Azraeth
The 'thing' about living in a city that was filled with monsters was that there were two ruling principles. The first was that only the strongest survived, and when one was contending against the forces of darkness, murderers, thieves, and supernatural evils. Well. Suffice it to say that even the most seemingly innocent of hands were rarely clean. It was just a fact of life in Harper Rock. Survival was a struggle, and to thrive was something shared only by those who could pick themselves up, dust themselves off, and march right along after being knocked down. The second ruling principle, the one less known, less talked or thought about was that people needed each other. Vampires needed to have friends and bloodline around them. They needed to share in experiences and rely on each other - not just for backing and support, but to break up the constant stream of media melodrama.
Azraeth
Az was hanging out with Valdimar. The pair of them were on the streets at night, and the Mystic's progeny was telling him all about some of his experiences with the previous week. When possible, Az liked to keep in contact...well. As much as possible. Left to his own devices, he would have preferred daily interaction. As it was, he never let a night go by without at least texting the other man, and never more than a week without seeing him in person. Nikolae was, as much as Azraeth loved him, largely absent. It was true, whenever the Dragon had need, his Shadow sire was there. But Azraeth handled things a little differently. He was there. Obnoxiously there. Always there.
Azraeth
"So wait. What was this asshole doing exactly?" He asked, hands stuffed into jacket pockets as they made their way towards the Necropolis.
Azraeth
https://78.media.tumblr.com/0a8beaa0b00 ... o2_500.png []
Valdimar
Valdimar laughed. At this distance from the night in question, how could he not? The laughter was not amusement, per se, but incredulity, mostly. The incident had got lost in the miasma of new acquaintances and issues at the hotel; summer and an ice hotel were bound to have issues. Which was why the whole place wasn't made of ice, and in Summer the numerous floors of ice were cut back to only two floors. Less upkeep, until Valdimar could figure out a better system. The electricity, of course, was through the roof.
Valdimar
"Apparently cleaning up my mess," he said. As if he couldn't have cleaned it up himself. "Called me weak, like he was some kind of superhero," he shook his head, still in disbelief of the incident and the asshole who'd, instead of cleaning anything up, had just made things worse. "The point is – she remembered me. The woman. She was dazed and drunk when I left her with her friends, but she remembered me later. That I had bitten her. And this is something that happens to you, also?" he asked. He'd come from work and was dressed accordingly; Valdimar's fashion could jump between smart casual and smart-smart at the drop of a hat. But it was always smart, regardless.
Valdimar
Around the corner, up ahead, there were hints of a commotion. Valdimar, for the moment, ignored it; he preferred, instead, to listen to his sire.
Valdimar
https://www.instagram.com/p/BQsg37AjAzm ... xhamilton_ []
Azraeth
"Of course he was. That's what busy bodies always say. They see some sort of drama ongoing, and have to insert themselves into it." Because Harper Rock was filled with people who absolutely craved attention...for some reason or another. The Mystic honestly couldn't understand it. Most of his time as a vampire had been spent in the shadows of those greater than himself. He had always offered a quiet and largely ignored voice of reason. Which was to say that, in terms of events which impacted the whole of their kind, he was happy to be vocal. But one of his 'rules' was that he didn't get into other people's personal matters unless they specifically asked.
Azraeth
"Ahh. yes. It is. I haven't fed from anyone but Flynn in…" He tipped his head to one side as he considered. "...something like eight months though." And before that, Az had existed almost solely on blood packs. Sure. It was an expensive habit, but it was also safe. It also didn't trigger his prey drive the way that hunting did. Because there were times when Azraeth totally lost control. He always tidied up after himself, of course. Which was why he'd never had issues with 'secrecy hunters'. "What have you been doing since then? Willing donors? Blood packs?" The mystic believed, at his core, that his childer could have gotten basically anyone to sign up for those fangs.
Azraeth
He slowed a little bit as he heard the chaos around the corner. One corner of his mouth quirked in a nervous half smile. He could hear voices shouting. The words all flowed together. And then there was the sound of gunfire right as they were turning.
Valdimar
"Willing," Valdimar said. Blood packs were easy, yes, and if he was having a particularly busy night he'd suck on one of those. But from the source was far superior, and Valdimar took what he could get. And what he could get was… well, not whatever he wanted, but his sire would be right in assuming it wasn't hard. There were clubs in the city that catered to that kind of thing; there were humans who enjoyed the feel of teeth in their flesh and better yet, adored it when told they'd remember the whole thing the next day. Valdimar had a few regulars.
Valdimar
There were questions on the tip of his tongue, of course; there was a particular human that Valdimar wanted to taste, but he wasn't sure whether it would be proper to ask. He could be a player, but when it came to home life and 'family' he was always respectful. Not least because he'd hate to disappoint his sire, but mostly because he respected him, and all who were connected to him.
Valdimar
The time to ask said questions passed, however, as they turned the corner to witness a particularly horrific scene. Valdimar knew that Harper Rock could be violent, but this? He'd never seen anything like it. The gunfire peppered the night. There were four or five militia soldiers – ordinary Joes (and a Jane) who had taken up their arms to fight in, what they said, was the good fight. But really they just got a kick out of the power. They had surrounded a group of people who were now crumbling, shot through with bullets, bleeding. The breeze shifted, the scent travelling toward the two meandering vampires. Human.
Valdimar
"What is this?" Valdimar asked, quietly muttering. Why were human militia gunning down other humans…?
Azraeth
He stilled when he caught sight of the mess they had stumbled upon. Lips thinned into a line which made him almost unreadable. Truth. Az normally over-emoted to make up for the fact that most people could not read reptilian eyes, because they did not show emotion in the same way simian eyes did. When he wanted to be stone-faced, he could do so with startling ease. In the past couple of years though, he'd generally become happier as a person, and saw no reason to hide the fact. "This is bad." Is what Az said in response. And that was honestly probably their cue to leave. There were unarmed civilians being gunned down by militia officers and there was little they could honestly do to help out. Bodies were hitting the ground and blood was spreading in all directions. The scent of it was potent and intoxicating. As was the fear. As was the rage. He licked over his lips subconsciously.
Azraeth
He had been about to turn on his heel when a bullet came flying at them. The ballistic round lodged into his shoulder with so much force that, had he been a normal person, he probably would have been shoved backa step. He scarcely seemed to notice. "We need to get out of here before this gets me-"
Azraeth
"HEY! THERE ARE MORE THIS WAY!" The voice cut through what he'd been saying, and his expression shifted into a scowl. ****. Okay, so whoever these guys were, they seemed to be gunning down anyone and everyone they saw. Which was not great. And they were advancing.
Azraeth
We need to duck into an abandoned building. His mind reached out and spoke directly into Valdimar's head, though already, he was putting himself between the other man (who was broader than he was) and the militia members.
Valdimar
Bad, yes. Valdimar could only nod in agreement; he wanted to dive headfirst into the fray and teach these trigger-happy morons a lesson. And then there was that fleshy thuck, the unmistakable sound of bullet hitting flesh, and Valdimar knew, by lack of pain, that it was not his. His whole body was tense as he sharply turned to Azraeth; there was a hole in that precious red leather jacket, a darker read staining its brightness.
Valdimar
And then he was suggesting that they leave. "Are you kidding?!" he asked, even as a shout resonated from the group. The two of them had been seen. They were coming, guns and all. Valdimar hadn't brought any weapons with him, not anticipating any of this. But he was a vampire, loaded with cocky confidence and now, a blinding, surging fury that they had shot his sire. In his mind, there was no question of leaving.
Valdimar
Valdimar saw red. Literally, though he didn't acknowledge it, so lost in the adrenaline-fuelled reaction to the sudden and imminent threat that the two men were facing. Azraeth was far older as a vampire and more skilled, too. But Valdimar still did not want to see the man getting hurt while trying to protect him. Valdimar was certain he could take care of himself, and Az too – even if he honestly couldn't, not yet. There was a door up ahead; they'd have to go toward the militia before evading them, and regardless of whether or not Azraeth suggested the building so that they might escape, Valdimar knew the militia would follow. And that was what he banked on. They'd be easier to take indoors, given he and Azraeth were not armed.
Valdimar
His shoulder brushed his sire's as he passed him, a striding step lengthening to a trot and then a run as he headed for what he assumed as an abandoned building. And, he assumed that his sire must not be far behind.
Azraeth
The pain of the bullet wound faded in the hiss of adrenaline through his veins. His perspective differed from that of his childer. Vampires were not inherently stronger than all humans - Az knew this first hand - courtesy of three head wounds and near death he'd suffered at the hands of his sister. It was nearly impossible to tell a normal, run of the mill, edible human from someone with supernatural powers. The two men had met because of lightning wielding sorcerers, after all. Azraeth's instinct was to protect Valdimar. In most normal circumstances, he would have just teleported them away. No muss. No fuss. The reason he'd suggested a building was not to flee, but so that they could pen in the attackers and minimize potential losses. In the darkness, they had a natural advantage. Without streets to run down, their assailants would be unable to escape.
Azraeth
Not all of Az's thoughts were selfless, and only a few of them were truly benevolent. He wanted to protect Valdimar, but he knew the other man would not appreciate being phased across town. In this way, the choice was a calculated one. A way for them to feed into the natural aggression he could almost smell swelling inside of the other man. A way for him to feed the violent tendencies he had.
Azraeth
Valdimar was running. In an instant, less than the blink of an eye, Azraeth was in front of the militia member closest to the building. His hand moved like a blur, and suddenly it seemed as if he was holding a hunk of flesh which had been the man's throat. Blood was on his fingers and he lifted it to his lips so that he could drag his tongue over the ruined flesh. He grinned then to the other militia...people. His teeth were bloody in the gaps and then he gave the chunk of skin a toss and he scampered into what he hoped was an abandoned building - which Valdi had just disappeared into. Surely the little bit of taunting would be enough to attract them all inside. Check for additional exits and seal them. I'll be sure to seal this door behind them once they enter. The voice was soft in Valdi's mind, as the Mystic disappeared into the shadows.
Valdimar
The red dissipated once Valdimar was inside, from his vision at least. He was too hyped up to notice, or to care; there were red dots, skittering, scuttling across his vision and only much later would he realise that he was seeing rats. Living rats with heartbeats and hot blood in the little bodies. And when he turned to face his sire, who entered half a minute after Valdimar, it was like a scene out of Sin City; in all that black and white was a smear of red attached to his sire's hand, his lips. What was that?! A pulsing red that was quickly fading.
Valdimar
And still, there was not the time to assess. Orders were issued via telepathy and Valdimar was happy to follow. Seal the exits. They would not be getting out. The fuckers would be trapped, and soon Valdimar could have a feast, could rip out a neck or three of his own. He wasn't normally so crass or careless toward his former brethren, but he was angry. A rage licked at his inside and all he wanted was to see their blood painting the floor of this place a bright, vivid red.
Valdimar
Valdimar quit (kicked from Deserted Bar by noflood)
Valdimar
Whatever the place used to be, it was now gutted. It wasn't a warehouse but maybe a lower floor apartment. Valdimar dipped into a side room that might once have been a living room. Another door in that room led through to a kitchen, which led through to a laundry and a back door, which Valdimar was sure to lock before pushing a rusted out washing machine in front of it. Another door in the kitchen led through to the original room; an arch led through to a hall that led to a couple of bedrooms, but there were no other exits bar windows, which already had grilles secured over them. It was that bad part of town, he guessed, where people were overly cautious with security.
Valdimar
He stood at the archway, his back against the wall, peering around so that he could watch the door beside which he guessed his sire was hidden. "Two are coming through the front," he said, eyes narrowed. They now throbbed. Now, he realised something was wrong with them. Or something right? "Two are going around the back," he added, his voice a low level, as if Azraeth were right beside him. He knew that his sire would hear him, even across the space. And how did he know? He could see them, through the walls. Like x-ray vision, their bodies shaped by pulsing heat signatures.
Azraeth
He could hear Valdimar moving, and silently praised the other man for the quick way in which he handled the task he'd been given. There had been a number of young vampires he'd met who did not like to take orders, or who seemed to struggle at understanding them, even if they were simple. It was as if they were under the impression that working cooperatively somehow took away from their individuality (or something equally moronic). No, Az was just a pro at killing people (which was probably not a thing to brag about), and he was happy to share his experience. Rule number one of picking a fight was to always make sure you were picking the battle, setting the stage you wanted, and stacking the odds against your enemy. Was this unfair? Potentially. But life was not fair, and death wasn't any better. If people fell into traps, it was their own fault.
Azraeth
They will probably try and get through a window or try to beat the door you secured down. You can wipe them out if you want, or join me here when they inevitably step through the front door. He commented. Which was right around the time the two men darted through the front door. Rather than totally block the exit, Azraeth announced himself by shoving the door shut with a crash. The two men whirled on him. But it was dark. Pitch black in that building with no lights. Az could see though, and even if he hadn't been able to, the scent of the two men was enough to perk the nostrils of any predator. They smelled of stupidity and anger.
Azraeth
"You're harming innocent humans." He said as he stepped closer. There was gunfire as the two men shot at him. But they couldn't see, and they had no clue where he was, so the bullets collided with walls, richoched, some lodged deep in flooring and some in ceilings. None of them hit their mark. "Maybe you're just assholes. Maybe you're trigger happy. Maybe you think that the best way to cure the zombie epidemic is to just kill anyone and everyone that could be one." He said, his tone even. "You are a plague on your house and your kind."
Azraeth
The darkness seemed to flex around him, and then it was like spikes of pure blackness slammed as needles through calves, arms, necks, chests, hips and pelvis. They darted in and out rapidly, with so much force that the two men were merely buffeted with blows without being tossed one way or another. The pain likely didn't hit immediately. They did not know they were already dead. But Valdimar certainly knew when their corpses hit the ground and blood began to ooze out.
Valdimar
Valdimar knew what they would try, and fail, to do. The door was secured and even if they shot through the door's lock, they would be able to push it open. The passage was narrow and the washing machine, though rusted out, was still heavy. The windows were out of the question, though the Icelander hadn't tested the bars, himself. They might be able to be torn from loose moorings, the glass of the windows broken. But he knew where the militia were. He knew their every move. They weren't even inside! And he could see them.
Valdimar
The Killer was euphoric. What was this new thing that he was capable of? What wondrous power did he now have at his fingertips? Thus far he hadn't inherited anything from his sire, beyond that strange ability to be remembered when he bit someone. The torpor he'd not yet realised was not normal. What he had discovered about himself, over time, was added strength and speed, which allowed him to burrow and to leap. Oh, and his fingers turned to claws. In fact, they'd morphed already, without Valdimar having realised. Weapons, without needing to carry weapons.
Valdimar
The point, though. Valdimar wanted to use those claws. He wanted to tear through flesh and taste blood on his tongue. But he was missing out on all the fun. Already the men who'd come through the front were dead, their blood spreading beneath fresh corpses, still hot. It was like a beacon, drawing him in. "Leave the last two for me, vinsamlegast," he said. He'd said please, in his native tongue. Please, but his tone was terse. Almost irritable.
Valdimar
As they both already knew, the men tried to get through the door, the sound of their shoulders thudding against wood reverberating through the building. Glass smashed, but they couldn't get through. Valdimar's throat, his mouth, was dry. And then he grinned. "They're coming back around," he said, spinning from where he'd stood against the arch and into the same room as Azraeth. He stopped not far from his sire, though outside the pools of blood. His head turned as the remaining two men moved, following their red auras on their tour back around the building. And when they got close, he silently pressed against the wall on the other side of the door.
Valdimar
They came crashing through like bulldogs, but Valdimar was quicker. Clawed fingers reached for the gun, as it was the first thing through the door. He twisted it and the holder's arm, snapping bone as he wrenched the weapon from the moron's hand. He used the weapon to shoot the second man directly between the eyes, and he fell like a sack of potatoes. The single remaining militia-man was subject to Valdimar's thirst; he'd be the drink that would slate the killer's thirst. Claws dug into the man's shoulder, pinning him in place. Sharpened canines tore at the soft flesh of his neck, inevitably cutting off his cry of pain. It turned into a gurgle as Valdimar began to drink his fill.
Azraeth
I had no contrary thoughts on the matter. He admitted as he heard Valdimar moving towards him with the speed and power of a juggernaut. Something told Azraeth that given time to develop his powers, his childer was the sort of person who would be unstoppable in a fight. Unceasing in motion. Endless in the danger he presented. Already, the younger dragon was formidable and intimidating in his baring. But any sire worth their salt believed they were in the presence of greatness when they were near their progeny. A sire who sought to contain the abilities and potential of those around them was doomed to be surpassed. Because greatness called to greatness, and power only grew when in the presence of a hostile and adverse environment.
Azraeth
He didn't say as much, but Azraeth took a step back, and fell as silent as death so he could watch what the other man did. So he could appreciate the work. So he could marvel over every move that the Killer made. It was enough to make emotion well up inside of him, to leave pride inflating in his chest so broadly that it pushed everything else out. Yes, theirs was a dark pact. That was part of the nature of their bond. To do things in the night which few would ever understand. Bound together by violent secrets. And so he watched as Valdimar put a bullet in one man's head. He watched still, when the other man fed deeply from the last of the men. And then the life was all snuffed out in the little building, leaving the two of them standing there alone.
Azraeth
His smile was near visible, bright and ivory as it was. He drew closer, though he made no move to touch Valdimar. Some vampires, when they fed, did not like to have hands on them. "This too, is an option. One that I have taken on occasion, in the past. Others may remember your fangs, but death always keeps its secrets." He whispered. He stood beside the Killer. "You will have these urges for the rest of time, the desire to feed, the craving for violence. This is part of you now, and so long as you control it, and only unleash it on those you feel are deserving - then it can be a beautiful part of you." He concluded, his voice low and warm, a little rough from the hunger he had to contain.
Valdimar
The words washed over the Killer. He appreciated them, indulged in them, absorbed them like he absorbed everything his sire told him and taught him. He'd not been steered awry yet, and nor did he think he ever would be. Although he knew that his sire had heart beyond measure, he also knew Azraeth to be a killer, to be good at it. Swift, and exact. He was a force to be reckoned with. Something to strive for, Valdimar thought. Goals.
Valdimar
A growl rumbled in his throat. It wasn't a threatening growl. He did not mind his sire being close, but he minded that his sire had been shot. Perhaps Valdimar should have cared for the innocent humans they had gunned down for no reason, and beneath the immediate insult to his sire, he knew these men (and woman) were bad. **** yes, they deserved it.
Valdimar
The red auras had faded from the other bodies, now only a subtle shade of pink and purple, like a bruise. The only surviving aura was the one in Valdimar's grasp. There was still some blood left and, though he knew that his sire was capable of restoring his own blood with only the power of magic, Valdimar still pulled back. He pulled his bottom lip between his teeth to suck the last of the blood from the plump pout. His eyes fluttered open, now bathed in the dim light shining from outside through the open door.
Valdimar
They were the same blue, though now threaded with a darker blue, like tiny jagged veins. The pupil cut through the middle, a black so dark it threatened the abyss. He blinked twice, quickly, in succession; the light was brighter than usual, and his brow furrowed to accommodate, eyes straining. "You were shot," he said, still holding the militia-man up. "You should have the rest…" he said.
Azraeth
He had been shot, and he had almost forgotten that fact. Vampires could take a fair amount of damage - though they lacked the trait common to zombies, which made them effectively invulnerable until they were incapacitated. Vampires could certainly feel pain. Az was just very used to it. When there were other things to be done, it was the sort of thing that could almost totally be ignored. His smile only grew at the offer to drain the rest of the mortal, but he gave a little shake of his head and instead leaned closer to Valdimar. There was something different about him, something which had shifted, though in the near peerless dark, he couldn't have said exactly what that was. "Another of my magic tricks." He said, letting some of the vital energies flex inside of him. And then the wound to his shoulder healed. It was not instantaneous, but it may as well have been, the way it closed up and how the bullet popped out, only to roll down his sleeve until it dropped into his palm. He caught it in his palm and held it up.
Azraeth
"Thank you though. We should be getting out of here. Even with the chaos this town is in, I'm sure all the gunfire is going to have drawn attention. Actually…" The idea of two men making their way across town covered in blood seemed like a bad idea. Instead, he lifted a hand so that he could lay his fingers on one of the Killer's broad shoulders. Suddenly, they stood at the very entrance of his apartment in Beta Towers - one he hadn't used in ages. He'd actually designed it to be soundproofed, and for blood to almost disappear once inside. It was the sort of place that was obviously a waiting crime scene - but which offered up no fair evidence.
Azraeth
Though it seemed his teleportation had brought a little guest along with them. Specifically the man in Valdimar's arms. Whoops! Az chuckled softly and moved to push the door open so they could retreat inside. The property was almost exclusively owned by vampires though, so he wasn't at all concerned. "There's a shoot that leads to the incinerator just over there." He said, pointing. "You can drop him down that once you're done with him."
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This thread was submitted via a live roleplay chat in the Deserted Bar area. Participants and rewards were: Azraeth earned 3963 RPP. Valdimar earned 3269 RPP.
The 'thing' about living in a city that was filled with monsters was that there were two ruling principles. The first was that only the strongest survived, and when one was contending against the forces of darkness, murderers, thieves, and supernatural evils. Well. Suffice it to say that even the most seemingly innocent of hands were rarely clean. It was just a fact of life in Harper Rock. Survival was a struggle, and to thrive was something shared only by those who could pick themselves up, dust themselves off, and march right along after being knocked down. The second ruling principle, the one less known, less talked or thought about was that people needed each other. Vampires needed to have friends and bloodline around them. They needed to share in experiences and rely on each other - not just for backing and support, but to break up the constant stream of media melodrama.
Azraeth
Az was hanging out with Valdimar. The pair of them were on the streets at night, and the Mystic's progeny was telling him all about some of his experiences with the previous week. When possible, Az liked to keep in contact...well. As much as possible. Left to his own devices, he would have preferred daily interaction. As it was, he never let a night go by without at least texting the other man, and never more than a week without seeing him in person. Nikolae was, as much as Azraeth loved him, largely absent. It was true, whenever the Dragon had need, his Shadow sire was there. But Azraeth handled things a little differently. He was there. Obnoxiously there. Always there.
Azraeth
"So wait. What was this asshole doing exactly?" He asked, hands stuffed into jacket pockets as they made their way towards the Necropolis.
Azraeth
https://78.media.tumblr.com/0a8beaa0b00 ... o2_500.png []
Valdimar
Valdimar laughed. At this distance from the night in question, how could he not? The laughter was not amusement, per se, but incredulity, mostly. The incident had got lost in the miasma of new acquaintances and issues at the hotel; summer and an ice hotel were bound to have issues. Which was why the whole place wasn't made of ice, and in Summer the numerous floors of ice were cut back to only two floors. Less upkeep, until Valdimar could figure out a better system. The electricity, of course, was through the roof.
Valdimar
"Apparently cleaning up my mess," he said. As if he couldn't have cleaned it up himself. "Called me weak, like he was some kind of superhero," he shook his head, still in disbelief of the incident and the asshole who'd, instead of cleaning anything up, had just made things worse. "The point is – she remembered me. The woman. She was dazed and drunk when I left her with her friends, but she remembered me later. That I had bitten her. And this is something that happens to you, also?" he asked. He'd come from work and was dressed accordingly; Valdimar's fashion could jump between smart casual and smart-smart at the drop of a hat. But it was always smart, regardless.
Valdimar
Around the corner, up ahead, there were hints of a commotion. Valdimar, for the moment, ignored it; he preferred, instead, to listen to his sire.
Valdimar
https://www.instagram.com/p/BQsg37AjAzm ... xhamilton_ []
Azraeth
"Of course he was. That's what busy bodies always say. They see some sort of drama ongoing, and have to insert themselves into it." Because Harper Rock was filled with people who absolutely craved attention...for some reason or another. The Mystic honestly couldn't understand it. Most of his time as a vampire had been spent in the shadows of those greater than himself. He had always offered a quiet and largely ignored voice of reason. Which was to say that, in terms of events which impacted the whole of their kind, he was happy to be vocal. But one of his 'rules' was that he didn't get into other people's personal matters unless they specifically asked.
Azraeth
"Ahh. yes. It is. I haven't fed from anyone but Flynn in…" He tipped his head to one side as he considered. "...something like eight months though." And before that, Az had existed almost solely on blood packs. Sure. It was an expensive habit, but it was also safe. It also didn't trigger his prey drive the way that hunting did. Because there were times when Azraeth totally lost control. He always tidied up after himself, of course. Which was why he'd never had issues with 'secrecy hunters'. "What have you been doing since then? Willing donors? Blood packs?" The mystic believed, at his core, that his childer could have gotten basically anyone to sign up for those fangs.
Azraeth
He slowed a little bit as he heard the chaos around the corner. One corner of his mouth quirked in a nervous half smile. He could hear voices shouting. The words all flowed together. And then there was the sound of gunfire right as they were turning.
Valdimar
"Willing," Valdimar said. Blood packs were easy, yes, and if he was having a particularly busy night he'd suck on one of those. But from the source was far superior, and Valdimar took what he could get. And what he could get was… well, not whatever he wanted, but his sire would be right in assuming it wasn't hard. There were clubs in the city that catered to that kind of thing; there were humans who enjoyed the feel of teeth in their flesh and better yet, adored it when told they'd remember the whole thing the next day. Valdimar had a few regulars.
Valdimar
There were questions on the tip of his tongue, of course; there was a particular human that Valdimar wanted to taste, but he wasn't sure whether it would be proper to ask. He could be a player, but when it came to home life and 'family' he was always respectful. Not least because he'd hate to disappoint his sire, but mostly because he respected him, and all who were connected to him.
Valdimar
The time to ask said questions passed, however, as they turned the corner to witness a particularly horrific scene. Valdimar knew that Harper Rock could be violent, but this? He'd never seen anything like it. The gunfire peppered the night. There were four or five militia soldiers – ordinary Joes (and a Jane) who had taken up their arms to fight in, what they said, was the good fight. But really they just got a kick out of the power. They had surrounded a group of people who were now crumbling, shot through with bullets, bleeding. The breeze shifted, the scent travelling toward the two meandering vampires. Human.
Valdimar
"What is this?" Valdimar asked, quietly muttering. Why were human militia gunning down other humans…?
Azraeth
He stilled when he caught sight of the mess they had stumbled upon. Lips thinned into a line which made him almost unreadable. Truth. Az normally over-emoted to make up for the fact that most people could not read reptilian eyes, because they did not show emotion in the same way simian eyes did. When he wanted to be stone-faced, he could do so with startling ease. In the past couple of years though, he'd generally become happier as a person, and saw no reason to hide the fact. "This is bad." Is what Az said in response. And that was honestly probably their cue to leave. There were unarmed civilians being gunned down by militia officers and there was little they could honestly do to help out. Bodies were hitting the ground and blood was spreading in all directions. The scent of it was potent and intoxicating. As was the fear. As was the rage. He licked over his lips subconsciously.
Azraeth
He had been about to turn on his heel when a bullet came flying at them. The ballistic round lodged into his shoulder with so much force that, had he been a normal person, he probably would have been shoved backa step. He scarcely seemed to notice. "We need to get out of here before this gets me-"
Azraeth
"HEY! THERE ARE MORE THIS WAY!" The voice cut through what he'd been saying, and his expression shifted into a scowl. ****. Okay, so whoever these guys were, they seemed to be gunning down anyone and everyone they saw. Which was not great. And they were advancing.
Azraeth
We need to duck into an abandoned building. His mind reached out and spoke directly into Valdimar's head, though already, he was putting himself between the other man (who was broader than he was) and the militia members.
Valdimar
Bad, yes. Valdimar could only nod in agreement; he wanted to dive headfirst into the fray and teach these trigger-happy morons a lesson. And then there was that fleshy thuck, the unmistakable sound of bullet hitting flesh, and Valdimar knew, by lack of pain, that it was not his. His whole body was tense as he sharply turned to Azraeth; there was a hole in that precious red leather jacket, a darker read staining its brightness.
Valdimar
And then he was suggesting that they leave. "Are you kidding?!" he asked, even as a shout resonated from the group. The two of them had been seen. They were coming, guns and all. Valdimar hadn't brought any weapons with him, not anticipating any of this. But he was a vampire, loaded with cocky confidence and now, a blinding, surging fury that they had shot his sire. In his mind, there was no question of leaving.
Valdimar
Valdimar saw red. Literally, though he didn't acknowledge it, so lost in the adrenaline-fuelled reaction to the sudden and imminent threat that the two men were facing. Azraeth was far older as a vampire and more skilled, too. But Valdimar still did not want to see the man getting hurt while trying to protect him. Valdimar was certain he could take care of himself, and Az too – even if he honestly couldn't, not yet. There was a door up ahead; they'd have to go toward the militia before evading them, and regardless of whether or not Azraeth suggested the building so that they might escape, Valdimar knew the militia would follow. And that was what he banked on. They'd be easier to take indoors, given he and Azraeth were not armed.
Valdimar
His shoulder brushed his sire's as he passed him, a striding step lengthening to a trot and then a run as he headed for what he assumed as an abandoned building. And, he assumed that his sire must not be far behind.
Azraeth
The pain of the bullet wound faded in the hiss of adrenaline through his veins. His perspective differed from that of his childer. Vampires were not inherently stronger than all humans - Az knew this first hand - courtesy of three head wounds and near death he'd suffered at the hands of his sister. It was nearly impossible to tell a normal, run of the mill, edible human from someone with supernatural powers. The two men had met because of lightning wielding sorcerers, after all. Azraeth's instinct was to protect Valdimar. In most normal circumstances, he would have just teleported them away. No muss. No fuss. The reason he'd suggested a building was not to flee, but so that they could pen in the attackers and minimize potential losses. In the darkness, they had a natural advantage. Without streets to run down, their assailants would be unable to escape.
Azraeth
Not all of Az's thoughts were selfless, and only a few of them were truly benevolent. He wanted to protect Valdimar, but he knew the other man would not appreciate being phased across town. In this way, the choice was a calculated one. A way for them to feed into the natural aggression he could almost smell swelling inside of the other man. A way for him to feed the violent tendencies he had.
Azraeth
Valdimar was running. In an instant, less than the blink of an eye, Azraeth was in front of the militia member closest to the building. His hand moved like a blur, and suddenly it seemed as if he was holding a hunk of flesh which had been the man's throat. Blood was on his fingers and he lifted it to his lips so that he could drag his tongue over the ruined flesh. He grinned then to the other militia...people. His teeth were bloody in the gaps and then he gave the chunk of skin a toss and he scampered into what he hoped was an abandoned building - which Valdi had just disappeared into. Surely the little bit of taunting would be enough to attract them all inside. Check for additional exits and seal them. I'll be sure to seal this door behind them once they enter. The voice was soft in Valdi's mind, as the Mystic disappeared into the shadows.
Valdimar
The red dissipated once Valdimar was inside, from his vision at least. He was too hyped up to notice, or to care; there were red dots, skittering, scuttling across his vision and only much later would he realise that he was seeing rats. Living rats with heartbeats and hot blood in the little bodies. And when he turned to face his sire, who entered half a minute after Valdimar, it was like a scene out of Sin City; in all that black and white was a smear of red attached to his sire's hand, his lips. What was that?! A pulsing red that was quickly fading.
Valdimar
And still, there was not the time to assess. Orders were issued via telepathy and Valdimar was happy to follow. Seal the exits. They would not be getting out. The fuckers would be trapped, and soon Valdimar could have a feast, could rip out a neck or three of his own. He wasn't normally so crass or careless toward his former brethren, but he was angry. A rage licked at his inside and all he wanted was to see their blood painting the floor of this place a bright, vivid red.
Valdimar
Valdimar quit (kicked from Deserted Bar by noflood)
Valdimar
Whatever the place used to be, it was now gutted. It wasn't a warehouse but maybe a lower floor apartment. Valdimar dipped into a side room that might once have been a living room. Another door in that room led through to a kitchen, which led through to a laundry and a back door, which Valdimar was sure to lock before pushing a rusted out washing machine in front of it. Another door in the kitchen led through to the original room; an arch led through to a hall that led to a couple of bedrooms, but there were no other exits bar windows, which already had grilles secured over them. It was that bad part of town, he guessed, where people were overly cautious with security.
Valdimar
He stood at the archway, his back against the wall, peering around so that he could watch the door beside which he guessed his sire was hidden. "Two are coming through the front," he said, eyes narrowed. They now throbbed. Now, he realised something was wrong with them. Or something right? "Two are going around the back," he added, his voice a low level, as if Azraeth were right beside him. He knew that his sire would hear him, even across the space. And how did he know? He could see them, through the walls. Like x-ray vision, their bodies shaped by pulsing heat signatures.
Azraeth
He could hear Valdimar moving, and silently praised the other man for the quick way in which he handled the task he'd been given. There had been a number of young vampires he'd met who did not like to take orders, or who seemed to struggle at understanding them, even if they were simple. It was as if they were under the impression that working cooperatively somehow took away from their individuality (or something equally moronic). No, Az was just a pro at killing people (which was probably not a thing to brag about), and he was happy to share his experience. Rule number one of picking a fight was to always make sure you were picking the battle, setting the stage you wanted, and stacking the odds against your enemy. Was this unfair? Potentially. But life was not fair, and death wasn't any better. If people fell into traps, it was their own fault.
Azraeth
They will probably try and get through a window or try to beat the door you secured down. You can wipe them out if you want, or join me here when they inevitably step through the front door. He commented. Which was right around the time the two men darted through the front door. Rather than totally block the exit, Azraeth announced himself by shoving the door shut with a crash. The two men whirled on him. But it was dark. Pitch black in that building with no lights. Az could see though, and even if he hadn't been able to, the scent of the two men was enough to perk the nostrils of any predator. They smelled of stupidity and anger.
Azraeth
"You're harming innocent humans." He said as he stepped closer. There was gunfire as the two men shot at him. But they couldn't see, and they had no clue where he was, so the bullets collided with walls, richoched, some lodged deep in flooring and some in ceilings. None of them hit their mark. "Maybe you're just assholes. Maybe you're trigger happy. Maybe you think that the best way to cure the zombie epidemic is to just kill anyone and everyone that could be one." He said, his tone even. "You are a plague on your house and your kind."
Azraeth
The darkness seemed to flex around him, and then it was like spikes of pure blackness slammed as needles through calves, arms, necks, chests, hips and pelvis. They darted in and out rapidly, with so much force that the two men were merely buffeted with blows without being tossed one way or another. The pain likely didn't hit immediately. They did not know they were already dead. But Valdimar certainly knew when their corpses hit the ground and blood began to ooze out.
Valdimar
Valdimar knew what they would try, and fail, to do. The door was secured and even if they shot through the door's lock, they would be able to push it open. The passage was narrow and the washing machine, though rusted out, was still heavy. The windows were out of the question, though the Icelander hadn't tested the bars, himself. They might be able to be torn from loose moorings, the glass of the windows broken. But he knew where the militia were. He knew their every move. They weren't even inside! And he could see them.
Valdimar
The Killer was euphoric. What was this new thing that he was capable of? What wondrous power did he now have at his fingertips? Thus far he hadn't inherited anything from his sire, beyond that strange ability to be remembered when he bit someone. The torpor he'd not yet realised was not normal. What he had discovered about himself, over time, was added strength and speed, which allowed him to burrow and to leap. Oh, and his fingers turned to claws. In fact, they'd morphed already, without Valdimar having realised. Weapons, without needing to carry weapons.
Valdimar
The point, though. Valdimar wanted to use those claws. He wanted to tear through flesh and taste blood on his tongue. But he was missing out on all the fun. Already the men who'd come through the front were dead, their blood spreading beneath fresh corpses, still hot. It was like a beacon, drawing him in. "Leave the last two for me, vinsamlegast," he said. He'd said please, in his native tongue. Please, but his tone was terse. Almost irritable.
Valdimar
As they both already knew, the men tried to get through the door, the sound of their shoulders thudding against wood reverberating through the building. Glass smashed, but they couldn't get through. Valdimar's throat, his mouth, was dry. And then he grinned. "They're coming back around," he said, spinning from where he'd stood against the arch and into the same room as Azraeth. He stopped not far from his sire, though outside the pools of blood. His head turned as the remaining two men moved, following their red auras on their tour back around the building. And when they got close, he silently pressed against the wall on the other side of the door.
Valdimar
They came crashing through like bulldogs, but Valdimar was quicker. Clawed fingers reached for the gun, as it was the first thing through the door. He twisted it and the holder's arm, snapping bone as he wrenched the weapon from the moron's hand. He used the weapon to shoot the second man directly between the eyes, and he fell like a sack of potatoes. The single remaining militia-man was subject to Valdimar's thirst; he'd be the drink that would slate the killer's thirst. Claws dug into the man's shoulder, pinning him in place. Sharpened canines tore at the soft flesh of his neck, inevitably cutting off his cry of pain. It turned into a gurgle as Valdimar began to drink his fill.
Azraeth
I had no contrary thoughts on the matter. He admitted as he heard Valdimar moving towards him with the speed and power of a juggernaut. Something told Azraeth that given time to develop his powers, his childer was the sort of person who would be unstoppable in a fight. Unceasing in motion. Endless in the danger he presented. Already, the younger dragon was formidable and intimidating in his baring. But any sire worth their salt believed they were in the presence of greatness when they were near their progeny. A sire who sought to contain the abilities and potential of those around them was doomed to be surpassed. Because greatness called to greatness, and power only grew when in the presence of a hostile and adverse environment.
Azraeth
He didn't say as much, but Azraeth took a step back, and fell as silent as death so he could watch what the other man did. So he could appreciate the work. So he could marvel over every move that the Killer made. It was enough to make emotion well up inside of him, to leave pride inflating in his chest so broadly that it pushed everything else out. Yes, theirs was a dark pact. That was part of the nature of their bond. To do things in the night which few would ever understand. Bound together by violent secrets. And so he watched as Valdimar put a bullet in one man's head. He watched still, when the other man fed deeply from the last of the men. And then the life was all snuffed out in the little building, leaving the two of them standing there alone.
Azraeth
His smile was near visible, bright and ivory as it was. He drew closer, though he made no move to touch Valdimar. Some vampires, when they fed, did not like to have hands on them. "This too, is an option. One that I have taken on occasion, in the past. Others may remember your fangs, but death always keeps its secrets." He whispered. He stood beside the Killer. "You will have these urges for the rest of time, the desire to feed, the craving for violence. This is part of you now, and so long as you control it, and only unleash it on those you feel are deserving - then it can be a beautiful part of you." He concluded, his voice low and warm, a little rough from the hunger he had to contain.
Valdimar
The words washed over the Killer. He appreciated them, indulged in them, absorbed them like he absorbed everything his sire told him and taught him. He'd not been steered awry yet, and nor did he think he ever would be. Although he knew that his sire had heart beyond measure, he also knew Azraeth to be a killer, to be good at it. Swift, and exact. He was a force to be reckoned with. Something to strive for, Valdimar thought. Goals.
Valdimar
A growl rumbled in his throat. It wasn't a threatening growl. He did not mind his sire being close, but he minded that his sire had been shot. Perhaps Valdimar should have cared for the innocent humans they had gunned down for no reason, and beneath the immediate insult to his sire, he knew these men (and woman) were bad. **** yes, they deserved it.
Valdimar
The red auras had faded from the other bodies, now only a subtle shade of pink and purple, like a bruise. The only surviving aura was the one in Valdimar's grasp. There was still some blood left and, though he knew that his sire was capable of restoring his own blood with only the power of magic, Valdimar still pulled back. He pulled his bottom lip between his teeth to suck the last of the blood from the plump pout. His eyes fluttered open, now bathed in the dim light shining from outside through the open door.
Valdimar
They were the same blue, though now threaded with a darker blue, like tiny jagged veins. The pupil cut through the middle, a black so dark it threatened the abyss. He blinked twice, quickly, in succession; the light was brighter than usual, and his brow furrowed to accommodate, eyes straining. "You were shot," he said, still holding the militia-man up. "You should have the rest…" he said.
Azraeth
He had been shot, and he had almost forgotten that fact. Vampires could take a fair amount of damage - though they lacked the trait common to zombies, which made them effectively invulnerable until they were incapacitated. Vampires could certainly feel pain. Az was just very used to it. When there were other things to be done, it was the sort of thing that could almost totally be ignored. His smile only grew at the offer to drain the rest of the mortal, but he gave a little shake of his head and instead leaned closer to Valdimar. There was something different about him, something which had shifted, though in the near peerless dark, he couldn't have said exactly what that was. "Another of my magic tricks." He said, letting some of the vital energies flex inside of him. And then the wound to his shoulder healed. It was not instantaneous, but it may as well have been, the way it closed up and how the bullet popped out, only to roll down his sleeve until it dropped into his palm. He caught it in his palm and held it up.
Azraeth
"Thank you though. We should be getting out of here. Even with the chaos this town is in, I'm sure all the gunfire is going to have drawn attention. Actually…" The idea of two men making their way across town covered in blood seemed like a bad idea. Instead, he lifted a hand so that he could lay his fingers on one of the Killer's broad shoulders. Suddenly, they stood at the very entrance of his apartment in Beta Towers - one he hadn't used in ages. He'd actually designed it to be soundproofed, and for blood to almost disappear once inside. It was the sort of place that was obviously a waiting crime scene - but which offered up no fair evidence.
Azraeth
Though it seemed his teleportation had brought a little guest along with them. Specifically the man in Valdimar's arms. Whoops! Az chuckled softly and moved to push the door open so they could retreat inside. The property was almost exclusively owned by vampires though, so he wasn't at all concerned. "There's a shoot that leads to the incinerator just over there." He said, pointing. "You can drop him down that once you're done with him."
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This thread was submitted via a live roleplay chat in the Deserted Bar area. Participants and rewards were: Azraeth earned 3963 RPP. Valdimar earned 3269 RPP.