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Posted: **05 Oct 2017, 00:44**

The vampires around her seemed just as shocked as the little knot of humans had been.

That was what surprised her.

She was one with what she had become. She had learned a lot about herself in the time that she had spent with the undead. She found she had a certain penchant for murder, a certain disregard for the living, when they were outside a very specific set of criteria that dictated who she did and did not give a damn about. That list would shock many if they knew how short it really was.

Her lips curled into a smirk, fangs pressing lightly into her lower lip as she gave the freckled redhead Killer at her side a sly wink. “Shock and awe, my dear. Crush your opposition with overwhelming force.” She gave a quiet chuckle, her hand turning the knife in her hand as she let the blade dance between her fingers in a skillful display of her dexterity. She kept her eye on the men nearest her progeny as she moved. Her sister, though, was just inside of the peripheral of her vision. She gave the woman a cheeky grin as she ran her tongue against her fang. “Don’t you worry your pretty head. I’ll teach you a thing or two later.” She lifted an empty hand to sweep a lock of chestnut hair back from her cheek when the world around them erupted into chaos, the initial shock of her initial display of power finally coming to a bloody end.

A part of her was pleased to no end that the fools had chosen to go down fighting. She had hoped they would give her a reason to slaughter them to a man. Her lips pulled back in a sneer, fangs bared as she rushed into the significantly thinned knot of men. She moved on one of the few from the van as the earth began her trainers began to tremble. Even with the violent quake of the asphalt beneath her, the legs of the men around her nearly knocked from beneath them as they fought to remain upright in the upheaval of the earth, she moved with a sure step, her movements a blur as she moved between the first two bodies, already shredded down by the vampires behind her, and with a hand on the shoulder of one of the men of the second file, vaulted over the man as he caught a bullet, and rushed on, catching the last man still climbing out of the van, launching herself into the man and tackling him into the side of the vehicle with a bang.

The white van rocked on its suspension as the wild vampiress used her momentum to drive her fangs into the man’s throat, teeth catching bone as they nearly tore the man’s head off. Blood splashed over her face and erupted across the white paint of the van. The man choked as blood gushed from his mouth. He swung his weapon around, firing wildly as Tigra gripped his wrist and, with a sharp twist, broke the joint with a sharp pop and a gurgle of a scream as the man tried to fight her off without success. She had tasted the fresh, living blood and the world around her was nothing but a red shock of violence, a delicious explosion of hatred and pure, insatiable hunger.

The brawny figure beneath her shoved at her lithe, slender figure, meaty hands grasping at her waist as he tried to haul her off of him, though with the amount of blood he was losing, the man’s movements were wildly uncoordinated. His tongue lolled out of his mouth as he tried to speak again, another wave of blood gushing from his throat as he gave a final sigh and went limp beneath Tigra.

Even as the big man expired, the vampire dug into his throat with a wild fervor. There was nothing else in the world but the blood. The blood was her world; the blood was her life. It coated her face, from her lips to her chin. Splashes of it flecked her hair, the loose strands that managed to find themselves in the way were stained crimson. Her shirt, at first a pretty lavender color, was the same bright red from neck to navel, the material clinging tightly to her chest and abdomen with the weight of the man’s life holding it down. A low, animal growl left her throat that morphed into a pleased groan at the taste of the blood against her tongue as she finally took the time to really taste the blood, to really feel it slide down he throat as she held the limp frame of the huge bodyguard against the caved-in side of the van.

When she finally pulled away, she looked into the dead green eyes of the man, and gave his chin a push with her knuckles, his head swaying limply from one side to the other and back. She pulled her hand away from his chest and let him slowly slide down the side of the van, to land on his backside and crumple against the tire. “Thanks for the snack, scumbag.” She gave the corpse a grin, and turned to the rest of the group, entirely unaware of the nightmarish appearance that she had taken on, with the core that coated the entire front of her person, every inch of her from her lips to her knees was painted in blood. It was an almost comical juxtaposition from the bright, pleased grin on her face.

That grin, though, was short lived, and quickly replaced with a look of absolute horror when her eyes fell on Jezebel.

“What… but… What happened?! You’re shot!” She moved towards the woman, kicking each of the corpses that littered the ground out of her way, rather than stepping over them as anyone else might have done. They were the literal dirt beneath her, and she treated them as such. They had done this to her daughter, as she had quickly come to think of the redhead in her sights. Without another thought, she closed the gap and reached out a hand, grasping the neckline of her top with a single crooked finger and pulled the fabric away from her chest, eyes glaring down the woman’s chest, inspecting the damage. “Which one did it? Which one of these assholes shot you?”

Posted: **22 Jan 2018, 01:12**

She didn't expect any less than more to fight. Even though Tate didn't look it, the killer was cynical. She had always just found it was easier to speak rather than through a punch. Hell, she'd always been the one to held an upper hand in debates, but there was no qualms in killing. It'd become easier in the years she was since she'd turned, from the moment that she'd watched Alicia die in front of her eyes. "Come on, Catty." The whispered voice sent a rolling chill down her spine as she listened to the chaos around them. The knife in her hand held such a simple weight, balanced from the center from end to end so that it would be thrown with precision if needed.

As, for lack of a better phrase, **** hit the fan, it became clear that Tate was not comfortable nor used to fighting in a team. There were too many people to focus on - Jezebel, Tigra, Cosimo. All her family, in some matter or another, all people that she was mindful of being around as she fought. Another man went down, the notice that they weren’t trying to kill Cosimo hadn’t been missed. ”There’s a story to this, surely, one that we need to know when this is over.” If these men were going to be coming to their city, it was definitely one that needed to be known - it would help him, wouldn’t it? Information was better to be known, it always was. That way there could be no left field, out of the blue play.

Beneath her feet, the ground began to rumble. There were waves that caused the earth to roll as the men seemed to stumble, unsure. Harper Rock wasn’t on a fault line - her hazel eyes looked around as she sprinted and realized the cause. Cosimo. The sound of the distant car alarm grated on her nerves as one of the men stumbled her way. His gun fired, a bullet connecting with the ground beside her foot where, had the earth not been shaking, it would have been shot. Her body shifted, her hips twisting as she brought her leg up. A kick knocked the gun free as it connected before she raced forward, her blade plunging into his chest and then, across his throat. She didn’t like the mass attention that would be drawn here.

“This is a mess.” She thought, but as things settled down, and the amount of dead became clear, the killer bent at the waist to search for something on the dead man’s body. There weren’t any identifying documents - figured, really, given the consequences that his career likely had installed in them. However, a few pieces of jewelry caught her interest. More specifically, a golden medallion with a design etched upon its face, a few italian words that she couldn’t make out at the moment visible. Her fingers curled around the chain and she pulled, a soft pop reaching her ears as it slackened within her hold. She kept it in her hand as she moved towards the screaming car.

She knew enough about cars to know where the - ah, her fingers curled underneath the hood and she lifted it once a button was pressed. The sound increased as she used her free hand to move over in search of the fuse. Once she found the battery, the fuse was ripped out and the sound halted, the headache that had begun to form a steady throb. Behind her, she heard Tigra mention someone being shot, the tingle in Tate’s arm didn’t bother her, it would heal and it surely wouldn’t cause her sibling to be highly concerned - she sniffed the air and turned, frowning as she noticed Jezebel. That had to hurt.

"She will be fine, Tigger." Tate said in her usual bitter tone. It wasn't meant to be rude, but that's always how it came out. She wasn't defending the men, no, a piece of her own flesh had been torn. It wasn't severe enough to cause a reaction, the ginger shrugging it off and adjusting her hand to press into it for the time being after licking her hand. It would heal within a few hours, but her saliva would stop the bleeding. "Shock and awe is pushing it. It's better to leave people clueless and unexpecting in these circumstances." Once she was sure the bleeding had stopped, Tate wiped her hand on her thigh. "Are you alright, gunshot aside?" She asked her sibling's childe, a mild hint of concern appearing across her brow before she lifted her gaze to Cosimo, "And you?"

As she waited for the response, Tate reached over to Tigra’s childe and set her hand against her shoulder, focusing. She healed her where she could - lifting the other woman’s blood levels as high as she could. It wasn’t much, but it would help.

Posted: **04 Feb 2018, 13:27**

As intended, the Romans scattered. Some remained steadfast; some were smarter than others. They’d figured out that this part of the world was not known for its earthquakes, and they’d been informed to keep their eyes on Cosimo, to take him. They had not bargained for this, but they were true to their work ethic. They were imagining the riches they’d be paid if they were the ones to have done what was asked; those that ran would be branded cowards, and they’d be punished.

But those that stayed, those that continued to come for Cosimo were foolish. Armand could not punish those who had run, because he had been among them. Cosimo was able to ascertain this once the rumbling stopped and a relative silence fell over the group of vampires, the four of them standing amidst dead bodies. They loitered in this blood bath, and loitering was not a great idea. Though Cosimo did not expect the Romans to come back for seconds, surely the police would have been called by now. There’d be people living or working in the surrounding buildings, and though Harper Rock was a violent city they wouldn’t just ignore the chaos that had erupted outside their windows and upon their doorsteps.

Slow realisation dawned; a sire’s concern for her childe and an ally willing to lend a helping hand. Cosimo was still trying to process; they’d been here for him. They’d come for him. They hadn’t known what he was, but now they would. They’d be able to regroup, to replan, and next time they would be ready.

Blood was everywhere. It was spattered over Cosimo’s cheeks and the apron was speckled and would have to be replaced. The two women he did not know were especially covered – one with her own blood, the other looked as if she’d taken a bath in the stuff. Cosimo could only blink, a little perturbed. He’d never thought himself a monster; he assumed that most other vampires were the same as he was. Misunderstood. But perhaps he was wrong.

”I thank you, for your help,” he said to the three women, his hand reaching for the one clutching his shirt. His fingers curled around hers, squeezing reassuringly. She was new, he could tell. It was etched in the terror she exhibited at having been shot. ”I would advise that we do not linger. We should leave,” he said. He released the woman’s hand, gesturing down the street – away from the sirens he could now hear in the distance. They would need to go somewhere to debrief; or they would go to their separate abodes and meet later, once they had showered and dressed in clean clothes. He wanted to be able to thank the women properly – to learn their names, to figure out what he might be able to do for them in turn. Tate, too, who he would argue had been in the wrong place at the wrong time. Without them, he’d be in the back of that van, tied up and blindfolded, held down, shot in the head, whatever they would need to do to keep him from escaping.

Of course he could not know what would come later – but at least he could be prepared.

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