Urban Fantasy - Open To Anyone

[wingedbeastie]

 

Cipher City is a place where the impossible becomes real and dreams go to die. I mean, if you're going to be a melodramatic bitch about it.

It's a mess of a place, but what city isn't. Keep your head down and mind your fucking business -- yes, even if some of the residents have scales or wings or whatever -- and you'll be just fine. The big community center and park is probably the only neutral ground in the city- it's got protective wards out the ass and is where everyone does their big hoopla monthly event; witches and their celebrations, neo-pagans and their drum circles and whatever bullshit hipster college kids get up to.

Center of the city is where the magical elite make their homes,  warded townhouses and condos with magical illuminated script for wallpaper keep them protected from the bitter folks in the worse off parts of town. Downtown is home to entertainers and black markets of all kinds and will sell you anything you need for a price. Hunters of all kinds offer their services in dingy, cigarette filled offices and back tables in dark restaurant. Witches, Vampires, Demons - shit, even other hunters if you knock on the right door - somebody will be happy to collect a head if you line their pockets.

So the question is: why are you here, stranger?

Comments

[witchtrialled]

For all the times it got tossed around as a cliche, sometimes it ended up being true; it really was a dark and stormy night.

Not like the city residents weren't used to this. Once winter started slipping into spring, and summer into fall, the rains rolled in on heavy gusts from the coastline, and it was all you ever saw for months at a time. Fine enough for those allergic to sunlight, but not so much for the idiots who got caught in these downpours without an umbrella.

Salem was aware he was one of those idiots, but it didn't make him feel any better about it.

Dashing from one awning to the next, the punkling made his way towards the well-lit windows, boots throwing up puddles in his wake. It was only when he reached the safety of the diner, and stepped inside, that he took a moment to squeeze the water out of his sidecut. The bored looking woman manning the counter didn't seem to care, and kept trying to figure out the day's crossword.

Still bedraggled, Salem took one of the red round seats at the counter, ignoring the unbecoming squish he made when he did so. He'd just barely opened his mouth when a laminated menu was slid across to him. Awkward moment averted. Half browsing the menu, half watching the rain pour down outside, the Witch settled in for a long night.

Sending someone a little different your way.

[huntressofhunters]

The door of the little diner opened with a tinkling bell that seemed the ring deep in the ears of everyone present. Except a few choice individuals, who slink lower into their chairs and cast weary glares at the newcomer, no one seems to notice the shrill sound.

Must be your nerves.

The center of attention is a woman - tall and old enough to be a grandmother by now, her dark wavy hair streaked generously with white and gray, almost as if her hair had already changed and she'd simply taken to dipping it in ink. In her youth she may have been beautiful and even now, dark skin wearing her few scars well and sharp amber eyes, she still has the look of nobility in her. A bit of girlish tastes,too -- if the crow feather earrings are anything to go by.

All black everything seems to be her motto, trenchcoat still dripping from the downpour. Closing the black umbrella she entered with, she leans it delicately against the wall, to avoid blocking the traffic of the walkway before she heads for the counter.

Even with use of the cane, her steps are sure and fluid and as she gets closer, there is the telltale rattle of a potion bottle or six as she sits at the counter.

"You might want to belay that meal, boy." Christ, that's a Northern accent if you've ever heard one. It also means she's not from Cipher proper. "Weather like this means a hunt's on."

[witchtrialled]

The tinkling of the bell registers somewhat, but the grumbling of his stomach means Salem's a little more focused on whether he wants chicken and waffles, or hashbrowns with the works. The decision, however, gets put off when the newest arrival takes a seat next to him.

It's only after she speaks that Salem briefly glances back to the windows, and notices that the smattering of people who were there when he entered are trying their very best to not get noticed.

"Oh yeah?" When he turns his head back, he's grinning now, showing off a mouth full of pointed teeth. "You sayin' the hunt can't wait for a bit? I'm starving."
Salem's own accent is... a little unplaceable, perhaps. It smacks of cold and foggy forests of pine, of dark nights and crackling fires. Not a local either, clearly.

[huntressofhunters]

She looks at him, a bit owlishly. The teeth, the devil may care attitude; it's something she knows all too well and for a moment she prays that he'll do better than the last young man she saw with a manner like his.

Pulling a billfold out of her interior pocket, she begins counting off bills. A few of the patrons go stone still and after the waitress makes the sign of the cross over herself, she looks between Salem and this dapper, fucking loaded woman.

"This should cover the food of all the diners and the preliminary damages." This trench-coated woman doesn't seem to react to the palpable fear that people are beginning to show, smiling mildly as she slides the money and a business card across the counter. "If anything goes further, call that contractor and they'll get you squared away, love."

The business card on top of the money is black, embossed with a white crow skull and two blades; The Crow Hunters. No-longer-bored waitress looks at the money and the two folks at the counter. Trench-coat woman looks to Salem, meeting his grin with one of her own. Her teeth are normal, maybe, but they're too white and too even, save for the silver fang to the left side of her mouth.

"As for the hunt, young man..." She swivels in the seat, pushing with her cane to face one of the twitchy men at a nearby table. He's hunched in his seat, eyeing Salem like he's waiting for something and hand suspiciously under the table. "y'should ask the louse who's been eyein' up which part of the spine to stick you in."

[witchtrialled]

Salem thinks he knows how this goes. After all, it's not the first time he's gotten people who think he doesn't know what he's doing, and he's sure if he didn't look like a Hot Topic reject people might stop treating him like a kid, but still...

He doesn't manage to get out another wisecrack before the woman starts counting out bills. Lots of bills. Big ones. He also gets the very distinct vibe that snatching the dosh and running would mean trouble, so he stays put, and stops smiling.

Twitchy guy, by the time he gets announced, is more or less the only guy left in the diner. Everybody else has gotten up and quietly made their way to the exit. They were hoping for shitty late night food and some peace and quiet, presumably, and they all left for somewhere else to find both.

So, there's Salem and Twitchy Guy, locking eyes. They stare for a bit. Salem eventually swivels the seat around, for a proper view.

"Man, c'mon. Seriously?"

Twitchy Man gets a little more twitchy, nods, looks a little ashamed. Not expecting a call-out, presumably. Salem, on the other hand, gives the slightest of grimaces and flips him the bird. "Fuck off, then. Go on, fuck off, I've had a shit night."

Twitchy does not fuck off. What he chooses is to pull his gun from under the table and fire it three times. In quick succession, each bullet slows to a crawl, turns around, and finds purchase in Twitchy's left shoulder, right shoulder, and right ear, sending him sprawling into the cushioned booth he'd previously been sitting in.

Salem, with the bird still raised in front of him, leans his head to the side to check on the man's condition.

"Ah, he's having a worse one, I think."

[huntressofhunters]

The woman casts a sidelong look to the bleeding hunter, letting out a low, impressed whistle. Her gaze returns to Salem, impressed and a little wary.

"Damn. Haven't seen a trick like that in years. Well," She eases from the chair with a grunt as Twitchy's feet begin to...well, twitch. "I suppose introductions are in order before things get festive."

She slams her cane on the ground once, forcing what appeared to be a dark wood cane to flatten into a wide, silvery blade as a mantle of black feathers seemed to come in at the shoulder of her coat.

"Eileen the Crow is what they call me. Besides 'bitch' or 'traitor', anyways."

Flicking her wrist forward, the blade snapped to life and coiling around her protectively.

"If you're satisfied, young man, I'm only here for him. Best you leave before this gets bloodier."

[witchtrialled]

Even with the man groaning and clutching himself in the booth, Salem doesn't seem too intent on following up with more 'tricks'. He does keep a close eye on Twitchy's attempts at recovery, however, even as he grabs the menu from the counter behind him and scans his offerings once again. He doesn't seem to notice that the waitress and cook have both made a hasty jaunt to one of the (potentially) safer back rooms.

"Nah? Mmn. Don't truck with Witches often then." The word has an audible uppercase. "Probably a good idea."

Idly, he flips the menu around to the back, a tongue flicking out to fiddle with the chain of his piercing.

"Name's Salem. The Bullet Witch. Pleased."

Casually, his crimson gaze flicks back to Twitchy, who's looking pale and very stricken, glancing back and forth between the two of them.

"Hoo, boy, isn't this a fun dose of irony for you, pal?" And to Eileen, "Nah, go ahead."

[huntressofhunters]

"Most don't trust me enough to stick around." Eileen retorted, surprisingly airy considering circumstances.

"Well enough," She said, her syllables thrumming with power the bladed whip began coiling like a great snake. Sections of the weapon rang, silver-light writing etching itself into the metal. It a pretty sound; bright in tone but seemed cacophonous to Twitchy, judging from the way he writhed in the booth.

"Weary prayers have reached Our Mother
Wings of The Crow will give you flight
Silver Mercy has found you, Brother
Hard-won rest has come tonight."

At the end of the incantation, Eileen twisted her wrist again, the point of the blade rushing with dazzling speed.Twitchy had growled something low and guttural, clambering to sit up as a magic circle appeared in the air before him. The attack struck and bounced, ricocheting violently towards the counter area. Not to be outdone, Eileen spun against the momentum of her blade, forcing the blade to redirect and embed itself in the counter-top -- just shy of Salem.

"Shit." The oath was the only thing that the Crow Hunter could manage after a moment of gawking.

The corruption was apparent, his Hunter's Ward was so low in energy that it was barely luminescent. It seemed to crack and crumble as it wound counter-clockwise, before stuttering and spinning wildly in the proper clockwise fashion, flickering madly as it hung in the air.

"So much for fuckin' courtesy." The Crow grumbled, accent thickening with her irritation. She scowled at Twitchy, watching as his body tried to heal, bullets beginning to push out of their wounds.

[witchtrialled]

"Well, I don't trust anyone much." Salem admits, just as airy, and sits back to enjoy the show.

And what a show it is. By the time Eileen's blade comes crashing into the counter next to him, he's grinning up a storm, teeth gleaming in the too-bright fluorescent lights. Casually, he shifts his lanky mess a couple inches to the right, off of the stool and onto the floor, watching as Twitchy shudders and twitches, pushing the bullets out onto the table with a clatter-clatter-clatter.

Slowly, the man pushes himself back onto his feet, staring down the two of them with eyes that are not human. Black and empty pits, with pinpricks of light, molten in the cores of his eye sockets. Slowly, his mouth unhinges, jaw cracking and snapping as it falls and hangs, useless, from the base of his skull-

Bang! Another shot rings out 'cross the diner, and mid-transformation, Twitchy looks down at the new bullet hole right between his legs. Salem, clutching a shining silver pistol, frowns.

"Right, right. Not human. Just makin' sure."

With a screech, Twitchy leaps and tackles the gangly Witch across the counter and into the kitchen with a crash and clatter of cutlery.

[huntressofhunters]

If Eileen had been a younger woman, or simply in a better mood, she would have smiled at Salem's investigation. At the moment though, all it earned was a huff and a quick rolling of her eyes. The young Witch gets his quip and then he and Twitchy go barreling over the counter.

"Hell,"she groaned before vaulting over the counter and landing in a crouch that was a likely a hair lower than necessary.

Swinging her arm in a wide arc, The Crow stood and began murmuring as the blade that seemed to hover around her began winding again. The singing of the blades forced another moment of violent writhing in Twitchy, who couldn't decide if he hated the source of the noise or Salem more. He seizes, the final throw of whatever it is, raising a strangely spindly arm to point at the hunter. The corruption drips off of him in thick grey rivulets, the color of black ash and whipped topping mixed together, streaky and uneven.

"Mater ar-"

Before she can finish the incantation, there is a a sickening crack as Twitchy's spiny fingertip comes rocketing before her. Eileen's Ward, even incomplete, is strong. It removes the corruption, splattering it in a ring from the point of entry. However, her potency means nothing with speed and so the clean bit of bone strikes true, catching in her shoulder with enough force to stagger her.