Aedan narrative Who: Aedan Byrne What: Receiving a grisly delivery Where: His home When: Current Warnings/Rating: Uh, fingers.
He wasn't expecting a package, yet when he woke it was there, sitting on the top step of his entryway, void of any stamps to show where it might have been mailed from and lacking a card to indicate any information on the sender. It must have been hand delivered then, and intended for him, though he frowned as he picked it up. The box was as heavy as he expected it to be, as though the contents were light and the bulk of the weight came from the wood itself.
Such things were not unknown, even if this one was unexpected, and he thought nothing of carrying it inside, the door falling heavily shut behind him. Like all such boxes, he carried it into his living room, the wood floors creaking beneath his bare feet. Was it a gift from home? Another witch? They sometimes made gifts of things before they introduced themselves, and he held it in his lap as he settled into one of his oversized chairs. The brass lock slid free easily, and he opened it -- only to slam it shut again as he saw the two fingers inside, a --a pinky and a ring finger by the looks of them.
It wasn't -- It wasn't Jesse's. Lips peeled back from his teeth in a wordless, soundless snarl as he lifted the lid again, but there was the same silver ring on the pinky finger that he'd placed on the young man he'd turned years ago. They were Jesse's, he was sure of it, but he had to pull the silver band off the shrunken pinky finger. Ar scáth a chéile a mhaireann na daoine was the inscription inside, slightly worn from years of being next to his skin. It was Jesse's, and the snarl that had been soundless finally broke out of him like a beast full of rage and pain.
Those fingers, the ring, they all belonged to one he created and after shoving the foul box aside, he tore out of the house, door banging against the wall and then slamming shut behind him as still bare feet carried him to his car. He had to find him. Had to.