It’s at night, when the sun goes down, that all the daemons come out, it’s when the moon is high in the sky that the werewolves assemble, it’s when the sun has sunk out of sight that the vampires venture out of their hiding. It’s when the daylight has faded, leaving the world in total darkness that the things that go ‘Bump’ come forth from concealment. Some of them are dangerous, they’ll do terrible things to anything they touch, some of them are good, they’re harmless unless provoked.

Dressed in black and blood red, Jehovah Kristi looks like one of these creatures. He’s wearing a pair of black pants that fit loosely but don’t sag, they contain many useless zippers and pockets, straps hanging off at various places. The stitching is done in red. His shirt is a black muscle shirt, form fitting, highlighting his strong torso, thin waist, and broad shoulders. Beneath that shirt is a bloody red fishnet shirt that covered his strong arms. A pair of black leather gloves are worn on his hands, a black collar with four silver rings around his throat. His hair is long and dyed black with bloody red streaks pulled through it, worn in many little braids. His face is thin and narrow, prominent cheek bones he inherited from his mother, his father’s, damn the bastard’s soul, green eyes and nose.

He walks the barren path of the amusement park in silence. No one comes to the park in the rain. But Jehovah does. And he’s whistling. Earlier he’d walked in dragging something. That something is pale, almost the size of his own body. In fact, it is a body. It’s the naked body of a dead man, limbs all broken and twisted in odd directions, his throat cut, and part of his genitals severed. The body has been scrubbed clean of every evidence. The body cleaned with bleach. Where there should be buckets of blood, there is only a clean body. Jehovah had disposed of the body in one of the seats of the Farris Wheel. Now, about twenty minutes later, he’s whistling a tune walking back towards the gate. There is a satanic, Morbid smile on his lips, giving the faint impression of the cat who swallowed the canary.

Who needs a map, damnit.

Lochan was doing just fine.

Except it was night, and this place looked closed, and he was alone. Not alone. Those dead birds were circling somewhere, he felt assured. Almost alone.

He had just entered the gate.

Why he made this trip from exploring the new hunting grounds to breaking into closed amusement parks is unclear to him. An urge, compulsion, need, desire. His hands are very warm but his shoulders are very cold.

He wears boots, heavy ones that cover his calves (home to dark, lightly curling hairs), with many assorted straps across their leather-based make. His pants are grey. Not made that way, worn until that way. They used to be a dark, almost iron colour but after a few careless washes, they are slate in persuasion. But still long and baggy, still weighed by a switch blade, two lighters, and a pack of cigarettes. His undershirt is black, the body long and the sleeves longer. Over it he wears a red sleeveless number. In a past fit of anger or despair, he had taken a sharp implent and slashed the chest of the shirt to pieces (likely, while he still wore it). Then he kept it and still wears it. Both shirts are untucked, hands in his pockets, belt is cracked black leather with skull studs.

His loam-coloured eyes are on the ground. Neck bent but shoulders straight. His hair is shiny, suggesting he had neglected to wash it for a day. Maybe more.

He is watching the lonely path of a candy wrapper fluttering in the breeze made by the movement of his loose pants.

And Jehovah stops whistling. His green eyes sparkle with excitement, his body still shivering with the excitement of tonight’s act. And now here’s something else...to do. It was like he was being handed to Jehovah on a silver platter.

Jehovah’s green gaze had found the back of this man, this...boy? How old was he. He didn’t possess his younger brothers charm, but he certainly was stealthy. He changed his course. A moment before, he’d been on a directly straight course towards the stranger, now he was coming around from the side, picking up pace and jogging lightly on the balls of his feet until he was some ways ahead of the other, standing hidden in the shadows of some random booth.

He observed the young man. Not a boy, certainly not a boy, but not very old. Maybe Lucifer’s age, but no younger then that, and defiantly not much older them himself. Birds flocked the man. Perhaps he was a carni? Maybe he put on a show with those mangy creatures? Boots, not bad, actually very attractive. The jeans were dead, Jehovah wouldn’t ever wear them unless he was playing, he didn’t want to get some blood stain on a pair of good pants after all.

Nice shirt. He might just have to follow this one home and steal those. The boots and the shirt. Or maybe he wouldn’t. He never picked a stranger to stalk. He always had some personal level with his...uh...friends before he would stalk, rape, or kill them... or all three.

He jogged lightly back to where he’d been, behind this man, put his hands in his pockets and resumed whistling, stepping up his pace only slightly, rising the volume of his whistle to draw attention.

(Meh, I’m on my brother’s sn because or internet won’t let us both on at the same time...)

The candy wrapper fluttered from the breeze radius of his pants. He looked up and furrowed his brow. One of those infrequent chills one gets when they may be under observation prickled his spine.

But he really didn't care.

Now he focused his eyes ahead and continued walking.

Alekto, Tisiphone, and Megaira continued following him. Their path a disjointed flutter-land on a booth-flutter-land on a ride style that never put them too close to Lochan, but not far enough to be out of sight.

The whistling stopped Lochan, Lochan stopped the birds. The three deceased crows sat together on a hot dod stand while Lochan arched his back. He slowly tilted his head, not quite a turn, but in such a manner as too cast a careless glance behind him. His deep dyed red bangs fell across his eyes and shadowed them. He made sure to be aware of the placement of his switch blade, but kept his hands to themselves.

"I guess I missed the show."

His tone is low, sarcastic, dripping with unreleased malice and hate for the entire skeleton of an amusement park, the way it dared to try and bar him out, the way is reminded him of other people enjoying their worthless lives.

His face is expressionless.

(Meh, On the brothers SN again....)
An amused expression at how the other had turned to discretly look over his shoulder. Jehovah continued to walk, one hand in his pocket, the whistling continued. It's a tunless whistle actually, a middle beat between happy and sad, like a job accomplished, a job over with.

I guess I missed the show.

Had that been directed towards him? Or those birds? Or maybe to no one in general. Jehovah approaches anyways. He, unlike the other, is armed with no actual wepon like a knife or gun. But he is armed with a hankercheif folded in half, then in half again and soaked in Chlorophone. It's not deadly, it simply causes one to loose conciousness. The hand in the pocket is on the corner of the handkercheif.

He's going to assume the comment was directed to no one, but he's going to answer it. His own face is fairly expressionless, but then, nothing about this man could be completely expressionless or emotionless. A smile one the corner of one lip.

"I guess you did."

His voice is also sarcastic. Oh you did indeed miss a grand show. There's no hate in his voice. He only hates one person, the rest don't matter. They aren't worth waisting emotion on.

(Well that one seemed a little crappy to me...Sorry if it is.)

"Too bad."

He turns his back fully to Jehovah.

"I would have liked to see something... worthwhile."

Nothing is worthwhile. He would have gotten more pleasure from staying at home.

Lochan doesn't move, aware of the person advancing behind him, but remaining nonchalant on the exterior. He slips his hands into and out of pockets across his pants until he has placed a cigarette between his lips, lit it, and put the lighter back. He smokes without offering Jehovah one.

"So do you live here?"

He is good at assuming the worst or perhaps least likely scenario. He doesn't care. This city was entirely unwelcoming.

The birds continue to watch the scene, sometimes punctuating Lochan's statements with strangled croakings.

((It's not "crappy" at all... My philosophy revolves around the idea that as long as a post advances the roleplay in some way, shape, or form, then at the core it is not a bad post. And... since you display a pleasing penchant for the most charming sorts of characters and a very distinctively fashioned method of roleplaying, I would have to say thay yours are some of the farthest from "crappy" posts out there.))

He approaches and makes no effort to introduce himself. In fact, unless he planned to kill them later, Jehovah usually didn't approach anyone. This one is an exception, that is, unless...well, there are a number of reasons that Jehovah would change his mind. He doesn't expect a cigerette offer eaither, he has his own. But he doesn't pull one and press it to his own lips. He just watches the other.

Does he live here?

Does he mean here in the Amusement park? Or here in the city?

Jehovah leaves it unanswered for a moment, approaching slowly, feet making no sound on the ground at all, his clothing don't make a swish sound when he moves, somehow he's leaned to mask all of that. He continues to walk forward, laning close and examining one of the birds.

"In the city, yes." He replies finally. "It looks a week past dead." He comments.

He doesn't care if the comment is rude. It's the truth. The bird looked like it should have died and been stuffed three weeks agao.

((Well, thank you very much but I should confess that the idea of Jehovah and his brother Lucifer was Arcane Blood's idea, as well as Lucifer and Jehovah 'being togather' was her idea. And my brother Emrys came up with the basic idea of Jehovah being a cop trying to solve murders that he actually comitted, and that he's a rapist and so on. So a lot of that compiment goes to them too. But still, thanks,))

Lochan does not react to how close the other is growing. He exhales a cloud of smoke, which then climbs up past the birds, and taps the cigarette against his thigh. he returns it to his lips, talking around it so the whispy smoke that rose from the tip naturally was not steady.

"Those three?"

His eyes slide to the birds, which favour Jehovah with a sickening gurgle. Tisiphone, apparently displeased with being so scruntized, flappings her wings at Jehovah's face. A rather unpleasant scent wafts from her body along with a few small feathers.

"Wrong. They're about eight or nine months dead."

He exhales again, blinking on the amonia despite the habit being an old and frequent one.

"I suppose eventually they'll fall apart. Right now they're content with being f*****g annoying."

The birds do not look hurt with the assessment of their use.

((Consider it a blanket compliment to all three of you, and you're most welcome))

"I don't think you live here either."

He turned his head breifly to the other man, a questioning look to inquire where he lived, then his attintion back to the birds.

Green eyes, inherrited from the father, shared with the brother, blink at the stench of the bird's corpse. But the stench is somethign he's used to now, once before he'd gaged over such a smell, now he simply feels at home.

A small from knits his eyebrows togather, his attention returning to the other intruder of the park. He watches the smoke sift for a moment, overly interested, then his eyes come to the other's face.

"What did you do to get their attention in the first place?"

Obviously, the idea of something being dead and still walking...or flying in this particular case, didn't suprise him. In fact, he didn't pause to even consider this idea remotely weird.

(One day I'll reply on my own sn...sorry)

And Lochan didn't seem to think voicing his experience weird either. Nor did he indicate that he cared what Jehovah thought.

"No, I don't."

His reply is terse, sharp. He takes a long drag and closes his eyes. His nature compelled him to make some rude comment about the (he felt) stupidity of Jehovah's observation, but he tried to stop himself. After all, he had done about the same thing. Yet he did not care what he had done really. It was all futile.

"Don't continue to amaze the world with your stunning intellect."

He exhaled the smoke through his nose and spoke around that. The answer did not come out as being cocky in his own intelligence, more intended to demean Jehovah's. A shrug precedes his answer, indicating both that he did not know and that he had no motive to keep speaking. But then he does speak, his tone low.

"Hell if I know. They showed up on my window one morning. Then they wouldn't leave."

((Oh, it's all right... -shrug- I'm just assuming it's you, Thorn, when I reply... I'm not overly concerned with the name as I can't imagine Massacist would get much thrill out of pretending to be you. -again, shrug- Maybe he would.))

His own nature compelled him to add this smartass to his 'to-kill' list, but the smartasses situation with the dead birds convinced him otherwise. He found a pack of cigerettes of his own in his back pocket and pulled one out. He placed the stick between black paitned lips and patted down his pockets for a lighter. He found it.

The cigerette still between his lips, he lights and inhales deeply. Jehovah drops the lighter back into his pocket and exhales the smoke, tipping his head slightly back, the thin cloud rises above Lochan's head. He lowers his chin, Cigerette between his fingers now, and lowers his eyes back to the other.

"Maybe it's your exquisit charm that draws them to you."

He countered the demeaning tone, his own tone not demeaning, though certinally suggesting it. He replaces the cigerette between his lips and inhales once more. His gaze moves back to the three mangy birds.

"What's your name?"

He doesn't offer his own. Not before he gets his answer.

(Nah, he's the nice brother. It's Braxton who'd do that too me.)

Lochan brushed his blood-tinted bangs from his eyes and shifted his weight onto his other boot. he tilts his head again, instead of turning, and offers Jehovah a long sneer.

"The same charm I'm using on you."

He replies, his tone faintly implying both the birds and Jehovah were unwanted and he wished them to go away. However, it was very likey that Lochan wanted the entire world to go away, so one could not leave out the possibity that his reply was simple sarcasm.

"Lochan."

Kenneth. Except not really. Well, really, but he'll never use that name to indicate himself. He would much rather be Lochan, one of Death's titles.

He does not ask for Jehovah's name. He does not care.

"Why are you here?"

Either here as in the Park, or here as in existing, he doesn't clarify.

((For shame on Braxton))

He shifted and blew out more smoke, this time the cigerette in his mouth the smoke escaping from his nose. He looked like an angry bull temporarily. But when the smoke is gone from his lungs, gone from his nose, his expressions are once again mildly amused. Lochan's comments didn't seem to be getting to him at all, though he expected that Lochan was like this to virtually everyone, not just himself. If the attitude was assumed towards him only, he might be angry. But he still wouldn't show it.

"Probably. Maybe that's why I'm drawn to you...Just like those mangy things."

Well, if there was going to be nastiness, he'd just cut down some of the amunition Lochan could use. He'd call himself as low as those dead things before Lochan could. His reply was still not suggestive to anything at all outside of conversational. He inhalled and then tapped the ash off the end of the cigeratte while removing it from between his lips.

"Lochan, almost like Lucifer."

His brother. Both names sugestive, though Lucifer had turned out to be the opposite of what his name related to. Lochan was begining to proove more true to his name.

"Here?"

The word sounds as if he's asking where. But he answeres without waiting for a reply.

"I was, disposing of somthing not important." Oh that said a lot.

(Haha. Well, sorry that took so long to reply. I got landed watching a kid one of my brothers was suposed to watch. He's got no idea what to do with a baby. Anyways, I'm back.)

Lochan looks at the birds.

"Look and smell like shit, don't they? Try having to living with them."

Infact, he'll sell them to you at a bargain price. He is either unaware or unconcerned with Jehovah's maneuver of heading him off at the proverbial insult pass.

"Lucifer means 'light-bearer'. Lochan, thankfully, does not. It means, 'the eye'."

He continues in his habit of trying to make Jehovah feel or at least sound stupid. He taps his cigarette ash-free, takes one last drag, then throws it to the ground while exhaling the pugnent smoke. He steps on the smoldering stick, firmly crushing it beneath his strapped boot.

"Not important?"

He ignores the first question, apparently Jehovah's explanation being correct.

"Not important enough you couldn't do it somewhere else?"

As if it mattered. Maybe he really is offended by Jehovah being there. But his tone isn't telling.

"Not Importamt enough to take it here."

He replied without missing a beat. He blew out another puff of smoke, the cigeratte still between his lips. Then he changed his mind.

"Not important enough that the only place it deserved was here, at an unimportant place."

It was the only place that his body deserved to be found. Jehovah watched the toe of the boot stub the cigeratte out. He wanted those boots. Then he brought his eyes back up to Lochan's face. He wondered, with this man's wonderful attitude, if he liked Lochan or hated him.

"Why are you here?"

He brought the cigerette from his lips and flicked the ash to the ground by tapping it with one finger. Then returned it between his lips. His eyes went back to the birds again. Indeed, their constant pressance was rather annoying.

"Fair enough."

Evidently he doesn't feel the need to pry into the nature of this business. He was either very trusting or very accepting. Or, most likely, just very apathetic on the movements of others.

"Here? I'm in this park because it... looked inviting."

He's not sure how inviting the park really looked. He was attracted by the desolate landscape, the silent rides, the abandoned booths.

But there had been something else.

He could not place it at the time, and certainly could not place it now. But something told him, maybe even warned him. There was a death nearby.

To put it bluntly, his necromancer senses were tingling.

"Call it.. curiosity."

He will.

Here? I'm in this park because it... looked inviting

“I’m sure it did.”

His voice was thick with sarcasm as he took another long drag on the cigarette before parting his lips and letting it fall to the ground. He did not stub his out with his toe but instead he shoved his hands into his pockets and watched the burning end smolder.

“Curiosity?”

He looked up, the around their surroundings. It looked dull. He supposed that before he’d grown up too much, this might have made him curious at one point. It might have made him wonder what the park was like with the lights off and the people gone. But now it just looked dull.

“Alright.”

A simple murmur. He returned his interest to the smoldering cigarette, or what was left of it. He had no more questions and when the cigarette smut itself out, he took to looking Lochan over a few times, eyes lingering at the boots and the face

"Is that against the law now?"

He raises his eyebrow in the general direction occupied by Jehovah. He follows this with a light, derisive snort.

"Well, if you're longer going to provide me with amusement and scintillating conversation... I think I'll leave you to your "unimportant" business."

The sarcasm in his tone can suggest a myriad of things meant behind nearly every word. He shifts his wait back onto the apparently coveted boots and began turning. He made a complete semi-sircle as opposed to merely turning straight around and then proceded down the trampled, dead grass at a leisurely pace toward Jehovah's right.

The crows watched all of this, coraking and muttering to themselves and fluttering to a nearer stall in order to better keep track of their reluctant summoner.

Lochan did not look at Jehovah again as he crossed the larger man's path and made a steady line for the gate.