Welcome to SU: Legacy, a next-gen Supernatural RP that takes place in the year 2040. The Men of Letters has expanded to include three base locations across the continental US. Angels and demons have gone mostly dormant but there are still supernatural evils lurking in the shadows. The legacies could use your help. Are you in?
Giving credit where credit is due. A big thank you to all the coders at PBS and various resource sites for any codes, plug-ins and templates.
Thanks to Nick @ Fidelius for the fabulous mini-profile. Everything else was created by our own staff. If we missed someone please let us know.
We don't own Supernatural, we just enjoy it's awesomeness. Thanks Eric Kripke for creating it, all the writers/producers for putting out a great show and the CW for keeping it on the air for almost 10 years now!
The sugar high had kept Brody awake for quite some time the night before, leaving him a little jittery and far too energetic to sleep when the sun went down. Instead of staying where he was, he opted to go walk off some of the energy in the local park to see if his luck would hold out and he would happen upon another awesome find. Unfortunately, being a little hyperactive didn't prove to be too fortuitous for him, particularly when a group of drunken teenagers decided that he looked like someone fun to pick on. It wasn't anything unusual, cocky kids just liked to show off to their friends that they were cool and hurling abuse at the nearest homeless guy seemed to be the way to do it these days.
Considering his past experiences, Brody did his best to ignore them and make a quick exit, but was soon outnumbered and outflanked by the group of laughing and joking youths. He should have known better than to give them a little bit of snark back, but his mouth had other ideas thanks to the sugar rampaging around his system. Long story short, he ended up with a black eye and a busted lip and spent a good amount of time unconscious in the dirt until they'd gotten bored by his lack of response and moved onto tormenting some other hapless passer by.
After that incident, Brody just wanted to go find somewhere safe to sleep and once again found himself in the alley at the back of the Hole in the Wall bookstore, in his little corner between the dumpsters and the pallets where he'd stashed his stolen food earlier. A little rummaging around in one of the oversized bins and he'd found bedding for the night. If you could call a couple of sheets of cardboard bedding. At least they kept the cold from seeping up into his clothes when he lay down on the ground.
Sleep came fairly easily once he'd settled down like a hibernating bear, all wrapped up as best he could in his dirty clothes, hands tucked under his armpits to keep them warm during the night. Well sleep...or just plain old unconsciousness due to a mild concussion. One of the two. So it was quite a rude awakening to hear someone cursing at the crack of dawn the next day. Followed swiftly by a slamming door that made Brody jerk and flinch awake as though he'd been electrocuted.
"Gah, carrots!" He blurted aloud, whatever it was he had been dreaming about still lingering in his fuzzy mind. Eyes went wide for a moment before scrunching closed again when the light assaulted them, one arm lazily draping over them to help block out the brightness followed swiftly by a groan of someone who had forgotten their face was a little swollen and bruised. Still, at least it hadn't rained during the night. Always a silver lining.
He lay there for a few minutes, piecing together where he was and what he was supposed to be doing, realising down heartedly that there wasn't actually anything on his to do list besides survive another day. Same old, same old. Although this same old day was going to start with a better breakfast than most, since he'd saved some of the Chet cuisine from yesterday. Pastries were definately a luxury he could get used to, though he doubted that the guy would be foolish enough to lose an entire bag of shopping two times in a row. No, Brody was going to enjoy what he'd gotten this time while it lasted and be thankful for it.
Now that he was more awake, it occured to him that the person cursing earlier had been Chet and that the canvas bag he'd left by the back door had now disappeared. At least that explained the slamming door alarm clock, Brody just hoped he hadn't been spotted camping out in the alley. Chet already considered him a pity case, calling him a mini-tragedy, he didn't need to see more proof.
The rest of the day was spent as many days living on the streets often did. Brody went to a quiet public bathroom somewhere and cleaned himself up a little, taking time to inspect the purple and black bruises on one side of his face and the cut in his lip that stung when he flexed it.
Just another peachy day in the life of me. He thought with a sigh. When he went back outside again, he was greeted with the first signs of an approaching storm and sure enough, about twenty minutes later it was raining cats and dogs.
Perfect. Just friggin, perfect.
He hated bad weather, understandably so, but when he looked like he was the type to get into fights (looking like he'd just lost one), no-one wanted to let him inside their place of business just to keep dry. It left him with two choices. Either he could wander around and get soaked, or he could go back to the bookstore and see if Chet would let him shelter until it stopped raining.
Wisely, he chose the second option. Of course, he wasn't going to admit that was why he was gong back. He'd think of some excuse once he got there, assuming Chet didn't tell him to jog on like everyone else in this town did.
It took him a good five minutes to pluck up the courage to go inside when he got back and by that time he was soaked to the bone, hair dripping wet, plastered down against his head, every inch of him looking thoroughly miserable. To top it off, he was shivering too.
Well at least things can't get any worse.... He thought as he pushed open the door and stepped inside.
Last Edit: Jun 11, 2009 17:43:49 GMT -8 by Deleted
Post by holeinthewall on Jun 12, 2009 17:15:09 GMT -8
Chet blinked at Brody over the top of the thick book he had been reading.
Well, that was shorter than expected.
“Boy,” he said as delicately as he could manage, “You look worse than something the cat dragged in.”
It was all he could say without indefinitely damaging Brody’s pride, which was apparently a very fragile item. Brody’s face was swollen, one eye purple and his lip split open. If there had been a fight, he’d definitely lost- or at least, looked worse than the other guy. He was dripping wet and shivering, leaving a growing puddle on the wooden floor.
Chet put a marker in his book and set it down, standing up and grabbing the old blanket draped across his chair. He tossed it in Brody’s general direction.
Well, he thought, at least I can get some real food into him now.
“You look worse than something the cat dragged in.”
Brody sniffed once to stop his running nose from geting out of control, then glanced down at himself as though he'd no idea what he actually looked like. What he saw wasn't unexpected and if he'd had more energy to bother defending the state he was in, he might have, but as it stood he merely shrugged, shivered again and wiped his nose on the back of his soaking wet sleeve out of habit.
"I'll take your word for that. I never had a cat." He replied, still standing in his damp patch not too far from the door. Suddenly unsure what he was supposed to do with himself now he was inside, Brody let his eyes wander around the store, over the piles of books that had been stacked up again after he'd knocked them over the last time he'd been in here, anywhere he could look that didn't involve him actually making eye contact with Chet. He supposed he was waiting for the inevitable request for him to leave and was somewhat stunned when he did almost the exact opposite, throwing a warm, dry blanket in his direction.
"Uh...thanks." He took a step forward to catch it then stepped back into the wet spot again, feeling bad that he might be ruining the wood floor. After a couple of seconds deciding what the best way to use it was, Brody unfolded the blanket and wrapped it around his shoulders, pulling it close around himself and using the corners to wipe the moisture from his face.
"So....about the other day...." Sniffing again to fill the awkward silence because he really didn't know what to say, Brody shifted from one foot to the other and shrugged deeper into the blanket.
"I, uh....you kinda freaked me out a little....with the whole...." The words to describe Chet's psychic ability seemed to evade him for the moment and he struggled to verbalise what he wanted to say.
"I'm just not used to people knowing more about me than I do." There was a pause in which he looked down at his wet boots, feeling the rain seaping into his socks through the cracks in the soles before he made an amendment. "I never tell anyone about...." my stigmata. His voice trailed off before he finished the sentance, too ashamed to say it out loud.
Post by holeinthewall on Jun 21, 2009 17:59:27 GMT -8
((A/N: well, here goes nothing. Tell me if you'd like something reworded, but Chet's got the couch all primed. Now he just has to convince Brody it isn't charity.))
Brody grabbed the blanket after commenting that he’d never had a cat. He looked down at the cloth with a slightly stunned look on his face and thanked Chet, using it to wipe the water away from his face. He shuffled around a little bit, and then finally said, "So....about the other day...."
Chet sat back down in his chair, leaning back to listen.
"I, uh....you kinda freaked me out a little....with the whole…I'm just not used to people knowing more about me than I do. I never tell anyone about...."
“Well it’s not exactly the easiest topic to bring up in casual conversation.” Chet pointed out. “For what it’s worth, Mr. Cale, I don’t usually take pleasure in scaring my clients, with a few notable exceptions. But you needed to be scared.” He tapped the book he’d been reading. “Stigmata are no joke and neither are any of the things you saw at Murdstone Mansion. I can understand your need to take care of yourself, and I respect it, but boy, this isn’t something you can just ignore. If you had a front door trouble would have already jimmied the lock.”
Chet sized up Brody’s face again and made a decision. It was a leap, a major leap. Brody Cale wouldn’t take well to charity, so he had to word it just right or this would all blow up in his face. He couldn’t afford to let the other man go, though, not with stigmata and nowhere to turn.
“There’s a first aid kit upstairs,” Chet said, “on the couch. Which is where your ass better be tonight, and every night until we find a way to explain your Jesus wounds and hopefully get them healed.” He pinned Brody with a serious look. “This is a store. I don’t always deal in cash, and I’m not gonna bother asking If you’ve got any. To be frank, I probably don’t want to know the answer.”
He leaned back in his chair. “but when I give I expect to get, and vice versa. So I’m giving you access to every word in this joint in return for odd jobs- shopping, straightening shelves, the like. You leveled with me about your stigmata, so I’ll level with you- I’m an agoraphobic, Mr. Cale, a Manchester-specific one. Anywhere outside of this city is absolutely out of the question, and to be honest anywhere outside the store for more than two or so hours gets me antsy. You’d be incredibly useful. In return, I’ll figure out just what happened to you or bust my ass trying.”
He pulled a blue book from his first desk drawer. His guestbook. He looked at Brody. “Seem like a fair trade, Mr. Cale?”
((you got it spot on, no need to change anything ))
Brody was literally taken aback by Chet's proposal, shifting his weight to his back foot without consciously realising it in preperation to run away with his cape of pride fluttering behind him for such a charitable offer. However, despite that one move, Brody's body stayed put and he remained quiet while the guy rolled out his deal in full.
The mention of a couch upstairs lured Brody's eyes up to the ceiling, his mind imagining what it would be like to actually sleep on something with more substance to it than a few sheets of cardboard for a change. The thought was a tempting one, but there were doubts in his mind as to whether shacking up with a bookstore owner who knew more about him than he did about Chet was a wise idea.
“Seem like a fair trade, Mr. Cale?”
For a long moment Brody considered the offer. On the one hand, this would mean opening up completely about the affliction he'd spent years trying to keep hidden, a feat not that easy for a man who preffered to blend in and be un-noticed. Of course on the other hand, he would be a complete fool to turn down a safe roof over his head and a warm place to sleep. Not to mention answers to a mystery that had plagued him most of his adult life.
"Seems too good to be true to be honest but it's not like I got any better options right now." Brody admitted, sneezing into the blanket and shaking more rain from his hair in the process.
"I got one question for you though." The blanket made an impromptu tissue and he snorted loudly to avoid a running nose. "Does agoraphobia mean you like....freak out over arguements or what?"
Post by holeinthewall on Jun 24, 2009 18:28:53 GMT -8
Brody was quiet for a moment or two, and Chet could see the wheels in his head turning. Beneath the desk he crossed his fingers, and when Brody’s shoulders relaxed he knew he had a deal.
“Seems too good to be true to be honest but it’s not like I got any better options right now.” Brody said, then sneezed into the blanket, shedding even more of the water that soaked his hair. “I got one question for you though,” he continued, using the blanket as a tissue once more. “Does agoraphobia mean you like..freak out over arguments or what?”
Chet couldn’t keep the smallest of smirks off his face as he reached for the nearest dictionary (he kept one by the desk at all times) and flipped it open.
“Agoraphobia,” he read aloud. “noun, Psychiatry. An abnormal fear of being in crowds, public places, or open areas, sometimes accompanied by anxiety attacks.”
He flipped the book closed. “That’s putting it lightly. Mine’s a little different- I don’t like leaving my store, but I’ll do it. I’m alright with going out for food or to the laundromat but I only do it when I absolutely have to. I…” he looked down at the dictionary. “I developed it. Over a few years. I left a place, and something bad happened. So now I don’t want to leave, you know? Once bitten, twice shy, and all that.”
It was far more than a few years, and the event in question hadn’t really been ‘bad’ to anyone but him- but Brody didn’t need to know that.
“Agoraphobia, noun, Psychiatry. An abnormal fear of being in crowds, public places, or open areas, sometimes accompanied by anxiety attacks.”
"You're right, that is abnormal." Brody commented quietly, growing ever more curious about this man named Chet in front of him. It appeared he lived alone, spent his time consuming knowledge that he rarely went outside to use. In short, he was cutting himself off from the world yet deep down he wished that he could be a part of it still. At least that's what Brody thought and that seemed to be kind of a shame. But then there was something of a common link between them both, that being the desire to stay away from other people to avoid getting hurt. The only difference was that Brody hid in plain sight.
"So you're a hermit then?" He asked, skipping over the subject of the 'something bad happening' for now. If Chet had wanted him to know what it was, he would have said so, no need for Brody to stick his nose in where it didn't belong. It was nagging at the back of his mind though, whether the guy might have left his family at home or something and they all died in a house fire. Or he walked out on a lover and she left before he came back again. It also crossed his mind if that something bad might have been something weird like the vampires Brody had run into. Who knew what else lurked out there just waiting for the oppertune moment to ruin someone's life.
"You lived here a while?" He added, glancing towards the back stairs idly curious what kind of home lay beyond what he could see. Well there was a couch of some description, he knew that much, and looking at him Brody guessed he was the kind of man to like things relatively simple and practical. For some odd reason the idea that he had an old fashioned record player sprang to mind, complete with golden oldies on vinyl for those times when the lonely silence was too much to bear.
Post by holeinthewall on Jun 27, 2009 12:58:11 GMT -8
“You’re right, that is abnormal.” Brody commented, but not in the way others had- quietly, like he sort of understood what Chet meant when he said he didn’t get out much. And didn’t he understand better than anyone? Maybe it was a different kind of hiding, but it was the same basic thing; where Chet remained in his store and let the world come to him, Brody remained enmeshed in the world, letting all of its comings and goings cover up what he was.
“So you’re a hermit then?” Brody asked, adding after a beat, “you lived here a while?”
Chet smiled. “I’m the best kind of hermit.” He confided. “The kind that has broadband.”
If there was one thing Chet did appreciate about being alive more than a century, it was the internet. God bless mankind and their atrociously short attention span.
“And yeah, I’ve been here long enough. Long enough to know every noise this creaky old place makes.” He stood up. “Might as well give you the grand tour.” He strode over to the door and flipped the sign to closed, running the bolt the same as he had that first day Brody Cale had shown up on his doorstep. The echo of the lock sounded and felt a little different this time, as though Hole in the Wall itself knew that there was another tenant within its old walls.
"Um...." Brody looked down at the big wet puddle he was standing in, the puddle his rain soaked existance had caused, and glanced back up at Chet, unsure how he would feel about trudging soggy feet through his store. Getting out of his wet clothes would have been nice, but since he didn't have anything else to change into, he was pretty well used to just putting up with being damp on occasions like this.
"You want me to take my boots off or..?" It was weird to be in this situation and Brody was having trouble remembering what to do when faced with an invitation to stay at someone's house. Not counting the invitation to Murdstone that was completely the opposite of welcoming. 'Come to this creepy ass mansion and let us try and poison you before we kill you with mythical creatures. BYOB'. Yeah, not doing that again any time soon.
Last Edit: Jun 27, 2009 14:07:59 GMT -8 by Deleted
Post by holeinthewall on Jul 2, 2009 11:18:52 GMT -8
Chet looked Brody up and down. He probably shouldn't drip on the books. “There’s a bathroom in the back hallway,” he said, motioning to the hallway he had pointed out to Brody his first time in the store, with the door that led to the back alley. “It’s a little cramped, but there are some towels.”
Cramped was putting it lightly; the shower built into what Chet had nicknamed ‘the water closet’ was like a coffin standing up, but it was fully stocked with some shampoo and a bar of soap, towels and an extra toothbrush. He’d added the bathroom in a long time ago, when he’d had other permanent guests, because the other option was letting them into his apartment on the top floor.
“I usually only go in there to use the sink,” he said, “for the coffee pot. Leave your boots or you’ll get trenchfoot. We should probably find you some clothes that don't have their own political systems.”
Brody was smaller than him, but better clothes that were too loose than clothes that were too tight.
It's like I'm adopting a cat, Chet thought wryly. A stigmatic cat.
"You don't need to find me clothes!" Brody replied, a little too quickly for him to be able to pass it off as a casual remark. It felt like charity to accept the offer of a couch for the night and that had taken a lot of swallowing of pride to do, anything more right now and Brody would have felt overwhelmed. Still, he knew that cutting Chet off so quickly could have been considered rude when all the guy was trying to do was help him out so he made an attempt to explain himself, a thanks, but no thanks sort of thing.
"I can find my own clothes." Uhuh...where you going to do that in this weather Brody? Not a lot of people hanging their laundry out to dry in a torrential downpour. "What I mean is...these'll dry out so you don't need to...don't go out of your way for me...that's all..."
Again Brody felt self conscious, awkward and undeserving of such compassion from a complete stranger. Being overlooked, abused and unwanted was more familiar to him after living on the streets for as long as he had and when all you had were the clothes on your back, that you lived in day after day, they kind of became your armour against it all. Removing that armour would take courage, especially when you had hidden scars underneath it both physical and emotional, so it was a one step at a time deal.
"I'll just..." He nodded his head in the direction of the offered bathroom, figured he could make an effort to dry up to start with. After a short pause, Brody took off towards the back of the store, squelching all the way and leaving a trail of wet bootprints and drops of rain on the floor like breadcrumbs behind him. Once inside the privacy of the bathroom he shrugged off the blanket and toed off his boots, leaving them in the bottom of the worlds smallest shower to dry out while he was staying under Chet's roof.
Next, he found the pile of towels, picked one up and roughly rubbed through his hair with it until it was relatively moisture free but also stuck up all over the place at odd angles. He left it like that too, fashionable hairstyles not being high on his priority list right now. One by one each article of clothing he had on got taken off and wrung out, the towel used to dry his body down before replacing the item of clothing again. The only thing he took off and left off where his threadbare socks.
After the mention of trenchfoot, he figured that letting his feet dry out properly for once might save him trouble later on, however that did mean exposing the small round stigmata scars that lay central on the top and bottom of each foot. Though Chet was willing to help him figure out the cause of them and, thanks to his unique insight into Brody's life, he had probably already seen them, having them on display wasn't ideal. It meant he too had to face them, not just Chet. It was a whole other level of vulnerability opened up.
Post by holeinthewall on Jul 6, 2009 9:53:14 GMT -8
“You don’t need to find me clothes!” Chet rose a brow as Brody shuffled a bit. “I can find my own clothes..what I mean is, these’ll dry out so you don’t need to..don’t go out of your way for me, that’s all.”
Chet rose his other brow as Brody declared he would ‘just’ and then made for the bathroom. Chet stared at the door.
“Lord,” he said aloud with a small smile, “save me from young idiots.”
He went back to his desk and flipped open the blue book that he kept in his top drawer. He hunted for the next clear line, skipping around the various names. Each name, written in Chet’s neat black pen, conjured up a face. Someone who had stuck around, looking for something he found interesting, or hiding from something he protected them from. Some of them stayed for days on end; some of them left in the middle of the night, but Chet remembered all of them, and wrote their names down faithfully. Who knew, maybe the information would come in handy some day.
On the twentieth or so page, Chet found the next line in his guest book and reached for his pen. Underneath John Winchester, he wrote neatly, Brody Cale. Then he closed the book and put it back in his top drawer.
((I swear, if Chet pulls one more 'oh, I didn't think that was important' thing on me again I might throttle him. In my mind.))
((Hmm..good luck with that. I can''t say I have that problem, Brody's kinda quiet, keeps himself to himself in my head. Though every now and then he will steal my wallet and go spend all my money on pastries...))
Relatively dry now and surprisingly warm, well more so than when he'd arrived anyway, Brody dropped the wet (and slightly grubby) towel into the bottom of the shower along with his damp boots and picked up the blanket that he'd been given earlier. It crossed his mind whether or not Chet would be able to see more of his life by touching the towel in the same way he had after handling the book Brody had picked up when they'd first met, but then it occured to him if he was going to spend a night here he'd end up touching lots of things and worrying about it everytime would probably drive him insane. Besides, Chet had seen enough already so there wasn't much point in being shy about it.
Wrapping the large blanket around himself again, damp side out this time, Brody padded bare foot back out into the hallway, spotting Chet leaning over his desk apparently writing something in a book. Idle curiousity made him tilt his head a little to get a better look at what it was, but no sooner had he moved than Chet closed it and slid it into his top drawer making Brody look away again.
None of my business...
"Can I ask you a question?" A short pause in which he didn't wait for an answer. "Why'd you live in a bookstore? I mean, why books?"
Post by holeinthewall on Jul 6, 2009 13:00:15 GMT -8
Brody emerged from the bathroom as Chet was closing his top drawer, still wrapped in his blanket, minus his sopping wet boots.
"Can I ask you a question? Why'd you live in a bookstore? I mean, why books?"
Chet looked around at the overstacked shelves, piles of papers and other bric-a-brac. "Two reasons, mainly." he said. "Reason one- I like books. They tell me what I want to know and I don't have to deal with people in order to learn. Secondly.."
Chet looked at the younger man. "they last forever. Not individual books, but the information in them. You've got books that are centuries old, books that are reprints. They're what humanity knows and what it thinks it knows. They're the only thing that never really dies."
Except for trickster gods, really smart vampires, and me.
"They regenerate themselves. And as new stories come in, the old ones are absorbed. It sounds ridiculous to some people, but you can always trust a book to be what it is. Of course the whole damn place is a firehazard, but what the hell, live dangerously."
Brody let out a small laugh, smiling at Chet's odd sense of humour and realising he kinda liked the guy. His 'I don't really care what you think of me, this is who I am' attitude was refreshing in a world where the vast majority of people faked their way through life in order to fit in with the crowd. Brody saw it on a daily basis and sometimes it made him feel okay about living the way he did, where he didn't need to worry about how people saw him. Didn't need to pretend he was someone else because that's what their glossy magazines said he should be.
"You got a favourite book?" He asked, falling into line behind Chet as he led the way up the stairs on his 'grand tour', somewhat disracted as he took in the details around him.
))