A Murder of Crows [Open]

[Jesse Fforde]

Jesse doesn’t resist the pull. If he were to resist, the pressure could have broken a bone or three – so as he’s pulled around to eye level with the other vampire, he does so with the stubborn straightening of his shoulders, fiery fury gleaming from the depths of his ice-blue eyes. He confronts the other man face forward, wrenching his arm out of the other’s grasp. It’s only then that Jesse recognises the other vampire. Not by name, specifically, but just as a face; it’s one of those that he’s helped to kill. Whether due to a break of masquerade or some infraction with Tytonidae, he has helped to kill this man, and thus will not take anything he says quite as seriously as he could have.

His lip curls back in a snarl; he has no idea what this guy it trying to say anyway.

“All these fucks are hunters, you ****!” he says. “You’d prefer I left them alive to go around killing our kindred?” he asks. Unless, of course, this guy remembers Jesse too. Unless he has designs on trying to bite Jesse in the *** because of how he’d helped to slaughter this guy in the past. That reaction makes a bit more sense. Whatever the case, Jesse realises it’s probably best to get the **** out of dodge.

“**** off back to your hole, man,” he says to the other vampire, keeping his eyes steadfast – he is now another foe, another enemy, rather than an ally.

The human is standing behind him, and Jesse backs up. He can hear her talking; asking whether they’re in some kind of gang. Yeah, right. One massive gang that sprawls the entirety of the city. But not quite. Within that one ‘gang’ are factions and families, some pitted against each other.

And he doesn’t want this particular ‘kindred’ to watch as Jesse deals with the human. The witness – who at first tried to tell him she hadn’t seen anything, but had then gone on to ask questions. As if that would help her cause. He’s lost a lot of blood. And there’s a meal at hand. Or… maybe not a meal. Not entirely. He tightens his grip on his weapon.

“You should go. That way,” he says to the girl, pointing down the hall that leads to the exit. It won’t take long for Jesse to catch up. Make her think she’s got her freedom, and then reclaim it again later.

[Ripper]

"Nobody move." the Killer's tone didn't sound like it would brook any argument.

"There's a mess still here that's left to clean up...and I can see that one of them is a wet-nosed snot that doesn't know the very arguments which he is sprouting about."

[Clover]

She didn’t want to hear anymore. She didn’t want to let anymore questions fall from her lips. Clover closed her eyes and tried to disappear into the shadows. The two men were preoccupied with one another, so what did it matter if she remained quiet, if she pretended she were back at the hospital. Maybe it was a horrid dream.

Hunters. Kindred. She made up excuses for the use of those specific words. Hunters didn’t necessarily hunt people. Kindred could have referred to a tight-knit community, like a group of worship. None of those excuses made sense, but she tried. It was obvious the two guys didn’t get along and she didn’t want to end up in another bloodbath. She’d met her quota for the--no, her mind immediately went to that night. Clover raised her hands to her ears and pressed her palms flat against the outer shells. Nothing stopped the memories, not when the metallic scent of blood surrounded her.

And then there was the shouting. There was the clash of metal on metal and metal on bone. The words pulled her from her thoughts though. The man standing before her had spoken, addressing her without actually looking at her. He’d told her to go. He’d given her permission to leave.

“Go?” She repeated the word in the form of a question. Clover was utterly shocked. She wasn’t going to die! She took a step back, bumping into the wall, and then slid toward the exit. One step. Two steps. Why wasn’t she running? “Are you,” she stopped and swallowed, her mouth suddenly so dry, “are you going too?”

Her steps stopped on the command; she froze. The second man didn’t want her to move--he didn’t want either of them to move. She stared longingly into the darkness. Somewhere, beyond her sight, the exit waited. The muscles in her calves hummed with the urge to run. She wanted to flee, but her mind chastised her for even considering such a thing.

“What if they killed themselves? It looks like it.” She almost volunteered to stay behind while the two escaped. She might have gone back to the hospital, but what was another murder on file? At least she hadn’t played a real part. “Not your mess anymore.”

Clover waited a long moment and then continued her slow movements toward the exit.

[Jesse Fforde]

Jesse sneers at the Ripper.

Oh, he knows what the guy is referring to. Jesse is supposed to be a devout keeper of the Masquerade, and yet he’s going to let the human go. Yeah, he can see how it looks. Except, well, he wants to see the human go. He wants to see her above ground. Of course he’d seen her arms, covered in tattoos, and there’s something about her. A niggling curiosity that he doesn’t feel about most people. Why is she in a hospital gown down here in the sewers? What could possibly have possessed her to come down here dressed like that?

But he can’t very well tell the other vampire his plans now, can he? Not out loud. Not with the girl listening. He wants her trust, and to say that he’s just going to kill her later is hardly going to inspire that trust.

“She’s mine, yeah? We don’t have to clean up **** down here. These guys clean up their own ******* mess,” he says. And, even if they don’t, even if it’s not the hunters’ comrades that come to drag their dead bodies away, someone does. Maybe it’s that cleaning service that Paige works for. They must know that the sewers are bound to be a place where vampires go to play. Whatever the case, cleaning up dead hunters isn’t something Jesse feels is a must in his rule book. Not when the means of their death is by blade and gunshot. There’s no evidence here to say that the mess was made by vampires. There’s no breach to the Masquerade.

For the moment, he pays no attention to the human. He can tell, out of the corner of his eye, that she’s inching her way toward the exit. He keeps his back to her, but shifts his body so that it remains between her and the other vampire. The sneer remains upon his lips; for all intents and purposes, like a wolf baring his teeth at another wolf, standing over the meal that he had claimed for himself.

Two steps bring him nose to nose with Ripper. His grip is tight on his gun.

“You’re the one that needs to **** off and die,” he says. “Again,” he adds, as if the other vampire won’t remember that he’s had to die several times before, for whatever reason. Jesse’s not intimidated. Not one bit. He’s not frightened of this other man, just exasperated that he won’t go the **** away.

[Ripper]

Ripper realized than in a grimace at how he would be unable to kill the other man. This was not to say that he didn't still WANT to of course. The idea of [censored action] brought pleasure to his face which set off in a grin with more than the usual set of teeth showing.

Yet it was the fact remained that lending any argument in support a particular precept was usually best not subjected by violating that core principle in value.

even in this case, when such really didn't matter...where the student here in question was so oblivious to that he could not even recognize how there was a lesson here be had.
It was enough to make him squeeze his fist, squeezing them together with an anger that had already been catalyzed through him from the previous ire.

He was still determined though to find a way at least to educate this upstart now somehow--even if that sense was required to be physically beat into him.

Having decided now on what was to be his lesson plan, Ripper started off the lecture with a Bone Crushing swing that was sent to draw an impact in towards a few of the smaller parts of his opponent's neckline.

[Clover]

It wasn’t her problem. It wasn’t her problem. Clover repeated those words over and over again until the sentences became a cadence to her steps. She didn’t want to look back at the two. She didn’t need to look back to know that the two were still in a deadlock. Maybe they knew one another. Maybe they were total strangers. The two of them both had some type of temper problem. She’d decided that in the midst of the bloodbath.

It was a mistake to look back, but she did. Clo saw one of them swinging, but she couldn’t make out an open or closed fist. The two were distracted, so she picked up the pace, her bare feet slapping against the cold ground. She felt along the stone walls until her fingertips graced the cold metal bars of a ladder, then she climbed up and shoved at the sewer grate.

Even before she’d freed herself of the sewer, she stopped to inhale the sweet surface air. Her brunette hair was flattened, helped in part by the blood smeared through her hair and along her exposed flesh. Her hospital gown, while originally frayed, had splotches and smears of red and black. She really looked the part of an escaped patient, and the light of the street lamps made her a little disoriented.

“Come on, Clo. Keep it together. Back on track.” The moment she replaced the sewer grate, the mental scoldings became verbal scoldings. She didn’t have to think about the weird men in the sewers,; she didn’t have to think about the lives lost in the shadows. After all, the two men would probably kill one another, if they were men at all. “The infected aren’t people at all. They’re monsters.”

There were a few people wandering along the streets, so she bent down and crept along, keeping to the shadows. She didn’t have an exact location, but she had to start somewhere. The station was so close.

[Jesse Fforde]

--The following transcript was a live chat roleplay--

* Ripper started off the lecture with a Bone Crushing swing that was sent to draw an impact in towards a few of the smaller parts of his opponent's neckline.

* Jesse Fforde is distracted, watching as the human leaves. He should have been more aware of his surroundings. Should have been paying attention. But of course, the Necromancer has an ego, and pride to boot. He hadn't expected the other vampire to be much of a threat - until the fist connected with his neck and sent him reeling back, coughing and spluttering. He does not try to wheeze for breath. He doesn't need it. Jesse's shadow reacts instinctively, lashing out to strike at the opponent - a wild swing of darkness.

* Ripper moves to side-step but barely gets out of his way in time. He hadn't expected the kindred to have responded that quickly, nor quite anticipated that speed in a counter attack. Luckily it is a wild blow thrown blindly for as it is the wind of it could be felt on his face.

* Jesse Fforde is not at all one to shy away from a fight. Having been hit, Jesse isn't likely to tuck tail and run. Vocal cords seem to be wrecked, and the growl that emits from his throat is more of a gurgle than anything else. When he regains his balance and his wits, he aims his gun at his foe - he aims for the heart, and pulls the trigger.

* Ripper goes horizontal as he tries to track the range and trajectory of the gun barrel swinging down to bear on him. By inclining himself forward at Jesse and presenting as little of a target to aim at as possible; he launches himself forward at his opponent [in a grapple] as the projectile lodges into his shoulder.

* Jesse Fforde feels some satisfaction at the thud of bullet hitting skin. Not exactly where he'd aimed for, but a hit none the less. The gun is soon rendered useless, however, as the opponent gets too close for Jesse to use it. Although he keeps a tight hold of the weapon, he knows he's got to get this ****** off of him. He rears his head back, before swiftly bringing it down in a severe head butt, aimed at the other's nose.

[Ripper]

--The following transcript was a live chat roleplay--
* Ripper claws outstretch and rip out through flesh into massive hands arched with a razor sharp tip. He swats out at Jesse as the vampire comes close, lashing out at him with the full power of chiseled bone.*

* Jesse Fforde first feels the connection of his forehead with Ripper's nose - he's used the move in the past, and he knows which part of his head to use so that he doesn't concuss himself in the process. At the same time, he feels claws ripping through his skin, deep down to the bone - still, he makes no sound. A small grunt, maybe, to indicate his displeasure, but he's had worse. Anger flares in his chest; and again, the shadow around him comes to life, sharpening to a point and striking for his opponent's chest.

* Ripper swats him aside, backhanding the Necromancer with a blow across the face (that sends him reeling?). He appears not to notice the soft bite of shadows as they skewer through him wordlessly.

* Jesse Fforde is stealthy, and lithe when in battle - having grown up exercising via parkour, Jesse is able to swiftly backflip - it may look like the blow across the face sent him reeling, but in fact it is merely wind against his cheek as he instead aims a blow of the foot directly at Ripper's chin - the backflip forcing distance between the two attackers.

* Ripper draws back-marking the distance between them too great for hand-to-hand. He considers the space between them and edges forward slightly now that he anticipates more weapons being drawn.

* Jesse Fforde doesn't draw a weapon. Sure, he reaches down to collect his gun, but the thing he pulls from his pocket is not a weapon. Instead, it's a tome. Although Jesse has his pride to consider, he's not stupid - he'd just gone head to head with a fuckload of hunters, and his energy and focus is waning. If he's going to duel with this ******, he's going to do so when he's got a clear head. Anyway, he has a human he wants to find, who's now getting away. Jesse's best option is to tome, and to come back. To track the human as best as he is able to. So, with a few hushed whispers, his body disperses into a thousand million fragments, and he disappears from the fray.

[Clover]

Clover didn’t have an exact destination. She only knew needed more distance between herself and the hospital, between herself and whatever had happened underground. When she got to the station, she had to wait just outside of view. The place was empty and she would have drawn too much attention to herself. She didn’t want people to see her in her state.

“Look what I bought at the mall!”

The voice startled her and she withdrew once more. Two people were approaching, both of them holding large bags. One of the women held up a wonderful black peacoat with shiny silver buttons. The coat was beautiful and would mask most of Clo’s disgusting attire. When the two stepped up to the station, Clover seized the moment and plucked the jacket from one of the largest bags. She shoved her arms into the sleeves and struggled to fasten the buttons. Her hands were shaking so much that she pinched her fingers several times.

Clover wanted quick travel, but the women weren’t leaving, so she had to face the facts. She wasn’t getting into the station. She’d robbed them and they would notice. Then she would have to fight them. Then that would draw the attention of authorities. She went over all of this as she retreated, trying to grasp at every detail. When she was far enough away, she started running. It was a shame she couldn’t find shoes in that woman’s shopping bag, but the coat covered the shirt portion of her hospital attire. She had to deal with it. Something was better than nothing.

“Hey! Someone stole my coat!”

Clover cringed when she heard the yelling. All of that noise wasn’t helping her cause. She didn’t want to leave a trail, but she was, in a way. She was lost and confused and her zigzag patterns showed such. She saw a larger figure off in the distance and she darted forward. Something in her gut told her to hurry or she would lose him. Him--it looked just like the Angry Man. Her chance had arrived. Except she had no weapon and no idea what to say. She was supposed to be dead.

The closer she got, the more she saw of the man’s face. He wasn’t nearly as tall as he had appeared. It wasn’t the Angry Man at all.

“No,” she whispered, deflated.

Clo gripped at her hair, fisting the strands, and doubled over. She heard people walking by, both on the asphalt and on the grass. She felt like she was the only one standing still. Was she the only one in the world?

What now?

[Jesse Fforde]

Jesse lands with a thud on the wooden Eyrie floor. Without thinking about it, without even ending to any of his wound, he begins to move. The Eyrie could be a maze to those who do not know it. It could be insufferable; they’d have no idea how to get out. But Jesse knows how to get out, and he knows exactly where he has to go. One fadeportal and an elevator ride later, and he’s on the third floor. He spins – all around him are the huts that his faction mates own and maybe sometimes live in. His own is on a far branch, but he doesn’t go there now. Instead, he slips through the portal that’ll take him directly outside, to where his bike is parked. The exit the girl had taken was in Cherrydale, which isn’t far from the Eyrie. Not far at all.

The bike roars to life and within five minutes, it slows outside the sewer’s exit. The rumble of the bike vibrates against his thighs; he hadn’t put his helmet on. He doesn’t expect much trouble here, in this part of town, from the authorities. Though, up ahead, there does seem to be something of a situation. Jesse parks the bike and the hush of the city falls over him, in lieu of the bike’s growl. The dirt grinds under his feet as he darts toward the station. The gathered humans give him a wide berth. They normally give him a wide berth anyway, but tonight he looks a little worse for wear, to boot.

It’s something about a stolen jacket. Nothing too major, but interesting nonetheless. Jesse takes a deep breath at the edge of the crowd; he closes his eyes. There’s a voice in his ear; heavy Canadian accent, almost bored.

”She fled East, sir. Ran. That way,” it says. Ichabod – of course. Where would Jesse be without the faithful wraith, ever doing his bidding even when not entirely requested? Jesse turns on his heel and walks, silently charging Ichabod to keep an eye on the girl, to alert Jesse on any changed in direction. There are none, apparently. She’s standing still. Doubled over. There. There

Jesse approaches with all the casualness of a man on a nightly stroll. When he reaches the girl – dressed in what must be the stolen coat – he places a careful hand between her shoulder blades. He can feel her human warmth through the layers. Can smell the blood coursing through her veins. His nostrils flare and his throat claws. He’d lost a lot of blood. He needs replenishing. It’s hard, not to rip into her throat, right then and there. So, very hard. Especially when he leans over, close to speak into her ear.

”I think you should come with me,” he says. For all the world, he might look like a concerned citizen. But, although his hand his laid lightly upon her back, his fingers are read to tense and clench; to hold her back with the very jacket she had stolen, if he decides to run.