|
Post by Orfeo on Oct 30, 2016 5:15:43 GMT -5
His dreams had become so absurdly realistic, Reaver sometimes found himself unable to tell if he was living in reality or the fantasy that his head brought up. Dreams which were always the same - the white vampire-wolf coated in blood to which Reaver felt an unnatural, somewhat frightening, bond to. His infatuation to this creature had grown to such a considerable extent that, for the first time in a long time, Reaver had actually abandoned a case he was working on simply to follow this one thread. A needle in a haystack, but one he knew was out there.
Reaver could no longer deny what he was. Or, to be more precise, what he was becoming. If it wasn't his dreams that were telling him so, then it was his own mannerisms and the changes he had begun to experience, changes that he hadn't felt since he was a child, when he first turned into the half wolf creature he now was. It ached to be out in the sun, though the sensation was more of an uncomfortable feeling than a harmful experience. His teeth had a constant precision sharpness to them, so much so that he found himself constantly cutting up his tongue and the inside of his lips without even noticing till the moment he tasted his own blood. Not to mention that the empty feeling he'd constantly suffered throughout his life suddenly seemed to be gone, replaced with something which he didn't know was better or worse.
It was his desire to learn what he was that led him to the decrepit home to the outskirts of town, far away from the New Dawn territory. Ren was nowhere to be found, not at the moment at least. She did not approve of what he was doing, but then again, Ren never had a say when it came to his own life. Reaver held on tightly to his cane as support as gusts of wind threatened to knock him over, his trench coat fluttering violently with it. He held a stern gaze, yet couldn't help but scrunch up his nose whenever he found himself downwind, as a particularly powerful stench made itself known. One didn't need to be a shifter to know that they should've stayed away from this home. Supposedly abandoned, but one didn't have to look far to see the reality. The world was full of monsters, and this home, with hardly anything around it but dry soil and budding weeds, was no different.
Two floors tall with its roof falling apart. The dull yellow paint all but gone. The floorboards and the walls creaking constantly under the wind's barrage. Reaver sighed and gazed back at the car he'd rented to bring him here, knowing very well that he could abandon this preposterous idea and go back home; go back to the work he still needed to finish and do what he'd done for as long as he could remember: helping people. He knew Ren's warning was serious, her concern for her own life growing as she knew he was risking his. Reaver did not even have either gun nor blade to defend himself with. He'd never grown used to guns, nobody ever fully trained him without losing their patience, and he owned no blade for which he could find a use in hurting others with.
Perhaps he really was as foolish as others told him he was.
But he couldn't just back out either. So he stepped unto the balcony, carefully watching his footing as he tested each floorboard with his cane. The wood had started to rot long before Reaver had arrived and under his weight he could feel each board stressing to their limit. One did break, causing Reaver to lose his footing and crash through the door he'd just opened, landing hard on his right shoulder, making him heave a grunt of pain as he rolled over on his back and then slowly sat up. Now inside, Reaver took in a deep breath and then quickly gagged as the putrid stench of rotting flesh, mold, and blood all surged in at once, mixed to create a terrible aroma of death and neglect. It reminded him of the butcher shop Katie had taken him to before, only worse. Whereas that had clean and professional feeling to it, the home he was in now reeked of an amateur's work, or of someone who had no care for the proper way of doing things. It was very much clear to Reaver that something was rotting, something organic, and as he stood he couldn't tell if it was coming from around the kitchen, upstairs, or the basement below. The stench came from everywhere; it's been around for so long that it made it seem as if the walls themselves were rotting masses of flesh.
Reaver let out a shaky breath as he picked up his cane off the floor and held on tightly to the handle to bring his trembling fingers under control as he bunched up his left hand into a first to do the same with them. He slowly looked left to a small living room with dusty couches that didn't seem to have been sat on in years, then right to a dining room which connected to - what he assumed was - the kitchen around the corner, currently out of sight. And finally, though with some hesitation, Reaver looked up the stairs which lay before him, and stared deeply into the darkness above him.
He shivered and quickly looked away, taking a step back as he felt that same darkness staring right back at him. He had no fear of the dark, rather enjoyed it. But the home's ruined and seemingly abandoned state, coupled with the stench, and the desolate location of it, along with whom he thought frequented the place, and Reaver could not help but feel shivers run down his arms. Now breathing, rather quickly and sharply, through is mouth, Reaver took one step up the stairs, and forced himself once more to look up at that darkness.
Alone, as he usually was, Reaver walked up the stairs.
|
|
|
Post by Orfeo on Nov 2, 2016 1:32:37 GMT -5
There was nobody home. At least from what he heard. Yet Reaver was smart enough to know that he shouldn't put all his trust on his senses, not like other shifters. His eyes were locked on the darkness above him, narrowing down, unblinking, until finally his eyes managed to adjust enough for him to relax a little more. He let out a soft sigh and looked over his shoulder once he was halfway up the stairs, holding still to keep the floorboards from creaking. No other sounds from below, and none from above. Reaver looked up once more and hurried on as fast as he could with his cane as support, ignoring the spontaneous throbbing pain of his leg, gritting his teeth with some strange determination until he made it up to the final step.
Everything only got darker still, though the stench eased up a little, confirming the fact that it was coming from somewhere in the deep below. The hallway was narrow and ended abruptly with a single window to look out to the back of the house, with two doors: a door to the left, closer to where he stood, and the other to the right, farther along towards the end of the corridor. The ceiling hung low above his head, and just as with the rest of the home, the walls seemed to be infested with rot. It couldn't have been too healthy to breath.
He first made his way to the closest room and slowly pushed the door open with his free hand, surprised with how easily it swung open. The room itself was not that big, but he could tell that this was a place frequented often. From a quick glance Reaver could make out the silhouettes of trash: food wrappings, plastic bottles and bags, crumpled up pieces of paper with nothing written on them. There was a sofa to the left, well worn and with a stained think blanket draped over half of it. Blood stained. Reaver bit at his lip and looked over the rest of the room but found nothing more of interest. He reached inside, dipping his head a little then turning to look around the corner of the door's threshold, pulling back when he felt a sudden chill down his neck.
He wasn't one for superstitions, but he quickly closed the door and forced himself to not look back.
"Empty," he murmured to himself as he slowly stepped inside the room which mirrored the first one in almost every way. There was nothing to the room, not even a place to sit on. Although, to his surprise, this room in particular was well maintained. The walls seemed to have been replaced and the smell of rot was almost nonexistent. "Yeah. Empty. Why wouldn't it be empty. Yup. Nobody here. With me. Right now." Reaver glanced over his shoulder, holding one of his hands against his chest, then slowly made his way back downstairs.
He'd given them ample time to make themselves known to him. Yet nobody had shown up, tried to attack him, or even talk with him. It almost felt as if he was wasting his time, and he would've thought so too had he not known that this was a place he could get some answers from. Or so said his source. He wanted to consider the small yet quickly growing information network he'd compiled as reliable, but there was room for mistakes. It wasn't perfect. Nothing was.
The kitchen had not been in use for a very long time, though it had been at least once before. A number of pots, probably months old by now, sat inside the sink's basin. A couple of them had started to grow a kind of foul-smelling fungus inside. There was nothing of interest in there though. Empty. And as Reaver did a walk around the ground floor of the home he found it all to be in the same manner. Abandoned and rotting away. Which left only the basement, which he made his way to as soon as he could, taking the short flight of stairs down until he bumped into a door which he forced open with a shove. The stench of death was the strongest here, causing Reaver to gag and almost vomit before he had to cover his nose with his hand.
Dark, like the rest of the home, but this time not empty. "You people are as sick as I thought." he spoke softly as his eyes looked around at the bloodstained walls. The buzzing of flies was constant, and loud. He didn't have to walk through for his eyes to land on maggot-infested chunks of carrion: intestines, livers, even a heart or two as far as he could tell without getting too close. Some of it rotting, some of it fresh in contrast, all of it swarming with an army of flies. It was only at this point that Reaver really did admit that he was, at times, truly insane. Coming here for answers? It was nothing but the work of savages which did not even have the audacity to show themselves to him. "Cowards," he murmured under his breath, and stepped in further. He walked around the centre table containing all these chunks of dead flesh, swatting away at flies trying to eat him alive, and silently observed.
It bothered him that he could not look at the meat on the table with disdain or disgust. He couldn't really tell if it was that of a human or a beast, but at that point it really did not matter to him. All he knew was that he could stare at it, watching the flies buzz and the maggots squirm around on the table and on the surface of the entrails, and he could feel no sense of panic. He didn't feel disgusted by the way it looked, only by the smell, which meant nothing to him. He knew he should have averted his eyes, but at the same time found himself somewhat fascinated by all the death.
So very unlike himself.
"Huh," he quickly looked up as soon as the door shut itself when he made it to the other side, followed by a feint latching of a lock. "They must have come back." He looked back at the table and sighed. "Ren."
There was silence, a hesitation, and then the woman appeared from a portal torn out of a wall, a flaming doorway of inky blackness from which she emerged. "Huh," she echoed in the same way Reaver had. "I told you not to come here, Reaver. Got yourself in trouble."
"Yeah. But I found what I was looking for."
"Doesn't seem like you did."
"Hm." Reaver looked back at the table. "I'd rather talk somewhere else." He swatted at a fly that bit him on the back of the neck, then followed Ren through. The rest which had been sitting on his clothing caught on fire and fell off from him. He felt a sudden darkness envelop him, but in an instant he found himself back where he started - home. "
|
|
|
Post by Orfeo on Nov 11, 2016 2:43:59 GMT -5
He came out of the argument bloodied and bruised, but the only thing he felt was hurt was a part of his pride. Ren did have her reasons, though according to her, this was simply her putting him in his place. Doing things as stupid as the one he had done warranted such a treatment. Reaver didn't really fight back but argued his case all the same - what he was becoming was not him. It wasn't what he wanted and he did what he had done because he needed answers. Ren, of course, couldn't really have cared any less about his excuses. The only thing she did say that cut deep was that the thing that he was becoming was him, and he'd just have to suck it up and deal with it whether he wanted it or not.
Reaver felt like Ren knew more than she let on, but refused to divulge any information that would help him. Another point of the argument, which only ended up angering Ren some more. The succubus left him after a while, off to vent in her own world, leaving Reaver to lick his wounds and listen to his thoughts.
It was only a couple hours later that he finally looked at some of the folders he had scattered across the dining table. Two were closed with their contents tightly packed atop one another, the other three were open with different papers scattered about them: pictures, information, notes he'd written down, and maps. All his case files for the jobs he hadn't finished yet. None really interested him at the moment except for the very last one, which he'd put out to a corner of the dining table. It was no case he'd been contracted for, but rather it was his own personal pet project. The investigation into the police force, something that had gone for a good year and a half to the day, looking into the corruption - the rotting cancer - of the justice system.
He slowly walked to it and flipped the folder open, his eyes looking over the surface of all the evidence he had gathered. Normally he could sit here for hours, looking at one picture or one map, or reviewing his notes while writing down his thoughts. Today though, as he lazily flipped through page after page of notes, Reaver only felt a headache rather than a sense of duty to fix what was broken. It was clear to him that his priorities had shifted this time around, something he didn't know how to feel about. Although it was yet another reason for him to get himself sorted out simply to get back to work.
Reaver pulled up a chair and sat on the edge, crossing his legs under the seat, then placed his right elbow against the table and brought the palm of his hand up against the cheek of his face. He pulled out his phone with his left hand and lazily maneuvered his finger over the screen until it pulled up a number of different audio files, the most recent one recorded a month prior. He eyed it out of the corner of his gaze, then sighed and closed his eyes as he played it.
His voice, tired sounding as if he had been up to his neck in work for days on end, came out over the speaker in the slow and steady pace he tended to speak in whenever he was rambling out his thoughts. Reaver grimaced, thinking to himself that he highly disliked the way his voice sounded.
"Ren's left me alone for now although I have this feeling that she's always listening... or watching. Again and again she makes it clear to me that this interest she has in my safety is simply a survival instinct. I guess it's... a side-effect of this life pact we have with each other. Sometimes I regret it but the thought of the lives saved eases the burden. I think. Again and again I keep having strange thoughts, thinking back to that day, asking myself if it had been better if I simply had just not interfered and let her be. Sometimes I don't even ask myself, instead stating such thoughts as a fact that should've been but isn't.
"I fear these uncanny thoughts come from the condition." Reaver opened his eyes at the few seconds of dead air, but right before he moved his hand to check if the recording was still playing, his voice boomed once more. "Not something I feel like talking about at the moment. Another time. For now I feel the need to vent about-" He stopped the recording and pressed his hands against his head, groaning out softly as a terrible headache suddenly began to overwhelm him.
Truth be told, he felt at a loss, and it frustrated him. His own work was going nowhere. As much as he told himself whenever he was working that he was making progress, moments like these came by where the reality set in. He could exhaust every lead and make new ones and he'd end up falling on the same square as before: people with too much power that he couldn't touch. Not in the way he wanted to get at them. Make them face their own justice, bring them down from the mountain of corruption on which they had built their fortune and force them to eat the dirt they had created around them. But he couldn't do that, at least not legally. Yet if he fell into the temptations he had recently found himself facing, Reaver knew he would be no better than them.
The vampirism was tearing him apart and he no longer had any idea on how to fix it, to cure himself and be rid of that evil for good. He'd once more exhausted his options and could find no way to improve his situation.
He sighed and closed up the folder, unable to look at all those words for one more second, knowing he'd go insane if he didn't give himself a break. Reaver through his body back and slumped down on the hair, biting at the inside of his cheek and rubbing his eyes, suddenly feeling exhausted. He stood, moved to the kitchen, and made himself a cup of scalding Rooibos tea to keep himself awake. There he stood and stared around at his small apartment, suddenly feeling alone for the first time in a long while, away from Ren's watchful eye.
As much as he hated the disease inside of him, Reaver could not ignore the fact that finally, for the first time, he finally felt whole. That feeling that other shifters had when they turned for the first time, he had it. He recalled what Katie would tell him about what it was like to shift, thought of the dozens of shifters he'd put behind bars, and he knew that the feeling they had, he had it now. But constant. That missing link was finally there, and he wanted it gone?
Perhaps it was simply because he felt dirty. Knowing that those uncanny and dark thoughts he was having was actually him, the other him, that has finally shown its face.
Reaver took another long sip of the tea, not stopping until his throat felt like it had been burnt raw, and then slammed the cup down unto the table hard enough for it to crack. He frowned and forced all those thoughts back, away from his current reality.
|
|
|
Post by Orfeo on Nov 22, 2016 6:02:40 GMT -5
Reaver lay in bed at a strange angle in order to use his computer properly. His back was slightly hunched over and his head, though it wasn't flat out hovering, wasn't quite resting against the pillow as well. One leg was bent toward his body and the other was crossed over his knee, this spot being the one where he propped up his laptop so that he could get a better view of it and type more easily without straining his neck nor his eyes too much. Of course every so often he shifted this uncomfortable position once he lost sensation on his legs and feet, swapping their positions out to get some circulation flowing more freely once more, repeating the process over and over again for as long as he decided that he wanted to use his computer.
He'd just come out of an argument with Ren, surprisingly unscathed, over the topic that had caused more than usual friction between the two - his "condition". Referring to it as so irked her to begin with, always yelling at him that he should be thankful that he's finally complete, that he was being a child, and that he needed to suck it up and deal with the fact that this was his life now. She would pick out her words and say them in a way that made it seem as if she cared for one thing, his mental wellbeing. But anyone else could tell that Ren was benefiting more from Reaver being both wolf and vampire than just one or the other. Details that Ren wouldn't tell him even if he asked, and were too complicated for even him to try to begin to comprehend on his own.
He bit his lip and looked away from the computer screen and into the darkness of his room, for a brief second acknowledging that yes, Ren did have same valid points. At times in this recent struggle, he did feel like a child throwing a hissy fit over something that, to be honest, he should be celebrating. For having lived all his life feeling as if he wasn't a whole person, an outlier and an outcast, only to find that it was simply a case of a latent characteristic. It made sense to him in retrospect whenever she said to him that he should just get over it and move on. He lived through being told that his father raped his mother, got through knowing that he couldn't shift like others, and came to terms with the fact that the system which he was trying to uphold was, at its core, broken and corrupt. In her argument, this was just another in a list of things that he should get over quickly, if only he wasn't so stubborn about it.
But then, Reaver knew that he didn't want it. No, he ended up shaking his head at that. He didn't know, but rather, he felt. He felt disgusted by the seemingly spontaneous and ever darkening thoughts as he walked the streets. He felt terrified whenever he tasted something sweet in his own blood. He felt like he was on edge at the sudden bursts of energy he would have that would push him beyond what he was normally capable of. More and more he found less pain in his leg, and thus, less need for his cane. Matter of fact, he mostly used it now because of a bad habit he had formed with it that he found impossible to break - sometimes still walking with the stiffness, without thinking, even though the pain wasn't there.
Solid answers were non-existent in this case. And how he hated not having any solid answers.
Reaver felt like he wanted to get rid of this so badly. But then again, at the same time, he sometimes wondered if he could go and live this new life, and just hope that he did not give in to those deep desires that had seeded themselves in him. He'd never craved human flesh before and never saw someone as a potential victim. He'd never dehumanized anyone, or so he liked to believe, and yet here he was doing all of that without even thinking it, with each passing day those thoughts and urges become stronger and ever-much more a part of himself that he wondered if he'd be able to recognize himself down the line if this path kept going forwards.
"Why are you awake at his hour, Reaver," spoke Ren's voice just loud enough to be audible over the music he was playing through his computer's speakers. It drew him out of his thinking and, for a second, he was thankful that the succubus had come. Reaver had his eyes closed and at the sound of her voice he laid his head back against the pillow and placed his right arm under it. His left foot tapped meticulously against the bed to the beat of the song. Ren now stood beside him, gazing down at him. He could feel her presence, and if he focused just enough, Reaver could probably make a somewhat accurate mental image of what she looked like. He always did make her taller in his imagination, more intimidating that she showed herself to him as. Ren loudly cleared her throat when he gave no response before tapping him roughly on the shoulder. "Hey."
"Didn't you say you were done with me?" Reaver opened his eyes to stare at the succubus who stood in her natural form, looking down at him in the same way that he had imagined she was doing so. "Or, at least, so I recall you telling me." He cleared his throat and added in a terrible impression of a woman's voice, too high pitched, and nowhere near what 'Ren really sounded like. "Next time you get in trouble, I'm letting you suffer first. I hope you choke. I'm done with your little charades. Blah blah," he turned his head to face her, "blah blah BLAH BLAH!"
'Ren merely smiled. "You're still mad about our last argument." He brought one of her clawed hands up to her chest and did a curtsy clearly intended to mock him. "I'm touched."
"Hmph." Reaver turned his head to face the opposite side of the bed, to which Ren teleported to, causing Reaver to sigh in some annoyance. "It's not even that late."
"The clock, Reaver."
"So what?" He turned to look at the time on his computer. "Five forty-four. Big whoop. You're not my mother and I'm an adult. I'll go to bed whenever I go to bed."
"Uhuh." Ren once more moved to stand beside him, this time looking like a blonde white girl in her early twenties ready for a Friday night out to the club. Reaver glanced at her, shook his head, and moved his eyes back to the computer screen. "I know your thinking."
Reaver paused and almost bit at the inside of his cheek, but stopped, knowing he'd draw blood easily this time around. "You were supposed to get out of my head, Ren." His eyes flicked over to her, who seem disinterested as she looked at her nails with more curiosity than she did to the conversation. "We agreed on that."
"Work. In. Progress. Believe me I hate it as much as you do, Reaver." She moved away from him to look at an object on his bedside table.
"Then work faster," he replied with some dark hostility in his voice, then sighed and for the final time moved his eyes back to the computer screen as the songs switched. He turned up the volume just a little more, closed his eyes, and let the ambiance sink in.
"You can't change what's a fact, Reaver. You know this better than anyone. Detective work is all about finding the fact, no? Well, you have a fact right in front of you and you're choosing to ignore it. There's no changing what you are, and no taking it back either. You're stuck with it-"
"Till the day I die. I know. You gave me the whole speech already." He frowned.
"Then why won't you listen."
Reaver sighed. "I don't need to explain myself to you, Ren." He could tell, even with his eyes closed, that she was now upset at him, his answer. "I don't like it."
"Child."
"Not the first time I've been called that." He listened to her curse him out, open a portal, and leave. "Reaver wins," he mumbled to himself, and for a second, actually managed a smile.
Until his mind, almost as if it were a stretched out rubber band that had just been let go of, immediately went back to his condition. At this, Reaver frowned, opened his eyes, and went back to doing his best to keep his mind busy from anything that wasn't that. After all, he could only take so much before he felt like he was starting to go crazy.
|
|
|
Post by Orfeo on Nov 23, 2016 1:45:30 GMT -5
He started to take more dangerous risks without really realizing it. A part of him wanted it. The thrill of it was alive and well. He'd just finished working two different cases in a single week, yet even that didn't give him the satisfaction that he was used to having. Granted, Reaver never really did things by thinking them through all the way, and not all of his ideas were the brightest ones out there. In his head he merely passed it off as another terrible idea to the list of terrible ideas that he'd gone through before. Yet, at another level, this one kind of took the cake. Meeting a retired hunter face-to-face was about the dumbest thing a person like him could do.
Besides the thrill he felt he was having as he patiently sat waiting for the man to show up, Reaver also felt uncomfortable. Alone. Rose had been out of his life for... well, long now. Not to mention that Ren was off doing her own thing. "Important business," she had called it, before disappearing into a portal to her own world. He wouldn't deny that he sort of wished she was at least watching over the upcoming exchange. He sat, finger nervously tapping at the wooden table in a bar late into the night, and began to think of the possibilities that could be. The hunter probably wasn't retired. They'd probably kill him. Or maybe he was just looking to see if he knew anything that they didn't know. The more Reaver thought the more he began to question this particular decision, and yet, he found himself unable to get up and walk away. Because as he looked up from his fingers to the other side of the table, he realized that he wanted this.
Jon was a man peculiarly different from the other hunters he had come across. None other had been able to easily identify him as a "shifter". Some came close, because of his two eyes, but a simple explanation of what Heterochromia was, and their suspicions were thrown out the door. He'd just be some other human with a peculiar look, and nothing more. But Jon walked up to Reaver during one of his more recent investigations and introduced himself, flat out, as a hunter that merely wished to speak to him, addressing him as a shifter. It, for a second, took Reaver by surprise. It gave him a sense of danger, and since he never really carried any weapons nor couldn't shift to defend himself, he wanted to run. But the man, Jon, explained himself quickly. Too quickly. It threw Reaver for a loop, but at the mention of research and creatures that weren't human, Reaver found himself ensnared by an all-too alluring trap.
In a way, however, this was a risk for the two of them. The thought set Reaver slightly more at ease, and as he slowly eased himself into the seat, a familiar man walked up to him, brushed his hand against the table, and sat opposite of Reaver. The two locked eyes and, for a second, didn't really say anything. The second felt longer, though, because Reaver did catch a small glimpse of a strapped to the man's hip, concealed at the last possible second by a coat that the man wore. Reaver, once more, was without a means to defend himself. Did everyone carry a weapon these days?
"Reaver." Jon's tone of voice was pleasantly surprised. "I'm glad you decided to come." Jon smiled a warmer and genuine smile, which only worked in setting Reaver a little more on edge.
"Yeah," Reaver nodded lightly, "sorry I came early. I'm... always a little paranoid when it comes to times. You know what they say, better late than never." He laughed, nervously.
Awkwardly.
Jon waved off a hand in dismissal, and almost laughed. "Oh, don't worry about it. Have to say, I'm a little more of a punctual on the dot myself. At least none of us were late."
Reaver looked at his watch and huffed softly in surprise. Sure enough, the man was right on time. "So you're a... hunter."
"Was. Before." Reaver was almost shocked at the quick and open response. He didn't like it. It made him feel like he needed to be the same way, open and honest. Lying wasn't really his strong suite, but he never really intended on telling the man EVERYTHING either. Restraining the info he gave would be a task, but more so, keeping himself from asking too many questions was going to be a challenge. "Shifter. Correct? Wolf."
The bar's ambiance was alive with chatter. Everyone seemed to be doing their own little thing. The two of them may as well have been in their own little private bubble of conversation. He was nervous to answer that question. Didn't really know what to say, and for a second, who may actually be listening, or whom Jon would talk to. But he just nodded lightly after a few seconds, and then almost laughed. "Funny enough," he began as he rubbed at the back of his neck, looking around to see if anyone was listening in on their conversation, "you're the first one that managed to tell that. Pretty easily. Kudos. It's... almost a little scary." He wanted to laugh, but the raw seriousness in his voice kept him from doing so.
"Well, relax. This is years of experience under my belt. Research that hardly anyone does." Jon anchored both his elbows against the table and leaned in a little closer. Reaver, in response, backed up against the seat a little more. "With someone of my background, it pays to be aware on who will ignore you and who will be looking to tear your throat out for the things that you've done."
"Y-yeah. I agree."
"Detective, then?" Jon now pulled back, letting Reaver sit more at ease. He nodded softly. "Why?"
Reaver, shrugging lightly, tried not to say too much. "Not all shifters are pack-bound or crazy Rouges looking to tear each other apart. Some of us, at least me and a couple others that I know of, like to imagine that we can do something to... you know, well, help society." Reaver reached back and rubbed the back of his neck. "We're not all savage animals." Of course, he wasn't even a proper shifter to begin with. Just barely enough to be identified as one. Reaver was unsure on how to feel about that, but didn't think on it too much.
Jon nodded a little. "Yeah. Too bad there aren't more like you."
"Not that it makes much difference. We're all still monsters to your eyes. I mean, not yours! Like, hunters. Humans."
"Yeah, you are. At least some of us are educated enough to not pull a gun on you when we first see you."
What was he even doing here? Reaver shifted uncomfortably in his chair. He wanted to ask so much, but found no opening. He hated that Jon was, pretty much, in control of the situation at hand. He bit at his lip and finally sighed. "Listen... can we talk about what you know? The vampirism."
"Well, yeah. It's why we're here, right? But, if you could answer one quick question first?" As if it wasn't the only thing that he had done since Jon arrived. "Why the sudden interest in them? I mean... I don't know. From my experience, you two tend to stay out of each other's way?"
Reaver shrugged his shoulders a little. "I'm currently working a case. Of course, I can't tell you much about it. Not unless the station decide to put it under public record," he said, then added under his breath with a little irritation, "which they never do." He linked both his hands together and placed them atop the table. "One thing led to another. They're involved. And, well, as you can tell, I know shit about them. Tried to learn, failed. You haven't. I need information before more bodies show up." He paused, let that sink in a little. The lie was forming a little too easily, but it was solid. It was his job and unless Jon had someone on the inside, to which he wouldn't be so surprised because of how corrupt they all are, then he wouldn't know any better. "I'm sure you understand the urgency." ' "Right." Jon sighed softly. "Well, how about we get a few drinks, sit in, get comfortable. We're going to be here a while."
|
|
|
Post by Orfeo on Nov 25, 2016 2:58:07 GMT -5
Reaver spun around and then fell on his back, laughing to himself, with his arms spread wide unto the snow-covered bank. As he stood he looked back down and smiled wide at the indentation of his body he had created, one that would be gone come the following morning when the next snowstorm swept through. He took in a deep breath and savored the cold winter air that chilled his lungs, held that crisp breath for a few seconds, and then exhaled slowly. Standing in place, he spun around once more and marveled at the seemingly endless forest that surrounded him. So many different adventures that he could go on! For that short moment of time, Reaver truly felt as if the world was his to do as he wanted, with no consequences to his actions.
"Reaver!" His smile only grew wider when he heard his mother calling out for him. She always worried about him when he went out in the snow, but something about that made him giggle. Alas, he quickly picked up after his things and zipped up his green jacket higher up his body until it formed a tiny balaclava that only covered his mouth. He brought up the hoodie and quickly made his way back to his waiting mom, skipping here and there while laughing at the beautiful colours of nature.
He now sat on his bed, playing videogames, with her sitting beside him, watching. The two talked to each other as he struggled to keep half his mind in the conversation and the other half on the game at hand. At one point, he simply gave up on her and focused more on what he was doing, causing her to grow slightly irritated and push him enough for him to lose his balance and fall off the side of the bed with a resonating thud and a small groan of pain. Though before she could peek over to check if he was alright, laughter erupted from where he landed and he found himself unable to get back up, breathless, from laughing too hard. It was only after a few seconds that he managed to get back on his bed, to which she reminded him that the two needed to go out to her house so that she could train him to shoot a gun.
Reaver frowned, argued, and stalled. He did what he did best when around her and he bitched and whined until she gave in and let him have one more week to get himself ready. Although, to be honest, there really was no preparation to be done. It was part laziness of not wanting to walk all the way to her house (despite having made the trip before) simply to shoot a gun he didn't want to hold, and another part because he didn't feel comfortable knowing that he'd be making more of a fool of himself in front of her than usual. For some reason, it made him burn up on the inside.
Although, weirdly, he found himself excited at the idea of spending that time with his friend once more.
Then came the nightclub scene. He was a mess that stumbled from one spot to the next, not really doing much but watching people dance and drink. He was on his own this time around, looking to get the same sensation that he got when Rose got him into one for the first time. But no matter how much he tried, Reaver found that he simply couldn't bring himself to enjoy being here. At least, not by himself. So he left the club, sighing, with his hands in his pockets, until he felt the presence behind himself.
He turned quickly, gasping, as the presence seemed to have been almost on his neck, but saw nobody. A small frown appeared on his face. It was nighttime. The sidewalk was almost empty. Even with his lack of skills he felt like he would've been able to tell if somebody was still around. But it was empty. He WAS alone. It sent a chill down his spine and began to form inside of him a panic he continued to feel day after day after day onward. A sensation of being followed by something that he didn't want anywhere near him, and yet no matter how far he ran, the thing got closer and closer to him, until it literally became him.
And now he found himself sitting across from Jon. Yet another moment of his life that he found to be incredibly surreal. As the man spoke, telling him of incredibly important things that he really should have been paying attention to, Reaver found himself unable to concentrate on it. Something about the first couple of things that Jon had began to spoke of when it came to Vampires made Reaver feel as if his world was suddenly crashing around him. It came out of nowhere and he couldn't see the reason as to why it was happening. Reaver simply stared blankly at Jon, blinking every once in a while. A few of the things he had said did come across to him. How there were certain species of vampires, and how each one tended to act differently from the other. There were the ones that looked exactly like humans, except for features he describe in details down to the minute level, all by memory. And he also spoke of hideous monsters at the far corners of the world that resembled anything but a human being, with no sense of morality nor mercy.
"What about hybrids," mumbled Reaver without really thinking, and then paused when Jon gave him a rather curious and perplexed look.
"What do you mean?" he questioned, head tilted slightly sideways, and then began to recount different creatures of which he considered to be hybrids. But Reaver quickly cut him off and clarified in a clear sentence, one which he felt he'd stutter his way through but actually didn't.
"No. I'm talking about people that are half and half. Say..." there was a brief second pause, but then Reaver continued as if nothing, "half werewolf and half vampire. Is that a possibility?"
And at that, Reaver could tell that Jon was at a total loss, but at the same time a spark suddenly flared up in his eyes that almost made Reaver regret mentioning it. The man spoke of knowing nothing of them and never really having heard of any such a person. It almost made Reaver laugh at the fact that Jon was standing right in front of one without knowing.
The rest of the information was all useless to Reaver, but alas, the entire situation was surreal to Reaver. He found himself unable to really believe that he had gone to a retired hunter for help. He couldn't tell if he was desperate or stupid, or large doses of both. After a while, the two did leave, but not before Reaver got one final piece of information that snapped him out of his daze.
As far as Jon knew, there was a cure for everything. Something that would take years, decades, of time and effort. But such things were out there. And now it was up to Reaver to decide if he'd actually be insane enough to drive himself mad in trying to find such a thing. A cure. And he wasn't even sure if such a thing would work on him to begin with.
Hell, he didn't even know if he needed fixing in the first place.
|
|
|
Post by Orfeo on Nov 29, 2016 6:20:05 GMT -5
At the eve of the following night, Reaver found himself meeting with Jon once more. Despite not having received the information that he wanted from the man, he still needed to hold up his end of the bargain. Reaver had, after all, promised him to tell him all he knew about succubi, or at the very least, the sub-species that Reaver had dealt with. Jon, of course, didn't have to know that Reaver was personally involved with one at the moment, for better of for worse, but the fact that he had information in the first place was enough for Jon. The man didn't exceed to know more than was necessary. He was, however, surprised at how quickly the retired hunter agreed to cooperate with a quote-on-quote shifter like him. He found the distrust coming more from him than from Jon, which in turn made Reaver feel like an ass for not trusting from the beginning. All their interactions had come and gone easier than he had expected them to be; everything went without a hitch, no matter what the situation.
He only wished that Ren would have been as cooperative as Jon once. To say the least, she was not pleased about having to disclose information about herself without her consent. "Yes I didn't ask," he had told her with some mild annoyance in his voice. He was, after all, under a schedule. "You wouldn't have agreed to it if I did. It's the only way that I learned what I could from him. Even you should know that nothing really comes free. Our two lives intertwined is an example of one thing for the other. So do me the favor and just answer my questions. It's not going to kill you." Yet despite what he believed was sound reasoning on his part, he still had a hard time getting across to Ren.
Not like he was going to blame her for it either. If someone had walked up to him and asked him to disclose information on how werewolves behaved, looked like, and acted when not in their animal forms, he would have been hesitant, if not, weary of where this information would be going to. Yet as far as Reaver knew, all Jon was doing was compiling information on the creatures that weren't mere humans. Things like Ren and himself. A hobby of sorts; kind of shady but at the same time he saw not much harm coming from it.
"You really should watch where this is going," murmured Ren behind his back, causing Reaver to jump and almost drop the small notepad he held tightly in his hands as he turned on his heels and pushed Ren back as a reaction. He blinked, let his held breath go, and then managed a weak growl. Ren merely smiled wide and slowly paced back to him after regaining her balance. "Whoa there, cowboy. No need to get so touchy all of the sudden."
"You know I hate it when you sneak up on me like that." He watched her and shook his head before closing his eyes for a few seconds to rest them. She was in her preferred disguise, the one he had found her with on the first night when he chased her through portals. A curvy young woman with full lips painted a glistening red and a narrow chin, her face defined by beautiful deer-eyes that were lined with a black eyeliner and under them, a pointed, perfect, nose with small nostrils. Her eyebrows naturally curved perfectly over her eyes and her lashes were long and curved, naturally too. She had her hair down, curled, past her shoulders, and had on a provocatively short dress that clung a little too tightly to her body, outlining just how perfectly she decided to shape herself. Reaver couldn't tell if this was part of her god-complex, or if she simply liked to look as perfect as possible, but he knew that she sure as hell did not mind the looks that every person gave her as they walked by.
"What are you doing here. I have to meet Jon soon." He looked around, noticed eyes trailing all over Ren, and wondered if he was the only one that didn't feel any such attraction to her. Briefly wondering if it was because he knew who she truly was, Reaver reached for his back pocket and felt to make sure that Ren hadn't picked his pocket once more. "Thought you'd be in your world."
"Well, that was the plan." She tilted her head slightly and smiled a full smile. "But, I figured I'd want to meed the person whom you're telling all about me and my kind. See what kind of man this man is."
Reaver rolled his eyes and turned to give her his back, pushing his hands into the pockets of his trousers while kicking at one of his steel-toed combat boots with the other. The two stood outside a mall, not too big a place, but prominent enough for it to be a common meeting ground for plenty of people, since it had an extensive park next to it that one could take a walk across. Once more, as he looked at his watch, he realized that he had been early, but knew that the man would be around soon enough. "Don't embarrass me. How do you even plan to introduce yourself anyway. I don't have any back up plan for you and I don't want him to know that you-"
"Girlfriend."
"Excuse me."
"Or fiance. Your choice."
Reaver turned around to her with a perplexed look on his face. "Really."
"Or I could tell him that I'm the succubus you live with and see on an almost daily basis, and that you're an infinite fountain of energy, and that you're half werewolf and half vampire. All those little secrets you really don't want spilled." Reaver narrowed his eyes and bit at the inside of his cheek. "So what will it be?" She tiled her head, giving him a sly, victorious, smirk. He hated it.
"Girlfriend. Don't get too touchy. This ends as soon as he leaves."
"Don't blush too hard. Oh- that's him, isn't it? Yes, he's waving you down. Look."
Before Reaver could say anything, Jon's cheerful voice echoed over the mumbling and droning of the crowd around them. A tone that overshadowed Reaver's own cheer, which he had found to be lacking lately. It, however, was somewhat infectious, and as soon as he heard that voice he found himself making a small smile immediately. He turned towards it and watched Jon approaching quickly, wearing a coat that made the man stand out from everyone else. He noticed Ren stand next to him, and looking at her, he chose to ignore the sly smirk she still had on her lips. Whatever victory she was savoring, Reaver hated it.
"Ah, man of the hour. Reaver. So good to see you once more." Jon held out a hand as he approached, which Reaver shook with a firm grip. "And this?"
"It's good to see you, and this is my..." For a split second his voice trailed off as soon as the word 'girlfriend' had started to form in his lips. All he could see in his mind was Ren, the succubus without morals that loved to manipulate his actions and twist his words to her favour. The woman took the split second of hesitation to step in and offer her own hand, a delicate thing with short nails painted an equally delicate white.
She only gave Reaver a quick side-glance before looking back at Jon, giving him her full attention. "Reaver's girlfriend," she said with little hesitation and with clarity in his voice, as if this was a phrase she had practiced saying in front of the mirror a dozen times over. "The dummy probably didn't mention me. His mind is always muddled with work."
"Yeah, girlfriend," continued Reaver immediately afterwards to not give her a second more to continue talking, "that wanted to come along. I know that we... aren't really going to take too long and she - I - well, she,"
"I wanted to come and have a look around the mall and the park. I'm new in town, you see? Live out in the East Coast, but wanted to finally come and visit my love." She turned and caressed Reaver's face with her hand, giving Reaver a knowing look, seeing his discomfort and frustration, though Reaver could only smile at her and take her hand in his, just to keep her from touching his face any more.
Not even when Ren was feeding off his energy did her let her touch him so much. Uncomfortable would be a gross understatement.
"Ah, lovely. Well, Reaver, you don't happen to have the-"
"Right here," replied Reaver immediately, handing Jon the small notepad. With its small pages, he had manged to fill out about six pages of information.
Most of it was nonsense that not even Reaver could understand, and from what Ren explained, it was nothing that would really be of importance. The more important things, such as her ability to teleport and the ability to take disguise, was merely covered in brief detail that left more questions than answers to the reader. The only thing really covered in detail within the pages was Ren's necessity to the energy that she had killed for before. A life force that would mean her death if she didn't do anything about it, though also something that brought her great amounts of pleasure, for reasons that Ren wouldn't explain to Reaver. Overall, though, he figured that it would be enough information for Jon to be satisfied. Partly, because he owed him, and another because he had no intention on getting the man on his bad side. He had been extremely open about his past. The number of werewolves he'd dealt with was an astounding number. And Reaver wasn't a fighter. So as long as he kept him happy, he'd be good.
Jon quickly flipped through the pages, scanning each one thoroughly, and then after a couple of seconds, a grin appeared on his face. "Perfect," he finally managed to say as he stuffed the notepad into one of his pockets, "this will be of great use to me research. Thank you." Jon looked up at Ren and clasped his hands together. "Now, I believe formal introductions are in order now that business is concluded. Well, my name is Jon. Nothing short to it. An acquaintance to Reaver. Helping him out with his job, and in return, he's helping me. And... you are?"
Ren had to hold back a laugh, not because she found the man funny, but because she thoroughly hated the type of person he was turning out to be. Nothing like Reaver, she thought to herself, and spared a glance in his direction. Nothing interesting about Jon other than the fact that the man can kill a couple of people that are stronger than him easily, and that he was probably capable of outsmarting others well. She wouldn't be surprised if he ever got Reaver under his thumb. She held back to urge to laugh, and the urge to fuck with him. "Ren," she said in a light tone, and kept it at that. No need for such a long introduction as the one he had provided.
Reaver nodded, not really saying anything, but then turned his eyes and looked at Ren, who had a clear look of joy on her face whenever she looked in his direction, simply because she knew that he was thinking about the guise she was taking to fool Jon. His girlfriend. A thought that bothered him so much it was clear on his face. He wasn't sure if Jon could tell too. "Well, I hope that everything between the two of you is in order now." She held one hand over the other, scratching lightly at her skin over and over again, but keeping it hidden behind her back. Reaver, suddenly feeling a little tension, took a small step to the side and wondered if it was really the best idea to create a second of distance between the two. "Do you need anything else from the two of us? I," her gaze fell back on Reaver, and for some reason, he found himself gulping, "would really enjoy spending some time with him. Before I leave. You know how it is."
"Why, certainly. Madam," he bowed lightly at her, then turned to Reaver, "Reaver. I believe our business is concluded then."
"Right. Thank you for the help, then. I really appreciated it. It really helped me with what I was doing."
"Of course." A smile appeared on Jon's face that made Reaver uncomfortable, but it only lasted for the second that he could see it, as without a word of goodbye, Jon turned around and hurried off.
Reaver looked around, quickly, to make sure and see if someone was staring at them. People passed by them, some brushing close to his shoulder, but all seemed to be too busy with their own lives to care about his. "Relax. I would've been able to tell if we were being watched." Ren's voice came as a relief, until he looked at her. She stood in front of him, smiling a soft smirk. "A kiss for your girlfriend?"
Reaver reached up, touched her face, and then gently pushed her back. "Don't push it, Ren." He looked back over his shoulder once more and sighed. "Was the whole girlfriend thing really necessary?"
"I could have told him that you were a vampire."
"And now you're going to use that over me, aren't you. Blackmail me? As if you don't have enough over me already, you have to go and add this."
"Hey." She smiled and reached to touch his face. Reaver merely held still, unable to really push her hand away, self-conscious of everyone that was watching. Being in public was Ren's forte, much as she hated being around other humans, simply because she knew that Reaver's insecurities would give her an upper hand. Things like touching and holding his face, and him not being able to do anything about it. It gave her a thrill. "I need to play my cards, just like you have yours." Her eyes brightened ever so slightly as she stared at one individual eye of his, and then at the other. "You clearly, so obviously, so desperately, do not want anyone to know about your little secret. It's so simple and easy to see that," she lowered her voice to a whisper and moved up to his ear, holding him as if she were embracing him, "you're ashamed." She pulled back and scratched ever so slightly under his chin, giving him the sensation of a chill. Her fingers were cold, despite the warm and soft look to her skin. "Ashamed, and scared. And the more you learn, the more terrified you become. Sure, I tell you that you need to accept what you've become, but I can see that it's going to be a problem. So, if you won't listen, then I'm going to capitalize."
Reaver blinked. He didn't want to look shocked, knew that he should have expected this from her, yet at the same time couldn't help but have a somewhat shocked look on his face. As if what she had told him was such an unfathomable thought to him. "So that's it then... huh? You just always need to hold one over me?" He licked at his lips and clenched his hands tightly, hating that his voice had quivered halfway through the sentence. "You're never satisfied, aren't you?" His voice was down to a whisper. "Showing up and getting in my life. Forcing yourself on me. Twisting your life with mine, and acting like you own me. Annoying me, pushing me, blackmailing me. You just can't ever take a break, huh?"
"You. Listen. Here. Mister." Ren took a step closer, faces inches from each other, but her eyes had darkened degrees in those few seconds he spoke. "YOU interfered in my life. YOU created the life pact. YOU are the reason why I'm even here in the first place. You could have just gone and turned a blind eye to me and gone on with your life. But no. You aaaallways have to do the right thing, don't you? Getting yourself into business that isn't yours and then making it yours. You forced yourself on me, you twisted your life with mine, and now you will live with the consequences of being stuck with me."
"You think you can scare me," murmured Reaver lowly.
"I don't need to scare you, Reaver," she replied in the same tone of voice. "All I need is for you to know that in a second I can cause your whole life to come crashing down around you. I will fuck you over the same way Jenny fucked with Heathen's life."
"Don't compare me to that man." Reaver, looking Ren directly in the eyes, growled, without care of those who were around him. "Because unlike him, I have no qualms in tearing you apart if need be. I will kill you, Ren, even if it gets me killed. So don't. Fuck. With. Me."
Despite his frown, and the dark look to his mismatched eyes, and the seriousness to his tone of voice, and how his nostrils flared and he was breathing harder and harder, Ren merely smiled softly and pushed at his chest gently. "Too late. Listen to yourself, and realize that you aren't the same man you think you are." Ren turned. "Ren one, Reaver zero. See you around, boyfriend."
As Reaver watched Ren walk away, the only thought that ran through his mind was to take her by the neck and twist it until it snapped between his hands.
The thought made Reaver smile.
|
|
|
Post by Orfeo on Feb 11, 2017 4:55:50 GMT -5
The next two weeks were hell.
But it started slowly. Reaver's dark desires were under a tight lock and key, as far as he knew. He made a careful mental check every couple hours or so and did his best to keep his mind occupied with other, more important, matters. Work was a blessing once more, and his pet project made more progress in a few days than he had made in months. Not that there was a surge of new information, but he finally had a reason to go back and piece things together properly. He'd smile down during those long silent nights as he sat hunched over the dinner table, looking down at tax records and written statements. Every so often his thoughts would stray, and he'd find himself almost giving in to these daydreams and fantasies that slowly formed in his head. But a quick shake of his head and he'd be back to doing what he loved.
That was until the visit, a week later. Into one of his late nights, when for the first time in a long while, Reaver found himself needed to protect himself. The man came in most likely expecting him to be asleep. Granted, Reaver had most of his lights off and was merely making himself some tea before getting back to work. The surprise was equally as shocking to the two as they came face to face in the darkness, though in a split second the man was lunging at Reaver with a knife, missing his heart by a few inches and instead digging the blade deeply into his shoulder. Reaver collapsed and, not used to such a pain, passed out only to awake a few minutes later to a thick smell of blood coating his tiny kitchen. Ren knelt over him, the bloody knife laying beside him. From what vague recollection he had of that moment, all he could really remember clearly was how Ren was bleeding from her shoulder: an open wound caused by a knife that left her exhausted after she had finished tending to his wound. But without saying a single word to him or waiting for Reaver to say anything, Ren was gone.
Back to her world, he figured, and he wondered where the man had gone. But those were side thoughts, nothing of import compared to what was going through his mind. He would be the first to admit that a slight paranoia had set in on his mind. Sure, he was never that secretive about what he did, especially with how he flexed his influence to get records on those he believed were corrupt. Now he wondered if this had been a failed attempt at an assassination or a successful attempt at sending the message.
The message to Reaver was clear: back off or be killed. Over the course of his career he'd been assaulted in more ways than he could remember. But suddenly, in that short span of a few minutes, Reaver felt as if he was way in over his head. Perhaps it was because this was the one time that he had been attacked in a place he deemed to be safe, or maybe it was the nature of those that contracted the job. The list of suspects suddenly increased by a thousand percent. Judges, police officers, detectives, social workers, senators. Everything clicked too fast for him. Or perhaps this feeling of being way in over his head was just another side effect of his mild vampirism mixed with the mild lycanthropy. He wasn't sure, and that uncertainty just kept building up.
Needless to say, the man never came back to finish the job, and in the rare moments that he saw Ren after that, she confirmed to him that she didn't get a good look at the man.
Reaver decided (with some painful persuasion from Ren) that it was best that he stop what he was doing. His project and his job as a whole. He had saved up enough money to live somewhat comfortably for the next year or so. It wasn't what he wanted, and he felt a sense of shame hanging high over his head, but he felt as if there was no other alternative now. He did not know who to go to so that he could fix things, and was left with nobody for Ren as some sense of moral support. Ren? She's the farthest anyone will get to moral support, so he could only really count on himself at this point.
No longer having something to occupy his mind with, and unable to really go out because of his slowly healing shoulder, Reaver had a lot more time to think than usual. A little too much time. He found himself indulging in those thoughts he once pushed away, not on purpose, but subconsciously. Funny enough it wasn't just the vampirism anymore, but it was also the lycanthropy now. He recalled being told what kinds of thoughts a wolf shifter might have at some point or another. A sudden urge, like an itch, that one needs to scratch. Of course, normally, one would scratch said itch by shifting. Reaver didn't have this option, so he'd be left daydreaming in a lull of a daze between being awake and being asleep, sprawled out on the bed as he blankly stared at the ceiling.
One told him to feed and hurt. The taste of blood is sweet and he needed to indulge, even a little, a couple drops at most, just to satisfy that small urge that resonated like a dull pain on his lower back. It told him that the things he once felt were wrong are actually good. They're right. It'll feel right if he just gave it a try. Of course, he still shuddered thinking of it. But he thought of himself doing it, even if he didn't do that on purpose. Thinking of indulging, even if it lasted one tiny fraction of a second. It was all he needed to scratch that itch, but the more he scratched it the worse it got. This one was the shadow that had followed Reaver from birth and only now made its presence known, but that still remained somewhat unseen. Imposing mild suggestions, slowly pushing Reaver into doing something he probably didn't want to do. Reaver hated it.
The other told him to run, and scream, and roll around, and be free. It told him to hunt, to act, to feel, to taste, to smell, and to observe. An overwhelming desire to memorize every last tiny detail of the world around him would suddenly take hold. Reaver would catch himself mid-way through counting the hundreds of tiny concrete lumps that formed on his ceiling with no recollection of when he started to count or why he was doing it to begin with. It told him that it wanted to get out; it needed to find a way out - he needed to find a way to let it free even if it meant that he had to tear open his skin with his own hands. This one was the body stolen from him long before he was even born. This one was the marker of genetic experimentation, some freak among freaks. It was the one that rammed its ideas head first over and over again until Reaver would succumb from the sheer force of the relentless onslaught. It would give Reaver no time to breath before the next wave began. Consciously thinking, he much preferred it when it was chained down and tame. But Reaver could not deny the fact that finally feeling even a minuscule fraction of what it was like to be a lycanthropic shifter felt good.
Reaver lifted a hand from his position in bed and waved as Ren approached, having just arrived from a portal she tore open in his room. She came disguised, thick black hair coming down to her mid-back and dressed in a white shirt with a leather jacket and black jeans. "Too much makeup," he murmured as he spared one glance at her, before looking off in the opposite direction away from her. "You look like a clown."
Ren reappeared directly in front of Reaver's gaze, now in her pure form, floating a couple of inches off the ground with clear displeasure displaying on her face. The two stared at each other for what felt like an eternity, after which Reaver turned his gaze back to the ceiling and away from her. "Isn't there something you should be doing other than laying in bed all day?"
"I don't know. Is there?" He glanced in her direction for a quick second, then looked back up at the ceiling when he got no response from her. He sighed before looking over in her direction once more. "How's the shoulder."
"As good as yours is doing," replied Ren with clear tones of hostility in her voice.
"Don't blame me for that." Reaver looked up and rolled his eyes slightly before covering them with the back of his left forearm, draping his right arm across his chest. "Are you here to feed?"
"Not for a few more days, no."
"Then what are you doing here?" Now it was he that held the hostility in his voice, though Reaver didn't realize it until after Ren was gone.
"Just checking to make sure you aren't getting yourself killed. I'd rather deal with an open wound than being dead. Goodbye." Ren opened another portal, stepped through, and closed it behind her.
Reaver sighed and tried moving his arm, but at the sudden intense flash of pain that came from his shoulder, he opted to rather keeping it still for the next few minutes before trying again. For one split second he wondered if her blood tasted the same as his own did. That weird metallic taste that fit perfectly with the smell. Somehow, in his head, this made sense. She bled like he did. He wasn't that interested in putting the theory to the test, though.
((Future Orfo, make something cohesive and sensible out of this. Not at five in the morning, please. Regards, past Orfo.))
|
|
|
Post by Orfeo on Feb 27, 2017 4:08:46 GMT -5
"Maybe I should go back?"
"What good would that do?"
"I'll get to see family again." He sipped gently on a warm cup of peach tea.
"Not that it would do you any more good than it would do bad."
"Hm."
"Besides it isn't like they are going to recognize you anyway."
"Is that so?"
"You're different from what you were back then. A man, all grown up."
"Twenty-two isn't that old."
"Old enough to not be the child you were when you left."
"They'll know it's me. It doesn't take much intuition to tell me apart from the common rabble."
"The face, maybe. The outside. But the Reaver they see won't be the Reaver they knew."
"Like you would-"
"I know more about you than you realize."
"..."
"It would be a waste of time."
"I think I'm still put together enough." He set down the cup on the table.
"A little, maybe."
"Perhaps a little fractured."
"A little?"
"Not enough to change much. Yeah, some things are different now. But I know I'm still the same me."
She shrugged.
"Just with added complications."
"I wouldn't put it that way, but sure."
"You still don't think they'll recognize me?"
"No, they probably will. They'll also see you've changed, but that won't stop them from taking you in. You humans are strange like that."
"It's called family."
"A family you neglected for more than a couple of years. Do you even know what's happened in your time gone?"
He remained silent.
"The hardships people maybe went through?"
Silence.
"Or who is still there? Who is new? Who is left that will know you?"
He shrugged his shoulders, averted his gaze, and drank more of the tea.
"Say you go back. They say: 'Oh, Reaver. We missed you. Come, make yourself at home. It's so nice to have you back.' What then? You sit back, relax, take it all in? Meet your family again, see the lands, maybe start working there again? Hm? Meet any childhood friends again?"
"... I don't know."
"You don't know."
"I never liked the idea of packs."
"Would you even stay there?"
"If I had a reason to stay."
"You didn't have a reason to stay the first time. What's to say that there will be a reason to stay now."
"Things change."
"What has changed?"
"Experience. Maybe I'll be able to help people there."
"You're reaching."
"I know."
"So?"
"I don't think I'd stay."
She snickered.
"What's so funny."
"You."
"What about me."
"How you torture yourself like this. It's amusing."
"It's important to me."
"Not to me."
"Why do I even bother asking you for help."
"Because I'm the voice in your head that makes you question things."
"Now you're reaching."
"So why wouldn't you stay if you went back."
"Been gone for so long without even sending a letter." He shrugged. "Wouldn't feel right."
"It's all about feeling, isn't it?"
"Life's about feeling."
"Deep."
"True."
"So you'd be, what, the outsider? Isn't there a name for those kind of people?"
"I'm no rouge."
"Yet you're no beta, nor alpha, nor warrior, nor healer, nor a pack member. So what are you?"
"I'm me."
"Yawn. Boring answer."
"Then don't ask a boring question."
"Well, I guess you answered your own question then."
"Should I go back?"
"That one."
"Maybe. It still doesn't stop the urge to see them again. But if I go back, then I'll want to stay. Then it's just going to hurt more when I end up leaving again."
"Sounds like a personal problem."
"Feels like I'm talking in circles."
"Would you even know what to tell them once you saw them?"
"'Hi.'"
"That's it.? 'Hi' is the best you have?"
"I'm not good at this kind of thing. Maybe an I'm sorry?"
"'Hi. I'm sorry I disappeared for all this time. But here I am.' Yes, Reaver. This plan is perfect."
"I feel like I'd have more to say for some then for others. Important people. Meaningful ones. But..."
"Hm?"
"When I see them, if I see them, I'll probably blank and won't have anything to say. It'll be quite anticlimactic."
"Sure sounds like so."
"Going off on a hunch here, some might try to find a way to get rid of you if they ever find out about you."
"They'll end up killing you too."
"Maybe."
"Or who knows. Maybe they'll find a way to break pact and I'll be free as a bird to lay a reign of terror far away from you."
He looked at her and frowned. "I'd rather see us both dead than to let that happen."
"Mhm. Well, I'm going now. Don't plan on coming back for the next two weeks. I have things to do in my end of things."
"Things?"
"Nothing that'll ever concern you. Have fun talking in circles and trying to figure out if you should go make an ass of yourself in front of everyone."
"Helpful as always, Ren. Get out of my sight."
|
|
|
Post by Orfeo on Apr 26, 2018 22:36:25 GMT -5
((Set much farther into the future. Like, future future. Also, thought vomit. If some things don't really match up with other things then... well, you know how it is.))
Reaver had learned three important things in the last couple of years. Number one, don't try to fight something that's not worth fighting to begin with. It didn't matter if it was something physical or metaphorical, he'd lost enough battles as it is and exhausted himself more than he had to. The lesson was learned too little too late, but it was learned nonetheless. Second, never try to tie his shoes while standing up. Staring at himself in the mirror and being greeted by a permanent scar in his forehead was all the reminder he needed to avoid the mistake again. Why in the hell did he think it was a good idea to tie his shoes standing to begin with? He had no sense of balance. Three, Reaver needed to stop doing favors for strangers out of the pure kindness of his heart. This one was still a work in progress, he had to admit. Something about trying to unteach an old trick from an old dog. He couldn't help it and it had gotten him in too much trouble lately. Considering he had retired from his job as an armchair private investigator and moved on to greener, calmer pastures, sometimes he just couldn't help but find himself drawn back into the wild by something as simple as a request and a plea for help.
None of these three things really correlated with one another. It was made all the more clear when his client watched him with a perplexed gaze in her eyes and asked "Why the hell are you telling me this?" halfway between not caring and curious as to where Reaver was going with all this.
The man smiled wide and briefly looked over her shoulder to a waiter that had stepped out of the cafe and to the tables outside, where the two sat. A cup of peach and ginseng tea for him, coffee for her. Thinking back, briefly distracted from the current topic of conversation, Reaver realized this was the third time in the last two days he's had the same tea flavor. Normally he'd mix it up, the man could hardly stand drinking the same thing twice. Must have been the job he was doing. Being pulled out of an early retirement did that to a person. And-
"Hey, you there?" she questioned, snapping her fingers in front of his face. Reaver snapped to and managed a smile and an apology before continuing on.
"What I was going to say, was that these three important life lessons were all broken in the last three days thanks to you. Woke up this morning and in the rush to get here I tried to tie my shoes standing. Ended up falling over. It hurt. Then there's the whole thing of fighting a battle I can't win. This one is a little bit skewed, cause to be honest, you're the one doing this. But you dragged me into this so..." He shrugged, still smiling. "Thirdly, you got me doing favors where I shouldn't be. There's particular people that are going to be really mad at me for it."
The woman, his client, and someone Reaver would have once considered a friend, watched him with a raised brow, and returned the smile he'd been beaming at her. "You saying that you had no fun running around and doing errands for me?"
"Errands?" scoffed Reaver. "I'd hardly call it errands."
"So...?"
He shook his head and for the first time since he arrived he reached into a backpack he'd brought with him. The woman gazed curiously at him but also perked up a little as he showed her a plain plastic binder closed up with a set of rubber bands.
"I had the time of my life," explained Reaver as he set the binder down on the table, gently so as to not spill his cup of tea again. "Now let me just say one thing. That guy you had me follow around? Total weirdo. Acts like he's done something wrong, always looking over his shoulder, double locking doors, all that fun stuff." He lowered his voice and leaned in a little closer while his hands worked and sorting through some papers. "Definitely hasn't done anything wrong, huh? Ah, but yeah, I know. It ain't my place to ask and I don't really want to know anyway. Lord knows the number of times I dragged myself into a mess I didn't want to be a part of." He shook his head softly and sighed lightly, mumbling that last part more to himself than to her. Reaver finally got halfway through the binder and stopped to look at one particular set of handwritten notes he'd stuffed in there. "From what I observed, this is the usual schedule the guy follows," he explained as he turned and handed her a small leaflet with his handwriting, a couple small doodles dotting the margins. "He's not the most interesting person, but he is kind of predictable. Got a good read on him after a couple days. Then there's..." he turned another page but then stopped and closed the binder, pushing it toward her with a knowing smile. "Well, I think you'll have more fun finding out on your own."
She nodded and pulled it closer to herself, though to Reaver's surprise didn't stand and leave as his clients tended to do. Instead she reached for her coffee and sipped for a couple of seconds, keeping her eyes locked on his.
"Thank you, Reaver," she spoke with genuine kindness. "I didn't actually think you'd go through with it."
Reaver simply shrugged and turned to look at a passing car. "Not something I try to normally do anymore but... ah, it was fun. Gotta ask, how'd you actually find me?" He looked back to her, something resembling a small frown now on his face as he did his best to study those eyes that betrayed nothing. "Long way from home."
She nodded. "Seems like you forgot just how much you shared with me back then."
"Seems like I have." Reaver drank from his tea and opted to lay back on the passive aggressive comments for now. "So?"
"So I remembered a couple of things and connected the dots wherever I needed to. You're not very hard to find, Reaver. Especially now that you've made somewhat of a name for yourself here. Just gotta be like 'Oh, hey, do you know Reaver?' Eight out of ten times, they'll point you in the right direction." She laughed at his frown.
"That's no good."
"It really isn't, no. But it got me to you and... shit man. You haven't changed a bit." She pulled back a little and got a better look at Reaver. The eyes, the face, the hair. "I mean, you don't look like you've aged a day since I last saw you."
Reaver had to look away again, down at the table, and bashfully smirked to himself. "Oh you know. Coconut oil and stuff. You, ah, you look the same too," he lied.
Although, for a human, she really hadn't changed all that much either. They were moving into something of the fifteen year range since the last time he saw her, and fifteen years can do a hell of a lot to a person. She though? Beside a change in her sense of fashion, seeming to opt for a dress rather than the jeans and jackets she used to wear, she was about the same. Short hair, sharp facial features, and something of an intense and cold gaze that didn't reveal a hint of her emotions. Not to mention her constant need for him to do something for her.
That last part was his fault more than hers.
"Heard you were seeing someone too, huh?"
He nodded, then rethought and proceeded to shake his head, then nodded again confusingly. "It's... kind of, yeah." Oh, Kay was going to shoot him if she heard what he was saying. "Sort of, yeah. But it's nothing too serious." She was definitely going to shoot him. "Personal stuff. You know?"
She nodded her head again.
"What's up with you, anyway? I mean... fifteen years, right?" Reaver drank to the bottom of his cup and found himself disappointed that he'd run out of tea so soon. He was already contemplating ordering a second cup. Maybe jasmine this time. "There's gotta be something juicy you can tell me. Stories?"
"Oh... you know." She shrugged and turned her head downward to the file Reaver had gotten her. "Nothing much, really."
"I call bullshit."
"Well, maybe I just don't wanna tell you too much, do I?" She looked back to him and smirked.
"I'd call that suspicious behavior," concluded Reaver, leaning back a little to look over his shoulder. There was nobody in particular watching him, and yet... "Fifteen years, there's something worth telling. Oh you know how I am with gossip." Reaver smiled. "I can keep a secret."
Again, she shook her head but smiled wide nonetheless. "You keep secrets as well as you can cook, Reaver. No, really, there isn't much that's worth telling. Life's been... boring, really. Ah, well, there's one thing honestly. Nothing too big. Kind of took up hunting for a while."
"Oh?"
"Mhm. No big game or anything like that. Squirrels, raccoons, stuff like that. Nothing anybody would miss, nothing big that I wouldn't know what to do with it."
He nodded, more cautiously this time around. "Right."
"You've been working by yourself all this time then?" she asked, causing Reaver to shift uncomfortably where he sat as he once more glanced over his shoulder to nobody in particular. The outdoor area of the cafe was full of people, and the sidewalk next to them was about as busy as the road itself was. That is, not that many people going to and fro.
Maybe it was just intuition, perhaps it was just him and his paranoia acting up. All Reaver knew for certain was that the friendly air of this reunion had suddenly taken a more sinister turn. "Yeah, just for myself. I guess you could have called me an armchair detective for a while." He glanced back to her, then back down to the binder he handed her, and suddenly wished he had it back in his hands. The air had grown thick and stale and stank of rotting meat. "Nothing too serious, honestly. Got tired of it quick, made enough to get something of an early retirement. Not to brag or anything but," he somehow managed a smile, as fake as it was, "I was pretty good at what I did."
She wasn't looking directly at him, but rather over his head. Somewhere else. Not in the sense that she was lost in thought either. Her eyes were too focused for that. Reaver huffed and struggled to control the beating of his heart. Moments like these he wished he'd taken Katie up on training and honing his senses more. He felt as blind to his surroundings as anybody else would. The mixture of sounds made it impossible for him to focus on anything but what she had to say: cars; people talking; someone yelling; glasses clinking; plates clattering; something in the background breaking. It normally didn't bother him but now? Now he fucking hated it. If anything, he half wished he'd told Katie about him taking another job. Woman would have talked him out of it outright. But no, needed to go and have a sense of adventure, did he?
Her eyes fell back on him again, unfocused and thoughtful this time around. Seemingly dissociated from the world around her. He couldn't tell if she really was looking at him. "Met anything... anyone interesting while you worked? Must have. Detective work's gotta put you in a lot of unusual places."
"Like I said, nothing too serious, and I got bored of it quick." Reaver shrugged. "If there had been anything interesting, I would have enjoyed it-" He paused. Werewolves. She'd made him look into werewolves. He definitely remembered to omit that particular detail from his files. Did he? This whole situation was fucking werewolves.
"Something wrong, Reaver?" She tilted her head a little, somewhat questioningly and knowingly.
"Oh... ah... look at the time!" He turned to his wrist, paused, and gulped when he noticed he wasn't wearing a watch. He never wore a watch. They were too heavy. Reaver then reached for his phone and realized it wasn't there either. Left it back home. Again. That needed to stop sometime. The awkward pause almost killed him. "There's some stuff I need to take care of and... and you know. I gotta go."
Reaver stood quickly, long before she could say another word, or anything for that matter that would keep him from actually leaving this place, and reached into his pockets for the few bills that he had bothered to carry with him. "This was fun. Really was. Very nice catching up with you again, but I really have to be on my way and... Ah, I'm really sorry. I know it's sudden and..." He was rambling. Reaver sloppily tossed the money on the table, a lot more than what the coffee and tea were worth, and backed away a little. "I got shit to do, really. But... see you around?"
"Oh, yes. Definitely." She didn't bother to stand and say her farewells. She merely looked at Reaver, and then looked past him, setting off more alarm bells in his mind than what he thought he had. There wasn't much else to say. There wasn't anything else that Reaver wanted to talk about or hear from her, so he turned and with his backpack slung lazily over his shoulder, he hurried off.
His eyes were constantly looking back over his shoulder as he walked. He took turns into streets he hadn't been to before, all the while telling himself that he was simply making connections where there was none, or that he was looking too deeply into a matter that wasn't of his business. Then again, hunters were his business. Or at least they should be, considering he wasn't supposed to be too friendly with them. That added to the fact that he didn't enjoy it when his life was in danger meant simply that the were the kind of people he should actively avoid. Hell he thought he was being careful with who he was, though not careful enough. Or maybe he was? They're supposed to be good at finding tells, and he had too many of them. Vampirism, lycanthropy, lord knows he sometimes forgot to mask something important.
He ducked into a nearby alley, somewhere that was lonely and quiet, away from prying eyes, and only once he had made sure that hadn't been followed. Had he just helped a hunter? Katie was going to kill him. Or... Yeah, she didn't need to know. But he had gotten someone else into a mess. The thought of walking away and not thinking more about it did cross his mind. Numerous times, in fact. On his way back to the motel room he'd rented out for a few days, and once he made it there, and once more before he called Katie to tell her he was going to be gone for longer than he had originally anticipated. There was some irritation in her voice, though he knew there was nothing she could do about it either. He was reluctant to share information, mentioning that he'd run into a complication, lying about it being nothing serious, and blowing it off as a passing comment which he quickly moved on from. No need to cause her any more stress than what she already had. His problems, for now, were his own.
Beside, he got himself into this mess to begin with. Should've been able to tell a hunter apart from just another person. Out of all things, that was one of the few he had actually been trained on. Should've paid more attention during the lessons. But all that was for naught, no use dwelling on it now. He ended his call with Katie with a hollow promise that he'd be back before she knew it, a comment the two of them knew wasn't necessarily true, though still brought some small comfort nonetheless.
It went without saying that Reaver didn't sleep too soundly that night, one eye open and an ear alert to anything going on outside. The morning would arrive soon, and thus his work would begin again. Helping people, getting himself into a mess he had no right to be in, trying to solve too many problems at once. Reaver sighed, felt an ache on his teeth, and groaned. All he had to do was warn the man in time and get out as soon as possible. Reaver could only hope everything would turn out smoothly.
|
|