Author Topic: Who let the dogs out? [EOIN & SOPH]  (Read 56 times)

Charlotte

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Who let the dogs out? [EOIN & SOPH]
« on: June 01, 2019, 09:30:47 AM »
 Siobhan was getting old.
 At least, that's how it felt when after only a few hours of training in her back garden and sketching up a few vague ideas for a new tattoo had her spend the rest of her day slumped on her sofa, with a distinct feeling that perhaps - just maybe - she was getting a little too old for this lifestyle.
 There was not much to be had in the way of satisfaction with where you were at in life when the most prestigious accomplishments that you could recall from the past decade involved an embarrassingly short amount of time to binge-watch a new season of something on Netlflix. Or even discovering Netflix, for that matter. That was probably an accomplishment most mages her age did not have a claim to. If that was something to be proud of. It was this general feel of meaninglessness that had caused the woman's lethargy this afternoon, her pale hand having been wrapped around the television remote for so long that it had started to feel like an extension of her arm, flicking through the daytime television.
 "Absolute joke that they cancelled that." Siobhan said aloud to herself, breaking the silence that she had been sat in for a good few hours.
 That was probably what the breaking point was. It was never a good sign when you were talking to your own bloody television, as if waiting for a response that you knew would never come. Truly riveting stuff.
 It was with that thought in mind that the vampire threw her remote aside and slumped further into her chair. She could always... go for a walk? As if she hadn't seen the same sights for the past four centuries? Maybe she could meet up with someone? There had to be someone that she... No. There wasn't anyone. Maybe Axel Deadshot at a *stretch*, but really... that man only ever visited her on a whim -- and there was absolutely never any forewarning before his visits. Even a man who barely knew her knew that she didn't leave the god-damned sofa. What a ridiculously horribly thought out idea it was to place herself in some form of soft isolation, as if your own company and inanimate objects didn't become absolutely unbearable to deal with sometimes.
 That was pretty much the long and short of how she ended up on her bike, on her way to the nearest animal shelter - absolutely set on the idea of getting herself a dog. Maybe a nice Saint Bernard. Fluffy, dependable, not too much slobber... sounded idyllic.
 She'd paused on the way to pull into a Costa, balancing precariously on the bike in the drive-thru and reaching in her pocket for her tobacco. The weather was a little mellower than usual; no ridiculous winds, even a little bit of sunshine. That alone, combined with the almost agoraphobic open spaces around her, was enough to have the blonde cracking a smile under her visor, grabbing the ice cold beverage from the final window and swerving into a parking spot, kicking out the bike stand and leaning against the seat as she stirred it slowly with a straw.

[[you gave me llama all to work with so this is me, returning the favour]]
Quote from: Prince Robot IV
Belay that goaty.

Eoin

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Re: Who let the dogs out? [EOIN & SOPH]
« Reply #1 on: June 01, 2019, 09:30:59 PM »
It started without warning, as the attacks often did. One second he’d been drinking tea out of his flask (a little aftertaste of vodka remaining from the flask’s usual contents) and the next he felt a tingling sensation up his spine. Shadowban was glad he’d been in his car, because it meant he didn’t terrify anyone when his face contorted and his whole body began to shake. Pain exploded, radiating from his brain down throughout his entire body. Every inch of his being wanted him to lie down and die. Indeed, as per usual, he tried, tried to let the agony take him. But that wasn’t what these attacks did. Shadowban couldn’t be killed by this. Whimpering noises escaped his oversized frame and the necromancer felt hot tears drip from his eyes. Sometimes they were blood, but when he raised a trembling hand these seemed clear.

He had to get help. He had to get to a symbolist. Every movement made him feel like he was about to break into a hundred thousand tiny pieces but he had to move. These things didn’t get better, not for hours. Their intensity only increased, rising to a sharp climax where his pain would sing and his vision would turn to stars. But that was too much to endure. He couldn’t do it. No. He needed a symbolist. Forty years ago he’d been sold a symbol that blocked the sort of pain he’d experienced. He’d paid an arm and a leg for it and been able to use it six times in eight attacks, but every time had paid that original cost back tenfold. Shadowban bucked his hips to reach his hand into his pocket, dropping his tea as he did so. The hot liquid spilled, scalded a bare ankle, but he barely registered it. With his phone in his hand he struggled to find what he was looking for, until eventually the lost flashed in front of his eyes. Where was he? Galway. Why was he out this far west? He couldn’t remember. Right. llama. He inhaled sharply, bit his own tongue to focus. His phone was in his hand, finally. No. Useless. Not what he needed. He threw it onto the passenger seat and found his notebook, flicked through it until he found the page for ‘symbolists - Connacht.’ Five names. The closest? Siobhan Donovan. He grabbed his phone and typed in the address with an uneven, stuttering hand. His palms were so large he had to turn the phone to landscape to even have a hope of typing normally, his hands so damaged that it was slow at the best of times. This was not the best of times.

The phone said twenty minutes. Shadowban was there in ten. He was sure he’d been booked for speeding but he didn’t give a llama, as long as this goddamn symbolist was any good. He had his notebook in his hands as he approached her bungalow. His head spun, he knew he looked like a drunk. On the way there a little girl had seen him in the speeding windshield, and she’d dropped her ice cream. Now, the necromancer caught sight of his reflection in the glass of Siobhan’s front door. He was even more gaunt than usual. His head, usually a solid foot above everyone else’s, was leaned forwards. His limping gait was slowing him down. His short black hair was matted with sweat. His eyes were red and puffy, but sunken around where the normal shadows were to an extreme extent. His scars stood out sharply. He looked even more like the misshapen monster that he thought himself as.

The door was locked. Shadowban cursed and hammered it with a powerful fist. Nothing. The door was obviously protected magically, at least… from mortal threats. Collapsing an oversized shoulder against the door, Shadowban reached into an inside coat pocket. Blue jeans, a black leather jacket, a white shirt now drenched with his sweat - all of it too heavy. But his pockets were deep, and his hands closed around the cold Swiss Army knife. Pulling the metal out, Shadowban jammed it against the lock and felt shadow float in, warping around the lock’s internal mechanisms… and turning them. His body shivered as his hand turned the door, opened it. Shadowban barely managed to close it behind him before he collapsed in utter agony on the floor. He struggled to take off his jacket, his shaking form hindering him. But he got it off. The page with the symbol on it was opened, clutched like a prayer book.

Shadowban lay against the wall in front of her door and he wept, agony consuming him.
No matter how much you think you love somebody, you'll step back when the pool of their blood edges too close.


Charlotte

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Re: Who let the dogs out? [EOIN & SOPH]
« Reply #2 on: June 03, 2019, 11:09:57 PM »
 She'd finished her tea and was slumped against her bike with a rolled cigarette. Her dull gaze travelled languidly across the grey tarmac, noting the myriad of gum and pigeon unpleasant excrement that it had to offer in place of... well, anything of actual interest, really. Maybe she shouldn't get a dog; the image of having to walk it in the same sights all the time, just letting it off the leash and waiting for it to be tired out just to go back inside and do the same thing daily -- just now with a dog -- was not an appealing prospect...
 Well, she could always go travelling. There was a whole world out there! Lots of different languages to learn...
 "What a dumb idea." Siobhan dropped her cigarette in the dregs of her iced tea with a satisfying hiss. "Can't stand aeroplanes. The plants home would die, too."
 In one smooth motion, she'd kicked up the bike stand and swung her weight back onto it, already on her way back home. Empty-handed.
 At least she'd managed to get some sun - it wasn't a complete waste in that regard.

 The drive back home felt about a good twenty minutes longer than it actually was, and too many times did the vampire find herself in a wistful reverie instead of focusing on the road before her. It was pure luck that she hadn't crashed - that, and the fact the road was fairly empty today. She'd flipped her visor down to protect her eyes but still found that she was going at speeds that had them welling up anyway. It wasn't too long before she'd reached her drive and kicked the stand back out again, pulling her visor off and whipping the hair out of the bun it was in as she walked up to her door--
 A man was sat on her door. Slumped in a manner that suggested he'd perhaps had a little too much to drink, that black flash of hair covered his face as he curled up like a small child and sobbed; a horrid, deep, breathless noise.
 Unsure of what to do, Siobhan initially had taken a large step back and raised her hands in an almost-combative position. She quickly corrected herself, closing her stance a little so she wasn't stood so broadly and aggressively.
 "Hello?" Her voice came out a little weaker than she had intended - but how else was one meant to speak when a homeless man was having a bad trip on your front door. "Do you need some help? A doctor, maybe? I can call..."
 She'd pulled out her phone while speaking, and was now looking at him expectantly. "I can call someone you know, maybe?"
Quote from: Prince Robot IV
Belay that goaty.

Eoin

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Re: Who let the dogs out? [EOIN & SOPH]
« Reply #3 on: June 11, 2019, 03:22:04 PM »
"Please, please... I need your help. Please God. I need help." The book is held forward, an offering. But more than an offering. A begging cup, a desperate plea when nothing else brings succor. The agony in his eyes is plainly read, the pain running through his body so powerful that one could feel it. His massive form was curled into itself, the wide shoulders slumped in. He looked gaunt, thin, worn down. The power he normally carried with his broken stride was reduced to just a shadow of itself, as sharp and hollow as the shadows of cheeks, as empty as the marks underneath his eyes. Sweat on his brow trickled down his face, stained the white shirt already stained underneath the arms and at his stomach. His vision blurred, his eyes didn't settle on her.

Shadowban's hands opened the book to show her the sketching. It was finely done. He hadn't done it himself and he didn't understand quite how it worked, but he knew it did - that it took the pain away. An 'S' inside of two circles, one held inside the other. The circumferences were nearly touching to the extent where one might mistake them for a single shape. Horizontally, a thin line ran across it, less than a quarter as wide as the others. The straightness of the line, and the four significant curves - the top and bottom of the 'S', the circles - they presented an issue to an amateur like Shadowban. He would only do damage to himself. No, he needed a professional. A professional like Siobhan. "I can't do this myself. I don't have the skills." His hands had a distinct tremor.

A grim smile appeared on his thin lips, warping the heavy scars. "No one to call out here. This is magic. Old magic. I can't do this alone, however much I try. Please." His grey eyes met hers for the first time, his face setting into a clenched jaw as he fought the pain, attempting to communicate what he needed. This wasn't some junkie. He was a mage, and to communicate the fact his posture suddenly broke and his notebook fell to the floor. As he scrambled for it, pages were flicked through. Maps, sketches, ingredients list. And magic, descriptions and symbols and stories. A lifetime's learning, condensed down to a hundred A5 pages. Many mages carried them, to keep a record of all the things they had done and seen. A lifetime was a long thing, especially to their kind. A genius could survive without them, but a man like Shadowban relied heavily on it.
No matter how much you think you love somebody, you'll step back when the pool of their blood edges too close.