Anzu's childhood was idyllic.  He never really wanted for anything-- there was always food on the table and in the fridge.  His mother didn't work, so she was always home.  Flitting about the estate they stayed in, cleaning, baking, and singing.  The only thing she ever seemed to care about was loving them-- Anzu, his brother, and his father.  His father was the polar opposite-- a cold, mysterious man that kept all his secrets behind a locked door, reinforced with six inches of steel.  The man spent all day and night in his study, polishing his antiques and studying strange relics that seemed, at least at the time, to have appeared out of nowhere. 

Once, Anzu's father told him about the time he was born.  He said it was a day he'd never forget, unlike his brothers birth which he didn't care to remember.  His father was gazing out the window with a smile as savage as if he were a wolf with fresh blood running down his chin.  He was seeing something Anzu couldn't...

"I'm sad to say I wasn't there in person.. but I knew the moment you entered the world.  The very earth itself knew.  The rivers themselves ran red with blood, and flocks of birds fell dead from the sky.. my little devil."

 Suffice to say, Anzu and his father were never really close.  The way the man looked at him even was unnerving, with awe in his eyes like Anzu was just another one of his relics to be dusted off and stuck in a glass-shelf.

As children, he and his brother seemed inseperable-- they were light and dark, summer and winter.  Anzu was always the one picking fights and running his mouth, always the one with bruised knuckles and split lips and bloody noses, and in most cases Irra would end up involved (whether he wanted to be or not, as the older brother, he felt it was his job to keep his Anzu out of trouble) but he could normally talk his way out of any problem.  A diplomat at heart, he hated confrontation and approached most situations with one hand stretched out happily, the other clutching a dagger behind his back--metaphorically.

As they got older, they began to stray further and further apart as they became interested in different things.  And after Anzu turned sixteen, things were never the same again.  No one had been home, or so Anzu had thought, so he snuck into his father's study and went into his drawer to steal the key to the garage.  The weather was perfect, so he thought he'd take the dirt-bike out to the hills and enjoy it.  As he rode down into the creek, his bones vibrating from the purr of the engine, his eyes were on the clear, blue sky.  Not a cloud in sight.

The hills were good to him, not a soul around, so he went wild.  But just as he was making his eighth go at riding up the side of the hill with blue grass to launch into the air and soar like a bird, his path was blocked by none other than Irra, tragically handsome in a suit.  His brother has tracked him by his cell-phone.  Again.

"Joyriding again?" The way he said it made it sound like Irra was celebrating a great hunt.  Anzu couldn't stand his brother in that moment.

"So?" Anzu put as much venom in his spit as a cobra.

"You know dad doesn't like it when you take his stuff," Irra chided.

"He doesn't like anything I do--or you do--for the record.  Why don't you hang out a while?" It was a last ditch effort for peace, one of the few that Anzu would offer his brother.

"Don't be stupid."

Anzu knew Irra wouldn't try to take it from him- he wouldn't dare, the last time they'd fought, he'd left his older brother with a broken rib.  He gripped the throttle of the bike predatorily, baring his teeth. "Piss off,"

Irra must have seen something in his eyes that scared him, because he suddenly becked down the hill three steps and stuck his hands in his pockets, a sign that he was nervous.  "I don't know who you are.  You're not even human."

The words had made him fume-- "Enjoy the rain, bitch." The words came before he could stop them-- and the rain fell before he even saw the dark clouds creeping across the sky.  Lightning and and thunder battered the world.  

If he'd known his brother was telling him the truth and not just trying to be an asshole, he might have reacted differently.  But he had no way to know until it was already too late.  A month later, Irra moved out.  Six months later, and Anzu admitted his secret to his mother.  The secret that made Irra so scared of him, that made his father gaze at him with such awe.. 

But she only laughed, pulling the pony-tail out of her hair to let the ringlets of gold--the same shade as his own-- fall around her shoulders.  She took his bruised hands in her perfect ones, and then she told him she knew he was special.

"Where you were born, roses grew from barren soil to make a cradle, and the wind sang you the lullaby that I wasn't able to myself..  Baby, you're an angel."


Shortly after, Anzu learned that his powers weren't all about good and light.  There was evil in him that he didn't recognize.  No, not evil.  But fear.  Something totally out of his control.  

The night of the incident, he was dreaming about his school.  Everything was ordinary; He was walking along the sidewalk with his hands stuffed in his pockets, a warm, summer scented breeze coiling around him and tugging at his pajama pants.  He knew he was dreaming, he knew he wasn't really there.  The people--all of them familiar faces--ignored him completely. 

Anzu took his time walking across the front lawn towards the entrance of the school-- which didn't really look like his school at all, anymore.  More like the entrance to an ancient Roman temple, all hand carved pillars and arch-ways.  There were a tale carved into the walls all around him in intricate detail, one he knew all too well.  Memories from his life up until this point.  The halls were carpeted with blood red.. and then, suddenly he was walking ankle-deep in real, human blood.  It was still warm--and he knew it was human because all those familiar faces that he recognized outside were piled before him.  Pieces of them, anyway.

It was the first time a dream had slipped from his control; and it spiraled into chaos quickly.  He turned around to leave, and found that he was enveloped in darkness.  There was nothing around him.  

Nothing at all.  He was alone.

And then he wasn't.  He turned around again, and he saw himself.  Only.. it wasn't really the face he knew.  There was ink running from the doppleganger's eyes and spilling into it's mouth, which was twisted into a nasty grin he usually turned on other people.  It reached out and grabbed him by the shirt

And then, he woke up and flung out of bed.  But he was alone.  Or so he thought.  He almost climbed back into bed with a thundering heart when he saw the inky foot-prints leading away from the side of his bed, and a large, nasty smear on the doorknob of his closed door.

Without thinking, he flew from his room.  But it was already too late.  The thing had come into the world by his power, made it's mark on the world, and left Anzu with the knowledge that he'd brought about the death of his entire family.  His father dead in his study, clutching one of those relics he loved so much.  Throat halfway across the room.

Irra curled on his side in a puddle of his own blood.

His mother, a twisted masquerade of what was once a beautiful human across the kitchen floor, crucified with knives from her own kitchen set.  She was smiling.


Feeling numb and hating himself for it, Anzu packed his bags and stole away into the night in his fathers 1967 Camaro.  The Chevrolet is the only thing that remains of that haunted place-- not long after, he returned, and as a result the place was destroyed.  The once beautiful state lies in a crater in the ground, the trees dead, the gardens decomposing.  Nothin' left but ghosts, Anzu would say.


It's been a long time since the death of his family, but Anzu is still as bitter as ever.  He's good at hiding it behind a coy smile--when he chooses too.  He's good at hiding a lot of things these days- 








His first encounter with Them- was in a dream.    Little did he know- They'd been watching him for as long as he'd been slipping into his dreams.  Since the day he was born.  Watching and waiting while his powers grew and he became his own man.  

And then, when They thought he was reaching the peak of his prowess-- they snatched him from the world and dragged him back to Their Queen, through the veil into the otherworld.  Anzu--being, Anzu-- put up one hell of a fight, but all he'd accomplished was turning the ground black and barren at the portal gate he was chucked through and bloodying his own nose off one of Their foreheads. 

If he'd known then he was about to come face to face with one of the most ancient and malevolent thing he'd ever encountered, he might have saved his strength.

By all first accounts; Aibell is beautiful.  Easily the most beautiful among all the sidhe mounds across all of the Emerald Isle.  It is within her power to make you believe it with such ferocity that it's a chore to even rise to anger around her.  But beyond her glamour- She is usurper and betrayer.  Devourer of the wicked Mongfhionn, who'd once stood against Niall, son of Eochaidh Airem.  In devouring her, she'd taken all she was into herself, her sorcery and her evil--her very being.

It is Their right to claim the souls of those they please--artists, beauties, warriors, and sorcerers- at least, They'd tell you so--but Anzu was owned long before he'd come into this world.  He represented the less tangible and mystic aspects of the People; the blood of the Old One's coursed through his veins, he was not meant to play nurse-maid in a Fairy Fort, or polish boots, or stand beside a throne.

She knew this, of course.  But She also knew that the boy didn't have a clue what he was.  And She was right. 


First, She offered a place at Her side; the role was simple.  That of the Black Druid, the last of whom She'd insisted was vacationing somewhere warm.  The Black Druid-- the Fear Doirche, was second only to the Queen.  The catch? He'd have to go where She pointed him and do what She said, both protector of Her name and collector of unique artifacts-- children, like him.  Dreamers, and mages.

Anzu spit on her.  But without so much as a flinch, She rose from that throne of Hers and had him up against a wall before he could suck in a breath.  She made damn sure he couldn't breathe-- but She wasn't kind enough to kill him.  The Queen kissed him long and deep, and then when She began to draw back-- his soul went with Her.  It was the kind of painful he can't even describe, can't even summon to vivid detail within his mind- it was like vomiting up broken glass, or maybe a belly full of nails, or red hot iron.  Screaming only made things worse, but it was about all he could do. 

The second thing She did, was twist fate around him in geasa after geasa, so that even if he wasn't going to be a happy camper-- there was little he could do about it.  At least, not against Her directly.  Then She had him thrown in a six foot by six foot room without windows and left him to rot for the next two years.

At least, two years- give or take a month or two- flew by in the world he'd left behind.  In Aibell's sidhe?  He was prisoner in darkness for at least fifteen years without aging a day, and in those fifteen years- he eventully broke and accepted Her offer. 

Anything to get away from the black he'd come to know like a friend he was secretly sick of, but hadn't the heart to tell.








Anzu is the human form--the incarnation--of an old Irish god and former High King of the Tuatha; he was half Danaan, and half Formorian.  He was also a builder, a smith, a champion, a harper, a warrior, a poet and historian, a sorcerer, a physician, a cupbearer, and a brazier.

The Tuatha Dé Danann are a race of nigh-intangible immortals that came to Ireland from far off places.  Some say they came from another planet entirely.  Others, say they've always been there.  Christians will tell you they're the angels that took no side during the War in Heaven, so God who could not stand them, cast them to the earth.  The truth? Only the oldest of them know, and they're not saying anything. 

The Formorii on the other hand- are giants and jötnar, some of which rose from the sea and others that came from Scandinavia.  Destructive and vicious, they are dark where the Tuatha are bright, hideous where the Dé are beautiful.  For a time, they were foes- and then the Tuatha conquered them in battle, claiming dominion over them.  It was that or death- so the few surviving Formorii surrendered themselves.


Over time, they bred- the Formorii and the Danann, and the result of this union was the twisted Aos si--The Fair Folk, The Good Neighbors-- Them.  And they spread wide and far into the world, becoming known as the Seelie and Unseelie court in Scotland, and the Tylwyth Teg of Wales.  These days, the Tuatha are little more than echoes of an ancient past.  Some claim the Old One's still move among the courts of the sidhe, hidden in their way.  But they're just rumors, anyone that utters the name of the Danaan is quick to assure.  They died out long ago, taking all their ancient power with them..







Being the human form of a god has granted Anzu with a slew of weapons that answer only to his call and ties to places he's never even heard of, might never even see.  He is immortal, in the sense that he is incapable of aging due to the geass placed upon him by the Earth itself, so very long ago.  The same geass She marked all the Druids with -- the right to exist outside the flow of time, same of it's effects on the mind or body as long as they acted as Her protectors.  That being said, he can still die, but he won't die easy -- or quiet.

He used to test his strength against vampires, and his endurance against werewolves when he was younger, for no other reason than to see what he was capable of.  The last time was years ago -- these days, he finds the Children of the Night are less than willing welcome a strange into their ranks, but he keeps in contact with the packs and covens he used to visit.

On the other side of the spectrum, he is a dreamer and one of the last surviving members of the Druid faith, well versed in magic that doesn't involve flinging around fireballs or lightning streaking from the sky to fry his enemies.  He need not use incantation or spell circles, as the magic runs through him rather than blood.

And his is the power of binding. 




Through his magic, he can bind himself to an animals form.  Unlike Lycanthropy, it's entirely his choice when he changes, rain or shine.  And he's not limited to just one form.  But his favorite to take is the likes of a breed this world won't see anywhere else.   A Warhound- of the like that used to leap into the fray of battle at the side of their masters and companions to drag men from horseback.  It's basically a bigger, badder version of an Irish Wolfhound.  





It is both magic, and faith.  Both of which are lost to this world- in the Old World, the druids served as the link between the gods and humankind.  These days? They're just dead, along with most of their practices.  It is Druidry that has let him bind himself to the Earth, and that allows him to change forms, and divine the future from seemingly random patters in a cloud front, or a school of fish. 

He has a number of Druidic tattoos, all of them in the form of celtic knotwork.  Two intricate bands of it on his middle finger; the first at the base, between his knuckles.  The second higher up, just below his fingernail; one is a ward against magical tracking, scrying, that sort of thing.  And the other is an alarm, just in case someone manages to get his location anyway. 

There's more knotwork on his leg, from knee to the top of his foot and down the back of his ankle.  A painful display of the lengths he'll go to up his magical prowess-- these celtic knots allow him to siphon energy from the earth and convert it to his own.  Offering him a nigh unlimited source of power to draw from.




 Bound to the earth as he is, as he must be in order to influence change in the world around him, he can summon earthquakes on a whim and bring rockslides cascading down the sides of mountains.  When he's barefoot (which he often is) he can stretche his senses into the ground and outwards, as far as his presence will let him.  Sending out and receiving pyschic messages, tracking energy signatures and movement, and easily sucking power through the soles of his feet to heal any wounds he might sustain.

He can also push his will onto the natural world; taking control of animals and plants.   With a little effort, he can even temporarily override the bind between familiar and master, turning it to attack.  A simple combination of binding magic, a psychic invasion, and the tether connecting the animal to the world, that connects all physical things to the mortal plane.




Probably his greatest power lies in the realm of dreams- he's a Dreamer, able to control his dreams and walk through others, changing things as he goes.  Implanting scenarios and nightmares and psychological horrors.  His power goes so far as allowing him to put people to sleep, trapping them in a dream and following them in.

That being said, he's never had cause to commit psychic warfare, and isn't prone to invading the dreams of others when he's got a massive playground in his head already.

He is not the only Dream Walker- there are many across the world, by different names.  But he is the only one he knows of that can shape dreams into reality, actually dragging things out of his conscious mind to give them form.  A great boon- but also a chore, as this means he's just as likely to manifest a living, breathing nightmare as anything else.



 An da shealladh- The Sight of the Seer.  Anzu was born with this; the power to see what's hidden.  Through glamour and charm alike.  It goes further than simply being able to spy a Lesser Fae from a mile away, though.  He can see the dead, damned, and wandering, gateways to other realms, and magical energies from people, places, and objects alike. 

This ability also means, sometimes he can look into a person's face and tell they're lying, he might even know what they're going to say before they say it.  In truth, this is simply his glimpsing a few seconds into the immediate future.  Useful- but it's not something he can turn on or off.  And sometimes an event will trigger a true vision, which usually ends with him on the ground.









The Answerer.  The Whisperer.  The Retaliator.  A sword older than many nations, created by the Trí Dée Dána in order to be used in the Tuath De's war against the Formoire giants.  It was originally wielded by Nuada when he was High King, but was passed onto Lugh when he was made King.  Now, it is safely within Anzu's possesion, and he's not giving it up any time soon.

One enchantment activates only when the blade is placed to one's throat, and they will find themselves unable to move, except to speak.  And with the words Freagróidh tú, the Answerer forces one to tell all, every hidden truth, every dark shadow, every envious truth -- by literally ripping the answers from one's mind, if it has too.

Another enchantment allows the blade to cut through armor, shields, clothes (any non-organic material, really) like they're made of butter -- even those of the magical variety.

The third enchantment is activated with Anzu's will, allowing him to control the flow of wind with the blade, changing it's direction, or bombarding his enemies with powerful gusts of wind in order to knock them on their asses.






Like his sword, this spear has had many names and incarnations over the years, many owners, but it has found it's way back to where it belongs.  With Anzu.  Once it was called Gae Assail.  Then, it was called Areadbhair, or the Slaughterer.  Eó bo háille d'ḟíoḋḃaiḃ, or the famous yew of the wood.  Then, for a time it was Lúin Celtchar, and Crimall Birnbuadach. Now? Now he merely calls it sleepwalker.

The spear is alive -- and more bloodthirsty than Anzu has ever been, often acting of it's own accord.  He doesn't even really need to wield it, as it will fly about tearing through as many people as it can if given the chance, roaring like an angry demon in a streak of fire and bloody death.

When it's not it use, he keeps the spear sumberged in a chamber filled with a sleeping draught of freshly ground poppy seeds from his dreams.

If Anzu does decide to wield the spear, he can control it, in a semi-aware state -- casting it at his mark with a simple utterance of "Ibar" so it will strike true, and "Ithibar" which will force the wild, living spear to return to him.  During battle, the length of the spear erupts in flames, burning higher and hotter the more exciting the battle, the more excited the spear.









Credit goes out to Omega for the awesome job of editing and coloring the above picture! 






  • Anzu lives and breathes the color black.  Most of his clothes are black--all of his shoes are black, and so has been every jacket he's owned in the last five years.  At one point, there was a phase involving black nail-polish but such talk is heresy.


  • Every shirt he owns has holes in it, courtesy of his pet raven.


  • His wristband consists of a thin black strip of leather that twines around his left wrist four times.  He never takes it off.  Not even to shower.


  • He's accumulated numerous piercings; six in total.  Three in his right ear, two in his left, and a bar in his tongue.  All gold.


  • He has a tattoo on his chest; following the curve of his right collar-bone.  As black as sin, it reads, in jagged, Gaelic script;  Ní raibh as Neamh, ná Ifreann.  And on his back, a raven between his shoulder blades wreathed in six pairs of wings, each one larger than the last.  The final pair of wings overlap his shoulders, their points creeping up the back of his neck, stray feathers curling around either side of his neck.  A mess of knotwork and things from his dreams seem to appear and disappear from his flesh.  Not to be confused with the slat an draoichta creeping up his leg, and also wrapping twice around his middle finger.


  • On most days that end with 'y' Anzu will also be wearing a handful of nails around his neck, hanging on a sturdy enough chain to resist a good pulling.


  • A gold armband shaped like a snake coils around his upper right arm.  It appears ancient.


  • His faeth fiadha, the magic cloak akin to the glamour of the Fair Folk through which he can shield himself from prying eyes is, funnily enough, weakest around his eyes.


  • There's salt.  In his pockets.  All of them.  And nails hammered into the soles of his shoes.


  • He's Irish, and he has a bad attitude.  These things have nothing in common.


  • His is a Northern Irish lilt that he does his best to hide.


  •   His birth mother is rumored to have been born in Dundalk, just outside of Ulster.


  • Anzu was born a human, but he has the soul of a god.  As such, his scent is most certainly human, but overtly intoxicating.  He tends to get what he wants from people... These things have nothing in common.


  • He has atelophobia. 


  • He shares the name of a monster from Sumerian mythology, being Anzu-- which is not his real name.


  • His aura is gold and fiery, rolling off him like the sun's corona.  




 M I N E, D O N T  T O U C H




"Baby-girl" "Sweetheart" "pieceofshit" and pretty much anything else that comes to mind. 

Anzu's feelings for his car are borderline sexual-- it's a sweet, 1967 Camaro Chevrolet, as black as the night sky.  Inside, and out.  It used to belong to his father who drove it when he was younger, then neglected the beauty after it broke down the first time.  Before Anzu 'stole' it it was merely gathering dust beneath a sheet in the garage.

There's memories pouring out of every crack in the leather, every ding in the door, every scratch on the hood.  It's the only thing left of his family, and he won't soon part with it.









He likes animals more than he likes people-- and he like ravens most of all.  But his black feathered companion, Ciardha, is no ordinary bird. 


While he was exploring the depths of his mind-- a dream world of his own creation, he found her nestled in the roots of an old oak tree.  She was a tiny thing, barely a bird, more like a black ball of squawking fluff.  She wasn't a real bird-- she was just a dream thing born from his subconscious-- but he still couldn't leave her behind.

So he took her from his dreams and raised her in the real world, and now she's just as much a menace as Anzu himself, only with double the sass and three times the sheen. 










Samael, who prefers Sam was created when Anzu pondered an idea within a dream state-- where ideas can become more, where they live and breathe as if in the real world.   There, he found Death.  True Death, at least as it existed within his mind.

So the Dreamer did what any sane, reasonable person in his shoes would do -- steal a piece of the Grim Angels shadowy cloak, take it from the realm of fantasy into the realm of the living, and fashion it into a corporeal being.  A familiar, and a friend. 

Sam appears to be a creature of flesh and blood, he eats and breathes and sleeps, but he is.. more.  He is, in essence, an aspect of Death, and his bite can end even the reign of even immortal gods.  Beyond that, Sam has the ability to speak and be understood through a naturally ocurring psychic link, even shape-shift.



July 10

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  • [ Hey friend. No pressure to respond. Just checking in and making sure you're doing okay. ]

  • Neseva herself tried not to make any gesture of motion that she had heard the bass sounding voice in Sam's head here. It only confirmed that he was the one that she was looking for. He might not be the cuprate, the one true killer. He was though in a league with them. And at the time being Neseva was the target. She should feel more scared. There was a comfort to knowing what people were thinking about though, it gave her just a hint of a heads up when things were about to turn for the worse. Like how he knew that she had not actually drunk. That's fine, it wasn't like she was trying to impress him or anything. She was trying to keep him innocent thinking of her, that she was human... as human as she could be at least with what he'd already seen of her so-called master power.

    So when she listened, no matter whatever she had been talking about at the time, she could not help the chill that went down her back after it. What was she doing? This Winnie that she was supposed to be? Oh yes, the drink. The drink that made her feel small. "Ah, right yeah. I think I take myself for being a more sweet drink kinda gal. Though, I do like vodka." A dry laugh. "Call that the Russian in me. Hail Motherland and all her potatohol glory, am I right?" And maybe when she was older and she could hold her stuff better she would be happy to take whatever anyone handed to her. When she wasn't on a hunt and wasn't scared what it could do to her she would have taken the offer. 

    A cough and a not so fake smoke of red powdered her face followed by the light avoidance of his eyes with her own. "Ah. I mean.  W-Who doesn't?" Whoo, could alcohol give secondhand heat, because she was feeling it. "Yes and no. I guess I'd like a surprise in the person. Something to keep me on my toes."

    And boy wasn't that fucking true... Later though. That dooming loom was coming.

    Right now she smiled in earnest. "Sam has power. I know of many same. In media, and in life. One's good, one's evil, depending on the person. Everyone needs a Sam, maybe you're that Sam to someone, too." To someone... say... hunting pretty young girls foooor.....

    She felt the stakes in the air go higher than before. Felt the shift in the air and could almost smell that damn girl a mile away if her mind's ego wasn't already dialed up to 110% before she even walked through the doors.  Acting like she owned the place. Acting like she had any fucking idea what kind of place that she walked into. How quick she could be dead. Half a second, a snap of a neck, a tug of a hand. Anything. She was a fresh hot brownie walking in and these people inside got that wife. Saw auras and primal desires shift. See it turn to something eviler and consuming that would break this girl in two.

    When Marmalade wasn't forcing an unsolicited kiss on poor Winnie here she was looking at Sam like he was the brownie. Unbenowenced just what threshold she walked into. "Sam? Oh my God, I love that name. Has a boyish ring to it, and even works on a girl's part too. His beautiful face. Sprinkled with freckles and her eyes like a storm with joy didn't know what to think or say when she had gone for a smile and ended up not standing on wood anymore.

    Neseva for once did not see it happen. He didn't even think about it, gave her no warning. They were there in the warm smelly bar. Pricks of rain heard on the windows and next she was on her ass with no chair under her. She was bouncing up again though. Her hands already at her sides, legs just a little crouched. She couldn't honestly fight, not really, but she had power, had tactic and like a pissed off snake she was puffed up and her face no longer was friendly. 

    "What the FUCK-!" Yep, Marmalade realized exactly what just happened. And her poor human mind couldn't wrap around it. "Where is my fucking jacket?!"

    "Shut up." Neseva hissed at her, her eyes never leaving Sam. "I'll say, you actually managed to surprise me. I'm not used to that anymore. Marm, stay behind me."

    Marmalade, to her regret and time put into her, make up was already tearing up a little. "Oh my God, it's true! FUCK!" Clearly that large ego she had deflated to practically nothing when actually thrown into a situation.

    "Will you--Oh fuck it." Neseva broke that eye contact on  Sam to look at the wobbling emotions of a spoiled brat in front of her. "You will do everything I say." Her voice, commanding, everything articulated as he penetrated the weak barriers of Marmalade's mind and seized that control of her. Marmalade nodded as a calm that was not her own washed through her. "Now, shut up." Now, if Nes wasn't too late, she was looking at Sam again. 

    "So is your master coming?" She asked him. "Or are you supposed to beat me down a little until he shows up?"

  • {Love your character, if you ever wish to plot we could always try to see how these two would meet.}

  • [ Ah alrighty then lol ]

  • Lovely page, would you like to maybe write sometime?

  • [ Holy crap I just saw that its your character's birthday (or maybe it's your birthday) either way happy freaking birthday! ]

  • With every word that was growled by the beast, Brian felt more afraid. Yes, he was afraid. Even though he had faced far worse before, and in his Werewolf form he was quite possibly stronger than this creature was, for some reason he felt no more powerful than a scared little boy at the moment. Most likely because he had never seen anything like this before, not once in his entire life.

    Once the hound revealed its intentions to eat him, Brian froze once again in a rapid fight or flight response. Too terrified to move, he simply closed his eyes and once again prepared for death.

    And for the second time, he was surprised to feel that nothing had happened. Once he summoned enough courage to open his eyes, he would have seen that the hound which had tried to attack him had been violently ripped in two.

    That's when he saw him. The figure standing near him. This time, this one looked more human than anything else Brian had seen tonight. Although he knew perhaps better than anyone that looks are meaningless. Looks....can be terribly deceptive.

    Though he was grateful that his life had been saved once again, he couldn't shake this feeling of terror. Or like the worst was still to come. Or maybe it was simply the adrenaline still running through his body from his sprint away from the other hounds. Either way, he wasn't quite sure if he should say something to this man or simply take this chance to run away and try to find his way back home.

    His friendlier side won out in the end and he decided he should at least say thank you to this man for saving his life before running home. It was the least he could do. And he didn't want to appear ungrateful.

    "...u-uh....t-thank you." He said, not very confidently, but his words were sincere, nonetheless.

  • People like that were not high on our little hunter here's mind.  She was brash and brave. Calculative where it counted, and oblivious to those who only wanted to hurt It was how she got through life. Because a million people could have gotten to her. A thousand thoughts could have brought her to her knees. It was only when she stopped caring and worried about being the best person that she could be did it not all matter anymore. The buggy mosquito in the corner didn't worry her as much as some of the bigger personalities in the room that might call her fluke if they did so much as try to come up and start something. Not that she needed people to protect her, but she wasn't expecting that anyone would tell said person to lay off, not with how she was dressed. 

    Ahh... he didn't expect her to drink right? Gulp. The last time she drank she was blushing like a new bride and was likely far more annoying that night than she should have been. Not that most of it was remembered. She needed to have a head, a lead, an edge. Couldn't allow her powers to be nulled out. Because what if something did happen? If this guy wasn't it, yet he was already as ancient as he was, then what was his boss like? And would she be in bigger trouble now if she refused? Could she afford to drink? 

    Yooo, did the trick of her splashing it on the floor behind her work? Did Minnesota have strong alcohol? Could she get away with it? Fuckity fuck fuck. Neseva bit the inside of her lip and keep there eyes on the glass. Attempted not to show weakness to it. She'd just have to hope for the best she guessed. 

    "Guilty on being weak about alcohol." She chided playfully. I was never much one. I'd like to think I got it all out of my system when I turned 21, ya know? Now it's fun in doses." Right. Act like you had bad reactions to it, that'll help.  Maybe if she zapped enough power in her body, made it bigger, and made it swirl around her it would burn the alcohol off faster.  She took the glass when he offered it to her. That smile was almost vindictive for a person who was looking to take her to his master. "To new friends. I have too few of them myself, too. This is a nice change."

    A change, a horror Fuck. She almost tunnel vision the tiny glass of evil. Whatever, play it off just a little bit longer. You got this.

    "I can't say I know that very well on a personal hand. I'm not all that into the boyish charm of people." Yeah no. She's all for going ham but the second that someone acted back on her weak attempts was when she didn't know what to do with her hands and ended up either freaking out or not knowing how to react at all. Take Marmalade for instance. Granted it happened so fast she didn't really know how to deal. The odds of her seeing her again though were slim. And at least the girl wouldn't be a target. Not as much as her mother seemed like she hoped would be. Just another thing to flaunt her daughter around about. That she was a target, and not have any real means to save her from it.

    Eww... Nes knew that some strains of vamps had different strains of venom. Sometimes the bites were almost hallucinogenic, orgasmic even. They were things that people would use in place of drugs. Feeders, for instance, loved that sort of bit. Others were sharp angry and brutal. They were going for the kill and pleasure of killing, not to let the other person enjoy it. Nes landed in the category that she didn't want anyone around her neck unless they were looking to give a hickey and a hickey only. She wasn't bout that teeth hole in the neck life. I'll leave that for the people who enjoy it most. I ain't stepping foot in that pool of things. This neck is staying puncture free." Plus, if Nes got stupid enough to get herself turned her mom was going to have a field day and somehow unturn her by fear alone.

    "Sam. Sucha  simple yet powerhouse of a name, isn't it?" She explained gingerly and reached to shake his hand. Her fingers long, her grip delicate. Like the person, Nes was attempting to be. A fragile easy thing with a  boot of a power to kick. Speaking of... "Oh, I'm human. Just me. Beyond the little sonic boom kind of power that I have, there's nothing else really there." Such a bloody lie. But hey, if he thought she only had one thing maybe she was safe? She couldn't let on that they had similar powers at all. "Comes in handy when I'm trying to make an entrance. And when I need to blow a car apart or something." Well, she didn't know if she could do that never tried. He did have some.. alarming sort of powers though. She would need to boot up her mental shield. Not let herself fall victim to it.

    Beyond it, she didn't seem all that alarmed or scared of him. She couldn't let herself be when it could be her life on the line. So she smiled, smiled big and pretty. "That is cool though, influencing people. How does that--"

    Neseva paused. While her mind had been open, while it had been focused on him and not too much of the other patrons around the room she felt something familiar. Read a mind she'd read before, heard how it sounded, and fucking hell, please no. She stamped. "S-Sorry," she cleared her throat, the finally took the tiniest little sip like that was going to help at all. "Dry a little bit. Hey, bartender, Could I get a water please?"

    The door once more opened again. Though not at all like how she did. No, this was something that was going to set everyone and their fucking mom, including Neseva on edge. Because in walked a dolled up little thing that shook her umbrella clean of rain before propping it up on a coat hanger along with her coat. Her hair in pigtails scooted behind her head. PIGTAILS? REALLY? They bounced and curled as she strutted that high head of hers. Smokey liner that framed those eyes of hers. A peach-colored dress, pretty little thing that hugged her curves. A long fuzzy overcoat that came to her knees and looked like if a pineapple was soft and fabric formed. Those stormy eyes wondered around the bar. Clearly now all eyes would be on the human flipping girl that walked in smelling like a damn peach cobbler that she would be made into. No pun intended for her name at all. 

    Marmalade scanned the bar as the color drained from Neseva's face when she found her, then smirked a glossy lipped smile and made her debut in sauntering up to Nes, placing a big fat kiss on the shocked hunter's mouth that gaped open just a little. "Mar--"

    "I just knew I'd find you here!" Marmalade purred while she hung off of Neseva's neck, scooted happily in between her legs then turned to see Sam there, her eyes glittered. "And who's this cutie?"

  • [ Oh wow, I'm flattered lol hey no worries, man. Take as much time as you need! ]

  • "Oh god...no!" Brian whispered hoarsely out loud, still trying to catch his breath. He could hardly believe his eyes when he saw the hell hounds clear the chasm like it was nothing at all. He had been almost certain they would not follow him and now he was stuck with almost no more strength left in him to run. He had exhausted all of his energy in the sprint to get where he was now. Obviously, these creatures had no need for stamina, that...or they seemed to have an endless supply of it.

    This was one of those incredibly rare moments where Brian actually wished it was the night of a full moon. In his Werewolf form, he would actually stand a chance against these beasts. In fact, he reckoned he could make pretty short work of them. But sadly, the full moon would not appear in the sky for a few more days. For now, Brian would have to find some way to face these things in his lesser, human form. He wasn't completely defenseless, but he was running out of options.

    Brian was about to try and run away again when he saw that one of the hounds was coming straight for him at a much faster speed than the others. It was too late. He couldn't get away now, even if he wanted to. He froze in total fear where he stood, paralyzed and helpless to avoid this inevitable attack. All he could do was put his hands up in front of him, in some weak attempt to defend himself from this creature.

    Brian braced himself for sharp teeth and claws to attack to him, but was understandably confused when instead the hound was suddenly struck by something or someone and dissappeared from his vision. Brian slowly lowered his hands and looked in front of him with a puzzeled expression.

    This expression would only increase in severity when one of the hounds appeared to be actually speaking to Brian. It took him several moments to realize this and when he did, he stared at it in utter shock and confusion. He was so surprised, he could barely even speak himself.

    "...wh....what?" Brian asked, raising an eyebrow and taking a few steps away from it. He tried to stop himself from shaking, but the attempt of doing that only made his body tremble even more in fear.

    "...what are you...t-talking about?" Brian added, his slightly accented voice now shaking as well. His adrenaline had completely passed now, leaving him in a vulnerable state of fear. 

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