12449/Not Just the Spirits are Angry

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Not Just the Spirits are Angry
Date of Scene: 14 November 2020
Location: Tomkins Cove - Mechanics Garage
Synopsis: Summary needed
Cast of Characters: Hijack, Constantine




Hijack has posed:
    Tomkins Cove was a town some ways north of New York City along the Hudson. Very small and slightly backwater. Quaint was a kind word to be used to describe it.

    In this quaint town was a mechanic's shop a little too off the beaten path to be considered a smart business move and yet Sarah got all the business she wanted and none of the hassel of being close to town. Currently, the bay doors were open, playing rock over the beat up and oil splattered radio. Wearing her dark blue coveralls with her hat firmly placed on her head and a cigarette hanging from her lips. Currently she was scrubbing down what looked like an engine part and inspecting it from time to time.

Constantine has posed:
Constantine seems like he just got off a bus, although there isn't a bus stop for a few miles either way. But he's suddenly just there, walking down and beating a bit of road dust off his overcoat. He takes a long drag on his Silk Cut, twin plumes of smoke trailing behind him like the breath of a wise dragon. Only he's no dragon and he's only wise in a few very specific kind of ways.

He approaches like a detective from an old TV show, shuffling along in his overcoat, unkept and unshaved, "Pardon me, miss," he says, "A body wouldn't suppose you got anyone around 'ere wot's conversant-like with the local native culture? Myths and legends an' that sort o' thing? Maybe a bit o' artifact knowledge as a kicker? See, I come across this thing," he says, reaching into his pocket and drawing out a charm on the end of a broken necklace, "But I can't make heads nor tails of it, save that it's old and it's made o' local materials an' it's got some weird magick on it that I ain't ever seen before. Save me the discussion o' magic bein' a fakie or a true, huh, and just direct me to your shaman medicine whosits person."

Hijack has posed:
    Glancing up as she saw the mussed blonde approach and raised an eyebrow when he started talking. British, very British by the sounds of it. He could be considered handsom if he wasn't quite so rumpled around the edges. Sarah glanced past him at the skyline to guess it around maybe 4 or 5? It was hard to tell when it was getting closer to Winter since night came earlier.

    Blue eyes returned to John as he kept talking, even though she'd not yet replied. Letting him say his peace as she looked at the necklace in his hands. The cherry of her own smoke went bright as she took a drag before tossing it into a paint can full of water and other butts. "Ain't no Res in Hudson Valley." Said as she held out a hand for the necklace and looking it over if he gave it up before handing it back. "Looks Wappinger. You might want to head more towards Central New York. That symbol means something like 'warding off evil vision' or close enough to it. So evil don't see you." Turning back to the engine part and scrubbing the soapy brush along it before setting it to one side.

Constantine has posed:
Constantine cocks his head, "Sounds like you know a bit more'n yer lettin' on. More'n I'd expect for a grease monkey, anyways, even one good lookin' a bird as you," he says. "I c'n go t'New York, o' course, they got a bit o' everythin', but one of the main things they got is attitude an' I ain't got the time to smooth the chip on anybody's shoulder. I got a mad spirit out here chasin' people down, including someone wearin' this necklace. If it's protection like you say, that means they ain't protected no more and maybe it does more'n chase next time. I could do somethin' about it, maybe, if I knew who they was or where they could be. Like you say, no res around here, but I bet the tribespeople keep in touch. Gotta be like Nativebook or some shite like that."

Hijack has posed:
    Sarah just snorted softly as he continued on. Wiping her hands on a shop towel as she leaned back against the work bench she'd been leaning over. "I'm not letting anything on. I know cause my gram is Blackfoot and Wappinger Indians used a dialect of Algonquin before they left this area back in the day. And I wasn't talking about the damn city. Upstate New York has a few Res, sure you'll find a mystic among em."

    Sarah walked over to the coffee maker perched on the end of teh work bench and poured a cup for herself, not offering one to John just yet. "No, please. Tell me more about angry Indian ghosts chasing people. I ain't laughed yet today." She wasn't quite scowling, but her expression wasn't neutral either.

Constantine has posed:
Constantine cocks his head, "I'll do better'n that. I'll show you," he says." He grabs some newspapers used to soak up excess oil during changes and tosses them onto a concrete floor with nothing nearby. He snaps his fingers and they burst into flame, rising a bit quickly, with plenty of smoke from the oil. He lets out a sharp whistle and carves several symbols into the air with short, jerky motions of his left index finger, stabbing at the air as if it resist him. Because it does.

In a few moments, in that smoke, a vision appears, the rising image of a sign of struggle, a playground torn to pieces, the swings ripped from their chains and the image of a crying, chubby child saying they'd seen something nasty take a swipes at a strange woman a mere hour past. The child's eyes open and it can be seen that one of their eyes has been claimed, freshly taken from the socket...

"That's what I'm dealin' with, Don't get me wrong, luv, I"m sure you give very good skeptic bitch, but right now, I'm needin' a bit more cooperative bitch, if you don't mind."

Hijack has posed:
    Whatever Sarah was expecting? It wasn't this. Taking a step forward an a moment from ripping John apart verbally when the damn paper caught fire. It stops her in her tracks and she watches him before she sees the images in the smoke. She takes it rather well, all things considered. Then again, she had some strange memories about her Gram doing weird shit like this, just not so...vulgar.

    "Alright." SHe took a breath and lit another cigarette before taking a bottle of whiskey from one of the work bench drawers and poured it into her coffee. "Where'd the necklace come from? Where's the playground?"

Constantine has posed:
Constantine lights his own fresh cigarette, inhaling deeply, "The necklace I found in one of the footprints the thing left. See there," he says and the image rotates, spinning inwards to reveal the marks of clawed feet in the ground, "Whatever it is, it's big an' it can disappear in' a split second. I figure with the markings, maybe it's hunting someone specific, someone from the tribe? I'm just stabbin' at leads with a pitchfork, love, but I'm still hopin' I draw a little blood tryin'."

Constantine has posed:
Constantine says, "Oh, an' its from a small park in Yonkers. Community place."

Hijack has posed:
    Sarah just drains half the cup and thinks. "Well, I mean...It could be an angered spirit. They ain't actually evil so the necklace wouldn't work there. I mean...well, the disappearing actually kind of narrows it down some. Not many Native myths go into that." Chewing at her lips some. "Yonkers, huh?"

    "It leave anything behind? Other than that necklace? Any smells, any symbols? Anything that shouldn't be there, y'know?" Looking to John as 'skeptic bitch' took a backseat for the time being. "Could try calmin' it down. Most everything in our stories has some love for some good tobacco, weed and some food offered to it. Maybe even some good drink? Might buy you time enough to get some answers."

Constantine has posed:
He kneels and looks into the fire for a long moment. He murmurs under his breath, not something that can be heard and even she did hear it, it likely wouldn't make sense. His hand sinks into the flame and he winces, biting his bottom lip as he feels that burn, "Anger, yes. Anger and confusion. Lost," he says, finally drawing his hand out with a snarl. There's a black skin of ash over the surface his skin, like soot, but he shakes the hand free and it falls away, leaving his fingers and palm unblemished except for a hint of redness.

"Maybe not hostile," he says softly, "Oi, I ain't given up my smokes and my booze t'nothin'. You think it's mad, you should see me good an' sober," he sighs. "Not evil's a good htought. With what I felt...maybe somebody summoned somethin' an' didn't know how to put it back. Wouldn't be the first time."

Hijack has posed:
    "The fuck is wrong with you?" Said as he stuck his hand in the damn fire. He wouldn't get far before she hit the oil fire with a bucket of sand. Dousing it damn near immediately.

    Sarah sighed and set the smoke on the edge of the bench before walking over to him and taking his hand. Checking for burns that should be there. "Huh." Glancing up when he said that he was angier sober than any ghost. He was rewarded with something of a smirk as she shook her head. " Or someone fucked with something they shouldn't have. People have no care for the world around them. Hell, you think any of these people would care if they saw a necklace hanging from a tree limb? No, they'd just take it and bitch when bad shit happened after." Dropping his hand and consdiering him for a moment. "Name's Sarah, you want a coffee?"

Constantine has posed:
Constantine lets her examine as she pleases, "Nature o' the species I'm afraid. Ol' fashioned evolution, somethin' interestin', somethin' new, people gotta poke at it and pull at it and see what comes out. First bloke found a beehive prob'ly got stung to death and the second, too, but it didn't hold off bloke number three whenever he come along to scoop that honey out right under the queen's arse," he says.

"John Constantine," he says, "Coffee's fine, better if it's Irish," he says. "Guess I'll be lookin' for an amateur summoner, then. Just in time for the holidays."

Hijack has posed:
    Sarah shook her head, walking over and pouring the coffee. "First 'bloke' that found a beehive prolly just watched a bear go after it." She was generous with the whiskey that she poured after it. Holding it out to him. Nodding once as he gave his name and while he shared his last name, she didn't.

    "Hold up. You don't know if I'm right. Those prints were clawed. Angry, confused and lost? Could be all sorts of shit. Every Tribe has their own stories and spirits and some of 'em ain't exactly fun." She gestured for him to come out of the bay and once he did, she'd pull the door shut. "Come on." Shrugging out of the coveralls to reveal a pair of jeans and a Rush t-shirt. Walking over to a truck that looked like it had something explode from the truck bed. "Gonna get a few things from the cabin. You coming?"

Constantine has posed:
Constantine blinks and takes another long sip of his coffee before he goes to follow, "I don't mind a bit o' Watson t'my Sherlock, especially when Watson's got an arse that nice, but I gotta wonder what puts you on the investigative trail. I thought I picked ya by random, but maybe I didn't. Fate an' luck do have a habit of goin' in my favor, at least when somethin' that matters is on the line. I'm guessin' you might be more'n you seem then..." he says, hopping into the passenger side, "Cor blimey, I keep forgettin' you lot drive on the wrong side o' the road."

Hijack has posed:
    Sarah just chuckled at the compliment to her backside. "You speak Algonquin?" Sliding into the driver side and pulling the hat off her head to prop up on the dash. before she turned the truck over. "Didn't think so." Putting the truck into gear and backing out of the gar age before heading out along the main road then turning down a few side roads. "Nothin' fancy, what you see if what you get." He didn't need to know she was a Mutant, especially since it likely wouldn't help at all.

    After about half an hour driving, they pull up to a legit cabin in the woods and she hops out. Hat hung up on a hook just inside the door. It was rustic but clean and cozy as you please. Bear skin draped over the couch, large fireplace and no less than two rifles over the mantle. Though, what might catch him entirely is the smell of stew still slowly cooking from the kitchen.

Constantine has posed:
"Uh huh," he says, showing a healthy amount of skepticism about her normalcy. "I speak quite a few languages, most of 'em dead ones or things spoken largely by spirits, but I ain't from over here, so's the local languages are still mostly out o' my reach. Maybe one o' these days, but I'm usually swimmin' too deep in obscenity and bloodshed to get my study on, so to speak," he says.

He follows her to the cabin and looks around, his hands thrust into his pockets and a fresh cigarette dangling from the corner of his mouth. "Where's Heidi an' Grandpa?" he asks.

Hijack has posed:
    "Good luck, Algonquin is one of...damn, hundreds of dialects and languages for Native people. Though, one of the most expansive." She just looks at him when he said he was usually swimming in bloodshed and raised an eyebrow. "Alright."

    It was hard to know if he was just talking out of his ass or being honest. The scary thing was was that she didn't think he'd lied yet.

    "Fuck yourself. I don't like people and there's no cell reception this far to have anyone bother." Tucking a revolver into the back of her jeans before taking an old, tatty shoebox down from a shelf and opening it. Colorful rocks, feathers, an old book. SHe lifted up a necklace on a chord of leather with a surprisingly thin bit of quartz tied to it. Carved into it's surface was what looked like crossed arrows. She pulled it down over her head and stood back up. "If you're hungry, grab food. It's in the pot in the kitchen."

Constantine has posed:
Constantine shrugs, "I don't like nobody neither, but I like bein' able to get fish 'n' chips or a curry on short notice," he says. ""ey, you 'ave to live here, I don't, but ye can't be movin' yerself out to a cabin in the woods and not raise a few eyebrows. Flea-bitten beard or no, you're a hermit, lass," he says.

He shakes his head, "Nah, I'm full up on coffee an' cigarettes. Actual calories will only slow me down."

Hijack has posed:
    "I want those on short notice and I get the stuff to make 'em. These assholes can keep their eyebrows to themselves." It wasn't nearly as lonely as she'd originally thought. Hell, Victor had found her twice already. Strange man. Ferals were a different breed and he put her a bit on edge with his sharp fanged smiles and claw flexing.

    "God forbid. Alright, I got what I wanted." Grabbing her jacket and pulling it on before weaving her hair to a quick braid over her shouler as she walked back towards the door. The stew would keep for days, so she wasn't worried about that.