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 Posted: Sat Jan 10, 2009 11:50 pm
 ||I am sorry.... The clinic is real busy since the sick season has started... we call this "Black Season," because we get the most ill people now than we do all year...|| There was that chill he was so fond of, that feeling that he was suppose to be doing something beyond his mortal control. That woman who had called him, who had begged for him to help her. How had she known such things? How had she been so keen on who he was and that he would recieve the phone call from Father Atkins, right on cue? Hunter was sure that she was not a medium, because he would immediatly be able to sense it, but from the absence of her soul from this world, or any world, it was a clear indication she could not control it's voice, it's presence nor it's whereabouts.
Hunter did not need to write or memorize, he had the file already, and if he wanted information, all he had to do was touch the paper and it would be there, like millions of voices speaking to him, all saying the same things. Though there were always headaches to follow, it was a skill he would never give up, even if he could. Hunter could hear the voices of those who were killed by this strange woman immediatly watching the pictures, though they were not their real screams, something his mind imagined, they were still blood-filled screeches from hell, and Hunter had to wince just to keep it from stinging any more.
Without realizing, he took hold of Robin's hand and squeezed it, perhaps more than he should have, but he needed her comfort. Their faces would haunt him tonight. They would cradle his dreams in darkness and fright, and some time during slumber he will wake up in a pool of his own sweat and be unable to fall back into sleep. So was the way of a medium, or, whatever it was that he was. He tried to imagine his life as something else, but nothing arose, this was where he wanted to be.
In the loving care of this woman he had practically stalked for an entire year and chasing down the crazies with guns blazing and a head ache for ever cap busted into a**. Fun...
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Posted: Mon Jan 12, 2009 12:54 pm
Robin right hand twitched as she paused her furious scratching. She looked at the paper in the margins her notes meticulous leered up at her. So many questions scrawled there in the margin. Would they sleep in a large group, in pairs? Was there a safe room? More about the contractor, possibly a preface for the amount of evidence that was quickly taking shape as a book before she even set foot in the house.
It was a bit shocking whenever Hunter pulled her hand into his and gave it a tight squeeze. Robin’s brow furrowed as she took his face in. It held it’s normal shape and practically it’s normal expression. But it was different… “Robin! What the HELL are you doing down here?” the ghost of case past rang in her head. That was his ghostly radar going off.
She brought her and subsequently his hand to her lips and turned their coupled hands until her lips were pressed against the flesh of the back of his hand. Robin took great care in kissing his four knuckle bones before letting their hands fall between them but kept her hand in his. Her thumb started to knead small slow crescent moons between his thumb and fore finger. Biting her lower lip she cast a glance at him, and tried to imagine sending waves of affection to him through their linked hands.
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Posted: Tue Feb 03, 2009 4:56 pm
 He stood up slowly, the blood was rushing to his head for some odd reason he could not explain, and it was annoying him to no end. He stood once more and walked out of the darkened room as quickly as he could.
He leaned up against the wall closest to the door and put the volume as high as it would go on his MP3 again. Pennywise, bro hymn, great F***ing song, he thought as it kicked to life, the chanting of Whoooaaa, whoaa whoaa whoooa, the cheering of the deceased friend.
He smiled just slightly before the lyrics actually hit him, reminding him of the short time people spent with the, before those loved ones were gone. He pressed his thumb to his canine teeth and bit down harshly, producing a small pool of blood on the skin. He licked it away and winced a bit. The metallic taste sent chills up his spine.
"I wanna kill Miss America", he sang just above a whisper, Wednesday 13 made the most graphic, yet hilarious lyrics he had ever heard. That was part of the reason he listened to it in bad and good situations, plus, it just made him into a happy person.
He fished out one more cigarette and stuck it between his lips, and he just couldn't find his lighter. He decided to just let it hang there and let his mind think that he was getting his nicotine fix. Just then, Oh My God's song, get out to sea came on and he couldn't help but feel cheery again. It was infectious, almost making him a giddy little boy again.
He slouched down and sat with his legs out in front of him as he sang along, repeating all of the parts about burning things down. The thought of fire consuming everything made his smile grow exponentially. God how he loved fire and how it could purify everything, even if in the process it destroyed it all.
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