Get Ghost (Velveteen.)

[Spade (DELETED 5913)]

It had been a long time since Curtis Spade was a free man. For the last six years he went to sleep and woke in the same cell, being called by the same number. The same clothes, every day. The food was equally as shitty the next morning. So to be sitting in a transit car that smelled like feet and piss, he was just happy to be free. He almost can't believe it had been this long since he had returned to Harper Rock. He started off in New York with his crew, a small group of misfits just out to steal cars and chop them up, make some serious bank. Time flies when there's money to be made. He never knew, or thought that he'd be mixed up drugs, homicide, and day-to-day violence.

Let's go back to early 2008. It was November 28th, the weather was cold and for some reason that brought out the tension in the streets of Western New York this year. Summer time, everyone would be fighting until the sun came up, but in the winter, it was normally the calmest season of them all. No one likes to fight in the cold. Unless you're Spade. He made his bacon by being the one who was always out to get what belonged to him, no matter what the cost. The specific night in question, he was on his way to an abandoned house in Niagara Falls. It's where he met with his runners that pushed his product. This time, the money was short. A lot short. The type of short that has you question ones loyalty, and Spade was never known as a fool.

Driving down Walnut Avenue, a blunt's cherry burning the paper down as he inhaled a cloud of the thickest smoke you could see. His car was a charcoal Pontiac G6-GT with a mild tint to the windows. No need for a sub-woofer because he never listened to music in his car. He had a radio, but it was just a mask for a stash spot. Hit the eject button and open sesame. Between the seat and center console was a custom fitted holster for his Glock .45. His cellphone rested on his lap, left hand on the steering wheel, right elbow pressed into the arm rest. Feeling the vibration on his right thigh, he answered the phone with his regular 'Yo.' and he had received the news that left him feeling betrayed.

'We paid in full. We got half of what we paid for. Deliver or pay in blood.' was the message, long story short. And Curtis, well, he felt like he had to not only pay, but deliver the one who was wrong. The one he was going to meet tonight. Travis. He always did leave a poor taste in Spade's mouth, but he made a lot of money, and a lot of money was good for business. But as he turned down Third Street, he could feel the worst decision coming on, slowly but surely. Pulling over to the right and putting the car in park, he shut the engine off and pulled his gun from the holster. Stepping out of the vehicle, he placed the gun between his waistband and his back, then pulled his shirt over the back so nothing could be seen, obviously.

When being involved in dirty business, one wants to make sure that he leaves a trail of where he had just went. This way when he's located, they'll wait for him to leave said building. He'll be three houses down, usually. Which is what was going on in this exact scenario. Travis and two thugs whom Spade had never truly knew were waiting for him when he entered through the boarded up door. Words were being exchanged through mumbles, and that made him feel better knowing he was strapped, ready for the worst to come. As Travis glanced upon Spade, he saw the slow arm-raise. A gun held in his left hand. What else was he supposed to do? According to the law, he was supposed to die. Instead, he fought as best he could, leaving Travis dead and the two thugs were no where to be found.

He had six years to think about this. And he still can't figure out who it was that placed him at the scene of the crime. But when push came to shove he faced his charges like a man. He took the plea and received six years for involuntary manslaughter. Though it wasn't the first life he had taken, it wasn't the last, either. It was just the only one he was convicted for. While being in prison, his best friend had been killed. His mother passed away, and his girlfriend had become paralyzed due to a stabbing. Women and children were never supposed to be hurt in the game that he played. But the rules were violated. And he felt betrayed by everything and everyone involved. As soon as he could get a hold of some fake papers, he crossed the boarder and decided to disappear to Harper Rock, where very few who remember him remain alive, in his human community.

The transit car slowed, then came to a stop. He stood, wearing a dark grey hoodie, white tshirt, blue jeans, and faded worker boots. An average sized male approached him wearing all black and passed off a duffle bag. This bag contained a handgun, some ammo, a bag of rolled blunts. Six to be exact. One for each year he spent behind bars. A fresh pair of clothes, deodorant and all other bathroom supplies. The smallest of smiles hinted his lips as the bag of blunts was pocketed to his hoodie, and he zipped the bag back up to throw it over his shoulder. He stood, and began walking, making his way to the closest discreet area. Checking the sign, 'Westwall Transit' as a marker. He decided to duck out at the corner of a bank and spark his first blunt in six years. Anyone around him could smell it, and hear his coughing. But oh well. He was free. And he was celebrating that. For now...

[Velveteen]

Snow wafted gently through the holes in the roof and small piles of it littered the expanse of cement which was hidden beneath dirt and debris that had come with a time of neglect. There were quite a few warehouses in the area that mirrored this image. The trend had begun to become more noticeable as businesses that once thrived had disappeared leaving only these large empty spaces as testament to their existence. Places that now provided shelter to the homeless. Places of business for the gangsters that had taken over the area. Safe places for the vampires to hunt. Buildings that had become staunch witnesses to the ever increasing amount of illegal and supernatural activities that were conducted within.

The light that filtered in through broken windows from the street was more than enough to allow her to see and made it look, for all intents and purposes, that the warehouse was empty to the curious passerby. The dark haired vampire sat on the floor, her knees bent and her feet spread about shoulder width to create a small work space between her legs. It wasn’t the most lady-like pose but then being lady-like was not something that anyone had ever accused Velveteen of.

On the floor beside her was a black sports bag, and between her legs was an assortment of guns. Guns that she had crafted herself. They were pretty average as far as she was concerned, though in comparison they were better than anything that could be bought in the shops. Metal sounded against metal as she sifted through them taking up one at time and attaching a silencer. Against the wall in front of her were lines of various objects ranging in sizes that served as targets. A bin that had seen better days. Several aluminium cans. Broken bottles. Some random metal discs that were likely used in whatever used to be here. It didn’t matter what they used to be, they were targets now and one by one Velveteen would go through the guns and test their accuracy.

Occasionally some adjustments were needed and other times an entire gun was disassembled and dumped into the sports bag for selling. Those that proved decent were kept whole and would end up in a lock box at the Eyrie for faction members or family who would find themselves in need of a new gun. Handguns were her passion. Her favourite. Easy to carry and conceal and great for those up close and personal moments. Rifles could be fun but she considered them to be more for hunting animal game and rapid fire...Gah. She hated those things. It was her personal choice. Whilst she didn’t like them others did so she made sure to keep an assortment on hand.

So many times she had done this that she could have been blindfolded. Putting a gun together after having pulled it apart had become second nature to her. Four years ago that she would be doing such a thing, with all the thought of someone who would wash their dishes or pack their lunch for work, would have been cause for alarm but now... it was just the way things were. Ebmracing it was her strength. Acceptance was her peace. One thing she had learned through life...asking why and fighting against circumstances never did anything but made you bitter and self pitying. Get up and move on and do what you have to do to get through it. If Velveteen had a mantra...that would have been it.

The woman grinned as she stared down the short barrel and lined up the sites. It was a sinister type of smile that would have any onlooker wondering who was in her sites at this moment. Knowing Velveteen...it could have been anyone.

[Spade (DELETED 5913)]

His coughing was bringing too much attention, so he began to slip away in the cover between the bank and the buildings at either sides of him. He could hear what sounded to be like bullet ricochet and breaking glass and within three seconds, his blunt fell and his hand was pulling the newly gifted gun from his belt line. He had no idea what was going on, but he knew that he'd been in Harper Rock for less than twenty four hours and heard bullets. Which to him, normally, wouldn't be a shocker anywhere. But at this point in time, he'd been free for a day. How many enemies could he really have? Paranoia.

He went in search, cursing himself for dropping his blunt and clicking the safety off, in case he had to use this weapon of his. When he finally came across the warehouse she took for her privacy, he watched through the window for a few minutes. What was she doing? Better yet, who the hell is she? Let's wait and see what her intentions are with the pieces before we go charging in, Spade. She was taking them apart, putting them together, shooting them. Is she in the military? Perhaps an arms dealer? If she's an arms dealer, does she need someone to push her product? And if so, how much does she pay? This is what he's thinking. No where did he expect this woman to be a vampire, playing with guns to fill the time.

He walked to the door and just opened it, like he owned the place, then walked right in. He closed the door, because there was gunplay, and then he began his walk to stand within ten feet of Velveteen. His hand was gripping his gun at his side, and his eyes were completely locked on her. Perhaps a hint of red, due to what he'd just been inhaling. He was just watching, getting a grip on the situation he'd just placed himself in. She looks like a gun expert. He looks like he's fresh out of prison. Which, he is. So it fits. "...If I beat you in a shooting competition, will you help me disappear? ...I assume you're an arms dealer." And if she's not? Just shoot her. His thought process was very easy to understand. Velveteen could probably read his intentions rather easily.

[Velveteen]

She knew she was being watched. It amused her more than anything as she continued with her work, stopping only long enough to light a cigarette and draw in deeply of the pungent yet flavoursome smoke before exhaling. A soft plume of white smoke fanned out and dissipated slowly leaving no trace but a lingering scent that wouldn’t last for much longer either. Her elbows rested on her knees as she inspected the small pile of those guns she deemed worthy enough to be kept and distributed as needed among the faction. She would go through them once more now that the rubbish had been discarded and of course only keep the best of the best.

Velveteen didn’t move as the door opened and shut, an indication that she had now had company. Not even a glance was offered that way. There was very little that the woman was afraid of anymore. Even death help little meaning these nights. If it came, it came but she was quite confident in her ability to survive most things. She could tell immediately that he was human and she listened to his footfalls against the dirty concrete as he neared her with no hesitation. Someone sitting in the middle of a dark warehouse firing off a bunch a guns would likely alarm most. Another thing she was confident of at this stage was that he wasn’t a cop or government agent. If he were he would likely have pulled his gun and told her to put her hands where they could be seen and he certainly wouldn’t smell like he just smoked half of Amsterdam.

The vampire’s lips curled rather mischievously when he spoke and still she didn’t look up. The half cigarette was flicked carelessly to a dark corner and a silencer was added to the next gun she planned on shooting. A soft chuckle came from behind a curtain of raven coloured hair that currently protected her unnatural pallor from his vision for the time. “A shooting competition you say?” The guy was either cocky, confident or just plain stupid. She wasn’t quite sure which yet but all could make him dangerous to some degree in different circumstances.

“I could help you disappear permanently without all that fuss ya know?” She said, her Australian accent making every word sound rather raw and unrefined. “In fact you should give me a reason right now why I shouldn’t do that just that.” This time she turned her head to look up at him, revealing those sterling orbs that shone a little too brightly in the muted darkness. One arm was raised and the barrel of the gun rested on her forearm defensively as she pointed the weapon directly at him. She kept her gaze steady and that amused lopsided grin in place. Her head tilted curiously to the side as she silently appraised the male that stood there. “But that wouldn’t be much fun would it?”

The gun came down slowly and she set the one with the silencer aside before packing the rest into the bag beside her. Her whole demeanor was casual and unrushed as she wandered exactly what this guy was wanting to disappear from and how he thought she could help with that. “So tell me, what did you have in mind?” Curiousity, as usual, had gotten the better of her and instead of just getting out there and leaving this human to his life she was intrigued now. She did so enjoying ******* with people.

[Spade (DELETED 5913)]

He watched her closely as she refused to turn to look at him. Interesting. Most people would like to see who they're talking to. Read their intentions, try to anticipate their next move. But she spoke with confidence and carried herself like she were untouchable. When she looked to him, he stared in those eyes. They kind of caught him off guard with the way they shined, he'd never seen anything like it. She pointed a gun at him. Only a handful of people have ever pointed a gun at him, and not all had lived to talk about it. It was clear the aim didn't bother him, because if he were to die tonight, he would die a man. In his mind, he's thinking 'This ***** is going to die if she don't help me.' The turn of the corner of his lips could give that vibe away as he had a sort-of angry frown forming.

"Give you a reason." he spoke in a mutter, repeating what she had to say as his head bowed briefly to scratch the side of his nose. As he stood tall once again, he locked his gaze with those bright orbs and replied. "I've acquired a certain set of skills that have guided me through life. Protected me. Protected others, even." he spoke of his life as a gangster as if it were something everyone should try. "With my father dying a few days ago, there are a load of people who are lining up to kill me. Fear of weakness." he laughed a little at the end of that statement. In all his years of being a street king, he'd never been weak. Who was whispering in their ears to be this convincing?

"I can assure you, there is nothing weak about me. You help me disappear, I'll do anything you ask me to do, and protect you with my life. You and yours." he spoke honestly, looking desperate for a change. He knew if he didn't find something to hold on to now, he was going to end up in a ditch. "If I prove worthless to you, I can promise I won't stop you from putting that bullet in my head. Better you than some shell of a man coming for my blood." and with that, he now lit a cigarette. A newport, at that. And watched her reaction to his words.