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 The Holy Roast, Saint Aubin's Yard, Penhallick.

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PostSubject: The Holy Roast, Saint Aubin's Yard, Penhallick.   Thu Dec 13, 2012 12:01 pm

The city in which the coffee shop was situated was an odd affair, aside from a few main streets the majority of it was made up of a spider web of cobbled alleyways and snickets. Each winding street in Penhallick lead to another, and occasionally one would open out into a small courtyard out of which opened four or five more streets. It was a maze, made up of crumbling Victorian walls and Georgian terraces. It was such a maze that even some of the locals carried around maps in case they found themselves lost. (As you can imagine, the street-map trade was booming.) The occasional lost tourist would wander about sheepishly as they tried to find someone to ask for directions.

There was a river that ran through the most southerly quarter of the city, and despite the flood defenses the council always said they had, the area always seemed to be flooded. Whether it was an inch or whether it was a foot, that tumbledown part of Penhallick always seemed to be covered in filthy brown water. Old houses were falling against one another and the newer flats were overcrowded, though their foundations were a little more stable. It was easy to see why the words 'riverside view' were feared by the residents of Penhallick.

Most people in the city kept scooters or bicycles, it was much easier for them to contend with the narrow alleyways and cobbled streets, and Enoch Mullens was one of those people. The bicycle he rode to work had seen better days, but then again, so had the person riding it. He was a scruffy looking man in his early 30's with curly brown hair and something of a beard. His coat was a long grey affair that was looking slightly shabby. Underneath the coat was a faded t-shirt, dark-coloured jeans and an equally shabby pair of brown leather boots. The only real colour was the forest green scarf looped around his neck. His eyes were a hazel-y colour and held in them was a warmth, it was a forlorn sort-of warmth, but it was there nevertheless.

He came to a halt outside of a church, or rather, what had been a church. It was a pretty Georgian building, built from sandstone. It was solid-looking, with large stained glass windows and a massive, arched wooden door that lead in from the street. Without so much taking a moment as to appreciate the architecture, Enoch pushed open the door and went inside.

Inside was a sharp contrast to the outside, even though nothing much had been changed. Two hundred years ago, it had been a church, now it was a coffee shop. There was something much more homely about the place when bookcases were fitted in between the stained glass windows and the odd Persian rug was laid across the tiles. There were several tiffany floor lamp placed between the armchairs and the tables, along with a couple of faux stage lamps. The chairs were haphazard in their placing, some were by large wooden tables, others only had little coffee tables next to them. It didn't look like there was a matching chair in the entire building. Some were old straight-backed wooden chairs, some were little stools or beanbags, there several large armchairs and by one of the bookcases, there was even a wicker peacock chair.

In one corner of the room there was a wood-burning stove, which was happily consuming logs. While at the furthest end of the room was the altar, which had now been turned into a stage for the acts they occasionally hosted on an evening. Enoch paid no attention to this, instead he turned his attention to the large wooden counter on his left and to the man sat on it.

Terrence Thatcher, was in short, a god. A pagan god, actually. "I'm your boss, right?" he asked, turning his attention towards Enoch.

"Yes...?" He replied, regarding the red-haired man with a slightly alarmed look. Enoch knew a trap when he saw one.

"Well, as your boss, I'm telling you that you work too hard."

Enoch dropped the mug he was holding. It shattered against the tiles. "What?!" Terrence was a slave-driver, he was the demon boss, he was everything people hated about their bosses rolled up into one not human being.

Terrence paused for a moment before continuing. He'd always had very... reddish brown eyes, people always commented on them. But for a moment, Enoch could have sworn they were practically crimson. "Did I say that? I meant that you're lazy and incompetent and should really work more. Also, clean up this mess. Later, Bambi."

The Pagan god hopped down off of the counter. He was shorter than Enoch by several inches, in fact, he was barely five foot four. He had a shock of dark auburn hair and was usually seen wearing the oddest of things. Today, it his usual patchwork coat, made (mostly) from purple velvet. It was as eclectic as the coffee shop itself, and as colourful as one of the stained glass windows. It jingled as he walked, from the tiny golden bells he'd sewn around the hem. Enoch had made many unflattering remarks about said coat, and in return Terrence had made many unflattering remarks about Enoch's face. When he got to the door, he paused and looked back at Enoch. "Oh, and I sorted out today. Malorie texted me because she didn't have any walnuts for the cakes. She made a fuss, and insisted I come down here and-"

"Thank you. You're an insufferable bastard and a hypocrite and... Everything else. But thanks." Malorie cooked most of the foodstuffs they sold, she'd come to them looking for a job after she lost her voice. There's not much for a siren to do after they loose their voice.

"We've got a comedy act tonight. I'm going to be with Luke, I'll spare you the gristly details, but you're staying late. Bye." With that, he was out of the door, presumably to do whatever Terrence did in his spare time.

There was always a fucking catch, wasn't there?


Last edited by Mousen on Thu Dec 13, 2012 9:39 pm; edited 1 time in total
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PostSubject: In Which Casey is a huge bitch! yay!   Thu Dec 13, 2012 1:14 pm

The small seaside town had been a welcoming place for a wounded werewolf. She hadn’t really wanted to end up injured, but such is the life of a run away. Casey Thyme sighed, her long dark brown hair’s bangs flecked in her face as she walked down the streets. She pulled her dark leather jacket closer to her injured body, and tried not to look at any looks people gave her. It’s not like she was bleeding out, and it wasn’t visible besides her being a bit pale. Her brown hair curled at the ends around her waist, and they bounced happily with each of her, rather pissed off steps. Her blue t-shirt had absorbed most of the blood and the attack, and she was slowly healing, she was.

With shaking hands, Casey fetched a cigarette from her black jean pocket. She lit it with another shaking hand and took a deep drag out of it. She was already feeling better. Her heeled boots clacked on the stones as she made her way towards the coffee shop. It smelled rather delicious from where she was standing, so she’s sure it was fine. But she didn’t except to be met with a church that had been converted into a coffee shop. Casey sighed loudly, throwing her cigarette butt into the ground and smashing it down with her foot so it wouldn’t catch anything on fire. You had to be careful when disposing of your cigarettes. The buildings old architecture made her slightly concerned for how well it’d hold up like the rest of the town, but she pushed open the door instead.

She was rather surprised to see a rather modern area with tiles and books. There was a counter where the coffee was, and while she engulfed the other scents; she made a few steps towards the counter before it hit her. This place reeked of coffee, deer, and magic. She had to stop herself from choking. It was a rather distinct smell, and Casey looked around for a witch for a warding spell. She didn’t sense any, so she shrugged, pulling her coat closer to her injury. She really needed that damn coffee.

Getting back into her normal step, Casey approached the counter, a frown still on her face. When she got to the counter, she eyed it before saying, rather curtly, “One large hazelnut coffee, one sugar, black.” She placed the money on the counter before shifting herself. So that’s the little deer, huh? Casey moved to where the coffee would be picked up. She really wanted to get out of here before she had to deal with anything. She was injured, who could blame her?
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PostSubject: Re: The Holy Roast, Saint Aubin's Yard, Penhallick.   Fri Dec 14, 2012 1:40 am

Enoch had just finished clearing up the remains of the mug he'd dropped by the time the werewolf stepped through the large arched door and into the confines of what used to be St. Aubin's church. He gave Casey a slight smile and got to work.

"One large hazelnut coffee, one sugar to go, as requested by our first customer of the day." Enoch said, theatrically, placing a paper cup of coffee in front of the woman. The logo, which was clearly inspired by medieval calligraphy read 'The Holy Roast'. As much as Enoch disliked Terrence, he sure could pick a name.

There was something about this customer that was decidedly off, though. She looked like she'd been dragged through a hedge backwards, for starters. "If you've got nowhere to go, feel free to stay awhile. It looks like you need five minutes to yourself." He chattered absent-mindedly, it was his philosophy that you had to be good with people to do a job like this and Enoch liked to think that he could get on with anyone. Well... almost anyone. Terrence and Pagan gods excluded. They were all bastards.

And being a fawn, the very race that had served the 'gods' for centuries, he had good reason to dislike the lot of them. They weren't even gods, they were a kind of Fae, like elves and pixies and nymphs. The gods were high ranking, like the elves, then there were things like tree spirited and dryads which belonged to no-one and were really a law unto themselves. Then there was the rest, fawns and the like. Admittedly, fawns held a certain respect, they were like British butlers, they held a certain sort of class but that didn't stop any gods who found them from using them as footrests. Hence why most fawns lived quiet, reclusive lives far away from the gods as possible. It had worked well for Enoch up until two years ago when he'd went for a job interview. In retrospect, Enoch was always glad he'd gotten Terrence. He was a bastard, sure, but most gods were sadistic nutcases.

Most people, upon being told that Enoch was a fawn would laugh and tell you that he looked like your average human being. Which was true, fawns, though they had little practical magic, were capable of casting a little glamour. Glamour was either illusion or transformation magic. It was useful, it meant that he could either be a human, a stag or a fawn and it also meant that Terrence could keep his curly ram-horns from ruining his hair.

It was only after he'd given Casey her coffee that he noticed something odd. Everyone had... he didn't want to say an aura, but a feeling that followed them around, an atmosphere of sorts. Gods reminded him of wine, red wine chiefly, and of something dark and vaguely sinister he couldn't quite place. Other fawns were rustling leaves, and green, sunlight-filled forests. Humans tended to vary slightly, depending upon where they'd come from, but whatever aura they had it certainly wasn't wet dog and leaf mould.

"Holy fuck." Enoch muttered. "Hey, er, Wolfy! Wolf-girl! One second. Hear me out and please don't, I don't know, tear my throat out or anything because, seriously, my boss will be so pissed if you do that. Anyway, full moon last night, right? And no offence, but you look like crap. So... I don't know did you get in a fight with another wolf or something? Run into a couple of hunters? I mean, I'm only asking because I could help. I've patched up wolves after fights before." Namely a certain one named Luke who's hobby seemed to be getting into fights he couldn't possibly win.
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PostSubject: Re: The Holy Roast, Saint Aubin's Yard, Penhallick.   Sun Dec 16, 2012 6:05 pm

As she moved down the counter, Casey pulled her coat closer to her than she really meant to. She winced as the bullet wound in her side was grazed. Damn silver bullets. She was just happy it wasn't embedded in her side and she was slowly dying. She wasn't slowly dying, thankfully. Also, the wounds her alpha gave her weren't really the best thing to have along with the wound of a silver bullet. Both healed slowly and made her pissed. She sighed happily when the coffee was placed on the counter by the deer. She grabbed it, taking a hearty sip of the scalding hot coffee. A small smile trickled across the wolfs face. She looked up when she noticed that the deer had said something, and her smile fell.

"Thanks for the offer and all, but I have places to be." A blatant lie. Where did she have to go? No where really. She had just ran as far away as she possibly could from her home and lost connections to her pack in the process. She wasn't wanted by them, so it wasn't really that surprising. Casey sighed slightly as the thoughts ran through her head. She hated looking at the past. It wasn't a pleasant thing, and she was continuously running away from it. She ran her other hand that had been clutching her leather jacket through her hair, dried blood visible on the palm and parts of the fingers.

Casey turned to leave, murmuring a quick 'thanks' under her breath, but the Deer had to speak up and finally get a grip on exactly who she was and why she wanted to get the hell out of there as quickly as possible. She didn't want to deal with witches or whatever it was that was causing this place to reek of magic. She turned stiffly on her heel, facing the barista.

"You could be a bit more, well, discreet with the name calling," She gritted. "Look, I won't rip your throat out, because I'd really rather not deal with a with boss or whatever the hell it is that is making this place reek of magic. I'd really rather be on my way, and be in pain and slowly healing somewhere else, and how I got these wounds really isn't any of your damn business." Sure, it was nice that he wanted to help, but when you got a pissy werewolf, or a pissy Casey in general, it was hard to get through the thick skull of hers.
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PostSubject: Re: The Holy Roast, Saint Aubin's Yard, Penhallick.   Mon Dec 17, 2012 10:55 am

Enoch raised an eyebrow. "Because someone is clearly going to hear us talking about werewolves in this very, very empty church. I think discretion is the least of your worries, personally." Despite his words being a little sharp, there was still a warmth to his voice that suggested he wasn't intending to offend. It was also abundantly clear that he wasn't bothered by Casey's sharp attitude, after Terrence's sarcasm... Well, he was a very long suffering fawn. It took an awful lot to annoy him.

"Oh, that's definitely my boss. Aaand, I'd be careful if I were you, just because you're a werewolf doesn't make you invincible, you'd heal a heck of a lot faster with my help, so don't give me any of your self-reliant bullshit. Unlike you, unlike my boss and unlike most of the beings on this freaking planet, I'm a kind, considerate person and I'm offering to help. I know what I'm doing." Okay, so maybe he was a little bit annoyed. Everyone at some point in their lives needed help, it was a fact of life. No matter how hard you tried there was going to be a day where you needed someone else, a shoulder to cry on or a hand to hold or a friendly neighbourhood fawn offering veterinary treatment.

Outside, Terrence was trying to be wherever he had to be, but, if he was being truthful that was boring and predictable. And, really, there was no fun in that. Luke could survive without him for awhile, after all, it wasn't even like they dating. Why should he have to put up with wolf-brain's problems all of the time? And upon deciding what he always decided (I.E, to not do the decent thing and to go make Enoch's life even more of a misery) he turned around and started walking back towards The Holy Roast.
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PostSubject: Re: The Holy Roast, Saint Aubin's Yard, Penhallick.   Thu Dec 20, 2012 4:47 pm

Casey couldn't help but just roll her eyes. She hated people like this deer who thought it amusing to sass others. She didn't like sarcastic people, sassy people, snooty people, or well, people in general. She never got along with them. She puffed air at the bangs that hung around her eyes. She really needed to trim them up a bit. They were beginning to get rather annoying. She sipped at her coffee as she listened to the fawn rant at her.

She changed her rather annoyed look into a full on glare. "I should know better than anyone that werewolves aren't invincible. I don't need your preachy bullshit. I can take care of myself, and I will take care of myself, wither you want to help me or not. I'm sorry, but It's not like I'm dying or anything," Casey practically growled. She hated people like him. They were annoying, and pestery and just wanted to help, sure, but it was still annoying. Like she said, she wasn't dying.

Okay, maybe she was. It started with a little coughing, and then a full on coughing fit that Casey had to put her coffee down for, and then she was on the ground, clutching her abdomen. She looked up, tears in the corner of her eyes from the excretion of coughing so hard. "Okay, you win. I'll let you help me," Casey said weekly, clutching over her wound even more now. She really hated full moons. They were practically pointless. You just turned into a werewolf, half of the time a mindless animal that goes and slaughters innocent people and ends up getting yourself wounded ninety percent of the time. It's utterly, utterly useless, and no matter what anyone else tells you, they are selling you something or want to eat you live.
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PostSubject: Re: The Holy Roast, Saint Aubin's Yard, Penhallick.   Thu Dec 20, 2012 9:23 pm

He was about to reply to what Casey was saying when she started to cough, and Enoch couldn't help but look concerned. After some time, it appeared as if she was okay. (Or that she wasn't choking to death, at any rate.) It was then she finally agreed. That was a relief, he always found himself worried about people. Goodness knows he wouldn't have been able to concentrate all day otherwise.

"There's a back room over here. It's where we keep some of the stuff, it's technically a mausoleum, but Terrence put some shelves up. Uhm... This way. You're not in danger of passing out any time soon, are you? It wouldn't ask, but beneath those tiles are solid stone flagstones. Uhm, so yeah. Make a point of telling me if you feel woozy." With that, he opened a large wooden door that was situated almost directly behind the counter. There was a couple of steps that lead down into the mausoleum, inside there was a large stone box with a knight clutching a sword on the front. "Don't ask me who that is." he said flippantly, looking over at the knight. From on top of the shelves, Enoch dug out a large tin box, completely ignoring the first. aid kit on the middle shelf.

"We have the other one because of health and safety stuff. This is the one that's actually helpful." He laid it on the floor and opened it. "Now, I'm sure this is going to be awkward for the both of us, but I'm going to have to see the damage. It's your side, right?"
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PostSubject: Re: The Holy Roast, Saint Aubin's Yard, Penhallick.   Sun Dec 23, 2012 6:47 pm

There was one last cough before Casey pulled herself off the ground and back up to her feet. She had to get herself reconfigured, but she was fine. Well, for the moment at least. She took a deep breath, and then shook her head in reply to Enoch. Clutching her hand over her wound, and trying her damndest not to puke all over him, she follows him past the counter and into the mausoleum. She flops herself down on the bottom step and clutches her wound. She gathers her surroundings with a frown and a strained whine. Wow, she could've sworn she was fine.

Casey leans back on the step behind her and waits for Enoch to get the supplies. She listens to him speak, but doesn't really absorb anything that he's actually saying. It can't be too important anyways. There was some gesturing and then he finally got the first aid kit that was meant to be helpful. She tuned back in to what Enoch was saying. She took a deep breath and realized just how much this area smelled of magic as well. She growled softly through a breath of air and then smirked, sweat dripping off her brow.

"What? You've never seen a girl shirtless?" Casey smirks again, and wiggles her arms out of her leather jacket, placing it gently next to her. "You might wanna mentally prepare yourself fawn. It might be shocking to your virgin eyes." Casey grabbed the bottom part of her shirt before pulling it over her head, revealing a rather scared up chest and of course, a bra, and well a gaping bleeding wound with black vein like twists around her side. Also a massive slash across her stomach, that was also bleeding. "Damn," She breathed as she saw it. "Guess I got poisoned by something or another."

((how does one describe a bra and not feel horribly awkward? why do I feel awkward? WHY AM I WEIRD?! /falls over))
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PostSubject: Re: The Holy Roast, Saint Aubin's Yard, Penhallick.   Wed Jan 02, 2013 10:56 am


"I'm a fawn, remember? We're not exactly known for being the most chaste of creatures." He replied, clearly unperturbed by Casey's remarks. What did bother him, however, was the state she was in. Good lord, he'd seen less mangled corpses. Enoch was sure he was turning a faint shade of green. It wasn't the blood that bothered him so much as what was clearly silver poisoning. Well... the werewolf version of it, anyway. "Right... Well... I think I can stitch the other wound, but I think you may have ran into a hunter. I should be able to fix you up for now, but seriously, you'll want to head over to an apothecary or something. Maybe find a witch or something? I don't know."

"I'm going to guess at a silver bullet, it doesn't look narrow enough for an arrowhead wound. Not that I see many arrow wounds, well, I have, but only on corpses. Those bastard elves never miss." He took a few glass bottles from inside the box. The first was a small-ish jar that had in a muddy coloured powder. He took a bottle of water from off of the shelf and tipped about half of it into a potted plant that sat on one of the shelves, then he took a couple of teaspoons of the powder and tipped it into the bottle. "Bentonite clay, it binds and draws heavy metals out of the system. It'll slow down the silver poisoning. You'll have to drink it, though. It's pretty much like drinking mud. Sorry." He also added a tiny green-coloured vial to the mixture. "For the pain. It's a witch's remedy. It's not very strong, but on the other hand, it's not going to kill you."

"... Okay, I've got a knitbone poultice for that cut. I'm going to have to deal with that one first because I'm going to have to work out how to deal with that silver bullet. It's a bit tricky."

Enoch had just about finished stitching the gash when Terrence turned up. Enoch knew he was in the church the moment the red-haired god stepped over the threashold. It was a moment later he pushed open the door of the mausoleum. "Ugh. Wouldn't it be better just to put it down? Sometimes it's just cruel to keep these things alive."

"Piss off, Terrence. This is one of Luke's pack you're talking to. You wouldn't want to upset his second-in command, would you? He values her opinion an awful lot." Enoch lied, surprising himself with how easily the story slipped from his mouth.

"We're not even dating." Terrence snapped before disappearing into the main part of the church.

"That's my boss." Enoch told Casey with a sigh. "He's a god, if you hadn't noticed. Don't worry about it, though. He's a bastard, but he's not... sadistic." In comparison with most of his species, Terrence was practically an angel. "And uhm, don't worry about that lie. I'll deal with him later. I just needed him gone. Besides Luke is so scatterbrained after a full moon he'd agree to anything."

He wasn't entirely happy about being the one to take it out, but what could he do? The doctors asked far too many questions nowadays and he really was out of options as far as medically-inclined friends went. Having Terrence around made it difficult to have many friends. "Okay, I don't think I've got anything else as far as pain medication goes, nothing stronger than asprin anyway." It was with that, highly encouraging statement, he turned his attention to removing the bullet.

It was just over half an hour later that Enoch finally finished patching up the werewolf. Casey certainly looked less mangled, though he was a little worried about infection or the lasting effect that the silver might have. "You ought to find a witch or an alchemist or something to check that out, anyway. Or, alternatively, a doctor if you can find one that won't ask too many questions. You should be okay for the time being, though. Just make sure you clean the area around the wound daily with saltwater or something."

(( I give in with this RP post and sorry. This is what you end up with when I'm too lazy to do any research. Heh. Also, I knew my knowledge of alternative remedies would come in handy one of these days. And don't worry about that, my writing is pretty much a mess of awkwardness.))
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