Path of the Vampire forum

Dominique: The visual was enough. The idea Doc had a red hot poker within reach was just not right on any level. Her face deadpanned. Well this was a bit of a pickle she was in."If he knew what I am then why the hell is he sneaking in my pet door, getting stuck, sleeping in my tent on my lawn and turning up offering me rides wherever I go? I sure didn't wanna hang with you when I first figured it out. He asked me a date. You are right. He probably wants in my pants. Knows I am dark and dangerous? I highly doubt it."

Doc: Doc looked at her incredulously. "Are you that ******* clueless?" He pinched the bridge of his nose. "I cannot believe you are that naive. You're trying to play me.. and babydoll.. I am not falling for that ****. It's clear your precious 'Ben' is an adrenaline junkie. Oh yeah. He knows what you are.. and he is into living dangerously, which includes, being in your face enough ..until you, one.. offer to turn him; two, do something that he can use to 'blackmail' you into turning him, or three.. **** his brains out." He returned her deadpan look. "Kill the ******. I have an incinerator. No one will know.. if you are careful."

Dominique: "I don't turn and I need a lover like I need a hole in my head. Yeah, Prince, I know. It works for this." She hated when her sire was right but there was something that just wasn't making sense. She had no proof or idea to go along with what seemed incredibly off but there was certainly more to it than she was able to put her finger on. "Incinerator huh?" She looked up at him and narrowed her eyes giving the idea some thought. "How big is it?"

Doc: Doc wasn't about to give her too much information to scare her off. He wasn't ******* crazy. "Look.. it's big enough. I have legitimate reason for having it. I don't like to use it for 'other' means.." He stifled a snort. Yea right he didn't. He had two ******* incinerators. She didn't need to know that. "but it is medical grade. So.. in a pinch I can use it." Truth was, he would use the other one. The one she didn't know about. The one that could have two full bodies no problem. "It is the masquerade that is important here."

Dominique: "I have a crazy son of a ***** stalking me, who knows what the hell is going on with Ben but that is almost more creepy than your boy wonder who by the way needs to drive his car in his own driveway. It's right up there with taking a piss in the neighbor's lawn. Makes no sense. None at all. I trust you will give him an alternative route to drive his silver parade float. I get it. I will figure it out and get a hold of you when I take Ben for a walk." She was not needing this ****.

Doc: "Me? Why the **** should I do anything?" He gives her a hard look. "The crazy son of a ***** is Ben.. Tee is one of us. He more than likely knows you are mine. He's a friend and looking out for me. Hell as far as I know.. Maybe He saw your precious 'Ben' lurking around and Tee is trying to ******* protect you. Think outside your narrow thumper-loving box."

Dominique: "Before or after he gunned down the female and told me to chase her down because she was getting away and had at least five identities on her?" She looked at him. "He was willing to sit back and watch her run and gambled that I would clean it up for him. If he is looking out for you then he needs a hell of a lot more training because it looks sloppy." Dominique was getting irritated with his tone. "Think about the ones he potentially watched run away and didn't retrieve?"

Doc: Doc laughed. "He expected you to clean up after him? I doubt that highly." He gave her an amused look. "Did he want you to..." he made quotey fingers, "think that? Sure." He smirked again. "So who was fooled? Hmmm? The boy was taught by the best. " The smirk widened. "The ones that potentially got away." He mockingly looked about. He strove to listen for them. "Shhhh...Hear that?" He put a hand up to his ear, and leaned as if straining to hear; then said dryly, "Yea." Deadpan. "Neither do I."

Dominique: "I will deal with Ben. You keep your boy, Trahir on a tight leash and out of my yard. He belongs in yours. I don't need anymore pets hanging around." She killed plenty of others who truly deserved it. Just never took one of her employees and introduced them to an incinerator. "I am on it. Glad we got to catch up. You look...well." With that she nodded and made her way out. It seems her and Ben had a date of sorts.

Doc: Doc called after her, as she sauntered off, "I don't control Tee's leash. If he's in your yard.. it might be because there is something in there that he likes..." He gave her a knowing smirk and a wink if she turned back, she might catch it. It was actually more of a knowing leer. Some of his spawns were a bit slow on the uptake when it came to the opposite sex.

Dominique: Minx heard it all as she hiked on towards the direction from where she originally came. Now it was Doc that was confused. She saw that look in Trahir's eyes. It was void of anything but the predator within. He was as basic and primal in that respect. He wanted nothing but more fresh meat, another soul to suffocate and its essence to devour. He was taking and he was consuming whatever was in his path. She was making it easier for him because he was assuming she was weak or incapable of holding her ground if she kept allowing him to push at her without pushing back. Well, he was mistaken. This wasn’t her first time at this type of rodeo. She would make that clear as well as the fact she knew damn well where she fit in the world around them. Both of them would soon find out.

Doc: He wasn't really sure what Tee was up to in regard to Minx, but he surmised that Tee saw the same thing in her, that he did. Minx had that aura about her, that drew their kind to her. But if they got too close, they would soon find themselves in quicksand. He knew first hand how deadly she could be. He was tempted to give Tee a call and perhaps.. nudge him toward her once more. There was nothing like watching those doe brown eyes go from luring you in.. to dealing your fate with death. Yes, he needed to touch base with Tee, just to see how he was doing.

Only two stops left to make this evening after this quick run through of the slums in Newborough. One of course is the farm. As Trahir prowls the rooftops of the scum-filled streets of the slums for a suitable victim his attention is drawn by the scent of vampire blood. Potent, so much different than that or a mortal. Unmistakable to his heightened senses. Dropping to a crouch the Killer races across the rooftop and drops silently down from the building into the alley. The sounds are coming from the crack den. Trahir has raided the place in the past both for victims and some of the gang members ill-gotten good. Weapons, drugs, things some of the shadier merchants of Harper Rock appreciated seeing laid on the counter tops of their little shops speckling the city. They had stopped trying to sell Trahir the contraband blood packs long ago. They never even mentioned it in their list of illicit goods.

Through the shadows Trahir peers as he enters through a window. The scene laid out before him gives him pause. Three vampires, two of which he recognizes immediately and one he knows by reputation alone are engaged in what would be combat if the one wasn’t simply being massacred by the pair taking turns lopping off pieces. Trahir frowns in the gloom as he watches silently a moment. He dislikes the activity. Vampires are the lords of the night and in death deserve more dignity than this gangster and his trollop were giving them. He decides to act. Pulling out his phone he sets it up to record the scene before him and looks for something heavy he can use to make some noise.

He grabs a nearby chair and flings it, away from the three, throwing it against a far wall, and using the moment of distraction, he lunges forth, his sword flashing in the dim and embedding into the head of the partially dismembered victim of the two sadistic torturers. A powerful, anima fueled leap brings him back to his phone as he shuts off the recording feature, flipping the screen open to the ever-present violations list. Hm, bonus. he thinks, noting the vampire currently crumbling to ash before him had been on it. Not waiting for the two to decide to react he leaps out the window into the night and glances around, making sure the coast is clear. In a burst of celerity he is gone, not stopping until he reaches his destination, his last stop of the night before returning to the farmhouse.

Silks. A strip club known for entertaining clientele of the vampiric nature. Trahir has no interest in pussy tonight though. Not tonight. In truth the thought of women does little for the Killer most of the time. He thrives on blood, hunting, death. Sex is something he thinks about on rare occasions. The doesn’t bother trying to remember when that started being the case.

He makes his way to the door, pays his cover charge and steps into the club, suddenly flooded with bass from the music, the scent of the dancers’ perfumes and the din of conversations being heard over the crashing of the music.

This has never much been Trahir’s scene. He would prefer an opera, a formal ball, even a charity event, black or white tie of course, yet this trip is not for pleasure. Trahir has arrangements to make with the mistress of the house. She has an ability he has heard and though she normally puts it to use to be whatever a vampiric client wants to stick their **** in, Trahir needs it for something entirely different..

Trahir notes the type of clientele ranges from human to vampire and even some blood thieves he recognizes from the streets. Apparently some of them have been spending on more than vampire blood. He meets eyes with a tattooed man, obviously a paladin and winks at the man. He notes the face for later in his mind, sure the paladin is doing the same.


He walks past the bar, ignoring the bartender and the shots girls as they try and approach him, he walks through the pathetic customers, throwing their money away to see the flesh of a stranger who would just as soon spit in their face as **** them. He makes his way you the steps leading up to the second floor.

The bouncer guarding the steps is an imposing man, he looks as though he could break another man in two. Trahir stops in front of him and watches wordlessly. The two size either other up a moment before the bouncer starts to open his mouth. Trahir cuts him off. “I’m here to see the owner.”

The bouncer eyes him for a long moment before leading Trahir upstairs. The steps of the stairs illuminate with each step, pressure sensors on them setting them aglow, a light lilac glow to compliment the purple interior of the club. Trahir is reminded of several music videos he has seen through the years with similar effects. The whole place would actually fit in nicely in a hip hop video. It’s easy to tell the mortal has that instinctive dislike of Trahir, that fear that being in the presence of one of the Killer Path generates in humans. Trahir admires the man for his ability to remain stone faced, visibly unaffected, but the scent of fear is in the air. Trahir knows what to look for. The slight shift in the eyes, the way the bouncers steps take on a different gait. Yes, he knows that there is something bad about Trahir. The vampire idly wonders as he follows how many others of his Path have graced these halls.

Finally, the human stops and motions into a private room. “In here sir”.

Trahir nods, stepping past the man and into the offices of the club’s owner. A woman Trahir is about to pay a lot of money to for very little of her time.

It will pay dividends though with Miss Jane...

Permission to use the setting and characters of Silks granted by the player of the character owning the property on grid. No RP will be posted regarding the events of the meeting due to the refusal of the player to post though the ramifications of the meeting will be made clear in this thread later. ~ Chris

--The following transcript was a live chat roleplay--

Dominique: A shiver went down her shadowed spine as she finds a single flickering of light coming from inside. She reaches slowly for the door and finds it easy to push open. It was too simple. Her hand pulled her weapon forward. One step was followed by another into the main room where television was left on. She glanced around until what was on the screen caught her attention. Her head cocked slowly then froze altogether. The place could be on fire and she wouldn't have been able to look away from what was playing out on the screen.

It was an odd experience to see herself, or what appears to be her, shooting someone in the head then disappearing. It replays again and she steps closer to the screen. Her mouth goes dry and she feels the panic coursing through her. Just like a career drinker finally coming out of the lifelong fog she scrambles through what she can recall to find some clue to own the unforgivable information being presented to her. As bad as it was in front of her eyes it was harder to accept she couldn’t claim it. Nothing was there to tell her she did this. The truth was even harder to accept that she was left with. If she didn’t do it then how the hell was it done? Who had the power to make it happen?

Jane watches as the same scene repeats. In the glow of the flickering screen she sets eyes on a card on the top of the t.v. As HOPE reaches for it she glances to her right. If he was watching she hoped he was aware this only reinforced her thoughts about him. It was what he likely wanted and cared less how it had her feeling.The card flipped over in her fingers and she felt her insides sink. Trahir just became her predator and prey.

The shadow went through the possible scenarios and actions she could take in her head. What he would do next and what she would do in retaliation. It was a battle of sorts yet it was getting deeper and darker than she had entertained in so long. Nearly two years to be exact. It was then that she had her loss of far more than she ever bargained on. Did she anything left to lose or was this the point she finally started gaining? She didn’t have to waste time of wondering why she was drawn in by the two. Pride of unreal proportions. It was one of her strengths and her largest weakness. They both knew it.

Ben. It was the only thought that came to mind given the message on the card and the fact she was dealing with Trahir Trahison to the degree she was. Was he bluffing? She didn’t bother to pull out her cell to find out. If he was then Ben would answer and start up with her all over again. If he wasn’t she was about to find out. The female that was in her hands was still in her head as the ground felt lighter beneath her steps. She could feel that uncertainty trying to pull at her and leave her questioning her ability to deal with the vampire on her own. The cries of pain worked on her as the lake mentioned came to view. It was senseless. She took something she could never replace...again. Worse than that, she left the bloody trail on the same grounds she now walked leading back to her own place across the road. If it was Ben it was too late.

The scent of fresh water and decomposition of plants fills the air. It is only an undertone and supports the assaulting aroma of blood and rancid meat. The blood was not as old as the rotting flesh she could pick up on. Death took place not far from where she stood repeatedly and over the span of more than several nights or weeks even. She swallowed hard and closed her lips trying to stuff the warnings going off in her brain. They would have to wait. She was not one to turn back no matter what was in her face. HOPE held the weapon in its tight grip as the sounds of water shifted slightly from the pattern of the subtle waves at the surface. Something was beneath and moving causing the break. Closer she moved and refrained from calling out Ben’s name. A dip in the otherwise undisturbed knee high grass had her move to the left. The sounds of a splash had her feet freeze for a moment until it went quiet.

HOPE and LESS pulled the grass apart and there before her was the remains of a face and body she had seen in far better shape in the sewers approximately two weeks back. It was a brief encounter but they had exchanged numbers. The male paladin needed help and she was capable of providing it. He never stopped by the shop like he was expected to. Dominique took no issue with it because it happened more often than most would think. Some change their mind, some leave town unexpectedly and others find their answers elsewhere. Her dark eyes narrowed as if she was taking the time staring to see if she would find this would all change if she did. The male was nailed to a Swastika, limbs shattered and restrained backward from how limbs are meant to bend was missing a chunk from his torso and a majority of his right arm. The device faces east, obviously the intention of the device is for vampires. The small piece of dirt and blood soiled paper on his chest brought her closer. She reached down and yanked it from the shredded material beneath.

“Even the strongest of humans die. They are nothing but food.”

Dominique closed her hand around the paper and finally allowed her fingers open slowly. The air went cold and the sky above seemed to lose all of the sparkle of the stars and moon above. Everything that had any source of light or warmth was swallowed by the darkness that started within her. It spread instantly to envelope all that was around her. Her senses took it in and her body finally reacted syncing with her mind. Turning once her body was a blur of speed back towards the house. There was nothing that would stop her course of action. Nothing.

Trahir Trahison: As they huddle waiting in the dark, Trahir listens using hyper perception. His senses amped to supernatural levels, he hears everything, Dominique’s entrance, the discovery of his little show, put on for her benefit, and her egress from the house. Trahir knows she will be irked. He would be slightly miffed himself if someone was systematically stalking him and peeling away layers from his life too, but there was naught to be done about it. Trahir had resigned himself to making the young Shadow understand that she was not a human. The compunctions and hang-ups suffered when she was of that weak and fleshy race no longer applied. She had to learn that. He would assure she did.

The Killer rises silently to his feet and steps quietly out of the bedroom, heading outside in a casual stroll, proximity mine in hand. He glances at Dominique’s vehicle for a moment before looking over to assure she is not in earshot and has taken the bait left for her before walking over to the car. It was beautiful. Trahir had owned a Mustang once, he had loved the roar of the engine, the power under the hood. The car had certainly earned its place in the annals of American history. The first affordable sports car it had been billed as. Henry Ford’s assembly line had increased the efficiency of the production of the automobile and he had passed those savings down to the masses. He still preferred his Phantom. He had no doubt that few of the original engine components still resided within the automobile before him. From what he had seen at her shop, Dominique enjoyed souping up vehicles. She must love them. Again a purely human sentiment that Trahir could and would exploit if need be in this game of chess they played.

Carefully placing the mine underneath the driver's side door, sensor facing out, he then strolls back to the farmhouse. “Come here, bring the remote,” he tells Ben. “Give it to me and sit there on the steps. Wait for further instructions.” Trahir is beginning to tired of the thrall. The next one with be female. They will have a pleasant singing voice and be pleasing to the eye. Ben did as requested with a zeal appropriate to his position as servant to one of the scions of the night, but Trahir would not have chosen the man but for his link to Dominique. He would be glad when he could release him. Pity he couldn’t let the human live but he did not know how to wipe the memories of his thralldom from the mind of the tattoo artist.

“Yes master!” The thrall sits as instructed and Trahir makes his way around him and back into the farmhouse where he stands leaning against the wall and looking out the window. He doesn’t arm the explosive underneath Dominiques vehicle. Not yet. He just keeps the remote cradled in his hand as he waits patiently for her to uncover the macabre scene down by the lake. He hopes the two crocs have kept their heads down in the presence of the female vampire. He can’t imagine her having a fondness for crocodilians and importing the large Nile-born species into Canada was more than a little bit difficult. If she shoots them he will have no compunctions about punishing her. They are innocent creatures after all. The fill their niche and give back more to nature than any other predator does. When crocs lay their eggs they are prolific, up to 80 at a time. Those eggs, even though guarded by the mother, end up being raided by a variety of scavengers. Other species even learn to use the crocodile nest to protect their own, nesting near the great lizards to keep other egg eating predators away. Even of the eggs that make it, 90% of the hatchling crocodiles hatched will fall prey to predators in the water, assuming they aren’t eaten by other predators while the mother delivers them in a pouch in her gullet to the water and gingerly shakes them loose. For such a fearsome predator they can be surprisingly tender. Trahir is much the same way with his vampire kin. Though prone to violent outbursts the young Killer enjoys the company of other like-minded vampires. Perhaps that makes it all the more unfortunate when his phone suddenly lights up in his pocket and a message from the pro-temp leader of Tytonidae comes up on his screen at the swipe of a thumb.

Trahir’s mood instantly darkens. A warning… for doing what he had felt needed done. For ending the suffering of a kindred soul being tortured. His fingers curl into a fist on the hand not holding the phone. Had he been more emotionally in tune he may have responded differently, alas his ego will not let him. He shoots back a hypothetical situation in which he may have been framed and then upon receiving a reply to that he sends off another. Finally the conversation with Blake comes to an end and Trahir frowns. He will have to speak to Velveteen and Micah when they return. More and more often this seems to occur only when Trahir displeases someone. He growls low in his chest, fangs slipping down and eyes turning reptilian in his frustration. This is no time to be distracted though. He simply thinks back to the event called into question by the older Owl and… wipes it from his memory as he has with much of his past. He will deal with the accusation, suddenly to him a false one, when his sire and her mate return. For now he needs to focus on Dominique.

Immortality, even the knowledge that one has all the time in the world breeds a rare sense of patience in an individual. It allows one to take their time. To plan more thoroughly than the short-lived race of man. Trahir has given this much thought over his short few months as one of the undead. Trahir waits patiently, he is unrushed, unhurried. Obviously Jane will want to come back to the farmhouse at least to get her car and that is when she will find Ben sitting there, along with his master.

Trahir considers for a moment if he may be taking things a little far, perhaps a little fast. After all if she decides to attack him outright and he doesn’t disarm the mine the explosion will attract a lot of attention. Trahir can see the love she has poured into the vehicle in how well it is maintained inside and out. She might very well snap if he has to detonate the mine. Then again he doesn’t think that the car will actually explode like in the movies. It is a calculated risk though. He believes that Dominique may decide another physical assault would cause further retaliation. One day Trahir knows she will see that all of this, the hassle of the preparation, the painstaking attention to details, the sacrifices and risks taken to assure she learns exactly the lesson he wants her to. He believes she will appreciate it.

Unless she actually assaults him and he doesn’t turn the mine off. Then she will likely find herself scorched and deformed for a while if not sent to the Shadow Realm to think about how to respond in a civilized manner to her peers when they are trying to help her. The thought does not appeal to Trahir at all. He would much rather see things go smoothly. He wants Jane to become what she already is. To know that playing at being human leaves her weak and exposed. It gives other vampires targets they can use against her. The thought that Trahir himself may be one of the cruelest of his kind and those weaknesses may likely never be exploited by another does not cross his mind. He has committed himself to a course of action and will see it through to the bitter end.

He waits patiently until he sees her returning to the farmhouse, crops moving in a small ‘V’ pattern as she makes her way through them and toward he and Ben before hitting the button to arm the mine and then steps outside, placing his hand atop Ben’s head and scratching it as though he were a good dog and Trahir a caring master.

“It’s show time Ben. Make me proud.”

--The following transcript was a live chat roleplay--


Trahir Trahison, still in crocodile form hissed and lunged forward at Dominique, jaws wide open and looking for purchase on her throat.


Dominique ducked low, the jaws of the beast snapping only empty air above her. “Are you serious? You are really looking to get your *** kicked aren’t you?” Who brings a crocodile to a vampire fight? He was one of those types.


Trahir Trahison roared and swung his massive head around, teeth again gnashing at his intended prey.


The huge maw slammed shut on the railing of the porch as Dominique ducked for cover, cracking the solid oak post loudly. Releasing the wood and stepping back, the crocodile repositions himself for another attack.


Trahir Trahison sprinted and then launched himself, his whole body coming off the ground and going airborne to crash through the railing of the porch in an attempt to slam his jaws closed on Dominique once again.


Scooting backward Dominique manages to stay out of reach of the slamming jaws, the railing before her splintering, sending debris everywhere. “You are going to end up a set of handbags and boots if you keep it up.”


Teeth gnashing, Trahir Trahison moved directly towards Dominique's position.


One of the huge teeth sliced through Dominique's clothing and brushed past the concealed flesh as she leapt from the porch through the window, glass exploding around her as she hits the floor, rolling instantly to the side. Her sword clatters to the floor as she narrowly escapes a killing strike.


Dominique glanced around the wall, biding her time. There is no sound from outside. Her sword rests on the floor in front of the shatters portal in a pile of scattered pieces of window. She glances out the shattered window after a long moment of silence from outside.


Trahir Trahison surged forward, mouth wide open the instant Dominique’s head appears in view.


The huge reptilian head breaks out the rest of the glass as the creature tries to climb in the window, snapping at Dominique as she scoots backward and scrambles to her feet.


The crocodile’s teeth sliced through the air and narrowly missed the intended target, his head and forelegs pushing into the window, the pane sagging under the weight.


Dominique stormed toward the croc with her vamp power was racing through her as she finally sees the chance to go on the offensive. “What the hell was that?” The croc trapped, he is now an easier target, the broken glass of the window pane acting as a built in weapon.


Dominique attempted to throw Trahir Trahison into a wall, but Trahir Trahison shook his whole body violently, thrashing. The huge beast, rather than flying through the air was dragged in through the window, the glass raking it’s belly and leaving a trail of thick blood trailing down the wall as the crocodile is pulled into the house landing heavily on the floor.


As Dominique readied herself to lunge, Trahir Trahison lashed out with razor sharp teeth again, the huge jaws slamming shut as the crocodile lunges forward several times. Frustrated, the vampire shifts back to his normal, human form, only his eyes remaining crocodilian, a testament to his frustration.


Dominique’s speed and nimbleness come in handy, the murderous jaws, lethal if they found purchase neutered by her dexterity. Finally the monster shrinks in upon itself and the familiar visage of Trahir in his human guise lunges at her instead, his own sword in his hand.


Pivoting on his heel, Trahir Trahison lashed out, his sword arching through the air so fast it is almost a blur of motion as it wheels toward Dominique’s belly in a brutal attack intended obviously to disembowel her where she stands.


Dominique kept her distance while the blows came from the thorn currently in her side. She managed to narrowly avoid each attack Trahir Trahison attempted. This raised her confidence yet again.


Dominique rushed towards Trahir Trahison because she was all kinds of pissed off with the vampire. Anima surging through her body was all the motivation she need to amp up her attempt at getting her hands on him.


Dominique got her hands on Trahir Trahison and sent him into a wall, but Trahir Trahison had his pumped up kicks on so he rolled with the lunge and tumbled mere feet. It figured he would pull that out of his bag of predictable tricks.


Dominique raised her arms in the air and waved like she didn’t care. The shadows came to life! She hoped like hell this would work. If not she would soon find out.


Trahir Trahison paused for only a heartbeat realizing that disarming Dominique had left her no less deadly. He recognizes the gesture from watching other shadows in the mausoleums and catacombs of the city and knows what usually comes next. Pain. The Killer throws himself to the side in a roll and more feels the tendrils of shadow move past his ear as he does than anything else. “That was… different,” he says, eyeing her for a moment with respect for the lethality of the attack.


Trahir Trahison lashed out with insane precision, the blade driving straight toward Dominiques face in a thrust that would bisect her nose straight down the middle were it to hit. Beyond that it would do the same to her brain and likely the back of her head to. The motion however is from a standing position, no commitment of his feet to add the reach or power necessary to make it the killing blow that in retrospect Trahir knows it could have been.


Dominique stepped back just enough so that the blade cut through the air a breath away from her face. It was far too close for comfort. There was a point this all had to come down to one of them winning, right?


Dominique summoned a Sidhe because she was able to. She was cool like that. Just call her special. You would be surprised how many wanted to get her a helmet because of these situations she always found herself in.


The spirit ignored orders from the shadow which was not part of Dominique’s plans. It faded quickly into the night, cackling an annoying sound as it disappeared. This was not helping her in her current war at all. She was hardly amused.


Uncertainty now written across his features, Trahir Trahison presses an attack, but warily, half-heartedly. His reptilian eyes scanning the air around the round for any more signs of the Fae. His sword comes down from above in a vertical slash, but not fast or hard enough to land.


Trahir Trahison, still shaken by the appearance of the Fae, completely misses her, his blow swinging wide and sending him off balance and stumbling to the side. Once she had the chance Dominique recovered her sword and prepared to move forward with her own attack. Trahir’s blade whirls in the air as he resets his stance into a high-guard style of a Crusader, both hands gripping the hilt, ready to chop, slash or parry as need be.


Silent and expressionless, Trahir Trahison pressed forward, pressuring his adversary with a series of feints and strikes assaults, throwing Dominique off her game plan and right back onto the defensive just as she had been prepared to begin her own attacks.


Dominique kept her blade between them as his attacks came, her blade blurring with his and the sound of steel on steel filling the air as she parried his blows, ducking quickly under a savage thrust toward her throat that left his guard exposed for an instant. His eyes widen for an instant as he realizes his mistake and he inhales sharply through clenched teeth, the sound reminiscent of his earlier hissing in his Meaner Things form.


Dominique was snarling with rage because let’s face it things were not looking great. Dominique pressed forward because that epic size curse of pride set in and had her going all Rambo before she would accept defeat. Using what energy she had left she began pressuring her opponent with a series of brutal and reckless assaults.


Trahir Trahison felt the blade pass through his flesh. Even before the pain he feels a light tug, like a loose pinch. This will hurt. So much for a singing career he thinks to himself as precious blood erupts from a gash across his windpipe. His shout of rage at seeing his own blood in the air for the second time this night tells him the cut is shallow. Perhaps a vein or artery severed, but nothing that will affect his voice. He takes the opportunity to use that voice now. “You’ve got to work on the follow through girl. You are leaving your strikes short.”


Dominique took a page out of the flying wallenda’s book of cool moves to make and jumped at Trahir her blade swinging out violently with a combination of savage swipes. Her final attack in the series, a vicious swing across the younger vampire’s neck.


Trahir Trahison's throat once again took the brunt of Dominique fury. The move had been completely unexpected, nothing a true swordsman would dare attempt and for the logical-minded Trahir that made it near enough of an impossibility that it worked as a complete surprise attack. This time the blade does indeed leave the larynx severed and what would have been an exclamation of surprise turns into a frothy burst of blood spraying out as though from a poorly done tracheotomy. Playtime was over. As much as Trahir hated the thought of killing another vampire, the thought of getting decapitated seemed much worse to him.


Trahir Trahison lashed out rather than reset for defense, his blade shooting forth like a spear to pierce with an added little twitch of the wrist at the end of the thrust the intention to turn a small stab wound into a gouged orifice.


Dominique's honeycomb heart covered throat opened and released black blood beads into the air as Trahir Trahison's blade sliced right through it!


Snarling soundlessly, muted by the earlier onslaught that has done more to provoke his ire than very few other moments in his short but eventful undead existence, Trahir Trahison presses the attack. He drops low, pivoting and pistoning his foot out in a backward sweep, arms crossed like superman with the blade extended to the side. The motion creates a multi-level attack designed to further throw Dominique off her game without killing her. No, he doesn’t want to kill her. Trahir Trahison at that moment is thinking of nailing her to her paladin friend on that cross by the lake and feeding her slowly feet first to the crocs while the sun rises. The burn he would receive would be more than worth the sight. The sweeping foot finds purchase and rather than acting as an attack it brings Trahir rising to his feet in a second spin, blade lashing out gracefully in a silver arc across Dominique’s throat.


Dominique's throat was taking a beating. She felt like was sharpening his blade on her spine as it opened up even more and a swirling black cloud of her blood left a airborne trail. Trahir Trahison's blade sliced cleanly through it! What an asshole!


Trahir Trahison continues the circular momentum of his earlier attack, planting his feet and allowing the sword to become a blur of motion over his head before bringing it across his body diagonally in a quick diagonal downward slash The movement is certainly capable of injuring but that is not the intent. The intention behind it is to give a false opening, for an instant his head, heart and throat are wide open and knowing Dominique, she won’t be able to resist…


The blade showed some mercy and this time Dominique was spared. The sharp edge grazed Dominique's skin, skimming her flesh but neglecting to cause any lasting damage.


As Dominique over-extended herself like an over confident Yoga master, Trahir Trahison's blade was there to try to take advantage of the error. It flashed out with a series of fruitless strikes.


Dominique two-stepped her *** backward and created distance as the blows came, narrowly avoiding each attack because once again she was proving she could.


Trahir tilted his head as he watches Dominique step back. For a moment he seems to freeze and then he does what no swordsman ever has been trained to do. He throws his sword up into the air. Leaping up he lashes out with his foot catching the blunt side of the blade and sending it humming through the air between them as a projectile. The second he lands he is rolling forward toward her, passing her and ending up behind her.


Trahir Trahison's blade was being a difficult weapon to avoid. Dominique felt the impact of its potentially lethal edge cut deep into her stomach! More black blood littered the air leaving a small haze of beads before they disappeared.


Trahir Trahison reached behind him as Dominique turned. his hand grasping the familiar hilt of his blade as she moves it to his grip in a sickeningly ironic twist of fate… Back in his hands the sword whistles in the air, sending tendrils of inky blackness spewing forth from the wound on her belly as it leaves her flesh and comes to life in its master’s hands once more. Trahir brings the sword up in front of him as he turns and rises simultaneously to face her too. The blade held close and angled slightly away from his face, toward hers.


Dominique's face felt like she imagined those grapes did that were served on her grandmother’s garden party fruit kabobs. Her throbbing melon bust open in a fountain of black spinning droplets as the blade skewered deep into her head!


With a powerful leap, Trahir bolts past the Shadow and out into the night, rushing toward her car, slapping the button on the remote detonator in his pocket to turn the mine off as he leaps toward the vehicle shifting once more into his crocodilian form.

Doc: It was a normal Tuesday evening. Nothing really special about it, except that Kaelyn made him mark the day down on his phone’s calendar, as the night of her party. A party at Gresse’s, the Fforde’s hangout. He had warned her, it was either him or Cytherea, they both could not be gone. Kaelyn gave him a look.. so he relented and agreed to show up for while, and then cover for Cytherea, so she could attend. That was, until he arrived and no one was there. Except Jesse. Yea. She told him the wrong date. He bent over ******* backwards to attend this thing.. and she didn’t even give him the right date. That was how he found himself at the lab, working.

Sure Doc could have gone to the Asylum to catch up on all the files that had piled up while he was in Europe, but he had spent enough time with the Ball and Chain, and she was on currently duty there. He deserved a night off and truth be told, he preferred his lab. It was clean, sterile, and orderly. But most of all, there were no penguins or wives. He had shed his jacket and donned his white lab coat. He was becoming more relaxed already.

Dominique: The city lights and the night air became an all too familiar blur as the shadow whisked her away from the south of town towards the Newborough area. It would be there that she would do something she did so rarely she couldn’t remember if she had at all. As her shoes came to a skidding stop in front of the lab she realized that she had done this before.

That time it was not her that was directly in need. Her chest hurt worse for the memory that was still crisp and clear in her brain despite what she had just been through. the hardest thing in the world for her to do next to trying to choke down her pride was to ask for help from anyone. But that night she did as she looked down at Kenlie in the emergency room. She prayed then, she bargained and she even turned to him with the hope he could make it all better. Her jaws tightened up until the awkward poke of her sharp fangs found their way into the swollen flesh beneath. She hissed and parted her lips.

“I am getting so tired of this ****.” The shadow grumbled pulling the conveniently unlocked door to the lab open. It was late and the fact she was able to step inside given the way she looked was an instant relief. She called out before stepping any further. She tasted enough fire for one night.“Hello?”

Doc: Doc was in the middle of preparing a panel for testing, when the questioning voice caught his attention. He paused, setting the testing instruments aside, careful to store them in a secure drawer, before peeling off the latex gloves and making his way toward the front of the lab. Coming around the the corner, he saw Dominique hovering about the reception area. She looked like she had been dragged through a minefield, not once, but twice.

His brow furrowed into a frown, as he took in her appearance. His first instinct was to hit her with a barrage of questions, who did it; why did it happen; did she start it; was he to expect an irate sire to come banging on his door in retribution and most important, does the other party at the very least, look worse or at best, were they dead?

However, his time in Europe had been spent with the Ball and Chain, who was a licensed counselor, and a counselor who made it her goal to try and make him better ‘person’. She had made him realize that maybe.. just maybe, he shouldn’t jump down people’s throats right off the bat. Well he didn’t ‘really’ realize it; he just told her he did, because he was ******* tired of hearing her nag him endlessly about it. But now, her words did seem to have merit as he looked at Dominique, So he decided right then, to try it Cytherea’s way.

He chose his words carefully, “How can I help you?” It was a hard thing to come up with a ‘caring question’ when all you wanted to do was to get answers. He could tell her lip might need a stitch or two, her neck, and some other obvious areas, but he wanted to give her the power to say what she wanted. If that didn’t work… he would go back to his way.

Dominique: It could have been the sight of her sire that gave her head the slow building spin or it could have been that she was nearly beaten to a fleshy pulp. Either or didn’t really matter. She needed help. An overbite was giving the inside of her mouth hell and she didn’t know how they could suddenly be there. Her neck was killing her, her gut and pretty much everywhere else as well. Also she felt sick to her stomach that should be pretty much dead. The icing on the cake was the weakness that was spreading across her body as she stood there looking at him. Could she do it? Could she ask for help?

“I need your help.” She stepped deeper into the building towards him and felt her legs getting weaker as she did. She tried to close her eyes and make herself stronger but she found nothing each time she did. She felt one step short of falling down. How was she going to tell him that she just had it out with one of his pack he ran with? “I warned him…”

Doc: At her simple yet heartfelt words, he nodded. Snagging a rolling computer desk chair, he rolled it over toward her motioning for her to sit. Dominique looked like she might fall over over, if he waited. He didn’t say anything just yet, but the questions, and the burning need to know what had happened to her, was like a cancer in his brain. Her last comment was telling. But to whom did the ‘him’ refer?

As much as he would like to pretend he knew what his spawn were up to, Dominique was the most quiet and self contained. The ‘him’ could literally any male in this city. The permutations of who the ‘him’ was, reeled about in his head, while he collected a first aid kit. Out of habit he pulled on a fresh pair of latex gloves, and grabbed a chair for him to sit in as he administered to her wounds. He took some gauze and soaked it in saline, and started cleaning her neck wound. It was the one that looked like it needed attention first. Especially if he expected answers.

The plan was to patch up her neck, get some blood in her, appear sympathetic and concerned and if she still hadn’t spilled her guts by then, he would get out the ball peen hammer and beat it out of her. Yes, concerned. He needed to appear concern. Little did he realize that his frowning and silence, may actually convey that ‘concern’ more than he knew. The frown deepened as she seemed to wilt in front of him. He knew this reaction well. Some would call it the boost of adrenaline fading, but he doubted vampires produced that compound. However, the effect was the same. He had felt it himself.

“Just relax. You are safe.” He paused, he couldn't stand it. He would start with baby steps, small but telling answers. “The guy? Human or Vampire?”

Dominique: “A vampire.” Plain and simple her reply came while the press of Doc’s hands briefly cleansed the wound.

Leaving it at that she focused on the mild burn beneath the layers of tissue that were getting his attention. Why did any vampire seek out conventional repair such as sutures or bandages? Of course could heal some of the damage herself but she couldn’t do it all.There was nothing that called the unwanted attention of others more than visible signs of wounds that would need immediate treatment. Even on a good night when she was full of the energy required she fell short compared to the abilities of most at bouncing back. She was told that was in part due to the fact she was a shadow. There were strengths and weakness’ that went with it. Healing definitely was not one of the notable perks.

“And one that is on a pedestal that is going to get knocked down.”

Hands down Trahir Trahison was earning his ranks really quick at becoming one of the biggest pains in the *** she had crossed paths with. Her eyes washed over the blonde head that was attached to the body kindly tending to hers. Doc once inspired the reaction from her but time had changed that. She was no angel and he had clipped her wings more than a few times to prove it.

“Trahir Trahison.”

The name rolling off Dominique’s tongue was enough to give her a tingle head to toe. The kind that had her looking down at her arms. She wanted to make sure the colorful skin was still connected to her body and that it had not decided to walk off and abandon her altogether.

“Your friend seems to think it is his job to make sure I am tapping veins and doing it his way.” The coolness of her sire’s fingers was not impaired by the barrier of latex gloving his skin. She felt it leaving a trail in the wake of his working hands. “And he has been leaving his offerings from his hunts on my doorstep.”

The fact the porch of her farm was a bloody mess was proof. No matter what shape her body was in at the end of the night in the lab she needed to get back there. It would not be empty handed. a cleaning bucket in one and a mop in the other would arrive before the sun decided to rise and reveal what no human should see. She sighed while sacrificing the energy required to lift her hips slightly above the chair beneath. With a little wiggling HOPE managed to retrieve her cell. No messages came to view and for that she felt a small measure of relief. Perhaps there was a ceasefire in the works. She could only hope.

“Thank you for doing this.” Dominique eyed his face briefly then returned her focus back on his hands at work.

Gingerly her tongue moved around the inside of her mouth as she spoke. Hopefully the recent sharp additions behind her lips were not noticed or permanent. While pondering that a hunger surfaced with the recollection of when the fangs first appeared. The initial warmth and sweetness of the blood that currently was dryly caked to her tattered tank top and jean shorts was like a flash flood of recall. It fueled the insatiable appetite arriving whether she welcomed it or not. Her petite body was starving and she resented what was coursing through her. The craving she had never truly felt before was hitting her hard and showing no mercy. She squirmed trying to avoid it setting its grip on her. The movement was a failure. She licked her cool lips slowly.

“I appreciate it.” Even the feeble attempt at trying to distract herself with voicing her gratitude didn’t bring any relief.