ethangranger: (pensive)
"Wasn't enough to watch her die, was it? Fuck." Granger looked at the blood seeping into the carpet, and although it had been more than a decade that spilled blood made him sick, the Skinwalker's dress hiked above her head did. He knew what had gone down here. "You know, you're sick, man. This is bullshit." Riding in this world alone. God take your soul, you're on your own. On the devil's bed until you die. )
ethangranger: (Flawed but cleaning up)
This was supposed to be the May Character Development Exercise for Tenebrae Nostro. It turned into a whoooole 'nother thing. And yes, after consideration this is part of his background. Why not.

OC/ Skilnwalkers crossover
Arizona, 1999
Blue Mountain Apache Reservation
Words: 2,606

"My grandmothers people, worn leathery skinned Shamans or medicine men, believed that there are three causes of illness that manifest in the body or mind. Some illnesses or trauma's were so bad that they would cause "soul-loss". In order to get it back, they would preform the Kieje Hatal, or Night Chant, a part of which required the shaman to travel to the spirit lands to retrieve and reunite the soul with the body."

His hands cupped her face and the pad of his thumb brushed over her trembling lips. The flush in her face made her cheeks pink like a ripened peach, as his breath lightly brushed against her lips that looked like they were wearing red liquid vinyl. "It's complete bullshit. But I like to think of myself as something of a modern medicine man." His chest rose from under the mid-length black leather jacket as he drew the scent of her into his lungs. "I can reunite your soul with your body. It's just up to you how I go about that." Little half-moons hid brown eyes that fluttered closed as if possessed by the euphoria that the promise of her failure would bring. He didn't want her to live. Not after what she had done.
ethangranger: (Default)
My life is written in chapters. One ends and another begins, but unlike any book every previous chapter seems ripped away when a new one starts. More like patterns in the desert sand before the wind wipes them away than a book if you ask me. I do not recall what the first significant chapter in my life was, but I do remember the moment that defined it.

The blisters on my feet screamed as the rough skin scratched against grainy sand of the Arizona desert as I ran. Looking behind my shoulder I could still see the campfire blaze brightly as if it were the fires of hell itself. Might as  well have been. Their screams pounded in my head like the adrenaline did through my body. I could not help them as I was in need of help myself. It started innocently enough. Twelve high school seniors enjoying  a night out on the Arizona desert around a campfire, drinking, talking and fucking. It was Friday night after all.  Except that five of those seniors literally had about eighty years on us. Vampires. What the fuck did I know about vampires?

My muscles screamed to stop as loudly as Jennifer screamed when they ripped her throat out with their fangs. Kicking up sand, I ran blindly into the desert, foolishly unthinking and without a plan. The further I got from the campfire, the darker it become and the there was no light from the moon. It was no surprise then, that in my terror and panic I tripped over my own damn feet and tumbled down into a dune.

The heat down my left arm hit me first. Surprised, I looked at it only to find myself staring at a scorpion. I had been stung. She was beautiful, deadly. And she had killed me. Ironic. But better her than those things chasing after me. Her I could not blame. I had crashed down onto her nest and killed her children. I did not flinch when she stung me again. Beautiful.

Kill me.  Before they do.  Yes, kill me. I begged silently.

Their laughs were lost to the desert. "Where are ya goin' Ethan? You could run forever out here!"
Jason, another vampire with the countenance of a football player, chimed in, "Or at least until we caught up to you." Hot blood splashed down my face when Jason's fist connected to it. My beautiful death dealer fell to the ground and was crunched under his heavy boot. No! You bastard! Bastard!

Cyann sniffed the air as Jason's fangs dull yellowish fangs drew closer to my neck. Fuck. Each time he moved me it hurt.  "Wait, Jay!" She put a hand on the neanderthal's shoulder. "His blood is tainted." Jason sniffed around me as if I was a fire hydrant that another dog had pissed on. "Shit. He was stung. I ain't drinkin' that. My mouth will be numb for days like that time I drank from that guy that bit by a rattler."

"Just kill him." Trust a woman to always have a marvelously brilliant idea. Still, I spat at her the best I could. I think I hit myself instead. The next blow broke my nose and I landed, face first, in the sand. It hurt like a bitch. The sand more than the blow.  It wasn't enough to block out the sounds of gunfire and grunts of a fight. Cyann burst into ash and I watched as she snowed down on me. The pain in my arm grew so bad that I thought I would throw up.

"We gotcha. You're alright." Yeah. Right.  Later, when they took me to some safehouse and gave me the treatment, they were convinced that I owed them something like a thank you. Didn't like my attitude apparently.
"We saved your life!" Some guy who called himself a Nightstalker yelled at me as I picked up my jacket and started walking away. I laughed dismissively at him. "The scorpion saved my life. You took it away."

My name is Ethan Granger and you will not like me.


ethangranger: (Default)

March 2016

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