West

The western part of the city is often home to the poorer residents. Here there is a grunginess that permeates the town from the graffiti on the once cleaned brick buildings to the broken and unmaintained architecture. Crime runs high within the western half of town, making it the home of supernatural gangs of illicit activities. Such activities are rarely reported, however, and most residents are distrustful of individual's of authorities, and often let the powerful supernatural beings sort things out amongst themselves. Be careful wandering the Western streets after the sun falls.

What You'll Find Here

Black Market
Cull & Pistol
Noah's Ark
Syn

I keep my eyes wide open


Posted on August 17, 2018 by Kathryn Murphy
West
kathryn quinn
I'm about to make my own way, heaven help me keep my faith


She can almost see it now. There had been a time when she had known she was a witch, she had known it even so before her mother left her to go gods only know where. It had been prized, her magical powers, her mother having rejoiced at her witch for a daughter, her grandparents too they had been so excited. A silver lining in the wake of Kathryn's father's death. They had not known if she would be born a witch for Kat's father had been human, a plain human with a hearty laugh and a killer smile, early on, there were signs of her powers. Books flying off shelves when she would cry as a baby, remaining warm even when it was desperately cold, and the marking on her side, a clear constellation marking, as was the tradition in their lines of witches, every witch in the family had one, although the markings varied, they were always in the same spot. Kathryn's mark was that of the Gemini, for twins within the family also ran rampant, skipping generations.

It was clear from the start that no doubt Kathryn would be a powerful witch, for she started showing magical ability far early on, earlier than even her mother had. Wind had been her first, a few days after she was born her mother had stared down at her bundle of joy, squirming in her crib, and then flick of her wrist caused a tiny puff of air to blow. At first, the coincidence had simply seemed to be too much, but then it happened again, and again, and again. The child was a witch. It was then a few days later that her marking appeared that all but confirmed that the child was indeed magical, that she would become a witch just like her mother and grandmother. The line would continue.

But those natural born gifts, while they are still inside of the witch, they have been broken and destroyed until it lay as ruins at her feet. And while the pieces will be able to be put back together, to perhaps make her stronger than before, there is a lot of repair to go into fixing such things, and Kathryn has been unsure of where to start. Trying to practice small control of the wind, creating small breezes, so that she would not lose control as she seems to be doing right now. These were the moments she hated, when the magic controlled her rather she controlling it. It was a terrible feeling to not have any say in the matter, to lose control over something she should have been able to use to her beckon and call at will. It was such a helpless occurrence. And, in this case, poor timing.

She would never have known to watch for dark hunters, no one ever told her to watch for dark hunters. Unlike vampires, werewolves, and witches, dark hunters had not been in her childhood fairy tales. Sure, she knew about the Salem Witch Trials, but this was a whole other breed of something terrifying. Her icy blue eyes are trained on the man, watching for any signs that he may pull a gun or any other sort of weapon on her. Kathryn was not sure how she could defend herself from this man, but her whole body was on flight modeâ€"though ready to turn to fight should the need arise. She had stolen the very breath from someone's lungs, though the young witch was unsure of just how she managed to do that. And she was not too sure she would be able to do such a thing again.

His voice and stern words, the abruptness of it, the commanding baritone, only press her further away from him, her hair now tangled by the wind, tumbling down her back with slight curls to the ends of them. But even now her wind seems to pick at sections of it, moving those pieces as if they had a mind of their own. She cannot control the wind that sputters towards him, her element seemed to have a mind of its own at this point, defending its wielder against the one who threatens her, ready to bare down upon him lest he hurt the one that controls it. Her own power in that moment becomes nearly more frightening than the threat of the man. She can feel the fear leeching off her skin, she can feel a knot rise in her throat, and tears wanting to sting her eyes as they made their escape, but she holds all of it back. She would not cry in front of him, nor show any weakness. She was marked as magic wielder and damned if she wasn't going to start acting like one. Kathryn remembers those stories about the witches, about her long history, and how she though they had just been thatâ€"myths legends. But now she wonders, there was more to them than that.

But a voice distracts the young witch, just as it seems to pull the young man's attention as well. Her words are abrasive, but in a different way than the man's had been and instead of accusing Kathryn of using magic, she instead accuses of her tolerating flirting from the guy trying to kill her. Icy blue eyes narrow slightly. "What?" She exclaims as her eyes then grow wide, realizing suddenly that they were not just some random pair of strangers meeting on the dock, but they seemed to be...in a relationship? "Oh my god," she practically mutters under her breath, as she takes in the situation before her.

And then the other witch's attention turns to Kat. She looks to be about her age, older most likely. Her eyes, blue, but not like Kathryn's in their glacial depths, instead they are blue and grey like storm tossed seas that the young witch had seen many times at her grandparent's beach house as wind would rip through sand and trees. Her voice, as commanding as the sea as it swells with Kathryn's wind, nearly threatening a hurricane over the dockside. She breathes, the wind shifts, she can feel those zephyrs bending and yielding, they fall under her will once more, ready to obey, but even then they stir, ready to attack should the need arise, hungry to demonstrate their power over the land.

Chocolate tresses finally settle along her back as she looks to the witch, now nearly level with her as she stands before her. And, despite herself, she manages a smile when she gestures to the man. Clearly, she had him under control. "Er yeah, still working on that part," she adds to the witch. But once again the baritones rings out from the man and glacial blues turn to him as he ushers out a word seeming to draw together what he may be and why he had threatened her so. Hunter. But Kathryn was not some animal to be gunned down, nor was she a murderer. "Hunter?" She asked with a raised eyebrow, only before she realizes what else he has said, directed at his clearly significant other. "And I don't think I want to go home with you anyways, you were going to kill me," she says, that old fire returning to her voice. She can feel the wind ugh against her powers, wanting to be let loose, but she breathes again, keeping it captiveâ€"for now. She then turns to the dark haired witch, her palms are open as she peers out at her from dark, feminine lashes. "I cant control it."

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