What you laughing about? [Open]

[Harlow (DELETED 8813)]

Target practice in the dead of night was not the smartest move on her behalf, certainly not with the military monitoring the quarantined zone’s perimeter. The truth was that she was an equal opportunity shooter.

The zombie made a ghastly sound as it toppled over. It was obvious by the sizeable bullet holes left in the wall behind it that Harlow’s aim was unremarkable. The ambulatory corpse had clung to her arm before dying, and left a horrendous stench along her shoulder where its putrid gums had gnawed to no avail.

A panoramic glance of the abandoned pub suggested splintered wood and cracked drywall were very much part of the decor these days. There was dried blood smeared across nearly every surface too, but not a dead body in sight. Literally, for she didn’t even cast a reflection on the broken mirror behind the bar. Just as well, she thought to herself, taking a step away from the decaying mass writhing at her feet. It would be merciful to put it out of its misery perhaps, but Harlow wasn’t feeling magnanimous.

When she wiped at her shoulder, her gloved hand came away with a grimy mixture. A quick sniff (which she recoiled from with voiced disgust) revealed the black tint to be her own blood. *********** had not been as toothless as she’d thought. Testing the joint with a tentative roll, Harlow glanced down at the dying creature and curled her lip in disgust. This time she aimed perfectly at the back of its head, and shot it three times, entirely out of spite. The zombie didn’t make another sound.

Their ears were apparently worth something on the black market, but she wasn’t going there. Sociopathic tendencies? Sure. Trigger happy? Definitely. Entrepreneurial pathologist? Not today. Wiping her glove along the muddy front of her two-week old trousers, Harlow turned her attention towards the laughter. Who the f--

Code: Select all

Edited to fix peripheral detail. 

[Jazz]

The short blade was thrust forward between the bones of the neck before his wrist snapped down, popping the Zombie’s head from its shoulders like a bottle cap. There was this gurgling wheeze that came from it, like squeezing the last pumps of air out of a bottle. Jazz leapt back with a weary frown as the corpse dropped with a clatter and a plop. Hazel eyes regarded the pile of bones and decaying flesh, noticing how effortlessly it merged with the muck around him. Evidently, this wasn’t the first Zombie to meet its demise here; scraps of meat and bone littered the distraught area of Gambondale where flowers once grew. Not that he cared about flowers, but, it was funny how things changed over time. Talk of an outbreak of indeterminate origin had made the government throw up the walls around this entire district some 5 years ago. Just what the hell were they going to do now Vampires were openly roaming the city, hell, maybe even the world?

With that last enemy in sight slain, the quarantined streets returned to silence. Nevertheless, Jazz’s desperate grip on the knife remained. He stared, keen-eyed, at the walls of the desolate buildings around him as the silence buzzed in his ears, fogging his brain. Ordinarily, all this stillness would unease him, but there was nothing to respond to other than the emptiness. It wasn’t a sad kind of emptiness or a happy one as far as he was concerned, it was simply emptiness. But it wouldn’t last. All too readily Jazz became aware of the sounds around him; how the dappling of (he hoped) water crossed the asphalt, how distant voices rumbled like insects, how footsteps echoed, how gun shots howled. A breeze stirred, and he felt it surge across his exposed arms and face, felt it permeate his hoody and jeans, and even thread through each filament of his short brown hair. He had to block it all out somehow, had to make it go away so he could focus on the here and now. And that’s when he heard it; his phone ringing in his trouser pocket. He thumbed the screen to answer the call, thinking maybe it wouldn’t be so bad to hear a familiar voice in this alien world.

“Yo, where you at boy?” came the voice down the line; that coarse NY accent all but declaring the progenitor of the phone call was a friend – the hacker girl Claves.

“I’m out working,” Jazz said curtly, his own North Irish accent making him sound a tad more gruff than he’d meant it to be. “What do you want, Claves?”

“March says she needs a new shipment of ears. You in the area?”

“Aw come on, man. No. No. That’s ******* nasty. Make… make Beat do it.”

“Beat’s across town. Besides…” Claves whined. “You’re already in the QZ, yeah?”

Jazz frowned, not liking where this was headed.

“So go and pick some up. You’re not gonna get pinched,” she so casually reminded him. “So, just go get em.”

“Fine. I’ll be back in half an hour. And tell March to go and **** herself for me, would ya.”

Claves laughed, this full and haughty thing that came right from her stomach. “Hell, I would pay to see that.”

“What, her ******* herself?” Jazz asked, quirking a brow.

“Eww. God no. I just mean you telling her that to her face. She’d smack the ugly right out of you. Vamp or not.”

Jazz smirked. She was probably right about that. “Whatever. Be back in half hour then.”

“Good boy,” she cooed as if she was talking to a dog. “Bye.”

“Bye.”

When he put the phone away, he had to laugh – out loud – at the situation he was in. This wasn’t even his kind of job. What Jazz did in their gang was intimidate people into giving up their ****, and now they were putting his fighting skills to the test against the undead just because it was more convenient. They were a street gang, making money from petty crimes and under-handed exchanges. There were six of them overall; March, Claves, Beat, Viola, Falsetto, and Jazz. It was better to use codenames given the type of things they got their hands in, so why not have a theme? When the gang moved into Harper Rock just a few months ago, their petty crimes quickly took on a more dangerous tone. They’d discovered magic and unnatural abilities, people, creatures, and things. March was enthralled on the spot and wanted to get into this whole vibe. Seeing as how she was the oldest of the group and made the decisions, nobody refuted her ideas. Besides, there just was no point arguing with March.

Jazz squatted down to collect the displaced head of the Zombie, with the aim to taking his blade to it once more. He held it by the ear with the tips of his fingers, turning its head away so the putrefied face rolled into the asphalt. He was trying to limit the contact as much as possible. He wasn’t a butcher either, so, this whole thing was foreign to him. He convinced himself this wasn’t once a person’s head he was holding, drew his knife behind the shell of the ear, and sliced downward. Thankfully the blade was sharp enough to cut through in one clean motion, but once he’d detached the ear from the head... what was he supposed to do now? It was already rotting. The skin felt wet and waxy against his fingers. It took all of his willpower not to toss the damn thing into the gutters and bolt, telling March to get her own damn Zombie ears. With a groan of defeat, Jazz set the ear down to fetch his backpack, zipping it open and rummaging through for a bag he could put the specimen in. The last thing he wanted was for that thing to start leaking all over his ****. Besides, he had to fetch a lot more than just one if March was to be happy.

[Prudence]

The demi-fae spat out the location of a fadebeast within the city limits before it broke free of the barrier, hissed and scratched at Prudence and zipped out of sight from the redhead before she could grab her favorite small pistol and attempt to shoot it for trying to attack her. The redhead raised her right hand and flipped the thing off, or at least the space it had been in before it vanished to bother someone or something else. Not wanting to waste anymore time, Prudence grabbed her bigger gun, and sword, placed them in their respective holding places and burst out of the house in a whiz of celerity before making it to the outside walls of the QZ.

Lately, she had kept to herself, every now and again checking in with the 'family,' and with the faction she was in, and while there were things going on in both places; some were personal and made her want to puke, the other place wasn't asking anything of her yet. Nothing more than a helping hand in a raid or two from time to time. Nothing the redhead couldn't handle and wanted to miss. A chance to pump some lead into anything was all the reason she needed to get involved, but tonight? Nothing was needed. No one really bothered her much anyways. Occasionally Levi cropped up, but he was about the only one and their interactions were very short and to the point. Something Prudence liked and appreciated, even if she never knew what the **** the male was thinking or doing. For all she knew, he was doing some shady **** somewhere, because while their relationship had been 'better,' Prudence was still sure he was up to no ******* good.

But with him not bothering her and Nathaniel in his usual kill as many of those fuckers in the caverns, Prudence took back to focusing on the fadebeasts in the city. Mostly because they spawned every ******* where and were a danger to fledglings and to vampires. If humans knew that vampires made **** like that, they would all be fucked. At least Prudence thought so. The redhead shoved the large assault rifle from the side of her frame, to her back, grabbed some fencing and began to pull up on it. She took the fence easily enough, being a natural climber and a person who wasn't afraid of heights, then jumped off the top of it and landed on both feet with a solid thump of her boots. She looked to the left and then took off in the direction of the supermarket-where the demi-fae told her the creature was at.

[Harlow (DELETED 8813)]

Harlow was alone in the dilapidated building. Or so she believed. There was much left to learn about the nature of the undead. Her existence alone defied all the physical principles she’d studied, for her body moved in ways that didn’t feel bodily at all. Before she could creep herself out with the thought of unseen company, the vampire stepped towards the door.

Whoever was laughing had stopped by the time she emerged. Both curiosity and vigilance encouraged her to circle the building’s periphery, if only to assure herself that she was not hallucinating. Her thoroughness was rewarded.

Stepping away from the shadows that masked her presence, Harlow took note of the stranger’s handiwork and gagged theatrically as she approached. Rotting corpses and body parts been two very valid reasons she’d chosen physics over biology.

“And here I thought the zombie ears were a ******* rumour. How much you get paid for that?”

[Jazz]

Jazz was tucking the ear into a small plastic bag when he heard the footsteps. They were light, purposeful and even, coming at him from the rear, off to the right. Being jumpy never led to anything good – he’d learned that the hard way – so after tucking the ear-carrying plastic baggie away in his backpack, Jazz rubbed his hand on his jeans and stood up. He turned just as the footsteps slowed and then stopped, hazel eyes creeping past his peripherals to catch sight of a demure-looking female, putting him at ease. A quiet breath breezed out of his nostrils as he turned to her fully. He had this idea, just from looking at her and listening to the small amount she’d said, that she was probably a Vampire too. For some reason, that small fact didn’t bother him as much as it used to. Not that he felt a part of their world yet, not exactly. What the feeling was actually like was being under the edge of the duvet; where warmth was just a tug away from being over.

“Enough to keep me outta the sunlight,” Jazz replied casually, though seemed rather pleased with himself. “You’ve gotta choose your buyers wisely. It’s easy enough to come out ‘ere and kill a few of those things, and yank yourself an ear or two. But, I guess if you’ve got yourself something better to do then you just hire yourself a damn idjit that’ll do it for you.”

While the young Vampire was talking – and he did that a lot, all with a sense of childlike fascination and humour – the sound of footsteps could be heard barrelling toward and then promptly past them. Hazel eyes spied a streak of red, white, and black as it headed toward the supermarket. He followed it for as long as he could before the object moved out of sight. Jazz whistled this impressed tune before turning back to the brunette, hoping she’d seen the same thing he had. There was just no way of telling what was real and what was all just a part of your imagination when it came to this city. People could make you believe the weirdest ****, and just as equally, they could make you forget that part of your life just happened too.

“Did you see that?” he asked her, his tone lifting with his surprise and excitement. “Streaking off toward that building over there.” He pointed. “What do you think that was?”

[Prudence]

Either Prudence was too slow, or the demi-fae was a ******* liar, because when the woman walked inside the old, abandoned Supermarket, she didn't see the large beast of a creature near the front of the building. It was more likely the latter, but that didn't do anything to lighten Prudence's mood. Either it was long gone, or someone else had killed the mammoth monster. If it was the latter, she supposed it was good for everyone all around-at least anyone who was a vampire. If it was the former, then it wasn't very good for any single vampire.

But, everything Prudence assumed was so very wrong. As Prudence turned to leave the Supermarket, there was a loud crunching sound of bones from the far, left side of the building. She hadn't bothered to check it, because she presumed it was dead, or had ran off to a different location to avoid being killed. Instead, it seemed it had retreated to the depths of the supermarket, and stayed hidden there until the right time to strike.

A zombie had been in its warpath, which was Prudence's general location. It didn't take long for the large monster to figure out what was an actual enemy and what was just a mere obstacle. With the zombie crushed against the wall, with a simple side swipe from its upper clawed arm, it came barrelling at the red head, who was turning towards the sound of the approaching monster, her hands not quick enough to get the large gun before it was on top of her, its clash lashing out with large, jagged strokes, one of them catching her right forearm, and all but ripping the ******* thing off, as a large chunk of flesh was removed.

[Heathen]

Pain reminded him of life.

In the moment, there was never any feeling, no sensation other than release and relief. Like sex. Afterwards, his knuckles were always bloody, sometimes broken. The first time he'd experienced it, he'd turned the other guy's face into a messy, meat mush, with a broken nose, one caved cheekbone, a dislocated jaw. He hadn't felt anything right then, as his fists had hammered skin and bone. He hadn't felt anything until later, when the adrenaline wore off and he'd been left with nothing but the ache in his arms and hands as a reminder that he wasn't the boy his mother had raised. What would Sarah Graham have thought if she'd known? Those were the thoughts he pushed to the periphery. The less he considered the life he'd left behind, the better it would be for everyone.

Instead, he focused on the cracking of the bones in his hand when he clenched his fist. He stood over a zombie. He looked down to where its eyes had been. The thing continued to creep across the floor blindly. Searching. Looking for him. He was nobody's meal, and he'd gotten out of it what he wanted. One Doc Marten lifted into the air and came down with a crunch on a head. Another. He didn't stop until it stopped moving. The leather of the boots was polished until it shone, reflected. Even with fragments of bone and goopy brain matter, they still looked well taken care of. He retreated from the graveyard then, his hands at his sides. He cut a pale silhouette, lanky and cold. His Iron Fist shirt seemed to be oblivious to the cooling fall air, a vest with a full print skull on the front. His shoulders were covered but the scoop neck was low enough to reveal his cross tattoo. His arms were bare. The shirt was oversized, and hung halfway to his knees.

His fingers were tight, balled, as they slowly repaired themselves from the self-inflicted damage. Scars covering scars covering scars. He reached into the pocket of his black Sixth June, pre-distressed, skinnies so he could retrieve his phone and actually turn it on. Sometimes he just needed to get away from everyone, and be alone with his self-destructive tendencies. As his cell came to life, light pouring into the darkness, he let his thumb swipe across the screen. Five missed calls. ****. He wedged the phone between ear and shoulder as he dragged a pack of cigarettes from his other pocket. Seconds later, his voicemail was cursing at him in Claves's voice. She ended finally by telling him to forget it, and she was calling Jazz, since he was probably in the area anyway.

He decided not to respond.

By the time the phone was back in his pocket, his cigarette was half gone, ash dropping from the end while he moved across the street. So Jazz was around. The Quarantine Zone wasn't all that huge. He crossed the street towards what used to be a supermarket when he caught sight of some movement in that direction. The end of his cancer stick glowed red and vibrant. He lifted another from his pack as the stick rapidly dwindled towards the filter. He only paused outside until his next vice was lit before he flicked the butt of the old against a wall, only to be replaced against his lips with the new. Smoke drifted from his nostrils as if he were a chimney and then he finally yanked the door open to go inside.

[Harlow (DELETED 8813)]

Enough to keep me outta the sunlight... Boy had jokes. One better have jokes when they had a stupid tattoo on their face. If she was unimpressed with the ‘artwork’ under his eye, she didn’t voice it. A good glance at him told her he’d probably done that one on purpose too. Harlow reeled her thoughts about that as far back as she could before they accidentally slide off her tongue. Honesty wasn’t always the best policy with strangers (or anyone, really). Plus, opinions were indeed like assholes; everyone had one.

Disgust and fascination kept her gaze focused on him, but she did notice the movement. Her hand hovered over the holstered gun, eyes narrowed as she scanned the space behind him.

“Yeah, I saw that, I think. Not a ******* clue,” she replied in one breath, stepping away from him and his kill. There was still a lot left to learn, and up until now she’d never seen anything move that fast. Vampire? Zombie? Something entirely different?

Her fingers picked at the security on her handgun, grip tightening as she caught sight of someone entering the building in question.

A grocery store. If horror films had taught her anything, it was not to walk into a goddamn dilapidated supermarket. The aisles alone were a maze not worth risking. Unless, of course, like the other buildings in the Quarantine Zone, the inside had been completely redecorated.

“Because this sounds like a great idea,” she mumbled out loud, feet moving of their own accord.

[Jazz]

The young Irish man was completely oblivious to the girl’s criticisms of him, and he didn’t suspect that the glare in her eyes or the coarseness in her tone had anything to do with his presence, appearance, or attitude. After all, some people were just a little rough around the edges – Jazz knew plenty of people with the same kind of roughness. He was too young and not self-aware enough to know why people were like that, and just accepted that that was the way it was. His life had always been like that: a rollercoaster of ups and downs and sharp turns – all out of his control. The only choices he ever thought he had were to stay buckled in or to jump out. Perhaps he was too stubborn to just give up, however. So in the end, even those options were out of his grasp.

Becoming a Vampire hadn’t been something Jazz had chosen either. As a matter of fact, he barely even remembered the events; just the pain in his neck, the darkness which had followed, and this cold sense of emptiness in his stomach. It had dogged him for days until he knew what it was and how to sate that feeling. It was crazy the way that March had just given up her blood like that. Jazz wondered if she knew what she was really doing, if it was a test of his loyalty to her or just a test of her own strength. Obviously he hadn’t killed March, and felt like he’d barely made a dent in her power, but a few mouthfuls didn’t go far enough to fill that void in him. He’d had to go elsewhere for the rest, which hadn’t been a fun experience for anyone involved because popping your cherry is never really all that much of a joy. The awkward fumbling, the pain, and the mess afterward… If he was going to be looking on the bright side, at least he’d had something to learn from.

Everything was a learning process, after all. Tonight, Jazz was hoping to learn what was red, white, and black and ran at the speed of a Formula 1 car in the Quarantine Zone. He could only hope that the answer wasn’t going to be a bad joke. Jazz was a step behind the girl as they marched toward the abandoned supermarket, so he caught her comment on the wind and had to laugh again. She had a gun ready, which was smart – he couldn’t doubt that – but considering the speed at which that thing had moved, it was unlikely that their reflexes would be quick enough to fire an accurate shot at it. Jazz wasn’t a coward, hell he regularly made stupid decisions and paid the price for them, but at least he didn’t bellyache about the beatings he took. He’d only complained at Claves because he really, really didn’t want to rip off the ears of the not-so-recently deceased. Maybe he thought himself a bit too good to be doing this kind of dirty work now. At least he could look forward to bath time…

“Where’s your sense of adventure, eh?” Jazz teased, coming up beside the unnamed girl who had been unfortunate enough to become his accomplice for the evening. “If the worst comes to the worst, it’ll just tear your head off. But I think we can probably help each other out here. It tears your head off, I’ll put it back on for you. And if it tears my head off, you can put it back on for me. Got ourselves a deal?”

Jazz offered her a hand to shake, his hazel eyes stuck on her profile if or until she would acknowledge him. He was only partially joking.

[Prudence]

How her right arm managed to not get ripped off was just by either dumb luck, or because she was exceptionally faster than the beast. It seemed the latter was the unlikely choice, because for as large as the nasty beast was, it was a force to be reckoned with. Still, she had her arm--or at least most of it, but she was screwed with holding a gun in this hand. It was a good thing she was able to use either hand with no problems given her training during her circus years. Macro vamp made sure of that. The grueling process and training still brought back memories that weren't good, or happy. But it was required and needed if she wanted to do the things she did. Prudence understood that better than anyone.

Prudence bounced back a few steps so she could buy some time to put her gun in the other hand. It wasn't as strong or used as often, so chances were that the shot she would have no trouble making with her stronger hand, would need double, if not triple the shots. It was a good thing she had money coming out of her ears to buy the bullets she needed every night. This didn't give her much room, because for every bounce back, the beast took two steps forward, but it gave her just enough space to put the smaller hand gun in her hand and fire off a few shots. One hit the wall behind the monster, the other hit a shoulder. None of which seemed to scare, or startle the creature in any way. Not that she suspected it would, but it hadn't slowed it down either.

"****!" Prudence exclaimed as she fired off a few more shots, penetrating areas on the body where it wouldn't do anything substantial to the ugly, ferocious creature that barreled at her again and this time lashed out with its shadows and swept her feet out from under her. She took one more aim and then heard a 'click' sound. Followed by another, and another as she came to the realization she was out of bullets and needed to put more inside the gun. Only that required time and that wasn't something she had as she felt the weight of the fadebeast crush down on her left foot.