John Taylor
Location: Apartment 28A, Personal Automobile
Interacting With: Mariska (@Fabricant451), Mordred (@Gisk9)If there was one thing on God's earth that could rival John's love for his job than it was pork, especially post-possession. There were so many ways he could prepare it, smoke it for barbecue, boil the meat and marrow for soups, dry strips of meat for jerky, and hell, if he was desperate enough, could eat it raw. Arguable the
best worst part about it though was it's strange similarity with human flesh, not enough to completely fool Wendigo but enough to keep it reasonably quiet and out of John's hair. So, as the sausages browned and sizzled in the pan, John couldn't help but feel a mixture of anticipation, guilt, and annoyance at how slow it was taking to get "just right" as he liked to call it. And the pancakes? Well...who doesn't like pancakes.
Flipping those discs into golden brown greatness was second nature, allowing John to just give a lopsided frown as he nodded lazily at Mariska's words, shit may have hit the fan but the debris hasn't reached any of them just quite yet. All they could really do is wait and see if "Helsing" was had any bite to their bitch, preferably not if he was being completely honest.
"Ah, well that blows. At least you got money in the bank yeah? I mean, if nothing else than that's something to be proud of." This enlightening speech of course coming after Mordred's dramatic entry, earning a smirk from John as he wrapped up breakfast. Taking a moment to prepare his coffee, mostly coffee, a good deal of creamer, and enough rum to give it a healthy kick, John was ready to face the day. Creating a sort of breakfast burrito out of sausage and a pancake, John made his way for the door.
"Call me if you need me to grab something on the way back" Not bothering to grab a coat because, quite frankly, he hasn't needed on in years.
Winter always his favorite time of the year, even before this thing decided to set up shop in his head, there was something about snowfall that just felt like...quiet. Now, well it was at this time of the year Wendigo was at it's most quiet.
I guess even souls sucking monsters get homesick. John mused to himself, shrugging it off as he scarfed his food down. The trip down to the shit-mobile wasn't all that exciting, just a cigarette being lit and on it's way to being used.
