Coin
world's okayest lobotomite (they/them)
Previous poll results.
Sidney's preferred weapon of choice is a coffin. His backup weapon is a pair of alloy knuckles. Between a three way tie of biking to work, driving himself, and calling a Lyft, I have decided that Sidney calls a Lyft to work.
- - -
Sidney pulled the first drawer to his dresser open, then cocked his head in confusion. He had everything he needed already, he just needed his coffin and his coffin certainly wasn't going to fit in his dresser. He shut his dresser and palmed his eyes, rubbing any last remnant of sleep from them. His routine must have been way out of whack, considering the time of day. Sidney gave a mental shrug and made his way back into the living area of his apartment with bag in tow in one hand, and his phone in the other. In a few seconds, he had hailed a nearby Lyft for a pickup, ensuring it could fit the tools of his trade.
Quinn was lounging on the futon in the living room, glued to his phone. Sidney shuffled past him and towards the coat closet, where the hunter stored the gear too big for his room. The door creaked open, and Sidney turned on the closet light out of habit, though there was no way he would miss a 6-foot tall polished wood coffin with engraved truesilver edges propped against the back. The whole thing was lighter than a real coffin, and made as wieldy for combat as was possible with a fucking coffin extra handles, reinforced bulkheads, and lightweight alloy interiors.
Coffins were an ancient weapon, used as a spiritual and cultural symbol for exorcists -- as well as a tool. Though intended to transport the dead to their final resting place, in a pinch, could be used as a barricade or even a bludgeon by the desperate enough. Sidney's great grandfather had been a coffinmaker, and his coffin was a hand-crafted gift to Sidney after he had decided to become a professional exorcist. Though the thing had seen its fair share of bumps, scrapes, and burns, it was still as functional as the first day Sidney had used it. Given the correct circumstances, Sidney would have it no other way than to be buried in his own coffin, much like other coffin-hunters such as he.
With one heft of its familiar weight, Sidney shouldered the coffin and strapped it across his back with no issue. He shut the closet and made for the door, waving to Quinn as he picked his keys up from the coffee table, "Later, Quinn."
"Later, dude."
The air outside was chilly and the sky was still dark as Sidney stood on the curb, waiting for his ride. He took the moment to meditate and breathe, finding his center and preparing himself for the hours to come. Every mission from Vexpara was a death sentence, no matter the severity. That was the reality for hunters and exorcists, a tradition that had lasted a thousand years, and would not end soon. The best they could do was make their peace at every juncture, every turning point, and to rid themselves of fear that would otherwise cloud their judgement and endanger innocent people. At the core of their purpose, their lives were disposable, so long as everyone else could go on living safely for even one more day. Still, Sidney didn't see himself as a savior or hero, in fact, he didn't know any of his colleagues that did.
The minutes passed, and eventually, the slowing of tires in front of him woke him from his serenity. The passenger window rolled down and the driver called out, "Lyft for Sidney?"
"Yeah, that's me. Mind popping the trunk for me?"
- - -
Please vote once for each of the following categories.
How does the driver appear?
> A lesser demon woman, unconcealed by glamour magic.
> An elderly human man who has seen some shit, and more.
What car is the Lyft?
> A silver SUV.
> A pale blue soccer mom van.
> A black Tesla cybertruck.
Sidney's preferred weapon of choice is a coffin. His backup weapon is a pair of alloy knuckles. Between a three way tie of biking to work, driving himself, and calling a Lyft, I have decided that Sidney calls a Lyft to work.
- - -
Sidney pulled the first drawer to his dresser open, then cocked his head in confusion. He had everything he needed already, he just needed his coffin and his coffin certainly wasn't going to fit in his dresser. He shut his dresser and palmed his eyes, rubbing any last remnant of sleep from them. His routine must have been way out of whack, considering the time of day. Sidney gave a mental shrug and made his way back into the living area of his apartment with bag in tow in one hand, and his phone in the other. In a few seconds, he had hailed a nearby Lyft for a pickup, ensuring it could fit the tools of his trade.
Quinn was lounging on the futon in the living room, glued to his phone. Sidney shuffled past him and towards the coat closet, where the hunter stored the gear too big for his room. The door creaked open, and Sidney turned on the closet light out of habit, though there was no way he would miss a 6-foot tall polished wood coffin with engraved truesilver edges propped against the back. The whole thing was lighter than a real coffin, and made as wieldy for combat as was possible with a fucking coffin extra handles, reinforced bulkheads, and lightweight alloy interiors.
Coffins were an ancient weapon, used as a spiritual and cultural symbol for exorcists -- as well as a tool. Though intended to transport the dead to their final resting place, in a pinch, could be used as a barricade or even a bludgeon by the desperate enough. Sidney's great grandfather had been a coffinmaker, and his coffin was a hand-crafted gift to Sidney after he had decided to become a professional exorcist. Though the thing had seen its fair share of bumps, scrapes, and burns, it was still as functional as the first day Sidney had used it. Given the correct circumstances, Sidney would have it no other way than to be buried in his own coffin, much like other coffin-hunters such as he.
With one heft of its familiar weight, Sidney shouldered the coffin and strapped it across his back with no issue. He shut the closet and made for the door, waving to Quinn as he picked his keys up from the coffee table, "Later, Quinn."
"Later, dude."
The air outside was chilly and the sky was still dark as Sidney stood on the curb, waiting for his ride. He took the moment to meditate and breathe, finding his center and preparing himself for the hours to come. Every mission from Vexpara was a death sentence, no matter the severity. That was the reality for hunters and exorcists, a tradition that had lasted a thousand years, and would not end soon. The best they could do was make their peace at every juncture, every turning point, and to rid themselves of fear that would otherwise cloud their judgement and endanger innocent people. At the core of their purpose, their lives were disposable, so long as everyone else could go on living safely for even one more day. Still, Sidney didn't see himself as a savior or hero, in fact, he didn't know any of his colleagues that did.
The minutes passed, and eventually, the slowing of tires in front of him woke him from his serenity. The passenger window rolled down and the driver called out, "Lyft for Sidney?"
"Yeah, that's me. Mind popping the trunk for me?"
- - -
Please vote once for each of the following categories.
How does the driver appear?
> A lesser demon woman, unconcealed by glamour magic.
> An elderly human man who has seen some shit, and more.
What car is the Lyft?
> A silver SUV.
> A pale blue soccer mom van.
> A black Tesla cybertruck.
