002: Death is for the Dying

Reese Morgan had been in Seattle for close to two weeks now. In that time, she had met two wonderful guys...and yet, her question about them being related had been un-answered. But, no matter--once Reese meets up with Taylor, things will be explained to her about why she was needed in the Emerald City after a month of moving back home in Bellingham, WA.

The petite brunette was currently in her apartment, just sharping her Sais before her daily walk around Emerald City in search of any supernatural beings that would do harm to humans. She had heard reports of mysterious dealings with deaths, disappearences, and such as she was returning back to her home state from the State University of Louisiana in New Orleans. Once she had settled home, she began her research of these 'reports' and had come to the conclusion that it was all supernatural beings behind all of these attacks.

Letting out a sigh, Reese finished up before she started to suit up for her nightly trek around the city. Fifteen minutes later saw Reese just locking up her apartment. Her heeled boots gave a soft 'THUNK' on the hardwood floor as she exited out of her home and out into the real world.

"So, do you want it or not?"

Cal eyed the M1902, doing his best to keep the excitement off of his face, and out of his eyes. One of the few revolvers to be engraved before the 1914 series was released, the metal worn, but freshly polished, and at a generous $1000, this little beauty was clearly a steal. And more than likely a piece of -hot- merchandise, judging by the dealer's anxious movements, and impatient posturing. Cal removed the gun from it's little black box, shaking off the faux silk it was wrapped in, and held it in his hand. If the dealer had known anything about his own product he would have balked at the move, and quickly warned Caliban of what the oils on his fingers might do to the aged metal. Instead, he said nothing, glanced at his watch, and exhaled gravely. Meanwhile, Cal took advantage of the man's ignorance, casually clasping the grip in his hand, letting his arm grow accustomed to the weight. "Come on, man..." The dealer huffed after a few long seconds. "I got other business to handle tonight, are you ready to commit or not?" Abruptly shrugging, Cal popped the cylinder, then closed it, glanced down the front sight, thumbed back the hammer...

"I'll take it for $500."

"What! Don't be a dick man, I said no less than a G and you agreed."

"I agreed to take a look. Now that I've taken a look, I see that the main spring is snapped, and the trigger guard is warped. It'll take a considerable amount of my own personal time to make this piece of shit operable. So I think you'll take $500, and be happy that I'm not one of those crazy assholes who gets all homicidal when people try to dick him around, and sell him a broken gun. Sound good?"

The man did nothing but glare. Cal smiled his boyishly innocent smile, and placed the gun in the empty chest holster beneath his riding jacket. Five bills were fished from his wallet and unceremoniously tossed onto the table. "It's been a pleasure." He called, as he turned and exited the back room of the dive bar. Longish dark blonde hair fell forward to shield his face from balmy orange light of dusk. Sunset. Perhaps his favorite time of day. The City was disgustingly active.

Seattle. He'd never had any interest in the place, knowing it wasn't good for much besides coffee and hippies. He hated hippies. And coffee, well coffee made him jumpy. In the first three days since he'd touched down however, he'd found that living in a town so close to the Canadian border had it's advantages. The saying went 'Anything Goes in Canada' ergo, who knew what might come and go across the border? Drugs, illegal immigrants, slave trade, whores, guns... It was no Tijuana, but for the time being, it would do. It had been a little less than a week since Sullivan's outcry to the surviving Protectors had reached him. It was difficult to find a person who'd forgotten nearly everything about his former life. Caliban was still going through the long, slow process of recovering what memories he could between bouts of post traumatic stress, and evading authorities. But one thing he hadn't forgotten was his calling. A storm was brewing, and there was no way in hell he was missing out on any of the action.

Why did the sun have to ever disappear? It unnerved Merlot to no end that it would always happen, every single day. She lived for the sunlight or a cloudy day, never liking the dark that came with night. Well, at least there were (almost) always street lights. The trip back home was over too quickly. Romania had grown and changed over the years, something that was to be expected but Merlot had spent time in the area that she had grew up in. But nevertheless, being called back to Seattle due to her duties. The search would have to wait a few more weeks. Yes, she was a search and it was a personal mission. She had her missions for the Arcanes but she also had one of her own - She'd get it done with, even if she turned out to be extremely old from years of not doing it due to something always coming up. She had rarely gotten time to unpack from her 'vacation' before going back out, catching that last stretch of sun before she noticed that darkening coming over Seattle. Merlot had ignored all phone calls, all emails or messages while she was gone -- completely forgetting Seattle all together. The woman didn't want to deal with it while she was home.

Making a mental note of calling her Mother, Merlot pushed her hands into her pockets. It might've been completely out of place but that's how she was. She'd make mental notes for dinner while destroying something that shouldn't have been in the existence of the human plane. She'd scribble things while listening to someone talk about something important, she'd stargaze while hearing something pushing her body into action. Okay, so she was out there. Who wasn't? Her fingers caught a handle of the small blade that she always kept in her jean pocket; protection for herself and against the things that harmed others. It was both: she'd kill something in a second if it deserved it, she'd also protect herself from the ghosts that were still creeping in and out of her life. Duty always came first though.

She needed cigarettes before doing anything. Coffin nails always kept her head on straight without her thoughts wondering on things. Making a sharp left, she pushed open the door to a convenience store, marching directly to the counter. "Menthols." Probably being the only word that she'd speak for the night as she watched the man get the cigarettes. While paying for it, she couldn't help but get a certain chill up her spine. That was nonsense with the jacket on her person. Pfft, nothing came as nonsense anymore. Not in the world that they lived in, not to the ones that knew about the dangers in the world other than human. Taking the cigarettes, Merlot returned to the outside as she swallowed. Something wicked was on the way - She had heard about the bodied being found, heard the ideas about what could've caused it. She needed to actually get on her way to figuring out something about it -- To figure out a theory about whatever it was causing and preying on skins. Sticking to the streetlamps, Merlot carried on her walk, searching the people around the area, listening to her gut and this time (as always), trusting that instinct that came with her.