NationStates Jolt Archive

Vampires… a plague upon Draconian society.

In the shadows they wait, even mingling with the living to feed off the blood of their victims. Though their existence largely known, most vampires operate in secret societies away from the prying eyes of their mortal prey. In the darkness of night they watch their prey, wait for the moment to step out of the shadows to attack, then to once again disappear within the shadows once fed. Some vampire’s wish to rule over mortal kind, others want to disappear back into myth and not have to worry about mortals knowing about their existence.

They wish to hide from the hunters who stalk their every move. Afterall secretive vampires are much less likely to suffer final death at the hands of hunters then those who openly flaunt themselves. This brings them the difference between the Camarilla and the Sabbat, the Camarilla wish to be secretive while the Sabbat are open to their ways openly taunting the vampire hunters.

Rube Gunn flicked away the spent cigarette and looked up at the Zanaar Inc skyscraper. Smoke was still rising though the flames had long since been put out by the local fire brigade. The burnt out shell was the least of the vampire’s worries, aside from keeping out of the direct sunlight to study the building there was the fact that Zanaar, the vampire prince was now missing presumed suffering final death. That would be very bad indeed as it would mean a power vacuum in vampiric politics in the city. That could lead to a war between vampire clans and of course intensify the feeling of ill between the Camarilla and the Sabbat. The Sabbat would of course take this as a big opportunity to find away to destroy the Camarilla and their ways.

As a Ravnos he would have been neutral, but he disliked the Sabbat and their ways so he and his brother Jonas and drifted towards the Camarilla and were actually working for the Prince of Exetergrecia, Zanaar. A job he quite enjoyed doing, but one that it would appear he would be doing no more.

“So he’s dead?”

“Looks that way kid,” Rube replied, his eyes turning to his brother Jonas. “Now this is bad, means the Sabbat will be crawling out from under their rocks. They’ll be looking to cause trouble.” He paused for a moment. “The Anarchs too.”

Jonas placed his hands in his pockets. “So what do we do?”

Rube scratched his chin, it was rough from the lack of shaving. “Prepare for the worst, kid.”

**

“The ‘prince’ is dead, good.”

An eerie chuckle filled the air.

“It is your chance Aldwulf.”

“Yes it is if the Sabbat don’t interfere.”

“Ah yes the Sabbat, I am sure the rest of the Camarilla will busy dealing with them to notice you.”

**

The Dead Cow, a popular tavern amongst vampires in Exetergrecia was rife with rumour. Word that the prince had suffered final death and spread through the vampire world like wildfire and now the rumours about who had done it and who the new prince was going to be had started. Anna, the barwoman on duty had heard it all, in fact she knew most of the rumours to be rubbish. Most were too far fetched to be plausible and she certainly felt that this wasn’t the doing of vamire hunters of any kind.

Still there was at least one vampire who had been employed by Zanaar and was far from being down by the news. The pink-haired Malkavian known as Jacen was still having the time of his life, or rather unlife since he was undead. As usual he let his madness, a common trait of the Malkavian, to take his mind off things. Currently he was dancing on the table to some visual kei band, she never caught the name of it but it certainly went with his madness. At least one could take it off the minds of everyone.

Anna looked up as two figures entered the tavern, she recognised them almost immediately they were the Gunn brothers, Rube and his younger brother Jonas. Rube was a scruffy vampire, always wearing the same trenchcoat and hat that made him look like a stereotypical private eye with an unshaven face. Jonas on the other hand was much less scruffy, we did wear old looking jeans and a band t-shirt but his attire was very different to that of his brothers.

“So are the rumours true?” Anna asked.

Rube nodded. “’Fraid so,” he said. “No trace of him or his seer, she mustn’t have seen it coming.”

She passed a couple of tankards over to them, each containing blood mead.

“So what happens now?” she asked.

“The Camarilla find a new prince,” he replied before taking a gulp of blood mead. “An’ that takes time.” He took another gulp. “In the meantime we have our own job to do, find the fucker that did this an’ make ‘em pay.”

Behind them came the sound of Jacen falling off the table and laughing. Being druck and insane wasn’t a very good mix but at least it was keeping the vampire patronage in better spirits. After all the usual patrons of the tavern were those loyal to the Camarilla and to the late prince. Anna shook her head at it.

“In the meantime it would seem that the insane will keep us sane,” Rube remarked, glancing to where Jacen was bowing to the watching crowd. “Those Malkavians may just save us.”

Anna just laughed. “It would be a strange world to be saved by the Malkavians.”


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OOC: Only the following may post here

Current Character List

Aeschia (Hyperslackovicznia)
Boaz ([NS]Wooshaba)
Davos (Imitora)
Vendetta (Wandering Argonians)
Mary Wollstonecraft Godwin (Balanite)

Keep all OOC in the OOC Thread (http://forums.jolt.co.uk/showthread.php?t=513947).

The man gave a grunt as the blunt end of a pipe came down onto his face, breaking his nose. The vampire swung at his head a few more times so he wouldn't cry for help, lightly painting the smooth concrete wall behind him with droplets of blood. The fallen man was quiet, but he wasn't a corpse. Mary calmed down, and slowed her breathing.

She lacked grace in everything she did now. Even after all these years she never mastered the fine art of pick pocketing, illusions or deceit, the arts of the stereotypical charming bloodsucker, the rich ones at least.

She resorted rather to violently snatching from the weak prey that she once was; feeding on the bottom-feeders; scraping a living in the gutter.

It seemed that today was unlucky as well, as the man proved to be carrying little more than a silver trinket and a nice leather wallet with spare change. The wallet probably will fetch more than its contents.

Businesses aren't doing too well this season either, ever since the Head vampire disappeared. She could smell the tension in the air.

A few shapes loomed in the distant fog. "Mine." she hissed loud enough and scanned the man quickly for anything that she might have missed. Satisfied, she scuttled off into the darkness, leaving the man in the mercy of the others.

The dark shoes reflected the soft neon lights of a dowtown club district, turning to match the same color as the lights in the reflection. The shoes were only part of a well tailored, well made suit. It had no brand name, it was custom made, every inch of the deep black suit jacket and pants, the silk crimson red shirt, every thread perfectly matched to that next to it. Over the shirt, but under the perfectly tailored jacket, was a Galco holster. In each of the two Shark Skin holsters was a slightly modified and perfected Kimber Eclipse. The jacket was so well made that neither of the two large handguns would print, displaying to the rest of the world of the two concelead weapons.

Davos Santari walked with a powerful, yet still subdued, stride, one that displayed power to anyone who dared challenged, but would keep him hidden in a crowd. It was the walk that took years, or in his case, millenia, to develop. It was a walk that thousands and thousands of deaths, and deaths to the undead, built up. He was here for the food, the word was that the blood here was decent. He could use a vacation, his last action in Carnival had ended in a rather bloody sequence of events, one that even he had difficulty cleaning up. And so he was here.

He picked a recomended location, the Dead Cow, and slipped into the door. He didn't draw to much attention from his entrance, Davos wasn't the type to turn too many heads, and he liked it that way. Those who knew him would take notice, but those who knew him would also know not to make a big scene. He grabbed a seat at the bar, and watched the goings on.

Vendetta's arrival was unusual, at least to his understanding. When he'd fallen in with the Anarchs he'd had no idea the movement was of an interstellar nature. Now here he was, on a different planet, wondering where it was he was supposed to go. His only directions had been to arrive, and make contact with the local Anarch hierarchy. Vendetta, or simply 'Detta' as he preferred, wasn't the sort that enjoyed looking for people, unless he got to end them later and leave the remainder of the searching up to the police, something he'd gotten pretty good at over the years.

The oddly-named 'Dead Cow' was supposed to be a hangout for the local bloodsuckers, but he figured that would be mainly Camarilla creampuffs and their lackeys. Detta had no taste for politics, despite his outspokenness about the Anarch movement. He preferred that there be no government, and eliminate the political aspect altogether, for there in was where the problems arose. People, living or dead, hungered for power over others, and once addicted, would stop at nothing to get their fix. Detta wanted to be left alone, but that was never going to happen. If it wasn't vampire hunters or Camarilla diplomats, it was the media or some other ridiculous distraction.

Once he'd arrived, he'd been informed that the local prince had met with an untimely end, and at who's hands was unknown, probably Sabbat. The Camarilla and Anarchs were like China and Japan in this case. Like a Chinese friend had once explained to him:

"Chinese hate Japanese, and Japanese hate Chinese. We both hate Koreans."

While they had their differences, Cammie and Anarch both despised Sabbat-supporters, and Vendetta had undertaken a few operations against the Sabbat in the past, sometimes under the direction of Camarilla operatives. It was the one instance where he'd set aside his beliefs and work for the greater good. Once the Sabbat were out of the way, then the other two parties could work out their differences, and that had seemed like a fair enough agreement. It might mean open war in the future, but that was the future and not the present.

The bagginess of his old bomber jacket hid his armament pretty well. His chosen sidearms, a pair of Colt Gold Cup Delta Elites, hung easily under his arms in a custom Bianchi shark-skin double-underarm rig, the only really classy thing he owned. The knife he'd taped to it, however, killed the resale value despite being made of the same material. The black bandanna tied around his head, combined with the baggy tiger-stripe fatigue pants and jungle-boots would immediately identify him as a Brujah, the usual Anarch clan, and that would be like shitting in the punch-bowl at a swanky shin-dig, so the Dead Cow wasn't going to be an option, at least for now.

His best bet was going to be heading for the underbelly of the city, so Vendetta began a slow stride towards the worst-looking part of the metropolis...

Anna always kept an eye on the door as she worked behind the bar, no one could avoid her eye unless they really were invisible in which case she would just notice the door open and shut. This time however that wasn’t the case, she watched as a vampire she had not seen before enter. Her eyes stayed upon the vampire as he walked across the room and took a seat at the bar.

“Can I get you anything?” she asked.

Rube looked up from his blood mead and eyed the stranger.

The worst looking part of Exetergrecia wasn’t really that far from The Dead Cow. In truth it wasn’t the worst looking part but it was close. There were many contenders for that title in fact. The street was rather gloomy and covered in mist, but an old flickering sign did show a nearby tavern in amongst the various seedy shops and rundown flats. The Dagger, a tavern often frequented by Anarchs.

It seemed Vendetta's search was going to be short. The Dagger, while a bit trite in title, looked to be what he was looking for. Slowly, with a deliberate caution, Detta pulled the door open and entered. No telling if he'd be accepted, or if he'd be shunned as some outsider punk with a horrible sense of fashion. In either case, he had never gained anything by not attempting it, so attempt he did.

The interior was dim, like most of his frequent haunts he'd begun visiting since his unlife had begun. The vampire seated himself in a wall booth with a clear view of the door. Vendetta didn't fancy taking an incendiary round to the back of the head his first day in town...

A tall fairly large built vampire was stood behind the bar and watched as Vendetta entered. He always kept an eye on those who entered the tavern, particularly those who where new to the place. There were also a few other vampires around, some male, some female. All dressed up like stereotypical punks, not a care taken about trying to look good like some vampire clans did.

One vampire, dark haired and dark eyed, noticed the new arrival and decided to walk over and introduce himself. "Klaha t'ink dat you be an outsider, aye?"

The way the man in front of him mangled the English language let Vendetta know he had to be in the right place...

"You got something outside your eye? Sorry man, but I can't understand a fucking word you're saying... Are you even speaking english?"

He'd go out on a limb here, and get right to the point, before the guy could take offense to his harsh response...

"I'm looking for the local Anarch head-honcho, the man in charge. Where is he?"

While he was alone on a different planet, lightly armed and disoriented, his usual sarcasm and general 'screw you' attitude were shining though in rare form today. He needed a drink, something alcoholic and not warm and red...

Can I get you anything?

"Yeah," Davos spoke in a soft, dark voice, looking at the bartender. "I'll take whatever's good."

After placing his "order", he looked around the room, eyeing the others quickly, sizing up any threats. He didn't pause to really mark anyone, just sweeping the bar quickly as would anyone entering any bar. However, he could feel the eyes of a watcher on him, sizing him up, watching his movements. He didn't try to find the watcher, it would only make it obvious that he knew he was being watched.

Instead, he simply waited for his drink, and did his best to enjoy, to what extent he could enjoy, the atmosphere.

The way the man in front of him mangled the English language let Vendetta know he had to be in the right place...

"You got something outside your eye? Sorry man, but I can't understand a fucking word you're saying... Are you even speaking english?"

He'd go out on a limb here, and get right to the point, before the guy could take offense to his harsh response...

"I'm looking for the local Anarch head-honcho, the man in charge. Where is he?"

While he was alone on a different planet, lightly armed and disoriented, his usual sarcasm and general 'screw you' attitude were shining though in rare form today. He needed a drink, something alcoholic and not warm and red...

"Aye it be a local variation o' Draconian," he said.

Another vampire, with spiked black hair came over. "Ignore the wanker mate," he said. "Klaha doesn't know whether he's coming or going. You're new 'round here ain't ya." He smirked. "Course you are, we're Anarch's don't go for all that in charge shit, Reguerio's the leader but it's hard to find him never stays in one place for long."

Can I get you anything?

"Yeah," Davos spoke in a soft, dark voice, looking at the bartender. "I'll take whatever's good."

After placing his "order", he looked around the room, eyeing the others quickly, sizing up any threats. He didn't pause to really mark anyone, just sweeping the bar quickly as would anyone entering any bar. However, he could feel the eyes of a watcher on him, sizing him up, watching his movements. He didn't try to find the watcher, it would only make it obvious that he knew he was being watched.

Instead, he simply waited for his drink, and did his best to enjoy, to what extent he could enjoy, the atmosphere.

"You'll want blood mead then," Anna said and poured a tankard for him and passed it over. "New here aren't you?."

Rube gulped down his blood mead and moved over to get a refill.

Davos lifted the tankard, taking a long pull of the blood mix. "That is good," he said, not so much as a compliment but just a comment. He placed it back on the table, and nodded at the question.

New here aren't you?

Davod nodded. "You could say that. I'm on, vacation" he put a emphasis on the word, as if he really were on vacation, "or something like that. Needed a break from the normal daily grind, and I heard the local blood was decent. That, an I'm not ingrained to local politics, so I would think that any drama or scenes caused by me showing up would be generally low key."

He took another pull of the drink, the red vitae filling him. "Anything I need to know about this place?"

Anna chuckled, "Always the reason," she said. "Sure there is good blood here but I'll warn you know that there is some bad blood out there."

Rube slowly nodded, listening on the conversation as he drank from his tankard. "Round here trouble finds everyone," he then said and looked over at Davos. "Particularly the outsiders, most trouble follows them around."

His brother Jonas stood beside the door and watched them.

"Before you start listening to rumours, yes the prince is missing and yes he probably suffered final death."

Vendetta wasn't amused by all this yammering...

"I've been sent up here to help with the movement, and yes, I'm new here. Any news on what happened to the Cammie prince? Heard he went up in smoke, along with his building..."

Hopefully this Reguerio was around here somewhere, he needed someone to report to and get him up to speed on what goals needed completion so he could finally get to work...

The spikey vampire nodded. "As the story goes," he replied.

Klaha shook his head and wandered off to get a drink.

"But it's the Camarilla who fucking knows what they're up to, they could just be baiting the Sabbat for all we know."

Again, this was going nowhere fast. Detta had figured that much, the Cammies were some tricky bastards, he'd give them that. His trigger finger was beginning to itch, however, and there was no better scratcher than the fine grooves on the triggers of his 10mm automatics...

"Look, where can I find this Reguerio guy? I've been sent up here to perform some operations for your-all's local movement, against whichever pain in the ass you choose. My boss figured I'd be more useful up here than back on Earth. If not, I'm going to hit up the local Cammie joint and see if they need any Sabbat heads busted. Once those fuckers are out of the way, we can continue our own little shadow-war against the Camarilla for separate governments..."

It was true, for the most part. Vendetta had done a lot of work for his handler back home, and the older vampire had decided to lend his favorite tool of mayhem to another portion of the movement and see if they could make any headway with his help...

Round here trouble finds everyone. Particularly the outsiders, most trouble follows them around.

Davos would have sighed if he breathed, but what came out was a simple forcefull push of air around him. He had always had that problem of being followed by trouble, from Europe to the US, Carnival, and now out here. It had become a fact of his unlife to be surrounded by trouble. When one was as professional killer as he, it was to be expected. All he did was take another pull of the blood mead, contimplating his what seemed to be an attraction to trouble, or, to be correct, trouble's attraction to him.

Before you start listening to rumours, yes the prince is missing and yes he probably suffered final death.

"Lovely," Davos replied. His accent was non existent, but he could easily come across as any nationality he wished, save for the Asian and African races. He paused for a moment, contimplating the information. "So was it standard politics as usual, or something special?"

"The fence relocated? Why the fuck doesn't anyone tell me these things!" Mary stormed outside angrily of the dark alleyway, dodging an empty can thrown in protest.

Great. Now she had to run around packed full of loot looking for another pawn shop, in the dark, being one big target like a bleeding man in shark-infested waters.

And ... speak of the devils. Eyes were staring at her on the roofs, between the narrow alleyways, right under the manholes. Mary stomped on a careless someone's fingers, receiving in return a scream which sounded like music to her ears. She then took a run for it.

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Forced out of her normal area of operations, Mary looked around her quietly. She rubbed her hands together and tried blowing warmth onto them, purely out of habit.

A flickering sign illuminated her from the black streets. Her pursuers had probably given up to look for better targets, but better to stay safe and rich then risking it and lying face down on the dirty pavement, no?

"The Dagger, eh?" she whispered to herself. She kicked the door open and entered hastily.

Again, this was going nowhere fast. Detta had figured that much, the Cammies were some tricky bastards, he'd give them that. His trigger finger was beginning to itch, however, and there was no better scratcher than the fine grooves on the triggers of his 10mm automatics...

"Look, where can I find this Reguerio guy? I've been sent up here to perform some operations for your-all's local movement, against whichever pain in the ass you choose. My boss figured I'd be more useful up here than back on Earth. If not, I'm going to hit up the local Cammie joint and see if they need any Sabbat heads busted. Once those fuckers are out of the way, we can continue our own little shadow-war against the Camarilla for separate governments..."

It was true, for the most part. Vendetta had done a lot of work for his handler back home, and the older vampire had decided to lend his favorite tool of mayhem to another portion of the movement and see if they could make any headway with his help...

The vampire smirked and pulled a Camarilla wanted poster from his pocket. "Got on their bad side unfortunately so he's currently in hiding," he replied. "Could take you to where I last saw, no guarantee he'll be there of course."

Round here trouble finds everyone. Particularly the outsiders, most trouble follows them around.

Davos would have sighed if he breathed, but what came out was a simple forcefull push of air around him. He had always had that problem of being followed by trouble, from Europe to the US, Carnival, and now out here. It had become a fact of his unlife to be surrounded by trouble. When one was as professional killer as he, it was to be expected. All he did was take another pull of the blood mead, contimplating his what seemed to be an attraction to trouble, or, to be correct, trouble's attraction to him.

Before you start listening to rumours, yes the prince is missing and yes he probably suffered final death.

"Lovely," Davos replied. His accent was non existent, but he could easily come across as any nationality he wished, save for the Asian and African races. He paused for a moment, contimplating the information. "So was it standard politics as usual, or something special?"

Rube gulped down his blood mead, "Well for starters the Sabbat hate him and the Anarch leader has some beef with him," he explained. "Politically is most likely, 'course might be more to it." He took another gulp. "Then there are vampire hunters, some of them are very professional avoid them at all cost's."

"The fence relocated? Why the fuck doesn't anyone tell me these things!" Mary stormed outside angrily of the dark alleyway, dodging an empty can thrown in protest.

Great. Now she had to run around packed full of loot looking for another pawn shop, in the dark, being one big target like a bleeding man in shark-infested waters.

And ... speak of the devils. Eyes were staring at her on the roofs, between the narrow alleyways, right under the manholes. Mary stomped on a careless someone's fingers, receiving in return a scream which sounded like music to her ears. She then took a run for it.

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Forced out of her normal area of operations, Mary looked around her quietly. She rubbed her hands together and tried blowing warmth onto them, purely out of habit.

A flickering sign illuminated her from the black streets. Her pursuers had probably given up to look for better targets, but better to stay safe and rich then risking it and lying face down on the dirty pavement, no?

"The Dagger, eh?" she whispered to herself. She kicked the door open and entered hastily.

"Hey watched the fucking door!" the barman yelled at the new arrival.

Mary bit her lip gently and quickly took an empty seat, dropping the bent pipe she carried. It made a small sound as it hit the floor.

This felt like a typical shady bar, full of losers, punks, and loser punks. She haven't fed for a while, but not got any money to fix the problem. Can stomach a little longer, she supposed.

A sudden impulse made her drop her pile of shiny loot on the table, so she can see clearly what she took off with for this round. The trinket she took from the man had a photo inside, which she tore out with a nail.

This is worth at least fifty, she told herself optimistically. She smiled as she traced the frame with the tip of her finger. For some reason she felt unnaturally happy tonight.

"Barkeep, know anyplace around here where I sell off borrowed shit?"

Vendetta didn't like the idea of searching for this guy, and why he was hiding like some Nosferatu mutant, Detta wasn't about to ponder...

"I'll think about it..."

It was about this time someone decided to kick the door open, prompting a hand to shoot into his jacket and return holding an impressive-looking automatic handgun. The Gold Cup Delta Elite was a 1911-framed sidearm chambered for the 10mm Norma Automatic round, which made it heavy on stopping power, but still gave him roughly ten rounds per pistol, with nine in the magazine and one in the chamber. His particular weapons were finished in matte stainless, and featured Hogue-brand grips to fatten up the skinny, single-stack frames. The sights had been replaced with two-color fiber-optics, green in the front and red in the rear for quick indexing of the front sight, and therefore quicker kill-shots...

"And who the fuck is little miss door-kicking packrat over there? One of yours?"

The girl, or possibly woman, it was hard to tell, seemed to know her way around the city, and might come in handy later as a guide. Then he had an idea...

"If I get the wanted posters pulled, will he pop back out of hiding?"

There would probably be some sort of exchange involving his services, but those trigger fingers of his were still pretty itchy. Vendetta slid the 10mm back into the shoulder holster beneath the jacket, now that the threat had been identified...

"Try the pawnshops," the barman replied.

The vampire looked up at the new arrival and sneered. "No, shit like that isn't from around here," he said. "Attitude like hers only gets you killed round these parts."

He took another look at her before returning his gaze to Vendetta.

"You could try but this is still a Camarilla run city, their local prince may have snuffed it but they are still fucking powerful. You don't want to fuck around with them."

Well for starters the Sabbat hate him and the Anarch leader has some beef with him. Politically is most likely, 'course might be more to it. Then there are vampire hunters, some of them are very professional avoid them at all cost's.

Davos drank slowly, a more conservative sip as opposed to Rube's gulps. He drank with a meditation like reverence, as if every sip was a contemplation on his existence. One did not survive as long as he on jumping to conclusions and rushed thoughts on complex situations.

Fucking politics he swore mentally, cursing the idea, neigh the very center of the major plight of the undead. And some people believed human politics were cut throat. Why can't we all just, get along, he thought. But then again, if everyone got along, then he wouldn't have the fun he normally was able to have. Had he been a human, the idea would have been sadistic. As a vampire, the torture and death he brought upon others was simply business as usual.

"I'm not worried about hunters," he replied, taking another pull of the blood mead, a slightly larger sip than before. "What plans does the local Camarilla clan have for the replacement? I may be of some, service." He put as acid like tinge on the last word, as if hinting at a greater purpose in his unlife.

Rube scratched at the stubble on his chin. "Replacements... well there will be plenty of power hungry vampires jumping into the gap so there will be some fighting," he said.

Anna nodded. "Not really much any of us can do about that," she said. "We do have to avoid getting in the crossfire however."

"Best thing you can do is keep a low profile, don't make enemies," Rube then warned.

Rube lit up a cigarette and sat back. His eyes briefly glanced at Jonas before puffing out a large puff of smoke.

“Vampires in this tavern aren’t usually the power hungry type, recruitable yes but you gotta be mighty special to recruit these lot,” the scruffy vampire then said. “’An if you want Malkavians, forget it they’re too insane.”

“How many times we’re not insane we just see things differently from the rest of you,” Jacen had stopped dancing and had now joined them at the bar.

Anna placed a Martini in front of him, his usual drink after a dance.

“Of course some of my personalities will agree with you Rube. At least one thinks you’re a wanker.”

“Charming,” Rube remarking, drawing in smoke.

Best thing you can do is keep a low profile, don't make enemies,

Davos huffed. The one thing he wasn't able to do was keep from making enemies. Hell, he had been hunted for most of his own life by his own clan and coven. He nodded at the advice, taking another slow pull on the blood mead.

"Ok, so don't make enemies, stay low, keep out of all the fun."

That wasn't in his nature, it wasn't his modus operandi. "What else is going on?"

Jacen sniggered. "There's having fun and there's having fun," he said.

Anna nodded. "Depends on what kind of fun you're looking for," she replied. "If it's killing as many mortals as possible then that's going to get you noticed. Taking a mortal down a dark alley and drinking their blood on the other hand won't."

Rube glanced over at Jonas who was still stood by the door.

"Well aside from the prince suffering final death, the Anarchs appear to be gaining in popularity in the capital," Anna then said. "Also the vampire hunter population appears to be growing, the more of them you kill the better for all of us it will be."

Beside them, Jacen let out a long belch.

Mary never liked eyes boring into the back of her neck, especially if the owners of those eyes were a bunch of half-drunken lowlife.

…It’s not that she wasn't in the same gutter as the rest of them, but at least she once wasn't. She's also got style, and that's what made her better than these punks.

Satisfied with both the instructions the barkeep given her and the examination of her loot which she shoved back into a series of pouches on her jacket, she headed for the door, not without crouching down to get her pipe back.

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The air outside was cool and humid, like all evening air in this city. The pleasant night air however was fouled up with the giant thug standing in the middle of the street, whose odour alone could kill in a large radius. His companions (from what she could tell illuminated by the neon sign behind her) looked like they were going to be sick. Or perhaps they were born looking like that.

Thankfully, she was standing upwind and away from most of the smell, enough to not having to have to cover her nose with one hand. Both hands were busy holding her weapon up in the air, posing enough threat to allow for some negotiation between two parties.

Mary observed that the large thug didn't actually look that dangerous, about as intimating as a brick wall. He might be lethal if he fell on people.

“Get the fuck out of my way. I’m packing heat.” She isn’t, apart from the pipe, but there was never a reason for honesty.

A man with his face severely burnt (and thus human) stepped up and lisped with the remains of his melted mouth, “Today’s a good cool night, and we’re pretty busy with work. Give us back the necklace you took from poor Butter Hans Tony and we’ll let you off without trouble, eh? Miss?” He struggled to talk some more, “We’ll even let you keep most of your other unethically obtained goods, eh? You don’t even have to pay for old Tony’s hospital fees.” To this he smiled, or rather smirked with the working half of his mouth to his fellows.

She laughed inwardly. This ragtag bunch of stalkers was with the weak packrat whom she gave an unprofessional nose job? And to think she ran away for fear of attracting unwanted attention from those higher in the food chain. “Not a chance in hell I’m giving up this loot, bastard. Now let me through before I gave everyone of you a lobotomy. With my pipe.”

As she walked around the failed ambush party, the bloated large one let out an inhumane roar and swung one of his bear-like arms at her, which surprised Mary. When the heck did street gangs get undead members?

This explains the smell of the beast, at least. She narrowly dodged the blow.