IC Time: Close to 9pm on November 8, 2007
Location: Port Angeles - Industrial Disctrict
Synopsis: Stacy, Ramona, and Bev fight; Vincent arrives and spurs a talk of philosophy.
Submitted by: Ramona
A chilly wind rips through town, blowing dead, brown leaves in circles through the thin air, and howling through the small alleys and crevices that populate the industrial district. It's a little after eight, but it's been dark for at least two hours now, and in an area like this, not too many people mill around. Ramona, however, is one of the rare people wandering the roads… or rather, dodging in and out of alleys. Clad in black, she follows a young woman that is attired in less savory clothing, probably working in a less savory line of work. Tonight, Ramona is a hero. She justified it that way at least — ridding the streets of filth. It's not so much a product of guilt as it is sheer, ironic amusement — she slips into the alley after the women and in a fluid motion, cups her gloved hand over her mouth, sliding her cold dagger near her throat. "Hiya!" she murmurs into the wind.
A half block's walk has carried Anastasia and Beverley, unfortunately for Ramona, in the general direction of the night hunter and her shivering prey. Faint voices can be heard chatting softly, slowly getting closer.
"The ward would be perfect if it weren't for the smell… hospitals always smell the same. Which wouldn't be so bad if blood and bile weren't the stronger smells. If I still had a gag reflex, it would make me sick," Anastasia says, passing across the mouth of Ramona's chosen alley from the opposite direction that the other vampiress had come from. Some faint sound draws her head around, and she takes in the black-clad huntress and her tastelessly-clad prey. "Holy shit…" she whispers, blue-contact-covered eyes going wide. For the moment, she holds her place, motionless.
Beverley crinkles her nose. "Fortunately our senses aren't as strong as humans as they are now," she gives with a shrug before she pauses, mid-step, having just caught ear of Ramona. The teen turns her head, her crimson eyes hidden by sunglasses, peering into the alley. "Umm…"
The woman is a little more than Ramona bargained for — a true patron of the streets, she whips out a knife of her own, but her thrust toward the vampire is easily stopped as Ramona's hand reaches out and twists her victim's arm, perhaps a bit too far — a crack is heard along with a muffled cry. It is at that moment she also hears Stacy and Bev, having some conversation about hospitals… which is where Ramona's victim may be heading. Irked, Ramona grabs for the woman's shoulders and throws her against the wall, succeeding in knocking her unconscious in a quick blow. It's effective, really — no blood in drawn, and the woman crumples to a heap as she turns around and steps cleanly out of the alley, cold eyes boring toward the two. "Interrupting my hunt, now? Stacy. You've completely embarrassed me."
Stacy blinks, clapping a hand over her mouth to stifle a gasp as the unfortunate woman is disarmed, a hair's breadth away from literally being so disarmed, and slung into the wall to crumple at Ramona's feet. The shock passes her quickly, an ironic blessing of her time spent in the company of Ramona and her former bandmates, and her eyes narrow and chill almost instantly. "Nice to see /you/, too," she retorts. "You're in /our/ neighborhood. Geez, go half a block north and you'd be in our /living room/. So don't talk about me embarrassing you when you're the one that decided to go hunting in our backyard."
Beverley crinkles her nose, as she's certain Mona will have drawn blood from the girl, though when none in smelled the teen places Ana between herself and the injured girl. She doesn't say anything, seeing as Ana's doing a good enough job that she doesn't have to do it herself, she just keeps the older vampire between her and the human.
Ramona appears taken aback for just a moment — it passes, and she rolls her crimson eyes skyward. "Your neighborhood? I've lived in this city longer than either of you. Besides. Since when is an abandoned warehouse a home? It's pathetic. And if you're going to be a bitch, I want the money I loaned you back." Pause. "Now," she hisses toward Stacy, taking a step closer to the younger pair of vampires. "What are you doing, anyway? Skulking around with a newborn, saving lives at a human party? Thought you were going to be a star." Beverley is cast a scornful glance. "And you! Lev's little whore. Well, I guess I should respect you. You are, after all, in my bloodline. Too bad I don't respect airheads."
"Sorry, but I don't carry more than a hundred dollars on me at any one time," Ana retorts, in a businesslike tone that would do any corporate "suit" proud, crossing her arms over her chest. "Assuming I have /that/ much. So I'm afraid you'll be waiting a little longer for that, since I don't happen to have my checkbook with me. But give me your address, and I'll mail it to you tomorrow."
As Ramona goes on, she rolls her eyes in typical Valley Girl fashion, her hands finding her hip and her eyes hardening instantly. "Save it! You're the one who set Bev up at that bloody party! She told me all about that phone call of yours!"
Beverley lets out a low snarl as she moves to step from behind Ana. "Says the pain in the arse who wanted to be friends not that long ago. The only reason you hate me that much now is because I won't let you bully me," she gives. "Oh, and Spence likes me better," she states, as an afterthought. "Besides, you act more airheaded than me, so quit playing the pot calling the kettle black, sweetie," if one thing, Bev certainly grew a wee bit of a backbone in the turning process. "As for Lev, he can rot vampire hell, for all I flippin’ care," her voice is /oozing/ Irish now, her accent just dripping out with every word she speaks. "Text, Ana," she corrects, glaring unseen bullets at Mona… she wears her sunglasses at night, after all.
Ramona bites down on her lip gently, surprised at Stacy's newfound backbone; perhaps more surprised than she is of Beverley. She knew Beverley had it in her, somewhere, after all. She draws in an un-needed breath and first faces her own spawn, dropping the scowl and forcing what could be described as a hint of a gentle smile. "Stacy. I was just trying to help! She was hungry. Anyway, hey. I was thinking, maybe you and me could get together and play? I really miss you," she offers, her tone dropping low, perhaps even humble as she peers at the other vampire through her lashes. It's an act though, that's to be sure — as soon as Beverley introduces the idea of her mate, her temper flares up, in the form of lashing physically out toward Beverley. In a blur, she launches herself at the newborn, her teeth bared in a snarl as she endeavors to sink them into the other's flesh.
Ana's scowl doesn't waver. "Riiiiiight… and I just /happen/ to have this /beautiful/ bridge in San Francisco for sale," she replies, her voice dripping with sarcasm. But the talk of getting together and playing once more does draw a slightly more pensive, thoughtful look.
Which changes to alarm and a sudden step back as Ramona suddenly launches herself at Beverley! The younger vamp is left staring at the two in shock and horror.
Beverley offers a rather feral snarl as Mona launches at her. At this point, however, Bev has come to realize that she's faster and stronger than most of her own kind, and is hedging that Mona fals into that 'most' category. In an unusual fashion for the teen, however, instead of moving away from Ramona, she launches herself towards the older vampire. For a moment, she too, is simply a blur, unlikely that a human would see the movements of the vampires, but other vampires would undoubtedly have the sight necessary to see that this is not a friendly quarrel.
The two collide in the air, a blur of blonde and pale skin moving too quickly together in the night. Beverley can easily overpower the older vampire, but that's not to say Ramona's without a prowess in fighting — after all, she's been at it much longer than the Irish lass. She lets out a hiss and wields her diamond-edged dagger, a weapon of cowards, perhaps, but a useful one, at that. She may not have the upper hand in the situation, but she does manage to twist an arm free and lash toward Beverley's side with a flash of silver. In all the chaos, Stacy is thought of, too — "Why…" Pause as the scuffle continues, "would you turn your back…" She grimaces at Bev, "on your own maker?"
Only the flash of the knife draws Ana out of her frozen horror. The glint of the blade in the streetlamp triggers a human memory, and an instant later she's moving, hands flashing to catch and hold Ramona's knife arm. "Bev! Get her left arm!" she cries, waiting only a second, holding the arm securely, before moving to slam Ramona's back against the wall at the edge of the alley, likely cracking some of the bricks. "That's /enough/!" she snarls.
Beverly doesn't see an objective in flinching at the blade that Ramona wields, she knows the faults of their skin don't lie with a metal blade, and unless Ramona's blade conceals a werewolf, she'll remain unconcerned. Though at the cry from Ana, Bev makes a grab for Ramona's left arm and moves with Ana to take the other vampire into the nearby wall. Oops…
It's a cold, windy night, and it nears nine o'clock. The unconscious form of a hooker lies at the feet of a group of three female vampires, apparently brawling in a dim alley. They make noise, but nothing beyond what is usually heard in this less savory part of town. Unfortunately, Ramona's on the losing end of the fight as a few bricks crack and crumble at the weight of her being thrown against the wall by the other two blondes. Despite the apparent defeat, the short-haired blonde snarls back at Stacy. "Don't /ever/ ask for anything from me again. Ever. You make me fucking sick." She may be pinned, but her mouth can still move. "I hope that whatever it is that got Spencer will get you too. And when you're human, I can enjoy killing you as slowly as possible in order to watch every last glimpse of light fade from your pathetic eyes." She flinches at Beverley's grasp, saying no words to her for a moment until she can measure out a good response: "If that's true, prove it. You talk about it so much, so do it. Prove to me that he likes you more."
Ana rolls her eyes again, though less dramatically than before. But she doesn't loosen her grasp, despite a faint trace of hurt below the hardness of her eyes. "You still don't get it, do you? I /save your arse/, and you /still/ hate me. Are you bloody /crazy/, going after a newborn? She'd've /shredded/ you!"
Beverley offers a little snarl, little only in that it's quiet. "I still could, but I'm feeling generous tonight," she gives, and, as if to emphasize this, she attempts to push Ramona's arm even further into the wall. The comment on Spence goes unanswered by Bev, probably because she knows she'll lose that challenge, as much as she wants to win it, especially against Ramona.
What the heck is Vincent doing out on a cold and windy night? …Who knows, but it may have something to do with the fact that it's cold and rainy. He glides through the dark with an unnatural grace, automatically walking with his head high and his shoulders back, though his eyes look around with barely concealed curiosity. The wind tosses his hair and clothes, almost concealing the blood-stained collar he still wears at his throat. He eventually ends up at the end of the alley, slightly backlit by the dim street lights, peering through the gloom with an oddly calm, curious expression. He sniffs a little at the air, and frowns, as his strangely wandering gaze falls to the body of the hooker, and his nostrils flare. He says nothing, for the moment, merely watching.
Ramona laughs throatily. "Don't do my any favors, Stacy," she murmurs in reply, closing her eyes as her arm is pressed further into the crumbling brick, a queer smile still pasted on her lips. Her eyes flutter back open after a moment, studying Beverley. "Don't get cocky, Miss Priss. Experience counts for something, surely. I've been in more fights than your perfect, straight-laced ass." As if to prove the point, she attempts to take the other vampire off guard by delivering a kick toward her shin. "See now. You won't do that. I might have been jealous of the time he spent with you, but at the end of the day, he always comes home to me. But, hey. If you enjoy knowing you're just a toy, go for it." There is a pause and she just barely notices the scent of someone else, the sound of footsteps. Her eyes track to the side, toward the darkness where the priest stands. "We have company! Now Beverley. Stacy. Get your hands off me so we can properly greet the guest." It's an order, spoken with a measured calm that indicates she /might/ not do anything else volatile. For now.
"You're right… I guess I have to /stop sometime/," Ana retorts, softly. She releases Ramona's arm. But only after holding it for a full count of five after Ramona orders her to, and only after adding, "Letting her go, Bev," to her companion. Then she turns to look at the indicated newcomer thoughtfully.
Beverley doesn't flinch at the kick to the shin, at least not outwardly. And she does let Ramona go, after a good long moment that involves her tightening her grip, before loosening it and walking to stand beside Ana, as if she hadn't just gotten into a scuffle with Ramona, though her slightly disheveled appearance clearly states otherwise.
Vincent continues staring at the hooker, thoughtfully, but if there is a struggle there, it's not very evident in his impassive features. Eventually, a leaf blows across his vision and he tracks the movement for a moment, eventually drawing his gaze back to the three women. Puzzled, he tilts his head slightly, and frowns. His hands remains folded primly in front of him, as though he's not quite sure what to do with them. When the two vampires finally release Ramona, he comments, randomly, "Getting into fights is nothing to brag about." And that's it. He continues to study them in silence, his gaze flitting over the scene a bit randomly, with special attention paid to movement of any sort.
"Good," Ramona murmurs in reply, glaring fiercely at the two as she's released. She kneels toward the hooker, yanking her by the hair roughly so that her heavy head rests in Ramona's lap. She frowns toward Vincent, as if worried he was going to take her very vulnerable prey. "Not so much a boast as it was a warning," she snorts toward him, studying his attire curiously. "Halloween costume, hmm? Kind of late for that." She blinks a few times at the blonde man, thinking she might place him for a moment before the thought escapes her and she shrugs. "But hell, while you're here, say a prayer for us, Father. Say two for me, for I have sinned," she adds with a wide grin, tugging the limp body up toward her face, and inhaling deeply. "Mmm. Helplessness."
Ana rolls her eyes at Ramona's melodramatic statements. "Better add a third prayer for her, Father," she adds, respectfully, to the priestly man. "One for me, too, but that's nothing new. I'd count it a favor, and I'd be very grateful."
Beverley crinkles her nose as she watches Ramona. "I think now would be an opportune time for me to leave," she addresses to Ana, before offering the priest a smile. "And you, I've no doubt she'll be feeding soon," and Bev doubts her control (or, in this case, lack thereof when fresh blood is drawn.)
The puzzled expression turns into a frown as Vincent's gaze is drawn to Ramona, skipping over her uncertainly before eventually arriving at her face. "Forgiveness comes with repentance. Repent my child, and you will be saved," he responds, quite seriously. Slowly, he brings his gaze to Anastasia, and only then does his frown soften, actually forming a weak smile. "You should visit, and we'll pray together." His eyes eventually turn to Beverley, with the same quiet smile. "You should visit, as well."
Ramona presses her lips to the woman's neck, clearly unabashed about eating in public. There is, however, a cause for her to hesitate, reluctantly pulling herself from the warmth of the human's skin to study Stacy, and then the priest. "Wait a second. Is this shit serious?" She laughs incredulously, tossing her head back a bit to free her eyes of the silken white locks that obscured her full vision. The body is lowered a bit. "You," she points a finger at Vincent, "are a /real/ priest? That's a little hypocritical now, isn't it? We all know we're destined for… well. We're already dead. My soul's gone… somewhere. The only that's left when we go is the dark." She speaks with a rather surprising amount of conviction, glancing at the other two female vampires as if to judge their opinions. A fight to a discussion of religion… the night has certainly taken a very strange turn.
Ana smiles softly at the priest. "I would be honored, Father. Thank you," she replies, warmly. She nods to Bev. "Best we get going, yeah. Still need to hunt up some prey ourselves," she adds, softly, "There's some places we should have better luck."
Beverley shakes her head slightly, listening to the goings on. It's no doubt that if she'd ever believed in a higher power before she was turned, she sure doesn't now. "Indeed, I'm a little hungry," she gives. "Though clearly not as hungry as Ramona is," she couldn't resist.
Vincent smiles quietly, unwavering in his calm as Ramona mocks him. He turns back to her, studying her with some curiosity for a moment. "I am a real priest," he finally says, gently. "Your soul hasn't gone anywhere, my child. You are one of His children, gifted with the opportunity to live until you have fulfilled His plan for you." He slowly lifts his eyes to the sky, watching the clouds scuttling across the moon with vague curiosity. After a short silence, he says, in a dreamy, peaceful tone, "God spoke to me… He has a plan for us. For all of us…"
"Places like… the frickin' death ward in the hospital? Woo! Have fun with that one," Ramona snickers, watching the pair as they prepare to leave and affording them a last eye roll before she shifts her weight in her squat a bit, effectively moving the limp hooker's body back to the cold, rough pavement below in the process. Her dark crimson eyes study the priest. "Alright," she says slowly, licking her lips. "So what did he say?" she challenges, her voice betraying a mix of disbelief and genuine curiosity.
Ana just shakes her head as Ramona continues on mockingly. "Bon appetit," she adds, slightly sarcastically, to Ramona, before beckoning to Beverley. "Me, too. Let's go, Bev."
And then the priest speaks again, and she pauses, watching him thoughtfully. Her eyes snap wider as Ramona asks her own question, and she regards her creator curiously and with mild disbelief (the disbelief in Ramona's voice ruined the mood for her).
Beverley tilts her head and eyes the priest. "Your god is a myth, old man," she states, her voice harsh. "You think if there was some higher being that he, or she, would have allowed his own creations to be turned into monsters?" the teen questions, a certain amount of snark in her voice. "I think you've been poorly informed and seriously mislead," really, she is sweet and innocent… truly.
Vincent drops his eyes back to Ramona, slowly getting used to the idea of looking at her. He even manages to meet her eyes this time, his own shining with a glow of happiness. "He said that we are the gardeners, sent to pluck the weeds from His flowerbed." Gradually, he eyes drop to the hooker lying unconscious, and eventually he steps forward, kneeling and reaching to touch her. His head tilts slightly as his fingers wrap carefully and gently over the woman's arm, feeling her pulse. "Weed the garden and be rewarded with long life and happiness. But don't tread on the flowers, lest you suffer God's wrath." Beverley's words cause him to look up, still smiling lightly though his eyes spark with a suddenly dangerous light. "Tread carefully, my child." If it was intended to be a threat, he doesn't follow up on it. In fact, he says nothing more, his attention once more drawn to the unconscious hooker.
Ramona's pale lips curl into a smirk of acknowledgement at Stacy's well-wishings, though she gives no other indication of noticing her. Beverley, however, is shot a surprised glance at her cynical words. "Funny. I would've taken you as a Bible thumper… but I guess that was before Miss Priss turned all jaded and /mean/," the word mean slips out in a mocking tone, laughter dancing in her dark eyes for a moment before it dies down in consideration of what Ramona deems are more serious matters; more serious individuals… notably ones that are touching her dinner. The blonde grunts and in a swift motion, wraps her arms under the body's shoulders and stands, slinging the whore over her shoulder. "Get your own!" A glare is shot in Vincent's direction before it softens marginally. "Sounds like God likes metaphors or whatever. Weeding's a sucky tasks. Why does God always insist people work their asses off to get shit?" Appearing genuinely annoyed, Ramona begins to stalk off further into the alley, sighing. "Existing is so hard."
