listen to the way i slay @hunteratropos - Tumblr Blog

noospherica‌:

WHERE: kaffeine WHEN: monday, noon WHO: anyone & everyone

rarely does noah get to spread her wings outside of astoria for the lunch hour. such is the effect of an open door policy – she requests trust from her students, offers availability and loyalty in return for the long, ticking hours between classes under her guidance and meetings where she sits silently. how funny, to be more comfortable with those she teaches than her coworkers and peers. is it the hunger for learning? that so many students are also new, and anxious under their skin?

she understands that. eleven months and she still barely found her way to kaffeine, bag heavy on her shoulder and a thin sheen of sweat across the back of her neck as noah finally slips into line. shifts the book bag from left to right. sighs. then orders as she reaches the front – chai tea, the peach grilled cheese. oh sorry, yeah it’s for here – before shuffling towards the nearest open table.

binders are pried from her bag as soon as she lets it settle onto the ground. a supplementary for the old books, the beautiful things that noah cannot hold for more than minutes let alone bring with her. the local museum, who’s name she can’t fully recall was kind enough to offer her photographs of each and every page in their collection. noah took the time to compile them, print them, and now carries them in these binders labeled with shorthand that no doubt reads as nonsense to anyone else.

maybe it will keep her alone through lunch. the thought makes noah pause, her jaw work, uncertain if that’s the result that she can’t decide if she wants or not. it is the busy hour, though. tables never stay empty for long – even if strangers have to couple together.

nick isn’t so much a night owl as he is a creature of the night; he doesn’t like darkness, but he feels a lot safer under its cover. it might be when the monsters come out, but nick’s the deadliest monster they’ll ever meet — he wouldn’t be walking around right now if that wasn’t the case. he can kill a monster. he can’t kill the discomfort of the mundane gaze. (stabbing mundanes in the eye for staring is frowned upon in their society — something a fate has already learned the hard way. all that came after remembered that lesson.)

still, sometimes venturing beyond the witching hour was necessary; due to the nature of his work, he came across many hunters who had a “day job” — something nick viewed as silly and unfortunate, a distraction from higher callings — and kept “regular hours”. noah danielewski is one such person.

new to hunting, nick isn’t exactly sure how she got into it, but he caught her on the right end of a bullet, the other in a monster, and did the math. he’s without a crew, his only allies leo and luci — the latter currently out of commission, for reasons nick wouldn’t dare raise with the man. so he’s operating with the lowest possible manpower, and in a town like this, he needs more backup. even if that backup is a greenie with good aim and next to no other applicable skills.

he’ll train her, sure. he’ll offer weapons and advice and a watchful eye on hunts, keeping her 6 and watching for both of them while she learns, because nick is a natural teacher and he can’t help himself. that doesn’t mean he’ll be nice about it. he isn’t really good at being nice at all.

small, dark roast coffee in hand (black, filled to the rim, please, shot of espresso if you can), he sits across from her, brow raised. “i thought you were working today. we should be out.” there’s an added emphasis on the last word, a kind of implication with overtones of impatience and hints of exasperation, doused in a lack of understanding of the mundane world. nick doesn’t have time for their silly problems — and a hunter needs to drop everything for their work if they want success in the field, or, hell, to survive.

#— re: noah.#— noah001.

joypendants

They called him god-killer, the boy with a rusted soul: All who hear his name tremble, praying that today he will not swallow their heart. Alone he walks, stones cutting into bare feet, thorns pulling at naked flesh–– His fate must be in his own hand, and he will cut down any that try to control him. Holy and unholy, heart of fire and soul of rusted steel: Who can stand against him, the one who hunts naught but gods?

Predator, murder on his mind and hymns on his tongue. (CNS)

#— the black rabbit.

SEXUAL PREFERENCES!

bold - applies always. italic - applies sometimes.

* INCLINATIONS/HABITS:

* BODY/APPEARANCE:

* SOUNDS:

* TURN-ONS/KINKS:

#— the black rabbit.#nsfw for cw /

ATTN: @kxllian-me LOCATION: the woods surrounding sidors lodge TIME: around 11pm

Nick wishes, for the sake of his dignity, maybe, that he was doing recon. He’s not, though, not really — he’s walking around these woods, technically trespassing, because he’s bored and lonely. He misses his team. So he walks, and it reminds him of his teenagerdom at the Camp. Moments of silence always seemed few and far between there, especially if you were a flight risk like Nick was, so he savoured the ones he had. Most were in the woods, somewhere deep in some forest, always smelling strongly of fresh rain. He doesn’t know exactly where the Camp was, so he can’t go back — times like these, walking around nowhere for no good reason at all, are the closest he can get.

So he drinks in the stillness, until it isn’t.

It starts with cracking branches, like someone’s stepping through them. Crunching leaves, the slow, alternating heaviness of a biped’s weight. Certainly humanoid, likely not human — this area, as much as the core of Deadwood, is rife with supernatural activity. He’s not out, looking for leads, but he might have stumbled across one.

One benefit of wandering around the woods solo: he can go strapped. He reaches for his crossbow, readying the loaded bolt — nothing fancy, just sharp and fast. It’s more than effective enough for Nick, and with it in his hands, he feels brave enough to slink through the woods, making as little noise as possible, towards the movement. He treads light, footsteps almost mimicking the wildlife (a skill he was taught at the Camp, and had always been particularly good at; it comes in handy more often than one would think.) Out of nowhere, Nick sees a spark. And then another. A brilliant flash of them, sprouting up in a palm-sized fountain of light, before they vanish — like the world’s shortest sparkler.

This is magic. Wytch magic. While that’s nothing he takes issue with in general, Nick knows this town is fucked up, putting it lightly; a wytch, around these parts, is never just a wytch.

But he’ll give them the benefit of the doubt, and as he enters a small clearing, announces himself by clearing his throat. “Hello?” he calls, soft but stern, sounding more like a disapproving parent than a threat — he might be walking in on some fucked up Essex ritual, but based on what he’s seen, he could be stumbling upon a child with blossoming powers, testing them out for the first time. He doesn’t want to scare the kid to death over it, if that’s the case.

#wither.threads #— re: killian.#— killian001.#— colloquy.

damnedwoes‌:

As he’d thought, Nick didn’t take good enough care of himself. Leo hissed sympathetically. “That’s no kind of life. You need to eat real food, man. Vegetables too, or you’ll get scurvy,” Leo said, gesturing meaningfully at the menu, ducking his head enough to hide his grin. Luci only snipped at him now when Leo tried to take care of him. He was too sensitive to the crisitim, if by nature now or simply because he didn’t want to hear it from his brother.

Nodding his approval along with the order, chuckled across the table at Nick when he heard him adding on a slice of pie. “And a slice for me as well, please,” Leo raised a hand to quickly interject. “But hold the cheese. Though if you did happen to find some ice cream back there, and drop a scoop on…” he trailed off, eyebrows raised pointedly at her.

“I’ll see what I can dig up,” she promised, chuckling as she gathers back their menus, tucking them under one arm. Leo turned back when she walked away to find Nick staring at him with serious expression. The force of it was unnerving, and Leo shifted on the bench before fixing a mirrored, searching look, back at the man. Leo can’t understand, but he thinks he needs to. Nick is clearly uneasy, but for what Leo isn’t sure. There’s nothing he can do but brush it off for now, he knows if he presses the subject then they’ll be just as many questions in return.

Nick isn’t quite as content to allow it to rest it seems. Leo looked away, the curiosity biting at his tongue. After he’d disposed of his father’s body, hopefully well enough none of his family would find it, but the blood had been impossible to get rid of. Maybe they thought the twins had been killed by whatever force also eliminated their patriarch. That was a more fortunate scenario than Leo thought to hope for. “I’m sorry,” Leo shook his head. “Maybe someday I’ll be able to tell you the full story.”

The desire to confide with Nick was nearly burning. He might not have been able to understand Nick’s power, but Leo had seen the good use he put it to, and if there was anyone who might understand or offer advice, or even be able to help guide his own search for a solution; Leo just also knew if he told Nick he would have to also tell him about Luci, and then he would be obligating the man to kill his brother. It was his code, and Leo could understand because he would have done the same. If it were anyone but Luci.

“Here, I brought you something. Call it a gift,” Leo said, sliding a sealed manila folder across the table to Nick, and tapping it’s face once with two fingers. It was fat, the accordion side stretched wide and only the string holding it closed. “Wait to open it. I don’t need it back and I don’t want the waitress getting a glimpse and having nightmares. Some of that might put you off your food too, and I think you could use the good meal.”

It was a bizarre feeling, being... cared for like this. Even his crew didn’t check up on him like that, worried about what he ate — after all, he was the commander, and one doesn’t just tell their commander to stop being weird and eat a god damn salad. Nick supposed it was one of those things people developed growing up in a real family. The thought of it stung, and he wanted to brush it off, but Leo was always a caretaker, and it struck him that, other than Luci, his friend didn’t have anyone to care for anymore. Nick had to let him have this. “You’re right, you’re right. I’ll stock up on some Emergen-Cs, okay? And I’ll pick up some carrots. I got a mini-fridge at the motel, I can do that much.”

Under Leo’s gaze, Nick deflated, his shoulders slumping as he took another sip of his coffee. It felt as though there was some kind of mismatch between them, like they were looking for something in the other that wasn’t there — wasn’t known. Secrets were hard to keep, and in their line of work, privacy was of the utmost importance. If Leo didn’t want to talk, Nick couldn’t push him. He couldn’t do that — not to his... friend. “I get it. Some things, you just can’t say. I get it. I do.”

It wasn’t long before they were interrupted again by the waitress, bringing their order to the table. Nick glanced up at her, thanking her, not quite smiling but not as chilly as before. He started on his food, a methodical, counter-clockwise rotation of his plate; slow, careful bites. If it weren’t for Leo, he wouldn’t be eating, and he couldn’t say he was particularly happy about it — he didn’t like the feeling of eating, the textures of food on his tongue. Even with his instructions, it was rarely right, and almost never appetizing.

The searching wasn’t the only thing hanging in the air between them. It was a simultaneous desperation of needing to stay silent and needing to say something, anything. Privacy, for hunters, was important, but they were kept alive by knowing when to speak, when to share. There was so much he needed to know. Did they find the thing that killed their family? Did they kill it, too? Were they being hunted by it? Did they need his help? But he couldn’t bear to speak. Looking at Leo, despite his difficulty reading people, Nick knew there were similar questions unspoken, that couldn’t be said.

Instead, he took the envelope with a nod, sliding it into his messenger bag. His fingers tugged at the string holding it shut, desperately curious as to what it contained, but the time wasn’t right to read it. He supposed he’d have to save it for later, when he was alone in his motel room, curtains drawn and blankets hung over the windows behind them, sealing out the outside world. He’d have all the loneliness and aloneness to take in whatever the envelope had to offer. For now, Nick had someone, and he needed to savour that.

“Some familiar faces, ‘round these parts. Saw that one fang I’ve been chasing for — what, a decade now? Ambrose. Too powerful to just have... stumbled across this place and stayed. There’s something to this place. Something here that’s drawing them in. I don’t know what quite yet, but it’s gonna be a big problem for us, I think.” He dropped his voice, leaning into Leo, waiting for the waitress to have wandered as far as she could to speak again. “I caught some, when I first came in. Stumbled across them. I didn’t start the fight — I didn’t want to, it was too soon. But that angel, man, I didn’t do that. I couldn’t have — it’s not within my jurisdiction, to kill a thing like that; I don’t even know how to. Something’s really wrong here.”

#— colloquy.#— re: leo.#— leo001.

touchvoided‌:

𝐬𝐨𝐦𝐞𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐰𝐚𝐬 𝐨𝐟𝐟. Oh, something was very wrong, but the brunette couldn’t place it. Her fingers tensed around the hallway, feeling the energy in the room to something volatile. Still, she wasn’t able to place it, at least, not until she heard the trickle of metal clanking together. She turned her head towards the boss woman’s room, lip curling into a snarl. Camilla was out. There was no way anyone else in the joint would have bothered entering her room without her permission. Maybe it was the curiosity of it, but the brunette pressed forward and pried open the cracked door.

A man was crouched – hands consumed with the task at hand before he finally noticed her. Ever since Lyle wrapped his hands around her throat, she tended to dance on the reckless side. Her head tilted as a gun raised to her eye level. A grin crackled on her lips, feeling the confidence pour from her. She wasn’t scared of some gun. Not anymore. It wouldn’t kill her like everything else in the world she used to be afraid of. She had a higher purpose now and it didn’t involve cowering towards a statistic that met every other sex worker in the world.

Instead of listening to his request, she stepped forward. A glare settled into her expression as the dark warped around her. “I don’t think I’m doing that.” She said, tilting her head. Should she let him shoot her? She snorted, hand trailing along the long line of the doorway before releasing her grip completely. “Shoot me. It won’t do shit.” She huffed out, the charm swelling on her tongue as it released. “What the fuck are you doing in here?”

He smelled power. It reeked, like chaos and rot. It was almost the power he sensed when he walked into a room of the top Fates, the ones touched by Ananke Herself. It was that, but twisted — no, defiled. Dim light filled the room, and his vision adjusted, putting the woman into his sight. She was petite, certainly — maybe a foot shorter than he was, and probably half as heavy. Whatever she was, he could take it. (If she wasn’t cheating. And she probably was. After all, Nick was in the business of hunting cheaters, and he was there for a reason.)

“Hands. Now.” His jaw was clenched shut, words snarled through gritted teeth. His hands didn’t shake, calm and steady with a practiced cool, even though he knew the weapon he held would most likely be useless. An ancient vaympire, maybe? Or something worse? He wasn’t sure, but he’d find out, one way or another. “Even if you can’t die, you can still hurt. And I hear silver hurts like hell. Don’t matter what you are.”

Nick started moving in tandem with her; a slow, deliberate circle around, sure steps towards the door. With a gloved hand, he closed it slowly, not releasing his gun or his gaze. “We’re keeping this quiet. Better for both of us.” She spoke, and he blinked — once, twice. He felt... a pull. A tug at the inside of his mind, begging him to spill his secrets at her word. But he wasn’t some novice, and even with the power he felt humming through her, he was stronger.

Nick had spent his life closed off, locked away from the world, unable to comprehend or navigate personhood, but it wasn’t for nothing. He could resist. He resisted. “Simple B&E,” he shrugged, one hand still pointing the gun. The other dragged across the door, drawing an unseeable square on it, expertly carving the rune for an isolation spell. “You stopped me from getting my mark, but I think I’ve found what I’m looking for. Somethin’ close, anyways.”

#— re: kat.#— kat001.#— colloquy.

ATTN: @scarredmccns LOCATION: the black hills TIME: around 1am

Nothing gets his adrenaline pumping like steadying his aim. Nick’s eye is to the sight, and his hands are stilled, breath slow and even. Firing a gun is a lot like taking a photograph. Stillness is everything; you don’t want a shaky picture or a shaky shot. He’s been staked out here for hours, and he was starting to get antsy, but the tell-tale crackling of leaves alerted him that his night was about to light up. It’s a while yet until the full moon, but he knows that wolves run in these wolves, and all he has to do is catch one. He’ll kill it, of course, but maybe he can get some useful information out of it beforehand.

A couple hundred yards away, he sees a figure in the distance. The wind is blowing tonight, and he knows it’ll fuck up his shot. He’s not Lachesis, even if he’s using their gun — they know the adjustments down to the millimetres, how to change aim ever so slightly to match the wind and weather. Nick’s not that good, but he’s still good.

His finger hovers over the trigger, and he shoots — but not without a second’s hesitation, a half-moment of surprise over the smallness of the figure as it runs through the night. An omega? Or a child? Or, worse yet, a mundane, wrong place, wrong time? He still fires. All wars have casualties. The shot doesn’t quite hit — buckshot scatters, and most of them miss, but the figure in the distance goes down. Not a kill, but certainly a wound — silver-laced pellets will do the work for him if he leaves it out here.

But the curiosity overwhelms, and carefully, he runs over, watching each step carefully to avoid detection from any of its packmates that might be out here with it. It doesn’t take more than a minute for him to find his target, but by the time he makes it over, it’s already de-wolfed... into a boy. A boy. Not a little kid, but he’s young, and he looks afraid.

(Of course he’s afraid. He just got shot.)

Nick doesn’t know what to say, staring down at the boy. His mouth hangs open, and the words just... fall out. “Oh, fuck. It’s a baby.”

#— colloquy.#— re: theo.#— theo001.

What was your first murder?

“Some — wolf, I guess? I don’t remember. It was a long, long time ago.”

✆ honesty hour * / accepting.

#ten years isnt that long dicknose #— by the gods.#Anonymous

how to do you decide who to kill? supernatural creatures usually don't have a choice in what they become, why would you kill something that is just trying to live a life just as you are?

“I think... when people find out what I do, they misunderstand on a very fundamental level. This isn’t a quest for vengeance. There’s no anger behind my blade. I don’t wish suffering on those I hunt, nor do I harbour malicious intent; it’s simply... returning to order. No being should live their life beyond the Gods’ intent, and yet, they are. Do you weep for each blade of grass as it’s mowed to meet its neighbours? This world demands order. I’m just enforcing it.”

✆ honesty hour * / accepting.

#an extremely douchey way of saying dont hate the player hate the game #— by the gods.

how much do you trust the dionsios?

“I trust them with my life. More than anyone else, other than fellow Fates. We go way back. They wouldn’t fuck me over – as the sun will rise and the tide will come.”

✆ honesty hour * / accepting.

#— by the gods.

hunteratropos

#we out here bitchez #— by the gods.

@touchvoided sent a WILDCARD! ( send a🃏 for a randomly generated prompt / * accepting )

#8 — my muse is in the middle of committing some kind of crime and your muse has walked in on them

The jig was, as they say, the-absolute-fuck-up. Nick knew this as soon as he heard the door creak, sliver of dim light spilling through. He stilled, crouched behind a desk, lockpick set in hand. He knew that there was something up with that strip joint across the way from his motel, but he probably should’ve known better than to break in without Clothos. He just wasn’t built to be stealthy — plus, he didn’t spend his entire life honing his sneaky magic.

He was so close, though. All Nick had to do was open the last locked drawer in the owner’s desk, and he’d have either the building’s lease, some kind of identifying papers, or proof that something was very strange, and even more secretive, about the Lusty Lady.

Slowly, he returned his lockpick set to his belt, silently retrieving his gun — his EDC, a matte black Baretta 92, serial number and all other identifying marks filed off — before rising from his crouched position, levelling the weapon at the intruder (to his intrusion, to be fair.) He couldn’t quite make out their shape by their silhouette, dawn’s light shrouding the room in a dusty yellow. Even without identifying them, Nick knew he had the jump — there was no pistol aimed back at him, and not even the oldest fang could outrun a well-timed bullet. “Show me your hands, then place them behind your head. Slowly. Very slowly.”

#— re: kat.#wither.threads #— colloquy.

dovingmemes

random situations

send in a 🃏 and i will randomize a number from 1 - 30 for our muses to be in a random situation. situations are open for interpretation , so do what you will with them!

situations under the cut

Keep reading

#— by the gods.#pls

(OH FUCK OH SHIT IT’‌S) LUCI:

𝐭𝐨 𝐚𝐭𝐭𝐞𝐧𝐝 𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐩𝐚𝐫𝐭𝐲 𝐰𝐚𝐬 𝐚 𝐟𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭. His brother had his concerns, especially after the altercation with Magnum Malum Lupis crushing his cheek against the gas station pump near their house. And despite all these concerns, the man wanted to go. He wanted to have fun and relish in a few flutes of champagne while the world settles on a point. Where’s the harm in that? Did he know something that Luci didn’t know? His gaze trailed along the room as he tried to seek out a familiar face. Nothing. Half the town was cramped in the room.

He was under dressed, a bomber jacket and a black button-down to accompany. He even wore a pair of ratty tennis shoes, figuring that nobody would really be looking down at his feet in the crowded manor.

So he did what everyone else seemed to do when they didn’t know who to socialize with – grab a drink. He slid past a stranger, shirt halfway down his chest enough to draw attention. A brow was raised, flirty smile following shortly as he raised his glass in the air. “Makes you want to vomit, doesn’t it? I can tell you’re not really into parties.” Luci joked, hand resting back against the drinks table as he pressed one to his lips. It would take half the damn table to get him intoxicated. It was a shame really, some of his newer abilities.

He didn’t recognize the crumpled, bearded man beside him at first. Luci didn’t... look like Luci. He looked worse. Nick didn’t mean that in a cruel way; anyone would look bad after everything that happened. Losing your entire family — Nick had lost his sister, and watched his parents lose their child, but losing everyone at once was a fate deserved by no one. Especially not a good man like Luci.

Nick didn’t recognize Luci at first, but it was clear Luci didn’t recognize him at all, and it took Nick a beat to remember why — he didn’t look like himself. Not just in this ridiculous outfit, but at all. His face was different. He looked like Mexican Ryan Gosling. Fuck. And it wasn’t like he could just lean over and whisper ‘psssst, hey, it’s Nick!’. He couldn’t kill his cover like that. He’d have to just... roll with it.

Clearing his throat, he took on a different tone, even further divorced from his normal voice — slow and drawling. He’d picked it up bouncing around the South for a while in his childhood, but he was fairly certain he’d met the twins after he’d lost the affect, so it would be a safe choice.

“That obvious?” He tilted his glass at the man, smiling slightly. Oh, God. Oh, God. Luci was checking him out. Nick was good at handling undercover, but he didn’t know how to handle this. Was he supposed to lean into it, or abscond as soon as possible? But that would be strange, wouldn’t it?

(He wished he had a more solid grasp on social expectations, but he didn’t have the time to flip through Spycraft for Dummies in the midst of a mission.)

“Yeah, I’m not big into parties. But I figured it would be a good way to network. And, hey, free drinks, am I right?” His voice was honeysuckle-sweet, just rough enough, interested but casual. Or – that’s what he was going for. “What about you, big fella? What brings you here?”

(Big fella? What the fuck was wrong with him?)

#— re: luci.#— lotus night.

ATTN: * open LOCATION: the black manor TIME: lotus night, early evening

If there’s anything Nick’s learned about vaympires, it’s that they love to fucking party. Which is terrible for him, because he’s not a fan of parties; especially when he’s supposed to be breakin’ it down with the things he kills for a living. It’s not comfortable. He doesn’t like wearing ‘going out’ clothes, he doesn’t like mingling, he doesn’t like the heat and the noise of a billion people crammed into a too-small room, and there are never enough safe escape routes.

But he’s here, on Lotus Night, because he caught wind of a party with every supernatural in town, and he had to go. It would give him an opportunity to catalogue every single monster in town, and that’s more important than his personal comfort. So he’s walking into the manor, wearing too-tight slacks and a half-buttoned shirt, dressed in all white as the invitation had demanded. He’s not an idiot, so his face is... altered — charmed to look just different enough to be unrecognizable to any monster here that might have encountered him before.

Nick’s eyes land on the bar first, after taking stock of the entry and exit points. It gives him a solid vantage of the floor, from the bar, and he can mentally map the layout of the room as he sips his much-needed gin and tonic, savouring the taste of luxury as the courage burns its way down his throat. He drains his first drink and starts another, charming it to change colour should it be altered in any way — it’s not his first rodeo, and he’s learned to take such precautions.

Dangling the glass in his hand, he speaks, voice low, offering an opening to anyone willing to be sucked into conversation with a stranger. He supposes tonight is the night for that, moreso than any other. “Some shindig, huh?”

#wither.threads #— colloquy.

LEO:

It wasn’t that Leo wasn’t glad see Nick in town, it was only that it scared him. No matter what he had to say, he knew Luci wouldn’t be careful enough. He never was. Leo had spent too many years covering his ass and lying to their parents when his twin was out at another party. Nick brought back those memories. It was hard not to still picture the gangly little kid he’d met when they were teenagers. Superimposed on top was the too serious face of the man he’d become. Even when he’d still been a teenager, a child in name in name, he’d had eyes too old for his face and death behind him.

They’d been friends so long it was a default. When years stretched silently between them, together again the room lit up and things fell back in time. He was handing Nick his first drink, across the table at his brother’s wedding, and watching the flush light his cheeks pink. Sharing stories, stitching wounds closed, seeking comfort. Leo had missed him. The diner was a frequent stop in on breaks for a coffee he could drink outside his car, so Leo knew it well. Once he’d stepped inside, his eyes were taken automatically towards the back of the room; a corner where you could see the door to outside and into the kitchen, and not have a window behind you. Nick’s hand waved for his attention, and Leo let his smile bloom, warm and easy. He was glad to see Nick, despite every reason he might have not to be, and there was no reason to hide that from him. Leo held his hand out to shake Nick’s, and clapped him on the shoulder before sliding into the booth across. It would figure that he’d had picked up what happened to their father. Leo should have expected it really, the hunting community coveted gossip. They were all paranoid, especially about each other.

“Hey man, too long. Been better, but holding up. Sure you can imagine,” his shoulder lifted, trying to quickly brush past the subject. Leo wasn’t keen to talk about it, he had to hope Nick would understand and respect that. And he had to hope Nick hadn’t pressed too deeply into questions about what exactly had happened. Leo had no idea what the rumors were, he’d all but disconnected from the hunter world, and wasn’t eager to learn The waitress was over before he could say more, expression warming when it settled over him. Leo wasn’t sure about being a regular already, but he nodded Nick a smile at his offer, skimming over the menu without reading it closely. “Cup of coffee, please ma'am, and the club thank you,“ he rattled his order off, turning a wide smile up to her, and she took it down without any surprise.

"Is that all you’re eating?” Leo raised an eyebrow across at Nick, letting a look linger over the dry stack of toast towered on the plate in front of him. “Maybe we could find him a slice of pie or something, what do you think?” He asked the waitress, who lifted her notebook to hide a smile behind her hand.

“Well we got apple, banana cream, and strawberry rhubarb,” she rattled off diligently, watching Nick expectant for an answer.

“Give us a minute to mull that over darling? When you come back with my coffee, maybe he’ll have an answer for you,” Nick said, interjecting before he could talk after watching Nick’s face. "Oh sure! Coming right up,” she chirped. Leo watched her go with a smile, before his attention slid slowly back over to Nick.

“So, what’s bringing you to deadwood?” Leo asked, amusing himself with a question he already knew the answer to.

Stone-faced as Nick was, he couldn’t resist cracking a smile at Leo’s... presence. He’d always been like that, steamrolling Nick as soon as he walked into a room. He just had this surety about him, this air of being so confident in his shit that Nick had bought into since he was a kid. There were times when he was pretty sure Leo could talk him into cannonballing off a cliff. Those years had passed, for the most part, but hell if he couldn’t talk him into a slice of pie.

“Dammit, man, complex carbs only.” He sipped his coffee, shaking his head as he glanced at the menu again. “Okay, you got me. You don’t know how long it’s been since I had something other than, like, Clif bars, or gas station sandwiches.” His shoulders were still tight, not able to relax entirely, despite a familiar presence — he didn’t know quite what to put it down to, the present company or the absence of his usual compatriots, but there was a tension in his gut that wouldn’t unwind.

Nick closed the menu, silently mouthing his order to himself; he felt eighteen again, trying to figure out how to order a rum and coke without sounding absolutely underaged. He very clearly wasn’t that kid anymore, but he still hadn’t completely gotten a handle on consistently interacting with normal, mortal humans without sounding utterly unhinged.

When the waitress returned, Nick didn’t quite meet her eye, rattling off his order as he folded a stray napkin on the table. “Two eggs poached, two slices of back bacon, and another order of dry multigrain, please. And...” He glanced over at Leo, and shook his head, cracking yet another smile. “A slice of apple pie. With a slice of cheddar, if you can. Thank you kindly.”

He turned back to Leo, solemn again. It seemed to Nick that Leo didn’t want to get into his feelings about what happened, which was fine by him — he wasn’t exactly a therapist, and was quite possibly the most ill-equipped person to handle someone’s feelings about their family’s massacre. His tragedy didn’t even begin to measure up. “Can’t even begin. I won’t go on about it, but I’m real sorry about... everything.”

His fingers itched for a smoke, tapping the pack in his pocket. Nasty, inconvenient habit, he knew — completely impractical, and expensive, to boot, but it calmed his nerves and quieted the adrenaline when nothing else could. He wanted one, bad, but he couldn’t run for a quick cig at the very start of a conversation — besides, he knew it wasn’t a nicotine craving behind the urge so much as a stress response.

He wasn’t... good at old friends. He didn’t have any, save for the twins. He didn’t know how to act, how to behave, how he was measuring up with who he used to be. Hell, Nick couldn’t even reconcile the two, much less understood how the twins stomached it — the chasm between Nick as a tween, awkward and excitable, and Nick as an adult, cold-blooded and austere, was miles wide.

Even so, he tried, for his sake as much as theirs’. His memories with the twins were as close as he could get to childhood memories unmarred by trauma. They were worth preserving, worth maintaining, so the effort had to be made.

“You know why I’m here. A couple years of spikes in homicide by exsanguination, a handful of unlikely ‘bear’ attacks, the like. Though... this is worse than a lot of the like. A lot of places I’ve been. How are you — alive? Deep cover, or...?”

#— re: leo.#— leo001.#— colloquy.

A PLAYLIST FOR NICK SOLÍS.

#— the black rabbit.#wither.community

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