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It's You, Again [Clarissa & Wyatt]

The City had succumbed to absolute chaos over the last few months; which at first, to the Nephilim was absolutely, without a doubt, entertaining. There were many times that she found the city to be somewhat sleepy if she took away the drama which surrounded The Bradford siblings with their Father as well as the trouble that she often found Siobhan in. Those moments of down time were usually welcomed, but as of late, things in her own life seemed somewhat normal, thus, the chaos which erupted in the city was just what the doctor ordered. It gave the ex-assassin reason to get herself into fights, and get away with it if her Detective Sister questioned her once again why her knuckles were battered and bruised. Not only did this give her a form of entertainment, it also served her as a distraction; many would not believe that she had allowed herself to open up to a guy, yet she had - only for him to disappear from the face of the earth, like a few before him. So, it was so surprise, at least to her, that she needed to keep herself occupied so she could stop her thoughts from venturing to her terrible love life. However, there were only so many fights she could get into, without that getting boring; after all, she had spent most of her life in battle, or maybe, she was simply growing up.

Once Rissa had completed her good deed of the day - cleaning up the messes of the latest violent breakout, she couldn't think of any better reward than the local bar to drink herself into a state of oblivion which would consequently help her sleep at night. The Nephilim placed herself at the corner of the bar, and insisted that the barman kept an open tab for her considering it was still very early in the evening and she had nothing planned for the following day. With the beer in hand, she eagerly took a very needed swig which triggered a pleasurable sigh to bypass her lips. The barman began to make small talk with her, which under any normal circumstance, she would have hated yet for some peculiar reason, the chat was welcomed even if she had no interest in the conversation or the latest gossip of who went home with who from the bar last night. With that in mind, she playfully placed a series of bets with the man behind the bar on who would be next to leave with another; and it was safe to say that her name never made the list of potentials which pleased her despite many trying their luck over the last few years of her frequenting the bar.

The hours passed fairly quickly, in fact, they passed just as quickly as the beers in her hand did; in fact, she even surprised herself just how quickly she knocked back the alcohol - clearly something was bothering her and, as normal, she was not ready to face the problem head on. Avoidance was key. Clarissa began to slump on the stool, her spine arching as she rested her arms on the bar, and then her cheek on her forearms; the bar man insisted she should head home which consequently lead to her snapping a quick 'no' his direction - she was not ready to face her thoughts alone, not yet. Her lavender coloured eyes closed contently as she listened to the buzz around her; from the music, to people simply enjoying themselves but none of those were enough to completely catch her attention until one particular voice spoke above the music to order their next round. The Nephilim forwarded her brow before lifting her head - her gaze trying to adjust into focus at the male who stood a few stools down from her.

Wyatt Brookes? No way, it couldn't be - it definitely had to be her beer goggles playing tricks on her mind. Confused and rather baffled were the only words which could be used to describe her expression as she looked over at the male; yet the moment she found him catching her stare, she quickly and rather unsteadily composed herself to focus on the beer bottle in her hand. "You know it's rude to stare?" She slurred ever so slightly but loud enough for the male to hear her; it was him, it was definitely him and to not give him the satisfaction that she could remember him, she would play aloof and dumb to his being.

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Instar DivinerPermalink Reply by ✓ Wyatt Brookes yesterday

Wyatt's head tilted slightly as he listened to her explain how she was guided to the book. It wouldn't be the first or last time a powerful object would be coded in such a way to only call out to those worthy of its contents. He was just thankful Clarissa was able to find it. Thankful that that prick of a millionaire had found the Chronicle and even more grateful he likely couldn't open the damn thing to read what might be inside. Wyatt undoubtedly knew Andrews was in no way worthy of that, human or nephilim, so he also had to assume any nephilim he did try and have open it would also be unworthy. He silently prayed to any deity listening that Clarissa would be the one to finally reveal its secrets.

His thoughtful gaze broke as she reached for the bottle, necking it. He smirked softly, but there was concern furrowing his brow all the same. Trauma wasn't a good enough word to describe what she'd gone through. Once again his mind began filtering through the endless spells, treasures, and artifacts at home and at the Archives. Something, anything that could maybe aid in Clarissa's hellish journey to get her wings back. It had to be like losing a limb, but even more than that, a part of one's self.

Her question roused him away from the catalogue in his head, his attention falling to the items scattered on the coffee table before them. Wyatt took another healthy pull of the aged whiskey she'd poured for him and swallowed before reaching over to pluck up the box with the cypher. It looked very much like the twin to the box he'd found the scroll hiding in and that spark of excitement flamed in his chest again. He turned the golden box over in his hands and took in the etchings. "Open it if my ancient Egyptian isn't too rusty. This old brain ain't what it used to be," he smirked, letting his fingers slip over the grooves. There was no slot for a key or latch. Nothing to simply open the box, but it had also been that way for the scroll, so he assumed he would have to do just as he did with its partner in order to gain the prize within.

Wyatt was about to begin reading more into the haunting message the queen had left for any who came upon the treasure until Clarissa's gratitude made his eyes lift to hers. Sparks tingled along his skin at where she grazed his face with her fingers, the same way it always did when she reached for him. Vulnerability etched its way through her features as she thanked him and he completely forgot about everything else but her then as he let the box fall beside him on the couch. He dipped his face slightly into her touch further, craving the contact she offered. His hand came up to cover hers before lowering it to his lips to kiss her palm.

"You have nothing to be sorry for. No reason to apologize." His voice was low, but firm in his words. "Yes, it was terrible, but it was necessary and I would do it again if it meant helping you. You did not put me in that position. If anything, I caused you to be in that disgusting place." Visions of the torture that had occurred in those rooms bled into his mind. The gore and chains and screaming. His screaming. Clarissa screaming. He swallowed the lump building in his throat. "Please don't blame yourself. The only thing to do now is ensure you get your wings back no matter what." Wyatt grinned a little wickedly as he lifted his glass to her in a short salute. "And drink." His hand wrapped around the box again and lifted it to study. "And read this fucking thing to finally get her prize."

The familiar symbols translated in his mind. Again, it spoke of the curse on Akhenaten's treasure which was nothing new when it came to the ancient world and finding its riches. The etching for king and sun were on the opposite corners of the box and just like its sister, he pressed the small raised hieroglyphs inwards. The large sun symbol on the top popped open, along with the motif of Akhenaten below, followed by the last two sides of the lid.

Inside lay a golden object that's shape he did not recognize at first until picking it up and seeing the combined symbols of the sun god Aten on top and an ankh as its base. Wyatt held his breath as he spun the more than thousand year old artifact in his fingers which seemed to hold no other secret. He felt nothing coming from the strange shaped ankh. Usually some type of residual magic could be felt, but perhaps it had been undisturbed for so long that it was dormant. Wyatt hummed in thought before excusing himself to the car to grab the box with the scroll in one of the many secret compartments he had installed in her body work.

Returning, he opened the box and pulled the scroll out the length of his forearm, laying it gently down on the table where he knelt. Turning the ankh over a couple of times he placed it over the blank parchment, but nothing happened. He lifted it then, scanning over every inch of the scroll through the loop of the sun and ankh and still nothing. Wyatt sighed with frustration. Of course it wasn't going to be that easy. It never was. In fact, he normally didn't get this frustrated, but given the exhaustion also pulling at his mind and body, it was making his patience run thin. "Shit."

The flames in the fireplace flickered over the scroll and through the loops of the cypher, dancing over the surface with its light. "Aten," he mumbled. "The sun." Wyatt scoffed and shook his head. "I bet anything we need the sun to read this. He was the king that changed to monotheistic beliefs with the sun god, Aten, being the one and only deity. He even fancied himself as Aten's son. Some think he even inspired Moses given the loss of polytheism then." He lifted his wrist, noting the time on his watch and the hours they still had until the sun rose again. Wyatt took his cup once more and drank, looking to Clarissa over his shoulder. "I say we finish this whiskey," he began with a nod towards the slowly emptying bottle. "And get some rest until Aten's return in the morning?"