It was nightfall in the city of Los Angeles, city of Angels. It was the perfect time for a lurking vampire to feast in innocent victims. The darkness is a perfect way to hide from the potential victims who would not know death was inches away. But to those who knew, and were aware of these vampires, getting blood sucked was not an option. Especially when you are someone with the name ‘Angel’.
Our scene begins in a shop.A rather old shop. There is a store owner behind the counter while reading a magazine. The story owner is named Micheal Brownson. Across from him, in this shop, are two young individuals browsing the rows. We can at least guess the year is 2004 because of the cameras seen at the corners of the room.
“Tink dis is good?” The young individual, who we know is Doyle, held up a festival mask in his face, asks his ‘girlfriend’ Cordelia Chase.
Cordelia laughs at it.
“Angel would think otherwise.” Cordelia jokingly said, taking two masks out of the box that were white with black markings. “But these would do.”
Doyle puts the festival mask back on the hanger.
“All we need is a birthday cake.” Doyle adds.
“Vampires don’t eat cake.” Cordelia reminds Doyle.
“Blood cake.” Doyle said, earning a ‘what?’ reaction from Cordelia. “I know someone who can make cake for vampires. Dah kind vampires are capable of eating.”
Cordelia shifts to her side with a ‘I get it, almost’ reaction.
“Basically it is Jello cake,” Cordelia said, holding her palm out. “Except, it’s blood.”
“Yes.” Doyle said.
Cordelia is holding the red box item that’s basically a smaller version of Wall-marts carts without wheels and a seat. Cordelia turns her attention down to the rows of items that mostly would be handy for birthday occasions, activities for recreating medieval times, and snacks. Mainly it is assortment of items.
“How old is Angel, again?” Cordelia asks.
“Tree hundred seventy-seven.” Doyle guesses. “Or forty-nine hundred.”
“We’re need four candles marking four centuries.” Cordelia said, grabbing a rather sleek item that resembles a sword. She puts it into the red square box. “Angel’s age is more confusing than most vampires.”
Doyle turns his head to the left, and saw a see-through glass case with an interesting mask at the back.
“Tere should be an award for dat.” Doyle remarks.
Doyle walks down the aisle. He came to a stop from the transparent glass case. Inside of this transparent case is a golden gray mask. Below the glass case there is a small piece of metal that read ‘do not open or else. Even though the mask was in a container; Doyle could feel something was not right about it.
It was as though darkness resided in side of the mask.
“I want out.” A low desperate voice startles Doyle.
It was only him, Cordelia, and Brownson in the shop. Doyle turns to his right.
“Hey Princess, did ya say somethin’?” Doyle asks.
Cordelia looks away from the birthday cake candles section.
“No.” Cordelia said. “I haven’t figured which candle would be best.”
Tis is dark, Doyle thought as he turns back towards the mask. In the many cases Doyle has been part of; this was evil .Doyle can sense something was trapped inside the mask.The hair on his arms were going up.This sense made him aware whatever this ‘it’ is; it wants out.
There was a temptation to take off the glass and touch this unique ancient mask.
Oh no, Doyle thought as he began to feel an oncoming headache, dose visions again. Doyle backs away from the mask. Doyle grips on the flat metal edge to a platform (part of the aisle) with boxes on it. Images, names, feelings, and an address were part of this chaotic vision. He had been living with this ‘gift’ from the powers that be for some years.
“How about ‘happy new year candles’?” Cordelia asks, flipping up a big four with the ‘new year’ boldly on top.
Doyle accidently pushes down a box—which makes other boxes fall in its place—that made a fairly not-so-loud tumble. Cordelia left the candle stick area whilst still holding the crate and came to Doyle. She takes out a small notepad and pen from her coat pocket.Cordelia was mostly prepared with these items in case there were not paper or pen lying around when Doyle had the visions.
“Pen, paper.” Doyle said.
Cordelia hands the pen and paper to Doyle. Brownson, who we’re not calling by his first name, was made aware of commotion from the back.Brownson goes through the counter door and walks over to see what kind of mess he has to clean up. Brownson has a look of concern on his face.
“Hey, are you okay?” Brownson asks, seeing Doyle’s currently not-okay.
“He’ll be okay in a minute.” Cordelia said, as Doyle was writing on the notepad—with what he had seen—with an innocent smile. “He has bad headaches.”
“Motrin would help with the pain.” Brownson said. “Until the headache is gone.” He looks down to the spilled box that is wide open and all the products were on the floor. Somehow by a wild shot the glass case is covered in white dust; out of nowhere. “I just cleaned this case!”
The visions had apparently ended.
“Sorry.” Doyle apologizes. “Me headaches are, eh, terrible.”
“Know what, you can take whatever you want, it’s on me.” Brownson said, cooling himself down. Doyle and Cordelia share surprised looks. “I can really use this opportunity to not break stuff.”
“Thank you.” Cordelia said, and shared a glance to the paper. She looks to Doyle surprised at the address, and then to Brownson. “No really, thank you.”
“Not a problem.” Brownson said.
Cordelia and Doyle took four ‘happy new year’ candles, three new sleek medieval weapons, and a few other items. They left the store acting casual. But before long they were speeding off to a park across the street. Brownson takes out a broom and dustpan. He had to be the one who cleaned up the messes; as always.
“My brother should be doing this job.” Brownson comments, sweeping up the broken glass into the dust pan.
Brownson looks over to the glass transparent case. He leans the broom and dustpan against the corner of the platform with boxes. We see this defiant glare in Brownson’s eyes. He heard low voices that only crazy people could hear. With not a care to whatever may happen from taking the lid off; Brownson lifts the lid off using his bare hands.
“Now who is the scaredy cat?” Brownson asks a rhetorical question. “Not me this time!”
This time the voices were urging him to clean the mask. Which he did with cleaning supplies and towel.He cleans off the last speck of dirt. Then, as though an explosion had happened, Brownson was sent flying and then hit wall to the counter. The items inside the store were pretty much everywhere. He saw a figure walk away from the mask with an odd appearance and facial features were not human.
“Finally.” The figure said. “After five hundred years.” The figure cracks his knuckles. “I am free.”
In a second a dark smoke replaced him and goes through the door that no longer had glass.
“Freaky gas.” Brownson said, and then he fell over unconscious.