There was a lot to take in. Tierney was dropping information into one of Samson’s ears, and he was using the other to keep up with, as best as he could, the conversation going on between the two vampires and the two humans. All of the laughing, the music, the bodies rustling together, the drunken accidents, the spills and constant hum of chatter added a lot of interference. Naturally, this meant the Paladin couldn’t actually drink what was put in front of him. Much as he would have liked to indulge, he didn’t believe in getting sloshed (or even buzzed) when there was potential for danger. Even with a clear head and no fuzziness, he was still not picking up everything being said, but he was certainly hearing enough to get a general impression of what was happening.
He had his own opinions about victim blaming and gaslighting, but he kept those to himself. This was largely because, if the Cure was really what caused maniacal monster vampires to go running around causing mayhem and havoc - he had to wonder what the end goal for its distribution had been. Call him a conspiracy theorist, but he didn’t believe for a moment the government didn’t know what would happen. And they were human, just as human as he was. Or so he thought. If the people at the top couldn’t be trusted to protect the safety of the people beneath them, that meant law and order was pointless. Maybe Harper Rock had become the perfect example of this.
Even if Lancaster was somehow to blame, there were other people who were more culpable; like the vampires who had attacked Longslade, the government which had organized the research for the cure, and the one who had ultimately stolen the cure. The owner of the establishment was far at the bottom of the list of people Samson would have liked to have a long talk with about what the **** they were thinking when everything was going down. But of course people wanted an easy scapegoat.
He was about to get up and go clasp the informant on the shoulder, maybe give one of those deep belly laughs of his - the kind that seemed to shake everything around him just a little bit. He’d invite the man over for a drink perhaps, with his lady friend. The tension was building like pressure and heat in a boiler room. Except there was no release valve. If a fight was going to break out, it probably wouldn’t be in such a public loca--
There was a scream.
Well ****. Samson Krahn, wrong to the very end.
He sighed deeply, which sounded more like a hurricane gust tearing across an orchard of oaks. He moved to stand, and his weapons were already drawn, as if he’d done so by instinct. His gaze settled upon a lone figure moving into the pub whilst other struggled to get away. There was something weird about this man. For one, he looked just like the informant. But then, Tier had mentioned an evil clone. Funnily enough, he didn’t read immediately as a vampire. Didn’t set off those alarms in Samson’s head. But when he focused for more than a few seconds, he could tell. This thing, this abomination was exactly that - a vampire. A monster. His focus was entirely invested in the thing with it rage and twisted features.
So this was what the Cure was.
Take all the evil and hatred and cruelty out of something and those things didn’t die off. They just persisted in another form. And the news media was there. They were getting the footage. They would see. Someone needed to say something, to put what was happening into context. Someone needed to say that this was what happened when someone took half measures with monsters. That this was what the disgusting progeny of modern science trying to dabble in things which could inherently not be understood. Because they were unnatural.
Someone needed to warn people against ‘easy fixes’.
Samson was not that someone though. He knew his strengths, and he was no public speaker. So he did what a man of his worth could. He moved closer to this thing which emitted anger and malice like a foul odor. His weapons were useless as long as they were inside.
He didn’t see any way to cage it, which meant the best move was to try and get it out in the open, where he, the soldiers, and any gun toting patrons could put the thing down like a rabid animal.
“You lookin’ for a fight? Ain’t gonna find one in here.” He said in that Appalachian drawl as he approached. He had almost completely blocked out the ones having the conversation, the vampires and humans. They weren’t of consequence with this ball of crazy rolling around.
He had his own opinions about victim blaming and gaslighting, but he kept those to himself. This was largely because, if the Cure was really what caused maniacal monster vampires to go running around causing mayhem and havoc - he had to wonder what the end goal for its distribution had been. Call him a conspiracy theorist, but he didn’t believe for a moment the government didn’t know what would happen. And they were human, just as human as he was. Or so he thought. If the people at the top couldn’t be trusted to protect the safety of the people beneath them, that meant law and order was pointless. Maybe Harper Rock had become the perfect example of this.
Even if Lancaster was somehow to blame, there were other people who were more culpable; like the vampires who had attacked Longslade, the government which had organized the research for the cure, and the one who had ultimately stolen the cure. The owner of the establishment was far at the bottom of the list of people Samson would have liked to have a long talk with about what the **** they were thinking when everything was going down. But of course people wanted an easy scapegoat.
He was about to get up and go clasp the informant on the shoulder, maybe give one of those deep belly laughs of his - the kind that seemed to shake everything around him just a little bit. He’d invite the man over for a drink perhaps, with his lady friend. The tension was building like pressure and heat in a boiler room. Except there was no release valve. If a fight was going to break out, it probably wouldn’t be in such a public loca--
There was a scream.
Well ****. Samson Krahn, wrong to the very end.
He sighed deeply, which sounded more like a hurricane gust tearing across an orchard of oaks. He moved to stand, and his weapons were already drawn, as if he’d done so by instinct. His gaze settled upon a lone figure moving into the pub whilst other struggled to get away. There was something weird about this man. For one, he looked just like the informant. But then, Tier had mentioned an evil clone. Funnily enough, he didn’t read immediately as a vampire. Didn’t set off those alarms in Samson’s head. But when he focused for more than a few seconds, he could tell. This thing, this abomination was exactly that - a vampire. A monster. His focus was entirely invested in the thing with it rage and twisted features.
So this was what the Cure was.
Take all the evil and hatred and cruelty out of something and those things didn’t die off. They just persisted in another form. And the news media was there. They were getting the footage. They would see. Someone needed to say something, to put what was happening into context. Someone needed to say that this was what happened when someone took half measures with monsters. That this was what the disgusting progeny of modern science trying to dabble in things which could inherently not be understood. Because they were unnatural.
Someone needed to warn people against ‘easy fixes’.
Samson was not that someone though. He knew his strengths, and he was no public speaker. So he did what a man of his worth could. He moved closer to this thing which emitted anger and malice like a foul odor. His weapons were useless as long as they were inside.
He didn’t see any way to cage it, which meant the best move was to try and get it out in the open, where he, the soldiers, and any gun toting patrons could put the thing down like a rabid animal.
“You lookin’ for a fight? Ain’t gonna find one in here.” He said in that Appalachian drawl as he approached. He had almost completely blocked out the ones having the conversation, the vampires and humans. They weren’t of consequence with this ball of crazy rolling around.
