Stark

Baldy's eyes almost twitch, something even I'd have probably missed if I wasn't looking for tells. But how can I not be? From the way he's standing, it's pretty obvious that beefcake here is both tense and armed.

Goddamn, do I love my life. Nothing quite like big tatted thugs with twitchy trigger fingers to make a guy alive and alert.

While I'm trying to say that six times fast, I spend a tiny fraction of a second deciding what the unbelievable goatee's almost-twitch actually meant. It's not like I don't have time, and besides, it's way more useful than other kinds of daydreaming.

So. Annoyed at the joke? Seems plausible. I'll sew my heart back together. But it seems too obvious, too easy.

Checking me for heat, mundane and otherwise? Maybe, maybe. But I'm doing the same without looking pissed, and it's a sad day when I'm the one being subtle. Better check for ice Downtown.

Why'd he catch himself, then? It looked to me like he realised his nervous tic was about to make itself known, then stopped it. Maybe he just doesn't like showing that kinda stuff. He kinda reminds me of those guys on bad comic covers, the ones they used to call 'a man's man'.

Or, did he? Catch himself, I mean. Maybe it's not a nervous tic at all. Maybe he didn't twitch at all. What if I'm paranoid (ha!) or imagining things?

Discarding those ridiculous scenarios like only a guy whose split personality talks back can, I wipe the dumbass smile off my face, opting for my dumbass blank look.

I used it to draw all the types like big boy here when I trawled the naughty clubs. Rawr.

"Yeah," Baldy replies, standing like he's only got his hands on his hips, not close to his belt. Wonder what he's got there. Guns? Ninja stars? That dildo I keep losing? "Why'd you let him go?"

I shrug, glancing at Old Spice's hanger-ons. One's almost as wide as he's tall and so scarred I can't tell whether he's ugly or fucked up. And, unlike people who look at me, I don't have the luxury of knowing it's both.

The other looks like Shaggy's bigger, ganglier cousin, who ditched the pot for glittery ash or some shit. I sure hope my eyes are still not green after realizing I lack more than I thought, I'll blush if he notices.

"Why bother?" I answer. "I knew you guys would take care of him. Good job, by the way. You'd never think he was dead to begin with."

Baldy frowns, and it's a real test of my geology knowhow to figure out this is a different arrangement of his scowl lines. "And you knew we were coming because...?"

"We didn't exactly advertise it," Lump the Stump says, and his drawl makes me mentally add "motherfucker" to the end of the sentence. "Or know we would until not too long ago." Motherfucker.

I stick my hands in my pockets, looking at Shaggier like he's the most interesting man in the world. Since he doesn't have a beer to hold my attention, it's back to Laurel and Hardy. I get the feeling he's not exactly part if whatever club these two are, and not just cuz he's standing apart from them and walking on eggshells. It's another of my dumbass vague gut feelings. Speaking of...

"Well," I begin, but it's not like I can tell them I had a hunch things were all but guaranteed to go this way, "the boss of that chump you wasted? He mentioned this Deacon Chalk guy, known for takink care of assholes like 'em, and you," I jerk my chin towards Tats, "kinda match the description."

I've lied for dumber reasons about far worse things, and lookie, they seem to be doing it. I guess sounding plausible helps you sell your bullshit, who'd have thunk?

Thing is, Snidely only acted disappointed I wasn't Chalk (and what kinda name is that anyway? Sounds like an inked-up pornstar whose shtick is cosplaying as Bible-thumpers and...hmm) when I rolled up, but he didn't say why or anything, much less describe the guy's looks and MO.

However, he did have a buncha humans all chained up, and from his tone when he mentioned Chalk, I kinda doubt he was waiting for the guy to join him and his leech posse in a BDSM orgy with incest on the side. On that note, I really oughta free the vanillas. They're rubbernecking at us, and I just know they've realized this coat makes my ass look big.

In short, Chalk, if he's the dude I'm talking to, sounds like who Snidely was expecting to show up and be ambushed, so, not a pal. Good guess?

Chalk (?) moves his arms, crossing them, but I can tell he's curious, not just suspicious. "Of course he loved to talk. Did he explain his plan before you smoked him too, or...?"

"Eh." I wave a hand. "I got it from context. And, you know, I think he was venting. Mad that you didn't crash his party...care to tell me about that?" I gesture behind me. "After everyone stretches their legs, 'course."

The meathead still doesn't trust me as far as he can throw me-actually, scratch that. That'd mean he trusts me more than the average joe does.

He doesn't give a damn about me or how I'm running my mouth, I can tell, but he's as eager to get rid of witnesses as I am.

Maybe you can murder them together, Saint James deadpans.

Please, I sneer back. Acting like I'd need help? You're going in the doghouse now, stud.

As James sighs, I turn first, telling the big guy that I'm not scared of showing him by back, cuz I can still kick his ass no matter what he tries. Freeing the captives is a piece of cake with my hoodoo, which earns me a few more looks from my new besties, but getting 'em to calm down and leave takes a few minutes, and ultimately takes promising them that the cops will explain everything.

Trying not to cry at the thought of relying on the boys in blue for anything worth a damn, I create a Malediction and light it. Chalk stands pretty close to me, only giving away the fact he doesn't smoke by how his nose is wrinkling.

"Hey, man," the weaselly-looking guy says with a hopeful look, taking half a step forward. "Can you give me one of those?" He points at the cig pack in one of my coat's exterior pockets.

"Yeah," I say, before proceeding not to do so. Remember, kids: smoking kills people. Unless you're a special snowflake mongrel hated hy everyone, who gets harder to off the more you try.

It's kind of like life, actually, but I've been told to stop encouraging suicide, for some reason.

"I know a guy," Chrome Dome says, steamrolling right over the rodent's request. He actually smells like a weasel, you know? "Good cop. He'll take care of any weird rumors."

"Is he a detective?" I give Chalk a fascinated look. "So he can find out who asked?"

He scowls. "Matter of fact? Yeah," he replies, and I notice he has a bit of a drawl too. Am...am I in the Deep South? I've always wanted to beat a redneck to death and pretend I had an excuse. "Did the vamp mention that, too?"

"Actually, we were too busy making out." I blow out a writhing, shapeless smoke cloud. "You know how it is. His blind date never showed up, so I had to fill in."

"Uh uh," he sounds unimpressed. "Are you done taking the piss?"

Actually, I'm trying to figure out why the hell my hunch is pointing me towards Chalk. Far as I can tell, he's not connected to anything that could threaten this reality, and I know I don't have anything better to do, but I was kinda hoping I'd show up and find some eldritch abomination hanging out of a portal over a city or something.

The narrative has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the infringement.

Nice and obvious. Get shit done early. Maybe there'd have been one of those blue sky beams, swears there's one in every movie nowadays.

Oh, well. I'll just gave to figure it out as I go. Not like I haven't been doing it for decades.

* * *

Deacon

By the time we made it back to my base of operations, I could tell this James Stark asshole was bullshitting me.

I wasn't sure what he was fibbing about, or why, but I wouldn't have been surprised to find out he was doing it because he found it funny.

He was powerful, I knew, and the remains of an entire kiss of vampires only gave more proof to what my power told me. Maybe that's why he got off treating everything like some dumbass game.

My hands tightened on the steering wheel as I pulled up to the hospital. Was that it? Because he was untouchable?

Deep, dark anger boiled up inside me at the thought. Every Nephilim I've ever killed thought the world was their playground too, until I killed them.

"Yeesh," Stark grumbled around one of the foulest goddamn cigarettes I've ever had the displeasure of smelling. Reeked like a fucking burning tire in a bubblegum factory. "Calm down, ya daggum hippie. Your chill vibez are, like, totes harshing my groove."

I bit back a growl as the shithead stepped out, Mulcahy and Sully following a second after I did the same. "You think this," I gestured at the building and the night beyond, doubtlessly full of monsters fouling God's green Earth, "is some kind of joke?"

He smirked. "Uh...not to quote the most uninspired villain ever, but why so serious? Untwist your panties, Walter White. We saved a lotta folks' asses today. The vamps are dead. And we're even back in time for your night shift as a nurse, so what's your problem?"

I leaned forward, placing a hand on the hood. In the darkness, the black muscle car was just a suggestion of a shape. "My problem is the shady bastard who popped outta nowhere, iced a whole kiss, and insisted on following us to a place full of sick, injured weres."

"J-Jeez, you have one too? One's been following me for, like, thirty years, swear he's there whenever I look in a mirror."

Taking a deep breath, I grit my teeth. "Listen," I said quietly. "I don't know what the hell you think is so funny, but in there? There's a kind who was almost killed by the monsters you slaughtered. And I don't want an even monster behind me when I go in to tell her she's safe now." If Fallene could hear me, that is. God, I hoped she could...

"Then why didn't you ditch me?" Stark asked, his cigarette halfway burned by now.

Because I'm not sure we could've stopped you from coming along, I thought but didn't say, instead just maintaining a steady glare.

Rolling his eyes, the Nephilim blew out a smoke cloud, this one shapeless. "Calm your tits. If I'd known they'd roughed up a kid, I wouldn't have been so gentle."

Fucking sick freak... "gentle"? And people ask why I'm so on edge around certain supernaturals. No normal person is so casual about shit like this.

Thank God I was there to kill them when they deserved it.

"...Fine," I bit out after a few seconds of staring, before turning away and starting to walk towards the hospital. "Mulcahy, Sully, c'mon."

"Don't I get asked to come, too?" Stark whined.

Shaking my head, I stomped up the stairs, before slamming the doors open.

* * *

Stark

Wouldn't you know: when we went to that little werebat's room and told her the vamps who'd almost killed were dead, her big doe eyes-she was in human form-lit up like I was a good person or some shit, and for a moment, she looked almost awake.

She went back to sleep shortly after, still tired, but she looked like she was smiling before her breathing steadied.

If Kas ever hears about this shit, he'll never shut up about how much of a teddy bear I am, or stopp calling me 'Sandman'. Get it? 'Cause I helped Fallene sleep easier, haha.

Tch. I needed a reason to stick his head onto a dog's corpse, anyway. Maybe a three-legged poddle. That'd be a lame lame dog.

On my way outta the hospital, aside from several were parents and their gremlins, I passed this redhead with a Jesus beard in a wheelchair, a guy named Larson, who was the head doctor, or whatever it's called.

So that's why I never found Jesus: because Chalk was holding him prisoner after breaking his legs. See? I told you I wasn't just outta fucks to give about my alleged soul.

Sully is leaning against a tree a few dozen yards from the hospital, one hand on his belt, the other holding a cig. As he put it back in his mouth, I noticed it was just a normal cig, and briefly wondered why the fuck a were would limit himself to that, but, to each their own.

Maybe they just didn't have stronger stuff, and that's why he asked for a smoke earlier. I'd have probably felt bad if I cared.

"Hey," I call out to him, covering the distance in a couple seconds. "Care to chat for a bit?"

Raising an eyebrow, he holds out a hand. "Feelin' more generous?"

"Man," I hold out a pack of Maledictions, giving it a shake, "look: I don't even know if you can handle this stuff."

He rolls his eyes, seeming amused at my warning. "Unless you're huffing powdered silver, I'll probably live."

"Will you?" I ask in my best dramatic announcer voice. "Or will you merely...survive?"

Snorting, he takes out a Malediction, lights it with a Zippo, and takes a deep drag, as if to spite me. " Shit," he gasps.

"Right? So..." I walk closer, pocketing the smokes. "About this Chalk guy, I wanted to ask..."

I lean foward, placing a hand next to his head, pushing it through a foot of gnarled old wood like it's styrofoam. "A fly!" I explain, grinning widely. "Wouldn't want it to bother us, right?"

Sully's eyes dart from my arm to me, wide and glinting. "Are you fucking insane?"

"Actually, I'm single if you're interested." I bat my eyes.

He shakes his head. "I'm surrounded by wackjobs..."

"No, you're thinking of Wonderland, silly. Remember?"

Sully huffs, straightening up a bit, Malediction almost forgotten. I wanna put his head through the tree for treating it like cheap shit. "What do you want with Chalk?"

"Hot, steamy sex-where's his place, genius? You might've noticed he did everything he could to avoid telling me."

"Jeez, could it be 'cause you're such a nice guy?"

"Obviously not, I'm lovely! So..." I lit a Malediction of my own. "Know anything? You did say he's pretty famous around here, but the people inside are too busy minding their sprogs to talk."

Sully's eyes shift, as if expecting Chalk's lily-white ass to jump out of thin air. "You didn't hear this from me-"

"Sully, no one would believe you know anything. I mean, look at you."

"Douchebag." He closes his eyes, looking thoughtful. "So, you know how you can't have a joint with both booze and naked chicks? Well, he runs this strip club..."

I knew Chalk was a pimp.

Will you knock it off, Stark? James grouses.

Just because you and cueball think I've got to be more brooding and angsty than usual? Hell no. Between that and all the leather, I'm already every dumbass teen's wet dream.