The Kindness of Strangers [Grey, Open]

[Vienna Torres (DELETED 8181)]

Lucky day for her. There were only three minutes until the donut shop closed, but right now the sign in the window still said it was open, and the lights inside still shone. The bell on the door chimed when Vienna entered, but no one came to greet her.

"Anyone here?" she asked, glancing around the empty shop. She waited.

Maybe someone in the back room just hadn't heard her. She might as well check. Sure, it was rude, and it was almost after hours, but the shop was still supposed to be open, damn it.

The door to the back room was already open. She stepped inside, and something caught her eye - pink strands on the floor behind the donut oven.
She drew closer, frowning.

Shoelaces. Those were pink shoelaces that had come untied, on the shoes of a girl with her throat mangled and torn. There was no blood. No signs of a struggle, either.

"****." Her heart sunk, but she wasn't surprised.

The shop was still supposed to be open - surely someone would have noticed if it had happened a long time ago. Which meant that there could still be a vampire lurking here. Maybe one that would want to cover the crime - or just kill again for shits and giggles.

Reaching beneath her coat, she drew her sword. She held it in front of her, searching every corner of the room. No vampires in here with her. But that didn't mean that there might not be one outside.

She drew in a deep breath. She needed to get out of here, preferably without becoming victim #2 to a vampire that might still be in the vicinity. And not being arrested for murder, that too.

Her eyes went to the girl's nametag for a moment. "Dana," she whispered. She didn't dare to speak any louder. Vampires had super-senses, right? "You still hanging around?"

No answer, again. Of course, you couldn't expect a ghost to show up when it would be ******* useful. She was on her own. Unless...

With her free hand, she pulled out the phone and dialed Grey's number, heading back toward the exit.

Please pick up, damn it.

[Grey Weston]

The discordant sound of the opening keys of Back to Black cut through the silence of the room, as insistent as a heartbeat. Even so, it took him minutes to find his phone, his hands fumbling in the dark. The taste of blood was heavy in his mouth; a copper undertone, with upper notes of salt, and something else. Vaguely chemical. Something that left his mouth dry, his tongue rasping sandpaper rough across the roof of his mouth. For a brief moment, the phone went silent, and he was aware of the weight and heat of a body next to his own, something that shifted in the dark. He was tempted to curl against their side; blindly seek oblivion in the shelter of their arms. That was when he remembered. Alone.

His fingers closed on the phone just as it began to ring again.

"Grey?" The question was sharp with relief. The emotion was short lived; dissipating in the wake of her familiar, clipped dismissal. "**** you! Why didn't you pick up earlier?" There was a waver to her voice; a thin crack that, while not quite shrill, spiked with anxiety. He was silent for a heartbeat, his own breaths even in the silence that stretched between them, filling the spaces between the dull hiss of static. "I was..." He began, the words brittle with a hushed fragility. He'd grown intimately familiar with the demand over the months; the hot flash of intermingled guilt and shame that came with the vague awareness that he'd increasingly begun to live as if his foot were welded to the accelerator as he approached the guardrails, fully aware, in his rare moments of clarity, that the break line was severed. Where were you? "...somewhere else,"he finished tonelessly. He bit back the apology that clawed at the back of his throat. I'm sorry. I'm sorry. I'm --

It was a mantra. Empty of meaning. He said it because it was easier than the truth: that every sting of the needle, every line sharply inhaled, every dry swallow of an assortment of sleek pills was a declaration; a desperate attempt at liberation. He didn't care anymore. "Vienna."He exhaled the name, voice sleep roughened, the timbre off, an octave lower, thin and hissing like static, the fingers of his free hand sweeping through his hair in a terse gesture. "What happened?"He listened to the cadence of her voice in silence; the dips and uneven, coarser edges of her bravado as it gradually wore thin. "Okay," he said abruptly. "Okay. I'm coming. Stay put." He ended the call a second later, denying her the chance to respond. "Okay," he repeated, in the silence that followed. It was a violent thing; seeming to breathe, to thin the oxygen in his lungs. He sat on the edge of the bed for the space of a breath; motionless, palms cupped over his mouth to quell the faint shaking.

"****," he hissed.

He rose to his feet a second later, stooping long enough to retrieve a crumpled pair of jeans from where they pooled on the floor. He struggled into them a leg at a time, his movements uneven, jerky, as unsteady hands guided them upwards. The fabric was soft beneath his fingers; evidence of a handful of days - perhaps weeks - since they'd last been washed. He staggered down the hall, stumbling slightly, the floorboards seeming to sway as vertigo overwhelmed his senses, leaving him with a hollow, wrenching twist at some vague part of his center. His gaze was unfocused, a sharp, stinging pressure building behind his eyes. He leaned heavily against the door frame when the uncertain brush of his fingertips found the doorknob leading to the bathroom. His fingers found the light switch a moment later, and he recoiled from the harsh, flat light that flooded the room, to spill across the hall in thin, anemic bars. His movements were deft as he reached for the mouthwash that rested at the edge of the sink, unscrewing the cap.

He poured the garish liquid into the cap a second later, before lifting it to his mouth. A thin, harsh noise escaped his throat at the immediate sting, the liquid spilling over his chin, streaked with thin ribbons of pink. His gums were inflamed; flushed an angry, mottled red, the white of his teeth quickly filming over with fresh blood, a shade darker than the foamy pink that swirled in a tight, lazy coil on the faux marble of the sink. He took a moment to run the back of his hand across his mouth before switching off the light. His steps were purposeful as he made his way down the narrow hallway. He paused long enough to retrieve his phone from where it rested against the sheets, fingers scrolling listlessly. The phone was already to his ear by the time he jerked open the door to his apartment, letting it slam shut behind him.

"Pick up, you f--Jeremy." The relief in his voice was raw. Palpable. "Well, well. Weston. What a surprise." The man's wry tone suggested the call was many things. A surprise wasn't among them. "Listen," Grey began, "I need --""I'm sure you do. Jesus, Grey. I just got you a bundle a week ago." There was a pause as his jaw tightened. He'd known Jeremy in college. He'd been a smug asshole, even then. "Yeah. I know. Friends," he said shortly. It earned a sharp, flinching guffaw, the sound forced and incredulous. "You don't have friends, Grey." "Listen. Jeremy." Whether it was the shift in his tone - a rising desperation - or simply the uncanny ability of a skilled businessman to pick up on cues that they were poised to close a deal - the man on the other line went silent. "I need to borrow your car."

A sharp, scornful note of laughter rose from Jeremy's throat. "Goodnight, Grey." "Two thousand, Jeremy." The words escaped in a rush. There was a pregnant pause, a low hiss of feedback pouring through his phone's speaker. "Are you ******* with me?" He said at last, tone flat. "Up front." The silence stretched, the man considering the offer, turning it over in his mind. At last, a low, exasperated curse slid from his lips. "If I find out you fucked me..." He began, trailing off pointedly. "Yeah, yeah. You'll skull **** me. Noted."

Twenty minutes later saw him speeding down a side street in an age beaten Lesabre, the color of coffee creamer under the streetlights. The car, in its prime, had been an ode to luxury; time had been a cruel mistress. The leather interior sported hairline cracks, the white insulation of the seats showing in jagged tears He took a sharp curve, downshifting belatedly, coaxing a thin, tortured shriek from the gears; a harsh scrap that had him swearing. He pressed on, the engine humming as he neared the address Vienna had provided, ignoring the dance of red and blue lights that swept through the interior moments later.

The car fishtailed as it rounded the corner, its left rear tire briefly riding the curb before settling as Grey hit the breaks, just outside of the bakery. He left the keys in the ignition, the engine idling, as he made his way out of the car, gaze restless, searching for Vienna.

[Vienna Torres (DELETED 8181)]

Something felt off about the way he spoke, his words rough and fragile all at once. She hesitated for a moment before she spoke again.

"But -" She stopped. He'd hung up.

She called him again and got a busy signal. He'd said he was coming, that she should stay put. But how long would it be before he got here? What if the vampire came back, or what if the cops came? Taking a deep breath, she put the phone back in her pocket.

No. She needed to stop panicking. Grey was badass as hell - he ate vampires, for God's sake. He was coming and he would get her out of here soon, and if he hadn't told her more, it was because there was nothing else that he needed to say.

She paced, casting a glance at the body. The bitemark, not a trace of blood around it, looked like something from a bad horror movie.

Should she keep the door open or close it? Close it, and she could keep a vampire out, but she wouldn't able to hear someone unless they were right at the door. Open it, and someone could see her and enter.

In the end, Vienna chose to leave it open. If she needed to slam it shut, she was close enough that she could. Would a vampire be able to break through the door?

The moment passed with interminable slowness. Five minutes passed, then ten, then twenty. She debated with herself whether she should stay put after all, worked through plans in her head. She called Grey twice. No answer, either time. There was no sound apart from her own footsteps, the humming of the refrigerator, and occasionally the swear words she muttered to herself. She would have been thankful for a spirit, even.

A bright light shone through the window - headlights that then turned off. By the streetlights, she saw a slender shape getting out of the car.

Vienna came running out of the bakery toward the parked car. "Grey!"

She froze then, her eyes upon the cars behind them. The street was bathed in red and blue light.

[Grey Weston]

He didn't wait for Vienna to slow. His arms rose to accept her, folding around her as he swept her into them. For a moment, the pair were jagged silhouettes, their outline defined by the low lights of the cruiser that idled behind the rusted tailgate of the LeSaber. It was borderline surreal; the colors of the storefront were saturated, washed out, as if belonging to a film Noir era. "Vienna - " he started, lips pressed lightly against her temple. There was a tremor to her name; a hint of emotion torn between exhaustion and relief. He pulled back a second later, as if a thought had just occurred to him. Maybe it had. The soft hazel of his irises were slivers; a hint of color edged in inky black. He brushed her hair back with an absent brush of his fingers, gently smoothing a few strands into place. His fingers curled around her chin a second later, tipping it upwards. "You alright?" There was a hushed intensity in the question; an urgency that went beyond the obvious. He didn't just mean physically. He meant...

He wasn't sure. His train of thought was interrupted by the shallow, abbreviated wail of a siren. He glanced up, gaze settling on the two cruisers that blocked the mouth of the alleyway. "That," he began, "wasn't me." He sobered, his grip falling to Vienna's wrist. "Show me." He didn't wait for her to lead. There was no time. His jaw set as the door of the first cruiser swung open, abruptly spinning her around, leading her back towards the open door of the bakery. Distantly - as if from under water - he heard the officer speak, voice rising, sharp with command. The word was distorted, and his thoughts struggled to make sense of it; to assign meaning to the words. It was only once they reached the threshold that the barked word registered: "Stop!" "Don't think so," he muttered. He released his grip on Vienna once inside, the toe of his shoe catching at the doorstop, flicking it upright. He reached up to flip the lock a second later.

It wouldn't serve as much of deterrent if the officers outside decided to force entry, but it would buy them some time. That was his main concern, for the moment. He wheeled a second later, gaze settling on Vienna. "Where is it?" He asked flatly. The dull edge of panic that had colored his tone earlier was steadily making a return. There was an even chance that vampire in question had simply fed and left, long before Vienna's arrival. The odds, however, weren't favorable. It wasn't a gamble he was willing to take. His gaze was restless; unable to fully settle as it swept the room. "Stay away from the door," he said absently, as the edged further into the bakery. Nothing seemed immediately out of the ordinary; the metal baker's racks were undisturbed, still lined with parchment paper that had gone dark; forming shallow, incomplete shapes formed from grease in pale shades of gray. The display cases, though largely empty, their offerings slim - were orderly. Clean.

He caught sight of the thin strand of pink; a solitary shade of color against tiles gone gray with grime over the years - a handful of seconds later. He tensed, jaw clenching so tightly that it ached; a sharp spike of heat that raced from his jawline to the curve just behind his ear. He forced himself to move; to step carefully around the counter. He inhaled sharply as Dana - what remained of her - came into view. Her throat was a ragged wound; gaping grotesquely, as if she'd sprouted a second pair of lips, faintly pursed. The blood that pooled there had only just begun to darken; shading from red to a duller shade, edging to black at the corners. He hesitated for a moment, before dropping into a crouch. A faint frown registered on his features. It was...sloppy. It didn't follow the typical feeding pattern. Unless frenzied, or inexperienced. Or a feral. He scrambled to his feet a second later; movements graceless. Anxious.

"Vienna," he said abruptly. "They have CCTV." He didn't need to elaborate; the implication hung heavily between them, unspoken. The security feed would incriminate Vienna. "Do me a favor and look for an office. There's bound to be one. Something's getting that feed." Which means we're fucked. We are absolutely fucked. He flinched, spared from saying more by the sharp groan of the door, followed by the heavy sound of a fist knocking against the door. The rhythmic pulse of a small light - red and rabid as a heartbeat - briefly caught his attention, just behind the curve of the counter. His lips thinned. Silent alarm. Well, that answers that.

"Might wanna be quick on that, Xena. We have guests," he finished. Five of them, in fact.