Who: Clara and an NPC Where: Tinworth, Cornwall When: Thursday night What: Chaos! Violence! Good place for a vampire to play. Rating: PG-13 - R for killings Status: Complete
As night hit, the mass panic that suffused the crowds was starting to dull slightly, but still angry and frightened people were causing trouble. Down one street a young girl walked slowly, moving exaggeratedly along fences and glancing around as though frightened, picking her way carefully until she caught someone's attention.
"Not safe to be on the streets tonight," came a gruff voice, the tone one of a man who knows he could sound intimidating and is attempting not to. "Where's your home, lass?"
The girl looked up at the man; he was taller than her even with her long limbs, though despite his rough, working class voice he was lanky rather than solid. Not that that mattered in wizarding duels, as she understood it, and sure enough he held a wand in one hand. "A few blocks away."
His eyes softened a little and he patted her on the shoulder. "I'd best walk you. Stay close, alright now?"
She nodded and they started walking again, the man looking out at the looters and those putting up or defacing signs with a fierce expression, as though he could ward them off by the force of his glare.
They turned one corner, then another; the street here was darker, empty. "Near here?" he asked. His voice was still confident, even as Clara moved like liquid to snatch and snap his wand, and it was only after she'd launched herself at him, sinking teeth into his throat, clinging closely to him so that he'd find it hard to wrestle her off, that he realised anything was happening.
Thick, hot blood rolled down her throat, the nails of one hand digging cruelly into his back, fingers of the other clutching tightly at his hair. He tried to hit her, to pull her away, but she just clung tighter and drank deeper, ignoring whatever pain he was giving her in favour of the pleasure and the deep, almost spiritual giddiness as his blood warmed her body.
Losing his control, he tripped himself, and almost unconsciously she adjusted her hold so as not to be caught under his body. His struggles were weakening.
Only when she was satisfied did she disentangle herself from him, rising fluidly to her feet and licking her fingers and lips of the remnants of the man's blood. It had been a good meal. He'd been very nice to let her have it. She knelt down for a moment, patting him affectionately, before standing again and breaking into a swift, fleet trot. Perhaps there was more she could do in town tonight, before she had to leave.