Crystal Rain

[Tristan Hardt]

Kow!

A shot rips the air and the echoes drown out the shower of glass. Tristan frowns and huffs in approval, tipping back the remainder of the bottle in his free hand. Yeah, that's right: he'd shot with one hand. It only took him three rounds to hit the bottle... He walks over to the tree stump and sets the newly empty bottle in the center before resuming his lonely watch over nothing in particular.

The grizzled Elodoth is about as casual as you'd expect, if you knew him. Same khaki pants and belt he'd gone to work in. Same boots. Same button-down shirt. He'd unbuttoned and rolled his sleeves, which, if you ask him, is more of a pain in the ass than a comfort. He's had to stop several times and re-roll the sleeves after they'd fallen back down over his wrist. He'd blame his missed shots on that.

Kow!

Another bottle turns to brown, twinkling confetti that exists in the air for a fraction of a second before settling on the grass. Tristan wishes he had one of those slow-motion cameras to see how it really looks. But the grim satisfaction of his unseen marksmanship will have to do. Hell, it suits him just fine.

[Emily Makerith]

Emily slouches down the road. She'd say she didn't usually make a habit of dropping on people unannounced, but a) it would be a lie, and b) Tristan had been particularly quiet lately. And if her read on the surly Elodoth was right, he wasn't the type for long emotional phone calls talking about boys and cute bands (Heh. Hi-larious.) so catching him in person to make sure everything was cool was most certainly the best way.

She still ducks at the sound of the gunshot. "JEEZUS!". She tries to pop her head over the fence, growls at being too short, then grabs the top and pulls her chin up to look over the top.

"There you are! Nearly gave me a heart attack there, Tex. Mind if I jump over?" she says cheerily.

[Tristan Hardt]

Tristan's head swivels in the direction of the shout, wary for a moment. Then a familiar plume crests the top of the fence.

"Why not? Could use help emptying these bottles." He gestures with a free hand to a haphazard collection of six packs. Some are missing a bottle or two. Others are still full. By the looks, Tristan's either been sampling them or just not giving a damn about which one he pulls from.

"Only have the one pistol, though. So if you're here to shoot you'll have to wait your turn." Tristan looks down at his hand and frowns a bit, wiping some condensation off on his trousers. Then he wedges the gun in his belt loop and approaches the fence. He extends his newly (mostly) dry hand. And turns his head away.

"Come on." he rumbles, almost as if he's annoyed that he's offered to help her over.

[Emily Makerith]

Emily scrabbles over the fence, landing less than gracefully and picking herself up, grinning. "I mean, I could give it a go, I guess, but I've never really had much practice. Always got more on the physical side of learning." She moves around to the beers and, after a moment's scanning, pulls a darker one from the selection and flicks it open, raising the bottle to him casually. "Thanks. And if you're actually trying to get practice in, don't let me slow you down. Always prefered up close and personal anyways." The Ithaeur's lips twist into a cheeky smile.

"So, like, I know you like your space old timer, but apart from two minutes with V we hadn't heard from you lately. I thought you were probably snowed under with those murder things herdside, or something. But. Y'know. Just wanted to make sure you hadn't had your head bitten off by an Azlu or something." She drinks, trying to make the inquiry as light as possibly.

[Tristan Hardt]

He shrugs in a very 'suit yourself' way, then turns back to his work. Which, since the stump is bereft of an empty bottle, means emptying another one. He pulls a lager from one of the six-packs and twists off the top.

"Practice? Not really. Just letting off steam."

He doesn't agree or disagree with her observation, gulping down almost a third of the beer before continuing.

"Work has been busy. But there's more to it than that." Another swig. Tristan grimaces uncomfortably as the carbonation stretches his stomach past comfort. He throws a fist in front of his mouth and lets out a low burp. "Death in the family." Before Emily can go all pity party on him, he regards her with a stone serious look and adds "I'm celebrating. My sick mother outlived her piece-of-shit husband. Car crash. If you ask me? He got off easy." The rest of his beer is summarily polished off and placed on the stump. He positions himself again for another shot, but doesn't immediately pull his weapon.

​"How're the new blood fitting in?"

[Emily Makerith]

Emily matches Tristan's drinking easily, just listening. She raises her hands up at his cold stare. "Hey, hey. Cool it would ya? You wanna celebrate that's your call. 't's your family." The Ithaeur doesn't meet the stare as she drinks her beer.

"Well, Roach is only a hair more chatty that V was, and Val is... well, she's... a lot. But it a good way. I think." She smiles. ToTally the Mom friend. In a good way. "Oh, and Felix. He's very much a Hunter-in-Darkness, if you get what I mean. All about the purity primal side. But they all seem to be bringing their own take on things. Even the Storm Lords."

Dammit, Emmy. Oh well. Said it now. Emily drinks some more, ans sets the empty bottle over on a stump. "Well, you know what I mean. How Storm Lords can be all in your face with that "Stop at nothing" attitude. But these ones seem okay."

She reaches for another beer. "What's got work all busy? Or can ya not say?" She twists off the top.

[Tristan Hardt]

Tristan grunts. Thoughtfully. His eyes don't betray the humor he takes from her comment about the Storm Lords. "Don't think I've even met this Felix." he says, moving right past it.

He takes aim for the next bottle, but lets his arm slack a little. The gun is still pointed towards the bottle, but his elbow is loose and he seems distracted. "I might be bound by human law in public, but I won't keep things from the pack." He looks her way as he says this, his arm dropping just a little more. He seems to remember himself and tightens up his grip before letting a shot fly towards the bottle. A patch of stump turns to splinters after the thunderous bang. The bottle remains untouched.

"Damnit..." The grey-flecked blonde head shakes back and forth a little, chiding himself. "You know the murders around Railroad Creek haven't stopped? I took some time to visit my mother in the hospital, but damn if they didn't call me in early to find the next victim. I thought you all took care of the thing? Cat spirit or something?"

[Emily Makerith]

"Fuck." Emily barks. "Those fucking dicks." She shifts uncomfortably. "Uh. well. We did take out the cat-spirit we thought was actually doing the murder. But. Um."

She grits her teeth. "It wasn't exactly the cause of it. I mean, We think it did the murders. But there are spirits of violence and murder there, Tristan. Strong-looking ones. Clouds of eyes and forms like shadow demons. Hector and I tried to deal, but they really weren't having any of it, and.... I mean, they were big, Tristan. I didn't favour our chances."

She looks at the ground and drinks her beer, lapsing into silence. They did say they'd kill again. Now that shit's on us. Great.