this_fire_burns:

Matt Walker's office is in the upstairs portion of a two-story building near Chicago's South Side, which isn't in the best repair. Still, he calls this place his home away from home and the place where the work he does to finance his /real/ job is done.

He gets inside and takes off his duster, draping it over the back of the chair before sitting down heavily. Still no word on Austin Caine, still no leads, and Matt was reasonably sure that whatever those cultist had summoned was going to make its move soon. He considered calling Ian for advice, or Doctor Strange, but decided he wouldn't. He had to help put this together and then stop it.

He picked up the phone and called the rest of the team, asking them to come to his office.
 

nextgen_misc:

 

( Read if you dare )

blackmagicwoman:

Shelly couldn't exactly tell Matt that she was still having some residual issues from being bitten by Dracula.  This was something that she knew with complete certainty because if Matt knew he was likely to try something incredibly stupid which would ultimately be worse than what she was dealing with.  She chatted minimally with a friend at the hospital about it and he suggested it was a mild case of PTSD, but Shelly rather knew better.  Dracula's bites were strange things and often had to have magic or occult intervention.  That is what lead Shelly to Wick and Wonder, a small occult-type shop a block or two from Matt's.  That and the pressing need for more candles to use in her healing rituals for private clients.

It may also have been an excuse to take Whisper a cheeseburger.

seenitall:

After leaving the hospital, Anselm found a grimy room in a rundown motel. It was like every other room he'd ever stayed in, just enough for his immediate needs and nothing more. He made arrangements to have it for the next two weeks. Surely the doctor's police friend could figure out what was mugging old men in the city in that length of time. If she hadn't pressed him to talk to the officer, he would've been on his way out of town already.

Once the room situation was settled, he took two painkillers, bolted the door and tried to get some sleep. The bed was lumpy, his backpack made a hard pillow, and it was still better than some of the places he'd slept in over the centuries.

After dark, he ventured out to get some dinner. The tiny room didn't even have a hot plate although the argument could be made for an outdoor icebox to keep something cold. If the window hadn't been painted shut years ago. Then again, the room itself was cold enough to store meat.