paradisalogs | call me with thy saints surrounded... (OPEN)

Who: Connor & Murphy MacManus ... AND YOU TOO!
What: Waking up in Paradisa
When: Early Wednesday evening
Where: The clinic
Rating: R by default for f-bombs
((OOC: MOST of what the boys say aloud here is in Gaelic. If your character knows it, feel free to call them out on it!))

The first thing the twins noticed was how oddly quiet it was. The rattle and slam of barred doors, the heavy footsteps of guards... and most importantly, the shouts of the protesters outside... all were missing. The only familiar sound was the beeping of heart monitors.

Murphy MacManus opened his eyes slowly and coughed, letting the clinic swim into focus. Normally, the first thing he saw in the mornings was the slow rise and fall of their friend Romeo's chest ... but he was gone. Some other soul he didn't know from Adam lay there instead. Drawing in a sharp breath, Murphy rolled over and stared at his twin.

Connor's eyes were wide open, meeting Murphy's with an equally shocked look. He frowned, listening intently for a moment as he tried to figure out what the fuck was going on. A glance around the room only succeeded in confusing him even more. Well, at least there were no guards that he could see. With another glance at Murphy he slowly sat up, grimacing as the bandages around his waist and shoulder pulled.

Sitting up in unison with his brother, Murphy flexed his own shoulder tentatively, and let out a soft hiss of pain. Wherever they were, it was a lot nicer than the Hoag. The mural stretched out across the wall in front of them gave him pause, and he frowned. The garden of Eden? It was an odd coincidence, for sure. Pursing his lips, he finally spoke up in quiet, terse Gaelic:

"What in the Lord's name is going on?"

Connor shook his head, throwing back the blankets and swinging his legs off the bed. He replied in kind, "Your guess is as good as mine. Maybe they drugged us and moved us somewhere else? Though this doesn't look like a prison."

"I thought of drugs, too..." He glanced at his forearms. One Celtic cross, no tracks from IV needles. "Doesn't look like it though. And that door doesn't look like it's built to hold us in..." One last stretch of his back, and Murphy swung around to sit on the edge of his bed, too. As he tilted his head to rub at his injured shoulder, something caught his eye. "..... there's a book here with my name on it." He turned to look at Connor, suspicion and foreboding writ plain in his eyes.

"What?" Connor started to turn, but the stitches in his side pulled tight and he thought better of it. He settled for sliding up the bed, closer to the night stand to take a look. His eyes fell on the book and Murphy's name on the cover. A second book was stacked beneath it. "What in the hell?" He carefully tugged the second book free, turning it so Murphy could see that he wasn't the only one with a mysterious gift. He looked up, meeting his twin's gaze.

Murphy swallowed, wrapping his hand in a corner of the sheets before tugging his book onto his knee and nudging it open. At the sight of words appearing before his eyes, he drew in a slow breath and completely forgot to speak in Gaelic. "Fuuuuuck me." Catching himself, he made a quick hop from the side of his bed to sit beside his twin, holding the book out in silent bewilderment.

“Shit!” Connor watched the words for a moment before turning his eyes back to Murphy. He let silence fall between them. The fuck’s going on?

Beats the hell out of me, Murphy’s eyes said, with a quick, darting glance to the door, but I’m not about to sit around and wait for someone to come tell me. Keeping the journal in hand, he got to his feet, pausing long enough to get used to being on his feet again. A glance around the clinic showed him a few bottles out on a tray, and he picked them up until he found one that looked like a viable painkiller. Tipping two out into his palm, he dry-swallowed them, then tossed the bottle to his brother without looking. His common sense mostly regained, he switched back to Gaelic. ”F’nothin’ else we can find a phone and call Eunice or --” Another name should’ve gone there, he was sure. He shook his head. ”- somebody.”

Connor caught the bottle one handed, popping the lid off and downing a couple of pills before dropping it onto the bed next to him. One arm wrapped around his stomach to hold his side, he pushed himself to his feet. He continued Murphy’s sentence in Gaelic, “How the fuck’d we get a hold’ve Eunice? She’s in Costa Rica or some shite. I’d call Duffy ’r Dolly.” He took a few steps towards Murphy, scoping the room out for other exits. Wherever this place was wasn’t very secure at all.

Duffy or Dolly. Neither of those names was ringing a bell, and it bothered him. He pushed the thought aside, though, choosing to instead focus on the present, and test his weight on his left leg. His calf protested, due to the bullet wound still healing, but held. ”We’ll cross that bridge when we get to it. … Come on, before someone catches on.”

They were both hurting, but that’s what they had each other for. Connor took his place at Murphy’s left side, wrapping his arm around his waist. “Aye.”

At the same moment, Murphy put his arm around Connor, low beneath his shoulders. With a nod at one another, the two brothers pressed out of the clinic and into the lobby ...

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

"Fuck!!" Connor jumped, letting go of Murph and taking a step away, pointing at Cole.

"Listen you fuckin' hellspawn. Jus' leave us th'fuck alone, arrite?! We haven't done anything to you!" He hopes that Cole will turn his attention to him so Murphy has time to get a weapon or get the fuck out of there.

More than anything, with all of his soul, Murphy wished he had his rosary. Almost instinctively, his hand went to the spot where the cross usually hung, low against his ribs... and he gasped in shock when his fingers suddenly closed around it. ... A miracle? WELL. There was no doubt that whatever this place was, the Lord was still with them. He pulled the rosary off his neck and held it out at arm's length by the chain.

"Seriously, get back before we show your sorry ass who you're fuckin' with!"

A sigh right there. "I should mention, I'm not that type of demon." He folds his arms. "Only the correct vanquishing potion can get rid of me. If you want to try and get some, speak to Phoebe Halliwell."

He remains where he is, however, watching the pair. "But, listen up, kids, because there's more. There's more to this castle than just me."

He pauses for a moment, as if making a list in his head. "There's at least one other demon I know of, vampires, werewolves, angels, magic-users. They're all residents here. And, as I say, the Peace Patrol doesn't take to kindly to folk going around and murdering people just because they think they've slighted the wrong god."

Seeing Murphy pull his rosary off automatically sent Connor's hand to his own chest. He was certain he hadn't been wearing it but somehow he had faith that it would be there, wishing and hoping that he was right. When his hand pressed against the cross he looked up, whispering a soft, "thank you." He chose to keep his own rosary on. If something happened and Murph's was knocked out of his hand they had to have a backup, after all.

"Demons, vampires, werewolves... This arsehole's fucking insane! Fuck're you talkin' 'bout, castle?

"Nevermind potions an' magic," Murphy sneered. "Just hocus pocus yourself back to wherever the fuck you came from! We don't care what you're sellin', we don't fucking want any."

Except, maybe, the angels. If there really were angels here, well. Maybe they stood a chance after all.

"Are you two always so quick to judge?" Cole is just going to stand there. "I get the feeling that the rumour that you need to be insane to be good is starting to be true."

Connor frowned. This was completely unlike anything he'd expected his first encounter with a demon to be like. Although, he supposed it did make sense. Demons couldn't all look and act like hideous creatures.

"Y've told us yer a fuckin' demon, use demonic powers and ain't leavin' us alone. Why the fuck should we listen to you?"

"Who says I'm listenin'," his twin snorted. Honestly, it was looking like the more they got pissed off at this demon, the more he was going to run his mouth at them. Suddenly, his eyes lit up.

"Hey, Connor. 'Member Paddy Flanigan?" Even as he spoke, he was heading toward the refrigerator.

"Well, when you meet the ponies, don't come crying to me. Especially the one with the cannon."

Cole turns his back on the pair to open a cupboard, rummaging in it for a bag of crisps.

((OOC: Crisps = Chips.))

"Aye I do." Connor turned, following his brother. Unsurprisingly, he liked the way he thought.

"Whatever came'a him, d'ya know?" He leaned against a counter watching Murphy at the fridge.

"Pssht, like I give a tinker's piss." His eyes widened a bit. "... Jesus, I don't even know what some'a this shite is. But there's beer."

He pulled two cans of Guinness out and tossed one to his brother.

And Cole just walks towards them.

"'scuse. I want to get a soda."

Connor caught the beer one handed, grinning at his brother as he cracked it open, "Much 'bliged. See? This place's lookin' better already."

He took a thoughtful sip before pointing at Murphy, "Ya know. I think I might've heard that he got married. Knocked up some girl." He snickered.

"Seriously?" Murph opened his own beer, edging aside to let Cole past without even so much as acknowledging him. "How d'y' figure he even got her legs open - slainte -" he clicked his can against Connor's without skipping a beat, "th' jaws of fuckin' life?"

"Bet you guys wouldn't be ignoring me if I was still an angel." He comments. "And great respect for your elders, by the way, you're a credit to your generation."

He's still talking calmly.

"Slainte" Connor cracked up, "He would've had to, innit?"

He caught Murphy's eyes, his own narrowing slightly. STILL an angel? What? He's fallen from grace, now?

"Tell me 'bout it. That face've his could stop a freighter..." He took a sip of his beer, peering at Connor over it.

And what's this 'respect your elders' bullshite? Y'can be older than God and still not get respect. Example left unspoken: Louie the Roman.

"Yeah, I can see how being a Whitelighter's such a cushy gig." Cole walks to the table and sits down. "At least their advice gets attention paid to it. Angels, huh? I bet you would listen to one of them."

Connor frowned at his brother I've had just 'bout enough of this arsehole talkin' 'bout angels an' respect.

His voice had dropped from the jovial tone, though his words were still light, "I think it did, once."

You an' me both.

"... Did, din' it? That one field trip when th' idiot didn' pay attention t' where he was an' ran right out in the middle of it." In contrast, his tone was still light, but he let the undercurrent of his words do his talking for him. Idiot's gotta stop thinkin' just because he's some hot shot demon we oughta hang on his every word. He doesn' know who he's fucking with.

The next words from Cole's mouth might not be expected, and they're spoken in a language long thought to be dead. "Innocent until proven guilty." The words were spoken in Latin.

Cole then stands. "Gentlemen, good evening. Enjoy your stay." He straightens his suit jacket.

"If you need me, call me through the journal. Remember the name's Cole Turner." And then he shimmers away.

call me with thy saints surrounded... (OPEN)

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