(Day of Broken Glass) The Lollipop Guild

[Thorne (DELETED 7278)]

"I am in blood stepp'd in so far, that, should I wade no more, returning were as tedious as go o'er."

Macbeth, Act III. Scene IV

One week ago...

With a deft flick of the wrist, the wicked blade of the hunter's long sword whisked through the air. In its wake it left a spray of blood on the wall that resembled nothing so much as some sort of abstract art, and a man whose head now only remained attached to his body by a thin flap of skin. The corpse, finally realizing it was dead (sometimes these things took time) collapsed to the floor like a sack of wet laundry. Randall Thorne nodded approvingly. He had been working hard to perfect that move ever since he read about it in a book on feudal Japanese warfare. The samurai of the time had believed that the act of, not just decapitating their enemy, but striking so precisely that only this one small tether remained between head and neck, showed a warrior's true mastery with the blade. Thorne liked to think that he was well on his way to achieving this mastery. He certainly had been getting enough practice lately. Heads had been rolling in Harper Rock's gangland slums.

Bushido, or the way of the warrior, also claimed that the sign of a true samurai was his ability to make one last strike even after his head had been separated from his body. Regardless of whether or not Thorne had any illusions that he himself was some kind of a samurai, the fellow now crumpled at his feet most certainly had not been. He had gone out not with a bang but with a whimper. Which was quite embarrassing for him, considering the size of the gun which he had been holding when Thorne had attacked him. It's not the size that counts, old boy, it's how you use it, Thorne thought with a wicked grin as he stepped over the rapidly pooling blood, wiping down his blade and re-sheathing it, feeling like a knight of old.

The purpose of this black knight's quest this evening had been twofold. Get in a little practice with his long sword, and also to steal some drugs. And so it was on to part two of the evening. With one black gloved hand, Thorne swept the round table, that sat in the middle of the cramped, dingy apartment's kitchen. clean of the several bags of cocaine which had been placed there. Old habits die hard, Thorne mused. He was dressed just as he always would have for a job like this in the good old days. In New York City. Dressed to the nines, with his Armani suit, Italian leather shoes, calf skin gloves. Carrying a black gym bag and a blade. The only thing missing was the ski mask. Though Thorne wouldn't say he was "missing" it. The damn thing had always messed up his perfectly styled hair. And besides, who gave a **** if anyone saw his face these days. After all, Randall Thorne was dead.

He had, in fact, died almost two months ago, either in a fiery plane crash, or from being bitten by a vampire, depending on which story you wanted to roll with. The vampire who bit him, a Ms. Nishaa Andras, had possessed absolutely no intention of turning Thorne into one of her own kind. She had intended solely to kill him, based on her perception that he was a smug, self-centered, capitalist pig. Which he was. However, her mistake was a blessing in disguise, as she quickly discovered that the man whom she had sired by mistake was also a maniacal, depraved serial killer. Just like she was.

With Nishaa as a mentor, Thorne quickly learned how to adapt his already prodigious talents to his new vampiric lifestyle. But old habits did indeed die hard. And so here he was once again in some hole in the wall drug den. It didn't matter whether it was New York City or Harper-*******-Rock, Ontario. Thorne had passions that he needed to continue exploring. What else was there to do? It wasn't like this place had a Wall Street to keep him busy. Write what you know. That was what they always said in those college writing classes. (He asssumed. Thorne had slept through that class in college). This time around, however, Thorne had no intention of snorting any of the coke. Since he had been turned, Randall had discovered that no drug on earth could compare to the feeling which he got when his fangs sank deep into a human being's neck, and their blood poured down his throat as they breathed their last breath on earth. Some chemical squeezed out of a plant would never again compare.

It wasn't even that Thorne necessarily had plans to sell the drugs. Nishaa had certainly kept him well enough provided for. For now. But somehow the act of stealing the drugs from another, of denying another person in their own criminal intent. That was deeply satisfying. That was power. Not doing it because he needed to. Simply doing it because he could. With his gym bag packed full of cocaine, Thorne prepared to use the mystic tome Nishaa had given him to return to the Eyrie. He was very ready to get out of this dead man's apartment. The place smelled like piss. And cordite. Which was odd, because "Nearly Headless Nick" there on the floor had never even gotten a shot off. It took a second for Thorne's brain to catch up with his nose. "Well hell," he intoned, as the door to the apartment exploded inward and three heavily armed thugs wearing kevlar stormed through. Apparently someone else had had the same idea as the vampire. It really took all of the fun out of killing the man when one could see by the guns and looks on these men's faces that his victim almost certainly would have ended up dead regardless.

The three men had the pug noses and day old stubble of the typical goons hired by the Lionelli family. This was not the first time Thorne had encountered adversaries of their ilk. Perhaps the dead man was a dealer who hadn't paid his dues. Perhaps he was a rival, or a snitch. It didn't matter. Thorne was now standing in the man's apartment, and the gunmen obviously considered him a worthy surrogate for any misdirected rage they might have brewing. The assault shotguns they each carried began going off like the Fourth of July. Not knowing for sure how many holes his vampire body could handle before it gave up on him, but knowing that these men could provide him with more than what was necessary, Thorne chose the better part of valor. With the superhuman speed that came naturally to his path, he turned and leapt bodily through the window of the small kitchen in which he had been standing. Shattered glass exploded outward as Thorne fell two stories onto the street.

It was not a graceful landing, and despite his vampiric strength, Thorne felt a snap in his left leg as he made contact with the pavement. "Motherfuck!" he growled as he rolled onto his back and drew his custom built .308, a sawed off weapon that wasn't great for range but made a whole lot of mess in a fire fight. Anticipating at least one of the Lionelli bastards to pull a "Wil E Coyote," Thorne drew down on the open window and waited. Sure enough, within seconds, a curious head popped out. Thorne's first shot took it clean off. He peppered the window with a few more high-powered rounds as the window frame exploded into splinters. Hoping that the ruckus he had caused would keep the hounds at bay long enough to buy him some time, Thorne clambered to his feet and ran.

Though the limp kept him at only half his speed, it was still quite a bit faster than any normal person could have moved. Pushing through the pain of his broken leg, Thorne scanned the dirty streets and alleyways of Harper Rock's slums, looking for a place where he could pause long enough to recite the words Nishaa had taught him, and invoke the mystic energy that would transport him to safety. Narrowing his eyes, Thorne saw opportunity take the form a rusty fire escape that clung tenaciously to the side of a tenement building. If he could climb up and get to a rooftop, he could evade the Lionelli thugs long enough to catch his breath. The ladder which he would have to pull down in order to climb up hovered about four feet above his head. With another wince, Thorne shot straight up and grabbed the lower rung. As expected, the ladder began to descend. What he hadn't expected was quite how quickly it would come down, nor that it would take half of the lowest landing with it. With a horrifying screeching sound, the rusting twisted metal descended upon the well dressed vampire, ruining his suit with a combination of dirt and blood from the rather large hole it put through his midsection as he was impaled by a piece of iron railing and pinned to the ground like a bug in a collection. "Glurg..." Thorne said wittily as blood from his stomach shot up into his mouth.

"You hear that? Over there!" The jackals were on their way. Thorne reached for his tome, and grasped nothing but air. Jerking his head about, he saw the book laying in a puddle of dirty water and god knew what else. Stretching his arm to the breaking point, his grasping fingers remained inches from securing it. So this is how it ends, eh? Thorne thought morosely, then chuckled. **** it. He readied his gun.

Suddenly, new sounds were added to the mix. The whoop of an emergency siren being turned on. Distant cries of "Halt, police!" Shots fired. Footsteps descending into the dark distance. And then, nothing. No noise, but the perpetual hum of the city. For hours, Thorne lay like that, gun at the ready. Gradually he relaxed, putting away the weapon. Perhaps someone would come along and view him as a victim of unfortunate circumstance, and help free him from his impalement. He would then reward them by draining them dry of blood. He was getting very hungry, and he would need the blood to heal. But no one came. Thorne suddenly realized how late it must be. What time was it? Three AM? Four?

And then the sky started to lighten. "Oh ****," said the vampire as grey turned to blue, as the sun ascended into the vault of the sky. Nishaa had told him what would happen if he ever allowed himself to be caught outside during the day. The sun would burn him like a raging fire. This was not something Thorne was looking forward to. It would almost certainly mess up his hair.

As the first rays broke through the clouds and lit up the dirty alley, Thorne squinted involuntarily, prepared for the worst. Seconds later, he realized that all he felt was... warm. Thorne opened his eyes. He was not burning. He didn't even feel that bad, other than the steel beam that still pierced his midsection. Even the broken leg had already started mending somewhat. Nishaa had told him about this, that some vampires possessed the power of "daywalking," and could not be burned by sunlight. And now it turned out that Randall Thorne was one of them. The vampire bared his teeth in a bloody grin as he reflected on his good fortune. This would open up whole new avenues of potential mayhem and murder to a motivated killer like himself.

With a jingle of its collar, a dog popped into Thorne's view of the alley, some mixed breed mutt of indeterminate parentage and very determinate lack of grooming. It trotted right over to Thorne's tome and sniffed at it. "Uh, good boy? Want to bring that to me?" said Thorne, hoping by some miracle he had happened upon the Lassie of Harper Rock. Instead, the dog, being an excellent judge of character, growled at Thorne menacingly. It picked the book up in its jaws and ran straight into the arms of a man in a dirty army jacket. This town really needs some ******* leash laws, Thorne thought dourly.

The man took the book from the dog and eyed it curiously. Then he eyed Thorne curiously. Perhaps he was curious as to how a man impaled by a metal railing was still alive. "Uh, excuse me sir." Thorne's voice was hoarse, and he was still coughing up blood. "That book belongs to me. I would be grateful if you would please return it." Though the man said nothing, his demeanor made it obvious that he had no intention of returning the book to the bloodied vampire. The man's overgrowth of unkempt beard and the dirt on his face that blended indistinguishably into a permanent sun burn implied that he was a native of the streets of Harper Rock, someone for whom survival depended on taking, not giving. Though Thorne admired anyone with a strong survival instinct, he simply did not have time for this bull-****. Pulling his gun, he tried once again to reason with the man.

"Listen you flea-bitten mongrel, it's really simple. Give me the ******* book. If you don't, then I will SHOOT you," Thorne gestured with the gun. "If you do, then I'll give you MONEY!" In his other hand, Thorne had produced a wad of hundreds, something he was in no short supply of thanks to his sire/benefactor. Though the man seemed to waiver for a second, Thorne knew which choice he would ultimately make. It was not the first time Thorne had presented a proposition like this. Boiling things down into basic terms always managed to simplify these situations. "C'mon, you can do it..." Thorne encouraged the homeless man as he crept forward cautiously. "That's it. Just set it on my chest. Then you can take the cash."

The man did as directed, snatching the wad of bills from Thorne's outstretched hand as soon as the book had been returned. The vagrant and his dog hurried away towards the mouth of the alley. "Oh hey, one more thing..." Thorne called out. Instinctively the man turned. Thorne put a bullet through his brain. It would not do to have any witnesses. The dog whimpered as it inspected its fallen master. Thorne recited the words that would remove his own broken body from these godforsaken slums and return it to the safety of the Eyrie. It was only after the teleportation ritual was complete that Thorne realized he had left the gym bag full of coke behind.


Today...

Thorne whistled as he walked. It was a beautiful morning. And it was shaping up to be a beautiful day. His suit today was Marc Jacobs, meaning that this day was about business, not pleasure. Randall Thorne had some unfinished business. Though it would certainly be a pleasure resolving it. In the end, it was always really about pleasure.

Thorne stepped out of the morning sun and into the foyer of one of Harper Rock's nicer hotels. He walked straight past the reception desk and to the stairs. He knew where he was going. Had known ever since the night that Marty James had reappeared in his life, like an unpleasant odor you couldn't find the source of, or a reoccurring dream in which you hadn't studied for the big test. Marty James, the needling little thorn in Randall Thorne's side. And now this pest had become, of all things, a vampire! Thorne had to know whether this change in status had changed anything else about their last conversation, the one in which Mr. James had threatened to out him to the authorities in New York City. It was a dangerous game to play with a man like Randall Thorne, but Thorne had always enjoyed a good game of chance. It was time to see if Marty was in the mood to play again today.

He reached the third floor, and headed straight to room 304. Marty James's room. Thorne noticed a "Do Not Disturb" sign on the handle. Picking it up, he tore it to shreds and left it in a little pile of paper on the floor. Then he began rapping on the door. Hard and continously. The rapping continued until the door finally opened. Thorne's first view of the room's stupored occupant immediately confirmed his biggest gambit in today's game. Marty James was definitely no daywalker. "Hello again, Martin," the killer intoned with a cruel smile. "Mind if I come in? We need to chat." It wasn't really a question. One way or another, Thorne was entering that room. And they were going to have a much needed conversation.

[Marty James]

Three days ago…

Marty James had always been one to keep his nose clean, and since becoming a vampire only four days prior, it was no different. Blood had become a necessity, one that was easily quenched by the rats of the sewers of Harper Rock. Bagged blood seemed to work just as well, though he tried hard not to think about where it had been obtained, and made a point only to buy when he couldn’t get enough from the animals. He had quickly gotten past the stage of denial, to one on the way to acceptance. What choice did he have? Nothing was going to change this, it was a way of life that had found him and if he wished to live, this was how it must be.

The memories of that night were still hazy. One thing was very clear, Nishaa had nearly killed him. Though Marjani (who he had known as Theo then) had stopped her. This all lead to his turning, and Marty had been uncertain what had brought about the woman’s rage at first. It would seem she had assumed he had been hitting on his wife, when the two had just been chatting as friends. It was not the first time Marty’s kindness had been mistaken for flirting. After that night though, everything changed. Nishaa had become his sire and it would seem in some ways she thought of his differently.

She had introduced him to her family through the CrowNet, and had even given him some weapons (though Marty had been unsure what they were for until now). Nishaa and Marjani were so different from one another, though Marty noticed how well they complemented one another, as if each being a half of a perfect whole. Misunderstandings aside, he respected Nishaa and Marjani both now. Most would likely have lost themselves in such a transformation. Yet Marty had been lost for so long now, it felt now as if he had purpose once again. He had a chance to develop new connections, to be part of a family of sorts. It was like a whole new start to life, where he could find purpose once again.

On this particular evening, Marty waited until the sun had set before heading out. He had still been staying at the hotel for now, that was until he could travel to New York and tie up loose ends. The thought of quitting his old job was the hardest to think about, his boss was an old friend and he knew the man was likely not to understand. He deserved to hear it in person, to have a closing goodbye of sorts. Even though it was the right thing, and he wanted to do it, he knew it would be a lot to handle. Ever since he had been turned, Marty had noticed several new things about himself. Such as the level he felt emotions, it felt greater as well he also seemed to sense some emotions from others.

The night air was cold, and the freshness helped clear his mind a little. Both the gun and short blade Nishaa had given him, were hidden away within his jacket. It had been so long since he had used such things, but it was slowly starting to come back to him. Marty had always spent the summers of his youth with his grandparents in upstate New York. His grandfather had been instant upon him learning to shoot, they had spent many hours during those warm summer months, at the shooting range. As for blade training, he had taken fencing lessons throughout high school, but using a short blade was quite different when recalling his old lessons.

The direction he headed was a familiar one of the past three days, to the sewers. He would grab a few rats to feed from, and head to the catacombs to train. Killing zombies had once only been something he had done in video games. It was just another myth made to be truth in his life. That night when Thorne had claimed to be a vampire, Marty had taken it as a curl Halloween prank. Trick or not Marty knew the killer was still not one to be messed with. Imagine Marty’s surprise to find that very same killer had been sired by the same vampire as him. It seemed a bit cruel of fate, to have given the two such a shared connection.

Once the sewer entrance in mind had been found, the man would slip down to wonder. Finding the rats needed to quench his thirst, before searching out the only opened entrance to the catacombs. Here Marty would lurk, training with his short blade until he didn’t have the energy to lift the blade any longer. Only then would the young vampire track his way back to the surface. Doing his best to blend in with the others who lurked the night. One would have assumed Marty would have taken more to the night life now, though he much rather spend his nights alone since having been turned. The thought of visiting a club didn’t even cross his mind, but it was likely the mini bar back in his room would be raided once he got back.

Today…

The night had not passed like the other seven since his turning. Marty had left only to buy blood from the shop, and returned back to the room for the remainder of the evening. Many emotions had hung heavy on him, especially in regards with those of Paris. It was as if he could feel emotions at some sort of deeper level since having been turned and it all overwhelmingly pressed heavily upon him. Now word was that his kind was to face an attack…. Marty hated to think to think of something terrible happening now to the vampires he thought highly of. He had tried to find rest during the following evening, but it never found him. Dawn approached, and before the rays could reach him, Marty would turn the blinds closed, before pulling together the heavy drapes.

He felt exhausted, normally he was tired during the day, though something about this particular day felt different. Marty had been about to change for bed, when he heard the rapping upon the door. ”I’m good…. Don’t need anything at the moment, I shall call the front desk later should I run out of towels….” Spoken as he assumed it to just be housekeeping. He had placed the do not disturb on the door, though that didn’t seem to be enough to prevent the noise. The knocking persisted, and Marty would make way to the door. Throwing back the locks, you could imagine his surprise to find who was on the other side. He would clench his teeth a moment upon the sight of the man, paired with how he used Marty’s proper first name.

”Why hello Thorne, please do come in.” He had assumed the man would have come in anyways, regardless of what Marty might have said or done. Best to just invite him in, and spare a scene for any bystanders out wondering the hall. It was odd, as he invited him in, it made Marty think of an old myth that involved vampires. One of how they could not enter into a dwelling unless invited. He would laugh at such an idea, he didn’t imagine Thorne the type to be stopped from anything he wanted. It had been clear before that the man didn’t like him, though now it was as if he could feel Thorne’s distaste for him. The fact didn’t bother Marty, as the feeling was mutual.

He walked further into the room, heading near the small bar area where he would set out two glasses and pour himself a drink. ”Could I interest you in something from the bar? It would be rude of me not to offer a guest a drink” Shared with the play of a smirk, knowing good and well not all vampires were still able to consume such things after being turned. It had taken a few days after having been turned himself, but Marty found the stiff drinks still sat well with him. He had not dared to try solid foods, though that was a venture to be built later on. The liquid diet was not entirely new to him, though the delightful taste of blood had certainly been something to get used to.

Marty’s gaze would never linger away from the other man for long, as if at any moment he expected something to happen. He felt tense, and in thought he reminded himself of all the different places where he had hidden weapons around the room. Marty supposed this was a reaction Thorne would have found pleasure stirring within him. Marty thought of Thorne in many ways as a bully. One who considered little of all others and pushed anyone around who got in his way or to get what he wanted. Marty imagined such a life was likely quite lonely, though even thinking this , Marty would not allow himself to feel any sort of positive regard toward the other vampire.

”So, what is it that you wish to chat about?” What was of such dire importance, that Thorne felt the need to contact him in person? Marty could only assume it to be to cause him physical harm, or perhaps belittle him with insults and threats. Such habits seemed typical of one who wished to feel better about themselves, by lowering those around them. He would swirly the amber colored liquid in his glass before drinking the rest of it down. Whatever it may be, Marty was ready for it.

[Marty James]

ooc note: I have posted the other players share in quote, as the player has been gone, and we had intended upon posting this. Should he return, I'll delete my post and then him and I shall repost properly.

* Thorne * Thorne sauntered into the room. He had heard someplace that vampires needed to be invited into residences. He wondered if that held true for those occupied by other vampires. “Thank you Martin. Very gracious.”

Thorne plopped down into a lounge chair in the hotel room’s main sitting area. He cocked his head and smiled as Marty offered him a drink from the bar. Thorne knew some vampires could still stomach alcohol, but the vast majority of them, himself included, would throw it right back up. Marty was toying with him. Okay little man. We’ll play the game. Marty couldn’t have realized that when it came to these kinds of dances, Thorne knew all the moves. And as usual, he was at least three steps ahead. Or so he thought. He did not yet know about the new additions to his dance card who would be arriving shortly.

“That’s most kind of you, Martin. But no thank you,” Thorne said in response to Marty’s offer. “But don’t stand on ceremony. Please, pour yourself one. You look like you could use it.” Thorne grinned cruelly.

* Marty * His eyes would follow as Thorne made himself comfortable. Marty had hoped the man would have simply said what he came to say and left. Though Marty was not that lucky. At mention of how he looked like he needed a drink, he tried had not to give into the distaste he felt towards the other man. Marty took the bottle and would pour himself another glass after having drank the last. If his unwanted visitor was to linger much longer, he was certainly going to want a few more.

Thorne had not answered his question, but Marty was not surprised. It had been tempting to shoot a what do you want at the man. He held his tongue, deciding upon questioning him yet again, with kid words only laced with a tone of his annoyance and distaste for the other man's presence. " So, to what do I owe the pleasure of such a visit?" Shared before picking up his glass to have a sip from. His eyes would linger to one of the chairs in the living room area but decided against making himself feel comfortable.

"I don't suppose you came all this way to personally welcome me to the family?" As he said the words, he almost wanted to laugh at the thought. Though he was too tired for such. Marty just wanted to get whatever this was over with, so he could climb into the oversized bed and sleep the day away. Little did he know, Thorne was the least of his problems.

* Thorne * Thorne leaned back in the chair and crossed his legs. His grey-blue eyes moved over the man in front of him, evaluating him. He clucked his tongue. “ Oh Mr. James,” he spoke the words like a disapproving school marm. “You must know why I’m here. Our last conversation was rather… unpleasant, wouldn’t you say?” Thorne had actually quite enjoyed it, but then again, he had had the upper hand. “You made some threats.Then I made some threats. All very uncouth of us. And now, well, as you say, we are in the same family. So, I think we need to clear the air a little .”

Thorne’s expression turned dark.The smile was still there, but all mirth had fled from the vampire’s steely eyes. ”I need to know if you still have any plans for disclosing my identity. And then I will let you know if I still have any plans to rip your loved ones limb from limb.”

* Marty * He didn't care for the way Thorne looked at him, and just the sound of the man's voice made him cringe. Marty would swirl the glass in hand, watching the liquid for a moment as he listened to the man drone on about the previous conversation they had had while Marty had still been human. "Clear the air?" Shared knowing good and well that it was more than that. As the man spoke on Marty's eyes would linger back to him.

"You seriously have the nerve to come and threaten me now?" Said as he would clench the glass in hand. Marty had to calm himself.... He didn't have a hold on his emotions like he once had. Becoming a vampire had changed much about him. "No need to worry yourself. Though you so much as put a hand on someone from my past and you will wish that sharing your identity was all that I had done."

Marty knew that the family they had sired into had rules, and he didn't see such actions going over well with many of its members. Thorne might have had the upper hand before, but being sired by Nishaa himself, had leveled the playing field a little so to say. "If that is all you wished to address, I suggest you leave now." Spoken before downing what was left in his glass, setting aside before it ended up broken.

* Thorne * Thorne’s face fell visibly in a parody of disappointment and remorse. From his mouth came the best “aw shucks” tone of hang-doggery he could muster. “Gosh, Marty. It sure does hurt that you feel that way. I thought we could be friends.” Thorne’s eyes scanned the room as something tickled his senses. He sensed the knock on the door a moment before it happened.

KNOCK KNOCK KNOCK

“Housekeeping?”

Bless the monotonous reliability of the service industry, Thorne thought to himself. In a second he was across the room, his celerity taking him up out of the chair and the to the door of the hotel room in the blink of an eye. He yanked it open to reveal the person standing there: a dark-haired woman in her mid-thirties wearing a hotel issued maid’s uniform. The name tag on her chest proclaimed that she went by Yolanda.The woman seemed taken aback by Thorne’s sudden appearance. She gasped for a second and stared at him wide eyed. Then she asked again, hesitatingly, “You want housekeeping?”

Thorne’s lips turned upwards into a cruel smile. “No. Room service.” His hands were over the woman’s mouth and around her throat in an instant, as he dragged her into the room and kicked the door shut. He twisted her around so that they were both facing Marty. Yolanda’s eyes bulged and flicked about frantically. Frightened whimpers and muffled screams were trapped behind Thorne’s gloved hand. She kicked and flailed but it was to no avail. Thorne’s grip was like iron.

I think I will have a drink, Martin. But not the one you offered. Awful rude of you really, not to offer your guest a proper drink. Quite lucky that,” Thorne peered down at woman’s chest for a moment, “Yolanda here came along when she did. You should thank her for saving you from such a social faux pas.” He winked at the other vampire. “Better do it quickly though.”

Thorne’s canines lengthened into obscenely long fangs. They appeared almost serpentine, like the fangs of a cobra. “I think it’s time for us to turn over a new leaf. Bury the hatchet. After all, we’re family now. What do say? Shall we toast to it?” His voice had grown high and excited, the urgency of the feed coming over him. Thorne did not stoop down to drink from the woman. With superhuman strength, he lifted the panicked maid by the neck until her feet no longer touched the ground, using the hand clamped over her mouth to pull her head down and to the side. Thorne sank his fangs deep into her jugular.

* Marty * His eyes watched the other man closely, wishing he would simply leave. There was still a fighting chance this morning could still go well, and that would involve Thorne going back out the door he came in. The man’s facial expression, paired with his words had him wanting to laugh. Instead, Marty wore his best fake smile as he replied. ”You truly missed a calling Randall, would have made for a decent actor. Perhaps if I were gullible, I would believe such a ruse.” Spoken with a hint of amusement. The two of them, friends? The very idea was comical, and Marty could not see how such could ever be possible. It was the knocking then that caught his attention. Who could it be now?

A sigh of frustration would escape him then, as the female voice had announced it was housekeeping. The woman could not have come at a worse time. Hadn’t he put out the do not disturb sign? As he had suspected, Thorne had made it to the door before he had a chance. Looking at the woman, from where he stood, he felt sorry for her. The remorse surly showed within his eyes, as he could guess what was likely to become of the defenseless made. The smile that twisted on Thornes lips, paired with his mention of room service, made Marty feel a little sick.

He would look away then, though heard as the woman was dragged in, the door shut behind them. Marty was ****ed, he worked hard to keep a low profile. All of that was ruined now, just with this simple act. Marty would have to find a new place, not that he had not been planning to do that anyways. Just seemed it would have to be sooner rather than later, as in tonight. The hotel would be looking for the woman, and surly they had cameras in the halls. They would have seen the woman enter the room, and never come out alive. If it was even possible, he disliked Thorne even more now.

Glancing over, he caught sight as Thorn’s fangs elongated. He spoke to him, but Marty was hardly paying much attention to anything he said. He couldn’t help but be distracted by the woman in Thorn’s grasp. Her fear, it was as if he could feel it. The moment the other vampire’s fangs struck, Marty would wince and close his eyes for a moment. He could smell it, the blood, and would curse the man under his breath. Why? Why was he tormenting him…. Was it because it was so easily done? This was a populated city of humans and vampires alike. Surely there were others who would offer Thorn far more entertainment.

Marty would return his glare towards the other man, as to ask are we done now? There was a loud knock at then, and Marty froze in place. A look of horror hit him, and he was at first in a bit of shock. Looking from Thorn and his room service and then to the door. ”Get rid of her…” He hissed the words before looking around the Living Room area, catching sight of a small closet, that he assumed to be for jackets and such. Marty would sprint over and throw open the closet door. ”Put her in here…” A Demand said hardly above a whisper. His tone was still laced with aggravation.

It would have been tempting to wait until Thorne had come over, so he could have shoved the vampire into the closet along with his meal. Marty decided it would have been unwise, and instead walked towards the door. He didn’t open it at first, he wanted to be sure the woman was out of sight first. Another loud knock came at the door once again. ”One moment….” Marty would call out loud enough for those on the other side of the door to hear. He would have a look through the viewing hole in the door and see two men. They were dressed in white button up shirts, with ties and black dress pants. They reminded Marty of the Mormons that went door to door, spreading the good news. He didn’t see name tags, and what they wore didn’t look like any of the uniforms he had seen for the hotel staff. Still, Marty had a bad feeling.