burrow_box | Open World Post: Aviario, CT

Open World Post: Aviario, CT

At first glance, Aviario could be any normal small New England city - it's got its fair share of well-preserved historical buildings, a lovely park, a reasonably happy community, and a decent amount of "townies" who've been around forever and know everyone and everything there is to know about living there.

At second glance, there are strange things that were probably a trick of the mind - a flash of light, an animal looking at you as though it were watching you, someone who just lit their cigarette without a lighter.

At third glance, you start looking closer, and find out at least one thing: magic is real. Depending on how closely you look ... you might find out more than you wanted to know about who uses it, and why, and how.

Just pass through, crash with someone you happen to have met before for a weekend, poke your nose where it doesn't belong ... it's all up to you, the city is an open book. Just ... don't go near that old house on the hill. The owner's really tired of having to turn away everyone who goes up there just to ask about the "ancient curse".

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[as you're walking through the West side of town, checking out all the shops, there's a tall, thin man making his way down the sidewalk. he's as harmless-looking as everyone else you've passed, save for that interesting cane he's leaning on as he walks. it's taller than a usual one - nearly up to his shoulder - and there's a red sort of stone on top. as he reaches the corner, his briefcase knocks against a newspaper box and comes open, papers spilling everywhere]

-- Damn!

[in the park, at the center of town, there's a young woman sitting on the steps of the gazebo, humming quietly to herself as she watches everyone come and go. there's a thermos sitting beside her, and she's rolling a worry stone idly between her fingers]

[in the North end of town, near the hospital, there's a little complex of shops. it's looking a little more run-down than the rest of the city, but still in good shape, and not completely a dump. besides, there's a cafe nearby that looks like it's relatively busy for the time of day. near the on-ramp of the parking garage, there's a man in tattered jeans and a denim jacket covered in pins and patches, lurking in the half-light like he belongs there.

as he lights a cigarette, the extra light picks up the green and blue highlights in his hair, and he looks up at you, sharply]

Somethin' I can do for ya?

A (OTA):
[you find yourself in an apartment building on the East side of town. maybe you're visiting an old friend (and maybe this IS the old friend?), but for whatever reason, just as you're getting off the elevator, one of the doors at the end of the hall opens. Jon backs out, struggling to fit his laundry basket through the door ...the pile of clothes is big enough to require a basket twice its size. as he's just about to close the door with his foot, a blur of grey and black scoots out and tears its way down the hall.

upon closer inspection, you realize it's a cat with a dirty sock dangling from its mouth]

DAMMIT! Get back here, you fuzzy little fuckhead...

B (Medical/Procedural Only):

[they've directed you to the morgue, down in the basement at the end of a small corridor. the door's open, and you can faintly pick out the sound of upbeat music, which gets louder as you get closer. once you reach the doorway, the only personnel in sight is not a tech in a labcoat and scrubs, but a short redhead in a white blazer and black slacks. his feet are up on a guerney, which holds no body, but a pile of paperwork weighted down with a bowl that looks like it was made out of an actual human skull. the bowl's full of popcorn, and he reaches up to snag a handful as he looks over the clipboard in his hands.

you're probably going to have to shout over the music.]

[there's a little antique shop on the riverside of the South End - the door's open and the windows are full of nicely-arranged displays. once you step inside, it's cramped, but looks as though what was once a colossal mishmash of clutter and tchotchkes is in the slow but steady process of being put into order. there's a smell of fresh pancakes coming from somewhere, oddly enough.

the man behind the counter is currently slouched over it, elbows propped against the glass of the display case, staring intently at an old fondue pot that looks like the 60s don't even want it back.]

Through a long series of events, another man had found himself in Aviario, and his second priority is finding a possible spot for a shop. He's tall and thin as well, more or less, his hands are stuffed into the pockets of his jeans. He walks with a slight limp to his gait, and a distracted look to him, lost in thought.

Well, more or less.

As he turns the corner, there's a clatter and a spill of paper which catches him up short. A couple of pages cover one of his dark, sharp-toed boots. He gives them an annoyed look before reaching down to grab up a handful before they blow away in the wind. If possible, he may even sneak a peek at a sheet before he hands it back.

Y'should be more careful.

((and here is where I ask, OOCly, if Dugan is able to sense any sort of magic or oddities on the surface of Feistus' mind or aura, if you will. He's not digging deep to look inside, just a cursory glance, or perhaps a cat taking a quick sniff before deciding if you're interesting. Or he just seems human, IT DOESN'T MATTER. but it does, because it will affect ... things. I guess look here if you're curious, and my rambling makes no sense. aheh.))

Hey, it's that guy from down the hall, you know the one you hardly see and doesn't seem to come out of his apartment much. He looks like he needs a meal, a shave, a bath, and a few days of sleep. He likely doesn't smell too wonderful, mostly of old sweat and fresh tobacco.

The cat doesn't stop runni9ng when he sees the barefoot, shirtless man appear at the end of the hall, and in fact runs directly between his feet and into the man's dimly lit apartment.

The man sighs and gives the other man a tired look that could be best described as B|

Well, fuck. Thanks. That's just what I needed. More laundry.

The other man looks annoyed, as well, though it's more at his own embarrassing predicament than anything else. He leans on the staff heavily as he kneels to pick up the bulk of the papers - proof that he's not the only one with a bad leg. As Dugan seems to be a sharp sort of gentleman, it might even stick out like a sore thumb that all the little eddies of wind which tend to swirl leaf and paper into little tornadoes seem to be blowing the papers back in his direction, and within his reach. Dark eyes flicker up toward the Scotsman, as he reaches for the paper - a barely legible scrawl on an insurance referral form.

Most days, I am. I suppose it's time I went shopping for a new case.

He offers him a politely distanced smile. Thank you.

((Paul has access to power, but very little of his own innate ability - what he can get, he draws off the ley lines running under the town ... so most of what Dugan would pick up would actually be coming from the staff he uses as a walking cane. There's also a bit of protective energy coming from one pocket of his lab coat - a little spell bundle sewn into the lining. Let me know if you need any more!))

Setting the gargantuan laundry beast down on the floor - for surely something at the bottom of that pile is almost sentient by now - the short redhead in cargo pants and a white tank smirks.

And you'd still be stuck with one cold foot, too. My cat is an inconsiderate shithead, I'll give'im that.

[Stopping through in Aviario, Scott couldn't help but stretch his legs. He needed a break, and that little side-adventure through the countryside of Conneticut chased by cops who hadn't liked the look of his UK plates and the reaper on his back hadn't helped his mood.

He needed off and a walk about, maybe some coffee.

So, having parked up his Kawasaki Ninja ZX-6R, sure most of the others in the US Charters preferred Harleys, but in the UK, Harleys were more of a collector's item than a feasable method of riding, and Scott liked feeling the speed in his body, he heads down the on-ramp, past the other man, his kutte proudly showing the Reaper with the decals "Sons of Anarchy - Newcastle." Bold as brass.

He, of course, stops, looking over his shoulder at the man in the semi-darkness, having not noticed him before.]

Eh?

[Meg isn't really a stranger to finding herself odd new places to lay low, but this one is particularly odd. It seems harmless enough, though, and the park seems like as good a place as any to get a feel for the people here.

As she watches, she notices another woman across the way who seems to be doing the same thing. Interesting.

After a few moments, she'll walk casually in that direction, nonchalantly leaning up against the railing of the gazebo and nodding to her.]

You're watching everyone.

[It's an observation more than a question. Meg isn't big on small talk, and she's betting if this one makes a habit of it, she might know things.]

Ridin' through. [he said it more as an observation than a question, turning so the black diamond 1% patch on his shoulder was visible. he had a proper Angels jacket, but he hadn't worn it in decades, preferring the more general suspicion that came with looking like a garden-variety street punk] Could give you a tip or two on where to go, f'you follow.

Course..... [she tilts her head at Meg, able to sense the power, but unable to tell what it is or where it's from. all she knows is that He wants to know more. either she could he helpful, or a threat, and there is a Very Big Difference.]

Are you always Queen of the Obvious, dove? [it's said with a little smile that could really be taken whatever way Meg wants]

[Del didn't so much arrive as lean back into being there, seated comfortably beside the girl. With her weight resting on one hand, she started to toy with the thermos between them, clicking the top open and closed, open and closed.]

[Meg's not sure she likes the way the other woman is sizing her up, but she's getting that familiar hint of witch and it suddenly makes a bit more sense. They did usually have a bit more of a nose for sulfur.]

Maybe I am. You always mouth off to things much more powerful than you, sweetcheeks?

[Her tone is sticky sweet and a smile of her own plays on her lips. It's all calculated, but she's practiced enough to come off a lot less dangerous than she really is.]

[The bell on the shop's door jingled, chiming out an awkward scale. Footsteps, made quiet by the bare feet and slow pace, padded across the room. The steps turned into rustles, and then the sound of knobbly knees thunking across the floor.]

Mm-hm?

[thunk thunk, rustle.]

Really?

[he's not even bothered by the thought that someone else is entering the conversation.]

Isn't it terrible? Some things were just not meant to be melted in small ceramic containers...

[he pats the pot consolingly]

'Ave some if you want, dove. [she smiled, recognizing One of Her People pretty easily. there was a vibe that seemed to come from people who didn't think the way everyone else did, and it was oddly comforting]

Bunny won't mind, and neither do I.

[it's tea, of course - simple darjeeling with a little honey. at least, prior to Endless shenanigans]

[there's a spark of something in her eyes, and she walls up a little bit, but she doesn't quite bristle]

Depends... are you here for the roses? They're not yours, they're for him.

[She pops her head out from under the table, tablecloth draping across her face.]

Should have been a statue.

[Del pours some out into her hand, sniffing the mixture and dabbing her tongue into it in careful little licks.]

Hello Bunny hello you.

[It's easy enough to like a gift. Usually. Sometimes.]

Not always sometimes it's more like lose it before it's gone.

[Meg narrows her eyes and takes a step closer. It could be perceived as threatening or casual. It's a little of both. Her reasons are her own - she's not about to volunteer the information that the king of hell might be on her tail any second. That would be their problem to deal with if he showed up.]

Nope, keep your precious petals. Who are you talking about?

I'm talking about the bunny. He knows everyone. [there's a flicker of something childlike and lost in her eyes for a moment, but then it's gone. if she's not going to want the same things, there will not be Problems. she relaxes a little]

And I'm Natalie. [it's like flicking a switch: suddenly she's looking and acting her age, the picture of sanity]

Hello, you, too. .... [she gives a little hum of agreement]

S'easier to lose somethin' sometimes, when you know right where it is. Poof, gone. [Mum was like that, after all. Ral, too, though she didn't lose him so much as throw him away before she lost him, too]

Rather lose it than have it stolen.

Uh-huh. I see.

[Oh, brother. She's seen this crap before. This chick is not all there. Probably considerably less of a pain in the ass than an angel off his rocker, though. And a lot less potentially disastrous.

Not that she was surprised. Witches are usually crazy whores anyway.]

Meg. I'm new in town. You been here long?

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Open World Post: Aviario, CT

Dr. Paul Feistus - OTA

Natalie Marlowe-Feistus - OTA

Crowley - OTA

Dr. Jon Knight

Owen Evers - OTA

hello, have a Scottish mage, you're welcome

A, please! have fun with this guy,it's the first time I've officially played him

oh em gee squee, yessss

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Muahahaha

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Muahaha x2

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