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Post by Dez on Jul 21, 2011 0:16:25 GMT
Desmond was seated at a cast iron table with a glass table top on the outside patio of a popular cafe in the shopping district. Desmond did not truly consider this place part of the shopping district, it was on the very outskirts of the hustle and bustle of the main streets.
The legs of the cafe table twisted up mimicking the gnarled roots of an old tree. The roots held up the glass table top, speaking of which, the table was surprisingly clean considering glass showed every speck of dust and dirt imaginable. Maybe for that reason they would be cleaner than wooden tables where patrons could not see grime so easily. Desmond contemplated this as he sipped his chai tea. This cafe was the only cafe in the entire city that could make chai tea properly. Chai tea was not supposed to come in a little instant tea bag to be dipped in hot water.. it took time.
In front of Desmond was a little coaster for his tea cup, beside that was his laptop. The cafe also had free wifi, which was an added bonus. The staff knew Desmond quite well, and he was on a first name basis with most of the servers. They knew to leave him alone when he was scanning over documents. Desmond usually did his translations for clients at the cafe, he did some Watcher business there, but barely any. Beside Desmond in a cast iron chair was Dez' messenger bag. There was something in it that he was trying to avoid reading.
Desmond occasionally flicked open the internet to play internet chess with someone in... he looked down at the info of his opponent. With someone from Istanbul, Turkey. Interesting. The two were pretty much on par, but Dez was sure the guy was really pissed at him, Dez never made a move within any certain time. He sometimes made a move right away, other times it took 45 minutes because he was distracted with something. Once it took him a week to make a move.
Dez kept glancing down at his bag. He could see the crisp white envelope peeking out at him. Dez looked back up at the computer screen. Big red words 'CHECKMATE' flashed on the screen. A poorly written message by his opponent flickered on the chat box. It looked something like 'aha I beat you'. The Watcher growled and closed his laptop. "Bastard."
Dez leaned into his chair and sighed. He glanced back down at the envelope and decided to open it. "Fine.. What the hell" The envelope bore the official seal from the Council. It had his full name handwritten on the front, 'Desmond Tariq Harker'. His address was not on there and there was no return address. Someone directly from the council had dropped it into his mail slot. He shuddered to think who. The Watcher sliced open the letter with his keys and pulled out the paper. His dark eyes scanned over the words.
"Oh.. shit." The letter was basically telling him to keep tabs on three potential slayers in the area. The suspects' names, last known location and physical appearance were written in the letter. An email would be sent later with more details of his assignment.
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Post by Ophelia Marshall on Jul 21, 2011 0:30:12 GMT
The last body Ophelia had killed hadn’t gone so great. It had vanished! There had been no hint of the gruesome murder in the press, in the police, or under bridges. And the homeless always knew about a murder. Ophelia signed as she entered the café. That murder…that gruesome, ghastly, abhorrently evil murder had been something she had never done before. It was a masterpiece. And it was gone. Ophelia was so sad that she could just weep. Though to be honest she really wasn’t sad, she knew she should feel sad or at least annoyed. But instead she was empty. Maybe curious. But otherwise, the red head felt no emotion.
As Ophelia entered the café in tight jeans, black boots, a green shirt and a mini black leather jacket the bell rung above her head. Ophelia took a glance around the café and chose an isolated seat. She pulled out a mini laptop from her brown side bag. She had just purchased it. Ophelia wanted to send a note to the police, to the press, to someone. She wanted answers. Were the police ignoring her? It made her furious! “A coffee with cream and sugar and a slice of your chocolate cheesecake.” Ophelia ordered. As the waitress left Ophelia turned the minicomputer on off of hibernate mode.
If anyone read these words they would shock and stun. Not to mention a little do gooder would simply shit themselves! It was just a rough draft but it read: I killed someone and the body disappeared. What the fuck? Where are the bodies going? I’m going to kill someone each hour on the hour until the media acknowledges these deaths. Try and hide all those bodies.
Ophelia studied the words over and over again. Was that rage? Ophelia felt no rage but felt that she portrayed someone that was not her. That was good. She did not want her writing to read back to her. But still, Ophelia read those simple words for hours and hours and hours last night and the night before. She probably wouldn’t send it. But she wanted to get a feeling for a café. How to blend in, how to be anonymous. There was no way she would send anything like that from this empty café – correction, virtually empty. The café needed to be busier so she wouldn’t be noticed. And she needed to change her appearance a bit if she sent any letter.
Her food and drink arrived and Ophelia thanked the woman with simple words making sure to not have any hint of accent.
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Post by Dez on Jul 21, 2011 1:33:17 GMT
Desmond heard the bell ring inside the shop. It snapped him out of his long train of thought. He had already read the letter over a few hundred times. Taking on three slayers.. That was huge. The letter never said he had to train all three of them, they just wanted him to observe them. The easiest way to keep tabs on every girl was to try to befriend them, maybe establish a working relationship, or at the very least bribe them into cooperation with cookies and sharp weapons. Bollocks. He sighed and packed up his gear. Dez was leaving. He could not read the files in the cafe. He needed his heavily encrypted internet connection back at his flat.
The Watcher closed up his satchel after shoving his laptop inside. He carefully closed the clasp then went to storm through the cafe's eat in area. Dez was royally pissed. Three.Fucking.Slayers. There was no way that was going to end well. Not to mention his experience with the last one did not give him much confidence.
He stopped suddenly in the middle of the cafe. His vision blurred and he felt a slight pull on his sleeve.
Turn around
Dez frowned and turned around slowly. The cafe went silent and time seemed to slow down. The entire room was still blurry except for one figure. A beautiful red headed woman in a black leather jacket and green shirt put her beautiful scarlet lips up to a coffee cup. Desmond inhaled sharply and time resumed. His sight returned to him and someone turned the world's sound back on.
"..." Desmond made his way to the counter of the shop and motioned for one of the waitresses to come to him. "Shauna.. Do you know who that red head in the corner is?"
The waitress looked over his shoulder then shook her head. "No.. sorry Mr. Harker.. I can go find out for you."
Dez shook his head. "Nah. Be a good girl and stay away. She got anything else ordered?"
Shauna shook her head no. The Watcher tapped the counter then nodded his thanks. He had found his first slayer. Judging by the letter, this fox was called Ophelia. Some fledgling Watcher had probably done a few months worth of leg work to simply find out what the woman's name was. Desmond needed to talk to her right away. He tried to look serious but his attire did not really scream 'professional slayer trainer'. He wore a plain black t-shirt with a white text that read 'there are 7 ninjas on this shirt. Try to find them.' Paired with his t-shirt the had on dark jeans, combat boots and his favourite article of clothing that doubled as body armor, a black duster. Equipped with nothing more than his sense of duty, British charm, and a piss poor fashion sense, he approached the woman.
"Ophelia?"
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Post by Ophelia Marshall on Jul 21, 2011 2:07:01 GMT
The coffee was okay. But to he honest it all tasted the same, except when it was cold. All cafes seemed to use standard cream packages and sugar. There really wasn't a variety. Ophelia never trusted anyone but she certainly never would talk to someone or trust them if they drank their coffee black. How did people drink black coffee? Did they do it just to stay awake? - Kind of how you chucked down cold medicine with it's disgusting taste. It wasn't hard to add cream and it wasn't showing weakness. Whoever thought drinking coffee black meant you were a tough bloke needed to get some priorities straightened out.
Ophelia wasnt enjoying her coffee but the look on her face was one of contempt. She had worked hard at not appearing emotionless or careless (or laughing out loud when someone important has been found dead). Because that would mean you were uncaring. And uncaring got you noticed. Getting noticed meant people paying attention. And being given attention meant being paid a visit by the police. So Ophelia sat here and pretended to be contempt drinking coffee while she would rather have a soda or hot chocolate with a marshmallow. A small one, not a large marshmallow. Ophelia didn't want to get fat.
She was reading what she wrote for probably the millionth time. Trying to decide or figure out how to make this letter seem like it was written by a middle aged male, one who lived with his mother, still wet the bed and liked having sex with cats. Yes, that would be funny! Ophelia put a piece of cheesecake to her lips, paused while thinking about her hips, then ate the small bite. It was okay. Nothing special. Ophelia supposed the woman who came here didn't care what they put in their mouths. All of a sudden someone said her name.
"Ophelia."
Ophelia pretended to read the last line in front of her again while smoothly changing topics and closing word. She had not saved the file. Nor had it been under copy or paste. She knew the words by heart. But this was not her current problem. Someone knew her name! Her name! She had no even said her real name to her realtor! She knew no one! How the hell did someone know her name? ... Unless they knew her father. But he was dead and if he had chronies (which he was dead and could not pay them) she doubted that they would be in a cafe. Chronies were more 'violent'.
"Sorry. Beg pardon?" Ophelia said sweetly as if she just realized the man was standing there and had not heard what he said. "Sorry, no. My name is not Ophelia. I think you have me confused with someone else." She said sweely.
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Post by Dez on Jul 22, 2011 21:58:52 GMT
Dez sat down across from her and shook his head. He did not want to scare her off, he had to try and be delicate. The letter had given a full physical description of Ophelia and… something.. else had told him it was her. Maybe it was his instincts or something else. Whatever it was, he knew the woman in front of him was Ophelia.
“… I’m not a stalker, I’m not here to frighten you, but I have a very good hunch your name is Ophelia.” He spoke slowly and softly. “My name is Desmond Harker…” The Watcher gestured to himself then tried to pick his words carefully, and figure out how to continue.
“Is there some place where we can talk privately? I’m here to help you.”
He was not sure how she was going to take it. She seemed calm and sweet enough. Maybe it would go well. Then again, in Desmond’s profession, nothing went smoothly. In all honesty he was expecting her to run, perhaps throw her coffee at him, or make a huge scene. Most of the time, it was usually all three. Ophelia had denied who she was, this was another good indication that things were not going to go well.
Desmond watched the beautiful woman carefully. He had already done a once over of her amazing body. Why were the pretty ones such a hassle?
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Post by Ophelia Marshall on Jul 22, 2011 23:02:37 GMT
“Are you calling me a liar?” Ophelia demanded in a tone of voice that said no one had ever called her a liar before. She gave Mr. Desmond Harker the same look of disgust one would give to a drunk homeless person that tried to fondle you in a subway car. “I require no help and I am going nowhere with you. Now leave me alone before I call the police.” Ophelia eyed the woman who had handed her the coffee and the cheesecake, as if eying her for help.
Though the last thing Ophelia wanted was the barista’s help. Nor did she want anyone to call the police. As far as Ophelia and the police were concerned, Ophelia was declared dead, murdered. She slapped her netbook closed and backed away from the chair. She slapped a twenty dollar bill on the table. She had only had one sip of her drink and one tiny minuscule bite of chocolate cheesecake. “Leave me alone.” She said as she headed into the restroom.
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Post by Dez on Jul 22, 2011 23:37:17 GMT
"Ophelia... I'm a Watcher, I wont harm you." He spoke slowly. His dark eyes were fixed on her. He took a step towards her. "You're name is Ophelia Marshall... You have a history of violence.." He took one more step closer. "Your father was an important man..." Dez almost followed her into the bathroom. "You are not calling the police, and I am calling you a liar." He said smoothly.
"If you are trying to hide your identity.. I get it.. but you have an amazing gift... dont fuck it up, and do not fuck with me, Ms. Marshall. We need to talk."
He would let her retreat into the washroom if she wanted, there were no windows in the washroom. Only mirrors, bright lights an a ton of objects that she could come out swinging with when she realized there was no windows to escape from in the washroom. Dez would have to bribe the women in the shop to get out of the store for a while though.
Ophelia could stay there if she wanted to. He would just camp there with his laptop and study her file. He could run an encryption file if he wanted and read up on the emails the Council had promised to send to him. He just preferred not to.
Maybe he should have read her file before confronting her. She was still making him nervous with her attitude. It felt like confronting a co-worker about discovering they were a serial killer. Awkward, tense, and Dez expected Ophelia to try and kill him now. He had no idea how she was going to react if she decided to corner herself in the restroom.
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Post by Ophelia Marshall on Jul 23, 2011 0:19:04 GMT
“Watcher?” she said to herself. She had no idea what that was. Was that American slang for the police? Because then she needed to leave the county, ASAP! Instead of entering the bathroom Ophelia turned around and stared at Desmond Harker. “Ophelia Marshall is dead. She was murdered in an insane asylum.” Since the barista was still here Ophelia didn’t pull out her weapon. She turned slowly to leave the café from the door she had entered. What was this man talking about? – What about her ‘amazing gift’? Did Harker mean this about her skills of killing humans?
The bell rung as Ophelia backed into the street. With her tiny netbook in hand she began to run. Fuck. She did not want to get busted by the American Watchers! Ophelia would get the death penalty ten times over! All of a sudden she felt someone grab her and she fell on the ground, fell on her brand new netbook, breaking it, demolishing it.
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Post by Dez on Jul 25, 2011 11:35:24 GMT
American, peh. Desmond lived in America because he had to, he would not give up his British citizenship that easy. Dez swore under his breath as Ophelia started to run.
Yes, Ophelia Marshall had died in an asylum a long time ago, but here they both were, Desmond was trying to confront a ghost. It stated something about that in the report about her demise… How on earth had the Council come to know of Ophelia’s whereabouts? That was something Desmond would have liked to know. But, it wasn't his place, he just had to fulfill his orders. Though... he really would have loved to know how they tracked her. She would have alot of questions and he would have no answers.
Desmond had to do this quickly. He needed to get Ophelia out of sight while managing not to get hurt. He knew the real danger would occur when there were no witnesses around. Damn, this was not how he wanted to meet the slayers he was supposed to be observing.
The Watcher ran after Ophelia and grabbed her arm. Maybe he pulled her back too hard, but the end result was the Slayer falling to the ground hard. He heard a horrible breaking sound. Dez figured it was something in Ophelia’s bag that she had fallen on.
The Watcher knelt beside her and put his hand forcefully on her shoulder to keep her from springing up again and running off. “Ophelia… I am not a cop... come with me, before someone calls the authorities. We’ll both be called in for questioning… Come.”
While he was there, he checked the obvious places for weapons. She had to be packing something. “I wont hurt you.. but I doubt you would share the same desire for me.”
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Post by Ophelia Marshall on Jul 25, 2011 14:00:10 GMT
“Fine. I’ll go with you, watcher.” She said ‘watcher’ as if she was standing in manure and forced to eat bugs and dead lizard guts. “But do not think you can fondle me.” She said coldly as she got up, thinking about her smashed netbook. The thing was absolutely worthless now. It only held on her fingerprints and that was the reason she didn’t throw it in the rubbish bin. The man held a British accent but he could have been a cop. He probably wasn’t a cop, but he was still something. She wondered if she could place his accent, having been to England before.
Ophelia was packing weapons. Not a lot, but a little. Not as much as she usually had on her when she went out ‘hunting’. Her gun was still in her bag, and her knife was in her boot. Thankfully this time the safety was on the ‘on’ position as she normally kept the safety in the ‘off’ position. Ophelia got up and followed the man. She had a fleeting thought if the man thought she was a ghost. She was supposed to be dead, murdered at an insane asylum she had been committed to. Only she had escaped before the massacre had started with a brilliant timing in place. The only reason she was thought to have been killed was her things were with the mangled other bodies of other patients who had been dismembered. Ophelia wondered if these watchers dug up the grave her mother and father had in the family plot and did DNA testings on them.
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Post by Dez on Jul 27, 2011 4:34:12 GMT
"Right... no fondling." The Watcher rolled his eyes. The woman was very attractive, Desmond knew it, Ophelia knew it, the whole entire world probably knew it, it did not mean Desmond wanted her. Ophelia was his assignment, and she was too wild. The Watcher stopped patting her down and slowly stood up. He had extended his hand to the woman but she simply got up on her own.
"Are you alright?" He was just concerned after hearing the horrible crunching noise. It had sounded like the Slayer had landed on something very hard. He stood there for a moment then began walking.
"Right, come along then." Desmond did not have an official Watcher office yet. He was the only Watcher in the city, there was no real HQ. Considering the demonic activity in the area, he was actually quite shocked at the Council's lack of action or interest for the city. Desmond did not want to bring the woman to his flat. He did not know if Leo was there, and he did not want her knowing where he lived for obvious safety reasons. They were going to go to his 'office'. Desmond had a day job as a lecturer for special events, and at a university in the next town. His biggest source of income was translating documents in Latin, Greek, ancient Egyptian, and various demonic languages for students, textbook companies, and for private collectors who possessed valuable artifacts. On the side, Desmond also researched artifacts, papyri, and old texts. Though this did not seem like it would be a large money making business, it actually was. Desmond was good at his job.
To make himself seem more professional, Desmond rented out a small office in the Old District. It was situated on top of another store. As a favor, the store owner had rented out the space to him because Desmond had taken care of a vampire in the area.
The office had its own entrance by way of dark painted metal stairs attached to the side of the building. Once the caller reached the top landing, there was a wooden door with a frosted glass window with gold words that read "Desmond Harker PhD, Research and Translations". The PhD stood for Philosophy Doctorate. He hated it when people called him Dr. Harker, he believed the only people who should be called doctors were the medical ones.
"Look.. Ophelia.. I dont quite have all the answers, but I'll try to answer what I can." Desmond led the Slayer to his office and unlocked the door he moved to let Ophelia walk in first.
The interior of Desmond's office was outdated to say the least. Everything Desmond had was second hand. The dark leather sofa against the wall closest to the door was comfortable as hell, but was extremely old. The entire room was about 15 x 15 feet painted in neutral colours with dark hardwood flooring. Anyone could tell Desmond did not spend a lot of time in his office. Beside the leather sofa was a lamp and an ikea side table. Beside that was an L shape ikea book case. There were a few rare books in Dez' collection, but most of the rare stuff was back at Desmond's apartment. The rest was the usual academic research books, some of which were old University texts. There was a small door for an even smaller windowless washroom, then beside that was Desmond's basic wooden desk and chair. There was nothing really on it besides a phone, a lamp, a note pad and a connection cable for Dez to connect his laptop to when he was actually in the office. Behind the desk was an unplugged mini fridge, another book case, and Desmond's framed PhD certificate.
"Have a seat. Can I get you some water?"
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Post by Ophelia Marshall on Jul 27, 2011 18:29:15 GMT
“A vodka tonic or a glass of port will be fine.” Ophelia said, disgusted at the thought of water. Though she would have settled for a beverage of coca-cola. Though she would not drink anything he gave her even if it was a fifteen year old glass of port. She loomed about the office looking a bit before she sat down behind the desk in the chair that ought to have been the PhD’s.
Desmond Harker had made a big mistake bringing her to his office. If Ophelia wanted to kill him (which she did) then it would only be too easy to find him later. She could snuff him out at his office or at the pleasure of his home. She moved the chair back, crossed her legs and looked at the books lying about on the table. She was sufficient in twelve languages, and was learning her thirteenth, only she hadn’t become a doctor.
“Why are you looking for Ophelia? And what is a watcher?” she asked. Ophelia wasn’t going to admit that she was Ophelia, even if it was blatantly obvious. But really, damn it. She had been declared legally dead. She had a legal grave and a legal coffin and everything even if no body was ever in it, but some mangled pieces of gore. In all honesty she didn’t have too many questions.
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Post by Dez on Jul 30, 2011 21:39:21 GMT
Desmond frowned when she asked for alcohol. Desmond liked to drink, but not on duty. He was not the type to mix work with pleasure. He had to say, Ophelia had good taste.
"Sorry, I just have water here." He rolled his eyes when she picked his desk to sit in. Of course, Desmond knew she would. Ophelia just seemed to be that kind of girl. A rebellious, dangerous, cold, bitch. She probably knew it. Desmond would let it slide for now, though that was not a good first impression. She probably did not care, but he felt a small annoyance already. Asserting himself now would have turned her off from him completely for the rest of the night. He needed her to be somewhat attentive to what he had to say.
Desmond's dark eyes followed the red head's actions as she looked over his collection of antique books sitting on Desmond's desk. He really had to get those restored soon.
"Fine, I'll humor you, I am looking for Ophelia because I have reason to believe that she has the potential and power to become a Slayer. Slayer basically being a young woman possessing ancient powers capable of defeating and hunting monsters who threaten the natural order of things. I say 'become' because without refinement and my resources, she's just a strong, angry girl waving around pointed stick at monsters." Desmond crossed his arms. "A Watcher is assigned to a Slayer and provide support and train a slayer to fulfill their duties. Its a really long boring tradition, I'm sure you're not interested in the history..."
The Watcher leaned against his desk and looked down at the woman. "Right now, I'm supposed to make sure you don't get into trouble. So I'm asking for your co-operation, Ophelia."
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Post by Ophelia Marshall on Aug 2, 2011 20:03:54 GMT
Ophelia gaped open mouthed at Desmond. She realized her mouth was open and promptly closed it. “You know,” she said, trying to speak calmly. “I am sure the people at any mental asylum would absolutely love to hear the history of slayers and watchers.” Ophelia knew what ‘monsters’ Desmond was talking about. But she would not talk about it. It was what got her in the mental asylum in the first place!
“How do I know you’re not wearing a wire or have some damned camera in here?” she asked. Strange enough, Ophelia decided that she wouldn’t kill Desmond anymore. Not after what he told her. Ophelia loved killing and she hated vampires. She could kill a person who hated vampires but it just made more sense to leave the people who killed and hated vampires to live and let them kill and let the hate for vampires fester.
But even though she thought she might not kill him, she wouldn’t admit to a thing. Ophelia would NOT spend a single minute in another mental asylum or jail / prison. She had learned from her mistake those many years ago. Come to think of it, perhaps these people knew of Ophelia because she had ranted and raved that the men she had killed on camera had been vampires. And her insaneness had been very convincing. “Why can I believe you? Why should I trust you? How do I know you haven’t called the cops or the nearest asylum?”
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