Caught with His Pants Down [Open]

[Jesse Fforde]

Sorcerer blood. I have no ******* idea what’s so damned special about sorcerer blood. I suppose there must be something in the DNA; something magical. Some element that the scientists haven’t yet discovered, but which makes the sorcerers themselves think they’re something special. They’re not special. They can be killed just like the rest of the human race, slaughtered for the things that they might be able to offer. Sorcerer Blood is one of the rarest items on the market. One that is heavily sought after for one specific ritual. A ritual that I myself haven’t yet had the inclination to perform, but one which might be needed in the future. Not just by me, but by the faction that I call home.

There aren’t any plans involved in this game. We are replenishing the stocks only because they need replenishing, stocking up on the ritual items that are needed for all the rituals known to us. It seems kind of ironic that I need to perform rituals to find the fuckers who bleed special blood. But there you have it.

I have a few locations written down in my notebook; a notebook I rarely use anymore, but it does come in handy for this kind of thing. I have already slaughtered perhaps six of the sorcerers tonight, but I have had no luck. Some of them have special blood and some of them don’t. And some of them, I just don’t get the chance to collect.

High Noon Salon stands in front of me. Some place pretending like it belong in the Wild West, but it doesn’t. I suppose, kudos to them for trying to be different. The thing about these Sorcerer fucks is that they think they’re special but really the majority of them, on their days off, run around like ordinary folk doing ordinary things. I don’t expect that the man or woman that I find in this establishment is going to be taking part in some uber special meeting of Sorcerers. Hell, I could imagine some kid’s 10th birthday taking place in one of those booths somewhere. It’s like a goddamned themed ******* playground.

The fae creature had indicated that I would discover my prey in one of the secluded rooms. The toilet, to be exact. It was kind of amusing to hear that furious fae creature talking about toilets. Mandy sits snug on my shoulder, the fire Salamander along for the ride. He seems to like it when I do rituals. And he seems to like it when I indulge in violence.

I stalk through to the bathrooms. I kick around and wait until it’s just me and… yes, those are feet I see beneath that stall door. I grin and, without further ado, kick it open. Wood splinters. I’ve caught the guy with his pants down, backside firmly planted on the white seat. His black pants are tangled around his ankles. His phone is in his hands – he’s playing Angry Birds. He’s wearing a dumb look of utter shock on his face.

I can tell exactly who and what he is by the markings on his skin. And if not that, there’s just this vibe. I know, without knowing how. The guy’s phone drops. The screen cracks. He fumbles and, I suppose for a guy who’s literally been caught with his pants down, and probably with half a **** hanging out of his ***, he’s quite quick. Within seconds he’s got a gun in his hand. He pulls the trigger and I cartwheel sideways to dodge the bullet. At the same time, I’ve got Flametongue in hand, sending a volley of bullets in the Sorcerer’s direction. He catches a few to the chest. He slumps backward, sliding off the toilet seat. Dead.

You always think it’s going to be a little more exciting, battling a sorcerer. You always think that there might be some actual sorcery involved. It’s actually far more boring. I approach the body – better get a move on, see if he’s got blood worth collecting, and get the **** out of dodge.

[Jonah]

The wraith had not forgotten what the other ghost had told her though her name was lost to Notte. She had called her a slave, that she could not refuse an order from her "master." The sunlight specter was wrong though, and Notte knew it, the other just did not understand.

Instead of resisting The Hammer's will, she tried to anticipate it, helping him in every way that she could and trying to find more to do. It was when she had an assignment that her mind was sharp, focused, that of a warrior and a leader. Without that direction though...she wandered, lost in the city and in the Darkness.

Jonah was spending most of his time in the Quarantine Zone, hunting the strange creatures there. She was aware of zombies, she had made use of the undead when she was still alive, but these creatures...these were something new. Zombies that had fed on the blood of vampires and warped in to a horrible reflection of Notte's creation. It was blasphemy and The Hammer was dealing with them as best he could but it seemed that there was no end to them.

He was not hunting now though. He had...business. She did not understand it exactly. Some sort of store that sold books. He had told her that it was to learn about their history, she had told him she could tell him all about it and while he listened, he still wanted to know more and there were questions he asked that she could not manage. It was the other that concerned her more though. A large farm where he was raising pigs for their kind to feed on instead of the kine. It was not proper but she was waiting for him to realize that on her own.

Unwilling to step foot in to either place, she did what she hated doing and simply wandered and tried to keep focused on the task that she had last been assigned. The Owls needed items. For rituals and traps. She was helping. She needed to find more enemies. Her enemies were the paladins...The Order...

Stepping across the water, her shadowy clothes flowed out from behind her and she was not in the present day but in the distant past, a leader of warriors and she was hunting. It was night and they knew better than to be out and about. They hid in their shelters and she would search everyone if she had to. Taverns were places they often hid, mixed in with the kine so that she would be forced to reveal herself to attack them. She was proficient though and could do what needed done in plain sight...if it was necessary.

The wooden doors swung wildly and she pushed past them, not registering that she merely moved through them and her eyes scanned the room. It was...different but similar enough to a tavern she would be used to that it did not draw her out of her fantasy. Circling slowly, the sounds of conflict were generally centered in the room but as she stood outside a door, she heard conflict from within. Moving slowly, a shadow on the wall, she saw a heavily tattooed man who seemed to be inspecting the blood of a victim.

Her lips drew back across her teeth, he was a paladin, she had found one, she was sure of it, and she lunged forward. "Your kind will fall!" She passed through him but seemed to take something with her as she did, the smallest bit of resistance as she drained him and when she was on the other side of him, she spun around in confusion. "What is this? What are you? Where is this place?"

[Jesse Fforde]

“****,” I curse. Maybe there’s some special way to kill them. Maybe if they don’t know they’re being killed. Maybe the knowledge of it leads to their blood souring, somehow. Or maybe there’s some special way to scare them good and proper so that their blood strengthens, or something. Or, maybe, they’ve got to be using their specialist powers at the point of death, so that the magic is running through their blood and lays stagnant, there, after they die. I don’t know. All I know is that, once again, I have killed a Sorcerer with ordinary blood as compared to the specialty blood required for whatever ritual we are gathering for. It’s not a ritual that I have ever needed to perform, that much I know. It’s the one that cowards use; the dull folk who want no fighting within their homes, and thus cast the ritual so that no one can use any power or cause any physical damage.

I want to ask Velveteen and Micah why exactly we would ever want to perform that ritual. Why would we ever want to be like them, or do anything like those cowards have done? I know it’s only the fury of the moment speaking, however; I know that it’s a good ingredient to have, regardless. Who knows what the future holds? Who knows what kind of situation might occur where such a ritual might be required? A delicate business deal, or something, where some neutral ground is needed. I know there are some places in the city that claim to be neutral, but what, really, stops anyone from doing whatever they like inside? Bar this ritual, of course.

I’m about to stand and tome back to the Eyrie, to find the ritual table and perhaps hunt down a few more enemies when I hear her. A voice. The words trickle into my brain and I assume some Hunter has followed me – or maybe a friend of this particular Sorcerer. It makes sense that he wouldn’t be alone, right? I feel the same old adrenaline kick in; the enthusiasm for slaughter and bloodshed. I rise to face my accuser, only to witness a shadowy entity rush toward me, and pass right through me. There’s a peculiar sting, somewhere inside—a tearing, a rendering. She’s taken some of my power with her. A very small amount, but all the same…

I spin around to face my attacker, hand raised and fingers curled into a claw. I can see her; I can dispel her. I’m about to lunge forward to do just that, but the voice shimmers through the air again, rife with confusion. As if she can’t remember why she’s here and what she’s done. I straighten up. I can only tell it’s a ‘she’ due to the sound of her voice, but otherwise she’s a silhouette of shimmering shadow, with only the vague upright shape of a human. Or, a dead vampire, as it were. I think of Ichabod. Same, but different. Head canted to the side, I answer:

“This is a murder scene. I am an irate vampire. You are in a bathroom stall. Now, want to tell me who the **** sent you?” I ask. She is, for all intents and purposes, just a wraith. She can only drain me of my power – and if she tries that **** again, I’ll send her shadowy *** halfway across the ******* city. And I can only assume that she has attacked me on someone else’s bidding – that’s what wraiths do, right?

[Jonah]

As the male addresses her, her form solidifies slightly. She is tall and lithe with hair streaming down her back, flowing behind her from an other worldy wind. Her clothes are gauzy and swirl in the same way as she turns, trying to understand what is happening.

"Sent me?" the questioning in her voice was obvious. "Nobody sent me. I was..." she trailed off when she finally looked at the male she had attacked and the stare caused part of her mind to click in to place while another part started reeling. "The Hammer...I'm looking for enemies for him." She would not use his name if she could help it, it was against the code and that so many of their kind ignored the rules that kept them safe baffled her.

"He is on a mission for The Owl's....but he is busy...so I was looking..." Her gaze began to look through him as she tried to remember but the memories were gone, faded away in to shadows. "You are a vampire? Yet you mark yourself like our enemies. Why?" Her eyes narrowed as she questioned him and she stepped forward, locking stares with him. It would be insanity to give their enemies access to their same strength but all of this world was chaos and that such a thing might have happened gave her enough of a focus that her reason stayed with her while she confronted the other vampire.

[Jesse Fforde]

I am no stranger to the ways of wraiths. I have Ichabod – I had no specific target in mind when I summoned him from the underworld. I just plucked some lucky sod at random – or, hell, I don’t know how it works. I don’t know whether I chose him, or whether he chose me. The guy seems to be grateful, however, at being here in the real world, rather than stuck in some shadowy realm with nothing to do. Not that I give him much to do, but I have a feeling he keeps himself occupied in my absence.

He’s the same as this one, though. More ethereal than real. Every now and again I get a good look at what he must have been, when alive. When he was solid and real. Most of the time he just drifts, though – an anchorless entity. This wraith is the same. She’s here, but not. Her hair drifts in some otherworldly stream, as if she could be distracted at any moment by something beyond my vision, something that I cannot see or sense.

I have no idea who ‘The Hammer’ is. Mention of ‘Owls’, however, has me twitching, canting my head to the side in curiosity. Her question distracts me, however, and I laugh. A husk of a laugh, but genuine enough, flashing white teeth and eyes glinting in mirth.

“These aren’t no fuckin’ Pally tattoos,” I say, rolling my shoulders. The owl on my neck, I know, is quite prominent; it is a tattoo I got before I was even introduced to this life, but it suits. Maybe it was a premonition, of sorts, of what my life would turn out to be. A faction of owls. There’s a signet on my finger, too, also an owl. I straighten my shoulders and stand tall as the wraith confronts me.

I don’t bother trying to explain my tattoos, or what they mean to be; to defend them. Not to a wraith.

“The Owls, eh? Tytonidae, by any chance?”

[Jonah]

When he rolled his shoulders, her eyes grew wide when she saw the owl that adorned it. "Are you one of them? One of The Hammer's brothers in arms?" Notte had interacted with few of the faction members but they had taken up the cause that she had left behind and so she was indebted to them.

"Yes...Tytonidae." She tried the word on and she liked it. It was strong but she doubted she would remember it as she could already feel it being tugged away. "You are...connected to them I assume? Do you know The Hammer?"

No, she knew he wouldn't even as she asked the question. Only she called him that. Carefully and quietly, she said the words that she hated saying. "Do you know...Jonah?"

[Jesse Fforde]

At first I can only press my lips together and cross my arms over my chest. I don’t know who ‘The Hammer’ is and, to begin with, she doesn’t answer my question. How can I know if this Hammer is one of my supposed brothers in arms if I’m not even sure we’re talking about the same thing?

The wraith soon clarifies, however, and the brief spark of temper abates. Temper, it seems, is something that I really need to work on, though I suppose it’s slightly better these days. Less bitter. But, the key to learning how soon it is that I fall off the cliff is learning the different flavours of my temper.

I give half a nod. Yes, I am a member of Tytonidae. I want to open my mouth and tell her I have no ******* clue who she’s talking about, but soon she clears that up, too. Jonah. I crack a grin.

“Jonah! Yes, I know Jonah. I’m not sure the guy would think too much of me, though,” I say, arching a brow. I shake my head – back to the present time, and the reasons why we’re standing here in the toilets having this discussion. How amusing it would be if someone were to walk in, to see me talking to thin air. I’d be classified as a veritable loon.

“So you’re tellin’ me you acted of your own accord, then? You attacked me because you thought I was a fuckin’ Paladin? You need to learn the difference between tattoos, ghosty,” I say. I make sure that my weapons are sheathed and hidden properly – I then approach the body in the stall, side-stepping the shadowy wisps of wraith, and go about disguising the murder. I begin to haul the body up, so that it can be propped as if sitting on the toilet. Just like he had been – doing a ****. Pants down and all.

[Jonah]

"Why wouldn't he think much of you?" the wraith asked with her head canted to the side. The Hammer had few to no ememies that she knew of and did not speak poorly of any within his faction. If anything, he kept to himself. Perhaps that was why this other man thought the way he did, because Jonah had not attempted contact with him. "I am sure he has no issue with you."

When the male scolded her, she looked down. It was a careless mistake. She knew the patterns that marked the skin of their enemies and it was inexcusable that she had not seen the markings on him for what they were, decoration. "My apologies, I will inform Jonah what I have done but you may punish me as you see fit." She clasped her hands behind her back and looked down at the ground, waiting for whatever torture he deemed appropriate.

[Jesse Fforde]

I laugh, for more reasons than one.

The first – probably something that I should not laugh at. At the time, when I found out, I didn’t think it was funny. No, I have not had any long heart to hearts with Jonah. I don’t remember having much of a conversation with him at all, but from observation, and from other small interactions, I had decided that he is a good man, and not one that I would willingly or maliciously harm. There’s a certain kind of respect that some people earn, without having to demand it. Jonah is one of those people.

“I fucked his girlfriend,” I say. I shrug. That’s reason enough for any man to have issue with me, even if I claim none of the fault as my own. I had no idea AJ and Jonah were an item. And I was a broken man, at the woman’s mercy. Still, though – any man would not see those as good excuses. Any man, I suppose, would be within his rights to thenceforth see me only as the man that his girlfriend cheated on him with. I will always be that blight.

The second reason I laugh – this slip of a wraith assuring me that she will be punished. As if to prove a point, I reach down to retrieve the shell of a bullet that had landed on the sink. I throw it at the wraith, and it flies straight through.

“You’re just a ghost. I can’t see how you can really be punished,” he says, still smirking.

[Jonah]

The wraith looked at him in confusion, the words meaning little to nothing to her. Sexual union was not only frowned upon within her order, but actively punished since the act could potentially cause the creation of a fadebeast, a threat not only to the parents of the monster but to every thing that it met in its path. Some were able to harness the beasts as wardens to protect their claims, but those that did were outliers and while they might not have been dangers to society, they were still looked down upon.

"I am sure he is not so petty as you think he is." The words were not meant to be petty though they likely sounded as such, she simply had no other way to express what she was thinking. When the bullet passed through her, she frowned. "I have hunted with your group before. Surely you know as well as I that there are ways to deal with...ghosts as you call them."

Unsure if punishment would be coming from him or not, she did not allow herself to relax. "There are those that can...harm me. And others that can banish me back to the realm... She trailed off as her mind was filled with the silent torture that that place represented to her and without meaning to she began to draw in to herself, fading slightly though she was still visible. "I do not like it there..." she whispered. "It is not a good place. Please...don't let him send me there..." Her translucent cheeks looked to be stained with tears and for the moment, the warrior was gone and what stood before the vampire was a girl in the body of a woman, frightened of where she was and where she had been.