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[/img][img]https://i.imgur.com/xHVRvPV.png[/img][/center]
 [right][b]Interactions:[/b] Dean [@silvermist1116]
[code] Veni Vedi Veni[/code][/right][hr]

[color=goldenrod]“Don’t worry, kid. Sully’s—”[/color]

Sully breached the gap between the cars where Clancy had fallen, the Chalice in his hand already brimming, his forearms scuffed by sand, cigarette butts, and what he really hoped was just spilled beer. He found that the kid had gunned down so savagely that he’d been knocked out of his shoes. In fact it was like the kid had been gatted out of existence, the bullet impacts that were beginning to fill with sand the only proof of the atrocity. Sully had seen more blood than he ever wanted to see during his short stint with the Coven, but never before had he become disconcerted by the lack of blood. It didn’t make sense. He was pretty sure he hadn’t imbibed in the Chalice since he’d taken a little bit of its encouragement to actually go to the meeting, and even then it had just been some booze. He wasn’t seeing things. So where did the kid go?

[I]It’s magic, [/i] Ashley would say with a shrug whenever Sully began asking questions that she couldn’t answer. [i]I don’t gotta explain…[/i]

[color=goldenrod]“—shit. C’mon, man,”[/color] groaned Sully as a large, muscular member of the Wolfpack stepped out of the shadows in front of him and pointed yet another gun at Sully’s face. What was it about his mug that made all the bikers want to hold him hostage? Was it his bright baby blues that widened in recognition at Tayla’s name and immediately betrayed any chance Sully had of pretending that he’d never heard the name? He was cut off from the rest of the Coven and there was a lot of noise coming from the otherside of the cars. Maybe he could buy some time and jerk the guy around, but Sully doubted that the biker’s word about seeing the sun was worth its salt. Hopefully someone would intervene and come to his rescue. 

[color=goldenrod]“Oh wow, Tayla? Did you say Tayla? W-wow, that’s crazy,”[/color] stammered Sully. [color=goldenrod]“Small world, huh? I brought some of my friends here because I know this is where we can score some shit, and the one of the guys I’m looking to talk to just happens to be looking for a buddy of mine. Now what do you say we just stand up, call off all the shooting and fighting, go inside with everybody, have some beers, lick our wounds, play a little pool or at the very least pocket a couple of 8-balls, and you and I figure which Tayla Choi you’re looking for, because I know several girls and one drag queen that goes by that name. Sounds like a plan, buddy?”[/color]

Dean’s answer was cut off by a wet, heavy thunk followed by a sickening crunch of bones as a pile of blood, leather, and meat plopped between Sully and Dean.  Beyond the cars, he heard a child scream and a car alarm go off, but perhaps that was just the panic switch in his brain going off. Sully felt his stomach twist as the man’s torn jaw flapped loosely from the impact like putty, the soaked goatee stretching and shrinking like an accordion. In his life there had been times, moments of weakness really, when Sully thought about making a massive mistake, trimming down his beard, and doing the goatee look. Closing the door on that reality was one of the only good things to come from having the image of Goatee’s broken body forever burned into his mind. The other good thing was that it had given Sully an opportunity to act.

Veiled briefly by the thin cloud of dust that had been kicked up by the impact of the mushed husk, Sully pushed off the ground and heaved himself forward as he rose upwards and towards Dean, getting up to one knee as he drove the Chalice forward like a sword. He wasn’t aiming for Dean so much as he was the gun, attempting to catch the weapon in the bowl of the Chalice. If it didn’t work he’d probably be shot dead. However, if he was successful then the Chalice would fill with lava that was hot enough to immediately melt Dean’s gun. If Dean wasn’t smart enough to drop the weapon his hand would suffer some nasty burns shortly after, not to mention anything else that would get hit for being in the splash zone. The Chalice stayed ice cold, but the heat radiating from the rim would still be enough to make Sully’s hand blister and crack. He stopped summoning lava as quickly as he started, dumping the Chalice on to the flesh mound below him that bubbled and crackled, a horrible odor of molten flesh burning his nose and watering his eyes. 

All the while Sully would continue pushing himself to his feet. He would ungracefully step around the corpse and attempt to take Dean down to the ground in a tackle, maybe get in a couple of sloppy but nevertheless meaty punches with his uncooked southpaw if he could. 

[hr]
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 [right][b]Interactions:[/b]  Jack [@Blizz], Luca [@Fernstone], & Drake [@Punished GN]
[code]Dairy Queen[/code][/right][hr]

Sloane didn’t step back one single inch as Drake leveled an electric sword at her. She met his eye, and even though he was taller than her and she had to look up at him it was clear from her steely gaze that she was looking down. She didn’t have to speak a single word, the [i]’How dare you!’[/i] etched all over the rigidness of her body. She felt the object in her inner coat pocket grow heavy. It was an antique Italian stiletto switchblade that she had taken to carrying around the time it became clear that the murder of former Coven members were not just unfortunate coincidences. Upon the handle of the blade was an intricate Hexmark, thinly drawn runes circling the entirety of the polished wooden handle. All she had to do was look down and she could [i]Possess[/i] the knife, the blade removed from her jacket, flicked open, and buried into Drake’s shoulder blade with nothing more than the twitch of her eye. A reminder of the pecking order disguised as an act of self-defense. 

She kept staring at Drake instead, her eyes unblinking. She was waiting. 

Sloane didn’t look away when Jack, rightfully, called Drake out on his bullshit, only breaking away to roll her eyes at Jack as he turned the heat towards her. A sneer flickered on her lips. Only a stupid person would believe that she ever asked a stupid question. Her question wasn’t entirely based in simmering resentment and cruel severity. It was designed to illuminate why any of them should see their being any value of relying on Drake when it came to having people watch each other’s backs in regards to Father Wolf. He had failed to protect his own wife. Sloane needed a reason so she could believe that there existed a world where Drake could protect her, because right now their relationship was all give and her generosity, while grand, wasn’t pure charity: it was an investment, and she needed to know that she was going to get some return. 

She tried to continue to hold her ground as Luca got in between her and Drake. She had already grown a bit heated under her collar before their standoff had begun, but the crawling sensation beneath her skin chipped away the stone on her exterior. Sloane still refused to withdraw, even as her eyes started to water and her breathing grew heavy. Her body started to hurt piece by painful piece, as if it was all draining away from her and leaving her unwhole. She had only felt something like this once before. It had been ten years ago, staring up at the sky, lying in a pool of her own blood, smiling as the Stygian Snake shrieked in agony and defeat, the world growing cold and black as she faced death with quiet dignity, Jade’s blurry face appearing from her just seconds before the curtain closed…

She turned to tell Luca how wrong he was again and caught a brief glimpse of the tarnish and rot that was typically impossible to see, but with the proper lighting of his cheer and optimism stripped away it revealed the damaged goods. Finally, she retreated back a step, the pain fading as she escaped Luca’s rotten aura. She looked down at the knife handle hidden inside the jacket and pulled the coat tightly closed around her with a shiver. Sloane didn’t look back up.

She felt a discomfort creep across her that wasn’t her rotted nerves knitting themselves back together. Part of her felt like crying. Part of her wanted to apologize to Kali and Simone for causing a scene. Part of her wanted to beg Drake to tell her what happened, to tell him that she would forgive him. Part of her wanted to thank Jack for staying focused, to tell him that he was right. Part of her wanted to just reach out and give Luca a hug, pain be damned. She unclenched her jaw, ready to acknowledge that she had committed a faux pas and promise to try to avoid overstepping boundaries, perhaps attempting to steer the conversation back towards something constructive like how to deal with the confrontation of Judas. 

Instead, it hissed out on its own natural gas from a faulty pipe, adding to the miasma suffocating the Dairy Queen patio, [color=silver]“You’re a bastard.”[/color] 

It was unclear who she was addressing: Jack, Luca, Drake. All three. None. 

Herself, maybe.

She glanced at her watch.