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[i]Queens, Woodside, Saint Michael's Cemetery[/i]

So deep into the night, it wouldn’t be wrong to call Timothy Aquinas a trespasser even with his background as a devotee and clerical assistant in the local parish. Though not too keen on it, he allowed himself to be one, as he ran his fingers over the rough texture of so many gravestones and his eyes read the names and dates inscribed upon them. Catherine, James, Lance -- it was hard to imagine a person out of any of those simple words, but there indeed was a person with that name, before they were abruptly snuffed away. Perhaps they were Empowered -- or Gifted, as Timothy liked to call his supernatural kindred -- or not, but they held common ground in that the dates of their deaths coincided with the Civil War.

Such needless waste of life. The impoverished [url=http://www.roleplayerguild.com/topics/64443/posts/ooc?page=9#post-2018163]Timothy[/url] came here partly to remind himself of the reason for his mission. Indeed, the bite of the evening breeze could have cut through to the bone, but his surroundings were serene and quiet, and this allowed him to think and contemplate deeply as he walked along the cobbled paths. Yet it was with mild surprise that he happened upon a figure up ahead, lit under a dim lamp post. He had an inkling that it was one of the groundskeepers of this place, until he saw the figure bury itself further into its blanket.

Smiling, he thought to greet his fellow trespasser in a tone of jest:

“Hey, you there. What’re you doing here? The Cemetery is closed.”

It was with a gentle voice that Timothy had spoken those words -- at least it was from his perspective -- yet perhaps he should have chosen a different wording, since the figure had bolted up and off headed away from him. Distressed at scaring away a poor soul, Timothy began to give chase, stretching out an arm like he could somehow reach Miriam from where he was and his relatively weak legs whirling into a sprint.

“Hey, wait!” He called out. “I mean no harm, stranger!”