Tracing Danger [Closed]

[Pierre Roux (DELETED 6974)]

Normally when night fell, the tiny stars sparkled like glitter had been tossed about the sky, but with winter at its peak, those stars shone only behind a layer of filth these nights. Pierre had begun to make it a habit of his to work himself until exhausted before he would finally rest and fall asleep. Lately he had found it hard to close his eyes and willingly relax and allow for slumber. He would either be awake, or the sun would rise and take his consciousness away from him – it never felt peaceful. So Pierre works himself into the brink of exhaustion so that would no longer be a problem. Of course even to a Vampire, this could still present some problems that his physical body can not entirely cope with. It causes him to have the most frightful mood swings, which is strange as he rarely felt the heat of an emotion take him like these persist in doing. Also, it causes his body to ache and cry out in pain, which makes him clumsy and careless. He’s broken into too many places lately to find himself face-to-face with guards. Pierre decides it’s better not to waste his time and takes up midnight strolls, in spite of the very real dangers that could befall him.

Pierre’s mood wasn’t established yet and he acts more on impulse from his tired form, breaking out into a stretch and a yawn as he walks in the blackness of the night. His light brown hair is blemished by flecks and blots of dirt from a previous stumble that he had taken while still half asleep. It doesn't seem to matter much to him anymore, he isn't the pretty picture he normally was, far from it, and was far too impatient and tired to care now. It isn’t as though he has anyone to look nice for anyway. When Nishaa brought him to this life, she’d stripped away his old one. Everyone who ever knew Pierre now thinks he is dead. The Frenchman has no job, no girlfriend, and no friends to speak of outside his new undead family, and he doesn’t worry too much about what they might think of his shabby appearance.

He dresses casually these nights, in clothes that are practical rather than aesthetically pleasing. Black cargo pants with plenty of pockets allowed him to secret items efficiently, and a close-fitting grey polo neck shirt makes him feel like he can cut through the world like a shark. Of course he’s wearing combat boots now instead of loafers, the sturdy and hard-wearing sort that might last him a decade. Pierre is also armed for the first time in his life. He’s not a violent person and has always shied away from a fight, but he knows he has to defend himself now. The family gave him a couple of weapons to use – highly powered and certainly devastating weapons that no one should put their noses up to – but Pierre worries about the obligations of accepting such gifts. If he has the power to do a lot of damage, Pierre worries that a lot of damage can be done. Instead, he keeps a hunting knife on him and a small handgun attached to his belt. These are hidden beneath a slate-grey woollen trench coat – keeps out the rain, snow and even prying eyes.

Pierre had hoped that a stroll beyond the wall of trees that surround the city might perk him up, that the cold air would blow out all the cobwebs that clog his mind, but so far, it has done very little to stir him from his slumber. Pierre keeps to the path, aware of what lurks out there in the wilderness, but his steps are still ragged and laboured. He doesn’t need his spectacles anymore and his face feels bare without them. Blue eyes search the road ahead of him lazily, his peripherals blur and sharpen with every sudden streak of movement. There are rabbits all around him, moving from the grasses and small scrub to their burrows. Pierre can detect each little thump of their feet like a soft pounding of a heart to his ear. However, the rabbit is not alone; out there a wolf searches for her meal and it’s anyone’s guess as to what will be on the menu. A rabbit is a sizeable snack, but they are quick and hard to catch. A slow-moving man just might be a better meal…

[CharlotteC]

Charlie stood in the wilderness in a way she hadn't stood in a forest in a very long time. Her chestnut locks were braided back in a series of cornrows but even they were pulled back into a pony tail. She didn't wear her glasses today - not that she needed them - because rifles and glasses usually didn't walk hand in hand. She slowly stepped through the woods, trying not to actually use her powers to listen in and hone in on different animals. No make-up - what would be the point of looking good when killing Bambi's mother? Just her, in a camo jacket, a bright orange vest over the top of that, light grey cargo pants and hiking boots finished off the look.

Many - her father included - would probably think that she was nuts, out in this cold, hunting animals that around this time of year were actually hibernating, but there were still some out and about. She knew, she could hear the movements, hear their heart beats. On the other side of the spectrum, her vampire family would probably think that she was nuts as well, doing something like this. The old way. The human way. She didn't need a gun, she didn't need a god awful orange vest, she didn't need to slowly walk through the trees trying to hunt by sight alone instead of using all of her senses and her supernatural talents. Hell, she could easily turn into her Hyena form and have her prey down in a matter of minutes.

However, where was the fun in that?

She licked her lips and glanced around, breathing in the fresh air and blowing it out in a bit of a sigh. A sigh that had no sign that she was living. As could as it was, her breath should have come out in a light white puff of condensation that looked like a little cloud. However, that wasn't there, not that she cared, but she noted it anyways. With one of her new rifles in hand, she continued to walk slowly through the wilderness, tracking and hunting the way her father taught her, not the way that she would if she let her powers and traits really fly.

There was the soft sound of walking and she slowed to a stop, listening. Apparently she wasn't the only one out here... at least, that's what it sounded like. She glanced around and was looking for the other person. If it was another hunter than she clearly wasn't totally nuts, but if it was just another vampire she could deal with that. Granted, she had to be careful because she had been around so many humans that she held their aura with her. Despite her pale complexion - that she had before she was a vampire - that aura stuck to her which meant that one of the newest relics she had found was coming in handy. If they tried to bite her it warded them off. Or rather, turned her blood to acid in their mouth. Something she knew because he had given it to Rhett one time and then fed off him. It hadn't been a pleasant experience.

Standing still, trees all around her, she continued to listen to the walking. Of course, with the trees - despite her supernatural senses - the sound echoed off them and gave a sense of surround sound that made it hard to pin point. Last thing Charlie wanted to do was accidentally shoot someone... be they human or vampire.

[Pierre Roux (DELETED 6974)]

The clouds gather in clumps and grow over one another like corals seeking new ground. It’s dark, the moon is only a silver crescent in the pitch sky, but its light falters through the layering of cloud. Nothing lights the way, leaving the forest a treacherous venture. The Frenchman has little way of knowing where he is or where he has to go, and even his super senses – for all their sensitivity – cannot force images to his brain when he refuses to see. Cold air chokes at his lungs and eyes weep of their own volition through the breeze; thin tears feel frozen on his cheeks. Pierre trips again – over a root or his own feet – there is no way of telling, but he keeps going as if trained to the will of the forest. Blue eyes feel heavy and sore like sandpaper has worn away the soft cushioning of his ocular cavities, leaving those balls of nerves to scrape against a barbed surface. Pierre rubs his eyes a few times, but nothing can clear the fogging in his mind. He should just go home, go to bed, but it’s still early enough that doing so will make him feel guilty. The Frenchman is so heavy with guilt that the earth sinks drastically around his footsteps already.

In the velvet silence, underbrush crunches – the she-wolf is prowling. Whether Pierre decides to acknowledge the fact that he is prey or not, his predator stalks with practiced expertise. She’s done this enough times to know when to wait and when to pounce. It’s silent again; the Frenchman feels his phantom heart pound painfully loud in his ears. Another twig snaps to the left. Blue eyes open a little wider, chasing shadows in the endless darkness of trees. Standing still will not do him any good, however, and within seconds he moves on. The chase begins anew. She watches from the security of the trees, her prey is tired; it’ll only be a matter of time now. One, two, three, and it’s all over; strong jaws will clamp down a vulnerable neck and pressure the life right from out of him. She has to act now or she won’t get the chance. From out of the gloom, she appears; white teeth shine in a grisly smile, amber eyes flare like blazing torches. The Frenchman thinks he has no time to react and no sounds escapes him as the wolf charges out of the trees, bounding at him like black fire. Teeth, sharp and ferocious, snap and lunge, but Pierre doesn’t fight the wolf or try to run. He raises an arm defensively, and even as he feels the bones being pressed and blood spilling out of him, Pierre just continues to stare wide-eyed at the monster attacking him.

Blue eyes are too innocent, they see the wolf for what she really is; hungry and desperate, a wild animal doing what she must in the dead of winter. This is the natural order of life, but he can’t have her kill him. He’s not sure he can even die, if his meat would do her any good at all. She’s not the monster here after all, he is. The Frenchman is pushed to the ground under her weight; cold earth and roots dig painfully into his back. It isn’t until the wolf begins to thrash her head from side to side that Pierre gargles out a scream. He’s never felt pain like this, knew what it was like for such tight, angry hurt to rake across his skin and dig even deeper than that. He’s never known the sensation of such a deep, lunging ache to force its way right into the marrow of his bones. There is nothing human about the sound he makes, just the strangled cry of a wounded animal. Blue eyes roll back into their sockets. Within seconds, a knife flickers in the closeness of skin and fur; the wolf never sees it coming. It plunges into her tender belly and pulls across, dragging red and pink and purple from her body. A howl, a warbled cry of surrender, and the velvet silence crashes back onto the world.

They lie there for a few moments; the wolf’s dead weight feeling heavier than her need to kill him. Her warmth seeps into his clothes and cools considerably, like a wet blanket laid over his chest. Pierre could shake her off at any time – he has the strength for it, and hell, he knows he should get up – but lying there in the filth of what he’s done seems fitting. He doesn’t want to think about that heavy string of muscle he can feel slipping down his side and falling onto his arm, he doesn’t want to acknowledge that it is the wolf’s intestines. He doesn’t even want to reflect on the way her jaws have slipped out of their tight grip around his arm, and how his every breath makes her neck jerk and pull away from him. Pierre wants to excuse this whole mess, he wants to disappear and go to sleep and wake up to find it was just a nightmare. His eyes remain closed, his grip on the knife is steady too. Can this all just disappear through willing it away? If he wants it enough, can he dream the whole world away? There is no certainty in anything now, so he closes his eyes tight and wishes.

[CharlotteC]

That cry, oh that cry. That pained cry of a wolf losing a battle to something that did not take its life quickly. No, the poor creature had felt that. She closed her eyes can this time, she let her senses, all of them, reach out. She scented the blood, not just wolf blood, but something else as well. Slinging the rifle over her shoulder, she began to book it towards the smell, making her way through the forest with little trouble. Branches crunched under her steps, and she knew that whoever it was, what ever it was, would hear her coming. And in times like this, that could only be a good thing. And if whatever she was making her way towards wasn't a good thing? She had her gun and she was getting pretty good at bringing them out and down in time to fire off some quick blasts.

The closer she got, the more she could tell that the battle really had ended poorly for the wolf. It was a good chance that whatever... whoever... had taken the thing down would not be there anymore, but as she got to the point where she spotted what looked like a fur blanket laying over something else, she knew that her assumption had been off. She took one or two more steps closer, making sure that she was being heard, and then stopped.

Her eyes widened at what she saw. The wolf, cut open, blood everywhere, but the body of the wolf had something pinned beneath it. Not something. Someone. Shaking herself out of her shock, she quickly (though still in a human pace) made her way over and saw clearly that the guy under the wolf had been in a battle with the thing. "Hang on... I'll help you with that." She said in a soothing tone, as if she were speaking to a spooked animal rather than a rather good looking - albeit covered in blood and gore - male. "Can you move?" She asked once she had pushed the corpse of the wolf off of his body and moved back just a bit while still kneeling beside him.

Chocolate eyes traveled over his form, taking in whatever injuries were clear to her, the biggest one being the bite marks on his arm. He could have more though, it was hard to tell since he was soaked in blood and because of the proximity to the wolf, she couldn't tell if it was him or the wolf she was smelling. It was hard to tell if he was alright with all of that blood, but she was both ready for him to attack her or take her offer for help. On guard. Prepared for the worst... hoping for the best.

[Pierre Roux (DELETED 6974)]

Footsteps pull to his ears like a lover’s heart thumps in their chest – palpable, cautious, excited. Pierre doesn’t wish to move even though reality is clawing at him. The body kneels down beside him and he turns away – not soon enough to miss her scent, however. It was the perfume of something sweet mixing in with something earthy, dirty and foreign to his experiences. Pierre closes his eyes tighter, trying to shun the world and reality and every horror that ever laid down with it, but he can’t shut it out. He focuses on the sound of breathing – controlled and purposeful – and what the air does when the body near him moves. It vibrates. Actually vibrates. Or maybe he is just vibrating, shaking from the cold and the effort of still existing despite how much he wants to disappear. But that’s a selfish thought he can’t bear to have either, and while he is distracted with those self-deprecating feelings, he hears a voice that reminds him of summer showers and dappled light.

Blue eyes wrestle out of the darkness, turning night into clear day skies. He looks for this good Samaritan who is helping him with his corpse problem and finds a woman. She doesn’t look how he was trying not to picture her in his mind. Somehow she sounded blonde, younger, and he doesn’t know why he thinks that as he listens to her ask him if he can move. Suddenly the voice makes sense to him, this strong and caring sound that carries over thoughts of motherly affection. The brown hair fits the profile, those eyes shining at him – and not at him at all, really – fit her power. Pierre stares dumbstruck for a while wondering what his first words could be to her after his first impression must have fallen flat already. She’s seen him at one of his worst moments since becoming what he is. The point of a trip to the wilderness had partly been a reason to avoid company, and yet, she is here accepting him like a wounded puppy. In the end, all Pierre can say is the obvious.

“I can move.”

His voice is not its normal tenor; it comes out in this strangled, raspy noise that reminds him of backed-up drains. Pierre moves as she pushes the deadweight off of him, he’s obliged to. He sits up, not all the way though, and doesn’t dream to look himself over. Blue eyes try to look everywhere else but down. He knows what it looks like, how it smells is bad enough, and he just wants to avoid some of this. Pierre doesn’t even look at his own arm until he manages to make out the intent in those chocolate eyes. She’s checking him for injuries and he raises his paw.

“It’s alright, really. Just a… scratch. In all honesty, I think the wolf got off worse…”

It is only then, when his sad and pathetic voice makes his own ears tired of hearing his griping, that Pierre realises that he still brandishing a weapon. He makes the effort of concealing the blade again, not wanting to come off like he is expecting trouble or inciting it. You can never be too careful in this city – a lesson Pierre has had to learn the hard way.

[CharlotteC]

There was something about the way his voice came out that made it hard not to ease her guard. He sounded far more wounded than he was... like the wound went all the way to his soul. Her eyes did another once over of him before she moved to look at the wolf. It really hadn't had the most pleasant of experiences and she was sad that the pain it had felt had taken its life slowly and not in a quicker, more humane way. Humane. That work made her smirk to herself a little, after all nothing about her now was human. Well her emotions still were, her ability to eat and drink was... but she was a vampire and had been for three years give or take.

He lifted up his arm and she noticed the blade first, her brow arching ever so slightly but she didn't feel threatened. She could tell that it was just the shock he was probably feeling that had made him forget he was even holding the thing as he had lifted up his arm to show that it wasn't as bad as she first thought. She nodded slowly to him and then glanced to the wolf once more. It was a sad thing to see and then she remembered with the weight of the gun on her back that she had been out here hunting herself. She shook her head a bit and then looked back to the male, giving him a soft and polite smile. "Glad to hear you are alright. I'm Charlie." She said, offering the hand to him that would allow him to take it with his good arm instead of with his bad one.

She would wait to see how he responded to this. There were so many ways it could go. Of course when one thinks about it, of the ways they only had three forks. Good, bad and neutral. Her eyes went back to his. Two and Five as her mother once said. Two eyes and five fingers, the best way to introduce yourself to one person, to have that connection. A connection that many often avoided. And she wondered if he would be someone to connect or to avoid it. At the moment, she would guess avoid because he seemed to be doing that already. She didn't know if it was because of her or because of the situation she had found him in. The optimist in her said that it was probably just the latter and she was just over thinking things. After all, she had the whole internet in the mind... overthinking came easy to her.

[Pierre Roux (DELETED 6974)]

Pierre’s intentions are pure, but he realises how his naivety can get him into trouble. As he pays more attention to his Samaritan, he notices the distinct outline of the hunting rifle fixed to her back. It’s not entirely odd – they are out in the wilderness after all – yet it is the presence of the weapon that makes him scurry to his feet quickly. He knows how disadvantaged he is, how much of an easy target he must appear since even a wolf – with all their delicate intuition – had managed to pick him out as an easy meal. The mistake had cost the wolf her life, but tangling with this women would most certainly not end as well for Pierre. Although, if you were to ask the Frenchman, he wouldn’t necessarily claim that he was happy with how things had gone with the wolf.

Pierre was not actively suicidal and had been very happy with his life. He was always making jokes and looking on the bright side of life. He never had a bad word to say about anyone or anything and excused the most ridiculous of crimes against himself, somehow believing that there was a reason why people could do terrible things and so he couldn’t blame them. Pierre was very grateful for his talents, his friends, his family and his way of life. He wanted for nothing and felt blessed with each new sunrise. There was no malice in his heart and Pierre had a strong ethical background, which is exactly why the change was so hard on him. Being a killer in order to survive was easier when he didn’t have to actively take part in the killing. Having somebody else slaughter an animal so he could have protein on his plate was somehow more morally acceptable than carrying away a person and draining a pint of blood.

Maybe he should have been vegan in his former life. Maybe he still could be.

The Frenchman is distracted from his brooding when the woman offers him a smile. It’s small and sweet, made for him alone and Pierre somehow feels honoured to receive it. He realises that even when he was staring off into space and thinking about his life, that he was gawking at herthis whole time! He suddenly feels the warmth rush to his face, feels the sharpness of the cool air prickle his cheeks, and averts his gaze momentarily. She sticks out a hand in greeting and after a moment of anxious consideration, he shakes it quickly, briskly before throwing the arm up to rub the back of his neck – the good arm that is. He chuckles nervously as if he can dispel all that weirdness he is feeling and expressing with the sound of laughter. It doesn’t help.

“Uh… wish it was under better circumstances, but, it is good to meet you, Charlie,” he says; the playfulness has returned to his voice and he feels relieved to have it back. “My name’s Pierre.”

[CharlotteC]

Charlie was used to being stared at, it was the 'curse' of her path, she just attracted stares. Made feeding in public damn hard, of course, she didn't feed in public. If she did feed from Rhett it was in the privacy of the Den, or her apartment, or the home she owned. Though most the time she just fed from blood bags she got from the stores, because it was easier, quicker, and would never call attention to what she was. Even if she held on the appearance of being human, she wasn't. Hadn't been in three years. And would never be again. When he took her hand in the quick shake, she smiled a bit more at how he seemed to be nervous around her. It was actually kind of cute, and made her feel something she hadn't felt in a long time. Something she had started to forget that she missed.

Despite the fact that her mind seemed to be going in every direction at once, she nodded and kept the smile in place as he spoke and she agreed that the circumstances, but then, that was just a matter of timing she thought. It was actually interesting when he spoke, she had gotten used to the soft lit that came with the locals in Harper Rock, her own accent was blended more than it used to be. So with a French accent, it was an interesting thing to hear. He told her his name and she smiled a bit more, this guy was French through and through from what she could hear and see so far.

"It's a pleasure to meet you too, Pierre. Though, I am a bit curious, what brings you out to the wilderness?" There were so many things that it could be, especially among vampires. They could be hunting the animals... she knew that some of the rituals required the pelts and parts of animals... or it could have been the herbs that grew locally, another thing she knew was used in rituals, though she never once tried to do a ritual. That just seemed... weird to her. She had seen others doing them though, especially since she spent so much time in the Den. Watching Pi or Elliot do them while she worked on the computer or was making her guns. It was very weird.

Bringing her thoughts back to the present, she shifted a little on her feet and made sure that the gun was still pushed back and out of the way. Now she seemed nervous... that was something that was new to her. Or at least a feeling she hadn't felt in a long time.

[Pierre Roux (DELETED 6974)]

Pierre thinks nothing about his accent or how he might sound strange to the locals, who in fact appear to have come from all over the globe. His French-Quebec accent is an Eastern dialect; this robust sound consisting of a strongly distilled French accent by the presence of New England dialects. It is pretty typical of Canadians who have recently emigrated from France, which Pierre has. His parents weren’t born in Canada and a lot of Pierre’s family still remain in France. Pierre was born in Sherbrooke, Quebec; a jewel of a city situated at the confluence of the St. Francis and Magog rivers. Sherbrooke, which is the economic centre of Estrie, is a significant cultural, industrial, and academic hub in the province. In the summer, several festivals, concerts, and events are held that fill the sky with fantastic firework displays and folk music. All year long, music, theatre, and dance shows are staged, with the Centennial Theatre of Bishop's University also hosting music and dance concerts from around the world. Pierre still dreams of his little world from time to time, but realising that it can only be a dream now makes him regret even more. Yet he cannot seem to find any malice to lay at his sire, Nishaa. Somehow, despite everything, he finds himself in adoration of the woman. Nothing romantic of course – she had made it clear that she felt no such things for him either – but although he often feared what she could do to him, Pierre loves her like an older sister he has never had.

At Charlie’s question, Pierre’s expressions change once again. The Allurist, who was never capable of lying or disguising his feelings much in the past, is now worse off than ever before. Every emotion that flickers into his heart makes a mark upon his features. Pain shows effortlessly in those blue eyes and the weight of his guilt hangs on his brow. The apprehension he feels echoes in the quiver of his voice and while he doesn’t lie to Charlie, he neither tells her the entire truth of the matter.

“I was… looking for fresh air. I guess. Oh, and, if it’s easier for you, you can call me P. My friends… used to,” Pierre says, his tone instantly dropping back to melancholy before he must lift himself out just as quickly. “I suppose you are… hunting?” he asks and makes a gesture to her rifle.

It is the only thing that makes sense to the Frenchman, but he does not want to question just what exactly it is she is hunting. Pierre has been a Vampire such a short space of time, but already he knows that there are many creatures out there that are capable of destroying even beasts like himself – especially in the wilderness. He was told of the Fae, though not heavily in detail, but told enough to fear them. To think she might be hunting these violent aggressors makes his blood turn cold and makes him hope that she will not turn her skills on him. It never occurs to Pierre that Charlie is likely just as wary of him as he is of her.

[CharlotteC]

Charlie watched Pierre with an almost hawk like gaze, because as she watched him, she could almost see his emotions as they moved through his eyes. Her photographic memory made it something of a comic flip book in her mind the way his emotions flipped from one to the other. Perhaps it was her that was in the gawking zone now, or maybe it was just the fact that she was curious by nature and this guy was playing to that. Or maybe it was just the fact that she had been alone for a long time and she was really just horny. Even she didn't know. And that had to be the truth because she was thinking it. She couldn't even think about lies, even to herself, with this curse of hers. Or at least not her truths deep down in her soul.

He spoke, calling her attention away from her trying to figure out the emotions she was seeing in his eyes and just listening to the tone of his voice, the way he seemed to pause, was he just trying to think of what to say or was he trying to think up a lie of some kind. She didn't know, but she had picked up on the way that he had said 'used to'. Her brow had lifted at that moment but she placed a light smile on her face, one that was understanding and nodded a bit.

"I like Pierre, it's unique. 'P' just sounds like you should be dressed in black with shades and holding a nerolizer." She said with a soft laugh then added as she pushed the gun back up on her shoulder a little bit. "And you can say that, I was actually out here testing it out more than anything. I just made it." She said, and then pulled it off her shoulder and held it out so that he could look at it, being sure to not point it at him at any time. After all, that was something that her father had taught her way back when. Never point any type of gun at anything you don't intend to shoot. And she didn't intend on putting anymore holes in this guy. The wolf had already put enough in him.

She allowed him to look at it to his content before she was glancing back up at him. "Not bad hmm?" She asked and then went on to ask more things. "So out of curiosity, I caught that 'used to' you said earlier. What do you mean 'used to'? They don't call you that anymore, or have you not seen them in a while?" Now she felt a bit like a reporter, but she was a curious creature and at some times, she just needed to know the answer. It was almost as if she were unable to stop herself from asking certain questions.