Fun and Games

[Existentially Odd]

Tom woke up and immediately wondered why he had.  Instinctively, he turned his head to see if he was alone, and only then realised he was in his coffin, in the basement.  Of course he was alone, was there any other state of being for him?  Annoyed at his own idiocy, he shoved the lid open and sprang out of the \'bed\' he\'d slumbered the day away in, doing his damndest to push all thoughts of Reed away with it.

It didn\'t happen easily.  He knew why, of course; the only place to find good snow lately was in the southern hemisphere and he\'d just returned from a power-boat-romping, glacier-scaling ski trip to New Zealand with his crew and Reed had been there.  The first time they\'d met up in months, and it had to be one of the last places they\'d been together, happy - but the place that had triggered his stupid decision to attempt to lure Reed to his side permanently.

The mortal had moved on, which had been painfully clear when he brought his latest fuck on the adventure and decided to come out to the rest of the crew.  None of them were really surprised, none of them particularly cared, but all of them watched Tom speculatively for the remainder of the trip, knowing he\'d been especially close to Reed, sensing that there\'d been something going on but not having the balls to ask.

A week he\'d been back in this shithole of a city that passed for \'home\' and he still hadn\'t got the lump out of his craw.  Reed had moved on; he fucking needed to.

The redhead stalked upstairs with no particular plan in mind - beyond getting the fuck out of the house and doing something tonight, rather than moping about the house.  He showered, washed his hair, dressed in faded blue jeans and a white business shirt that he rolled the sleeves up on, and left the top three buttons undone to bare his throat and the top of his chest.  He stared at the décolletage in the mirror as he finger-combed some wax through his hair and took the time to spike it, wondering if he was baring too much in a city filled with all sorts of predators.  In the end, he decided he didn\'t give a fuck; everything about him was raw and exposed lately, it didn\'t make a shitload of difference.

He applied a whole lot of expensive, musky cologne, pulled on his leather jacket and wooden-heeled cowboy boots and got on his bike.  It purred to life with a high-pitched cough that evoked a rush of love within him and even brought out enough of a smile to show the dimple in his left cheek as he jigged the throttle (just to hear her scream).  He put his helmet on (it was easier to bring his hair back from being mashed inside a helmet than it was from having 200km winds tear through it) and thumbed the snap of his collar closed upon his throat before he leaned his long body over the huge, powerful machine and roared out of his garage.

He rode nowhere in particular at first - keeping a keen eye on the tank so that he didn\'t run out of petrol again... that had been a... bad thing - and found himself oozing along the coast roads, his body shifting like mercury in a thermometer as he peeled around the corners, up and down as the road went.  The speeds he did were insane and he really hoped a cop would pull him over, for he felt like a snack, but none found him.

Turning back towards the city, he followed the lights as they turned green, allowing himself to get lost in the gargantuan, beating heart that was the metropolis.  His memory was shit, he knew he\'d have a hard time finding his way home but that need was hours away and he had a whole lot of trouble to stir up before then, besides; he didn\'t give a fuck.

Eventually, the troubled vampire happened upon the garish lights and ringing sounds of the amusement park, surprised to see it and curious immediately.  He wondered if there were as many thrills and spills to be found within the place as some of the signs claimed there were and he decided, on a whim, to find out.  He found a parking space, secured his bike and headed in, helmet tucked beneath his right arm.  The admission price made his eyebrows rise but he paid what was demanded and entered the grounds, coming to a sudden stop just inside the entryway as he got his bearings, absently unsnapping his jacket collar so he could once more daringly open his throat to the night.

Where to, first?

[Abderus]

The tinkling carnival music was, for Amery, like listening to a younger version of himself whisper in his ear:
Mommmmyyy, can we go to the place with the rides? –Maybe next summer, Amery.

Amery could see his little self bouncing up and down in the bus seat as the route swung close enough to the amusement park, eyes glued to the window at the brightly colored loops and spirals in the distance, poking up over the surrounding landscape: so close, and always out of reach. He hadn’t really intended to come here tonight. Or ever, really.

Amery didn’t usually kill when he hunted: he just drank, and stole, and occasionally beat the shit out of his victim. But only so that, when the mortal woke up, the other injuries would account for the blood loss and explain away the bite marks, hidden under other cuts and bruises. Tonight he had merely stolen—not far from the amusement park, some rich fat fuck should be coming around with their wallet two hundred dollars lighter. And at least a fat lip.
He’d actually been on his way home.

He needed to feed, but he wouldn’t touch his lips to the skin of someone he hated. And he hated rich fat fucks. But it was a beautiful night, and he figured he could just comb the beach for stragglers or late night love makers. They were usually worth the search. But when he’d seen the distant lights of Fantastika blinking over to his left, twinkling irresistibly in the darkness, he’d changed course. He didn’t give the beach a second thought.
It was time he go.
And so he went.
   --
It was like he had imaged, only more sinister. As a boy he had never envisioned Fantastika at the nighttime, only in the light. But now the day was lost to him. And so, with only the night, he spent hours exploring the grounds of the amusement park. He had paid the entrance fee out of the stolen $200, but did not ride any of the rides or purchase anything. The only thing that had even tempted him was a game where, grabbing a mallet, you hit a target as hard as you can to see if you can make a little metal weight fly to the top of a pole. It was called ‘The Strongest-Man Challenge.’ Amery had been sorely tempted. But he wasn’t a man. And he didn’t feel (what little so young a vampire could feel) that he was the strongest lurking the grounds this night. Though he was an apt individual to secretly believe it.

Still, he was not disappointed. He felt some sorrow at his lost child self, who never had the opportunity to go to the amusement park and, even now after death, would never take part in any of the rides or games that had so entranced him. He remembered when he was six or seven he had set up the couch cushions and old bean bags and tried to make his own amusement park in the loft he shared with his brother when they came to stay with his grandparents. “I am the Ringmaster!” he’d declared, and Miles had laughed at him and said “Ringmasters are for circuses, dummy” and Amery had been so angry that he started attacking Miles until the two were tumbling around together on the floor throwing child fists and screaming like banshees.
It was the first time Amery had ever hit anyone.

But he was dreaming, lost in thought. He sat on a bench near the cotton candy and popcorn stalls, arms outstretched on the back of the bench as though he had a beautiful lady sitting on either side of him. The smell of whipped sugar, and burnt corn kernels and butter and oil from the hotdog stand put his olfactory in sensory overload. His ears could here nothing but the rumble of voices, the creak of machinery, and the tinny music of the amusement park. He closed his eyes from the sights—he didn’t wish to look at people. He was too hungry, but too reluctant to leave. And he couldn’t hunt here.

Well, perhaps he could have. But he didn’t know this place. He didn’t know what claims stood, or what other creatures (vampire or other) were here or knew that he was here. His senses were not strong enough to detect those others yet. And he couldn’t risk screwing up. He was too young, and others were too… too everything else.

He leaned forward, rubbing his fingers into the top of his scalp because it felt good. When took his hand away, hair was standing up in all directions, but he either didn’t notice or care, or both. He let that hand rest in his lap, and looked down at it distractedly as he fell back into thought. It was a rare occasion for Amery to be so contemplative—but it had been a long day of action. And without new blood, the young vampire was feeling mellower and more content with inaction than perhaps he would have been on any other night.
He closed his eyes again, imagining the shadows of the mortals projected on the inside of his eyelids: A puppet show of silhouettes. They didn’t dance, they didn’t juggle—they just walked passed, or reached for something, or turned their heads to look in other, more enticing directions…

[Existentially Odd]

He began with the roller coasters - the fastest first and the rest in a guessed order based on his belief about their speeds.  Because the entry fee accounted for all the rides he wanted, he returned to the fastest in between the others (not such an arduous task, since he could only find four different roller coasters altogether) and grew to really like it.  The speeds it reached were phenomenal and he was flipped around so often it felt like the machine was designed to shake a stray pancreas out of its passengers; it was perfect.

He headed off to explore the rest of the park in a noticeably improved mood after his speedy beginning, not finding a whole lot of value in the motionless attractions like the house of mirrors (though some of the cute girls squealing their way through them did have appeal) but happy to skip anything that didn\'t strike his fancy or ignite his imagination.

The vampire was about halfway through his amusement park adventure when he caught the scent of another undead being in the park, brought to him by an errant gust of wind.  Though it was not enough to stop him in his tracks, the redhead nevertheless veered in the direction of the source of that smell, just to check them out.  Within a few paces he knew it was a \'him\', not a \'them\' and could easily see the male sprawled across a seat, relaxed as a lizard on a hot summer road with no traffic.

Now Tom did come to a stop, about two metres away from the boy, looking him over.  Sensing youth in the supernatural stranger, the elder naturally became more brazen, his thumbs sliding into his jeans pockets and a definite swagger oozing into his shoulders as he approached.  Irrationally, the sight of the completely ignorant and seemingly innocent young vampire sprawled upon the bench minding his own business infuriated the redhead and his expression became a sneer of disdain as he chose to alert the other to his presence.

"What\'s that shit s\'posed to accomplish?" Tom demanded, posed with arrogant indifference before the unknown male by keeping his thumbs hooked in his pants, left hip thrust outward and right boot splayed forward.  He looked down his nose at the neophyte and was satisfied that he was superior in every way; it didn\'t hurt to alert others to this fact every now and then, though.

[Abderus]

Amery hadn’t heard anyone approach him, but when the words hit his ears he immediately came around. Those chosen words were exactly what Amery longed to hear night after repetitious night. A fucking invitation to stir shit up. About fucking time. Blood, Fuck or Fight, he was instantly pumped. His eyelids sprung back open in a snap—no coy slow-blinks or side glances. He didn’t roll that way.

Confrontation?—fuck you and everybody. A reason to beat your ass, dumbshit, and not feel bad about it.
You wanna start shit?—try me, I fuckin dare you.
You got nothing against this, mother fuc—{—he’s-a-vampire-god-fuckin-damn-it-cocksucker.ShitAmery-you-need-to-wake-the-fuck-up}—ker.

He had been all riled up in a millisecond, body high on rapid-response adrenaline, at full advantage… then a fraction of a second later, a moment’s observation, and he was on the defensive. Fuck. Not that he was going to show it. Fuck no. If the other could sense it, then he was fucked, but he wasn’t about to wave a little white flag in the other’s face. He’d see first if the vamp wasn’t just acting tough shit...
...and with that Amery had talked himself into and out of two mood swings in about 2½ seconds. And he finally had his shit together.
He punched himself mentally—be faster, bitch.

“Suppose’ta keep wankers like you from sittin down next to me, bro," Amery said, eyes doing a swift and seemingly unimpressed once-over/up-down of the vampire. "S’why don’t you and your boots just keep on walkin, Indiana—this ain’t the Loveboat.”

Amery spoke with less speed, and bound up energy, as one privy to his thought process might have expected. And his words were heavy with accent, picked up from the countless city voices he’d been exposed to in his young, but intense, lifetime. He could have sounded like a complete pose: jocky-white boy trying to be the shit. But he wasn’t posing. He was playing it up some, sure, but that’s how you talked on the street when someone was in your business. Play it up, so long as you could back it up.

And he could back it up, if at least when his foe was mortal. Vamp’s were tricky shit, and Amery had reason to stay sitting. Which he wouldn’t have been if the man in front of him had been just that: a man. If he had been, Amery would’ve been on his feet and in his face in a second. Still, he was ready for it, should it happen. In fact, his legs were practically quivering just with the idea of leaping to his feet. The muscles in his arms were tightened in anticipation of throwing punches and smashing that arrogant expression back into the vampire’s skull. He didn’t know who this red-headed fucker was, but Amery’s eyes were locked onto his, searching: for weakness, discomfort, any visible sign to say he’s bluffing.

Somehow, somewhere, he’s bluffing. Immortals are always bluffing. It was one of the two things Amery had learned about the supernatural since his turning: there’s always a catch, and they’re always bluffing.

And if Amery could get to the bluff first, then he could probably get out clear. Or at least get the first move.




So long as the red-head didn\'t catch Amery\'s bluff first.

[Existentially Odd]

wankers like you
wankers
like you
wanker

Bluish eyes narrowed as the word bounced around inside his head, the memories of Reed it kicked up stinging like a bitch; he gritted his teeth against it and glared hatefully at the kid.  Hatefully... with pure, rich hatred.

The other was so new he practically had a heartbeat, except he had the added drawback

bonus

of being exactly what Tom had been contemplating making a permanent fixture in his life; a youthful, good looking guy who couldn\'t be harmed by simply rolling wrong in a kayak or having a tonne of snow land on him as he skiied down a mountain.  This boy, this child was what he\'d covetted, what he\'d taken within his heart, what he\'d desired in his bed, what had given him sleepless days and made him make a total fool of himself.

This guy was far too much like Reed for there to be anything satisfactory found here.

Tom forced a laugh - well, an insidious snicker of condescension and scorn that slid from between his compacted lips, anyway - and curled his lip elegantly at the young vampire.  "You look like a fuckin\' beacon, exuding undead pheromones so the mortals\'ll just flock to you to get bit," he mocked, flinging his arms wide and dropping his head back upon his shoulders, feet coming together with alarming speed in a class crucifix stance.

"Come to me!" he beseeched the sky with gusto.  "I am the Jesus Christ of vampires and I shall change your blood into mine!" he declared with all the enthusiasm of an evangelist lost in a frenzy of faith.  It was obvious he didn\'t give a shit about who might be passing and hearing him out the other as supernatural.  He also didn\'t hold the pose for long, for he wouldn\'t have put it past the aggressive little vamp to have charged him while he wasn\'t looking; his gaze dropped to the boy as quickly as was practicable, pretty lips curled in a smirk.  He snickered again, for good measure, lowering his arms to his sides as well, so that his thumbs could hook into his pockets once more.

Then, with one last withering look and a shrug of dismissal for the neophyte, Tom turned to the right and began to stroll arrogantly away.  The \'Fuck you, wanker,\' was implied, he felt.

[Abderus]

This red-headed vampire was confusing Amery. And Amery didn’t like to be fucking confused.

He had been sure, dead-fucking sure, that he’d just fucked up and set himself up to a fight with another, obviously older and stronger, vampire. No one gave a death glare like that and then just… well, did nothing. What was he playing at?

A beacon, Amery scoffed in his thoughts—well, it drew you in, bitch, now didn’t it. He would have said it out loud, but then came the fucking failed high school monologue bullshit, and Amery was distracted by desiring (even more than he already did) to smash up that smirking face, to show the redhead how skin deep pretty really was.
Which wouldn’t really work, and was a bad idea anyway, since he was a vampire.
Amery had to keep telling himself that.
Old Vampire + me = eternity gets a lot fucking shorter.

He didn’t know where the fuck the red-head had pulled the Jesus thing from (probably his ass) or what the point was—either way it was old shit. Jesus-Vampire-Blood-and-wine-and-damnation-and-go fuck yourself you cocky shit. Amery had even heard it before, and he wasn’t yet older than he looked. Same book, same fucking old ass stupid piece of shit story, just a different damn page…

And then the extravaganza was done, with only a few nearby mortals casting awkward, sideways glancing, faces buried in giant mothballs of cotton candy, or picking up their mustard shmeared hot dogs and dragging their unabashedly staring mustard shmeared children away.

And then they were two.

And Amery had to literally bite the inside of his lower lip to keep from getting to his feet and assaulting the red-head. Though the prick of pain reminded him to keep his seat, the trickle of blood into his mouth only roused his anger. And hunger. Stupid idea. Fuck he needed to fucking drink!

Don’t you fucking walk away from me, bitch…
--that’s the point, Amery
I’ll beat that sneer off your face so fast…!
--Which wouldn’t really work, and would be a bad idea anyway, since-he’s-a-vampire-for-the-fucking-last-time!
Mother Fucker! Cock sucking piece of shit you better fucking leave and hope I never find you again!

With the vampire’s back turned, at least somewhat, Amery\'s tempation towards agression was lessened. It wasn’t a fight if you pounced them from behind like a coward, if they were walking off, if you fucking had to chase after him, if the fucking bastard was walking away like he was too cool for school, like he couldn’t care less, even though he’d started it, why the fuck would he walk away, it didn’t fucking make sense that he’d fucking just walk away after Amery told him to get lost, unless shit-what-the-fuck…? Just walking away—So easy? Was he fucking afraid? No fucking way…there’s a catch.

Or he’s bluffing.

“Good decision, Indiana—”

...second guessing his authority in the situation, backing out before he gets too involved?

“—oh and don’t forget your balls,”

Well… good.

“you might need them.”

because subordinacy wasn\'t really Amery\'s -thing-...

“Someday.”

[Existentially Odd]

With all the celerity an extremely active, extravagantly fit vampire of over two centuries could muster, Tom whirled and raced back to the boy on the bench.  The rage held a knife-twist of bitter pain and oh, how it burned in him, like he was a flare released into a vast black sky from a leaking, lurching ship; he was hope and he was fury and he wanted to hurt the arrogant little fuck in ways that didn\'t even bear counting.

He wasn\'t lucid enough to acknowledge that he was subconsciously seeking to punish Reed by beating the shit out of this little punk - he wasn\'t enlightened enough to reach such conclusions even if he was thinking clearly right then.  He saw white and he acted, hurling himself back to the boy on the bench and aiming to get a good, strong grip on the little fuck\'s throat (unless the kid had moves enough to escape such a mind-bogglingly swift movement).

"The fuck you got my balls!" he bellowed as he went, fully intent on proving that he hadn\'t been walking away from the younger supernatural because he\'d been emasculated or surrendered his treasured bits to the kid; he\'d walked on his terms and he was back to prove it... one screaming, spittle-flung word at a time.

[Abderus]

The fingers had closed around Amery’s throat before the other Vampire’s words hit his ears. But even before that, there was a moment when Amery’s brain made the connection that this was -not- going to end in easy victory and -yes- the mother fucker was coming back at him, and, yes, there was finally going to see some blood but it was probably going to be his own…

That was about as far as he got before the momentum of the charging vampire struck him. As did a single idea. One lone idea that occurred to him in the moment of surprise and pain as unnaturally strong fingers drew tight around the skin, and muscles, and tubes in his neck. Just one, little, possible opportunity…

…and, so, Amery really hoped the bench wasn’t bolted down.

He couldn’t defend himself fast enough. He knew it. He was too fucking slow, because he was too damn young, and the red-head had definitely not been bluffing and Amery was wishing about now that he’d left the vampire’s testicles out of the whole ordeal. He might have gotten away with just “Good decision, Indiana,” a clean and solid enough victory, but no….he had to add the balls. And now his throat was being crushed and constricted so that he couldn’t say anything at all in retort. Body over mind. He could only open his mouth in shock, instinctively gasping for a breath he didn’t need, and throwing his head back…and his shoulders…and his torso…

Momentum save me--and please don’t let this fucking bench be bolted down.

[Existentially Odd]

To a degree, Tom was ready to be thrown off balance by some sort of action the kid took, but the bench flinging them both over like a boulder thrust from a catapult took him by surprise.  He\'d committed himself to grasping a hold of the neophyte and so he did it with gusto, thereby rocketing the bench backwards and them with it.

The first thing he did was let go.  The second thing was throw himself into the forward momentum so that he didn\'t get too hurt; he rolled, completing a neat somersault along the ground that left him a bit dirty and in a confined space due to the bench being positioned to the side of the walkway and between the two stalls.

Tom spun on his heel the millisecond he was standing again, adrenaline also coursing through him at ever-increasing speeds.  His focus was getting his hands back on the young vampire who\'d caused this trouble in the first place.  "You little fuck," he seethed - as if it was Amery\'s fault directly that the bench wasn\'t bolted to the ground - envisioning his fists getting a good grip of whatever material covered the kid\'s shoulders and hauling him into an upright position.

Of course, if Amery was already standing, that wouldn\'t be necessary and he\'d only try for one hand grasping shirt, while the other swung a punch; he wasn\'t fussy, but he was intent on ripping the little smartass a new one for his impertinence.

[Abderus]

Standing would not have been the best word to describe Amery at that moment. He would have liked to have been doing it. It was probably what he should have been doing. But, alas, it was not what he was doing.

What he was doing, was being momentarily stuck.
And that did not feed his ego one bit.

Great. Wonderful. The bench wasn\'t bolted—Bra-fucking-vo-that-fucking-hurt-like-a-bitch!

The momentum of the charge had quite easily knocked the bench over—and the two of them with it. But Amery hadn’t exactly been in the best receiving position for the tumble, and before he knew what was happening his head cracked back against the cement, or hard packed dirt, or whatever the fuck was behind the bench (Amery, at the moment dazed and facing skyward, was not exactly in the ideal position either to correctly identify what surface he was laying on.) But that, really, wasn’t the most painful part. The most physically painful part, yes, but he was a vampire—he’d heal. It was the psychological distress he went through when, upon attempting to roll off and leap to his feet, he found that his shoulders seemed glued to the back of the bench.

His fucking hood was pinned between the fucking ground and the fucking bench--God Fucking Damn it.

Fuck.

As mental obscenities gushed through his mind like water from a hose, his body was busy trying to figure out how to un-stuck itself. All his weight was back against his shoulders, and gravity wasn’t being kind even to his vampiric strength. A young vampire, sure, but a goddamn vampire nonetheless. The bench must have been… heavy, too.

His face flushed (from insult and injury and being too long upside down) and the back of his head tingled in pain as his body repaired itself as quickly as possible. Still, his head was swimming. And he was still in a fight. And he needed to get back up now…no excuses. Amery let out a noise something between a growl and a curse, and then in one all-out attempt he threw his weight backwards and away from the bench.

One backwards summersault, a fraction of a second of stretched seams and wriggling, and a staggering stand later, Amery was up on his feet again facing the red-head. Only he hadn’t a hoodie or shirt on any longer. Like the shell of a disappeared turtle, his two layers of clothing (remaining neatly one inside the other) were still pinned and lying in a strange face-down position where Amery had recently been struggling. It was a bit eerie looking. But Amery didn’t really care to look at the moment. After all, he was half naked, had lost valuable seconds, and had a really fucking bad headache at the moment. Contemplating the artistic valuing and metaphorical significance of his positioned clothing was not high on the list of things to be accomplished while in a fight with a vampire. And he was pretty damn sure said vampire would be on top of him in any second. If only his eyes would stop wobbling and he could focus on the mother fucker… fooooccccuuuusss

[Existentially Odd]

Some of the venom in Tom\'s attack dissipated when he turned and found the kid pinned beneath the bench - that was just fucking pathetic, especially the useless (and dizzy) way he would try to move but not manage to - and his face twisted into a sneer as he watched the idiot wobbling about.  He had no clue about the clothing hindering Amery\'s recovery and just as he was about to swoop down and haul the upside down turtle to his feet, the kid rolled... clean out of his clothes.

What
the
fuck?

He didn\'t look too steady on his feet but the fact that he was up was good enough for Tom; the rage that came from an upstart giving him shit surged through him once more and he stepped to the other vamp, aiming a quick, solid punch at his gut, to be followed by a powerful roundhouse to his jaw.  He hoped the little fuck had banged his head and that one good whack to the face would knock him out, put him on his ass nice and clean and show him the error of his ways without too much dicking about, but he was prepared for more.

Hell, as targets went, this one had made a pretty easy one of himself; he could go all fucking night like this, until the bastard was a pile of bleeding pulp and his knuckles were raw from scraping against the kid\'s face... he had a lot of anger to get out and he was only getting started.

[Abderus]

foooocccuu--there-he-is...shit.

Disorientation still being the order of the night, he caught the vampire’s movement too late to block the fierce shot to his gut. He hadn’t been expecting that. After all, as far as Amery was concerned, real fighters hit first to the face. This low blow was…well, a low blow.

Fuck head—fight like a man!

It seemed a perfectly logical statement to Amery, but he was forced only to think it because all the muscles in his stomach were currently contracting as they took the blow, and he wasn’t able to get in enough air to form the words on exhale. There was a brief flash of accompanying nausea as well, and when combined with his still aching (hell, probably cracked) skull it felt like… a wonderful combination of awesomeness.

Amery had had enough of this shit.
Yeah the mother fucker was stronger. Yeah he was faster. Yeah he had the fucking advantage, okay—but fuck that. He wasn’t about to be some immortal\'s punching bag for playing by the rules. It was the stuck up, cocky shit red-head who’d started it, Amery decided, probably for just this reason. Who’s to say he would have continued walking away if Amery hadn’t said anything? He probably just would have found another excuse to start shit. Well fine. Go fuck yourself, then!

It was when the pain in his stomach was peaking that he knew he would have to move. It was always when it hurt the most that the opponent had the best shot. And would usually take it. Amery grit his teeth and brought his head down even lower than it was, throwing himself towards his rival and practically into the other vampire’s arms. Not that it would hurt—that wasn’t the point. The main point was to get too close to take a straight on face shot, which was the number one thing Amery didn’t want right then. And it also looked like the number one thing the other vampire was attempting to do.
The point, also, was to establish playing terms. If the fucker wanted to play low first blow, then let’m play even lower...

Once he made contact with the vampire’s body, he straightened up as fast as he was able, fighting through the stars and the wails from his internal organs. The next step was to grab and yank down on pretty-boy’s collared shirt, bringing up his knee at the same time with all the supernatural strength and speed he had in his young body. Shout-growling out a string of words with all the air he’d been able to draw back into his lungs since the hit, he managed a rough—

“the fuck you got your balls!”

—hoping it would prove valid.

Never had Amery wanted to feel another man’s testicles make contact with a part of his body more than he did now. He wanted to feel the bloody baubles crush against his knee, feel his kneecap slam against the pinnacle of the pelvic bone. It didn’t matter to Amery who that second part hurt more, though he had an idea. Hell, he even wanted to endure the shame of fighting low if it gave him so much as a glimpse of pain and anguish on the face of that sneering, self-absorbed blood-bitch.

[Existentially Odd]

Tom was only enraged by the little fuck avoiding his second punch by falling in against him - especially when their tussle continued at close quarters and he was being grabbed.  Buttons popped, another curse flew and suddenly, a knee was thrusting upward at surprising speed.  The intent was no surprise whatsoever.

Thankfully, Tom\'s reactions were lightning fast and he managed to spin his crotch to the side in time.  The problem with such a swift hip swivel, however, was that he instinctively brought his left leg up for further protection... the kid\'s knee slammed hard into his thigh, momentarily bunching the muscle (thankfully, the lack of bloodflow to undead muscles limited the impact bludgeoning had so there would be no bruise and minimal pain) but, unfortunately, throwing him entirely off balance.

"You little cunt!" he bellowed, grasping wildly at the younger vampire\'s wrists - to no avail.  All six feet and five inches of him toppled to the right, assisted by Amery shoving him away (in an effort to avoid his hands being pinned, no doubt), forcing Tom to stop grabbing at the air and get a feel for what his body was doing instead.  As with the bench, he quickly determined it was best to go with the flow of his fall but this time it was nowhere near as neat and graceful

Oh fuck

he just did the best he could, under the circumstances.

Tom was gifted a fair bit of momentum thanks to the kick delivered unintentionally to his thigh but his upper half was slower to get with the program - plus, his body was already contorted due to his efforts to protect his testicles in the first place.  Awkwardly, he fell down upon his right elbow (scraped it), half slid, half rolled onto the shoulder (tore the shirt, scraped a bit more skin off) and ended his gaudy manoeuvre by swinging his incredibly long legs up and sort of over his head, stopping briefly in a fucked-up bridge type formation that left him entirely vulnerable.

Thankfully, there was still his superior age and celerity to draw on, so he didn\'t stop there, but pushed off the bitumen of the walkway and got to his feet in as gangly and hasty a manner as he was able.  It would\'ve looked easily as horrible and stupid as the kid had when he rolled out of his shirt but Tom still had his on (for all it was worth, hanging in tatters as it was.  He was half regretful, half glad now that he\'d found a cloakroom to store his helmet and jacket while he road the roller coasters earlier - both would\'ve been ideal protection right about now)... and now really wasn\'t the time to worry about how he looked, so long as he stopped himself being incapacitated.

"I\'ll fuckin\' ram \'em into your mouth!" he promised as he managed to end up facing Amery at last, not really taking the time to think about the fact that he was threatening to shove his own testicles into the mouth of the man most likely to bite them off in the name of sport.  He also had no idea how his nuts had become such a hot topic tonight but he had no discipline to consider that right now; he was busy trying to size the neophyte up to figure out how best to charge and headbutt the little fuck.

He wanted the shithead to see more than stars, he wanted the fucking solar system to be rocketing \'round this guy\'s brain by the time his forehead finished its run at the bridge of the upstart\'s nose.  It was a classic thuggery move but he couldn\'t wait to see blood pouring down the pretty boy\'s face, watch him spit a tooth or two out (even though he\'d aim for his nose... he was happier imagining a loss of fangs as well, anyway) and blur his vision with tears.  The thought of all that blood only heightened his senses, in fact, arousing him in whole new ways.  Yes, yes a headbutt was exactly what was called for now (since they were apparently fighting as dirty as it got), he just had to work how to get in close enough to do it.

(ooc: I realise I Godmoded Amery shoving Tom away when Tom grabbed for his hands, but I figured it was only natural.  I am, however, only too happy to re-write the scene with him hanging on if that is what you prefer - I wrote my reply going one way and completely re-wrote it once already, I need it to feel right for both of us before I\'m happy, I think, so don\'t be afraid to tell me, \'No way, Amery would hang on!\' if that\'s what you want.  Let me know!)

[Abderus]

(ooc: Your reply was smashing ^ ^
 No worries about the godmode; a little bit here and there is fine for fight scenes…in my book at least. Plus, if you get out of hand I can always report you to the….uh…administrators….damn it -_- nevermind. XD)

Testicles beyond his assault now, Amery was still able to take a little comfort in the other vampire’s…err…elegant recovery. Still, he was left with something to be desired regarding the pain and anguish he had hoped to see spread itself across the other’s face. How he longed to see those baby blues roll back into that red-head and watch him tumble to the ground in defeat among the sticky napkins and gum-spots and other fairground detritus…

The thought of it sent shivers down Amery’s spine: victory, perfect and sweet, the moment of dominance and, finally, peace…the calm the settled his adrenaline pumped body when it was over, done…

Anticipating such a moment, convincing himself it was possible, combined with the moment’s respite granted by the other vampire’s fall, was enough for Amery to partially shake away the physical and emotional discomfort of the previous few minutes. It was all back to square one: one on one, both on their feet, both hurt but healing, both looking for the best way to next strike. This was how Amery liked to play. Like chess, only the pawns threw punches and the knights could knock you unconscious. It was about strategy now, and playing dirty. Not the best of combinations, but certainly one that required a great deal of creativity and adaptability…and if Amery couldn’t be the fastest or the strongest, he’d have to settle for being the most imaginative…

Besides, anything he could throw at the vampire, though it might be strong enough to do some damage, wouldn’t be fast enough. His ball-shot had been proof of that: he couldn’t have gone any faster, and he’d still been beaten to it. His defensive reactions might not be fast enough either. He’d have to anticipate, and keep the higher ground.

“Go ahead, Indiana!” he howled back, with a laugh and a grin wide enough that his fangs were just visible: Amery having obviously come to the conclusion that the other vampire had skipped over. “Then I’ll really got your balls, yeah—”

Knowing quite precisely where the bench was behind him (considering his previously intimate moments with it) he leapt backwards onto the edge of the seat that was now facing skyward. The bench didn’t flip over again (thank god) and probably wouldn’t… unless of course another person tried to join him. And even better, this put Amery, still facing the red-head, a little above the other’s eyelevel. And now that he was looking down at the vampire, he felt an instantaneous rush of confidence and a thousand times better.

Oh hell fuckin yeah…

“Let’s go Grandpa, or d’ya gotta stop for a potty break?”

[Existentially Odd]

Tom, far more used to brawling and keeping his head even when adrenaline was high (or so it seemed), took a moment to look up at the newer vampire and shake his head.  A few glances beyond the crowing rooster told him that people had noticed what they were doing, were watching them warily now and his superior senses could detect running feet thudding in their direction, pretty close by; security was obviously on its way.  That didn\'t leave him a lot of options, considering he didn\'t need attention focussed on him; living anonymously was the key to his existence and if authorities tried to pin him down, he\'d be forced to kill them all to get out of it... and he was leery of running against the Oligarchy\'s policies because there was no trouble like a demon breathing down your ass to make you regret your actions.

"You\'re a fucking cockhead," he sneered, looking back up at Amery and even taking the time to level a pointing finger at him.  He began to sidle away as he spoke, listening actively now for where the running was coming from and calculating his best route to the cloakroom to get his jacket and helmet back so he could flee without being caught.  "But you\'ll keep, cunt, \'cos you\'re not worth getting nicked for.  We shall have to continue this later," he grinned nastily, having decided it was best to skirt down the pathway just up a bit and to his left.

His pointing index finger swivelled around and became an upright middle finger as he limped carefully out of Amery\'s range (moving slowly in case the idiot launched another attack anyway), then dropping his arm altogether and heading for his desired course of escape.