Post by Memento Mori on Sept 29, 2022 19:41:33 GMT
Birds of a Feather they say flock together one might question if creatures of the night did the same. For all their differences did their damnations make them of similar stock, an answer to that came. Or at least soon enough it would be when a hunter and antichrist came to talk, to commute with someone good in heart but burdened by shame. The vampire and a raven haired hunter had been for many a rock, for all they'd helped though one would see the lady as a person to blame.
They had resources, they had skills in tracking. The ability to reach out to the authorities made finding someone easy. The prey traveled and with it left a sent it wasn't hard for someone like him to follow someone if close enough to smell it. And the prey, Morgan she wasn't exactly trying to hide. News of heroism, efforts little and small traveling along the states. If they ever went to look for them, or just now when they were getting close her smell would be clear to the vampire. Beneath perfumes, gasoline, birds people stood out. Morgan almost more so it was, like balming and vanilla. Or perhaps the proper explanation was a vanilla scented embalming rather. Rituals for the dead that had now an odor of the living.
Wasn't that long ago she was over in Millenium. But news and reports told of her going through so many states. From Millenium and NYC to by now being all the way in Nevada. Helping we ith homicide cases and halting criminals throughout. They were numerous, they were insignificant to the media by now. With every big time encounter the heroes in the streets at times were not big news. They made it to local coverage but wasn't grandiose enough for wide coverage. When buildings crumbled and monster slaughtered away, the girl who shoved a thug wasn't impactful. It probably would have been hard finding her if not for the resources they had. Not for lack of heroism but the scope of heroism needed to matter.
The trail lead to Reno. A gang trying to get out of perceived once Lotus territory moved to the nearby city. That transition of a gang ruffled the feathers of a biker club. They got into it, by the time a pale skinned teen was in town most the club was meat. Ground up on the streets by "accidental" run downs. Others had gone in their homes, shootings that peppered homes with holes. They weren't saints but they left the world unfinished. For this they knew who they could talk to. A ghostly woman a night ago helped cops bust the gang. Now though she didn't have much work to distract her.
It's eight pm the moon is full ravens relax on a telephone wire. They converse as a woman with violet hair works on a tire. The old dodge charger, a classic is running the heat soothing to the goth like a summer fire. Maybe it wasn't good to leave it running as she worked in the cold night but it was a soothing boon. The purr of the vehicle reminded her of her old man gone to soon. The hoodie like the ride was black, covering most of the woman's figure. She wasn't hard to pick out though given any spotted physical feature. With skin as milk white or even paler then that of the devil as reports would have said. And in the reflection of the windshield a gemstone red and located in the forehead.
That same stone was something the huntersnmight know. It wasn't born of malice like the others but a burden was still in tow. A sister shredded their soul so a sister had a chance to grow. Now though that made a hero tied to the deathly winds starting to blow.
"How did you die at the Alamo and end here?" She looked toward the motel but there was nobody there. The parking lot she was in was empty, no lights were on in the building. There wasn't even the light of a phone or earpiece. "Well that's a shit way to go would have thought you had more fight...No it's just the ink that's clearly prison you did time before this...Sorry yes before murdered and dragged across state lines to be buried. Real nut jobs, they could of found something closer...Ha no, we just both know the dead are everywhere." There was pauses between her words. Despite clearly talking to someone though there wasnt anyone around, well other then the hunters likely now coming across her. Outside of the Naicitrom residence where necromancy was rampant the ghost Morgan talked to probably wasn't even there on ones sin sense. It wasn't a malicious spirit that's sin made it active, it was someone simply dead. And the dead had a hard time communicating with most, but never Memento Mori.