nexus_sages | (no subject)

(no subject)

Well, this was not at all the place that door usually led to. Now he's been drugged before, once (it didn't end very well when he found out who'd done it) but he hadn't a lick of whiskey today so he knew it weren't that, and Nash considered himself a fairly well off man up there in the noggin. So as to how that cellar door lead here was something of a mystery, putting aside all that 'here' was.

Matter of fact was, though, he could waste his time trying to make a fuss or just roll with the punches. Either way, he figured it'd sort its self in time.

So that being said, "Which one'a you gonna handle my ma's wrath when I ain't home for dinner?"

He rolled a toothpick between his lips with a cheeky grin. Then, more seriously, "what makes a man irredeemable?

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

Was he... dead? Not this guy, it was obvious this guy was dead but maybe Nash was dead too. Not what he thought Hell would look like (he didn't have any doubt that was where he was heading) but Nash didn't exactly believe everything in the Good Book was factual. He was not going to question the eerie glow, he just wasn't going to question.

"Ain't the wine and dine type," he remarked first with a slight smile. Yeah, Nash had noticed the overwhelming positivity of the place and that wasn't necessarily a good thing when someone like him was looking for a reason he really aught to try and change but comes up short.

Then again, the world needed it's demons, didn't it?

Harrow winks and laughs at that. "Good, 'cause I can't afford no fancy dinners right now." Oh, there's capitalism here? Yeah, this is definitely Hell.

He looks Nash over once again. He nods slowly as he considers the person he's seeing.

"Well, let me guess at your irredeemable sins before you spill all your beans. The tattoos give me a crime ring kinda vibe, but the hair says streetwise lone wolf. Jury's out on what kinda life the outfit implies. Don't know the context of your world."

Another half-second's thought before he hesitantly asks, "Are you from Earth? Most livin' human folks here are, but... I can't tell with you. You look a little different than all the rest, somehow."

His eyes narrowed in an amused grin before fingers went to fetch a smoke. Man caught on pretty well, although it didn't take a genius to figure someone lathered in ink might ride on the rougher side. A bit of a stereotype, he'd known quite a few with more ink than him who wouldn't hurt a fly. it just happened to be a truth in his case.

"Born just outside Memphis," he said, muffled by the rolled tobacco between his lips as he flicked the light open and let it burn. Another flick shut it, pocketed. "Which is Earth, case you ain't."

He kicked a heel against his other boot and shoved his hands into his pockets. Nash wasn't a dull boy, no matter what them American's up north thought about southern boys. He'd already figured a few things out about the place, one being that what came from his mouth here wouldn't particularly impact what happened back home if he managed to find his way back there.

"Lone wolf," he let his head roll back with a chuckle. "Naw, I'm a family man believe it or not."

Which didn't mean that he had a family yet, but that wasn't because he didn't want one. It was that little black piece of him that swallowed up the chances. He loved his family, but there was a huge part of him that didn't want to usher anyone else in to the Thompson family. The kind of people who would marry a man like him? Not the kind of person he'd want to marry.

"That lone wolf feelin you're gettin' is the demon sittin' right in here," he pointed to his chest, "that little part a' me that ain't got much a problem with what I do, you gon' guess what that is now?"

"Memphis," Harrow repeats quietly, barely a whisper. He shakes his head, because he doesn't know it.

The family bit surprises him at first. He hadn't expected to hear that, and yet... Somehow it seemed to make sense in hindsight. Maybe it was the guy's voice, the way he spoke. A familiar kind of down home, rolling fields, might-be-doing-farmwork-if-he-weren't-a-criminal sort of talk.

"Murderer," Harrowheart guesses, and he does so with confidence. "Earth's a comfortable place from what I hear, but I don't think robbin' or dealin' would sit on your mind bad enough that you'd bring it up in conversation. That leaves murder and kidnappin', but there ain't no reason to feel guilty over kidnappin' if it don't end in murder."

He raises his eyebrows and patiently waits to see how far off the mark he is.

Well, the Thompson's did have a farm. The Thompson family was so large though, his direct family was the smallest piece of it. Suppose that's part due to his Ma who really wasn't the housewife sort of gal. So the guess wasn't that far out, the thought of him working the farm. Some times when he needed the space he did wander on back to Rossville and aimlessly roam the fields. Walk, and walk, and walk until dusk.

"Death ain't gon' collect dues," he said, "but there's worse things than death."

Depending on how much was owed. It always came down to blows, but sometimes it was a matter of taking a child, or threatening a job, or burning down a house. Some people deserved it, some deserved worse and sometimes he gave them worse, but sometimes the debt was in the hands of a foolish man who had an addiction. Usually it was a foolish man who had an addiction, made bad choices, and that was just the way of it.

Didn't change anything. Debt was debt. "It ain't the actions that bother me." A moment, "so what about you?"

Harrowheart laughs quietly. "Death don't collect dues on Earth, maybe. Sometimes I forget y'all got different rules there."

He pats his chest with one of his floating hands. "As for me? Shoot, bud, come on. I played the game, I guessed everything awful about you! Now you gotta guess about me. What's the worst kinda thing a guy from just outside Memphis thinks a ghost-handed dead man from another world gets up to? Amuse me, man."

Should this be amusing? Probably not. But birds of an a-moral feather and all of that.

Well, there were people who collected debt by collecting heads but he wasn't one of them. Their family didn't work that way. Nash had killed people who owed, sometimes out of self-defence and sometimes because their debt was so large and their ethics so poor that ending it was the only viable option.

He looked over the man and tipped his head upward, "well I ain't no private investigator." But the man had a strong build, seemed to know a thing or two, and wasn't particularly shying away from the idea that he had a 'bad side'. "But is there anything worse than murder? Torture, maybe."

He slipped the smoke between his fingers. "I don' rightly think what I believe is the worst is what you do, though. Bet you got some kind of magic nonsense goin' on. Don't you?"

Harrow shrugs and nods. "Not a bad guess, man. Low hangin' fruit, but not bad. I used to be a necromancer, but not so much these days."

He rubs his chin and once again eyes Nash. "Your Earth ain't got magic, right? Most of 'em don't. Necromancy's the magic of raisin' up dead folks again. Dependin' on who you ask I guess that'd make me a torturer, but I never found it evil on its own. It's all about the intention, ain't it?"

"But how about somethin' positive about yourself? Forget the irredeemable. What're you good at, man?"

"Reckon' you ain't a God's man," he commented more than questioned. Raising the dead? Always bad, and there was nothing that Harrowheart could tell him to make him think otherwise but that was his business. Nailing people's hands to a table and leaving them with the hammer to pry themselves out of it was also bad. Seemed like they were both torturers.

"Well, there's stories about witchcraft and the like. Old books on spells, rituals, and whatnot. Shit about your necromancy," he gave a wave. "Some of the older generation of my family seem to think they've had run ins with the devil before, but I ain't ever seen any proof of that."

He rolled his head with a bit of a smile when the man asked the second question and he gave a laugh. "Hell, that's a long list. What ain't I good at, more like." A moment, "appreciate the thought. Didn't mean to sound like a sob story about it. The question that was."

Harrow laughs at so much of what this guy has to say. He's certainly a man with high self-esteem, and Harrow's not one to judge on hubris so long as it's harmless.

"I ain't a God man, naw. Humans don't worship gods were I come from. Most humans worship the Light. Sorta the... Essence of life that binds all livin' things together. Never had much use for it, even as a breather. But don't worry! I know about Earth's God. My buddy, Steve, he's Catholic. I know that Earth's God came back from the dead, and that's somethin' only He's supposed to be able to do, so necromancy's kinda taboo where y'all come from."

"I take it you are a God's man, then? Which means Earth God's okay with crime?"

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only