- cameron cross / camera operator / 22 / human / location: van > cafe / tags: ghost hunters
Cameron nods along to Faye’s soothing tunes as they float out of the speakers, humming every so often when memorable bit comes up. Rather than join in on the conversation, he keeps quiet, nodding along when seemed appropriate. “I’m guessing cafe first?” He asks, seeing Alaska frantically dig through a pile of papers. It’s a scene that makes him smile wryly. Cameron was pretty okay with changing the plans - he was more emotionally attached to the idea of consuming more caffeine than checking in and sleeping anyways.
When Mara calls out a cafe sighting, Cameron nods. He takes Main Street to the end before turning left; looping lazily back around the block. At the corner of his eye something red flashes, but he doesn’t turn his attention too it; all-too accustomed to the frequent tricks of the light. “Maybe you can look for the address in your notes while we eat breakfast?” Cameron suggests to Alaska quietly, easing his way into a clean parallel park outside of the small cafe front. The minivan rumbles idly for a moment, only to still entirely he removes the key from the ignition. After letting out a quiet yawn, he slides out from behind the driver’s seat, eager to shake off the stiffness from the long hours of driving.
isaiah redwood / mournfall local / 37 / human / location: mournfall main st / tags: winter
Isaiah read between the lines, tossing and turning the kid’s words over in his head. “You were kicked out?” He says, a little bit shocked. It bleeds into his tone, coloring it with surprise. “I’m...” Faltering, he struggles to find the proper thing to say in the moment. “I’m sorry. That... that must be hard. I can’t even imagine.” Though his own mother was something of a distant presence in his life, hitting the town each night to earn her good graces with the Families, she was always there for him in her own way. Between her appointments and social life, she always found time in the quiet moments for him, teaching him the way of their families’ craft and playing board games together.
When the boy mentions searching for a job, a faint idea sparks to life in his mind. Once a month, he closed the apothecary to deep clean it and his apartment, and today just happened to be the day. While normally this was something he did by himself, Isaiah would never say no to an extra pair of hands. “Tell you what, kid. I run the Redwood’s Remedies, and it just so happens I could use an extra pair of hands. I’ll pay you in cash for the hours you work, and if you’re a hard worker, I’m more than happy to be your reference for wherever else you apply.”
Isaiah didn’t often consider himself a bleeding heart, but the kid, frankly, looked pathetic. It felt like the right thing to do in the moment, even with the apprehension curling in his gut. It’s for the best. He thinks to himself, The kid’s homeless and half starved. Extending a hand to shake, Isaiah adds, “I’m Isaiah, by the way. Redwood.”
kazuya / monster local / "20" / fae / location: reid's house / tags: reid
"Nature can stick it," Kazuya grumbles, but sits up anyways. Clutching the edges of their stolen comforter around them, they practically roll out of the four-poster bed, falling onto the floor with an audible oomph. Mornings never were their style. One could almost liken Kazuya to a burrito when they finally get to their feet, bundled up so tightly in their blanket that only their face and mass of feathery bedhead is visible. They incline their head back to look up at the overhead light, almost as if they just realized then that it was on.
At the comment regarding Reid's tail, they shift their head to look at the quivering wisp of concentrated energy. "Woohoo," Kazuya deadpans. They stifle a yawn, sharp incisors gleaming, before burrito-walking towards the door, "Alright, alright, get me your garbage toast and then we'll check it out." A low hunger stirred in their gut at the prospect of food, but it wasn't the type of craving that was satisfied with horribly charred toast and burned coffee.
