A New Hunt Begins (open)

[Damon Blackwell]

Feb 6, 2014 21:33:21 GMT Aedan O'Toole said:

He tightened his jacket around himself in the cool night breeze as he walked through the park, the holes in his pants and sleeves doing little to protect him, but they did the job he intended them to do. He looked homeless, washed up; as though no one would miss him if he was gone. To be fair that last part was probably true. He looked like a suitable victim in this early, early hour and he was sure he would get a bite, so to speak. There was a deep seeded sickness in this city and he held the only treatment. Never had he seen an area in these United States more densely packed with these blood sucking demons. He was here to change that though. He heard them creeping up behind him, as though he were that stupid and unaware. He would play the fool for now. There were two of them. One he saw to his left in the very corner of his vision, the other was directly behind him, footsteps confident and loud on the concrete path. Damon stopped and the other behind him halted in his own tracks. He turned and face his stalker with his eyes stone cold and his brow furrowed in a scowl. It was disappointing that he couldn't bring his machete, but then he wouldn't be so inconspicuous. He widened his stance in preparation for the inevitable. The man-like creature looked slightly surprised that he was ready to fight, but he wasn't going to run away. Good. It would make it easier to put him down. A flash of movement from his right triggered his mind. Everything slowed. There was a young looking woman lunging to attack him, her fangs glinting in the light of the streetlamp. He ducked and threw her into the park bench nearby. A sickening crack could be heard in the air as her arm broke against the metal of the bench's leg. The man let out a shout of anger and rushed him with astonishing speed. Fortunately Damon's perception was faster. He saw the creature going for his throat and so was able to block his bite with the stake he slipped out of his sleeve, just barely keeping it's teeth off his throat. He was still knocked backwards and he has to roll to his feet to face them again. He was not letting up and the woman's arm had healed back into place. He prepared himself and swung his stake right at the last moment as the male vampire rushed him again. He felt the satisfying yelp as the wood sunk into his victim's chest. Blackwell let him fall to the ground and turned his attention to the other filth as she let out a cry of distress. She curse him as she attacked with a kick, but he caught her leg and threw her to the ground. She begged his mercy but he did not slow as he sunk a second stake right through her heart. Now that he had them paralyzed there was only one thing to do. He dragged each one to the bench even as they cursed him and cried out for help. as soon as he had them sitting on the bench he jam his finger into the hinge of their jaws so they couldn't close their mouths as he jammed cloth down their throats to prevent further screaming. They watched helplessly as he pushed the stakes far enough in so they could be easily conceal within their own jackets. He pulled out a rosary and enclosed it in the woman's paralyzed hand, his mark as a hunter. Though he didn't want to be found, he wanted these agents of Satan to know they were being hunted. Let the fear sink into their blackened hearts. The couple watched helplessly as he walked away, the sky already starting to lighten. He took his place in the stolen car parked just at the edge of the park. He sat and waited for the couple to go up in flames at dawn and didn't drive away until they did. He needed to get some rest. His mission from God had only just begun.

-Damon exits-

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Word Count: 701

[Mischa Amesbury]

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It wasn't terribly often that something interesting enough to want to stick around to watch just fell into his lap. Especially not when Mischa hardly had a mind to search for such a thing. And yet, while he'd been drifting off into a rather hazy ennui - his brain performing it's usual rapid moving cycle of free-thought even as he settled himself comfortably on a rather solid tree limb - such a thing had been found indeed. 


The little dhampire couldn't quite say what had drawn his attention to the bum, except for the fact that he was so very inconspicuous that it actually made him seem to stand out more than he might have otherwise. At least to Mischa's rather discerning eye anyway. After all, he knew a thing or two about blending in...and in fact, quite often employed this knowledge as things with the Resistance had begun to pick up. So as his eyes had caught on the seemingly derelict fellow, he allowed them to continue to do so...and wasn't it oh so handy that his dhampiric eyes could see further and more accurately than a lowly human's? After all, without it...well, Mischa would have missed the show entirely. 


Two vampires stalked behind the man, clearly deciding that what appeared to be society's offal would be both easy and rewarding 'prey'. Mischa could not entirely disagree with them either, though honestly he much preferred the blood of his Xavier as it tasted like nothing he'd ever drunk before. Victim-wise, if the guy was as homeless as he appeared to be, then it wasn't likely he'd be missed. His gaze sharpened a bit as it focused more fully on the brewing 'battle', his entire body still so he didn't have to bother with concerning himself over the possibility of falling from his perch and ruining his view. 


Now, perhaps this would seem strange to most...after all, Mischa was a by-stander. A witness. And most that witnessed such a thing, especially when the 'attack' was clearly planned to take place on a /human/, would say or do something to make it an impossibility. Playing the good Samaritan was something that got attention, the kind that most viewed as 'good', so even if they weren't really as 'good' as they claimed at least they had bragging rights to breaking up a couple of leeches from sinking fang into the neck of some supposedly 'innocent' bum. Mischa was not most, however, and he'd never been one to follow the social 'norm' unless it was necessary to accomplishing something he wanted done. In this instance, there was no one around, so he could enjoy the show - well as much as he was prone to enjoying anything - with little interruption. 


His expression remained perhaps scientifically analytical, watching as the human soon revealed himself to be more than he appeared...much more actually. The attack ensued and the would-be-victim turned very much into the predator, and Mischa simply watched it - start to finish. He did nothing to stop it, nothing to 'save' anyone, and felt not even the most passing urge to do so. Blood splashed, people died, and to Mischa it was merely a matter of perspective. 


Perspective One. This human could be dangerous to his kind. Dangerous to those he was supposed to care enough about to want to raise up in society but in fact, only cared moderately about as his main reason for being involved with the Resistance was Xavier himself. To Mischa it would always be Xavier first, Cause second...period. But, if one looked at things this way - the human was dangerous and needed to be stopped. And stopped immediately. 


Perspective Two. This human was...useful. In the rise to power, it was expected that there would be a loss of life on both 'sides'. It was the nature of war, even when one 'side' hardly realized that there was a war being waged. Such was the genius of the Cause. Some of those lives had even planned for ahead of time - beginning with the human girl he'd plunged his fangs in and then watched slowly bleed out in the safety of his 'work space'. She'd gurgled a bit, flailed...it had been amusing, but hardly all that educating. He counted it among the sacrifices he'd had to make. But she had indeed bled out eventually, thanks to an ingenious little contraption that could be inserted into the fang marks he'd left to keep the wounds open and the blood flowing. 


The Cause still needed disposable lives though...and for things to work as he and Xavier had discussed, these lives would need to be vampiric. And they would need to look like they had been taken by humans...which would be difficult considering that humans were by far the weakest link in the food chain so far as he saw it. The weakest, and perhaps the least interesting. This human though, he was interesting. And on top of that...he appeared to hardly be weak, so he was indeed quite /useful/. 


Eyes narrowed briefly, a hand slipping down into the pocket of his worn but clean jeans to slip one of the two cellular phones he kept on him at any given time. They were both state of the art, untraceable...and had come to him completely illegally, though it had been so artfully accomplished that no one would likely suspect such a thing. One picture was taken, and then a second...and the process was repeated with his other phone. Both were quality, both he made sure that the human's face was clearly seen, and both were zoomed in enough to be able to make out much more than just that one was looking at a face. He was meticulous, if anything, and quick. Two of the pictures were sent to Xavier...with a few brief, and seemingly inane words about the weather - words that he was certain Xavier would understand were carefully coded to explain that they needed to find out more about this fellow - and then both phones were placed back on his person. Each in a spot well spaced from the other in case something happened to one of them. After that was accomplished, all that was left to do was wait, which he did in relative relaxation despite where he was currently sitting. In a few moments, the human would move along - really, he almost had to, and then Mischa would as well. 

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Word Count: 1084
Notes: x_____x Sorry it's so long. Hopefully it's not just some rambly mess of words.