| Under A Half Moon |
[13 Dec 2007|11:59am] |
It was probably quite a sight to behold. Tristan, an evil vampire, speeding through the desert on his Harley in the dead of night, with a black pack on his back. Peeking out through the opening was his cat, Damas. The cat's ears were upright, poking through the opening.
The vampire wasn't sure what had compelled him to start taking the cat on rides, but he'd been doing it for several weeks now. Never when Tristan was hunting or feeding or having fun. But on a night such as this, with only the headlamp and the half moon lighting his way over the desert roads, Tristan fought the profound empty feeling in his heart, and where his soul used to be, with Damas as his ever companion.
He didn't travel too deeply into the desert, avoiding the caves. Tristan was still frightened by the caves. Then, on other nights, he wondered what would happen to him if he boldy stepped inside once again. Would he disappear forever? Would anyone even care?
"Here we go," he said softly, stopping the bike and parking it by a boulder. He got off the HOG and took off the pack, letting Damas out so he could sniff around. Tristan smiled as he watched the cat prance around, as if proudly surveying his new land. He shook his head with a chuckle. "I swear, sometimes you've the mind and heart of a dog, and not a cat."
A cloud shifted over the moon's illumination, and in that moment of darkness, Tristan stiffened. His nose twitched.
There was a sound. A thunk or a twang. Tristan barely had time to gasp or shout when the arrow of the crossbow passed through Damas' body. The cat fell dead without a sound.
"NO!" Tristan ran to the cat, oblivious of his own care. He bent down and pulled the arrow out, but it was too late. The cat's eyes were already glazed over in death. "Who...what...no...?" Tristan was beside himself. He was just raising his head to look around and find his enemy when he heard the sound again. He barely had time to dunk his head and turn away when he felt the piercing of the wooden arrow pass through his shoulder. The fire of pain flared up into his shoulder, and radiated down his arm. He knew instantly that it wasn't just a wooden arrow, but that it was coated in something poisonous. The poison wouldn't kill Tristan, but it would slow him down.
He tried to pull out the arrow, but his body became so weak. He could barely lift his head. His eyes blinked. He heard the sound of approaching steps. He saw the filthy black boots, covered in mud, grime, and blood. He swallowed in pain, trying to fight to bring himself back, to push the pain and weakness away. All he could do was slowly lift his head. "You...familiar...you...who?"
It was a man. He was dressed in black and he was holding the crossbow in front of him, loaded, pointed at Tristan's chest. Even in the dark of the night he wore dark sunglasses. Tristan could see a shining medal gleaming in the moonlight around the man's neck. A St. Michael's medallion, perhaps? Tristan couldn't work it out in his mind.
Familiar. He knew this man. He'd seen him before. He just couldn't place him. From his past? Far away, or nearer?
The man lowered his crossbow. He glanced up at the night sky. "The sun will be out soon enough."
British voice. Tristan grimaced in pain and licked at his lips. His toungue felt swollen and heavy. "Watcher... I know you... Watcher."
The man's eyes narrowed beneath his glasses. His heart ached at the word. The disgraced man, the disgraced Watcher, turned towards Tristan's bike. He was happy to see the keys still dangling from the ignition. He slung the crossbow over his shoulder and climbed onto the bike. Without transportation, and without his energy, Tristan would not beat the rise of the sun. The sun would do the job.
Tristan's head fell against the sand. Her heard his bike start up, and then the decreasing purr of the motor as it drove away, away from him and deeper into the desert. Away from Searchlight.
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| Hanging Around |
[13 Dec 2007|03:53pm] |
Well, this wasn’t good.
To be entirely truthful, Logan never once wondered what Las Vegas looked like upside down – and he certainly never wanted to know what the city looked like from 16 stories in the air. And yet there the Watcher was, being dangled from a 16th-story window upside down, still in his underwear.
Oh, well … at least Reuben had the decency to let Logan put his boxers back on first. Hanging upside down out of a 16th-story window was embarrassing enough; the Watcher didn’t need the added shame of having his junk hanging out for all the world with a high-powered telescope lens to see.
Then again, Logan was the one stupid enough to try and sleep with a vampire, so … perhaps he deserved this humiliation.
( How's the weather up there? )
Logan couldn’t form words as he put his shirt and jeans back on, fumbling with his shoes before finally slipping his coat back over his shoulders. He met neither the gaze of Grace nor Reuben, deciding this was one of those instances where it was best to just leave and not say another word.
Besides, given the fear and physical sensation of being hung upside down from that high off the ground, Logan feared he might vomit if he dared open his mouth.
So, giving Grace a quick nod and being sure to keep as much physical distance between himself and the elder vampire as possible, the Watcher reached for the door handle, turning it and disappearing on the other end.
And not a moment too soon.
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| Sweet Dreams are Made of These |
[13 Dec 2007|04:41pm] |
Sleep in Atia’s care – for lack of a better term – was no more restful than the sleep Samantha managed to get when she was in prison. Nor were the dreams any better.
If anything, the dreams were worse, so much so the Slayer often awoke in a cold sweat, screaming and sometimes freaking out to the point of illness.
This, as Samantha slept huddled in a corner of the cage she traded her jail cell for, was one of those times.
( Become it )
“AN END TO HUMANITY!!” Samantha bellowed as she awoke from her restless slumber, lunging for and grabbing the rusty bars to her cage. Her breathing eventually slows, her eyes darting around to see that, slumbering hellhounds aside, she was alone.
Atia’s throne was empty. But, it seemed, even when the Corruptress was gone, the Slayer could still feel her presence.
“An end to humanity …”
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