[It's dark as the camera clicks on, showing tools scattered on the floor, and books open written in languages that aren't spoken anymore. Bobby's sitting on a stool in the dark, dozing near a doorway newly made of reinforced steel. Obviously, Bobby used his insomnia to work on a building project of some sort.

His head nods and then jerks back up ( Read more... )

[There's the sound of an explosion, some gunfire, and what might be howling dying...things. You can hear a gruff chuckle.]

You can't con a con man, motherfucker.

[OOC: Cursed, you betcha. Been out blowing up the ahem, demon cops that killed his family, his partner, and his dog.]

Hey, Griffin.

Think I might have found your cure.

I'm back.

Everyone here still in one piece?

[Bobby's sitting alone in his darkened living room. There's salt all around the couch and a half empty bottle of whiskey on the coffee table in front of him. There are circles under his eyes - it looks like he hasn't slept since Midnight and has possibly been crying.

He takes a swig of whiskey from his glass and fixes his gaze on the far corner of ( Read more... )

[There's a squeal of tires and brakes as a '71 Chevelle pops into view, nearly driving into the fountain. The car sits for a moment before the engine's killed and the driver steps out, removing a trucker's cap and scratching his head for a moment. He puts the cap back on and reaches into the front seat. Pulling out a map, he looks at it, looks ( Read more... )