aurornorwood
Jim Norwood
auror inspector | he/him | fifty-two
points: 450cases:siren smuggling ring in sioux cityappearing pyramid in pierremystery on devil's islandmissing person in montrose
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edenblue:
It feels impossible to imagine the man in front of them being the one who’s memory they had seen, as he goes on, so full of empathy and kindness. But they trust Cypress and his own abilities, and they also know full well how people can change so greatly. Or perhaps, not even change, but find ways to justify the things that they do, that might seen horrific to those on the outside. They had made a living for a long time, after all, helping people do just that. Never like this, though, never with a death. And there is something to Jim’s energy that feels familiar to the vision they had seen, even just distantly, almost as if to say the man in front of them is not exactly the same as the man whose eyes they had been looking through in their vision. All the more reason to try to help.
“Ah, that is very kind of you, thank you. I am adjusting well. It is good to keep busy, you know, now that I have recovered physically,” Eden nods. They consider how best to approach this without mentioning the fact that Jim Norwood is being haunted, to keep their word to Cypress, while also finding a way to help the man in front of it. They wish that they had not been so wrapped up in their recovery and adjustment, that they had spared a moment to think about things, remember that the world had kept turning even as everything had ground to a halt temporarily for them. But they think that here honesty and forthrightness may be the only approach, omitting only the evidence Cypress had provided to lead them to Jim.
“There is no simple way to say this, Inspector… I had a vision while we were in Scotland. It was unlike the visions I usually have. Instead of the future, I saw a memory,” they explain, keeping their voice quiet, searching his face for any indication that he might realize what they’re talking about. “I think perhaps it was a memory of yours. There is no need to go into detail now––I do not think a coffee shop is the right place to discuss such serious matters––but the universe wants me to help you. There has been pain in your life, mistakes made, perhaps, and I think something is coming that might threaten it all resurfacing, and that is why I was shown this memory. But I will help, when that happens.”
.
However Jim was expecting this conversation to go, he never would have imagined it’d lead to a place where suddenly Eden appeared to have information they felt like Jim needed to hear. Especially information that seemed they were very hesitant to speak of in a public place such as the coffee shop they were both currently in. Brow furrowing into that of confusion, he listens carefully to Eden’s next words, hoping that they may give more clarity to the “memory” they saw, but instead Jim is met with only more questions. The fact that he’d experienced loss was no great secret in the office, he’d taken the majority of 1994 off because he’d been caring for Grace. Eden may not have been in the office then, but Jim is sure they’ve heard the story by now.
But that still didn’t explain the “mistakes” Eden seems to think Jim made somewhere along the line. Taking a step forward Jim realizes he’s next in line, which gives the both of them an opportunity to continue the conversation elsewhere relatively soon if Eden was willing to talk about it any further.
“How about we meet in the conference room when we get back?” He offers, hoping that would be enough privacy for whatever secret Eden seemed to be holding. “I don’t... I’m not sure what memory you could have seen. But maybe if you describe it to me in detail I’ll have a better idea why exactly you saw it. And in Scotland especially.”
By the look Eden is given him, he’s not sure he even wants to hear the memory replayed back to him, but he figures there was no avoiding it now- whatever in the hell it was. Giving Eden a last nod of assurance, he goes ahead with his coffee order, figuring he was going to need it more than ever when they reached the office.
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savagexcamden:
It’s a shocking sight, even if they had been expecting to meet other vampires in here. But this creature looks like no vampire he’s ever seen, and he’s seen many, all across the country, in his time since his transformation. Then, this creature is ancient, and Singh’s words about evolution ring in his mind as the creature slowly starts descending the steps, coming towards him. He wonders, though, if this evolution was a benefit, now, or more something to make it possible for people with this curse to walk amongst humans easier. Maybe that makes sense, though, the world changed, it became industrialized, a different sort of civilization where befriending prey quietly and staying hidden would help more than an appearance meant to cause fear.
None of that is a thought for now, though, except for the very real worry that if it comes down to it, he’s not sure he’ll be able to hold his own against this ancient vampire. Unlike others, he has never spent much time training the particular strengths that he gained when he was transformed, preferring not to linger on his lack of humanity, only ever using the things that came naturally when needed on cases. But he’s not sure they’re going to be able to make it out of here, with all of the others, without at least subduing this vampire. And he doesn’t want to risk the other three coming near him, lest they end up like the eight lying on the slabs motionless.
It’s a rare feeling for him to not know what to do, but this situation is unlike anything he ever could have imagined they would be in. But maybe, he thinks, there’s no need for anything yet, until they know more. And more seems to be exactly what they want to give, as they draw closer to him.
If this situation was any different, if this had been another vampire saying these words to him––he can practically hear Ariana saying something similar to him, takes solace in the face that they would think the same of her, though––he might be tempted to roll his eyes, to scoff, to tell this vampire just how little he cares what they’ve been reduced to, that he would rather smell too human. But nothing about this warrants a scoff, and he’s not here to play with fire. No, now the task seems to be to keep Benjamin and the others safe, while finding a way to get the aurors and teenagers out.
He doesn’t move as the vampire comes to a stop just a few feet from them, tries not to visibly tense when they make the connection between him and Benjamin. At the very least, it seems they have their answer as to how this pyramid ended up here; the teenagers accidentally summoned it, it seems, but that’s the least of their worries. For now, it seems best to feel the situation out, before jumping into more danger than they’re already facing. And so he answers.
“Unfortunately, I’m a fairly accurate representation of what we’re like now. I was offered a place in a coven, and I politely declined. My desire to spend my time attached to the people who cursed me to this life is very low,” Camden says, doing his best to keep the casual attitude, although he keeps his wand held out. The creature, though, seems unconcerned with that.
“Cursed you? You believe this is a curse. Humans made you believe this, yes? They are wrong. They fear us, as they should, and so they try to make us weaker. It seems they have made you weaker. We can change that, though,” they say, looking at him, sizing him up. It’s hard not to shift under his gaze, red eyes boring through him, but he doesn’t. “I can rid you of the lingering shackles of humanity. You may have a place among the new coven I am creating, stronger than the coven who offered you a place before.”
The purpose suddenly clear, his eyes move back to the eight lifeless figures on the stone slabs, almost thinking they might suddenly look like the creature before him, if they really are able to somehow give their particular sort of vampirism.
“These eight, they’re your new coven? Did you give them the benefit of a choice to join, or did you force them?” he asks, although he knows the answer. That’s what this was; create a new coven, and use the others as glorified blood bags to help regain strength. But he’s unsure if that’s where it stops, somehow.
“They will wake honored to serve Sekhmet, the Eye of Ra. Just as you should be.”
“And if I decline your offer, too, if I’m content with the strength I have now, and the withering remains of my mortal bloodline? What happens then?” he says carefully, grip on his wand tightening, because he’s certain he already knows the answer to that, too.
.
All Jim can do is stand there quietly as he listens to the conversation unfolding before him. If the numerous bodies strewn about the temple’s interior were anything to go by, the vampire was much stronger than their frail form would seem to suggest. If they were going to find a way out of the pyramid, and with as many victims as they could, they were going to have to either find a way through this ancient creature, or somehow get them to give up those wixes they’d intended to keep both as future coven members, and the blood bags meant to fuel said coven. No matter how Jim looked at the situation though, he couldn’t see how they could pull off the former, which meant the likely only way any of them would be able to get out of there was by subduing the ageless vampire before them.
Gripping onto his wand, he waits for the vampire’s response to Camden’s question, a question that would clearly ignite whatever battle they were about to get into. For the first time in his life, Jim feels scared for Camden. As strong as he knows his uncle to be, he had a feeling this creature would be stronger.
“Then I will show you the great strength of what our species could be- and will be now that I’ve been given this gift of new life. Neither you, or the humans you’ve so recklessly brought with you, will leave this temple, but you will depart this world knowing what is to become of it.” The creature replies coolly
Readying himself for whatever was about to happen, Jim watches as the ancient vampire raises his hand, and speaks something in a language just as ancient as the room they were standing in. When the creature’s hand drops, the eight forms on the slap begin to stir. Jim looks over towards the slab closest to him, on it was a wix clearly part of one of the auror teams. As they lean up, something seems off about their movements though, like they’re not of their own, and when the fallen auror turns their head to look at Jim already he can see the new power the ancient vampire had spoken of.
The rune-like tattoos that covered the creature’s body begin to take form on the auror’s face, as their irises begin to what Jim can only describe as separate, with one set remaining the auror’s dark brown hue and the other looking similar to their sire’s red eyes.
The look they give him is one mixed with both sorrow and rage, and it’s then when he begins to realize just what may be happening with these new vampires. As the eight wixes begin to slide down from their stone slabs, McCoy arms himself, gripping on tightly to a pair of stakes in each hand as his eyes land on April Cordova nearby.
“Don’t kill them,” Jim warns, as he raises his wand towards the first vampire coming his way, the same one he’d watched transform before his eyes. “I think they’re being controlled by their sire. If we find a way to subdue them we can still get them out of here.”
“Subdue them?!” McCoy shouts, backing up as Cordova looms closer towards him, “you see how many of them are there.”
“Norwood is right,” Singh calls out, his eyes narrowing in on one of the teenagers that’d been turned. “They are victims here too, we must save who we can.”
Letting out a low growl, McCoy tosses his stakes to the side and pulls out his wand. Just how this battle would go, Jim was uncertain, but he knew they’d have to try to save these vampires, even if it meant nearly getting themselves killed in the process.
Squaring himself up to take on the first wix still coming his way, he gives one last nod to the three aurors around him, hoping he didn’t just seal their doom.
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tidebetide:
There’s something thoroughly bizarre about Loddington’s priorities and his general attitude, the way he seems hardly concerned that someone in his employ had died at an event he was ostensibly responsible for, but then again, they don’t know exactly what the liability situation here is. Still, the general nonchalance with which he’s approaching the situation feels strange, and detached, like he’s talking about the actual murder with the same audible scare quotes with which he’s talking about the butler “dying” during the course of the party as planned.
“Do you have a list, we could have, of the guests who are here this weekend, in addition to the employees who are currently on the island?” they add, their mind snapping back to the subject at hand as Loddington mentions the other members. All of them will be in costume, pretending to be other people, and while there’s plenty they can do it interview each individual guest, Tide gets the feeling it will be more difficult to persuade some of them to break character than others. “We’ll need to see if anyone might have an outside connection to the victim, or—”
“I’ll have someone bring you a list,” he replies, tersely, cutting them off before they can finish what they’re saying, and then he glances down at an actual honest-to-Merlin pocket-watch, before tutting lightly. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I do have to be getting back to things.”
And he’s gone, out of the room, before they can say anything else, disappearing out of the study and into the hall beyond. Tide watches after him, thinking about stopping him for a moment before they realize even they probably won’t be able to, but they flag his suspicious behavior for later; he’s just as much a suspect here as any of the guests or the other actors. And then they exchange a glance with Jim, the two of them finally alone again, only a matter of time before the “butler” shows up to take them to their room.
“Well, that was… informative,” they said, sardonically, letting out a little breath, their voice falling back into its normal cadence and rhythm now that there’s no one around to try to endear themself to. “Impossible to tell if he’s suspicious, or just that rich.”
Normally the way Loddington was acting would send up immediate red flags for Jim, what with how clearly eager the man was to get the conversation over with, and with seemingly little concern over the actual murder that was yet to be solved. But nothing about this case would be business as usual, and he feels like the sooner he accepts that fact the better. Loddington was acting suspicious, but as Tide suggested, it could easily be explained away by the man’s upbringing and his general role in this whole club to begin with.
“Who knows,” he lets out a long sigh as he looks around the study they still found themself in, its floor to ceiling mahogany bookshelves a testament to likely what would be the prestige of the rest of the manor.
“We’ll have to keep our wits about us, I have a feeling everyone we talk to will seem suspicious in some shape or form.”
It’s just as he says this when the door to the study opens once more, and this time instead of Loddington, they are instead met with a tall broad shouldered wix, dressed in what was clearly a butler’s uniform- albeit one from the early 20th century. It’s then when Jim realizes that they may be in store for much more when it came to this weekend, because if the butler’s wardrobe was anything to go by, it seemed like the gathering may be historically themed as well.
“I’m sorry if I intruded on your conversation,” the wix speaks up as they enter, not necessarily looking all that sorry, although they do seem more pleased to see the aurors than Loddington was. “Charles asked me to show you to your room.”
The fact they were going to have to sleep here, in the house where a murderer still resided in still didn’t settle well with Jim, but with the wards set in place and the rest of the island uninhabited, he figured there was little else to do.
“Do you mind if we ask you some questions first?” He asks, figuring perhaps interviewing the butler in the study would be more comfortable than whatever accommodations have been set up for the two of them. The butler doesn’t seem to agree though, as they look cautiously around the room, as if in fear someone may be listening in before they speak up again.
“How about I show you to your room first,” they offer, “I think that’ll be best.”
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edenblue:
They have been feeling good about things lately, hopeful for their own future in a way they rarely let themself get before, something pure and bright. The adjustment to seeing the world in an entirely new way is something that they think is going well, every day seeing more in a different way, even with the loss of half their vision. Kosmos is making that easier, making all of it easier, and so is the bright spot of sunshine in their life suddenly, too. They are feeling optimistic, and a little warm, and very much like a treat would start the day even better than it is. So they stop at the cafe they pass on their way in often enough, but rarely make the time for, thinking it might be nice to bring something in for Sol too.
As they enter the cafe, considering what sort of drink and breakfast Sol might like the best––something sweet, they think, just like him––they realize the line is very long, and there is also a familiar face at the end of it. A familiar face that makes their heart sink suddenly, with the realization that there is still a very big elephant in the room that they have yet to confront, due to a case gone wrong and a sudden loss of sight taking up most of their headspace recently. Their smile falters as they see Jim Norwood, and think of the conversation with Cypress, the way he had begged them not to tell him that he has a ghost around him. They also think of the strange vision, the memory, the feeling that they are meant to help whoever’s memory that was. It is a problem to solve, and this feels like their chance.
So they offer him a small smile back in greeting and join him in line. “Dobroe utro, da, I thought it would be nice to have a little change, but you are right, it seems everyone else had same thought,” they nod, with a little laugh. They try to sense anything strange about his energy, something that would suggest the haunting, but their ability is not the same as Cypress, and they feel nothing but a solid, calm energy. “I have been hoping to have a chance to speak with you one on one since Scotland, Inspector, but I was, ah, waylaid due to unexpected troubles.”
.
Something feels slightly off about Blue as they fall into line behind him. The moment Jim seems to make eye contact with the other auror they appear to tense up. Which all in all, he reminds himself, probably shouldn’t be too surprising. For all intents and purposes he was a superior to Blue, and running into each other in a line that meant they would be forced into small talk, could be annoying. It’s for that reason alone, he feels content to just leave the conversation at a simple hello before facing forward again, that is until Blue speaks up, and strangely seems to have more to say.
He was usually last in line to hear any kind of office gossip, but he’d still heard about what happened in Tennessee on Blue’s and Vernier’s case. Tide had been absolutely furious with Eames after the two aurors had gotten back, and he didn’t blame them. Neither of the two were well equipped enough to handle a case like that, and forcing Vernier into a position that left them so vulnerable was incredibly irresponsible, even for Eames. None of that mattered now of course, especially with Langer officially stepping in as acting Chief after Eames’s exit, but Jim still hated that any of it even happened in the first place.
“I don’t think any of us have had much of a chance to catch a breath after Scotland,” Jim confesses with a small sigh. He seemed to be have been thrown on one case after another, but maybe that was for the better considering everything else that was going on. “I’m glad to see you back in the office though, have you been holding up alright?”
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snowbaron:
She immediately feels awful for Horton, seeing just how worried he is about his sibling, but it makes sense, of course. It’s been a while since she’s been on a missing persons case, though, and she had forgotten, or maybe blocked out, just how hard it is not to get emotionally affected on them, seeing what those who are close to the victims feel. His worry just makes her more determined to figure this out, but she’s worried that the solution they find––because they will find out what happened to Shelby––is going to cause even more pain than their disappearance is. But she doesn’t linger on that worry, because it won’t do any of them good. Instead she listens closely, nodding along with Jim as he reassures him that they understand, and believe him.
In other cases, maybe it would seem strange that it took so long for him to report his sibling missing, but in this case, she thinks that it fits with everything. He certainly doesn’t seem to be lying to them for any reason, doesn’t seem to stand to gain anything from keeping the disappearance unreported for so long. It just sounds like he genuinely believed that they would either turn up, or get in contact with him.
And the fact that the last message they received from Shelby seemed normal just seems like more reason for him not to have worried.
“I sent a message back with their owl. Didn’t see the owl again after that, but it wasn’t a surprise, at first. When another two weeks passed without word from them, I tried to send them another message, just to see when they’d be coming back home. My owl came back with nothing, though. I don’t know if they got my other message, or if someone else might have in the town,” he explains shaking his head. “I waited a few days, but it’s not like them not to reply.”
That catches her attention, that there were at least two messages that he had sent that had gone unanswered. Surely someone in the town would have seen the owls, if not the messages themselves.
“How long would you say they were in town before you got the Valentine’s message?”
“Not too long, a few days probably. They didn’t have a timeline when they left, so I’m not sure how much they did around here, before heading into Montrose. They sometimes like to ask around, get information from locals outside, before going into the towns themselves.”
“Did Shelby say much about Montrose before leaving? Why they were interested in visiting that town in particular, if it seemed different on paper from the other places they visited before?”
.
The unanswered owl messages were troubling, but at the very least it gave them some kind of timeline. It may have been in Shelby’s nature to not answer back right away, but not answering two messages means that whatever happened likely occurred during that time frame.
“Could you describe their owl?” He asks. If Shelby’s owl was still missing they could try looking for it too. If the owl could be found it was likely that Shelby couldn’t be much further away unless someone had taken the creature.
“Uh, yeah, his name is Uriel. He’s a barn owl,” seeming to realize that Jim was looking for a more concrete description, Ian continues, “he’s really white in the face and chest. All of his tan feathers are on his back. And he’s missing one of his right talons.”
The coloring of the bird didn’t seem too far off from the standard barn owl, but the talon thing should help them identify the bird if they do happen to come across it.
When Ian replies to Baron’s question, Jim feels like he’s beginning to get a better idea of just the kind of free spirited travel lover Shelby was, which made this case all the more difficult. There was really no telling if Shelby even made it to Montrose, by the sounds of it it could be just as likely that another place caught their interest and they skipped over the town entirely. But for now Montrose was the next best place to look after they finished talking to Ian.
“Shelby usually goes to places that have some kind of urban legend or folk tale attached to it. If there’s been a cryptid sighting somewhere chances are they’ve visited the place themself just to see what they could learn about it. I don’t know what in the hell they’d heard about Montrose, but when they first mentioned the place they said it was going to be the ‘greatest adventure’ they’d ever been on. And I guess that’s why I’ve been holding out hope for this long, you know? I figured they were off having the time of their life somewhere, and just got too caught up in it to write me back.”
Ian’s answer didn’t give them any more clues as to just what Montrose could possibly be holding within its borders, but he feels like its enough to tell them that Shelby had to have passed through the town in some shape or form.
Looking over to Baron, he lets her ask whatever questions she still may have for Ian before turning back to him. “We’ll let you know as soon as we can what we’ve found out,” he replies, “we’ll do everything we can do find your sibling.”
They weren’t the most comforting words, he knew. But he also didn’t want to lie to the kid and give him any false hope. Jim knew he and Baron would do everything in their power to find Shelby, it was what state they’d find the young wix in that troubled him the most though.
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savagexcamden:
He isn’t paying so much attention anymore to what’s going on behind him, not because of any conscious choice, but more because it’s impossible to do so when the smell is so strong, and so strange. It’s not necessarily a new feeling, the compulsion to find the source of something that smells so sweet and drink––no, it’s a feeling he fights against every day in the office, especially when Liv is around––but it feels different, somehow, like the scent of this blood is activating some instinct that he wasn’t aware that he had, one that he doesn’t fully understand. As they keep going, moving deeper into the pyramid’s maze, into the next chamber, this one with a different image of Sekhmet on the wall, one that seems to confirm all that Singh has already translated for them all, an image of someone drinking from her own arm, he thinks that maybe this is an instinct he shouldn’t fight just now.
And he doesn’t say anything, when the question is posed, because he could guess the answer already, from too much personal experience not to, even as Benjamin answers that he doesn’t know, that either way they still have to get the aurors and the teenagers out. But he’s been in a situation like this, if not in a different way. It had been a foolish hope to think that they wouldn’t find something like this inside this pyramid, a stubborn, perhaps even fearful insistence of not wanting to consider what it would mean if they were. Because there are only so many things vampires want with humans they’re keeping captive. They’re either nourishment, or they’re a new part of their coven.
He thinks that McCoy is asking the wrong question. Because vampirism is a curse someone can live with if it’s forced on them, but he’s more concerned that this rescue might actually be nothing more than a recovery mission.
That fear is nearly confirmed when they finally come to what seems to be the main room of the temple, large and cavernous, with torches lit all around, but he doesn’t take in much else, because it feels like there are a dozen different scents pulling his attention in different directions. This time he doesn’t fight the urge to let his fangs grow, because the careless pile of bodies is concerning, yes, but they’re all alive, they’re all human, from what he can smell. But the motionless figures laid out on slabs at the center of the room, the aurors and teenagers, they’re alive, but they’re not human. But they’re not exactly like him, either.
Camden looks around, wand held out, and it all feels deadly silent, enough that he nearly starts when Benjamin says his name, jarring, hearing it from him, but all the more jarring for how close he is to the lifeless form of Corporal April Cordova. That’s enough to get him to focus, despite the scents, despite the feeling that someone is watching them. Because Benjamin is right, someone else is here, but there’s another more immediate concern.
“Benjamin, step away from her slowly. She might not be able control herself, when she wakes up,” Camden says, keeping his voice low, but an urgency to his tone.
“You mean she––” McCoy starts, before he cuts him off.
“All of them lying there, they’ve been turned. The ones on the ground, they haven’t been turned, but someone’s been drinking from them,” he says. The thing to do here seems to be to try to get everyone out now, but there are only four of them, and there are a dozen of the others, all of them unconscious.
Before any of them can say anything more, though, a cold chill unlike anything he’s felt washes over him, that strange scent overwhelming a second before a figure materializes at the foot of the ninth empty slab. It’s not a comfort that this creature seems to be the only one of its kind here in the room, because the sight of them is enough to shake him to his core. The creature looks nearly like a preserved mummy, but not entirely human, and yet like no vampire that Camden has ever seen before. And for a moment it’s all just silent, the creature looking between the four of them, as if assessing, considering them all, before their eyes stop on him, and they lift a hand, as if beckoning him forward. He doesn’t move, though, just looks back at the creature, waiting to see what they do.
His eyes grow wide as Camden speaks up. Jim had assumed those on the stone slabs had all been killed, the pale hue to their skin indicating the life that’d since left their body. What he couldn’t tell, was that in that absence a new life had taken hold. Taking a few steps back he looks out to the still forms all laying now frozen forever from the hands of time. They were too late- not late enough to save the others, but too late to save these eight wixes from the same curse his uncle bore.
It’s just as he opens his mouth to ask Camden what they should do next, when suddenly the room grows chillingly cold, and when he looks back ahead to the ninth slab in the room, suddenly he’s met with the stranger they’d all been looking for.
The creature was not truly man or beast, but rather a strange cross between the two. They had the general body of a human, but their skin was aged to the point it looked almost mummified. Inked into the yellowed skin looked to be a series of rune-like tattoos, written in various rows and columns covering a large portion of their body. The face was most jarring though, their features were almost bat-like, with their ears much larger and pointed than any humanoid Jim had ever witnessed, and their eyes were as red as the fresh blood that was still smeared around their chin from their last feeding.
It was almost hard to believe that Camden could even be of the same species as the creature, and yet it’s Camden they look to first and even go so far as beckon him to come closer to them. When Camden remains still the creature’s head tilts, seemingly not pleased with the small act of defiance. Dropping their hand, they begin to slowly descend the stairs of the raised platform they’d only recently manifested on.
For once, Jim is at a complete loss as to just what to do, stuck between both fight and flight. The bodies strewn about the cavernous room spoke to the power of this being, but little else of its true intentions.
“So this is what our species has been reduced to?” The creature speaks, their voice cracked and dry. They move forward as their feet land on the final step, continuing to eye Camden curiously as they draw closer.
“You look more man than vampire, child. You smell as such too,” they add, almost sneering as their nostrils flare. “I can still smell the human in you.”
Sniffing the air once more, Jim can see the creature's brows furrow before their gaze falls on him. Their crimson eyes sending a chill up his spine as they continue to speak to Camden. “Interesting, so I am not the only one here with whom you share a bloodline with? My scent is stronger in you, yes, but his festers underneath, like a rotting wound.”
Now only a few feet away from the four wixes, the creature stills, as they look back to his uncle. McCoy and Singh remain just as frozen as he is from where they stand not too far from his right. Both seem transfixed on the creature.
“This temple was summoned here due to the negligence and naivety of the young, but I am grateful for it. If you are any indication as to what has befallen our once great species, then matters are much worse than I feared. Tell me, do you even have a coven, or have you been left chained to the withering remains of your mortal bloodline?” The creature asks, briefly looking over to Jim once more before refocusing their attention back to his uncle.
Ordinarily Jim probably would have taken offense to being referred to as “withering remains” but the comment completely slips by him as he cautiously watches the exchange between the two vampires.
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the spotted owl cafe, early morning, before work, @edenblue
Stopping by the cafe on the corner, was not an unusual routine, especially in the early morning before he was set to dig into a day full of paperwork. That particular morning though marked a special occasion, June had officially reached her three month mark in the squad, and with her not so recent, but still new promotion from recruit to cadet, he figured he’d stop by and get something for her. The line to the cafe, when he finally gets there is long, which is as to be expected for the morning hours, where Port Steward was just beginning to wake up, and some of its residents flocked to the nearest source of caffeine.
It’s as he’s still waiting in line, when the bell above the cafe’s door rings behind him, alerting those inside of a newcomer to join the small mass of people already inside. Looking behind him, Jim expects to see another stranger join the crowd of people, but instead is met with the face of a fellow squad member.
“You decide to skip over the coffee machine this morning too?” He greets. He wouldn’t necessarily say he and Eden knew each other well, in fact they’d yet to get on a case together since the younger auror first joined the squad, but he figured it’d be rude not to greet them.
“I’m pretty sure so did a quarter of the island by this point.”
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savagexcamden:
He nods, seriously, frowning slightly as he looks back at Benjamin. The place feels dangerous, not for him, though, for all of the others. For Benjamin. The longer they stand there, even just in the first chamber, the more certain he feels of that. Something in here might want to change him, but nothing here wants to hurt him, he feels certain of that knowledge somehow, in his very core. The others, though, humans, they shouldn’t be in here, unless, he would guess, they’re brought here for one reason. The look Benjamin gives him, the words, they make it clear that he’s thinking the same thing, that there’s a chance whatever’s in here is going to try to use him against them. All he can hear is Becker’s voice in his mind, and he wishes, again, that he hadn’t been so stubborn, that he hadn’t been so high and mighty, and would’ve just told him about this, so that he could’ve stopped it before Camden had made it this far with Benjamin.
But there’s nothing to do about that, now, because he knows better than trying to suggest he leave now, too. They’re both here now, and they’re both going to see this through until the end, whatever that end is. There’s nothing to do but continue on, unfortunately. And so they do.
They keep going, move into the corridor following the lit torches, and as soon as they step into the corridor, the scent of blood hits deeply, overwhelmingly strong, and strange, something different about the blood he’s smelling. Looking down, he can see the source easily, strains in the canals at either side of the corridor. Benjamin kneels down to look closer, but Camden keeps moving, not looking down again, as if that might temper the hunger that twists at his core at the smell, even long dried.
Instead, he follows next to Singh, who is looking at the glyphs. He can guess at some of it, even before he continues.
“Some of it is a similar message. Mentions of welcoming brethren from lands far away, pilgrimages, it sounds like. To find her strength. To take her strength. This says, drink of me and with it may you find my strength, too,” he explains looking through the glyphs. He glances at Camden. “Have you ever…has anyone mentioned anything like this to you before?”
“Has anyone ever told me to drink from them and take their strength?” he asks, a little incredulously, with a scoff, despite himself. He pauses, though, recomposes himself. Everything feels odd, easy to get lost, here. “Once or twice, maybe. You realize that is how you pass on the curse. The sire drinks from you, then you drink from them.”
“What happens if both already have the curse, though?” Singh wonders out loud, looking at him curiously.
Camden is silent for a moment, because he doesn’t know, he doesn’t know, and he doesn’t think he wants to know. The glyphs talk about strength, strength to overpower those who wish them harm, but what exactly does that mean. He’s about to answer, to say that it seems like the glyphs are telling them what happens, when the smell hits, coppery and sweet, strong and fresh. He has to stop himself from letting his fangs grow, the venom wanting to come forth, the urge to drink strong. And there’s a pull there, too, to keep walking, not just to find the source, but to take from it.
“Fresh blood. We need to keep moving,” he says, trying to keep his voice straight. He doesn’t wait, though, before continuing down the corridor.
.
The deeper they go into the temple, the more clear it becomes that whatever naive hope he and his uncle once were operating under, that the chance of any of this being related to vampires was simply that- a chance, and a futile one. He doesn’t know all that much about ancient Vampirism or ancient wixen Egyptians to know precisely what purpose this temple served, but the picture was becoming clearer with every line of glyphs Singh translated, that none of it meant anything good for the aurors and teenagers stuck in this pyramid.
With his uncle’s insistence that they move forward, and the mention of fresh blood, he refocuses his attention back on the task at hand. As they begin to move down the corridor at a quicker pace, he can tell Singh is still trying to read the literal writing on the walls around them, but if he is able to translate the glyphs there, he doesn’t do so out loud. After a few more feet they step into what seems to be another chamber, nearly identical to the first, but Sekhmet’s image on the walls has changed. She’s covered in what looks like runes- but they aren’t any runes Jim could recognize, clearly too old and from a language not of the Germanic derived runes he’d grown accustomed to seeing over the years. More striking than her appearance though, is the fact she appears to be allowing someone to drink from her arm.
“You don’t think these fuckers have turned any of the aurors have you?” McCoy asks him as they leave the second chamber and follow yet another corridor deeper into the temple. Stealing a glance over to the other auror, Jim can see the small bit of fear leaking through onto McCoy’s features.
“I don’t know,” he confesses, because honestly he was still at a loss just what all could these vampires want. “If they have been turned though, it’s still our job to get them out of here safely. No matter what has been done to them.”
McCoy seems surprisingly to agree to that sentiment, despite the plethora of stakes still strapped to his person. Then again though, he was an auror and a sergeant at that. Given the years he no doubt had served within the department, Jim could understand why McCoy might be easily swayed to adopt a “no man left behind” attitude when it came to others of his kind.
After stepping into yet another chamber, still similar to the others, but with a different scene of Sekhment standing before an alter of some kind. The next corridor they step into seems to finally take them to the proverbial end of the particular maze they’d stepped into. The narrow stone walls soon opening up to what appears to be the main part of the temple. The room they step into is large, clearly meant to hold a large crowd of some kind. Within it though, Jim’s attention is quickly stolen by eight stone slabs, jutting out from the floor. On each one a seemingly lifeless form is laid across, from Jim’s position he could see that six of the forms are clearly aurors, and two of them seem to be the teenagers that first entered the pyramid.
Against the wall is another collection of bodies, all laying limply in a pile that seemed to have been made with much less care than the other eight individuals in the middle of the room. At the rear of the temple is a ninth slab, situated on a raised ledge, almost like a stage, with a stone stet of stairs leading up to it. That stone slab though sits strikingly bare.
Looking over to one of the eight stone slabs on the main floor, he cautiously steps towards it, recognizing the limp form on it to be that of Corporal April Cordova, the leader of the first expedition team.
“Camden....,” Jim speaks, saying the man’s name maybe for the first time in decades. He’d intended to ask his uncle just what he smelled in that room, but his words are lost when he notices a bite mark on Cordova’s pale neck as he steps closer to her.
“There’s someone else in here,” he says, which he’d long since assumed as much, but seeing the actual evidence was another matter entirely.
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snowbaron:
She had been hoping that he might have heard something about the town, even just rumors, if not actually knowing anything about it himself, but it’s not a surprise to hear that he doesn’t actually know anything about it. It seems like a well guarded secret, the sort of town that enjoys its privacy. That could of course be for harmless reasons, or it could be something else entirely, and the fact that they’ve got a missing person who’s last whereabouts were that town makes her inclined to lean towards the latter. But they won’t know anything until they can see it themselves, unfortunately.
“I haven’t heard of it before now, either. Not the most comforting feeling. Agreed, though, hopefully he’ll be able to give some insight on what they were doing, with all of their trips around the country,” she nods, as they find a booth near the back at the place, and sit down.
There wasn’t much detail in the file about Horton besides the initial report that he had filed about his missing sibling, but that wasn’t unusual. She expects that talking to him in person about Shelby will paint a clearer picture, like Jim says, of what they were doing, and the sort of places they went before heading to Montrose.
It’s only another minute before the door to the diner opens again, and Ian Horton comes in; he spots them and heads back towards their table, hesitating slightly. He looks worried sick, that’s clear as day, and it makes her hope even more that they can find Shelby in Montrose.
“Are you the aurors?” he asks, looking between them.
“We are. I’m Inspector Baron Snow, and this is Inspector Jim Norwood. Thanks for meeting here with us, please sit down,” she says, offering him a small smile, trying to help him feel a little more at ease.
He nods vaguely, and sits down. “Yeah, of course, thanks,” he says. Before she can prompt him with any questions, he keeps going, though. “I know it sounds like a lot of vague bullshit, when they do this all the time, but this trip is different. Usually Shelby will let someone know when they’re coming back, but it’s been radio silence. It’s not like them, and this town, I don’t know, usually I’ve at least heard of the places they go.”
.
The fact that Baron hadn’t heard of the town either before reading the case file wasn’t too much of a surprise, but still didn’t help his unease about the situation. Places like that, that worked so hard to keep themself a secret, even from the rest of the wixen world, generally didn’t much enjoy newcomers poking around their town. The fact that they needed a “guide” as it were, spoke to that fact as well.
Whatever was going on here, he figures it’ll take the two of them nosing around the place much closer than their guide or the mayor would like, but it would probably be the only way they could figure out what on earth happened to Shelby and where they were.
After taking a seat down in the far booth, it isn’t too much longer until a wix who he quickly recognizes to be Ian Horton from their case file walks in. The kid looks distraught in a way Jim can sympathize with, he’s clearly shaken up and worried sick about his missing sibling. Missing persons cases generally didn’t end well, unfortunately he’d been on more than enough to know that by now, but he did hope this would be one of the few exceptions to the rule, both for Shelby’s sake and Ian’s.
“It doesn’t sound like vague bullshit at all,” Jim insists. Based off the wix’s quick shift into taking the defense, Jim can only assume the first pair of aurors Ian likely talked to weren’t all that willing to listen to him. Which Jim isn’t particularly sure why, unless they genuinely thought Shelby was a runaway, they’d been reportedly missing for weeks though, not days. And without so much as a sign of them at that.
“We know you officially reported Shelby missing to the Mississippi division yesterday, but when was the last time you’d heard from them?” He asks, figuring they might as well try to get a more clear timeline before they begin talking to anyone in Montrose.
“Fuck... it’s been weeks,” Ian lets out a sigh, “I want to say around Valentine’s Day? They sent me like this joke of a love poem through their owl. It was like ‘Roses are red, Violets are blue, I’m so glad I got all the good lucks in the family, fuck you.’ Which sounds mean, but that’s just how we are with one another, you know?”
Jim didn’t have a sibling but he spent more than enough time around his father and Camden as a child to understand the many facets to a relationship like that.
“They sent it through their owl?” He asks, “Did the owl return back to them after it delivered the poem?”
.
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marleighmcmahon:
They give Norwood a nod of agreement before setting off on their little list of errands, getting a few hairs, heading down to the Potions specialist who really, as always, is a fuckin’ miracle worker, already has a fresh batch of polyjuice ready and waiting for them by the time they get there, hairs in hand. The polyuice experience is, as always, a decidedly unpleasant one, way less preferable than a regular concealment, but even Rory couldn’t make them look like Dulcinea Lucas without some magic a little stronger than that—for one, she’s a full foot shorter than they are, which is a weird feeling to get used to as they head back to the office to grab anything else they think they might need before meeting up with Norwood across the street.
Pretending to be Lucas, they think, will probably be pretty easy: she’s a straightforward person, someone they know well enough that her actions are always easy enough to anticipate. They’re no actor, but it’s not that hard to pretend you think you’re smarter than everyone else in the room. Like if The Riddler from Batman was a blonde woman with terrible taste in intimate partners. With a little pressure, she’d given them everything about Soto as well, which wasn’t all that much—she hadn’t had much interaction with him, working with Jet directly, which meant he wasn’t likely to notice if anything seemed off about her. Which made him as good a place to start as any.
They’re just thinking through as much as they get to the cafe, looking around at the people approaching for anyone who might have been a concealed Jim Norwood, when they finally spot him.
“Alright, boss, that’ll play,” they say, giving Norwood’s concealment a once-over. “Lucas reckons we should start with Soto, how’s that sound to you?”
Rory, as always, is a damn miracle worker. No sooner than Jim steps into their office he’s transformed into someone Jim would certainly guess was up to something nefarious. The concealment specialist even goes as far as adding a small cut across his nose and cheek, like he’d just gotten into a bar fight the night before, and made little effort to cover up the fact he did. There is one additional little touch Rory adds by way of his wardrobe, which all he can do is laugh as he looks down at the garment.
“Do tell Marleigh I said hi, Jimmy”, Rory adds with a wink before shooing him away so the wix could get back to the what they’d been working on before Jim’s out of the blue appearance at their door.
When he gets to the cafe he goes ahead and orders the two of them a coffee, figuring Marleigh wouldn’t be too long. Kato had managed to build quite the team of specialists for his squad, so even while polyjuices generally took quite some time to brew, he assumed Blue likely had one fresh and raring to go already. It’s only a couple minutes later, right when he’s handed his and Marleigh’s coffees, does the wix step into the cafe, with a new shade of blonde hair, and quiet shorter than their usual height.
“Before you say anything, the shirt is all Rory’s doing,” he chuckles as he glances down to the hawaiian shirt he was wearing. It was a much more muted color than the loud and bright ones Marleigh tended to wear, but loud and bright generally were colors to stay away from while working undercover like they are now.
“They do say hi by the way,” he adds before handing them their cup of coffee.
Soto seemed like the best lead to follow first, even if they didn’t have Dulcinea’s word to go by. Soto had a predictable enough routine, it likely wouldn’t take them long to find him. Jet, on the other hand, was another matter entirely. If they were going to be able to draw him out, it was going to have to be through Soto.
“Sounds great,” he replies, “the case file said he’s a regular at some wix bar- The Sleeping Chimera, I think. We could probably try there first.”
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tidebetide:
“Oui,” they reply, mirroring his grin, getting up as well, getting their coffee and everything else so that the two of them can head out and get to work. And then, exaggerating the bare hints of their natural accent to something stronger, something a little more like Hadrian’s, airy and elevated and sophisticated, they add, “That sounds like as good a place to start as any.”
MACUSA has set up a floo for them, specifically set up to get them past the wards and onto the island without any trouble, and so it’s easy enough to get there from the office. As they stroll out of the grand fireplace in what looks like a grand library in the manor on the island, Jim close behind them, they find themself already face to face with a profession and somewhat severe looking man in a suit that looks like it costs more than they make in a year, a man who they presume must be Charles Quincy Loddington IV.
“You’re the aurors I was told to expect, then?” he confirms, looking between them and then choosing to let his gaze settle on Tide as he asks the question.
“We are,” they confirm, their accent landing somewhere halfway between their real voice and the over-exaggerated voice they’d joked to Jim with, enough to make them sound distinctly French without sound like they were putting on some kind of character for all of this like the guests would be. “You’re the one who reported the murder, I presume. Mr. Loddington?”
“Yes, and I’ve been assured that the two of you will solve this quickly and quietly without making a spectacle of the entire situation. We have a reputation to uphold, you know, as an organization. I’d hate to see this get out of hand.”
.
He has to bite back a grin after they enter the island manor, and Tide begins to speak in an accent slightly thicker than their own. He hadn’t thought they’d go through with the little charade of “Frenching themself up” a bit more for the sake of the elites around them, but damned if it doesn’t work, when Loddington seems to instantly gravitate towards Tide over himself.
“We plan on doing everything in our power to find out what happened to your employee, ideally before the wards come back down Monday morning,” Jim replies. The fact that Loddington seemed more concerned about his club’s reputation than the actual murder that occurred, certainly spoke to just how much this club meant to the man. Or perhaps how little his employees meant to him in comparison.
“Excellent. My staff have all been informed to help you out as much as they possibly can. And we’ve established lodging for you in the manor, Mx. Esmund, the butler for this weekend should be down shortly to show you where you’ll be staying,” he replies. Normally Jim would prefer to not sleep within the same home as a group of suspects, but nothing about this case was going to be normal. Without being able to get back home due to the wards, Tide and him were now for all intents and purposes stuck on the island, whether they wanted to be or not.
“Mx. Esmund is one of the actors here, right?” He asks, figuring he may as well use this time with Loddington well before they’re taken away to their next destination. “The one that was supposed to be killed this weekend?”
“Yes, they were,” Loddington replies with a small sigh, “they were supposed to ‘die’ this morning. The members were intended to find their body on the back patio where breakfast was to be served.”
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savagexcamden:
Something about standing there feels off, but not necessarily wrong, oddly enough. Almost familiar, welcomed, but he’s not sure how or why, besides perhaps the way that he always knows the moment he’s near another with his curse; that’s the smell of death, here, death and rebirth. It feels like he’s stuck in place, but there’s also the distinct urge to leave in the back of his mind, like somewhere in his core he knows that if he keeps going deeper, he’s not going to come out of this place the same. Benjamin’s voice, though, pulls him out of that feeling, and he blinks looking around with a frown at that.
He hadn’t even considered the fact that he was able to walk into the pyramid without asking for permission first. The silent rules of that particular problem of his were ridiculous and inconsistent, as the definition of private dwelling varied greatly apparently in the eyes of whatever invisible force controlled his curse. His ability to enter some churches, but not others, depending on the religion and denomination, and whether or not the building was considered the house of God by the congregants has always been the most annoying instance to him, but he hadn’t considered that an ancient pyramid would follow the same rules, although it makes sense, if that pyramid was a temple.
Before he can guess, though, Singh answers the implicit question, reading gylphs over an image of Sekhmet. Once he looks, it’s hard to look away, especially hearing the words, a cold chill running through him at that. Ominous seems like a vast understatement to him, but he’s having trouble processing it all, forgetting for a moment what they’re here for as he considers the words. Refuge from harm, sustenance to give you strength, the implication of Sekhmet herself leaving her life source within the pyramid. He doesn’t like any of it, and for not the first time he wishes he hadn’t been so stubborn at the start of this, that he could’ve gotten this case pushed off on someone else.
It takes him a second to pull his eyes away from the image of Sekhmet, to look over at Benjamin. “Death,” he says simply. “I can smell death. Recent death. And there’s a sense of familiarity. It’s not…it’s not the same, though. Whoever is in here isn’t the same as me.”
“That would probably make sense,” Singh nods, very clearly wanting to latch onto the logical part of this, which he can’t blame him for, considering the implication behind it all. “This temple is millennia old, evolution, over time, to adapt––”
“You can sense another vampire in here?” McCoy asks, cutting to the case.
“Likely more than just one. This is as new territory to me, as it is to you. It’s not particularly often that I find myself in an ancient pyramid to a vampire goddess,” he raises his eyebrows, before looking back at Benjamin again, which is strange, maybe, but it feels easiest to latch onto the familiar, here. “I also feel welcomed. Something’s waiting in here, for others like me.”
.
As much as he didn’t like to admit it, he was beginning to find himself more and more grateful that it was his uncle’s name typed above his on this case. Camden’s curse may have caused his childhood to be upended, but here in this temple it could very well be their one saving grace. He may not have liked hearing the confirmation that there were indeed other vampires somewhere within the pyramids various tunnels and chambers, but at least it made them more prepared for the inevitable.
Singh’s words do sit with him though, and begin to gnaw at his growing unease. Whatever was in this temple wasn’t a vampire in the same way that Camden was, but then what did that make them? Evolution generally was geared towards bettering the fitness of a species, but did that mean Camden was more equipped to live amongst humans? Or rather, go head to head with them, compared to these others of his kind within the temple?
“Let me know if you start feeling different,” he replies, as he meets his uncle’s gaze. There was no telling just what kind of ancient magic that was held in this temple, but he wasn’t about to rule out the fact that some of it may try to use Camden’s curse against him, and make him their enemy rather than their ally.
“Well whatever the fuck is in this place, we’re not going to find it just by standing around here all day,” McCoy lets out a sigh before looking over to the corridor that connected the first chamber to the rest of the pyramid, the series of torches hanging off its walls all burning brightly.
As much as he didn’t particularly want to agree with the third auror, Jim knew he was right. If they had any chance of getting the others out alive, they were going to have to go deeper into the pyramid, no matter what monsters could be dwelling inside.
With a small nod of his head, he follows as the group begins to move into the corridor. As with the first chamber, the corridor too was covered in glyphs, but what catches Jim’s eye isn’t the walls, but rather the ground. On either side of the corridor, running the length of the wall, is a miniature pair of canals carved into the stone. They couldn’t have been more than a foot wide and a foot deep, at first he assumes it was some type of early plumbing system, a route for water to flow in or out of the pyramid- that is until he notices the dark brown stains that coated the now dry canal’s stone floor and walls.
“That better not be blood,” McCoy grumbles when he notices Jim bending down to get a better look at them.
Casting a lumos spell, he moves his wand closer to the dark stains. He’d seen dried blood before plenty of times, but never to this extent, he thinks grimly as his gaze traces the length of the carved stone down the rest of the corridor.
“Do the glyphs say anything else important?” He asks instead of answering McCoy’s question, figuring it was a moot point by then.
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snowbaron:
She’s probably more thrilled than she should be to out in the field after what feels like too long since her last case. It feels like most of her work has been of the paper variety in the past few weeks, and even if life has been busier than it ever has before outside of the office, she’s missed being able to focus on fixing a problem, solving a case. It’s funny to realize, after years being convinced of the opposite, that having things she cares about outside of work, people she cares about, only makes her more motivated, instead of taking away from work. And she’s glad that it’s a case with Jim, too, even if the case itself feels strange, the sort of thing that has a lot going on beneath the surface that they won’t be able to see until they’re in this town that no one can find. A partner she knows she can trust feels paramount on this case, and all the better as a chance to talk to him, having been too distracted since Scotland to touch base.
So Baron is positively raring to go, gets to the diner they’ve agreed to meet too early, no surprise, notebook already filled with notes. What she isn’t expecting, though, is to see Jim pull up in a pick up truck, and it takes her by surprise enough that she lets out a laugh as he gets out and closes the door. It’s smart, though, his reasoning, given the very vague directions they have to meet their guide, another part of this that leaves her feeling a little off already.
“That’s great. It’s been a long time since I’ve been in a pickup truck. Can I ride in the bed?” she asks, jokingly, looking it over. His idea was very welcome, considering her penchant for heels.
She doesn’t linger on it, though, ready to jump into the nitty gritty of things, especially in their few minutes before the initial reporter arrived. Baron pulls of her notebook and flips to the page with her notes on the case as they start towards the dinner, glancing over things, even though she all but has it memorized.
“Our victim’s brother should be here in just a few minutes, but honestly that case file was so bare bones, there’s not that much to go over without seeing the town and talking to the residents ourselves. Have you ever heard of Montrose before now?”
.
He chuckles lightly at her remark, glad to see her gut reaction to the truck was relief rather than disgust. Peering back into the bed in question, he shakes his head when his eyes fall on its dirty floor, “Not as long as you don’t mind a few pieces of hay stuck to you afterwards.”
Of all the aurors that could be partnered with him on this case, he’s glad it was Baron whose name followed his on the case file. He hadn’t had much time to talk or check in with her since Scotland, and while he doubts they won’t have much time on this case either to do so, it was still nice to work alongside each other. They made a good team back in Scotland, and he was glad to have someone like her on his side on a case like this one that had so many unknowns involved.
Falling into step beside her, he glances down at her notebook, seemingly already filled with a good deal of notes on the case they’d only just started. He’d never been much of a notetaker himself, usually he liked to feel things out first, get to know the people behind the typed names on the file before he began building theories. Just as he was with Athena though, and her countless note she’d always take, he certainly welcomed the additional perspective.
“No, I haven’t,” he confesses as they near the diner, “which doesn’t exactly make me feel any easier about this thing. I thought I’d heard of at least every wixen town in our jurisdiction if not visited them at least once or twice. But I can’t say I’ve ever heard of the place.”
Looking over towards her he gives her a small shrug, wishing he had something else to offer here. When they get to the diner’s front door he opens it for her before heading inside, nodding his head in the direction of a booth in the back once they do.
“The best we can hope to get from Hornton is a better idea of who Shelby is. If we can understand her better we might be able to figure out the places or people she would have likely gone to first.”
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tidebetide:
They can’t help but laugh at his mention of his yuppie upbringing, only because it seems to completely antithetical to everything that makes him Jim, seems like something he would have been so out of place in, but it only takes one glance over at the Savages’ desks to remember that he had been out of place, in it, that the Jim they knew hadn’t entirely taken shape until he’d gotten out from under his father’s thumb, moved to take his own place in the world, a place he defined by being as far from his father and uncle as he could possibly manage.
“Agreed,” they say, sitting back, case file open in their lap. “At this point it sounds like the wards are going to be our greatest asset here. Keeping everyone in and ensuring that no one else could have gotten in.”
It’s the stipulation that makes this crime feel exactly like the ones the murder mystery weekend had been intended to emulate, the Agatha Christie-type detective stories that were fun little puzzles but lacked the messiness and unpredictability of actual crimes: all the suspects pre-defined, all the clues placed ready for you to find. It would be tempting, in a case like this, to shift into that kind of thinking, but this wasn’t a carefully plotted party, it was a real murder, with a real motive, just as messy and unpredictable as any other actual murder outside of a carefully warded island was. It was paramount not to be lulled into a false sense of security by it.
“It sounds like even if they are in disguise, the members are more than likely to have encountered one another before, as well as the actors. If the victim’s been doing these parties for seven years, it’s more than likely he’d done something to piss off one of the guests enough to give them a motive.”
The “locked door mystery” aspect to this real life crime certainly was going to make it easier on their end to narrow down a list of suspects, but at the same time, part of him worried it’d also work against them in their task to prove to these members they were in fact real aurors. Of course, maybe they didn’t necessarily have to convince everyone, he thinks to himself, all they had to do was figure out who actually killed the wix in question, it very well may be the case that having some of the club members think they weren’t real aurors could work in their favor.
“Maybe we should talk to the club president first then, this Charles Quincy Loddington the IV” he reads aloud from the case file, his face twisting into another cringe as he says the name, “he might be able to tell us more if “Mr. Nash” had any past run-ins with any of the club members. Or if he’d received any complaints from anyone?”
Whatever they did, they were going to have to head out soon, this ward business may have helped keep the murderer on the island, but also put them on the clock before the wards went down again Monday morning.
Standing up he grabs his coffee as he looks down at them, “You should try that French stuff on him,” he adds with a wry grin, “if either one of us are going to impress someone with “the fourth” tacked on to their name, it’ll definitely be you.”
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roadside diner outside montrose, mississippi, afternoon, @snowbaron
When he gets to the diner that he was scheduled to meet both Baron and the brother to their missing person at, Jim does so by way of his old Ford pick-up truck. It wasn’t that he had a particular itch to drive that day, especially when it involved having to apparate both him and the truck to Mississippi. Instead, it had more to do with what the next part of their case involved. Yvonne Sinclair, their guide for this strange trip into a town not found on any map, told them she’d meet them “near the closest main road”, which on paper sounded fine, but when he realized that the closest main road to Montrose was eight miles long, he figured he’d do both his and Baron’s feet a favor and bring them something to help them in that journey.
Pulling up to the roadside diner, the old pick-up grinds to a stop just in front of the diner where Baron looked to be already waiting for him. “I figured since we’re meeting at a truck-stop, I might as well show up in one of my own,” he greets with a small chuckle, as he shuts the truck’s door behind him. If this case had happened before Scotland, he’d have been concerned whether the other auror would even step foot into the thing, but after their shared experience together, and seeing how she’d clearly been taught how to use a gun before, he figures this was far from the first pick-up she’d been in.
“But really, I thought it’d help us out later,” he adds by way of explanation, “that way we won’t be spending half the day walking around looking for Sinclair and wherever this town is.”
This hadn’t been the first case he and Snow ever worked on together, but it was the first one since Scotland, and he’s fairly certain since she became an inspector. She’d done well for herself in that time though, clearly following in Langer’s path with her swift rise in ranks. He’d never held that same ambition himself, but he’s glad to see Snow has taken to it all so well.
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marleighmcmahon:
Jim Norwood, they think, is probably universally the easiest person in the entire damn office to work with. He doesn’t seem to dislike anyone in the office except the Savages—which, no one likes the Savages, except goody-two-shoes like Cassandra and Baron, no offense to either of them, and Liv, so who can blame Norwood for that—and even though he’s got four times as much auror experience as anyone else, is way better at his job than anyone else has any right to be, he never holds it over anyone’s head, never acts like he’s better just because he’s been around the block a few times, never acts like anyone’s an idiot just because they’re young. It’s the kind of attitude Marleigh admires, the half-awkward but totally easy way he has with people, the no-nonsense way he gets the job done.
“Jesus, that’s fuckin’ brutal,” they exhale, leaning back against the counter and then taking a sip of their coffee. “Talk about adding insult to injury.” It wasn’t a surprise, that someone going around harvesting vocal cords from sirens to make horrifyingly powerful wands would be a cruel piece of shit who would rather see a siren as a circus sideshow than an actual person with actual sentience—or just wouldn’t care about the cruelty so long as the siren they fucked up couldn’t rat them out. It puts into perspective just what kind of shitty motherfucker they’re actually dealing with here—and how careful they’ll have to be, while doing it.
“Well listen, I dunno how you wanna do this thing, but I’ve got an in with Lucas. We used to work together and she owes me one. So if you think it’d help, I can snag a few hairs, polyjuice up, might be able to get in good with this Jet guy pretending to be her, or at least talk to Soto and get some information about where they are with this shit without him figuring out we’re onto him.”
All he can do is nod his head when Marleigh speaks again, agreeing fullheartedly with them. This Jet person, whoever the hell he was, clearly saw little value in the sirens other than the monetary one he could get out of their vocal chords, and in turn selling them off after he harvested what he could from them. As cruel and conniving as the son of a bitch seemed to be though, Jim knew this couldn’t all just be Jet’s work alone. Capturing four sirens from the Atlantic, then doing the unthinkable to them, was much more than a one person job. He had to have accomplices in this, accomplices they’d likely only uncover if they found a way to get Jet or Soto to reveal them.
Fortunately it seems that Marleigh is of some similar thought, when their next words seem to suggest the best route here was going undercover first. They’re lucky that Marleigh seems to have some kind of in with Lucas, enough so that they should be able to pull off a decent show of being the wix herself. If there was any way they could get Jet or Soto to give them the information they needed, going in as Lucas certainly seemed the smartest of options.
“That’s probably the only way we can get what we need out of all of this without wasting any more time,” he answers, “I can head down to Rory’s and get myself a concealment, while you get Lucas’s hair. I’m sure Blue can help you with the polyjuice side. We can meet back up in the cafe across the street when we’re done?”
It was as solid of a plan as they were going to get at this point. Sure, there was still plenty of unknowns in taking on any kind of undercover work, but he wasn’t particularly concerned with Marleigh’s ability to imitate their former acquaintance.
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savagexcamden:
He clenches his jaw when Benjamin agrees, but turns without taking the offered stake. In a way, it’s a gesture that he does appreciate. He’s never actually witnessed a vampire being staked, or done so himself, before or after his transformation. The thought of seeing it turns his stomach, even if he would be the first to assume the worst intentions with others of his unwilling kind, and the thought of seeing someone in his family, even if only the biological sense, doing so is something he thinks it might be hard to come back from, even if was necessary. And it does mean something, only really just proves that Benjamin is a good man, that he can’t look him in the eye, and think of taking the stake.
But it’s also a little frustrating, because the only thing he’s thinking of here is making certain that Benjamin gets out safe. Camden wouldn’t risk taking a stake himself, not just because of the way it makes him feel sick to think of not just killing another vampire, but killing another vampire like that, but because it could easily be used against him. There are other ways to subdue a vampire, ways that don’t lead to killing, and don’t involve holy symbols he couldn’t think of touching without feeling that pain, too, but none of them are quite as effective. And the idea that Benjamin won’t have that last line of defense, if things go badly, it’s worrying.
This is one argument he isn’t going to have, though, because he understands, and he does appreciate it, especially as McCoy takes enough stakes for all of them and more. He puts the other stake back, and they head towards the pyramid. And it’s something extraordinary to see, not like anything he’s witnessed before, the way the walls of the pyramid seem to have melded with the walls of the cave, the clear difference in stone, the markings covering the outside walls of the pyramid. He can’t help but look at the glyphs, looking for anything that feels familiar, and something about it sends a chill through him; he doesn’t understand any of them, but he knows that they’re right to assume they might need a stake or two.
“So we may be taking a trip to Egypt,” he says, tearing his eyes from the glyphs. He pulls his wand out, tries a few revealing spells on the off chance something comes up, gives them a hint of if a spell had done this, but nothing happens.
“Maybe. It’s hard to say, not knowing what brought it here in the first place. Not sure if we’ll be able to even tell,” Singh reasons, stepping over to look at them again, too.
“No way to know, until we head in,” McCoy says, a little pointedly, clearly ready to head inside. And unfortunately it seems true.
With a sigh, Camden nods. He doesn’t wait, doesn’t bother hesitating or confirming, before heading through the entrance, wand outstretched, figuring it’s best if he go first, just in case the state of the first chamber has changed since the girl went in. There’s only a small corridor until it opens to the first chamber, larger than he had been expecting, and sure enough there are torches lit, but no sigh of life. It feels wrong, though, and he stops just a few steps inside. The air is stale, and thick with the smell of death. Recent death.
“Don’t touch anything, it’s impossible to say if anything in here is cursed,” Singh says, coming in behind him, and cautiously stepping further into the room, going to examine the markings on the walls.
.
Standing out front of the pyramid’s entrance, Jim feels both a deep sense of dread beginning to churn in his stomach, but also an almost childlike wonderment at the very sight in front of him. Part of him almost feels intrigued at the idea they could possibly be transported to another place and time the moment they cross the pyramid’s threshold. There was no telling just what they would find once they stepped inside, but he’s been on this job long enough not to let himself get too caught up in the romance of exploring an ancient temple like this one, especially when over a dozen lives were still at risk somewhere inside its ancient walls.
After stealing one last moment to look across the countless glyphs carved into the stone, he grips his wand tightly before following his uncle inside. Between the three others accompanying him, he stays closest to his uncle, the history between them may have been a complex one, but it came with it a familiarity that almost seemed comforting now that they were walking into such a vast unknown.
“You were able to walk in without needing permission,” he thinks out loud, his head turning in Camden’s direction, as Singh begins to take a closer look at the first chamber’s walls. He didn’t know much about vampirism other than what would be considered common knowledge, but he knew well enough that his uncle always needed permission before entering a place.
“Someone already gave it to him,” Singh answers, his eyes still fixated on one particular stretch of wall that depicted Sekhmet herself. Outstretching his wand he points it in the direction of a series of glyphs over the goddess’s head. “Enter my home, blood of my blood. Here you will find refuge from those that wish you harm, and sustenance to give you the strength to overpower them. Within these walls I give you my life source, so that you and your brethren may consume the world with it.”
“Well that’s not fuckin’ ominous or anything,” McCoy sighs, his wand griped in one hand while his other rests on one of the stakes fastened to his hip.
Looking over to his uncle Jim tries to gauge what the other man may be thinking before he speaks. “Do you sense anything in here?”
He almost doesn’t want to ask, thinking maybe it’d be better not to know to some degree. But if there was any chance of all four of them getting through this and finding the others, he knows they’ll need to be as much aware of their surroundings as they possibly could be.
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