Thatcher
Rogue Werewolf
Vampire Hunter
Whatever pain may come, today this ends.
Posts: 90
|
Post by Thatcher on Jul 22, 2008 21:55:10 GMT
Damn! Not fast enough. Thatcher snarled, mostly at himself, as the half-vampire moved in anticipation of his attack, striking the gun from his hand and launching herself up and out of his immediate line of fire, the gun clattering to the ground uselessly several feet away, out of lunging range, at least. If he distracted his attention from the female long enough to grab the loaded weapon, she would take the opportunity to run, show her true colours; “Coward.”
He was already turning and jumping, strong hands grasping the rail and from there, the male wolf giving a tug that would have wrenched the hardy shoulder muscles of many mortals, swinging his weight and feeling his legs clear the barrier’s topmost point. His momentum carried him, and he felt his boots hit the metal support, his eyes blazing predatorily as he released the railing.
“What part of ‘vampire hunter’ don’t you understand?” he growled. And then he was in motion, lunging for her; in the moonlight filtering from above, canines flashed, and brilliant red and white fur shifted in the subtle, warm breeze, the full tail flicking free of the burdensome clothing as the roar ripped through the alleyway.
|
|
Isabel
Half-Vampire
Departed
Shoot 'em up, bang-bang...
Posts: 48
|
Post by Isabel on Jul 23, 2008 17:08:17 GMT
“WAGH!”
Had Isabel been anything less than half-breed, the wolf would have been able to take her down with little trouble. As it was, she was rather fond of remaining in one piece, and the fact that she had the skill and speed to dodge and duck was something that she abused to the best of her ability. The half-blood jumped again, fingers catching the grating of the next level on the fire escape before she swung her torso about like a gymnast. As soon as her feet flew over open air, she let go and dropped to the alley floor.
“How many times to I have to say it? I’m not like them,” Isabel snarled as she took up her dropped gun, jamming it back into its holsters. “And I never will be, douchebag!”
Before her adversary could leap down for a little doom from on high, she was on the move again, bounding off a nearby dumpster with enough force to vault her to the opposite rooftop. Stupid, cranky angst-ridden wolf. She should have put a bullet through his head when she had the chance.
|
|
Thatcher
Rogue Werewolf
Vampire Hunter
Whatever pain may come, today this ends.
Posts: 90
|
Post by Thatcher on Aug 1, 2008 19:07:46 GMT
Jaws snapping closed around empty air with the force of a vice slamming shut, Thatcher snarled murderously, eyes burning bright with anger and frustration as he looked down and through the bars to the elusive she-vampire below. Well, if the cowardly bitch was going to run, he was going to follow. Thatcher Ward hadn’t built a solid reputation by allowing his prey to escape so easily, and if she thought a chase would end in her favour, then she was sadly mistaken. He was a wolf, an experienced hunter with decades, centuries of practise and kills to his name.
Covering the distance in a few leaps and bounds that seemed breathtakingly impossible for a creature of his composition, he clawed his way onto the rooftops to make chase, teeth gleaming in the moonlight, brilliantly red hackles jutting straight up over his shoulders and down his spine, making him look like a maned, monstrous beast, but a glorious predator, and one ready, hungry, to spill blood.
Fixing her with a meaningful stare, posture screaming intent, he lifted his jowls, growling low and fiercely. He wanted a fight, and whether she liked it or not, she would give him one.
|
|
Isabel
Half-Vampire
Departed
Shoot 'em up, bang-bang...
Posts: 48
|
Post by Isabel on Aug 21, 2008 17:02:16 GMT
Isabel heard the dull thunder of blood rushing in her ears, and the accompanying surge of panic and adrenaline was almost enough to make her feel completely human. That rush -- that high -- was one of the reasons that the half-breed loved what she did; fighting for life and limb was all part of the gig, but more often than not, Isabel actually had control over the situation. This was not the case.
Whatever had happened to this wolf, whatever the leeches had done to him at one point in his life, had seriously fucked with his head. She could understand his blind hatred, but that was the whole problem here; it was blinding him. No amount of reason would help, and there was no way she could handle a full-on throwdown with an angry werewolf. The only way to make sure she walked out of the ordeal alive would be to kill him, and she got the feeling that he wouldn't give her the opportunity.
Her body was tensed, but still ready to dodge at a moment's notice. Much as her palms burned to take hold of a gun, she kept her hands displayed -- palms up -- toward the vicious werewolf. It was meant to be a pacifying gesture, but Isabel was fairly sure that it was useless.
|
|
Thatcher
Rogue Werewolf
Vampire Hunter
Whatever pain may come, today this ends.
Posts: 90
|
Post by Thatcher on Aug 29, 2008 11:33:03 GMT
She was right to presume he wouldn’t give her the opportunity. Even as they stood on that rooftop, facing one another, he was in motion, pacing back and forth, very much a predator sizing up his prey. Jowls were lifted to display sharp, white fangs in a powerful jaw that could snap bones and puncture clean through flesh, dead or alive. Feral eyes burned brightly, fixed on the female, the hackles down his back a jagged display of rich red fur, his tail thick and sweeping, back and forth, back and forth, displeased and restless. His claws scraped the rooftop softly, whispers of movement as he padded from side to side, almost as if he were itching to circle, but knew he didn’t have the space he needed.
Blood pumping hotly, adrenaline firing even after only a few minutes and no real violence, Thatcher felt and heard his heart pounding out a chaotic but comforting rhythm in his chest, reminding him he was alive, he had strength and he would win. This was not his first kill; far from it. He had been a child, essentially, when he had first destroyed a vampire, and over four centuries later, he was still killing, still hunting and dispatching. The female before him now couldn’t understand what he’d lost, couldn’t give him anything but the fleeting satisfaction as he put her down, a short-lived sensation of triumph that would fade, leaving him to feel empty and dismal all over again.
Shaking his head roughly as if to scatter such distracting thoughts of the future, he got his head well and truly back in the now, snarling at her placating gesture, useless as it was. If anything, it provoked. Who did she think she was? Filthy vampire. Trying to tame him. Ears flat back, he stalked towards her, shoulder blades rolling like a tiger’s, up and down, fluidic and primal, gaze fixed and furious. Prey. That was all she was to him.
|
|
Isabel
Half-Vampire
Departed
Shoot 'em up, bang-bang...
Posts: 48
|
Post by Isabel on Sept 12, 2008 18:05:03 GMT
She hated this. It didn't happen often, but when she encountered a wolf like this, it was always enough to ruin a city for her. Depending on how she came out on this fight, there was the possibility that she would have to skip town, and that thought alone was almost enough to push her towards a real fight. True, she had no real claim to this city, but she had always thought if it as hers. She had ties here; allies, friends, even 'family', and damned if she was going to give it up just because some wolf didn't like the scent of her.
This was a delicate situation. One wrong move and he'd tear her head of, but if she managed to get the upper hand and actually took him down, there might be repercussions. She had no idea who he was connected to, who might come sniffing about if she put him six feet under, so it was something of a lose-lose situation. But the wolf wasn't backing off, and she couldn't afford to attempt another round of 'negotiations'. If nothing else, maybe she could just throw him down for the count -- find something to incapacitate him and then get the hell outta Dodge.
The particulars of that plan were still a bit fuzzy, but Isabel had always been good at thinking on the fly. As the wolf stalked forward towards her, she was forced back, and it seemed she was slowly running out of rooftop. This was, of course, what she was going for, but there was no need to project that to her would-be murderer.
|
|
Thatcher
Rogue Werewolf
Vampire Hunter
Whatever pain may come, today this ends.
Posts: 90
|
Post by Thatcher on Oct 13, 2008 0:45:40 GMT
Thatcher hated it just as much. Never in his life had he gone anywhere that wasn’t heavy with the stink of her kind. Of death. Of filthy, greedy vampires spilling and gorging on the blood humans who had done no wrong, done nothing to deserve what the undead kind did to them. But this was his life, his heritage. To turn away from it would dishonour his family, generations who had hunted and killed before him, ridding the world of the horrors of vampires one walking corpse at a time.
Becoming a werewolf had simply given Thatcher the strength and longevity to continue that fight, the one that had run in his family for generations. He could endure so much more than his father and grandfather before him, and though there would be no heir to the Ward line, it could continue with him. He hadn’t aged in centuries, had healed from countless fights and attacks, and had killed far more than what many would consider his ‘fair share’ of vampires. And he would never stop, not until his heart stopped beating and his body failed him beyond any hope of repair. That day would come, maybe soon, maybe years from now, but at some point, he would be stopped and the Ward tradition would end.
His claws scraped harshly, dangerously, against the gravel of the rooftop, and his jaws snapped together, teeth grinding loudly with a crack as her movements provoked him, triggered an instinctual anger in him. Without realising it, she was taunting him, calling to the predator side of him, and his eyes blazed with the hunger for the kill, for that final eruption of ash that signalled the end. As her boot scraped the rooftop, the sound deafening and abrasive in the tense silence that hugged around them, he drew back his lips and snarled. And then he lunged.
|
|
Isabel
Half-Vampire
Departed
Shoot 'em up, bang-bang...
Posts: 48
|
Post by Isabel on Oct 19, 2008 19:09:36 GMT
She saw the tension ripple through this strange wolf's raised hackles. It coiled back from the tip of his nose, continuous, all the way through the corded muscle of his hind legs. She heard him take in short, snarling breaths and saw the anger flash through his eyes -- she watched him with her own burning gaze just as that tension was released and a good two-hundred and fifty pounds of furious therianthrope came barreling towards her with murderous intent.
For a moment or two, Isabel didn't move. She watched, frozen in place, hardly daring to bat an eyelash.
It was at the last second that she dropped, stepping off of the roof's edge and letting gravity take over. The night air whipped around her, catching her jacket and making it crack sharply around her legs. Moving as only a dancer could, she twisted at the last possible moment, body arching so she could land on the rough concrete like a cat. One knee cracked against the ground and she gasped at the sudden burst of pain, but adrenaline allowed her to move and ignore the throbbing of the joint. She wasn't going to shoot this wolf, because she didn't know who he was running with -- no use in taking chances. She would have to bring him down -- knock him out -- and without risking too much damage to herself.
The half-blood backpedaled further down the alley and grabbed the first thing she could get hold of. A trash-can lid wasn't exactly glamorous, bud damned if it wouldn't do the trick.
|
|
Thatcher
Rogue Werewolf
Vampire Hunter
Whatever pain may come, today this ends.
Posts: 90
|
Post by Thatcher on Dec 29, 2008 14:37:59 GMT
When the vampire refused to move, at least for those first few moments, Thatcher could have laughed, some misplaced sense of cocky ignorance making him believe she wasn’t going to move. So when she did, he all but roared in a rage, his prey dropping back and down out of his range, his jaws cracking shut around nothing but the foul, warm air of a Los Angeles backstreet. Damn her. Damn her entire, miserable, filthy race!
It was a miracle that he skidded to a stop when he did, keeping himself from pitching over. Had he been a bipedal lycanthrope, he would have followed her right over the ledge, but his musculature and skeletal structure would not allow for such a death defying plunge that would end in anything other than agony and weeks out of commission, perhaps even death if he was unlucky enough to smash his skull all over the concrete below. The red and white wolf gave a heavy, dissatisfied snort, but his brain whirred madly away, already coming up with a Plan B.
The fire escape on this side of the building looked sturdy enough, and so he used it, vaulting and bounding down, metal rattling and trembling as he leapt from one level to the next, seeming to defy gravity and all manner of other branches of physics as he descended swiftly, spryly and smoothly. As only a werewolf could. Landing on the ground, his forelegs bending in a controlled buckle to brace his weight, his tail flicked back and forth, unhappy. She had made him expend extra energy, waste time, and now, well, now he wanted some satisfaction, some kind of compensation.
Her head would do nicely.
Thatcher advanced predatorily, seeing her grab something flat and round. Wolfen ears flattened back, his eyes seeming to burn brighter. Clearly, she wanted to play with fire.
|
|
Isabel
Half-Vampire
Departed
Shoot 'em up, bang-bang...
Posts: 48
|
Post by Isabel on Jan 15, 2009 21:07:51 GMT
She should've taken him out when she had the chance. Isabel realized that and cursed herself for trying to maintain the peace; there was obviously no point. Whatever had happened to this wolf had been traumatizing enough to make his hatred indiscriminate, even against one who wasn't fully vampire to begin with.
True, there was probably very little that the male could do about it, and it wasn't totally his fault, but it still made Izzy want to kick him. Maybe knock some sense into him.
Bin lid in hand, the half-breed moved carefully, judging the distance between herself and the angry werewolf, all while trying to make sure she didn't simply trip over something and leave herself wide open. Because that would have been an utterly humiliating way to go. But Isabel wasn't about to launch into this fight, not only because she was outdone, but because she didn't see the need to. Most folk who antagonized her ended up staring downt he business end of one of her guns, but that would've been pointless here.
Besides, body dumping? Not as simple as some might think.
Fortunately, it seemed that this wolf was eager to get some killing done -- he lunged, quite suddenly, a deadly snarling roar rippling from his throat. Had he barreled into her, it was quite possible that he could've broken her back with the sheer force of his impact, but the wolf didn't get that chance. Isabel feinted and brought her improvised weapon down on the male's head with all the power she could muster. There was an ugly, dull clang and the half-breed was off running hell-bent for leather as she scrambled in her pockets to find keys and her tiny, silver cellphone. She hit a speed dial number and pressed the phone to her ear, chanting as it ran;
"C'mon, Bo -- pick up, pick up, pick up you little shit!"
|
|
Thatcher
Rogue Werewolf
Vampire Hunter
Whatever pain may come, today this ends.
Posts: 90
|
Post by Thatcher on Jan 17, 2009 1:50:04 GMT
Yes, she should have. She should have taken him out when she got the chance. Thatcher Ward didn’t give up. Not easily. Not at all. ‘The Warden’. It was such a cliché, cheesy title, but it worked well for him. Steadfast, determined, fiercely passionate. About the hunt, about the deaths, about everything that defined him. Hunting was who he was. What he was. And this female was prey. He was going to destroy her; rip her apart, spread her about the alley like gory paint.
Maybe that eagerness, that blind focus on killing and nothing else, seeing the hunt through to the end, made him sloppy. He had his fair share of scars from hunts gone bad in the past, but he was still alive. His heart was still beating, he still drew breath. He was still better than they were.
That didn’t change the fact that the bitch’s hit landed. His jump was miscalculated, her sidestep was too damn quick, and the lunging wolf realised too late what was going on. He had just enough time to snarl in outrage before the trash can lid, of all things, slammed down on his head, and his powerful body was crashing down to the concrete, rolling without grace or ceremony to a messy halt by the alley wall, the lycanthrope quickly losing his fight to keep his eyes open. As his consciousness failed him, so too did his predatory form; even as the half-vampire’s footsteps were thundering away from the scene of the short-lived, anticlimactic fight, he was automatically returning to human form.
|
|
Isabel
Half-Vampire
Departed
Shoot 'em up, bang-bang...
Posts: 48
|
Post by Isabel on Jan 17, 2009 2:03:29 GMT
Isabel might've chuckled at Bo's greeting, had the situation been a little different. As it was, she was lucky that she managed to keep up her end of the conversation as she all but bolted down the back alleys towards her bike. "Shut up, Bo," was her gasped reply. "Somebody just tried to punch my ticket, and for once, I didn't start the fight. A goddamned vampire hunter has me in his crosshairs."
The sight of her motorcycle sent a flood of relief through her and she quickly threw a leg over before glancing back the way she came. The wolf wasn't following.
That didn't mean he'd stay down for long.
"Bastard's a wolf, too."
|
|
Isabel
Half-Vampire
Departed
Shoot 'em up, bang-bang...
Posts: 48
|
Post by Isabel on Jan 17, 2009 19:18:46 GMT
She gave a snarl of frustration when Bo hung up on his end before she could explain. Dammit, why did everyone automatically assume it was her fault? Never mind her bizarre skill for finding trouble, but Isabel only ever walked into fights that she knew she could win. She'd done nothing to provoke that hunter, save for simply exist, apparently.
Bastard. Now Iz really regretted not putting a bullet in his head.
Below her, the engine of her bike roared as she gunned it, giving her some solace. She balanced herself upon the vehicle and revved the engine once more before she shot off into the night.
Continued at: Cole's Territory; The Outskirts
|
|
Thatcher
Rogue Werewolf
Vampire Hunter
Whatever pain may come, today this ends.
Posts: 90
|
Post by Thatcher on Jan 18, 2009 5:31:25 GMT
Shit.
It was the first coherent thing to occur to him through the thick, clogging cloud of pain and disbelief. All too quickly as the unconsciousness lost its hold on him he recalled the last few moments before he had crashed down into the darkness. He’d lunged. She’d swung. She’d connected. And he’d gone down. Hard and fast. Shit, that hurt. That was all he could really think as his skull pounded and he tried to convince himself that he hadn’t been decked by a bin lid, of all things. Of all the stupid, demeaning weapons to utilise in a desperate situation, the undead bitch had used the lid of a trash can.
Thatcher Ward would be lucky if he ever lived that one down.
Right at that moment, he didn’t care. Forcing himself up from where he had sprawled at the side of the alley, steadying himself against the wall, he lifted a hand to check his head, wincing tightly against the constant throb through his skull. Hissing softly through his teeth, he pulled his hand away, fingertips discoloured as if by wet rust. Great. Just perfect. A low, rolling growl rumbled in his chest and his eyes faintly glowed the amber of his wolf as the groggy, dissatisfied creature within paced and snorted, angry and insulted. Dirty, underhanded, cowardly bitch.
It didn’t take him long, the hunter pacing himself so his pounding head didn’t cause him to stumble into a wall or over something else as ridiculous and mundane as what he had been downed with, to figure out that the vampire was long gone. He reached a certain point after following her trail where it just ended, going immediately cold, and the thick tang in the air told him that she had probably used a motorcycle. There would be no catching up to her now. Not tonight. Not when his head felt like it was going to split. Not when Thatcher just wanted a handful of painkillers and a really strong drink to wash them down with.
It didn’t matter, anyway. He had never lost a quarry before and he wasn’t about to start now, not after more than four hundred years of following through. He had her scent, locked away in his mind, and there would be no forgetting it; she wouldn’t be able to run from him forever, hide from him forever.
With another low growl in his chest, he felt the reassuring weight of his keys in his pocket and turned away from the dead end. God, he really needed that drink.
Continued at: Apartment Complex; Building C; Thatcher’s Apartment.
|
|
Mimi
Human
Telepathic/Telekinetic Bartender: Lunacy
Here I come when I better go, I say yes when I oughta say no.
Posts: 161
|
Post by Mimi on Feb 9, 2011 17:08:18 GMT
Continued from: Club Interior with Bo
They came crashing out the side door and, even if the thick, muggy air smelled of stale booze and smog, Mimi sucked down a great gasp. Bo had protected her, kept her tucked tight against his chest -- she had bled all over his shirt, most likely -- but now she felt as though she was being smothered. Crushed in by grabbing hands and shoving bodies; the claustrophobia made her head spin and, before she knew it, she had shoved away from the blond wolf's protective embrace.
On unsteady feet, Mimi half-stumbled, half-bolted down the alley, choking each time she tried to force down a full breath. She was whispering under her breath, she realized, though it was difficult to hear her own voice over the desperate thundering of her heart. A misstep threw her off of her center, and the leggy blonde fell against the nearest brick wall. Next thing she knew, she was seated, back pressed to the brick and eyes staring sightlessly ahead as she all but panted. Panic shrank her pupils down to pinpricks.
"Fuck," Mimi finally heard herself whisper. "Oh fuck, oh fuck..."
|
|