Connor
Rogue Werewolf
Searcher
There is no love here and there is no pain...
Posts: 84
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Post by Connor on Dec 8, 2006 14:47:23 GMT
Continued from; Cole’s Territory; Alleys and Streets; Back Alleys.
It was easy enough to keep close to the invisible marker between territories as he went, mentally making a note of the street names as he did. Connor cursed himself softly for not brining paper or some other item with him to make notes, instead having to reply on his memory. It wasn’t something he felt one hundred percent comfortable about. After all, he knew how fallible a memory could be and the last thing Connor wanted was to accidentally anger one pack, cross into what he thought was the other pack’s territory and safety, only to find he was sill in danger.
You never knew when some small detail like that might save your life. He also kept an eye out for any wandering werewolves as he went. Connor was on unfamiliar territory now; he had explored the other side of L.A to some degree previously but this was his first time in these back alleys.
Maybe he would get lucky. Maybe he would run into someone itching for a fight, like he was. It was certainly something to hope for.
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Connor
Rogue Werewolf
Searcher
There is no love here and there is no pain...
Posts: 84
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Post by Connor on Dec 10, 2006 16:22:22 GMT
Connor was getting hungry. No, he mused even as he casually leapt over some garbage cans, hands and feet not touching the dirty metal, no he wasn’t getting hungry. He was hungry and had been for quite some time. Being a rogue werewolf with no attachments or loyalties meant he passed through areas quite quickly and rarely stayed long enough to establish any ties that would lead to money. Normally, when Connor wanted something he just stole it but certain things had to be bought, ready made food among them. Unfortunately for the werewolf’s digestive system, food had always been low on Connor’s priories, something it complained viciously about now causing him to stumble slightly and lean with one hand against the wall until the feeling passed.
He pulled out the purse from his jacket pocket and quickly counted the cash even as he transferred it to another pocket. Enough to buy a new globe to replace the last one, enough to get some more ammunition and even enough to buy some food, assuming he went somewhere cheap and almost certainly disease ridden. “Score one for the werewolf stomach…” Connor muttered to himself as he methodically pulled out the dead woman’s cards and snapped them in half, one by one. Just because he had robbed her dead body – taken payment for saving her from the vampire condition, for giving her family a body to bury – didn’t mean he wanted some random person to stumble across her cards and rob her accounts blind.
Cards destroyed, he tossed them all into a dumpster as he moved past, the purse and everything thing else in it following. Then it was simply a matter of finding somewhere cheap enough that was also open at this time of night.
Continued in; Restaurants etc; Oscars Den.
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Mia
Rogue Werewolf
Bicycle Courier
A billion tonnes of light explodes, we are illuminated now.
Posts: 9
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Post by Mia on Jan 24, 2008 0:43:41 GMT
Continued from; Main Streets
Stanley was such a dumbass.
Time and again the little brunette kicked his ass in these macho struggles for supremacy and time and again he picked up his bruised ego and challenged her; she supposed the wolf in her kind of respected that. Kind of. In a way that she would never display or acknowledge. Ever. Mainly because even if the fact that he never stopped trying didn't out shadow that fact that he was... well, a dumbass.
Mia pedalled flat out, already having lost the guy somewhere behind her in the back alleys, but that didn't automatically mean she was winning, he had to know the streets at least as well as she did, so she would have to rely on her supernatural edge to grind his face into the dirt with her awesome skills. Ahead of her a construction site rose out of the neon lights, a truck sitting outside, presumably to transport the machinery, given that it had a ramp running down form the flat back of it to the street. A ramp was like a candle to a moth and grinning childishly she accelerated, seeing a way to get ahead here, to shave of a few seconds as instead of going around the trucks and the fences... well she'd just go over them.
Standing up to pedal, her speed increased and when she'd rolled up the incline onto the truck she had a split second to lift herself, and the bike, into the air and to gain enough height to clear the cheap chainlink fence. Naturally, she managed it without breaking a sweat and a shower of gravel kicked up form the dirt on the other side as she landed, not breaking pace, but instead giving a short, loud whoop as she continued.
Continued in Alleys and Streets; The Outskirts.
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Thatcher
Rogue Werewolf
Vampire Hunter
Whatever pain may come, today this ends.
Posts: 90
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Post by Thatcher on Jun 5, 2010 15:39:47 GMT
POST TIMESKIP.
There was now no evidence of the wound he had sustained at the hands of the damned she-vampire all those weeks ago, almost a whole month. It had knitted together fully as though it had never been within a matter of a few hours, and it should have been little more than an annoyance, fleeting and short-lived, but that was anything but the case. Thatcher just couldn't shake the indignation to go along with the encounter. Not once in his long, bloody career had a vampire survived a fight with him and gone on to evade him. It wasn't just his reputation that angered him when it came to that one maddening female who had struck him so crudely and fled like the coward she was, it was the principle of the thing. Thatcher hated to lose. It simply wasn't in his genetic makeup, not anymore, not for a long time. Vampires simply did not win, not when he was involved.
He'd thrown himself into hunting more vehemently since that frustrating, unsatisfying encounter, picking fights and encouraging violence. Tonight was no different.
No stranger to being outnumbered, Thatcher kept his senses wide open as he moved, whirling and spinning with blows flying to tackle multiple opponents at once, striking one then another, turning quickly to brutally floor the next, losing himself in the feel of unarmed combat, the hard and heavy rush of it, the surge of adrenaline and the inner baying of his wolf as blood was spilled and grunts filled the alleyway, bodies hitting walls and the floor, the clatter of garbage cans and crash of bottles splitting the air and carrying cleanly from the fight itself. There was blood in his mouth but Thatcher simply used the feel and the taste of it to push down any aches or pains and keep fighting, ducking and swinging low, spinning his weight on the support of his arms to use his legs to take those of two vampires from beneath them.
Unarmed, the fight with the vampires would last longer than it needed to, but that was the point. Thatcher wanted a real fight, the gritty back and forth of it all. Blades and bullets served him well, as did tooth and claw, but he had too much frustration and violent need to end this quickly.
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Teresa
Human
Hunter
Oh my smile is fragile; my heart is held together with string and sellotape.
Posts: 57
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Post by Teresa on Jun 5, 2010 23:21:07 GMT
This close after the full moon Teresa patrolled every night just to be on the safe side. There was no telling what a rogue wolf might do, if they'd had their first change this month they could quickly degenerate into a killing machine and while she was aware that with two packs in the city large enough to patrol a good portion of it and ready, willing and able to take care of rabid rogue wolves lest they threaten the secrecy of the race as a whole... it didn't hurt to be cautious. Vampires got a funny way about them this time of the month too. Packs were busy protecting their young and while they didn't let their guards down they were less likely to go toe-to-toe with the leeches unless they absolutely had to. That meant that all things considered Tess didn’t rest much around the full moon. Though she was a human and therefore her endurance was nothing on the supernatural species she hunted she had also been trained from childhood to do this kind of work and her body was capable of going far above and beyond the call of a regular human. She was fast, flexible and strong, she could function on minimal sleep, her reflexes were fighter pilot sharp and her senses honed. Not a patch on a wolf but enough to get her through most nights in one piece. Usually anyway.
Tonight she was on foot, her boots clunked as she walked, armed to the teeth and keeping an eye out for cops lest she have to beat a quick exit. They didn’t look too kindly on unregistered swords and pistols in the City of Angels after all. Her gleaming blade was strapped across her back, the twin 1911 pistols in their holsters against her ribs tonight, underneath her open jacket. There were knives in her boots. Teresa Reign was out for blood.
The sounds of the fight reached her from around a corner and she stopped in the shadows to listen. One person against a group. that was what the sounds told her. Vampires judging by all that goddamn hissing. Teresa took a breath and inched up to the corner to peer around. People said she was crazy and maybe they were right, but she was definitely not stupid. Charging into a supernatural fist fight was the fastest way to get something -- or everything -- broken. Just as she suspected, one guy against a gaggle of vampires. Tess felt bile crawl up the back of her tongue. Leeches. She hated them. No guns though, on either side. Interesting. By the way the single man was moving he looked firstly lie a wolf and secondly like an old one. In the end it didn't matter; from where she was Teresa could see another little swarm of vamps coming down an alleyway. Maybe one of those lying in a bloody mess on the floor had called in some friends.
Teresa rolled back around the corner for a moment, just a moment and then she was tearing around it, reaching up over her shoulder to pull her long, curved sword from its sheaf; she launched off an over turned garbage can and swung the sword down as she fell through the air with it, cleaving a vampire's head right off in a tick splat of cold, coagulated blood.
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Thatcher
Rogue Werewolf
Vampire Hunter
Whatever pain may come, today this ends.
Posts: 90
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Post by Thatcher on Jun 6, 2010 17:09:12 GMT
Thatcher too had noticed the increased vampire activity in the time surrounding the moon either side and had acted accordingly for many years as a result, not just decades but centuries in which he had honed and perfected his methods, not just for the hunt but for the clash of combat and more importantly, the kill, that all-important final act that ended another foul and twisted life. Maybe other hunters would look around themselves, see all the vampires in their scattered pockets around the world, and ask themselves why they bothered, why they gave so much of themselves to a pursuit that seemed endless and fruitless; vampires were forever making others of their kind, taking humans and changing them to boost their numbers, either out of greed, loneliness or some desperate bid to work towards taking power back from the wolves. Lycanthropes had long since dominated the supernatural world, beaten vampires back and down with ferocity, determination and drive. It wasn't his nature as a wolf that saw him joining that ongoing fight, though; for all he cared the vampires could have been in power and he still would have dedicated every waking minute to destroying their kind. They had taken everything from him, broken it all down into shards and splinters at his feet and left him hollow and alone, with nothing but his anger and the fierce passion of the wolf, that hunger and need for vengeance.
Rolling with the force of the punch that caught him across the jaw, Thatcher put all that wolfen agility and grace to good use and swung up high with a kick that a male of his height should have at least looked awkward putting into play, but instead it was smooth and effortless, cracking the vampire in the side of the head with enough force to slam them down to the concrete and leave them there, dazed and pained. It was as he levelled against the floor again, jacket falling back into place around his hips, that Thatcher smelt the burst of clotted blood, heard the clean slice of steel through flesh and bone, and finally, saw the arrival of the unfamiliar female. A human. Her scent pierced the thick press of supernatural dominating the alley, and Thatcher knew in a heartbeat that she was a hunter.
Torn between being intrigued and annoyed, he went with neither and ducked under the sudden shift of air at his back, avoiding a nasty, bruising blow between his shoulder blades that would have thrown him down, quickly coming around and up to take hold of the vampire by the bottom of their jaw, his free hand moving up, fingers twining in the back of their hair to give him a good grip before he jerked, roughly, feeling and hearing the satisfying dull crack of the neck breaking before he released the body to the floor to lay there, paralysed but still aware, already moving on to the next opponent with a snarl and a flash of wolfen yellow in his eyes.
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Teresa
Human
Hunter
Oh my smile is fragile; my heart is held together with string and sellotape.
Posts: 57
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Post by Teresa on Jun 6, 2010 23:57:05 GMT
Ash exploded violently around her. Teresa was already on her second opponent though, both hands on the grip of her sword, the patterned blade that had been with her through so very much; she carried her momentum through from the down-swing, whirling around to drive the wicked blade deep into the chest of the next creature coming at her, up under his ribs as he tried to rush her, she gave the blade a jerk, a twist and massacred his heart. Two down. A glance at the wolf to see how he was doing out of curiosity, probably he would fair better than her in the end. It was hard for her, she wasn't as strong a wolf, she had to take her aggression and make it into strength, she had to be a weapon, force herself to be better, to always be faster. When the third vampire came at her she wasn't ready, still recovering from the second one and unable to move quickly enough with her human reflexes pitted against that of the undead creature. It slammed a boot into her knee side on and she was lucky to keep the joint, she cried out as she buckled sideways though, catching herself with one hand on the asphalt. it left the sword vulnerable and the vampire hissed a laugh and stepped down on the blade, forcing it to the ground and Teresa's other hand with it. Annoying.
Fuelled by pain and a sudden white hot flame of rage she let go of the sword and launched upwards from her half buckled position, whipping out one of her traditional and some would say laughable stakes. They wouldn't laugh if they knew how many times going Buffy on vampires actually worked, how frequently it had saved her puny little mortal life. They staggered back a few paces, he grabbed her wrist and fought for the stake. Knowing she was in danger of a broken arm Teresa pulled him towards her and slammed her knee upwards into his gut, hard enough to break things in there, a practically bestial shout tearing through her.
It wasn't enough. Resolute, the vampire used her arm to spin her around and slam her into the wall. Teresa grunted and released the stake, grabbing the vampire's arm instead, winded as she was, vision blurring and bricks buckled around her battered frame. She used her flexibility and supple strength to her advantage as the meaty vampire went with brute force; brains beat brawn so often in her line of work and she planted a foot on his though, boosting herself up and whipping her other leg around his head, she snapped his neck with her thigh and he crumpled, slackened and she fell tot eh floor on top of him, all in a swift moment. Then she was rolling for her sword, diving and tucking her way across the alley to grab it. Pain racing through her insides after the drive into the wall.
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Thatcher
Rogue Werewolf
Vampire Hunter
Whatever pain may come, today this ends.
Posts: 90
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Post by Thatcher on Jun 8, 2010 15:57:56 GMT
It wasn't just his fight anymore, the arrival of the young woman had changed that and abruptly. Now that there was a mortal in the fray, someone without all the supernatural endurance and prowess that kept werewolves and vampires on their feet long after they should have fallen, everything had changed. That reckless abandon had to go out of the window and he had to concentrate on killing, not just hurting. When it had been just him and the vampires, he could just go on hitting and drag it out, taking in the grim thrill and bitter rush of violence and causing pain in his enemies, making it last. Not anymore, not with the woman so close to so many vampires. She might not have needed saving -- and at the end of the day, Thatcher Ward was no hero -- but even a skilled human hunter could only take down so many opponents, especially vampiric ones.
Understandably Thatcher had an automatic degree of respect for any human hunter, having been one himself all his life before he'd been kept by vampires and changed by that strange female who had vanished after giving him the lycanthropy with her blood again his. He knew what it was like, how it felt to have that mortality hanging over your head and yet that fierce, passionate drive to hunt and kill, extinguish evil, protect others even if they never knew your name. It wasn't about gratitude or recognition, it was so much bigger than that. It didn't even occur to Thatcher in that alley that he should have recognised the woman, that he had seen her before only a number of weeks before; maybe when the ash had cleared, if they were both still standing, he would put two and two together. Right then he had more important things to worry about.
Out of nowhere as he righted after kicking one of the vampires in the gut hard enough fold and buckle the creature to the ground, a blow came down hard across Thatcher's left temple, with enough power to daze him and send him rolling across the ground, the world spinning and his balance wavering fiercely for a moment. Then it was over and adrenaline fired anew, bringing him back up high enough to catch the foot of the same vampire; they had followed him across the concrete, the low lighting in the alley catching over the dull metal of the brass knuckles that still decorated his closed fist. With a growl, Thatcher twisted the foot in his grasp, feeling the crunch and pop of bone and cartilage as they gave under the pressure, going on to shove to unbalance the creature completely and sent then crashing down on their back. Thatcher was on them in an instant, ignoring the heavy slam up under his ribs and the sting of sweat and blood running together close to his eye, the glow of the wolf bright in his eyes as he cracked the vampire's head down against the concrete, hard, once and then again, and then a third time, when the foul burst of clotted blood struck the air from below him. The vampire barely moved as he spun himself up to his feet, coming around in a quick, clean half-circle, body twisted agilely at the waist.
Two of the three vampires who had moved too close for comfort fell under the swing and the vicious arc of the blade now freed from its home at the wolf's hip and gripped expertly in his hand. One head rocked back from its home atop shoulders moments before the eruption claimed the body in an ashen cloud while another fell, choking wetly on the flood rushing up and out of its deeply sliced throat. The third glanced at its fallen companions, the remains and the twitching body close by, before fixing his focus on the lycanthrope, wolf and vampire locking gazes. Thatcher smiled grimly, spinning his blade deftly.
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Teresa
Human
Hunter
Oh my smile is fragile; my heart is held together with string and sellotape.
Posts: 57
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Post by Teresa on Jun 9, 2010 11:24:39 GMT
warning: things start to get graphically violent here.
Across the alley she could hear the sounds of the other fight but she remained focused on her own troubles. A vampire grabbed the blade in his bare hand, Teresa felt the metal slicing into his skin and hitting bone but he simply cackled and grabbed it further down with his other hand. Shit. He yanked it out of her grip while she was simultaneously grabbed from behind by one of his friends. It seemed that the leeches weren't as stupid as they looked tonight; working together they could probably crush her like a bug, it tended to help the human hunter that most of the time vampires were out for themselves they didn't usually group together like this and they certainly didn't team up. The one behind her stank of tobacco and he wrapped a thick arm around her neck to pull her back. Teresa’s feet left the floor ad she choked, gagging against the pressure on her throat. The one with her sword tossed it aside, it skittered under some garbage and out of sight and he moved towards her with another static laugh from dead lungs. Teresa grunted and swung her legs up when he was closed enough, breaking his nose with an audible crunch against the heel of her boot. He staggered back. Her vision was getting spotty. With a wheezed groan she reached over her shoulder, over Tobacco's arm and dug her fingers into his eye socket, ripping the ball out with a sick squelching sound. He roared and released her.
Teresa's grin was a morbid one. "Now you see me." She said, turning. "Now you don't." Teresa dropped the eye and stamped on it. The vampire was too busy clutching at his empty eye socket to respond to her quip, wailing and calling her a bitch over and over again without actually knowing where she was with his other eye squeezed shut.
The one who had taken her sword was moving in again, blood covering his pale, skinny face from the shattered nose. While he was reedy and thin, she didn't underestimate him, he was still a vampire, still stronger and faster than she was even without obvious muscles. Teresa heard him coming in, the scrape of gravel under his feat and she turned, tipping her weight into her left side, swinging her right leg up and around into the side of his head. He staggered sideways. Teresa unholstered a gun into her favoured, right hand but he rushed her before she could aim. The black haired female cursed inwardly as he wrapped an arm around her waist, ducking in under her arm and picking her up, slamming her into the wall behind her with such force her ears rang and everything went blurry. Shit. Not even the adrenaline racing through her could take the edge off that and she coughed blood dazedly for a moment, eyes unfocused. Oh god, that was going to hurt in the morning. It hurt now. However, one thing they never expected from her, the one thing that really gave her an advantage was that Teresa could deal with a hell of a lot of pain. Vampires never seemed to think she could, that she was just some pretty Eurasian girl who liked to play Vampire Hunter, they didn't know what she'd endured in her childhood, the relentless rule of the cane on her life, tests following tests, hours of training, men twice as big as her and three times as heavy going up against her full tilt. You didn't beat a man down at fourteen years old without pure grit in your guts. Teresa knew pain, she could force it down, box it away.
"Stupid little human bitch wants to play with vampires--" she vampire was saying, pinning her to the wall, thinking about feeding from her. Failing to disarm her. Teresa growled so low she could have passed for a wolf herself. "You know how many Slayer wannabes I get through a months, honey?" With a strangled cry she raised her left arm as if to attack, drawing his attention, making him lean back to catch her wrist, giving her enough room to wedge her other arm between them where she pressed the barrel of her gun up into the soft, cold flesh of the underside of his jaw. Teresa squeezed off three rounds with a rage filled bellow, hate burned through her, anguish clawed at her skin in a hot, insistent prickle and she wanted to empty the gun into him, she wanted to tear him to pieces with her bare hands but he slumped and then fizzed into ash and all she could do was sink to her knees to breathe, clutching her abused ribs.
Rattling air in and out through a bloody throat she looked up with watery eyes -- an automatic physical reaction to pain -- to see the wolf hold a knife, facing off against yet another vampire. One Eye was coming back towards her, having finally regained some of his composure but she couldn't move yet. She just had to breathe.
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Thatcher
Rogue Werewolf
Vampire Hunter
Whatever pain may come, today this ends.
Posts: 90
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Post by Thatcher on Jun 12, 2010 13:59:31 GMT
Multiple opponents were nothing new for Thatcher, he'd been facing off against them most of his life, and as the vampire who had survived the great, sweeping arc of his blade continued to hold his gaze, the lone werewolf felt the air shift at his back. New arrivals. He didn't even pause to take in the single vampire's grin, simply spun his weight, moving as only a lycanthrope could with speed and precision, lifting his left foot when he was around and balanced on his right, coming up and out with a powerful roundhouse kick that slammed into the first of the three new arrivals, striking the floating ribs and shattering them all inward. With a dry, hacking cough of pain and shock, the vampire buckled and fell away from the force of the blow, colliding with one of his companion and taking him down to the ground too, the third jumping back to avoid the tangle with a snarl on his lips, fangs bared. Without even pausing in his momentum, Thatcher came around, free hand balled into a fist that cracked the remaining male from the first trio squarely in the middle of the face. Blood burst under the blow and his enemy fell clutching at his face, whimpering and sputtering around the river that rushed down out of his nose.
Pain raced across his back but was met with only a growl as he ducked his weight forward and spun around again, long blade still gripped in his hand. Even as he felt blood well and trace down his back from the slashed wound that had been landed, he moved towards the standing opponent, engaging him in a short and rapid exchange that filled the alley with the song of clashing steel as the blades caught and scraped. Another blow caught along his left bicep, biting deep into the flesh beneath his clothing, but it only drove Thatcher's anger, only fed that fire and encouraged a fresh surge of adrenaline. Swinging up a new kick to shove the vampire back, Thatcher flipped and then hurled the blade; for a human it would have been a tough throw, near-impossible for most, that much length and weight, but for a wolf of his years and experience it was a move that Thatcher didn't even need to pause and think about, let along gauge in any way. He simply threw, smile grim and faintly stained with blood as the blade buried in its mark and then ash erupted in a vile cloud, falling like grey snow to the ground. The blade went with it, hitting home with a clang.
A weight landed on his back, impacting the wound, and Thatcher's shout was just as much discomfort as it was frustration. A hand went for his throat even as his own went up and tangled in hair, keeping the vampire's head in place. Most vampires hated the taste of wolf blood, but Thatcher refused to take the risk; in order to gain the upper hand, who knew what these bastards might try? He'd lost enough of his blood to their kind over the years and he had the scars to prove it. There was no way in hell he would be losing any more, not like that. Forcing his weight around and back with as much power as he could gather, he felt the slam against the wall, the drive of the vampire's body into his back and the shift of bone in its body. Blood spattered against the collar of his jacket and Thatcher turned when the grip faltered, throwing a punch up and under the ribs, once, twice, three times. His hand found their throat and gripped tightly, enough to choke a human or another wolf, but the vampire didn't need to breathe; coming around fast and hard, Thatcher threw them down to the ground, coming down on top of them, snarling in a constant, thunderous stream. Movement caught his eye off to the left, a vampire with blood covering its face advancing on the buckled, breathless form of the woman.
Enough was enough. The fight had gone too far. Had Thatcher been alone, he would have been content to keep going toe to toe with the bastards, but with a human life on the line it was a different game. She might have known how to defend herself, but he could hear her rasped breathing from where he loomed over his own enemy. His hair shot through with red and white, eyes fully lupine, and as he bared his teeth in a loud, full growl that was all animal, he let it sweep and overcome him physically. The form of the man receded as bone and cartilage shifted and cracked, organs repositioning in a matter of moments as the new body rose to the surface, jaws open wide, paw pressed down on the vampire's throat, keeping it pinned in the place before he ducked down in a swift strike, tearing through flesh and finding bone, biting down harder until it all cracked and burst, blood crashing over his tongue like a wave against rocks. Thatcher knew exactly when to release, already up and moving when the cloud exploded into the air, the red and white wolf bolting across the alley and launching himself into the form of the vampire coming up close on the downed human, sending them sprawling in a tangled heap of snarls and savagery.
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Teresa
Human
Hunter
Oh my smile is fragile; my heart is held together with string and sellotape.
Posts: 57
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Post by Teresa on Aug 31, 2010 16:24:45 GMT
Teresa wasn't the type to look a gift horse int he mouth, so to speak. While she didn't like relying on anyone and she didn't like being in anyone's debt she could concede that sometimes, just sometimes she was in over her head. No amount of training would make up for the fact that at the end of the day she was a human and a human against a vampire would always be slower and weaker. This wolf had just saved her life, most likely. Teresa would most likely found a way to fight him off, bruised and bloodied as she was, probably with a set of nicely cracked ribs, and whether that was her cocky attitude talking or plain fact it didn't really matter, it was out of her hands. One day, she knew, she wasn't going to be fast enough, she was going to come up against a vampire who could out-think as well as out-move her and that would be it.
In the end of the day, she was okay with that. Going out fighting would be okay.
Tonight wasn't that night it seemed. Teresa watched, crouched down with an arm clutched around her ribs as the red and white wolf barrelled the vampire off its feet and they went down into a messy scuffle, the ground scraping beneath them. That was certainly something she wasn't stupid enough to get herself physically involved in, she'd be ripped to shreds. Instead she raised her right arm with the pistol wedged firmly in her hand and narrowed her eyes, waiting for an opportunity to strike the vampire. Injured she might have been, barely able to breathe, aching all over but she could still shoot and she was one hell of a good shot.
They rolled over and the vampire's head reared up to avoid the wolf's snapping maw. That was her shot. Teresa took it, squeezing the trigger almost impossibly fast for a human, a girl, the bullet ripped from the chamber and blew through the back of the vampire's head coming out right between his eyes and flying off into the darkness of the alleyway. After a moment the body turned to ash and Teresa let her gun arm fall, her body slumping back against the wall, legs unfolding so she could sit wheezing painfully.
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Thatcher
Rogue Werewolf
Vampire Hunter
Whatever pain may come, today this ends.
Posts: 90
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Post by Thatcher on Oct 8, 2010 23:53:33 GMT
It was over as quickly as it had begun, a frantic, chaotic rush of action and adrenaline that left his limbs tingling and his heart drumming madly in his chest when all was said and done, the ash settling and the last distant echoes of the bark of the gunshot fading into the night beyond their battleground. There was gore spattered, blood sprays and splashes over concrete and brick and other miscellaneous debris, garbage had been scattered and thrown everywhere, and the dusty, foul remains of the vampires drifted lazily along the ground with the faint, warm Los Angeles breeze. The night seemed suddenly quieter, too quiet, only harsh, ragged breathing to disturb the abrupt silence that had descended around the two survivors.
Thatcher straightened on his four legs and shook himself off fully, pausing in his panting to cast his thick coat into intentional disarray to throw off as much of the ash as possible. At least it wasn't on his tongue, thick in his mouth as had happened more times in the past than he could count; that was the worst part, when he miscalculated the exact moment of true death and they erupted into full and violent decomposition before he could pull away and the taste tended to linger, sitting heavily and foully for hours. If nothing else, the woman had saved him from having to risk that kind of discomfort, even if it was a small price to pay for the knowledge that there was one less vampire in the city. It didn't change the fact that the wolf side of him was frustrated, felt challenged by her actions; she had taken the kill away from him, essentially, and as a dominant predator, there was a part of Thatcher that couldn't deny he disliked that. Thankfully he was old enough to be able to control any such displeasure and aggravation, and the only outward sign he showed was the firm edge to his gaze when he opened his eyes and fixed them on the female hunter slumped against the wall. From the looks of her breathing, laboured and irregular, she had more important things to worry about than a disgruntled, territorial werewolf.
His return to human form was smooth enough, enough adrenaline still buzzing through him to keep him from really feeling the injuries he had sustained during the fight. There was a dull throbbing through his skull and several joints and muscles were quietly protesting but Thatcher had had worse, much worse, in his time as a hunter. He remained in a crouch and looked across the space separating him from the woman. "You all right?" It was gruff, voice a touch scratchy as though the transformation from man to wolf and back to man in such a short space of time had made his throat feel rough or the ash drifting around had irritated him somehow. The question sounded almost automatic as well, as though some part of him felt obligated to ask. Either she would appreciate it or she wouldn't. At the end of the day, it was no skin off his nose either way.
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Teresa
Human
Hunter
Oh my smile is fragile; my heart is held together with string and sellotape.
Posts: 57
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Post by Teresa on Mar 17, 2011 17:32:05 GMT
Teresa raised her gun to the man, swinging it up in a cumbersome arc that would have been too slow if her life depended on it; her head was swimming, her insides burning but she glared at him with all the fire of a woman with nothing to lose and no one to miss her when she was gone. She gritted her teeth.
"I'm fine," she said sourly.
There was no reason to believe that tey were on the same side now that the vampires had been dealt with, she didn't know this wolf, she didn't trust him automatically and she assumed that he would feel the same way about her. It was the world of hunters to distrust and disown; they each had their personal battles to fight and wars to wage and, most importantly, their personal demons to wrestle with. Teresa had never met a well-rounded hunter. They didn't exist. People who got into this line of work were from the fringes of society, they had lost or they were lost and there was little else to it. Not to mention the fact that she was human and she had to keep her wits about her in the world of Biggers and Badders who would cut her down without breaking a sweat.
"Thanks," she finally ground out, slapping her free hand against her wall behind her and pushing herself up against the bricks, dust and loose splinters of stone shearing off as she went. The whole time her gun remained trained on him; even if she was injured she still could and would pull the trigger if he made an aggressive move.
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Thatcher
Rogue Werewolf
Vampire Hunter
Whatever pain may come, today this ends.
Posts: 90
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Post by Thatcher on Mar 18, 2011 16:22:15 GMT
Thatcher's immediate response was a dry kind of huff, almost a snort, displeased and disgruntled and far from amused. It wasn't that he didn't understand the attitude, of course he did, he had been there in the past and he got it but the wolf was still close to the surface and that side of him didn't appreciate her response, the volatility of it. Vampires lay scattered and dead around him in piles of ash that would soon tumble away in the warm breeze that picked its way through Los Angeles' many streets and alleys but his mood was far from improved for it. The destruction of a few did very little in the long run, it was just a pinprick really, it didn't make a difference. Having a gun pointed at him right after such a violent clash hardly helped with his already riled temper but telling her that wouldn't change anything. She was proud and independent, she took care of herself, he could see that in every line of her body, the way she hauled herself up from the ground without waiting for an offer of help despite the fact that she was obviously injured and in need of rest and medical attention.
He rose when she did, smoothly and steadily despite the twinges of aching muscles, his bruised and battered body about as unhappy as the rest of him. "You're welcome," he returned with a grim kind of sarcasm that bordered on lazy. He was tired and frustrated, reminded all too easily of the unlikelihood of success when it came to his own personal mission. There were only so many hunters and though vampires had lost their grip on the supernatural world to the werewolves they still numbered in the thousands and they were still powerful and dangerous. Thatcher was just one man. One very angry and determined man against an entire army of enemies. It was at times like this that his reputation seemed to mean so little, staring down the barrel of someone who could have been an ally but wasn't. It reminded him how alone he was. "How about you go one way and I go the other, hm?" His voice was low, gravelly, rough with the displeasure of the wolf beneath the surface. More than anything he just wanted to go back to his apartment and wash away the ash and the blood but he wasn't about to turn his back on the woman in front of him. She might have thanked him but that didn't mean she trusted him.
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Teresa
Human
Hunter
Oh my smile is fragile; my heart is held together with string and sellotape.
Posts: 57
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Post by Teresa on Mar 18, 2011 16:28:18 GMT
"Sounds a good idea to me, Fido," Tess returned, her gun still trained on him. On another night perhaps things might have ended differently, and she wasn't sure that she wouldn't see this wolf again if he was hunting vampires in the same city she was; it was a small world after all. But this was the way things were going; she was tired and she ached all over and her ribs-- her fucking ribs hurt so much. She really needed to get home and get some sleep and call in sick tomorrow because this was going to take some getting over. Hunting tonight had probably been a stupid idea, but she didn't know what else to do with herself other than to do... this. It was all she knew, all she was good for.
There was a slight twinge of something she thought might be guilt in the pit of her stomach though, because this wolf -- who looked extremely familiar to her -- had saved her life and she was grateful for that fact, even if she had jumped into his fight to begin with. "Maybe I'll see you around," she offered by way of an olive branch. Teresa didn't need or want allies, but she didn't want more enemies either.
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