bakerstreet | Bright Lights, Big City

Its been a long day. A really long day. All Morgan wanted was to have a snack from the vending machine to lift their spirits. But Nooo, the machine ate Morgans money and didn't give them the cheap sweets Morgan wanted. Stupid machine! Morgan was determined to get this sugary goodness! It started with glaring, and then became shaking the machine. After trying every which way and trick Morgan had up the sleeve.

Getting desperate, Morgan eventually resorted to sticking their arm into the machine, trying to get the candy bar out and struggling to reach it, and thats where they were at the moment. Trying to get a candy bar out of a vending machine after the machine ate their money. What a day.

If the below starters don't do you, go ahead and pick an identity or leave it to me, I'll write a custom starter just for you.

1) Tomasso

J'onn doesn't usually take part in the super hero tradition of going on patrol. When he turns up to trouble, it's most often as a result of an alert from the Justice League monitoring system, his personal sleuthing or a call from a friend. What he does do is turn into a black and white tom cat and roam a city. Cats are fascinating creatures to humans, which is precisely why he chooses to become one. It gives him a unique angle of interaction to study the people of his adopted homeworld. He keeps an open mind, literally thanks to his telepathy, and detects an interesting surge of strong emotion- worth investigating, his tiny silent cat feet trotting him along a wall to meet the owner of the emotions.

2) Danger (the threat is left ambiguous so it can be adjusted to be appropriate for any given replyer)

Whether he found it because of an alert, sought it out or someone has called him in, cities are often the site of serious trouble. We join that danger in media res, as an explosion rocks the cars on the street and starts a cacophy of car alarms. The Martian Manhunter stands firm in the face of it, green skin lightly smoking- increasing his density sufficiently to act as a defensive wall is a useful trick to defend those behind him.

3) Need a Ride

Amongst J'onn's many human identities, several of them share the job of a cab driver. They're all self employed, allowing him to take the role up and shelf it at a whim, and of course, it means meeting lots of people. Often people he would never see again and they knew it. Probably just as much philosophy has been discussed in a cab as in the Lyceum, just as many confessions as a church and more jokes than a stand-up club.

"You enjoying the evening?" He asks over his shoulder, as a new passenger slides into the back. This identity is a talker, and anyone who has taken a cab with a driver who starts with any question other than 'where do you want to go' would know it.

((I'm intrigued! A custom starter for one angry former Robin?))

(( You got it! Let me know if this needs adjusting. ))

Everyone that knows Bruce, the real Bruce, knows that he rarely asks anyone for help. He gives orders or artfully arranges situations so that he gets what he wants. But when things really matter, he'll ask. In the case of the missing Jason, it's important enough that Bruce admits that when you're hunting for a man, you call the Manhunter from Mars. J'onn's immediate response upon hearing about a disappearance after an explosion was Jason might as well have been escaping in a blimp, shaking his fist and shouting 'you haven't seen the last of me!'

Sleuthing was second nature, but Jason was good at disappearing. He knew he was close after using every trick he had. The darkest parts of the city, away from Gotham where Batman could find anyone, held horrors. J'onn decided they were a useful resource. He was banking on the fact that the young man he had met as Robin still cared about people in danger.

Transforming into a defenceless young woman and walking into the wrong neighbourhood, one J'onn was 80% sure was in earshot of Jason's hideout hadn't taken long to get a group of people to step out of shadows and demand whatever she had on her. The scream was perfectly designed to be clear and unmissable.

Jason hated it but he knew he needed to temporarily retreat after his last fight with Bruce. He couldn't win at his current state. He needed to recover, gather more resources, and create new plans. He wasn't going to give up on trying to control crime. Never again was he going to let Bruce think his methods were the right methods.

Like Bruce, Jason also had contingency plans. In this case, he temporarily retreated to one of his non-Gotham hideouts. Bruce and the rest of his "family" were on high alert for him back home. They all knew Gotham about as well as Jason did so he couldn't risk recovering and plotting there. He needed to go someplace they didn't know. Lucky for Jason, the city's seedy areas were similar to Gotham's. It had been easy for Jason to hide.

And just like Gotham, there were always scumbags in the city ready to prey on the innocent.

Jason wasn't going to patrol for another two hours but he heard a gang harassing a woman and her scream just outside his hideout. He immediately grabbed his guns, ran and jumped down from the fire escape and pounced right on top of one of the gang members.

J'onn felt a small spark of satisfaction as he saw Jason drop from the sky like a meteor to teach the man the error of his ways. His Manhunter's oath had been to pursue unfalteringly until justice was done. That oath had helped him through many dark times, led him like a lifeline. But it did raise curious questions here, now that he had found the young man.

What exactly was justice, here?

J'onn observes for a moment, caught between the gang and Jason. Maintaining the act of a vulnerable human, on wobbly legs. Eyes darting around repeatedly. They seem inclined to run, more than put up a fight, but the moment hinges on Jason now.

"D-don't do it," J'onn says in the voice of a human girl.

J'onn is ready, a telekinetic 'grip' around the tip of Jason's guns. Ready to wrench them aside if he chooses to fire.

Jason glares at the gang with pure distain. No matter where one goes, there were always lowlife thugs preying on the innocent. If the woman wasn't still around, Jason would've shot all of them by now.

But she had been through enough already and judging by her shaking and her voice, was still terrified. Plus, Jason couldn't risk her getting caught in the crossfire.

"Get the fuck out. I find you shitbags around again, you're all dead," Jason growls.

The gang quickly flees. Jason waits for them to be out of earshot before holstering his guns and looking back at the woman.

"Are you okay?"

Jason softly sighed. He was on the rooftop of an apartment building and had just finished patrolling. For once, Gotham seemed quiet. Nights like these didn't happen often enough. Jason wanted to take a moment to relax before going back to one of his safehouses.

He took off his helmet and set it beside him as he sat near the edge of the roof. He stared out at Gotham's skyline. If he didn't know the city so well, he would almost say the area was beautiful. It wasn't the same as sitting next to his favorite gargoyle but at the moment, the spot was good enough for him to decompress a little. Though he had been a vigilante for years now, it could be tiring at times.

[AUs, canon and cross canon all welcome! Feel free to throw a prompt my way as well if you want.]

[1]
[Outside the skies have absolutely opened up, though not with rain. Nope, those are some big fat snowflakes floating past one of the myriad of windows lining the front of this convenience store. The chime of the door rings out through the otherwise near empty store, a woman appearing alongside a gush of chilling cold air.

The woman stops and shivers a touch, her face pinching with the unpleasant sensation of cool air against the back of her neck. She pauses just inside to adjust the collar of her coat, stamps her shoes off near the entrance so she does trail anything in behind her and then shoves her hands into the pockets of said jacket. It looks like she's wearing fingerless gloves but those don't do a heck of a lot of good in the cold.

Whoevers eye she catches when she looks up gets a treat of seeing this woman with her eccentric eyeliner and overall aura of rough displeasure make the most obvious of observations.]

Gettin' real fucking cold out there.

[2]
Ah hell.

[All Reko had wanted to do was go home. The night had been a long one, one recording session that just wouldn't end. Sure Reko loved music, loved recording and all that but there's a limit to even how much she wants to do in one night. It was all probably hampered by the fact that she'd spent way too late the night before perfecting some dance routine that was absolutely for her pleasure and nothing else.

Now she's run up on a road block. The subway had nicely deposited her at her usual stop and she was maybe a block or two from her apartment but the usual street she took was blocked off, flashing lights and warnings ringing out.

Reko stood a moment, scrubbing a hand through her hair in frustration. Could she take one of the side streets? Maybe hop a fence somewhere?]

A. Nightlife and Other Oddities

it

B. Vagrant

[ new new york city. mid-twenty-second century. calling it a shithole is doing a disservice to words like sleazy, cramped, wretched, rotten. neon signs illuminate the night like searchlights, displaying ads for synthetic resorts, for home insurance, for prostitutes. what isn’t owned by the government is owned by corporations; what isn’t owned by corporations is owned by gangs; what isn’t owned by gangs isn’t worth owning. the air sweats with pollution. the private security that patrols through the streets might ignore you or single you out, depends on their mood. but for a woman like keikopnyxol (nyx to her friends) - former corporate troubleshooter, disgraced company representative, honest-to-god street samurai - there’s a few places where you might find her. ]

THE JOB

[ nyx’s office is cramped: barely enough room for a desk and a pair of chairs. she doesn’t have a window, but there’s a cheap holoscreen behind her, displaying a static, stock image of a beach that flickers whenever one of the magnotrains across the street rolls by. nyx herself reclines in her chair, feet kicked up on her desk, tapping on her wrist strap. as you settle into the seat across from her, she glances over. ]

You’ve gotta be desperate, if you’re coming to me.

THE DRINK

[ the heavy pulse of the bass throbs through the club, loud enough that it can damn well shake the fillings out of a tooth. the lights on the dancefloor flicker on and off, shifting and snapping through all the colors of the rainbow, and then more - infrared and ultraviolet, only for the enjoyment of people who’ve gotten the right implants jammed into their eyes.

a little while after you sit down, the bartender slides a glass your way. it’s faintly blue, but it’s not synthol, it’s real alcohol - the good stuff. they gesture towards the end of the bar - “compliments of the woman over there” - and there nyx is. when she sees you glancing her way, she curls up the corner of her mouth in what could be a smile and raises her glass in a silent toast. ]

THE RESCUE

[ somebody’s been chasing you. maybe you’ve noticed, maybe you haven’t, maybe you’ve ran - hell, maybe you’ve fought back. but regardless of whatever route you took, winding through the alleyways and overpasses, losing yourself in a crowd in the marketplace and darting across rooftops, they’ve found you. and after you tripped and fell down, after they started advancing to finish you off, and you raised your hands to defend yourself -

the sword appears through their chest.

your pursuer is dead before they hit the ground. nyx wipes her katana clean, sheathes it, and looks at you. ] I can keep you safe. Let’s go.

WILDCARD

[ think you can do better? bring it. ]

[Magdalene DeFoe is an adult, one fully capable of caring for herself. She's been capable of doing that for years; her parents doted on her, pretending it was because she was their only child and not because she was blind, but they still made sure she wasn't totally helpless. In their world, you never knew when someone would fall ill and die, and her parents wanted her to at least be able to feed herself and work and navigate the city.

They were both gone by the time she was sixteen, but they left her their house, so she never wanted for shelter. She spent the next few years studying, both speeding through an academic degree and working to improve her voice, but her big break came when her best ~~girl~~friend Marni got her connected to GeneCo. They'd give her fame, concerts and a recording contract and everything to go with it, and they'd give her eyesight into the bargain. She'd pay for the surgery by working as their spokeswoman, and she was nineteen and didn't know any better, so of course she agreed. Marni wouldn't let them ruin her life.

Marni, unfortunately, died within a year of Mag's surgery.

The real price, she's learned, is a total loss of independence. She kept her old house, but bodyguards and agents follow her everywhere; she's scheduled to the hilt. It turns out she didn't even need to learn to cook or get around new places, because she has people for that. She doesn't love this, but it's not yet as bad as it could be (as it will be).

This is her first trip to New New York City; she's touring, doing publicity, and sue her, she's managed to duck her entourage. It isn't entirely on purpose, but once she realizes she'd slipped into a crowd and they were nowhere to be seen, she doesn't make an effort to call anyone for help. She's enjoying just wandering and people-watching (people-watching is still a novelty to her in general, but especially here, where everything is new and unknown) when she realizes someone was on her trail.

It's not a bodyguard, like she originally thought; they wouldn't be shy about just yelling for her and demanding she let them catch up. No, she's not sure who it is, but they stay on her tail no matter how many streets she turns down. She's just trying to get to a place where she can pause and signal her people, but she stumbles (she can take care of herself, but nobody taught her how to run away or defend herself, why would they?) and falls and --

Oh. Well.]

I -- I'm not sure...

[She's not immediately sure if this person is much safer than the mysterious stalker; the sword is definitely alarming, and she knows she's a high-profile target who's probably seen as very naive (both because of her celebrity and because that's what most people seem to assume, knowing she is/was disabled).

She brushes off her hands and holds one out. She won't be offended if the other woman doesn't help her up, but it's the sort of thing she's come to expect, it's instinctive, and, honestly, it'll do wonders for her trust in the other person. (Maybe she is naive.)]

[ it takes a moment for nyx to understand what mag’s silently asking of her. when she does, her movements are jerky, like old stop-motion animation. she bends down, grabs mag by the wrist (not the hand) and pulls her up, perhaps a little bit more forcefully than she needs to. ]

Are you hurt?

[ it’s not said with any real empathy or warmth, just cool professionalism. gathering information. nyx lets go of mag's arm and turns. she kneels down beside the corpse of mag's pursuer and rummages through his pockets. candybar wrappers - irrelevant, discard.
untraceable paystick - more cash is always welcome, keep that. switchblade - she flicks it open, examines the blade. ] Not bad. [ in a single, slick move, nyx folds the blae shut and stashes it in a pocket of her jacket. ]

[There's a flash of -- not indignation, but surprise that her rescuer is so brusque. Most of the people she's been allowed to deal with have fallen over themselves to flatter her. She doesn't love it, exactly, it can be aggressively fake, but she's used to it. This is different.

It's not bad, she decides. Even though she feels compelled to shake her arm out once she's standing, just because the pull up was a strange sensation.]

No, I don't... I don't think so.

[She looks down, blinks once-twice in that slightly laggy way she has now (just a fraction of a second slower than most people). Her palms are scraped up, but no worse than they'd be if she stumbled and tripped in an ordinary circumstance. (Not that her bodyguards would let her.) There's also an ugly run in her tights, darting over her knee, but her skin didn't break there. It's just messy.]

Well, I'm not hurt in any serious way. I should wash and...

[She trails off, not sure this person needs the play-by-play of how she'll tend her cuts. It's not exactly thrilling. And then -- hm.]

What are you going to do with that?

[She doesn't care, exactly, but she feels compelled to ask, if just to get a better understanding of the other woman.]

Good. [ nyx continues to check through the man's pockets. no ID card, no wallet, just a photo of a potential target and a small container. hired muscle, probably - high quality eyes like mag's fetched a hell of a price on the black market. ] We'll get you cleaned up later.

[ it's not for another moment that nyx registers the question. she blinks and straightens up, glancing back. ] The knife? Check it over, when I've got the time. If it's any good, I'll keep it. Come on.

[ she gestures for mag to follow - not back the way that she'd originally came, towards the theatre district, but down a street between a holosuite and a laundromat. ] My name is Nyx. That man was hired to take your eyes. How long have you had them for?

[The thought hadn't even occurred to Mag, honestly. For all the flaws of her home city, the law does crack down really hard on organ thieves, or the unlicensed ones anyway. If just anyone could go around stealing whatever they wanted, GeneCo would be out of business, or at least they'd have a harder time, and considering the cops (like the rest of the city) are in GeneCo's pocket...

Well.

Maybe there's a reason she's constantly under guard that isn't just Rotti Largo's paranoia and controlling nature.

She's so taken aback that she doesn't immediately startle at the fact that this woman, Nyx, doesn't actually recognize her. She's still not offended, but -- it's very strange. She's used to people knowing her name, her face, her sordid history (or the abridged version, anyway).]

It's not quite been two years. [It's been a year since Marni passed, and she had those few months to make memories she could picture. She should have had more, they should have -- but then, Marni wasn't hers to have at all, was she? She shakes her head to dislodge the thought.]

I'm Mag. [She very pointedly doesn't introduce herself with her stage name. She knows why they decided to go with Blind Mag, but it's still sort of humiliating to her to say it.]

Adjusting?

[ at mag’s look - it’s been two years, that’s more than enough time - nyx shrugs, almost a little sheepish. ] I’ve had implants and regrown parts, it took a while to get used to them. Different process. [ millennial consulting always made sure to take very good care of its employee, particularly the company reps - but it’s a lot of tech that isn’t available for the market yet, even by geneco.

they continue to walk - nyx at first stalks down the street fast enough that mag needs to scurry to keep up with her. it’s not for half a block before she stops and slows down. it’s been a while since she was on bodyguarding duty, hard to acclimate back to it. ]

[Well, she might as well just admit it.]

I was born blind. There are days when seeing at all still feels overwhelming. But it's also come with... lifestyle changes.

[That's the gentlest way to put it, but she hopes it'll be enough to serve as a good answer.

She keeps pace with Nyx, she's in excellent shape (she has to be), but she's glad of the chance to slow down again. It gives her a better opportunity to study her savior, try to get a sense of her.]

(( And I just stumbled across a cyberpunk costume design for him too. ))

[ J'onn J'onzz has been across the many eras of humanity too- the difference is, he did it the hard way. Millions of years ago, he'd been banished to Earth in a series of events that had left him the last Martian in the universe. He'd gone mad and come back countless times. He'd worn the head of a falcon in Ancient Egypt, he'd challenged Sir Gawain to a beheading contest, he'd taken the form of a bearded man and given gifts once a year. He'd been countless people, but at his core, he wished to help his adopted world. Time had made legends, but as time passed, legends started to become impossible. He took to masquerading as a human full time, doing what he could. There were just a few times he broke character- when people who were not meant to be there invaded from a far off time.

He'd been trying to end Nyx's former employers before they were even founded. And so there was one last legend, known only to Millennium Consultants employees. Whenever the big green man appeared, missions always failed. And it was impossible to find out where he came from, how to prevent him from interfering, kill him before he was born, he came from nowhere and went back there. It was simply the case that if the inexplicable inhuman thing with the big red X on his chest was there? It was a write-off. Better to adjust time so no one requested than admit the embarrassing failure. But J'onn had wrenched the secret of recalling altered events from the mind of one very unlucky agent, and so like the slow approach of a glacier, the so-called Martian Manhunter had been stalking his prey over centuries instead of miles.

The man seated across from Nyx was not green, bald, and blazing bug eyes that could turn a human brain into so much empty jelly. He was big, however, nearly seven-foot-tall. But with short dirty blonde hair and eyes as blue as the sky had been before the smog had conquered it. He had regretfully been forced to give up the trenchcoat and fedora look he'd loved since the 1950s, but he'd found something that appealed about as much. The X was like a private joke - what was his prey going to do? Kill everyone with patterns on their clothing? Besides, it was technically a blue X. ]

Perhaps I am. I was lead to believe that is your speciality.

[ In sharp contrast to Nyx, J'onn has perfect posture, with fingers linked in front of him. His voice has a gravelly quality that is perfectly in keeping with his chiselled look. ]

Desperation?

[ she considers it for a moment and shrugs. it’s not wrong, exactly. there’s plenty of swords-for-hire like her: people who can make problems go away, who track down cold leads, who procure items without too many questions. but none of them are ex reps - hell, being an ex rep is supposed to be impossible, regardless of who you work for. it’s enough that a lot of folks in the know give her a wide, wide berth.

she’s fine with that. gives her more time to work on - ah - personal projects. ]

Maybe so. What sort of desperation do you have, Mister…?

[Someone mentioned vampires...Conleth is a hunter of anything supernatural, from the obvious vampires or demons to werecreatures of all types, Fae, and creatures more exotic. While he won't pick a fight with someone who's minding their own business and doesn't hunger for human prey, he's not fond of non-humans, as a rule, with very few exceptions.]

Something Wicked This Way Comes

Something has been stalking the moonlit city streets in recent weeks, killing without remorse and disappearing without a trace. News outlets have variously called it a rabid dog, an escaped big cat, or a particularly sadistic cannibal. Victims are found half-eaten and clawed to pieces. Besides the obvious human victims, there have been a LOT of dogs and cats going missing in the city as well. All of this, of course, has Conleth convinced it's something far more feral than some deranged, violent criminal. As he steps down the alley to a side entrance of the abandoned warehouse, he makes sure the assault rifle he carries is at the ready and the silver-inlaid sword at his back isn't loose enough to rip loose. Because he hears heavy footfalls and he's expecting he might need it...

After The Hunt

The old warehouse burned too violently for firefighters to attempt to put it out, and they instead focused on making sure the blaze didn't spread to other nearby structures. The heart of the blaze was already ash, a blessing considering the beast that Conleth slayed. The creature hadn't had even a sliver of human thought left. All it was, was hunger. Hunger, slavering jaws, and a body too human to be the rabid dog or escaped big cat that everyone thought was behind the rash of recent deaths. Fortunately, its lack of human intelligence also made it more simple to dispatch, once he tracked it down to its lair. Conleth sat on a curb nearby now, telltale claw marks embedded deep in his kevlar armor. Some of them bled. He'd already talked to the cops and to the first responders. Now, he sat nearby while they battled the blaze, waiting to make sure the thing was truly dead and gone before he went to find a good stiff drink.

More than one person has come out of the nearby businesses to gawk at the glowing conflagration, stunned by its size and fervor. Randolph is among the crowd, but he seems less stunned and more curious; he'd heard stories of kids daring one another to go near the warehouse and hear the growling within, seen them dash past truly afraid. How interesting indeed, that that's the building that was set ablaze tonight.

After a few minutes of passive observation, he moves toward Conleth, because the armor and weaponry tells a tale of its own. "Exciting night, I take it?"

Some of his wounds have started to ache, now that the adrenaline is wearing off, and he winces as he tries to find a more comfortable position. The bystanders are a worry, especially since he hasn't been allowed to leave to return his gun to his car just yet. He keeps a hand on it and an eye on those around him as someone steps forward. With a wince, he answers, "More exciting than I'd intended. One of the gas lines were leaking." Accident? Fat chance, he'd set the fire on purpose, but the working gas lines had been a nice surprise. "I'm just glad the place was abandoned. Hopefully, once the smoke clears, it'll be a little quieter around here."

"I'm glad to hear it. Rumor is that place had been noisy enough to catch people's attention from time to time."

He won't call Conleth out on the lie, but there's a quiet little look of acknowledgment. You can't get that one past old Randolph, good man. He reaches into his jacket and pulls out a flask, taking a swig and then offering it over, because who doesn't need whiskey after a hunt like that?

"It'll be good, to know there's no reason for anyone to be poking around such a dangerous place."

Conleth takes a swig from the flask and winces slightly at the burn. He doesn't drink all that often, and the alcohol makes his insides burn pleasantly. He hands the flask back to the man. He gives him a small nod. Yeah, he gets it. Here, at least, is someone who knows or at least suspects what was in the old warehouse.

"It should be a little less dangerous now." He fingers some of the tears in the kevlar armor. Claw marks, in sets of five, as wide as a man's hand. There's a set of bite marks on his shoulder that didn't penetrate skin. "I won't lie, I didn't expect it to actually get through kevlar."

Randolph nods a bit. "I wouldn't have either. Something has to be spectacularly big and bad to do that, from what I've heard." He glances up, trying to spot the moon, but there's no chance to do that behind all the smoke in the air.

"Don't suppose I could get your card? I've been keeping my eye on that warehouse for weeks, but I'm not exactly the sort of person who goes in and handles problems like that, especially not on my own. Having someone else I can pass off tips to would be handy."

"Werewolf. Not the friendly kind in the movies. The ones as far gone as this one was don't change back. There's nothing human left." He shakes his head. "I told the cops that someone had been hiding a tiger in there. Given recent media coverage from Texas, I doubt they'll question it too hard."

He pulls open the kevlar chest piece. Underneath, the uniform he wears is clearly military surplus, with the Order of Solomon's cross embroidered on the chest. It's also torn and some of his wounds are still seeping blood. He reaches into an undamaged pocket and pulls out a wallet, then fishes out a card. It introduces him as Conleth Murray, Grand Prior of the Order of Solomon, Northeast Branch. It's also quick to explain that the Order of Solomon is a philanthropical society. The address listed is a local Catholic Church, St. Michael's. "If you see anything else like this, please let us know."

As he takes the card, the ink up and down his arm is obvious. All of it black and grey, some with symbols of occult warding, mingled with plants like moly and rowan branches known for their protective qualities.

"Of course. I'd be glad to let you know what's going on in this part of town. I work at Eye of the Needle--it's a tattoo parlor, few blocks west of here." A pause, he glances down at the card again, and decides to check he's got the right pronunciation for the name. "Conleth, said how it's spelled? I'm Randolph Waldstein. Randy, if you prefer."

Conleth frowns as he takes in the symbols on the man's arm. Some of them are occult symbols he recognizes. Others, he's not sure. Great. Witches and the like are not his favorite people. Human, but some of them could be as dangerous as any werewolf or vampire. Some are just deluded.

"Conleth Murray." He pronounces Conleth just how it's spelled. "I'm in charge of the Order of Solomon here. We do a lot of charity work. Also deal with things like this, though that doesn't usually warrant a mention in the church brochure. It's good to meet you, Randy."

Randy catches that frown, tilting his head to one side, but doesn't bring the tension out into the open, not yet, not here.

"Good to meet you, too. Is this it for tonight, or are you going on to find another problem to solve after this?"

"Afraid this is probably it for tonight. I need to get these wounds taken care of. The beast's claws don't usually transmit its disease like its bite does, but given its diet, there are a whole host of other diseases to worry about." Despite a non-zero chance he might be furry at the next full moon, he's keeping calm about it. No need to get upset till it happens. He'll treat the wounds as best he can.

He pushes himself to his feet and glances over at the firefighters still battling the blaze. "Truthfully, I wanted to be gone before they got here, so I could deal with these injuries at once. Lucky me, there were police in the area."

"Like I said, I work at a tattoo parlor a couple blocks down. I could bring some of the antiseptic and wrappings here, or once they release you I could take care of you there. It'd be no trouble, really--call it a thanks for playing exterminator."

Conleth looks over at the firefighters again, as well as a recently arrived police car. The detective nearby is a church member, and he nods at Conleth subtly before going back to his work. Conleth jerks his head at the street. "We can go now. Just let me stop by my car first, I need to put this stuff away."

Conleth's car is a block down in the same direction they'd need to travel to get to the tattoo parlor, and it doesn't take long for Conleth to trade his kevlar, the uniform jacket, and the rifle in for a much more casual jacket with the Order of Solomon's cross across the back. After a debate, he leaves the sword behind as well, but grabs a nondescript black cane from the trunk of the car.

Bright Lights, Big City

Morgan | Fire Emblem Awakening | OTA

J'onn J'onzz 👽 DC

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Jason Todd | DC Animated Movies

Reko Yabusame | Your Turn to Die

The Medicine Seller | Mononoke | OTA

keikophnyxol | original | ota

this is what happens when you give me creative liberty

it's fantastic.

<3

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Job!

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Conleth Murray | Vampire Hunter OC | OTA

After the Hunt

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