undergrounds | The Fool On The Hill

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The Fool On The Hill

A. Cooper needed to get out more. This was quite apparent to him as word reached him of Millicent’s latest plans. Letting her vamps run wild seemed like a bad, bad idea to him. He knew a thing or two about losing control and knew none of it ever came to any good. There was no fool like an old fool. Not that Cooper would ever say such words aloud where they could get back to Miss High ‘n Mighty. He liked living, thank you very much. There was nothing to do but go for a ride. He dusted off one of his motorcycles and took off into the night.

After a few blocks, any worries he had seemed to be far away. The only one he currently had was avoiding the suicidal public, who seemed determined to walk in the middle of the road. He yelled out in annoyance at the latest person to get in his way. “Hey! Get your head outta your arse and move it!” When would he learn to keep his mouth shut? Probably never.

B. Leaving the bike behind, he hit the local pubs. It occurred to Cooper that he was a bit peckish. Seeing as how he was out of contact with his usual blood donor, he was going to need someone else to bite into. It didn’t take long for his eyes to land on someone who looked like they might be up for being used as a blood bag. He sidled on up to them and crossed his fingers there were no overzealous hunters working in this part of town.

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The short vampire takes a seat at the bar, his feet not even reaching the floor. He's nursing a beer as he looks over the crowd. To an outsider's perspective, he looks relaxed and casual, just a young Irish lad soaking in the atmosphere after a long week. But Cooper has a hunter's mind and he's looking over the crowd the way a lion looks at gazelles. The weak, the injured, the sick. Isolate one and he's got a meal.

He sets his sights on a businessman also seated at the bar, rumpled suit, American accent, and the weary air of someone who's been traveling too much. Cooper slides himself down until he's practically brushing shoulders with the man. From there, it's easy to turn on the charm. He's soon got the man cracking a smile. This is too easy. He just needs to get him outside and the job will be done.

The way the older vampire acts puts up the hairs on the back of Natasha's neck. The humans don't see it—why would they? He looks like one of them, and not particularly threatening. Except that he's picking just who he wants to cut off from the rest of the evening crowd.

Still not her problem, she reminds herself, taking too big a drink of her whiskey and forcing it down. But she's scooting closer to keep a better eye on things. Seeing if the other vampire is successful.

The spidey sense makes Cooper look up. He's got an inkling that there's a pair of eyes on him somewhere, but he doesn't see anything out of place. Well, he can only focus on one task at a time, and his primary goal here is to get himself and his meal alone. The hunger comes before anything else. He's patient with the tourist, buying him three more drinks before he judges the man compliant enough to work with.

Tapping him on the shoulder, Cooper suggests they head elsewhere for the night. The pair make their way for the door and the vampire looks around one last time. Looks like he's bagged his gazelle.

It looks like he has.

Natasha throws a few bills on her table and stands herself. She tells herself that it's a coincidence—that she just happens to be done with the noise and the effort that goes into ignoring her hunger at the same time the other vampire is leaving.

But while she might be a good liar, she's never liked lying to herself.

She gives them a head start, but she's following.

Cooper leads the man away from the busy street that the pub is on, claiming there's a shortcut that just so happens to run through a dark and dimly lit alley. When will people learn to not be so trusting? When they're halfway down, in the darkest part of the alley where no one will be able to hear anything from the road, Cooper strikes.

He's an old and efficient hunter. Before the tourist has time to blink, he's being slammed into the nearest wall by the deceptively skinny-looking teen. The man only has time for a single confused cry before Cooper's teeth sink into his neck. He laps up the blood with a vague, detached sort of pleasure.

It really shouldn't be a surprise it came to this. A tourist letting himself be led into some dark ally? If it hadn't been vampire, it would have been some other kind of predator.

It was an unsympathetic thought. The smell of blood didn't help that.

Probably the American was safe.

And probably Natasha should just walk away.

Instead, she watches from the alley, grinding her teeth.

Sating the hunger within is all that matters to the vampire and so a full minute goes by before he realizes that he's being watched. He sees Natasha's silhouette at the entrance of the alleyway as he continues to drink his victim's blood. How did he not notice her before? He must be getting sloppy in his old age.

She doesn't seem intent on stopping him, so Cooper quickly finishes feeding. The man is still alive, whimpering a little, though he seems on the verge of passing out. Cooper gives him a command. "Hush now. Go to sleep." The man's eyes close and his form goes limp. Cooper lets him sink to the floor of the alley. He licks the blood off his lips and approaches Natasha, fangs still out. "I suppose you were the one watchin' me in there."

"Just keeping an eye on things," Natasha says, lifting her her chin slightly. Her tone is even, almost neutral&small;there's a little catch in it that she can't quite disguise.

She doesn't let her eyes linger on his mouth.

"Making sure he's walking home." It sounds like a good reason, at least. "There's been more than enough people not this month."

Cooper has always been notoriously bad at detecting other supernatural beings, even other vampires. He can make an educated guess that Natasha isn't a hunter, since she didn't stop the initial attack, and she probably isn't human either, but that's about it.

He glances back at his victim, still slumped on the ground like a broken-down marionette. "Oh, he'll be fine. Just wake up with a massive headache is all."

She follows his gaze, eyes flicking toward the limp body, her lips pressing together slightly before her attention returns to him. She doesn't doubt it—either that he'll be fine, or that he'll have a headache when he wakes up.

"Giving blood when you're already drunk? I don't doubt he'll be doubting his choices tomorrow. If he remembers them."

"Don't think he will. Even if he does, who's gonna believe him?" That was the beauty of being a vampire. Pop culture was already so saturated with references to them that nobody believed that they could really exist. Cooper left his victim in the alley and made his way towards Natasha.

He gave her a once over, as if deciding whether or not she was someone he'd be able to take if that's what it came right down to ."So why were you really followin' me?" He doesn't entirely believe it was out of some compassion for the tourist he'd fed off of.

On the surface, she's not terribly imposing—Natasha isn't tall, and if she's muscular it's like a dancer—but she carries herself confidently, even having seen what he did to the tourist.

Her jaw tightens at his question, her lips twitching toward an almost smile.

"What makes you think I didn't tell the truth the first time?"

Cooper relaxes a little. He's decided that Natasha isn't a threat, at least not right this very minute. "'Cause when you've spent most of your life lying, you learn t'spot the bullshit real quick." He gives the younger vampire a grin, his fangs disappearing. Without them out, it's so easy to dismiss his appearance as just that of another of London's teenagers.

That face is an asset to him. Looking young, more like a punk than a real threat... The American tourist still should have known better, but Natasha knew that he wouldn't be the only one. Plenty of people would fall for it just as easily.

Natasha knows better than to underestimate people based on their looks. Which leaves the question of what she thinks she's doing here unanswered, doesn't it?

"Sorry to disappoint," she says, her tone a little lighter. "It's the best answer I have."

Because otherwise that left, what? Masochism? Jealousy? Natasha wasn't the jealous type.

Cooper starts off down the street, wanting to put some distance between himself and his meal. If someone comes along, it won't do to be at the scene where a man is lying unconscious. Some Earl he'd be if he ended up getting picked up by the police. If Natasha doesn't want to tell him why she was there, he'll let it go. He knows the value of playing things close to the vest.

He waits for Natasha to follow him before he continues on. "So what are you then? Animal, mineral, vegetable, or none of the above?"

Natasha wasn't expecting the open invitation to go with him, but when he pauses she falls into step. Her arms cross over her chest, not quiet defensive, but reserved. Her lips purse slightly, brows gathering in confusion.

"You can't tell?" she asks, glancing at him sideways. Natasha doesn't have any particular talent for identifying other supernaturals—not unless they're bleeding, at least. That takes the mystery out. Other vampires, though, haven't been a problem. Normally their behavior makes them easy to spot. Predators always stand out.

"I thought it was pretty obvious."

"At a guess, I'd say fellow creature of the night, but I'm really bad when it comes to telling different types apart." Cooper shrugs. Perhaps if he'd had a sire to help him out in his formative years, it would have been different in learning about the creatures that made up his world. Too late for him to start learning now.

This had come back to bite him in the ass on more than one occasion, most notably when he had fed off a hunter who also happened to be a fae. That had repercussions that he still didn't like to think about.

"That seems like the kind of thing that will get you in trouble. There are a lot of places where not being able to tell a vampire from a werewolf will get you in a lot of trouble." Where by a lot of trouble, Natasha mostly means dead.

"But yeah, night person. Same as you." She shrugs, as though to soften the statement.

"I'm always in trouble. It's part of my charm." Cooper shrugs lightly. He's gotten this far in life without ending up on the wrong end of a stake, so he must be doing something right. It helps that he makes as many friends as he does enemies.

"Do you have a name, pretty lady? Or do have to guess that too?" If Cooper were a touch older, he might sound flirtatious. As it is, it comes off more like a question born out of pure curiosity.

"Natasha." She glances at him sideways as she says it, not expecting any recognition but looking for it anyway, for signs that he knew her reputation. He wouldn't be the first if he did, but Evie had been another assassin. "Natasha Romanoff."

She doesn't mistake his question or the compliment for flirting. Not because of his apparent age—or not only because of that—but because his attitude doesn't read to her as that kind of interested, and because even if he were, she wouldn't encourage it.

"And you are?"

No recognition crosses his face. Cooper has been a bit out of the loop for the past six months or so. All he knows is that she's not part of the Islington Nest, which makes him wonder which faction she's most likely a part of.

"Cooper." He doesn't elaborate as to whether that's his first or last name. "Earl of Holloway, if you're the sort t'pay attention to rank."

"Sounds important." She walks the line between not being disrespectful, but not particularly impressed either. She spent decades in a nest, interacting closely with other vampires. Rank was a fact of life, though it had amused her elders to give up their titles of nobility in favor of something more in line with the politics of the world around them.

Natasha hadn't been the most respectful of rank, though, and for the most part it had been ignored as long as she killed the people they told her to.

"Nice to meet you, Cooper." Then, after a pause: "Or should I apologize for stalking you?"

"Eh, it has its perks." Cooper likes being at the top of the heap. It's better than being at the bottom, anyhow. He's never been one to want to be the supreme leader. Being second-in-command or at least having some clout to his name was enough for him.

"No apologies necessary." He waves off the idea. "Just proves I need to be more vigilant when I feed. If you'd have been a hunter, then I really would of been up the creek without a paddle."

"I won't tell you you're wrong about that. There are more than a few of them around here, and while I don't know that most of them are looking for trouble provided you play nice..." She trails off in a shrug.

Her impression of Cooper might not mean much, but she'd learned to trust her instincts. He hadn't taken too much from the American, and he didn't seem to be playing rank games with her. Hard to feel like he deserved a stake without admitting she'd more than earned one herself.

Natasha's expression remains reserved as she follows him, keeping her thoughts to herself. "I'd have warned you if there was a hunter in that particular bar, though."

"I can outmatch any of the hunters they have over there in Hillingdon," he says cockily. It's not entirely without merit. He's taken on three of them in the past and come out on top before.

"Who's side have you taken?" Cooper asks, looking her over once again. There's only so many factions in London, and unless she's fresh off an airplane, she's got to belong to one of them. "You're not from Islington or I'd have known you."

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