Faolan (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
reticence) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
undergrounds2015-06-18 12:29 pm
reticence) wrote in undergrounds2015-06-18 12:29 pm
Entry tags:
[OPEN] I'VE SEEN TROUBLE ALL MY DAYS
A. WORKING HOURS
It's a slow day. With no clients booked for the afternoon, Faolan's finding himself with an unusual amount of time on his hands. Not one for being idle, he finds himself roaming the streets, rather idly, hands tucked in pockets, looking as nonchalant and unassuming as one can. Which isn't hard, considering the fact that he's a wiry little Irishman, standing 5'6" at full height. Looking a bit like he'd rolled out of bed only hours ago (perhaps he had, in all honesty), with a healthy growth of stubble on his face, curling into his rough brown leather jacket despite the warmth of the sun above him, he doesn't exactly make himself look approachable either for that matter.
It's going to be a long night. A long night after a long night the night before, and as he blinks up at the sky above him -- is that really the sun though? -- he decides that coffee is in order. In desperate order. Stopping in the nearest shop he can find, he orders himself the simplest drink he can and sits huddled against the counter, curling over it and willing the caffeine to do its work and snap his brain into functioning as well.
B. PREP WORK - HILLINGDON
Despite the lack of clients for the afternoon, Faolan's got a job that evening. As people start to get out of work and shuffle home to their normal families and their normal lives, Faolan decides to head over to Hillingdon House and see if he can find anything interesting to use on his hunt that evening. If there's anything that can be counted on, it's the fact that if anyone's at the "Hunter's Retreat", as they call it, then they might have some goods to share. Or to at least show off, if nothing else.
It makes the fact that he has no one to go home to and nothing but the hunt ahead a little more bearable than it otherwise might be.
C. ON THE HUNT
Faolan should have known that the tip had been shady. McCoy was good for some things, but details certainly weren't his strong suit, and Faolan had been less on the ball about his research than he probably should have been. He should have known that getting a lead on the location of the vampire he'd been after for the past week was too good to be true, that he wouldn't be alone, but he hadn't been thinking too hard about it. He'd killed four children, three of them under the age of ten, and Faolan wanted him dead.
So he'd gone in alone and unprepared for not one, but five vampires to greet him. He's a good shot and he'd made every one that he could count, but as his gun clicked empty and two of them still advanced on him -- two of them with their pet werewolf for that matter -- Faolan knew that he had a problem. So he ran, throwing himself down the stairs, through the closest window and off the fire escape down one storey to the alleyway below. He has just enough time to assess that the damage from the fight before, breaking through the glass, and falling from that height isn't too bad that he can't go on, before he hears the sound of the wolf scrabbling after him from above. Making a split second decision, Faolan stows the gun behind a dumpster nearby -- hoping the thing will be in the same spot when he comes back in daylight, since it won't do him any good now -- before he takes off at a run towards the nearest open area he can find. It won't follow him out into the lights of the street and the lingering evening crowds around, will it? God, he hopes not.
D. CHOOSE YOUR OWN ADVENTURE
What it says on the tin!
It's a slow day. With no clients booked for the afternoon, Faolan's finding himself with an unusual amount of time on his hands. Not one for being idle, he finds himself roaming the streets, rather idly, hands tucked in pockets, looking as nonchalant and unassuming as one can. Which isn't hard, considering the fact that he's a wiry little Irishman, standing 5'6" at full height. Looking a bit like he'd rolled out of bed only hours ago (perhaps he had, in all honesty), with a healthy growth of stubble on his face, curling into his rough brown leather jacket despite the warmth of the sun above him, he doesn't exactly make himself look approachable either for that matter.
It's going to be a long night. A long night after a long night the night before, and as he blinks up at the sky above him -- is that really the sun though? -- he decides that coffee is in order. In desperate order. Stopping in the nearest shop he can find, he orders himself the simplest drink he can and sits huddled against the counter, curling over it and willing the caffeine to do its work and snap his brain into functioning as well.
B. PREP WORK - HILLINGDON
Despite the lack of clients for the afternoon, Faolan's got a job that evening. As people start to get out of work and shuffle home to their normal families and their normal lives, Faolan decides to head over to Hillingdon House and see if he can find anything interesting to use on his hunt that evening. If there's anything that can be counted on, it's the fact that if anyone's at the "Hunter's Retreat", as they call it, then they might have some goods to share. Or to at least show off, if nothing else.
It makes the fact that he has no one to go home to and nothing but the hunt ahead a little more bearable than it otherwise might be.
C. ON THE HUNT
Faolan should have known that the tip had been shady. McCoy was good for some things, but details certainly weren't his strong suit, and Faolan had been less on the ball about his research than he probably should have been. He should have known that getting a lead on the location of the vampire he'd been after for the past week was too good to be true, that he wouldn't be alone, but he hadn't been thinking too hard about it. He'd killed four children, three of them under the age of ten, and Faolan wanted him dead.
So he'd gone in alone and unprepared for not one, but five vampires to greet him. He's a good shot and he'd made every one that he could count, but as his gun clicked empty and two of them still advanced on him -- two of them with their pet werewolf for that matter -- Faolan knew that he had a problem. So he ran, throwing himself down the stairs, through the closest window and off the fire escape down one storey to the alleyway below. He has just enough time to assess that the damage from the fight before, breaking through the glass, and falling from that height isn't too bad that he can't go on, before he hears the sound of the wolf scrabbling after him from above. Making a split second decision, Faolan stows the gun behind a dumpster nearby -- hoping the thing will be in the same spot when he comes back in daylight, since it won't do him any good now -- before he takes off at a run towards the nearest open area he can find. It won't follow him out into the lights of the street and the lingering evening crowds around, will it? God, he hopes not.
D. CHOOSE YOUR OWN ADVENTURE
What it says on the tin!
no subject
Back-up's too generous a word. Protecting his own person by helping Faolan, that's all it is. A partnership so transient that even the word temporary suggests too long a time. He keeps his distance from Faolan, not standing beside him, but staggered behind him. Jackson looks askance at the hunter, an accusation waiting in the rafters of his question.
"Answer me this, brother. Do you have cause to hunt? A cause beside the glittering temptation of coin or glory?" Raising his hand, Jackson makes a gesture and mumbles indiscernible words, and with comes the fog: moist, smokey, and billowing clouds of white, rolling in with an unnatural swiftness. A enchantment to obscure. "Are you the victim or the hunter?"
Not all hunters are noble protectors of the human and mundane. Some hunt for sport and gold-- furry creatures, fanged ones, meta-humans, and even witches.
no subject
"Hunter," he says, but goes on to continue. "His master has himself a taste for children. I may be working on a commission, but neither coin nor glory are why I do this. Not why I'm after him." Hopefully the message is clear. Sure, it's rather like he's taking the law into his own hands, but if he succeeds, more innocent lives will be spared for it. And that has to count for something. Doesn't it?
no subject
To have lost his sister at the hands of a vampire, he was indeed a victim. To become a hunter to chase down the supernatural-- that puts Faolan in the grey. He's chosen to kill, to pursue, to take death and life into his own hands. And though Jackson doesn't know him, he knows hunters who've been less than discerning in their targets. That's how witches and supposed witches burned centuries back, wasn't it? A supernatural creature commits an evil act because that's just the nature of being, and by doing so, paints the rest of his kind with the same brush.
But Jackson hardly has any right to pronounce upon Faolan's moral character. He'd led hunters to clean out the nest of a vampire who'd once been his closest friend.
"I've brought the fog to obscure us. I'll even add in a barrier, 'cause I'm just that nice." He looks at Faolan with raised eyebrows. "But what's your game plan?"
Because Jackson's not the hunter here, just a guy casting a barrier.
no subject
"I don't know," he says, voicing his thoughts. "He wasn't who I was after. He was the extra surprise. You must know how vampires and werewolves hate each other -- truth is, this guy probably hates him more than anyone. To be collared into doing his dirty work like this." Faolan runs a hand through his hair. "Out of bullets, out of options, I was kind of just aiming to get away and regroup, really."
no subject
There's no way a normal human can outrun a werewolf without ammunition or a way to slow the beast down, for two legs are always slower than four. That's why Jackson hadn't immediately set off running. That would be like a man running blindly from a swarm of Africanized killer bees, not realizing that the key to surviving was to outsmart them-- running zig-zag instead of straight.
In this case, it'd take magic to slow the creature down. And a gun, for a trained hunter.
Jackson tosses his pistol at Faolan without warning. "You give that back to me, after we're done runnin'" He looks away from the hunter. "C'mon, let's go."
no subject
It's true though, a regular man without a gun is liable to get himself killed, without any other strategy to his escape plan. Luckily, Faolan has run into this man. And if not for him, then he'd have tried something else. He's smart, if slightly unlucky. He'll do the best he can to survive, because above all, that's probably the best thing that he's good at.
He nods at the other man. "Ready when you are," he says, with a glance to the other man.