[Dean gets a call from Chris Argent asking for a meeting.
Sam's response was "who?" and he got treated to a long-winded rant about that time Dean and John got pulled onto a job with Gerard Argent, Chris's father, and how that man gave their grandfather on the Campbell side a run for their money. Chris seems to be okay, however, and it's been long enough that any bad blood has likely fallen to the wayside.
A meeting won't hurt anyone, so they set one for a diner just outside of Houston. As they make their way inside, Sam spots the graying hunter, with a dark-haired woman sitting at his side. He turns, nudging his brother, before tipping his head in their direction. He lets Dean lead the way - he knows the guy, but he's still staying on his guard.
Just in case this guy takes after his dad more than he lets on.]
( in terms of vicious ruthlessness, Allison could give her grandfather a run for his money, but that was a dark time. she only stabbed Isaac twenty times. she's got a better head on her shoulders, now. and she knows her grandfather to be corrupted - and dead - now. but, also that his reach is now wider than they can just handle.
it's Allison's call to get the network in the know. they tried to keep it under wraps and in the family (and Scott's pack), but it's wider than even they can cover.
they can only cover a few states at a time, with Isaac helping cover france. but, since they made it to London, there's no telling how far Monroe's influence reaches.
they need to go old school and old school means old school hunters.
she hears about them before they arrive. two brothers who grew up in the life like nomadic military brats. "kind of like me, except I was lied to most of my childhood." she's past it, she still jokes.
dean approaches first, notices Allison and starts to try on that signature smile, but clears his throat because - hey, there's also Chris. )
( One of her other hunters had passed on word that the Winchester's were something to look at. Good to know it wasn't exaggeration. Irrelevant to their proceedings. )
Is it Gerard?
( Dean has to ask. He worked personally with Gerard and that guy scared him. Never mind, he was a kid at the time. That guy would scare him at this age. There was a ruthlessness and coldness in his eyes Dean remembers well. His father always worked with who he needed to, but there was a reason they hadn't dealt with Gerard again. Even when his dad had been called to Beacon Hills, California.
One of the only jobs he remembers his dad turning down.
Allison does look to her father to see if she can say it. That doesn't stop Dean for keeping his foot in his mouth. )
Because, no offense, we don't do jobs with him anymore, and we're both here because Chris called, not his borderline psychotic father.
[Despite having the full weight of the Mikaelson family at her beck and call, when Freya is doing favors for friends, she tends to work out of Rosseau's. She's trying to be a bigger part of the witch community and that means putting some distance between herself and the Abattoir.
It's one of Davina's rules. If Freya wants to be part of the French Quarter coven, then she needs to act like it, and not have the weight of her family looming in the background. Freya agrees.
The bells chime on the door to the back room, and she catches the reflection of dark hair in the silver of Ivy's stew pot. She glances over, eyeing her for a moment before raising an eyebrow.]
Are you here for food or a different kind of cooking?
( Sometimes, Allison does things on her own. The Argents ,while equal opportunity, are still a matriarchy. What she says goes. It started as soon as she came of age. The other hunters respect her. They go where she asks and report back. Scott's pack is an extension, though, she would argue that she and Scott are equals.
She doesn't have to explain herself, or where she's going.
She always had a soft spot in her heart for New Orleans. She was there as a little girl during one of her parents' pit stops. Weird thing was, the entire werewolf population had vanished.
She's told this story now, of course.
But, Allison now has witches of her own on her payroll. And she's been told just how concentrated magic is in NOLA. And not just magic, but people who are magic. The city 'lights up like a Christmas tree.'
She prefers not to make her presence known, or she'd reach out directly to the regent. Despite the Davina Claire's existence, Rousseau's also has the highest concentration of singule conduit magic.
Next best thing?
She takes off her sunglasses and rests them on her head. )
That depends. The sign said you were open?
( Maybe it's a slow day. Better that they're alone. She must be giving off all that magic. )
( She takes off her sunglasses completely, setting them on an empty table in front of her. )
And if I don't exactly know why I'm here?
( Or, who she's supposed to be meeting. She eyes Ivy, who seems friendly. But, Allison doesn't have the power to sense power. She only knows someone here has it. )
She was on her way back to Boston after meeting up with Stiles on a messy case in North Carolina. She tries to tell him that she's not a psychic, that being a banshee doesn't mean she can magically tell whether or not a body is supernatural or caused by Monroe. Banshees are an early warning system, not a divining rod after the fact.
Still, she indulges him if only because sometimes there's some thread they can pull on. And sometimes Stiles just needs someone to talk a case through with.
What are friends for, after all?
She was intending just to head back to his apartment in DC and crash for the night before flying back to Massachusetts, but a torrential downpour caused a massive pile up on the highway, which diverted her to back roads that hand unfortunately been washed out, trapping her in this tiny town in the middle of nowhere.
She grew up in the tiny town in the middle of nowhere. Nothing good ever happened there.
But, she was starving and out of options, so she pulled off to the local bar, hoping to get a drink to stave off all the vibes that set off her death radar. Making her way inside, she pushes up onto one of the bar stools, sending Stiles a quick text to indicate she got delayed, before looking over to the bartender.]
Seven and seven.
[There's a beat, and her stomach rumbles.]
Also, a menu.
that weather. that discovery. that entire caroline ordeal
( It's a cliché, but the wayward, wandering shiftless brother got a job. Okay. He stepped into the job since every single Mystic Grill owner has died or moved away. But, owning the Mystic Grill brings with it its' own set of headaches. Owning the Mystic Grill usually means you're the one bartending when the local high school blows off his shift. (Or. Dies.)
But, it gives him purpose and direction. He was never bad with numbers. He actually keeps the books well until he gets sick of keeping the books and hires someone outside.
He chooses, then, to stop hiring the teenagers that graduate, die, or move away, and to instead, hire the mainstays and newbies.
Damon's not a bad boss, not by a mile. It's mom and pop so as long as you're not trashed, drinking, and driving, you can sip something during your shift or drink with the customer. It's a wonder the Mystic Falls has actually made a profit. It could be his upgrades. It's more modern now with one of those app-based jukeboxes he occasionally forgets to turn on some days.
But, Damon Salvatore? Is pretty happy. His best friend comes in on the nights she doesn't have to work the next day. His other best friend travels. He's mad at her. (He's not mad at her. She deserves the world.) This Damon is more settled, on the blood bag wagon, and actually maintains his interpersonal relationships. Friendly ones, anyway.
It's been awhile in any other capacity.
Damon's working on himself, didn't you know? He learned it from his best friend.
He sets down a napkin and her drink and presents her with the menu. )
Seven and seven. And a menu.
( It's a slow night for them, so Damon's able to stay close as he checks his phone and waits for her to peruse her choices. )
The rest of his crew are generally the ones responsible for fishing supernaturals out of a bad situation, while he handles fielding the calls and making sure all the paperwork was in order. Him going out into the field is a recipe for something being set on fire, and that tends to garner more attention than they need.
But the rest of the crew is out on another job, and a call comes in about an ambush not far from where he is. A family. Kids. He couldn't just sit there.
So he gets off his ass and goes to drive the bus. (Literally, this time. All they had left was a school bus.)
He squeals to a stop in front of a group of supernaturals on the run, heading towards the woods nearby. He pushes open the door of the bus and flashes them a smile.]
( Jackson Whittemore is not a part of McCall's pack. He works with them. He helps. He makes sure other supernaturals like him aren't hunted down, electrocuted, and killed. But, Scott McCall is not pack. He just wants that distinction to be made every time someone he works with asks if Scott wants him to.
It's why he goes off on his own. He calls it freelance, but it's still with Scott's, Stiles, or Lydia's input. Usually Lydia's. He can stand hers. But, Scott's not working alone anymore. He has a whole system in place and packs everywhere.
This one is courtesy of Stiles - via Lydia. He usually refuses Stilinski's calls. Or, he leaves him on READ. Lydia tells him to stop because they all work together.
The front was a foster home - all supernaturals. Arriving there a day early to try and move them all, he realizes the time table got moved up. The parents who visited are not prospective foster parents. Nobody fosters, packing. Maybe rednecks or red states. It's touch and go for the hour he's tranq'd with purple vervain. Hunters need to really keep a network going. Don't they? He comes to and kicks the asses he needs to kick.
Pretty soon, he's leading the group of kids, ushering them away from the house. With no room in his rented Mercedes, he goes to place a call. And then the kids take off running.
"Shit."
Luckily, they don't get far. Stiffening, Jackson weaves through the kids. )
( He hesitates, just because he didn't expect a school bus. Not a very professional outfit. It is underground.
He needs to make the call.
If he's the wrong guy, he'll take care of it. )
Yeah. Get in, everyone.
( He looks back at the house as the children enter the bus.
The front door flies open, what looked to be an older woman looking to foster, but now is still an older woman with grey hair swept in a bun. Except the knitting needles sticking out of it are being twirling in her hands. )
When they're all on, go.
( On "Go" he growls. Throwing out his hand, he extends his sharp, dripping kanima nails. Obviously, his werewolf nails did damage, but this hunter needs to be paralyzed. (What she needs is death, but it goes against his thinning moral code to kill someone in front of a bus full of kids.) What ensues is a Teen Wolf proper-worthy slow motion melee.
Jackson ducks under a knitting needle. She dodges his nails as he swipes them out. He catches the knitting needles in his hands, his razor talons meeting her needles with every clang.
( Ryan Atwood accepts the glass of bourbon, neat, the blonde insists, handed to him. He's still coming to terms. The past twenty-four hours are replaying in his head, events he'd never thought were possible, events that could only come out of one of Seth's comics.
But, here he is.
He adopted a kid because that's what you're supposed to do. He's wanted to give back.
It's not his kid to adopt, or to take in. It's a lure for a vampire nest. He says that in his head again. Vampire. He'd been trapped in his own apartment for days. Vampires don't dine and dash, they told him. It's not safe anymore. They bled him slowly.
Caroline had the intel on vampire children. Some can't be saved. Some are too far gone. She's already a few hours out on a merge solution that turns bust. She says she'll handle it. It's lucky Jeremy Gilbert was nearby.
Ryan knows he shouldn't remember what happened to him. He knows that. But, she'd explained compulsion to him. She explained drinking her blood while he sipped at his first glass of bourbon. She explains that after saving and healing him, she was attacked. Again. No. He knows that. He remembers that part. He remembers why he'd stayed home and not called 911. Why he only left to go to the grocery store or only made calls to let people know that he was okay. All from their command.
He shouldn't remember. There's only one reason why he does. )
I know it's a lot. It was a lot for me when I got the big rundown too.
[She moves to sit across from him, and offers a small smile. She's gotten good at this talk, over the years. It never gets any easier, but she knows the right things to say and when to say them.
She'll let Ryan make his choice, and she'll support it.]
But it's your choice. If you want to turn, I will get you the blood. If you don't, I'll stay with you until it's over.
( Will he be like them? Is that unavoidable? Will he be able to return to his life? Is he done with sunlight? He's probably done with Diane, the other architect at his firm. He can't date a woman whose throat he'd want to bite into. That was casual.
But, Summer and Seth. Their kids. Sandy and Kirsten. No more Thanksgiving at Julie's and Frank's.
Is it the end of life as he knows it or life as he knows it. )
[That's a little too fast, because the question is a little more complicated than that.]
Well, physically yes. You'll be a vampire. But you don't have to be like them. The kind of vampire you become is entirely your choice. I live on blood bags and haven't bitten an actual human in years. I also know a guy who lived on bunny blood for decades which ... would not recommend, because there's a high level of self-loathing that comes with that kind of lifestyle, but there are options.
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
allison argent
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Sam's response was "who?" and he got treated to a long-winded rant about that time Dean and John got pulled onto a job with Gerard Argent, Chris's father, and how that man gave their grandfather on the Campbell side a run for their money. Chris seems to be okay, however, and it's been long enough that any bad blood has likely fallen to the wayside.
A meeting won't hurt anyone, so they set one for a diner just outside of Houston. As they make their way inside, Sam spots the graying hunter, with a dark-haired woman sitting at his side. He turns, nudging his brother, before tipping his head in their direction. He lets Dean lead the way - he knows the guy, but he's still staying on his guard.
Just in case this guy takes after his dad more than he lets on.]
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it's Allison's call to get the network in the know. they tried to keep it under wraps and in the family (and Scott's pack), but it's wider than even they can cover.
they can only cover a few states at a time, with Isaac helping cover france. but, since they made it to London, there's no telling how far Monroe's influence reaches.
they need to go old school and old school means old school hunters.
she hears about them before they arrive. two brothers who grew up in the life like nomadic military brats. "kind of like me, except I was lied to most of my childhood." she's past it, she still jokes.
dean approaches first, notices Allison and starts to try on that signature smile, but clears his throat because - hey, there's also Chris. )
Chris Argent.
And Allison Argent. His daughter. Sit down.
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Sam.
[Then another thumb towards his brother.]
Dean.
[And but he does as he's told, sliding into the booth and moving all the way over so that Dean can sit down next to him.]
So what's the trouble?
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Is it Gerard?
( Dean has to ask. He worked personally with Gerard and that guy scared him. Never mind, he was a kid at the time. That guy would scare him at this age. There was a ruthlessness and coldness in his eyes Dean remembers well. His father always worked with who he needed to, but there was a reason they hadn't dealt with Gerard again. Even when his dad had been called to Beacon Hills, California.
One of the only jobs he remembers his dad turning down.
Allison does look to her father to see if she can say it. That doesn't stop Dean for keeping his foot in his mouth. )
Because, no offense, we don't do jobs with him anymore, and we're both here because Chris called, not his borderline psychotic father.
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It's one of Davina's rules. If Freya wants to be part of the French Quarter coven, then she needs to act like it, and not have the weight of her family looming in the background. Freya agrees.
The bells chime on the door to the back room, and she catches the reflection of dark hair in the silver of Ivy's stew pot. She glances over, eyeing her for a moment before raising an eyebrow.]
Are you here for food or a different kind of cooking?
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She doesn't have to explain herself, or where she's going.
She always had a soft spot in her heart for New Orleans. She was there as a little girl during one of her parents' pit stops. Weird thing was, the entire werewolf population had vanished.
She's told this story now, of course.
But, Allison now has witches of her own on her payroll. And she's been told just how concentrated magic is in NOLA. And not just magic, but people who are magic. The city 'lights up like a Christmas tree.'
She prefers not to make her presence known, or she'd reach out directly to the regent. Despite the Davina Claire's existence, Rousseau's also has the highest concentration of singule conduit magic.
Next best thing?
She takes off her sunglasses and rests them on her head. )
That depends. The sign said you were open?
( Maybe it's a slow day. Better that they're alone. She must be giving off all that magic. )
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[She turns to face Allison fully this time. Her head tips to the side, appraising her, and then she smiles.]
If you're here for a drink, that doesn't open until four. If you're here for lunch, I think the stew is going to be another twenty minutes?
[She glances over to Ivy, raising an eyebrow as though to confirm and the other witch shrugs. "Give it a half hour, just to be sure."]
Half-hour, then. But if you're here to see me ...
[She folds her hands over her knee and offers a small smile.]
I am currently open for business.
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And if I don't exactly know why I'm here?
( Or, who she's supposed to be meeting. She eyes Ivy, who seems friendly. But, Allison doesn't have the power to sense power. She only knows someone here has it. )
Can we talk here? Uninterrupted?
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damon salvatore.
i just watched let the right one in and i'm stealing the weather
She was on her way back to Boston after meeting up with Stiles on a messy case in North Carolina. She tries to tell him that she's not a psychic, that being a banshee doesn't mean she can magically tell whether or not a body is supernatural or caused by Monroe. Banshees are an early warning system, not a divining rod after the fact.
Still, she indulges him if only because sometimes there's some thread they can pull on. And sometimes Stiles just needs someone to talk a case through with.
What are friends for, after all?
She was intending just to head back to his apartment in DC and crash for the night before flying back to Massachusetts, but a torrential downpour caused a massive pile up on the highway, which diverted her to back roads that hand unfortunately been washed out, trapping her in this tiny town in the middle of nowhere.
She grew up in the tiny town in the middle of nowhere. Nothing good ever happened there.
But, she was starving and out of options, so she pulled off to the local bar, hoping to get a drink to stave off all the vibes that set off her death radar. Making her way inside, she pushes up onto one of the bar stools, sending Stiles a quick text to indicate she got delayed, before looking over to the bartender.]
Seven and seven.
[There's a beat, and her stomach rumbles.]
Also, a menu.
that weather. that discovery. that entire caroline ordeal
But, it gives him purpose and direction. He was never bad with numbers. He actually keeps the books well until he gets sick of keeping the books and hires someone outside.
He chooses, then, to stop hiring the teenagers that graduate, die, or move away, and to instead, hire the mainstays and newbies.
Damon's not a bad boss, not by a mile. It's mom and pop so as long as you're not trashed, drinking, and driving, you can sip something during your shift or drink with the customer. It's a wonder the Mystic Falls has actually made a profit. It could be his upgrades. It's more modern now with one of those app-based jukeboxes he occasionally forgets to turn on some days.
But, Damon Salvatore? Is pretty happy. His best friend comes in on the nights she doesn't have to work the next day. His other best friend travels. He's mad at her. (He's not mad at her. She deserves the world.) This Damon is more settled, on the blood bag wagon, and actually maintains his interpersonal relationships. Friendly ones, anyway.
It's been awhile in any other capacity.
Damon's working on himself, didn't you know? He learned it from his best friend.
He sets down a napkin and her drink and presents her with the menu. )
Seven and seven. And a menu.
( It's a slow night for them, so Damon's able to stay close as he checks his phone and waits for her to peruse her choices. )
Passing through?
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[She lets her eyes scan the menu, trying to find something appropriately fitting before tipping her head to the side.]
How are the curly fries?
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( He looks up from his phone, setting it back down. He could check the weather, but that would defeat the purpose of getting to know her. )
Best in Mystic Falls. ( And the only in Mystic Falls. ) Actually, best between here and the interstate. We got an air fryer.
( Modernizations! )
And, can I see ID.
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and separately, for Isaac & Cora
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jackson whittemore.
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The rest of his crew are generally the ones responsible for fishing supernaturals out of a bad situation, while he handles fielding the calls and making sure all the paperwork was in order. Him going out into the field is a recipe for something being set on fire, and that tends to garner more attention than they need.
But the rest of the crew is out on another job, and a call comes in about an ambush not far from where he is. A family. Kids. He couldn't just sit there.
So he gets off his ass and goes to drive the bus. (Literally, this time. All they had left was a school bus.)
He squeals to a stop in front of a group of supernaturals on the run, heading towards the woods nearby. He pushes open the door of the bus and flashes them a smile.]
Someone call for a ride?
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It's why he goes off on his own. He calls it freelance, but it's still with Scott's, Stiles, or Lydia's input. Usually Lydia's. He can stand hers. But, Scott's not working alone anymore. He has a whole system in place and packs everywhere.
This one is courtesy of Stiles - via Lydia. He usually refuses Stilinski's calls. Or, he leaves him on READ. Lydia tells him to stop because they all work together.
The front was a foster home - all supernaturals. Arriving there a day early to try and move them all, he realizes the time table got moved up. The parents who visited are not prospective foster parents. Nobody fosters, packing. Maybe rednecks or red states. It's touch and go for the hour he's tranq'd with purple vervain. Hunters need to really keep a network going. Don't they? He comes to and kicks the asses he needs to kick.
Pretty soon, he's leading the group of kids, ushering them away from the house. With no room in his rented Mercedes, he goes to place a call. And then the kids take off running.
"Shit."
Luckily, they don't get far. Stiffening, Jackson weaves through the kids. )
Are you the Underground?
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[They don't have a whole lot of time. He lifts his hand and gestures for him to get with the program.]
Now, please, before we get caught.
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He needs to make the call.
If he's the wrong guy, he'll take care of it. )
Yeah. Get in, everyone.
( He looks back at the house as the children enter the bus.
The front door flies open, what looked to be an older woman looking to foster, but now is still an older woman with grey hair swept in a bun. Except the knitting needles sticking out of it are being twirling in her hands. )
When they're all on, go.
( On "Go" he growls. Throwing out his hand, he extends his sharp, dripping kanima nails. Obviously, his werewolf nails did damage, but this hunter needs to be paralyzed. (What she needs is death, but it goes against his thinning moral code to kill someone in front of a bus full of kids.) What ensues is a Teen Wolf proper-worthy slow motion melee.
Jackson ducks under a knitting needle. She dodges his nails as he swipes them out. He catches the knitting needles in his hands, his razor talons meeting her needles with every clang.
She kicks him back into the side of the bus. )
Go! ( He repeats himself again. ) Get out!
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caroline forbes
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But, here he is.
He adopted a kid because that's what you're supposed to do. He's wanted to give back.
It's not his kid to adopt, or to take in. It's a lure for a vampire nest. He says that in his head again. Vampire. He'd been trapped in his own apartment for days. Vampires don't dine and dash, they told him. It's not safe anymore. They bled him slowly.
Caroline had the intel on vampire children. Some can't be saved. Some are too far gone. She's already a few hours out on a merge solution that turns bust. She says she'll handle it. It's lucky Jeremy Gilbert was nearby.
Ryan knows he shouldn't remember what happened to him. He knows that. But, she'd explained compulsion to him. She explained drinking her blood while he sipped at his first glass of bourbon. She explains that after saving and healing him, she was attacked. Again. No. He knows that. He remembers that part. He remembers why he'd stayed home and not called 911. Why he only left to go to the grocery store or only made calls to let people know that he was okay. All from their command.
He shouldn't remember. There's only one reason why he does. )
So, if I don't drink human blood, I die.
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[She moves to sit across from him, and offers a small smile. She's gotten good at this talk, over the years. It never gets any easier, but she knows the right things to say and when to say them.
She'll let Ryan make his choice, and she'll support it.]
But it's your choice. If you want to turn, I will get you the blood. If you don't, I'll stay with you until it's over.
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( Will he be like them? Is that unavoidable? Will he be able to return to his life? Is he done with sunlight? He's probably done with Diane, the other architect at his firm. He can't date a woman whose throat he'd want to bite into. That was casual.
But, Summer and Seth. Their kids. Sandy and Kirsten. No more Thanksgiving at Julie's and Frank's.
Is it the end of life as he knows it or life as he knows it. )
Will I become like them?
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[That's a little too fast, because the question is a little more complicated than that.]
Well, physically yes. You'll be a vampire. But you don't have to be like them. The kind of vampire you become is entirely your choice. I live on blood bags and haven't bitten an actual human in years. I also know a guy who lived on bunny blood for decades which ... would not recommend, because there's a high level of self-loathing that comes with that kind of lifestyle, but there are options.
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Caroline*
Josie
Cami
Elena
Hayley
Stefan*
Lydia
Sam*
Castiel
Brandon
Hope
Klaus
Dean
Derek
Jack*
Scott*
Allison*
Damon*
Guest.
Cora
Malia
Bonnie