#thread: tristan and niamh

[thxoracle]

Tristan never believed in the supernatural. In his earlier years, the thought of the afterlife was visualized by heaven and hell. There was no in-between, anyone who said otherwise was in cahoots with the devil and should be pushed away. It wasn’t until Tristan and his family left that damned compound, that Tristan realized how wrong they were.

“Murdered?” The man looked up from the scroll he was reading. When Tristan was turned into a Lycan—a werewolf—he had no idea where to begin. He asked everyone about everything, anything to help him get the hang of this newfound curse. He had met Niamh years ago, though the two had only seen each other a handful of times over the years. 

“Depends,” the lycan shrugged. “What did she say exactly?”

@thxnymph | @thxoracle for Tristan [Starter Call]

The door made a groan-and-bang noise as Niamh shoved it shut with her elbow. Her black curls were wet and clinging to her forehead like seaweed on a shipwreck. Befitting her state as a spirit farer, no even close to Kharon's glory. Yet.

She spotted Tristan in the back of the room, having to do master the social slalom course of avoiding the other people in here to get to him. Niamh took a deep breath and exhaled in frustration, but she persevered, walking over, boots squelching faintly. She stopped just short of his personal bubble. She took a breath, already bracing for the eye-roll that the living always tend to give her. "There's a girl. Dead. Stuck. Says she was murdered. And she won't shut up about it, poor thing." Her fingers twitched at her side. "Now, I know I'm not exactly Sherlock Holmes, I can't even solve a sudoku puzzle to save my arse, so... Will you help me?"