Logs:The Impala Run
The Impala Run
|Characters:||Prosper and Seth, with Prosper as Plot Referee/demi-ST.|
|Summary:||After meeting up in Jackson Square to talk Vampire life and politics, Prosper and Seth hijack a 70's Impala to go on a joy ride... and get more than they bargained for.|
|Disclaimers:||Violence, language, graphic depiction of injuries.|
Too much touched on, too much left unsaid. Isn't that proper Shadow credo? Prosper is left with more questions than answers and it's a ratio he has never been fond of. So he does what any man filled with unchecked curiosity and entirely too much free time(for a Thrall) would do. He called Seth. Jackson Square was close. Quieter this time of evening but not devoid of life by a long shot. Perfect. Another hot and humid night, Prosper is in a more socially camouflaged style. No flashy suit and tie affair. Jeans, sneakers and a leather jacket over a faded Crystal Pepsi t-shirt.
A bus stop bench outside the St. Louis Cathedral, he rests his old bones while watching the cars drift by. Always returning to -one- particularly. A white, classic 70's Impala parked half a block down. Two blocks from the club the owner went toward. Smart distance from the other Monday night drunks... bad distance for piece of mind. Churro in hand, he kills over Seth's offers. His troubles with supernatural tanks and... "Is this thing stale?" He asks with incredulity and anger.
The nice thing about the heat is that there's more parking available on a weekday evening, and Seth takes full advantage of that with a modern-looking grey BMW sedan that's left in some of the designated spots near Jackson Square. He's on-call, lately, but that doesn't keep him from casual dress. A dark grey shirt with 'Keep Calm and Conquer All' in red font across the text (and the Invader Zim logo) is the most eye-grabbing thing about him, accompanied by black cargo shorts and dark sandals. It doesn't take more than a glance to spot Prosper across the way, and he strolls over to the bus stop at a leisurely pace while taking in the park, the breeze coming in off the river, and the ambiance of the street. Distant music from the Square drifts its way over here, some band giving an impromptu performance on one of the many open areas scattered throughout the Square.
"Think I smelled churro vendors over by the water," Seth comments in response to Prosper's rhetorical question, despite being entirely too far away for mortal ears to have heard it. Then he's sitting down on the bus stop with a relaxing roll of his shoulders, glancing aside. "Guess you got the tourist special. How's kicks, Prosper?" The Vampire's voice sounds relaxed, although he's paying just a little too much attention to their surroundings to entirely cover up the vein of discomfort running beneath the surface of his tranquil demeanor.
It's like a white, glowing welcome sign. Seeing it through the trees. A shining, freshly waxed idol begging to be taken... He always did love that year. Biting his bottom lip, Prosper leans forward ever so slightly. A look on his face somewhere between concentration and lust. "Don't act like you're not thinking it too, darlin'" Prosper mutters to himself before the arrival of Seth actually catches him off guard. Snapping out of his reverie, his gaze pulls away from his distant, new love with a bit of reluctance and no small level of bashfulness. "Sweet mother of... !"
A laugh, a loooong sigh and Prosper slumps back into the bench with a shake of the head. "Yeah. Chose the wrong one, I think. Pretty sure one of 'em just picks the other guys trash for product." Showing Seth his stale churro, Prosper asks while sugar sprinkles free. "That look like street pebble to you?" The tourist special indeed, Prosper whips the durable snack across the street dismissively. "Other than overpaying for snacks? You put a lot in my head the other night, Seth. You get your boogie man yet?"
"Not yet. Working on it, though. Got word back from the Constables, so I'm down to working out a plan of attack. Turns out she's called the Spurned Wife, vulnerable to symbols of marriage. Real bitch one-on-one, on account of her speed and durability. Mind control, too." Seth's lips curve briefly upwards into a self-deprecating smirk, and he pulls out a handful of wedding rings from one of his cargo jean pockets to show to Prosper. One's sized to fit each of his fingers. "Gotta punch the bitch to death with a duster of pawn-shopped divorce rejects. This is shaping up to be a weird year, man." He puts the rings back into his pocket with a weary exhale, leaning back. "We've got something of hers on the Regas right now, only a matter of time until she shows up to take it somehow. I'm working on contingencies for that. I'm trying to figure out a proactive way to find her, but... New Orleans is a big city and she's got the speed of an Elder." Vampire is left off, of course, they're in public.
Seth looks up at the car and a smirk crosses his lips briefly. "It's just a thing, innit? We could probably find a decent shop to get the plates and papers sorted out." Perhaps it's his wealth, but the sanctity of the Impala's ownership doesn't exactly register to the Mekhet. The comment is belated after his explanation, but... he's also not looking to hang out at a bus stop all night either. The hunt's put an itch in him. "Anything in particular bugging you?"
"Mind control?" He asks in an expectedly quiet tone of conversational secrecy. A brow twitches upward in his surprise and newfound curiosity. Seth's explanation and reveal of those rulings brings a light, airy chuckle out of the man. "Bold move getting close enough to put the rings to a test. Don't strike me as a guy who particularly likes avoiding gettin' your hands dirty. Should be worth the price of admission, that show." A glance both ways, watching a couple weave drunkenly in the distance arm in arm. "Think of melting some down? Put a man at distance, see if you can drop her bu surprise? You know where she's eventually going... put eyes at her back."
The two refocused on the car, Prosper smiles sweet and polite as if he's discussing a future first date with his crush. "Just a thing. It's the ones we don't own that look so tempting." Standing up slow, Prosper claps his hands free of churro sugar and sidewalk dust. "Closest I know is in Little Woods. Ways off unless you know somebody closer." A nod toward the car and Prosper pockets both hands, waiting for traffic to thin to his liking. "Full plate. Full house and too many questions unanswered. I don't like variables even if I enjoy the company. Business is getting chatty. Almost too good to be true, you know?" He says while thinking of a car left to their bored attentions.
Slinking to his feet as well, Seth offers a brief grin aside at the sentiment he doesn't like getting his hands dirty. "You ever studied much magic? Y'know, the illusion stuff." He's moving to stand at Prosper's side, hooking his thumbs through the empty belt loops of his shorts while he watches the passing cars. "The key to a good trick is for the delivery to be unexpected. A mechanic that the mind of the person watching can't even consider, even if they spot it with their own eyes. The explanation baffles them. I used to practice it a lot, sleight of hand, back when I was in the trenches." A quiet 'tsk,' and Seth's head cants to the side. "I lost the touch, after I slept." Torpor, of course. "Anyway, point being. The most dangerous knife is the hidden one that you don't see coming. I put on a big show of not getting my hands dirty because I spent the last couple decades drenched in it. Dirt." And less savory things, says his tone of voice. "Easier to deliver the prestige, at the end."
Seth rolls his shoulders in a shrug, stepping out into the street during a lapse of traffic and conversing over his shoulder as he walks. "I can hit up my people. I think they use someone in town for their trucks," he comments on the subject of the chop shop. He switches topics rapidly, juggling the crumbtrails of information in his head out of habit. It's the same as talking about any clandestine job, anyway. "If business ever goes bad, hit me up. There's not too many of us around here, be a shame if one of us got dealt a bad hand." And then he's on the curb at the other side of the street, turning towards Prosper after a glance both ways down the sidewalk. Seth finishes his thought, "Sadly, no, it's the symbol itself she's vulnerable to, not the metal. Asked that myself. Can't melt 'em. Got other means, temporary as they may be, but the ending has to be up close and personal or it won't stick."
Prosper gets 2 successes on a Larceny check to palm Seth's wallet. Seth gets 4 successes on a Perception check to notice him doing it.
Prosper then gets 1 success on a Larceny roll to unlock the Impala.
"Studied? Nah. Been around the bend my fair share enough to be at the wrong end of it. I'd say it was more enlightening and motivating than anything else." As cars roll and feet shuffle, Prosper waits with the patience of a man who has all the time in the world. Because he does. Day and night, he's got it all... "That, I do know my way around. Keep the mouth movin' and the hands are free to work unhindered." As the two focus on the approaching task at hand, Prosper so casually lets his own wander. Nimble fingers, a lifetime of thievery and he's lifted Seth's wallet. Light. Quick. All while he's still talking. "I know where you're coming from, Seth. Before Aurelie went under, I was into some dark shit. Forty years is almost enough to scrub the grime away. Never gonna be completely clean though."
With a sigh, Prosper offers the wallet back and takes the first fateful step off the sidewalk toward destiny or doom... and an Impala. "Get 'em talking. Looking at a twenty minute window, at most. She's too sweet to go unnoticed long." Pausing to let a Honda Fit pass, he glanced back to Seth. "I still have a spot open for your gig, not counting you out. Shadows have the best scores. Never just a simple grab." That said, he's sidling up to the car with slim jim drawn quick as a flash. "I don't envy your place in that party but I'll watch your back all the same." Click! The lock pops up and he's already slipping behind the wheel. "Shotgun? Like The Crow?"
The wallet's received back from Henry without even a sideways glance from Seth, though amusement does briefly play across his features as he accepts it. It's slid back into his pocket, accompanied by a lingering grin. "Yeah. I've lost the touch... subsidized my thievery to banks and companies, and they do all of the stealing for me at no effort, these nights. Gotten me fat and lazy. Wouldn't be bad to get back into it... but I've got hunting to do first. The end is in sight, on this whole Angel thing, and then I've got to start worrying about fanger-on-fanger affairs."
Seth pops open the passenger door of the Impala and slides into the seat with a brief laugh. "Yeah, if tonight's got a date with a face full of buckshot down the line, I think I can handle it. Need the practice. My old, dead bones aren't as tough as they used to be." He flips open the glove compartment, skimming through the paperwork and contents. He casually tosses out the tinfoil wrap of some old po'boy sandwich after checking the contents, upper lip turned.
"I've got a bunch of spinning plates, anyway. Between you and me, I'd prefer to forge alliances instead of rivalries, but posturing over ideas is all that's left to do here, innit?" There's a faintly British accent that slips through Seth's normally very neutral American dialect as he reclines back on the Impala's shotgun seat, looking down at the insurance paperwork for the vehicle lazily. "No upward momentum, on account of the Trium. Nobody can stake their dreams as climbing to the top of the mountain and sitting on a throne there. So all that's left is bickering over the scraps that roll downhill. It's a dangerous thing, predators who get bored. Not that you need me to tell you." He drapes an arm over the back of his seat, hooked and tapping against it from behind as he settles into a lounge as if he'd spent years in this particular car. "I'd prefer we have at least a small network of gainful cooperation, instead of falling to suspicion and infighting. Because that's where this'll go if we each try to carve out our own little fiefdoms without referencing the others. Even if those thoughts are well above my dog-collar pay grade."
Prosper gets 5 successes on a Perception check and 7 successes on a Larceny check to hotwire the car.
Seth gets 3 successes on a Perception check. Both of them notice something unusual in the trunk of the car.
Soundtrack to some shenanigans: https://youtu.be/egOiGmgQ08Q
"If bird shot is on the menu, I'm gonna let you taste test it first, Seth." Prosper says with a light and mostly joking laugh. Mostly. As deft hands tinker under the steering column, Prosper does what he does. The man can multi-task like a champion as long as it's something less than legally acceptable. "Time is a real demon. It stole more from Aurelie than I'll admit in any other company." Lost much of herself and them, he muses darkly before the car positively -rumbles- to life.
"You're speaking my language, Seth. I'd rather worth with you than compete for the same prize over and over again. Don't get me wrong, I love a challenge but why make it so damn..." Prosper's eyes narrow, right hand killing the radio and AC/DC at the same time. "The rest of 'em? It does seem like a stage set for eventual social cannibalism at the highest order. Even for our ever hungry lot." Hand on the wheel, Prosper looks to Seth as they both hear a weak thump from the back of a massive trunk. Seth, however, bears the muffled panting and frantic pulse of an unexpected passenger. "Tell me you didn't just hear that too."
Eyebrows raising up momentarily, Seth glances over his shoulder as he sheds his relaxed posture like a snake's second skin, closing up the glove compartment with his knee. "Huh, looks like we got ourselves a human trafficker. Or maybe a serial killer. Kidnapper, anyway." He snorts lightly through his nose, though the amusement doesn't flicker across his face as it had been doing previously. "Got a heartbeat," he says aside to Prosper, idly reaching up and under one of his cargo short legs. There's a sound of velcro tearing, and a thin black cylinder is retrieved from beneath his clothing. Then he's pulling up his shirt near the small of his back and retrieving a Colt 1911, beginning to screw the fitted suppressor onto the gun. "Pity I left my work clothes in my car," Seth muses to himself as he fits the weapon and silencer together.
"You wanna find somewhere quiet to stop and check it out?" The words are mostly rhetorical, to fill up the silence made awkward by the sudden imposition of their third participant in this little Impala heist. "I've got the guy's name here on the papers.. or at least the owner of the car. Guy who's on the deed." He upnods towards the glove compartment of the vehicle, now closed. "Doesn't seem like the person's bleeding out, just scared, so we're not on an immediate timetable."
There's a moment on suspended time where Prosper wonders if Seth and Aurelie weren't the only ones who diminished from their previous glory with the decades under dirt. He grits his teeth and hisses a breath out in annoyance. "Or one of us is cursed. You piss off anybody else lately or just Bloody Mary?" Prosper asks while looking into that rear view mirror. He's on high alert even if it looks like casual checking of mirrors before a gentle drive. "Seems a shame to waste a good car when coffins and ditches are so much more cost effective." As Seth checks and readies his work tools, Prosper leans forward. Drawing a none too stealthy and all too shiny single action revolver to his lap. "If it makes you feel any better? I'm wearing mine."
"Yeah. We're already in someone else's mess, might as well go see how many paper towels we'll need." A look over shoulder and Prosper pulls to the streets. The Impala is a lurching, powerful land barge. He's used to the classics. Baxter Wently, the name on the papers. Timothy Green on another set. Julie Ashton on another. Seth is finding contradicting sheets but it points at a more obvious notion. This car is not even close to what it seemed. The trunk thumping gets louder. Knees to steel. Prosper scowls as headlights click on and pull behind them. "Might have company. Your beastie doesn't have a Chrysler Magnum, do they?" To test his theory, Prosper doesn't ask directions. No blinker, no green light, he turns a corner. The lights soon follow. "Yeah. I think we're ruining someone's play date. I'd say buckle up but... you know."
"Far as I know, unless we've being chased by a little dark-haired pale French lady who really likes red lipstick... nah, shouldn't be her," Seth responds, looking towards the source of Prosper's consternation: the vehicle pursuing them. Buckling up isn't a bad idea, though: the crash won't kill him, but getting flung through the windshield /would/ be inconvenient. Seth's managing the seatbelt with an idle flick of his wrist, watching the pursuing set of headlights with one eye for aggressive movements. "If these guys have friends, I've got an AR and more gear in the trunk of my vehicle not too far from here. Once we deal with the tail, of course."
"Looks like this car is a company vehicle," he says aside to Prosper after glancing through the papers: one of the benefits of Vampiric eyesight is that the strained reading light of passing streetlamps and headlights is enough for him to read by. "I think we can send some business to the morgues tonight, if they get too unhappy we've interrupted them. Don't mind taking out the trash in this city." A brief laugh. "Hell. Shadowboxing has left me on edge lately. Cleaning up their entire operation would make me feel one Hell of a lot better."
The idea of going up against... whoever this is, right in the middle of the French Quarter, doesn't seem to bother Seth much. In fact, the sudden possibility of violence has significantly brightened his normally reserved mood to one of actual happiness. "I think it just might be our lucky night, Henry," he says, contrary to the thief's talk of curses, a fanged smile slowly spreading across his lips.
Prosper spends a Willpower and gets 4 successes on a Drive check.
"You trying to make me pull over?" Prosper asks in jest, sucker for red lipstick as he is, he is not partial to getting shot in the back of the head. His foot gets a touch heavier on the gas. He's not speeding but he's not taking his time either. Taking his own advice, Prosper buckles up. It would be a shame for over a hundred years to end against a streetlight in the French Quarter. "Seth, you might have an unhealthy attachment to that assault rifle, buddy." He says with wry smirk intact, knowing full well that he'd rather be on the side with more firepower.
Brake pump, clutch and shift, Prosper drifts down an alley between residences. The light flickers from lamps and back yards as he pushes the pedal harder. A low ditch in the asphalt making the car jump, THUMP goes the stow away. Their tail picks up speed as it rounds the corner, speeding to catch pace. "Those guys do get bored down there, I hear. Nobody wants to talk and when they do? Kind of a fiasco. Hold on."
Both hands grip white knuckle tight as Prosper lunges the Impala out of the alley. Wheels skip and catch air before hitting asphalt, biting with a sharp shriek as he cuts the wheel -hard-, fish tailing tight into the residential streets again. The car roads ahead. "Got a place in mind. Old Chase bank a few miles out, whole lot is dark and closed down. Gas station ruined the ground. Shit, they're still back there... "A look to Seth and Prosper caught the gleam of fangs in an all too content smile. "Yeah. Let's find out if it is my lucky night."
There's a nod of workman-like acknowledgement at Prosper's description of the place for confronting their pursuit, though Seth carries on the casual banter of their conversation. "You ever faced down a paramilitary unit of Vampires before? Right around the time I got put to sleep, I did. Barely got out of it, myself. But let me tell you, after that experience, I've been a strong believer in the power of tactics, equipment, and coordinated numbers, even among our bloody kin."
The Mekhet laughs briefly, unperturbed by the roar of the Impala's engine or the abrupt changes of angle and navigation as the car lurches its way through the New Orleans inner city streets. "You think we're dangerous predators, wandering around solo? Get a group of us working together with military precision and military hardware... that lethality we possess is increased by an order of fuckin' magnitude. Can't fight it, can't run from it. It's glorious to behold when done properly."
The grin lingers on his lips as Seth rolls down the window of the Impala, ready to lean out and start shooting if their pursuit gets too close to their rear bumper. "I've got a whole room full of munitions, back home. Haven't had an occasion to keep grenades on the premises yet, but... small part of me has been hoping for someone to give me a reason."
Prosper gets 2 successes on a Drive check to continue outmaneuvering the pursuit.
G-Forces demand adherence to their demands as the Impala careens into a residential street framed in parked cars and towering oaks. Trimmed yards and double car garages didn't anticipate a road race or gunfire but Prosper is nothing if not determined in keeping that peace. "Vampires, no. Did have to duck a pack of Wolves outta Lafayette about fifteen years back. Still can't watch the the Dog Whisperer without shouting at the television." Prosper says with bemused little smirk as eyes keep active. Blowing through a stop sign like it wasn't there, the Magnum growls behind them as it catches back up. "Sounds like a 350 easy, maybe a hemi. Make 'em sit back off for me?"
Prosper shifts hard, the Impala's front end lurching into a harder run. Not bad for whoever was keeping her intact outside of kidnappings or what-have-you. "Safety in numbers. It's been a long time since I've worked with a team. Going on some thirty years of freelance. Shit, shit, shit." He brake checks and just barely misses the rear end of a cross passing Jeep. They honk, Prosper redoubles his efforts. "A well oiled machine with fangs and bullets. Yeah, there's not much you can do to prepare for that."
The Chrysler bumps the rear bumper boldly, tires squeal but the path is clear as they take a wide turn toward the commercial in favor of picket fences and sleepy bed times. Seth rolling the window low gives him a sense of relief. "You're a scary fucking man, Seth. Anybody ever tell you that?"
Seth spends a Willpower and gets 5 successes on a Firearms roll to shoot the driver of the pursuit vehicle with his pistol.
The driver fails a roll to keep control of the vehicle, penalized by the cracked windshield.
At around the time that Prosper abruptly brakes behind the inconvenient Jeep, Seth leans out from the car window and raises up the Colt pistol with an easy motion to point the long suppressed muzzle at the driver of the pursuit vehicle. And then he squeezes the trigger once, easily, putting a bullet through the wind-shield and shattering it on its way to bury itself into the vehicle's driver. He watches for a moment as the Chrysler slams into the back bumper of their Impala briefly, gun lowered and away out of sight now, before the impact of the gunshot injury takes hold.
The Chrysler swerves wildly, first left and then right, veering off into traffic. An over-correction to avoid another car sends the Magnum off towards one side of the road, skidding into a mostly empty commercial parking lot and coming to a stop against the concrete block at the bottom of a parking lot street lamp. Only once their pursuit has come to a halt down Seth lean back into the Impala, inhaling slowly. "And here I was hoping to question them," he tsks to himself disapprovingly, as if blaming the driver of the other vehicle for his effusive and ineffectual response to being shot. "Oh well. Got to break a few skulls to make an omelette, and that. Shall we keep going or stop and roll their car? I'm fine with either."
Seth going side saddle in the Impala brings a wistful smile to Prosper's scruffy bearded face. He needs a shave but not nearly as much as he needs to lose that tail. Gunfire pops, muffled and distorted by suppressor and tree line alike. It reminds him of the old days. Robbing post office coaches and trains. Lead and speed. He actually missed it more than he thought. "That's going to buff out, right?" Prosper asks in jest, watching the Magnums lights cut sharp left, then right. He sees a blossom of red behind the spiderweb cracks in glass. "No, I don't think it will."
Their tail loses both driver and the trail, coming to a harsh and frame tweaking impact against a concrete barrier. Glass and plastic scatters in a loud spray of finality. Prosper's grip loosens on the wheel, gears shift and he's taking another turn to put distance between them and their former friends. "We keep going. I don't want to help them answer questions for the badges when they show up." Circling around wide before the empty commercial lot comes into view. A closed K-Matt framed but empty strip mall failures and a bank that's been closed only recently. A heavy sigh, tension eases out of shoulders as he kills the lights. Rolling to a stop in the middle of the lot, trunk facing away from the distant yet all too empty street. "Oh, we still have a rapt audience, Seth. Want to meet our stow away or ditch the ride altogether?"
"Works for me," Seth agrees on the choice to continue onwards, popping open the door of the Impala and stepping out into the humid New Orleans night air. "Might as well open'er'up," the Hound's curiosity gets the better of him as he begins walking around towards the trunk of the white Impala, pistol pointed at the ground loosely on his left side. "I gotta admit, I want to know what we've gotten ourselves into. I mean, we could make a clean break... but tonight's not a night for clean getaways, I'm thinking. Not when we're the predators and they're the prey, here."
Not too far away from them, a street lamp buzzes in and out of fluorescent illumination. At least, until Seth raises the pistol and shoots out the light with another suppressed 'pop,' sending glass down onto the asphalt of the parking lot and plunging the area into more thorough darkness. "No sense letting whoever's in there see our faces," he explains in a quiet and off-hand way towards Prosper as he waits in a few steps' proximity to the trunk.
The captive in the trunk swings to hit Prosper with a tire iron and misses the attack roll.
Caution and excess go hand in hand with Prosper on any given night. A strange balance that's carried him quite a ways, yet when it comes to the mortal authorities? This man sticks with his old habits. The Hound accepting a potential less gunfighty choice, Prosper opens his door. "On the case, boss." He says with a light, easy laugh. He's got his old Colt six shooter stowed behind his back, already lighting a cigarette as he rounds that excessive automotive booty on the Impala.
With a couple tools in hand, slender picks that he makes short work of even in the dark, Prosper unlocks the trunk. No angry thumping of the trunk. No shouting... but Seth certainly hears that pulse -racing- in there. "I'm of the same mind, I reckon." The light shot out, Prosper is momentarily blind to the dangers that lurk within. The man inside? His eyes adjusted long ago. A tire iron flashes out as he lifts the trunk, barely missing his mid section before jumping back. "Whoa there, killer! Where's the fucking appreciation here?!" Prosper snarls as he steps back with hands lifted in defense. A frail looking young man, battered and bloodied sits up in the trunk with eyes wide, brandishing a length of steel like a sword. Shaved head. Blackened eyes and broken nose. They worked him over and his wheezing betrays cracked ribs and adrenaline overcharge.
"You can have the money, we didn't know it was yours! We didn't know! I swear to... to... hey. Wait... what's going on?" Prosper smirks, all too amused as he looks to Seth. "Funny, we were wondering the same thing."
Though Seth's hand tightens on the gun at the abrupt ambush of the feeble young man within the trunk, he doesn't raise the weapon. He doesn't need to. He can smell the injuries even through the balmy dark of the parking lot, and it doesn't take much to assess that this captive isn't going to be much of a threat to either of them. His dark green eyes share Prosper's amused look with a sideways flick, and then he laughs and takes the cue to step forward towards the trunk. "Here's the short of it, guy," he says, dragging out the address to give the young fellow time to adjust to being addressed by someone else out in the dark.
"We jacked the car because it's a nice car. You're the unwelcome house guest that's been living in the garage, yeah? We don't want you to be here, you don't want to be here, and in a minute, you're gonna go on your merry way and forget you ever met us." A faint smile passes across Seth's lips, obscured by the shadows. "But first you're gonna answer some questions for us, to display your overwhelming gratitude that we've let you go. Yeah? They're not complicated. Put the iron down and I won't shoot you."
Seth glances briefly aside to Prosper, raising an eyebrow with some amusement. "Looks like our new friends have money," he comments, before looking back to the battered, shaven-headed youth. "What money? Who did you steal from?"
This reminds him of that night in Baton Rouge. Stealing an armored car that wasn't supposed to have a sleeping guard in the back. Ah, good times. Prosper, a safe step back now with hands sloooowly lowering to his sides, keeps a crooked little smile on his face that just won't give up. The man looks like a lanky track team drop out that found meth and a baseball bat in equal quantity. Tattoos everywhere. Bruises and shallow lacerations. Soiled boxers and rope burns. "Great. He pissed himself. Don't even want the car now. Disgusting." He says shaking his head, keeping eyes on their stowaway and his trunk foraged weaponry.
Seth's introduction needed no fanfare or pyrotechnics to bring the desired result. A glimpse of the gun, of Seth and Prosper's no-nonsense postures. The tire iron falls outside the car to clang and ring before a foot rests on it. Silence. It doesn't last as the man starts babbling freely. Seems that car ride loosened more than just a bladder. "Look, look, look, we're nobodies, I swear. We're not big time, we're just some guys." He's breathing quick, short bursts with winces of pain. He tries climbing out and Prosper suddenly has a gun barrel to the mans head. QuickDraw McGraw is in the house. He's -fast-. "Ah, ah, ah. Back in." He says coolly before the man carefully and fearfully settles back. Bloodshot eyes back and forth between them like a tennis match is playing for him. "Some guy comes to our bar, gives us a score. Says some people sign papers for security here and this guy didn't, said he couldn't touch him but we could. How was I supposed to know they were connected? It was just a cash grab! I swear, we didn't know he was home and... and and... when Tommy shot him, we just... we ran, okay?!" He's begging. Pleading. Honesty is the only path he sees to a longer life. He's likely half blind so yeah.
"Tourists." Prosper all but hisses after a drag off his cigarette.
"Little bleach will get that right out," Seth deadpan-comments to Prosper about the piss in the trunk, though he does take a step back and away from the fellow to spare his acute smell the brunt of the captive's odor anyway. Trunk-man's story is listened to with an air of nonchalance, before Seth inhales through his teeth... his fanged teeth. "If he didn't look like he's got a disease, I'd probably just eat him," he confesses in Prosper's direction with understated annoyance, not taking mind of the fact that the guy is /right there/. "But yeah, alright. How about this. You got an address? A neighborhood for this killing of yours?" If there was a murder within the last few days, it won't be hard to narrow down who this fool shot. And then from there it's just a matter of working backwards through known associates.
Seth shifts the weight to his other leg casually, peering at the man through the darkness and gauging his heartbeat and the movement of his eyes. "You tell me that and you tell me where the money is, and we make this go away for you. How's that? You don't even want it anyway, and you're still breathing... which means that they don't have the cash yet either. It's in the wind somewhere. You say the words... and they better be the right words, and you're in the wind too. Otherwise, me and my friend here, we'll be the ones paying a visit to your bar next. And we won't be nearly as nice about it as they were."
Seth isn't trying to be scary, not exactly. That's more a consequence of the gun. It's a very logical trap, like a vise, that he lays out for Trunk-Guy. It's delicately spun, but it cuts off all of his possible rational exits, leaving him with the cold reality that either he lies and risks looking over the shoulder for the rest of his (probably short) life, or he fesses up and they go their separate ways.
Easing the hammer back down, Prosper slips that old Colt Single Action Army behind his back once again. All these years and he still loves the sound of steel sliding against well worn leather. A contented sigh is his tell. "A whole lot of bleach. You drink a bath tub before you got in here, junior?" He asks dismissively before letting his attention wander from their new friend. Just keeping an eye out.
It's those fangs that sends the man into increasing fits of panic and horror. It's not a fear based on the unknown, it even smells like a terror based on understanding. "Look, guys, look, please. I'm not even on the juice anymore, I'm just a blood bag for Cherry Marksdale. She don't even know we're working tonight, it's off the books!" He's on his knees, trunk carpet squishing as he begs with hands clasped in shakes prayer. "It's a green, blue and pink shotgun house just between the French Quarter and Marigny. Bowles Ave, you can't miss it, I swear!" He's trying to reach for Prosper, begging with tears in his eyes. Prosper himself just sighs. He gets it but he's no help to the man.
"Don't. I like this shirt." Prosper says flatly to halt the pleading grabby hands. The battered junkie looks to Seth as his only lifeline. A dangerous one at that. "Three of us. They grabbed me, might be grabbing them too. Oh god, Danny has kids, man. He... he... " Prosper lets the click of a revolvers hammer bring the man back around with unspoken threat. "Sal Martinez and his guys, I'd know that voice anywhere. He's who you want! Not me! Not us! Please, I'm begging you, man... I got kids!" Prosper laughs then. He coughs, silencing it behind a loose fist. "Sorry. I mean, look at him. Who's going to fuck that? He don't have kids." The man starts to sob then, slumping defeatedly into the trunk. "I haven't been on a date in two years... oh god... " Prosper just lifts a brow and nods to the man like 'See?'.
The unexpected Vampire connection makes Seth blink once, and then again. "Huh, I'll be twice-Damned," his voice grows distant with contemplation for a moment as he clearly recognizes the name. "Isn't that one of the new kids? Sal?" The Hound sends a brief smirk in Prosper's direction after the exchange about children, lost in thought for a few more heartbeats of the stocatto-drum of Trunk Guy. "Huh." There's a slow nod from Seth and he takes a step back and away from the trunk, gesturing with his free hand towards Prosper, palm out. "Alright, a deal's a deal. Get lost, kid. You've given us enough names that if you speak a word of this, we'll know where to find you, and you won't walk away a second time." He's content to let the captive go free, petty thief and erstwhile murder accomplice that he is, to honor the deal. Mortal justice is somebody else's business, for the most part. The Hound can't exactly judge others for being sinners and killers, after all. At least, he's not in the mood to.
Then he's looking aside at Prosper in the dark of the parking lot, contemplatively. Trunk-Guy has been entirely forgotten as long as he doesn't make a further nuisance of himself. "Turns out this is actually a work thing. Color me bloody surprised. Normally I wouldn't care that some fresh pair of fangs is going around killing mortals, but... If there's some Vampire on Vampire action going on in the local scene, I should probably check it out."
"You and me both." Prosper says in hushed astonishment. From a simple car grab to... whatever he's just found himself in. He takes in a deep, chest filling breath before letting it out in a softly chuckling sigh, head shake in disbelief and all. "Kids today. Yeah, maybe six months still bloody wet behind the ears. I'd be impressed at his ambition if he wasn't so sloppy about it. Don't use a head turner for a body dump. No respect." Prosper almost seems more upset at the injustice having befallen the car... Seth stepping back, Prosper nods and follows suit. Hands visible and lifted in a show of non-aggression. "Deal's a deal. I'd run fast if I were you. East. Just to be sure." A bit of advice for the man clambering out of the trunk, wasting no time in giving tearful, incoherent thanks before he turns tail and runs with a hobbling, terrified but free gait. "Ahhhhh, he's a good kid, yeah... He's meat." A shrug then and Prosper reaches up to close the hood with a dull -thump-.Sniffing to clear his sinuses, Prosper sneers at the aroma that greets him. Curled lip in disgust and all. "Never a dull night around you, is there? Well, c'mon then, Mister Hound. Let's go get this thing scrubbed and parted. See if anybody knows where Sal has been seen last." Rounding the car to slip back in, Prosper looks back through the open windows. "Hey, we got enough time for a stop at Burger King? Shaking down amateurs always makes me want onion rings."