Exorcist
"This week sucks..."
The man hissed out through his teeth with a hoarse and tired tone, smoke billowing out in steady streams through clench ivory rows, lips caught around the end of a Cigarette. The taste of Tobacco against his tongue having no longer affected him over the years, numb to the catharsis a wrapped stick of nicotine would bring him, but the addiction had him like a vice, just barely. Were it not for the grizzly work as an Exorcist, he would be farther into packs, and the city would have devoured him long ago.
His job brought some Modicum of relief, distraction, euphoria , knowing that he did his duty to the letter. Today was no different, even as the endless grey clouds high above protested to any of the lives that it came crashing down on with a fierce chill felt like being dropped in the sea in the frigid winter. The chills, goosebumps, so uncomfortable if it were paid attention to. The lit end of the Cigarette glowed like embers inside the remnants of a charred log, feeding the wrapped tobacco leaves more life, drawn in with a steady breath, and exhaled in that pungent white smoke, permeating the air.
"Time to go to work..."
The stranger spoke, pulling himself to his feet, his digits digging into his knees as he pushed his way up slowly, letting the aches of stiff muscles, joints, and frustrations of carrying his beaten body upwards to take on his work. Turning his open hand to the small table beside him, he grasped at the strange book, bound in silver chains and a rusted metal spine, an intricate pattern embellishing the surface with an unknown language that was known only to the Court of Fiends and the Seraphim's Temple. Lifting the small holster, the book slid home, cozy in it's protective side pouch, and thrummed with a warmth that greeted him, knowing the work that must be done. "... At least one of us is in a good mood."
Each digit bowed towards the palm of his hand as he stepped towards the case in front of him, damp from the placement towards the opening of a caved in wall that looked like something abnormally large created, the rubble scattered about, and left to time. The pop of joints on his dominant left hand being pushed down by a thumb from one digit to another, Index, Middle, Ring, Pinky, then pressing all four down on the joint of his thumb with a sickening pop, and repeating the process with his right, save for the fact he was missing half of his ring finger, cauterized almost instantly as soon as the injury was created.
Kneeling before the case, as if making some sort of attempt at a prayer, his Bi-Colored eyes scanned the black case, rhino lined so that it could handle sudden situations of extreme turbulence. Lazily brushing fingers over the droplets that scattered about the surface, he brought his thumbs down to the silver latches, and flipped them open, the lid clicking softly as it jarred open, and swung open with a quickness at his behest.
Inside the case, his prizes.. He brought his hand out and grasped at the short sheathed weapon, equal length to a Machete, but stylized towards more of a Short Sword, with platinum twined along the hilt and sheath to ward off any corrupt to use their blade against an Exorcist. Fastening it to his waist, he dipped back into the case, pulling the loaded clips to two Pistols that radiated a soft heat, warming his hands on near contact. He couldn't help but crack a smile, feeling the strange sense of want from these objects, the only things he felt that gave him comfort "Ha... Alright, alright... come along." He spoke to the twin pistols, designed in a strange fashion that most people would consider a terrible design for such weapons, but were horrified to realize it worked
The design seemed to match that of a Kimber, the hand rests had two different designs, but the barrel looked off... twisted. It looked to be made of a strange and purified silver and steel, worked to a marvelous craftsmanship, but the ends of the barrels look twisted, demonic, as if whatever launched from the barrel had corrupted it with such Indignation. A product of Holy and Damned, grasped in worn hands.
A sniper sat in the case, looking strangely generic, but known as a Lobaev SVLK. The time worn steel and wood grip met his hands with no love, no appreciation, but an almost strange sort of distain and malice, as if it were ashamed to greet the hands of a hunter of his caliber. The Priestess called this Sniper... "Shame"
"Nice to see you too..."
He huffed, closing the case with a careless hand, letting the obnoxious clunk and latching it down with the silver clips, before standing to his feet, his weapons home in their holsters, and the sniper resting against his back, almost sending a stinging sensation through his skin, kissing his spine with a distasteful sensation of resentment.
Taking a few steps back, and breathing in slow, he dropped the dying cigarette from his lips and onto the warped floorboards at his feet, letting the heel of his boot crush down on it with a slow and steady press and twist of his ankle, stifling the lingering remains. He looked to his side to gauge himself in the fractured mirror with a flat and uncomfortable expression.
He looked in his mid thirties, his hair an ebony black, lightly oiled, and tied in a lazy ponytail that went to his shoulder blades, and a few bangs that rested aside his face. His facial hair was clean shaven off before todays hunt, leaving light skin unobscured. He had thin lips with a scar tracing the corner of his jaw, and down towards his collarbone. The wound liked to have been thin, like cut by a razor blade, and stopped when it met the bone down below. Dress pants that were ironed out, edges dampened around a set of leather black boots, a white dress shirt, and a clean silk vest with silver trimmed runes along the edges. His attire seemed closely related to Debonair, save for the lack of a tie, and one part of his dress shirt untucked. A split in the mirror where his face was, showed two different expressions. One of calm focus, the other of utter disgust. He couldn't help but scoff at the mirror, glancing back at the Sniper straddled to his back, his thumb looped around the leather grip.
"Don't go giving me that... You know we got a job to do..."
The stranger took in a deep breath, filling his lungs, albeit painfully, with the cool air. He could still feel the aches, the bruises, the sting of past injuries kissing his muscle fibers, digging deep into his being, wanting him to collapse, break, turn to dust.
A slow, steady sigh left him as he released the chilly air, thin mist and hot breath escaped past parted thin lips as he took his first few steps towards the opening in the ruined building before him.
He hoisted the sniper up with a gruff noise, and gritted his teeth as he pulled the Sights to his eyes and aimed down the open and desolate Grey City he called home, waiting for his Quarry..
