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Undead Rendezvous

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Glenn Douglas
Adult Wyrm
Adult Wyrm

Joined: 12 Apr 2010
Posts: 206
See this user's pet
Jobs: Gumshoe, Undertaker

22828.58 Silver Crowns


PostPosted: Mon Oct 24, 2016 8:03 am    Post subject: Undead Rendezvous Reply with quote

There is a darkness in that boy. Something so evil that when he dies, even the Devil won’t touch him.

He sits outside a B&B in a chair smoking a cigarette. The hour is late, the sky is a roiling mass of dark clouds and somewhere far off in the distance he can hear the rumble of thunder. Way out that a aways the sky flashes brighter for a fraction of a second and he can smell the heaviness of the encroaching storm in the air. He watches his motorcycle which is sitting there leaning on its kickstand and eyes the very rare passersby with wary reservation. They come less and less as the night drags on.

“You shouldn’t be sittin’ out here,” says a voice. A pair of feet enter Glenn’s field of vision and he lifts his gaze to find Morgan standing there.

“Needed some air,” Glenn says. He flicks his cigarette at Morgan’s feet. The other man stomps it out. Glenn stands and Morgan turns around and the two men start walking down the street.

“How long you plannin’ to stay here?” Morgan asks.

“I ain’t stayin’ here at all. This ain’t my place, Morgan.”

“Whose is it?”

“Don’t worry about it.”

The two men walk along in silence for a time. They are a physical dichotomy. Glenn’s manner, his style, he’s all rough and tumble with wrinkled and dirty clothes that have seen far better days. Morgan, whose demeanor is not unlike Glenns, dresses more respectably in clean suits and shirts that are all pressed and fresh. Glenn could hardly tell the man had the Devil inside him and sometimes when he let his mind slip, he forgot all about that.

“Who’s this person you’re havin’ me meet, Morgan?”

“She’s ah…” he scratches at his jaw. “A friend, after a fashion, I guess. She ain’t Leo’s biggest fan. He made her kill her old boy or whatever, so you can trust that she’s got a score to settle with the old bastard.”

“Hmm…” Glenn makes the sound musingly. “Feels like every day there’s someone new to add to the list of people he’s *** over. Wonder if we’ll ever find them all.”

“Don’t need to,” Morgan says. “Just gotta find enough of them.”


“See any more of Foley’s guys runnin’ around?”

Morgan shakes his head. “Not since the bar.”

“Well burn ‘em if you do.”

“You know it, slick.”

Glenn laughs and they stop on a street corner. He looks up and down the four different directions of the intersection. The roads are empty this time of night, more or less, and he seems more comfortable for it. Morgan watches him carefully, the way a man watches a dangerous or wild animal that’s been semi-domesticated. They’re your friend until they’re not, and then they’re clawing your face off and sucking your eyes out through their sockets.

“Hey guys,” comes a third voice. Both Morgan and Glenn turn at once. There is a man walking from across the intersection. He is young, handsome after a fashion, except for the way his skin seems to glow in the cloud filtered moonlight. His skin seems dry and stretched tight over his face. There’s a strange scar on his forehead, it’s round and rough with jagged lines splitting from it like the cracks in the pavement. His smile lacks all of the warmth that one expects. He stops in the middle of the intersection.

“Who the *** are you?” Glenn asks.

“My name is Augustin,” the stranger answers. “I’m a friend of Leo’s. We need to have a chat, Glenn.”

“Augustin?” Morgan studies the man. “Glenn, this is the fella that Leo made the woman I’m talkin’ about shoot.”

“Looks pretty alive to me.”

“Look who’s talkin’.”

Glenn laughs.

Augustin frowns.

“Hey, Morgan,” the dead man says as he walks over to them. “I need you to *** off right now. Me and Douglas have some stuff to hash out.”

Glenn looks over at Morgan and his jaw sets hard. His friend is gone, and he’s not sure where or why or how.

“That’s better,” Augustin says.
I go on journeys out of my body and look at my red hands and my mean face and I wonder about that man who's gone so wrong.
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Glenn Douglas
Adult Wyrm
Adult Wyrm

Joined: 12 Apr 2010
Posts: 206
See this user's pet
Jobs: Gumshoe, Undertaker

22828.58 Silver Crowns


PostPosted: Mon Oct 24, 2016 12:12 pm    Post subject: Reply with quote

The room feels empty and he cannot, for the life of him, figure out what it’s missing. He sits alone on a small bed with an old mattress with springs sticking out of it. He doesn’t lay beneath the covers or sheets, because they offer what little protection against the rusting bits of metal he can get. The mattress isn’t the problem with the room. A problem, sure, but not the problem. He sits there against a headboard that is just a collection of rusting bars of aluminum or some other cheap alloy. The dresser is really just a wooden cabinet with a single drawer. This room, unlike the others he’s stayed at, has a television. Even for one who knows nothing about television, he can tell the one his room is equipped with is cheap and old. He doubts it works and doesn’t bother to find out.

The lights are incandescent and they make his eyes hurt so he turns them off. There is no bathroom.

But as he tallies up the rooms faults, one by one, on a mental blackboard, Glenn is left wondering. What is this room missing?

He tells himself that he’s just bored and so his mind is making up things to dwell over, which is stupid because he’s got enough on his plate at the moment. He doesn’t need to dream up more things to be bothered by. So he focuses instead on the list of subjects that have been wholly encompassing his day-to-day life. Leo, Brandon, Maida, Madison, Morgan, the Irish, Salome.

Let’s tackle them one at a time.


Leo Ortiz will die, there’s no doubt about that. Glenn will find a way, and plans are in motion even as he sits there and dwells on it. He’s waiting for Morgan to get back to him, waiting for this meeting with Morgan’s unknown acquaintance. He was very careful to correct Glenn’s use fo the word “friend”.


Glenn hadn’t seen Brandon since the first night, apart from in a smattering of uneasy dreams and terrifying nightmares. He sits there now and thinks about where his dead brother has gone off to. It’s an odd thought. He removes his hat and fingers the bullet hole in the crown and frowns at it, remembering where the hole came from and how he got the hat in the first place.

“If you’re still around when this is all over, Brandon, then I promise I will make it up to you.”

His voice startles him in the otherwise quiet room. Prior to hearing it, his ears had been filled with the incessant ringing of complete silence. He smiles at himself. Jumpy.


That poor, neglected little girl. He’s been dreaming of her, he’s been waking up in cold sweats and hasn’t been able to fall back asleep. His latest dream was the worst yet. It conjures up memories of drowning and dying and complete powerlessness. He remembers vaguely the way Salome woke him and how he lashed out, how desperately he wanted to claw at her eyes and tear her throat with his teeth. He’s glad she was able to stop him and completely ashamed that she had to in the first place. As much as he hates them, there is something in those dreams. He knows it, and so he wonders when the next will come. Ever since coming back his dreams have been different. They’ve hinted at things to come or given him insight on his battle with the inner darkness of the Douglas blood and Leo. He hates this, too, because he misses the days when his dreams were just simple fantasies or a smattering of fond memories from a childhood that seems like it happened to a completely different person. He misses when dreams were a comfort.

Then he thinks about Madison Rye, the woman for whom he sacrificed it all. There’s regret and resentment and it goes both ways between them and some part of him really does wish things had ended differently. Their chance encounter at the Red Dragon a few nights prior, when Salome was with him, left a bad taste in his mouth. He knows that he jumped too harshly on her and her friend Eli, knows that he was trying to start another fight. Maybe it was all that aggression he hadn’t been able to dish out on Lucien, but he doubts that. He wasn’t prepared for them to meet. But, he’s not sure if he ever would be.

Morgan is a sore spot for him. His friend has gone missing and though Glenn has every ounce of faith in the man, he is still worried. He’s never seen anything like this Augustin, this man who looks like he’s just stepped out of the grave and can make people disappear with a thought. This kind of power is beyond anything Glenn Douglas can understand, but he’s always been a man of simple means. Guns and fists have been more than enough for him. He hopes in the end that this will stay true. If not, he’s not sure how to win this fight.

The Irish are dead or dying. He thinks about the night he slaughtered a score of men at the bar and then Morgan burned it down. Thinks about the stragglers that have been caught and put down in the interim. He knows there are more still out there, but he does not suspect or fear them any longer. Whatever they’re up to, it won’t be enough to slow him down.


The thought of the name stirs something in the gunslinger that he’s not familiar or comfortable with, and he’s not ready to address it yet. He’s glad when his phone rings because it means he doesn’t have to face his own inadequacies.




“Where are you?”

“At a motel. Where the *** are you?”

“The Ugly Piper. We need to talk.”

“You alright?”

“Yeah. Hurry up.”

He hears Morgan hang up and sees a notification pop up on his phone. He scrolls past the text messages he has in his inbox, which include a few angry words with Madison and some not so angry ones with Salome. He does his best to ignore the latter messages and finds the latest one sent in by Morgan.

Expect trouble. But come unarmed. He’s watching.

Glenn looks at his gun and then tucks it and the holster into his belt. He replies to the message.

Be there soon.
I go on journeys out of my body and look at my red hands and my mean face and I wonder about that man who's gone so wrong.
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