|Characters:||Alabama Hedda Kinsey Pan Salazar Wojciech and Winter ST|
|Summary:||A rash of missing persons leads to some confusing monsters.|
This is a good place to hunt, the lost souls that no one cares about, it's a good place for nefarious backdoor deals, for quiet contemplation if you aren't afraid of the dark and all it holds.
The Roses on the Table are present this evening - or at least, three fifths of them. Humidity and heat don't matter to Pan, and it's clear because they're not sweating despite wearing loose-fitting leather motorcycle pants and a leather jacket over a red t-shirt with black line art of an alligator with its mouth open and text that says 'FUCK AROUND AND FIND OUT'. They've got business near the riverfront near the port where all the warehouses line the streets - both picking up Prosper's bike, and looking over a -certain spot-. They walk down the sidewalk, mortal in the middle with vampires flanking, and Pan notes: "Everybody keep an eye out for 1141. That's the one we're gonna pitch to Damas." As in, the number of the building.
Rolling up on the scene like a low budget Starsky and Hutch, Salazar Correa and Wojciech Koziol are presently rumbling along the street in an old, beat up Ford pickup with Sal in the driver's seat. "... an' that's why I can't travel to Arizona." Sal is dressed in his usual attire, but has opted to wear a pair of leather gloves while driving the pickup, "We could've gone to Johnnie's, you know. I don't even own 'underground warehouse goth club' clothes..." He narrows his eyes, turning to look at Woj for a moment, "What the fuck do you even wear to that? And what makes drugged up people in their fuckin' thirties taste so much better anyway?"
You hear things and in the case of a bounty hunter who sometimes spends time badgering cops, you see missing person notices crop up way more than normal. Which is what the former Hound Hedda Bjornsdottir finds curious. What the heck is going on with all the missing people. At 5'10, her hair length and apparent age is probably the only thing she might have in common.
Way too tight bluejeans and a black leather jacket over a grey and pink plaid flannel shirt with some beat up old motorcycle boots buckled to her feet, the Valkyrja keeps her eyes open to keep an eye on anyone that might fit the more details descriptions the police gave her dismissively. Just to make note of potential victims.
Walking beside Pan the youngest Daeva is scratching at a makeshift patch on her leather Roses jacket situated over the left breast. Her dark brows have knit into a frown. "Maybe I'll join in if you'll let me," Kinsey says. "I feel like kicking someone's ass after last night." Running her thumb along the edge of the patch her hands are then stuffed into her jacket pockets and she makes sure the keys are still there. Hopefully the bike is in one piece. After drifting past a shark like a wooden log she had no desire to get shot by Prosper because some meth head stripped the bike down. Needless to say Kinsey wasn't in the best of moods after her multiple brushes with death. While walking her brown eyes scan the buildings and she briefly leans over to rest her head on Pan's shoulder.
Alabama, on the other hand, totally gets the 'underground warehouse goth club' look and has come in just that, just in case she has an opportunity to partake in such. Lots of black, torn and distressed, but with a leather jacket that has the same rose image on the back that Kinsey and her regnant, Pan have on. Alabama happens to be the mortal in the middle of the vampire sandwich as well. She keeps pace with them, listening as the talk about retrieving the bike.
Wojciech has been having quite a lot of run on the little pick-up truck adventure. Cat-calling out the window, tossing mini bottles of liquor at people, cranking up the radio, kicking his booted feet up on the dash (which requires a little contortion of his long, lean self). He's dressed in a pair of snug leather pants and a lightweight red jacket, with no shirt on underneath, which reveals a myriad mosiac of colorful tattoos. The lack of collar also puts that knotted scar around his neck on display. His hair is touseled and he wears a pair of rose-tinted round zebra print sunglasses, nevermind that it's night.
Woj laughs at Sal's words, "You wear whatever the fuck you want! Or, better yet, just show up naked. The /looks on their faces/ would be priceless. Yeah, yeah, let's do that." He laughs again at the thought of it. And then he spots the Roses on the Table group. He sits up, waving his hands wildly. "Hey, isn't that Alabama?" Then, out the window, "Heeeyyy!!" Very discrete. Then he looks past the group, spotting another one of those posters. "Hey, it's another one of those missing people posters! Wow, someone's /really/ not being subtle, are they? How many's that? 25 since we dropped off the blonde?"
The wind shifts and the scent reaches Pan. They lean over to murmur into Alabama's ear, trusting Kinsey's Super Hearing to pick it up. "Blood, old, rotten, between those two buildings there. Kiddo, keep Kitten between us." And with that, the inexplicably -eldest- of the two Daeva's and the half-Daeva begins to lead the others toward the alley at a nonchalant, unhurried gait designed to not panic or alarm anything, you know. Eating somebody in an alleyway before they can get a look, which is -exactly- what Pan plans on doing as soon as they round that corner.
Keen vampire senses and maybe a bit of intuition and Hedda eyes the alley of darkness and doom. Eyebrows furrow into a frown and soon she's finding herself just dying to know what and whom might be in there. Other vampires that know or know of her might start seeing the cowgirl heading that way and when she gets close enough to them at the entrance they and even those that don't know her can feel her beast on the surface while she seems more than anxious to charge in. Not exactly stealthy is she. "Hi. Hedda. Wanna split reward money?" she greets, lacking something more formal since there is a Primogen around.
With a grunt, Sal works his hands over the wheel to urge the truck into a parking position near to the group that Alabama has joined up with. "Fuck that," the Gangrel says with roll of his eyes, "I ain't that easy to get naked, you know. 'specially not by someone that fuckin' enjoys NPR and the fuckin' Venga Boys." He flicks the engine off and stetches in his seat, "I thought you Europeans had culture or someshit, man." With that, he exits the vehicle and trots over towards the gathering of undead and associates.
Of course then they begin to break off towards an alley, and though Salazar has the perception of a blind man in a dark room wearing thick gloves, he knows when something has gone wrong. Of course what's wrong for one isn't always wrong for all, but that's where the fun happens. "Woj, what do your Polish eyes see?" It's probable that Sal doesn't even know where that reference comes from, but he contents himself with appearing clever as he strolls at a leasurely pace towards the others.
The little hairs at the nape of Kinsey's neck stand on end as her attention is drawn to the alleyway about the same time as her Sire's. She didn't pick up the scent of blood. Not yet. She did pick up the strong sensation of being watched and now began to take note of how every mortal seemed to be avoiding that particular dark corner of the world. Kinsey's hands slip into her pockets as she slows for a second and moves to flank Alabama's exposed side when her sire asks her to. Height aside Kinsey has little trouble keeping pace with the two of them at the moment as her hands settle on the reassuring presence of the brass knuckles in her pockets. "Might be a trap," Kinsey says, dropping her voice low enough for the two of them to still hear. She wasn't entirely unconvinced the hunters hadn't made her when she jumped into the Mississippi.
Alabama stays close to Pan and Kinsey as they talk about the blood and set ups, and then she hears her name being yelled out. "Oh, crap! It's Woj! And... is that Salazar?" Bam grins and waves wildly at them "Hey there! We found something over here. Do you want to join us?" Bam suddenly winces and looks to Pan with a lowered voice. "Sorry! I hope that was okay to invite them..." She also notes Hedda and her offer. It's obviously not to Alabama, but the ghoul smiles at her and nods. Certainly with so many vampires suddenly here, they can all split the reward money...
Wojciech laughs at Sal's words. "What the fuck is wrong with the Venga Boys? They're fabulous! And NPR is a hoot, you have to admit it. Hell, I heard you laugh a couple of times, don't even try to deny it, hombre." He grins, but as soon as the truck is stopped he's hopping out. Or, rather, he's struggling with the door a minute and sort of stumbling out before straightening up and giving a mighty stretch. He then remembers why they stopped and turns in time to see the others head towards the alleyway. He squints a bit.
"Huh. Well, /that's/ not a good sign. Look, people are avoiding that alleyway. Well, except for Alabama and her friends who are heading right towards it. There's something not right there... let's go check it out!" He sounds almost delighted by the thought of something potentially dangerous waiting in the shadows to bite off their heads. Or worse. "Now stop doodling!" He probably means doddling but he's not perfect. He grins at Sal, then starts off after the other three. "Hey! Hey! Wait up!" Very subtle, this one. Well, at least they have bait if they need it. When Alabama spots them and waves, his own waving redoubles in effort. So extra. "Hell yeah! Something's wrong with that alleyway, let's fucking see what it is!" He speaks with an obvious Eastern European accent (Polish, to be precise, should anyone be knowledgeable about all that), and sounds... a little high?
That alley seems filled with more shadows than it should, the streetlight's dingy yellow light unable to truly penetrate the darkness. Now with them gathered so near though, the sounds coming from the alley are far more worrisome than the darkness. Faint animalistic grunts, low throaty growls, not random, but as if something...actually things, are communicating. As eyes adjust to the darkness, or those who it doesn't impede, three figures are seen, one appears to be a young woman, long blonde hair curled, some couture fashion she wears and yet her feet are bare. The second is a man, average in height perhaps, though hard to tell as he crouches in some feral position in front of the blonde, and beside him, as if things were not troubling enough, is what looks like a child, perhaps at the right size for 12 or 13. The blonde is the only one who appears put together by any stretch of the imagination, the man and child wear clothes that are little more than bloodstained rags. Now even the nose that are not so acute can smell something rotten, perhaps familiar, a sickly sweet smell, beneath that is the scent of old dirty pennies, rotten blood, and dirt. Frighteningly the feel of the Beast rolls out of that alley unchecked, no humanity at all to hide it, muffle it, just pure rage and hunger, likely the reason mortals gave this alley such a wide berth.
"Kins. Stay with Alabama and her friends. And remind me to teach you the word 'draugr' later." And with that, Pan takes a couple of friendly-looking steps toward the vampires in the alley, a hand raised - and then disappears, only to reappear at the complete opposite end of the alleyway.
"Hey, y'all. Good to meet you. Welcome to New Orleans, I'm Conquista del Pan. Primogen for the Movement. You seem to be covered in blood and skulking in an alleyway, y'all in any trouble? You need a cleanup crew or something, maybe somewhere to take a shower, some non-blood-covered clothes?"
It's worth a shot.
With Pan taking the lead, Sal definitely hangs back with the group. Of course he'll say it's to be protective, but anyone with even a hint of empathy would know the tall, well-muscled Gangrel would be shitting himself if his bowels worked. When Pan instructs their childe to hang back, though, he inches forward to stand beside the other neonate.
"Woj," Sal says in a hushed but still audible voice, "What am I lookin' at here?" He stuffs his hands in his pockets for a moment, quickly slipping his grip around his pair of brass knuckles, uncertainty and definite apprehension in his voice.
That smile of Hedda's is aimed at the group and in her current almost obsessive drive to solve crime. The acolyte is heading into the alley. The sounds she heads leading her on while the group she finds herself stairing at three rather definitive examples of a hot mess. Since Pan is speaking and being all primogen the cowgirl keeps quiet for now. The term draugr gets a furrowing of the scandinavian named woman's brows again.
As they converge on the entrance to the alley Kinsey's attention drifts to Hedda as she pipes up about reward money. "What reward money?" She seemed genuinely confused by the offer. The addition of two more Beasts has Kinsey looking over her shoulder as Alabama greets them and waves them over. "I swear, you know everybody dont'cha Bama?" The short skater pulls her navy and black stripped hood of her sweatshirt up over her head while giving the approaching men an upward nod. "Heyo," she says.
Pan's instructions pull her attention back and she watches as they make their way further into the alley with an I-come-in-peace greeting. Her fingers curl to grip the brass knuckles in her pockets tightly as she steps slightly ahead of Alabama like a sort of shield. Her brows knit together as her eyes narrow against the darkness, ears focusing on the inhuman noises from deeper in the alley. "What the fuck is a draugr? We playin' Dungeons and Dragons?"
Wojciech watches as Pan instructs their crew to hold back while they steps forward and introduces themself. Well, he's mostly watching the three in the alley, since that's not something you see every day, but when Pan mentions their name, Woj's gaze darts to them and despite the horrific waves a beast, and the blood, and the general state of NOT OKAY, he breaks into a grin and turns to Sal. "That's the one! Alabama's regnant person! Oooooh, I have to meet them!" He takes a step forward but then he hears Sal's question, and perhaps senses the other Kindred's forboding. He adds, "Yeah, you're right, maybe later."
He looks back towards the scene and concentrates. "A woman, blonde, although no where near as hot as that chick from Manhattan we met earlier, a man and a kid covered in blood," so basically things that Sal can see himself. "Oh, and I think they're abominations. But that's that the one Alabama was talking about! I'm sure they got this handled. Oh, this is exciting!" He moves a little closer, despite the stench (which doesn't seem to bother him), and the waves of the uncontrolled Beast (which does, but also intrigues him as only an Ordo can be intrigued). "Although, we might want to be ready, just in case." A side note to Sal.
That blonde turns toward Pan, likely some spoiled princess in life, she doesn't look all that different in death. Dressed in couture that is oddly clean, her blonde hair is curled and coiffed carefully, and her makeup is done in a stunning smoky eye with deep red lips. If not for the stench of old blood, like dirty copper pennies, and something else, something rotten and yet sickly sweet, one might think she were simply any other pampered princess. No monster with such limited intelligence could have possibly took such care with her appearance. Then she speaks, her voice rasping, hoarse, and still it holds that entitled tone, "You're not my daddy.", those big blue eyes of hers blink and she glances back at the others.
The little girl and the feral man both simply grunt and growl, hunched like coils ready to spring, like cornered animals they hiss and eyes dart back and forth between the vampires now keeping them blocked in the alley. Then to make things more chaotic, the child monster shrieks, "MOMMY HELP!" A cry that could possibly bring the wrong kind of attention to this party.
"Oh, honey. I am -everyone's- daddy." In response to the cry, Pan reaches up and runs their thumbs along the lapels of their leather jacket, giving it a tug as they roll their neck and crack their vertebrae, flexing their Majesty as it rolls out from them in waves of raw, supernatural Daeva charisma. "Now be quiet, darling. You're -embarrassing- me. And let's have a -talk-. Civilized. Calm. Friendly."
"Plenty of reward money. Missing persons cases usually come with some. But in this case we migt not expect any if we gotta keep what happened quiet now." Hedda explains softly as she eyeballs the Draugr and then the rest of the group. "Trick is going to be a matter of how talky our new friends here can be." she adds softly trying to not further spook the group. When Pan does their thing, the cowgirl tries to shake off the touch of the carthian's beast but sometimes one slips through the net and can't help but throw an admiring smirk the Primogen's way. Almost predatory even. Between that and the need to solve the crime. The oversized cowgirl bounces anxiously on the spot.
Sal's attention is primarily on the three little pigs at the end of the alley, but then Pan just becomes so much more important. Of course Pan's always important given their position, but it's just... suddenly there's a new understanding in Salazar's mind. He finds himself standing a little straighter, his hand dusting at his shirt a little to shift some fluff. Wouldn't want to embarrass them, after all. "Draugr? This Skyrim or something?"
The question is intended to be over his shoulder towards Woj, but of course he's having trouble keeping his eyes from the back of Pan's head. And who can blame him, honestly? The things in that head, that mind. The power and influence of course, but what thoughts must lay there. What passion, what poetry, who the fuck would want to embarrass them much less hurt them?
"Missing persons cases?" Kinsey asks while side-eying Hedda. The expression on her face is easily readable; she has no idea what Hedda is talking about. "I just came along with my sire to pick up a friend's bike, but fuck it if there's money involved..." Hey. She might have had a heart of gold when it came to helping people but she wasn't gonna turn down money that just happened to be involved. "Sure why not." Kinsey looks at Salazar until everything that is Pan flares to life and washes over the group. "You can play Skyrim on a fuckin' microwave these days," she quips with a shrug.
Her hands tighten on her brass knuckles because fuck if that little girl starting to scream isn't some Children of the Corn-level shit. Kinsey gives her head a little shake to knock her bangs to the side while watching her sire and the three.. whatever they are.. beyond them. Something about them invoked a memory and the skater's lips thin while pressing tightly together. She takes a step toward her sire but doesn't yet enter the alleyway, it brings her more in line with shielding Bam and anyone else behind her.
Wojciech's brow lifts as Hedda mentions the reward money. This is the first he's heard about this! Mostly because he hasn't really been paying attention. "What reward money?" he asks Hedda. "And yes, yes, it depends on the talkie talkie and... well, that." When Sal speaks, he glances back over at him, "Do what? Skyrim? Where's that?" Obviously not up to date on modern video games. Or much of anything other than drugs, really.
Woj's gaze slides back to Pan and the three problem children. He grins broadly. Even proudly. That's /his/ Pan facing off with the bad guys! Ok, so he's never actually met Pan, but he's heard about them! And they lead the Movement! Which, ok, he's Ordo but... well, he point is. How can one /not/ be in total awe? His grin widens and he can't even help himself, he begins clapping enthusiastically. In support. "Yeah! You tell them!" He sticks movely with the group, but he inches forward a bit, to see better. And be closer to his current idol. The sense of self-preservation in this one is weak.
The Child and the Man are both cowed beneath the wave of Awe that rolls over them, the Child immediatly stops screaming and she and the Man both simply cower and crouch down hissing softly, eyes darting around still at the others before looking back to Pan. The Spoiled Princess however seems to be having one of it and lashes out with her own unfettered Beast, a wild howl, growling and gnashing her teeth as she narrows her gaze on Pan. It's the push back from Pan that quiets the Spoiled Princess and a low throaty growl is given to which the other two respond with soft grunts. The Man and the Child both turn to the building and leap, The Man manages to break through the window of the building, the Child however simply claws at the building. Spoiled Princess turns away from Pan and leaps at that broken window as well leaving the Child behind.
As Princess and Man attempt their escape a wild shrieking howl pierces the night, whatever it was is not far from here. The moment that infernal scream rises in the night, the Child begins going crazy, clawing at the building in her attempts to escape, nails breaking off, her rank vitae smearing down the dirty wall.
As the Spoiled Princess moves to run, Pan says, deadpan: "No, don't, stop. Freeze."
There's no supernatural power behind it, and Pan's not being serious. Instead, just as she's about to jump through that window, Pan blurs from one place to the other, leaping onot her from behind, a four-armed vampire hug that sinks teeth into her shoulder and throat and -tears-, ripping out a chunk of flesh and vitae big enough that when Pan stands back up, they spit out something the size of a football that's blood and bone and haute couture. "Get the others! And get the truck."
Her sneakered foot grinds a bit of broken glass under the sole of her Converse as Kinsey began to get fidgety. Something deep inside her has felt a raw craving to win at something, anything, since her brush with final death the night before.. so when Pan tells them to get the others, Kinsey moves in a blur of blood-fueled speed with a low snarl of her own. The short but athletic little vampire bounds ahead of the other three, feet pounding on the pavement in a blur until she leaps and throws the full weight of her not-inconsiderable strength behind latching onto the male figure with her arm wrapping around his neck, the short Daeva dragging him down with an ease that would have been impossible for an ordinary girl her size.
"What's a skyrim?" Hedda asks and shrugs her shoulders. But when the more adult sized Draugr try to make a break the bounty huntress. While the Primogen and his childe manage to get a leg up over her, Hedda isn't too far behind, slipping her own brass knuckles around her fingers and lines up her own shot at the runaway man but for all the good it does she's probably spent too much time beating on humans.
That chunk ripped from her neck,, bitter vitae pouring from the wound, the Princess shrieks, and she should by all rights be in torpor, but instead the now bloodied woman begins to flail desperately. Snarling and snapping her teeth, she's not actually trying hurt Pan, but simply attempting to escape once again, anyone can clearly see Princess just went into Frenzy.
Seeing Princess' throat ripped out and the Man tackled and beaten, the Child looks around like a frightened animal and with a shriek she rushes at the closest person, or maybe it was his haircut that bothered her, but the little girl in bloody rags just launched herself at Salazar, arms around his neck. It would be cute if not for the fact that she gnashes her teeth and growls like a baby shark...doo doo do doo.
There's so much going on! Pan is crappling with the spoiled princess and he can't even /wrap/ his mind around that fight. He takes some mental notes, but he probably won't remember most of them. He's fascinated by it all. The abominations. The way the others respond to them. He admires Pan's grappling with the princess herself. He even claps his hands together, cheering them on. Until. UNTIL.
That teenager, pre-teen, that terror with the teeth and the blood and the rage, it attacks Sal, who's still nearby. Sal! He glances at Pan, admiring the Daeva's form and style and presence as they take on the princess, the center of it all. He's so proud! But, right now, there's a monster trying to suck his friend's head dry. Like it's not dry enough. "Not yet, motherfucker!" And he lunges at it, his hands becoming claws. And furry. And very, very abnormal. He slashes at the thing, trying to hurt it, to get it to let go of his newfound friend. "You STOP that you WEEVIL!" He somehow makes 'weevil' a curse word. Slash, slash.
Salazar Correa, famous layabout and slugabed, presently has a twelve year old inches from his face, so his attention is a little diverted right now. Not only is the idea of parenthood his absolute worst nightmare, this child is a violent and monstrous creature that runs on instinct and fear... a very dark mirror for poor Sal. Additionally he's still enamoured with Pan, obviously, so he doesn't see Woj's heroic attempt at saving his ass. Instead the Gangrel bares his teeth at the little child horror and narrows his eyes, "oh fuck off, would you? Jesus. Clingy much." And slam bam forehead to the nose. What? Parenting is hard.
"Stay still you fucking.." Kinsey tightens her arms around the strange man's shoulders after Hedda takes her shot and he still tries to free himself from her grip. Both of the girl's legs wrap around him from behind and hook at her ankles to redouble her hold. Annoyed. Tired of rolling around in who-knows-what for a second night in a row Kinsey's fangs extend and she sinks them into the man's neck and comes back up with a bloody bite that she spits out beside Hedda's feet. "..rancid-ass motherfucker.." she says through blood and flesh.
Here's the thing. Pan -really- expected this fight to be over. Pan thought they were going to bite a hunk out of this spoiled brat, everyone else would run away, and it'd be done. Instead the fight is still going on, with Kinsey holding onto the guy over there while Hedda wails on him and Kinsey gets her first Vampire Noms on since her Embrace. And Pan is left with a struggling creature that -should- be in torpor. They can't risk -staking- this one or it might dust her, so Pan very simply takes her by one wrist, hauls it -hard- over to the other and gathers them both in one hand, then reaches back with the other for cuffs.
"You have the right to remain silent. If you do not remain silent I will fucking end your existence. Any existence you -do- have is contingent on my good mood and you fucking -behaving-. Do you understand your complete fucking lack of rights right now, unacknowledged probably-not-even-fucking-Kindred asshole who -ate a dog-, you piece of shit?"
Wojciech is loving it. Only, he's really not. He loves things that are /different/. He loves adventure. Chaos. But he doesn't really love threats to his kind, or when they latch on to his newfound friend's face. He's got claws now. Very nasty claws. He slashs, slices. The first wasn't enough, so he does it again. Sal has the joy of watching those claws come /so close/. But the addict of a Daeva is actually really precise when it comes to 'business'.
He tears into the threat against 'his own'. And there's a steal to him that is kind of scary. He just rolls at it, no hestitation. A little different from the addict vampire that stumbled out of Sal's truck.
Sal's attention is kind of occupied by the teenager still clinging to him like a rather persistent rental agent. Basically all emotion from him is gone, honed as he has been into a killing machine. Killing mortals, sure, but it's all the same in the end. He reaches a hand up between himself and his attacker, wraps his fingers around that far too small throat and pushes, forcing them to part. And, just as quickly as she launched herself at him to begin with, and with a sickening crack, he Gangrel snaps the little girl's neck.
That headbutt put the Child out of commission, her head rolls, dazed, jaw slack, blood drips from her lips and a tiny bit of something falls from her mouth onto Salazar's chest before hitting the ground with a wet *plop*. It looks like she may have bitten off part of her own tongue. Wojciech going at her with the claws was enough to push her over the edge toward oblivion, the monstrous Child slumping in Salazar's arms, her teeth still snapping weakly at him. When he pulls her free of that weak grip she continues to snap, eyes staring blankly at him, until he snaps her neck. There's no ash, this kid was fairly fresh dead, she doesn't seem to decay any more than had she been dead for a week. Those cherubic sheeks become bloated, her eyes roll back in her head and begin to bulge, so what's left is a bloated child's corpse in Salazar's hand.With one out of three Draugr done. And Hedda really feeling like she needs to be useful despite having super strength and speed do squat, she does at least have one thing up her sleeve. Restraints and a van to haul the man and his spoiled friend. So with just about all of her duct tape and cable ties used up to hogtie the two captives she makes sure they both go into the back of her van for delivery to a nice safe spot where they can be totally tortured and hurt in the sake of interrogation. If they can even be coaxed into answering questions but that's the fun.