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Post by Helena Aquilius on Aug 28, 2021 11:50:46 GMT -8
The sun was shining on Santorini, and the ocean breeze eased its heat. The caw of gulls and lapping of waves accompanied the loud motors of passing dated automobiles.
Reclining against a rail overlooking the port Athinios, Helena could not keep count of all the sailboats in the bay, but did watch a single chugging ferry nearing the dock. Dressed in a plain summer dress, floppy sun hat, and large sunglasses, she fit right in with the locals. Helena had skipped breakfast that day and had just finished a cool visinada. She was living like it was a vacation, but it was hardly that, business at its best, and a road trip at its worst, albeit a boat trip really.
Kontos mansion: supposedly haunted, but certainly abandoned. She had sauntered passed it the day before at dusk, ominous shadows were reaching from the cliffside it was built into. Being called a mansion was a misleading, it was more of a complex along the southern shore of the island. She had sensed some reiatsu from within, but had not bothered to examine it any further, she would wait on the kynigos vrykolakon for that. Mr. Nixon should arrive by noon, and then they would discuss the coming investigation tonight.
The locals had insisted on hiring him, despite this clearly being under quincy purview. Some of the islands still didn't trust them, even the Aquilius. She could understand why, they had largely been left to the affairs of human politics while they were entwined with spiritual conflicts. Almost every one of them had a local boogie man, more often rumor and myth than not, but sometimes it turned out to be a hollow. Quincy were notorious for sticking within their own territory despite their reputation for meddling in the affairs of shinigami.
Distracted by her colorful boat counting, she thought to her self, Welcome to the isle of vampires.
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Wren
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Mortals
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Post by Wren on Sept 3, 2021 10:48:51 GMT -8
Who the fuck wants to go to Greece?
When was the last time I stopped to smell the ocean air…
Well, no matter. A potential payday and free air fair. And not that he’d ever been particularly picky over the projects he’d worked on before Wren could just as easily walk away from this one as he had others. Arturo had insisted he be involved. That man was difficult enough to dislike, let alone say no to. In spite of himself, or maybe more to Arturo’s credit, Wren genuinely liked him. And it was as good an excuse for an extended visitation as any.
A breath, as sweetly deep and prolonged as his first had been. It felt good. Maybe he should sail more. Wren felt more at ease on the subtle rocking of the boat, underneath the sun for just a bit more, than he wanted to admit. It wasn’t much of an extra expense to consider; more difficult to decide where if anything. Then as always the details picked at his thoughts until it was more trouble than it was worth. Too many small issues that built up and he neatly filed away the daydream for the time being. This would have to do.
This would do.
His foot nudged the black dufflebag and felt it move just enough to confirm the ballsy little man….teen that had been gawking at it since they got on the boat together had finally let curiosity or criminality get the better of good sense. A waste since there wasn’t much of value in it. Just an overnight bag with extra clothes and a few essentials one simply didn’t leave home without. They were his, though. So such things simply would not do.
Quite calmly Wren turned stepping down on the strap. He’d closed his eyes for effect before tilting his head, lolling lazily to the size before opening them again; half-lidded and glaring with cold amber. Their eyes met, unblinking, and without a word or any indication in his face Wren hummed and waited for a response; any at all Stuttered, failed attempts to build to something, to respond, died as the Writer looked on without the slightest change. Well, but for a small flicker of color in those otherwise impressionless eyes.
His young friend no longer seemed interested after that. Whatever he was, thief or no, he was of no further consequence to Wren and he’d made the impression necessary to anyone else watching. They’d all leave him alone after that.
Tension quickly bled away turning the rest of the short trip into a pleasant distraction. It would have been better if it had gone on longer. Such is life. The small boat made its landing and he was over the railing and onto the dock with bag over his shoulder before it could properly moor. No sense in wasting time when this contact was supposedly waiting for him. Hopefully they wouldn’t have any trouble. Wren did make a habit of requesting others provide a description and wearing clothing that made him stand out just enough to get a few looks when it came to arranged introductions.
If not he’d get a cup of tea and see about contacting them another way.
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Post by Helena Aquilius on Sept 5, 2021 18:29:51 GMT -8
As soon as the ferry passengers disembarked, she could spot her appointment. He was tall and probably just as pale as her, and dressed unlike locals nor tourists. It would have been less blatant anywhere else. Overdressed within the crowd, it was easy enough to find the man by his hair alone. Brushing through a couple people, she called out his name.
“Mr. Nixon!”
Seeing that she had his attention she offered her hand, stiff and formal.
“Welcome to Santorini, I presume the boat over wasn’t a hassle. Helena Aquilius, I’m a quincy of the region expected to accompany you.”
Accompany, or babysit, only time would tell. Her first impression was the former, as she could normally sniff out fresh meat. She wondered how many quincy this man had met before.
“Can I offer you a refreshment, or would you prefer to swing by the accommodations first? It’s only a few minutes up the street.”
It was a cute little villa, not one of the many luxury hotels that spread across the island, about halfway between the port and mansion. It even had a pool, not that it was something she would use. Considering she had packed twice as much as this strangers duffle bag, she wouldn’t be surprised if he just wanted to get down to business.
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Wren
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Post by Wren on Sept 29, 2021 10:10:12 GMT -8
What in the balls is a Quincy?
Probably a local term. Arturo was awfully fond of peppering them into conversation or referencing them despite Wren repeatedly making multiple requests his friend stressing the need for context. At this point he more or less gave up on the possibility that would change. Maybe it was a cultural thing? He didn’t really have a point of reference for that, and few of his conversations with others on the way hadn’t been more than cursory things. Business though. The oddities of others could be far more tolerable when there was a paycheck involved. So he smiled and pretended like it was a perfectly ordinary word and it had somehow not seemed so out of place.
Tea really did sound lovely but it wouldn’t due to start breaking his rules first. Dining and pleasure were things to consider after a deal was closed, not before. Anything else was sloppy; often a poor attempt to leverage the kindnesses into control or a less profitable outcome for Wren. He wasn’t unfair, he thought, with his requests but he was as cut throat as need be to make sure what was rightly his ended up being.
“Always business first, if you don’t mind. I’m still fresh from my trip over and I don’t like wasting that.” A bit of a weary smile but he at least was of the mind not to be too curt in his response. Firm. He’d had enough practice to know the difference but not everyone reacted towards intention as much as emotion. Which in particular is why he always made introductions in two parts.
“And please, you’re welcome to call me Wren. Formality isn’t something I care too much for when we’ll be working together.”
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