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Topic: Witchcraft rpg
Subject: Shweeeeet!
And a Zealot nonetheless... should prove interesting.
Also, disregard my previous question about contacts and allies... I think I found the info I needed. Most important ally/contact for Alex, it appears, is Smoke. Got a few more, as well... 
Posted on 2008-10-06 at 14:57:25.
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Topic: Witchcraft rpg
Subject: Allies and contacts?
Is there something/somewhere in the book that defines boundaries on contacts, allies, etc? (How may, gifted or not, etc?)
I figure Alex has got a decent handful, at least... being an ex-cop, current PI, and having more or less grown up and lived under the auspices of first his parents' coven and then having married another, very active wicce... and was just wondering how far I could go with the contacts, etc. I'll flesh out the few solid ones I've laid out so far, of course, just don't want to go overboard.
Thanks.
Posted on 2008-10-06 at 11:08:06.
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Topic: Witchcraft rpg
Subject: Location...
Cali is fine with me, Vesper. Just figured I'd mention that I didn't see Alex as actually living there (full time, anyway). Not out of the question that he and 'Smoke' wouldn't be there at all, however... Heck, being a PI, it's not hard to come up with a reason that Alex might've found himself in LA on a case of some sort (especially if he got the hint that the "cult of Azazel" was involved or whatever) and, from that point, gets pulled into whatever adventure/mystery/nightmare you've got in store... Heck, as far as I'm concerned, having Alex skulking around in LA would make for some interesting RP, anyway. And driving that 66 Chevelle from Chi-town to LA...  ROAD TRIP!!!!!
Just no vampiric Brittney Spears okay?
Posted on 2008-10-04 at 14:19:47.
Edited on 2008-10-04 at 14:20:43 by Eol Fefalas
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Topic: Witchcraft rpg
Subject: Groovy!
Been a looooong time since I've even been to California, myself. Probably changed quite a bit since I was last ou that way.
Also, yes, I figured Alex to be 'based' in Chicago or Philly - somehwere in that 'Back East/Midwest' section of the country, anyway.
Posted on 2008-10-04 at 12:51:55.
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Topic: ^ < V game
Subject: Next on Muses Gone Wild
^ Had a really hot muse.
< Couldn't help it... ya can't fight the muse, ya gotta go with it.
V That is not what Re is looking for... or is it?
Posted on 2008-10-04 at 02:44:37.
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Topic: Witchcraft rpg
Subject: Cali, huh?
Hope it's all right that Alex isn't a 'native'... for some reason I don't see him as the SoCal sort... not that he can't find a reason to be there of course 
Looking forward to seeing this one take off. 
Posted on 2008-10-04 at 02:40:32.
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Topic: Audalis Shorts - The Spores of Itanlok
Subject: Sorry 'bout that...
...been a little bit back and forth with character creation... Khords trip me out or something. I'll have a character for you soon.
Posted on 2008-10-03 at 22:47:10.
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Topic: Witchcraft rpg
Subject: Extra points?
Swizzle!
Welcome back, Vesper...
Posted on 2008-10-03 at 10:37:09.
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Topic: The Sharpeness of Smoke
Subject: Dinner and Drinks
Show off.
Alex, in the midst of shrugging out of his coat, stopped and turned to look back down the corridor behind him. It was the same voice he’d heard in the cemetery, he was almost sure of it, and this time, he couldn’t blame it on the rain or wind… What the hell?... His mind chased around the notion that, since it was the third anniversary of Emily’s death and that the number three had some power, maybe the voice was the result of that somehow. Between the increased Essence that was the norm in places like consecrated burial grounds, the protective rites he’d performed on her grave, and, of course, the fact that Em had been a witch of no small power herself, was it so hard to believe that she had somehow managed to contact him this year?
His heart fluttered for an instant and the hairs on the back of his neck prickled a bit at that thought… Thing is, it ain’t Em’s voice, he told himself as he tossed his coat over the back of one of the chairs at the small kitchen table, his gaze finally unlocking from the empty hallway. “Maybe it’s the cat,” he smirked, clipping across the kitchen to open the fridge, still not even bothering to think that that might actually be the case. Alex knew, of course, that there were creatures known as basts that spent most of their existence in the bodies of cats but, at the moment, it just hadn’t registered in his mind that the pitiful little gray kitty he’d just hauled out of the cemetery might actually be one of them. As it was, by the time he had opened the refrigerator door, Alex had once again dismissed the voice in his head as nothing more than the side effects of an emotional day, too little sleep, and too much scotch at Clancy’s.
“Yeah,” he chuckled a little as he pulled a jug of milk and a carton of leftover Chinese take-out from the fridge, “talkin’ cats, flyin’ monkeys, next thing you know I’ll get a case tailin’ some oompa-loompas on a white buffalo.”
After nudging the door shut with his knee, Alex turned and, squinting against the smoke from his cigarette, crossed the short span between the fridge and sink. He set the milk and the leftover take-out on the counter and, after another deep drag, laid his smoke on the edge of the sink before reaching into the cupboard for one of the three remaining cans of tuna there. Setting this aside, he retrieved a saucer, a fork, and a tumbler from the draining rack beside the sink and, after setting these with the rest of dinner-in-the-works, took another drag of the cigarette before crushing it out in the drain. He peeled back the lid on the tuna and drained off the excess water before forking the contents of the can onto the saucer, then, with a practiced squeeze of the take-out carton, popped its lid open and relegated the fork to whatever remained inside.
“Almost chow-time, cat,” Alex called down the hallway to his guest as he found a bowl into which he could pour out some milk, “just gettin’ some beverages ordered up.” He filled the bowl half full with milk and set the saucer of tuna on top like a lid, then, tugged a flask from the back pocket of his jeans, unscrewed the cap, and poured the tumbler three-quarters full of scotch. He then put the flask to his lips and drained whatever was left. Then, after returning the flask to his pocket and the milk carton to the fridge, he stacked the take-out carton atop the glass of scotch, and returned to the shop, his dinner carried in one hand and the cat’s in the other.
“Looks like you found yourself a spot,” Alex said, smiling a little when he found the cat curled up in the armchair, “comfy, huh?” He set the tumbler and leftovers down on the sidetable next to the chair and then arranged the cat’s dinner dishes on the floor not far away. “C’mon,” he said, reaching out a hand to scratch the snoozing kitty on the top of its head, coaxing one of those yellow eyes open, “soup’s on.”
The cat blinked at him and, after taking time to enjoy a leisurely stretch, slinked off the chair and towards the meal he had set out for it. Alex was about to take the cat’s place in the chair and dig into his own meal when he realized that his jeans were still pretty much soaked. No sense in soakin’ it into Em’s chair, he shrugged, grabbing the carton of Chinese food before sitting on the floor in front of the chair. Settling his back against the chair and stirring the cold remains of a dinner he’d brought home a day or two ago, Alex watched the cat for a long moment before finally lifting a forkful of the bean curd and veggies and poking it into his mouth.
His nose wrinkled as he chewed that first bite and, taking his eyes off the cat – who apparently had found the presentation of the tuna and milk satisfactory enough to taste – he peered curiously into the carton, then lifted it to his nose and sniffed it. “Huh,” he said, swallowing that first bite and holding the container out in the cat’s direction, “that smell funny to you?”
The cat glanced back, maybe looking a bit miffed at having had its dinner interrupted by his yakking, but returned to the tuna without a second look at the proffered leftovers.
Alex shrugged and withdrew the container, spearing another gelatinous glob of its contents with the fork, daring to risk another taste… he chased this one with scotch… it wasn’t so bad. “Whatever don’t kill me and all that s#!^, right?”
Posted on 2008-10-02 at 22:43:52.
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Topic: Witchcraft rpg
Subject: The Sidhe...
...are referenced at the beginning of Chapter 2 (pg 20 of the rulebook - Excerpts from Treatises on Reality...), again in the description of the Age quality on pg 84, and once more in the section called Essence and Immortality on pg 208. In each instance, the Sidhe are referred to as purely supernatural creatures (right along with Vampyres). Having said that, I suppose it is possible for player characters to be Sidhe but I doubt that the points allowed at creation would make it feasible... you'd have to spend a FORTUNE in the age quality for one (i.e. that'd probably be all you'd get)... and secondly, being a purely supernatural being would likely paint a big ol' target on your characters. 
As I said, though, best to check with Vesper to be sure if he'd even allow it... it is his game/his decision.
Posted on 2008-10-02 at 19:02:24.
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Topic: Witchcraft rpg
Subject: The Sidhe
Just a thought here regarding the 'Sidhe blood' bit:
The Sidhe (gaelic/celtic fae folk prominent in pre-christian religeon) do have ties to paganism/witchcraft, etc, and as such could come into play as part of your covenant's belief systems, lore, etc... nowhere in the rules as presented, though, does it seem to be alluded to that characters might have Sidhe blood. So, tying it in with your character's association/covenant is likely acceptable (and if your characters believe they are of Sidhe blood it could also make for interesting RP fodder - perhaps every member of your coven does and that's what's bound your coven together, for example)... Actually having that blood, though, is another matter all together and, of course, would have to be routed through Vesper (as the GM) for his thoughts on the matter.
I'm just spouting off cuz I can... and do... and can't help myself sometimes...
Posted on 2008-10-02 at 17:06:56.
Edited on 2008-10-02 at 17:10:23 by Eol Fefalas
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Topic: Voyages of the Rocinante - Firefly RPG QnA
Subject: Sorta volunteering...
As I said, I'd be happy to help out in keeping Asher NPC'd... pretty sure I can keep a grip on any interaction he'd have with Sam, anyway, and we all know the Kid's strong points... not sure that I'd get the dialogue down 100% but I'll be willing to assist where I can.
Posted on 2008-10-02 at 16:54:21.
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Topic: Vote for the Inn
Subject: Awww...
...and I'd just busted out the padlocks for my coffee cans, too. 
I was hoping for a good conspiracy.
Posted on 2008-10-02 at 13:12:12.
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Topic: Voyages of the Rocinante - Firefly RPG QnA
Subject: Besides... what would Ma say?
We're all more than familiar with what kind of havoc RL can play on your 'game time,' Blammm... no need to drop just because you're swampped. Like everyone else has said, Roc without the Kid ruttin' around all over the gorram place jus' wouldn' seem homey-like, get me?
Point being, take your time, relax, focus on the RL stuff cuz we all know it's more important, and we'll keep Asher in the loop for ya... I can always pull him into Sam's post and keep the banter going, if nothing else, and would be more than happy to do so until you get freed up again.
Hang with us a while, Di di... we ain't leavin' nobody else on this rock...
Posted on 2008-10-02 at 13:09:56.
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Topic: Witchcraft rpg
Subject: DM
Check the second to last post on pg 2 of this thread. I explained how to load that datafile in that post.
Edit: As Nimu said below, feel free to PM with any questions, as well. It is really quite simple even without the generator... actually, the generator doesn't make it any simpler... just a nifty little utility to keep stuff together.
Posted on 2008-10-01 at 23:16:24.
Edited on 2008-10-01 at 23:24:49 by Eol Fefalas
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Topic: Getting to know you
Subject: *snork*
Syllabubbles is fun!
Back on track, though... Favorite beverage has got to be coffee... dark roast preferred... fresh ground, even. Only buy coffee in a can as a last resort.
Posted on 2008-10-01 at 12:33:57.
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Topic: Vote for the Inn
Subject: I voted today.
Did you?
Still haven't put a scratch on the list Innmates... no shwoing for the RDINN in the Top 100, as yet.
*passes out yard signs, campaign buttons, flyers*
Vote for the Inn, people. We'll lower taxes... we'll lower gas prices... we'll kiss your babies!
Posted on 2008-10-01 at 11:16:12.
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Topic: What is your real-life World of Warcraft Race and Class?
Subject: Hmmm... uh... okay... I guess
| Night Elf Druid |
 
Night Elves are the sexiest of the bunch. They're the hot flower children of Warcraft: at one with nature, and dancing all the while.
As a druid, you tend to be relaxed and accepting - though if there is something you don't want to do, then you won't do it - simple as that. You're an easygoing and versatile person.
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| Find out your real-life WoW race and class at QuizGalaxy.com |
Posted on 2008-10-01 at 02:17:34.
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Topic: The Sharpeness of Smoke
Subject: Homecoming
Alex had said all he could manage to Emily, this time, and was rising to his feet after having adjusted the roses once more when a sopping wet mass of dark fur plopped silently down at his feet. He blinked, snapped back to the here-and-now from that lonely nether-place of memory by the sudden appearance of the cat and, at first, was a bit annoyed at having his time with Emily interrupted.
His first instinct was to shoo the creature away and the muscles in his leg were already starting the motion that would culminate in gently but firmly nudging the cat away with the toe of his shoe just as the words ‘Go on, get outta here' crossed his lips. That motion didn't make it anywhere close to Alex even lifting his foot, though; just as the muscles in his thigh tensed the cat - not much more than a kitten really - looked up at him with large, golden eyes and mewed pitifully.
I'm wet and hungry, Alex imagined was the translation for that particular meow, help me?
He blinked again, a sympathetic smile starting to tug at one corner of his mouth, and glanced around the graveyard as if he expected to catch sight the cat's owner nearby. It had been a reflex, really, he knew better than to think that if the pathetic little thing had an owner it wouldn't be out in this kind of weather at all. Alex's eyes returned from their quick surveillance of the cemetery and fell once more to the waterlogged feline that, as if to clench the deal, rubbed its head against Emily's marker.
Em loved cats, he reminded himself then, the smile no longer just a hint on his lips as he crouched slowly so as not to startle the creature, never did have any as pets, though. Always said that people didn't pick cats for pets, cats picked people who they wanted to live with. Alex stopped and closed his eyes. He'd seen Emily's face just then, looking up at him and smiling that beautiful smile of hers when she first spoke those words to him. She had taken a can of tuna out into the alley behind her bookshop to feed an old alleycat who patrolled the place, when he offered to buy her a cat that she could actually keep inside, she giggled and enlightened him as to the human-feline dynamic. When his eyes opened they danced disbelievingly between the cat and Emily's headstone for a moment - Emily's cat-wisdom and numerous Wicce tenets on reincarnation flooded through his mind all at once - and covered his mouth with his hands as he struggled with the very real possibility that this poor kitten being here now was no mere coincidence or random happening,
"No way," he laughed at himself for even entertaining for an instant that this cat was his wife returned to him, "no way." He wasn't so quick to dismiss the notion that maybe Emily was somehow responsible for the little thing being here, though. What the hell am I gonna do with a cat?
"All right, sweetheart," Alex conceded, still chuckling incredulously as he reached out and scooped up the sopping little cat, "you win. I guess the place is too big for just me, anyway." Rising to his feet, he tucked the critter under the protective leather shell of his coat and, after cradling the cat securely with one hand, he reached out the other and let his fingertips linger on the cool, wet marble of the tombstone. "I suppose I should get me and the fuzzball outta the rain, baby. I don't suppose this means I get to stop feeding the ones in the alley, huh? I love you, Emily, I'll see you soon."
It took him a moment longer to finally pull his fingers from the marble and longer still to turn around and face the direction he was walking. When he finally managed to tear his longing gaze from Emily's name, though, and found himself back on the cobbled path that led to the cemetery's gate he nearly tripped over his own feet when a voice, as clear as if someone had been standing in front of him, spoke in his mind,
Thank you.
Quickly regaining his step, Alex Sharpe's eyes darted around the grounds, desperately searching for a human form to which he would be able to tie the voice, there was nothing. His lips moved in silent incantation as he re-scanned the area in search of anything that wasn't human, again, nothing. "Huh, Just hearing things, I guess," he murmured, muscles and mind relaxing again and his free hand slipping inside his coat to absently pet the cat sheltered inside, "Rain's picking up again. Let's get us somewhere dry. Whaddya say? "
The cat, of course, didn't answer other than to nestle into him a bit more. He smiled faintly and turned to follow the pathway to the gate. He didn't hurry. By the time he got to the gate the day's steady drizzle had whipped up into a full on downpour and, while he was already soaked to the bone, Alex hunched over and jogged the last several yards to the black and primer gray ‘66 Chevelle in hopes that the cat wouldn't get any wetter.
"Here we go, kitty cat," he sniffed as he slid behind the wheel and slammed the weather outside the door, "your chariot awaits." Before he extricated the cat from his coat, he reached into the backseat and hooked a heavy, cable-knit sweater from where he had tossed it a week ago, dragged it to the front, and arranged it into a makeshift bed atop the leather of the passenger's seat.
"It ain't the Ritz, sweetheart," he said, gently tugging the cat from where it was nestled in his coat and setting it down in the middle of the sweater-bed, "but it'll have to do for now." He fished in his pocket for the keys as he wiped trickles of rainwater from his own face, then, and, after shoving the clinging tendrils of hair away from his face and shaking the excess water from his hand, he slipped the key into the ignition and brought the engine to rumbling life. "Hope you don't hate tuna and milk," he continued, turning on the stereo and pressing a button to cycle through the CDs loaded in the thing, "I don't think I'll be stoppin' for Meow Mix in this crap."
The CD changer whirred and clicked as Alex put the car into gear and pulled onto the street and, when the disc he had selected began to play, he quickly cycled through the tracks, not bothering to look at the stereo as he did so. When his finger came away from the seek button the haunting, lonely strains of Enya's If I Could Be Where You Are began to flow from the speakers. "Played this song at Em's funeral," he told the cat before taking a hand from the wheel to brush away a raindrop (or was it a tear?) from his cheek, "Kind of a tradition to play it after I visit," He fell silent then and remained so for the duration of the song and afterwards (when he had turned the stereo off all together and seemed content driving to the rhythm of the pouring rain and the staccato slapping of the windshield wipers.
Twenty minutes later, the Chevelle rolled to a stop outside of one of the city's older buildings. It was a three-story brick affair, likely built sometime in the 1800's, and had at different times since then served as a doctors office, a neighborhood grocery, and a tailor's shop among other things. Up until three years ago it had been the culmination of Emily's dream. The people who didn't know better would have called it an ‘occult bookstore and/or giftshop.' Emily had always liked to refer to it as a Wiccan library and outreach project. She had set up shop on the first floor, of course, stocking the place with volumes and volumes of texts that surely must have covered the entire encyclopedia of arcane and all the sundries that any Wicce, Gifted or otherwise, could possibly make use of. These days, though, the sign on the door displayed an image of a magnifying glass with the Eye of Ra centered in its lens. The text that followed around the curve of the lens read ‘A Sharpe Eye, A.C. Sharpe: Private Investigator.'
Alex shut off the engine and scooped the cat, sweater and all, off of the passenger's seat and, tucking the drying bundle back under his coat, made a dash from the car to the shallow overhang above the front door. Keys jingled into and out of a series of locks and then he shoved the door open, the tinkling of a string of tin bells greeted them and sounded once more as he toed the door shut again. He pulled the cat/sweater wad out of his coat, then, and set it gingerly on the floor. "Make yourself at home," he said, gesturing at the large front room that, for the most part, looked exactly as it did the last day Emily had been there, as the cat wriggled free of the sweater, "Kitchen's in the back. I'll see what I can do about some chow for you."
He watched the cat sniff the air and start to explore the place for a moment before tugging a cigarette from his pocket and poking it into the corner of his mouth. As the nearly dry cat began inspecting the antique wingback chair that Em always liked to sit in when she read, he strode towards the hallway, smiling even as he murmured another incantation and his fingers subtly traced the sigils that went along with the words. As he reached the door to the kitchen, the as yet unlit cigarette flared to life and several candles ignited in the shop.
Posted on 2008-10-01 at 00:41:41.
Edited on 2016-09-30 at 07:44:21 by Eol Fefalas
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Topic: Lady Vanadia's Birthday
Subject: But... but...
...I'm totally clothed, dude! Is it the party hat that's throwing it off? Or maybe the clown shoes?
Posted on 2008-09-30 at 20:11:02.
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Topic: Witchcraft rpg
Subject: Oooh! Nifty!
I just discovered that the Uniforge allows you load multiple 'books' relevant to the Witchcraft RPG - including the Mystery Codex, the Abomination Codex, the Book of Hod, etc... these, of course, are expansions and or other source materials (which are also available for download from dirvethrurpg - though not free) and add additional associations, metaphysics, etc from those source materials to the generator.
Now, that said, Vesper hasn't said anything about or approved the use of any of the additional stuff from these source materials so, if you're using the Uniforge generator for character creation, DO NOT load or use anything from these files without checking with and getting the approval of Vesper first. As far as I'm aware, he's using only the 'core rules'... no sense in springing nasty suprises on the Chronicler before the game truly starts, yes?
Posted on 2008-09-30 at 19:59:24.
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Topic: Lady Vanadia's Birthday
Subject: TABLE DANCE!!!!
Happy B-day, Hot Momma!
Much love and many happy returns!
Posted on 2008-09-30 at 19:42:54.
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Topic: Witchcraft rpg
Subject: Oh yeah...
...definitely easy enough to do without the generator. fairly simple and straight forward character creation until you have to decide on powers, so many choices, so few points. 
I like the generator, really, because the C sheets don't tend to get lost or mutilated like the paper ones do. Y'know, end up as a coffee coaster, get eaten by the dog, etc.
Posted on 2008-09-30 at 19:41:37.
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Topic: Witchcraft rpg
Subject: Help? That's what I do!
DM - the Witchcraft 'core rules' is avaialable as a free download from drivethrurpg.com. Easiest to find it by going to the site and selecting Eden Publishing (or is it Eden Press) from the "By Publisher" dropdown. You will need to create and account (which is also free) in order to download the thing.
As to the UniForge... when it asks for that file, point it at the witchcraftdata.xml file (you'll find it in the systemdata subdirectory of the Uniforge Directory)
Holler at me if it still gives you fits... I am the helpdesk.
P.S. I strongly recommend reading the book (especially the chapter on character creation) before using this generator because, while it does make character creation a lot neater, it still kind of relies on you knowing the rules and how the creation points work... I noticed that it doesn't always stop you from taking too much or allocating too many points where, techincally, they shouldn't be allowed.
P.P.S. It's become apparent to me that Rerelae is an absolute wizard at character creation (seemingly regardless of the system) and was even gracious enough to double check Alex when I got him finalized. If you talk real nice to her, I'll bet she'd be happy to help out, too.
Posted on 2008-09-30 at 19:14:29.
Edited on 2008-09-30 at 19:28:53 by Eol Fefalas
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Topic: The Sharpeness of Smoke
Subject: The Anniversary
Clancy's Bar
2:35 p.m.
The clinking of ice cubes in an all but empty glass, followed by the faint clunk of that glass being resigned to the countertop, drew John Clancy's attention to the solitary patron who had seen fit to while away the past hour and a half, somber and silent, at the end of his bar. Three years ago, Alex Sharpe had been a Detective Sergeant with the local police force and, even then, he wasn't what Clancy would have called a regular. Sure, Sharpe showed up from time to time for a drink - all the cops in the precinct did - but, three years ago, Sharpe had a wife to go home to and better things to do with his off hours than spending it here, pickling his liver with Johnny Walker. In those days, Clancy could only ever recall seeing the man walk through his door when someone on the force had gotten a promotion, or was celebrating the closing of a case, or when one of the city's boys-in-blue had made that ultimate sacrifice and his brethren filed somberly into the place to have one last drink for their fallen comrade. Hell, in those days, Clancy couldn't have even told you the man's first name for as often as he frequented the place.
"Need another one, Alex?"
He was answered, first, by the distinctive sound of a Zippo lighter being opened and struck, then by the dancing of the lighter's flame and the flaring end of the sixth cigarette that Sharpe had lit since coming in today. Clancy had just slung the bar towel over his shoulder and was reaching for the bottle of scotch when he heard the man's feet hit the floor.
"Not today, Clancy," Alex said, the words carried to the air on another exhaled lungful of smoke, "Got a date."
"Christ," the bartender replied regretfully as Sharpe clipped down the length of the bar and drew to a stop directly across the counter, "is that today?"
"Yeah," Alex nodded, tucking the cigarette into the corner of his mouth as he fished a crumpled twenty from the pocket of his leather jacket and tossed it on the bar between them, "three years ago today. Thanks, Clancy. Keep the change, huh?"
Clancy was busy cursing himself for not paying attention to the date and, at first, only nodded and offered a faint smile in response. Sheepishly, the bartender met the ex-cop's gaze and struggled to come up with an apology that wouldn't sound as clumsy as the original offense had been. Looking at the man, now, though, it was hard to say anything other than ‘I'm sorry' because, compared to what Alex Sharpe looked like, to what he was three years ago ‘sorry' was about the only word that fit. The once close-cropped and neatly combed brown hair had become a tousled if not unkempt mop; several days growth of beard now regularly covered the angular jaw that Detective Sharpe had always kept clean-shaven; instead of the crisp shirt and tie that he'd always worn all those years ago, the man's choice of clothing bent towards Levi's, whatever shirt may have been handy (ironed or not), and a somewhat battered leather coat; and the once alert and bright gray eyes, Well, Clancy decided when he realized that Sharpe was still looking at him, that's about the only thing that hasn't changed,
"Thanks," he said, dropping his eyes and sweeping the twenty off the counter before wandering towards the register, "I appreciate it."
"Yup," Sharpe said while dragging on the smoke, "have a good one." With that, the man that was once Detective Alex Sharpe turned and strode for the door.
"Alex," Clancy called just before the man reached for the doorknob.
"Yeah?"
"I'm, uh, y'know, sorry."
Sharpe stopped, one hand resting on the doorknob, but didn't look back. "What for, Clanc," he asked following another long drag on his cigarette, "Wasn't you that killed her." The smoke he exhaled was quickly dissipated by the sudden rush of mist-laden air when he opened the door and disappeared into the rain-soaked streets.
Willow Grove Cemetery
3:00 p.m.
Alex had sat in the car for a long moment, his grey eyes focused on the necropolis beyond the wrought iron fence and a knot tied in his stomach that two cigarettes or even a rather guilty swallow from his flask hadn't been able to loosen. It hadn't gotten any easier to come here in the past three years; the guilt he felt over Emily's death wracked him just as hard now as it had on that hateful night when Azazel's minions had overrun the coven and slaughtered all thirteen members, bound them and flayed them alive,
If I'd have just listened to her, he thought, shuddering at the memory of finding them, finding her, joined their circle like she'd asked me to,
What? He argued with himself, You could've been hung upside down and gutted right along with them? Or maybe you think your being there would've made a difference in the outcome? You did everything you could to avoid the Craft, then, what were you going to do? Hell, even when you did get there you proved to be real useful didn't you? Those freaks damn near killed you, too!
Shut up! He took one final drag on his smoke before stabbing it out in the already full ashtray; "Just, shut up." Scowling at himself and finally breaking his entranced gaze from the rain-veiled cemetery beyond the windshield, Alex grabbed the bouquet of roses from the passenger's seat and stepped out, slamming the primer-grey door closed behind him.
Clutching the roses in one hand, the other stuffed into the pocket of his coat, Alex let his feet carry him past the slowly rusting gate and along the puddle-pocked flagstone path that wound its way between the headstones, monuments, and mausoleums towards the cemetery's heart. He also allowed his guilt to swell as he was reminded, once again, that even after she'd died, Alex had done her the dishonor of burying her here among these mundanes when, by rights, he should have sent Emily's body back to her mother and father in Vermont to be buried with her ancestors at the family home. Selfishness (or maybe even self-punishment if he'd cared to admit it) had caused Alex to inter her remains in this place so he could keep her close. Of course, he didn't visit as often as he probably should have, it hadn't gotten any easier to come here in the past three years, and that, too, compounded his guilt all the more.
He veered from the cobbled path after a while, turning to the east past a mausoleum in the early stages of decay, and moved silently between the surrounding graves towards the glowing, white marble headstone a couple dozen yards off the path. The ward he'd placed on the monument - a symbol of protection he hoped would guard her in death the way he hadn't been able to in life - still shone brightly. It had been the first thing he'd done after taking up the Craft again - even before he began hunting down the members of the dark coven and exacted a modicum of vengeance from them - but the ward, too, did little more than cause his own guilt to grow all the more. Couldn't be bothered to so much as attend a single sabbat when it really mattered but I can sure as hell protect a hunk of carved rock, now, can't I?
A forlorn sigh escaped his lips as he came to a stop at her grave and, after shoving a hand through his rain-soaked hair, peeling the water plastered strands of it from his face, and regarded the headstone solemnly. The expression on his face was a strange mix of love, misery, longing, and guilt.
Emily Francesca Sharpe
1975 - 2005
Beloved Wife and Daughter
",Heed ye flower bush and tree,
by the Lady Blessed Be..."
"Hi, baby," he said after a long moment crouching before the stone and reaching out a hand to brush the litter of dirt, leaves, and debris from the base of the thing before laying the roses there, "It's me again, still here," His fingertips touched the engraved letters of her name as he swallowed the lump in his throat. ",I still miss you, Em, still love you,"
Posted on 2008-09-30 at 16:19:36.
Edited on 2016-09-30 at 07:30:46 by Eol Fefalas
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