nexus_sages | Aug. 11th, 2015

The most recent door into the Nexus was, well, a literal door. A rather fancy door, actually: deep mahogany, a brass handle and hinges, and intricate detailing all over. It hovers there, a few feet off the floor, and for a few moments, nothing happens. Just as suddenly as it appeared though, it opened, a yelp heard as a blonde teenager falls through it. "Ow..." Lily Jordan sat up, rubbing her back and adjusting her glasses. "Didn't expect to find that in the manor." She looked up at the floating door before looking back to her surroundings, the brochures catching her eye.

Picking one up, Lily read it over, blue eyes taking in everything before widening some. "Oh dear..." She bit her lip, a fang showing briefly before she walked back to her door. Before she could get within arm's reach, it suddenly, inexplicably slammed shut. Her eyes widened yet again, this time in slight panic as she ran to it, running her hands along the bottom edge, but no dice. "No... No, no, no!" She jumped, but even with her vampiric abilities, she couldn't quite reach the doorknob. She huffed some after a third failed attempt, shaking her head and pulling hair behind her ears. She looked around, patted over her body, but didn't find what she was looking for. Keeping a hand on the bottom of the door, she looked up again. "Hey, um... Does anyone have a knife I can borrow?"

"Hey, uh . . . anyone here ever had to, you know . . . reconnect with anyone before?"

The question comes from a man seated at the edge of the forum. A heavy, fringed overcoat is draped over the back of the speaker's chair, and he's kicked his pair of dusty boots up on a nearby tabletop. Overall, it looks like the man would be more at home in the American west: he wears a bolo tie and bandana around his neck, embroidered denim shirt, heavy belt buckle holding up crossed gun holsters and reinforced jeans. The tanned, scarred skin of his face contrasts starkly with his shaggy white hair. At a glance, he appears to be (at least) in his late 40's, but his eyes have a youthful, fiery spark to them.

The gunslinger swings his boots down off the table so he can sit forward and pour himself another shot from a brown-bagged bottle.

"Family in particular?" He adds before taking a swig.