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prodigalwatcher25 - "You never really understand a person until you consider things from his point of view... Until you climb inside of his skin and walk around in it." - 'To Kill a Mockingbird'
An interesting hypothesis.
All right, consider this then:
Six o'clock P.M. and you are just returning to your apartment after a workout at the local gym, a hole in the wall establishment with nothing but free weights and one barely-functioning water cooler. You sling your gym bag over your shoulder, reaching your right hand under your jacket. Once your fingers find the grips of the pistol holstered just behind your hip, you whisper a few words to release a small but effective warding spell and unlock and open the door with your left hand.
Closing the door behind you with a foot, you step quietly into the darkened apartment, briefly but efficiently glancing through the living room, kitchen, bedroom and bathroom to assure yourself that no one or nothing has invaded your space. At last, you set down the bag and turn on the lights.
There is no scurry of insect or pest as the apartment is illuminated, as you are far too fastidiously neat to allow such a thing. You pass again through the apartment, locking the front door and reestablishing the ward, ignoring the dark blue and grayish-white environment that somehow manages to be either warm or cool, depending on your mood. The bag and jacket go into the hall closet. The holsters and pistols go into the locked top drawer of the chest in your bedroom.
A shower and change of clothes later, you are in your small kitchen. The microwave hums with the effort of reheating your "braised sirloin with wild rice" frozen entree while you busily uncork a bottle of Banfi Poggio alle Mura Brunello di Montalcino 1999 to go with it. Dinner and the wine allow you an hour or so to scan through the news channels-- local, national and international-- for items that might be supernatural happenings in disguise.
Finished with the meal and storing the other half of the excellent Italian red for later, you prepare for the evening's work. You dress in sturdy, heavy-soled shoes and a comfortable set of trousers and button-down shirt. Returning to the locked drawer, you extract both pistols and their holsters, sliding one behind each hip, testing the draw and inspecting both weapons for cleanliness and maintenance.
You roll up your right sleeve and affix to it another piece from the locked drawer, a contraption of metal leather, strapped to your forearm. A few flicks of the wrist test the various items it holds: the spring-loaded wooden stake, the compact grappling hook and even-- your personal favourite-- the collapsible sword. Last out of the locked drawer is your highly illegal (as if the rest of your armaments are not) sawed-off pump-action shotgun and ammunition for all the guns. These last go into a canvas duffel along with a few other potentially useful items, including rudimentary magical supplies.
Out of the hall closet you shrug on your battered and worn brown leather coat, leaving it hanging open so as to better conceal your armed status. You close and lock the door and the warding spell.
After driving into the City of Industry and its many warehouses and buildings, you meet up with three of your people-- like-minded and capable individuals who are content to follow your orders and your lead in exchange for the chance to destroy the monsters. Most of them have lost something or someone to the darkness, and you have given them a way to get revenge. You mark how similar this is to how Holtz himself recruited, but remind yourself that Holtz was, ultimately, evil.
They have cornered a group of fledgling vampires to the building before you-- four newly-minted demons, all still boasting enough strength and viciousness to tear four normal humans to shreds. But you and your people are prepared.
As leader, it is your shotgun blast that opens the locked door, rousing the vampires from their enjoyment of some awful reality television programme they've managed to tune into. The ensuing battle is fast and loud and very angry. You react almost purely on instinct, bringing the monsters down with the power of the firearms' modern magic and leaving the staking to the others. Four puffs of dust and smoke later, and there is almost no sign of the vampires.
What is left, though, are two bodies. Two of your own people that you led into this room and who would not be walking out of it. Taking a few long moments to memorize their faces and names, you help the other survivors in inspecting the bodies. Both have had large chunks of their necks ripped away, which means only one recourse is left to you. With an axe from the back of your SUV, you behead both of the bodies, then help with loading them into the bed of a pickup truck.
After watching the truck fade off into the brightly-lit L.A. night, you give a few last-minute orders to your subordinates and give them the rest of the night off. You, though, climb back into your car and continue to patrol. More vampires to dust. More demons to maim or to bribe or to beat into giving you valuable information.
Things end somewhere near five in the morning. Perhaps you may be returning to the apartment with company or perhaps they're waiting for you, ready to spend an hour or two heated and frantic, crashing into another person, looking for something neither of you will find but enjoying yourselves nonetheless. Or you're alone. Either way, sleep is not for you until the sun is up.
This was my life for more than a year.
So...
Tell me what you understand now.
(946)
An interesting hypothesis.
All right, consider this then:
Six o'clock P.M. and you are just returning to your apartment after a workout at the local gym, a hole in the wall establishment with nothing but free weights and one barely-functioning water cooler. You sling your gym bag over your shoulder, reaching your right hand under your jacket. Once your fingers find the grips of the pistol holstered just behind your hip, you whisper a few words to release a small but effective warding spell and unlock and open the door with your left hand.
Closing the door behind you with a foot, you step quietly into the darkened apartment, briefly but efficiently glancing through the living room, kitchen, bedroom and bathroom to assure yourself that no one or nothing has invaded your space. At last, you set down the bag and turn on the lights.
There is no scurry of insect or pest as the apartment is illuminated, as you are far too fastidiously neat to allow such a thing. You pass again through the apartment, locking the front door and reestablishing the ward, ignoring the dark blue and grayish-white environment that somehow manages to be either warm or cool, depending on your mood. The bag and jacket go into the hall closet. The holsters and pistols go into the locked top drawer of the chest in your bedroom.
A shower and change of clothes later, you are in your small kitchen. The microwave hums with the effort of reheating your "braised sirloin with wild rice" frozen entree while you busily uncork a bottle of Banfi Poggio alle Mura Brunello di Montalcino 1999 to go with it. Dinner and the wine allow you an hour or so to scan through the news channels-- local, national and international-- for items that might be supernatural happenings in disguise.
Finished with the meal and storing the other half of the excellent Italian red for later, you prepare for the evening's work. You dress in sturdy, heavy-soled shoes and a comfortable set of trousers and button-down shirt. Returning to the locked drawer, you extract both pistols and their holsters, sliding one behind each hip, testing the draw and inspecting both weapons for cleanliness and maintenance.
You roll up your right sleeve and affix to it another piece from the locked drawer, a contraption of metal leather, strapped to your forearm. A few flicks of the wrist test the various items it holds: the spring-loaded wooden stake, the compact grappling hook and even-- your personal favourite-- the collapsible sword. Last out of the locked drawer is your highly illegal (as if the rest of your armaments are not) sawed-off pump-action shotgun and ammunition for all the guns. These last go into a canvas duffel along with a few other potentially useful items, including rudimentary magical supplies.
Out of the hall closet you shrug on your battered and worn brown leather coat, leaving it hanging open so as to better conceal your armed status. You close and lock the door and the warding spell.
After driving into the City of Industry and its many warehouses and buildings, you meet up with three of your people-- like-minded and capable individuals who are content to follow your orders and your lead in exchange for the chance to destroy the monsters. Most of them have lost something or someone to the darkness, and you have given them a way to get revenge. You mark how similar this is to how Holtz himself recruited, but remind yourself that Holtz was, ultimately, evil.
They have cornered a group of fledgling vampires to the building before you-- four newly-minted demons, all still boasting enough strength and viciousness to tear four normal humans to shreds. But you and your people are prepared.
As leader, it is your shotgun blast that opens the locked door, rousing the vampires from their enjoyment of some awful reality television programme they've managed to tune into. The ensuing battle is fast and loud and very angry. You react almost purely on instinct, bringing the monsters down with the power of the firearms' modern magic and leaving the staking to the others. Four puffs of dust and smoke later, and there is almost no sign of the vampires.
What is left, though, are two bodies. Two of your own people that you led into this room and who would not be walking out of it. Taking a few long moments to memorize their faces and names, you help the other survivors in inspecting the bodies. Both have had large chunks of their necks ripped away, which means only one recourse is left to you. With an axe from the back of your SUV, you behead both of the bodies, then help with loading them into the bed of a pickup truck.
After watching the truck fade off into the brightly-lit L.A. night, you give a few last-minute orders to your subordinates and give them the rest of the night off. You, though, climb back into your car and continue to patrol. More vampires to dust. More demons to maim or to bribe or to beat into giving you valuable information.
Things end somewhere near five in the morning. Perhaps you may be returning to the apartment with company or perhaps they're waiting for you, ready to spend an hour or two heated and frantic, crashing into another person, looking for something neither of you will find but enjoying yourselves nonetheless. Or you're alone. Either way, sleep is not for you until the sun is up.
This was my life for more than a year.
So...
Tell me what you understand now.
(946)
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no subject
Date: 2007-08-23 10:21 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2007-08-24 06:08 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2007-08-24 04:09 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2007-08-24 06:09 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2007-08-27 03:40 pm (UTC)More than you'd expect, maybe. But we've already established that it's never enough.
Do you want to get a beer or something sometime? Compare notes?
no subject
Date: 2007-08-27 08:51 pm (UTC)Certainly.
no subject
Date: 2007-08-28 04:19 am (UTC)Maybe it's different for you, with Watcher training or whatever. I mean, sawed-off shotguns and spring-loaded stakes? I guess you knew what you were getting into.
And cool. I've been meaning to go to LA to follow up on a lead, so.
[OOC: Randomly, Logan of course has no idea about Wes' nerdy past. He thinks he's a total badass and assumes he always has been. *g* Also, if you do want to do some kind of RP beer/coffee/male bonding thing, I'd love to.]
no subject
Date: 2007-08-28 03:42 pm (UTC)And, well-- *smirks* Shotguns and spring-loaded stakes aren't typical Watcher equipment. I've done a bit of improvising in the last few years.
Very good. Do give me a call.
no subject
Date: 2007-08-29 06:00 pm (UTC)