Path of the Vampire forum

Harper Rock.

Who knew his travels would lead him here, well – it wasn’t travelling for leisure. It was business, always ******* business with Godric. He had too if he wanted to stay a part of the Mexican gang he was a part of. He had a job and he had to deliver – and his job was to kill one Remington Rothfelder. He knew why, his brother Ramone had died in Texas. His brother had died at the hands of this Remington.

A grunt left his fat lip – which he had gotten from interrogating a guy who had seen his target about a day or so ago. The guy hit back obviously. His methods of torture, and interrogation were unorthodox. He wasn’t in Mexico though, he was in Canada and the way to get **** from people was different, just like the weather was different in the two places. A long leg stretched across the pavement, a small light flickered on and off. Fault electric fuse box nearby, it had to be. It didn’t bother Godric any – instead he pocketed his hands into his dark blue jeans and continued to walk on. He knew where this guy was headed a bar.

How did he know he would be at the bar? He had tapped this guys phone a couple of weeks ago – he knew he had been on the phone to some woman, her accent was Australian. Godric liked it when she spoke over the phone to Remington. It was how he was going to lure Remington to where he needed him to go, never mind the fact that the weeks he had been tailing this guy he had been noticing strange things, oddities that just weren’t usual for a guy. He didn’t eat, he only came out at night. He didn’t get it. The puzzle pieces were not coming together. He rubbed at his clean shaven chin and slipped inside the bar.

The Metronome.

Yes, that had been it’s name. He had left a note for Remington, and signed it with the woman’s name that he had heard him use. Velveteen. Yes, that had been her name. He imagined her to be a beauty. So when Remington would get to his small flat, he would see a note through the letterbox. The note would read.

• Meet me @ the Metronome @ 11pm its important – Velveteen xx

Godric added the kisses, because it was something a woman would do, he knew women well enough, had slept with enough of them to know they liked to kissed, and held, and told their precious but now – the way this one sounded on the phone she sounded strong, independent something he wanted to conquer eventually. So Godric sat at the table with a glass of tap water in front of him, his had a blue shirt on, on his index finger was an onyx stoned ring with a silver design on top, the silver design consisted of a small skull with two roses for its eyes, it was an insignia of the Cartel. To anyone that didn’t know about them, it would seem normal. To someone that knew about them, knew of their history and their attention to detail. They’d know he was an assassin, a hitman of the Cartel.

Godric had his hand resting against his firearms, a silver revolver. It belonged to his brother. Better to kill the man who killed his own brother – with his brothers firearms. He had found it in the wreckage in Texas.

The note was odd.

Normally, when Velveteen wanted to get ahold of him, she would just send a message into his brain (which had been strange at first), or she would just call him. Remington was also of the opinion that Velveteen never used those little ‘xoxo’ kissy hug short hand letters. Didn’t really seem her style, and even if it was, it wasn’t the kind of thing he would have known about. None the less, he wasn’t about to turn up his nose at an order. Maybe it was some sort of vampiric thing he didn’t get yet. And 11 pm, was far enough away that he had plenty of time to get ready.

He showed up at the club wearing something decently presentable. A pair of slacks, and a button down shirt in a color that looked like solid red. He didn’t wear ties, so he hadn’t bothered, but suspenders, and a bomber jacket finished off his outfit. It wasn’t exactly dress up, but it wasn’t as casual as he was used to. He showed up with only a handgun tucked away on the off chance that his sire was going to drag him off to do a little bit of hunting. The man’s hair had been combed, but was short enough that all it really did was send the strands in the same general direction to give them the illusion of polish. He hadn’t bothered to shave, and the stubble on his cheeks was dark.

He entered Metronome hidden in the shadows because he didn’t like to travel out in the open with his body exposed. At least not when he didn’t have to. He had learned that occasionally hunters and paladins would attack a vampire. They had these little mirrors they would use to determine whether or not someone was undead. And then they would just attack without much thought about how dangerous that might be. He took the Maquerade seriously; it was a big part of why he had applied to join Tytonidae, aside from his own personal connection to Velveteen.

Once there, he found himself glancing around, searching for that familiar porcelain face. But those silver eyes were nowhere to be seen in the sea of vampires and humans. He wandered around for a few moments, in search, and it was only by chance that he caught sight of a familiar sigil worn on the finger of a man he did not know. And in that moment, everything made sense. The note that had been confusing. The meeting that should never have taken place. When, honestly, had Vel ever shown an interest in meeting at Metronome? She owned her own club for Christ’s sake.

He silently chided himself for being dull of wit, and waited for a moment. Waited for people to clear out of the way before he hooked his fingers into the cloth at the back of the other man’s shirt. Her jerked violently, dragging him like a petulant child across the floor. Once he go to the bathroom, he kicked the door open and shoved the other male through. The shadows that had hidden him began to fade away, even as Remington pushed the door shut, and locked it. He then turned to face the man. He probably could have been calm. He probably should have faced the other man with a sense of quiet and dignity. But this hitman. This assassin knew about his sire. And that meant he was going to die. Slowly.

Godric had been sitting at this table, he liked this table. It was all on its own. It gave him the view of the whole club. He particularly liked to watch the women dance. You could tell he had a dick, when he got a hard on just watching the women clash their thin bodies against other women, and sometimes men. He simply watched, lifting his fingers to rub at his naked chin, naked of hair. He liked to make sure he was clean, well kept. He didn’t notice shadows coming towards him. He was so focused looking for Remington.

He didn’t even notice Remington was here now, in this club. Making his way towards him with the intention of hurting him because he had seen the insignia. He lifted the glass to his lips, the tap water hitting the back of his throat as he swallowed, his adams apple bobbing as he lowered the glass back to the table, he didn’t notice the scruff of his shirt was being plucked by the shadows, he simply remembered the backwards motion, and then being dragged off to the toilets. He expected to see a woman, a woman wanting him – but what he saw when he was thrown towards a stall his back hitting the door frame of the toilet. It took him a moment to come to his senses before his irises focused on Remington.

• ”Remington.”

The name left his lips like it was venom, he was trying to spit out of his mouth. It didn’t belong there. He still had his silver revolver in his grasp as he lifted It up. Aiming down the barrel of the gun, his fingers applied pressure to the trigger before a flash left. A bullet fired, and slammed against Remington gut. He knew he got the ********. He could smell the blood it hit his nostrils immediately.

• ”I’ve been sent to kill you. That, was for my brother Ramone. In Texas, that died at your hands.”

There was a smile painted across Godric’s lips. He was smug. His contract had been fulfilled and his vengeance had been filled. He hoped now, Remington would bleed out, and Godric could watch the life leave his eyes. He liked to do that, be there with his contracts as they died. Made more worthwhile – and he can say he completed his hit, without a hitch.

Godric watched as this man didn’t flinch from being shot. Which was odd considering his aim had been true, he had hit his mark. He could even smell the blood in the air. Godric found himself grinning, and pulling the gun up again aiming at the man’s head this time. He never went for the face when he went out on hits, the face is what made the victim recognisable, it would offer insight to who he was, so no would could say he ‘hadn’t kill that person’. This man, did deserve to be shot in the face. (not because he just got the **** up either.)

He could hear something then, it was like metal clanging against the tiled floor. Godric let his gaze fall to the floor beside his feet, and there it was a bullet. Bloodied. He hadn’t seen Remington finger the wound, or even take out the bullet. Was it pushed out, by his body. From what he’d witness in his surveillance. Godric scoffed. He wouldn’t be surprised. Remington was an oddity. It was an oddity he didn’t care about. He just wanted to put a shiny little bullet right through his face.

• ”You got the wrong dude, there Remi-boy. My brother would never suck you off, or beg for his life. He’d die, and he wouldn’t try to wriggle out of it like those pathetic wannabe hitmen.”

He laughed. There was a sense of malice in his laugh, like Remington’s words didn’t get to him. Why would they? He knew his own brother. The gun didn’t waver from his grasp though. He held it steady. Remington was just a blur, he didn’t notice the gun was gone from his grip until it was thrown onto the ground by Remington. He scoffed. Shaking his head. A hand fastened itself around his neck, lifting him up so his feed no longer touched the ground.

Super Human Strength.

Another thing to add to the weird dial of crazy bat **** he does. Godric didn’t fidget or wriggle in his grasp. Instead his smiled. Lifting his hands to curl around Remington’s fingers. He said one word, just one.

• ”Vampire.”

There was a silence in the air after Godric had uttered the word. Remington stared at him, and he stared at Remington. There was a twinkle I Godric’s eye, something that dared the boy to do something. He wasn’t afraid of death, far from it. He knew there would be a time where death would creep onto him, and it seemed that day was today. His fingers were still curled around Remingtons, strong hands he didn’t try to pluck them away. Why would you, when you knew the other was a vampire.

• ”Of course I have.”

There was a smile to the man’s lips. Something that seemed to affirm is sort of insanity of going up against a vampire and not backing down, but he knew Remington knew how the cartel worked. They watched their prey before striking. It was a trait they had, and were well known for.

• ”Tapped phones, followed you. You only come out at night, sometimes. Heard that sweet sweet bird over the phone. Velveteen was it? I love her accent. I can see why her like her so much. Might go see her, after I get out of this – and trust me, I will.”

There was a sort of arrogance to the way he spoke, he didn’t care though. He didn’t give into demands of mad men, mad men who should be at the end of his gun. The gun which, right now were at the other side of the room. He scowled a little, his lips flattening out into a straight line as he began to laugh. It was unsettling, considering the situation he had gotten himself into.

• ”Whats the point? You are going to kill me anyway. Then they’ll send someone out to come kill you, it’ll be a never ending vicious circle for you, Remi-boy.”

He lazily shrugged his shoulders as she withdrew the phone from his back pocket and looked it over, before chucking it into the nearest toilet. It landed into the water with a plop, and then a clang as it hit the bottom.

Oops. He thought sarcastically. With that smug smile still plastered on his mouth.

“Tell me, does the Cartel also teach you how to be a trained pup, who takes orders without a thought?” His eyes were like green flame, there was this intensity behind them that most men would have found unsettling if it remained fixated for too long on them. The other man seemed to have this devil-may-care attitude, and while that was exceptionally dangerous, Remington understood it. He had been a loner for a long time, and with that had come a willingness to take risks that had the potential to put him in danger. He’d never had enough connections to worry about how his actions might impact the people he cared about. Until now.

It seemed like the hitman was willing to throw away his life like trash. Remington was inclined to agree with that line of thought. But how useful might Godric have been in a fight? Remi had plenty of people he knew that he could depend on, but none of them with connections to the people who wanted him dead. If he wanted the Cartel off of his back, he needed to do something to persuade Godric that it was in his best interest to see them destroyed.

That or he could just kill the man, and wait for the next one.

He doubted they would get lucky a second time. It was painfully easy to use disposable phones.

And his patience was slowly wearing very thin.

One more tactic and if it didn’t work, he’d just rip the guy’s throat out and be done with it.

“Tell me, did they show you footage of my killing your brother?” Of course they hadn’t. Remington had wiped out any and all security before destroying the Cartel warehouses. He was a Shadow and had the ability to go completely unnoticed. Or bring the darkness itself to life. No, he had been careful to make sure there was no evidence linking him to any of those crimes. How they even knew about him to begin with was perplexing all on its own, a subject that he would delve into another time.

“I know the Cartel well enough to know that they have thousands of people at their disposal. You have seen them kill their own, cannibalize their men in order to get a response out of them. Tell me, Godric – did I kill your brother or did they? Because I know for fact that they killed my father. “ He released the man, letting him fall to his *** on the ground. It was the illusion of freedom. If the hitman made any move, Remington would be on him in an instant. As a mortal, Remi had been gifted at martial arts and had possessed an enviable physical prowess. As a vampire, he was at peak physical condition. So he took one step back and let his gaze lower to the other’s body as if to ask if he h were thinking, or if he needed to die.

Godric’s call, really.

Godric knew Remington was trying to hit a nerve. He scoffed at the man and shook his head, clearly trying not to listen to the man. He was his own person, he didn’t need to be a trained pup. He wasn’t. He had his own free well – even if he worked for the Cartel. The man wiped at his mouth with the back of his hand, wiping away any more excess blood that dribbled from his lips craning his neck backwards he looked at the ceiling, was there a way he could knock the vampire out briefly. It could have been enough to get through the ceiling tiles, enough force would knock out of them out and he could climb through. It would buy him five minutes, maybe ten before the vampire would chase him – and he knew the man would. He knew all about Remington.

The next time he spoke though, it stopped Godric’s thoughts dead in their tracks. His green eyes looked this man over curiously. Was he asking a trick question? Had there been any footage. He couldn’t remember if he had been shown. The man shrugged his shoulders slowly.

• ”I… don’t remember.”

There was the truth, he didn’t know. Could Remington be telling him the truth – he didn’t put it past the man. He knew for a fact that his brother was dead; he had been at the funeral. He had his gun. It has his Sigel on it. There was just one more question that resided on his mind, who killed his brother. Remington, his contract – or the Cartel. His employers. He simply just didn’t know. It frightened him to not know, but he didn’t show the fear in his features. He kept his gaze steady. Locked on the man in front of him.

Godric was dropped them, his body hit the ground with a thud. As he stared at the ground, trying to make sense.

• ”Who killed him then?”

He snapped, pulled his gaze up to the vampires face. Studying him with a hard look.

His nostrils flared. That was ********. ******* ********. “You don’t remember if they showed you footage of me killing your brother? Your brother? You would remember that. You would remember the look on my face when I pulled the trigger wouldn’t you? Tell me. How was he killed? Was he shot? What kind of bullets were used? These are basic ******* pieces of evidence that could be used to confirm if it was my kind of gun or blade that killed him.” His tone was deadly even because his patience had been pushed to its limits, and he was ready to just rip the other guy’s head off and walk away. He wasn’t so in need of an ally that he could not just turn the next guy that came his way onto his side.

But it seemed like the tactic was working so he was willing to give the hitman a few more seconds.

He peered down into Godric’s eyes, his gaze drawn to that ring that held the Cartel’s sigil on it. “Why don’t you tell me? You’re the one who got sent here. You’re the one who has been watching me. Do you mean that you didn’t do all of your homework before making the big journey to the white north?” He questioned even as he took a step closer to the man. He crouched beside the hitman then so that he could effectively back him into a corner whilst still being on level in case he tried to do some shifty ****. He knew that the Cartel had a history of killing its own members to make it look like the enemy had. Sometimes they would wipe out an entire family so that the rest of the gang grew so furious that nobody could stop them from steamrolling a rival.

The doubts were surely there. And as he spoke, Remington became more and more convinced that he probably hadn’t killed the guy to begin with. He was pretty sure he would have remembered someone with the same facial features as the one right in front of him. Unique. He looked unique, almost pretty actually. Not that Remi was going to say that out loud. Most of the men he had met in the Cartel had been very into their own machismo. Didn’t like being thought of as in any way effeminate or with any qualities that might make them seem girly.

“Tick tock, man. I have to choose either to save your *** or kill you. You got two minutes to make up your mind and either be useful to me or not so I can move the **** along.” He glanced towards his watch as if to make it clear that he wasn’t going to allow for much in the way of wiggle room when it came to this one.