Moving In [Narrative]
Who: Shelly de Killer
What: Shelly explores his new old home.
Where: Shelly's warehouse, which due to the happiness of the Church, now looks quite different inside...
When: Shortly after Shelly joins the Church.
Rating: PG
Open: Nope. Narrative log only.
Finally, he was back from the Church, his copy of the contract tight in hand. Shelly was surprised at how long it had taken this Preacher character to give him a carbon copy for his records. But still...now he would see if the entire drawn-out meeting was worth it.
He opened up the door to the warehouse, noting with satisfaction that the door was behaving itself. And his mouth nearly dropped open in shock when he saw what was inside. His seaside villa. The same one he had grown up in, and his father had grown up in before him, and as far back as the de Killer line could be traced. He deftly bolted the sixteen locks and two chains behind him, and walked forward into his own house. Through the hallway, into the living room that was more an office than anything else. There was his verana out there, and the sliding glass doors were open. De Killer stepped outside and took in the sunshine and the sea breeze. He tried to step down the stairs to the sand below, when some invisible force stopped him. Then he understood. This was a Church illusion, because it was not sunny outside, and there wasn't so much as a puddle of water anywhere in sight near the warehouse.
Knowing it was an illusion made into the steel back wall of the warehouse left Shelly with no qualms about leaving the door open to let the (fake) sunshine and sea air in. He checked his bathroom, his bedroom, and found everything clean and in order. Thick towels on the stands, an his closet completely full of both normal day suits and an assortment of disguises. But when Shelly looked out bullet-proof glass window over his bed, the view was of the City outside. It looked like a light fog was blowing through the streets. Well, he thought, It's sunny in here at any rate.
A quick tour of the basement confirmed that his wine cashe and his prized collection of medieval torture instruments was intact. All that was left was the walk-in weapons closet behind his desk.
Perfect and immaculate. Every grappling hook, vial of poison, and knife was in its place. Brass knuckles gleamed, grenades glistened, and even the few swords in the room seemed to glow happily at the sight of him. "Well done, Mister Preacher, well done." Shelly said out loud. If the ocean view hadn't impressed him, than this certainly had.
The assassin went into his kitchen and pulled out a plate of cold chicken and asparagus. He uncorked a bottle of wine he had brought up with him, and poured himself a glass, taking glass, plate, and bottle to the large desk that occupied most of the office. Sitting in his favorite leather desk chair, Shelly turned on his workstation, intent on searching for as much information as he could find on Matt Engarde while he enjoyed his dinner.
What: Shelly explores his new old home.
Where: Shelly's warehouse, which due to the happiness of the Church, now looks quite different inside...
When: Shortly after Shelly joins the Church.
Rating: PG
Open: Nope. Narrative log only.
Finally, he was back from the Church, his copy of the contract tight in hand. Shelly was surprised at how long it had taken this Preacher character to give him a carbon copy for his records. But still...now he would see if the entire drawn-out meeting was worth it.
He opened up the door to the warehouse, noting with satisfaction that the door was behaving itself. And his mouth nearly dropped open in shock when he saw what was inside. His seaside villa. The same one he had grown up in, and his father had grown up in before him, and as far back as the de Killer line could be traced. He deftly bolted the sixteen locks and two chains behind him, and walked forward into his own house. Through the hallway, into the living room that was more an office than anything else. There was his verana out there, and the sliding glass doors were open. De Killer stepped outside and took in the sunshine and the sea breeze. He tried to step down the stairs to the sand below, when some invisible force stopped him. Then he understood. This was a Church illusion, because it was not sunny outside, and there wasn't so much as a puddle of water anywhere in sight near the warehouse.
Knowing it was an illusion made into the steel back wall of the warehouse left Shelly with no qualms about leaving the door open to let the (fake) sunshine and sea air in. He checked his bathroom, his bedroom, and found everything clean and in order. Thick towels on the stands, an his closet completely full of both normal day suits and an assortment of disguises. But when Shelly looked out bullet-proof glass window over his bed, the view was of the City outside. It looked like a light fog was blowing through the streets. Well, he thought, It's sunny in here at any rate.
A quick tour of the basement confirmed that his wine cashe and his prized collection of medieval torture instruments was intact. All that was left was the walk-in weapons closet behind his desk.
Perfect and immaculate. Every grappling hook, vial of poison, and knife was in its place. Brass knuckles gleamed, grenades glistened, and even the few swords in the room seemed to glow happily at the sight of him. "Well done, Mister Preacher, well done." Shelly said out loud. If the ocean view hadn't impressed him, than this certainly had.
The assassin went into his kitchen and pulled out a plate of cold chicken and asparagus. He uncorked a bottle of wine he had brought up with him, and poured himself a glass, taking glass, plate, and bottle to the large desk that occupied most of the office. Sitting in his favorite leather desk chair, Shelly turned on his workstation, intent on searching for as much information as he could find on Matt Engarde while he enjoyed his dinner.