magnlowxxmint [private]

[el minty]

▶ ▷ W ΐ l l i a m • H • W r i g h t h e a r t ◀ ◁

Well it was clear he had upset her and it took everything in Will’s power not to laugh. The little fairy looked rather cute and appealing when she looked angry, but he decided it was in his best interest to not state the obvious. It seemed he had a knack for upsetting the supernatural, first that iron man and now some half fairy, half demon girl. His confusion broke and instead was replace with a warm, prince like smile as his gaze still resting upon her.

“No, forgive me little blue…” He began but was interrupted by the flash of light and instead a slightly more human sized girl stood before him. She was rather short – about Clara’s height if he recalled: and he did, quite easily.

“My name is Isiel, not blue woman.”

“Right! And a very lovely name, Isiel.” Will corrected himself and took it a step further. Bending at his knees, the Prince squatted down and cupped his chin with the palm of his hand. It was a lot easier than craning his neck down and a habit he had – it made it easier to talk to people at their eye level especially when it came to women. She looked bubbly to him, though he assumed that appearances could be deceiving – he figured there was no harm in entertaining the girl. Maybe she was some rich lord’s daughter? This castle was too large and unfamiliar for him to place just her first name.

“Ah earlier you said you were half demon? You don’t seem like a demon, at all to me.” He grasped his mouth and studied her small stature and found her to be cute. “Perhaps you’re a princess of this castle?” He grinned lightly, though discovered that flattery would not get him far. So instead he fell back on his basic teachings, formalities and held out his hand for hers – though he was uncertain if she would offer it. It was only to kiss the top of her hand and nothing more.

“My name is William; of course you seem to know that. I wonder what else you know about me…?” His eyebrow rose slightly but he disregarded it completely. “Well you can call me Will, if you prefer, Isiel.” He spoke her name twice, deliberate at that. He grinned into the palm of his hand and decided that fun was where it was at.
“What sort of fun would you like to have, Isiel?”

┌ ____________________________________ ┐

Sometimes I slide away
Silently
I slowly lose myself
Over and over

└ ____________________________________ ┘

______

[el minty]

Outskirts of Buenos Aires, Argentina - 2100 hours

Covered in foliage, was an old outpost, which could have easily been mistaken for part of the landscape in the moonlight. Separated from the city by a large body of water, these forgotten lands were rarely visited. Standing at the water's edge, on sand, was a Caucasian man. His face was revealed in the moonlight, the face of a young man, but the eyes of a hardened soldier. Short, oily hair, with tips that curled, bushy eye brows, a narrow nose, morning stubble, and strong green eyes that were set back in their sockets more than normal. Nineteen years of age, on his medium set frame, he wore a tactical vest, clearly used by it's appearance, with fabric fraying at some of the stitches. With too many pockets to count at a glance, he held a wide variety of items and equipment, including a Bowie knife, two hand grenades, a radio, and energy bars.

Unfastening the velcro on one of his pockets, his dirty fingers removed one of the energy bars, a Cliff Bar, chocolate flavored. Taking a bite of the bar with his unbrushed teeth, he pulled the bar from the wrapper and littered the plastic into the waters at his feet. Squatting down, his cargo pants split a hair more at the left knee. Scooping up some of the cool water with his right hand, he splashed it on his face. He shook his head back and forth, feeling refreshed. Spitting into the water, he stood up to his feet and turned about face. With medium-long strides he returned to the outpost and opened a weathered, wooden door.

Striking a match inside the dark room, he lit three candles in the center of the room. The light illuminated enough to reveal an unmaintained room with various items scattered over the floor. Resting on a table with a broken leg, was an Automatic Kalashnikov. It was an old model, covered with spots of rust. He had found the firearm here, left behind by previous occupants. Picking up the rifle, he looked down the iron sights, the fast sighting, pistol like iron sights that were built for ease and speed, not for long range, accurate shooting. Flipping the rifle over, he blew the dust out of the magazine well. On his vest, he opened a pocket and removed a thirty round, AK-47 magazine, fully loaded with the short .308 rounds. Hooking the front in first, he snapped the back of the magazine in and pulled the bolt back. With a familiar sound, the bolt slammed forward, loading the first bullet into chamber. Not wanting to draw attention to himself, he removed a state of the art sound suppressor from his pocket, one specially designed for the AK. Taking a few minutes to clean the threads at the end of the barrel, he twisted on the sound dampening device.

Stepping outside, he selected semi-automatic fire, sighted the rifle at a man sized boulder a few hundred feet off, and bent his finger from its indexed state. With controlled breathing, he took sight in the moonlight, and pulled the trigger back. The simplistic, legendary reliability design of the firing mechanism did not fail, as the pin hit the end of the bullet, causing the gunpowder inside the casing to explode, sending the lead bullet out of the rifle at high speeds. Hitting the rock, the bullet ricocheted away. Expectations met, he returned inside and mumbled a few words to himself, feeling forgotten about since finishing his last mission.

A week had passed and nothing. No new assignments, no responses to his outgoing messages. He had been told to wait for further orders once he had finished the job, that is what he was doing. Sometimes he thought to himself why he had ever decided keep this job, the danger, the waiting, it discouraged him at times. Grabbing his cell phone off the table, he turned it on, leaving it off most of the time as he had limited battery. No signal. Meandering around outside, he finally was able to get a signal. An alert message told him he had one new email. Opening it, he read: "Elijah, you are to meet with your new partner, Sam." That was all. No time, no date, no location. Elijah wanted to reply but felt like it would be in vain.

A new partner. How many had he been through in the past six months? Too many to remember. They didn't stay alive long around him most of the time, either taking an unintentional bullet for him or making a careless mistake. A part of Elijah felt responsible for their unfortunate deaths. Another part saw it as fate, that they were not strong enough to survive. In fact, Elijah was not the strongest, the fastest, or the most accurate. He shined with his tactics, tactics which often led him to catching others with their pants down.

Winding down a few hours later, he laid down on a pile of blankets on the floor of the outpost. Rolling back and forth to get comfortable, Elijah found the most comfortable spot and breathed out through his nose. His comfortable pillow made all the difference. Closing his eyes, he heard a faint noise, one that he imme­­diately recognized. The front door!

Flipping up to his feet, armed with a Škorpion vz 61 in each hand (which had been hidden underneath his pillow) he cautiously swept the machine pistols through the room, covering the door to his room with the guns. "Hello?" He swallowed, eyes aware, looking for the slightest movement to unload at. Elijah thought of the text message, maybe they had meant that the new partner would find him that night. If that was the case, they weren't losing their touch. The floor around the corner, just out of sight, creaked. Keeping his composure, he said, "Sam?










◆ Name ◆
Hell Hound

[el minty]

Central America, an undisclosed location in Costa Rica 1100

“Elijah Walker, recruited by Trinity Division at the age of thirteen – took his first mark a year after that, his rap sheet should speak volumes… Miss Revlon, are you following?” A rugged throttled voice spoke behind the thin white documented sheet of paper. He was a tall man, well built into his late thirties with salt and pepper hair. The sort of looks that an ex-agent held. The features were tatted along a strong jaw and a few abrasive injuries that had been sustained only seem to give the male an edge to his suit and tie. Ebony colored hues stared down at the young woman, who had laced a leg over the arm of the chair. He cleared his throat, his gaze delving back to the young novelty face before him.

“I hear you, ever word Mr. Pennyworth,” her voice carried off with it an air of arrogance a bit of sultry emphasis to the man’s nickname. A feminine hand had grasped the sheet of paper when it was handed to her, eyes hidden by a pair of black shades, her gaze rolled over every mark and kill before the words subconsciously left her lips, “Jesus… He’s quite the killer, oh I hope he’s good looking,” a flirty grin spread across those full lips as she sat upright. A brow perked behind the lenses, looking at the agent – “So where do I find our true blue?”

“Thirty-four, zero-zero, S, sixty-four, zero-zero, W” They were coordinates, spoken with an abbreviated pun to each number.

Samantha had sat up, legs pulling themselves together as she stood and stole the barely lit cigar from the ash-tray; it wasn’t hers, but she didn’t mind. With a quick inhale that creamy white spoke spilled from her lips, a hand running through the midnight blue locks that fell around waistline. “Argentina? Well I always did want to visit the islands.”

Argentina, 2200 hours

The smell of roasted peanuts and tropical flavors filled her senses, the cold wind splashing against her face as she had reached the small, slightly savory island. This was where he was last at and from what information she had dug up and a lucky surveillance tape she had lifted off the men from the docks, she had caught him boarding a boat. Her only assumption led her to this place and when the boat had docked, she had hoped out, tying it down with some ease before moving.

Given his record, it wasn’t wise to tempt fate – she could have very well ended up on his long list of names, perhaps with a new category: friendly fire. Still, she wanted to see what all the fuss was about, it wasn’t everyday she got to deal with real-skilled partners. They were usually old, veterans in the game, who couldn’t handle a mouth like hers. The thin silver-steel aviator shades were pulled back into the thick head of hair, where she had tied it back to a ponytail. The young woman touched her early youth years, perhaps the prime of it all – seventeen, perhaps eighteen. Dressed in a formal black combat pants, they were sized for her lean frame and a long sleeve body-hugging shirt fit snugly to her curves. With nothing more than a black and steely grey fatigue vest, she had traded it in for the jacket, going for a lighter look.

Barefoot she had reached the porch when the wood under her had given a soft whine – and a curse left her mind mentally. With a quick move she had reached up and like the strength of a gymnast pulled herself up, soundless as she could.

“Sam?”

He spoke, a gun drawn and instantly she drew hers – a model SW1991 TFP with eight rounds in the chamber. The caliber was a simple .45ACP with a black melonite finish, but it didn’t take a scientist to figure out that a shot to the back of a head at this range could kill. Instead, she aimed at the gun and shot a round, hitting the weapon in his hand where it slid across the dash. Instinctively she lunged at him from behind, knocking them both to the floor and her weapon went sliding out of range too. Those brown hues drew up a silent ‘-s**t’ falling from her lips as she reached for his hands, to get them behind his back. When he struggled, she pulled her fist back and threw it, aimed at his head to try and knock the trained man unconscious.

[el minty]

Human B Potion
Sultry Eyes Yellow
Guy's Rebellious Black (Lite)
Default Mouth 42
Madoka Magica: Homura Akemi (Tights and Shoes)
Steel Heeled Jack (Bat Wings (3))

[el minty]

xxx

Anna Colt

Lawrence, Kansas.

It was a s**t place, with a s**t town and a real b***h of a psychic – but it was her only lead. A nest of blood-sucking dead guys was last reported on the radio, but it didn’t make sense. This place was a scorcher, at least the humidity alone was enough to dry good leather. And fresh corpses found this place appealing, somehow?

A thin lit cigarette pressed itself to her lips, as that tousled blonde hair fell over her shoulder – still damp from her shower. A piece of a cut-out article was held in her hand, eyes glossing over the gory print of a dead body that was found – blood sucked dry. This definitely had a vampire’s MO – but it was too obvious, too careless and unlike them. “Nine out of ten, it’s a trap,” she hushed to herself. “Oh Anna, here we go,” again – there was no one in the hotel room with the exception of a radio that played Queens.

Along her vanity mirror was a barrage of photos, newspapers and article clippings. A loaded 1911 sat on the table, unmarked and the numbers filed down. She was missing her family heirloom – either it was in the hands of a couple of nimrod hunters or worse, in demons.

As she finished blow drying her hair – she pulled it into a tight high-end ponytail. Silver aviator shades concealed the sleek to bare minimum makeup she wore as she sported the all-American girl with a bit of edge. A white cropped shirt that and a pair of shorts that left little the imagination. Tanned legs from her fortunate stay in Kansas and a pair of leather boots that bit around the ankle. A DA badge was attached to her hip as she did little to conceal her gun in the holster under the vest that was pushed up to the elbow.

The call came in, “Ten-forty looks like we got another one…. God damn, you’d think it was some sort of sick fruit bat but I don’t know what to make of it.” And that was her cue.

Grabbing her keys, she checked herself once more before heading out the door. This time the body was dumped in broad daylight – which meant someone had to be helping from the outside. She only hoped she could get there in time before someone else swooped in on her sweet spot. Pushing the key into the door of a baby blue Mustang, she slid into the driver’s seat as the engine roared to life. It was American and that was good enough for her.

She was poised as a U.S. Marshall – it gave her more room to branch out of the area and often times didn’t have to deal with raising eyebrows if she came dressed as an obvious suit. As she approached the crime scene she could see only the sheriff’s car, a few bystanders and a cop talking to the shop keeper: a middle-aged woman. Instead of asking for details though she merely walked on the scene, catching the gazes of a few on-duty officers who lifted the yellow tape for her. As the plastic bag was pulled out, it was the obvious two wounds to the neck, no missing belongings and the money was still in the wallet.

“Charlie, I wasn’t really expecting you until 2 today, ah yeah looks like another one this time.” The sheriff spoke, he was an aged man pushing his late fifties. He was still lean in the force of work with salt and peppered hair. He held a few extra moles along his neck and a thin beard. Pulling up the belt around his britches he scratched himself around his neck, then sighed.

“Hell, Charlie, we got a real sicko on are hands, this aint my kind of stuff,” he sighed solemnly and she picked it up on.

Charlie was her ‘name’ in this town, this age. She looked up briefly and gave a nod, though lacked a sincere smile to offer the man. “I understand Sheriff, just have your boys fax over the things to me and I’ll swing around evening time to confirm with the autopsy what they have to say.” The gave a nod, she turned and began to walk away bumping shoulders with a rather tall meaty fellow. "Watch it, bud" as cute as he was, she needed a cup of coffee and perhaps, breakfast.

[el minty]

Human A Potion
Sultry Eyes Brown
Girl's Long Locks Black (Dark)
Lovely Lucie (Young Lady's Cosmetics)
Pawsitive Mien (Legs)
Lockout Vest

[el minty]

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Unseeline King




Nude lips were tinged in a cream color that was nearly washed out against a white skin complexion. Wisp of matching hair was set apart by heavy lid and gold eyes, the slits were eerie and with it were touched by darkness. The air around the male fae was heavy and almost suffocating with the sort of chilly presence that one might expect with a predator. Ever so slightly, the creature tilted his head as a hand brushed against the rough bark of a tree. That stubby texture slid against the pads of his fingertips that slipped between the grooves of bark. Slender nails sank into it breaking off a piece and then –

A shrill cry pierced his thought and attention, poking at the front of his brain. Isa. The name registered with it the image of a dutiful knight, who, was often more trouble than she was worth. Why the King had chosen her at all was beyond his understanding – one who lacked diligence, patience, qualities that could quell a war rather than start it was not fit in his book, to even touch the foot of the Unseeline Court.

A grimace of annoyance slid unnaturally across those features, glaring in the distance, past the stone cobble walls and miles of earth at the general direction of the Pixie. He felt partial to the wants and needs of the Unseeline, but deep down he mildly admitted that it wouldn’t be wise to destroy what little forces this Kingdom had. After all, if it wasn’t for his clerical and advisor skill of tongue and wit – this Kingdom would have swallowed itself whole all before the Queen had her claws in it.

Pocketing the piece of bark, he felt the changing of the winds – that Midsummer Eve that was quickly upon them. Things still needed to be addressed, the invitations had been sent out, but he had to oversee that the festivities would go off without a hitch. After all Unseeline needed this change to recuperate because while it had only been ten years – ten years was nothing but a blink to their life forms. Will of the Wisp gave him an honest guide back toward the Courts and while they had a tendency to be full of trickery, under the Fae – they did their job accordingly.
For the time being he’d leave Isa to her training and gather Marie, who might he add, was missing from the pool of presently accounted pixies. A gentle click of his tongue set apart the sound and caught the attention of a passing Pixie who in return, bowed gently. “Last I saw, she was in the back garden.” He gave a nod of thanks and lifted those amber hues toward the stony walkway. Like a winding path to a secret garden, he moved with ease and ever so often, appeared and reappeared further alone the path.

‘Yeah right.’ Mentally he chided, his jaw slightly tense – knowing that the ‘back garden’ was nothing more than a ruse for her to slip away like his sleeping King did. As quickly as his hand moved from before him and down, his hand tore a slight veil from this world to the next. With one foot he stepped in and the second followed – the rest of his presence disappear and only reemerged on the street. His head came out first, in a warmer color and shorter – stopping just at the neck. Those violet colored eyes were still unnatural, but less capricious than his original ones and his skin was still white, but more flesh toned colored. His wardrobe was a knock off imitation of what he caught a glance in on the latest magazines. Books, in all forms, were one of his secret pleasures and it seemed that since his last visit the world was quite difference from what he remembered.

Marie.

Her name came chasing back to his memory as he glanced at the audible mirrors that talked through a glass screen. He was able to identify that it was a television – a means in which humans talked and stayed informed: they didn’t use the letter and pen as much, as newer technology began to change the world and how it communicated with itself. His eyes roamed at the library and giving briefly into temptation he ventured in to hear a mock reading of – “I do believe in fairies,” the children chanted and he recalled his mission at hand.

Marie. Now her name approached him with slight annoyance – that blasted girl, she could have been in an infinite number of places and while he half told himself to seal her here, he decided against it. He needed her presence and well while he wasn’t being entirely truthful, he enjoyed her company – she was one of the few who hadn’t changed once he resumed control of the Throne.

‘Marie – where are you?’ He questioned quietly, hoping that by some off chance he’d be able to scout her out.

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