Roleplay City
Infusco => INFUSCO: Enter The Shadows => City Streets => Topic started by: suneater on January 23, 2019, 03:29:15 PM
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[Reserved for Billiam]
"Stupid, stupid, stupid."
When had he started talking to himself? It was hard to say. Weeks ago, probably. He'd been repeating that particular phrase for a few nights now. His whisper was soft but coarse, whittled down by the same winter wind that ended up dispersing it. He shouldn't have gotten involved. Rationally, he'd known what a huge risk he was taking even as he'd stalked toward the bloodsucker and his victim, but rationality hadn't cooled his blood any more than the frozen night had. A small, insistent voice had been telling Luke Kingston what was wrong and what was right his whole life, and the instant he'd thought to simply walk away, that voice had exploded into a deafening clarion. His gloved hands had curled into brutal fists without consulting his brain, and before he knew it, he was moving.
Nothing had happened since then, and that unnerved him. Of course, the people looking for him would use creatures of the night to lure him in. Odds were good they'd planted them all over the city and planned to track Luke down by following the trail of dismantled horrors. Maybe the whole thing was a set up. Maybe the girl that the vampire had forced against the alley wall was in on it too. If she was, she was a hell of an actress-
Luke shook his head vigorously as if to physically break the line of thought. His pursuers were clever, but they weren't convoluted. Still, he needed to be more careful. He had more than enough trouble, especially since the monster had gotten away. The fight had been fast and brutal. To her credit, the girl had forged sense from her terror and fled immediately. Luke had the upper hand for most of the encounter, but the creature had been faster than him. When it realized it was outmatched, it ran- well, blurred, really. By the time he'd made it out of the alley and into the street, it was gone.
Stupid as it had been, something about the encounter had made Luke feel right. More himself, whatever that meant. Self had been a nebulous term ever since he'd escaped that terrible place. He felt like a paper bag full of broken glass, with myriad shards of self grating against one another inside, each one threatening to tear the whole damn thing open. Some of those shards had coalesced when he'd charged down the beast and saved the princess, but it wasn't enough to make any difference.
As he mused, Luke paid little attention to where he was going. He'd spent practically his entire life in the city and his internal GPS was unerring. It was better not to have a real destination. They knew him better than he knew himself, so he had to stay unpredictable. He shuffled along, his hands stuffed in the pockets of a gray peacoat that had seen better days. He needed better boots and as many socks as he could get his hands on; he'd have to get more cash and visit a thrift store. There was nothing chic about his homeless look. He wore a ratty dark green sweatshirt under the coat with the hood drawn up to obscure his stubbled visage. How long had it been since he'd sprung for a flea-bitten motel room and taken a shower? Two days before the vampire, so... six days? His nose wrinkled. That same little voice gave him hell for the petty theft he'd been using to survive, but it wasn't as if he had a lot of options.
Something tugged his attention. He blinked and scrutinized his surroundings while still trudging along, looking like just another of the city's legion of forgotten souls. It was the neighborhood. There was something familiar about it, and something wrong too. His full, chapped lips pulled into a frown and he actually stopped where he was on the sidewalk and inspected his surroundings more thoroughly. His keen gaze fell on a trendy coffee shop across the street. He wasn't sure why, but he got the sense that it didn't belong, that it was supposed to be something else-
- laughter, hot, delicious grease and cheese, a group of young men crowded at a counter in front of a window looking out on the street, talking so loud they were practically shouting over one another, more and more laughter, a gentle touch at his hip, "Can I have your crust?", a vodka-flavored kiss-
-he had instinctively braced himself against the wall of a building as the memory assailed him. Like always, his pulse had spiked, his breathing grown rapid. It had been happening more and more of late. Whatever they'd done to him had left his personal history a shadowy form that lunged out at him without notice. He righted himself, drew a steadying breath of the unforgiving air, and looked down the block. Sure enough, there was the club he knew should be there. Once upon a time, he'd been a regular there, and he and his boyfriend and his boyfriend's friends would always use dollar pizza to soak up the booze- at least, if they didn't develop more interesting plans.
It hurt to remember that level of normalcy. It hurt so badly that he turned around, unable to bear being so close to a place where he'd once been happy. Shoving his hands back into his pockets, he resumed his ambling pace and did his best to forget what he'd remembered.
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This little problem almost didn't reach the ears of Central District Leader Jake McCloud. The Ventrue had just reopened the downstairs district headquarters. Everything was as it had been when he'd left. The subterranean base felt cold, large, and sterile. Even his private chambers had not been made homey enough and he missed the creature comforts of the Dante's Inferno. He considered that he and Sam might buy a place together. They could even rope Scott in, if he was done being antisocial. He moved through the underground set of tunnels and headed towards the board room. Special efforts had been taken to make this room feel intimidating to guests and the large mahogany table and deep leather chairs had accomplished the task. Visitors would know that Clan Ventrue and Clan Brujah meant business. Agents, ghouls and fledglings unloaded boxes, while an imp in Jake's employ did inventory.
Jake had been lost in thought for quite some time. He was still unsure about how best to run the district now that he was back, and if he should tell the other leaders of the looming threat of the second inquisition. While the threat of the Sabbat had been defeated and the Camarilla weakened mortals had discovered that the supernatural was not just children fables. London had fallen, as had Berlin. The Ivory tower had failed and the other supernatural races had been even less prepared for the hunters to return. Still, they weren't here yet, and the Blueblood wondered if he was just searching for another war instead of focusing on peace. Conner had been right all those years ago. Jake was not a peaceful man. His youthful appearance contrasted greatly with his track record of violence and arrogance and while Jake had decided to change, he also recognized these traits were the ones that got him to this point in the first place.
He headed upstairs to the first floor of the White Rabbit, and found his friend and bar mistress Lisa-Joe Hampton treating the wounds of a fledgling. She was holding his hand. "Tap into the blood, and pull it to your wounds," she said in a sweet southern drawl. She wore a black cocktail dress, heels and a set of pearls. Her red flowing hair was curled and styled. She looked ready for a party. The Kindred did as he was told, and his bruises began to heal. The bar wasn't open yet. It was only an hour after dusk. Jake approached the pair of vampires and asked, "what happened?"
"I don't know man," the young one said. He'd been turned only a few years ago. What was his name? Lenny? Chad? Jake really needed to work on remembering his subjects names. "Bryan here was attacked," Lisa-Joe answered. Bryan! That was it.
"Bryan, who attacked you," Jake asked, his commanding eyes letting the youth know this was not a request.
"That's what I'm saying Mr. McCloud. I don't know."
"Just call me Jake," the Ventrue answered. Who the fuck would actually go by Mr. McCloud? He turned to Lisa-Joe and saw her shooting a less than sympathetic smirk his way. "Describe the situation," Jake instructed.
"Okay, okay , okay," Bryan said. He was anxious and shaky. "I was feeding off Rochester and JFK in an ally. It was no big deal. Met this chick, took her outside, the usual. But then this dude interrupted the feed and started wailing on me."
Jake and Lisa both cocked eyebrows, exchanging glances with one another. "Describe him," Jake ordered.
"He was tall, and really muscular with blonde hair, and he was a human but not a human. Oh and he looked mad homeless." Jake was intrigued at this point. He collected some more data from poor Bryan, but then in a surprise move wiped his memory of the event. He told Lisa-Joe later he didn't want this story going around in case it wasn't true, but for some reason he decided to start patrolling the streets himself. He hadn't done it since he'd first secured his domain. He had people for this. Why did he need to do it? And yet, Sam, Scott, Lisa and the bar all lay neglected as he hunted for this rumored human.
For a short time he saw nothing, but on an especially cold winter night he caught sight of a man matching the description given by Bryan. The Ventrue had come ready for combat. A leather trench coat concealed two extendable short swords, and he wore a pair of handguns on his belt. The trench concealed the rest of his outfit - and the weapons - but he wore body armor and tough boots. His hair was cut to a fade and pushed up today. The Blueblood followed closely, doing his best not to raise alarm. He wasn't especially stealthy, but this guy did not seem to be paying attention. Jake hugged an ally as the man passed him, talking to himself.
"Stupid, stupid, stupid," he overheard. This guy didn't seem dangerous. He just seemed... crazy and homeless. But boy was he attractive. Jake thought he had to be the most attractive homeless man in the whole city, and so he let his gaze linger upon him. He was far enough away that the man would not likely notice him, but with some military training he might see a youthful teen in a large trench coat starting at him from a short distance.
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He bore left onto Court Street, nearly colliding with a group of young men who were likely bound for the club he was trying to distance himself from. In stark contrast to Luke, they were immaculately groomed, laughing and carrying on in a way that echoed his dislodged memory too well. “Watch where you’re going!” one of them shrilled. Rather than reply, Luke forged ahead, trying to empty his mind before it got lost in the brambles of his past. He heard one of the young men ask his compatriots “Is it just me, or was that homeless dude was kind of hot??” The question provoked another gale of laughter and some speculation about what he looked like under his rags. “I’ll tell you one thing,” the twink who had initially chastised him practically shouted, “He definitely can’t host!”
The mocking words might have stung had he not been focused on herding his thoughts in a more useful direction. While he wasn’t exactly vain, his current lifestyle left a lot to be desired. His was getting a little long and very unkempt, particularly given how infrequently he was able to wash it. His garments, if they could even really be called that, were a hodgepodge of ill-fitting pieces designed more to keep him warm and sell the fact that he wasn’t anyone worth paying attention to. As far as disguises went, it was effective enough, but it made him feel even less like himself – whatever that meant. He hadn’t been eating well either- his body was almost certainly starting to break down muscle, since it had long since run through the little fat on his athletic frame. He felt grimy, greasy, tired, and worst of all itchy. Small wonder that the vampire had gotten away.
He’d traveled another three blocks down Court before he realized something was wrong. Nothing obvious, but his instincts were buzzing about something. He quartered off his surroundings and inspected them surreptitiously without altering his body language. Out of the corner of his eye he spotted the kid in the trench coat. Of the pedestrians in view, he was the only one who didn’t seem to have anywhere particular to go. Was he one of the club-goers who he’d almost bumped into? No. He certainly wasn’t dressed for a night on the town. Luke mentally retraced his steps, trying to isolate what he had seen from the confusing snippets of memory he’d experienced. He’d caught sight of a similar figure when he’d steadied himself against the building. He’d been too preoccupied at the time to think anything of it, but now he was sure the youthful stranger was following him.
Shit. Panic pierced his gut like a shard of ice. He’d let himself get distracted, and they’d found him. The rational remnants of his mind tried to demand a point of order – why would they have sent a teenager after him? – but the paranoia that had been his only constant companion since he’d escaped drowned it out. It didn’t matter who he was or why he was there – he was following Luke, and that couldn’t stand.
He called the map of the neighborhood to mind and settled on a course. A few turns would confirm for certain whether the teen was following him or not. Luke didn’t make any effort to lose his tail; his demeanor hadn’t changed at all in the few frantic seconds between his realization and his plan. He passed a liquor store, a dry cleaner, and a ridiculously enticing food card before turning onto Hannigan. The street was rougher than those they’d left behind – there were fewer people out and about, and most of the businesses were either vacant or shuttered with steel. Luke kept walking, making more turns, leading his pursuer into less and less populated territory.
Another block down was his destination: a bus depot. A turn down a side street led to the parking area, which was sectioned off by an imposing chain-link fence topped with barbed wire. Beyond, in a lot almost as big as a city block, a variety of public transportation options stood inert. They were mostly school buses, but a few city buses stood out, wrapped in advertisements in contrast to the drab yellow of their more numerous counterparts. The moment he turned the corner, Luke burst into an all-but-silent sprint and vaulted the twelve-foot barricade. He landed in a neat crouch on the other side, allowing himself a mere instant to balance himself before he surged forward, rolling under one of the buses to disappear from view. Prone, he crawled forward quickly on his arms, staking out a vantage point in the pool of shadow beneath one of the school buses at the edge of the row. He wanted to see what the kid did and get a better measure of him before engaging.
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Jake McCloud hated young people despite his own appearance. He heard the mocking exchange coming from the rabble of mortals that had bumped into his prey. He knew at least two of them, although they would not remember him. His blood required sustenance from the same kind of mortal, and Jake had developed a blood appetite that was the same as his sexual appetite. He considered that a convenient overlap, but it did mean constantly dealing with the newest generation of gay man far too often. The group nearly crashed into the statue that was Jake, and one of them decided to make their presence known.
"Ugly coat," the man hissed, his friends laughing uproariously at the overly simplistic barb. Jake looked at his leather trench and admitted to himself that it might be time to buy a new way to carry weapons. The Matrix wasn't the most popular movie around anymore, and he feared he'd started falling to the Kindred curse of not keeping up with changing times. He looked over his verbal assailant and remembered eating and fucking him about two years prior. He had no idea what his name was, but he'd remembered his septum piercing and what he'd called him in the bedroom.
The vampire smiled, and responded to the man. "You know, you're right," he said in a soft and youthful voice, the thinnest Irish dialect buried beneath his American Standard. "And since we're doing each other favors you're starting to get age lines around the corner of your eyes, just there." Jake made sure to catch the man's eyes and backed up his statement with a little memory modification.
"Oh my god, Bobby," the man cried. "Do I look old?" The group shuffled off, leaving Jake smirking. The dominate effect would fade, but not before the man in question learned a valuable lesson. He'd be sure to eat and fuck this guy another time. After all, he liked the septum ring and the little piggy it was attached to. Once this was resoled Jake began tracking his prey again. He'd found the exchange between the man and the group of clubbers to be odd. Maybe he had the wrong guy? He certainly didn't seem capable of beating up a vampire, fledgling or not. He was so disheveled, and while he couldn't be sure he seemed human overall. In fact, Jake couldn't find any trace of the supernatural at this distance. Still he followed.
He saw the briefest of pauses, and then nothing. The man kept moving along. Jake kept a healthy distance, but as they rounded through the various streets, Jake realized he was likely being led somewhere. He knew these streets well, it was his district after all, and this man seemed to be moving them away from heavily populated areas. The swords in his coat felt especially heavy with the knowledge he may have to use them. Jake felt the best thing to do was spring the trap and hope this guy either wanted to talk, or that he could be taken in a fight.
When they reached a bus depot, Jake rationalized this was the intended location. It was private and it's length made it a good place for secluded parties to meet. He pulled out a small radio. "City bus depot, twenty minutes," he whispered. As he finished speaking, Jake saw the man turn the corner towards the entrance to the depot. He'd find a large chain fence so the Ventrue figured he had him cornered.
The Blueblood rounded the corner and saw his prey was gone. Jake kept his composure. He'd seen Nosferatu disappear in the blink of an eye, so this was nothing new. Still, where did he go? Jake decided to search on the other side of the fence. It seemed the only likely route to go. He could've dimmed and doubled back, but Jake didn't think so. Why lead him here if he wanted to just run? Jake had no plans to try and jump over the imposing fence. He figured his sheer age might give him enough stamina to do it, but Potence was not one of his gifts, and so he looked for other ways of getting over. Within reach of the tall fence was a stretch of brownstones with fire escapes. Jake mounted the wall and climbed up to about the forth floor before doing a back flip to land, facing front on the ground of the bus depot. To the uniformed watcher, the impact looked like it should've broken the youth's legs, but he looked quite comfy as he stood up properly. His heightened senses searched for his prey, but at the moment he was not in view. The smell of a man needing a bath clogged Jake's nose, but he could not pinpoint it's origin.
"Come out now and I won't hurt you," the teen in a trench coat told the hot and crazy homeless man. He opened the coat and pulled out two night sticks. He held a defensive posture and scanned.
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Luke waited. He didn’t hear the fence being climbed or broken down. Had he managed to lose the kid? It was always possible that he was taking a conservative approach- not following Luke to his chosen point of confrontation. He had to admit, he wouldn’t simply have walked into a possible ambush, and if his pursuer was one of them he’d likely have a similar mindset.
He didn’t have to continue waiting or wondering long. He heard the impact of Jake landing after his leap and focused on his teenage adversary, getting a decent look at him for the first time. From where he’d ended up, Luke guessed he’d jumped from at least three stories. Judging by how he was still standing, Luke came to a quick conclusion: this guy was not a normal human being. Hardly a surprise, but it was worth noting.
”Come out now and I won’t hurt you.”
Well, whoever he was, he didn’t lack for confidence. Something was off. He was too young, too untrained to be whatever Luke had been once, but he obviously thought he had the strength to back his recklessness up. Luke’s lips curved into a faint, hungry smile. Rational, disciplined Luke had no intention of engaging, but he didn’t always get the last word. The prospect of a fight was warming his blood. His tangle with the vampire hadn’t reached a satisfying conclusion, and he’d been on edge – well, more on edge – ever since. He could feel his pulse picking up, his muscles straining for use, and his arm – the one he kept carefully concealed – flexed involuntarily, the too-long fingers of his gray hands curling into a fist.
He’s cute. Slim, sexy. It would feel good to wrestle him to the ground and pin him down beneath you- squirming under your weight. The thought arose unbidden, shocking rational, disciplined Luke. He couldn’t deny it, though. The kid was exactly his type and seemed to know what he was doing with those tonfa, which was even better. Isolation and fear had taken a toll on Luke’s libido, but it was straining against those constraints, surging on the tide of the bloodlust he made constant efforts to keep at bay.
He needed to move. It started happening before he’d even acknowledged the fact consciously. He managed to reach something of a compromise with himself; rather than charging, he eased quietly out from beneath the bus, keeping it between him and his quarry. He rose silently to his feet and started moving, remaining in the deep shadow cast by the bus toward the wall of one of the building that surrounded the lot. He might not remember much of his training specifically, but the results were still there. Even in ill-fitting boots, he barely made a sound.
Barely.
No normal person would have detected him, but vampiric senses… well, Jake would likely have a good idea of where he was, slowly making his way around the perimeter formed by lined up, idle buses. He was keeping close to the wall, intending to circle back around Jake from the fence and catch him by surprise.
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At first, Jake thought perhaps the man had doubled back after all. It was silent as a tomb and his hyper activated ears began to ring in the absence of sound. His night sticks were made of metal and looked heavier than most normal weapons of the same kind and looked custom made. Whatever else they did they were not just night sticks.
As he adjusted his stance and weapons, he heard it. It was the most subtle moving of gravel, and it was moving in a particular direction. Jake stood perfectly still as he listened. It sounded like he might be circling around. The chase was turning out to be fun, and Jake realized how much he missed the thrill of the hunt. He smiled wickedly as he planned his next move.
To be a Banu right now, Jake thought, as he stood in the open, looking like a lost lamb.
He wasn't an Assamite true, but he was a member of the clan of kings, and there was more than one way to lure out a homeless hunk. Jake tapped into the blood and an alluring and pleasing aura began to fill the open space. To those without supernatural defense or extraordinary mental strength they would find Jake to be the most irresistible or interesting person around. He would lock eyes as soon as could. After that, this fight was over.
"Come out, sexy," he teased. He undid his trench coat and let it drop revealing his body armor. Despite the frigid cold, the twink seemed unbothered by it He didn't shiver or redden in the frigid climate. He held the nightsticks firmly, just in case this didn't work. He was sure the man had ended up behind his current position. He didn't turn around. He wanted his opponent to think him ignorant.
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Luke wasn’t in the habit of underestimating foes, particularly those unaffected by thirty foot falls. He took advantage of his slow approach to assess the armor-clad teen more thoroughly. His observation drifted between lurid appreciation for his opponent’s slim form and almost elfin features and tactical appraisal of everything from his stance to his weaponry. What he’d taken for mere batons looked, on closer inspection, fairly unique. He’d be mindful of surprises, but in the end, a weapon was a weapon. His training had included just about everything one could use to inflict harm on another, and the fundamental techniques were surprisingly similar regardless of how fancy the weapon in question was.
Just when he had planned to break away from the wall, something changed. He had already been fairly fixated on the youth, but now he couldn’t tear his eyes off him. He drank in every detail- the curve of his smirking lips, the prominent, endearing ears, the graceful lines of his neck, his delicate wrists. He could probably trap both of those wrists in one hand. His attention was decidedly less strategic. This boy was a conundrum, and one that he needed to solve quickly.
”Come out, sexy.”
The words tugged at him. His blood had already been pounding through his veins, but now it was on fire. He found himself getting hard, and he could no longer decide what he wanted more - to fight this fascinating young man, or to fuck him. Why not both? The intrusive whisper snaked its way to the forefront of his consciousness and he nearly stepped out of the shadows. A silent struggle ensued. The rational Luke that wanted to take control realized that it was losing the battle with his baser impulses. Fine then. Fight.
A strangled cry, compressed by desire and rage, heralded his charge. He covered the ground between them in an instant; a lesser being might have thought he had simply appeared. His hands were empty but gloved in black leather, held open and palms out, ready to deflect blows. His footwork was impeccable as he closed in, his attention focused on his opponent’s hands and feet. There were only so many angles one could attack from, and most people had only mastered a few; that was a defining principle of Luke’s approach to combat.
He was approaching Jake from his left and behind, and his plan was to grab hold of his left wrist and twist his arm painfully behind his back, locking every joint and forcing him to lose his grip on his weapon. If his opponent was stronger than him, he’d have a hard time exerting that strength in an arm bind. If Luke was stronger… well, this would probably end up being a disappointing fight.
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Jake heard the cry and knew the blow was coming from behind. It's so cute he thinks he can sneak attack me, the would be baron thought as he readied himself to turn around and Dominate his opponent. However, he was surprised by the quickness of the man's approach. Lucas managed to get a hold of Jake's wrist and twist it behind his back, but he was rewarded for it with a quick back stomp on his foot, and a second kick to the shin. His heavy boots helped to add a touch of pain, and he threw his right elbow back attempting to hit Lucas in the nose. How had this guy moved that fast? He was only human right? Jake felt a powerful strength overtaking him, and he struggled against it with what little physical force he could muster. His fights normally involved him keeping his foes at a distance. He wasn't much of a wrestler.
He managed to hold onto his night stick not from raw strength, but because of a certain marble like quality to his skin. Lucas would find that despite his twisting the weapon would not drop. Yet, his flesh was smooth and subtle to the touch. He was so smooth and silky to the the touch. He was also o frozen and Lucas would feel such an urge just to hug him and warm him up. The aura of awe kept working it's strange magic.
Jake angled his right arm above his head and began an assault of swipes from the night stick, aiming for Lucas's head. It wasn't his normal style, but he'd needed to react, and this was what his body had come up with.
Let me see your eyes, he thought as his arm sent painful signals to his brain. He had to clear a way to escape, as it seemed in raw strength this human was superior. He could feel his breath on his neck, his muscular frame wrapping around him, and the boy liked the excitement. That being said, this struggle with his wrist had gone on long enough and so he decided to even the odds with a little trick.
The right night stick suddenly spun back and down, and Lucas would hear the small click of a button. From the thick metal handle shot out of a thin but flat short sword. The handle of the night stick was made into a wrist guard and he swung the blade back behind him, trying to break Lucas's hold.
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As far as Luke was concerned, the fight was practically over. It was difficult to attack someone who’d gotten behind you, particularly when that someone had the advantage in terms of strength and a firm hold of you. He was a little surprised that it was taking so long to weaken the boy’s grip though.
The stomp was deadened somewhat by his own boot, enough that he didn’t even flinch. The vicious backward kick connected directly with his shin, eliciting a pained hiss. He shifted his weight slightly, sweeping his right leg back a few inches to compensate for the weakening of his stance while the injury healed up. For good measure, he gave the smaller man’s wrist a painful jerk. As Jake swung his elbow, Luke simply ducked his own head in closer, leaning into him; Jake would have had to dislocate his shoulder in order to land that particular blow.
Control the weapon. It wasn’t even a conscious thought. His right arm had already snaked out to grab hold of Jake’s forearm while the boy swung at him wildly. Body armor didn’t help much when it came to defending joints; they had to be left at least somewhat vulnerable in order to permit movement. It did, however, provide a slick, hard to grab surface. His gloved hand scrabbled for purchase, but between the armor and Jake’s harried strikes, he couldn’t quite get a hold. Only a few baton blows managed to make contact, but the awkward angle had robbed the attacks of most of their strength anyway. It reeked of desperation, and if Luke hadn’t been so thoroughly enjoying the closeness and the feeling of power his control of the boy elicited, he might have ended it sooner.
So cold. The observation fought its way to the surface of his mind. Was his pursuer a vampire? Maybe a friend of the one who’d gotten away? From what he remembered of their kind, that seemed unlikely. It would account for the durability, though. He almost brushed his lips along Jake’s pale neck. He wanted more than just a taste though. He wanted to overpower him completely. He wanted him to know he was beaten, and helpless, and beg for it. The addling effect of Jake’s supernatural allure only made it easier for Luke’s monstrous aggression to surface. He didn’t just want to be close to the boy - he wanted to possess him.
That fleeting distraction almost cost him his advantage. He heard the click but it took him a fraction of a second too long to realize what was happening. The extending blade dug into the meat of his tricep, piercing flesh and muscle and striking bone. His regeneration did nothing to shield him from pain, and being stabbed hurt. He grit his teeth, refusing to let up his hold on the slender wrist he had already trapped. “Who the hell are you?” Strain turned his voice into a hiss.
Jake wasn’t the only one with surprises. A normal human arm would have lost significant strength and mobility, but Luke’s arm was far from normal, and far from human. He focused on the mutable limb, willing it to elongate, stretch, and taper. The glove on his hand fell away as his fingers fused together, merging into the tip of what would best be described as a tentacle. The pseudopod lengthened, twisting around Jake’s right elbow, forearm, and wrist to straighten and immobilize his arm while keeping the surprise-sword locked uselessly in his hand.
By then, his right leg was almost completely mended. He braced his left foot on the ground and slammed his right knee into the back of Jake’s to buckle it forward while simultaneously throwing his full weight against the kid’s back. He intended to drive Jake’s pretty face right into the ground while maintaining his wrist lock and using his full body weight to pin him to the cold asphalt. Jake would likely be unable to help but notice the hot, firm bulge pressing against him throughout the process, and Luke wasn’t wholly ignorant of how good it felt to grind himself into his opponent. Focus. It’s almost done.
-
As his ears heard flesh ripping and the subtle reverberations of blade hitting bone he thought, wasn’t expecting that were you.
This fight was over. The weapon gave him the advantages of distance and damage potential. The blades had been designed to be thin enough to slip between ribs but wide enough to make a few pricks all that was needed. Imagine Jake’s surprise when a tentacle that should be an arm immobilized his only defense. Jake had seen many strange and unexplained supernatural phenomenon. He had never seen anything like this. He was still some kind of human. He could feel his warmth, his breath, and his heartbeat. Jake felt almost nice in his arms? Like, how long had it been that he'd gone on a date that his attackers warm breath felt nice on his neck? The answer, too fucking long. At the man's question he returned one of his own.
“Who the fuck am I? Who the fuck are you tentacle boy,” he shot back, freshly tentacled.
He’d go for another kick to the shin. He though that might work, but as he lifted his left leg a strong and powerful knee ended up hitting him directly in the opposite leg. The kick to unbalance him didn’t hurt but Luke throwing him down with his full body weight did, badly. His scream was boyish and turned into a cry. The pain was unfamiliar. His fortitude had failed him. His thoughts had been too clouded. Jake took blade strikes, punches, and kicks and never winced, but the full force of the ground was not what he was used to. For the first moment in the fight Jake felt fear.
Was he really going to die like this to this homeless whatever he was? No. Dying was not an option. There were Camarilla princes who would’ve begged for the honor of killing the traitor Baron Jacob, and his Anarch ilk. He had to think of a response quick.
The warm bulge was confusing and made him even more afraid. Was he going to be violated before he died? The sexual tension, which he was also starting to feel, gave him an idea. He called out to the man. “Please mister,” a teen's voice cried out. “Please don’t hurt me anymore. I’m sorry for following you. I just thought you were handsome.” It was a desperate bit. He knew it, but the unique circumstances called for it. Jake hated playing damsel in distress, but hated the idea of being dead so much more.
He closed his eyes and tried to control his aura. It was easy to send out smut but to create an aura of innocence, now that took skill. He did his best to seem like a beautiful gay boy who’d just gotten lost. The weapons? Self defense of course. But he’d been beaten so badly and learned his lesson so good. He’d say he’s sorry so much more if only he was free. Jake also faked crying and while not a tear fell his performance was hard to resist.
-
They hit the ground hard together, with Luke’s considerably more massive form bearing down on Jake’s slim figure. The pain sounded real, which was something considering the mettle the boy had displayed so far. Luke maintained his grip on the slender wrist he’d trap, and the tentacle (he’d merely grunted in response to the barb) continued to coil and constrict, keeping the kid’s right arm at bay as well.
Jake’s little boy lost bit shouldn’t have worked. He was in body armor, with two weapons that were clearly custom made which Luke had never seen before. He’d strode cockily into the bus yard and made his little declaration. He’d proven a reasonably adept fighter, if clearly inexperienced when it came to grappling. There was a small mountain of evidence refuting his pleading claims that he’d stalked him across blocks and blocks just because he had the hots for him.
He had to admit, the notion was appealing. On some level, he recognized the admission of attraction for the dubious ploy it was. On another level (a level that was very susceptible to Jake’s supernatural allure), the words were almost fulfilling. This beautiful, fascinating creature, whatever he was, wanted him. Another level still, the darker, more primal level that rose to the surface during combat, was even enjoying the pain he was obviously inflicting, and the pitiful sobs. That was when that little voice kicked in, the one that told him right from wrong. Wrong, wrong, wrong. He was within his rights to defend himself, but not to inflict needless pain, and certainly not to be turned on by doing so.
He shifted his weight, pushing Jake’s wrist and arm toward his own back with even more force to make any attempt he made to get up very painful. He would only have an instant to react before Luke’s right foot was braced on the ground and his left knee was pressing into his spine. Pulling away took every ounce of effort that he could, but as he did, an odd urge overtook him. He had been drawn to Jake from the moment he emerged from the shadows to attack, and he still was, but now… now he couldn’t help but wonder if he’d gotten it wrong.
Uncertainty gave the more reasonable aspects of his mind some leverage. Better then, they urged, to handle this thoroughly and professionally. He needed to figure out who the teen actually was, and why he’d come after him, and he needed to do it safely. “Here’s how this is gonna work,” he said quietly, his breathing faintly labored. “You’re gonna tell me who you are, who sent you, and why. If I don’t like your answer, I hurt you. We keep doing that until I don’t feel like hurting you anymore. Simple enough, yeah?” His voice likely betrayed that he didn’t really want to hurt him, and thus that his little act must have been at least partially successful.
-
Well he wasn't a moron. What a shame. Jake liked stupid meat. Still, he was in less danger than he was beforehand and the moment had come to reveal his true plan. He had to sell it. He released his grip on both weapons., giving up any combat option he had left. The crying continued and as Luke pulled Jake's wrist further, the Ventrue allowed the blow to damage him, channeling his fortitude to his mind instead of his body. A crack was audibly heard coming from his wrist. "AWHA," he yelped like a dog. That wrist was likely useless for now.
"Can... Can I at least roll over? I promise to tell you the truth, but I'm afraid. You're obviously so much stronger then me. Can't you hold me down on my back. That way, you can look at my face and see I'm telling the truth."
He pushed hard on the Awe effect as he said the word "face." Jake had such a pretty face, such pretty eyes. The big strong man could see the honesty in his eyes.
-
The crack cut through the combat-inspired haze, and Luke winced. It was slight, but hurting something so rare and beautiful managed to cut through the combat-inspired haze he’d been lost in. His grip loosened - not enough that Jake would imagine he could free himself, but enough that no further injury would be applied to his wounded wrist. He’d released his little swords. He was submitting. How best to accept this surrender?
He had to admit, it would be a hell of a lot easier to gauge the boy’s truthfulness if he could see his face, and he wanted to see his face. He’d never really gotten a good look at it. Luke’s right arm began to slowly unwind from around Jake’s trapped appendage. He didn’t budge yet from his perch atop the prone form. His brow knit in concentration.
His malleable limb remained long and slender, but it grew less supple, straightened, acquired an edge. Over the course of seconds that felt like eternity to Luke, it transformed into a long, wicked looked blade, essentially a two-foot long sword growing from his wrist. Sweat beaded on his forehead. Using the spliced on arm was taxing, particularly in any kind of succession. Jake would have no way of knowing what exactly was happening with his face against the ground, but Luke had just expended nearly as much effort on that singular act as he had their entire fight thus far.
Satisfied, he steeled his features and stood, slipping off Jake’s back to his right side. He still kept hold of the boy’s wrist as he rode, which would more or less force him to flip over onto his back in order to prevent further agony - and there would be agony if he didn’t comply with the silent, guiding directive. Luke would release him as soon as he was completely turned over, then with a rapid thrust, place the tip of the strange blade he’d forged of his own flesh against the boy’s exposed, pale throat. The tentacle might have felt pliable, but whatever Luke had done made the arm-sword gleam, hard and unforgiving with a deadly edge.
He couldn’t help but feel a measure of guilt at he looked down on his defeated opponent. He was so young. So pure. The odds were good that he was just a pawn, forced to engage a foe who was clearly beyond his limits. Luke did his best to look impassive as he regarded Jake, but it would probably be obvious that he was drinking in every detail of his boyish, handsome features.
-
Jake allowed himself to be guided. He kept his body soft, almost appreciate for Luke's help. He was shocked at the arm sword at his throat, but it changed very little in the end. He couldn't wait to learn about that arm. It looked pretty custom. His eyes at first looked wild and fearful, and his mouth was held in shocked grimace. "My name is Jacob," he started, slowly beginning to hold Luke's gaze. He had pretty eyes too, and Jake couldn't help but appreciate the man as he slowly crawled into his brain like a parasite. Luke wouldn't notice it at first. He would just know he couldn't look away from those soft, and doe like marbles.
"My name is Jacob, keep looking at my eyes." The feared look in his eyes and mouth began to shift. The eyes became more half-lidded and his mouth formed a devilish smirk. "And you need to back up and put away your arm," he commanded. He wasn't at the level of mesmerism yet, but he'd commanded Luke to keep looking at his eyes. He'd never known a mortal who escaped Domination after this subtle command. He'd blink on impulse of course, but he couldn't shut his eyes, and he most assuredly couldn't look away.
-
As Jake slithered his way into Luke’s mind, he would find it… unsual, to say the least.
It was rather like breaking into a house that had already been broken into. The door was practically off its hinges, the frame splinted where the locks had simply been torn out. Someone had already been in there, and they’d left a mess. Every drawer and cabinet was open, their contents strewn across the floor. The mental equivalent of furniture was upended, cut open and searched for any hidden valuables. Every “room” was in similar disarray, to the point that Jake would likely be amazed that Luke was even capable of functioning. Getting in and sifting through the wreckage was child’s play; a fledgling could do it on their first try.
In the center of it all, though, was the psychic equivalent of a large, imposing vault. That was untouched, immovable, completely secure. Would Jake be tempted to try to force his way in?
Luke had been transfixed on Jake’s gray gaze from the instant he’d beheld it. He couldn’t look away, and he didn’t want to. He was frozen in place, his mind ground completely to a halt. When the commands came he complied instantly, taking a swift step backward with military poise and precision. The blade began to melt away, gradually returning to its original, inhuman shape. He simply stood there, his own hazel eyes vacant but still locked on Jake’s. It was almost as if he’d been simply shut off; he offered no resistance whatsoever.
-
What a cluster fuck of a mind, Jake thought as he took a tour of the chaos filled shell that was this man. As he stood so inert and ready to receive orders, Jake began to guess what had happened to this poor soul. While the details were not obvious, someone had made this boy their play thing, and by the state of this Ego they were fucking ammeters. He began to feel sadness as he held this force of nature in place. He was almost like a rapid dog.
"Pick up my weapons and hand them to me and then back up to your previous position. Maintain eye contact." The sweet boy was gone and he was replaced by someone who had experience giving orders. His tone was like a military officer, and his authority embodied monarchy.
Then there was the core. It was all that was left. He looked at it's imposing nature, but felt the truth of who this man was had to lie inside. Jake took Luke into a full hypnotic trance, and began to condition as quickly as he could. Back up would be here soon, and the process would be interrupted. He approached the safe, and pushed into it, his mind like a jack hammer and a shadow. It was solid and destructive and yet ethereal and unstoppable. This was real power!
"Tell me your name," he commanded as he took his mental action. A technique of breaking down mental defenses was approaching from multiple angles.
-
Luke obeyed, moving with that same remarkable efficiency to scoop up the fallen weapons and return them to their owner. He didn’t break the occular bond they’d forged; he didn’t even blink. With his task accomplished, he returned to the exact spot he’d been standing in, rigid as a toy soldier.
As Jake deepened his hold on Luke’s haphazard mind, there was no visible effect. He would find it even more simple than usual to do so, as if someone had pre-conditioned the poor man for exactly this sort of intrusion.
For all his scorn, whoever had ravaged Luke’s mind and then locked it up had been undeniably effective. Brutal? Maybe. Crude? Certainly. But the results were likely impressive. Even with his command over the minds of mortals, Jake would find his initial attempts challenged. The vault remained as inert as Luke for five seconds, ten… and then finally, it cracked. The fissure was so thin that someone with less expertise might not even have noticed it.
Several things happened at once. Jake would suddenly find himself treated to a slideshow of horrors. He would feel as if he were secured to a cold mental table by implacable restraints while a team of hazy figures in surgical caps, masks, and scrubs loomed over him. He would feel incisions- skin parting, then fat, then muscle. He would feel himself shake and rage ineffectually, unable to free himself. The scene transformed rapidly. Now he was running, and he felt powerful. The familiar predatory sensation of a hunt would stir. He was chasing someone through a dark, formless building - maybe a warehouse? He was gaining on them, and he wanted nothing more than to rip what passed for life from their body. Another jump-cut. They were happening faster now. A woman’s face, and then a man’s, neither of which the Ventrue would recognize. He would see a mirror, but the reflection showed Luke, scratching at his gray, monstrous arm while he inspected it.
The torrent of sensory data would wash over Jake in an instant, and it would be as if he’d experienced all of it. His attention would likely be diverted by the sound of Luke screaming, though.
The instant Jake had broached the vault, Luke’s voice peeled, blood-curdling, bouncing off the walls that enclosed the bus depot. He sounded like he was being murdered, no, worse than that. Jake would feel the broken mind spasm, and judging by the scent from the blood that was now trickling from Luke’s nose, he might surmise that his prey’s brain was suffering similar effects.
His eyes remained locked on Jake’s even as they widened, dilated, and filled with tears. His lips and tongue moved, struggling to accede to the last demand he’d heard.
“L--- Luuoo--- Luke,” he managed to get out, the word garbled and distorted. With that obligation discharged, he crumpled to the ground in a heap. Simultaneously, the stream of frenzied memory cut out. Jake would feel Luke’s mind fading into darkness, too ephemeral to hold onto at all. His eyes remained open but wholly unresponsive. The lights were off, and nobody was home.
-
He had taken his weapons and extended both blades, holding them in a defensive position around his body. He felt the crack in the safe as he pushed and smiled widely for just a moment.
I knew they were nothing but amm-
His thought was silenced by the deafening scream of this poor wretched man, and the flood of sensory images, one worst than the last. None of these sights, people, or experiences were familiar, save for the hunt. Yet the story was very clear. Even as Jake relived the anguish, the cruelty and the sheer violence inflicted upon this mind, he was able to construct some kind of narrative from it. He had been made by some kind of science. It was also connected to the supernatural in some capacity and those two faces that had popped into his brain were the likely culprits.
Jake didn't have time to feel anything, as the cacophony of snuff porn rotted his own mind. He was amazed this poor wretch had a sense of self at all, and couldn't help but feel hatred for the people who'd done this, whoever they were. As Jake felt his own flesh being peeled off inside of Luke's memory, he let out a guttural scream, and realized it was the same one Luke made now. He tried to break the link, but the vault was actually a black hole, and his own mental pressure added to the scrambling of Luke's brain.
Turn it off. Turn it off. You're killing him. TURN IT OFF!
He broke the link, but his last command had to be obeyed and as he slurred his name and passed into catatonia, Jake dropped his weapons and ran to him, feeling overwhelming guilt. The boy placed Luke's head in his lap and with two fingers closed his eyes, as if he were dead. He wasn't though. Jake heard a strong heartbeat. Perhaps he could be saved. Jake hadn't cried in a very long time. He wasn't old enough to have lost the ability, but he was old enough to have forgotten the last time he'd really let himself go. His cries before had been theater, but several salty and thick tears fell onto Luke's face, as Jake wept.
"I'm so sorry," he said in a whisper, repeating it over and over again. Five minutes passed and a troop of Brujah rolled up and into the bus depot. Their leader was none other than Miss Lisa-Joe Hampton. She had dressed for combat, assuming this was a hit. Her combat boots, jeans and body armor almost made her match her district leader. She had braided her hair into a single long one, and wore a heavy pair of brass knuckles. She was not prepared to see Jake crying, none of them were. For a few brief moments nobody moved, but finally Jake's second in command tapped him on the shoulder.
"We need to move shugah," she advised, tone suggestive not corrective. He snapped out of his tears and misery and nodded that they would move. Lisa-Joe carried Luke herself. She was more than strong enough, and she could tell Jake wanted this human handled carefully. He would be taken to the White Rabbit. And then... And then, at least Jake hoped, this solider boy would wake up, and tell us all about the nice people in masks.
Continued in Soldier Boy (http://www.roleplaycity.com/forum/index.php?topic=7121.0)