[atrb=valign, top][style=font: normal 18px/15px minion pro; color: black; text-shadow: 1px 1px 1px #000000;]a sword is only a sword when it kills,[/style][style=border-bottom: 4px solid #cccccc; width: 300px; margin-left: -2px; margin-bottom: -13px;] [/style] [atrb=style, width: 300px; height: 150px; font-family: Tahoma; word-spacing: 1px; text-align: justify; color: 777777; padding: 10px 10px 5px 2px; overflow: auto;]Every once in a while the anchor drops, and it's like all those stupid tactics he read long ago in stuffy books when he was trying to teach himself how to kill things: hammer, anvil, and Zahir the poor sap in between. Today, limping his way through Midtown East, he's afraid to look over his shoulder until he gets where he needs to be. He'd killed a vamp last night, but that vamp had had sisters. Sisters he hadn't known about until he was halfway home, and all of the sudden the car alarm in his head was cranked to max; he'd barely been able to get his sword out before they were on him, too tired to do more than defend himself, hold them off until he could get to the nearest crowd of sleepers.
He can feel them still, watching from the skyline. Their gaze is an itch between his shoulder blades, a buzzing in his head. His arms ache. There's a cut across his left calf he needs to get looked at. Too tired to kill them and get home safely to his apartment, too tired to even have a chance at shaking them. He's been roaming the streets since midnight, throwing himself into herds of tourists and clubbers. Can't go inside the clubs proper, too much of a risk, but he's got to keep himself seen, in range of people. This is Midtown, after all, not South Ave in the Bronx. There's a chance someone might do something if they see him go down in a crowded street, and the sisters know it.
Now though, he's got a chance. Shops are opening, storefronts lit up, and if he can just push himself a little farther, to that place the last sorcerer he handed off a demon to mentioned—
At approximately 9:03:12 am, Zahir stumbles into Acerbi's Antiques looking less half-dead and more “fully and completely dead, but his corpse was resuscitated in a cheap microwave”. Still, he made it, right? That sorcerer told him this was a Waker shop, run by a magician. No way the guy's going to let a couple of vamps break in and kill him.
At approximately 9:03:43 am, Zahir faints on Varnock's floor.[/style] [style=font-size: 9px; font-face: courier new; color: #000000; text-transform: lowercase; text-align: center; background-color: #cccccc; margin-top: 3px;]tags: varnock. words: 372 notes: gomen this is so late.[/style]
[style=width: 400px; font-family: courier new; font-size: 10px; text-transform: lowercase; text-align: right; margin-top: -38px; letter-spacing: -1px; color: #888888;]created by the lion of OTE inspired by tsu doll
Post by varnock acerbi on Dec 27, 2012 15:33:34 GMT -5
He had only opened shop about fifteen minutes back when his wards went off to alert him to someone in the shop. Ellen wasn't downstairs yet, but she had felt it too and was now sitting on his shoulder to avoid crowding the stairway. It had been a while since he had had a customer this early actually. Most people weren't after antiques this early in the morning.
When he opens the door into the main shop and no one is readily apparent he sighed and figures that someone had somehow gotten the wrong shop in the empty little side street he had chosen to take up residence over. Then Ellen sucked in a surprised breathe of air and Varnock looked down. Someone was hurt, and pretty badly at that as far as he could tell. Varnock was moving in a matter of moments as books flew about the room to take up their places as sentinels in the corners. The guise of the antique shop owner was long gone as he checked the body for a pulse and lifted the man over his shoulder to rush him upstairs. Varnock had taken on the guise of the handler and problem solver for this, and the now actively dangerous defensive wards could show that. The shop was even warded to mask it from the eyes for a time to prevent anyone innocent from getting hurt.
He was up the stairs in moments and had cleared the table of books with a thought to return them to his mind. It wasn't the most comfortable place to leave someone who was injured, but it was the most convenient. He didn't have any skill as a healer after all, so what he could manage with his rather nice first aid kit would have to do. He sent Ellen up to the roof as a side thought to keep an eye on things. The wards up there were as tough as he could make them, but he wanted her watching for anyone approaching the shop rather than anyone coming from the roof.
He collected the first aid kit and began to patch up the wounded man on his kitchen table with a small sigh as the guise of handler slipped off a bit. Nothing had tried to attack him, at least not yet, but who was to say they were just further behind than he had anticipated. Nothing to do but try to wake this guy up and fixed up.
[atrb=valign, top][style=font: normal 18px/15px minion pro; color: black; text-shadow: 1px 1px 1px #000000;]a sword is only a sword when it kills,[/style][style=border-bottom: 4px solid #cccccc; width: 300px; margin-left: -2px; margin-bottom: -13px;] [/style] [atrb=style, width: 300px; height: 150px; font-family: Tahoma; word-spacing: 1px; text-align: justify; color: 777777; padding: 10px 10px 5px 2px; overflow: auto;]When Zahir comes to, he's only aware of two things: he's on a hard flat surface and there is someone touching him. He jerks, eyes shooting open, scrambling backward, and at once regrets the movement as it feels like every nerve ending on his body decides to light itself on fire in protest. Gasping for breath, he looks at Varnock and narrows his eyes.
I was in a shop,” he says. ”Before I—before I passed out. This is very much not a shop.”
King of the obvious there, Zahir.
He wipes his mouth with his sleeve and shifts to sit cross-legged. The feel of his scabbard still strapped across his back is reassuring and sets him the tiniest bit more at ease. Only the tiniest, though.
”How long was I out? Where is this? Who are you?” The questions barrel out of Zahir rapid-fire, but he can't stop himself, no matter how he despises how weak it makes him seem. He's been on the streets for nine hours, he's pretty sure his leg is bleeding again, and he's disoriented as he's ever been.[/style] [style=font-size: 9px; font-face: courier new; color: #000000; text-transform: lowercase; text-align: center; background-color: #cccccc; margin-top: 3px;]tags: varnock. words: 183 notes: gomen this is so late.[/style]
[style=width: 400px; font-family: courier new; font-size: 10px; text-transform: lowercase; text-align: right; margin-top: -38px; letter-spacing: -1px; color: #888888;]created by the lion of OTE inspired by tsu doll
Post by varnock acerbi on Dec 30, 2012 4:08:59 GMT -5
Varnock jerked around at the sound of movement as the man that had collapsed in his shop awoke. He hadn't been out long at least. He stared with a neutral expression and began to answer his questions. "You're awake then? I was a bit worried when I found you collapsed like that." He watches carefully as the man sits up in case he nears collapse again before continuing. "You were out for about twenty minutes. You are in my home above my shop. My name is Varnock Acerbi, owner of the shop you collapsed in." He paused again to look his sudden charge over.
"What happened that caused you to collapse? Is anyone following you? Anyone at all I mean. If an ally of yours triggers my wards they will be in for as much hurt as anyone else. Did you pick my shop at random or for a reason? I apologize for forcing you to answer my questions when you have just recovered from your fainting spell, but I need to know for the general safety of everyone here." His face was surprisingly serious and his eyes had gotten a tad sharper as he waited for the answers to his questions.
[atrb=valign, top][style=font: normal 18px/15px minion pro; color: black; text-shadow: 1px 1px 1px #000000;]a sword is only a sword when it kills,[/style][style=border-bottom: 4px solid #cccccc; width: 300px; margin-left: -2px; margin-bottom: -13px;] [/style] [atrb=style, width: 300px; height: 150px; font-family: Tahoma; word-spacing: 1px; text-align: justify; color: 777777; padding: 10px 10px 5px 2px; overflow: auto;]Zahir scrubs his hand through his hair, groas low in his chest.
"Fuck." The word is hissed, crackling with energy, but when he speaks again it is as if all the air has gone out of him.
"I'm sorry," he says. "There's no allies coming, trust me, you don't have to worry about that. I came here on purpose. I'd heard about a waker shop in the area, run by a warder, and figured it was my best shot. I never meant to pass out on your floor, fuck, I'm sorry. I just need a shot of something to keep me on my feet for another hour or two, and maybe a cloaking spell if you sell something like that, and I'll be out of your way. You can pretend I was never here."[/style] [style=font-size: 9px; font-face: courier new; color: #000000; text-transform: lowercase; text-align: center; background-color: #cccccc; margin-top: 3px;]tags: varn. words: lol notes: grumpy baby.[/style]
[style=width: 400px; font-family: courier new; font-size: 10px; text-transform: lowercase; text-align: right; margin-top: -38px; letter-spacing: -1px; color: #888888;]created by the lion of OTE inspired by tsu doll
Last Edit: Jan 6, 2013 2:36:39 GMT -5 by ZAHIR BRAND
Post by varnock acerbi on Jan 6, 2013 2:48:09 GMT -5
Varnock frowned for a moment before the expression vanished. He had been hoping to test some of his defenses, but isn't it better to not need to use violence? He almost laughed. Well at least word of his shop was getting around. People even knew he focused in Warding... That was a bit more information than he wanted out there, but at least they don't know much about how his other abilities would work. He idly waves a hand to deactivate the rather dangerous setup he had downstairs and contacted Ellen to tell her that there shouldn't be any trouble coming, but to keep an eye out just in case.
"Don't worry about it. You got surprisingly little blood on the carpet and I can clean up what did get on there rather easily. I'm not focused in Glamour, but I can give you some wards that should keep people from focusing on you for too long. I have to ask though, what did you get into that left you in this state?"
He reached into the air and pulled a book out with a slight ripple of space before leafing through it. He had the wards he needed in here somewhere... Really needed to mark the pages better so he could fly through without just a general mental idea of what he was looking for. "I never caught your name by the way."
[atrb=valign, top][style=font: normal 18px/15px minion pro; color: black; text-shadow: 1px 1px 1px #000000;]a sword is only a sword when it kills,[/style][style=border-bottom: 4px solid #cccccc; width: 300px; margin-left: -2px; margin-bottom: -13px;] [/style] [atrb=style, width: 300px; height: 150px; font-family: Tahoma; word-spacing: 1px; text-align: justify; color: 777777; padding: 10px 10px 5px 2px; overflow: auto;]"Thanks," Zahir said, sliding off the table and standing to his feet. Balance seemed okay, and his stomach wasn't spinning like it had been. Leg would be a pain, but without the threat of being hunted, everything was much more manageable, honestly. Now he just had to hope this guy wasn't a foodie.
"Vamps," he answered, digging around in his back pocket for his wallet. If he had lost that--no, there it was. He peeled it open. "How much for the spell? You can call me Jack." It had been his grandfather's name. A man long dead, and a common enough moniker that he could hope no harm would come of it.[/style] [style=font-size: 9px; font-face: courier new; color: #000000; text-transform: lowercase; text-align: center; background-color: #cccccc; margin-top: 3px;]tags: varn. words: lol notes: grumpy baby.[/style]
[style=width: 400px; font-family: courier new; font-size: 10px; text-transform: lowercase; text-align: right; margin-top: -38px; letter-spacing: -1px; color: #888888;]created by the lion of OTE inspired by tsu doll
Post by varnock acerbi on Jan 6, 2013 3:04:36 GMT -5
Vampires he says. Guys must be a hunter then... This might have just gotten a bit, ah, complicated. He couldn't have someone like this running around killing people he knew after all. Varnock just didn't fancy the idea of ripping someone limb from limb for killing Mildred. "Sorry Jack, but I think I need to talk to you for a bit longer."
His voice had gotten serious again as his expression dropped several degrees. The book he was holding flipped through pages on its own to shoot out a slip of paper to each corner of the room and activate a ward in an attempt to seal the place off for a time. "You said Vampires yes? I need to talk to you about that. Do you kill any of them that you find or only the ones that you see attacking people?"
[atrb=valign, top][style=font: normal 18px/15px minion pro; color: black; text-shadow: 1px 1px 1px #000000;]a sword is only a sword when it kills,[/style][style=border-bottom: 4px solid #cccccc; width: 300px; margin-left: -2px; margin-bottom: -13px;] [/style] [atrb=style, width: 300px; height: 150px; font-family: Tahoma; word-spacing: 1px; text-align: justify; color: 777777; padding: 10px 10px 5px 2px; overflow: auto;]Re-appearance of a previous Zahir fun fact: he can unsheathe his sword in less than a quarter second. Gotta love that swordsmanship. Thankfully it's his leg that's bleeding, not his arms.
The blade is sharper than the mind.
He unsheathes it to halt, quivering, an inch from Varnock's throat, presuming the man doesn't move. It's a quarter of a second though. Not many humans will be moving. And he hopes this guy is human. He helped him out, after all.
"I said vampires. I'm afraid we have nothing to talk about here. You took care of me, and I appreciate that, but we're both adults. What you do with vampires is none of my business. What I do with them is none of yours." He eyed the papers that had shot out of the book, sword never moving an inch. "I would appreciate you letting me out of here, so I can be on my way."[/style] [style=font-size: 9px; font-face: courier new; color: #000000; text-transform: lowercase; text-align: center; background-color: #cccccc; margin-top: 3px;]tags: varn. words: lol notes: grumpy baby.[/style]
[style=width: 400px; font-family: courier new; font-size: 10px; text-transform: lowercase; text-align: right; margin-top: -38px; letter-spacing: -1px; color: #888888;]created by the lion of OTE inspired by tsu doll
Post by varnock acerbi on Jan 6, 2013 3:22:17 GMT -5
He would have shook his head if there wasn't a sword to his throat. Instead he raised an eyebrow and smiled. It was rather silly of someone to challenge him in his own home with knowledge that he was a master of warding. "I can't let you do that Jack. You see I have made some friends amongst the Vampires that aren't total monsters like most of my family believes and I don't want my friends getting killed. You see when my friends die, people get hurt. People that hurt them for instance."
Books were flying around the room each open to a glowing page and pointing at Zahir. What they did was anyone's guess until activated, but they couldn't be good. For now there was just a sudden movement from Varnock's hand as he hit the blade upwards while leaning back. It would be nothing at all to a swordsman if it wasn't for the discharge of electricity sent through the blade to stun 'Jack' as he rolled backwards to give himself some distance.
[atrb=valign, top][style=font: normal 18px/15px minion pro; color: black; text-shadow: 1px 1px 1px #000000;]a sword is only a sword when it kills,[/style][style=border-bottom: 4px solid #cccccc; width: 300px; margin-left: -2px; margin-bottom: -13px;] [/style] [atrb=style, width: 300px; height: 150px; font-family: Tahoma; word-spacing: 1px; text-align: justify; color: 777777; padding: 10px 10px 5px 2px; overflow: auto;]The blade is sharper than the mind. The mind is a tool they'll use to break you. They'll tell you lies. They'll wear you down. Illegitimum non carborundum. The mind is a trap. Ignore it.
The blade turns to the side, smooth as silk, and then ricochets back into place. Zahir steps forward. The blade is sharper than the mind. His arm is almost numb, but memory is deeper than pain. Lasts longer than euphoria. The mind is a trap.
"That's wonderful," he says. "But this is a large, large city and I'm sure a nice man like you doesn't keep the company of killers. Now, I can gamble that your magic will die with you and put this sword through your chest, but I really don't want to do that. Like I said, you seem like a nice man."[/style] [style=font-size: 9px; font-face: courier new; color: #000000; text-transform: lowercase; text-align: center; background-color: #cccccc; margin-top: 3px;]tags: varn. words: lol notes: grumpy baby.[/style]
[style=width: 400px; font-family: courier new; font-size: 10px; text-transform: lowercase; text-align: right; margin-top: -38px; letter-spacing: -1px; color: #888888;]created by the lion of OTE inspired by tsu doll
Post by varnock acerbi on Jan 6, 2013 3:42:21 GMT -5
Cocky isn't he? Well why not give him a little something to have some fun with then? A book flashed as he pulled the hilt of a blade from the arsenal within it to match the one held by his enemy. "Books are mine to control. Every word another to read." He shifted his body to hold the sword differently as he readied himself.
"You think you can beat me in my own home with as much against you as there already is? You seem a tad full of yourself Jack. Tell me though, have you heard of Hamlet? He was supposedly quite the swordsman. Almost legendary in fact." It wasn't simple to channel the abilities of someone from a book, but in bursts or for short times it was doable at his skill level. Not to mention the steadily floating books in the room poised to lash out with Assault or more weapons.
"You're also wounded. I would rather you answered my questions rather than having to force it out of you. No one would like how that ended." A vial of water pulled from the air was held in one hand ready for use.
[atrb=valign, top][style=font: normal 18px/15px minion pro; color: black; text-shadow: 1px 1px 1px #000000;]a sword is only a sword when it kills,[/style][style=border-bottom: 4px solid #cccccc; width: 300px; margin-left: -2px; margin-bottom: -13px;] [/style] [atrb=style, width: 300px; height: 150px; font-family: Tahoma; word-spacing: 1px; text-align: justify; color: 777777; padding: 10px 10px 5px 2px; overflow: auto;]Hamlet. Well, this should be quick, if not interesting.
The Grapevine Twines is a simple form, the blade spiraling tightly to aim to disarm. He just wants to leave, after all. Not kill him. At the same time though, he activates the sword's latent ability. Vertigo settles over the room. To Zahir's eyes, it's as if the entire environment has melted and begun spinning around him, his opponent included, but he grits his teeth and focuses. It's an illusion, not the truth. And it's not as if it was unexpected, for him at least.[/style] [style=font-size: 9px; font-face: courier new; color: #000000; text-transform: lowercase; text-align: center; background-color: #cccccc; margin-top: 3px;]tags: varn. words: lol notes: grumpy baby.[/style]
[style=width: 400px; font-family: courier new; font-size: 10px; text-transform: lowercase; text-align: right; margin-top: -38px; letter-spacing: -1px; color: #888888;]created by the lion of OTE inspired by tsu doll
Last Edit: Jan 6, 2013 3:56:19 GMT -5 by ZAHIR BRAND
Post by varnock acerbi on Jan 6, 2013 4:08:02 GMT -5
The room started to spin as he moved to strike. His mind was trained to stay focused at all times, but something like this twitched at him a bit to throw him a bit off mark. It wouldn't be enough to stop him on its own. It was the advantage it gave his owner he was worried about. He fought down the nausea and dizziness with as much mental force as he could muster.
He coursed more electricity through the blade as he attempted to meet his opponents weapon. Hopefully the smaller amount would stun him without doing too much damage to the man wielding the weapon. The vial of water flew from his other hand as he moved the blade to intercept. Whether or not it hit Jack or the ground was another thing altogether, but nevertheless upon breaking it would cascade into ice on his person or around his feet hopefully.
He spared a moment to ping Ellen to head down to the lower floor of the shop to try to stop Jack should he fail.
[atrb=valign, top][style=font: normal 18px/15px minion pro; color: black; text-shadow: 1px 1px 1px #000000;]a sword is only a sword when it kills,[/style][style=border-bottom: 4px solid #cccccc; width: 300px; margin-left: -2px; margin-bottom: -13px;] [/style] [atrb=style, width: 300px; height: 150px; font-family: Tahoma; word-spacing: 1px; text-align: justify; color: 777777; padding: 10px 10px 5px 2px; overflow: auto;]The Grapevine Twines becomes a stuttered Low Wind Rising, a diagonal slash to slice from Varnock's wrist to his shoulder, lay open his chest like a grape if he can. Zahir doesn't waste a moment, presses forward, even dares to take a step forward. Ignore the electricity. He can feel his palm smoking, damn him. Fuck if that's not gonna be some long term neural damage unless he finds a witch the moment he gets out of here. He can patch up later. Always later. Ignore it. If he can get him moving under vertigo--well vomit will be harder to get out of the carpet than blood.
Doesn't matter if he's got Hamlet in his brain or whispering on his shoulder or god knows what. Doesn't mean he is Hamlet. Doesn't have the muscle memory, the instinctual knowledge of when to raise, parry, press. He's reading the Olympic memoir and thinking it gives him the gold. Zahir doesn't hesitate. Low Wind Rising is barely complete when he shifts into Striking the Spark, overhand blows raining down like--well, sparks, each blow relentless and quick. He's got to end it fast. That step cost him. He's tired. He doesn't have the stamina he usually would, but he's betting this guy doesn't either.
A bottle crashes to the side somewhere behind him, and Zahir ignores the sound. Ignores everything but this moment, his victory. He has to make it inevitable.[/style] [style=font-size: 9px; font-face: courier new; color: #000000; text-transform: lowercase; text-align: center; background-color: #cccccc; margin-top: 3px;]tags: varn. words: lol notes: grumpy baby.[/style]
[style=width: 400px; font-family: courier new; font-size: 10px; text-transform: lowercase; text-align: right; margin-top: -38px; letter-spacing: -1px; color: #888888;]created by the lion of OTE inspired by tsu doll
Last Edit: Jan 6, 2013 4:24:48 GMT -5 by ZAHIR BRAND
HIDDEN in plain sight is a modern-day supernatural noir game set in New York City and sprawling the rest of America. Magic is real, and so are angels, ghosts, gods, vampires, and witches. It doesn't matter if you believe in them, because they're coming for you either way.
( TOSKA ) - Head admin, your go-to for anything HIDDEN related
( MURK ) - Ad mod, resident cutie pie. Keep it in your pants or Toska will cut you.
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SPOTLIGHT
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CREDITS
( ORIGINAL SITE BY KATYA ) - Original site, templates, skin, ideas, and system all by Katya. Other ideas belong to their original owners