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Rory Chamberlain

"You acquainted me with the idea of turning my nightmares into my solace; now I find myself branding your skin with the image of my pulchritudinous enmity."

0 · 614 views · located in Khaol

a character in “Borrowed Strength”, as played by coricidinForte

Description








Age: Eighteen years, two months, eleven days, five hours, twenty-six minutes, forty-four seconds...forty-five seconds.

Gender: A body that is shaped from testosterone, with a soul that is ambiguous and filled with malevolent vengeance.

Sexual Orientation: They all breath and die the same, so there is no difference.

Role: A deal with a devil, signature carved in blood and flesh.

Crush: Soda will kill you.

Boyfriend/Girlfriend: Once there was a girl with a mind that expanded away from here and towards the stars. She told me that if I wanted to be loved I had to sort myself out, rearrange the nonsense in my brain and inhale new knowledge. Turn the darkness into light, force the water in my lungs to act as my oxygen. I did as she said, and I was so thrilled with what I discovered; I had to show her, force her to understand my new found joy. Now she can touch the stars she fancied so much, and I wonder if she is happy now.

Do you have a Demon?: The raucous voice calls himself Naberius.

Contract Details: "I am not generous in nature, my services do not go without a price. There is only one thing that will satisfy me enough to bond myself to such an ignorant creatures, I ask of you to give me lives. Is your mind so corroded that you will act as the executioner in exchange of power?" "It is." Four lives payed as sacrifice; a man of fifty, the woman in her late forties, a girl nearly a woman and a boy hardly a child - only one with the last name Chamberlain, but all sharing blood. The power of heat is at his fingertips, his body no longer harmed by the biting flames. Rory is now a boy that plays with fire, rather than one that fears it, and wields it with the wish of witnessing even the oceans being reduced to ash. A room can be made hot in his presence, fires in the area can grow, and blossom from his body. With a touch a surface can become torrid, which is useful when applied to his weapon of choice, a fire poker.






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Height: 6'1

Build: Lean

Contract Mark: The black seal of Naberius covers the back of ones neck.

Looks: Standing tall and slouched, those dark eyes dart through the room, deep set and surrounded by long eyelashes. His skin is pale, one may even think the melanin in his skin has the potential to turn him translucent. It stretches over his muscles, covering his organs and bones, leaving little body fat to be found. Rory, his face - the shape of hearts young girls dot their I's with, the features not certainly handsome or homely. Sloped nose, full lips, strong chin, straight eyebrows; they all make him a person we have seen before. His shoulders aren't terribly broad, his limbs aren't hauntingly long, with hands and feet that meet average sizes. Those fingers do not turn piano masters green, but the nails are rough, jarred and uneven from teeth. Rory's body is littered with cigarette burns, old and new. They dot his arms, legs, tracing his skin, ribs and neck. His hair is growing long, messy and unkempt, in the color of black licorice. The long fringe he keeps covers circular burns on his forehead, the rest covering few marks on the back of his neck, but not enough to hide that disgraceful black seal on his skin.






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Personality:
A paranoid psychopath isn't a person one would be pleased about meeting, but by definition, they may not know this until it is too late. His words are well constructed lies, charismatic and entrancing, he tells little truths in favor of gaining the trust of others. It may be superficial, but Rory has the charm that makes people feel good about themselves, special. He enjoys using a vast vocabulary to make himself appear as if he was a fantasy, a misunderstood prince from a storybook, someone who will take you away from all the pain and suffering if you only place your faith in him. The apparent free spirit will protect you from the horrors and monsters, he will defeat the boogeyman and light the path towards a beautiful future. In reality the act is only to save himself and assess others; for if he decides that one deserves it, and there are little that don't, he will turn on them and attack to put an end to their lives.

Killing people is a passionate action for him, he does not plan to kill people right away, but works up to it until the right moment. He takes joy from the action, ridding the world from people he deems unworthy of breathing it's air. Many times the process of murder will start angry and rise to elation, the process even becoming addicting, as he thinks about it too often to properly satisfy him. Others may find themselves in the same position with sex or drugs, but for Rory there is nothing like witnessing a person as they die. Addiction is a powerful thing, and sometimes he can't help himself from killing those he finds innocent, just so the rush can give him a sense of fulfillment. He finds purpose in it, like a doctor would find in saving the lives of others, Rory deems himself a force of righteousness that cleanses the word of those that poison it - or of those that get in the way, or are simply unlucky. Revenge is the word he uses, it's their own fault that he kills them. If only they were not so deceitful and disgusting, he may have allowed them to live.

He is without remorse, he doesn't feel guilt for his actions or what he had done, yet he'll have people believing differently. He's cruel, unemphatic, he doesn't care for other people and feels nothing when they beg for their lives. Rory follows plans, but he is impulsive, easily triggered into acting rashly be it through frustration or fear. The fears the control his life, his past the haunts him and takes over his body, it's to be said that his composure is far from being rock solid. Rory fears many things, and they can send him into shock, but nothing scares him more than a liar, ironically enough. He doesn't take kindly to being used, and uses his judgement to get rid of the people who do, or would, to end the lives of people that hurt and cause pain is his goal. This often doesn't go to plan as he's easily frustrated and can be sent into a frenzy, often taking the lives of many others during so. Even then, he does not apologize for what he has done, and feels no sadness for them. However, he will feel sadness for himself.

Despite all of this, he still desires that connection, that one can only make with another, but finds himself unable to create it. He's suspicious, paranoid, always trying to figure out the true motive of the actions of others. He second guesses other people, doubts them, and a single word can deem an innocent person guilty and warrant their execution. He doesn't allow himself to place his trust into people, at least, not so easily. When he does find someone he is fond of, he becomes possessive and obsessive over them. When getting his way, he can be a gentle lover, but if his attempt to control is rejected he often reacts with violence and isn't beyond killing them if he thinks they'll try and leave or have betrayed him. Rory is an unforgiving person, and doesn't let people live long enough for him to hold grudges against them.

Eighteen years later and he's still a child, hiding behind a withdrawn, quite facade is a monster that seeks revenge for all that went wrong in his life. A wrong move can turn him violent, wrathful. Another move might force his body to freeze with fear; few things may cause him to shake, cry and fall to pieces. He can be a cold killer or a loose cannon, far from being healthy and sound in mind. Lunacy describes Rory well, there is no logical reason behind his motives or actions, only deep scars and raw, unhinged emotions. In his core he only wishes to feel safe, happy, but everything about him acts against that. For when he might be on the verge of living decently he'll rip it all apart; leaving behind a number of bodies that will prevent him from ever reaching that foolish dream.


Likes:
♱ Fire. The sight of flames, sparks, smoke and embers - it's all too exciting.
♱ Scars. They tell the best stories, and none of them glorified lies.
♱ Humans. Without them his existence would be without meaning, he loves humans.
♱ Killing. Life is the most beautiful thing they know, how blessed is he to be able to take that away from those undeserving parasites.
♱ Classical music. It's a lot lovelier than the noise that clutters the air.
♱ Cookies. They are filled with good memories.
♱ Literature. Poems are his preference, especially those generations older than himself.

Dislikes:
♱ Meat. It isn't from adoration of animals, or loathing of industry. It's just the thought of ingesting flesh that makes him nauseous.
♱ Needles. They enter his skin and taint his mind, there is nothing to like.
♱ Humans. Without them his existence would be without pain, no, he hates humans.
♱ Ticking Clocks. They're simply annoying, even infuriating.
♱ Rain. How gross and depressing.
♱ Cigarettes. He's disgusted by them, the smoke they create is vile.
♱ Girls with Ginger Hair. There is a reason why he targets them so often.

Secrets:
♱ Isn't everything about Rory a secret? False words cover up the truth time and time again, he may start believing them himself.

Fears:
♱ Rory has an intense fear of drowning, and of water. He cannot swim, simply because being submerged in it causes him to panic so badly.
♱ The dead. They can rise, be it through zombification or becoming wandering spirits, the thought of seeing the faces of those no longer living petrifies him. Well, except for that one person...
♱ Humans. How nasty they are, all of them cunning liars, their only purpose must be to hurt him. Their only good for giving him reason to live - seeing revenge. He reminds himself that he cannot let them fool him again. He is better, stronger, and now he can hurt them before they hurt him.
♱ Lies. Misplacing his trust again, he only gets trapped in a state of misery and sorrow. Everyone is looked at with suspicion now, and when he is under the impression one is lying, it may be best to run.
♱ Needles. A needle by itself isn't scary and can even be useful, but when one is against him, threatening to enter his body, the only emotion he knows if fear.






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History:

"For what I am about to do to you, I'm not sorry, and I never will be."

The house was in shambles, living on one of the lower levels had no chance at being pleasant. It was dirty, dangerous, and filled with people with souls made of hate and rage. His father's surname was Chamberlain, as was his. His mothers and his siblings all had different last names; Catherine Thorn was his mother, Isabella Yule, Ellen Moon, Grace Colton his sisters and Randall Pines, Rudy Pines, Lance Trevor his brothers. It was a home that was numbingly cold and blistering hot, the neglectful and hostile actions of caregivers shaped the children into little monsters or the living dead. Mother never smiled, she looked at people as if she was seeing through them, her eyes like glass and mind focused on a time when she was young and happy. Father couldn't spend a moment of his day sober, even existing was like walking on eggshells, as he temper could be activated like a switch. Conversations gone awry, glass being thrown and broken, children being bruised and beaten - it was an atmosphere made up of toxic gas and liquid nitrogen.

His siblings skin was colored black and blue, but Rory remained untouched, if only because he was the son of the one woman his father ever loved - Catherine, who also was exempted from this treatment. Instead he stood the shadows, alone in corners of the house or on streets outdoors, he covered his ears and eyes to shield himself from the sights and sounds of abuse, torture that only grew worse. His eldest siblings were just, they suffered untreated broken bones, burns and concussions, they wouldn't allow him to go unpunished, and decorated his body with cigarette burns every time they felt pain. Their justice only grew more twisted as they years past, it became customary to play hunting games, and when caught they would beat him, or drug him, stuff him in the heating oven, push his head under a bathtub full of water. This wouldn't go on for much longer though, for soon the four aged older than himself started to drop. Ellen Moon, she swallowed pills until her organs stopped operating. Randall Pines was beaten to death with a baseball bat, curtsey of their father. Grace Colton disappeared one day, only to be found twenty four hours later in a ditch with holes in her chest, bullets owned by their father. Lastly, Rudy Pines was drugged and put in the oven, the temperature set at it's highest by none other than Rory Chamberlain, it is unclear if he died from the gas or the heat.

Like father like son, perhaps it was inevitable that Rory would harbor a murderous soul as well. People were cruel, they threatened him with fire and water, they spun lies until they trapped him so they could attack with flames and asphyxiation. It wasn't until recently when he met someone who mimicked an angel, a girl with long, braided ginger hair and strange, lively gray eyes. Angie spoke such sweet words, her touch was gentle and her mind was expansive, creative and poetic. She showed him books, the written words that described such beauty and fantasy, he devoured the words she lent him and leaned on her as if she was crutch. Angie, she was going to take him away from this place, she was going to make him happy, different, normal and loved. She knew he was sick though, damaged beyond repair. However, she was lonely, and Rory was there and would follow her every word without question or hesitation. She would say how she couldn't love him, not until he made his mind sane, transformed the nightmares that plagued him into strengths he could rely on.

Soon, he was able to fulfill her wish. A voice spoke in his mind, a voice named Naberius, who offered him power in exchange for lives. Rory didn't lull in his decision, and the house that held a broken family burned with four inside it, the flames taking their lives. His father, who caused him and everyone nothing but pain and misfortune. His mother, who never lived in reality and ignored those around her. His youngest sister, who would have died in ways that mirrored Ellen Moon's end anyways. His younger brother, who was saved from the bleak world that awaited him. Suddenly fire wasn't his enemy, it was his friend, and he no longer shuttered when it came near, but welcomed it. His purpose was illuminated once he broke free from those chains, only Angie wasn't one to agree, and ran from the news that spilled happily from Rory's mouth. It was nothing short of betrayal, her words were lies and her smiles were forced, he decided he couldn't let her live. He followed her to her home, killing the parents she complained about so much in angry flames. He took the fire iron from her living room and heated it with only will, breaking her legs and burning her skin, until he stabbed her and burned her organs as well.

As a memento he took a small bone from one of her fingers, and continues to carry it around, his logic being that now she can never leave him. With no where else to go, Rory began to wander, spinning lies of his own, carrying on the legacy of those that died before him. He hides behind smiles and a vast vocabulary, acting as a wolf in sheep's clothing. He doesn't kill so quickly, but murders follow him wherever he goes, usually choosing people that he feels deserves it in one way or another. Girls with ginger hair though, it's hard for him to resist killing them, as he stages and reenacts Angie's death with them every time.






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So begins...

Rory Chamberlain's Story

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Character Portrait: Rory Chamberlain Character Portrait: Neberius
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Rory Chamberlain


"From fairest creatures we desire increase, that thereby beauty's rose might never die. But as the riper should by time decease, his tender heir might bear his memory."

The cacophonous voice in the back of his head recited a sonnet with ease. The voice was spinning smooth silk that led into beautiful disarray, metaphorical fingers hitting the deepest piano keys which reverberated against the auditorium of his mind. It made the movement under his skin turn, an acid stuck in his throat burned with the desire to continue on. Rory's hand tightened around a decorated metal handle, the dark, solidified shadows twisted to create vines from the Garden of Eden. He smiled, his vocal cords vibrating until a demented laugh split past his lips and into the room before him; his stage to preform a resplendent art.

"But thou contracted to thine own bright eyes, feed'st thy light's flame with self-substantial fuel, making a famine where abundance lies. Thy self thy foe, to thy sweet self too cruel."

Her screaming tickled his eardrums, filling him with ecstasy that soaked into his brain, a pleasure that only few would truly understand. Steps forward followed the rhythm of hands banging on a chestnut door, the woman's hair was clumped together with blood and her skin pale, reflecting the whites of his eyes. He pulled the fire from his marrow, traveling through his veins and infecting the metal in his hand - turning black into bright, excited orange and red. "My lady, my contorted lady of thorns and rotten petals, is it right for you to be deny this fate?" She gave no proper response, only the continuation of begging, pleading for her life as she yelled with vigor, reaching to grab the attention of those that walked the streets above.

"Thou that art now the world's fresh ornament, and only herald to the gaudy spring. Within thine own bud buriest thy content, and, tender churl, mak'st waste in niggarding."

No, this woman had no right to live, not after she displayed herself to be so willing to abandoned her children. Rory turned the fire poker in his hands, calescent from the fire of vengeance and deformed justice, he didn't move from his spot inches behind her until she looked back. It was taken as an acceptance of punishment, and his swings of assailment dyed her skin in not only purples, but blistering, thick, peeling red burns. A stench filled the room, familiar and welcome was the smell of searing human flesh, paired with the song of dying agony. Wounds were opened and cauterize simultaneously, pointed edges pierced into fragile organs and spilled blood onto the wooden floor. Flames licked at the body as her last cry echoed against his soul, and they died with her; leaving traces in the blackened wood, the mutilated flesh.

"Pity the world, or else this glutton be. To eat the world's due, by the grave and thee."

Rory smiled, dilated eyes admiring his work as waves of relief and joy washed down his spine. The quiet the followed the final act was just as beautiful as the performance itself, only being interrupted by his uneven breathing and squeals of delight. What glorious radiance he was blessed with seeing today, every molded smile and practiced word had given him the ultimate reward; a conniving rat atoning for her sins against her own kin. "Such a fan of Shakespeare, are you so sure that your repugnance towards mankind is so definite?" His body lead him away from the crude corpse, taking him up the stairs towards the ground floor of her own home, a building on a a lower mid-level, where no one cared for the dying last words of others.

Neberius wasn't going to answer him, he had only played the part of a dutiful narrator, giving his maniacal orchestra a hint of class. That was fine by him, he could stay silent, Rory had gotten what he wanted regardless if the demon acknowledged him or not. His body was shaking, vibrating with adrenaline that moved from his head to his toes, yet he knew better to linger around a scene of a murder, and let himself out the backdoor. What would become of her family? Where would become of her children, who had no father? There was no care or concern about them, instead he melted the weapon used to put a stop to her excessive breathing, coating her back stairs with thick, black pools until his hands were liberated from lugging the object around.

His records weren't deleted though, he couldn't let a house where his fingerprints and DNA lied to stay standing, he would leave his business card instead. A flick of the wrist and a bright flame, it grew in his hand and flew towards the building, latching on and devouring the exterior in a fast, mad frenzy. A chuckle and a last look back would end this tale, another chapter was finished, and he would move onto the next section. All he had to do was walk down the street as the house fire grew in size behind him, oozing heated rage. Would he make headlines again? The voice in his head would handle everything, reassured by his whispers of 'Leave it to me', giving those that actually wished to hunt down a serial killer with a contract only a thin path to follow. They were moving up, leaving behind fires and dead bodies; leading those that got too close too soon in capable, ruthless hands.

"What a day, I wonder if it'll be put in history books?" It wasn't until he had traveled the distance of forty five minutes that he spoke again, musing his thoughts out loud after triggering a ring in a small cafe. Music played in the background, a violin accompanied by ivory and licorice keys, accented by the smells of pastries and liquified coffee beans. Today had been near perfect, if only he had something to remember it by. A photo maybe, but the taste of a dark beverage would have to do, and he sat not far off from the other patrons that rested with ther hands clasped around plastic cups. He sent the girl next to him a friendly, make-believe smile and he realized, that his day had hardly even begun.

Setting

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Character Portrait: Rory Chamberlain Character Portrait: Neberius Character Portrait: Chriselle Edison Character Portrait: .Murmur
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Brown thread cascading down the sides of a bone structure sculpted into a heart - or was it an oval? Her lips pulled into an expression that reminded him of a statement of equivocation, neither wrong nor right; hesitant, reluctant. The bag by her side was dilapidated, and he pondered whether it was a reflection of the owner's psyche or from a state of economical distress. He guessed it could of been either, this wasn't exactly the wealthier part of the city, nor did the majority of it's tenants uphold a level of sanity and stability. She could even be some sort of thief, a beautiful girl who wove together fairytale lies to lure in chumps, saps and stooges. A millions archetypes existed on this particular level, and a trillion more clotted together when you mashed the entire city together, let a lone the world.

"It's advised that you don't underestimate this girl, she's a mirror image of yourself, holding promises to a tenebrous being not unlike myself." The coarse voice spoke inside his head, prying his attention away from the girl and his musing to the half full coffee cup in his hands, which his fingers starting picking at. Rory's mind ventured to the mark of his own contract, black and on the back of his neck, a place that was too vulnerable to make him feel comfortable. The seal of Neberius was easily revealed, even if his hair and the hood of his jacket did a fine job at hiding it, he could only consider himself lucky that other people didn't make a habit of looking at one anothers necks.

Right now his hood was down, lying in a layered heap of navy blue material sewn together by factory workers that got paid with nickles and dimes. He would have to be more cautious in the presence of another demon contractor, they could be ever so unpredictable. "Do not insinuate that we're so similar. There is not one person out there that is like me." His mind echoed his reply, irritated if nothing else. The voice known as Neberius went silent, but Rory knew it wasn't because he had won some sort of petty argument, nor was he the victor of a battle of wits. This demon simply didn't care, he treated mankind like science experiments, wooden pawns on a chessboard. It wasn't that Rory had a problem with it, since he was given great power thanks to this domineering individual, he just knew enough that if he stayed out of his way that Neberius would do the same - even if he mocked him in both shadows and light.

At least the marquis had told him of the girl's connection to a separate entity, if he hadn't than he wouldn't have been able to figure it out so easily. Did all demons have the ability to sense their own kind like that? He wasn't exactly sure, and disregarded the thought, it wouldn't mean anything to think over something that couldn't be changed. It'd be a cold day in Hell if he was to ask Neberius about it too; he could handle himself against a Demon, he didn't need to go running in the opposite direction like some wounded animal. The girl had seized his interest, and resisting wasn't something Rory was good at. In fact, you could almost call him infamous solely on his near inability to deny desire and hunger.

So he turned towards her, a charming smile in place; the same glorified, false expression that has been practiced many times before today "Sorry to bother you Miss, I'm Rory." His voice did not shake, so unlike the words he spoke to the woman he killed only hours ago, which was filled with poetic malice and abhorrence. To many the transformation between a monster and a normal, teenage boy would be uncanny, but those types no nothing of the minds of killers. There wasn't even the evidence of blood marred on his skin, nor a hint of regret reflected in his fibrovascular tissues. His lips pulled into a thin line and he looked downwards for a moment, as if he was thinking something over and was weary of speaking those thoughts aloud. This was only an act, his praxis that Neberius helped him achieve, the cheese at the center of a mousetrap. He look back at her, meeting the dark color of her eyes with his own. "It's just, you seem familiar, have we met before?"

Setting

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Character Portrait: Rory Chamberlain Character Portrait: Neberius Character Portrait: Chriselle Edison Character Portrait: .Murmur
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Rory.

The name lifted off of the tip of her tongue, escaping the confines of her lips as she stared at him, wide-set eyes trying to remember anything about the strange boy. Murmur would have told her anything before he wandered off if he was important - or perhaps she had met this 'Rory' before she had formed a contract with the other being. With a clumsy movement, Chriselle dug into her tattered bag, pulling out the neatly-kept notebook and unclasping the strap attached to it. Her fingertips met the crisp pages, delicately though hurried, and her eyes scanned the chicken-scratch writing on the parchment. After a moment's time, she turned to him, shaking her head in response.

"I...don't think we have..." Chriselle responded, her voice soft and filled with obvious nerves. She had been practicing on interacting with other people, a trait she lacked, and one that Murmur had told her was an important aspect in her 'new life.' A recluse, inverted young girl, communicating never was one of her virtues from the start, anyways. "Ah, I apologize, I'm...Chriselle." Her movements were a bit sloppy, nervousness wracking through her body as she held out a pale hand for him to shake. Did people still do that, she wondered. It had been a while since she had engaged in conversation with anyone. With the other hand, she grasped her book, tucking it quickly into her messenger bag with a nervous glance. The boy was someone she couldn't trust, it felt that way at least, and she pondered if forgetting about him would be a good thing. Nonetheless, she made a mental note to add his name and information into her notebook as soon as she got time.

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Character Portrait: Rory Chamberlain Character Portrait: Chriselle Edison
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Eyebrows were raised curiously as thin fingers turned bleached pages in a note book, it's state of being the stark opposite of the bag it was kept in. His eyes watched, examining cells under a microscope, as she turned the pages with swift care. Was Neberius watching this as well, or was he busy connecting imaginary strings to various mental notes and images? "I...don't think we have..." Lips curled into a smile, eyebrows resting in a gentle arch. For what reason did she need the notebook to confirm whether or not they had met before? Was she a woman that met many in her days, a busy socialite that had 'so much to see, so much to do'?

Or was the reason behind graphite and ink scrawl of something else entirely? He stored the information away in the corners of his mind, a stick note to be remembered, and later connected to the truth if he kept his eyes open - or if he was lucky. "I must of been mistaken. Regardless, it's nice to meet you, Chriselle." The name fell off the curve of his tongue with ease, spoken like smooth liquor pouring down the throat of an alcoholic. Chriselle's body language and was anxious, not like his own, whos movements were confident and arrogant. Rory didn't find it to be an irritating trait, instead, he remained perplexed and analytical. Was she nervous out of fear for herself, or was she worried that secrets buried six feet under would be revealed? In this movie, was he the detective hunting the criminal, or the villain trapping the damsel? His toes curled, it was a revelation he was excited to discover.

Rory's rough fingers ran across her palm, barley touching her skin, but enough to feel the small sparks of electricity that came from separate human flesh touching one another. A fire was lit behind his rib cage; maybe in his stomach, his lungs, or within the valves of his heart. Those fingers wrapped around her hand, creating a gentle grip, thumb pressing down to match their similar pale complexions. The contact was over soon, but seconds were counted as if they were hours, and after the traditional motion of up-down-up-down was over his hand returned to the side of a still warm coffee cup. He lifted it to his mouth, drenching the space between them in observant silence, as his eyes continued to look straight ahead.

The coffee, sweetened with two sugars, was lessened to being half of being half full, or half of being half empty. One fourth full, or three fourths empty, he sat the cup down with no clear plans on finishing it. "I'm not about to grow a second head, you know." He smiled, pointing out her nervous, messy behavior. "You can relax. Are you in a rush?" Casual conversation, people liked to talk about themselves. If you let them talk about themselves they'll forget about learning about you; they'll get wrapped up in their own tales and slowly trust someone they know nothing about, a friendly face carved from their own misconceptions. He leaned back in his seat, hands still around the coffee cup in an attempt to capture the phenomenon known as normalcy in a single stature.

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Character Portrait: Rory Chamberlain Character Portrait: Chriselle Edison
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ut A spark was what she felt. An electrifying shock that wavered through her body abruptly, though not so abruptly that she would be startled by it. Rather, she was surprised at what she felt when Rory's skin came in contact with her own, but not enough to jolt as she normally would have. For a moment, Chriselle took time to ponder whether or not there was such a feeling caught in between the calming feeling she had grown to and the emotion of pure anxiety and cautiousness - whatever it was, that was what she was feeling. The spark she had experienced earlier on was another story. Something so abstract to her before had happened so suddenly; this 'spark' was supposed to happen when meeting your soulmate, or some ridiculous thing like that. The shock was nothing near that, she simply felt at ease and on edge at the same time. She had the strangest emotions around this one stranger, and her eyes darted around. Where in the hell was Murmur...? It wasn't like him to leave her like that; he had said it wasn't exactly in his 'nature.'

"You can relax. Are you in a rush?" The corners of his lips were curled upwards into a smile, the same one that seemed so unbefitting of someone like him. Someone who seemed so...distant. The smile he possessed gave her a hint that he was interested in who she was, what she was doing, and where she was going - perhaps that wasn't even it at all. Perhaps this 'Rory' was one to watch others for enjoyment; a psychopath. Chriselle almost laughed at the thought - she had no right to talk about people like that. Not only was it rude, but it wasn't like she was all there either.

"Oh, erm..." Her eyes drifted around, meeting his for a brief moment before she averted them to her previously clasped hands. "No, no...nothing like that." She shook her head, frowning before turning to face him, forcing a smile - or whatever she could manage anyways, she probably looked like a complete and utter fool. "What...what about you? Are you headed anywhere?"

Stupid question. He was so calm, so smooth with his actions and speech that he obviously couldn't have been rushing anywhere. And then there was her, who acted anxious and nervous in every way possible no matter if she needed to go somewhere or not! Chriselle only asked the question because she felt uncomfortable in the first place. She blabbered when she was uncomfortable.

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Character Portrait: Rory Chamberlain Character Portrait: Chriselle Edison Character Portrait: .Murmur
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Every one of her movements were thoroughly studied; he was the eyes behind deciphering ancient poems, the art major ripping apart the meanings behind paintings of oil on canvas. The unfocused eyes that refused to meet his for more than a few fleeting seconds, the downwards turn in her lips, an awkward, possibly forced, smile - What did they all mean? What did they say about her, the girl with a tattered bag and a neat notebook, who called herself Chriselle? His mind worked at picking them apart, simultaneously keeping up with the conversation at hand. What were the reasons behind her neurotic display, were they leaks from her mental state or were they parts of a scripted performance?

Rory's eyes flickered downwards for a moment, he had the feeling that the answer lied within the former. "No, I'm not headed anywhere." This time he did not smile, instead his expression was drawn in serious lines, eyes shifting towards the window before they found their way back to the girl before him. "But I'm not staying here, either." The corner of his mouth twitched, however the movement was not false, it was a mistake of his true emotions breaking free. The anticipation of the journey ahead of him, the mysteries of where his feet, and Neberius, would take him. For all he knew he could wake up one day on the ground level, where monsters stalked you from behind. Just as easily he could find himself at the top of the city, where the monsters hid underneath shadows. It was a life of surprises for him but a life of premeditation for Neberius, and it excited him just as much as it unnerved him, just as it had before he met the demon.

The cafe was filled with the noise of reverberating chimes, the bells nailed to the door shook and alerted the employees of another visitor. Rory only spared them a glance, long enough to look over the group of three, but too quick to determine anything about them. Two men; one slender with dark skin and dreaded hair, the other stocky and pale whos hair was nonexistent, with a face of bitter aging. With them was one woman, with short hair cut into angles, whos single lidded eyes were nearly unblinking, and freezing cold. Later he would discover it was a mistake on his part to spare them not a second thought, and he would promise himself not to be so foolish again. "Do you know where you're going?" He asked her earnestly, fingers tightening around the cup. Why was he reacting like this? Was she really that interesting, so much that he would speak new words instead of stringing her along in a manner that was identical to all that came before her?

"Or, perhaps, your destination is also hazy?" There was no smile on his lips, and his eyes turned to stone, voice flat. Stupid, he was acting stupid, there was nobody like him. There was no one that would understand him. No one could save him, and he couldn't save anyone else. The group of three scanned the cafe with hostile eyes, examining customers and picking apart their appearances and behavior. They were searching for those that made deals with devils in exchange for power, sacrificing control. Rory's head craned downwards, looking to the floor, his hands running through his hair in a way that was both frustrated and embarrassed.

He lifted his head upwards, and the barrel of a revolver pressed into the back of his head. "Bùyào dòng。 Qiáo,tā jiùshì qízhōng zhīyī。" Foreign words struck him, monotone and unfeeling; he could feel eyes staring at him like he was nothing more than an animal. The people in the store slowly quieted their chatter, one by one they fell into silent, until the room turned into a panic of bodies bolting and rushing towards the door - being bold enough to run despite the two men holding guns to the crowd. His eyes widened, and then narrowed, mouth twisting into a animalistic scowl before his lips wrenched into a smirk. Fine, if they wanted to treat him like a beast, then he would do as they wished, and act like one.

The twitch of his shoulders, and the swift movement of ducking downwards, the woman fired her weapon. The bang bounced off the walls and broke into his eardrums, the bullet ate through the air and missed Rory, missing Chriselle's head by only a single inch, and landing inside the opposite wall. The women cursed in her native tongue and Rory's legs moved, in a blur the boy stood and whipped around, moving a hand coated in fire. Flames that jumped from his palm and into the air, painting a large single stroke of violence across the woman's face. She reeled back in pain, falling onto the floor with her hands covering her red, blistering face, screaming; "Wǒde miàn! Wǒde miàn!" over and over and over again.

He didn't need to study her to know that her face was ruined, perhaps even blinded, instead he rushed forward and grabbed onto Chriselle's wrist. He had just found her, and there was so much he wanted to ask of her, wanted to do to her. His lips mouthed the words; "Come with me.", but the sound of his voice was drowned in the song of gunshots and anger, yelling voices and terrified shouting. Rory's arm pulled at her, eyes focusing on the back door that would lead them outside, with full intention on dragging her out of here if he had to; the man that she was with earlier be dammed.

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Character Portrait: Rory Chamberlain Character Portrait: Chriselle Edison
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"No, I'm not headed anywhere. But I'm not staying here, either." The frown on his lips tugged tightly at them, dark eyes darting to the side quickly before returning to her. Chriselle noticed it. Of course she noticed; she was too concentrated on him not to. Her voice remained silent, pale lips pursed slightly against her pale skin, almost as if she was calculating how he acted. In truth, she indeed was - his previous actions were some that sparked a curiosity in her. His physical appearance alone told her loud and clear that he was not one to act friendly and kind, sending this random stranger a smile; how he was now, that was how she expected him to act. While he was not on edge, Rory was most definitely acting cautious, something that she supposed they shared. Did they share it, really, she wondered.

The bells of the door in the cafe echoed throughout the bustling area, escaping the confines of all the combined noises of chatter, sipping, and quiet little clinks. There was a group there, one that seemed to give her a bone-chilling feeling and a burning sensation on her hand; two men and a woman. The woman met her eye for a second, and the younger girl hurriedly looked back to Rory. It looked like he had noticed the group too, his fingers tighting on his cup; she noticed that little motion, too. His muscles tensed up all of a sudden, before he spoke again. "Do you know where you're going? Or, perhaps, your destination is also hazy?"

"I have no set destination..." She mumbled, her eyes cast downward as she folded her hands in her lap. Though she sounded quite sullen when she responded, Chriselle had grown completely used to it. Eversince she and Murmur met and made a contract, he had told her that their destination was not set. It probably never would be, was what he said. At the time, the brunette simply didn't mind it; she was getting an opportunity at a new start, any choices she made during the process were decided without a clear thought process.

"Bùyào dòng 。Qiáo,tā jiùshì qízhōng zhīyī 。" A gun - a revolver to be exact - the barrel was pressed up against the back of Rory's head, dark locks folding against the metal. The cafe soon fell into an eerie silence, eyes darting in the direction of the weapon and Chriselle's companion. She felt that they stared at him like some kind of creature that had grown double the limbs on his body, and for some reason, it frightened her and angered her. Chriselle rarely felt anger, maybe being too terrified to be angry with anything; but the looks they sent Rory were of pure disgust and terror, and it got under her skin like nothing else before. In a flash, everyone in the cafe began to run, their bodies scrambling and shrillish yells escaping the lips of female patrons. Rory had moved too, head ducking quickly and body moving so fast that she missed it. A gunshot rang out through the chaos, through the screams and rapid footsteps, and Chriselle gasped as the bullet whizzed past her head and buried itself into the wall opposite of her. Her body froze, the fear taking over as she remained still and unmoving. The only thing she saw was a flash, a mix of orange and red, burning and prickling from Rory's hand as it embedded against the lone woman's face. Her high-pitched screams in her native tongue frightened Chriselle even further. She lay, crumpled up on the floor, hands covering a blistered complexion as she screamed over and over again, shaking from the pain.

"Come with me." His fingers clasped around her wrist, tightening as his arm jerked, pulling her along. They were headed to the cafe's back door, and for some reason, Chriselle ran. She ran a little ways behind him, still in shock over what had happened, but she ran nonetheless. The contact they had suddenly caused a burning in her right hand, but she pushed the feeling aside.

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Character Portrait: Rory Chamberlain Character Portrait: Chriselle Edison Character Portrait: Solomon R Kitsner
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A gun shot pulled Solomon away from his soup as he stood up and tried to discernn the direction.
'It was too the left,' responded Corbaire. He was aware of Solomon's tendency to help others, and knew he if stopped him from doing this he jepordized Solomon helping other contractor's and demons.It wasn't a big deal. Corbaire had Solomon take precautions in case he was in any danger.

The screaming was easier to follow. Solomon stopped by an alleyway as he saw through the window that there were two armed men near the entrance. Corbaire's calm washed over Solomon as he became aware of the holstered gun in his vest. It was Corbaires idea to give Solomon protection. One of those ways to protect him was a firearm. The second approached right behind him. One man and one woman. The man was dressed in white shorts and a festive yellow shirt and the woman was wearing denim pants and carrying a large designer bag that Solomon had bought for her. The man and woman were ex-military body guards that did not come cheap. They moved forward to get a good look at the situation.

Solomon watched when the back door of the restraugnt bursted open. Corbair's senses seeped into Solomon's
'They're contractors,' Solomon looked at them wondering if they would come towards the street and run further into the alley.

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Character Portrait: Rory Chamberlain Character Portrait: Chriselle Edison Character Portrait: Solomon R Kitsner
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His feet hitting the floor matched the pulse of his heart; loud and fast. Epinephrine was released into his body and clocks began ticking backwards, just by the seconds. He was running through air; and the only thing he could feel was the heat of animosity, the thin wrist around his hand, and the queer pickling feeling that arabesqued across the back of his neck. Rory's free hand wrapped around the doorknob, world in black and white, key points highlighted in red. Text that read 'Avoid this' and 'Go this way' blinked underneath the faces of guns and exits. These were all characteristics of panics, but he was not afraid, instead he used the responses of his body to stay focused on his goal - getting out of here, and making sure that these hunters don't follow him.

Out the door and into the alleyway, his shoes skidded across the gravel, throwing him off enough for his hand to release it's hold on Chriselle. He wore are scowl on his face, regaining balance but losing composure. His irritation was chalk screeching against a chalkboard, fingers curled and eyes pernicious. Sparks attacked the floor below him, he was losing grip of the power within him, and Neberius would do nothing to prevent him from setting fire to everything around him. How he wanted to turn the air into flames, however that would kill the tattered girl as well, and in this rare occasion Rory displayed restraint.

Another flick of the wrist, sudden and without concentration. His fire was not controlled, it burnt on fuels of emotion and passion, having no defined shape and having only one purpose - to burn everything in its path. Tails of red and orange engulfed his hand, his skin made of translucent gasoline. They trailed up his wrist, not leaving behind scars nor blisters, as if it was nothing but a trick. For him they were gentle animals, never to harm him, and their smoke filled his lungs with warm invitation. They jumped, digging their claws into the wooden door, running through wood and into the shop. Turn everything into ash, leave nothing behind. If the innocent were to die as well in the fire, then let them pass away as well. They were in the wrong place at the wrong time, yet their lives weren't taken in vain. They were his sacrifices; sacrifices to a hungry boy who wanted to play God, giving their lives to hinder the three that looked towards tearing off his wings.

Rory grabbed her wrist again, and he held onto the hope that she wouldn't run away from him. He had protected her, right? She wouldn't be afraid of him, not so soon, a lot of people made deals with demons, they could stay like this for a little longer, he had no reason to worry. Don't worry, don't scare her, not now, don't worry. Those words repeated themselves in his head as he pulled her along, upsetting loose rocks as his feet pushed away from gravity repeatedly. Behind him were the sounds of screaming people pushing their way out of the cafe and the crackling noise of flames licking at everything they could fit their mouths around.

They past a small group of people, his eyes staring at the man that seemed to be the center of the ring of adults. He couldn't have been too much older than himself; he had a face of youth, kind features, the type that lonely women often pinned for, their proclaimed knight in shining armor. But Rory knew that appearances meant nothing of how morally good someone was, his eyes narrowed as they past by the group, rushing towards the other end of the alleyway. For their own sake, they better be a couple of bystanders, and not people that wished to get in his way. If they were, he wouldn't hesitate in ridding their flesh from their bones as well.

Again, his hand found its way around a doorknob, heating the metal until it destroyed the lock. Still, as he pushed her inside the building, he didn't utter a word. Giving one glance back to the buildings far behind him, the fire in the distance, he went inside, satisfied when he didn't see either of the hunters chasing after them. To say the this place was in bad shape would in an understatement. Frayed red rugs and coffee stained light brown wood, the old floral wallpaper smelled of mold, cigarettes and was peeling at the corners. There were spots in the ceiling from water and the floor creaked under his feet as he walked through the old apartment building. It was dim, with flickering lights that blinked on and off, dying and coming back to life again. It would have to do for now. He sighed and pulled his hood over his head, a wave of self-awarenesss hitting him, making him feel vulnerable and exposed. He didn't say anything, eyes locked onto looking forward, into the blinking lights and amateur oil paintings of rhododendron flowers.

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Character Portrait: Rory Chamberlain Character Portrait: Chriselle Edison Character Portrait: Murmur
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She hadn't seen much, her eyes and sight leaving her as her mind wandered, thoughts flying in an attempt to simply explain what had happened in the cafe. What she had seen, however, was the fire. The red and orange flames that engulfed the small cafe, prickling with heat and charring the exterior of the building with ease. Chriselle was sure that someone would have been injured, or possibly killed by the flames, and it frightened her as well. She thought it did, anyways - she was already scared out of her mind, so being frightened again would only feel numb to her. The fear rumbling in the pit of her stomach startled her, breaking her out of her stupor and bringing her back to reality. They were running still, footsteps against the pavement and gravel mixing with the loud pounding of her heartbeat - and perhaps his as well.

Chriselle remained silent as they rushed past a group of people, and she noticed Rory narrow his eyes at them, almost scrutinizing them and warning them not to get in his way. She saw pale fingers curl around a doorknob, hissing noises emitting from the contact as the lock burned with a click, burning to ashes. There was no time to talk for a fleeting moment, as she was hurriedly shoved into an unknown area, the door shutting as Rory joined her. The household was shabby, matching the tattered appearance of the bag that was slung along her shoulder, light dimming before flickering off and back on a second later. The silence in the damp and cold room was eerie, sending chills against her suddenly pebbled complexion, the girl rubbing her arm through her sleeve. It was still in the room, no words being uttered, and the only noises being the creaking of wooden floorboards and the occasional drip of water from the ceiling. Was there a running water source here, anyways? Chriselle felt her shoulders relax at the thought, but she tensed up again when she remembered who was with her.

With a clumsy, stumbling movement, she sat onto a chair. The wood was a mix of dark and light, creaking underneath her as she pulled her notebook out and began to jot something down with an old pen buried into the spiral of it. Colorful tabs and folded piece of paper stuck out betweent the crisp pages, circled and highlighted sections visible even in the unstable lighting. It took a moment for her to finish writing, hands shakily holding up the book to read it more clearly.

Name: Rory
A boy, about my age. He's got messy, dark hair and dark eyes - his skin's really pale, matching my own to the T. He smiles at me, but it looks weird on him. Taller than me. When he's upset or stressed out, he frowns a lot, which looks better on him and fits his appearance better. Controls fire.

"...Contractor..." She mumbled, shutting the leather notebook and tucking it safely into her messenger bag. Her eyes bore into his own, something that she only found the courage to do for a split second before she glanced back down at her lap. "Those....were hunters...you're a contractor too..." Her quiet talking decreased in volume until she reached complete silence, pondering for a moment before she tilted her head, dark orbs still not meeting his own. Chriselle wanted to ask him why he had formed a contract, why he needed to - but she decided that if she wasn't comfortable speaking about her own reasons, there was little to no way that he was comfortable speaking to her about his own.

So he could control the element of fire, like how Murmur could control water...that was interesting, she would admit. Murmur...he would definitely find her. He always found a way to get to her, always. But if Rory had attained his ability through his contract like she suspected, then she wondered how their meeting would go. To her, elements like fire and water never mixed well, and she briefly wondered if she should run from him. Would he chase her? Kill her for trying to escape? Perhaps. She had no idea what he was fully capable of, nor did she have any knowledge of what his intentions were. But he saved her life. He could have easily left her there, and she would be burning in that building amongst the debris; she owed him enough not to turn and run away.

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Character Portrait: Rory Chamberlain Character Portrait: Chriselle Edison
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As aged ink marked paper behind him, Rory stepped forward, sending the noise of creaking floorboards to mingle with the sounds of the words she wrote. He muted his curious thoughts of what she was writing down, and pulled away the curtains filled with holes, looking in between the cracks of wood that was boarded over the window. The street was crowded with people who had came to see the sight of destruction and his lips twitched, amused. That was an interesting thing about people; so many tried to take the higher ground by claiming how they thought such things like carnage and ruin were absolutely terrible. Yet, they still gathered to view it all, the fall of the world around while they stayed standing. They could deny it as much as they wanted, but Rory knew it brought them pleasure.

He let the material fall back in place, his shoulder relaxing. They were okay, for now at least. But those hunters hadn't gotten lucky, they must of been following their trail, connecting bodies and fires into a map that lead them to his general location. Others would follow suit, and Neberius would have to set up a few red herrings for them, with booby traps and guard dogs. Rory's wrist raised to his face, eying a watch. He still had a couple more hours to himself, and then the demon would probably take control of his body, forcing him into pitch black subconsciousness. The pretentious voice hardly ever let him have a peak into what he did during his hours of control, and he rubbed his arm to sooth his nerves.

"Those....were hunters...you're a contractor too..." Rory was yanked from his thoughts and his head turned around, staring at Chriselle with wide eyes. Here he was, worrying now that the girl know he was a contractor, filling him with anxious fears to how she'll, and in turn him, react. "Too?" He questioned, speaking as if he could hardly believe what she was suggesting. Was the girl sitting in front of him really a contractor too? That's what she was getting at? He wanted to walk forward, grab onto her and search for her mark, to find sort of proof that would make him believe that the fragile girl in front of him had made a deal with a demon.

Instead he stood in place, his legs feeling like heavy lead, keeping him stubbornly in place. "You're a contractor..." He tested the phrase on his own tongue, and it started to click. She always seemed as if she was on edge, hiding secrets, and not like a normal person. Normal people hide their secrets with smiles and laughter, pushing them away, but in his eyes it looked like she held onto those secrets; tucking them under dilapidated folds in her messenger bag and in paper and ink. Had she been running from hunters? His eyes traveled upwards, nearing exasperation. With each revelation came a thousand more questions.

"Then, it only makes sense for us to become friends, don't you think?" He insisted, wearing a visage of impassiveness; mouth in neither a smile or frown, brow neutral, eyes not twinkling in delight, nor hostility. "I don't want to be your enemy." Rory stated, folding his arms over his chest, voice quiet and controlled. That was true, he'd rather not tear apart a girl made up of inquisitive beauty. Or at least, not so soon. She was a contractor though, having power that could even match his own, so she was either with him or against him. He had to be weary, watch her every move, each breath; lest she betray him.

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Character Portrait: Rory Chamberlain Character Portrait: Chriselle Edison Character Portrait: Murmur
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Friends...friends? Chriselle could almost laugh at the thought, if it weren't for wanting to stay polite. Laughing would give him the impression that she was perhaps laughing at him, making a mockery of him in some way - it was silly. In truth, she would only be laughing because he didn't know. Sure, Rory may have had some personal issues of his own, and such would maybe drive her away, but the fact that she would forget him in few hours would be...devastating. Then again, Chriselle had no idea how to react; he was like life itself, incredibly unpredictable. Like how he thought of her, she thought the same - he would either be with her, or against her. That was simple enough to understand on both parts.

"Friends..." The word was dripping with a careful slowness as she peeked her tongue out to swipe them against her lips, frowning lightly and mustering up enough courage to stare at him again. "Sure, we'll be friends." The statement was simple, but was it true? Perhaps to some extent, yes, but she didn't know what promises and dangers came with agreeing with him. Chriselle hadn't met other contractors before, and before now she had no interest in them - but they could be capable of different things. Rory was capable of manipulating heat and flames, causing destruction where ever and whenever he wanted to, while her own demon had the ability to get rid of that destruction. Life and death, black and white, destruction and repairment - completely different things, and yet Chriselle felt nothing but curiosity around him now. She lifted a pale hand, turning it to show him the simple yet intricate design embedded into her flesh. Two crescents on both sides, connected by a line that met with two intersecting ones, enveloped in a circle.

"Murmur...is his name." She whispered. "In case you were wondering if I spoke the truth. He is the man you may have noticed back at the cafe." One leg crossed over the other briefly, before the girl stood and continued to stare at him, her arms crossing over her chest to mimick his current position.

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Character Portrait: Rory Chamberlain Character Portrait: Chriselle Edison
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A grin broke out on his face, creating a visage of childlike happiness. This was great, she was his friend, now all he had to do was make sure she didn't stab him in the back. His eyes found the mark on her skin, reminding him of his own seal; a black design within a circle. The mark only meant one thing to his human mind, it was the mark of a contract between a demon and a human, proof that her words were not lies. Rory's fingers curved against the sleeve of his jacket, pressing against the material in restraint, preventing him from acting on the impulse of reaching out and touching the oil that was trapped underneath her paper skin.

He nodded in comprehension, smile faltering as he did so. He had already seen the demon she had made a contract with, one with their own body, and it was both comforting and nerve wrecking. It meant that the girl before him would always be Chriselle, opposed to a creature piloting her body, although it also gave her demon independent control. Murmur, what was he like? Was he a guardian, or did he lend his power? If Neberius knew anything about the other being, then he wasn't speaking up. Rory pointed to his cranium, looking to the girl who mirrored his position. "Mine is in my head." He stated, letting his hand return to the crevice of his arm.s.

"A parasite, he calls himself Neberius. He's," The boy paused, pressing his lips together, at a loss of how to exactly define the monster that literally lived inside of him. "You won't have to be afraid of him." He settled on that, letting the words escape from his throat and hang in the air. He was a pain, but he didn't kill without reason, and Chriselle hadn't proven herself to be much of threat. She was like him, not a copy. However, they were similar. It filled him with a sense of hope that he wished to stay with him and leave him at the same time, especially because he didn't know what exactly he was hoping for. What did he want from Chriselle, anyways? Companionship? He already knew how that song ended; with a blast of fire, a pained whimper, cruel laughter following afterwards and then nothing at all. His eyes flickered across her, studying the folds in her clothes, the eyelashes surrounding her eyes, as if something would tell him the answer.

Drawing a blank, Rory turned around, right hand finding it's way to his neck. He pushed his hair upwards, letting his own mark be seen without obstruction. His lips parted, and closed soon after, not knowing what to say in this moment. Was there anything to say? There was just a dark circle, curved lines and smaller circles within, the seal that approved their deal. It had been foolish for him to not hide it better, if he hadn't been so careless those hunters would have never picked him out. On the other hand, his eyes drifted downwards, it could be considered a blessing in disguise. After all, if it wasn't for those violent dogs, he wouldn't be here with Chriselle, showing off the marks of demons like school kids that shared petty secrets.

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Character Portrait: Rory Chamberlain Character Portrait: Chriselle Edison
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"A parasite, he calls himself Neberius. He's," the raven paused, pale lips pressing together as he seemed to think for a fleeting moment. She rose an eyebrow despite herself, and nodded her head as he continued his sentence. "You won't have to be afraid of him." Chriselle then took a moment to ponder on what her new 'friend' had said - a parasite, meaning he had no independent body like Murmur. The demon had told her that there were multiple types of demons, rather than just one like himself; but she was under the minor impression that most demons had their own bodies. Obviously, the impression was wrong.

Her eyes flickered to his pale hand, of which mixed against the opaque black of his locks, pushing them in an upwards motion and surprising her. A mark had been embedded there, one that matched the intricity of her own and caught her off guard. Rory had said absolutely nothing, the mark on his skin simply a reminder to him of his contract, though it sent her spiraling into awe. She went slack-jawed, and despite her internal protests, she stepped forward and brushed her fingers against his skin. Chriselle's touch was light, simply a feather barely brushing against a surface, and porcelain met porcelain. It was simply a moment of shock before she yanked her arm back, frowning.

"I'm...sorry..." She muttered, shaking her head. She couldn't even understand why she had touched him - though they were 'friends', Chriselle knew full well that her touch may have made him uncomfortable. "I...couldn't help it."

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Character Portrait: Rory Chamberlain Character Portrait: Chriselle Edison Character Portrait: Solomon R Kitsner
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Solomon knocked on the door where the two contractors had entered.

"Uhm excuse me," he said quietly not wanting to get too much attention over in this alley. He looked down at the entrance as the body guards seemed to causually be on the phone and reading a newspaper keeping an eye out for any trouble. "I was wondering if I could have a moment of your time. I was hoping you two were doing alright, but more importantly. I was wondering if I could help you with anything. I know what you both are." He stated and he left the words in the air so that they would sink in.

Solomon was careful around the handle seeing as it still gave off quite a lot of heat. One seemed to be able to manipulate fire. He took out his phone and started to text. He had practiced to write with one hand but it was a slow process. Luckily it seemed the two inside weren't excited to talk to him. He pressed 'send' and soon one of the body guards phones beeped. The male read it and nodded to the female as he left walking down the street.

"I'm not sure what that whole thing in that café was about but I have a feeling it had to do with you. I'm not only willing but able to help you." He wondered if he should tell them why it was that he could be trusted, but too much information is never a good thing in the wrong hands.

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Character Portrait: Rory Chamberlain Character Portrait: Neberius Character Portrait: Chriselle Edison Character Portrait: Solomon R Kitsner
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The sensation of skin against skin, hardly there, but enough to throw him off guard. His breathing ceased, stuck in his throat, or maybe his lungs had collapsed because of the contact. Her fingers against the back of her neck was gentle, not like the hands of people that had dared to get this close before. For a fleeting moment, Rory had thought it hadn't happened at all, just a trick of his mind. Rory turned and faced her, facial language surprised in parted lips, that sealed together in a thin line when he noticed her embarrassed reaction.

Chriselle spoke in mumbled apologies, despite them being unneeded. He reached forward and grabbed onto her right hand, moving his own fingers against the mark on her skin, barely tracing it. This was easier than telling her that he didn't mind what she had done, instead he wanted to show her that he was okay with it, even if might force her to reel away from him. Rhythmical knocking broke the scene, and Rory dropped her hand, eyes narrowed towards the door and feet hitting the ground with hostility. Flames licked at his outsoles, threatening to eat away at this building as well. They disappeared as soon as they came, leaving only burns on the floor.

He reached towards the door, heart pounding with rage and violence, prepared to waste away the present nuisance. Someone had seen them, had the audacity to follow them, comfort them. To Rory, it was clear that the owner of the voice had a death wish. If he was feeling so suicidal, then he would bless him with a homicide. "I'm not only willing but able to help you." He froze, arm outstretched, and flames disappearing. Blood that had rushed in his ears had drained away, unable to control his body anymore, paralyzed.

"I advise you to hear this man out." The voice of death and persistence spoke to him, preventing him from dropping another body so soon today. "He may be able to actually help us. Behave." Rory stumbled forward, using the door to prevent himself from falling down, knees shaking briefly before he regained his composure. He glared at the floor, the malice directed at the voice in his head. He didn't like this, but if he disobeyed, then Neberius would only take over, and he didn't want the demon to do so right now. Not when he still had some time to himself left, and he opened the door.

With narrowed eyes, Rory looked at the man, recognizing him from the street. "Then say something of use. How could you help us?" He demanded, stepping away from the door entrance, allowing some space for the man to enter the desolate apartment. He glanced over to Chriselle, and then returned his attention to the man. "Tell me why I shouldn't kill you right now." Voice low, whispering and callous, his gaze was unrelenting. This man must be playing some sort of game, stuffing cards up his sleeves, none out of good intention. He didn't trust him at all.

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Character Portrait: Rory Chamberlain Character Portrait: Chriselle Edison Character Portrait: Solomon R Kitsner
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"Well to be honest, I have the resources to keep you hidden and living quite well."

"Tell me why I shouldn't kill you right now," came the voice from the other side of the door. Solomon sighed as did Corbaire. Neither of them liked hot heads. They chuckled slightly at the unintentional pun. "Listen the longer I stay out here the worse it is for all of us. Either let me in so we can talk or at least let me get you two further away than just the other side of the street."

Corbaire had explained things about the Hunters but hiding across the street seemed like a .... horrible idea. If they can track you randomly then across the street was not going to help.

"Look i have a place uptown and it should be far enough away." Solomon started to explain. "I am not saying you have to stay with me. I'm simply saying I am here to help if you ever need it, and right now I think you need it. I can get you both some money and a place to stay of your choice and you can contact me whenever you need some more money or have some sort of request."

"Is that a good enough reason?" he added for good measure as he stepped away from the door and looked at the flower dressed body guard as his limo pulled up in the middle of the cross way between this alley and a perpendicular one behind the building

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Character Portrait: Rory Chamberlain Character Portrait: Chriselle Edison Character Portrait: Solomon R Kitsner
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Rory's palms and the pads of his fingertips were callous, rough compared to her own. Though they weren't the daintiest and smoothest, her skin wasn't comparable to the raven's own. Chriselle stared at their clasped hands rather than his eyes; she wondered if he was telling her that it was okay to come in contact with him. It was okay for her to touch his skin. But, despite his unsaid explanation, Chriselle remained a bit wary. They were 'friends', yes, but being friends came with trust issues. She knew that her own problems were going to get in the way of her new found friendship, and by the looks of it, Rory had his own little secrets as well.

The knock at the door startled her, snapping her back to reality only to see that Rory had headed back to the old door. His footsteps were angry, flickers of red and orange light at the soles of his shoes, leaving blackened marks against the damp and creaking wooden floor. She herself was a bit annoyed at the sudden presence of another, as the girl had opted for staying alone with Rory for the time being - at least until the next morning. Perhaps he would let her go by then; but she had a feeling that it wouldn't be that easy. "I'm not only willing but able to help you." The voice at the other side of the door did not startle either teenager, but it did cause both of them to freeze abruptly. Chriselle simply was surprised that anyone who had followed them wanted to help them - afterall, Rory had just burned down a small cafe and probably killed a few innocent people as well. She thought that whoever it was only came to arrest them, or bring them in, or something that was of the norm in their situation.

She stood farther off, only hearing snippets of their conversation until she stepped forward. Her footsteps were nothing like that of her partner's, for they were nervous and shaky, cautious and careful. Her eyes peered out from underneath dark lashes, observing the man slowly. "...You...want to help us? Why?"

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Character Portrait: Rory Chamberlain Character Portrait: Neberius Character Portrait: Chriselle Edison Character Portrait: Solomon R Kitsner
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Dust hung in the air, lingering in an atmosphere thick enough to drown in. Rory inhaled his spite, biting down on the corner of his mouth in attempt to focus on building up his fragile mental wall. He could feel the curved fingernails of time and destruction; the self-interested of the demon inside him, chipping away in attempt to gain hold of the reigns. The man in front of him was perplexing, and complexity wasn't a trait often admired by him, not when it displaced itself in a way that could become hostile. Was the man planning on pulling the rug away from underneath his feet, to undermine him? His gaze glanced to Chriselle for a a split second, returning to the man who had claimed to be on his, their, side.

Or, was Chriselle on his side instead, making this out to be a constructed charade? "...You...want to help us? Why?" Rory pressed a hand to his forehead, pain splitting inside his mind, turning him numb. He had no reason to trust either of them, both too variegated, and conflicting arguments bubbled inside of him. Chriselle had claimed to be his friend, and now this man was making the same statement? He had helped her, but had done nothing for this man. What was his reason? The boy's glare faltered, and his consciousnesses slipped away in a smoke that smelt of paranoia and dangerous doubt.

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Without flames came the smell of burning coals, smoke from the soul of a creature neither human nor God. Rory's eyes opened, eyebrows relaxed, smile pleasantly arrogant with straight posture. Though it was Rory Chamberlain's body, it was not the owner that was in control. Another piloted in his place, a voice who had lived too long and simultaneously not long enough. "I too am shrouded with a flicker of ambiguity, sir." His voice was course, deep and held no stutter, only confidence and eloquence. Eyelashes obscured him for a moment, stepping forward in smooth, thought out movements opposed to the behavior nature to his host; impulse, running on deceitful emotion and malice.

Neberius turned his attention to the girl that Rory was so curious of, lips curling in false fondness. "We all have our reasons, and they will reveal themselves to us at a better time. For now, let us accept his offer, and leave this repugnant hideaway." He looked away, stepping out of the building that had once housed humans with dreams, only to be crushed by the weight of reality. He stopped to stand directly in front of the man, mere inches away, eyes studying him for any sign that would warrant his execution. "Only a foolish coward would turn down the offer of who could prove to be a powerful alley." His words carried a hint of humor, mocking one that couldn't see them or hear the words spoken. The farce continued in the chuckle that exited his throat, the noise of amusement and footsteps hitting the walls between them.

He stopped beside the limo, pushing the fringe of his hair away, only for it to fall back. Neberius sighed, he would have to do something about the mess Rory had turned himself into, and get him into more respectful clothes. "I am waiting." He announced, looking to the man and woman, both that had made agreements with those like himself. His tone held no anger, or impatience, as if he could stand here waiting for all eternity. His pale hands slide inside the pockets of Rory's jacket, shoulders held back casually. This could have gone better. However, beggars cannot be choosers, and he would make do with what was presented to him.