[tCotR] - Oliver Chadwick

[Lancaster]

Always, always there was a song or two percolating in the back of Elliot’s brain. Always, a snag of a notion of a thought that might one day make it to the stage. We can’t go back the way we came, he thought, teeth set on edge and hands pushed so hard into his pockets they may as well be trying to punch a hole between universes, so that they may drag his inert body through into a different time where no Oliver existed. A timeline where, maybe, Oliver died before Elliot could get to him. Where maybe the chance didn’t take effect. Where Roxette could get over her grief without blaming him for what might have been, what could have been different. If only he could have tried and failed, with so many of his childer. At least then…well, it would still be on his shoulders. But it wouldn’t be a lingering, festering regret like this one was. A regret that cut that much deeper because it was a living regret, not a dead one that could remain a memory.

We both know this night’s not getting any brighter… he muses, the determination in his stride faltering as he caught a glimpse of what the night could become. The future possibilities were the lessons he knew he had to learn, but which he didn’t want to. The kid who’s gone to university of his volition only to complain and struggle through the exams and the assignments that he’s given. And this is something that Elliot did do of his own volition. Only thing was, he didn’t know whether he was going to feel any better or any worse when it was all done and dealt with.

Elliot knew that Pi would follow him. He heard her footsteps before he heard her voice; she did not lash out at him, did not argue with him or question him. Simply asked where they were going. And he did not resist her, did not tell her to stay behind, because he didn’t want her to stay behind. He didn’t turn to look at her as he nodded, gesturing to a lone figure up ahead. Roxette, making her way to wherever it was she thought she might be able to find Oliver.

”Wherever she’s going,” he said.

And then he couldn’t help it. Maybe it was the fresh air. Maybe it was that affinity he had for somehow detecting how other people were feeling. Without taking his eyes off of Roxette, he snaked his arm around Pi’s waist. Pulled her close so that, for a few moments, their footsteps were awkward and awry. He kissed the top of her head, before letting her go. This, too, shall pass.

________________________________________________

There’s a small, decrepit old desk set up in the back room in the back corner of the warehouse—what once must have been an office, remained an office. At least for Barry, anyway. He was a white man pretending to be a black man, a hockey jersey too big over a body that was probably the size of two grown men, a gold tooth, a pair of sunglasses stuck like dead eyes, straddling the back of his neck. He was on the phone, leaning back in a chair that looked like it was going to break under his weight. His legs were up on the desk. On his feet were brand new Adidas sneakers.

Although he looked like a dickhead of epic proportions, Barry had helped Roxette through many scrapes and predicaments. He perked a brow and held up a finger as she entered—none of the goons outside had stopped her. They knew who she was, and that she meant no harm to their boss.

“No. I understand that. You just gotta learn to hide better. Find people you trust, get it? Then your place won’t… just ******* do it, fuckwit. You’re alive which is a far sight better than… what’s that? Oooh don’t give me that ******** again. You’ve been snorting too much crack, Kenny. Just get back to work.”

Roxette was curious, of course, what Kenny was saying on the other end of the conversation. Her heart did a flip in her chest—had Kenny seen something that Barry was dismissing as ********? As something incurred by hallucinogenics? What, exactly, was that? Her fears were far too coincidentally confirmed as Barry hung up, swung his feet from the desk, and greeted her in a fashion that was far too close to mind reading as she could fathom.

“Roxxy, my little fiend. Kenny was just telling me about that brother of yours. Half brother? Uhm… whatever he is. You know who I mean,” he said with a flourish of his hand and a wide, gap-toothed grin.

“Oliver?” she asked, though she didn’t need to.

“The one and only.”

“What about him?”

“Well! According to Kenny—you know Kenny, right?”

Roxette nodded.

“Well, according to Kenny, Oliver’s a vampire. Right? Hah. Yeah, Kenny set up shop in one of those abandoned houses over… I don’t ******* remember where. He and his gang. And they were raided. Cops, probably, I don’t know. They’re all dead now and scattered – oh, don’t give me that look, Roxxy. It’s Kenny’s lot. They’re not really worth much.”

Roxette’s expression had withered. The look she gave wasn’t because she was overly concerned about Kenny’s gang. It was because she knew it wasn’t the cops who had raided that place. It was another story entirely. She felt her head spin, and waited for Barry to go on—what did Oliver have to do with this? Surely he’s not taking part in raids?

“Well. Kenny went to some bar to drown his sorrows—he got away. Says he saw Oliver there, and Oliver waxed lyrical about some underground cult of vampires wanting to take over the city one gangster den at a time,” here Barry laughed, barking, the sound booming and echoing from the walls.

“When was this?” Roxette asked.

“Don’t tell me you believe him. Your brother’s gone coo--“

“Barry, please. I just want to find Oliver. When was it? Could he still be there?”

“I don’t know sweetie. S’pose he could be. Why so desperate all of a sudden?”

“None of your business, Barry,” Roxette said, eyes hard and some of that moulded attitude coming back into play. Her shoulders straightened, and her entire frame looked like some kind of honed and angled weapon.

“Sure! Sure. Fine. None of my business.”

“Which bar, Barry? Did Kenny tell you?”

“No, sorry to say. Some dump over in old town, probably.”

“Can I at least have Kenny’s number? Please?”

Barry considered, and then shrugged his shoulders. He had no idea why anyone would want that fuckwits number, but there was no harm in giving it out. He pulled a tab of matches from his pocket, flicked the cardboard open, and wrote Kenny’s number down. He then tossed the matches to Roxette.

“Have fun with that,” he said, grinning like a man without a care in the world.

Roxette’s fist closed around the matchbook. She nodded her thanks, and stalked free of the warehouse, fumbling around in her pocket for her phone.

_______________________________________

Elliot hadn’t followed Roxette into the warehouse. He’d circled the place, stealthily, quietly. Had stood outside listening to the voices from within, echoing to them, drifting out of the high window set up over the office.

He glanced sideways at Pi. He felt a bit like a sleuth. He only wished the situation weren’t so damned unfathomably heavy, so that he could enjoy being a sleuth with a childlike frivolity. He perked a brow and quickly headed for the front of the warehouse—waiting for Roxette to come out so that they could begin following her once again.

[Pi dArtois]

Oliver
Six Months Ago

Oliver was handsome and he knew it. He styled his hair long because he knew the artful wave sweeping off his forehead drew attention, usually female and usually it came with numbers, soft touches, easy sex and easier money. He practiced the smooth smile and easy charisma knowing the effect it had. He wasn’t openly cruel because it didn’t pay to burn bridges, but he was cruel, subtle and insidious.

He sat by the fire, no embers burned, summer sweltered hot enough outside the air conditioned bar that the fire was unnecessary. But he liked the idea of holding court in the small circle of Queen Anne chairs in the corner of Elliot’s Irish pub.

**** them all anyway, what did they know about any damn thing. They didn’t know him and they didn’t care about him and they wouldn’t be there for him when the chips were down.

Power was a full glass, liquid magic dripping from the fingers of a man who took what the women freely gave with just a small nudge. They willingly spilled their weakness around him like raindrops, sprinkled in a collection of soft sighs and redder lips. He called them to him, one at a time, then in groups. He indulged himself, drinking from them openly as he sat surrounded by adoring eyes. Necks his for the taking, sighs sliding from slack lips as he pulled one into his lap only to discard her for another, because he could, because he wanted and because both Pi and Elliot stood nearby watching as he flaunted their world in their faces. He ripped away their secrecy and dared them to stop him.

Sliding a glittering gaze towards the bar he narrowed his eyes at the two who stood on the other side of the room. His sire and his French *****. The petite French woman waving her hands at the tall Australian. Oliver smirked and crooked his finger meaningfully at a table of two women and called them both to the floor at his feet. He watched the uptight French *****'s hand wave in his direction as pulled the new woman into his lap, licking her neck. He didn’t want anymore, his body full, but he pretended to bite, just to watch the reaction of the two people on the other side of the bar. He smirked.

There was only one person he could rely on and that was himself. That was a lesson he’d learned the hard way from an early age and he had lived by it all his life. There were no exceptions to that rule, not even Foxi Roxi, maybe especially her. He had feelings for her but they were rare, flashes of connection he quickly squashed. In one breath he would charm her, enjoying her attention and affection, in the next he would be dismissive and cruel. Barbs directed at her were sharper and cut deeper because he played on their relationship keeping her teetering on a knife edge. He showed Roxi enough attention to keep her at his side. She believed them to be friends but he used that friendship as one would a tool he utilised when needed.

She had saved him by asking Elliot to bring him into this world, but he didn’t see it as that. She had taken away his control and his choices and had thrown him into a new life with new parameters and in his shallow perception of the world he couldn’t reconcile the good she had done with the certainty she had ruined his life. He had fought for control of all things and in this she had taken it from him. And he hated her for it. He hated them all for it.

He’d always landed on his feet and he hadn’t needed a vampire to rescue him from dying. He’d always made it out of tight situations and he’d have made it out of that one, except Roxi took that choice away and chose this life for him and it wasn’t that he didn’t love it, or couldn’t see the overwhelming benefit of being one of the walking undead with magical powers but he’d be damned if he’d be grateful for a choice that hadn’t been his choice at all.

The irony of it being the best damn thing that had ever happened to him didn’t occur to him at all. In the end he convinced himself that he didn’t need them, or want them or their stupid rules.

He hated being in debt to people. Too long he had lived a system that expected him to be grateful for the hand outs of others. Of families who pretended to be altruistic by taking in unwanted children only to make it clear that those children were a paycheck they banked and nothing more.

Oliver had escaped that system only to be thrown into this one. More rules to control how he acted, said, did. More things he couldn’t do because someone else had decided for him what was right.

No, **** them, **** them all and their rules. He had beat one system and he would beat this one too.


Present

“I have what you want. With a bonus.” Oliver said into his iPhone, walking the night street with an easy swagger. It wasn’t his phone, he hadn’t bought his own **** in months. Not since… then. No, this little piece of technology he’d ‘appropriated’ from a blonde, with legs to her armpits and the mental acuity of a damn brick. She’d been his first, a test of his powers and a gift to the people who paid good money for what he had to supply.

Tonight he had a brunette on his arm, she’d glued herself to his side like a 5 foot leech. She was so revved up on smack and vampire juju she near humped his leg as they walked, her short skirt making her steps short and her heels making her quick steps treacherous. He didn’t shorten his stride to accommodate, choosing instead to make her skip in her hooker heels to keep up.

“Ohh yeah, tell the boys they’ll like this surprise…. A lot.” Sliding a sly glance at the woman on his arm he threw her a grin, teeth flashing. He’d perfected the look, salubrious and intoxicating as if she were the only woman in his universe and she swallowed the ********, hook, line and vampire powered sinker. The stupid *****.

Absently he stroked her arm, his hold deceptively gentle, but his grip implacable as he hauled her with him. Lowering the phone he slid it into this pocket.

Dark Eden, a perfect location with its dark rooms and booths that they could conduct their ‘business’. Oliver’s impatience saw him jerk the woman through the door, righting her impatiently as she stumbled.

“Move your *** Candy.”

“Mandy.”

“What?”

“My name… it’s Mandy.”

Stopping he shot her another low lid smile halting their progress inside the nightclub, just shy of the poker tables and slowly stroked a soothing hand down her arm, looping it around her waist, pulling her towards him. Her mouth opened in an eager moue and he watched closely as his power asserted itself again. Leaning forward he brought his lips to hover over hers.

“Yes… that’s right. My Mandy… aren’t you? All mine?”

The flash of confusion was replaced by eagerness. She pressed herself forward and tried to close the distance. With vampiric speed Oliver pulled away, shrugging her off and continued on using the arm on her waist to pull her forward.

“Soon Mandy…” he soothed, “Soon.”

It was easy money, and easy game. It was easier money because he had unlimited access to everything they wanted. His blood. He gave them what they wanted and he brought along a human who he could suck to near death and then he would hand her over to them, wrapped up in a bow for them to use… or abuse as they wished. And tomorrow morning when she woke up sprawled in the gutter she wouldn’t remember a damn thing. They never did. He called the women his cherries. They were his personal inducement to keep his buyers happy.

He always insisted on a public space. Not because it protected him, no it was the opposite. He picked the location because he didn’t give a rats damn about the vampire world’s rules about secrecy and he’d be damned if he would live by their limiting restrictions. They were gods among men. They sat at the top of the food chain. They were lions and humans the mindless beasts and Oliver had found a way to capitalize on both.

No, **** them, **** them all and their rules. He had beat one system and he would beat this one too and get rich as hell while he was doing it.

Throwing ‘Mandy’ into the dark booth where the three men sat he wedged her between himself and a brute of a man with a shaved head. Rolling up his sleeve he laid his arm on the table.

“You’re in luck gentlemen.. Now lets get this started. You got my 4Gs, I got you 20 pints… thanks to our sweet darlin’ right here. Isn’t that right Mandy?”

Mandy had no damn idea and with a nervous grin she bat fake lashes at him her voice dripping acquiesce. “Anything you say Ollie.”

[Lancaster]

Roxette dialled Kenny’s number. At first, she thought it was going to ring out; it seemed to just keep ringing, and ringing and ringing. No message bank or anything. Finally, though, the guy picked up. His words were slurred—he’d obviously been drinking.

“Kenny, it’s Roxxy.”

“Who?”

“Roxxy. Roxette. You know, Oliver’s friend?”

“Uhmmmm…”

“….”

“Oh! Blonde one. Small tits. Dike?”

“**** off, Kenny. Look – Barry told me you were talking to Oliver. Can you tell me where? I need to find him.”

“Sure, doll. Eee was at ‘ammer and Tongs. You know the one? I’m still ‘ere…you wanna swing by with a frie—“

Roxette hung up on Kenny. She agreed with Barry. The guy wasn’t worth much, and she didn’t want to spend more time on the phone with him than was absolutely necessary. She had the information that she needed, and so she picked up the pace, slipping her phone back into her bag as she lithely, expertly navigated the streets that were a collective home to her. She knew all the shortcuts, all the dives, all the little nooks and crannies as if they were her best friends, never to be parted.

The blonde rounded the corner, headed for the front entrance of Hammer and Tongs. She stopped dead in her tracks, however—back tracked, so that she was hidden by the brick wall, only half her head peering around the edge. Oliver had exited. It wasn’t just that swagger that she recognised, it was the voice, talking quite loudly into a phone. He had a girl hanging off him, like she couldn’t stay standing without his support. He started to head toward Roxette, who slid further along the brick wall, clinging to it for dear life. Why was she afraid of Oliver? A grimace settled upon her face as she wondered—she’d never been afraid of Oliver before. But now she was. She didn’t want him to see her, even though she had come here to find him. To talk to him. To reason with him. And now she was hiding from him.

She held her breath, hoping against all hope that he wouldn’t come around the corner and see her there. To her utter and complete relief, he kept walking, straight past her, too preoccupied by the conversation he was having to keep track of his surroundings. Roxette waited… waited as long as she could, before slipping out of the street and following Oliver, a good block behind. He was walking slow enough, even at his swaggering pace, for her to keep up.

Roxette wanted to get Oliver alone. He liked to show off in crowds. But as she watched him slip into the club known as Dark Eden, she realised getting him alone wasn’t such a good idea. Why? Why did she think that he would do anything to harm her? Frowning, Roxette decided not to think about it. She decided to follow Oliver into the club, to see what he might be up to. She wasn’t too sure what she’d be able to decipher in such a loud, crowded place. But she would try. At least she might be able to go undetected.

They used to come to Dark Eden all the time. Not so much, lately. She’d fallen out of step with a lot of people, and this dark, grungy, thrumming, thriving place was too much of a truth, now. Half these people probably wanted vampires to be real. Now that Roxette knew that they were, she hardly wanted to be a part of a scene that was far too fake and pretentious for her liking.

She edged around the outside of the establishment, eyes skimming across the crowds in search of her friend. It took her a good ten minutes to find him—and when she did, she had to swallow the bile in her throat. Of course—of course Oliver would do whatever he could to make a little cash. The flashing, strobing lights glinted off vials filled with crimson liquid. They were passed across to burly looking men—who pushed a bulky envelope toward Oliver in return. Roxette paused, right where she was. She pulled her phone from her bag. She dialled Elliot.

She wanted to reason with Oliver. But all of a sudden she lost her nerve. There was something about that grin of his that was no longer his. Her friend had been replaced by some scheming monster.

The phone was answered.

”Roxette, what’s happened?”

His usual anxious tone. It somehow filled Roxette with comfort, as if this was all going to be okay. It was all going to be fine.

“Elliot, I found—“

The phone was wrenched from Roxette’s hands. It was thrown to the floor, the face of it smashing, the glass glittering underfoot. Roxette didn’t have the chance to scream before she was roughly turned to face Oliver. He’d heard her. There was no mercy in his eyes—his elongated canines flashed like those of a rabid dog as he curled his long fingers around Roxette’s neck, the other holding her hand as he swooped in to tear into the vein. Right there, in the middle of the crowd.



Elliot was with Pi. They’d followed Roxette, just as Roxette had followed Oliver. They were just outside, when Elliot had answered the phone. He’d opted to wait – to wait and see what information Roxette could glean. Clearly a mistake. If he were human, the colour might have drained from his face. He stared at the phone, dial tone now dead, for only half a second before he loped toward the entrance.

”She’s in trouble!” was all he could say to Pi, even as he was surging into the club.

[Pi dArtois]

She left Elliot lead, she walked quietly at his side, sliding into the shadows of the buildings as they stalked their human prey. That their human prey was Elliot’s own thrall was not a situation she thought they would find themselves. Elliot exerted a modicum of control over his human but in the way of long relationships it had morphed into something less influenced and more a choice by each party. Pi had no doubt that in the beginning Roxi had been rolled by Elliot but in time an agreement seemed to have been reached between the two. As in all good arrangements, they had found their easy place, where necessity met want.

Now they followed her, which they did easily enough. They could move through the sea of humans with very little notice of anyone. To many they looked like any other couple, strolling through the city arm in arm. Only once had they needed to turn, Elliot turning swiftly so his back was to the blonde woman, pulling Pi into the curve of his body, looking nothing more than a couple who had stopped to take a moment. Pi had looked over her shoulder, checking behind him and whispered to him when Roxi had continued on.

It was insanely easy really. Roxi had instincts but they were not refined enough to spot a tail, certainly not a vampire one and when the phone rang outside Dark Eden Pi moved with Elliot flowing like water into the club. They were sire and childe, lover and loved and their movements were liquid, a breeze blowing by the humans waiting at the door. The door that opened behind the bouncer with no one the wiser as to why and together, side by side they sought the blonde woman who had become a member of their little family by default.

Music pounded, the clink of glasses and the rhythmic jangle of craps on the tables and chips being collected by snappily dressed black jack dealers. It was a haven this place, a vice in each corner, catering to all tastes but not, Pi was very sure, the taste Oliver was indulging in the middle of the darkened room they just entered. People stared as Oliver latched himself onto Roxette’s neck and Pi slid around Elliot instinctively moving to the left, leaving Elliot open to take out his own childe and Pi, Roxi.

[Lancaster]

It took a few seconds to adjust. Outside they’d been subject only to light breezes and gentle murmurs of those they passed on the streets. At no moment, however, did Elliot let go of his anxiety. Although the weather was peaceful, and the walk might have been pleasant, he took no pleasure in it. Even when they stopped to mask their role as tail, when he bent his arms around Pi, he bowed his head and closed his eyes not because he was revelling in any kind of closeness with her. But because he was struggling to marry the warring emotions in his head and heart—struggling to put up a wall of ignorance until the moment that they must be let loose. And may the strongest, win.

The atmosphere inside the club was hot and cloying. By rights, it should have taken them some time to find their quarry. But it took them mere seconds. It was as if the attention were magnetized toward Oliver and Roxi. As if his actions sent a shockwave throughout the crowd. Elliot felt, more than saw, as Pi dropped away. He acted on instinct, then, his heart a metaphorical lump in his throat as he surged forward. He was far taller than Oliver, as he was far taller than most people. He was stronger than Oliver, too—something that maybe Oliver didn’t bank on, or didn’t believe. A lot of people assumed Elliot was weak. It was a misconception Elliot always thought of as a strength in his favour.

Dark hair fell over his eyes as he twisted an arm around Oliver’s shoulders, opposite hand clawing at the boy’s neck in order to tear him away without causing any damage to the precious, fragile artery under Roxxy’s skin. A snarl tore from Oliver’s throat as Elliot, swift as possible, dragged him out of the crowd. Oliver struggled, and very nearly got free. Elliot reached for the scruff of the guy’s jacket, then strengthened his iron-clad hold around Oliver’s scrawny neck.

Roxxy gasped for air as the two man struggled. Her eyes were wide as the world spun around her, and she fell to her knees, coughing and dragging at the air as if her body couldn’t decide whether it wanted to breathe, or whether it wanted to expel unwanted demons.

[Pi dArtois]

It was an unconscious choice, taking Roxi over Oliver, in one part but intentional in another. Oliver was Elliot’s more than he was Pi’s and she had to trust that Elliot would do what needed to be done. That Pi believed the necessity required a firmer more permanent response was nothing that was new to either of them. She caught Roxi under her arms, her voice soft as she murmured encouraging words into the other woman’s ear. They would look like friends to those watching (and she was in no doubt that people were). Scuffles such as these garnered more attention as if everyone had a sixth sense to trouble, whether it was a raised voice or a quick scuffle like the one Elliot and Oliver engaged in now. All eyes found it, like a deer standing in the spotlight of an oncoming car unable to look away. Their scuffle in view of all these people trained a spotlight on their actioned, each witness head spinning to pin them with their accusatory gaze.

With an easy calm she didn’t feel Pi kept up the masquerade, her arm around the human’s waist, keeping her propped up. Pi’s tilted her head towards the woman in a manner she knew looked conciliatory. Her gaze however followed that of the two men, in a voice she hoped carried only between the distance she hissed urgently. “Elliot, we need to take this outside...” and then she tilted her head to the back door. They couldn’t go out the front, not in this crowd, not through the quieter restaurant or tables that held the concentrated stares of those who gambled or the video cameras that always perused casino’s such as this, their encompassing lens seeing more than either of them wanted to see. She knew Elliot was trying to contain the younger vamp and they needed somewhere to take him.

“Come Roxi.” She said softly, her arms still around the woman. Pi didn’t notice the three men in the corner watching them, or the drug addled woman they’d kept glued to their side. She wasn’t aware that there was another innocent that needed saving nor did she think to ask. All that mattered was getting them all out of this place that housed so many eyes, eyes that turned quickly away as they moved, eyes that watched closely while trying to look like they were trying to look at all.

[Lancaster]

Laughter crawled its way from Elliot’s throat. He was aware of the stares that they attracted, and he was also aware of how he was quite able to wrangle the situation in his own favour. He threw an arm over Oliver’s shoulders in faux camaraderie. The arm may look loose, but he was still holding Oliver tight—and to keep him still, Elliot had pulled a dagger from the back of his jeans. Although it made their stance a little awkward, Elliot held the tip of the blade tight up against Oliver’s chest. One sharp thrust upward, and that blade would pierce the cockles of Oliver’s heart. Elliot smiled at those nearby, bright eyes gleaming as he threw the suggestion out in the ether—nothing going on here, nothing to see. Probably wouldn’t work, but worth a try.

Even over the noise, Elliot heard Pi. He knew where they had to go and why. His jaw clenched, and he wanted to snap at her. He wasn’t an idiot. Although she may be undeserving of his ire, in that moment he didn’t care. Couldn’t. They were nearing the moment when he would either succeed or fail. And he had no idea on which side the scales weighed most heavily.

No, that was a lie. He knew what he wanted. He wanted everything to peachy. The scaled weighed toward a happy ending. And so he wrangled and pushed and pulled, and finally shoved Oliver out the back door. The fire exit. The smoke from the machines inside billowed out into the open air as the door slammed open. Elliot threw Oliver up against the opposite wall; before Oliver could think to run, Elliot was up against him, arm up under Oliver’s chin, knee against his abdomen, pinning him in place.

“Cut it out, Oliver. Do you really want to die?!” he growled, all the latent anguish clear and surging in Elliot’s voice. He wanted Oliver to apologise, to have some reason. Wanted him to be truly sorry.

[Pi dArtois]

There was a sense of surreal anonymity in the alley behind the club and an equally strong sense of de ja vu. Elliot and Pi had been here before, spilling their vampiric drama into an alley in the back of a club and seeking the thin veneer of seclusion that the roughly cobbled back door gave them. The street wasn’t clean in this part of the street. Big bins laden with the night waste and day clean up. It smelled of rot and rodents, mixing together in the unique cocktail of any city back street. These streets weren’t brushed and cleaned each night. Maintenance crews didn’t take special care ensuring the people who traversed this part of the city street did so without being accost by the sickening smell of old urine and older refuse.

Pi pulled Roxi out of the club door and deposited her against the nearest wall, clearing the door behind Elliot and ensuring it latched behind them. They didn’t need the curious following them, not staff or patrons and Pi watched as Elliot hauled his childe into the alley and threw him against the wall. Her gaze narrowed on Elliot and then to Oliver, watching the sneer on the younger vamp’s face and dreading that unapologetic expression. He wasn’t sorry, he wasn’t anywhere close to sorry. Hell, he wasn’t even scared. Oliver had thrown his chin up, the bullish tilt of his head saying more with the action than any words could. She didn’t want to challenge Elliot on what she thought he should do next but she readied herself to do just that. This was their moment. How much more did Oliver have to do before his actions called too much attention. Six months ago, yesterday, tonight, all of it added up and the picture was neither pretty nor easily ignored.

Elliot couldn’t wrap this up with a neat bow and pretend that it was all going to be okay. Oliver would say whatever the hell he needed to say to Elliot and then he’d just keep doing what he had been doing. “Elliot.” She said, her voice soft, but adamant. With a final pat to Roxi’s shoulder Pi moved to where the two men stood, her back to the fire exit she didn’t try to pull Elliot’s gaze to her but instead spoke to them both. . “We need to finish this… he’s not going to stop.” She slid her blue gaze to Oliver, their cobalt colour a blue beam piercing the green of the other man, willing him to turn to her. “Are you Oliver?”

There was no time for her to hear the answer when the door behind her flew open and out boiled three men and one hysterical female. The female they threw onto the ground, the force of her fall broken by an arm that reached out and crumbled under her. Pi watched as the woman crumbled a split second before her face was filled with the barrel of a Sig. Oliver had been there with friends, of course he had. And she was stupid not to have checked. Of course he hadn’t been alone and she had been a fool not to have known that. She swore.

[Lancaster]

If asked what person or thing Elliot most cared about, he knew he would answer ‘Pi’, without hesitation or failure. She was a constant anchor, a constant comfort at his side, even when they disagreed. Even when their opposing natures clashed like two unstoppable, immovable forces, he knew he couldn’t do without her. Because, in the end, one of the immovable forced would budge. One of them would slow, even if it was not stopped. And though deep down he knew exactly what their mission was, here, he did not hesitate to let Oliver go. Did not hesitate to drop that smarmy body in favour of protecting the one thing, the one person he cared about most.

It did not matter that Pi’s strength surpassed his own. It did not matter that he knew she was big girl, was trained in this, was far better at dealing with this kind of thing than he was. None of it mattered as he dropped Oliver and instead aimed all his ire, all his hidden violence, at the man who had his gun levelled at Pi’s head.

It was as if a switch existed at Elliot’s core. A big, bright red thing that could be pushed between ‘Samaritan’ and ‘Monstrous’. The flipped switched in the instinctual, violent direction of ‘Monstrous’ when the life of those Elliot cared about was threatened. Hell, it switched even when the lives of strangers were threatened. Out of the corner of his eye Elliot was witness to the scene in the manky back alley—Roxette, swooned and weak, blood staining her neck and sunk deep into the fabric of her shirt. The addled blonde, crumpled and broken. Pi, steadfast, with a gun pointed at her head. Oliver, reckless and uncaring, smirking, believing himself superior, believing Elliot and Pi to be outnumbered, outgunned. And these three men, who echoed Oliver’s sentiments. Closed-minded bullies with narrow visions that did not include the wellbeing of others.

Elliot’s fury was incited. A shot fired as he barrelled into the man with the gun aimed at Pi’s head. The shot flung wide, possibly deafening Pi, but not injuring her. Elliot righted himself only to draw the hidden blade from the sheath that was strapped inconspicuously to his back, beneath his shirt. The dagger he’d previously held had clattered to the ground, dismissed and forgotten. Elliot’s mouth twisted into a foreign grimace, the gleam in his eye a challenge.

A fray ensued, and he threw himself into it, the blood lust that he kept hidden—that wild and natural violence that the Dingo had attacked the white wolf with—now a frenzied and ferocious force, intent on death and slaughte

[Pi dArtois]

They had to know what she was, because they had to know what Oliver was and the way he held the gun to her head told her he wasn’t bluffing and he had no qualms about pulling the trigger and blowing a hole out the back side of her head. It also, wouldn’t be the first time it had happened to her. But she was in no hurry to feel that particular pain again. Not now, not from a human and not especially now after she had spent the better part of the last two years ensuring she had her skills honed to a sharp bleeding edge. There was a tight darkness to his look, this human, his gaze completely devoid of emotion. Here was a man who knew his business, knew of the ugly creatures in this world and was under no illusions that monsters did indeed exist. And she was one of them.

Three more men came behind him and flanked either side of the big man, both held their own weapons, one trained on her, the other switched over her shoulder where Elliot stood with Oliver. They were organised, clearly. They knew what they were, what they were going to encounter out in this alley and they had come prepared for it.

She should have known Elliot wouldn’t stand for anybody threatening her like this. She had faced the gun in her face calmly but it was a calm bourne of observation. She was calculating the risks and assessing how she could move to ensure she didn’t get shot, Elliot didn’t get slammed with a bullet from the gun pointed over her shoulder or they could all get out of this (all being her, Elliot & Roxi) in one piece. Choice was taken from her as Elliot rushed from behind her, the only warning she had was the look in the man’s eye as they flit in shock behind her shoulder where Elliot stood. And then she was shoved aside, her hand reaching out to grab the second male and hauling him down with her as she fell to her side.

Elliot’s growl was a menacing roll of a sound, a rumble that flowed out of him as he launched himself at the other two men, taking them down. She heard the crunch of bone and the sharp cry of a man, definitely one of their attackers and then another. It was a soggy thud of flesh against flesh and she spared a glance behind her even as she let the momentum of her fall roll the man under her then flipped over her, catapulting him, to slam against the close wall behind her. The woman with the broken arm crawled away, stupidly towards the dead end in the alley. Oliver, was not quite as stupid and in the melee she saw him make a break for the mouth of the alley, attempting an escape Pi wasn’t going to allow him to make. Flipping to a crouch she used her power, pushing into a celerity bolstered sprint off her mark. She made the mouth of the alley before him. She didn’t speak to him, she let his own movement as momentum, spinning him back the other way and hauling him back into the surge of male bodies. “Non Oliver...” she said. “You may.. Not. Leave.” She finished.