Path of the Vampire forum

Posted: **05 Aug 2017, 10:04**

Cosimo’s shift had finished late at the Queen of Tarts. When he finished, there was flour in his hair from where he’d pushed it from his eyes with dirty hands – a smear of white across his forehead. These things he could not see, of course, given he could not look at himself in a mirror. Though he knew he could see himself were he to turn his phone to ‘selfie’ mode, he just could not be that bothered about his appearance. He even forgot to take his apron off, so accustomed was he to wearing it – and somehow, the Italian managed to pull it off, walking down the street in a casual suit and a frilly pink apron.

He’d recently shaved his beard again, too, enjoying the smoothness of his cheeks and chin. The weather was pleasant; were he human, he’d be wearing long sleeves but only one layer. It was a cool change before the snow, before the absolute chill.

The Italian crossed stepped off the pavement as a car passed by – a black one, a Saab. It gleamed as if recently polished. A new one, not an old one. Cosimo thought nothing of it. He crossed the street and mounted the curb on the other side, headed down the pavement in the direction of home. He’d go and get changed then come out again, go down into the abandoned sewers to collect some parts. He’d mastered guns, and now he wanted to practice metalworking again. He wanted to perfect both – as well as the use of both swords and guns. Although humans seemed to mostly accept vampires, the city still felt tense.

At least, Cosimo thought that he felt something in the air, and it had him on edge.

The Saab’s break lights flared, bright red in the dim night. There was the blinking of an indicator, the car turned the corner. Still, Cosimo thought nothing of it. He continued, stride strong and determined. He was a man who knew where he was going, and what he was doing.

When he reached the corner, he glanced left and right to make sure there were no cars coming before he crossed the road. He witnessed the Saab stop, saw one of its doors open. He looked right again, before crossing the road. Behind him, he heard all four doors slam. But he kept on moving, still paying it no mind. Even when he heard voices – men – behind him, he didn’t turn around. The streets weren’t completely dark. There were apartments around; there were little restaurants still open, even a bar. It was feasible to assume that a group of bachelors were heading out for the night.

It wasn’t until one of them called his name that he stopped dead in his tracks, heart running cold.

“Cosseeemo Allesi,” one of the men called, amusement lilting his heavily accented voice. A deep voice. One that Cosimo recognised. He turned, wary.

“You thought that we would forget you, hm? You thought that you would run away. That you would be safe. That your father’s death, it is a debt paid, si? No no. We do not ever forget,” he said. Armand. Behind him, three of his goons. Armand. The man who had killed Cosimo’s father.

“I thank you for the holiday, Cosimo. I have never been to Canada. It is not as nice as Italy though, hm?” he said. His hands were in his pockets. The wind picked at his jacket, and Cosimo caught sight of the gun holstered beneath Armand’s arm. The scuff of shoes on pavement had him quickly glancing over his shoulder. Four more goons. A van rolled up on the street beside him. On the other side, closed shop fronts. They had him trapped.

A smile stretched Cosimo’s lips, dimples deep upon his cheeks. He held up his hands in surrender.

“Si, enjoy the weather. It is nice. We did not succeed, Armand. Why don’t you leave me be?” he asked. He was only trying to buy time. He didn’t think his negotiation would get him anywhere, not a hope in hell.

Posted: **05 Aug 2017, 17:30**

WEARING

I can’t do this.

Gripping the edge of the roof, Jezebel curled her fingers around the sharp awning and swallowed. The bitter taste of her fear was like poison on her tongue, burning her taste-buds as she kept herself still. She had become a gargoyle, her knees bent, arms outstretched, and muscles frozen. All that was left for her to do was grow stone over her skin, and she’d make a pretty decent decoration for the shop. Keeping a close watch on the woman crouched on the opposite side of her, she narrowed her eyes as she watched her begin to straighten, a warm smile tugging on her glossed lips. “Shut up.”

The two words were uttered an octave barely above a whisper, and she knew the brunette would hear her. She seemed to hear everything. It wouldn’t surprise her if she heard the way the brick crumpled beneath her grasp, her newfound strength a thing she still hadn’t adjusted to. That, and her speed, dexterity, and insatiable hunger. Even now, high above the ground, she could feel it as it clawed from her stomach and burned its way up her throat, causing her jaws to ache. “I can’t do this. I need to eat,” she snapped, her fear causing that familiar Irish temper to flare. She allowed it to embrace her with its comforting warmth as she glared across the darkened street, tongue moving over her teeth.

“Not everyone is a damned spider woman, Tigra.”

Relaxing her death grasp on the roof, she shook out her aching fingers and squeaked when she felt herself begin to lose balance. Throwing her hands back down with a snap, she caught herself before she teetered off the edge. Logically, she knew that it wouldn’t kill her. Hell, she figured it wouldn’t even hurt her, were she to tumble off and land on the cracked pavement below. If she still possessed her humanity, if she still had a beating heart and breath in her lungs, well, that was a different story. Instead, thanks to the woman kneeling on the opposite shop, she was immortal. There wasn’t a doubt in her mind that she could survive anything that this cursed world had to throw at her, and yet, even with the seconds of rationalizing ticking by, she couldn’t bring herself to unfold her small form.

Instead, she made to grip the edge again, her throat tightening as she stared into the darkness. The moonlight illuminated her slender form, causing her red hair to brighten like fire as she shook her head. “I just can’t. This is ridiculous. Why can’t we walk like normal people?” She knew she sounded like a petulant child at this point, one too spoiled and young to fully grasp how the world worked. She had just reminded herself that she was no longer normal, but that meant nothing. They were vampires, not birds. They could walk on the sidewalk with everyone else. Was there truly a need to be closer to the sky? As far as she could tell, she hadn’t magically sprouted wings, though she was beginning to wonder if her sire didn’t have a pair tucked beneath the thin material of her shirt.

At this point, it wouldn’t surprise her.

As she shifted from on foot to the next, she closed her eyes and took a deep breath. The air seemed almost cleaner from this vantage point, and she took a moment to enjoy the crisp chill as it danced across her bared skin. She hadn’t exactly dressed appropriately for this outing. From the short denim shorts, to the knee high boots and black rocker tank, she belonged in a bar somewhere. Not a roof. She never belonged on a roof. “I’m going to die.” With those final words whispered on a low, annoyed growl, she finally began to unclench her fists, once again releasing the edge as she eased herself to stand. Carefully dusting the grit from her knees, she made to take a step back, when the sound of voices traveled towards her from below. Tilting her head, she ignored the sudden hiss from her sire as she drifted towards the opposing edge and peeked over, taking note of the group.

It was easy to make out the words, and even from her vantage point, she could sense the tension. It thickened the air, and before she knew what she was doing, she had leaped. By the time her feet hit the pavement with a gentle thud, she couldn’t believe that she had done that. Her heart, had it still beat, would be frantically pounding in her chest. As it were, she felt nauseous. Fighting against the dizziness that blurred her vision, she pressed her hand to the rough brick and straightened her shirt. She couldn’t explain why the group called to her, nor did she know why she was about to put herself in the middle. All she could tell was she was tired of being on that roof, she was hungry, and something about the owners of the car set her on edge in a way she truly didn’t like. Perhaps the man in the girly apron wouldn’t welcome her disturbance. He might even brush her off, or turn on her.

That didn’t stop her approach, however. Pressing a small hand to Cosimo’s back, the Allurist offered a warm smile as her 5’2” frame stepped into view, unthreatening as could be.

“Hi, love. Is everything okay?”

Posted: **05 Aug 2017, 19:04**

W E A R I N G

This was, beyond any shadow of a doubt, the simplest part of being a vampire. Sure, Jezebel didn’t seem like she was very athletic as a human, and sure, she was terrified of being higher off the ground than her tallest pair of pumps would take her, but this shouldn’t be as difficult as she was making it. Anyone else would be infuriated with the woman and would have given up on her hours ago. Tigra, however, wasn’t just any woman. She knelt against the edge of the roof she had leaped to, one of the narrowest alleys in town that she had been able to find, and watched the fiery-maned creature across the narrow chasm from her, and offered her a tender smile.

The expression, as it had the last few times, only brought an outburst of frustration from the little Irish gal. Her temper simply didn’t match her timidity, her freezing at the smallest display of such a common fear as heights. The tall, elegant figure that Tigra had grown into since the fateful night she’d died had made this all the easier for her, too, and she had to remind herself that Jezebel was small, that even such a small span of emptiness was a grand canyon. The differences between them were many, but the similarities were a mixed bag of pleasant surprises that only drew her closer to the beautiful little Irishwoman.

Dark, expressive hazel eyes watched the frozen figure of the redhead as she remained still as stone, the only movement was her frenzied blue eyes flicked back and forth about the empty air between them like a terrified kitten, and the flow of her scarlet hair in the gentle breath of a breeze. She was a haunting kind of beauty, and it pleased the Killer immensely that she had managed to save that beauty, to keep it on this side of the Veil. It gave her a swell of pride that often left her grinning, even when she didn’t feel like grinning, which was often as of late.

She tipped her head at the small woman and offered her a gentle wave of encouragement. “It’s okay, Jezebel. Once you make your way across, we can grab something to eat, and you’ll feel much better. I promise it’s easier than you think.” She gave a lilt of laughter at the woman’s retort, and pushed her chocolate hair back from her face as the breeze blew the loose strands free. Spider woman was a fitting description, she supposed. She knew that most people couldn’t move like her, even some of their own kind, but not for lack of physical ability. Simply because they lacked the imagination, the foresight to move like she moved. It was a skill, something that could be learned, could be taught, but couldn’t be mastered without some degree of natural talent; something she had in spades.

She saw the moment that her progeny’s attention turned, and her features twisted into a concerned frown. She had noticed the man beneath them, and the car that had driven beyond, and around the corner. She had noticed the van back at the other end of the street, and the unfolding of a potentially unpleasant situation, and had hoped that Jezebel would have jumped, and that they would have been on their way before everything came to a head. It appeared, however, that they were about to find their way into the thick of it. Her gaze flicked back to the redhead, lips curled back in a snarl as she watched the woman’s muscles tense. She knew what was going to happen before, she didn’t doubt, Jezebel herself even knew.

She watched the woman stand, and simply walk off the edge of the building. That was simple enough for her, it appeared. A warning hiss escaped between bared teeth as her hand reached behind her back, snatching the pistol from the waistband of her yoga pants, finger already clutching the trigger as she brought the weapon to bear. “Jezebel!” she snapped through the hiss, but the woman was already gone. She wasn’t about to let the poor girl be caught off guard, and if a single drop of her blood was spilled... well... the scene would become a bloodbath before even one of those beating hearts had a chance to realize it had no need to keep on beating.

She edged herself against the side of the building and pressed her knee against the concrete corner, the toe of her pink Puma trainers gripping the gritty surface of the rooftop. There were several humans, all surrounding a single vampire. The tone of their conversation was far from friendly, a sort of ominous tension filled the air so thickly that she felt that she could reach out and touch it. She didn’t like the whole thing. She liked even less that Jezebel sauntered up to the strange vampire and put her arm around the man’s back, just like she belonged right there in the middle of the situation, like the man in the apron was some old chum, some boyfriend of hers that she’d known for years.

It dawned on her, then, that this could very well be the situation, and that the redhead was jumping to the defense of someone she knew, and Tigra would have no idea. It had only been a few days since they had met, and it was hardly enough time to learn everything about her.

Every nerve in her body screamed to leap into the fray, to drop in on them and open fire on the whole lot. She could have put a bullet in every one of them before the first one even had a weapon drawn, and it set her on edge like nothing else could, to sit back and watch, but this wasn’t their fight to pick. The entire situation could go down without a drop of blood, however unlikely that might seem, and her interference would only make the matter turn deadly. She had, after all, been working on her rage. She had been doing her damnedest to set aside her violent nature, and to give peaceful resolution a try.

It was probably the hardest thing she had ever had to do, especially after...

She broke that line of thought when she felt the blood straining through clenched fingers, the shattered concrete of the building’s rooftop capital a sharp shard of painful reminder beneath her flesh. It was a scent that she had become accustomed to, her own blood. She had managed to keep the rage from filling her when she smelled it. It was the blood of others, particularly of the purebloods, that drove her into a irrevocable frenzy. That was what she feared most; frightening the poor girl so soon after she had gained the smallest bit of her trust. But what else was there to do?

With a grinding of her perfect teeth, she remained put, coiled like a viper, ready to strike from the darkness of the rooftop, an angel of vengeance ready to descend upon them all with a fury they couldn’t even fathom. Nothing had even happened, and the wrath that surged through her set her finger to trembling on the trigger. She almost begged for the excuse to end their miserable lives.

Posted: **05 Aug 2017, 20:42**

She couldn't remember how long it had been since she'd left the crypt. Then again, she couldn't remember the last time she'd actually gone out longer than to feed. It wasn't important, really. The moment she stopped to shift from four legs to two, Tate decided that it didn't really matter. Pain of bones rearranging themselves, reaccomadating themselves from the bones of a tiger to the petite human she was distracted her as she straightened up. It took a few moments longer for her hazel eyes to return to their proper shape, the pupils doing the same after she blinked three times.

It had been some time since she'd relearned the power of meaner things and every time, she still wasn't used to the fact she no longer had wings. Then again, Tate couldn't say that she missed them. After all, she'd flown straight into a building more than once. The metallic taste of blood still remained in her mouth, ceasing the pain in the back of her throat temporarily as she lifted her pale arms above her head to stretch. She was glad that she'd chosen something easier to wear rather than her usual jeans and long sleeve tees; while she'd never liked to wear shorts, they at least allowed more of her colorful tattoos to be seen, standing out with a strong contrast against her pale, freckled skin.

In her bag, there was a jacket that Tate didn't bother to get it out, just yet. While the weather was cool, it was still acceptable to walk around in shorts and a tank top. Her red hair fell down her back in loose waves, tangled in a few places as it always was when she changed from tiger to vampire. She supposed it was a hassle she didn't mind dealing with, combing through it with her fingertips as she bent down to collect her bag from where she had stashed it. The idea of someone stealing it had never crossed her mind, not that there was anything other than ritual ingredients to take.

She ran her tongue over her fangs just before they disappeared back into her gums with a pop of pressure. The steady discomfort that she had grown to ignore of the need to feed returned in the back of her throat as she knelt down to slide her knife back into her combat boot, another sitting on her belt. Her promise ring from Cavanagh had remained in the apartment for the evening; as agreed on the evenings when she'd be preoccupied with others, she'd taken it off - their relationship an odd and accepting one. After checking that her gun remained in her bag, loaded, Tate straightened up and began to walk.

There was no direction, no destination to her walk. She didn't have to worry about sunburns, and while she was still one to become groggy in the middle of the day, Tate's grumpiness didn't do much of a difference between the two. She supposed she could likely walk until the end of time, as long as she boosted her blood after sunrise every morning. "Catty," She heard the whisper in her mind, Alicia was only ever there, she'd never heard from Melisande or Lady, but only ever Alicia. Poor, beautiful, Alicia whom had been ripped to pieces in front of her. "Caaaattty." Why the woman had yet to completely die, Tate did not know.

Ignoring the voice, usually one that appeared in a time of warning, Tate tucked her hands into the pockets of her shorts. She could hear talking up ahead, behind hedges that allowed her to stay just out of sight due to her height, and Tate heard her name hissed in her mind once name. This time, her full one. "Cath-e-rine." She kicked a rock, pointedly drawing the attention of one of the men in her direction as she rounded the corner, vaguely recognizing the man in the pink apron as one of Elizabeth's childer. She'd seen him around, and once, she believed, at one of the events she'd gone with to see her friend.

Tate only frowned, seeing the way his hands were up - what was his name? She didn't remember if they'd been introduced before. There was something familiar about the girl at his side, too, her scent causing Tate to pause briefly before she asked, "Is there a problem, gentlemen?" towards the men surrounding the duo. The one nearest looked her over, scoffed and muttered something that she didn't catch under his breath. "I know he just asked why you don't leave him be, so why don't you?" The killer adjusted her bag over her shoulder, her gaze locked on the man with a gun under his arm.

The man in the pink was one of Elizabeth's family members, and therefore, he was someone who, by extension would be an individual that Tate looked after.

Posted: **11 Aug 2017, 11:26**

One second Cosimo was trying to figure out how he was going to get out of this entanglement, and the next he … well, he was not alone. She barely made a sound as she landed on the pavement behind him, but he was aware of her sudden presence due to the reactions of the men in front of him. Surprise barely covered it.

When Cosimo turned, it was to be greeted with the face of a woman he had never met before. Luckily his hair was unruly and fell over his face, partly obscuring the surprise he, too, was victim to. Though it can’t have mattered; even if he did know the woman and she had some reason to call him ‘love’, he could still have been surprised at her sudden appearance. From…

The Italian looked up. On the rooftop, he though he saw someone else. Another woman – but he didn’t want to stare. He didn’t want to tear his attention too long from the man who’d probably love nothing more than to see him dead. That was why he was here, wasn’t it? Eight men, plus whoever was in the car. Cosimo laughed.

And then there was another woman, a redhead whom Cosimo recognised – someone Elizabeth had introduced him to. Hadn’t she? Whether she had or hadn’t, Cosimo knew the redhead to be Tate. Connected to him by blood. All these women, and they’d just come out of the woodworks – and Cosimo no longer felt like he was about to go to hell in a handbasket.

”Why the army, Armand?” he finally asked, regaining his confidence and, against all odds, his good humour. ”You really think I’m that much of a threat?” he asked. Armand and his goons weren’t the sort to be trifled with. They were well-trained. They knew what they were doing with their weapons, and could go hand to hand if forced, too. Cosimo had seen it firsthand. But, three vampires against them rather than just one …

If Cosimo had some tricks up his sleeve, what could the others add?

It was instinct, to know that the woman who stood by his side was also a vampire. He couldn’t say how he knew, but he did. It would be better if he knew who she was, of course, and what she was capable of. But beggars could not be choosers.

”Ah, they all just wanted a holiday. Just like I did. And we do not wish to see you slip through our fingers again,” Armand said. The words were smooth though it was clear by the way Armand’s eyes flickered from the woman beside Cosimo, to the rooftop and back again that he was rattled. They were playing a game of tennis and the ball was now in Armand’s court. Armand, who nodded to someone behind Cosimo’s back. There was the sound of fabric swishing against fabric and Cosimo swung around. It was a signal, now all men, all seven of them, aside from Armand, had their guns drawn.

The car had stopped and four more men stepped from its cushy confines. They, too, had their weapons drawn.

While the vampires in the middle were pinned by the many guns, Armand turned to Tate. ”We just want Mister Alessi, signorina. There is no need for anyone else to be hurt…” he offered. It was clear that Armand wished to play.

Posted: **13 Aug 2017, 05:48**

The tension that grew within the night’s air reminded her of being trapped in turbulent waters, her lungs threatening to explode from the oppressive weight that pressed into them. However, it was no challenger to the power that sparked between the undead as she pressed her hand against his spine. That power only intensified when a third voice broke through the thick barrier, her voice as calm and quiet as the eye of a storm. She had no need to tear her narrowed gaze from the men standing tall and proud before them, the presence of her power enough to tell the fledgling that she was somehow kin. With her silent approach, some of the tension eased from her muscles – only to return as her new companion began to speak, his voice alluring with its sweetened charm. It didn’t hold the same power that she had been re-birthed with, but there was something almost captivating in the way he could still be jubilant, even as Death danced on the outsides of their vision, waiting to envelope them within the pressing darkness.

Running her tongue along the edge of her teeth, she carefully slid her hand from his back to curl her fingers along the large expanse of his shoulder. The motion was meant to show the men that her hands were devoid of any weapon, as well as silently speak to the man that she was there. Even if he knew that by her standing at his side, she felt as though it needed to be solidified. She had gotten herself into this mess – and she wasn’t the type to give in. Tipping her head back, she met Armand’s gaze briefly, the darkness that slithered into the blue of her eyes marring her perfect portrait of innocence. Without waiting to see if he had caught the shift in her expression, she flicked her gaze to the next man, burning them each into her mind. There wasn’t a single detail about them that she hadn’t memorized by the time her attention turned back to their leader, her fingers tightening their hold on Cosimo’s shoulder.

“You shouldn’t mix business with pleasure. Please, enjoy your vacation. The bars here are wonderful. I can give you a recommendation.” Her heavily accented words were steady, even as a tremor raced up her arm at the sudden chill that filled the air. She had hoped that she had put enough of her own charm into her whispered words that he would have hesitated. It had been meant to buy her enough time to assess her next move – but it had only seemed to ignored as the man shifted his attention to the shadows behind them. She hadn’t needed to have the years of training that her sire did to know what was about to happen.

It was as natural as breathing, the sudden adrenaline that coursed through her veins.

As the man at her side spun, she dropped her hand from his shoulder, her movements as smooth as water. One second, she was standing straight, almond eyes wide with worry, and the next, she had dipped low, finger slender fingers sliding into the cool metal loops of her blades. Within seconds, she was straight again, the moon catching the metal as she spun the knives with deadly precision. The smile was washed from her face as her frosted gaze swept across the taut faces that surrounded them, fingers tight on the triggers of their weapons. There was certain eeriness about the way she moved, her arms held out, palms tight on the tactical hilts.

“He is not yours to take,” she whispered, gaze lifting skyward as the wind caught the quiet growl from the roof. With a slow shake of her head, she turned to find Armand once again through the surrounding bodies, her eyes dark with mixed emotions. “You made a dangerous mistake coming here for him.” Careful not to use his name – the name that she truly didn’t know – she spun on her heel when she caught the faintest sound of clothing rustling. By the time she was fully turned, the body was on the ground, his neck twisted at an unnatural angle, glassy eyes focused unseeingly on the midnight sky.

Posted: **15 Aug 2017, 02:59**

Tigra couldn’t be held accountable for what happened next.

Like fools, they had answered her prayers, and had shown their hand, brandishing their weapons against Jezebel and the man she stood with. The man they had called Cossimo.

She was a tigress. She was an beast unleased against those foolhardy enough to threaten her progeny, a dauntless matron descending upon a threat to one of her cubs. Her body reacting with instinct entirely beyond her control, while at the same instant in a measured and calculated manner, she tightened her grip on her weapon and clutched the edge of the roof. Her movements were fluid and efficient, like living water. She was more akin to her namesake creature than she was to the human woman that she had been such a short time ago. She was a black wind descending upon the unwitting cluster of humans collected around her progeny and the man that she had approached, the whisper of death on the gentle night breeze.

With the grace of the predator she had become, she pushed the white sole of her Puma into the concrete ledge of the rooftop, hurling her body into the night air without a sound, the preceding growl had been her only warning that, by drawing their weapons, the men beneath her had sealed their fate. Her thumb disengaged the safety on her Glock 18, the automatic pistol primed with a sharp click for the hell that she was about to unleash. As the distance between her and the group closed, time seemed to slow to a crawl. They were hers.

The heel of her foot came into contact with the nearest man’s neck, the sound of his vertebrae snapping like dried twigs echoing in the street as she drove her knee into the dead man’s back, softening her landing as she twisted her knee to the right, ensuring that the man beneath her was dead, his spinal cord severed in the violence of the blow to his neck. Beneath her, he twitched once before a violent shudder went through his entire heavy frame and he went still beneath her. Her eyes flashed with an emerald menace, her body moving with a lithe, unnatural grace as she lifted herself from the first of what was to be several corpses.

With a dangerous growl, the Killer wheeled her pistol about, catching the man at her left still standing in shock as the man that had just been standing not an arm's length from him was struck down in a single heartbeat, the woman that stood where he had an image of primal fury. Everything stood still, even as she moved like lightning. The man’s wide, blue eyes were a window to the terror that gripped him in that brief instant, the surprise of the sheer violence of her descent still registering in his brain, even as the mouth of her pistol’s barrel pressed against the soft underside of his jaw. Blood coated her face, red specks splashed across her pale skin as she gave the man a wicked, fanged grin and pulled the trigger, his head bursting in a red mist as six rounds pumped through his soft flesh to crack his pallet, the rounds exploding out the top of his head and sending him rocking back on stiff legs, where he hit the ground with a thud. Her magazine would be empty quickly, and Tigra knew that her moment of surprise was over, that the window on her opportunity was closing rapidly as the men surrounding them began to regain their composure.

She swept left, drawing fire away from her progeny and the man she protected, and slipped behind the first man in that direction, one slender arm snaking about the man’s throat as she stepped behind him, using his body as a human shield against the onslaught that she knew would be coming. The body pressed against her was a massive, broad wall of man, his heat was almost unbearable against her as she gripped his throat with an animal strength, thick fingers dropping the weapon they held as he dug at her arm, trying to free himself from her grasp. The teeth of claw fittings of his gold rings dug into her flesh, blood beading on her arm as he fought with futile desperation against her supernatural strength. The man to their leader’s left finally reacted, lifting his sidearm to fire at the threat that she had become. The man in her grasp choked against her arm, his hand lifting as his eyes went wide at the sight of his fellow goon’s weapon swinging to bear on him. He fought to breathe, to scream even as the muzzle of the other man’s weapon flashed, bullets ripping into the body that she gripped against her torso, the man tensing with all of his might as the first of the hail of bullets ripped into him.

A choked cry left him as Tigra’s arm slipped beneath his armpit, finger squeezing the trigger of her weapon. The automatic pistol belched fire and lead, sending a hail of 10mm rounds into the man that had fired, the weapon bucking wildly in her hand as she struggled for the full second and a half it took to empty the magazine into the man. The magazine emptied in less than two seconds, the action jamming open as it waited to prime a fresh magazine. More than two dozen rounds had ripped through the night, many of them missing the man she had been aiming for and instead striking the vehicles behind them, or the storefront across the street, but most finding their target and leaving gaping, weeping holes in his flesh. The man stood frozen, his weapon in his hands useless as his arm swung limp at his side. The firearm hit the ground with a clatter as Tigra tossed her own weapon aside.

The man in her arm gasped with ragged lungs, blood boiling at his lips as he fought to speak. Without so much as a thought, she gave her arm a quick jerk, and the man’s thick bull neck snapped, sending the heavy wall of meat to his knees, before she kicked his back and sent him falling face first into the asphalt.

Out of ammo, the vampire stood exposed as she slipped the knife from the tactical sheath at her bicep, and flipped the weapon into her grasp. One of the men remained standing, along with the cretin that had dared to call his pack of dogs on her streets. Her fingers clenched the four-inch knife with a white-knuckled grasp as she gave the man a twisted grin, the wild look in her brilliant green eyes was almost feral with her fury as she began to slowly pace to one side, circling her opponents as she continued to draw their eyes away from Jezebel and her friend.

“You were lucky, boys. I can’t carry any spare ammo in these pants.” She gave them a sharp snap of her teeth, before she drug her tongue across her lower lip, tasting the blood that had splashed across her face. “So what do you say to getting the **** out of here, and never even considering laying a finger on my daughter again, hm? I might let you live to fulfil that promise.”

The van that had crept around the corner hadn’t evaded her attention, but for the meantime, it remained closed. No one else appeared brave enough to step out of wherever they might be hiding. That much was likely for the best. She was an exceptionally skilled killer, but she doubted even she would stand a chance against many of these meat sacks if they rushed her at once, without her sidearm. She would have to hope that Jezebel had learned enough to hold her own, in the two days she’d had to teach her what she knew, and that her friend Cossimo was a worthwhile fighter himself. The pink apron he wore, however, did not inspire confidence. It was just too many variables for her to feel comfortable.

One thing that set her mind at ease, however, was seeing her “sister,” as she called her for lack of a better term for what they shared, standing there among the bodies. That was one face she knew that she could count on in a fight, and it warmed her cold dead heart to see her again. It’d been too long since they had last spoken, and to run into her at a time like this almost seemed entirely too opportune. She afforded the woman a quick glance, and a wide, warm grin, hoping that seeing her divert her attention from them would afford the men some level of bravery, that they might be foolhardy enough to come for her. With Tate there, and the help of even the pair of question marks at her side, she was confident they could handle a few two-bit gangsters.

She realized, in that moment, that she had really missed letting herself go, and just slaughtering those that dared to lift a hand against her family. It was a pleasure unequaled, to feel that again.

Posted: **23 Aug 2017, 02:17**

Tate tried to get a sense of how many surrounded them. Other than the men, there was someone else near - from above? The brief thought of her overly zealous parents crossed her mind. She could almost hear her mother's telling her about their Lord and Savior, Jesus Christ. She rolled her eyes, both at the thought and Armand's words. The petite woman shifted her weight from one foot to another, her expression shifting to a slight smirk to betray her amusement. "Cosimo," His name came to her after a few moments as she kept her gaze on the man in front of her, "What business do you have with these men?"

As Cosimo swung around, Tate kept her back to the others. From the corner of her eye, she watched one of the man's fingers twitch. They all seemed to be gunning for a fight and she was alright with that. It'd been a while since she'd been able to carelessly spill a little blood. All the while, her shadow curled itself into his, inching to manipulate into his leg without her permission. "You make it sound as if you aren't itching to. Drop the ********. Capisce?" She didn't know how Cosimo fought, nor the woman beside him, but at least it would take a good while to kill them, right?

They could take them, surely.

Three vampires. They weren't hunters.

And, of course, as it always did when she wanted to formulate a plan, chaos erupted. The growl was her only warning as she activated hyper perception. It had helped her out more times than she cared to admit. "Get down." She hissed at Cosimo and the girl as bullets flew, her shadow seemingly enjoying the complete mayhem as it ripped the man closest to Tate off balance. His knee, the likely target, twisted and gave a sickening noise as he cried out. His hand didn't let off the gun, the trigger finger squeezing in involuntary reaction before it fell from his grasp as he crashed against the concrete. There was a flash of heat that brushed her skin and didn't linger, healing almost as quickly as the bullet that flew.

As the cause of the chaos continued, Tate made a mental note to ***** at seethe about tactics as her shadow retreated, the gun skidding on the ground as if it were being pulled. Crouching briefly, she gave a sharp whistle towards Cosimo the gun came to a stop near her feet. Once it bumped the side of her foot, she shoved it in his direction. If it got worse, it was better to be prepared - she was well rounded in her capabilities, even ran her own security business. She didn't think there were any weapons underneath that pink apron of his, either. Just above the gunpowder, Tate could recognize the source of the chaos and had there not been bullets flying, she might have turned to yell at her sibling.

It was a surprise to see Tigra, period. To her knowledge, most of the line had decided to begin to keep to themselves. She couldn't remember the last time that she'd seen Judas, although she did spend only enough time to sleep in the crypt on occasion if she didn't bury herself under the dirt. Her blood was slowly beginning to boil - this was a mess. Despite the woman pulling the attention away from them with good intentions, Tate was almost positive that it only put them on alert. It would be near impossible to catch them off guard again, to keep things settled. The bullets that flew were more dangerous, a more serious threat than when the men were simply posturing.

"Six down, two and unknown to go." Sang Alicia at Tate's ear. The spirit laughed, her voice mocking as she was ignored. "We're going to have to talk about your entrance later, sister." The killer sighed while she removed one of the knives its place at her belt. The weight in her hand was a comforting, familiar sensation as she twirled it easily over her fingers. Balanced in hand, it was one of her favorites. "You've got the choice to leave or die. As you said, we don't need anyone else getting hurt." Her eyebrow cocked at Armand, "Take your dead, injured and get out of here."

Posted: **25 Aug 2017, 12:39**

Sharp words were thrown and not listened to. Tension was so thick in the air Cosimo could taste it. Some might say that was a cliché, that tension didn’t have a texture or a taste. But it did. It tasted like electricity, like chemicals on the air. Guns were cocked and at the ready but no one fired a bullet. As much as the Italian appreciated the women who’d come to his aid, he opened his mouth to tell them to go. They owed him no allegiance, and if he were to go with Armand, at least it would be quiet and no one else would get hurt. Before he could get a word out edgewise, however, before total chaos broke loose.

Cosimo had no idea where the gunfire came from until two men were already down. The scent of the blood struck him like a brick wall and his eyes widened. It was as if some latent instinct kicked in – the instinct for survival.

Someone shouted for Cosimo to get down and he did, though not because he was told. It was a natural reaction to bullets flying, hand up over his head as if that would help anything. How long did the chaos last? He waited for the bullets to hit him, but none did. They were all aimed at someone else.

A sharp whistle cut through the din and Cosimo looked up to see a gun being shunted in his direction. A gun he did not hesitated to collect, lifting it into his hands like it was a missing limb he’d had returned to him. He handled the gun like an expert, smooth as silk. It was a foreign design but he still knew how to use it. He made guns for a living. Of course he knew how to use it.

Tate and the other woman spoke as if the men might stop, but of course they didn’t. Armand had stepped behind his goons, valuing his own safety above theirs. They were hired for exactly this. Cosimo had no qualms about shooting back. He may have been wearing a pink apron, but in this day and age a man should not be judged by the colour of his clothing, should he? Anger curled and erupted and he shouted, pulling the trigger. Men poured from the back of the van and they surged toward the vampires in the middle, hoping to overcome them with pure force.

Although Cosimo managed to shoot one man in the chest and the other between the eyes, they soon got too close for the gun to be any use. They must have been under instruction to keep Cosimo alive, as none of them sought to harm him. They instead sought only to grab him. The Italian’s fingers wrapped around one leering throat, causing the flesh beneath to burn and seer. The man screamed, a curdled scream that would strip the nerves from anyone nearby.

This would not do. No, it was too public. They already would have caught the interest of anyone nearby. This needed to end. For the first time since he’d discovered the power, Cosimo dropped to his knees and pressed his fingers to the hard ground – he would cause the earth to shake, this time on purpose. This time for a reason. The rumble started low, like a monster crawling forth from the deep. The mystic closed his eyes, pulling in a deep breath. He could feel it, his connection to the earth, to the violent nature of it. The ground rumbled and shook, growing stronger with each passing second. Somewhere, a window broke; a car alarm started to blare.

Cosimo only hoped that it would scatter the Romans enough for the vampires to get the upper hand.

Posted: **14 Sep 2017, 19:37**

Get down.

It was such a simple command, one that should have been heeded before the final syllable fell from her lips, and yet – she didn’t move. She couldn’t. Shock kept her frozen from the moment the first gun went off, the sound echoing through her skull and bouncing off the alley walls. Her fingers tightened on the hilts of her blades, the leather digging into her skin as she watched the chaos ensue. Somewhere behind her, she heard the wet, thick sound of someone choking on blood as he fell. To her left, there was a scream of pain that she knew would haunt her for the rest of her life. In front of her, there was a growl, as savage as it was feminine, as her sire moved with the grace of the jungle cat she was named for.

What in the hell is happening?

The rose gloss on her lips shimmered as her mouth fell open, a single gasp of air escaping her throat as she tried to keep up with the mayhem. One by one, the bodies fell, the scent of their sweet blood filling the air, threatening to choke her beneath the thick copper. She was too young, she knew that then. While there was a controlled madness in Tigra’s eyes, and certain strength in the tense muscles of the Italian – and the calm of the killer, she was terrified. She had thought to protect the man, and now, as the world erupted in blood around her, she realized just how foolish that notion had been. Clutching her blades, she spun when she heard a sound behind her, a soft warning brushing across her mind – one that she heard far too late. The explosion of the gun was too close, and while she was fast – she was still… new. Pain exploded through her chest, earning a sharp cry from between her teeth.

“****!” Careful not to stab herself, she clutched her chest, her blood seeping between her fingers as her vision swam. It was agony like she had never known. It burned, it stung, it flooded her nervous system with the power of a wildfire, threatening to send her to knees. Somehow, she managed to remain upright, her eyes narrowed as she fought back tears. How was she still standing? A woman could not be shot in the chest and remain on her feet – and yet, she was. She was standing in the middle of an all out war, a bullet in her chest, and blood on her hands, and she was standing. This is my life now, she thought in pained wonder, as she watched Cosimo still. There was something in his eyes, something that she watched closely, even as he dropped to his knees.

“What--- are you doing?” Her words were strained, and she didn’t take her eyes off him. She refused to look away, even as his hands sunk into the ground – the same ground that begun to shake. It was slow at first, and then it picked up, the world beneath them trembling with the violence that was starting to fill her heart. Her eyes widened as she stared at the Italian, her mind – once sluggish with pain, now clear – piecing together the power within seconds. He was doing this. One by one, the Romans started to fall away – all but two. As if connecting the dots as she had, they stumbled on their feet as they ran towards him, guns drawn and fury in their eyes. There was a madness there, one that she had thought she’d never feel, as she watched them approach to oblivious man.

Without warning, she spun her blades around her hand, her arms moving with the control that Tigra had taught her. Her chest screamed in protest as the bullet dug itself deeper with the movement, but the pain only seemed to fuel her. When the men got close enough, muzzles aimed for his skull, she moved. One second, their fingers were tight on the triggers – and the next, their hands were on the ground, their guns far from their reach – and her blades embedded in their hearts. “It hurts, doesn’t it?” Her words were harsh as she pulled her blades free, the wet sound of suction filling the air before she wiped them against her shirt. When the men fell, she grabbed Cosimo’s shoulder, her fingers trembling as she tried to swallow down the bile that rose up her throat.

She had just killed someone.
She was a murderer.
She was shot.

Instead of losing her mind, the small redhead stared down at him, fingers twisting into his shirt. He was the closest - this stranger whom she had never met, this man that she had chose to save. As he kept his hand to the ground, she lifted the one not curled into his clothing, the steady hum of wings filling the air. Within seconds, a swarm descended, the black, buzzing cloud wrapping dancing in front of the faces of the enemy, their shocked cries drowned beneath the beat of their wings as her insects went in for the kill. Turning her gaze from him, to Tate and Tigra, she dropped her hand back to her chest, fingers attempting to pull the bullet from her skin.

“You did good, Earthman. Are there any... other tricks up your sleeve?”

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