d-leviathan

[d-leviathan]

Clock Is Ticking - Personal Pt. 2

72 hours to Blood Moon

He looks at the picture again. A young man killed in the most brutal way imaginable. And he’s seen crimes scenes like this before. Miles is no stranger to the horrors that come from living in Ashbourne. A vampire. He knows it had been the work of a vampire because of the amount of blood that had been drained from the bodies. How he ended up here, sitting outside this particular vampire’s home? Police work. Turns out that not even monsters can hide from the wonders of technology. He’s sitting behind his desk when he got the footage from the Miller’s security tape. No one else wanted to see it. No one else had the stomach to. So he did. Sat there and watched as this demon ripped through flesh and muscle. Screams of terror and horror on faces. A massacre. Miles felt sick to his stomach. It twisted and sank. And not even him, the watcher with the guts of steel, could stop the vomit from crawling up his throat. Reaching for the nearby trash can, he spilled scraps of his lunch and stomach acid.

Seems hard to believe, but arresting a vampire is not that easy. There should never be so much paperwork involved. Specially when there’s no doubt of who the culprit was. Perhaps this is where he fails. He tries to take matters into his own hands when it comes to these creatures. Because when he sees Andy’s head being severed from his body, all he can see is his Marie. And he knows that if arrested, the vampire would be trialed by the Council. He’d face vampire law and either end up incarcerated or burning in some hole moments after sunrise. And he can’t accept it. He makes a choice. He’s going to get him and kill him himself. But first, he needs to see him. Face him. Look into his eyes and watch him deny the whole thing. And that is why he is here. Sitting behind the wheel, holding a photograph, shaking and breathing heavily. He manages to gather his composure before knocking at his door and when he sees him, he knows that he wants this. Wants to make this vampire an example. Wants to tear that smirk right off his face with a butter knife and the fangs off his mouth.

“I’m on to you, vampire.”

42 hours to Blood Moon

He’s been following him. Following him as he visits his club. The vampire spends a lot of time in there. He makes notes of the people he interacts with. Vampires, mostly. He has a lover. A witch friend. Something she said makes him run out of Pandemonium in a haste and now he’s inside a building. Stays there for a few hours, then he’s off again. To a warehouse. Miles parks his car outside and waits. There is a sinking feeling in his gut now. And it’s only made worse when he sees the vampire step outside covered in blood. He’s calling someone, but he can’t hear what he’s saying. Sadly, he possesses no vampire hearing. Miles takes his gun, loads it with wooden bullets and steps out of the car. The cold breeze hitting his face makes the sweat on his brow feel like ice. Still on the phone. The Watcher moves slowly around the building, finding a small crawl space he can use to get inside. He finds him there. A man, strapped to a chair, blood covering every inch of his skin and clothes. Still alive.

“Hey, it’s going to be alright.” Voice low and reassuring. The victim is scared, trembling, looking at him with wide eyes that made his chest cave in. “I’m going to get you out of here.” Miles uses one of his knifes to break the ropes and untie him, lifts him up, and wraps one arm around him for support. His free arm holds the gun, and he aims ahead, ready to shoot at anything that might jump at him.

22 hours to Blood Moon

But that is life, right? One moment you’re standing there, shooting your gun at a shadow that moves too fast for your human eyes. And the next you’re waking up with blood dripping down your throat. Dizzy. Sick. Your heart pumping in your throat. Miles hears noises in the distance. It strikes him like a hand across the face– or maybe there really is someone slapping him– and his stomach sinks with dread as he is ripped back into the here-and-now. Malachi Thorn. He remembers now. He clenches his eyes shut, trying to get some of his consciousness back, but it isn’t doing jack. He tries to move his arms and legs, but the only result is a sickening jangle of chains. This is bad, this is so bad– as his thoughts are getting more and more lucid the situation he’s in feels more and more helpless. He’s in some dank and dusty building, tied up, and with a sadistic vampire. Sick bastard looked like a dog with a goddamn bone. A caustic mix of helplessness and fear wells up inside him, but Miles does his best to force it back down and not show any emotion. It’d be a flag to a bull.

“Where is he?” He has to know. The man he tried to save. At least he needs to know that he had saved him. That his stupid reckless behavior had saved someone. “Don’t worry, he’s gone. I don’t need him anymore. Besides, he has someone. And who am I to stand in the way of true love.” The vampire speaks but his words are so cold and full of sarcasm that makes his skin crawl. It felt like he was being pistol whipped across the face. This is his fault. His fault for wanting his revenge instead of seeking justice. “What do you want? Are you going to kill me?” Of course he is. The question is so stupid that he finds himself laughing moments after asking it. He wants to punch the vampire in the face, but he can barely move or breathe. Then the vampire speaks again, saying something about needing his heart, which doesn’t make sense. Then his thought is cut off as he sinks his teeth into his neck. Miles gasps with the bite, a fresh, searing pain there. All he can do is choke, hoping it would be over soon. His eyes fall close, consciousness leaving him, his last thought on who will find him.

The first few seconds of dying are the most terrifying. In that small amount of time, a million things take place. First, you panic. Automatically, your brain realizes you're suffocating, causing your breathing and heart rate to increase to a painfully fast speed. You feel the uncontrollable need to scream even when you know you won't be heard. Immediately after the panic attack, once the fear is set in, you get used to the idea of dying. The alerts your brain is sending out are discontinued and your mind begins to wander. Heart beat drastically decreases, breathing becomes slow and shallow. Your entire body relaxes and the prospect of death doesn't look so bad. It's almost inviting, soothing.

The last few moments are filled with silence. You take one last breath and your body and mind shut down as you slip off the edge of life and fall towards death.

Unless-

Your fall is interrupted

15 hours to Blood Moon

He’s so hungry. So, so hungry. And his skin feels like it’s catching fire. Liquifying from the inside. Everything hurts. Every nerve. Every muscle. His eyeballs are burning and he can feel the blood in his mouth. He wants to rip his flesh from his bones. “What is happening to me?” He knows the answer. He’s in transition. He’s turning. Into a vampire. No, please just let me die. The last thing he wants is to be one of them. He closes his eyes but he finds no comfort. He swears he can hear things. Voices. His daughter calling him in the distance. A coarse laughter pulling him. There’s a buzzing sound, like an insect has crawled inside his ear and is scratching his ear canal. And somewhere in that chaos he can hear him. Malachi. His voice sounds contorted. Like it has been put through a synthesizer. “Yeah, it hurts. Furorem blood can do that to you. Sorry mate, but I’m running out of time.”

Fuck! He can’t stand it. He wants to reach into his stomach and pull out his organs. His gums ache and he can feel his fangs there. And he’s screaming and wrenching and holding on his mid-section with both hands. “Please, make it stop.” Just make it stop. He doesn’t want this. He can’t. He knows that he won’t make it. He’d take a wooden stake and impale himself on it the first chance he gets.

But he won’t have such a choice.

He hears an echo. Marie telling him to come home. And Malachi’s hands cold against his face. His neck cracks and there’s darkness.

[d-leviathan]

Miles hadn't known exhaustion like it. He had been on life and death missions with less emotional strain than this experience. The Christmas Market experience. It’s the end of December and bitterly cold outside. He was bundled up in three layers of clothing beneath his coat, had a scarf wound around his neck, hat on to protect his ears and gloves to prevent the wintery wind from biting into his fingers. Other than that though, he was peachy keen. It was only barely 4pm, but the sun had already set. The whole street he was walking down was decorated with thousands of lights, being stuck to the old facades of the buildings lining the pedestrian walkway, or hanging in the form of falling stars right above his head. The sight paired with the historic town made Miles forget all about the being cursed part. 

There was even ice cream. How can people eat ice cream in this weather? Instead of ice cream he decided to try one of the pastries they had been selling and soon he was standing in line to buy a cinnamon pretzel and some eggnog. Trying to find a place to sit here was next to impossible so Miles walked over to a table taken by a woman who didn’t seem to have any company. Hoping he would not sound like a total creep to her, he smiled before asking - “Hi, mind if I sit here? Everything else is taken.”

@morningsmead

[d-leviathan]

Someone screamed loudly in the distance but Miles ignored it. The kids visiting the Christmas market had been shouting and screeching in excitement all day long. Truth was that he was on edge. Last year something happened that left a few people scarred for life. Events in Ashbourne were just as cursed as the town itself and the people in it. He knew that maybe he was just being paranoid and that perhaps this year was going to be different. He was inside a store buying a pair of gloves to replace the ones he had lost. There was another scream and some shouting that was slightly closer and both Miles and the attendant frowned toward the door. The people on the walkway were muttering uneasily and trying to see over each others heads. He accepted the bag with his purchase, although the attendant's attention was mostly on the people they could see outside. “Merry Christmas,” he said absently. Miles nodded, grabbed the bag and walked out of the store. 

He started walking, looking around and scanning all the faces in the crowd. Yes, he was prepared for shit hitting the fan. Gun inside his pocket. There would be very little he could do though if something supernatural jumped out of the bushes and started eating people. Even though he was a watcher he didn’t have that much power to fight against all the creepy creatures that lived in the woods. What was he supposed to do against a vampire when bullets didn’t do a damn thing? 

Eventually his peace was interrupted when someone called for him regarding an attempted robbery. Human stupidity, he could handle that. Miles approached the store where he found the owner of the magic shop. “Hi, I’m Miles. I just need to ask you a few questions if that’s alright?”

@ariafcwn

[d-leviathan]

willowxwispxrp‌:

He didn’t finish the sentence, but others had in the past. “Sad, I know,” she answered with a slight chuckle as she climbed into the passenger seat and buckled in. “It’s not like…the kinda sad you get when you’re missing something you used to have. Not a sharp pain. More like a slow soft ache you can forget about if you don’t think about it too hard, that feeling of knowing you’re missing out on it but having little in the way of words to describe it. Instead of feeling sad I just imagine all the places I’d go if I ever got out of here.” Her voice went dreamy, soft velvet at the edges, head back against the headrest. “Europe sounds the most interesting…I want to hit every country I can.” 

At the wistful blame tinted sound in Miles’ voice, Willow turned, quietly but her face impassioned as she put a hand on his shoulder. “Hindsight is a wicked beast. You had no way of knowing you were going to get trapped in a town with a bunch of monsters you didn’t think could exist. Don’t beat yourself up for not acting on knowledge there’s no way you could have had. The only purpose hindsight serves is to make us so busy lamenting the past that we freeze and stop acknowledging our present.” She pulled her hand back, not letting the touch linger in case Miles wasn’t the type that reacted well to contact. “We get out of this town ever, you can just come to Europe with me. We’ll have ourselves a grand adventure.” A wide toothy grin, her eyes lighting up, because in that moment she believed it, that it was a possibility tucked somewhere in the shadows of this town. “Home is good. It’s supposed to be my day off, my coworkers will murder me if I walk into the library today. Besides I’ve got some cleaning up to do…had a bit of poltergeist trouble that Father Benjamin just cleared up for me. My kitchen is in need of a hell of a lot of elbow grease.”

Sometimes he wished he could have chose a different path. Travel more. Maybe he’d still be married. The job he had chosen was hard, dangerous, and often ugly. Yet Miles never faltered, often putting in sixty hours a week—it would have been more, but the captain utterly drew the line there, saying that the work was dangerous enough without sleep deprivation making his officers clumsy to boot. He found a way to make his hours off-duty matter, anyway—he spent the time at home reviewing his textbooks, committing helpful information to memory, testing himself constantly. And once a month, he submitted an official query, in writing, about the job as a watcher. He didn’t like the word workaholic or obsessed, but he was beginning to think that there was no other way of describing it. And it did make him feel bad that he never appreciated the world around him when he was able to. “My wife - ex wife” He corrected himself rather quickly. “She always wanted to go to Paris. I was always too busy with work. One case led to another. She’s living there now.” 

Miles started to drive as Willow spoke of her life and what she wanted to do. “Yeah, would be nice to go. If we ever get out of here, that’s the plan. Eurotrip.” It was good to dream, he guessed. “You had a poltergeist? Those things are so nasty.” Not that he had experienced one himself but he was once in a house with one and it wasn’t a walk in the park. “I’d offer to help but - I’m on the clock.” Her house wasn’t far and it wasn’t long before he was pulling into her drive way. “Listen, take this.” Miles handed her a card with his number on it. “That’s my cell number. Anything comes up you call me, alright?”

All We Have is Ritual

[d-leviathan]

willowxwispxrp‌:

Willow could count on one hand the number of times she’d seen Miles outside of the Watch Station. She wondered if in his life before, he’d been the type to take days off. It was understandably impossible in Ashbourne. Even if he wasn’t  clocked in this was a small town and everyone viewed him as law, as someone to run to when something was wrong, as someone responsible for providing some small semblance of safety. It must have been hard from him…first dealing with the monstrous things people could do to one another, and then coming here and find monsters within monsters. She’d been told that outside this town creatures were made of nightmares and bedtime stories, they were treated as makebelieve. She wondered if she was somehow better off than the outsiders in the world, having grown up as prepared to engage with a werewolf as a human.

His casual voice sounded rusty with disuse, like he was either not used to being asked questions that presumed he was a person made of more things than being a safety vest for the townspeople, or he was simply uncomfortable speaking about his life before. Willow wanted to press but didn’t want to press all at the same time. Miles was one of the few people in town she hadn’t pressured for stories of his life outside. She felt the oddest fear about it, like even asking would break him into a thousand pieces and she didn’t want to be responsible for breaking someone with such kind, sad eyes. She could talk enough for them both, she decided. “My family is one of the oldest human lineages in town,” she answered with a nod. “Probably not hard to believe that a lot of human families don’t make it past a few generations, this town isn’t kind to us and our skin isn’t as thick as some of the other species. But my family has been around for a long time. My brother is…the first person we’ve lost in about four generations.” She didn’t want to linger back on that subject though. “It’s why I like working at the library so much. People bring me their stories…the untrue ones they remember and the true ones they want to share, and I copy them down and for a second I feel like I’m anywhere other than Ashbourne. Yesterday I transcribed a story that was set in Italy…gosh what a beautiful city that sounds like. Have you ever been?”

Was this all he knew? Work and work and no play? He supposes, when he took the time to think about it, that it was the environment in which he had grown. Home for Troubled Teens where he’d gone into right after his mother’s death, the home sponsored by the church where she had attended mass faithfully every week, toting little Miles along with her, wasn’t so bad. The dog-eat-dog dynamic wasn’t as pronounced as he’d find it later in the foster system, not with the severe Sisters watching over them with the constant reminders that Jesus expected them to love one another. Still, there was no shortage of bigger kids picking on little ones, sometimes to the point of really hurting them, and as little as he was, it was there that Miles took up the habit of fighting bullies. It was a habit that got him expelled from temporary homes over and over again. It bothered him a little as a teenager, the way he seemed incapable of developing relationships with people, but eventually, he let it go. It wasn’t that he didn’t care about people—he did, he really did. He just was only capable of caring from a distance. Which was an understanding that actually helped him determine his career path.

As a child, Miles himself wasn’t much for getting in actual legal trouble outside of his boyhood skirmishes, but he certainly had foster siblings that were, so he had plenty of opportunity to observe police officers at work. The good ones embodied his drive to protect those weaker than himself. The bad ones—and there were plenty of bad ones—were, in his eyes, bullies who would best be dealt with by someone their own size. He wanted to be more than just a cop, though. He never thought about it in such sentimental terms, but… he knew there were hundreds, thousands, even, of people out there who desperately needed help, people that the system had given up on or overlooked—people like the little kids at his foster homes who got their faces shoved into brick walls every day on the way home from school. Miles could help those people. People like Willow Forsyth and her brother. Whether it was his personality, the patently unboyish solemnity and the willingness to fight back that seemed to repel would-be attackers, or whether it was something less logical, he knew he was designed to help. Once he found a purpose, he encountered not a single quandary that was a match for him. But fuck, he was not prepared for the truth. For the supernatural. For Ashbourne. The fact that someone could have been born here and would die here without knowing anything else was depressing. “That’s - “ So sad. He didn’t want to say that and offend her. “I’ve never been to Italy. Never went anywhere other than Boston and L.A. Feel stupid now, being trapped here. How you take things for granted, you know? Could’ve gone to all those places but chose not to.” He jumped in the car and waited for her to get in to start the engine. “Where to? Home or work?”

All We Have is Ritual

[d-leviathan]

offeralnature‌:

“I was just pissed, and then they pissed me off more.” Again, Marshall’s fault for antagonizing it but he wasn’t just going to outright admit it. This whole town was pissing him off and the situation he was in now was bothering him more and more. Turns out he wasn’t going to be able to get by in this town like a shadow like he had ultimately planned till he made his escape. He watches the other for a moment as he leans back more comfortably in the passenger seat. “Ya know, don’t let me tell you what your job is or anything but I feel like, with the experience I have, that its a bad idea to let someone lounge in your passenger seat when you’ve arrested them. I’m pretty sure most people would actually take to hitting ya to get out.”

Not that Marshall had any thought in doing that, in fact, he was actually the most relaxed he’d felt in a while. He was actually wanting to sleep on their way to where ever the fuck the dude was taking him and just enjoy the ride and hopefully the peace and quiet he was going to get. After the ghost boy in his home, Marshall had been having a hard time falling asleep. Every time he would close his eyes he would hear the giggle and suddenly be up and ready to move again. He needed to get out of that house. He’s been more than ready to get out after that night and buying a home in Ashbourne wasn’t as hard as one would think, he has steady pay and its so weird to have his pockets full of cash. It makes him wonder what this town is really doing to him. Besides the obvious intrusion of ghosts and entrapment, he’s starting to think this town is forcing him to settle down. He hates that. Its been far too long since he’s had a home of his own. He was sure he’s never had one again. 

“Not that I’m planning on doing anything like that I just feel like you should be more careful.”

Twenty-nine year-old detectives were not the norm. It took a lot of drive, a lot of persistence. Something Miles had in generous measure. Now at thirty-seven, his patience was running thinner and thinner. To the point where he wondered if he was still up for the job. He wasn’t a detective here, but a watcher. Still, job as the same. He didn’t always know that he wanted to make detective—hell, for a long time, he didn’t even know he wanted to be in law enforcement. He was what social workers liked to call “troubled,” though he wouldn’t agree with that descriptor even then. At least, no more than any pubescent kid. Different, sure, but he wasn’t exactly drowning kittens and picking on the littler kids. Quite the opposite, really.

Miles couldn’t pinpoint the exact moment when he’d become committed to law and order. His parents weren’t murdered by some fluke of the parole system (his dad had never been around; his mom died of a particularly aggressive strain of lung cancer when he was six—of course, it didn’t help that she could barely make rent on her waitress’s wages, let alone medical bills). He wasn’t abused (at least, no more than was normal for foster parents before he grew tall enough to make them think twice about dealing out casual swats) or molested, though he knew kids who had been. Even as a child, Miles emanated something that made it clear that he was no one’s prey. Quite the opposite, really. Now, for some reason, this kid, reminded him of himself at that age. Young and volatile. 

“Yeah?” He added with a chuckle as he turned on the engine. “Well, I have a gun so I’d advice you not to try anything. I’m trusting that you won’t. Don’t make me regret it.” Maybe he still had some patience after all. He started the car, but didn’t get very far before the engine completely died on him. He tried to start it - nothing. Fuck. “You, stay.” He pointed at the passenger he had and then jumped out of the car to pop open the hood and check the engine. “Are you fucking with me?” The whole thing was toast. As if someone - something had fried it from the inside. 

Yes, officer?

[d-leviathan]

willowxwispxrp‌:

She managed the barest of smiles as she took in the final drugs of tea from her cup. “I guess I’m no more a pain in your butt than Mrs. Robinson,” she answered, voice a cross between playful teasing and sober sympathy. “I’ve been dealing with those dreams since I was born…but even I can admit that this last one was …a whole nother level.” Willow hesitated when Miles insisted on taking her home. Did she look that fragile and incapable or did he really really need an excuse to get out from behind the desk, to be able to see a task from beginning to end? Either way she supposed it would be pointless to try and argue a second time.

She rose, body protesting, feeling heavy and leaden as she left her empty teacup behind. Hopefully the secretary didn’t terrible mind cleaning up after her. God how much tea did the station go through trying to soothe bereaved citizens? “Alright,” she answered, about a minute too late to be a fitting response to Miles’ words. She fell into step behind him, following him to the car. Most people were drawn to working at the station to replace all the lost order and chaos that could overtake the town at any given moment. But Miles moved with such a surety she got the feeling this work was in his dna. “Is this what you did before Ashbourne?” she asked, voice cautious, so he knew he didn’t have to answer if he didn’t want to.

“She’s a unique case.” He added to her comment, giving her a smile in the process. Sometimes he worried that he talked too much like a cop. Not that unusual. He was a cop, after all—Even if he wasn’t called cop here but - watcher. The jargon was pretty much the same. He found himself employing the familiar phrases even off the clock. I hear you. I understand what you’re saying. Here’s what I need you to do for me. Okay? You understand what I’m telling you? Everything’s under control. All phrases trained into a cop, designed to reassure, to control, to establish authority over the situation at hand. He supposed it was inevitable that they would eventually bleed into what little personal life he has. He spent so much time on the job that his work self was more his real self than the person he was at home, alone in his shitbox apartment. Besides, he’d never been much good at talking to people. “Brusque” was a word that social workers frequently used on their reports about him even in his childhood—and when it wasn’t that, it was “quiet,” though that was something of an understatement. Put it this way: if he were a doctor, his beside manner would be atrocious. Probably even horrifying. He wasn’t a sociopath. He felt empathy, too much of it, even, but he never learned how to express it—and even if he’d known how, there was no one to express it to. When he was a child, a teenager, the weight of it all would inevitably manifest in silent, destructive rages, but that almost never happened anymore. The cop talk helped. Now it was just the silence. Though the phrases might sound stiff to some—unconcerned, impersonal—for him, they’re a useful tool. Didn’t mean he didn’t try to sound more human sometimes. Specially with people he sympathized with. for the past few weeks, he’d grown rather fond of her. Her insistence. Her bravery. Her refusal to lose hope and give up. It was a strength that often times went unnoticed and under appreciated.

He was glad to hear that she had agreed to be accompanied back to her place. Things were not exactly safe around here and he didn’t want her to end up getting lost too. They walked in silence for a while until she broke it with a question. “Uhm, yeah. I was a cop back home.” his car was parked right in front of the station so they didn’t have to walk very far. “And you? You were born here, right? I think I read that in your file.”

All We Have is Ritual

[d-leviathan]

shifterpoirier‌:

Brooklyn was the type to make friends with everyone in town.  She sought people out, and loved when they were just as welcoming to her as she was to them.  This was why she was so confused.  As far as she knew, she didn’t have any enemies in Ashbourne… or anywhere else for that matter.  She had no idea why anyone would try and break into her place.  There were some sketchy people in the small town, but she had no idea why they would target her.  It wasn’t as if she or the gallery had anything of extreme value.

It scared her, when she came in to find several things missing and the furniture overturned. It gave her flashbacks to the home intrusion from her teen years.  She was able to fare just fine on her own there, but that was where ninety percent of the population was human and not aware of shapeshifters’ existence.  It was quite the opposite here.  It had been a while since then, and there were no other break in attempts so she was starting to feel safer.  She had to shut down the gallery for a day or two while she collected her thoughts and the watchers collected evidence.  Thankfully, she reopened as soon as possible.

A man walked through the door, and Brooklyn looked up at the chime.  He seemed official, just by the way he stood.  “This is she.” She smiled and gave a small shrug, putting the ledger under the desk. “What can I do for you?”

The last time he was here was to investigate a breaking and entering. He had, in fact, spoken with Miss. Poinier, so he really couldn’t explain how he’d forgotten what she looked like. Maybe because for the last few days he’s been focusing on murder victims and having sleepless nights. Maybe it was affecting his memory. Really, he had no excuse. A cop with memory loss was pretty darn useless. “Of course.” He was not going to admit that he was having some temporary amnesia when it came to her physical appearance. “I’m Detective Jackson. We spoke a few weeks ago about someone breaking into your gallery and stealing one of the paintings.” A very specific painting too. It wasn’t from a famous artist and it didn’t have a lot of value, and yet someone had taken the effort to break in and steal it. The painting was of a young woman standing next to a tree. The tree’s roots expanded out of the portrait and the woman had no face. Actually, it was one of the creepiest things he’d seen and he could not imagine that someone would want to hang it in their house. 

“I was just in the neighborhood-” Lies. “And I thought about coming in and following up on your case. Has there been any disturbance lately?” Miles was certain that the answer would be no. Had there been any disturbance he was certain that someone would have called the Watch Station. 

[d-leviathan]

willowxwispxrp‌:

She’d spent most of her life in Ashbourne finding other things to spend her energy on. To give as much warmth and positive energy and purpose to her existence as possible. But right now the thought of it made her feel so very weary…resume her life with a gaping hole in it, try to go about a day without feeling the guilt and the sorrow and the anger roiling around her insides. This town was her home but it had taken from her…taken someone good and quiet who never got in the way or made waves. Where else did she focus her energy? On the family that wanted nothing to do with her? On the townsfolk who could barely hold themselves together let alone bare the weight of her grief?

The tea was more welcomed than she realized. Willow gripped the cup and didn’t wait for it to cool, let it scald her tongue and the back of her throat just a little, just enough to let her pretend that the moisture in her eyes was just because of the heat. Miles was good at his job, he had a way of riding that line between professional detachment and feeling like a trustworthy and familiar adviser. She knew he was right…of course he was right. “It sucks how everything is so much easier said than done,” she murmured. The silence had been nice…she could have just sat quietly, a nick nack on his desk, and found solace in just not being alone. But when he offered to drive her home, Willow shifted in her seat. “I don’t want to be any more of a pain in your butt than I already am….you don’t have to do that. My feet aren’t the thing that’s broken. Sounds like your day is already busy enough. Bad dreams put everyone on edge.”

He was’t sure if he was good at this part of his job anymore. The comforting victims or families of victims. He often times felt like it wasn’t helping at all. How could it? Words were often times meaningless, right? Then again, people needed to hear that someone cared. They even wanted to be lied to. Wanted for someone to tell them everything would be okay even when it was obvious that it wasn’t. Perhaps that’s why he felt like he failed at this. Because he didn’t like to lie and give people false hope. That, in Miles opinion, was far worse than the truth. He watched her grab the mug in her hands and take small sips of the tea. Was not sure if it would help her but he’d learned through experience that it often provided some alleviation. Her posture changed a bit after his offer and he nodded when she rejected it, explaining her reasons why. “I assure you, you are not a pain my butt.” He spoke, giving her a smile and hoping that his words would lighten the mood a little. Everything had been so dreary lately. “The dreams are making people anxious and scared. It’s normal.” 

Miles sighed, getting to his feet and grabbing his coat. “C’mon. I was on my way out anyway. I assure you it’s no trouble. I’d rather make sure you get home safely so - you’ll be doing me a favor, alright?” He opened the desk to grab his keys, badge and gun. He reached for the phone to page the secretary again to tell her he was going to be heading out. That if anything were to happen they could reach him on his phone. 

All We Have is Ritual

[d-leviathan]

Almost everyone looked at Miles like he was an enigma or some other form of unsolvable mystery. No one knew much about him at work outside of Florence, the Medical Examiner, and people didn’t really care for her that much either. They only knew what they saw, which was work ethic, a strong almost terrifying mind, and lots and lots of anger. Anger in spades! Rage wasn’t a strong enough term for the anger he owned. It emanated off him like heat off macadam in the summer sun. It was mostly a testament to his private personal internal mental and emotional pain, but he’d never tell them that. Two other detectives eyed him from the broom closet they’d fashioned a break room out of. Their stares were cold and biting. He walked straight past them to his desk and flipped open one of the files on his desk.  Long fingers flipped open all of the files and had them arranged side by side by side in chronological order of when the person was found deceased. There had to be a clue here, something he was missing within these pages that gave him more to go on. 

Miles almost never went home when he was on a case, just to shower and most times, if that. Most often other cops or people from town would catch him sleeping in his car; and that was when he slept at all. Recharged or not, he was always on duty on a case…“Jackson, forensics is sending up their report on the DNA evidence collected at the overdoses along with their findings on other samples.” One of the older detectives called over.“Thanks, Harry.” Well, at least that was a step in the right direction. He knew that often times a step forward meant two steps back. He was still looking at files when he found one that was misfiled. No death had happened but it had been a break at the Gallery.  Brooklyn Poirier. It dawned to him that he never made a formal follow up with her case and so he decided to take the drive there and pay her a visit. Miles needed the distraction anyway. Took him about 20 minutes to get there and walk inside the Gallery towards the welcome desk. “Morning, Im looking for Miss Poirier?”

@shifterpoirier

[d-leviathan]

The lights of the street were dark; the bulbs under the metal hoods had been shot out weeks ago, merely seven hours after the town had them replaced. The cherry end of a cigarette burned in the pitch blackness of the alley in the shelter of a navy blue Ford Escort. Miles sat in the dark with that lit cigarette, dragging deeply off it and making it burn brighter. The windows were all rolled up and the doors were locked down, glass tinted black; nothing was getting in there with him and likewise, the smoke wasn’t getting out. It was good that he enjoyed the lonesome sound of silence and the smell of burned tobacco and clove. He enjoyed the burn on his tongue that the clove cigarettes left; the Marlboros he used to crave long since left in the past. He watched the transaction across the street from the protection of that dark vehicle. He’d been the one to call it in but he was waiting for the gang’s upper members to arrive. “Come on, get on with it” He muttered to himself, smoke curling out of his nose and puffing out of his mouth, clove tingling his tongue. Two hours later and nothing. Fuck. What a waste of night. 

He had started the engine and started to drive away when he saw something that caught his eye. A fight. Bloody one. Miles didn’t feel like intervening but his night was already a massive failure so he figured he should arrest someone tonight. So he parked his car, made his way towards the boys and stopped the altercation. One of them was already on the ground, semi conscious. The other was still standing and so he cuffed him and pushed him against the car. The ride towards The Watch Station would be short so he just tossed him in the passenger seat. “The night for now. We’ll see if I feel like releasing you in the morning. What were you guys fighting about anyway?”

Yes, officer?

@d-leviathan

“Ya know its been a long time since I’ve been arrested.” He wasn’t lying, Marshall hadn’t been arrested since he was a teenager. Which seemed like a long time ago, damn he was only 28, maybe Ashley did have it right calling him an old man cause he was starting to think like one there for a second. He was going to live a lot longer than two decades, he needs to hold back the old man talk. Instead, he focused on trying to pay attention to the world around him after having his head knocked around by some assholes he was fighting not too long ago.

Marshall had been basically vibrating, probably looking for trouble which is why he was probably to blame for starting the fight. All it took was someone bumping into him to set him off. Another wolf no less, it was a pretty fun fight but they attracted the law here in Ashbourne. But not before either combatant beat the other to a pulp, which was why half of Marshall’s face was basically bruised and he was slightly dazed. Not a concussion he knows what those are like and Marshall’s almost disappointed cause he thinks the guy was holding himself back. Rude. But in all honesty, and here’s what most would consider is bad and he should talk to someone about it, is that he feels ten times calmer than he has since he first appeared in town.

“You gonna lock me up for the night or we gonna have a talk or somethin?” He asks, not that he cares but if the dude pressing charges on him Marshall would like to know what he’s in for. 

[d-leviathan]

willowxwispxrp‌:

It felt odd being called Miss Forsyth…a grownup professional title that seemed a painful contrast to how small and unsure and childish she felt in the moment. Rowan had been quiet, studious, mature beyond his years, not the type to go party at The Cloud, or venture into the woods on a bet. Willow was beginning to brew an idea that some of these disappearances weren’t really sad consequences to reckless behavior, but instead were planned and aggressive kidnappings. She remembered sitting down and trying to explain what her brother’s face had looked like to the first watchman on the scene. He’d seemed not quite awake…not quite there, not aware of what he was doing as he pushed through brush reacting to some sound that she hadn’t been able to hear. He’d been lured, he’d been tricked, he’d been helpless and so had she and now she was stuck in a state of open mouthed soul shuddering immobility.

A tear streaked down her cheek. It wasn’t the first time she’d heard these words, and Miles presented them with more kindness than some did. “I feel like if I stop coming here…if I stop asking…it’s me saying he doesn’t matter…that it’s okay that he’s just filtering out of this town like he was never a part of it.” A shaky inhale, a shakier exhale, her eyes closed for a moment and then opened again to take in the tired man before her. “I know you can only look for so long…I know there’s a million impossible problems and heartaches and fears that you’re asked to combat on any given day. Don’t take my showing up here as a question of your work ethic, Miles. It’s just…it’s the only thing I can do to fight for him, to remember that he’s not here, that he’s missing. I don’t know if i can stop and still be able to get out of bed in the morning.”

He used to be a lot more optimistic. That was before his daughter died and his wife left him. Before he was fired for being “crazy”. Before he realized just how fucked the world really was. True, it used to be simpler. You came across some sick psychopath and called it a day. You could experience the worst that humanity had to offer and even begin to feel apathetic towards it. Miles had stopped squirming when he stumbled upon dead bodies. And then he learned the truth. That fairytale monsters were real and that no one was doing a damn thing to stop them. At least that it what it looked like from where he was standing. He’d learn about hunters later but during the time around his daughter’s murder he believed that these creatures were unstoppable. Detective Jackson lived for his job and it was known to all those around him that he slept only to recharge his mental faculties, never for relaxation or sloth. Still, it was getting harder in harder with so much stuff going on. Cases like Rowan Forsyth’s disappearance made him restless. He really had wanted to find him and give her the good news. He wanted her morning to be different. One of happiness instead of the constant disappointment.

“I understand.” Of course he did. When Marie disappeared he never stopped looking for her. Even when they told him he should give up. Of course, he was too late to get to her and he was probably too late to get to him now. “Please, have a seat.” He moved towards the phone, pressed the button that called out to the secretary. “Can you bring Miss Forsyth a cup of tea, please.” There was some silence in the room as they waited for the tea to arrive and it took several minutes after for him to finally speak. “I don’t think you should give up. But - I do think coming here every day is doing more harm than good. Find other things to focus your energy on. I promise you that if something comes up I will call you right away.” He watched her, trying to find some way to comfort her but ending up with nothing. There was no comfort. “You walked here, right? I can drive you home. Make sure you get there safe.”

All We Have is Ritual

[d-leviathan]

willowxwispxrp‌:

Not that Willow was judging, but Miles always looked like he was about 8 hours short of a good night’s sleep. He had that weary soul, tired down to the bone look about him and she hadn’t yet decided whether she thought it was because he burnt himself out caring too much or burnt himself out fighting not too care too much. Both paths were equally exhausting and likely to cause dark spots under the eyes. Of course he looked doubly worse today, and the sight of him made her body give a shudder, as if to remind her that she didn’t feel all that well today either.

Every day she was told the same, and yet every day she started out with hope in her eyes. Every day it wasn’t till she was face to face with some overworked peacekeeper and heard the words we don’t have anything to report, and then she deflated like a balloon, small sound caught in her throat, hands wringing in her lap. “Okay,” came the instinctive, heartbroken answer, even though none of this was okay. “What’s the…um…the rate…history wise…of there being something to report once someone goes missing? Has there…has anyone ever been found? It has to have had happened once or twice…I mean…well…it just did happen, with Gabrielle at the vigil. If she’s still alive than maybe my brother…” She trailed off and swallowed hard. It wasn’t fair to make all her grief and all her fearful hopes his responsibility, but she couldn’t help herself.

Miles knew that he needed to be just a little bit more understanding towards people and their problems. And for the most part, he was. He wanted to be able to solve every crime and close every case that came across his desk but that was not the reality. An unfortunate truth. This was the worst part of his job. The discouraged faces. Miles could see all of the hope vanish from her eyes when he told her that he had nothing. Perhaps if they were somewhere else things would be different. Ashbourne was a small town with the habit of swallowing people whole. The majority of the disappearances were the result of people ignoring the warnings. Do not go into the woods. Do not go swimming in the lake. Do not go into the cemetery at night. Wasn’t right to blame the victims but in some cases there was no way around it. They should’ve known better. Miles wondered if her brother had been one of those individuals with fake bravado and a reckless nature. She started to talk. A voice so small and mournful that Miles felt his own throat tighten. 

“Miss Forsyth - “He paused, straightening himself on his chair and clearing his dry throat. “We are doing everything we can to find your brother.” Her questions bothered him. Mostly because he had no fucking clue how Gabriele just happened to show up at the vigil. Specially because he had run out of places to look. Not only that, but they were running out of resources too. How do you tell a family member that you have to stop looking for their loved one because they can’t afford to waste time and they needed to focus on something else? “I’m going to be honest with you, alright? The chances of finding a missing person gets slimmer and slimmer each day. Is it possible that he might show up someday? Maybe. This town - can surprise you. But, you have to start considering the possibility that your brother might not come back.”

All We Have is Ritual

[d-leviathan]

Wasn’t easy to be a cop in Ashbourne. A place where people went missing on a daily basis and where all sort of strange things happened before breakfast. Magic rituals, vampire attacks, werewolf bites. Not to mention the calls they got from people complaining of poltergeist activity at their house. Like today. The call came from Mrs. Robinson- again. “I understand, ma’am. I’ve told you before that we don’t handle this type of situation. You need to contact an exorcist. Have you tried Father Benjamin? He’s very good.” He was starting to get a headache so he removed his glasses and pressed the bridge of his nose with his fingers. “Yes, I know he’s pricey but he is the best option you have if you want to get rid of whatever is haunting your house.” This went on for twenty minutes. And he knew she would be calling tomorrow around the same time. After hanging up, Miles rested back on his chair and turned on his computer screen. Files upon files of reports that he was supposed to comb through today. “Louise! Can you grab me some coffee, please?” The secretary was a useless woman but she did make good coffee.

There he was, busy reading, when she came in. “Miss Forsyth.” He greeted here but remained seated. Frankly, he was far too tired to be courteous. Nightmares did that. Nightmares of dying trees and a lot of soul sucking. Just like everyone else in town, Miles was exhausted. This had happened before but it had never been a collective thing. People were in a mass hysteria about it. Those were another set of calls that gave him migraines. His eyes looked at the brownies and he smiled softly. “Please, take a seat. You’re here about you brother, right? We don’t have anything to report.” Miles didn’t want to discourage her but he knew that the chances of him being found at this stage was slim. 

All We Have is Ritual

@d-leviathan

It wasn’t that she particularly sought to bother one Miles Jackson more than anyone else that worked at the Watch Station. It was just that Miles had the unfortunate habit of tending to be on duty when her schedule offered her time to pop over. She wondered if it eased the annoyance at all that she usually brought fresh baked goods from The Mix-Up with her, but even if it didn’t she wasn’t going to stop. Like clockwork she’d shown up every day since her brother’s disappearance. Had anyone heard anything, seen anything, found his backpack or his favorite pair of eggplant colored shoes? She had no body to bury, no certainty to trigger the grieving process in earnest. All she had was ritual, and she supposed that was true for most of the town. All any of them had was the ritual of existence they’d built, trying to find tiny moments of purpose between the sweat soaked nightmares and the worry that your neighbor loved one might be the next one to go missing in the woods.

There was no doorbell to cheerfully announce her arrival, but she found Miles at the desk, sorting through enough incident reports and sightings and complaints and concerns to wallpaper the largest house in town ten times over. “Busy day?” she greeted, eyeing the piles of paperwork and seeing the same extra bought of exhaustion in his eyes as she knew was weighing down her own limbs. When nightmares hit the whole town at once things got a little crazy at The Watch. Paranoia and lack of real rest…bubbled together with fear had people seeing Hellhounds in their ovens and turning on their neighbors with panicked suspicion. “They’re double chocolate,” she continued, pointing to the brownies. “Figured everyone could use an extra pick me up.”

[d-leviathan]

lucacblackburn‌:

Usually, Luca only worked around the mill, but tonight he was actually behind the bar. He didn’t really like to be here, mostly because he had to talk to people. How pathetic was that? The last few days in itself had been rather heavy, mostly because of the losses his friends had suffered and he didn’t really enjoy to see those he did care for hurt. The bar hadn’t exactly been crowded but more people than usual had been inside and had a drink or two. Maybe all these deaths were making people worried about themselves or they just needed a little juice to get through the day.

Luca stood with his back turned as someone asked for a tap. He turned and found one of the towns police officers. He’d never been arrested while in Ashbourne, how he didn’t really know but he bet it had something to do with him either covering his tracks or honestly doing nothing at all. Luca nodded at the man before drafting the beer and placing it before him. “Four bucks.” he murmured under his breath as he studied the man. He looked tired, perhaps even more tired than what he usually did and that was a sight for sore eyes. He knew there was a lot of shit going down lately and it seemed it was taking its toll on everyone, not just those involved but the whole town. “Rough couple of weeks?” he blurted out without thinking about it. Might as well start a conversation.

Contrary to popular belief, Miles wasn’t an alcoholic. He didn’t spend endless nights bar hoping or returning home inebriated. Yes, there was a dark time in his life were he had fallen off the deep end, but who could have blamed him? Wife left him, daughter dead. Of course he’d have a nervous breakdown. Add that to the fact that the things responsible were monsters straight from some fairytale. No one believed him and painted him as some deranged lunatic. Poor Detective Jackson, lost his marbles. Can’t trust him to do his job anymore. Of there was a positive thing he could say about Ashbourne was that everyone here was on the same boat. Denial at first but eventually they all were forced to come to terms with the fact that creatures were real. Say goodbye to the antidepressants cause you ain’t in Kansas no more. Still, there were moments, specially after staring at the corpse of a kid on a metal table, when he needed to wash down the bile in his throat with a nice cold one. 

“Jesus.” Four bucks for one beer? This place was getting ridiculous. Still better than New York prices but still. Miles reached for his wallet, taking some bills out and handing them to the man in front of him. “Give or take a few months.” He added. Years was more like it. Did he look rough around the edges? Dark circles gave away the sleepless night bending over paperwork and files of unsolved cases, including his daughter’s. He reached for the beer, taking a long sip from it. Foam sticking to his upper lip for a few moments before he licked it with his tongue. “You got some of those peanuts?”

[d-leviathan]

porcelainfxngs‌:

The curvature of her jaw grew sharper with the effortless smile that bloomed in the course of his irritation, of course she didn’t mind, there was very little she could think of that she did, the air of nonchalance that followed the blonde around like her own shadow nothing that she so willingly chose to shake off. It suited her just fine. “Not in the least, why, do you?” The slight clink of the fork as she dropped it back against his plate barely an afterthought at this point. There was always something to be said for irritating mortals, even more so those that already seemed stuck tumbling through a riptide of sharp edged comments with bright penchant for the depths of self loathing. Anne only wondered if that was what she could feel emanating from every pore of Miles’ flesh, or if her being so vibrant in such a dull moment outside was what bothered him. Either way suited her just fine. “A great many things, would you like the spark notes or a fully alphabetized list?”  Other than the obvious, her affinity for the cutting tone he used, she truthfully had dire need for nothing at all. “Hunting? Who needs to hunt in a place like this. Easy pickings, right off the street. Is that why I’m here?” She laughed, quietly but no less filled with humor as she looked him over slowly, the predatory gaze that she all too often tainted with charm drew a manicured brow to a high point. “Which blood type are you?” It didn’t matter, she canted her head slightly as she paused, “Because really, that’ll make or break it for me.”

“I can’t argue with that. I just figure you enjoyed the chase.” Pathetic. Honestly, what was wrong with people? Every time he saw someone from the Immortal Brigade he wanted to vomit. And there it was. Her laughter again. So cold and dismissive. He could never understand these creatures nor did he want to try. And he knew that when she looked at him she only saw him as an insignificant creature. A bug she could crush with a wave of the hand. The fact that she didn’t? Maybe taunting him was entertaining for her. Or maybe it just wasn’t worth her time. All he could think about when he looked at her was Marie. Her face, pale and dead. He imagined her screaming in pain and the vampires who murdered her laughing as they choked with her blood. The sickening feeling in his gut was burning a hole and he didn’t know how to stop it. “Now why would I share that type of information?” He laughed, taking another drink of the coffee. “I was not aware you creatures had a preference? Isn’t blood - just blood?”

[d-leviathan]