#o.threads

[containatrocity]

"You. Small boy." It's barked, as he looms over Kirby's shoulder. "Someone took some of my clothes from my room. Are they in your laundry to be washed? They're not supposed to go in the washing machine, they'll immediately disintegrate, the jeans alone are mostly dental floss." October looks weird without his usual crust-punk thing. Stood here in gym shorts and a tee shirt emblazoned with smiling koalas and 'Please Don't Do Ketamine Off The Koala Kare Changing Station', he looks almost normal, if not for the fact he's still nearly seven feet tall and staring at Kirby like they're a cut of meat. "Oh. Grown adult. From the back you look like a terribly malnourished little boy. My question stands." He points. "Did somebody jack my pants and put them in the community laundry because they'll get more paint and god knows what on other clothes than they'll get clean at all."

@ghostsbrokenbyfairytales

[containatrocity]

"You wanna get outta my way, little fella, or am I gonna hafta move you myself?" The question is playful, for now, the man asking stood with broad arms wrapped in bandage and barb wire crossed across his chest- bare and muscled, his costume doesn't communicate particularly well this way, distressed apron slung low on his waist, headpiece and sword abandoned. "Been standin' there slack-jawed staring at a pumpkin for 20 minutes- At first I was just gonna shove you out of the way but then I was curious to see exactly how long a little happy face on a gourd was gonna keep your fuckin attention- it was too long. Move."

@endlessreruns

[containatrocity]

"Signed onto this to crack skulls and teach Quinn the ropes, and now I'm babysitting Hollywood's Mistake and any other fuckin' fool they decide to let loiter around." He's muttering to himself, smoking a cigarette outside the Parson house. He'll go for a walk, later, under the stars and moon, and relish in the cooler night air. In the loneliness that comes from wandering alongside fellow monsters. He's still cloaked in heavy fur, despite the heat, and the younger members of the Commune running around in the sprinklers to try and beat the sun- his dogs sit nearby, Glory panting around a ball and Gore staring pointedly, ever-vigilant at her master's side. He's about to keep moving, maybe take a few hours to himself at his U-Haul, still bogged down with belongings and locked tight- when he glances up at the sound of the screen door rattling open.

He's about to say something disparaging, really, but Gore starts braying instead, hackles raised. "Heh, sounds like the old girl's made her opinion of you known there, Jordan." He chuckles, tapping ash off his cigarette. "Gore. Hush." The dog quiets, seating herself silently again- odd stare leveled at the other man now. "They finally decide you were done doing your chores there, handsome? Gonna let you come outside an' play in the sprinklers?"

@ghostsbrokenbyfairytales

[containatrocity]

It's quite the difference from his boisterous arrival one morning a few weeks ago. With the bulk of his personal belongings sold off to the town or stored elsewhere to keep space in the commune, it's almost impressive October still looks so. Out of place, a towering thing made of patches, pins, and hanging jewelry. He lights up a cigarette, stepping from the porch of the Parsons house- intentions to swing by the moving van he'd arrived in- to take stock of the things he'd still not managed to pass on to somebody with use for them- and the things he'd been smart enough not to tell that Sunflower woman he had with him. He pulls the chain from the hanging portion of his pants, making the short walk to where he'd been told to park the van and opening the back door- Stacks of boxes and supplies hidden artfully behind stupid, rich people furniture.

He's rifling around for a hit to sell to that Mercy boy at the oddities shop in return for keeping some of his more 'treasured' belongings out of the hands of the town proper, when he hears footsteps in the leaves outside. "Mm, six paces back, sugar, I'm armed and dangerous." He warns, hidden before straightening to his full size. "You lookin' for something in particular, baby, or are you after little old me? I don't do autographs no more."

[containatrocity]

"No, what I think is I'm going to have to have a lengthy talk with Raziel and Quinn about what my duties are here, because babysitting was not among them- now shut. the fuck up. for thirty seconds." October is... more agitated than usual, by the look of him, the wadded remains of a missing person's poster being used as a makeshift torch to spark his cigarette and burn stray strings from his threadbare sweater. "Sometimes, kid, the most appealing thing you can do with your mouth is absolutely fuckin' nothing, and that's gonna be most of the time, while they got me watchin' your ass."

He sighs, as the flyer burns to cinders and a peal of smoke rolls from his nose. "Alright, it's been 30 seconds- impressive you managed to be quiet that long. They really paid you to be this insufferable 'fore you ended up in here?" He's not even really being mean about it, leveling Hunter with a cold blue glare- it's just how he regards most people. "Have we fallen so far from the echelons of celebrity?"

@oxtofmydcpth

[containatrocity]

"They really need to work on their choice of music at these things." October laments. He's pretty sure he's heard the same golden oldies bullshit six times already, as if everyone in his age range forgot to have fun the moment they got stuck in Huntsville. "I can't believe I complain about what KB puts on the radio if this is what I'd have to endure if he wasn't in charge of the tracklists." He's not sure what would be more upsetting- another classical slow dance, or the very real possibility they might play Get Low or Mr. Brightside next. His complaints trail off as he goes to get a drink, frowning as it's placed in front of an... alarmingly brightly colored young lady.

"Hey, sweetpea. unless you're shooting straight 'shine, I think they gave you my drink- mind slidin' it my way?" He's not above buying somebody a round, but this one's a little too... Small, for him to justify providing something more akin to straight battery acid. It's when she turns around there's a slight flicker of odd... Recognition- that he's not sure of the source of. "Didn't realize they still made your brand a' kid in this place." a gloved hand extends, expectantly, for his drink.

@endlessreruns

[containatrocity]

It's not often he finds the time to engage in his old hobbies, or the things that earned him fame and fortune in the first place- it's a surprisingly heavy amount of work, minding Quinn and her flock from harm- offering the heels-dug-in that is sometimes required in the lofty aspirations of his fellow 'leaders.' He's no stranger to the idea that he's little more than the brawn, the practiced, capable killer fostering the fledgling, clumsy bloodlust in his people. But being reduced to the 'idiot who kills well' has left him plenty of time to make his own plans. And, today, to play guitar.

He's rather bitter, all things considered, that Mr. Wainwright sold his favorite acoustic off, the cherry wood guitar sitting in his lap now wasn't the custom skeletal painted one he'd written hundreds of songs on- no, that one was... halfway across the room, in the clumsy grasp of the kid from the laundry incident. "You're too tense." He informs suddenly, glancing up from his own work, pointing at Kirby's hand. "If you're playin' to play, or even to relax, you're choked up. Whatever's eatin' you, kid, you need to let some of it go if you expect to do anything of any sorta quality."

@ghostsbrokenbyfairytales

[containatrocity]

"You know, girl, when you mentioned that these people hadn't seen the light, I fully assumed you meant with your intentions." October Roulette cuts a terrifying figure normally, but like this, muscles bared and carrying himself at full height- it's almost odd to see him gently handing Quinn a candied apple and a cup of cocoa, patting her shoulder before taking a post just off to her side. "Snacks. No point in letting the treats go to waste." He sparks up the end of a cigarette for himself, blue eyes combing the masses. "Look at them. A sea of absolute dipshits, fodder for the grinder, and they're having a pumpkin contest..." He scoffs. "I saw you and your little friend earlier, Jane, is it? She one of yours, then?" Hopefully more tolerable than the rest.

@ambercast

[containatrocity]

THE DIRGE: OLEANDER "OCTOBER ROULETTE" GRIMM

(That man he's a monster!) Made a deal with the demons, he's a cold hearted heathen- yeah it's gunpowder season.

"October Roulette. Any name I used to have hardly matters anymore, because that's the only one anybody bothers to pay any lip service. I'm 48 years old and hail from Georgia, where I started my career as a musician at 18 years old. As the frontman for Autumn's Gamblers I made my name as a temperamental, over the top man, eventually alienating my bandmates and going solo as Odd Revolver. I'm technically a visitor, living in the commune since my arrival and largely keeping to myself and among my own interests. I do not currently hold employment and likely won't, until forced to act. As a man bent on vices and violence, it's a little rude to ask me to narrow down my absolute favorite- but blood spilled in service of my own personal gain has always been the hardest habit to kick."

Name: Oleander Grimm- though he's known entirely by his stage name, October Roulette.

Aliases: Ock, Toby, Ten, TKO

Age: 48 (July 17th)

Sexuality/Gender: pansexual cis male

Personality: self-servicing and cruel, October Roulette has built his empire off the backs of people too foolish to best him at his own game. Despite his clear talent for music and gift of gab, it's hustles and foul play that he's benefited from the most- and these things inform his personality. Boisterous, loud, and commanding both in stature and engagement with the world at large, October's charisma belies a rather mean-spirited layer just under the surface. He'd much sooner watch somebody grovel for his attention than offer a kindness, and it's a history in the tabloids and gossip rags since the 90s that's fed his ego. He's violent to a fault, eager to put his fists and firearms to work when the opportunity arises, and a game of chance played against October Roulette oft ends poorly- like the Russian style of his namesake.

Occupation: currently unemployed, former rockstar as Odd Revolver and the frontman of Autumn's Gamblers.

Affiliations: the commune, Quinn

Scent Profile: clove cigarettes and heady, musky cologne, there's a lingering scent of gunpowder and copper, something subtly sweet that turns the stomach unpleasantly- it feels disingenuous- meant to draw you in like honey-like a flytrap.

Aesthetic: Bitter black coffee in a cup stained with blood, ceramic streaked sanguine and too many rings dotted with gore. Absent sips and sigilcraft- thy art is murder- in blood your pact paid due. A large furred coat and an ornate revolver, your namesake, a tool- it feels impersonal, now. Blood on hands on rings on neck. Stained red. Guitar strings and lyric sheets. The devil left Georgia in your body. You do death's will now. A dirge. A song for the dead. It mourns not- through you, it is a bellowing scream.

Opened up his eyes with a double-edged blade, time to pay the price for the choices that he made, whispers in his head slowly tapping on his brain- Praying to a God that he's never gonna face.

CHAPTER ONE: LIFE IN HUNTSVILLE POST ARRIVAL.

October has few duties beyond being perceived as what he is, massive, deadly, dangerous. It is his presence that encourages second thoughts in those who might choose to 'put an end' to the talk of the creatures in the woods demanding sacrifice to allow the townspeople to roam free, and it is his freedom to behave in his typical capacity, a bully and a brute that keeps him loyal to the cause- He is an imposing, monstrous figure, and he is never much more than a shout of his name away from an act of brutality in service of his ultimate goal: Keeping Huntsville locked away, with himself and a chosen few at the helm. He doesn't need power, he does not seek to lead, he wants only to do what he's done since he was a boy. To kill. To consume. To hunt those lesser than him in service of his pacts with things more evil than he could ever hope to grasp.

He is charismatic, despite this, and endearing when he must be, charming enough to pull strings, famous enough prior to his time in Huntsville to prey upon those weak enough to fall victim to the glitz and glamour of perceived celebrity- It's left him a tumultuous figure, to say the least, love or hate him, October is undeniable, commanding a room when he enters and using that presence to bolster the words of someone who may lead to the town's undoing.

[containatrocity]

It's unclear which is weirder, to see October out of his usual heavy punk garb or stage jacket in favor of a black tank top and clearly hand-cut shorts in an attempt to at least look like he knows it's hot outside, or if it's more offputting that he seems to be in a relatively good mood. In fact, instead of his usual abject scowling, he seems almost plucky and jovial, a cigarette in the corner of his mouth, a beer in hand and conversing with one of the regular hangers-on around the little... collective, that circles Quinn. His dogs seemed to have made an appearance as well, and it is, in fact, Glory who seems to have taken pointed interest in another commune-dweller, having crept off now sniffing nervously at the pants leg of a stranger- who happened to be holding food.

"Glory." a voice rumbles flatly, October arching a brow as the dog sheepishly wags his tail and sits down- long nose still fully extended toward Remi's thigh. "Ah, I'm sorry about him, thinks with 'is stomach more than that walnut rattlin' about in there he calls a brain. Hope he didn't bother you too bad."

@cryptidkeepp

[containatrocity]

"Hey. Hollywood. You got a staring problem?" October glances up from where he's lacing his skates, rusty stains in white leather despite the brilliant shine of the blades. "If you're waiting for me to pull out some fancy ice ballet moves you're going to be sorely disappointed, I know how to skate thanks to years of letting out my anger on the first unfortunate idiot between me and a hockey puck." He sighs, snapping his fingers in front of Jordan's face. "Hey. Earth to Hollywood. come in Hollywood. The fuck are you doing. I told you after the laundry incident I'm about to start chargin' you an inconvenience fee for being in my personal space. This counts, prettyboy."

@ghostsbrokenbyfairytales

[containatrocity]

"Wainwright, if I come in here one more time to make a drop off and you've got some stupid fucking excuse-"

"Hey- hey I told you, I can't just keep useful shit away from the townspeople because you're-"

"You can, you will, or I'll make things a lot more complicated for you than that sweet little girl you went an' knocked up backhandin' you at a party, hm?" October pauses at the bell ringing over the door, releasing his grip on Mercy's shirt collar and allowing the shorter man to back away slightly. "Mm, sorry, wouldn't want our little spat to cause any issue with your shoppin' trip there, friend." He insists. "Mr. Wainwright and I just needed to renegotiate our agreement about my guitars." He pauses, raising a brow at the newcomer. "Ain't it a little early in the AM to be out antique shopping?"

@darkestxdreams

[containatrocity]

"And here I thought they were keeping all the rangers in their enclosures until they'd healed up." October doesn't look up from his drink, leaned absently against the bar and nursing a glass of something- likely whiskey, given the color. It doesn't particularly matter that he's not the type to drink around others, preferring to stick close to home with a bottle of Jack and his own company, these days, without the freedom of tour allowing him to slip away from taking accountability for the 'love and leave them' worldview the late 90s had been so kind as to provide him, it was easier not to get... tangled up, with even casual engagements. And his celebrity didn't exactly strike the way it had before, here- he almost appreciates it. Being left alone.

At least, until he engages himself. "Looks like mother nature took her pound of flesh out of you, huh killer?" He arches a brow, chuckling softly. "At least she left the face intact, huh?"

@detectivegoldstein

[containatrocity]

"Now, Blue, boy, I know you ain't got the want 'er time most days to do much anything after work and the chores they got you saddled with at the commune- but would it kill ya to come say hi to dear old dad? I'm not always busy." His voice is unmistakable as it cuts into the relative quiet of Country Roads this close to closing. October's his usual self, hulking, clad in blacks, leather and heavy fur even as he checks the time on his watch. "Haven't seen ya in person since you were in a bassinet in a courthouse, and now look at'cha, almost as big as me." He opens massive arms with the quirk of a brow. "Do I at least get a hug for facilitating our escapes?" He leaves this vague- but given that there's not exactly many people left as the kitchen cleans up and closes down for the night, he's not particularly worried.

@ambercast