I'm just an author...

Multimuse featuring characters and OCs from Doctor Who, Sherlock, the X-Files, and more

[imjustanauthor]

Active since February, 2012. Crossover friendly with alternate versions of franchises and other fandoms. IM to plot

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[ladiesandwitches]

"Yeah, but in The Wicker Man, everything the villagers said was to test the Sergeant to see if he was the right sacrifice for their ritual. Unless you're trying to tell me that a naked woman was slamming against your door last night?" She asked with a wry smirk, amused by her own joke.

The diner's coffee came in the form of refills that were surprisingly good. The pancakes Scully decidedly to indulgently order as her breakfast were even more so.

Stabbing an overly generous portion onto her fork and shoving it into her mouth with reckless abandon, Scully thought that if the locals were in on whatever it was that attacked them in that corn maze, she might be compelled to forgive them in exchange for pancakes alone.

Mid-bite, a flyer was placed down between them, advertising a local movie festival of old movies. Starting with...The Wicker Man.

"Oh my god." Scully's words were slightly muffled by pancake and she forced herself to swallow before barely masking a laugh. "Now I'm worried they've bugged our car," she joked. Half-joked.

It wasn't like they haven't been bugged before.

[imjustanauthor]

"Unfortunately, Scully, the only naked women slamming into anything last night were on my TV screen." Whether Mulder's response was a joke or not remained to be seen. He smirked back at Scully like it was, but... Well, it was Mulder, wasn't it? He'd never had any shame when it came to his entertainment preferences.

Thankfully, he didn't mention the topic again. Soon enough, they were in the diner eating breakfast, Mulder eagerly devouring his own stack of pancakes. He was so engrossed in his food that he didn't notice the flyer being placed on the table - not until the sound of Scully's half hidden laughter instantly stole his attention.

He looked up, then down to the flyer. The person who had been handing them out was already gone, Mulder barely catching a glimpse of a back of a head as the figure passed through dinner's door and out of view. Was that suspicious, or were they just in a hurry?

Naturally, Mulder's instincts decided it was suspicious. The whole situation was! With one finger, he turned the flyer on the table so they could both read it.

"Looks like it starts tonight," he commented. "We could expense the tickets."

Skinner wouldn't be pleased, but then, when was he? In the grand scheme of things, a couple of tickets to the movies was far from the worst thing Mulder had ever tried to expense.

"You never know, the local cultist might try to sacrifice us in the middle of it."

Now, that was a joke... Probably.

[livedtough]

Of course he knew that people disappeared. There was a long history of missing people who were never found, but even they still existed. Barring the sort that decided to grind their victims' bones into powder, there were remains. They disappeared, but they didn't stop existing. That wouldn't help if they couldn't find the poor girl's remains, though, and at this point they could be anywhere. They could be scattered across the countryside, could be washed away into the ocean. Their chances of finding anything after all this time were probably close to zero, but he had to try.

But if he was being honest, he wasn't any more sure than Charlie was that this wasn't an impossible job. Still, they were here, and if there was anything to be done, they'd do it. He might not have known Charlie well at this point, but he thought they were cut from the same cloth. They wouldn't abandon this girl, not without exhausting their options.

The walk back to the car was nowhere near as invigorating as the walk away. There wasn't that same driving hope, though he wasn't giving up. He couldn't say it wasn't a setback, one as much emotional as anything else, but it wouldn't be the first he'd encountered in his life, and it wasn't going to be the last. The important thing was to know how to pick himself back up and start again. It was a difficult skill to master, and not one he necessarily had yet, but it didn't stop him from trying. "Yeah, I do. It's the sort of thing that makes me wish I'd ever hired a partner."

But he'd never been the sort to work with a partner. In his personal life he'd always been what people liked to call an introvert, someone who preferred keeping to himself. The only reason he was married was because he'd been approached by someone who didn't believe in keeping to himself, yet had always been warm and respectful of Sebastian's boundaries. He'd always become a different person when he was on the job, bolder, more assertive, but he still preferred a solitary workday.

"Sure," he agreed, but the image troubled him. Both because it was odd, and because it supported the ideas he'd rather not be supported. His eyebrows furrowed, and he nodded. "Maybe someone's dog ran off and went wild." Which could have happened, though he was sure he would have heard about that.

[imjustanauthor]

"I guess. No reports of missing dogs nearby, though. None big enough, anyway. - unless you reckon a jack russell could have done this?"

It couldn't. If they were looking for a dog, then they were looking for a big one. Back when the girl had gone missing, rottweilers had been the common dog you saw caught up in attacks, owing to how they'd had their moment in the spotlight as a 'tough guy' dog. Charlie was pretty familiar with animals, though. His dad was a vet, so he'd come across all sorts of dogs while helping out at the clinic. He'd also seen a few dog attacks before, and from what he'd experienced, they were looking for something larger than a rottweiler.

So, a mastiff, maybe? Or a feral great dane? The had a reputation for being gentle, but that didn't mean it was impossible to find a mean one.

"Maybe we could get forensics to go back over the physical evidence. You never know, maybe they'll find dog hair. These things are constantly improving; the results might be more useful than they were before."

Charlie shrugged as they broke out of the tree line and amble back towards the car. "Why don't you have a partner, anyway?" He asked Sebastian as he fished for the keys in his pocket. "It's good to have someone watching your back, you know. It could save your life one day."

[il-mostrc]

There was a small laugh. One that settled deep in the depths of a throat. Hannibal’s tongue slid over the surface of his bottom lip before speaking. He was older than humanity, so he gave a small, subtle smile before narrowing his eyes as if he was counting the years in his mind. “Over 6,000 years,” he said, “ give or take.” The flame migrated from one finger to the next in the span of a blink, trembling at its tip like a compass needle finding north.

With his free hand, he gestured for Mulder to extend his own before grabbing the wrist gently. It was not out of force, but almost polite courtesy. “Lift your hand, like this.” He rotated the wrist until the index finger pointed straight at the ceiling, pale and vertical as a candle. “There.. now..” He closed his fist around his own flame. When he opened it, his hand was dark, and the fire had already found Mulder’s finger, settling there with the faint crackle of something newly ignited.

“Steady.” The flame danced more erratically without its proper host. “The human body contains enough fat and combustible tissue to burn, acting similarly to a candle wick if ignited by an external source…” The brimstone in his blood went unmentioned. Hannibal is enjoying this far more than producing this parlor trick in front of well-acquainted friends. They had all chalked it up to one of his many skills. Though he had never been this personal about it.

Mulder was the first to share it by passing the flame to another host. There would be no burning of the flesh, he had made sure the transposition of the flame was safe to handle.

[imjustanauthor]

The revelation brought about an instant flick of a switch within Mulder. The interest in his expression was undeniable, breaking through his usual subdued persona that tended to be present whenever he wasn't presented with anything unusual to catch his attention. 6,000 years? If that were true, then it was obviously impossible. So, what did that make Hannibal? A vampire, perhaps? They did exist; Mulder had encountered them before.

Ah, but he'd seen him out in daylight - something that vampires were notoriously allergic to. Something else, then. Considering his accent, something European, presumably. A fae of some kind? Or perhaps Hannibal was something undefinable. From time to time, random mutations had a habit of occurring. The man could be nothing more than a random freak of nature.

Body on autopot as he mentally ran through all the possibilities of what his new friend could be, Mulder held out his hand and soon found his wrist in Hannibal's grip. The touch drew his attention back to the present, watching with rapt interest and following the instructions given to him.

His eyes were still wary, though - uncertain of the flame. It wasn't until Hannibal moved it from his own finger to Mulder's that he broke. Panic entered his expression. For a moment, he froze on the spot, heart beating so fast he could hear it in his ears, the sound almost drowning out the warning Hannibal was giving about staying still, before it was all too much and Mulder found his fear of fire becoming overwhelming.

He did not want to become a victim of spontaneous human combustion! Mulder rapidly shook his hand, trying to extinguish the flame, before grabbing his drink with his other hand and quickly dunking his finger into the contents. Without any better option, it had, in the moment, seemed like the best thing to do to stop himself from burning to a crisp!

It took a few seconds for Mulder to regain control of himself. His eyes squeezed shut, his finger remained submerged in his glass, and he had to take quite a few deep breaths before he could talk again.

"What are you?" He finally had to opportunity to ask. "Some kind of creature of folklore, or...?"

[imjustanauthor]

A test run, yes! And one that was, in Charlie's opinion, proving to be pretty successful so far! He wasn't an idiot; he knew that he shouldn't actively talk about breaking the rules. In fact, he was of the opinion that people shouldn't be breaking the rules in the first place!

At the same time, though, the part of his brain that prevented he himself from breaking them was no longer fully intact. He knew what he was doing and he was doing it for the right reasons, so why shouldn't he take a few liberties here and there? Was it hypocritical of him? Yes, but Charlie didn't see it that way. To be quite honest, he didn't see it in any way at all. Having a hole in your head tended to cause your internal logic to become somewhat wonky, and he was far from an exception to this.

Charlie laughed back at Moriarty. If the joke was being returned, then it had clearly been appreciated! Good. When people were nothing but serious, they didn't seem to work with him so well, although he wasn't sure why, yet again oblivious to his own behaviour. Another result of his injury was anosognosia - the inability to recognise the effects of the damage done to him. This wasn't always the case, but it happened often enough that he'd be concerned if he could accept what people told him what he was missing.

"I reckon I can get it sorted out within the next few weeks. I don't think I'll be able to push it through as a priority, but someone like you must have had background checks done before, right? So hopefully they can reference them to speed it up."

In the meantime, if they needed to get on with things, there'd be no issue with just doing it on the sly, would there? By all reports (other than that of Sherlock Holmes), Professor Moriarty was an upstanding citizen. What harm could it do to continue to work with him?

"I'll give you a call when I've got confirmation and we can arrange another meeting. Why don't you come down to London next time? Only if you have time, of course, but it would mean easier access to resources. We can always see what works nearer the time, though."

[multipleoccupancy]

Moriarty didn't fret about the joke, though it appeared as if Charlie had appreciated that he had recognised it as such after all. He did not know the ins and outs of his condition but he was picking them up as they came by and as volatile as Charlie's moods could be, it wasn't going to take long for Moriarty to pick up on the signs of a changing mood and adjust accordingly. If he could place himself in the position of trusted friend for him, well, he suspected there would be nothing in the way of using him to his advantage.

"Yes, the university asked for a DBS check before offering me the job, there are records out there." Squeaky clean ones, Professor James Moriarty, an upstanding citizen by all accounts. Vetted profusely given his familiarity with the Prime Minister. "Hopefully that makes it a speedy process." Though he had taken advantage of the slow red tape filled mine field of bureaucracy more than once, he doubted it would be cleared soon. He was in no rush though, Charlie seemed keen to include him through the legal means and Moriarty was not going to rush such a thing, he could be patient.

A trip down to London didn't bother him, he was more than capable but he knew to at least make it seem that his time was not so freely rearranged too. "I'll check my schedule but we have a reading week approaching in a few weeks which might work nicely if it all comes through on time." He agreed without committing in the moment, that would be foolish.

"You intend for us to meet at the Met? Or is there a second address I should be aware of?" He cracked a smile, "I'd hate to waste anyone's time in going to the wrong place." Unlike Sherlock, right? Right?!

[imjustanauthor]

"I'm at New Scotland Yard," Charlie confirmed without a second thought. Why would there be an issue in telling the other man where he worked? If they were going to assist each other, then that was a detail that would need to be shared sooner or later - preferably sooner, seeing as it didn't seem very efficient otherwise. And anyway, he'd have no issue telling anyone where he worked, no matter who they were, because what were they going to do to him inside the headquarters of the country's largest police force? It seemed like a pretty safe place to be!

"Unless you don't want to meet there?" Charlie then went on to check. "Some people don't, so if you're worried about being seen by Holmes or anything, then I don't mind meeting elsewhere. We could go to a café instead, or a pub. There are the parks too, but then it starts getting into could war spy territory. You know what I mean? Sitting on a park bench, passing over a file hidden inside a newspaper."

Of course, when meeting an informant, Charlie tended to go to all those options, and sometimes even more covert locations. There were a few underpasses that he liked, and even one public bathroom for one particularly skittish individual. He was sure he wouldn't need that level of secrecy with Moriarty, though. Holmes seemed to have it out for him, sure, but Charlie didn't think it was a tense enough situation that the other man was at risk of being attacked. Not yet, anyway. Holmes had to know that doing a attack on Moriarty's person would be highly suspicious now this rivalry had been brought to life, right? Considering how he liked to go on about being bored without any cases to work on, Charlie reckoned the man wouldn't risk his work through such obvious means.

Despite the lack of need to meet elsewhere, perhaps it would have been a good idea after all. It didn't occur to Charlie that there was, in fact, a problem with the idea of meeting at work. His new office was on the smaller side, and it was currently filled with stacks of files and empty coffee mugs. A second person could fit inside, but it'd be a bit of a squeeze, and it certainly wouldn't give the best impression of his professional capabilities!

[imjustanauthor]

Yes, it certainly had been quite the morning. As much as Siger found the events to be an irritating display of foolishness, they were also concerning. The whole thing served as a demonstration of not only how fast news could spread in the modern age, but also how uncontrollable the stories could be. In the past, a man could control such indiscretions if they caught word that they'd been caught quickly enough. Rumours would remain, yes, but they could do enough to keep it out of the public eye at the very least. Now? Now everybody was going to have to be a lot more careful, and Siger strongly suspected the majority of his colleagues would be incapable of that.

The fact that Lou had known the story was going to break while Siger hadn't was concerning too. Of course, he'd been aware of the content already, but as far as he'd known, the only people aware were people who wouldn't gain anything from bringing the affair to light. So, where had it come from? And, more importantly, how had the other man caught wind of it?

Amidst all the questions, one thing was for certain: Lou was somebody that Siger wanted on his side.

"I have considered your proposal, yes." The moment it had become clear that the man was more than a jumped-up individual with delusions of worth, Siger had begun to seriously think about their prior conversation. Clearly, he had some incredibly strong media connections. That alone made it tempting to accept, but he did still have questions he wanted answering first...

"I'm curious: what's in it for you? The benefit for me is obvious, but you? If you had existing strong political motivations, I would be well aware of them. So, have you new ambitions, or is there something else going on here? If we are to work together, we need to be aware of each other's aims."

[multipleoccupancy]

Pleased that Siger told him the truth and had indeed considered his proposal after the events of the morning became clear, Lucifer smiled to himself as he looked over the menu without really taking it in, he'd be having whatever he wanted from the kitchens as far as he was concerned. But Siger was right to be cautious of his motivations, maybe it had become built in instinct to question something that was too good to be true since the forbidden fruit all those eons ago.

He set the menu down and looked Siger in the eye, he doubted his little human brain would accept the actual truth, rare it was that they did right off the bat and it stole away all of his fun when they were in far too deep to back out upon learning he was what nearly every story warned them about. Evil incarnate, passed off in this instance as a man with very good and robust connections.

"Your soul," Lucifer said with a grin, smiling away as if it was a joke but it of course absolutely was not. Lucifer would play with ambition, greed, frustration, wrath and all of it like it was an orchestra ready for his every whim but he laughed at his own suggestion, a manipulative show of throwing him off.

"My interests are not necessarily of the political nature in truth, Mr Holmes, they are much more long term you see and require the right leadership at the right time in order to come to fruition." A leadership he would never hand over to him but he didn't need to know that. "Now is that right time and I am interested in the development of a stronger country that can withstand the trials that will come ahead, economically, socially and the ilks of that nature," he waved off, "I'd like an agreement that you'll listen to my counsel, you don't have to agree or act upon it but you should listen." His manipulations of course could not be direct action from himself, that was defeating the purpose of his over all goal of proving to his father that humans were frankly unworthy! "I believe together we can achieve a great many things, all for the price of an ear."

[imjustanauthor]

The joke wasn't a very good one. Siger smiled anyway, as one did while attempting to remain polite, but his thoughts were only of how ridiculous the whole charade was. It was such a shame that the way the world worked had to involve placating fragile personalities with no reasonable sense of humour. Oh well, though. There was nothing that could be done about that, so it was best to just grit his teeth and continuing playing by the rules.

The other man's claim of having little interest in immediate politics was both fascinating and appealing. Of course, Siger was interested in the long term too - he had plans for a long and fruitful career - but that kind of thinking wasn't how a man advanced in the corridors of Westminster. To gain public approval, one needed to make a show of immediate effects. It needed to be done just in time to gain favour for a vote, and then the sheep that made up the common population of the country would go on to forget whatever they had been so approving of in the past and replace it in their minds with whatever the new, shiny scandal or policy was.

Plus, the long term was something that could be manipulated. If it turned out that Lou was working against him, there would be time to mitigate the effects. Of course, that was assuming Siger discovered the problem with enough time to spare, but he wasn't worried about that. Call it cocky, but he knew he was the shrewdest man in the room. There was very little that could get past him.

"I believe we could work well together too," Siger responded. "I see no harm in listening to your suggestions, especially if you understand I will not always agree or be able to act upon them. At some point, though, you must tell me more about these future problems you're concerned about. It will be hard to work together if I am unaware of the direction you are hoping to steer the ship in."

It was a sensible suggestion from Siger, but one that was clearly self serving. He was aware of this, though, and he made no attempt to hide it. Of course he wanted to know what Lou wanted! Anybody would were they in his shoes!

[imjustanauthor]

"This one." Jeremiah pointed downwards. He even wiggled his remaining toes a little for good measure, thought the action was barely visible through his shoe.

In that moment, it did occur to him that maybe checking his toes was a bit pointless. If someone who looked like him but wasn't him ever did turn up, then how could anyone be certain that they wouldn't be missing a toe too? Jeremiah didn't know the details of how it all worked!

Maybe he needed some other kind of sign? A code word or something? But then he'd have to somehow let everyone know about it, which probably negated the point a little.

What if he got a haircut? Would that work? Change his hair, and hope that not-him was struck with the old look? Though, if that worked, then it was just a matter of time before he had an inbuilt solution anyway. Stress really did trigger grey hairs, and Jeremiah had already started to fine a couple of them.

"I'm not scared of coyotes," he then went on to explain to Killian. "I'm not scared of dogs either, or wolves, or any normal canines. I'm scared about becoming a coyote. It's a real threat. How can I know I'm definitely not cursed anymore? And if it happens in the forest, I suppose the whole thing could be worse, but what if it happens somewhere where I wouldn't want to live? And even if it does happen in the forest, who will tell my brother? And if my brother doesn't know I'm gone, how will he know to look after Dog for me? I think Dog could survive on his own, but I wouldn't want him to feel abandoned."

Once spoken aloud, Jeremiah's worries seemed ridiculous. Knowing that didn't make them go away, though. Okay, sure, his concerns sounded impossible, but he'd so many impossible things before that it was hard to tell what was and wasn't a legitimate threat anymore!

[multipleoccupancy]

Killian looked to the foot Jeremiah was pointing at and didn't really see that he was wiggling his remaining toes but did take mental note that if he had to check his feet, that was the one to check. Would Jeremiah have felt more comfortable if he saw him taking physical notes or would that cause upset? Killian decided against it in the moment and he was glad he paused for what came next.

Jeremiah was spiralling but it wasn't exactly shocking given his condition and what had been going on. Killian made a special effort not to nod in agreement at his panicked questions though he could understand where he was coming from, turning into a coyote would be a terrible fate as far as he was concerned but then there was all the pieces of his disappearance left behind too. He had to consider how it was to address it with Jeremiah specifically.

"It might be one of those things were you are not going to know and hopefully never have to find out." He tried to stay honest with him as much as he could. "You're talking about things that you don't know will happen and while I will always encourage preparedness, in this case I think you're too tired and worried to find solutions to these problems right now anyway." Rational and firm seemed like the best approach but he knew he should be prepared for a stressed reaction in any case.

"We could plant a tracker in you if you wanted, we could see you where you are in that case and if we turn up and all we find is a coyote, then we'll know and I will use what is at my disposal to look after your dog and help your brother." Killian was sure he could go through the FBI and simply file Jeremiah as missing, after encouraging the other rangers or his brother to report him as such after a couple of months. "All of this worrying isn't going to make you feel better in any case, once you've got some rest then you and I can talk out what we can do to prepare for that scenario." Not a dismissal as far as Killian was concerned, a promised plan of action and another prompt that he really needed to rest.

[imjustanauthor]

But when wasn't Jeremiah tired? A good night's sleep was hard to find, especially these days. Maybe it was just his imagination, but he felt as though everything was getting worse now. While his encounters with the strange and unnatural didn't seem to have become more common, they did seem to have become more malicious.

Or perhaps that was all in his imagination. That did tend to happen while experiencing sleep deprivation, didn't it? Paranoia and all that? Hallucinations were a possibility, too. What if he really was imagining it all? Jeremiah didn't like to think his experiences were in any way untrue, but he supposed he'd be a fool to rule it out. The things he'd seen were impossible. If he really thought about it, his continued survival seemed equally as impossible, so maybe there was a reason his most significant injury to date was a missing toe - one he'd had to cut off himself...

Best not to think that, though. There were more pressing issues to worry about first, like how he might become a coyote! Mind you, that was also pretty impossible, wasn't it?

Pushing such thoughts out of his mind, Jeremiah instead chose to focus on Killian's officer of a tracker. It would certainly be nice if he could be found when he went missing, but what if it was also used against him? There'd be no hiding in the woods if there was a tracker implanted under his skin. If he ever had to run, he would always be found.

"No, I don't think that's a good idea. What if my enemies got hold of the information? I was quite rude to a man from the Vatican, you know." Jeremiah replied. He was worried about that too, but he was mainly using it as an excuse to turn down Killian's offer. He didn't want to tell him that he was also worried about their own people tracking him whenever they wanted to. He might assume Jeremiah was up to no good!

"I've got some sleep in pills," he then went on to tell Killian, "but they don't always work, and when they don't work, they make me feel worse. I'm not convinced they're so good for me..."

[imjustanauthor]

Despite the blood and the glinting shards of mirror protruding from his knuckles, Charlie's hand didn't hurt - or, rather, in the moment, with the shock, and the adrenaline, and all the thoughts and the feelings coursing through his head, the pain didn't register for him. Arthur's emergence into the bathroom didn't seem to register either, nor did his touch, as the instructions desperately put forth seemed to do nothing but roll over the fractured man and dissipate, like whispers in a hurricane.

Some of the shattered mirror still remained in its frame, cracks running across it and warping the picture it reflected back as Charlie continued to stare at his own, distorted image. His breathing was heavy, his body still stiff with tension. A thousand thoughts seemed to simultaneously shout within his mind, chief among them the unrelenting idea that the whole situation - the mirror, and his earlier outburst, and his inability to remain calm - had revealed him to be the ruined, pathetic, shadow of his former self that he knew himself to be, and that Arthur now knew it too. Soon, the whole country would know it, when he got up in court and inevitably found himself losing control there too, because what kind of man did this? What kind of man couldn't keep his composure to such a degree that he struck out at inanimate objects and spat words at those closest to him? A failure, that was what.

Charlie didn't think as he raised his fist again. His arm pulled back, shaking off Arthur's touch that, under any other circumstance, should have been the comforting element he needed to snap himself out of the volatile trance he found himself in. Where exactly he was aiming as he swung forwards again, he didn't know - certainly not at the mirror, so the wall most likely, as it was the next nearest target. In the end, it didn't matter, as Arthur manoeuvred himself directly into the path of his fist, intercepting the blow and, while not negating the effects of it entirely, saving Charlie from doing greater damage to himself.

Arthur's flesh was soft, and the impact with it was undoubtedly less traumatic than the alternative - that being, Charlie colliding his knuckles, already damaged and with nasty slivers of glass sticking out from them, into the cold, hard tiles of the bathroom wall. As his fist met the other man's face, the impact immediately registering and Charlie's expression contorting into one of absolute horror and regret, said glass broke further, some shards embedding in Arthur’s cheek, others grinding deeper into his own knuckles. Now, he felt the pain. It shot through him like lightning through his veins, amplified by the visceral shame he felt for what he'd done - guilt given form and teeth, setting every nerve alight, as though his body itself wanted to punish him for what he's done.

"Fuck. Fuck, I'm sorry." The apology came out of reflex. There wasn't yet any serious weight behind it, but that would come soon enough. Once the shock of the moment wore off, and the seriousness of what he'd done began to weigh him down like a ball and chain, there would be a thousand apologies - none of them, in Charlie's mind, enough to repent for his actions.

"Are you okay?"

Wide eyed, he raised a hand as if to touch Arthur's face, before hissing in pain and looking down at his knuckles. Blood streamed down Charlie's arm, running down the inside of his shirt sleeve and leaving a stained trail in its wake. Without thought, he went to pull out one of the shards of glass that, thankfully, still just about stuck out above the skin, then immediately made a pained noise and drew his hand back, shrapnel still left embedded in the wound and blood now slow swelling out of a cut on the finger that had come in contact with it.

Looking back at the other man, the sharp cuts to his upper cheekbone and the skin that would undoubtedly soon bloom into a deep, violent bruise, reality began to skin in. What had he done? He could have blinded him! Arthur was never going to forgive him for this, was he? And why should he? Even with a stranger, this would have been unforgivable, but with a lover? Charlie had well and truly fucked everything up. He'd ruined everything, and he didn't even have a good excuse to explain why.

"I'm sorry. Let me help you. Where's your first aid kid? I'm sorry."

There was, at least, one silver lining - that being, the horror of what he'd done had snapped Charlie out of his prior mood. Now, instead, words laced with concern tumbled out of his mouth without pause, all signs of anger gone and any nervousness remaining attributed to the bloody mess before them instead of the court case he was about to face.

[brittunculii]

Charlie’s aim may have been erratic, but Arthur’s positioning was precise. The blow struck him full in the face, his head instantly slamming back into the very tiles that would have shattered Charlie’s hand—but it could have been worse, if not for the sheer volume of blood that served as a grim lubricant, lessening the force of the otherwise brutal collision. It was the glass embedded in Charlie’s knuckles, tearing into Arthur’s face, that made him hiss. He felt the sharpest of them drive deep into the tissue below his cheekbone, lodging there under the impact, his own blood soon mingling with the deep crimson smear left by his lover to trail down his face. Yet it took but an instant for Arthur to reclaim his balance, as slowly he raised his hand to his cheek and felt the wet heat of the wound against his fingers. He then pulled the glass free without delicacy, in a single, unhesitating motion that gave little regard to the pain it brought. A further gush of red followed, which he wiped away absently with the heel of his palm. He held Charlie's panic stricken gaze without apology or reproach. Calm viridian against the violent red. Unwavering, like ivy holding fast to crumbling stone. If not for the gore, it might have appeared as though he hadn’t felt a thing, because he seemed far more concerned about what he himself was witnessing: the sheer collapse of Charlie’s rage into something defencelessly raw, horrified and exposed. In some way, Arthur felt relieved. He had been unable to empathise with Charlie’s frustration, nor calm the fury it gave rise to, but this—this open wound of shame—Arthur understood perfectly well.  The deluge of apologies instantly pulled at Arthur’s heartstrings, piercing him somewhere just as heavily guilt-ridden. All he had wanted was to provide safety and stability, but instead the evening had deteriorated into a shouting match, blood everywhere, and both of them injured. He was the one who ought to be apologising, but Arthur was never very good at that. Anyway, that wasn’t what mattered right now, what mattered was tending to the aftermath. “Don’t,” he said, all the sharpness in his voice having left him. There was reassurance in this tender tone that stemmed from having dealt with far worse situations than this. “Don’t apologise. I’m fine. It’s all right. Do you hear me? Everything will be all right, just let me tend to you.” He reached to take the injured hand in both of his own, his gentle grip very still against Charlie's involuntary trembling. Without releasing him, Arthur took the towel from the rail and folded it carefully around his knuckles, loosely, so that it covered the wounds without disturbing the glass still embedded within. Clearly Arthur took far greater care with Charlie than he did with his own person. As the fabric met Charlie’s hand, it was not his blood that stained it. Some persistent drops spilled from Arthur’s face onto the makeshift compress, darkening the white cotton in a spreading stain that he did not remark upon, his focus fixed entirely on the hand he cradled.

“The first aid box is in the kitchen. Let’s get you sorted properly there.” Though his expression did not change, beneath the immediate act Arthur internally began to count down the hours before his rapid healing would come into play, and the necessity of concealment he would have to uphold. This remained quiet for moment however, lingering in the background of his thoughts like thunder beyond a distant horizon. He rapidly yanked another towel and spread it across the floor, unwilling to risk Charlie slipping or cutting his feet on the scattered glass. God, what a mess. 

“It’s all right,” he repeated. “This is nothing we can’t patch up.”

[imjustanauthor]

Were this a case he was working, where his emotions were disconnected from the situation, Arthur's quick recovery from the blow would have been impressive. However, at the same time, it would have also been equally concerning. It spoke of experience Charlie didn't like to think of the man having, even with the additional evidence of said experience being littered across his body in the form of a notable collection of scars.

As it was, though, he was far too preoccupied with concern for Arthur and self loathing at what he had done to consider these things. The reassurance that it was all fine had little effect - Charlie nodding to show he had heard, all the while the words rolled over him and disapated without causing anything to really change. His eyes locked onto the blood steadily dripping down his lover's face, refusing to move for a long moment until, finally, Arthur's ministrations to his hand jolted him back to reality.

Needless to say, Charlie didn't feel as though he deserved the tenderness with which he was being treated. He appreciated it and was so grateful that Arthur wasn't immediately casting him out in response as he probably should, but as he watched a towel be wrapped around his hand, he couldn't help but wonder if it was only being done to placate him. It was a technique he would have recommended himself. Do as little as possible to provoke the threat, ensure your own safety, and then but distance between it and yourself as soon as possible.

If Arthur was just placating him, then he was doing a tremendous job of it. The more he spoke, the more Charlie could convince himself that the reassurance was real - that everything would be okay, and they just needed to patch each other up again and get back to business as usual. They'd both been through worse, hadn't they? That surely helped, right? Obviously it was still far from acceptable that Charlie had hurt Arthur at all, and he did need to apologise for that no matter what the other man said, but they'd both taken a few knocks before, and in the grand scheme of things, maybe their feelings for together would prove to be stronger than a moment of pain that was far from the worst they'd ever felt.

The fact that it was terrible to even consider thinking like that was something Charlie tried to push out if his mind as he watched Arthur place another towel on the floor, providing protection for their feet from the glass shards surrounding them. As he saw him start to stand straight again, Charlie momentarily let go of the towel around his hand to reach out towards the other man.

"Is your head okay?" He asked, shaking fingers outstretched, aiming not for Arthur's face (though that was also something he wanted to check) but instead past is head, towards the back where it had crashed against the solid wall. That couldn't have been good for him. Charlie knew better than anyone how life destroying a blow to the head could be. Of course, his own circumstances were very different to the current situation, but that didn't change the fact that Arthur could be similarly injured. Charlie had met a number of individuals on his road to recovery who had ended up in the same boat as him because of an unexpected bang or bump! He hoped more than anything that this wasn't the case for Arthur. If he'd ruined his life like that, there was no way he would ever be able to forgive himself.

Without a hand to keep the towel steady, it began to slip from where it lay covering the mess of cut up knuckles and tiny shards of glass. Charlie had to quickly pull his other hand back to grab it before it fell, preventing him from being able to check any potential injury of Arthur's in the end. Maybe that was okay, though. Considering how Arthur was moving and talking pretty well, it seemed like he was probably alright - a nasty bruise and likely a little headache aside.

If he were to stop and think about it, it would have also occurred to Charlie that suddenly reaching out towards somebody he'd just physically assaulted wasn't a very smart idea anyway. Arthur was strong, but that didn't mean he was immune to involuntary reactions. Another incoming hand risked being seen as a threat. Charlie wouldn't have liked to have realised that, but that didn't make it any less true.

Thankfully, though (or perhaps not), that wasn't a thought that managed to break through to the surface of his mind. Instead, after another apologetic look cast over both Arthur and the scene around them, Charlie did as was suggested and made his way out of the bathroom with a guilty shuffle, heading for the kitchen. There was so much blood left behind - far from the most he'd ever witnessed, sure, but certainly more than he'd ever hoped to see during his time with Arthur.

And then there was also the stain of red smeared accusingly across the other man's face. Every time Charlie caught a glimpse of it, glancing back after sets of a few steps to make sure Arthur really was following, the sight hurt him more than any of his physical injuries. Which wasn't to say his hand didn't hurt at all, of course! The sharp sting of pain grew with every moment as the initial shock began to wear off, not helped by the protective towel brushing over tiny shards of glass still embedded in the skin and aggravating the wounds in the process. Charlie could grit his teeth and deal with that, though. The pain was only temporary. It could be numbed, and it would eventually heal. Hurting Arthur, on the other hand, was an unacceptable act which would no doubt have consequences, no matter how many times the other man repeated the idea that no apology was necessary.

Once in the kitchen, Charlie first spent a moment looking around, trying to spot where the first aid kit may be, before giving up and moving to stand awkwardly to one side. "I really am sorry," he told Arthur again a he watched him move. "I didn't mean to. I just get so angry sometimes. It's a sudden thing - not something I'm really controlling. I would never want to hurt you."

He was rambling, the way the words spilt out of his mouth displaying his worries just as much as their actual content. Charlie's uninjured hand wrapped itself more tightly around the towel covering the other one, fingers playing with the fabric in a subconscious, futile attempt to self sooth. As his weight shifted from foot to foot, Charlie unsure where to stand or what to do, he once again looked to Arthur.

"Would you wash your face?" He asked. "Then we can see how bad that cut is." And then Charlie wouldn't have to look at the blood anymore. Then maybe he could feel a little less shame...

[multipleoccupancy]

Lorenzo laughed that Dallas had his own methods of letting go of his worries. He of course turned to his faith in such times but given his role, that sometimes made it harder to ignore. "You should be more careful, hm?" he warned of the horse riding he'd explained he did before. "You will have more to worry about ef you are hurt by a horse."

He'd misheard him or rather misunderstood what he had been after but then again Mexican food didn't sound half bad and they would surely have decent beer in such a place too. "That would be good, si." He confirmed anyway, he could make his own order though he imagined Dallas would enjoy a beer too.

"I am sorry ef I was bringing down the mood, amico, there es much on my mind." He apologised sincerely and let go of the crucifix to smooth down the cape on his cassock. "With a new Pope, things at home they can get demanding. No' because of him, but the staff, she changes, the politica of et all," he gestured dismissively. He was totally loyal to the Pope but those who also shared the pontiff's space as Lorenzo did were often very difficult. "You must feel et too when you have a new Presidente? Es like that but I am right there to see et all."

There was a great deal to consider of course and he knew Dallas had seen far more than most outsiders ever got to see of the inner workings of the Vatican, but he had mercifully or not, been spared the drama in the political sense within the church. The shifts of priorities often hit different branches of the church and while the new Pope had experienced the supernatural and understood it to be a real problem, thus gave more power to the Church of Exorcists, it inevitably stood on the toes of the clueless who felt they were missing out to fantasy over reality.

Lorenzo realised he might have sounded too much like he was complaining and he shook his head with a light laugh. "I think I am hungry," he gestured to his mouth, "et es making me miserabile company."

[imjustanauthor]

The day Dallas decided to be careful would be a very unusual day indeed. He was the type of guy who liked to live in the moment, spending very little thought on consequences or any other ramifications his actions caused. This had caused him plenty of trouble over the years, but wasn't that just part of the experience too? And besides, he wasn't dead yet! Considering the kinds of things he did, clearly he was doing something right when it came to his own personal safety!

The changing of the guard, so to speak, was something Dallas understood the woes of all too well. It was inevitable in his own line of work too, of course, but that didn't mean he had to enjoy it. He had enough chaos in his second life - it would be far more preferable if his main line of work could remain the same! But considering he worked in parrel to politics, it wouldn't be particularly democratic (or American!) if nobody was ever replaced, would it?

"Well, went the last President left, I got shifted 'round too, so I didn't feel the effects as strongly as I could have, y'know? Not because I'd done anythin' wrong, mind you. Okay, sure, I'd had a bit of a minor squabble with one of my colleagues, but it weren't 'bout the President. I just had some strong feelin's 'bout this other fella we knew who'd disappeared, and it was decided that I'd be better suited elsewhere until I calmed down."

Dallas' explanation was somewhat of an understatement. When Lynchpin, the former leader of L-cell, had vanished, he'd been distraught. The man had been like a surrogate father to him, as well as the stabilizing presence in the cell. With him gone, Dallas had spiraled, and Lockdown had never been equipt to deal with that. He'd always been more facts over feelings, while Dallas was all impulse and raw emotion. Their falling out had been inevitable.

They'd made up now, though. Back on the presidential protection team, Dallas couldn't be happier about having the man who was practically his brother back in his life. Lockdown seemed happy about it too, he thought. It wasn't easy to tell what with how he refused to smile half the time, but Dallas knew what signs to look for!

"Anyways, I'm back on the team now, but I don't think the new President likes me much. You probably don't have that problem, right? I'll bet all the Popes love you. You charm them with that friendly act, don't you?"

As he rambled, Dallas glanced around, trying to remember what direction might lead to some decent Mexican food. Being observant was part of his job; it was hardwired into him now, the habit whirring away in the background despite whatever nonsense he was up to. As a result, he tended to make a mental note of his surroundings, which came in pretty useful when it came to finding his way around!

"This way, I reckon," Dallas decided, setting off in one direction, confident he'd seen somewhere decent looking a short walk away. "Don't you worry about being miserable. You're far from the worst I know, and anyway, it's good for people to air these grievances, ain't it? It's healthy, and all that."

Dallas still reckoned Lorenzo represented what was basically a cult, but that didn't mean he couldn't be nice to him. The guy was alright. He'd been helpful in the past, and he seemed like a decent enough fella. Besides, it was hardly the first time Dallas had got on with a cultist! In fact, it seemed like it was starting to become a reoccurring habit. Maybe there was something in that which he should some time considering...

[livedtough]

Sebastian exhaled a breath of his own, not quite frustrated, but certainly no happier. It's weary, disappointed. He attempts to dismiss thoughts that suggest they will never find her, ones that were sure this entire thing would end up as no more than a waste of time for everyone. But, he had to tell himself, so what? It might be a waste, or it might not be. They might get laughed out of Charlie's station, or they might find something, might find her, and that had to be worth every moment of disappointment. And if, at the end, disappointment was all they had, then at least they could know that they'd done the best they could.

That was what Ira would say, anyway, and he'd been with him long enough to live with his voice in his head. It was, really, quite helpful. He'd always been more optimistic than Sebastian ever had.

But it was a decent question. What did come next? They go back, look over their papers, and then what? Back to square one, he guessed. It wouldn't be the first time he'd had to start over, and it wouldn't be the last. He'd feel bad for himself for a little but while he dug for an answer, and then he'd move on. He'd either solve it, or he wouldn't, but either way he'd know what he was going to do. They both would.

Well, the first thing to do was turn around and get back to the car. Retrace their steps, work their way back through the woods. At least the walk was decent, despite the cause of it. He thought there might be a few more walks through this place before this was over, so he may as well think about it with a more pleasant spin. He looked to Charlie, nodding. It was a hell of a long shot, but it might be the best that they could do. "The pictures might give us something. Otherwise..." He exhaled heavily, shaking his head. "I don't know. Go back over the interviews. People don't just disappear. She might be gone, but if she's alive, she's out there somewhere. If she's dead...there'll be bones. We just have to find them." It didn't sound good, or easy, but there had to be a trace of her. And there were the clawmarks... That was the bigger picture, here, something that didn't sit right with Sebastian, but maybe they could solve both."

[imjustanauthor]

People did disappear, though. Charlie understood Sebastian's sentiment - somewhere, there had to be some kind of trace remaining - but reality wasn't always simple. If she was alive, she could be anywhere. If she was dead, the body could have been disposed of in a way which left no realistic evidence, It could be sludge down a drain, or those bones could be at the bottom of a lake. There were countless potential ends to the story, and very few of them seemed to result in the ability to solve the case.

Not for the first time, Charlie wondered if he'd been handed an impossible job. Did anyone actually expect him to solve this? Did anyone expect him to solve any of the cold cases he'd been given? Or was it all busy work to keep him from continuing to beg for his job back?

He tried his best to push those thoughts out of his head. That kind of thinking wasn't going to get him anywhere, and it certainly wasn't going to help him prove how capable he still could be.

"Yeah, maybe the pictures will tell us something," Charlie agreed as they trudged back to the car. "A second pair of eyes will be useful, anyway. I've stared at them so long that I don't think I'm really seeing them anymore, if you know what I mean?"

Even if Sebastian didn't spot anything new, having somebody to talk to would help. Bouncing ideas off another person could be invaluable, but it wasn't something Charlie could do anymore now he'd been relegated to his own team of one. Presumably Sebastian understood, though? He worked on his own too, right?

"Make sure I show you those photos of the claw marks, too. You might have some ideas about the dog. Bit weird, that. I mean, you see dogs everywhere, but dogs with claws that sharp? Kind of suggests it isn't someone's pet Labrador."

[multipleoccupancy]

Lucifer listened in to the other man's drunken thoughts as he tried to work out if he had ever been to Maryland, he said nothing of it and let him work it out on his own, or rather continue to ponder if he had ever actually been or not.

There was a charming laugh at the notion he would bleed Texas if he were to cut him open. Oh, it was tempting, Lucifer enjoyed toying with humans but he was ever so ready for violence and suffering. A little glint in his eye gave away his excitement but it could have been hidden in the laugh he indulged in at the same time.

"Oh you're like a homing pigeon then?" Lucifer teased and chuckled to keep the mood light, "you're a very fierce looking one at that. I bet the people around here appreciate that you come back." He charmed and took another sip of his never ending drink.

Flattery and charm, something to keep the man sweet as they spoke. His disdain for humanity was eternal there was no fixing that but he could at least have a little fun with them when he wanted.

"Come on then, enlighten me, where have you been and what do you think could make the boots of a man like me shake?" Truth be told, Lucifer was enjoying the game and so far Dallas was harmless. Whether that would least with guns and rattlesnakes later remained to be seen but then again The Devil was counting on a little chaos.

[imjustanauthor]

Dallas couldn't exactly say that anybody other than his family and friends appreciated his presence. It wasn't that he had a bad reputation in town, but it wasn't exactly a good one either. He'd always been a bit of a loose cannon. His youth had been recklessly rambunctious and this hadn't escaped the notice of those around him. To be quite honest, he'd never really grown out of that phase either, but at least now had had distractions - both professional and personal - to give him a way to burn off that impulsive excess energy.

And anyway, it wasn't like he was living in town, was it? His ranch was some way out. Considering the young Utahraptor stalking the land there, the distance was a necessity.

As drunk as Dallas was, he did still retain a little common sense. It was not a good idea to tell a stranger exactly where he'd been working. This applied to both his jobs. His work for the Secret Service wasn't actually secret, but the details tended to be sensitive and therefore it was best to not discuss it. As for his Delta Green work, well, that spoke for itself, didn't it?

"Oh, I've been all over," Dallas replied, waving a dismissive hand. "All over the world, that is. The US too, but I ain't one of those fellas who claims to be well-travelled without no passport, y'know?"

He'd faced that assumption before and his need to clarify that it wasn't the case revealed the insecurity that lingered as a result. Dallas had never been able to stand when people decided he was one way or another because of who he was, how he talked, or how he looked. Okay, sure, some of himself really was a walking stereotype - and sometimes on purpose, as it couldn't be denied that the assumptions people made could be useful sometimes - but that didn't he had to accept being dismissed because of it!

Whatever the case, he couldn't go into more details about his travel because the dangerous locations he'd visited either gave away too much about his work or were too impossible to be believed. Despite the sting, perhaps it was best to let it be assumed he was nothing more than a drunken braggart.

"I've seen my share of trouble. Caused a fair amount of it, too! You ever been in a brawl yourself?"

[multipleoccupancy]

Somehow Theo doubted it was going to be at all easy to handle Mulder, the dry response was hard to discern when it came to the other agent but Theo was too paranoid a man to think that he was going to just surrender what he had been so insistent on just moments ago.

"I'm about to go and speak to the parents now," he admitted and nodded in the general direction of a set of three houses, making a point of not directing him to the specific one just in case he would try to run ahead. "I'm sure you're aware it's a delicate situation and they're rightly fragile." He'd be distraught if anything happened to his own children after all, he'd be patient with them and he hoped Mulder was professional enough to do the same.

However with the final question, Theo cast an uncertain look over Mulder. Had he jumped into the case with some sort of extra knowledge that he was hiding from Theo? His eyes narrowed and he made no attempt to head towards the houses, his paranoid alarm bells echoing off in his head that this man could well have been trying to work against him and knew more than he was letting on.

"We would have done so... if we knew where the girl was." His gaze lingered and his stance shifted slightly, trying to reason with himself that Mulder had just misheard him, that he was not trying to trick him, that he wasn't involved somehow with the aliens and here to scrub the scene of evidence for Theo to follow and deal with. "Unless you know something I don't, Agent Mulder?"

[imjustanauthor]

"Hmm, I don't know. Do I know more than you when it comes to alien abductions, Agent Beneventi?"

The sarcasm in Mulder's words was palpable. He'd always been cocky. Being something of an upcoming star when he'd first joined the FBI had only encouraged the behaviour, and it had stuck around even after his shift to the X-Files - especially when it came to matters that he knew he was an expert in. If this was an alien abduction (which it was; Mulder felt certain of that), then Beneventi was going to need him.

"Okay, so maybe the girl isn't back, but how about the parents? Have you checked them? These things can be family affairs, but it isn't always the case that everyone remembers it."

Mulder knew all about that. He'd never been abducted himself, but he'd witnessed his sister being taken. The scars left by the experience harder to find, though. There were no implants or strange markings. Instead, he had half formed memories, buried so deep he didn't even know he had them for years of his life.

And, speaking of...

"We should try hypnotic regression on the family. If the parents saw anything that they've since forgotten, it'll help bring the memories back up to the surface. I know a doctor we could call."

[multipleoccupancy]

"Ok, that sounds like a good idea," Edgar agreed with the suggestion he go over to his flat in DC to watch movies with him there instead of sourcing another DVD player from elsewhere, they were working in the same city after all, they were bound to bump into each other. "Pick out a favourite when we set up a suitable time for it and I'll bring something good to drink." A promise, he felt if he knew one thing, it was how to find good alcohol.

He dismissed the apology and Edgar considered himself for a short moment, "Oh I'd have been there if I knew," he confirmed though he had been a rouge in his youth, Dallas was born before he met Martha, really he supposed he couldn't actually say if he would have taken up the role as father all too well at that time. But what if's were easy to suggest positive endings for, maybe he would have been there for Dallas and the man would have grown up very differently, maybe he wouldn't have been and the same outcome would have happened.

With the table set, Edgar put down the plates and quickly served up the vegetables along side the steaks, looking quite pleased with himself as he did so, he was getting hungry.

"They were murdered," he explained without much issue, it was a very long time ago after all. "targeted in an explosion and left me as the sole heir to their estate." He sat down at the table and looked over the meal, a little whiskey still left in his glass, he supposed Dallas of all people wasn't going to judge him for eating and sipping whiskey. "I was looked after by the ground's keeper for a short while but my place at a boarding school was secured and later at St Andrews," where he'd been kicked out but he didn't mention that. "From there as a bit of a lost young adult I joined the navy, showed particular skills and wound up in intelligence." Brief but to the point at least, Edgar didn't hand out his life story in sagas.

"Ethan would have you believe that I am some fantastical clan leader in Scotland," he chuckled and picked up his whiskey glass, eyeing Dallas, "There's a title to the name, but only a small farm house left on the estate and a dozen or so deer and far too many rabbits." The main house of course having been destroyed the last time he'd gone 'home'.

[imjustanauthor]

The steaks looked good, Dallas couldn't deny it. If this was the kind of thing that was going to get served up, perhaps he needed to find an excuse to have dinner with Edgar more often!

Of course, Dallas was perfectly capable of cooking his own food. It wasn't a particular passion of his, and any meal he made was usually something very fitting of the bachelor lifestyle that he still lived most of the time, despite being partnered up and committed to it. Takeout wasn't uncommon, nor were quick and easy meals that came more or less already prepared.

Hey, maybe he could convince Edgar to go in on the idea of meal prep and to make double so he could have some too? Sure, it'd take some convincing, but Dallas knew how to turn on the charisma when he really needed to. Mind you, something told him that his particular brand of roughish Southern charm wouldn't be quite so alluring to Edgar as it was his other marks, partly because of who they were to each other, but also because the Brits just didn't seem as fond of it as his fellow Americans!

It was a surprise to hear that Edgar's parents were murdered, extra so hearing how. Curiosity overwhelmed Dallas, but he reminded himself to be polite. People were sensitive about their lost parents - he knew that better than anyone! Okay, so what was the polite way to respond to this revelation?

"Oh. Well, I'm real sorry to hear that."

Succinct and to the point, no? Good job, Dallas! He picked up his cutlery and began to cut up his steak as he considered what to say next. Edgar's life seemed pretty different to his. He was well off and it sounded like he'd done well at school, but then there were some similarities once they'd hit adulthood. Dallas had never felt lost, but his mother would have certainly argued he had been. He'd ended up stumbling into his own career (both official and unofficial) as a result. He was good at it, too! His own particular set of skills may not be in the same area, but he had his niche and he was damn good at it!

"You a Lord or somethin' like that, then?" Dallas had learnt a bit about the British peerage system during one of the various presidential trips to the UK he'd been on. He didn't really see the point, but he had a vague understanding of how it worked. Well, sort of, anyway. He knew enough to know when he should ask for more details.

He chewed on a piece of steak for a moment, appreciating the flavour. Really, none of this mattered to Dallas. He wasn't going to inherit any title or land, nor did he want to. What use did he have for an estate halfway across the world when he had a ranch of his own? And a title? Yeah, he didn't need that. Lord Dallas would be a laughingstock in kinds of circles he spent time in!

Having never been able to fully control his curiosity, the matter of Edgar's parents had still been bubbling away in the back of Dallas' head, and, sooner or later, it was inevitable that it came to the surface. As he finished the bite of his meal, he dropped his knife and fork back on the table as his focus shifted back onto the other man's past.

"How come your parents got exploded, anyway? What'd they do to get targeted? Was it the IRA? I remember being on red alert for them back during the state visit in 2001."

[multipleoccupancy]

Lorenzo greeted Dog with a gentle rub at his ear but he didn't leave his hand to linger next to him, not wanting to interfere with the dog and whatever it was he was doing. He examined the fence and Jeremiah's declaration that his lie was forgivable. "When we are done, we come back and work on et together," he suggested with that same smile as before, confident they would be coming back and certain that they would have time to work on the fence when they did.

Though Jeremiah appeared to be rather awkward, Lorenzo didn't read all too much into it, maintaining his own relaxed and jolly demeanour while he waited for Jeremiah to show him the way. He looked to where the car supposedly was and nodded, "Es no problemo," he confirmed for Dog being in the car, "More his car than et es mine anyway." Another friendly look towards Dog before Lorenzo went to help pick up some of the paint pots Jeremiah had around him.

Jeremiah seemed like a skittish man from what he had seen and while he was pleased he had not ran off back home to his cabin while he was getting more appropriate gear, he thought it likely that the other had some real concerns to deal with on his own and was accepting of the help because he genuinely needed it.

"I hope he knows I mean him no offense," he mused with a happy chuckle, "but this trip to your home sounds important. I am curious about what et es you have seen and we have some more work to do there." He pointed to the paint can he was carrying, "I can use some of this at your house? Et will stay better than chalk."

[imjustanauthor]

Dog wouldn't mind Lorenzo being there. He had a strong protective streak to him, but he was pretty friendly underneath all that. It just took him a moment to accept strangers, that was all.

And anyway, the priest clearly wasn't a threat. Jeremiah wouldn't have invited him back to his cabin if he'd sensed any kind off feeling about him. This was a good thing, of course. Jeremiah could handle trouble, but he never appreciated it in his doorstep - especially not in areas where people actually lived - and, to be quite honest, looking at Lorenzo, he wasn't convinced a fight against him would be easy. Sure, priests were supposed to be peaceful, but look at him! He wasn't exactly built like a twig, was he?

Mind you, bear spray probably worked on Catholics too. Jeremiah was pretty sure that not even the Pope could ward it off.

"Why would you need chalk-"

Jeremiah cut himself off as he realised what the other man was talking about. Presumably part of his plan to help him keep things away from his cabin included drawing runes or something like that. That was probably okay... Jeremiah would need to cover them up, though. Once in a blue moon, he had a visitor or two. It wouldn't do for them to realise his cabin was the site of some kind of ritual.

"Oh, yeah, I think that'll be fine..." If it came to it, he supposed he'd just have to buy more paint later.

Jeremiah had Dog hop into the back of the car first, before placing the cans of paint down on the seat next to him. Dog seemed fine with this, though he still kept a close eye on Lorenzo, watching him warily.

"The paint - it'll, um, it'll work even if a rug covers it up, right? Or whatever else? Doesn't have to be a rug. Unless it does have to be a rug?"

[multipleoccupancy]

There didn't seem to be much that he could do or at least that Jeremiah was thinking of trying, if he couldn't sleep even with him keeping watch, short of knocking him out then he was quite limited. The wide eyed staring was unnerving but he could understand it, he didn't imagine that he was too far off starting to hallucinate. Though that thought didn't need too long to settle as Jeremiah then started talking about coyotes and toes. Killian couldn't stop the way his eyebrows lifted or the way he tilted his head back as if trying to get a better look at him out of his own curiosity.

"You want to talk about the coyotes thing? You scared of dogs or dog adjacent things?" He was now of course and he knew Jeremiah also seemed to have his own issues with dogman. And yet Killian still took quiet note of the number of toes and that there might be occasions where he should and would check.

There was plenty that happened on missions, Jeremiah generally was on his own in the forests but he seemed somehow uncomfortable being anywhere else. Killian thought he understood to some degree, he was most in his element in cities but actual monsters were rare in cities, for better or worse. However, he had work to be done by the sounds of it and Killian knew he would have to submit a report to explain in further detail what he had learned and that Jeremiah should be checked.

"Which foot is missing a toe?" He then checked seriously, after all it was worth noting, he understood from the file that it had been handed over to a shape shifter, there was every possibility that Jeremiah may not be Jeremiah in the future.

[imjustanauthor]

"This one." Jeremiah pointed downwards. He even wiggled his remaining toes a little for good measure, thought the action was barely visible through his shoe.

In that moment, it did occur to him that maybe checking his toes was a bit pointless. If someone who looked like him but wasn't him ever did turn up, then how could anyone be certain that they wouldn't be missing a toe too? Jeremiah didn't know the details of how it all worked!

Maybe he needed some other kind of sign? A code word or something? But then he'd have to somehow let everyone know about it, which probably negated the point a little.

What if he got a haircut? Would that work? Change his hair, and hope that not-him was struck with the old look? Though, if that worked, then it was just a matter of time before he had an inbuilt solution anyway. Stress really did trigger grey hairs, and Jeremiah had already started to fine a couple of them.

"I'm not scared of coyotes," he then went on to explain to Killian. "I'm not scared of dogs either, or wolves, or any normal canines. I'm scared about becoming a coyote. It's a real threat. How can I know I'm definitely not cursed anymore? And if it happens in the forest, I suppose the whole thing could be worse, but what if it happens somewhere where I wouldn't want to live? And even if it does happen in the forest, who will tell my brother? And if my brother doesn't know I'm gone, how will he know to look after Dog for me? I think Dog could survive on his own, but I wouldn't want him to feel abandoned."

Once spoken aloud, Jeremiah's worries seemed ridiculous. Knowing that didn't make them go away, though. Okay, sure, his concerns sounded impossible, but he'd so many impossible things before that it was hard to tell what was and wasn't a legitimate threat anymore!

[multipleoccupancy]

The muttered response spoke volumes of itself and Lorenzo offered another patient smile for it and a very simple but open "Fate?" with a check but no further commentary on it, leaving it for Charlie to consider given his own muttering. Evidently it was something someone had brought up with him already and it had not been welcomed. Lorenzo put more weight into it in his own mind but he did not push the subject with him. Charlie needed patience and understanding rather than a barrage of commentary on what he should and shouldn't do.

He took another sip of his coffee and thought about what he might have to do in Yorkshire, already pleased that Charlie was not possessed and had experienced what most would consider a miracle, he didn't blame him for not seeing it as such yet. He'd already said that people experienced the world, life and faith very differently and he wouldn't be contradicting his own beliefs in that matter.

The conversation seemed to taper out and while Lorenzo was sure with enough careful encouragement he might be able to get Charlie back into the church, he did have other matters to attend to and he was indeed eager to get back home to Vatican City. He thought they would finish their coffee, he'd thank him, wish him well and then head to Yorkshire early, then ask the Pope to send Charlie his letter to give to his mother, as promised.

It seemed, however, that there was more to be done and as Charlie described he needed someone fluent in Latin for a case, he smiled. "Like a detective?" It amused him of course because in much of his work there was a lot of detective work going on, mostly on a larger scale than just a single case but he had to work in those too, just in very unconventional ways.

Latin was not that unusual, people used it for all sorts of things other than religion. It was true the words held power but one had to be in tune with said power in order to wield it properly. He imagined what was in the case was something along the lines of spell work somewhere and it would be worth a look regardless. "Si, I can help." He agreed with a nod.

"What es this other department you mention?" He then asked curiously. "Do you no' all work together to solve the crimes?"

[imjustanauthor]

"Just like a detective, yeah," Charlie confirmed. He thought his request was kind of funny, really. It was quite Father Brown, wasn't it? Except in the middle of the urban sprawl of London rather than the quaint countryside, and significantly more violent.

Would the other man be alright with violence? He was a priest, so... Maybe? Charlie thought it safe to assume that he'd at least seen dead bodies before, but they'd presumably had quieter deaths than anything he might show him.

Did the Vatican even have murders? Probably, but Charlie expected they were few and far between. When they happened, he imagined they'd include a lot more poison, maybe even smothering, than anything physically violent.

It didn't occur to him that he should probabky check with Lorenzo that he would be find to see the photos, or at least describe them in more detail and give him the chance to back out should he want to. Of course, Charlie didn't mean to be so inconsiderate. Things slipped his mind nowadays. It was a bit of a problem - not that he was going to admit to that.

Charlie smiled in response to Lorenzo agreeing to help him. "Thanks," he made sure to quickly say. "I'll owe you one."

There was nothing concerning about owing a favour to a priest, Charlie reckoned. It seemed to him that there were two ways it'd be spent: either he'd be called to look into a police matter which was being ignored somewhere, or he'd be asked to try going to church again. While he'd rather avoid the latter, it wasn't particularly egregious, was it? If it came down to it, Charlie could always sit in the back and have a nap.

"We do work together, but it's a bit like Special Branch, you know? Secret squirrels dealing with sensitive cases." Charlie shrugged. "I tried to get a secondment with the team once. Thought it'd be good for my CV. Apparently it's too specialised for my career."

The whole thing was a bit off, Charlie had to admit. It was one of those things it was best not to question, though. That'd have been his opinion in the last, anyway. Now, he felt more inclined to ignore the red tape, hence his wanting to investigate the case himself before handing it over.

Charlie took a second to drain the rest of his coffee and crunch the paper cup up in his hand. "Right,", he then said, the single word accompanied by a pat of his thighs which signaled, in that very British way, that it was time to move. "Shall we head back? I'll show you this bit of Latin and then I won't keep you any longer."

[multipleoccupancy]

"I think you need to give yourself a break!" Dallas @ Lorenzo

It was nice in some way that Dallas thought to try and offer Lorenzo some reassurance that he couldn't win them all. The problem was that Lorenzo was quite convinced that if he lost the wrong fight then there could quite literally be hell to pay.

Still, he remained as patient as he ever was with the man and he offered a warm smile his way, his hands finding their usual comfortable position at the base of his ribs, gently pressed against the foot of the crucifix he wore on his cassock. Priestly and patient in nature again despite Dallas having seen him very much otherwise.

"Et es no' so easy to let go of worries, Dallas," he explained with an even voice but he knew he was only trying to help him, "Knowledge es a terrible burden sometimes." Being able to see what was likely ahead was a big issue in that, failure could mean devastation and while he was actively looking for what he thought the signs were pointing to, he had to admit he had not seen the worrying ones that suggested they were running out of time.

"Grazie for thinking of me though, et es true I can sometimes be stuck en my own head," he chuckled and gripped the edge of the crucifix that bit tighter between thumb and forefinger. "Maybe I do need to take a break, something to eat, a bierra?"

[imjustanauthor]

No one called him Dallas. No one except his mother, and a few of her friends, and a couple of old colleagues from back in his rancher days, and, of course, his boyfriend. But nobody from his side job called him Dallas, and certainly no Catholic priests.

Well, okay, that was a lie. Priests seemed really keen to use his first name. Dallas reckoned they were just trying to get friendly with him - lure him into a false sense of security so they could get him to admit to all the terrible things he'd done and then turn right around and use them against him.

Anyway, the point was, Dallas preferred nicknames. He liked Lone Star, but he'd settle for something else. He'd even settle for something unflattering, depending on severity!

"Sure it's easy to let go of worries! You just gotta find the right outlet, y'know? Personally, I'm mighty fond of riskin' my life on the back of a horse."

He grinned as if his concept of a relaxing time was in any way a good idea. Of course, Dallas had other things he liked to do for fun too. Shooting guns, drinking, trying to teach his pet utahraptor tricks...

There were other hobbies too, but somehow Dallas doubted that Lorenzo would approve of any of them. These church types seemed allergic to proper fun. It probably had something to do with the fact they weren't allowed to get laid.

"You want birria? I mean, if anyone does Mexican food 'round here, I'm sure they do that, and, y'know, I could go for some tacos right now. You wanna grab food?"

It didn't occur to Dallas that he was mishearing what the other man said, but to give him his dues, Lorenzo did have an accent!