Deus Ex Machina

[Harlequin]

Morgaine was faced with a problem.

Having narrowly escaped being collared by Joe, her large black bandmate, in Risk, she was left with the dilemma of having to get out of the general vicinity in a very short window in order to keep it that way – and she had her bike here, so it should have been no problem.

Except that she was running on fumes. Gas prices were driving the singer to extremes.

She walked quickly, away from the back entrance to the club, one hand held up surreptitiously in order to hide her distinctively pierced and tattooed face. Not that her short plaid skirt, ripped fishnet stockings, and torn concert T-shirt could have been placed on anybody else inside the club, but it was good to have her options covered.

Grabbing the metal two-gallon gas can from the back of her monstrosity of a motorcycle, parked (illegally) in between two parking meters nearby, she set off in search of a gas station, looking sour.

About half a block away, however, she saw It, and stopped dead in her tracks.

She wouldn\'t have seen It, had a bank of clouds not passed from the face of the half-moon at precisely that moment, sending a silvery beam glancing off of it\'s gleaming chrome.

It was a beautiful machine. A thing made purely for speed (Alright, partially for looks, too...Okay, more than partially. You could\'ve put that fucker in a museum). It was light, sleek. A crotch-rocket in it\'s purest, most beautifully organic form. This gorgeous blue-painted chrome-and-plastic thing was truly God in the machine.

And it was everything Morgaine hated in a bike. Her lips curled into something between a grin and a sneer as she looked at it, finding herself drawn inexorably toward it into the alley. It was a blind alley – only one exit, if it\'s owner showed up, which could get hairy, but she didn\'t care – a plan was forming in her mind.

After all, what good was such a beautiful machine if you couldn\'t run it?

She knelt next to the bike, starting to sing quietly as she unscrewed the top of the gas can, and reached inside to grab the short length of vinyl hosing coiled inside. She sang as she worked; an upbeat song that she nodded her head to, backup band playing in her head, "The American dream starts with me, girls be flashin\' in my Cadillac, booty dancin\' on my lap, sippin\' champagne, chasin\' Hennessey, possibly." She  located the gas tank and quickly picked and unscrewed the cap, inserting the hose into the nearly-full tank. She stopped singing just long enough to fasten her lips to the other end of the hose, sucking until she got a mouthful of gas, which she spat out quickly. Letting gravity do the rest of the work, she stuck the end now pouring gas into the can, and waited for it to fill.

Nodding her head, and singing  with renewed fervor, she skipped to the chorus, "Rump shaker, heartbreaker, don\'t be a faker, come be my babymaker," Back to the alley\'s mouth, she didn\'t notice the tall figure approaching until he was practically looming over her as she reached for the now-full gas can, "Heartbreaker, moneymaker, don\'t be a faker come be my – Oh." Well, she\'d really screwed the pooch this time, it would seem.

Lyrics © The Suburban Legends

[Existentially Odd]

The vampire whose name had long since escaped him - but he went by Tom, these days - was rather startled to see a woman crouched by his bike as he came strolling up towards it.  He hadn\'t been able to find adequate street parking near Risk when he\'d arrived around midnight, so he\'d snuck it into this neat little hidey-hole, figuring it would be safe enough (well, it had been the past two times he\'d left it here).

As he walked, he leaned forward so that he was walking on the balls of his booted feet, ensuring that the wooden heels didn\'t click on the ground and alert the thief of his approach.  She was singing away anyway, and likely wouldn\'t have heard him, with his preternatural stealth, but it wouldn\'t do to take chances.  He hooked his thumbs into the front pockets of his jeans once he found the right position to stand in, right leg thrust forward and slip hip jutting out.  His black leather jacked was zipped up to his throat over his navy blue, long-sleeved button up shirt (with the top three buttons undone, of course), in preparation for his ride.  He never wore a helmet over his scruffy red locks.

"Bitch," he said without preamble, a sultry grin twisting his wide lips as he looked the woman over.  She was hot, but she was a thief - even if she was only taking his fuel, rather than his bike (as he\'d first thought).  "You\'d better have a Goddamn brilliant explanation about what the fuck you are doing with my bike, or I am gonna\' hurt you in ways people haven\'t even invented yet," he promised in his deep voice.

His grin only broadened as he lazily issued this threat, his head lolling on his muscular neck as he squinted at her through bright blue eyes that danced with the promise of much fun to come.  He looked as much at her tits and her legs as he did at her face.

[Harlequin]

She shifted her stance, assuming a solid, wide-set pose, arms crossed over her chest. His wandering eyes didn\'t escape her notice, and the dark-skinned vixen subtly angled her shoulders to play up her large, round breasts, resting atop her folded arms. If he became distracted enough, she figured she could knee him in the balls and scoot past before he recovered. The light was bad, and he was pretty fucking tall, but she thought she\'d have a shot if she fought dirty. Stalling, she chose to ignore the threat until it became physical. Not that his very presence wasn\'t intimidating enough, especially for someone as small as Morgaine. Given this, she stood her ground admirably.

"Did your momma teach you how to talk to girls? \'Cause that\'s not a nice thing to call somebody."  Unlike her unique singing voice, a hint of both an indigenous New York and Indian accent laced her playful yet hard-edged words. A saucy expression of her own played about the singer\'s scarred features.

She\'d been called worse. In fact, she was often called much worse by people very close to her. It was something of an affectionate pet name.

"Besides, you weren\'t supposed to park here. It\'s against the law." All sass, Morgaine didn\'t seem to notice the gas now overflowing from the can and onto her shoes in a steady stream.

Stall tactics? Never.

[Existentially Odd]

"Fuck!" Tom exclaimed, seeing the petrol begin to overflow.  That was just wasteful.  He moved forward and yanked the hose out of the can, tilting it so that it ran back into his tank.  The container was big and he doubted he\'d be left with nothing to get him to the nearest fuel station, but that wasn\'t the point.

Nor was the fact that he\'d moved faster than her vision likely allowed her to see, to get to the hose on time.  He didn\'t think about the fact that he was advertising his species in the process, he was just interested in stopping her taking what was his.

With an angry snarl, he transferred the draining hose to the hand farthest away from her and, with lightning speed, used the closest one to step in and grab her throat.  A long reach was so handy.  He held her firmly, not really enticed by her tits when she was giving him sass instead of apologies, glaring into her eyes and speaking through gritted teeth as he squeezed her windpipe gently (for him).

"I ate my mother the day that I was made, just like I\'ll eat you unless you start being a whole fuckload sorrier about this little stunt!" he snapped, rather regretting the two pretty things he\'d already feasted on at Risk that evening.  They were much fun, but didn\'t leave a whole lot of room for him to be draining this bitch usefully; he could always tear her jugular open and leave her to bleed on the alley floor, of course, but that would be such a waste.  She had potential, that was for sure.

[Harlequin]

Her eyes grew wide as he moved to fix the gas situation, but before her brain could connect to her feet, there was a hand clamped around her throat. It hadn\'t even occurred to her that he might be a vampire, despite all the time she\'d found herself spending at Risk.

Not a mistake she\'d make again.

Her small hands immediately reached up to claw at the hand holding her throat with stubby fingernails, hissing and spitting curses in Tamil, twisting in his grasp like a wildcat; a knee jerk reaction that she stemmed with a small amount of effort. The singer\'s pulse jumped beneath his rock-hard grip, and she gasped out an apology, distress evident in her voice, as her dark eyes, round with adrenaline, centered on his clear blue ones, "Fucking Christ. Jesus motherfucking christ I\'m sorry. I\'m sorry. Oh, fuck me, I\'m sorry." The words were rushed as he constricted her windpipe. She didn\'t care even, really, what she was saying; anything to get some distance between him and her.

[Existentially Odd]

He laughed heartily, amused by her rapid apology.  Funny how a little persuasion always got you what you wanted.  Still, she was held pretty securely so he turned his attention to the now-empty hose he was holding in his other hand.  He flung it to the ground with a disgusted grunt, then looked for his petrol tank cap.  Before he put it back in however, he had cause to consider the full can by the bike, and the woman in his grasp.

He swivelled to face her again, frowning curiously.  "So, what\'s the deal?  Why the fuck\'re you stealing my gas?" he demanded, giving her a shake to indicate that it was now her turn to talk - just in case she missed it.

[Harlequin]

Morgaine\'s hands clamped onto his wrist in response to the shake, and she gasped again, struggling for air from the combination of his grip and her rising level of distress.
 
"I just needed gas, okay?" she spat, "I was walking to the fucking –" she paused, trying to catch her breath, and her grip tightened on his wrist, stubby fingernails digging in out of pure instinct "– I was walking to the fucking gas station and I saw your bike. Anybody with a fuckin\' rig like that\'s got t\'be fuckin\' loaded so I figured you could spare it, okay? I\'m sorry. Jesus Christ, please let go of me."
 
She wasn\'t used to this sensation. Morgaine was supposed to be the predatory one, the one with the witty lines and all the power. It was different at risk; strictly hands-off, she was part of the club. But outside – she\'d been in a fight with vampires before, but the whole gang had been there, as well as some other supernaturals.
 
This was different. She was helpless for the first time in a long time, and she didn\'t fucking like it one bit.

[Existentially Odd]

He cocked an auburn eyebrow, considering her thoughtfully from his excessive height, looking down his proud nose at her.  "So," he spat, wanting to sum up her story (and he still didn\'t let her go), "you were looking for gas - were walking for it, even - when you spied my bike and decided, just because you think I\'m rich, that I deserved to pay for your fuel instead?" he demanded, his words rising in pitch and obtaining a sing-song quality as he spoke.  He threw back his head to contemplate the smoggy sky through the gap overhead.

"Well, well, well," he told that sky, appearing to think over all sorts of powerful and profound questions from his lordly position.  Very suddenly, his head snapped forward and he was staring at her again.  "Just what do you even need fuel for, anyway?"  He looked around the empty alleyway pointedly, then glared back at her.  "You got a car \'round here or somethin\'?"

[Harlequin]

"Well, when you say it like that..." she muttered, before she remembered herself and bit her tongue.

She involuntarily attempted to flinch away from the intensity of his glare, only to be stopped by the iron grip at her throat. Wincing slightly as she felt his fingers bite in, she held his gaze, suspicious, "I have a bike...around," she said evasively. A piece of long black hair, dislodged by her sudden movement, chose this moment to fall across her face, obscuring one eye. She made no move to brush it back, as that would have meant relinquishing her hold on his wrist.

[Existentially Odd]

He snorted a laugh at her.  "You\'re a fucking smartass now?" he asked incredulously, unable to believe she was being evasive and giving him cheek when he had her by the fucking throat.  "Bitch, you do beat all!" he exclaimed, his tone implying that he was impressed despite himself.

Enough that he let her go, anyway, his hand dropping to his hip and the other one rising to the opposite side at the same time.  He didn\'t look at any damage her clawing might have done to him, for it would be mended in moments and hadn\'t really pierced his indignation to the point where her attacking him had had much impact, really.  He was far too busy staring pompously at her, anyway.

"You need to pay me back," he told her succinctly, each word falling crisply from his deviously twisted lips, "and then I\'ll consider letting you keep the fuel."

[Harlequin]

She stepped away from him as fast as she could, breathing deeply and rubbing her throat, where his fingers had been. She\'d have a wicked bruise, for sure, but she was glad to be getting away with only that.

The singer bit back a smartass reply to the first comment, and focused on the second part instead. "Fine," she said, "Great. How much?" She knelt down to fish in her left shoe. She came back up with a small wad of bills in her hand – thoroughly soaked with the spilled gasoline. "Aw, motherfuck..." she muttered. She\'d forgotten about that. On top of everything, she\'d need new shoes. She loved these shoes – black leather combat boots; real ones, none of that department store fashion knockoff bullshit. It was a nightmare to find those fuckers in her size.

"Keep the fuckin\' gas," she said, "I just wanna get the fuck outta here before I say somethin\' else to piss you off." Which she was pretty much guaranteed to do, knowing Morgaine.

[Existentially Odd]

He lifted a hand off his hip and waved towards the soggy bills negligently.  "I think we\'ve both established I have enough of that," he told her airily, glancing at the money before watching her face intently, hand returning to his hip.  His smile just seemed to grow every time he looked at her.

"You\'ll need to come up with something better than that to offer me," he told her charmingly, forcing himself not to look down at her body because that would just make things too easy.

He fully believed she had the ability to say something else to piss him off as well, and that\'s what he was really after.  That sort of live entertainment couldn\'t be bought and, now that he\'d got a good look at this bitch (not to mention a feel for how her pulse leapt when threatened), he felt that she was worth investing a little time into, even if all she did was hiss and spit until he made up his mind what he wanted to do with her, one way or the other.

[Harlequin]

Her mouth became a hard line, and she looked at him. Just looked at him. Her hands left her neck, and her arms folded again. One hip jutting, her foot tapped impatiently, making a squishing sound every time it came down, "Are you being serious right now?" she asked, finally, in a measured tone.

Because, judging by what she had on her person at this moment in time, there were only two things she could really give him. Kinky fun. Except for the fun part. Yeah, he was cute enough – alright, he was fucking hot – but so far the the skeeze factor was definitely working against him, in that department, "So let me get this straight – it\'s gonna come down to death or a back-alley blowjob...over two gallons of gas?"

Things looked a lot rosier when she was out of arm\'s reach (it was going to take her a bit to realize that that didn\'t mean anything to a vampire), but the ache in her throat was enough to stop her from taking a dig at his masculinity.

"Seems a bit...excessive, doesn\'t it?"

[Existentially Odd]

He gave a full-throated laugh.  "I dunno... how much do you generally charge?" he asked once he\'d calmed down, his smile causing his dimples to show.  As far as he knew, whores gave blowjobs for about that - not that she was a whore.  He just enjoyed implying she was.

"Seems about equivalent to me," he sneered, giving her that look-over he\'d been holding back on, every devious thought he was having evident in his expression now.

[Harlequin]

"Generally they\'re free," she told him, with a matching sneer, "For people I like." She treated him to the same callous once over, and snorted, tossing her hair. See how much he liked it.

"So are we done here, or do you need to give me a spanking, too?" she asked, voice dripping sarcasm, one brow crooked.