THE MOD TEAM (paramods) wrote in parabolical, @ 2008-08-05 10:14:00 |
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Entry tags: | darla |
WHO: Darla and Dexter
WHAT: A case of mistaken identity with a good dose of mass confusion thrown in for good measure.
WHEN: 10PM
WHERE: A random bar
RATING: TBD - but considering this is a thread between a psychotic vampire and a serial killer, it might get a little high
STATUS: In Progress
NOTES: Darla is a mod-controlled NPC, but is still open to various scenes. If your character would like to scene with her, please let us modly types know!
Darla was in a particularly foul mood. She'd had a fight with Angelus and, rather than makeup with some mind-blowing sex, instead her boy had stormed off in a fit. She didn't know where he'd gone and, frankly, didn't care at the moment. Their evening plans of going hunting in one of the local make-out spots was ruined (it just wasn't any fun killing a couple of terrified teenagers by yourself), so she instead decided to go blow off some steam at a local bar.
Normally not much of a drinker, the blond stalked inside the establishment with every intention of getting well and truly plastered. Who knew? Maybe she'd find someone there that would offer her a good time, while she was at it. She knew she looked good enough in her form-fitting jeans and low-cut shirt to get just about anyone she wanted, and at the moment it was a real possibility she'd do just that.
That'll show him, she thought with a mental snarl as she approached the bar. He wants to spend his time obsessing over that damned Seer and the soul's friends, I'll just find someone else to spend my time with. Approaching a large man who was sitting at the stool she wanted, she stated out loud a simple order.
"Move."
The guy turned to look at her and snorted, turning back to his drink. Darla narrowed her eyes - only faintly amused when the bartender recognized her from her last visit and took a few large steps away from them - and repeated her order once more for good measure.
"I said move."
The man looked to her once more, a frown on his face. "No," he replied flatly. "This is my seat. Find your own."
Darla sighed in annoyance. "This is the seat I want and you will give it to me, either because you're a gentleman, or because I force you to do so. The choice is yours, boy."
The boy comment, she supposed, is what did it. Most men didn't appreciate being referred to in such a manner and this guy was no different. Instantly he was on his feet, his large frame towering over her petite form. His face was red as he blustered for a moment, his fist balled up at his side. "Listen, bitch," he growled, "I'm no boy, and you'll watch that tone of yours or I'll watch it for you."
Darla peered up at him, blinked, then laughed. "Oh really?" she questioned. Her smile turned icy cold. "Then why don't you watch it for me, boy. And get the hell out of my way while you're-"
Anything else she might have planned to say was cut short when he took a swing at her. A few of the other men seated nearby lurched to their feet, she assumed, to offer some sort of assistance. Chivalry, clearly, wasn't as dead as it appeared to be.
It just had no place in her life at this particular moment in time.
Catching his fist with ease, the vampire calmly twisted his arm until it snapped. Reveling in the guy's shout of pain, she spun him around so his now-broken arm was resting against the small of his back. With her other hand she grabbed the back of his head and proceeded to smash his face into the bar until his nose broke and he went limp in her arms.
Letting him drop the ground, his rattling breathing the only sign he was still alive, Darla slid into his abandoned seat and cast a smile at the bartender. "I didn't break a thing this time. You should be grateful," she pointed out mildly. The man shook his head with a hint of a grin and offered her a drink, on the house. Darla happily placed her order and the patrons returned to their own drinks.
Sometimes, she mused, having establishments that catered to the dredges of society came in handy. Most any other place would have called the cops by now. Here, though, the cops weren't welcomed. It was the criminals who called the shots... which was just how she liked it.