| Hero of the Revolution |
[26 Oct 2005|06:55pm] |
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mood |
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Superhero - Garrison Starr |
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Mallory Quinn.
Former Catholic, current hardware store employee, amateur vampire hunter. Irish on her father's side (or so she'd tell you if you asked) and a mix-and-match on her mother's. In short, she was a mutt.
She'd fallen into the demon-hunting gig by accident. Randall Stark, an older guy in her shop class, had been convinced that vampires were real despite everyone thinking he was a freak, and he'd conned her into coming with him one night by insisting he knew where one was about to rise. She'd initially thought he'd just been trying to screw her, because Randall had been kind of creepy, but watching the dirt stir as the fledgling crawled out of his grave had put those thoughts firmly to rest.
She'd been restless and bored at the time, looking for something to break through the tedium of her everyday life. It had seemed like the perfect cure, just something to make life more interesting. It hadn't been a cause.
She had a cause now.
She'd closed the shop a couple of hours early, then took the truck out into the desert. The heat of the day had lessened, but not so much that she couldn't feel it beating down on her shoulders as she drank some water out of the plastic bottle she'd brought along. She'd gone far enough from Searchlight that no one would be able to hear the shots, and she was sure she needed the practice, especially with the shotgun. She sat on the tailgate and loaded the weapon, then set it aside and loaded the pistol as well. She'd just have to imagine moving targets for now. Fortunately, there were plenty of cacti to shoot at.
Kael. Victoria. Sonya. Hannah. They were her cause.
She started with the handgun, knowing the kick of the larger weapon would take some getting used to. The faces of her friends were firmly entrenched in her mind as she took aim, willing to stand out here until dark if she had to. And then come back tomorrow. She was unfamiliar with having an actual purpose, if not a full-blown destiny, but it kind of felt...good.
"Ugly bastards had better watch out," she muttered, pulling the trigger for the first time in months. "I can be just as much trouble as anybody..."
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| Know Your Enemy |
[26 Oct 2005|07:21pm] |
A fruitless search for the thieving vampire had gone on for days. Only the barest contingent of scourge demons remained at Beowawe; the rest were deployed into the Las Vegas streets, to find the offending half-breed no matter the cost. Their trucks parked behind the lights and glitter of the city, in shadows where even law enforcement rarely tread.
Rear doors would swing open, and the heavily armed, uniformed demons would jump to the pavement. Calling gruff commands. Marching relentlessly through every deserted alley, every dark corner. Raiding bars and basement hideaways, dropping into sewers, because they were the sort of places vampire scum liked to hide.
At just after 3am a truck parked four blocks off the north end of Las Vegas Boulevard, in one of the worst neighborhoods the city had to offer. Demons began to file out, guns clasped in front of their chests, and fan into the surrounding streets.
Kris entered Las Vegas with the purpose of speaking with her father, but the sudden rise in demon activity definitely caught her attention and held onto it. News was spreading fast. Bars and basements were being shaken up; the demons were looking for something.
After ‘speaking’ with a human wannabe-vampire she ran across in a bar that had just gotten the shakedown, she had the vague idea that the demons were looking for a female vampire. The boy didn't know who or why, but that was fine. Kris at least had an idea of why the town of Vegas was being searched high and low by the demons.
The Slayer slipped into the worst neighborhoods, as she figured that the demons might start searching the darkest shadows in order to get what they wanted. Evil knew evil, after all. Kris would start in this neighborhood and work her way out, if she didn't run across anything.
She was certainly glad she never went anywhere without her weaponry. Her sword was sheathed across her back. Hayden's dagger was sheathed around her thigh. Various stakes and knives littered the rest of her being.
Dark boots crunched over the pavement that was littered with glass. Kris’ brown eyes swept across the shadows that seemed to stretch for miles ahead of her. Stepping into the neighborhood was like leaving the rest of the world behind; all that was left was you and the darkness the streets and alleys had to offer.
A sound caught Kris' ears. She paused and tipped her head to listen, and then used the sound to guide her to a street corner. She glanced around it and her gaze came to rest on a contingency of demons that she knew were the ones she was looking for. They were wearing uniforms and just as butt ugly as the boy had said.
Kris quickly did a head count and eased a breath out of her chest. This was certainly not going to be easy, but what kind of Slayer would she be if she just ignored what she was seeing?
She stepped out from around the corner to make her way towards them, but used the shadows to hide her approach.
To escape the notice of a Slayer moving in shadows, it was necessary to become one with them. Dark, empty, void of anything that would alert the hunter to a presence that did not belong.
Never an easy feat, particularly when the Slayer was as well-versed in her calling as Kris had come to be. But not impossible for another Slayer of comparable talents. One who'd been infused with the most tenebrous essence this side of the ensouled world.
Rhiannon belonged to the shadows now. She was vacant of all but a single ambition; one she would stop at nothing to realize. Friendship was of no consequence, and neither was the life who moved toward her.
Each step that Kris took toward the army of demons was a catalyst for Rhiannon's anger, because she intended to infiltrate their legion, and this was an interruption in plans.
As Kris crept within inches of Rhiannon, a pale hand snaked out of the darkness. Fingers latched onto brown hair and wound the strands around a palm. Rhiannon yanked the Slayer backwards, flexed muscles, and drove her temple into the nearest concrete wall.
With catty grip still in place, the darker Slayer pressed herself against the other's back. Leaning into her former ally's ear, she growled, "If I were you, I'd change my plans."
( Girls Will Be Girls )
Behind her, the last of the Scourge climbed into the truck. The gas pedal was depressed, and the vehicle surged into motion, its rear doors still swinging open.
Rhiannon took off at a sprint and gave chase down the alley. Before it rounded a corner, the Slayer threw herself at the door and latched on. As the vehicle veered right, the door slammed inward and locked the Slayer inside with the enemy.
Let the white hats take the high road. She'd get there by whatever means necessary.
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