“Now, in my fit of anger, I’ll admit, I lost count of how many bullets I fired. So, ask yourself: is luck on my side? Is she? If not, your brains will layer this sidewalk like a chalk drawing.” Tony McGee spat his way through the quote. His hand grasped the gun the best they could, but he was sweating so much you’d think it would soak the gunpowder inside. He never planned to do this. But he has no choice now. He was seen. Seen with the women. The woman lying nude on the alley floor, bruised, bleeding, sobbing. The old man, though, isn’t really listening to Tony. He himself is gathering his willpower. But he doesn’t have much of it left.
BLAM
“Hello, Yusef.”
The woman was in a satin-white suit without an undershirt and matching bleached-white jeans. It was almost blinding to the old man’s eyes. She had crystal blue eyes, which seemingly glowed through her messy grey hair that hid the top half of her head. She tapped the halo fleeting above her head, and a pen appeared in her hand, which she started chewing as she read something on a clipboard. “Yosef Löad, Turkish-Islamist father, French-Jewish mother. Wow. Aged eighty-seven, fought briefly in the war of-”
“I’m sorry, but-”
“You’re dead, to answer your question.” The woman doesn’t seem at all upset, flashing a smile revealing perfectly straight white teeth, before returning to reading and dissecting Yosef. “Sociopath and nihilist. Favorite book?”
Yosef thinks for a moment before replying, slowly settling into his current predicament. He feels younger, somehow. Still hollow, but the hole has shrunken compared to its size it was when he confronted the man in the alley. “I think my favorite book,” he says. “Would have to be A Christmas Carol. The old Christmas novella.”
“And your rifle?”
“What about my rifle?”
“How many shots in the chamber?”
“I do not know.”
Ability: The rifle never needs reloading, and isn’t necessarily a Bound Stand (despite it’s appearance), so it can appear and disappear whenever. However, with every shot, the user loses a piece of themself. Eventually, the clip becomes “empty” when the hollowness is all that’s left, resulting in suicide.
Just then, a knock on the flap breaks the conversation. Yosef almost didn’t realize the war-tent-like setting he was in, his concentration having been solely on his own thoughts and on the women in front of him. “Kelly? Do you have a client in there? Cuz we kinda have a situation.” The voice on the other side said.
“What is it?” The woman replied.
“Satan…is dead.”
The glow of blue that previously shone through her hair flickered for a moment before it gleamed even brighter. “Dead? Like, dead…dead?”
“Apparently. Do you want me to go down there with Sam or Alec or-”
“No, Nate.” The woman shook her head gently. She nibbled more on the pen before finally resting both hands on her desk and then lifting one to reveal a tarot card.
“The High Priestess recommends that you connect with your intuition to uncover new insights and truths,” Kelly informs Yusef, though the man wears an expressionless face. “but you must be patient with the process, as it will resist your efforts to control it.”
“I don’t think I believe in that.”
“Yusef, I think The High Priestess is a wonderful name for your rifle.” Kelly says with angelic guidance, only to be met with indifferent rebuke. “It’s already named.”
Stand name: Where the Wild Things Are (High Priestess)
Namesake: Where The Wild Things Are (Song by Metallica - named after that one kid’s book with the monsters on the island)
“How are we going to deal with the whole ‘Satan being dead’ thing?” Nate fully entered the tent, his dark skin a stark contrast with the blinding light that is Kelly. “I have an idea.”
