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[reynewcw-blog]

Name: Renshen, of Ren for short.

 Face Claim: Xing Ye

 Age: They think they are 22

 Height: 5”3

 Hair: Black

 Eyes: Brown

 Species:

Lotan, a creature from the sea.

 Powers:

Lotan possess luminescent fins along their spine and webbing between their fingers or toes. Ren tries to hide it with the magic they buy off of fae or potions they take that are usually priced a bit lower from warlocks and magicians. They have scales that at times appear across their elbows, the curves of their ears and jaw, and the backs of their calves when they are on land. When in water, the scales seem to encompass them and the claws on their hands as well as the golden lights of their eyes shine that much brighter.

Ren is an excellent swimmer and can breathe under water for about fifteen minutes at a time in this form. Ren is also capable of echolocation when in water. As well as clicking the gills along their neck to communicate once the glamor and illusion is gone. They tend to have a great understanding of the oceans and seas, as if perhaps they relate to the waves somehow. They knew when storms are brewing and if there are potential oncoming threats within the water itself.

Ren can heal rather fast and they have the curse or gift of immortality. Their soul is bound and therefore incapable of being released that easily.

Weaknesses:

Ren can be captured of course. He might have the gift of eternal life but he can be killed. Poisoning water supplies, capturing him in acidic nets, fire. They are all capable of ending him. He is not indestructible.

He also has a low speaking voice that it more of a hoarse whisper than anything. He has tried and failed to get his voice lifted but alas, it seems to not be working as well as he thinks it once did.

 Personality:

Ren is a dazed, kind, confused, and sad sort.

He is trying to recover his life and who he is. He is searching for his history, for friends, for family, for anything to help him rediscover who he is.

He feels adrift and desperate for something to make him feel anchored. Guidance seems to be beyond him however. But he is open for change in that regard.

He’s very particular about his routines and loves to be near the water as much as he can.

 Birthday:

January 5th

 Role/Occupation:

Works part time at an aquarium.

 Registered:

No

 Origin Story:

Three, Ren woke up on the beach with naught but the clothes on their back and blood on their hands. He washed himself in the ocean waters and tried to make sense of what was happening. As he washed his hair he tried to reach back through his mind but found nothing but blank space and an aching in his spine. It took him a few days of aimless wandering to finally end up in a shelter where he was helped and given a place to stay until he could get on his own two feet. Ren ended up staying with someone in the city named Delano who didn’t ask for much since the man was already well off but just needed someone to stick around, pay the internet bill, clean the place up, buy the groceries, water the plants, and be a steadying presence of sorts in his life.

Delano also promised to help Ren. The moment he saw him for the roommate interview he took him in on the spot and offered up whatever he needed to get himself back. Delano knew bits of Ren’s story and apparently the bleeding-heart routine inspired him to keep the strange, quiet man around.

Since then Ren has tried to build a life for themselves with the kindness and generosity of a stranger. But he is still aimless and desperate for answers. Of any kind.

[reynewcw-blog]

Name: Armin Sumner Face Claim: David Leon Age: 39 (Is actually 87 ) Height: 5”11 Hair: Black Eyes: Lilac Species:

Imp of the Fey variety Powers: Armin is capable of a few things.

First, he is able to mildly shape shift. He can change his appearance away from its usual form which is that of a creature with pink-grey flesh, horns, pointed ears, purple eyes with slits, fangs, claws, and a tail. He also has a pair of wings but they are very small and translucent with how thin they are. They don’t do much in means of flight. They’re useless.

He wears his human facade in the day to day functions. It does drain him pretty quickly to shift too much in a day so he refrains from doing so.

Armin is also able to conjure up fire. He can use his glamor to disappear and he also moves rather fast with light, nimble footsteps.

Weaknesses:

Iron and salt can harm Armin. They are also on the lower rings of the fey pyramid so they can be influenced and over powered by higher, better fey. And by overpowered he can be influenced by their powers. And in some instances be used as an errand boy of sorts. Personality:

Armin is a bit of the squirrely type. They work within a library, finding ways to speak to people through his day while also shelving and organizing books. They’re nervous and shy, their personality a brand of their treatment from when they were younger.That being said they do like to share jokes and play pranks on people. Usually they are harmless, sometimes he can get carried away but he tries not to.

In truth he craves interaction with others. His nature calls him to reach out to others and so he does, but he’s also...wary.

Birthday:

November 2nd Role/Occupation:

Librarian Registered: No Origin Story:

Armin was formed from a combination of demonic, fey, and magical energy. Bound to the will of a fey, he was used for forty years as an errand imp. He was useful for eavesdropping and retrieval of information as well as easy to move items. When his master went missing, he was left on his own outside of the Veil where he had followed them.

Alone, Armin struggled to know how to move forward. What was he supposed to do without a master? He wandered on his own a few months, trying to make his way through the forests. Until he finally managed to find a city. He was homeless in the city as well until he managed to find a way to join a shelter thanks to the kindness of a humanitarian.

As Armin got used to their own life of independence they searched for a while on what to do. Humans had jobs. He had a job. But being a spy was out of the question and his comedic timing was not as good as he thought. He started doing small part time odd jobs as he saved money and moved into a low income housing building within England.

It took time but he finally got enough money for illegal papers that gave him access to America, which he thought might help him really start over.

Since he moved to America twenty years ago Armin likes to think he’s settled into his role of living life outside of being an imp. Not only does he have a job he also has a small friend Bunny. Which is...actually a miniature Bunyip that lives in the small muddy pond outside of the library. Which is an upgrade considering he used to have Bunny living in his backyard full of mud and grass.

[reynewcw-blog]

Name: Greyson Craft

 Face Claim: Henry Golding

 Age: 25

 Height: 6”0

 Hair: Black

 Eyes: Grey

 Species:

 Human (With less unhuman abilities)

 Powers:

Most of what he can do is outside of his own will (for now). For instance he can at times have intense visions and dreams of the future or forewarnings. He has an instinct that helps him predict certain moments and movements that he knows exists but does not actively tap into. He can also read palms and do tarot very well, he just. Hasn’t done so in a long time. He has a sense when something is not quite right or not human but he keeps those tidbits to himself.

He also has a way to communicate with ghosts but, he likes to close that off as much as possible.

 Weaknesses:

 He can die just like any other human.

 Personality:

Greyson is a stubborn, motivated individual who loves baseball, California, and sunny days. He’s friendly but observant and likes to see if he can get through to prickly people. He’s got a constant foot in mouth syndrome, his filter needs some work when it comes to interaction but he will insist he’s a Nice Guy. He’s just a bit too focused on the game or his own motivations from time to time.

He’s also fiercely independent. He wants to try and do things his own way. He won’t actually ask for help but expects others to ask him for help. Or just barges in to help whenever. But if the tables are turned, no thanks.

At times Greyson can be moody, he’s prone to pouting, but it never lasts forever. Usually. Depending on who he’s pouting at.

 Birthday:

June 24th

Role/Occupation:

Currently plays minor leagues baseball and is vying for major.

Also works at an athletics store part-time to make ends meet.

Registered:

 No

 Origin Story:

 Greyson hails from Rhode Island. It’s where he was born and his entire family currently lives.

His family is a complicated blend of psychics and Wiccans. When Greyson was nineteen he decided to pack his bags, move to California, attend a college there, settle down. He had no desire to take on the family business of reading people’s fortunes and connecting with the spirits of the other world. Greyson has a pretty strong link to that part of himself, but he has done whatever it takes to distance himself from it and his family.

Besides, he was always much more interested in baseball and had a natural knack for it. He won’t admit that his senses help to predict when a ball is coming or where to stand to catch should he be in the outfield. It’s just better to chalk it up to natural talent and to ignore every bit of his family’s blood. It’s safer that way.

Now Greyson lives in a little neighborhood that isn’t the best in terms of upkeep but it’s quaint and the residents are all nice. Like his neighbor Gentry.

While he’s not at home he plays baseball games in minors and has been desperately trying to work his way up. It’s possible he will get discovered soon. Some day.

[reynewcw-blog]

“Jin-Woo, get down from there!”

 Chubby hands slid back from the windowsill as five-year old Jin tried not to unbalance himself. He furrowed his brows, black hair flouncing as he slipped away from the window and landed on his feet. Running down the hall, he smiled up at his mother, “Oma! Jeaki and Sung-Min are playing outside with their friends. I wanna go play too. Please?”

Mi Na-Woo was not a severe mother. She was usually kinder than her husband, but she still had enough ice in her veins to pull Jin-Woo by his arm and march him back to his room.

“Absolutely not and you know why.”

Jin-Woo’s lower lip puckered out, “Why?” “Don’t make me say it.”

Jin lowered his eyes, knowing exactly why he was not allowed to play like his brothers. Within the Korean neighborhoods most unknowing people thought he was chronically ill. In truth, anyone associated with the Woos and their true origins knew that Jin-Woo was a scourge. The example of his parents’ dishonor to a powerful sorcerer. The likes of which never even stayed to see him born. He did not have to though. Word had gotten out and when he was pulled from his mother’s womb many thought he would die from how sickly he was and how he refused to cry the first week he had been born.

Still. Knowing the truth and having to live that truth was difficult for him to process. All he wanted was to run around under the same sun and play in the dirt with the other kids. It was unfair to be denied such a thing.

Jin-Woo walked into the bedroom and stood in the middle of his floor as his mother closed and locked the door behind so he would be alone for the rest of the day until night fell.

 ---------------------------------------

 “Oma…”

Jin-Woo stood from where he was kneeling on the floor of his new dorm room. “Are you leaving already?”

Mi Na sighed, hand lifting briefly to brush beneath her beautiful lined eyes. “Yes Jin-Woo. I need to go. Your father has the car waiting and my flight back home is in two hours.” She eyed her son who lowered his eyes sadly, hand on the drawer of his new dresser, holding on so tight his knuckles looked transparent. “You shouldn’t look so down. You’re getting what you want. Freedom.”

“Am I?”

“It was either this or a life of being homeschool and never leaving our home, Jin-Woo.” Mi Na’s voice was firm, arms now crossed. “I know this is hard for you to understand but it took me three years to convince your father to give you this. You should be happy.”

“I’m not.”

“Jin-Woo honestly you are being unreasonable and selfish! Your father is putting down fifteen thousand a year to give you an American privately funded education. You’ll be able to learn with others, make friends, everything. You can go outside and do whatever you want. Stop crying this instant Jin-Woo.”

Jin pressed the heels of his palms against his eyes, breath hiccupping over itself as a sob ripped through his chest. He heard his mother’s shoes clicking as she got up her purse. “I have to go.” Mi Na’s voice broke but it was not enough to quench Jin’s desire for her attention and love. None of it mattered when Jin was left alone in an empty, cold room that smelled and looked nothing like home in a country he had only been to twice before he was sent to live there at the age of ten. It did not matter how hard she might have cried or how she might have slammed the door behind her. Jin was alone.

 ---------------------------------------------------------

Curled up in the middle of his tiny bed in his tiny studio apartment, Jin sighed as he worked on his laptop. The sun was out and shining through the windows while the heat blared above. He glanced outside briefly, thumb rising to gently gnaw along the edges…

Only to flinch in surprise when his front door opened.

“Jin!” In the door way was a beautiful red headed young man with a smile as bright as the sun itself. His smile vanished, “Hey! You’re not ready? We’re going to the beach remember?”

“…Oh.” Jin looked down at himself in the hoodie and ripped jeans. “I uh. I might have forgotten.” Rather he thought perhaps Arihi might end up cancelling. Not that he ever had before, but he could never be sure. “Give me ten minutes.”

Arihi huffed, but soon recovered with a smile, “Can I help? Oh, by the way, I got this really sweet set of pails. I want to try and build a sand castle. A huge one! What do you think?”

Jin walked to his wardrobe and pulled out what he would need, expression thoughtful, “Did you get a shovel with it?” The stretch of silence as Jin took off his hoodie and pulled on a peach colored tank top was all he needed to know.

“Aw man,” Arihi cried, “Damn! Do we need one?”

“Not really,” Jin shrugged as he motioned with his hand for Arihi to turn around. Once he did so, Jin took off his jeans and underwear to pull on his swimming trunks. “It’s just nice to have one.”

In the end they did stop to get a few plastic shovels. Along with a bag full of flavored lemonades, sandwiches, fruity candies, and a bottle of sunscreen since Arihi had also forgotten but that was fine. It failed to hit Jin what they were doing until his fingers were buried in the sand, some of it getting under his nails or in his hair.

“…We’re out together,” Jin murmured. “Playing in the dirt. Under the sun.” “I mean,” Arihi’s voice was slightly confused, “…Kinda? It’s sand though, not dirt. That’s totally different.”

Unable to stop himself, Jin tipped his head back with a laugh, “You’re right! It is. But it’s better, isn’t it?” Arihi eyed Jin’s expression, his lips twitching up in a dazed smile, “Yeah? You tell me.” “I wouldn’t know,” Jin chuckled, head tipping back down and hair getting in his face as he worked on the moat of their castle. “But I think if I had the choice I’d rather be out here with you playing in the sand than anywhere else with whoever playing in the dirt.”

Jin did not think Arihi knew what he was saying, but even so he appreciated it when Arihi said, “I’d always choose to play with you Jin! In the sand or in the dirt. Whatever you’d like.” It was nearly enough to make Jin cry. But he did not. Not today. The sun was much too bright, the breeze much too exhilarating. Instead, he pressed a kiss to Arihi’s cheek and later that night closed the door of his apartment where Arihi was settling in to get ready for their movie marathon.

[reynewcw-blog]

Do What I Want, Do What I Please

The slow, soft sweeps of the broom was a comforting sound. The act of cleaning ash away from the cobblestone flooring soothed the pulsing parts of Akio’s brain and made it easier to breathe. With each pass of the bristles he could feel his strength settling in, the vitality of a four-year-old taking place in the joints of his bones. Working out of the construction of train tracks in America had given him many opportunities to snatch away the young children made to work the moment they could walk. The carelessness of parents and the burden of having another mouth to feed meant that adults were not as quick to seek out their missing children. Unfortunate for the children, but fortunate for him.

Just…not in that moment it seemed.

As he cleared away the ash the door opened, and Akio was greeted by the sight of two men in dark blue clothes claiming to be enforcers around those areas. Raising his brow, Akio looked between the two and smiled pleasantly, “How may I help you gentlemen?”

One of them peered closer, squinting, “You’re one of the Orientals working on the trains, right? Why are you here with the incinerator?”

Akio’s smile became tighter, “I was sent to burn some of the scrap materials that would not sell back on the market since they were cracked.” Brushing his hand back along his cheek, a smear of charcoal appeared as he tilted his head. “If you have a problem you may speak with my superior.”

“Your superior told us to come find you,” the other spoke, dark haired and pale, but in the way Western standards approved up. “He said you keep disappearing from your post. He mentioned how others said you also keep talking to children. Rachel. James. Frederick. We cannot seem to find them, and everyone says they were last seen talking with you, sharing lunch with you.”

Fingers tightening around the broom, Akio exhaled tiredly as he leaned back and lifted the cap he wore, black hair shaking out before he fastened it back over. “They shared lunch with me because their own parents only managed to scrounge up a half of a sandwich for each of them. Children grow and need food more than adults do. I will not apologize for doing their part since clearly they could not bother to do what their children needed.”

Glancing to the blonde whose jaw was clenched, Akio gasped, “Oh my apologies. You were Rachel’s father…I see it now. You both have that straw like hair. I apologize for my remarks. Rachel was a very sweet child.”

“Listen here you ye-“ “I would refrain from such remarks,” Akio’s tone was no longer as saccharine and instead came with barbs that sliced through the air. “If I were you.”

A few beats of silence passed until the blonde seemed to not care about Akio’s warning. He crossed the space between hissing, “You are a demonic bastard, may God send you to hell to rot.” Before the man got closer, Akio’s hand flicked and the pile of ash, both from coals and the burned remains of little Frederick came forth like a dust storm. The man gasped, which only made it worse, and Akio watched as he choked and cough. The brunette behind was frozen, eyes wide, “How…there’s no wind…”

“I do not know where your children are. Nor do I care. But if you approach me in that manner again I will make sure you join them.”

On his knees now, the offending blonde looked up at Akio, blinking through the burning in his eyes. “You really are a demon.” “Twice,” Akio hissed, “Twice now you have referred to me as the lowliest beings in existence.” His hand jerked out to grasp the man by his throat, fingers slowly turning into the flesh until he could feel the crumpling of the man’s trachea beneath. As the man gargled and tried to twist away he bent down, eyes burning with hatred and power, “I do not offer third chances.”

The man’s body seemed to sag and press into the ground under some invisible, unknowable force. When Akio pushed away, he flicked his wrist and with a snap, gravity caused the roof above to crumble and slam down so hard on the human his body became a mess of blood and tightly compressed skin.

Moving on to the brunette, Akio smiled as he scrambled back, clearly afraid now as he shook and sweated through his clothes. “…If your friend had not been so brash I would have let you both live and I would have left this country.” Sighing, he took off his cap again and this time put it back into the incinerator. “As it stands however I cannot allow you to live. And I cannot allow myself, Chao, to live either.” As the man turned to grab for the door, Akio used the pressure in the room to hold the door tightly closed. “People will think there was a terrible accident here. An explosion.”

As the man kept trying the knob, Akio removed his dirty, dusty, blood stained clothes that had become covered in soot and grime, making it all blend together. The moment the man looked back he paused, seeing Akio there naked, wondering of course why…

The heat in the room increased, the fire from the incinerator coming back to life. The force of his magic would draw a few years from Akio, but that was fine. He’d eat again in a month to make up for the magic used here. Life times of children working on rail roads were sadly not as long as he had hoped they would be. The exposure to sickness and new chemicals being produced, dangerous working environments, they were all factors that demanded he eat a little more frequently.

He was careless. And it showed. He had just had a son, he even had a woman at home who he…did not love per say but respected. All of that would go up in smoke. None of that would matter anymore for the man he once was would be dead in a fire. That was fine. The son had been disappointing in magical energy and capability.  Akio’s experiment had not gone according to his hopeful plans. He would try again some other time. Just as he had tried before.

As his magic enveloped him and the building began to groan and crash around him in flame he considered where to go next. He had come to California for the feeling of something powerful. Veins of magic buried deep in the earth. Perhaps in a century he could return to this place. Within the smoke he decided somewhere across the ocean would be best. To the east he would go to reform himself and make another name and legend. China sounded doable. Perhaps Chao could be reborn there.

He stepped over the charred remains of the man who had perished against the door and within the darkening hour of night used that as his getaway. Akio would try again on the golden West Coast. For now, he would do what he pleased.

[reynewcw-blog]

Name: Knox Lovelace

Face Claim: Danila Kovalev

Age: 56

Height: 5”11

Hair: Blonde

Eyes: Blue

Species:

Fey/Magician

Powers:

Has a penchant for illusions and magic. Their source of magic relies heavily on cold weather and ice, but they make do with where they are and what they have. Creates food and items that at times influences people to make decisions inclined to their desires. The food is a quick trick, the items have a much more ingrained influence on a person the longer they wear it.

They also have an unnatural speed and grace to them, capable of all sorts of acrobatic tricks and stunts. This is a combination of training but also something else.

They also use light (literal light) and fire magic to fuel their performances within their traveling circus. Sparkling back drops, fireworks, gleaming colorful spotlights. It’s a trick they came into on their own and they are proud of it.

Weaknesses:

Iron and salt do not do well with them. They are also weak to mortal wounds if they are not able to receive medical or magical attention. They are prone to bruising and pain, it will not last long though. They also have a strong reaction to heat and fire. Summers on the southern west coast are always a pain to get through.

Personality:

Fearless and bright,Knox has never been one to back down from a potential moment of glory. Their ego is a little too large for them at times, their penchant for perfection often pushing them to keep going, to perform, to be the best.

They cannot accept being second and they will not accept it. Unless forced to of course. Knox thinks they have room to improve but also likes to think ‘why mess with something that isn’t broken?’

They are selfish in their goals and are not above pulling a few tricks to make things work in their favor. 

Do they have a kind streak? Sure. Are they generous? Kind of. Are they positive? Probably obnoxiously so. 

The one thing they cannot settle for in their group is naysayers and negative nancies. 

Birthday:

December is what they claim to be their entire birth month

Role/Occupation:

Used to run an international traveling group of circus performers. But since getting grounded and tagged in San Francisco…they are trying to make something work locally.

Registered:

…Yes.

Origin Story:

Here is what one needs to know about Knox Lovelace.

When they were twenty-eight they decided to form their circus. They got together a band of others that were all abnormal and capable of unnatural gifts and tricks. Knox set them up with tents, props, music, and a few special items to channel their magic into to make their shows that much better.

They went all around North America, from Canada through to Mexico. They even had a couple of shows in Europe and made a quick stop through Brazil before they landed back home to regroup and add more acts.

For the past twenty-eight years Knox has been taking their act through multiple states and cities. At times stopping to rest or when family issues arise, but then they’re back on the road.

However, in the past year Knox’s show has been grounded. With the rise of oppression against non-humans, the circus Knox put on was a beacon for Handlers to be drawn to. 

Tagging a fey like Knox and collaring them was one prize hit after another considering the company Knox kept.

Since then Knox has been tied to San Francisco, they have no way of leaving without potentially harming themselves and are starting to get irritable from the heat and general feeling of being in one place far too long. 

[reynewcw-blog]

dealing with demons

When Zhen was sixteen he had to help his sister bury his parents. Planning a funeral at that age was no easy feat. But he did it.

When he was eighteen Daiyu planned a going away party that ended up being just the two of them at an Outback Steakhouse. Daiyu let Zhen drink from her wine until it was all gone and gave him some beers when they got back to their tiny apartment.

When Zhen was twenty he killed someone for the first time. It had been an Afghan soldier who had reached for his gun and had taken aim at Zhen’s comrades. Zhen had to help pick the body up and dispose of it to the village where the man was born.

By twenty-two Zhen had killed fifteen men. All of them quick, strategized deaths. Responses to critical situations or something that needed to be done before the damage to the American bases and teams could be set off.

At age twenty-eight Zhen had more deaths on his record than he cared to remember and a body that showed it. When he went home and was lucid enough to finally count he sometimes thought that perhaps every scar given to him, every bit of shrapnel pulled from his skin, was payback for what he had done, a mark for every life lost.

At that point in his life he thought he had seen all the evil the world had to offer. Within himself, his comrades, his enemies, the very world and government he existed in and served.

And then when Zhen was thirty-three he had to confirm that the lifeless, grey, destroyed husk of a sister on a metal table in a lab was in fact his sister. And then he knew. He knew that the evil he’d seen in war was only the surface of the evil that lurked beneath the streets of the cities.

----------------------------------------------------

“Zhen Park.”

Hearing his name like that makes his skin crawl. The accented voice butchers the roll of his last name. However, instead of sneering like he wants he looks up into a pair of limpid brown eyes from a man who looks strange but handsome all at the same time.

“Yeah?”

He looks down when a folder is slid across the table he’s sitting at. The restaurant is an older joint, a hole in the wall that serves damn good Mexican food. Zhen is there for business and for pleasure.

He watches the man across from him sit down, “I’ve been looking for you.”

“…No thank you,” Zhen sits up, waving for a waiter. “I need a box to go please.”

“Funny that you came back here of all places,” the man continues. “To find you in a restaurant you and your sister visited often…well it seems poetic.”

Zhen freezes, eyes focused on a pillar of burgundy in the restaurant, just to look over to the man across from him. “Excuse me?”

“Daiyu Park, right? Pretty thing. A little too dominant for my tastes since she’s so small. But pretty.” The man smiles, head tilting, “Shame about what happened to her. Wrong place, wrong time. Well, for her. It was right for the one who drank her soul I’m sure.”

Zhen’s breathing is hard to control, his fingers itch against the table and his usual mask of indifference is replaced with cold panic, “How do….”

“I’ll make this quick.” The man gets closer, smelling of cigars and cinnamon…and rust, beneath it all. “My name is Viktor. I run a few businesses in town, but what I’m interested in doing is taking men like you and making something out of you.” His eyes are golden and getting warmer. Zhen shivers. “You’ve been looking for justice. But you’re not going to find it with an organization that makes a profit out of the creatures they tag and bag. They don’t give a shit about who killed your sister. And you know that.”

The chair Zhen is in makes a loud shrieking sound as he slides away from the table and stands. The waiter is on his way with a box, but Zhen ignores that and walks, heading for the door as the man, Viktor, laughs and gets up to follow.

Right outside, Zhen passes by an alley that he’s shoved into. Zhen grunts, turning to swing at Viktor, only to get a knee to his gut and an elbow to his back. He crumbles, gasping for air on his knees. “I thought you were smarter than this, Zhen.” Viktor’s tone is mocking, prodding like a knife under his ribs. “Do you really thing that someone as weak as you would be able to take on the thing that killed your sister? The demons you’ve destroyed before are nothing. Gnats in the kingdom of Hell. But someone like your sister’s killer? You wouldn’t last a second there, boy.”

Zhen grits his teeth when Viktor grabs him by the hair and yanks him up further. He stares down at Zhen, head tilting, “If you couldn’t kill that despicable half breed just weeks ago what makes you think you’d be able to take on a real challenge? Who you’re up against isn’t a walk in the park. It’s not a spar with your old buddies from the army that you can fuck in the barracks later to blow off some steam. They will rip you apart, limb from limb. And when they’re done with you they’ll take that boy you care for and peel the skin from his body. And after that? That rugged little shifter you’re so fond of. They’d make him into their stallion, a pet to be ridden and drained until that boundless energy is no more.”

Viktor slowly crouches down in front of Zhen, smiling, blinking slowly and reassuringly as Zhen struggles to keep himself upright on the ground. “But. With me? You could. You could kill your sister’s murderer and any other demon that could ruin a life like yours. Isn’t that what you want? You couldn’t stop the war, you couldn’t stop those boys who murdered your parents. You were useless there. Just a pawn, just a snot nosed kid. But here in this city? Anything can happen. You could be a fucking hero for the men and women like your sister who got drawn in by powers out of their control.”

The folder from before reappears again and is thrown down. Viktor lets Zhen go and opens the folder up for Zhen who looks down at it. There’s a few photos there, names, locations…

“If you want true revenge and justice in this city you’ll need to do it with me. Find your first target, kill it, and come back.”

“How,” Zhen asks, voice gravel and rot, “You told me I was weak, remember?” “Ah, yes.” Viktor reaches out and Zhen flinches. But he continues, with two taloned fingers he brings it around to the back of Zhen’s neck. From there, he eases his claws in and Zhen gasps in pain as something burning and potent injects into his stream.

The result is instant. Zhen feels like he’s on fire. But it doesn’t burn him from the inside, no, instead it seems to rise from him. He gasps, eyes flickering red for a second before going back to black.

“Kill one with this power granted to you,” Viktor orders. “And then come back to me when you succeed. So that I might give you more of this power. And then you’ll move onto the next name, and then to me, and then the next name…” Viktor’s hand draws back but moves around to Zhen’s fingers. His fingers, bloodied now, eases over Zhen’s lower lip and he smirks when Zhen can only stare back in a daze. “Understood?”

Blood on his mouth, Zhen slowly nods, “Understood.”

“Good. My number is in there. But for tonight, find and kill the first target. Come and see me tomorrow if you would like to unlock more of your potential before it all goes to waste, hm?” Viktor stands, head tilting until something seems to crack beneath. “I look forward to seeing more of you Zhen. I’ve liked your work. I just always thought it could be a little…more.”

When he’s finally gone, Zhen stands to his feet. Where he expected to struggle before from the previous beating, he is instead steady. He bends to take the folder and takes in the first target’s information. It’s all he needs. And his mind is aware that the hour is starting to get later and later, but for now? All that matters is results. And the desire to crush a demon’s skull between his hands.

Which is exactly what he does.

[reynewcw-blog]

Name: Viktor Vestergaard

 Face Claim: Mads Mikkelson

 Age: Few Hundred Years Old

 Height: 6”0

 Hair: Dirty Blonde/Grey

 Eyes: Golden/Brown

 Species:

Demon of Wrath

  Powers:

Enchantment. Oppression of the mind. Possession, in a sense. Can create new demons if he sees the need for it. Makes spell binding deals that always comes with a price. Has incredible strength and speed. Can cause a person to become overwhelmed with the need for vengeance and action. To be angry is one thing, but to act on that anger is another entirely and is a key factor to his abilities. As a wrathful demon he can influence humans and other creatures to chase that hatred, that wrong, that deeply buried desire to do something until their problem or their suspect is broken into a thousand pieces. Viktor feeds on the energy that comes with such merciless actions and needs it if he is to be of any use.

Can manipulate the elements and weather if the conditions are right.

Weaknesses:

Holy symbols. Prayer. Religious Music.

Is also weak to certain weapons or sigils, capable of being trapped in certain areas. Can also be summoned to do another’s building with very little freedom to say no.

 Personality:

Viktor is…a harsh man. He has no patience for silly games or gentleness. He is there to enact his own form of justice in the form of a closed fist or an earth shaking storm that will fry either a person or start a fire to show others their actions have consequences.

He is also more than happy to take advantage of the poisonous hatred in others hearts. While he is in fact a harsh man, he has a charisma to him that draws people to him. He has made himself into a figurehead where the broken hearted and angry may come to plan and get just what they need to make sure someone pays.

Viktor likes to think he has his soft spots, otherwise, wrath is useless. To kill and destroy for just the fun of it can be a wonderful way to destress. However it’s more powerful and much more delightful to take in the energy that comes from watching a mob tear apart a millionaire’s home or a mudslide wiping out companies that prey on the victims that come to him for results.

  Birthday:

He allows his associates to celebrate on the New Year for his birthday but that’s it.

  Role/Occupation:

When writing out his papers for tax purposes Viktor says he owns a few dry cleaning business fronts. Which he does.

In reality, he recruits people to create hired killers. And what better way to start them off than to show them how to get blood stains out of Kevlar?

 Registered:

No

 Origin Story:

Viktor wasn’t always a demon.

 He was once a human whose shifting morals caused him to be seen as a blood thirsty soldier within the army. He wanted results. He wanted to get out the anger of having intruders invade his land. He wanted heads on spikes and lazy, despicable leaders in the chair to answer for what they did.

It got worse as time went on. His desire to see men die before him caused him to go into the deeper, darker realms of his country. Seeking out the advice of witches and warlocks, using their little vials to better improve his performance and open his narrow mind.

After a few years of imbibing such ingredients and seeking out such magic…Viktor finally got something that no witch could really give him. Power. The demon came to him in a dream and offered him the chance to become something more than what he was. A place to channel all of his vicious thoughts and skills so that he might be the idealized hero in his mind who took no mercy upon those that wronged him.

Since then, Viktor has been moving through from Europe and to beyond, feasting on the wronged souls that want to see someone pay.

Crash landing in America had been a sudden decision, but it was just the one he needed. As turmoil rises and the squabbles between humans, supernaturals, and Handlers take over the city, Viktor is delighted to be amid the chaos. And to see just who needs a helping hand in getting the revenge they so desire.

[reynewcw-blog]

Name: Akio (One name only, yes that is legal, no he will not answer questions about his full name or “other names”.)

Faceclaim: James Yaegashi

Age: Physically, at this moment, he appears to be in his 40s. But he always tries to look younger, depending on how much power he harnesses. (In reality he’s 856 years old. Give or take.)

Height: 5″9

Hair: Black

Eyes: Dark Brown

Sexuality: Pansexual

Species: Magically Inclined Being. Human in appearance.

Powers: Akio is a sorcerer. Mage. Wizard. Warlock. Whatever one wants to call it. He specializes in mystical magic and curses. Also has a penchant for immortality but to live forever comes with a price which he pays over and over again.

Weaknesses: Physically, metaphorically, Aiko can be killed should his magic not work fast enough to protect or heal him. Decapitation is a solid way to kill him.

Also he is not fond of pollen.

Personality:

Aiko is even tempered, kind, and frighteningly patient. But on the flip side of his personality he can be cold, and he believes very strongly in the idea that every debt should be paid, every wrong should be corrected. Sometimes that includes cursing a family or using magic to steal the memories from someone or simply allowing someone to die to create a balance in the universe.

That being said Akio does like a good prank and while he is not against isolation since he often travels on his own...he does value friendships. Being alive for so long has allowed him to cultivate many relationships after all. Birthday: November 21st. Scorpio.

Role/Occupation: Works in an Archive part time. Doesn’t need to but he likes the company of coworkers, routine, and articles of history to be sifted through.

Origin story:

In 1162 Akio was born to two young parents who were in the throes of a rebellion within Kyoto. Warring clans in a kingdom, the collapse of an artistic leadership, and the general breakdown of civilization as they knew it meant that for the first ten years of Akio’s life living was hard.

But as the wars shifted his parents took Akio and left Kyoto. When Akio was fifteen he discovered something beyond the comprehension of most people. The power that lied within had awakened on a warm summer’s evening and the magic that flowed from his fingertips spurred him to try and seek out the source of it.

For centuries, Akio took his time in learning his craft and knowing how much of a stretch his powers really had. Trying to raise his parents from the dead had been a failed mission. But slowing his own aging process thanks to the power within and a few key ingredients had proven to be successful. Akio likes to think that the reason for his power is so that he can change the world. But so far, with the limitations of his strength, he’s only been able to change the lives of those he comes into contact with. For better or worse depending on their involvement in his affairs.

Akio spent fifty years in China where he learned more from other eastern sorcerers and created working relationships with powerful beings and families. He moved five years ago to America where he has since been discovering the impact of other worldly beings roaming the busy city streets.

[reynewcw-blog]

Name: Goes by Teddy or Ted Michaels, has a second name that only certain beings know him by. {Tzadkiel}

Face Claim: Ben Feldman

Age: 37, on paper. In reality? Very. Very. Very Old. 

Height: 5″5

Hair: Black

Eyes: Green

Species: 

Fallen Angel

Powers:

Teleportation, albeit it tires him out. Invulnerable to many human attacks and weapons. Great strength. Ability to assess situations for their truth and danger. Can grant some of their energy to a human to assist in their healing or strengthening. Empathetic. 

What powers he had before his fall come and go at times, like a faulty circuit board. 

Weaknesses:

Since he is fallen, has a strange reaction between holy and demonic items. Holy items tend to set him off into a strange panic while demonic items can at times sicken and weaken him. 

Death is possible, or rather, ceasing to exist. It is just a little difficult to kill him. 

If he ever tries to tap into his powers there is a definite pull on his strength. 

Personality:

Teddy is not a great person. He is faulty and morally grey. He believes in good, but he also know that good is not pure. And to think that is what it takes to ascend is what trips him up. As a lawyer he believes that playing by the rules and the books is often bullshit.

He wants to see his clients tried to the truest extent and if that means bringing in evidence that needs to be fabricated or approved at the very last possible second he will do what he can to get that done.

He’s got a bit of a short temper and is impatient, he thinks things need to be done quicker than they are in most parts of his life.

Teddy is also into activism and has a lot of opinions on the way the Handlers run their operation. Opinionated, generous to a fault, and kind when he’s calm.

Birthday:

He doesn’t have one.

Role/Occupation: Lawyer

Registered:

No

Origin Story:

Teddy fell in 1658. 

Truthfully he should have fallen sooner. But he did well in hiding his opinions and the way he truly felt about certain world events and nonsense. It just got worse however as people migrated and took over lands from others, killing and fighting all in the name of their gods and their bias. 

Since then Teddy has tried to live their existence the best way they can. Through helping others. Their hunger for justice bled into the humans around him. He did not orchestrate major change, that was all up to the people, but he did whisper, he did write, and he did try to become a supporter of what was justified.

The issue was that justice can vary from person to person. And Teddy liked to see justice served even when it felt more like revenge than actual justice.

As the world turns now Teddy became a lawyer just ten years ago. With that degree under his belt he finds himself capable of doing things he could not before. But even so the justice system is flawed and what he wants to do is often frowned upon or difficult to come by legally.

So underhanded dealings, pushing someone to speak, making threats even...they’re all plausible when trying to get his client the justice they deserve.

Hopefully that will not come to bite him in the ass. 

[reynewcw-blog]

>> One has red hair. The other has blonde, both vaguely smelling of frat boy but also smoke. Not the tobacco kind either the…fire and brimstone kind. Make sense? >> Sure. >> Don’t patronize me. You want the info or not? >> ? I said sure. Keep going. >> Anyway. Both have a vaguely Montana accent. Nasal Midwesterners. One mentioned they needed to get back to their shift at…Marla’s? Mario’s? Some bar downtown. Other than that, they’re both tall, kinda lanky… >> Got it. That’s all I need. Thanks. >> You can tip me a little extra next time you see me.

Zhen rolled his eyes as he tucked his phone into his jacket pocket. He had his car parked outside of a bar and was looking through the smudged windows inside. He could see a man with hair so red it reminded him of the Little Mermaid. Could have been dye. Or it could have been a façade shoddily created to form a human shell that could be flashy and appealing to the average human being. His eyes drifted from that garish spot to the corner of the street where a tall blonde with hair as bright as the sun was talking to two women with a sharp smile on his face. 

One worked inside, the other worked outside. A decent operation of the bait and switch. If they could get at least two women they’d be fed for a while. If they could get more and use their appeal to set off the idea of a threesome for both then that’d be four humans to feed from. A feast for a quiet Saturday night. Checking his passenger seat, he reached into his bag and looked through what he had. Holy water, crucifixes, some old ass but blessed amulet, rosary beads…and ah, there. The wrap around case of knives he kept, all of them coated in a special holy water mix that would slip through a demon’s façade like a hot knife through butter. Complete with sizzling sound effects.

Zhen pulled on his leather gloves and zipped up his jacket. He grabbed from the selection of knives and dagger he kept with himself and shoved the holy items into his pocket. He got out from the car, hands tucked into his jacket pockets, shoulders hunched up to his ears as he walked forward. 

As he passed the blonde he could hear the purr of his voice, “It’s a pretty cool apartment. I’ve got a hot tub on the patio. Some wine set aside for two ladies as lovely as yourselves.” Zhen swore he could almost feel the sticky, sickening miasma that surrounded the demon in a man’s meat suit. 

One of the girls giggled and swayed further into the demon’s embrace, sighing, “I would love to.” Zhen had to give the other girl credit for stepping back, clearly confused as she warred with herself to not follow the stranger home. But with one touch to her arm she melted.

Zhen stopped in his tracks, and turned, “Hey,” his voice cut through the beat of silence that passed as the resisting girl stumbled forward. The blonde turned and eyed Zhen, frowning. “…Do you got the time,” Zhen asked, taking this chance to walk towards him. 

The blonde rolled his eyes, but he got out his phone and checked. Right when the screen flashed that it was 9:21 in the evening, Zhen moved. The jostling of beads was soon met with the sudden sizzle of flesh. The blonde screamed, eyes going wide and mouth yawning open, cracking along the edges of his lips as the poorly made flesh melted around the rosary. Both women jerked, as if someone had snapped the wire between them and the demon long enough to realize what was happening. Zhen drew up the bandana around his neck to cover his nose. The scent of burnt flesh had never been his favorite.

When the blonde, or incubus now that Zhen knew for sure, attacked he was quick to follow up. He blocked the swinging clawed hand with his forearm, pushed up, then turned around his back sharply to jerk the long arm around and pressed it against his lower back. Behind, Zhen leaned in and whispered into the demon’s ear, “If you would have just stayed in hell you wouldn’t be in this situation right now.”

The demon snarled while the women turned and ran. His meal had left. Zhen felt a delicious, vindictive victory as he kicked out to take out the demon’s knees from behind. He then jerked his arm around a neck that was turning black, so he could drag him back into a shadowed alley. It gave Zhen the cover he needed to ease out his knife and stab it right into the demon’s back. As it shrieked and struggled, Zhen’s mouth started to move so sharp, fluent Latin left him. He kept the demon pressed against his chest, arms locked and keeping it in place as he whispered. He was used to killing things with his bare hands and weapons, using something like holy texts or totems still took some getting used to. However, as he watched the demon start to shrivel and shriek, its wings cracking from its form just to snap back into place like a rubber band…Zhen had the thought of, ‘I’m getting better at this.’

Once all that was left in the demon’s place was a scourge of black marks and bubbling goo on the ground, Zhen thought it was time to find the next one.

The red head from the bar found him first.

The initial slam of half a two by four on the back of his head made Zhen’s vision swim. The next hit on his back had him collapsing to his knees. Before the third hit could land however, Zhen reached into his pocket with trembling hands. As blood trickled down the back of his neck he looked up and saw a sliver of pale skin between the demon’s shirt and jeans. It was all he needed.

He jerked the vial of holy water up and crushed it between his gloved palm and the demon’s flesh. The scream that escaped was ungodly and reminded Zhen of the time he had seen the Grudge as a kid and had nightmares for weeks. As he sat up on his knees, the demon started to sink onto his own. Using the glass, it opened up that form, so the holy water could sink in. As their eyes met once the red head fell to his knees, Zhen began to chant again. His voice was steady despite his own lack of balance, his eyes never wavering as word after word seemed to unfurl the human flesh from a demonic form.

Until finally the incubus was nothing more than another mark on the concrete. Zhen sat back on his knees, panting softly, eyes fluttering. He hissed as he reached back and touched over his head. Damn. That would be difficult to deal with later but for now. Mission accomplished. He could report this to the handlers and get his payment. These were the exact guys he had been sent to look for, but he had not been able to catch their trail until they had been seen at Legends lurking about. He’d have to text his thanks to Noah later. For now, he had to get home.

As he stood up and had to catch himself on a brick wall he just prayed to whoever out there was listening that the money and information he got in return for this could override the drawback of needing stitches.

--------------

“…That’s it?”

Across from Zhen was a woman who stared at him like he was stupid.

“What do you mean,” she asked, “We gave you ten thousand dollars to take out the threats. That was the agreed upon amount.”

As he shoved the check into his pocket, Zhen’s jaw clenched, and the muscle jumped up beneath his skin. “I’m talking about information. I was told that if I did this I would get something else. Something from the files that could me figure out Dai’s murder.” He looked at the woman’s desk and then back up to her face, “There’s nothing?”

She rolled her eyes as she looked away to her computer, “We told you what we know so far. The evidence there was chaotic. That entire apartment was in disarray. We swabbed the evidence left on the walls, the couch, the sink, and the kitchen floor. We know that whoever killed your sister was a succubus or incubus thanks to the makeup of what was left behind. We also know your sister was half drunk that evening and had claw marks on her legs, her thighs, and…other places.” She had the decency to look remorseful at that part. “We also know her phone was taken, her laptop crushed…there’s little else we can find and the hospital your sister worked at refuses to let go of the security tapes or images. Claiming some sort of privacy law.”

“Are you saying you have nothing else for me,” Zhen asked, chest tight, fists clenched on the counter.

“No,” she responded sharply, panicked more at the idea of them losing such a useful hunter rather than crushing the hopes of the man before her. “No we just. Ask that you be patient.”

Zhen stepped back from the counter, “Right. Patient.” He wanted to snap that he’d been patient for two years but…but no. He wanted to keep this gig until he tapped every resource possible. 

“Thanks,” Zhen turned on his heel, eyes burning with a disappointed fury that warred between wanting to punch the shit out of someone or go home and hide in his bed until it was time to pick Bran up from school. Instead of that Zhen went to the library to pick through old books of lore and mythology until the fog in his head cleared and he had the plan in place to keep looking. He refused to limit himself to what the Handlers could do. He had gotten comfortable. Now it was time to challenge himself, to push, until he had that murderer by the hair and could rip the head from their body. Anything less was unacceptable.

[reynewcw-blog]

“Uncle Zhen.”

Zhen cracked open an eye to see the soft tear-streaked face of his nephew Brandyn, or Bran for short, standing before him in his galactic PJs, his inky black hair a bit rumpled and skewed. It was easy to wake up, it always was, but especially when he caught the decrepit stench of sickness. The flush high on Bran’s face also gave him a better understanding of just why Bran would be standing at his bedside.

Sitting up, Zhen’s hand pressed against the mattress as the other reached to feel his nephew’s forehead down to his cheeks. “You’re sick.”

Bran nodded, black eyes watering and lower lip quivering. “I made a mess,” he lowered his eyes, ashamed, “I’m sorry. It’s on the floor. I just woke up a-and-” His breath hiccuped, a sob starting to work its way up his throat while Zhen shook his head and slid to his feet.

“No hey, you’re fine. There’s nothing wrong. You did nothing wrong. You’re sick, kid. It happens. You know how many times I woke up puking on the floor? Too many times.” He bent his knees and scooped up his nephew. “Here’s the deal,” he glanced at the alarm clock and saw it was two in the morning. “I’m going to run you a hot bath so you can clean up. First, brush your teeth though and then after, get in. As you get clean, I’ll clean...yeah? And I’ll make you soup. You want soup?”

Bran rested his head on Zhen’s shoulder as he walked out of the bedroom and into the restroom. Within a few moments the tub was filled with steaming hot water while Bran brushed his teeth with the minty adult toothpaste since he always thought the kid’s brand tasted horrible. Zhen left him to get undressed while he took one deep breath and set off for the supplies.

-------------

“101.3” Zhen frowned at the thermometer and clutched it marginally tighter in his hand, clearly concerned as his nephew stayed in bed that morning. “A little better since before. You sure you don’t want to go to the doctor?”

Bran shook his head sharply a few times, “No I just want to stay home. Please?”

Zhen didn’t like going to the doctor either and Bran hated it even more. Still he did give his nephew a long look and replied, “Fine but if you go over 103 I’m taking you. I’ll be checking every hour understood?”

With that said he rubbed Bran’s head and stood as he handed over the tablet, “Now listen it’s fine for you to lie here and watch videos but it’s better to sleep. So don’t fight it.”

“Okay. Thanks Z,” Bran whispered while getting settled back in bed with his nightstand of orange juice, water, crackers, and animal cookies to settle him while he pulled up Youtube.

Zhen left the bedroom, hand dragging down his face as he went into the kitchen. It was five in the morning now and he had just spent the past three hours cleaning the room, bathing Bran, and then staying up with him as he puked once more before he finally got into bed.

The aftermath meant Zhen had to clean a little more of the two bedroom apartment to make sure no puke remained and the sweat soaked sheets Bran had been in before Zhen changed them were in the wash. After, Zhen sat on the couch, tired from only three hours of sleep and the concern of caring for a sick child. He turned his head and glanced up the wall to see one of the few photos he actually had hanging. Daiya was in it with a baby Brandyn, smiling sweetly with her arms wrapped around her son.

He could recall that day as a ten month old Brandyn was dressed up in a tiny suit and bowtie while Daiya fussed over what to wear.

“Dai,” Zhen sighed, clearly tired of hearing the same line from his sister as she tore through her closet. “No offense but no one is going to give a shit about what you’re wearing. It’s all gonna be about Bran. He is the focus of the picture. And besides you’re gorgeous, you don’t need to go to a stylist beforehand.”

Dai shot Zhen a scathing look, “You suck at talking people up. I know I look fine enough for a photoshoot but I want this to be special! We missed our first appointment when he was five months old because of how sick he got, remember? I just.” She picked at the sleeves of her dress and frowned, “I want it to be right. I want this photo to stick around on our walls and for him to look back on it in ten years and appreciate having this. Without his mother looking like a train wreck.”

“You don’t look like a train wreck,” Zhen gruffly responded. “Yes you worked two shifts back to back but you look great. You shouldn’t be so concerned. It’s fine.”

“I want better than fine,” Daiya grumbled as she kicked off the heels she had on and exchanged them for slide on flats. “...And I want you in the photos too.”

Zhen shook his head, “No can do. No. Sorry.”

Rolling her eyes she said, “Zhen come on if you’re worried about your scars I can get some concealer and hide them. We can get them to photoshop them out. Please,” she pressed her hands together, lip puckering out as her lashes fluttered. “For me? For Bran?”

“I can’t,” Zhen’s voice was concise, a bit strained. “I have...I have to meet with my superior officer. This is the third debriefing I need to go to.”

“How long ago did they tell you this,” Daiya furrowed her brows, skeptical of her brother who only scratched over his jaw. “Mm. They called last night. You know I can’t say no.”

“Haven’t you already been through that case? It’s over, it happened. You told them everything you could why do they keep harassing you,” Daiya was annoyed now. She moved without all her usual grace as she looked at her reflection in the dresser mirror and lined her eyes in kohl.

“They use methods to see if there might be anything I forgot. The shock of the attack muddled my memories,” Zhen’s voice was monotone, a clear repetition of what he had heard a thousand times before. “Through certain psychotherapy methods and tactics they can begin the process of untangling my memories and figuring out if there are any missing pieces.”

“Sounds like a lot of bullshit reasons for them to keep tabs on you and try to trip you up.”

“Dai-”

“Just be careful alright. I know you’re all ‘hoo-rah the army rules’ but these people are not your family. The ones in your special ops team might have been but the ones that sent you on missions could not give a shit about you or how you’ve recovered the last few months.” Daiya reached into the crib by her bed and pulled out the sharply dressed Bran. “They don’t care that you’ve woken up screaming or that I myself had to shake you awake when your whole body became paralyzed in your dreams. They don’t care that you’re still in pain or that you flinch anytime the microwave goes off.”

Zhen’s shoulders raised and his arms tightly wound over his chest, “If there’s any...any chance that I can remember a detail to help them close this case and find the head of the ring they’re looking for then I’ll do whatever they need Dai. It’s not about them or my honor it’s about cutting away someone who has terrorized innocent people for the last decade.”

Daiya frowned at him sadly, “...For you it is. For them? It’s not. It’s really not Zhen...look just. Lock the door when you leave. I love you.” She left with a kiss to his cheek and headed out with Bran.

The photos had turned out to be beautiful. As Zhen expected them to be. And as per her hopes they lined the walls here and there while all the rest were tucked away in storage. He regretted not being in them, but they had enough candids of day by day moments that it sort of made up for it. He couldn’t recall what all happened in that meeting that day but he did remember coming home that night and having to be talked down in the kitchen by Daiya. It had been a blur of pain and panic and he had ruined her day double by coming apart in front of the fridge curled up like a child while her baby cried in the other room.

That was the weekend before he decided to finally go to a psychologist and start taking meds. He only ever went to his appointments when it was time for a refill and liked to avoid anyone else from trying to shrink his head.

Doctors in general were avoided but he just felt guilty that his aversion seemed to be sinking into Bran as well.

“Uncle Z,” Bran’s voice cried down the hall. Zhen instantly got up, racing from the living room to the bedroom he stopped in front of the door.

“Bran? You alright,” he rushed over, hands hovering, but Bran just nodded.

“Can you lay with me,” Bran asked, voice small. “I want to sleep but I…”

“Yeah buddy,” Zhen didn’t need to hear the rest of his reasoning, he climbed right in and shifted the pillows up so he was elevated. It helped his feet not to hang completely off the mattress and so he opened his arm up so Bran could snuggle right in against him. “Just try to sleep alright? I’ll be waking you up from time to time to check your fever but we should be okay.”

“Alright,” Bran whispered, yawning as he rested his head on Zhen’s chest. “Thanks Zhen.”

“Sure thing.”

As Bran slept, Zhen would doze in and out of his subconscious, mind flickering to thoughts of Daiya as his mind also took sharp turns thinking of what he needed to do to avenge her.

He could hear her voice, soft and insistent, “They don’t care…”

He thought about the folder in his car that detailed a few suspects that also fed on sexual energy handed to him from a handler. “They don’t care…”

Frowning, Zhen turned on his side and pulled Bran to his chest, rumbling with anger and sleepy irritation. He didn’t care if they didn’t care. No one else was going out there to rid the world of demons that drained humans dry and wrecked people’s lives. If he had to keep pushing himself to find her killer then he would. The Handlers could use him as much as they wanted while he used them in return for their information.

If it meant keeping people safe, if it meant keeping Bran safe...then to hell with it. He’d risk everything.

“They don’t care that you’re still in pain…”

Yeah well, Zhen didn’t care that he was still in pain either. None of that was important when he had a kid to protect and a demon to rip apart for what they did.

[reynewcw-blog]

Eugh. The stench of this place was pretentious. With its organic tea leaves and constant ground coffee. The sound of which was also annoying and caused Devi to feel something like a headache behind his eyes. He stared towards the counter, his cooling mug of coffee no longer as appetizing as it had once been. He checked his phone, the edges of the screen slightly cracked after he had tossed it in his rush to rid himself of clothes so he could join his rugged blonde detective on the couch. “Eighteen minutes,” Devi grunted, “This fucker is eighteen minutes later. Fuck this. I’ll just-”

Before he could get up and leave he caught a whiff of earthen cologne and curled edges of old papers and ink. Devi looked up into dancing black eyes behind thin framed glasses. Slowly his eyes drifted to the rest of the man who approached him in his soft sweater vest and finely pressed blazer. The fuck?

He watched as the man descended into the chair across from him and squinted, “Hey man that seat’s taken. I guess. I mean I was about to leave so-”

“You were going to leave before your contact got here, Devi,” the man smiled at Devi openly. In response the stunned demon sagged back into the antique chair with a scoff.

“You? You’re my damn contact? Oh fuck no I am not going to start trafficking dialysis meds. I did that for a month and nearly got my entire operation shut down. Once I start dealing out the real stuff I get sniped.” He dug through his raggedy old leather jacket, the loose tank top hanging around his slender form as he drew out a ten dollar bill and threw it down. “Thanks for wasting every bit of my time possible.”

However, the older man, Japanese by the looks of it, just reached and grounded him with an invisible force. Something that jerked Devi back down to sit rimrod straight. “You’re impatient,” the man sighed, disappointed. “And quick to make rash judgements. I’m not here for that. I am here to discuss something else entirely and something I believe you know how to get.”

Devi clenched his teeth and slowly  his lips curled back over them, “Let me go old man and we’ll see what I can do.”

He exhaled as he was released and sat back, long hair sliding around the sides of his face as he relaxed. “State your case then we’ll see what I know.”

Smiling, the man said, “One moment.” He left the table and went to the counter to order his stuffy green tea while Devi nervously stared at his back. He squirmed in his chair, wondering if he would have time to make that movie tonight or if he would have to cancel his plans.

Once he returned Devi lifted his chin, “Okay? You gonna tell me your name too or?”

“Oh, yes. Sorry. My name is Akio,” the man smiled, sweet and short before it faded into something much more at ease. “My apologies for the secrecy of this meeting I just wanted to make sure that this was conducted well. I can never tell what your kind might do with someone like me. Well. Try to do anyway.”

Devi cocked his head, “What the fuck makes you think I give a shit about who you are?”

Akio chuckled, “Nothing. I’m mistaken. So. Here is the gist of this meeting.”

He blew away the steam from his cup and took a sip, sighing, “...What do you know of the human trafficking laws and the loops between borders.”

Their eyes met, black on black, but on one end the darkness seemed endless, like a void that might suck one in if they stared too long.

Devi swallowed slowly, “...I know there’s a big difference in funneling drugs across country borders and kidnapping people to sneak into fields or whore houses.”

Akio’s laughter was like a bullet as he lowered his cup, “Is there? I mean essentially you and your operation are a large cause of the upticks of overdose deaths in the past decade alone. What’s the difference?”

“Not anymore,” Devi shook his head. “What I give out is way different than meth or coke. And it’s for a different crowd. Not what you think. Now that that’s settled I’m leaving.”

“I didn’t call this meeting to an end.”

“Don’t care.” Devi was about to scoot his chair back but once more something stopped him. Beneath his carefully constructed human skin the smoke and darkness within twisted. He grunted, his right hand balling on top of the table as the man before him only had to stare him down. He did more than that though. He reached out, a soft hand touching over a few strands of his hair just to pluck five strands out from his scalp.

Devi hissed at the first shot of pain but watched as Akio coiled the strands around his finger and pulled them tight until the skin mottled beneath its coil.

“I don’t need many. Maybe three. Maybe two? Even possibly just one. The problem is if it’s just one...well, I’m looking for a special kind of child.”

“Child,” Devi hissed, the burning sensation in his core making his eyes bleed black.

“There’s been whispers,” Akio continued. “Rumors. Legendary conversations of children touched by gods, or effected by forces outside of our galaxies. Special, long lasting...but they’re children. What can they do in this current climate of oppression and bubbling war?”

Their eyes met and Akio smiled, amused by the way Devi’s demonic innards started to crack at his fabricated humanity. “The answer is nothing. They’re children. But see,” he let the strands unfurl just to break apart one of the strands slowly. It made Devi’s whole body jerk and curl forward against the table as he gasped. “If I take their hearts, if I take their life force, if I...drink from them and fulfill the years they’ve been given with my own powers mixed with theirs. Can you imagine the power, the vitality...the purpose I would gain?”

He snapped another strand and smiled as the smoke started to rise around Devi. “You are nothing but a vapor in the wind and yet you are still given more time than I am. It isn’t fair. You’re nothing. You’re shit on Satan’s shoe. But here you are, taking up space. Meanwhile,” Akio dropped the rest of Devi’s hair, “Someone with a gift like mine has to steal every day to exist. It doesn’t seem right.”

Devi spoke, his voice low and guttural, “It doesn’t. You should be rotting in hell right now.”

He grunted when Akio’s hand shot between them and jerked up his face, fingers sinking into the hollows of his cheeks. Until the skin seemed to give way like ash beneath Akio’s fingers while Devi squirmed on the chair, legs screeching as he tried to keep himself from toppling along the table and then to his knees. He didn’t need to cause a scene.

“Fact of the matter is,” Akio smiled sweetly, “You know what sources I need. So you are going to give them to me. And as I feast you will also look into the case I mentioned as I look as well. If you do not I will reduce you to a slug and watch you crawl on your belly for the rest of your days like you were meant to.” His lashes lowered, lips curled up in something evil and cold. “Or I will make sure you and your makeshift life is torn apart, starting with the blonde, and then the student, and then whoever else you might have ever looked at twice.”

He shoved Devi away and watched as the demon covered its face, shaking as he tried to draw on his own energy to recreate himself. Meanwhile Akio glanced at his hand, black and hot to his forearm he just sighed. “That’ll wear off at some point.” He reached into his blazer pocket and slid over a card. Complete with an address and phone number. “Contact me. I expect my first shipment in a month.”

Finishing off his drink, Akio licked his lips and wiped a napkin along his mouth, just to toss it into Devi’s half filled mug. “Have a lovely day, Devi. Tip your chin up. You’ve made a new friend.” He smiled and walked away while Devi finally came back to the person he had created and tried to breath around the tightness in his chest.

“Shit,” he whispered, hunger flashing through him violently and making him nauseous. He had to feed, and soon, before he exploded into black flame. “Shit!”

[reynewcw-blog]

The first time Gentry ever kissed someone (other than his mother), he was eleven years old on the softball field. He had been taken behind one of the ball pits by a girl who had raven hair and blue eyes. He didn’t know her very well, all they had was P.E. and Art together but she claimed she loved him and that they would get married soon. He had no idea what to make of those claims so he just let her hang onto him as she kissed him with a dry mouth and sweaty palms. It was not a great kiss and truthfully Gentry felt uncomfortable. She refused to let go of his hand for the entire period and when it was time for him to go to Science, his favorite, she clung even tighter.

That day was the first time he had been kissed. It had also been the first day he had ever had a broken finger or watched as two teachers had to physically pull a screaming girl away from him while he silently cried and tried not to make such a fuss about the unnatural angle of his pinky. It was fine, really, and probably his fault somehow.

His mother had assured him later that night it was in no way his fault and that he never had to feel obligated to kiss anyone he did not want to. She also told him he could stay home for the rest of the week while the girl was taken to the hospital to be evaluated.

 ---------

Looking at his phone, Gentry frowned as he read through the volley of texts on his screen.

Ø  Hey.

Ø  I had a great time last night.

Ø  Can I see you again?

Ø  Where do you live? I can come now. I’m free.

Ø  Why aren’t you responding?

Ø  Did I do something wrong?

Ø  Hello?

Ø  Please tell me if I did something wrong please Gen I like you so much

Ø  I know it was our first date but I had this amazing dream about us and I think you could be The One you know?

Ø  GENTRY PLEASE

A familiar but unnatural feeling peeled apart in his gut. His fingertips clenched around the edges of his phone before a tinny voice of an eight-year-old caught his attention.

“Mr. Giordano? I’m having some trouble with this line…”

He turned off the device and threw it into his messenger bag. It was nine in the morning and he had a damn job to do. Still he had to physically swallow back a wave of nausea in the pit of his stomach that was laced with anxiety. The idea of having that effect on someone he hardly knew or even liked was just an unsettling feature of his life.

It was why he had been so adamant in swearing off dating the past few months. But his mother just had to keep forwarding him the name and number of her co-worker’s son who was single and interested until he finally caved and agreed to go out.

She did not want her only son to end up alone like a spinster with his three cats and unsold art works hanging on the wall. Gentry failed to see how that description painted such a horrid life but he had agreed to go just to shut her up. And once again he had left someone so mentally strung out it was like they were going through rehab.

Some people might have found it to be an ego boost. But after putting six restraining orders out and having to change his number fifteen times in the last ten years alone it got old. The paranoia of never knowing how someone might respond to him kept him away from dating. It even kept him away from having close friends. It was better to have knits of online groups and people that would only ever see his face and occasionally hear his voice without implementing them into his life.

As he turned to go and help the child asking a question, he felt relief that he could at least have this. At work he showed up and taught a bunch of prepubescent children about color, about shapes, about pursuing their imagination and being free within the confines of an assignment he had to follow. Gentry felt safe with children, even as his gloved hands guided theirs, they only ever came to him for help and to show off their work. It was delightful to see their passion shift into their art or the focus on their canvas.

Even little snot nosed boys and prissy girls could in time learn to loosen up and get their fingers messy on pieces of construction paper. Yes they were in a confined space but still, they were…in a sense, free, to create. To edge outside of their lines. Because Gentry never cared if the art was messy he just wanted to know they had tried.

When he checked his phone again he saw a text from his mother in response to the one he had sent hours before going >It was a bust.

Her response…

>Honey I’m so sorry >He told my coworker he thinks he’s in love with you. >She’s a little horrified but… >This is all my fault isn’t it?

Gentry sighed, alone now in his classroom he just hovered his fingers over the screen and looked out the window where the gardens he had growing on the sill were opening to bloom. He didn’t reply right away as he tried to content himself to having this. He had a space to be free in, a place to express himself with other human beings. This was fine. He even got paid to do this.

Still, he felt a dash of sudden and violent envy for the plants outside as they grew and twisted around one another, intermingling and becoming more vibrant. Nurtured by the sun, the soil, and each other, each petal a part of something more beautiful.

Gentry felt rootless in contrast. A daisy ripped from the middle of its stem and plucked apart, crushed and forgotten on a sidewalk.

Looking back down he responded.

>It’s fine. >I’m going home. Long day. He went back to his inbox and saw the notification that he had forty unread messages from last night’s date. Usually he deleted them but it had been a while so he opened it up and read the last three messages.

 >….I’m so sorry? > I’m not sure why I acted that way. > You’ve probably blocked me by this point which is totally fair. Safe to say I won’t be seeing you again. Which is a shame. You’re really beautiful. But…I think I need to focus on myself after that. Again. I am so sorry.

Gentry swiftly deleted the message and pocketed his phone. It was fine. He had a lesson plan to prepare and small simple quizzes about color theory to score from the 5th grade class. It was all fine.

 ---------

Two weeks after his first kiss Gentry got his first apology letter from the girl who had broken his pinky.

It had been sweet to read through it at first where she profusely apologized and told Gentry she had no excuse for what happened and to forgive her.

It was not as sweet to see her again the following day and watch as she and all of her friends ducked down a different hall and whispered about the strange crying boy who had not liked her back.

But it was fine.

[reynewcw-blog]

Name: Roland Talmhach

Face Claim: Kevin Mckidd

Age: 29

Height: 6″0

Hair: Red

Eyes: Blue

Species: Human

Powers:

Money. Looks. Charm. Connections.

Oh not to mention his family are huge investors and supporters of Handlers but is that a power or a liability?

Personality:

Charismatic and funny, Roland was the guy in school everyone seemed to like. He wasn’t afraid of talking to people or cracking jokes. He likes to get to know people and figure out what makes them tick.

Beneath the surface of a wonderful accent and disarming smile however is the personality of an intelligent, observant man. Quietly cunning, he knows how to move forth with plans that might seem out of the blue for some but for Roland they were always meant to happen.

Throwing money at problems might be a bit natural for him but so is threats. And he sticks up for what he cares for.

Has a slight bias towards anything non-human and likes to keep his affairs in line and in order. He definitely believes the idea of keeping friends close and enemies closer. Birthday:

March 29th

Role/Occupation: Investment Banker...and an informant for Handlers.

Registered:

No. Origin Story:

Born in Scotland to a wealthy family, Roland grew up having it all. He  knew all about the life of wealth, comfort, higher education, and general surplus of having it all if not more.

His older sister was a lovely debutante and fifteen years older than him (Roland had been a surprise baby). When Roland was eight, he could recall being at home in the media room with the TV on as he listened to his parents wailing across the mansion. His mother had cried so hard she had broken blood vessels in her face from it. The grief that came upon his family was sudden. And it was swift.

Apparently, Irene Talmhach had been found dead and drained in a swanky hotel room with naught but a few strands of hair from a person who was never recorded as existing and puncture wounds on her neck, thighs, and waist as evidence for how she died.

Roland’s parents became consumed with the desire to investigate her death. Not only that but to dive right into the politics of the underground world of whatever else existed so that they could prevent what happened to their darling daughter from ever happening again.

When Roland was fifteen he befriended Cyrus Hart. It was a set up play date of sorts by Cyrus’ mother and his own. They had sat down together to play games, and then went outside to shoot hoops. Whatever concern their mothers had about forcing any sorts of bonds quickly vanished when they saw how well they got on together. A few months after getting to know Cyrus and maneuvering his mood swings or helping him down from an anger spell his mother asked what sort of things Cyrus got up to. How the air felt around him when he acted out. If he had ever used that same force against Roland.

Since then he’s kept tabs on his best friend from time to time, but it became clear that Roland’s disarming personality and genuine desire to make friends or appeal to people would be of use.

In exchange for more business, favor, and connections...all Roland had to do was drop a few names, a few locations, a few stories.

Cyrus became defunct as a subject after some time passed and his mood swings seemed to calm down. But from time to time Roland can catch himself observing his friend. Just to watch and see. After all. The Harts could only reign for so long.

[reynewcw-blog]

Name: Raul Flores

Faceclaim: Manny Montana

Age: 27

Height: 6’1

Hair: Black

Eyes: Brown/Black

Sexuality: Bisexual

Species: Werewolf

Powers: The normal werewolf powers. Speed, strength, sense of smell, sick jumps, advanced agility, hearing accentuated, mild regeneration. Plus the inability to keep his cool all the way during a full moon.

Weaknesses: Silver, mistletoe, wolfsbane. Technically a full moon. Is able to be wounded and killed through beheading or split in half.

Personality: Raul’s optimism is sometimes overshadowed by his inability to keep his cool. He sometimes gets into fights with people that he thinks need to be taken down a peg and really loves getting his hands into the midst of injustice and shaking up the offenders. The problem is that Raul also wants to be a generally good guy and kind. He thinks the world could use more kindness and less assholes but well, it is illegal still to rid the world of people that just want to hurt others. For now. His explosive swinging back and forth means he is generally unstable according to friends and family. He has a good heart, a great smile, and warm words. But he also has swinging fists and little to no self preservation when it comes to protecting and helping others. Which makes him a bit of a liability and his role in society fragile. His werewolf instincts have been around for a while and he’s gotten to a point where he thinks it’s easy to hide what he is. But those teeth get a little too sharp sometimes.

Birthday: May 25th. Gemini.

Registered: Yes

Role/Occupation: Works at a museum as a security guard. Part time works as a bouncer at some clubs downtown whenever they’re short. Origin story: Raul was born in Los Angeles to a mother and father that had loved each other very much. He, and his three siblings, all lived with them in a small apartment north of the big city. Life was hard with his father working two jobs and his mother running a small seamstress gig but they all lived, they all got by. And better yet they all loved one another. He went to school, struggling with ADHD and assholes in his class room, Raul was always the one to punch a bully and be sent to ISS or suspended for sticking up for someone. Especially as a kid who realized he was bisexual, he knew how important it was to stick up and help others in the same marginalized group as himself. He was skinny and full of wiry muscle up against guys that were always a little too big for him to be fighting but he won over half those fights. Until he hit his senior year. And then he won them all. At 17, Raul could say that he was definitely on a shaky path in his life. He still showed up to school, respected his parents, and did his work but he was hungry for more. Sneaking into clubs and prowling the areas of the city where he knew guys and girls of all ages roamed had led him into a back alley. Bruised, bloodied, and bitten by a man who had caught his eye and claimed to be just a tourist who was older than Raul. Everything had happened so fast and within a week after that…incident (that’s what he prefers to call it), everything had changed. Raul dropped out of high school after his third fight ended up with a guy’s arm being broken. It was for the best, really. He got his GED, he moved out from Los Angeles and settled for some reason in San Francisco with a roommate and took on odd jobs until the job of guard-slash-bouncer seemed to stick. Raul was tall, but he looked skinny under his clothes. People underestimated him but after he hauled out a guy twice his size after he harassed a group of girls far too many times in a club… He became a fixture in San Francisco clubs and got a full-time job with benefits at an art museum. All in all, not too bad of a life for some kid who could turn into a furry monster. These days he works as hard as he can and balances the delicate life of being a registered werewolf while also trying to lead a normal existence. Now if only he could work on his temper.

[reynewcw-blog]

Name: Abraham Jared Hart, Abe for short.

Face Claim: Milo Ventimiglia (In the younger years)

Age: Died at 15 in the year 2000, eternal baby face

Height: 5’4

Hair: Dark brown

Eyes:  Dark brown

Species: Ghost.

Powers: Has the typical ghostly powers. Invisibility, Intangibility, Teleportation. He possesses not people but objects from time to time if he wishes to expand the breadth of places he wishes to travel. He is also linked to Cyrus and therefore uses his own powers to at times amplify the ones Cyrus has and therefore creates a barrier between Cyrus and the rest of the world. Before his death he was a medium and could talk to the spirits. Now that he is dead he tends to have an aversion to communicating with other ghosts simply because he does not want to feel as if he could potentially lose himself to their energy. Little does he know that he has the ability to take in their power if the situation called for it. Luckily his loner status does him well to bring him away from those situations though.

Weaknesses: Holy lands. Priests. He can get weak if he exerts his energy too much or too quick. Can be kept out of areas not only with holy items but also sulfur and can be trapped with salt. He also does not like to hang around witches or necromancers. The only sort of person with any abilities he wants to linger around is Cyrus. He could be “killed” through certain religious rituals if they wanted to get rid of his spirit.

Personality: Abe has always been a touch aggressive. He’s ready to fight for his right and all that jazz. But most of it is all bark no bite. He’s a kid in personality still, excitable over certain things and with an initial desire to resist since he had always been a rebel. But he’s pretty open minded and will come around on certain issues if given the time. He wants to stick it to the man but he also wants to lie down in a field somewhere and listen to music until the days drift into weeks. He is also prone to playing pranks sometimes. Just now and then. And he has a love for puns. Bad puns. But on certain days, like anniversaries, full moons, or the day he died he tends to disappear for a while. Either he chooses to fade into the surroundings or he goes elsewhere and watches a movie in the dark. The only good thing about being a ghost is free admission to any film he wishes to see. Same with concerts.

Birthday: April 15th

Role/Occupation: Friendly Grunge Rock Ghost reporting for Duty

Registered: No Origin Story: Abraham Hart was born with a silver spoon wedged in his mouth. His parents are filthy rich publishers and bakery owners. Kerry and Jared Hart were in the early years of their empire when Abraham was born and so he never knew what it was like to go without. Growing up in the late eighties and nineties meant he was exposed to all sorts of emerging trends, cultures, and styles. Being in a private school meant that he did have a uniform he had to wear but on the weekends he could go to pricy thrift stores, buy ripped up jeans, used up band tees, flannel button ups, Doc Martens, and any CDs he could hope for. The problem was that during this emergence of his own youth and the desire for a grunge lifestyle things got…complicated. When he was twelve it started as a whisper. Just a voice that kept talking to him at the edge of midnight, asking questions or just speaking his name. Abe entertained the voice for a while, answering little questions about his home or his life, and letting the voice get louder. But it became harder to balance when the one voice was soon accompanied by others. Abe’s grades began to plummet from their steady B minus to Ds and Fs as he began to hold whispering conversations with the voices that would not let him be. His teachers and classmates reported his behavior to Kerry Hart who was concerned for her son. She held a few secret seances to rid the house of evil spirits but the voices were still there. She was convinced then that her son was not host to spirits but mental illness instead. Abe was diagnosed with schizophrenia after three sessions where he discussed how he conversed with these different voices. Abe insisted he was not sick but that he was just being harassed. He knew things after all. About history, about current events, about the details of a moment of a crime because someone in his head had been there. He was not sick he was just being followed. The psychologist thought otherwise and put him on pretty strong medication. For a while the voices stopped, whatever was in the meds had closed off a part of his mind that could block out these visitors and his sensitivity to them. But they never left. They just kept pressing, and pressing, and pressing. They wanted him back. They wanted his words, his ear, they wanted to be known. They never asked to remain on earth and they found some boy in Seattle who they could talk to. How dare that witch and that doctor take away their boy? How dare they… A month after splitting migraines, fevers, and constant medication. Abraham died. The details of which Kerry does not and will not discuss and Abe does not remember. But he does know they had to remodel the house after. It was different when he visited as a ghost, that much he knew.

A couple years later the Harts brought in a new boy. Cyrus. And while at first Abraham had been jealous to know that his parents had found a replacement son there was something about him that drew Abe to the boy. It took a while but when he finally figured out that Cyrus had a psychic inclination he knew he had to protect him. After all, boys like them tended to be wrung out to dry in the world their parents claimed to be apart of.