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Path to Transgression

Las Vegas, Nevada

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a part of Path to Transgression, by Beeps.

None

Beeps holds sovereignty over Las Vegas, Nevada, giving them the ability to make limited changes.

228 readers have been here.

Copyright: The creator of this roleplay has attributed some or all of its content to the following sources:

http://www.roleplaygateway.com/roleplay/sonder

Setting

Default Location for Path to Transgression
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Minimap

Las Vegas, Nevada is a part of Path to Transgression.

1 Places in Las Vegas, Nevada:

3 Characters Here

Jettie Greene [20] "One stitch at a time..."
Michael [4] Guardian Angel

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Characters Present

Character Portrait: Damien O'Dwyer Character Portrait: Jettie Greene
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#, as written by conor
Damien's eyes opened to the view of his ceiling. Above him a pristine white fan swirled almost hypnotically. Damien's eyes were blurry from his sleep. Rubbing his eyes with the palms of his hands he cleared his vision and sat up on his bed. His house was perfectly clean. Which wasn't as he remembered it. Quickly glancing down at his bedside clock he saw the LED lights blinking 22:00. "Oh god did I sleep that long" he let out a soft grunt and fell backwards into his bed. The cleaning service people must have come and gone in the time he was asleep.

Eventually he motivated himself up once more and flung his feet over the side of the bed. The cold air from a fan beside his bed brushed past his bare skin making the hairs stand up. He looked down on his chest at the various scars and tattoo's littered across him. He remembered almost every day of his life perfectly. Horrific battles and lonely nights. Hell it's how he made a living, writing "fictional" stories about battles he had lived through. Made him a pretty penny too. Which showed in house.

Damien put on some clothes and called a taxi. "Sure jesus the whole day is gone I might as well go out and enjoy the last of it." When the taxi eventually arrived he closed the door behind him and hopped in. "Take me down to Lucy's on the strip will ya?" The taxi driver scrunched up his face looking perplexed. After a brief second or two it clicked and he pulled the car away. Some people here still struggled with his thick Irish accent. Most people could just about decipher his accent straight away, but there were the odd few like the taxi driver who needed a few seconds to register what had been said. It never bothered Damien, hell that was his best weapon when it came to free drinks and attractive ladies. And he certainly made the most of both.

After a 25 minute down to the strip he handed the taxi driver his money with a small tip and walked into the Casino. He was greeted by an explosion of warm air and noise as people shifted and scurried across the casino floor. He brushed off his tight black suit and wandered straight towards the bar, dodging people as he went. Before long he found himself sitting on a barstool with his hands crossed on the counter. He'd never visited here before, it was nice. He noticed a rather attractive bartender and softly raised his hand in the air. "House whiskey, no ice please"

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Character Portrait: Damien O'Dwyer Character Portrait: Jettie Greene
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#, as written by Beeps
In Vegas it was hard to judge anyone by their looks alone for what they appeared to be is not always what they were. Most everyone was someone else outside of the sinful city's limits. People came here from all over the world to get away from their mundane lives and instead submerge into a wilder and seemingly limitless version of themselves. All for the promises of excitement, wonder and possibilities that the city reeked of.

Jettie was doing this now with her new patron, glancing him over as he adjusted himself atop the plush barstool, trying to guess at what brought him to Vegas. From appearance alone she was guessing he was probably a musician. One of those that sang about how cool it was to be uncool with the occasional raspy blues number about how their lover was addicted to heroin. She pictured him holding some rusty looking steal guitar under a flickering bulb upon a small stage in a smokey bar.

When he beckoned her over, she was quick to answer, leaning slightly towards him over the sleek surface of finely polished cherry to better hear his order. The man's voice threw her way off her original guess. She had been expecting some southern Appalachia draw to emit slowly from his lips. Instead he held a thick Irish accent that left her furrowing her brows as she mentally repeated his words. Accents were a common thing here as many of the guests were from all corners of the earth, just not what she had envisioned for this guest in particular.

"Coming right up," Jettie answered promptly, giving him a quick nod. She had a handful of comebacks for customers that she rotated throughout the night. Silly as it sounded, it helped keep things uniform and kept her from having to think too much. Several times she had been accused of being too chatty with customers, so the simple programmed responses helped keep the interactions short and prevented her from saying something weird and awkward to a complete stranger. Though that did happen on occasion...

Quickly she gripped a flared low ball glass from rack over her head and placed it gently on the counter. Turning slightly she reached for a bottle of what she dubbed to be the house whiskey which happened to be Jack Daniels. She wondered for a moment if she should have chosen an Irish import, but reminded herself that he did say house. A small grin snaked across her glossy lips as she mused over the opinions of an Irish man on Tennessee whiskey. Temporarily distracted by those thoughts, she mechanically scooped out a piece of ice in the shape of a perfect sphere and landed it into the low ball before pouring over the alcohol.

Finishing up the order she shoved her thoughts away and produced the drink before the man. It wasn't until just as her fingertips were leaving the glass that she realized her mistake. Ice. He said no ice.

A soft pink blush graced her cheeks as she briefly glanced at his face and fumbled out an apology, "I'm so sorry. You said no ice. It's just... ya' know... Habit and they like us to use these fancy ice cubes... balls... I mean they're not really cubes, they're more like balls. Spheres, rather..."

And there was that stumbling nonsense suddenly bubbly up that she tried her best to avoid. At least while she was rambling, Jetting was preparing him another drink. No ice this time around and by the second time she said balls awkwardly in front of this handsome in a homeless way stranger, she had produced his correct order.

Jettie finished up with an apologetic smile as she met his eyes directly for the first time since he sat down, "Again, sorry. I don't usually..." Something made her stop mid sentence. There was a familiarity to the man's face, mainly his eyes. A sense of déjà vu swept over her as she struggled to try and place how exactly she knew him. A list of likely possibilities scrolled through her thoughts; from high school to college to past jobs. None quite fit.

Curiosity pulled her head to one side, sending a mass of wavy hair cascading to one shoulder, "Have we met? You look so... familiar..."

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Character Portrait: Damien O'Dwyer Character Portrait: Jettie Greene
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#, as written by Beeps
"Oh... Yeah. You're probably right." Jettie replied giving him a smile and a nod in agreement, then quickly realized just what it sounded like she was agreeing to. "No! I mean... You're right about the bartender and alcohol thing. I don't want to get to know you more." That was rude. "Well, I mean not that I don't want to, just I don't say things like that to get to know people. Like pick up lines. I don't use pick up lines on guys." Shit. "Not that I use them on girls! I like guys, like you. You're cute. I like your face. The hair on your face. Your... beard is cool."

Your beard is cool?!

An awkward smile spread across her glossy lips as she finally managed to rein in her nervous rambling. She would have loved nothing more than to silently sink behind the counter and bang her head against the stainless steel sink. Her face and chest felt like they were flaming and likely were the shade of a ripened tomato by now. Luckily the lighting above the bar was tinted red; maybe he wouldn't notice... Hopefully he wouldn't notice... Doubtful.

Pull yourself together Jettie!, she silently scolded. She hadn't felt this embarrassed since the time her bikini top came off at the bottom of the water slide on a middle school field trip. Visions of the dozens of pointing and laughing preteen boys flashed across her thoughts as she suppressed a cringe. Come on, Jet. This interaction with this stranger is nowhere near as bad as that traumatic experience.

Inhaling a deep breath, she managed to relax her smile some and even allow a small laugh to escape her lips as she looked apologetically to her patron. She vowed not to say anything else ridiculously embarrassing... And to keep her top. Play it smooth. "Is there anything else I can get you?"

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Character Portrait: Damien O'Dwyer Character Portrait: Jettie Greene
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#, as written by conor
Damien sat amused by the her. Try as she might she couldn't get the right words out and he could just about see the embarrassment on her face, although the lighting certainly helped her over most of it. Her discomfort was apparent. "Well if that's the way you speak to new customers I can see why all these old fogeys here come and stay at the bar" Damien glanced sideways at the patons to his left and right. Hell, who was he to call anyone here old, he was borderline ancient at this point. At the realisation his smile slid away and was replaced by the usual.

Peering down through his glass his face turned to a solemn pose. 800 years of existence, he wouldn't wish that anyone. Too many friends and loved ones withered away while he stayed the same. He took a last swig of his drink. The sweet velvety liquid burned his throat just the way he liked it. He could smell the last remaining fumes from the base of the tumbler waft up into his nostrils causing him to wince just a little.

"Another whiskey wouldn't go a miss, Irish if you have it, this house stuff is too damn sweet for me. I need something about stronger tonight I think. Besides, I'm sure another few seconds here with me and you'll be fit to melt down" He chuckled and place the glass back down on the table. He was certainly settling in for the long haul now. Might as well drink something worth the effort. Maybe he would get lucky and her shift would end. Either way, he needed to find out if she was really who he had been assigned, but right at this moment he was in no mood.

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Character Portrait: Damien O'Dwyer Character Portrait: Jettie Greene
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#, as written by conor
Damien rejected the opportunity to have another poke. He let her be as she turned back to the bar. As she reached up to the top shelf Damien cocked his head to the side. "Not bad" he said to himself. Suddenly there was a small little nudge into his rib cage. Shifting his attention from the bartender to an older gentleman to his left he was greeted by an almost toothless smile and a wink. The old man nodded in the direction of the bartender and raised his glass. Damien couldn't help but laugh. If it was one thing that never changed it was the language of men.

Before he had time to think anymore she was back, with a new drink. The honey coloured sitting in the glass perched upon the counter. The girl looked somewhat anxious. She definitely made him curious thats for sure. Eventually he reached out and firmly grasped the tumbler in his hand. He brought it close to his nose and let the smell drift its way upwards and tingle his senses. Finally putting the glass to his lips he tasted the whiskey. Transported back he could almost visualise the Irish coastline, rolling green meadows and busy city streets. It felt good. "I tell you what, that's beautiful. Blended whiskey, but not Jameson. What is it? Reminds me of home"

After taking another sip he placed the glass back down atop one of the various coasters scattered around the bar. Damien turned his interest to the woman in front of him once more. "So, seeming as you don't seem to be serving any other customers, why don't you humour me. Whats your name. Tell me something about you. Drinking isn't as fun if you sit doing it alone."

He looked at her again "What's someone like you doing here in this cesspit. I can't imagine you came for the bountiful career opportunities? Then again, maybe I'm wrong."

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Character Portrait: Damien O'Dwyer Character Portrait: Jettie Greene
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#, as written by conor
Damien stared intently at the glass as he discovered the name of the contents within. "Tullamore Dew eh? Well the name seems familiar but I can't say the taste rings any bells. It is wonderful though." He took another large sip from the glass almost emptying it contents. "Legendary? Oh well I bet that's just something they put on the label to sell to Americans" he laughed and then re-adjusted himself on the bar stool to correct his posture which had gradually slouched down since his arrival.

"Jettie, well isn't that an interesting name. Can't say I've ever heard that name before. Then again, there are loads of names here that seem strange to me. You would think I'd be used to it at this stage but I guess you always find names that seem weirder than the last. Not that your name is....weird or anything..." Bringing his hand up to his forehead he began slowly rubbing his temple. Smooth damien, talk about a shitty way to chat someone up. In reality this was miles out of his comfort zone. His normal routine consisted of buying someone drinks from across the bar, silent head nods, an eventual frisky taxi ride home and, well you can guess from there.

This girl was different though, and he was now seriously considering if she was his new assignment. That would make everything all kinds of complicated. He was the worst person, or demon as the case may be, to be assigned to an attractive woman. That's just plain silly. He wondered what kind of games they were playing downstairs. For some reason he was always surprised that other demons liked to play tricks too. He was pretty old for a demon, maybe they felt his time doing the exciting stuff was finished. Was he being retired slowly? Wait, can a demon retire? He found the thought incredulous. Nonetheless he needed to dig even further to be certain.

"Costume design, interesting. That would explain why you are all the way out here in Vegas. Although judging by the fact we are sitting here at the bar it hasn't quite hit off for you yet?" He wondered if it was a case of inexperience or just a saturated market. Maybe she just needed the right break at the right time. Hell maybe she just wasn't that good. Not that he would say that to her. A quick glance to his right allowed him to spot the whispers and glances of the other bar staff. He wasn't as subtle as he thought he was it would appear.

It was then that she decided to play the game with a hab of her own. "Well frankly I'm upset that I wasn't offered any fine crystal or golden chalices upon arrival. Hardly a classy institution if I have to insult the place before i get such luxuries now is it?" A sly smile crept across his face accompanied by a casual but brief wink of his left eye. He was in.

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Character Portrait: Damien O'Dwyer Character Portrait: Jettie Greene
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#, as written by conor
Damien laughed. "Don't get me started on weird things here; everything seems so alien and silly. Taking your example of cars for instance. Gas, you call a liquid gas! Which gobshite thought of that? The strange looks I get when I go in and pay for 'petrol' you'd swear I had two heads the way people looked in disgust. I'll never get used it I guess"

Pulling back another large mouthful of the newly replaced whiskey he glanced down at the remnants. It was very good whiskey, very smooth. He was surprised he had never heard of it before. No mind tasted it. Maybe he had years ago and forgotten. Although surely he would have remembered the taste. He'd had more than his fair share over the centuries. Some better than others but this stuff, this was very good.

"The age old saying it's not what you know but who you know then? I guess that's bound to happen in a place like Vegas. So many hopefuls flocking to the city there’s going to be people pushed to the side." When she told him that she was doing her best to get to know people he looked up and his eyes met with hers. At that moment he realised two things. One; she had the most captivating green eyes he had ever seen. And two; that he was feeling something for this woman, and he was unsure whether they were feelings of a guy falling for a girl or the kind of feeling only a certain kind of person can trigger in a demon. Separately these were great. Together they might be trouble.

As she broke the intense stare he shook his head and blinked his eyes. "I'm sure there are plenty of people who would like to get to know you." He pulled the glass closer once more and drained the contents lifting his eyebrow over the top to see her reaction. "I'm sure you do get some good tippers, although I can be a mean one. Especially if I know my bartender is trying to get me drunk. That's entrapment you know" he winked at her and moved around in his seat to re-attain some comfort.

"She is playing with you Damien" he said to himself as she smiled and tucked her hair behind her ear. "Well if you're offering me that I suppose I'm kind of obliged to come back next time aren't I? And I do expect the diamond glass or a golden chalice. Both would complement my ego just nicely"
When she asked about him brought his hand up to his beard and pulled his fingers through it. “My name is Damien, and I am an author” Very boring I know, but that’s me."

Characters Present

Character Portrait: Damien O'Dwyer Character Portrait: Jettie Greene Character Portrait: Michael
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#, as written by conor
"Maybe it is charming, or maybe they just say that to the attractive people" Damien was happy. He couldn't remember the last time he genuinely enjoyed himself. God what a miserable bastard he was. He had more money than he needed, and practical immortality and all he felt was depressed. He missed war, it was his purpose. It was what he was created for and yet he hadn’t been assigned to a solider in 50 years. I don't suppose anyone's ever had the feeling before. Yet here he was, for the first time in years enjoying, his job? Was she his ward? He never had this kind of trouble before, why was he finding this so difficult. It was frustrating him to no end, a part of him wanted to be her ward. However the other part knew that it was most certainly a bad idea.

"Well that might be the case, but you certainly aren't helping me in my sobriety now are you? Although I suppose I am to blame for asking for it in the first place.” Damien was watching her movements as she talked, it was memorising. He happened to pick up on the last bit of her sentence and almost choked on the air he was inhaling. “How attentive she is to my needs? wow Damien mind out of the gutter.” At this moment he could chose two paths. Keep the innocent flirting or take the bold route and see how she reacted. He took the latter.

“How attentive you are to my needs? Sounds like you’re offering to moonlight as some kind of masseuse. I’d be careful what kind of person you say that too, you know lest they get the idea in their head” Well there was no going back from that. He’d either get a swift slap across the face and his night would be in vain or judging by her previous interactions her cheeks would go redder than a tomato and go from there. He couldn't help but let go of a cheeky grin.

“Gold chalice and diamond glass on the same night, you must really want a nice tip” Damien realised he was craving his nightly relief. Usually his nights consisted of heavy drinking and chain smoking. Neither of those had been achieved yet. Hard to ignore ones vices when they are knocking on your door. He could feel the pack of cigarettes pushing against his leg through his pants pocket, but he dared not take them out. Not right now anyway, the last thing he wanted to do was break the conversation. He began hopping his leg up and down beneath the bar to take his mind off of it.

“Science-fiction? No, nothing like that. Although my publisher has tried convincing me to, I’d be terrible at that stuff. No my field of writing is a bit more boring. History” As soon as he finished the sentence he had a sharp sensation shoot up his spine. His face drooped as he tried to turn his head left and right so that it wouldn't seem like he was looking for someone. He didn't physically recognise anyone but there was an Angel lurking around. But whose angel was it, was the more important question on Damien’s mind. Demons weren't liked by Angels, they got in the way and tainted their wards. He also knew that he was part of a group of demons that were vilified by the Angels for the methods he used. Hard to keep your ward pure and alive if you had a mischievous Demon tainting them and leading them down the path of sin in the name of achieving happiness.

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Character Portrait: Damien O'Dwyer Character Portrait: Jettie Greene
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#, as written by Beeps
"I can't help what ideas might pop into my patrons' heads while I'm pouring their beverages. I'm just here to fetch drinks... And straws and napkins, coasters... golden chalices. Whatever makes them happy..." As Jettie answered, she grinned through another genuine laugh that was more like a salaciously soft giggle. She decided to refill his glass. Only this time instead of bringing the glass closer to her, she leaned in toward him. Her arm outstretched the length of the bar so that she could reach it from its resting spot in front of Damian.

As the golden hued liquid rushed from the tip of bottle and splashed into the tumble, she raised her eyes to briefly meet his before looking down again to prevent herself from overfilling the drink. His eyes were the palest shade of blue she had ever seen. They were beautiful yet deep and alluring. Just looking into them, she felt her body temperature rise and her heart quicken. She needed to be careful. Too much flirting with this one and she could get herself into trouble. When the drink was fully topped off, she brought the bottle upright and looked at him again.

Deep, deep trouble.

But she couldn't just stop cold turkey. Jettie was on a role, she was never this flirty and even if she was trying she was never any good at it. Something about Damian was bringing out a side of her she'd yet to explore. Some charismatic version of herself that men might actually think was sexy and charming and not clueless and clumsy. It felt empowering and seductive. Maybe she would get a good tip from him. Maybe she'd get something else...

"Though I have to admit, I'm not a very experienced masseuse. So if that is what you are expecting, I'm afraid you'll be very disappointed." Another smile graced her glossy lips. This was definitely reeking of flirtation. She needed to stop and now. Jettie could't even glance down the bar anymore to even see if the others needed her help. She didn't care and for the moment she had forgotten they existed.

Slowly Jettie brought her arm back to her side of the counter and sat the whiskey bottle out of site before resting elbows atop of the smooth surface. She tilted her head to the side again, sending her bouncing waves cascading again, "History? Really? As in... Historical novels or like.. Actual history books used in the classroom?" She was honestly interested in knowing about his writing. And about him in general. He did not put off that scholar vibe at all but to know he was smart and attractive only made him more compelling.

Characters Present

Character Portrait: Damien O'Dwyer Character Portrait: Jettie Greene Character Portrait: Michael
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#, as written by conor
Damien was now smiling and laughing along with almost everything she said. So much so that his jaw was almost hurting. It had been a while since he had felt this alive. There was definitely an innocence in this girl, but also something dormant awaiting deep inside just looking for the right moment to explode into life. That would be his job.

She spoke with confidence, and charm. It was a ballsy attitude and a risky path to take, but it was working Damien was hooked. He looked at her face again. Her golden hair bobbed as she talked, it almost looked like her hair was making her whole face glow. He shook his head and took another large gulp of the newly re-filled whiskey. She was certainly doing a number on him. Now he would have to capitalise and drive the deal home. At least, he hoped thats where the night would end.

"That's a shame, I bet you'd make a great masseuse, get all the customers." Damien rubbed his forehead and blinked his eyes a few times. Perhaps drinking at such a speed was a poor decision given the circumstances. It always annoyed him how even supernatural beings like himself still suffered the same debilitating effects of intoxicants as humans did. He was always told it was to keep them 'grounded'. Sounded like a serious design flaw if you asked him. Although there was probably a reason for it Damien didn't care to discover it, he was happy enough to just get angry at it. Hell, it made him appreciate the stuff more. Wheres the fun in alcohol if you can't get drunk.

"No, not like schoolbooks. I write mostly fictional stuff, made up characters dropped in real world events. Kind of a pseudo-history. The characters might not be real but the events and details around them are historical fact. I did try my hand at one or two factual books but I much prefer writing the fiction. It comes easier to me." Yea, it was much easier to write about everything he had been through than make real stuff up. That made total sense. Who was he to complain though, they made him a fortune.

At that moment he was suddenly interrupted. His sense went into overload and he realised this was the angel that he had felt nearby. Now it all made sense. He was her angel. Everything clicked into place. There was no doubt in his mind about her. He was her ward. He let himself crack a cheeky smile before coming to the realisation of what was happening. She was quickly shuffled away and silenced by the angel. As she disappeared behind him Damien mustered the energy to stand up, albeit a bit off balance thanks to the drink but he gained his composure pretty fast.

Slowly he moved in towards the angel. "I know what you are, and you know what I am. More importantly judging from your reaction you know who I am. So lets get the record straight. I always get the job done There's nothing you can do. Remember this is Vegas, the city of sin. You're already a hundred steps behind me." Damien winked and cracked a devious smile. The game was just about to begin, and he had a head start. Now all he had to do was find her again.

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Character Portrait: Damien O'Dwyer Character Portrait: Michael
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#, as written by Beeps
Michael waited till Jettie retreated away from the bar before he responded to the demon. He did not want her to see him talking to the vermin; the last thing he needed was for her to butt in when she had no idea what was really happening. To her, this demon was just a flirtatious smile and a promise of a good tip, at least that is all he hoped that she was thinking. She couldn't possibly be actually attracted to him. He looked dirty and homeless. Jettie would never go for it. She liked fit guys who dressed well and kept their face clean shaven. Someone more like Michael.

"Get the job done?" Michael scoffed as he watched the demon all but wobble to a stand. "Vegas or Sodom and Gomorrah, it would not make a difference, Filth." He let his molten chocolate eyes scan briefly over the demon, "You don't know her and you never will. I advise you stay away. Far away. This is your first warning. You will not be getting another..."

Michael started to turn to leave but met the Demon's eyes one last time, "At least not in this friendly of a manner."

With that Michael stalked off, giving Andrea and Rob warning shots not to question him as he passed. Rumors would be flying at the watering hole tonight no doubt. But it couldn't be helped. He could not let that demon weasel his way into Jettie's life. He would not let that happen, Lord willing. And certainly God would not want to give one such as Jettie over to the demons. She was too sweet and pure. Even despite his lack of guidance over the years, still she had managed. Surely it was not all for not. No, Michael would have to behave and pay more attention from now on.

Starting right now, Michael resolved as he made his way back to the employee lounge. However it took longer than expected. He got stopped three times to deal with managerial issues. An upset customer who swore the machine didn't give her her proper winnings, someone complaining about bathroom cleanliness and honestly he toned out most of the last confrontation. If he was going to get serious about keeping Jettie away from the demon's temptations, he would would have to start by quitting this damned job!

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Character Portrait: Jettie Greene
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#, as written by Beeps
Jettie gained a few curious looks from some coworkers as she slammed shut the door of her assigned locker. The metallic banging vibrated through the employee lounge bring the few conversations of breaking workers to a moment of silence. Adjusting the strap of her shoulder bag she gave the small congregation a quick apologetic smile and made a hurried dash toward the exit. Behind her the action was already being forgotten as jokes and the exchanging of tales perked back up over bag lunches.

Michael's actions had left her confused and frustrated. She was a good employee; showed up on time, rarely made mistakes, was friendly with the customers. Why had he acted so short and frankly like an ass the one time she chose to genuinely talk with a guest? It was not like Andrea and Rob wasn't keeping up with the customers. They even encouraged it!

Steaming silently to herself, Jettie weaved through a serious of hallways and elevators that was marked for employees only. Eventually she would come to a small desk where she would clock out and a security officer would allow her passage through a private employee door that lead out into the parking garage reserved for workers who drove. Jettie didn't drive tonight. Instead she walked; the same as most nights. It gave her some time to unwind after a long shift, saved money and allowed her to take in a few city sights along the way home. All that plus her car was an embarrassment that only decided to crank up about every four times she tried to start it.

She had traded in the bright red Lucy's vest for a thin white sweater that slipped over her now untucked oxford. She was glad she had made the exchange when a small vortex of chilly night air hit her as she stepped out into a side ally between the parking garage and another tall casino building. In the late summer, the day could reach upward of 100 degrees in Vegas, but at night it could take a cool dip. Those nights, like tonight, she was thankful she always had a sweater or jacket.

Usually Jettie took the long way home. Leaving Lucy's she would walk down the main strip for quite a ways then down an almost equally side street and back up to her small apartment building. Tonight, however, she did not quite feel like dealing with the upbeat and eccentric Vegas nightlife. Instead she turned down the alley to start on the shorter route that weaved in and out of alley and cramped back service roads till eventually it would spit her out on her street.

Some would argue that this path was more dangerous, but in Vegas at night, it didn't really matter which way you went. Either way you would definitely have at least one run in with either a vagrant or some form of low life. Jettie was rarely worried. Eleven o'clock at night differed little from eleven o'clock during the day. There were still plenty of regular workers and tourists bustling about and with all the lights blazing there were few spots in Vegas that was dark and foreboding.

Still, she held onto her bag tightly and kept up a brisk pace as her thoughts returned to mull over the night's events. Part of her wanted to turn around and lurk by Lucy's entrance for Damian to exit. Creepy as that sounded, she didn't like that her time with him had abruptly stopped. She hadn't even gotten the chance to tell him bye or that she hoped to see him again or exchange phone numbers... Not that she would have been brave enough to outright ask, but she might have been if given the chance! They maybe could have even went for a drink after her shift was over... Who knows?

The possibilities of what could have been and if onlys streamed across her mind but even as tempting as most of them were, she never veered off the path that would lead her home. Now that Damian wasn't directly in front of her, she found that most of her new found boldness had evaporated into the cool night air and was replaced by doubt and skepticism. She was probably reading more into their brief encounter more than she should. It was likely Damian had already forgotten her name.

Sighing and folding her arms tightly under her breasts, Jettie continued homeward bound as thoughts of the mysteriously handsome Irish writer distracted her from most of world around her.

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Character Portrait: Damien O'Dwyer Character Portrait: Michael
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#, as written by conor
Damien watched as the angel walked away after his rather dull spiel, melting into the crowd that swirled around him. "What a dick" he said, not having any care for whoever heard him say it. The angels little speech certainly gave off an air of confidence, but Damien didn't fall for any of it. He was clearly threatened by the presence of a demon. Perhaps even jealous? All Damien cared about is that he had ruffled the feathers of the pompous little prick. He could feed off of that fun alone. There were few things in the world more enjoyable than getting under the skin of an angel.

Unfortunately though, the angel had managed to put an end to his evening. Going to another drinking hole and continuing the night didn't seem as exciting without the thought of an attractive bartender to pass the time. He could visualise her face, her blonde hair bobbing up and down as she smiled with rosy red cheeks. And her eyes, damn you could get lost in them. Damien shook his head and snapped out of it. Certain he must of looked like a right old eejit standing in the middle of a busy casino staring into the distance. Reaching into his pocket he pulled out his wallet and unfolded it. Selecting a few of the crisp green notes to pull out and place on the bar.

Navigating his way through the swarm of people he managed to break out and reach the door. As it opened he was blasted by a wall of the cool night time air. He hadn't realised how warm it was inside. How on earth anyone could work in there for more than a few hours puzzled him. Maybe they just learned to block it out. The cooler temperatures were much more his style. He was used to the Irish climate. The kind of place where a double digit temperature in Celsius was considered a warm day. Yet he came all the way to the middle of a desert. His own logic sometimes puzzled him. As a demon though it was easy to put things down to fate. He was just a pawn in a bigger game. It didn't bother him though, because the game was fun.

He found himself walking aimlessly down the street. Traffic whizzed by and all the lights of the Vegas strip dazzled with a blinding intensity. It sure was a one of a kind place. He'd never seen anything like it that's for sure. Granted most of his travels had him in Europe up until now. Still, it was quite a site.

He pulled out the pack of cigarettes that had spent the evening squashed in his pants pocket. Flipping open the lid with his thumb he selected one and pulled it out of the cardboard box. He pushed the box back into his pocket and replaced it with a lighter. An old bronze lighter that he got almost 100 years ago from World War I. Picked it up off of some poor French guy who certainly wouldn't have needed it anymore anyway. He fiddled with it between his fingers for a bit and eventually brought it up to the cigarette that was now protruding from his lips. Using his hand as a shield against the wind he flicked the flint of the lighter and held the flame under the tip of the cigarette. A quick puff and he was away. The end of the cigarette glowing a soft orange as he put the lighter away.

The smell of burning tobacco filled the air around him. Therapeutic he claimed. It's not as if it could kill him anyway so why not? It certainly took away some of the tension as he blocked out the sounds of the busy street. So, Jettie was his new ward. It was certainly going to be an interesting story. Tempt her down the path of sin? He was certain he could do that anyway. He'd already made headway before the bloody angel barged in. Her guardian of course, he knew now anyway that he was in the picture. Shrugging his shoulders he looked once more on to the busy road, back to the street and leaning against a lamppost. He might as well finish his cigarette before hailing a taxi. Take in some more of the desert air before heading home.

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Character Portrait: Jettie Greene
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#, as written by Beeps
A tiny glimmer in the alleyway caused Jettie to pause. She looked all around her to see if anyone else noticed. There were only a few others walking hurriedly through the alley and none seemed to pay her or the glimmer any attention. Her curiosity perked as she slowed and approached where she had seen the light. It only flickered once, like perhaps a light cell phone or something of the like had flashed.

Scanning the dimmly lit area, she saw nothing but random bits of trash and debris that commonly gathered between the large buildings. Hmm... Jetting shook her head and chalked it up to just her eyes playing tricks on her. In a city plum full of neon it was bound to happen every once in a while. That being tired and still frustrated over the evenings earlier events. Still... the light was odd.

Just as she was about to shrug it off and continue onward, a hand touched her shoulder followed by a raspy voice, "Spare a little change?"

Jettie yelped as she instinctively jerked from the grip and spun to face the culprit. Her heart was racing as she discovered it only to be a little old lady. Homeless she guessed by the look of the woman's ragged and dirty clothes. Not to mention the stench that seemed to seep off her in waves. Jettie's nose crinkled in disaproval but quickly she tried to regain her composure to not hurt the smiling woman's feelings.

"Change? Just a bit. Whatever you can spare."

"I-I, um," Jettie cleared her throat trying to ease her nerves from the sudden scare, "Yes. I should have some. Just let me..." She trailed off, offering the woman a smile before she turned her attention to the flap on her bag. Her still shaking hands fumbled for a moment before they calmed enough to allow her to undo the buckle and dig around the inside.

"Yes, yes," The woman said as she watched Jettie excitedly, inching closer as Jettie had her eyes downcast. "Please, whatever you can spare. I haven't eaten since yesterday. I'd like to go to a buffet. There's one two blocks from here that is only nine ninety nine. They've got crab legs. I love crab legs..."

Jettie glanced up as she pulled out her wallet. The woman was grinning to show off her near rotted teeth. The smile on Jet's face faltered slightly as the strench of decay hit her nose. Quickly she pulled out a ten dollar bill. "Here, this should cover the buffet." She nearly thrust it the woman, as if using it as a barrier between herself and the smell.

"Is this... all you have?" The woman snatched the bill and quickly shoved it into some unseen hideaway pocket near her bosom. Still she seemed to loom in Jettie's direction as she stared. It made Jet feel very uneasy.

"Well..."

Jettie swallowed as lies flashed across her thoughts. Tell her it's all the cash you have. Tell her you only have your credit card. Tell her you're broke. Tell her you're homeless too. Anything. Keep her away from you!

Then another small voice spoke up. You shouldn't lie Jettie. She's just hungry and poor. Look at her. Look at her teeth. She's in poor health. You should help her.

"No... I do I have a bit more..." Jettie admitted in defeat as she went to rummage through her wallet again. Luckily she didn't have on her that much more. Most of the customers tended to tip via their charge cards these days and that money wouldn't show up till when she received her weekly pay check. It seemed annoying at the time, now she was a bit glad for it. Truly she did have about forty more dollars in cash on her. Should she give it all to this homeless woman?

Before she could think it through, and before she could get the first dollar out, she was hit from behind. Her wallet flew from her hands as she was slammed into the brick wall closest to her. A jolt of pain shot up and down her back causing her vision to blur. Gasping and jerking, Jettie tried to free herself from the strong hands that held her against the warm bricks. Blinking through the swirling spots of pain, she saw that two men held her in place, one of each side. But how? Wide-eyed she glanced them over. They were both dressed in similar distressed garb and reeked of garbage and surprisingly both seemed to be as old and frail as the woman, who was now cackling a low triumphant laugh.

"Such a good girl Jettie..." A glimmer shown as the woman slowly reached into one of her hidden pockets and pulled out a brilliant white knife. Only it was like no knife like Jettie every seen before. At least not in real life, maybe in some fantasy medieval movie. It had a golden hilt and the blade seemed to glow with a bright white light. "Always doing what is right..."

"Wh-what are you doing?" Jettie stammered in a small voice as the woman stepped closer to her bringing the knife too close for comfort. "No. Stop!" Jettie pretested as she struggled, her heart and head racing in fear, "I was helping you! I was giving you money. Why are you doing this?" Now she felt as if she were screaming as she squirmed and pulled and tried to break free from the men's impossibly ironclad grip.

Yes! Scream! Scream for help. Someone will hear you!

"Help! Please! Help!" Jettie yelled and gasped as she pulled up her legs and attempted to kick at the approaching women who only seemed to giggle in delight as she raised the knife and aimed for Jettie's throat.

This can't be happening!

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Character Portrait: Damien O'Dwyer Character Portrait: Jettie Greene
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#, as written by conor
As the last of the smoke whisked it's way into the sky Damien pushed himself off the lamppost and dropped the butt of the cigarette onto the ground. The air was certainly getting colder now as he pulled his suit jacket tighter around him and buttoned it up. As traffic zipped by the road in front of him he wondered whether he should go home or not. It was still early, he could easily get some more drinks in. He figured it would do no harm. Better than sitting at home thinking of Jettie. He didn't want to get wound up over that guardian angel she had. Wasn't worth the effort tonight anyway.

Damien strolled down the street looking for the first dive bar he could find. Eventually he turned down a small side street and came upon a door to what appeared to be a cliché Irish pub. As he pushed the heavy oak door open he was greeted by a familiar smell, warm beer that had ingrained itself into the very foundations of the pub. It was everywhere, he loved it. Pushing his way through the sea of people in front of him he worked towards the bar. The noise was deafening as people roared out in laughter halfway across the room and a group of people playing some Irish music with awful fiddle playing and a dodgy bodhrán.

eventually getting to the bar he parked himself on a bar-stool and folded his arms on the counter. The Mahogany surface was ever so slightly sticky, Damien imagined it had accumulated a new layer of varnish over the years from all the drink spilled on it that was left behind come clean up time. As the bartender approached he shot his hand up. "Guinness", the bartender grunted and left. Damien watched as he pulled a pint glass from the top shelf and poured the pint. He was horrified that the bartender didn't even get the basics of a Guinness right. He didn't pour it at the right angle and filled it all the way to the top with one go brushing the head off with a stick. "Irish pub my ass" he thought to himself. The man plodded over and put the glass onto the table in front of him, Damien handed over a few notes and told the man to keep the change.

He left the pint sit for a minute or two and then finally brought the glass up to his lips and took a long gulp of the black liquid. The imported stuff was awful in comparison to the stuff you get at home. It was way off, but he had already resigned himself to the fact that the Guinness they got in America was never going to be as good as the proper stuff.

As he reached for the glass again Damien was overcome by a sense of dread, his stomach sank and his head rang. He knew himself that it could only mean one thing. Jettie was in trouble. It had been a while since he had the feeling but it was unmistakable. "She's getting into trouble already, she might be easier to crack than I thought" he shared a quick laugh before pushing himself off the bar-stool. She had to be close by. He pushed through the sea of people again, but with a sense of urgency this time. It must have been serious for him to be still feeling his senses flair up like this.

Within seconds he burst out the door and was hit by a wall of cold air. He darted his head from left to right, trying to get a sense of her direction. Quickly bolting down the alley he flew out onto the street much to the surprise of people walking by. He could certainly feel he was going in the right direction. As he ran down the street he pushed people out of the way and dodged between oncoming groups. He was getting closer. He ran down a narrow street and appeared once more on another, cutting across roads and alleys he finally felt he was almost there. He heard her cries and his heart sunk, he hoped he wasn't too late. He rounded one more corner and found himself at the entrance to an alley. Two men had her pinned down as she shouted for help, the sight made him sick.

He ran down the alley as quick as he could but out of almost nowhere and old lady appeared in front of him blocking his path. Her clothes, if you could call them that, reeked of some ungodly smell. "Look, if you think I have a problem hitting an old lady then you're sadly.." his words were cut short as his body was overwhelmed by a seething burning pain. He looked down to find a knife plunged into his abdomen, his skin felt like it was burning and shriveling up, it was unbearable. Without hesitation he quickly jabbed his fist into the ladies face and followed up by smashing his right elbow into her jaw. As she fell back onto the ground her tight grip around the knife inadvertently removed it from his stomach. The burning sensation dissipated and was immediately replaced by anger as the adrenaline began full flow around his body.

The two other men now stood up to face him. Damien lifted his guard up and moved patiently back and forth as the men closed in. He didn't think how he was going to take on the two of them at the same time, he only hoped incompetence on their behalf would help him. The first man moved forward and jabbed at Damien's face. He missed and unfortunately for him he had reached just that bit too far. Damien spring at the opportunity and grabbed his outstretched arm. Using his momentum against him he pulled the man forward and thrust his fist at his nose. The following cracking sound even made Damien recoil as the man went down grasping at his face.

The last guy was more of a challenge, he came in with a kick that connected with Damien's chest. Damien was knocked back and when he brought his had up he was greeted with a fist to the face of his own. Falling another few steps back he brushed blood off of his lips. The main came again but this time Damien was ready. Sidestepping the man he thrust his knee up into his groin and the man bent over writhing in pain. Damien then finished him off as he brought his elbow down onto the mans back sending him face first onto the concrete floor knocking him cold.

Damien grasped at the gash in his stomach, he knew it would heal quickly when he stopped the bleeding. Then he hobbled over to Jettie. "You know, dark alleys aren't exactly safe. You could get robbed or something" He smiled down at her and laughed.

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Character Portrait: Damien O'Dwyer Character Portrait: Jettie Greene
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#, as written by Beeps
Jettie winced away from Damien as he approached as if he were part of it. Her mind was still clouded with shock and disbelief at what just happened and part of her was utterly terrified that it was still happening. Huddled against the brick wall she searched frantically for her assailants. She had only registered some of what had just taken place and was desperate to find answers that made sense.

The lady had been about to stab her. The knife with it's unnaturally glowing blade was just about to slam down on her chest and then in a blink it was gone. She was gone! Then reappeared half way down the alley in front of Damian. The same Damien she had casually met at the casino bar earlier that night. She had struggled to get away again at that moment. Hoping Damian's distraction was enough to make the old men loosen their strong hold on her. It wasn't but seeing their lady hit was enough for one of them to attempt to defend her.

She hadn't witnessed any of the fighting that took place, instead she was trying to get free, to run, to get as far away from these oddly strong senior citizens as possible. But the remaining man held her down, gripping so hard at her wrists it's a wonder her bones didn't snap completely. Jettie has attempted to knee him in the groin area; an age old self defense move. She missed unfortunately and instantly he was annoyed releasing one hand to bring it down on her cheek, smacking her fiercely.

Pain stung her face and sang throughout her whole head as she instinctively brought one hand up to cradle the spot the man had struck. And then he was gone completely. Jettie stumbled them, dazed from the hit. She saw Damian hit the last man too, taking him down completely. Bracing herself she had watched him through as haze as he approached, quipping a joke that was lost on her at the moment. He could have been speaking Greek for all she displayed.

What Jettie hadn't saw was that each of the attackers had retreated away in a flash of trailing white light. Spatting foreign curses, threats and promises uttered too low for her human ears to pick up on. But Damian might have heard and might have seen the homeless trio for what they really were. Angels. Angered angels, upset that their task was interrupted by a warrior demon. One they threatened they would kill the next time, along with the cursed human.

"W-where did they go?" Jettie's voice sounded shaky and small, voicing just how felt. After searching the alley with her eyes, she looked to Damian blinking in confusion as she tried to comprehend, "W-why are are you here?" Despite her best efforts she couldn't process the events. Her brush with death had happened too fast and been vanquished too quickly, the pounding throbbing in her head too loud and insistent.

Then suddenly she was gasping. Her eyes had managed to trail down Damian to his blood soaked shirt. "You're hurt," she stammered stating the obvious but her voice now more steady and full of concern. "We should get you to a hospital. And call the police." The sight of him wounded was starting to sober her enough to move. She approached him easily, gently holding out one arm to him as if to assist him with walking.

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Character Portrait: Damien O'Dwyer Character Portrait: Jettie Greene
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#, as written by conor
Damien clasped the wound tighter to try and put as much pressure on it as possible as the pain became more apparent. Years ago God had become angry at the ever increasing threat that Demons posed to un-corrupted souls, so he placed upon them the burden of pain. Whilst no mortal weapon could kill them they would suffer all the pain it would inflict until it healed and the scars that came with them were never to disappear. Unfortunately Satan had yet to break said curse in their eternal power struggle.

However as Damien soon realised that those people were no ordinary mortals. He heard them scamper away cursing in a tongue only he could hear, and just like that they disappeared. Vanished into the night. It was then it dawned on him that it was no ordinary blade that had pierced him. Looking down he lifted his shirt slightly to reveal a large gash oozing out blood. Around the edges of the cut his skin had charred. How could he be so stupid. Angels. "Goddamn angels". "Shit" he muttered under his breath. The blade was not of mortal making, laced in holy water and made from wing bones of a dead angel the knife was powerful, and deadly.

Damien needed to get home, if he didn't treat the wound the corruption would spread and kill him. A drop of angel blood was the cure. Very hard to get, a dead angel wasn't exactly a normal occurrence. Fortunately for him he had a phial of the stuff tucked safely away. How he got it is a dark tale beginning centuries ago.

He also couldn't leave Jettie alone. He couldn't be there to beat off those angels if they came back hunting again. Not if he was incapacitated in his bed. He'd have to convince her to come with him. An easy task under traditional circumstances, he definitely had a way with words when it came to women. However with a stab wound perhaps it was not entirely normal.

It also happened that a hospital and a police station would be crawling with angels. The two places always seemed to draw the most saintly of angels. No, he couldn't go to either and right now neither could Jettie. "If I go to the hospital the police will have to get involved anyway, and it would be a long drawn out process which would result in nothing. The police will never find three random homeless people, hell Vegas is crawling with them. Needle in a haystack kind of thing yano?"

At that point he grabbed Jettie's outstretched arm. His skin was burning as the pain seared through his insides. The holy blade was certainly doing a number. Wobbling slightly he steadied himself using her arm for support. "I have some supplies at my house, easier that way." he stopped, wincing in pain. Taking a deep breath he started again; "Normally I'd invite a girl as pretty as yourself to my house under much different circumstances." He managed to let a very labored laugh as the pain tightened it's grip around his chest. "However, right now I just need a hand getting there. There's a large wad of cash in my pocket, get a taxi, 95 Hawk Ridge Drive. If he asks about the copious amounts of blood I seem to be leaking just give him more money. If I pass out, well, improvise I guess." Dropping his free arm down he tried to shift the jacket to cover the blood stain. Not much use. "Ready?"

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Character Portrait: Damien O'Dwyer Character Portrait: Jettie Greene
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#, as written by Beeps
"Y-you want to... Go to your house? Now?" Jettie scrunched her face in confusion. "But you need... a doctor. That looks horrible! You need... medical attention from doctors and nurses and specialists!" She had gotten a good look when he lifted her shift, even gasped again at the sight of his marred skin that was covered in blood and somehow looked burnt as well. She was no doctor, but the gash was most definitely not an 'just but a band-aid on it' kind of wound. He would need stitches and antibiotics and for all she knew a tetanus shot.

When he wobbled and attempted to steady himself, she was quick to help him in any way possible. She was small and not the strongest, but managed to hold him up quite well. It was probably the adrenaline still pumping through her thanks to the scary situation. Since seeing the wound and judging from his sudden look of horror she felt a sense of control wash over her.

There was a hundred unanswered questions racing through her mind about what just happened and how and why Damian happened to be her rescuer, but those would have to wait. This man could die. The severity of that sank deep within her, waking something that sprung her into action.

"Okay," she said coolly, even giving him a smile in regards to his devil may care wit he slung at her despite being on the brink of disaster. Letting him go for just a moment, she pulled her sweater up and over her head explaining as she undressed, "We need to stop that blood, or at least try." When the sweater was off she worked deftly to wrap it around his waist. "Here, maybe this will add some pressure," she voiced her hope as she tied the arms into as tight a knot as possible. After that she grabbed her wallet and shoulder bag from the ground where she had dropped it earlier during the attack. Again she double checked the knot, tightening it as best she could while trying not to jostle him too much.

Once she was satisfied, Jettie resumed her position to help mobilize him. Each step brought on grimaces of pain and small sounds of pain from him. "I'm so sorry they did this to you," she whispered as they moved, her voice coming out stifled as if it pained her to see him hurting. It did pain her. The only reason he was even in this position was because of her. At that moment she didn't care if he had been stalking her, which is why he was so close by she assumed, he saved her. If he hadn't shown up, Jettie would be the one wounded or possibly dead or dying back in the ally.

Slowly they labored out onto the street. With the expertise of someone who had lived in Vegas for a while, she hailed a cab and soon was gently coaxing Damian into the back seat of a classic yellow sedan. She even went as far as the make sure he didn't bump his head. Once he was safely inside, she quickly crossed to the other and climbed in next to him.

Her lips parted, about to confidently inform the driver, who was shooting them both curious glances from his rear view, to take them to the closest hospital emergency room but then she looked over at Damian and to her surprise she said, "95 Hawk Ridge Drive. As fast as you can!"

"It's extra for the blood," the cabbie smoothly commented, pointedly not putting the car into gear yet, as if he'd seen this type of thing before.

"Fine, yeah. Whatever it costs. Just go. Please!" Jettie cast the rear view mirror a pleading look that seemed to work because suddenly the car was in motion. The sudden jolt knocked her backward into the seat and she immediately looked toward Damain who would have felt the movement way more than her at the moment.

"Are you okay?" she asked, her voice full of concern, yet knowing it was an idiotic question instantly. "I mean, I'm sorry. I know you're not okay. Just... What can I do?"

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Character Portrait: Damien O'Dwyer Character Portrait: Jettie Greene
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#, as written by conor
"Yea, my house is as good as any. I've a great bottle of a vintage Irish whiskey, late 1800's I think. Un-opened and very expensive. Fuck, if I'm going to die might as well be drinking ridiculously overpriced alcohol from the homeland." he managed to splutter out a laugh as Jettie tied the sweater tightly around his chest. It certainly helped. His arm was beginning to cramp from the pressure he was exerting on it. Now he could let it drop limply to his side.

The walk out to the street was difficult, he tried to carry as much of his own weight as he could manage to avoid crushing Jettie underneath him. Every step was a challenge. "Sorry for what? Don't be sorry about what happened. A badly injured me is certainly preferable to a definitely dead you. I'd hate to have got caught up in a police investigation if they found you dead. Would be a real downer on the rest of my evening. Really hard to pick up women at a police station you know"

Eventually they were on the street and no sooner had they emerged Damien found himself wrapped up in the back seat of a taxi. It was a nervous few seconds before Jettie gave the driver an address. He hoped that she would make the right choice. A hospital right now could be the end of him but a wave of relief washed through him when she finally uttered the words he wanted to hear. He might have a chance after all.

The drive was unbearable. Bump after bump caused convulsions of pain as the blood began to weave it's way through the material on Jettie's fleece. He had lost a fair amount of blood since all this had taken place. Blood that would need to be replaced sooner rather than later. His head lolled to the side as a drowsiness overcame him before suddenly perking back up again. "Stay awake goddammit."

Before too long the familiar sight of his house pulled into view of his window. After a brief confusion with cash he saw Jettie just lump a pile of it into the taxi drivers hand which left him more than satisfied. When Jettie came around and helped him out of the car he was too weak to fully support his own weight. He drooped onto her shoulder and hoped she could bear the load just a few more metres, that was all it would take. Slowly they made their way to front door, thankfully it was dark enough that the neighbors would only be able to see what appeared to be a ridiculously drunk Damien being escorted home by a woman. The problem living in a rich area was that everyone seemed to be so snobby. Damien tried to avoid as much of it as he could but trouble often came and found him.

A few seconds of fumbling in his pant's pocket and the key was slotted into the front door and pushed open to reveal the inside. The lights turned on by themselves and lit up a route to the stars. Silently motioning to Jettie in the direction of the staircase they made their way up. Damien had never climbed to the top of a mountain before but he guessed it was similar. It was a slow and arduous effort. He felt awful for putting such a strain on Jettie. She had such a slender build in comparison to his she must have been feeling the burden by now.

Thankfully by the time they reached the top his bedroom was just a door away. Brushing the wooden frame aside Damien managed to build up some energy and make the push. Crumpling onto the pristine white sheets let out an audible cry of pain. Now he had to act fast. With one hand dangling off the side of the bed he probed below it. Moving his arm from left to right until he found what he was looking for. He revealed a large wooden box from underneath and threw the lid open. Inside was a plethora of medical supplies. Rummaging through he grabbed two syringes. One filled with morphine and the other a trace amount of a crimson liquid.

Damien reached into the beside locker and pulled out a flask of vodka. Demons couldn't get infected by anything but it might put Jettie's mind at ease, at least that's what he figured. Carefully removing the now blood soaked sweater he revealed a shirt that was now swimming in blood. With no time to unbutton it carefully he just pulled the shirt ripping it right down the middle. It revealed a chest littered with scars from injuries spanning centuries and inflicted by various kinds of weapons. He knew he'd probably have to explain that to Jettie at some point but now was not the time.

He pulled a large cotton pad from the wooden box and wiped away as much of the blood as he could from the laceration in his abdomen. Then he soaked a second pad in vodka and took a deep breath. The pain from the vodka meeting his skin was crippling. His fists closed tight as they clenched up around the sheets. The veins in his neck bulged and his face turned a bright red as he tried to contain a loud grimace.

Damien moved quickly after that, first picking up the syringe with the dark liquid he placed it just under the skin of the wound and injected it. The angels blood would stop the effects of the holy blade. Then he grabbed the second syringe and jabbed it into his forearm and pushed hard. The morphine pumped around his body immediately and the pain began to subside rapidly. Now for the last part. He reached into the box one final time and pulled out a pair of latex gloves and a suture kit and dropped them in front of Jettie. "I might need you to put those sewing skills to good use"

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Character Portrait: Damien O'Dwyer Character Portrait: Jettie Greene
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#, as written by Beeps
The cab ride ride went by quickly. Mostly she spent the trip facing Damian trying her best but failing at giving him some comfort with useless words of assurance that she hoped wasn't lies while the cab driver shot them both curious glances from his rear view mirror.

"You'll be alright... Just hang in there... We'll be there soon... Everything will be okay."

When they did finally arrive to the sizable house, Jettie couldn't help but be impressed as she assisted him into inside his home. This author seemed to be living pretty well. Her whole apartment could likely fit comfortably inside his main room. He's sold a lot of books, she realized, and then felt guilty and kind of stupid for having never heard of him or to never have read any of his work.

Jettie was about to protest to climbing the stairs, honestly not thinking he could make it and maybe not having full confidence that she could make it without letting him drop, but when she saw the twisted look of determination across his features, she simply drew a breath and persevered. Though distracted with concentrating on getting him up the flight safely, she did have a few chances to further glance around this part of his home. It was clean and sharp, neat and flawless. A stark contrast to her own which was a cluttered mess from wall to wall.

His bedroom was a perfect compliment to the rest of the house. Clean and white; it barely looked lived in at all. The blood leaking from his wound brought a bright splash of color to the space. Jettie lingered by his bed not sure what to do to help. Instead she watched, almost hypnotized by his actions and motions. Curiously she peered into the box, examining it's odd contents. Not that the medical supplies were odd ones just the fact that they were stashed under his bed was a bit eccentric. What would an author need with such an arsenal of medical defenses? She imagined the most horrible thing to happen to a writer would be a paper cut. Wrist cramps, maybe.

But when Damian ripped off his shirt revealed a torso littered with old scars, she then imagined that perhaps he wasn't simply an average author. Jettie drew in a sharp breath, clenching her teeth as she watched him apply the liquor soaked pad to the wound. His cry of pain matched her cringe, "Are you sure this is... How you do this?"

Her voice was full of skepticism and doubt yet judging by the scars and supplies on hand, she figured that maybe this wasn't his first time dealing with this type of thing. Her features matched her emotions, worried and nervous as he pumped the various liquid filled syringes into his body. When he suggested that he would need her to give him stitches, her face went pale.

"Me?", she nearly squeaked. "I, I've never done that. I mean on a person. On skin. I wouldn't know how. What if I hurt you? What if I do it wrong?" She was protesting, yet found herself picking up the kit and gloves, looking from them and then over to his face as she stood before him. He was paler than normal and looked like he could possibly pass out any second. What could she do? The wound did need to be sewed up.

Jettie's mind worked quickly and then she was tugging the gloves over her shaking hands. "C-can you lay back? And maybe just scoot down a little." Damian complied with grunt of discomfort that made her shoot him apologetic looks. "Good, now... Just try and relax?"

Damian was laying longways on the bed, the wounded side closest to the edge. Jettie searched the room with her eyes for something to sit on. A white chair by what she assumed was a closet would have to do. Using her foot, she managed the chair over by the bed and sat down beside him. Clumsily she opened the kit, pulling out the impossibly small curved needle. Her brows pinched as she studied the kit and the surprisingly helpful pictograph.

"So... It's like tying little knots," she spoke, mostly to herself, as she read and examined the supplies. "Lots of little knots. You use these scissors thing to hold the curvy needle... Ohhh, okay. I think got it." The last part was said to Damian as she looked over to his face, meeting his eyes. "I can do this," she gave him a confident smile before adding, "I hope..."

Readying the equipment, she positioned herself slightly hovering over him and set out to work. Her facial features were hardened and extremely serious as she concentrated deeply on each and every move and motion with only the occasional widening of her eyes as she worked to correct a mistake and then followed by a quick satisfied squint before locking back into the stare of focus.

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Character Portrait: Damien O'Dwyer Character Portrait: Jettie Greene
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#, as written by conor
"Not the most effective way, but works all the same" Damien replied to Jettie's question about his method of disinfectant. He had picked up a number of tricks over the years. Some better than the others and ones that didn't hurt so much. He'd spent a lot of time with wounds like this back in the early 20th century.

Damien served in a British regiment during both World Wars. Enlisting each time with his respective wards. During the second world war he found himself in the Royal Army Medical Corps. His ward had also been sent there so he followed. Although albeit with very little modern medical knowledge at the time. The fields of France and Belgium was where he learned the trade. Following the various units across Europe and eventually back home again. He made it back with his ward alive, a rare situation given the time he lived in. "Well I hope you can do it, otherwise I'm shagged."

He knew Jettie would probably have questions though. It's not what one would qualify as a normal night. He did as he was told when asked to lie back and re-position. The fresh wound still oozing and the pain an ever present nuisance he couldn't help but grimace. Stab wounds always stung like hell. Eventually he was in position and he felt bad for Jettie as she gave him sincere looks of apology. Poor girl had been catapulted into a minefield. He had to tell her something.

"I was a combat medic in Afghanistan a few yeas back. British Army, Medical Corps. It's where I learned all of this stuff. Hell of a place. Was nice when we first arrived. Then it got all fucked up. Should never have been there, but that's a different story." He stopped briefly as the pain caused him to grimace. He didn't lift his head to see how the stitching was going. He didn't want to break her concentration so he lay there still as he could.

"I remember a really warm day. You could see the heat rising off the sand in front of ya. No place for a pasty white Irishman, or pasty white Brits for that matter. Anyway. We got call from command to head out on a routine patrol. Typical crap to make our presence 'known' to the insurgents. Sure Jesus how could the forget we were there, invading them. Anyway, my buddy a sergeant in the infantry unit I'm attached to tells me were moving out so i grab my gear and go. Now there's a couple of kilometres between us and the nearest town. A totally barren road in between."

"That day though, it was eerie. More so than usual but we didn't really cop on. You spend months out there so high on alert that you find it hard to differentiate between real tension and your own mind playing tricks on you. Sure as hell we found out soon enough. I don't remember much of it but there was a flash and just silence. I could see the blue skies but I couldn't move and I couldn't hear anything. It's hard to explain those few moments. For a while I felt absolutely nothing at all. I didn't feal the heat beating off of my face or the wind whipping off of my cheeks. Nothing. After that I must have blacked out. I woke up in the camp hospital. The convoy was hit. An IED took out the front vehicle that I was in. Everyone in it but me was killed, including my buddy. I got lucky as hell came out with shrapnel wounds from my neck down. How I survived, beyond me. No man would. Anyway, I ended up here, in Vegas writing my books. Not a bad life in the end."

As he finished he looked down, the wound was closed, and the stitching work came out better than he had expected. "Got some talent there, maybe your calling life is in the medical field." Damien left out a measured laugh so as not to cause too much pain. Slowly he heaved his body upwards, pushing off the bed with his hands. Grabbing a bandage he wrapped it around his torso as he stood up and tied it off with a knot.

"I could use a good stiff drink after that, what about you?"

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Character Portrait: Damien O'Dwyer Character Portrait: Jettie Greene
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#, as written by Beeps
Jettie didn't speak as she worked, but she did listen. His voice and the words of story about his past worked as a distraction from thinking too much about what she was really doing. it was calming and thankfully helped her relax enough to keep her hands from shaking which allowed her to get a better grip on the small curved needle. Though he would have likely still felt small trembles from her fingertips when she placed them on his torso to steady her movements.

The contents of his story was not soothing, but more so his voice and the accent on the familiar words. She had actually finished stitching before he brought the summary to an end. When Damian looked down to the wound he would have seen her looking back at him, her eyes wet with traces of forming tears. Jettie didn't usual get so emotional, but she could not even imagine what that would have been like; witnessing and surviving such a tragic incident.

"I'm sorry," was all she could muster and it came out barely above a whisper, "That's so horrible. I'm so sorry that happened to you." She was looking at him like one would a wounded animal, with pity and the desire to aid it. His compliment almost didn't even register but she smiled and shook her head. "I think you are just being nice."

"Hey," she then protested, her smile fading into a disapproving frown as he started to move and before she knew it was up and off the bed. "No, no. You need to lie back down and rest." She stood also, already close to him, she looked up giving him a very serious and demanding look. "I agreed to no hospital and to no police, but this I'm not caving on. Back in bed."

Jettie reached out and placed one hand on his forearm and the other in the middle of the back as if she was going to help him lie back down. As she done so, she arched her brow that that the small wound above it and gave him a pointed look, "I'm serious Mister."

Compared to his tall frame she almost looked like a child ordering him around and about as least threatening and serious as anything could ever be. When she realized this, she threw in, "I'll make you something to drink, but only if you lay down and rest." She also glanced to the blood soaked sheets, "And I'll get you some fresh blankets too. And maybe some pajamas."