Chronicles of The Omniverse Archived Lutetia City: Lupaix

as written by Tiko

"Well, that went well," Desmond remarked. "Eh, 'e'll calm down later. Come on, let's get 'eadin' out. Though, you might want to put some pants on first."

It wasn't long later when Desmond's car pulled out and they headed into the city.
 
as written by Tiko

Desmond's return from the hunt for Arman was a sobering one - a fact he intended to remedy as swiftly as possible. He had driven himself home and arrived well ahead of his brother, Brendan, and had wasted little time in hitting the liquor cabinet. He already had a glass out on the counter and was pouring himself a drink of whiskey. He raised the glass to his lips and let the hard liquor wash the lingering taste of blood from his mouth.

With that seen to he moved into the sitting room and lowered herself into an arm chair with the glass in one hand, and the bottle in the other.

It wasn't often Desmond hit the bottle for anything more than recreation, but tonight warranted getting hammered. He could still taste Arman's entrails steaming in his jaws as his body lay twitching in the dirt. He shook his head to clear the image, and the next swig he took directly from the bottle.

As the front door opened he raised his glass to Brendan, and offered the bottle out to him.

"Drink?" he offered. "'cause I for one, intend to drink enough to not remember anythin' about tonight come mornin'," he explained with a wry grin.

Desmond could scrap with the best of them, but tonights hunt had been enough to turn the stomachs of even their hardened pack members.
 
as written by Lialore

Brendan wasn’t usually one to hide his feelings. But today; it had been necessary. He was comfortable enough to admit to himself that he had been shaken. Disturbed, even. How many years? And still, the brutality of the urban packs would bring up that raw, counterintuitive feeling of wrongness every now and again that made him question near enough everything.

He had to remind himself to keep his mind on the road, and returned the hand that was scratching unhappily at his jaw to the wheel to notice that he’d made a wrong turn in all the distraction his mind was creating.

Back on track, he took a quick glance down at himself. Clothed with barely a crease, slightly muddy boots, clear forearms; he’d even managed to scrape out most of the dirt and blood from his nails. He could act as though it hadn’t happened. He’d come out of it with – really - not even a scratch. That was expected, when one was as sidelined as he was. And what was it that he felt about that? Guilt? Shame? Righteousness? He wasn’t sure.


Home. The exact scene he had been expecting met him as he stepped inside living room, shrugging off his jacket. Maybe in other circumstances he’d have had a titter or eye roll to offer. But at his brother’s offer, he gave a sigh and took the bottle gratefully.

Four long swigs later, he then lowered himself into his usual spot. He didn’t sink into the chair, though, just sort of perched with his elbows on his knees and his head dipped.

“Had to be done” he reassured Desmond. Then again, he was mostly saying it for his own benefit. “Had to.”

But Brendan couldn’t shake the feeling that it didn’t have to have been done in such a manner.
That wasn’t his call, and he knew how things worked around here, so he buried that thought away quickly.

He offered the bottle back.
“Feelin’ like we’ve made some new friends.” His tone was sadly sarcastic as he referred to the pack they’d just humiliated. “Replacin’ one trouble for another, brother. This place is goin’ to kill me early.”
 
as written by Tiko

Desmond refilled his glass from the bottle before returning it to Brendan.

"Aye, but it was for the best. You know as well as I do what 'appens to kids of our kind without a strong pack. They'll 'ave that now," he answered as he raised his glass to his lips.

Truthfully the 'every pack for itself' mentality of the Lutetians was an alien one to the O'Callaghan brothers. There hadn't been a pack feud in Iveria in centuries, and one pack was brother to another.

"You ever think about 'eadin' 'ome?" Desmond asked.

It wasn't often he entertained such thoughts himself, but nights like this where apt to bringing up such thoughts of home. But when push came to shove, the Bloodstone Pack was as much family as the one they had left behind... as much brothers and sisters as their blood relatives back in Iveria.
 
as written by Lialore

He nodded along in agreement sombrely. They’d have that now. Along with what else? What was the price? A life of conflict, separation, violence – whether that was a price worth paying to truly belong was a question he’d been contemplating for a while. Brendan was certain that he pondered on such things more than his brother. He did think of home; every day. Green and peace weren’t as plentiful as he thought. Lutetia had taught him that.

“Always” Brendan admitted, speaking his mind. “Makes me grateful for ‘ome, bein’ here. But don’t think I’d be the same whe- if I go back. It won’t be the same. Can’t imagine it. Goin’ back would be like admitting retirement.” He smiled some, and took the bottle on noticing it, taking another swig which helped burn away some of the momentary homesickness which had fallen upon him quite sudden and strong. “Aye, still got more space in me heart and head and memories to fill before I ‘ead back there. Won’t be goin’ nowhere soon, don’t you worry.”

“How ‘bout you? Ain’t you practically settled with yer crazy? Seems like you might be more 'omesick than you think, pickin’ out that redhead. She just takes you back.” Brendan joked, eyes laughing as he took another gulp, which was proving rather successful at beating the ghosts of today.
 
as written by Sentry

"Fuck."

A redheaded, burly detective crossed his arms as he overlooked the scene. The photographers were having a hard time getting angles, he had trouble getting to it to begin with, and the coroner... the detective almost laughed.

It made sense. The body was ripped to pieces and impaled on someone's very tall wrought iron fence. The blood had reddened the drain from the rain the previous night.

"What a fine drapery don't you think, Detective Cunorix? The intestines pulled out along the fencing is rather haute couture," commented an older, rounder counterpart. "Curious for the throat and face to be gone."

"I don't think monsters care too much for what they gnaw on, Regis. As far as I can tell, this looks like a hate crime. They were trying to make a point," the burly young man replied.

The older detective chuckled. "Well, Richard, gutting a man down to his spine is certainly a way to get attention. Especially when it's a highly regarded member of the church. You got his ID, yes? Winoc Deniau. A man of the robe."

Folding his arms, Detective Richard Cunorix just shook his head. "But there's just something I really don't understand here."

"What's that?" grunted Regis.

Richard grimaced, "Why are his pants gone?"
 
as written by Lialore

She slammed the car door shut. It shook the whole vehicle, the metal bucket swayed on its tires, a sorry sight for a police motor. Her nose wrinkled as she gave the scene the once over. The area buzzed, full of people who must’ve been struggling to keep their breakfast down at the sight before them. Or maybe that was just Elodie, as a greeny.

On spotting Richard, she made forwards. More like, she tried to, but her coat had got caught in the door and she was yanked back and into the car with quite the bump. After cursing and releasing herself, she finally set off, offering the car a glare over her shoulder as she went. Sweet revenge.

“Choncey” she said in greeting, adopting Leon’s nickname for him as she stepped up to the two officers, nodding to the less familiar one.

Her eyes were drinking in what was before her, trying to complete the messy jigsaw of what was once a man. Well, it was already half done, really; she frowned, spotting what Richard had just brought up.

“Looks like someone had quite the interruption” she said. Trousers off. An interruption of the innocent kind; getting changed? Or the not-so; being undressed for some late-night fun. But it could be something more sinister. Perhaps someone liked to play with their prey first.

Elodie sniffed, both at the thought and because she was dealing with the remnants of the flu. Her voice was still a little faint due to it too.

Having had a good look at this level, she tilted her head upwards, taking in the fence and the house beyond.

“Who lives here, anyway?” she asked, turning to the others.
 
as written by Sentry

Choncey.

One could see Richard's hackles rising up with his shoulders, biting at his nails as the blood drained from his face. He glared at Elodie for several heated seconds before breathing out slowly through his teeth.

"No one alive. There's a dead Miss Elaine Dove in the bedroom. Busted window. What do you make of that?"
 
as written by Lialore

She tried not to shrink underneath that extremely hostile stare. Her shoulders pushed back a little bit in her attempt to seem unphased, the mumbled ‘sorry’ never passed through her lips.

Hm. Elodie lifted a finger to tap on her jaw whilst she thought, mulling over what she knew so far.

“The busted window makes me think it’s nothing too spooky, if you get my drift. This definitely wasn’t a subtle job. The whole thing seems to be designed to draw attention. Makes me think they’re confident about not getting caught. So, maybe it’s not as straightforward as it appears.” – that’s 101, Elodie. But what she meant was; werewolves. Maybe it wasn’t them, or if it was, it wasn’t one of their prime crime suspects about the city. Someone already on a fine thread should be too wary to craft such an event. She sighed. Werewolves seemed to take up way too much of her time these days. “Man of the robe, I heard? Well, I suppose that does give them more reason…”
Reasons. The brutality was so specific. They’d really need to dig into this victim’s activity.

She was frowning. Holy controversy.

“Miss Elaine Dove. Miss. Their connection?”
 
as written by Sentry

"We're not quite sure. There's no family or work connection that we've been able to make. We've just got an ID. We're rounding up some witnesses now. Neighbors who might have heard anything from last night. I want you to do some questioning too, Greenie," grumbled Richard. He'd taken to that nickname for Elodie since she introduced herself as such some time ago.

He lifted his hand to gesture to a police officer who was unsuccessfully trying to calm down a gabbering woman in her bathrobe and pajamas. "You're a little less..." Richard scrolled his eyes up and down Elodie, "... intimidating. I'm hoping you'll do better than we can getting information out of her."
 
as written by Lialore

Elodie rolled her eyes. Red was more her colour these days.

She followed his motion to look at the baffled woman who was about to have a rather special morning. At least she could do it comfortably, El tugged at her heavy belt as she thought about going about her duties in her pyjamas. Heavenly. Though, slippers and a hot water bottle weren’t going to do much for their image. Still, perhaps it was worth a suggestion. For charity, of course.

Her even, somewhat challenging stare remained on Richard as she pulled out her notebook and went to open it with a professional flick of her wrist. However, that didn’t go to plan as she twisted her hand about clumsily. Elodie’s attempt at showing off ended up with a soggy notebook laying at their feet. She gave a short groan, snatched it back up, and then stalked off with a not-so graceful flip of her hair.

She’d collected herself by the time she came to a stop near the officer and the discombobulated lady. The smile she offered was sorry.

“Hello, I’m Elodie Blanc. I was hoping you’d be able to answer some questions for us, if you’re feeling quite alright. We can move away, I understand.”
 
as written by Tiko

A dingy cab pulled up out front of Desmond and Brendan's house in the early hours of morning. The sun had just broken the horizon, and the neighborhood was only just beginning to rouse from slumber. A few early risen children were already out playing down the street a ways, but there were few watchful eyes to pay Desmond and Chloe's arrival much mind.

It wouldn't be the first time Desmond had arrived home during the wee hours of morning in a cab, and less than coordinated. If there were any prying eyes, they likely would assume him drunk as he got his cab door open.

Getting to his feet was a struggle and he waited for Chloe to get out of her side of the vehicle, rather than try to make the walk to the front door alone.

The knife wound had been stitched and he was in no immediate danger, but back wounds were never pleasant. Few realized just how frequently one utilizes the muscles in their back, but every movement, and every shift of the body pulled at the muscles beneath the wound and stretched the skin painfully.

"'ere, 'elp me inside," he said to Chloe as he gestured for her to come give him a hand.

Hopefully he could scrounge up enough cash inside to pay the cab fare. Getting the man to drive the pair halfway across the city with empty pockets had been a feat in itself, and he didn't want to short-change the driver.
 
as written by Knosis

Chloe’s mood had not improved since she had been returned to Luteria. She had lost her clothes in the transformation, and the only thing that had been covering her was Desmond’s oversized shirt. On the journey across the city, they had stopped by Vanessa’s house first to drop her off. To add insult to injury, the woman insisted Chloe borrow some of her own clothes. The spare clothes fit well enough, but was a bit tight in areas most women were self-conscious over anyway. The jeans nearly didn’t fit around her thighs nearly as well as they did their owner, and the shirt kept riding up to show her midriff. To top it off, Chloe was famished.

“You big lout,” Chloe muttered under her breath as she saw Desmond struggle to get out of the car. She sprang out of the vehicle and rounded to the other side, grabbing his arm to throw about her neck. Desmond was a good bit bigger than her, so there was very little she could do. Still, she would struggle up with him to the house, trying her best to keep him from reopening the wound.
 
as written by Tiko

"'ey, you can get stabbed in the kidney next time an' see 'ow you feel," Desmond answered with a light chuckle.
 
as written by Knosis

“I have.” She retorted, getting him inside and getting him to a chair. “Now, sit. And don’t you dare get up unless I’m with you. Where can I find some cash to pay the guy?” She started gazing over tables and counters for an answer.
 
as written by Tiko

Sitting down was about as brutal as standing up had been, and Desmond hissed through clenched teeth as he lowered his weight into the chair. A thin line of blood had soaked through the bandages over his wound, but the stitches had held.

He ran his arm over his brow to clear it of the beads of sweat that had formed from the exertion of getting inside before gesturing for one of the cupboards near the front door.

"Check in there, otherwise try Brendan's room, down the 'all there," he said. "I'll pay 'im back later."
 
as written by Knosis

Chloe pulled the old jar from the cupboard and poured the cash on the counter. Counting it out, she was still short, but just. She gave Desmond a look as if to glue him to the chair and rushed down the hall to where his brother’s room was.

Inside, her jaw dropped slightly. She knew Brendan was the more responsible of the two brothers, but she had expected his room to be.. A little less tidy. In a way, it angered Chloe that her own apartment had not looked this good when she still had a home. Still, she began to rummage through the drawers, in the nooks and crannies, and anywhere she could think a guy would keep a stash of cash.

Finally, she found a few loose bills in a pair of his dirty jeans. Smiling triumphantly, she figured she’d straighten up Brendan’s room afterward and closed the door behind her as she left. She grabbed the cash on the counter and rushed outside to hand the cabby all the change. He gave her an incredulous look, and it was all Chloe could do to not look sheepish as she shut the door to the cab. A tired sigh escaped her lips and she made her way back inside. “Fare’s paid..” She muttered.
 
as written by Tiko and Knosis

"'ill you be alright to get back to your place?" Desmond asked.

His skin was somewhat pale and pasty, but he didn't look to be in any immediate danger of dying on her.

Chloe bit her lip, thinking about how long it would get back. “Don’t think it would be wise.” She answered honestly. “I’d need some witness to say I didn’t just murder some poor sap.” She folded her arms and gave Desmond a look. “And I don’t trust you by yourself. I’ll at least stay until your brother’s home..”

Desmond grimaced at mention of his brother's return. Brendan would no doubt be none too pleased with the state of things, but that was a complication for later.

"Alright, but he probably won't be too 'appy about findin' you 'ere," Desmond answered. "There's food in the kitchen, 'elp yourself."

He ran a hand through his hair and rested back in the chair gingerly. He was in sore need of a shower, but it would have to wait until later.

At the mention of food, her stomach growled. That was it, she was going to raid his fridge shamelessly. She turned back towards the kitchen. “He can stuff a sock in it. I can deal with him when he gets in.” She said loud enough for Desmond to hear. “No one is happy to see me when I’m around.” She grumbled a bit quieter.

"He just doesn't trust the Ardelean Society," Desmond explained. "There's a lot of bad blood there wi' the pack."

Chloe re-entered the room with two beer bottles between two between her fingers in one hand, and a plate stacked high with food she'd snitched from the fridge. "Yeah, well. Not like someone like me had much of a choice." She muttered, offering Desmond one of the beers.

Desmond took a swig of the beer before giving Chloe a thoughtful look.

"Someone like you?" he asked.

She took a swig herself from her own bottle before flopping back in another chair. "Yeah." She replied without much thought. "Raging, murdering lunatic with fangs and fur.." She said before stuffing her mouth full.

"Sounds like most of the people I know," Desmond answered with a wink. "'an you didn't 'urt anyone last night."

She snorted and kept her head down on the plate but looked in Desmond's direction. "You and your friends are different than me.." She said around chewing her food. "Yeah, its not easy for anyone.. I get that.." She tried to change subjects. "You still haven't explained what happened.." Her brows furrowed. "All I could think of was trying to find ways to keep you from being killed.."
 
as written by Lialore, Tiko, and Knosis

A sorry looking figure was dawdling up the street outside, hands in pockets, neck tucked into the collar to keep the breeze out. The reassurances he was giving himself did little to make his worry subside. Brendan was returning from his long night of trawling. His search for Desmond had brought him no clues, and as he unlocked the door, his defeat was written plainly across the slant of his shoulders and the twist of his grimace.

Little attention was paid to the slight disturbances of the house as he entered, but he came quickly back to his senses at the obvious sounds of life from the living room.

Surely not...

He barged in. Started at them both in their worse-for-wear states. But his gaze came to rest on the plate of food. The food he'd struggled to even afford this week. Brendan stood square, a mellow man turned sour. His gratefulness and relief was overcome by the sudden surge of rage that engulfed him.

"This better be good" he practically snarled. "This better be real, fuckin' good."

"'ey, slow down there," Desmond grimaced. "She's 'ere because of me. You would not believe the day I've 'ad."

Chloe shot a glare back at Brendan, as if daring him to fight her over the food at the moment but continued to chow down none the less.

"No" Brendan snapped. "No no no. I've been out all night lookin' for you. I've heard nothin'. I was beginnin' to prepare m'self for the worst. What shit have you got yourself into this time, eh?"

He caught Chloe and her abrasive look, which only riled him up more.
The stare he gave Desmond next, however, was more disappointed than anything else.

"Priorities, brother. Grow up."
 
as written by Lialore, Knosis, and Tiko

All the explanations that Desmond had prepared to throw back at his brother slipped away with Brendan's final words. He looked from Brendan to Chloe before staying his response with another swig of his beer.

"Can we talk about this tomorrow?" he answered finally.

The humor had gone out of him, and he didn't care to look back to Brendan. For the moment, he simply looked tired.

Chloe’s eyes flared with a raging emerald fury at the way Brendan was treating Desmond. She took a quick swig off the beer bottle in her hand before setting the plate and the bottle down slowly, standing up to and moving over to Brendan. Hidden violent intentions were playing at the corners of her lips, and it was obvious she was meaning to hurt Brendan just as badly.

“Grow up? Grow up?” She asked, her voice sounding strangely calm, a stark contrast to the aura she was protruding. “Your brother was nearly killed, not once. But three times.” Her voice was raising now. “Vanessa was kidnapped and nearly taken god knows where. We only just got here, by the grace of whatever has given us the luck to still be here alive and here you are growling at your brother over the most pettiest thing that you can think of. And you want him to grow up?”

Brendan blinked at Chloe. Honestly, what had he been anticipating? Not once, but three times. And how many near-death experiences did that make in total? He felt that he should be less annoyed due to the explained circumstances, but he didn't. Because after all this time, all this trouble, he expected his brother to have a hold on his life by now. Every shred of Brendan's bitterness was being poured into this moment. Still, he wasn't about to venemously degrade a woman his brother had taken some strange, particular liking to. Even if he was starting to hate her guts already.

He wasn't going to get anywhere with Desmond whilst she was still spouting her ignorance.

"Get out of my house."

She stood there, nearly a foot away from Brendan. Her gaze had not wavered, and Brendan could tell that the hatred was mutual.

“Gladly.” She said. She turned to look at Desmond, her gaze softening slightly. “Told you.. Later.” She waved over her shoulder to Desmond before moving around Brendan. Part way towards the door, her leg buckled and she fell sideways, catching a kitchen table on the way down. She hissed as the same burning pain sensation returned in her leg, as it had done her arm.

Brendan watched her move to leave. If he had been in an even slightly better mood, he may have felt more sympathy. Instead, he reamined stony. He stayed away, knowing that she would not appreciate his help, but also not caring much. As yet another dilemma rose, he ground his teeth, his strong jaw moving in annoyance as he considered. He couldn't spur his heartlessness enough, but his words had to be forced out with quite the effort.

"By noon."

And with that, he went off. His footsteps were purposefully heavy, each one a release. He was tired enough that he’d fall asleep as soon as his head hit the pillow, or so he though, and he invited that escape. But when he stepped into his bedroom, another wave of anger hit him. This time, it was more a tsunami.

He didn’t know who had made the mess. But in his current state, he was more than happy to blame Chloe.

“For fuck’s sake!” He growled loudly, turning around to go back and yell. But he balled his fists up and took a steadying breath. He closed the door with a kick. Well, he went to close the door. Instead, he destroyed it. It hit the frame with a force that made the whole house rattle, and then, his foot was outside, poking through the hole that he had just created with splinter teeth snagging at his leg. He yanked to free it. But, of course, life hated Brendan today.

A tantrum ensued which ended up with more dents in the door and a hinge on the ground. Once free, he regarded the wreckage with a tired kind of shame. And the door regarded him, ruined, hanging on a single hinge, completely unhurt. The doorknob fell off in all its finality.

The next fight was getting his jacket off that didn’t want to let him go. Then the alarm clock that ended up smashed against the ceiling. Then the duvet that was all twisted. All were accompanied by a flurry of curses.

And then the throbbing headache caused by the thoughts that wouldn’t leave him alone. He put his hands over his face and sighed, exhausted.
 
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