undergrounds | Fight like the night (OTA)

A Day

If anyone is up on current popular forms of social media, they’ll have noticed a certain trending topic on Instagram. Several pictures of two men beaten up and lashed to a lamppost have been making the rounds. If not for various injuries, one could almost mistake it for a frat house initiation hijink. Those knowing the signs will recognize several of their injuries as vampire bite marks. What makes the pictures quite extraordinary is that the two men are hunters. In another photo, there’s a picture of an unconscious female hunter also beaten to a pulp. While whoever took the photos is nowhere to be found in frame, he’s left several taunting messages at the bottom of each one. “Hillingdon: 0. Me: 3.” reads one. “All hail the mighty Hillingdon hunters,” reads another.

Cooper’s busy looking them over for about the fiftieth time, snickering as he does so. He’s sitting out on a park bench, taking advantage of his temporary immunity from the sun in a T-shirt and shorts. Anyone who gets close to him will notice the dilated pupils and disheveled look he has. He can’t remember the last time he slept. Not that he needs to, hyped up like he is on the fae blood. He glances down at his phone, flipping to another picture, letting out a cackle as he does so.

B Evening

The restless energy he can’t seem to shake hasn’t left him by the time the sun starts to set. There’s only one thing to do. He pulls his little BSA M20 out of the garage and takes it out for a spin. Cooper speeds recklessly all over the city, letting his energy get left far behind as the wind whips past his motorcycle. There’s nothing that soothes his mind like riding around.

Maybe you’re scrambling to make your way across the street just as he comes to a noisy, screeching halt. Maybe he spots you on the other side of the street and recklessly pulls a U-turn so that he can pull up next to where you are. Maybe he’s idling at the curb, waiting for you to come out of a shop after catching your scent. Any way you look at it, there’s a vampire sitting on top of a motorcycle who’s taken quite the interest in you.

C Night

Long after the last light has faded from the sky, Cooper knows he needs to feed. The problem is that he’s not craving human blood tonight. After accidentally tasting Will’s blood, all he can think about is fae blood. He resists the urges as long as he can. Alas, eventually, his will crumbles. He takes to the streets, stalking his prey. What he wants most of all is going to be hard to find, but in his current strung-out state, he’ll take anything and everything he can get.

Skulking down alleyways and climbing over rooftops, he’s not the perfect silent predator he usually is. People that he’s following will feel a prickle on the back of their necks, some sixth sense warning them that somebody is watching them. If they aren’t careful, he’ll strike them down and feed without pity.

D Wildcard

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Ringer catches only the briefest glimpse of the photos on his phone, not enough to make out any of their subjects or even general content. She notices the expression and wonders for a split second if he feels guilty before quickly dismissing the idea. It would be ridiculous to think vampires might feel badly about hurting humans. Cooper, in particular, seemed to be more than willing to beat the shit out of her without any remorse.

"Then why let the newborn continue killing?" She directs her attention out at the park, crossing her arms loosely on the bench's back. A casual conversation is the ideal here, though she's ready to fight if that's what he wants.

Cooper groans, a hand running through his hair. "That's not one of my shinin' moments, I'll admit. Erik was an elusive little bugger. I should've found him sooner, but he kept staying one step ahead of me."

He leans forward, elbows resting on his knees. Sure, some people had died, but he'd wrangled the vampire into Islington Nest in the end. Couldn't make an omelet without breaking a few eggs. Cooper had enough guilt on his conscience regarding his own victims to not have a lot left over for the corpses left by someone else.

Ringer glances over to Cooper, wondering how much of his posture and the words that accompany it are for show and how much he actually means. The idea of a vampire with survivor's guilt has never occurred to her and his increasingly telling cues are confusing at best. The hunter straightens from the bench, stretching out with a light wince and grateful he's not paying much attention to her.

"Next time, ask me for help," she replies after a short pause. Ringer isn't looking for a truce, but she's willing to work with dangerous assholes if it means less people dying. "I'll help you catch them alive to go to the Nest if you teach them not to feed on unwilling victims."

Cooper thought he'd never hear a hunter offering to lend a hand. Almost every single one he's met in his past two hundred years have just been eager to shove a stake through his heart or leave him tied up to wait for the sunlight. It's understandable if he's a little dubious of how much Ringer really means her words. "Me askin' a hunter for help? I think you can see why I might have some trouble with the idea."

The worst part, that he could kick himself for, is part of him honestly wants to believe her. She's young, not yet set in her ways like so many hunters already are. Maybe she really means what she says.

"I'm not a hunter." The response is said blandly, as if it should be obvious. Ringer calls herself a hunter because there isn't a title for what she is and no one wants to hear it anyway. Any human who's trying to hurt, kill, or stop the supernatural in any way is lumped into the category of hunter at Hillingdon and her old trainer's particular affiliations didn't help that. She doesn't care to be pedantic about it until moments like this arise, where it matters. "I want to stop humans from being killed."

Sure, she doesn't really like vampires given that they're natural predators, but she's told some have learned to exist without killing or hurting the unwilling. It's a start. If Cooper kills someone, they can always break off any potential alliance then.

Cooper could go for the easy, snide reply. If she wasn't a hunter, why was she associating with a whole clan of them? Those who laid down with dogs tended to rise up with fleas. He bites his tongue. She's being much more civil than he would if the positions were reversed. The least he can do is be the same while he considers her proposition.

He finally turns to look at her properly. Coming face-to-face with the result of his handiwork, he can only say one thing. "Christ, Ms. Oakley. You look like shite." There's a small flicker of guilt, though it doesn't last. After all, she'd brought this on herself.

Ringer tenses. She lifts her hands to set them on the back of the bench again, her fingers curling tight around one of the wooden slats to take her frustration out on the bench rather than him. Forming a tentative alliance is worth the risk and the better thing to do. She knows that. Knowing that doesn't make it easy, especially as he effectively taunts her.

"That's not an answer." Her tone is a noticeable several degrees cooler as she glances down at him and then looks out to the park again. Cooper hurt her pride, sure, but Ringer's not generally particularly vain or proud. Mostly it's her body that hurts and she's not in the habit of suffering fools unless it benefits her in some way. "If you don't want to talk about my offer, I should go."

"Wait." He motions for her to stay, suddenly looking serious. He difficult to get along with at the best of times and knows this. He also knows when it's time to cut the crap and have a worthwhile conversation. Looking Ringer right in the eye, he makes his point very clearly.

"I'll work with you if someone goes out of control again. But I want you t'make me a promise in return. If I ever get like that, go crazy 'n start killin' people because I can't control myself any longer, you have to kill me." There it is, laid out on the table. His greatest fear, the one that haunted his nightmares and never gave him any rest. One day, the beast within would slip his leash and he wouldn't be able to get it under control ever again.

She stays, barely having moved before he asks her to wait. Her fingers find the bench again as she meets his gaze, both grateful and now oddly curious.

"I promise," she answers firmly, without hesitation. Ringer isn't bogged down with attachments. Her morals and opinions don't suddenly change because she gets to know someone. Cooper might prove to be a worthwhile ally, but if he becomes a threat to humanity, she'll do her best to put him down like any other creature. While she rarely makes promises, this one she has zero concerns with knowing she can keep it.

"Do you value human life or is it the vanity of your own reputation you're worried about?" She asks evenly. It doesn't matter much what the answer is in terms of their working together, but it's nice to get to know the people you're working with.

"Neither. I'm old, Ringer." Only his eyes reflect his words. There's a couple of lifetimes reflected in them. His life had a vampire had started with a violent beginning and had only grown from there. "Old enough t'be looking back on a life I'm not very proud of. There's a whole lot of bodies behind me. I just want someone who'll take me out before I lose myself to the beast that's riding along inside me and chewing me up."

To that end is why he's gotten Ringer's promise. He'd prefer to be dead instead of losing what's left of his mind and soul, giving into the bloodlust.

Fight like the night (OTA)

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