Where's Wally [Open]

[Oscar Grayling]

Oscar had no regrets.

After Kira had offered the telepath a place to stay and had taught him the basics of what it meant to be a vampire, Oscar had struck out on his own; he wasn’t only exploring a relatively new city, but was exploring his own limits, too. Limits that grew with each passing day. Each new day brought with it new lessons, which he stumbled through in a solitude that he had built for himself – or perhaps it had something to do with the mess of his hair and the wideness of his bright eyes, always searching for magic. He looked… well, just a little bit insane. It didn’t help that he paid no mind to the weather, nor the fact that it was freezing outside. He wore only a single layer, and barely bothered with coats anymore. Sure, he was cold. Cold to the touch, but his skin was cold regardless. So he didn’t see the point.

Although Oscar did not need to eat, he want to bars and cafes anyway. Diners were his favourite. He’d go and sit in booths across from others who sat alone. He’d stare at them, unblinking; he’d hack into their minds and rifle through their memories, plucking major incidents like candy from a jar. It had nothing to do with time, or sitting outside of time (though he did a lot of that, too). It was an addiction, curiosity getting the better of him.

The little girl eating a banana sundae was completely innocent, her memories as sweet as the dessert she was eating. Her biggest, most lustrous memory was only from two weeks ago. Christmas. It was still so fresh in her mind; she’d got a new puppy. A little Jack Russell, all fluff and yips. Though buried beneath the fresh, sweet memory was bitterness – Oscar delved a little deeper. Night time. She was walking down the hallway to the bathroom, rubbing her eyes. She heard a noise from her parent’s bedroom, so she went to investigate. The memory was blurred, tinged with misunderstanding. The little girl wouldn’t have known what was happening, but the man who’d hijacked her brain was fully aware – the woman her father was having sex with was not her mother.

Oscar knew this, because the little girl was sitting with her parents. He’d heard her call them ‘Mummy’ and ‘Daddy’. Daddy was glaring at Oscar, who’d been staring at the little girl. Tammy, her name was. The man got up, sliding out of his booth. He took two steps toward Oscar, who looked up at him and smiled.

“I think it’s best you leave, buddy,” he said, and Oscar’s smile faltered.

“Why?” Oscar asked, completely oblivious.

“You’re creeping out my little girl. Are you some kind of pervert? You should leave, before I put my fist through your face,” he threatened. He might have been cheating on the girl’s mother, but at least he still cared for his child. At least he was still protective. Oscar blinked and stood, shaking his head.

“A broken home is no place for a sweet girl like yours. I think you should stop cheating on your wife…” Oscar said. Advice, he thought. He thought he was doing the right thing. The right thing earned him…you guessed it! A fist to the face. Blood spurted from his nose. Oscar lifted a hand to his nose, and stared at the blood on his fingers. Fascinated. Blood. He’d need some of that soon. Blood. Who’d have thought he’d like it so much?

”I mean… it didn’t quite go through…” he said, proper English accent contrary to his appearance. This, of course, earned Oscar another fist to the face. It was a little like poking the bear, however – a bear who’d been minding his own business, happy to meander on his way without hurting a soul. But now that poor little Tammy would have a new memory to add to her collection – not something sweet or bitter, but scary. Terrifying. She got to witness a vampire tearing into her father’s neck in the middle of a family diner.

[Mackenzie (DELETED 8346)]

Her first flight had been delayed.
The rest, as they say, was history.

There was always that risk when booking flights back-to-back, but it’d been a gamble she had willingly made. The whole purpose of doing so had been to avoid a ridiculously long layover in Chicago, which in the end, she had suffered anyway. By the time the redeye landed in Harper Rock, too many hours later, any willpower she might have had was out the window. Laundry, cleaning, grocery shopping, mail triaging… The list of chores that had seemed surmountable twenty-four hours ago was a big pile of ‘nope’ that she dextrously avoided by spending no more than fifteen minutes in her flat upon arrival.

Switching her California-appropriate outerwear for a thick fur coat, Mackenzie ventured into the cold, Canadian night in search of what’d haunted her waking hours: blood. It’d been weeks since she’d last fed, and though the daily meditation and self-administered healing therapy kept her morale and energy levels relatively stable, there was too noticeable a lack of something without vampire blood coursing her veins.

Absence made the heart grow fonder, or so they said. The blood thief wagered that her reliance these past two years had fuelled a mild addiction, which in turn created a craving. Four weeks away from Harper Rock had deprived her of routine, and that without that routine, the extent of her dependence had been unveiled.

In this state, dishevelled and overexposed to crowds, the safer and more honourable option of seeking out a willing donor at Necropolis was an unbearable thought. Luckily, finding an alternate source was easy enough. The sewers were teeming with unclaimed and reckless vampires that she could guiltlessly feed upon.

No more than an hour later, as Mackenzie slid the manhole cover back into place, it dawned on her the real source of her irritation. While vampire blood certainly was nourishing, it couldn’t replace a hearty meal. That was how she came to be sitting at the diner when the commotion broke. All she saw when she glanced towards the front of the diner were two men — More precisely, one man’s fist slamming into another’s face.

“What in the—”

Contrary to the Canadian stereotype, Harper Rock was not reputed for its gentle nature. However, a diner seemed an odd place for violence to blossom. Too concerned with the menu plucked at the door, the blood thief hadn’t paid the diner's patrons any mind upon arrival. Perhaps she should have, and could have avoided herself the scene.

Mackenzie was happy to keep to herself and let the staff handle its rowdy patrons.
It was the screaming that followed that forced her attention.

Grimacing, the blood thief slid from her booth to better see across the divider into the adjacent aisle. The scene unfolding stunned her, but required no explanation. A quick glance across the room revealed many horrified expressions, putting into perspective her own disassociation.

This was not normal for most people.
This was not something most people knew how to handle.

...and there was a chid, right there.

Without a second thought, Mackenzie jumped — sorcery fuelling the feat — onto the table on the other side of the divider. From table to table, she closed the distance between herself and the vampire. And as she jumped off the nearest table, her fingers wrapped around a makeshift weapon, which she brought down upon his head with enhanced strength.

The ketchup bottle shattered against matted hair long before her feet found the ground.

Code: Select all

You succeeded in your endeavour.

[Odessa]

WEARING

The night was young, and she was restless.

It was of no surprise that she found herself sitting in a café, with her fingers drumming an uneven tune against the sticky, warped wood of her table. It wasn’t her usual haunt – the lights were too bright, the laughter too loud, and Gods, the smell alone was enough to sicken her – but that was the point. No one would think to look for her here, tucked into the corner of an old booth, her fingers dropping to pluck at a torn seam in the leather beneath her. For a moment, she could pretend she was normal. She could pretend that she wasn’t alone in the world. She could pretend that she had a place.

Shaking her head, she worked her fingers through her hair before dropping her palms back to the table, a torn pack of sugar the first thing she grabbed. Without much though, she began to rip it into small pieces that she quickly scattered across the barren surface. Every feeling in her bones told her to lash out, to find something to do, somewhere to put this energy that was building inside of her. Yet, she remained seated, dark eyes focused on a crack in the glass of water that had been placed before her. The waitress had dropped it with far more force than necessary, her full lips twisted into a sneer – a sneer that died the moment the necromancer had lifted her eyes. Whatever she had witnessed with the obsidian of her gaze had sent her running in the opposite direction, one hand pressed to the nape of her neck as she shook her head and whispered to the man behind the counter.

She didn’t bother to see if he looked in her direction – she knew he would. Instead, she kicked her feet up onto the table, the heavy thud of her boots turning a few heads. She didn’t read the look in their eyes, and instead, she found her attention captured by a man a few tables away. She hadn’t witnessed what he had done, caught up in her own boredom as she had been, but within seconds of noticing him, his world seemed to fall into chaos. Someone tossed a punch, someone screamed, a little girl started to sob, and an older woman – smashed a bottle of ketchup against his skull. It was when the red began to flow that she found herself on her feet, her body weaving through the gathering crowd until she found herself in front of the man, the insanity in his eyes causing her to chuckle.

“You seem like trouble,” the Hispanic spoke, words heavily accented. There wasn’t a single reason for her to intervene. She didn’t know the man, nor did she know the family or the human who had thought to play the protector to her race. She could easily turn and walk away, leave them to their fate, much as she had been left to hers, but the night was just beginning – and she was bored. Running her tongue along a sharpened fang, she leaned back against the counter at Oscar’s side, her stance relaxed, her smirk lazy as she focused on the human, power thrumming in her veins.

She felt it when it impacted, and her smirk turned deadly as she imagined what the curse would do to the woman's mind. She hadn't used it often, but she had witnessed others fall prey to it. It was different every time. Sometimes, they became confused. Sometimes, they grew ill. Each time, they seemed to lose their wits. Someone that had once excelled at their skill would misstep and weaken. It seemed to be the best course of action, as the crowd began to gather, and there were far too many condiment bottles for the older woman to choose from. With the human taken care of - for now - she turned her attention to the vampire, curiosity replacing the coldness in her eyes as she waited to see how this story would unfold.

Curse 2: Curse anyone anonymously, regardless of proximity, and make them lose 3 skill.

[Storyteller]

==========AUTOMATED POST==========

Odessa attempted to use a power against Mackenzie, and was successful!

[Oscar Grayling]

Oscar never believed himself to be a bad man.

Somewhere deep down he was aware, vaguely, that his actions were wrong, but there were too many justifications on the surface. His actions could not be justified, but he tried regardless. And in that moment, the justifications, wrong as they were, were all that existed. They were bright and meaningful. The man should not have cheated on his wife nor lied to his child, even if from a distance. The family unit was a sacred thing, and he was not honourable in his actions.

And Oscar wasn’t going to kill him.

Was he?

The cheater stumbled backward as the sauce bottle smashed. Red sauce splattered about as far as the shards of glass – the red of the man’s blood as it spilled over his fingertips when he applied pressure to the wound in his own neck, it mixed with the blood of the sauce. This was what Oscar focused on after his vision stopped spinning and the sting on his head abated. He lifted his own fingers but couldn’t discern whether glass had broken the surface, whether he was bleeding, or whether it was just condiment.

Bright eyes shifted from the stumbling human to the other, the one who’d felt the need to smash the bottle. That wasn’t exactly helpful. She could have asked. Oscar would have denied. He was not sure he could even eat the sauce. The blood was tasty enough without it, regardless.

The wife was on her feet, screaming. The girl had slipped under the table and was hugging her knees to her chest. And then there was someone else in front of Oscar, calling him trouble. He shook his head. There were those justifications again.

”I’m not trouble,” he said, confident. ”He’s trouble,” he added, jabbing a finger at the man now being smothered by his clucky wife, who was still making way too much noise. The wound on his neck had already started to heal; he was woozy, eyes rolled back, confused. Drugged, really, by the venom Oscar had injected. The blood was superficial.

”And she—“ he said, turning that pointed finger to the woman who’d smashed the bottle. ”—you. Why didn’t you just ask if I wanted some tomato sauce…?”

[Mackenzie (DELETED 8346)]

Mackenzie faltered.

There’d been no guarantee she’d stick the landing, but the floor seemed to cave as she took a step back. When she reached for purchase out of instinct, her fingers slipped across the tabletop. Useless. She continued to stumble backwards until she ineptly crashed into other patrons. No sooner did the blood thief find her footing, did she find herself unceremoniously shoved forward and back into the fray by the very couple she’d crashed into.

Mackenzie cast a glance back at them, brow furrowed. That’s when she noticed many people were, in fact, just standing there. It was more than a classical case of bystander effect — it had to be given they were equally at risk. Vampires existence remained a source of terror and fascination all at once, gripping the feeble minded masses. There was even one young man with his phone out, no doubt filming the incident rather than calling the emergency services.

Cursing under her breath, Mackenzie returned her attention to the culprit. He’d released the victim, so there was that. He looked a mess, the exact sort she should stay away from. If she left now, she might avoid the PR nightmare that’d follow. Sure, she’d owe one too many favours for keeping her name out of the papers and getting that kid’s footage deleted, but it wasn’t too late to walk away.

Except, it was.

The blood thief glanced at the newcomer now flanking the vampire, then behind them, at the woman fussing over her husband. If he’d not dropped dead from exsanguination yet, then he’d likely survive. At least something good came from getting involved, right?

Attention returning to the vampire at the centre of the commotion, Mackenzie crossed her hands over her chest.

“It didn’t cross my mind. Would you have preferred,” she paused, long enough to glance at the table next to her before returning her impassive gaze on him. She cocked an eyebrow, tone flat.

“Mustard?”

[Odessa]

“If she does not stop screaming, I will take her vocal cords,” she muttered, though the words were lost beneath the swell of voices. While most chose to stay on the sidelines, their wide eyes resembling deer caught in the headlights of a speeding semi, they spoke. The hushed whispers turned to belligerent shouts when the man stumbled back, his face slack. More often than not, her own victims succumbed to the blood loss, so to see him in such a state… amused her.

With a quick dance of her tongue across a plump lower lip, the necromancer forced her gaze from the weakened male, to stare into the blue of his attacker. A single brow lifted, his words causing a dark laugh to escape her throat. “I say it’s fifty-fifty.” Her words, though heavily accented, rolled from her tongue with ease before he turned from her. With his attention on the woman who had chosen a bottle of ketchup for her weapon, she found herself able to take in the scene.

Already, the phones were freed from pockets, fingers frantically pressing at the screens as they snapped picture and video. It was childish, it was risky, and she did nothing to stop it. Instead, she laced her fingers together and pulled her arms over her head, her spine arching backwards. It was a show, one that she knew the steps of well – almost too well. Pushing from the counter with feline grace, she positioned herself between the male with the eyes that resembled frost, and smiled. It was a smile meant to alarm, one meant to send fear into their hearts, and for some, it worked. The moment a boy became trapped in her glare, his phone slipped from his trembling fingers, the glass shattering against the patterned tile. Realizing what had happened; his mother quickly pulled him towards the door.

Crossing her arms over her chest – her stance miming that of the human female – she gave a short laugh at her response. While she cared little for their lover’s quarrel, she found herself amused with her tongue. Working her own along the edge of her teeth, she rolled her eyes and tossed a handful of black silk over her shoulder. “I doubt that mustard would go well with blood,” she all but purred, her dark eyes landing on the human male as the fog of the feeding began to lift, “but we can always see, no?” Despite saying the words, she made no move for the family, and instead, focused on the small gash in the vampire’s hairline. It wasn’t in her to help.

So, she didn’t.

Instead, she waved her hand at the shattered glass, lips twitching with a hint of a smile. “Does this place not have a janitorial service? This glass is a safety hazard,” she spoke, her voice rising above the murmurs as she slid her hands into the pockets of her jacket. If Starla were here, she’d smack her. Of course, if Starla were here, she wouldn’t be. Leaning forward, she rested her hand on his shoulder and pressed her lips to his ear, words dropped low. “Unless you enjoy the bite of a hunter’s blade, I do not think you should linger here much longer.” Her touch didn’t linger, and she was soon pulling away, her hand disappearing once more into her pocket, gaze searching the shadows that danced outside of the windows. It wasn’t her battle, but something made her stay.

It was always when she was bored, that she found herself making reckless decisions.

[Oscar Grayling]

Oscar wasn’t very good at this vampire thing.

He was but an animal reacting on instinct; he was making use of the powers that developed within him not by trying to force them but by letting them do what they wanted. Control was not something that he had considered, and morals had become blurred. The world moved at a pace that he could not properly keep up with but he tried, which resulted in far too many things happening in his brain at the one time. Small things became important, important things were inconsequential; which was why there was now a small girl sobbing and a restaurant full of curious bystanders.

Should they have been afraid? No. They hadn’t done anything and there were too many of them for the telepath to want to go digging around in their heads to find their secrets. He didn’t do it on purpose.

One woman was talking about mustard, and the other was talking about… janitors and hunters. Was the janitor the hunter? Was she the hunter? Why should he be hunted anyway? He was just telling the truth and getting a bite to eat. No one was hurt. The guy was perfectly fine. And why the hell was his wife clucking over him, anyway? Oscar tried to approach the woman but she screamed and shrank back; Oscar stilled.

”Why do you care about him so much? He doesn’t care about you. You should take your daughter and leave him here,” he said, before turning back to the woman who’d decided to shower him in tomato sauce.

”You don’t look very well. Thank you for trying to make it taste better, but the blood really doesn’t need a condiment, mustard or otherwise,” he said, eyes narrowed a little. And then he turned back to the other woman, the one who talked a lot. He opened his mouth to ask her who the hunter was when he hurt the **** and chk-shk of a shotgun being loaded. The chef, complete in his dirty white uniform and neat little hat had the barrel aimed directly at Oscar’s chest.

”I suggest you leave, vampire,” he said, voice confident but his eyes wide, betraying his anxiety. Oscar’s mouth went slack, before realisation dawned upon his boyish features.

”OH. He’s the hunter?!” he asked, pointing at the chef, looking between him and the woman who’d mentioned hunters in the first place.

[Mackenzie (DELETED 8346)]

Mackenzie had dealt with sufficient vampires to be unimpressed with the way the woman threw her weight around. She was relieved to see the boy’s phone smash to the ground, though a broken screen wouldn’t be enough to make the footage inextricable. Were she not so awkwardly placed, she might have crossed the distance to properly dispose of the gadget. Its owner was gone, escorted by his mother out the door.

A glance about the few remaining customers made her realise it was in her best interest not to interfere with the evidence at all. It’d make her complicit to the crime committed by this… mad man. Her tongue clicked at his observation. The offence she took dissipated as her mind made sense of her situation. She was tired. The exhaustion she felt was bone-deep, and the vampire blood she’d consumed moments ago wasn’t enough to make up for it. It dawned on her that she was too tired to deal with any of this.

Her hands were clean — ketchup aside — and she could walk away.

Was it morally right to walk away when she was capable of keeping things from escalating? Despite the treacherous nature of her tongue, Mackenzie could manipulate the truth into half-lies and craft open hooks that allowed for assumptions to be made.

She hadn’t instigated the situation, a voice reminded her.
You’ve done enough, another chimed in.

“This man is clearly unfit mentally,” she pointed out, addressing the chef and petered-out crowd. “—and that man antagonised him first, long before any blood was drawn.” Mackenzie uncrossed her arms, putting her hands on her hips. “He isn’t dead. And while I’m not suggesting it absolves him—” she jutted her chin towards the madman “—it could very well be deemed self-defence.”

There was a reason she didn’t refer to him as a vampire.
Glancing at the garnished vampire, Mackenzie crossed her arms once again.

“I do think you should leave, though. You and your friend.”

Speechcraft: 25 | Charisma: 28