Nimble Crimson [MM]

[Storyteller]

Title: Nimble Crimson
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Characters: Myk, Charlie, Jack Diddly, Marisol

Myk must post first, outlining a story on the following theme (feel free to get creative):

Setting: An unsettling pine forest
Backstory: The group ended up crossing paths as a result of some criminal undertaking (some or all characters).
Occurance: [character 1] has been wounded to the point of near death
Variable: Charlie is vomiting blood.

Participants: 4
ARES: yes
Speed: very slow
Chapter: no
Minimum Words Per Post: 300
Maximum Words Per Post: none

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This thread was generated via the Roleplay Matchmaking System.

[Myk]

A light drizzle brought heaven a little closer to earth tonight.

In the shallow darkness of the city streets, clouds hung at eye-level and soaked right through to the bones. But the summer rain was sticky with heat, confusing the bodies of mortals into feverish states. A young man drew the lapels of his pale-grey trench coat around him; a shield from the mist that pressed into his white skin and black clothes. Hair the colour of rich soil drank in the invading vapour, hanging heavy on trim shoulders. It was difficult for him to ignore the cold and the contrasting humidity; his thighs were stinging, but his feet kept marching. Rubber soles made light work of the pavement, barely making a sound under the soft hiss of rain in the air that kept even the regular bustle of the city hushed. Nevertheless, ears tuned into the man’s movements, carrying dark and hungry eyes over from across the street.

The mortal had no idea that he was being watched or indeed being followed; he was oblivious to the shadow which had drifted over to the path behind him. His head was down to reduce the buffer of wind and rain against his grey-blue eyes and he watched his feet mostly, sparing a glance up into the world ahead of him to confirm he was heading in the right direction. The light from his mobile device cast an ethereal glow onto his ageless, handsome features, making the predator ever keener to track him. As time passed, the gap between the shadow and the moonlit man got shorter, and as soon as darkness takes over light, this shadowy figure took over the mortal.

Without any warning, the young man was dragged from behind into an alleyway. A heavy, cold hand was clasped over his mouth to stifle any screams of surprise or terror, but the mortal barely had time to yelp or breathe as this shroud – thick as tar – washed over him and numbed his senses. There was no pain as teeth settled on the taught muscle between neck and shoulder, a smoothing lick to the throbbing vein was not sensed either, and even the scrape of fingernails on his wrists and the brickwork against his back was beyond a dream that the mortal saw with his waking eyes.

As the mortal dreamt of darkness and emptiness, his attacker sank his teeth in to his throat. Every tooth was a scalpel and as the skin broke, the blood pushed out willingly, traitorously into the other man’s mouth. The Telepath was overwhelmed with the taste of fresh blood, the taste of something deep, perhaps the most pure and bitter dark chocolate; the kind that makes you wince when it hits the back of your tongue yet causes taste buds to tingle. Barely a single drop was missed or spilt, despite the Vampire’s desperation, and although the Human neither felt the imbibing pressure or the subsequent lethargy sweep over him, his attacker drank with the savagery of a starving wolf.

This might have been the defining moment in the young man’s life – in fact, it might very well have been his last. Yet, despite the passion and the hunger and the rage with which the Telepath acted, logic and reason poured through. At first, like a trickle and then like a tidal wave hitting a concrete wall; the Vampire could deny reason and logic no longer. He could have killed this Human, drained every last drop of that clean and bitter-sweet liquor in those veins, but if he had, that would have been the end of it. An eternity without such a tasteful treat to pick on from time to time seemed like a torturous one to the being cloaked in darkness. The Vampire sealed the wound with yet another flick of his tongue – something in the saliva allowing for the switch between a blood thinner and coagulant to take effect.

With a groan, the young man was held against the wall, a forehead pressed against his collar bone through the trench coat he was wearing. A goodbye was whispered in a sorrowful tune, but being hypnotised, it was unlikely the mortal was able to determine any sound the Telepath made. The Vampire withdrew then, melting entirely into blackness, and with his support gone, the mortal slid down the wall and into a slump on the damp floor of the alleyway. The bewitching cloud that had stolen his senses would slowly lift, like the atmosphere, but the Vampire was long gone; on the march for safety and a place in the wilderness to lick his wounds.

By the time Myk had reached the edge of the pine forest, the rain had ceased and the clouds had gathered in thick clumps, growing over one another like corals seeking new ground. The moon was only a silver crescent in the pitch sky, but its light faltered through the layering of cloud. Nothing lit the way, leaving the forest path a treacherous venture. The Telepath had little way of knowing where he was or where he could go and even his super senses – for all their sensitivity – could not force coherent images into his damaged brain. Pewter eyes felt heavy and sore like sandpaper had worn away the soft cushioning of his ocular cavities, leaving those balls of nerves to scrape against a barbed surface. The Telepath rubbed his eyes a few times, but nothing could clear the fogging in his mind. Each step pushed a surge of white-hot lances through his skull that ricocheted against the bone, consuming him in dizzying pain. And all because he had stepped too far, too soon…

Why had he been so careless?

The question had a thousand answers and they hurried into focus like a swarm of reporters pushing through the door of a corrupt politician’s office, fighting tooth and claw for that exclusive interview. Myk was startled by the glare and noise of accusation: because he was a careless person, reckless, selfish, stupid – because he would never be good enough. He hadn’t noticed that he had stopped in his tracks, both arms lolling at his sides, the fingers of his left hand pulled into a tight first while the fingers of his right hand twitched as though they were typing upon an invisible keyboard.

In the velvet silence, the underbrush crunched.

[Charlie]

WEARING

Much like balled-up gum stuck to her shoe, Liam Macpherson made of himself a nuisance. Regret coursed through her at the thought of not discarding him sooner, though she hadn’t anticipated just how insistent he’d be.

As she stared at into his ashen face and dead eyes, the regret didn’t lessen. In no universe would she call the man a friend—he’d been anything but, yet there was no denying this outcome could have been avoided if she’d taken action sooner.

Leaning forward to close his lids before they manoeuvred him out of the car, Charlie felt a wave of nausea. It occurred to her, just then, that while she’d killed many creatures risen from the rift, never had she cold-bloodedly killed a human. If it weren’t for Marisol’s level-headed presence and no-nonsense arguments, there was little doubt in the allurist mind that she’d have offered Liam the gift of a second life to assuage her guilt.

Straightening her posture, Charlie wondered whether that been what he’d sought from her? He’d never made his intentions clear, which was part of the reason he’d made her so uncomfortable. The thought of dealing with him for eternity put a momentary stopgap to her contrition. Making him a vampire would have made him difficult to kill. After all, she didn’t know what he held over her that’d made him so damn confident she’d heed. In his final moments, he’d failed to bargain for his life with whatever information he’d had. Whatever he knew would continue to evade her, but at least there was no one holding anything over her. That was what had tipped her over the edge.

“I’ll start gathering wood,” she announced, moving away from Liam’s corpse and her sister-in-blood, Marisol. The two girls had been friends for a long while, but in her absence Charlie had realised just how esteemed the other was to her. Now, they’d truly gone through the thin and thick of it. Helping a friend discard a body was perhaps one of the most solid proofs of friendship and trust there was.

Stepping away from the clearing where they’d settled on burning his body, the allurist patted her belly. Discomfort made her insides rumble, and with her thoughts returning to the scene of death, the blood crawled its way up her gullet. Cold and thick, the human blood she threw up only furthered her discomfort; it tasted like Liam Macpherson. It’d been this very taste that’d set her down this path.

[Jack Diddly]

A bag of bones. Not the body that meandered through the damp forest, though it would have been an accurate description, but rather the zip tied garbage bag that said body had slung over his shoulder. In truth with his worn black, leather jacket, perpetual five o’clock shadow, unruly brown locks, and the ragged denim jeans he sported he looked like a hobo Santa Claus. Though the gifts he carried in his sack were much less than the merry sort, certainly not what one would distribute to spread cheer.

Often he would ask himself how he found himself in such predicaments and often the answer was one thing, the allure of the blood. The young vampire just couldn’t help himself, he needed to feed. Feeding had it’s costs though, especially when your kiss was cursed. It made one an old friend of murder rather quickly. Tonight though, he’d miscalculated. The vampire thought back for a moment to the body burning in that alleyway, under the pouring summer rain. He watched in abject horror as the skin melted away under the lick of the flames and when the bones charred black rather than disintegrated into a grey ash, he knew he had made a fatal error. How though? He was usually quite careful, quite sure that they would turn, just as he was sure tonight’s snack was showing all the symptoms of impending vampirism.

It wasn’t that the vampire was territorial, in fact, he loved the idea of a society of his own kind. Creating vampires with a kiss would have been a blessing as far as he was concerned. The problem was, they never came out quite right. To call them cursed, would have been an understatement. They were mad and feral, irrational beasts, more monster than man.

So now the tall, soaked, tattooed vampire trekked through the wilds just outside the city limits. A garbage bag from the alleyway he first emptied and then filled with the scorched bones of his latest meal, his only companion. It wouldn’t have done to have left the body. Though the population was dropping, no doubt someone would have come across it and vampires needed no additional negative press these days.

He pushed aside a few branches as he made his way deeper into the darkness. He was sure his sire had warned him to avoid this place, but he couldn’t recall why at the moment. He was still high on the andereline of the hunt, on the power of the blood. The vampire could feel the sweet elixir coursing through him, warming his cool, pale flesh. There was no guilt for his crime, just a aggravated, agitation at his own carelessness. Still he was giddy on the summer air, damp with the ghost of the rain. He kicked a rather large stone out of the way, it scuffed his black boot before it crashed with a loud ‘thud’ into the trunk of a tree. He wanted to just throw the bones down and spin around in the darkness. It was a strange notion, but he was feeling high as a kite, youthful and free.

It became quite apparent that he wasn’t alone, however, as he progressed deeper into the darkness. The vampire swore he could hear someone tailing him. He began to zig-zag through the trees, ducking under some branches, squeezing himself and his bag through some of the wild brush that snaked and blossomed throughout the forest. He could feel the life within it as it grazed his hands and his neck, but there was no time to reflect on that. He kept his eyes to his back, trying to lose whomever it was that, he felt, was hot on his tail. With a sky full of clouds, there was no starlight to help pierce the darkness. Trying in vain, the vampire peered through the gloom behind him, attempting to make out what exactly was back there. His lack of attention to what was happening ahead of him caused him to just stop short of colliding with a fella standing still in the darkness.

He’d begun a sort of sprint, though if you’d of asked him when, he wouldn’t have been able to tell you. The vampire only realized he’d been running when the obstacle of another immortal, quite literally, stood in his way. He found himself screeching to halt, much like a suburban sedan trying to avoid a child in the road. His boots scrunched against the soft earth and kicked up a bit of mud around his ankles, but he managed to not topple into the guy. That was most certainly a plus. After a quick interlude of gaining his composure, he found that he was standing face to face with the man, though something was clearly wrong. He dropped his bag of bones.

“Hey, brother,” he began, in a soft, melodious tone, as he outstretched an arm to the fellow, placing a hand gently on his shoulder, “is everythin’ alright?” Usually he wasn’t so forward, but Jack was still feeling mighty euphoric. The man looked as though he might be in some kind of trance, but the look on his face seemed to tell a different tale.

[Marisol]

{wearing}

In her time of being a vampire, Marisol had become comfortable playing the role of bait. Like a moth to a flame, she never had any difficulty luring men to her so that she could feed. Occasionally, carelessness would bring their death, but she hadn't been a stranger to disposing bodies; not since Logan, at least. She was no stranger to death. So when Charlie's request had come, she hadn't been bothered in the least. She hadn't needed to ask any further questions. There were already a few plans dancing through her mind to get rid of evidence even further. Perhaps they could have Mariah lead a credit card trail leading to Mexico, as if the man had decided to leave elsewhere.

From there, one of the girls could hack away as needed.

As her dark hair fell over her shoulder, Marisol reached into the pocket of her jeans and pulled out her keys. With a touch of her thumb to the small black square, the trunk lifted to where she'd put a shovel and a few garden trash bags . She knew that the ashes would be better to bury, but the bones that would not burn would need to be relocated later. It was messy work, in the end, but Marisol wouldn't have it any other way as she put her keys back into her pocket. Protecting her friend, her sister-in-blood, was more important. As she grabbed a hold of the corpse, the dark haired allurist helped Charlie to drag him out of the backseat.

The electric Tesla powered down slowly, leaving them in darkness as they set the body on the ground. “Alright, I would not go too far in without shifting. We do not need the fae to get you..” As Charlie headed out, Marisol dusted off the front of her jeans before looking down at the dead man. “All you had to do, mate, was back off. Should’ve gathered some sense after the first bite.” She gave of her head as she spoke to the corpse before crouching down and patting down his clothes. She removed his wallet and rolled up his sleeves in search of tattoos and any other identifiers.

When she was sure nothing could be traceable for the time being, she removed the identification and credit cards. Afterwards, Marisol tossed the wallet into the trees - it would be only be contributed to the many others that could be found across the city. The cards were slipped into her back pocket for the time being and went to collect her shovel so that she could outline where she’d begin to dig a shallow grave that would act to keep the fire contained. With each movement, she listened to the footsteps of her friend only pausing every now to relocate where the other had gone.

[Myk]

There often comes a point when carelessness is so recurrent that it becomes intolerable, insufferable, and at later points even questionable. There comes a point when all excuses are spent and when wisdom excites on the possibility of pretence – or at least for those not already put-off by the charade. The tragedy of man could be found effortlessly; to open one’s eyes was to guarantee a path into misery could be located. Most commonly, it was from man’s own nature that his desolation was born. From the social constructs that build the singular identity, a man can come to also hate himself; that in becoming, one is shaped – sometimes against their own will. This conflict can often drive a man insane and force him into acts of self-deprecation or even mutilation; where losing a body part – such as an ear – represents the most extreme cry for change.

The 200 year old Wraith, Rutherford, had learned much in his time of life. His education had been both formal and unorthodox; attributing to a chaotic world view and instinct. Of course, he had learned much more in his death; waking to find that a Vampire’s astute mind could hold more weight in knowledge than the ocean held water. Later on, Rutherford had found that the Shadow Realm could suffice as a classroom as well, provided one knew what to look for. Even in this form – that of a man’s silhouette cast upon the wall of the world – Rutherford had learned so very, very much. Most importantly, he had learned that he was bound to the service of a flailing Telepath and that his charge – because Myk could hardly be considered anyone’s superior – could be counted among both those with the very best and the very worst forms of insanity.

The Wraith had watched with keen interest when, just hours prior to this moment in the woods, Myk had attempted to play tag with a beast far larger than he was brave. Suffice it to say that the encounter hadn’t ended well. Not merely because Myk’s lithe form was swatted away with so little effort that their pairing could be likened to combat between a moth and a grizzly bear, but because their union had not been so private either. It took one stray, careless bullet to make the Telepath an enemy in the eyes of the private militia, and the collective firepower of three heavily armed soldiers was more than enough to convince him to tuck tail and run. With sixty-eight supernatural powers under his belt, it could be argued that there had been more than enough opportunity for the Vampire to hold his ground, and yet, he made little attempt to even evade the onslaught of burning lead.

Myk had been struck with three wounds as he’d fled. One bullet had punctured the inside of his left calf muscle, searing through the collection of tendons, nerves, blood vessels, and connective tissues that made running and walking possible. After that, Myk’s agile sprint away from his aggressors became more of a sad gallop – like that of a three legged giraffe traversing a frozen pond. Slowed and seemingly out of his element, it was far easier to pick up a subsequent set of wounds. The second bullet to hit plunged through the nape of his neck, bursting out in a spray of vibrant crimson that poured angrily down the front of his snow-white attire. The lace was undoubtedly ruined, but all thoughts of salvaging the jumpsuit were exploded out of his brain when the third and final bullet struck.

When the high-powered round punched through white skin, muscle, skull, and brain meat, and then out through to the other side, Rutherford suspected that his charge would finally obtain his wish to visit the ‘Dark Place’. Myk hit the pavement as ceremoniously as an inebriated bride-to-be who’d discovered the disastrous consequences of mixing tequila shots, Sambuca, and stiletto heels. Even his shoulder-length, moonlit hair fell around his prone body like a sad veil. Yet, his aggressors did not take pity on the drag queen; with firearms poised, they marched toward his position. Rutherford couldn’t determine if it was luck, divine intervention, or a moment of clarity that possessed Myk in that moment, but his actions were brilliant. Fading into the shadows, the Telepath disappeared from sight and took off from his attackers. He blended into an alleyway, stalked the darkened paths, and awaited a morsel to happen by. And now he stood in the middle of the forest; prone, weakened, and out of his damn mind…

The Telepath didn’t consciously detect the approach of the other male, but his presence did have a startling effect on him regardless. The commotion in his head stopped as if the needle arm of a record player had been ripped from its hinges. The man’s voice hadn’t been enough to stir the madman from his introspection – frankly, the words flew past his ears – it was the touch upon his shoulder that had done it. Pewter eyes, which had once stared off unblinkingly into darkness and shrubbery, now looked to the being before him with a glassy-eyed stare. The expression Myk wore was an amalgam of confusion and dread; as if being woken by the thin rays of sunlight peeking in through bedroom curtains. Myk immediately tried to make sense of the male face in front of him, but such recognition might have been fruitless even before a bullet to the head, which still wept from the ping-pong ball sized wound above his left eye.

Judging from the man’s placid nature and the voluntary contact that Myk had not incited – had he? – the Telepath decided that he must have met this one before. So he smiled – wide, toothy, and cheerful like Wonderland’s most endearing feline and pressed a blood-soaked mitten on the man’s hand in greeting. His sharpened claws clicked against the man’s skin for a moment before he dragged his paw away. His scarlet-painted smile persisted.

“Hello again,” he announced quite loudly, forgetting momentarily how to measure an acceptable speaking volume. “Hello, again,” he repeated in a welcoming Parisian purr. “It is so nice to see you. How are you?”

[Storyteller]

==========AUTOMATED RANDOM EVENTS SYSTEM==========

Myk catches the distinct scent of smoke in the air.

[Jack Diddly]

It was the blood, of course. At first he thought it might have been part of the man’s make-up job. He did have the look of a performer to him and perhaps he was one of those ‘shock rocker’ types. It was real blood though that painted thick streaks down the guy’s face. Jack could smell it, it had the foul stench of death upon it. In fact the poor fellow was covered in the stuff. An outfit that screamed ‘glam rock’ now had a death metal look to it as the purity of the white fabric took on the stains of murder and corruption. Jack gave the guy a thorough once-over, keeping his hand on the guy’s shoulder to steady him. The first wound was quite apparent, the gash the hung above the fellow’s left eye looked as though it could have been from a bullet wound. Jack was no doctor, but he’d seen his fair share of gunfire and the consequences that resulted. If it was as Jack had suspected it to be, then such a wound would have played havoc on this fella’s mind. It confirmed one thing though, standing before him was a vampire. No mortal would have been able to stand after a gunshot to the head. Also no mortal would be leaking vampire blood. There was a second wound, Jack noticed, an opening in the side of the vampire’s neck. Clearly he had taken a lickin’.

This probably wasn’t a good spot to find themselves in, after all, something was coming through the shadows of the forest. He could still hear it rustling in the distance, could hear the trees at his back being pushed aside. Jack wondered if the vampire would respond to him, he wondered how long it took the mind to heal. After a few minutes though, the fellow did indeed show some signs of cognition. Jack leaned in a bit studying the strangeness of the color, searching for a sign of life. The glazed over look seemed to come to focus upon him and he leaned back, making sure to give this vampire some space. Especially considering how he looked completely lost and startled in those moments, as if being shaken awake from a very deep sleep.

The vampire reached up and patted the hand that Jack was resting on his shoulder. It, too, was covered in dead blood. Jack also couldn’t help but notice the fingernail like claws that seemed to graze over his skin. He wasn’t sure if they had been painted red or were just shimmering with blood in the darkness. The smile that accompanied it was wide, maybe too wide. It might have still been the ecstasy of the everlasting elixir working its way through him, but with the blood that decorated the vampire’s features, Jack couldn’t help but see a glasgow smile carved into the delicacies of his face.

The tenor of his voice was startling in the near silence of the darkness. Jack had hardly expected something so loud. He jumped, quickly withdrawing his hand and looking behind him. He turned back as the vampire repeated his greeting, this time in a much softer tone, just as Jack placed a finger to his own lips, hissing a ‘shhssh.’ “Not so loud,” he responded in that gruff, melodious voice of his, “there’s something tailing me. Can you move? Because we need to.” Jack then gave him a rather strange look. Had the vampire just said it was nice to see him again? Jack had met quite a few folks in his travels, but this glamorous gentleman didn’t seem the least bit familiar. Perhaps the bullet had done some irreparable damage and he was completely gone. No, Jack refused to believe that. The preternatural powers of a vampire were limitless.

Jack began to dig through the inner pocket of his beat up leather jacket. He withdrew a silver flask and popped it open. “Are you hungry? It’s fresh, might make you feel better. Has a bit of a kick to it, though.” And that was true. The guy he’d gotten it from, the one whose remains had been shoved in the garbage bag laying behind him, had been terrified when Jack took him. It was something the young vampire had wanted to experiment with, the effects of haunting illusions on not only the mind of a man, but also on his blood. An idea, May, of all people, had popped into his head. The potency seemed to increase in line with the trauma inflicted. Jack hoped that held true for healing properties as well, but in any case, a little blood couldn’t hurt the situation. He offered the flask to the pale haired vampire.

[Storyteller]

==========AUTOMATED RANDOM EVENTS SYSTEM==========

Jack Diddly is suddenly struck with an intense, throbbing pain in their skull.