now you see me: now you DON'T

jae macleod | witch | illusionist

[jaemacleod]

heavendestroys‌:

“Good. Don’t hesitate.” 

Stubborn determination demands that she go out in some grander manner, history swears it’ll probably be with eyes blackened, or looking into someone else’s that are that same sheen. But, if it comes down to it and she ends up like one of the undead trapped in that car, the last thing she wants is to bring anyone else down with her. It bothers her less to think of him taking that crowbar to her head than it does sinking teeth into his arm.

It might never sit entirely comfortable, the idea of magic being displayed on such a grand and obvious scale. But it’s easier to ignore when people don’t believe any of it’s real. There was nothing to be exposed if they were certain it was all part of a show.

And now it doesn’t matter at all, a thought better off not dwelling on. Easier to run with the joke, a short laugh escaping her even if it echoes oddly off the cars next to them.

“So you’re a magician and a car thief. When was the book deal and the movie rights?”  

She steps up on the guard rail, pushing herself up and over to the other side when the comment comes. She smiles, a bright, honest thing for a moment, despite the thought she puts into it for a moment. It was arguable whether she would’ve been scarier than the overprotective older brother who had always been stronger and carried bigger guns. 

Or her mother, who had been a force all on her own. But Zoe had always been determined to fight her own battles. Not that she had a choice anymore.

“Probably fair. I was very intense.“

Maybe that hadn’t changed either, but she didn’t spend much time on introspection or how she came off. There was always something to do, some way to make herself useful, and that registered as a more important concern.

She nods her head, and doesn’t argue. “That sounds kinder.”

She doesn’t disagree either, but they weren’t mutually exclusive things. It was an admirable trait, being able to adjust and survive, but at the same time it’s a disconcerting thing to consider, just how many terrible situations people allowed themselves to accept as normal.

“The big one on the left. Signs say it used to be a medical center. Never hurts to stock up if we can.”

for all he might have realised that what he was capable of wasn’t ‘normal’, he also wasn’t dumb enough to take it out into the open.  too many movies about area 51 and the gruesome experiments followed closely by some kind of inevitable dissection that followed to make him careless about any kind of revelation.  he didn’t want to end up as little chunks of jae in jars while they attempted to figure out what made his mojo tick.  hence the... discretion.  discretion disguised rather cleverly ( even if he does say so himself ) as the exact same thing --  magic, pretending to be tricks, pretending to be magic.  

“i was a thief... then a magician.  there was a chunk in-between with lessons learned, epiphanies, changes in... lifestyle - yaddah, yaddah.  if it was a movie -- that would have been the montage part.  complete with uplifting and inspirational score.”

he can’t help the slight chuckle at her next words though.  for all he plays the comedian, tempting a flicker of a smile to the surface here and there - he finds that the gesture is returned more often than it’s not.

“what d’you mean -- you were?”

no small implication that she still was - intimidating.  not in a bad way, or she hadn’t been to him... at least, he wouldn’t like to be on the wrong end of the pointy gun.

“kindness is underrated.”

it’s said a little more softly, perhaps with a hint of something wistful - but the smile on his face remains.  when values turned to those who had a knack for violence, other things were a little left behind in the chaos.  

“okie dokies, lets go, see what oogie boogies might be waiting in there, grab a shit ton of stuff and... use it -- to be kind.”

there’s a quick wink and he picks up the pace, feeling a tingle about his fingertips, ready for a trick or a bluff or a fool in case of monsters.  ready, with his own little brand of ‘help’, something he’s proud of.  something he can wield better than any gun.  finding a door, half open on it’s hinges - a looming darkness beyond.  yep, it’s scary as shit... that doesn’t mean he’s not going to go with her.

“one intimidating hunter with a shotgun.  one ex-thief magician.  they ain’t gonna know what hit them. -- ready?”

[jaemacleod]

naecromantic‌:

Niko’s grin only widens at the reaction he gets. “Why wouldn’t you be looking for ghosts? You don’t think a place like this is haunted?“ He holds up his hands, wiggling his fingers like it’s the intro to a horror story better told around the campfire. It doesn’t occur to him whether or not there’s anything blasphemous about that.

The funnier part, to him anyway, is that it’s entirely true, and he’s fully aware of it. It simply seems like a kindness not to mention how present and how close the dead always were, whether or not they were shambling around right outside their windows.

And this place had more than it’s fair share. 

“Yeah. Don’t think nuns are fans of people like us though.” It might be blunter than he should be, but if he can’t recall the man’s name, he can recall seeing him briefly while his soul sat less settled in it’s frame. Enough to make his vision clearer, to see the color that sparked around him. But that was from a distance, and there’s curiosity tugging at him now. 

“Dunno. I’m not on the planning community. More the ‘picking the music’ one.”

His response is already half distracted, because patience is something that comes and goes with him. And there’s no reason not to embrace it now, the slight shifting in his frame nothing he thinks should make him some affront against god. All he wants is to see a little clearer, and he does in the next moment. The man in front of him abruptly the brightest thing in the room. A collage of colors, the whole spectrum radiating from him.

He laughs, he can’t help himself. “God damn dude.”

“haunted or not -- i probably annoy the living sufficiently to see the sense in avoiding pissing off the dead.  i’m sure they have better things to do in their - afterlife - than haunt me.  that would just be inconvenient for everyone involved.”

nuns.... ew.  he’d be okay with the church, even the atypical horror movie spookiness of the area outside.  but not the nuns.  just... something about them.  sure, he gets that - in general, they’re good people and devout and... all that ‘god’ type stuff.  there’s just something about them that flip this whole ‘visit’ into uber freaky.  and he honestly can’t help it...  there is a slight crease to his brow though, attempting to work out the reference --

“people like us?”

--meaning people flitting around the wasteland and not offering their lives in the servitude of a god who apparently has gone on an extended vacay given the amount of hell wandering around on earth.   or... people like us meaning... something along the lines of what oddities might happen should jae wiggle his fingers in a very similar manner.  because - fact is - while he’s superbly attuned to reality and his own creations in ‘unreality’ - he hasn’t got the foggiest clue about much else to do with magic.  

“mmhm... i guess that solidly puts me on the entertainment committee then.  i think you have to have a very square jaw, a very large gun and total lack of a sense of humour to have that vote, my friend.”

or perhaps you just had to not be ‘people like us’.  

he does - however, take a glance over one shoulder, then the other, a small squint as his present companion seems to look... behind... or.... past or... through him... or... something.  and as his own eyes fail to reveal anything, he just glances back in confusion.  the laugh helps though, or he might just be having a minor panic that something creepy was behind him.

“huh?  goddamn what?”

[jaemacleod]

lynsey-ziegler‌:

Lynsey had never been religious. Her parents had been; didn’t stop them from doing whatever they wanted, mind you, but then, maybe that’s why she’d always inherently distrusted it. Saying you had faith didn’t say anything about what you were capable of. Considering what the world looked like now, she was even less likely to give someone the benefit of the doubt. Including the sisters. 

She’d been getting used to things as they were, as strange a concept as that seemed mere weeks ago. The whole scrounging around thing in particular had come to her easier than she thought, a skill she accredited to muscle memory growing up with so many siblings, and even her time as an intern among sharks. Everything else was easier, too–for the opposite reason. She expected nothing from anything, incapable of forgetting the events that had happened to her over the last year and a half. The sisters smiled at them, extended providence. Lynsey never trusted them, not even once. 

She glances at Jae when he speaks, or mumbles, really. And though she herself hadn’t noticed anything, what she found more interesting was how unwilling he seemed to admit out loud that something had bothered him. She blinked.

“You should go with your instincts. ‘That what they really say? Wind?”

“no... not really.”

he admits, turning slightly with what he can muster of a smile to greet the woman.  it’s not the usual ‘full force’ illuminating grin - definitely more freaked out by the place, the surroundings and those shades skittering across his vision beyond.  he’s also well aware that the words were for his own benefit - something to persuade himself that they might be a little free’er of the creepy that was constantly snapping at their heels with just about every step.  he’s not terribly convincing and she hits upon his lie with ease.

“but it’d be nice to think so.  mostly i think that there’s something out there that would like to eat my face, suck my soul out of my body, or gnaw the marrow out of my bones... like a tasty human scooby snack.”

his nose wrinkles along with the verbal and the mental image it conjures.  he’s not terribly averse to churches.  doesn’t mind them at all.  because mostly they were just buildings where people went to do their own thing and more power to ‘em.  but in this case, with the added creep-factor of -- nuns -- he feels as though there’s a lot more judgement floating around in the air... a judgement beneath the scrutiny of which he’d be found extremely wanting.

“...and on that joyously eerie note... uh, hi.”

shaking off the creepy feeling to the best of his ability - attempting to normalise ( in so much as the concept of normal didn’t really exist anymore - and in jaes case, probably hadn’t been there in great quantities before ).  one hand is thrust out with enthusiasm, his smile finally making an appearance.

“i’m jae.  it’s super nice to actually meet you.”

he means that.  every new person that joined them was one less person -- dead... out there.  

“what about you?  what do your instincts say?”

[jaemacleod]

kane-e‌:

Kane was indifferent to the building. 

Crosses were just shapes and the unarmed women were just a bunch of lucky idiots. Zoe probably thought it was safe so he’d trust her judgment, although even Kane could admit it was nice to be in a building that was actively looked after. The harsh warnings to not explore the local area were common sense even as he watched fear and confusion wash over the others. 

Instead, he’d spent his time getting a good idea of the layout. He may have snooped through a few offices – curious if the so-called holy lot had dirty secrets – instead, he’d been shooed away from these off-limits spaces without finding anything interesting. It was weird only because the rest of the country was free range but the women living here still kept to the idea of common decency and private rooms.

He has to amuse himself in other ways. That’s when he hears nervous whisperings. A member of their group far away enough if he didn’t have his hunter’s hearing he’d have missed it completely.

Kane sneaks his way over. Completely silent, and he’d only be seen if the guy fully turned around. It was made easier by how intently he stared out the window. Kane leans right up close, quiet but whispered straight into the guy’s ear: “Probably not.”

he’s a bit too distracted by the ‘creepy’.  feeling a bit too much like the ‘red-shirt’ from a star trek expedition... like the dumb kid in the movie that goes to investigate the strange noises in the basement without turning on the lights.  in essence the guy that gets ganked first.  it’s not a jolly feeling at all.  gooseflesh raising on his skin - breath misting on the cool glass of the window, making it even more difficult to see beyond.  and perhaps his mind is wandering a little too far into ‘freddy kruger/jason vorhees/michael myers’ territory to pay too much attention to much more... 

...so when those words drift low and close into his ear... the reaction is pretty much instantaneous.

1.  he screams.  no, we’re not talking any kind of manly yell.  conan the barbarian he definitely isn’t ( though he does have the nice furry rug from ikea ).  THIS noise is a shrill, ear splitting -- SHRIEK.  think, ice bucket challence multiplied by a million.

2.  his natural defence doesn’t quite fall in to the ‘fight or flight’ category.  apparently witches magicians have a third instinct.  and in some cases, that instinct is probably to do something insanely cool and groovy and spectacular.  unfortunately, jaes brand of magic - especially when he’s so very close to shitting his own pants - is a little more... unpredictable and... chaotic.

so please, imagine if you will - that scream of terror followed by a small tsunami of glitter, several rainbows vaulting around in his immediate vicinity.  6 ( six ) large bright red toadstools popping briefly into existence ( each of which have a small pair of legs and they seem to be running in blind panicked circles ).  and 1 ( one ) magician glitching between visible and invisible like a really bad static image on an old tv.

the whole affair lasts probably a few seconds... long enough for jae to spin around ( almost trip over one of his own toadstools ) and realise that what... no, correction -- WHOever was behind him wasn’t about to attempt horrific murder.  he hopes...

“jesus fucking christ on a unicycle!”

the exclamation punches out of his chest - much to his own surprise because he’s fairly sure his heart is rattling around in there like a marble in a tumble dryer.

another moment of pause as he catches his breath, eyes sliding sidelong to a depiction of ‘actual jesus’ - just waiting to be... smote down or something.  but when there doesn’t seem to be any celestial smiting to be had, he turns his eyes back to sneaky sneaker...

“dude... seriously?”

[jaemacleod]

naecromantic‌:

For the number of times painted billboards proclaimed this a ‘safe’ haven, it feels more like stumbling into some obvious trap. A piece of cheese set out in front of them, the hungry rats, and it’d be funnier if it weren’t so unsettling. As oblivious as he is to a lot of things, this one doesn’t slip by him.

It might be the general oppressiveness of organized religion, and Niko’s aware in a more distant sense that there’s more than enough about him that would be frowned upon. Even before they strayed into the magic category. It simply hadn’t been any real part of his upbringing, so he doesn’t feel that ‘fear of god’ stepping through the doors like maybe he’s supposed to. No awe or peace, nothing except narrowed eyes and a shifting of his soul in place just to get a better idea what he’s looking at.

All in all, they look like people in a house. 

He slides up to the man gazing almost forlornly out the window, turning his own attention to the outside world for a moment. Darker than summer should be, an odd haze floating across the ground. Then the half murmured words reach his ears. 

“Or maybe it’s ghosts.” The smile he flashes is quick, bright, and honest, the thought funnier to him than it might be to the man next to him. “Is that what you’re looking for?”

there’s a small shift as someone joins him, shuffling slightly to make a little more room - for as much as he likes to ‘invade’ the space of other people, he likes to think he’s accommodating if they decide to join him in his.  it’s a familiar face but one he hasn’t had the chance to address one-to-one.

he’s about to glance back through the window when words reach his ears which cause something akin to a comedy double take.

“what?  no... why on earth would i be looking for ghosts?”

-- asks the man who in previous months had been attempting to follow insects down the cracks in the walls to get to wonderland.  so, okay - maybe sanity is a little looser around the edges in general definition than it used to be.

“this place is creepy enough as it is without spectres and spirits and.... more dead things in general.  but -- any shelter in a storm and all that... probably.”

because jae’s entire experience of ‘dead things’ is either 1) sombre funerals with open caskets which were weird as fuck in his opinion.  and he’s pretty sure that the poor dead dude didn’t need ogling while they took their -- long nap.  or 2)  stuff rising up with all of the hell shite blasting across the earth and attempting to kill him and everyone else around him.  so... not fun times either way you look at it.  and the ‘probably’ tagged onto the end discerns that he’s not entirely convinced that their latest resting stop is a superb choice.

“think we’ll be here long?”

[jaemacleod]

Jae isn’t super sure what’s creepier.  Wandering into that monolith aways back, or into the church right now.  Nuns and god and all that stuff.  It was all a bit too much Exorcist and not enough Sister Act for his liking.  Sometimes he feels like he’s on some kind of invisible like -- one step in either direction and he’s dropped into hell, or flung into heaven.  He’s not sure which might be worse.  Two sides of a coin and he’s treading the edge.  But the fact remained... It was the same freaking coin.

He’s not about to poop all over anyones philosophy or beliefs.  Nor is he going to refuse the generous invitation.  But he doesn’t necessarily have to agree with them... Or particularly like it.  He kinda feels as though he’s had gooseflesh prickling his skin ever since he stepped foot in the place.  

Which is why he’s set himself to one side.  Nose to the window, looking out on the bleak landscape beyond.  And yeah, he’s fairly sure there are things moving out there.  A flicker here.  A shade there.  

“Probably the wind.”

It’s just a small mutter.  A casual musing.  As though saying it out loud might actually help him to believe his own thoughts.  

...Probably.

[jaemacleod]

heavendestroys:

Zoe responds with something like a laugh, even if it’s not all that funny. Still, Dracula trash about covers it, and she just nods her head in response. Eyes skimming over the back window of the next car they pass, seeing nothing but another filthy, abandoned vehicle.

Though the request draws her gaze back towards him, silent for a moment longer than it takes to really consider it. If it’s a morbid thought, she can’t swear to him it’ll never happen. She’d like to, tell him that there’s some better future waiting for all of them on the other side of the country, but it doesn’t feel like the truth. 

She doesn’t know that there’s anything better waiting for any of them.

“I promise.” The words are quieter than she likes, but it’s because she doesn’t need to say them. She’d do it anyway, and it’s a sorry thought the moment she has it. It’s not the kind of end she’d wish on anyone, and she quickly shoves away any further consideration of seeing Jae like that, twisted into a monster. “You gonna do the same?”

Though despite the question thrown back at him, it’s nothing she really expects. Not unless there are no other options, and part of her thinks if it comes to that, she’d take out herself first. 

But she can’t say for sure she’ll have the option either. The future is a dark, unstable thing, and it leaves her half grateful when he corrects her. A snort of amusement escaping her, the dry sarcasm not lacking for humor. “Oh, my apologies, great magician.” 

“Anything good?”

There’s intent beyond the question besides just curiosity. If the words trail off because he regrets it that was his business, but if he thought it was something she’d hold against him, it isn’t. Theft didn’t rank on that hard moral line. On a scale of good and evil.

The only time it made a difference was when someone was stealing something that wasn’t so irreplaceable. Hearts, souls, family. Cruelties carried out with magic, or in pursuit of it.

He’s so far removed from it that maybe he’s right. The title of magician might fit bit better.

“You’re not lacking imagination. Baby me wasn’t allowed anywhere near the shotty. It was the .22 only until I was big enough to handle the recoil.” The answer carries the same dry humor, but every word of it’s still true. If it’s a thing that might paint her mother in a poor light, she’s never seen it that way. Maybe if she’d said she wanted some normal life, it could’ve happened, but she’d wanted to follow in her footsteps. She’d wanted to be as strong as her, as Zeke, and it’s a painful reality that no matter how hard she worked, she never would be. 

It’s only then that the trace of humor dampens, because it’s a thing she’d argue. The world had only been over a year, and one of the biggest reasons half the people here were still alive was how quickly they adjusted to it. 

“You can get used to anything. It’s one of humanity’s most admirable and unfortunate traits.” 

“much as i respect you as an individual, if you ever turn into something that wants to eat my face, then you can take it as guaranteed.  yep.”

it’s not the most pleasant future to consider, but still worth considering none the less.  things happened, out of the blue.  nasty, twisted, horrible things that you couldn’t entirely prevent, and couldn’t entirely defend against.  still though, somehow he managed to make even the murder of a companion, a friend (?) sound light.  tone still airing on the easy breezy side.  because in the world as it is now the whole ‘laughing in the face of death’ is pretty much a philosophy.  if he couldn’t, he might actually lose it completely.  and while he’s more than aware that it’s no joke. he’s still opposed at wrangling himself into some bleak and desolate place with the thought of it.

“hey, that’s what it said on the posters.”

he quips back easily with another of those bright grins.  so he was proud of what he’d achieved.  it hadn’t always been that way, but finally, some sense got knocked into him ( quite literally in jae’s case - having your head bounced off a concrete floor a few times was plenty to want to avoid repeated circumstances ).

“what, nicking stuff?  a few nice watches, wallets, car keys on occasion -- and then, subsequently, the cars to which they belonged.  a mercedes?  i wasn’t exactly a one man crime wave.”

too young and too dumb to think bigger.  content with those little ‘wins’ when his magic had worked and he was still getting a feel for it.  he could have probably walked into a bank vault and exited with pockets bulging... but that thrumming confidence in both himself, and his skill, hadn’t really been there at that point.

“it was more ‘stupid kid’ taking a few chances and realising he could get away with it.”

eyes flit sidelong because he notices that she doesn’t deny it.  coming face to face with scary nasties even in her youth.  jae at that age was more than likely still hiding behind the sofa when his older siblings were sneaking in a scary movie.  and he gets that every life is lived singularly and uniquely... his own had been more unique than those around him, but he hadn’t for one moment imagined that ‘magic’ as a secret was only part and parcel of something so much bigger than himself.           --  witches and monsters and demons - oh my. so much darker too...

“kids, can be scary little humans.  kids with guns, doubly so.  i think you might have scared the snot out of me.”

he listens to her words - and while their perspective may differ, he’s not going to argue it.  her perspective is... well... hers.  though as he mulls over those words, he’s stepping over a barrier to the otherside of the road, heading toward the buildings she’d been aiming for in the first instance.  they seem to loom.  everything seemed to loom.  the present, with all of it’s grisly surprises waiting around every corner was a very ‘loomy’ place.

“i think i’m definitely going to swing toward the, we’re good at adapting, mindset.”

'getting used to’ sounded a little close to acceptance for his comfort - but that’s just the way the words settle in his own mind.  terminology, phrasing, was a very ‘elastic’ thing.  these creatures were here.  it was all a bit shitty.  but no one should ever have to ‘get used to it’.  speaking of ‘getting used to’... one thing he actually should be getting used to was wandering into gloomy places.  but... nope.

“so, any one of these in particular you were headed for?”

[jaemacleod]

heavendestroys:

It drops, but not without making a mess, and there’s a distant amusement at Jae’s succinct response of ‘ew’ at the splattering of bone and brains. By now she’s used to it, toeing what’s left slightly out of the way so she can shift a little closer. Head tilting, eyes scanning the inside of the car. But there’s nothing else, and little of interest. A bag in the back seat, ripped open and clothes scattered on the inside, emptied cans, seat shredded by sharpened nails. It paints a quick and tragic picture in her head; of someone bit, someone shutting themselves inside the stuffy vehicle hoping against hope that it wasn’t a death sentence.

The truth of it settling in, leaving nothing but a monster inside the car.

She doesn’t dwell on it long, because there’s simply no point. She might be speculating, it’s still probably true for countless others, and in the end there was nothing she could do about any of it. If it was a frustrating thought, practicality had always served her better, and right now could at least prove more useful with the survivors somewhere in the building behind her.

And the one next to her. She pulls back, glancing at Jae when she hears the quiet words, thought she can’t tell if he meant her to. It’s the question that takes her off guard, frowning slightly as Zoe casts a glance down at herself. Flannel flecked with blood wasn’t a new sight, just one more thing she’d have to make time for later. That only added to the sliver of confusion, because none of this was new, she wasn’t hurt, and if there was something endearing about the concern, it wasn’t anything she needed.

“I’m fine.” A quick, crooked smile accompanies the words, like it might offer more reassurance then the words themselves. “Are you okay?” 

She steps away from the car after she asks, the safety flicked back onto the gun as it gets settled back in it’s holster. Close enough to draw quickly if she needs to, but the shotgun gets settled back in her hands instead as she resumes heading towards the building across the road. Paying a little more attention to the cars they pass in case there’s anything else waiting inside. Maybe something worse.

“The vampire kind, by the way. Those legends.” 

She casts a glance over her shoulder at his face, trying to gauge whether it’s something he actually wanted an answer to. Maybe not, because the answer wasn’t anything kind. “They’re what happens when a vampire bites and kills someone but doesn’t finish turning them. They end up stuck in between. Not alive, not fully dead. Just a shell. They’re bound to their maker, but when the maker moves on… they’re just hungry.”

Which is likely an obvious thing. They’d come across enough by now, and it occurs to her that he might know these things already. But he might not, and she doesn’t resent sharing what she can. “It used to be rare to find this many. Sometimes you’d get a vampire who’d get ambitious, they’d go after whole towns, but those were few and far between. Now they don’t have to be careful.” 

She feels another flicker of amusement at his next question, one she doesn’t bother to hide as she returns it. “How long have you been doing the whole witch thing?” 

He might’ve answered before, she can’t recall if he offered those details the first time she watched him perform illusions in front of her. But her tone is just as devoid of judgement now as it was then, her moral line on the magic front nothing that wavers that. If anything it’s because of her answer, because she’s been doing this all her life.

Magic in the end was just a tool. A dangerous one in the wrong hands, but it was hard to think of his as the wrong hands at the moment.

After all, he wasn’t trying to summon demons. Just turning people invisible. 

“I was born into this. Hunter is as much who I am as what I do.”

he smiles back.  it’s a reflex reaction for him.  some kind of smile mirror by default.  he doesn’t really know how not to.  and there’s a small relief, even in that reassurance.  he knows damn well that blowing the brains out of ‘joe unlucky’ here wasn’t exactly a peach for anyone - either witness nor shooter.  but it was just becoming ‘one of those things’.  it had to be done, perhaps it was even a mercy for the poor bugger.  put him out of that horrible, tortured existence.  still, not the most fun that could be had while out on a stroll.

“so they’re dracula trash... well - shit.”

he remembers the freakish vampire in the monolith with her blood spears well enough.  the absolute ice in those cold, gleaming eyes.  she can’t imagine any of them doing anything other than abandoning people after doing... this.  it seemed like the kind of sick, sadistic thing a creature like that would do.

“and this is the point in the movie where i make you promise me that if -- that -- ever happens to me, you’ll do a decent... and hopefully quick job.  please and thank you very much.”

he’s being absolutely honest.  quick death seemed infinitely preferable to being tortured, ‘not dead’ and starving.  perhaps it’s couched in something like humour, but there’s a quick glance at zoe, something more serious than usual in the set of his jaw.

it’s a relief to leave the gory sight behind them.  it would be nice to think they could to the guy a solid and bury him.  but the thought of touching the corpse sends enough shivers along jaes spine... plus, if they buried everything they’d killed along the way... they’d probably still be in new york.  so when she answers his question with one of her own, it’s a fantastic detour for the easily distracted mind, a lifeline he latches onto quite gratefully.  something to swerve his thoughts from the macabre.

“magician.”

he corrects with a quick grin.  still preferring the term.

“since i was a kid, but i used it to tease my brother when he was being an almighty dickhead.  to do a few card tricks.  to nick some shit...”

perhaps that was a confession too far.  but he follows it with a shrug.  that part of his life was in the more distant past.

“it didn’t pitch me up in life or death situations against minions from hell.”

he couldn’t imagine it.  even in the discovery of his own ‘gift’ it had been joyous and innocent.  the kid who believed in magic and - there it was.  something fun and amazing... not terrifying and pants wettingly dangerous.

“you said it was a family thing.  hunting.  i guess, i just cant picture baby zoe all shotgun shells and machete wielding.  and i’ve never usually been found wanting when it comes to imagination.”

or perhaps, more truthfully, he could imagine it - but rather didn’t want to.

“i guess, i’m just saying, some things, no matter how long you’ve been doing them... there isn’t really any ‘getting used to it’.  even my magic still surprises me.”

[jaemacleod]

wesley-kelley:

Wes watches with delight as humoring Jae for even a second gets him a whole damn show. He laughs with delight, a single clap of his hands as Jae clearly looks for a soft spot to fall and continues his gibberish of fish and ways-to-die list before falling with a poof as he knocks air out of the pile of soft furnishings he died on.

Wes slow claps the performance walking over to the pile.

“I’m guessin’ anyone who could get an Oscar’s probably dead – I think you’d be a shoe-in this year,” he says with mock-seriousness follow by his dumb ol’ grin.

He snatches back his murder weapon, spinning it by the tail and considering if he should just start smacking Jae with it. He’ll keep that a surprise, Wes decides, letting it swing idly as he talks.  “You’re just makin’ me miss TV. I’d fucking kill t’watch something. You know a little more entertainm–” Wes stops suddenly eyes wide and gasps. He points at Jae with the fish pillow.

“You’re a fucken if liar if you don’t know at least one show or movie or whatever off by heart,” he says with full confidence. It’s a wild guess on Wes’ part, but Jae seems exactly the sort who’d be able to make up something and pretend it’s real. Either way doesn’t matter to Wes, he’d just be happy to have some more entertainment options, “I’ll promise to not kill you with my fish - again - if you can put on a good show?”

“true.”

he agrees with gigantors thoughts about the veritable lack of oscar-worthy material these days.  anyone who could put a half decent shine on a smidge of something vaguely entertaining these days would, in all probability, be top billing.  but even the small amount of applause is enough to plaster a bright smile on his face.  a willing audience being about as few and far between as those thin on the ground entertainers.

“i’d have to practice the speech though - all the best speeches have that ‘sobbing uncontrollably and emotionally intense’ moment.  it probably takes a monumental effort to sob that convincingly without snot bubbles.”

there’s a brief battle with rug and sofa alike as he manages to wriggle himself free of the rest of those soft furnishings, setting the furry rug to one side and making a mental note to take it with him.  even if he’s not exactly the ‘cloak’ type, it’d make for something cosy to sleep on.

however - at the sudden pause and gesture of percival the poisson ( yes he has also mentally named the fish by now ), jae pauses, honestly wondering if there was something horribly wrong - nerves bristling for a moment - that constant ‘on edge’ sensation never altogether too far away.  but -- the next part of wes’s deductions manages to quash all of those abrasive undertones and instead there’s a tingle of potential in the air.  he’s positively bursting out of his skin.  someone who not only enjoyed his little ‘act’, but actually wants... more?

oh, yes please. he lives for this shit.

“my dear humungous friend.  i don’t ‘put on’ a good show.  i am the show.”

somehow it’s easier like this.  the headache doesn’t come as quickly.  he doesn’t feel fatigued, or drained.  doesn’t have the crippling ice-pick in the base of his skull, winding it’s way to between his brows.  and yes... of course he knows a few things by heart... mostly personal favourites, watched, rewatched, read, re-read...  until those images and words are emblazoned on the inside of his skull.

there’s a quick bow, a click of his fingers, a streamer of spotlight in stage like illumination.

“drama, humour, comedy, tragedy.... perhaps we have enough horror for now.  but i can do a marvellous adventure.”  

“take your pick.  and mind the fish.  or I could go full on ‘jaws’.”

[jaemacleod]

lowell-vasile:

Intriguing as the man’s words may be, Lowell has to take everything he says with a grain of salt. As he does with most people. Old logic tells him what is being said to him isn’t true, some kind of trick being told to a kid who should believe it. Most kids aren’t as intelligent as he is and he knows it, but his thoughts don’t stop where they should. They reach further, into his new knowledge, into everything he’s seen since venturing out on his own. 

He wonders if it works: believing something into existence. He thinks of the alchemist who, with enough power and materials, could change anything into anything if he wanted to. He adapts that thought and thinks of his mother who could conjure demons with enough focus and energy when she wanted or needed to. He wonders if magic only works because they believe it does. A deep sigh rolls through his chest. He wants to take a nap. 

“I don’t understand.” A painfully difficult thing for him to admit. “You look like a grown up to me. Even if you dress different.” He thinks about the word, ‘boring’, and can’t guess even with the context. Most grown up things are boring, and years survived doesn’t equal being a grown up because that would be boring too. “Is boring safe?”

is boring safe?

“uh - no.”

there were a lot of boring people in the world.  a lot of boring ‘grown ups’.  they hadn’t been safe.  sure, some people used the excuse that it was.  that if they could wedge themselves into the niche of the daily grind, not step an adventurous or exploratory foot beyond those self-imposed boundaries, that they would be - safe.  it just didn’t work like that.  boring didn’t mean you couldn’t get hit by a bus.  or a bolt of lightening.  or - if you were particularly unlucky - a meteor.  boring didn’t mean you wouldn’t get stuck in a 7/11 when some rando with a thirsting addiction decided to hold up the cashier for some pocket change and shoot the shit out of everyone in there.  

“boring is just... boring.”

he tilts his head, finally looking back over at the youngster, distracted from the rug for just a moment.

“you seem to have a habit of smooshing things together.  older and grown up.  boring and safe.”

a small shrug.  he’s about to  follow that up with a comment about peanut butter and jelly, or oreos and milk.  and that just reminds him that he possess none of the above.

“i don’t think you have to understand.  just be... open to the concept that the world isn’t really a ‘one size fits all’ place.”

[jaemacleod]

lowell-vasile:

“No.” The reply is given immediately despite very much looking as though he wasn’t paying attention. Lowell tends to dislike making eye contact, his gaze roaming between the lips and hands if he can feel a person’s attention directly on him. He stares down and pulls at the torn leather of the couch, trying to make up a dragon in his mind from the many descriptions he’s been given. “You said they’re made of magic and imagination. They aren’t real, are they? I’ve never seen or heard of them in any stories.” And so as a follow-up he has to wonder why he should make space in his mind to know about them; make-believe creatures he’ll never encounter. Granted, not many stories have graced his ears and as interesting as these dragons sound, he’s choosing to be critical. He would like to be proven wrong. 

The couch succumbs to his torment as he continues to pull the skin, breathing slow and looking in Jae’s general direction as he speaks. “And I think you’re a grown up because you are a grown up.” He takes a second to scrutinize Jae’s features. “You don’t look my age.”

“i suppose they’re as real as magic and imagination are.  how real-real they are might just depend on how much you believe in them.”

magic and imagination are perhaps two of the things the illusionist does believe in.  it would be nice if more people did... the latter especially.  not everyone had magic at their fingertips, but imagining the fantastical, the improbably, the impossible and the inspirational was a kind of magic all of it’s own.

he goes back to fussing with the rug, finally pulling it from his shoulders and wondering if the massive bundle of floof in his hands might roll up and fit in his little backpack.  it’s very snug, and as far as jae is concerned, very cool.  perhaps the ultimate fashion clash with those bright neon shirts.  but he could give a rats ass.  he likes it.

“how old you are - and how old you look - doesn’t have any relation to whether you’re a ‘grown up’.  they’re two very different things.  if it was just a case of how many years you’d managed to survive, that would be... well, boring.  and most grown up things are also boring.  serious faces doing serious things and being too serious to remember how to have fun.”

“who wants to be boring?”

besides, looks can be deceiving.  he knows this better than most.

[jaemacleod]

lowell-vasile:

Lowell knows this man as much as he knows the other members of the group has hasn’t spoken to directly. He’s watched him, heard of him, asked someone his name despite knowing he most likely won’t ever use it. Names are important, a badge of honor to be earned who end up aiding him in some way, whether they know it or not. And he certainly won’t admit a bit of it has to do with how much he likes a person. Friends are against the rules. He thinks the creature adorned in bright clothing, shouldering some shaggy floor ornament, could be a funny exception. Like a bird with a broken wing.

“I miss the winter,” he walks around an overturned display couch, having heard every word the man said. And it’s true, he misses the winter like a companion he’d grown up with and grown close to. He misses the stinging wind that at night would remind him of the basement floor and everywhere he came from. “I wish you grown ups didn’t make it go away,” and he certainly doesn’t understand the gravity of the statement, subscribing to a different type of thought. 

But he thinks this grown up seems different. His sits down in whatever way he can on the couch, setting a woven bag of odds and ends he’s found around the area in his lap. “What is a dragon?” 

“well, hello there and -- winter with snowball fights and sledging, yep -- murdery winter full of nasty things that are all about the slaughtering and killing... mmh, not so much.”

he swivels on the spot locating the voice.  it’s ‘the kid’.  that’s as much as he knows him by.  he wonders how hard it is - to be that young.  is it easier, being more adaptable to change, not so concretely set in your ways, or is it harder, without that comfort blanket of the world ‘as was’.

there is, however, a slight grin at the next notion -- 

“what makes you think i’m a ‘grown up’?”

physically - yes.  mentally - no.  at least, most of the people he’d known previously did tend to think of him as a man-child.  someone who never really lost that wide eyed amazement at the world, who still finds it spectacular and inspiring ( with the added sprinkling of terrifying and panic inducing more recently ).  

however - jae’s brain does seem to glitch.  some kind of short out - a spark fritzing across those neural circuits when the short fella poses a question.

“what?”

there’s an honest incredulity in the word.  something that pings out from between his lips while his brain is still busy making sure that he actually heard what he thought he had.  and... even with a second ‘run through’ - those words still arrange themselves in the same order.

‘What is a dragon?’

what kind of kid doesn’t know what a dragon is?  well, this one, obviously but...

“dragons --  big teeth.  sharp claws.  made out of magic and imagination.  sometimes they’re the bad guy, sometimes they’re the good guy.  depending on what story you read.  they’re -- beautiful, graceful, strong, and all different colours, different shapes, different sizes.  some look like snakes.  some look like birds.  some look like lizards...” 

as the other takes his seat, jae rounds off his little speech with a wide armed gesture - enunciating the word in the most emphatic way that he can.  obviously gleeful about the concept, and... still slightly puzzled.

“dragons...”

“no?”

[jaemacleod]

wesley-kelley:

It was the ugliest fucking thing he’d ever seen so he grabbed it immediately.

The pillow was long and fish-shaped – not only fish shaped but it was, in fact, a fish. A super crisp, close-up photo of a fish in all of its scaly, shiny, dead glory printed onto a damn pillow. Wes felt like the eye was following him. 

With his fish dangling at his side, waving it and swinging it about as he looks around and considers what to do with himself. Thankfully with the size of their group it doesn’t take long to come across someone. That someone being Jae – a man rightfully having a great fucking time with a rug.

Wes has to get his own cape thing. But. Not yet.

“How’s about a fish?” Wes shouts and he lobs that pillow, like a javelin, straight at Jae

ladies and gentlemen -- welcome to the the most epic battle of the apocalypse thus far.  

                                         fake john snow verses giant cuddly fish.

at least - that’s what runs through his mind when gigantor rumbles up and presents his challenge.  one jae is wholly unopposed to.  the big fella seems to be one of the few still around who can crack a grin on a whim, who doesn’t seem to think that smiling is some kind of taboo - all of the smiles ( and there had been many ) he’s seen appear onto the face sat atop the oversized body seem easy... not forced.  

the fish - rather miraculously - is caught with only a slight fumble due to it’s size.  and those quick hands manage to manoeuvre it under one arm - turning sidelong so as to give the impression of having been skewered by the over sized ( and now that he has a close up view - almost disturbingly detailed ) pillow.

“oh no!  you’ve found my one weakness.  you pesky poisson pitcher.  to think that i, jae mcleod...”

the acting has begun in earnest now.  a small stagger.  a deep and meaningful look into the fishes eyeballs ( apparently he’d been speared by the fish, tail first... go figure ), a dramatic clutch to his chest ( with one hand, the other hanging onto the pillow ).

“...slayer of dragons and... stuff... would meet his demise...  by a squishy fishy...”

there’s a carefully calculated pause - surveying his surroundings, before ‘staggering’ purposefully in the direction of a sofa with a series of more rugs casually draped over the back.

“...pipped to the post by a pernicious perch, killed by a kipper, mauled by a mullet, slain by a salmon, trounced by a trout, death -- by dolphin...”

okay, so maybe that last one was pushing it a bit.... jae does a little spin on his heels before ‘dying’ on the couch with a ‘floomph’ sound, disappearing into a tangle of rug, fish and cushions in what was possibly the softest, most comfortable ‘death’ ever achieved by anyone.  even the fish was cosy.

it’s only a second or two before he’s peering out of the tangle from beneath the furry rug -- still obviously having a grand old time with the sheer ridiculousness of the situation.

“maybe not oscar worthy, what’d you think?  marks out of ten?”

[jaemacleod]

heavendestroys:

It’s familiar in a way, reminiscent of old hunts, moment spent shoring up details for those who didn’t know the names for whatever horrors they’d stood witness for. They weren’t supposed to, that hadn’t been their world, and as much as she doesn’t allow herself to dwell, there’s a flicker of nostalgia for those moments. Before the world had been fractured.

It doesn’t last, little point in it now, and the description he gives puts a smile on her lips. Accurate enough to be amused by it. She might’ve said shark, but it was all the same. The monsters themselves might’ve been worth taking seriously, but they were terrifying enough on their own. 

“Basically. Not an affair I want to picture.” 

The faint smile remains when he details how he killed it, a nod of her head in approval because effectiveness was all she cared about. That urge to press on him carrying a gun was rooted in that simpler urge, to know that he or anyone like him would be capable enough of handling themselves if another one of those tall men slipped from the shadows. She knew first hand how quick they were, how bloody the outcome could be if someone wasn’t just as fast. 

“Most things aren’t.” It’s said with an answering humor, but it was true enough. There were plenty of beasts in the world that it would serve as a surefire execution when other options were exhausted. 

“Most of them are rooted in some kind of truth. Maybe not alligators in the sewers, but there are enough other monsters to make up for it. Most people just weren’t in a position to recognize them for what they are until it’s right in front of them.”

For the briefest moment it makes her second guess all those secrets, that question rearing itself in the back of her mind that maybe this never would’ve happened if everyone had known what the risks were. If monsters were a fact of existence instead of those shadows kept down in the corners of the world, if people had known that demons were a very real and very dangerous fact of existence. 

It isn’t doubt that lasts long, running contrary to what she’d been raised to believe, what no small part of her still believed. There were hunters to keep those things at bay. So the rest of humanity didn’t have to live in fear, a chance to live those normal, quieter lives.

None of it matters now, not when it’s all waiting in front of them, this time in the shape of something trapped inside a vehicle. Her boots planted firmly against the asphalt as she glances at him, a question she doesn’t have a solid answer to. 

“Open it and we’ll find out.” 

She isn’t sure, not yet, but it was the safest assumption. ‘Hope for the best, prepare for the worst’ had been a guiding line worth following long before this moment, and she’d rather be armed and ready if it’s a monster trying to claw its way out of the car. And the red swaths it leaves painted against the window don’t leave that much room for optimism.

She doesn’t realize what he’s doing at first, the crackle of sparks flickering in the corner of her vision. Glitter floating in the air before they’re both fading from view. It’s startling, and she can’t help the way her muscles tense when the spell settles over her. 

An expression she realizes quickly he can’t see, and if there’s a level of pragmatism to it, there’s also a sliver of concern that she can’t see him anymore. All the same, he’s counting down, and the swifter it’s dispatched the sooner it’s no cause for concern anymore.

He hits one, the door opens, and her finger tightens on the trigger.

For a moment there’s almost hope, the figure falling half out of the car the second the door’s open. Fingers dragging over concrete, hair obscuring their features. She sucks in a breath and waits for it,t he moment that head lifts, and it scatters those faint pieces of optimism. Eyes long dead and milky white, searching the space she’s still standing in. Lips parting and revealing jagged teeth, crushed together and broken in a once human jaw.

She doesn’t wait for more than that, fingers relaxing on the shotgun to trade it for the handgun at her hip. Solely to minimize the blast, so Jae doesn’t get hit by fracturing skull and brain matter.

She points the barrel at the revenant’s head and pulls the trigger twice.

“ew, ew, ew.”

the illusion fades as soon as he’s sure nothing else wants to follow the first thing out of the car.  seemed like one and one only.  a solo creeper.  something grim and... no longer human.  and he honestly tries not to let his mind drift to who they might have been, how long they might have existed in that terrible wretched state.  wonders if there was any sentience - cognisance left in a brain ( now spread in chunky lumps and thin smears across the cracked asphalt ) which was housed in nothing but animalistic feral instinct... or if there was simply nothing left of that person at all.  he really hopes it’s the latter.  

he’s leaning far back against the cool metal of the car.  away from the open door bullets and the splatter.  though there still is a lump or two rather close to the toe of his sneaker.  though with visibility restored, he rather hopes that’s the end of it.  ( well, not ‘the end’ - he does imagine that this will go on for some time, but at least in the immediate - maybe it’s over.... )

granted - ‘ew’ - isn’t exactly his usual over verbose, nor eloquent self.  but it seems apt.

“i wonder what ‘truth’ that was rooted in.”

it’s a half mumbled question to himself.  alligators in sewers aside ( and in this instance, maybe preferable - at least they were just creatures.  big jawed, snapping creatures, but they still fell into the realm of ‘normality’ in what had come before ) ... what fable or fairytale, what grimm story might have been spun out of the existence of such a sorry, tormented thing.

reality manages to settle in his brain rather sharply, ears still ringing slightly from the gunshots ( or maybe that was just the rattle of his own heartbeat thundering there with a juicy little adrenalin boost ), but he’s shuffling around the now corpse, little crablike sidesteps until he’s next to zoe once more - the crowbar-slash-magic wand ( fuck potter and his hornbeam unicorn hair bullshit - crowbars were better any damn day ) dangling from his fingers.  

“are you okay?”

it hadn’t touched either of them.  hadn’t attacked them.  had rather just fallen there, the sorry thing, probably starving, slow... however, it wasn’t just about cuts or bruises.  there were so many things that could make someone ‘not-okay’ that had nothing to do with physical harm.  and as it is, the sight is a gory one, nasty.  flies already buzzing around the warm exposed ‘meat’.  one he still hasn’t gotten used to.  for all of the hundreds of bodies he’s passed since the world wobbled of it’s axis of ‘normal’, there’s something so irrevocably striking about - the dead - that tends to leave more of a jarring impression.  he doesn’t think he’ll ever get used to it.  and he thinks that maybe anyone who says they are used to it - is probably a liar.  so that question, that note of concern is for her.  the zoe behind the gun.  

‘Most people just weren’t in a position to recognize them for what they are until it’s right in front of them’

she’d just said that, and maybe this is just a rather poignant example of it.  no, they wouldn’t recognise it.  wouldn’t know that there was evil in their midst.  because, for the most part -- it looked just like them.  it walked like them, talked like them, moved like them.  even these things - left behind, the twisted remnants of an attack jae had been remarkably lucky to not succumb to - had been... just like them.  even when it is right in front of them... it still... pretty much... is them.  they were just, the unlucky ones.  sure, sure... he’s dismissing the fangy vamps and the slenderman-piranha hybrids and the actual hell risen demons in this line of thinking.  but most of the rest - they had been people at one point...  maybe even the nastier things had been too - he’s not super hot on monster origin stories.

he doesn’t mention the gun.  doesn’t compute that ‘sans zoe’ he might have been making more of an effort to club the thing over the head with his little crowbar.  a rather more grisly and up close meeting than he might have preferred.  it still doesn’t mean he wants one.

she hadn’t hesitated.  once she was sure the thing was a ‘thing’ and not a ‘someone’.  he might have.  taking life... any life... was still a tricky concept.  if it was a them or us situation then, yes, he’s always going to be on the side of ‘us’.  but still...

“guess we should get a shift on, huh?”

he’s already edging away...

“how long have you been doing... this... that... y’know the whole... hunter thing?”

to have that zero hesitation.  to make those choices in a split second, where others would flounder and possibly fail for their pause.

“i mean - it’s impressive... i guess it’s still hard to wrap the grey matter around the concept that people were doing this ‘before’.  that those... things... were here... have been here... for a long time.”

[jaemacleod]

new places.  new places to explore.  new shirts to acquire.  and he has.  three in total.  each as brightly gaudy as the last.  after the pink flamingo shirt somewhat bit the dust at the monolith, he’s been on the search for another eyewatering garment.  the one currently framing the magician is something quite spectacular... black at the top, bleeding into something that resembled a psychedelic neon skyline of some city or other.  pinks, purples, blues.  not exactly camouflage, but he’s pretty good at not being seen when he doesn’t wish to be - which is nice.  and handy.  so there’s that.

however, he’s been distracted.  by a sheepskin rug.   an ikea sheepskin rug. which is now wrapped about his shoulders and arranged in such a way as to give the impression that he’s some kind of historical warrior, fresh from the fields of battle ( sans gore ), or perhaps... ripe out of a fantasy movie.

look, he’s john snow okay?   and john snows big floofy costume was legit made out of -- you’ve guessed it... an ikea sheepskin rug.

“now all i need is a giant wolf.  or a dragon...  winter is coming my arse.  winter - got it’s backside handed to it...”

[jaemacleod]

heavendestroys:

It’s in her nature to want to keep pushing, even if it’s not now. Hardly the moment to start shoving a gun into his hand and demand he take some pot shots. But there’s still that urge to pass that knowledge on, one that’s only dulled slightly when she watches him pull a crowbar from beneath his jacket instead.

No small appreciation for that, mouth shutting because she’s well aware it wasn’t a gun that Nora used to follow through on those words she just offered him. Her own had barely helped the situation, buckshot not doing half as much against stone golems as a woman prying their heads from their bodies.

If there’s always that faint sting of envy that she doesn’t possess that much strength, it’s a thing she learned to stomach along time ago.  

For the moment it’s enough to know that he has a plan b, that the absence of his magic for whatever reason isn’t something that’ll simply leave him helpless. It’s all she really hopes for in the end, because those old ideals are dying, more of them every day.

And it’s not enough to think that she or the other hunters will provide some first and last line of defense between the monsters and what’s left of humanity. Jae included, the fact that he carried magic in his blood nothing that made him less than human in her eyes.  Hell opened up beneath all of them. It wasn’t enough to hide in the shadows and try and pick off monsters one at a time. Maybe it never really had been, because they’d still failed in the end.

Even knowing what was coming, she hadn’t been able to stop it. Maybe if she’d called Zeke they could’ve managed it together, maybe he would’ve just died in the flames that consumed New York. Not that it mattered. He was likely dead either way..

“Old monsters. Urban legends like most of them. Tall, thin men, no faces except for the mouths, and they carry knives with them. You can tell when they’re close because everything goes silent.” It’s the cliffnotes version, the only intention to let him know one more thing that was out there, if he hadn’t encountered it already. “They negate magic. So be careful.” 

She glances over when he gestures at his face, focusing briefly on that scar before she turns her attention back towards the road. Lips pressed together to hide her amusement as she nods seriously. “Absolutely counts. Those kitchen drawers can be deadly.”

For once it’s hard not to laugh, wondering idly what Bryce would have to say about Jae’s appreciation for his… assets. Especially given her current annoyance with the man, more frustration for the simple thought that it might be unwarranted. 

Though to some degree Jae’s words help dull the edges of it, the unexpected thought that he very literally had his back, or at least threw him over his own.

The sound reaches her ears at the same time it meets his. Lips pressing shut immediately, gaze fixating on the one she thinks it’s coming from. Steps slowing, gun lifting to her shoulder as she moves carefully forward, scanning the windows for any signs of life. Or death, which is infinitely more likely.

It comes again, this time accompanied by the sight of a hand hitting the inside of the window. Fingers curving against glass, smearing something dark and thick against it. Her hands tighten on the gun as she shifts to the side, barrel trained on the door. 

Her gaze flicking back towards Jae. “If you pull it open I’ll put it down.” 

“they just sneak up on you out of nowhere.”

he says with deadly seriousness about the sudden ambush of said kitchen drawer.  but she plays along, and somewhere inside he feels a little lighter for it.  it’s nice just to talk about things that weren’t decidedly life and death.  that weren’t scary as hell.  of a past that wasn’t quite lost yet... at least, not for as long as someone remembered it.

he’s already forgotten about the gun.  about shooting a gun or carrying a gun and gun type things in general.  which is probably best for all involved.

“oooh - those things.”

there’s a definite recognition as she describes it.  nodding quickly to confirm that he’s putting two and two together from her description and his previous experience and somehow winding up with seven.

“the offspring of a sordid and presumably nasty love affair between slenderman and a piranha.”

given his penchant for some kind of facial dialog, jae’s expression morphs into something half thoughtful - obviously recalling his little encounter - half considering the sheer grossness of what he’d just proposed.  but hey, he just learned something.  apparently creepy and fishy had an actual name.  always good to know.  helps in a moment of panic... probably.

“i’m acquainted with them.  yes.  ‘dark men’... noted.  though not so much of an urban legend, at least, not when it’s attempting to stabby stabby.”

he does a small jug on his feet then mimes a basketball hoop shot...  as though he was throwing something.  

“molotov.  apparently they aren’t super fans of being ‘en flame’.”

the little act is far more graceful than the actual event had been.  more of a panicked flinging of the bottle and then the frantic patting out of flames as they’d caught on his companion at the time.  the slightly singed flesh in the thereafter was a small price to pay for still being walking and talking.

“i wonder how many of them are true.  the urban legends, i mean.”

stories.  tall tales.  things that he delved into and had... at least in the past, found enjoyment in.  because they were ‘just’ stories then.  now though... urban legends seemed to be global fact.  and yes, he’s more than aware that reality is just as much of a construct as anything else... it could be tampered with, could be changed... this was just another part of that.  things he had never truly believed in were now changing his reality.  the delicate irony of that wasn’t exactly lost on him.

he does, however, almost jump out of his damn skin when that hand hits the window.  his brain was half hoping that it might be a... rodent.  or a bird.  or something other than one of the nasties.  it was also half expecting something grisly... following zoe as she seems to pinpoint the source.  it’s all a bit grim.  all a bit scary.  all a bit sad really.  if it hadn’t been for the group, jae might have been tempted to let it out and run in the other direction.  but he’s also aware that every monster out there was another life in danger.  so... he kinda has to just suck it up.  and he does... 

“you’re sure it’s a... y’know -- thing?”

thing - monster.  nasty. and not maybe... a person.   it’s another one of those half hopes, eternal optimism still managing to bloom even here.  he’s fairly sure he knows the answer to his half whispered question.  but he asks anyway.

there’s a small nod, and he’s shuffling to one side.  the crowbar readied in one hand, approaching the vehicle slowly, hoping that it won’t see them moving outside... then he remembers that he’s a goddamn idiot and pauses - holding up one hand to zoe to pause.

“wait - this’ll give you enough time to make sure.”

the crowbar is waved like a wand - jae suddenly enacting the role of a disney fairy godmother.  there are a few sparkles, little flecks of glitter ( because there kinda has to be? ), and slowly, beneath the falling dazzle dust... they both fade from view.

he’s about to make another gesture, taking hold of the door handle, until he realises that he can’t see zoe and she can’t see him... see?  goddamn idiot.  so there’s another small whisper -- 

“on one... ready?”

“three...”

“...two...”

“...one.”

[jaemacleod]

heavendestroys:

If she’s not surprised he isn’t carrying a gun, it is when that never leaves his lips. These were desperate times, guns might count as desperate measures, but it still hadn’t crossed that line for him and it’s almost impressive. 

“That’s why the ‘safety’ part comes first.”

That trace of humor remains, because right now she’s here, and if they need a gun she’s got that part covered. But it didn’t erase that desire for him to be able to protect himself. Outside of Call of Duty. 

There’s no doubt cast on his own capabilities, fully aware that magic could be just as much of a weapon if not more than the ones hanging at her hips. Those were the tools she used because she hadn’t been born with any others at her fingertips, but the fact was there were plenty of monsters in all shapes and sizes out there.

Some of which could render all that useless, just by their presence. 

“Are you familiar with Dark Men?”

Gravel scatters away from her boots as she hits what’s left of the highway, a flicker of memory of over a year ago when this all started, walking a similarly deserted street in New York. That had been more thoroughly decimated, out here the world just looked emptier.

Zoe nods her head when he assures her of his own state, a thing that becomes more sage at the comment that follows. 

“Oh absolutely,” she tells him. “But only ones earned properly in battle.” 

Flawless is a new one, and not exactly how she feels, but it’s not a thought she argues. A brief exhalation that’s almost a laugh before she nods her head. Nothing that hadn’t healed soon enough, aches and bruises that were already gone. If anything it had just been a reminder to move quicker next time, do better, and that’s what every hurt had to be relegated to.  

“I’m good, yeah. Nora had my back.”

there’s a smile when she mentions safety again. honestly though -- for all he might be hapless and hopeless with a gun, he could equally be some kind of closet sniper ( unlikely, yes... but you know, stranger things can, and have happened ).  the plain and simple fact is that he doesn’t want one.  perhaps it’s an upbringing in a place where guns just weren’t the ‘norm’.  or maybe a moral boundary of his own that he doesn’t want to cross.  the world had changed.  desperate times, desperate measures and all that.  but not desperate enough for him to change the core of -- who he is.

he can protect himself.   has proven that he can help protect others too. it might not be in the same way others might chose to. it might not be with the same tools they used. that simply made it -- different. not lesser.

“if all else fails...”

he gives a small shrug - though it’s not a motion of apathy, rather a physical shift of his non-achey arm to let something slide into his palm from the inside of his shirt.  something heavy... not the original, but rather a replacement after the first was lost in the encounter with the raiders.  -- a solid metal crowbar - short, but sturdy, and quite strong enough to crack a skull.

“...there’s always plan-b.”

there’s a slight pause as he navigates some rubble on the road, keeping an eye out for nasty murdery things as they went.

she asks about dark men.  he simply shakes his head.

“mmmnope.  can’t say that i am.”

he is. he’s encountered one.  has experienced the silence and the inert, muted blanket over his own magic.  he’d been caught at the airport with the guy in the bath robe.  had managed to burn his hands... still left with a few marks here and there where the flame had bitten deeper.  but a quick molotov had rather put paid to the freakish thing for long enough for an escape.

but whatever nomenclature was eased his way makes no connection between the creature he’d encountered and the question he’s being asked.  he’s not a hunter.  he doesn’t know what they may be called. 

he does know that nothing is infallible. magic could be muted.  could be flawed.  could be chaotic and uncontrollable. guns could run out of bullets.  the shooter could miss the target.  the damn thing might just jam. again... just different.  not lesser.

“does this count?”

now he’s pointing to his face - a small, barely visible scar just above his eyebrow.  it’s older than the ones on his hands.  the one that would blossom when his shoulder eventually healed.

“mighty battle.  i was... six years old.  older brother.  i was running -- in a very heroic manner -- away from him.  and didn’t notice the kitchen drawer was open.  went into it face first, full tilt.  and... i know what you’re thinking - hard to believe as it hasn’t damaged my stunning visage...”

there’s a cheeky grin at that.

“...tons of blood, not much damage - apparently small hyperactive children leak like a sprung hydrant from a little cut.  it was worth it to see the look on his face though.”

there’s a nod as she assures him she’s okay.  which is good.  perhaps ‘okay’ had marginally different connotations in the current circumstances.  but it was still better than ‘not okay’.

“oh, she’s nice.  not so keen on hats, but a lovely lady.  i also had a back...”

a small squint as he attempts to make more sense of his own words.

“or... i was loaned one.  bryce let me borrow his for a little ride out of there which was...”

surprising considering.  jae being rather happy that the other hadn’t just shot him.  so the outcome was a plus all round.

“...very kind of him.  technically, upside down.  i had a jolly view of his arse along the way.”

the chatter goes on.  would go on.  one thing for certain was that there was never a fear of ‘awkward silences’ around the magician.  one thread would spin into another and another... those chipper streams and stories and jokes something like an ‘ammunition’ of his own.  not shooting at monsters per se, but more at the threatening desolation around them.  something firing smiles and laughter back into the screaming abyss.

however... it’s silenced.  not because he’s run out of words.  but because there’s a decided ‘thump’ from one of the cars.  he can’t tell which one.  but it definitely sounded like there was something moving... inside one of them.  

there’s a hiked brow toward zoe - taking a slightly firmer grip on his little crowbar.  he might be able to yammer incessantly, but -- he also knows when to shut up.