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Time: Evening
Date: February 9th, 0006
Fear was furious.
Anger stoked the raging fires within his mind as the undead hurriedly stormed through the streets of Portal City. Bloody Nephilim, bloody Uriel! Repeatedly did he growl and mumble beneath his fictitious breath, temper simmering. That was the last time - the last TIME - he ever did something so foolish, so unthinking... so... so gut-wrenchingly kind for someone who couldn't be arsed enough to return the favour! By the time Fear had already strutted into the Residential District and was making good time, his boisterous ire fortunately began to dissipate. It wouldn't do to be acerbic, he reasoned. Negativity was something he could not afford, not with it, and the fiend promptly vied to level his rowdier thoughts. Think about earlier today, prior to that... ugh, mess. Think about Livewire, think about her smile and just how carefree she looked with all those purring flea-houses. An exhausted sigh escaped him, whistling out from the gaping cavity in his emaciated chest. Well, Fear thought... hopefully the lass' day wasn't ruined because of a little smattering of black sludge.
The telltale shape of a massive bell stuck out against the city skyline and he knew that the Inn wasn't much further. Uriel was there... This he knew quite well, for was not Fear a skilled psychic and empath? Renewed aggravation stirred within his breast, but it as hastily quashed. Just a little more, just a little more... Leathery fingers stroked the lid of a decorated container as he continued his rickety gait. Lousy spine...
As expected, the Stock Pot Inn's interior was always a masterful blend of aesthetic and professional. Though the ghoul's wardrobe left much to be desired and he was rather fond of macabre motifs, Fear was nevertheless approving of the establishment's upkeep. Businesses should always have tidy appearances. He shambled toward the nearby assistance desk and set the box carefully aside. To ring the bell and wait, or to ring the bell and leave? Thinking to compromise, the fiend 'borrowed' a blank piece of paper and pen. Forgive him, for this box was not your ordinary parcel... Special instruction was required, for did not Livewire and Skyler also take residence here? The pen bobbed up and down rigidly as he wrote, handwriting as neat as the room around him.
He proofread it twice, satisfied, and signed. There, that ought to be a lovely enough letter, he nodded. The ghoul hoped that no one would be reckless enough to break the duct tape and barrier of salt, but... one could never know, now, could they? Skeletal fingers folded the leaflet into a petite square and tucked it safely underneath the container, leaving a corner to remain jutting out for easier notice. Box, note, negativity... Well! Seems everything was in order.
Business was concluded and Fear was needed elsewhere. He inspected everything once more and left, ducking beneath the door to seemingly meld into the evening's opaque shadows.
((OOC: Alright, Cabe! It's kinda been a week and I haven't heard back on the thread we were supposed to have, nor seen one crop up. I sadly have to rule this opportunity a miss, so Fear is returning Uriel's negativity back to him in a vodka bottle. Oh what could have been!))
Date: February 9th, 0006
Fear was furious.
Anger stoked the raging fires within his mind as the undead hurriedly stormed through the streets of Portal City. Bloody Nephilim, bloody Uriel! Repeatedly did he growl and mumble beneath his fictitious breath, temper simmering. That was the last time - the last TIME - he ever did something so foolish, so unthinking... so... so gut-wrenchingly kind for someone who couldn't be arsed enough to return the favour! By the time Fear had already strutted into the Residential District and was making good time, his boisterous ire fortunately began to dissipate. It wouldn't do to be acerbic, he reasoned. Negativity was something he could not afford, not with it, and the fiend promptly vied to level his rowdier thoughts. Think about earlier today, prior to that... ugh, mess. Think about Livewire, think about her smile and just how carefree she looked with all those purring flea-houses. An exhausted sigh escaped him, whistling out from the gaping cavity in his emaciated chest. Well, Fear thought... hopefully the lass' day wasn't ruined because of a little smattering of black sludge.
The telltale shape of a massive bell stuck out against the city skyline and he knew that the Inn wasn't much further. Uriel was there... This he knew quite well, for was not Fear a skilled psychic and empath? Renewed aggravation stirred within his breast, but it as hastily quashed. Just a little more, just a little more... Leathery fingers stroked the lid of a decorated container as he continued his rickety gait. Lousy spine...
As expected, the Stock Pot Inn's interior was always a masterful blend of aesthetic and professional. Though the ghoul's wardrobe left much to be desired and he was rather fond of macabre motifs, Fear was nevertheless approving of the establishment's upkeep. Businesses should always have tidy appearances. He shambled toward the nearby assistance desk and set the box carefully aside. To ring the bell and wait, or to ring the bell and leave? Thinking to compromise, the fiend 'borrowed' a blank piece of paper and pen. Forgive him, for this box was not your ordinary parcel... Special instruction was required, for did not Livewire and Skyler also take residence here? The pen bobbed up and down rigidly as he wrote, handwriting as neat as the room around him.
Dear ssstaff, it read.
Before you isss a rather... ssspecial package. I won't bore you with the detailsss and write a novel'sss worth, but pleassse be extra careful when delivering it to Room No. 445. I am returning a certain Nephilim hisss property, and one he quite rudely forgot to reclaim. Pleassse ensssure that he receivesss it; the item in quessstion cannot be given to anyone other than him.
Thank you kindly,
Fear
PS: don't open it. If you do, you might find your decent busssinessss sssuddenly under a cassse of heavy negativity.
He proofread it twice, satisfied, and signed. There, that ought to be a lovely enough letter, he nodded. The ghoul hoped that no one would be reckless enough to break the duct tape and barrier of salt, but... one could never know, now, could they? Skeletal fingers folded the leaflet into a petite square and tucked it safely underneath the container, leaving a corner to remain jutting out for easier notice. Box, note, negativity... Well! Seems everything was in order.
Business was concluded and Fear was needed elsewhere. He inspected everything once more and left, ducking beneath the door to seemingly meld into the evening's opaque shadows.
((OOC: Alright, Cabe! It's kinda been a week and I haven't heard back on the thread we were supposed to have, nor seen one crop up. I sadly have to rule this opportunity a miss, so Fear is returning Uriel's negativity back to him in a vodka bottle. Oh what could have been!))
- For the Inn Staff:
A decorated box no longer than a foot and wider than half, something weighty rolls around within. Take heed, however! For some reason the lid has been sealed shut by silvery strips of duct tape, and what appears to be fine granules of salt trace around the felt rim. It could be said that a foul presence seeps from an unknown source, though it is apparently contained.
For now...
- For Uriel:
Inside the box is a vodka bottle, though the liquid within could hardly be considered alcohol. A black sludge, thick and lustrous, seems to angrily gurgle and boil inside. All manners of unpleasant whispers echo faintly through the glass. You do remember what this is, right, Uriel? It appears that your 90% is being returned up front to rejoin the rest of it...
Cheers!
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