Run, Whirlwind, Run... [Open]

[Benvedeaux McBrannaugh (DELETED 8818)]

A breath.

One... two... three...

Another breath.

...eight... nine... ten...

The blocks seemed to pass by quickly, more so than usual, as Benvedeaux's feet pounded the ground. Sure, she was fast (as eight first place trophies sat on the mantle of her apartment flat's fireplace would proudly state), but this was not normal fast. This was fear fast. The rapid taps of foot-to-ground barely had time to echo against the looming buildings on either side of the street before she was already on the next block.

...fifteen...sixteen...

Ben cursed her luck. She had been doing just fine in that stolen Jetta. Nobody even knew it was missing yet (as that's one of the perks of stealing it off the car lot right after closing time). But the damn thing just had to have bad oil. What kind of dealership sells a brand new car without checking the oil?! Detroit dealerships, that's what kind. The drive up to Canada had been easy enough, and crossing the border was no hassle with her plethora of expertly forged paperwork. As far as the border patrol was concerned, she was Hannah Lewis, visiting her fiancé's mother in a nursing home. She had had to wear a wig of course. Her signature white hair (which was definitely not natural on the twenty-six year old female) would be most memorable. She had also put makeup to cover her spray of freckles and worn brown contacts to match her brown wig. A prosthetic nose, chin, and cheek-fatteners definitely transformed her from Ben McBrannaugh, high-profile serial killer, to Hannah Lewis, bubbly pre-school teacher. It was such a relief to get out of that silly get-up and let her natural features free.

When she had been a child, her father (a miner named Killian) told her about a wonderful place where anybody could go and be who they are. You could be a mailman or an actor or even a mermaid (to which young Benny giggled and called absurd, as everyone knows mermaids are just as fake as vampires and werewolves and witches), but you would always find a home in this place.

'Where is this place, papa?' she would ask with wide eyes.

'It is called Harper Rock, Benvedeaux. If ever you get into trouble, you will find sanctuary there.' he would respond. Night after night, it was the same thing: her question and his response. He never did tell her exactly where. That was something she had to research on her own after his death whe she was seventeen.

'Well, I'm in some damn trouble now,' Ben huffed to herself as she ran. She had crossed the border and followed the directions to this Harper Rock, but her car had broken down about a mile from the city limits. She decided to get out and walk, but that quickly turned into a run as she felt an uneasiness in the air. The hair on the back of her neck stood up, and she could've sworn something was watching her in the night.

And here she was now: running down the city blocks like a mad woman, stealing glances behind her when she dared.

A sign for some sort of Irish pub lit up her interests. If there was going to be a fight, if the border patrol had caught wind of who she was and was after her, she was going to have a final drink before her fight (though it never occured to her that she didn't actually see anyone chasing her). She slowed her pace quickly and entered the pub.

She cleared her throat gently, nodding to the patron whose neck had almost snapped itself with the speed with which he looked at her. She moved past him quickly, headed straight for the bar. She avoided eyecontact with any of the people in the establishment, uninterested in any delay between her and a Macallan 12 Godfather. She tried to imagine what they were seeing: a 5'7 woman with stark white hair who was sweating and out of breath in a black v neck shirt, black leggings, and knee high boots of, you guessed it, the black colour. Her hair had been pulled up into a high ponytail that day, but that still wasn't enough to make her look like she had been on a routine jog.

'Hello. How are ya? Macallan 12 Godfather, if you will,' she quickly greeted and ordered from the bartender. She turned her back to the bar, icy blue eyes focused on the entrance (for an opponent that would never come). The thumb, forefinger, and middle finger of her right hand were twitching against her side, drumming an unknown pattern on her thigh, as her killer instinct waited in anticipation. Ben was ready for a fight. She was set to go. She was even muttering under her breath as she stood.

'Bring it, *****.'

[Jesse Fforde]

On the one block, maybe spread over two, there were plenty of bars and clubs to choose from. Jesse Fforde was well aware of the competition, his own establishment erected in order to pose a direct threat to one of them. The plan hadn’t worked as he had hoped – but that didn’t mean Serpentine wasn’t busy. In fact, business was booming.

Every now and again he got out of the place, though – he wasn’t there twenty-four-seven. He had to have his obligatory two ‘days’ off. These nights, they were mostly spent beating the streets for research, meeting scholars or elders or wraiths, trying to get as much information out of them as possible. Fortunately, most of the people he dealt with were vampires themselves. Or ghosts. They were immune to the unusual effect his aura had on humans. The one that caused them to cross the street to get away from him. The one that shot fear to their heart like a reverse Cupid arrow.

On other nights, when he wanted to take a break from the research, he wondered the streets. Walking helped him to clear his mind; it was a great way to relax, and allow the drifting meander of his footsteps to help sift and shift his thoughts into a cohesive order. Many a problem had been sorted while out walking. And it was nice to take in the world, too.

It almost made him sound like a tame regular Joe.

Some nights, these walks took him to his competitor’s establishments. All the pubs and clubs around about had a different feel to them. The Handle Bar was suited more to bikers. Lancaster’s was Irish. Jesse could have sworn there was a strip club somewhere, too. His own establishment was chaotic in the way that it was set up, like it was something straight out postmodernism. Part parkour gym, part bar and part tattoo parlour, it was a mixture of the things Jesse loved.

Nearing Lancaster’s, Jesse’s path was blocked.

He narrowed his eyes at the human. Male, twitchy, clearly wary but too desperate to care. He wasn’t ignorant; he could tell what Jesse was.

“Two hundred. I’ll give you two hundred for a pint of blood,” he said. Jesse gave a smile – it was a sick kind of smile. Sinister. He was once asked if he enjoyed scaring people. The answer was most definitely yes.

”Sure. Let’s just get out of sight…” he said, cocking his head in the direction of the nearest alley. Just within the entrance, Jesse made a show of baring his wrist. When the Blood Thief was distracted, reached behind to pull the dagger that was sheathed at his back. It glinted just once in the dim light before it was dragged across the thief’s neck, severing arteries. Blood spurted and splattered Jesse’s shoes, and created a veritable piece of splatter art on his shirt. Luckily his shirt was black, with only small amounts of white.

Blood spilled over Jesse’s fingers as he pushed the now terrified addict against the wall. He’d lifted his hands to try to stem the flow. It would be useless. Before it all bled out, Jesse wrenched one of the hands free, teeth sinking into the wrist, tearing a new wound to consume whatever blood was left. The wound was healed before the man died – there was no evidence that this attack was caused by a vampire. Jesse left the body where it dropped.


Aware that he was now covered in blood, Jesse knew he ought to clean up. Although he wiped the smeared blood from his face with his sleeve, there was only so much wiping he could do to get it off his hand and arm. With said hand shoved into his pocket, he meandered into Lancaster’s. Ice blues canvassed the establishment, looking for the toilets.

[Wearing]

OOC: Jesse has the Unnatural Aura Curse – Everywhere you go, humans are immediately put at unease by your presence. Something about you is unnerving, terrifying, or downright creepy. This makes normal interactions with humans very difficult, and stealth is nearly impossible.

[Emma Ventis (DELETED 8951)]

Silence. That's all that could be heard from the woman as she jogged towards one of her favorite hangouts. Lancaster's was only a few blocks away as she slipped a hand into a passersby's pocket, retrieving the wallet as she'd done so many times before.

"the total for tonight is...one hundred and three dollars...not bad at all Emma." she whispers to herself as her soundless footsteps carry her towards the familiar Irish pub.

Lancaster's had always been a safe haven for the young vampire, she'd met what few friends she had there, and where she generally went to drink at the end of the night. She glanced over her shoulder, feeling as though she was being watched, her movements getting faster as she passes soundless and shadowless under a street lamp.

She heads inside and goes to the bar, ordering her usual for her next victim "I need a double vodka cranberry for the gentleman in the booth." Her grin widening as she waves at him warmly. This she could do... if her nerve held long enough.