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 Posted: Thu Feb 24, 2011 7:42 am
Henry Featherstone was a prominent socialite, philanthropist, and (less famously) a high-profile lawyer. Today was his fifty-third birthday, and a sizeable crowd was milling around in his tasteful manor. Some were friends, others relations. A good bit were useful acquaintances and opportunists. Two of them stopped briefly by the spread of appetizers, picked out glasses of champagne - and a lemon wedge - and proceeded to disappear into the crowd, not to be spotted again for the rest of the evening.
Jack and Duke had arrived. They made their way up a service stairway - the big mahogany stairs in the lobby being out of the question, since it was crowded with guests. And a string quartet. As they drew further away from the violins, they emerged into a plush carpeted hallway - ever-so-conveniently deserted. Mr. Featherstone had requested that all his servants be attending to the party, after all. And the doors at the top of the grand staircase were locked - to theoretically, the old man would have nothing to worry about.
Theoretically. "It's his own fault, you know." Jack told Duke, nodding knowingly. "It's these rich people, they forget how things work. I suppose he thinks his food and sponge baths arrive by magic." He jerked his thumb at the camouflaged door behind them - the one they had just stepped out of. The one that had not been locked. "I'm not going to fall for that. No matter how rich and old I get. And I'm going to sleep with a shotgun under my pillow. Like a big honkin' double-barrel one, blow a thief's head clean off. That's what people should do, you know. They should be thieves first, before they get rich. Then there wouldn't be much thieves after that, because the ex-thieves would weed them all out with double-barreled shotguns."
Duke peered at him from under the brim of his trilby, having taken to wearing the hat to keep his horns hidden. Jack had no doubt that Duke had other ways to keep his horns hidden - but he seemed to like his hat, black with a burgundy band. Yellow eyes swept past his contractor, amused. They were both dressed for the occasion - Jack having dressed like this long before he had the money for it, of course. But he'd cleaned up anyhow, his hair no longer greasy but professional styled, his dark trousers free of pizza stains. He wore a red shirt and an earthy whipcord vest, a black tie tucked neatly underneath.
Duke was, perhaps a little oddly, wearing a perfectly decent three-piece suit, with a purple tie to match his hair, and cufflinks in the shape of daggers. Jack didn't know where he'd gotten it from. It was sort of intimidating, a slim cut with razor-sharp edges. Made him look like a mobster. Especially as he snapped the lock on the door to Mr. Featherstone's personal study, where he collected a variety of clocks - both priceless and highly-priced.
"Take care of the safe." Jack gestured to Duke, himself stepping towards a locked glass cabinet that held a good dozen jeweled pocketwatches.
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Posted: Fri Feb 25, 2011 7:02 am
He did not know Henry Featherstone, and to be quite frank, he did not care. The absence of clicking cowboy boots was a first for the sandy blond, and the lack of nicotine was making him ill. Polished black shoes chattered across the wealthy manor's grounds instead, carrying the weight of a priest. Perhaps in disguise. Claude Whickham did not enjoy festivities, nor did he make it a point to attend them. The reason behind his appearance here today probably muddled somewhere between the job that he had clawed his way into and the separation as of late from his partner in crime. A brittle chill washed over him, despite the body heat crashing against his body from all sides, dresses and tuxedo's blurring his vision and making the spectrum of color around him swim. This place was a vision of luxury and pleasure, riches and gold. It made the cowboy's stomach churn in discomfort, the thought of such things lost on him since such a young age. Voices curled in his ears from every corner and crowd that he passed, some registering in his mind as those from confessionals. Though there was familiarity to them, there was no doubting it. The priest felt sorely out of place.
Though sadly, one would have to be quite observational to realize that small fact.
The three-piece-suit accommodated his figure well, though he'd left his jacket at the door. A gold chain looped tightly around his neck beneath the dark fabrics, though one could not see the cross that hung from its chain below. His icy eyes were easily seen tonight, his hair pulled back into a tight, neat ponytail, unlike the sloppy ones he usually looped together with a rubber band in the early mornings of the day. But it wasn't simply the suit that had attracted the looks and the stares. The way the priest carried himself seemed nearly dangerous, but in a way that spoke volumes more than words ever could. It wasn't that Claude meant to, no, not really, but with a concealed gun and an arsenal of holy words and enchantments, the priest could easily be seen as a threat, both to humans and the demons of the night. His heels clicked across the hard floor again, weaving a pattern between crowds of cocktail dresses and boisterous men all ready to show off their wealth. Claude had been greeted earlier, had even forced himself to attend a conversation with some who knew him from the church. But it was all too much, it was all too false. He couldn't stay in one place and he sure as hell wasn't about to pick up another conversation with a girl or a man just looking for a good time.
So what was he left to do but escape? Claude could taste the emptiness in his mouth, the need for a smoke and the need for escape. His spine crawled with shivers as he escaped to the edge of the crowd, trailing along it before his fingers trailed and then he himself up the service stairway. After all, Claude had learned over years the art of being subtle and unseen, especially when hunting the demons that he did. And that also meant becoming a ghost in a crowd. Something that wasn't caught by the eyes of others. Escaping away from the sound and thrum of violins, Claude traced his way down the hall, fumbling for the pack of cigarettes that he never left at home, no matter the occasion. The familiar scent drove his senses mad, brushing away the anxiety and the irritation that came from leaving them be. Now, one could call the event of Claude just happening into the room that a certain pair had been robbing at that very moment fate.
The cowboy preferred to call it bad luck.
The first thing he noticed was the broken lock. The second was the voice that seemed far too familiar for comfort. It brought forth a hazed memory in his mind, blurred and torn at the edges, scented vaguely with beer and pizza. Chewing on the cigarette, Claude released a breath of smoke as his eyes adjusted to the dark of the room before him, the door sliding shut almost soundlessly under his practiced fingers. His gut instinct twisted and curled in on itself in a manner that he was familiar with, and his first instinct was, get your gun, aim, shoot. But hell, that would ruin the fun now, wouldn't it? He didn't know why he'd chosen this space, Mr. Featherstone's personal study, to escape to. Perhaps it was the dim light, or the way that a perfect couch for sleeping just happened to be set up. He sure as hell knew that it wasn't because of the pair before him in the middle of doing something that looked quite, quite devious. But that just kicked his interest away from death and into the spotlight once again. What a rare occurrence. What an odd night.
"Mon dieu," He ground out, not bothering to hide his presence. His arms laced across his chest, crossing loosely as he observed Duke and Jack with a dryness that could match that of a desert's. "I come looking for peace and quiet and I come across thieves instead. Fun." Sharp blue eyes grazed over Jack's face, though his stomach curled in apprehension at the partner that he could not place. It screamed for him to run, or to simply jump the gun. But both instincts were held back. Smoke curled from his lips, and Claude seemed more like a cowboy with every waking moment that he stood before them. All that was absent were his clicking cowboy boots and the sharp, potent smell of beer and pizza that had surrounded Jack and him during their last encounter. Right, pizza.
"I thought you were a delivery boy," His lips curled briefly into a wry expression, though he didn't seem inclined towards anything other than talking. Or perhaps, getting that part done with and trying out the comfort of the sofa that looked so nice. "Didn't know you were a thief. That makes both of us liars now, doesn't it?" His mouth curved into a grin. Oh yes, the distant memories of this strange man was coming back, though the name still eluded him, ever out of reach in Claude's mind. He shifted, keeping an easy distance between the two in case they both had something cruel to say that didn't come dressed up in pretty little words. His eyes shifted between Duke and Jack, a question rising in his head, a suspicion curling in the back of his mind. He could taste the danger in the air, the way that the party had disappeared into the background, and that it felt as though this was a separate world one in its own. And he wondered, just how would this night go? But he only smiled more, because if worst came to worst, well...
He wasn't that easy to kill.
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Posted: Fri Feb 25, 2011 7:56 am
Jack and Duke were professionals - they'd been doing this for months, and they could make quick work of it. Gone were the days when they'd stop to argue and hiss at each other, wandering through darkened homes not even knowing exactly what they had come to do. No - tonight they worked silently (or as silently as Jack could manage, still upholding a mumbled ramble about rich people and their lax security measures - as if no one dare take from them, how ridiculous) - the safe cracked open (literally) and emptied in a matter of minutes. The display case was going to take a little longer - and two sets of hands - so it was not until then that Jack noticed that Duke was not moving to help him, and instead staring straight into the shadows.
Which soon revealed the glowing embers and trailing smoke of a cigarette - and then, soon after, a tall man in a shirt and vest, hair pulled back in a way that made him look vaguely predatory. Well - not vaguely. Very. At this point, though, Duke decided that it was nothing to concern himself with, and stepped towards the glass case - pulling out a slender screwdriver. And Jack, who was considerably more concerned about the presence of this man, was forced to keep working anyway - because there was no stopping Duke when he wanted to get work done.
"Wait, what - who are you?" He glanced over his shoulder, half-expecting the man to come at him with a knife for some reason. Despite the fact that he looked pretty unconcerned for the sight he'd walked in on. Tiny screws fell to the ground, and the base of the case came off into Jack's arms. He let out a surprised grunt, stepping around to set the whole thing down like a dinner tray on Mr. Featherstone's desk. He eyed the stranger again. If he did anything... Jack and Duke would probably have to make it out through the window. Painful, but they'd live. And the Royce was only a hop away, conveniently placed for just this reason. In any case, combat was not on Jack's books, so excuse him if the thought of guns and knives and a fight with this guy seemed a little intimidating. Best play it cool. Besides, this guy seemed familiar, and then -
Then it hit him - the bar. The white-haired man. And this guy. He pointed at him, the look on his face a clear picture of recognition. "Right. You. Well - you're no good friend of Featherstone, are you? You don't seem like you give much of a damn. So here, trade you a watch for some shut the ******** up." He picked one out - it had a blue face, which Jack decided matched the stranger's eerily chill demeanour. Not to mention his eyes. Tossing it across the room towards him, he worked to pile the others into a neat black briefcase that... Duke had spontaneously produced out of apparently nowhere, by the looks of it.
"You're that scary hot guy from the Scarlet Cat." Jack mentioned conversationally, as if the other needed reminding - now making his way around one half of the room, picking out whatever of the old man's clock collection that looked valuable and could fit into the case (which was already fitting more than it ought). "I was looking for your friend for a while, but... then I was kind of busy so I forgot about it. And I was a delivery boy. Now I'm a thief. A man's allowed to switch career paths, you know. It's not even unrelated. It's just like being a delivery guy, 'cept I come to your house and take your stuff. Lot more profitable, you know. Even without the tips."
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Posted: Fri Mar 11, 2011 5:54 am
It wasn't that Claude was particularly interested in getting in the way of Jack and Duke's grand scheme that night. No, not really. Honestly, all he'd come upstairs for was some sleep, but he already knew that his simple plans had been thwarted by the appearance of thing one and thing two, or, more accurately put, demon one and useless looking human number two. Claude wasn't a kind person, and Jack's impressions left little more than a stain on his mind; the memory of the man itself was faded and torn at the edges, barely kept together by the remembrance of Iclair and the words they'd shared afterwards. As the priest appraised the situation, he found himself glad that he'd left his coat at the door, fingers brushing nimbly across the sharp waistcoat that clung to his body. He'd always opposed dressing up, but a fair haired priest had once told him it made him look sharp, and while Claude wasn't one for compliments, he didn't mind them from time to time. But reminiscence was for another time.
Inhale, exhale.
Another cloud of smoke and embers burnt through the air of the dimly lit room, illuminating Claude's face and steel blue eyes. His lips drew into a thin line at Jack's first words, two fingers pulling away the cigarette, a thumb hooking into his dress pants pocket. "You wouldn't like me if you knew, darlin'." His voice was raw and deep, though melodic in its own sense. After all, it was difficult to play the part of the good church goers ran from sharp words and stinging bites, aye? His eyes trailed to Duke's form, the sleeping magic in him breathing an air of disapproval. It was potent in the air, the stench of demon. Normal humans wouldn't even pay heed to it, but the raw, deep well of light within him retched at the air, burnt in his gut and begged for release. It was clear that tonight he would not be sleeping.
It was clear that tonight he would be on the hunt.
The pointing finger earned a throaty laugh, steel eyes flashing in the glimpse of embers. "A bit slow, aren't ya?" He teased idly, stepping forward, black shoes clicking against the dark floor. "But its nice that you remember at all." His wrist flexed up to catch the watch reflexively, though his fingers curled into it with an alarming force. Jack was the kind of guy who could certainly give him some entertainment, but at the same time, the man rubbed him the wrong way. Especially given the stench that clung to him like burning flesh and acrid, stale air, probably unknown, unannounced to anyone without the presence of such strong light within their core. "Featherstone?" The name was reiterated, though Claude's own tone suggested that he could care less about another rich man and his rich friends. "Dont know a thing about him. Nice trade, nice watch even, but..." Claude tossed the accessory back to him - something that probably cost more than everything he'd owned as a child - and smiled grimly. "Unfortunately I can't accept. You're no interest, but your partner isn't so lucky."
At this time, the playing field they were on seemed neutral enough. Claude was vaguely aware of the window, the second escape route, and nearly grimaced at the idea of a chase leading out of it, though he had enough scars to prove longer, more difficult falls. He knew a few bullets wouldn't kill a demon, and the light inside of his body was already rousing, pawing at his mind for an invite into the conversation. "Scary hot? 'm pleased you think so." Claude chuckled, his head tilting slightly, though his mouth was thin again before anyone had a chance to blink. The cool metal of one gun pressed to his side, and he could easily count the concealed knives he'd hassled himself into bringing. It was a bare three, two, one before his gun was in his hand, like a magician pulling a trump card out of nowhere. But this was hardly his ace in the hole. This was just the beginning. "And you're the pizza delivery boy." His eyes flashed, a cold, dark steel blue. "Didn't know you dealt with demons as well."
At the mention of Iclair, the cowboy clicked his tongue, expression flickering between neutrality and amusement for a moment. "Theres the issue of morals though. Theres a neat gap between the two now, isn't there?" The priest shook his head, taking another step forward. He wanted this night to be over, he wanted some sleep. He wasn't sure what kind of dumb luck had drawn him to the demon and its owner this evening, but whatever kind it was was no friend of his. He was without a partner, not something entirely uncommon, though something that made the entirety of the situation a bit more dangerous. Not to mention that he wasn't interested in the actual kill, no. It was only the hunt that tempted him. And the hunt had long since grown old. Where Iclair thrived off of the idea of danger, Claude could care less. Though perhaps this demon... perhaps he would bring something new to the table.
"Exorcizamus te, omnis immundus spiritus."
The words were exhaled against a cloud of smoke and embers, the magic within his core shaking itself into full attention. He knew that this could go one of many ways, and the spells that rifted through his head were vast and endless, though so many of them could eat away at his energy quick if he wasn't careful. The first, one that he'd learned alongside his partner, was most likely something that Iclair enjoyed more than him when playing with the darkness, an annoyance, a light lash of magic against the demonic presences to distract and irritate, like rubbing an open wound. "Omnis incursio infernalis adversarii, omnis legio, omnis congregatio et secta diabolica.” But he'd use it while he could, to test just what this demon would react to.
After all, he wanted to get this over with quickly. He wanted to sleep.
The priest then turned his eyes to Jack, as if remembering he was there, and smiled slightly, though none of the warmth touched his eyes. "Sorry to ruin your night," He said dryly, his tone laced with light magic, ready to be weaved into words. "I'm not as entertainin' as my friend, so I'll just make this short." His eyes twisted with a simple cold. He'd always detested contractors, people who gave themselves away to the demons for reasons beyond Claude's understanding. It wasn't that he saw them weak, no. He'd once considered the benefits of contracting as well. It was something much deeper, much more complicated then he could ever explain, and so...
"So are you going to run now, or are we gonna have ourselves a rough night, darlin'?"
- - -
Despite the priest's every intentions to hunt the demon and its master if it sent him all throughout the town, fate had other decisions in mind. The door that he'd come in behind swung open again, a loud and distracted voice echoing from outside, calling his name. The man had been the one to introduce him around the house, dragging him every which way by the arm in an attempt to get him to open up. Though he'd insisted under his breath that he was another member of the church, Claude either refused to believe he was very high up, or that he was a very respectable man, so buried under wealth and hunger for more. The priest was familiar enough with greed, and this man had the stench of it so plain in sight that it was almost a warrant for a seed of disgust. The man didn't bother to look into the room, or he was too occupied by the pretty little thing hanging on his arm to care, but he was calling his name like a butcher calling a sheep to slaughter, and Claude wasn't sure he wanted to go. After all... His eyes passed back to the two, a rumbling sigh on his lips. He knew that there were more dangerous things that he could handle on his own, that he had handled on his own, but he wasn't sure he was willing to risk the night on harmless thieves, when his entire reason for being here was collecting information instead.
Giving another aggravated sigh, the priest pushed through the door without a backwards glance, allowing it to swing shut behind him and leave the two to their own robbery. After all, what was a few stolen watches, hm? Especially to a rich man with a temper and one hell of a punch.
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