The dogs run ahead, but he finds out that he still remembers the way back to the fish warehouse. This time instead of pulling off the road haphazardly, he drives a bit further to a 7-11 and leaves the car there... only that makes even less sense than pulling over on the side of the road. But he can't just pull in and park in the parking lot because that would be a tad too obvious about returning to the scene of the crime. So he doesn't go into the 7-11, he just pulls over to the side of the road again, only this time he leaves a sign in the car that says 'Gone for gas' so that no one tows it and that folks don't go out looking for him.

"We must find them."

"What, right now?" Jon glances at the clock. It was still early and even though he didn't have to work tomorrow he really wanted a rest. The past few days had been pretty draining, all things considered.

"They have attacked you, have they not?" Hunter raised an eyebrow. "These are not the simple villains you suppose them to be; don't judge the whole by what little you have seen."

"Well yeah, but--"

"Then we must go." She gestured toward the door imperiously. "Unless you wish to wait for them to come here?"

"No, definitely no." This was the very last place he wanted them to come. He could deal with the dogs and the ghosts and the unreal chaos of the past few days, but only as long as it left real life alone. The instant things crossed over and started messing up other people's lives was where he drew the line. They weren't getting his family too.

Even though he'd been in the drive-by, it hadn't occurred to them that the Dead Man Mafia might be able to figure out where he lived. It was down right terrifying thinking of that same brutal (if thankfully ineffective) attack focused at his parents, or his cousin. Bethy was armed and dangerous herself, but she was the only one out of the bunch he though would have a prayer.

He grabbed his coat and his keys and headed for the door. "So let's go."

Plot relevant descriptions, so as to be able to finish off scene once I get home...

----------------------------

The fish warehouse is, well, not really a fish warehouse. It's down by a branch of the local river, and functions as a repository for the game caught by a club of the local hunters. Since the fictional town is sort of in the middle of nowhere, there's a lot of good hunting to be had in the area.

The building is not a giant warehouse, but it's bigger than a generic shed. It's got cold storage for the fish and deer and elk and whatnot that they catch/kill. The hunters do sell off the extra meat, so there is actually an Inc. for the hunting club that owns the property (and the fish). There's a smoker to the side of the building, and a few drying racks and pits for cooking whole animals.

That said, there isn't any real security around the building other than the door locks and a security camera. It's just a gravel parking lot and a good ninety percent of the time there's no one there. It's a good half-mile mile from the road, easy, and there just isn’t' a whole lot out there.

The club has monthly meeting on the off-season, but they tend to hang out at the local bar/pub rather than the storage building.

There are several paths through the woods in the general vicinity of the building. It's not brush-heavy forest in most areas, which makes for easy walking, but hard hiding. This is not the same area where the Dead Men Mafia hideout is, and it's not that far from Jon' house. (20min?)

The boxes of fish which Jon accidentally used to squish his opponent are actually wooden crates with plastic bags full of fish in them. This is in the refrigerator section and not in the freezer! These are bait fish (not fresh caught fish) and were moved out of the freezer to thaw for this weekend's fishing trip. Thus they are still mostly frozen and heavy as heck. (And piled badly since they weren't paying attention to OSHA stacking rules. *whistles innocently*)

Writer: I will not be amused that now you give me a full description of the room. After we've basically left the premises in terms of plot.

Jon: I have no idea what you're talking about. *sips beer*

Muse: That's what December's for. Am I right?

Jon: Quite right. *nods solemnly*

Writer: *sighs*

I will describe something if it kills me... *rolls up sleeves and glares at Muse*

-------------------------

Jon's apartment had a main room, a bedroom (with a small closet), and a bathroom.

There's a couch and a coffee table in the main room along with the TV and stereo on a really basic stand. A game console of uncertain parentage and a pile of games take up a good portion of the coffee table. There are DVDs, small hand tools, socks and whatnot scattered about. A lone CD stand is half-hidden behind the TV, but it is only about half-full of dusty CDs and DVDs. Most of the rack is filled with other random items (batteries, socket wrench heads, screws, etc).

A well-worn mini-fridge is next to the couch and contains primarily soda, beer, and some snack foods. There's a microwave perched on top of the mini-fridge, but it only works half the time and is a tiny tiny thing. But it works for nachos and hotpockets, so Jon's happy.

There's a pile of tool belts, and loose tools in the corner by the door, as well as the bits of whatever project his parents have working on. He does a lot of barter work to pay the rent during the renovation off season.

Other than that, there's random clothes and clutter, but no real dirt (food/dishes/etc). It looks like the average dorm room, which is about right for his mindset. He'll clean if company is coming over, but if it's family (or friends who count as family), he doesn't bother.

The computer is on a desk in the bedroom, squished in beside the single bed (basic wooden frame ala IKEA). There's a tiny bedside table that holds a charger for his cell phone and the alarm clock. Jon spends most of his time in the main room, so there's more clutter here. The closet has his clothes, as well as a dresser stuffed in it (and some boxes with assorted odds and ends). There's just enough room under the bed to fit another row of boxes, and he's got most of the random stuff stashed there. The bedroom has a window which looks out across the yard to the house and the main room has two windows that look out at the road (over the entrance to the garage.

The door is on the far side of the apartment and on the opposite side of the house. A set of wooden stairs lead up to the door from ground level, anchored to the wall with masonry screws. So it sort of looks like it's floating (which is fun when you're drunk).

The inside of the house is mostly wood and off-white plaster, with a couple of throw rugs to save feet from cold floors in the winter. There aren't any posters or paintings, but there are a small army of photos taped to the wall next to the bedroom door. Mostly it's just the four musketeers and some family photos, but there are still a few of his ex-girlfriend tucked into the chaos. Of course he's just keeping those for the backgrounds or the lighting or as memories of the trip and not because he misses her. Nopenopenope. Totally over her. Totally.

Yay for descriptions! ...and more exposition. >.<;; *attempts to force her Muse to actually describe something for once*

---------------------------------------------

The house was almost organic, having grown in several visually distinct explosions over the years. There had been some discussion when the family bought it that they might attempt to cover up the growth rings with matching exterior. Jon's Mom was rather in love with the mismatched bits of brick and wood and siding and concrete and Jon's Dad figured it wasn't worth arguing over. So the house remained true to it's history, a visual trek that had apparently spanned almost a century. There were a handful of fireplaces, plus built in radiators plus central air. There were windows of various shapes and sizes, from the carefully hand-blown glass of yesteryear up to the standard cookie-cutter windows you found at Lowes. The electric was spotting places, some rooms having been passed over in a scattershot approach.

The standalone garage and the apartment above it were of an indeterminate past. It might have been a shed or a barn to start, but there'd been significant work done by one of the previous owners to bring it up to the 19th (if not 20th) Century. The wiring worked (mostly), there was a window air-conditioner that had been built into a wall instead of a window, and a pair of radiators that could bring the inside temperature up to 100 in the middle of winter. (Jon had found that out the hard way when one of them had gone on the fritz. Slept with the windows open for three days before it was fixed.)

But it was a good house, sturdy and solid against the winter storms. He hazard it could make it through a hurricane, if one ever made it far enough up the coast. And it was his. Well, eventually it was his. Jon's parents had made no secret of the fact it would go to Jon when they passed on, and the more 'complex' items (stock, bonds, investment accounts, etc) would go to Bethany. After all, she could take care of herself. Which on one hand was sort of insulting, that they thought he'd need a roof over his head, but at the same time it was rather comforting. He liked the house, and, at times it seemed to like him back. All the repair work he'd done had gone without major mishap and the renovation business had taught him never to take that for granted.

The joys of backstory bits...

-------------------------------------

Now it's not that the Hinds are bad, per se, just unagreeable with the status quo. After all, Ancestors have been meddling in their descendants lives for centuries. Just because the dead outnumber the living (and almost always have) isn't a factor. They're only planning on letting some of them back in. Not that they're keeping anyone out, it's just that most of them don't feel like meddl-- helping the younger set avoid some of the mistakes they made.

The Powers That Be could at least have set up some sort of system where those with good intentions got a pass. There was no need to just cement a wall between the two planes of existence. Well, less of a wall and more of a bramble patch. There were escapees constantly making their way through (and getting sent right back by the Hunts) so they must have meant for travel to happen... otherwise why make it possible at all?

The Powers That Be were vast barely understood things to start with. Maybe the Hounds had simply misunderstood, maybe they were just supposed to be keeping the bad people out. Not everyone. Not us. We're not here to hurt people, after all, just help them.

We're the good guys.

Seriously.

: writing

I am very bad at description.

Very very bad.

This needs fixing. *resolute* So technically what follows is a bunch of worldbuilding and exposition and not 'story'. But I figure it counts towards the word total since I'll be using the details when I go back to edit the second draft. I won't use it all (of course), but I doubt I'll be keeping that much of the prose either. ^_~;; *grin*

So off we go! *hefts painters tools*

: writing