While Elliot Lancaster had lived with his mother most of his life, he had not known his father. His mother was Australian, his father Irish. Elliot had been born in Ireland but if asked, he wouldn’t recall any of his childhood spent there. When he was too young to recall, his father passed away; his mother brought him back to Australia.
Since, Lancaster had travelled to Ireland. He’d met his extended family, on his father’s side. He discovered he was descended from what they called ‘Black Irish’ – Irish with dark hair and dark eyes. It was mother’s eyes that he had inherited, though he retained his father’s luscious dark hair. Due to his ancestry and the fact that ‘Irish’ pubs had always been a comfort to Lancaster—their ilk able to be found all over the world—Lancaster’s was built. And thus, when Saint Patrick’s Day rolled around, despite Lancaster’s atheism, he celebrated like the best of them.
The pub had been chosen as the final destination for a St Patrick’s Day pub crawl and he had, of course, accepted with glee. The outside was lit up by green lights splashed all over the red brick, a beacon. Those same green floodlights bathed the inside with a green glow, too – shamrock balloons had been filled with helium and bounced along the ceiling. The coasters for beneath cold drinks were shamrocks, too. The only music that would be played that night would be along the lines of Dropkick Murphies, Flogging Molly, U2, The Dubliners, etc. On the stage would rotate various bands, most of whom had a bagpiper in their entourage.
The tables were scattered with green glittered confetti, and Lancaster himself was dressed for the occasion. His suit was a deep emerald velvet, and atop his head a tall top hat, also green. It brought his full height to a good seven feet, unmissable amidst the crowd.
Behind the bar was a cauldron full of cash and gold coins. The money was provided by Lancaster himself, and all who entered the pub were given a raffle ticket. At some point during the night a ticket would be drawn, and the whomsoever held the stub would win the cauldron and all the cash inside.
The doors were wide open to allow in the crowd; the body heat that circulated helping to warm the interior.
Screw every other holiday. This was Lancaster’s favourite.
Some folks might find it strange, drinking so close to their place of employment. There was a certain stigma associated with drunk employees, at least from the perspective of the ownership. Usually a comradery among coworkers created a general sense of mischievous, complicity to counteract such a thing. Now Jack wasn’t drinking any alcohol, despite the aromatic, woodsy, and resinous scents of the hops driving his senses mad, but he was about a third of a way through his third glass of blood since arriving at the shop. He felt invigorated, all the strength of youth and the wisdom of years were dancing through him. He might as well have been enjoying the hoppy beer that the patrons around him seemed to be drinking up like water. It wasn’t that he thought his employer would care all that much, it had been her who had passed him the ticket for tonight’s festivities. Rather Jack just didn’t have the desire to drink it, not when there was blood to be had. He could certainly use a smoke though.
Now Jack was familiar with the girl behind the bar. She was one of Alex’s ladies and Jack had been seeing her almost on a daily basis. Tonight she was working the bar like an old pro, keeping up with the steady demands of the inebriated celebrators. He’d never found her one for much conversation, but this evening she was filling his cup generously with no apparent judgement as to its contents. Though the bartender was serving the blood warm, Jack couldn’t help but wonder what she tasted like. To be sure, he was enjoying himself, but the blood stroked a certain desire in him for something fresher. One thing was for certain, he was enjoying her company far more than that dour, drunk fellow from before. Jack was quite sure he’d seen his sire lead that guy away, hadn’t seen Alex or the man since. Maybe they knew each other.
Standing at the bar all night would have been a waste. Jack wandered through the store between his pints, working the crowd one might say. He managed to woo a few lovely, lush lassies with a little tune from his harmonica while grabbing himself a few wallets and even a nice gold pocket watch from a fellow decked in a three piece, green suit, wearing shamrock glasses. Oh how the other half lived! He was enjoying himself. "Where have all the good times gone?” May sang the words, it was haunting and sad. That sweet singing voice had always brought Jack comfort, but now he only wished she was with him. May so loved to play the crowd and afterwards they’d get so high and laugh about all the little exploits they’d manage to get away with it. They were the best of times.
Jack bid farewell to the distracted bartender after finishing his glass. Their leprechaun guide was calling them back again. This time as he rode the bus he was able to snag a seat next to Alex. Jack found his sire’s presence comforting. Despite the fact that she was very much a vampire, there was a brightness about her that was like a torch in the darkness. Also she was sitting right in the front, which meant made getting off the coach would be a bit easier, a bit quicker.
Surprisingly enough, Jack didn’t grab himself a pint of blood at the next stop. Five glasses in and he was all jazzed up, which was why the suggestion of a good, old fashioned brawl seemed so appealing. At first, he was on the fence about the whole idea, not wanting to arouse any unwarranted prejudice. May gently persuaded him otherwise, however. "Embrace the urge…” her final words on the matter and so Jack, removing his hat and his jacket, did. Though Jack hated signing waivers (like signing your life away) the experience was liberating to say the least.
The back room of the High Noon Saloon reeked of old blood and stale sweat, it surely got the adrenaline pumping. Jack was joined by his stoney old friend, Mr. Drunk Vampire Man. It was agreed by the participants that the contest would be decided by an old fashioned fistacuffs fight, no weapons, other than those one might find lying around. Considering his surroundings quickly, Jack put up his dukes as his opponent, now more aggressive than intoxicated, charged. The young vampire took him on full force, taking a strong left hook, while delivering his own uppercut to the bloke’s chin. Both men fell back, Jack felt like a marble block had been mashed into the side of his cheek. This guy was no joke, but he was still drunk and it made him clumsy. Jack used this to his advantage, throwing a few dexterous, well aimed punches, while leaping around...forcing his opponent to waste his energy. The guy was brawny and took Jack’s punches like a statue. To an outsider, it would have appeared like a cricket fighting a tortoise. In the end, Jack stepped out victorious, though more than a bit battered. He had managed to use the vampire’s drunken, momentum to force him, headfirst into a bloodstained wall. Jack spit a wad of blood onto the ground before collecting his hat and his coat. The fight had satisfied something carnal that resided at the very depths of his being, that same something that tempted him to taste the bartender at the shop. He was about ready for that next drink now.
Perhaps it was the magic of the Irish spirits in the air, the drunk vampire’s name was Boris and he was far from a poor sport. They exchanged handshakes afterward and engaged in some decent conversation over a few smokes, opting to step outside...the cold seemed to have a healing aura to it, like a ice pack to a bruise. He was an older vampire, recently returned to this realm, which Jack attributed to his previously dour nature and his brutish strength. Truly all the talk of vampires, realms, and other monsters, made Jack feel like he was in some kind of dungeons and dragons game. The reality of this aspect of the world could still seem so fleeting. Boris made a Karloff reference which made for a few laughs. It all felt so natural as the smell of tobacco wafted through the cool night breeze. The only downside to the whole thing was that their leprechaun guide called them back to the bus before Jack was able to grab that drink.
Lancaster’s, the final stop of the evening. Green was ever present, even before Jack stepped off the coach, there was a ghostly haze of the color that seemed to drift through the black of the night. When Jack finally did see the source of the haze, he was sure that the light cloaked him in the signature color just as much as it shrouded the brick of the pub. As Jack followed the crawlers into the bar, the inside was no less festive. The patrons were all dressed in some way, shape, or form for the occasion. Standing out among them was a sharp dressed gentleman in a tall green top hat. He appeared like a shark with an emerald fin, in a sea of green. And Shamrocks...they were everywhere, on the bar, on every table, and even floating in the rafters above them. Jack wondered if luck resided in the shape Saint Pat was so famous for expounding upon, or if a true living shamrock was required to reap the benefits of the fabled fortune. If it was just the shape, though, the owner of this establishment would be the luckiest chap in town.
Music and hops filled the air, couldn’t ask for anything better. Jack knew the song, a Flogging Molly cover, Requiem for a Dying song. The band played it well and he bopped along to it as he made his way to the bar. Grabbing the attention of the bartender, he ordered himself a glass of the red, sticky stuff. Waiting for his drink Jack noticed the pot of gold behind the bar. He imagined folks would be taking pictures in front of it, probably with their leprechaun guide. It made him smile. He couldn’t imagine that the cauldron was filled with real gold coins, it didn’t seem possible. He never connected the raffle ticket, which he shoved in his coat pocket upon his arrival, to the prize, in fact he had pretty much forgotten he’d been given it. The bar’s speciality blood arrived, he let the warm liquid take him again. Pint in hand Jack made his way towards the stage.
The band played on and the crowd that had gathered around the stage danced and weaved. Jack was among them, he chased May’s shade as he swayed to the beat. His empty pint glass sat on a table somewhere far behind him. This was just how they had played what seemed like so long ago. Not the band, but Jack and May, letting the music that they so enjoyed take them. Jack felt like he was floating through the haze of the past...tinged green of course.
While her newest childe had been exchanging blows in the back room of the High Noon Saloon, Alexandrea Quartermaine had been getting herself beat up by a mechanical bull. The blonde was very lucky to be a Vampire. Despite her supernatural strength and healing, she still felt like she had broken her arse. The ride to the next stop on the tour was surprisingly bumpy and uncomfortable but at least it was close. Just a few short blocks to the south and they were at Lancaster's.
The Allurist made her way into the bar and then made a beeline to the bar, not even waving at the now human Elliot Lancaster, their host. She was still unsure what to make of his... change... but she had thought up several dozen questions to annoy the man with at some point. Chiefly among them would be as to whether or not the former Allurist new Varo. But now wasn't the time, Elliot had a full house and vampire or not, he still seemed like all Allurist. So she ordered a Hurricane out of nostalgia, and then raised her glass in his direction when he looked her way and then turned her back before noticing if he spotted her or not.
Finding a somewhat comfortable spot to lean against, she watched the dancers enjoying the music and sipped on her drink. She had just started to perk up, pain in the butt almost all gone, when she suddenly found herself drenched in a shower of various liquids. It had been her own fault, of course. The server had seen a clear path from the bar to the tables when Alexandrea had decided to take a step backwards without bothering to look first.
The blonde stood there dripping as the waiter rushed to clean up the mess. It took Alex a second to regain her composure and sent the poor fellow off to refill his tray, it was her mess to clean up... Alexandrea insisted. Someone rolled a small mop bucket out of the backroom and handed her a dustpan and broom and together the two had the mess sorted and the yellow caution signs up in due course. The floor would be dry long before Alexandrea's outfit. With a sigh, the blonde made her way to the ladies room and then tomed home to change.
The killer stepped silently from the shadows a razor honed Fairbairn-Sykes dagger in each hand. With the preternatural grace of a stalking wolf the monstrous male moved in on his prey, a gaggle of four stumbling creatures. If not for the stench of death, and the pus leaking wounds covering a large percentage of their exposed flesh, the small posse might have been college roommates on the way home from a St Paddy's day party, These though, these were pestilence ridden, animated corpses released upon the world by the opening of the Rift. One more mark of the Beast, heralding the end of times. With swift concise movements the daggers sank rhythmically through the tops of skulls, scrambling the worm ridden remains of brain that lended animation to the bodies.
Standing over the four corpses he stared with disgust at the bright lights of the bar across the street, advertising a pub crawl, loud music disturbing the night each time the door wafted open. Lancaster’s. That prick D’arTwat that had been involved the battles over cherrywhip all those years ago, and more recently, Melanie had watched him aid the scientist of Longslaade. It was a pity his mother hadn’t swallowed that particular load, but this, this was too much. Sliding his beloved daggers into their kydex homes, the killer bent to the bodies, then straightened, two corpse hanging from each brobdingnabian hand as he crossed the street.
A spike bound NewRock slammed the open entrance door, shattered glass flying in rainbow streaks of tempered shards, drawing the attention of the drunken fools partying within. Ducking his head Mordechai entered, the corpses in tow. A growl rumbled from deep within as he hefted the oozing zombies, easily tossing them over the bar into a cauldron full cash. “Yo, ****… Don't you think you should police the neighborhood before inviting all these poor fools out to provide food for the local fauna?” One hand pointed at the rotting flesh spread across the cauldron, juices leaking deep within the now destroyed cash. “You never gave a **** about us, but I had assumed you at least cared for the safety of the humans. Yeah i know what they say about assuming, but you have ever been an ***.”
#DISSENSION
#END WHOLESOMENESS
''Si vis pacem, para bellum'' ~*~*~*~*~*~ ''morituri te salutant''
''Deep within the shadows I'm the hungry wolf you fear''
Tucking a stray curl behind her ear, Camden curled her fingers along the edge of her seat. The wood seemed cool beneath her touch, which was odd, considering the amount of patrons within Lancaster’s. It was usually busy – but tonight, it was packed. Even with doors opened to allow the chilled air to waft through the bar, she could feel the heat warming her skin. Somewhere, she had shed her jacket, and somewhere – it had gotten lost. It’s not that important, she mused as she drummed her nails against the counter and painted a smile on her face. It wasn’t that she wasn’t enjoying herself. She was. The night was young, the crowd was wild, and the holiday was one that she had loved since she was a little girl.
It was being away from her daughter.
It had only been an hour, and she was already filled with anxiety. What if she missed her? What if something happened? What if Bethany couldn’t control her? Bringing her lower lip between her teeth, she searched the crowd for the one face she knew – and finding Lancaster with ease, she wiggled her phone from her jean pocket and quickly scrolled through her contacts until she found the babysitter’s name. Just as the pad of her thumb hovered over the call button, a scent – foul and strong – all but assaulted her. Turning her head away, she found herself choking on a cough as a man far too tall meandered straight to the bar – and the pot of ‘gold’, four corpses tossed carelessly into the cash. For a moment, she couldn’t believe it.
Her mind wouldn’t connect with the scene unfolding before her. There was glass shattered somewhere across the floor, and those closest to her made their way rapidly across the floor. Thankfully, most hadn’t left, too drunk – or confused – to understand exactly what had happened. As it was, even frozen as she was in her stool, she didn’t understand. The creatures staring back at her, their faces morphed and their skin rotted, didn’t register. Of course, Elliot hadn’t left her in the dark. She knew about the monsters that roamed the streets. She knew about the vampires, the zombies, and the death… but she had yet to accept it.
Even now, she turned her frightened gaze from the decaying flesh, to the monster of a man that had crashed like a bull through the open door, and raised a brow. Drawing her tongue slowly over her lower lip, she gently rapped her knuckles against the counter-top. “Is everything going to be alright?” Her question was directed at Elliot, and she hoped that his attention was drawn to the phone in her hand. There was another inquiry within her eyes: Do I need to call the police?
PURE BLOOD
I KNOW I'M NOT THE CENTER OF THE UNIVERSE BUT YOU KEEP SPINNING 'ROUND ME JUST THE SAME
The sound of knuckles rapping the bar drew his attention to a diminutive blonde staring at the one that had invited her out into the shitshow the city had become. The news was rife with the reports of attacks and people evacuating in droves to escape the rampaging creatures. As the killer swept through her mind he shook his head in disgust. Just another stupid bloodbag. This one obviously a candidate for state sterilization, to stupid to breed. The city one step from martial law, zombies and mooncalves roaming the streets attacking whoever they find, and she comes out in the middle of the night to get drunk, and likely find another stranger to help her ‘forget’ her troubles. A low chuckle erupted as he saw her thoughts, and the phone in her hand. “The police can’t help you. In the last two days, I have had to put down ten officers that succumbed to their wounds fighting the zombies. The truth is that it is us, the vampires, that have kept the monsters in control, trapped inside the quarantine zone, culling them for over six years now. The human forces cant handle them. Even now vampires are joining the militia to push them back, and all because a human, a ******* human set them free. No little girl, everything is not going to be alright.” The killer spit on the floor as he stared at man behind, drawing these humans out into danger. “Scum like that one, who care for no one but themselves, are going to get you all killed. He drew you here,you and all the others, to fill his pockets, he is driven solely by narcissistic greed, he doesn't care whether you go home to whatfver awaits you, unless you go home with empty pockets.”
Last edited by Mordechai on 19 Mar 2018, 21:57, edited 2 times in total.
#DISSENSION
#END WHOLESOMENESS
''Si vis pacem, para bellum'' ~*~*~*~*~*~ ''morituri te salutant''
''Deep within the shadows I'm the hungry wolf you fear''
Lancaster had barely had time to enjoy himself before trouble was at their door.
Where all the glass and splinters came from he didn’t know – the doors had been wide open, so unless an explosion was staged to create a scene… he’d have to look properly later, once the crowds had dispersed and he could properly assess the damage to his property that he would have to fix.
The question from Camden was not missed, nor the accusations from the giant of a stranger whom Lancaster did not recognise. There were plenty of things that Lancaster had forgotten, though he’d clawed his way back through lost memories to regain them. Some still remained a mystery, and he presumed it wasn’t the normal kind of amnesia. The point was, whatever this man was blathering about, Lancaster was at a loss.
Any chance he might have at response was delayed due to the zombie corpses that had been tossed over the counter, slamming into the pot of cash to send its contents flying. They weren’t dead corpses. They were reanimated, and Lancaster had to dispatch of them all before he could do anything else. Despite whatever this fool was dictating, he was wrong; if Lancaster was who he was accused of being, he’d not have any interest in protecting his patrons from the dangers of the corpses, though he doubted they’d be able to do any damage regardless.
Though Lancaster was human again, he still retained some of the skills he’d had before, including his learned ability to perform rituals. One had been cast over the pub ever since the Shade had come into existence – Eirene’s will, making all violence within the establishment impossible. A growl crawled from Lanaster’s throat as the larger man turned on Camden; it took mere seconds for Lancaster to step out from behind the bar and between the vampire and the human.
”And yet you are the one bringing zombies into a crowded place, putting peope in danger. For what, to make a point? That’s the epitome of selfishness. Your accusations are unfounded. I don’t know who you are,” he said, his sing-song voice calm even as fury bubbled at his core. ”The pub is protected, so if you try anything you’ll fail. I brought people here to promote peace between vampires and humankind, and am giving away more cash tonight than is being spent. I had nothing to do with the recent outbreak. You gonna punish every single human for what one may or may not have done? That’s not exactly proactive, mate—you’re insane. Please, get the **** out of my pub,” he said, pointing to the door.
There was no reason, in Lancaster’s mind, to point out all the ways the other was wrong. The man was clearly not right in the head. Lancaster often helped those in need, giving them a place to stay for free if required. Camden was proof of that. He set up a soup kitchen in the alley beside the pub, food provided for the homeless. He gave funds to charities all over to help the homeless in winter, to help them find shelter. Lancaster knew, first hand, how dangerous it could be out there. Danger from vampires – not from humans. He felt no need to justify himself. Not to a crazy person. He only hoped the guy would leave without further incident.
C U R E D || siren - enhanced empathy - sweet blood - liar liar some things just don't add up
i'm upside down i'm inside out
She had gotten lost somewhere along the way, but Lancaster's had been the last stop for the evening. It was something that Mariah would never allow Marisol to hear about - the teasing she'd get from the allurist wasn't worth the headache. She'd brought a few guests along and had watched a zombie stumble into a crowd - the small caliber handgun in her purse had come in handy when a drunken man named Ted didn't seem to care before he'd become chow. She'd learned her lesson to stay far away from the creatures, but now?
Her heels clicked on the wooden flooring once she stepped inside the pub. Before everything, it wouldn't have been an establishment that she'd enter. She'd always been drawn to fancier things, the finer things in life. Marisol had put a quick stop to it the moment she freezed her bank accounts. Now, it was a few beers every sunday where she could get it. It was one of the reasons she'd gone out.
"Who in this city is sane?" She asked as she stepped over some of the damage that was noticeable. "You can't cast a stone without it smacking some delusional case in the face." A charming smile played across her lips as some of the others arrived. Those who had fallen behind with her, getting lost in the paved streets of Harper Rock. At the zombies behind the bar and the glass upon the floor, a few recoiled nervously. Others stepped over it, dedicated in making the best of their night like Mariah.
One man even paused to redirect the “traffic” of the walking patrons past the large man. "Humans and vampires are going to enjoy themselves however they please. It doesn't matter what holiday, what the economy looks like. They'll flee, but everybody loves a good party." Especially when alcohol is involved. Mariah kept this fact to herself. It was a positive factor of being completely and utterly inebriated.
[for_peace][/for_peace]
do you like my cookies, they're made just for you,
a little bit of s u g a r, but lots of p o i s o n, too.
The clinking of the green beads and miniature plastic beer mug around her neck added a random tune of sorts to her steps that carried her to the doors of the pub. Jimmy couldn’t have gotten too far off now that she was on his trail. It was crazy. She talked to him only days ago and now he was needing a little more TLC than either of them ever planned on. One thing was certain. Once she found him he was going to the back forty to hang with her grandma. They got on well before so it would be a decent fit until the cure for what ailed the general public was finally available. There was a cure for the overbites so there would certainly be one for the affliction that had the good people of Harper Rock turning into the walking dead.
Beezus in her average height stepped through the space of the establishments interior and headed straight for what was in her sights. The zombie matter too warrior sits down on a stool. Unpainted lips and eyes move with ease as if it is nothing new to be there. Just another night in her life. Getting the bartender's attention was simple enough.
“I don’t drink so pour some water.” While she waited she pulled out her cell phone and fixed it to the extension so she could do another live broadcast for her video blog community. “ Hey goys.” She saluted to the screen several feet from her. “ I told you I would be back. I just got out of another session on my deadbeat sister. ***** collects aid, lives on the net, gets her nails done and serves cooter for peace 4-6pm nightly during happy hour to promote harmony. Meanwhile my five year old niece can’t tie her own shoes and still thinks wearing pull ups is okay. She tried to file a complaint against me. Can you believe that. Apparently giving a **** about the quality of life Linny has doesn’t rank above her mothers ineptness in raising her. Don’t tell me to go to the social services. I’m considered too honest and a threat to their fragile feelings to have a say. **** it.” Beezus hand went up and produces a lion head tattoo over her middle finger. Her signature hold on a minute sign. “Pour me two tall glasses of ice water. Please.” She was far more thirsty than she thought. The cell phone went back up and she was live once agai on the feed. “Okay, get your asses back here. Keep me company while I wait for Jimmy to shuffle in. Any of you out there seen a guy about 6’0 looking a bit rough, missing a nice sized portion of his face due to recent necrotic outbreak?” The phone stayed in the air and she raised her cold glass to the screen. “Cheers my favorite bitches!”
She hadn’t meant to capture the attention of the behemoth, but when his head turned, his darkened gaze seeming to all but bore into her, she found herself turning to stone. She couldn’t so much as breathe. The air was trapped in her lungs, her heart slowing until she was certain it would no longer beat. She should move, she should lift her hand, grab her bag, and walk out the door – but she couldn’t. Even with her attention locked on Elliot, she could feel the monster’s presence at her side. It was if he was surrounded by darkness – a volatile energy that danced along her skin like a thousand bolts of electricity. She was certain it was all in her head, but that did nothing to cull her terror.
The phone felt heavy in her hand, the glass cracking beneath the force of her thumb. She could feel it, the way the device threatened to split in two from the way she held it. She had no real strength, she knew that. It was the adrenaline; the fear that caused her to clutch at her cell like it was her lifeline. It was of no use to her now, but the thought had barely entered her mind before a sound – so unfamiliar – had her narrowing her eyes on the man across the bar – had Elliot growled? She had witnessed a hundred emotions play across the man’s face since she had met him – but never once had he showed anger. It didn’t frighten her – instead, as he came around the bar, she found herself finally able to move.
The tension in her muscles thawed when he stepped in front of her, and she slid from her seat, her feet quietly pressing to the floor. Without a word, she reached out, her slender fingers curling around his bicep. She remained quiet – not a single sound left her. She refused. She knew violence. She knew danger – she wasn’t a fool. She had told them when they had met that she had was no stranger to crime – and that was this was. It was of a different caliber, but it was a crime all the same. Stepping closer to him, she let him know she was there – she was fine – but she did nothing further. He had given her a place to stay; he had taken such care of her – and to hear the words spill from the giant’s mouth, it was clear that he didn't know the truth of the man standing before him. Tightening her jaw, she finally forced herself to look at the beast.
God, she wished she hadn't. She had tried to tell herself that none of this was real - the vampires, the zombies, the outbreak - it was just a misunderstanding, but when she looked at the man, she knew the truth. Using her free hand, she tucked a curl behind her ear, her phone forgotten - useless - on the counter. The man before her could be nothing more than a vampire, and she should run. Again, the feeling was there, but she didn't move. Elliot didn't seem afraid - nor did the redhead that had sauntered up, painted lips curled into a charming smile. Others around them seemed unafraid, others fled out the door. It was a confusing - surreal - moment, and one she found herself standing still for. While the man before them might be evil - he was only one among many, and he had already proven that he was a man full of lies and insanity.
PURE BLOOD
I KNOW I'M NOT THE CENTER OF THE UNIVERSE BUT YOU KEEP SPINNING 'ROUND ME JUST THE SAME
