Katherine Williams (kitty_fangs) wrote in birthrightrpg, @ 2020-09-23 17:15:00 |
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Entry tags: | katherine williams, ~wren ohashi |
Bulldozing Down Fremont
Who: Katherine/Wren.
What: Continued from here, Katherine meets up with Wren, reveals some of her past and they blow off steam together.
Where: Across much of Las Vegas!
Ratings: Harsh language.
For someone who could be meticulous about killing strategy, Katherine's plan-making for visiting her fanged progeny was a bit... Loose for Wren's taste. No time had been given and no location, only a vague, "I'll pick you up after work." She had accepted this during the exchange of text messages with a nonchalant toss of her phone, but as the evening wore on, Wren grew bored and decided being irritated was more entertaining. Honestly, as if she had nothing better to do in the hours prior to this nebulous engagement than sit on her couch at her sire's whim.
She picked up her phone. Began to type, 'Where r u?' Hmm'd quietly and backspaced out of it.
"I don't have to sit here." Wren looked up and down the length of her couch, as if confirming with imaginary co-occupants. "Let her come to me." The vampire slipped a few slim, plastic cards into her hip pocket, picked up a bejewelled phone and left the loft on Fremont Street.
Once Katherine had remembered her undead gift to the world wasn't actually scheduled to turn up at work, today, she had spent the obligatory minute or so grumbling and leaning with her back against a wall to rhythmically hit the back of her skull with. Then she considered trying to sound as if this had been planned all along and... Nope. The auto-correct gods just didn't even want to let her have a single 'cool vampire mom' moment. So, she wouldn’t even try.
Wren was, quite possibly, the only soul on the planet who could somehow get Katherine to embarrass herself at a distance without even trying.
Yeah, OK... Where the fuck was her kid hanging out at, again? Somewhere between Whatjamacallit Close and Thingummyjig Avenue. Katherine probably shouldn't have banged her head as hard as she did... But upon remembering, figured cutting across city in this traffic was going to be difficult.
So, somewhere a few blocks away from Wren's location, a series of car alarms could be heard blearing out. Those and a lot of shouting and the heavy grind of a loud, industrial diesel engine. Vehicles which didn't move out of the way were getting forced away by something trundling in the opposite direction.
There was a vehicle hire centre in Las Vegas which was missing a bulldozer, because that was what happened to be carving a path towards the dancer and, upon catching sight of her, came to a grunting halt. The driver's cab opened and a familiar figure jumped out, gave a one-armed wave and started casually walking their way over. Police sirens could be heard in the distance, but the same traffic issues responsible for sparking this destructive inspiration would keep them from arriving on scene for a while.
"Hey, Kitten Paws," Katherine barked. Nothing exploded behind her, but she wouldn't have looked out of place if it had.
"Oh, my God. Oh, my God. I don't know you." Wren raised her hands in the air and, shaking a mane of black hair, began walking along the sidewalk in the other direction. "I don't know her!" She informed a man who stood with a steaming hot latte and a confused expression. 'Why is there a bulldozer on Fremont Street?' His face seemed to say. Was there unscheduled construction?
The younger of the vampires bumped into a huddle of tourists and continued past. This was not how she pictured her evening, though it wasn't entirely out of character for Katherine to make an entrance. She could be the equivalent of the embarrassing mother of a teen, one who might roll up outside the high school wearing a statement tee and a visor, cigarette in hand, belching while her cheerleader daughter melted into the pavement.
It would be a lie to say Wren's typical response to moments like these didn't bring a smile fluttering to Katherine's lips. "Ahh, ya' can't get enough," she yelled in her bloodied daughter's direction, still marching after her. It was now something of a self-appointed duty to keep calling Wren out until the young woman halted out of exasperation.
"You and your hoity-toity... Wait up, damn it! It's date night, Sugar-Britches! We gots ourselves a wrastlin' contest to get our hineys to, woman!"
Admittedly, Katherine was dialling up the obnoxiousness on purpose. Watching Wren get flustered was one of unlife's greatest pleasures.
"You know, I slap very hard." Wren spun on the sole of her shoe, a hand raised as though she might do just that. "I've been practising, but I just got my nails done," she said, closing her palm to admire the colour. "You're lucky. Cringe-worthy as well." A pair of brown eyes lifted to the woman who had given chase.
It had been seven years since she felt her cheeks flush from alcohol or the throes of public humiliation - Katherine had wandered in on the tail end of that curtain call - but there was still the horror of knowing a rando might capture one of these interactions and post it to social media. What a strange pair they made, she of the hook swords and metal cords, versus she of the silks and ballet shoes.
"Aww, ya' mean I hired out that speedboat for nothin'? Hot dang, girly, I thought we’d go tubin'!"
Truth be told, Katherine might be a hedonist, but even she was unlikely to ever go that far. She just sniggered at her own description and doubled over a little, clapping Wren on the shoulder when she got close enough. The mental image of the younger vampire actually doing any of those things, like a bedraggled, pampered cat being dunked in a bath, was too rich not to laugh at.
"Alright, alright - I'm just pullin' your tampon," reassured Katherine in her usual caustic manner. At least she was toning down the faux Southern accent. Didn't lose the smile, but straightened up, sliding a hand through hair and took in Wren's image. She was tempted to draw her in for a sudden hug, but wasn't that suicidal. Not before a good time was involved, anyway. "Look, honest truth? Who else would - literally - plough through a bunch of traffic to reach you, huh? Thinking this whole thing might've put you in danger's been a real firecracker in my toilet. So, now you're safe and..." She inhaled, then gave a sighing exhale. "You'd be pissed if I didn't miss you, right?"
Wren crossed her arms and engaged in a full, red-lipped scowl. One of her high heels twisted on its spike. Someone else might plough through the streets of Las Vegas for the privilege of her company. It was rude of her to assume otherwise. She looked over Katherine's shoulder at the bustling thoroughfare beyond, which had all but crawled to a stop thanks to the machinery. "Maybe I'd be annoyed at your priorities," she relented, softening under the familiar weight of her sire's hand. Wren moved into the span of her arm and gave her a hug, wrapping her arms around the shorter woman's back.
Her nose twitched. "You smell like diesel." She picked up a lock of Katherine's hair and took a whiff. "Ohhh. That's haunting." Wren could not fathom a single, positive life development that led to someone wearing the scent of the workforce. "Where are we going?"
"Yyyep," was all Katherine could echo in lamentation. She hadn't always adopted the biker chick look. Time was, Wren might have actually approved of her lifestyle - back when she still had a life. "Well, it was either that or a helicopter and I figured that'd be tough to find anywhere to land. If I ever find you not annoyed, I'll start wondering what's happened with the real you, Cactus."
There weren't many who Katherine would have allowed to do this, let alone Wren. With her, she was comfortable. Emotionally, it was like running a bath for herself, being around this one, even if they were something of a polar opposite to one another.
"C'mere," Wren's sire insisted and planted a kiss on her mouth, whether she wanted it or not. The last few weeks had been nothing but frustration. Then, true to form, patted the dancer on the ass without care for who looked their way - or how much it might risk Wren's ire.
"Well, here's the thing... You're all kinds of fucking amazing up on stage, but if this happens again, I want to know you can look after yourself. So, if you want to go somewhere swanky, we'll go do that. But I'm taking you somewhere you can get strapped - and, yes, I did just use that word. I need to know you can do more than just scratch someone's eyes out. And then somewhere named Seventh Circle. You heard of it? And then... Maybe you need to know some more about me."
"Guns?" Wren rubbed at the front of her neck, as if the bile needed help going back down. "That's so conservative middle America!" Having grown up around Washington, DC and moved on to more metropolitan areas, she was no stranger to urban gunfire, but the idea of carrying one on her person immediately brought to mind the yee-haw variety. Nevada had loose laws for carrying, which meant she could do so with little trouble. Maybe they had one small enough to fit in her handbag. There was no way it was aesthetically interfering with the line of her outfits.
"I still can't believe I got in a car with you carrying a hunting rifle," she said, baffled. Ah, drunken head injuries. The rifle had been one of the first things Wren noticed when she rose, still wearing her party dress, but dead as hell and a lot more sober. It was followed on by a hysterical shriek of, 'What the fuck!?"
"When I imagined myself becoming a killing machine, that's not what immediately came to mind. Maybe something more Bond villainess. But fine." She knew Katherine well enough to understand that once she decided on something, it was easier to go along with it and let it run its course than object.
Katherine hadn't exactly fumed. Internally, maybe, but this was par for the course. If anything, Wren had helped to teach her the value of compromise. Katherine might not necessarily apply it, but it was still a lesson often learned. She was counting on Wren experiencing power under her fingertips kick-starting, if not a fetish, then at least new appreciation. If not, well... At least she had tried.
"Just try it, that's all I'm saying. You want a taser, I'll get you a fucking taser. But we're not walking out without at least something you can spray. Assuming you don't already."
Something which Katherine honestly was curious about. A woman needed to learn how to at least use a set of keys, but had Wren come to be confident in her abilities as a vampire to not worry so much about self-defence? It wasn't an area in the younger undead's existence Katherine had much reason to pry, up until now. Showing her the ropes, was one thing. Impressing upon Wren the dangers which even their kind could face, was another.
"Here... Early birthday present," she added, reaching into a pocket and handing Wren a short stick-like implement with grooves along the body. "It's called a Kubotan. You can put keys through the hole on the end; make it look like something else. Someone starts something, this can paralyse them, if you know what you're doing. I'll teach you how. Next to something with batteries, consider this a girl's next best friend."
"This is a weird new phase for you," Wren observed, turning the Kubotan in her hands. "Let me know if you come across any knives disguised as lipstick. Now that I could get behind. Oooh!" Her eyes lit up. "Or nice shoes that can be weapons." She took a pause. "Oh, God, do you think there are knives disguised as vibrators?" She cringed. "I bet there are. If for no other reason than getting through airport security. Even fake dicks are nothing but trouble."
Of course this would be the one night she hadn't brought a purse. Wren tucked the weapon back in Katherine's pocket. "I'll just... Get this back later."
Katherine gave a what-you-gonna'-do bunching shrug of shoulders. "Don't get pissed, but... I got drugged and chained up in a warehouse. I didn't want you to freak out if I said something." To which the dancer's sire awkwardly smiled and added, "I can get you a vibrator-knife, if it helps? Like... Don't fetch the wrong one out and threaten someone, 'cause that'll give some really mixed messages. Or the right ones..."
How would that even go, Katherine wondered. She could sort of imagine it. Wren covering for the mistake by threatening to anally fuck a would-be assailant to death. That might actually be more terrifying than a blade.
Even she had to shake herself free of that mental picture.
Nodding sideways with head, Katherine gestured down the road, ushering the stage performer along. "Soo... Yeah. I've been checking in on you a lot, because of that. Met your friend, Derek. Not who I imagined would be in your social circle," she mused and looked up either end of the street. Katherine was getting that look about her. The hunting one. She was going to jack a car unless Wren hired one via phone.
"Hey!"
Wren smacked her shoulder.
"If you get locked up in a shady warehouse, you don't slide it in, mid conversation! You give details. Who else knows you got Jigsawed? Does Derek know?” Wren opened an app on her phone as they walked. She'd drive herself, but she didn't want Katherine remarking on her tendency to over-brake. It was the heels.
A car was located and en route.
Wren redirected her attention to an upcoming corner, where they'd wait.
Katherine felt that shove. It made her look back at her fanged progeny with a surprisingly uncertain expression, not because of physical pain, but because Wren had confounded expectations - or maybe, in a weird way, hopes - of not giving a damn. Katherine was not the type to share feelings. This was starting to make her oddly self-conscious.
"No, he just got told you might be getting trailed. Told him to ask you for that drawing I sent; make sure he wasn't in those crowds you draw. Had to make sure someone was looking out for the guy when I couldn't." It was admitted with a scuff of heel on the sidewalk. Dredging over that worrisome memory made Katherine sneer before she looked up. "It's, uh..."
Fuck this. Fuck Noah. Fuck him, especially. That single act had the usually confident hired killer rattled and Katherine hated feeling vulnerable.
She could just about do with an excuse to punch out a car window, right about now. Why did Wren have to be so considerate about not wanting to draw attention? Especially when she always dressed so well. Fuck you, too, Wren's fashion sense..."
"It's..." And she stopped herself, feeling the annoyance bubble up. She was clenching her jaw, looking around for an easy target. Maybe that trash can would do? "When I was... Alive, what's your read on me? How'd you think I was?"
"Uh!" Wren lifted her shoulders, exasperated. "I don't know! What was I like? This!" She held her arms out from her body. "How would I know what-" She broke off, trying to do math, "One-hundred si-eighteen years do to a woman who never ages? The oldest person I knew before you was my grandmother. The one from Argentina? She's a heinous bitch now, she was probably a heinous bitch then."
Wren made a face. "God, 1902! All those wagon wheels and bloody handkerchiefs and health corsets. Kill me." She took a few more steps towards the curb where the car would be.
Of course it had occurred to her that Katherine might have changed. It wasn't just being alive for a long time; it was the world shifting around her. But it was impossible to reconcile this modern version of her sire with anything Wren understood about 1900s America. "Maybe like Annie Oakley?" She offered. "She shot a lot of shit. Oh, my God, are you Annie Oakley?" Wren widened her eyes. "You are! You're Annie Oakley after rhinoplasty. Mystery solved!"
It was like watching a clockwork mechanism of materialistic spite going haywire, before landing on a quiz show door number. Two or three times, Katherine's increasingly vexed facial expression was either about to say or react to something, only for things to be compounded even further.
But she wouldn't have interrupted it for the world.
"O-OK, that's... Honey? That's..."
Katherine made a series of rapid blinks and genuinely wasn't sure whether to laugh or start trying to take notes. Instead, she placed hands on the younger vampire's shoulders, deciding to treat the exasperated Wren like a bottle of carbonated drink threatening to explode.
"Wren... I promise you, I am not Annie fucking Oakley. I'm not sure whether to be flattered by that, but... Good Lord, woman!" Yep, that was it. Laughter it was. Katherine tipped her head back and the dam broke. "Yeah, me riding around with Buffalo Bill... There's a mental picture. No, just... No. Wow..."
Quickly shaking head, Katherine exhaled loudly through teeth, cocked a half-smile and waved an arm at Wren's usual stylish attire.
"Alright, this? How you're like now? That was me. Like... Not exactly, but it was... Y'know... Social engagements, parties, knowing how to play the piano and... Well, I wasn't exactly the pioneering type. For all I know, you got shown an old photo of me in history class."
"Nuh - you are a lying bitch!" Wren shook her head. "I saw the look on your face when you opened my closet, like it was the Red Room of Pain. Ooh!" Their driver pulled up in a sleek, black sedan. Wren went around to the street side because she did not slide. She opened the car door and added over the roof, "Even if I bought that you were some 'society girl', I definitely call bullshit on the piano." She ducked inside.
"Didn't say I played it well... I mean, I can probably still do a recital," Katherine excused, giving an awkward little shrug. Gawd, that was long ago. Maybe she should pick it up, again?
There was a verbal to-and-fro, as Katherine gave a destination, clambering into the interior as she went. Had to take a moment feeling the leather, keeping a low profile meant not being exposed to fineries.
"Look, our fashions might diff... Why am I even talking about clothes?! Point is... Listen, remember how I found you? That's not too different to how mine found me. Except there was no car crash, more like..." She trailed off, lips curling at the memory. Swallowed. "We got set upon. I was the only survivor. Would've done worse if I wasn't too shot up for their fun. So... This thing, lately? That's brought it all flooding back. And finding you end up the same way, I can do without."
"Aww... Sweety." Wren poked her lip out and patted Katherine's hand. "That sounds rough." She gave the fingers a little squeeze. "Of course, I'd feel more sympathy for our shared trauma if you'd just dialled 911 for me. Or," she shrugged, "driven me to a medical facility? Instead of attacking me beside a copy of 'Green Eggs And Ham'." The younger vampire tightened her grip on her sire's hand until her fingernails bit into it, then abruptly released.
She was certain Katherine thought of her turning as gift-wrapped in a blue box, by comparison, but it still ticked her off.
"Anyway, you shouldn't worry so much," she added, turning to look out the window. "I have my own talents."
"Babe... Light of my unlife... My sweet baby snookums... I was hungry: Believe me, you were fucking dead. Only question was whether I raised you or not. Besides, when's the last time you asked permission, huh?"
It was a calculated gamble. Wren's feeding habits might well now extend to such courtesies, for all her sire knew, but that wasn't how she had taught her. Enjoy it, get it done, enjoy it, move on. Simple rules. She could respect Wren's right to bitch about her own mortal demise, though.
"Wren, most of your talents are..." Katherine stopped herself. Not just because she valued her face remaining attached to skull, but because she tried not to be one of those sires. The ones who devalued their kids, scheme for world domination and didn't realise they were stoking the fires of their own familial betrayal, all along. So, she shifted posture, crossed legs and silently rubbed where Wren had made nailed indentations. "Actually, you know what? Indulge me. Someone's wanting to make you a trophy for their wall. Or maybe just trying to get to me. And they're not stupid enough to get unto point-blank range. Maybe they're not even human. What do you do?"
Wren rolled her eyes. "This is one of those things people do, like when you tell someone you like art, and they demand you name your favourite artists of the Baroque period. I mean, I don't like art?” She pointed at her chest with both hands. "But I know about Rembrandt and Vermeer, OK, I went to college. I cannot tell you how many men have quizzed me on Nietzsche."
She pointed at Katherine. "Lest you think I'm stalling, if there are walls, I run up and around them. I'm Neo in the Matrix, but prettier. If there are no walls, I'm a dancer, Goddamn it. I can jump. Have you ever squeezed someone unconscious with your leg muscles? Strangled someone to death with a tutu? Stabbed an eye with a hairpin? Probably not. And I know that's not going to save me from an assassin, but I'm not pathetic."
Ooh, thought Katherine. She'd hit a nerve. There was a story behind those cultural preferences.
"You'd be surprised," Wren's maker half-muttered, though didn't disguise the smile softly falling upon her features. "That's my girl," she praised and wasn't even sarcastic about it. Not wanting to be on the lethal end of an irate Wren didn't mean a part of her didn't want an excuse to somehow watch those descriptions in action. "See," she added, giving Wren a light pat to thigh. "That's why I know not to fret. But better safe than sorry. Just... Humour me, OK?"
That was when the vehicle eased to a halt. Good, thought Katherine. They were there.
Wren clamped her lips together. "Mm-hm." Inwardly, she wondered if this was how Katherine felt that time she dragged her, pouting and pleading like a puppy, into a modern dance performance.
She tapped the back of the seat and told the driver to park and wait for them. He was wisely quiet about the weird dialogue in his backseat and simply nodded, sweating. To make it up to him, Wren advanced him with a big tip. She got out of the car to join Katherine outside what looked to be the sketchiest, most off-the-books gun store in existence. As the car doors closed behind them, the driver rummaged for an inhaler in his console and began puffing it while he raced away from the curb to park.
"That guy's updating his online will. Well?" Wren eyed her sire and made a pair of finger guns. "Let's go! Bang-bang!" The vampires strolled up to the entrance to the commercial arsenal.
When they piled back into the car a while later, Katherine gave the driver directions for Seventh Circle.
There was a lot available to choose from. It wasn't all firearms and Katherine, well... Even if she hadn't been declared legally dead, her natural longevity would have run out long ago. Identity fraud was a necessity for her, not an option. Whatever Wren opted for, she would insist on paying for, though did tease her with a fictitious claim of there being knife-proof designer lingerie.
Ironically, it was their next stop which was making Katherine more amused. She suspected Wren might consider it the equivalent of a monster truck rally and was tempted to start needling her about grabbing a pair of foam hands on the way in.
"This is where people go to bet," she had directed, looking around before moving to the entrance. "Me? I go here to learn. Knowing how to take down a human's one thing. Going up against some of what's in here? Whole different story."
She paid for two and opened the door.
The air in the small arena smelled like blood, sweat and - faintly - urine. Wren took in the sight of a brawl already in progress. The crowd cheered and jeered as the competitors sized one another up and traded initial blows. It was part-gladiatorial, part-MMA and even part-WWE, based on the animation of the spectators. They moved into better viewing territory. "Hey!" Wren called over the shouting and grunting. "Isn't it hella stupid to fight in here?" She asked, craning her neck to watch an arm get twisted into an unnatural position. "They're giving away their best mov- Ohhhh! That popped right out! Look, it's just hanging there." She bumped into Katherine's arm. "There he goes. Night-night."
"That's the point! Most of 'em are just showin' off! For you and me, it's like a how-to video," Katherine shouted in reply. The bloodlust was up in the crowd, too, not just in the ring. It paid to be a little forceful to get where one could see everything. Not that everything was purely seats: There was as much variation in the spectators as there could be for the participants and a few simply levitated above the heads of the others. There was even a section build like a huge aquarium, to cater for the more aquatically-inclined customers.
Something sprayed. It wasn't water.
"You and me can always tag-team if you're up for getting your hands dirty," she half-teased.
Wren fiddled with her diamond earring. "Only if there's Jell-O." She looked around the room at those assembled, recognizing no faces; apparently, if there were an attempt at a Venn diagram of those who frequented Seventh Circle and those who frequented Iris, the circles would repel. "There is no surface in here I want to see under a UV light," Wren mused. "What happens when you have to pee? Is there a bucket out back or just a... Hole somewhere?"
"Yeah, there's... I'm glad we don't even have to breathe this air," Katherine agreed with an understanding hissing through teeth. "I think they use magic to clean everything up, but 'Fantasia', it ain't."
Katherine whipped her head around, trying to get her bearings in the crowd. Pointed an arm over in the direction of lavatory facilities with some… Curious additional symbols on them. There was at least one door designated for neither male or female, if not more. Then her eyes lit up when the next contestants were announced and whatever broken remnants of the last battle either crawled away or were scooped up.
One was a sentient floating blob, haphazardly shedding acidic mucous behind it. Partially digested bones of its last victims could be seen floating within it. And it was facing off against... Apparently just a guy.
"WHO WANTS SOME HONEY BADGER, BITCH?! HONEY BADGER DON'T GIVE NO SHIT!"
A really aggressive guy who was going by the name 'Honey Badger', apparently. He was strutting around the stage, flexing his frame in front of the crowd and angrily challenging them to go next.
Because he was a were-honey badger and was already changing form. It was like watching a personified Napoleon Complex on crack.
"FUCK YOUUU!"
"Egghh..." Wren cringed at the mucous streak on the floor. It looked like someone had lazily taken out a bag of toxic waste with the regular trash, only the bag had a rip in the bottom. She watched people step over it as the creature made its way to the ring. But the squick factor of that was quickly outdone by the opponent.
"Fuck you, too!" She called back, cupping a hand to her face. The antics and strutting about continued throughout the therianthrope's transition into... A significantly smaller form. "Have you ever had second-hand embarrassment?" Wren touched a hand to her forehead, peeking through fingers at the display, then turning her face to yell into Katherine's ear. "I am literally mortified." Not so mortified that she wanted to miss the resulting display, but still. She took a cautious step back in case they were in the splash zone.
Katherine could only laugh at her vampiric daughter's wry observation, shot her hand up at the entity receiving bets and yelled. "Fifty bucks on the furball!"
The levitating blob reared up and werebadger lunged with a fearless growl.
Tonight was a good night.