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!
Sienaa opened the door to her motel and threw her bags down on the floor. An assorted collection of knives, stakes and bottles filled with various liquids tumbled out of one of the bags, but she was too tired to bother picking them up. Instead, she closed the door and stumbled over to a nearby chair. Her left shoulder ached as it had been dislocated, so she reached around with her right hand, and pulled it back in place. She clamped down on her lip to distract herself from the sudden onslaught of pain.
Then, she stood and went over to the closed bag, and opened it, pulling a golden reliquary out of it. As she held it in one hand, looking it over, she picked up her cell in the other and dialed a number, then put it to her ear. It rang three times before a man, with a husky voice answered.
“Yes?”
“Springrove Park in 20.”
“Got it.”
Hanging up, she threw her phone onto the bed, and went to the bathroom to check on her other wounds. Looking in the mirror, she saw that she had a few scratches here and there, but nothing too serious. Thankfully, that meant that she wouldn't have to shift. Picking a few leaves out of her hair, she heard her phone ring. Walking back out into her room, she plopped onto her bed and grabbed her phone, not even bothering to check the number as she flipped it open. Only a few people knew this number.
“Hello?”
“Ava?”
Sienaa sighed wearily. It was one of her clients, Trent McCoy, from the Nevada State Museum. She checked the time to see that it was after 11. Normally he'd be long gone by now, so that could only mean one thing. “What happened?”
“It's the hippocampus brooch. It's been stolen.”
Sienaa sucked in her breath, then breathed out in exasperation. It had been quite difficult to obtain every piece of the Lydian Hoard. Not only that, but it had also been risky considering that it was rumored to be cursed. Anyone that had come into physical contact with the treasure had suffered great misfortune. Some were killed, some lost everything...some even went mad. Sienaa had been smart enough to hire a few lackeys to acquire the hoard for her. There was no way she would touch any piece of it. But now it was gone. “How the hell did that happen, Trent? You said it was locked up tight.”
“It was Ava, I swear. I don't know what happened.”
Sienaa rolled her eyes. “Okay, so have the police dug up anything? Do they know anything about the culprit?”
“No, nothing. No prints, no DNA. Nothing. This thief is no amateur, I can tell you that.”
“Obviously,” she said with a sigh. “Fine, I'll see what I can do.” Hanging up, she set the phone down on the bed beside her, her lips pressed tightly together. She needed to get that brooch back before someone got hurt, and fast. First, she would have to go to the crime scene. The cops hadn't picked up anything, but then again, they hadn't known what they were looking for. Grabbing both of her bags, and replacing everything that had tumbled out onto the floor, Sienaa headed outside to her '68 Firebird. Tossing them into the trunk, she climbed in and started the car. So much for an easy day, she thought as she sped off down the road.
Last Edit: Aug 18, 2012 17:19:47 GMT -8 by Deleted
Kat pushed herself through the dusty air vents, muttering to herself, "Air vents. So clichéd. Sadly, sometimes they are the best way to get the job done." She would laugh, but the sound would echo and give her away, and the last thing she wanted now on the homeward stretch was to be found.
She dragged herself forward with her elbows, pushing her backpack in front of her until she reached the junction. From here, she knew, it was a twelve foot downwards climb with no handholds. Leaning through the gap she dangled the bag as far as she could before dropping it to the floor below. Wincing as it hit the ground, she hoped the brooch, wrapped in bubble-wrap and a soft cloth, would survive. She wasn't paid the sums she was for shoddy, damaged merchandise.
Pulling herself back up and across the small opening, she dropped her legs into the hole. Bracing her feet on opposite sides of the metal vent, she thanked whoever was watching over her that she'd managed to acquire a new pair of climbing shoes. Leaning back against the side, she began the arduous climb to the bottom.
Hitting the bottom and opening a hatch, she lowered herself into the basement and ran quickly to the exit. Opening the door she'd left ajar, she removed the gadget she'd been given to override the alarm system, quietly closed the door behind her and jogged into the alley.
Taking a circuitous route she stopped in the mouth of the alley and looked out into the street. Perfect timing, the evening club crowd was just building up. Dropping to a crouch, she opened her bag and pulled out a pair of soft leather ankle boots which she swapped for her climbing boots. Removing her grey sweater revealed a white tank top and taking off her hat allowed her long hair to tumble down her back. Quickly fluffing her hair and checking that the package was safe in it's secret pocket, she made her way into the street, joining the growing crowd of people.
Taking out her phone she made a quick call, leaving a message on an answer machine.