Jump to content
  • Content Count

    11
  • Joined

  • Last visited

  • Created by

    Dave ST

Community Reputation

0 Neutral

About Xavier Cross

  • Rank
    Member

Recent Profile Visitors

1,356 profile views
  1. Cross sighed and lowered his head for a moment after seeing Kaitlin stammer through her apology. He stiffened up and looked at the young woman, managing a small curl of a smile along one side of his lips. "That was harsher than I intended, Kaitlin." He exhaled, collecting his thoughts. "Forgive an old man his temper." It was a peculiar choice of words, considering he barely appeared in his thirties. "Luv, we all come with baggage, it's true." His fingers spun the glass he held about in his hands. None of this was their fault. He didn't want to be wrapped up with a cabal in a chantry bowing to those who'd barely began understanding complex arts he's mastered decades ago. These were, by first impressions anyway, decent kids trying to make sense of everything in a world they just realized never existed. "But, you're all in this together now," His lack of inclusion didn't go unnoticed by those paying attention. "Everything in time. We have all been given wonderful gifts, but one thing that is never given, is patience. Take it from someone who knows Time, practically in a biblical sense if you count all the times its screwed me in my sorcerous endeavors." He offered a comforting wink and a smirk. "And don't call me sir. Cross'll do fine, luv." "Unless you all want to roam a New Orleans cemetery at night, and none of you should, I'd like to add, I say we hit that next." And just like that, all seemed forgiven.
  2. "All of you stop. Christ's sake." Cross mumbled, rolling his eyes. He looked to Aja. "You, stop being a childish prick. Either learn to share your toys or take them and go the hell home, boy." He glared at Kaitlin. "And you, stop being such a self-centered little brat. We have been given a job and all you care about is something else. Either focus on the task at hand or go find your friend and next time tell him not be an idiot who hands a flash drive to a girl with no means of reading it." He took a breath. These kids were already causing him to have heart problems. "We have two more stops, and unless the information on that computer is going to help us with those last two stops, then frankly I don't give a flying fuck up a running squirrel's ass, luv. When we are done, we can all hold hands have a big 'Deal-With-Kaitlin's-Shit-Now' cake walk, kay?" He knocked back the rest of his beer. "Fucking, kids. No recompense is worth this."
  3. "Suit yourself, mate," Cross shrugged. "But I'm just payin', you gotta do the orderin' yerself. Y'look grown to me, or would y'like me to cut the crust off y'sanger when she brings it round?" He shot Aja a wink and a smile, letting the guy know he was just joshing him. On the plus side, apparently 'sanger' meant sandwich. He looked to Cade and tilted his head to signify for Cade to look around. "See that? That's the lunch rush dying down. Afterward the place'll go through a shift change. It's not the people we need to avoid, it's the staff. In the chaos of the shift change, a couple of us can slip through to the 'Employees Only' parts o' th'place and do what needs doin'. In fifty three minutes we'll have enough confusion between patrons, coming-staff and going-staff that we'll have about fourteen minutes t'get it done." "In the mean time," He clicked the corner of his mouth. "Ave' a drink."
  4. "The problem with chantries, darlin'," Cross said to Cheshire as they pressed through the throngs of people. It was amazing how busy New Orleans was, and yet they called New York 'The City the Never Sleeps'. "It's like the government: no one has a clue what's going on, but everyone expects you to do the job." Cross shared several handshakes as they passed across the floor and heading toward where Triessa and Cheshire were going. He lifted his hand up as everyone took a seat, twirling his finger he made eye contact with a server. "Sheri, luv, when you get a sec." Sheri nodded and smiled. "You know her?" Kaitlin asked, curious. "Oh, yeah," He replied like it was nothing, a thick drawl lent his accent a little extra Aussie flavor. "Sheri's a doll, her girlfriend's a bit angry for my tastes, but still they're great gals. We knock a few back form time to time, this place has some great bands." "No offense, but you don't seem..." Kaitlin was treading lightly. She was a sweet girl, a bit naive, but still her heart was in the right place. "Like the type to hang out in a gay bar." "It's just a bar luv. Magick one-o-one: see the world as it is, not as others want you to see it." He shot her a wink, as if to say 'food for thought'. "Now, down to business. Y'vall heard me waggin' my jaw for half the morn, let's get this meet n' greet going. We 'ave some time before the time is right, trust me." He pulls a big bill from his pocket, more to the point, a roll of big bills. "And, Cheshie, luv, because I'm a sucker for Lewis Carrol, the first rounds on me."
  5. With a suave smile, Cross looked to Cade. "Getting on the task at hand is exactly what I'm trying to do. Keep up, mate."
  6. Cross chuckled. "Initiate. Cute, luv." He listened and accepted the bag, looking inside to make sure everything was as it should be. It wasn't that he didn't trust her, but he lived more under the code of 'trust, but verify'. "Actually, Zay, sweetie, I do." It seemed for a moment like he had a serious question, then he spoke. "Are you single? And if not, be honest, is it working? Because I won't tell if you don't. I was thinking dancing, drinks, a night out just the two of us, eh?"
  7. "Cross, or Xavier, luv, no mister needed." His accent seemed Australian with the definite change of a man who'd been assimilated into New Orleans culture for quite sometime. It was a sort of romantic blend. He politely shook Kaitlin's hand. "Bloody 'ell girl, what're they feedin' ya?" In for a penny, in for a pound, he thought, so he offered his hand to Treissa. "Pro is not really the term they use. Disturber of the Peace would be more like. This is my, community service, one could say." He motioned at the siblings, waggling a finger back and forth. "Related I'm assumin'? Pleasure 'n all that." He scanned the folder and while he was reading Moore mentioned the bar. Cross's eyes lit up and he smiled wryly. It wasn't his first choice, but it'd do. "Bonzer, I know the place. Why don't we all head to the Cafe first, eh? Grab a schooner, a few sangers, get to know one another, then we'll be on with all the finger wiggling?" "An it's 'Sleepers', mate." He poorly hid his mouth (and volume) from Moore by holding up his hand to block the view. "Grumps here are very particular about labels. Gets all their panties in a bunch..."
  8. Xavier Cross didn't really cut an impressive figure. He seemed fit, but not overly so, and his manner of dress consisted of designer labels that he didn't bother to wear with any measure of pride. He could have achieved the same look, at nearly a tent of the price. A nice button up shirt looked like he'd just pulled it from the hamper, same with his slacks. He wore a trilby, hadn't shaved in days, his hair underneath his head gear was unkempt. Yet, he made it look good. Like that guy a mother would kill her daughter for dating, so she'd do it anyway. He had the slight scent of sweet cigar tobacco about him. If anyone started a contest of those that looked like they didn't want to be here, Cross was currently holding the title. He stood beside the Deacon and casually made carefully times sarcastic expressions everyone in awhile. A roll of the eyes, a mock smile that said 'piss off' more than 'so happy to meet all of you!', all in all it wasn't until he was asked if he remembered the rituals and wasn't offered an opportunity to respond that his first overt expression of sarcasm became evident. He silently mouthed 'fuck you very much' and as the Deacon asked if there were any questions he was already walking towards Genevieve. With two fingers he waggled the universal 'lemme see that' gesture. "If you wouldn't mind luv, I'd like to be done with this."
  9. You're all marbles and conkers if you think Xavier would shack up with these... these... kids. It's bad enough he had to take time from his self-loathing to actually participate in their shenanigans. Ugh. Especially with the Vandersnatch constantly sweating HGH and getting it all over the furniture. No. Thank. You.
  10. Personal Information Name: Xavier Cross Nicknames: 'Cross', 'X', You-mutha-fucka... Nature: Rogue Demeanor: Sensualist Essence: Questing Affiliation: Cult of Ecstasy Concept: Fallen Master in need of direction Motivation: Absolutely none. Occupation: Professional Carouser Legal Status: United States Citizen, New Orleans Resident Marital Status: Unmarried Known Relatives: None Deceased Relatives: None Physical Traits Height: 5'10" Weight: 186lbs Age: 81 Apparent age: Early to mid thirties D.O.B.: Feb 9th, 1935 Gender: Male Ethnic Background: Caucasian Eye Color: Brown Hair Color: Depends. Usually black or brown. Handedness: Left Appearance: Xavier is an average guy in about every way imaginable. He maintains the frame of a man who works out regularly, no one is sure how since he's never seen hitting a gym. He claims to have a membership though. Despite his lack of exercise, he is devilishly handsome. He's not super gorgeous, but there is just something about him that drives the ladies at the local bars and clubs wild. He says he's not sure what it is that makes them love him, but he blames his big feet. Personality: Getting Xavier to do anything before 3 or 4pm requires an act of God. Spirits of Sloth often consider themselves overachievers when they have an opportunity to see Xavier's daily grind. When the sun goes down, however, he's back out on the streets of The Big Easy drinking and carousing all over again. If she's pretty, he's flirting. If it's measured in ABV (Alcohol By Volume), he's drinking. Most people love they guy. He's fun, outgoing, and usually pays for most of the drinks.
  11. He stood in his office over looking the night's festivities. Everyone down below him were just patrons, simple night to night club goers looking to unwind from the day of hard work and heavy stress. The dark, smoky atmosphere and the loud thumping music was all they came for. He couldn't fault them in the slightest, Cross looked down at them and offered them all a smirk, complimenting them silently on their stalwart efforts to escape the monotony of their boring lives. They came this far, they deserved a good time. And yet, they were still ignorant. Blind, dull, and asleep like the rest of the world and the more Cross looked at them the less interested he became. Morons who just sat on their iPhones tweeting and checking Facebook statuses when there was a wide open world right in front of them waiting for them to jump right into it with both feet. No. Today was nothing but a world of internet memes, poor grammar, hash tags and an idiot generation whose average reading level had drastically dropped in the last fifteen years by a percentage he was embarrassed to even think about. Yet here he stood, trying to remind himself why he bothered saving these fools when they obviously couldn't save themselves. "Yo, Cross." Sean, one of his securtiy staff, a large ex-Navy S.E.A.L. who'd been on the pay roll since the opening of the club nearly ten years ago, poked his head in the door of the V.I.P. suite. "That Lacey bitch is here, says she wants to see you. That cool?" "Lacey?" He turned and looked to Sean with an expression the pleased for the man to help him remember her. He sighed and rolled his eyes. "Yeah, fake tits, gold digger, can suck a golf ball through a crazy straw... Lacey." Now he remembered why he bothered saving these fools: nice tits and great head. "Oh, Lacey." He still hadn't the foggiest fucking clue who she was, but gave Sean the nod anyway. It was the same old bullshit: drinks, a little chat about the boring, senseless things she felt were important about her life. Yadda, yadda, yadda, He smiled and rolled his eyes, not giving two shits about a single solitary thought she'd offered him in the last half hour. He sent several texts, hell, even did a few tweets and checked his Facebook status while she bored the hell out of him. Actress, college, just wanted to meet the right guy... What the fuck-ever. The door cracked open again. "Cross, Dr. Shayna Reed?" He seemed unsure who this woman could be and it was obvious. "Oh! Now I've been expecting the good doctor, send her on in, bro." An attractive, short blonde woman in her mid thirties walked into the suite. She was about as out of place as a person could be in this place with her designer business attire; bland gray skirt and blazer with a some ugly ass white blouse. What. The. Fuck. Cross appraised her and found that her exceptionally high heels marked her as a closet freak. If not, hell, at least she looked hot in them. "Mr. Cross." She began, he snooty accent kinda making him a bit randy. "As per our conversation on the phone earlier... Oh dear Lord..." The scene flushed the woman with embarrassment almost immediately when she witnessed what was happening on the couch. Lacey's head bobbed continously in Cross's lap, plunging vigorously as he sent a text on his phone. She spun about, looking away from the man and his vice. "Mr. Cross, I can wait outside if you need to finish prior... appointments." "Doc, it's just a blowjob, seriously, lighten up woman." He smirked at her back, popping a sour cherry candy in his mouth. "Surely a smart lady like yourself has given out some brain once or twice in her life." "I assure you I've no idea what that means, and either way, it's none of your business." She fumed, trying to get the image out of her head. "Need I remind you that what we've to discuss is very sensitive. Some privacy would be, appreciated." With a couple taps on her head he got Lacey's attention. "Lacey, honey, I gotta talk with the good doctor here, so you can go now. Kaythanksbye." "But, Cross..." "No, seriously, leave." He nodded his head to the door as she stood up and began walking in that direction. "And wipe your mouth for crying out loud, you look like a drooling retard." His belt jingled and his zipper gave the tell late sound he was fixing his appearance. "Oh, it was great seeing you and all that, come by later and finish me off... I'll pretend to listen to you and shit, promise." Walking across his suite he collapsed in his overstuffed chair and kicked his feet up on his desk. "Alright, you got me Doc. Let's get busy..." He smirked, knowing she knew what he was implying with his choice of words. "So, how is the Westminster Society these days? Been awhile since the ol' Choir Boys looked me up." "We are well." She said flatly. Pushing her glasses up the bridge of her nose as she sat down in front of his desk, she continued. "I'm here to inform you that after extensive, investigative research within the Traditions, there is no evidence to support your claim. Reverend D'Laney, whom you shot and killed several months ago, was not involved with the Marauders. It's for that reason the Traditions, specifically the Celestial Chorus, have sent me as a mediator to negotiate recompense for the killing, accidental or otherwise, of one of their members. I must remind you that your... non-affiliated status, makes this matter a very delicate one." He listened calmly, smirking a there the whole time while he wobbled his feet to and fro on his desk. It was obvious the man could care less for a single thing the doctor had to say and when she was finished he offered up his retort. "Fuck you, and fuck the Traditions that sent you lady. First of all, I never said he had Marauder ties." "But... my notes..." She began sifting through a manilla folder filled to its capacity with papers and post-it notes. "What? The notes given to you by whom? The Chorus?" He laughed and clapped his hands a couple times. "Lady, you have no fucking clue. Do you know what you are? You're a fucking custos, aware or not you're a boot-lick, a toadie, a fop for a Tradition that has been covering up the truth for more years than have ever been recorded. They're the fucking church, you dip shit, did you honestly think they'd give you the facts?" She swallowed hard, his barrage of slander worked her over until she was flushed all over again. "Mr. Cross I assure you there is no reason to speak like..." "I didn't shoot D'Laney because I thought he had Marauder ties, I shot the bastard because he was fucking little boys." He pulled open a drawer, produced a folder of his own, and tossed it clear across the desk the woman, heedless of whether or not she was prepared for it. It startled her and the picture within were all over the area around her chair and upon his desk. Pictures that showed D'Laney committing heinous acts upon young boy of his congregation. "Take that back to your superiors and tell them if I catch them doing it again, I'll kill the bastard responsible for it, just like I did before." He spun around a picture on his desk. It was of him and a small boy, recently taken. The child wasn't more than five and the two looked happy and spending the day in a park somewhere in the springtime. "We are not human, Dr. Reed." He said a bit more calmly, taking the look at the picture for himself. "We don't have the laws like they do. We don't have 25 to life and a court system. We're supposed to be the good guys, staving off the evils of the world and helping these poor souls out there try and live one more day while there's still a little magick left in it. We're not supposed to be the rapists and the murderers... but sometimes we are. And when we get out of line, there is no 911 that we can call to fix things. D'Laney crossed a line, and I sentenced him. As a father, a man, and Templar." She took a deep breath, prcessing everything before collecting the pictures together and placing them with her notes. "You used that term again, Templar. I've been able to find no archival data to support the claim of Templars. There is no history of such an organization existing within Awakened Society, aside from the printed history of the Knights Templar, or course." "That's because you're looking in Tradition archives. Templars can not be Tradition Mages, or Nehapndi, or Marauders, or Technocrats. We have to be completely unaffiliated. I told you that last time, fuck lady, did take note one while we were talking?" "I did, but um... this is a highly unusual topic." She pressed her glasses up once more, clicking her recorder on. "Please, tell me... why only the unaffiliated?" "Because we have no ties to anyone, we've accepted no side." He popped another cherry candy in his mouth from a bowl that was on his desk. "We remain neutral, and our job requires us to remain unbiased." "How many or you are there and why are you telling me all this?" "Nine at any given time. No more, no less, and I'm telling you because by all accounts we shouldn't be here. The world was supposed to all go to shit in two-kay and it didn't. My contract got extended and I think if we're going to be around for awhile it's about time people in our circles know. I got the okay from the boss, it's cool, don't worry." "Well, in that case," She sighed in relief now that the unsavory business was out of the way and Cross seemed calmed down, for the moment at least. "Why don't we start at the beginning, hmm? Who are the Templars? Who do you answer to, and why are there only nine of you?" "Well, now there's a tale..." He smiled and leaned back in his chair.
×
×
  • Create New...