Pigment (Millard Nullings X Reader)

Hollows, Wights, & Me

"Stay where you are!" The strange new voice barked yet again.

A pale glow had caught us in the act, where we suspiciously were huddled around Martin's body. Bronwyn had tried to convince the man that we had broken into the shop accidentally, and were on our way out. Like the people here would believe that! 

I would've been calm and thought of a better lie, if it wasn't for the fact that there was a gun pointing towards our general area. And let's just say that I don't do very well in stressful situations, if it means that I might possibly die. It's only happened once to me before, of course, but that still was very traumatizing for me.

"Mister, we ain't had nothing to eat all day," Enoch pleading. He batted his eyes, and actually looked as innocent as a twelve year old starving orphan could get. "All we came for was a fish or two, swear!"

"Is that so?" The man asked. "Looks like you've picked one out. Let's see what kind. Step aside!"

His light swung side to side, as if trying to move us away. And we did, actually, letting him through. He let his light shine on Martin's corpse, and I held my breath. 

"Goodness, that's an odd-looking fish, isn't it?" He didn't even say it with an ounce of fakeness either. -10 points on the acting, dude. "Must be a fresh one. He's still moving!"

"Who are you?" Bronwyn asked, as Martin's final life force drained away. He wasn't moving anymore.

"That depends on whom you ask," the man answered. Wow, real vague and mysterious. I bet all of the ladies swoon over that line. "and it isn't nearly as important as the fact that I know who you are."

He swung his light around again, and began naming us all when the light would hit us. Well, not all of us, since I was skipped over completely. I guess the man wasn't as clever as he thought he was. Of course, it was almost an honor not to have my identity be known by this creep, but he still knew my friends.....

"Emma Bloom, a spark, abandoned at a circus when her parents couldn't sell her to one. Bronwyn Bruntley, berserker, taster of blood, didn't know her own strength until the night she snapped her rotten stepfather's neck. Enoch O'Connor, dead-riser, born to a family of undertakers who couldn't understand why their clients kept walking away." His light hit Jacob, and the strange made an odd clicking noise. "And Jacob. Such peculiar company you're keeping these days."

"How do you know my name?"

The man cleared his throat, and when he talked again, it was a completely new voice talking. It was an odd American accent, although that was as far it I could go with knowing where it was from, exactly. "Did you forget me so quick? But then I'm just a poor old bus driver, guess you wouldn't remember."

"Jacob, do you know him?" I asked, scared. Was this whole thing a trap? Did Jacob sell us out, somehow?

Jacob looked like he wanted to answer, but the man interupted him, saying, "End of the line, Portman!"

"Mr. Barron?" Jacob asked.

The man laughed, and his accent changed again.It was still another ugly American accent, though, but this was was slightly harder to understand. "Either him or the yard man. Yon trees need a haircut. Give yah a good price!

"How are you doing that?" Jacob asked. "How do you know those people?"

God, he was daft. Even I understood what a shapeshifting creep was, even if I had just met him, and couldn't see him straight. The light was too fricking bright, too, and he kept shining it in everyone's eyes.

"Because I am those people." His voice had became flat again, no accent needed, apparently.

"What's happening?" Emma asked. "Who is this man?"