The lights were far too bright. The antiseptic smell was too strong. The waiting room was crowded with the majority of people looking completely healthy, just bored. Nellie stole glances at these others just to avoid her eyes crossing from the exhaustion gripping her.
The cheerful booping of her phone receiving a video call startled her from her adrenaline clash. She hastily answered to minimize the number of heads that sneakily turned her way.
The slightly garbled faces of Uncle Winston and Aunt Margaret popped onto the screen. Aunt Margaret was looked down through her thick-framed glasses as she hovered near Uncle Winston’s shoulder.
‘Hello, Nellie, love,’ Aunt Margaret said cheerily.
‘Where are you,’ Uncle Winston asked. ‘Is that a hospital? Oh god, is Nat all right? Has she scalded herself?’
‘Oh dear, I hope it’s not too bad,’ Aunt Margaret said. ‘She isn’t hurt badly, is she?’
Nellie’s eyes welled up. She shook her head, trying to voice what was going on, but only succeeded in huffing out sobs. Her hands shook as she tried to keep the phone in frame, failing to do that much and it soon pointed into the blinding fluorescents overhead.
She jumped as Nathalie put a hand on her shoulder, gently pulling the phone from her hands.
“Winston? Margo? No, I’m perfectly fine,” Nathalie said, turning her back to Nellie. “Mr. York met with an accident. Some creature took a swipe at him.” She smiled at Nellie. “He’s all right.” She looked back at the phone. “Nellie can tell you all about it once we’re home. Shouldn’t be much longer. Cheers.”
She leaned into Nathalie’s side as she sat and draped her arm around her shoulders.She sniffled and dried her eyes with the edge of her coat.
“Ira is really okay,” Nellie asked.
“He is,” Nathalie assured. “He somehow wasn’t hurt as badly as it first seemed. They were feeding him biscuits and juice when I left him.” She gave Nellie a squeeze. “Are you hungry? There’s a Red Robin on the corner.”
They–and most of the waiting room and staff–jumped to attention as the swinging emergency room doors banged open in time with disgruntled and frantic yells. Ira strode through with his bloody coat in one hand, the sleeve of his shirt cut off and arm wrapped in thick, white bandages. Two nurses and a doctor were attempting to stop him with all the other nurses they passed hesitating as they questioned joining the effort.
“Ira, please–.”
“Mr. York,” Ira corrected coldly. “The casual manner your country holds hasn’t blurred my sight on this being a transactional relationship.”
“Mr. York–.”
“You’ve seen to my injury,” Ira said, keeping the bite in his voice. “I’ve given you my contact information. Send me an itemized bill, and we’ll settle payment from there. There is no need for me to linger here and incur more, likely pointless, fees.”
“Discharge procedure–.”
“I’m discharged,” Ira stated. “Now, unless this is a prison and I have, in fact, been charged with some crime, I’m now leaving. I cannot afford to sit idle for your paperwork.”
Nellie and Nathalie, still holding each other, stood as Ira marched over to them after a moment of surveying the area. His color had returned and his blue eyes blazed.
“Take me back,” he ordered.
“Of course,” Nathalie said, unflinching.
She followed the adults outside at a jog, Ira in the lead until they fully exited the building when Nathalie took over–at a slower, more acceptable stride–to lead them to the car. She sat behind Nathalie, watching Ira anxiously, expecting his eyes to flicker and roll as before. Expecting to see blood blooming through his bandage. Her eyes fell on the bloody coat in his lap, swallowing a lump in her throat.
“I’m all right,” Ira said, breaking the tense silence filling the Crown Vic. He looked over his shoulder at Nellie. “Not a single stitch even.” He ran his hand over his bandaged arm. “That cryptid… it must have some type of stunning toxin in its claws.” He turned back to the road. “Cecily is in danger. And so is any poor, unlucky soul that crosses its path.”
The Crown Victoria gave the slightest lurch, picking up speed.
“What exactly is the plan,” Nathalie asked as they waited at the red light for Rucker Road. “I can’t very well drop you off, and I doubt shoving this Cecily into the backseat with Nellie is an option.”
“There’s no guarantee she’ll still be there,” Ira said. “If she is, I can tell her to fly back home.”
“Home,” Nellie asked. “To England?”
“Of course,” Ira said. “It takes her a fortnight. The sooner she sets off the better. Then I can handle this screamer without worrying after her.”
“How are you going to handle it,” Nellie asked. “You… you aren’t going to kill it, are you?”
“Possibly,” Ira said. He straightened. “Wait, there’s Cecily! Pull over here, please!”
Nathalie barely had the car stopped before Ira leapt out. He unfurled his coat, throwing it on.
Cecily was circling the white screamer as it circled her back, both with all the deadly grace of a large cat. Cecily flapped her wings as Ira yelled to her, the glow of her feathers going from a twenty-foot span to triple the size. The car shook with the gust of wind she created as she took off into the sky.
Ira knocked on the window to get Nathalie to roll it down, back to the car to keep the screamer in sight. “Right, he said, “I’ll borrow your gun now.”
“Gun,” Nathalie said, confused. “What gun? Are you under the assumption everyone in this country carries a gun?”
“Then… there is no gun,” Ira said carefully.
The white screamer noticed them now that Cecily was long out of sight. It lowered its slinky, feline body and slowly crept nearer.
“Lug wrench,” Ira asked.
“N-no,” Nathalie said. “It’s coming! Get back in the car!”
“Go block the road,” Ira commanded. “I can at least lead it further into the field.”
Nathalie did not drive away. She continued to urge Ira to get back into the car, her politeness waning each attempt. Ira largely ignored her, holding his ground.
“The bat,” Nellie exclaimed. “Pop the trunk!”
She threw open the door as soon as she heard the trunk open. She ran to the trunk, shoved the hatch up, and grabbed the aluminum bat, shutting out Nathalie’s frantic screams to get back in the car.
“Ira!” Nellie held the bat over her head, swaying about. “Ira!”
He stole a glance at her. His eyes lit up. He backed nearer to the car, keeping himself squared to the white screamer and keeping most of his attention on it. He bumped into the car, and spun to face Nellie with his hand stretched over the roof.
The screamer charged. Its footfalls were silent. It crossed the ground with great speed, crouched, and launched.
Ira snatched the bat from Nellie, swinging around and striking the screamer across the jaw.
“Back in the car,” Ira ordered.
Nellie did not argue. She clamoured back into the backseat, slamming the door shut. She took deep, gulping breaths. Nathalie’s admonishings and frightened sobs was nothing but a dull buzz to her ears. She climbed across the backseat to watch through the window.
The screamer had recovered enough to start pacing back and forth, blood dripping from its panting mouth. Several of its pointed teeth were broken; its jaw appeared loose. It tried to shriek, but the sound was dampened by its wounds. Its hackles wiggled, and it lunged again.
Ira held still, swinging at the last moment to smash it in its shoulders. He stepped forward to swing again as the screamer tried to recover, smashing across the shoulders again. He held the bat one-handed, pointing it towards the white screamer as he shuffled to the passenger’s side window.
Nathalie rolled it down an inch.
“Do you have a binding agent of some sort,” Ira asked. “Rope? Industrial strength tape?”
“I-I-I don’t–. Possibly jumper cables,” Nathalie said, her voice quaking. “Why?”
“One of you please toss me the cables,” Ira said.
There was a mild argument between the three of them as Nellie once more left the car. She found the jumper cables and a roll of unopened duct tape meant to make hasty repairs to the car if it ever needed them, not that Nathalie would ever have driven around with duct tape on her car.
Ira shoved the bat into the white screamer's mouth to stop it from snapping at him. He guided Nellie–and Nathalie who jumped out either to force Nellie in the car or help–to watch for the legs, give him warning when it started thrashing, and help him pin the dislocated front legs so he could focus on binding the kicking back ones. He bound them with the cables, and pressed layers of tap on all four sets of claws.
“No telling how effective this will be,” Ira said. He glared at his cell phone. “Bollocks.” He handed his phone to Nellie. “Do me a favor? Go to a service area and call the number I’ve pulled up. I’ll wait here to make sure this creature doesn’t get loose and wreak havoc on the neighborhoods nearby. My passcode is 2259 should the screen darken.”
There was reluctance to leave Ira stranded with the screamer, but with no other option, Nathalie ushered Nellie into the Crown Vic and drove off. They traveled back down the road to the nearest RaceTrac and sat in silence for a minute with the car parked facing the convenience store.
“I think I’ll get some crisps,” Nathalie said weakly.
Nellie typed the passcode onto Ira’s phone as Nathalie left the car. The number that popped onto the screen was longer than usual, but she recognized the start was the country code for the United States. She pressed the dial button, snapping straight as it was immediately answered.
‘Order of Ferblanc.’
“R-really,” Nellie stammered out. “I didn’t realize I could just call–. Nevermind. Ira York gave me this number….”
‘Did you say Ira York? Ira York! What in the world is he doing in… Murfreesboro, Tennessee? Know what, not my business. What’s the issue? What can we assist with?’
“He’s got a white screamer tied down on Rucker Road not far from the Mars Hill Church of Christ,” Nellie said, adding urgency to her voice. “It’s a very dangerous cryptid, and we don’t know if it’s really contained. I don’t know if I’m supposed to ask you to send help, or what he wanted me to do.”
She heard the clacking of a keyboard on the other side of the call. It was fast and continuous.
‘I’ll dispatch a pair of knights. Are you able to get nearer to him so I can track the location more accurately?’
“I-I don’t– I can’t drive,” Nellie said lamely.
‘Don’t worry. I’m giving the directions you said to them too. What is your name?’
“Nellie. Or, Perenelle, I guess,” Nellie said. “Perenelle Herle.”
The typing abruptly stopped. It started up very slowly, as if the person was typing one key at a time. It then stopped again.
‘I have all the information, Miss Herle. The knights are en route and should be arriving in under thirty. Is there anything else, Miss Herle?’
“No, thank you,” Nellie said, almost breathless with the relief she felt. “I guess… goodbye?”
‘Goodbye, Miss Herle, happy to be of assistance.’
The call ended just as Nathalie returned. Nellie stared at the screen until it blackened, tucking the phone into her coat pocket as she smiled at Nathalie. She took the bag of salt and vinegar chips passed to her, Nathalie opening a large bag of sour cream ones.
“Ira has help coming,” Nellie said. “It’s the Order of Ferblanc. The same group my father belonged to.”
“That’s great news,” Nathalie said with a long exhale. She crunched her chips as she tucked the bag off to the side, buckling in. “We should head back. He’ll need a ride.”
Nellie munched chips as they pulled out of the RaceTrac and headed back towards Mars Hill. Ira’s phone weighed in her pocket. He had given her his passcode. It was near enough to permission to look through it. There was no telling what other numbers he had stored in his phone. Or what pictures she may find.
She startled at a sudden, vaguely familiar voice that filled the car. Her eyes flashed to Nathalie’s phone, she muttering an apology for the volume as she hastily corrected it.
“Thought a little background noise was the thing,” Nathalie said. “I don’t believe this episode will get too graphic. The crime happened too long ago for the body to be describable.”
Nellie rolled her bag of chips up and set them by her feet. She wiped the grease on her jeans, sliding her hand into her pocket to remove Ira’s phone. She stared at the blank screen.
“Did Rhys ever talk about the Order of Ferblanc,” Nellie asked.
“A little,” Nathalie said. “He mentioned joining them and then leaving them. I’m not exactly sure what they do, but he wrote fondly of them.” Her lip curled. “Well, as fondly as he would admit. They gave him a sense of purpose and he had much pride in that.”
“They made use of his weirdness,” Nellie said.
“I rather like how Mr. York refers to it as a sensitivity,” Nathalie said.
They turned onto Rucker and soon were stopped by a sedan blocking the road. The cars in front of them turned off into the side street leading to houses. Nathalie rolled the Crown Victoria towards the middle-aged man standing by the parked car.
“Sorry, ma’am,” he greeted in a slight drawl. “Tractor fell off the road up ahead.”
This man had all the rugged grace of a seasoned cowboy out of the movies, but there was something about his neatly cropped hair and lack of cowboy hat that seemed off. His worn, winter jacket appeared to be soft, brown leather with some type of fur lining. There was a subtle metallic shimmer as he crossed his arms, and Nellie spied an embossment on his sleeve cuff that looked like a fancy number four: ♃.
Nellie leaned across Nathalie. “I’m Perenelle. I called.”
“Give me a mo’ to move the car,” he said. He tipped the hat that was not there, and went to his vehicle.
Nathalie gave a small, awkward wave as they crawled by. They were met with a second vehicle–a transport van–after the extreme curve in the road. The other knight was loading the white screamer–now with firmer restraints–into the back while Ira talked to him, Nathalie’s bat still in his hand and his injured arm pressed up against his chest.
Nellie jumped from the car as it rolled to a stop. She hesitated to get nearer as Ira glanced her way but continued his conversation. She crossed her arms to conserve heat.
The knight straighted and saluted with a fist to his forehead, the back of his hand to his skin. Nellie knew from the other knight that the ♃ was on that sleeve, likely that was being shown to Ira who dismissed the salute with a curt nod, stepping away.
Nellie eyed Ira as he approached. “What was that about?”
“Politeness,” Ira said. He handed her the bat. “A baseball fan?”
“Casually,” Nathalie answered, striding over. “It was more of a deterrent should someone attempt to rob my car.” She took the bat from Nellie, giving it a shake. “When you’re a woman, if you act mad in some instances, then whoever is on the other end think twice. Shall we go?”
She allowed Ira to sit up front with Nathalie, taking the seat behind him. Her head turned to keep the knight blocking the road in sight; he was saluting Ira as they drove by in the same manner. She leaned around the seat, gulping at the bloodstains on his torn sleeve. She narrowed her eyes in scrutiny when she realized the silvery threads in his coat were still connected, making the rips look as if someone had sloppily and poorly tried mending them together and not bothered to pull the threads tight.
“What’s up with your coat,” Nellie asked, pointing to the rips.
“Oh, my coat,” Ira said, raising his arm to study the tears. “There are tinplate threads woven into the fabric. It’s standard issue for the Order of the Ferblanc. And, no, before you ask, I’m not a member. My father trained with them, found it beneficial, and so had me train with them.”
“Then… your father was,” Nellie asked. Her heart skipped. “Did he train with mine?”
“Yes, as a matter of fact, but my father didn’t go on to join the Order,” Ira said. “He and my mother were what we call keepers, specifically stalkers.”
“As in gamekeeps and stalkers,” Nathalie interjected dubiously.
“It is where the terms come from,” Ira said, “except the lands they keep are more broad than some aristocrat’s estate and the game they stalk are far more exciting than deer.” He turned to give Nellie a grin. “Those knights are acting as a go between. They’ll escort that cryptid to the nearest Keeper Conservatory.”
“Are they going to kill it,” Nellie asked.
“Only should it prove to be far too dangerous to re-release,” Ira said. “Having been on the other side of its claws, I have reason to believe that it should be able to be placed somewhere out in the woods, far from humans, and do just fine should there be ample prey.”
Nellie jumped as a phone thrilled in her pocket. She scrambled to answer.
“H-hello? Uncle–?”
‘Who is this?’
Nellie did not recognize the woman on the other end. She pulled back the phone, her face burning when she realized it was not hers. She thrust it into the front, waving it towards Ira.
“Th-this isn’t mine,” she stammered.
He looked at the screen before holding the phone to his ear. “I found her, Penny. She’s flying–. Nellie. She was holding my phone for me.” He paused. “I had an incident. I’m fine. The reception is spotty through here. I’ll call later. Cheers.”
A hush fell through the car as Ira hung up. Nellie looked from Ira to Nathalie, noticing a curl on Nathalie’s lips. She cleared her throat.
“So… is Penny your girlfriend,” Nathalie asked.
------------------
Okay, so right now we have the Order of Ferblanc which Rhys Herle left home to join. Members are referred to as Knights. Then there are also Keepers, and inside the Keepers you have Stalkers (I probably need to capitalize those actually). Just in case I can't fit it in (for some time, hopefully I can later) Knights are sensitive to magic but are not magic, so they're focus is magical type humans/humanoids. Keepers have magic/otherness sensitivity too, but they focus more on the non-homaniods/cryptids. Stalkers are specifically Keepers that seek out and combat dangerous cryptids. So, a standard Keeper is a passive role while a Stalker is an active role.
Ira's passcode spells out Cecily - ccly. The fancy number four is the alchemical symbol of Jupiter which represents tin. I don't know if it'll show up in the document. Tin/tinplate is historically used to negate magic. It's also supposed to be pretty strong when it's not straight up tinfoil, but still really flexible, so it made sense to me to have it in the clothing.
A Tier half-transformed as a dracleon back in 2005.
Coronation, 2009
I have made at least 2 attempts at drawing the Alan Parsons Project song "Snake Eyes"... this is one from 2011...
...And this one from 2013. I like aspects of both; maybe the layout of this one but mixed with the realism of the other? I need to study my cobra anatomy if I'm going to try again, hah.
Twila Sketch, unknown
And here's just an Ace with epic scarf. I just really like scarves. This was dated 2014!
Train in the Distance, 2014?
Ava Harley, 2016
