being seen ⸻ like she was sliced thin underneath a microscope slide. “ You’re so familiar. “ A soft murmur, most likely unheard, but she pauses in front of the other woman’s table. “ Wow! You're so pretty. “ A genuine compliment, but it sounds dulled as she finds herself almost lured by the presence in front of her. Lulled by the lapping waves of the eerily familiar. Head tilting slightly as she offers up a rather innocent expression, brow - bone knotted with curiosity’s hand. Cheeks burn with the realization of what she had just said, admitted to aloud in this darkened space of partygoers. “ I’m Sophia .. have we met before? You’re … strangely familiar to me. “
