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wolfgang taggert.

He couldn’t handle this, any of this. The perpetual feeling like he was still travelling, like his feet weren’t on the ground. He wasn’t fully locked into this reality in which he really belonged. Images, flashes of something else, kept slipping into his mind, and his hands wouldn’t stop shaking. So he steadied them with a bottle of vodka, until the spinning had a reason to be there, until his hands and head had a reason to shake. He wondered if anyone knew he was missing. Another swallow of the liquor as he shook his head. He stepped onto the railing of the bridge, staring at the water below. One hand on the railing, the other around a bottle of liquor. Madness or drunk bravery had him wondering if he could travel before he hit the water. 

Jo could still feel it, the spinning head, the pounding temples, and the blood dripping from her ears after she’d returned to the liminal space, the burning in her lungs. It’d felt like taking a dive from a high spot but not getting back to the surface fast enough; it felt like drowning. 

     Where is Wolfgang? The question kept coming back. They found him at the pier. No, where was he now?

    Her legs were aching by the time she reached the bridge. It was a peculiar location, but nonetheless, her heart flooded with relief as they spotted the silhouette standing on the railings.  She knew it - it’d be both stupid and useless to try argue that them being pulled back had not been Jo’s fault. All that messing, all those changes, all those effects, and out of six, she’d been the one who had messed up with the timelines at such magnitude. That man had it right -- she was a petulant child, through and through.

    “ Hey, Wolfgang ! ” she called as loud as her voice managed. The scent of liquor could be perceived from over where she stood? “ What the hell are you doing ? ”

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pippa morgan.

She’d been having a bad day that was only going from bad to worse as she made her way to Siren’s Blood for her next shift. She was idly wiping the counter, ignoring the chatter of her colleagues around her and desperate for the clock to roll around so she could get the fuck out of there again when she sensed someone nearby. Without looking up from where she was still wiping the counter, she sighed softly as she tried to put on some form of a customer service persona on. “What can I get you?”

Jo had never been on to stay put for long. She was constantly on the move, for it’d be a matter of time before she got too fed up with the location. Luckily, New Orleans was still fairly new. As much as she hated to admit it, Guillermo had done a good job creating the space, so much that there were still corners of it she’d yet to see. 

     With restlessness weighing down on her and shift of her own just recently over and done with, she headed for the first open establishment she spotted along the street. It seemed cozy ( or at least it would, after a couple drinks ) and it wasn’t entirely empty, so it fulfilled her already-low expectations. Taking off her jacket and tying it around her waist, the young woman walked up to the counter and claimed one of the available seats. “ I had this drink once, I don’t really remember what it was called. It was green-ish and I think it started with a P . . .  ” she said, trying to supress the smile creeping up her face. She was familiar with how annoying this was to bartenders, and hoped the other got the joke. “ I’m kidding, ” Jo chuckled. “ I’ll have a rum and coke. ”

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guillermo santiago.

Perhaps if he had slept at home, in that apartment above his shop that was home and not at the same time, that would have been enough. Not likely though, he hardly was known to be the most attentive person and when he slept, he slept like he had been clubbed. ‘MURDERER’ was the largest word scrawled across the front of the plate glass windows, along with a few other slurs that made him curl his lip in disgust. Those words didn’t hurt him much anymore, but they weren’t what he wanted to see written in front of his eyes in…was that paint or blood? He had just leant in to test it with his fingers when he heard someone approach, and he whirled to face them. “Can I help you?” He said, his tone far from customer service best. “I’m a little…we open at 9.”

Jo kept her arms crossed as she squinted to read the words. It was getting chilly, and she could feel the hairs at the back of her neck raising -- was it because of the oncoming cold, or because of the sight? She’d been around guillermo -- not enough to gather courage and ignite a friendship, but long enough to know he wasn’t a murderer. Out of the six, he’d probably been the one she’d disliked the least. seeing his face -- those ocean eyes, as she’d once called them, the sharp cheekbones, the messy mane of night hair -- made her shiver, especially, after shifting the focus of her eyes and staring at the word ‘MURDERER’.  His harshness surprised him, perhaps more than standing near him after so long had, as she’d figured being around Astor and finding solace within him would’ve softened the blow. Apparently, she was wrong. 

    “ I didn’t come to buy anything from you. ” she said. She’d been standing behind him for at least ten minutes, quiet & motionless to take in the sight. Hopefully she hadn’t startled him ( actually, she didn’t give a damn if she did. ) “ If it makes you feel any better, that person has the shittiest handwriting I’ve ever seen. ”

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★  CHARACTER MOODBOARD  → jo parsons (1/?)

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@ofgatheringstorms

It’s said there is no such thing as karma. Others, however, argue that it follows every action, that it looms over each every doer and that, just like with time, it is impossible to escape from it. “ Make a good deed and one of the same nature will come to you – ” it sounded like a mother warning her child – “ behave inappropriately, and karma will make sure to come haunt you. ” It was a boogeyman of sorts, a nightmare besetting a child’s sleep.

    Luckily for her, none of her nights were sleepless.

   Shortly before the MIT days rolled around, Jo had gotten to experience mischief. It was bitter, and sweet at once like the many beers shared among friends behind their parents’ backs; it ached, as did her throat after the sips of hard liquor that became less rare with each passing month; it burned and stained her, similar to what the cigarettes stolen from her mother’s purse had done. Above all else, however, it consumed. It brought recklessness along – each night, a new desire beckoning, whispering “ go, go ” –, keeping her on the move. Suddenly, time froze and dripped between her fingers. She could play with it and mold it like clay. It wasn’t destruction, at least not to her; it was the creation of something mesmerizing. Whoever made history had power; whoever controlled it was a God.

    She was nonstop, and never regretful. No sleep was lost to nightmares. If there ever was a boogeyman lurking underneath her bed, it had never come out. If karma did exist, it hadn’t caught up with her.

   Unfortunately, like it’s the case for a lot of travellers, she grew tired. One could only go so far before their legs started aching. In the worst of cases, she would get fed up with a place just moments after arriving. She’d end up drained, spending most of her time in bed. “ One last trip, ” she’d told herself. One last trip, so better make it count. Ultimately, New Orleans would be the destination of choice. Never had she pictured herself arriving at the Mardi Gras capital, but what better way was there to mark the stop of her travels than visiting an old acquaintance ?

    Jo’s expression lit up, a grin tugging at the seams of her lips, just as she stood before the doors of what locals referred to as “THE CALL OF THE VOID”.The doors were slightly open, and through the gap between the door and frame, voices, laughter, and some distant tune could be heard. A man stepped out, his uneven, clumsy walk making it clear he’d been indulging himself for too long. Brushing past him, Jo entered the bar, slightly shocked at how crowded it was as opposed to what she’d expected.  Bingo.  She claimed an available spot by the bar, motioning at the server & ordering a white Russian. Swift fingers fished for her ID – old habits die hard, do they not ? –, which made her own self laugh; she couldn’t recall how many strange looks or incredulous laughs she’d pulled out of bartenders upon handing them her 1963 Massachusetts identification card. 

     “ Is it true you own this place ? ”Jo asked, loud enough for Astor to hear from over where he stood.

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tiberius kane.

Over the years, his mellow persona had a way of dipping away. He was here for a purpose. It was only ever business. While he was not necessarily something of a cop, they had welcome his expertise in. Vested interested – they had never seen anything like this and Tiberius had seen plenty of things the world had never seen. The vampires and werewolves worked together in something of harmony. On the other side of that liminal space, that was not the case. They slaughtered each other out there. Every species for themselves. He left the police station feeling like a reaper. He needed to travel to the other side. There was another Gatekeeper that would have some answers, able to speak to those who others could not. He was considering on who to call when his shoulder clipped someone else. “My apologies.”

What exactly it was about New Orleans that had attracted Jo, she was still unsure, but that was where the joy hid ---- in its mystery. Its streets, with their bright lights that peeked through the shops & restaurants’ and solemn hovering balconies, filled with with an hypnotizing warmth and vibrance, similar to that you would find at the bottom of an empty shot glass.  The young woman’s ears caught the ghost of a laughter ( a man’s, perhaps a couple streets away ) as her eyes took their time to scan every of the path’s dark corners. The little girl inside her warned her of the potential spirits she might encounter, but the woman currently walking discarded all foolish thoughts. She’d met monsters in the past, and knew very well they resided in places other than shadows. 

    A chuckle left her, smooth lips curling upwards at the edges as she shook her head. How silly of her. The bustling streets were far behind her, as she was able to distinguish from the shift in the atmosphere. Her pace remained steady, determined. Sometime after this, she must’ve become too unaware of her surroundings. Similarly, her mind may’ve slipped and made her believe there were no obstacles in her path. How silly of her. 

    The ‘thud’ the bones of the two produced as they collided against each other was somewhat faint, and it in fact was not that tough of a “blow”. Nonetheless, it’d been slightly irritating. “ Woah, calm down, ” her hand rubbed against the affected area, as if touch were to get rid of that tingly sensation. “ Weren’t you watching were you were going ? ” Jo asked, brows furrowed. In reality, it wasn’t entirely his fault. “ Why the rush ? ”

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tags masterlist

﴾ ᴘᴇᴏᴘʟᴇ ʟɪᴋᴇ ʜᴇʀ ᴀʀᴇ ɴᴏᴛ ᴍᴇᴀɴᴛ ᴛᴏ sᴛᴀɴᴅ sᴛɪʟʟ — chats. ›»›

﴾ ʜᴏᴍᴇ ᴅᴏᴇsɴ’ᴛ ᴇxɪsᴛ ғᴏʀ ɢɪʀʟs ʟɪᴋᴇ ʜᴇʀ — drabbles. ›»›

﴾ sʜᴇ ʀᴏʟʟᴇᴅ ɪɴᴛᴏ ᴛᴏᴡɴ ʟɪᴋᴇ ᴀ ɴᴇᴡ ᴍʏsᴛᴇʀʏ — answered. ›»›

﴾ ᴀᴄᴄᴇᴘᴛ ᴛʜᴇ ᴍʏsᴛᴇʀʏ — ask games. ›»›

﴾ sʜᴇ ᴡᴀɴᴛᴇᴅ ᴍᴜsɪᴄ ᴛʜᴀᴛ ᴍᴀᴅᴇ ʜᴏʟᴇs ɪɴ ᴛʜᴇ sᴋʏ — music. ›»›

﴾ ʟɪᴘs ʟɪᴋᴇ ᴘᴇᴛᴀʟs ; ʜᴇᴀʀᴛ ʟɪᴋᴇ ᴄɪɢᴀʀᴇᴛᴛᴇ ᴀsʜᴇs — photographs. ›»›

﴾ ʜᴇʟʟ ᴀɴᴅ ᴘᴀʀᴀᴅɪsᴇ — edits. ›»›

﴾ ᴏɴᴄᴇ ʏᴏᴜ ʟᴇᴀʀɴ ᴛᴏ ᴄʀᴇᴀᴛᴇ ʏᴏᴜʀ ᴏᴡɴ ʜᴀᴘᴘɪɴᴇss ; ɴᴏ ᴏɴᴇ ᴄᴀɴ ᴛᴀᴋᴇ ᴛʜᴀᴛ ᴀᴡᴀʏ ғʀᴏᴍ ʏᴏᴜ — musings. ›»›  

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Should I Stay Or Should I Go — The Clash (The Singles [2007], 2007)