Under the Eye of the Moon...at the Hour of the Jackal.
It's dark here in the old cemetery at the edge of the city. The nearby mausoleum of the family 'Jones' has been defaced - the j scratched out with blunt chizels and a large letter B in red paint scrawled above it. An usually chilly breeze whips through the fading trees and forgotten grounds as shadows crawl with earthly feet, skittering here and there as they watch any who would dare to invade their lands.
Devon enters the cemetary and doesn't look very happy about it. A glance around and a muttered. "Fucking haunts." and she makes her way in, searching about for the aforementioned tomb. She doesn't look...jumpy exactly...but very expectant as she passes by the headstones that dot the grounds. A few moving shadows get a finger held up at them and she firmly, "Nope. Nope. Not doing it." continuing on her way until she gets to the small building in question. A glare is given to the name on the front before she approaches the door to try it.
The door to the tomb, long since broken, hangs on its hinges and opens with a scream of old metal and rust that comes straight out of a horror movie. The creeky portal slowly swings opens allowing the foolish intruder to step inside if they choose. The interior is only partially visible from the threshold, a room that seems to be a dozen feet wide and twice that long with the walls entirely comprised of what could losely be described as 'cells'. Like a bee's hive, each of the wall compartments are either filled with a coffin and the remains of one of the family - their names enscribed upon a tarnished name plate on the front - or empty.
Without stepping in one can easily see that a few of the cells have been broken, the marble-like cap cracked to expose the pull-bar of the casket within.
Two spirits, the shades of the long dead, stand guard on either side of the tomb's door. Statue-like, they're wearing tattered, web-like shrouds with their heads bowed like sentinels waiting to be commanded.
Devon narrows her eyes as she looks between the two specters. "I swear to god Dawson, if you get me eaten I will haunt the shit out of you." Her finger jerks at the open doorway as she speaks to them, not really caring which one of them decides to pipe up. "I need to go in there. Are either of you going to give me shit?" From the way she acts this isn't the first time she's had this conversation.
The spirits remain unmoving and seemingly ignorant of the woman's words or presence. Large chains, or the rusted remains of them at least, hang around their necks in long loops which would seem easily removed but somehow suggest a degree of servitude. They may be guard dogs - well trained not to move until commanded to do so. To the unawakened or unsighted, they're just simple, if a bit macabre, decorations on the front of the old tomb.
A cat screetches in the distance. An owl hoots. The wind blows and upon the wind the -faintest- hint of smoke can be detected. Was someone grilling out earlier? Nah, this is not the charcoal smoke of a barbeque but the wood smoke of a real fire. Must have been nearby but not recent to be so faint.
Devon sighs, and her frown just deepens. "Awesome. Thanks for the chat." Then steps inside the family crypt to look around. Unless they stop her she's going to start snooping, looking for anything recently disturbed or otherwise out of place.
As the woman steps inside, there's further evidence that several of the cells have been disturbed and, perhaps more importantly, there's a single, raised dias upon which rests a stone coffin towards the back of the chamber. The coffin, or stone container which holds one, has been draped with a black cloth, two lit candles sit on either side with an human skull, complete with its jaw, rests at the center.
The faint aura of magic fills the room as though someone's been working some spells quite recently here; static magic to be sure - but magic none the less.
Devon approaches the altar, or whatever it is, that someone's set up, coming to a stop next to it. Her face scrunches slightly, then she reaches into her back pocket to pull out her lighter and her 'cigarette' case. She pulls a joint from inside, lighting it up before putting the rest away. A sigh and she looks at the skull, "Alright shorty, lets see what you've been up to." blowing smoke into its face as she attempts to nudge any spirits attached to it still into a wakeful state.
The skull's eyes suddenly burst into light, like two candle flames hidden within it peeking out through the sockets. *Why have you come?* a voice seemingly from within the skull asks in a hollow voice.
The shadows seem to grow longer within the tomb and the darkness deepens by several degrees as the magic starts to take shape around the guest. Whispers of a dozen voices start brushing past her ears like she were surrounded by a group of people all trying to get her attention at a party but none of them speaking loudly or clearly enough to be fully heard. Curiously though, at least for the awakened, there are no spirits -within- the tomb. The whispers seem to be tied to the magic rather than to any particular shade.
Devon keeps the joint lit, puffing away on it slowly while she talks. No sense waisting it after all. Reaching a hand up she lightly scratches the back of her neck, "Well, I guess it started out as something to fill a night with, but now I'm pretty damn curious what the hell's going on here? Is someone messing with your family?"
- We have been brought into the service of the Master.* the voice explains as the two guards seem to shamble in from the threshold. A cold breeze accompanies their entrance as the two speak in unison. *We answered his call*
Devon looks over her shoulder as the two finally move, her lips pursing as they speak. "Who is your Master? Is your service willing or are you bound here and wish to move on?" Her attention returning to the skull in front of her.
"I...am their master," comes an all-too-familiar voice from the door as Dawson steps into the tomb.
Devon straightens up though she doesn't turn around right off the bat. "Dude, you better be wearing a Vader costume if you're going to drop that line." Her arms cross as she watches the skull for a tick or two more before turning around to face him. "You know this shit is dangerous right? You can end up with a hitchhiker pulling stuff from the other side."
From where Dawson stands, leaning against one of the interior pillars with his arms crossed confidently over his chest, his eyes seem to glow with an unnatural green hue. "Sorry, my robes are being cleaned. Had to 'work' the other night and things got messy - but I don't think I need to explain such things to you." He looks to the two guardian shades and they part, assuming sentinel-like postures on either side of the room. "But how did you see them?"
Devon arches an eyebrow as she focuses on him, or rather looking him in the glowing eyes before she shrugs. "That's my little secret; I always see them. All the time, everywhere. It doesn't shut off, even when I wish it would." She takes a long pull on the joint before letting it out with a slow, practiced exhale. "I see the lands of the Dead, the Two-Faces...and every other little nasty thing that crawls between worlds. FYI, the neighborhood around the bar is completely fucked." Walking over she folds her arms again as she comes to a stop. "So is Necromancy a hobby?"
"Consider it a lifestyle..." Dawson answers, continueing to watch the woman with his oddly glowing eyes. They don't so much as glow as they seem shiney - like an animal's eyes when washed with headlights in the dark. It's just that the shiney is green-ish.
"I wanted to see who might be able to understand the clues that I was throwing around..." he explains, "...did not expect someone that I -knew- to pick up on it."
Devon smirks, leaning forward a little as she gives him a squinty-eyed look. "Makes you wonder how much you really know people, doesn't it." She shrugs lightly, reaching up to pull the joint out of her mouth, holding it out to him as she asks. "So you got a nibble on your clues, now what?"
"I gotta make sure about the people I make an offer to," Dawson explains, the shadows of the tomb continueing to roil and move in the corners and just beyond peripheral vision. "Nearly every one of us has the spark..." he smiles and pushes himself off of the column he was leaned against to start walking towards Devon. "You ever think about joining up with the Harbingers?"
Devon shrugs lightly, "I don't ride, and I figured that was sort of a requirement. Sumter offered to teach me, but I haven't made it out to his place yet. I take it the club is into more than just riding though." A faint smile surfaces as she looks over her shoulder at the skull briefly.
"You're smart enough to know the answer to that question..." Dawson answers simply. The man continues to approach until he's maybe a few arm's length away. "We have our secrets - as I'm sure you've guessed. I use the mirror as a test to see who's ready to be asked. Yes, we're more than -just- a riding club. We're the last, best home for the misfits, freaks and minor gods of the world."
Devon continues to hold the joint out, unless he actively declines it. "Yeah, it wasn't much of a question." She shrugs again, "Isn't it kinda dangerous to just leave that floating out there like that though? Just because somebody can read the question doesn't mean you want them knowing the answers to it. There are some real assholes out there."
"And -they-," he reaches for the joint and takes a quick it, "...wouldn't have made it out of this tomb alive..." Dawson explains in a matter-of-fact tone. The two shades roll their shoulders and their shrouds shift to form massive wings. Like cobwebs and shadows, their wings stretch out to increase the depth of the darkness of the chamber. Bird-like skulls emerge from within the hoods as they bend forward and peer around like avian watch dogs.
"I abide curiosity, warn against hubris and punish arrogance." He takes another hit and passes it back to the woman, "...most people don't make it over the threshold."
Devon tilts her head to watch the guardians as they move about. "Huh. Cool." the tone of her words actually implying that she's a bit impressed. "Mostly I just try and make them go away, haven't found any that were actually willing to play nice." She takes the joint back, pinching the end out before moving to put what remains back in the case. "So the Harbingers are what are at the end of this road, huh? Why would you want somebody like me in it? What do you guys do beyond the obvious?"
"I don't know what all you're aware of - but there's more than us out in the dark." Dawson begins, his voice wavering between the hollow, ominous tones of Vader-ness and his usual tone found at work. " We try and keep them in their place long enough for people to stay out of it. Can't do it all - but we try and keep our corner safe."
Devon rests her back against the wall of little doors, her arms folding again. "I can see more than I can put names to, I still don't understand all of it. The Dead and I though...we have a long standing relationship." Her shoulder lifts lightly. "I don't exactly fit in with what's typical for my sort." She looks over at him with a raised eyebrow. "For example, Sumter and I are part of the same clique. So is there an offer on the table? Because until I can actually ride on my own, someone's gonna have to let me hitch a ride." smirking faintly.
.
"Oh," Dawson seems to shift mood instantly and gives the two spirit guardians a dismissive wave to send them back to watch the door. His face loses all pretence of 'darker-than-thou' and he shifts full into 'just Dawson'. "Hell...if I knew that...then hell yeah I'd make you an offer. We've talked in depth about what I can do and what he does." He smiles and offers a hand to the woman, "...we can get you a ride - and help you learn until you can do it yourself if you like."
Devon squints at the hand briefly, but only because of the question that follows. "Do I have to get in the coffin with the stripper?" She smirks and takes the hand, giving it a firm enough shake.
"I've seen male angels show up more than once. All depends on what you prefer..." he smiles and returns the handshake. "Do you want to break the news to Sumter or should I?"
Devon appears to ponder the idea, conceeding with a nod. "That I can do, so long as it's not Turbo. If I actually died from laughing I think it would defeat the purpose." Once done she hooks her finger in her beltloop. "You might as well, he already knows about me, but I don't see him all that often. Doesn't come into the bar as much as I'd think, and I don't really hang out at the places our sort does. To be honest...most of them are bureaucratic dickheads."
Dawson nods, "Yeah...I kind of know a little bit about what's been going on with you folks - even offered Sumter some uh...'meeting space' as ya need it. Since there's been more than a few of you crawl into the Styx." With a turn of his head and a glance towards the nearest shadow, he seems to signal to something or someone that the 'event' is over. After a few moments, four guys - each one wearing the vest of the Harbringers - come in and start to clean up. They move past Devon and Dawson without saying anything; moving the candles to the side so that they can collect the skull and the cloth for the makeshift alter. Yes, Dawson has minions.
Devon watches as the guys filter in, smirking a little. "So if I'd been up to no good it would have been fun getting out of here." She looks back to him and nods. "I would kinda like that, if it's doable. They all own those places, so you have to abide their crap if you want to go there. It'd be nice to have someplace else to go and talk without having to pucker up and kiss ass. I'm not very good at it." After the guys in their colors filter back out she pushes up from her lean. "Let me know the when. If that's it for tonight I'll head out."
Dawson nods and lets her step past him while he and the minions wrap things up here. He's got spirits to dismiss and minions to control. "I'll see you at the Styx later - we'll continue things then."
