[center][h3][color=#165682]Brooks Lockwood[/color] and [color=#f4428f]Abigail Harlow[/color][/h3] [img]https://pixel.nymag.com/imgs/daily/vulture/2016/11/11/recaps/11-walking-dead.w710.h473.jpg[/img] [IMG]https://i.imgur.com/11O7dWr.jpg[/IMG] [color=#165682][b]Location;[/b][/color] Lockwood Residence [color=#165682][b]Interacting With;[/b][/color] N/A[/center] The Lockwood residence was a rural bungalow cottage some distance away from the town centre, bordering on the rugged wilderness and sitting quite smugly on the doorstep of the supernatural. It had three bedrooms, one bathroom, a toilet, a kitchen and a dining room that lead seamlessly into the living room. The garden was large and only a low, unkempt hedge split it from the tall canopy of the surrounding woodland. The garage had a door leading to the basement and both the front and back doors had sizeable porches to relax in the sunshine. It was also positively seeping out all sorts of wards, charms and trinkets to keep monsters out. Abigail was nigh certain that even though these additional security measures, harmless if you hold the right key to pass through (which she did), were the things worsening her nightmares. For the umpteenth time this month, Abigail woke up with a ragged yell and irrational, incomprehensible sobs. Brooks let out a sigh, it was early afternoon and he had long since perched himself in a rocking chair right outside his door. Hearing Abigails recently recurring wake-up yell snapping his mind out of daydreaming. He acted like he couldn’t hear, just to pretend to give her the belief of privacy to recover from whatever nightmare she dreamed up. He waited, silently rocking back and forth for another fifteen minutes before entering his abode and voicing out: “Abi’! ‘Bout time you start wakin’ up!” before meandering his way towards the kitchen. Abigail pitter-pattered out of the room in her pajamas. She had the time to compose herself and made a big theatrical yawn which briefly revealed the presence of several fresh purplish scars across her body. “Morning Brooks…” she mumbled as she made a beeline for her cereal box. “Or, uh. Good afternoon?” “Whatever time suits you most nowadays, Sunshine. How was sleep?” he asked, disguising the question with nonchalance to convey the facade of unawareness. Abigail merely laughed and shook her head - it was more than enough to answer the question. “You uh,” There was a pause as Abigail poured her cereal. “You got any jobs to do today, or is this your day off too?” There was a twinge of hopefulness in her voice. Unsurprising, given that Abigail spent the most part of this year cooped up inside, primarily on her own. “I am, yeah. Anythin’ you had in mind?” he asked, smiling lightly as he worked about heating the kettle. Abigail hesitated and stared at Brooks confusedly, mulling over the sentence in her head. “Wait-...oh, right, you're on your day off. Nice!” Abigail perked up at the thought. She leant in, almost entirely ignoring the soggy bowl of Cheerios in front of her as she spoke eagerly. “I was thinking we go on a really long run this time. All the way out to the-....the fuck?” “The -what-?” Brooks furrowed his brows, hoping he misheard, as he continued brewing himself a cup of tea. Abigail shook her head brusquely and stood up, chair scraping against the tiles. She scurried over to the window next to Brooks and pushed it open with a grunt. “Shhhshhhshh. Listen.” Sure enough, there were faint cracks echoing across the hillsides. Abigail squinted into the town with a frown. “...are those gunshots coming from town or the woods?” “It ain’t our problem, as long as they’re not aimed at us.” he scoffed, finally finishing brewing a warm cuppa’. Abigail scoffed. “I thought you were a hunter,” she quipped sarcastically. Both hands gripped onto the frame as she slammed the window down again, going back to sit at the table. “Okay, maybe let's not go on a run today, if people are out there shooting shit. I don't wanna be turned into a coat.” Abigail went quiet and shovelled the rest of her breakfast into her mouth. “... actually, there is something I want to do today. I was meaning to ask for a while now. Do you know William? The sorta….” Abigail waved her spoon vaguely, “...weird but cheery kid, around my age? Works at the butchers?” “Yeah, I’ve seen him a couple of times. He do somethin’?” Brooks perked a brow, seating himself at the duo’s communal table and gently sipping at his still steaming ceramic mug. “Wh-...how can he do something if I haven't seen him since like….March?” Abigail stared at Brooks flatly. She then hastily looked away, getting nervous. “Well, uh. I think he's a werewolf.” She fiddled with her spoon. “I'm just thinking about asking him for a bit of help, now we know I'm not dangerous, 'cause there's a lot of shit I don't understand still, and you kinda have to-...to be there to understand it, you know? Like, you gotta be a-...a werewolf to get it.” There was a sour tone whenever she said werewolf. Abigail peered at Brooks sheepishly and flashed a little smile at him “problem is, I don't know. And he's like, my only friend out here. And I don't want to tell him without knowing. Basically I'm asking you for help trying to figure out whether my friend’s a werewolf because you're a hunter and you're trained in this.” “Christ, all you were missing is a stutter.” he paused, letting the teasing comment hang in the air, and took a slurp from his tea. He had been thinking about this for a while, and as experienced as he was with the -hunting- of a werewolf it didn’t mean he knew how to be one. He hadn’t considered anyone young to help her, but as Abigail mentioned the possibility of there being one, it got his gears turning. “Alright, i’ll have a look at the kid.” he eventually agreed. “Nice. But uh...how? And when? I can send him a text asking to meet up but don't you need anything special for werewolf checking?” Abigail looked a little less nervous now that Brooks agreed but she was still quite frantically playing with her spoon, clearly still stressed out. “Ugh, Jesus…what if he isn't one? I don't even want to do this at all. Fuck,” Abigail abruptly pushed away her bowl disgustedly and leant back on her chair. “Calm down, and -language-” he scolded with furrowed brows. “Instead of hedging your bets on a maybe, how about I take you to a definite werwolf? I’ll sort it out. Talk to her. See if she wants to be helpful.” he sighed, scratching his cheek before raising his mug for another sip. Even with some thought put into it, the situation was tricky and one he had always dreaded. However keeping Abigail locked up was only going to add to the disaster that was already there. Abigail was sulking now, arms folded and looking away from the table despondently. “so how are we going to do this? Just wander around town until we find her? Go straight to her house? 'hey, I heard you were a big fu-...a big nasty werewolf, can you teach my niece how to stop chasing her tail when she gets distracted?’ and it has to be 'we’, because it's not as if you can bring her here, she'd burn up before we even get to the front door.” Brooks didn’t reply for a long while, calmly focusing on his early afternoon tea instead of investing any attention to Abigail's woeful being. Finishing the drop of his tea he finally replied “Yes.” Abigail groaned in frustration, swinging her legs out as she glowered at Brooks. “Are we going now, or later?” She asked in a measured tone. She looked more restless than ever - no doubt anxious to move, or at least get out of the house. “I don’t know. There’s a bowl of cereal that’s got your answer though.” he stared at her expectantly, shooting a brief glance down at the bowl containing now long soggy cereal bits in it. Abigail stared at the bowl stupidly, as if expecting a word to inexplicably float to the surface. When the penny dropped she stared at Brooks cooly. She slurped up her cereal loudly, deliberately, never breaking eye contact with her uncle. “Ata’ girl. Now come on, lock up upstairs i’ll be in the car.” he stood himself with a groan, grabbing the bowl and empty tea mug and placing them in the sink before making his way outside. Abigail couldn't have gone any faster, even if she tried - the slammed doors and jingled locks of a very conscientious Hunter's abode echoed downstairs as Brooks was tying his laces. He had barely turned on the engine before Abigail popped out of the front door with a hefty keyring in hand, fumbling with the front lock. She slammed into the passenger seat and started struggling with her seatbelt. “Do you think this is a good idea?” Abigail asked eventually, since the belt kept jamming. “We haven't told anyone yet. We don't have to tell anyone. Will I get in trouble for this?” “No.” he shook his head, driving off their premises.