by Night » 12/15/2016 5:32 AM
Lero frowned at Tarot's enthusiastic want to help, shaking his head before jogging to keep up. He couldn't help but feel as though the sahound was getting in over his head. Hell, they were over their head, and they had already dealt with the creepy cultists before. They needed lawful intervention, or at least someone with a gun. It wasn't as though they could call anyone in, though - what would he say? 'Hey, so sorry to interrupt your eating donuts or writing a traffic ticket or whatever, but we're being stalked by weird people in cloaks trying to resurrect an evil spirit into our friend Bob. We thought they'd given up, but whoop! Here they are, hunting us down to try and get to our friend that died but didn't. Also don't tell anyone." It sounded good to him, but he didn't think it seemed very believable. There was a reason they kept their line of work a secret, and it wasn't entirely because the church had threatened them to keep their mouths shut. More than anything, it was the sheer look of disgusted incredulity that people gave them when they offered to help with their problems; and that was after they had experienced the paranormal firsthand. He didn't even want to consider how crazy they sounded to people with no prior experiences to draw on.
Bob was a silent figure behind him, close enough that he could feel the heat pouring off of him. It should have been distracting. Instead, it was a steady reassurance at his back. They wove through the hallways behind Tarot, hoping against hope that they would manage to find their companions before anyone else found them. The last thing they needed was another civilian casualty on their hands, despite whatever martyristic qualities Tarot was seeking to pursue.
The trail lead them to a closed doorway - a hotel room, as inconspicuous as any other. They would never have been able to pick it out of the hundreds of others in the building. He wanted to thank the sahound for his help, but he was afraid if he opened his mouth he might be sick from the fear and guilt at war in his gut. Bob rapped hard on the door, casting his eyes down the hallway. They could hear someone approach the peephole, standing on the other side. When the door was thrown back, Brian was standing on the other side, rumpled and wide-eyed but otherwise relieved to see them. He hauled Lero in by his shirt collar, trusting Bob and Tarot to file in after him in short order. They didn't need to be seen - compromised. Bob shut and locked the door behind them, standing with his back pressed up against it as though his bulk alone would save him if someone sincerely wanted in.
"Oh thank god. I thought they may have got you." Brian shoved his fingers through his hair, his normally slick appearance disheveled. He looked stressed, and tired. Lero could relate. He looked around the room, noting Oliver and Jay huddled on the bed furthest from the door. Oliver looked pale and drawn, his arms wrapped around his knees. His throat was still an angry red, blistered and burned looking. For the first time since they had begun this little adventure, he seemed scared. Brian pinched his nose.
"We ran into one of them in the hallway." Bob told Brian. "They're... They were asking about Oliver." His gaze flickered guiltily to the priest. "They were calling him 'The Resurrected.' We managed to throw him off, but I don't know how long it'll be before they find us. Tarot helped us find you guys." Bob smiled down at the sahound, his tone reverent and grateful. In their line of work, a helping hand didn't go unnoticed. "Lero took something off of the one we saw."
From his pocket, Lero pulled the sphere, offering it to Brian to inspect. He turned it this way and that in his palms, looking it over. It was a hazy, dirty looking blue, something swirling in its depths. What had at first appeared to be a perfect sphere was interrupted periodically by archaic symbols - one at either end. The first Lero recognized, having been on the receiving end of its intention more than a few times. He pointed to it, holding his finger a few inches above the ball. He didn't want to touch it. Considering Brian didn't have the same qualms, he doubted that the other man could feel it. "This one here, it means Resurrection." He told the group at large, surprising everyone with his knowledge. "What? I can read a book, motherfucker!" He glared down Jay and Brian each in turn, then motioned for Brian to roll the sphere onto its opposite end. "It's this one that I don't know anything about."
His piece said, he slid down the wall until he was on level with Tarot. "Thank you." He whispered, not wanting to break Brian's concentration as he looked over the foreign object. "I don't know how smart you are, to be getting involved in all of this disaster. But thank you."
Brian shrugged after a moment, turning towards the bed. "I can't make anything of it, other than it looks old." He offered the ball to Oliver, who held out his hands to take it. Jay slammed himself backwards, nearly falling off the bed. "Oliver, do-"
But he already had his fingers wrapped over the sphere, inspecting it and turning it between them. Oliver's posture stiffened, his entire being rigid. He stood, slow and precise and entirely inhuman in his movements. "Get out." His voice was frantic, entirely counterpoint to his expression which was devoid completely of any emotion. He turned and threw the sphere against the wall, where it shattered and spilled down the ugly floral wallpaper. Then, he laughed, a sound like metal grating and chains grinding against one another. Lero stared slack jawed from where he sat on the floor, unconsciously gripping at Tarot's fur.
Oliver rolled his shoulders, twisting his head as though he were stretching. When he spoke, his voice was different. It still sounded like Oliver, but it was twisted with a rage the likes of which Lero could only compare to a serial killer. It was cold and bitter, tempered with a smile that was all tooth and sadistic pleasure. "I was wondering if you would figure it out." He purred. He moved with a feline grace that was so unlike himself, who was normally all gangly limbs and excitement. "I was so disappointed, really, how little you know your beloved priest. You claim to be his friend, but you were all so willing to sit and watch as he slunk further and further into himself and let me take over. So very, very disappointed." He was close enough to Brian now to raise a hand and trail it along his jawline. It was almost intimate, like a lover's touch. "But not surprised."
And he slapped him.