Owner	Pose
Askante	China town never sleeps. Heck, new york city never sleeps. All human life can be found shifting driftless through this place, or striding with purpose. The man on the hustle, the woman seeking knock-off goods, the predator seeking an easy mark, the child looking at toys imported from taiwan and hongkong and all manner of people enjoy the street eats. Around halloween, chintzy decorations deck the shopfronts, vendors and restaurants, cashing in on that cash cow of the americas, brought to the table by first Lady Eisenhower in her campaign to bring parties to the year. But there are a few who make genuine shrines; those to those that lost their lives by happenstance -- a flower and a photograph or an offering of rice and incense and those that are enshrined to keep the Hungry Ghosts at bay. And in the middle of this is an old cowboy with a duster that could've been worn by Wyatt Earp himself, faded, brown, weatherproof and scuffed, with pockets and flaps galore and a sombrero of black. He.... maybe a he... is hunkered in a shop awning of a closed pawnbrokers, just watching everyone walk by from under the brim of the hat. There's a small beggars bowl made oddly enough, of terracotta clay, chipped and simplistic looking. But there's coins and dollar bills in it and someone brought the fellow springrolls and dumplings...
Sarah Connor	Dark comes early at this time in October. All the lights were on, looking rather sparkly, with the main colour red. Of course in Chinatown the main colour IS red. The colour of good luck. Red interspersed with white, and the occasional other colour. Sarah wandered around looking at the stores and vendors' carts. At night, the stores were closed, but the vendors' carts seemed to fill up the streets, and the people, the ones who called Chinatown their home, came out. There were few 'tourists' around at this time. She pulled out a rumpled bill and tossed it into the bowl of the man. "There you go." Today was a lucky day, and she had wiped the floor, so to speak, in tips.
Askante	"Thank you kindly," The voice hits the ears and argues with the brain. It's a man's voice, says the subconscious. No, says the ear, it's a low contralto, or it's a high tenor, it doesn't say man OR woman. Shut up, says the subconcious all over again. People hear what they want to hear, in the depth of voice at least, if not the words. And they see what they want to see, unless they're particularly clear eyed. Human kind has a marvellous ability to ignore the monster in their midst, just ask anyone that's been the victim of a particularly heinous trauma. Askante peers up at Sarah as she walks by, black eyes glittering in the shadow. "Be careful out there; generosity paid back in kind. THere are ghosts about tonight."
Sarah Connor	The hairs stood up on the back of her neck. He.. she.. no, it was a he she was fairly certain.. didn't seem.. well, usual. It didn't seem to be a Terminator. (Didn't it?) But there was something around him. Sarah was extremely aware of things that were out of place in their environments. She had to be. "Hah. Ghosts." She really didn't care about ghosts; she had other things to worry about.
Askante	"It's truth. They're out and about. Might be the time of year, might not. There's been upsets here, of late." Askante sighs, leans to the side and fishes in its pockets for some candy. It's the brightly coloured fruity stuff that gets sold here a lot. It takes one itself, then offers one up. THe sharing of food, is a thing. It looks up again, the black glitter in the shadow caught by a streetlight, a patina of red painted over scaley cheeks. The hairs on the back of the neck standing on end is nothing new to it, it seems. That wariness of the potential danger it might pose is like a whiff of perfume. "I don't mean to be a bother, or a ... what's the word... downer? Yeah. Downer. I'm just trying to be neighbourly."
Sarah Connor	Sarah looked at his offering, and denied it with a wave of her hand. She might not think he's a terminator, but she doesn't trust him. Then again, she doesn't trust *anyone*, except John. "No thanks." Of course she is polite about it. "What do you mean by ghosts?" She'd never believed in Houdou when she was in South America . She didn't think she should believe in ghosts just because he brought them up. Still.. There might be some truth, after all vampires and werewolves were true.
Askante	"People that died and didn't get the message that they were meant to move on. Chinatown always has a fair few. Something to do with the culture, I think. Odd rites, there's too much orderliness in funeral services, if you forget steps they get pissy and stick around. Big festival about the Hungry Ghosts, keeping them quiet. Lots of little shrines. It's big elsewhere, too. I can't remember when it started..." That's probably more of an answer than was necessary and ASkante scratches its cheek with an odd kind of nails-on-something-hardened sound. That's one heck of a five o'clock shadow, right? "There's one that took a hold of a kindly man, wears his skin like a shell. She's bad news and her presence here has made it a bit... thinner than normal. It's not good when things get thin, I have to poke things back into place." Ok, so he might just be a regular garden variety loony.
Sarah Connor	Shrines she could deal with. In South America they had plenty of shrines too, to honour their dead. Not that she believed. "So what you are saying is the living are part of it, essentially. " They keep their dead alive in the culture. Sort of like Day of the Dead festivals, which happens to be tomorrow at midnight to November 2." Sarah shrugs. It was a nice way to honour your dead, but a week? And yes, sometimes they aren't happy about their demise. How bad could it be comparable? But something about him wasn't quite right. Like he had phony teeth or something that grated on her nerves. An inhuman hand or foot. Broken teeth. Hair so dirty it was like straw. Something. But what?
Askante	Askante shuffles in its coat, taking back the sweeties and putting them back in the pocket they came from, hunching itself down and over its beggar bowl a bit, as if feeling the discomfort as a kind of weight or chill. "In living memory, yes. That's what it's all about really, but..." it shrugs lightly "...just be careful. Sometimes Ghosts are not harmless." It pulls the edges of its coat closer to itself, as if to hide further from the world. It has very long fingers. Most ignore the extra knuckle.
Sarah Connor	Most do, but not Sarah. An extra knuckle. That could be it? A deformity of his hands. Probably his feet too. It would explain the begging bowl. Might explain the funny 'click click' sound coming from his direction. Perhaps? "Sure. It still depends on the living giving them the power over them. And if I don't believe in them, what then?" Sure ghosts could have power, but weren't they limited by the person who believed in them? At best they were an annoyance. At least according to Houdou she had found.
Askante	Askante shrugs its shoulders lightly. "Sometimes, believe makes a difference. Sometimes, it does not. Most do not believe in fairies either, and most would not even know if one was infront of them. But a fairy can hurt you plenty, if it feels like it. Ooooh..." It stiffens, lifts its head a little and looks off toward columbus park. Something rattles again, a quiet sound like reeds rustling just a little, but it's unclear where that came from. That weird hand reaches for the beggar's bowl and slips the coinage and few bills into the inside pocket of its duster, the bowl into another one and it rises. "Something is wrong. Excuse me..." oddly, it hedges around her, trying to keep her infront of it as it edges out of the awning, stretching tall and BOY is it tall, as it looks from a vantage of tippy toes. Odd that nobody else still occupying the streets pays it any mind, even if to gawp at its height. It could give a professional basket ball player some envy. "Ooooh, bad bad bad..."
Sarah Connor	Sarah was almost going to say, when she noticed his height. His extreme height. Not she had heard of seven, almost eight feet tall, but for a brief moment she could have thought she had imagined his height. A shiver ran down her back. She took her thoughts back a little. What if he was one of the spirits he spoke of? What did Faith say, 'Sometimes we do the hard work so that normal people weren't aware of what we were up against'. Hell, didn't she believe that what she fought against, the terminators, sent by Skynet, so that maybe they rest of humanity didn't have to know the real danger they were ultimately up against? There's that shiver again. Apparently she would have to think about this.
Askante	Askante's hat brim is tweaked as it gives a kind of not-really-a-bow but sort of a curtsey bob, plus a hand gesture or four of warding or perhaps it's blessing?... or no just two. JUST two. No more than two. Not four. It crosses the street with an agile grace, bouncing off one of the opposite storefronts like spiderman, landing on the other side of a group of arguing locals and hustles toward Columbus park. It isn't making any attempt to hide its steps though and could be followed if she chose to. Indeed, sometimes we do do the hard work, so that others never need to know.
Sarah Connor	No, she did not see four hands. Did she? No. Definitely not! (But DID she? Really?) Sarah definitely would kick herself later, but followed him at a distance - whether to see what had its attention, or to figure out what he was.
Askante	Maybe curiosity killed the cat, but satisfaction brought her back. Ducking into columbus park, the tall being slides into the shadow of trees, but its outline can still be made out. There appears to be a bit of a kerfuffle going on somewhere in the deeper shadows, where the streetlights don't hit. Is that soft crying in chinese? It could be. A few sharp, curt words are spoken by the duster-wearing strange one, in what sounds like mandarin (Actually is, but a very old dialect of it) followed by the air getting very, very, very cold. The sort of cold that gets right inside and creeps into the very bones. The sort of cold that if this were a paranormal investigation show, would get the lead investigators all kinds of excited. SOMETHING is giving off a very faint light in those shadows. It looks like... like... a flame burned very low on a campfire, but it's moving.
Sarah Connor	Too bad Sarah really doesn't know any of those shows. For the bulk of the 17 or so years she had been 'hiding' amongst the drug runners and gun traders in South America. Certainly without cable. And despite her languages learned, Mandarin was not one. Still, she followed, and when felt the coolness, she brought out one of her pistols, and cocked it. (You could never be prepared enough.)
Askante	Maybe she should make one of her pistols into the Saint of Killers. That might help in certain situations. As she nears, as eyes become more aclimatized, the shape of things can be made out better. There's a cluster of three individuals, but one of them doesn't look well at all. In fact, they look like they're smoldering. Robes of chinese origin, half a tunic still intact and half stuck to flesh in various places, that person shouldn't be breathing at all. Two others are crouched and holding one another in the shadow of a tree; an old woman and an old man, who frankly look terrified-- bags of groceries from one of the late night supermarkets can be seen strewn about, apples and oranges, bok choi and noodle packets strewn on the lawns. Askante steps forth a bit, speaks more mandarin and the person on fire looks angrily at it. And then, well, that's when it seems like she must have imagined everything she just saw, as in the blink of an eye, the shadows seem to get so black that they're anti-shadows, the flames are snuffed, a lot of scuffling occurs and then silence. Until about thirty seconds later, when the tall figure, its coat smoldering slightly, staggers into a bush and falls face first, breathing heavily. "...It's ok... you... give me a second. Ow. Actually, might want to get your groceries and run?" before it groans and plants its head against the turf.
Sarah Connor	"For fucks sakes.." Sarah really didn't know who or what the man she's followed into here with, but it looked to her he was helping the old couple regardless. Which meant *she* had to help them. Quickly, she holstered her gun, and helped bag up the groceries. With a pantomime she waved them away. It occurred to her that if they were beset about by a ghost, her guns would hardly be of use to her. Still, she still holds her gun in her hand (just in case), but more so for comfort.
Askante	The elderly couple, scattered by their experience, fuss in cantonese, but there's a lot of 'sheh sheh' and trying to stop their shakes. They very rapidly scurry off, attempting to find each patch of light that they can, on their way to their apartment. Low rent around here, they're likely quite poor. A few small flames smolder in garbage here and there, illuminating enough that the prone figure of the odd individual can be seen. The shadows also seem to be behaving themselves again. ANother groan from the strange Askante. "I need to do some excersizes again, I think. Either that, or they're getting tougher in my old age."
Sarah Connor	Sarah holds her gun out for a moment, keeping Askante in the view. "I really don't know who or what you are. Probably some mutant, or the like." She holsters her gun a second time, and she nods. As far as she knew he wasn't a Terminator. Anything else he was going to need to prove it on his own, good or bad. "You're okay?" Yes she has some fucked up rules to play by. For now he's deserving of needing help. So she offers.
Askante	"Just singed. And soul-wrenched. I'll be ok." ASkante replies, after rolling onto its back and patting itself down to check for body parts. All four arms, torso, nothing bleeding, both legs and reach around... tail too. "I'm not a mutant. I might be 'or the like' by your definitions, but by what you seem to define as a mutant, I don't have the right credentials." It replies, sitting up with a grunt of breath and a clutch at its heart, or something very like it. "It usually takes more than an instant to cross where it's thin, but I didn't have the time. Now I'm suffering for it. The cross-step is... eh, never mind, you probably won't believe me anyway." It sits up, having lost its hat. And she's the kind of individual that when 'spooked' enough as it were, listening to the cautious voice in her head, will finally peel it all back and -see-. It doesn't have hair, but a mantle of long, dread-lock like spines, but its face, irregardless is quite attractive by the standards of symmetry and the right composition of features. It's just inhuman, black scaled and currently covered in mud and ashes.
Sarah Connor	"Try me." Was what Sarah was going to say, and got 'Try m..' before her brain catches up with her. "What in the fucking hells are you?!" She almost brought out her gun for a third time. Almost. Something said not to, it wasn't worth it. Something tells her it won't help her. She held her ground despite her brain telling her to get out of here. She really wanted to use her knife. Again, she didn't (for entirely different reasons than the gun).
Askante	"I am a Daemon. Possibly the last one. I don't know, I haven't met any others..." it replies, waving a couple of hands in a staying gesture at her. "I know appearances are what they are, but I promise you, I mean you no harm. If I did, we'd be having a very different conversation right now. And if you meant me real harm, the same would be true." It looks about, looking for the elderly couple. "Did they get away?" it asks, gesturing to the tree where they'd been huddling. "This would be extremely disappointing if they didn't." It struggles to its knees, crawls to the tree and parks there, using the trunk as a back rest, giving another exhausted grunt. "Why is it that fire makes the most ghosts? Seriously, it used to be fire was a cleanser. Hrm. I suppose I can answer that myself if I think about it. Are you ok?"
Sarah Connor	What the?? As far as Sarah could think, fire *was* a cleanser. You built it hot enough that the terminators turned to ash. He probably didn't mean that thought. In the jungle many people burned fire pits, and candles, not that she took it all in. But, again, she suspected he meant something else. "I got them off." At least there was one question she could answer.
Askante	"Good, good. That's a good thing," Askante rubs a couple of hands over its face, vigorously; an oddly human gesture, then lets them just rest in its lap, propping itself with the other pair. "I am sorry you were pulled into this. I did not mean that. Maybe I should've just travelled to here." It grunts, then wearily pulls a hand up to grab more candy for the sugar rush of energy. Several gummy fruit sweets later and it seems satisfied enough. "You seem to be handling this quite well."
Sarah Connor	Was she taking it well? By the time that she was confronted with the truth about him, they were already helping the elderly Chinese couple. There was no time to freak out then. And now? "I've got my reasons.Trust me, even if you were the holder of the portals to hell, I've got other things to worry about." Like the elimination of most of the world, and the rise of machines. Like that.
Askante	"I would not like to be the holder of the portals to hell. I can probably get there, with enough time to walk the ways, but it's not exactly the most pleasant of places to visit," Askante replies, but pauses afterwards, cocking its head and looking at her sidelong as the last of the garbage fires smolder out. "What threat do you face, that is so terrible that such a thing as the gateway to hell is trivial?" it asks.
Sarah Connor	"Help yourself." Sarah really doesn't care about hell. Really she doesn't. If she believed in condemning to hell it would be ok, as long as she put down Skynet. For a minute she looks at him, before answering. "The end of the earth and all its inhabitants." To some degree. Some would be taken into servitude, she imagines going on what Derick had said. But the bulk of them would be extraneous and as such would be eliminated.
Askante	"....Oh," well, that's a big one. Askante looks up at the canopy of mostly leafless branches, around and back to her. "Well, we apparently are on the same side, to varying degrees." That reply isn't helpful, but it doesn't seem to care. "I care about humanity and its perseverance. If you take care of the pennies, the dollars take care of themselves." It takes a deep breath, then gets its feet underneath it. "I am sorry about getting you involved, but it sounds like my activity may have been a trivial distraction. Good luck. If you need -my- help, leave a message at the Church du Lac in sunndale." It wobbles for a moment, then seems to get its feet and thereafter, poofs in a fleeting cloud of all things horrifing. Luckily, that is a contracting cloud that vanishes in on itself.