Pilot

Welcome to the thread for Supernatural: Reanimated,
Pilot Episode - I’ll be there for you

See here for more information on the Supernatural RP, or contact Maeglin, ArielButtercup or MissAusten with any questions.

Disclaimer: We tend to be a little more informal around here (as well as infernal): lax with customary RP rules, rough with our language, and generally sacrelicious. We ask only that you play nice, stick to SPN canon, don’t be (too) mean, and do everything in your power to make the game fun for everyone.

Happy hunting!

Romulus “Rome” Remington
DOB: January 3, 1983
Age: 22 (begin 2005)
Sex: Yes.
Ethnicity: American
Weight: 160
Height: 6’
Hair: light brown/dark blonde
Eyes: mischievous gray-green
Build: Athletic, "showy" muscle, but noticeable beer gut
Hometown: Seattle, Washington
Profession: Former Marine Lance Corporal
Portrayed by: Chris Evans
Theme song: Veteran of the Psychic Wars, BÖC



Appearance:
Rome to his friends, which includes most people he meets even casually, dresses, looks, and behaves like a stud. He is the popular guy, exuding charm and exuberance. He wears sensible but fashionable and expensive jeans and shoes, and name brand watches and sunglasses, and owns a plethora of colorful, witty t-shirts. He usually stands out in a crowd, but is surprisingly capable of flying under the radar when he wants to.

Personality:
He has a strong, fun-loving personality, a bit loud and over-the-top, with a definite geek-streak, but highly likeable. He loves people in general, loves girls a lot, likes playing video games and listens to techno and dance club music. He loves food, fast cars, and generally loves life. He’s the brunt of everyone’s teasing, but secretly everybody likes him a lot. His best friend is his brother (Rome has too many friends to be close to any one of them), and they rely heavily on each other’s strengths. Rome may seem like the “older brother” of the two, but in fact Raws does most of the leading from the shadows. It was Raws’ idea to go into the Marines, and Rome followed. Rome just appears to be the leader because he does most of the talking.

Strengths and Weaknesses:
He is a “face” guy first, ready to talk him and his team out of trouble (he got lots of practice talking him and his brother out of groundings as a kid), a tech/computer guy second (he was training to be a Tech Officer), and a fighter third (he can hold his own in a fight, but Raws and most other hunters could take him 9 times out of 10). He is also a budding telepath/psychic, and sometimes gets helpful premonitions regarding the supernatural. However, this is also a great weakness: Rome seems to be a wifi hotspot for the supernatural. Premonitions tend to leak into his brain at inopportune moments, leaving killer headaches and sometimes inducing unconsciousness. It doesn’t appear to take much for Rome to fall under hypnosis or be possessed or controlled by a supernatural force, which puts a huge strain on his protective brother. Can be used as a convenient plot device to introduce information, allow a bad guy monologue through, etc.

This is basically Romey's MO (language warning I think):
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=jfVyE8Pi0Pk&feature=related

---

"I swear to God, Raws! For the last time, dude, I did not steal your toothbrush!"

"Then why was it with your crap, genius?"

"Because you almost forgot it in Charleston, numbskull, and I remembered it for you! A little gratitude, man! Just because there's little pieces of candy in it—"

"I didn't say anything about candy.”

“Oh.” Rome gulped. “Uh. Didn’t you?”

Rome was definitely pretty sure he was the only one in their fireteam who managed to bring along a bag of peanut M&Ms on the training run.

Rome displayed his signature charm-my-way-out-of-trouble smile, but it never worked on his brother, who settled for cuffing him on the back of the head and snatching his toothbrush back.

As soon as Rawson had disappeared, Romulus settled back on his haunches next to the fire with his melting M&M’s and enjoyed the growing night. Sure, it was hot as hell in—wherever they were, the Appalachians somewhere—and he hadn’t showered in about a week, but he was having the time of his life. Playing Marines with his brother, meeting the local girls, playing with guns, getting to test out some really sick tech like smart missiles and stuff: epic. Life couldn’t possibly get any better. Okay, sure, his parents could buy him that Bugatti Veyron for Christmas this year, but that was unlikely—mainly because they’d have to get Rawson one, too, they said—story of his life—so he wasn’t exactly counting on it.

After star-gazing for a bit, checking the hockey scores on his iPad, briefly snapping to attention and spouting some BS to the Corporal about what the fuss had been about, polishing off the M&Ms, and rinsing his mouth out with a mouthful of Chivas Regal from his flask—okay, yeah, so he’d forgotten his own toothbrush, what was the big deal? It wasn’t like they’d never shared a toothbrush growing up—Rome turned towards bed.

Which was nothing more than a tent shared with his brother, and a military-issue sleeping bag which provided zero warmth and even less back support, but it was home for now.

“Permission to enter the Bat-Cave?” he grinned.

“Shut up,” was the not-quite-as-venomous-as-it-sounded reply.

Rome laughed appreciatively and zipped himself inside. Raws could always make him laugh: funny how he never made anyone else laugh, but whatever. Maybe Rome was the only one who understood his brother’s sense of humor. He chuckled again as he unrolled his bed and proceeded to remove his boots. After a moment of silence,

“Yeah, so I am kinda sorry about the toothbrush, dude.”

“You will be.”

“Ha-ha!” Yeah, Raws was definitely a funny guy.

Rawson “Raws” Remington
DOB: January 3, 1983
Age: 22 (begin 2005)
Sex: Male
Ethnicity: American
Weight: 172
Height: 6’ ½”
Hair: Dirty blond/light brown tints
Eyes: blue-green with hints of hazel
Build: Athletic, toned, lean muscle (swimmer’s build)
Markings: tattoo of a wolf (hidden by clothing), scars
Hometown: Seattle, Washington
Profession: Mercenary; Former Marine Lance Corporal
Portrayed by: Alec Newman
Theme song: Don’t Fear the Reaper, BÖC



Appearance:
Rawson is, in many ways, the opposite side of Rome’s coin. Especially since The Incident, he prefers jeans and jackets that let him hide enough weapons on his person to make him feel somewhat safe. Don’t get the wrong idea though- he can dress up for a job when he needs to.
Usual attire: Heavy jeans, t-shirt, unbuttoned shirt, brown biker jacket

Personality:
Rawson is very good at observing people and reading them, but he has trouble fitting in places, and is even uncomfortable with people he knows well. A Merc with marine training, he enlisted with his brother at eighteen.

He’s extremely loyal to family, but outside of that he has no ties, and doesn’t intend to make any. He’ll do protective details, test security, move things… really he’s in the business for the money. Don’t get any romantic notions about his life. The only romantic aspect he has is his vendetta against anything paranormal… if that even counts.

Strengths and Weaknesses:
He is a survivor, first and foremost. He’s more than happy to take out Supernatural crap that comes his way, but since Rome’s accident, he tends to be most focused on whatever his current job is. A mercenary, he does protective details, tests security, and moves almost anything that needs to be transported. He’s incredible with a rifle, and more than decent with a shotgun or pistol. He’s good in brawls and proficient martial arts; he put a great deal of effort into studying Krav Maga, the system used by the Israeli military. He’s proven calmand focused in combat, good with outdoor survival, and can be covert when necessary. Enough jobs have leant him a bit of a sixth sense when it comes to danger, and though he isn’t particularly close to the family anymore (his way of protecting them; besides, without Rome the family wouldn’t’ be the same) but he could still go to them if he had to.

Rawson does, of course, have his downsides. While he’s very perceptive, he is socially awkward and doesn’t ‘get’ people. It’s hard for him to get close for them, and for them to get inside his shell. He’s also out for blood- he may even turn down a job if he scopes out something supernatural to test his skills against. This proves especially dangerous as he has little knowledge of supernatural lore and creatures. He’s obsessed with revenge on those who intentionally harm him or Rome, and a perceived threat to Rome can prevent him from thinking clearly. As well, ever since that… incident, the military hasn’t been particularly pleased with this deserter. His affluent family managed to smooth things over with the government, of course, but that doesn’t mean the military would be happy to lay eyes on him again.
-------



Rawson was, to the casual observer, quietly meditating on his sleeping bag before he hit the sack, figuratively speaking, for the night. In actuality, he was carefully plotting what he could do to exact vengeance on his deserving twin. Romulus, despite his willingness to dive headfirst into trouble, was often ill prepared when it came to setting up his pranks. And while he could generally talk his way out of trouble, this tactic was destined to fail when used on Rawson. Hmm, perhaps substituting some new ingredients for the contents of Romie’s toothpaste container would be fitting… or finding a fast acting dye that would work on his brother’s teeth…

Ultimately, he opted to table the decision for tomorrow when he was better rested and had had more time to brainstorm and compare ideas. Revenge, as the Klingon saying goes, was definitely a dish best served cold. And growing up around the perfectly mischievous but smooth tongued Romulus, he had plenty of experience with creative pranks and acts of retribution. In fact, between the twins, it had become something of a fun competition.

Rawson sighed, dropped backward onto the ground, and shifted his legs into the bag. With half a thought he scooted closer to the warmth emanating from Romie. He grinned slightly and pulled his brothers sleeping bag back up, as Romulus appeared to have left it unzipped and thrown the top off in his sleep, and Rawson gently ruffled his hair. With a sigh, Rawson rolled back over and closed his eyes, curling up slightly, and with a last glance around them checking for danger he relaxed into sleep.

Romulus woke early. He laced his boots calmly, almost without moving, silently. He didn't want to wake the sleeping form beside him. He went to his pack, drew out his Beretta M9 and loaded it calmly, smoothly. He grinned at his brother, who slept on, oblivious, and gently nudged the zipper back until there was a slit wide enough to exit through.

He didn't shiver in the cool of the morning. Nor did he squint at the sun, but there was something wrong about his eyes.

He walked across the still-smoldering fire pit, giggling as the flames tickled his boots, to the second tent, where Corporal Smith and Private Jensen were sleeping. Soundlessly he stopped before the entrance, and without even opening the tent flap, opened fire where the two bodies would be lying.

Blood splattered on the inside of the tent, as anguished cries of pain and death echoed around him. Romulus smiled and kept firing until they stopped screaming.

Oh my God! No, stop! Stop! Wake up! Wake up, Rome, you're dreaming! Raws! Raws!! Wake me up!

Rawson sat up in bed suddenly and froze at the sound of gunshots. Something was very wrong- his peripheral vision showed that Romulus was gone. He wanted to rush outside to see what had happened, but his body reacted before his mind could force it to do so. He slowly dropped back, low to the ground, and carefully reached an arm to the side, grabbing his Beretta. A few quick pats assured that his knives were still in place.

Staying low to the ground, he crawled toward the tent flap and glanced outside. The shots seemed to have been coming from Corporal Smith's and Jensen's tent. What was going on? No one outside of their group should be up here. Had another group accidentally stumble upon them and stupidly started firing? Where was Romie? Oh God, what if he was shot? What if he was hurt? What if... no. He wasn't going to think about this. He was going to act.

Rawson slid out of the tent, eyes continuously moving back and forth across the surroundings. He skirted the edge of the campsite, moving towards the other tent. There were no sounds from his teammates or his brother. No animal noises, and there wasn't even a hint of a breeze moving the air. Everything around him had his sense of danger going haywire.

He moved to the opening of the other tent, and kicked open the flap, mentally shuddering at the sight of his teammates. And as he moved to turn, he felt a gun press against the small of his back.

"Shouldn't have got out of bed this morning, brother."

Whoa, wait! Who's saying that? That's not me!

Rome wanted to scream as he surveyed the carnage of his fallen fire-teammates, but he viewed the scene with a surprising amount of indifference. What was most interesting here was the still-living human which stood before him. He could feel Rawson's heart pounding through the barrel of his gun.

I'm dreaming. Oh my God. I have to be dreaming. Time to wake up!

But he couldn't even move to pinch himself.

Why won't Raws wake me up? I must be thrashing up a storm out there, and this is one really friggen small tent. Wake up, dammit, Rome! Wake up!

Rome felt his blood freeze as he watched himself cock the gun, never breaking contact with that minute, steady, quick rhythm he felt through the metal, down his arm. It clashed with the beat of his own heart, which was eerily calm.

"Won't this be fun?"

I'm dreaming. I must be dreaming. God. Why isn't Rome waking me up? I've gotta be flailing all over, or at least shaking like none other. Haven't I woken him up yet? This can't be real. This has to be a dream. But I won't let him kill me. It would kill him. Even in a dream.

"Whatcha doin' Bro? I mean. I know I said I'd get you back for the toothbrush incident, but shooting me? How'd that gonna help? And, in case you haven't noticed, someone SHOT John and Jenny! We've gotta get to cover and figure out what the frack is happening. Something's wrong here Romie. Really wrong." He spoke calmly, trying to buy himself time to figure out the situation and keep Romulus from doing something he'd live to regret.

"Think of this as a pre-emptive strike."

Whoa, whoa, whoa! Hold the phone! What the hell? This isn't me!

"You've only just noticed me, then? Unperceptive and pathetically weak-willed. Perhaps I chose unwisely."

Hey, now, wait. Who the hell are you?

"The one who's about to make you splatter your brother's brains if you don't shut up."

What? No! Don't you friggen dare!

It was almost imperceptible, but the hand holding the gun twitched, faintly, as Romulus lashed out. How, he wasn't sure, or even why, but he knew he had to fight this: he had to fight, or his brother was going to die. He had to fight and win, or he was going to kill his brother.

"Oh, I don't intend on killing him. Not if you're a good boy and roll over nicely."

Fat chance, you sick freak! Get away from me! Get out of my head! And you leave Raws out of this!

Now the barrel pointed up, and the arm raised to strike, the butt of the gun aimed at the back of Rawson's head.

No! Raws!

He felt his brother's hand twitch. Please, please, please let this be some kind of a huge not funny joke. Please let the guys just be messing with me. For a moment, Rawson allowed himself to hope.

Then came the faint rustle of clothing, as the arm holding the gun moved upward in preparation for a strike.

This is NOT Romulus Remington. This is not my brother.

And with that thought any hesitancy and emotional turmoil Rawson felt vanished.

I don't know what's happening. I don't know what this thing is. But it sure as Hell isn't Rome.

Rawson let himself fall into fighting mode, knowing beyond doubt that he was about to get pistol whipped. And that wasn't cool.

As the gun started to come down, Rawson was moving down and to the left, preparing to spin to the right to face his attacker and give the fracker a piece of his mind. Gorram if he'd be caught by this monster. Guy'd just killed some of Romie's pals. He'd kill him.

Rawson started to spin, moving up as he brought his left arm forward to elbow his attacker in the face.

"What does this idiot think he's trying to do?"

Hey! That's my brother you're talking about!

Romulus deftly ducked the flying elbow, grabbed it, grappled the arm, and twisted. He kicked the knees sharply until he went down, face-first to the ground. He pulled the arm behind until its owner cried out. The other hand was quickly relieved of its weapon.

No! NO! Nonononononono!! Don't you touch him! Don't you dare! Stop it!

Rome's eyes flickered from black to green to black again. A knee pressed down into Raws' back, causing the man to hiss in a sharp gasp of pain.

"I will break his spine if you do not cooperate. I will not ask twice."

No! Stop, please! Just--just don't hurt him. Please.

Like begging was going to do anything.

"It's a good thing your brother is such a comfortable fit," Rome's voice said, snarling close in his brother's ear. "And with convenient handles like you would not believe!"

Rome shuddered. He wanted to puke.

"And you're my insurance, see? As long as you're alive, Romulus and I have an understanding."

What? I didn't agree to anything! Raws, don't listen to him!

"He wants me to kill you, of course. Deep down."

"Shall I keep going? Or have you learned to hold your tongue?"

"Frak you!" Rawson shouted, trying in vain to move a little so his arm wasn't pulled so harshly.

This thing didn't fight like Romulus. It could read him like Rome, but the movement were different. Fluid, but in an unnatural way. And so strong. There was no way it was thinking like Rome though. He knew his brother. His brother didn't want him dead. No way. He'd do just about anything for his brother, and that feeling was mutual. It always had been. It had to be. He shuddered slightly. It had to be. They were The Twins. This couldn't be who his brother really was.

"You're not Romulus! And you're lying!"

His breath hitched slightly as Rome's knee pressed even more viciously against his spine in retaliation.

"Well, at least now I know I'm dealing with a real pair of minds, here," not-Rome said, his voice dripping a level of sarcasm Rome could never achieve on his own.

"Your call, pretty-boy. You going to play nice? Or do I smear the dirt with your brother's gray matter and--oh, that's right--and have my way with you anyway?"

If Rome had had a throat to command, he would have gulped.

J-just don't kill him.

"Haha! Word to the wise: never give me a blank check like that again."

The fist to the back of Raws' skull was way harder than necessary. Rome heard and felt a resounding crack!, but the sudden wave of pain told him that it was his own fingers and not Raws' skull that had broken--small favors.

Rome's body stood, leaving Raws lying face-down on the spongey forest floor. He didn't so much as twitch. He looked dead, causing a flash of panic to course through Rome's--brain? body? soul? Did anything belong to him anymore?

Okay. So what now?

The laughter was all around him now: in his head, echoing, but also in his throat, his own mouth laughing at him.

"Now, my boy. Now you go away."

And that was the last thing Romulus Remington remembered.

Rawson launched himself backward onto the fifth man, spinning low to sweep out his feet and following through with a hard hit to the collarbone. He succeeded both in breaking the bone and causing the man to pass out immediately. Without a moments hesitation he turned around and walked away.

With a sigh, he carefully checked that the package he held had not been harmed, and finished ambling past the bodies towards his motorcycle. Idiots. He'd been in the game for a while now, and wasn't going to be stopped by a bunch of ex-bouncers who thought they knew what they were doing in a fight. He grabbed they keys out of his front pocket, and drove the last twenty miles to make his delivery. He was getting paid good money for this.

Eight months later, the Remingtons would hardly recognize Rawson (if he'd been willing to see them in person). The disappearance of his brother had taken away whatever ties he had to his softer emotions, and ultimately resulted in Rawson's new choice of career as an ex-military mercenary, trafficking goods, protecting clients, and doing almost anything for the right price. He had worked for several powerful clients now, and was gaining a decent reputation in such circles.

He walked out of Johnny River's mansion, driving the bike down the drive and through the gate, listening with disinterest as it swung shut and locked behind him. Another fifty thousand had been transferred to his merc account in the islands, and two thousand in cash for a bonus was a comfortable weight in his jacket pocket. This was turning out to be a good night.

Rawson took the drive through the wooded area at a leisurely pace and almost didn't notice the figure in black standing in the middle of the road. He slowed, thinking of who might want to 'talk' to him. He was between jobs now, and it was just bad practice to go after a delivery boy after the fact. Besides, Johnny was smart- Rawson had no idea what had been in that box, and didn't really want to know. Military? The family had eased over the twins leaving, so they shouldn't be after him. Police? If coppers could figure out what he was doing, he deserved to be shot. But this didn't look like any of those. It was only one person, and he wasn't wearing any distinguishing uniform.

Moonlight glinted off a bracelet the man was wearing. It was a man's tarnished, silver bracelet that looked like it ha seen many moons before this one, with a simple wolf motif, and there would be obscure, faded writing, on the inside. The twins had gotten them as gifts from Vor and Ben-

The man looked up as his bike stopped yards away. And his face was a face Raws would not anywhere. "Romie?" He whispered. He looked the figure up and down again, noting his clothing, stance, and remembering how he'd suddenly appeared. This wasn't Romulus. Romulus was gone- dead, probably. The bit of insight he'd gained for his cousin before leaving home suggested this might be some sort of a shapeshifting creature, undocumented by scientists because of it's abilities. Gorram if it didn't sound like something out of one of Rome's fantasy novels. But it was the best explanation he had. His twin, his Romie, was gone. This wasn't him.

"No." He shook his head, correcting himself as he moved his left hand to release a well-weighted throwing knife. "It's you, again. You're not my brother. I'm going to kill you."

He wasn’t conscious for most of it. Which was probably a good thing, as the few times he was aware, he saw only death and destruction and blood on his hands. Sometimes he fought, and felt himself growing stronger, but the demon only crushed him the harder.

God, what do you want?!

“I have what I want. I want you.”

What for? What are you?

“Now, if God had wanted you to know that, He would have made it so this whole possession thing was a two-way street.”

So...Did they give you a name to go with your douchebaggery?

“Ha ha. You really are amusing. Probably why I haven’t killed you yet. I can run around in your meatsuit without you breathing in it, you know, right? Might be roomier without your insolence.”

That frightened him. The demon was as good as his word. Many was the time he’d just sit there holding his breath, because he could, as the pain and dizziness and panic overwhelmed Rome, the helplessness boring into his soul as he choked on it. It almost made him want to stop fighting. But then he’d remember that anything was better than life as a meatsuit.

“Andre.”

That’s your name? What kind of a name is that? Gotta say, I’m underwhelmed. Beelzebub and all the other good names taken by the time Satan crapped you out of his—

It helped if he got angry. He could struggle when he was angry. When he got scared, Andre was only stronger.

But even when he was furious, Andre could always just turn off the lights, throw him back into the deepest, darkest dungeon, where there was nothing, no time, nothing. Who knew when he would resurface, if at all? And whose blood would be on his hands when he woke?

“Wakey, wakey. There’s something here I want you to see.”

Oh my God. Raws!

Andre-Rome lit a cigarette as Rawson approached, gripping a knife tightly. “You're not my brother. I'm going to kill you."

“That would be an impressive feat, one which I do not think you’re up to. Anyway, let’s not be hasty,” for ironic effect, Andre took a lazy pull on the cigarette. “You wouldn’t want to damage your brother’s fine meatsuit, would you? He says ‘hi,’ by the way.”

"Meatsuit? What in God's name is that? Yeah your skin looks like his, but you sure as frackin' Hell aren't my Romulus."

It was calm. Far too calm. There were those idiots who acted confident but were bluffing, and there were those who actually thought they were just that good (imbeciles). This thing wasn't either one. His lazy confidence had a ring of truth to it.

Alright Raws. Nice and easy and fast and clean. You can't give him time to grab you like he did last time. Vor said these things talk shit. Ignore him, and look for the weak point. Everything and everyone has it. Lower right side? Left side of the face? Throw the knife into the midsection and then follow up physically?

Rawson felt himself dropping back into fight mode, analyzing everything his target did. Preparing to strike first.

The laughter definitely startled Rawson--if Andre couldn't tell, Rome certainly could. The laugh sounded so much like his own laugh. Rome always laughed loudly in Rawson's presence. Only Rawson could really make him laugh like that.

"'What in God's name?' Oh, now that's sweet. Isn't it, Rome?"

Bite me. He doesn't know I'm here.

"Would you like him to?"

What? No! I don't--hasn't he suffered enough, you sicko?

"He's in here, of course. Listening, watching. I can make him do or say anything. Even kill his brother. Even let his brother kill him. How would you like that, Rawson? Are you so sure he's not here? You ready to take that bet, Raws?"

"What the frackin' Hell do you want you b******?!" It sounded like him. Gods but it sounded like Rome. Wait a minute. "And don't call me Raws! Only he gets to do that."

What is he talking about? Listening and watching? He's acting like he is Rome. Like he's in Rome. Is that even possible? What the hell is this thing?

"Take that bet? And what if I am? You might be strong, but do you really want a knife and several bullets in your so called 'meatsuit'? 'Cause I'd be more than happy to help you with that. Wanna tell me what happened to my brother? What, did you grab him when he went to answer natures call and make a copy of his body that day at the campsite? Did you kill him right away, or did you leave him wrapped up somewhere so you could finish downloading his thoughts? That's you how b******s work, isn't it?"

Rawson let out an explosive breath, glaring at the creature.

Calm down. Don't listen to it. These things lie. Ignore him and look for the weak point. He's got to have one. Breathe.

The laugh again.

Rome hated it most when Andre laughed. Violating his vocal chords was the worst part in a long list of "worsts."

"Well, you must know something to talk like that. You mean to tell me you know some piddling shapeshifter lore but have never heard of demon possession? Tsk, tsk. But if someone doesn't need to read his Bible." Andre took a last puff on the cigarette and threw it to the ground. "As for bullets, you can be my guest. They won't kill me, but they'll hurt your beloved 'Romey'," he practically spit the word and spread his arms wide.

Rome waited anxiously for the reply. Part of him wanted death so badly, but another part of him couldn't handle being at rest while Raws was out there having to fight this thing and--worse--have his brother's death hanging over his head.

"In fact, I'm counting on your desire to protect him. I have a proposition for you."

Rawson hesitated. He should just shoot it. He knew he should. But if there was even a chance it was telling the truth- if he got himself killed and shot Rome and he was forced to 'live' until that thing left him... And of course, there was the lore, thing. Demon possession? Vor hadn't mentioned it. But, then, he'd only talked to his cousin briefly before he left. And she was a walking encyclopedia of folklore and myths. If Rome was alive...

"What do you want? We don't kill, if that's what you're thinking. Surely you've realized that by now." He lowered the knife, though he remained in a balanced stance, prepared for violence should it arise.

They say the road to hell is paved with good intentions. Please don't let me regret this.

Oh, God, what are you plotting now, you sick, twisted son of a--

"No, nothing of the sort," Andre said, as what felt like a metaphysical elbow slammed into Rome's soul's diaphragm, shutting him up. "I only desire an item." He raised an arm, letting the silver wolf-bracelet jangle against the impeccable mat-black suit he was wearing. "You wouldn't happen to know where the other half of this is?" Andre grinned. "I think I fancy owning the set."

What the frack? Vor and Benny's bracelets?

"Into Roman artifacts, are ya? It's genuine, if you didn't know. One of a kind. And very valuable. You already implied you wouldn't be killing my brother, he'd just be killed if I did the deed. So what are you offering if I'm able to locate and hand over the other half of that?"

Breath; think. Do not move your hands, but don't still them unnaturally. Don't draw any attention to the fact that you're wearing the bracelet. Stay close to the gun. Barter. You're a Remington- that means you're good at negotiation. How much does he want this? Why does he want it? Wait, ignore that. Unnecessary information for the task at hand. What is the bracelet's value? How much power do I actually have? Stand back and assess the situation.

“Well, now, I didn't say that in so many words, did I? What I meant was that I can use him dead, though it's not exactly preferable—things tend to rot off, you know, very untidy—so I am, in fact, counting on his life being more valuable to you than it is to me.”

Whoa, wait, what are you saying? You’re making him—

“This is all very cliché of me, I know, but I’m going to cut to the chase and ask that you give me the bracelet that is currently encircling your right wrist, and in exchange I won’t make your brother hold his head underwater until he stops breathing.”

Rome saw Rawson bristle at that.

God, Raws, don’t fight him. Please, God, Raws, don’t fight me, I'll win this time! Stop, Andre, please! Don’t hurt him! I-I'll do anything!

He was scared now. And that meant Andre had already won.

“Of course you will, but that's a given, my boy. Anyway, it's up to him now, isn’t it? Haven’t you yet become accustomed to the notion that what you want doesn’t matter in the slightest?”

“This way we can also avoid you doing anything rash like raising that gun, which might in turn lead me to do something nasty like ripping your hand off at the wrist.”

Rawson didn't doubt that the thing could do what it was threatening. This was turning into a nightmare. The last eight months had been a nightmare, but this was a night terror inside of a nightmare.

"If you can use Romulus, I bet you can take over anyone. I give you the bracelet, you give me my brother back, assuming, of course, that you're telling the truth and that actually is my brother."

That's fair. That's more than fair. Take the deal. Please let that be Rome. Please take the deal. God, I still don't even understand what's going on here. Demons? What the hell. I just want my brother back. Please.

“Oh, I’m sorry. Did I give you the impression that this deal was negotiable? Because it’s not. I have use for your dear brother, still, and I want that bracelet. Give me what I want and I’ll go away.”

He took a final pull on the cigarette and threw it to the ground. “You must understand. I’m not about to let go of such a prize host. People are different, you understand. Some are more…supernatural, while others are merely super-natural. You and your twin exhibit these properties with startling power.” Andre chuckled, as if recalling a fond memory. “I came into your brother with such ease, it was like slipping on a finely-tailored glove. Why, it was as if he was already wearing bridle and saddle, all ready to be ridden!”

You watch your—my—mouth, there, buddy! Rome shouted, banging against the cage of his mind to no avail. Andre was goading Raws, that was clear enough. Rome had had enough practice with the art himself, but it was always playful. But Andre grabbed hold of those vocal chords and twisted them in just the right way to push Rawson’s buttons. Rome could see the hairs on the back of his brother’s neck rising, ready to fight—and die—for his family’s honor.

And all he could do was watch.

"You watch your mouth, there, you b******! There is nothing wrong with my brother and he is not your frakking horse."

The sheer gall of him. How dare he! No one talks about Romulus that way! Is this some kind of a joke? Okay, negotiation is off the table. I'm not seeing it really getting me anywhere at this point.

"So, you want me to give you something, and I get nothing in return? Not just no, Hell no!"

Back to square one; I should just kill him. If he's not Romulus... but if he is... he's too strong... even if he is Rome wouldn't want to live like this. I sure as Hell wouldn't. Who knows what he's doing in Rome's body. If he's hurting him... I'm so sorry Romie. I love you, bro.

"You say you're a demon?" Rawson smirked. "You can go to hell."

Go for the arm with the bracelet. That's valued, so feint towards it, and throw a knife into the other arm. Go for fast damage here. And move away quickly so he can't grab hold- that so didn't work well last time.

Rawson was a natural fighter. And as Rawson was finalizing what he would do, his body was already moving.