03.2023 | WELCOME BACK! Hello friends old and new! I'm so excited to welcome you all back to SITW! I've made some changes to the plot and added the ability to play supernatural charcaters! So come and check it out! I can't wait to jump back into this little town with all of you!
A strange history surrounds the town, it is a place where mysterious and supernatural things have been known to happen. The reputation of the town reguarly draws in visitors and newcomers alike. While some residents avidly believe in the supernatural, others are far more skeptical. What do you believe?
The werewolf had spent his shift working at the massage parlor largely silent. None of his four clients for the day were particularly talkative which never bothered him. It was the talkative ones, those that expected him to trade them word for word he got weary of. Enough that he contemplated taking a nap once he cleaned up from the last one. His other appointments had called off for one reason or another and while he could take walk-ins, he hadn’t been hired for his social skills. He spent the down figuring out what he would make Elrond for dinner.
After his shift, much like his days off, Tristan took a bit of time to explore the shopping center and town. He’d only been living here a few months and with Elrond’s poor vision, he doubted the man knew much of what was around. So, it seemed polite to scope out new places he might be able to take his friend now that he had a car.
Today, it was one of the many little local shops that he walked into. His pathing was not at random, any observant passerby would notice the man leaving his morning shift and going down the row of shops. Today’s venture was a place called The Spinning Bee. It was a peculiar name, one that didn’t immediately aid him in guessing the type of store. But the soft must of fabrics and yarns that hit his nostrils as he opened the door clued him in.
Even more interesting than the bolts and skeins and the bright colors within was the scent of death. He twitched slightly at the bell on the entrance door ringing in his good ear, distracting him from the scent for a moment. Normal humans didn’t have the best of senses, but he still hated those bells.
While Tristan had encountered quite a few werewolves in town, enough to distinguish between the two packs, he had only really encountered the one vampire. He wasn’t surprised to find another. But he hadn’t expected to find one so surrounded by people. Dark eyes quickly adjusted to the lighting, and he looked across the shop, hesitantly curious and customarily quiet.
Post by Lorelle Irving on May 15, 2024 9:04:45 GMT
The Spinning Bee. An establishment for fabrics, embroidery equipment, sewing equipment and machines and everything you could imagine you would need when making garments or things like that. Lorelle had found her place here. The owner of the store was another vampire from the coven. Margaret had been alive during the American revolution as well, and funnily enough, the two women had met during one of the spinning bees (spinning bees were 18th-century public events where women in the American Colonies produced homespun cloth to help the colonists reduce their dependence on British goods. They emerged in the decade prior to the American Revolution as a way for women to protest British policies and taxation). Margaret and Lorelle were the same age, but Margaret had only been turned into a vampire in her 60s by her lover. It was funny to them, because Lorelle would forever look in her twenties, while Margaret would forever look like an older lady. The two had their fun together, though. They understood each other well. They had been raised during the same time.
Now Margaret owned a fabric store and she had named it after the event that had meant so much to her back in the day. That day, however, Margaret wasn't in the store. She was running errands and doing whatever, and she had left the store in Lorelle's care. The 'young' vampire didn't mind. She loved the store, and used the quiet moments to focus on her own embroidery projects.
Her nose scrunched up, and she had to suppress a gag. A werewolf had entered the store, she noticed it the moment before the bell rang.
"A dog, huh?" she said, getting up from her chair and looking at Tristan. She store was empty except for them, so she wasn't careful with her words. "What can I help you with?"
Post by Tristan Morrigan on May 15, 2024 11:06:41 GMT
He could tell there were two of them, but one of the scents was faded. Perhaps not here. The stronger scent belonged to a young woman, but at least to his nose, her youth was obviously fake. She wasn't as old as the artist he had met, her scent not the same sickly sweet. It was softer. Like what he would imagine the lace used to cover a young girl's coffin might smell like.
Being called a "dog" with such disdain and the faint choking sound to her tone might have offended a normal werewolf. Tristan wasn't so quick to a temper or indeed any strong emotion. Though from her lackluster greeting, he expected her following words to be more along the lines of "Get out." When they were a question of aid, he was genuinely surprised.
He stood there a moment, confused. To be perfectly honest, as a werewolf in a fabrics shop owned by a vampire, even his artistic inclinations left him feeling lost. His dark eyes never left hers, however, and he took a few testing steps further into her shop. This was a public space, after all. He had no intention of popping whatever bubble of personal space she felt she needed from him, but he did prefer to speak personally.
He was unsure if he or Elrond had any business in a shop like this. Still. "What is a spinning bee?" Was his best question she could help him with on the spot. Tristan's low, near monotone question was spoken with a clean American accent, though she might be able to tell he was from England if he said more than a few words.
Post by Lorelle Irving on May 15, 2024 14:56:27 GMT
She didn't enjoy the smell of a werewolf and she didn't necessarily feel the need to associate with them, but she didn't dislike them so much that she'd tell them to get out of the store. They could relate to each other more than she would be able to relate to a mortal. She didn't mind letting them know how much she dislikes their scent, though. It reminded her if a wet dog. The man didn't react to her greeting, which surprised her a bit. Most werewolves got so defensive when it came to their scent. Apparently not this one.
He did seem taken aback by her willingness to help him, though. After a moment, he recovered and asked about the name of the store. Knowing fully well he'd be able to tell she was a vampire, she didn't see the need talk about the subject as of it was something she had learned through history books.
"Back when the United States were an English colony, women protested the importation taxes by organising spinning bees. We'd get together and set up our spinning wheels. Then we would spin yarn, to turn it into wool for clothes. I met the owner at one of these spinning bees. It was an important way for women to protest, because we couldn't be persecuted for spinning yarn. It was amongst the things we were supposed to do." Lorelle didn't mind that the man had approached a bit, as long as he kept his distance. "I wonder if I could make yarn from your fur", she said, mostly joking, but also genuinely wondering. "Wouldn't that be something?"
She wasn't looking for a fight or anything. She was actually happy that another supernatural creature had set foot into the store. It was definitely more fun than a human.
Post by Tristan Morrigan on May 15, 2024 17:26:45 GMT
Thankfully it wasn't raining, or he might really smell like a wet dog and even then he would be able to tell. But beyond her perversion of life, Tristan had not specific issue with the vampire either. He wondered if there were other shops owned by supernaturals and could only guess as much.
Despite being not quite a century old himself, he had always felt like an old soul. Perhaps that was why he was fascinated by vampires and their long storied lives. Any intelligent beast would run away, knowing what was before him.
She used the word in its definition and he was only more confused. But as she explained in more specific, even personal detail, he began to understand. He also took it that the other vampire was the owner. And perhaps her sire?
It took him a bit longer to piece some of her more complicated words together. But while he was sometimes slow, he wasn't stupid. His eyes took in the sewing machines and other older devices. Some he have a vague understanding of, but while he considered himself artistic and handy, crafts were a different matter.
"That is very admirable of you," he said. Perhaps not dangerous to warrant the use of the word 'brave' but he wasn't attempting to poke fun. In a time when women were not allowed to fight, it was brave to him. He was less certain how to take her implications around women being supposed to spin wool into yarn. It felt like a trap for a man to say anything on the topic.
Tristan's attention was pulled away from the other devices ack to her at the counter. His fur? He'd never thought of that, but especially in the summer he did shed a lot. "That seems a very economical use of shedding," he agreed. If she could. Or, alternatively, if she could stand the scent. "I could bring you some?" He offered. He stopped well short of the counter, taking her in. She was young. Pretty. For not the first time he wondered about the circumstances of her being turned.
Post by Lorelle Irving on May 16, 2024 10:33:54 GMT
It was fun to talk about the past. She would've made a great history teacher. Maybe it was something she could look into. Schools always needed more teacher, right? She could specialise in the American revolution. She would have to make sure not to tell details that had been lost over the course of the centuries, and details that couldn't be found in books, because it would raise suspicions. The man also didn't seem to mind the little history lesson. She wasn't sure if she wanted to call it admirable herself, because it had been the only thing they could do to protest, but yet she smiled softly, realising he meant it in a kind way.
She joked about his fur, and he looked at her. He offered to bring her some, and she chuckled softly. "If you're serious about it, sure. I'll make you something free of charge. It would be a fun experiment." She knew it could be done, especially with longer doghair. She had heard about people who had done it. He walked over closer to the counter, and she took him in. She wondered how old he was, and what his story was. He was a handsome man, too. Her thoughts were interrupted by his question.
"I am, yes", she responded with a nod. "Born in 1750, but I'd dare say I don't look a day over one hundred." She chuckled at her own joke. "I didn't meet your kind back then, though. Maybe because I wasn't able to detect it then."
Post by Tristan Morrigan on May 16, 2024 17:32:33 GMT
Tristan hadn't thought she was joking at all. He wasn't always good at catching 'normal' social cues. Sometimes these things were a lot easier in wolf form. Or even based on scent alone, but one couldn't smell everything. The vampire using the qualifier "if you're serious" however was direct enough that he surmised she must not have been before and that he had misunderstood something. Which even he knew was rather par for the course.
"Yes," he said with a nod, being perhaps overly direct in return. "It will take me time to procure a significant amount." It would be much easier if he could find someone to groom him (naturally or with a brush). Unfortunately, his current roommate was quite unaware of his true nature and while he wasn't going out of his way to cover anything up, it was convenient his roommate was legally blind. "I would pay you," he added belatedly, her words having apparently given him one too many things to keep track of at once.
1750 would put her in her twenties around the time of the revolution. Which from the look of her, was when she had been turned. He cocked his head slightly, taking a moment to do the math for her joke. "A day over twenty-seven?" he guessed. Despite being over two hundred and seventy-four? years old. Almost three times his own age. She looked perfectly pale and young, a hint of agelessness setting in.
"I am not familiar with our history this side of the pond," he noted, watching her. While he hadn't obviously been alive yet, he wasn't sure betraying he was born and raised in the country that had oppressed her own (and countless others) would blow over that well. Not that he was much of a patriot. "Likely there were many isolated groups." More space meant room to spread out and hunt. He wouldn't be surprised to know if there were communities of werewolves just like there were communities of the Amish. Then and now. "I have not been here very long." Specifically in town, but also in the States.
Post by Lorelle Irving on May 17, 2024 10:44:19 GMT
It was understandable that he hadn't thought she was joking. Her offer had been somewhat in between. Serious if he was, a joke if he thought it had been a weird idea. But he had been serious about it, and Lore wasn't one to turn down a fun experiment.
She chuckled softly. "Take all the time you need. I'm sure the dog groomer in town has deshedding brushes, if you think that'll help." She was amused by the idea of someone deshedding a werewolf. Would they have someone take them to the groomer, pretending to be a huge dog, in order to get their coat taken care of, or would there be a secret, specialised werewolf groomer, where they could go for that specific reason? She knew that she herself couldn't go to a normal dentist without pretending like she had gotten her teeth surgically sharpened, but there was no trace of such a modification in her dental records. Perhaps she ought to get her hands on something like that. Dentist time was always a stressful time, and she did prefer to get regular check ups.
She waved away his offer to pay, but wouldn't refuse to accept payment if he ended up going through with it. It was just a little something, especially if it was just a scarf. "First, we'll have to see if I can actually make it work", she said, still smiling.
Twenty-seven. She poured slightly, and shrugged. "Something like that. Twenty-five, I believe I was. It's been a while." She didn't quite remember how old she was when Arturo turned her. It must have been relatively short after they had gotten intimate for the first time, because it was around the time she had told him how worried she was about not being able to outlive her siblings.
It was only when he mentioned not being familiar with their history on this side of the pond that she was able to detect his accent. "A descendant of our colonizers, I see", she said, but there was still a sparkle of joy in her eyes. She didn't feel very strongly about the English. Only about vampires that had been colonizers, because they tended to stick to their ridiculous beliefs. "I suppose so. It's the same for us." She wondered if he knew about the coven or not. She wasn't sure how much other species knew about their little group.
Post by Tristan Morrigan on May 17, 2024 15:18:15 GMT
Tristan had never thought of going to a groomer. As with most werewolves, he looked far too much like a wolf to even be considered a wolfdog. He was larger than either too. Plus, he didn't particularly like being touched in either form. But...he would admit he was intrigued by the concept so perhaps he would have to ask someone. He doubted he could ask any of the pack werewolves here though. The one he was most comfortable with was a young Alpha and he wasn't sure he should mix himself up with politics.
"That is fair," he said, nodding in agreement. Perhaps he could have asked more questions, like what she would make or how it was done. But while the man was curious, none of those things seemed to matter as part of this little business transaction.
He got the feeling he had said something wrong. Not terribly wrong, and mostly just from trying to read her expression. Being corrected made it much more clear. "Oh. Twenty-five." Tristan didn't understand the niceties of never asking a woman her age. The offense was lost on him. He was curious to know what her turning had been like. His experience with werewolves was usually very traumatic and accidental. But that was often because their first transformations were sudden and in his case, unexpected. Vampires, as he understood it, might have their own bloody rampages, but intention was required to birth a new one. "Was it by choice?" Perhaps that was personal.
He had never been called such a thing in his life. It was...strange. perhaps more than her experience at a spinning bee, it reminded him he was speaking to a piece of history. Something outside of time. Surrounded by sewing and craft supplies, if not for their modern dress he might not have known what year it was. Although there was no malice or judgement in her tone, Tristan didn't catch any implied emotion. "I assume so, yes," he said. He had been orphaned when London was bombed in World War II. He had learned a bit about his birth family since then, but while his father was English, he knew very little about his mother and where she was from.
"Are there many vampires here?" He had met two directly so far. And he could guess there were others. It was admittedly unsettling, to wonder if there was a coven close by. It seemed a strange place for two werewolf packs however, so it was not at the top of his list of guesses.
Post by Lorelle Irving on May 20, 2024 17:17:56 GMT
He hadn't said anything wrong. Lorelle just liked to pretend it had offended her, but she really didn't care. When you were over 200 years old, but you looked in your twenties, it didn't matter whether you looked 25 or 27. She just smiled at him and nodded when he repeated her age.
The question whether it was by choice or not was indeed a bit of a personal question, but Lorelle didn't mind it much. It depended on the vampire, and some would take greater offence. In her cause, it probably wasn't such a difficult topic because she had in fact had a choice. "It was, yes", she responded with a little smile on her lips. "My love turned me. And two hundred something years later, we're still together. Quite the love story,isn't it?" Lore chuckled. It wasn't as simple as she made it seemed. He hadn't turned her because they loved each other, but she didn't want to tell everyone the whole story.
She nodded her head from left to right, in a "hmm yes and no" way. "It's what you'd call many. I know quite a few. Definitely more than you'd think. What about you werewolves?"
Post by Tristan Morrigan on May 20, 2024 20:09:53 GMT
The smile on her lips did get noticed. The one in her eyes not so much, but from her words, he gathered it was a romantic interest. He wondered what it might be like to fall in love with a vampire. To find out the one you cared most for needed blood to survive. To somehow...decide to want that same life. He cocked his head slightly. He supposed for a human with a short life span, the draw of immortality was strong. Especially when it meant one could be with someone they cared for for all eternity.
"It is. Very sweet," he agreed, looking around the shop, hands still in his pockets like he was afraid to touch something, but his demeanor was nothing if not relaxed. the werewolf supposed there was something classically romantic in sacrificing to be together forever. "Longer than most marriages," he added as a fact. Though, considering humans didn't live anywhere near two hundred years, it wasn't saying much. It was more amusing than anything but Tristan wasn't a joking sort, as was probably gathered from the bit about his fur.
She was vague about the number of vampires. He wasn't sure what he himself would call many. Twenty? Fifty? If it was Fifty, he would have surely smelled more by now, even if he hadn't spoken to them directly. "Your...partner?" he paused on the word, unclear if she was attached to her sire in any specific many, "Are they also in town?" Perhaps they were the other scent he'd picked up in the shop?
As for her return question about the werewolves, his shoulders fell slightly. He wasn't really able to answer. Not because he wanted to be vague, but because he truly didn't know. Setting aside the fact that she ran a shop here, clearly lived here for some time and should therefore know more than him. "I have only been here since winter," he explained. "From what I can tell, there are a lot, but I do not have ties to any pack." He forgot that while the vampire could sense him, she didn't have his superior sense of smell to be able to tell the scents of the different packs versus a loner.
Post by Lorelle Irving on May 20, 2024 20:50:54 GMT
It was a bit mean of her to toy with this man the way she was, but it was harmless fun. Her story might sound sweet, but like most things in life, it wasn't all sunshine and rainbows. Longer than most marriages indeed, but also so different that Lorelle wouldn't even start to compare the two. She simply smiled, not wanting to make the man feel like the butt of a joke.
Lore was also vague about it because she wanted to protect the coven. Giving out exact numbers was the opposite of that. It only took one vampire hunter to start a list and cross off victims. She doubted it was the werewolf's plan, but she preferred to be safe rather than sorry.
"He is, yes", she responded, a bit cautious. She liked talking about Arturo, but she never gave out his name in a context that could link him to his vampiric nature. It wasn't up to her to share that, even in conversation with other supernatural beings. "We've been here for half a century now, I believe. I've lost track of time." That was often the thing with long lives. Everything seemed to change so quickly, yet so slowly at the same time. Sweetwater wasn't changing much, but the people in it did. The newer generations were not her cup of tea. She dislikes their electronics, and the way they'd be texting and bumping into her on the sidewalk. They were easy prey, though, because they paid zero attention to their surroundings.
For some reason, it interested her that he had only been here since winter. "Oh?" She tilted her head to the side slightly and looked at him. "A lone wolf then, hmm? By choice?"
Post by Tristan Morrigan on May 21, 2024 15:51:30 GMT
Tristan was used to being left out in conversations. Or the joke of them. He was fully aware he missed things most people picked up easily. But while he considered the saying ‘what you don't know can't hurt you’ to be an untruth, he would, in fact, never know. He would need to put more stock in words first for it to bother him anyway.
He hummed softly as she confirmed her partner was a man. And here. So, this was a different vampire. Even the four he knew about were more than he had ever seen in one place before. Though, he had avoided covens purposefully. That this one was so willing to brush shoulders with werewolf packs was…odd. Intriguing. But also potentially dangerous.
“Must be a nice place,” he surmised. At least for the vampires. What could pull so many of each species to one town? Including him. It was very curious.
Tristan made to step to a different part of the shop, browsing but more from the curiosity of not having been in such a place and wanting to know what was sold here. And what things she might be able to make out of yarn. He heard her ask something, from how her tone shifted up, but the words were muffled. He turned back to her. “Apologies, what was your question?”
Assuming he got a repeat, he considered her a moment, thinking it over. “Yes and no. Being alone is…unpleasant,” he said, unsure how to describe it to her. He longed for a pack. But he was also trying to find one specific wolf. And yet…he had stopped here. Perhaps he should look into joining one of the packs. At least for now. He might not be very...social but he didn't like being alone.
Post by Lorelle Irving on May 21, 2024 16:19:31 GMT
It wasn't like Lorelle purposefully sniffed out (literally) werewolves, but she just noticed when they were nearby. If Tristan hadn't come into the shop, she wouldn't have gone out to talk to him either, but if she found herself in a setting where she needed to interact with werewolves, she wouldn't be rude just for the sake of being rude. As long as they left her alone, meaning they didn't try to anger or hurt her, she didn't care what they did. She wasn't able to differentiate between the smells of the werewolves either, so she couldn't exactly keep track of who was one unless she had managed to take a good lock at the person's face.
Talking about their kind so openly, yet with boundaries, was not something she normally did, but it seemed like genuine curiousity from either side, without bad intentions. Her eyes lingered on him again, trying to figure out what he was doing here in Sweetwater, and in the United States in general. She shrugged and looked back at the embroidery in front of her. "I guess. It's just one of those places someone finds themselves in and stays longer than anticipated. Personally I like it because, well... It's an odd town." She looked up at him once more. "Two years ago, one of the granddaughters of the founding families went missing. Nobody found even a trace of her. S month later, she walked right back into her home as if nothing had happened. She thought it was still the same day. These are the things that keep me here." It sounded more like a made-up ghost story, but she had been here to witness it all.
Lorelle repeated the question for him, guessing he had gotten distracted by something in the store. "I can imagine. But I don't want to overstep, so I won't interrogate you to know why you're alone if you don't like it." She laughed and leaned back in her chair. "Apart from our life stories, is there something else I can help you with, or did I simply smell too deliciously to pass by the store without coming in to say hello?" she teased.
Post by Tristan Morrigan on May 21, 2024 20:20:47 GMT
Tristan was too curious for his own good. Which was probably why he made a good hunter, in many senses of the word. But he didn't do that sort of thing anymore. Some of that was due to injuries and some due to his lack of motivation in his 'old' age. Even still, he couldn't help but want to meet people. Especially vampires. This woman was beautiful like Gia, but there was something about the artist that was even more captivating.
Her story about the missing girl was interesting. A month didn't seem very long, but when it came to kids...it seemed like forever when they were gone and no time at all when they were around. He'd been through that more than once. "Strange forces at work," he noted. He wondered if that girl was still around. Where exactly she had vanished and returned. Something about it...bothered him. "The town knows all this?" His first guess would have been some supernatural but he didn't know any that could make someone forget. But to harm a little girl... He wondered what other stories there were about the town.
It was less distraction and more than he couldn't hear very well out of his right ear. Most of the time, he oriented himself correctly that this wasn't a problem in normal conversation. It usually came up more when hunting or in groups. Or times he simply forgot not to turn a certain way. Thankfully, he was actively listening for her and realized his mistake. Not that this vampire or anyone else needed to know he had such a problem.
Someone else might have inferred that her talking around the subject as she was meant she was curious. That by not asking, she was asking. Although the werewolf wasn't particularly guarded, he didn't generally talk without prompting. And since he wasn't very good at reading between the lines, he only nodded understandably, appreciating she had answered his questions. Her laughter was pretty.
Tristan pursed his lips. "I admit I like the scent," he spoke the words slowly, as if just coming to the realization himself as he said them. "But delicious is not the right adjective." Still, he understood enough to know she was asking if he needed help with purchasing, not with interrogating her further. "I am not planning to buy anything. Just looking," he said clearly. He took a casual general inventory, on the off chance any of it would sound interesting or useful to Elrond. He looked back at the vampire, hesitating. they hadn't shared names, but he wasn't sure that was necessary. Maybe if he came back.