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!
Brody did think about it deeply and for the first time he was picturing what it was like on the other side of fence, where he had thought the grass was greener. Now that he'd put himself there, it seemed less enticing than he originally imagined. Up until now he'd only focused on how violated he'd felt when Chet pulled his life's history out of thin air, but what would it actually be like to see and feel another person's life when you weren't expecting it? Especially someone who's life was as messed up as Brody's. If he hadn't been able to control his abilities then there was no telling how many other depressing glimpses of existance Chet had stumbled over.
There you are, having a nice day out walking in the sun when you accidentally bump into a person who on the outside could have appeared perfectly polite and friendly. But then their aura worms it's way into your mind and all of a sudden, you're not looking at some nice human being who's chatting about the weather or last night's sports scores, but you're seeing the monster inside that beats up his wife. Or that abuses her kids. Or that murders people for fun. Suddenly that gift really does become a curse because life gets scary when everyone's deepest, darkest secrets are on display. It could have been enough to make anyone want to shut themselves away from the other people forever and suddenly, one aspect of the other man's life began to make sense to Brody.
"Now I know why you don't go out much." He commented sympathetically.
There was a little moment of thoughtful silence between them in which Brody watched Chet unwind a roll of gauze. He was a little apprehensive about letting someone else patch up his cuts for him, the very act of letting someone else look after him being one which went against his nature, but with Chet he was worried about him doing his magic finger trick and seeing how exactly they'd occured too. Having someone else find out you got beaten on by a gang of teenagers was just plain old embarrassing. Sure, he could have probably fought them off if he'd chosen too, but in his experience, violent and aggressive actions tended to trigger his affliction. So, he had done what he always did, used his mouth to try and talk his way out. Obviously, that hadn't worked.
He'd have patched himself up if he was really that worried, but that would have involved going back downstairs to find a mirror in the bathroom, since most of the scrapes were on his face and right now he didn't really want to get up off the couch again. It'd been ages since his ass had sat on something so comfortable - park benches and store doorways were typically less springy - so he'd decided to swallow his pride again and let Chet do whatever he felt was necessary.
"Not gonna wrap me up like a mummy are ya?" He joked, deflecting away from his anxiety with a little humour instead.
Post by holeinthewall on Aug 31, 2009 12:09:58 GMT -8
Brody seemed to think for a moment, and said, quietly, “now I know why you don’t go out much.”
Chet unwound the gauze and wondered breifly if he should check, to find out how Brody had gotten his injuries. He decided against it. It couldn’t have been anything supernatural or nasty, because if it had he would have been able to feel it, or gotten word of it. Just another fight, like all the others.
“Not gonna wrap me up like a mummy, are ya?” Brody asked, and Chet quirked an eyebrow. “Mummies aren’t very useful in bookshops.” He pointed out. “We should get something on that nice little shiner of yours.” He took out a cold pack, cracking the tab and watching the crystals form.
(( sorry I suck. ;_; I will try to be more prompt!))
Brody took the cold pack from Chet and gingerly pressed it over his black eye, wincing a little when the chill came into contact with heat flushed bruising. It felt good though, seeming to ease the throbbing that was pulsing across his cheek bone.
"Thanks." He said, giving Chet a brief and humble smile.
"Y'know, not a lot of people ever really..." Brody gestured to the first aid kit while he searched for the approriate words. "Not a lot of people ever really pay me any attention, let alone do stuff like this for me so...." A sniff and a casual wipe of his nose on the back of his hand. "I appreciate it." An awkward pause. "Just wanted to say that."
Not wanting things to get weird, Brody turned his attention to the nearest pile of books while Chet began patching him up, one tome in particular left open at a middle page peaking his interest. Especially since it seemed to refer to biblical history.
Post by holeinthewall on Sept 24, 2009 16:24:54 GMT -8
Chet glanced at the book that had caught Brody’s attention. “Yeah.” He reached out and flipped a couple of pages. “The Forbidden Tome. Outlines all the little extras they don’t tell you about in the bible- not the parts left out, that’s another piece altogether, but this one sheds some light on all the ‘thees’ and ‘thous’ and references to almonds.”
It was one of maybe four or five copies left in the world, and the only one translated into some form of English. Learning old roman Latin had been a bitch.
“the title’s horrible,” Chet continued, “but the writer was chosen by God. Either that or he had some completely insane eavesdropping skills.” Chet pointed out the passages. “This describes the bitchfight between Lucifer and Michael, nothing terribly interesting. This..” he motioned to another section of the book, “Deals with our good friend Jesus- and the only other guy who happened to have your terminal problem.”
Chet looked Brody up and down. “I haven’t gotten too deep into it yet,” he said, “but as far as I can tell, you can get stigmata one of three ways: you piss off the man upstairs, you please the man upstairs, or door number three, which is improbable at best and impossible at worst.”
Chet rubbed the wafer-thin pages of the book. “It’s a family affair, apparently.” He said. “ There’s claims all over the place in history of people who swear to be related to Jesus of Nazareth that get stigmata. So unless you’re lying to me about your last name, Mr. Cale, we’re going to have to assume that the Powers that Be are watching you close.”
"Oh yeah, sorry. Forgot to say, my name's Brody Christ. I'm actually jewish and God's my dad." He quipped almost immediately, amused at the very thought that he was related to a fictional character, especially one as ridiculous as Jesus. Truth was, he didn't know what his last name was. He had been abandoned when he was just a baby and had never known anything about his parents. There was no way he was a direct decendant of Christ though, as far as he knew, the Christ family never moved to Canada.
"You don't actually believe there is a God do you? Even I know the Bible's made up."
Brody had never been even the slightest bit religous. He'd never prayed, never seen a miracle (however he was pretty certain curses were real) and never been to church, though he had seen them on tv when he was younger. Always thought they looked boring in his opinion. Sunday's were days to have fun outside, not go to a dank and dark chapel to feel guilty about things that someone two thousand or so years ago decided was a sin. In his eyes, there was no God. How could there be when he let Brody suffer the way he had done all his life?
"Back up a minute anyway, how would pleasing the man upstairs result in you getting stigmata? That's a crappy reward. Where's the all you can eat buffet, or...or the free health insurance?"
Post by holeinthewall on Oct 12, 2009 17:30:37 GMT -8
“Oh, yeah, sorry- Forgot to say, my name’s Brody Christ. I’m actually Jewish and God’s my dad. You don’t actually believe there is a God, do you? Even I know the bible’s made up…back up a minute anyway, how would pleasing the man upstairs result in you getting stigmata? That’s a crappy reward. Where’s the all you can eat buffet, or..or the free health insurance?”
Chet chuckled. “I don’t even think God could swing free health insurance.” He admitted. “As for the bible being a bunch of hokey..well, some things you have to see to believe, and some things you believe without ever seeing them.”
Chet glanced around the room, noting almost absently all the books on religion. “If you take away all the metaphor and schizophrenia-assuming you believe in the bible being taken literally - Brody, you’d just see Jesus as the son of God, correct? So what could be more flattering than having a replica of the wounds of the man who saved humanity?” He shrugged.
“I mean it’s a bit of a bitchslap, no lie. Assuming Jesus wasn’t really human, he was a demigod, then hey, he could handle some holes in various body parts. People like you and me? We go to emergency rooms for that sort of thing.” Chet looked Brody over. “As for why you have stigmata..search me. And I know about the TV-in-the-oven incident.”
"The tv.....?" Brody blinked in surprise, his mouth falling open in a kind of half embarrased shock, though really, he should have been used to the fact that Chet knew his secrets by now. The tv in the oven incident he hadn't even thought about since college and even then it wasn't something he told anyone about if he could help it, so it was of no big surpise that he swiftly changed the subject as swiftly as possible.
"Y'know, all this talk about religon, its kinda giving me a headache." He said, rubbing slowly at the bridge of his nose with his thumb and forefinger.
"You mind if we skip the rest of this until the morning? I'm beat and this couch looks way to comfortable to just sit on."
Post by holeinthewall on Oct 14, 2009 15:46:19 GMT -8
“No, I don’t mind.” Chet said. “It’s been a long day.” He stood up. “Get comfortable. I’m gonna go lock up.” And with that he headed down the stairs. To anyone who didn’t know him, Chet seemed quiet and tired. To someone who had known the grumpy bookstore owner, like Gregory Marsh, he might as well have been grinning like a Cheshire cat.
Chet made it to the bottom of the stairs and glanced around. A squint at the door and the deadbolt was fastened. He made the effort to walk over and flip the sign, since (though it was late) a shop sign flipping to closed by itself could cause some heads to turn. The two or three other locks Chet fastened by hand as well, placing his palm flat against the wall above the light switches and dragging it down. The path had been smoothed out, perfectly fitting the heel of his palm, allowing him to hit all the lights at once. With this done, he headed for the stairs again, where the lights were still on.
Chet wouldn’t get any real sleep that night, just like he hadn’t the night before, or really any night for the past hundred or so years. But at least someone would be sleeping at Hole in the Wall.
Brody watched Chet wander off downstairs and waited until he was out of sight to get himself settled down on the couch. A minute or two spent plumping and arranging cushions and Brody was able to get comfortable, lying the entire length of the seat as though it were a real bed. For the first time in a long time, he felt warm, dry and more importantly, safe in the knowledge that he wasn't on his own anymore. Of course, he'd remain stubbornly independant on the surface, but fate had dealt him a helping hand in the form of a weird aura reading bookstore agoraphobe and Brody was pretty thankful for it all the same.
By the time Chet returned upstairs, Brody was already snoring.
Post by holeinthewall on Oct 29, 2009 6:40:11 GMT -8
Chet walked back up the stairs, avoiding the creaking boards out of years of practice. When he made it to the couch, Brody was already out cold. Hell, who could blame him? Chet watched him sleeping for a moment and once he was sure that Brody wasn't a thrasher by nature (and thus likely to fall off the couch and injure something) he headed for his door.
He unlocked it and headed up the second flight of stairs, wandering ghost-like through the small kitchen and living room area until he reached the comforting glow of his computer's screensaver, pausing as always to lightly tap the framed print of a photograph, taken years ago, of a gravestone.
Chester Clifford Farley
August 31, 1861-October 7, 1883
"Not dead, only sleeping."
With a chuckle and a sigh Chet sat down to work. It was going to be a long night.