12/7/14

Oumar ~ Never Go Home

Previously ~ The Kill, Pt. 2

Ami Oumar
Oumar looked at Patrick, blinking as though to clear his eyes.  The knife glinted between them with such a cold menace that he couldn't bear to look down at it.

"This is your prey," Patrick reiterated.  "You have to make the kill."

"I can't," Oumar replied, and his voice seeming to be coming from someone else.  "I'm not a killer."

And that's when it happened.

From the moment they'd met, Oumar had known right away something was off about Patrick.  He'd known that the hunter wasn't a naturally emotionless man, and that he'd probably only adopted the stoic routine recently.

He was right.  The moment the words came out of his mouth, the look in Patrick's eyes changed. The hunter gave a slow but distinctly derisive snort, and his lips finally gave into the smirk that had been teasing for days.

"Jesus, Oumar," Patrick rolled his eyes.

"You're supposed to be a demon hunter," Oumar rasped.  "This is a man."

"What did you expect us to hunt first?" Patrick exclaimed.  "Something with scales?  Something with horns?  I told you: a demon is a being.  A being like any other, but what sets it apart is that it chooses to do harm to others - senseless, unnecessary harm.

Patrick Mai
"This 'man' showered you in a hail of bullets without cause or justification, left you to rot on the sidewalk like you were garbage, and the moment his actions came under fire, what did he do?  Did he answer to the public, who had a right to know the truth about what happened?  No.  Did he man up and accept the consequences of his choices?  Of course not.  The great, big, strong 'man' who was big and brave enough to murder an unarmed college kid ran and hid!  Hid behind his badge, his uniform, his white male privilege - Trunchbull was sitting quietly and collecting a paycheck in peace while your parents were saddled with funeral costs for their son, Oumar."

With that Patrick whirled on his heels and swept over to the bound policeman who writhed against his bonds.  It was like watching a seasoned hawk swooped down on its prey; Oumar's stomach twisted to hear officer's gagged protests.  Patrick, however, wasn't even remotely swayed.  Mercilessly, he yanked back the officer's head, then slit his throat swiftly, effortlessly, slicing through the carotid artery and dropping his head, leaving him to bleed out.

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Oumar ~ The Kill, Pt. 2

A/N ~ I'm sorry again, guys! Didn't mean to take this long!!!

Previously ~ The Kill, Pt. 1

Patrick Mai
During his lunch break, Patrick Mai checked his phone for the hundredth time.  He was certain he'd get a text from Ami by now; she'd assured him today was the day.  He'd made a point of buying food from a different restaurant today and bringing it to the break room to eat in full view of his coworkers.

Damn it, Ami.  I can't pull this off every day.

Finally, it came.

Confirmed.

For a hunter, there was no more beautiful word.  To see it there, in black print against white screen...it got his blood pumping, his skin warming, his heart singing.

Finally...a hunt.

Which cued him to initiate Phase Two.  Feigning sickness, Patrick suddenly rose and ran to the men's bathroom where he forced himself to vomit.  After that, it didn't take much for his manager to send him on account of food poisoning.

One of the first rules of hunters was to have a day job. The second rule was to keep said day job at all costs.

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12/3/14

Oumar ~ The Kill, Pt. 1

A/N ~ Sorry about the delay! Didn't mean for there to be a lag!

Previously ~ 101

Anh Sinh Oumar
After Patrick went to bed, Oumar went to the bar.  It just seemed like the thing to do.

Patrick wasn't big on reading material; he was more of a weapons guy.  And if Oumar was being honest, the excessive number of weapons made him uncomfortable.

If he recalled correctly, he'd never been a violent guy.  If anything, he seemed to prefer the quiet.  Thinking hard about it, Oumar deduced his ideal evening would involve hot tea and a good book.

Wow...I must have been a really boring guy.

Then again, HPD found me interesting enough.

He stomach twisted at the thought, so he pushed it out of his mind.  Upon entering the bar, Oumar remembered to avoid eye contact or speaking too loudly.  It was still too early to draw attention to himself, even here, and more importantly, he didn't want to.  He needed time to process, to digest what was happening to him and he couldn't do that with strangers firing questions at a thousand miles per minute.

Because he already knew they would.

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#IDGAF I was rooting for #DarkFlash #TheFlash

Okay, so I've watched The Flash episode "Flash vs. Arrow" like 92 times, and I have laughed my ass off every.single.time.  Not because it was bad; quite the contrary.  It's just...when I watch awesome scenes in which people are talking, after the first watch, I no longer hear what the actors are actually saying.  I start to hear completely other shit.

First off, understand The Flash really brings out the geek in fans.  I've noticed that they/we go into full nerd mode.

In my case, I love, love, love the Dark Flash.  That's a villain I could totally get behind.  First, I loved when Barry gets "whammied" and starts going off on everybody 'cause he's nerd and everybody feels they can talk down to him whenever the fuck they want.  I could actually hear him saying, "First of all...fuck each and and every one of y'all...," before he verbally went ham on the people in his life.

Later, when he's in Flash mode picking on Eddie Thawne, then fighting Arrow, all I could hear was Scorpion from Mortal friggin' Kombat.  When the Flash yanked the poor, unsuspecting Eddie from a moving vehicle through the glass, and then proceeded to just smack him around in the street, I could swear I heard, "Get over here!"  And when he ran up a building to head off Arrow and was like, "Where you goin'?  We're not done!" all I heard was, "Get down here!"

(That and "Where the fuck are you goin'?  You better sitcho ass down....")

Okay, I'm done now.  *runs to watch ep for a 93rd time*



*still dies laughing*

11/29/14

Oumar ~ 101

Previously ~ Hunters

Patrick Mai
After Ami's band, Abyss Well, ended their brief set, Ami brought Aryssa Mai over to the guys. Patrick didn't even bother with hugs or hellos with his sister.

Instead, he promptly cut to the chase.

"We need your help," he told her bluntly.

"Go to hell," she replied with equal bluntness, unfazed by his lack of courtesy.

Patrick was just as unflinching.  "We need to know why dude here is hearing things about grey eyes in the dark.  Aryssa, this is --"

"-- Oumar," she finished, eyes unblinking.  "You're Ami's cousin."

Oumar felt uneasy under her gaze.  "That's right."

"I take it you're like your father?"

"That's what I'm told," he answered uncomfortably, twisting a bit on his bar stool.  "You know my father?"

Aryssa Mai
"I may have spoken to him once or twice while he was sleeping," Aryssa nodded.  "He doesn't use his gift.  His manner of death and the timing of his cycle allowed him to go back to his life."

Oumar suddenly felt a twinge of sadness.  "But it's not the same for me."

"The ancestors have decided you'll be a bit more active in our world," Aryssa briskly confirmed.  "The gift that runs in your family is far too rare and too precious to be wasted.  Your father may have shirked his calling, but at least he had the decency to send you on your first hunt."

"Is it human?" Patrick asked quietly.

"It could've been," came the toneless reply.  "It should've been."  Her voice and gaze changed, softened and became more distant.

"As we speak, the bull lies in wait, hiding its hooves and horns," she intoned, "but it can only stay hidden for so long.  The horns will betray." Her gaze suddenly sharpened and shifted back to Oumar. "You need not worry over a lengthy hunt, Oumar.  This prey will be a quick kill."

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Oumar ~ Hunters

Previously ~ Grey Eyes in the Dark

Anh Sinh Oumar
The moment Patrick mentioned the hunt, Oumar felt as though something had clicked on, was set in motion.  Something which couldn't be stopped.

"After you shower, we should head to the bar," Patrick suggested.  "Ami will want an update."

Once again, Oumar was getting the feeling that Patrick Mai wasn't who he said he was.  Or rather, he wasn't the way he appeared to be.  There was something about this glasses-wearing, buttoned-down, monotone accountant that Oumar just wasn't buying.

But then again, Oumar was far more alert today than he had been yesterday and he was noticing all kinds of things, like how small, dusty, and rundown Ami's bar really was.  Located in a quieter, less lit part of the Westchase district, it seemed invisible to the average person's eye.

As you walked through the front door, the bar was to the right, several tables and chairs to the left, and a small stage straight ahead.  When Patrick and Oumar arrived, a band was setting up.  A few patrons were already settling in while Ami tended bar.

Patrick Mai
Patrick pulled up a stool, clearly out of habit, and didn't even have to order.  Ami was already pouring him a Scotch on the rocks.

"What about you, cousin?" she greeted warmly.  "Craving anything special?"

"Appletini," Oumar shrugged innocently.  For a split second, Patrick gave him a "look" before smoothing his facial features back into his signature neutral expression.

Oumar didn't care.  Much like the dumplings from last night, an ice cold appletini hit the spot.  Ami was ever the consummate bartender, balancing the sour with the sweet.

"How did you sleep?" she pointedly asked her cousin.

"He woke in a fit," Patrick cut in bluntly.  "It seems Oumar got a message from your uncle about a dangerous man with grey eyes."

Ami nodded solemnly.  "I assume there's to be a hunt."

Though Patrick kept his face emotionless, Oumar picked up a tone, a note, the vaguest hint of something in his voice when he spoke.

"You assume correctly."

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11/28/14

Oumar ~ Grey Eyes in the Dark

A/N ~ Sorry for the delay. Friend of mine called and we got into a passionate debate about - of all things - Ferguson.

Previously ~ Layers

Anh Sinh Oumar
The weirdest thing about dying was how hard Anh Sinh struggled to remember details from his death and before.  He remembered hovering, remembered the sound of bullets being dug out of his flesh and dropped into a metal bowl.  But he didn't actually remember getting shot.  He didn't remember going to school or why he was studying psychology in the first place.

He did briefly remember enjoying surfing the web for hours, but for some reason, he'd lost his taste for technology and preferred the old books Ami had left for him to read.  Reading about folklore and spiritual theory was much more preferable to reading the hot debates online about his death.

According to some folks, he'd been a brute, a mindless thug who got belligerent with the cops and even went so far to attack an officer.  The Mayor and the Chief of Police urged calm in several video and written interviews, while avoiding any direct questions about the cop who shot him.  No one knew the officer's name, and he hadn't been been wearing a body camera.  Some people made comments about Anh Sinh's afro and his "intimidating" build, and dozens of people speculated about his ethnic origins.

I'm a Blasian of average height, you morons, he thought irritably.

Even when he went to YouTube and watched various videos from various angles, it was like watching someone else get killed.  He felt no emotion, no attachment or connection to what he saw, and even though he knew it should bother him, his lack of an emotional response did not.

It's like it all happened to someone else...in another lifetime.

Technically, it was another lifetime.  He couldn't reconnect with his old friends (didn't even remember their names), he couldn't go back to his classes, or even enjoy Sunday brunch with his parents.  Anh Sinh Oumar was dead.  And after the legal and political heat died down, everyone would move on from his death.

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