Thread: Why Not Be A Necromancer {missedstations & Kawamura}

A new year, a new apartment. Dominic was getting rather fed up of moving every time someone found out what he was and caused general panic. Seriously, why was resurrecting some crying little girl's hamster the cause of so much damn uproar? It was just as if it hadn't died at all and it would have had a perfectly normal lifespan! He directed the movers with a kind of resignation. The landlord had only agreed to rent him this shitty little cupboard after he had promised he would not kill anyone, not perform experiments on animals or people, not summon the souls of any dead, not to keep any human remains, and summon no familiars. Oh, and no pets, especially not cats. A goldfish or two, apparently, would be fine. Crazy old man, with just enough gift to tell the nature of Dominic's power. No doubt in less than a day every neighbourhood mage would know that a necromancer had moved in. He might as well carve his sigil in the door. Necromancer for hire. Need own premises for rituals, will not resurrect anything that has been dead for longer than a day, does not create zombie armies however much you pay. That would be the day, when he could advertise his services openly. At least he did not look like a necromancer at first sight... The stereotype was gaunt and pale, but Dominic was just lean, and looked as if he actually saw sunlight every so often. His hair was black though, tied back in a ponytail. At least he didn't wear black. He didn't even to his mother's funeral. Though, admittedly, the rest of the family were against him attending, and the priest had frowned at him all through the service, as if Dominic didn't know what a natural death was and might turn the whole thing into some perverse necromantic ritual at any time. His preferred clothing was just jeans and a white shirt, both stained with paint because he didn't actually own anything that wasn't. At least today his socks had no holes in them. It wasn't his fault that necromancy was the only thing his talents had been suited for. Better than he knew what to do with his powers than, say, mess up and accidentally kill people. So slowly, he began to unpack the boxes. The books first. Some black and suspiciously stained grimoires, interspersed with modern classics and the occasional dirty magazine. Eventually, after working for most of the day, he ended up with piles of random crap all over his living roomkitchen, a pile of clothes in the bedroom, canvases stacked against a wall. At that point he gave up. It was a tiny apartment. A bedroom, a bathroom the size of a small wardrobe, and the living room and kitchen combo that barely fitted a sofa and a table. His priorities were clear though a massive bookshelf took up most of one wall. The parts of his computer were stacked in the corner of the room. Sadly, he could not bring back technology from the dead, for all his attempts. At least considering the size of the rooms, he would not have a problem with heating! Dominic was used to his power being frowned upon. Officially, it was illegal to discriminate by type of one's powers, but he knew far better at the moment he had found himself unemployed. Fucking gossip. He could live on his savings for at least a few months, but he was bound to find some work before that. Maybe he could sell a painting or two as well. For now he just preferred not being homeless. He put his little pot of African Violets on the window sill, opened the window as far as it could go and looked out. An attic apartment gave a surprisingly nice view. Sure, he was above the main road, but he could see half the city spread out before him. He lit a cigarette and leant out, blowing the smoke into the city air. It was, after all, a beautiful day.