Chapter Text
The sun rises up high on a humble little city in Europe. Gentle rain droplets pebbles the pavements of the quiet streets of a litte place called Rosemary City. A forgotten city where secrets lay burried with their dead… but not for long.A figure steps out from a corner. Their boots splashing puddles against the side walk. Their hoodie dampened by the drizzle. A sigh escapes their lips as they enter the warm atmosphere of a hole-in-the-wall bakery it was completely empty today, the bakery left barren as a lone woman stands behind the front counter, scrolling on her phone with a dull expression on her face. She turns her attention to the figure, her eyes drifting up. She chuckles as she examines the figure more closely and nestles her phone in her pocket, leaning over the counter with her hand on her palm. Her dark navy blue dress flowing with her movements.
“Ha! Dubo, I don’t suppose you got caught in the rain again?” The figure— no, Dubo, scoffs. Flipping his hood down and stepping forward. Fixing the little eyepatch on the left side of his face.
“Please, Alice… it was only a drizzle. And in any case who doesn’t get caught in the morning rain these days?”Alice rolled her eyes playfully. Coiling her orange hair around her finger as she approuched the register to her right, gently leaning her elbow on the edge of the counter.
“So? What’ll it be today, little Cheshire cat?” Cheshire. A nickname Dubo had long been accustomed too from his long time spent with this ‘unique’ clerk.
“Hm… Give me an espresso.” He tapped his fingers against the marble countertop. Alice shifted slightly, raising her eyebrow.
“No latte? I presume you didn’t get enough sleep again?”
“No, not really. But when do I ever get a chance to rest anyhow?” He replied. Rubbing his eyes as he nabbed his wallet with clumsy, sleep deprived motion from his pocket.
“Ah, right. Your “job.”” Alice nodded sympathetically as she typed the order into the register. She cleared her throat, “Order’s up, you remember the total.” she spoke.
“Mm… five nintey-nine. Like it’s always been.” He grinned as he handed her the money, sighing to himself with a melancholic expression as he began to dig into his thoughts, trying to unravel-- “Oh, yes. Dubo, before I forget…” her voice rang out, her fingers mashing the enter key swiftly. Alice dug into the pockets of her pinafore apron, and dug out a handful of pictures detailing two individuals. Sliding them to Dubo in a whispered tone.
“I’ve managed to locate individuals who might be able to help you… ‘find yourself.’” His hands glaze over the pictures before sliding them off of the counter. ‘Maxwell Lovelock.’ was written on the back of the picture on a piece of masking tape. They were a relatively large individual, someone who obviously took care of himself but with a bit of a dad-bod… with short black hair that rested complimented his softer features that split into a middlepart.
“So… who is this man exactly and why does he matter?” Alice plucked one of the photos from his hand and tapped it with her finger. It was a photo of Maxwell in what looked to be old ruins.
“He’s a small time journalist who happens to specialize in ancient history. Specifically targetting recorded documents of and from witches of the past. Their culture, practices, so on and so on..."
Dubo scoffs, flipping through the pictures in his hand. “And you don’t suppose he isn’t just some ameteur skinny dipping in water where he doesn’t belong?”
“No-no. He’s the real deal. He writes under the guise of merely recording their history. Archiving it so it's never forgotten, but he knows about this world's secrets. And he’s investigating them for his own purposes… what those are, I’m not sure. But what I am aware of is he’s no ordinary journalist.” He hummed in reply before turning to another picture with a different person. They were a blonde haired nerdy looking fella with hair that swooped across their face with square glasses. A total dork… They weren’t much in terms of stature either. The picture framing their lithe body as a small figure amongst towering bookshelves.
“I’ll hazard a guess and assume this one is a librarian?” Dubo quipped, flipping the picture to Alice. “So what’s his deal then? Someone else that’s special?”
She chuckled in response and handed Dubo a small green gift box held together with a pretty purple ribbon. "You catch on quick. His name is Andrew Harvey and aside from being a librarian, he also happens to enjoy dabbling in weapon-smithing.” Dubo’s eyes widened in surprise, scoffing out a laugh.
“This one? This one makes weapons? Look at him… I doubt he could even lift a hammer!” Hyperbole, naturally. But in Dubo’s defence, this ‘Andrew’ character was on the more wiry side of the scale… Alice soon replied,
“Just as you use your ‘gifts’ to acccomplish your tasks, he does the same. Off setting his weaknesses with the ‘tools’ at his disposal… Although he’s not as in tune with it as you are.” Dubo simply nodded before tucking the pictures into his hoodie pockets.
"I’ll keep these people in mind. Although I have to wonder… why would you issue me a weapons-smith?” Dubo questioned with a look that expressed minor offense, only for Alice to huff in response, looking around her for a silent moment. Observing her surroundings. The only ambiance was the sound of the bakery's royalty free jazz music eminating softly from the speakers; a calm baso buff accompanied by city hustle and bustle, and the noises of a grinding coffee machine from the back. Seeing the coast was clear, she leaned in closer, brows furrowed as her tone carried a sense of seriousness despite her hushed voice.
“You and I both know that the closer you are to "figuring yourself out", the more dangerous investigating will be for you. Your ‘gifts’ have gotten you this far, but you’re a long way from understanding them completely.” She shifted, leaning back and crossing her arms over her chest. “Your magic is powerful but you can never be under-prepared, considering the things you face in your… “Line of work.”” Alice tapped the box which was now nestled into Dubo’s side. “Inside of this box is a weapon I had commissioned especially for you by Andrew. I understand that you’re strong… there’s nobody else on your level. But I just want you to be safer.”
Dubo paused for a moment, holding the box tighter against himself. Feeling the weight of what was inside. He sighed before smiling softly, fidgiting with his eyepatch. “Alright! Alright, I’ll use it… Thank you, Alice.”
“Anytime, Cheshire cat.” Dubo turned back with the box tucked safely into his side. His feet tapping against the old tiles as he stepped out of the bakery.
“Hold on a moment… Dubo, your coffee-! Oh nevermind..." Alice yelled, her shouting only landing on deaf, pleasently appreciative ears. Dubo’s feat was once again splashing against puddles as he walked home to his apartment. In his hands was a little red spring-back notebook and a pen. Scribbling something down before scratching it out, again and again. His eyes scanning it over, and over again as if to decipher some secret hidden texts in his own hand writing. His lipse pursed and his eye squinting as his fingers flickered to a page with little letters encircled and highlighter.
“Rosemary monument… I know you’re hiding something.” With a huff he swiftly tucked the notebook and pen into his shorts’ pockets. His mind swirling with confusion. Because Dubo wasn’t any ordinary person you’d see walking across the street. I’m sure you, as the reader, are well aware of that. Dubo is a special kind of "living" creature. Nothing like a human, but too human-like to be an animal… Dubo is a being formed out of magic. Real magic in the most literal sense. A creation born through a combination of alchemy, magic, and sacrifice… Though that’s as much as Dubo himself knows. Most if not all of what Dubo is, is still a mystery. To him, to Alice, to Dubo’s friends… No recollection of where he came from, no idea of why he was made, no clue as to what purpose he would’ve served, and probably worst of all.. no family.Eventually, Dubo ceased his ponder filled trek. Stopping infront of the most average looking apartment building ever. His feet climbed up the small steps, towards the door. Passing through the doors, his soles made contact with the old gray carpet. Carpets filled with whatever gunk and mildew whoever’s stepped on them left behind. Approuching the elevator, Dubo’s fingers pressed lightly against the button to take him to the second floor. Listening to the elevator rumbling as he waited for his ascent to his apartment. His safe haven… Entering the elevator, Dubo sighed. Looking at the green rectangular box he held in his hands. It was an ugly darkish kind of green that only a very specific kind of person would like… The corners of Dubo’s lips raised upwards. That was his favorite color…
The Elevator stopped ot the third floor with a click and a ding, the doors opening with a smooth glide. Dubo’s boots ruffling the carpet once again as he walked forward. Rustling through his pockets to find his keys.
“Wallet… notebook… theres my pen… uh… ah! My keys. Dang… I really should get a bag.” Dubo slowly swirves across a corner, walking a bit further as the keys rustle in his hands. His eyes glaze over the identical doors wrapping around the hallway from each side. Two people are talking to each other in the hallway. An old woman in a shawl, her hands gripping a cane tight in nervous anxiety, alongside a teenage girl with a pretty pink headband carrying around a briefcase.
“Goodmorning Grandmother Olga!” Dubo waved his hand towards the pair, watching them turn around with a look of concern on their faces. “You too Vanessa! How come you’re in your uniform? It’s a Saturday…”
“Hey big bro, it’s nothing. I’ve just got a meeting with the rest of the student council for a history festival next week.” Grandmother Olga stepped forward, her cane tapping the floor to catch Dubo's attention.
“Dubo, dear… Have you heard of the recent rumors? You ought to be more careful around the area. People are being snatched left and right… Vanessa and I were just talking about it before she departed for her student council meeting.”
Dubo’s ears perked, eyebrows twitching in curiosity. “What? That’s the first I’ve heard of that.”
Vanessa piped up, putting a palm to her hip as her other hand held the suit case to her back. “What’s more, a few of the residents have been hearing wailing and scratching coming down from the boiler room… And that’s not all."
“I’ve been to the scenes of the disappearances myself from my routes to and from school… It’s creepy.” A subtle look of anxious terror crept up on Vanessa as she spoke. She paused for a moment, looking down as if recalling something she wish she never saw to begin with.
“… Claw marks.” Her voice spoke softly. Quiet. Subtle. As if she was scared that something would hear her if she spoke any louder, her body tensing as her eyes looked up even though her head didn’t want to move. “Grizzly claw marks stripped across pavement, bricks, and pipes… All either shredded or scratched in deep. To my knowledge, no wildlife organizations or zoos are missing any animals. And no sitings of anything like a bear or tiger have been recorded as of this week and the weeks before that. Either way… no modern animal could have made marks like those… and at the rate of which people are disapeparing, I doubt that whatever is gobbling people up in the night is anything human either.” Dubo’s eye widened at her words, his body tensing up as well. But not out of fear, or terror. He was tensing up out of a feeling of curiousity.
Olga tapped her cane against the floor again, holding her hand over Vanessa’s arm. “Now, now dear… theres no need to say any of that. You’re terrifying the boy…”
“No, Grandmother Olga, it’s fine. As a matter of fact I think I agree with what Vanessa’s saying. I’ll keep in mind what you’ve said and I’ll be careful next time I’m out and about.” With that Dubo turned around, walking away after saying goodbye. “You two take care now.”
Once again, Dubo ruffled his pockets to nab that little notebook and pen from his pockets. Writing down Vanessa’s name and every little detail he could squeeze out of his conversation with the two, all stuffed into two pages worth of information. “Whatever’s been gobbling people up in the night sure as hell ain’t a person… And I think I might know what it is.” Walking just a little bit further, Dubo slows to a halt as he reaches an old looking door with the number 418. The same room he’s lived in since he moved into the building 8 years ago. His hand grabbed the door knob, twisting with an unnatrually tense feeling in his wrists as he opened the door. He wasn’t sure why he was so tense. Perhaps it was the idea that something mystical was slithering around the area and stealing away individuals into the inky black of the city’s nightscape.
Or perhaps it was the lingering thought in his mind that whatever it was that people were so afraid of was the very thing that could be the key to figuring out questions he wished he had the answers to by now. Stepping into that studio apartment, he was hit with the safe, warm comforting feeling of being in his own little space away from the world. His mind ceasing the constant thoughts as he leaned against his door.
“The day just started and I already feel a headache coming on…” He stepped forward, the hardwood old hard wood floors creaking slightly under his footsteps. Taking off his jacket and hanging it up against the door, revealing scarred stitches running across both of his arm from the base of his fingers to his shoulders, segmenting it into quadrents. He turned right to face a little shoe rack as he leaned his hand against the door. Popping off his old boots, finally giving his little paw pads a chance to rest. Yes, my dear reader. Paw pads. His soft pawed toes hit the floor with a gentle thud as he tossed his boots into the corner, watching them thud against his shoe rack. He walked forward, stretching as he approuched a little dining table in his kitchen, setting the little gift wrapped box down and pulling out a chair.
"Alright Liddell... let's see what new toy you've given me this time." He sat at that table, tugging at the purple ribbon gently, as it unfurled smooth off of the box and falling limply onto the table. Dubo held the lid of the box, running his thumbs under the rim before lifting up gently. Finding another jet black case in inside the box, covered under a bunch of packing peanuts…
“Is… Is this a gun? Did she get me gun? Tch… That girl…” Dubo scoffed out a laugh, despite his tone he truly did appreciate the gift. Even if guns weren’t exactly his style…
He lifted the heavy gun case out onto the table. Being careful hoping not to scratch the gun inside or the table he’s placing it on… His pulse quickens, excitement taking him over as his hands flip open the locks on the case, and slowly lifted the lid. Watching it snap upwards, Dubo’s eyes widen in pure admiration. His jaw hanging open loosely. Inside of the case was an over-under double barrel percussion pistol with a solid steel barrel and a wooden grip. Looking at the gun more closely it was obvious it wasn’t just any ordinary vintage gun, Alice said so herself. She had it custom made just for Dubo… rather than a piece of flint being etched into the jaws of the french lock there was a rosemary sapphire with an unnatrual sheen to it, the frizzen was shorter than he’d seen on any other flintlocks that he’s ever seen. Dubo’s eyes noticed the beautiful engravings etched into the sides of the gun’s elongated metallic barrel. The words “Get Dead Angel Face” were etched into the right side of the gun, with assymetrical antlers of a deer running along both sides off the top. With a little eye on both sides of the corners at the front. Holding it in his hand, Dubo could feel the heavy weight of the pistol, although he wasn’t holding it by the grip. It wasn’t anything he wasn’t used too. He’s had experience with firearms though only on the off occasion like visiting a shooting range, or hunting small game. On the grip of the gun where the wood met Dubo’s palm was another small engraving. It was the head of a teddy bear with a scar running across the center in a curved shape and an X scratched across the left eye facing forward, with its left ear torn off. Dubo held the gun by it’s grip, looking down the small nub of an iron sight. And he didn’t even have to close one eye! He thought to himself. He then laughed at his own joke, what with the eyepatch and all…
Just then, the world stilled. Followed by a bright light enveloping his view, blinding him as the entire space surrounding him turned gray. With the noise of a pulsating mass of flash eminating through his walls, as if the walls themselves could breath as did he.
A sudden sharp agonizing pain shot through his hand. Crawling all the way up to his shoulder before creeping up his neck and shooting through his entire body, like an agonizing electric pulse coursing through his very being. A loud shout escaping his jaws as his body tenses. The muscles in his hand locking, rendering him unable to unhand the gun. From the engravings of the gun a piercing light shines, as the stitching along his entire body snap all at once. Shining threads sprouting from the segments where his stitching once laid.
Out of his neck, his back, from his arms, out of his knees and fingers… spewing out and flying towards his hand. Wrapping around it from the wrist to the grip before binding to the gun. An ear cracking ringing spears itself through Dubo’s cranium followed by a seathing headache as he begins to groan and grit his teeth… beads of sweat dripping across his entire body, leaning against the table with enough weight to slowly push it forward.
“Fuck--!! It burns..!! It- burns..!!” His body crumbles to the floor, propping himself up on his arms as the searing pain from his head slithers its way through his entire body. The threads never ceasing in their stream from his person. Slowly as the bright shine dissipates from the gun with the threads sinking deep into it, finally with a closing burst of light Dubo’s hand finally snaps open, the gun clattering onto the wood floors with a rattle and roll. The world returns to it's original color as he takes a steadying breath. The walls cease their pulsating.
“Jesus… fuck.. it’s like my whole body is on fire right now… What happened…?” Dubo looked into his hands, the slits on his palms usually sewn tight were now loosened. His whole body was trembling, from the pain, out of fear form the events that transpired, out of fear for the unknown mystery of what just happened to him. He doesn’t even know what he’s truly capable of, and he was put into a situation where it felt like his whole body was on fire and he could do nothing but sit there and take it… He had to call Alice… she’ll definitely know what to do. Hurrying as best as he could through lingering pains, he rustled his pockets and threw out everything that wasn’t phone shaped onto the table or the floor. Blitzing through his contacts list to find Alice’s contact. “This woman better pick up the phone…” Dubo huffed as he lifted himself back into the chair. The phone buzzing as he held it limply against his ear hole. He waited through five agonizing rings before hearing that familiar, cutting, posh british accent.
“Dubo? What is it? My shift isn’t over yet. If you wan’t to talk then-”
“Alice, shut up and listen…!!” Dubo cut her off, his voice strained with contempt. Her voice stilled at the phone. He could hear the rustling of her clothing as she shifted in her spot before hearing a quiet ‘okay?’ he grit his teeth. Staring at the pistol on the floor, trying to gather his words.
“There’s… something wrong with the present you gave me.” “The gun?” “Yes, the gun! What else?” He scoffed in response.
“The gun… when I held it in my hand, everything went weird. And this… searing pain came rushing up from my hand and through the rest of me. Like… like someone threw a match at me after dousing me in gasoline and charcoal!” He could hear a befuddled gasp at the other end of the line. “The gun started glowing and- and the threads in my body started pouring out of me from every which way, and it hurt like a bitch, Alice!!” Dubo seathed. Dubo inhaled a deep breath as he felt the aching begin to settle— Though the headaches remained still. Whether it was the fault of the gun or of Dubo’s own mind he would have yet to know. He pushed his head back into the back rest as he slumped backwards with shut eyes. Putting the phone back to his ear he spoke again through shuddering breath, “Do you have any idea how that happened? Was that supposed to happen?”
Alice clicked her tongue as she replied. “No, well- actually… I suppose yes and no? The glowing was intended. The gun is magic, but it’s special wherein it binds itself to it's user and vice versa. Its supposed to make your spells more powerful, and can only be unlocked by the wielder its been bound too. Like I, and my dagger. But the pain… the pain you experienced and your body unraveling to bind to the gun wasn’t supposed to happen…” There was a pause on the other end. An exacerbating sigh escaping her lips. “On the back of one of the photographs I handed you, there should be a phone number for Andrew Harvey. If you can’t find it there then it means I probably forgot… but he works at the library Tuesday, Thursday, and Saturday for the entire morning so it won’t be hard to find him.” A bell rings in the far distance. “I’ll have to go now, a customer just walked in… I’ll call you later.” The call ended as three beeps rang out from his phone.
Dubo sat there, huffing as everything sunk in. Everything beginning to subside as Dubo glared at the pistol at his feet, his paw pads curling against the wooden floors leaving little smudges as it went. He stuck out his left leg, poking it with his toes half expecting it to explode or something along those lines. His hands climb up each other before crossing infront of his chest, puffing up as it did when he inhaled, sighing like he always does when something ‘bad’ happens. His fingers picking at his sewn up stitches. He could feel his insides churning still, it felt like metal crunching inside of his core as if parts of the gun that rended him in a revelry of aching light and thread seeped into his very essence. Simplified; it felt the gun was a part of him now… his own biology betraying him more than it had for the past centuries he’s lived. He doesn’t know his own body well enough to understand how he operates or gets by, and now new feelings are beginning to surface. He bent down, with a reluctant grip he picked up the gun again, his body tensing at the weight instead of finding fascination in it. He winced slightly, staring at it again before swiftly stuffing it back into its case.
“... I hope the neighbors didn’t hear that…” Dubo huffed. His mind wandering back to that figure in the pictures. Andrew. The name wrang in his mind over and over again… If he wanted answers he’d obviously have to get to him, that information’s been dumped into his face like a big red x. Dubo stood up, walking back towards his door before even having chance to rest again, putting on his boots and shoving his jacket back onto himself he swiftly exited his aparment. If there was any take away from his situation, it’d be that there was singular constant feeling of progression in his gut at this point. Like what just happened was something important even if he didn’t know what it was exactly. He’s never experienced anything like what just happened up until this point, and he’s dead set on finding out what he’s missing. Just as his feet stepped out of his apartment and made contact with that familiar carpet, the sounds of which could only be described as pathetic ‘skedaddling’ wrang out. From around the corner came a small peculiar looking dog. Appearing more bovine than canine, it was a bedland terrier wearing a little blue collar around its neck. Scampering and barking its way towards Dubo. Dubo flinched watching the dog inch closer and closer on its weird looking legs. Bracing himself as the dog finally approuched close enough and jumped, its mouth opened wide enough, though its jump lacking in height. Only really being able to reach just above Dubo’s ankle. And while Dubo was wearing shorts, the dog’s attempts to bite any harder were met with meger results. Barely even managing to break the skin. Dubo’s bracing stance turned to confusion as he stared down at the dog attempting what he assumed was an assault.”Hey- hey stop that… you’re slobbering on me.” Dubo protested, kneeling down as he attempted to pry the dog’s admittedly well kempt teeth off of his leg.
Following soon after sas a blonde, familiar looking figure from the distance running close behind with a dog leash in his hands. “Crocus, let go of that man!” Dubo’s eye sharpened as he looked up, catching the man’s gaze. The blonde haired man flinched seeing Dubo’s serious expression. The man that stood before him, trying to get the dog off of his leg was Andrew Harvey, who— coincidentally, was the same Andrew Harvey that Dubo had pictures of sitting in his jacket pockets. The same jacket that he was wearing as of the current moment. Dubo mentally prepared himself, as he sighed and bent down. Giving the peculiar looking dog one quick flick on the forehead before wiping off the doggy slobber with the furr of his boots.
“I’m really sorry! He doesn’t usually act this way around people…” Dubo eyes scanned Andrew as he looked him up and down, leaning on the wall arms crossed over his chest.
“It’s fine, really. Say, I’ve never seen you around this building before. I’m guessing you’re either house sitting, or you’re new to the building?” Andrew chuckled, knealing down to leash his dog again as it happily returned to his side as if it hadn’t just attempted to, and failed to, sink its teeth into Dubo’s bones.
“The latter. I just moved in. I actually only swapped homes on the account that this place is closer to my place of work. You know the library to the right of the town hall? I’m a librarian there.” A small smile crept up Dubo’s lips because he knew all this already. And he knew that Andrew wasn’t an ordinary librarian, and he knew that dog wasn’t an ordinary dog.
“I’m Andrew, it’s nice to meet you.” He stretched his hand out for a handshake.Dubo took his hand, shaking it gently before pulling Andrew closer.
“I know,” he started, inching wickedly closer to Andrew, their noses almost touching as he leans in to whisper. “And I also know that you’re no ordinary librarian, are you Andrew?” Dubo leaned back, a look of displeasure on Andrew’s face as he took his hand back.
“Who are you and what is it that you want?” Dubo bowed his head slightly as he stuffed his hands into his pockets.
“My name is Oleander “Dubo” Elizabeth McBury, and I, just need to ask you a few things about a piece of craftsmanship under your hands.” Andrew scoffed, adjusting his glasses as he hoisted a hand onto his hip defensively. “I have not a single clue as to what you’re talking about. I’m a librarian, and that’s all I am. I don’t even write…” Dubo sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. Turning around as he fiddled with his doorknob a bit more before tossing the door open and swinging his arm in, the stitched up segments that scar his arm detach from each other with a sickening snap of each individual thread, with the sleeve of his jacket snapping off alongside the individual segments.. A twisting writhing mass of what looked like string twisting into each other kept the parts bound to one another as it extended into the apartment, a gleaming greeinish-cyan eminating from the twisting, wrapping threads that stretched. Dubo’s extended limb reached deep into his home to retrieve the pistol. Snatching it from the open case, recalling his segmented limb, the segments connecting to each other with a weird wet plap noise, the stitches returning. His sleeve snapping together with a series of magnetic clicks…
Andrew’s face, seeing what just happened unfold, was a look of sheer disgust and horror. A sneer stitched from ear to ear. There’s a weird sense of curiosity that comes with the disgust, though. Having never seen anything do that before. Actually come to think of it, Andrew doesn’t suppose he’s ever seen an amputee before. Would he even count as an amputee? Thoughts encircled his mind before his eyes rested upon a familiar pistol, nestled into Dubo’s hand like banana, or a very heavy telephone. Dubo was right. Andrew did make that gun. “You made this gun. You answer my questions, or I’m boppin’ you over the head with it, Magic-man.”
“Magic-man!? I just watched you dismember your arm and use it like a fishing rod like bloody Frankie Stein! and you wan’t to call ME Magic-man!”
“Are you answering my questions or not? And keep your voice down!” Andrew huffed, his grip tightening on the red little dog-leash. “Fine. You want me to step into your home then?” Dubo nods, lowering the gun. He steps back in first, Andrew and his weirdo dog following close behind. Andrew brushes his feet against the door mat as he whistles. “Cozy home…”
“Alright, first question.” Dubo started, removing his jacket and tossing it onto the door. “You aren’t even going to let me sit down first?”
Dubo scowled, pointing towards the open living room for Andrew to take a seat. Andrew sits down on one of the sofas, one leg crossed over the other, Crocus sitting down by his legs and choosing to sleep. Dubo stepped forward, placing the gun gently onto the coffee table. The gun’s metal thudding against the cheap cardboard-wood hybrid before plastering himself down onto a sofa adjascent to Andrew, a tight grip on the sofa’s arm rest.
“The fuck is wrong with your gun?” Dubo lurches forward. Andrew winces back at the abrupt question, his brows furrowing.
“What do you mean “the fuck is wrong with my gun?” You have a user manual don’t you?” Dubo whips his hand towards the gun. Extending once again with that same sickening snap to grasp the gun’s barrel. The arm extending forward towards “Eugh!” Andrew remarks, flinching back slightly as his eyes turned to Dubo. Dubo in turn staring back at him with a deadpan expression.
“Well? Take it.” Dubo replied, letting the weight-full gun fall into Andrew’s hand. Andrew leaned forward, his eyes and hands inspecting the gun. Examining it with the finesse of someone who’s practiced their craft and have nearly perfected it.
Andrew leaned back, holding a hand up in confusion. “What exactly is your problem with my craftsmanship?”
Dubo scoffed. “Your craftsmanship is… excellent. One of the best guns I’ve ever held… It’s just that,” Dubo leans back. His tone softening suddenly. “When I held your gun, some of freaky shit happened.” Dubo inhaled, closing his eyes as he recounted the feeling of the gun in his hands. The weight… the feel… before having that sharp burning pain ring through-out his entire body. The painful feeling of his threads expelling themselves out of his body and wrapping around the gun. The bright lights… He opened his eyes, meeting Andrew’s as he looked him up and down. Dubo recalled his experience, from beginning to end. Watching Andrew's face contort again, and again in confusion and pity.
"I'm... sorry. That wasn't supposed to happen." Andrew leaned forward, uncrossing your legs. "This gun— as I'm sure you know —uses magic. It's not a regular gun... while it may opperate like one normally, it's distinct wherein it uses a portion of it's users magic to amplify itself. Beit.. empowering bullets, or just using the magic it borrows as bullets, it's meant to be like a catalyst so magic is easier and stronger," Andrew's hands gently grip the gun, examining it once more with the affection of a creator to it's creations. "but there's more. This weapon is a type of magical artifact called a 'magiattrezzo.' It's a special item that binds itself-" Dubo sighed, leaning forward as he pinched the bridge of his nose.
"I know! I know!" He huffed. "This isn't my first time dealing with a magiattrezzo. I've studied them myself. But what about the binding process itself? I've never read anything about a magiattrezzo that hurts the guy binding to it?" The two of them stopped to ponder. Neither have them had encountered or even read about a magiattrezzo that harmed its user. It's not like Dubo was too banged up either...
His thoughts were cut short for a moment as Andrew placed the gun down on his lap. "The binding process wasn't supposed to be so painful. All that was supposed to happen was at most mild numbness or a feeling of a small electric shock, not whatever happened to you." Andrew paused to take a breath and process the information given to him. The cogs in his mind visibly twisting as his eyes shifted to Dubo. Running his eyes along the visible scars along his arms... the line of stitching that divided Dubo's face, the eyepatch on the left side, and the ugly greenish discoloration that accompanied it. "Unless...,"
"You're not a regular human, are you?" Dubo swallowed. A nervous heat running up his neck. It wasn't like he was being subtle... I mean he literally dismembered himself in front of him just to make a statement.
"What gave it away? Was it the eyepatch, or the left side of my face?" Dubo replied sarcastically. Chuckling as Andrew rolled his eyes in response.
Andrew leaned in the chair back with an inquisitive look on his face. "I ask because... For starters, I'm assuming your anatomy isn't like that of a regular person's? If that is the case, then it would mean that what should be normal for humans like me would result in an adversely different reactions for... whatever it is you are. I mean... what even are you?"
"None of your business."
"Right... well," Andrew slowly started, dusting himself off as we sat up. "thank you, for inviting me into your very lovely home, but I better get going. I got given the day off today and I don't intend to waste it.." Dubo stood up abruptly. "You know that this world has magic, and you know where to get knowledge pertaining to it. So I wanna know how you got your hands on it." Dubo was met with a huff and a stiff glare.
"I'm already sticking my neck out of a speeding car by telling you how this gun works... How do I know you're trust worthy? The right information in the wrong hands is seriously, a bad idea. What are you even supposed to do with that information anyways?" He crossed his arms over his chest, rolling his eyes again. He really liked rolling his eyes...
"You've trusted me enough to enter my home, even though you have no idea what kind of creature or cryptid I am," Dubo, with a hand on his hip pulled back the hair hanging over his face. The sound of flesh pulling and threads tugging emanated from his face as it split in half with a disgusting snap. Andrew physically recoiled at the sight, his dog standing to attention almost instantly as it growled and his teeth tingled with unease.
Past the asymmetrical division in his face was a greenish-cyan glow that engulfed the inside of his head. But there wasn't the inside of a head, only a pulsating, writhing mass of threads where the skull and everything should be... Andrew could swear there were tentacles trying to clamber out of the gaping maw that was the inside of Dubo's head, "why are you so worried about trusting me now?"
The sound of Dubo closing his face was wet and pulpy. The image would forever stay in Andrew's mind as one of those things he wish he'd never seen to begin with alongside his first viewing of 28 weeks later, or when he got too curious and decided to go onto LiveLeak before it got shutdown. Andrew clenched his fist through gritting teeth and clenched toes.
"I mean, I'm a magic-man! Why wouldn't I be trust-worthy? On the matter of what I'm gonna do with whatever it is you answer with," he paused. Pulling out his little red notebook and, with a cheeky shit eating grin on his face, hands it to Andrew using his disgusting tentacle-y arm-dismemberment-grappling trick to elicit another disgusted gasp from Andrew, just for fun and a quick giggle. "Haha! Never gets old. I'm doing my own investigation of this world's magic for... my own personal reasons. This pocketbook has everything I've recorded so far. Well... so far meaning December 12th of this year... and.. well... that's not my first pocket book." he shrugged.
Andrew hesitantly scanned through the notebook with a furrowed brow eyes catching page, after page.
August 3 2019 - Rosemary monument has hidden catacombs? Fact check later. Written with a big red circle around it. He flipped further.
August 26 2019 - Rosemary monument has a secret entrance to the alleged catacombs, figure out how to find it. He flipped the pages back.
May 20 2019 - I suspect that Rosemary monument is of some importance to me, so I'll have to fact check that myself. Andrew snapped the the pocketbook shut, holding it down at his side.
"Who are you?" Andrew couldn't help but ask. McBury... a familiar sounding surname.
"I'm Dubo?" He replied.