Of Demons and Men - Chapter Three

Note: This chapter takes place 3 months before the first chapter, not to be confused with the prologue.

Atticus sighed, exaspirated, looking on at the rudiculous preformance that was his younger brother fussing over what to bring, what not to bring, and the like. "At the rate you're going, we're going to have to wait another 500 years before we find him again!" "Don't rush me! I have to pack only whats nessecary, but what if I pack too many of the essentials? What if--" Abbicus was interrupted by the firm slap from his twin.

"Get a hold of yourself, we're just going to be training for a month or so," he sighed once more, "And I'm sure when we arrive, he will be ready to harbor us with whatever your ridiculous 'needs' are. Now grab your things and let's go." The emphisas on the last two words were powerful, and Abbicus knew that if he delayed them any longer, his elder would cancel the entire appointment in fury. He hastily gathered the rest of his things and stuffed them unceremoniously into his pack.

"It's about time," muttered the impatient lycanthrope. They started to head out of the door, the bright moonlight shining upon both of them. Thankfully, this moon was not at the period in which he would be most violent, but maybe that was just due to the growing tension. After all, Atticus, too, had felt pushed about coming to new york. From the tales he could only guess were 50% myth, the townsfolk were not very kind. However, that did appear to be true.

Abbicus took a deep breath, then looked at the directions given to him in a rushed fasion - the paper showed it. The lines had been very crooked, sometimes with another, more crooked, but supporting line darting along side its other. The directions couldnt be more clear. Left, right, left, right. This went on for dozens of inches, and many times, he had wondered if he should have even taken this seriously; too late now.

They walked, on and on, for what seemed like an eternity. 500 years, even, the palest joked to himself. After he was almost ready to give up, it was as though some significantly other-worldly force had given them a sign - a broken neon sign, to be exact. He looked down at the blotchy piece of paper, and there it was, scribbled hastily at the end of the 'road,' Eat at Joes. To him, this could not be more comical, as he stifled a laugh, but kept himself cool, knowing that his brother would only frown upon this. Now what?

He looked around at the paper, trying to find something else, and did. Miraculously, it was on the back of the paper. "Knock three times on the middle of the door, it says." 2 knocks, and a sharp kick from the older of the two. "It said knock on the door, not 'go bruce lee on the door until it breaks'" Never-the-less, this seemed to be just as effective, as a strange-looking man, maybe about 4 feet and 8 inches, tops, wreaking of the pungent foodstuffs of the asians, had opened the door. "Thank you for that extra loud knock, kind sir, for I am most certainly not deaf." Before he could piece it together, the 'old' man had him by his arm on the ground. As a show of stone toughness, or maybe just arrogance, the large wolf did not give so much as a grunt. "Very disrespectful of you, boy. You will soon learn your place." Not a moment later, he gave a loud grunt, a groan, then collapsed utterly on the stairs of the man's abode. Hell was just beyond that door.