undergrounds | (no subject)

Thomas stepped outside, relieved to be leaving the party. Sure, he liked some of the people there, but by and large, it really wasn't his sort of thing. He'd have far preferred to be wearing...well, something a little more casual. Sure, he looked great in his stark white suit, but Thomas's typical style typically ranged from the casual, like t-shirts and jeans, to the ridiculous, outfits that heavily flaunted his well muscled form. He didn't typically wear formal wear, and certainly didn't consider vampires losing their protection to be a thing to celebrate. He didn't want war with all the other factions, or violence in the streets.

Still, at least he was out of the party, so he didn't have to hide his disapproval any more. He could just go home, kick off his shoes and relax. Or so he thought.

Casually strolling home, Thomas was completely oblivious to the fact that the challenges of the night had only just begun, or that the fallout from Raymond's policies would so quickly come back on him.

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Thomas cried out in pain as red stained his white slacks, and he desperately looked around in shock, trying to spot who had fired the bolt, but he didn't manage to spot the perpetrator. Thomas snarled, and if the light hadn't been taken out, his fangs, now fully extended, could have been clearly visible in the night. He pulled out the arrow, tossing it to the ground and deciding to not take the risk that the next one would be aiming for his heart.

He went the way the cats seemed to be leading him, limping as quickly as he could, looking for somewhere he could duck into to hide from his attacker. If he didn't find somewhere he could hide, he thought, maybe he could make his way back to the hotel. Let Cesare know there was a hunter in Islington, because the arrow told Thomas that's what it had to be, and get a room for the night.

Edited 2016-08-26 01:59 (UTC)

The cat swarm was kind enough to lead him back down the street and even allow him to turn a corner, but they were clearly keeping a nice distance between Thomas and any doors. This broke only when a car needed to pass down the street. The cats parted like the Red Sea for those, none of them risking life and limb just for a game.

Daryl had to duck down to street level briefly to retrieve his bolt, but only after Thomas was out of view of the spot. He'd have to catch up, but he didn't want that just laying around where anyone - particularly the non-supernatural crowds - could grab it.

Thomas began to get more frantic. He knew this was serious now, which meant he had to get out of the open, so if whoever it was decided to pick him off they'd have come close enough for him to spot them to do so. Seeing the cats part when a car came by gave him an idea.

The second he saw another car approaching, he began waving his hands and calling to them, trying to get their attention and desperately hoping that having normal human bystanders meant the hunter wasn't going to take a shot.

The car slowed down and it swiftly became apparent it was a cab. The cats did maintain their distance, but there was some definite agitation among their numbers.

The cab came to a stop, the driver leaning out the window, clearly weirded out by all the cats and the fact that Thomas was obviously injured. He cautiously called out, "Cash only and the moggies stay here."

"I can do both."

Thomas hurried into the back of the cab, slamming the door behind them, glad to have some separation between him and all the cats. He had plenty of cash in his pocket, and since it was a cab, he didn't even have to bother with a pretense of going to the hospital. What he could do, though, is act like he was just as confused by what was going on as this man was, and give him the impression that they were both in the same boat of being seriously freaked out. If that didn't work, Thomas would just make it very clear that he had plenty of cash to give the man.

"Mind driving around aimlessly with the meter running for a bit? Something weird is going on tonight, man, and I want to lose whatever's out here. And those cats."

The cab driver took Thomas up on the offer. Cash was cash and an easy fare was an easy fare. Even with the spooky shit going on.

Daryl watched his prey get to the safety of the cab and didn't attempt to pursue from there. He was fast enough to follow, but only as a bobcat. Which would mean putting his bow away and stashing it somewhere with his clothes. Not exactly what he wanted to do while hunting.

His quarry for the evening was gone and he'd have to be satisfied he'd scared the crap outta the man. The way he dived for that cab said loads. Instead of all the extra effort that could have come from the pursuit, Daryl let the energy drain out of him slowly as he made his way to street level and into an alley. Called out to his friends and had them come near so he could thank them properly. A few with affectionate scratches. More with head rubs and purring.

All Thomas would see if he turned back to look was the group of cats moving en masse into one of the dark alleyways made all the darker by the limited brightenss of the street lamps. He could worry they were attempting to follow him to where ever the cab was dropping him off. They weren't, but he could worry about that for a while.