'Twas the Night Before Christmas

[Florian Raniari]

((NOTE: Okay, just a heads up for everyone. All of my threads with my characters have been taking place on "old site time" that is, January-April 2035. This is my first thread with them on "real time" that is, actually in December of 2035. So, you will probably notice some major changes in my two main characters, and the reasons for those changes will be dealt with in threads to come, that will be taking place between April-December 2035.))

(The character formerly known as "Sastre Quicksilver" is now "Florian Raniari")

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Florian pulled his jacket tighter about him against the frigid cold.

He hated the cold. It made all of his numerous, old injuries throb and ache, and it slowed his reflexes. In truth, one of the reasons he'd chosen Michigan as the place to send his daughter away to was because he tried to spend as little time here as possible. Here he stood now, though, with Sastre beside him, before the graves of his old friends the Faradays.

And beside their graves rested a new headstone, one that had been added only a few months before... A headstone for Lily Faraday, Florian's daughter, who had "died" some time ago and been reborn as the new "Sastre Quicksilver." It still worried him a bit, that he'd agreed to her wishes and bestowed that name--and the burden that came with it--upon her, but it was done now, and they were finally nearing the end of her training. It had been her wish to take a few days off, to visit the graves of her adopted parents on Christmas Eve, like she'd always done years before.

Honestly, though he hated being here, he couldn't turn her down.

"What are you feeling?" he asked her, ignoring the biting wind and snow that swirled about in the gloomy night. It was important that he get her to talk about her feelings as much as possible. After the brutal torments she went through before he rescued her several months earlier, Florian knew that Sastre was under a lot of mental stress, and that if she didn't get that stress out as it built up, it would overwhelm and destroy her.

As he waited for an answer, Florian studied the young woman who had once been his daughter. She looked so different now, than she had when she was Lily, that he almost couldn't believe they were the same person. Other than the obvious change of her hair--which was now blonde and hung down past her shoulders--Sastre carried herself with a pride and purpose that had been lacking in Lily, though she'd always been confident in her abilities. Now, though, after months of grueling, painful training, she was learning that she was capable of things that she couldn't even imagine before. She was stronger, and smarter, and undoubtedly in the best shape of her live, both mentally and physically. Florian was incredibly proud of her.

"Who do you think put it up?" Sastre asked, gesturing toward the headstone for Lily. "You think it was Brennan, and the others?" When Florian nodded, Sastre sighed, feeling her stomach twist at the thought of her former lover. Kneeling down in the snow, Sastre left a single rose on each of the Faradays' graves, including Lily's. Standing back up, she said, "Okay, I'm ready. Let's go."

Florian simply nodded, leading the way out of the cemetery with Sastre following closely behind him...

[Sastre Quicksilver]

(The character formerly known as "Lily Faraday" is now "Sastre Quicksilver")

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Sastre was silent as she drove the streets of her former hometown.

How she had ever managed to convince Florian to come here was beyond her, but what was even more amazing was that she had talked him into heading to her old middle school for the evening's Christmas concert. It was one of the things she missed most about her old life, singing in the choirs for the big Christmas show, and she had come here every year to watch and listen. She was glad that this year wouldn't be any different, though realistically, it was more different than ever.

She had been through so much these past several months, both as Lily Faraday-Brennan and as Sastre Quicksilver. Her months in captivity no longer haunted her dreams, but the scars she'd gained and the hurts she'd endured would be with her for the rest of her life. As Sastre, the training that Florian had made her go through was intense, painful, and unlike anything she'd ever experienced before. But it was making her stronger, and better, and she knew that.

Looking over into the passenger seat at Florian, Sastre was glad to see that the training was doing him some good as well. He no longer seemed to be bowed down with the weight of the world on his shoulders for one thing, and for another he seemed to carry himself differently, more confidently. After years of being "Sastre Quicksilver," the old man was finally able to regain his true name, and, like her, he had changed his appearance in honor of his "new" identity: he'd shaved his beard, and let his grey-brown hair grow out, claiming that he'd do so until it hung loosely about his shoulders.

Finally they reached the school, and Sastre parked the jeep, feeling a bit strange now that she was actually here. Shooting Florian a quick smile, she got out, followed by him, and they made their way inside. After waiting in line for a few minutes, they entered the auditorium and were seated. Sastre was glad to see how packed the place was, since it meant that the choirs were still doing well and would be able to go on putting on the Christmas concert for many years to come.

Beside her, Florian was smiling slightly at the near-chaos around him as people continued to filter in, all vying for the best seats they could find. The air was filled with the sounds of chatter, while on stage the pianist played Christmas music softly in preparation for the concert to come. He seemed to be enjoying himself, if only a little, and Sastre was glad, for Florian had never really celebrated or experienced Christmas, from what he'd told her anyway.

Well, he was about to get a Christmas earful, that was for sure, as the concern would begin at any second...

((Okay, TAG anyone interested!))

[Abigail Faraday-Brennan]

I'm alone, and I don't know what to do
With my feelings, cause I'm still not over you
And I'm crying from the day you went away
And I miss you
I miss you...

Brennan trudged slowly through a knee-deep snowdrift, pulling her jacket tight around her shoulders as a violent gust of wind nearly blew her over. An eddy of blinding snow flared up in front of her, but the witch barely noticed, continuing toward a point ahead as if drawn by an invisible force. Brennan hadn’t visited Lily’s grave site since the young woman’s memorial service, but its location would be forever burned into her memory. Cresting a slight rise, Brennan looked across a shallow valley, her heart lurching uncomfortably at the sight of a trio of dark headstones silhouetted against the glaring snow on the other side of the basin. She wondered if the shock of seeing Lily’s gravestone would wear off in time, if the feeling of wrongness would eventually fade.

She still couldn’t believe she was dead.

Brennan didn’t remember wading through the snow-filled valley or threading her way through the maze of grave markers separating her from her destination. She simply found herself on her knees in front of her one-time lover’s headstone, eyes blurry with tears, with no memory of collapsing there. Reaching up with one trembling, gloved hand, she touched the cold stone and gently wiped the snow away from the terrible truth carved there. Had her magic been working properly, she would have melted the snow from all three markers and set a charm to keep them all cleared. But the last of her power had deserted her long ago, leaving only the tiniest trickle to suggest that it was ever there at all. Sighing, Brennan rested back on her haunches and tucked her hands under her arms.

“Hey Lil,” she murmured, her voice shaking. “I, uh…I’m on my way to Madison’s for Christmas. I wasn’t gonna go, but… Well, you know how persuasive Madison can be when she gets her teeth in something.”

Brennan chuckled at the thought, but the sound came out closer to a broken sob.

“Plus, I think Mom…”

The witch tried to continue, but her voice broke again, and she closed her eyes and let her head fall wearily against the cold stone.

Brennan had hoped that coming here would give her some closure, and that she could finally begin to heal. She had spent months trying to work through Lily’s abduction and the eventual news of her death, but nothing she tried seemed to have any effect. And so, she kept throwing herself single-mindedly into the hunt, forcing her emotions to take the back seat to the much more immediate struggle of kill or be killed.

But she couldn’t go on like this.

Training with Izzy had improved her fighting skills dramatically, but her physical reserves were waning just as her magic had. The witch had come here in one last ditch-attempt to make peace with her lover’s death, but all it had done was bring everything she had been trying not to feel over the last few months slamming painfully to the forefront of her mind. Giving in, Brennan stopped fighting and hunched in on herself, her shoulders shaking with muffled sobs.

“Please, I can’t do this without you,” she pleaded through the tears, knowing that her pleas would go unanswered. “I'm sorry, Lil, I’m so sorry…”

Brennan didn't know how long she huddled there, helpless against the onslaught of pain and anguish she’d been holding at bay until now. She stayed until her tears finally subsided, and she could barely draw a breath around the tight band constricting her chest. When she finally came back to herself, she was alarmed to discover that she could no longer feel her toes or her fingers. Or most of her legs either, for that matter. Wiping at the moisture stinging painfully against her raw cheeks, she sighed and breathed on her hands, trying to coax sensation back into her fingers. Her efforts didn’t help much, but she recovered enough to work the zipper on her outer pocket.

Reaching in, Brennan carefully pulled out a tiny, intricately worked talisman. Leaning forward, the witch reached out and brushed off the base of Lily’s headstone, narrowing her eyes in surprise when she encountered resistance under the powdery snow. Working more carefully, Brennan gently uncovered a single rose, hidden under the drift of snow that had collected where the headstone’s base met its upright marker. She had no idea who had left it, but she felt somewhat comforted that someone else was thinking of the young hunter on this night. Too often, those of their calling were simply forgotten...

Wiping away the last of the snow, Brennan gently returned the rose to its place. She laid the talisman beside it, and called up a tiny trickle of power – the only thing she could manage at this point. Concentrating as hard as she could, she focused her will and sent the magic into the stone, ensuring that the two offerings would remain uncovered and safe. It was all she could do.

Sighing with exhaustion, Brennan said a silent prayer and laid her hand on Lily’s name one last time before standing and disappearing once more into the storm.

[Jackson Taylor Kincaid]

Jackson pulled his heavy black jacket tighter around his collar, cursing under his breath about the irony of stealing a Porsche and then having the thing break down before he’d gotten out of town with it. Obviously the hoity-toity rich guy that had owned it didn’t know a thing about the German made sports car; its gears were already screwed up before the dark haired young man had put the ‘petal to the metal’, which was a damn shame because on the icy roads Jack could have gotten one hell of a thrill.

Thrill was something he desperately needed right now.
Jackson Kincaid wasn’t exactly an Ebenezer Scrooge type, but being that his parents were off on some romantic Christmas Cruise through Scotland and he hated to show up late to the James festivities, he wasn’t really feeling all that warm and fuzzy about the holidays.
Normally he was a lone wolf by choice, but being that it was forced upon him this year, the man was feeling an unfamiliar wave of loneliness and boredom.
Not to mention that the weather had gone from bad to worse since he’d left his own vehicle in order to snatch the Porsche, and now that he was hoofing it, the light snow fall had become something more like a whiteout.

Jackson’s temperature usually ran higher than a normal human’s; being that his father was a cursed wolf and he’d inherited those genes, but as he trekked through the mounds of white fluff the wintery chill had him shivering, so much so that he was desperately seeking a place to wait out the storm; thrill or not.

Being that it was already the eve of Noel, most of the businesses on the particular stretch of walk were closed, but Jackson found himself drawn to a series of brick buildings that were glowing with light and busy with a shuffling crowd of people and parking cars.
He didn’t pay much heed to what the affair was; only concerned about getting out of the cold, and so imagine his surprise to find himself surrounded by throngs of families awaiting the annual Christmas concert. Jack scowled and felt the urge to say Bah Humbug as he made his way back out, but no sooner had he began pressing through the mass toward the exit did a group of elvin singers grab the sleeve of his coat to pull him towards a row of metal chairs.

Sighing in defeat, he crossed his arms over his chest as the group of children sat behind and around him, awaiting their performance, which would probably come much later. Usually the man wouldn’t give a rat’s ass about hurting a person’s feelings, or even a group of persons, but as they were kids and this -was- Christmas Eve, he just couldn’t bring himself to do it.

Fine. Get this over with already. Jackson’s mood ring eyes were deep turquoise at the moment; the color of annoyance, as he scanned the rowdy crowd.

[stephvin]

Christmas time was near, yet for Stephanie Vincent, there was no holiday cheer as she lay on her back in the cheap motel room she'd rented for her time here. Staring up at the ceiling as the magic fingers the bed provided did their hardest to relieve her tension, Stephanie's grim disposition remained ever-present.

The hangover she'd suffered all morning was long gone by now, she'd been trying to end her drinking habit for a number of reasons now but somehow always felt that, like her self-appointed crusade against her literal demon, she was no closer to snuffing out her more metaphorical one.

Growling a little, she rolled over and got off the bed, the magic fingers clicking off seconds after. Heading to the open closet, opened a suitcase and pulled out her hunters' journal, pulling it open to the bookmarked spot and taking it onto the bed with her, sitting indian style with a pen cap in her mouth as she looked over several notes, sketches, and lists. There was a lead, a possible lead she hoped to be true, that Mephistopheles had come through the area, or may well still be there. A few livestock had fallen ill, an electrical storm had passed by the other day. Possible signs of a yellow-eyed demon in nearby. If it was a different one, she'd kill it. If it was Meph, she'd kill him and enjoy every second of it.

As the thoughts passed through her mind, Stephanie looked out the window. It was snowing again; there'd been one hell of a blizzard warning... looked like either way if the lead was true or a hoax she wasn't going anywhere for awhile. Great.

A lot had happened in those past few months, a lot of things... some had made her lighten a little less, others lightened her a little more. Christmas, though... it would be the latest of many more to come that she'd 'celebrate' without her family. Still though, she'd heard there was a concert being held at the school and while it could offer a chance to unwind, it was also possible her target could be planning something there if he was in town...

After getting up and gathering her parka and snowboots, as well as a handbag with a paint marker, holy water, her revolver, and a small pocket-sized book with exorcism passages and carefully concealing them, as well as freshening up a little to make herself more presentable, Stephanie had found herself at the school seated in the audience as she watched the show onstage. Lots of kids... it wouldn't surprise her in the least if something went down, she wouldn't have been here otherwise as it'd feel like a waste of time.



outfit

[Florian Raniari]

Florian listened intently as the concert began.

It was true that he’d never really celebrated Christmas, and that meant also that he’d never really been exposed to any of the music of the season. It wasn’t that he’d never heard Christmas music before, in the background of his life at any rate, but he hadn’t ever paid it any mind. It was just sort of there, and since it didn’t directly affect him or his performance on a hunt, it was just background noise. Now, though, as he sat in the dimly-lit auditorium and listened to the children singing, he found himself moved by the beauty and simplicity of the music. Yet even as he found himself enjoying the music more and more, Florian was visited by a deep sorrow as well, a sorrow that he’d been feeling more often of late.

He was homesick, and he missed Madison.

Flicking his eyes momentarily to Sastre beside him, Florian wondered—not for the first time—exactly what was going through her mind. She’d been uncharacteristically silent since he’d rescued her from her captors, and though he’d expected the young woman to be traumatized, Florian worried at the extent of her apparent mental damage. He’d done everything in his power to help her recover, and outwardly she was a model of physical perfection, her body forged into a deadly weapon by the murderous training that they’d endured together. Mentally, though… He could only do so much, and he knew she was hurting, and that the scars she bore inside were no doubt far greater than those that marred her exterior.

Sighing inwardly, Florian returned his attention to the music, and just as the choir broke into the chorus of a haunting rendition of “O Holy Night,” the auditorium suddenly went dark. All of the lights simply winked out, and startled cries and murmured questions filled the sudden silence as the music stopped and the children ceased their singing. A chill shot up Florian’s spine, and his hand went instinctively for the gun he’d concealed within his jacket, even as he told himself it was probably just a simple power-outage caused by the storm. He could sense Sastre’s tension as well, and he knew that she was more than likely doing the exact same thing, though her movements were entirely silent, which was to be expected.

Taking a deep breath to relax, Florian smiled a bit at his own foolishness. He’d been a hunter for most of his life, though, and he knew that when something unexpected like this happened, it usually meant trouble in his line of work. Not here, though. Not tonight. It was just a simple normal black out. That’s what he told himself.

Until he heard the sound…

[Sastre Quicksilver]

The music that should have been soothing her nerves was only making Sastre more and more uneasy.

Her life had spiraled so far out of control over the past few months that, at times, the young woman wondered how she was even holding on. Being abducted and almost killed by Darian had been bad enough, but then the vampire had handed her over to those monsters who had tormented her for what seemed like an eternity… Florian had rescued her, thankfully, but it had been touch and go for a long time as to whether or not she would live after all that had been inflicted upon her. Only the help of an old Indian medicine woman—a friend of Florian’s from the old days—had saved Sastre’s life, and just barely. It had taken months for the wounds, both physical and mental to heal, and during that time, Sastre had lost another part of herself…

Brennan…

The first thing that Florian and Sastre had done after he’d finally relented and agreed to make her his successor was to send “the Letter” to Madison and Brennan. It had told them both that Lily Faraday-Brennan was dead, and in a sense it was true. She knew at this point that she’d never be that woman again, too much had happen, too much had been taken from her. Lily was dead. The plan was that, upon receiving the letter, Brennan would hopefully be suitably distraught, so that Lily’s “death” would be absolutely believable to everyone. It was important that word got out that she was dead, and if Brennan’s reaction was less than genuine, it may cause problems in the future. This letter, though, was followed a week later by a second one, one that explained the real situation: that Lily wasn’t dead, merely changed, and that she’d be returning at some point in the future, once everything was taken care of.

Everything had gone downhill from there, though. The area that Florian and Sastre had chosen for their training was incredibly remote, literally in the middle of nowhere deep in the New Mexico desert. They had no means of communication, and the nearest “settlement” was a small Indian reservation almost four hours away, with no cellular reception, telephones, or internet. The only way for them to communicate with the outside world had been through letters, and Sastre had sent dozens to Brennan while undergoing her training. Never once did the witch write back, though. Not even when Sastre informed her in no uncertain terms that, if she didn’t hear back soon, she would assume that Brennan had moved on, and that their relationship—their marriage—was over.

Needless to say, Sastre never heard back.

The pain of losing Brennan was with her ever second of every day, though she had no idea why she was so surprised. From the beginning, Sastre had wondered what Brennan ever saw in her, and she’d been convinced for a long time that Brennan would finally realize that she’d made a mistake and move on. It was bound to happen, and even though Sastre had been expecting it, the pain was far greater than she’d expected. Florian had little advice to offer, and even less comfort to give, as none of his letters to Madison had been answered either. No doubt he was in the same boat as Sastre: each of their respective loved ones had seemingly abandoned them, but neither hunter could really blame them.

Such was the life they led, after all…

She was so lost in her thoughts that she didn’t even notice when the lights went out, not consciously at any rate. Her training had kicked in, though, and she found herself going for her gun without even realizing it. It was a little disconcerting, honestly, to have her body acting while her mind wandered, but she knew it was something she’d have to get used to.

The wondering whispers and occasional panicked yells that drifted through the crowd barely concerned her. This was winter, in Michigan, and people lost power all the time. Hell, if you strained your hearing hard enough, you could still hear the sound of the blizzard raging mercilessly outside. Everything would be fine, but the concert was more than likely over. Nothing was wrong. What could possibly go wrong, anyway?

A sound intruded on her senses then, one that struck a note of concern deep within her: a steady clip-clop, clip clop, accompanied by the sound of something dragging, and the unmistakable jingling of—

“Listen Mommy!” a little girl’s voice called out from somewhere in the audience. “Do you hear it? It’s jingle bells, Mommy! Jingle bells and a pony!”

Sastre’s blood ran cold. The clip-clop had certainly sounded enough like hooves, though whatever was making the sound was far too light to be a pony. And the ringing, jingling sound? Yes, at first it might sound like bells, but to a trained ear, it sounded like something much more ominous.

“Chains,” Florian whispered from beside her.

It was then that the faint, but unmistakable smell of sulfur wafted through the auditorium, and Florian and Sastre knew that it was going to be a long, long night…

[Jackson Taylor Kincaid]

Jack really didn’t expect to enjoy the show, being in a crappy sort of BAH HUMBUG mood and all, but by the time the Elvin clad youngsters broke into Jingle Bells using the little bells on their curled up shoes as instruments, he was singing along very loudly (and off key) and swinging his hands around like an orchestra conductor does.
When the woman sitting in front of him, who looked a lot like a fat, furry terrapin in her wooly turtleneck sweater turned around to frown at him and put her finger to her lips in request for quiet, the roguish male just chuckled, leaning in and arching a dark brow at her.

“Whatsa’ matter, lady. Don’t you have the Christmas spirit?” He asked her impishly and shook his head, waving a hand in dismissal. “Turn back around Ho, Ho, Ho.”
The female gasped and mumbled something akin to ‘I never!’ and turned back around in a huff, leaning to whisper something heatedly into the ear of the portly woman next to her. They both turned and gave him cross looks, but Jackson just started singing louder, waving his middle fingers at them like the conductor’s wand.

It was all in good fun, at least Jack thought so…but he’d never been accused of having the best manners. (Thank his mannerless Cajun mama for that one!)
By the time ‘Oh Holy Night’ began and the room hushed for the beautiful tune, the women had moved to different seats (probably on account that Jack had propped his feet up on the back of their chairs) but no sooner had the song began did the lights go out and the hushed crowd gasped collectively, shifting nervously in their seats.

At first Jack didn’t think anything about it, as he was sure it had something to do with either the storm outside or the sheer amount of electricity the school was using for their garishly lit decorations, but when the alternate power didn’t boot up and an unfamiliar sound of rattling echoed from out from the darkness, the fine dark hairs on the back of his neck rose.

When the noxious smell of sulfur wafted into the half-shifter’s nose and was followed by a blood curdling scream, Jackson’s eyes had adjusted to the blackness. He did, after all, have his father’s wolfish blood pumping through his veins. In the dim glow from underneath the gymnasium doors one could probably see them shining like a wolf’s does when catching the moonlight. He leapt out of his seat and followed his nose and the sound of shuffling, nearly knocking over a male and female that were seating in the isle seat.

“Fucking -a-!” He cursed, hearing another scream. “You should probably take you’re lady and get out of here. Its about to get reeeeal messy.”

[stephvin]

Stephanie's attention was suddenly piqued by the sounds of clanging chains. Then came something far worse, a smell that Stephanie knew and despised as the meer thought of the type of entity it signaled brought her blood to a boil... sulfur...

A demon was here, and what she could guess, a strong one. Was it the one who killed her family? If it was, she'd make sure the demon died a horrible, painful death. If it wasn't, she'd make certain this demon knew something about him. She noticed as some of the other people present seemed aware of what was going on. Reaching for her bag quietly, Stephanie wasn't sure if they'd be a help or hinderance, hopefully the former...

[Florian Raniari]

Florian was out of his seat at the sound of the first scream, Sastre close behind.

Closing his eyes, the older hunter relied on the mental image of the auditorium that he'd memorized upon entering to work his way to the stage. Of course this was difficult, since panic had swept through the place and now the spectators were crowding the aisles in an attempt to get to safety. Still, Florian's reflexes--which had been good to begin with--were now razor sharp after having completed the grueling training gauntlet that he'd went through with Sastre.

In moments, the pair of hunters had reached the stage and leaped up onto it. The smell of sulfur was stronger here, and Florian ran through a quick mental exercise to block out the scent as he opened his eyes, relying on the faint light seeping in from outside the auditorium to study his surroundings. All around him on stage, children wept and scrambled in the dark, confusing Florian's senses. The fact was, it was simply too dark and too chaotic for him to really notice anything in particular.

Not for the first time, he cursed himself for not coming more prepared. It was true, of course, that he'd been trained not to rely on weapons and equipment, but rather on whatever he could get from his own surroundings at any given time, but he would've given a lot for a flash light right then...

"Sastre," he said softly, on edge, ready to react to any threat. "Stay sharp. We may not be alone."