Morning. Blessed, blasted morning.

Tabitha groaned as she sat up, nostrils instantly met with the stale, bitter scent of cold burnt hair and paint-smoke. The house was long-gone, and last night's rain had turned to snow in her sleep to lightly bury it from sight. It was better like this, hidden from the eyes of God, but Tab's contact - her meal-ticket - would need proof. The monster-huntress had heard about a video game with a similar concept before, but she didn't have time (or money) for such luxuries. Still, it made her feel a little cooler when she rummaged around for her trusty hack-saw.

It wasn't worth using gas from her chainsaw, lovingly named Doktor Avalanche (after the sounds it made in-use), for such a menial task. The good Doktor was a weapon of war, a work of art, her own little masterpiece; it only drew blood, not carve corpses. She hopped free of the white van still in naught but her pants, bare skin prickling at the brisk early-winter air. Her body was gooseflesh for a moment, but it felt good. It felt natural. The sun shined down to glisten her sweat as she threw aside boards and shattered glass, searching for anything she could take back. A plank was moved, and then, jackpot.

Beneath the soggy and scorched remains of a moth-eaten rug sat a buckshot-laden antler. The antler was attached to a horrendous collection of sinew and jawbones, most of which had been blown to pieces. It looked like a demented art project, but it was the best she could have hoped for - a full head, or full enough of a head. There was no doubting it would be real, and that meant she'd have a paycheck secured without any hemming and hawing. This time.

The sawing began to separate bone from bone, slipping between spinal disks to attack the cords within. She toiled and cursed the whole time, moisture beading on her back, arm sore and still scabbing from the night before. The alcohol she had applied helped against disease, but god damn if it didn't burn something fierce. She'd have a second stop to make today; this one was too bad to simply move on with. That would be expense number one on her list... Then ammo. Then gas. Then food. Then friends.

Monster hunting paid like shit for the danger entailed. It was gig work, and was about as steady as a rope bridge on fire. Many monsters turned out to just be mutated animals, and while she could still find a buyer for those, the going rate for werewolf pelt was much better than 'pelt of a kinda big stray dog', y'know? Plus, it was expensive. In a profession where risk was ideally minimized, that meant spending out the ass for a hunt that wouldn't pay you back half the entry fee. Part of why Tab and the Doktor were so close - it was cheaper to be reckless and brutal than safe and precise.

Schunk-lork. What a disgusting sound. She crinkled her lips and sneered at the offensive emanation, the skinwalker's head pulled free from the rest of it's rotting corpse after the sawing had reached an adequate state. The head was then wrapped up in a filthy rag - the remains of a childhood blanket she'd snatched while dumpster-diving. Popular TV show icon Billy the Baller, basketball-themed superhero, smiled approvingly up at her through the stains and grime. She smiled back wryly.

Trudging through the snow, she took one last look around. Skinwalkers were hungry and vicious sons of bitches, but they usually kept their prey's belongings close-by; it assisted deception of new prey, for when they took on human form. A depression in the rubble keyed her in: an old outdoor cellar, the doors collapsed in from the fire and falling debris. Jackpot.

After throwing the head in the passenger seat and grabbing her flashlight and duffel, she set about - for the second time this damn morning - throwing aside burnt timber and wrecked furniture. This time was easier, since she knew where she wanted to be, and after dragging the remnants of a loveseat into the snow she was rewarded with the foul odor of rotten meat. Whatever was down there wouldn't be good... But she couldn't feel any fear. No aura. No chill other than the morning air. She was guessing... Leftovers.

Tabitha descended slowly, flashlight in one hand, nose pinched with the other, duffel slung over her shoulder. It was almost eye-wateringly bad, and her stomach dropped as she saw why. Leftovers, indeed: the beam of her flashlight grazed across the putrescent body of a young woman, late twenties maybe, who was bisected and spilling half-chewed intestines across the floor. A few more bodies littered the stone brick room, mostly hikers or urban explorers by their dress, each and every one of them without their face. That was the one thing Skinwalkers had trouble correctly making: a convincing human face. It's why they stole faces off their prey, to use in later hunting.

Backpacks stuffed with clean clothes, travel snacks, and other goodies were tucked into the corner. This, in it's own way, was a trap to the legally-minded monster hunter: snacks and shit were fine to take, in fact any food was fair game, but clothing and tools should only be snagged sparingly. They're dripping with DNA of missing persons, from hair to skin to blood to worse, and all it would take is one officer thinking you looked suspicious or one family member to see you in their darling child's favorite hoodie to turn your life into Hell. She rifled through the bags, setting aside granola bars, tinned food, some fresh socks...

Ding ding ding! Some real prizes followed soon after: bear mace, propane tanks for a portable oven, water purification pills, and a flare gun. These were serious loot, each of them invaluable to woodland survival. She grabbed one piece of genuine clothing, a new-looking undershirt with a big heart on the front, and used it as a makeshift knapsack. Once everything was bundled up she went to stand, ready to leave, until something caught her eye in the flashlight's glow.

A single brick was pushed out from the wall a few inches. Old houses like this had brickwork out of place all the time, but this one was conspicuous - it looked newer than the others, as though it had been replaced. She strode over, gripping it tightly and struggling to yank it free. Her reward was a small hollow wherein sat a small pendant, a silver disk, etched with imagery of the moon and clouds. She turned it over, finding the other side bearing no marking save for a single, odd rune. Disconcerting, but not too unusual.

Just as there were those in this world who knew of monsters and who made moves to hunt them, there were those who knew of the supernatural and dedicated themselves to it's cause - often reffered to as occultism, magic, sorcery, or witchery, the manipulation of the supernatural was known as 'The Craft' amongst those properly in-the-know. It was uncommon but not unheard of for even idiotic monsters to be drawn to items of power, and those with knowledge of the supernatural may attempt to make pacts with these creatures. Seemed like someone got a raw deal.

Heheh. Raw. Like their meat.

Anyways.

Tab tucked the pendant away, heading back out into the snow and sunlight. It felt freeing to be rid of that cloying scent of rot, though part of her considered making a second pyre of all the bodies - however, that would just raise more questions and cover herself in their blood. No need for it. She hopped in the driver's seat of the van, fiddled with the key till the engine kicked itself to life, and reversed like no one was watching. Hopefully, no one was.

Time for some errands.

-

She pulled into the campgrounds with the grace and tact of a stampede. Somewhere along the Door County Peninsula, hidden away by trees and time and no attempt at advertising, sat her first stop's little hideaway: the Leafy Greens Campground, a dirt-and-pavement squat whose only real draw was that the tiny camping plots had waterfront access to Lake Michigan. One large, off-white camper (the vehicle, not the person) with the words '~Starlight Endeavor~' along the side sat alone without a truck to lead it, the trees keeping most of the snow away from it; it had been here as long as Tabitha could remember, and while it was always a bittersweet sight, it still made her feel at-home. Comforted. Safe.

She hopped out of her van just as the camper (the person, not the vehicle) within the Starlight Endeavor peeked their head outside, pale skin nearly blending in with the world around it. If it wasn't for the dark - potentially excessive - eye makeup and the various stylish piercings, it may have worked.

"Oiii! Th'fuck you think I want visitors for today? I'm trying to get some R&R, you hooli- Ohhhh, Artemis, it's you~! Come in, come in! I've got food getting delivered soon; we can share!" The woman's voice was just a touch shrill and nasal, like a pixie with a grudge, thought with the way her tone shifted one might simply assume she was manic.

Tab simply rolled her eyes as her alias was drawn out - it was generally only something she told business contacts, and while the girl in the camper-trailer was technically a business associate, she was also a trusted friend. One had to be able to trust their dealers in this profession, after all. The wounded warrior plodded over to the thin door of the once-mobile sanctuary, swinging it wide and staggering back immediately as the scent of blunt-smoke and burnt sage hit her harder than the skinwalker had. She shambled a few more steps away, coughing and hacking as her eyes watered.

"Je- ahck! Jesus, Vene, what the fuck?! Your poor lungs! Fuckin' junkie...!" Tab alternated between coughing and laughing as a haze of smoke slowly poured out the top of the doorframe. The woman within simply offered her a black-nailed middle finger, biting her lower lip. Her eyes narrowed above their freckled cheeks.

"Oh, shut the fuck up, dumbass. You know you love my... womanly musk~" Vene did a spin, her lip-bite curling up into a playful sneer. As she twirled her short skirt lifted, giving Tab a hint at the fishnets beneath; to be frank, the woman looked like a goth rave runaway. Black-and-purple stockings, leather bracelets with spikes, heavy boots that were impractical to the point of near-comedy, and her hair trimmed into a curated pixie-cut of - you guessed it - dyed black. She didn't have her colored contacts in today, Tab noted. Must be casual Friday.

This woman was Venefica Monday, or so she called herself - Tabitha had doubts that was her real name, but much like the monsters of this world, those like Venefica leaned towards drama and showmanship subconsciously. Once inducted into the world of the occult and paranormal, most humans took up aliases - for those who practiced the Craft, it became them.

"Eugh. No. Don't you ever talk to me about your... musk, freak." Tabitha screwed her face up, kicking off her combat boots and making herself comfortable on the crumby shag carpet. The camper was a mess, but still better than Tab's little Fuck Truck; there was space to sit down without sitting on something, there was a table, a proper bed... A microwave. It was cozy, in a lived-in way. The walls, like much else inside it, had been replaced over time - they were wood-paneled now, and a hanging light from the 80's (that Tabitha had installed as payment for services rendered) sat above the dining table. Venefica was there now, and beckoned Tab over.

"Uwu! You wuv my musky-wusk- Ennh! Hey!" Venefica swatted limply at Tab's hand as it bopped her nose, ceasing the dread tirade coming from the shorter girl's mouth. Where Tabitha was nearly 6 feet tall, standing 5'10, Venefica was only around 5'7; the height difference was matched by a strength difference, the practicioner of dark arts being about as forceful as a spud gun. Tab rolled her eyes.

"Enough, already. I came here for a normal chat with you, Vene - business stuff. Last one fucked me up kinda bad in my arm, hit some nerves for sure. It feels like shit and now my kidneys are feeling it too from all the painkillers I've chugged. Can you do something about it?"

Venefica considered the request, moving her face away from Tabitha's hand. She thought for a few moments, making quite the show of it, before nodding - and raising a balled fist, pointer finger extended. "Yeah, I'll fix you... Forrrrrrr...Two hundred bucks, and a little scraping of whatever you killed. I'm sure you're just being a big baby about it."

Tabitha went from playful to pissed in a split-second. Two hundred was a serious cut of the take, and she knew Venefica was stiffing her on purpose. Little bitch was probably trying to get some kind of rise out of her. Tab's eyebrows lowered and her jaw set; she glared a hole into Venefica, trying to get the point across without needing to say it aloud. When her business partner simply gave her a smug grin, she grimaced.

"Fuck no. Two hundred is bullshit, Venefica. You know I can't afford that." Tabitha spat the words across the table, not even mentioning the scraping - aiding and abetting an unlicensed practicioner of the Craft wasn't outright illegal, but it would incur an operations fee on her trophy, lowering the value by a fair enough amount to make Tab dread the concept on it's own. Venefica's own eyes narrowed into something more than mischievous as she crossed her arms.

"Fine. You know what my other price is, Artemis, oh brave and strong huntress. I'll even let you use my showe-"

Venefica couldn't finish the sentence before Tabitha was standing, turning back around and shimmying into her boots. Her body was hot with indignity and rage, and her hands were white-knuckle by her side. She didn't turn back as she shot one more parting shot.

"What the fuck is with you today, Vene?! You know my answer. It's the same as it'll always be: go fuck yourself. You can have my fucking money, but only because I've got another hunt coming up soon and I need to be ready for it..."

Venefica said something, her tone apologetic as she realized she'd pushed her own quarry too far, but Tab was too far away to hear her. She trudged to the passenger side of the van and swung it wide, grabbing the bundled prize and slamming the door back shut. Out here in the midday shade, looking out across the frosty lake, she took some time to catch her breath and gather herself back up. Turning to look back at the camper she saw Venefica leaning out the door, face a painting of remorse. The witch screwed up her lips in a silent 'I'm sorry' before putting her right hand out from behind the wall, showing a small silver salve-box Tab knew all too well: restorative ointment.

-

The price had been worked down to 100 and one of the skinwalker's eyes, which suited Tabitha just fine. She had rolled her sleeve up to let Venefica apply the ointment and her eyes fluttered as it touched the burning-hot wound, the scab pried away painfully just moments before. Skinwalkers were littered with disease, much like many other human-predating monsters, and so the claw going so deep was a recipe for infection - however, Witches' Salve, or simply restorative ointment, was a classic mainstay in days long-gone to counteract even arterial blows. When the Witch Trials came and witchery was outlawed, the Church took up the practice of salve-making, and in the Wild West, snake-oil salesmen offered it to those who could prove their mettle in monster-slaying.

Nowadays, witchery was back in vogue, and so witches were the main source of the addictive, unhealthy substance. It worked, or so Tabitha had been told, by stealing the years away from the animal whose fat had been used to make it - this often meant that animals were slaughtered for their fat so their 'time' stayed static, with each pot of salve a highly-valued product due to the work involved. However, with how often Tab needed the stuff, it may as well be sold in department stores.

Once a new bandage was re-applied and the tingling, burning sensation of the salve was set to working, the two sat down together for the previously-mentioned dinner: a triple-deluxe 'Everything-Plus-One' pizza. The 'Plus-One' was a sunny-side-up egg dropped in the middle and left to cook about halfway-through the process. Tabitha was finishing up a slice as the pair watched adult cartoons on the couch when she remembered something, some other business with her hostess. Reluctantly she munched one more bite, laden with anchovies, bleu cheese, and tomato, before setting it down to pull out her prize.

The silver pendant fit naturally into her hand. She lifted it up to show the girl beside her, clearing her throat - but when Vene saw it, she nearly spit pizza onto the floor. The smaller girl recoiled, which made Tab grin for a second as she used it to push her away, but when she realized her friend was serious the charm was stowed. Venefica swallowed her bite of egg-sausage-bacon-mushroom-pizza and had a drink of Maui Monsoon punch to wash it down, eyes wide and expression worried.

"-ghack! Where'd you fucking get that, Art? Did that- did that skinwalker have that shit on? Was it wearing that?"

"No, no, I... I found it on one of the victims. Just in their bag. Nothing crazy." Tabitha lied through her teeth, looking back to whatever brainless gag-comedy they had been watching, if only so she didn't need to look at the concern in Vene's eyes. Venefica, on the other hand, continued to stare.

"Good, at least... Well, at least that thing isn't smart enough to... Eurgh. I'm sure you don't know what it is, because any time I try and tell you about my job you zone out and think about... I dunno, homeless bitches or something. Whatever it is an Artemis thinks about all day. But it's anti-magic, Art. A ward. Genuine, too - and old as hell, from the looks of it. I... I mean, keep it, you should keep it just in case, but I really hope you never need to use it."

Tabitha nodded, trying to suppress a smile. An anti-magic pendant, eh? Just laying there, waiting for her in that tiny cubby? Seemed like a sweet deal. Maybe this was whatever deity was up there's way of thanking her for her service, giving back to her a little in an otherwise unappreciated toil. She tucked it away, nodding her head.

"Yes. Got it. Anti-magic. Very spooky. Hope I never use it. Great. I'll be sure to totally-not-have-it-on the next time you try and get your gross drunk lips on me during movie night." Now she let the smile out, feeling vindicated in teasing her friend a bit - and while Vene didn't respond verbally, she did stick her tongue out in a mocking smile. That was good. She had already forgotten about their little spat from earlier.

-

After a while, it was time to go. Honestly it was nearly 4:00 PM, and Tab had other shit she needed to do. She hugged Vene before she slipped out of the weed-stank camper and into the evening air, breathing deep of the freshness. Her hand went to the pendant in her pocket... It was cool, cold even, and that comforted her somehow. Reminded her of the woods. With her skinwalker head re-positioned in the passenger seat and herself in the driver's, she revved the engine and squealed out of the empty campsite. Her arm burned from salve and her stomach roiled from grease and the mismatched ingredients, but she felt alive. That was what mattered.

She didn't even notice the figure watching her go, peering over the shoreline.