What you laughing about? [Open]

[Heathen]

The darkness hid many things, like subtle movements and blackened creatures. Heathen might even have left the supermarket if not for the sound of gunfire, and the way it made gunpowder ignite, leaving behind flashes which revealed something...strange. The smell of sulfur was thick in the air, and Heathen lifted a hand to drag his knuckles across his nose. He was used to the scent. He could probably even identify the caliber of gun if he really wanted to. Not a bragging point even, just common knowledge where he came from. if you didn’t' pick up on that kind of thing, you didn't survive. Still, he stood there right past the entrance and considered a few options. At the top of the list was turning around and walking away, because it wasn't his business in which to get involved. If someone was getting shot at, well. They shouldn't have pissed someone with a gun off. Right?

He likely would have gone with that course of action, but he heard the bellow of something that clearly wasn't human. The sound of it sent a visible shiver his spine, and that drew his curiosity. Call it a fascination for everything in the world that was bad for him. Heathen had a self-destructive streak a mile wide. One could see him in all of the darkness because the end of his cigarette glowed. The smoke streamed off of him like steam from boiling water. "**** it." He muttered around the cylindrical intruder that rested between his lips. He pulled his hunting knife so he could approach that sound. Really, someone needed to put up some kind of lights.

His boots crunched heavily on debris which littered the floor. He could actually hear people at a distance, but he couldn't make out what they were saying, and he dismissed the sensory information as just another bit of background noise. For which there was frankly a lot, since he'd been turned. He stalked slowly closer to the sounds of a scuffle, and that was the first point at which he caught sight of another person. She had what looked like red air. Pale flesh. There was something standing over her. Looming. Ready to destroy. "Holy ******* ****." He said. There was only a moment to be surprised really though, because it looked like the woman was in a pretty rough position. He didn't even really think before he threw himself at it. He covered the distance in what might have been described as a couple of very quick strides.

His handle was sticking out of the thing, that mass of blackness, and Heathen firmed his grip so he could yank it right out. He stumbled back a step. The truth of the matter was that he didn't even do all that much damage. There was the sound of clicking from somewhere around him. Then the straightening of this big beast and apparently Heathen's attack had done something because the creature seemed to focus on him, and looked like it was trying to decide if it wanted to maul and kill either Red or Heathen. There was a second where he felt like he had to have that classic 'deer in the headlights' look before he snarled and reached for his gun. He wasn't a great shot at all, so he tossed it to the woman instead, before he decided to go in for another attack. Blood was flowing and it didn't matter if it was his or someone else's. The fight was on, and that was what mattered.

[Harlow (DELETED 8813)]

Harlow’s fingers tapped the worn grip of her handgun. Idiocy was the only thing propelling her forwards. That much was made clearer when the stranger suggested decapitation as a possible outcome. Adventurous? Not quite. Suicidal? About four weeks too late.

The fledgling narrowed her eyes and cast a side glance towards the tattooed male. She concluded that the guts and recklessness required to pull off the makeshift ‘art’ across his cheekbone was just as necessary in the face of whatever lay ahead. It’d taken two failed attempts at death to make her appreciate life, and she wasn’t keen on risking her skin, let alone her head. Out the corner of her eye she couldn’t discern whether he was joking or not. His hand went untouched.

Shots echoed from within the building.
Harlow came to a stop.
Casting a glance at the nameless stranger, she dropped her hand from the holster, decided.

“No deal. I’ve got no sense of adventure,” she admitted unabashed.
“I’m not going in there.”

Cowardice was dishonourable, but when she baptised herself as Harlow, she’d renounced any aspirations of being honourable. There was no one here to impress, no loyalty to act upon. Being in the wrong place at the wrong time had already taught her that stray bullets hurt. There were a lot of bullets being fired.

“I’d stay out of there too if I were you,” she said, belatedly remembering to flick the safety on. “But best of luck if you don’t.”

Blood black and skin cold, deep down she hadn’t changed that much.

[Jazz]

The newly turned Mystic had no clairvoyant abilities that he was aware of, so he couldn’t possibly know what was going on inside that building without seeing it with own hazel eyes. He was happy to do it too, which gave him this strange sense of pride – one he’d never experienced before, one he could attribute closely to the relief of heart burn or that feeling after a hiccup. Where at first Jazz had been reluctant to stumble into the den of thieves, the nest of snakes, the spider’s web that was Harper Rock, he had ultimately been convinced by March’s gung-ho attitude and defiance that it was the best thing for all of them. And they’d all believed March – about everything – because she’d always been the one protecting them, guiding them, and giving them what they needed to survive. She was their Peter Pan and they were her Lost Boys.

Harlow and Jazz were already half-way toward the building before she suddenly stopped. At first, Jazz didn’t even notice that their positions had changed, that he’d somehow come up from behind and walked on past. She’d been the one to initiate their advance on the building, at least physically, and so he hadn’t expected her to suddenly get cold feet. His focus was on the abandoned supermarket, his neck craning to get a better view as they came around the side. Gun shots were heard before he could even see the explosions lighting up the streets, but when he came around far enough, he did pause at the sight. Jazz’s eyes lit up like a kid watching a fireworks display – each flash of light came with a pop of ear-wrenching sound and he stood there anxiously waiting for the next.

The mind is a wonderful thing. It is through the conscious mind that the same experience for one person may be gut-wrenchingly fearsome, and for another, an absolutely exhilarating thrill. Physiologically-speaking, arousal is arousal, and your body prepares for action when aroused. The adrenaline that courses through the body when in a state of fear is the same adrenaline that courses through the body when something exciting is happening. An elevated heart rate and dilated pupils keep the body ready to see what’s going on, and then move – whether that something is dangerous like a bogeyman in a dark house, or something fun like a challenging ski run ahead of you. Vampires apparently experienced the same kind of physiological response to arousal and Jazz was convinced that he was excited rather than afraid of what was going on inside that building.

He went to move forward again, but when he instinctively checked Harlow’s position, he realised that the girl wasn’t following him. Those dark orbs kept their focus on him, but he looked to her face and then her gun arm which had dropped down to her side. A frown came to his brow, his lips formed a line, and his shoulders hunched forward slightly. She spouted that they didn’t have a deal, and honestly, Jazz was confused. He’d forgotten all about the fact that Harlow hadn’t shook his hand when he’d made that off-the-cuff proposal – he wasn’t being serious at any rate, so didn’t give a ****. He was less amused by her pouting face and the fact that she was basically acting as though someone had stolen her favourite dolly and she was done playing now. He almost wanted to laugh at her, but, then she did something unexpected. She said something that could have been considered good advice, flicked the safety on her gun, and then just… strolled off.

“Yeah… ok,” he stammered, watching the surly girl walk away from him. “Best of luck to ya then!” he called, but he wasn’t expecting a response.

Jazz wasn’t deterred. He was too foolish to consider the fact that the other Vampire might have had a point about not going in that building. Though, in saying that, he knew that she was right. He’d already done the thinking, worked out that if something could move that fast then he wouldn’t really stand a chance in opposition. But Jazz was a strange kind of optimist despite his job description, and he didn’t think that this night had to end violently. There were alternatives to shootings and stabbings and tearing things apart with your fists, which was actually the kind of thing he profited from. After all, Jazz was the face of violence, the mouth of it, and very rarely the fists. It was his job to convince people to give him what he wanted and if that didn’t work, they would send in Heathen. That man was much better at giving a beating, as well as taking it.

There was a goofy-happy expression on his tattooed face as he approached the entrance to the supermarket. Just thinking about how much Heathen would have enjoyed seeing this spectacle made him pause to reach for his phone. It was unlikely that he’d hear the end of it if he didn’t invite the other guy to watch a fight – or maybe even get stuck in – and since he’d basically just been abandoned, he felt like he could use the company. Jazz searched for Heathen’s name in his slim phonebook and then immediately pressed on the little icon that initiated the call. As he waited for the call to connect, he pressed his back against the brickwork, head down, and watched his feet. Every new gunshot made the red fabric of his All Stars flash in his vision, like an explosion of colour against the plain black of the cement beneath him. It really was becoming like a fireworks show. He couldn't wait to get closer.

[Prudence]

Just as her foot was crushed, Prudence heard a voice let out a few explicits. She turned to see who, or rather what the person was swearing about, wondering if there was going to be more 'problems' in the near future. All her blue eyes found was a guy standing around, looking in the direction of her and the beast. It made Prudence cackle through gritted teeth, as she thought back to the first time she saw one of these things. It had been in the apartment of her sire's home and she took a damn good shot at it, but the thing ran off. But she too had more or less the same sort of look on her face-the look of, does this thing actually exist? The next time Prudence encountered the beast, she would have killed it; the flesh still riddled with holes from bullets and nicked with cuts from various swords and other sharp objects used against it as others tried to kill the thing.

A gun was tossed her way as the creature focused on the new guy on the scene, Prudence catching it and looking at the guy, like 'are you nuts?!' While appreciative of getting a new weapon that wasn't empty, the fact was, he had no weapon that she could see on him. And to take something like THAT down, you needed a weapon. Even if trying to provide a distraction. Which seemed to be just what the guy was doing. Now it came together. Ballsy for a stranger to give another stranger a weapon, but she was going to make the best of it. While she raised the gun in the air, Prudence's body started healing the bones that had been burst into tiny shards and slivers when the creatures foot pressed down on her own. Slowly, the bones started fusing and shifting together, while her finger wrapped around the trigger of the gun. Prudence took a deep breath in, held it and pressed her finger against it, eyes locked on the large creature that was making its way toward New Guy.

The bullet zipped through the neck flesh of the creature, its attention now back on Prudence because being shot at, versus being distracted was the winner of the night. It barreled towards her with a snarl, black beads of blood splattering to the ground as it moved. Prudence took a breath again, held it and took two more shots, the gun pointing smack dab at its head; as close to the center as possible. It made a groaning sound, slumped forward and finally gave up on its pursuit to make someone's life as miserable as possible, before it went rampant on another unlucky soul.

Prudence set the gun on the ground next to her as she sat up and started flexing her healing foot. "Nice little gun ya got there." Prudence commented, eyes on the guy for the time being. "I'm Prudence. Pru for short." She said with a small smile, before extending the appropriate thing to say next. "Thanks for letting me use your gun and stuff." She nodded, then stood after one more stretching out of her foot, certain it could hold her weight by now.

Prudence An in-game NPC Moderate Intellectual Fadebeast Kill da fadebeast! Succeeded

[Heathen]

The first time Heathen had gotten into a fight with someone bigger than himself, he'd been a boy. Milo's mother had been a devout Catholic, and wanted him to follow in her footsteps as opposed to those of his supposedly drunk father. He'd been made an altar server, and one of his additional duties, aside from those normally assigned to someone in his position, was to deposit the collection of alms every week. Normally, this task would have been reserved for the priest presiding over a congregation, but Father Samuel was getting up in years at the time, close to eighty. He'd recently slipped and fallen, which resulted in a shattered hip. Thus, Heathen's mother had been more than happy to sign her son up for the duty of making sure the money got to its rightful place and account. He'd already done it for a couple of months by the time he got into 'the fight', and the bank had come to expect his young face.

He had been on his way to the bank when a couple of older boys had stepped out of an alleyway. They started by pushing him around while he clutched the bag, which was mostly loose change. They even managed to attract a little crowd to the scene. While it wouldn't have been true to say that Heathen was an innocent up until that point, he had never gone out of his way to be violent. Occasionally defiant? Yes. But he'd never thrown a punch before. So with people gathering around like there was a schoolyard fight in progress, he'd been all but cornered, and he'd come out swinging. Specifically, he'd swung the bag full of change, hard enough to cave in one of the older boy's noses. The others backed off when he kicked the same kid in the nuts and then jumped on him to begin wailing on a face and chest with the wild, crazy abandon of a person who had been pushed over the edge.

He'd made the bank deposit that day with bloody clothes.

Consequently, nobody ever tried to pick at him or on him again. At least not when they knew his reputation.

Snap to the present.

He saw the way the big ugly thing went down when the woman with the red hair emptied some bullets into it. A hand lifted so he could push pale, thin digits through his thick dark locks. He still wasn't sure how to process what he'd seen only a moment before, but he wasn't the kind of person who meditated on the meaning of things when life was going on around him. It was at that moment he noticed the phone at his hip was buzzing. He assumed it was March, but he absently reached into his pocket to drag the device out. He'd been raised during a time when it wasn't rude to be constantly plugged in. "Heathen." He said as he peered into the woman's eyes. Her hand had been crushed, but she used it. She looked injured but...how had she done all of that? Curiosity was a powerful force, but he didn't want to come off like more of a total vampire baby than he already was.

So he kept his questions to himself for the most part, deciding to go for the more obvious one. "What the **** was that thing?" He asked. "And it's cool. You put better use to it than I would have. You need help walking or anything?" He offered. Blame it on the brief surprise of the moment, but it was a legitimately altruistic expression. A carry over from his younger life, when he'd been taught that it was the job of people to be fundamentally good to other people. Even if life had taught him differently.

He glanced down to his phone and saw who was calling. He swiped to answer, lifting it to his ear. "****, Jazz. You MISSED it. There was this big ******* ugly monster thing, and this Prudence lady DROPPED it. Like it was some Ghost in the Shell BLAM BLAM BLAM ****. It was sooooo cool!"

[Jazz]

As Jazz waited for the call to connect, several more bullets punctured the air and lit up the night like firecrackers. There was a time those fireworks would have symbolised demons to him. In the burning colours, his mind would create a narrative; seek meaning where there was none. The fiery sparks could have filled him with dread just as easily as they could inspire a whole new crusade. Because while gunshots reminded him of fireworks, fireworks also leant themselves to memories of gunfire. The air had a tincture of gun powder, a smell that took him back to every bonfire night he saw as a child, watching the flames lick the skies, the soaring vermillion stars, and acid-green trees sprouting out of the heavens. There were other colours too, other shapes, but Jazz vaguely remembered the blue flowers, the red showers, and the glittering gold streams. He remembered the blood though, he remembered their final gasps. That was someone’s life that had just been taken, but it wasn’t just horrible, it was exciting.

So when Heathen finally answered his phone in that nonchalant way he always did, Jazz was prepared to burst his ear drums. He sucked in a breath – a breath he didn’t realise he needed beyond making a noise – and was prepared to assault Heathen audibly when it seemed like the other male was already distracted! Jazz’s facial features contorted sharply, like he’d stuck a half a lemon in between his lips and sucked. It didn’t make a whole lot of sense, but Jazz had discovered that he had even less patience for this kind of crap these days. Maybe it was because he felt like Heathen was purposefully being a prick given what had happened between them, or, Jazz was simply over-reacting to the smallest of things. Jazz preferred to believe it was the former.

“Would ya stop ******* talking to some other ****** while I’m ******* talkin’ to you?! For ****’s sake, Heathen!” Jazz wailed down the line.

Though, it quickly became apparent that the other man still wasn’t listening to him. Heathen kept talking about something Jazz had missed, some ugly monster got ghosted or some ****, but he was talking so quickly that even someone of Jazz’s extreme enthusiasm was struggling to keep up. He blinked rapidly, displacing the lemon he was sucking on for some kind of a chilli pepper because his bottom jaw had dropped, his lips forming an exaggerated oval.

“The ****. What?” he garbled, suddenly laughing. “Hold up, hold the **** up. Where the **** are you?”

It was then that Jazz noticed how quiet the world around him now was. The sudden silence was startling, and he started to question whether or not someone or something had sucked the air out of the world. He began walking, moving around the supermarket building and to the where he could see the silhouettes of bodies through the grime-caked windows. He didn’t know who they were, just that there were two of them. Throwing caution to the wind, the juvenile Mystic yanked open the door and headed inside. Now, it was highly probable that he would be shot upon entry given that a fire-fight had taken place just seconds ago. He had no idea what was waiting for him on the other side, but when he saw the man he was talking to on the phone. He bent over laughing, the breaths grating their way past his teeth.

“Why the **** am I callin’ ya if you’re right by there?” he said, pointing at the device before putting his phone away and approaching. “So here I was about to tell you something ******* wicked and ya already beat me to it, you gobshite!”

He slapped the palm of his hand down on the other’s shoulder, smiling at the male. Eventually, he caught sight of their company, but instead of addressing her like a normal person might, he leant into Heathen, like the top half of his body was suddenly detached from the rest of him and was sliding toward the right.

“Who the feck is that?” he asked in a lower voice, hazel eyes on her, his face turned to Heathen’s like they were sharing a secret. “She cool, or…”

[Prudence]

Prudence didn't think twice about the name given to her. She didn't care if it was his real name, or just an alias he went by. She couldn't really judge. Chances were, she probably wouldn't see the guy after tonight anyways, so who the **** cared if he was Bob, Steve, Rainbow Brite, or whatever else he wanted to be known by? Her lips cracked a smile when he asked what the thing was, and then asked if she needed help walking. "Nah. I got these really cool, nifty, healing powers. That's why this-" She held up the once damaged hand, "Don't really bother me anymore. Well, it stings like a *****, but at least I can use it. Lucky for us." She cackled, still not making any indication on moving anywhere.

"And as for what that was..." Prudence looked at the sludge that remained. "A fadebeast. Never seen one before tonight, huh?" She asked, but knew he obviously hadn't. Either he was young, or he lived under a rock. Probably the former since he was out in public for some reason or another. "Those things are what happens after our kind bump uglies. Not all the time, but it does happen." She followed up, staring at him, making sure that she was right. That Heathen was 'our kind.'

Suddenly her eyes shifted when another presence was made known. A guy who had a big mouth. Probably one as big as she had back in the day. Not that Prudence still couldn't have one, but she gave up on stating opinions years ago because no one wanted them, or no one listened. What the **** she care, anymore? She didn't wait for Heathen to introduce her, after all the new guy on the scene was looking in her direction. "Prudence. And I'm nothing. Just trying to clean up the streets a little." Again, what the **** did she care what either of these two thought about her? She barely cared what her own blood thought about her-which she was sure wasn't very good things, but they all kept themselves good and alive, so in her mind, Prudence felt like she was doing something right. Even if she came across like a super ****. "Just leaving was what I was doing. Don't let me interrupt your thing." Prudence said as she finally made her way towards the door in a slow gait. "Thanks, again." She said, eyes on the ground where the gun was at after she slid it Heathen's way, and gave the guys a two finger salute from her brow to the air, before she turned and grabbed her cell out. She wanted to make one more stop for the night before she met up with Nathaniel, but wondered where he wanted to 'meet up,' at.

[Heathen]

He stared at the woman intently. That was what happened when vampires fucked sometimes. What? WHAT! Was it some kind of crazy blood sucky STD?! Or was that like. A vampire baby? Was oral out of the picture now too or did it only happen with traditional intercourse? He had several questions he wanted to ask Prudence, but he didn't, given the timing and circumstances. Though those questions simmered in his neck, leaving it a little flushed. "Man, I was hoping being dead meant having to wrap my dick less. Not more." Such was the immediate concern of a 'healthy' young man's mind over what could easily be deemed an important subject matter that he almost missed her talking about how she could heal herself up. Which was cool. All that Heathen could do was use this spell that made it so he wasn't really hungry for blood. Technically it boosted his natural blood regeneration process, but maybe with time he would get access to the other healing things.

She did seem like she was older than him.

Well not 'older'. Like he didn't think she was an old woman or anything, but she seemed more experienced with the whole 'dead but kickass' situation. Of course, by that point, he had to take the call, he'd effectively put on hold. He didn't want to be rude, but Jazz was one of those people he didn't ignore. Period. If he got a text, he responded. If he got a call, he picked up. No matter what he was doing. Which had led to some interesting situations. Like Heathen panting and out of breath as he answered a call. Sweat rolling down his back as he...punched someone square in the jaw, because he'd managed to pick another fight with someone in a bar he was too young to be at.

Point being, he screened most of his calls. If someone wanted to bother him, they could text and wait for an answer, but Jazz never really had fit into that category. Blame it on their being partners in crime. Or blame it on their friendship.

"The word '****' is not punctu-*******-ation, Jazz." He said when he heard the other man talking to him finally. "****." He said, his excitement venting itself from his pores in the form of sarcasm. "I'm in that quarantined area. In some kind of shop. Like it's really dark and gross. Looks like it might have been a supermarket." He said.

And then the other end of the line went quiet, and Heathen assumed Jazz was doing something or zoned out. Which periodically happened. His gaze seemed to flatten as he pulled the phone away from his face, and eyed it. He was about to shout into the line for the other man to stop wanking and actually talk to him since he'd called. But no sooner did his eyes leave the screen when he caught sight of a familiar face. Well that was certainly one way to make sure Jazz was paying attention.

He dropped his phone into his pocket and marched right over so he could throw his arms around the other man and squeeze tightly enough that he was pretty sure he heard a few popping sounds. Then he leaned back, a jack-o-lantern grin on his face. The other male was still in his arms, and the sudden change in position meant he lifted Jazz right off his feet by a scarce inch before flopping him right back down on his heels after releasing him from that hug. "There you are!"

Of course before he had a chance to introduce Prudence, the woman had already offered up her name. Her name and a farewell it seemed. She was like some sort of super hero, only around to deal with a problem and then gone. "You're not interu--" But she was already walking away. Oh well. Lady had somewhere to be. He respected that.

It was at that time, his attention turned almost entirely to Jazz.

"I can't believe you missed it. World's worst STD attacked me and everything." He said, his arm slung right over the other youth's shoulders, bicep flexing as he yanked Jazz close to his side.

[Jazz]

Jazz hadn’t liked it when the source of his questions ended up answering those questions. He struck her with a look fabricated out of childlike disapproval and confusion, but he didn’t really hold onto the feelings visually or express them verbally. An eyebrow was cocked like a gun, but then the safety came back on. There was no point being petty for the sake of it, plus Heathen seemed to like her. So Jazz’s expressions became neutral, albeit a little sceptical as he was trying to work out her story. Prudence – as she’d called herself – went on to describe herself as nothing, that she was just waste disposal, but he didn’t know what she’d meant by that. He’d heard people say that in the past though, and they’d been referring to other people when they had.

Cops said they were “cleaning up the streets” when they were shooting down youngsters, locking sick people away, and pulling the older folk into sanatoriums. Those Neo-Nazi motherfuckers said the same thing about anyone who wasn’t white and a true American. Taking out the trash was the way arseholes spoke about getting rid of the type of things and people they thought were spoilt, broken, and didn’t deserve to live. Sure, Jazz didn’t know if Prudence was up to the same type of **** herself, but apparently she’d just dispatched some big-arse monster, so he did wonder where the line was drawn. Thoughts like that put a bad taste in the Mystic’s mouth. He remained as quiet and still as a statue until she left.

“I only missed it because I was trying to get you not to miss it,” Jazz griped, shrugging out of Heathen’s clutches.

The youth walked a few paces into the room, blue eyes searching the ground, the ceiling, the walls – anything for a sign of what had happened, what he’d missed. But he couldn’t find anything save the bullet casings. The Fadebeast’s blood had evaporated into the air and the other Vampire’s blood had mixed in with the ash and dust that coated everything in a sooty film. The supermarket smelt like gunpowder and rotten food; maggot-ridden fruit, sweating meat, charcoal, and ****. Maybe someone closed the doors on this place and left the produce to decay into filth, maybe there had been far too many Zombies laid to rest here, or maybe someone had taken a dump in the corner. Either way, Jazz preferred to be outside, preferred being able to breathe.

He crossed his arms tightly over his chest, enough to force out a heaping gust of air from his lips in a huffing growl. Kicking the dirt would be what came next if he was continuing down the path of stereotypical broody teen. Instead, Jazz just looked back to Heathen with a twinkle in his eye. The night just couldn’t be over that quickly and besides, he still needed a good excuse to avoid picking up anymore Zombie ears for March. She’d forgive him. Probably. Eventually.

“So… what did it look like?” he asked, his voice uncharacteristically low and muted. “And how do we go about getting to see another one of them?”