along the brimstone thread

Warlock Holmes {of the 'Warlock Holmes' books by G.S. Denning} = very open to crossovers/AUs = OC friendly = please read Rules { DON'T REBLOG MY IC POSTS IF YOU'RE NOT INVOLVED IN THEM. }

[thedefinitionofwarlock]

This is an independent roleplay (RP) blog for Warlock Holmes from the eponymous book series.

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[thedefinitionofwarlock]

John must've met far more interesting demons than those he'd encountered face-to-face in this plane, though Warlock did hope it wasn't too many. Provided that was the case, it could be rather interesting to hear about them - even if certain someones were likely to pepper Warlock's mind with unwanted opinions on each of the demons in question. At the moment, however, finding those instructions was more important. The world already had one too many dabblers tugging on the brimstone thread with idle whims, it didn't need any more.

Warlock's expression did lighten a bit further with mild surprise when John asked him to specify. He supposed 'on' could've sounded vague, true, especially after finding out where the culprit's rot was. "Oh! No, don't worry, this time it should just be paper in his pocket. Well, it might be on his cellular phone, but nothing so permanent as carvings or burnings."

A sharper glance toward the man they'd snared - who had mostly stopped struggling, instead focused on not breathing too deep so close to what he'd coughed up. Warlock added with a brief curl of his upper lip, "His sort of dabbler has only stolen knowledge. Fools who think they're clever try to control it, bored elites treat it like a game, over and over for centuries. None of them realize what a demon contract takes from you." Half a beat for a steadying inhale, to keep himself together. "Not 'til it's too late."

The man would indeed have a page of disposal instructions, torn directly out of a book and folded up in his back pocket.

[myersbprd]

Were the circumstances any less macabre, John might have been tempted to smile a little at the surprise that alighted Warlock's face concerning his clarification. However, in a sense, it was all too raw for that. Cody's death, yes, yet also Warlock's demeanor ever since their discovery of that sigil carved into the wall. There was a heaviness there that he didn't fully understand ( perhaps he never would, as his friend still kept so much private ), and his apprehension about the toll it could be taking didn't leave much room for genuine amusement. "Okay, so on but not literally. Got it."

As if his prior contemplation had somehow summoned its return, Warlock's guise again shifted to disgust. Understandable though such revulsion may be, John felt certain that what drove it was far more personal. This hunch was given further credence when Warlock next spoke; oh, whatever experience his friend might have with any of this had clearly cut deep.

With a short nod, he approached the man again. There was little room for another attempt at a struggle as Vaughn kept the suspect still so that John could search any pockets he found. He pulled a smartphone that appeared brand new from a front pants pocket ( he utilized its facial recognition feature to gain access and switch off the passcode, just in case ), a wallet with an ID that would finally give them a name, and a torn piece of paper in a back pocket. Walking back to Warlock, he unfolded it completely before holding it up for them to examine. Indeed, printed on it were what looked to be directions for destroying the gate.

"Good job," John said, glancing to Warlock. "If we follow this, will it seal Ret'aeyaced away from here, send them back?" He paused for a beat. "Even if they're — out there?" There was a tip of his head to the window, with a sprawling view of the city.

[thedefinitionofwarlock]

A part of Warlock knew it didn't do much good to take these dabblers' continued existence so personally. They'd cropped up throughout the centuries he'd been alive, and likely had for far longer before his birth. But still, it was frustrating! One would think at least some of them would take seriously the warnings about delving into magic and other planes! Maybe it was a sort of double-edged sword, the other side of that general ignorance which had kept him, Lestrade, and Groggson safe from discovery. Maybe it was simple hubris. Or, maybe both.

Either way, Warlock couldn't banish the deep-seated distaste for every practitioner who, fray by fray and whim by whim, pulled the brimstone thread closer to this reality.

For now, though, he watched John rummage through the culprit's pockets. Warlock noticed one of those fancy cellular phones - and now that he looked, the man's shoes were fancy too. He'd no idea if that was significant, but maybe it was a sign of the culprit's motivation: money. It made 'boredom' seem more understandable and sympathetic.

Most important was the page of instructions John found. Holding the opposite edge of the paper, Warlock read through each point; good, nothing out of the ordinary or too complex. He paused, glancing up a bit belatedly, after John's questions. "Oh no, Ret'aeyaced isn't out there. There'd be an epidemic of rot if they were. No, they're too powerful to be brought over through these gates; it'd be like trying to pull an elephant through a penny-sized hole." He glanced down to the page again. "But yes, following these should close them off so they can't hurt anyone else. I can take care of that, while you question the... person we caught." A few rather expletive and unsavory terms had come to mind first. "You know better what to ask, and you're less likely to set him on fire."

[thedefinitionofwarlock]

He hadn't even known about the illegality of the whole police tape crossing business; so that was why those officers had been so angry back in Cleveland? Well. One mystery solved at last, though he had to admit, hardly the most pertinent compared to... this.

Warlock gathered his nerve and his thoughts as John approached. He couldn't quite manage more than a glimmer of a smile that quickly faded, in answer to the other's nod. Eyebrows raising a bit at his friend's questions, Warlock glanced to the man they'd apprehended, now pinned and cuffed by the other agent. "To use... say..." he murmured to himself - or, in truth, not solely to himself. He fell half-quiet for a few moments, brow furrowed as his mouth mirrored how he sorted through the cacophony of guesses ringing in his head. His breath faintly caught when Eirg cawed over all the others to offer clarity. Well, as much clarity as could be expected of a scavenger demon talking about a murder case.

"...The rot." Warlock met John's eyes once more, full of a mess of emotions yet bright and focused. "Ret'aeyaced decays everything they touch. Everything. He'll have a patch of rot somewhere on him, maybe bandaged or perfumed so people don't notice."

"What's all this about?!" the detained man protested in the meantime. New soles of patent leather shoes struggled to find purchase on wear-flattened carpet, so he then tried to twist around to look at the three. Widened stare finding Warlock first, he added, "And how the hell did you do that?!"

'How', Warlock noticed (and felt a bit proud of himself for noticing). Not 'what was that', just 'how'.

"Oh, you're just gonna stare? Screw this, I bet you don't even know why you—" Before the man could spit any more vitriol, something sticky and dark was filming over his teeth. A horrid deep, wet cough wracked him, expelling a sickly-yellow glob spiderwebbed with black onto the floor. More coughs followed, drier than the first, while the man tried to turn his head away from the glob's reek.

"So, it wasn't on him, but inside him." There was a burning distance in Warlock's tone, a frigid seethe in place of his usual emotional warmth. "Even demons have a sense of humor sometimes." He glanced to John again, expression subtly but distinctly gentling. "...He might also have disposal instructions on him, for the gate."

[myersbprd]

John knew Warlock well enough not to persist with questions while his friend's eyebrows were drawn together in such deep thought, lips moving as if in some sort of recitation. Although he didn't fully understand what it meant, he was aware that adding his own voice to it wouldn't provoke a response any faster.

When Warlock finally met his gaze once more, he was struck for the second time by the intensity in those green eyes. What had happened in the past that conjured such passion? Something very bad — there was no time for that thought to expand before Warlock continued. At the mention of ' decay, ' a short exhale escaped John's lips ( not a sound of surprise, but of pieces falling together ). Cody's body had appeared to be decomposing from the inside, a grotesque sort of demise that he had never seen prior, and hoped to never see again. How must that have felt? Dwelling on it nearly made him ill, a combination of horror for his old friend, and a sneaking guilt that Cody was ravaged by darkness despite the fact that he was the one embroiled in it every day.

John couldn't let himself think about it, feel like this about it; it wasn't useful, and that was what he needed to be right now. Pressing his nails hard into his palms, he nodded his response to Warlock's explanation. Find the rot, find the truth.

The sudden outburst of their detainee garnered both of their attentions. Glancing at the man's feet as they struggled on the carpeting, it was obvious that those shoes belonged somewhere grand. A custodian wearing expensive loafers to their job — hilarious. No one would risk damaging shoes like that by wearing them to genuinely clean or do handiwork.

This guy wasn't terribly good at sounding innocent either, with a reaction of immediate anger as opposed to an explanation and the questions lobbed at Warlock. The miniscule amount of dubiety he might have held had already evaporated.

Then came the coughs that heralded the dispelling of rot from the man's insides. Despite Vaughn's evident disgust, the grip kept on their suspect failed to loosen. As John attempted to decide whether he wanted to look away for a moment or look closer, Warlock's voice sounded oddly distant in his ear. When his gaze shifted to his companion, he found that it wasn't because he was distracted. No, Warlock's usual tone had truly chilled into a cadence that he had never heard before; while the face that turned to meet him softened slightly, it still left a tangle of disquietude in his chest.

"The ones I've met do." For good or ill. "When you say he might have the instructions on him, d'you mean ' on him ' like in a coat pocket, or — on him?" John simply hoped it wasn't in again.

[thedefinitionofwarlock]

John must've met far more interesting demons than those he'd encountered face-to-face in this plane, though Warlock did hope it wasn't too many. Provided that was the case, it could be rather interesting to hear about them - even if certain someones were likely to pepper Warlock's mind with unwanted opinions on each of the demons in question. At the moment, however, finding those instructions was more important. The world already had one too many dabblers tugging on the brimstone thread with idle whims, it didn't need any more.

Warlock's expression did lighten a bit further with mild surprise when John asked him to specify. He supposed 'on' could've sounded vague, true, especially after finding out where the culprit's rot was. "Oh! No, don't worry, this time it should just be paper in his pocket. Well, it might be on his cellular phone, but nothing so permanent as carvings or burnings."

A sharper glance toward the man they'd snared - who had mostly stopped struggling, instead focused on not breathing too deep so close to what he'd coughed up. Warlock added with a brief curl of his upper lip, "His sort of dabbler has only stolen knowledge. Fools who think they're clever try to control it, bored elites treat it like a game, over and over for centuries. None of them realize what a demon contract takes from you." Half a beat for a steadying inhale, to keep himself together. "Not 'til it's too late."

The man would indeed have a page of disposal instructions, torn directly out of a book and folded up in his back pocket.

[thedefinitionofwarlock]

"Both," Warlock hissed. The demon itself was almost immaterial - except, of course, as a clear instrument of the killer's method. But more important, in his mind, was seeing that circle again. It was as if at least once every century, some overconfident buffoon got it in their head that they would be different, that they could take this shortcut to their wants.

And for one dabbler in particular, that idea struggled to share space with all the demon bonds.

For this one, however... Warlock had given their predecessors a taste of their own medicine before, and if he got half a chance he'd do so again.

Seeing the circle revealed again, his jaw tensed with the conscious effort not to let Azazel tap into his exhausted, sour anger. He tried to focus instead on John's questions, especially when his friend spoke to him directly with a gesture to the proverbial 'smoking gun'.

"I wish I wasn't," Warlock explained after a long, deep breath, managing to relax his clenched fists a tad. "It's a gate. A puncture in our world, to grab for the frays of the brimstone thread. Dabblers like shortcuts, easy power, to feel in control just for once." His voice wavered on the verge of breaking in that last phrase. He swallowed. "No matter what it does. But... maybe this one didn't care. You don't call upon Ret'aeyaced" - he lifted one hand to trace an underscore in the air just below the demon's carved name, it and other nearby lines glowing ruddy orange - "without a goal."

Before Warlock could say any more, he belatedly registered a sense of clamor from the elevators, right when another arrived. The man who exited was wearing coveralls and had a toolbox in one hand, his sandy blond hair combed and gelled neat. He exited the elevator with confidence - but upon seeing the trio, brown eyes widened, and lingered on the carved gate circle before faltering away. "Sorry, gentlemen; must've hit the wrong floor."

Just this once (at least in the last decade or so) , Warlock indulged Azazel.

He simply pointed at the second elevator's door, and it burst into a roar of purple fire. The sudden change blew the apparent workman back into the office space, landing hard on his back and struggling to regain breath. Warlock glanced to John again, then to the other agent, then back, and suggested, "He can't get away, if he had anything to do with this. Don't worry, beginners like him can't get out of handcuffs."

He had no idea if he was right - but if he was wrong about this seeming workman, then he'd take those consequences when they came.

[myersbprd]

While Warlock expounded upon the ' dabblers ' and Ret'aeyaced, John's gaze shifted from his companion back to the sigil inscribed on the wall. A gate, a puncture — it sounded akin to tearing a hole in whatever fabric existed between this plane and another, then using it to step through. As it was, after witnessing Rasputin attempt to open a portal and release Ogdru Jahad, he supposed that he wasn't wholly unfamiliar with the concept; hell, he had very nearly seen it for himself.

However, before he could decide if he wanted to mention that, he heard a wavering in Warlock's voice, like it was close to cracking. That drew John's attention away from the infernal emblem.

His gaze first settled on green eyes, then flickered to everything else. Warlock's jaw appeared tense, far more than usual, with hands beginning to curl into uncharacteristic fists. So, this was extremely personal, far more than any other case they had investigated together. That made two of them, yet he shoved his part of that aside. Whatever was brewing, John would look out for Warlock — even if it was something inside that his friend was grappling with alone.

Nevertheless, he wasn't apt to broach the subject in front of Vaughn, who was still standing just inside the doorway with seemingly no interest in moving any closer again.

He had just looked back to the etching, now glowing as Warlock spoke, when the sound of the elevator reached his ears. Immediately, John's lips pressed into a thin line. Only someone with access to the building could have made it inside after it was locked down, but even then, the caution tape should have stopped them in their tracks. They were going to compromise the scene ( and he hadn't tried for fingerprints around the symbol yet! ).

Unless that was what they wanted. Apparently, Warlock harbored a similar thought process, though a far different method of handling it than he would have chosen.

Abruptly, the elevator exploded, slamming their unexpected guest into the ground. The sudden eruption and burst of flame jolted John's heart until it was hammering in his chest ( it's fine, it's fine, it's fine ), though his regard was only fixed on the ' workman ' the second he came back to himself. Gesturing for Vaughn to follow him, they raced into the hall and to the fallen suspect.

He rolled the still breathless man face-down on the ground before planting his knee between the shoulder blades. With a twist of one arm backwards while John pinned the other man to the floor, Vaughn was able to begin handcuffing who he was certain wasn't actually a custodian. "Are you aware that crossing highly visible police tape repeatedly is illegal? And if a phone call tells us you're not a staff member who somehow didn't get the memo not to come in today, then we can add interfering with an investigation and obstruction of justice on top of it. Unless, of course, you're directly responsible for what happened here, and then those charges will be the least of your concerns."

Getting to his feet and approaching Warlock while Vaughn hefted the man off the ground, he took a deep breath. After an explosion and a handcuffing, he hoped this guy wasn't some moron who was so dedicated to the job that bypassing police tape seemed acceptable in order to do it. Nevertheless, with his gaze still on Warlock's he gave a faint nod of his head. I'm trusting you about this. "Tell me what we should be asking to figure out if he's involved in this. I'm used to questioning people, but you're the expert on this. Is there anything to say, anything to use, to get the truth?"

[thedefinitionofwarlock]

He hadn't even known about the illegality of the whole police tape crossing business; so that was why those officers had been so angry back in Cleveland? Well. One mystery solved at last, though he had to admit, hardly the most pertinent compared to... this.

Warlock gathered his nerve and his thoughts as John approached. He couldn't quite manage more than a glimmer of a smile that quickly faded, in answer to the other's nod. Eyebrows raising a bit at his friend's questions, Warlock glanced to the man they'd apprehended, now pinned and cuffed by the other agent. "To use... say..." he murmured to himself - or, in truth, not solely to himself. He fell half-quiet for a few moments, brow furrowed as his mouth mirrored how he sorted through the cacophony of guesses ringing in his head. His breath faintly caught when Eirg cawed over all the others to offer clarity. Well, as much clarity as could be expected of a scavenger demon talking about a murder case.

"...The rot." Warlock met John's eyes once more, full of a mess of emotions yet bright and focused. "Ret'aeyaced decays everything they touch. Everything. He'll have a patch of rot somewhere on him, maybe bandaged or perfumed so people don't notice."

"What's all this about?!" the detained man protested in the meantime. New soles of patent leather shoes struggled to find purchase on wear-flattened carpet, so he then tried to twist around to look at the three. Widened stare finding Warlock first, he added, "And how the hell did you do that?!"

'How', Warlock noticed (and felt a bit proud of himself for noticing). Not 'what was that', just 'how'.

"Oh, you're just gonna stare? Screw this, I bet you don't even know why you—" Before the man could spit any more vitriol, something sticky and dark was filming over his teeth. A horrid deep, wet cough wracked him, expelling a sickly-yellow glob spiderwebbed with black onto the floor. More coughs followed, drier than the first, while the man tried to turn his head away from the glob's reek.

"So, it wasn't on him, but inside him." There was a burning distance in Warlock's tone, a frigid seethe in place of his usual emotional warmth. "Even demons have a sense of humor sometimes." He glanced to John again, expression subtly but distinctly gentling. "...He might also have disposal instructions on him, for the gate."

[thedefinitionofwarlock]

Truth be told, Warlock didn't register much of what this new agent person was saying. Something about floors and divisions. He really did try to pay attention, especially when John replied to the man. But the feeling from the little pieces around them was just so loud, on top of the demons already abuzz with opinions and suggestions and thinly-disguised temptations, and his own thoughts on what might have happened and could still happen.

Warlock was a bit slower to exit the elevator as he mentally extricated himself into a headspace where he could piece thoughts together, aloud if need be. The demons' repetitive natures helped to tune them out, as did his centuries of practice with controlling his will's influence. It was enough to notice that the clamor of those little pieces still stood out as unusual, even for an enormous and interconnected building like this. Unless there had been a fresh event since they'd left the Bureau... no, he didn't smell blood or rot, nor were there any other bodies to be seen. Either the building was so horribly boring that this case was the biggest change to ever happen to it, or —

What an odd wall hanging. It wasn't even a painting, or a photograph, or anything pleasant to look at - just words. Nice enough seeming words, he supposed, about a fancy education, but nothing profound or humorous. And... would someone so boring as to put words about school in a nice frame really leave it crooked?

As Warlock stepped closer, he answered John first with a thoughtful, almost distant hum. "Quite a lot, but... this..." Lifting the framed paper off its hook, he pulled it away from the wall. And was sorely tempted to slam it back. By the gods, he knew that circle carved so precisely into beige wallpaper. Knew it, but for one change. One very specific change in its inscription that confirmed all his suspicions.

Dropping the framed paper instead, Warlock's hands clenched while his upper lip twitched in the start of a snarl. "Again," he hissed, quiet and frigidly seething. "Dabblers," he spat the word like a curse, "again. Even here, even now. And this one learned the name of Ret'aeyaced. No wonder those poor souls died the way they did. And all for what...?"

[myersbprd]

As Warlock moved to join John where he stood in front of Cody's diploma, he wondered if he ought to ask whether there was a sense of anything off about it — or if he was allowing himself to become ensnared by details that might not matter. At times, it grew arduous to discern when his penchant for minute observations was beneficial versus when it wasn't, though he preferred to believe he understood himself enough to generally err on the side of the former.

Still, in a moment such as this one, he trusted Warlock's intuition and abilities more than perhaps anything else. From the very first day they had met, John watched his friend utilize both to aid others in a way that he had never quite witnessed before ( and the ' story ' that had been spun for a ghost in the old train tunnel apprised him of why that strong urge to help existed ). Now, as he watched Warlock assess the framed parchment before he even needed to ask, he thought — they made a rather good team, didn't they?

His companion stepped closer, and the reply to his inquiry was what the Bureau had expected it would be. Even if a human had been the one to instigate the murder, they weren't the one getting their hands dirty.

However, the suddenness with which Warlock dropped the certificate startled John, though not as much as the reaction he witnessed creeping across his companion's countenance ( the hands that had lifted the frame now clenched into tight fists like they had been forced to physically recoil ). "Dabblers? Like — dabbling in magic or demons?" The name uttered with a degree of contempt that he had never heard from Warlock before was unfamiliar to him. Ret'aeyaced.

Pulling on a pair of nitrile gloves from his shoulder bag, he stepped closer to the diploma. With a brief glance at Warlock, John lifted it from the wall to see what had garnered the reaction; inscribed with markings he didn't understand was a circle etched into the wall. "I assume this summoned the demon, or whoever it is, here? Or at least told them where to go?" When he gestured to the carving, what he posed to Warlock next wasn't a question. "And you're familiar with this." Enough to be disturbed by it on sight.

[thedefinitionofwarlock]

"Both," Warlock hissed. The demon itself was almost immaterial - except, of course, as a clear instrument of the killer's method. But more important, in his mind, was seeing that circle again. It was as if at least once every century, some overconfident buffoon got it in their head that they would be different, that they could take this shortcut to their wants.

And for one dabbler in particular, that idea struggled to share space with all the demon bonds.

For this one, however... Warlock had given their predecessors a taste of their own medicine before, and if he got half a chance he'd do so again.

Seeing the circle revealed again, his jaw tensed with the conscious effort not to let Azazel tap into his exhausted, sour anger. He tried to focus instead on John's questions, especially when his friend spoke to him directly with a gesture to the proverbial 'smoking gun'.

"I wish I wasn't," Warlock explained after a long, deep breath, managing to relax his clenched fists a tad. "It's a gate. A puncture in our world, to grab for the frays of the brimstone thread. Dabblers like shortcuts, easy power, to feel in control just for once." His voice wavered on the verge of breaking in that last phrase. He swallowed. "No matter what it does. But... maybe this one didn't care. You don't call upon Ret'aeyaced" - he lifted one hand to trace an underscore in the air just below the demon's carved name, it and other nearby lines glowing ruddy orange - "without a goal."

Before Warlock could say any more, he belatedly registered a sense of clamor from the elevators, right when another arrived. The man who exited was wearing coveralls and had a toolbox in one hand, his sandy blond hair combed and gelled neat. He exited the elevator with confidence - but upon seeing the trio, brown eyes widened, and lingered on the carved gate circle before faltering away. "Sorry, gentlemen; must've hit the wrong floor."

Just this once (at least in the last decade or so) , Warlock indulged Azazel.

He simply pointed at the second elevator's door, and it burst into a roar of purple fire. The sudden change blew the apparent workman back into the office space, landing hard on his back and struggling to regain breath. Warlock glanced to John again, then to the other agent, then back, and suggested, "He can't get away, if he had anything to do with this. Don't worry, beginners like him can't get out of handcuffs."

He had no idea if he was right - but if he was wrong about this seeming workman, then he'd take those consequences when they came.

[thedefinitionofwarlock]

He thought little of John being a tad slower to meet his eyes from their mutual glance toward his legs. His dear friend was so clever, there must be all kinds of thoughts happening already! Unfortunately, Warlock did have to turn his attention to the towering building again. A good thing he knew about elevators; the prospect of climbing that many floors of stairs would've daunted anyone, otherwise. As they approached the doors, what Warlock first found unsettling was the amount of glass. Even if this was a public building, the sheer lack of privacy almost set his teeth on edge.

When the stranger emerged to meet them, Warlock didn't notice the caution, instead taking in the man's appearance first. A normal-seeming agent like John, though their actual looks differed in a number of ways. No clamor response in his mind, no aura or shift around the agent; so, he was just a contact and not a suspect. How proud Watson and John would surely be if they knew his reasoning! That reasoning also made it easy to offer a small smile and a brief wave, when John introduced him.

Warlock followed the other two into the lobby. He found it difficult to properly hear their conversation, his own steps slowing as now the little pieces of everything hummed in his temples. It wasn't strong yet, more like third-hand gossip in a crowd. The feeling pulled his focus toward the elevators. Up, up... something happened, big strange new terrible...

He registered John's questions to him a couple beats late. "Hm? Oh; sorry. Yes. Nothing happened down here, but... everything's so connected in this place, every little piece of the whole building's in a tizzy. You said the fifth floor?"

Warlock would follow to the elevators - and the ride itself would bring on a noisy sort of headache, as they drew closer to the floor in question until even the elevator was clamoring at him to become anew.

[myersbprd]

During the seconds that passed before Warlock responded to John's query, he felt eyes on him. Glancing over, he saw Special Agent Vaughn giving him a look, as if asking why he didn't attempt to garner his friend's attention again instead of simply standing there waiting when he didn't seem to have been heard. He merely shook his head and shifted his gaze once more; although he couldn't fathom what it must feel like to have as much going on in his head as Warlock did, he was certain that each of the threads connected to this place were being given attention, and it was best to be patient. However, as if on cue, Warlock answered distractedly.

"Yes, that's right. Fifth floor," Vaughn said with a nod before gesturing towards the elevators. "The company that owns this building has several other companies under their name. So, the victim worked in the tech division, which takes up floors five through fifteen. It's a whole — the higher the floor you work on in your division, the more important you are situation. He was at the bottom there on five, but he was apparently about to be moved to twelve."

As they boarded the elevator and began the upward ascent, John couldn't help but think that being murdered directly before a major promotion seemed to spell out a very simple motivation. "D'you know if someone else's being moved up to twelve now instead?" The question was such an obvious one that he assumed he wasn't the first to consider it. Vaughn replied, "We're not sure about that yet, but interviews are being conducted with the higher-ups now."

They arrived on the fifth floor with a ding! The entire floor was cordoned off with police tape just like the building's entrance, though it was obvious which office served as the actual crime scene: the door was propped open, with more yellow around the frame. Despite the dread settled in his chest, John headed for it immediately.

"The body was found on the floor by that window. Decaying from the inside, almost turned inside out — you know, you saw the photos," Vaughn, who didn't appear terribly eager to reenter, offered as they crossed the threshold. It was a decent size, with nothing that appeared out of place. Pictures in frames remained upright on the desk, where the chair was neatly pushed in. John forced himself to linger over every inch, including the diploma hanging on the wall that was askew. He tipped his head slightly; maybe it meant something, or maybe it was just that Cody hadn't been as particular as he was about everything looking right.

"D'you sense anything?" he asked before turning to Warlock.

[thedefinitionofwarlock]

Truth be told, Warlock didn't register much of what this new agent person was saying. Something about floors and divisions. He really did try to pay attention, especially when John replied to the man. But the feeling from the little pieces around them was just so loud, on top of the demons already abuzz with opinions and suggestions and thinly-disguised temptations, and his own thoughts on what might have happened and could still happen.

Warlock was a bit slower to exit the elevator as he mentally extricated himself into a headspace where he could piece thoughts together, aloud if need be. The demons' repetitive natures helped to tune them out, as did his centuries of practice with controlling his will's influence. It was enough to notice that the clamor of those little pieces still stood out as unusual, even for an enormous and interconnected building like this. Unless there had been a fresh event since they'd left the Bureau... no, he didn't smell blood or rot, nor were there any other bodies to be seen. Either the building was so horribly boring that this case was the biggest change to ever happen to it, or —

What an odd wall hanging. It wasn't even a painting, or a photograph, or anything pleasant to look at - just words. Nice enough seeming words, he supposed, about a fancy education, but nothing profound or humorous. And... would someone so boring as to put words about school in a nice frame really leave it crooked?

As Warlock stepped closer, he answered John first with a thoughtful, almost distant hum. "Quite a lot, but... this..." Lifting the framed paper off its hook, he pulled it away from the wall. And was sorely tempted to slam it back. By the gods, he knew that circle carved so precisely into beige wallpaper. Knew it, but for one change. One very specific change in its inscription that confirmed all his suspicions.

Dropping the framed paper instead, Warlock's hands clenched while his upper lip twitched in the start of a snarl. "Again," he hissed, quiet and frigidly seething. "Dabblers," he spat the word like a curse, "again. Even here, even now. And this one learned the name of Ret'aeyaced. No wonder those poor souls died the way they did. And all for what...?"

[thedefinitionofwarlock]

Warlock wasn't sure if he was imagining the look on John's face entirely, or just misinterpreting whatever was there. Or, maybe he wasn't, and his friend really was troubled over what he'd said. It didn't make much sense at first - until on reflection, Warlock realized it might've been enough to remind John of why they were here. Not something that should be forgotten, with how important it was, but he still wished they could've traveled like this just to have fun.

Maybe another time.

For now, when his friend smiled once more amid a reassurance about driving, Warlock managed to mirror the expression in earnest. "Oh, I'm sure of it."

As expected, the car didn't go fast enough or high enough to do anything but make the cacophony of elements around them worse. In some ways, it felt a little worse than John's moped, since there was so much more vehicle around and under them this time. Warlock bit the inside of his lower lip, fingers curled slightly in the fabric of his skirt, but he didn't complain. He'd done so enough times already over the years, whenever he'd had to ride in a car.

The slight tension through his body finally faded when John parked in front of an enormous building. Every time he saw one, especially this close, Warlock understood why they were called 'skyscrapers' and wondered to himself if people were truly certain no magic or demoncraft was involved.

Speaking of which, tangentially at least, John's sudden reassurance was a nice surprise. Even knowing already how kind his friend was, Warlock hadn't been offered anything like it in... so long. Too long, perhaps. And maybe never punctuated with the sentiment of wanting him, specifically, to be safe. At least not aloud.

Warlock's answering smile this time was once more broad and sunny and utterly sincere. "I will, John. I promise. I can tell already this isn't a join of leylines; my legs haven't tried to reverse themselves." A glance at the limbs in question, then back up to his dear friend. "The room itself might hold more aftereffects, but I'll do my best not to let anything out of their usual shapes." Only then did he unbuckle as well, to exit the car. "Shall we?"

[myersbprd]

Vocalizing a desire for John's friends to remain safe without it being mistaken for a lack of belief in their ability was always a fine line to walk. Dubiety over competence was nonexistent, his concern instead fueled by a kind of understanding. After all, when a mission and other people's lives were at the forefront, everything personal was often relegated to a footnote, even when it shouldn't be: distress, pain, injury. Whether any of it was avoidable or not, the notion of permitting someone he cared for to suffer it alone was intolerable to him.

Although John hoped that Warlock recognized the candor in the sentiment, he wasn't prepared for the beaming smile that appeared. The sight prompted a pleasant warmth in his chest ( it settled there, lingering ).

His attention was diverted, however, but Warlock's assurances. ' My legs haven't tried to reverse themselves. ' What? John's gaze followed Warlock's to his companion's legs, which did appear normal. Images of precisely what such an occurrence might constitute cycled through his mind; his friend's eyes had already returned to his face when his own rose to meet them. Quickly shifting his focus back to the conversation, he nodded his head despite his continuing morbid curiosity concerning limbs in unusual shapes. "Okay." A promise was the best possible answer he could have received, wasn't it?

Stepping out of the car, John allowed a brief glance to ensure that Warlock was following before approaching the doors. Crafted entirely of glass, they gave visitors a glimpse of the lobby's sleek front desk and the professionals inside — or they should have. In contrast to an exterior that promised activity within, it was lifeless and dark, with yellow tape barring access. The only visible silhouette amid the gloom belonged to the man he assumed was their contact.

As they drew closer, the agent pushed open the entrance. A cautious glance took them in and, with a touch of amusement, he wondered if there had been an expectation for them to look a little more strange. Well, there was still time for that. Pulling his wallet from his inner jacket pocket, John flipped it open and held it up for verification. With a bob of the head, the stranger also revealed a similar ID. Special Agent Joseph Vaughn. The name and appearance matched exactly what he had been told.

While crossing the threshold and introducing Warlock, he permitted a few cursory glances around the lobby. Presumably, nothing had been found on the first floor related to the mysterious death, yet John and Warlock looked at such scenes differently. "I can take you up to the victim's office on the fifth floor," Vaughn said. "That's where the body was found." The victim. The body. He hated thinking of Cody like that. But that's what they were here to do, wasn't it?

Before replying, he turned to Warlock. "D'you feel anything here?" Perhaps no investigators had located evidence in the traditional manner, but that didn't mean there was nothing there. "Or are you ready to head up?"

[thedefinitionofwarlock]

He thought little of John being a tad slower to meet his eyes from their mutual glance toward his legs. His dear friend was so clever, there must be all kinds of thoughts happening already! Unfortunately, Warlock did have to turn his attention to the towering building again. A good thing he knew about elevators; the prospect of climbing that many floors of stairs would've daunted anyone, otherwise. As they approached the doors, what Warlock first found unsettling was the amount of glass. Even if this was a public building, the sheer lack of privacy almost set his teeth on edge.

When the stranger emerged to meet them, Warlock didn't notice the caution, instead taking in the man's appearance first. A normal-seeming agent like John, though their actual looks differed in a number of ways. No clamor response in his mind, no aura or shift around the agent; so, he was just a contact and not a suspect. How proud Watson and John would surely be if they knew his reasoning! That reasoning also made it easy to offer a small smile and a brief wave, when John introduced him.

Warlock followed the other two into the lobby. He found it difficult to properly hear their conversation, his own steps slowing as now the little pieces of everything hummed in his temples. It wasn't strong yet, more like third-hand gossip in a crowd. The feeling pulled his focus toward the elevators. Up, up... something happened, big strange new terrible...

He registered John's questions to him a couple beats late. "Hm? Oh; sorry. Yes. Nothing happened down here, but... everything's so connected in this place, every little piece of the whole building's in a tizzy. You said the fifth floor?"

Warlock would follow to the elevators - and the ride itself would bring on a noisy sort of headache, as they drew closer to the floor in question until even the elevator was clamoring at him to become anew.

[thedefinitionofwarlock]

In his earlier excitement about the aeroplane, and then their conversation here, Warlock had forgotten they'd also arranged for a car to take them the rest of the way. Undoubtedly convenient, though still somewhat baffling that one couldn't take an omnibus or a train instead. It'd already been strange enough that the absurd design of the bicycle had somehow triumphed over the tricycle's stability in common culture. But, Warlock supposed he'd already expressed enough of his confusion over popular transportation during their flight.

Standing a moment after John did, Warlock drained what little was left of his tea before disposing of the cup as well. "And eager," he assured brightly.

They made good time to the checked-bag carousel - a disappointing thing to call it, given it had no pretty painted animals or whistle-organ music, only bland panels of metal gradually littered with dark-colored suitcases off a conveyor belt. Though, he supposed it was due to grim practicality, since there were only a handful of these un-fun carousels for a whole array of planes. It wouldn't do to have people linger in distraction while others needed to find their bags. Duffel bag sitting secure on his shoulder, Warlock followed John to one of a row of business kiosks all offering cars to rent. They then passed several vehicles of a size Warlock still marveled a little at; what on earth could one person, or even a whole family, do with that much space, besides be obnoxious?

The car they settled into was far more reasonable, a 'sedan' if Warlock had heard right. The front passenger seat had more room for his legs than the aeroplane, though he knew it wouldn't be able to go fast enough or high enough to quiet their surroundings. Still, his knees idly tapped together beneath his skirt after he buckled in, curious gaze examining all the buttons and knobs and their respective labels. Fun as it could be to tinker around with parts' functions in something like this, they did have somewhere to be.

"How far is it from here?" Warlock looked to John while he spoke, his tone and expression a bit more subdued given what awaited them at the end of this drive.

[myersbprd]

Warlock's bag was located easily enough, the wait a short on before it rode into view atop the conveyor belt. Baggage claim was an aspect of flying that John had eschewed many plane rides ago, opting instead to pack his necessities into his carry-on to avoid running late or hanging around any longer than he had to with a potentially debilitating headache. Oh, his younger self really would be so dismayed to learn that for him, airplanes were far from the exhilarating experience he had always imagined they would be! Instead of watching the clouds pass by and the anticipation of landing somewhere new, it was migraines and walking through blandly painted airports. Nevertheless, despite its mundanity, even collecting luggage was a bit different with Warlock, for whom it was a novelty ( not that it proved a terribly thrilling one ).

Although a car was set aside for them under his name, he couldn't resist allowing his gaze to ponder many of the vehicles they passed by; he knew they weren't about to be handed the keys to a convertible Mustang, yet he could look, couldn't he? As expected, it was a dark blue Kia Forte that was presented to them ( boring and with slow pickup, but at least the handling would be good, especially here in the city ). After fitting their bags neatly in the trunk and sliding into the driver's seat, John had to admit that it felt nice to have his hands on the wheel again. He had sold his old car before moving to Newark since he wouldn't need it and he had his bike besides, but it was true that he missed having one of his own.

Turning the key in the ignition, he allowed his gaze to shift from their rental to Warlock. Despite John's distaste for planes, it had seemed like a wonderful experience for his friend, one that was far more than mere excitement over flying. If he asked about it, would Warlock give him a full answer? There was no time to mull over it further when a different question was sent his way. How far? Too far and not far enough, both at once. Reality sunk in again, that same edge rising to meet it that had clung to John like a sharp chill since the initial briefing — except for when he had permitted himself to be distracted by their surroundings, and especially by Warlock. Guilt flooded his chest at the realization. Upon heading out, he had believed that nothing could deviate his mind so completely from the murders, from Cody's murder. Perhaps John shouldn't have let it.

"Fifteen minutes. Maybe less if we can get through the traffic quick enough." Then, he allowed a brief grin to flicker across his face. "I'm a good driver, I promise." As they exited the garage, the late afternoon sun still hung in the sky, making him squint a little in the face of its brightness before his eyes adjusted.

John's prior estimation of their arrival time proved correct, and they soon pulled into the parking lot of the towering building where their contact awaited them. Unbuckling his seatbelt, he turned to face Warlock more fully for a moment. "I know we already said that the cause of this is probably demonic in nature, and not the friendly kind. But you'll be able to sense all of that better than I will, so if it starts to — y'know, affect you or hurt you or anything, then tell me, okay?" He paused for a beat, his gaze steady on Warlock's. "I want you to stay safe."

[thedefinitionofwarlock]

Warlock wasn't sure if he was imagining the look on John's face entirely, or just misinterpreting whatever was there. Or, maybe he wasn't, and his friend really was troubled over what he'd said. It didn't make much sense at first - until on reflection, Warlock realized it might've been enough to remind John of why they were here. Not something that should be forgotten, with how important it was, but he still wished they could've traveled like this just to have fun.

Maybe another time.

For now, when his friend smiled once more amid a reassurance about driving, Warlock managed to mirror the expression in earnest. "Oh, I'm sure of it."

As expected, the car didn't go fast enough or high enough to do anything but make the cacophony of elements around them worse. In some ways, it felt a little worse than John's moped, since there was so much more vehicle around and under them this time. Warlock bit the inside of his lower lip, fingers curled slightly in the fabric of his skirt, but he didn't complain. He'd done so enough times already over the years, whenever he'd had to ride in a car.

The slight tension through his body finally faded when John parked in front of an enormous building. Every time he saw one, especially this close, Warlock understood why they were called 'skyscrapers' and wondered to himself if people were truly certain no magic or demoncraft was involved.

Speaking of which, tangentially at least, John's sudden reassurance was a nice surprise. Even knowing already how kind his friend was, Warlock hadn't been offered anything like it in... so long. Too long, perhaps. And maybe never punctuated with the sentiment of wanting him, specifically, to be safe. At least not aloud.

Warlock's answering smile this time was once more broad and sunny and utterly sincere. "I will, John. I promise. I can tell already this isn't a join of leylines; my legs haven't tried to reverse themselves." A glance at the limbs in question, then back up to his dear friend. "The room itself might hold more aftereffects, but I'll do my best not to let anything out of their usual shapes." Only then did he unbuckle as well, to exit the car. "Shall we?"

[thedefinitionofwarlock]

Warlock could see surprise had struck his friend rather openly, though he did hope he hadn't barreled over any important thought John was wanting to express. The other always seemed to have a ready answer for everything; to be left at first with only the half-muffled noises of the airport around them in his ears, his worry at overstepping grew.

Before it could grow too large, though, John broke the silence.

He... wasn't sorry? Well, Warlock supposed people could have all kinds of feelings about their own past situations. He himself had been met with grave sympathy before, when telling his Baskerville story, despite his own feelings on the matter being a deep-seated embarrassment (only half of which dipped into regret). Focusing on how ridiculous it'd been to be traipsing around after that bastard in nothing but a loincloth was... easier, than sitting too long with the painful truths of all his mistakes that day. Warlock supposed he'd learned things from it too, like John had from those awful photographs. Still, his heartache that his friend had endured it at all, no matter the lessons, sat stubborn in his chest.

So at least John thanked him. Did more than thank him, really. The praise had green eyes flicking down to his mostly-empty tea, then back up, with a little sheepish tinge in his own smile. Warlock knew he could never be actually, objectively great, but he liked that John thought otherwise. And he hoped the other wouldn't be too disappointed on learning the truth.

"Then we can do that for each other. I promise too," Warlock insisted, with one more squeeze to John's hand before reluctantly letting go. "Will we be making a visit today? Oh! And we need to get our bags too, right?"

[myersbprd]

Not for the first time, and surely not for the last, John wondered what Warlock was thinking. There was so much behind those green eyes that he still didn't know, and wasn't certain that he would ever know. Although he hoped his reply acted as the reassurance he intended it to be, he couldn't tell if it did. While there were many experiences in John's life that he had held no control over ( moments that he would alter with his very next breath if he could, that he had wished there was someone to say, ' I'm sorry that happened ' but there never was ), the decision to linger with those photographs until he could stomach them wasn't one of them. It was his alone, and one he had needed to make in order to become the agent he hoped to be.

Nevertheless, Warlock's kind sympathy concerning it was something he rather treasured, even if he was dubious that he might properly convey that.

A dull throb persisted behind John's eyes yet it remained secondary to their conversation, another thing he was grateful for. Perhaps Warlock's smile that he was then granted in return was the answer he had been musing over. Still, a bit of that needling over it failed to fade. Did Warlock find it difficult to allow credence to his opinion in the same way he couldn't quite believe that he wouldn't be a problem should he run up against something he couldn't handle? Or maybe I'm projecting. To a strange degree, John felt as if Warlock's encouragement hadn't ceased flickering through his mind; maybe he was off-balance from it in the nicest possible manner.

His own grin widened ever-so slightly at that final squeeze to his hand. To make a promise and listen to it echoed back — it struck him as one of the best things to hear. "Yeah, we'll head over there once we pick up the rental car." John hadn't owned a car since moving to the city, and it was nice whenever he occasioned the chance to feel his hands on the wheel again. "I packed everything in my carry-on bag, but let's go pick up yours." Grabbing his coffee cup and the now empty pastry wrapping ( Warlock had made a good choice, it had been delicious ), he pushed away from the table to toss them in the nearest trash can. "Are you ready?"

[thedefinitionofwarlock]

In his earlier excitement about the aeroplane, and then their conversation here, Warlock had forgotten they'd also arranged for a car to take them the rest of the way. Undoubtedly convenient, though still somewhat baffling that one couldn't take an omnibus or a train instead. It'd already been strange enough that the absurd design of the bicycle had somehow triumphed over the tricycle's stability in common culture. But, Warlock supposed he'd already expressed enough of his confusion over popular transportation during their flight.

Standing a moment after John did, Warlock drained what little was left of his tea before disposing of the cup as well. "And eager," he assured brightly.

They made good time to the checked-bag carousel - a disappointing thing to call it, given it had no pretty painted animals or whistle-organ music, only bland panels of metal gradually littered with dark-colored suitcases off a conveyor belt. Though, he supposed it was due to grim practicality, since there were only a handful of these un-fun carousels for a whole array of planes. It wouldn't do to have people linger in distraction while others needed to find their bags. Duffel bag sitting secure on his shoulder, Warlock followed John to one of a row of business kiosks all offering cars to rent. They then passed several vehicles of a size Warlock still marveled a little at; what on earth could one person, or even a whole family, do with that much space, besides be obnoxious?

The car they settled into was far more reasonable, a 'sedan' if Warlock had heard right. The front passenger seat had more room for his legs than the aeroplane, though he knew it wouldn't be able to go fast enough or high enough to quiet their surroundings. Still, his knees idly tapped together beneath his skirt after he buckled in, curious gaze examining all the buttons and knobs and their respective labels. Fun as it could be to tinker around with parts' functions in something like this, they did have somewhere to be.

"How far is it from here?" Warlock looked to John while he spoke, his tone and expression a bit more subdued given what awaited them at the end of this drive.

[thedefinitionofwarlock]

"Well, that's a relief," Warlock nodded again, with a smile in return. "Oh, to both parts, I mean." One could never tell with human curiosity, that delightful and troublesome compulsion. He so often indulged his, but he had more knowledge and defenses around magical phenomena. Someone without any of those stepping into a summoning circle, or worse, drawing their blood by accident in its bounds... He didn't want any more sets of those photographs to look at.

John's assurance afterward, though, had him surprised. Warlock hoped his friend didn't think he was judging that reluctance to look at the body. But then again, it did sound like John's own decision.

Warlock held back his agreement when the other continued. Running through a regimen of countless photographs of dead people... no matter the reason, he couldn't hide his heartache at the thought. About the only mercy Warlock could imagine was, at least John wouldn't have had Eirg metaphorically salivating over every picture in the back of his mind. A small mercy, that didn't ease the weight.

Finishing the last bite of the scone and washing it down with more tea, Warlock gathered his thoughts, only to have one leap to the fore at that last sentiment from John. His hand reached across the table to rest over the other's. "You're never a problem. Even if you couldn't handle those photographs, you wouldn't be. Never." A beat, and a breath. "...Thank you for trusting me, though I'm sorry you ever had to do that. It sounds awful." Warlock gave a slight squeeze to the palm he held, and some of his smile returned. "Don't worry. I have a trick or two up my sleeves that can find out the truth, when we go there."

[myersbprd]

The sudden presence of Warlock's hand upon his own caused John to start, his gaze flickering to the sight then back up again. It wasn't the first time one of them had initiated such contact that day ( nor even the second ), yet he was surprised by it now all the same. He had rather expected his assurance concerning the case to be met with relief, or perhaps some sort of concurrence; as it was, this was what he was supposed to do, the reason he was here. Although John could offer no form of supernaturally inclined gift, he would always accord all that he did possess — of course he would. He couldn't abide anything less from himself, and he never had. Was the warmth of Warlock's palm intended to hearten him, to convey that this facet of him was acknowledged?

Just how wrong John's speculation was hit him when this friend spoke. Never a problem. For a moment, he turned the words over in his mind like a Rubik's Cube that required solving, only to discover that it wasn't that simple.

It struck him that much of his life had consisted of demonstrating that instead of a problem, he was an asset: to his siblings, his uncle, those he now considered friends at the Bureau before they saw that he wasn't a doormat. Proving himself was a part of life that John accepted ( he was hardly alone in that, he knew ), though he had never quite realized how wonderful it felt to be wanted for merely being who he was until he met Professor Broom, who had believed in him with a staunchness from the beginning that he still couldn't comprehend in its entirety.

Now, here was Warlock. ' Even if you couldn't handle those photographs, you wouldn't be. ' He wasn't certain of that, but Warlock appeared to be. While his lips parted in the beat of silence that followed, he was rendered uncharacteristically speechless. They pressed together again when Warlock continued ( which was for the best, since John harbored no notion of how long they might have continued on in silence before he determined what to say ). Finally, as his companion's final syllable hung in the air between them, his reply started to form.

"I'm not sorry." Shifting his fingers briefly, he let them brush against Warlock's palm. "Looking at them taught me what I needed to stop more of those photos from existing in the first place." At least, in the moment when investigating a scene; it didn't always keep the memories of what John had witnessed ( in pictures or in reality ) from creeping into his subconscious dreams at night. "But thank you, for saying all of that." And for believing well enough of him to utter it with sincerity. "It means — well, a lot." A smile rose to his lips, then. "You're kinda great, y'know that?" John paused for only a second. "I'm not gonna let anything distract me from having your back in this, though. I promise."

[thedefinitionofwarlock]

Warlock could see surprise had struck his friend rather openly, though he did hope he hadn't barreled over any important thought John was wanting to express. The other always seemed to have a ready answer for everything; to be left at first with only the half-muffled noises of the airport around them in his ears, his worry at overstepping grew.

Before it could grow too large, though, John broke the silence.

He... wasn't sorry? Well, Warlock supposed people could have all kinds of feelings about their own past situations. He himself had been met with grave sympathy before, when telling his Baskerville story, despite his own feelings on the matter being a deep-seated embarrassment (only half of which dipped into regret). Focusing on how ridiculous it'd been to be traipsing around after that bastard in nothing but a loincloth was... easier, than sitting too long with the painful truths of all his mistakes that day. Warlock supposed he'd learned things from it too, like John had from those awful photographs. Still, his heartache that his friend had endured it at all, no matter the lessons, sat stubborn in his chest.

So at least John thanked him. Did more than thank him, really. The praise had green eyes flicking down to his mostly-empty tea, then back up, with a little sheepish tinge in his own smile. Warlock knew he could never be actually, objectively great, but he liked that John thought otherwise. And he hoped the other wouldn't be too disappointed on learning the truth.

"Then we can do that for each other. I promise too," Warlock insisted, with one more squeeze to John's hand before reluctantly letting go. "Will we be making a visit today? Oh! And we need to get our bags too, right?"

[promptfairy]

𝐅𝐑𝐔𝐈𝐓𝐘 𝐇𝐄𝐀𝐃𝐂𝐀𝐍𝐎𝐍 𝐏𝐑𝐎𝐌𝐏𝐓𝐒   ♡   𝐒𝐘𝐌𝐁𝐎𝐋 𝐌𝐄𝐌𝐄

    send the corresponding symbol(s) for headcanons surrounding the given topic(s)!

🍍  :    how comfortable is my muse in their body?  how do they feel about their height,  weight,  strength,  and body type?  how important is being attractive to them?   🍅  :    how does my muse feel about plastic  /  cosmetic surgeries   &   procedures?  is it something they have done or would do?  do they mind if others do it?   🍏  :    how stable is my muse’s physical health?  do they go for regular or semi-regular checkups by a physician?  do they have any diagnosed illnesses and / or take any medication?  how often do they get sick? 🍎  :    how stable is my muse’s mental health?  have they been diagnosed with any mental illnesses and  /  or conditions?  do they have any undiagnosed mental illnesses and  /  or conditions?  do they or should they attend therapy?   🍑  :    how meticulously does my muse look after their physical appearance?  do they spend a lot of time on their hair,  makeup,  grooming,  and clothing?  is there a particular reason why they do or don’t?   🍒  :    how much does my muse value companionship?  do they constantly keep people around them,  or do they prefer to be alone often?  do they have or desire to have many friends?  do they see every meeting as an opportunity to make a new friend?   🍇  :    how would my muse describe their childhood?  how much has it impacted the person they are now,  or will become as an adult?  around what age did they or will they start to mature,  and why?  do they wish to go back to their days as a child,  or have they embraced adulthood?   🍐  :    how intelligent is my muse overall?  are they smarter than the average person,  or less than?  are they primarily self-taught,  or did they acquire most of their knowledge in school?  are they more street smart or book smart?   🍉  :    which of the four seasons suits my muse best,  and why?   🍌  :    is my muse inclined to help others,  or will they only do it when it benefits them,  if at all?  what makes them this way?  has it ever gotten them into trouble,  or inconvenienced them?  🍊  :    does my muse desire romance?  is it something they would actively seek out,  or prefer to happen more  ‘  naturally?  ’  what is their love life like?  do they have any exes or past flings,  or crushes?   🍓  :    how is my muse typically seen by others?  does it ring true to who they really are?  does their reputation matter to them?  🥝  :    does my muse have any  ‘  unusual  ’  habits,  interests,  and  /  or talents?  do they hide it,  or are they proud of it?   🍋  :    what kind of diet does my muse have?  do they eat regularly,  or the standard 2-3 meals a day?  do they have to be reminded to eat,  or are they likely to remind others?  do they cook,  or have others cook for them?  do they eat healthily,  or not so much?   🥭  :    how important to my muse is their hometown,  or where they’re from?  are they proud of it,  or considered a hometown hero?  did they move away,  or do they wish to?

[thedefinitionofwarlock]

He couldn't help a little smidge of disappointment upon hearing it wouldn't be an animal nor a demon. Though people could be interesting on their own, of course, people could also be close-minded - even within the BPRD, at times. While disguises and a bit of white lies could be fun, coming up with ones people would believe had gotten more difficult in some ways. Ah, so John hadn't met them, which meant they were likely outside the Bureau. Perhaps a policeperson, or a government worker from some other 'department'. Were those groups still called departments, or maybe offices, or bureaus? Regardless, it meant more possibility of them being a bloody stick-in-the-mud about magic. Well, at least he had John to help.

Warlock's thought of regretting they couldn't examine the body was kept to himself, by the memory of whose body it had been. To be sure, getting to examine it would make determining the kind of entity - and thus the specific type of summoning ritual - easy, but that wasn't worth causing his friend more hurt and distress. "We'll solve it without, I'm certain. So long as this 'taskforce' of theirs hasn't removed or touched anything else by the time we get there. The aftereffects of a summoning can linger, even do odd things to objects or people who are too close for too long."

Warlock caught himself, not wanting to worry John too much. "Oh; nothing fatal. It's just...hm. You remember the brimstone thread? A summoning is like trying to pull one of its frayed bits into our fabric," one index finger and thumb pinched together in midair, drawing downward, "and that tends to bring other planes attached to it closer to ours. Then, because all the little pieces that comprise everything have different rules and forms in other planes, they get... confused. Stuck between what they've always been and what they could be." Warlock's hand lowered, after tipping back and forth to illustrate, now holding his warm tea in both palms. "It's milder for people, so long as they're not too close too long. We're always changing, after all, so our pieces are more flexible. And summoning portals aren't as stable or powerful as leylines. They should be fine; maybe a stomachache or the like, at worst."

[myersbprd]

John rather suspected that Warlock's reply was accounting for the manner in which he had relayed the information about the crime scene more than what was actually thought of it. The idea gave rise to a bout of irritation — not directed at his friend, but at himself. If he couldn't be detached enough to the degree that Warlock thought the two of them wouldn't be able to investigate this case as thoroughly and completely as they should, then he shouldn't be here at all. Although John had previously harbored concerns about being designated the label of ' liability, ' it had never been due to his inability to compartmentalize his feelings; usually, that was the one aspect of his job he was certain he could do, and he would do it now.

For the moment, however, he focused on the explanation of the aftereffects of a summoning. Tilting his head slightly, he watched as Warlock's fingers pantomimed the description, hands drawing downwards then back and forth. It was a fascinating concept that maintained John's rapt attention, especially as he considered the role it may play in this particular case. What sort of clues might it leave behind? He had to admit, he was quite curious to see how Warlock would be able to use them. Nodding, he said, "Nothing else will be moved. At least, it shouldn't be. If anything seems strange at all, it won't be due to any tampering. This isn't our contact's first time working with the Bureau, so they've probably made sure that nothing's been messed with before we get there." A faint grin crossed John's face. "So, if I start to feel weird while we're looking around, you'll be the first to know."

Then, he paused. "We'll be able to see the body at the coroner's office afterwards." Perhaps he should have said so, instead of allowing the notion to form that he might simply refuse to inspect it even if doing so proved pertinent. "I'm not willing to cut corners. Ever." Even when part of John wanted to. "When I was training to be an agent at Quantico, they made us look at crime scene photos a lot while we talked about certain cases — the worst of them, up close, to make sure we'd be able to handle it." He tapped his index finger briefly against the side of his coffee cup. "Even when we were done, I'd think about them all the time, like everything that'd been done to those people was burned into my brain. So, I started flipping through them every day, adding new ones, until that didn't happen anymore. When I started seeing stuff like that in real life, it mostly helped. It'll help with this, too." Pressing his lips together for a beat, he continued, "I've never told anyone about that, but I want to make sure that you know I won't be a problem."

[thedefinitionofwarlock]

"Well, that's a relief," Warlock nodded again, with a smile in return. "Oh, to both parts, I mean." One could never tell with human curiosity, that delightful and troublesome compulsion. He so often indulged his, but he had more knowledge and defenses around magical phenomena. Someone without any of those stepping into a summoning circle, or worse, drawing their blood by accident in its bounds... He didn't want any more sets of those photographs to look at.

John's assurance afterward, though, had him surprised. Warlock hoped his friend didn't think he was judging that reluctance to look at the body. But then again, it did sound like John's own decision.

Warlock held back his agreement when the other continued. Running through a regimen of countless photographs of dead people... no matter the reason, he couldn't hide his heartache at the thought. About the only mercy Warlock could imagine was, at least John wouldn't have had Eirg metaphorically salivating over every picture in the back of his mind. A small mercy, that didn't ease the weight.

Finishing the last bite of the scone and washing it down with more tea, Warlock gathered his thoughts, only to have one leap to the fore at that last sentiment from John. His hand reached across the table to rest over the other's. "You're never a problem. Even if you couldn't handle those photographs, you wouldn't be. Never." A beat, and a breath. "...Thank you for trusting me, though I'm sorry you ever had to do that. It sounds awful." Warlock gave a slight squeeze to the palm he held, and some of his smile returned. "Don't worry. I have a trick or two up my sleeves that can find out the truth, when we go there."

[thedefinitionofwarlock]

Another sip of tea washed back half-formed explanations relating to all the things John might've meant with the question. Warlock tried to be more conscious since the anti-smiff of barrelling over other people's words and opinions. He didn't always succeed, but he'd spent the decades since emerging making a solid effort - especially with people he cared about, like John. So no matter how much he wanted to talk more, to know more, to maybe even guess what his friend was worried over and offer better comfort, he waited.

Intentions matter almost more than anything. Warlock both agreed and wished more people saw it that way more often. Or at least that the facts of matters would take his intent into account. Maybe that was more grace than one person could ever be given, after how many times he'd bungled things horribly while trying to make them better.

Shaking his head a little when John apologized for the question, Warlock nonetheless had another bite of their shared scone while he mulled. It didn't sound strange to him at all; it was a very reasonable worry, especially for someone whose job focused on the supernatural. Speaking of that job, and of focus...

"Alright," Warlock replied after swallowing his bite. He let curiosity ebb away some of his lingering melancholy. They had answers to find, after all. "Do you know this contact person? Are they a person? Well, everyone's a person, but I meant that I've known some very astute animals in my time. And one or two plane-transposed demons."

[myersbprd]

Well, at least John's inquiry hadn't dredged up any negative sentiments for Warlock ( or he didn't think so, anyway ). He would keep the reply he was given in the back of his mind to muse over later, when he didn't need to focus on what was right in front of him. For now, however, it wasn't so much a necessity as a want. After all, he liked giving his attention to his friend, and wished to appreciate these moments with Warlock before everything about their time here changed. This case was more personal to John than it probably should be, yet an aura of darkness hung around it regardless of his prior affiliations. To rot any living being from the inside out until they were nothing but a husk wasn't an act that could be attributed to a frightened creature that found itself someplace unfamiliar, or the theft of some potentially dangerous magical artifacts; it was sadistic, unrelenting.

Such a train of thought was interrupted by Warlock's answer to his comment about the time. "They're not an animal," he said, a subtle grin rising to his lips before he continued, "and I'm pretty sure they're not a demon. But I've never met them. They're part of the taskforce working on this case." Once the FBI had been alerted of the bizarre ( not to mention confounding ) nature of the killings, the BPRD had been their next call. John could only imagine what the initial responding officers had been thinking upon their arrival. Murder was always ugly, but this was something else entirely.

"They'll have the authority to let us past all the yellow tape to take a look around the crime scene. I'm sure the body's already been handed over to the medical examiner, so — " He trailed off ( so it wouldn't be the first thing they saw, so maybe he wouldn't need to look at it in-person instead of just the photos in the file ), then put another piece of pastry in his mouth to justify the silence.

[thedefinitionofwarlock]

He couldn't help a little smidge of disappointment upon hearing it wouldn't be an animal nor a demon. Though people could be interesting on their own, of course, people could also be close-minded - even within the BPRD, at times. While disguises and a bit of white lies could be fun, coming up with ones people would believe had gotten more difficult in some ways. Ah, so John hadn't met them, which meant they were likely outside the Bureau. Perhaps a policeperson, or a government worker from some other 'department'. Were those groups still called departments, or maybe offices, or bureaus? Regardless, it meant more possibility of them being a bloody stick-in-the-mud about magic. Well, at least he had John to help.

Warlock's thought of regretting they couldn't examine the body was kept to himself, by the memory of whose body it had been. To be sure, getting to examine it would make determining the kind of entity - and thus the specific type of summoning ritual - easy, but that wasn't worth causing his friend more hurt and distress. "We'll solve it without, I'm certain. So long as this 'taskforce' of theirs hasn't removed or touched anything else by the time we get there. The aftereffects of a summoning can linger, even do odd things to objects or people who are too close for too long."

Warlock caught himself, not wanting to worry John too much. "Oh; nothing fatal. It's just...hm. You remember the brimstone thread? A summoning is like trying to pull one of its frayed bits into our fabric," one index finger and thumb pinched together in midair, drawing downward, "and that tends to bring other planes attached to it closer to ours. Then, because all the little pieces that comprise everything have different rules and forms in other planes, they get... confused. Stuck between what they've always been and what they could be." Warlock's hand lowered, after tipping back and forth to illustrate, now holding his warm tea in both palms. "It's milder for people, so long as they're not too close too long. We're always changing, after all, so our pieces are more flexible. And summoning portals aren't as stable or powerful as leylines. They should be fine; maybe a stomachache or the like, at worst."

[dothepropaganda]

hey it’s october so i just thought i’d let you guys know i’ll never post jump scares and am extremely anti-screamer or anything else along those lines. i hope you’re all ok and stay safe this month

[thedefinitionofwarlock]

Another pleasant sight was John's contentment with the still-steaming coffee. It made Warlock realize more clearly how uncomfortable his friend had looked on the plane. Still, John had said talking with him helped, and John wasn't a liar.

Besides, they had a warm scone to share, and Warlock had always found that food helped one feel better. He paused while chewing his second bite when the other proposed a question. Whatever it would be, it was probably serious; people didn't usually ask if it was okay otherwise. Warlock nodded, catching a stray crumb off his lips while green eyes watched John with unabashed curiosity.

The question, or questions rather, were indeed serious and thoughtful. Warlock's gaze traced over John's expression at first, then dipped down to his own cup, one thumb tracing an arc along the edge. For someone to be so drawn to a thing or an idea, it affects people around them... He couldn't help but remember Watson. "...I think that's possible, yes." Yet it sounded so dire, leaving things at that. Warlock's stare lifted, hoping to meet John's again. "I also think that kind of affecting doesn't have to be bad. Maybe it's about what someone is drawn to. I don't know how much it's really their fault, if it is bad and they don't realize they're doing it. Or maybe I just don't want that much blame." A darting glance aside and a faint, wry huff, before his look and posture softened once more. "...But, it can be good too. Sometimes it's both."

Warlock wasn't quite sure if he was making sense anymore, but when talking in broad terms he supposed there was only so much he could say.

[myersbprd]

The stretch of quiet that fell between them left John to wonder for a beat whether he should have vocalized the inquiry at all. As it was, it had likely sounded muddled at best and bewildering in its meaning at worst; why had he bothered to ask it when he wasn't entirely certain of what it was to begin with? Thankfully, the piece of pastry still held between his fingertips offered something else to do as opposed to simply staring at Warlock and hoping that the question hadn't come across as too ridiculous. Taking that little bite, John found that it tasted just as nice as his friend had described it.

When Warlock spoke, he was rather relieved that it wasn't in a tone that suggested what he said was completely crazy. Still, the answer was what he was most interested in — and perhaps he shouldn't have been surprised by it. After all that John had witnessed since joining the Bureau, shouldn't he expect almost anything to be possible? However, Warlock didn't finish there, as green eyes lifted to once more meet his. He listened while his companion continued, his palm still pressed against the side of his coffee cup though his attention was now fixedly elsewhere.

It doesn't have to be bad. Certainly, that made sense; for a long time, John had known that it was rare for anything to be entirely black and white ( only good or just bad ). Nevertheless, there was a particular sort he meant, and it was apparent Warlock understood that. ' Or maybe I just don't want that much blame. ' That took him aback. Had the topic brought forth more personal feelings for Warlock than John expected it to? He wanted to ask, but he again returned to what Warlock had told him before, that maybe someday he would be told more. Thus, that consistent concern about prying forced him to hold his tongue. Whether what John had queried about was possible had been answered, and he decided that expounding further on what had prompted it might not help anything.

"Intentions matter almost more than anything, I think. Even when someone makes a mistake. Or maybe especially then." His gaze remained on Warlock, his words quiet as he considered them. "Although — it's kind hard to think of it that way when looking at yourself." A corner of his lips rose a little higher, then. "Thanks for answering. I know it's a strange thing to ask." Checking his watch, John tipped his head toward the snack still in the middle of the table. "We've got enough time to finish, then we can pick up the rental car and meet our contact to take a look at the scene of the last death."

[thedefinitionofwarlock]

Another sip of tea washed back half-formed explanations relating to all the things John might've meant with the question. Warlock tried to be more conscious since the anti-smiff of barrelling over other people's words and opinions. He didn't always succeed, but he'd spent the decades since emerging making a solid effort - especially with people he cared about, like John. So no matter how much he wanted to talk more, to know more, to maybe even guess what his friend was worried over and offer better comfort, he waited.

Intentions matter almost more than anything. Warlock both agreed and wished more people saw it that way more often. Or at least that the facts of matters would take his intent into account. Maybe that was more grace than one person could ever be given, after how many times he'd bungled things horribly while trying to make them better.

Shaking his head a little when John apologized for the question, Warlock nonetheless had another bite of their shared scone while he mulled. It didn't sound strange to him at all; it was a very reasonable worry, especially for someone whose job focused on the supernatural. Speaking of that job, and of focus...

"Alright," Warlock replied after swallowing his bite. He let curiosity ebb away some of his lingering melancholy. They had answers to find, after all. "Do you know this contact person? Are they a person? Well, everyone's a person, but I meant that I've known some very astute animals in my time. And one or two plane-transposed demons."

[thedefinitionofwarlock]

John's reply did help ease some of that worry over all the gratitude. It sounded just as sincere as Warlock felt, and he knew the other well enough by now to understand John wasn't the type to lie, at least not to friends. Warlock watched John order at first, before letting his gaze wander to their surroundings. The noise of the airport around them was just on the tolerable side of busy, so he tried not to focus on any object in particular. It wouldn't do to get one's attention, lest it nag at the back of his mind while he was trying to enjoy his time with John. So soon after readjusting, too.

Picking up his tea with a sunny thanks to the barista, Warlock followed his friend back to the table and settled in across from John. He left his drink to steep and cool, adjusting his skirt a little before sitting forward in his chair. The vanilla scone smelled so lovely already! And it seemed Warlock wasn't being subtle about it. Oh well.

He broke off a piece with one hand, then popped it immediately into his mouth. Oh, the sweetness, and the mix of crisp and soft! Best of all, the warmth was enough to keep Hestia quiet in her corner of his head. Warlock's first answer was a happy hum, until after he swallowed his bite. "It's wonderful, John. You're welcome to as much of it as you want."

Even as he said so, he broke off another mouthful for himself.

[myersbprd]

John didn't wait terribly long before he had the next drink of his coffee. The very best temperature, in his opinion, was hot but not so hot that you burned your mouth. Unless it was iced, he wasn't apt to allow too long for it to cool ( he could still remember one of the other Bureau agents last week explaining to him that they preferred to wait until their beverage was closer to lukewarm to drink it while he hastily attempted to rearrange his expression into something more neutral and less disapproving ). As he lifted his cup to his lips, John couldn't contain his contented hum at the taste.

At least after a migraine-inducing airplane flight, there was always coffee.

Turning his attention back to Warlock, he watched as the first piece of the vanilla scone was broken off for testing. Should this fail to go well, he was quite certain they would be able to find somewhere with soup and toast near the hotel after their contact walked them through — whatever this ended up being. John could feel that awful, knotted-up sensation in his stomach again; with an inaudible exhale, he forced himself back to the moment.

As he refocused on Warlock, it was swiftly evident what the verdict on the scone was going to be. A hint of a smile lifted his lips as his friend's own pleased sound came next. "I'm glad you like it." Then, following Warlock's urging, John took a small section from the pastry to try. "Is it okay if I ask you something? You don't have to answer if you don't want to." He paused for a beat. "D'you think it's possible for someone to sort of — be so drawn to something, or the idea of something, that it starts to affect the people around them when they don't mean it to? Not the way they act about the thing, but the thing itself. Like, they don't realize or even know they're doing it, but they are?"

[thedefinitionofwarlock]

Another pleasant sight was John's contentment with the still-steaming coffee. It made Warlock realize more clearly how uncomfortable his friend had looked on the plane. Still, John had said talking with him helped, and John wasn't a liar.

Besides, they had a warm scone to share, and Warlock had always found that food helped one feel better. He paused while chewing his second bite when the other proposed a question. Whatever it would be, it was probably serious; people didn't usually ask if it was okay otherwise. Warlock nodded, catching a stray crumb off his lips while green eyes watched John with unabashed curiosity.

The question, or questions rather, were indeed serious and thoughtful. Warlock's gaze traced over John's expression at first, then dipped down to his own cup, one thumb tracing an arc along the edge. For someone to be so drawn to a thing or an idea, it affects people around them... He couldn't help but remember Watson. "...I think that's possible, yes." Yet it sounded so dire, leaving things at that. Warlock's stare lifted, hoping to meet John's again. "I also think that kind of affecting doesn't have to be bad. Maybe it's about what someone is drawn to. I don't know how much it's really their fault, if it is bad and they don't realize they're doing it. Or maybe I just don't want that much blame." A darting glance aside and a faint, wry huff, before his look and posture softened once more. "...But, it can be good too. Sometimes it's both."

Warlock wasn't quite sure if he was making sense anymore, but when talking in broad terms he supposed there was only so much he could say.

[thedefinitionofwarlock]

Though John clearly felt sheepish about that personal experience with melty icing, Warlock's nod this time was seriously and sincerely thoughtful. He could understand the want for something warm and iced; that was, after all, half the beauty of a cinnamon roll. The trouble it could cause - given the thickness of some icings, and the amount of sugar Warlock had noticed in American food - was so easily forgotten in the face of such a want. So when John assured him that the scones' thin glaze wouldn't be an issue, thoughtfulness gave way to a fresh gleam of pleased relief.

Warlock followed his friend up to the counter, letting his stare wander over the menu and the display case again. The gentle departure of John's hand from his pulled his attention back to the man beside him, only to meet the other's eyes once more. Eyebrows raised at the generosity, familiar though it was by now, Warlock managed, "Oh! Erm, yes, tea should do fine. That's very kind, John, thank you." A part of him hoped he wasn't being a pest with all the 'thank you's. He meant every one of them, always did when others actually took the time out of their more finite lives to offer comforts like this.

[myersbprd]

A corner of John's lips rose slightly at Warlock's vocalized gratitude. "You're welcome." Oh, and he meant it. There had often been moments throughout his life when he was aware that someone appreciated him whether they stated it aloud or not, yet times such as this one reminded him of just how gratifying it was to hear regardless. The thought lingered in John's mind as he turned back to the barista to complete their order and pay ( theirs seemed relatively simple compared to the more convoluted requests he had been unintentionally privy to in the aftermath of plane flights past ). Complete with the specified warmed scone, they received their purchases far quicker than he had anticipated; it seemed that the question concerning Warlock's feelings on the pastry now in-hand would be answered sooner rather than later.

Leading the way back to the table he had initially noticed when they first approached the kiosk ( still neatly shielded from the eyes of countless people rushing through the airport ), he took a seat before placing the plated dessert between them atop the weathered wood. Still, John allowed a second to taste his coffee prior to addressing the iced scone. "Moment of truth, huh?" Although it had begun as a quiet query in the back of his mind, he found himself oddly intrigued now as to what Warlock's verdict might prove to be. Then, a soft teasing lilted his voice as he tacked on, "I eagerly await your report."

[thedefinitionofwarlock]

John's reply did help ease some of that worry over all the gratitude. It sounded just as sincere as Warlock felt, and he knew the other well enough by now to understand John wasn't the type to lie, at least not to friends. Warlock watched John order at first, before letting his gaze wander to their surroundings. The noise of the airport around them was just on the tolerable side of busy, so he tried not to focus on any object in particular. It wouldn't do to get one's attention, lest it nag at the back of his mind while he was trying to enjoy his time with John. So soon after readjusting, too.

Picking up his tea with a sunny thanks to the barista, Warlock followed his friend back to the table and settled in across from John. He left his drink to steep and cool, adjusting his skirt a little before sitting forward in his chair. The vanilla scone smelled so lovely already! And it seemed Warlock wasn't being subtle about it. Oh well.

He broke off a piece with one hand, then popped it immediately into his mouth. Oh, the sweetness, and the mix of crisp and soft! Best of all, the warmth was enough to keep Hestia quiet in her corner of his head. Warlock's first answer was a happy hum, until after he swallowed his bite. "It's wonderful, John. You're welcome to as much of it as you want."

Even as he said so, he broke off another mouthful for himself.