Evil Eyes
@acold-dayinhell Evaden would have categorized this evening as another dark one- stormy gray clouds hung low over the sky, encapsulating the tall New York skyscrapers he could barely make out in the distance. He knew that rain had begun downtown as a number of his "coworkers" had returned soaked through, their clothing -if you could call the shorts and fishnets and crop tops that- sticking to their pale skin. Ev counted himself lucky in that respect- hew had worked the early morning shift and had spent the afternoon sleeping, reading, and nursing a broken wrist from a particularly violent client. The thought of the man made his stomach turn, as he knew he'd be back again later tonight looking for Ev. He smiled weakly as his bedmate Lana came in and fell not their flat twin mattress. She was a sharp, witty Polish woman who never let the state of things, their employer, or even their jobs dampen her fire. Evaded admired that and thought in an other life, perhaps where he could speak better English and didn't have to sell his body, they might make a fine cottage together. "Oi, can't stand 'em." The girl cursed quietly before shucking off her dripped shoes and falling asleep. Ev didn't need to ask what bothered her so, as it could be any number of things in their current state. He turned back to his book, thumbs rubbing gently on the edges of the yellowed pages. It was a book of the cult, one of the few things he managed to keep hidden from Tobias, their "pimp", when he had been brought it. his mother had always found such stuff laughable if not helpful and taught Ev the herbs that would help a wound or the small chants that would lift a sad spirit. But now he turned to the pages she had clipped shut when he was a child. These had darker intentions and the very pages seemed to radiate malice. But, undaunted, he crawled off the tiny mattress and wove through the rest of the sleeping bodies in the room to go to the roof. It was the only private space in the whole musty, packed building, and he tried to focus on that as the rain started biting little teeth into his bare back. He quickly found what he needed and drew the circle and lit the candles, praying they'd stay alight in the wind that was picking up. Once completed, he dragged a knife across his palm and placed the solid handprint in the center, chanting. The pain felt like noting in wake of the billowing rain and angry clouds, and the wind quickly swept away the tears that formed on his face. He finished the chant, unafraid to shout his desperation, and the candles brightened, their wicks stilled impossible, and the whole circle seemed to glow. Evaded fell back, eyes wide and hair wild, rain covering his bare chest and scant shorts, and barely felt the cold as flames shot up from the handprint he had made.
