Path of the Vampire forum

Title: Wet Clash
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Characters: Clover, Habren Ashe

Clover must post first, outlining a story on the following theme (feel free to get creative):

Setting: A water-logged deserted alleyway
Backstory: The group happened upon one another by chance (some or all characters).
Occurance: rogue soldiers attack.
Variable: Clover is vomiting blood.

Participants: 2
ARES: yes
Speed: slow
Chapter: no
Minimum Words Per Post: none
Maximum Words Per Post: none

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This thread was generated via the Roleplay Matchmaking System.

She hated the rain, the dreary sky so thick with clouds that she couldn't make out the moon, and at night, she appreciated the light. Though she considered herself a shadow, there was something about the moonlight that drew her in, like a moth to a flame. But that night was dark, no moon, no stars, only the scent of wet dog carried along by the breeze. Sour. Disgusting. Clo didn't even like dogs.

It wasn't late enough for the temperatures to drop and the rain to turn to snow, but she knew she'd likely witness it, since she spent as much time as possible away from Circle, the place that was and wasn't her home. It was difficult to see the people and places, because her memory never let her forget. And it was a curse more than a gift. Sometimes she wanted selective amnesia so that she could start all over again, so that she could remember the escape from the hospital and nothing more. But it didn't work that way, not for her, and she didn't want to waste more time thinking of how things could have been, should have been. Somehow, she'd bypassed the storefront she needed, so she had to double back. She needed more ammo, since she had every intention of hunting until she keeled over, the same as every other night. Gunshots kept the memories away, so she chose to keep shooting.

She wasn't the same person. She told herself that before sunrise and after sunset, like a mantra meant to keep her going. Be better. Do better. Clover listened to the mantra and smiled, smiled until her face hurt, until she felt the flutter of happiness in her heart. Years ago, she would have scoffed at the idea that she'd ever need someone in her life. That had been years ago though. She'd realized, during her time in the city, during her time in New York, during her time in the shadow realm, that even though it was easy to say she didn't need anyone, it was a lot harder to get by without someone. Starting over seemed more difficult than ever before, but she had some semblance of friends and family, just enough to keep her level, their attention, their concern, like a drug. She craved it. She'd grown used to someone wanting her, and it was far too easy to lose that person, to lose that feeling.

As Clo pushed the glass door open and stepped into the shop, she forced another smile, something that was becoming easier, so expected. The man at the end of the room eyed her. Standing behind a glass display case filled with handguns, he slowly rolled up the sleeves on his long-sleeved thermal shirt. His hair was nothing but salt and pepper, and Clo saw numerous scars on the man's arms, as if he meant to intimidate her, which was ridiculous. Short sword strapped to her back, hidden beneath her black raincoat, she stepped from the darkness and entered into the dimly lit shop. The bell above the door sounded once more, right before the door closed. Clo slid her hood back and walked toward the shop owner, her black boots squeaking on the creaky hardwood floor.

"We're closed. Your kind ain't wanted here."

"Very funny, Frank. I need ammo."

"You aren't much fun tonight, peach. You still toting the same guns?"

"I'm drenched. It's pouring outside. Give me some bullets."

Frank grumbled to himself about her lack of manners, then moved around the shop to a rack filled with boxes of ammunition. He grabbed two boxes and she shook her head, so he added a third box; when she nodded, he went over to the register and rang up the sale. Clover paid, and she also included a tip, something under the table. Frank rested his hands on the edge of the glass display case and squinted at her as she loaded her gun. He opened his mouth to ask something, then reconsidered and closed his mouth. She looked up at him and he rubbed his chin, fingers brushing over two-day stubble.

"Your name and face is on the wanted list. What'd you get into now?"

"Nothing. You know I don't deal in the underground anymore." At her words, Frank burst into laughter, his cackling irritating her. She rolled her eyes and put the gun away, tucking the boxes of bullets into the front right pocket of her raincoat. "I'm actually going to the station to clear the air. Tell your wife I said hello."

Clover turned, waved a hand at him, and went back into the rain. She decided to cut through an alley that would take her around Bullwood station, so she mixed with the traffic coming from the train station and watched as the people split off, leaving her the only one on the sidewalk. She heard footsteps coming up on her and a man bumped into her shoulder, causing her to stumble and step off the curb into the street. He was a soldier, so she simply glared at his back and took a turn into the alleyway, where the short road was nothing but puddle on top of puddle. The storm drains had backed up again, and she wasn't surprised. Wrinkling her nose, she tried stepping over the puddles and ended up on a dry patch, surrounded by deep puddles.

"I should have worn my rain boots," Clo sighed, tipping her head back to see the cloudy sky. "******* rain."