#◾ faces come out of the rain — strange west

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❝ yours is the first happy face i’ve seen in a good while. ❞

"If my face is the first happy one, then life might be going worse for you, ja?" the demon spawn responded.

His resting face wasn't known to look very happy...he wasn't known to be very happy. Raserei looked over at the other man from atop his horse. She was big and black, completely normal looking compared to the man atop her, but there was something behind her eyes that indicated a wicked intelligence other horses didn't have.

"And my reason for being in these parts is far from happy."

He was what came when things were truly bad.

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// new tags

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// @h3llslinger

"I rather deal with the wailing woman than what I'm hunting." his good eye locked on Jack.

Raserei wasn't trying to be vague on purpose here, but rather if this aspect held true, he didn't want to invoke the thing before he was ready, and now he had someone else here. Which would make fighting the thing even more dangerous. The curse of a windigo was a terrible fate. But he had dealt with them before, not many, they were powerful and dangerous, and damn hard to kill.

"Plan is fairly straightforward. Draw it out and kill it with fire. And somehow manage to not get infected too...though I have no idea if I could become one to be honest."

The demon spawn went about setting up his bedroll and trying to get settled in, "Been killing all my life, so this job comes easy. Besides, I don't have much choice."

Patchwork Jack's curse is both to look like a demon and to also not look like himself. To be cursed to look different was one thing but to lose all ability to shapeshift... That's another. Some days he has to really strain his brain to remember what his real face looks like. He's drawn it a couple of times, afraid he'll forget his own former reflection if he doesn't record it somehow.

PJ merely shrugs in response to his comment, not really wanting to get into his own, sad backstory with a stranger. There's an audible beat of silence before he speaks further. "Huntin' is messy work. I don't envy you that. I do odd jobs. Gotta get creative with it considerin' my circumstances." As he speaks he pulls some rocks around, making himself a makeshift chair of sorts to sit on.

"At least this storm will give you a chance to start comin' up with a plan. You'll need a good one depending on what kind of creature you're facin'. Banshees are really common around these parts. And real nasty."

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🚢 toot tooot!

Big Bad Handsome Man

The Saloon was full, despite this small town often being more of a ghost down deep in the swamp. But tonight the place was alive and she was up there singing and swaying. Music he heard was getting very popular in the big cities. The cigar and cigarette smoke seemed to swirl around her and added to the moment.

His little angel manifesting, just for him. The lyrics made the normally scowling demon spawn smile and he chuckled. Gods above, did she really have to write a song about him?

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❝  there ain’t language for the things i feel.  ❞  

The demon spawn was leaning back in a chair, his legs kicked up on a table. He looked over with his good eye, barely visible under his wide-brimmed hat.

"I think they call that heartburn, ja?"

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Of course, the curse has him looking like some demon spawn. A hard reminder, that his blood was so foul that to be cursed was to look like him. His blood black and foul, and tastes rancid; acid to vampires.

"Well if it is a curse; I suppose it could have been worse. Seen worse."

As they walked into the cave, Raserei shrugged. He didn't have better if he was honest. If it weren't being a leashed dog for the government, he wouldn't have much of a life at all. Probably even more time to get lost inside his mind and self-loathing and that wasn't good for anyone. It was what his grandfather wanted.

"Hunting. There are other monsters out here right now besides myself, and I have been tasked with killing them."

However, what he was tasked with tangling with had him not looking forward to the task at hand. There were some creatures he rather not deal with. Spirits and ghosts were at the top.

"Trust me," Patchwork Jack replies with a bittersweet chuckle, "I ain't wearin' this face by choice. Done and gone pissed off the wrong person. Now I'm cursed... Can't shift very much anymore. No matter what I do the horns stay, the golden eyes linger. I can change my hair and skin color but that's about it."

Raserei means well, but his words only remind him of how fucked he truly is. A face like this... He's a walking, talking target. And oh how he knows it... It's why he avoids people at all costs. It's also why the few times he has to go into town he layers himself up to make himself look damn near unrecognizable. Bundling himself up is always a miserable experience. It makes him look like a fool since it doesn't snow in the desert. It also makes him sweat like crazy.

Leading him to the cave he found, he maintains the conversation, "what's a guy like you doin' way out here, anyways? Don't you have somethin' better to do?"

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"Not to put too fine of a point on it, but," he gestured to himself, "I do not think I have much room in that aspect, ja?"

Which alerted him to something, this man looked like he was a spawn of some demon or devil, the the smell; it wasn't there. There was no urge to kill him because of opposing blood or a sense of similarity. Which meant this was a facade of sorts...or...

"Umm, not sure why you want to do this, but if you are a changling, maybe pick something more welcoming than one of us, ja? People do not like my kind for a reason. Good reasons."

While Raserei struggled and did his best to not give in to his blood. He would never disagree that fear of those spawned from the denizens of the hells or the Abyss was merited. The generations it took to water down the blood and the pull to lessen was great. Some even classify him as a demon fully, not even acknowledging his human blood.

He nodded about the cave, "Water doe not bother me much, but better to wait out a storm than ride in it. Let us get to shelter then."

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"Yea I suppose it is," Patchwork Jack replies and despite all of the rough shit he's been through he manages to laugh. His life has been rough. The only thing rougher than his life is this dangerous, unyielding terrain. Between the sheer cliff faces and the chasms... Between the wild beasts and fierce storms, he can't seem to catch a break.

"Well you didn't try to rob me or kill me upon seein' me which is a big improvement from the last fella I ran across," he adds with a soft sigh. He's not too friendly looking either. Face schooled into a purposefully neutral expression, jagged scar spanning across half his face. "Honestly I'd be more worried for your mental health if you went ridin' in these parts for fun. There's a cave near here if you'd like to hide from the incomin' storm together."