This is part one of however many entries I opt to make it. And yes, this is the beginning of the "Gargoyles in the world of Raze!" silliness I've been blathering about for days now. Didn't edit this at ALL before posting, so if you see glaring typos or all around poor writing, sorry. I'll come back and tweak it later.
I arrived at the gates of Haven not long after night had fallen, the sky still more navy than black. The building was unremarkable from outside, a squat one story brick structure with a sprawling footprint, steel gray metal roof, and none of the artistic flare typical of modern architecture. It was too sizeable to pass for a house, but lacked the large showcase windows and idenifying signage of a business. It seemed like the type of place that might serve as a headquarters for something very menial; offices of the Department of Waste Management for a podunk town, or something equally humdrum.
Only the fence gave the building any air of importance. Heavy-duty chain link stood ten feet tall, a wicked curl of razor wire coiled at its top like a serpent lying in wait. I would later ask Lia what purpose the fence served when the greatest threats to Haven could fly. She told me that humans were the second greatest threat.
"Besides," she'd added with a playful wink, hoisting the double barreled shotgun clutched in one massive, clawed hand, "bullets can fly too."
One thing that struck me out of place upon viewing Haven's cold, institutional exterior was something I noticed before I even exited my car: peacocks. My arrival was announced by a shrill chorus of alarm cries, the birds noticing me well before I could spot their night-time perches in the two maple trees framing the entrance. Their long tails hung from the boughs as dense as spanish moss, a great flock assembled on the property. When I questioned the presence of the exotic birds, I was told that guard dogs frightened the pigeons. Very little of that reply made sense before a full tour of the facilities.
With such a noisy reception, ringing the buzzer was unnecessary. I heard the beat of vast, leathery wings only moments before Lia swooped down before me. Though she stood only five feet tall, she was a formidable sight, head lowered to display wicked horns, frill fully extended, mouth agape and crowded with sharp fangs. The claws would have been threat enough, but the shotgun clenched in her leathery grip was leveled with my chest just in case. Wings spread to give the impression of greater size, the gargoyle glared from beneath a heavy brow with eyes that appeared blood red from a lack of pigmentation.
"State your business," she growled, her voice a rich baritone despite her small stature.
I fumbled in my pocket for my MIPS identification badge, finally catching it between two fingertips.
"Trent Wiktor, Missoula Institute for Preternatural Studies," I displayed the badge, trying to sound official. "I spoke with Catalina about documenting the work being done here at Haven?"
The gargoyle contemplated me for a moment before giving her best approximation of a human smile, something made crooked and hideous by her curved tusks. She lowered her gun and unlocked the gate.
"Ah, I'm sorry, Mr. Wiktor. I was expecting a h..." Across the street, a man was walking his dog, and she changed the course of her sentence. "Well, your complexion is not very Polish."
Preternatural confidentiality; I liked her already.
Lia pulled the gate open, gesturing me inside with a sweep of her four fingered hand.
"Welcome to Haven."
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