Asleep at the Wheel [open]

[Lancaster]

Normally, Elliot Lancaster had a very tight grip on his more violent urges. On the surface, he was a peaceful man who loathed the city’s tendency to kill and maim first, and ask questions later. Elliot’s plan of attack was always to approach warily, on neutral ground – to ask what the problem might be, what had caused it, and what might be done to solve it. Getting to that point was a road rife with hurdles and pitfalls. In the beginning he’d done what he was asked to do – plenty of things that he regretted, and now carried the guilt for. Struggle ensued, where he fought against Pi’s opinions and beliefs, and formed his own; to stand on his own two feet properly he’d had to spiral and hit rock bottom.

Recently, life had been quiet. His progeny, as per usual, kept to themselves and didn’t ask him for much. This was fine by Elliot – the ‘family’ thing hadn’t worked so well, and though he also harboured regret for its seeming failure, there wasn’t much to be done about it now. The businesses were thriving strong, and there were no woes or dramas. He’d thought that Aidan might be hunted and slaughtered for her involvement with Madison, but nothing had come to pass.

When Eliott ventured out into the world, a lot of the time it was to satisfy a deeper and instinctually ingrained need for violence. As much as he loathed it, he simultaneously, shamefully, loved it. Raids were good for letting loose and indulging in the other half of himself, but there hadn’t been any for a while. And so he took to the sewers.

What he hadn’t expected was to be ambushed; normally the hunters were scattered, but this time they all came out of the woodworks. One after the other after another. Unusually tactical. Elliot had been unprepared – in the end, five or six bodies lay scattered at his feet. The price, however, was dire.

Elliot, six feet six inches tall, stood in the middle of the bloody mess, and far too much of the blood was his own. His wiry body was riddled with bullet holes; his neck had been gashed, and a vein had been severed in his leg, causing the blood to throb and pump from his adrenaline-fuelled body. The shirt that had once been blue was now purple with blood – the black jeans shiny with wetness. Ever since Pi had pulled him out of the hole that he had dug himself into – ever since she had offered him her blood and thus turned him into a despised Necurat, it had never been this bad. The thirst was about as prominent as his desire for violence; the vampire in him took over, and there was no shame or guilt. There was only thirst, and ignorance for the lives that he had just taken.

Thirst, so strong, it burned like molten lava clung to the back of his throat; his teeth ached, fanged incisors prominent as his lips curled back. Eyes, which were usually soft with amusement and kindness were now bright and cold – the eyes of a predator, of a hunter.

He left the slaughter behind, and began a slow, limping trek through the sewers – subconsciously, he was looking for food.

[OOC: Rabid necurat Elliot will try feed from whoever joins this – if they be vampire. I’m totally keen for whatever drama may unfold. We can even do it on grid – hit me up if you feel the need to brainstorm.]

[Jonah]

Jonah cracked his neck as he walked through the sewers. His hammer hung at his side as it always did and his sword was strapped to his back. Strangely, the pistol was holstered as well. The killer did this from time to time when the Darkness crept too close to the surface. Using only his strength and the powers Nox had granted him, he would pit himself against whatever enemy would prove the most challenging. He was injured quite often doing this, but it was enough to quell the beast inside.

His body was pale and seemed to almost glow in the darkness and he had shifted in to the monstrous form that he had been forced to wear for so long. What he had looked at for so long as a curse, he had finally found to be a blessing.

A supernatural glow lit up the darkness and a woman, tall and naked and tattooed rushed at him. Leaping forward, he kicked high, trying to catch her in the head but she blocked with her arm and he could feel the bones crack under the pressure. Both fighters focused their power and as Jonah tried to curse her, she squeezed her fingers and his body locked up, growing stiff, and interrupting the curse.

As he twitched, the woman swung at him but he managed to twist and avoid each one of her swings until she over extended and he hammered her arm again with another powerful kick. Seeing she was distracted, he lifted his arm and the shadows moved with it. Closing her eyes, she muttered a prayer and her sword grew brighter, disrupting the shadows before they could touch her.

Growling, he tried to advance but her eyes snapped open and she jumped up, slashing at his neck and he stopped with enough time to dodge strike. Redirecting it, she pulled it back and caught his throat with the false edge and blood poured down his chest. He swung out again, the shadows following, but as before they disappeared as soon as they entered the globe of light she had around her.

In frustration, he roared and the girl stepped backwards, the sound causing her resolve to falter as she considered whether she should flee while the monster was wounded and live to fight another day. Turning slightly, she saw that she was backed against a wall with nowhere else to go so she pressed forward again, putting every bit of strength he could muster in to the swings but Jonah moved so the tip missed him each time.

She reached forward, her fist in a claw to try and dry the blood in his veins up but he had moved in close and managed to get a meaty fist around her neck, cutting off the sound of the prayer before she could complete it. Bringing his fist down like a hammer, her skull split open and he let her fall in to the muck of the sewer.

Looking down at her, he breathed in, focusing on what he had just done, and then slowly released it, a portion of the Darkness flowing out of him as he did so. Reaching up, he touched his neck and frowned. The wound was healing but the warm blood was still flowing. He nodded his respect to the dead soldier and gurgled, "Was a good strike."

[Lancaster]

The sewers were dank, uninhabitable, humid, wet kind of place. The city could be heard rumbling overhead; the cars and the bikes as they slushed through puddles of water above, or clanged over manholes in the middle of the streets. Every now and again there was laughter, shouting, the sounds of humanity going about their business; the sounds drifted down through the grates, perhaps even through the pipes. A whole other world separate to this one. None of them would know what lurked beneath their feet.

The sewers, otherwise, were a maze, and Elliot was lost. Not because he didn’t know where he was going or where he had come from, but because he didn’t care. He wasn’t looking for an exit. He wasn’t looking for the comfort of knowing exactly where he stood in the grand scheme of the city. He was only looking for one thing – blood, and with it, satisfaction. Subject to his more basic desires, Elliot stalked onward, rounding each corner stealthily, a man on a mission. Two more hunters lay dead at his feet along the way, before finally he caught a whiff of what he wanted.

Blood. Not human blood, but the blood of a vampire. Strong blood, tainted with something special. Something different. Something magical, unearthly, unnatural. Human blood was weak in comparison; a liquid destined to die. Vampire blood, instead, was bolstered with everlasting immortality. An electric current of life that just could not be beat.

The tall musician followed the scent to the source. A hulking being that Elliot did not recognise; a monstrous form that should have dissuaded him from his mission. But the scent was far too powerful. This vampire’s blood had been spilled recently, that much was clear. Without waiting, without stopping, without assessing the situation at all, Elliot attacked. He’d approached from behind, one hand gripping the top of the monster’s head to wrench it sideways to give better access to the vein, the other hand, the sword hand, wrapped around the front so that the sword’s tip pressed into the bottom of the other vampire’s chin.

Elongated canines struck; there was already an open wound. Elliot had only to find the vein, to latch on, and to drink.

[Jonah]

Jonah's head was wrenched to the side, the flesh that had been closing tearing back open as a stranger's fangs dug in to his neck and deepened the wound that had begun to heal. The killer had been attacked by enough blood thieves to know what was going on, that someone was trying to feed from him, but the strength that the maneuver required was greater than he had seen from any of the thieves.

The pain he was experiencing was too great for him to be able to think any further and he reached up to his throat, trying to find purchase on the flesh of the other man. His hands slipped in the mix of his own blood and the blood his claws drew on the other man's hands. Reaching further, he grabbed at the man's back until his claws dug in deep and he picked his attacker up, flinging him against the wall of the sewer.

Out of habit, his hand went to his waist as he searched for one of his weapons, but all were safe in his hut in the Eyrie. Growling low, he lunged forward, intending to tackle the other vampire in to the wall.

[Lancaster]

Of course Elliot expected to be attacked. He expected retaliation – even in his rabid state he wasn’t stupid. It would appear that he was not clever, due to the way that he had attacked, without thinking of the consequences. Tactically, however, he was aware that a fight would ensue.

Before he got thrown against the wall, he’d managed three or four healthy, large gulps of the other vampire’s blood. For the briefest of moments, as he was face to face with the man that he had attacked, he recognised the monster that he felt like he had become. It was like he was looking into a mirror image. He was exactly disgusted. No, he was actually quite fascinated. Though it wasn’t a lasting, curious fascination. It was just a lingering thing in the back of his head that would never really see the light of day.

Instinct kicked in. It was always instinct, really, that got Elliot into trouble. Not normal human instinct, but the darker, more violent instinct of the vampire. It didn’t matter that he’d managed to swallow some blood—he’d lost a lot, and the small amount that he’d ingested was not enough. The other vampire reached for a weapon that did not materialise. Instead of coming at him with a sword or a gun, the hulking figure came at Elliot with brute force.

Over the years that he had been a vampire Elliot had learned quite a bit of dexterity and grace. Prepared for the retaliation, he leaped to the side, rolling against the wall before closing one fist around his opposite write, providing extra force as he aimed his elbow directly at the back of the other’s slightly lowered neck. His aim, really, was to make the man stumble – to shove him up against the wall instead, so that Elliot could resume his feeding.

[Jonah]

The strike to Jonah's neck sent him stumbling down in to the sewer floor, skidding across it until his face slammed in to the hard wall. Gritting his teeth, he caught his lip and drew blood, the scent growing stronger in the air. The big killer tried to flip himself over, knowing that the other male would be attempting to get on top of him to resume his feeding.

He had been like that once, a mindless beast that didn't care what it did or who it attacked, and he regretted it every day since he had returned from it. He was slowly putting his life back together but there were many days when he was tempted to go back to it. The strength, the power, the need to be filled in a way that regular blood could never fill you...it was seductive and he missed it, especially when he was alone with nothing to distract him.

A part of him knew that that was why he fought the way that he did. Throwing himself against ever stronger foes, trying to catch a bit of the high of knowing that he was the most elite predator, the apex of the food chain. Here he was though, about to be fed from like he had fed on those that he had loved and cared for.

Letting out a roar, he swung out, intending to catch the other vampire in the side of the head with his massive fist as he tried to keep him down on the ground.

[Lancaster]

Elliot might have somehow picked up instinctual skill in battle, but that didn’t mean he was by any means an expert. He could swing a sword decently, when he was paying attention and when he knew, head and heart, subconscious and not, exactly what he was aiming for. When he was in his right state of mind, he was actually quite good, and could avoid most attacks upon him. He could avoid wounds, and could avoid his foe getting the better of him.

This was no ordinary foe, however. It wasn’t some weaker enemy. It was another vampire, just like he was. And Elliot had no way to gauge what kind of strength he was up against. If he was in the state of mind to gauge that kind of thing, he wouldn’t be where he was, with a fist smashing into his skull and lights dancing behind his eyes. It almost felt as if something had fractured in his jaw. Truth was, he was in no state of mind to know what he was up against, or to hone his instinctual reaction enough to avoid the beating that could very likely come his way.

By all rights, the fist to his head should have knocked some sense into him. It should have reminded him of who he was and where he was, and what the **** it was that he was doing. Instead, however, it incited only fury. Where before he had been fuelled only by bloodlust, by thirst, now he was fuelled by emotion. An Allurist fuelled by emotion was a dangerous thing, sometimes – an Allurist who, on the surface, told himself and everyone else that he wasn’t angry anymore. It wasn’t exactly a lie, because he didn’t know it himself. But deep down, there’d always be angry. There’d always be a peculiar kind of despair.

So when Elliot shouted, when his voice – normally so docile and calming – roared from his throat, within it was bound all his rage and despair. All the wounds that had been dealt upon him, mentally and emotionally, were projected into the space between himself and his foe. This other man who’d done nothing to deserve this kind of treatment, but was receiving it anyway. It was an instinctual reaction – not honed instinct, but animalistic instinct. The roar, and the stumble backward, to give himself some time to recover before mounting another attack.

[OOC: Some combination of the RP Projected Rage power, as well as Intimidate/Projected Empathy. Have them either work or not work or whatever you want. ]

[Jonah]

The sound of the other man's roar echoed against the walls of the sewer, surrounding him completely and filling his mind. He felt the rage and hurt the other man felt and if Jonah were anyone else, he might have been overwhelmed by the mental barrage.

The necurat's feelings were his feelings though. He had walked the same road and been filled with the Darkness before and he slipped back in to it easily. Rolling to his hands and knees, his eyes narrowed and his chest rumbled as he sprinted towards the other man again, water splashing up and around him.

He was more focused this time and he brought his arm up, summoning his shadow and willing it to lash out. It cut through the air again and again as Jonah tried to harm him however he could manage. A pointed tooth pricked his lip and the taste of blood sharpened his senses for a moment, making him realize what he was doing and he faltered for a split second, unsure if he should continue the fight.

[Lancaster]

The attack of the shadow did not help Elliot. The fact that the sharpened solidity of that thing that should not ever be solid managed to pierce through the skin over his ribcage only meant that he would lose more blood. The heart was punctured, though it did not bleed as much as it could have – it no longer beat, so it did not pump the blood in surging founts as it might once have done. But that did not matter – muscle and organ were sliced open and blood, red and thick, bubbled from the wound.

The vampire was forced backward; he found his balance against the wall, reaching back to hold himself upright. The other hand clutched over the wound in his chest as he gasped, as if for air – but he wasn’t gasping for air. He was gasping for clarity, as stars danced behind his eyes and the lurid, vibrant pain reminded Elliot of who he was, and where he was. The instinct of the vampire still clung tight to his actions and reactions; the wiry limbs of his body were tense, ready to attack or defend.

But the arrival of a the tiniest amount of reason had him faltering. The singular voice in his head shouting at him to stop. Stop, for ****’s sake, with all that is holy, ******* stop! He continued to suck air into his lungs. Though he did not need it, the action reminded him of his humanity. Of the thing that he craved; the state of being that he wanted to return to. The agony of the gaping wound in his chest had him growling. A half shout to himself as he tried to regain his senses—as he tried in vain to back up against the wall as if it could consume him and swallow him up.

Control was just out of his reach. It was just there… and he fought to regain it. Fought, though kept his bright blues steadfast upon the man in front of him—wary, ready for another attack. Ready to defend himself, should it come to that.

[Jonah]

"Don't know what the **** this has been about, but I think we both need to calm down." Jonah spat out the words and wiped the blood from his lip, keeping his eyes on the other male and ready to defend himself if he came at him.

The echoes of his footsteps bounced around both of them as he took slow steps back, lengthening the distance between them which he hoped would help the other man get his head on straight and see that Jonah wasn't a threat. At least not inherently.

As he walked, his own head cleared slowly and he picked out a familiar scent between the blood and the stink of the sewer. "You know...Pi? You smell like her. We're...friends. Don't think she would approve of..." he trailed off and gestured at the destruction both of them had caused on each others' bodies, this."