Census of The Dead [open]

[Damian]

Graveyards were an excellent source of information.

Or, more precisely, an excellent place to start on the search for information. After a long year of being away from home, Damir had no idea who was alive and who was dead. Mossy Hollow may seem a sleepy little town on the surface, but for someone who lived and breathed information, it was a hub of intrigue. Sure, where it had been for the past year may have been a much more murderous city, but it never hurt to check the farthest, and newest, sections of the graveyard for any lucky new residents. It was here often enough before its leave that it would recognize any new names and any new graves. The dead were quite used to the volant's company.

The sun shone brightly that day, beating down on Damir's back as it picked its way through the rows and rows of headstones. Today, it thought bitterly, was not the day to wear black. Its wings were spread widely as they usually were when it was alone, providing some small amount of shade. There was never a time it would deny itself the pleasure of the wind through its feathers. Damir was used to flying and flying often, and was a creature of the skies by nature. It was very proud of its wings; even if they made navigating the graveyard tricky.

After a few minutes of awkward shuffling and frustrated curses, Damir reached the farthest section of the yard. Its eyes quickly scanned its surroundings, checking to be sure it was alone, and then pulled a small notebook from its black coat. It had learned over the years that those in mourning did not take kindly to a strange volant taking notes on the details of their loved one's deaths.

It examined the smooth grey headstones with annoyance. They were all so similar, it had to check the names on each one with its notes in order to recognize the newest additions. Most of the graves Damir was familliar with, though there were two or three which had not been there a year previously. No names it recognized, however, which was both a relief and a disappointment. It began to record the names and deaths of the deceased, adding to its list - a list which was composed of every single grave, in chronological order. As it wrote, its face crinkled up in concentration, brows coming together in frustration. The bright sunlight reflecting from the white paper was making the process take far too long.

Even in the light of day, it was never wise to linger in a field of the dead.

[jayRIOT !]

  

Graveyards never really got any less depressing, regardless of how often one visited.  It had been a habit of Kaelynn and her father's to visit the final resting place of her mother after her passing.  Well, more a ritual than a habit.  With as heartbroken as her dad was ever since the cancer took her mom, Kaelynn had always had the feeling that these visits were more important to him as a way of refusing to let go.  His daughter felt like the visits were kind of pointless; she missed her mom of course, but what good was going here the first and third week of each month going to do?  It wouldn't bring her back.  It wouldn't fix the holes in their hearts.  They wouldn't make her dad suddenly be himself again, with all the enthusiasm and love he'd once shown his only child.

But apparently, the habit of the visits had stuck with the young woman.  Even when her dad had gotten into that accident and put himself into a coma, Kaelynn still came to visit her mom's grave.  She brought twice the flowers now, so that it was like nothing was even missing; like her dad was still there.  And now, three years after the accident, she still brought twice the flowers: her typical deposit to her mother's headstone, and now an equal bouquet to her father's.

The all-too familiar lump in Kaelynn's throat grew larger as she parked her white Nissan and slammed the door, flowers in arm.  Some days she managed to desensitize herself to the depression and massive display of death that seemed to watch her every move as she made her way to the Millers' headstones.  It was sort of a creepy feeling, like the eyes of those six feet below the surface were actually seeing her in their deep, fathomless stares turned skyward for the rest of eternity.  Oh, stop it, she chastised herself.  Seriously.  It's just a bunch of deceased people in coffins.  You're way too morbid these days.  Adding a mental shake to her reprimand, Kaelynn followed the walkway through a section of older gothic-style markers and found herself standing before the lightly weathered marble slab above her father and it's neighbor, the weather-stained stone commemorating her mother.  It was sort of a hollow feeling, standing there seeing them.  Almost like they weren't even her parents, weren't even people she knew.  She stood there, staring at the writing on the headstones and trying not to think about the hand she'd been dealt.

Kneeling down, the young woman placed the array of yellow bulbs atop her mother's resting place, and the pale blue tulips atop her father's.  She sat there for a moment, reflecting on what her mother was like, and what she would have been like if she had been able to watch her daughter grow.  Kaelynn remembered her mom, but each day it seemed like parts of her memory were being taken away and locked in some safe she couldn't open.  It was mostly just snippets and pictures left to sort through of the woman who gave birth to her.  Kaelynn's reflections had just turned to her father when a dark movement out of the very corner of her eye drew her attention, and Kaelynn glanced over to see a tall dark figure hunched over something.  From her vantage point so low to the ground, Kaelynn couldn't make much detail out and was torn between minding her own business and investigating.  Her melancholy mood won out, and Kaelynn relaxed from her curious position and leaned back with her arms out stretched behind her, lost in her thoughts once more without realizing that if she had noticed whoever - or whatever - else was here, they may have noticed her arrival as well.

Word Count; 631
Notes; It's been a while...'>>
Outfit; Click!

[Damian]

Graves told stories. They told the story of a sentient being, from beginning to end. It left so much to the imagination and so much to be found. Even the items left around a headstone told stories. People, Damir had found, would always try to make something so final as death into a story of beauty. They left flowers, as if the dead could find guidance in the beauty of something still living.

The people who visited graves told stories as well. It heard the footsteps before it saw the source. It was hard to mistake the sound of feet hitting dirt, the heavy steps of one with a heavy heart. Quickly, and more than a little awkwardly, Damir folded its wings and slipped the notebook into the pocket of its jacket. The glare of sunlight made it impossible to see more than the vague shape of the graveyard's other visitor. Even that was enough to make out the flowers in the woman's hand as she knelt between two of the graves. One was a more recently added, the elements not yet wearing it down, though it had lost its polished look. The other had been there for quite some time, and Damir thought it knew the vague story behind the owner's death. Truthfully, the volant had never paid much attention to deaths from cancer. There was nothing suspicious to it and no useful information to be gained.

But it never hurt to be sure, or to hear another story.

Glancing around, Damir noticed a peony flower in full bloom a few meters away. They were commonly planted among the dead, it knew. With telekenisis the volant plucked the bright flower and moved towards the kneeling woman, ruffling its wings to be sure she would hear it coming and would not be caught off guard.

"Cancer is an emotional disease," it said softly as it knelt beside the older of the two graves and placed the flower atop those the woman had brought, a splash of bright pink and yellow against the stark, hard grey of the grave. "When it takes one, it drags dozens of others down with them."

[jayRIOT !]

Alerted by the soft shuffling sound, Kaelynn felt more than saw the approach of whomever else was in the cemetery with her.  It had broken her train of thought, but she stayed still and hoped maybe whoever it was would just pass her by.  You never really knew what conversation would be getting you into when you lived in Mossy Hollow.  And for someone as recently turned non-human as Kaelynn, she still had a case of the jitters whenever being approached.  Jeez, she thought with a sigh.  I've been changing each month for a year now and I'm still jumpy.  This has got to be a sign I'm a big baby...

Kaelynn felt herself frown when it made the comment about cancer and placed the flower atop her own floral offering.  Did they know her mother?  Well, maybe not.  Was it possible they just saw the small cancer awareness ribbon etched in the corner of her grave marker.  Whatever.  Either way, Kaelynn appreciated the gesture, even if it was a little odd to be approached by a stranger in a graveyard and for them to offer a flower to your deceased mom.

Deciding to let it slide but stay on her toes just in case, the young woman nodded and leaned forward, stealing a glance to the being that had joined her.  It was a volant - and a Mammalian one at that.  Their reputation struck a chord in Kaelynn's mind and she almost jumped back and gave it some space before she realized that her first impression had been wrong.  While the volant was wearing black and had darker hair, it wasn't Mammalian.  Trying not to show her surprise on her face, the werewolf made her reply in an even tone, hoping that it hadn't caught her moment of misidentification.  She knew that even the volant spirits were different from one another and that it really didn't matter if they were Avian or not, but she'd had her fair share of run-ins in the past with a few and had to admit she was a little racist against them and felt far less jumpy around Avians.

"Every time I think her disease is letting me claw my way to the surface, I find myself drowning again," she admitted.  Then with a slight gesture toward her father's grave, she added, "I guess the same thing happened to him.  It drug him down pretty far."  The truth was, Kaelynn often felt that the cancer was harder on her dad than it was on her mom.  For the short time that they could afford chemo, the treatment seemed to make her father more sick and upset than her mother.  Of course, that could just be what she chose to remember; at six and seven years old, Kaelynn had picked up on the huge amounts of distress in the household but didn't remember pinpointing exactly where the bad feelings came from most - her mom, or her dad.  And over the years after her mom's passing, all Kaelynn had was the sadness and pain left by her father.  She wondered if maybe this thing knew where she was coming from.  Did volants get cancer?  Or...even sick?  She realized she didn't know one way or the other.

Word Count; 542
Notes; c:
Outfit; Click!

[Damian]

While Damir was used to being mistaken for one its Mammalian brothers, it never grew used to their reactions. It knew, of course, of their reputation; that they were just as likely to bed you as they were to stab you in the back. Their promiscuity was the key reason most distrusted them, second being their likening to devils, (though which came first, the volants or the devils, was another topic altogether). The first part, it had to relent, was true enough. If anything, that was what set Damir apart from them the most. In the thirty one years of life it had lived, the desire for sex had never really been there.

Tactfully, it chose to ignore the woman's uneasy first response. It settled itself in a more comfortable position and turned its attention to her. She was young, it noticed, and judging from the way she spoke of the two deceased, they were close family members. Her parents, most likely. Damir felt a twinge of sympathy, and without really thinking about it laid a gentle hand on her shoulder. It was hard, it knew, to be alone. Of course, she was young, and for all Damir knew had friends and a boyfriend or was even engaged. But something told it that she was alone - in one way or another.

"You're young," it said, "and you're strong. You can fight for breath, even if it's hard." Damir smiled, "Besides that, at least you can swim, unlike me."

Jokes, perhaps, were not appropriate, but Damir wanted this woman to trust him. It wanted to help her. Even if all it could to was console her in her mourning. For a moment, it debated telling her its alias instead of its name, but decided against it. Trust, Damir knew, was a two way street. Besides, it doubted she knew of its occupation.

"I'm Damir, by the way."

[avery]

Haytham didn't usually take breaks, since in such a small town his job tended to be one long break, but it wasn't even close to the time where he got off and it had been a long day. There'd been a reschedule -- a funeral for next week had needed to be held tomorrow -- and the employees that did more than answer phones and schedule had been scrambling to get everything ready. He felt the stress from his place at the front, and he'd asked someone to cover for him a few minutes before heading outside, thinking they would be just as glad for the break as he would be to get outside.

The sun didn't help, nor did the fresh air, and so he dug a hand into his pocket and took out a cigarette, sneaking a glance around before lighting it with his 'natural talents' and lifting it to his lips to take a drag. He lazily breathed out the smoke, since it was nearly second nature for a drake to produce smoke, and untucked his dress shirt before leaning against the wall. He stayed like that a moment before he pushed away and headed towards the graves.

Movement would keep him warmest, even if the day was surprisingly warm, and where better to move than between the graves?

He was surprised to see people, and he quickly realized that his smoking would probably he seen as disrespectful and, er, unprofessional. Crap. He dropped it to the sidewalk and quickly ground his heel against it to make extra sure it was good and not-on-fire, trying to tuck in his shirt quickly and not do it horribly. He was glad that the two were, as far as he could tell, talking and hopefully not paying attention to the awkward drake in the distance. When he felt appropriate enough he began to walk towards them, wincing when he saw one place their hand on the other's shoulder (because that meant his offer of help would probably be an annoyance) but continuing anyway because it'd give him an excuse to stay outside longer.

Stopping a few feet away, what he felt a respectful distance, he cleared his throat and tried not to seem too invasive. "I, erm. Do you need any assistance? With finding anyone or..." He realized that, whoever they were, they'd probably found whoever they were looking for. "... flowers." He saw the splash of color near the headstones. They'd brought their own. The more he talked the less he was sure he should have approached these people, but he was committed now.

[jayRIOT !]

Although Kaelynn still felt a little awkward and on-edge, she smiled at the volant's humor.  She appreciated the effort, at the very least.  It made her wonder about this creature's family, and then she realized how little she knew about them.  Well, how little she really knew.  She'd been made aware of their reputations, of course.  If nothing else, Mossy Hollow was good for reputations.  But as far as any information on the creature origins or...anything, she was clueless.  Kaelynn realized she would have to do her homework on them.

"Kaelynn," she offered with a quirk of her mouth, intending a smile.  "I think I'd prefer to fly than to swim.  I seem to always find the undertow."  It wasn't really very funny, but in the present situation that was probably suitable.  The young woman glanced at the volant's hand on her shoulder and again had to remind herself not to be startled or overreact.  It was probably only trying to comfort her.  Nothing wrong with that, right?

Yet another movement coming from ahead drew the young werewolf's attention, and Kaelynn glanced up in time to see a nicely dressed guy who, if she was being honest with herself, looked like he himself practically had one foot in the grave.  She assumed he worked here based on his attire as well as his offer of assistance.  Knowing it was probably just part of his job and that he wasn't trying to get up in her business for no reason, Kaelynn extended her polite expression to the newcomer, shaking her head slightly.  "Thank you, I'm just fine.  But, did you...?  It seemed like you were just kind of looking around when I showed up," she added with a glance at Damir.  Maybe that's what he was doing when she arrived, looking for someone or something specific here.  Unfortunately, after all her visits here with her father after her mom passed away, Kaelynn knew the path to this particular area like the back of her hand.  She even had the occasional dream of walking to this spot and offering flowers to her dead parents.  Maybe Damir was newer to the area and hadn't been around here very often or something.

Word Count; 369
Notes; short, sorry :/
Outfit; Click!

[Damian]

Just as it was about to ask about Kaelynn's relationship to the two deceased, a third voice joined them. It was strange, it thought. The voice was slightly familiar. A year away from home, it seemed, had fogged the volant's memory. Of course, it spent a lot of time simple listening and observing others. It wasn't all that strange that Damir had heard the voice before. There were plenty of people who visited its usual haunts. One familiar voice meant nothing. Probably. Damir didn't like ignorance. Not knowing who was behind it was setting it on edge.

Itt always felt uncomfortable with its back – and wings – to strangers. They were fragile things, and while flight was one of Damir's greatest strengths, the fragility of its wings that allowed such flight was also its greatest weakness. So, feeling a little uneasy, it stood from where it was kneeling and dusted the dirt off of its pants. White pants and graveyards were not, it noted, a good idea. It turned to face the newcomer, settling its wings to a more comfortable position on its back. Not that they were ever really comfortable unless extended.

The newcomer looked . . . tired. Scratch that. If Damir was to be honest, he looked as if he was on death's door himself. Damir's first instinct was to ask if the man was going to be okay, but that would have to wait. It was sure it had ran into him before, at least in passing. Probably, he had caught it snooping around the newer graves before. Or maybe not. Damir was always more than a little on edge about being seen in the graveyard.

It winced a little at Kaelynn's question and shook its head. "No, no. I'm not really looking for anyone." How on earth was it supposed to explain what it was doing here? Damir had hoped to avoid this topic; it had planned on  focusing more on Kaelynn than itself. While the volant almost obsessively sought out stranger's stories, sharing its own was another matter altogether. Damir was used to privacy, to being the one putting others in these types of situations. Not being the one cornered with its wings to the wall.

"I was just, well, I was visiting. Just visiting." Even to its own ears that had sounded bad. Who visits a graveyard for fun? Trying to draw attention away from the suspicious activity of 'visiting' a graveyard (and because it was genuinely worried the other man would keel over any second), it took a half step toward him and asked, "You seem ill, are you alright?"

[avery]

He was right about being unable to help, even if the second assurance of not needing it was only a little bit odd, but Haytham took it in stride. "Well, the funeral home's right over there if you do need anything. We usually keep some water in the fridge for people. Since, er, it gets a little hot." Not that he doubted they would linger that long, but there was a chance of it, he supposed. In either case, he probably shouldn't linger long -- it may bother them and he honestly shouldn't ditch his desk -- and he quickly brushed off the volant's question with a "I just look like crap, don't worry about it" and gave them a little wave before turning to leave.

And then the absurdity of the volant's answer hit him, and he turned around a few paces later to give the volant a look. Not an accusatory one -- since, hell, Haytham had spent a lot of time in this same cemetery -- but one that was just a little bit searching. Finally, he asked, "Er, do you happen to be a journalist?"

[jayRIOT !]

Things had suddenly taken an awkward turn here - more awkward than they had already been.  Kaelynn sort of felt out of place now, like she had stumbled in on a scene for a movie when the quiet, dark protagonist is meeting up with someone who would normally seem to be just an extra that got an extended period on the screen that asks too many questions while realizing that they're asking too many, but they can't stop themselves.  And the protagonist is trying to play it off cool so that they don't let on the secret that they're trying to save the world, but at the same time not get too comfortable and let the secret slip.

Ok, well...maybe it wasn't exactly like that in retrospect.  But still, the level of awkwardness was still there, and Kaelynn felt the color rising in her face a little as the funeral home worker dude wallowed in his own sense of awkwardness - both before and after the question after his health - and the volant next to her even had that same vibe going that suggested he was anything but comfortable with the way this "visit" to the graveyard was playing out.  A part of Kaelynn suddenly wished she had come earlier in the day to pay her respects to her parents, or waited until later.  Alas, what was done was done and now she was practically counting down the minutes before she could make a break for her car and not seem like a total creeper.  Something about this guy in the fancy get-up made her a little anxious, too.  She wasn't sure what it was about him, but she felt even more jumpy now that he was here too and it wasn't just her and the Avian.  He was either just really strange, or really good at pretending to be a human.

Ugh...my head hurts.  Too much thinking.  Kaelynn decided that it would probably be best for her to just withdraw from the conversation as much as possible, since it seemed that the two of them were going to strike up a conversation of their own.  And about journalism, of all things.  How interesting.  Leaning back on her butt and placing her arms out behind her to hold her up, Kaelynn gave another half smile to the guy, this one a little less forced than the last, in return for his offer of water up at the funeral home.  It was a little warm out today, but she didn't foresee being here much longer.  Her top was black and drew a lot of the heat toward her, but it was light and airy enough that she could still breathe.  So far it was warm, but she wasn't complaining.  Gently knocking her lilac VANS together to distill some of her tension, the girl returned her gaze to her father's headstone and thought about her last couple of years with him in his comatose state.  She thought about how hard it had been for her to care for him and keep holding out hope that one day he would wake up.

It was funny, in a heart-breakingly ironic way, how her mother's cancer had ultimately taken two lives.  Years apart, but still the cause for two very different lives to be snuffed out.  The young werewolf couldn't help but wonder if maybe her life was heading down a similar path?  She'd inherited her father's drinking problem, though she certainly didn't see it as being nearly as serious as it was for him.  But that didn't mean that, given time, it wouldn't grow to be.  Without realizing it, she pulled one of her arms forward and began nibbling on the cuticle of her thumb nail, trying to find a comfortable area between the tense situation in real life and the depressing could-be situations in her head.

Word Count; 643
Notes; <3
Outfit; Click!