Before reading, I'd like to establish the fact that I do not own any of the characters or background plot behind this story. All rights go to the respective owner.
Now that I've gotten all that formal shit in the way, let's get on to the story, shall we?
The FBI's search for the Horsemen was still at large. Of course, it would have been foolish of Dylan to believe that the FBI would give up looking for the Horsemen so easily. With a little help of the Eye and a sprinkle of luck, Dylan was able to mislead and distract the FBI while Dylan snuck the Horsemen out of New York City and into the rural area of Vermont.
He took the Horsemen to a decent sized cabin in a large field. It was the perfect area to hide a couple of runaway magicians. The cabin was built in an undisturbed area. It was almost guaranteed that no government official would pound on their door to look for the wanted magicians. The cabin itself was not large enough to cause too much attention. It was old and run down- something that the FBI wouldn't bat an eyelash to. It also happened to be what Dylan called his second home.
After the five hour drive out into the countryside and being force to listen to Dylan's motley crue CD of rap, country, musical scores, rock and dubstep, the group exited the car and took a couple of minutes to stretch and familiarize themselves with the area around them. After they felt acquainted with their surroundings, Dylan motioned for the group to follow him inside the home.
As they stepped onto the porch, Dylan felt around for the key to the door in his pocket. He cursed to himself when he realized that he grabbed the wrong pair of keys. With a sigh, he took out the spare lock pick tool he kept with him and unlocked the door with expertise.
They stepped into the home were instantly hit with the feeling of warmth, comfort and safety. The interior design was comforting and homey, polar opposite to the extravagance of the hotels that Tressler was able to pay for them. Dylan then led them into the living room and ordered them to wait there while he set off to grab some food and talk about future plans.
The saying "When the cat is away, the mice play" doesn't just apply to children, but to the Horsemen as well. Once the agent left the four to themselves, Jack was the first to jump up off the couch and to look around the living room. The rest quickly followed suit. They pointed out the old grandfather clock in the corner of the room, the framed pictures on the small table, paintings on the wall, the large heap of dented playing cards off to the side, and even took notice of the small bottles lined up along the fireplace.
Jack walked up to the fireplace and looked at the bottles with curiosity. "Hey guys, check this stuff out," he said. "There's a bunch of these little things. They've got labels on them too." The rest of the Horsemen congregated over near the fireplace and read the small handwritten labels on the bottles.
"Beauty?" Henley questioned as she read over one of the bottles.
"To boost the charm and charisma. Nothing I need." Daniel said with a smirk. Synchronized eye-rolling followed soon after.
"Why would Dylan have all this stuff? Aren't these just some cheap stuff you buy on the street corners of New Orleans?" Henley asked, taking one off the shelf and inspecting it closer.
"Yeah. This stuff doesn't work anyways. It's like those voodoo dolls. It's all bullshit with those things," Daniel replied as he went off to look at the books lined along the shelves.
"Hey, Merritt. Look at this one. Hair growth," Jack said with a grin.
Subconsciously, Merritt took off his hat and rubbed at his bald head. "Not funny," Merritt replied in a stern tone. Just then, a small label caught his eye. "Hey, kid. I think you took a shot of this earlier today." Merritt threw a bottle to Jack. The younger magician caught it with ease.
Daniel warned Merritt not to throw anything again. He was afraid they would break something and cause Dylan to be mad at them. It wouldn't make a good impression on Dylan, nor would it be a good idea to make him angry. This caused another bout of eye-rolling from the mentalist. He never liked to listen to the Control Freak.
Jack took a second to make out the scribbled words on the bottle. "To deage?" Jack questioned, his eyebrows raised. He sent a glare to the older man. "You're trying to say I'm acting like a kid, aren't you? You always treat me like a kid. Can't I get any respect from you? I'm a grown man for god's sake. I deserv-"
"Not until you treat me with respect," Merritt interjected. Ever heard of treating your elders with respect? Each breath I take brings me one less to my last. I'm a dying old man. I should be treated with respect. Now stop making a big deal out of it and toss it over. I'll put it back."
Jack tossed the bottle in the air, but when Merritt had tried to catch it, the bottle slipped out of his hands and hit the floor.
The glass bottle shattered everywhere, and before anyone could say anything, the room filled with a dark purple cloud...
First chapter- over! I'm hoping to gain some feedback as to whether or not people are:
a) actually reading this story
b) are interested enough to know what will happen next.
A quick thank you to theshowmanjdanielatlas and agentalmadray (two very fabulous NYSM RPers on Tumblr) for giving me some feedback and constructive criticism for the story.
Hope you enjoyed reading and wasn't too bored by it. If I were to continue on with the story, I promise not to be too boring and might bring in some other lovable characters into the story line -cough- Alma Dray -cough cough-
Wow, I must be getting sick. And I'm rambling. And I started off a sentence with and which is a big no-no. My apologies.