Mar 30, 2019 - Some know I have had a fairly significant family emergency. I apologize for being away the last month. Hope to get going again in next couple weeks. Any of my characters can be skipped still in threads. Thanks for understanding. ~ZEPH
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January 3, 2022 Evening The Book of Kells Occult Shop Lips pursed as she blew out the flame on the Nag Champa stick. The scent was her favorite, it always clung to skin like a sensual swath of warmth... bringing her back to center wherever she was. The smoke curled upward, then spun in a tight coil as she placed it into a gold burner. She lifted tea to her lips, eyes still on the smoke that left her bookshop of the arcane always in a lazy and intoxicating haze. Almost the end of a long day, the regulars in the teashop the next room over were deep into books and late day conversations. She, was on her favorite stool behind the main counter, eyes wandering over the Sky Disc on the wall she'd risked her ass... Alistair's as well, to go retrieve. Her addiction to collecting everything dangerous and powerful hadn't abated, but without her 'partner in crime' the task had been much less fun and a lot more dangerous. Magus had the ability to kick ass. She on the other hand, was just... fast. Enhanced her ass. Lately... she was regretting throwing her hat in with Arma. A lot. The entrepreneur dealt everything to anyone, if they couldn't use it safely that was their business. Arma had kept her straight. Gave her a code to honor. That code hadn't been seen in over a year. Long sigh preceded her rise from the stool, taking her empty tea mug with her as the pillar of Hell's Kitchen went to retrieve another cup. She needed to pay Arma a visit. Soon. Time to sever ties.
Hammer’s Firearms Early Afternoon January 22, 2022 Brows rose, the easy way the Cajun was able to give expression without looking like he was always either too cool to care or amused with his own personal sarcasm quaint. The television. What was he watching?? “Goodness,” he mumbled to himself as long strokes polished the newly replaced curved glass on the antique gun case in the store proper. The place was tiny, the storefront tiny. The firearms were not. Antiques, powerful to the core. New, so smooth a wasp’s wings would make the trigger move. Oiled, shiny as a new penny, accurate, and dependable to a fault. Shot ‘em all, adjusted them all himself. It was the only way he’d have it. The roar from the crowd on the television brought a pause, eyebrows now furling at the sight of two idiots battling it out with powers blazing. What the holy hell was this? Bell dinged on the television at the same moment the ping on the door sounded. He nodded in greeting to the man, always making it a habit to greet but never hover, going back to watching whatever the crazy was on television that he’d subjected his intelligence to. Nothing smart he reckoned. Altered, magus and creature alike beating each other to smithereens on public television. The hell?? Well, some dicks needed more fluffin' than others. He finished the case, folding the soft towel before placing it underneath the case, attention still caught on the television that was mounted on the wall in the far corner. The trip south hadn’t taken him that long, seems he missed a bit of new rowdy while he was dodging gators and zombies. The world turned faster and faster. Too fast. “I have money on that guy” the customer commented quietly as he looked in the case through the newly cleaned glass. “Mhm,” the toothpick switched sides smoothly, sleeves of the immaculate button down rolled up as he sat at his work table to keep picking away at the Turbiaux fished out of the mud in NOLA. “Hope it works out for ya. Iffin' not we got payment plans.” The surly smile was particularly to himself, casting a warm glance to catch the guy's eyes glued to the television. Lost him. There goes that sale. Maybe.