Setsuko should have known better than to pursue the culprit, but she was not a quitter. She followed the trail of disgruntled pedestrians, the vampire moving infinitely too fast for her to keep track of him otherwise. Her muscles burned and her knee threatened to give out on her more than once, but she persisted in her pursuit. He’d gotten the drop on her when she’d tried to defend herself, but he had not escaped unharmed. It was understood that vampires were stronger and faster than she’d ever be, but in her limited experience she’d come to understand that not all vampires were equal. This one, she noted, was not running as fast as she’d witnessed others move. If her knee had not been injured during their brief scuffle, she’d surely still have eyes on her target.
At the intersection she came to a stuttered stop. Chikushō. There were no ripples in the surrounding crowds, and a quick glance around assured her there was nowhere up or down for him to have disappeared to. What she did notice however, were the odd looks she was drawing from the few who cared to pay her any notice. Setsuko knew that the blood at her neck and blade in her hand were the source of this unwanted attention. She tucked the knife into the back of her jeans—a temporary placement before retuning it to the sheath inside her boot. There was nothing she could do about the blood, at least not out here.
The parking lot across the road caught her attention. The motorcycles parked out front suggested the establishment to be as good a place any to clean herself up unnoticed. Propping up the collar of her jacket to mask the damage on her neck, Setsuko jogged through intermittent traffic towards The Handle Bar. As she neared the double doors, combat boots dragging along the asphalt, she pulled the hood of her grey sweatshirt over her head.
Setsuko lingered at entrance long enough to take in the establishment and its patrons. She wouldn’t stick out like a sore thumb by the looks of it. Still, it wasn’t wise to hang around. As soon as she spotted the sign, she made for the toilets. To her dismay, both bathrooms were occupied, and so she leaned against the opposite wall, head down and hand cupping the gash along her throat. Physical exertion had done little to help stem the bleeding; her fingers came away far too red and slick for her liking.
Pushing off the wall with her uninjured knee, she knocked on both doors none too lightly.
At the intersection she came to a stuttered stop. Chikushō. There were no ripples in the surrounding crowds, and a quick glance around assured her there was nowhere up or down for him to have disappeared to. What she did notice however, were the odd looks she was drawing from the few who cared to pay her any notice. Setsuko knew that the blood at her neck and blade in her hand were the source of this unwanted attention. She tucked the knife into the back of her jeans—a temporary placement before retuning it to the sheath inside her boot. There was nothing she could do about the blood, at least not out here.
The parking lot across the road caught her attention. The motorcycles parked out front suggested the establishment to be as good a place any to clean herself up unnoticed. Propping up the collar of her jacket to mask the damage on her neck, Setsuko jogged through intermittent traffic towards The Handle Bar. As she neared the double doors, combat boots dragging along the asphalt, she pulled the hood of her grey sweatshirt over her head.
Setsuko lingered at entrance long enough to take in the establishment and its patrons. She wouldn’t stick out like a sore thumb by the looks of it. Still, it wasn’t wise to hang around. As soon as she spotted the sign, she made for the toilets. To her dismay, both bathrooms were occupied, and so she leaned against the opposite wall, head down and hand cupping the gash along her throat. Physical exertion had done little to help stem the bleeding; her fingers came away far too red and slick for her liking.
Pushing off the wall with her uninjured knee, she knocked on both doors none too lightly.
