Current Time: 11:28 pm EDT



Downloadable Entire Thread (For Excel, use Save As...) 1
  Creator Post Date

Weston Norse

Coffee and cigarettes; the diet of any good underpaid, overworked, sleep deprived servant of the people. Unless you were pushing 35 with high blood pressure and a smoker’s cough. For Detective Weston Norse, it was now nicorettes and caffeine patches. At least until the headaches stopped. Reality check: caffeine addiction is a real thing.

Goddamn, you go to the doctor for a cough and suddenly you’ve got to change your whole f-cking lifestyle. This is why he never went.

Anyone who had been around someone in the process of kicking their smoking habit could see the agitation from miles away, nevermind dropping a caffeine dependency at the same time. Behind the wheel of his ‘68 Shelby, Wes was all white knuckles and clenched jaw. He drove a bit too fast on the winding backcountry roads, braked a little too aggressively at the 4-way stops. Six times now he’d caught himself reaching for the cigarettes that weren’t in his pocket.

He already had a love-hate relationship with his job, but today it was all hate.

There had been a string of disappearances in New Orleans over the past few months; not that people disappearing was out of the ordinary in the Big Easy. There had just been an alarming increase, and the police hadn’t been able to get on top of it. There weren’t even any bodies turning up to pull leads from.

Having been serving in the line of duty for as many years as he had, Wes had cultivated a careful emotional detachment from his work. It was vital for survival in his field; the men and women who weren’t able to distance themselves from the work would inevitably wash out. However, with call after call from terrified parents, wives, and husbands piling up with zero results; it was impossible even for him to not get frustrated.

Wes was en route to a potential lead on one of the missing person cases; the car of the woman in question had been found not two miles from the only residence within the area. Today, he was knocking on doors.

The residence - if it could be called that - was one of those massive old plantation homes. Really, these places gave him the creeps. Sure, they were beautiful and picturesque, but the history… who knew how many unmarked graves lay in those fields?

He drove along the long, tree-lined entry to the plantation and parked near another vehicle. Someone was home. Engine cut, sunglasses on, he stepped out of the old blue Ford and shut the door behind him, surveying the property before heading up to the front door.

As a detective, he didn’t wear a uniform. Uniforms set people off. Made them nervous, unwilling to talk. Suits did much the same thing, he’d found, so he avoided the formality of a suit jacket and tie. He wore charcoal slacks and a blue button up, but ditched the tie and toned it down with a brown racer jacket that hid the shoulder holster carrying his gun. However, try as he might, he would never pass as a harmless narc. A history of military service was clear in the loose confidence of his gait and the keen sweep of his eyes. He knew how to handle himself.

A series of knocks on the front door garnered no response. After a short wait, he walked around the side of the building on the chance someone might be outside. He saw no one, although he did pick up the sound of music coming from a cabin some distance from the main house.

Thinking perhaps it was some kind of workshop, Wes made his way toward the cabin and knocked on the door.
January 07, 2018 11:39 pm

Quinn Abernathy

Just outside the busy city of New Orleans, an old plantation house sits that hides not one, but two crews. A Sanctuary, and a Coven. Quinn never felt quite right about the latter, but she is a proud member of the former. She is also, as the case would be, a figurehead of her husband's cult. Rather, his father's. Thusly, her time at the Sanctuary was limited, at best.

The cult wore her down, though she never would let on. It made her feel empty, and scared, all the time. She has to remain strong for the sake of her husband, Gideon. He'd always warned her that he is mentally unstable, and she never really saw it until recently. She needed a break from the tension, and while she couldn't go far, she could go back to the start.

So, a tiny ways from the main house, she goes to the home away from home. Three tiny cabins, something closer to huts. The first was hers, before she moved into the second that belonged to Gideon. The third, across from their own, a single small building that houses a simple, charming kitchen and small, solid table that seats four. Quinn wanted something for more than just them, despite their will to be left to their own devices.

The radio blares an oldies station, the current selection being Suzie Q. Without shame, Quinn sings along as she moves around the kitchen. Oldies are her favorite. Her father always played them, and she found them comforting and fun. She wishes Gideon were with her, rather than back at the compound. She also recognizes that if they had both left, they never would have returned. Her resolve falters every day, but the threat is so real.

No matter where she goes, neither of them are ever safe, no matter having been set free to live her life. Quinn dug herself a grave, and her resting place would be beside Gideon. Zero regrets.

She'd stopped at the store on the way here, buying up more food than she could ever hope to eat herself. The rest would be smuggled into the Abernathy house to share with Gideon. Burgers, fries, potato chips, s'mores. Right now, Quinn is making the ultimate comfort foods: fried pizza rolls.

A small army of them.

She'd been in her own blissful world, singing into a wooden spoon as if it were the one for the money and cooking, when the knock comes upon the screen door. Blond hair sweeps back as she glances over her shoulder, noting the tall form of a strange man. The singing ceases, and Quinn turns the heat down on the stove before approaching with a cautious yet pleasant step.

"Hello," she greets him. He does not look at all familiar, between the compound or the rest of the world. That leaves one last option.

"Are you looking for Ella? If she's home, she's usually at the big house." Pushing the door open, she leans into the frame, "She might be napping though. She's kind of a night owl."
January 08, 2018 08:32 pm

Weston Norse

He easily caught the scent of something cheesy and tomatoey cooking from inside the little hut, and quickly realized that it was probably more of an odd residence than a workshop. His index finger tapped mindlessly upon his leg to the beat of the rockabilly tune playing from within, although his attention returned when the sound of light footsteps reached the door. It opened to reveal a pretty blonde; she spoke to him through the screen door, directing him on how to find ‘Ella’.

Offering a cordial, professional sort of smile, he shook his head. “Actually no, I’m not looking for Ella.” He removed his sunglasses and tucked them into the neck of his shirt. “But hopefully you can still help me out. I’m looking for a woman named Sandy Boyd. Her car was found a few miles down the road from here.” He reached into his pocket for the picture he’d shown well over a dozen people in the last few days, holding it out for the woman to inspect. The girl in the photo was young, no more than nineteen, with dark brown hair and smiling green eyes. She was hugging a grumpy looking bulldog in her lap.

“She’s been missing for five days. Have you ever seen her around here?”
January 13, 2018 09:42 pm

Quinn Abernathy

'Actually no, I'm not looking for Ella.'

A small frown appears as she tilts her head in confusion. What could this possibly be? Has she been followed? A panic, well hidden behind a well crafted mask, begins to build up.

She's in trouble. She knows it. This is it. She did something bad, and now she is going to get in trouble. He must be a friend of John's. And now he is going to force his way in and drag her out, back to the compound, to pay the price for her blasphemy. Is Gideon okay? Is he still there? Is he alive?

'...woman named Sandy Boyd. Her car was found...'

Quinn blinks, focus returning as she finds herself watching him reach into his pocket to procure a photograph. Chocolate hues lock onto the picture, and a second later she opens the door fully to do away with the barrier and have a better look. "I don't really know many people in New Orleans..." she explains quietly, "I see a lot of people out here, when I'm here. Ella has friends over often enough."

Not once does it occur to her that this could be a something.

Raising her gaze to Weston's, she shakes her head gently. "I'm really sorry, but I can't say for sure."

There is a telltale sizzle from behind her that demands her attention. "...Oh, no..." Eyebrows lifting, she looks over her shoulder to see the threat of burnt food and rushes to it's aide, doing her best to stop it from meeting an untimely end. Calling over her shoulder as she makes her epic save, Quinn makes her nature clear, "Sorry! I'm happy to answer anything I can. You're welcome to come in."
January 13, 2018 10:01 pm

Weston Norse

Perhaps it was the jittery aggravation from weaning himself off his favorite vices, but Wes absolutely missed the woman’s moment of terror. He was usually pretty good at seeing what people wanted to hide, but hey. Everyone had their off days.

He watched her face for signs of recognition as she pushed past the screen door to take a closer look at the photograph, but there was none. There was only honesty in her expression as she looked up at him and shook her head.

‘I’m really sorry, but I can’t say for sure.’

Grunting in resignation, he returned the photograph to his pocket. After weeks of roadblocks, he hadn’t really expected to find anything here.

“That’s alright. Maybe I’ll talk to your friend, Ella. Is she-..” He paused as she whipped around to the sound and scent of something burning, and he was quickly left abandoned on the doorstep as her light gait carried her quickly inside.

‘Sorry! I’m happy to answer anything I can. You’re welcome to come in.’

Although she sounded a little frantic, and really, he did have things to do, it was difficult not to be lured in by the unmistakable aroma of pizza rolls. Even burned ones. So, a little bemused, he followed behind her after a moment.

Finding her wasn’t an issue in the tiny abode, and he stood near the door as she tried to save her lunch. “Do you need a hand?”
January 14, 2018 09:20 pm

Quinn Abernathy

"No, thank you," she offers back to the man as she carefully shuffles the rolls from pan to paper towel laden plate. There is a small frown upon her face as she glances at the slight burn to a single side of each of them. Quinn has never cared for the taste of burnt food, much less the smell, but she hasn't had a treat like this in ages.

"Um, sorry. It's been a while since I had junk food. These things are like the holy grail right now." Lifting the plate, she offers him a small smile as she carries it to the table.

The abode isn't much of anything. Just a small kitchen, and a dining table. No bed. No couch. No electronics aside from the radio. It is simple, quaint, and only a piece of a beautiful picture painted months ago.

Only now does she actually look at Weston. Chewing at her lip for a moment, Quinn studies him before offering him a seat and taking one of her own at the table. He doesn't give her the feeling of being in danger, and as such, she decides to trust him - but only a little. "Um, Ella owns the property. Well. She tends the property. Her boyfriend owns it. Kind of boyfriend? I don't know what they are, really, but she's pretty enamored. They're super social, and go out at night or people come visit them. And I haven't been home very much in the past couple months. Plus, I don't stay in the main house. It's quiet out here, you know? And wow you are easy to talk to."

A quiet laugh escapes her, and she pokes at the nearest pizza roll to test it's temperature. Glancing at him, she smiles. "I'm Quinn, by the way."
January 14, 2018 10:05 pm

Weston Norse

Wes crossed his arms loosely over his chest as she hurried around in the nook of a kitchen, transferring the delicious morsels from pan to plate. From the smell, she’d definitely burned a few of them. He felt a little bad - it had technically been his fault for distracting her.

“Um, sorry. It’s been a while since I had junk food.”

“Just trying to stay away from it?” She couldn’t be dieting. The woman looked as though she could be blown away by a breeze. “I’m trying to curb some habits right now, myself. It’s tough.”

Giving a grateful nod at her offer to take a seat, he lowered himself into the chair across from her. Not wanting to waste her time, he’d meant to ask her more about the owner of the property, but she’d beaten him to the punch. She was very forthcoming, and he listened closely. She had a very animated, musical voice, and spoke to him as if he weren’t just a stranger off the street. Really, she was quite charming.

He smiled amusedly at the conclusion to her chatter. “Good to hear. It’s sort of my job to be a half-decent listener.” In response to her name, he inclined his head in greeting. “Detective Weston Norse. Wes. It’s nice to meet you, Quinn. I appreciate the info; I’ll have to come around again when Ella is here.”

Not that it’s likely to help.

His expression sombered somewhat, the edge of frustration returning. “I’m sorry to just show up out of the blue like this. We’ve had so many disappearances lately, and the few leads we get have been dead ends. I’m pretty much just grasping at straws, here.”
January 20, 2018 09:13 pm

Quinn Abernathy

"Stay away? Never. I just don't get to have it often." Quinn pushes the plate toward him in offering. Offering Weston a smile, she nods toward the pizza rolls, "You don't have to. I know I burnt them."

Sitting back in her seat, she listens to him just the same. So, he's a detective. A really nice one, at that. And he has kind eyes. It's been a long time since Quinn has seen such a thing, in reality. It strikes her as odd, as she would never categorize her husband's as kind. His are something special, something different and intense. They're passionate.

"It's okay, Detective," Quinn's smile falters as his own expression darkens. She can level with his frustrations, and the girl lowers her chin slightly to look at the table's surface. "That sounds really frustrating, and upsetting. I can't imagine what it must be like."

But she can. Quinn can really understand, in a sense, that level of hopelessness. She'd been warned about this life she chose, and she did not heed that warning. No matter what we thrown her way, she never had a moment of regret. But hopeless and helpless? That is something she feels every day.

Lifting her gaze, she raises her brows, "It's more than Sandy, then?"
January 20, 2018 09:58 pm

Weston Norse

In all seriousness, he’d been dying for her to offer him some pizza rolls. Even if he weren’t a Werewolf, the scent threw his salivary glands into overdrive. And for a man already in the middle of denying himself some simple pleasures in life, his willpower was in the red.

Wes was a serious foodie. Everyone knew the way to a man’s heart was through the stomach, but it was so true for Weston. He was a walking cliche.
“Oh yeah, thanks. A little burned doesn’t bother me.” He was playing it cool, but he reached across the table to help himself pretty quick. He managed to retain some sense of professionalism by refraining from letting his eyes roll back into his head at the burst of hot, tomatoey goodness. Barely.

Quinn was a kind woman. She expressed sympathy, but not in the way someone normally would; she actually meant it. She meant it, and she hardly knew him. Wes interacted with a great many people on a daily basis, and he was well aware just how rare that was.

“It’s more than Sandy, then?”

He nodded somberly, finishing up a mouthful. “Yeah. A lot more.”

Wes glanced around at their surroundings, taking note of the spartan abode. “This is a tiny cabin. I thought it was some kind of workshop while I was walking up. I’m glad that you’re not the only one on this property, though. With everything going on in this city right now, I wouldn’t feel too easy about someone living alone this far out in the boonies. At least not without a big dog. Or a big gun.” He chuckled, reaching for another pizza roll.
January 20, 2018 10:33 pm

Quinn Abernathy

Her nose wrinkles slightly when he confirms her safe assumption. Quinn is not at all wary of the situation at hand, her mind far too innocent and naive to really wrap around the possibilities. With a heavy sigh, Quinn takes a pizza roll and tests the temperature with a small bite.

Still too hot.

She holds it, deciding to be patient rather than burn her mouth entirely. This is a treat. Enjoyment is key.

He is taking in the space, and she can't help but smile. To most people, it is an absurd living space, especially once it is explained. To Quinn, it is perfectly simple. "My cabin is just across. It's the one with the purple door. This is just the kitchen. Kitchens are where everyone gathers so it really deserves a whole space of it's own. You know?"

Considering his suggestions, she chews at her lip. "I really don't like guns. They scare me. But dogs... they're great. Especially Golden Retrievers." Just like that, her smile is back.

Quinn takes the plunge, she takes a chance on the pizza roll and is thankfully not disappointed. A quiet 'Mmm' escapes her, and it is all she can do to keep from giggling at just how perfect it tastes. The burnt side doesn't bother her at all. Finally she swallows.

"It does get pretty spooky out here at night," she admits. "But I don't mind it." Quinn realizes, just then, that she probably shouldn't mention the community she belongs to. "What's going to happen, Detective Norse? You'll find them, right?"
January 21, 2018 07:46 pm

Weston Norse

While Quinn hasn’t yet touched her piping hot food, Wes, with his iron gullet, has already consumed a small handful. She had a mountain of them in front of her anyhow, and he would be highly impressed if she managed to finish them all.

Wes nodded at her explanation of the cabins, finding the whole setup to be somewhat strange. He wondered why she wasn’t up in the main house, but assumed she would tell him if it were pertinent. Wes was still somewhat bemused at this little interlude; he hadn’t intended to stop in for a snack, let alone with such charming company.

“I agree. My family was pretty rowdy when I was young, especially when my brother and I were in the same room. A separate kitchen probably would have saved my parents some headaches.”

Wes tried to imagine Quinn with a gun in her hand, and he decided that the mental image was seriously endearing. “Well, I meant something more along the lines of, say… a rottweiler. But you know, if you’re alone out here a lot, it couldn’t hurt to at least know your way around a gun. At the very least, you’ll know what to do if you happen to come across one.”

The way Quinn’s eyes practically rolled back into her head as she finally popped a roll into her mouth pulled a chuckle from him. In response to her intense pleasure, he decided that one more pizza roll couldn’t hurt. But just one.

"What's going to happen, Detective Norse? You'll find them, right?"

He nodded slowly, finishing the small morsel. “I hope so. And please, call me Wes.”

Deciding that it was best not to take up any more of her time, he slid his chair out from under the table and moved to stand. “Well Quinn, thank you for the info and the pizza rolls. They were a nice treat. I’d best be on my way.”

He half-turned for the door, but paused in afterthought. Reaching for his wallet, he removed a card from within and offered it to Quinn. On it was his name, number, and email address.

“That’s my personal number, there. If you happen to remember anything else, or if you need some kind of assistance, give me a call.”

A final nod and smile of farewell, and he exited the small cabin, suddenly finding the Louisiana day to be less sunny than Quinn’s little kitchen.
January 21, 2018 10:06 pm
Actives (10) Fresh Blood (1) View All The Fallen (4) Graveyard
mist, Phantom Wraith, Jackson McCarthy, Lesprit, Sprew, ShawnD, W_Kat, Cristina Scabbia, Mallory Quarters, Orangesrlife  Beleth  Blackveil
Victor Cranely
St Patrick
Penelope Deasmhumain 
Home | Profile | Forums | F.A.Q. | Donate | Terms of Use | Privacy Policy | Contact Us
Created by Arctic Moon Studios. All rights reserved. © Bloodletting 2006-2016

Official Sites for Bloodletting
Blogger | Twitter | FB Group | FB Fan Page