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Snippet #2682658

located in Ekland Farm, a part of The Spirit Detectives, one of the many universes on RPG.

Ekland Farm

None

Setting

Characters Present

Character Portrait: [NPC] Bartender Character Portrait: Duncan McAlister Character Portrait: Briella Adair Character Portrait: Tom Passano Character Portrait: Cassandra Artemis Character Portrait: Monk Dawa
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Tom, quite focused on the task of possibly having to take action against any potential womanizers in the room--not naming any names-- barely moved from his spot, half-aware of his partner's rustling sounds from his back. A soft hand patting his own broke his concentration, and he grunted, swiveling his head down from where it was fixed like a hawk on the current happenings and stuffing his own gloved hand in his pocket.

"Can't argue with that." He spoke in a lower, polite tone, suddenly completely calm again. At least Cassie was able to snap him out of it-- but he does flicker a slightly warning glance at Dawa. Not entirely hostile at his actions, but...serious. Guarded, as if he was telling him to do his best at making sure nothing horrible ends up happening...Though he isn't a big shot psychic, he can feel the strange energy crackling in the middle room of the house, and if this is just what it feels like on the get go, it's bound to grow worse as soon as everybody splits. Tom, shifting his position, watches from narrowed hazel eyes as their boss sinks down into a fatigued position. Upon the mention of earpieces, he is reminded to adjust his own for emergencies...

"You know what we should do?" The voice of his friend cuts through again. His eyes widen and he brings a hand to the side of his head, as if he was going to whip off his sunglasses in surprise before finding he'd already clipped them to his collar. "Whatever it is, hold it...things are gonna get nasty soon, though. Just listen for now." He murmurs without looking around. He can feel Leon getting antsy already; being cooped up really isn't their style, after all.

He's starting to feel the shadow cast over the place, too. It's an ache in the back of his head; a subtle crawling sensation, as if someone was running their hands through his hair. The big man's chest is rising and falling in accordance to the almost stifling feeling in the room, and he may or may not be the tiniest bit short of breath...Strange, since he's barely moved an inch. Walking in a straight line to brush against the doorway to the next hall, he pauses, keeping himself from looking into whatever it has in store. "Leon." Tom speaks in a cool, commanding voice, familiarized with getting through to the strange man clinging onto his shoulders. "You better stick with me through this. Can't have you dropping behind anytime soon."

If anyone was peeking through the darkness with enough determination, they might catch a little smile quirk the corner of his mouth. That is, before disaster strikes. The speaker in his ear blows at the scream, sends a ringing through his head like an alarm clock, and immediately sends him straight into action--he slides to the wall, and he immediately focuses on the next hall to the parlor. No sooner does he look up when the black, billowing form slides out of the peeled wallpaper from the very end of the hall, approaching in a rush. Which, of course, he expected. His friend, the eyes to his brawn and legally equipped weaponry, has his perks. Especially when the amount of psychic energy surrounding him. Who knows how much he's heard already...

Upon the re-appearance of Dawa with Cassie, Tom immediately bristles on their entrance. Moving quickly, he steps back on his heel, cocks the gun (full of clear, fast-moving bullets at the moment, filled with a sort of scented smoke to dissipate dark matter) and forces himself not to be distracted as he shoots a couple times, the bullets bursting into the scented smoke rather than ricocheting off the walls. Rather than melting, the form (probably on its way down anyway) flickers further into the building, receding into the floor quicker than the blink of an eye.

Sighing, Tom carefully slides his gun back in his pocket, wiping a hand across his face. "The party's barely started." He mutters, trudging closer to the middle of the room and watching carefully at the monitor, which shows Duncan's progress in the parlor, which had proven itself to be dangerous.