Post by orion on Mar 23, 2012 17:33:53 GMT -8
23 December 2011, 8 am
(OOC this is going to be a meta post involving one of my plots and three of my characters. This is an intro post for that plot, in which it will split into multiple threads.)
The door to Sullivan’s office closed with hardly a click. Orion stood with his hands clasped gently behind his back and regarded the man behind the desk. Orion had discovered that this was most likely the most dangerous wizard in modern times. Forget Voldemort, forget Williams, and forget Potter and Dumbledore, even Grindewald. None of them had the ruthless streak that Sullivan possessed. Sure, three out of the five were Dark Wizards, and all of them were ambitious and powerful, but calculating, manipulative, sly, and cruel on top of that? Jacob Sullivan was setting a new standard for the word ‘bastard’ every time he woke up.
Deceptive, too; There he sat, working on paperwork as if that’s all he had to do, as if he hadn’t heard the door open and close, as if he himself had not called the meeting. Orion’s lip curled in the barest hint of disgust as he regarded the scruffy man. The ill kept clothing, the perpetually unshaven face, the rumpled hair…they were incongruous behind the ornate desk and plush, dark red carpet. Even in his own office, Sullivan looked like an imposter to Orion. The mutable blue eyes looked up, finally, as unreadable as ever. With a motion of his pen, -Why couldn’t the man use a quill like a normal person?- the man his wife appropriately called ‘the Rat’ indicated that Orion should sit. The motion rankled the teen. He didn’t have control in this situation. Such times were uncomfortable at best, and aggravating and upsetting at worst. This was turning into a worst case scenario. Orion watched as Jake set down his pen, carefully ordered his paperwork, and then met him eye to eye.
”I have a job for you.”
23 December 2011, 10:23 am
Was it the weather that was cold or was it his heart? After hearing Jake’s words, Orion wasn’t sure. The walk to the healing house seemed longer today, too. The job would be easy enough. It would set up his family comfortably while they stayed in the city. And, should they choose to leave, Jake promised that they’d be free of his influence, and in his debt to boot. What bothered Orion was that it seemed too good to be true. There had to be a catch, obviously. Sullivan didn’t operate any other way. What was the catch, though?
Orion jammed his hands in his pockets against the cold and against frustration. The job seemed simple. Too simple. He had to gather information about the muggle government and report to Sullivan. He already had several plans on how to infiltrate their operations, and would no doubt have several more by the time he was headed back to the City after his studies were done for the day. What game was Sullivan playing? Orion scrutinized the sidewalk as he thought. He didn’t even see the changes in the concrete, the cracks, and the grass sprouting between the paving slabs and the curb as he tried to piece together what plot Sullivan had set in motion.
Orion lost himself in thought as he crossed the street, right in front of a bus. The last thing he heard over the ringing in his ears was a woman screaming.
23 December 2011, 10:40 am
These boots were made for walkin’, and that’s just what they’ll do. One of these days these boots are gonna walk all over you
The lyrics were cheesy, but the beat was good. When you were running, sometimes that’s all that matters. Words, melody, solos…all of it was meaningless without a good beat. That steady thrum under the song connected the heart beat of the listener to the heart beat of the musicians, and the world came together from the tempo of the song.
An incongruous wry smile grew on Morgan’s face as she reviewed the thought she just had. Music bringing the world together through a common beat? Such silliness was one of the reasons she enjoyed running. Her mind was able to process her stray thoughts and release them into drivel that harmed nobody, clearing the way for more meaningful musings.
Alliteration? Five miles certainly did clear out the cobwebs and oddities that built up from her odd job. Despite its inherent oddness, it was quite rewarding. Today was her only day off, and so far, it was boring as hell. Grocery shopping, straightening her apartment, finishing one of the books she had started last week…the real bright point of the day was her run, and even this was predictable. At least it was relaxing.
The wail of a police siren directed her attention to her left. An ambulance’s warble joined the police car. Apparently, as usual, someone had an accident. It was fairly close, two blocks away. Morgan redirected her attention to her run. Mundane traffic accidents were beyond her scope.
RING RING RING
The sound of her phone’s ringer cut through her music, breaking her thoughts. Without breaking stride, she scooped her phone from its pocket and answered it. The number, blessedly, was the office emergency line.
”Jones.”
”Mallory here. Suspected fox in the hen house, will text you the coordinates. We need confirmation on rights to pursue.”
“Go, release the hounds. If I’m close enough I’ll check it out myself. Good luck and good hunting.”
Her pace slowed from run to jog, then from a jog to a walk. The promised text message arrived and gave Jones a pleasant jilt of excitement. The address was close. In fact…
Her gaze turned back to her left. The accident? Was it just an accident? Perhaps not. Her pace picked back up into a run. If this WAS a real fox, and not another false alarm, then things were looking better and better with every step.
The still body, the puzzled looks on the constable’s faces as they puzzled over a length of dark wood confirmed it. Wizard.
25 December 2011, 3:30 pm
”Dearly beloved, we are gathered here today to mourn the passing of an heir to a noble family. This gentle, young man sought above all to honor his family and our community through his pursuit of knowledge. What nobler venture is there to be gained than the mastery of the world for the advancement of one’s family and people? And so…”
Andrew hated wearing black. It made him feel like some sort of reaper. And funerals…well, they only enhanced the feeling. Perhaps such petty, shallow thoughts were a defense mechanism. The officiator of his brother’s funeral was dry and boring, using trite, cookie-cutter statements that didn’t explain who Orion really was. The worst thing about this, besides his brother being dead, was how he died. Stepping out in front of a muggle transportation machine? What a stupid way to die. Orion wasn’t stupid. He knew about muggle things, and he wouldn’t have allowed himself to die such a stupid death. If he was nothing else, he was arrogant enough to want a noble death.
The viewing earlier in the day before the actual burial was on his mind as well. Something wasn’t right with the body. Yes, it looked like Orion, and yes, the Ministry had approved that the muggles had returned the proper body to them, but something wasn’t right about his left wrist. There was a tan line from a watch on that wrist. Orion didn’t wear a watch, as far as Andrew knew. Perhaps Gemma would be able to enlighten him on any changes in timepiece habitry that Orion may have undergone. She was here, Andrew saw, escorted by two gentlemen closer to his own age. They sent off alarm bells. Something wasn’t right with them, given how close to Gemma they stayed. What in the world was up with that?
In any case, there was a mystery afoot. If the body now being buried wasn’t really Orion, then where was his brother’s body?
(PS: FURST)
(OOC this is going to be a meta post involving one of my plots and three of my characters. This is an intro post for that plot, in which it will split into multiple threads.)
The door to Sullivan’s office closed with hardly a click. Orion stood with his hands clasped gently behind his back and regarded the man behind the desk. Orion had discovered that this was most likely the most dangerous wizard in modern times. Forget Voldemort, forget Williams, and forget Potter and Dumbledore, even Grindewald. None of them had the ruthless streak that Sullivan possessed. Sure, three out of the five were Dark Wizards, and all of them were ambitious and powerful, but calculating, manipulative, sly, and cruel on top of that? Jacob Sullivan was setting a new standard for the word ‘bastard’ every time he woke up.
Deceptive, too; There he sat, working on paperwork as if that’s all he had to do, as if he hadn’t heard the door open and close, as if he himself had not called the meeting. Orion’s lip curled in the barest hint of disgust as he regarded the scruffy man. The ill kept clothing, the perpetually unshaven face, the rumpled hair…they were incongruous behind the ornate desk and plush, dark red carpet. Even in his own office, Sullivan looked like an imposter to Orion. The mutable blue eyes looked up, finally, as unreadable as ever. With a motion of his pen, -Why couldn’t the man use a quill like a normal person?- the man his wife appropriately called ‘the Rat’ indicated that Orion should sit. The motion rankled the teen. He didn’t have control in this situation. Such times were uncomfortable at best, and aggravating and upsetting at worst. This was turning into a worst case scenario. Orion watched as Jake set down his pen, carefully ordered his paperwork, and then met him eye to eye.
”I have a job for you.”
23 December 2011, 10:23 am
Was it the weather that was cold or was it his heart? After hearing Jake’s words, Orion wasn’t sure. The walk to the healing house seemed longer today, too. The job would be easy enough. It would set up his family comfortably while they stayed in the city. And, should they choose to leave, Jake promised that they’d be free of his influence, and in his debt to boot. What bothered Orion was that it seemed too good to be true. There had to be a catch, obviously. Sullivan didn’t operate any other way. What was the catch, though?
Orion jammed his hands in his pockets against the cold and against frustration. The job seemed simple. Too simple. He had to gather information about the muggle government and report to Sullivan. He already had several plans on how to infiltrate their operations, and would no doubt have several more by the time he was headed back to the City after his studies were done for the day. What game was Sullivan playing? Orion scrutinized the sidewalk as he thought. He didn’t even see the changes in the concrete, the cracks, and the grass sprouting between the paving slabs and the curb as he tried to piece together what plot Sullivan had set in motion.
Orion lost himself in thought as he crossed the street, right in front of a bus. The last thing he heard over the ringing in his ears was a woman screaming.
23 December 2011, 10:40 am
These boots were made for walkin’, and that’s just what they’ll do. One of these days these boots are gonna walk all over you
The lyrics were cheesy, but the beat was good. When you were running, sometimes that’s all that matters. Words, melody, solos…all of it was meaningless without a good beat. That steady thrum under the song connected the heart beat of the listener to the heart beat of the musicians, and the world came together from the tempo of the song.
An incongruous wry smile grew on Morgan’s face as she reviewed the thought she just had. Music bringing the world together through a common beat? Such silliness was one of the reasons she enjoyed running. Her mind was able to process her stray thoughts and release them into drivel that harmed nobody, clearing the way for more meaningful musings.
Alliteration? Five miles certainly did clear out the cobwebs and oddities that built up from her odd job. Despite its inherent oddness, it was quite rewarding. Today was her only day off, and so far, it was boring as hell. Grocery shopping, straightening her apartment, finishing one of the books she had started last week…the real bright point of the day was her run, and even this was predictable. At least it was relaxing.
The wail of a police siren directed her attention to her left. An ambulance’s warble joined the police car. Apparently, as usual, someone had an accident. It was fairly close, two blocks away. Morgan redirected her attention to her run. Mundane traffic accidents were beyond her scope.
RING RING RING
The sound of her phone’s ringer cut through her music, breaking her thoughts. Without breaking stride, she scooped her phone from its pocket and answered it. The number, blessedly, was the office emergency line.
”Jones.”
”Mallory here. Suspected fox in the hen house, will text you the coordinates. We need confirmation on rights to pursue.”
“Go, release the hounds. If I’m close enough I’ll check it out myself. Good luck and good hunting.”
Her pace slowed from run to jog, then from a jog to a walk. The promised text message arrived and gave Jones a pleasant jilt of excitement. The address was close. In fact…
Her gaze turned back to her left. The accident? Was it just an accident? Perhaps not. Her pace picked back up into a run. If this WAS a real fox, and not another false alarm, then things were looking better and better with every step.
The still body, the puzzled looks on the constable’s faces as they puzzled over a length of dark wood confirmed it. Wizard.
25 December 2011, 3:30 pm
”Dearly beloved, we are gathered here today to mourn the passing of an heir to a noble family. This gentle, young man sought above all to honor his family and our community through his pursuit of knowledge. What nobler venture is there to be gained than the mastery of the world for the advancement of one’s family and people? And so…”
Andrew hated wearing black. It made him feel like some sort of reaper. And funerals…well, they only enhanced the feeling. Perhaps such petty, shallow thoughts were a defense mechanism. The officiator of his brother’s funeral was dry and boring, using trite, cookie-cutter statements that didn’t explain who Orion really was. The worst thing about this, besides his brother being dead, was how he died. Stepping out in front of a muggle transportation machine? What a stupid way to die. Orion wasn’t stupid. He knew about muggle things, and he wouldn’t have allowed himself to die such a stupid death. If he was nothing else, he was arrogant enough to want a noble death.
The viewing earlier in the day before the actual burial was on his mind as well. Something wasn’t right with the body. Yes, it looked like Orion, and yes, the Ministry had approved that the muggles had returned the proper body to them, but something wasn’t right about his left wrist. There was a tan line from a watch on that wrist. Orion didn’t wear a watch, as far as Andrew knew. Perhaps Gemma would be able to enlighten him on any changes in timepiece habitry that Orion may have undergone. She was here, Andrew saw, escorted by two gentlemen closer to his own age. They sent off alarm bells. Something wasn’t right with them, given how close to Gemma they stayed. What in the world was up with that?
In any case, there was a mystery afoot. If the body now being buried wasn’t really Orion, then where was his brother’s body?
(PS: FURST)