Nicholas White-Eyes

I've never forgotten the taste of a shadow.

0 · 149 views · located in Boston, MA USA

a character in “Macabre: Debello's Return”, as played by SheogorathTheMadgod


Name: Nicholas White-Eyes
Age: 43
Gender: Male
Race: Changeling, Shadowlurker

Appearance: Something seems off about Nicholas. He towers at six feet and six inches, with an unnatural thinness about him like a leafless autumn tree; yet wiry arms and spider-finger hands have a toughness to them, taken from years of hard knocks in the field. A darker tone of olive plays across his skin and a few fine threads of gray pepper his short black hair and roughshod goatee. He has a thin face, slight Spanish nose, and wide, full lips that do not often see a smile. But his most startling feature is his pale, white eyes, the color of moon shine. His cold and blank stare seems to look at everything and nothing all at once. He blinks rarely and does so with an unnerving deliberation. A jagged pink line runs straight down from the top of his nose to his Adam’s apple. He’s not told a soul how he got the scar, but from the corner of your eye it almost seems to twitch. He dresses in a slate grey button down shirt with a maroon tie paired with belted dark brown dress slacks. Often, he throws on an earthy brown sports coat with a two pockets on either side, filled with Trinkets touched by the Wyrd. He uses a shoulder holster to carry a .45 SIG Sauer GSR for ease and accessibility.

Of course, this is the appearance of his Mask, a face beheld by mortals untouched by the Wyrd. The eyes of the supernatural can see (or smell) the truth of Nicholas White-Eyes. But telling you this soon wouldn’t be fun at all would it?

Nicholas is a driven man, woefully obsessed with the details. Deliberate and methodical. Unafraid of hours and hours of tedium 'just to be safe'. One can never shake the feeling that Nicholas is not looking at you but behind behind you. He has an admirable tenacity and unmatched dedication that is at times frightening. Once he is set on a goal, he cannot be dissuaded. Yet he is not unbendable. He may sound the retreat and slink away to his shadows looking for a different approach, an angle he missed. He always comes back to redouble his efforts using that infallible intuition of his. In the end, he always gets his mark. A pragmatic man, using every tool at his disposal, weaving a web of allies and resources to his ends. He can be manipulative at times. He can be very…persuasive when he feels the need. One should pray he does not. He is as deliberate in fury as is in all things. You can’t remember the last time you saw him laughing or smiling. (Perhaps in the company of a certain Neko girl. Perhaps) A stoic through and through.

He was born and raised in south Texas. His parents were immigrants from south of the border and had trouble adjusting to American life. Eventually, he moved up north to Boston with his uncle after a familial dispute. After applying himself fully to his studies and using his talent for deduction and eye for detail, he joined the Boston Police Department and steadily worked his way up to the rank of Detective. Ironically enough, he specialized in missing persons cases. One dusk just before sunset he ran afoul of the sociopathic, insane, and powerful True Fae during one of his investigations. These beings, also known as the Fair Folk, the Others, or the Gentry, dragged Nicholas to the mad realm of Arcadia, where reality bound itself to the will of Faeries. His Keeper drowned Nicholas in their abyssal realm for a Durance (time of captivity) of ten long years. Somehow, he found the will to survive and made his way back to the mortal realm. But he was forever marked by the Wyrd, the strange, capricious magic underpinning the power of the Fair Folk. He was altered to be part human and part Fae. His time crawling in the dark recesses of Arcadia had turned him into a Darkling, one of the boogiemen skulking in the shadows. Nicholas had become a Changeling.

But he was not alone. He was taken in by the hidden community of Changelings from all walks of life in the Boston Freehold and allowed a new start. He joined the enigmatic and occult Autumn Court, one of four seasonal courts governing the Changelings and found a place in the Scarecrow Ministry, a group dedicated to keeping away the Fae by investigating supernatural activity that could attract the interest of the Fae and isolate, neutralize, or contain these factors. He worked to uphold the semblance of normality held by mortal man, the Masquerade, by keeping men away from places where the Wyrd bled into the mortal world. He worked to spread fear and myth in a supernatural Scooby-Doo hoax for the greater good. The fellowship of monsters gave Nicholas the support he needed to deal with the trauma of his Durance and his loss of self.

The bloodless murders spreading through the city have gained the attention of the Ministry and the Changeling community at large. The Ministry has assigned Nicholas to investigate these murders to determine if they are the work of human hands or something far more sinister, that could awake the capricious attentions of the Fae.

As a Changeling, Nicholas draws power from Contracts, which are ancient agreements which the True Fae made with the elements of reality and passed on to their human captives to keep them from dying during their Durance. He is also a Darkling, a Shadowlurker, one who lives and breathes in the shadows where no light has touched. He may enter into shadows, partially or wholly, navigating through the Shade through the magical binds tying together all shadows. He claims to never forget the taste of a shadow.

Nicholas is bound to a Contract of Darkness. This deal made with shadow itself allows him to use darkness to entangle and restrain his enemies in thick, fibrous tendrils or to drag a living thing into the Shade. However he must draw on a limited pool of Glamour, a reserve Fae magic, replenished by consuming strong emotions. When his Glamour is depleted, shadows refuse him harbour and the Mask shielding his true face can be seen by mortal and supernatural alike.

Additionally, his binds to the Changeling's Autumn Court and the Scarecrow Ministry grant him additional powers, derived from fear. With permission of the Court and under the right conditions, he can learn of a person’s fear and invoke that fear. The Ministry provides each member with a Bugbear mask, allowing them once every night to look a person in the eyes and inspire crippling fear in them.

Lastly, he has more mundane abilities. A concealed firearms liscence and firearm training is quite useful. He also knows how to throw a solid one-two punch.

Of course, these abilities come at a price. Nicholas has lost some things that made him human for this power, such as the taste of chocolate, seven month’s worth of restful sleep, and the memory of his mother’s voice. Little rituals are necessary every so often to renew the Contracts, such as spending an hour away from natural light or swallowing a spider that has literally been scared to death. The Autumn Courts demand a pledge of obedience and loyalty as do the Scarecrow Ministry, with the consequences of betrayal ranging from a lengthy duration of muteness to banishment from the Freehold.

During the day, Nicholas has great difficulty accessing any of his Contracts and in direct sunlight he finds it nearly impossible. He is especially vulnerable to sources of projected light, such as a high powered flash light, a flare gun, or any magical fire. His web of Pledges bind him to certain conduct and breaking those pledges result in fates worth than death. He has loved ones. A precious few, but they are a weakness that can be exploited. Prolonged use of a Contract strains his ability to maintain his Mask, the glamour keeping his true form from mortals, and the very nature of Contracts addles the minds of Changelings. Living with knowledge that reality is not constant challenges Nicholas’s sanity and has resulted in recurring nightmares and the occasional hallucination. But despite these sacrifices, Nicholas holds onto his identity and uses his abilities for the good of the Freehold.

So begins...

Nicholas White-Eyes's Story


Characters Present

Character Portrait: Nicholas White-Eyes

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It's said the True Fae delight in casting stories and creating characters to dance to their whimsy.

Sound familiar?

"I swear," the Detective said as he flicked through the scrawled handwriting of his leatherbound investigation notebook. "Another missing person case endin' with a bloodless stiff." Light filtered through the window panes of a panicked Downtown Crossing; "Do Not Cross" signs and a hurrying mess of stern police officers warded off the press and the public from the crime scene. A man slumped forward slightly in his chair. If not for punctures in his neck, you would have thought he was sleeping. He rechecked his notes while running over the notes aloud. A slight Texan accent colored his Bostonian brogue. "Body found at approximately 6:45 a.m., September 17th, 2013, by vagrant, name of Allan Whitaker, illegally solicitin' on premises. Victim is missing persons case Ryan Reynolds, Caucasian, 34, Male, Sales Clerk for nearby liqour store for 7 years standing, missing since August 31st. Abrasions found on the upper arms and signature punctures on the neck. Judging by pallor and rigor of the body, initial estimates of time of death range from three to five hours ago. Just like the rest."

The Detective glanced over his sole witness, a short, bedraggled black man dressed in a tattered wife-beater and frayed denim overalls. A bottle hung loosely from the homeless man's fingers as he slouched cross-legged on the station floor and warily eyed the Detective looming over him. The Detective scratched his greying salt-and-pepper goatee, a little more worse for wear from one too many late-nights at the precinct, poring over every lead he could find on the mysterious string of missing-persons-turned-murder cases which had run him ragged. He unconsciously patted down his rumpled white suit-shirt, bright red tie, and black slacks as he noted the unidentified brown stains covering the hobo from head to toe. They would stay unidentified. The matter of the body was more pressing. "Only witness we got now is this poor asshole. Drunk off his ass and uncompliant." The grungy hobo spat and shot the Detective a foul look. He paused for a long while and he seemed to rustle underneath his pile of rags.

"I know what I saw. Man sucked dry by blood eaters. I be lucky blood eaters ain't notice me," he said.

The Detective nodded and crouched to a knee to stare Allan eye to eye. He had been tracking this case for the better part of a year now and his patience was running very thin. "Not buyin' it. Save us the trouble of haulin' off yer drunk ass and tell me what you really saw."

("Is he allowed to do that," asked a nearby rookie cop as he waved off a woman trying to take pictures on her I-Pad. "Not really, but you gonna tell him that?" replied his senior.)

"I saw a blood eater. He bit'em. Man ova' here, he die. Die quietly. Sighin' like he a untie' balloon. That tha' truth."

"Keep this up, I'll throw you in jail myself. Willful obstruction, resistance, and delay of an officer is a year in jail, Allan."

Allan muttered viciously under his breath.

"Speak up," said the Detective.

The vagrant looked the Detective straight in the eyes. They held a grim sharpness.

"A year ain't long, Fetch," he whispered. "I know you ain't him."

The Detective stared at the homeless man as he felt the first flutter of fear crawl into his gut. The vagrant stared back. His eyes held a malice and loathing that seemed more than instinctual. The word "fetch" rang through his head. The Detective stood up and took a step back. He closed his eyes and took a deep breath. He nodded to the rookie watching the dialogue from the sidelines.

"Take...take him to the station for formal questioning," said the Detective as he struggled to keep the tremor from his voice. He stepped over the "Do Not Cross" lines and made his way to the nearest Men's Room. "Taking a leak." Goddamnit. Keep it together.

The vagrant's voice carried across the station as the nameless rookie cuffed him and led him to a police cruiser nearby. "Heh. Hah! Whatchu know 'bout jail, Fetch? I know 'bout jail. HE knows bout jail. You ask him when he pay you a visit."

"Sick of this bullshit," the Detective said as he stepped off the crime scene and into a cramped restroom in some state of disrepair. Fetch. He called me Fetch. He knew. The room was poorly lit by a single long strip of flickering white florescent lighting. The door shut behind him with a light swip. The stench of urine and human filth sunk into the very walls of the restroom. He stood over a sink and gripped the edges of the spot-stained porcelain to keep himself steady. For a long while he simply stood there and willed his pounding heart to calm down. He heard nothing but the deafening sound of his heartbeat in his ears. He ran a hand through his now-sweat slicked hair. The Detective switched on the rusty faucet before him. A stream of lukewarm water trickled onto the sink basin With a sharp and long creeeeak . He stared at his reflection in a murky mirror flecked by the drops of water. His eyes were a rich mahogany brown.

The eyes behind him were white as bone.


Characters Present

Character Portrait: Sam '' Sammy''  Larson Character Portrait: Nicholas White-Eyes Character Portrait: Ethan Orozco

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You ever stare at your own shadow?

You ever see your shadow blink?

Nicholas White-Eyes stared at himself in the mirror. Or rather, he stared at himself staring at himself in the grimy mirrors of the filthy Downtown Crossing restroom. The thing that so naturally wore Nicholas's face with warm mahogany eyes wheeled around and his hand reflexively reached for the pistol at his left hip. But Nicholas was faster. A flash of grey streaked in Nicholas's hands as he strode toward to his doppelganger between the on-and-off flickering of the single strip of dim fluorescent lamp hanging overhead. He closed the distance in the space of a second.

Nicholas peeled back the silver foil cover of his colored-eye contacts as he took the sink beside his copy and began the tedious process of putting them on. The Fetch eased visibly and his left hand eased away from his firearm.

The Changeling glanced at the Fetch, the Fae "replacement" of every human to be captured and transformed by the powerful and insane True Fae. The Fetch was an eerie copy of himself; a perfect duplicate of Nicholas from his lean countenance to the salt and pepper goatee, now turning to a rough beard. A simalcrum of human life made with a bit of magical Glamour and a scattering of sticks and a policeman's badge. Yet the Fetch had the same face, same voice, same clothes, even the same smell as the original Nicholas. The only difference between the Changeling and his Fae doppelganger was the Fetch's eyes which held the color of his Nicholas's eyes before his abduction by the True Fae.

Yet the Fetch had no idea that it was anything less than Nicholas Ramirez, a veteran detective of the Chicago Police Department until that horrid morning two years from today that a thing of creeping shadow first appeared outside his window wearing his face. The Fetch represented ten years of Nicholas's missing life; it had risen to the top of his field, gotten married with a child on the way, and was thinking about moving into the suburbs. It was truly remarkable that the Changeling hadn't filled the thing with lead on their first meeting. But having been gone ten years changes one's perceptions on identity.

The two had come to an uneasy agreement. The Fetch received his Changeling's assistance on difficult cases where things just didn't seem to add up. In return the Changeling received a commission on each case. A Pledge had been struck, both shadow and simalcrum bound by the magic of the Fae Wyrd. Neither had bounds to kill each other and neither could reveal the existence of the other without incurring seven years and a moon of blindness and deafness. The creatures of the Wyrd kept their promises.

"Fetch," said the Darkling as he rapidly blinked his right eye.

"White-Eyes," said the Fetch as he turned to face the Changeling.

"No blood?" White-Eyes put in the second contact and blinked his now mahogany eyes twice.

"Like the rest." The Fetch crossed his arms. The unease had lessened but not abated.

"You must be desperate," White Eyes said.

"Yer a chatty son of a bitch you know that?" said the Fetch in a flash of petty anger as he handed White-Eyes his badge.

"Gimme fifteen minutes. I'll contact you tomorrow morning," the Darkling replied. His Fetch ripped out a page from his notes, handed it to the Changeling, and began transcribing the memorized list into the page behind it as he moved into the restroom stall and locked the door shut.

The Darkling glanced at his watch and left the restroom and onto the crime scene. He held a hand up to shield his eyes form the glare of the light and every step through the morning light was like slogging through water. As a creature of shadows, sunlight weakened him, seemed to stretch him too thin. It did not hurt Nicholas but did flip him the metaphysical bird for not bending to the rules of the mundane. The Changeling nodded to the two police officers who glanced at him crossing the yellow warning tape and joined them to discuss the state of the body and to inquire about the coroner. A single, long shadow dragged behind him, lapping up the ambient feelings of confusion and the fear hanging heavy in the air. Nicholas breathed it in deep as he went to work. He sidled up to the body and stood so that the shadow of the corpse and his own merged.

The taste was foul. Old, bitter, like a mouthful of wet pennies. Something not quite dead. And so terribly far from alive.

Twenty-five minutes later, Nicholas White-Eyes was racing up a set of stairs in an abandoned building cursing the sunlight for making his mad dash through the Chicago shadow paths difficult as he tailed a girl with a bitter shadow and a beast-man who had just found a girl with two bite marks on her neck.


Characters Present

Character Portrait: Willa Thorn Character Portrait: Nicholas White-Eyes

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Come, mortal, taste my Harvest! Sweet joys of Spring! Sour rages of Summer! Savory fears of Autumn! Bitter sorrows of Winter!

How does the fear of a young Listener taste? Fine feasting for the Fair Folk!

"Oh, sorry, Sir. You startled me. I didn't see you there."

Nicholas could taste her before he heard her. Fear. The rich, smoky flavor of desperate fear floated past the Changeling like the receding rain mist. He turned and saw a young girl with very old eyes. He took a moment to look her over, a puff of dark smoke billowing from his nostrils. Slight frame. Brown hair, rough cut. Headphones, casual dress. Looking a little deeper he realized that she had been running. From a slight sheen of sweat, he could tell that she had been running. Tears faintly streaked her face and the bottom of her pants were scuffed with dirt and grime. A faint whiff of something slightly unpleasant drifted around her.

This fear wasn't the jump-out-of-the-closet-boo! fear tasty and filling but a little too greasy and vaguely unhealthy. Nor was it the nuanced taste of anxious fear, deep and bitter, spiced with a dash of hope. No, this was that primal, the fear of the hunted and the fear of the unknown, that deepest fear of snarling fangs and claws rushing to devour flesh and the touch of slimy flesh flitting by an ankle in dark, murky water. It tasted like finest veal, marinated with rosemary and pepper, roasted in charcoal ovens to a tender crisp. Currents of sorrow streaked the fear, bitter and dry, giving a full-bodied flavor like an ancient aged red taken from wine cellars that never saw the light of day. Nicholas stood there smoking his cigarette, drinking int the fear, greedily harvesting this bounty. The scar across his lips twitched. He breathed it in deep, feeling fuller than he had in weeks. She would feel nothing, of course. He didn't actually eat fear; he consumed the Glamour of the emotion, the magical imprint of the emotion. So he fed in peace, letting out a long drag of smoke as he finished.

"Mornin'," said Nicholas. "Don't worry 'bout it none."

He raised an eyebrow and extended an arm to tap the ash away from the tip of his cigarette. Perhaps on a whim, his shadow grew long and sneaked sluggishly under the tyranny of the peering sun until it touched the girl's shadow. A mistake.

The screeching of a thousand razors on a thousand violin strings began to rend his ears as the girl's shadow struck at the Darkling with all the fury of cold iron. The cigarette between Nicholas's lips fell to the pavement with the embers smoking as the Changeling fell to a knee with his hands over his ears. The pungent taste of horseradish and metal filled his mouth and he dry gagged on the pavement as the smell threatened to choke him. Then, dragged from the recesses of his mind, a memory of crawling through a bramble with a thousand bloodied thorns, bits of his soul catching and tearing on the wicked spines of the Hedge. A glimpse of Arcadia. Of Them. It was too much. His face was twisted into a grimace of pain. In full view of the girl, his Mask slipped for the space of a second, affording her one good glimpse of his True face. Then the Mask reformed and Nick grabbed onto the side of a nearby fire hydrant. He forced himself to his feet and stumbled backwards away from the girl, his eyes never leaving hers.

What was she?


Characters Present

Character Portrait: Nicholas White-Eyes

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Lore-keeper, tell me, do you know of Wyrd-Bane?

Can your tome show us this huntress girl's Name?

Glittering motes of dust flitted through the dusty air of the Boston Public Library, suspended in the afternoon rays. In a secluded cloister of books within the labyrinthine maze of shelves, Nicholas White-Eyes watched as the woman seated in front of him gulped down the last bit of finger and dab away the red juices at her petite cheek with a small handkerchief. "Afternoon, Sophia," greeted Nicholas. A small lamp and an open book were sitting on the tiny table between them.

"I need yer help. That finger's the first o' three boons." Sophia paused and her demeanor darkened perceptibly. She chuckled, a dry and bitter noise, her skin shuffling and flaking off like pieces of old newspaper. Her laugh held no humor and her eyes burned. The smell of dying autumn leaves filled the room.

"Of course, Mr. White-Eyes. Why else would you visit?" her voice heavy with malicious sarcasm. Her cool blue eyes bored into him mercilessly. "Why else would you find me, the Lady Lore-Keeper of the Autumn Court? To make nice, say hi to a former flame? Hm? A bit of talk and some coffee, perhaps? Maybe an explanation as to why you left me sopping wet in the summer rain as you ran away with a Spring Court spiderling-whore?" she hissed. Her voice crinkled like the flutter of thin papyrus pages in testament to her Fae disfigurement. "I should tell you to crawl back between her legs, Autumn Ghul."

Sophia Lyceum was another Changeling, a Darkling like Nicholas. Both of them preferred the night to the day and felt thier faerie magic weakened under the Sun's beating rays. But whereas Nicholas was cursed to crawl in the shadows, Melissa was cursed to be a creature of book-lore, an Antiquarian. She was a keeper of all things written, hoarding knowledge and forgotten texts with obsessive zeal. To mortal eyes her body seemed pale and slight, just your run-of-the-mill librarian at the Boston Public Library. But behind her Mask her skin was the color and texture of yellowing paper, fraying and curling up on itself. Her fingers were always wrapped around a book of some sort and she grew tense and frantic without the company of her tomes. She bristled in anger at Nicholas, his blank eyes unable to reach hers.

"I don't have time fer this Sophia and I ain't the Autumn Ghul no more. I quit the killin' business when I joined the Scarecrows. All the Lost in Boston're in danger. If yer oath to the Boston Freehold aint fulla shit, you'll help me," he growled. "You were right. The Bloodless Murders're vampire work, jus' like you said at the Summer Coronation. Werewolves an' Vampires workin' together. An' there's a girl in the streets. Some sorta Fae-Bane. An' I got the feelin' she's out fer blood. Changelin' blood. She might be the same one. The one who killed th' Old Blues Motley years ago."

Sophia continued to glare at Nicholas as her temper began to cool. She always had a short temper. I'm surprised she aint a Summer with that sort o' fury.

"Fine. For the Freehold," she said finally. "For the Freehold," Nicholas echoed. Sophia peered through the book in front of her which held strange scribbling. "Describe the girl, the Faerie-Bane. And I'll see if anything comes to mind," she said in a thin, even voice.

Nicholas wracked his head for details on the girl who had sent him to the ground at her shadow's touch. "Young lookin' thing. 'Bout 19-20 years old. Short, couldn't be more'n 5' 3. Brown hair, messy cut. Blue low top. Sneakers. Headphones." He took a deep breath before going on. "Sucked some Glamour off her. Tasted like...lamb an' a bottle o' red. Vintage. Then, one o' my shadows slipped my mind an' touched her." He leaned forward. His hands cradled his face as he unwillingly sifted through the pain at her touch. "Noise. One million goddamn screechin' violins or somethin' all in my head. Tasted horseradish an'...an' iron, coldest damn shit. Hand-forged not the manufactured crap. Genuine Wyrd-bane." His voice dropped to a whisper. "She dragged out some ol' memories. Crawlin' through the Hedge. Mah Keeper. Arcadia." Nick's voice shuddered and he muttered a little mad mantra to himself.

"I was there, Sophia. She took me back there again and back!" Nicholas said. His teeth gritted together and tried to keep calm. He failed and more memories flitted through his mind of the ten long years in the mad realm of Arcadia. Crawling blind and helpless through cracks of weeping stone. The thousand eyes of the Mistress as she laughed with the voice of a child. The beatings with whips fashioned from a widow's hair and orphan nails. His changing reflection in the wells he filled with his tears. "I'm here, not there, here, not there, here, not there, here..." he muttered over and over again.

"Nicholas." Sophia's voice snapped him out of it. She looked at him, the cool anger in her eyes softened by the Shadowlurker's little breakdown. Her hand, slowly, reluctantly touched his. "I...I'm here. You're here. Free." Nicholas swallowed a breath and nodded. "...damnit. I ain't lost control like that fer nearly six months..." he said quietly. "She saw mah Mask fell and she saw mah Mein." He looked at Sophia. "She ran but she wasn't scared. She wanted to kill me." The Antiquarian chewed her lip and looked down into her tome. "It's probably not in this book. Hold on. Wait here." She spared Nicholas one last glance and left for the back section of the library where she kept her secret stash. She returned after some time and flicked through her pages and for nearly half an hour Nicholas waited as she read through the ancient book.

"I think I know what she is," she says finally. "The girl is a Listener. A Hunter, bane of all that hides from the Sun, dances under the Moon, and touched by the Wyrd." She shuddered at the word. "The old legends do not agree on where they come from. Some say they are the children of Fae Lords and human mothers, sent to hunt us Changelings for sport. Others say they are an old, forgotten bloodline of the Vampires who found a way to walk in day. Still others say they are an ancient conspiracy of mages and sorcerers that eat the souls of the supernatural. Yet they all agree on one thing."

"They are all madmen. They somehow 'hear' us hiding from our Keepers. And they murder us, without mercy, without reason. Many a tale ends with one of the Lost pleading, begging for their lives before the Listeners slew them. The ones who escape are broken by them, as if their existence is as cold-iron."

Her voice is small and fearful as she finishes. "The rumours say that they worship Silence. And that they seek the Final Silence where the last creature of darkness meets the end of their knives."


Characters Present

Character Portrait: Willa Thorn Character Portrait: Sam '' Sammy''  Larson Character Portrait: Nicholas White-Eyes Character Portrait: Ethan Orozco

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"W-Why?" The girl’s voice cracked as she spoke. She was in terrible shape, and this worried Ethan. His eyes locked with hers, the blue in his eyes sparking with nervousness.

"Y-You saved me? Wh-Why?" Ethan looked deep into her eyes. The sound of her pounding heart drummed in Ethan’s own ears, which scared him even more. She was so pale. Like a ghost. Almost like… Mom… He was suddenly shoved into his own flash back. His eyes glazed over and his breath was caught in his throat.

His parents being sucked dry, until their skin was chalky white… so very white…

“Woah, easy there, son. Let's all just calm down. What happened?”

Ethan was slapped back to reality, and he visibly flinched, gritting his teeth and shoving the terrible memories to the back of his mind once more. His gaze rose from where it was positioned on the ground, and locked with the strange man. He seemed normal enough… but something was off about him…

He stood up slowly, almost threateningly, to his full height, even though he was shorter than the other man, who was oddly tall. “If you knew what was good for you, you would forget this ever happened.” Ethan snapped, glaring at him ferociously. He stood protectively over the girl, casing glances at Sam, wincing once he saw the bruise on her jaw. He looked over his shoulder at the girl, “We should go…” He breathed, quieter than a whisper.


Characters Present

Character Portrait: Willa Thorn Character Portrait: Sam '' Sammy''  Larson Character Portrait: Nicholas White-Eyes Character Portrait: Ethan Orozco

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"Ah can make you a promise. A Pledge. With all o' you. You have mah word Ah shall not harm any one o' you if you do th' same From sundown to sunset tomorrow, Ah will provide you with any help Ah can give that will not endanger mahself or mah people if you jus' take a moment t' hear what Ah have t' say. Accept an' you'll find yerself aided by... fate. But if any of us break th' agreement, they'll be struck by bad luck fer a month. This Ah' promise by the Wyrd. Do you accept?"

Ethan quickly thought it over. He knew something was off about the man. What was a Changling anyway? Her really needed to familiarize himself more with the other types of supernatural creatures. Could Ethan trust this man? He seemed trustworthy enough, but he could just be doing this out of fear since the girl who still hadn’t told Ethan her name was threatening to throw a freaking light grenade.

"Fine...I agree to your terms...."

Ethan’s head whipped back to look at the girl. He was surprised she agreed so quickly considering she wouldn’t even talk to Ethan earlier. He didn’t know what to do. It was then her condition smacked him in the face.

“I agree.” Ethan said bluntly, not taking his eyes off of the girl. He crouched down next to her and grabbed her bleeding arm, not allowing her to resist. “We need to hurry and find somewhere to… well… recover from this experience.” Ethan was rather shaken for some reason, but he knew it was nothing compared to how this girl must be feeling.

Ethan pulled his sweatshirt off then gripped the sleeve of his shirt in his teeth and tore the entire thing off in one swift motion. He then took the torn sleeve and the girl’s arm in his hand. Ethan gripped her arm, not letting her pull away. He had thought about the licking her wound, which would have been very weird, but tigers have antiseptics in their saliva. In the end, he decided not to, since that probably would have just freaked her out. So he just wrapped the severed sleeve around the girl’s bit wound as tightly as possible, hoping he wasn’t causing her too much pain.

“We can go to my place. It not the greatest, but it’s got a roof and a bed and a first aid kit.” Ethan told the group as he stood up. He looked towards the Changling. “If you carry Sam, I’ll carry her.” He pointed to the mystery girl as he said her.


Characters Present

Character Portrait: Willa Thorn Character Portrait: Sam '' Sammy''  Larson Character Portrait: Nicholas White-Eyes Character Portrait: Ethan Orozco

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"That won't be necessary."

Ethan couldn't help but raise an eyebrow. "You sure?" He asked, still concerned.

"I can walk."

Ethan let an aggravated sigh escape his lips. "If you say so..."

He watched her intently as she picked up the vial and dragged herself to her feet. Ethan stood still, trying very hard to resist the urge to help her stand, but seemed very determined. She stood up and smiled slightly, happy with completing her task. That was before her eyes rolled back, her knees buckled, and she flopped onto the ground with a small thump.

Ethan's eyes had opened wide and stood, momentarily frozen. "Oh shit..." was all her could say. He then jolted out of his, what seemed like, his fiftieth daze of the day.

He sprang towards her, and quickly knelt down. He flipped her over, his arm resting under her head, not allowing it to roll sideways. He couldn't help but stop and just... look at her. I still don't know your name...

The tops of Ethan's cheeks turned a light pink as he realized he was staring. He blinked a few times and then stood up slowly, placing his other arm in the crooks of her knees. He picked her up gently, almost afraid he might break her. He turned to face the Changling. "So... what now? Where do we go?" He asked, needing guidance.


Characters Present

Character Portrait: Willa Thorn Character Portrait: Sam '' Sammy''  Larson Character Portrait: Nicholas White-Eyes Character Portrait: Ethan Orozco

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Can you take his hand, Songgirl, this boy of beastly ken?

Dare you stop to lick your wounds within the Beastman's den?

As soon as the Were-Boy and the Listener agreed to the Changeling's Pledge, they felt a strange sense of sureness fal over them, as if the three of them had been tied together by a delicate silken thread. The feeling soon faded into the dank apartment air, but an oaken smell of dead wood and mushroom lingered in its wake. The Changeling nodded as the Wyrd finalized the Pledge binding their fates together, if only from now till sunset tomorrow. "Done." The Were-boy would find that as he carried the Listener he would have a bounce of vigor in his step. At the Were's aiding touch, the Listener, though unconscious would hold more closely to life, as if struggling onto a shared spool of fate. Such was the Wyrd. Such was the whimsy of Fae.

He cleared his throat, his voice returning to a normal, human pitch. "Mah name's Nicholas. Ah'm known as White-Eyes 'round the Changelin' Freehold o' Boston. Let me make a call," Nick told the blue-haired boy. "Ah know a guy, a street doctor. He can get th' girl patched up." He dragged the address and directions from his memory. "He's a ways off but th' man's a good doc. One that don't ask many questions an' one who owes me a few favors." The Changeling slipped a hand to his poket, slowly, retrieving an ancient, scratched, quarter-charged grey flip phone. He punched in a number and held it up to his ears, listening in to the 'connecting...' tone.

Nicholas watched the Listener girl as she refused the Were's aid just in case she decided to be stupid and drew another weapon. He couldn't be sure she would take the threat of bad luck as seriously as his people did. Nicholas himself had been skeptical of being cursed with bad luck until he accidentally broke a carelessy sworn pledge. He had caught a serious case of pneumonia, lost his gun at a crime scene, gotten hit by a police cruiser, and nearly lost his position as the Spook Investigator in the Changeling Scarecrow Ministry. This series of unfortunate events had occurred in the space of a week. God save the bastard that was cursed for the space of a month or, Christ, a year and a day.

Pledges were harsh keepers, but how else could you keeep a panicky society of half-human-half-fae runaways, slaves, and escapees from killing each other, losing their minds, or even worse, drawing the attention of the True Fae? Nicholas could only hope that the Faebane would keep her end of the bargain. She knew of his people but Nick could only guess at how much. Too much, thought the Darkling.

A voice finally came over his phone's speaker. It was a familiar voice, with hints of a Texan accent carefully faded out in place of a clinical and professional dialect. "You have reached Dr. Thao Dinh Ngoc's private number. I am not available at the moment, but-" The phone snapped shut. "Damnit!" cursed Nicholas. He's not pickin' up. Hell he's th' only trustworthy doc I know. Shit." The Darkling turned back to the Were-boy and saw the Faebane attempt to stand and pass out. He moved closer to the Faebane. She was in shock. Listening to the Were, he turned and scooped up Ms. Larson in his arms, fireman style. They would need to go through the alleyways if they didn't want to get seen by normal folks. "Goddamnit. You got any bright ideas... The Changeling paused, He still didn't know the boy's name and he doubted that the kid wanted to be called "son" all the time. "What's yer name, son?"


Characters Present

Character Portrait: Willa Thorn Character Portrait: Sam '' Sammy''  Larson Character Portrait: Nicholas White-Eyes Character Portrait: Ethan Orozco

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"Goddamnit. You got any bright ideas..."

Ethan pondered, then sighed. "What's yer name, son?"

Ethan looked up at the man, and blinked a few times. "Ethan. Ethan Orozco." He answered bluntly, not removing his gaze from the Changeling.

"Ok, since we can't get a hold of that doctor friend of yours, I volunteer my place. Its not too far from here, actually." He said, already calculating the route in his head. "It's about a ten minute walk from here. But how in the world are we supposed to discretely transport two unconscious girls from one place to another in Boston." Ethan told the Changeling doubtfully. He sighed again.

Ethan shifted the girl in his arms, holding her bridal style. His eyes were full of worry. For her, for Sam, for him and this man. His gaze shifted to stare at the girl again. "I don't think I ever caught your name, either." Ethan spoke, looking at the man again.


Characters Present

Character Portrait: Willa Thorn Character Portrait: Sam '' Sammy''  Larson Character Portrait: Nicholas White-Eyes Character Portrait: Ethan Orozco

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(You hear a slight humming coming from a tiny hole. You approach and peer inside. A little mouse dressed in a tidy little suit and tie. It looks at you and waves amiably.

This would be quite adorable if not for the moist human eye which it has been shining with a little rag between its hands.)

"Okay, Orozco. Ah got a plan." Nicholas glanced around, checking the exits of the lobby. Nearly deserted. Not a soul. "Iffen you could give me th' address, Ah can take this miss right here (he gestured to Ms. Larson) without bein' seen. It's round 'bout afternoon, so th' shadows're nice an' long. Just gimme th' address an' Ah'll be there'n ten'r fifteen minutes at th' most." He waited for Orozco to give him the address and tried to geographically fix the location in his head. "Look. Just...just drape her shoulder 'cross yers an' say some sorta shit like 'she's drunk' or 'she's narcoleptic. Happens all th' time. Take th' rail or a bus. Not many'll ask questions."

The Changeling took a deep breath and let loose a bit of magical Fae Glamour, reaching through the contracts that the powerful Fair Folk had forged with reality itself long, long ago, to which Changelings were unwilling beneficiaries. Nicholas concentrated on the deepest darkness and in his mind's eye he saw a thin, feminine face appear within the shadows. Greetings, Darkling! Most impatient you are to ask a boon of the shadows just before retires the light of day. spoke the shadows in tongues of billowing black. Mah apologies, ma'am. Ah humbly ask use of th' shadowpaths, as is mah right as a lurker o' shadows an' forgotten places.

The face collapsed and the shadows seemed to deliberate with one another. The face reformed. Of course, of course darkling. Take you shall we and the blood-bastard with us. They suddenly boiled over as if angered. But not the Song-girl.We abide not the Daughters and Sons pledged to the Silence. Nicholas tightened his jaw but nodded his assent. Done. Of course none of this was visible to the Were except for the undulations of black that the Changeling seemed to be staring at.

The Darkling walked to a nearby wall. A light overhead cast a long shadow behind the Changeling and darkness coalesced about his feet. He stepped into the comfort of true darkness, untouched by the mortal sun, little tendrils dragging both he and and Ms. Larson into the depths until both were fully subsumed. Blind and deaf, the Shadowlurker crept along the shadowpaths with the Dhamphire in tow. Here he was truly safe. He was...different here. Limbs bent at unnatural angles, crackling backwards in some sort of skittering-skulking insectile locomotion with the girl tucked under and arm. The scar from his nose down to his Adam's apple wrenched open, his true mouth revealing itself, a leech-like horror of half-forgotten dreams that leave children gasping and crying late at night at shadows creeping from under the beds. Black tongues tasted at the whirling, fluttering shadows on the long, narrow paths, branching off like the crooked limbs of a withered rowan in the grips of winter. Larger, unknowable vibrations crawled far off in the abyssal distance. The Shadowlurker hoped that they would not notice it. It crawled in darkness, seeking the shaft of light that marked the Were's home.


Characters Present

Character Portrait: Willa Thorn Character Portrait: Sam '' Sammy''  Larson Character Portrait: Nicholas White-Eyes Character Portrait: Ethan Orozco

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"Look. Just...just drape her shoulder 'cross yers an' say some sorta shit like 'she's drunk' or 'she's narcoleptic. Happens all th' time. Take th' rail or a bus. Not many'll ask questions."

Ethan stared at him, feeling a lot of mixed emotions. The biggest one was debating whether or not this man- er, creature was fucking insane. He couldn’t just drag her along with him onto a subway. With a sigh, he wracked his brain for what might be a better idea.

Perhaps not some place that public… perhaps a cab? That seemed like a smarter thing to do. He turned, and was going to ask if the man if this was a good idea, maybe even better than his. But he was gone. It was almost like he melted into the shadows… which was probably what he did.

So, with a gruff huff of a breath, Ethan dragged the girl’s limp, unconscious body through the lobby and outside. He then, to the best of his ability, attempted to hail a cab. After a solid ten minutes of waving his arms and whistling, one finally took pity on this young man a screeched to a stop. Feeling like the weight of the entire world was off of his shoulders, Ethan picked the girl back up and opened the door, placing her inside then entered the cab himself, slamming the door shut behind him.

The first thing Ethan saw was the raised eyebrow of the driver of the cab. “She’s narcoleptic. This happens a lot actually…” He gave a huge, heavy sigh and that seemed to seal the deal. He went with the narcoleptic excuse instead of the drunk one, for she would’ve at least been partially red in the face. But since she had half of her blood sucked out of her, she looked pale as a ghost.

“Where ya off to, son?” He asked, giving into Ethan’s front.

Ethan proceeded to tell the man his address, and they were off.

After only a few minutes of driving, the cab came to a stop. Ethan gave the man two-thirds of the money in his wallet and pulled the girl’s body out of the cab and into the lobby.

“Trying a new tactic, Ethan? Knocking them out before you get them into your apartment?” The man behind the desk, named Fredrick, said with a cackle.

Shut! Up! Ethan literally snarled, baring his teeth at Fredrick. Fredrick stopped and looked at Ethan with wide, rather frightened eyes and didn’t say anything after that.

After escaping from the lobby and the public eye, Ethan scooped the girl back into his arms bridal style and took bounding leaps up the stairs to get to his apartment. Once he entered his humble abode, Ethan lied the girl on his couch and plopped into a random chair, sitting rather awkwardly, waiting for the Changeling to arrive.


Characters Present

Character Portrait: Willa Thorn Character Portrait: Sam '' Sammy''  Larson Character Portrait: Nicholas White-Eyes Character Portrait: Ethan Orozco

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"Afternoon, Orozco. Found th' place alright. Directions helped, but you were more th' help. Just couldn't forget yer shadow, son."

Ethan blinked a few times. Was that a compliment...?

“Umm… thanks..?” He said, rather cautiously. His gaze shifted from him, and then rested on the two unconscious girls. How did he get himself into this mess…

After staring for about thirty solid seconds, Ethan dragged himself to his feet and left to go search for his first aid kit. He might as well fix the girl up since they couldn’t get a hold of a proper doctor. Ethan rummaged through a few drawers and cabinets. Most of them were empty. He kept searching until he came across that white box with a red cross on the front. “Finally…” Ethan muttered. He opened it up and surveyed the contents. The kit was almost complete, for Ethan rarely ever used this thing. He usually just dealt with the pain and rinsed out any cuts or scratches with water.

But he knew that that wouldn’t be of much use now. The girl’s wound seemed so deep it would probably need stitches. And to think… Sam did that to her…

Sighing, Ethan walked back to the group. He made his way over to the couch where the girl lay, still unconscious. He hoped she would wake up soon. She’d been out for a while. Well, so had Sam, but he could understand why. He threw a mean punch.

So, Ethan went to work on the girl’s injury. He had to take the make-shift bandage off first, but it was stuck on, caked with dry blood. Ethan got back on his feet, grabbed a towel and wet it with warm water. He then sat back down and rubbed off as much blood off as he could, and hope the water would loosen up the dry sleeve. Then, gritting his teeth, Ethan peeled it off slowly. It was a good thing she was asleep, this probably would have hurt like hell. After getting the gross piece of cloth off, he tossed it in the trash and grabbed the first aid kit. Opening it up again, he grabbed some disinfectant and what looked like cotton balls. He dripped the alcohol smelling liquid onto the cotton and cleaned out the wound, once again gritting his teeth as he heard the sizzling of the liquid as it destroyed the germs. He thanked God that she was still asleep. As the disinfectant did its work, he grabbed the gauze and quickly began wrapping it around her arm, tightly, but not too tight that it was extremely uncomfortable.


Characters Present

Character Portrait: Willa Thorn Character Portrait: Sam '' Sammy''  Larson Character Portrait: Nicholas White-Eyes Character Portrait: Ethan Orozco

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Willa could only remember darkness.

It was endless. And cold. And often filled with half-sounds that she didn't understand. Voices that she couldn't recognize.

There was sometimes a sensation of floating and warmth, brief and grey--cutting through the dark in odd intervals. Then stillness.

That was when the dreams came. She was standing in a green backyard with a laughing little boy, calling for her to play. Then watching a woman in a room of light playing a grand piano.

She was on a hunt. A wooded area. Below her, the Songs of the hungry pack throbbed, their animal voices reaching tendrils toward the skies. Rain came down in sheets. Then blood in sheets. Then Silence. Beautiful Silence.

Then Silence was broken, and the howling started. The woods became a hole in the wall that she was crammed into, knees bent backwards at uncomfortable angles, clutching the boy from before--who no longer laughed. He gasped in the dark. His labored breathing filled the space, her pounding heart, the Weres calling angrily from just ahead as they demanded her flesh in their animal voices. Surely, she would go deaf. Surely! Blood in Sheets. And then Silence. Terrible Silence. And no matter how hard she held on to him--

"ELI!" Willa cried, startling herself upright and nearly colliding with someone who was uncomfortably close. She managed to pull back just inches from their face. Her vision was blurry from unconsciousness, she blinked once, twice--and then the Were from before came into view. Very close. Nearly nose to nose with her. Willa wasn't sure how--but she somehow had enough blood in her body to feel her face burning with shame.

"W-w-were?! Where am--? What are--?" Confused, flustered and frightened didn't work very well for Willa's ability to speak coherently. Panicked, she attempted to back up, only to find herself floundering over the side of a couch. She landed on the floor with a solid-sounding thump. Not her most graceful moment. Mustering as much dignity as she could, she scrambled to one knee--still very flushed and now very much lightheaded to boot. She was about to demand what the Were thought he was doing so close to her--bringing her arm up to scold him--when she noticed that the sleeve of her blood-encrusted hoodie had been rolled up and her arm was sporting a clean (nicely-tied) bandage. Dazed, Willa stared at it, slowly putting the pieces together.
"Oh..." Willa said dumbly. "You did this." It was a statement, and some kind of an uncomfortable realization for Willa. A Were had saved her..and bandaged her arm. A Were. She frowned at it--wondering if dying might have been better. " Thank you..." she muttered feeling awkward. Slowly, Willa began to come to her full senses--and realized she and the Were were not alone.

The leave-scraping Song of the Changeling was also present--and to her surprise--it seemed the Dhampire was as well. Willa tipped her head--the Dhampire's Song was difficult for her to make out....why? And then the realization hit her--her blood. The Dhampire had drank her blood, and now her Song was nearly silent to Willa's ears. Willa cursed under her breath for being so foolish. With any luck--that would work its way out of her system soon. It wouldn't do if the girl managed to sneak up on her. Willa shakily rose to her feet, leaning on a small table for support before giving up and allowing herself to sit on the floor. Willa eyed the Were curiously. What was with this Were? Not only had he knocked out his blood-hungry girlfriend to save her, but he'd also dragged her to (what she could only assume) his apartment to patch her up. Nervously, she ran her fingers over the silver whistle around her neck.

"W-Why did you decide to help me?" She asked, her voice sounding dry. She was still very thirsty, and although the rest had eased some of the agony of blood-loss, she was starting to feel ravenous as well. She cleared her throat, straightening her posture. (Though, it was no use now pretending she was fit. The Changeling had already seen her at her weakest now. She would have to be especially careful of him...) "I know why he helped me." Willa explained, nodding her head toward the Changeling. "He is bound by his promise...and by fear of the light...but...I don't understand you.." Willa admitted, frowning.


Characters Present

Character Portrait: Willa Thorn Character Portrait: Sam '' Sammy''  Larson Character Portrait: Nicholas White-Eyes Character Portrait: Ethan Orozco

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The last thing Sam remembers is, her walking up the stairs to her apartment building, and her being stopped and talked to by the Listener, who she still didn't get the name of. She also remembers the Listener asking Sam to join her and stop the Bloodless Murders, then it goes blank, then she remembers getting grabbed by the arm, getting pushed into a wall and then KNOCKOUT! Everything went black and fell silent.

Everything was very quiet and still. Sam slowly raised her head, she blinked a couple of times to clear her vision. She looked around and saw no one, she was all alone.She sat up straight and saw that she was lying on the floor, the cold hard floor of a building, a building Sam remembered pretty well, it was her old house. Sam raised her hand and felt her head, it didn't hurt anymore, it's like that she was never knocked out. She shook her head and stood up, she looked around and went to take a look around. She walked out of the room she was in and walked into the hallway, as she walked into the hallway, she heard screaming and yelling coming from the down stairs. Sam was confused, and at the same time, scared, because she didn't know why she heard screaming, but the screaming sounded very, very familiar. Sam walked over to the stair case and quietly made her way down the stairs, she cautiously made her way towards the kitchen, where the screaming was coming from.

Sam took a deep breath and peered into the kitchen, she was horrified by what she saw. She saw a man, attacking a young girl with a knife, he had cut her and was trying to kill her. Sam had a weird sensation at first, but she then remembered that the same thing happened to her. Sam wasn't going to let this girl die, so she went to go and attack the man to save the girl's life, just as she almost made contact with the man, a boy around the girl's age jumped on the man's back and began to attack him. Sam took a step back and looked at the girl, Sam was even more scared when she realized that the girl was herself, but only younger, and the man was her 'father' and the boy that saved her, was her twin brother Logan.

This was her worst and most terrifing memory, the day that her father came home drunk and tried to kill her, and her brother saved her by killing their 'father'. Sam looked away from them and closed her eyes, she wanted this to go away, she wanted to forget about that day, she had nightmares of him coming after her and trying to kill her again, for weeks. She never wanted to relive this day ever again, and that's exactly what was happening. Right after she closed her eyes, everything went silent, Sam took a deep breath and slowly opened her eyes again.

She looked around and saw that she was in her apartment building, she saw herself standing on the stairs and the Listener talking to her. Sam was confused, but then thought and remembered what this was, this was right before she was knocked out, so this must be a flash back. Sam waited to find out why and by who she was knocked out for. Sam heard the Listener say, '' Look--I know you're hungry right now, so it's not a good time...but...well...'' Sam noticed that the Listener looked a little different than before, she looked like a child asking her mother or father for something. Sam smiled and looked back at herself, she saw herself standing on the stair case, with her back towards the Listener. Sam took a deep breath and waited to see what she said in reply. Sam was shocked, for she couldn't remember this encounter at all. It's like it never happened to Sam. Sam stood quietly in the corner as this encounter unfolded, an encounter that Sam would later end up hating herself for, and wishing that she could stop this from happening.

''Listen, something bad is happening and...well, when you have a moment--i'd like to discuss a few things with you. I know you have no reason to agree--but I...would really appreciate it if you did..." Sam heard the woman say, Sam looked at the woman for a second and sighed, for Sam realized that she was getting nervous. Sam sighed and continued to watch, there was complete silence and no movement for either of the girls. Sam took a deep breath she suddenly caught the scent of blood, she then watched in horror as she saw herself leap from the stairs and jump on the Listener. Sam yelled and to no avail,her yell was on heard, Sam then ran up to herself and started yelling at herself to stop. But, it was like Sam wasn't there, like she could see them, but not be heard. She then saw her get kicked and kicked in the stomach multiple times as the Listener tried to get Sam off and stop sucking her blood.

Sam tried to do something, anything, anything at all to save the poor, Listener's life from being taken. Just when she was about to give up hope, Ethan barged in and ran up to them, Sam smiled as she saw Ethan. She saw Ethan grab her and smash her into the wall, she was then worried for she didn't know what he was going to do, she then saw him raise his hand and then, BLACKOUT!! Everything fell silent and everything went black. Sam then slowly opened her eyes again and blinked. She was stiff, her hearing returned to normal and so did her sight. All of a sudden an extreme pain struck her face, she moaned and held her jaw, Sam looked around and saw Ethan, the Changeling and the Listener all in the same room. Sam blinked a couple of times and looked at the woman, Sam took a deep breath and was about to say something, but she knew it would be better to just stay quiet for now. She sat up and looked around and at her surroundings. She was clearly in a place Sam had never seen before. It looked like some one's apartment. Sam just sat there in silence and didn't look or say anything to anyone. Now that she knew what she did, she couldn't forgive herself for that. Ever.


Characters Present

Character Portrait: Willa Thorn Character Portrait: Sam '' Sammy''  Larson Character Portrait: Nicholas White-Eyes Character Portrait: Ethan Orozco

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Ethan was just sitting calmly, wrapping this girl’s arm in a nice, tight, white bandage when a shrill sound pierced his sensitive ear drums. "ELI!"

Ethan visibly winced and lurched back, squarely missing getting his face slammed into one that did not belong to him, and slapped his hands over his ears.

"W-w-were?! Where am--? What are--?"

Ethan looked at her, a confident snickered written all over his face. “Was that first one a question, or an utterly confused, panicked statement?” Of course his question a more rhetorical one, but he still felt the need to say it. Just as the Were paused to let out another chuckle, her saw the girl fumble backwards and fall off the couch. Ethan’s eyes went wide with surprise and worry, and he leaned forward in attempt to assist her back to her feet. But she scrambled to gather her shattered dignity and quickly regained her composure and crouched solidly. She looked suddenly… angry, and glared up at Ethan. A dumbfounded look came upon her as she finally noticed the clean bandaging on her arm.

"Oh... You did this."

“Duh…” Ethan muttered silently, but realizing that it was rather rude, and regretted saying it.

"Thank you..." Ethan nodded awkwardly, accepting her thanks.

"W-Why did you decide to help me?" She asked suddenly, her voice dry and threatening to crack. "I know why he helped me. He is bound by his promise...and by fear of the light...but...I don't understand you.”

Ethan couldn’t help but let a small grin form on his face. He had been waiting for to ask something like that. “Well…” He muttered, and stood up slowly and began walking over to another part of the room. “I was wondering something about you too, sweetheart…” He sighed, and scratched the back of his head. “Why are you so antsy around me? I don’t mean to pry, but I know we’ve all had our fair share of sad pasts…” Ethan than cringed, his parent’s marble white skin and lifeless, cloudy eyes flashed across this vision. “I mean… I’ve practically hated the entire Vampire species until, well today, to be honest…” He glanced over her shoulders, hands now burrowed into his pockets, and his eyes rested on Sam. They waited there just for moment, but at the perfect moment to see her eye lids fluttered open. “Ahh… speak o’ the devil…”

Ethan strutted his way over to Sam, taking his time, and bent over, shoving his face extremely close to hers. “Sleep well, sugar?” He grinned widely, and a small bump was prominent in the back of his pants. Soon it grew until a small black and white tail poked out from the top of his pants and grew to its full length. It swished back and forth behind him in amusement, and he was rather oblivious to it. He pulled his head back and then crouched down, knees bent outwards. He, once again, shoved his face really close to hers, but his head was bit lower than last time. He pulled his hands out of his pockets and placed his fingertips under her chin. His fingers slowly moved in an outwards motion as he felt along her jawline. His hands traveled over the corner of her jaw and he just grabbed her head, his thumb rubbing Sam’s cheeks.

“It doesn’t look like a broke your jaw… oh, sorry about that, by the way. I sort of… ah… panicked.” Though Ethan hated to admit it, he felt he had to. He flashed a sincere smile and stood back up and then practically skipped over to the fridge, his tail trailing behind him, wiggling in delight. He thrust it open and surveyed the contents. It was rather empty, but it was enough to sustain one person, not four. He pulled out a half empty milk jug and a little bag of about five apples. He grabbed a few cups from a cupboard and poured four glasses. He nudged one in all of their directions. “I don’t have any more bottled water… and the tap tastes almost like metal, so I hope milk is ok.” Ethan said, a bit nervously. He wanted to please his new guests. He grabbed the apples and rubbed them off, and proceeded to put them into a bowl and shove them to the middle of the table. “Help yourselves.” He told the ground, gesturing to the apples. He picked one up himself and dug his sharp canines into the juicy fruit and tore of a piece just before plopping down onto the couch next to Sam.


Characters Present

Character Portrait: Willa Thorn Character Portrait: Sam '' Sammy''  Larson Character Portrait: Nicholas White-Eyes Character Portrait: Ethan Orozco

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"If yer finished mackin' on Orozco, Ah've got some questions. Fer one." Sam saw the Changling turn to look at her, she took a deep breath and was ready for what he was going to say to her. "What were you doin' with th' girl with a bleedin' neck. Both you and Orozco. Two. Th' Bloodless Murders, twelve dead in six months. Two of them my people. What do you know?" Sam took a deep breath and said, '' I was only doing a good deed to help the girl. If I hadn't stepped in, who would have?'' Sam said with her voice getting a little loud. She didn't like being questioned about this. "You lie to me and Ah'll find out. And Ah'll find you." Sam looked back at him and said '' And if you do, I'll be ready for you. But, like I said, I was only doing a good thing. I couldn't let anyone die like that. I'll always do something as long as I can.'' Sam sighed and went to go to the bathroom after Ethan directed her. She stopped dead in her tracks as she heard the Listener say, '' Debello'' That name rang through Sam's ears.

"Do you know the name, Changeling?" Sam didn't wait for an answer frpm him, she sat down again and listened as the woman spoke again. "My name is Willa Thorn...trained by the Master Listener Willow Kirol. And when I was small, she used to tell me a story. A story about a great evil that years before I was born took many lives in New York city. A wave of murders that only had one thing in common: the bodies were found completely drained of blood." Sam took a deep breath and continued to listen.

"The police then were baffled. But my ancestors were not. So again--the Listeners are not baffled. The evil has returned. The vampire Debello." Willa looked hard at each face, impressing the importance of this through her expression. Sam nodded as she realized what happened years ago is happening again. "If the stories are correct, and Debello has come back to raise an army against the Light Song creatures--against anyone that walks with them--there is only one solution." Sam saw Will pause and look at her."And I do not like it. The races have to unite against him once more." She paused, letting this information sink in to the creatures around her.

Sam took a deep breath and said, '' Debello. I never thought I would have to hear that name again. I know about the races being brought together to fight, and I know how difficult it will be.But, I'll be glad to fight Debello.'' Sam took a deep breath and looked back at Willa. '' Willa, I will assist you. I know Debello reigned over twenty five years ago, and I know this will be hard to believe. But, I was there probably around twenty something years after the first attack.'' Sam paused and let what she said sink in to the other's minds . '' Even though I do look eighteen years old. I'm older than that.'' Sam looked at Ethan and smiled, she then said, '' I'm older than Ethan and probably even you, Willa.''

Sam sighed and said, '' I look eighteen, but I'm really twenty eight. There were some people I knew that told me stories of Debello for years. I know about him very well.'' Sam sighed and said, '' I'm the same age as my twin brother, Logan. There's no doubt in my mind that he's a part of this, he's evil through and through. When I saw the girl at the sub way, I had a feeling it was him.'' Sam looked at the three before her and sighed, '' When a Dahampire bites someone, their fangs leave a certain print in the fang mark. It's like when you shoot a gun, the gun imprints the bullet with a groove to match the gun. That's what happens when we bite people or animals. ''

Sam took another deep breath and finished by saying, '' When I saw the bite, it had the same printing as my brother has. I'm almost sure he's working for Debello. And the only reason if he is. It's that he wants to find me......so he can kill me.'' Sam looked at the three before her and let the strange, but true information sink into the others.


Characters Present

Character Portrait: Willa Thorn Character Portrait: Sam '' Sammy''  Larson Character Portrait: Nicholas White-Eyes Character Portrait: Ethan Orozco

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"Wait, what?" the Were said in a rather exasperated tone. His icy blue gaze scanned over the group that was in his apartment. "You expect us to just rise up and defeat this Debello guy? I've heard quite a bit about him actually. It was a story passed down by my grandmother. I had no idea it was true..." He sighed, rubbing the back of his neck.

Willa expected this sort of reaction. It was only natural. She expected his questions would soon be followed by more. Instead, he seemed to gather himself, calm and said, "So, How are we going to do this? I mean... are we don't this ourselves or are we going to need help? I've got some buddies..."

He trailed off, seeming as overwhelmed as Willa felt. Willa nodded, about to speak when Sam suddenly perked up. She agreed to help as well, and even admitted she was older than she looked. (Something Willa had partially guessed. Her kind never did age right.) But what she said after made Willa a bit more nervous.

'' I'm the same age as my twin brother, Logan. There's no doubt in my mind that he's a part of this, he's evil through and through. When I saw the girl at the sub way, I had a feeling it was him.'' Sam looked at the three before her and sighed, '' When a Dhampire bites someone, their fangs leave a certain print in the fang mark. It's like when you shoot a gun, the gun imprints the bullet with a groove to match the gun. That's what happens when we bite people or animals. When I saw the bite, it had the same printing as my brother has. I'm almost sure he's working for Debello. And the only reason if he is. It's that he wants to find me......so he can kill me.'' ''

Logan? Great. Another reason to dislike her kind. Especially if they were foolish enough to join up with Debello. Debello would surely have plenty of use for a Dhampire. Someone to stalk prey for them during the day. Now, they wouldn't even be safe in the daylight. (An advantage she had been counting on.) Willa frowned as she absorbed this but simply said,

"That is a problem...if you have this Dhampire after you already, it will make it much easier for Debello to track us..." Willa looked up into Sam's eyes. Willa's expression seemed cold. "You may be more of a hindrance than a help, in that case...but...i'm in no position to refuse your help.."

Willa's train of thought was interrupted by the changeling, who introduced himself as Nicholas. Even though she wasn't on the brink of unconsciousness anymore--he was still difficult to understand completely. Willa had to concentrate hard to get his meaning, but gathered that he understood the immensity of the problem, and he seemed willing to cooperate as well. Three. Together they made four. Four of them against an army...the odds were not in their favor.

But Nicholas had more to offer--The Autumn Coronation. Willa had read about that.

"Ah can get ya'll in an'. Vouch fer ya'll. Get us an audience with th' Ashen King. Or Queen. Spread th' word 'bout yer Blood-Sucker ganglord. Rally th' fighters in Summer Court, prep th' safehouses in th' Winter Court. Get healers from th' Spring Court. Th' works."

Willa's eyes went wide. That would be risky. (Not to mention deafening....) She would be exposing herself to a very very large group of changelings. But--Nicholas was bound to her by his word to protect her--for at least half a day more. And if they managed to rally the support of that large of a group of changelings--they would have half an army of their own. This would be their best shot at getting a large group to unite quickly. Willa chewed her bottom lip as she thought.

The Changeling knocked his knuckles on the table. "Sound's good?

"Yes." Willa said firmly. "This will be our best shot..." I'm going to need earplugs...Willa thought wincing a little as she moved her injured arm too quickly. She was surprised by how easily the three creatures agreed to help. And...somewhat thankful. She disliked talking. And persuasion would have required more talking for sure. She looked from face to face, looking tense but also--was that a hint of a smile? When she realized her expression--it was gone. Wiped from existence before it was barely born. "Thank you all for your cooperation. I know it is not ideal..."