undergrounds | Fight like the night (OTA)

Entry tags:

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

Want something different? We can do it!

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

"Yeah." He hopped off the bike and walked over to her. She was pretty in that unattainable, out-of-reach aura that some women could give off with very little effort. He took a seat near her without asking if he could sit down. Manners had never been the vampire's strong suit.

He talked while continuing to eye her carefully. If his guess was right, she was a fae, which meant relaxing his guard around her was going to be a very bad idea. "You don't smell like one of the little plebians usually walking 'round here. You're special."

Mab turned her head as the Vampire settled down next to her, casually as though he were a compatriot but his gaze was at least cautious which meant he wasn't a complete fool.

"Oh yes, I am special." She agreed. "Which begs the question, what is it that you wish of me?" She tilted her head just a touch as though listening to something far away. This close he gave off a faint scent of blood. Vampire then. A vampire had come out to play. How very interesting.

"I don't suppose you'd be willin' t'help a hungry fellow out now, would you?" He licked his lips in an inviting manner. The hunger was already gnawing away inside of him, worse than it usually did. Damn that fae hunter to hell and back again.

If he was going to sit down next to a powerful fae and chit-chat the way normal mortals would, then he might as well continue his pattern of reckless behavior with an even more rash conversation starter.

That earned one raised brow and a half amused look. Mab straightened up and lifted a hand to touch his cheek, an almost affectionate gesture that trailed down his chin then turned harder, more rigid. "Dear boy, I am not prey. And you could not afford the cost of a donation." She looked at his eyes, still a little dilated from his earlier meal. A vampire coming off a fae high, no wonder he was reckless.

Cooper had the same feeling he'd gotten at Abigail's house of no longer being on top of the food chain. That hand on his face looked delicate enough, but he had no doubt that she would rip the life right out of him the moment he stopped being entertaining. The image popped into his head of one of those old-time organ grinder monkeys. It still didn't stop his eyes from resting on the thin veins in her wrist. His voice was quiet as he spoke. "I wonder how steep your price would be."

She watched his eyes drop to her wrist, any trepidation he might have overridden by his need to feed. He came across as a very young vampire, the kind that probably wouldn't make it. Not the best first impression. His voice was quieter, less devil-may-care when he spoke again and Mab wasn't surprised to hear him all but ask her price.

She could take advantage of his obvious weakness. Throw him so far into debt he'd never get out, get her own vampire vassal but she wasn't particularly impressed with his chances of survival. And frankly, trying to wean a vassal off the blood of her kind wasn't all that appealing. She could make him suffer which, admittedly, would be entertaining, but it hardly seemed worth the effort. "A favor owed and collected later, without question." She lifted his chin a little trying to get his attention back to her face, leaning in so that her cool breath would be something physical against his skin, distracting. "And your name. All of it."

He flinches, a shudder running through his body. Cooper's far from being a fool. Yet he considers her offer, seriously turning it over in his head. He's always been the type to follow something, whether that's a person or an idea that's taken hold of him. It's just his nature to be a follower instead of a leader. It's tempting. The favor owed he doesn't mind. That's a standard fae contract right there.

What jolts him back to reality is her request of his name. The last time anyone called him John instead of Cooper had been in the 1700s. It's a name that belongs to a different time. He won't relinquish it, not even for the promise of fae blood. "No thanks, milady." There was just enough respect in the title to keep it from falling purely into sarcasm. "There's precious few in this world t'know my name." All of them were in a small town in the middle of America; far, far away from here.

Cooper at least has the excuse that he's not quite in his right mind. But he does, at least, consider it. She's not sure if it was her breath meant to wake him up or his own mind finally just catching up with the rest of him that seems to finally make the situation sink in but finally he shows some restraint. And some manners.

She smiled a little, just at the corners of her mouth, letting her fingers trail slowly off his chin now that he's thinking clearly again. "And that," her tone is pointed, "is why it is such a treasure. Well done, Vampire, I was beginning to think you didn't have an ounce of sense."

"I'm young 'n reckless, not stupid 'n crazy." There's a fine line between the two and Cooper tends to tread it most carefully. He's been flirting dangerously with, pardon the pun, thin ice, but he's going to be reeling himself back in. His head leans forward just a little as Mab's fingers slide off of his face, seeking that touch once more. He still wants her blood even after coming to his senses.

"Cooper. You can call me Cooper." That much, at least, he doesn't mind giving out.

"Sometimes," She replied dryly, "The two are not mutually exclusive." And in comparison to her he probably was young even at his age. She definitely does not miss his almost magnetic attraction to her finger before he stops following her touch. Even awake his body craves fae blood. If not stupid, but perhaps careless. She still isn't convinced he's not stupid.

"Cooper." She repeated, the pronunciation an exact match to his own. Mab remembers. Perhaps he gave her this much in hopes that she would let him stay close long enough to convince her about her blood still. Or perhaps he thought part of the name would possibly give him some of her blood. It is fortunate for him she doesn't know he is a natural follower and that he's not coming across as a particularly good investment. "No title, Cooper?" She was fairly sure the vampires used titles but perhaps she was wrong.

"Baron Cooper, if we're going t'get technical." He snorted, his disdain for the title clear. It sounded far too pretentious for someone as down to earth as he was. "I preferred the days when I was called Lieutenant." Not a military title, as it sounded. It was the title he'd held when he was second-in-command of a nest of biker gang vampires in America. Ah, how the mighty had fallen.

"What do they call you then?" He bit his tongue before he could add 'Ice Queen?' onto the end of that question. He felt fairly certain there was a limit to her indulgence of him. There was no desire in him to find out what that limit was.

He could disdain it all he liked, titles were important as far as Mab was concerned. "Are you still a Lieutenant?" He certainly did not come across as military. Which begged the question, why he'd been called that. Mab did not ask it just now. But her raised brow at the initial mention of it might as well have.

"I am called the Lady of Air and Darkness." She replied, something like amusement in her eyes. It was a miracle he could hold himself back so much when his whole body was on edge as it was now. "You may call me Ms. Sommerset if you like."

"Technically, yes. I left the Outcast voluntarily instead of bein' thrown out, so I got t'keep my colors 'n my bikes." He doubted that made much sense to her, unless she had some knowledge of how American biker gang hierarchies functioned. He rarely spoke of his past and it was only his current predicament that gave him such loose lips.

His eyes got a little wide at her title. "It certainly fits." He murmured, respectful and with a hint of sarcasm at the same time.

It made no sense whatsoever to her. "Outcast?" And what did being outcast have to do with bicycles? Her eyes drifted to his motor bike and she internally corrected that to motorcycles. "Tell me about the Outcast, Lieutenant." Mab could always use information.

She did not miss that hint of sarcasm. But really he couldn't come off much worse than he already had so she let it slide. And the bit of respect countered the sarcasm enough that she was mollified.

Cooper happily obliged Mab. It was only how his past had ended that he regretted. The beginning was still a part that he looked back on with fondness. "It's the name for an American biker gang over there 'n sometimes a nickname for vampires. The chapter I was a part of was run by an old friend of mine. He brought me over after he had a failed coup 'cause he knew he could rely on me. I was his second-in-command. Hence, his Lieutenant."

Biker gangs. Well Americans always did find ways to be unique. Even the Supernatural set. She knew a wizard who advertised in the phone book as a private investigator of the supernatural. A vampire motorcycle gang wasn't any more odd. "Ahh, I see." But it made his condition now seem odd. Someone who was a trusted lieutenant should be able to show more restraint. "You still yearn to be a trusted right hand man."

Her expression was quizzical, she had some time before the person she was meant to meet would arrive so she asked. "Your habit became a problem?" It would explain some things. He was being forthcoming, no need to stop asking questions.

"Is it that obvious?" The expression on his face turned wistful. He'd been a big fish in a little pond back in Pemkowet. Here, he was just another vampire in Islington. He didn't plan on staying a Baron for much longer. He had his sights set much higher.

"I have only one major fault in my life. Well, two, if we're counting being far too handsome." He didn't expect her to laugh at that. After all, he was amusing to himself, and that was the only person who counted. "The other is a losing control. It's the source of every problem I've ever had."

Not liking titles but being wistful about a specific one was erring on the obvious side, but she considered the question to be rhetorical.

Oh vampires, ego was rarely a problem for them. As a fae, beauty was kind of the the norm for the high sidhe. But he seemed to have amused himself with the comment. So perhaps it wasn't all ego. "You left because you lost control then?" He was quite forthright, this vampire.

"Somethin' like that, yeah." The expression on his face suddenly became more guarded as he clammed up, unwilling to give out anymore details. The ending of his time in Pemkowet was something that he'd just as soon forget. Frankly, he'd already said too much already. Being high apparently made him chatty. Or maybe that was just an effect of being around Mab herself. He couldn't say.

Ahh, and for the young vampire who didn't like to lose control he seemed to have realized he'd lost some here. She certainly knew much more about him now and it served him right, thinking he could just ask to sip from her. "And yet, your control does not seem to be at peak today." The subject change might seem a kindness but perhaps not considering how vulnerable he apparently is to running off at the mouth. Her head tilted in question. Why had partaken? Was he still struggling regularly with control? Was he losing his battle? At least he still had his looks.

"I'm fine!" He snapped out with more bite than he had intended. Oh, who was he fooling? Certainly not himself or the lady sitting before him. He felt terrible and would soon be looking even worse.

"If I'm not as I should be, I only have one of your kind t'blame." Well, and himself. But mostly Will. He wouldn't have gotten into this mess if the hunter hadn't stuck his nose into vampire affairs.

Her eyebrows rise at the almost angry response. And then the sulky addition. Her expression all but says 'come on Cooper, no one forced you to drink from a fae. In fact most fae would not even consider allowing themselves to be sampled as a favor. Which meant he most likely had to work for it.

"I believe the humans have an eight step program." She got the number of steps wrong. "Isn't there one about accepting responsibility for your actions?" Mab doesn't have a clue about AA. If there isn't a step like that there ought to be, and she generally thought people needed to either deal with their problems or die trying. If you weren't strong enough you were hardly useful to her.

"Sure, I drank that damn twit of a hunter's blood, but would it have killed him t'mention the little detail he was a fae before things got that far?" He asked with a grumble to his tone. It wasn't like he'd given the man much time to speak. He'd dealt with him and Clint quickly before dashing off to find the third hunter and the wayward newborn vampire.

Cooper was begin to feel a restless urge once again. If he wasn't going to get any blood from Mab, then she wasn't much good to him. There was always fae somewhere in London and definitely ones less powerful than the lady before him.

"Sloppiness in your battles will always leave room for error." She pointed out. Yes, she didn't have werewolf hearing but she also wasn't deaf. She watched him shift and his eyes start to move again. "Let us hope your hard lesson does not lead to your downfall, Mr. Cooper. And might I suggest you take care on whom you approach about sampling."

"I don't need t'be careful. I'm immortal." The grin he gives is rather sardonic and self-mocking. Every seventeen year old in the world felt like they were immortal. Cooper, without a reason to, had just never grown out of that phase.

He stood back up. "I've got t'be off. Gonna find myself a meal." He gave one last look to Mab. "I expect we'll run inta each other at some other time." There was always some gathering or another going on in the city. He was always seeing people at them.

(no subject)

rules_winter - 2015-09-02 04:11 (UTC) - Expand

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only